#{/You could make collections for different posts later on; sort of like tags but for whole posts}

[ailesswhumptober]

Prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2024

As promised, we're bringing you the official prompt list of AI-less Whumptober 2024 today!

We have 31 days of excellent whump prompts, with three prompts per day to pick from, fun themes, and 10 alt prompts to play around with. We hope you enjoy! Additional info + plain text versions of the prompts can be found under the cut.

FAQ and Rules

What sort of content can I create for this event?

You can create whatever you want (fic, art, edits, etc). Any fandom is allowed, as well as OC stuff. NSFW is allowed, but please tag your content accordingly! The only thing not allowed is AI-generated content.

Do I need to make 31 things to participate?

Oh heavens no! You can make as much or as little content as you like, skip days when desired, or combine prompts (so for example, write something that covers a prompt from day 1, 2, AND 3). You don't have to do the days in order either, go wild! To be considered a 'completionist', you only have to make sure that at the end of the month, you've covered 31 prompts from 31 different days, but whether you do that in 31 works or just 1 is up to you.

What are these alts about?

If none of the three prompts of a particular day are your cup of tea, you can swap them out for an alt prompt of your choice.

What are these themes about?

Just a little bit of extra fun for the mods. Like last year, we'll be handing out various badges for people participating in the event. A full list will be posted later (and linked here once that happens), but perhaps there will be a special badge or two for people who can't be completionists but who do manage to finish every single day of a specific theme ;)

How do I tag and is there an AO3 collection?

It suffices to tag your work with #AIlesswhumptober2024 for us to see and reblog it! Please also tag nsfw, since we'll be using that tag too. Tagging the day is optional but does help the mods along.

There will be an AO3 collection for the writers to share their works in, this will be made available once we're closer to October (and linked here once that happens).

That should be all. If you have any additional questions, check our pinned or hit us up in the ask box. Or join our discord maybe, whumping can be a great group activity!

---

Plain text versions of the prompts:

October 1 - Torture Tuesday

public torture/public use, stress position, “If you cry, we’ll go easy on you.”

October 2 - Whumperless Wednesday

Unfortunate fall, car accident, “Don’t move. You’ll be okay.”

October 3 - Trauma Thursday

Shared trauma, survivor’s guilt, “It’s not your fault.”

October 4 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Painful transformation, non-consensual body modifications, “You’re a monster.”

October 5 - Sensory Saturday

Overstimulation, migraines, “I can’t take this anymore.”

October 6 - Surprise Sunday

Multiple whumpees, self sacrifice, “I’m the only one who can do this.”

October 7 - Medical Monday

Field medicine, running out of supplies, “Hold on, we’re going to have to improvise.”

October 8 - Torture Tuesday

Rope burns, gagged, “You’re so much prettier this way.”

October 9 - Whumperless Wednesday

Hypothermia, heatstroke, “You look pretty pale.”

October 10 - Trauma Thursday

Self worth issues, pushing away a loved one, “You don't need to earn this.”

October 11 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Hallucinations, truth serum, “Why would you even say that?”

October 12 - Sensory Saturday

Isolation, sensory deprivation, “Can you feel me? I’m right here, whumpee.”

October 13 - Surprise Sunday

Whumpee using themself as bait, defiance, “Take me instead.”

October 14 - Medical Monday

Seizures, concussion, “See if you can follow my finger with your eyes.”

October 15 - Torture Tuesday

Waterboarding, removing body parts, “Don’t break down on me yet.”

October 16 - Whumperless Wednesday

Drowning, hostile environment, “I don’t know how anybody could survive that.”

October 17 - Trauma Thursday

Abandonment, misunderstanding, “Why did I even think you cared?”

October 18 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Mind control, possession, “Everybody will end up despising you.”

October 19 - Sensory Saturday

Disassociation, losing a sense, “I wish I could get you back.”

October 20 - Surprise Sunday

Enemy/Stranger to caretaker, accidental de-aging, “I’m absolutely not qualified for this shit.”

October 21 - Medical Monday

Drugged, ambulance ride, “This will make you feel better, okay?”

October 22 - Torture Tuesday

Forced (to kneel/watch/hurt somebody else), whipped, “Do not look away.” October 23 - Whumperless Wednesday

Fever, passing out, “Hey?! Stay with me, okay?!”

October 24 - Trauma Thursday

Deconditioning, relapse, “It’s normal that you need more time.”

October 25 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Humiliation, betrayal, “How could you?!”

October 26 - Sensory Saturday

Electrocution, burning, “This is going to sting.”

October 27 - Surprise Sunday

Before vs after, Alternate universe, “Well, there’s a first for everything.”

October 28 - Medical Monday

Internal bleeding, needles and stitches, “I didn’t think the wound was that bad…”

October 29 - Torture Tuesday

Ownership, branding, “Everybody will know that you’re mine.”

October 30 - Whumperless Wednesday

Poison, delirium, “You’re not making sense.”

October 31 - Trauma Thursday

Panic attack, facing a phobia, “You need to get out of here!”

Alt prompts:

1) Pistol whipped

2) Co-dependency

3) Animal bite

4) Zombies

5) White room torture

6) Shock collar

7) Pulling teeth

8) Kidnapping

9) “You always make everything worse!”

10) “If you weren’t around, I’d be long dead by now...”

[blindedguilt]

//Cleared my inbox for the first time since I got it in like 2013, went down from 1,283 messages to 454 and lowering(?) and like //... Jesus fuck, I went so far back I actually ended up looking through the emails from my Google Plus days. Site was fucking horrible in retrospect, but godDAMN the nostalgia...

[soulcandi]

𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 (𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬) | 𝐣𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 - 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨

synopsis: you knew that jake's arrival would mean nothing but trouble for you. even so, all he wants is a chance to prove that he can play nice.

warnings: jake's pov, alternating povs, mutual pining, written with afab!reader in mind, reader has a na'vi name, language barrier, age difference.

a/n: i hope its obvious that the line breaks sort of indivate a change in pov. it seemed obvious when i posted this on ao3 but now im not so sure with the tumblr formatting. anyway, hope you like!

word count: 2,790

masterlist, previous chapter, next chapter

“This is ridiculous.”

Neither you nor Tsireya dignified your brother’s complaint with a response. Ao’nung lagged behind the two of you, arms empty while yours were both stacked high with baskets of fruit and blankets to offer your new guests.

“This is our duty,” Tsireya corrected, words formed behind a smile she refused to let slip for one second. Walking beside her, you greeted each of the passing villagers as warmly as the last. After showing Toruk Makto and his family to the empty shelter at the end of the lifted pathways that intersected over the sandbar, you disappeared to collect your siblings before dragging them back along with you. 

“Ao’nung, you will take his sons and show them where we keep the ilu. Teach them how we hunt within the reef.”

“But–”

“Within the reef.”

You weren’t a stranger to his habits of straying far from the village, sometimes wandering as far as Three Brothers Rock all while coercing the youngest and most impressionable of his friends to tag along. You didn’t have to turn around to guess what face he was pulling behind your back. 

“Why would I ever do such a thing?” 

“Because it is expected of you. We will not let these people suffer the shame of being useless.” You could only pray to the great mother he was not yet sharp enough to catch you in your lie. Father didn’t send you to collect your siblings. In fact, no one did. Nor did he present Ao’nung with the task of teaching the sons of Toruk Makto to fish. That was an order of your own invention — one you hoped would help cultivate new friendships. 

“The sooner you teach, the faster they learn. Do it quick and do it right.”

He let out an exasperated huff but made no visible display of his frustrations as you neared the end of the pier. 

“May I take Kiri to the storyteller’s marui?” Tsireya asked, struggling to balance the bundle of blankets at the very top of her basket. 

“That is a wonderful idea. Thank you, ‘Siri.”

It was your duty as eldest sister to ignore the glare she sent over her shoulder and the growl you heard from Ao’nung not a second later. “If that’s settled, I will take the little one to see the ilu as well. I caught her admiring the pod of younglings this morning.”

Tuk was really the only one in her family who seemed enthralled by your tour of the Awa'atlu Village, but that could have had more to do with how much she was able to sleep during the journey than your skills as a guide. 

“You’re forgetting something,” your brother taunted, hopping down the woven platform and making it warp under your feet. 

“I forget nothing.”

“What of the mighty Toruk Makto? Who will teach him our ways?”

You bit down softly on the inside of your cheek, not allowing your grin to slip through the cracks of your polite rehearsed smile. Your plans for Toruk Makto were still under development, but they were yours nonetheless. He could one day make a fierce warrior in your clan if he was able to grasp the way of water. 

“That is my responsibility to bear, not yours.”

“Tsurak is a warrior’s mount.” 

Tonowari’s countless warnings fell on deaf ears. I growled behind the leather band pinned between my teeth as the creature below me thrashed and threatened to break free from the five men holding it still in the shallow water. 

“Perhaps it would be wise to start with an ilu? They are far more gentle creatures. More forgiving.”

As the thought of giving up crossed my mind, the tsurak’s eyes seemed to roll over and glare up at me from beneath a thin film of seawater. It was daring me to try again—begging me for the thrill of bucking another cocky warrior off it’s back. 

“Nah,” I sniffed, matching it’s unsettling glare. “This one.”

Tonowari made a tight fist in the leads, offering me a chance to back out. But we both knew better than that. When I made no move to call it off, he stepped aside with a dismissive shrug and I didn’t waste another second before throwing myself over the wide, armored creature and tightening the leather strap around my fist until I was sure there was no way in hell it would give way. I wouldn’t let myself be thrown off so easily. Not like last time. 

When I was properly mounted, he signaled his men to release the beast into the water. 

Swimming with the tsurak was nothing at all like driving an Ikran. The wind never threatened to throw me off like the currents did. In the human labs we left behind in the forests of the Omaticaya, we called them skimwings. If I thought they looked spooky on paper, it was nothing compared to seeing one in person or feeling them beat the water with their sharp fins.  

My airtime was short-lived and the tsurak dove unexpectedly, forcing me to lose my footing. As if it could sense my unreadiness, it took off into the water, dragging me behind by the leather binding. It took a painful few moments to reach up against the current and sever my grip from the armored backplate, and by the time I was able to free myself, a winding pattern of painful burns had been seared into my hand.

When I finally surfaced, I could hear the laughter of Tonowari’s men a little ways behind me. My shoulders tensed and I felt my ears fall back against my head in humilation. My dedication wouldn’t amount to much in the end if I couldn’t prove my worth here soon.

I was in the throes of preparing myself to turn and face their mockery when I heard a voice from the beach, spilling out over the still water like a lullaby. 

“You are very lucky, Tuk. I didn’t make my first bond until I was your sister’s age. This way, she will grow with you.”

I twisted in place until I found the two of you wading in the waist deep waters further downshore. A woven basket was balanced on your hip and every so often you would reach in and hand Tuk a small fish to offer the infant ilu that swam in circles around her legs. She laughed and the sound alone coaxed a real smile from me. 

I could have stayed there all day just watching the two of you talk. Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t feel half the gult for stripping my children of their home, or dragging them halfway across Pandora for a fresh start. When I saw you with her, laughing—a sound I hadn’t heard from her in the longest time—I felt like I was doing something right for a change, no matter how often Lo’ak’s temper or Kiri’s distant stares reminded me otherwise.

You glanced up toward the reef for a split second and my cover was blown. I considered diving below a nearby cluster of rocks, but when you caught my eye, your smile instantly widened and you used your free hand to offer me a quick wave of recognition. For a moment, I could forget that I’d just made the biggest fool out of myself twice over to admire how the ocean breeze drew the hair across your shoulders.

It was the tide that drew me in toward the shore. Nothing else. 

“Dad! Look!”

Your eyes shot up from stroking the chin of the youngling ilu to see Toruk Makto emerging from the deep waters of the training pool, taking long purposeful strides in your direction. His blazing amber eyes were once again pinned on you and not even the rivers of seawater cascading down his face could have convinced him to give up that predatory hold.

Just when you thought he might actually pounce, his eyes flickered down toward his daughter with a fond look. “Whatcha got there, babygirl?”

Your smile tightened at the sound of those foreign words leaving his lips. You knew in the back of your mind that Na’vi couldn’t have been his mothertongue. Ronal, your mother, could only rave so long about the halfbreeds and their evil English ancestry. It was the language of the skypeople. It was forbidden. But why then did it sound so beautiful dripping from his lips?

“My ilu!” Tuk replied, wrapping her arms around it’s long neck in a warm embrace. Toruk Makto crouched down low in the water beside her, reaching out his hand for the animal to inspect. When the ilu discovered that he was in no possession of fish, it returned all of its attention to Tuk, who was more than delighted to receive it. “Can we go swim?” she asked you in Na’vi, already bouncing in excitement. 

You nodded, gesturing out into the protective pool. It had no access to the open waters and she was safe to explore the coral arches and hidden treasures of the reef until high tide struck in a few hours time. “Of course. She’s yours.”

No faster than you said this did she take the young ilu by the leads and disappear into the deeper waters. You lost sight of them quickly and the only indication that they were still there at all were the trails of bubble surfacing in the near distance. 

Toruk Makto rose to his full height and only then did you turn to face him directly. He was still panting from his latest attempt to mount the tsurak, his glistening chest heaving as he watched you watch him in return. Suddenly embarrassed, you dropped your eyes to the white sands. In all of your father’s coaching on how to address representitives of the neighboring clans, no where did he say to wade half-nude in the waters and exchange poorly masked longing looks. 

“Toruk Makto—”

“Jake.” 

Your head shot up just to see him smiling down at you. It was a type of smile you’d only ever caught on the faces of village boys right before you felt a sharp yank on your tail. It meant nothing but trouble. 

All of the surprise you felt must’ve been conveyed through your blank expression because within a second, that dangerous smile of his was wiped clean from his face and he held his hands up defensively parallel to his shoulders. “No, no, no, shit —you didn’t do anything wrong,” he assured you, whisking a wet lock of hair out of his face as he mentally kicked himself for frightening you. 

Nice going, Sully.  

“It’s just…I haven’t been Toruk Makto in a very long time.”

As much as you believed yourself to be wise beyond your years, you knew very little of clan politics outside of the village you were born and raised in. Toruk Makto was the savior of Eywa’eveng and all of her children in the times of great sorrow. It never occured to you that he could vanish just as easily as he appeared on your beaches so many years ago. 

Your tail swayed back and forth idly in the waters behind you, stirring the sand into a murky cloud that mimicked the loss you felt inside your heart. “Perhaps Ilu Makto, then?” you tested, head tilted to the side. “Since tsurak has proved too much a challenge.”

Over his shoulder, you spotted Jake’s short tail whisking playfully as he processed your joke. With the shake of his head, he laughed. It was a sweet sound, the first of it’s kind since his arrival. His impossibly sharp canines peeked out from between his lips and he brushed a bead of water from his chin with the back of his hand. “I was hoping you didn’t see that.”

“Believe me, there wasn’t much to see of anything.”

You knew you were pushing your luck. His sense of humor was still a mystery to you. For all you knew, your first comment could have exiled you from his good graces as soon as it left your mouth. 

Glancing out at the training pool, you watched your father take flight on his bonded tsurak. He had not yet noticed his outcasted guest standing alone on the shores with his eldest daughter. Knowing it was best to keep it that way, you excused yourself from the conversation with a shallow bow. 

“You’re funny,” Jake panted, jogging to keep pace with your long strides as you made your way down the beach toward the ilu nest. You would offer the rest of the fish as treats for the younglings. You watched him out of the corner of your eye, not allowing yourself to devote your full attention. “I didn’t expect that.”

“Funny?” It was yet another word from his native vocabulary that you didn’t understand. Curiosity overpowered your rational thinking and you slowed to a stop behind a large outcropping of black volcanic rock.

“Yeah, funny,” he explained, stopping so close that you were practically nose to nose. “Of good humor. You inspire laughter.”

You fought the grin fighting it’s way onto your cheeks, holding two fingers against your rebellious lips as you took a cautious step backward. “I inspire nothing,” you argued, shaking off the shimmyflies that beat like thunder against your chest before continuing your march back toward the village center. 

Just when you thought you might have convinced him to drop it, the basket under your arm disappeared and you turned around to see Jake holding it high above your head. “Hey!” 

He only chuckled, holding it up higher when you made a pathetic grab for it. As a matter of fact, he could name a few things you inspired.  

You were in the midst of preparing a worthy response when you caught a glimpse of the snake of burns that trailed down his arm. You gasped, and the sound was nearly enough to convince Jake to drop your basket to the sand. “Ma Eywa,” you whispered sympathetically. 

He turned his palm inward, wincing as he inspected the length of his injury. It somehow looked worse than it did immediately after the incident that caused it, angry and irritated with lack of attention. It stung, sure, but it was nothing near lethal. 

“Tsurak is a worthy adversary,” Jake hissed, flexing his hand just to prove he still could. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and he would be lying if he said concern didn’t look good on you. “But until I am Tsurak Makto, you will call me Jake.”

You refused to look away from his fresh wound, head reeling with slivers of information you from your mother’s Tsahìk teachings. The leaves of seaberries soothed shallow burns like this one. You would need to collect some immediately. 

“Hey,” Jake snapped his fingers close to your ear, startling you. “What do you call me?”

Your basket was still held out of your reach. He was taunting you with his sheer height. On one hand, you were relieved that your terrible excuse for a joke did not offend him, but on the other hand, you appeared to have done something much worse by awakening the insolent child that had been resting dormant at his core. 

“Jake,” you said slowly, testing the sound of it as the word rolled off your tongue. 

He looked pleased, holding the half-empty basket out to you like a peace offering. “That’s right. Now what do I call you?”

There it is; the power. He was laying it all right at your feet. Any respectable woman in your village would have turned her nose at the game he was trying to play. Unfortunately for everyone involved, you weren’t just any other woman, and you didn’t turn your nose to anyone. 

“I am Ällora te Ätwì Ronal'ite. But until I am Tsahìk of the Metkayina clan, you may refer to me as Ällora.”

It felt like you were revealing a secret. Something sacred. And if the return of that mischievous look in his eye was any indication, you knew it was a power that would soon be abused. “Ällora,” he sighed, letting each syllable feed into his triumphant smile. “Yeah, I like that. Suits you.”

He gestured once more for you to take the basket and you did so with great caution, not eager to fall victim to another one of his teases. Right when you expected him to draw back and make you beg for it, he held himself dangerously still. “See?” he said, tail still flicking like a whip below his waist. “I can play nice.”

You hummed, eyes narrowed as you turned away for a final time. “We’ll see for how long.”

[atalossofwords]

YOU TASTE THE SILVER - IvanTill WIP (Part 5&6)

And we have two more POVs on this one! I was posting just one at a time to give myself a buffer to posting on AO3, but I wrote more than I expected haha.

That's right! The first chapter is now up on ao3 on this link. Please come by and leave some kudos!!

part one - part two - part three - part four

Things move on smoothly for Till. He's used to his new apartment, his set-up is pinterest-worthy if Hyuna has anything to say about it, and he's even opened his PO box again, warning his fans to only send letters and small packages, since he really enjoyed reading what everyone had to say.

(He's actually working on a collage of sorts, decking out one wall of his office with the letters. He always feels warm, looking at them. Kirby sent a really cute letter full of mongmong stickers, Bonbon's kid drew a really cute crayon rendition of his dad peering at his phone while vacuuming, and Jaewoon sent about 5 different drawings he treasures greatly.)

Leaving his PO box open, however, also means Navi has been sending a never-ending stream of little gifts. Almost none of them come with letters, or if they do, they're brief and printed from a computer. Apparently, since Till only comments on the contents of the gifts if he happens to wear them on-stream and said viewer comments on it, Navi decided that's the perfect excuse to spoil Till without making him lose his composure on-stream.

So far, Till has gotten; a new sweater, a varied collection of rings, a bundle of cellphone charms after he commented the string he looped through the case to hold his phone in case it falls frayed away.

Apparently, Navi also managed to walk around the "small package" limitation by sending gift cards for several stores. Till had no idea furniture stores even did gift cards.

He felt… sort of warm. If it was just an old man looking to spend his money or lure Till in, they'd probably insist on more diamonds or expensive stuff, right? Or insist Till comment on the gifts live, if it was some sort of sasaeng looking for attention.

Navi never did any of those things. After the diamonds, the gifts were never something Till would consider super expansive, unless you counted the frequency of them. The rings were silver, but none had jewels, the phone charms looked like something Till himself could get online, except the tags on them showed they were bought in Taiwan. The gift cards were weirder, but nothing more expensive than what Navi would donate over the course of one or two streams.

That is, until this latest gift.

Till stares at it, feeling the bottom of his stomach give out. He's in his kitchen, back from a supermarket run after he picked his latest batch of letters. He was going to read them while he ate lunch, but he feels 0 interest in his food right now.

He's holding two tickets for Mizi's concert, in the VIP section. One of those that comes attached to a meet-and-greet.

Clipped to them in an inconspicuous pink paperclip is a note.

I don't know if you got tickets for yourself, but I won these and will be out of the country at the time. I hope you can enjoy them with someone else. If the staff needs any information about the VIP status, here's my number. (xx) xxx-xxx. - Navi.

It is a handwritten note, written with a black pen in a hurry, so much so Till has to squint to make some of it out. The handwriting looks like someone who's not used to writing, with lots of places where the pen left marks as it hovered over the page without gliding, except the signature, which looks practed and neat.

Till has no idea what to do about this.

He calls Hyuna.

"Hi, I'm live." She answers, and he swears. He forgot to account for her streaming hours. He must sound agitated enough it worries her, because there's the sound of a few buttons being pressed, probably muting herself. "Till?"

He takes a deep breath.

"Sorry, I can call later." He says, putting the tickets down carefully and taking his lunch to the sink. He won't finish it.

"It's fine, what happened?"

"Navi sent in another gift." He can practically feel her rolling her eyes equal parts exasperated and relieved.

"Till, if you called me to fawn over your potential sugar daddy–"

"It's two tickets to Mizi's concert, VIP, with a meet-and-greet. And a number to contact if there's problems getting in." He says quickly, interrupting her. He runs one hand through his hair, starting to get stressed. Is this a trick? Is Navi going to be waiting on the seat besides these, corner Till in the show? No, they wouldn't send two tickets if this was the case.

"Holy shit." Hyuna says, entirely surprised. He makes a little agreeable noise. "Holy shit, Till, these aren't just expensive, they're like, hard to get. Did you message them yet?"

Till shakes his head, then realizes she can't see it. "No, I didn't call or message. Should I?" On the other side of the line Hyuna makes a tsk sound.

"No, don't call or message it. Let me finish the stream normally, and then we can look into it, okay? You said two tickets right? If you decide to go, take me or Isaac, and it should be alright." Till hums his agreement, and lets Hyuna go to finish her stream. It's a good plan, Hyuna can and has punched guys who harassed her, and Isaac is built like a brick house, no way a weirdo is getting close to him with Isaac there.

Dewey is probably a bad idea, he's more likely to punch first and ask questions never.

Till sighs, puts the tickets back on the envelope and goes take a bath, hoping it'll help him relax and maybe bring back his appetite.

Ivan is taking a water break from rehearsals when his phone chimes with a notification from an unknown number.

He immediately feels dread, did his number get leaked? He sits up, putting his water bottle down and opening the message.

Unknown [ 3:24PM ] Is this Navi?

Ivan blinks at the message, not understanding it for a long second. And then he is hit with the memories of staying up at night some days ago, reviewing the footage from the day's shoot and going over the script time and time again, because his performance was horrible and the whole scene had to be scrapped and he was so frustrated, and…

And Sua sent a message asking if he'd meet her for Mandated Lunch Time before Mizi's concert next month, and he remembered he couldn't make it since he'd be shooting that day, and he thought.

Till likes Mizi. Ivan has Mizi tickets.

He doesn't even remember what he wrote on the damn letter, oh god, did he sign with his name? Plaster his address on it??

This is fine. Ivan is fine. He asks one of the fight coordinators for five minutes and heads into the bathroom.

You [ 3:25PM ] Yes, who is it?

Better to see what they know before saying anything incriminating.

Unknow [ 3:25PM ] This is Till. Did you really send me Mizi tickets? How did you even get them?

Okay. Deep breaths, Ivan. You can do it. Say this is Navi, you really sent the tickets and that it's no big deal, and you got them… How did you get them? You can't say your real name, and saying you bought them for Till would sound weird, these really are expansive.

Ivan takes a deep breath, and sits on the toilet's lid, crossing his legs to rest his elbows on his knees.

You [ 3:26PM ] Hyung, you always said you liked them, and I happened across these as a job perk. I'll be out of the country, so it was no problem to give them to you.

Unknow [ 3:26PM ] A job perk? Even if that's true, they can't have been cheap. I've already told you, there's no need to keep wasting money on me.

You [ 3:27PM ] It's not wasting money, hyung. I really enjoy your lives, and it makes me happy knowing you're enjoying yourself. I work in the industry, so I know some people who are much less talented than you with a lot more opportunities. I just wanted to give you something to enjoy.

Ivan's fingers are flying over the keyboard before he's even conscious of it, indignation flaring up in his chest. Till works so much, he produces and sings and plays the guitar and drums, he writes his own lyrics, he's so incredibly talented and it makes Ivan furious to know he doesn't see it.

Ivan's been in the spotlight since he was a child acting on toy commercials, met even more people when he and Sua acted together as the twins of a famous singer on a period drama, and there's so many of these so-called "idols" that have a pretty voice and body and nothing else to give. So many actors bank on their looks and have 0 dedication to the craft. It makes Ivan livid.

You [ 3:27PM ] Hyung is so hard-working, and I really wish you'd see it. Your music deserves to be sold on albums and people should praise you so much more for how good your lyrics are. The people I work with don't put half the effort Hyung does, and they get to go to shows and afterparties all the time. I just want to let Hyung see his Idol and have a good time, since I won't use the tickets anyway. Is that bad?

Ivan is… breathing hard. He's somehow lost his cool. He watches as the three dots appear and disappear, and decides to get up. He exits the stall, splashes some water on his face, combs his hair back. Does a breathing exercise his mother taught him and Sua when his father and Sua's mom were fighting, and looks back at his phone.

Unknow [ 3:28PM ] Thank you. I'll enjoy the show.

Unknow [ 3:29PM ] Can I still message this number after it?

Ivan lets out an entirely undignified squeal, and almost does a little victory dance, all previous frustration wipes clean. Till wants to keep talking! Till isn't rejecting him!! Ivan has Till's phone number!!

You [ 3:29PM ] Yes! Hyung can message me whenever <3 I'll do my best to answer!

Unknow [ 3:30PM ] Great. I'll let you know how the show goes, then.

Ivan may be getting ready for a heart attack at the tender age of 22, but he's never regretted anything, in his life, ever.

part seven

[elthadriel]

Clone Bang promo post!! 🎉

Team 12: Writer: @elthadriel (Ao3) Artist: @weatherbane Beta: @lyntergalactic

Posting on January 22 to the Clone Bang collection on Ao3!

@clonebang

Fortunate Son

Rating: M

Relationships: Niner & Omega Squad, Niner & Kal, Niner & Etain, background relationships, background cloneships

Tags: Aroace!Niner; queer themes; coming out; Etain lives; Kal’s A+ parenting; unhealthy family dynamics; homophobia, acephobia, and sexism from Kal

Summary: The war is over and Niner and Darman have rejoined the rest of Omega at Kyrimorut. Niner struggles to make sense of why the idea of marriage is so unappealing to him, his place within his squad in peacetime, and his rapidly cooling opinion of Kal Skirata.

Snippet:

“It’s good to have you back,” Corr says and hugs Niner firmly enough that he can feel it hard even through his armour.

It’s good to be back, even if it doesn’t quite feel like back. The swaying grass and promised domesticity feels like stepping off a larty and realising his chute is jammed. He’s not sure he belongs here. He is sure he belongs with his squad, and they wanted to come here. 

Not that staying with the Empire was all that appealing either.

Fi tilts his head and looks over the reuniting couple. Dar’s put her down but they’re still not finished greeting each other. Is kissing supposed to be that loud?

“Years since we talked properly and he’s too busy licking her tonsils to even say hello,” Fi grumbles good-naturedly. “What’s a vod need to do to get a hug around here?”

“You aren’t as pretty as she is,” Corr says, and elbows Fi. Fi squawks in protest. Atin looks at Niner and then rolls his eyes in a way that suggests this is a dynamic that Niner better get used to. Niner’s just glad they’re getting along; it could have gone very differently. 

Skirata appears without the limp that Niner so associates with him. His arrival is enough to finally part Darman and Etain. Skirata clasps Darman’s shoulder, and Darman’s back straightens as little as he’s guided over to Niner and the others.

“It’s good to have you both back,” Skirata says, and then looks at Niner. “You had us worried, son.”

Niner nods, and feels his own posture correcting itself. It feels like a light scolding, like the ones he used to get back on Kamino. Not the sort when he’d truly screwed  up, but when Skirata was loudly disappointed at him. 

Etain hovers close by, Skirata between her and Darman. 

“It’s good to see you again, ma’am,” Niner says to her. Skirata's smile slips and Niner ignores it. 

Etain smiles, and it’s a far cry from the tentative sort of smiles she used to give when they’d met on Qiilura; she’s grown a lot. “Etain,” she corrects him. 

“Etain,” he repeats.

“We should get you boys settled in,” Skirata says. “I’m sure the Empire wasn’t feeding you.”

“I don’t mind rations,” Darman says. He manages to get around Skirata and takes Etain’s hand. “But I wouldn’t mind getting settled.” He hesitates, the loud kind of hesitation that has Fi pulling a face that no one but Niner can see. “How’s Kad?”

“He’s—” Etain starts.

“Looks just like you, son,” Skirata says. “He’s with Besany. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see you.”

“You should come meet Parja,” Fi says, falling into step besides Niner, following after Darman and Skirata, with Etain awkwardly a step behind the pair. “She’s great. You’ll love her.”

“If she’s keeping you in line I’m sure we’ll get along fine,” Niner says, and it’s enough to have Fi launching into a rambling monologue about his wife. Niner’s happy for him. He is. Fi’s got everything he wanted, and he deserves that. That’s three of them married now, and with how much women seem to love Corr it’ll probably be four sooner rather than later.

Niner’s not sure where that leaves him.

[aangarchy]

Tbh it's just Tumblr tag culture to tag all sorts of spoilers? Because we can't just assume everyone had the previlege and luxury to have had access to the internet and to consume fiction media as it came out..... Like my case may be extreme but my family was literally too busy squatting and living as ~illegals~ so we could never have an internet or cable connection for like 8 years. So I've got A LOT of catching up to do on pop culture etc and maybe one of my followers was in the same or a similar situation? Anyway that's how Tumblr works, we just tag spoilers because it doesn't cost anything and it doesn't ruin the experience of people who were too living too unstably, people who lived in rehabilitation centers, people who weren't allowed to consume certain media because of their parents, people who've put off watching a show because of a particular trauma or squick but who still want to watch it eventually etc

Okay now you're just being fucking annoying. Why are you tying your personal sobstory/trauma to something as stupid as TAGGING A POST. It's not even a tw tag either (bc if it was then i would understand) it's literally just my POV on when spoiler tags should and shouldn't be used.

Let me simplify this One more time. Tagging for spoilers on tumblr only works if everyone collectively does it. That way people can block said spoiler tag for a set amount of time, so everything tagged with #(content) spoilers will not show up on their TL. Example: new season of sex education dropped. People are tagging their posts about S4 with #sex education s4 spoilers, or just #sex education s4 because most people who don't want to get spoiled will have those tags blocked. That's how the tag system works. Everyone needs to do it, otherwise spoilers will still show up. People especially did this when avengers infinity war and endgame dropped respectively, bc those fandoms are very serious abt spoilers.

For atla there is NO USE in tagging spoilers because NOBODY DOES IT ANYMORE. This show is older than a lot of you on this fucking app. If you decide to go through the atla tag on tumblr, or follow atla blogs, you WILL get spoiled even if you have the spoiler tag blocked because i can't think of a single atla blog i follow that tags their fucking spoilers nowadays.

I'm not saying you're not allowed to tag spoilers. In fact i have never once said the words "don't tag atla spoilers". What i am saying, is that it's redundant to do so and it kind of makes you look stupid because, again, fucking DUH!

Once again you people are pretending like the internet needs to follow YOUR rules. "Oh people might not watch now bc of a trauma and might still want to enjoy the show later" ok and? Don't go following or reblogging atla blogs before you've even watched then, bc you WILL GET SPOILED. You're responsible for creating your own internet experience. I haven't watched sex ed s4 yet so i blocked the spoiler tags and for good measure i'm not scrolling the main tag either, because i don't rely on other internet users to do the work for me (even though i don't rlly care that much abt spoilers for that show). When heartstopper s2 came out i couldn't watch for two days bc of work, so i avoided everything to do with that show until i watched. That way i didn't accidentally get spoiled by someone who forgot to tag or just doesn't tag.

(Like i said this is different for tw tags, like tw flashing or tw gore or tw sexual assault. Those are things everyone absolutely must tag for the safety of everyone online. I would not want to be responsible for someone having a seizure bc i didn't tag a gifset with tw flashing)

This is my opinion on spoiler tags. It leans into my opinion on spoiler culture as a whole tbh but i digress. Once again: you can tag whatever you want. I just personally find it redundant and i'm allowed to make fun of it. I'm not making fun of YOU, i'm making fun of the concept of tagging spoilers for something that's nearly 20 yrs old. Hence the star wars spoiler joke i made, or when someone in the tags said someone got mad for spoiling fucking titanic (which is hilarious bc that's a historical event lmao).

This is the last i'll say about it bc honestly you're just pissing me off now. I'm allowed to enjoy posting about my show without having to pay mind to people who haven't watched yet but might in the future.

[blairsanne]

Writing Questions Tag Game:

Thanks for tagging me @residentdormouse ♥

What is your absolute all-time favorite idea you’ve ever had?

Um, so the two favourite ideas of mine are not things I can link you to because the first one, which is a faerie story about (among other characters) the fae prince of Winter, is a story I'm writing (I guess it's on hiatus) with my irl bff and it's not finished or available to the public. I don't know how much I should share tbh, but I love all the characters and the world we've built so much.

The other is just my special daydream OC character whose story I will never actually write because it's a mashup of various fandom lores and very complicated and while fun to daydream doesn't sound fun to write. She's a priestess who gets murdered on the altar of her world's gods by her bff and they revive her to kill him (he was a priest who took the power of the gods and then proceeded to basically demolish the world around him). She does so, but is essentially left alone in her world and becomes a guardian of sorts. Her role is to link herself to one person (anchor) in every one of the worlds/dimensions/realities that the collection of souls her gods watch over reincarnate into. She can call on power from the other realities to protect them from outside threats (basically, if the gods were creator beings, there are destroyer beings who want to devour the souls/realities). She ends up being kind of a tragic character though, since she's stuck between a bunch of "lives" so to speak and beholden to different people in different worlds but never able to settle down and be done. She keeps getting revived by the gods when she dies (with all her memories, instead of reincarnating), and she struggles with grief. Why is this my favourite idea? IDK but I keep thinking about it.

Is there a question you’ve been asked in the past that really stands out to you and you still think about sometimes?

Well one time someone on anon complained that I wrote a self-indulgent mary sue oc into my fanfic and asked "who asked for [that]". To which I replied that I did. Because, you know, I write shit for myself first. As a fun hobby. I'm in no way saying that I write anything great, and if you think my writing is cringe, like, okay, you're right? Die mad about it, I guess? Get a life? Idk. I'm just having fun playing pretend with these fictional worlds.

What is your favorite part of being a writer?

Re-reading finished things because I write the type of stories I like to read, so it's really satisfying to get to reread them later. Close second is when someone else likes what I've written, that's pretty cool. ♥

What parts could you take or leave?

The agony of the time between posting something online and that first bit of feedback on it. Now that I actually have people looking at my stuff there's a little bit of like "well I hope at least one person does end up reading and enjoying this" and like... if not then it feels like why bother posting it online? (Honestly I started posting my BWOC fic in 2013 just so my irl bff could read it. I started posting my newer fics on tumblr in 2021 just so I'd move on and finish the missing parts of the story I had been writing... which hasn't worked, in case anyone wondered haha.)

What is your greatest motivation to write/create?

I am constantly coming up with stories in my head. There's something about writing them down and crafting them into something I can read again later that lets me put them down, if that makes sense. Like a brain dump. I don't need to remember just how that scene went or why that was happening in this plot, because it's written down now. I can revisit it later if I like. Or never.

Second-biggest motivation is when I'm writing a fic with someone else in mind, like a request or gift, or for an event, or just something I know that one person in particular will like. In the hopes I contribute something good to their day. (Even if it's smut.)

What do you wish you knew when you were first starting out writing?

I've honestly been writing since I was a child, so I wish I could tell you. XD

What I would say to someone new to writing is this: You get better at every skill by doing it. So, if you want to write, you're better off writing a ton of stories, badly at first and reworking, refining, revising, etc. than to wait until you're "good enough" to write the story you want to write. You can always write a version two or twenty-five, months or years later. Done is better than perfect, and shitty-first-drafts are better than forgotten ideas.

What is your favorite story you’ve written TO COMPLETION? Link it if you’d like and can!

Probably Homecoming, a smut-fic for Bofur in the Durin's Garage AU. Mostly because I haven't written most of my stories to completion, but also I love that fic.

What is your favorite out-of-the-box quote?

"If anyone can do it, so can you."

Which of your characters would you say has the most controversial mindset? Why do you say so and how do you personally feel about their ideals?

In one of my original fiction stories, one of the characters is an emperor who is basically taking over the world bit by bit, and has zero remorse about it. He believes that nobody can love him (for good reason unrelated to his status/warring) and has decided not to love anyone or anything either. At one point, frustrated with how passive his stolen fiancee is, he orders his brother to strangle her to death in front of him and then gets mad at her when she doesn't fight back (he orders the brother to stop, it was just like... a test?). He's very aggressive and believes that everyone only looks out for themselves, etc. so he does the same. (So her passivity sort of challenges him in a way. It's complicated.) It think it's a very toxic but easy-to-fall into worldview when someone thinks that the world is cruel to them, to decide to be cruel back. That's probably the most controversial mindset of my OCs, but that's sort of the point. Obviously I think he's wrong, and eventually things happen to change him.

If you, when you first started writing, met you now, what would younger you think?

She'd probably be confused why we stopped doing forum-RPing and be completely amazed that a single stranger anywhere in the world had read and enjoyed something we wrote all on our own. Honestly I think little me would think I was pretty cool and living the dream. Maybe I should remind myself that more often.

I really value the community in fandom spaces, which I think is why fanfiction is so appealing. We all get to play with the same dolls in different ways and go "ah yes, that's a cool way you played" and learn from each other and grow, and it's all around a shared love of stories. Storytelling is how humans make sense of the world, and community is what makes life feel like it has meaning to me. So this is a pretty cool place to be.

No pressure tags: @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @i-am-still-bb @silvermoon-scrolls @sotwk @middleearthpixie @sketch-and-write-lover @enchantzz @lordoftherazzles and OPEN TAG to anyone who wants to do it. :)

[bisexualmaedhros]

ok writing this under a readmore in case tumblr puts it into any main tags. i won't be adding any of them to this, but i know these days tumblr sometimes takes words from the post itself and i don't want to write every prominent name with a bunch of substituted letters or slashes or anything. so.

negative thoughts re: beleg/túrin (romantic) and russingon (romantic) under the cut

obligatory disclaimer that i can't tell you what to ship and i'm not trying to, i'm just putting my own opinions on my own blog, in case there happen to be anyone else who feels the same way. as the old adage goes: don't like, don't read.

i'm not going to say that these ships are completely unfounded, nor am i the type of person to insist that a ship have canon "evidence" to back it. i can see where people are coming from and why they like the ships.

i, personally, do not at all and they make me quite uncomfortable.

they do seem to be some of the biggest ships in the silm fandom though (especially russingon), so they can be pretty hard to avoid sometimes even with tags blocked. usually i would just avoid creators who make content for these types of ships altogether, but it feels like everyone who makes art for the silmarillion consistently ships at least one.

in other media, i'd be a lot harder on ships like these (incest with russingon and uncomfortable age gap with túrin/beleg, but i'll get to that second one later). but at least with the silmarillion they feel... less out of line than in other stories, if that makes sense? silm feels more like reading a mythology collection rather than a novel, and often in mythology there are relationships that are... not great. and i could probably write a whole separate thing about that, but that's for another time if i ever do it at all.

túrin/beleg & russingon still make me greatly uncomfortable, but they at least feel a little more tonally in line with their original work than other instances i've seen of popular incest or age gap ships in other fandoms. whatever. it's just frustrating sometimes, with maedhros being my favorite silm character, that he's 1/2 of an incredibly popular incest ship. it's already bad enough when you like a character that's part of a main ship because then it's a lot harder to find fan content for them that's not purely ship-related, but the incest thing definitely makes it a lot worse.

ok, i'll talk about the túrin/beleg thing now. usually i'm kind of a sucker for the doomed immortal/mortal stories (i love beren and lúthien!). i think the lifespan/aging thing between humans and elves can pose some complications, sure, but generally i'm okay with it as long as they meet when they're both adults. i mean, the same with humans in general— a seven year age gap between a 19 year old and a 26 year old is a bigger difference developmentally than one between a 49 year old and a 56 year old.

but the thing that makes me uncomfortable is that beleg knew túrin since the latter was a child. if i'm understanding everything, he was sort of a mentor figure for túrin? right? so i really don't like the implications of them later having a romantic relationship (or, god, i hope that at least if they do, it is actually later).

i'm not saying you should never write about fucked up situations or relationships. i'm a fan of the silmarillion, for god's sake. i'm just talking about stuff that makes me personally uncomfortable. AND. i've been thinking about it.

i may be totally off the mark here, but it does sometimes feel like these ships are kind of born out of a lot of fandom's impulse to ship whatever handsome (usually white) guys they can, rather than looking at alternatives or appreciating non-romantic bonds.

don't take this as a "men aren't allowed to be just friends anymore!" thing. what i'm saying is:

why do these relationships have to be viewed through a romantic lens in order for their intensity to be seen as justified or worthy of portraying in art?

is it not enough that maedhros and fingon be cousins and best friends, supporting each other through The Horrors despite everything? why does it have to be romantic for people to appreciate its weight?

is it not enough for beleg to be a dear mentor to túrin, one who didn't give up on him once? a friend? a companion?

the prevalence of these ships in specifically romantic contexts just feels to me like another example of how many people view non-romantic love as secondary or not as interesting. and it kind of feels like it can sometimes keep us from appreciating and building on the dynamics given to us in canon already.

[troglobite]

re: my lrb abt autistic processing (copied & pasted from my rambling abt it in the tags of the reblogs, then i didn't wish to be Perceived so i bailed and am posting abt it here instead)

i'm also now thinking abt something v interesting

okay so part of the reason i pursued an english degree was bc i think this process make literature analysis intuitive to me? i'm guessing

in hs we were being taught how to write higher level analytical essays, and all of the steps and assignments to learning it and parsing out the different pieces of planning and writing the essay were actively detrimental to my ability to do so

i was like STOP MAKING ME GO THROUGH A BOOK AND PULL OUT QUOTES AT RANDOM STOP MAKING ME WRITE MULTIPLE DIFFERENT THESIS STATEMENTS STOP IT!!!

bc i could finish reading a thing, be given a direction for a prompt, and then go okay here's my thesis statement and entire essay concept

and to the traditional teaching and order of operations that was Wrong, bc How Do You Have a Thesis Without Evidence? but i DID have evidence, i just had to go back and find it now that i'd coalesced it into an argument

i did the processing of details and evidence WHILE READING. it made no sense to me that you would finish reading something and NOT have an observation or argument to make abt its mechanics and purpose.

luckily my teacher was really neurodivergent-friendly, even if neither of us knew that's what it was at the time, and he went yeah no problem you can skip these assignments or do them differently. you can already do this just keep practicing i don't wanna mess w your process.

so that was v nice, highlight of my young education. is this bragging? i'm not gonna put this in the tags i'm making a separate post.

okay copied & pasted section over

but the reason this feels like bottom-up autistic processing is--

none of the other kids would have a Clear Idea abt what the book was already abt. the way it was often taught was more open-ended in our classes that year bc the point was to encourage us to read critically ourselves and learn to develop this skill. and so to them, they go into a book and are lost in the forest bc they can't see/understand the trees. they get to the end and are like What Just Happened. then they have to go back and start looking at all the trees again, now that they have a rough idea of the size and shape of the forest, and maybe the type of forest it is (rain, temperate, conifer, etc.)

so i'm not a genius master at this, but i feel like the only "big" concept i need is Story, or Book, or whatever. and then i walk in and immediately start encountering and identifying trees.

by the time i walk out the other side, i've already collected all of that information as part of my journey. so as soon as i look back, i have all the information to make sense of the Larger Context of the forest, and i go "oh i see. so THAT'S why this thing/pattern happened."

that's what feels bottom-up to me

i was honestly worried and gaslighting myself like "no that's definitely top-down" but it's not. if it was, i would need to what kind of book or story beforehand, etc., and have that to guide me. but i think that's counterintuitive, personally. i think it can become obvious what someone thinks, really, when reading their writing (given that they are/were in a temporal and geographical context close enough to your own to have reference points). then getting extra information abt that later is further helpful.

anyway there's my little bit of reflection for the day.

which unfortunately isn't terribly helpful w my ongoing crisis of identity at the moment bc it doesn't answer many questions, but it does sort of offer empirical evidence that that is something i'm good at, that my brain likes to do.

and also i want to own up to the fact that sometimes i finish reading something and i go "idk wtf to make of that. goddamn."

and that could be bc it was poorly written or was trying to say a lot. it could be bc it didn't mesh w my brain. it could be bc i need the act of writing abt the piece of writing to understand it (the way i have to talk out loud to understand my feelings abt something). it could be many things. but point being: i'm not trying to brag that i'm some magnificent genius, and i'm not trying to say this particular thing should be Easy for all autistic ppl. the way my brain works w words and stories is such that the bottom-up processing applies here and works well, but it's not the case for everyone.

i wish i hadn't spent the last minute or two typing that up bc i guarantee no one reads this and less self-deprecatingly, i'm tired of feeling like i have to anticipate a negative reaction to something and i'm tired of being responsible for someone misreading this and taking it as an insult if they weren't good at this same thing or assuming this makes either me or them not autistic bc we're not the same on this point

i just need the baseline understanding to be that NOTHING IS UNIVERSAL and ppl talking abt their own experiences is JUST THAT AND NOTHING MORE. it is also an invitation for ppl to relate. but y'know. anyway.

how and why am i managing the feelings of hypothetical ppl who probably won't even read this? i'm v tired.

[conarcoin]

here is a collection of what i think are some of the best bits of input people have listed in the ao3 mcyt tag survey i ran. (don’t worry, i’ll be posting the full results later!)

“The longer any changes are put off, the harder it will be to make any changes, as the catalog of works grows exponentially larger.”

“The Dream smp fandom has more than sixty thousand fanfics. I think it should probably have its own tag by now.”

“Various MCRP fandom communities have been pushing for individual tags for a very long time now. Minecraft has evolved into, and has honestly been for some time, a large medium for roleplay based stories. It does honestly get a bit frustrating to see that these efforts have gone next to nowhere.”

“when people complain about real names being used, they’re very genuine about not being able to recognize some names. screen names are just much more well-known and using them pleases those people, and those with privacy concerns for content creators”

“If we could have different Video Blogging RPF wranglers for each major section, a lot of these problems would be resolved.”

“I don't care abt the moral outrage of RPF vs not RPF, names versus usernames, etc. I only care about the practicality, which is Not Good”

“A lot of people I have spoken to IRL have said the only reason they do not use AO3 is because it looks hard to use. Making things like tagging and format a little simpler would bring in a lot of new readers.”

“Please separate the characters and fandoms. Just please separate the characters and fandoms. Your website's main draw is it's tagging system - when it doesn't work with such a huge fandom, your credibility is deeply damaged.”

(MORE UNDER CUT)

“I do not know if this is helpful, but I wish you luck trying to categorize OG mcyt (especially Team Crafted.) I was in the fandom at the time--lots of it was RPF but not all of it. However they did not generally have rp series, so people just kind of made up their own worlds for the "characters." I don't know how y'all will categorize that since it's not necessarily RPF but also has no rp category. Maybe those fics are old enough that they can be pushed to later since the modern mcyt is the more pressing issue.”

“Minecraft has its own group that centers around the game itself. With the introduction of content creators and individual servers, this causes an overlap to form where both parties end up finding fics that they dont want or care about. This also pushes the smaller mcyt/other minecraft-adjacent communities to the side as the main tags get filled with the larger fandoms, and as a result, those smaller fics stay smaller and dont get the recognition they deserve when their community has to sift through so much to find it.”

“I'd really appreciate a steady line of communication from fandoms to the tag wranglers, if possible.”

“Please listen to the fans as they know what should happen in their own community. Especially mcyt fans, we police our fandom extremely well, we are more organized than most fandoms of our size (*cough* homestuck *cough*) and this size makes it hard to not agglomerate around plateforms that support us. Making these changes will earn you a kind of loyalty that is extremely hard to break.”

“Look for volunteers who can help manually re-sort fiction that has been tagged incorrectly because there’s no proper tags (such as people using “No fandom”, “original work”, “minecraft (video game)” etc. to tag MCYT RPF, or SMP character fiction). There are many people who have used AO3 for a long time and who are into for example the Dream SMP, who can be consulted about how the tags should be structured.”

“Apparently the tag wranglers for HC literally aren't allowed to touch MC rn, which is why things like Watchers haven't been canonised. The Minecraft tag just isn't allowed to be touched (or wasn't). This was also the case with the Hermitcraft tag for a while, until this year. I think there's ~3 wranglers for the HC tag. They're all in the fandom and doing great work with what they can. This is something that has to be taken higher up than the normal wranglers. They are trying their best but there's literally nothing they can do rn until ppl higher up let them. They are also very very frustrated with things!”

“Previously I have written for TTRPG shows like Critical Role, etc, and they aren't grouped in with RPF, and have specific tags for the characters the performers play.  The way fandoms like Critical Role are tagged seem like they would work for Minecraft RP- separate character tags also give authors and readers the ability to differentiate between characters that one roleplayer plays, when they have multiple characters.”

“Please give each large SMP its own tag. By "large" I'm referring to its viewerbase. BearSMP, Tubbo's modded SMP, DreamSMP, OriginsSMP, EmpiresSMP, 3rd Life SMP, etc. I understand if it is difficult to keep up with which ones are "large enough", perhaps something easier that could be implemented is an easier to use suggestion box that keeps track of which tags or categories have been requested for addition so that no one can spam request a tag or category's addition, and once a tag or category has been requested enough (perhaps 1k-3k requests?) it is added.”

“Tag wranglers do good work, and I hope this entire RPF situation can work out. Also, privately, I'm sick of younger mcyt fans normalizing rpf. rp fanfiction is fictional media fanfiction, rpf is about Actual Real People and when it crosses into territories in which, say, real people are "bashed" (slandered) or it involves smut or snuff/violence? That should not be accepted as okay, because what's okay in fanfiction isn't always ok in RPF, because that's about Real People. and dsmp fic and mcyt rpf fic being in the same tag blurs that boundary, so that's one of the worst things. to me, personally. ANYWAY, thank you for making this form, best of luck going forward in this matter.”

“The ao3 tagging system overall is very good, but for the Minecraft RP community it can be highly upsetting. I have friends who refuse to post their Minecraft roleplay fanfiction to ao3 because they don't want to associate their work with the RPF tag or have to repeatedly clarify that the work is not about the content creators. It also makes it hard to find good fanfiction that doesn't break the content creators' boundaries. Because of the overall issue with it being labelled as RPF, I feel like many people in the fandom have kind of given up on tagging their works correctly, whether it's the additional tags or the relationship tags. Please consider working on separating the Minecraft roleplay fandoms from the RPF tags and making sure the character tags don't lead to their actors. Thank you so much for all the work you do.”

“I think it'd be helpful if the wranglers were in the sub fandoms, or had sources that were for an insider point of view to assist with making the tag system as accurate as possible”

“the ‘alternate universe - [insert here] smp setting’ tag is just. a weird choice. it’s not accurate and would overlap say actual 3rd life content with things that take the same concept of 3rd life just for an example.”

“For creators tagged only with their real name (such as FoolishGamers who is tagged Noah Brown), i would appreciate at the least their username/online pseudonym being folded into their character tag for clarity: in my example, I didn’t know that was his name til I tried to tag for FoolishGamers, which I find really irritating”

“I know it's complicated but y'all just have to start from somewhere because these fics aren't going anywhere. Just start with separating fandom tags from rpf section and create a general/umbrella tag under something like MCRP etc. The rest will come.”

“It's more important for the content creator's minecraft username/ character name to show up than their real life name. Most fics are about a character in minecraft, and not about the content creators irl. Even for those who write rpf, they don't need people's real names. They could just add a tag that says "rpf" or "content creators" and it would be perfectly clear. Also, people who, for example, search for Mumbo Jumbo rpf, will not get confused if the character tag just shows up as Mumbo Jumbo. Nobody wants to search for "Oliver Brotherhood" even if they're looking for rpf.”

“The Tales from the SMP characters should get their own tags- as in, I mean that their tags shouldn't be made synonyms of their actors tags or the broader character tags. Sometimes you find work arounds, but other than that you have to sort it out manually within the "Web Series: Tales of the SMP" tag.”

“heres hoping this does anything, since i know tons of people have already tried to contact the tag wranglers and got no response. theres a friend of mine who is a tag wrangler and talked to the others and the people already working ALSO dont like how the tags are. so. hopefully this isnt a waste of time :')”

“It would be nice if I could filter out the dsmp crossovers.”

“I have a vehement hatred for actors and characters being one in the same as it perpetuates the idea of “mcrp fans just write rpf, ew.” Also! I hate that things like Las Nevadas are tagged as “Las Nevadas on the Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF)” it is so annoying to tag locations or times oh my god. This tagging system has made the “Not RPF” tag spike in popularity and that is not a good thing. It just shows it is a mess.”

“There isn’t a large overlap between fiction written about the character a mcyt plays based around the events of that server and RPF. Character tags for mcyt rp characters should be separate from the content creators that play them, and also canonically established alter egos that are a different entity from the main character (eg Evil Xisuma, Helsknight, Sam Nook) should have their own character tag.”

“AO3 has an ongoing issue with explicit rpf fic being written about real teenagers. This is unlikely to change, as they've continously doubled down on their policy. What can change though, is to have fics that are tagged as “No Fandom” or “None” or some other indication of "I don't want this to be in the main tag” be sent to the “No Fandom” main tag instead. It's deeply frustrating to see dozens of fics with the words 'not character tagged you searched for this' in the fandom tags for either Video Blogging RPF or Minecraft, when it's very clear that even if someone tags their explicit rpf fic as “no fandom” because they don't want it to be in the main tag, ao3 will still make it appear under the Video Blogging RPF tag. It's also inconsistent- I learnt about the No Fandom tag because of it, as some fics do get sent to the No Fandom works but others get linked back to Video Blogging RPF.”

[jortsaaaaaaart]

To Be Forgotten Amongst Friends chp1

Omega! Reader x avengers

Hello all! I revamped my story "ikaros" and this is the new story! Also the name is long rip.

Trigger warnings (later chapters mostly)- ptsd, noncon, kidnapping, human experimentation, Stockholm and lima syndrome

The following chapters will be posted on- https://archiveofourown.org/works/33890977     (seriously- may not post here that often cause i hate the tagging system- go check out ao3)

It's a beautiful day in New York and you're a terrible, no good, thief. 

You were considered New York’s very own Robin Hood. Two hundred ATM robberies in two years, the money flying out of the machines and into the hands of people who needed it. The banks, collectively, had lost over $300,000 from the ATMs alone. But of course, it wasn't just the ATMs. A rash of robberies had spread over the East coast. Most were digital, companies funneling their own money to offshore accounts that wanted nothing to do with U.S. intervention. The FBI were notified, then the CIA, and eventually- after a daring cyber attack against the DOD- SHIELD itself turned it's one eyed gaze onto you.

Nick Fury saw something the other agencies didn't. You had certain gifts that made your line of work incredibly easy. Whether they were natural mutations or some sort of superpower, they allowed you to break into some of the most secure networks known to man. He had almost found you when SHIELD fell and his resources vanished. After the dust cleared he was forced to start from scratch. Hunting you and the remnants of Hydra down at the same time wasn't easy, but, in a strange twist of fate, he found someone else that was searching for you too.

+++

New York was filled with so many people. Most of them were good, in your opinion. (Well, maybe half, actually.) You spent most of your off time working on "projects" or walking around the city. You had become a fixture at the local Bodega. Single omegas were extremely  rare, marked single omegas were almost unheard of. The mark gave you certain freedoms other omegas, sadly, didn't have. It drove away most potential suitors and the ones who were particularly bold would be given a taste of your powers. Once the burrow had gotten used to your presence they saw you as a generous person, but a secretive one. Someone who took no shit even with their designation. You gave to the community and different Omega rights groups in the area. After years of watching you quietly go about helping people you had been welcomed into the burrow's heart with open arms.

You loved helping people in your own way. You loved it just as much as you hated corporations and the police, but when you could make an ATM spew it's contents out into the poorest streets of Brooklyn or make Fox News send a million dollars to Planned Parenthood, you could have the best of both worlds.

At least, for a time. All good things had to end, right? That's what you told yourself as the redhead picked her way through the crowd towards you. 

Seeing an avenger in your neighborhood was an odd occurrence. It was a poorer part of town, untouched in the battle of New York, and too out of the way for any super villain origin stories. In fact, you seemed to be the only mutant in the entire block. You'd always thought, if someone was going to come for you, it would be a couple of FBI agents and not the fucking Black Widow. Your brain and heart went into overdrive as you tried to remember doing anything worth the avenger's time. But there was nothing. The DOD hack had been almost a year ago and all you did was release government files showing attacks on civilians overseas. It hardly seemed like an avengers worthy crime, especially when Black Widow herself had leaked government secrets before.

Any hope of her not not looking for you was dashed when her eyes locked onto yours. She tilted her head, asking a silent question. 

The burst of adrenaline sent you careening through the lunchtime crowds. You couldn't feel anyone on the rooftops but there was a large form blocking your path, trying to box you in. They were stronger and faster but you knew the environment. You ducked into Charlie's, your sneakers skidding on the asphalt as you took the sharp turn. The person behind the counter lazily looked up as you walked to the back. They knew you well enough to not care, they also weren't paid enough to care. The alley would open up into a busy side street. More people meant a better chance to blend in and get away. You were almost to the end when the door opened behind you. Black Widow and fucking Captain America stepped into the alley. For a moment the three of you stood in something akin to a standoff. 

You felt wildly undressed for this life-threatening situation.

"We just want to talk, (Y/N)" Captain America told you, hands raised. The unmistakable stink of an alpha radiated from the captain. You were momentarily thankful for your mark dulling its effect on you. Though, the blonde's scent was tinged with something hauntingly familiar. Something you didn't want to recognize.

Behind him, Black widow's free hand went to her ear. "Target is in the alley between 31st and 32nd," A twitch of your finger and the line went dead. Her hand dropped to the gun at her hip.

"I'm feeling pretty under equipped for this 'conversation'," You replied, slowly raising your hands as well, wondering if they could feel what you were doing. They didn't react and you slowly let your power seep from you.

Natasha was the first to react, drawing her gun and spinning around. Steve looked at her with confusion as her wide eyes scanned the alley as if she was seeing ghosts. She was afraid he realized, a cold feeling settling in his stomach. He moved towards her and you took off running. You felt him hesitate then take off after you, gaining on you with an embarrassingly low number of strides. You tried your powers again, stronger this time, but his focus was unwavering. He was almost to you now and you were running out of options. That’s when the alpha in him came out.

“Omega!” He snarled, “Stop!” Your feet slowed down immediately. It wasn’t as strong as your own alpha’s command would be, but the super soldier certainly commanded respect and obedience. You were forced to stand still, eyes burning holes in the asphalt, as the alpha’s footsteps grew closer. You really didn't want to do this but it looked like you had no choice. Your jaw clenched, and you spun around when his hand grabbed your arm. The blonde's eyes widened as you placed a palm to his chest. 

He barely had time to glance down at your hand before the electricity hit him.

The 1,000 volts you sent into him were supposed to stun him or send him flying, allowing you to escape. However, his muscles spasmed just a bit stronger than you intended. In an instant his grip crushed the bones in your arm and sent the two of you careening backwards into a brick wall. Natasha would find you a moment later, passed out on top of the super soldier, a sizable hole in the wall.

You woke up in an unfamiliar bed, a few blurry white shapes milled about in the corners of your vision. You couldn't remember how you got here, or where here was. All your senses seemed to be dulled. Your wrist was throbbing and each time you opened your eyes the room came in and out of focus. You closed your eyes, opting to ignore the funhouse effect and focus on the sounds around you. The beeping of the monitors, footsteps on concrete, and two low voices.

"She's alright, Buck, I promise." Steve's voice wavered in and out of your consciousness bringing with it the memory of how you got into this bed. "She did something to Nat and ran before I could explain. I wasn't expecting her powers to be so strong."

"I should have come with you," Another voice snarled. Your heart skipped a beat at the low growl. You knew that voice. It evoked a sickening combination of need and terror and you couldn't remember why. "She wouldn't have gotten hurt if I had. What idiot doesn't know omegas are fragile?!"

"It was an accident!" His voice raised slightly before sighing. "I know you're worried, but she's fine."

The scent you had smelled on Steve earlier swirled around the room. Metal and burning pine, it affected you just like the voice had, triggering both panic and yearning. You knew it somehow. The memory was there somewhere, tucked away where it couldn’t hurt you. Where it should have been forgotten.

The scent grew unbearably strong as he leaned over you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. When he pulled back he wasn't expecting his eyes to catch yours. 

His expression softened as soon as he realized you were awake. "Omega," Bucky whispered reverently. Stormy blue eyes stared down at you with love and adoration, watching the color drain from your face. "Doll?" 

Somewhere in the back of your mind you could hear the panicked beeping of the machines and Steve trying to calm you down. But it didn't matter. All that you could feel was the need to get far, far, away from this man. You didn't know how you knew him but you knew he was dangerous. You knew he had hurt you. That's why, as he reached out to gently cup your face, you slapped his hand away. 

"Get away from me!" You gasped, voice breaking. You scooted back and tried to back up as far as possible. Your shaky legs barely held your weight as you slid off the bed. Pure terror coursed through your veins, it was the only thing keeping you on your feet. You found yourself pressed into the corner of the room while the men stared at you in shock. Steve and Bucky gaped like you had just told them the Germans had actually won WWII. Eyebrows knit together, blue eyes wide and frantic, Bucky looked like he was in emotional turmoil.

“(Y/N), doll, it’s okay. It’s me. It’s your alpha.” Bucky reached out to you carefully as a low purr rumbled from his chest.

You felt the purr relax you and dull your senses even more. It was nauseating. “I don’t have an alpha! And I don’t know who the hell you are!” You tried to shout and grit your teeth but the words came out in broken sobs, betraying your weakness. Who was this? Why was he the most terrifying thing you had ever seen?

Your teeth were bared at this point but the man kept coming towards you. The tunnel vision and rapid shallow breaths were the only warnings your body gave you as it reverted to its animalistic omega framework. Bucky watched as, in slow motion, your eyes went blank as your body gave out. 

+++

Your alpha held your body to his chest in disbelief. He had expected some shock at seeing him but this went far beyond his expectations. It had been over three years since he'd last seen you. Since he'd last been able to drink in your scent. He'd figured you might not recognize him at first. He had changed a lot over the years. No longer under Hydra's control his physical appearance, demeanor, and scent had changed. But your body should've known your alpha. 

"What was that?" Steve asked. "Why did she react like that when she has your mark?" The two alphas were on edge. Seeing a vulnerable omega drop triggered their protective instincts. Steve desperately wanted to take you and hold you close, ease you out of the drop. If the alpha holding you was anyone other than his closest friend and packmate he would have ripped you out of his grasp immediately. For now he'd have to hold himself back.

"She didn't remember me." Bucky nuzzled his head into your neck, nursing your mark softly. After a moment he pulled back and gazed at your unchanged features. He couldn't wake you from this drop that easily. He pressed in harder this time, teeth lining up with the scar perfectly, but there was still no change. No purr, command, or bite was waking you up.

"We should let her rest, Buck. The pain meds will wear off soon and we'll try again. . . Bring her to the den. She'll need to get used to everyone's scents sooner or later." Steve laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. It was a gentle but firm suggestion. He knew tensions were high, the den, with it's heavy curtains and plush blankets, would calm down his friend and the omega. With little argument the brunette lifted you up and carried you to the den. It was aptly named and extremely well constructed thanks to Stark. Curtains blocked off all light from the windows, mattresses were inlaid into the ground, and the temperature was always cool. It was one good thing about being in a pack with that narcissist, Bucky thought dryly.

Steve led them into a cozy corner of the room. The captain hummed happily as they moved the pillows and blankets, creating a makeshift nest for the three of them. The feeling of the omega pressing into his chest was addictive. He couldn't wait for you to remember your alpha.

The sooner you remembered your bond with Bucky the sooner the rest of the pack, Steve included, could court you.

[seokiloquy]

Freeze Frame Pt 2 - Hinata Shoyo

Au: Regular (post-timeskip)

Tags/Warnings: GN! Reader, past friends to lovers, alcohol, Hinata is approximately 25 while the reader is about 22-23)

Word Count: 15k+

Pt 1 | Pt 2

"Alright, I'm off!"

"Do you have your key?"

You stopped in the doorway, patting down your pockets. "Yup!"

Pedro came out of his room, cracking his neck while he stretched. "Do you want me to drive you?"

"No. Thanks, though." You picked up the large black bag by your feet, grunting while getting it onto your back.

"Are you walking?"

"Biking."

Pedro stopped mid-stretch. "Shoyo's old bike?"

"Ya, might as well put it to use. And I'm nervous, so hopefully, it'll work some of that energy off."

"Are you sure you don't want to drive?"

"Confident."

"Okay. Good luck."

You smiled at your roommate and closed the door behind you.

Being hired right out of school was a blessing. A bigger paycheck to compete with Pedro's streaming income and just taking better care of the two of you on top of getting to spoil your godchild senseless because Heitor and Nice deserved it. It was perfect.

Except for the fact that the club hired you after looking at your portfolio without any interview or entry tour. Nothing. You had only been able to talk with your boss, Thomas, over the phone, primarily of him excitedly rambling about how excited he was to have you be a part of the crew.

It wasn't normal, far from it. It made you anxious, stomach-churning at the thought of having to work in an environment that was out of the norm. No face-to-face meeting? Who does that?

You were practically going in blind, minus the fact that they had bought you a brand new, hefty, professional camera that you managed to get some practice in with Heitor's help.

Its weight made riding the bike harder, though.

Despite getting to listen to the sounds of the city while riding, you could barely hear it over your panting.

If you didn't gain the physic of a god from these rides, you promised yourself to just take Pedro up on his offer of the car.

Your boss was waiting for you inside the front doors of the stadium when you arrived. He carried his mug tightly at his side, using his other hand to shake yours. His toothy smile made his cheeks crease behind his beard.

"You're here! Happy to finally meet you!"

"You're very upbeat. Hope it's not alcohol in that mug of yours." And you did it again. You bit your tongue as soon as the words fell out of your mouth.

His smile shifted to a look of shock. You worried that he was about to fire you on the spot. But before you could grimace any tighter and run back outside to where the bike was waiting for you. The man bellowed a rumbling laugh, hand falling to your shoulder with a few firm pats.

"You're perfect! Don't be afraid to boss the players and coaches around, okay. It's your job to make them look good. So a smile always helps."

Even with the camera's bag weighing heavy on your shoulders, it suddenly felt like it had been lifted.

"Well, let's hope I don't accidentally insult them in the process."

Thomas slapped your shoulder. "Just wear a big smile, and they'll be fine. They've all got tough skin anyways. Hecklers run rampant."

He walked you around the stadium, bringing you to meet different staff members and take their picture as a sort of orientation to the team. Other photographers and videographers did the same upon arrival, a tradition that started a few years ago when Thomas got promoted.

You got every person to make their favourite volleyball move for your collection.

"The players will be here in about an hour. And fans will start piling in about another hour later. How about we get you into the change room with one of the filmers to get some shots?"

"That sounds okay. But what about during the game?"

"Well, since I'm in charge of what visuals get produced in this department, I also get to have a say in who we hire. And I like your style, so just do what you do best."

"Are you sure? Is there nothing you specifically want?"

"I want your best work!"

"Thomas, that gives me no direction."

"You'll figure it out."

"Oh lord."

The man chuckled, tipping the brim of his mug for a sip. "I've been meaning to ask, some of the photos in your portfolio were of beach volleyball players. One of them was that Ninja Shoyo wasn't it?"

Despite not having anything to drink yourself, the saliva in your mouth decided to slip down the wrong tube, sending you into a coughing fit. Thomas rubbed your back with an occasional pat but continued to sip happily at his drink. 

"Ninja Shoyo? I haven't heard that name in a long while. I thought people had forgotten about him."

"Oh, they sure did forget. Well, at least until a couple of weeks ago."

"How come?"

"You haven't heard? He'll be here with his team later. He signed with Asas São Paulo."

You nearly threw up, as if your body thought that coughing wasn't enough of a visceral reaction and decided to try and send you to another plane of existence with an empty stomach. Luckily, the brand new camera in your hands was strapped around your neck, or Shoyo would have inadvertently and indirectly been the cause of another break, and you had run out of orange tape long ago.

"He's what?!"

Thomas grinned behind the top of his mug, "Oh, so you do know him."

Talk about going in blind.

You called Pedro as soon as you had the chance. Pleading him to tell you if he knew about Shoyo's return to Brazil.

"Oh ya, forgot about that."

"You forgot?! I'm about to see him again for the first time in, what is it, four years? And you didn't think to tell me that the idiot that robbed me of my heart before leaving the country just decided to pop back up without a hello?!"

"Well, you did give it to him, and to be fair, he isn't in Rio. He had to go straight to São Paulo. So it's not like you would've seen him meditating at the beach or playing keep up with Heitor." Something about the comment made your chest ache. "I guess it just slipped my mind. Maybe I thought you would've gotten the news from him already."

You didn't get the news. Now it was hitting your face like one of Shoyo's spikes.

You kept yourself ducked behind your camera as you navigated around the edge of the playing field. Despite being a photographer for Rio's team, your eyes kept trailing back to the other side of the court. Half the time they did, the ball wasn't there for a good excuse. Still, they stuck like glue, unable to peel away.

Cheers roared louder as the home team got another point. It was a close game, nerve-racking for Rio as São Paulo was known as one of the best. They just had to get further ahead in the race. You captured a photo of the wing spiker celebrating and his teammates patting his back. 

Walking around the court's corner, you stepped over the safety matting and crouched down at the centre of the pitch before the padded post opposite the referee. Idly listening to the chatter of the teams on either side of you, you lifted your camera when you noticed Rio's front row, running closer to form a block. You zoomed in.

"Heads!"

There was pain. First your head, then your side, and then it felt like all air had been forced out of your lungs. Something smashed onto the court floor. You weren't sure if it was the other side of your dizzied head or something else. Once able, you wheezed, taking in all the air stolen from you. Sound started to roll in like thunder. Cheers and stomping feet from the stadium around you rushed into your ears with a throbbing force. When you opened your eyes, you were sideways on the floor, staring at your brand new camera, which was worth much more than your monthly pay, cracked along the glass of the first lens. You rolled over.

Brown eyes, dark copper, greedily absorbing all the light in the room. They seemed to suck you into them as well.

His weight was on top of you, and even if you could move, his arms kept you caged against the polished floor. You tried to look away. Up where you could see the players of both teams looking shocked, down to where his legs were resting on top of yours, or at his forearm where his muscles were tense with keeping his weight up. You tried, but Shoyo always was a bit greedy for attention.

It was a whispered question, a single word. It took you a half-second to realize it was your name being spoken. 

"Shoyo—"

Hands were on you, hulling both of your forms off the floor and away from each other. Someone's thumb pressed into the welt on your temple. It stung and caused a rippling throb to move underneath your skin, but you didn't wince. Instead, your eyes locked onto the brown ones set a couple metres away instead of inches, keeping you frozen in place.

São Paulo lost that game by a tight margin. Though many fans claimed that they would've won had Shoyo not been forced to sit down for the last couple rallies of the game.

"Pedro!"

The restaurant was bustling. People chattered over the clinking of their utensils against the plates. Waiters ran around, balancing their trays filled with filled or emptied plates and cups while the legs danced beneath them, carrying their bodies from one end of the building to the other in seconds.

To the dark-haired Brazilian, it felt normal, but the copper-haired volleyball player was going through another dose of culture shock, wedging himself in the corner to get away from the noise.

Pedro waved and slid between chairs to wash his hands in the bathroom before returning and settling down in the seat opposite his friend. A waiter arrived at their table quickly, asking if they wanted a drink other than water while reading over the menu.

"Cachaça," Shoyo replied, not even looking at the paper for options. Pedro was fine with the water.

"Been a while since you've had some, huh?"

The alcohol arrived poured into a short glass that perfectly fit his palm. Shoyo refilled his glass of water in preparation.

"Oh ya! I tried looking for some sugar-cane alcohol in Japan, but there wasn't a lot, and it didn't taste the same. Nothing beats alcohol from the source!"

Pedro breathed a laugh. "Well, there's lots of cachaça here."

"Lots of sake too! Makes me feel closer to home," Shoyo sighed, rubbing his stomach. "It feels good to be back."

"Does it? You're in a completely different city this time around. Rio and São Paulo are quite different. You must be enjoying the nightlife a bit more there."

Shoyo opened his mouth to reply just as the waiter returned.

"Oh, I want some moqueca. Pedro?"

"I'll just get the barbeque meat?"

"Do you want to get some quindim for dessert?"

"Sounds good."

The waiter left quickly. Pedro waited for a moment before looking back at Shoyo, who was taking a sip from his glass of water. "So the nightlife?"

"It's different. Being on a team, the players like to spend at least one night each week going out for drinks. It's fun, but I'm more used to practicing every minute, even at night. They're more insistent on going out than they are back home. But that just might be a matter of the people."

Pedro nodded. "Have you at least settled into your apartment?"

"Almost! It's a bit bigger than our apartment was. I have a couch and a big tv! I mostly use it to watch games, though. It's also pretty close to the stadium, which makes me able to bike there."

"I'm guessing you got a bike as soon as you arrived?"

"Ya! A real cool one too. I do miss being able to bike near the beach, though." Shoyo paused, gulping at his cachaça while taking one of the small ice cubes into his mouth. Pedro heard it break between Shoyo's teeth before it melted away. "So, what have you been up to?"

"Well, streaming really took off,"

"Oh ya, I've been watching." 

Pedro smiled. "So I sped up my university progress and graduated a year early. And with the money, we managed to afford an apartment that had a bit more room that we could use as an office."

Pedro relaxed in his chair, sipping his water. Across from him, Shoyo's eyes widened, and a smile grew between his cheeks. The waiter came and placed their meals down before them just as this happened.

"We? Did you find a partner?"

Pedro choked and hurriedly set his glass down, grabbing a napkin to wipe the water from the corners of his lips. 

"Ah, no, don't get any ideas!"

Shoyo's nose scrunched, and his smile became sharper. "What, are you embarrassed? You don't have to be Pedro. We're friends! Tell me about your life!"

"I'm not dating anyone, Shoyo!"

"Are you sure? Then who are you living with?"

“I don’t think that’s too important.”

“Come on, tell me.”

“Shoyo.”

“Tell me!”

Your name fell hurriedly from Pedro's lips.

Shoyo stilled. The gamer watched his older friend's expression dull, smile disappearing, and the teasing glint in his eye vanished. 

Shoyo blinked, took a deep breath and stood from his chair. He said, "I'm going to go wash my hands before we eat." Slowly, as if another sentence was running through his mind, and walked toward the bathroom.

As he washed his hands in the sink, he brought a few scoops of water to his face, letting it cool down the heat that was starting to pool in his cheeks.

When he returned, there was a list of questions ready in his mind.

You had been eager to distract yourself with work. Between a racing heart and a wandering mind fighting each other, you wanted nothing more than to sit in your office and work quietly while Pedro's talking became white noise in the background. Anything to forget about crashing into Shoyo for the first time in years.

When you and Predo moved into your new apartment and set up your office, you both knew things would function differently than before. Being the largest secluded room in the apartment, the two of you had decided to split the room down the centre, putting shelves on opposite walls to fill with your individual things. 

Your side carried photo books, art books, albums, cameras, lenses, tripods, and all the works you could ever need. Pedro was kind enough to buy you a drone for your birthday under the condition that you could help him film things with it should he ever make a video outside. The drone sat proudly on your shelf, one of the few things visible at a glance. You frequently used it at the beach, often taking pictures of the athletes on the sand and water.

Pedro used his shelves to mostly display his manga collection and some merchandise, both his and others (many of them being One Piece related). He had even taken to displaying swords on your shared wall. You would watch him pull one off the wall from your side of the room and show his viewers.

You shared a large desk. A custom-made one that you both invested in. It was somewhat triangular, like two Ls placed back to back. You had it pushed against the back wall underneath the window. Your monitors were set up so that when you sat down, you would be able to look out the window on one side and to your roommate on the other. The desk itself was kept as clean as possible, though there was a mess of wires behind the screens.

You were editing a photo when Pedro read out a question from his stream.

"What equipment do I use? I have a camera, a mic, a monitor, com—oh, you want specifics. Um."

You spouted out the names and specifics before you could help yourself. Pedro's sclera was visible above his iris when he stared at you. It took a half-second before you slapped a hand over your mouth.

Pedro glanced at his chat and sighed. "We are not dating! Shut it!"

"Sorry."

"Well, at least they got the specifics of the equipment. Guys, I wasn't even the one that bought them. My roommate did. They work with that type of equipment."

You really didn't, but your photography and film technology classes taught you enough to at least know about them.

Pedro ended up introducing you on his stream. Not that you particularly minded. It was one of those new things that you and Pedro had discussed possibly happening when you set up the office. At least this way, you wouldn't need to do acrobatics when delivering Pedro a meal.

His fans were nice enough to leave you alone, at least. If you did gain one thing, fans of his who had an interest in sports or photography had started following your work, and by extension, your freelance portfolio was beginning to grow.

The teenager had been squinting at you for a while as you set up your gear. At first, you paid him no mind. You were where to do work, paid for by his coach. But then cents seemed to start being given once he built up the courage to say something.

He was giving sets to his teammates, eyes away from you while you snapped photos of the flying players from beside him.

"So you're Pedro's roommate?"

"Um ya. How did you know?"

The ball landed in his fingertips, you grabbed a picture, and it was back in the air without a sound.

"Well, our whole team watches him, and when you showed up, and we found out you did sports photography, we sort of asked if he could book you. Your pictures are cool."

You laughed, finger pressing into the button of your camera. "Thank you for the approval then. Was there something else you wanted to ask me?"

He quickly scratched a dark hand against his shoulder before setting another ball into the air. "Hmm, what other photography have you done?"

"Well, I mainly photograph volleyball. But I've also done other sports and have played around with aerial photographs with a drone. I'll do landscapes on occasion if I find one I like."

"Have you ever done wedding photography?"

You paused for a moment. "I have, actually. Once, about 4 years ago, for a friend's wedding. They weren't your usual photos mind you."

"You have a style, and it's cool! I'm asking because my cousin is getting married soon, and their photographer's passport still hasn't been renewed. And when I showed her your photos, she thought they were really cool."

"Passport? An abroad wedding?" Your brow brushed against your camera in a questioning movement.

"Ya. I know it's a bit short notice, but she wondered if I could ask you."

Getting away from Rio for a time would be nice. A new environment, new experiences. Something to give you some extra distance.

"After we're done, I'll give you my business card, okay?"

Shoyo stared at his mostly unpacked boxes to the shelving and furniture around his main room. The left side of the wall felt tight, blocking the window from letting in fresh air and light. Giving his back a stretch, he grabbed one of the shelves and moved it into the corner of the room. Once secured, he cracked the window and let the incoming gust of air wash over his face.

Then the honking started, blaring into his home as if the cars were right next to him. He slammed the window shut. And when the sound didn't seem to go away, he slid the shelf back into place.

Backing up into the couch, he sat soundlessly staring at the unappealing setup. The shelves were too short of reaching the ceiling but too high to fit anything on top. The bench beneath the window was cheap, already bowing under the weight of his sports bag. He rolled his back as he leaned into the cushions.

He rolled again, lifting himself off the plush seat and dropping back into it. He shifted, shuffled, and even switched to sit on another cushion entirely.

"This thing isn't that old!"

He stood up. Forgetting the window, leaving the shelves, and trying to remove the uncomfortable couch from his memory, Shoyo moved to his boxes, grabbing the one blocking the doorway for the past couple of weeks and taking it to his room.

He ignored the difficulty of finding a comfortable way to sit when he started unloading the box onto his bed. Picture frames with images from high school were on top. He set those aside to put on his shelves later. He pulled out his old pair of volleyball shoes, his originals that he couldn't throw away. Next was a blue shirt with a familiar phrase printed on the back.

Reading it over then made him realize just how long the box had been left untouched, waiting for a permanent settlement to be revealed once again.

His apartment in Tokyo had been tiny compared to his original family home and apartments in Brazil. For four years, they gathered dust. If a box had items that weren't essential for daily living, it ended up at the house in Miyagi tucked into the corners of his room and left untouched. Even on days when he stayed over and slept in his old bed.

He got to the bottom of the box.

'Happy Birthday'

His heart made a familiar flip in his chest. Remembering the baffled look on your face after he had accidentally crashed into you. Your cheeks were tight then, lips pursed and eyes blown open. He felt so close at that moment it made his brain scramble. He didn't even get a word out. But hearing his name fall off your tongue made him feel whole again. Like he was struck by lightning and came to life again. 

Shoyo pulled the wood-covered book and pulled it into his chest. His fingers stroked the back, feeling the engraved details against his callouses. His chest rose as he breathed, letting the hefty weight of the book sink into him as he exhaled, letting him hold it ever so closer. He stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, biting gently down on the rest as he fell back on the bed with a profoundly satisfying sigh.

He didn't want to hug a book, but he'd take what he could get, even if the hole in his heart only seemed to keep chipping away.

No. Shoyo brought his knees up and rolled to his side. It wasn't enough.

Pedro had gotten a call after his stream ended. It wasn't a long one, but when Pedro glanced your way with pinched lips, you immediately tilted your head in silent question.

"Um, Shoyo is wondering if he could stay over for the weekend."

Immediately, you began frantic, spinning and shuffling as you tried to find something to clamp your emotions onto. Your thigh would have to do. 

"The weekend? I'll be stuck at home until Sunday morning. I have to work on my photos and get them to Thomas. Are you sure he wants to stay here?"

Pedro nodded. "Something about feeling homesick."

"Homesick?! I thought we established that Japan was his home. Why would he come to Rio?"

"I can theorize, but I can't read his mind! What was that?" He turned to the phone again. "Oh. Okay. He bought his bus ticket already."

You sighed. "Pedro, I'm going to skewer you."

"With what? My foam swords?"

You downed a shot glass of cachaça as soon as you got out of bed on Saturday morning. According to Pedro's report, Shoyo had left and would arrive just after lunch.

The work that was waiting on your computer had little progression made in those early hours as you fidgeted in your desk chair. And soon, the source of your continuous shaking knocked on the door. Your heart stuttered, and you launched back in your chair.

"Do you want me to get it?" Pedro asked, dropping his headset to rest around his neck. "Or not?"

You were already on your feet, rushing out of the office and raising a shaky hand to open the door. You wondered if Christ the Redeemer had stepped on his mountain peak to meet you at the door, silhouetted by a bright sun that he carried on his back. But no, life wouldn't give you anything easy.

"Shoyo!" Pedro rushed out of the office and greeted the ginger, pulling him into a tight hug.

The redhead reciprocated, eyes shutting as he squeezed Pedro back.

You quietly let go of the door and backed away, mumbling a quiet desire for cachaça as you turned to the kitchen for the alcohol cabinet.

"Let me help you!" Shoyo had swiftly gotten out of Pedro's arms and to your side. His shoulder bumped against yours once he fell into pace.

Your breath hitched at the contact, forcing you to hold your breath until you knelt down and opened the cabinet door to reveal a collection of bottles.

Shoyo gulped next to you, "So, I was wondering—"

You dropped two bottles into his hand and got up to go toward the fridge. "Do you want Ice with your cachaça?"

"Nah, it'll dilute it. Anyways—"

"Okay, can you grab some glasses from the cabinet? A small one for, big for Pedro, you can choose whichever."

"Uh, sure thing!" He looked to where you pointed and pulled out three glasses, two larger ones of the selection. "So—"

"Pedro! Do you want to get started on dinner? I've got work to do!" You dropped ice into your glass and Pedro's before popping off the lid of one of the bottles and pouring them out one by one.

"Ya, no problem." Pedro shimmied his way past Shoyo to your other side, where you held up his glass for him to take without looking.

"What are you thinking, shrimp stew? Corn chowder?"

Keeping your eyes on the filling glasses, you nodded your head to the top of the fridge. "Something healthier, We've got an athlete in our midsts." You turned and slipped a now full glass into Shoyo's hand. 

Shoyo watched with raised brows as Pedro pulled a familiar-looking cookbook from on top of the fridge. "Hey, isn't that—"

"Alright, I'm off to work." You waved your empty hand behind you as you rushed down the hallways and shut the office door behind you.

Shoyo sighed as Pedro flipped through the old cookbook. "I'm being avoided."

"Sorry, dude," Pedro said before getting to the most worn-down of the pages and setting it on the counter. "But to be fair. You did drop in somewhat unannounced."

The redhead down about half of his glass before replying. "I know I just… needed to feel like I was home again."

"Do they know that?"

Shoyo downed the rest of the glass and filled it again.

When Pedro called for dinner, you came out of the office quickly typing on your phone to the point that the device tilted with every thumb hit. Seeing your form come down the hallway, Shoyo down the rest of his third glass. His stomach was stirring, but it was from hunger, nor the same kind of pre-game stomach ache that he was very familiar with; it was you. Your presence alone sent butterflies and bees a flutter as the nerves decided to attack his abdomen.

He filled his glass again while Pedro set down the food.

"You messaging Thomas?" Pedro asked, making Shoyo's head shoot in his direction.

Shoyo had the sudden urge to visit the bathroom. Never mind, maybe it was the pre-game nerves. Instead, he took a gulp from his glass.

"Ya, just keeping him up to date." You set the phone on the table and helped divide the food onto everyone's individual plates. 

Him? Him who?

Pedro went to grab water, leaving the two of you at the table. Shoyo stared at your phone while you placed food onto his plate.

He gulped. "Can I have your phone?"

You blinked at him as is pondering over his words. "Are you trying to steal my phone?"

"What?! No! I would never. I just wanted to, uh, put my phone number in."

"Oh." You looked away before placing his now full plate down and grabbing Pedro's. "Has your phone number changed?"

"Um, No."

"Mine hasn't either," You picked up the device and handed it over. "But if you want to make sure. Go ahead."

Shoyo nodded shakily as he received the device with both hands. You already had it unlocked for him. Shoyo swiped through the contacts until he found his name, and when he opened the contact, he was met with a familiar number, untouched since it was first put in.

Feeling the swirling feeling in his stomach, he dug deeper, going back into the contact list and looking for a name under 'T' where he hoped to find a man named Thomas.

Shoyo sipped on his drink when he opened the chat message, desperate to find what the conversations might be.

'The photos are done,' you had sent last.

Photos? What photos? He scrolled up, taking another sip.

'Make sure the sweat is visible in every shot!' the made had said earlier.

Why would this Thomas guy need to see sweat? You hadn't been doing boudoir, had you? Boudoir of a man no less? Ones with plenty of visible skin?

He scrolled further up in the chat history.

'We're making a gallery at the stadium entrance, so if you have any you like, send them in!'

Gallery? Stadium? A stadium for the boudoir? Shoyo never thought that would have existed.

This Thomas man was full of compliments. 'The team loved the last group of photos! Especially the celebration ones. Happy men, Happy team!'

Boudoir of many men? All at once?

Shoyo could feel his chest tighten and heat pool at his cheeks. His insides felt like they were ripping themselves apart, clawing at muscle and bone.

When Pedro returned with the water, and you sat back down in your seat, Shoyo slid the phone back to its original spot and took another hefty gulp of cachaça. It burned his throat more than before, gliding through the tight muscles.

Shoyo coughed, daring to bring up the topic. "So, who's Thomas?"

"My boss." Boudoir boss? "He's the one that hired me for the Rio volleyball team."

"Oh." The tightness in Shoyo's chest seemed to ease a bit, making the hair outside his skin feel warmer than it did for a while.

"Hmm!" Pedro hummed around his fork before pulling it out and setting it back on his plate. "I forget the ice."

As the dark-haired man shuffled into the Kitchen, Shoyo looked our way with a big inhale. "So, I wanted to ask you—"

"Pedro, can you grab the napkins too!"

"Ya!"

Shoyo sighed and refilled his class. His brain was buzzing but he needed more courage, and some liquid luck would do the trick.

You had managed to finish your work while Pedro and Shoyo were in the kitchen making dinner, but as per your household rules, you had to wash the dishes. You had to wash them, with Shoyo in the room.

Pedro gave you a look as he left the kitchen for the office. His eyebrows jerked upwards while twitching his head in a slight nod. A quick movement over Shoyo's shoulder as if saying, "You know. Handle it."

The sink filled with dirty dishes quickly became the most exciting thing in the room, along with the lathered sponge and soapy water. The scrubbing was loud and made your hand feel dryer with every second, but the bubbles rolling out of your palm and onto the surfaces of your plates were mesmerizing.

"Do you want a hand?"

You sidestepped away from Shoyo and slapped a hand to your shoulder where his breath was still tickling your skin. The plate in your hand fell into the sink with a splash. You realized seconds too late that you were still holding the sponge and that the water and soap were being squeezed out from the pressure of your grip. Still, you couldn't seem to move and drop it back in the sink.

Shoyo kept his eyes on yours as he reached for one of the towels. Once in hand, he slipped his fingers under your wrist and lifted your arm away from your shoulder. He dropped the towel in its place. He grabbed the sponge.

The room's silence was only supported by Pedro's muffled keyboard clicking in the other room. You could hear your tongue move.

"Hi," Shoyo said lightly as he pulled you back toward the sink. "We didn't really get to talk over dinner."

You nodded, grabbing the towel off your shoulder to start drying dishes. Shoyo took your place and dipped his hand into the soapy water to pull out the plate you had hastily dropped.

"I'm sorry if coming over was pushing a boundary. I know I should've asked you properly and given you time to think. I just — I wanted to get out of my apartment. I wanted to be in Rio again. I… I needed to see you."

Your heart thumped against your ribs, sending jolts into your hands which nearly made you drop another dish. With your lips between your teeth, you sucked in a deep breath and tightened your hold, keeping your eyes down.

Cold hands found your back and began to slither around your sides. 

"Shoyo!" You squirmed.

His cheek found your shoulder as he pushed the bridge of his nose against the side of your neck. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Can I just hold you for a moment, like before?" His chest was warm against your back. It only settled itself more snuggly against you as he breathed, pulling you in tighter. His calloused hands were moving against your shirt, splaying out and curling in, not unlike setting a ball.

It was burning. Your skin was on fire. Every breath of air felt molten.

The cold water on Shoyo's hands successfully soaked into your shirt, but he paid the damp cloth no mind while he continued his ministrations. 

You twitched, fingers wrapping around his wrists to try and pull him off. "Shoyo, you're drunk, you should go lie down—"

"Shh." His fingers pushed into your skin. "Please, just a little longer."

A shaky gasp escaped you. Your head fell back against his shoulder, and you lifted your hand to card through his warm hair. It was as soft as you could remember. He pulled you flush against his chest at the feeling of your nails against his scalp.

"God damn it. You dumbass."

He hummed lightly, digging his nose in deeper. "I... Hmm, I've wanted to tell you… something."

Nothing more than a slight noise of question escaped you. You weren't sure if you couldn't trust yourself with anything more than that.

"I… Hmm." His breathing tickled your skin. A minute passed as you waited for him to continue until you realized that the alcohol had taken over his system, and he was out like a light.

He what? What was it that he wanted to say? What force compelled him to trust you with his weight and cling on? You wanted to wake him up and pull the words from his lips, but that wouldn't be savoury, not while he's drunk. The warmth against your back made you want to sink into him and throw him off simultaneously.

Why did he have to show up out of the blue and render you speechless, unable to get the word out of our mouth?

You wanted to say sorry. Sorry for running away, sorry for ignoring, sorry for hiding. The words just couldn't make it from your head to your tongue.

So instead, "Idiot," you cursed and gently played with his hair as you carried him to the couch and tucked him under the blankets.

You rushed out of the house the following day with your headset on, not bothering to make yourself presentable and certainly not giving the couch a glance. Even with every bit of your body wanting you to turn your neck, you refused and rushed out. If you had taken the chance, you knew there would be no way you could get yourself outside. The thought of making a proper hangover breakfast for the boys had crossed your mind, but ultimately it felt like too much.

The imaginary image of Shoyo curled up on the couch in one of Pedro's blankets, and one of your pillows would have to suffice.

Heitor and Nice were in the kitchen with little Maria when you arrived. Your godchild, who no doubt was up at the crack of dawn anticipating your visit, hopped off her chair, small hands up in the air as she ran your way. 

"Up! Up!"

As requested, Maria was in our arms and swinging in the air. If you didn't work in a job that had you lifting hefty camera's all the time, you would have not been able to get the 3-year-old higher than your knee.

Heitor and Nice ushered you over to the kitchen quickly, sitting you down and placing a plate of food in front of you before you could even get a word out.

"How's work been? I've been meaning to ask you something about it."

You sipped on the water that Heitor slid over. "It's been pretty good, actually, a great distraction. I actually got a gig photographing a wedding. It's going to be held in Argentina. The husband's family lives there."

"That's fun! Be sure to bring dancing shoes just in case."

"Nice, I'm a photographer, not an active participant in the wedding."

"Just in case! You never know. Anyways, I was wondering if you'd be interested in photographing the samba dancers at the carnival? Y'know, like you did before?"

You nodded while pulling a now empty fork from your mouth and filling it with more food. "I was planning to walk around and take photos anyway, so I definitely could."

"Perfect, give me your hourly rate, and I'll send it forward." 

Heitor, who had been listening along, piped in. His head bobbled strangely as he talked with his chin in his hand. "You've made a tradition of taking pictures at the carnival, haven't you? Isn't that where you met Shoyo?"

"Uh, ya, it is. I was on my own, and he nearly broke my camera."

Heitor nodded. "So, you're not dating Pedro, right?"

Maria slipped off your lap and back into her chair, where she continued to grab her food and stuff it into her mouth.

"What? No! How are those even related?"

Nice slapped Heitor's arm. "I told you!"

"What? Why would I date Pedro? He's great and all, but—"

"You would never betray Shoyo like that," Nice put forward.

"Where did that come from?!"

Heitor rubbed his shoulder with one hand while cleaning up Maria's messes and giving you a curious look. "Were you and Shoyo not dating before he left? We thought you had a massive fallout and broke up."

The heels of your palms pushed into your eyes. "We were never together, and there's no way he liked me then or now. What is even happening right now?"

Nice patted your shoulder. "Okay, we are a bit out of the loop."

"Trust me, so am I."

"What is happening? Catch us up."

Your heart hadn't stopped beating for the past few days, and when you opened your front door, you were just waiting for someone, Shoyo, to jump out at you. 

He never did. You weren't sure if you were relieved or disappointed. Either way, your heartbeat would take a dip, pausing for a moment, and your stomach would tighten. You needed water, something to ease your stomach.

Morning light lit a path through your kitchen, making airborne dust particles visible as they gently floated. They dispersed as you paced through them, reaching for a glass in the upper cabinets.

"Morning."

You jumped, glass hitting the edge of the shelf as you jerked back.

Pedro stood in the doorway, yawning as he tried to force back a cowlick that was swinging forward against the rest of his hair and tickling the corner of his eyebrow.

Sighing, you walk in front of the sink and turn on the tap, using the brief second it took to fill for a moment of meditation. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Sorry, you have been jumpy lately, though. I just greeted you like I normally do."

"It's fine. I've just been anxious, I guess."

"Hmm?" He putters over, grabbing another glass from the cabinets and filling it before leaning against the counter. "What's that about? The Shoyo thing? I should've said no to him coming over; I'm sorry."

You let a tank of air slowly push out of your lungs as you leaned against the counter next to Pedro. His arm lifted, rubbing your back. 

"It's okay. He's okay, more than okay, amazing! Fuck, it was terrifying! Seeing him at the game was one thing but showing up here? Staying for the night? My heart was already on the fritz. I nearly imploded! It's just— It's been so long, and I was stubborn and upset. I still haven't apologized. I can't get it out! And I'm now waiting for him to just knock on the door again like some wife waiting for the milk-man to come and shag—"

The memory of Shoyo's warm breath gliding over your neck gave you shivers. He was drunk. You had to remind yourself of that.

"Slow down, slow down." His hand moved to rest on your shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle in a light massage. "He asked me about you, ya know?"

Your blood ran cold. "What?"

"During dinner after the game. He asked about you over dinner."

"He was still in Rio?! I thought they left immediately after the game!" 

"Ya, their team stayed the night. I think they drove back the next morning, though."

The sinking appeared in your stomach again, and your heartbeat became more vigorous, making you sway with every pulse. "Shoyo asked about me? Why would he ask about me? He should want nothing to do with me. Toss me aside. Reject me! Oh, that would hurt; I deserve it. It wouldn’t be the first time. I’ll get used to it eventually."

You curled in as much as possible without falling to the tiled floor.

"What are you talking about? Why would he reject you? He’s not like those people you used to know, you said it yourself. He really liked you, you know?" Pedro backed up, going for the fridge to pull out something to eat as breakfast.

"Liked? Like, like liked? No, no, no, I did not know that?!" 

Pedro blinked, head halfway in the fridge. "You two were all over each other. What do you mean you didn't know?"

"He never told me that!"

"Ya, he di—oh. I shouldn't have said that." Pedro stared at the door of the closed fridge, lips pinched. He slowly backed up, turning away from you and running into the office room while shovelling food into his mouth. 

"Pedro!" You chased. "What are you talking about?"

"Nuh-uh!" He slammed the door behind him.

When you got the door open and made your way in, Pedro had already started his stream and was interacting with them with a pleasant grin, openly ignoring you in the doorway.

"Hey! Tell me." You whispered. "If you don't, I'm gonna freak out more than I already am, and I don't think I can handle that stress."

"Hey, chat. Give me a second." Pedro looked over, "Look. Trust me. It's alright. I'll explain later."

Although you couldn't see what was being said, you could see the chat begin to blow up, scrolling past at a rapid pace. You crossed your arms, feeling your throat tighten.

Noticing your collapsing form, Predo reached over and held your wrist. "Hey, it'll be just fine. It's not something you have to think about. Why don't you grab some food and then come back so you can get to work, Hmm?"

You took a deep breath, digging your toe into the floor before nodding. Pedro gave your wrist a squeeze before letting go and rolling back to his spot in front of the camera.

You dragged your feet while leaving the room. Flopping onto the couch's plush cushions gave you no sense of relief as you pondered over what Pedro could have insinuated.

Shoyo read the chat with rapt attention, catching every word that flew by while listening to your voice, speaking meekly offscreen, but wrist visible as Pedro held it with a delicate touch.

Rumours cropped up, growing and spreading like weeds in an open field, and Shoyo was picking each out by the root. Online strangers were speculating. Just roommates? Dating? MARRIED? These were just strangers. Their words should mean nothing to him, especially since they had nothing to do with him. They weren't talking about him, his career, or his privacy.

They were talking about you, and that felt even more important.

His throat felt dry, and his chest tight. Shoyo's vision seemed to vertigo, zooming in on the chat messages. 

He should have stayed one more day in Rio; he could have. Just one more day with you where you didn't have to leave and be separated from him. He knew that you and Pedro weren't together. The gamer had made that very clear the moment Shoyo sat back down during their dinner and reinforced that sentiment whenever your back was turned in your home.

"We just live together. It made sense after you left," Pedro had said. "I don't see her that way, and I would be way out of line for me to do anything after… ya know."

Shoyo repeated Pedro's words in his head like a broken record player that was stuck on the chorus. He knew the reality, but it didn't stop the jealousy from churning inside of him.

He wanted to be in that apartment. He wanted to be sharing that space and see photos of him with you on the wall. He wanted to have a split office, seeing you and Pedro at the other ends of the room. He wanted a part of that, to share that.

He wanted you with him, calling him an idiot, smiling at him. He wanted to hold you, feel the heat of your skin on his, your hands in his hair, his hands on your sides, your smile against his cheeks, his shoulders, his neck. On his lips. Oh, he wanted to know the feeling, learn it, memorize it. Tattoo it into his skin to feel it forever.

He had it then, even if it was just for a second before you rushed away.

The silence in his home throbbed against his ears, making him realize just how lonely it was.

The jealousy, which was only a grain of sand before, grew to a fist when he saw what was trending the next day.

The rumours had spread.

You tilted your head at the tab on your computer, scrolling through as you read over the contents. "Pedro, why does the internet think we're dating?" 

"Excuse me, what?" His head poked out from behind his monitor, lips clamped around a straw that stuck into his morning cup of water.

"Well, I guess your mic picked up our conversation and a bit of video yesterday, so people are speculating."

You heard his chair creak as he fell back into it. "Great, people are gonna want me to explain. Want me to tell them we're dating?"

"No! Idiot!"

"I'm kidding! Hey, don't hit me!"

You relaxed in your chair, bringing your hand down to rest on your mouse. "Besides, that's not the only thing you have to explain."

"It's not?" You met his eye around the sides of your monitors. He winced. "Shit. I hoped you forgot about that."

"How could I?"

"Fair. Okay," Pedro sighed, kicking his chair out to roll around to your side of the desk, resting an elbow on the surface. "What do you want to know?"

"You said something about Shoyo telling me. What was it?"

The humming of your two computers filled the quiet. The fans wouldn't drown out the dull thumping of our heart as you waited. It felt warmer in the room, hotter like the AC had broken from the constant use during the summer.

"The day you found out that Shoyo was going back to Japan, he was going to tell you how much he liked you. But—"

"I fucked it up."

"Well, I wouldn't say that. Shoyo is a bit of an idiot and didn't tell you earlier." Pedro scratched the back of his head, hunching over.

"He's not an idiot, Pedro. He's brilliant."

"Not with emotions. Keeps it to himself normally. Unless he’s drunk, I’ve noticed."

Your stomach ached, you could feel your pulse in your palms, the clothing you had chosen this morning seemed to cling uncomfortably to your skin. Maybe you didn't need Shoyo to show up at your door to give you a heart attack. As it was going, you'd likely get one from heart palpitations alone.

"Damn it, Pedro. If I had waited just five minutes instead of acting like an angry house cat that didn't get an extra round of dinner and running off…"

"Did you just compare Shoyo to food?"

"Pedro!"

He surrendered, arms up. "I mean, I can't blame you—"

"Dumbass, shut up!" The humiliation made you laugh, but it quickly forced the tears building behind your eyes to spill over.

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I just wanted you to laugh a bit." He kicked your foot with his own.

Choked laughed, muffled by tears shook your body. You covered your face, eagerly trying to wipe your eyes before your nose could have a chance at swelling up and leaving you stuffy for the next hour. A scoff escaped you. "You're an idiot. Thanks."

"Feeling a bit better?"

Your stomach was in knots, trying to escape your body, and your chest felt like an elephant was sitting on it.

"Some. What do I do now, though?"

Pedro's chair swivelled, making his head flop side to side. You mimicked him, letting the motion treat you like a child getting cradled. Your heart slowed, no longer punching your ribs with a blunt force or ringing in your ears. 

Then the night of Shoyo's visit came to mind. Excessive amounts of cachaça, wandering soapy hands. He had fallen asleep standing up with his head resting on your shoulder.

You were the one that carried him to the couch and tucked him in for the night.

What was it that he wanted to say?

The curiosity was killing you.

Thomas called you the night before Rio's away match in São Paulo. The phone was ringing on the dining table as you were washing dishes. Pedro had gone into his room to continue streaming after quickly finishing his dinner, leaving you to listen to the running water.

You wiped your hands clean before picking it up. "Thomas?"

"Are you free tomorrow? Manuel got sick and can't make it to the game."

"You're fucking with me. How did that happen?" You turned the sink off.

Thomas was shuffling on the other side of the phone, papers from what you could tell. "His kid got a cold from school, apparently."

"That sucks. I'm free, though, so I can make it."

"That's amazing, but now I'm trying to see if the hotel we booked for the night has an extra room, but since it's the weekend, everything seems to be filled up."

Your back shot straight. "Hotel? You made plans to stay the night?"

"Ya, it's a late-night game, so there really isn't any reason to try and get back home for anything. But Manuel has family in São Paulo, so we didn't book a room for him."

You gulped, "Are you trying to get me to sleep on the streets of São Paulo for a night? With expensive equipment? I could report you for that."

"No! Of course not! I would never want you to be without a bed, even for one night, but I'm struggling to find any beds available. I don't suppose you'd like to share a single bed with the old geezer, would you?"

"Absolutely not. You are married and would take up the whole mattress." A headache was starting to fester between your eyes. You pinched your nose to try and lessen it.

"Harsh," he laughed. You could picture his hand resting on his stomach while his shoulders shook. "But look, I can't find a hotel room for you at the last minute, and the boys are already sharing rooms. Is there any chance you know someone you could stay with?"

"No. Well…" You paused. "There is someone I know. Though I'm not sure how happy you'd be with me fraternizing with the enemy."

Thomas sighed on the other end of the screen, and the shuffling stopped. "You're funny, kid. So long as you have a place to stay, that's all that matters. I'll send you the other details later, okay?"

"Sure."

When Thomas hung up, you stared at your phone screen before opening your contacts and shakily clicking on the only contact under 'S.'The immediate ringing made your knees quake.

"Hello?"

"Shoyo?"

A choke came from the redhead's end of the line, followed by a crash as something hit the floor.

"Shoyo?! Are you okay?!"

"Ya, Fine. Just dropped something. I was just, uh, unpacking and rearranging."

"Hasn't it been a few weeks since you moved in?"

"Uh, ya. I just haven't gotten quite settled, you know?"

You stepped forward in your kitchen, pacing as you listened to his voice. Shoyo always had a higher voice, a confident and upbeat one with sharp vowels and curt syllables. But right now, he sounded downtrodden and tired as his words dragged out.

"Ya, I get it."

His featherlight breathing was the only thing you heard for a second.

"I have a favour to ask of you, Shoyo."

"Huh? Me? A favour? What is it?"

"Do you have a couch?"

His breathing stopped.

The game went as expected, much to your team's demise. São Paulo has always had a track record of being in the better half of the roster and even playing international teams. There was no chance that Rio would beat them at a home game with all their fans cheering in the background.

As much as you hated to see the Rio team's sad faces, it was your job to capture the moments and then stare at them for hours while editing.

Thomas saw you off while he went with the rest of the team and staff onto the large bus to drop them off at the hotel for the night. You'd have to get up early to join them and not be left behind.

In the meantime, Shoyo ushered you through his door, grabbing your camera bag as if it were only half the weight you knew it to be and gesturing you toward the couch draped in freshly washed bed sheets and decorated with a fluffed towel and blanket.

"Uh, so, here's the place." He gently set your camera bag next to the couch, leaning it against the front side of the armrest. You kicked off your shoes, placing them neatly next to his by the front door. Shoyo's arms spread wide as he gestured around. "The bathroom is at the end of the hall, behind the kitchen, if you want to get changed into your… pyjamas."

He spun around for a moment, looking over every inch of his room before settling on your extra bag full of clothes. "Here, let me take that, and you can get changed into something comfortable."

Shoyo took it off your shoulder, gripping the handles. He stood there, waiting, feeling the sweat in his palms move to his fingers and make his grip feel flimsy.

You were there. In his house, making it feel much brighter than it had been over the past few weeks with your presence alone. Shoyo felt like he could jump to the moon and maybe back if his legs could keep up with his heart.

"Um, Shoyo?" You were still standing in the middle of his living room. "Are you trying to keep my clothes hostage? I don't think we're at that point yet."

"Huh?" Shoyo watched as your lips pinched together and hid between your teeth. He knew that expression and memorized it years ago. You were scolding yourself. He laughed. "Sorry, I'm just not used to anyone being over."

Shoyo dropped your bag full of clothes next to the other one.

"It's alright."

He looked away, holding his breath as you shuffled through your bag.

"I'm going to change. You already showered, right?"

"Ya, at the stadium."

"Good. You'd smell otherwise." He heard you curse under your breath again but held back any remark until you were hidden behind the bathroom door.

Once he heard the lock click, he wilted into the couch with a silent moan. The thing was still lumpy beneath him. He hoped it wouldn't cause you a bother at night.

Despite being tired from the game, his adrenaline only seemed to spike in your presence. Sucking in as much air as he could to calm his heart, Shoyo stared out the window where the sunlight was beginning to fade. There were still a couple of hours left before he could sleep fully.

Shoyo managed to find a movie by the time you came back, paused on the first frame and was ready to play. He only glanced when you fell into the cushions beside him.

Your clothes were baggy, loose for Brazil's hot summer but warm enough to fight off the cold air from Shoyo's AC that hummed in the background. One thing did bother him, though.

"I'm sorry the couch is a bit lumpy. I can't seem to figure out why."

"Lumpy?" You asked, shifting around as you tucked your legs beneath the blanket. "Um, it seems fine to me. I'm sure I'll be able to sleep fine."

The movie started slow, taking its time developing the plot and its characters until the conflict was introduced. It became an afterthought. You found it hard to pay attention with Shoyo sitting close to your side.

The word was on the tip of your tongue, waiting to escape, but whenever you looked over, Shoyo seemed to be fully absorbed in the screen in front of him, eyes wide and pupils blown out as he stared at the glowing screen. You watched the colours from the movie paint his face and hair colours of the rainbow with every scene change. He yawned a few times, making your cheeks twitch into a light smile.

Then the movie's sound hit a low point. You finally got the courage to speak, albeit not the words you wanted to say.

"I miss taking photos of you on the beach."

Shoyo's head rolled over the couch's backrest to look at you. His eyes made you choke on air. You just barely disguised it with a yawn immediately after.

"You miss…" Shoyo hoped you couldn't see the redness in his cheeks with the low light and TV colours.

Burning under his gaze, you turned to the screen where you saw the protagonist staring longingly at who you guessed was the love interest. You gulped and looked at your hands before glancing back at Shoyo.

You dragged air into your lungs and lifted your hand to meet Shoyo's orange hair, which looked almost purple with the movie's current lighting. His neck bobbed, and the contact. 

"After you left, for a while, it felt like I couldn't do anything. I tried going to the beach again to take photos and go outside, but it didn't feel the same without you there. I just didn't have the energy after that, so I stopped trying."

He pushed his head up against your palm, shuffling closer on the couch. You couldn't get yourself to meet his eyes. Instead, you focused intently on the strands between your fingers while gently twirling and tugging on them. It was a familiar feeling, longing. Pulling you back to a time that settled in your heart like its permanent resting place. It made you take a dry swallow.

"There's a gap in my portfolio from when you left to when you re-appeared in Japan on the Black Jackals team. I remember the day clearly, seeing you play on Heitor and Nice's TV, then immediately going home and plugging in my camera that you chipped.

I worry, though, when people look at my photos and ask what happened during those few months. I usually tell them I was focused on school, 'cause how ridiculous would it be to say I was sad that you weren't in my life anymore. That I couldn't be an artist 'cause you were gone."

When his head met your shoulder, a shock jolted its way through your body, making you stiffen. Shoyo grumbled at your stopping, nuzzling against you to get your attention again. Not that he didn't already have all of it.

He sighed, eyes closed as he took in the feeling he'd been lacking over the last few years. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you sooner."

"That was your plan from the start. I should be apologizing for running off without letting you explain. I just—"

His hand crossed your body, resting on the opposite side of your hip from where his head lay. You could clearly feel the pressure of his thumb moving through the fabric of the blanket and clothes.

"I guess some part of me thought that you were permanent. That you'd stay." You yawned, sinking your cheek into the top of his head.

The movie filled the silence between you, making you wonder if Shoyo had fallen asleep on your shoulder once again. You thought your theory was true until the movie ended, followed by the TV shutting off, which left the living room dark except for the street and moonlight coming in through the window, and the lax redhead mumbling something against your neck.

"Can I have your heart?"

Your body suddenly lit on fire as you gave him a bewildered look with tired eyes and pulled your hand out from his hair. Shoyo breathed at the loss of contact, eyes pinching sadly.

Too much. It was too much. The flaring of your nerves was painful, stinging. You needed an out, needed to say something.

"My heart? That.. that seems like a bit much doesn’t it."

"Huh?" Suddenly, Shoyo wasn't feeling so tired anymore. He pulled back, spine straight as he took in your reaction. "No, wait, that's—"

"It's late. We should go to bed." Your head tilted away from his, hands tucked in your lap and gripping onto the blanket. You began to pull it over your shoulder. You were already cozy beneath his blanket before he could get another word out.

"Wait—"

"Shoyo, please? I'm tired."

Shoyo rose to his feet, backing away from the couch toward his room. "Okay, good night. Let me know if the couch is too uncomfortable."

"The couch is just fine, Shoyo. Good night. Sleep well."

Shoyo couldn't sleep. His bed felt too warm and cold simultaneously, like sweating in the arctic. His mattress, which he had no trouble with before, felt lumpy and hard. His pyjamas seemed to cling to the wrong points of his body, and the blankets felt like they were grabbing at him and trying to pull him into somewhere dark and unpleasant.

Yet, despite the discomfort, the only thought running through his mind, as if he was having issues with his bed, you would be having trouble with the couch.

Shoyo sat up in the dark, eyes open as if it were mid-day, and looked to his side table where a digital clock glowed a light blue showing him that it was nearly 2 am. Huffing, he threw the blankets off his legs and lightly carried himself into the living room.

Though he couldn't make out the details in the dark, He could tell your head was in comparison to your feet and reached into the blanket to pull you off of the couch.

Limp bodies weren't easy to carry. While having the benefit of letting Shoyo know that you were fast asleep, it also meant that you were more likely to slip from his hold and onto the floor. He settled with getting his arms under yours to the point that you were nearly standing at full height and walking backwards while holding you against his chest.

He fell back onto his bed once the back of his knees hit the mattress, letting your weight push into and crush his chest for a moment. 

He shut his eyes and sighed, holding you tighter while his hands brushed over the details of your back through the shirt. He'd have to move again to get you both settled properly on his mattress, but for the moment, he wanted to savour the feeling of your watch against his. Bodies touching in a way that he could only imagine for years.

The real thing was much better than a book.

Sunlight poured in through the window the following day, gentle and calm. It was much different from your heart, which was beating a mile a minute and scorching like it was tossed into a pile of burning coal in the most bottomless pits of hell.

When you opened your eyes that morning, you were nose to nose with Shoyo, foreheads touching and hands curled around each other. Mind you, you still had yet to move from that position. It felt a bit too warm to move from.

Beneath your hand, you could feel the plush muscle of Shoyo's bicep, and if you moved your fingers, his skin felt soft, accompanied by tiny hairs that you would only have seen up close. His legs, which managed to sandwich one of your knees, were similar, jiggling like a water balloon when you tried to remove your stolen limb. Though you already knew of the rough skin on Shoyo's palms, feeling them, one cradling your cheek, and the other resting on your free knee, which he held up to his hip, was different.

In his sleep, his nose brushed against yours.

You didn't want to move, but the alarm on your phone in the other room had you shuffling to sit up.

At the opposite wall from his bed was a shelf filled with memorabilia. Had you ventured into Shoyo's room the night before, you would have immediately taken note of the display.

It wasn't particularly eye-catching, but the middle shelf, perfectly set up to be at eye level, carried things that you recognized, unlike the rest of the room. Framed photos stood alone on the shelf, isolated in a picturesque, minimalistic fashion. You had taken them all. And in the middle, standing on its foot, was your gift, sticky note taped onto the front to prevent it from falling.

Your heart stuttered, swelling, but you could think about it later on the six-hour bus ride back to Rio, home.

Nice had been right about the dancing shoes. You had nearly forgotten them, only to be reminded when Nice gave you her weekly call while you were packing.

On top of that, you figured out why you had been asked for the job. 

Besides being the roommate of a streamer, who's teenage, volleyball playing, fanboy had a cousin who needed a photographer in a short time. The bride and groom wanted an artistic array of photos from their time dancing in both wide and limited shots. Your specialization in photographing movement was perfect for capturing the moment between friends and family as they danced together in the middle of the event space.

The party was starting to wind down. Children were passed out on the plush chairs while their parents swayed with each other nearby. Almost all of the food had been eaten. Most of all, the moon was high in the sky and fully lit.

You were about to sit down at one of the tables at the outer rim of the dance floor and peruse through the images you had captured over the night when a familiar teenage setter jogged your way with a smile on his face and hands out. Before you could get a world out, he grabbed your hands and pulled you to the dance floor.

Your body bumped into plenty of bodies until the boy settled on swaying in the middle of the dance floor. "Theo? What is the meaning of this?"

"Come on! Don't tell me you brought those shoes not to dance in them."

"Sort of the intention, Theo. You may not know this, but I'm a rock with legs. I don't quite have the coordination to dance."

"Pfft, a rock. That's a great descriptor for you."

"Hey, I'm not that steely," You frowned, looking off to the side. "Just a bit stiff muscled. I'll have you know that I am quite the expressive person."

"Ya, you don't hide your emotions that well."

"Please, stop insulting me."

Theo laughed, pulling back while maintaining a grip on your hands before swinging back in. "I've wanted to ask you something. My friends and I are a bit curious."

"Hmm? What about?"

"Are you and Pedro dating?"

"No!" you squawked, head thrown back with visible exasperation. "God, I thought Pedro dispelled those rumours."

"Well, he did. Sort of. But people speculate, y'know. Like one of my teammates still thinks you are. Something about 'celebrities lie to save face' type thing."

A white wavy gown, with a person inside of it, of course, snuck behind Theo, slapping their hands down on the poor unsuspecting teen's shoulder. Theo shouted. You understood why. The bride's exposed muscles flexed while she tightened her grip. She was scary.

"Dating drama talk? At my wedding? Blasphemy! Tell me more!" Her smile was a predator. 

Theo gulped under his cousin's grip. "Okay, can we just sit? I think you shocked my legs into paralysis."

"Weakling, come on." She pushed her cushion through the crowd, leaving you to follow alongside the husband as he gently smiled at the sight.

You all sat.

"So, tell me the drama."

You sighed and finally set the heavy camera slung around your neck onto a table. While the bride looked at you as if her attention were purely on your coming words, Theo began to sip on a glass of water, and the husband, wine.

"Really, it's nothing. Pedro hinted to me about something involving our mutual friend, which freaked me out, and he ended up having to partially talk me down while his stream was starting."

"Ah, what's this friend's name?"

"Shoyo."

Theo began choking on his water, which immediately sprung his cousin into action, slapping his back through his suit. "Wait, Shoyo? Like Shoyo Hinata? The volleyball player?"

"Um, ya. He's the reason I got into sports photography."

Theo squinted at you before slamming his cup down on the table. "That's where I recognized you from! You're the photographer the Shoyo crashed into!"

"Oh, someone remembers, great. Wait, is that why you were glaring at me when we first met?"

"I wasn't glaring! But, ya, I guess that's why. I know I recognized you from somewhere; I just couldn't pin it down."

"Okay, kid, cool it." The bride leaned in closer. "So you were freaked out over this Shoyo person. What for? Spill, spill."

You gulped, raising your hands in surrender. "Really, it's nothing—"

"Tell me." Her stare was cold, like looking into the eyes of a corpse that could still see your soul.

"Okay. Just, please don't hit me."

You wanted a distraction, something to pull you out of the weeks you've spent pondering, pacing, and pining over the looming presence in your life that was Shoyo. This wedding, a weekend away from Brazil, all expenses paid, was supposed to do that.

It was supposed to be a moment of rest, getting your heart to settle for once and allowing you the chance to breathe. Yet, you've found yourself doing the exact opposite, setting each twitch, touch, and breath onto the table in a rant that you don't think you had managed to do since your first year of university to a collection of strangers, no less.

You wondered what your mom would think when you inevitably told her. "Hey, I just spilled my guts to strangers about a boy I've been crushing on for 5 years and have made no mental progress about the situation otherwise. Can you imagine? Me? Understanding my own feelings and reasonably executing on them? No, of course not. Let me just cuss the poor man into oblivion, tell him I'm about to rob his grandparents' graves and call that flirting."

She'd probably call you a dumb nut. Affectionately, of course. You wouldn't be able to disagree.

It wall long past midnight when you finished ranting.

The bride reached across the table and slapped her hands down on your shoulders. You hissed.

"You two are in love. Can't you see that?"

"No, I'm legally blind." You shrugged her hands off.

"Ha! I need a drink. This story makes me thirsty."

Her husband slid his half-finished glass of wine into her hand before meeting your eyes. "It's never not going to be complicated. But have you ever asked yourself what's holding you back?"

"I don't know, a six hour bus ride both ways?"

The man raised a single brow disapprovingly.

"Jeez, hi Dad. Don't give me that look."

"Stop joking for a moment and be honest with yourself."

"Humour is how I cope. Not everyone appreciates it."

"You wouldn't need to cope if you solved the issue already."

"Wow, you really are ready for parenthood," You sighed and pulled your camera into your lap. It alleviated some of the pressure, having your eyes focused on something other than the powerful stares of the family sitting with you. "The story gets longer. Are you willing to listen?"

"In for a penny. We have all night."

"Not all night," the bride whined, resting her chin on her husband's shoulder. "But the point still stands."

"I moved to Rio to get away from the people I spent my whole life with. I never had any long-lasting friends. They always found me a bit weird. Similar enough to keep for a bit, but too strange to keep for long. I was a social reject. Most of it was just because of my personality, how I acted. I get it. I learned to see when I overstepped or said the wrong thing. It's just how my family is, and when you spend more time at home with your family, acting a certain way, it's harder to assimilate into the normal. I didn't have friends when I came to Rio. The only person I really talked to was my mom. I tried to get myself out there and make friends, but I said the wrong thing, isolated myself, and then got separated entirely.

"Shoyo was a complete stranger when we first met, and I called him an idiot. I insulted him, and he laughed. I don't think anyone had really done that before, and it felt like I was welcomed home for the first time in years."

Your throat was sore and dry. The moisture had left your mouth, pooling behind your eyes instead where it felt more like needles instead of liquid. You coughed, trying to loosen the tension. There was a hand on your back. You couldn't tell whose it was.

"I clinged to him immediately, and he didn't even seem to mind like it was normal for him too. I was so happy to have someone who liked having me around that I guess it blindsided me when he went back to Japan. I didn't want to be alone again. Pedro is great, but it took him years to figure out my habits before we could properly banter. Shoyo coming back made me scared because what if he just leaves again and casts me aside like everyone else."

It was Theo rubbing your back, looking up at you from where his head rested tiredly on the table.

The husband took a silent breath, shifting in his seat to face you more directly. "Do they know this? Anyone?"

"Only Pedro. He walked in on me crying in my room after I found one of Shoyo's old cookbooks. I didn't cook anything for weeks."

"You should tell Shoyo."

You shook your head. "He doesn't need to know."

The husband, with gentle hands, turned you by the armrests of the chair to face him before lifting your camera up and placing it on the table. Next, he held your hands; they were soft and smooth, polar opposites from Shoyo. Your chest twisted.

"Look at me for a moment." His eyes were a deep brown, gentle and warm, but not the ones you wanted to see. "Tell him, 'cause he might not even know how much he means to you otherwise."

Shoyo didn't really experience the famous carnival in Rio de Janeiro when he first lived there. Something always kept him busy even while everyone else was not. He tried not to drink too often for his physical health. Even if he slipped up sometimes, the partying scene seemed too much to participate directly with a glass in his hand. 

His teammates were similar, luckily. The ones he was travelling with would drop into a crowd and dance along, sing at the top of their lungs, but wouldn't finish off their beer.

It was loud, boisterous, and reckless. There were so many body's it was hard to tell north from south or just read the street signs. The only way to navigate was by listening to the music and letting it take you to wherever the next dance party was.

It was a beautiful and invigorating experience to get up close. But it was also a distraction.

He was in Rio for his own purpose. Within Rio's boundaries was someone he was searching for, needed to talk to, to hold. You were there, somewhere. Based on Pedro's words, you shouldn't be too hard to find within the crowd of over a million people, he hoped. It didn't matter if he had to look every other person in the eyes before ending his search Staring into yours. It would be worth it in the end, being able to melt into your stare.

After getting his fill of the carnival, Shoyo pushed through the crowd and began scouring the streets for a figure with a camera and headset. He was ready for his legs to burn by the night's end.

The Carnaval do Rio de Janeiro was always a different experience, yet the same. Like looking at two copies of the same photo, each tweaked by a different person.

Sadly, you weren't allowed to be a direct part of the parade to take photos, meaning that you had to lug around a giant camera to get the zoomed-in shots you wanted. The number of photos you would have to quickly sort through and edit later was headache-inducing. At least the work came with a free ticket to the parade.

The carnival was loud, smelly (good and bad), and blinding. One tourist was wearing goggles to protect their eyes from getting alcohol splashed in them. Similarly, your camera was covered with a plastic bag at all times.

While your client was limited to Nice and her troupe of dancers, you still managed to photograph the rest of the floats. It was the first year you managed to photograph the parade up close, yet it didn't feel extraordinary. You took the photos you wanted and had fun doing it.

But… there was always a but. Every year there was one.

It was lonely.

Pedro had gone to a party with his streaming friends that you knew you'd later see clips of on social media. Heitor was taking care of Maria and likely having her watch beach volleyball videos. Nice was performing on one of the many floats with all her dance mates and being fabulous, you'd know, you had the photos. And you were sitting outside the main crowd, flipping through your camera.

Something moved at your left.

He was a shadow in your periphery first, just an extra bit of dark in the corner of your eye that you could have easily mistaken as a side effect of the ever-changing and flashing lights. Then he slowly slid into the empty spot on the bench next to you.

Your breath stopped for a moment, taking your heart with it. Thinking a stranger had decided to invade your space.

"Hey," he panted while his knuckles were digging into the muscles of his thighs. They twitched.

There were no fireworks to light up his eyes or set fire to his hair, no big boom that set your heart back on track like a defibrillator.

Just your heart, pounding erratically in your ears.

You looked, sliding the headset that had been protecting your ears to sit around your neck. "Shoyo, what are you doing here?"

He picked at one of the rough spots on his palm. "My team apparently attends every year. Whether together or separate, everyone comes for some reason or another."

The music never died at the carnival. It made it hard to hear him. You leaned in to catch his words before they fell to the ground.

"Reasons? Like what?"

"Family, tradition, just some time to relax or have a party."

You turned your camera off, disassembling the pieces and tucking them securely in their designated pockets of your bag. Once packed away, your hands clamped onto your knees, trying to stop them from shaking.

"Why are you here then? You don't have a tradition of attending; it's been 4 years. You're not at a party, even though I'm sure your teammates would have invited you to one if they're attending. You're definitely not relaxing. You relax with meditation, cooking, more volleyball, maybe the vocational trip to the beach or a sauna, not going to a carnival. And your family is back in Japan, so is your home. A bungalow with a dirt backyard surrounded by bushes where you'd practise volleyball with your sister."

Shoyo sat for a moment, silent. Whatever his face was saying, you didn't look to see it.

"What about you? Why are you here?"

"Nice got me a job to take photos of her troop tonight at the parade."

"That's not what I mean," he says. You could hear the smile in his words. "Heitor and Pedro both told me that you come every year. You don't socialize much. You think you can't, even though I've always liked being around you. If you're not with Pedro, Heitor, Nice, at work or… with me, you stay holed up in your apartment, maybe reading whatever manga Pedro gives you. You even wear a headset even if there's no music playing to block noise."

He tapped the hard plastic case of your headset for added effect.

"You separate yourself from the world around you, yet you put yourself in it."

"It's nice to just be a stranger to people you'd never met. Nothing more, nothing less." You look at the crowd made up of clumps of people in pairs or more. "I can look at some of these people and remember them for years. But to them, I'm nothing, forgotten in an instant. I don't have to worry about talking to them that way."

There was a pause before Shoyo shifted in his seat. “I never said sorry for dropping in at your house suddenly. The way I acted was out of line and made you uncomfortable, I could tell. I also didn’t get to apologize for that night you stayed over. It was too forward of me, too much. I really wanted you to be there with me. And you ran off before I could try and talk to you normally and not make a fool of myself."

You gulped, hands tightening. "It wasn't too forward, or too much, Shoyo. I just didn't know how to react. To everything, crashing into you, you staying at my place and getting drunk, me staying at yours. I didn't hate it; I was nervous, flustered too, but I didn't hate it. I enjoy having you around. I just never knew how to react or what to say. I especially didn't when I found out you were going back home. I’m sorry for running away like that. If I didn’t we probably could have saved a lot of time.”

You couldn't hear Shoyo's breathing over the noise, and it was just getting louder. You knew what was coming.

"Home," he said, confident and unwavering. "That's why I'm here."

The crowd was getting louder, so was the music.

"Your home is in Japan."

Maybe it was your heart beating and not the overbearing bass of the nearest speaker you felt pumping in your chest.

"My home is with you."

Fireworks. It didn't matter what colour they were so long as they were casting light upon him up for you to see. You wanted to see his orange hair, brown eyes, and rosy cheeks.

You had ranted to strangers, setting your emotions on the table while speaking everything that came to mind. It was like a rehearsal, practice for when you could say it to Shoyo’s face. You wanted to get the words out, tell him everything that he'd never heard before. Lift the weight off your chest and set yourself free.

The words flew out, instead, not the ones you practised about your life, the history, the why. It was the feeling, the void in your chest, the weight in your palms, the throbbing headaches, and empty stomachs. The things you couldn't articulate.

You gripped the loose part of his shirt, nails creating creases in the fabric that would last until it got washed.

"Home? Me? Here? You left. That hurt, you know, for you to leave. You hurt me more than anyone I've ever met."

His hand met your back, warmth melting into your skin. "I know."

"I don't think I've ever felt more alone than when you weren't here. I hate you for that. For making me feel so alone."

"I'm sorry." His forehead pressed against yours, making you close your eyes and force the building tears to roll onto your cheek.

“What's worse is that even while you were so far away, you somehow managed to get me back on my feet again. I don't want you to leave me, not a second time. I'm terrified of repeating that."

"I won't. I'll take you with me if I have to. Like I wanted to back then."

Summer in Rio was hot, but Shoyo's hands holding your jaw made the outside air feel cold in comparison. Fire came to life in your heart, lasting long past the final firework.

You'd heard plenty of stories of the man in front of you. Stiff-spine, clipped nails, arrogant personality, you weren't sure what you were expecting to happen when you first met him.

He stood at 188.4 centimetres, or rather 6 feet 2 inches. His shirt sat snugly on his broad shoulders and chest, then draped loosely around his waist. His hair was black and short, visually a similar length to Shoyo's, but straight instead, making it sit flat on his head.

You grumbled, adjusting the camera lens to get both the boys and the background in focus. "Tobio, you look stiff, like a sad tree. You're supposed to be a maiden with a pretty toga and lots of food. Look like it." You pointed to the left side of the Trevi Fountain, where Abundance was sculptured.

"Why don't you do it then, if it's so easy?" the setter grumbled, contorting his body to twist more, using his bag as a substitute prop for Abundance's cornucopia.

A step to Tobio's left was Shoyo, volleyball resting between his palm and right hip, and a walking stick in his left hand that he grabbed on your early morning hike to mimic the appearance of Salubrity's bowl and spear. "Ah, Kageyama, just do it already!" He laughed, kicking a leg out into Tobio’s thigh.

Tobio stumbled at the shove. Once he got back in position, you clicked the button and captured the photo. "Got it."

"Excuse me? Would you like to get one of all three of you?" A tourist wearing khaki shorts and a sun hat tapped your shoulder. "You don't have to worry about the camera. I take photos too."

Seeing a familiar style bag tighten onto their back, you smiled and handed your camera over.

You stood between the two volleyball players, taking on the pose of Oceanus, who was sculptured directly behind you. It was a bit of a balancing act, and it didn't help that Tobio's continued grumblings were pushing you towards laughter.

Once the camera was back in your hands, the two crowded over your shoulders to take a look.

"Ooh, we should send that one to our friends," Shoyo said as Tobio's phone rang.

"It's time to go back. Team meetings."

Sadly, duty calls in inopportune moments. But you weren't in Rome to do as the Romans do anyway. The Men's Volleyball World Championship at the Palalottomatica was your primary destination, and you were there for Shoyo. 

He wouldn't leave you behind.

I tried to do a bit more etiquette research for this one so if you are from Brazil please let me know if it was done well or if there's anything that should be worked on for the future. Sorry for the over-bearing amount of cachaça, lol.

On another note, was this good? People don’t usually read for Hinata, or just less popular characters, and they’re the ones I put in the most effort for when I get the chance. -Bacon

Yes it was :( It’s amazing :( Everyone, please praise Bacon - Kiwi

Posted: 27/03/2022

[olderthannetfic]

so a post that i read years ago and never found again talked how basically all tumblr fights are people treating the platform as a public forum vs people treating the platform as their own personal diary of a sort

and it's been living in my head rent free this whole time bc this is it you've boiled tumblr down to its bare essentials. and i think most of us think of what we post/write in tags as our own private space, and simultaneously of what crosses our dash as the public sphere

and then offense happens bc we see someone speaking up about smg losely related to an original post as derailing it or lacking reading comprehension when actually what's happening is more like taking some random public discussion as an opportunity to vent 'privately' in their own personal space and then being dragged for it in the public forum bc everything on tumblr is always both your personal content and in a public space at the same time, but we tend to view it as either one or the other

so my point, bc yes i do have one!! is, all this is uhh messy. so in your utopic fandom platform, what are your thoughts re the separation between the public and private sphere? bc i sure don't have a good answer about it

i like all of us shouting in the void together, it feels all safe and anonymous, and i like that we can all chime in as directly with reblogs or indirectly with new posts or comments in tags as we want, i could never do fandom in like. discord groupchats, fucking yikes

but clearly there's definitely flawsTM to the tumblr model of no separation or even definition whatsoever of what it even means to be private or public so. and apart for a brief and very much regretted dipping of my toes in the horrid waters of twitter tumblr is the only fandom space i've ever known so i can't have any perspective, can we talk about Options out there or how they could be improved maybe

--

Tumblr: where boundaries go to die.

Honestly, there is no one answer. I liked LJ back in the day and barely used communities. I liked mailing lists, which were entirely community-oriented. Hell, I'm still on some mailing lists in 2021. I'm more active on discord than anywhere else, but not places most of you will ever find me. I regularly read r/FanFiction and started r/FandomHistory on Reddit. Et cetera.

Different platforms appeal to different fans.

No shit, right? But people seriously forget this or at least don't consider the implications: "Fandom", if we mean Tumblr, consists only of people willing to put up with Tumblr. But if "Fandom" means more than that, then it will inevitably include some people who can't or won't put up with Tumblr. There are a lot of platform options that "work" at least well enough to get some community or other going there.

There's more than one way to skin a cat.

For me personally, it's pretty obvious I imprinted on the Dreamwidth/Livejournal way of doing things in individual meta-heavy blogs (as opposed to communities). Or... well... not obvious because most people here have no experience of that, but it is how I use my own tumblr:

I post longform text constantly

quite a bit of my tumblr is my own opinions, not just curated content

I have threaded conversations without worrying if other people approve

I treat all commentary on my posts as something I am allowed to respond to

I make new top-level posts sometimes to point to good bits of discussion that could be overlooked

I come back to discussions later

I sometimes make posts linking to and synthesizing various parallel discussions on related topics

I treat basically everything as being in public, i.e. not under friendslock, but I also treat my tumblr as my space

I think it's useful for sites to have something like a LJ com or an AO3 collection that can be themed without occupying an entire site-wide tag. It's also useful to have personal spaces that belong to one person alone.

[bluejayblueskies]

the before, the after, the in-between

Chapter One: white daisies Words: 2.9k

Relationships: Jon & Daisy, Jon/Martin Tags: Post-Canon, Scottish Safehouse, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mute Jon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies

Summary:

There was no knife, no blood, and Jon was not dead. And when he heard a strangled noise from beside him and looked over to see Martin standing in the doorway of the safehouse, flung open and letting in the frigid bite of near-winter and sunlight, there was sunlight, he felt such a dizzying, intense wave of relief that he could hardly breathe around it.

Then, he opened his mouth to say Martin’s name, and nothing came out, and all of the relief fell away in an instant.

.

Jon wakes up in the safehouse in October of 2018, alive and well but without the Eye and without his voice. In the days that follow, he finds himself confronted with a world that has reset itself in space and in time, a version of himself that is no longer the Archivist, and the fact that death during the end of the world had not been so permanent as it had seemed.

Read on Ao3 (link in source)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five| Chapter Six| Chapter Seven

Or read below:

(cw for mentions of knife violence, mild blood)

There are white daisies on the kitchen table.

They’re what Jon saw first when he opened his eyes, awake and gasping for air, sprawled on his back on the floor and staring up at a brown ceiling and a brown kitchen chair and the bottom of a brown table and, amidst it all, a splash of white that caught his eye. He stared at the flowers, a memory tickling at the back of his mind—Martin cutting the flowers from a patch just outside the cottage, tucking them into a vase on the center of the table, Jon running a finger along the waxy petals and whispering, Daisies for Daisy—and then, with a rush, the rest of the memories came flooding back and he sat up so quickly his head spun, his hand going almost instinctively to his chest where the knife was—

But there wasn’t a knife. He was in the safehouse and there were fresh-cut daisies in a vase on the table and there was no knife. There was, however, when he pulled his jumper up to look, a scar—thick and raised, like it had been there for years.

There was no knife, no blood, and Jon was not dead. And when he heard a strangled noise and looked over to see Martin standing in the doorway of the safehouse, the door flung open and letting in the frigid bite of near-winter and sunlight, there was sunlight, he felt such a dizzying, intense wave of relief that he could hardly breathe around it.

Then, he opened his mouth to say Martin’s name, and nothing came out, and all of the relief fell away in an instant.

There are still white daisies on the kitchen table less than two days later, when Jon has fallen apart and picked himself back up again and fallen apart and picked himself back up again, more times than he cares to count. He sits in the hard wooden chair, legs crossed and elbows resting atop the varnished wood, and stares at the flowers, still as vibrant as the day they were picked nearly… six months ago? He wishes he knew how long it’s been, but he can’t. He can’t Know, and the Eye is gone, and he can’t speak, and his tears are soundless as he buries his face in Martin’s chest and grapples with the fact that for the first time in years, he’s never felt quite so human.

Martin thinks they’ve gone back in time. Jon thinks that time has caught up to them. Like the world, stitched back together and made anew, has simply picked up where it left off, unaware of how deeply scarred its inhabitants have become. Though Jon really doesn’t think it matters much at all.

It’s not the first argument they have. And it certainly will not be the last.

For now, though, Jon stares at the daisies, one hand tap tap tapping the cheap ballpoint pen on the moleskine notebook Martin had given him and the other wandering down to his left calf, where bite marks as wide as dominoes sit in even rows across his skin, scarred up before they’d even reached the next domain.

He rubs a thumb over one of the raised scars—the second set that had been left on his body by the same hands, both born from violence yet so distinct and different in Jon’s mind—and thinks, with a twinge of something deeply longing, I miss Daisy.

He’d missed her in intervals after he’d collected the bite mark scars on his calf. There had been so much to think about, so much to focus on, but in the quieter moments, he would think about the fact that she was gone—really, truly gone, in a way he couldn’t explain away like he could their first time in the safehouse—and feel the loss as acutely as a knife in his side. (Though now that he has experience with that specific brand of pain, he knows that the feelings aren’t quite the same. A knife is sharp and cutting, radiating pain. That ache was deeper, and it settled next to his bones, preparing to make itself at home within him forever.) Now, there is sunlight streaming in through the lattice windows and Jon closes his eyes when he sleeps and fear is as dull as a butter knife, and there is no limit to the moments of quiet. He looks at the white daisies, and he aches.

“Jon?” Martin says quietly, and Jon startles, still unused to not Knowing when somebody is near to him before they announce themselves. “Is… is everything all right?”

Jon nods reflexively, then bites his lip and slowly shakes his head. He looks down at the table for a moment before flipping open the moleskine, uncapping the pen, and scratching words neatly on the next available line despite the way his hand shakes ever so slightly as he writes. I miss Daisy.

He holds up the notebook, and Martin steps closer until he can make out the cramped words on the page. His forehead furrows like he hadn’t been expecting it, but after a moment, he says softly, “Me too.”

Jon gives him a flat, disbelieving look, and Martin sighs. “Okay, maybe I don’t. At least, not- not like you do. But I… I know you cared about her, Jon. I know she was there for you when I- I wasn’t, and I… I wanted to meet the version of Daisy that you pulled out of that coffin. Really meet her, I mean, without all of the loneliness and fog and- and end-of-the-world drama.” A corner of Martin’s mouth turns up into a sort of unhappy smile. “I guess I miss what could have been, then.” Quieter: “I’m sorry. I know that she… she meant a lot to you.”

Jon nods once, folding his hands together on his lap and worrying them together. He opens his mouth, then closes it with a frustrated sigh and reaches back for the notebook. Hastily, he scrawls, I think she would have liked you. Then: I wish you could have met her too. Then, hesitantly: I told her about you. I talked about you a lot. She never understood why I left you alone with Lukas, but she respected my decision to do so.

He holds it up, and Martin’s eyes scan the page quickly. Jon can see the moment Martin reads the last line, the way his jaw tenses and his throat bobs as he swallows. “Only nice things, I hope,” he says after a moment with a bit of forced cheeriness.

Jon exhales loudly through his nose—a breathy laugh, the only kind he can manage anymore—and shrugs.

Martin’s lips twitch into a smile, but it quickly folds under the pressure of the troubled look upon the rest of his face. “I’m glad that you had her,” he says quietly. “And I’m sorry you lost her.”

She had me as well, Jon scratches, holding it up for Martin to see. Then, his train of thought continues and he holds up a finger, pulling the moleskine back down to the table and inking a few more lines onto the page. It was hard to be human, but we helped each other. I wish I could have helped her during the apocalypse, and I wish I could help her now. It hurts to know that she could have had this, truly separated from the Hunt, but that she wasn’t given the chance.

He holds it up, trying to keep his hands steady as he gives Martin time to read through it. Then, Martin takes the moleskine from him and sets it carefully on the table before folding Jon’s hand in his and squeezing gently. He rubs his thumbs across the back of Jon’s knuckles as he says, “I know, love. I know.” He lifts Jon’s hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to it. His lips brush against the back of Jon’s hand as he says, “Would you… would you like to do something for her? A memorial, or- or something to remember her with? I know there wasn’t much of a chance to do so back when—back before, and it… it might help.”

Jon looks down at his lap, considering. He knows that Daisy is gone; he doesn’t know if this would make the ache in his chest lessen or grow tighter, and to do nothing and stay the same feels like the safer of the two options. Then, he catches a glimpse of white out of the corner of his eye—the daisies, sitting on the table, vibrant and alive and glowing slightly in the bright sunlight—and, eyes still locked on those waxy petals, he nods.

“Okay,” Martin says quietly. “All right.”

.

.

.

They stand atop one of the grassy hills close to the cottage, a thick scarf wrapped several times around Jon’s neck to keep away the cold and his mittened hands holding the bouquet of cut daisies, their petals fluttering and stems bowing in the wind. The moleskine is tucked away in his coat, but he hasn’t used it since they arrived out here. Martin’s arm is tucked around Jon, hand resting on his opposite hip as he pulls Jon close to his side, and they’re both silent as they stare out over the grassy knolls, peppered with orange and white cows and brown pickets with wire strung between them.

Jon takes a daisy from the bouquet, holding it carefully in his hand lest it blow away too early, and watches it wave back and forth in the wind, flimsier without the support of the rest of the flowers. He remembers calling Daisy’s name with dirt clustering at the corners of his mouth and filling his nostrils, feeling terror grip him as the soil around him began to shift and move, rivulets of water trickling into his eyes and stinging as he tried to blink them away. He recalls the relief, all-consuming and so potent he thought he would choke on it (if he hadn’t already been choking on dirt, so much dirt, soil and clay and sand and gravel all mixed as one), when she had called his name in return. He takes a deep breath in, lets it out, and releases the flower, watching it catch in the wind and be carried away, down the hill and out of sight.

He pulls another flower out of the bouquet and thinks of the way Daisy’s hand felt in his when he finally made contact, fingers calloused and rough and fingernails ragged and caked with dirt. Her grip was so weak, muscles unused to the trial of being made to grasp and cradle and hold, but she held on as the dirt pressed down on them and they struggled to breathe and, still, with their lungs compressed and weary, they used them to form words. He thinks about not alone, though, not alone, and lets the flower go, watching it tumble away on the breeze.

He pulls another flower and thinks of when Daisy said that she’d planned to kill him, and how he wasn’t even able to muster up the energy to care.

The petals on the next flower are wet. For a moment, Jon thinks that it’s started raining and he just hadn’t noticed. Then, he feels Martin’s hand brush against his cheek, wiping away the next few tears with his thumb, and his next breath rattles in his chest.

He remembers being with Daisy in his office, him sitting in the chair behind his desk and her standing in the corner, trying to remember what it felt like to be vertical. He remembers sitting across from her at a sticky pub table, his hands wrapped around an equally as sticky mug of beer as she pulled a surprising amount of laughter out of his mouth. (He suspected that the warmth running through him by the end of the night was only partially due to the flush of alcohol in his system.) He remembers sitting on a now-ratty cot in document storage, one earbud in his ear and the other in Daisy’s as they leaned against the wall, thighs pressed lightly together and hands clasped in a way that felt easy, his nose wrinkling as The Archers played tinnily through the earbuds. He remembers being slumped against the brick wall behind the Institute, cigarette held between two shaking fingers as he tried to pretend like the nicotine would satisfy the burning hunger growing within him, and the shoulder that had pressed firmly against his as Daisy had slid down to sit next to him, a similar sort of hunger clawing relentlessly within her as well. He remembers standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom in the Archives, staring at his own eyes and wondering if they looked just a bit greener today, just a bit less human, and finally walking back out to see Daisy leaning on the wall next to the door, her voice leaving no room for argument as she said that she’d bought a bottle of whiskey and they were going to share it between them. He remembers lying on one of the cots and staring at the darkened ceiling, hearing her breathing deep and even beside him, one thin arm slung over his chest, and thinking about how much stronger than him she was, that she would rather die than be who she was before. (She never thought he was a monster. He hadn’t quite believed it, but he had been grateful for it all the same.) And he remembers what it felt like, slipping into the tunnels beneath the Institute and leaving Daisy and Basira behind to deal with the chaos that lay above ground, unable to shake the horrible, sickening feeling that it was the last time he would ever see Daisy.

Their last night together had been spent listening to the historical podcast that Jon had managed to convince Daisy to try. He thinks she only put up with it as long as she did because she spent much less time listening to the hosts and much more time listening to him talk over them, supplementing their research with his own and going off on long, rambling tangents that more often than not ended up a few subjects away from history. She never minded when he rambled, and he never felt that choking, itching feeling at the back of his throat that caused the words to die halfway through a sentence that he so often got when he felt that he was boring those around him.

They hadn’t even gotten to finish the episode they were on.

Jon remembers it all, and he lets the flowers go one by one, watching them tumble away down the hill until his hands are empty, hanging uselessly in the air for a moment before he drops them limply to his sides. He knows he’s crying in earnest by now, and he hates it. It’s a terribly vulnerable feeling, to be mourning out in the open, and he hates it. His breath hitches in his throat—he would choke his words if he could form them—and he hates it.

He hates it, but he doesn’t stop Martin when he wraps his other arm around Jon and pulls him gently into his chest, whispering soft platitudes into Jon’s hair as Jon buries his face in Martin’s scarf to hide his tears. Martin’s hands rub circles across Jon’s back and his lips press against the crown of Jon’s head and he whispers, “It’s all right, love. It’s all right,” and Jon allows himself one abrupt, hiccuping sob before he pushes all remaining sounds deep within him where they cannot escape.

And down below, near the base of the hill, the daisies lie scattered amongst the grass and the bushes and the weeds, like the first flakes of winter snow.

.

.

.

There are daisies on the kitchen table again. These ones are yellow, collected from the garden in the back before the frost has a chance to set in and wither them. Sunlight makes dappled patterns across them as Jon sits at the table and drinks tea for the third morning since he found himself able to do so once again, made with no milk and two sugars just as he likes. He can hear the gentle rumble of water from the bathroom, his own hair already shower-damp and pulled back into a loose braid. The jumper is Martin’s, too large and draped over his hands where they wrap around his mug, and the kitchen smells of tea and daisies and home. If Jon closes his eyes and shuts off his mind and focuses only on the seep of heat into his palms and the brush of fabric against his arms, he can almost pretend like everything between before and now had been a dream.

Almost.

Jon takes a deep breath, opens his eyes, and takes a long sip of his tea. He’s halfway back to setting the mug on the kitchen table when there’s a creak, a rattle, and a burst of cold air as the front door of the cottage swings open.

The mug slips out of Jon’s hands and knocks sideways on the table, spilling tea across the varnished surface and rolling dangerously close to the edge before its handle strikes the table and brings it to a halt. He distantly registers that his jumper sleeves are stained with tea and that the puddle is seeping towards him, preparing to drip off the edge, but the thought is buried beneath an icy wave of shock as he stares, wide-eyed, at the open doorway. At the figure standing within it.

Daisy stares back, eyes wide with surprise, face streaked with mud and blood, one hand still on the door handle, and says, “Jon?”

[cayenne-twilight]

Professor Layton Iceberg Explanation

As I said in the tags of the original, the iceberg I made was a meme consisting of both real theories and satire/parodies/fandom memes. If anyone is interested, I can work on an unironic version that only has real theories.

Buckle in because this post is LONG and heavily saturated with lore and information.

Actual theories

Parallel universe 1960s where the world wars didn’t happen. There’s an unused file in Curious Village that shows the year as 1960 and the time machine from UF is set to 1973, ten years into the future. The series canonically takes place in an undefined time period (hence the technological inaccuracies and fantasy elements), but it’s based off the 60s. There’s more evidence but we don’t have time to go over every little thing. I linked my “no wars” theory below but TL;DR the outdated airplanes and underdeveloped medicine in the Layton series imply that the world wars may never have happened. https://cayenne-twilight.tumblr.com/post/632205992162099200/outofcontextdiscord-timegearremix-zonosils-war

The real meaning behind the statue in Future London. In UF, the purpose of the statue is to spark Layton and Luke’s conversation about their friendship. Luke is stressing out about moving overseas and sees himself and the professor in the story behind the statue, but in the bigger picture, Clive must have been the one to commission it. Some theorize that the little boy is Clive and the man is either his father or the professor. One idea I’ve seen is that Clive wishes he could be Luke for real, while another is that he wishes he died ten years ago, and another is that he’s literally terminally ill explaining why he doesn’t care about consequence. Personally, I think “the boy succumbed to his illness” refers to his mental illness seeing as he wanted the professor to save him from his madness as he saved him all those years ago.

True location of Monte D’Or. there are no deserts on the British isles to my knowledge, so it makes the most sense for Monte D’Or to be in Southwest USA where English is the default language, they have a desert, and there exists a city famous for flashy hotels, casinos, and entertainment. What makes it odd is that nobody ever mentions overseas travel, and all the major characters are from England.

Loosha’s origins are not explicitly explained if I remember correctly, but the implication was that her prehistoric (supposedly) species was sealed away along with the garden, allowing them to survive all the way to the time of LS until Loosha was the only one left. The garden provided a good habitat and protection from predators, and it’s logical that they’d slowly die out anyways, but there’s no explanation of any specific factors that led to Loosha being the last.

Beasley is not a bee I wrote a post about this one as well, but TL;DR Beasly lacks several defining bee traits whilst having several human ones. He is not human, yet, by definition, not a bee. It’s possible that he is the result of Dimitri’s testing, but whatever his untold story is, he remains an enigma of nature. https://cayenne-twilight.tumblr.com/post/632381715250282496/theory-beasly-isnt-a-bee

Subject 2’s identity is currently unknown. There is a subject one (parrot) and subject 3 (rabbit) so there has to be a second. For a long time, people suspected Beasly to be him seeing as he’s a bit of an amalgamation and definitely not a regular bee (see above). After the release of LMJ, though, people began to suspect Sherl, the intelligent hound who could speak to certain people but not others. That being said, it’s possible for one to be subject 4. Sherl’s memory of a bright flash matches up with subject 3’s memory of being electrocuted. They never explain why the animals were being experimented on, but it was probably Dimitri making sure the conditions of his machine were safe for humans before reliving the incident from ten years ago.

Lady Violet died from the plague from DB. There’s no evidence for this or anything, it’s just an idea. People say she died from the flu but I don’t remember them saying that in the game, at least the US version. Extending off my “no war” theory: it’s theorized that the Spanish Flu was spread by the travlelling soldiers, so if that’s true, it’s possible for the epidemic to have been averted for some decades. Maybe the Spanish Flu reached England later than in real life. The hole in this is that DB’s plague must’ve been close in time to 1918 while Violet’s death was much later, so it would’ve had to stick around.

Bill Hawks is working with Targent and Arthur Cantabella. There was a force in the shadows buying the time machine technology from Bill. Someone with a ton of money who helped him cover up a freak accident and get away with it completely, a feat that involved shady means like violence by hired thugs. Some theorize that it was Targent, seeking power over time in exchange for a little mafia magic. The Labarynthia project was sponsored by the UK government, so as the PM, Bill must’ve known about it. He probably supported dubiously ethical, high stakes (witch pun) psychological experiments like Cantabella’s and helped him stay in the shadows.

All the NPCs in St. Mystere and Folsense are dead. I make fun of this type of theory later, but they’re admittedly captivating. I’m pretty sure the canon in CV is that the villagers are Bruno and Augustus’s OCs that they made robots of and built a town around, but it’s more interesting to think that the village was there before, and the townspeople died of a plague and were replaced like Lady Violet. In Folsense, there really was a plague and they never explain the NPCs there. They’re either real people who appear way younger than they are due to hallucinations (even the ones who already look old ?), or they don’t exist at all, which is pretty spooky. This part of the story is a gaping plot hole. In a similar vein to CV, the edgy yet plausible theory is that they used to live in Folsense but died of the plague and now live on as hallucinations.

Hershel seeing everything as a puzzle is a coping mechanism for all his trauma. This was a joke but I thought about it for more than five seconds and it makes way too much sense.

Plot holes and unexplained questions that we like to overthink because it’s fun

The downfall of the Azran was vaguely explained in canon by people being so greedy that it lead to the civilization collapsing. It’s not a stretch to imagine that happening, but it would’ve been more interesting with a little more detail.

Layton and Luke are programmed to routinely forget how to walk. I didn’t know whether to list this in the joke section or not, but it’s odd that the characters actively participate in the walking tutorial (as opposed to showing a little memo to the player) as if they didn’t know how to before, especially when they go through this several times a year.

The truth behind Pavel. He’s simply a joke character who teleports, is a polyglot (sort of, at least he wants us to think he is) and is mega confused all the time. He’s a fun character to make crack theories about because of his cryptic nature that even he doesn’t seem to understand.

Miracle Mask deleted scenes. The first trailer for MM featured animations that were not in the final game. One was the Randall falling scene, except in a slightly different style than the one we know. Others were completely foreign, like Layton and Luke pacing across a theatre stage as if Layton’s about to expose someone with a dramatic point. Cut content and “could’ve beens” are always curious to think about.

Evan Barde: secret mastermind. Arianna and Tony’s dad is a mysterious character who died under mysterious circumstances. I think the canon is that his death was a genuine accident, but concept art of him making a creepy evil face suggests that maybe he originally had a larger role in the first drafts of LS than the finished game.

The secret to how Paul and Des pull off their disguises is unclear and will remain unclear. There is no plausible explanation for their shape shifting. Unless Paul is just a little dude wearing a human suit like that one Wizard of Oz species and Des is the best quick-changer ever and hides his naturally feminine legs under his cloak.

Alfendi’s mom. When LBMR came out people scrambled to piece together who Hershel had a kid with, but there’s no way alfendi is his biological son. This happened with Kat as well and her biological parents turned out to be brand new characters, so I’m sure Al will get an adoption backstory if his arc continues, be his parents old major characters or nameless, faceless NPCs.

Granny Riddleton and Stachenscarfen are omnipotent deities. Idk which section this fits best under, but these two characters have some serious power. At first introduction, they’re implied to be robots, but they appear everywhere in later games. They follow the Professor wherever he goes and assist him on his adventures, GR collecting puzzles and housing them by some odd magic, and Stachen teaches you how to walk. They both introduce and supervise the gameplay. By extension, I guess this idea could apply to Albus as well in the prequels. GR and Stachen even had the power to appear in LMJ, something no major character could do. I consider them akin to the velvet room attendants from the Persona games.

Clive’s kill count is a vague subject in the game for the sake of keeping it PG. I don’t know if anyone’s ever mathematically estimated the damage he caused, and I sure don’t want to try, but the game appears to push the idea that he didn’t kill anyone at all, saying they stopped him in the nick of time and things like that, even though we watch him raze the city. If they ever want to bring him back post-time skip, I can see them twisting it so that the mobile fortress cutscene wasn’t a linear sequence of events, but instead a compilation of scenes over the course of hours so that London neighborhoods around him could be evacuated and have it make sense. Knowing Level-5, it’s more likely that they wouldn’t think this deep and do something more lazy, though.

Memes and references

Post-time skip Flora is real references the famous L is real theory from Super Mario 64. Like Luigi in SM64, Flora was also a highly anticipated character who didn’t appear in a new game, in this case LMJ or LMDA. In the end, Luigi did become real in the DS port so hopefully Flora is real will be realized as well.

Hershel can’t read is a veteran fandom meme referring to how in the first few games, especially Curious Village, Layton asks Luke to read every document out loud for him. Perhaps this was an exercise to improve Luke’s reading skills and independent thinking, or perhaps he was just too lazy or preoccupied to do it himself, but this grew into the joke that our genius Professor was actually illiterate this whole time.

Layton’s smash invitation is hidden in PLvsAA. It’s no secret that the fandom would kill a man to get the Professor into the smash brothers franchise. In PLvsAA one of the puzzle artworks features a goat eating a familiar white envelope with a red stamp, sparking the joke that either Layton or Wright got the invitation their respective fans desired, but it got lost along the way.

The science board is the mysteriously vague organization Don Paolo got kicked out of for the crime of being evil. It’s the epitome of liberal arts majors and art school graduates trying to bs their way around not knowing any science and failing miserably. “He was very good at all the sciences, but then the CEO of science told him to stop because he was using the power of science for evil science”. They do this again when “Dr. Stahngun” describes his time machine what with the soolha coils and whatnot.

Hoogland is death cult initiation is a parody of “Mario 64 is Freemason initiation” which is ridiculous, just like the creepy human sacrifice subplot of AL.

You can see the reflection of someone watching you in Aurora’s eye references the famous, creepy Talking Angela theory. In retrospect it would’ve been funnier if I said Angela instead of Aurora.

Every copy of Professor Layton is personalized references the famous “every copy of Super Mario 64 is personalized”

Clive’s fat ass in HD is a meme that originated from the announcement of UFHD, saying that half of the excited fans wanted to cry again while the other half were simply attracted to Clive. If we want to enter real bottom-section-of-the-iceberg-chart territory then let’s say Clive’s character has some sort of psychological siren properties that draw people to him like a magnet and/or Harry Styles.

Things I pulled out of my ass for shits and giggles

Infinite hint coin hack: I’m sure a tech savvy cheater could hack the game for infinite hint coins, but there’s no easy or interesting way. I don’t know why someone would do that though, considering a lot of the hints suck and there are puzzle guides on the internet.

Cringy, unused Randall villain monologue. This joke is derived from the actual scrapped MM content as well as deleted content being a popular element of iceberg charts, but it’s sadly not real. Would’ve been hilarious, though.

Last Specter Puzzle 031: Light Height tracks and records children’s intelligence level. It doesn’t, but it’s always fun to make fun of arguably THE most ridiculously difficult puzzle in the franchise. (Seriously, do they expect 7+ year olds to know trigonometry???)

Hershel struggles with tea addiction. Hershel from the games drinks tea in moderation, but the manga begs to differ. He has a tea set in the Laytonmobile, and an attempt at teatime while driving causes him to crash.

Folsense is a metaphor for Alzheimer’s. This is inspired by those edgy kids’ show theories where everyone’s in hell or something, but nobody has ever said this.

London Life is reality and the plot of the games is all in Luke’s head. That’s one way to fill every plot hole. How funny would it be if Luke made up crazy characters and stories based off his fellow townspeople Sharkboy and Lavagirl style. “This dude who lives in a castle and asks people to give him all their money for nothing in return is a vampire from 50 years ago involved in a tragic love story”.

Secret ending encoded into Tago’s Head Gymnastics. It’d be crazy if there was, and Dimitri would hound Tago for the secret to time travel. If you didn’t know, the Layton games started as an adaption of Akira Tago’s puzzle series, except they decided to add a story to make it more interesting and marketable.

Daily puzzles datamine your DS. I’m bad with technology but is it even possible to datamine a DS??? Idk, but I think my DS lite from 2008 is safe.

[littlesmartart]

Leverage AU thoughts

okay so I wanted to keep the worldbuilding for the AU in that specific photoset relatively short for the sake of how the post worked, but I've seen a lot of questions in the tags so here is some more information for you all, under the cut because it got LONG:

MORALITY: okay so I called this the "(sort of) Leverage AU" because it basically flips the Leverage concept of "criminals work together with one non-criminal for the greater good" into "one criminal persuades a bunch of non-criminals that law =/= morality and that sometimes to make sure the bad guys get justice you have to work around legality". Obviously some people are easier to persuade than others (Huaisang has always been pretty ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ about the law, but before he joins the team he insists all of his crimes have been Theoretical, and besides, pirating movies isn't real crime, da-ge, god), and some of them are a little troubled by it but have their own reasons for joining (Mingjue has a LOT of issues with it, but joins to protect Huaisang for That One Job, and then stays with the insistence that a. they don't kill anyone, b. they don't involve anyone who doesn't super deserve it, and c. that their goal is always to get evidence so the mark can be convicted and the mark is always handed over to the appropriate authorities at the end of the job. he has a little more moral flexibility than canon Mingjue because of his Complicated Past He Wants To Atone For, but he still has an incredibly strong internal moral code that he absolutely will not violate. Jiang Cheng cares more about the law in principle, rather than personally, and as soon as he sees that they can get Justice that the law can't, he's sold). Xichen has the hardest time of it; he jumps into the first job without protest because Meng Yao asks (and Meng Yao never ever asks for anything, so it... it must be important, right? And Jin Guangshan definitely deserves it). After that he has a lot of internal struggling going on, and he's usually the one in the team trying to steer them towards legal means, and going through the "correct" channels. He probably has a breakdown about it at the end of a season and spends the next season Travelling To Find Himself. He winds up coming back to the team when, on one of his travels, he watches a family he's staying with lose everything after being targeted by a conman, but because of a dirty police chief the evidence is destroyed. They refuse to take his money when he tries to help, and he realises that they only way to get them justice... is to call in the team. That's not to say he is 100% cool with everything from then on, and he definitely draws the line at certain criminal acts (stealing for the fun of it he is not okay with, for example, and he gives a Hard No on the suggestion of trying White Rabbit) but for the most part he accepts the concept of what they do as being for the greater good.

GRIFTER XICHEN: yeah it's ridiculous and implausible but hear me out... that just makes it better. Because this man is terrible at improv and can only lie when he's in character (you see that means it's not lying then, it's just ACTING) and doesn't drink and absolutely will not seduce a mark past the level of general flirting... and yet he's somehow a wildly successful grifter??? How??? I'll tell you how: he's so fucking handsome and kind and charming and cultured that pretty much everyone who meets him just... melts a little bit and, with some coaxing, gives him whatever he needs. IT'S LIKE A FREAKIN SUPERPOWER and it's absolutely ridiculous. With the added bonus that he's juuust famous enough that the average person might kind of think he looks familiar, which means he's very good at coming across like he totally belongs wherever he's seen. Of course he works here, he's been here for months... don't you recognise him?

NO WOMEN ON THE TEAM: look, in Meng Yao's defence, when he put together this team he thought it would only be for one job, he wasn't trying to future-proof it! But yes, it can sometimes be an issue if they don't have time to plan ahead, and he and Huaisang - as the most stereotypically feminine members of the team, and by far the best liars - will usually take on any female roles they need if they're in a pinch and can't call in outside help, although all of them are ready to take on roles of different genders if need be (female roles are actually the only way to persuade Huaisang to grift, and he has an extensive shoe collection for such roles that he likes to expand by billing to the company account... Meng Yao is deeply unimpressed by this).

OTHER CHARACTERS: when Meng Yao started this, he worked very very hard to keep his siblings and the rest of his family out of it, to keep them all away from any fallout in case it went wrong (and also to stop any pesky Moral Issues from getting in the way). When that was over and they started taking regular cases, he relaxed the rule a little - Mianmian will sometimes step in to help if she can be sold on how bad the person is they're taking down, Zonghui can be relied upon if they need extra muscle, and Wen Qing is their go-to Ask No Questions doctor. Wei Wuxian frequently gets roped in to consult, as, if you give him six packs of hot chips, ten cans of monster, twelve hours, and a laptop, he can become a specialist in almost anything. Jiang Cheng was very very resistant towards the idea of his brother being allowed in the team, even just as a consultant, but the MOMENT Wei Wuxian was given any access to Shenanigans there was no fucking stopping him. In the later jobs Qin Su accidentally gets pulled into one of the cons and turns out to be a WAY better grifter than anyone could have imagined, so she winds up on the "ally call list". Meng Yao is both perturbed and proud, but absolutely draws the line at teenage Mo Xuanyu being allowed to help.

PAIRINGS: flipping the "two parents + three kids" dynamic in Leverage, this AU has 3zun and Sangcheng - so "three gege + two didi". Xiyao have a One That Got Away sort of past, and Xichen joins the team SPECIFICALLY because Meng Yao expresses emotional vulnerability by asking for help fOr OnCe In HiS fUcKiNg LiFe. Nielan dated when they were teens, and are happy to be reunited, but Mingjue refuses to rekindle a romantic relationship until Xiyao sort their shit out because it's obvious to anyone with eyes how hung up on Meng Yao Xichen is. Nieyao have a certain amount of "I'll work with you towards a common cause but that doesn't mean I have to like you" vibe, but veeery slooowlyyy wind up bonding over doing stuff they're not proud of for something they were so sure was a worthy cause at the time, but now they just feel jaded and used (there's a lot of arguments along the lines of "oh, so my corporate espionage is worse than what you did in spec ops... because the military says that what you did was legal. RIGHT. OKAY. SURE."). After several years of will-they-won't-they struggle, 3zun do get together, and everyone is very relieved. As for Sangcheng... it starts off as Huaisang just flirting kind of obnoxiously with Jiang Cheng, who rolls his eyes and snarks back, and then naturally Huaisang winds up catching feelings and is like [meme voice] Haha, I'm In Danger! He is unwilling to act on his feelings because he doesn't believe that Jiang Cheng likes him that way, and continues to believe that right up until the day Jiang Cheng snaps, and grabs him and kisses him, and is like "if I didn't actually like you flirting with me I would have punched you in the face years ago" and Huaisang is like "huh. Yeah that's probably true."