#(added tag: clarification in replies ^.^))

[sovereigntism]

@musessinabag asked:

TRUTHTFUL TUESDAY 18 and 19

[accepting so long as this works - here's the source for reblogging.]

18. what’s your favorite trope?

Isekai tropes! Another World and Reincarnation tropes are my favorite to write, and to consume in media.

19. what’s the most overrated plot?

OG FL / ML is crazy and villainous. Wants to kill new FL / ML, or whatever. I just find it overplayed in the isekai otomes I read and lately I've wanted to chew on the limbs of whatever group decided that was going to be a common trope.

[kedreeva]

Forgive me, but I'm new to Tumblr and thus am a bit "slow" when it comes to how things work.

I saw in your bio (status? Description? Whatever you call the thing on a profile) that you help when something something, so I figured you were a good place to start!

How does this platform work, exactly? I get that there are the posts on the front page and the questionnaire you fill when you make an account, but aside from that, they kind of drop you in without a map XD

What's with the #'s, why is everyone so forcibly autistic and gay (no problem, just a bit confusing as an outside observer), where do I go to get where I want to?

Sorry if this seems scatterbrained as a question, but I am bloody lost XD

Tyvm,

Dragon.

First of all, welcome! Of course I am happy to help!

Second of all, Tumblr is kind of the gay and neurodivergent website. Asking why we are this way is kind of like going to a food blog and asking why there are so many recipes. It's just sort of the place we've chosen to gather amongst friends.

As for how the site works... well, most days it doesn't, but through the power of will you can make it do stuff.

So if you look at the top bar of the site (or if you're on mobile, the bottom corner with the little pencil in a colorful circle), you'll see you can make several different kinds of posts. MOST posts on this site are going to be text or photos, very few posts will be anything else, but it happens. You can make your own posts ("posting") or you can use the circular arrows button to reblog someone else's post ("reblogging"). Reblogging a post places a copy of a post on your blog for others to see, and is highly encouraged as the main form of community. Reblogging maintains connection to the original poster, who retains credit and can see where the post goes and who likes it. This is good!! There is another form of post that is BAD, and that is taking the content of someone else's post, making a new post, and posting it as a fresh post- this is called reposting, and it WILL get you blocked by... pretty much everyone as it's widely considered stealing. Reblogging (using the arrows button) is GOOD, stealing someone's stuff and making a new post is BAD.

The #'s are called tags, and they are NOT like tags on instagram or twitter (at least, not ONLY). On tumblr, the first few tags in any original post are used as a way for the site to file posts you MAKE into "the tag" (singular) which is what comes up when you use the search function. So, if you tag something "Birds" and then you go search "birds" you post should show up in that tag's feed. HOWEVER. Since this ONLY happens for original posts, and you can add tags when you reblog stuff, tags on reblogged posts are just for talking in ways that aren't designed to follow the post. People use the "the tags" (plural) to talk to their followers, to talk to OP, to add clarification, to answer other tags in the notes of posts, etc, and they use it as a filing system for their own blogs (if you search ON THEIR BLOG only, you can search the words they normally use for tags to find stuff, and this works for reblogs too. it actually doesn't WORK work, you'd be better off using google to find stuff on people's blogs. tumblr is a functional website). So if you MAKE post, your post gets seen in The Tag of each tag you add for the site's general search function, and if you REBLOG a post the tags only matter to your blog's search function (and whoever is following you or reading the notes). If you want, you can reply in the body of a reblog post, but what you reply will follow the post around if someone reblogs it from you. Most people try to keep that form of post addition to relevant info. Tags are kind of like using your indoor voice to talk to a little group of friends, vs adding to a post in the body which is like having a megaphone.

You get to "the notes" by clicking on the number in the bottom left of any given post. You can see replies, tags and comments, and likes, on different tabs. "Liking" a post does not feed an algorithm here; this is a place which scorns algorithms. We spread things by hand, by reblogging them.

If you want to find creative work here, you can search the site for tags that might interest you. If you like birds, for example, you might search the site for "birds" or "bird" or "feathers" or "peacock" or "bluejay" or whatever birds you want to see. You have the choice to follow a tag (not recommended, as anyone can post spam to tags) or to scroll through the tag and click on the usernames of people posting things you like. Scroll through their blogs a little ways (10-20 posts) to see if you like their general vibe/whatever they're posting, and if you do like it, follow them! Following another user will then place them on your dashboard (the little house icon at the top or bottom takes you to your dashboard, or dash). Your dash amalgamates all the people you follow into a feed that you can scroll, kind of like following reddit forums (maybe?? I don't really use reddit so don't quote me).

You can scroll your dash to see posts you like (typical) or if you have the fortitude, you can become a tag diver. Tag divers are time honored and respected members of the tumblr ecosystem. These are folks who go into the main tag (for example, search the site for "birds" and scroll it) and look for good posts to reblog/queue. People then follow tag divers to see just the good posts from The Tag, without the spam or off topic or whatever stuff.

There are other sections of the site, like "for you" but idk what they do. Hardly anyone that's been here long term uses that. It's the closest to an algorithm as you'll get on the site, and we're very anti algorithm.

I mentioned a "queue" and that's another vital part of tumblr, and something unique to tumblr that makes it very special. You have the ability to either post instantly, OR.... you can add a post to your queue. The queue collects posts you put into it, and spits them out at regular intervals throughout the day, according to the preferences you set. So, mine is set to post I think 3 times a day. I've had it set as high as 20 times a day before, but it's usually at 3-5 depending on how many posts are in it. You can queue up to 1000 posts at a time. If your queue is full, you can add posts to your "drafts" section to queue or post later (or just post them). There's a post limit per day (I think it's 300? I could be wrong), so you can only make 300 posts a day. You may or may not ever hit that, but it exists.

If you want to view your notifications, you can find them in the lightning bolt on the webpage, or the little chat bubble on the app. You can filter activity, which is a great tool.

I think that's mostly the basics, although I am sure people will add more info in reblogs. You can find their added info by clicking on the "notes" in the bottom left of this post and then clicking on their reblog title. You can try doing a reblog by reblogging this to respond!

[monscrow]

intro post, i guess!!!

askbox open only on weekends (when i remember lol); got too overwhelmed by spam, my apologies.

last updated 10/feb/2025

⚠️flash warning for blinkies at the bottom⚠️

free gaza, free palestine, stop genocide. you don't agree? block me.

i go by mons, crow and vic/víctor!!

my pronouns are they/them, he/him and any neos/xenos that you think would fit either comedically or off of vibes.

lvl 16, so, a minor !! beware

aroacespec, something like that; qprs are sick asf and all hail relationship anarchy.

art sideblog is @monscrowdraws

audhdcd (asd + adhd + ocd 😻😋) and hEDS. i use tonetags, feel free to ask for clarification!!!

bday is oct 7. 🎉🎉🎉

i'm mexican 🇲🇽!! i speak both spanish and english.

timezone is cst/utc-6.

i say slurs i can reclaim (mainly the f and t queer ones) and swear a lot, though if that makes you uncomfortable please either block me or lmk so i can try to tone it down when around you.

i love interacting!! feel free to tag me in stuff, send some asks (be it on anon or not), or message me! moots can ask for my discord even if we've never actually talked before. though i suck at keeping consistent; nothing personal i promise</3 /gen

i tend to spam-reblog so do with that information what you will.

some tags you might see me use here and there:

#mons rambles ← just my thoughts, ideas, opinions, and whatever i feel like throwing into the tumblr void.

#ask a crow / #anon asks ← askbox replies.

#save / #art save / #fav / #hellsite faves ← these are more for myself, but yeah they're pretty self-descriptive. just in case you get curious or anything.

hyperfixations/interests/things i'm passionate about !!! i guess, kinda

→ mcr (+ most of the members' solo projects)

→ killjoys (california + national anthem, but mainly calif and fanon)

→ demolition lovers lore (i have literally written like at least three different essays about it for school help me i'm so serious)

→ emo/alt/diy culture

→ will wood

→ bandom in general

→ sonic the hedgehog (franchise)

→ graphic design, arts and crafts, illustration, animation (that's right y'all graphic design IS my passion 😔)

→ fnaf (bonnie fnaf they could never make me hate you)

→ cosplay/costume-making

→ d&d

→ crows (no way, crow, really???)

→ australian shepherds

→ the umbrella academy (s4 isn't canon in my heart + currently reading the comics !!! )

→ gravity falls

→ neurodivergencies/psychology/disabilities (this one's pretty meta ngl)

→ lgbtqia+ identities (emphasis on the aroace-spec ones + relationship anarchy)

→ politics/activism

→ linguistics + conlangs

→ fantasy in general (high fantasy, magic, vampires, tieflings, you name it)

→ boardgames

→ the count of monte cristo (book + 2024 movie)

→ webfishing :3

→ uhhhh there's more but i don't remember rn, i'll keep adding as i see fit (probably... maybe..... perhaps....... quizás........ puede ser..........)

dni

trump supporters, terfs, transphobes, anti lgbtqia+/queerphobics, exclusionists, ableists, racists, prolifers/antichoicers, proshippers/anti-antis, irl gore, pro-israel/zionists, pro-ai generated "content", pro-nft, non-critical media consumers, classists, ed blogs, sh blogs.

also, i'm aware that dnis tend to not be effective and i probably will still get shitty ppl in my inbox so i can and will block. though i'm p chill as long as you're chill. this blog is run by a very neurodivergent, mentally ill, mexican, transmasc, aroace faggot, and any kind of bigoted hatred will not be tolerated.

blinkies made with blinkies cafe !!!

pssst btw, before you go, if you read my intro post i'd heavily encourage you to like it, so i can know!!! :] (/nf though!)

[kirby-the-gorb]

reply roundup!

@solar-cr0ss has added an image description to [soup], and @scarlet-bee has added an image description to [vameltimes]! thank you both!

also the [collector club] carries on (US residents can sign up through [patreon]), and the youtube captions I spent all of february on are now on the [brbavrai] video :)

on [squish] @nexus-nebulae left some lovely tags that for sure make me feel understood, thanks y'all! I'm glad you're also headed in the right direction for you.

@icannotgetoverbirds asked: oh my GOD this blog is EXCELLENT. hell yes. also by any pronouns do you mean any as in he she or they are all equally fine or does that include neopronouns and does it include objectself pronouns?

so like most people have pronouns that "fit" right, and I've just never found any that are quite right for me. so I might as well open it up to a free-for-all, whatever you feel like! while I don't feel like I fully Get neopronouns and stuff, I have zero objections to them being used for me. (or, obviously, for people who personally identify with them!) (also thank you lol)

on [string cheese] @ceylonsilvergirl said: even Kirby strings his cheese. dude could just vacuum it up, And he still strings it

well yeah dude if you don't string it it's not string cheese. it's just cheese.

on [comfytown] @kingdedede8 said: can i come

hell yeah dude anyone can be a resident of comfytown, you just gotta get so comfy cozy with your blankets and suchlike.

on a [reblob] @artsy-dreamer helpfully explained that it's likely a reference to the end of spring breeze from super star! thanks for the clarification :)

on [frog] @demifiendcruithne said: this. is the war cry. of a very. angry. gorb.

yes that is exactly the video I was thinking of! there are others available these days ofc but my wife always puts that particular one on when I'm upset cuz it cheers me up -u-

on [frog] @joekingv1 said: *gently pets the tiny frog while wondering if they both have read Cat Cafe Comics*

they have not, but the art style looks pretty cute!

on [supernatural] @joekingv1 said: *hands baby a note about Osaka officially becoming a teacher in Yotsuba*

aww, that's neat! I've only read a little bit of both azumanga daioh and yotsuba, but I bet that made a lot of people happy :)

on [rare disease day 2024] @3am-cheerios said: i didnt know theres an awareness day. and that its tomorrow! also jfc that sounds exactly like what my sister is going thru right now, her primary doctor literally LAUGHED at her last time over her concerns

oh man that really sucks :( I hope she has better luck in future, I've often done well with like, medical residents as primary care? because I know what I'm talking about by this point and they're new enough to want to defer to someone else anyway. that does also mean I need a new pcp every couple years tho since they finish their programs and move away -n-

anonymous asked: Poyo ^_^

not technically kirby related but there's a cute little slice of life series called poyo poyo kansatsu nikki that I stumbled upon browsing crunchyroll years and years ago, about a very round cat. who also says poyo. I think I've drawn him once. tbh I think of him first when I hear poyo, but I think of kirby first when I hear hi.

@goldendragonleaf asked: *gives him uncoffee*

thanks he's normal now

on [coffee] @otatma said: has anyone ever drawn Barista Kirby?

I vaguely remember a kirby drawing someone else did of him behind the counter at a coffee shop, but I thoroughly checked all my archives and didn't see it :(

@thatonepointbraincell asked: Fish 🐟

(we're gonna go to the aquarium while my wife is in town next week, they opened a new building but she wanted us to wait until she got home to go see it for the first time)

[lightdancingwords]

Breaking The Wall - Part Nine of ?

Pairings: Tim Bradford x Original Female Character

Series Summary: When Sergeant Tim Bradford is partnered with Officer Rachel Grace—a sharp, emotionally guarded transfer with a reputation for pushing the limits—tension ignites from day one. Rachel operates with cold precision, often disregarding protocol in the name of efficiency, while Tim, shaped by trauma and discipline, clings to order and control. Though their approaches clash, their results are undeniable, forcing them into a reluctant partnership that slowly deepens through shared pressure and unspoken understanding. As they navigate high-stakes calls, moral boundaries, and the weight of unresolved grief, what begins as friction evolves into trust—and eventually, something neither of them expected.

Word Count: 5,151

Tags/Warnings: Police work, angst, mention of PTSD, military work, a hint of fluff

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

NOTE: Please see THIS POST about the new posting schedule! Thank you!

Dividers: credit to @firefly-graphics

Chapter Nine: Lowering Of The Guard

Monday – 6:12 A.M. – Bradford’s Apartment

The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, but light was beginning to streak across the blinds—faint gray-blue brushing over furniture, over clean floors, over the quiet stillness of a home that now held two sets of footsteps.

Rachel was already awake.

She stood in the guest room, her uniform folded neatly on the edge of the bed, her hair pulled back into a high, precise ponytail. She moved with the crispness of routine—but there was something softer beneath it now. Not rushing. Not bracing.

Just moving.

She padded into the hallway just as Tim emerged from his room—hair damp from the shower, shirt half-buttoned, sock in one hand.

They stopped briefly in the hallway—face to face, both in uniform or nearly there, both clearly heading toward the same goal.

Work.

But not quite ready to shift into that gear yet.

“Coffee’s on,” Tim said, voice low and familiar.

Rachel gave a single, grateful nod. “Perfect.”

He stepped aside, letting her pass first, and she moved into the kitchen without hesitation—barefoot, like she belonged.

And in a way, she did.

6:27 A.M. – Kitchen

Two travel mugs sat on the counter.

Rachel was zipping up her jacket while Tim finished tying his boots near the table. The silence between them wasn’t heavy or awkward. It was full of that Monday-morning calm that only came from two people used to the same kind of quiet.

Rachel took a sip, leaned against the counter.

Tim stood, finally fully geared up, and glanced at her. “You sleep alright?” he asked, casual.

She nodded. “Didn’t even hear the AC click on last night.”

Tim smiled. “That’s a good sign.”

They stood for a moment longer—just sipping, just existing.

And then Rachel said, not looking at him at first: “This was... easier than I thought it would be.”

Tim didn’t need clarification. He just replied, “Yeah. It was.”

She looked at him then, brow slightly lifted. “And you didn’t even burn breakfast.”

He smirked. “We haven’t had breakfast yet.”

She paused. “You’re going to cook before shift?”

He stepped past her toward the stove, already reaching for the eggs. “I mean, you’re already here.”

Rachel stared at him, amused and maybe a little stunned. And then—she let out a breath of laughter that she didn’t try to cover up. “Okay,” she said. “You’ve got fifteen minutes.”

Tim cracked an egg into the pan, over his shoulder: “I only need ten.”

6:58 A.M. – Outside, Bradford’s Apartment Building

They stepped out into the morning light together, two uniforms, two coffees, one truck waiting down the lot. They didn’t say much as they walked. But when they reached the vehicle, Rachel slowed just slightly before opening the passenger door.

Tim looked at her. Not questioning. Just waiting. She glanced up at him.

“Thanks. For this weekend.”

He gave her a soft nod. “Anytime.”

And then—because it felt right, and because it wasn’t too much—she reached out and gently bumped her hand against his as she passed him.

Not a grab. Not a hold. Just contact. And he smiled. Small. Real. And everything between them?

Different now.

Still undefined. Still slow. But growing. Every shift. Every morning. Every moment. Together.

Monday – 7:21 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Squad Room

The squad room was already alive with motion—boots on tile, radios buzzing, officers sliding into desks and checking the board. The coffee machine sputtered its last pot for the morning rush, and someone in the corner cracked a tired joke about the heat wave not letting up until the apocalypse.

Grey stood just outside the bullpen, coffee in hand, posture easy but alert. He was talking quietly to Lopez about patrol coverage when the front doors opened.

Rachel and Tim walked in together. They weren’t rushed. Weren’t late. Just… in sync. Side by side. Both in uniform, both with travel mugs, both moving like the morning had already found its rhythm.

Grey’s eyes tracked them the way only someone with command presence could—reading instead of reacting. There was no touching. No laughter. No coy glances. But something had shifted.

They didn’t hover at separate ends of the room. They didn’t fall into line awkwardly. They moved together—effortlessly. Not partners who had adapted. Not officers who tolerated each other.

Partners who trusted each other now.

Rachel peeled off to check the whiteboard, Tim stepping over to grab a briefing packet. They didn’t say a word. But the rhythm was unmistakable.

Lopez noticed it too. Her conversation with Grey dipped slightly, eyes following the same line.

Grey took a sip of his coffee. Didn’t say a thing. Just watched. Measured. And then gave the smallest nod to himself. Whatever it was, it was working. Not because they were soft. But because they were stronger now.

He stepped forward, nodding to both officers as he passed. “Grace. Bradford.”

They looked up in unison.

“Morning, Sarge,” Tim said.

“Morning,” Rachel echoed, voice steady, clear.

Grey didn’t stop walking. But his tone held something just beneath neutral. “Keep doing whatever you’re doing.”

He didn’t need to turn around to see the glance Rachel gave Tim—or the quiet way Tim’s jaw ticked like he knew exactly what Grey meant.

And just like that, the day began.

But Grey? Grey kept walking with a small, knowing thought tucked into the back of his mind: They're not just surviving anymore. They’re beginning to live.

Monday – 7:24 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Squad Room – Grey’s Briefing Begins

Tim stood at ease beside Rachel as Grey stepped to the front of the room. The squad was shifting into place, partners grouping up, pens clicking open, notepads angled against clipboards.

Grey started the briefing with the usual—a reminder about overtime caps, a short note on the continued heat wave, a heads-up about precinct rotation coverage.

But Tim wasn’t fully listening. Not yet. Because his jaw was still tight from three minutes ago.

“Keep doing whatever you’re doing.”

Grey had said it casually. Passing. Just another morning comment from a seasoned sergeant who’d seen every kind of partnership come through these doors.

But Tim knew exactly what that tone had meant. Grey saw it. Saw them.

Not in the way the rookies might’ve whispered about if Rachel had come in wearing his shirt or if there had been any trace of personal between them.

But in the way leaders notice shift. In the way Grey always noticed what mattered. Tim’s jaw had ticked because he wasn’t used to being seen that way.

He wasn’t used to having something—someone—in his life that mattered this much… without having to defend it. And this thing with Rachel? It wasn’t defined. Wasn’t simple. But it was real. And it was good.

And Grey—who had every reason to keep watch on Rachel, who had vouched for her when no one else would—had just looked at the two of them, read the room, and said keep going.

Tim hadn’t needed a speech. But that? That meant something. He felt Rachel shift beside him slightly, flipping a page in her notebook. Cool. Focused. Already listening.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. And for just a second, he let himself feel it: The weight of being known. Not just for what he could do in the field. But for what he was starting to mean to someone.

And what she was starting to mean to him.

Monday – 7:24 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Squad Room – Rachel’s POV

Grey’s voice had faded into background noise—routine words she could’ve recited herself, bullet points about shift coverage, blackouts, patrol pairings. Her pen moved out of habit, but her focus?

It had already locked on three minutes ago.

“Keep doing whatever you’re doing.”

He hadn’t stopped when he said it. Hadn’t lingered. But the way he said it—that weight, buried under even delivery—that meant something.

Rachel didn’t miss things. She clocked tone as well as she clocked movement. And she knew a quiet sanction when she heard it.

Grey saw it.

Her. Tim. Them. Whatever this was, it hadn’t escaped notice. And what rattled her wasn’t that Grey noticed. It was that… he approved.

He had every reason to be cautious. He had vouched for her, took a risk when he agreed to her transfer, knowing the story, knowing the fallout from Jake. He had pulled her into this department when others said she wasn’t ready.

And now?

He saw her next to Tim—shoulders relaxed, breathing steady, no armor in place—and instead of pulling her aside, instead of reminding her to keep things professional or measured or cold—

He’d said keep doing it. That did something in her. A tight, guarded part of her chest flickered open. She shifted her grip on the pen, just to ground herself, flipping a page in her notebook.

She didn’t look at Tim directly. She didn’t need to. Because she felt him glance at her. Could feel his gaze hovering—just long enough to be a question.

And for the first time in months—She didn’t look away. She held it. Met it. Let him see her. Not the partner. Not the soldier. Not the shield.

Her.

And when he looked back toward the front, something in her finally, finally settled. Because this wasn’t about who was watching anymore. This was about who knew.

And Rachel Grace?

She wasn’t afraid of that knowing.

Not from him.

Monday – 8:07 A.M. – Fairfax Neighborhood – 911 Call: Noise Complaint, Possible Disturbance

The cruiser rolled up slowly to the faded stucco complex, sun already baking the sidewalk in sheets of white-hot glare. The dispatcher had logged it as a noise complaint—shouting, possible items being thrown. No weapons mentioned. No screams. Just a neighbor worried enough to call for the third time in two weeks.

Rachel scanned the tablet.

“Same unit. Male, thirty-eight. Lives alone. PTSD flagged. Former Marine—two tours.”

Tim was already tightening his jaw.

Rachel glanced sideways at him, then back to the screen. She didn’t say it aloud, but she saw it—the way his posture shifted, just slightly. Shoulders a little more still. Eyes a little more focused.

She’d seen it enough now to recognize it. This wasn’t just another call.

They stepped up to the second-floor landing, shoes quiet on the concrete. Rachel knocked—firm, but not aggressive.

“LAPD. Sir, we’re here to check on you.”

No response at first. Then a sharp voice, just behind the door. “Go away.”

Rachel shifted her stance. Calm. Grounded.

Tim stayed where he was—but there was weight behind his presence. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t sound like a cop. He sounded like a man who’d been on the other side of this door before.

“Hey, brother,” he said, voice low but steady. “Name’s Officer Bradford. I served in Afghanistan. Infantry.”

A pause.

Rachel’s head turned slightly, eyes flicking toward him—but she stayed silent. Supported.

Inside the apartment, something moved. Then the door cracked open two inches. Just enough.

The man behind it had the look Tim had seen a hundred times—exhausted, tight-jawed, adrenaline barely masked by shame. His shirt was damp from sweat, and his hand hovered near the knob like he didn’t know whether to shut them out or ask them in.

Tim took a step closer—measured, nonthreatening. “You okay?”

The man exhaled hard, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Just a flash. I thought I was back. Loud bang, next thing I know I’m yelling at ghosts.”

Rachel didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Tim nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’ve had those nights.”

The man’s eyes flicked up to meet his. And that? That landed. Tim kept going, voice calm but open. “You’re not in trouble. No one’s filing anything. But if there’s someone you talk to—VA contact, counselor—might be good to reach out.”

The man swallowed. “They give me numbers. Haven’t used them.”

“You should,” Tim said. “Not because of today. But because nights like that build up.”

Rachel finally stepped in, gentle. “There’s a cooling center a few blocks down. And we’ve got bottled water in the cruiser. You need either, you let us know.”

The man nodded. A little slower this time. A little clearer. “I’m okay now,” he said. “Thanks for… not treating me like I’m crazy.”

“You’re not,” Tim said, without missing a beat. “You’re just tired.”

The man looked between them again, then slowly shut the door—not slamming it, not angry. Just… done. Back outside, the heat hit harder after the shade of the landing. Rachel stayed quiet until they reached the cruiser.

Then she spoke, low. Just for him. “You okay?”

Tim gave a slow nod. “Yeah.”

And then, because she knew, she added: “You handled that better than anyone else could’ve.”

He didn’t answer for a beat. Then— “I saw myself in him,” he said quietly. “Not the yelling. But the way he didn’t want anyone to see it. That part’s familiar.”

Rachel didn’t push. Didn’t fill the space. She just let the silence speak. And when he finally looked at her, jaw still set, eyes a little distant, she gave the smallest nod. “I’m glad he got you today.”

Tim held her gaze. “I’m glad I had you next to me.”

And they got in the cruiser. The air inside was hot for a second, before the AC kicked in. But the space between them?

Cool. Steady. Strong.

Like something built slow, and built right.

Monday – 9:11 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Upper Mezzanine

From the second-floor railing, the squad room below was a sea of motion—officers returning from early calls, reports being filed, radios clipped back to belts. The low hum of the precinct’s pulse beat steady across the floor.

Captain Elise Monroe stood beside Sergeant Grey, arms folded, eyes sharp as she tracked movement below. Her gaze followed Tim and Rachel as they walked through the bullpen together—subtle, wordless rhythm marking every step.

Rachel handed off a report to a desk officer, Tim peeled off to grab something from the supply cabinet, and when he returned, she was already holding his clipboard. No glance exchanged. Just seamless motion.

The Captain sipped her coffee slowly. “They’ve settled in,” she remarked.

Grey didn’t look away. “No,” he said quietly. “They’ve locked in.”

Monroe glanced at him, a brow arched. “Did you know this would happen when you brought her here?”

Grey exhaled, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I hoped,” he said.

The Captain was silent for a moment, then followed Tim and Rachel again with her eyes. “Most officers take six months to stop second-guessing each other. They’re running like they’ve been partnered for years.”

“They’ve earned that rhythm,” Grey replied. “The hard way.”

“They trust each other.”

Grey nodded. “And that was the only thing she didn’t have when she got here.”

They both watched as Rachel said something low to Tim—nothing visible, but his posture shifted just slightly, a low reaction only someone who knew him would spot.

The Captain didn’t miss it. Neither did Grey. “Where does it go from here?” she asked.

Grey took a slow sip of his coffee. “That’s up to them.”

Down below, Rachel handed Tim a pen she’d taken from his pocket without asking. He didn’t blink. Just took it, signed, and walked beside her toward the exit.

Not a word. Not a stumble. Unshakable. And Grey? He smiled—not with pride, but with something deeper. Peace. Because this was why he made the call all those months ago. And this was the moment he knew—he’d been right to hope.

Monday – 6:14 P.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Parking Lot

The sky was burning low and orange behind the precinct, casting long shadows across the lot. The heat had finally started to break—barely—but the pavement still radiated warmth beneath their boots.

Tim and Rachel walked in silence toward his truck, their pace unhurried, shoulders brushing once as they weaved through rows of patrol vehicles. The air between them wasn’t stiff. It was settled—the quiet of two people who had worked hard, read each other without missing a beat, and had nothing left to prove.

They reached the truck. Rachel moved to the passenger side like it had always been hers. Tim unlocked it with a low chirp and slid into the driver’s seat. He adjusted the AC vents without looking over.

Then, casually— “You check with the power company yet?”

Rachel pulled her phone from her pocket and unlocked it with a swipe. A pause. A call. Tim watched her from the corner of his eye as she lifted the phone to her ear.

“Hi, yeah—apartment 4B, Wilshire block. Still reporting an outage?”

A beat. Another. Rachel nodded faintly. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

She hung up. Then stared at the phone a moment longer than necessary.

Tim’s voice was quiet. “It’s back, isn’t it?”

Rachel nodded once. “Came back online about an hour ago.”

Neither of them said anything right away. The engine hummed gently beneath them. The dashboard lights glowed soft orange.

Rachel stared out the windshield. Not tense. Not anxious. Just thinking.

Tim didn’t press. He just rested his hands on the steering wheel and waited. Because this wasn’t about power. This was about whether she was going to stay—not because she had to, but because she wanted to.

Rachel finally exhaled, slow and even. “Guess I should head back soon,” she murmured, not looking at him.

He didn’t move. Didn’t try to sway her. But his voice, when it came, was quiet. “You could wait until tomorrow.”

Rachel turned her head. Met his eyes.

There was no pressure in his gaze. No expectation. Just space. For her to choose. And for a long moment, she didn’t say anything. Then—

She leaned back in the seat, tucked her phone into the center console, and murmured, “I could.”

And just like that—the decision was made. Not with fanfare. But with ease. Because home had power again. But here had peace.

Monday – 6:43 P.M. – Bradford’s Apartment, Culver City

The apartment door opened with a quiet click.

Rachel stepped in first this time, the way someone would when they knew exactly where the light switch was. She didn’t hesitate at the threshold. Didn’t pause like a guest. She just walked in—shoulders relaxed, posture loose, ponytail undone on the drive home.

Tim followed behind, keys dropped into the bowl by the door, the same practiced habit he always had. But this time, he paused just for a second, watching her.

Rachel had already kicked off her boots. Her uniform jacket was draped neatly over the back of the chair. She moved into the kitchen without thinking, opening the fridge and grabbing two water bottles.

One for her. One for him. She didn’t ask. She knew.

Tim accepted the bottle with a quiet nod as he moved past her toward the living room. The windows were cracked open, letting in the faint smell of warm pavement and dry trees.

She followed. No question of where to sit. No formality. Just presence.

Tim sank into the couch with a quiet exhale, loosening the top button of his uniform shirt. Rachel joined him without a word, settling in, one leg tucked beneath her, water bottle cradled in her hands.

The TV wasn’t on. The music wasn’t playing. But the room wasn’t silent. It was easy. She glanced over at him, her voice low. “I’ll head back tomorrow. Early. Before roll call.”

Tim nodded once. “You’re welcome as long as you need.”

Rachel studied him for a beat. “Even if I don’t?”

He didn’t blink. “Especially if you don’t.”

Something in her chest eased. Again. Not all the way. But more than yesterday.

She leaned back against the cushions, exhaled through her nose, and let the rhythm of the room settle around them. The soft hum of the refrigerator. The whisper of wind through a half-open window.

Tim leaned forward, elbows on knees. “You hungry?”

She thought about it, then nodded. “But I’m not cooking.”

He smirked, rising from the couch. “Good. I already had leftovers in mind.”

Rachel watched him move toward the kitchen, his steps familiar, his back steady. And for the first time since she arrived on Friday, she realized—this wasn’t just his place anymore. It wasn’t hers either. It was theirs, for now. Not defined. Not labeled. But real. And she wasn’t afraid of that.

Monday – 7:24 P.M. – Bradford’s Apartment, Kitchen

Dinner was warmed up leftovers—rice and ginger chicken, reheated and repurposed with whatever greens he had in the fridge. Tim worked the stove with ease, while Rachel leaned against the counter with a glass of water in her hand, still in her uniform shirt but with the sleeves rolled to the elbows.

They didn’t talk much while he cooked.

They didn’t need to.

There was something about the rhythm now—quiet, soft-spoken, almost domestic—that felt like they had done this a dozen times before.

Tim plated the food and set it down at the small table near the window.

Rachel moved to sit, and as she passed behind him—just brushing by—her hand touched his back. Barely there. Her fingers settled just below his shoulder blade for a beat too long to be accidental, too short to be overt.

Tim didn’t startle. He didn’t look over. But his jaw softened. And in that tiny contact, everything shifted. They sat across from each other, eating slowly.

Midway through the meal, she said something dry—quiet, sardonic—about the state of Tim’s spice rack (“You own five types of pepper but only one bottle of olive oil?”), and he cracked a smile.

“You noticed that?”

“I notice everything.”

She didn’t say it like a warning. She said it like a truth.

And as the conversation drifted into lighter things—bad patrol snacks, summer uniforms, old partners and worst calls—Rachel reached for her water bottle, and her fingers brushed his where it rested on the table.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t pull away. And neither did he. The moment passed. Nothing grand. Nothing said. But when dinner ended and Rachel stood to clear the plates, she reached for his dish with one hand—

And the other, just briefly, brushed the back of her fingers down the inside of his forearm. And this time? It was intentional. Tim looked up at her.

She didn’t smile. She didn’t explain. But she didn’t need to.

Because he understood.

Monday – 8:03 P.M. – Bradford’s Apartment, Living Room

The kitchen had been cleaned up, plates washed and dried, leftovers tucked away. The windows were still cracked, and the night air had finally started to cool. It was quiet again—just the soft buzz of the ceiling fan and the occasional car humming past on the street below.

Rachel sat at one end of the couch, legs tucked under her, barefoot and calm. Her uniform shirt had been swapped for a cotton tee, sleeves pushed up, hair still in its workday ponytail.

Tim took the other side, more relaxed now—socks off, shoulders loose, one arm draped along the back of the couch.

The TV was on, muted. Neither of them were really watching. The silence between them had shifted. It wasn’t about space anymore. It was about what neither of them wanted to break.

Rachel’s hand rested on the couch cushion beside her, fingers idly tracing the seam in the fabric. Not fidgeting—just present.

Tim glanced at her. He didn’t speak. He didn’t ask. He just leaned—slowly, carefully—and let his hand come to rest beside hers.

Not on top. Not intertwined. Beside. And then—

His pinky brushed hers.

The contact was so light it almost didn’t register. But she felt it. And she didn’t move away. She turned her hand slightly—not enough to close the distance completely, but just enough to say I feel this too.

Tim didn’t press. Didn’t turn it into more than what it was. But his fingers stayed close. Close enough that she could move if she wanted.

She didn’t.

Instead, after a long, still breath, she shifted slightly—just enough to lean into the cushion near his side. Not touching his chest. Not curling into him.

Just closer. And that was enough.

Tim’s voice, when it came, was barely more than a whisper. “You’re here.”

Rachel didn’t look at him. But her voice was soft. “I know.”

Monday – 8:47 P.M. – Bradford’s Apartment, Living Room

The TV played on, muted and soft—a nature documentary now, full of slow pans across quiet forests and sunlit rivers. The light in the room was low, and the steady hush of the ceiling fan filled in the spaces between sound.

Rachel hadn’t said anything in ten minutes. She hadn’t moved much either.

Tim could feel the rhythm of her breathing shift—slowly, gradually—as her body began to relax more fully into the couch.

She was close now. Closer than she’d ever let herself be. Her hand still rested on the cushion, brushing against his knuckles now and then. Not by accident.

Her head tilted, just slightly, shoulder dipping inward. And then—with a breath so quiet he almost missed it—she leaned in. Not stiffly. Not cautiously. But naturally.

Rachel’s cheek came to rest gently against his shoulder, the curve of her body angling toward his without hesitation. Not because she meant to fall asleep.

But because this?

This felt right.

Tim didn’t shift. Didn’t adjust. He just sat there, still and steady, letting her weight settle against him like it belonged there.

Her breathing evened out. And slowly, her hand went still. She was asleep. Not guarded. Not perched on the edge of the cushion like she might startle awake at any second.

She let go. Her cheek against his shoulder. Her presence trusting. And Tim? He exhaled softly, barely a sound. Then—careful, so as not to wake her—he tilted his head just enough that his cheek brushed lightly against her hair.

He didn’t need to say anything. This said everything. And in that quiet room, with nothing but the flicker of the screen and the soft pull of breath—

They stayed that way. Not in a rush. Not needing to name it. Just being.

Together.

Monday – 9:34 P.M. – Bradford’s Apartment, Living Room

The TV was still glowing dimly, painting slow-moving shadows on the walls. The sound remained off. Outside, the city had gone still—just the occasional hum of a passing car or the faint rustle of palm fronds outside the window.

Rachel stirred. Just a breath at first. A shift in her shoulder, a subtle twitch of her fingers. Her lashes fluttered open against Tim’s shoulder, and her breath hitched as consciousness settled back in.

Her body was warm. Relaxed. And very aware that she wasn’t just slumped on the couch. She was leaning on him.

Her cheek still rested lightly against his shoulder, her hand now near his ribs, close enough that the steady rise and fall of his breathing was something she felt.

Rachel blinked once. Twice. And everything in her—the instinct honed by months, years of survival—told her to sit up. To put space between them. To regain control.

But she didn’t. Instead—she stayed. She let her eyes close again—not fully, just enough. Her breath deepened. Her cheek pressed just the faintest bit closer into the soft fabric of his shirt.

And for a moment, she allowed herself to feel it: The comfort. The safety. The quiet strength of Tim beside her—not moving, not flinching, not making a single sound that would suggest she was burdening him.

Because she wasn’t. She could feel it in the stillness of him. He was just there. Like he always had been. Her voice, when it finally came, was barely above a whisper. “I’m still awake.”

Tim’s voice followed, low and steady. “I know.”

She didn’t lift her head. Didn’t need to. And he didn’t move. Didn’t shift away or shift closer. He simply let her be. A long moment passed.

Then she murmured, quieter this time— “…I don’t want to move yet.”

Tim’s response wasn’t verbal. It was in the way his fingers shifted slightly—barely touching hers on the cushion. Not to pull her closer. Not to claim the moment.

Just to say: You don’t have to. And so—

She didn’t.

Monday – 10:14 P.M. – Bradford’s Apartment, Living Room

The night deepened.

The documentary on the television had faded into some ambient programming—glowing trees, soft instrumentals, starscapes moving in slow motion. The room had darkened even more, the overhead light turned off, leaving only the soft flicker of the screen and the occasional blink of headlights outside.

Rachel had stopped speaking almost twenty minutes ago. Not because there was nothing to say. But because she didn’t need words anymore.

Her body had grown heavier against Tim’s side—cheek still nestled against his shoulder, breathing deep, steady, the kind that only came from trust. Her hand had shifted slightly from his ribs to the curve of his chest, fingers resting in the fabric of his t-shirt.

Tim hadn’t moved.

He hadn’t dared.

But over time, his posture softened—slowly, as if his muscles had waited for permission to relax. His head tilted slightly, temple resting against the top of hers. The weight was comforting, grounding. He could smell the faint trace of her shampoo, something soft and clean and entirely her.

And then, in the quiet shift of sleep—they moved. Not intentionally. Not consciously. But together.

Rachel exhaled in her sleep and shifted, curling inward slightly. Her arm moved with her, sliding around his side. Her body leaned more fully into his. And Tim, instinctively, without even waking, responded in kind.

His arm came around her shoulders—broad and steady—drawing her closer. Not pulling. Just holding. And as they sank further into the cushions, the contact between them became something new:

Not accidental. Not cautious. Cuddled.

His hand rested at her back now, fingers brushing the hem of her shirt. Her forehead was tucked under his jaw, her legs lightly curled. The space between them—once full of careful tension—was gone.

There was no flinch. No distance. Just the quiet, unconscious comfort of two people who had finally stopped bracing.

And for the first time—

They slept.

Together.

Not side by side. Not separated by fear or doubt. But wrapped in the quiet trust that said:

You’re safe. You’re seen. You’re not alone anymore.

The stars moved across the sky outside the window. And inside, beneath a faded blanket and a soft rhythm of breath— Rachel Grace and Tim Bradford held each other as if they had always known how.

Tag List: @immastealurkneecaps, @maybefanficting, @kmc1989, @fuckingsimp4azriel

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Message me here!

[sheepispink]

A Pearl (1/2)

based on the song by mitski because i love mitski and hot traumatised men

Summary: Years of horrific memories still weigh down on him even as he promises to let you help him move on. All you want to do is help, but its not enough.

Part 2 Masterlist AO3

tags: Leon Kennedy/Reader, Hurt/No comfort, Angst, fem! reader, mentions of re4 (no specific spoilers dw guys), mentions of ptsd, heart wrenching angst 😘

other notes: for clarification, the timeline goes— after the raccoon city incident, then he goes on the re4 mission, then it’s like the smaller missions like damnation etc. Towards the end and next chapter it’s basically vendetta. But theres no actual spoilers bcus tbh.. i haven’t watched any of the movies except id 💀

Ch1: Before it Ended

Like a dream is how you’d always describe it. His coworkers, your friends —anyone who had heard of his name— would come up to you, fawning over your pretty looks and lovely personality. They’d ask you every time, “How did it happen?” And always, you’d replay that memory in your head.

“It was winter,” You’d begin by recounting the snow that fell upon your face that day, the breeze that bristled your bones, and the way his hair looked frozen in place. You’d remember the laughter that bubbled in your throat when you saw that and how his lips curved ever so slightly for what you believe was the first time. Some of the soft strands of your hair had itched your skin; It was messy from having been shaken from the depths of sleep, and now your fingers tuck the rogue locks behind your ear. Eyes like a pretty lake, hair like wheat, with his random strands and dirty blonde roots you would soon learn to run your fingers through. He stood before you, only the dim porch light illuminating him on that winter night. “Why are you out so late?” You had asked him, your hand reaching forward to tug him into the warmth of your apartment. Little did you know that’d tug him into your life as well.

The refusal was clear; he shook his head, puffs of warm air escaping as he explained that he had something to tell you. His clothes were dirty, scratched in places, and his combat knife was only hastily put away—just work, he explains, desperate to leave a good impression on you. He had finished, and he was sure that now that he’d have time, he’d be free from the shackles of the years that would creep up on him. Cheeks flushed and Adam’s apple bobbing—you still aren’t sure whether the cold or a blush caused that. “I know I’m always gone, and we dont see each other as often anymore, but I swear- I’ve sorted everything out. I’ve fixed it.” He says his words rushed and mumbled, like his heart was spilling out then and there.“I know this is sudden- i know, but- i just.. Will you marry me?” He blurts out and every puff of air that leaves his mouth feels like another log added to the fire you didn’t know was built in your heart for him. A campfire, as you’d always describe it, is comforting and warm, the perfect reassurance in cold times. Perhaps you should’ve chosen something detrimental to life, but you preferred the romantic speech.

Everyone loved the tale as you did, enamoured with how you managed to get the stoic agent to fall head over heels with you. He’d walk over right then, slinging an arm around your waist, giving you a tender kiss to your cheek, and plastering a smirk on his lips. “Still telling everyone that story?” He’d tease as his fingertips gently rubbed your side, the silver band on his ring finger twinkling with the same light his wine glass did. “As usual.” You’d reply, that same bubble of happiness rising in your throat again as you tilted your head upwards, waiting for the small peck that always came.

Always.

A year would go by, and you’d been learning more and more about each other. Nothing seemed to be too big of a step for you. Opposing voices, loud huffs, doors slamming shut until the other would open it quietly, apologise, crawl into the warmth of their shared bed, and work things out with sweet reassurances. Work was tough; he was on more missions than ever, being considered one of the greatest men to serve your country. Warmth that you always described as adoration filled your heart whenever you heard that phrase; you couldn’t be more proud of him for it.

Besides, not even that could tear you down; nothing could break the delicate encasing that surrounded the pair of you. A greenhouse, you’d say, because it held all the things that grew only with a person’s own nurture and care. Like your relationship, crafted and melded by your kind words and your soft voice. It’s a shame greenhouses are made of glass.

Weekends were quieter now, something you had decided to take in stride; you decided to plan something nice for when he returned. The he anniversary he had missed too. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him now, resorting to spraying his cologne on the pillows in that cold bed to retrieve some imaginary warmth. Then it came—the day he’d return. Open arms is what you welcomed him with; he had always loved to hug you, and holding you close was a remedy for his mind, he’d say. But those words stopped forming after some time. You ushered him into the shared bed that night, your arms curling around him after the nice surprise you had set up earlier had gone well. Perfect, you had thought. The bed was still cold, though. You thought about bringing it up with him but decided against it; the warmth of his arms was enough for you.

You should’ve brought it up with him, for the time would have entered where he couldn’t handle it. He had awoken with a jolt, sweat trickling like beads down his temples. Eyes wide and chest pounding, he sat there with eyes darting for a threat and hands searching for yours. Your fingers would intertwine with his, warm against his cold palms, as you sat up beside him. It’d be over soon; thats what you promised— you’d do this together.

Nights like those started occurring more often than ever, until one day, he’s awoken with a sharp jolt again. His movements are much more frantic, his hands searching and searching.

Though, this time, it doesn’t find itself in yours.

It’s tightly wrapped around your neck, his mind screaming to murder you. Bloodshot eyes and prominent streaks of black down your arms— the horrors he had tried so desperately to push away— return to his mind. Your breath wont come. No sweet words, and he looks down to see his hand contaminated with that same murky colour. The sink of his chest feels like a knife as he sees your arm grab out at him, like they did everywhere he went. Those creatures who would grab him, claw at him, and still threatened to take his life. They had destroyed his mind instead.

But there is no mutant, no bloodshot eyes and no streaks on your skin. All he sees is what he’s done to you, his body weight pressing on you as his hand keeps a firm grip around your neck. Your mouth begs for air, denying the sweet reassurance he needed as he sees you turn pale, your eyes flickering with tears. There’s no threat in here; not even the cold breeze from the open window chills his bones. Nothing can hurt more than the desperation in your eyes as your hands claw—No—plead at him for relief. He immediately lets go, scrambling to the other end of the bed as he watches you pant, his heart filled with fear. Fear of himself. You quickly turn to him, mustering out your honeyed phrases through choked breaths. But they’re just letters dancing about, barely going near his ears in the walls he had built between the two of you. Ignorance is bliss, but he can’t break his gaze when he sees the deep streaks of scarlet he left on your neck. Frozen in regret and shame, you tentatively wrap your arms around him to comfort the pair of you. But he feels your tears on his neck; the fear you felt eats at his gut and his conscience. You had never felt so cold before.

The days he had left for missions were the worst nights of your life, you’d say, having been away from your heart for so long. But even as you see him drinking his morning coffee, those eye bags prominent, you think your heart might be buried in Spain, infected with the plagas of love that died out.

Unspoken was what had happened that night— a silent promise between the pair of you with small random affections to bandage up the wound he had inflicted. He was still going on the small missions, but they were shorter, and he was back to fill the bed every night. The flowers in the vase never died—a different shade, flower, or even scent every week. A different kind of love.

This continued for weeks, up until you were out with some friends, each talking about their love lives, which was always a topic between the three of you. One of them gushes about how their husband’s love language is gift-giving, describing each and every homemade affection they receive on the daily. Soon it gets around to your turn, and when you speak about his love language, physical touch comes to mind again. Whether it was playing with your hair, rubbing your hands as you walked in the cold, or leaning on you after hard days, he always wanted to be near you. Your mouth fails to respond; no words form yet no examples are recalled in your brain either. You laugh sheepishly, trying hard to wrack your head for something sweet he’s done, until you just laugh it off and talk about how you love him again.

The bed’s empty when you slip inside it; he hasn’t returned yet and he won’t be back for another hour or so. The ceiling accompanies you as you desperately try to remember an act of affection in the last few weeks. It’s only now that it finally hits you, like a tonne of bricks through your skull—

He’s been distancing himself from you.

Knowing that you get caught up in little things, he occupied your mind with flowers and sweet notes. Not once have you actually heard him say any of it or felt his touch, if not accidental. He sleeps at a distance at night, and even when you shuffle closer somehow, you wake up further apart than before. You havent had a meal with him in weeks and you haven’t actually heard that raspy voice you remember as he complains about his day. You cannot remember the last time you felt warmth, and you can’t remember when you last cried this hard.

You’re in the bathroom, wiping away the stray tears as you look at yourself in the mirror. A heavy ache that still scrapes against the walls of your heart, unsure if you feel better or worse after coming to terms with this. Every pump feels like it’s dragging you down instead of keeping you alive. The rush of blood is like-

The front door clicks open.

You almost freak out and you’re not even sure why you would. Why are you scared of this? Why are you suddenly scared of him? Your feet hurries you back to your shared bed, settling under the covers once more to try to play it off as just tiredness. You still can’t figure out why you’re doing all this or why you start to form excuses for your behaviour in your mind. He never does. So why would you? The footsteps draw closer; they’re just slightly heavy, much softer than when he wears his boots. You hear the bedroom door unclick and your shoulders tense with every second.

But you dont see him enter. Slow breathing and closed eyes— you’re even lying on your side as you pretend to be asleep.

————————————————————————

Leon breathes out a heavy sigh, his chest sinking to drain out all his exhaustion from today. There’s a rustle of clothing as he undresses, pulling on some random sweatpants and a spare shirt for the night. Why should he even care if its clean or not? He walks over to his side of the bed, rummaging around the bedside table for something. Then he pauses, his eyes catching onto something in his peripheral view. Tear stains?

You hear the creak on the bed as he leans half his weight on it, about to reach out to you. Your heart beats faster. Is it because you dont want to worry him with your tears, or are you afraid of him? You don’t know. His fingers brush your cheek ever so gently, his voice echoing out your name so, so softly.

“Hey.. you awake?” He asks, and even though your heart is melting into a little puddle so easily, some stubborn stick clogs your throat. His sigh fills the room again and he pulls the blanket over you, tucking it snugly over you before brushing the hair out of your face. Maybe he’s just tired these days, you think. He’s been through a lot after all; it explains all of it. Really, you shouldn’t have been so upset at all—his work and life are on an entirely different level for you.

You’re about to open your eyes, pretend you woke up, and give him a sleepy smile. Images of him giving you a tight hug and one hand rubbing the small of your back as he tells you to fall asleep again fills your mind.

Then he speaks again, the bed creaking as he steps back off of the bed, the warmth leaving as fast as it came. “She’s really knocked out.? Phew.. I do not want to deal with some stupid tears..” He mutters out, his raspy voice much lower and breathless—almost exasperated. A low groan leaves him as he dumps his work clothes somewhere. Then, the bed screams again as he lays his weight on it before he shuffles himself to the end of the bed. He looks back at the space between them, another huff of air leaving his lips.

“That’s good enough. I fucking hate being woken to push her away from me..” Eventually, his breathing evens out, and his shoulders are still tight and tense as his body relaxes into the bed. The night falls quieter, and your mind feels blank.

You don’t know when you fell asleep or if he saw your fresh tears when he woke that morning.

Next

[damnfandomproblems]

"Oh great, is one of those weirdos who goes around checking the notes to argue with everyone who disagrees with them. Well since you're going to read this, how about instead of going on a nonsense rant of how dubcon doesn't exist in the real world and therefore people should use the rape tag or whatever, how about, hear me out, how about you just, exclude the dubcon tag? just an idea, that's how people normally avoid things that might upset or trigger them, instead of, whatever you're doing here"

I was just adding my thoughts and options to the discussion around the original submission? I also just like seeing how people respond to my thoughts and having conversions with others about those thoughts. I don't see how reading replies to something I said and then replying to those replies is weird? How is this any different then reading and responding to replies to a post a made, or would that be weird too according to you? I don't see what is so special about an ask that it has to be a one and done deal where you make one and never look at it again

It's not like I'm throwing insults or throwing a tantrum about the original submission or about your response, or saying people MUST use the chose not warn or rape/noncon tag, just saying I really think they should and why I think that. I think I'm being pretty calm and polite, if not, then I am trying at the very least.

And I was just replying to your comment, not trying to argue? I never said you or anyone couldn't disagree either, Hell, I didn't even think you were disagreeing at first. I figured you didn't read my clarification that I understood fiction is fiction and doesn't require to follow the same rules, but that I believe tags should follow reality to avoid confusion and what-not, and so I tried to communicate that clarification even more and also mention that I didn't understand the point of it because it didn't bring up anything I didn't already mention. I didn't realize you had a problem with me voicing my opinion on an option blog, not a misunderstanding.

I also don't see how explaining myself is a " nonsense rant" either, ramble-y sure, but not a "nonsense rant". And yeah, I absolutely can and do exclude the noncon tag, I never said anything that even implied that I didn't do that. But guess what? I also can and will encourage others to use the archive warnings that I believe apply and explain why I believe they should do that. In case you didn't realize, those aren't mutually exclusive things.

And I'm sorry to say, but you're weirdly aggressive about someone having some thoughts and thinking they're having a conversation with you. Maybe if you don't like people responding to you, you shouldn't comment/reply to posts, because, y'know, that's what people normally do if they don't like responses

Posting as a response to a previous ask.

Going to include an additional reply here:

Anon:

you guys know you can literally just. exclude multiple tags, right? you guys know you can read the tags of a fic, not just the archive warnings, right? you guys know that it's not the author's fault if you click on a fic without reading the tags, right? you guys know that fictional circumstances are not the same as irl ones... right??

[countrymusiclover]

21 - Through the Looking Glass

Part 22

Princess Red Thief

Tag list - just ask to be added @mystrey101 @melvia-ito @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @onentaien-kwar

Lifting my head up from the dirt ground I groaned feeling some of the muscles in my body were sore from the fall. I froze my movements feeling the tip of something poking me underneath my chin. “Don’t make another move if you know what is good for you.”

“Miss I mean no harm.” I gulped meeting the deep blue eyes of a curly blonde haired woman bent down on a knee with a dagger to my throat.

The woman sent me a curious expression across her face. “I’ve never seen you before. So who are you and what are you doing in Wonderland?”

“My name is Everly, Everly Gold. It’s a long story but a giant forced me through a portal and now I have ended up here. Can I know your name and could you possibly consider lowering your weapon?”

“I'm just pulling your leg.” She snorted, raising herself to her feet, ditching the weapon in her hands into the dirt. “I ain’t going to hurt you. We are friends after all. I’m Alice.”

“Friends?” I knitted my brows together in confusion. “I’m sorry but I don’t understand. I’ve never met you until now.”

Alice offered me a hand helping me up from the dirt. “You’ll meet me the same day I meet Arch..”

“Arch. Who’s Arch?”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear embarrassed. “Apologies. I meant Archer. Archer Gold.”

“My son. What’s Archer have to do with us?” I shook my head eyeing the abandoned dagger in the dirt at the end of my boots where I recognized the design all too well. Lowering myself down on one knee I brushed the leaves off of it seeing my husband’s name engraved across it. “The Dark One dagger. How in the realm did you get your hands on this? I - I’m - I’ve never been so confused more than at this very moment.”

“It’s a very long and sad ongoing story. Archer gave me the dagger and said if anyone could fix what happened to us it was you and his father Rumplestilskin.” Alice explained as if I knew what she was talking about but I had honestly no clue.

Holding the dagger in my hands I needed more clarification from the girl in Wonderland. “Alice, I’m sorry but I don’t know what you mean. My son Archer is only an infant back in Storybrooke. And you're much older than he is at the moment.”

“In your realm yes. But not in this one.” She responded. “Archer is hopeful in finding a cure so we can be together. But that’s not what I want to talk with you about.”

I questioned the young girl before me. “Then what do you want to talk about?”

“I want to warn you about what is keeping me and Archer apart. I want you to prevent that from happening to the other version of us.”

Sliding the dagger into the belt loop on my hip I dropped my hands to my sides. “What exactly is keeping you apart?”

“It’s called The Curse of the Poisoned Heart.” She rolled up her left sleeve revealing a circle burn mark on the middle of her arm. “It appears when you’re touched by the one you can’t be with. A witch cursed Archer and I’ll never forget her name.”

“What’s the witch’s name?” I asked her.

Alice simply replied. “Zelena.”

“I have to find a way home and warn my husband. I’ve heard that name before and now I know that can't be for a good reason.” I began frantically walking back and forth so unsure of how I would get home from here. Running my hands through my hair I began breathing heavily until Alice touched my arm.

“Don’t worry, Everly.” She reassured me with a weak smile. “We’re in a land filled with magic. There’s more than one way to access portals to other lands here. I’ll get you home to prevent this curse.”

Alice began skipping through the forest while I stood in my current spot for a few seconds still adjusting to whatever reality the portal had transported me into. “Alice, where exactly is it we are going to?”

“We’re going to see Valerie and the other Eve. They’ll want to meet you.” She began skipping away from me causing me to chase after the girl who knew of conflicting realities.

“Are we really going to see another me and my grown up daughter!”

New York City

Emma Swan and Rumplestilskin entered his son’s apartment with Henry who was asked to go sit in the bathroom while they started talking when Emma was holding a dreamcatcher in her hands. "Did he tell you something?"

She tried but he cut her off. "Gold-"

"Did he tell you something?!" Rumple raised his voice.

Emma barked back "Nothing. He didn't say anything."

"But you talked to him, right-" He pointed his index finger, seeing her back away towards the corner.

Emma raised her voice feeling uneasy that he could read her so well. "Don't put words in my mouth."

"Tell me! You tell me, or I'm going to make you tell me." Rumple threatened her stepping closer.

Emma gestures to his bandages on his hand from the airport. "You don't have magic here."

"Oh, I don't need magic." He chuckled through a smirk still walking towards her. "Do not push me."

Emma fought back trying to stand up to him. "Don't push me."

"We had a deal! A deal! No one! No one breaks deals with me!" Rumple knocked over a tower of books in anger shouting in the blonde's face.

Suddenly the apartment door bursts opened and the pair saw a man with dark brown hair in a sweatshirt hoodie staring at them. "Hey! Leave her alone." He warned locking gazes with Rumple who had moved into the corner.

"Bae... You came back for me." Rumple shutters in awe at finally the reunion he wanted.

The guy shakes his head no. "No. I came to make sure you didn't hurt her. I've seen what you do to people who break deals."

"Please, Bae, just let me talk."Rumple begged, releasing some tears.

The boy shouted pointing towards the door. "Get out of my apartment!"

Emma tries to stop him calling him a different name. "Neal..."

Neal glanced her direction. "Emma, I got this."

"You two know each other...How?" Rumple snapped his fingers glancing between the pair for an answer. "How do you two know each other?!"

Footsteps came into the room with Henry confused. "Mom? W-what's going on?

"Who's this?" Neal asked, pointing a finger at Henry.

"My son." My sister simply said trying to get him out of the room.

Henry looks to Neal wanting to know if we found the guy. "Is that Baelfire?"

Emma and Neal started yelling so he called to Henry. "How old are you, kid?"

"Eleven! Now, why is everyone yelling?" Henry threw his arms up tired of all the commotion going on. "Mom?"

Neal raised a hand to his forehead looking at the boy before him. "Is this my son?"

"No. My dad was a fireman. He... He died. That's what you told me. You said..." Henry panicked, not wanting to believe that his mother lied to him.

Rumple backed into the nearest wall unsure of what to say next with the new information that had been revealed to the group. He felt something vibrating in his suit pocket causing him to take out his phone seeing his beloved Eve’s name appearing on the screen. “Everly, love. I’ll have to call you back-“

But her voice isn’t the one that responded back to him. “Rumplestilskin, I’m so sorry. It all happened so fast - I didn’t have time to stop the giant.”

“Abigail! I - I don’t understand. What - has something happened to my family?” Rumple questions his princess mother in law if he was ever to marry Everly.

Abigail explains in a panicked tone. “The kids are fine. But uh - my daughter - Everly got pushed into an open portal by a giant.”

“How did she open a portal in Storybrooke?” The Dark One asked racking his brain around how it would be possible.

“She used a golden mirror that was meant for the giant to fall into before he destroyed the town.” She answered his question.

Rumple lifted his head up to the ceiling recalling that his lover was formerly the inventory person when they were under the curse. “The Looking Glass to Wonderland. Clever girl, she is.” Everly knew the shop almost as well as he did.

“So what should we do? Do we reopen the portal and go looking for her?”

The Dark One shook his head no, wishing he could be there to rescue his lover. But he knew two things : one he couldn’t abandon his mission now that he had his son around him again and two : Everly was more resourceful than most thought, meaning she could find a way home rather than rely on someone else. “No, no, she’ll find her way back home I promise you. I taught her everything she’ll ever need to know. I do have one question for you. Who was she protecting when she fell in the portal?”

“Snow, Charming and Grumpy.” Abigail simply replied back.

Rumple shut his eyes growling under his breath furious with the Charming’s but he didn’t lose his composure. “Thank you for calling me, Abigail. Keep my children safe until I’m back home.” He hung up the phone, putting it back in his pocket. From that moment on he vowed to make them pay once he returned to Storybrooke and knew his princess was out of danger.

[castaway-achlys]

Welcome to the Blog!

Color Key!

Who is who?

Admin will speak in red, and posts will be tagged as "admin speaks."

Castor will speak in blue, and posts will be tagged as "castor speaks."

Pollux will speak in pink, and posts will be tagged as "pollux speaks."

If two of us are speaking at once, the colors will be split on the text, and the two people tagged! For example: "Hello to everyone!"

Disclaimers!

Important things to read in this section are purple and bold.

This is a multi-ship blog, meaning that any of my characters can (and likely will) date multiple people. That being said, those relationships will not intersect with each other.

Admin and their characters are 18+, and this blog can contain mentions of alcohol, drugs, NSFW, and other adult type content. Posts that do will be tagged accordingly as "tw (insert thing)". For example, "tw drugs". The exception to this rule is NSFW, which will be tagged as "castaway from public." I follow the 18 and over rule regarding my characters and substances, but you do you!

Pollux is not the main character on the blog. The blog will focus on Castor.

Almost all posts will be in lowercase, which is intentional.

Almost all tags will contain a period/full-stop, which is also intentional.

Posts may contain swear words. These will not be tagged. I am not your parent.

Follows, asks, and likes will not come from here, as it is a side blog. If I reply to something on the wrong account, please let me know before I make a fool of myself.

Asks will always be colored to match the color key, and signed as "— (insert person) (@castaway-achlys)"

Private messages will be out of character unless otherwise discussed.

Actions can be done as short form or as full sentences, and will always appear within asterisks.

Castor and Pollux are based off Greek mythology, but are not 100% true to the tales. They are based mostly around the mythical creature Orthrus, and the Dioscuri, Pollux and Castor.

Their last name, Achlys, can be pronounced as ack-liss or ack-lees.

If you're an anonymous frequenter of the blog, please sign off as something, a name or emoji or anything you'd like, so that we can keep track of you! The boys and I do enjoy making friends!

For both our mental health, mine and yours, if we do something to offend you, please let us know so that we can have a mature conversation about it. Admin and you, not the characters, lol.

Rules!

Rules and regulations to abide by!

First and foremost, don't be fucking weird (in a bad way).

Pro-shippers, MAPs, racists, homophobes, transphobes, etc. Do not interact.

If you're a minor, don't interact with anything NSFW that I post. Doing so will result in you being blocked or having me barge into your messages to scold you. Or both. You have been warned.

Other OCs, canon characters, etc, are absolutely welcome, please feel free to interact with me! I don't bite.

You can spam my messages if we're friends or mutuals, even if we're just acquainted. I don't really care, just try not to spam my inbox or vent without asking me if I'm okay with such things. I'm usually fine with vents, but I really can't always handle someone else's mental health as well as my own.

Please be respectful to everyone!

Please use tone tags if asked, and don't be alarmed if I message you for any clarification on things. Tone is hard to read on the internet.

Please do not involve any of us in drama, plotted or not, without notifying us or asking if it's okay first.

These rules can be added to at any time, but I'll try to announce if I make any edits!

About Admin!

Important things about the Admin!

Admin is 22 years old.

Admin is non-binary, pansexual, and polyamorous.

Admin uses they/he pronouns, and would appreciate if you used them when appropriate.

Admin has diagnosed ADHD, and most likely, undiagnosed autism.

Admin is an omnipotent being of sorts. They can interact with Castor and Pollux, as well as other people/characters within Twisted Wonderland.

Admin does not have a physical form that is visible to Twisted Wonderland inhabitants, he appears as a voice that just occasionally interacts and comments on things.

Admin can't be killed or harmed by anyone in Twisted Wonderland, and yes, this means you, Malleus Draconia.

Admin simply just is, and will occasionally pop in, most commonly in the tags.

About Castor Achlys!

Important things about Castor!

Castor is 18 years old, and born on May 22 under the star sign of Gemini.

Castor is the older twin out of him and Pollux.

Castor is transgender, female to male.

Castor uses he/him pronouns, but tolerates they/them if the person is a stranger.

Castor is pansexual, but if you ask him about his sexuality, he has no idea. He is able to love anyone, regardless of gender, genitalia, etc, if given the chance.

Castor is from the Ignihyde dorm and specializes in technology.

Castor is a first year, chosen by the mirror at 18.

Castor is a genius and extremely fast learner.

Castor's main focus and hobby is gaming, where his username is Castaway, hence the blog name.

Castor is extremely fond of animals, especially cats.

Castor has an immense amount of strength, an inhuman sense of smell and hearing, and is very fast.

Castor is only 5 feet, or 152cm, tall.

Castor has bright pink eyes and dark blue hair.

Posts will be made containing his appearance and more, which will be linked here as soon as they are up!

Castor's backstory.

Castor's Partners!

Suitors? Pspspsps.

♡ Archie — @nightonthemountain — June 2, 2024 — castor's north star. 🧭

♡ Che'nya — @your-local-grinning-cat — June 27, 2024 — castor's kitty. 🌙

About Pollux Achlys!

Important things about Pollux!

Pollux is 18 years old, and born on May 22 under the star sign of Gemini.

Pollux is the younger twin out of him and Castor.

Pollux is a cisgender male.

Pollux uses he/him mostly, but any pronouns are fine with him. Call him whatever you'd like! He is comfortable in his gender identity and doesn't believe that pronouns are indicative or equal to one's gender.

Pollux is bisexual, but has a preference for men (transgender inclusive-- transgender males are males too!)

Pollux doesn't attend Night Raven College, but if he did, he would want to be in Pomefiore.

Pollux, unlike his brother, learns things at a much slower and normal speed, and does not excel at most academics. He does enjoy learning, though, and is intelligent in his own right. (School and standardized testing is not a good measure of intelligence.)

Pollux is the one who introduced Castor to games, and plays them a lot with him. It is also his main hobby. At this time, Admin has not given him a clever username.

Pollux doesn't have a favorite animal, but enjoys bees a lot.

Pollux is also strong, but has a normal sense of smell and hearing, and isn't the fastest due to his size. He is not overweight, just a bit lanky and very tall.

Pollux is 6 feet and 1 inch, or 185cm, tall.

Pollux has features opposite to Castor-- in that he has dark blue eyes and light pink hair.

Pollux does involve himself with weed frequently, so if you're uncomfortable with that, please block the tag "tw drugs" for us! Don't worry, he's responsible! Mostly.

Posts will be made containing his backstory, appearance, and more, which will be linked here as soon as they are up!

Pollux's Partners!

Who is Pollux involved with? Hehe.

♡ Umbrance — @nightonthemountain — May 28, 2024 — pollux's moon. 🏔️

Other Information!

Important things that don't fit anywhere else!

Ask games will be available sometimes! They will be tagged as "ask game — (insert title)."

Castor, Pollux, and I's first ask game (still ongoing) is here!

Admin hasn't had Castor and Pollux officially commissioned for a reference of their looks yet, so picrews are available for you to get an idea of what they look like! They are tagged as "castor picrew." and "pollux picrew." and will always have a link to the picrew and any other ocs included so you can check them out!

Anon List!

Anonymous blog frequenters will be tagged as "(insert something here) anon."

🌈 anon.

Thank you to cafekitsune for the free use dividers!

[isolaradiale]

POLICY REMINDERS

Hello everyone!

It's been a while since we've last made one of these, but as we've had some new members and, unrelated, we've been seeing some mistakes made repeatedly, we just wanted to make a post to touch on some of our policies and expectations!

MASTERLIST

When sending a message, make sure you include all information relevant to the type of ask you're sending! You can find all of the relevant information under the related sections of the forms page!

If you are reapplying with a character who had personal housing during their previous stay and would like them rehoused in that housing on acceptance, please make sure to include that request in your application ask along with the name of that housing and how many bedrooms it had.

If your account has yet to be accepted by the masterlist, please do not follow the masterlist! Wait until your acceptance message has been posted first.

APPLICATIONS

Please keep in mind that the ABOUT section on your application must be at least three sentences, and the PERSONALITY section must be at least ten (fifteen for original characters).

Make sure to include your CANON DOUBLE section as well as whether you do or do not permit them. If you need a refresher on what does or doesn't count as a canon double, please look at this post!

If you have two characters that you would like to apply on the same blog (like a character and their vocal animal companion), all you need to do is make two application pages and link them on your blog! Doing this will take two slots, and both characters will require their own unlocks however!

Just a reminder that we recently made a post about pets. Please make sure to give it a read over here!

GALAXY BLOG SUBMISSIONS

When ranking up, making a purchase, or claiming an event reward through the Galaxy blog, please make sure to include where on your blog we can find your threads and / or Star count. Usually you can just let us know what to add to the end of your URL to access that page (like "/tracker" for example).

If you are requesting an unlock for your character, please make sure to be as clear and concise as possible about what you'd like unlocked or upgraded! This lessens the chance of your ask being sent back for clarification!

TAGS

We have two tags for open posts (posts anyone can reply to): "#isola mini" and "#isola open"! The mini tag is for short opens ranging from a sentence to two paragraphs. Anything longer than that should be tagged with the open tag!

Rather than constantly adding new posts to the mini and open tags, we ask that you check out the tag yourself to see if anything that is already in there that you could reply to first. These tags only work if the posts placed inside actually get replies!

Likewise, posts in these tags should not be personal starters. If your starter is for a specific character, please tag them and don't place the thread in one of these tags.

We also have two tags for getting interest in threading: '#isola rp ad' and '#isola perm call'. The regular RP ad tag is self explanatory, where you like it and someone will make you a starter! The perm call tag is used when you're looking for specific or long term interactions that may be pre-plotted.

General etiquette for liking regular rp ads includes not liking over cap (if the post says they're capping it at 3 likes and it already has 3, don't like it) and not liking ads that are weeks old unless the mun has indicated they're okay with either!

OTHER

Please make sure that all NSFW content is both tagged and placed under a readmore. This not only includes sexual content, but also content that may be considered sensitive like gore.

You're only allowed to make three OOC posts in a single sixty minute period. This includes general OOC posts, RP ads, and image reblogs among others! The exceptions to this rule are during Meme Fridays, Mundays, or if the account is new and just setting up!

While we encourage member run events like dances and parties for the characters to attend between official group events, we ask that you ask the masterlist for permission first and only post this event after receiving permission for scheduling reasons! We could be running an event soon or another member might be running one, after all!

[bravcguardian]

DISCLAIMER.

I am a SLOW PARTNER, like, extremely because I am a college student aiming to become a teacher, and also one of the primary caretakers of my older pregnant sister and toddler niece. She puts the money on the table, but I have to look after her and our house ( plus, pets! ). There will be times that I might reply fast or it'll take me literal months, so if you want a fast and constantly active partner, sorry but I ain’t that. However, I will always reply to IMs and discord fast.

PRIVATE. Stands for I will only write with MUTUALS but don’t worry! I usually follow back after reading throughly rules and if I am interested in your muse and in potential interactions. A sidenote: If you are a personal, I won’t block you unless you reblog my threads. Also, if you have a sideblog that happens to be your roleplay blog, please do tell me!

Especially important if we are mutuals, PLEASE FILL THE INTEREST CHECKER. I follow you because I want to write with you, and have my interest checker for a reason: I have lots of muses, I will keep on adding muses! So it'd be lovely if you could give me a hand on which muses of mine you want to interact with, please. Give me something to work on, so I can reach out to you!

SEMI-SELECTIVE. Much like above, I am not that selective as long as you have one muse of my interest. I don’t care about fancy themes or the aesthetic. I only care about the writing and, therefore, grammar ( which, by the way, I might add I am not a native English speaker, Spanish speaker here! So if I mess up, please do point it out so I learn from mistakes I might have overlooked ).

CANON DIVERGENT. Alright, gotta be honest with you chief. Some characters have been written FOR YEARS and, therefore, have been developed in ways canon did simply not care. Others are ones that I have feel canon forgot many things about them and simply stepped all over their writing and ditched whatever build-up there could have been so, yeah. It depends on character.

A sidenote: I am aware I write characters from problematic fandoms ( e.g. YanSim, Helluva Boss ) but it's because I got attached to the characters and wanted to adopt them from the shit hell hole they are from. I do not support nor tolerate the creators' actions, but I do like the characters so I rather isolate them altogether. * In each character page, you can find their tags to you can blacklist them to keep your dash a zone of comfort to you.

THREADS. Important thing about me, I NEVER drop para / novella threads! Not even when I have low muse, I KEEP THEM ALL. I simply leave the option of dropping a thread to my partner. No need to explain or justify, just drop it if you no longer have fun or found it tedious. Roleplay is to relax, not stress! I do, however, drop 'ping-pong' like threads which are more on the casual one-liners threads.

A sidenote: Dark themes ( Dead dove do not eat ) might appear, as to be expected due the mun being interested in such topics. I do not fear exploring themes such as stalking, kidnapping, brainwash, possessive and/or obssessive behavior, death, manipulation, suicide or suicidal ideation, and more. I am more than willing to explore and write such things, and keep in mind that this is fiction and I do not condone such behaviors nor actions in real life. It should be obvious enough already but it seems clarification is still needed.

ROMANCE &. RELATIONSHIPS. I am known as shipping trash and as long as there’s chemistry or you have a ship in mind, please come at me! I love discussing about blossoming love, unrequited love, childhood crushes that never went away.

Hell, I am also willing to explore toxic and possessive dynamics with unhealthy attachments or codependencies if that's something we both want to explore.

Plus, I do have aroace muses but I am quite content discussing squishes or queerplatonic relationships since those are just as important. Oh and lavender relationships are also !!!

A sidenote: Decided to upload this one so, I will write smut if we have a ship or I've been approached with a specific character / setting in mind. I do have characters that don't mind one-night stands or a friends with benefits type of situation(ship), each portrayal and muse is unique with their own preferences to have in mind.

ORIGINAL CHARACTERS. I. love. OCs. so. much!!! Don’t hesistate to throw them at me, I simply love them. I want to write with all of them. I have a bunch of OCs of my own, thus I know how it feels for them to be fully accepted and to create one after another. So, I beg of you, toss them at me and let me love them! A sidenote: I'll be somewhat iffy about siblings or children, but not exactly against it. I'm willing to talk and see if it works out.

FANDOMS. I don’t feel comfortable writing with the MLP fandom, and that’s the only fandom I don’t want to write with. I don't mind if you are a fellow multimuse with said characters, I'll just overlook them. Also while it would be nice if you could tag 'cw MLP', I won't really ask for it, it's easy for me to ignore it since I am rarely on dash anyway.

TRIGGERS. PLEASE, TAG SHATTERED GLASS ( PICTURES, GIFS ). It’s my only trigger and it really can lead me to a panic attack. If you are curious about why, long-story short, I had to witness beloved ones have horrible bleeding wounds with shattered glass and I don’t mean, a glass broke. No, I mean, windows literally exploding, skin hanging open and showing flesh plus inmense pools of blood, another was cut extremely close to the veins just, no.

ASKS. I love getting ALL TYPES OF QUESTIONS, spam me with memes if you are a mutual, it will never bother me. I love interaction, I love writing responses, I love being asked about thoughts on my characters. Send all of it!

A sidenote: If you wish to continue an ask therefore turn it into a thread, go ahead! I only ask for it to be in a separated post rather than reblog the ask since I find it more comfortable.

GENDERBENDS. I know some might be uncomfortable with them but different people have different needs, and it’s okay to be fulfilled by different kinds of stories! I love genderbend characters and the different takes people add to them, or how precisely being genderbend actually does affect the narrative and impact the story. Plus, I do write genderbend characters myself so it would be kinda hypocritical of me not to entertain the idea of roleplaying with fellow genderbend muses lol.

However, if you are UNCOMFORTABLE with that, please don’t follow me. Or, if you do, feel free to look at the tags of that particular genderbend muse and block the tags ( these are always present in the characters' biographies' posts! ).

[queerautism]

A series of events

-Dain notices that the crow collective person is claiming you broke their dni by interacting as an endo supporter

-he is understandably confused by this, bc "endo supporters dni" was not in their tags, and sends them an ask, on anon, asking for clarification as to how, because you're not endogenic. He does so very politely, bc he is a very polite person.

-They act like he's being an asshole on purpose or something and go off about how they're allowed to have boundaries

-He's even more confused, because yes they're allowed to have boundaries but it's a boundary they didn't actually make clear. He goes to ask them about it, on anon again because he is aware of how aggressive sysmeds can be and doesn't want to put a target on our back.

-Cue discovery that they turned anon off, presumably because of his ask.

Anyway I found that kind of amusing. Confused autistic old man very politely asks for clarification on something, sysmed gets bitchy, acts like they're being attacked, and turns off anon.

-🐋

For sysmeds, their "boundaries" are often whatever is convenient at any given time, whatever they can use against the people they hate. So I am not surprised.

But yes, the post I replied to was on the traumagenic systems tag, which is why I saw it and replied to it. If it's that important to them that only other sysmeds see and reply to their posts, they should only add sysmed tags and stay in those. You cannot purposefully blast your posts into a bunch of unrelated tags and then get upset when the people who frequent those tags react to them.

Anyway, that asshole is adding "anti endo" and "endo dni" tags even to posts that aren't even theirs, that they're just reblogging, which I think is even more absurd. It's hopeless.

[goat-and-a-pig]

See the Light Info Post!

Here's a couple of things that you need to know for next month:

-I will be posting one chapter daily. Due to the fact that April is a 30-day month and not a 31-day month like I originally planned, the story will begin on March 31st with the prologue and end May 2nd with the epilogue.

-If I miss a day of posting, I will post two chapters the next day so that I stay on schedule. Please don't come for me if I post late! I have a life that will get busy mid-April and I apologize in advance but you shouting at me can't make the chapter come any sooner. Thanks!

-I will post the actual chapter under the read more so that a) people won't see spoilers accidentally and b) people can look at the other stuff I've posted without having to scroll down so far.

-This fanfic is mostly about family! Yes, there's romance, but it is not, I REPEAT, NOT, between the character in Rapunzel's role and the one in Flynn Rider's role. DO NOT TAG MY FANFIC AS INCEST. I WILL BLOCK YOU.

-I'm posting the summary tomorrow!

-You can send asks about the fanfic all throughout the month! I'm not going to reply to any that have a spoiler as their answer, so don't get offended if I don't answer. I'll be holding a headcanon ask day on May 3rd so that you all can ask your burning questions. All throughout the month you can ask for clarification on something in the chapters posted. I have a lot of knowledge that might make some things make sense that I couldn't fit in there (and some that has nothing to do with it at all lol). I can't wait to see what you come up with!

-Feel free to make fanart! NO INCEST, PEDOPHILIA, OR BILL SHIPPING. As, I said before, I will block you. I would also prefer no NSFW, as I am ace and I made this fanfic friendly for all ages, just like Gravity Falls itself is. But I'd truly love to see your fanart, please tag me so that I can find it easier!

-If you post anything about my fanfic, please give me credit where it's due. Thank you!

-I'm also going to post an internet friendly acknowledgements for all of the people who deserve the acknowledgement, probably also on May 3rd.

-There's no swearing, only jokes about it (just like Gravity Falls lol). I can't promise that it won't make you say "Hot Belgian waffles!" for real though, when it comes to some suspense. ;)

I think that's all, if I missed anything I'll add it on later. Send me an ask if you're curious about a detail I might not have added in by accident! I'll see you all in the light of tomorrow.

Reality is an illusion, the universe is a hologram, buy gold, bye!

[docwyattnews]

hi, @user-without-a-cool-acronym here

this blog is basically just going to try to get all of doc‘s answers to questions on bluesky over here on tumbr

tags are „#new info“ for new stuff he reveals about the show

„#spoilers“ is for stuff to which he replies that he cannot answer to yet because it would spoil future seasons of the show

„#clarification“ is for stuff that is often implied in the show and which he just clarifies again since someone asked

edit: adding #answers for stuff that doesn‘t fit into any of the other categories

more tags might be added in the future

if i missed any posts of him feel free to send links as asks, so i can add them. Unless specifically asked not to, i would go and credit you in the news post in that case.

[spoonyglitteraunt]

So I'm idly scrolling a fandom tag, as you do when tired and bored, and I come across a post asking opinions on how people felt something in canon was handled. To which I shrug and go, I've got time to reblog and have some short thoughts to add in tags. Short being definitely in my dictionary. Right after utterly incapable of.

So I start adding some tags. And then add some more. Delete a few because staying on topic is definitely another word in that same dictionary. And after another ten minutes of typing I give up on the pretence that this will fit in the tags and make it a reblog.

Some more time and text gets added to the total and I eventually have what feels like a decent and nuanced enough reply. Explaining my thoughts while trying to fight the ND urge to add all the asides and clarifications.

I nod in a yup that sure is a post I didn't spend too much time and effort on manner and go to hit the blue button of no take-backsies. But just before I do something in what I can only explain as my fandom drama senses starts a-tingling. So I decide to go take a quick look at the OP.

What I find is a blog full of Takes™️ about said fandom and the characters.

Now I'm very big on everyone likes and dislikes different things. And we all bring our own unique lenses and backstories to each piece of media we encounter. So what works for one does not for another. Just because someone hates a thing you like or likes a thing you hate doesn't make either of you wrong. And can in fact be a basis for some incredibly interesting conversations if all parties are open to that. Open being the operative word there.

But if every take is along the lines of this element/character did a Problematic. In the one single media. No other fandoms or interests in recent sight. Nothing good to be mentioned. Just long post after long post explaining the terrible no good extremely bad things it did. In a manner that reads very much like unprocessed trauma made this piece of fiction highly uncomfortable to me and now I have to tell everyone how Toxic it is and put things in absolutes. If others don't feel read it in this exact way, and agree this causes direct real life harm just for existing, they are downplaying Toxic thing and highly suspect.

Then I don't think you want actual opinions. You want people confirming your opinion is right and just and the only sane one that matters. not an emotional response you can't (yet) control or always prevent And I think it might be better to put down the Problematic Media and go do something that makes you happy instead.

So yeah. Suffice it to say, the totally not too long side tangenty thoughts will be added to the bin instead of a reblog. No disguised hornets nests for me thanks.

[ofrefulgence]

Canon-Divergent Yu Haibara from Jujutsu Kaisen

OC, Crossover, & Multimuse friendly Independent & Mutuals Only Mains: @ofovertime

-Completely ruined by KKEUNGI (He/Him & They/Them, 30+, PST)-

✧ CARRD.

Rules (below the cut):

[MUN] King Kkeungi /King K/Kkeungi (he/him & they/them), 30+, Pacific Standard Timezone (UTC -8).

Please do not follow/interact if you are under 21+: I am Olde™ and perpetually exhausted.

I go through cyclical periods of being very chatty and active, then straight up nonexistent for awhile due to personal life and work stress.

[DISCLAIMER] I do make serious effort to tag anything sensitive/heavy in terms of content and am completely open to adding tags for my mutuals, if needed.

However, always take tags literally- Like as in Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. If the tags say 'organ harvesting’, expect literal organ harvesting. I don’t usually use 'DD:DNE’ since a lot of chronically online people assume it means I write 'problematic content’ for sexual self-gratification. Please do not insult me like that or attempt to shame me for what I write, I will block you without hesitation.

[TRIGGERS] Mutual respect is necessary if we’re going to write together.

I personally have very specific triggers, so they don’t even come up in writing at all (they’ve proven to be visual/auditory).

I always write trigger tags as 'trigger tw or 'trigger cw’ since that is the easiest way Tumblr Savior can accurately recognize them.

[ACTIVITY] I’ll post my schedule once it becomes more regular (just got a new job), but in general I’ll probably have more time to write at night. I initially send requests to plot over DMs in Tumblr since I personally don’t like giving out my Discord handle to someone completely new and feel like other writers do the same. If we seem to connect easily, I generally give it out anyway.

Discord RP is totally fine. If we’re already threading on Tumblr, moving them to Discord is also fine.

If I follow you, I want to write with you.

Constructive criticism is always welcome when I ask for it (i.e., post OOC asking for it or reblog a concrit meme). I heavily dislike Love Bombing as a practice and I also do my best to offer objective and constructive advice to my close friends who ask for it from me. I want to eventually publish my own fictional works, so improving upon my style and understanding of writing is something that I actively work very hard on.

Hate will always be erased and you will be hardblocked.

Tracking the tag: #ofrefulgence

I take awhile to respond. You may remind me every now and then to check in, but I don’t really work well within specific time limits to follow back or even interact once we’re mutuals. I have limited spoons and personal time, so I will actively distance myself from Muns who display entitlement over my attention.

[GENERAL] Power Gaming is super boring to me. I prefer doing a 'Blow by Blow’ where we leave each response open to the mutual as to what their muse acts upon and is affected by. I also don’t mind plotting it out beforehand.

I do not do 'Follow for Follow’. Sometimes my mouse also misclicks on the Dashboard and it’ll make me randomly Follow a blog I’m only checking out or Like a post TWICE in succession- This is NOT an attempt to get your attention if we’re not mutuals. I will always reach out to apologize in DMs and explain so there’s not any misunderstandings.

My Ask Box, Discord IMs, and Tumblr DMs are always open for clarifications, questions, and requests to edit my posts.

I love plotting. It’s not necessary all the time, but even a few basic details generally help me get a better idea of what to lead with. I will offer ideas and expect the same, I dislike feeling as though the effort is one-sided.

[SHIPS & NSFW] I always tag with #✧ NSFW and employ cuts/'read more’s. I’m Multiship 100%, unless all mutuals involved in the thread discuss that our muses can recognize established relationships in the RP.

[FORMAT] You never have to match length or speed of replies.

My only thing I expect to match is providing content we both can work off of- If the vibes aren’t there, I’ll reach out about it OOC. If nothing changes, I will more than likely drop the thread.

I can write long replies and forget to use cuts, just message me if it’s making your Dash awful.

I use icons when I even remember to use them, they’re honestly just for fun- Never required.

Small Text is fine, but whenever I seem to reblog and edit to reply on Tumblr- small text format will break in the draft, randomly? So I probably won’t be using it at all.