#I won’t delete the reblogged one so it can still be found somewhere on my blog

[olasketches]

going back to my roots [repost]

[vaguelyprophetic]

It was a “5 things you didn’t say at all (stewy/roman)” post! It could just be a fault on my end but each time I click on keep reading it shows a blank page. If you still have it somewhere and would be willing to share I’d love to read it <3

OHHHH YES!!! that was a mini fic from a prompt list I had reblogged agessss ago. idk what happened to the actual post but I still have the draft in my docs!! so here you go :-)

5) Things you didn’t say at all

His therapist had told him he should try keeping a journal. Roman is one hundred percent sure that that’s some bullshit. He can barely bring himself to talk about his feelings with a professional, much less write them down and be forced to confront them by himself.

“Just give it a shot,” Dr. Rossi had told him. “A couple of weeks. Doesn’t matter how often you do it or how much you write, just that you write something, alright?”

Roman had reluctantly agreed, so now he’s sitting in front of his laptop, glaring at the empty word document in front of him.

They had agreed that he could type instead of writing it out. Actually writing in a journal feels a bit too fucking teenage girl for Roman’s taste. He’s not going to scribble his crush’s name in the margins and draw little hearts around it. He’s a grown ass man. He types shit. And it’s easier to hide shit on a computer. He doesn’t know where in the apartment he would hide a notebook that wouldn’t be at risk of being found. He knows Stewy wouldn’t go snooping, but he doesn’t know what excuse he could come up with to explain it. If he’s being forced to keep a journal, he would much rather have it on his laptop, buried six folders deep, the way he used to hide porn when he was a teenager. 

This is stupid, he types. He deletes the last few letters, then thinks better of it. He’s supposed to be writing down whatever he feels. And he feels that this is stupid. He finishes the word again. 

“What the fuck am I supposed to write about?” he had asked Dr. Rossi. 

She had considered him carefully for a moment, as if she was trying to figure out how to explain it in a way that wouldn’t piss him off. She spends a lot of time in their sessions figuring out ways to explain things in ways that won’t piss him off. 

“About how you’re feeling. What you’re thinking. Hell, you could even write about what you had for lunch. It’s just about getting words out of your brain and onto paper. Trust me. I think that once you get yourself to start, you’ll find that it actually feels good.”

Roman had stopped himself from saying that he highly doubted it. 

The word document is mocking him.

I’m not going to talk about my feelings. That’s stupid. It doesn’t make any difference if I write things down or if I just think them. This is a stupid assignment. 

Dr. Rossi hadn’t told him that he had to bring in the journal as proof. He kind of wants to, anyway, just to show her how fucking stupid it is. 

“Maybe you can write about Stewy,” she had suggested.

Roman had scoffed at that, but now when he thinks about it, he thinks that maybe it’s not such a terrible idea. As long as Stewy will never see it. As long as no one will ever see it.

Stewy is okay. I like him. He’s fine.

He lets out a long sigh. 

He’s always been really good at lying to himself.

He deletes the line and starts over.

I think I’m in love with Stewy.

Which shouldn’t be a big deal. It really shouldn’t. It’s NOT a big deal. That is something that happens to normal people. They fall in love, usually. Some people don’t. I didn’t think I would. Maybe I’m more normal than I thought I was. (Haha).

Roman taps his fingers lightly on the keys before he types: He makes me feel safe. 

It feels stupider to see it in words. He doesn’t delete it. 

He makes me feel like a real person. He makes me feel normal, sometimes. I guess as normal as I can be. He treats me like I’m normal. He doesn’t treat me like I’m broken or fucked up (even though he knows I am). He treats me the way I think you’re supposed to treat people you care about.

And, okay, yeah, this journal has already spiraled into teenage girl bullshit territory. Here he is, sitting in their bed—Stewy’s bed, he corrects himself—writing about his feelings. He almost wants to write Roman Hosseini as a joke. He doesn’t.

Okay so maybe I love him.

He asks the journal So what?, as if it’s judging him for the words he’s putting into it. Maybe it is. He definitely feels judged, but maybe that’s just him.

Maybe I love him. 

I love him.

Seeing the words in writing doesn’t make it feel any different than it already felt. So he was right—take that, Dr. Rossi. Writing them down doesn’t make a goddamn difference. 

He stares at the screen for a little while longer. The cursor is still blinking, waiting just past the period on the end of him. Roman tries to think of something else to say. He doesn’t think there’s anything else to add. 

So there it is, staring back at him. 

He closes out the word document, saves it as Therapy bullshit, moves it as many folders deep as he can, and shuts his laptop. He doesn’t want to think about how it will still be waiting for him the next time he forces himself to open the document back up. That’s a problem for future him.

He doesn’t think he’ll say it. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever say it. But it’s there, and it will wait for him, as patient as can possibly be.

[1kook]

Hi Everyone, please read

tw// racism

First of all, I just wanna say I’m so grateful for all the nice anons and interactions I get to have with people here everyday. I live in a densely populated city so quarantine regulations were super tough when this all started in March and remain strict even all the way into October. I haven’t been able to see my friends a lot or anyone outside of my family and job, which really sucked, but it was fine because I had my blog! The beginning of September I had two fics that did so amazing and of which I am so thankful for their response, because with that came a lot of new anon friends!

I have been on tumblr since 2012, but I have never received the same amount of interaction as I do now. I’m so happy I can interact with people on here be it anonymous or not. I enjoy hearing ideas and doing my best to fulfill them, hearing about someone’s day, and laughing about stupid jokes. It’s gotten to the point where some have picked names and further fleshed out our friendships because of how close we’ve gotten!! I have had so much fun everyday asking stupid questions and getting equally as silly answers and it’s all because I was able to make people feel comfortable on my blog.

However, people are not always nice. That’s fine! It’s the internet, this will always happen. Rarely do I get hateful anons and rarely do I post the few I do get. Sometimes they’re funny and I laugh and go about my day. Most anons have been about my style as an author, the types of fics I put out, and for the most part, the similarity in all my fics. I’ll address this now. if you feel my fics are all the same then consider this.

1. I write fics FOR MYSELF about ideas I have and want to see, and post them FOR MYSELF. I don’t mean to sound cocky but at the end of the day every fic i have ever posted is just me filling my own imagination in a self indulgent way. They’re all the same because they’re all things I like??? Things I want to read??? No offense, but unless I am filling a requests, you’re GONNA SEE jk college au. jk boyfriend. jk dom/sub. jk this and this. Why? Because it’s my blog and I post what I like.

2. If you don’t like my fics.... don’t read them? I am not holding you at gunpoint to read these fics nor is anyone else. If you appear on my blog to complain about my fics ... okay?? I’m not gonna change them lmao. You’re not the target audience, so move along.

But truthfully speaking, this is not the main reason I am making this post. Do I care what people online think about my fics? Mmm not really. Writing fics is something I do in my free time as a hobby. I’ve never wanted to do this professionally lmao. I do it for fun when I’m bored or procrastinating. I have other hobbies I do too. I journal i paint i play soccer I listen to music. I frankly am not offended when people critique my work, especially not when they chose to do it through an anonymous message.

What DOES offend me is when people abuse the anonymous option to be spiteful and hateful, and use my ethnic background against me... OVER KPOP. OVER FAN FIC ABOUT KPOP.

Am I offended about the first part of the ask? No I don’t care. What I am disgusted and disturbed by is that you have been blatantly racist and ignorant not only to ME but to ALL OTHER POCS with the second half of your message. Being a POC writing for BTS is bad?? What do you prefer I write about? Shawn Mendes? Niall Horan? I’d rather choke. What do you even mean??? Am I supposed to write Can fic for completely unproblematic people?? Give me an example?? Furthermore, I am not black so for you to come in here and disrespect black people with your last comment is immature, disgusting, and racist. Go to hell.

I deleted the message. I always delete excessively rude messages. I was hoping it was a one time occurrence but nope. A few hours later.

My status as an undocumented immigrant is something I have shared on tumblr because it is my safe space and somewhere where no one in real life knows me. Did you think this was funny? Did you think I actually laughed? I didn’t. I won’t lie. This ask terrified me. You’re threatening to call ICE on me.... OVER KPOP? OVER FAN FICS OF KPOP? How old are you. How immature do you have to be to take it this far.

I deleted this message and turned off anon. I am not gonna let some anonymous grey sunglasses orb abuse the anonymous option like this. Honestly, I knew another message was bound to follow up and it did 🤗

thanks for showing me your face, doll. I reported your account and so did a bunch of friends of mine. It’s funny that you mention writing better content but your blog is only ten posts? 9 of which are reblogs of fan fics? What do you write babe? What do you do? Where do you post? As I’ve said before I frankly don’t care for writing advice, this is just a hobby. But if you’re going to claim you’re some modern day Shakespeare maybe have the proof to back it up. Also your first posts says you’re a black woman, but your first ask to me says POC shouldn’t enjoy BTS.... honey all your posts are about BTS. So what’s the truth? Do we enjoy them or not? Next time you feel some type of way towards me as a Mexican woman, don’t start off by hiding behind anon until I force you off, don’t disrespect me or other POCs, and don’t use a burner account like you did. And for the record. I barely believe you’re black, and honestly speaking, everything about your asks have racist undertones only a white person could carry out.

Anyway. I am posting this because I want to highlight just how difficult it is to be a POC in this fandom. Army preach about being this or being that. We love each other. We look out for each other. ARMY is family blah blah blah.

No we’re not.

I have been an ARMY since 2015. The only places I have ever found comfort within this fandom are with other POCs, and even then it is only a few people here and there. This random ass hoe that I have NEVER interacted with before decided to take the fact I am a POC and taunt me, attack me, harass me, whatever you want to call it, and didn’t come off anon until I forced them off.

I am so beyond tired of being a POC in this fandom. When will you all recognize that one “I stand by” post is never enough to support us. “I can’t be racist I support BTS’s message💜” shut the hell up. You kiss these men’s feet for being your woke kings but then turn around and say things like this. Was it fun? Was it cool parading around in your ‘I do whatever BTS does’ cloak? You guys pick and choose when you want to be a model ARMY, and then turn around do things like this. Over kpop. Your allyship means nothing when there are still people like this in fandom who try to bully me OVER KPOP. OVER JUNGKOOK. OVER A MAN WE DONT KNOW AND NEVER WILL KNOW.

Please don’t interact with this person. Please just block and report them.

Anon’s gonna be off for a while, thanks for reading.

[pastelwitchling]

Cosmic 🌌 Happy Malex Remix Day! 🌌

My malex remix piece is a sequel to @captainsassmanes‘s super angsty, super heart-wrenching, super lovely fic; Gravity.

Alex decides he’s done with Roswell, but Michael doesn’t want him to go.

You can also read it on ao3, if you’d prefer! I’m so glad I joined the challenge this year, it was an interesting experience. If you enjoy reading, even a little bit, please comment and share/reblog, it always makes the world of a difference ❤

***

Alex opened his eyes to a still-dark sky outside his window. He reached for his phone on the nightstand, checking the time; 4:30 in the morning.

               He rubbed his eyes and heaved a sigh into his palms. He wouldn’t be getting anymore sleep, he knew that much. He forced himself up, swung his leg over the edge of the bed, and reached for his crutches.

               His morning went by like clockwork. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, did his morning stretches, tried to ignore the constant ache in his leg, and sat down on the little stool in his shower to clean himself off. By the time he was in his kitchen and the sun was starting to rise, not even the steaming cup of coffee in his hands made the realization that he’d been stuck in a loop ever since he’d come back to Roswell any better.

               The silence of his living room was palpable, the faint snow falling outside and glittering in the morning light. Alex imagined the snow had reached a good three feet by now, and was glad for the excuse not to have to leave his house today.

               Home, he reminded himself, though nothing about this place had felt like home in too long a time. He was so tired of looking around and feeling more and more distanced from everything – the chairs and couches to the trees and birds. None of it had any meaning, none of it gave him comfort. It was just stuff. He didn’t think that was how it was supposed to feel.

               He thought of that conversation he’d had with Michael two weeks ago, felt like months ago now, when he’d followed him out of the bar. When he’d told him that Forrest was an idiot for breaking up with him. When Alex had confessed that he couldn’t trust his feelings, couldn’t trust that Michael chose him.

               That was why everything but a single piece of furniture was covered in white sheets now. That was why he had a plane ticket to New York booked for tomorrow night. Forrest had ended things for good reason, but Alex wasn’t going to go running back to someone who didn’t want him. He would go somewhere else, start over. He’d been saying that it was time for years, but stayed back. Because Michael was here, and he wanted to be where Michael was. Even when he’d dated Maria, even when he’d made it clear that he didn’t want Alex near him. Even after everything, Alex stayed, because he’d hoped.

               Then he’d found Forrest and learned what it meant to actually be loved, to be cared for. It made him realize just how hard he’d been trying to find love in everything Michael did and said to him, from even the cruelest words.

               His phone buzzed with another text. Alex glanced just at the name before he sighed, and deleted it, not bothering to read what it said. He couldn’t remember Michael ever texting him this much before he and Forrest had broken up. Six months ago, his heart would’ve fluttered at the idea that Michael was trying so hard to be with him. But the more cynical part of him saw the attempts for what they were; guilt, and a desire not to be alone for the night.

               No. Alex had had better, and he’d lost it. Forrest, he had decided, would be his last loss.

               It wasn’t until a little after noon, when Alex had finished making lunch, that he realized just how little say he would actually have in that. He’d expected the calls and texts to his phone to stop in the morning, after he’d ignored enough of them, but as Alex fished one of the few bowls he hadn’t packed yet from the pantry, a knock came at the door.

               His brows furrowed, and he checked his phone. Kyle and Gregory weren’t scheduled to come over until tomorrow, because of the snow, to help him pack the last of his things. No one had given him a heads-up that they’d be checking in on him.

               When he opened the door and found Michael on the other side, his shoulders slumped.

               “I need two minutes,” was his greeting. Alex looked over Michael’s shoulder to see the snow around his blue truck had moved aside for him, giving him room to drive.

               Alex should’ve told him to leave, that he didn’t have the time, that they had nothing to talk about. But he just sighed and moved out of the way.

               “You shouldn’t have used your powers,” he said as Michael took the chance and stepped inside past him. “Someone could’ve seen you.”

               He closed the door and Michael shrugged. “You were ignoring me.”

               “I wasn’t,” Alex lied, leading the way into the living room. “I’m just really busy, Guerin.” He stopped, and turned to face him with his arms crossed. “So whatever it is, make it quick.”

               But Michael wasn’t looking at him anymore. Instead, he was taking in the packed, cardboard boxes, the furniture draped with sheets.

               “You goin’ somewhere?”

               “Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “New York.”

               “For how long?”

               He stuck his hands in his back pockets. “For good. Did you want something?”

               Michael stared at Alex like he was waiting for him to laugh, to tell him he was joking, to say he was just doing some very intense spring cleaning in the middle of winter. When Alex didn’t, Michael scoffed, the hurt evident in his eyes.

               “So that’s it, huh?” he said. “You’re just going to leave? Run away again?”

               Alex clenched his jaw. “Did you want something, Guerin?” he said through grit teeth.

               Michael seemed to realize what he’d said, and his face fell. “I – Alex, I didn’t mean that –”

               “If you’re done, you can go.”

               “No, wait, listen,” he said, grabbing Alex by the elbows as he turned away, keeping him close. “I didn’t mean that, Alex, I’m – I’m sorry.”

               “Yeah,” Alex stepped out of Michael’s hold, hugging his arms to shield against him. “Seriously, why are you here?”

               “You weren’t answering,” he said, still looking around at the boxes a little helplessly. “I just . . . I wanted to see you. Why are you leaving?”

               “I need a change,” Alex said. “Roswell hasn’t felt like home in such a long time. I don’t have a reason anymore to stay.”

               Michael swallowed. “Roswell was never your home.”

               Alex stilled. Michael said it like it should’ve been obvious, like he had always been Alex’s home, Alex’s only safe place, like it was some unspoken truth. Alex thought that some truths should’ve been spoken a long time ago. They just felt like meaningless words now.

               “Then I guess,” he said quietly, “I want a home that wants me back.”

               “Alex –”

               “Look,” he scratched under his eye, “I leave tomorrow. I have a lot of packing left –”

               “Alex, please –”

               “And I just don’t have the time to play this game.”

               “I’m trying to tell you I love you!”

               Silence. Alex couldn’t look away from Michael, his glistening eyes. But it was too late. No matter how badly his heart wanted to believe it, he had to keep reminding himself that Michael hadn’t felt this way a year ago. He hadn’t wanted Alex when Alex had begged for him. He’d made his choice, and even though Alex had chosen him time and time again, Michael couldn’t do the same. He was done.

               He stepped closer to Michael, his hands clenched to fists. “And I don’t believe you.”

               Michael wouldn’t look away, his jaw clenched so tightly that Alex worried, despite himself, that he would draw blood.

               He didn’t say that. Instead, he said, “You need to leave.”

               “No,” Michael said at once. “No, I don’t want to.”

               Alex opened his mouth to argue, but the ground started to shake. Michael didn’t seem surprised.

               “Stop it!” he demanded. Michael said nothing, and the ground shook more wildly. Furniture started to fall over, floorboards creaked. “Guerin, stop!”

               “You’re not leaving me, Alex,” he growled. “Not again.”

               “Guerin –”

               A sound like a heavy blanket falling came from outside, and the windows turned dark. The house finally stopped shaking, and Alex looked around. Even Michael looked confused at what had happened.

               Alex turned to a window and pulled back the curtain to reveal snow, covering most of the glass.

               “No,” he breathed, and headed for the front door. “No, no, no.” He opened it to reveal a wall of snow. He checked the backdoor and found that sealed, too, as well as every single window.

               Michael sniffed as he set his cowboy hat down on the couch. He didn’t seem as bothered by what he’d done as Alex thought he should’ve.

               “Gear up, Private,” he smirked humorlessly. “Guess we’re stuck here.”

               “No,” Alex demanded. “You used your powers to drop the snow on us, just – just use your powers to move it!”

               He sat down, his arms stretched out on the back of the couch. “Can’t.”

               Alex clenched his jaw. “Can’t or won’t?”

               “Both.”

               “Guerin –”

               “I shook the house,” Michael said. “And I used the earth to move the snow back on my way here. So unless you want me to uproot every nail and window in this place, I’d get comfortable.”

               “You won’t even try?”

               “Nope.”

               “You’re such a . . .” he pulled out his phone and looked for Kyle’s name. No signal. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

               Michael huffed, pushing back the white sheet that covered the couch, and gesturing at the empty space next to him. “C’mon, Private,” he said.

               “I leave tomorrow, Guerin,” he argued.

               Michael leaned forward, any amusement in his expression gone. “Then that gives me a day to change your mind. So stop fighting me on this, because I’m not letting you go again.”

               *

               Michael had to admit; locking both himself and Alex indoors had been a happy accident, but when he’d made it clear that he wasn’t letting Alex go until he absolutely had to for his flight (honestly, he was reconsidering that part of the deal, too), he’d expected the airman to secretly be pleased, to find any excuse to be near him, the whole oh-no-there’s-only-one-bed-and-we’ll-have-to-share kind of situation.

               That was definitely not what ended up happening. Alex continued to pack what little he had left, pretending Michael didn’t exist as he walked in and out of the living room.

               “You gonna look at me anytime soon?”

               Alex said nothing, kneeling down in front of a cardboard box. Michael hated the sight of those damn things; blatant reminders that his Alex was leaving. For good.

               Michael crouched down beside him, his arms folded on his knees. “At least talk to me, Private. What’s so great about New York anyway? Is it just to be as far away as possible from me?”

               Alex’s shoulders slumped, exasperated. He didn’t have to answer, but Michael had always known that if he asked softly enough, Alex would tell him anything he wanted to know. Pride bloomed in his chest to know that only he had this power over Alex’s heart, only he could tug enough to get what he wanted from him. Alex would’ve been able to resist the world, but not Michael. And right now, Michael was desperate enough to take advantage of that.

               “No,” Alex relented. “It’s not because of you.”

                He smirked. “Got you to talk to me.” Alex glared, and his smirk widened. “Got you to look.”

               Alex shut his eyes and turned away, and Michael couldn’t miss the blush on his cheeks. Alex’s hands were clenched to fists on his lap. Michael licked his lips and carefully reached out, tracing his finger along the back of his hand.

               Alex flinched away from him the second they touched, and he stood. “It’ll get cold tonight,” he said. “I’ll go get you some blankets.”

               Michael stood after him. “Alex –” but Alex had already disappeared into the hall.

               That night, as he lay on the living room couch, Michael couldn’t help but stare down the dark passageway to where Alex was, sleeping soundly in bed. He imagined his soft hair splayed messily on the pillow, his body stretched out underneath the blanket, probably colder without Michael there to warm him.

               The silence of the heavy snow should’ve been warning enough not to move off the couch, but Michael couldn’t help it. He pushed himself off and, as quietly as he could, made his way to the bedroom. He just wanted one look at Alex, to make sure he was resting, to know he was safe and asleep and finally at peace, but instead, he opened the door to find Alex sitting up in bed, a book in hand.

               Alex raised a brow at him. “Everything okay?”

               But Michael couldn’t hear him so much as stare. His hair was sticking up in perfect, messy strands. His cheeks were rosy, his lips red, his muscles evident under his short sleeves.

               “Uh,” Michael started. “I – I was just . . . really cold.”

               Alex began to get out of bed. “Oh, okay, I can get you another blanket.”

               “Actually,” Michael said, already making his way to the bed. “I think I’ll just be warmer in here.”

               “What – Guerin –”

               But Michael was already sliding into bed and pressing the length of his body against Alex’s. He turned his face into Alex’s arm, inhaling his scent.

               “G-Guerin –”

               “Just for now,” Michael told him. “If you’re gonna leave me tomorrow, then I just want you now.”

               He thought Alex would kick him out, snap at him to leave already, but he only sighed shakily in that way he did when he was preparing to do something that scared him, and set his book down on the nightstand.

               Michael watched, his heart hammering in his chest as Alex slid down to lie beside him. He pulled the hem of Michael’s shirt up, and Michael let him take it off him. His eyes darkened and his mouth hung open as Alex leaned in close. He put his hands on Alex’s arms, feeling his muscles and wrapping one leg around Alex’s hip.

               “I want you now, too,” Alex murmured before he let Michael pull him down on top of him and kiss him.

               It all felt like something out of a dream, being allowed to touch Alex like this, to run his hands up his shirt and taste his nipples, his chest, his stomach, his cock. He couldn’t get enough. Every moan Alex made into his ear spurred him on, made his thrusts more erratic. Every plea made Michael groan, his body hotter, his length harder.

               By morning, he was still feeling the electricity in his spine, the heat in his gut. He woke, already reaching for Alex, eager for more of him. When he felt the empty space beside him, he opened his eyes and sat up. Because of the snow, it was hard to tell exactly what time it was, but he guessed it was late morning.

               “Alex?” he called, and heard shuffling inside.

               He picked up a blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders to shield against the cold. He stepped into the living room to find Alex piling boxes into one corner. His heart fell into his stomach.

               “What’re you doing?”

               Alex didn’t seem surprised that Michael had woken up. He stood, hands on his hips. “Making it easier for Gregory and Kyle when they come over. They’re supposed to help me get the last of this packed. They’ll be able to tear the snow down, too.”

               Michael swallowed the bile that was starting to rise up his throat. “Y-You’re still leaving?”

               Alex finally turned to look at him, but said nothing.

               “What about last night?”

               His brows furrowed. “I thought we agreed that last night was a goodbye.”

               “Goodbye?” he demanded. “No, Alex.” He shook his head, helpless. “When – when are you gonna stop punishing me for what I did?”

               He frowned. “Guerin, I’m not punishing you. I just don’t trust you anymore.” Michael fell silent. “I did everything I could for you, and you chose someone else. You know I can’t eat or sleep or think because I can’t help but wonder whether or not you would even care that I was leaving if Maria hadn’t ended things? That’s the worst part of it all. She ended it. Not you, her.”

               “Alex, that’s . . .” he shook his head. How could he have screwed up this badly? How could Alex – his Alex – have the tiniest doubt that he was everything to Michael? “Stay,” he demanded. “S-Stay for me.”

               Alex looked pained. “That’s not going to work on me anymore, Guerin.”

               Michael stepped forward as Alex turned away, taking him by the shoulders. “Look at me,” he said. “You know who I love.”

               He sighed. “Guerin –”

               “Let me try!” he pleaded. “We’ve been pushing each other away for over a decade, Alex. Let me just try to fix things. Give me one more chance, just one more!”

               Alex bit his lower lip, and looked at the boxes like Michael had; like they were threatening to separate them forever.

               He took Alex’s face in his hands. “Look at me,” he said. “I love you. I could give you a million reasons why I wanted to try with someone else, a million reasons I thought it would make me better for you, but . . . you do know me, Alex. Better than anyone. You know the real me, you know it’s you. It could only ever be you, and you know that, so please, stay.”

               “I . . .”

               Michael pressed their foreheads together. “We’re cosmic, baby. Remember? Stay with me, Alex. Stay with me.”

[kalimagik]

You Are My Home

Ron Weasley x Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Abusive father, alcoholism 

A/N: This lil fic was requested by @obsessedwithrandomthings <3 Congrats on 300 love! The prompts were “kiss me” and “you make me feel safe.” My requests are OPEN! and there is a prompt list somewhere on my dash if you’d like to request something. I was planning on posting this 2 hours ago, but tumblr got annoying and deleted it from my queue. So reblog, comment, like, all that fun stuff pleasssse! Feedback always welcome! Happy reading! 

Not my GIF - credit to owner

Summers at the Burrow were always crazy, but relaxing at the same time. Molly gave her children chores each day, but there was plenty of time for playing quidditch, pranking, and roaming around the muggle village nearby.

While Hogwarts brought excitement and adventure, the Burrow brought time for rejuvenation, well that was when the twins weren’t picking on Ron. But, it was home. It was where he felt the most comfortable, especially when Harry and Hermione were around. Yep, summers at the Burrow were the best place for a kid to grow up.

*Knock, knock, knock*

Being the last one awake, Ron slid off the couch and crept to the door. Ron glanced at the real clock on his way through the kitchen, which read 11:30. Who could be knocking this late at night?

Ron swung the door open to come face to face with Y/N L/N. She was definitely more Ginny’s friend than his, but she was always kind to him and vice versa. And, if he was being honest, he always did have a crush on her. She was so full of life and brightened the lives of everyone who knew her.

“Uhhh, hi. I’m sorry. I was hoping to catch Ginny. But now that I’m realizing what time it is, I realize that that was a silly notion.”

Y/N wouldn’t meet Ron’s eyes, but he could hear the shakiness and uneven vibrato in her voice. When she sniffled, he knew that she had been crying.

“I should go,” she whispered, turning from Ron.

“No, wait. Why don’t you come in. It’s late. I don’t even know how you got here, but it probably wasn’t easy.”

Y/N just nodded and stepped through the doorway. She stood in the kitchen, looking like she didn’t really know what to do, but Ron watched as she timidly wiped her eyes. He knew she was trying to hide whatever she was feeling.

“Are you okay?” Ron blurted out. He couldn’t stand seeing her hear like this.

“I don’t want to bother you with it. Would it be okay if I just waited down here for Ginny? You don’t have to wait up with me, I can just sleep on the couch.”

“No, you can sleep in my room. I’ll sleep on the couch.” If she didn’t want to talk to him, that was fine, but there was no way that he was letting her sleep on that lumpy couch in the living room.

“I don’t want to put you out.” This was not her, not at all.

“You won’t be. I’m sure of it. You may just have to mind the ghoul in the attic,” Ron warned with an airy chuckle. “I’m the room on the top floor. You can’t go any further. Go ahead up. There are t-shirts in the top drawer, you can use one of those for bed.”

Y/N just nodded before turning to walk up the stairs. Before she could get out of Ron’s sight, she paused and looked back at him. “Thank you, Ron,” she said quietly. Even though there weren’t many words, Ron knew that his actions meant the world to her, he could just feel it.

Once he was sure that Y/N was in bed, Ron got comfortable on the couch or as comfortable as he could. He stared at the ceiling wondering why Y/N had just shown up like that. Molly would have no problem with her being there, but it was still strange.

Ron woke up to Ginny, Fred, and George standing over him.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Fred grinned.

“Fall asleep dreaming about a mermaid?” George teased.

“Shove off,” Ron groaned as he rolled over.

“Why are you down here anyways?” Ginny questioned.

At that, Ron shot up, Y/N. “Gin, I think you might want to go up to my room.”

“I’m NOT dealing with the Ghoul again, Ronald.”

“No, no, no. I didn’t sleep down here because of a ghoul. Y/N showed up late last night. She seemed upset. I told her to sleep in my room.” Ginny was out of the room before Ron could even finish his sentence. Her footsteps pounded loudly on the steps. If anyone was still sleeping in the house, they weren’t anymore.

“What do you think that was about?” George wondered out loud.

“Girls are strange beings…” Fred followed, shaking his head.

Ron followed the twins into the kitchen for breakfast, constantly looking at the stairs for Ginny and Y/N’s feet. Breakfast was filled with jokes from the twins and Percy telling them off.

“MUUUUM!” Ginny called from up the stairs, maybe about halfway up.

Ron watched intently for any sign as Molly rushed up the stairs. She didn’t even question it. She had to know that Y/N was in the house by now. Why was he feeling so uneasy about this? Playing with his eggs until Molly emerged again.

“Well dears, it seems that we will be having a guest for the next few weeks,” Molly smiled as she pulled out another plate and set of utensils. “Ronald, you could have woken me up when she arrived last night,” Molly informed him.

“Sorry. You went up so long before she got here,” Ron tried to explain.

“Wittle Ronnikins gave his room up to the pretty girl,” Fred mocked.

“She needed it. You don’t get it.” Ron spat back at him. Ron didn’t know why, but he felt the need to protect her. He needed to pave the path for everything to be alright with her.

“Good morning again,” Ginny said, announcing her re-arrival downstairs.

Ron whipped around fast enough to see Y/N coming down the stairs behind Ginny, smiling timidly at the family she knew so well. This just so wasn’t like her.

“How’d you sleep?” he found himself asking in spite of himself. Maybe he should have just kept quiet.

“Well, thank you. But you can have your bed back. I’m going to stay in with Ginny.” She smiled at him, well what seemed like a genuine smile. Maybe last night was just a fluke and she would be her normal self by this afternoon.

“Y/N, dear. Have some breakfast. I will send an owl to Arthur and tell him to pick up your things.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.” Something still seemed off about her. Ron looked up slightly, but not enough for his brothers to catch him. He watched her slowly eat the food placed in front of her. He watched the twinge of pain shoot across her face when she turned too quickly to respond to something Percy said. He watched her.

He watched and noticed things in the weeks following the night of her arrival too. She was happier each day, growing more comfortable and relaxed in a way that someone could only do at the Burrow. Ron started spending more time with her too. She would offer to help them all with their chores and some days Ron got lucky. She’d help him all day. She was her playful self. Spraying water at him while they tended to the garden, keeping the clippers out of his reach. It was all the Y/N he was used too.

Ron even got to spend some late nights talking to her. Like him, she was a night owl. She’d stay up until she was practically falling asleep next to him on the couch or outside on the grass. She was at her cutest when she was tired, giggling and trying to keep her eyes open for as long as possible. Ron just adored it.

It was another one of those nights when just Ron and Y/N were still awake with everyone else asleep. Ron sat with his back against the couch and bum on the floor. Y/N had been sitting next to him until she became more tired. She slid towards the floor and laid her head on Ron’s lap, looking up at him.

“You’re beautiful,” he blurted out before he knew what had possessed him. It was just those eyes…Those sleepy, sparkling, beautiful eyes.

“Thank you, Ronald,” Y/N smiled, not really processing what he said.

“Can I ask you something?” Ron continued, not minding that she hadn’t said anything more.

“If you want to ask if you can have a rematch on the quidditch pitch tomorrow, the answer is yes,” she giggled.

“I will take you up on that,” Ron grinned, “but that wasn’t what I was going to ask.”

“Okay, shoot,” Y/N responded as she adjusted on his lap.

“I’ve been wondering this for a while, but when you came here a month or so ago, you were crying. You weren’t yourself. I don’t want to pry or push you, but what was wrong?” Ron felt the confidence leave him as he asked the question. Maybe he should let the reason stay her secret.

Y/N tensed, he could feel it. She was thinking and then sat up, criss cross applesauce, now facing Ron. “I guess I do owe you an explanation, you were so kind to not push me then. I would still be wondering too if I was you.” She rambled. She was still beautiful when she rambled.

“I knew that the Burrow was a safe place. Ginny has always been like a sister to me. I couldn’t be at home anymore. M-my, my dad, he- he drinks…a lot. It’s just me and him at home usually. Mum died when I was little, but I-I think you knew that. Anyways, that’s too much information.”

Y/N took a deep breath before she continued. “So, he drinks. And it just got out of hand that night. I hide it well, bu-but he can hurt me. He doesn’t always use his hands. Sometimes it's with magic, but I was hiding in my room that night. I swear he loves me. He’s my father. I just remind him of mum and it sets him off- I guess? I don’t know. I shouldn’t defend him.” She shook her head as she looked at her hands in her lap.

Ron just took in her words and the grace that she had while telling him her story. How could she be so calm? He felt the rage begin to rise in his chest. No one- No One, should ever want to do anything to harm Y/N. His fists clenched against his sides, but he tried to hide it, even though it could be read clearly across his face.

“But, I managed to get away and grabbed a broom and this is the first place I thought of. Before I knew it, I was at your door and knocking.”

Ron nodded to show he understood and was listening, but he was boiling over.

“I told Ginny the next morning and insisted I tell your mum, even though I didn’t want to. When your mum found out the basis of my situation, she essentially ordered me to stay with you all. I couldn’t say no, but I’m happy she did. This has been one of the best summer holidays I have ever had.” A smile crossed her lips as she thought of the weeks that she had spent in the Burrow.

“You can stay here as long as you want.” Ron told her, straight faced. He didn’t want that man coming anywhere near her again, whether or not he was her father.

“Thanks, Ron. Your mum said the same thing. I like it here…a lot.”

“You can stay here forever even. All school holidays, summer holidays, all of them.”

“I have to go back at some point, Ron.”

“No you don’t,” Ron argued. “You never have too.”

“Okay.” Her words didn’t seem like an agreement, but an understanding. “I’m going to go to bed now, okay? Thank you for listening.” As she stood up, she leaned down to kiss Ron’s cheek. “Good night,” she said softly as she made her way upstairs to Ginny’s room.

Ron sat in the stillness of the living room. He slowly lifted his hand to his cheek. It burned with the blush left from her kiss.

Growing used to the routine with Y/N at the house, Ron adjusted his own to spend even more time with her. Some would even argue that she was starting to spend more time with Ron than with Ginny. They were growing closer and closer and Ron felt like he may combust if his feelings for her grew any larger. He was falling, falling harder than he could ever imagine. His crush was so much more than a crush on the happy, free-spirited girl that was friends with Ginny. He loved that version of her, but also the her he got to know in the evenings and the her that could let loose like no one was watching. He loved all of her.

Then, one morning he woke up later than usual. He’d been kept awake by the soft explosions from the twins’ room and the thoughts about Y/N swirling in his head. When he came down the stairs, Y/N’s bags were all packed at the door.

“What’s going on? Are we going somewhere?” Ron asked as he rubbed his eyes.

“Y/N’s going home.” Ginny replied with a straight face and angry eyes watching the front door closely.

“She’s what? Where is she?”

“Her dad showed up early this morning demanding to see her.” Ginny spit out. Ron could tell she was infuriated.

“Where is she?”

“Outside. He wanted to talk to her.”

“Did anything seem off about him?” Ron’s mind began racing. What if he did something to her? Ron had to be there to protect her.

He flew through the door that Ginny had been watching so intently. He ignored his sister as she called saying that Y/N’s father said not to follow. He tore through the garden that he had tended to so many times with her and past the Weasley’s makeshift quidditch pitch. He ran all the way to the edge of the trees on the property. The moment Y/N spoke, he could pick her voice out of the normal outside noises.

“No. I want to stay here, Dad. Please!”

“You’re coming home. I need your help around the house. You cannot just skirt your responsibilities.” He growled at her.

“I don’t understand. You don’t have to worry about me when I’m here. They’ll take care of me…” she tried to explain.

“I can take care of you just fine. You don’t need to be playing make believe here.”

“Dad. No.” She was standing her ground and Ron was proud of her, he thought maybe he could just watch from a distance just in case. But when he looked at Y/N’s father, something seemed off. He was staggering and stumbling at only 11 o’clock in the morning.

“You are coming home with me, Y/N.” Her dad grabbed her arm harshly.

“Okay, fine, fine,” she conceded. Even from a distance, Ron could see the confidence fade in her eyes just to be replaced by fear. “Just let me go get my stuff.”  

“No, we are going now. You humiliated me by having Arthur Weasley show up at MY house to collect your things.”

“Please, dad. My school things are in there. I need them to do my summer work.” Her words became more urgent as though she was trying to calm him down and be reasonable.

“WE ARE GOING NOW!” Y/N tried to pull away, but his grasp was too tight on her wrist. Ron couldn’t take it anymore.

“Let her go!” he yelled.

“This doesn’t concern you,” Y/N’s dad spat in Ron’s direction.

“Ron, it’s really okay,” Y/N said, but her eyes pleaded for help.

“I said, let her go.” Ron repeated, closing the distance between him and Y/N.

“She’s my daughter, under the age of 17, and I can do with her as I please.”

Ron’s eyes flickered to where Y/N’s father held her arm. It seemed to be getting tighter. His nails were practically breaking her flesh.

“Dad, that hurts,” she spoke softly to him, but his grip didn’t loosen. Ron could see the pain emanating in her eyes.

“She said she wants to stay here.” Ron gritted through his teeth, losing his cool.

“Let’s go, Y/N.” Her father yanked her arm so hard that Ron was sure her arm would pop out of her socket.

The tears swelled up in her eyes as she held back her audible cries. “Let her go.” Ron was giving her dad one last chance before…

Once Ron spoke, Y/N’s dad only pulled harder. Ron leaped forward, fist aimed at the man holding onto Y/N. He hit him square in the jaw. When Y/N’s dad recoiled, he lost his grip on Y/N, allowing her to break free.

“Are you okay?” he asked, rushing to her side.

“Yeah, just a little sore,” she lied. Ron stood up beside her to face her dad. The man stood a few inches shorter than Ron, so he had to look up to meet Ron’s fiery stare.

“You need to leave now.” Ron spoke as calmly as he could.

By this point, the commotion had drawn the attention of his family inside. Fred, George, and Arthur Weasley were all running to where Ron stood, Ginny running next to Y/N, helping her up.

“Take Y/N back inside, Gin.” Ron said, not breaking eye contact with her father.

“You can’t just hide my daughter from me.” He dared to speak.

“I’m not hiding her. I’m keeping her safe from you now.” Ron was determined to win this one.

“Mr. L/N. Please leave our property,” Mr. Weasley spoke sternly.

Realizing he was outnumbered, Y/N’s father apparated on the spot. Ron turned instantly to go back to the house and check on her. She had been hurt and he just knew it.

“Gin? Ginny?!” Ron called once he was in the house.  

He could hear her soft sniffles and Ginny calmly repeating that she would be okay. He turned into the living room to see Y/N on the couch with Ginny holding her arm and his mum fussing over her. As annoying as her fussing could be to him sometimes, he was never more grateful to have her here taking care of Y/N.

Ron could see the silent tears streaming down her face. His heart ached at the sight, she should never ever cry.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Ron kept his distance, wanting to be respectful of the people buzzing around her.

“She will be alright,” Molly smiled at the girl, standing up. “Just needs some rest, that’s all.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” Y/N whispered, not really making eye contact with anyone around her. Ron could tell that she was embarrassed by the whole situation even though she didn’t need to be.

“Why don’t you come rest in my room,” Ginny offered, being the type of friend that knew Y/N wouldn’t want to be the center of attention all day because of this.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Ron couldn’t stop pacing around the ground floor. Not even the twins could bring themselves to tease him over his concern, they were concerned too. Y/N took her meals in Ginny’s room with Ginny and Arthur watched the yard, making sure that her father didn’t return.

The family went up to bed with an uneasiness in the air. Ron walked so slowly past Ginny’s room, hoping to maybe catch Y/N going to the bathroom or something, but he didn’t. So, now he lied awake in his bed, listening to the ghoul make a ruckus in the attic.

When the soft knock echoed off his door, Ron flew to answer it. Y/N stood there, small and shivering. “Can I come in?” she asked quietly.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Ron opened the door wider when he realized she hadn’t been up here since the first night she arrived. Y/N stood in the middle of the room, looking utterly unsure about what to do now.

“You want to sit down?” Ron asked motioning to his bed as he took a seat on the floor.

“I don’t want to put you out.” How was she still so polite and thoughtful?

“Sit, Y/N.” Ron offered softly, not wanting to push too hard.

“I just wanted to thank you, for coming out earlier to help me.”

Ron couldn’t stop himself as he grabbed her hand to reassure her that he was there. “You don’t have to go home ever again…”

“I’ve been home, Ron. For months. A home is a place where you are supposed to feel safe and loved and warm.” She looked up from the floor to look at him for the first time since she entered the room. Oh, how beautiful she was. “You make me feel safe, you are my home. And somehow when I was out there today, I just knew you would come…”

She sank onto the floor next to him and all Ron wanted to do was close the space, but he wanted to make sure that she was comfortable above all else. “The Burrow was a safe haven for me,” she continued, “but you, you made every second here amazing. And it may be silly, but I’ve had this crush on you forever.” Y/N broke eye contact as she spoke the words, slightly embarrassed to be telling him this way, but nevertheless she kept going. She wasn’t going to be scared of this anymore. “But, I can’t help but feel like it’s become more than a crush. I-I think I love you, Ron and I just have this feeling that you might feel that same way?”

The words evaded him. How could he express just how much she meant to him?

“Kiss me” was all he managed. The most beautiful smile he had ever seen spread across her face as she leaned forward into him. Ron couldn’t stop himself from pulling her lips to his to close the space faster. He swore he felt sparks as the kiss deepened and became more passionate. This was it. Ron knew that she was it for him.

When they finally pulled apart for air, he studied her beautiful face so closely that he could see every freckle, every line, and every blemish, but even those were beautiful. “I can be your home as long as you need me too,” he spoke against her lips.

“How does forever sound?” she whispered, closing the gap one more time.

-

Y/N never did have to go back to her father, Ron made sure of that. Ginny was more than happy to let her best friend share her room and keep her things there, but really she snuck up to Ron’s room almost every time they were back at the Burrow.

Forever can seem like an awfully long time, but whenever Ron held her in his arms, forever felt like something he could definitely do, especially for her.

[darthspideys]

antithesis // two

din djarin x jedi! reader

summary: You expected to find another of yoda’s species, much less under the protection of a particularly stubborn mandalorian. Little do you know its that discovery that will change life as you know it, and put all three of you in danger you never saw coming.

words: ~2k

a/n: so I had to repost this because I deleted the orginal version which prevents you from reading any of the other versions I reblogged.. I’m an idiot  

disclaimer: I h8 baby yoda and it 

“Depends on the day,” You shrug, careful not to accidentally jam the lightsaber into his throat. “But you’ve heard of me. Good things I hope.” You know that if he does know anything about Jedi it’s probably not good things, what with the history between Mandalorians and Jedi. However you have a sneaking suspicion that he doesn’t know all that much, because he didn't try and kill you upon realizing that you were a jedi, and he seems to be afraid of the lightsaber. 

He tilts his head to the side. “The sorcerer's part was right,” He says under his breath. 

You hear him and you move the lightsaber a little bit just to make him nervous, “Huh?” You move it again. “Can you speak up? Say that again maybe? I couldn't quite hear it.” 

“I was told that you were a race of enemy sorcerers.” 

Jackpot. “Enemy? Sounds familiar, though the last time I was called an enemy was by the Empire. You don’t work for them, do you Mando? I thought they got rid of the Mandalorians when they got too independent for the Empire’s liking.” He almost makes a move forward, and you know you’ve hit a pressure point. It’s a bit of a low blow, but you’re still mad that he got all that sand in your hair. “Unless they left you specifically, I’m going to need a bit more elaboration.” 

He huffs, and it’s a bit childlike for a man of his stature, “A fellow Mandalorian. There was a war between Mandalorians and Jedi, and you destroyed our world. You scorched it to ash, leaving us standing in the remains.” 

You don’t even pay attention to the last half of what he’s saying because you’re so fixated on the first sentence, there are Mandalorians that are left. You haven’t let yourself think that there could be more left, not even one. What the empire did to Mandalore, was worse than what the Jedi did, more worse than anyone could have imagined and you didn’t think that anyone could have survived that. You almost smile because you realize how crazy that was now, Mandalorians have survived worse, and they always manage to survive somehow. “What clan are you-” 

Before he can answer the lightsaber flies out of your hands and almost kills you (it doesn’t seem intentinal but if you hadn’t ducked then it would’ve ended up stabbing you somewhere or taking your head clean off). You duck to the ground, unsure of what could’ve caused that, and turn around to see the child staring at you with a cold look in it’s eyes. You would never admit it aloud, but that thing scared you in that moment. Something about the fact that it could’ve easily killed you and the mandalorian would’ve had to hide your body, and the way it’s looking at you now like it hasn’t decided if it’s going to kill you yet. 

Despite that, you try and intimidate it into submission. You narrow your eyes, “Little fucking baby-” 

Before you can finish the Mandalorian extends his hand to you, and you take it cautiously. He helps you up, then turns to the baby again, bending down so that he’s closer to it’s height. “Don’t do that,” He says with all the severity of a parent who just caught their child breaking things in the kitchen, “We’ve talked about this.” 

You stifle a laugh, and bend down next to him. “He’s a baby, even if he could understand you he wouldn’t listen,” You tell him. 

“He’s fifty years old.” 

You try to keep your jaw from dropping to the floor, “Excuse me?” 

“They told me he was fifty years old.” 

“That thing is-?” You sigh, “Of course it is, I don’t know why I’m even surprised at this point.” You look the child in the eyes again, “Well then since your fifty you little fucking baby, I woulnd’t try any of that again because you won’t like what happens when I’m angry.” 

The Mandalorian looks at you and you wish that you could see the look on his face. 

“He controls his power when he wants to, doesn’t he?” You take the silence as a resounding yes. “You have to know that people have noticed, I mean if I’ve noticed that means that he is a beacon to those who want to use his power for things that would give you nightmares. You mentioned how the jedi scorched Mandalore? What you have in your hands is a baby jedi.” He holds the child a little bit tighter in his arms. You narrow your eyes, “But you already know all of this don’t you?” 

He lets his guard down just a little, “I found him working a bounty for the empire. They are very interested in retrieving him again.” 

Your face falls, well that definitely does not make this any easier. You add to your mental list of things that have gone wrong today: the empire is back because of course they are. It wasn’t a thought that had crossed your mind, at least not in the last few years, both parties had signed the disarmament treaties and no one had heard anything from any of the empire remnants that were left. You all assumed that you wouldn't because none of them really had any structure, they were just groups of people clinging to the machine they had spent their lives building, but nothing had come of it. Correction, nothing had come of it yet, now it seemed there was a remnant trying to make a power grab of some kid though you're not sure how they gained the location of a child even Luke didn’t know existed until now. 

You get up onto your feet finally, then try and breathe for a second. “What do you mean by ‘the empire’?” 

“What do you think I mean?” 

You call the lightsaber back to your hand, and ignite it at your side. “Answer the question,” A pause, “Please?” 

“Moff Gideon, he said he was. I thought it was a small group at first, a man, a scientist and a few stormtroopers but when I didn’t return the child to them there were a lot more.” 

“Sounds like them,” You say, starting to pace the floor a little bit to think. “So you decided to hide out on Tatooine because you know no one in their right mind would come to this planet, much less out into this desert.” 

“Except you,” He says, like it's an accusation. 

You give him a pained smile, “I’m special, remember?” You’re beginning to get tired of this, waiting for the empire to show up every second. You don’t know if you should tell him that they will show up eventually, because they never give up, that is the one thing about them that everyone knows. They will find what they want and they will take it unless someone stops them, you’re not sure if he could stop them.

“What do you want?” He asks, finally. You feel like you’ve been here so long that even you forgot what you’d originally come for. 

“Him,” You say, gesturing to the child. “There’s not a lot else here.” 

“No.”

You roll your eyes, “Don’t be like that Mando, you don’t know how to handle him. You didn’t even know what he was until I came here and told you. This is not your battle.”  

He’s angry, and it comes off of him in steady waves, more powerful as the seconds draw on. “And it’s yours?” It’s confrontational, and you know he’s only saying it because he’s angry, which he is because he’s clearly very attached to the small yoda, child… thing? 

“It is,” You say, trying very hard not to provoke him any further. “I know what it’s like to have his powers, I know what he’s up against, I know the people who are after him and what they're capable of.” You pause, “It’s in his best interest to have him come with me.” 

“I don’t even know you, I don’t know who you are besides someone who has tried to kill me twice in the past hour.” 

You huff, “I wasn’t trying to kill you. I was trying to keep you from killing me.” You pause, a little more indignant, “I know your scared of me, that’s okay, a lot of people are, but I came all the way out here-” 

“I’m not afraid of you,” He tells you, “But you’re not taking him.” 

You leave after he says that. Not because you're giving up, but because you need a break. You need a second because you can feel yourself ready to boil over with frustration, and anger which is something that you don’t want even him to see. You head back to your ship, to try and cool off and think of some kind of plan. 

When you're inside, you turn on your communicator and a hologram of Luke appears. He’s smiling which makes you want to punch him in his stupid perfect teeth because of the morning you’ve had. “How are things going?” He asks. 

“Absolutely terrible thank you for asking,” You snap back suddenly very angry that he’s not here with you. “There’s a child of  yoda's species and that’s what’s causing the disturbance. There are empire remnants after it, apparently.” 

“How large?” His surprise mirrors that of yours when you first heard about it. 

“Large, there was an attack where they almost leveled a bar trying to get the asset back. I saw it on my way in, but I didn’t know what caused it until I talked to the Mandalorian.” 

“The mandalorian?” He sees you nod and his expression turns into something else, “Are you okay? With that I mean.”

You face flushes but you know he can't see it, “It’s fine. I’m at an impasse here, I don’t know what to do, he won’t let the child come with me because he doesn’t trust me.”

“How did you approach him?” Luke asks you and you know where he’s trying to get with that. 

“He attacked me first,” You cross your arms over your chest defensively. 

He sighs, “You fought a Mandalorian.” 

You roll your eyes, “Stop sounding so disappointed in me. You don’t know them like I do, they only respond to aggression at first and then you might be able to have a conversation.” He’s hiding a smile you can tell, “We’ve had this conversation before, I think we had this conversation when we first met.” 

“You remember the first time we met very differently than I do.” 

“I remember a lot of things differently than you do,” You smile back. 

Suddenly you hear a noise, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up again signaling that something is coming. You turn around to try and see out into the desert, completely disregarding whatever Luke is saying. That’s when you see it, speeder bikes heading right for you, with stormtroopers piloting them.

 “You have got to be screwing with me,” You growl looking out into the distance.

 “Hey,” Luke says softly, “Calm down, what’s wrong?”

 “Speaking of the empire? There here.”

 His face falls, “Okay, okay.” He starts pacing and suddenly he’s the Luke you met on Dagobah all those years ago, the one who was still reckless and stubborn and headstrong just like you are now. Before he found out Vader was his father, before he went to finish his training with Master Yoda something about those two events changed him a little. Deep down he’s still that kid with eyes locked on the horizon, that you know for sure. But over the past few years he’s mellowed a bit, been able to think about the problem before running right at it. You on the other hand, hadn’t quite learned that lesson yet, and you’re about to show it off. “I’m going to talk to Leia, and we’re going to send reinforcements-“

 “The senate is not going to send troops here, Luke, you know that,” You say, peering over your cockpit window to try and get a better look.

 “They will,” His voice is firm, “I’m going to make sure that they do.”

 You look him in the eyes, hoping that he can’t feel the fear that you have from all those light years away. “Okay.”

 “I’m coming,” He says, his eyes never leaving yours. It’s one of those things where he doesn’t have to say anything for you to know what he means. He means that he’ll do whatever it takes, he will plow down anyone in his path, and deep down that’s who Luke Skywalker is loyal until the end. “I’m coming okay? Just hold on.”

 You smile a little, trying to make him worry less, “I can handle it.” 

“I know.” 

 “I have to go, but I’ll see you okay?”

 You don’t even wait for his response because they're too close. You abruptly shut off the communicator and run off the ship, hoping that the troops won’t see it but knowing that they’ll see you before you can get back to the structure. I have a bad feeling about this.

[cluelesslesbian]

Check-In Tag✨

AKA a very long post about moi and this account bc I was tagged by the lovely @katelfiredemon <3

IF YOU SEE THIS, PRETEND I'M TAGGING U like this is completely optional (and long omg) so I don't wanna FORCE anyone to do it but asjhkl I think it's cute

1. why did you choose your url?

My og url was something dumb bc I only used tumblr to keep up with artists and writers I admired… this one is revamped to be ~relatable~ bc I wanted something that I felt comfortable adding on my art?? But ok-

clueless = because THERE’S TIMES THAT I’M A LIL SLOW TO GET A JOKE SDFHJKL

lesbian = bc I’m not out to my family but my sexuality is something I like about me,,, so I wanted to acknowledge it somewhere (and the anonymity of tumblr = ideal tbh)

2. any side blogs? if you have them: name them and why you have them

I made one like yesterday lol! It’s @blue-dragon-shin-ah and it’s for Akatsuki no Yona (an anime and manga I TOTALLY rec! It’s like a historical themed fantasy, comedy, romance WITH a found family trope it’s so good)

but ngl I have no clue how to keep track of more than 1 blog so it'll be a lot more inactive than this one asdhkl

3. how long you’ve been on tumblr?

hmm according to my tumblr account it’d be 2016 since that’s the oldest post I’ve kept (I deleted everything and revamped this acc in december 2020)

BUT I did the math and I would’ve made this account in middle school so around 2013-2014 lol I don’t think I used it much until voltron was booming in like 2016-2018.. Then I lowkey stopped… until now!

4. do you have a queue tag?

oof no

……...I probably should? like 90% of my blog is queued or scheduled… but ngl I barely remember to tag posts at ALL some nights so I probably won’t (rip if that’s annoying,, but I don’t make much og content so I figure anyone following me is chill with this lol)

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

In middle school?? To see funny posts and not be pressured into having an ~online presence~ tbh. That’s literally it lol

6. why did you choose your icon?

Matching with @lesbianklance rn! and keith's expressions r hilarious

Before I just,,, chose sokka bc I love that blue boi and the edit of him had a yellow bg that I LOVED (and matched with my pink theme)

7. why did you choose your header?

Matching with @lesbianklance rn! and klance sdjfhk

Before it was just a colour palette bc I wanted my blog to be my fav colour: PINK

8. what’s your post with the most notes?

My zukka art omg- like I did one that I put effort into which I KNOW is my top post (it’s got like 600 notes??? I still can’t believe it I love that!! 🥰)

BUT MY SECOND TOP IS A POST OF REALLY REALLY ROUGH SKETCHES OF THEM AND I LOWKEY CRINGE AT IT (it’s got like 500 notes.. And I’m like… y ?? I can DO BETTER 😭)

9. how many mutuals do you have?

…...listen I’ve literally never had mutuals until this year (minus my one irl.. I love u bitch!! but u know that bc we text on other platforms too)

idek am i supposed to be keeping track??? I just smile a lot when i see the darker-tinted notifs in my activity feed

10. how many followers do you have?

hmmmmmmm ok i lowkey don’t want to answer this bc my whole love for tumblr is that followers don’t matter? You could follow me today and unfollow tmrw bc i ship something you don’t and life moves on??? So yeah no answer here

11. how many people do you follow?

1807 babeyyyy

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

...wait define shitpost- technically any original post under #yeetidk might be a shitpost cause they’re all just?? my shitty rambles tbh???

13. how often do you use tumblr each day?

Sometimes i’ve got the app open allll day long but other days?? I’ll go on like once in the morning or at night just to check my notifs and then that’s it

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? who won?

lmaoo bold of you to assume i interact with anyone enough to have a fight (AKA no)

If i did tho?? I’m the type to try and come to some middle ground before dropping the issue so idk- i’m more likely to lose bc i’m willing to （づ￣3￣）

15. how do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts?

Wish-granting/curse stuff: no.

Politics/Donation posts: depends! I try to only reblog posts like these that I know a bit about bc I don’t really wanna contribute to misinformation ykno?

I did start tagging these posts as #important but I’m not like?? gonna be mad at anyone for not reblogging political posts (also a heads-up if you wanted to block #important: I also tag some lgbt+ stuff under there so you’ll likely miss those too, not a huuuge loss but just an fyi yknow??)

16. do you like tag games?

asdfghjkl this is honestly the first tag game i’ve ever been part of so i have no opinion 😭 tho formatting this post has been a bitch asdhjkl I gotta get back to my homework when I'm finally done this

17. do you like ask games?

I've done a grand total of 1 and I felt so?? ashgjl awkward and bad for asking people to talk to me about myself- maybe if I do one that isn't about me I'll like it more

I do love sending other people anons to compliment them when they do these games tho 😌

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

....this requires me to pay attention to people I follow more than I have been so I literally have no idea??

19. do i have a crush on a mutual?

yes. the one readings this. love u, sweetheart 😘

/jokes

I don't?? usually get crushes? idek.. thought I was aromantic for a while bc of that lmaoo (but then I got a crush on someone irl and I was like "oooh ok so maybe im just gay then")

[starlightsearches]

Scoundrel

So my inbox decided to delete every request that I had, but lucky for me I actually copied them all down this time! Here’s three requests that I’ve combined into one story, hope you all love it!

Anonymous asked: Lol you reblogged a head cannon from @historymiss about kylo and his “scoundrel” skills and it is just so funny to think about, I’d love to read a fic by you about it. Maybe reader is some type of smuggler being hunted down by the first order and they get away but not before they impress each other with shady skills?

Anonymous asked: Ooh! How about a prompt? “It’s a hobby of mine to prove you wrong” reader to kylo?

Anonymous asked: kylo x reader “is that blood?” “... no?”

Requests are closed ✨

Kylo Ren x Reader (no pronouns)

Warnings: some angst, language, mentions of sex pollen 😏, mild horniness, not a happy ending 🙁

There's no light at all in your hiding place, just the hard press of metal against your spine and the sound of your own breathing. You close your eyes, not that it changes the much, fill your lungs as quietly as you can manage and then hold your breath, listening closely to the sounds of footsteps as they move past you, the modulated mumbles of storm troopers as they head towards the exit of your ship. It's not easy to track their movements just by sound, but you don't think they found your stash, thank gods. If they all get off your fucking ship, you can be on your way in no time.

"Search completed, sir. No sign of the fugitives." You can just barely hear one of the troopers report to some silent supervisor, and your mind catches on the last word. Fugitives? Who were they looking for? Some people would pay a lot of credits for information like that. Despite its chaotic beginnings, today could still be a lucky one. You press your ear closer to the false wall that you hide behind, furrowing your brow in concentration.

"Complete searches of the rest of the ships, they’re here somewhere," there's a second voice now, and as soon as you hear it, ice floods your veins. You'd recognize that voice anywhere. Shit.

Your previous confidence in your hiding place leaves immediately, but you can't move, your sense of self-preservation still convinced that he might slip up this time. You're startled from that delusion almost immediately by a loud pounding sound, and then the panel covering your little shelter gives way to blinding light.

You land on your hands and knees with a loud smack, the impact driving spikes of pain through your bones. Someone—a trooper you assume—is on you immediately, yanking your hands behind your back. As soon as your eyes adjust, he's in your line of sight, filling your view with an expansive blackness.

"You again," he's crouched down beside you, the words almost quiet enough to be a whisper, and said with a kind of reverence that might only exist in your imagination. It's been a long time since you last saw Kylo Ren, but it feels like no time at all.

"We can't keep meeting like this, Commander," you reply, coating your words in a healthy level of sarcasm to hide any trembling that could break through, "People might think that you're in love with me."

He doesn't respond, because he never does, but he lifts his hand to your face, rubbing his thumb roughly against your cheek, the seam of his glove scraping against your skin. "Is that blood?" he asks in the same even tone, raising his hand to eye level; you can just barely make out the dark red smear against the black leather.

" ... No?" And then after a beat, "well, it's not mine." Nothing changes in the man before you, but you hear a modulated snicker from behind, and the trooper mutters an apology when Ren shoots him what you have to assume would be a glare if you could see the face behind his mask.

"Search them," Kylo Ren stands to his full height, and you follow close behind, yanked to your feet unceremoniously by the trooper. Some might find this situation humiliating, being cuffed and patted down on your own ship, but you're able to ignore it rather easily, choosing instead to keep your eyes trained on Ren. He returns your stare, his arms crossed tight over his broad chest, fingers flexing rhythmically against the swell of his biceps. No, being handled like this doesn't bother you at all, but you think it might bother him.

Your weapons are removed one by one, and it's a few minutes before the trooper is satisfied, attaching the cuffs to your wrists and giving you one final shove to signal the end of his search. "Should I take them back to the command shuttle?"

Ren stays silent, and your mind kicks in to lightspeed as you try to come up with a plan. If they got you off this ship, your chances of escape would diminish greatly. You'd need to stay aboard, but how? Fighting both of them wouldn't be an option, especially not weaponless. You'll have to make this up as you go and hope things play out in your favor.

"Leave the prisoner with me for interrogation," he says to the trooper, and you stifle a sigh of relief, "I'll need to search the ship again." You try to keep your emotions in check as you watch the trooper walk towards the exit, following him around the corner and out the door with your eyes. It's just you and Ren now. You could make this work.

He breaks the silence as soon as you're alone, plucking the thoughts right out of your head, "you're not going to escape."

"That's funny, I think you said that the last time we ran into each other," you keep your reply light, your tone laden with a healthy dose of mockery so he won't look any deeper. It's not easy to play tricks on a man with powers like his, which is why you've got to keep him distracted, uncomfortable. After all, this is your arena—he'll have to play by your rules.

He takes you by the shoulder, pushing you further into the ship with a shove that's probably meant to be harsh, but there's no heat behind it. "You can't get away from me," he says, more emphatically. His fingers press deeper into your shoulder, a heavy grip to emphasize his point, like that’s all it would take to keep you with him. He should really know better by now. 

You shrug out of his grasp with a little twist, turning to face him in the small corridor, chest to chest, your bound arms sandwiched between you, your own reflection staring back at you through the eyes of his helmet. "I wouldn't count on it, Commander. It's become a hobby of mine to prove you wrong." Your voice is barely a whisper, the heat of your breath creating little clouds of fog on his mask—you're closer than most would dare to be. It's dangerous, the way you get in his space, dangerous how you challenge him, but gods, do you like it. 

He chooses to ignore you again, refusing to take the bait, and instead continues his path down the hall, pulling you towards the cargo hold. It's mostly empty right now, with a few scattered transport bins littering the corners—just empty enough to fool any asshole who might try to poke their nose into your business.

"What are you hauling?" Ren asks, unconvinced by your sparse collection, searching the hold with slow, methodical movements.

"I don't know if you could tell, but I'm actually between jobs at the moment," you kick a crate of broken blasters to sell your lie, but it's clear he's not convinced as he walks the length of the hold, searching for any signs of hidden compartments. You take the chance to look around, as well, seeing if there’s anything that might aid your escape, or at least help you get the damn binders off. It’s a waste of time—there’s nothing in here for you, and even if there was, you wouldn’t be able to get to it without Ren noticing. You look back at him, just for a moment, checking to see if he’s distracted enough to ignore your scheming. By then it’s too late—you hear the sound of the panel lifting first, and it's only a second before he's opening the crate hidden beneath, too quick for the cry that rips from your chest but gets caught on the way out.

"Spice, really?" He reaches a gloved hand towards the container of the innocuous-looking yellow powder and your heart threatens to leap out of your throat, your feet moving towards him of their own accord.

"Don't touch that!" The words finally break free as you throw yourself at him—you don't really have a choice. The impact is hard, hard enough to upset his balance as he stumbles backward, catching you in his grasp, his hands gripping at your shoulders to steady you, too. You’re anchored in his arms, but your breathing is coming hard and fast, the adrenaline making home in your veins even if the danger has passed.

"Afraid I might contaminate your supply?" he whispers the question, the words coming low and mocking through the modulator in his helmet. He thinks it's his turn to get under your skin.

"That's not spice," you say, breathing hard, panic still coursing. "It's a highly potent kind of pollen used to, uh, stimulate arousal. Getting even the smallest amount of it on your skin or in your lungs can create an effect that lasts for weeks." He goes still against you, solid as stone, but you can feel his heartbeat running rampant through his body as he realizes the meaning of your words. Neither of you dare to move, afraid of worsening your already precarious situation, even though you’re well out of reach of the container. The tension has sucked all the air from the room and you stutter, trying to bring it back, "there's a king in the Kazyk sector who pays me good money to haul it for him."

"Is it contraband?" His gaze flits from you back to the powder, and then back again. Even though you can't see them, the pressure of his eyes weighs on you, bringing a heat to your cheeks.

"Depends on who you ask. It is expensive, highly coveted, and notoriously hard to transport. It can cause . . . complications when moved, if you're not careful."

"Complications?" You feel yourself flush, your entire body uncomfortably warm—the temperature control on your ship must be malfunctioning. It's only made worse by your proximity to Ren; you can feel his heat passing through the thick fabric he wears, smothering you.

"Do I need to spell it out for you, Commander?" You had wanted to mock him again, using his title like that, but the whisper that leaves your parted lips is absent of any ridicule, your words so soft and wanton that it sends a shiver up your own spine. You can't help but wonder if he's blushing under the mask—if his thoughts are currently consumed, like yours are, by images of bodies intertwined, heady moans passed between parted lips, his hands—ungloved—exploring every inch of you . . .

Your wrists tug against their restraints, unbidden. It's a good thing that you're still cuffed, because if they weren't, you're not sure what would stop you peeling back those layers he wears, taking off that stupid helmet, finally revealing his face. What would he look like, laid bare before you? What would it feel like to be encircled in his arms with nothing between you but desire?

You ball your fists, fingernails pressing crescents into your palms as you try to remove these thoughts from your mind, forcing yourself out of his grasp with a sharp tug, trying to breathe again. Gods, what is wrong with you? Some of the pollen must have gotten into the air and made its way into your system. You turn back, hoping to confirm your theory, but the little pile of yellow powder sits undisturbed, and the air in the cargo hold is heavy and still.

"Just put the lid back on it. I'm not hauling anything else," you command, and to your surprise, Ren obeys, replacing the cover on the container gently so as to not disturb the powder beneath. He grabs you again, by the arm this time so that he can keep his distance, thank gods, not that it helps you cool off—the heat stays trapped beneath your skin for much longer than you’d care to admit.

He takes you through the rest of the ship, stopping occasionally to open one of the many hidden storage compartments scattered throughout, cracking locks, breaking codes seemingly without even trying. He finds all of them—even the ones you made yourself, ones you were sure nobody would be able to locate without your help. It doesn't matter anyway; you were telling the truth before. You're not hauling anything else.

You lean against the wall, watching as he rips away the edge of another panel in the floor, finding it empty, and you roll your eyes. "Not to be a dick, but can't people like you just feel if I'm harboring fugitives on my ship?" He looks up at you, and you hope he can’t see the way you’re still shaking, hope he can’t feel any of the shame you’re trying so desperately to hide. You need him off your ship—no more complications, no more interference.

"People like me?" he asks, with the slightest hint of laughter, just barely detectable behind the modulation. So he does feel it—your embarrassment, the leftover yearning that you can’t seem to elude.

You roll your eyes again, as if the movement itself could create the nonchalance you’re trying so hard to mimic. You want to be annoyed at him. You want to be unaffected, cool despite what just happened. But it’s not working. "You know what I mean. Couldn't you just sense them?" 

"I know you're not hiding the people we're searching for,” he admits, sliding the floor panel back in place, “and I found all of these- "he gestures vaguely down the hall, the evidence of his handiwork littered along the corridor "-on my own." It’s hard to be sure when you can’t see his face, but you think he might be smug about it all. 

You furrow your brow, thoughts humming, trying to piece together this interaction in a way that makes sense. When that fails, you resort to mockery. 

“. . . So you've been ripping my whole ship apart for what? Just to show off?” Your heart jumps when you see him freeze—the physical changes slight, but not beyond your notice—a slow smile spreading across your face. You’ve got him now.

“You are trying to show off, aren’t you? I have to admit it, I’m impressed,” he stays where he is as you move closer, the visor of his mask trained on you, his muscles taut like he’s ready to run. Who would have thought that, in this scenario, you’d be the dominant one?

“That’s not-” he stutters—you can hear it through the vocoder, and you laugh, just a short, breathy thing. You shouldn’t let yourself get distracted from the goal at hand, but this is much more fun.

“No need to be embarrassed, I tend to have that effect on people. Everybody loves a scoundrel.” You flash him a cheeky smile, and he bristles, folding his arms over his chest again and standing to his full height. You can see the tension in him, practically pulling him apart. He wants to run from you. He wants to stay. 

“Not me,” he says like he wants to believe it, but you can’t miss the way his voice shakes.

“You especially, Commander. The Order and its people are far too proper for someone like you. There aren’t enough scoundrels in your life.”

The silence that follows your words fills the space, leaving little room for air. Maybe you’re hallucinating, but he might inch closer, his fingers twitching, maybe to reach for the latches in his helmet, maybe to bury them in your hair.

The sound of pounding footsteps against the durasteel floor shocks the breath back into your lungs, but even as the trooper dashes into view, Ren doesn’t pull away.

“Sir, there’s a problem,” the trooper huffs, and after a pause, Ren rips his eyes away from you. The trooper hesitates, now, realizing that he’s barged in on what probably looks to him like a private moment. “Uh, there’s a small band of Resistance fighters attacking the troops, we believe they’re here for the fugitives.”

Ren’s immediately on the move, his cloak snapping from the speed of his departure, and you and the trooper glance at each other for a moment before they follow after Ren, and you do too, curious to see the commotion. Despite his limited headstart, Ren seems to have vanished from the corridors of your ship, no trace of him at all, the only sounds echoing through the hallway coming from your own footsteps and the soft jingle of the trooper’s movements. 

The jingling. You’re almost to the door before you realize what that sound means, and you want to smack yourself. You can see the keys now, out of the corner of your eye. Escape had never been closer, and you almost missed it. You choose to ignore the voice in the back of your mind that reminds you about what had caused you to become so distracted. You don’t have time to think about it now. You have a plan.

The trooper startles when you yelp, tripping over nothing before you go sprawling, landing on the floor with a clang. You watch him from the ground as he stares back at you, hesitant, glancing towards the exit before his eyes fall to you again.

“A little help?” You sell it, make it look like a struggle as you try and fail to find your feet, but the trooper still doesn’t move just yet, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. Then he takes the bait.

“Thanks,” you mumble under your breath, falling into him as he pulls you to your feet, bracing yourself against the duraplast of his uniform before pulling the keys from his belt with a deft tug and tucking them into your palm.

He doesn’t even notice, running as soon as you're stable, and you follow behind, spinning the key in your palms angling it just right until you hear the snap of release. You catch the cuffs, trying to limit the noise they make as they fall from your sore and stiff wrists. You’re free. 

The trooper exits the ship immediately, off to help his comrades, but Ren is still by the door, deflecting the odd blaster fire. Most of the fighting is far past your ship, on the other side of the yard, but one or two stragglers have decided to aim his way. You watch from around the corner, listen as the sounds of fired shots ends with strangled cries. You move in behind him, getting close, holding the cuffs in place as best you can. 

“Looks like the fight has moved on without you,” you announce your presence, and he turns to look at you, but your eyes are on the saber, burning bright and wicked by his side. “Impressive, but not very useful long range. Blasters are more . . . versatile.”

He gives you a hard look—a searching look—before raising his hand, the fingers flexing in his gloves. Your blaster, the one the trooper pulled off of you earlier, nudges past you on its way to his hand and you jump out of the way, hardly noticing the smooth movement with which he fires, the bodies dropping even from this range as he shoots into the crowd with perfect accuracy.

You’ve never seen him in action like this before. Despite the number of times you had come face to mask with Kylo Ren, he’s never used his powers on you. Something about the realization is frightening.

“We need to leave,” he says, interrupting your thoughts, “back to my shuttle.” He’s looking at you again, head inclined, like it’s a question instead of a demand. And the stupidest part of you wants to go. You force that part of yourself to be quiet. 

He deactivates his saber, drops your blaster and reaches for you, his hand stretched out the same way it had only a few moments ago, but there’s none of the same power behind it; you still feel the pull.

“I know,” he says, and the cuffs fall from your hands because there’s no point in hiding anymore, “but . . .you still could-” he swallows hard enough for you to hear through the modulator, “-we still could . . .”

You walk towards him, your footsteps slow and even and he trembles, his fingers shaking again for an entirely different reason, and they don’t stop, not when they meet your waist, not when your hands grip both sides of his helmet, trying to find a hold against the cold metal.

“I’ll tell you what, Commander,” you say with a whisper, pulling him closer, close enough to rest your forehead against his, “I’ll go with you . . . the next time you catch me.”

It’s a smooth movement, unexpected—first you pull him close, pressing a kiss to the front of his mask, imagining the way his lips must be flushing in response, imagining what it would be like without the ridiculous apparatus in the way. He’s unbalanced, a little surprised, and when you push him back he doesn’t anticipate it, falling, flailing, until he lands with a thud in the soft mud outside of your ship.

“Until next time, Commander!” you call down to him as the hatch lifts, running to the cockpit as fast as your legs will carry you. You’re in a panic as you start up the ship, a shake in your hands that makes it hard to hit the right controls but you don’t stop until you hit lightspeed, trying your hardest to breathe.

You plug in the right coordinates and sit back in the pilot’s chair, brushing your hand across your cheek, picking up the stray moisture that lingers there. You don’t remember when the tears started. You’re not sure how to stop. It seems like today isn’t your lucky day after all.

[ckret2]

Not Quite Exactly Shell Shock

Guess what time it is, it’s time for Prowl Week. Written for @prowlweek day 1 prompt: “Crash”

I’ve been looking for an opportunity to port most of my autistic Prowl headcanons from my RP blog to some actual fic so here’s some “Prowl stims to get through a shutdown caused by sensory overload and his spy friends are trying so hard to be protective of him while he recovers that they almost start punching each other.”

###

"Is he in there?" Jazz asked.

Getaway and Skids, huddled in front of an inconspicuous door, looked up at Jazz warily. "Who?" Skids asked.

"Prowl."

Getaway shrugged languidly. "Don't think so. How would we know?"

Jazz laughed wryly. "C'mon. Spec Ops. You think I don't know about Prowl's hand-picked diplomats?"

They both flinched at that, but did an admirable job of disguising it. Their adjusted their postures—a shift of their footing, a roll of their shoulders—as they stopped pretending that they were casually hanging out in front of this door and revealed they were standing guard in front of it.

"He's occupied," Skids said. "He's not taking visitors right now."

"He can take one," Jazz said. "We just got out of a nasty battle, Prowl missed the officer meeting, Optimus needs somebody to set eyes on him. Gotta confirm he's not bleeding out on the battlefield somewhere."

"You can tell Optimus we set eyes on him," Skids said. "No injuries, just—stressed."

Stressed. Jazz hesitated, processing that; then nodded slowly.  "Okay. Got it. And I believe you," Jazz said. "But Optimus isn't gonna buy 'some of the troops said they saw him'—he needs an officer to lay eyes on him and make sure everything's fine."

Skids considered that and nodded. Getaway, though, planted one hand on his hip—covering a little more of the door with his elbow—and said, "He is fine. Sorry, but the big guy's gonna have to take our word for it. Prowl can't take visitors right now."

"I understand what you mean," Jazz said pointedly, "but I'm talking about Optimus. He's gonna insist—"

"Well," Getaway snapped, "I insist—"

Voice lowered, Jazz said, "Look, Prowl's a little overwhelmed right now, right? You wanna protect him, I respect that—I appreciate that—but I can handle it. I won't bug him, you've got my word. I promise."

"We've made a promise to him, and that's worth more to me than some random officer—"

"A random officer," Jazz said coldly, "who's known Prowl longer than you've been alive."

Getaway lunged a half step toward Jazz before Skids caught him across the chest and held him back.

"We're both on his side," Jazz said. "C'mon. If I don't go in there, Optimus is going to. And he's gonna try to get Prowl to debrief him."

"It's okay," Skids said to Getaway. "Jazz is fine, he knows how Prowl works too. Prowl can handle him."

Getaway remained tense a moment; then shrugged off Skids's grip, leaned on the wall beside the door, and crossed his arms and legs like he'd been casually hanging out there the whole time. Jazz gave him a wan smile and a nod of gratitude before opening the door.

The room was dark except for Prowl's biolights; Prowl flinched at the light from the hall. Jazz quickly slid the door shut and took a seat in front of Prowl's desk.

Prowl wordlessly turned his chair away from Jazz. Jazz bit back a chuckle. He knew why Prowl did it—seeing Jazz moving out of the corner of his optics, even just minute twitches and adjustments that Jazz wasn't even conscious of, would just irritate his processor even more—but it was still a hell of a greeting.

Based on what little Jazz had gotten out of Prowl's door guards, Prowl was in about the condition Jazz had expected: very still, completely unsocial, not a sound except for the extra cooling fans around his brain module loudly whirring at top speed. By what Jazz had seen of his face, his expression was completely blank, completely calm; it usually was whenever he was struggling under a crushing psychological load. He was twisting his hands around some small clicking objects that Jazz couldn't see but knew from experience were magnets. There was a lot of clicking. It seemed serious. So Jazz sat back to wait.

Whenever anyone doubted Prowl's capabilities as a strategist, Prowl was fond of dryly pointing out that he was capable of calculating the trajectory of eight hundred moving objects simultaneously. What Prowl didn't often point out was that he was incapable of calculating eight hundred and one objects (or whatever—he'd often tiredly told Jazz that it wasn't exactly 801, it was just that 800 was the maximum he was programmed to safely handle, anything over that was a risk), and that trying to go over the threshold overwhelmed his processor's capabilities. The problem was, if he saw objects in motion, he was unable to choose not to track and calculate their motion. If he saw it, his brain ran calculations. If his brain ran too many calculations, things started glitching. If too much was moving at once, Prowl's entire processor became unable to do anything but attempt to work through them all—along with the mountain of ever-growing error messages.

When Prowl had too much to process, he needed to hide somewhere until his head could work through all the calculations. Extra light added more calculations, extra motion in his sight added more calculations, trying to hold a conversation massively piled on more calculations. For some reason, calculating magnetic fields—such as the feeling of magnets in Prowl's hands—not only cut to the top of the queue of pending calculations, but rapidly deleted other items off the queue when few other things Prowl did could do so.

Jazz didn't have the faintest idea why magnets worked—Prowl had tried to explain once, got about five minutes into a long explanation about electromagnetic forces and the calculation thereof that Jazz lost track of about a minute into, until finally Prowl had to lamely sum up with "They... fffeel better?"—but if the magnets helped Prowl put his head back together when it was falling apart, that was good enough for Jazz.

Jazz wondered what had gotten Prowl this time. There'd been a lot of missiles flying around. He hadn't counted to see if there were over 800 in the air at once, but then he didn't have a processor that automatically forced him to count. Maybe it was just from trying to run tactical simulations and talk to everyone about them at the same time, sometimes that got him too. There was a reason Prowl was their head strategist instead of head tactician.

While Jazz waited for Prowl to get back to a place where he could talk, he pulled out his comm unit and texted Optimus: "Found Prowl. He's okay, just shellshocked." Optimus had a looser grasp on how Prowl's uncommon operating system worked than those who had known him better and longer did; they'd found shell shock was the closest metaphor that he could grasp. As long as Optimus knew that Prowl didn't want his brain to be doing what it was currently doing any more than Optimus did and that the best way to ensure it would stop doing that was to leave Prowl the hell alone in his office until it was over, they figured he understood enough.

Jazz had let Optimus know that Prowl didn't appear to be injured and that he'd get Prowl the notes on the officer meeting by the time Prowl said sharply, "What?"

"Optimus wanted me to make sure that you're alive." Keeping it simple and short, Jazz found, was the best way to ensure that Prowl actually managed to process the statement without adding to his already overworked processor.

It took several seconds for Prowl to reply: "Yeah."

Jazz gave him another few seconds to recover from sorting through that sentence before throwing a question at him. "Want me to leave?"

Another few seconds: "No."

Jazz nodded, sat back, and waited until Prowl was ready to say more.

###

Also crossposted to AO3, link in the post source. If you enjoyed the fic, I’d appreciate a comment or reblog!

[aelaer]

Let’s talk about chemical imbalances in malfunctioning brains

I haven’t made it exactly a secret that I’m not exactly neurotypical. I don’t talk about it much, but I don’t make it a secret, either, even if I won’t go into the full diagnosis of my stupid, wonderfully horribly stupid brain. One of those aspects of my non-neurotypical brain is what doctors call ‘general anxiety disorder’, and what I call ‘I know everyone absolutely loathes me because look at all this circumstantial evidence I have and nothing anyone says otherwise will convince me that this isn’t the case’.

This mood probably stems from childhood where functioning like a Normal Child was *incredibly difficult* and, as you can imagine, retaining friends was rough, despite the support I got from the adults in my life (oh thank god I did). And I lost a lottttt of friendships along the way in nasty blazes. Ironically, it made high school-- often the worst phase for people growing up-- my best time in my childhood, because holy crap, I knew how to retain friends! For more than 3 months at a time!

But fuck, you learn coping skills, you learn how to calm your brain, you learn this and that and this and that-- but it doesn’t actually go away.

Throughout the first half of the 2010s, these ‘general anxiety’ attacks were down to about twice a month, if I had to guess (which was a significant improvement over early childhood, which averaged one major attack a day. So maybe for three days I have no anxiety attacks, and then day four I have four attacks. And ‘attack’ is truly a good word for it, it just shuts down your ability to function. Kid me was an anxious ball). While kid me had anxiety over every topic you can possibly imagine, adult me still struggled with the one anxiety that spurred attacks again and again and again.

Making friends. Being accepted. Being liked.

The easiest way to go about this is to never go against the consensus, don’t have opinions that contradict the majority, always be *happy* and hide away any negative thoughts-- and yeah, that’s not me. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s being true to myself. What I craft online is pretty damn similar to what you’d get of my personality in RL. I don’t put on faces or play pretend. The most I do is avoid topics that I know will get messy, so you just--never hear my opinion on it, ever. Helps curb anxiety.

But while the last uh, 3 or so years the attacks have simmered down to somewhere between 6 to 12 a year, if I had to guess (and only a couple of those lasting for longer than half an hour when, again, childhood anxiety attacks could last for waaayyy over an hour), I still get them. And while I absolutely love Christmas and this time of year, during the week before Christmas I tend to always have one. I haven’t figured out why. My parents did my childhood Christmases real good, so it’s not related to anything like that.

That’s tonight.

My brain is *fritzing*. I’m scrolling through names on tags I like on tumblr, and the brain is going: ‘Oh, that person hates you, you angered them in May 2019 and they avoid *everything* you do despite similar interests, I bet *everyone* she talks with absolutely *despises* you’ and ‘Oh hey, another popular person, you’re in the same social circle and they’ve never interacted with you, I bet that they also think you’re a fucking awful human being’ and ‘That person follows you and is very active, but doesn’t actually reblog anything you post, and that’s because your content is absolute *trash*. Why the fuck are you trying to participate in this community? You’re not appealing to their interests, you’re *boring*. You may know the technicalities of the craft, but it doesn’t matter because you don’t have an audience. Delete your stuff and stop trying’.

The dialogue stems from the anxiety of not being accepted into the general... order of people in a similar interest group, whether it’s “smart people group” in HS, “art group” in college, “roleplay group” in a game I play, or “Stephen’s small group of fans” like the last two years. The worst part of the mood is that it doesn’t matter what evidence I have to contradict it in kind words, nice messages, and general appreciation. The brain has a counter for every single one of them: ‘That person likes the person who hates you better than you so it doesn’t matter’, ‘that person still reblogs the content of the person who attacked you with a sock puppet on your blog last year’, ‘that person just feels sorry for you because you’re so pathetic’.

It’s a vicious thought process. I’m thankful that it tends to go away by the next morning. But one thing I’ve found that sometimes helps calm it down so it eventually goes back to the hole it crawled out of is writing it out, and that’s why you got a post about the viciousness of a chemically imbalanced brain 3 days before Christmas.

[mcrmadness]

Lmao why is it so hard to make a post with a couple of selfies that don't even show my whole face??? I guess it's because there's a first time for everything and I've never showed my face here. Wait but I actually posted one last year where I was wearing a scarf and you could still see my eyes??? At least to some extent, I kinda edited the photo so that it was dark :D

Okay one of the reasons is that when I posted about this yesterday, that post already got like from someone random who does not follow my blog and whose blog I don't follow, and I don't know how the fuck did this person find that post. And that's exactly what makes me worried now, I wish there was a way to make a post that would be visible only to mutuals or the people of your choice. I didn't even use any tags that could lead to that post and still it was found by someone random - and the blog looked like one of those p*rnbots but it was way too real and definitely a real person, but I just HAD to block them because their content already made me very uncomfortable and if I post some selfies here, I definitely don't want (people like) that person to find the post, nor to interact with it.

This is where I hate it when reblogging a post will save it on this website forever. Maybe I should actually not post any photos in that post but instead put there a link to photos so I could still delete the photos in case someone reblogs the post despite me literally saying not to. Wait but. I just realized that when there's a read more link, and the original post is deleted, it won't show up! So maybe I'm still safe after all. Hopefully.

But yeah. This is exactly what happens when you grow up in the 90s and get access to internet for the first time ever in the late 90s and early 00s, and are told about how anonymity in the internet is so so so important. That is STILL so strongly somewhere in me. And I don't think it's a bad thing! It's so weird for me how people are so carefree about posting selfies or even information like their name or age online because like. Some stuff you post online, you might never ever get out of there. If someone downloads your photo, you can never have it back unless you reach everyone who has it and watch them delete it, which is basically impossible to do anyway. (I'm not afraid of anyone downloading my photo, why would I when I'm this hideous? But that was just an example and it terrifies me which is why I have always played safe online. I never could use a website/early "social media" most Finnish teens used in the early and mid 2000s because they required that you'd upload a photo of your face in order to be done with your registration, and I did not do that so I could never use the website properly.)

[asongofmarvelanddc]

Sworn Enemies PT2

PAIRING: Alfred X Reader

WORD COUNT: 2914

THEMES: Fluff, Ivar being Ivar.

SUMMARY: Ivar finds out about your secret relationship with Alfred, and Alfred makes you a proposition.

A/N: This is a repost because my old blog got deleted. There’s a few changes tho. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💛

PART 1 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8 | PART 9 | PART 10

It had been more than two weeks since your talk with Alfred and you had not stopped seeing him despite your little brother's growing suspicions. He made sly comments and stared at you every time you were in his presence. You knew you weren't doing what he thought you were doing, but you still found yourself feeling guilty. That was because you knew that your relationship with Alfred was a greater betrayal than giving up battle secrets.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" Alfred's blue eyes flicked up from your intertwined hands to look into yours. 

"You ask me that question every day before we part," you smiled softly at his question, "You know better than to ask me." You leaned up and pressed a sweet kiss to his lips, his hand cupping your cheek. When you pulled away, his hand didn't leave your cheek.

"I shouldn't feel like this," he murmured, his eyes looking into yours as his thumb stroked your cheek softly. You swallowed thickly at the intensity of his stare.

"Feel like what?" you whispered, your voice coming out huskier than you had intended it to, but Alfred was unfazed.

"Like I love you," he said almost in a daze, then his eyebrows furrowed and his gaze focused on yours again, "I love you." 

You let out a breath at his confession and dropped your eyes to the damp ground. Aside from your father, your mother and every brother with the exception of Ivar, no one had ever told you they loved you. No one. That was probably the reason why you felt hot tears prickling in your eyes. 

"You do?" you felt your eyes well up as he nodded, a small smile gracing his lips, "I do too...I love you."

A wide grin broke out on your face at the realisation. Alfred leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek, but before he had a chance to pull away, you grabbed his face and smashed your lips against his. He pulled you flush against his chest as he kissed you back with just as much passion and fire in your hearts. 

Your hands left his face and you wrapped your hands around his neck. You wanted to keep yourselves locked in this embrace, and you knew that without the extra encouragement, Alfred would have pulled away long ago.

During your heated kiss, you heard a crackle behind you, and apparently Alfred heard it too, because he pulled away from you just as abruptly as you did him. Your head snapped around to look behind you.

"Did you hear that?" Alfred whispered to you, his eyes looking in the same direction yours were.

"Who's there?" you called out. You listened as more footsteps retreated quickly and you turned to Alfred with alarmed eyes.

"You should go back to your camp, Alfred," you said, your voice panicked as you tried to push him to go, "It's not safe."

"They could be my men, then it's not safe for you," he gripped your upper arm to stop you from heading towards danger.

"I don't mean to insult your men, but I have no doubt that I can handle them," you smiled, your hand resting on the axe on your hilt. He looked down to where your hand rested and smiled.

"I forget your women are not like ours," he said before leaving. You knew you could handle Alfred's men, what terrified you was the thought of your men spying on you, and you felt sick at the thought of them reporting what they had witnessed to your brother.

                           __________________________

You walked into Ivar's version of the Great Hall in Kattegat and felt eyes staring at you as you walked towards his high table. He was sitting on it, legs dangling in front of him as he had some leftover meat from the meal he had just finished. Hvitserk stood somewhere to the left of you, leaning against a wall. His eyes followed you as well, but he didn't look angry, he looked...disappointed.

But Ivar...He didn't look like anything. Over the years, he had learned to conceal every single emotion he felt with what others would call an ‘evil grin’. He believed that since he already had a weakness, in the form of his legs, his emotions shouldn't be one too. The only way to tell what he felt was by looking into his eyes. From where you stood, you couldn't see them, so you didn't know what he was feeling right now, but you could guess: betrayal.

"Where have you been? Hm?" he asked once you stopped in front of him. He leaned forward, and at your silence, he simply shrugged and ate another piece of meat.

"I will tell you where I've been, hm?" he raised his eyebrows looking almost amused, "I went for a walk to...stretch my legs," he joked, garnering a few laughs from the audience, "Imagine my surprise when I found my dear, sweet sister in the arms of a Christian Prince."

Oh.

The rustle in the leaves wasn't Ivar's men. It was Ivar.

You felt your heart drop to your stomach as you looked down at your feet guiltily.

"The son of the man who is leading the slaughter of our men right now," he chuckled, but then his voice changed - it became harder, "The grandson of the man who sent our father to his death." 

Your eyes snapped up to meet Ivar's and you found that they were bluer than ever. He had dropped the tight, fake smile and replaced it with a scowl. Never had you ever been afraid of Ivar in your life.

Until now.

"Why?" he asked, his voice sounding sinister. You looked away from him again and avoided the gaze of the other men and women in the room.

"He's not the man you think he is," you whispered, but gaining more courage, you looked up to Ivar, "His father and grandfather's sins are not his own."

"'Sins'?" his eyes narrowed and you knew what he was thinking - that you sounded just like them.

"He's a good man," you said, defending Alfred before your brothers and your army.

"He's a Christian," Ivar spat the word in disgust, anger evident in his eyes. You frowned and jutted your chin out. Suddenly, you weren't afraid anymore. The truth in your words helped to build your confidence.

"The man our father trusted and loved more than anyone else in this world was a Christian," you reminded him of Athelstan, a man Ivar never met. Ivar's left eye twitched as he sat back and stared at you with hard eyes.

"If you are going to kill me for my betrayal, little brother," you stepped forward so you were at least closer to him as you whispered, "Go ahead and do it." You stayed there in that position, waiting for him to react and when he didn't, you felt as though you had won.

You turned around and began to walk briskly out of the hall, but as soon as you reached the doors, you felt two men at your sides grab each of your arms. You struggled against their holds, but even you knew that it was no use.

                           __________________________

The men dragged you to the dungeon underground and chained you to the wall. Ivar had told you that before he and your father parted, Ragnar was kept in a place just like this one. You didn't know whether it was the setting or the fact that you were sure your death was looming, but you felt closer to your father than you had in a long time.

You heard footsteps outside the dungeon, and from the grunting and shuffling, you knew it was Ivar. He appeared in front of the barred door, two men at his sides to hold him up, but he grabbed onto the bars as they opened it before he dismissed them.

Once the men were gone, he let himself drop to the ground. You watched silently as he crawled towards you slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. You were sure he was trying to intimidate you. He kept crawling until he was beside you before propping himself up into a sitting position and leaning against the wall next to you.

You were both silent for a moment. You didn't know why he was not speaking, because it seemed like talking was Ivar's favourite thing to do.

"There is going to be a battle here tomorrow," he suddenly broke the silence and you turned to look at him. His eyes were on the floor, and he looked dazed.

"Many people will die, and most of them will be Saxon," he said, letting out a little chuckle as he turned to look at you with glee in his eyes, "What I have planned, they will never see coming."

"We will take them completely off guard, and they will die in the hundreds," he continued with a small shrug, "You better pray to the Gods, to Freya, that I don't catch your Saxon Prince. Because if I do, I won't spare him."

You gasped at his statement and watched wordlessly as he pushed off from the wall and began to crawl out of the dungeon.

"All my life, I have done nothing but love you," you began and he froze, "Despite the horrible things you would say to me, and our brothers. Despite mother treating you like a King and leaving the rest of us to fend for ourselves. Despite you murdering our brother."

Ivar's whole body tensed at the mention of Sigurd, but he still didn't turn around to look at you.

"I loved you through it all," you choked back a sob, "Why are you doing this me?" 

He turned around slowly, his eyes soft.

"Dear sister, don't you see?" his head tilted to the side, and he looked...caring, "I'm doing this because I love you."

A gasp escaped your lips. This was the first time you'd ever heard him say he loves you. The second time you'd ever heard him say he loved anyone. 

Without another word, he turned around and crawled out of the dungeon, his men barring the door after him.

                           __________________________

You didn't see anyone again until the next night. You had heard the fighting earlier in the day, and from the cheers after hours of gnawing on your nails and balled up fists, you gathered that your people had won. You had waited in agony for Ivar to come down with news. Any news.

The waiting was the torture. You wanted to know Alfred's fate whether he was alive or not. That was the only thing you cared about since Ivar had left you alone the day before. You had not slept a wink all night and day, the thought of food never even crossing your mind. You thought he would come down to brag abut murdering your love, if he had killed him, but it had been hours and not one person had come down.

It was nightfall when someone finally did. Ivar sauntered in on his crutches with two men who brought food for you. They dropped it along with water in front of you, but you pushed them aside as you stared at your brother, waiting for him to speak. After a minute of you staring at him, he finally did.

"What?" he asked in fake confusion, his eyebrows raised.

"Ivar!" you yelled at him and pulled at your chains, but he didn't even flinch. He simply let out a hearty laugh.

"Calm down, sister, I have good news," he smiled at you, and your heart leapt to your throat. Good news for you, or for him? From the smirk on his face, you guessed it was the latter.

"We are going back home. Tomorrow," he smiled with mischief in his eyes, and for a moment, it looked like he had been possessed by Loki himself. As soon as he announced that, he turned and began to limp out of the room.

"Ivar!" you called out to him angrily and he let out an annoyed sigh and turned to look at you, "Is he dead? Alfred...Did you kill him?" 

You could feel tears welling up in your eyes already. You were pleading with him to tell you the fate of the man you loved, and he could not even give you that. He simply narrowed his eyes at you, before limping out of the room.

That was when you realised your punishment. It wasn't this dungeon. It wasn't even going back home. It was never knowing what happened to Alfred.

                           __________________________

It had been a month since you had returned to Norway, but you were at Vestfold, King Harald's Kingdom. Ivar had still refused to tell you Alfred's fate, even though he saw how much not knowing had devastated you. You barely spoke to anyone, not even Hvitserk who was adhering to Ivar's wishes and refusing to tell you Alfred's fate either.

Your violent self had taken over, and with a refusal to talk to anyone, came a hatred for everyone around you. Anything as minor as someone standing in your way when you wanted to walk past would cause you to snap and injure someone.

Which was the reason why you chose isolation. You were at the river bank, cleaning your sword as well as sharpening it, when you heard footsteps behind you. In the blink of an eye, you were standing upright with your sword pressed against the stranger's neck.

"Who are you?" you asked as you eyed the man. He had long black hair and a scruffy beard, but something about his eyes made you believe he wasn't one of you. He wasn't Viking.

"Forerynel êow Y/N?(Are you Y/N?)" he asked, his eyes narrowing at you. 

"Gêse yfel. ðêos ârweorðung êower?(Yes I am. Who are you?)" you demanded his identity as you pressed the sword against his throat harder. You assumed he noticed the uncertainty in your tone, because he began speaking in your language.

"King Alfred sent me," he said and you felt your throat hitch. Did he just say what you think he did?

"King Alfred?" you breathed, tears welling up in your eyes as the man handed you a letter, "I thought he was the Prince?"

"He was. The King died, and Prince Aethelred declined the throne," the man answered and you struggled to control your breathing. 

You thought about the possibility of this being an elaborate hoax set up by Ivar and you imagined him hiding behind the trees, laughing to himself. The thought made you feel sick.

The seal on the letter was not broken, so you knew this man was trustworthy, however, when you read the letter, you thanked the Gods that this man had not read it, because if he had, you doubted he would have brought it to you.

Y/N,

I hope this finds you well.

When I didn't see you again after that day, I assumed that your brother had discovered us. I was hoping to find you some way, but then I found out that you had returned home. No doubt your brother’s doing.

But I’ve been doing some thinking, and it doesn’t have to end like this. What I'm going to ask of you may seem impossible at first read, but I want you to consider awhile before you make a final decision. 

Come to Wessex and marry me. Together, we can come to a solution about this war that your brother and I could never reach. We can bring our people together, the way your father and my grandfather failed to do so many years ago.

But above all that, I love you, Y/N, and I want you by my side.

Please consider my request. I will wait for you, however long it takes.

-Alfred

You noticed the royal stamp beside his name, and it made his words all the more real. You hadn't realised you were crying until you finished reading. You wiped your eyes and dried your cheeks before looking up, only to find that the man was gone. Back to Wessex, probably. You looked down at the letter in your hands with a heavy heart. 

You had never felt more relief in your life. 

Alfred was alive. 

A breathy laugh escaped your lips as you dropped to your knees. You lay down flat on the ground as you absorbed everything Alfred wrote. You had a choice to make.

Your brothers. Or your lover.

[myriadimagines]

Savior

Star Wars (Sequels) One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Poe Dameron

Other Characters: BB-8, Leia Organa, Kylo Ren, Temmin Wexley, Finn

Warnings: mild swearing, violence, mentions of death, injury

Requester: anonymous

Request: “hi love, i hope you’re having a wonderful day. 💖 can I request a poe dameron x fem!reader one shot where the reader is also a pilot and secretly crushes on Poe. When he gets taken by the First Order, she becomes overly worried and begs General Organa to let her go rescue him. When the General asks why, maybe she yells..“because I need to tell him that I love him!”..or something along those lines. And she and Poe have a heartfelt reunion at the end. Sorry if this was too long ahh🤧”

Word Count: 3,378

A/N: y’all im so fuckin mad!!!!!!! i swear to god i queued this request and now it’s fuckin GONE!!!! thank god i had the actual fic saved somewhere else but i already deleted the ask with the original request so i’m so sorry i couldn’t include what the original request was. im still boiling over about this @ tumblr stop deleting my shit!!! EDIT: omg i hate this the original post just published at a completely random time despite disappearing from my queue and i had to delete it before it got notes. UGH! at least it had the original request in it so i could put that in. anyway, @ the requester, this was not too long at all and a super cute idea!!! i hope you like it!!

please reblog/leave comments, they’re very much appreciated!

Your name: submit What is this?

You crowd around the console, the air of worry that fills the room almost suffocating as your fellow pilots look to you expectantly. The radio shakes in your hand as you bring it up to your lips, and you stare at the screen in front of you, Poe’s ship coordinates blinking at you as other red flashing lights rapidly approach — the First Order. 

He’s surrounded, stranded in Taunul, a desolate desert village in Jakku. Leia had sent him to retrieve the map to Luke Skywalker, a crucial solo assignment which was supposed to be simple and quiet. You weren’t even worried when you watched Poe leave, despite always being worried for Poe when he goes on missions. 

How the hell did the First Order find him, all the way on a planet you had never even heard of before the mission?

This is it, you think, watching the First Order close in on the village, with no signs of Poe’s ship making an escape. This is your absolute worst nightmare. 

“Poe,” you urge, your fingers gripping the radio as you can hear his labored breaths on the other end. “Get the hell out of there!”

“I’m trying, I’m trying!” Poe exclaims, and you can hear the engine of the X-Wing firing up, can hear Poe flicking on switches as he prepares for takeoff. You’re almost about to feel a sense of relief, to relax ever so slightly, but everyone startles at the unmistakable sound of a blast. There’s a low rumble, and you can hear Poe curse under his breath before he informs you, “I’ve been hit, my engine’s down!”

Your chest tightens as you heard murmurs of worry around you, everyone nervously looking amongst one another. You desperately try to rack your brain, try to come up with any solution you can to help him, but your thoughts are interrupted as Poe tells you, “I’m giving the map to BB-8, it’s safer with him than with me. BB-8, get as far away from here as you can, you hear me?”

“Poe, don’t!” you try and stop him, already knowing he’s refusing to run. Poe ignores you as BB-8 bleeps in response, and you try and interject, “You’ve got to get out of there—”

“I’ll come back for you!” Poe tries to reassure BB-8. “It’ll be alright!” 

You look up at your squad, catching Leia’s gaze from across the console. She can see the clear torment in your features, and you run a hand through your hair, flinching as you hear the loud sounds of a blaster being fired. Shaking your head, you look up as you plead, “General, we have to help him—”

“No, it’s too dangerous!” Poe interrupts, his voice barely audible over the loud static from the radio. He ducks behind a dune, watching as the villagers are rounded up while none other than Kylo Ren descends from his ship. “I—”

Poe’s voice is quickly drowned out by static as the connection temporarily falters, and you clutch the radio, eyes wide as you exclaim. “Poe? Poe!”

You turn to Leia, utterly powerless as you silently beg her to do something, the radio clattering onto the table as you drop it. She frowns, shaking her head slightly as she knows there’s nothing either of you can do but hope that the First Order doesn’t find BB-8, that Poe can somehow get himself out of the mess he’s been dragged into. 

There’s a muffled voice, and you pounce on the radio, feeling a tiny flicker of hope as you wait to hear Poe’s voice. 

Back on Jakku, Poe is yanked to his feet after being caught and brought before Kylo. The stormtroopers search him at Kylo’s orders, and one digs the comlink out of his pocket. Poe helplessly watches as he hands it to Kylo, shaking his head as he informs, “Nothing, sir.” 

“Put him on board.” Kylo orders, before crushing the comlink in his gloved hand, letting the metal slide out of his palm and into the sand. You lean up against the table, about to collapse, as everyone seems to slump in defeat. It’s the last thing you hear before the radio goes dead. 

—

Your head snaps up as you force yourself to stay awake, and you tiredly rub your eyes, failing to fight off sleep as your gaze fixates on the map in front of you. You reach forward, zooming in on the screen as you run a scan on the system, desperately trying to find any sign of Kylo’s ship, where Poe is imprisoned. The glowing colors begin to blur together as fatigue sets in, and you let out a sigh, rubbing your eyes again as you blink, trying to focus your vision. You look down as your droid, R0-Y7, hums beside you, and reach out to place a hand on his head.

“I have to find him, Roy.” you mutter to the droid, who shifts closer in an attempt to comfort you. Your trusty R0 unit had spent all night by your side, and you smile down at him, grateful to have some company in the otherwise empty room. Resting your elbows on the console, you continue, “I have to save him.”

You can see the first stray beams of the morning sun through the windows of the control room, and you straighten, stretching your arms above your head before rolling your shoulders back. Despite the exhaustion that weighs you down, you refuse to sleep. You know you won’t be able to, anyway, until Poe is back in the Resistance base, safe and sound. It’s been two days since his capture, two torturous days of worrying about what unspeakable acts First Order is doing to him, who are no doubt torturing him for the map. You hate how no one seems to be doing anything, how you feel as if you’re the only person in the entire Resistance who’s desperate to have him back.

You try and tell yourself it’s because you refuse to leave anyone in the clutches of the First Order, but deep down, you know it’s so much more than that. This may very well be the end for Poe, you realise, and you never got the chance to tell him how much you love him.

And something inside you so painfully aches at the mere thought.

Tears sting your eyes as you shakily lower your head, the scan coming back empty with nothing more than some small cargo ships. Zooming the map back out, you begin to expand your search to the neighboring system before the door hisses open, and you startle before looking over your shoulder. You squint, letting your eyes adjust to the bright light that floods in from the hallway, and you recognize Wexley lingering in the doorway. You immediately sit up as Wexley says, “General Organa sent me to find you. We found Kylo Ren’s ship.” 

Your eyes widen, and you jump to your feet, rushing past Wexley with R0-Y7 whizzing besides you as you make your way to the main conference room. You push past the pilots and spies that intently listen to Leia’s instructions, and you manage to maneuver your way to the front just in time to catch the end of Leia’s debriefing. 

“While the Alpha Team are rescuing Poe, I want the Beta Team deployed to find the droid. We need to find BB-8 before the First Order does.” Leia insists, and everyone nods, studying the map of Kylo’s destroyer that’s projected in the center of the room. Leia’s gaze locks with yours, and she continues, “Let’s move. Time is of the essence” 

Everyone quickly scatters, scrambling to make preparations as you make your way to Leia. Something inside you feels invigorated, finally able to do something instead of sitting around feeling utterly powerless. Nodding at her, you say, “I’ll go with Alpha Team—”

“No,” Leia stops you, shaking her head as she lays a gentle hand on your arm. Despite how desperately you’re trying to hide your feelings towards Poe, Leia can clearly see how distressing his capture has been for you. You frown, not understanding what’s happening, and Leia insists, “It’s best if you stay here.”

You struggle to maintain your composure as you can slowly feel yourself coming undone. Keeping your shaking voice steady, you reply, “With all due respect, General, I should be on this mission. I need to help rescue him—”

“y/n,” Leia interjects, noticing your trembling hands and your breaths becoming shallow. Trying to be as gentle as possible with you, she continues, “You haven’t eaten or slept since Poe’s capture, and you’re not in the right state of mind. I can’t risk anything going wrong—”

“Please, General Organa, I have to go with them.” you’re begging now, your voice overlapping hers, and you can’t hold back your tears anymore as they stream down your face. “You don’t understand, I need to be on the team—”

“Why, y/n?” Leia asks, somehow managing to keep her voice calm as you feel yourself falling apart, piece by piece. She holds your hands in hers as she continues, “I don’t doubt your skill, but—”

“Because I love him, and I need to tell him!” you suddenly exclaim, and the entire room seems to freeze, everyone around you halting in their tracks. Leia’s eyes widen, and you’re suddenly grateful for the fact she’s holding you, as your sudden confession suddenly takes all the energy out of your body. Your voice lowers, and in a quiet whimper, you repeat, “I love him.”

You feel simultaneously lighter and heavier with the truth out in the open, finally coming to terms with your feelings and accepting them. But your confession raises the stakes that much higher, and you feel the weight of your new burden crashing down on your shoulders. 

You have to save him, or else you’ll never forgive yourself.

Leia sighs, giving your hands a small squeeze. She knows it’s a bad idea, knows she should insist you stay at the base and just wait for the teams to come back, but the desperation and heartbreak in your eyes softens her. Silently nodding at you, she whispers, “Go.”

You let out a quivering sigh of relief. Nodding gratefully at her, you pull your hands away, turning to sprint towards the hangar as your heart pounds loudly in your chest. 

You’re going to save the man you love. You don’t even give yourself the option of failure. 

—

You watch as Beta Team’s ship navigates its way towards Jakku, and you lean forward to press your communications button before speaking into the radio, “Good luck, Beta Team.”

“Right back at you, Alpha Team.” a voice responds, and you take a deep breath as you see the First Order ships in the distance. Both teams are hiding in transport ships, Beta Team in a salvage freighter intended to blend in with the scavengers on the planet, while your team is in a transport ship supposedly delivering weapons to the First Order. 

You look over your shoulder at your squad, some of which are disguised in First Order uniforms as they prepare to infiltrate the ship. Nodding at them, you ask, “As soon as you find Dameron, you radio back to me, and I’ll get the ship ready to escape. Got it?” 

The team nods in agreement, and one pipes up, voice full of determination, “Let’s get Dameron back.”

You look forward, punching some numbers into your monitor as you prepare to communicate with the Destroyer in order to get inside. You flinch as you see a TIE fighter swoop out of the hangar, and you feel yourself tense up as you immediately go on the defensive. The TIE fighter suddenly ducks under the destroyer, and everyone jumps back in alarm as you watch the cannons activate, rapidly firing at the rogue TIE fighter. Your brow furrows in confusion, and you turn to see your copilot equally as perplexed at the scene unfolding before you. The TIE fighter opens fire, destroying the cannons, but it’s not long before missiles suddenly dart through the sky, heading straight for the TIE fighter. 

On the TIE fighter, the newly named Finn frowns as Poe pilots the ship back towards Jakku, and Finn asks, “Where are we going?”

Poe flicks on a switch above him, attempting to figure out the ship’s communication system while trying to steer the ship. He grins as a light flashes green, and he presses a number sequence for the Resistance into the screen in front of him as he replies, “We’re going back to Jakku, that’s where.” 

“No, no, no, we can’t go back to Jakku!” Finn yells in protest. “We need to get out of this system.”

“I gotta get my droid before the First Order does.” Poe responds as Finn stammers in disbelief. Before he can protest more, Poe turns on the radio, yelling, “This is Poe Dameron, I repeat, this is Poe Dameron, does anyone come in?”

Back on your ship, you lunge forward, scrambling to press the communications button as you hear Poe’s voice in your radio. Around you, you can hear the sounds of disbelief and confusion, and you lean forward as you splutter, “Poe?”

“y/n? Oh, thank God, y/n!” Poe recognizes your voice instantly, and tears of relief and joy well in your eyes to hear his voice. The connection is jumpy, his voice barely audible, but it’s him. 

“Roy, hone in on the frequency.” you urgently instruct, and beside you, R0-Y7 quickly plugs into the control panel. You anxiously watch as the droid’s arm spins, manipulating the frequencies as Poe’s voice becomes briefly garbled before the audio crispens, his voice is loud and clear. 

Interrupting you before you can ask your endless stream of questions, Poe says, “I’ve escaped the First Order on a TIE fighter, and I’m heading back to Jakku for BB-8—”

“We’re in the Jakku system, we were coming to rescue y— wait, a TIE fighter?” you exclaim, stumbling out of your seat to lean forward, peering out of the cockpit window to see the TIE fighter on your right, the missiles still hot on its tail. “Please don’t tell me you’re in the TIE fighter that’s about to be shot down.” 

Despite the wildly inappropriate timing, Poe chuckles, and you hate how you can’t help but smile upon hearing his laugh. You always seem to find yourself in these situations, with Poe somehow managing to crack a smile out of you no matter how dire the circumstances. Nodding, Poe replies, “Yeah, that’s m—” 

You gasp as the ship is suddenly hit, the wing exploding, and the ship begins to spiral out of control. You jump back into your seat, swerving the ship towards him as you yell, “Hang on, Poe!” 

Your ship is bulkier than you’re used to, not as fast and sleek as your X-Wing, but you’ll have to make do as you watch Poe’s TIE fighter burst into flames as it enters Jakku’s atmosphere. You grip the steering mechanisms of the ship as you watch the TIE fighter careen towards the sand, but not before a parachute suddenly bursts out of the cockpit, and you can see Poe strapped to the seat. The parachute is tattered, tangled in the wind as Poe is thrown in the opposite direction, and you steer the ship towards him, not seeing the second parachute being released as Finn narrowly manages to escape the TIE fighter before it crashes into the sand. 

You practically crash your own ship into the sand, the ship unsteadily rocking as you land. You snatch a blaster hanging off the wall, just in case, before slamming the button for the ramp to open. You sprint outside, your team quickly following suit, and you run towards where Poe has fallen, unconscious as he lays on his side in the sand. You crouch beside him, gently rolling him onto his back, resting his head in your lap as you caress his face in your hands. The side of his head is sticky with blood, matting his dark curls, and there’s cuts on his cheek and bottom lip. You gently brush his hair out of his face, urging, “Poe, please wake up, come on—”

You let out a sigh of relief as Poe’s eyelids flutter open, and he squints at you as the sun bears down on him, blinding him as he can feel a dull pain throughout his body. His eyes slowly adjust, making out your face hovering above him, and he can’t help but think you look angelic, the sun shining behind you, and your relieved smile makes his heart swell in his chest. 

“y/n…” he croaks out, trying to sit up, but you quickly stop him.

“Wait, wait, careful.” you insist, gently holding him down. “You were in a pretty bad crash, and you’re all banged up.”

You look over your shoulder, gratefully nodding at your squad as two of them have already brought out a stretcher from the ship. The rest of the team help you load Poe onto the stretcher, and he frowns as he starts, “We have to find BB-8—”

“Already on it. There’s another team who’s searching Jakku now.” you reassure Poe, offering him a smile which he returns, despite all the pain he’s in. He weakly reaches out to you, and you immediately reach for his hand, clinging to it as you jog next to the stretcher, helping to load it onto the ship. Your copilot quickly fires up the engines as soon as the door closes, and you nod at one of your squad members as you instruct her, “Tell General Organa we’ve got him, and see if Beta Team has any updates.”

“Got it.” she nods at you, securing the stretcher in the back corner of the ship before giving you and Poe some privacy. 

You finally let yourself relax, and you feel heat settling into your cheeks as you realise you and Poe are still clinging to each other’s hands, his fingers interlocked with yours as he refuses to let go. His smile is gentle as his gaze meets yours, and he gives your hand a little squeeze as he softly greets, “Hey.”

You smile, instinctively leaning closer towards him. “Hey.” 

“Thanks for coming to rescue me.” he says, shifting towards you, and you try your best to ignore how his arm ever so slightly grazes yours.

“It’s my job, at this point.” you tease, biting back a grin. “You’re always getting into trouble, aren’t you, Dameron?”

“Yeah, but I know I’ll always have my savior.” Poe nudges you. A smirk makes its way onto his face, a smile that makes your heart flutter, and he jokes, “I mean, I did have everything under control…”

You scoff, and Poe can’t help but laugh at your reaction. His smile is so goddamn beautiful, and  happy relief expands through your chest as you jokingly roll your eyes in response. “Don’t, Poe. Don’t even go there.” 

Poe is still laughing, shaking his head as he musters up enough strength to prop himself upright. His laughter dies down, and your breath hitches as he looks at you, his gaze so full of tenderness and unspoken things, and you can see his eyes flicker ever so briefly down to your lips. Your lips part, as if words are trying to escape, but you’re suddenly rendered speechless as you realise no words can fully express how much you love him.

So you lunge forward instead, reaching your other hand up to caress his face as you kiss him, and Poe doesn’t even hesitate to kiss you back, running his hands through your hair as he pulls you closer to him. You feel yourself dissolving at his touch, instantly melting into his lips, and when  you break away, breathless, you finally tell him, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Poe replies, with a smile spreading across his face that’s brighter than the sun. It’s more glorious than everything you’ve ever seen in your entire life, and nothing across the entire galaxy can make you happier than seeing his smile. 

And you’re even happier knowing he’s smiling because of you.

tag list: @proudchocolateaddict​​​ / @myfriendmagislit​​​ / @dragon4123​​​ / @fire--pheonix​​​ / @gofandomsandotherstuff​​​ / @natalia-helena-alianova-romanov / @fairytalesforever​​​ / @emmacata​​​ / @hauntedpocdreamer / @fangirlsarah16​​​ / @adaleya​​​ / @floup-doodles​​​ / @batfam16​​​ / @multifandomwriter121​​

[blueraspberrycoolatta]

hi all. i wanted to sit down and get some stuff off my chest.

first, i want to start at the beginning. i made this blog way, way back in august 2011. i was 15 years old, almost 16. i made it because i was bored and some of my classmates had tumblrs and i thought it seemed cool. (please please don’t look at my old posts. they were terrible and i’m not the same person i was at 15.) i didn’t have a blog theme, i just kind of talked to myself. i babbled about what i wanted to do, my boyfriend, just random things. sometimes my post might get a like here and there, and i was happy when it did. but notes didn’t matter. i just liked having this little online space to keep stuff i liked.

and then i discovered fandoms. i realized that people liked the same stuff i did and i could connect with them and talk about that stuff. i could interact and see the cool things people made, and i tried to contribute, too. i remember getting 278 notes on a rise of the guardians post and i was amazed. hell, i remember posting a picture of my jack frost bracelet and was thrilled that it got even 6 notes. it was so much fun, to get to interact with people who had similar interests as me.

i found one direction in 2012. i listened to up all night all the way through on my little red 4th gen ipod nano and cried when i first heard moments. i loved this band. they made fun music and at that point in my life, i really needed something fun and light. i fell in love with this band.

i went away to college in the fall of 2013. i remember asking my roommate if she minded if i put up some one direction posters, and she said no. that fall, i very quickly fell into the fandom. someone posted in our our class’s facebook page, asking us to describe our tumblr with a haiku. i don’t remember what i wrote, but it was about one direction, and this person reached out to me and said she liked one direction too, and let’s hang out. i said of course. she’s the one who introduced me to larry, showed me early ‘proof’ videos from chockuhblock or something (i can’t remember the spelling), videos that aren’t on youtube anymore. this was BEFORE fimq’s ‘top 30 iconic larry stylinson moments,’ if you can believe it. we bonded so much over one direction. we went to wwa and otra together. we took over the common room on the 11th floor to stream all 8+ hours of 1d day. @emmybazy​: thank you for being my first fandom friend.

it was all downhill from there, in the best way. i started writing fic. i believed harry and louis were in a relationship. i made everything about larry. i won a rainbow bear from a carnival and named it larry and took it around europe with me when i studied abroad. i successfully ‘converted’ several of my college friends to 1d fans, some even to larries. i wrote more fic. i made more online friends. i dragged emma @lesbianharrie into the fandom. (y’all are welcome.)

in the fall of 2017, i made more fandom friends. @dystopianharry and @suspendrs​ created a groupchat for boston-area larries. emma and i joined and before long, we made friends. friends we met irl and hung out with. we went to concerts, acted awkward at coffeeshops, wrote fic together and laughed and roasted each other and just had the best time. 

i’m not sure exactly what’s happened to me since that first night i laid in bed and fell in love with ‘moments.’ maybe i’m getting older and i’m just outgrowing some aspects of this fandom. maybe i’m bored because nothing’s really been happening and i’m tired of getting worked up over the small things. maybe some of the stuff that’s happened within the fandom turned me off.

but whatever’s happened, i’m falling out of love with the fandom and it’s time for me to move on.

i am calling this a ‘semi-retirement.’ i’m still going to be a 1d fan—i love one direction, and i love all five of the boys. i support them in their solo endeavors and i’ll support them if/when they get back together. i’ll still go to their concerts if they’re near me and i’ll still listen to their music. i just can’t be involved in fandom as much as i’ve been for the last six years. i’m still going to have one foot firmly planted in 1d hell and that’s never going to change, but the other foot is somewhere else now and i’m ready to talk more about where that other foot is.

so what does this ‘semi-retirement’ really mean? here’s what’s going to happen.

i’m going to finish a handful of fics that i’ve started and then retire from 1d fic for the time being. i’m going to finish the breath of the wild au and its sequels if it’s the last thing i do, no matter how long it takes, and i have a couple of WIPs that i want to finish and post but after that, i won’t write any more. i won’t start any new fics. i’m going to focus solely on haikyuu!! fic and sometimes breath of the wild fic. all my old 1d fic will stay up, i’m not deleting those.

as an extension of that, i’m going to stop reading 1d fic as well.

i’m going to start putting more of a variety of stuff on this main blog. i’ll keep all my sideblogs, but more non-1d content is going to be on main. legend of zelda, haikyuu!!, other games, youtubers, all of that will be on main. i’ll still reblog one direction content, but not to the extent i used to.

i’m not becoming a houie or anti. i still believe louis and harry are in a committed relationship and that freddie is not louis’ son. i just won’t be blogging about that unless something major happens.

i hope you guys won’t be mad that i’m stepping back from the fandom, and i won’t be upset if you unfollow me. i understand not everyone wants sports anime on their dash. i just know this is something i need to do for myself. i’m ready to spend more time in a new fandom, to contribute somewhere else for a change, and it think this has been a long time coming, if i’m honest.

thank you to every single one of you reading this post. i’m sorry it got so long, but you know me—i like precision. thank you for following me, for reading and commenting on my fic, for interacting with my posts, for sending me asks, for everything. i wish you all the best in life, both in fandom and outside of it.

[notbigondoors]

How do you generally write your replies to asks or threads or rp stuff? On the Tumblr app or on your computer? I'm thinking about making myself two or three rp tumblr blogs (I'd like one for Stephen King's Carrie, another one for Marvel's Morbius and maybe a third one for Wonder Woman) but I don't have a computer atm and I wonder how comfortable it would be to rp using the phone app only/how good it would look. This is an amazing Vision blog btw!

{out of equations} I actually do a healthy balance of both. At night when I’m relaxing at home and watching TV or whatever, I vastly prefer the computer. I type faster when on the computer and it’s just physically easier. But then when I’m out and about, sitting in a restaurant or a doctor’s office or somewhere where I’m just waiting for a while not doing much, I’ll whip out my phone and work on replies there. As far as the actual writing, aside from it being easier for me to type on a computer vs. a phone, it’s really not better or worse to do either. But as far as the Tumblr site is concerned, there are honestly good and bad aspects to both ways of using it.

The app is really a pain as far as formatting. Now, sure, you can do things like adding colored text a lot easier on the phone and without requiring actual coding, but you can’t use a blog theme or really complex text formatting because it just simplifies everything. There are a lot of bugs on the Tumblr app that make using the phone completely obnoxious to me. For example, if you place a title on your text post on the computer, it will remain at the top no matter how many times the thread is reblogged or the reblogs are deleted from it. But if you so it on the phone, for whatever reason it will downgrade the title to a heading that will then disappear when you inevitably trim the reblogs off the thread. I have no idea if there even is a way to make titles that actually function as titles on the phone, but maybe there is?

Another annoying thing about using the phone (and this is more recent, so maybe it’s an actual bug that’ll be fixed as opposed to just a stupid update) is that when I tell the phone to delete all reblogs from a thread, it will appear to have done that, but the it will leave the first reblog that was there at the top. So this results in the reblog having like... a post you don’t want randomly still up there and then your reblog? Which... makes things really confusing if you’re trying to keep track of the thread’s story? I don’t know how to fix that one either.

Also... when switching from Tumblr app/mobile to the Tumblr site on a computer, I still sometimes am unable to edit or even open my posts because it will say “Oops! This appears to have been edited in the mobile version. Please use the app.” Or something like that. Such a pain.

The other thing is... they appear to have taken away the ability to save an ask answer for later on the Tumblr mobile app? I used to be able to start answering and then just save my response in my drafts if I have to close the app and I’m not done yet. Now there’s no option to do that. I really hate that, it came in handy. You can do it on the computer while holding down Ctrl +Alt while actively in an ask text window and replying to it. If you hold down those keys, the options to either “Safe as Draft” or “Queue” will appear at the bottom right as buttons. So yeah, a definite advantage over mobile.

Also, in the case of “read more” links, those breaks in the post where writers can cut off their super long mega posts with a link to the full version so that people don’t have to scroll through a wall of text on their dash? Yeah, those don’t work on mobile, heh. Well okay, no, they work.... but you don’t have the option of using them on mobile. So if someone has set one up on the computer, it will function in mobile, but people who are mobile only don’t have the option of using “read more” links.

The biggest problem with mobile is that people with complex themes for their blogs or even ones like mine that are Tumblr simple, haha, can have info pages set up as links you can click to go to more information, and those don’t even show up on mobile. Even if people send you the urls, when you click on them they will only go to their main blog and not to the pages. So that means you won’t be able to view any muse or mun info or any rules pages set up that way. That doesn’t mean you can’t ask someone to kindly post or send you the information, but that makes it kinda hard for blogs with passwords or muns that won’t even talk to you until you’ve read their stuff.

However... not everything on the Tumblr app is worse than on the computer. On the computer... there are various forms of gif files that function as gifs on other sites and in graphic editing programs, but will not open on Tumblr. For example, I’ve noticed that gifs saved as text map or .txt files and gifs with urls ending in .gifv instead of .gif will not open on Tumblr. Whether you cut and paste the url or you open it from a file on your computer, they just won’t work. The gif will blip away and an “error loading gif” error message will appear. I’ve gotten around this somewhat but simply editing the file extension back to .gif, but that only works sometimes, and I have not found a way to open gifs saved in text map formats. So this makes it really annoying when trying to add reaction gifs. On the app, though...... I seem to be able to post just about any gif I want. So that is a definite plus.

Also, if you want colored text on the computer, you have to code for it, and honestly, I’ve forgotten how to do any of that, haha. Even if you set it up on your phone and then open the post on a computer, the computer version will wipe out all formatting and coloring that you did. Super annoying.

There are also a lot of bugs on the website that are not present in mobile, such as links not going where they should (how many times have I clicked on my blog’s activity feed only to be sent to my dash, ugh), and random spaces being added in the middle of my text posts that I didn’t place there? o_O

So... I guess I would say that functionally speaking I prefer the computer version, but there is a lot to be said for the portability of the phone and being able to work on stuff whenever you have five minutes. I should also mention that I have the Android version of the Tumblr app, so... I don’t know if maybe the iPhone version is different or better or worse. But I do know people who are 100% on the computer version, 100% on some kind of mobile version, or people like me who switch back and forth, and we all seem to be finding our ways just fine, so I think whatever version you choose, you’ll acclimate to that and adjust your style and habits accordingly.

I hope this was helpful! (^-^)/ (Also thank you so much, I’m glad you like this blog! Vision is such a sweetie, isn’t he? XD)

[winnipegpatty]

to all the boys i’ve loved before [pt ii.] | s.m.

a/n: tumblr hates me, and deleted pt. ii. so here i am reposting. apparently this is just a thing that’s gonna happen with all my writing. cool. anyway, enjoy if you haven’t already read. reblog, like it, come talk to me about it. pls. i need validation. 

part i. part iii. 

I should probably consider going to a therapist. I must be insane. I had to be. This is only a thing a crazy person would do. Not only had I considered Shawn’s proposal over the last twenty four hours, I entertained the thought. A lot. If Gen was sure to be jealous of their relationship, maybe Josh would be too. And not that I wanted to date Josh or anything, it would be kind of nice to see him jealous over someone else liking me. And well, maybe fake dating Shawn wouldn’t be so bad. He was cute after all, and popular. He might teach me a thing or two about dating, of which I knew exactly...zero things. So really it didn’t seem so bad. It couldn’t really hurt, could it?

But considering Shawn’s idea and actually accepting it were two different games.

In my own land where I control the outcome of each of my decisions, can know exactly what everyone thinks or does around me, well this idea sounds amazing. But in the real world. The world where Gen hated me, and I had exactly one friend, and my eleven year old sister had a better social life than me. Well, that was different.

Yet somehow, sanity had gone out the window, and I found myself somewhere I never thought I would ever go. The school music hall. The place where Shawn practiced for theatre and choir ensemble pretty much every day. And yes, I realize that choir kids, aren’t usually that cool, right? It’s usually the jocks, right? Well this school was different. Or well, maybe Shawn was just different. He had a way about him. A commanding presence that made everyone look twice when he walked down the hall. So yes, he was the most popular senior in the school, despite only being a choir kid.

But what was I doing in the music hall exactly? Well that was a good question. I’ll be sure to let you know the answer when I figure out.

“Hey Mendes,” I heard myself shout over a particularly loud guitar riff he was showing off to his friends.

His fingers slipped to a stop. “What?” He asked as he looked towards me where I was walking up the stage steps.

I came face to face with Shawn Mendes yet again (this was quite possibly the most I’d ever seen of him in such a short period of time). “I’m in.” I said my voice surprisingly steady despite my pounding heart rate. Was I really getting into this with Shawn Fucking Mendes?

A slow smile crept onto Shawn’s face as he gently placed his hand on my cheek and kissed me. Yes, he kissed me. It was my second kiss with Shawn Mendes in less than twenty four hours.

What the fuck was this life?

When he finally pulled away, I took a small step back. I’m sure I looked shocked because honestly, you’re lying to yourself if you think you wouldn’t.

“Well, uh, I’m gonna go to Spanish now.”

I slowly backed away, fleeing the scene of the crime.

And that, my friends, was the beginning of a beautiful fake relationship.

____

“Okay, first things first, we need rules.”

Shawn rolled his eyes from his place as the picnic table.

“You really know how to suck the fun out of a situation don’t you?”

“This is serious Shawn, we need to know where we stand on certain issues.”

Shawn tugged on the string of the pink hoodie he was currently wearing. “Okay, like what issues?”

“Well, for example. I don’t want to kiss you again.”

Shawn balked, thinking I couldn’t be serious. I was. “Who is going to believe that we are a couple if I can’t even kiss my girlfriend?”

I rolled my eyes, “Relationships are more than physical intimacy, Mendes.”

“Okay, but you kissed me first! And now you’re going to say you don’t want to kiss at all?”

He had a point, but that didn’t mean the request was any less valid. I wasn’t caving. “It’s not negotiable.” I set him with a stern looking, hoping it was clear that I meant business.

“Fine, but something else needs to happen then. People won’t buy it if I’m not allowed to touch you.” Shawn shrugged as if that were a no brainer.

“I see your point. How about this? You can...stick your hand in my back pocket?”

“My hand in your back pocket, what the hell is that, Y/N?”

“Sixteen Candles?”

Shawn rolled his neck to look at me, completely unimpressed with a blank face.

“It’s the opening image?” Nothing. This boy was giving me nothing. “It’s a couples thing!”

“Maybe in the 70s.”

“Sixteen Candles was the 80s!”

Shawn’s utter lack of knowledge of classical rom com literature was horrific. “Okay well first off, sixteen candles is going on the list because it’s a classic. I refuse to date someone so uncultured. Second, we can’t tell anyone about this relationship.”

“Duh, first rule of fight club,” Shawn rolled his eyes.

“What?”

“Are you serious?” Shawn leaned in to look closely at me, “You’ve never seen fight club?”

I shook my head before he responded, “Oh my god okay, write it down. Double feature. The Candles movie and then fight club.”

“Okay, fight club, sixteen candles, no snitching. Anything else?” See Shawn thought this idea was stupid, making rules and all, but clearly this was the important bedrock on which the entire fake relationship would sit upon. A solid foundation was important.

“I could,” Shawn’s face suddenly appeared calm, contemplative, “I could, um, write you songs, maybe? Like little lyrics?”

Songs? Lyrics? Shawn would write songs for his girlfriend? I’m not even sure I knew he wrote his own songs. Could this be more surreal? “You’d do that?” I asked softly, not wanting to get any thoughts in my head.

“Yeah, I mean, Gen was always begging me to do it. And I never did. So if I did that for you, it’d drive her crazy.”

Right. Gen, of course. “How romantic,” I cooed, dripping with sarcasm.

“Also, you have to come to all my concerts and performances and the parties.”

“Then you’ll have to pick up my sister and I and drive us to school everyday.” So that I don’t die.

“Okay, but you’re coming with me on the annual ski trip.”

The Ski Trip. That was the infamous overnight event where more couples were rumored to lose their virginity than Senior Week and Prom, combined. Any couple that meant anything in high school would be there together. I have never been. Obviously.

“Shawn, that’s like three months away. You really expect us to last that long?”

“Let’s just call it a contingency.” Shawn smirked, “Look no one in their right mind, would let their boyfriend go on that trip alone. It’d be social suicide. So, if we are still doing this by then, you have to go with me. No ifs ands or buts.”

I’m absolutely certain, that by the time the ski trip comes around in three months, Shawn Mendes will just be a page in the book of my own history book. And that is the only reason I say, “Okay. Deal.”

___

“Come on, Sof, we’re gonna be late. Hurry up.”

It was October already. I’m not sure how it happened, but it had. And today was the day Shawn and I were going to put the contract into motion. Fake relationship-ing commences today.

“I’m so tired of taking the bus,” Sof complained as she ran down the stairs, “Can’t you just drive us again? This time without hitting people?”

“Actually.” The two of you slipped out the door, just as you heard Shawn honk the horn of his Jeep.

“Hey, y’all ready?” Shawn stuck his head out the window.

The shock on Sofia’s face was priceless. I stepped into the passenger side seat and Sofia stumbled into the back seat.

“Hey, little Y/N” Shawn turned towards Sofia, “What is that?” He motioned to her cup.

“This is horchata,” She said as if he were utterly helpless. Which to her defense, he basically is. “And my name is Sofia, my friends call me Sof. But you can call me Sofia.”

“Okay..” Shawn said turning to me, “She’s feisty.”

“So, how exactly do you know my sister again?” Sof asked.

Shawn laughed, “Well, I guess, I’m her boyfriend.” He sent a smile to me, and I rolled my eyes. “Can I have some of that?” He gestured again to the horchata.

“Sure,” Sofia responded, handing her cup over to Shawn. Shawn took a drink of the horchata and smiled.

“Oh, wow that is so good. What do I have to do, to get you to bring me one of these tomorrow?”

“You’re driving us again?”

Shawn nodded, “Yeah of course. It’s the boyfriend duty, I’ve been told.” Shawn winked at me, and I shrunk further into my seat.

“Okay!” Sof bounced, “You can call me Sof.”

Shawn leaned into my shoulder and whispered to me, “Progress.”

And this is what it was like to be dating Shawn Mendes apparently.