#really not sure what to do with that last part those seem like broader ideas that need more space than we might have in this ask discussion

[indielowercase]

white trans woman refusing to discuss the nuance of race. being a white woman means they still have privilege over even cis black men and other men of color. when they refuse to consider that in these conversations that thats racism. openly talking about how they hate all men including other queer men/masc folks, men of color, disabled men all men who face bigotry at the hands of society makes them a bigot

being trans doesnt erase their whiteness and the only people i see using tme/tma have been racist white trans people funny how the trans women of color i know never use those terms and how its extremely common that those terms are used to harm and harass trans masc/men especially those who are not white and how trans men and yes even cis men still face misogyny at the hands of society. it goes hand in hand with homophobia. the tme/tma binary is also transphobic to people who are intersex and non binary

transmisogyny exists and is terrible and the solution isnt being horrible to other trans people who have different experiences cause again thats a very white and usually american way of thinking cause god forbid other cultures and how they deal with things exist

ok i'm back from sleep and work

so this is opinion, not proof. you haven't given me anything i could use to confirm this for myself. while i understand why you'd want to send these on anon, all that together makes me considerably less likely to take you on your word.

with just the info provided and gleaning from conversations i've read, it sounds like you're discussing her individual privilege over another individual in discussion on tumblr. this doesn't tell me anything about the actual interaction. saying a white trans woman has privilege over a black cis man is uhhhhhhhh questionable at best we'll say. she may have been racist, the other party may have been misogynist towards her. neither may have happened and one, the other, or both could have just been assholes. i have no idea.

your personal interactions with people aren't the only ones that happen, online or otherwise. i've seen very thoughtful discussions of tme/tma as tools in certain contexts to discuss structural (not individual) oppression of trans women that doesn't happen on a larger scale or systemically to people who are not trans women. then again i've seen it listed alongside other identity markers in people's bios (always tme not tma tho), which makes me feel weird because it's like saying "antiblackness exempt" instead of your race so like there's that. it's useful as a description of transmisogyny specifically but not as like an identity category that's fucking weird but that's also not how i've seen it used the majority of the time (this may be a personal experience difference between us)

i haven't seen it used as a cudgel against trans men. i have seen trans men use it in discussion while trying to claim transmisogyny effects them too (always within the context of discussion of transmisandry) which is something i don't understand at all. i'm a trans man in a pink collar job and while the pay gap for a man working in elementary education (me) or as a nurse (not me) effects any man working in that field, i think it would be weird and inaccurate to say we experience misogyny because of that. this sounds nitpicky but being effected by it vs being the target/experiencing a particular bigotry or structural bias feels like an important distinction to me. the structural forces of bigotry are used as a method of social control, yes, much like homophobia and racism. it's a tool used to make sure "we" aren't too much like "them" because being "them" is bad (because we treat them badly and also their identity category is incapable of doing anything outside of what we prescribe to it.)

or, put another way, white people aren't structurally effected by anti-asian racism because kids at comedian john mulaney's elementary school were racist to him because they thought he looked asian.

nothing here aligns with any terf ideas. someone saying they hate men does not a terf make. if you mean gender essentialist please say so instead.

i would like to say, you're damn right the solution isn't to be horrible to other trans people.

[deusvervewrites]

Genome AU:

I like this au a lot and have been rotating it in my head for a bit now. specifically how the whole clone project gets revealed - in one of the asks, you mention that AFO/the doctor likely aren't actively scheming with it in mind, and given that it was canned approximately 10-15 years ago by the time canon rolls around and only a few clones were kept, the fact that the clone kids are then old enough to possibly be in UA would probably have not occurred to them.

But. while the project may not be on their minds, it most definitely had to have some sort of records of it taking place. the first thought that i had was that maybe the doctor kept notes/records of the process, along with files for specific clones, their "parents," where they were kept, and possibly even when or why they were dropped.

If those files didn't exist, whether due not being made in the first place or being lost/destroyed, there would most likely be suspicious holes in the clone kid's paperwork, or at least an absence of any record of former/possible parents. If i remember correctly, some of the nomu project was done inside/connected to the AFO orphanages - so if that was discovered, and the investigators noticed the link between the UA students who came from them and their lack of early life records, then a DNA test could be ordered and reveal their odd parentage. The whole "clone" thing would be more of a running theory than a definitively proven fact, but oh well.

Okay so im still thinking about this. Basically a continuation from my last ask about this. back to the clone project records - for this reveal to even come about, there would have to be a further investigation into the nomus/the doctor's work specifically, rather than just the broader lov. Im not sure if there were any given dates/approximate timeframes for the nomu project in canon, and i don't know for sure if the doctors work had any appearances in vigilantes that would date the creation of nomus/similar things to being active earlier than in the main series, but from what i can remember about the reaction to the USJ is that nomus and similar don't seem to have been encountered and thus recorded before its appearance at the USJ. (it also doesnt seem like people react to the idea of bioengineered weapons made from the corpses of missing people as like. a main concern and it was kind of brushed off in favor of focusing on shigaraki, which i get that he is far more important in the long run but was the entire task force really like "eh, whatever" about the fucked up frakenstein things???) take this with a grain of salt bc i havent reread this specific part in a while. But in this au, the doctor's work clearly goes back pretty damn far. they were advanced enough to make viable clones from multiple sources of DNA, and while the project was technically a failure, there would have been a lot more research into the mixing of quirks that could be repurposed for the nomu project, which would then have at least 10-15 years before canon to develop, possibly even more if it was running next to the original clone project while the latter was winding down in its last years. So. My thought was that if the project had far more time to develop, then the nomus used in canon would likely be far more powerful by the time the heros catch on to their existence, possibly matching the high-end nomus. Because of this, they'd be even more of a problem than in canon. The investigating heros would then dedicate a second team to focus on the origin of the nomus, eventually clueing them in to its predecessor in the clone project. Okay last ask bc i should sleep. still connected to my previous two but mercifully shorter. my bad for occasionally dropping huge asks onto your blog sometimes i have more thoughts than i thought i had. Anyways i think it would be fucked up if one of the clone kids was put onto the investigation team that dug up the files.

We do know that the Noumu specifically were canonically a recent development because the main antagonist of Vigilantes was the thing AFO tried before moving on to the Noumu project (specifically because of how Vigilantes played out for him), but I'm not sure whether that's the case here. (And, yes, Kurogiri was already around in Vigilantes)

The Noumu being stronger makes sense, considering what I have cooked up with the few clones that AFO kept, and they've also adapted the Noumu technology back to the clones for implanting new Quirks, so it all ties together for Garaki.

Finding records about that makes sense

[dont-give-money-to-jkrowling]

some reactions to the first episode of fantasy high junior year

i haven't really looked at other fan reactions yet, this is all fresh shortly after watching!

starting in media res was an amazing idea, the night yorb thing arc still gets to shine while showing off how much the bad kids have progressed and their new combat abilities. as someone who is not a frequent dnd player though i do wish we got just a bit more info on what those new abilities were though, bc i spent the first ten minutes trying to figure out what silvery barbs were. although i think the battle episodes are always more enjoyable for the audience who does know more about dnd, so nothing really new here.

the introduction of the new disposible NPCs was also really funny. rip squeem, i can't believe he's gone so soon after all that he and gorgug went through. ecaf is fucking creepy though, im getting romaence pärtner flashbacks.

adaine has so many fucking companions now?? almost an overwhelming number, but im sure we'll learn more in the following episodes. it's really sweet that she has elementals like aelwyn now though :) curious about what we would have seen from her if she had stayed alive for the entire episode.

nothing more fabian than immediately failing a roll and being far away from the action for most of the fight. he's consistent. but he grew in confidence over the summer and it looks like he's not gonna catch pneumonia over it this time! we love growth.

not much to say about fig, gorgug and riz, seems like they were faithful to themselves and not too different from the last time we saw them. highlights included: fig stating being ayda's paramour is part of her identity now, gorgug being a Concerned Van Owner, and riz trying to look like a cool dude in front of balthazar (RIP)

uhhh really not taken with kristen's whole thing in this episode. yeah it wouldn't be realistic for her to immediately have solved all of her problems with religion, but this really felt like fhsy part 2 with little to no change, except that kristen has graduated to philosophy bro to gym bro. i hope she strays further from her previous seasons arc in the next episodes.

and that's it! overall still super hype, can't wait for the next episode bc i feel like that's when we're getting the real Start of the Story. i always cared about individual character arcs more than broader plot and combat when it comes to d20 (i think that's quite a common opinion) and i think we're going to see something really fun from the players :)

[rollercoasterwords]

Fanfic writer asks — 4, 5, and/or 20!

hi!!

4. Share a headcanon about (character name) in (story title)!

left it open not sure if i'm mean 2 do this for one of my own stories or just any story...suppose i will take this opportunity 2 weigh in on the reg birthday debate & say that i see him as a capricorn. could perhaps be convinced of virgo as well...but that boy is not a cancer sorry

5. Is there a tiny detail in one of your fics that you feel goes tragically unnoticed?

not sure if it's something that's been noticed/brought up before but i don't think it has...i love a full circle/mirrored ending moment so in atydsp the very first line is him being awake + the very last line is him falling asleep <3

20. Is there anything about any one of your fics that you have been dying to discuss but haven’t had the chance to?

oooh idk...honestly zar has been getting quite a few voicenotes recently abt different parts of wfrau so there has been quite a bit i've wanted to discuss lol but some of it is just stuff abt the lily interlude + epilogue that i can't talk abt without spoiling...

i guess one thing i've wanted 2 discuss/one thing that's been interesting to see is (again) the way people have responded 2 the whole james/lily/regulus ambiguity...like i know that much of this fandom revolves around shipping etc but sometimes i've just wanted 2 be like it's not happening!!!!!!!! how can i make it more obvious!!!! but then again that's just part of putting ur writing out there in the world like someone can read something & interpret it completely differently than how u expected regardless of what u do...remember one person commented talking abt how they loved the polyamorous rep w james in wfrau & i was baffled bc in my mind i was writing him as aromantic...also was interesting seeing people expecting jegulily bc i thought i'd done a pretty good job writing reg + lily as platonic lol. also has just been interesting in a broader sense to see the different ways people think abt + interpret sex vs romance...like the idea that james enjoys sex but doesn't find it romantic isn't all that crazy to me bc sex & romance don't necessarily go hand in hand in my own life like. sometimes u just hook up for fun u don't have 2 be in love...but for some people those things r very tied together & it's difficult to conceptualize a guy who just wants to sleep w his friends! so that's been interesting 2 discuss...like the whole expectation that where there's sex romance must follow etc...

one other thing i've been wanting to discuss is like. r&s as they currently stand lol sent a whole long voicenote abt this the other day so have already gotten some of it out of my system but. it's interesting again seeing the amount of feedback from people who really wanted them 2 reconcile + have a happy ending at the point where things currently stand/the conclusion of the main story--or who are holding out for a happily ever after, etc. like to be fair their story has changed a lot as i've written it & i didn't know when i started the fic that the main story would end as it has. that being said ever since the obliviation became a key part of the story i've known that r&s simply would not be getting back together after voldemort's defeat...like sirius genuinely does not love remus anymore bc how could he! he doesn't remember him! they're practically strangers! & remus doesn't wanna give sirius another chance bc why would he! after all the hurt he already went through! knowing that the person in front of him now is essentially the guy who killed the person he loved & took his place! or perhaps more accurately is equivalent to the reanimated corpse of the person he loved...came back wrong narrative etc...u get the point (hopefully). anyway it just seemed clear to me that reconciliation would not be in the cards for them & it felt like brushing past that or trying to patch things up would detract from the emotional impact i was going for...perhaps even diminish the depth of the feelings they did, at one point, have for each other--like, it's only because they cared about each other so much that things are so unfix-able now. of course i do have my interlude + epilogue left 2 play around w but also bc i am mean + contrary + like making people sad every comment of someone being like "please make them happy :((" makes me want to not do that lol

& last thing is just a fun detail abt james that i'm not sure if anyone's noticed...putting it under a cut in case anyone wants 2 put the pieces together themself but a fun little detail abt his death:

james's recurring nightmare abt a bright light + his boggart being that bright light was him seeing his own death <3 bc he lost his ability to see color the 'avada kedavra' didn't look green to him; it was just bright light. & that was the last thing he ever saw! fun <3

fic writer ask game

[antisocialxconstruct]

Hoi, it's the anon with the nurse mum again. sorry if my last answer frustrated you and I didn't explain it well. ;w; I am very autistic so I probably bumblefucked my main message by being too long

So to be much shorter: why don't I pick antisocial options when they're available to me, in a world that has no consequences? I don't think I have a good answer that will satisfy you. Because to be honest, my answer is: my fantasy isn't picking the evil option. It isn't picking the nice one. My empowerment in RPGs is that I can choose at all, no matter what that choice is.

I spend every day of my life masking if I have to be out in society. I wasn't diagnosed with autism until I was an adult and I've got a lot of trauma (don't we all, I'm definitely not special in this regard) and so for me, my only answer to your question really is "because I didn't feel like it right now, and was allowed to make my own choice." I don't have a better answer than that. Which was a bit my goal of my original post that I think I messed up so badly. Not "actually this is why it makes sense people pick hero options, learn you some empathy" and I am genuinely very sorry if it came across like that

I do think though that if you asked me which I found more "cathartic" overall, between hero or villain, I'd probably say villain/dark/antisocial when they're at least written decently enough. I do like helping people in games sometimes, but sometimes that comes from this "I wish I'd gotten this sort of help when I needed it" and if I think too long about that it gets sad lmao. Meanwhile when I pick the darker options, it's a much more selfish "I wish I could have done this". So at least for me, the characters I make that are close to recklessly good are the kind of people I wish had existed for me, so I could be helped. And the characters I make that are unashamedly antisocial or even nasty pieces of shit, those are the characters I wish I could exist as. Which wasn't directly your question, but maybe it's kind of related? It doesn't answer "Why don't you pick X" but it does at least touch on which I guess I prefer if you stuck a gun to my head and told me to choose

Ah yeah see I knew the order of events was gonna make it look like your ask specifically was the one that bothered me, and I promise it wasn't! If anything it was just the one that really made me sit back and go "hold on I think we've gotten off topic and I didn't even notice." I did think it was an interesting read though, as its own thing and as something related to the broader discussion about what appeals to people in their roleplay experience. The reason I didn't have much to say in direct response was truly just that I didn't want to end up putting my foot in my mouth on your nice story about admiring your mom 😬 (and also I really did have to clock back in a few minutes later)

And tbh I actually do find your answer interesting, especially in the context of someone who spends most of their time masking and is looking for relief from that. Because it's the same for me to an extent, but obviously masking for autism and masking for a personality disorder are two very different experiences. If nothing else I feel like just having someone say outright "well I didn't do what you're suggesting because it just didn't seem interesting," (instead of me just inferring that that's the only reasonable explanation) is satisfying because it means I can look at how I feel about playing The Good Guy (utter disinterest) and map that onto other people's feelings about playing The Bad Guy and be like "oh. Well alright sure." And I do also think I understand the sentiment of it being more about the act of choice than necessarily about the specific thing you choose. I think if I looked inward I could safely say that's a big part of the appeal for me too, which is why I like the idea of a game that presents you with both possibilities and then doesn't try to stop you if you go down the Dark Path (even if there are scarce few games that really get it right lol).

All this to say, please do not feel like it was you specifically who derailed anything or soured my mood or anything like that. It was mostly just bad timing 😔 But I appreciate you coming back to check and I also appreciate the additional insight!

[progg]

Chapter 392 Breakdown

Another week, another exciting chapter. These are my thoughts on the latest installment of Hunter x Hunter. (Spoilers below)

Chapter 392 is entitled “Information”. Turns out, the “Clash” sequence of chapters didn’t run that long. It seems they were centered around the initial conflict between the Xi-Yu and Hei-Ly, while 392 shifts to broader strokes. I still get the sense that everything is building up to a major chaotic outbreak between the mafia families.

On the first page, similar to “Clash: Part 2”, emphasis is placed on the panic brewing belowdecks. I probably sound like a broken record here, but this all relates back to Mizaistom’s speech in Chapter 380.

Amidst the confusion, a guard approaches Hinrigh and offers him information on Morena’s hideout. This is likely the information referred to in the title. The guard in question is extremely suspicious, and not just because of his appearance. He uses knowledge of the Xi-Yu hideout as leverage.

He also accepts Hinrigh’s request that he personally escort him to Morena’s hideout.

Why would this self-serving guard offer to take part in the police raid? I’m not sure if he’s working for Morena, but his actions certainly don’t add up.

After this conversation, we learn the identity of the mysterious “Misha”, who was name-dropped at the end of 391. She is, in fact, a member of the Xi-Yu. Less expectedly, she is dead, and we get to see yet another instance of post-mortem Nen.

Post-mortem Nen has become extremely common since the Dark Continent Expedition Arc—a trend I’ve discussed in many of my posts.

From here, we jump once again to Zakuro and Lynch. We get to see their search strategy at work as Lynch knocks the wind out of some poor guy. Soon after, they make a fortunate (or unfortunate) discovery.

It’s Hisoka! All those theories about him being other people and he ended up being hidden in plain sight. I do want to acknowledge the possibility this is Illumi or maybe even a Troupe member in disguise.

Lynch’s question never actually goes through, which should at least make us question whether this guy is really Hisoka.

For now, however, I’m going to assume it’s actually Hisoka, since anything else would require considerable mental gymnastics.

Lynch is knocked out, and we’re left not knowing if Hisoka will cooperate with the Xi-Yu and listen to Zakuro. I suspect he will, since the Cha-R underboss, Ken’i Wang, remarks on Hisoka’s tendency to “put himself in unfavorable situations” almost immediately after.

From here, we cut to Tsudonke, the Cha-R’s supervisor, in conversation with a shopkeeper. There are a few takeaways from this conversation. For one, there isn’t perfect communication between the Xi-Yu and Cha-R. This shouldn’t come as a surprise if you’ve been following how they operate. The Cha-R isn’t really sure what exactly happened in Chapter 391, and I doubt that information would be readily shared by the Xi-Yu.

Next, the shopkeeper makes a comment that is eerily relevant to Hinrigh’s action’s at the beginning of the chapter.

It seems like Hinrigh might not be making the best bet.

The shopkeeper goes on to explain the predatory nature of her business, further reinforcing the idea that the lowest tiers of the boat have it the worst. They’re being heavily exploited by the Kakin royalty and merchant class. The class divide is a major theme of this arc with major implications regarding the Phantom Troupe.

Maybe this discussion about addictive substances could tie into Luzurus and Basho's?

The last takeaway in this conversation is a motivation for Tsudonke. He wants an autograph board, but perhaps more importantly, he wants an item only available through a high-class delivery system.

It seems important that we learn about this system, not just with regards to Tsudonke’s quest. Kacho and Fugetsu’s failed escape attempt can make it feel as though the ship is closed off from the outside world. That isn’t the case, however; it’s only the princes who are trapped. This allows for the retrieval of Kacho’s body. So, if somebody wanted to return to the mainland (such as a Zodiac or high-ranking official), I’m certain they could.

Next, we get a glimpse into the thoughts of the Cha-R underboss, Ken’i. As previously mentioned, he notes Hisoka’s tendency to put himself in unfavorable situations, then commends the Phantom Troup’s decision to stay at the Cha-R hideout instead of splitting up.

Hisoka, he claims, is the key to this whole situation and will enable the mafia families to destroy the Hei-Ly and the Spider, maintaining balance.

I’m not sure how Ken’i plans to negotiate with Hisoka, but the alliance between the Xi-Yu and Cha-R is sketchy at best. I expect things to go downhill very quickly.

In the last scene of the Chapter, we get to see Phinks, Nobunaga, and Feitan completing their rotation at the Cha-R hideout. Funnily enough, they’re discussing the exact thing Ken’i was commending them for not doing.

I don’t have much to offer in the way of analysis here other than I absolutely love how Luini is portrayed.

He trolls the hell out of the Troupe, then follows it up with a panel that is pure horror fuel.

Can’t wait to see where this goes!

[mochegato]

Even the Losers

Chapter 4

Chapter 1     Chapter 3

“We have a problem,” Tim grumbled as he stumbled into the dining room.  He threw the morning newspaper down on the table, letting it slide the last few feet until it stopped millimeters short of Bruce’s coffee.

Bruce sputtered his eggs and grabbed the paper, staring at the picture of him speaking with Marinette and Adrien that took up the entire front page above the fold.  He threw the paper back on the table.  “Son of a b…”

“We’ve been getting calls from PR all morning,” Tim interrupted him before Alfred got upset with Bruce for his language. “Because they’ve been getting calls from every newspaper, news station, blog, and interested citizen in the world, calling to ask them about it.”  

Tim poured himself a large cup of coffee, larger than usual.  He’d had patrol last night and gotten woken up at the crack of dawn this morning with calls about the story. So he was running on all of three hours of sleep and just wanted to crawl back into bed, but with this story, there was no chance of him getting to bed until after tonight’s patrol had already left.

It didn’t help that he was beating himself up for not picking up on the cues she was giving that night.  He’d run into her.  He and Stephanie had talked to her.  He saw her freeze up when she realized who he was.  He knew she was acting off, he just hadn’t thought it was nefarious.  If anything, it seemed hurt, not scared.  He should have caught onto her body language. He should have noticed how she seemed to freeze when he mentioned the family.  She must have thought he was fishing, letting her know he was onto her and her plan to do this.  

“You’d think after all the false alarms they’ve reported in the past that they’d know better by now.  Not every black haired, blue eyed child is a Wayne.  I’ve had PR draft up a statement that while we appreciate her support for the orphans, she is not, in fact, a Wayne,” he finished, taking a bite of his muffin, missing Bruce’s grimace.

Damian grabbed the paper, wrinkling it in his clenched fists as he scanned the text.  “She must have orchestrated the whole thing to put this out.  How else would they know these details?”

“No,” Dick commented thoughtfully, prying the paper away from Damian to take a look at the picture.  “If she was in on it she would have put on a better act.  Look at the image.  She isn’t playing into it.  She looks scared, not excited to ‘introduce her fiancé to her family’.” Dick quoted. He briefly scanned the paper for more information.

All the evidence appeared to be the picture, her physical features, and some call logs to her parent’s business.  Dick scrunched up his face with concern.  While not damning, it was interesting.  He didn’t know any reason Bruce would have to contact a bakery in Paris.  “Not to mention the story would have gone out yesterday for a bigger circulation boost. Sundays are the big press days. They wouldn’t have waited until Monday. That suggests they researched, or rather stole the information.  And no quotes from her in here.”

“Fine,” Damian growled, acquiescing to his logic. “Maybe she did it after the fact. She saw the opportunity and took it.”

“No,” Bruce admitted quietly.  “She wouldn’t have had to do that.”  The room seemed to become still as everyone turned to face him.  “If she wanted this story to go out she could have put it out at any time.  And she would have played up the dance, would have sought me out at the gala.  But she didn’t.”

“What dance?” Duke asked cautiously, his focus entirely on Bruce now.

“I asked her to dance.  She said no.  Ran away as quickly as she could actually,” Bruce chuckled self-deprecatingly as he stared at the paper in Dick’s hands.

Damian blinked at him as though the longer he stared the clearer what was happening would become.  But no matter how hard he stared, the image didn’t become clearer. If anything, things became hazier. “This could all be a clever ruse. She wants to appear innocent so when you confront her she can point out that she didn’t do those things.  It says she’s an aspiring designer.  This could all be for publicity.”

“She wouldn’t have to go through all that,” Bruce stated again, more finality in his voice.  He finally looked up, but still didn’t make eye contact with any of them.

Dick stared at Bruce, taking in his response, letting the words and their broader meaning sink in.  The words he wasn’t saying hung in the room like thick smoke, winding their way into everything they touched, stealing the air out of the room.  “What are you saying Bruce?” Dick asked cautiously

“The story’s true, isn’t it,” Tim observed.  It was a statement more than a question.  

Bruce nodded with a sigh.  “Except for the meeting her fiancé part.”

Tim knew it was true even before Bruce’s verbal acknowledgement.  The pieces suddenly fit together.  It was the only thing that made sense.  That’s why her reactions were off.  That matched.   He saw her face when they told her the gala was to celebrate family.  He saw her body language change sharply when Stephanie joked about Bruce taking in everyone he saw.  He wasn’t sure what to make of it at the time and didn’t really even try because it didn’t seem relevant and they had more important issues to think about, namely celebrating Duke.  After the story, he thought the reactions were a tell.  But now… now that he knew, they were a tell, but for something else entirely.

She was trying to be polite about it, not letting on how hard it was hitting.  And oh God, didn’t that make it worse.  Everything they said had been cordial, joking at Bruce’s expense, at their own expense. But with the new knowledge… it was at hers.  They weren’t jokes, they were digs.  They were attacks.  They were him putting her ‘in her place’; out of the family.  Tim took in a shuttering breath and collapsed on the couch, his head in his hands.

He would have so much to apologize for.  He would have to find her and make sure she knew he didn’t mean his words the way they must have come across.  He knew how it felt to not be accepted.  He knew how it felt to not feel loved by your parents. He knew how it felt to have your place in the family questioned constantly, to be attacked, to be unwelcome. He wouldn’t wish that on enemies, let alone family.

“Who is she, Father?” Damian demanded.

Bruce met his eyes, guilt swimming in his own.  “She’s your half-sister.  Her mother and step-father have been raising her in Paris,” Bruce answered calmly.

Damian fought the gasp his lungs demanded against his will.  His father was confirming it.  He was acknowledging her.  But never trusted them with the information.  “Were you ever going to tell us?” Damian finally asked with forced coolness

“I was letting the dust settle on introducing Duke before I broached it,” Bruce hedged.

“So you just found out,” Damian asked angrily.  That would make sense.  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them, him.  It was that he didn’t know until recently.  Of course that was what happened.

“No.”

Damian gaped at him, his hastily built protective construct shattering with one word.  “How long have you known?”

“Since she was born.”  Damian gaped at him.  He’d known. He’d known since before Damian came to live with them and still never told them.  He didn’t trust him.  Even after all he’d done, he still didn’t trust him.  And now he was letting this unknown, this daughter, even just thinking the word made him wrinkle his nose in disgust, do whatever she wanted.  He trusted her but not him.

“You have a daughter, a biological daughter you’ve known about for decades and that you never told us about,” Dick asked again in a daze.  He fell into a chair staring at Bruce incredulously.  There was no way.  He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.  He loved kids.  He loved his kids.  Why would he send one away?  He hadn’t even wanted to do that to Jason.

“So I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know?” Duke asked. He looked around, taking in the stunned, disbelieving, hurt expressions.

“Not just you,” Damian gritted out.  

Duke sucked in a breath and pulled out his phone, texting Jason and Cass to let them know what was happening.  They were going to want to know as soon as possible too. All of them were going to have questions and issues with this information.  And if the conversation went on much longer, they may want to be involved.

“Why was she there last night?  What did she want?  Surely she wouldn’t have come without a plan,” Damian pressed.  Nobody had access to the kind of power and money they had and just walked away.  If she was presenting herself and not to them, to the press, there must be a reason, a plot.  They needed to find out more about her to figure it out.  “How did she get a ticket in the first place?”  That might be a place to start.  It would give an insight into her accomplices and they could be pressed later for more information.

Bruce sighed and looked back down at his food, pushing the plate away, no longer hungry in the slightest.  “I can’t answer how she got her ticket.  As to why she was there, she was there to talk about a position for a friend of hers… with Lucius apparently, not me.”

“She was using her name to get her subpar friend a job,” Damian spat in disgust.  There had to be more though.  With their name, she could get much, much more.  This had to be an opening gambit.  The job must be placing an operative, loyal to her, within their institution.  Next was the stunt with the press.  They needed to figure out her next steps.

“No,” Bruce insisted.  “She didn’t mention her association.  He doesn’t know… well, he does now.  He spoke to me after the gala, said he discovered one of our managers is stealing ideas and there was someone he was going to spend the weekend researching but he was excited about hiring him.  Luthor is trying to hire him, so if we don’t act fast we’ll lose him.  I’m betting that was her friend.”

“You don’t know that,” Damian growled out.  “That could be a coincidence.”

“I’ll confirm with Lucius today, but it fits with what I know,” Bruce insisted calmly.  “From what her mother has told me over the years, it’s the kind of thing she would do; go well out of her way to help a friend.  And her mother let me know she was planning on attending the gala to talk about hiring her friend.  I just thought she was going to talk to me.”

“Why didn’t you tell us,” Dick asked breathlessly. He was staring at Bruce with hurt saturating his eyes.  He heard nothing after Bruce admitting he’d known about her and never told them.  He was aware Bruce had been saying things for the last few minutes but none of it had registered.  None of it was what he needed to know.  

Bruce sighed and ran his hand over his face.  “Nobody knew.  Nobody but me and her mother and step-father.  It was easier that way.”  Easier to pretend was left unsaid.  Easier for Bruce to pretend like he hadn’t cut her out of his life, like he didn’t regret it every day.  Easier for Bruce to try to forget.

“Not even her?” Duke asked.

“Not even her,” Bruce confirmed with a sigh.  He ran his hand over his face.

“Why?”  Dick was staring at him in wide eyed confusion.  It didn’t make sense.  None of it made sense.  He’d been with Bruce for twenty years and never heard a whisper of a biological daughter. But she existed.  And he knew.  Bruce took a deep breath and Dick scowled.  “I swear to God, B, if you say some dumbass excuse like to protect her…”

“She has a happy life.  Her mother and step-father love her beyond words.  They support her, love her, encourage her.  They’re there for her whenever she needs it.  They never miss an event.  Family dinners every night.  She has friends… a good life.  She’s safe.  She never had to worry about defending herself.  She never had to be taught what to do when she got kidnapped.  Never had to… doesn’t remember seeing the people around her dead from the latest rogue attack.  Not like what she would have here…” he again left the last part of the sentence off. The “with me” was left for everyone to fill in on their own.

“You’re a good father,” Tim assured him weakly, because at this point, with this information…

“I hope so.”  Bruce gave him a weak smile.  “But when she was born…  I had an obligation.  I had a responsibility.”

“She was your responsibility!” Dick yelled, his face suddenly contorting in anger and frustration with Bruce.

Bruce looked away stoically, face suddenly a mask devoid of emotion.  “She had a better option and I made sure she got it.”

The room was silent for a few moments while his words settled in.  The only sound was Dick seething in his seat.  “But she doesn’t know you?  You never visited.  You never interacted with her.  Even not telling her who you were to her,” Tim clarified.

Bruce shook his head.  “I visited her final project for her degree a few weeks ago under the guise of research for the fabric project.  She’s a designer.  I was hoping to get her in on the fabric project.  I thought it would be a good cover to get her comfortable with the family. But I didn’t talk with her while I was there.”  He chuckled slightly at the memory.  “I couldn’t even get close.  There were too many people talking to her, congratulating her, offering her internships. Her work was beautiful.”

“But you’ve talked with her parents,” Tim checked.

He sighed and waved his hand helplessly.  “I spoke with Sabine every so often to check on Marinette, make sure she was okay.  I helped pay for her schooling, but even that was disguised as an investment into her parents’ company.”

“So her parents were having you pay for their company, holding the secret over your head,” Damian spat out.

“No!” Bruce growled.  He knew Damian was having a hard time with this.  Hell, that’s one of the main reasons he waited so long, because he knew Damian wouldn’t react well.  Damian would have taken it as an attack on his position in the family.  And after the way he treated Tim and Dick when he first found out about them… They could protect themselves against his attacks. She wouldn’t have been able to. He didn’t know how far Damian would actually go and he didn’t want Damian to have to find out either.  He had been waiting until Damian was more settled, more secure in the family and their unconditional love for him before he reached out to her.  But he wasn’t going to let him disparage Sabine and Tom.  They’d been nothing but understanding.

“They only let me put in the amount for tuition. They wouldn’t allow me to give any more than that and Marinette got a scholarship for her university so she didn’t need any assistance.  I tried to keep giving them money for her to at least have spending money but they refused. They stopped accepting the transfers. They only relented when I said it would look suspicious.  So they’ve been creating a trust for her with it.”

Damian grumbled and looked away.  Whatever their game was, they were certainly good at it.

Bruce dropped his head into his hands.  “Nobody was supposed to know about her until I was sure it was safe,” Bruce grumbled into his hands.  “Until I’d had a chance to talk to everyone about it.”

“Well now everyone knows, so maybe now is a good time to start trying to make that connection,” Dick growled.

“If she’ll let us,” Tim added.  He remembered the look in her eyes when he talked about his… their family.  

“It’s never too late to start trying to bond,” Dick insisted.  His eyes were bordering on wild.  They could bring this back, right?  The family had come back from worse.  They’d faced steeper hills.  Hell, Damian tried to kill them when he first came.  Jason had also tried to kill them all more than once when he came back. She couldn’t be that bad.  They just had to make the first move.  “We just have to let her know we want to.”

Tim shook his head and looked down, not at all convinced it really was as easy as that.  Tim was awkward on a good day.  He could make friends but usually they made the first move.  He was pretty certain she wouldn’t make the first move in this instance.  Damian wouldn’t accept her, period.  Dick would crowd her.  Jason would… whatever Jason did, probably disappear.  She wasn’t a Robin so he probably wouldn’t try to kill her.  Cass would try, but her success depended on Marinette understanding what Cass wasn’t saying.  And Bruce… Bruce was never good at understanding emotions or sympathizing. Honestly, their best hope was Duke.

Duke breathed out a deep sigh and looked away. This family was not easy to get along with or find your place with.  And bonding with each other?  He managed because he fought next to them.  They bonded in the field, in their suits.  He wasn’t sure if they realized that about themselves.  If they interacted outside the suits it was because of the bond they formed inside them.  She wouldn’t have that opportunity and without it…  The prognosis was not good.

“What are you going to do, B?” Tim asked tentatively. “Because whatever your plans were, now she knows and she’s dealing with it on her own.  She… You need to talk to her.”

Bruce sucked in a breath and massaged his temples.  “I know.”  

“And you need to apologize,” Dick added firmly.

Bruce nodded.  “I know.”

“No, you don’t,” Dick growled.  “You have no idea what has to be going through her head right now.”  He grabbed his bag and stalked out of the manor, slamming the door as he left.

“And you need to decide what we’re going to tell the public,” Tim added.  “We need to put a statement out soon.”

“I know,” Bruce agreed.  His voice this time was more detached.  That was something he would have to decide, but that wasn’t the priority right now and not something he wanted to do without her input.  

He needed to come up with a new plan and quickly. This was nothing like the one he had come up with.  He was supposed to have more time.  He was supposed to be able to ease into this.  He was supposed to be able to feel things out before deciding a path.  He was supposed to control the environment and how his family found out.  

But now he was thrown into it, they all were, and he had no idea how to proceed.  He didn’t know her well enough to anticipate how she would react to the situation or to him. He didn’t know her well enough yet to know the best way to approach her.  He needed to come up with a game plan.  He sighed heavily.  He had to get into the office, not show anything out of the ordinary.  And once he was behind his office door, he could talk to Sabine.  She would know what to do.

Chapter 5

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[adlbeay]

I wanted to talk about the themes in the Walk in the Dust event. The story of Arknights has always had a high level of thematic consistency, but it’s especially prominent in this event. I feel like a lot of the discussion of the story in certain places comes down to “lore” and surface-level plot details, so I wanted to get this out there somewhere.

The two big ideas that are covered in Walk in the Dust are that of revenge and the homeland. Let's talk about revenge first. Long post and story spoilers under the cut.

In the beginning, we are introduced to Elliot, aka Passenger, who by the time we meet him, is an aimless husk of a man. He is utterly empty inside despite being the most powerful figure in the Reefsteep black  market, with vast wealth and political influence under his thumb. Having completed his decades-long quest to slay everyone who was involved in betraying his teacher, he has no more goals for his life. After killing  the Lord Ameer of Ibut, the last of his targets, he realizes that the revenge he had been pursuing was ultimately empty, that the weapons he built and the schemes he engineered to that end no longer moved him. Even the death of the Lord Ameer didn't matter one bit in the political landscape of Sargon.

As for the Sargon army... We live in different times now. The ruling  Padishahs simply care not about what is happening here in this barren  wasteland. My guess is that it matters not to them whether it's the  father or the son that's in charge. Actually, to tell the truth, it  hardly matters to me either.

Ultimately, no one cared if the Lord Ameer was murdered or simply  died in an accident, not even Elliot himself. Sargon continues to be exploited by the Columbian military and the ruling Lords. Professor Thorne remains dead. His research, once entrusted to Elliot to prevent  it from becoming a weapon of war, has nonetheless been used by Elliot  himself to bring even more death. Now, 22 years later, Passenger sees  finding Kal'tsit as his only path to salvation, so that she can once  again give him a purpose like she did when she rescued him the first time.

Folinic's mom, Lillia, also shares the same kind of story. Her husband was killed in Chernobog when the count decided to purge the researchers working on the sarcophagus device. Among the children of the families broken up by this incident are Lyudmila (later Crownslayer), Alex and Misha (later Skullshatterer), and Luisa (later Folinic). Lillia finds Kal'tsit after months of searching, intending to take revenge on  Grand Duke Vanya not just for her husband, but also for Luisa, who never got to know her father because of it. Kal'tsit tries to talk her out of  it, even during the final phases of the plan, but Lillia's mind is set.  She entrusts Kal'tsit with taking care of both Luisa and Lyudmila, as  she knows she won't be able to come back to live a normal life after  this. And... she succeeds. Although it is Kal'tsit who ultimately administered the poison, their plan works flawlessly and Duke Vanya is finally dead.

Except it still ended up being completely meaningless. The Grand Duke was in a glorified nursing home already near the end of his life, and if Kal'tsit didn't kill him then some other conspirator from the Ursus  political backstage would have done it anyway. He was already crippled and blind, and as we find out during the confrontation with the Emperor's Blade, even Kal'tsit only agreed to Lillia's plan because it  defused the conspiracies of other powerful figures who would have used  the Duke's death to spark another rebellion. The only thing that Lillia ended up accomplishing was making sure that Louisa would grow up without both a mother and a father, and Lyudmila would never get the answers she really wanted about her family's death. And, although she ended up not doing it, she was even also planning to go back to Chernobog to kill  Sergei, Alex and Misha's father, for his betrayal.

And this carries on through the future outside the event. Crownslayer ends up joining Reunion because she thinks it will give her the answers  she wants and avenge her father. Folinic almost lets her anger at Atro's death get her into a confrontation with Wolumonde. In the end, Crownslayer is stopped by Kal'tsit and Folinic is calmed down by  Suzuran, but we might be able to imagine what would have happened if  they managed to carry out their vengeance.

The theme of homeland is one that's intrinsically tied to Kal'tsit and has at least a bit of relation to the broader story outside of the event. It's harder to talk about since it's not clearly  split into individual stories like previously, but there's at least one character that exemplifies this theme the most: Old Isin.

Old Isin is appropriately to his name, old as rocks. He remembers being a servant to some lord of a long-lost city that very few even know once existed, and spends his time telling fortunes while trying to seek out people who, like him, also share that past. According to Kal'tsit, the city's people were scattered when it was destroyed, and now only Isin even remembers the origin of the name "Reefsteep". Even then, Isin only has vague memories, and believes it to be his unforgivable sin that  he has forgotten so much about the city.

Old Isin originally helps Kal'tsit and Elliot because he hopes that  she can help him remember about the lost city, and thus absolve his  "unforgivable sin". And Kal'tsit indeed does help him. Isin begins to recall the conquests of armies a thousand years ago, something even with  his age he should not have been a part of, much less remembered.  Kal'tsit dispels the illusions clouding his memory, and reveals that  what Isin remembers is only the stories that the padishah recounted to  him, that the glory of his old city was only a memory of another memory. In truth, the city in Old Isin's memory was merely a stepping stone for the padishah's ambition to conquer the uncharted deserts, and was abandoned just as easily when that campaign failed. His homeland's glory was just an illusion created in his mind by the padishah's charisma.

Which brings us to the Emperor's Blade. Wherever he stands is the dominion of the Empire of Ursus. Whatever he does carries out the Ursus Emperor's will. Or at least, that's how the Royal Guards imagine themselves, single-handedly carrying out their homeland's legacy. Kal'tsit lays it out clearly:

Kal'tsit: Tell me, what does the current Ursus Emperor think of the Pine Valley affair? Or do you mean to tell me the seeds of that uprising, the origins of the crisis were all the will of the Emperor? Feel free to keep deceiving yourself, but the truth is the young emperor is unaware of the events that transpired there. You believe he has no  need to know. You... all of you seek a bygone era. You are just caught up in the former emperor's grand vision!

As does Patriot in Chapter 8:

Patriot: I fought with your fathers. Your strength and tactical acumen are no less impressive than theirs. But you look at the Ursus of those times with rose-colored glasses. What you see is nothing more than your wild fantasies.

The Royal Guards are described in not too unclear words as soldiers  who probably believed too much of their own grandiose affect. They are unparalleled fighters, to be sure, but it isn't hard to infer that those words about executing Ursus's will and each Royal Guard being his own nation are words intended to strike fear into their enemies rather than  statements of any real truth. Indeed, if you know anything about the internal politics of Ursus, the idea of "Ursus's own will" can be seen as more of a nostalgia at a bygone era when Ursus was, or at least seemed, united in conquest under the previous Emperor. The perceived glory of their homeland is what motivates the Emperor's Blade, but like with Old Isin, the truth behind it is shaky at best.

We also have the contrast between the retired veteran at Pine Valley  and Grand Duke Vanya. While talking to Witte, the veteran cuts off one of his own fingers, claiming that the scars he has suffered in Ursus's wars, once considered symbols of his glory and honor, were ultimately meaningless, and he wants this self-inflicted wound to be his only legacy to Ursus. At the same time, the Grand Duke is postulating about how the seeds he had sown in the winter would give birth to beautiful flowers. Even though his actions and the crimes he committed never bore fruition, he is convinced even in death that Ursus's soil will bloom.

The issue of a real or imagined homeland, and its loss, is also  shared by the Sarkaz as a whole not only in this story but in the main story and many other events. It's even arguable that Rhodes Island's mission to help the Infected was originally inherited from Babel's goal of establishing a stable homeland for the Sarkaz. After all, as pointed  out in many places, the Infected and Sarkaz share much of the same discrimination.

Sarkaz Mercenary: Home...? How could us devils... us Infected possibly have one... Kal'tsit: The Sarkaz have tried to rebuild 'Kazdel', their home for centuries, though they have never succeeded. Everyone has a different idea as to what the term 'homeland' means, but as it stands right now,  Kazdel is perhaps as close as you can get to the term's original meaning.

And in Twilight of Wolumonde:

Armed Infected: We’re going home? To what home?

Mudrock: Kazdel. There may be no place for Sarkaz outside of Kazdel.  But in Kazdel, there is a place for you. Not because of tolerance. But because there is... nothing there. Kazdel... is where the homeless go. A land of rootless people.

So what does all this have to do with Kal'tsit?

In the ending cutscene, Passenger asks Kal'tsit whether this "Rhodes  Island" is yet another passing persona to be used to accomplish a goal and discarded when it's complete. Like the persona of the Trusted  Advisor, or the Servant, or the Laterano Cleric, will she abandon Rhodes  Island as well? Kal'tsit initially puts up a front saying he has no  right to ask, then bluffs about having thousands of answers, but is pushed by Passenger saying he'll even accept a lie. In one of the only times we get to see Kal'tsit faltering, she actually has no answer to this.

Unlike the other characters we see throughout the story, Kal'tsit has no homeland. No matter how fake or illusory it is, Old Isin and the Royal Guard have something to believe about a place where they can belong. The nobles in Victoria, as incompetent as they appear from the outside, are dedicated to defending the peace of their home despite having no ruler. Even the ostracized Sarkaz can ultimately go back to Kazdel, as unpleasant as that might be. But while Kal'tsit wanders the earth to keep the homelands of others from falling into chaos, she has no homeland of her own to go back to.

In one of the trailers for Chapter 9, we hear a recording from Theresa, addressed to Kal'tsit: "I hope this Rhodes Island can be a place to call home, a place you can always return to."

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Take Me, I’m Yours

(the highest voted options on the poll were ‘Geralt rescues Jaskier from trouble’ and ‘Jaskier riles the Captain up in public’ so I teamed up with the ever-marvelous, stupendously talented @limrx to bring you this Swashbuckling AU oneshot/art piece featuring a horribly jealous Geralt and a frisky, flirty Jaskier)

------------------------

“Do you think he likes me back?” Jaskier asked. He leaned over the ship’s railing to look more closely at the dolphin following behind them. Lambert didn’t think he’d fall overboard but it would be kind of funny if he did. The strange young nobleman did have a way of always landing on his feet, though. 

“I know he does.”

“Well how come he hasn’t told me anything about it, then?” 

“You’ve met the Captain, right? About this tall, long white hair, weird yellow eyes, emotionally incompetant?” 

“You have a good point. Should I just confront him about it?”

“Yeah, sure.” Lambert rolled his eyes before shooting Jaskier a pointed look. “If you want to send your ransom note back to Lettenhove the following morning.”

“Fuck. I just want to kiss him, Lambert. Regularly. I want to know if he snores or not. I want to lay on the deck beneath the stars and talk to him like we’re friends and not just pirate and pseudo-pirate-captive. I really want to see what his ass looks like under those godsforsaken trousers, Lambert, it’s killing me not knowing.”

“You’re more insatiable than a siren during the rainy season,” the second mate teased. “But with fewer teeth.”

“Shut up.”

“Are you going ashore when we lay anchor?”

“Am I allowed?”

“I assume you’ll be allowed. You’re practically part of the crew. You’ve been aboard for nearly two weeks and you’ve pulled your fair share of the weight, if not moreso.”

“Why thank you, Lambert. I appreciate you noticing.”

“Of course, Jaskier. You may be an utter fool and a fop to boot, but at least you’re a hard worker.”

“Asshole.”

“Mhm.”

They both watched the dolphins for a minute in silence before Jaskier’s face split into the most heinous and dastardly grin. It filled Lambert with an unmistakable sense of fear and worry. “I have a brilliant idea. I know how to get Geralt to admit his feelings.”

“No, absolutely not. I am not getting roped into this, you horrible little minx. Don’t give me that look! I won’t help you this time!”

“But Lamby-bert,” Jaskier whined. “If he has someone to take all his frustrations out on in bed then I’m sure it’ll be easier to negotiate for higher shares next time we take a vessel.”

Lambert did not miss the fact that Jaskier said ‘we’ when referring to the crew. The second mate knew the little nobleman was here to stay; it had been clear that Jaskier would be sticking around from the moment Geralt first laid eyes (and hands) on him. The Captain hadn’t stopped looking out for the lad since. Lambert wasn’t even going to think about that singular flirty kiss atop the mainmast nearly a week and a half ago. Geralt had been pining after the acrobatic little idiot ever since and making absolutely no move to flirt back. It was driving the crew absolutely crazy. “Alright, you devilish siren. I’m in.”

----------------------------------------

Jaskier cleaned up nice.

And he deserved to clean up nice. He’d worked hard to put this outfit together. Billy had lent him a pair of dark blue breeches in return for Jaskier’s help with mending the mainsail. The shirt he was wearing was half a size too big, which was exactly big enough for the neckline to plunge even lower than he usually wore it. This way it revealed more of his toned (and rather hirsute) chest. He’d borrowed it from Starkey, who was the same height as him but who had much broader shoulders.

The Captain was going to absolutely die when he saw Jaskier.

He whistled a rather naughty shanty as he exited the bunk room and made his way towards the gangplank where Starkey, Lambert, and Eskel were waiting for him. He spun in a quick circle, arms out to show off his clothes. Lambert and Starkey whistled appreciatively and Eskel hid his face in the palm of his hand. “Ready, boys?”

“Absolutely not,” Starkey smiled. The first mate standing next to him tilted his head back to look at the sky, sighing deeply.

“Are you sure about this? What if the Captain tries to kill Lambert?”

“He won’t be killing anyone. Hopefully. If he does run his sword through anyone, it will most likely be me,” Jaskier joked. “Now, this is my first time drinking with real pirates. Anything I should know?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Eskel suggested. Lambert bit back a laugh and Starkey snorted.

“Impossible.”

“Well then, let’s go.”

The four men made their way down onto the docks and through the sparse crowd of sailors and merchants still mingling in the evening light. Starkey led them to a decent tavern and found a vacant corner table, which gave them an excellent view of the door.

Geralt and Starkey had spent the morning selling their stolen cargo to various merchants, shopkeepers, and artisans. The Captain had divided up the gold between his crew according to their various contracts and Jaskier, more as a jest than anything else, was given two crowns as well. “For not dying,” Geralt had intoned seriously. The men were amused but Jaskier’s face had gone bright red with embarrassment. The young noble had talked them out of trouble with the Skelligan patrols twice last week and Geralt was repaying him with public humiliation? Lambert knew that the Captain’s earlier actions were about to make this evening a lot more entertaining (if slightly uncomfortable) and he was ready to get this show on the road. He flung an arm around Jaskier’s waist and ordered them all a round of ales.

“So everyone knows what the general goal here is, right?” Jaskier clarified.

“Yes,” Eskel nodded. “You’re using Geralt’s jealous nature to make him act on his less than subtle feelings for you.”

“Correct. Wonderful.”

Lambert squeezed the noble’s hip through his borrowed pants and Jaskier huffed indignantly in reply. Starkey chuckled softly at their antics and winked at the barmaid when she brought them their drinks. “Can’t wait, really. It’s been so boring lately and the last two ships we took didn’t even fight back. This is drama. This is entertainment!”

“Shut up, Starkey,” Jaskier pouted. He leaned back into Lambert’s embrace and gulped down half his ale.

“Slow down, kid,” the first mate teased. “Or you will be drunk when he gets here and your plan won’t work.”

“I need to get the pink in my cheeks or I’ll look suspicious,” Jaskier argued. “One ale should do it without getting me tipsy. Maybe two if it’s weak.”

“Method actors,” Lambert rolled his eyes.

Jaskier was sipping slowly at his second ale and the other three pirates were on their fourth or fifth when Geralt finally came barreling through the tavern door. “There you are!” Eskel shouted, waving the Captain over. Nobody missed the barely-hidden glare Geralt aimed at Lambert’s arm where it rested against the nobleman’s lower back.

“Captain,” the second mate nodded.

“Lambert. Eskel. Starkey.” Geralt greeted them all in turn.

“Heyyyy,” Jaskier whined, leaning forward against the edge of the table and pouting. “What about me, sir?”

“You.”

“Rude,” the brunette huffed. Lambert ran a lazy hand up and down his spine and Jaskier watched as Geralt’s eyes narrowed into slits. He sighed sadly and melodramatically into his mug and nodded once in the second mate’s direction. “Thank you, darling. At least someone in this crew likes me.”

Starkey saw Geralt’s eyelid twitch and slid Eskel two crowns under the table to settle their bet. He thought the vein on their Captain’s throat would show up before the eyelid went, but it must have been the first mate’s lucky night this time around. “Hey Eskel, let’s see if any of the lovely ladies here want to dance with us, eh?”

“You coming, Captain?” Eskel asked. “Seems like Jaskier and Lambert are a bit busy.”

“Yes, Geralt,” Jaskier egged him on. The Captain had a white-knuckled grip on the handle of his mug. The noble took a long swig of ale and licked a bit of foam from his lip when he was finished, noting the way Geralt’s eyes locked onto his mouth. “Why not go dance with a pretty lady. Certainly nobody else has your attention.”

The pirate Captain finally snapped. He slammed his mug down and reached around the table to grab Jaskier around the waist. He hauled him out of the second mate’s grip and onto his feet. “Captain, what are yo-”

“Yer coming with me, siren,” Geralt snarled. Lambert relinquished the nobleman with very little fuss, winking at Jaskier as the pirate Captain swung him up and over his broad shoulder. The young man flashed all three of his co-conspirators a thumbs up as he was carried out of the tavern like a sack of potatoes.

“A little rude to Lambert, don’t you think, sir?” he asked, resting his elbow against Geralt’s shoulder blade and settling his chin onto his hand. He crossed his ankles to make it easier for the pirate to balance his weight comfortably. “But they’ll be happy to know that our little plan worked out.”

Geralt stopped in his tracks but did not set his captive down. “Your what?”

“Our plan,” Jaskier explained as if bored. “To get you to finally do something about all this sexual tension between us. I kissed you on the mouth for fuck’s sake.”

“I thought it was an accident.”

“Oh, and saving you from hanging at the hands of some Skelligan officers, was that an accident? Not sending a ransom note last time we stopped for water and not turning you in for the reward in Novigrad, were those accidents too? There is a hefty bounty on your head, White Wolf, and I could be living independently in a castle somewhere right now except that I happen to find you endlessly attractive and fascinating.”

“Hmm.” Geralt resumed walking. Jaskier noticed with a smirk that his pace had picked up quite a bit. As if he was suddenly in a hurry to be somewhere.

“Hum dismissively all you like, sir, but you’re still carrying me back to your cabin to ravish me senseless, are you not?”

“Ravish may be the wrong word for what I’d like to do to you, but you do look rather tempting.”

“Thank you. I put a lot of effort into this ensemble.”

“You’re a calculating little nymph, aren’t you?”

“No, of course not. I only managed to secure a bunk aboard the Kaer Morhen and wrap its infamous captain around my finger in less than a month. I am but a silly nobleman with excellent dexterity and a penchant for climbing.”

“Lambert was right to call you a minx.”

“He does love that nickname.”

“It’s not an endearment.”

“Whatever.” The ground shifted and Jaskier knew they were making their way up the gangplank and back onto the ship. This was the part he’d been waiting for! Geralt kicked in his cabin door and stepped inside, turning to close and lock it behind them. Jaskier wriggled impatiently. “Set me down!”

“Hmm, no. I rather like the view from here.”

“Excuse me?”

Geralt gave him a gentle smack on the ass, almost a pat really, and huffed out a laugh at Jaskier’s offended noise. “You’ve been an awful lot of trouble for a nobleman and a captive.”

“I’m barely a captive, Geralt. Give it up already.”

“You haven’t signed the book.” He set Jaskier back on his feet and looped his arms around the younger man’s waist to pull him close. “You’re still a captive until you swear on the book and sign your name next to the others. Then you’ll be part of my crew.”

“I have yet to negotiate for my shares,” the brunette stated. He tilted his chin back, baring his neck slightly and offering Geralt his ale-damp lips. “Ten crowns after every capture and I get to sleep in here with you. That sounds fair.”

“You’re a good worker. Seven crowns, you can sleep in here with me, and you can borrow my bandannas whenever you want.”

“Even the red one?”

“Especially the red one.”

Jaskier’s soft pink mouth brushed against the pirate’s as he murmured his answer: “Deal.”

Geralt’s lips crashed against Jaskier’s with the strength of a wave hitting the side of his ship in a maelstrom. The Captain’s mouth was so warm and his lips moved against the younger man’s with almost frightening determination. As if he was trying to prove himself. His arms were strong around the nobleman’s lower back and his white hair brushed deliciously against the skin of Jaskier’s neck.

“You’ve bewitched me, body and soul.”

“Oh, Geralt,” the younger man sighed, opening his mouth to let the other in. I never thought the word ‘plunder’ could apply to kissing but here I stand, corrected by experience yet again. The White Wolf of the Seven Seas pulled away, made breathless by a young and foolish nobleman in search of adventure.

“I’m not a siren, you know. Not even a little. My family’s estate is landlocked.”

Geralt’s fingers rose from his waist and brushed against his cheekbone reverently. Those amber eyes, so cold and focused when he shouted orders or intimidated a merchant captain, were looking down at Jaskier with such devoted tenderness. The ex-noble felt his heart fill anew and double in size. There wasn’t enough room in his body to hold all of this feeling.

“Kiss me again, Captain. Take me to bed.”

“You’re too good at tempting me. You must be evil.”

“I assure you,” Jaskier smirked, ripping Geralt’s shirt over his head in one smooth movement. “I am.”

[joyfulhopelox]

"I've never cried over a broken dryer before"- "and you better not start now"

gif not mine cr. belongs to owner

Part 1 | Part 2

A/N: got nothing to say for myself really, just listened to a song, the idea hit me and i haven't written anything non science related in a decade so i gave it another go....that being said i realised i am awful at emotions lol. Side note i am from the UK so if some things seem off i apologise

Copyrights @joyfulhopelox

Pairing: Jungkook x reader (College!AU/ University!AU)

Warnings: ? mentions of skin? terrible fluff and flirting attempts

Word count: idk, it would not stop ~4k

A bop. A bop and some alcohol. That is all you needed after a long tiring week of studying for finals and cramming for your practical assessments. This week had been the last week of exam season and you were more than grateful that it had ended. You did not particularly care about how you’ve done on the assessments. That was not your present self’s problem, that was something for future you to worry about. Presently you just wanted to take a nap and head out with your girlfriends on a night out to just dance and drink all the stress away.

You weren’t a drinker, not by a long shot. You barely touched alcohol once or twice a month, and that happened mainly when you would have a get together with your friends. It was hard not to get sucked in when everything around you was so loud and chaotic it made you want to be part of the chaos not just an observer. You’ve done the whole ‘being sober whilst your friends got drunk’ and you swore to yourself it would never happen again. Funny how nights out looked disgusting and cliche when you were actually awake to witness them. From the group who ended up dancing on the tables, to the group who dispersed to hunt for one night stands, to the group who decided to pass out at the bar or in the toilets and then you, the sober one left to pick everyone up and send them back home safely and make sure than no one got into a fight. You sometimes wondered how the hell you got home alright when you ended up actually drinking on these nights out as none of your friends seemed willing to stay sober and watch over you. For once, you were not going to question your luck and just roll with it.

Before you settled for a nap though you knew you had to go downstairs to do your washing. Being a student during exam season meant you were surviving on microwavable food, lots of caffeine, sugar in all sorts of forms and that your tiny dorm room looked as if a hurricane has passed through it with dirty clothes all over the place and bedding that has been left unwashed for at least 2 weeks. You felt disgusting and unfortunately the neat freak in you kicked in, unsuppressed anymore by your pre-exam anxiety. With a sigh you started undoing your bedsheets and stashing them in a basket along with other bits and pieces of clothes. Making sure that you got your laundry detergent and your key card you started lugging the basket out of your room praying to the Gods that the lift was not broken.

Living on the 8th floor had its perks, but not when you were in a sleep deprived hurry. All you could do is check the numbers going down to the lower ground hoping that the lift would not stop at any other floor. But of course your luck would run out, on 3rd floor the lift slowed down and stopped, making you release an angry huff. ‘Of course it would’ you muttered to yourself as the doors opened only to reveal a tall men impatiently tapping his foot. Huffing he too got into the elevator making you aware of his stature. He may have not been as tall as some of the men you’ve seen but he was clearly working out as his muscles made him look way broader than his stature permitted. A gym rat, you rolled your eyes and tried to move the laundry bag and yourself into the corner, the space feeling too cramped for your liking. The dragging sound of the bag made the person turn around and give you a curious glance which you dismissed quickly. You weren’t interested in conversing with strangers on a normal basis let alone a gym rat. Nothing against them, you just had nothing in common and your tired brain did not want to make up a polite small talk.

‘Lower ground?’ the person asked you, surprisingly the voice was soft and clear, something you had not expected of him. It made you glance at him, ‘yeah’ you nodded after composing yourself. The person nodded making their long bangs fall into their eyes which prompted the next two surprises for you; in an attempt to settle his bangs out of his face he not only revealed a muscular defined arm which you’d have to admit was kind of attractive- you’d have to be blind not to notice, but also an array of random tattoos all over his arm and hand. The other surprise hit you a moment later after you realised you’ve been staring at him for a second too long and you sniffed and turned your face away. The smell of alcohol was coming off of him strongly as if he’s been drinking for a few days straight and his pores exuded it. It took you all you had to not cough. Frat boy, gym rat- this guy was ticking all the ‘no no’ boxes and so regardless of how good looking he was he did not deserve second thoughts.

Your prayers being answered, you reached lower ground quicker than expected and you prepared yourself to rush out of the lift. However, the clothes basket was heavier than you’d thought so instead of a swift exit like you’ve planned, you closely resembled Santa dragging his toy sack.

‘Would you like some help with that?’ the guy who’d turned around and observed you amusedly as you struggled extended a hand in your direction. You huffed and dropped the basket on the floor and couldn’t help but notice the basket he held in one hand and how the effort made his muscles and veiny arms that much more noticeable. Hot.

‘’S all good thanks’ however, you were not going to accept his help. You just wanted to get these damn clothes in the wash so you could go and nap away the remainder of your post exam stress. The guy held your gaze for a second too long before he raised an eyebrow and looked unconvincingly at your basket and your face, which was red by now you’d presume. Then shrugging he carried on walking towards the laundry room getting further and further out of your view, and you could have sworn there was an extra spring in his step. That fucker.

After monumental efforts you managed to drag everything to the laundry room only to notice that it had been left propped open by an empty bottle. Entering with difficulty you made your way to the closest washer available and dropped the laundry basket on the floor with a relieved sigh. Bending down to start putting your clothes in, you could definitely hear a snicker behind you. Whas that….? Of course it was, you were the only two souls in there. Everyone else was probably either enjoying some much needed sleep or partying the evening away already. Deciding to ignore him you continued to pile your clothes into the machine and soon enough you got distracted so much so that you did not realise you had started humming.

‘Nice voice you got there, but do both of us a favour, leave it for when you’re on your own will you?’ another snicker from behind. Flustered you whipped around, ‘what?’ his gaze on you held a smouldering effect making you feel as if you were pinned down by just its sheer force. His dark eyes, whilst amused, were also narrowed on your form as if commanding you to listen to what he was saying. Your breath hitched and as much as you’d tried to shrug off the feeling and the temptation to not listen to him and turn around, you found yourself unable to. Trying to hold his gaze your eyes wavered for a split second when the tip of his tongue peeked out from between his lips to wet the lower one. A gesture so fleeting, done as if by habit, but paired with the intense gaze it had your throat constrict and your instincts had been to follow his moves, your own tongue coming out to lick your own suddenly dry lips.

Had you intended to do this to toy with him? No. Has it worked? Judging by the way his eyes travelled slowly and purposefully down your face towards your lips, you could swear it has. Refusing to give him more vulnerability than that you turned around with tremendous efforts and continued pilling clothes into the washer completely missing the way he stared at your ass that was now on display. Biting his lip he gave you another once over before returning to his own washing.

You couldn’t help to glance his way every time you would turn around to pick up more clothes out of the basket. He was sporting a concentrated face, his lower lip caught between his teeth, his broad shoulders and the way his arm muscles were defined by the effort were making you breathless. However, what made your head spin and your heart to skip too many beats for it to be healthy was what happened next. You blame your bad luck - or good luck- for glancing at him only to catch him grab his shirt and give it a tentative sniff and a shrug. So he knew he reeked, but your snicker turned into a hiccup as soon as he had grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

Normally a situation like this wouldn’t phase you, you have seen plenty of men naked. But this one, this one was a special one. His bunny like features, defined nose bridge, jawline and floppy but rugged hair were a complete contrast to his defined jawline and...oh lord….were those six or eight abs??

‘What in the name of abs are you doing?’ sputtering you turned to fully face him. What a mistake. He did the same so now you had a full frontal view, first row, VIP seat to his naked upper body. That was definitely a six abs package. Shrugging, which by lord made everything tense up in ways you did not need to see, he threw the longsleeve into the wash and slammed it shut. All that did not take more than 5 seconds but to you, it seemed like a slowed down eternity in which your eyes got a good view of a muscular anatomy.

‘What, it’s dirty and i’m doing my washing?’ he stated as if it was plain as day and absolutely normal to get naked in the laundry room.’In the name of abs? Should i be calling you a peeping Tom?’ A slow forming smirk that made him look dangerously mischievous made its way onto his face.

‘Pffft, what? I said in the name of gods, what are you on about? Why would I be looking at you, whilst you think it’s perfectly fine to strip in a public place??’ he laughed at your clear distress but chose to not to mention your choice of words. ‘Hardly public is it? There’s just you and i in here’ he rebutted whilst turning around to scan his laundry card onto the machine and pressed start. You scoffed indignantly, ‘what am i chopped liver? I’m not goddamn blind’ you mumbled, not for his ears but instead chose to say out loud, ‘what about the poor souls who will see you in the lift back up? Is that not a public place?’

Unbeknownst to you he had clearly heard your previous statement, his smirk once again widening, so you had actually been looking. Good. Clearing his throat he put on as much of a serious face as he could ‘I think it’s unfair to call them poor, this is not cheap accommodation, if they live here it is clear that they are anything but poor’ he knew what you’d meant by poor, but just the annoyed tick in your eyebrow that appeared at his statement was worth it. Choosing to stay silent instead of taking the bait, you returned to your laundry. Only to curse out loud- you had finished it and upon scouring your belongings haphazardly you realised your card was missing. Vaguely remembering you had only taken your room card you groaned, this was not how you’d intended to spend your afternoon before the party.

Without a second’s notice, a tattooed hand with a card appeared before your eyes and the washing machine burst to life. Indignantly you whipped your head around to look at the owner of said hand, ‘what are you doing?’ only to come face to face with the end of a defined collarbone and jawline. And by all that is saintfully just, the line of his throat was just as attractive as the whole of the man. Being this close to him rendered you absolutely useless, jumbled thoughts ranging from ‘i need to pay him back’ to ‘what is he even doing’ to settle in the end to a single thought which you also voiced out loud without even thinking. ‘Your moles are pretty’. You had managed to get past the expanse of his neck to the outline of his lower lip when you noticed his mole, and to your defense- it was cute, but with the whole package, cute is the last word you had in mind. More like- it added a completeness that you would not think he needed but there it was.

He swallowed thickly, enjoying for a second too long the glazed look you had on your face as you said that. ‘And you have nice eyes’ he retaliates even though this is the first time he’s had a closeup look at them. Bright and sparkly, unknown to the both of you, a mirror of each other’s. Sparkly with a promise of something. Something which would have to wait for….if you had your way, forever, if he had his way- a second. You finally willed your legs to step aside and away from the unclothed man.

‘Uh-thanks’ you never stutter, but something about the heavy and thick air around makes it hard to take controlled breaths. ‘For the washing i mean’ you correct yourself. You will never admit to him out loud that him complimenting your eyes made your heart stumble and your brain freeze. You turned around to escape the situation, completely missing the amused expression on the man’s face. ‘You are welcome’ he extends his hand out walking to your side not missing the way you try to put some distance in between the two of you.

‘I’m Jungkook’ he smiles, a complete 180 from his appearance, his smile was warm and genuine, the type of smile that is reflected not only in his eyes but his whole face. His nose scrunches up too cutely, you think to yourself. He somehow resembles a bunny? Mustering up all the courage and bravery your heart still had, you grasp his hand. Hm, soft, odd for a gym head. You knew what he was asking for, but you would not give it to him. As cute as he is, you still tried to tell yourself you were unimpressed. ‘And i’m a poor soul who lives in this block of flats’ you mutter ‘i will pay you back for the washing’.

As soon as you reached your tiny cramped room and settled down for that nap you’ve been craving, you could not help but replay the last words he said to you, sounding way too smug for his own good. ‘Is that you telling me to put a shirt on for your sake?’

[kontextmaschine]

This is how it happens. I've been saying for a while that the next turn involves a revalorization of inegalitarian sexuality, this is part of it coming together.

The '90s Clintonian Silver Age was about taking a pause to reenchant American normalcy by #including the 60s… and it took. Standing up for post-counterculture cultural norms is now authentic American conservatism.

At the same time, the '80s had intervened. You had the cultural backlash, "family values" reassertion of child-protectiveness, you saw the Supreme Court invent the idea of "child pornography" as a category their last decades didn't leave constitutionally protected, also the "campus rape crisis", Take Back The Night, the broader almost proto-2010s original "political correctness" culture and canon wars PCU riffed on.

And in reaction to that, as a threat environment to be navigated if not particularly a change of heart to be internalized, the '90s didn't push the presumed-sexual-access-to-inferiors line. Maybe even postured against it, y'know, Ben Affleck in Mallrats, who's trying to fuck the girlfriend in a very painful place that's not the back seat of a Volkswagen, would-totally-fuck-high-schoolers bad guy of the first movie where Kevin Smith was working for Harvey Weinstein from jump…

And yes, Weinstein and Hollywood, #MeToo, Epstein and the national elite, hell, Clinton and intern Monica Lewinsky, remember that one?, it appears that if the Boomers with a shot gave up on trumpeting it they didn't on doing it…

How much of "nice guys", "MRAs", was about about guys noticing the gap here? "The world you are to inherit is in the rock-and-roll tradition of Woodstock thru '80s keg parties, the men who don't go into domestic seclusion have a steady stream of satisfying partners, and all of this comes through a vernacular popularization of second-wave feminism!" Okay, but the last doesn't really produce the prior.

("Woodstock '99 was a rape fest!" well okay '94 seemed better, but by modern standards how much enthusiastic consent really was there in the mud of '69?)

Gone Girl I keep coming back to, but the book was really about the gap, about it collapsing on men in a way that was, if extreme in its particulars, rooted in the way it largely would in the 2010s.

But the thing is, "oh no these cads publicly mouthed feminist support while sexbezzling in private, now that that support has pumped feminism up enough they're no longer safe!" has a parallel waiting, among the people who grew up with 90s culture. "Oh no feminism mouthed pro-sex Sixtiesism while building towards Puritanism in private! But now that we've been pumped up for counterculture sex-positivity… ::cracks knuckles::"

Like, what, they wouldn't? Go read those responses OP referenced.

Add that to the way yammering about pedos and grooming marks you for avoiding by anyone worthwhile as a chud or at least anti now…

Also add the back-to-the-city thing. '80s teens-and-malls "suburbs" were really like, the San Fernando Valley, or Long Island, or relatively close-in Chicagoland. Now, in the parent-chauffeured exurbs the few outside adults an adolescent might get involved with are like, "sports coach" and "youth pastor" so I'm not sure exactly how a return to unsupervised intergenerational mixing would affect things, but it's a change.

[kuroopaisen]

tiny love || 10

➵ as tooru’s younger sister, falling in love with iwaizumi hajime was easy. iwaizumi ultimately decided to rebuff you. through a few strange twists of fate, you’ve ended up living with the very boy who’d broken your heart. but, perhaps it’s not as bad as you thought it’d be. he is the perfect gentleman, after all.

warnings: f!reader, implied nsfw, reader is hopelessly infatuated with iwaizumi but who isn’t 

wc: 1.5k

m.list |  ch. 9 ↞ ch. 10 ↠ ch. 11

It’s strange, waking up in a bed that’s not your own in your very own house.

Stranger yet is that you have nothing to blame expect your own temper. You weren’t there because you’d drunk too much or taken something that’d impair your judgement.

You were there simply because you’d gotten so angry.

What happened didn’t fix anything. Maybe it’d just make everything messier.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to be upset about it. Not when Iwaizumi’s arms were wrapped around your waist and his peaceful sleeping face was just a breath away from yours.

He looks so soft, that small kink in his brow that’s around so often he may as well trademark it is gone, the corners of his mouth are upturned instead of tugged downwards by the weight of all his responsibilities, his hair all un-styled and messy due to all your ‘hard work’ last night.

Your eyes flicked down to a red mark on his collarbone. Whoops.

Granted, perhaps you should’ve been grateful that was the only obvious remnant from the events of the previous evening. Not that you had any idea what you looked like. Maybe you hadn’t made it out so clean.

Regardless, you just wanted to take the moment to admire him, to let yourself lie in this quiet moment.

Iwaizumi’s eyes flickered open, still heavy with sleep.

You held your breath.

What if he regretted it? What if the morning brought some kind of change? What if he’d had the so called ‘post-nut clarity’?

The softest smile you’d ever seen spread across his face as his eyes focused on you.

It’s enough to make you blush, all things considered.

He brought a rough hand up to cup your face, running his thumb gently over your cheek.

“Good morning,” he murmured, in what was perhaps the sexiest voice you’d ever heard.

“Morning,” you whispered back. God, why were you so bashful?

Iwaizumi was still smiling at you, an overwhelmingly fond look in his eyes.

“Sleep well?” He yawned, his arms tightening around your waist.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “You?”

“Best I’ve slept in ages,” he mumbled, gently tugging you closer to him. You conceded.

His shirtless torso was so warm, so inviting. And his arms… His arms… You’d fantasised about being wrapped in those muscular arms of his more times than you were willing to admit, but you were delighted to report that they did not disappoint.

This whole morning felt it was straight out of one of your teenage daydreams.

“Don’t you go for runs in the morning?” You asked, smoothing a hand over his side and up his back. It was enough to make your cheeks flare up again, but he couldn’t be the only one being all touchy.

Iwaizumi grunted, burying his face in your neck.

You giggled as his breath tickled your skin. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t just abandon me.”

Iwaizumi chuckled lowly, smoothing his large hand over the small of your back.

You shivered against his touch. It was almost like every nerve in your body was on fire. Iwaizumi still seemed positively sleepy, but you were wide awake.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi murmured, his lips brushing against your neck.

“Hm?”

“Is this what you want?” He asked.

You paused. Did he mean… this? The situation you’re in right now? Or did he mean ‘this’ on the broader scale? As in…

“What do you think?” You mumbled, your chest fluttering as you tightened your arms around his shoulders. It was safer not to assume anything. Not when it came to Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi chuckled, his breath tickling your collarbone. “It’s a serious question.”

“Are you asking me if I want…” You trailed off, your mind caught in a war between dramatized recollections of last night and the will to discuss said events seriously.

“I’m asking you if you’ll have me,” Iwaizumi murmured, his voice low. “If you want to give us a shot.”

Everything stopped. Was this… was this really happening?

It felt irresponsible to let yourself believe that. Not when there was still so much unresolved tension.  

“Hajime…” You gazed at him for a long moment, your eyes roaming his face. “But, last time…”

“I was an idiot,” he smiled. “I thought we established that.”

“I know,” you pouted. “But what about…”

Tooru.

You don’t need to say it. Iwaizumi understood.

“Hey…” He brought a hand up to your cheek, caressing it gently. “I want to be with you.”

He’d said them. The words you’d always wanted to hear.

But it still wasn’t enough.

“Are you willing to say that to Tooru?” Perhaps your tone was firmer than it needed to be. Perhaps the question ruined the mood.

But you deserved an answer.

One quiet, frozen moment.

“I have to,” he murmured.

“What if he gets angry?” You asked.

That was one of the things he’d been so scared of all those years ago. It was only one brick in the wall between you; but if you had to chip away at it bit by bit, you would.

There was a long pause.

“This is what you want, right?” Iwaizumi’s voice was more fragile than you’d ever heard before.

“Is this what you want?” Given the situation, it might seem like a stupid question. But you weren’t going to make him fight for this if it wasn’t

“Yes.” He said it without hesitation. “I should’ve told you that a long time ago.”

“Yes, you should’ve,” you grumbled.

But your chest felt like it was both collapsing and expanding. It was like flowers made of light were sprouting from your bone marrow, twining through your ribcage and tickling your lungs.

Not that you’d let him know that.

“But… if he gets angry, we’ll just… have to work it out,” you said. It didn’t feel like much of a solution. It was barely even a comfort. But, you had to say it. Even if it was just a promise to yourself that you’d face this, even if every instinct was telling you to run.

“I can talk to him alone,” Iwaizumi said.

“But—”

“He’ll be angrier at me.”

You bit your lip. “I… I guess.”

Iwaizumi was right. But part of you felt like that was only the case because Tooru kept babying you. It was like he thought you were still twelve, young and innocent and completely unaware of the world of relationships.

But Tooru had to accept that you were growing up. Iwaizumi Hajime was part of this, whether by sheer chance or as some part of a great cosmic prank.

“We’ll tell him together,” you said.

Iwaizumi lifted his head and stared at you, eyes slightly round. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “That seems fair.”

“But—”

“I’m not a doll, Hajime,” you said. “If Tooru thinks he has a right to dictate who I can and can’t be involved with, then he’s going to have to speak to me about it.” 

Iwaizumi laughed. A true, genuine laugh. It was a beautiful sound.

“My bad,” he smiled, bringing a hand up to stroke your hair. “We’ll talk to him together, then.”

It was happening. It was finally happening.

Iwaizumi Hajime was within your reach. And this time, he wasn’t running away. This time, he was letting you in with open arms.

Nice as it was, it was disorienting. You didn’t know what to feel – proud? Ashamed? Stupid?

You were lying in his bed, after all. You can think of at least one person who’d berate you for that.

But Amaya’s inevitable scolding aside, you don’t feel… bad, about it. Was that just because you hadn’t really done anything like this before? Were you moving too fast? Or was it okay, given your history? But then again, your history probably meant you’d need to go even slower…

“Hey, Hajime?” You asked, your voice tiny.

“Hm?”

“Do you think we… rushed things?” You asked.

“Maybe,” he sighed, drawing back from you. “If you want to slow down, then—”

“No.” Your cheeks bloomed red in recognition of how embarrassingly quickly you’d cut him off.

Iwaizumi smirks. “No?”

“I just mean that—well, you know—” You swallowed, rifling through your brain like an office worker who’d lost a very important piece of paper. “It’s just that—we’ve already, you know…”

Iwaizumi laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the way you’d always adored. “Are you saying you can’t keep your hands off me?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” you huffed. “You pervert.”

“Pervert?” He grinned. “If I remember correctly, you were the one begging for—”

You kissed him coarsely in a meagre attempt to shut him up. You felt him smile against your lips, his hand moving down from your waist to your ass.

“Like I said,” you mumbled against his lips, “Pervert.”

Iwaizumi chuckled. The warmth of the sound spread from his lips through your whole body. 

This is where you were meant to be. 

✧ ✧ ✧

a/n: hh hi sorry this is incredibly overdue i hope it doesn’t disappoint 

[drosselmeyerwrites]

Inuyasha Fandom Two Cents

We really shouldn't have time for drama, but here I am. And as a fanfic writer and participant in fandom that has also been involved with fandom events, I want to offer this perspective in light of everything going on:

The Inuyasha fandom is huge.

We have multiple ships, multiple different characters that are well-loved. There are a thousand different, tiny elements that fans can latch onto and share enthusiasm about, and as such, the potential for different fandom events extends to a number far greater than there are days in a year. Really. I'm not going to because I have kids, a life, and a kitchen that is currently a disaster area that needs to be dealt with, but challenge me to fill a calendar with 52 things I find interesting about Sesshoumaru? Yeah, I could come up with a list of weekly events for a year that has nothing to do with anything else in any other part of fandom (to be honest, a week dedicated to his resting bitch face would forever amuse me, but I digress).

But I say this to also point out something that people seem to not be understanding: the collective of Inuyasha fans out there don't share a Google calendar.

Really. And I wouldn't want to. That's chaos I don't need in my life, and I'm sure that most of you don't need it either.

Fandom events will and should be expected to overlap. Because time is limited. And people's schedules are what they are. It's one thing if you are a part of a particular ship or fan thing and that specific ship or thing is planning something at a given time. If you're a part of a specific corner of fandom, you're more likely to be aware of other stuff going on in that corner, and common courtesy dictates not trampling over your own fandom corner friends' things. But the broader fandom?

No.

Let's use Valentine's Day as an example. This is a time of year where multiple Inuyasha ships have events. And they all cross over in their dates and time. But do people raise hell about that? No.

View the rest of the year that way too.

Fans will never be able to account for everything going on in fandom. People, sometimes there are corners of fandom others choose to never step into for various valid reasons (personal triggers being a large one...or they may just think your corner is dumb and not want that in their life). So, this idea that we have to be conscious of everything going on outside of our fandom corners is more than a little bit extreme. And it's straight up asking too much. Even with Google. Since we can't be aware of everything that's going to potentially be out there being celebrated, there is no reasonable way to expect people to have the kind of awareness needed to even search for what may or may not have been promoted. And if you're only promoting on Tumblr? Really, stop expecting the world to notice. We can talk about poor marketing later.

Now, if for some reason, there has been cross-fandom corner discussions to coordinate fandom events (which again is really not necessary) and then someone decides to trample over someone else's stuff after those discussions have taken place? Yeah, dick move. Don't do that. That's super shitty, and you deserve the shit and criticism that come your way after pulling trash like that.

But other than that? Enjoy your corner. Celebrate and coordinate with people in your corner about the things you love, and maximize your corner's fandom experiences with the thing/ characters you all love.

Except for the SessRin crowd. Everyone should be concerned about your shit and shenanigans because your a g-damn menace to society at large and have have spent the last two years trolling everyone else in the fandom and not minding your own business.

But again, I digress.

;-)

[ohheyitsokay]

concessions

part 2 of the ‘hey batter batter’ series

pairing: Francesco Morales (Frankie, Catfish) x reader

wordcount: 2.4k

warnings: none (yet)

summary: it’s a Triple Frontier baseball AU - trust me, you don’t need to know anything about baseball.

In this chapter, you run into the guys outside of the stadium and they promptly decide you’re going to be friends with them.

>>

Your friend was twelve minutes late. Not overly long but you could already tell what was going to happen.

It had been a long shot, anyway, an old classmate with little lasting connection. You had been trying to push yourself outside of your comfort zone anyway, why not? When she had originally reached out you’d been full of hope, enough to foolishly order your favorite appetizer as a ice breaker but the effort was in vain.

Fingernails gently clicking against the table, you caved and allowed yourself to look at your phone. It brought instant comfort, to escape the exposure of sitting alone in a restaurant, but you couldn’t stay. The air was cold as you sucked it through your teeth, weighing your options. The confidence it took to eat alone after being stood up was facing a strong competitor: your general policy not to waste good food and good money.

Shifting, you tried to settle, tried to pose yourself like you were in control, looking around the room as nonchalantly as you could. It was silly, your urge to keep moving, your feet on the ground, your hands on the table, your eyes on the other patrons, but you couldn’t help it. It was a nice place, nothing fancy, just a hole in the wall restaurant, filled only with a few locals.

Until your appetizer came around the corner, followed by a much more handsome man than you were prepared for.

His already smiling eyes met yours, and you looked away, startled, maybe blushing a little. He was familiar, too familiar. You tried to focus on the young lady waiting on you, and the steam coming from the plate in her hands.

Just focus on the food, you scolded yourself silently, thanking her and not ordering anything else. He was not your friend, he didn’t even know you, really. There was no need to make him feel uncomfortable.

Except, he wasn’t really worried about that, because he was sliding into the seat across from you.

“Hi,” he was grinning, confident and friendly, and your instincts raised no alarms other than confusion.

“Hello,” you replied, wondering honestly if you were dreaming. This was one of the men you’d met before, in that chaotic, over decorated room in the baseball stadium. He had been in front of you maybe fifteen total seconds, talking to James, before melting back into the sea of uniforms and caps. There was no reason he should remember you much less… be doing whatever was happening now.

The man mistook your expression for panicked forgetfulness and reintroduced himself.

“I’m Ben, Ben Miller? We met a a week or two ago,” he was searching your face for recognition, which of course was not the problem at all. It was sweet, how bashful he was when he pointed to the picture of the team’s logo on the poster by your table, and mouthed “the shortstop?”.

It seemed like he wasn’t trying to draw extra attention to himself, which was almost comical. Even with his casual tshirt and jeans he was easily the most noticeable person in the room – that’s how good he looked, and a testament to the visible confidence of men like him. He was all limber muscles and strong jaw and kind eyes and it wasn’t easy to just tuck that away.

“I – yeah,” this was awkward. “I’m sorry for staring at you, I just don’t normally see … non-locals here.” You smiled, weakly.

There was something in his voice and a glint in his eyes as his blue eyes glanced behind you.

“Would you believe it if I said we were locals?”

All of a sudden his looks were commonplace, because there was another man next to him who was a little broader and a little rougher around the edges- but surprisingly similar in casual masculinity. The “we" clicked into place.

“What’s this?” the first-baseman said, his expression more or less mirroring your own.

A handful of other men followed him and you wanted to melt into the chair. It was too much, too weird. They were all peering at you, dark eyebrows and cool toned cloth stretched over broad chests and it was the most bizarre thing. You weren’t really shy, per se, but stuff like this didn’t happen to you. Fidgeting you stared back at them, feeling helpless.

Ben came to your rescue again, guilty, but far too friendly to stop, like runaway dog at a park.

“I was just telling her that Will and I are from town! And we love it here,” he grinned, winningly, still failing to explain why he was seated with you.

Their hellos were amused and charismatic, for the most part, save the man in the back. It was… Francisco. Or rather, Mr. Morales.

Your heart thumped the same thump that you’d been feeling whenever you thought of him.

His voice was quieter, eyes reaching into yours like he had questions to ask, before he fixed them on the surroundings instead. They were crowding the area, all tall and much to large to fit in between tables. It would have been annoying if this were a busier place.

“You guys go on, I’ll be right there,” the shortstop across from you ushered them away, out of politeness or something else you weren’t sure. It was sad, to see him go again but the absence of attention made you breathe again. You waved, sure you looked ridiculous, and wondering if other women would be dying to be in your stead.

“Sorry, I just wanted to say hi,” Ben seemed earnest again, and you couldn’t help but relax. It was charming, the way his eyebrows dipped and he fidgeted, just a little. “You looked… lonely,” he added, hesitating before standing up with a gentle slap to the table. “Come join us if they don’t show, I’m sure the guys wont mind!”

You nodded, still more or less in shock, and he walked off, strides long and easy, like there was hardly anything weighing on his shoulders.

If they hadn’t been but 20 paces away, you would have shoved the plate aside and replaced its spot on the table with your face, and groaned aloud. You barely registered your food as you ate, wondering at the whole thing in awe as you took out your phone again to text James.

-

Frankie tried not to watch you. He really did. He loved his friends and they seldom got a chance, just the five of them to eat somewhere so homey and casual, without the whole crew, or fans and cameras, or other things to attend to. They’d been close for a long time, happy they enjoyed one another and trusted one another more than the rest of the team. It was what made them so good in the starting lineup – their communication and comradery off field translated into their game.

For awhile he was doing well. He wasn’t watching as you finished your food, hardly noticed the way your hands ran through your hair, barely registered when you stood up, brushing crumbs off your legs, and walked towards the front to pay.

But he did notice when you slid over to their table and… he couldn’t tear his eyes away as your hand touched Benny's shoulder. The movement was smooth and gentle and there was a sharp feeling in his gut.

“Thanks for before,” your voice was quite, more composed than before, now that your feet were under you properly. It wasn’t meant for him, wasn’t his to hear, but he listened anyway. The group was seated at one of those round corner booths, and really, there was no escaping it – they were on the ends.

Benny was saying no problem and Frankie took a long sip of his drink trying to cool down before he was choking on it as his friend invited you to join.

The idea of you sitting here was… a double edged sword. On one side, the chance to talk to you, be around you even in the low lights of the restaurant neons – was too good to be true. His daydreams of you hadn’t slowed down nearly as much as he had hoped after you were gone. And on the other… of all the men here, he didn’t stand much of a chance. The flicker of warmth your little wave had given him began to fade and he tried too late to get in control of his facial expressions as you considered the offer.

When Redfly reached across Ben, though, shoving the younger man to grab your hand, suppressing the growl in his throat was more important than the glare. Next to him, Pope eyes were sharp, catching everything unsaid. His friend was as tense as he was, feeling the charged energy fill the booth.

Some ridiculous part of Frankie was wanting to pull you away, tuck you under his arm, and keep you all to himself. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t. He didn’t even know your name.

Then Will was pulling Tom back with laughter that didn't reach his eyes and Santi was apologizing, saying smooth words and coaxing you to reintrodunce yourself and pull up a chair and hang out.

Frankie would never know how Pope was so good at these things, how his passion made other people relent and reconsider and made them feel safe, but he was grateful for it. He tucked your name away, sure he wouldn’t forget it again. Especially because you pulled your chair up by him, and his heart swelled with something akin to pride as you leaned towards him, more than even Ben.

It could have been politeness, making room for the waitress, it could have been a coincidence, or that you wanted to be further from Tom, but he could quite bring himself to care. Having you close felt good, so much better than it should’ve, given the circumstances.

Even more than normal athletes, the Miller boys ate like they were hollow, and had ordered enough food for a week. There was plenty of talk and teasing and tossing of rolls, and it took you no time at all to settle in.

You found out you had some mutual acquaintances with Will, which helped, as you launched into comparisons of the town and laughed over shared observations. It made you feel at home, with him and Ben, and you understood how the brothers made everyone feel like family. Apparently there was girl Benny liked, who worked with the team’s athletic trainers. None of the boys had wheeled it out of him, but it took you less than fifteen minutes, your smile brighter as you sorted through his intentions.

Santi had a quick tongue, and you matched it. There was respect in his eyes as you leveled with Redfly, efficiently and effectively putting him back in his place. The older man head leaned back, nonchalantly, with raised eyebrows and low whistle, but Pope knew when Tom was embarrassed. There was an almost indiscernible bite onto the inside of the outfielder’s lower lip, a child’s tell.

He watched everyone, really, especially Frankie. They’d been playing together the longest and saw the best and worst of each other. It was fun, for him to watch his friend watch you. When you puckered your lips to suck a bead of water off your finger, Frankie’s jaw twitched. Like he was thinking of tilting his cheek towards you as you leaned in to kiss it – and Santi grinned, the gears in his mind turning.

For being as confused and awkward as you were before, it was crazy how well you fit.

Frankie liked your laugh, easy and pure, and the glint in your eyes when someone said something clever. He liked how friendly you were, even to Tom, and how you treated them like people. You never once stepped into the role of flirtatiously asking about the sport – or about being professional athletes all, and it was a breath of fresh air. Most outsiders would have their fingers tracing the curves of the muscles on Pope's arm as they asked him about pitching or would be tugging down the necklines of their shirts as they tried to be subtle about salaries. He liked how you talked about the food, asked them what they were up to that day, and actually listened when they answered. It was graceful, more that even Ironhead’s throw, how you managed to give each one of them attention, without controlling the conversation.

What Frankie liked best of all, though, was when yours eyes would meet his. They were narrow with laughter, and it was almost as if he were an hour away from know exactly what you were thinking. You’d lean towards him, just a hair, and under the thrum of conversations you would tell him little things, jokes or confessions like you were the best of friends.

When you murmured, “I actually don’t know anything about baseball,” he choked on his drink again, mind filled with unreachable moments. The boys were laughing at him, but he ignored it because they hadn’t heard you and... he could almost feel it – you against his chest as he showed how to swing a bat, your hand in his as he leaned in close, explaining, and him spinning you around in a victory hug.

All too soon the plates were being cleared and everyone was arguing over who should be paying. It made them smile, how earnestly you were offering, but there was no way in hell. 

You thanked them all verbally, but when Santi ended up paying, he got a quick peck on the cheek and that sharp feeling in Frankie’s gut returned with force.

As you left, before they could walk you out, you cherished the experience like a drop of honey on your tongue, confident this was a once in a life time thing, and excited to tell James about it. Of course you had texted him – he was the one who told you if you didn’t sit with them he’d never forgive you.

Then men behind you continued to talk, each silently thinking of their own reasons for being sure they’d see you again soon.

And when you walked past the window by the corner on the way to your car, a pair of deep brown eyes found yours through the glass. You waved, goodbye, and this time, the ache in your heart was aligned with the ache in his.

Thank goodness that old classmate never showed up.

<<

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms 

hey batter batter taglist:

@icanbeyourjedi

[penguinwithitsarseonfire]

Where We Stood Was Holy Ground

Pairing: 9th Doctor x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3,485

Summary: The Doctor takes you, Rose, and Jack to a heritage garden on some distant planet. One of the (apparent) perks is that the pathways constantly change, and after repairing them, you have to test them out.

Request: Hey there, do you write for nine? Cause I'd really love a fluffy nine fic, maybe using fluff prompts 4, 26, and 38 from your first prompt list? Thank you so much 😊😊😊 
Prompts: “Kiss me." | You’re really warm.” | “You owe me.” “Fine, whatever you like.”

A/N: Yes, I know, I created a bunch of elaborate plot points with no follow through (shout out to the giant scorpion crabs of yesteryear), but please enjoy the pretty national park and an alien dust I only realised halfway through writing this was eerily similar to a certain medical nanite tech

The water was black, all inky as if it were truly oil. You leaned over the railing and ran your fingers through it, it was cool under your touch, and the water shone, sparkling like it had turned into golden and silver glitter, as if creating its own night sky.

Rose was standing by your side, resting her head in her palm, and watching the pink fish swim in circles near the bridge you were both standing on. They looked like catfish, which you supposed was pretty alien. “D’you think you can drink it?” She asked. “The water, that is.”

“I don’t know,” you said. The water felt like any other water, there was a bit of a give and take, but it was light and smooth. “You probably can, it’s water, after all.”

Rose hummed, and then gave you a cheeky grin, locking eyes with you as you pulled yourself back up. “Maybe we should get Jack to try it.”

You laughed brightly; Jack would most totally try it.

You turned around to ask him, but he wasn’t there. Neither was the Doctor. You frowned slightly, and you grabbed at the bannister behind you, holding it so you stayed upright as you leaned forward. You swivelled your head up and down the pathway, but you couldn’t see either of them.

You turned to Rose, raising an eyebrow. “Where’ve they gone?”

She skipped off the lower railing she had been standing on, and came to your side, looking either side of the path, just as you had done. She turned back to you, shrugging. “I dunno. Maybe they were taken a different route? D’you have a map?”

Oh – right. The map.

You pulled it out of the back pocket of your jeans, opening it up. At first you had thought it was an average paper map, but you found that, as the paths changed, so did the map. That’s what this place was, it was a national park on some random planet (you’d already forgotten the name of it), which had pathways that spontaneously moved and changed directions. Apparently, once you decided you wanted to leave, the paths would take you to the exit, but, until then, it was a free for all.

It hadn’t caused any issues, and, as you had wandered under trees with glowing blue leaves, and plants that shone silver in the light, you had even liked it. It was nice to just walk, with no idea where you were going.

Now though, spilt from Jack and the Doctor, the path wasn’t what you would call convenient.

You pathways shifted on the map, and it showed four green dots. Two of the dots – you and Rose, were on the bridge, the other two were only a few pathways away, slowly blinking further along the path, as though they were walking. Those two had to be Jack and the Doctor.

Rose pulled out her own map and you compared the two. They lined up with one another, and you watched as the path Jack and the Doctor were walking on shifted, making it closer to you too.

You were thankful you had all done maintenance on the paths earlier, which was the whole reason you had stuck around. You were testing it, making sure the giant scorpion crabs of yesteryear weren’t still manipulating the paths anymore, luring helpless tourists toward them as their prey.  

An hour in, and it was working out.

“Should we go find them?” Rose suggested. “Meet them halfway.”

You pocketed your map. “Might as well,” you said, and you gestured down the bridge. “That way?”

Rose nodded, and the two of you took off.

You were both using Rose’s map to guide you, keeping you on track towards the other two. You wondered if Jack and the Doctor were doing the same, using a map to find you two. Knowing the Doctor, he was just probably wandering around, Jack in tow. Maybe he’d found a plant he adored, one he hadn’t seen in several centuries.

You could picture his face, pulled into a small frown as he studied it quizzically. Perhaps the plant was pink or a bright orange, and glowed like the trees did, sparkling against his blue eyes.

Rose nudged you and tripped for a moment, stumbling over a stone on the pathway. You turned to Rose in shock but she was grinning at you. “Thinking of the Doctor?”

You flushed, and could feel the way your face went hot, from your cheeks, across your nose, and up to your ears. “It was that obvious?”

Rose’s grin, which you hadn’t realised was possible, grew. She began to tease you lightly, her voice lilting up and down like a teenager during a sleepover. “You get this sort of dreamy look on your face,” she said. “And then every time you do, you get this sort of lovesick smile.”

You felt your face grow even more hot, and the flush went down your neck. You nudged her side, and said, only half petulantly. “Shut up.”

Rose laughed, but her face grew more sincere. “Aw no, it’s really sweet,” she squeezed your arm, and then mouth reformed into a familiar wry smirk. “Especially when he gives you the same look.”

You stopped in your tracks, looking at Rose in shock. “What?”

Rose laughed in delight, and began to jog away, she turned, so she was running backwards, and shot you the cheekiest grin you had ever seen. “You heard me!”

You stumbled after her, your brain trying to process what Rose had said.

Especially when he gives you the same look.

Did the Doctor hold those same feelings for you? The ones that you kept bottled up inside, so afraid they would burst.

Rose went around a bend and you chased after her. When you arrived to the bend though, she was gone. You sagged on the pathway, glaring at the new, empty path, which went a complete different direction from where Rose had went.

These pathways loved messing with you.

You hoped Rose was okay.

You pulled your map out of your pocket. There was one dot further down this new path, and two dots a few paths away. You ran your free hand through your hair and watched as the single dot came closer. You weren’t sure who it was, it could have been any of your friends, but you resolved to move forward.

As soon as you started walking, the dot stopped, frozen in place. You narrowed your eyes at the dot, trying to place why – whoever it was, would do that.

Then it hit you, they were waiting for you.

So you kept walking.

The park felt magical. The tree’s glittered with deep blue light in the leaves, and when they swayed in the quiet breeze, the parts that touched the wind shone a bright blue. It reminded you of a stadium concert where people wore those light up wristbands, and the stadium would be awash of bright, pulsing colour. The lights in the leaves almost seemed to dance, as if in tandem with the wind.

Under the blue light, the various shrubbery that made home for the various alien animals that lived here, shone silver. They were eerily metallic, as if they had been painted that colour. It was surreal, and utterly beautiful in a haunted sort of way that you couldn’t quite describe.

The purple sky which hung above you created a soft backdrop, as if some higher being had painted the area on a planet sized canvas, and had spun the colour wheel to find the perfect sky. It was a dark maroon, so even though you knew that logically, it was the middle of the day, it still felt like it was dusk, with the last sun-rays shining in the distance.

It didn’t take you long before you saw him – and you knew it was a him. He had a tuft of dark hair, which Rose certainly didn’t have, and he had a much broader build than she did.

He was crouched down, as if inspecting one of the plants, but you weren’t close enough to tell. You took a wild stab in the dark, it was probably the Doctor.

“Doctor,” you called out, and you jogged towards him.

He looked up, and sure enough, it was the Doctor. He gave you a surprised grin. “Oh Y/N! Fancy seeing you here.”

 You came up beside him. “What, in a park where the paths keep changing?” You said. “Who would’ve guessed,” you crouched down beside him, letting your knees bump against his. Small indulgences. “What’re you looking at?”

He nodded to the small plant, and you almost laughed out loud. This was what you had been picturing, the Doctor eyeing a bunch of plants.

It was one of the shrubs you had seen littered around the place. It had brown leaves which looked silver under the blue light from the trees, and held bright orange bulbs, as if they were storing something.

It made you want to touch it.

“Asclepios Tubrosa,” the Doctor said. “That’s the scientific name. Your lot would call it Orange Fluxroot.”

You considered it for a moment. “What’s it do?”

The Doctor gave you a look. “What’s it do?” He repeated. “Y/N, it’s a plant.”

“Yeah,” you said. “And loads of plants do stuff,” you countered. “They produce flowers or food, or just sit there and look pretty. Plus, you’re looking at it like it can bend the laws of physics or something.”

The Doctor gave you a considering look, and you knew he was taking what you said on board. You’d been travelling with him long enough now to recognise his little looks. “That’s what I was trying to work out,” he turned back to the plant. “I recognise it, but I can’t remember from where.”

You still wanted to poke it. “Can I touch it?”

“Dunno,” he said. “Could be dangerous.”

“Everything with you is dangerous,” you replied, and the plant thrummed. You desperately wanted to poke it. “I’m going to touch it,” you decided.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at you. “Alright,” he said, and he gestured to the plant.

You reached out your hand and poked it, right in one of the orange bulbs.

Nothing happened.

You deflated slightly, you’d thought something would happen. The plants here were so different, so alien, that you were sure that this would be too.

“Huh,” the Doctor said. “I guess it’s not the plant I was thinking then. It might be a Pleuresie Har-”

You tuned the Doctor out. The plant was swaying slightly, except, it was swaying the opposite way from the wind. On instinct, you threw yourself over the Doctor, shielding him from the plant as it exploded.

And covering you in orange pollen.

You leaned your head into the Doctor’s chest, coughing slightly as the dust settled, twirling into the air. You rubbed your free hand on the back of your neck, and, when you inspected it, you saw that it was the same bright orange that the bulbs had been.

You let out a startled, yet delighted laugh. “Okay,” you said. “That wasn’t what I was expecting.”

You turned down to the Doctor, your laughter subsiding as you looked at him – truly looked at him. His eyes were so bright here, and they sparkled under the complimentary blue lights from the tress above. You loved this face, with its big ears and soft lines, and imagined all the stories that had been marked on this skin, every laugh, every frown.

The Doctor watched you, as if he was looking at you for the first time. You felt his pulse underneath you, wild and erratic, faster than any other pulse you had ever felt – which made sense, he did have two hearts.

But even for the Doctor, his pulse was fast.

He spoke softly. “You’re really warm.”

You swallowed nervously, and in a jumpy burst of energy, scrambled off of him. “Sorry about that, I didn’t mean-”

“No,” he said, and he held his hand out, pausing you in your tracks. “It’s not a bad thing,” he ran a finger through his hair, which didn’t fully work since it was cut so short, and let out a small, irritated groan. “Sorry, I’m not good at this stuff.”

“This stuff?”

He jumped up. “You humans,” he said, but he wasn’t looking at you. “You’re so… complicated, with all those needs packed up in tiny, squishy little bodies.”

You pulled your mouth into a small, annoyed frown. The Doctor was notorious was deflecting, but it didn’t make it any less irksome. “I don’t know why you’re calling us tiny, you’re about the same size as the average of any other human bloke.”

He looked at you aghast. “I’m not like any other human bloke.”

“You’re not,” you agreed. “You look it though.”

He grumbled at you slightly, but whatever he said was lost to you. He straightened, and suddenly the mood was dropped. “Where’d Rose and Jack get off too? Any idea?”

“I lost Rose just before I found you,” you stood up, wiping your hands on the side of your jeans. It left bright orange streaks, reminding you of paint. “And I’m assuming you’ve lost Jack.”

The Doctor pulled out his own map. “Ah, right,” he said. “Well, there’s two dots near the exit, they must be together.”

You nodded. That made sense, you guessed. Split you all up only to throw you into different pairs. That seemed like the sort of thing recently fixed half sentient pathways would do.

Anything was possible.

The Doctor eyed you for a moment, then broke out into a wide grin.

You looked down at your person, and then back to him. “What is it?”

“You’re orange,” he said.

“Yes,” you replied, not really understanding where the comment came from. “I jumped in front of the weird orange pollen explosion. It’s sort of the natural consequence.”

“It’s just…” he paused, trying to find the word. Then, he brightened. “Unexpected.”

You raised a confused eyebrow. “Pardon?”

He made little grabby hands toward you. “C’mere, would you.”

You stepped towards him until you were almost nose to nose. He was so close, you could see the way tiny specks of gold were flecked in the blue irises of his eyes, could feel the heat radiate from his body. His hands hovered over your frame, momentarily unsure. “May I?”

You swallowed nervously. “Yeah, sure.”

He took your hand and raised it, then spun you outwards. You twirled, stumbling slightly as you gauged the movement. You watched as the orange fell off of your body, falling into the air. The Doctor pulled you back in and you stood still, watching as the orange dust hung in the air.

Then suddenly, it glowed.

It was brilliant. The dust shone like individual pinpricks of bright golden light. It danced around you, as if holding a mind of its own, and it swung in between the two of you.

You watched in wonder as the dust seemed to shift, pulling the rest of the bright orange off of your clothes. It felt like you were standing among fireflies, and the area felt all warm and cosy.

The Doctor let out a delighted laugh. “Orange Fluxroot,” he said triumphantly. “The dust glows when you do something unexpected.”

“Like dancing,” you suggested.

“Exactly,” he grinned at you.

You watched the golden dust, and marvelled in the way it seemed to move with the breeze, swaying to and fro. “How does it work?”

“No one really knows,” the Doctor said, and he was still so close. His arms were resting over yours, and his head was so close you could feel him speak. He began to sway you both side by side, and you realised for a moment that you were dancing. You twisted your arms around his neck, and held yourself against him

The Doctor continued. “We don’t know if it’s sentient or not, could be murderous for all we know,” there was a cheeky glint in his eyes as he said the last part, and he knew it wasn’t true.”

The golden dust spun around you, lifting away the gravity. They twinkled above you, and it cast you both in such beautiful light. The Doctor smiled at you warmly, but also shyly, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing.

“Ah,” you said, going along with what he had said. “So I saved you,” then you added, like an afterthought. “That’s a nice change.”

The Doctor gave you a quizzical look. “How d’you mean?”

“Well,” you said. “I got you away from the murderous orange pollen.”

His grin grew, becoming more sure, less shy, and you loved it. You loved that smile, he deserved to smile – he certainly didn’t do it enough.

“You’re amazing,” he said, so suddenly that you stumbled over your feet, stepping on the Doctors toes.

“Sorry?”

“Just…” he thought about it for a moment, how to describe it to you. “A place like this, for me it’s old hack. I know half this universe like the back of my hand, but for you, it’s all new. I love seeing the universe through your eyes,” he said. “It’s like rediscovering joy. You remind me why I love this.”

Oh.

That was, well. You weren’t sure where to begin there, but his words made you feel all warm and fuzzy. It curled into your toes and to the tips of your fingers.

You smiled softly and absentmindedly chewed on your lower lip, trying to think of what to say. You noticed the Doctor’s gaze flicker down to your mouth, and you cocked your head to the side with all the subtly of a bull in a china cupboard. He blushed, his face going a fascinating rosy colour. You weren’t sure you had ever seen the Doctor blush before, and you wondered why he currently was.

It took you a moment.

Then another.

And you realised, quite starkly, why he was blushing, and what he was thinking.

Then, you decided to be entirely bold.

“So,” you said. “Because I saved you and all, I think you owe me.”

The Doctor gave you a small frown. His face was still delightfully pink. “I do?”

You nodded sincerely, and the Doctor twirled you around the dirt path.

The Doctor gave you such an earnest look, that, for a moment, you found it jarring. "Fine,” he said. “Whatever you like.”

You poked your tongue against the back of your teeth, trying to will your nerves into letting you say what you wanted to say. You studied his face for a moment, he really was so close, all it would take would be a slight turn of your head and then…"Kiss me."

His eyes widened, and then flittered around your face, as if trying to gauge if you were serious. You felt your heart thunder away in your chest, like at any notice it was about to hammer its way out.

The longer he took to respond, the more you noticed. Your palms felt sweaty, your head felt a little dizzy, as if it were going all fuzzy and cloudy. You stumbled over your feet again, but, mercilessly, missed his.

Then, very slowly, the Doctor gave you a delighted grin. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Please.”

And he pressed his lips against yours.

The golden dust was gone, so was those trees with the bright blue leaves, and those infuriating paths that changed direction. It all left your mind. The only thought you had was him, was your Doctor, and the way it felt to be kissing him.

It was like… fire. Your brain lit up, and your body went warm all over. You were hyperaware of him, where his arms were, where your body was against his, and what you were doing with your hands. The Doctor’s hands were wrapped around your waist, and you ran your fingers into his hair pulling yourself flush against him.

You were the one to pull away, your human lungs weren’t as capable as his, and the Doctor chased for your lips. You breathed heavily, and gave him a delighted smile that probably came off as slightly insane.

The Doctor grinned, brighter and harder than you had ever seen him before.

You rested your head against his chest, and the Doctor began to sway again. It wasn’t really like a dance anymore, the way he held you, it was like a hug, like he was protecting you from the rest of the universe, holding you safe.

After a moment, you spoke, your voice soft. “We should find Jack and Rose, shouldn’t we,” but the suggestion was hollow. You weren’t really ready to leave yet.

“Let’s stay here for a little while longer, yeah?”

So you stayed, for just another five minutes.

And you danced.

[rainbowsky]

More on the Fan Fic issue

I have a few more asks about the issue raised the other day, some of which are long and go into detail on the 'wars' that have been happening on Twitter and AO3.

Sorry for grouping these but I wanted to put it all under a cut because these are long, and also in case people don't want to dig into these issues (which would be understandable).

Anonymous 1 asked:

"I am very strongly of the opinion that the BJYX term is still a fandom umbrella term" I agree. Mainly because Bjyx is the most popular. Many antis always say bjyx, and have no idea the others. So sometimes it's easier just to say bjyx instead of explaining all three. I myself more like "who cares as long as they happy." So I enjoy Yizhan in all contexts. Many bxgs I know also like that, mostly ibxgs. I think deep down all bxgs (no matter which position they prefer) just want Yizhan to be happy

Not sure we can be so certain about that last part, Anon (I think for a lot of people GG and DD are just characters in a smutty story they have in their heads), but I agree about the term being popular regardless of the type of fans people are.

From what I can see the BJYX term seems to be used 80-90% umbrella, 10-20% dynamic in both international and c-social media (for every 10 times you see the term used, only one or two of those usages - probably less - are referring to a dynamic). This is my totally unscientific estimation, but I think even 10-20% dynamic is being generous. The number of people who are fixated on a sexual dynamic aren't nearly as large as they'd like to believe.

Anonymous 2 asked:

about the promptfests - i’ve been on twitter since early 2020 and what i’ve noticed is that this influx bjyx-only promptfests started gaining speed once lots of rational voices started leaving the fandom recently either because a) new interests have caught their attention or b) the toxicity of the popular bxg circles on twitter have become too much to handle.

gdgdbaby was usually the organizer of dynamic-inclusive events, and she’s received lots, and lots, and lots of backlash by bxg, sometimes even by accounts with thousands followers, for using bjyx as a catch-all term. and as her interest in yizhan has since waned—hopefully for reasons unrelated to fandom toxicity—many of the people who were attracted to the welcoming environment she created distanced themselves as well.

zsww/lsfy fans have become an outnumbered circle who try their best to create exclusive events to avoid the “is bjyx a catch-all term” discourse, but never seem to gain as much traction as gdgdbaby (who has a sizeable following) or those who host bjyx-only events (who also have sizeable followings).

meanwhile the dynamic war has only become more and more hostile and bjyx is clearly the more populated group… ao3 is simply a battlegrounds, if i may dramatize the situation a little for the sake of humor, and the promptfests are a reaction to this irritating t/b discourse that has made bxg twitter completely inhospitable for me…and lots of other fans too.

(i’ve also noticed a huge reinforcement as of recently where ppl will call gg laopo, a milf, an omega, etc even outside of rpf (i.e. posting pictures of him at events and saying he looks pregnant or he’s going into heat) and it’s just… uncomfortable.)

(also please note i have a biased account of all of this drama bc many of my friends were harassed over it, and anyone who disagrees with my take may feel free to interject.)

I took the liberty of adding paragraph breaks because they are pretty important for some readers, particularly ND readers like me.

It's sad to hear how fucked up everything has become, but I'm not even remotely surprised. Toxicity leads to toxicity, and the whole idea of dividing up a RP fandom by sex position was misguided from the outset - no matter why it was done or how good the intentions might have been.

And yes, like I said, these people aren't just framing things this way for fan fic. This is how they talk about IRL GGDD.

I had written a lengthy essay here about homophobia in the fandom but deleted it all. Perhaps I'll post it separately at some later point. Suffice it to say that this stuff creates a climate that's often hostile for queer people. So much of it is deeply homophobic, whether people are aware of it or not.

It's really sad to hear about gdgdbaby being mistreated in any way. Anyone who steps up and sticks their neck out to help organize and coordinate activities that benefit a broader group of people should be celebrated and supported, not run out of town by an angry mob.

I've read some of her stories and even have one or two on my rec list. And here's someone who is not only writing good works, but also supporting others to write more good works. Such a shame.

Anonymous 3 asked:

Hello Mr. RBS! I think I can chime in a bit about the fanfic topic as I’ve watched this all unravel on twitter (where a majority of authors/readers are). I apologize if this gets long but it’s been something that’s also been on my mind.

I want to preface this by saying that I’m not a fan of the distinctions of dynamics as, like you said, the supposed line between real life and fanfic is long gone, so I’m not trying to be biased against one group over another.

Short answer to the question of, “is this retaliation?” : I do believe it is. (From here onwards I’ll be using bjyx as the dynamic term just for the ease of simplicity.) To understand why, I’ll have to explain with a bit of background info. On twitter, I’d say that there’s a quite large divide between bjyx and zsww/lsfy. That itself isn’t really a problem because people are free to like what they like and associate with whoever.

However there is a big problem where bjyx people are not just bjyx but also anti-zsww/lsfy. To the point where I’ve seen people say that they feel physically ill when they accidentally read zsww. I don’t think this type of behavior should exist in any dynamic bc in the end GGDD are real people with a real relationship behind this content and it’s just a gross fetishization at that point.

With all this happening, zsww/lsfy people have gotten more outspoken on how GG is often portrayed in those types of scenarios, mainly the over-feminization of him, bc it’s not just done in the context of fanfic but regular discussion of GGDD at this point. This tension between the dynamics kind of boiled over when the pregnant xz fest was announced, as you can take a guess at how that went over with zsww/lsfy people. lol.

But around that same time, another zsww/lsfy event was announced (I’m not sure if it’s the one anon was talking about) but the creator of the event suddenly got a ton of backlash for excluding bjyx, with the reasoning that bjyx is technically a part of lsfy. But the event was done to highlight zsww/lsfy (as all specific events are) bc the community and content for these dynamics are much less than bjyx.

Which is how we come back to the starting point of, is all this recent bjyx stuff retaliatory. I believe so bc the events (preg fest, dark event) are very specific prompts that target exactly what zsww/lsfy people have been outspoken against.

As to the point anon made about trying to drown out the tags, keep in mind that zsww/lsfy content is very minimal compared to bjyx and has only just recently started to gain more traction. I think most people would love to just peacefully exist in their own circles but I don’t see this problem between dynamics disappearing anytime soon.

Like I said with the above Anon, I've added paragraph breaks for ND readers.

What a mess.

I have absolutely nothing useful to say here about the fandom on AO3 and how it's managed by community members, but I do think it's unfortunate that people choose to be war-like rather than make space for diverse voices, and I think it's a real shame that some people have been essentially run out of the fandom because of this garbage.

Thanks for giving some context for how/why the major shift in tone of fan fic lately. I had no idea any of this was going on.

I urge people to work hard to give space for all voices and perspectives, and not just the ones they favor. I'd also urge people to reflect on how their thoughts, behavior and actions in the fandom might affect queer people in the fandom.

As always, we have no control over what other people do, say or think. All we have any control over is how we respond to what other people do, say or think. Hopefully we'll chose the path of peace and try to avoid fan wars or fights that only ruin the experience for everyone.

I guess one thing I'd ask any of the Anons who have written me about this issue - or anyone who has thoughts about it - is, what can we as readers/fans who care about diversity of voices and perspectives do to support that here and on AO3, without getting involved in any kind of war?