#i hate statistics. why did it have to pan out this way | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

quidfree · 3 years

Note

prompt: tdbk in a post-apocalyptic setting (HEHEH)

self-servicing AND a helping hand to a friend in need, we love a good strat

this got incredibly out of hand but i hope you enjoy!!

it’s been two months and five days since he last saw someone that katsuki lays eyes on him. two months and five days, and yes, he is fucking keeping score, why wouldn’t he be?

two months and five days is long. two months and five days is long enough that he’s taken up the habit of muttering to himself to fill the air, because dead silence makes him paranoid, always expecting sudden interruption, and he chooses to ignore the fact that muttering to himself is a quirk he might have picked up elsewhere. jesus. if deku, scrawny and asthmatic and perennially, psychotically self-sacrificing, is somehow still alive, he thinks he might be glad to see him again, just out of sheer disbelief.

there’s other people he’d be glad to see. perfect timing, for the zombie apocalypse to erupt right when he’d been on a summer internship in tokyo. to think the old crone had been bitching about it before he’d left- don’t get mugged on the underground, all that shit. like he was some hare-brained tourist. like people didn’t expect him to mug them. whatever. he thinks his parents are safer, out in a smaller city, than anyone has been in tokyo, tells himself it’s not blind hope that makes him explain the radio silence away. it’s statistics, and the geography of the outbreak, and the memory of his mother beating a would-be pickpocket over the head with her shoe until he passed out.

six months ago he’d first walked into his cramped rental flat in tokyo, barely the space to unroll his mat. six days later the pandemic had begun. slowly, first, confusingly, two weeks of shadowing jeanist to court and back while the news got increasingly weirder, and then by the third things took a turn for the fucked, and his parents were calling frantically telling him to come home stat, but by then it was too late. tokyo’s the new york of japan- in sci-fi movies it’s always struck first. the city was on lockdown before he could so much as book a flight out.

that was five months ago. by four and a half his phone carrier service had gone dead.

he doesn’t like to linger on anything, but he especially doesn’t like to linger on what happened between the start and the middle of it, the slow descent from incomprehending disbelief into hell on earth. he doesn’t throw the term around- not one for flowery prose. for the first while there’d been something almost rewarding to it, the whole survival strategy, him and the interns and lawyers at jeanist’s office taking scope of their resources and planning their ways out. now it’s been two months and five days since he’s run into anyone alive, he fails to see the bright side.

the media called them the infected, or the walkers, or some other dumb shit, but everyone knows they’re zombies. it’s some kind of chemical weapon- americans, if you ask him- that’s mutated them, but they’re zombies by anyone’s definition. lumbering, decaying, dead, very keen on extending the invitation. the first time he’d seen one up close- whatever. he’d killed it. he’s killed so many by now he’s lost count, and that’s not an exaggeration. these days he’s not so big on those.

the office had been overrun, in the end. some of the other interns, panicking. bitten. dead. jeanist had held them off while katsuki dragged hysterical staffers out of the window, and the last he’s seen of the man he was catching his unflappable gaze as the doors burst open and jeanist slammed the window shut.

they’d scattered. maybe he would have stayed on, tried the group thing out of a sense of responsibility alone, but there were too many subgroups for him to rotate around. he’d split off, eventually, cut his losses. sometimes he catches someone he recognises walking the streets, wonders when and how and what. he’s still never seen jeanist. he thinks probably he offed himself.

if it ever comes to it that’s what he’s doing. he has a gun ready for it. one bullet. in the apartment he’d stayed in for a while, some forensic doctor’s place, he’d studied the angle that worked best. straight through the temples, angled down.

then there had been that thing with the league. he doesn’t want to think about that, but he does, constantly, because that’s how he knows. two months and five days. the last person he spoke to was that fucking girl.

like zombies weren’t enough- criminals who fancy themselves cultists roam the streets in packs. it’s like every shitty blockbuster movie he’s never bothered to see packed into one.

two months. five days. there’s no way of communicating with the outside world. after he’d shaken off the league he’d had jack shit on him- lost his bag in the initial fight, and his apartment was a lost cause. in the end he’d made his way back to the firm, but that had been a literal dead end too. he’d managed to retrieve, of all things, his phone, skirting the streets around the firm, probably dropped in their original escape. it’s functionally useless but he’s managed to charge it once or twice, stare at old photos and texts that fail to send. he has nothing else of his own except the clothes he’d worn that last day with jeanist.

he’s remade his belongings, obviously. he’s competent, as it turns out, in apocalypses. somehow it doesn’t surprise him. he works out a routine. when he’d first found a hole to burrow himself in post-league he’d spent days just picking up patterns- when, who, from where, how. once he was entirely sure he’d gotten it down to a science he’d risked it back out, mapping the area out incrementally, one rotation at a time. two months and five days in he has it down to an art instead.

he moved regularly for the first month post-league, avoiding anywhere that seemed inhabited by zombies and people alike. can’t trust anyone, and besides it’s way too much of a liability having other people around to get themselves bitten. he can look after himself, but he’s not signing up for charity work. by the second month he’d found his current address, the top floor of a mid-rise apartment complex in meguro city. apartment complexes are risky, but this one’s door locks are still functional, and once he’d cleared out the ground floor and made the rounds to check for stragglers he’d wagered it about as secure as it could get. the stairs are a bitch, but the zombies don’t like them either, preferring to straggle in lobbies, and for another thing the height is convenient. the roof’s close by for a way out, and it gives him a good view of the surroundings.

the apartment itself is nothing special. residential. he picked the cleanest one, which also meant the one half-moved out in a hurry. he pretends like he thinks the owners got out but he spotted a suitcase with their name abandoned in the elevator. the guy was a teacher at the university. the woman was in sales. it’s decent for a tokyo flat, two bedrooms, a bathroom, good kitchen, nice living area. the fridge had been full of expired goods, but the shelves had some cans in them- soup, rice, beans. pots and pans. he’s been working through the floors of the place one room at a time taking inventory, lugging the useful shit back up. nothing beyond the strictly practical- he takes food, medecine, clothes, someone’s watch once, binoculars. he’s not making a home for himself, just stocking up. he sleeps with his bag on his back, the essentials locked and loaded. the gun was an apartment find too.

his biggest problem is transport. he recognised this early on, because so could anyone with half a brain. tokyo’s teeming with public transports overrun by the undead, cars abandoned on the streets, but the actual streets are packed day in and day out. whatever movie said zombies hate the sun was full of shit, because as far as he can tell the only time they actually react to the weather is when it rains. all night and day they’re shuffling in tireless motions around the city, gaining numbers. there’s a rhythm to it, sure- they’re more sluggish at night- but it’s an incessant flow. he can’t drive a car, has found no convenient manual stored nearby, and google went and croaked on him when the electricity did, so there’s no way he can just take advantage of a lull and jump in. by the time he’s figured out how to get any given vehicle to start he’ll be surrounded. even if he could find a way in, there’s no way out- driving through streets packed with zombies is a doomed exercise, especially given that half of the cars in the city are busted or low on fuel.

his current plan involves boats. he’s not sure if zombies can swim yet, but they don’t like the rain so he’s betting no, and even if they do they’d fare no better than a human at climbing a boat from the waters below it. if he can make it to tokyo bay somehow- at least off the coast there’ll be room to manoeuvre. but he needs to figure out the basics of ship-operating first, and also to relocate his supplies nearer to the bay somehow. if he ends up on the open seas he’ll need the food to last him the journey.

so he’s been doing this. rounds, collecting shit. taking inventory. scoping the streets out. he spends the nights planning, the early mornings reading. there’s no power in the building. it’s freezing. six months since his internship, winter rolling in. if he gets to tokyo bay the waters will be frigid, but the sea doesn’t freeze over.

his biggest concern at the moment is hypothermia, if he’s being honest. he’s collected every fucking duvet in the building, it feels like, but there’s only so much he can bury himself under. he’d be warmer if he didn’t insist on bathing in melted snow, but he went so long without washing in autumn that he fucking refuses to waste the opportunity. he smells like some ridiculous apple berry blast bullshit because he’s cycling through shampoos, but sometimes he thinks he’s only sane when he’s brushing his teeth in the mornings so he’s not about to let up on the hygiene.

three and a half months ago he was meant to be back at school. he has no idea what’s happened to his classmates. most of them were home for the summer. he thinks yaoyorozu was abroad. lucky her. kirishima was the last he heard from, all suppressed terror, and even now it makes him feel sick to think about it, because he knows full well the asshole was scared for him. sometimes he thinks about what it would have been like facing this shit as a group, but he never dwells on it. he’s better off alone.

he’s cold. he’s tired. he needs to get to the nearest library, because no one in the building has shit about boats. he doesn’t want to leave the building yet, but he needs a book. can’t go into this shit blind, not without knowing what he’ll need once he gets there. and besides he needs to stay sharp on the streets- get back into the swing of it, literally. one month since he moved in and he’s barely seen a zombie in the rotting flesh. the doors have been holding up, and he’s far up enough that none of the regulars outside can smell him, decide to unionize and break the door down.

he’s had an assortment of weapons, since the start of this. most effective was the gun, also a heavy chair once. his trusty hockey stick had snapped on his way into the building, a month ago, leaving him to fend the last three tenants off with goldfish bowls and doors to the neck. he’s found a sturdy baseball bat since that he’s claimed as new weapon of choice, though never used. he takes this, when he goes. the bat, the backpack that never leaves his back, the longest coat he can find in his collection. not the heaviest, despite the biting cold, because that restrains movement, but the longest, to minimize contact. hat and gloves for the same reason. balaklava just for the cold.

the apartment is empty as he winds his way down, footsteps loud, and it’s dusk- just late enough that the zombies are slower, though not late enough that it really makes a difference. it’s be too dark if it were; he’s trying to save flashlights for real emergencies.

the setagaya library is the only actual library near him, as the maps inform him, but too far to risk. in the address book he finds a local bookshop three blocks away, and it’s there that he heads, already cold to the bone as he grits his teeth and locks the complex door assiduously behind him. there are zombies just across the street beginning to moan in his direction. he ignores them, breaking into a jog.

maybe because their blood doesn’t flow to their brains, maybe because their muscles are deteriorating: zombies aren’t incredibly fast or incredibly intelligent. what they are is resilient, and single-minded. but outrun them and outsmart them he can, and so he does- runs the paths he’s memorized, sticks to corners and shadows and scales ladders and crosses rooftops and just about manages to get to the street in question without even having to swing his bat.

once he gets there, though, he gets swinging. the bookshop is in an unfortunate position, and there’s an entire group parked in front of it. he lets them spot him first, so they break off in his direction, then climbs onto the overturned truck they’ve shifted to and springs back down into the doorframe of the bookshop, kicking the door in before they can register his itinerary. he slams it shut just before a greying hand scratches at it in outrage, heart pounding a steady tattoo, then glances around rapidly. no sign of life, but that means nothing.

there is, then, an unmistakable jingling sound from the very back corner of the room, behind rows and rows of antique-looking books. keys, or metal on metal. movement.

company, katsuki thinks, between anticipation and trepidation. his bat sits comfortably in his hands as he raises it.

jingling, closer, and he moves in on instinct, breathing feeling loud as he brushes past the anthropology section. he can just about see around the corner when a sudden sixth sense makes him whip around, bat swinging down heavily, and just in the nick of time- wood connects with metal, hard, knocking him back a pace as his teeth snap together from the impact, but he’s swinging again in self-defense just as there’s a sharp intake of breath and his brain catches up- red, white, painfully familiar. the bat makes an aborted spasm.

“bakugou,” shouto todoroki says, in disbelieving tones, crowbar lowered but not dropped. katsuki gapes.

“am i fucking hallucinating?”

the crowbar lowers further.

it is him, unmistakably. maybe with someone else he would have hesitated longer, but todoroki's hard not to single out. his red-white hair is tousled, long behind his ears like he's absently tucked it and forgotten about it, and he's grimy, smells sour and dusty, but it's him. katsuki's own hands stay gripped around the bat, their gazes playing some odd symmetrical game as they catalogue each other for the same exact thing- looking for bite-marks. todoroki's less covered than katsuki is, but there's blood on him, old, dried. too old for recent bites, anyways. inconclusive.

"what are you doing in-" todoroki starts, maybe having concluded that there's no way to assess his status with the layers he has on, but then his frown twists. "oh. your internship?"

which answers katsuki's own question, sort of, because now that he thinks of it enji was on that high-profile murder case in the high court. still- still, his brain is stuck on the incongruity of it, shouto todoroki in the apparently living flesh, and it's been two months and five days. he just keeps staring.

"i came for a book," is what leaves his lips, eventually, rough, and his voice sounds hoarse with disuse. it jars him into action, moving past todoroki on auto-pilot, because somehow he can't quite register his presence, doesn't know where to begin. he wasn't factoring this into his day.

it's dark inside, books hard to discern, so he gets his flashlight out, hits it against a shelf so it alights. there's a section on travel near the back. nautical travels of the eastern seas. useless. a map book of the japanese seas- maybe. he mechanically slides it into his bag. his fingers feel rigid. he's still cold. what the fuck is shouto todoroki doing holed up in a bookstore? where is his father? how long has he been here? what is he doing, alive, talking, walking, in the apocalypse, ambling into katsuki's routine with a crowbar in hand?

he can't see or hear him at all. now he's back here he can tell the ringing was rigged up- tiny trap-wires set around the store, what looks like fishing wire with bells attached. smart. of course it is. he's losing his mind. where has the bastard gone? is he even here? it's fucking freezing in the bookstore. where does he sleep? he hadn't looked starving. actually he hadn't looked anything- just blank as usual, barring the surprise. fuck! he's been staring at the same book for a good thirty seconds without registering the title.

beginner's guide to boating. miraculous. he nearly breaks todoroki's kneecaps when he sees his legs appear silently next to him.

"fuck! don't sneak up on me, you asshole!"

"boats," todoroki says. "that's your plan?"

it makes him flare hot with something like rage, because he doesn't fucking want input on it, doesn't want to be told odds, and it has him on his feet, slamming todoroki back into the opposite bookshelf within seconds.

"mind your own damn business!"

todoroki seems mildly startled at best, shifting a little so a book isn't digging into his neck, and for a moment katsuki is distracted by the scalding warmth of him under his arm. he doesn't know when he last came into contact with a living body. it's disorienting. he thinks probably it was the senior partner who fell down the stairs, minutes before the zombies swarmed the lobby, pulse skittering frantically with fear.

he drops todoroki, steps back. two months five days. maybe he's gone a little crazy.

whatever! whatever. he's fully functioning, he has his book, he's leaving. he's going to be off-schedule at this rate, times gone muddy with distraction. even without touching him he feels like there's residue warmth on his palm, making the rest of him shiver by contrast. if the zombies could have just gotten properly active in summer...

he's halfway to the door when he remembers- again- todoroki is actually there, watching him inscrutably from the bookshelf, swaying a little on his feet. despite himself he turns to stare back. he doesn't know what to- this wasn't in the plan, he doesn't know. he's going anyways.

it's because he's staring-cum-glaring at todoroki that he sees his eyes widen, and then he's leaping forwards on instinct as the window in the door shatters, decaying arm bursting through as loud moaning suddenly fills the dead silence.

"shit!"

"it's because there's two of us," todoroki reasons, in a tone like he's annoyed with himself for not realising this, which would make katsuki feel marginally better about his own stupid lack of thought if he wasn't so pissed. he'd counted on the zombies losing interest on his presence once he was out of sight, but the smell of two live humans in close proximity would obviously keep some of them near.

"is there another way out of this place?"

"back entrance, but it leads into a dead-end alley," todoroki retorts, suddenly functioning, eyeing the creaking door as thumping intensifies from the other side. "there's a way to scale onto the drain-pipe above but it wasn't made to take two people's weight."

"shit," katsuki curses, feelingly. "where's the drain-pipe lead?"

"roof. i don't know if either of us could scale it fast enough for the other to follow before they get there."

katsuki looks at him, crouched calmly stacking something or other into a loose duffel bag, rusty crowbar by his feet, then looks back to the groaning door. his gut tightens with a sort of pissed off fatalism.

"how long 'd it take you to get to the roof? five minutes?"

"i could do it in three, maybe less," todoroki estimates. "it's slower with the frost."

three minutes. katsuki hoists the bat higher, takes a step then two back from the door.

"fine. go. i'll follow."

"bakugou-"

"it's the most logical fucking plan of action," katsuki snaps, eyes still on the door, adrenaline spiking. "if you get up there before i get outside i can make it to the drainpipe before anyone nabs me. i can hold them off for three fucking minutes. and you're the one who knows the way up. you go."

"i know," todoroki says, which makes katsuki glance back at him, finds his face set with nothing but fixed determination. "i was going to say to give me your bag. it'll make it easier to climb."

there's something about this that makes katsuki's head briefly thud with something like a pounding headache, lungs gone tight, but he refocuses, blinks away the dizzy spell. the last fucking thing he wants is to give the bag away, but unless the plan goes as hoped he's dead anyways, so there's no point in arguing.

he shrugs his backpack off, slides the gun out, shoves it into his back pocket. todoroki fastens the straps around his shoulders without comment, then turns and runs, not wasting any time. it makes something in him-

the door breaks in.

there's five of them at least, the ones from before. the first one goes down with a direct hit to the head, skull caving in with a crunching sound, but he has to retreat immediately, make them spread out of their pack formation as he zig-zags back through the rows of books. they're slower than humans but not slow, breaking into a fast paced shuffle after him; he turns a sharp corner, doubles back as fast as he can to catch a second one from behind. crack, snap. the one in front lunges back before he can swing again, sending him running back; he jumps onto the seller's counter, dodging an arm, then brings the bat down full-force onto the zombie's neck. three. there's another one nearing the broken door, the other two circling back to the front at the commotion. he jumps over the counter, ducking under an arm, knocks into the nearest bookshelf with all of his weight, sending it sprawling towards the door, books flying and frame landing awkwardly across the doorframe. it doesn't block entry, but it befuddles the would-be incomers.

there's an arm grabbing his shoulder; he dodges a gaping mouth, bat spinning to hit at the rotting jaw, once, twice, bones splintering decisively on the second hit, but the last straggler is on him and the others are crawling in through the door. he runs, down to the back of the store, nearly trips over todoroki's traps himself as he goes, miraculously jumps clean of them as his pursuers stumble. it gives him the seconds to jump up to the back portion of the shop, grab a nearby chair and throw it at the advancing huddle, knocking them back a step, then turn sharply into a row, sprinting down to the back of the room where the emergency exit sign hangs half-broken. it's closed, likely behind todoroki, but he slams through it before any of the zombies near, staggers at the sharp gust of cold air that hits once he's out. the sun is nearly set, casting a red haze over the alley, and there's a pack of six zombies right beneath the glinting drainpipe, still trailing after todoroki's scent, moaning around the corner signalling backup. fuck.

there's a loud scraping from above, then todoroki's head appears over the edge of the roof, something grey and unwieldy in his hands; a satellite dish comes falling down, catching speed as it goes. it hits the pack dead-centre, crushing two of the zombies into pieces on impact, others reeling backwards in confusion, and he doesn't have the time to question his odds four-on-one. he runs in while they're still dazed, beats one into the wall, head splattering, turns and swings into the second as it zeroes in on him, head collapsing inward and drenching him in blood. the other two are too close to hit; he twists, jumps back, curses, eyes the alley entry where others have scented blood. fucking- no, two on one, god, he's not dying two on one, not after the bullshit he's been through. he kicks heavily into the one's chest, just missing the hand trying to nab his ankle, which sends it knocking into the other, and like that they're just aligned enough that he yells and slams the bat through the first one's head, in three rapid blows, hitting the one behind it on the third as bits of skull go flying. it's not enough to take it out; he hits again, manic, and it gets him on the second go. then he's scrambling to the drain pipe, mindful of the others closing in, shoves his bat down the back of his shirt and under his waistband before he throws himself at the drainpipe.

"brace against the wall," todoroki calls, almost in the moment he does so, hands slip-sliding on the damp pipe as his boots hit concrete; there are arms nearing, outstretched, but he bunches his stomach and drags himself up, feet first then arms, side of his arm scraping heavily against the wall as he moves almost horizontally upwards, fingers clenched around metal. the fucking gloves are no help; he pauses, braced and shaking with tension, to rip his gloves off with his teeth, one hand then the next, dropping to the floor below as his bare palms hit the freezing metal.

he's so cold it hurts, but he's halfway up the wall. methodically he moves. one foot. other foot. one hand. other hand. stomach muscles, straining, arms pulling. up a fraction. then another. then another.

"wait," todoroki says, closer than he feels, and he glances up for the first time, finds him an arm and a half's length away. "you'll slide at the top."

"then what the fuck do you suggest i do?" katsuki bites, half a yell, too strained to scream. todoroki leans, heavy, arms outstretched.

"do one more. then take my hand."

katsuki wishes he could spit on him. todoroki's expression has gone tight like he knows what he's thinking, like he's not sure katsuki won't let himself fall all the way down rather than put himself into the uncalloused hands of shouto todoroki.

the pipe creaks. katsuki moves up, ignores the way his blood boils, eyes the outstretched hands. he can hear todoroki breathing, hot against the cold air.

"drop me and i'll turn you."

he braces. one hand leaves the pipe, and for a godawful moment he's grasping at nothing. their hands connect, rearrange themselves; todoroki has a death-like grip on his wrist. his foot slides. the second hand is thrown rather than extended, and todoroki's eyes flash alarmingly as their fingers brush and miss, but he doesn't fall, hangs there by an arm for a heartbeat, jolt like he's dislocated his shoulder before his boot catches something and he shoves upwards, todoroki grabbing hold of his hand and yanking full-body at him.

katsuki falls over the top of the roof in disjointed movements, the both of them half-hitting each other as momentum carries them down, lands with an elbow in todoroki's stomach and a hit of tile to the jaw.

his head spins; he shoves up immediately, falls back down when his arms protest, adrenaline pounding hysterically. his limbs are shaking with belated exertion. todoroki is still holding his wrists, punishingly tight, his breaths heavy nearby. his body is still hot beneath him.

he scrabbles backwards, onto his knees, todoroki dropping his hands and dragging himself up to his elbows. for a moment they stare at each other, panting loudly.

he wants to yell at him but the words don't come. two months, five days. it's not even todoroki's fault, really. he was living there unperturbed. there's a flush of exertion over his cheeks now, and maybe he's just gone crazy what with the constant thinking about unbeating hearts but he feels a little obsessively interested in the visible flow of blood beneath his skin, wants him pink all over if that'll prove him living a minute longer.

he shakes himself, exhales in a burst.

"are you all right?" todoroki asks, and up close katsuki realises his voice is hoarser too. in the shop he'd been too dumbstruck to register it, but it's there beneath his normal cadence, a scratchy undertone. he hasn't spoken in a while either. something about it-

all right, he'd asked. unbitten, he means. katsuki shakes his head.

"we need to get going."

he hadn't meant the 'we', but he thinks at some point when todoroki's fingers dug into his arm hard enough to pierce flesh the message had gotten under his skin too. they're not fucking splitting up now. of course they're not. this isn't model un or a baseball match; it doesn't matter that the guy drives him insane. and this is todoroki, too- excruciatingly hyper-competent at every challenge life throws at him. if there's anyone less likely to rely on katsuki for the next however-long until one of them is forced to shoot the other, he hasn't met them.

"where?"

"my place. 's not far. how d'you get down from here?"

"the next building over has a fire-escape."

"fine. let's go then."

todoroki hands him back his backpack. he hits his bat against the wall to shake some bits of bone and flesh off, eyes unfocused on the task. he thinks desensitisation is the word. it's maybe the third or fourth time he's fought them off without registering anything about them once. usually he gets stuck on some detail or other, schoolgirl shirt or smile wrinkles. freckles. proof of life. there's that movie he watched once with kirishima and the rest of them, some kind of sci-fic thing, and at the end when the monsters come the dad shoots his whole family dead to spare them. turns out it's the military instead, come to rescue them. kirishima had cried.

questions pile up in his throat. he forces them down.

they jump from the rooftop to the next with relative ease, the gap narrow, his foot just catching on the edge before he rights himself. the fire escape is solid where the drain pipe wasn't. he wonders how in the fuck todoroki ended up here, in some old bookstore.

he's gotten good at scaling shit. he thinks in another life he'd have made a top-grade gymnast, or a superhero. when he'd broken out of the league's hold he'd made a spiderman worthy leap onto a clothes-line.

they make it back to the apartment as the sun vanishes, late, and because they're late his perfect scheduling is off, leaves them facing a pack of easily a dozen zombies swarming around the doors. there's another way in through the side, but it requires forcing a door open that he doesn't have keys for, and that means an entry-risk.

"i'll clear a way to the door," he says, hoisting his bat higher. "you keep them off my back."

todoroki follows his gaze, nods.

they advance in the dark, close together, and it's bizarre having someone breathing down his neck after so long, makes him on edge, expecting a bite that never comes. when the first zombie starts turning their way he breaks into a run, brings the bat down fast and heavy so it connects with a sick thud, flashlight clicking to life where he holds it between his teeth. it blinds one zombie long enough that he gets it too, and then it's chaos, flashlight swinging drunkenly as he batters this way and that, fighting off the clawing arms with irate kicks and loud swearing. if there's one thing he fucking loathes about the apocalypse it's how touchy-feely everyone is, all endlessly grasping hands and drooling maws straining for a piece of him. it makes his skin crawl, which makes him see red, which makes him go through fights like this, all furious movement, too keyed up to feel afraid. he never goes into a fight expecting to lose.

behind him, around him, wet crunching and moans track todoroki closing the pack; in off-beat synchronisation they move their way through the group, dropping bodies as they go. he's by the door before he knows it, light catching the heavy glass, switches the bat to one hand as he drags out the keys. the first time he'd gotten in the door had been open; his luckiest find since was the functioning key, sealing him out of harm's way. he's efficient with it, no fumbling, has it in and open in the time todoroki exhales sort of shortly as their backs connect. bakugou yanks the key out in the same movement he grabs blindly at todoroki's collar with his bat-holding hand, hooking a finger to swing him through the door and diving after him to slam the door shut on a wrist, bone snapping and the hand falling limply to the floor as they put their weight on the door for as long as it takes him to lock it again.

todoroki's crowbar is sopping red, guts in his hair; he casts a look around, doesn't even ask if katsuki thinks the door will hold, if katsuki has thought of their scent luring zombies in. most people would have.

he has, obviously. thought of it. that's why he lives on the top floor. the scent doesn't linger. doesn't matter if there's two of them up there. the door holds for as long as the stragglers press up against it, but as soon as they're out of sight the zombies will drift again.

they make their way up the stairs. he's warmer now, purely from the exercise. heat rises. another reason he lives at the top. doesn't feel like it when he's freezing his ass off at night, but he knows his science.

they make it to the top floor in silence, and he pushes his door open (unlocked, this one, because by the point anyone reaches him up here he'll be long gone), goes for the camping lamp on the floor, trudges along with it in hand. remembers his houseguest.

"kitchen's there. there's a bathroom. two rooms. living room. no power or running water but i have some water in the bathtub if you want to wash."

"it's nice," todoroki says, and the worst thing is he sounds like he means it, almost politely. it makes katsuki stop dead to look at him, struck again by how unreal it all feels, but it almost feels reassuringly normal, staring at todoroki in disbelief. in the bad lighting he looks otherworldly, even despite the filth and zombie gunk he's covered in, all half-lit and angelic like something out of a hazy dream.

"i can't fucking believe it's actually you, half 'n half."

it escapes him unthinkingly, but it's true, and besides that it has the unforeseen consequence of making todoroki's composure fracture, shoulders rising and falling on a mute laugh, exhausted wryness in the tilt of his head. for a split second his gaze is dizzyingly and uncharacteristically frank, almost intimate.

"the feeling is mutual."

if the moment stretches he might do something wholly deranged; he rolls his aching shoulder, gestures to the bathroom.

"you go first. you reek."

todoroki says his thanks to his back as he retreats.

he returns to routine. strips, despite how fucking cold he is, wraps his shoulder tight enough that it hurts, rubs alcohol onto the more worrying cuts and scrapes. drags some bedding to the second room, then drags himself to the kitchen, shivering, mentally redoing his maths, then pulling out his notebook to jot down the edited stock. pauses, hesitates. in the margin under the date he writes: found half 'n half. it's not a diary, but he feels like he should make note.

todoroki appears silently in the doorframe, wrapped in a towel and scrubbed red, and there's something reassuring about how clean he looks, balanced out by how disturbing it is to see him so casually bare. he's barely glanced up at him that he drops the towel.

"the fuck-"

todoroki just turns in a neat 360, then wraps himself back up. katsuki snaps his jaw shut, ears burning but head clear. no bites. right. the previous times- whatever. reluctantly he stands and turns. when todoroki eyes his boxers he glares.

"you don't think you would have noticed if i got bitten on the dick today?"

he's not entirely sure todoroki won't fight him on it, but he concedes after a moment's assessing stare, shifts from foot to foot.

"you can have some of my shit to wear," katsuki says, pointing to the wardrobe he's requisitioned. "some of it's too big. should fit."

todoroki just nods, follows suit.

he wonders, as he scrubs himself down with a bucketful of water, teeth chattering and bath-tub still half full, if todoroki was always so goddamn quiet or if he's traumatised or some shit. the guy was always the annoying silent type, but he doesn't remember him this monosyllabic. habit, probably. what does he know.

he dresses, layers up, shoves his dirty clothes with todoroki's in the basket. when it fills he'll dunk the whole lot into a tub of his used water, but until there's that many dirty clothes he leaves them out.

todoroki is sat on the couch wrapped in blankets and wearing someone's dad's heavy knitwear, illuminated by (of all things) a gas lamp that katsuki had found but never managed to light. so the asshole has matches.

"you hungry?" katsuki asks, really only to make him speak. todoroki nods, counter-productively, but he's talking next.

"don't waste your food on me."

"shut up, asshole," katsuki mutters, on instinct, fatigue setting into him. jesus. the martyrs he's surrounded with. "you can make the next grocery run."

todoroki only looks at him longly, but he follows him into the kitchen, eats the cold soup without complaint. he likes cold food, katsuki thinks, then stops at the thought. he has no idea how he knows it. it feels like a memory from a different life. he likes cold food. like that matters.

it's not very late, though it's pitch black out. he goes to bed early these days to make the most of the sunlight. he's not sure what to do with todoroki, though rationally that's not his concern.

he can't find it in himself to ask the obvious questions. it's partly because he doesn't want to hear the answers and partly because he doesn't want to have to give his own. it's not like they were fucking bosom buddies before this all went down- he's past hating the guy, despite how unbearable he finds him, would call them something adjacent to friends under duress, but it's not like they make a point of hanging out outside of class. and todoroki's a terrible conversationalist, always.

even so. two months, five days. he wants to talk, if only for the pleasure of getting to call him a superior bastard, if only to know that he's still the same confounding weirdo whose face he wears. it's not even the words, really- he wants to hear a pulse beat near him, to catch alert eyes on his, to watch his chest rise and fall. alive.

he can't believe the asshole stripped naked like that. pale flesh all over, but not that diseased grey tint, just regular winter cold, like the inside of a peach. bruises and scratches littering his limbs. nasty half-healed scar like someone had tried to gut him with a knife.

his lips are peeling when he licks them. he found vaseline in someone's drawer but he uses it sparingly. whenever he goes outside his lips crack to the point of blood. against the glow of the stove he can see only half of his new flatmate where he sits surveying his newly clean crowbar.

"what's in the duffel?"

he'd have bristled more at the invasion, pragmatic though it is, but todoroki only shifts obligingly to raise it to his lap.

"medical kit- bandages, aspirin, tweezers, needle and thread. three water bottles. instant noodles. biscuits. matchbox. a city map. a change of shoes. a space blanket. my wallet. wire. rope. an alarm clock. a mechanic's manual." he pauses, feels around, drags out a glass bottle. "this."

it's vodka, of all the things. katsuki half wants to laugh.

"you drink now?"

"kept me warm," todoroki shrugs. which is, maybe, all there is to it. maybe not.

"i'll run you through inventory in the morning," katsuki says, if reluctantly. best todoroki knows what they have on hand, despite how little he feels like letting him into his notebook. it's not like he's deku, writing down his little feelings all over it, but it feels revealing anyways, for todoroki to know what he's been tracking.

there's nothing else for them to talk about without heading into dangerous territory. todoroki packs his things back into the bag, careful, and katsuki is sick of his own weird emotional breakdown, doesn't know where this sudden needy cloying bullshit is even coming from.

two months five days, his brain says, chipper, and then offers to rewind the days preceding that. he hisses through his teeth before he remembers he has company.

"i'm going to bed. 's fuck all to do without wasting light. stay high up if you want to go exploring."

todoroki has gone back to muteness, because he only nods as katsuki glowers at nothing in particular and makes his way back to his room, unhappy at the sight of his diminished bedding. it's not like he's actually able to use the whole apartment's bedding anyways- too unwieldy, too heavy, whatever- but the three duvets and two quilts had been working well enough to insulate him against the chill, and with two sacrificed he's resigned to a night of tossing and turning.

fuck his life. he thinks maybe the reason he's been having these fits of weirdness across the days is just fatigue. between the nightmares and the cold and the actual zombie break-ins over the past six months he doesn't think he's managed a single night's good sleep beyond the times he's blacked out. he feels untethered, at times both more and less emotional than he's used to being.

no surprise that having a real life human being around- and one that he knows at that- is making him almost ill with conflicting urges. part of him wants to lock todoroki out in a cold sweat and never lay eyes on him again. part of him wants to cut him open and grab at his beating heart just to confirm he's not alone. the rest of him lies there wondering what the fuck is wrong with his brain.

he lies there for maybe an hour trying to get to sleep, but his mind has kicked into overdrive in the way that it does every goddamn night nowadays, replaying scenes he didn't even notice in the moment. one of the zombies by the bookstore had barely reached his shoulder. when he'd washed his bat there had been bits of an eye clinging to the base.

he's too busy being cold and annoyed and possibly hysterical to notice the soft footfall until it's close, jerking up on instinct to brandish his bat, but he can tell by the moonlight filtering in slivers through his blinds that it's todoroki, if the lack of shuffling hadn't given it away.

"what the hell is wrong with you?"

"i didn't mean to startle you," todoroki says. monotone, but in an off way, almost dreamy, like he's asleep. it makes katsuki's skin prickle with foreboding; he stares at the little he can see of his face, alert now.

"then what do you want?"

"you sound cold," todoroki says. still in the doorframe, unmoving. he wishes there was more light.

"it's the middle of winter, jackass, of course i'm cold. can you fuck off?"

"my father is dead," todoroki says, completely unprompted, voice not changing in timbre in the slightest, and it makes katsuki's heart jump before he sits fully upright, trying harder to make his face out.

enji todoroki, gone. he guesses he'd known that on some level, for todoroki to be roaming around like a ghost, but it doesn't compute. jesus. maybe todoroki's actually fucking lost it since. he imagines two months and five days tracking back to losing his father, feels that gut-punch of paralysis in his stomach.

he's so caught on processing it that he doesn't even register todoroki is climbing into the bed before he's halfway under the sheets.

"what the fuck are you doing?" his voice half-breaks on it, rising in sheer disbelief as he jerks violently back, because seriously- there's insane and there's insane, and he's starting to suspect todoroki is so out of it he'd snap his neck in his sleep.

todoroki has the audacity to shush him, distracted, and it takes katsuki actually grabbing him hard by the shoulder, braced to hit at the slightest flicker of intent, to stop him in his tracks.

"hey, asshole, i'm talking to you! are you out of your goddamn mind?"

where he's stopped now todoroki's one eye catches the moonlight, big and dark and eerie. he blinks slowly like he's coming out of a trance.

"oh, i-" he pauses. his pulse is sluggish under katsuki's hands, skin fire-hot. feverish, maybe. shit. feverish, very possibly. he'd had no layers in that shitty bookshop. "sorry."

he says it like he's not sure he means it. katsuki doesn't let up with his grip.

"how long you been sick, icyhot?"

"sick," todoroki repeats, processing it. his gaze sharpens. "days. i think maybe- what day is it?"

"wednesday. thirteenth."

"six days, then," todoroki says, quiet. their gazes catch, more consciously now. "i'm fine. the adrenaline helped."

"sit still," katsuki warns, and then pulls up quickly, shrugs his backpack off, digs out the medical kit. he has a decent stock of medicine in the apartment, enough that he only hesitates a beat before pulling out the advil bottle, unscrewing the cap to fill it. he knows the dosage by heart. "drink."

he nearly drops the whole bottle when todoroki just obediently sticks his mouth to the rim of the cap instead of taking it himself, hot breath fanning over his fingers as he drinks. it makes his own pulse go skittering with discomfort when he fills it a second time, brandishes it back. the cap is sticky and wet when he screws it back on; todoroki is still half-sitting where he told him to when he's done his bag up and slid it back onto his back.

"why'd you tell me about your dad just then?" katsuki asks, despite himself, if only to fill the silence.

"did i?" todoroki asks, on an exhale, visible eye swivelling to him. "i don't know. i was thinking about the cold, i think. he wasn't cold in the end."

he resists the urge to check his temperature. probably it got worse once he tried to go to sleep, all the residue adrenaline gone. it can't have been peaking all day, or they'd have never made it out in the first place. and it's not from a bite. just a fever. he's medicated. he'll sleep it off.

"i'm not crazy," todoroki informs him, suddenly cool, not so hazy. "just sick. i could hear you tossing and turning. that's why i came."

"why're you in my bed?" katsuki shoots back, on the edge of combative, not really. maybe he's a little relieved. he's a lot pissed off, even though he knows todoroki probably genuinely didn't realise what a state he was in the last week, might have actually been trying to make sense of his fluctuating mood himself. no shit he'd been so weird when they first ran into each other.

"i'm not sure," todoroki admits. "it seemed important at the time."

this makes him want to laugh, though he doesn't. the cracked-open raw part of him that still smarts loudly whenever he thinks of jeanist thinks he missed him somehow.

"glad we solved that mystery. get out now."

todoroki makes to move, stops when they're facing each other, blue eye white-pale on his. "actually i remember now, i think."

"i swear to god, half 'n half..."

"you're cold," todoroki repeats, factual, then back to floaty. "and i couldn't hear..."

he doesn't expect him to do what he does, which is why he doesn't stop him when he puts a too-hot palm directly over his heart, doesn't even pull back when he pushes, knocking him onto the bed.

"todoroki-"

"it's fine," todoroki says, scratchy, sweat-warm. he slides onto his own side in a heavy, graceless motion. face to face, half an arm between them, palm stuck to his chest. "it's fine."

it's the scratchiness that wins him over, or maybe the fever flush of him. todoroki may be fucked in the head but he's not, which is why he knows full well he's being insane by not shoving him out. it's just that on some extremely uncomfortable and deranged level he gets it, because he's been tracking his pulse like a shark since they first ran into each other. there's something less insane beneath it too, pragmatic acknowledgment that it is actually a great deal warmer when there's body heat to share, but he knows full well he'd have toughed it out, six months ago, sent him back to bed and spent the night half-awake in spiteful resignation.

it's six months later, though, and somewhere along the line he's been rewired wrong. he thinks it's not unlikely that he's just this desperate for a full night's sleep.

it doesn't really matter why, though. he lets him stay. in the morning if todoroki is back to himself he'll see right through whatever he says, and on balance he doesn't fucking care.

he's so fucking tired. two months and five days, six months and three. the last time someone touched him for more than a second without trying to kill him it was a crying intern, this bespectacled guy whose name he'd never bothered to learn choking on his own blood as he clutched katsuki's wrist for comfort. before that he thinks it was his mother, exchanging their usual routine of brusque ruffling before he got on the train. he hasn't cried since the start of this, but he feels like crying now, hot throbbing behind his eyes. he sucks in a breath, forces it down. time and place. he's said it like a mantra since the start, like there's ever going to be one.

todoroki is fast asleep, but his hand's still there. his fingers have curled into the wool.

two months and five days, he thinks again, remembering other hands, clutching his face, pinning his arms. that's changed now, he realises. still marks the date, but not the last time he's spoken to someone.

ten minutes, thirty seconds. he reaches to pull the covers higher over todoroki's shoulders, feels his stomach constrict when his hand brushes medicine-sticky lips in passing.

maybe todoroki can sail. that's a rich kid thing to do. he'll have to ask in the morning.

he falls asleep within fifteen minutes, forty seconds of todoroki, and doesn't wake until the sun rises.

#qui ecrit #deandra #tdbk #qui repond #prompts #bnha #mha #lashawn beyond is living rn #todobaku #apocalypse au

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cherry-gemz · 4 years

Text

Healing Hands: Chapter One

Summary: You find yourself abroad in London as the Chief of Pediatrics. Everything has been running smoothly until you are faced with an undiagnosed case and the doctor assigned is anything but willing to face defeat. Will you be able treat the child's unknown disease in time, along while facing uncharted waters with love in the workplace?

Parings: Henry Cavill {Dr. Cavill} x Y/N {F!Reader}

Rating: Overall series 18+ only, Chapter is PG

Word count: 2200 +/-

Tags: @evansamericanass @meowpurrbooks @lilithpaijiee @pterodactylterrace

A/N: Trying something new at writing Henry fanfic. IDK if it’s any good, but either way wanted to start writing. LMK if you're interested, comments and tags welcomed! 💜

P.S. I am no means in any medical field or sorts, so if I get something incorrect on a term or process, bear with me xo.

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

You knew that it was a gamble moving to the UK for the Chief of Pediatrics position. But it was time for a change. You needed to leave Eugene, Oregon. Start fresh. There was too much pain there and you had to get away. So when your cousin, who was a nurse from Brighton informed you that there was a need at her hospital for the highly-visible role, you thought why the hell not? You'd score a free round-trip to England of anything and actually see some family you've never met if it didn't pan out.

Little did you know that you'd fall in love with London: the weather, the people, the imagery of it all. Oregon weather wasn't all too different, so you acclimated well. It had been a few months of you settling in: understanding more of the language barriers despite it still being English. Knackered, cuppa, trollied.

That is until you had a run in with the division chief of Pediatrics, Dr. Cavill. The staff adored the renowned and painstakingly handsome doctor. And while you could appreciate the view as well, you never were on the same page with his ideals. His defiant behavior of undermining your direction of the unit was becoming a thorn in your side.

But this time, this time you'd had enough. He mentioned to a patient's parents, while with the speciality case, the hospital could take on their son's situation as priority and receive around the clock care. You threw down the patient's file on your desk and pinched the bridge of your nose. It was a lost cause, you had looked into the patient ever since you started the role.

The child seemed perfectly healthy and lab tests may show no signs of illness. But the chronic pain and fatigue were unexplainable. You empathized, but the poor child has undergone so many tests that at this point it was about providing facts to the parents. And right now, there was no cause of alarm. You weren’t a Dr. House, this wasn’t television. You didn't have the staff to dive into any research or clinical studies. You had a hospital to run, employees to pay, other lives needed saving.

You picked up the phone to the case nurse on the pediatric floor.

"Hello? Yes, this is Dr. Y/LN. Can you please remind Dr. Cavill of our 5pm? He's late. Thank you."

Slowly hanging up on the phone, you turn back to the patient's file. The boy, Jon Foulger, was just shy of his ninth birthday. No positive results for Lupus or Guillain-Barré syndrome. But This case had been bothering you, poor Jon had been in the hospital for three months and still no progress on a diagnosis. While you were never known to give up on a patient, you knew giving false hope to the parents was detrimental not only to the family, but to the same of the hospital's integrity. You were in a high esteemed role now, you knew that you had to discuss further with Henry on his actions.

Twenty more minutes passed by and you checked your watch. Fuming, you stood up from your desk and headed down to the pediatric floor by the lift.

As you briskly walk down the hall corridors you can't wait to give Cavill a piece of your mind. You turn the corner and ram right into a brick wall, or so you thought. Your hands instinctively pick up and see placed on the doctor's firm chest. You immediately flush and lose composure.

You knew he was a good-looking man, but this up close and personal was a whole other level. His dark hair and curls were fluffy and good enough to touch. His piercing steel blue eyes looked at yours and made immediate contact. His bone structure made the Michaelangelo's David blush.

"My apologies, Dr. Y/LN. Didn't see you there," his voice was like butter.

You straightened out your white coat, "Ahem, yes. Well I seemed to have been lost in thought. My apologies as well."

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, almost an hour ago…" you shifted your weight to stand a bit taller. He towered over you with his muscular frame and height.

"Patient...Jon Foulger. We must discuss the repercussions of your current actions."

"Jon-Jon," he replied stoic.

"Excuse me?"

"He likes to be called Jon-Jon."

"Well yes, let's go to my office and discuss further, please Dr. Cavill."

"As you wish," he replied and pivoted his heel to the nearby lift.

The rise up to the 12th floor was a quiet one, awkward overall as you knew you had to give a coaching and hated the notion. You missed practicing medicine; while you enjoyed the administration of your position, the thrill of helping others and using your hands were erased with cases of employee performance reviews, reports, budgets.

He coughed into his fist and then held his strong hands in place in a clasp.

He finally broke the silence, "Enjoying London?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Have you had any time to take a holiday?"

"Um, no. Been too busy."

"It might do you some good," he replies as he looks to check his watch.

You huff, "Somewhere you need to be, Doctor?"

"No, just checking the time."

His arrogance irritated you and now you weren't feeling as badly to give him his coaching.

The lift opened as you arrived at the floor and he held out the door for you to exit first. You nod and walk to your office, your kitten heels clicked on the hospital's linoleum floor and the sound echoed through your ears.

As you both enter your office you stride quickly to your desk to assume dominance of the room.

Henry stood near the doorway, admiring your photos and certificates on the wall.

"I knew you were American, but Stanford Medical? Interesting, thought you were from Oregon. When will you be returning?" You can't read him if that was a compliment or sarcasm.

"Dr. Cavill, would you be so kind to shut the door," you state firmly and sit down, ignoring his comment about your return to the states.

His brow peaks and he nods, turning to close the door.

"Please, have a seat," you say.

"I'd rather stand, thank you," he replies and you know this is going to be a difficult conversation.

"Well this will only take a moment then. Your recent behavior with the Foulger family, while I commend you for your dedication, has been slight askew with the hospital's protocols."

"Is that so?" His voice dropped and his brow arched. "In what way, Dr. Y/LN?"

You cough as the drawl of his mouth turns upward and you can swear there's a smug smirk across his face.

"Well...for one...you've promised around the care of the child. Now simply put, we've exhausted all efforts for a diagnosis and until Jon...Jon-Jon…shows any new symptoms, we are at liberty to provide him comfort care for the remainder of the evening, but he will need to be discharged in the morning. We've exhausted him enough with MRIs, blood tests. I'm at a rock in a hard place, Dr. Cavill."

"The rock or the hard place where you give up on a child's well-being simply because you haven't thought to see him as a person? Rather as a number on your statistical analysis of how functioning this hospital is?"

His eyes pierce through you and make your knees grow weak. The nurse staff usually talks about him being a cuddly bear, always making the children laugh and smile. But this man before you, why he's no cuddly bear. He was a beast of a man. A grizzly in fact.

"Now see here, I will let you know that this case is very important to me. All the children are. But what you fail to see is that for whatever reason you've gravitated to this particular case, you're chasing something that doesn't exist."

His broad shoulders and strong neck tense at your words. He blinks methodically, as if he's scoping out his prey. No, don't let his charm and rugged good looks distract you. This is a man who is used to getting what he wants and you are a woman who knows perfectly what to do with that.

"And I believe you're blind, Doctor."

"Excuse me?" Your voice was shrill and short. "This is borderline insubordination. I'd be careful with your next words, Cavill."

"Pardon my frankness, Dr. Y/LN, but I've been here longer and know these patients in and out," his voice raised and you could see the hint of a vein showing on his thick neck. "Some of the children come from very poor and debilitating environments. We can't just cast them off once a diagnosis doesn't stick simply because we need the bed or we're done trying!"

"DR. CAVILL," you exclaim and let out an exasperated sigh. His demeanor changed and his upper lip curved slightly.

“Dr. Y/LN. With all due respect, I think you’re making the wrong judgement call here. Things are not adding up with Jon-Jon, if we just give it a few more days...I feel like we’re making progress and I’ve labored enough research into it-”

"Again, while I appreciate your passion...”

“Passion which you need to show for the patient-”

You raise your hand to silence him, “This is not up to you, Dr. Cavill. As Chief of Pediatrics, this is my call. We will discharge Jon tomorrow if he does not show any new symptoms. If you disobey any further protocols, I will have no other choice but resort to disciplinary action. Do I make myself clear, Doctor?"

You press your hands on your desk and lean inward, portraying your stance.

"Perfectly," he responded.

"And another thing, I -" you start, but he turns and abruptly walks out of your office, leaving your door open.

The nerve! Did he really just do that? Where does he think he's going? Didn't I just tell him I'd resort to disciplinary action?!

You rush out of your office and you see him striding through the hall. His strong posture, shoulders back eluded to years of boarding school perhaps or military. You noticed his fists were clenched and it gave you slight satisfaction that you chipped away ever so slightly at his ego.

It was going to take a lot more than that to send you packing, you thought.

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

The next day came and went. You had confirmed that Jon-Jon was discharged with the floor nurse and while you were relieved to have handled that quite professionally, you knew it did not bear well with the rest of the staff.

You were still getting your feet wet and learning more about your team. It was solid overall, many years of expertise collectively, but they treated you like the outsider you were. No requests to meet for lunch or drinks after work. No camaraderie birthday cards seeking your signature or date night advice. Just the normal days in and out, pulling many late nights in your office, up to the point of exhaustion. You'd collapse in your double bed after work, stare at the ceiling of the small room you rented from your cousin, Laura, and try to drown out all the bustle of seven people in the same 3 bedroom flat.

Just like any other day, You sat alone during lunch. But that never really was ever a bother being used to it now. You were excited about an audiobook you were meaning to dive into and right when you were about to use your airpods, that's when you noticed him enter the cafeteria.

His presteen, crisp white lab coat was tight around his build. You could tell he took fitness seriously and wondered what he was hiding underneath it all. You unknowingly licked your lips as you watched him search for a fruit out of the bowl off the commons counter. Curious to know what he fancied: was he into a sweet apple or something more tart like cherries.

He picked up a peach and squeezed it with his massive hand, making it look quite comical considering his size. His eyes met yours and you quickly looked away, trying to now draw any attention to yourself. You fumbled with your phone as you connected to the audiobook and heart his footsteps approached your empty table.

"Good afternoon," he said. His voice was deep, smooth, and inviting. Not at all like the day before in your office.

You play coy and don't bother to look up, fidgeting with your sandwich.

"Hello," you reply distantly. He made you nervous. Would he bring up yesterday's conversation? Will he continue to look that delectable each day?

He smirked and took a bite of the fuzzy peach. There was a slight crunch as he dug his pearly whites into the rounded fruit. The velvet and thin layer of skin eased off and entered his mouth; he chewed slightly and let the piece swirl around with his thick tongue.

You peered to look at him and his stare hadn't relented. He took another bite. This time the luscious juice slips out of the white-yellow fleshed fruit and down slightly on his chin. Oh, to be that piece of fruit and have him ravish you that way. How he’d expertly use his hands over you and taste you with those lips.

He can tell you're still distant, however he notices you're unable to tear your eyes away from him.

He walks over, closer to you now, and you can smell his cologne: a woody aromatic scent tied with a hint of suede. It's downright delicious and with the mix of the peach, your senses are in overdrive.

What is it with this man and his ability to excite and anger you all at once? You not only want to put him into his place, you want to do so right here on the cafeteria table and have your way with him.

"Lovely day, isn't it?" He smiles devilishly and places the half eaten fruit on the table next to your phone and walks away.

Your cringe and use all your might to not look back at him. He's going to make this very hard for you, very hard indeed.

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fics #romance #london #Healing Hands #enemies to lovers #doctor romantic

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posi-pan · 3 years

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Just saw a post that said

the “super gay / super straight” bullshit was made up by 4chan trolls but you know why people aren’t recognising that and are treating it as a real thing and even identifying with it?Because pansexuals paved the way for “(not) liking trans people” as a legit sexual orientation

I’m really worried that people are going to start believing this and since that post had almost 700 notes so it definitely got around. Do you think the idea that pans paved they way for super straights will catch on? And what can I do to convince people that pans aren’t transphobic?

yeah i saw that post when someone i follow on twitter posted a screenshot of it. they didn’t include the url, but i correctly guessed who it was on the first try. my response to it was this:

panphobes claim pansexuals ignore/erase/rewrite history, yet here they are admitting they know super sexuality was started by 4chan trolls, but still arguing pansexuals are really to blame. they speak such utter fucking nonsense with so much confidence...it's actually worrisome.

example #23783278 of why panphobes will never have anything of worth to add to any queer conversations: nearly 700 people read the baseless, biased scapegoating of queer people for transphobic nazi bullshit and were like "yeah that's good actually".

and i don't know how to tell y'all that pansexuality is not what made transphobes think being attracted to trans people affects what one's sexuality is.

i am beyond fucking tired of panphobes blaming the whole of transphobia (and biphobia) on pansexuality/pan people. over shit that pansexuality never fucking meant and popped up half a century after pansexual became a sexual identity label. beyond tired. the fact that anyone believes that shit is fucked up. and it shows just how fucking little people know about pansexuality. pan people didn’t “pave the way” for this shit. transphobes did. get the entire fuck out of here putting that on pan people. i can’t even begin to explain how utterly fucking vile that is. like, trans pan people exist. statistics and pan people’s personal experiences show that pan people tend to not be cis. what the fuck.

as for your questions. i don’t really think that idea will catch on. because even though the queer community has a huge fucking issue with not taking the bait 4chan/trolls/queerphobes throws out specifically to watch us go for each other’s throats, the more outrageous nonsense panphobes say often stays within their little communities. like, it’s not reflected in the greater queer community. only people who are violently panphobic (or looking for a reason to be) will believe such blatant, desperate scapegoating.

when that shit started going around, everyone was calling it out for the nazi trolling that it was and telling people to stop reacting to it like it was anything else. only fucking panphobes on tumblr who have nothing better to do with their lives than to try and prove the inherent evilness of pansexuality thought “hey i know this is some transphobic nazi shit but let’s blame it on pansexuals!”

when it comes to convincing people pan folks aren’t transphobic.....spread accurate information. that’s all you really can do. and anyone who disregards it to maintain their bitter, biased, misinformed generalization is not worth your energy. people are always going to think something about us. this is true for all queer people. we can spread accurate information and challenge queerphobia, but there comes a point where we need to take care of ourselves. we can’t keep putting so much of our energy into every wildly queerphobic claim that is made about us, into educating people who hate us or readily believe any baseless claim made against us.

it’s why even though it’s tempting to take a scroll through panphobes’ blogs just to keep up with whatever bullshit they’re spewing now, or to debunk it, it’s just not healthy. i’d very much rather stay in the dark about the bullshit they’re saying. i’m doing research and i’m compiling information and history and sources and making resources and content for pan people, i don’t need to entertain the kind of nonsense that goes on in a certain part of tumblr. because even though their nonsense does have an impact, such as affecting our mental health, they don’t matter. they just don’t fucking matter. and we should treat them that way.

anyways this got very long. i hope you don’t put too much stock into that post. even with the amount of notes it has. it’s wildly unbelievable things like that post that show just how decidedly not credible these people are. so live your life, spread love and positivity and accurate information, don’t get consumed by the hate, and don’t let yourself become a cowardly bully who hates other queer people, and you’ll be good.

#asks #anonymous #i hope that made even a bit of sense because i kind of just ranted without really having any of structure in mind lmao #pan antagonism #trans antagonism #bullying mention #nazi mention #long post

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

losing my mind

pairing: endings, beginnings! frank x reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, sex, drugs, cheating, creative liberties with endings, beginnings plot, time jumps, angst, accidents, wounds

based off “losing my mind” from bernadette peters/or follies

sequel to “always hate me”

The sun comes up, I think about you. The coffee cup, I think about you. I want you so it’s like I’m losing my mind. The morning ends I think about you, I talk to friends I think about you and no one knows it’s like I’m losing my mind. All afternoon doing every little chore, the thought of you stays bright, sometimes I stand in the middle of the floor not going left not going right ...

The sounds of the night infiltrated Frank’s mind like a drug, probably the only one he could take. Life seemed bleaker and this time he just couldn’t deal with it the was he normally did. Somehow drinking seemed to have no effect on him, drugs were just childish things and girls didn’t matter to him. He just roamed the Earth like a doomed soul with heavy metal spheres shackled to his ankle. Even his house no longer felt like home, every small thing reminding him of Y/N. From the little Beanie baby in the fireplace to the lingering scent of the laundry detergent she had swore to him was the best thing he could ever get and would make his clothes as soft as ever. It hurt him more not to have her on his side rather than Jack, Jack who he had known since he was a kid. No, he missed her and how she would drag him to watch Gossip Girl with her as Jack merely sneered at the idea or how she would eat only sweet and salty popcorn believing it tasted better.

The only thing that seemed to take his mind off was driving. He couldn’t sleep so driving was the only thing he could do. Just drive. Anywhere, for hours and hours on end with sleep weighting his eyelids and regret on his mind.

- Where are we going? - he turned his head to the side, Y/N sat on the passenger seat, burgundy dress on and feet up on the car console. She had a sassy look to her, hair pushed back with a gaze that almost mocked him. Slowly, he blinked his eyes wondering if his mind was playing a trick on him, which it definitely was. - Don’t worry, darling. I’m just a personification of guilt and lack of sleep.

- Go away. - he steered the wheel of his car, hoping the hallucination of Y/N would just disappear.

- I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t feel so guilty. - the corners of her lips were pushed upwards. - How long did you think I took to sleep with Jack, huh? Think we’re doing it right now?

- Shut up.

- He was always much more interesting than you. Smarter, sophisticated, the type of guy I’d take to my parents. You know my parents, right? You know they love Jack, they’re always talking about him and how smart he is. Do you wanna know what they say about you?

- Shut up. - he screamed but what was he screaming at? His own guilt, screaming at the personification, the realisation of his guilt standing there in that damned burgundy dress, the same dress he had met her. She was not there, she was not real, she was just a vision. Guilt and regret personified. - Go away.

- I can go away whenever you want, darling. Go on and do what you always do, go get high, overdose even and maybe I’ll disappear or maybe I won’t. We all know you’re gonna end up like that, dead, just a bit too much and I’m not gonna be there. Jack’s not gonna be there when you’re gone and we won’t care. You wanna know why? Because you push people away, you push them away because you know you’re a mess and being next to you is like dying from radiation poisoning. Slow and painful, side effects lasting forever.

- SHUT UP! - the lights of his car got brighter and brighter until he realised it wasn’t the light of his car that were shining at him. In a flash of second, his forehead hit the wheel of the thud and everything went black. The last thing he heard, his heart still beating and seemingly breaking out.

I dim the lights and think about you spent sleepless nights to think about you. You said you loved me or where you just being kind? Or am I losing my mind? I want you so it’s like I’m losing my mind. Does no one know? It’s like I’m losing my mind.

The sizzling of the pan was everything that was heard on Y/N’s very small apartment just on the outskirts of town yet still with an unbelievable rent price tag. As she moved the pan, she looked up to the clock shining 4:04 AM. She sensed something was wrong yet she couldn’t pin point what is was. Had she forgotten rent? No, rent was surely paid. Were all bills paid? She didn’t know but something was deeply unsettling to her and as Jack, who had come over for a small dinner and catch up, spoke to her the tragedy-like feeling just rose out of her chest.

- Y/N? - he touched her wrist, noticing how still she was. - Hey, are you alright?

- Something’s wrong.

- What? Do you feel a disturbance in the Force? - he joked, trying to lighten the mood but Y/N was much to distressed to even get the joke. - Please tell me it’s not about Frank. It’s been two months.

- Frank? No. I’m just .. I’m just tired. - she sighed, grabbing the pan from the stove and placing it on the table, a perfect frittata. Jack merely raised an eyebrow, setting down his cutlery as she sat. - What?

- Normally if you don’t sleep that’s what happens. At this point I’m not entirely sure if stopping communication with Frank is hurting him or you more.

- It’s not about Frank, Jack. Cut it off, please. - she rolled her eyes, slicing half the dish for her and half for Jack. Of course that deep down she knew she was lying to herself, of course it was about Frank. Half of her didn’t want to admit it that she hadn’t caught a wink of sleep ever since Frank professed himself to her as that half knew what he was. She knew the type of guy he was, she had picked him up from one night stands houses, from the curb of sleazy bars and strip clubs. He wasn’t exactly what one would consider a partner yet at the same time she knew he could be good. He would always make sure to buy some sweet and salty popcorn despite hating them, even having a quarter of a shelf filled with them. Or when her engagement broke off and he sent her a care basket with the whole box collection of Friends and Gossip Girl.

- C’mon, Y/N. Spit it out, what is it? Have you also been in love with Frank for all these years? - it came out as more of a joke, a tiny yet full laugh coming from his throat yet Y/N remained still. - Oh my god. You’re in love with Frank.

10 YEARS AGO

Y/N walked into the Valentines’ Day party thrown by Jack, barely holding herself up in her pair of new heels and burgundy long sleeve fit and flare dress which at the time she had thought was very appropriate. The mood was mellow with low lights and pink and red helium balloons suspended into the air while a very slow and almost melodic version of “Can’t Take my Eyes off You” played.

Jack quickly noticed her, waving at her to come join him and his friends. In all honesty, she didn’t know any of the people here. She knew Jack from her English class as they had been paired together at the beginning but other than that it was mostly frat boys and their boyfriends.

- Hey, Y/N. I’m so happy you came. - he gave her a friendly hug before turning to his friends, or rather, one friend as the other men around seemed much more interested with their dates than him. His friend however quickly caught her attention. He was much more casually dressed than the other boys, wearing a button up shirt with a worn out coat and slightly ripped jeans. - This is my friend, Frank. Frank this is Y/N, we go to English class together.

- Nice to meet you Y/N from English class. - he raised his glass at her as she took a seat in the middle of the two boys. - What’s your poison?

- Oh, I’m really not in the mood for alcohol tonight. - she gave him a shy smile, feeling like a school girl talking to the jock.

- Ah, that bad? - he questioned, bringing the cup up to his lips. - Don’t feel bad. Valentine’s is a commercial invention and the break up rate is usually higher around it.

- Sounds like you’re the one who’s not dealing well with it. - he raised an eyebrow at her statement, amused look in his face. - Statistics quotes and all? Who broke your heart?

- No one breaks my heart, I don’t have one.

- Everyone has a heart no matter how hidden it is. That is just how anatomy works and you can choose to ignore that you have one or you can chose to accept you have one.

- You speak like an English student.

- You speak like a Law student. - she noted.

- How did you know? - he was amused by her, mostly how cut throat yet somehow soft she was about the information she was giving out.

- Law is reason free from passion. - she quoted, leaning her head against her own shoulder. - You seem to be void of it.

PRESENT

- You know Jack just because you’re very happy in a new relationship doesn’t mean I need one. - she was protective but she knew. She knew she loved Frank, she had loved him from the very moment they had known each other, she loved him through the recounts of his night stands, she loved him when she accepted a marriage proposal and she loved him when she left his life months ago. However, just because you love someone doesn’t mean you should be together.

- I’m gonna ask you this only one time and whatever answer you give we won’t speak about it ever again. - his hand went to rest on top of hers, a caring look of that of a parent that Jack somehow always carried. She just stared at his hand, softly and safely on top of hers as he let the question go. - Are you in love with Frank?

The truth is not always kind or reassuring, it’s not always soft or climatic and in this case it was just ... freeing in a painful sort of way. The pain of holding it in for ages, pretending it would just disappear, the pain of leaning her head against his shoulder whenever they had show marathons and knowing it was just that, just a momentaneously second of paradise which would never come to fruition. The truth that she knew, that she had always known, coming out scared her more than her words could ever describe them. There’s knowing and there’s saying and sometimes speaking is harder that acknowledging.

- Yes and I really don’t ... - her phone ring interrupted her. Her gaze moved slowly across the room, sensing something in the air that felt like tragedy in the end. Without much thought, she grabbed her phone from the kitchen island, putting it up to her ears.

There are moments that the words don’t reach, you hear something but it just doesn’t register, it just doesn’t reach your senses and for Y/N this was one of those moments. The grip on her phone grew lose causing the device to slide off her hand and into the ground which in turn made Jack get up to notice how every single thread of joy seemed to have left her face. Before he could even question what was happening, she rushed up to her door, grabbing her jacket and keys. Jack followed behind the crazed woman who pretty much pulled the door of her car open.

- Where are we going? - Jack asked her but she continued to drive. The short ten minute drive seemed to take hours and hours and as the emergency unit of the hospital became clear to Jack, he understood what that call was about.

She parked the car like a crazy person, immediately jumping off the car, still wearing her pyjamas and slippers which were hidden by her black trench coat. Her heart was beating like a drum as she hit the front desk where a less than bothered nurse was filling her nails and having small talk with her colleagues.

- Hi? Sorry, hi. - Y/N knew she sounded desperate but she was. - I got a call about a car crash. I’m Y/N Y/L/N.

- Follow me.

All afternoon doing every little chore the thought of you stays bright. Sometimes I stand in the middle of the floor not going left, not going right. I dim the lights and think about you, spend sleepless nights to think about you. You said you loved me or were you just being kind? Or am I losing my mind?

The small noise of beeping woke him from his transe. All around white, nothing but white and if people were right than maybe he was in heaven however as his eyes got accustomed he could see the machines but more than machines, what really frightened him was the vision of Y/N.

- Hey, darling. - her hand came to caress his face making him wonder if he was seeing her or if she was one of his tired mind’s inventions.

- Are you real? - his words were slow and droopy, caused by the high amount of morphine they had injected him with.

- Yeah, I’m afraid so. - she gave him a kind smile, hand pushing his messy hair away from his forehead. - Me and Jack were so worried.

- I wasn’t high, Y/N. I promise. - he didn’t know what was wrong with him, maybe he didn’t want her to be even more disappointed than she already was with him.

- I know, you just had a car crash, darling. You probably have enough morphine in you to put down an elephant.

- No, Y/N. I, I got distracted in the road I wasn’t using or drinking or with a girl, you have to believe me.

- Frank, darling, I know. You’re in the hospital, you don’t need to apologise to me. I was so worried about you and so was Jack.

- Jack’s here?

The girl nodded, pushing the hair away from his forehead once again, leaning to kiss his forehead. He was covered in small cuts caused by small shards of his car’s broken windows and a few gashes which she just couldn’t look at without feeling the tears submerge to her eyes. A sea of guilt was storming in her chest and although her subconcious kept telling her this would never be her fault, it was merely a car crash, her heart told her something else. Friday night. Gossip Girl night when Frank would bake the only thing he could without setting the kitchen on fire, mozarella and tomato pesto salad, and the two of them would sit down and watch two seasons in one night. If she hadn’t ... She didn’t even wanted to think about it.

Frank on the other hand could see the distinct pain on her features. The pressure of her muscles creasing her soft features, lines by her eyes and lips quivering. It hurt, it just hurt more than he could phantom something would hurt, it hurt more than his wounds, it hurt more than knowing he’d hurt her several times, it hurt to see her so hurt and being able to do absolutely nothing yet that seemed to be a pattern. Frank always did nothing.

9 YEARS AGO

Valentine’s Day. Again. And Y/N was once again at the same party, the same decorations, the same slow version of “Can’t Take my Eyes off You” playing in the background, the only thing missing being Jack and Frank. Jack was on a date with a girl named Catherine whom he gushed about all the way through first until last period and Frank, well, Frank was out with a girl named Mandy. Oh Mandy, where to start with Mandy? Y/N hated Mandy. They had been housemates during the first year of university and if there was someone who could get her on her last nerve and consider murder it was her. Not only had she been a nightmare to live with, constantly refusing to clean or do any house chores, eating the food Y/N bought for herself. God, she was an absolute nightmare but Frank was interested in her and therefore Y/N held herself back.

She sighed ordering a virgin mojito, wanting to remain sober and not get drunk and end up in bed with one of the various frat boys around. Looking at her phone she noticed the hour, 23:20, only forty more minutes of this painful holiday and she could be free from her feeling of loneliness. As she was about to turn off her phone to enjoy her drink, a message fell. Frank.

“How’s commercial holiday? Found a suitable partner yet?”

She smiled faintly at the text, finger lingering over his name on the phone.

“I guess it’s alone commercial holiday for me once again”

She turned off her phone, not wanting to see another text from him, afraid it would be about how well his date was going with the housemate from Hell. Staring at her glass, she mixed the drink using the little heart shaped wood pick. As she took the first sip, the slow version of the song ceased to play and in its place “At Last” started to play because why play actual upbeat songs on a holiday where 50% of the population was miserable.

On that moment she decided she was better off alone in her room rather than in the middle of various single people expecting their fantasy of coupleness to occur. As she picked her clutch and looked for the door, she found Frank coming him, same old beat jacket that had become a trademark over the years. He gave her a little grin, walking towards her.

- Couldn’t let you spend Valentine’s alone. - he said before she could even question his appearence at this party. - C’mon, I have some red velvet cupcakes, wine and a blanket. Let’s go to the beach.

PRESENT

Y/N had remained at the hospital for the two days he had been in, barely catching a second of sleep until tiredness finally beat her and had her sleeping against the uncomfortable hospital chair. The moment she went to sleep was the moment he woke up from his morphine induced sleep, eyes immediately focusing on her and how her hair fell in front of her face as she rested for the first time in two days. He moved slightly in his bed to better stare at her which led her to wake her up with the noise, moving her head upright immediately.

- You’re awake. - she gave him a sleepy grin, straightening her back. - The doctor said you should be free to go home today.

- You should go home, Y/N. - his voice was still somewhat raspy from all the medication they’d been giving him. - I’m really not worth this.

- I have nothing better to do besides my neighbours are renovating, so it’s awfully noisy.

- Y/N, you really don’t need to be here.

- I think that’s the thing, Frank. - she gave him a soft smile, raising from her couch to go stand near him. - I think ... no, I know, I know I’m always gonna be here.

You said you loved me or were you just being kind or am I losing my ... mind?

everything taglist: @connie326 @lookiamtrying

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan drabble #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan imagine #frank imagine #eb!frank #endings beginnings

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realhankmccoy · 4 years

Text

Dukes

I used to have Peter Pan syndrome and hoped I’d be able to prevent becoming ‘like everybody else’; no way in hell I wanted any muscle or hair or fag thoughts – hardly wanted to become a hairy fucker who just wants to have sex. I thought it was disgusting that people would even ever have sex. I hated that men would grow beards or wear sleeveless shirts or shorts, even, and swore I’d never be like that. I was horrified by locker rooms and wrestling – the whole concept seemed so wrong, that you would let other guys see you naked, see your dick, see you change and develop pubes as you matured into a man. So humiliating.

Yet I was pressured – practically forced to join the wrestling team by my school. I think one of the coaches, in retrospect, was actually into guys and that’s why he came to my small town, and would watch us take showers to ensure there was ‘no roughhousing’.

They started me out on statistics because I was the scrawny nerd of the team, and by freshmen year they had put me through a physical and gotten me to strap up in a singlet for no contest wins. I thought that I would die of embarrassment to wear a singlet, and at first I was very embarrassed. But something snapped in my head the first time I took it home and strapped up in it in front of the mirror. I was ashamed, dejected, upset… but seeing myself sleeveless in that tight red and black fabric, no way to hide my scrawny chest or the slight bit of fur that I couldn’t stop from growing in my armpits… it was, well, I didn’t have to be in front of the mirror. Why was I doing this, watching myself strap up? I had to admit there was something attractive about wrestlers, about jocks, as much as I rejected it all. It was doing something to me – giving me an illicit thrill, and right there, in front of the mirror, a boner I knew I should not be throwing. I felt like what I was doing was sick. That was the turning point, I suppose, though I quit the team and went back to fighting it for a while… retreated back into my calculator, even gothed out for a bit during a strange few months in which I freaked out my family by only wearing black – but soon I was growing fuzz on my face and getting hard over that, while I got into music more… and was just brunting out, slowly but surely, as much as I tried to hide it from everyone. I’d lock the door and turn on the internet and my dick would just start insisting I get on the web, almost, to learn more, to look at pics. I ended up finding stories, too, that seemed sick at first – guys getting muscular and hairy… I would never want to be like that, I thought, and yet my cock needed… something, it seemed… it would start to leak whenever it got excited, and instead of making it stop and thinking of other things, I’d think oh, well, I would never want to be like that, I’ll just keep these fantasies inside. Eventually I read so many and was just compressing it all, and my dick… it would have me thinking things like “I bet you’d be raging hard if you did a push-up right now” so I tried a push-up… couldn’t even really do one, but I was hard just trying… so eventually I tried again.

These days, if somebody says they’d like to lick my cum off a wrestling mat, I’d really respect them. Or if they have skills and drunkenly would tussle in bed with my only to pin me down and rub a brown, sexy, scruffy goattee against my brunt, I think they’re a brilliant, exemplary, powerful genius who’s more useful than almost everyone… you can see what a jock of a faggot I’ve become, I guess. And looking back on it, that’s what they were trying to do to me all along: make me bigger, hairier, hornier. My school, the gay assistant coach who watched me change… they made me what I deserved to be. I didn’t think he was attractive at all at the time with his wiry muscle and dark hair, but if I saw him today I’d probably get down on my knees uncontrollably and be so turned on.

Sometimes I return the favour for what the small town folks decided to do to me – I hook up with nerds just to let them feel the power of a muscular chest against theirs or a furry beard against their face and make ‘em jealous, make em want it themselves. It’s always hot to see how easy it is to turn them on. Love to watch their eyes roll back in bliss when I pretend to be asleep and then wake them up with my tongue in their mouths at 2am, surprised that I’ve decided they’re hot enough or have enough potential to be getting any action after all. Sometimes they’re brats and I prefer them to be grateful.

The ones who really go to town on working your body over, firm but gentle, talking about how muscular you are compared to them and licking out your pits while you’re drunk and passing out – those ones are hot. Love wrestling redneck country boys, too, like they had in my small town. Must have left a hot imprint. I hardly wear anything for underwear anymore other than jock straps or tight white briefs. Definitely love some boxers and denim ragged around the knees, especially when in the country…

Now I wrestle at a college level for the Dukes. It’s my main focus right now.

#gay #lgbt #gay wrestling #gay wrestler

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fictionalmenmistress · 4 years

Text

Writing prompt I just came up with, since this has been on my mind recently with certain stuff going on:

Aren't I enough?

So here we go. A self insert, korean idol oneshot. (FILL IN your own name, and the idol of your choice) *gender neutral*, ANGST, but redeeming ending with touches of fluff. A rollercoaster of emotion and pain, but you'll feel better in the end. Real relationship struggle stuff right here, realistic for the industry.

"Aren't I enough?" You muttered.

The words just kinda slipped out, as you stared up at the stars. You had been hearing your boyfriend talk about how depressed and purposeless he's been feeling without the cheers of his fans surrounding him. For months and months, he's been this slinking shell of himself, admittantly and utterly void at the loss of interaction with his fans.

"I need to know that they love me." He would say. "I need it. I'm empty without knowing if they really love me."

Those words kept echoing through your mind. And the lack of response in his eyes, the emptiness of emotion when you confessed your love over and over again, as sincere as ever. It was like they were all he thought about.

But... he had always said you were his world before. That all he needed was you. So to hear that he felt empty without the screams of millions of other women filling his ears... it made you... sad. Like, that intimate promise was broken.

"What?" He asked.

"Aren't I enough?" You repeated, glancing at him sitting on the porch beside you.

"Its not that simple, baby..." he murmured, with confused and defencive eyes, searching your own with his gaze to find the root of what caused you to say that.

You kind of understood. You always did your best to understand. After all, he was a trainee fresh out of sophmore year of highschool. This was how he was trained to function. He's always been popular, he's always dealt with acceptance from large crowds... and you hadn't. You were alone, used to being alone. You never liked it, but it was just the way your life panned out. You were the outcast... no particular reason other than feeling socially awkward.

And when you both fell in love, you felt like you finally had someone. Someone worth spending life with... who understood you.

Just him, thats all you needed. And, you wanted to accept it, for him, that he needed gratification from others... especially being an idol, with that being his only source of love intake for so long. But why was it so hard?

Why did you choke on your tears, feeling like your existance had no weigh on his life?

That the shallow, worshiping, fleeting screams, of a handful of meaningless faces, was more meaningful to him than looking into the eyes of the one that loved him? The one that he supposedly loved?

The one who knew him intimately, inside and out, emotionally and physically? Was he taking you for granted? Were you being as selfish as you felt you were?

You were so hurt... guilty about even feeling hurt. But at the same time, a part of you fought the guilt, feeling justified and angry.

This is about him, not me. I need to be there for him. He's hurting... but how could he actually feel this way if he loved me? I have a right to be upset! But... how could I say that? Ugh...

I... I'm hurting too...

He stared into your eyes, with a searching, meticulous gaze.

What do I... do?

"Tiger... I want to be here for you." You began, with a waver in your shaky voice. "But... its clear that I can't help you anymore."

"What do you mean?" He asked, leaning forward in his chair. "Why do you look so upset?"

He really didn't know... but, would it be selfish to tell him? It just burst out after that, as you broke down.

"I tell you I love you every moment of every day. I worship the ground you walk on, I make your favorite food so your never hungry, I gaze into your eyes and assure you everything will be alright, I CUDDLE you close in the night, I MOVED IN WITH YOU ACROSS THE WORLD, AWAY from my family... I WANT TO SPEND EVERY MOMENT of my LIFE, with YOU!" You shouted, before taking a deep breath.

"I thought I meant something to you! I thought it was..." you sniffled, as he sat silently, eyebrows intensely furrowed. "I thought it was us against the world. Bonnie and Clyde. I was the only one that understood you the way you understood me..."

"You know I love you-" he casually began, like its a cold, statistical fact, and not an emotional promise.

"I'M NOT DONE!" You shouted, finding it harder to contain the tempest of emotions bottled inside. "I wanted to MARRY YOU! Have your babies, GROW OLD WITH YOU! And... I can't even fill the void of you not being able to perform infront of people. Those women don't even know you... AT ALL. You never see the same fans twice, there's no intimate, REAL connection, to a specific person there." You rambled, picking anxiously at your cuticles to try and cope with the confrontation. "But, we had that. And yet its like you preffer them OVER me! Like, you could live without me fine, 'focusing on your career', as long as you had your fans. But the moment you actually met someone to spend your REAL LIFE WITH, you couldn't LIVE without your precious audience!"

"Wait, you're JEALOUS?" He defencively yelled.

"YEA! I GUESS I AM JEALOUS! Because I clearly CAN'T give you what you need!" You shouted back, sobbing.

The two of you stood to your feet as it escalated.

"I NEVER SAID THAT!" He barked.

"YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO! You said enough!" You snapped back, turning to leave the porch.

"WAIT A SECOND!" He demanded, pulling you back to face him. "What do you mean, WANTED? You DON'T ANYMORE??"

"DO YOU?!" You snapped, whipping back around to face him.

He froze, as you slowly approached him, maintaining a cooler composure in your voice.

"What would you do? If I birthed us a baby, and you ended the fame life, like you promised?" You calmly said, as you stared intently into his eyes, as tears continued to pour down your face. "You'd sink into depression, and hate your spouce. You'd resent your baby, and you'd collapse into a man who sees his life as one that ruined what he could have had. You'd be a shell of yourself. All because you don't have the cheers of your DOTING fans... NO. The love of the people who care about you most would never be enough."

It felt like you spit a knife. You were satisfied, rushed with the adrenaline of saying what you wanted to say, even though you regretted it as soon as it left your lips. This wasn't about winning an argument though...

Oh no... what had you just done?

His face was blank with shock. You could see tears well in the corners of his eyes, as he gently removed his hand from your arm, dropping it to his side.

He finally brought himself to glance away, rolling his jaw with a dropped open mouth, as he took in a shaky deep breath.

"I... I shouldn't have said that..." you whispered, glancing down in shame. "I..."

"No, don't apologise. That's how you feel, isn't it?" He calmly said.

It was always a little concerning, the way he seemed so calm when he was the most upset. That was when you knew you really screwed up.

But his voice... it was gentle, not direct, like it usually was.

Things were silent, as you mustered up your strength to continue.

"If I can't fulfill you in the way you need most... perhaps we weren't as perfect for eachother as we thought. I can't keep seeing you suffer... it makes me feel helpless when I have no way to soothe you. If I'm not enough, I'm just... not. And, that's okay. Someone else will be... just... it will destroy me if I stay. You're being torn apart. I'm being torn apart."

You didn't want to say it, but... it was what would be best, at least, for now. For the both of you.

"I'll call up your OTHER soulmate (*his best friend and bandmate*), to come be with you, since that always seemed to help before I came along. But, I think its best... if we..."

You hesitated, about to say-

"I don't WANT space." He interrupted, reading your mind and gulping. He glanced down into your eyes. "I don't." He whispered.

"Tiger..." you shook your head, refusing to get stuck in those deep eyes, that would make it 1000 times harder to leave.

"What I WANT, is help. I need... professional help, Y/N." He vulnrably whispered, glancing down before you shamefully.

"What?" You whispered, completely lost at the confession.

"I DO love you. I love you more than life itself. And you complete me in ways no one else will... I guess, I've just been talking more about my problems than showing you how much it means to me that I have someone I can share my problems with, and walk with." He began, blushing a little. "I never thought..."

He cleared his throat, gathering his courage to take your hand into his own.

"I never stopped and realized how this was hurting you too. The show doesn't mean more to me than you do... and I'm sorry that I've led you to believe that."

"Hon... no. I've failed you." You murmured, taking responsibility.

"NO, Y/N, I've failed YOU." He corrected. "I'm... broken. I have an unhealthy attatchment to fame, and I didn't even realize it until you told me that."

"I've just been stuck going through the motions, isolating from you." He whispered.

"No, I should have been there for you more, I should have done whatever it takes. I made this about me," you muttered, not wanting him to take all the guilt and responsibility. You wish you could have handled it better than you did.

"You WERE." He assured, placing your hand against his chest, as he stared deeply into your eyes. "Your breaking point was a wake-up call... it should have never gotten that far. I'm sorry I did this to us... to you. Please, I don't want to lose you..." he whispered, full of sincerity.

You held your breath.

"But... what if I'm not enough? Later on?" You sniffled, trying to hide your quivering lip. "I don't want to hold you back from being fulfilled, if I'm not the one for you... if someone can do better than me and we just don't know that yet..."

"You're rambling," he whispered, as a bitter-sweet grin pulled into his tear-trailed cheeks, tucking your hair behind your ear. He always had loved it when you rambled...

It had been so long since he's looked at you like this... touched you like this... you forgot what it had felt like.

"You are the one I love. You are the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. I'm just... struggling." He cried, hesitantly breaking down. "I'm... I just need some help and time, baby. I see that I need to work past this."

The fact that he saw missing the crowds as something that needed to stop so he could keep you... it suddenly hit you. That was enough to fully grasp that you did, in fact, still mean something to him. That you weren't less important, since he chose to keep you, instead choosing the crowds over you walking away.

"Please... let me have another chance. To make things right, to heal back to where I once was. I want to take care of you, I want to stop feeling this detatchment anxiety... I want to be free from this so we can have a private life together." He pleaded. "You're right... it does feel like a rush to be on stage. But its fleeting, and empty after. I got addicted like a drug, the high then the massive low. You... you're my rock. I am comfortable and secure with you. I love you, and that lasts. I took you for granted because of that... and I'm so sorry."

You stared into his eyes, as the rising sunlight began to illuminate the sky. After a moment of taking in his words, you pulled him closer and kissed his lips. The both of you kissed so intimately, so desparately... like it had been years. He kissed you deeply, as you kissed him. It was apologetic, and loving, and hungry, and desparate... and it was beautiful.

After a moment, you slowly broke away, gently leaning forehead to forehead.

"I'm sorry too. I'm sorry I lashed out on you." You cried, pulling him into a tight hug. "I love you, of COURSE I'll give you another chance!"

He began to cry too, quieter than you, since his personality was more reserved, but just as emotionally. And you held onto eachother like that for the next couple of hours. Just... together. Mending. Healing slowly.

Its going to be a long road, but as long as you walked on it together, you felt reassured that it would all be worth it.

Important lesson:

Its not your job to fix them. Its just your job to love them. Communicate. Be forgiving, but remember that you need to feel loved too. Don't neglect yourself if your certain there's no end in sight, but be there for eachother through your seasons of hardship. You can make it, if you both truly love eachother and try.

I hope and pray the best for you and your significant other. I hope you'll keep fighting and make it through, if its worth fighting for.

#mental illness #korean #kpop idol #bts imagines #bts x reader #fictionalmenmistress #bts angst #relationship #bts fanfic #love poem #bts reactions #bts fanfction #bts reader insert #bts x you #bts x gender neutral reader #bts x male reader #bts fic #bts scenarios

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werevulvi · 3 years

Text

This is a very long, ranty post that's only lightly edited. It's about me deciding to basically leave radfem, so I wanted to be thorough about explaining how and why. And this is mainly because my blog ended up existing in a radblr bubble, deemed as hostile by other ideologies/groups of people, and I need to break out of that bubble, because I feel trapped in it. I'm not sure how, as I may have to start over with a new blog entirely, but I'd hope to avoid that if at all possible (my blog is my baby.) So I'm thinking that making this kinda post is a good start in trying to change how my blog vibes and what kinda blogs I can interact with in a non-debate kinda sense. Basically, damage control.

A while ago, I made some post about how I wanted to move away from the worst rudefem stuff of radfem, for the sake of my mental health. Well, I've now hit a point of wanting to take further steps away from radfem, pretty much altogether. The main reason for this is that there's still too much focus on ragging on trans women, and trans people in general. It's suffocating me, because I'm not all that detrans and I'm not anti-male. I miss connecting with other trans people, and I miss being part of that community. Truth is I've become really fucking hateful towards my own kind and I've been in denial of it. This has been carving a hole in my heart that my radfem views have carved even deeper, and it has led me to become a quite lost soul.

Do I hate trans women? No, but I clearly act as if I do, and I don't feel comfortable with my own actions and thoughts towards/about them anymore. Are some of them cumbrains fetishising my oppression (misogyny) and/or predators? Yes, undoubtedly. But I am not a collectivist and I can't view all trans women like that. Nor does it sit right with me to treat them all as potential predators. I care about trans women in general, ultimately because I am trans too and their struggles reflect my own. I cannot shit on them without shitting on myself. But it's not just about me. I feel empathy for them, and I want to extend kindness and care towards them. I cannot with any goodness in my heart view them as men. Males, yes, but not men. More on that diffentiation later in this post.

I do not want to politisise their gender identities as women, because I don't want my own gender politisised, regardless if that is man, woman, or otherwise. (More on that later too.) I don't want to trap them in the category of "man" because I do not want to be trapped in the category of "woman" as if our transitions and gender incongruence meant nothing at all. Do our transitions change bio sex? No, and I'm not arguing that. I'm saying transition changes SOMETHING and that that something matters. And in a lot of contexts, it even matters more than bio sex.

But isn't that just an emotional argument, like boohoo, my/their feefees? YES, it's an emotional argument. But you know what: I believe that feelings matter, about as equally much as facts and logic matters. An argument being emotional does not make it necessarily useless or invalid. Grave robbery and necrophilia is illegal due to purely emotional arguments. Perhaps think about if that's useless.

I care about trans women's feelings and comfort, not just their rights, and I care about men's feelings and comfort too, because I do not think individual males' oppression being patriarchy's fault even remotely means that "men cause their own problems" because one male suffering at the hands of other men (patriarchy) is NOT his own fault. And him reaching out to women for help when other men fail him AGAIN shouldn't be hard to understand. Of course it's optional to help him or not then, but I feel like it is truly heartless not to, unless he is some kinda raging misogynist. I see that kinda vibe a lot in radfem circles and it honestly churns my stomach. That kinda man-hating is to me absolutely repugnant. You do you, but I will not support it.

Why do I care about males? Because they're human. They're the same species as me, and I care about them as one human to another. Because I don't believe there's any difference between males and females beyond the physical biology stuff. Socialisation varies from person to person. I've always been a person of principles, so I can't sit around and say I only care about fellow females and all females, because no one choses to be born female - and then in the same breath hate males for essentially having been born male, which they also did not choose. If I had been born male, I'd probably hate radfem, and that says something. It's very fucking lopsided, and barely even to my favour.

And I've been asking myself that a lot lately: Is radfem even to my (a bio female's) favour - or is it only the the favour of some kinda statistic average of a general female who doesn't even exist? I dunno, but it's an important question to ask.

This is getting ranty already, but hey I'm trying.

Trans women and males aside, radfem often has a kinda negative view of trans men (and any variety of dysphoric females) that I've always felt iffy about, but first thought I had been mistaken about. It seemed for a long while that radfem is totally supportive of transmascs/dysphoric females, but..... upon closer look, it appears a little bit rotten, sorry to say. Because lately I've come to realise maybe I was kinda right from the start that radfem really is not as supportive of transmascs/dysphoric females as it claims to be. This is probably not intentionally unsupportive, I'm aware, but some of the things that really stand out to me like sore thumbs:

1.) The idea that if gender abolishion happened, no one would be dysphoric or wish to transition medically, is frankly incredibly unfounded. Do you have ANY evidence for that dysphoria is ENTIRELY social, because I've yet to see any reliable study on this. As far as I'm concerned this is just a theory based on essentially the exclusion method that all the biology-based theories are incomplete. So this strong assertion that a genderless society would have no trans people (with sex dysphoria only) gives me this unsettling vibe that radfem is not at all supportive of transition, but would prooobably prefer it if no one was trans - even in a world where gender is abolished and transitioned females are masculine women who just like looking like males, and transitioned males are feminine men who just like looking like females, and I dunno dysphoric nonbinary people would just be men and women who transition in a variety of atypical ways.

Which was always what I envisioned. That no one would be FORCED to be feminine or masculine or anything, because of their sex - NOT that trans people would be forced or expected to accept their physical sex characteristics. Because I don't know about you, but I've personally never based my sex dysphoria on that it's too hard to live as a masculine woman, and I've met tons of other trans people who feel the same way about that. It's a myth about dysphoric trans people, and I think perpetuating it does more harm than good.

Feminism, gender abolishion, etc, probably can't cure anyone's sex dysphoria. And even just striving towards that is a little iffy. How about leave it up to the dysphorics if we wanna be cured? Because I bet most radfems would not wanna enforce a cure for autism if that became a thing, or strive towards curing the world of autism. So why do it with sex/gender dysphoria? Point is I'm just noticing these uncomfortable, kinda hidden anti-trans sentiments behind the gender abolishion idea. I'm FOR gender abolishion, but only if transition would still be available in such a future. But I'm sensing that's not what radfem is actually about, and I've been properly fucking fooled. If so... fuck you for that.

2.) Some of you operate on the false assumption that trans people never pass as the opposite sex. This level of intellectual dishonesty is skewing radfem certain arguments really badly, and makes them appear poorly thought-out at best, and impossible to implement in real life at worst.

3.) The idea that sex segregated spaces can be upheld in a world where some people pass as the opposite sex, is frankly ludicrous to me, if you think of how it would actually pan out in practice. If women's spaces became only ever available for bio women, and males spaces only available for bio men, I'd be banned from both, due to my own transition. (And why the flying fuck would I promote that? I'm not insane.) Because there is no way I can prove that my sex is female, most people do not even believe that my sex is female when I tell them, and I already get tossed out from women's spaces due to that I just look like a man.

People's failure to believe I'm THAT passable irl, is about as frustrating as people's failure to believe I'm actually female, and both those people's arguments on where I "should" go is entirely useless garbage. This doesn't only affect me, but a lot of trans people out there in the world. And then I'm probably more accommodating to this kinda drama, than what most trans people would even be willing to pretend to put up with. I am your faithful lapdog, yet I still get my teeth kicked in for being annoying. To which I have to ask myself: is this kinda martyrdom really worth it? Other trans people often see me as self-hating for being a radfem, and I'm sadly starting to see why.

And to then claim I could just use gender neutral spaces is frankly robbing me of MY female rights. To treat me as a threat to other women is very uncalled for, and yes... misogynistic. And to assume that male-passing females would be welcome in women's spaces in such a world is frankly laughable. Masculine women who have not even touched a vial of testosterone in their lives already have trouble being allowed in women only spaces that have harder rules on "no trans women allowed." This is anti-trans in a way which I cannot support.

If I am to be barred from women's spaces (which I am) because I look like a man, then I WILL use men's spaces. Because I refuse to be dehumanised and stuffed into a "trans toilet/locker room" for other people's convenience. The majority's comfort does NOT get to override my personal comfort. Especially considering men (in general) are not actually uncomfortable with my presense in their spaces, because I look like I belong there. So there is not even any damn argument to be made against me using male only space. This is not because of me wanting some kinda validation for how much of a "man" I "identify" as or whatever. This is about me not wanting to be dehumanised for my medical condition or for how I choose to treat it. Because yes, barring me from both men's and women's spaces does feel a lot like considering me sub-human, because my physical body is frightening, unsettling, gross, or otherwise inconvenient for "normal" men and women to be subjected to. Fuck that noise. I am just as much human and I deserve the same level of basic respect, and that should not be asking for too much. I will not sink below that bar. That's like telling a disabled person that they "have to" use the disabled space because their amputation (or whatever is their ailment) freaks people out, even if they're capable of using the regular men's/women's space despite their condition. So, I'd say barring trans people from both men's and women's spaces is actually rather ableist.

So how do I think that issue should be solved then? Honestly I do not have a solution. So I'd say skip the sex segregation of stuff like bathrooms and locker rooms completely (but keep it for stuff like sports and rape relief shelters) and let trans people themselves figure out which space suits them best, and only intervene in cases when they make a really poor judgement. The only other option would be allowing ALL females in women's spaces (yes, including fully passing trans men) and vice versa all males into men's spaces, but I'm extremely worried about how exactly passing trans people would be expected to go about proving they're going to the right spaces. So I'd say don't do shit until we have found a better (actually better) solution.

Because I can't sit here and say that trans women should never use the women's locker rooms, while I go showering butt naked in the men's locker room. That would be a very hypocritical double standard. Yes, I think passable and/or post-op trans women can and should be allowed to use women only spaces. Based on that I think passable and/or post-op trans men can and should be allowed to use men only spaces, but I do not think that is a perfect or ideal solution.

3.) There's just in general a lot of negativity towards medical transition and how trans people look; our desires, hopes, goals and our dysphoria. This feeds my self-hatred like fuck. Yeah I'd consider myself a rather strong person in general, but I'm not made of concrete, and I think radfem and gender critical thought has broken me down a lot, which took me a while to notice. I don't even know if the real reason I'm calling myself a woman nowadays is because my dream of being a man in ANY sorta sense (be it fantasy or reality) has become completely crushed. Yet I'm unable to truly be okay with being a woman.

Yes, I truly love my pussy, I'm fine with my reproductive ability (producing ova, chance at pregnancy) and in general I like that I started off on a female ground. I love that I have small hands and feet, and a relatively small frame. I really like my height, that I'm not very tall, but do tower most other females. So there's a lot I like about being bio female, and it's mostly things I can't change about my physique anyway. As for my curves, I seem to sometimes like it and sometimes not. I'm also okay with having cellulites and stretch marks. But what I'm NOT fine with about being female is being driven by estrogen, my body's natural gravitation and persistense towards re-feminising itself as soon as I went off of testosterone, having breasts, having less muscle mass than males, having a higher voice, having little to no body/facial hair, etc. I am not fine with being recognised as a woman, or having most female secondary sex characteristics, or lacking male secondary sex characteristics.

This does make me feel like although I'm actually fine with simply being bio female, I'm only fine with it on the condition that I get to look/sound/appear as close to male as medically possible. And does that make me a man in the bio male sorta sense? No, obviously not, but I'm starting to ask myself: Why the FUCK does it matter so goddamn much?! I am sick and tired of being a political pawn no matter where I go. I just wanna live my life.

And radfem discourse (as well as TRA discourse) is so goddamn far from real life it's honestly pathetic and destructive. Most people really don't give a fuck if I'm male or female, or if I have a dick or pussy. It's only really relevant for my doctors and my sex partners. But outside of those very specific contexts, I do like being open about my bio sex, because it just makes it easier to be open about my life, and I feel like that's a good reason to be open about it. However, being open about it solely because some people on the internet think people's bio sex is absolutely crucial info (outside of the context of sex/dating and docs) does not feel good.

I shouldn't feel pressured to be so open about myself, just to not feel guilty for how I choose to treat my dysphoria. I should not have to feel this guilty.

I think my opinions on gender are actually unhealthy for me. I understand more and more that people's opinions on gender are largely just based on their own personal experiences with whatever trans people they've stumbled across. There is no objective facts on what gender is and what it is not. If it's an internal identity or just social roles and clothing. If it's somewhat biological or entirely socially constructed. I feel like I've been arguing bullshit semantics that don't even hold water. I'm not saying that bio sex is changable or a spectrum or completely unimportant, or anything like that. When I say gender I don't mean biological sex.

I'm not saying that I'm not biogically female. I'm saying that just because I'm a female, doesn't mean I cannot also be a man - under, not another, but just slightly looser definition of man which is still connected to physical maleness - in contexts where it simply does not, and should not, matter if I do not fit someone else's definition of what a man or woman is. Because maybe semantics are killing discourse more than it's killing real life issues like human rights. Just saying.

But I dunno what I want with my gender or my label. But I think my realisation that I need to scrap my views and values in regards to gender altogether, and rebuild them from scratch... might actually quite likely change my sense of my gendered self (again.) Because you know what? My gender identity seems very highly influenced by my opinions of gender as a whole, and not just by my dysphoria. If I go by just my dysphoria, I think I would consider myself a trans man, which is why I guess I never truly stopped considering that... but my opinions on gender as a whole (women's rights, female liberation, gender abolishion, trans stuff, bio sex, etc) intervene and conflict with that, and makes me wanna be both a woman and a trans man at the same time, which I can't. So I end up being pulled in two opposing directions.

It's just that up until recently my opinions on gender used to matter more to me than tending to my dysphoria. And now I've come to a point where I don't think I wanna have that sorta prioritisation anymore, because it's having real bad effect on my mental health.

And I need to get very real with myself and ask myself if this really is the life I want. Upon knowing that I'm not actually comfortable with my own opinions, and their affects on my mental health is not actually worth advocating for female liberation, which I already know by now. Then my next step is to take a step back and try to consume less media from any and all sides of the discourse, and listen to my intuition again. Hear myself out. This might take a while, and in the meantime I'm just gonna have to say that my stance on feminism, trans stuff, women's rights, etc, is "under construction."

And as for my goddamn gender label... I'm half okay with pretty much anything right now. Transmasc, woman, ftm, trans man, dysphoric female, masculine/gnc/male-passing woman, etc, is all fine. It's not really about how other people label me anyway. How I label myself is the only thing that truly matters to me in that regard. That it's with self-respect, love and care... and not for political reasons.

I think that's just the thing. That I need to stop doing shit I'm not comfortable with just for political reasons.

With that said, I also wanna briefly touch upon other aspects of radfem that I find myself either no longer agreeing with, or just no longer caring about.

The sex work industry: I know it's bad. But I no longer care and I still might wanna become a sex worker one day. At least I wanna try it. Because no I don't want for sex to be personal, private or hidden. I feel like that's just not how I wanna express my sexuality. And sex is the ONLY of my passions I can in any way imagine turning into a job. Because it's the only one of my passions I never get tired of, and also never truly get obsessed with either. Sorry if the sex industry hurt you personally, but I kinda fail to see how that's my problem, or my responsibility, or how it would seal my fate. I don't wanna live my life after other people's problems, and I cannot learn from other people's mistakes (for those who chose it but still got burned.)

Watching porn, engaging in bdsm, etc: After having tried for a couple of years to heal my broken sexuality and to enjoy vanilla sex, I'm frankly giving up. Some say I'd have to go celibate and work really hard on my trauma for it to have effect, which... honestly I'd rather eat a bullet than do that. I saw a sexologist once last summer and oooooh BOY did that go badly! She basically told me I'm just kinky and need to work on accepting myself. That hurt a lot, and made me give up extra hard on psychiatry again (like it was the last drop again) but it made me realise that there just isn't any help for me out there. And that I'm also not willing to do anything drastic to change it on my own.

That what I want is to have a sex life that I enjoy. So... I'll go back to what simply works for me: bdsm sex. That's not entirely without some reluctance and hesitation, and I do plan on going about it in safer ways than I previously did. Like for example only doing it with people I trust and know well, use safety words, etc, as a bare minimum. I'm learning everything I can about safer bdsm practices, well before actually diving into it. But thing is that I like such extreme "kinks" that it's never gonna be entirely safe, and.... I guess I can't be fucked to care anymore, and I'm tired of even just hearing about the preachings of how bad hardcore bdsm is. Like yeah, I know it's bad, now shut up now and leave me the fuck alone to live/ruin my own damn life.

And as for porn: I never quite quit it, just reduced it by a lot. Again, not denying the harms about it, just not caring enough to change my habits.

Conclusions and wrapping it up: Basically, I've always been a Trauma Queen and I just wanna be myself again. I don't think my former views (more egalitarian/equality based rather than female liberation, and neither individualist nor collectivist) were bad or wrong, but rather that how I implemented them into my life and disregarded danger which was bad. Bio sex matters, but I think gender matters too, and the world is what it is. I have to accept that if I'm gonna have the slightest chance of living a happy life. I can't force myself to live according to feminist ideals for the sake of women in general, when those ideals smother my flame.

I cannot claim that either of the things radfem stand against are all inherently bad. I cannot claim that transitioning shouldn't be a thing, even in a perfect world, because I wanna bring my testosterone with me everywhere I go. I cannot claim that there's any "one road fits all" to happiness for all people, or all women. I cannot be a hypocrite who only values female lives when male lives are at core equally valuable. That has nothing to do with pandering to men. All it means is that I want a world where men and women can live in peace together, and if that's not possible, then at least I wanna live my own life in peace with myself, making whichever decisions I see fit for myself, and surround myself with both men and women who are respectful and decent people. I do not want to try to force my life to fit an ultimately flawed ideology. And all ideologies are flawed.

I'm flawed. We all are, and that is okay. Yes, I wanna strive towards happiness and some health and safety, but not ultimate health or 100% secure safety. Health and safety should not come at the expense of fun and happiness, if at all possible. Because I still need some amount of danger to find enjoyment in things, and I think having fun and getting bitter lessons is more important, than being healthy and safe. I've always thought that. It might just even be a core value of mine, and it does conflict with radfem values. What matters to me in life is in conflict with radfem values. I need to learn moderation and to balance fun with health, happiness with safety, and transitioning with reality. But what I do not need is to wingclip myself because of what matters to other people.

Radfem has taught me a lot of good stuff, it has made me aware of a lot of shit I didn't wanna know, but now it's time to move on and leave it behind me.

Please note that I do not mean to demonise radfem as inherently bad, fearmongering, transphobic, etc. It still has a lot of good points that I agree with. And I may still likely reblog and interact with radfem posts that I do feel are good and/or interesting. I just don't wanna lock myself to radfem as an ideology anymore. I do not think radfem is the ultimate truth, and I do not think there even is ANY ultimate truth to such things as gender.

I'm saying that I declare myself no longer a radical feminist because I am no longer dedicated to the cause as a whole. Not that it's suddenly all bad.

I wanna spread my wings and just be my problematic, true self... this sex-crazed, kinky tranny who deep down loves being a transitioned female, but also don't want for any female to suffer oppression simply because of how they were born, but also sees trans women as "women enough", values male lives and their opinions, etc! Whatever else I might think and feel which I haven't figured out yet. Instead of a forcing myself to become a perfect pawn for completely sex-based feminism.

I may adopt some of my old TRA views back, as well as some of my old libfem views. I will not limit myself to only one school of thought, ANY one school of thought. Please remember that if you're thinking I'm gonna go back to be a TRA libfem entirely, because that is NOT the case. What I'm breaking out of is the tribalism and extremism of radfem: the radical part of feminism. Because ultimately, that radical part of feminism, what I've been describing (perhaps poorly) throughout this post, is what's become suffocating for me.

I need to find myself again, beyond EVERY ideology that's telling me how I should think, feel and live my life. I've had enough of that shit. I need to think and feel freely, and live my life for myself.

Thank you all for your patience with me.

#radfem #leaving radfem #some criticism but i do not hate you #re-evaluating myself and my values #not directed at anyone specific #not like id remember who said what anyway lol #this became more of a vent than i had anticipated #excruciatingly long post

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hoaxexistence · 3 years

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Thoughts

I finished the show last april and im doing my 2nd full rewatch and this time I'm watching it alongside the commentaries so im kind of in a slow pace. Lol. I said up there that it's my 2nd full rewatch bec for i time i was watching random episodes until i had the copy of the commentaries. So far here are my thoughts for the first 13 episodes.

“I see your value now.”

Episode one is a actually a great start. I mean sure they are clearly finding their dynamics but still, it has great scenes and lines and not all shows got that strong pilot. Really love that panning up shot of the school at the end.

“Milady, milord”

Spanish 101 is a fun episode, really hilarious. Ken jeong is funny, and hey i actually see britta better now. I remember watching this show the first time and i tried to like her but ended up liking annie instead. But now im actually seeing her. I like the bit where they did their presentation and annie was in a boat and alison had tears, cracks me up. Also i like jeff and annie so the tiny detail of the first milady milord here is so personal to me. AND the tag!! The bibliotheca rap, God was it iconic.

“falafel as fallback”

Introduction to film. Oh the first time i read this, the film buff in me just cheered! It was really sweet of britta to do that for abed and i see in this episode how they really treasure him as a person and i really love that, that's what he deserve.

(im writing all of these from memory and my memory sucks so these first few may not be that greatly executed.)

“you asked me to stay and you said we we're friends”

Ah social psychology. I love that line from abed so much and Annie's reaction. She was taken aback with how her words meant to him and i am deeply touched as well as her. My favorite part in the cold open was chang and Annie's moment hahhaha. Aaaaand, jeff and Shirley moments were here! Shirley's really funny and i love that part when she just makes fun of vaughn's nips hahah. I love the friendship between her and jeff. Also the tag is funny. Trobed tags are funny.

(i started sliding through the episodes now just to refresh my memory. Lol)

“because if crazy people can't be at Greendale, then where are we supposed to go”

Advanced Criminal Law. The freakin gif that I've been seeing for a long time finally had a story for me. (That one when chang was looking at the tiny paper. Lol) I love jeff and britta's relationship as well as annie and pierce's that were shown in this. Yes, jeff was helping britta to be closer to her because he wanna sleep with her but more than that, he likes her and he's her friend and he wants to not be an ass even for a while. Annie's cheerleading story was a good bit. Lol.

“I peed alone my whole life. Women have always hated me.”

Football, feminism, and you!! Aaaaa i love this episode. I said that I never liked britta that much but that's my biased opinion talking. I usually don't like characters i see myself in, so yea, at times i could really relate to britta. This actually talked about her too though they kinda did that already in the previous episode but of course, the show is introducing us to these characters so it's necessary for characters to overlap stories duh. Oh and this is the first commentary that alison brie was in because this is kind of a big moment for annie here, though this episode is for troy, okay this episode is for everyone dammit 😂. Anyway this is where i started to really appreciate annie and where they actually put a clearer path to her character, though still navigating. I love her confrontation with jeff and how his reaction after looks like hehe. Also that last scene before the tag, another milady milord. uwu

“I am batman. Or am I?”

Introduction to Statistics! WHEN DAN CONFIRMED THAT THAT DANCE SCENE BETWEEN ALISON AND JOEL MADE THEM CONSIDER JEFF AND ANNIE was a great bit from commentary. This is Slater's first appearance and her character helped in exposing Jeff's character. Shirley's deep emotions were navigated in this episode as well with how she divert her anger to slater. That scene of her and britta was really touching. I love it when the girls have their own moments together just like from the previous episode. Also i loved how joel, chevy, and dan admired alison's talents in the commentary.

“you're a nerd”

Ah, Home Economics. I love how they let us into abed's dorm. We see here that slowly they're really starting to become a family, although yes, annie got a thing for troy and jeff got a thing for britta but still.

“man is evil”

Hah. Debate 109. The kiss for the team. I love this scene and the simmons guy. That hallway scene will never not be funny. Also this episode birthed the imma die by werewolf rap from alison sooooo. Shirley was really funny, especially when she giggled when she teases jeff and annie. Speaking of that scene, God. The way he looks at her. That was probably the moment where i could say that jeff notices annie as a woman. The way he looked into her eyes before he looks at her hair, it was beautiful. That reproductive joke bit was funny but the phone will always crack me up, Jeff's tiny voice when he said he could just get another one is hilarious. Britta and pierce had their moments here and as much as i like their tandem i like annie and peirce more. Idk. Also their laptops are very cute, very old. Lol

“we're trying to save the planet, print 500 more of these”

Aaaa, Environmental Science. That opening was really good. This episode is a highlight for chang's character and i loved his and Jeff's relationship, they really make a fun banter. What can i say the last part of this episode was just great. That montage of troy and abed singing somewhere out there while the dance is happening, it's just brilliant. I like that transitions and how we see that jeff is capable of doing something decent even if it doesn't always look like he's doing anything.

“I am totally comfortable being uncomfortable”

The Politics of Human Sexuality. Troy and abed were kinda challenging themselves and I really love that for them. How abed cares about Troy's feelings really debunks the thing that he's emotionless. I love that the girls were able to do things here again, even if it's sneaking into the dean's office. Lol. Giant thumb in a turtleneck. 😂. Alison was in the commentary again for this episode and talked about how that closet thing story was based on her real life experience. Really fun bit. Also! That line from dean when he said alcohol just makes him sleepy, really funny.

“it's December 10th!”

Aaaaaaaaa Comparative Religion! This one's really good. I love that they get to talk about religion and beliefs without like picking on it. Also have i said how their overlapping murmurs and talking over each other in the background was really great? Nope? Yeah, well this cast make a pretty good background noise, i love it. Troy's face is the best. That shirley line where she said, “why do you hate me and jesus?” will never not be funny. And that bracelet that she made was really sweet. Yes she could get manipulative and may be good at gaslighting but i love how they still redeem her and make her still likeable in the end. And Yvette's voice is just so brilliant! Dan said that this episode was the episode where they really felt like they're really are a family, especially in Jeff's point of view.

“Annie's pretty young we try not to sexualize her”

Oh i love the opening for Investigative Journalism. I love how they hug after coming from their own breaks, and that jack black was suddenly there. Lol. I liked that bit where annie thanked jeff for getting mad and jeff said that those were the upside.. Really felt like somehow, behind all his bs and his inability to process his feelings, he's still capable of having one. This episode showed how he has the in the palm of his hand, yet as the show progresses, we'll see that it won't stay like that. And I love that. They're growing. And yep in the commentary alison said she gets those messages still, and after more than a decade, she still do. Sad. I remember what Dan said, she's a forbidden fruit. :)

05/19/21 - 05/21/21

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intheoryowl · 3 years

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Diversity in KOTLC

[While commenting on this post please don't post spoilers for Unlocked just yet. Thanks. This post may contain legacy spoilers. This post is a repost of my Wattpad post that I made in Sunflower Crown called Diversity in KOTLC, so if you’ve seen this already please feel free to skip it. This post lines up with MLK day, but it was originally posted in reaction to Shannon Messenger announcing the live action movies.]

[Edit: Okay, after typing this post up I realize that there are a few more characters that are POC, but they’re not prominent at all, so the representation is still miniscule. They were mentioned, like, twice throughout the entire series. So, my point still stands.]

What's one thing you notice about the photo above?

Oh, yeah. All the characters are white, expect for the last three in the photo, which are all conveniently tacked onto the end.

Let's address the elephant in the room for everyone in the Keeper of the Lost Cities fandom. Recently, I've been thinking a lot about how little diversity there is within the cast, especially within the main group. I've been meaning to make a post about this since the #BLM movement started up, but I never got around to it.

I've found that a lot of the people in the fandom have been incredibly shy about having this conversation, but I think it's really time we have it. The cast contains very little diversity.

Disclaimer: Before anyone comes at me for this post, I'd like to first say that I've been a huge KOTLC fan and a big fan of Shannon Messenger's work for a long time. This isn't meant to be any sort of hate post, but instead a conversation I think we all need to have.

Let's start with the format of the art up above^.

First of all, out of eight characters 3 of them are POCs (or not white). Wylie isn't even in the main group/doesn't really enter the story until much later in the series. The same goes for Linh and Tam. They're all tacked onto the end of the photo, like they're just add-ons.

These three characters are the only characters I know the race of that are POC characters. Out of the entire series. Yes, the entire series. [And I would say that's the case for most people that aren't superfans or recently phased out of the series before art was starting to be released.] I wouldn't say I'm the biggest fan out there, but there aren't that many prominent characters in KOTLC, and just about every single one of them is white.

It feels like a last-ditch throw in when Shannon Messenger went *oops I forgot about diversity entirely!!*. I mean, think about it. Tam, Linh, and Wylie entered the series later on than everyone else.

The lack of diversity, quite frankly, I find ridiculous. And not even just because there are three characters out of eight in that photo (one of which that is POC isn't even in the main group, nevermind the original main group) are POC, and prominent characters. Not only is there a lack of diversity when it comes to race/features that aren't white, but Shannon Messenger also includes exactly zero LGBTQ+ representation throughout the entire series. There is nothing hinted, nothing said. Gender norms are never addressed in the story, and that's fine. But for there to be no gay/pan/aro/ace/freaking anything on the spectrum representation?? No trans representation? Non-binary? Hello??? I get that when she started the series LGBTQ+ characters might not have been something you saw in every single book, but even as new characters are added in we see absolutely no LGBTQ+ representation still. There's not even anyone questioning their sexuality or their gender identity. Nowadays, that's not only a huge part of being a teenager (I would know, I'm one), but also just something you would think is key in the identity of a character.

As a writer, when I start writing a book, one of the first things I do is make sure I know who I want my characters to be. Gender identity, race, sexuality, all of this - these are such fundamental parts to a character. Truthfully, i don't understand how you could just overlook them whatsoever. It's a choice you have to make, not a default setting that's already been turned on for you. I think - even to someone incredibly racist - that as an author writing a book, one would be aware of the outward appearance of their characters? Or the fact that all of the characters had one very certain thing in common? It's hard to miss, frankly, and it looks really bad.

There's really no excuse for it at the end of the day. You can't explain away the facts, and the facts are that the lack of diversity within KOTLC is concerning.

With KOTLC as well, the book doesn't even center around identity for the most part. It's fantasy, and that's what runs the plot, not someone's struggles with race. It really would've been just that easy for Shannon Messenger to throw in a few POC characters or people that weren't straight, maybe mention it in passing, and be done with it and we wouldn't even be having this conversation.

Another thing I'd like to bring up is the microaggressive character arcs of Linh and Tam song, the only two out of the entire central friend group that are diverse characters. (they appear to have some sort of asian heritage, in case you never caught that. But I bet you did with their very distinctly Chinese last names.) When Tam and Linh first appear in the book, they're suspected delinquents and exiled for crimes to a school of people that have been outcasted from society. They're seen as outsiders. During the story, we see the both of them climbing their way up in the ranks through hard work & connections. unlike everyone else who is going to Foxfire from the start, and we don't see them as nobility at first at all. Not only do the twins come into the story late, but they start out being pinned as supposed criminals (for going to their school which they were wrongly exiled to) and being the underdogs.

Twins are also scorned and families in the Lost Cities with twins are highly stigmatized. Same thing, the only two Asian characters in the entire series and they're the ones who have to be scorned instead of the white ones.

I'm sorry, but that rubs me the wrong way. it seems incredibly microaggressive to me. You're telling me that the only two characters of color [in the main group] are portrayed this way by accident? You couldn't have chosen any one of your fourteen white characters to play the role? Please.

Also, this might be a reach, but is there colorism also present in the KOTLC cast? The type of Asian that Linh and Tam seem to be (Eastern - Chinese, Japanese, Korean, etc) have a very light skin tone. Throughout all of KOTLC, the only skin tone darker than white is Wylie's character, who is obviously African-American. There is no one that looks Latina [okay, there is, it's Jensi who was mentioned twice in the first two books and never again], a different kind of Asian, Romanian, Indian, Middle Eastern, nothing. Actually, you know what, it's not a reach. You're telling me that objectively based on facts, there is only one character out of the entire KOTLC universe that's skin tone is darker than paper? That's the standard?

To that I say: get outta here.

I'm not convinced that Shannon Messenger - as much as I love and adore her writing and her book series - ever truly cared about diversity and inclusivity among her characters. There's no representation other than straight, white, male, female, two Asians, and a single African American character (out of anyone who actually matters). That's it. Statistically speaking.

That's ridiculous.

[This is a later edit: someone in the comments also pointed out that the Lost Cities are located all over the world, meaning that having a mainly white cast also is whitewashing? This only gets worse the more you think about it, ugh.]

I understand that the majority of the KOTLC fanbase is very young. Believe me, I do. I'm probably one of the older fans that has been here for a while/still is here. Most people my age have moved on to fangirling over the Umbrella Academy or something. I get it. But I do believe that even twelve year olds can understand what I'm saying, stay informed, spread awareness, and think critically.

One of the reasons I think Shannon hasn't been called out nearly as much for the lack of diversity and representation in her stories is because she has such a young readerbase. That's fine. I don't expect people that are ten and twelve to be thinking about any of this. It never occurred to me at the age, so why would it occur to you unless someone else brought it up first?

That said, now that I have brought it up, I think that the least you can do is have conversations with your friends, tag a few people, and think critically about the casts of your favorite books/people you stan. If you're not speaking up, it makes you look like you don't care that there's absolutely zero representation and diversity in the KOTLC series. And you should care.

Keeper of the Lost Cities is a very white, straight series. What does this mean? It means that it's inherently racist, likely colorist, and not currently supportive of any LGBTQ+ people on any LGBTQ+ spectrum. People out there just like you (if you're white) aren't seeing themselves in stories or media. Instead, they're being told that only if you have European heritage or a lighter skin tone can you be a hero. It's harmful. And we need to speak out against it.

[Not to mention that there are no different body types. This post was just on core character identity, and nothing else. As my friend StickyCarpet put in a conversation, what about religions? Do all elves believe the same things? There's very little identity variation between characters beyond their personalities.]

The reason I want to speak out so strongly now, is because as you may know, KOTLC is being made into a live-action series of movies. On screen, it's going to be even more visible and in-your-face that there's no representation. You know what that says to everyone who wasn't represented at least a little bit (or well)? It says we don't see you because we don't approve of who you are, which is just such an awful message to send. In the movies, it's going to be super important for especially younger readers to see themselves on screen. I don't want these movies to just be another movie chock-full of straight white people. It's time for change. This was never something that should've been the standard, so we need to try extremely hard to change it.

By no means will that magically fix or amend the fact that Shannon Messenger chose to put just about zero diversity into the story in the first place, but it will at least show that she's trying beyond throwing a few new characters with different skin tones in after people start calling her out for it.

Keeper of the Lost Cities is my favorite or second favorite series, and it was (and always will be) a huge part of my childhood. I'm a huge fan of the series myself, but I want to make my opinion on this subject very clear and encourage you to form your own opinion on it. I don't have instagram or socials, but I do have a large platform on Wattpad to spread awareness with. Please spread the message.

Please, if you can, tag people from the fandom in the comments. Share this post. Reblog it on tumblr or post it on instagram. We need to get the conversation started. It's not enough to just sit here and pretend like we're all okay with the fact that the series we all love is grossly unrepresentative/not diverse.

In the external link, you will find a carrd leading to Ways to Help & be a part of the #BlackLivesMatter movement, including ways that don't involve money. In my bio, there's a link that goes to all crisis resources around the globe with links to causes. Please feel free to share and utilize both links.

Thank you very much for reading & (hopefully) spreading the message/awareness with me! Your favorite series and author(?) possibly being racist is something that's harder to come to terms with, even for me at my age, so please don't blame yourself for everything and just try to help as much as you can ♡

[Please feel free to reblog and repost on any platform anywhere as necessary. Spreading the message regardless is much appreciated!]

#diversity #KOTLC #movies #inclusivity #representation #LGBTQ+#racism #bookseries #fantasy

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embeanwrites · 4 years

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Finding Home Gavin Reed x Reader

Chapter 24

Masterlist

Pulling into Gavin’s driveway I looked at my phone one last time and released a sigh. I felt Gavin’s hand squeeze my thigh before stepping out of the car. I followed behind the two as we walked towards Gavin’s home. I started to panic, the last time I was here was when we got the call about my dad.

“(Y/n), your heart rate has increased, are you okay?” Nines asked. Gavin pulled back from unlocking the door and looked at me, worry painted all over his expression. I gave them both a shaky smile.

“I’m okay, just overthinking. Nothing some movies and junk food won’t fix.” Both of them gave me a look that showed they didn’t buy what I had said, but instead of fighting me Gavin opened his door and all three of us walked in.

Immediately Lucy ran up to me and started rubbing my leg. I smiled and bent down to pet her. I heard Gavin chuckle and he got down next to me.

“She missed you.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “I missed you.” I giggled and shook my head, as Nines stepped around us making his way over to Gavin’s kitchen. It didn’t take long until Nines’ voice spoke up.

“Gavin, you do not have a single vegetable or fruit. Not even the processed ones in a can.” Nines said in an appalled tone.

“Are either of you surprised?” Gavin joked.

“Surprised? No. Disgusted? Yes.” Nines quipped, causing me to giggle. Gavin sent a glare my way which caused me to laugh harder. I glanced up at Nines who also had a small smile on his face.

“Great, now I get to have two people making fun of me in my own home.” Gavin stood back up and stretched. He held out his hand for me to grab and he pulled me up. “Does it really matter, Nines? You can’t even eat and we’re probably going to get take out anyway.”

“Gavin, it matters because it is clear by so many of the lifestyle choices that you are not taking care of yourself.”

“Hey, I’m here for a good time and not a long time.” He joked, I laughed and leaned into him. It felt good to be around both of them in a non stressful environment. Nines looked at both of us and sighed. “You made me have a salad last week, get off my back.” Defeated for the time being, Nines sighed and retreated into the living room.

“Wow! One whole salad, I can’t believe it!” I teased as I wrapped my arms around his neck, he placed his hands on my hips and smiled down at me. “So what did you two want to do tonight?” I kept my hold on Gavin as I looked over to Nines. Nines’ LED was spinning yellow as he stared at the wall.

“Hey, Tin- Nines. Hey Nines, you listening?” Gavin nervously looked at me and then back Nines, probably hoping I wouldn’t get upset of his almost slip up. I was content that he caught himself in time. Connor would remind me that progress is progress no matter how slow.

“Gavin, you have a switch console. We could play a game to relax.”

“You have a switch! Those are so old!” I jumped out of his arms and raced over to the tv. I heard Gavin laugh as I slid the rest of the way on my knees. “What games do you have?”

“Multiplayer, I have Arms, MarioKart 8 Deluxe, Super Bomberman R, and probably some others. I’m not really sure about all the single-player games I have.” Gavin awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “That was actually the first purchase I made for myself with my paycheck.” He chuckled.

“Aw, you’re a dork too! How sweet Gav!” I giggled pulling out MarioKart. “Hey, Nines do you want to play MarioKart with us?”

“That would be acceptable.” Nines nodded.

“Gav?”

“As long as I get to play Rosalina.” Gavin kneeled next to me and started setting up the game.

“I would like to play Koopa Troopa. They have one of the highest in-game stats according to nintendolife.com.”

“Okay, Mr. Stats. Skill matters more than some statistics you get from the internet.” Gavin snorted. “Come on pipsqueak.” We all shuffled onto the couch and got ready for the races.

Ten races in, one large pizza, a six-pack of shitty beer, and changing into comfy clothes later I was leaning against Gavin sideways on the couch with my legs over Nines’ lap. Gavin had his right arm hanging over my shoulder as he rubbed small circles into my arm.

Gavin was surprisingly good at MarioKart winning just about half the races, Nines winning three, and I won only two races, but it was a good time. Gavin, of course, had been a poor sport about it, and had I not been laying on him, I’m sure he would have gotten up to continue his bragging. To be honest, it seemed like Nines went easy on us, but he still seemed to have fun. Always making his win come at the last moment just to prove he could.

Now the three of us were watching reruns of Criminal Minds. Well, it was more like they were watching the show and I was listening to them complain about everything they were doing wrong in the show. Lack of gloves, how quick they got results back, and just the drama.

“You know, we can watch something else you two.” I mused. There was something about Gavin, Nines, and Connor’s love-hate relationship with crime shows that was amusing. The most surprising of it all was how invested Nines seemed to be. I had a feeling if it was just me and him he wouldn’t be making fun of the show.

“No, this is fun,” Gavin said. Nines looked over as I rolled my eyes causing him to smirk.

“It may be fun for you Gavin, but not necessarily the rest of us.” Gavin groaned and looked over at Nines.

“See (Y/n)? This is why I need to call him Tin Can. Knock him off his high horse for once.”

“Uh-huh, that’s why you do that.” I snuggled closer to Gavin. All the warm food, drinks, and video games had made me feel more relaxed than I had felt in the past two weeks. I felt Gavin kiss the top of my head. I hummed and closed my eyes.

“(Y/n), you can fall asleep if you’d like.” Nines' voice broke through my thoughts. I couldn’t even open my eyes. I tried to force myself to nod, but sleep had already claimed me.

I woke up the next morning alone in Gavin’s bed. I stretched and looked around. It was barely 9 am and I felt well-rested, for the first time in quite some time. I could smell bacon coming from the kitchen.

Yawning, I got up and walked towards the kitchen.

“Hey, pipsqueak.” Gavin greeted me. He was sitting on a low bar stool as Nines was cooking. “I was going to make breakfast, but-”

“You somehow managed to get more eggshell pieces than the actual egg in the pan. Because of me, the food will actually be edible. Will you please stop complaining.” Nines snapped, I giggled as Gavin glared daggers into the back of Nines’ head. I kissed Gavin’s check and gave him a side hug.

“Thank you, Nines.” I squeezed Gavin as he grumbled about it being his food, to begin with. Nines barely responded as Gavin pulled me into his lap.

“How’d you sleep?” Gavin gave me a small peck on the lips and rubbed his nose against mine.

“The best I have in a while. Thank you. Did you guys stay up all night?”

“Nah, I went to bed around 3.”

“Wait, did you sleep on the couch?” Gavin quickly looked away and I slapped him on the chest. “Gavin! It’s your bed I could have slept on the couch.”

“That would have been unacceptable, (Y/n). Connor alerted me that you weren’t getting an adequate amount of sleep. If we were to leave you on the couch you would have woken up in the middle of the night and would most likely be experiencing lumbar pain.” Nines turned back to look at me, pointing the spatula threateningly at me.

“Nines! Point that at someone else!” Gavin barked as Nines turned his glare from me to Gavin. I shook my head and pressed a kiss to his jaw, the stubble scratching my lips.

“Thank you, both of you.” I murmured. Nines nodded and went back to making breakfast and Gavin continued to hold me. Connor was right, I did need a break.

#gavin reed x reader #gavin reed #detroit become human #dbh #rk900 #rk800 #nines #dbh nines #connor #dbh connor #x reader

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nightcoremoon · 4 years

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this might sound racist but I only enjoy working with latine people (and statistically about two thirds of black people) in restaurants because, well, basically everyone else doesn't give a shit about their jobs. the white girls don't care or they're too stupid and lazy to do anything for themselves correctly, the white boys are either racist, drunk, violent, slow, assholes, morons, or rednecks, restaurants don't hire asians or pacific islanders unless they have white names like jim or bob so I've only worked with ONE EVER, and as for black people... well a lot of them have been absolute delights to work with and tbh I've had much better experiences with working with black people than with any other non latine ethnic group, but while I've had three (well, four technically) horrible experiences with people who were black, I've had zero bad experiences with people who were latine. and the reason why those three specific black peoples were bad experiences had nothing to do with their ethnicity- one fucked off to flirt wth the underage girls and he was totally chill with raw chicken bits sticking to everything and he got fired for this TWICE (because dumbass management rehired him again later), one just straight up walked out several times because there was a "mess" (even though it was always less than what I walked into), and one was a chauvinistic asshole who ignored everything that anybody female said and yelled at me for not doing things the same way he did and he ultimately got fired for being slow, unpleasant, insubordinate, and lying about having a cut on his hand thus exploiting a loophole in the system and squeezing another week of pay out of management. still, I'd rather work with that guy than the racist with anger issues who would chat for hours about how "black lives matter is ruining this country" that I was just a step away from fucking stabbing so instead I just told management he was racist and they canned his ass, the guy who showed up so drunk he vommed all over, the guy who tried to start a fistfight with one of the managers, or the guy who showed up once and never came back for probably reasons other than he saw the rainbow pin on my hat and immediately stopped being civil for ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ some reason.

but I have never had a problem with any latine coworker. the kids I trained were attentive and understood what I was saying even though one literally couldn't speak english so I used what little spanish I know from dora the explorer and pans labyrinth and ill nino and various western derived media (and also google translate) to help communicate basic phrases with him. the guy who literally couldn't speak my language understood and comprehended me better than most guys who were fluent in english. I also introduced him to ill nino and he likes metal now. and the adults I worked with, well, they surpass me (what with the mental and physical issues I have but also because they just did a great job).

now I'm not saying that a person's work ethic leads to their value as a human like some kind of filthy protestant... but hey if we're all trapped in the hell that is capitalism, if you don't pull your weight and force me to pull your weight for you, you're a fuckin piece of shit. I hate capitalism more than anyone else in the whole building yet I have to cover for your laziness, dumbassery, and ineptitude? cool. dickheads.

anyway mexicans do better jobs at labor than 90% of lazy crybaby white americans so I don't blame corporations AT ALL for hiring them more often. I do blame corporations for paying them less and exploiting them for personal gain though because that's fucked up and brown people deserve to be treated better in this country. brown people deserve all the same benefits that white privilege delivers me. "but then it wouldn't be white privilege it'd just be common courtesy" you're so close to getting it

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mirkwoodshewolf · 5 years

Text

Ridge farm memories; Queen x teen reader

*Author’s note*

Well this fic is DEFINITELY LONG OVER DUE!!!! For those who were fans of the Deacy fic “Always family” here is a scene I decided to do based off the comforting scene Roger and reader-chan had. So no warnings except RAW FLUFF but if I had to add a warning, it would be that SOB Paul makes an appearance. But other than that this is a SUPREME FLUFF FIC. So I hope you all enjoy this fic as well as the last one I just posted up :)

Taglist:

@psychosupernatural

@plethora-of-things

@ixchel-9275

@waddles03

@queendeakyy

@coolcxt

@geek-and-proud

__________________________________________________

I was downstairs in the kitchen sitting between Deacy and Brian eating my breakfast while they were in the middle of an argument regarding Rog's new song.

"Put my heart and soul into this song." Roger spoke up as he cut up a loaf of bread.

"No one is disputing that." Answered Deacy.

"And you don't like it because you want your songs on the album." Roger retorted.

"It's not that Roger."

"Then what is it?"

"'I'm in love with my car?'" Answered Brian as my cousin shrugged giving him one of his funny looks. "Maybe it's not strong enough?" suggested Brian.

"What does that even mean not strong enough?"

"I know that I'm late, what did I miss?" Freddie's voice soon spoke up.

"They're talking about Roger's car song." I filled Fred in on the details as he came over and kissed the top of my head before getting himself a cup of coffee.

"Is it strong enough that's all I'm asking. If I'm on my own here, then I apologize." Brian spoke up as he raised his hands in defense.

"How does your new song go then? Hmm?" Roger picked up a sheet of paper that had Brian's current song that he was working on as he read out loud, "'You call me sweet, like I'm some kind of cheese'."

"It's good." Defended Brian.

"Wow." Roger exclaimed sarcastically.

"Is that, you know 'with my hands on your grease gun?' That's very subtle...."

"It's a metaphor Brian!"

"It's just a bit weird Roger, what exactly are you doing with that car?" my cousin spoke up.

"Children please. We could all murder each other but then who would be left to record this album?" Freddie spoke up.

"Statistically speaking most bands don't fail, they break up." Deacy piped in.

"Deacy!" I slapped his arm.

"What the hell would you say something like that?" Freddie asked Deacy as he stared at him in shock. Deacy merely shrugged before Freddie turned to Roger and said, "Roger there's only room in this band for one hysterical queen." Before walking out to probably have a smoke break.

"I know why you're angry Roger." Brian spoke up.

"Why?" demanded Roger.

"Because you know your song isn't strong enough." Roger grew quiet and he nodded before walking back over to the oven, grabbing the bacon from the pan and throwing it straight at Brian who was unaffected by it.

"Oh great, now you've done it. Way to go, Bri." I muttered quietly just before the bacon hit Brian square in the face.

"Is that strong enough?" Then with one quick motion, Roger knocked everything off the counter, all our food, plates, the vase full of flowers, everything except our mugs that we each held as Roger roared out again, "What about that!?!" He then went and grabbed the coffee machine and was just about to smash it when we all exclaimed to him.

"NOT THE COFFEE MACHINE!!"

It's been a few days since we've moved from Rockfield studios here to Ridge farm studio to record the 'A Night at the Opera' album. And so far if I had to compare the two, I'd say I'd like this one a lot more because it had a nice pool to take a morning dip and it was a lot more spacious than Rockfield was because there was also a wooded area just behind us where we could hike, hell even campout if we wanted to.

After breakfast I decided to take my morning swim since I knew Paul would be breathing down my neck about getting all the pictures the record company required during this trip, and of course bash on how most of them didn't include more pictures of Fred. So I figured a little relaxing swim would do me some good, plus it'd get me away from the stress the guys are having to be under especially after what had just happened at breakfast.

As I passed the kitchen heading for the backdoor, I felt something grab my arm and I was pulled into a dark room. I was about to scream when I heard Roger's voice say.

"Don't scream it's just me." I shoved his hand away from my mouth and I hissed out in a whisper.

"What the fuck Roger you know I hate it when you do that."

"Why are you whispering?"

"Wha? I don't know. What are you doing here in this cupboard?" I first questioned in a whisper but then spoke in normal volume.

"Lesson number one you'll learn from your dear old professor Taylor my dear. Is that when you want something but other's won't give them what they want, you protest against them."

"Seriously Rog?"

"Yeah, I stayed up all night putting that song together, the least they could do is allow it in the album. I mean we went with John's sappy song. God if I have to hear that line one more time, I think my ears will just explode."

"Okay one that song is special to him cause it's for Veronica. And second and most importantly, why drag me in here with you?"

"That leads to my rule two, in order to get this less biased, you need people to support you in your cause." I just looked at him weirdly and when I didn't respond the way he was hoping he spoke up again, "What you think the song's stupid too?"

"Well I mean it's—"

"Don't you dare finish that answer." I shut my mouth before speaking up.

"I mean Roger you've got to slightly admit; it does sound like you're trying to do something more with a piece of machinery."

"It's a metaphor (y/n)."

"For what? Your car sex fantasy? Roger please let me out of this cupboard right now, I just want to go for my morning swim."

"Well it can wait; cause you're not going anywhere."

"What?"

"This has now turned into a hostage situation and you're not leaving till either you accept and be my partner in this, or the lads finally accept and have the song go on the album. Whatever one comes first. You are the Rumpelstiltskin to my Mungoblizzar."

"What?"

"You know the two cats from that poem you love so much. I see you read it all the time and you even read it to me."

"Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer?"

"Yeah that's it. Why are they named that again?"

"I don't know I'm not T.S Eliot."

"So partners in crime till the end. Like we pact."

"Yeah Rog we did make a pact, but I draw the line here."

"Nope, since I'm the oldest between us, you've got to respect your elders and you are going to stay in here with me to protest against them. Whether you like it or not." He bopped my nose which made me groan.

Hours went by and of course once the guys found out that roger forcefully made me the bait of negotiation, it turned between a tug of war to see who'd give in first. Until finally Freddie agreed to have Roger's song be on the B-side of the album.

God and all I wanted to do that day was have a nice relaxing morning swim.

A couple more weeks passed and the album was almost about done. One day Brian had told us that he had managed to find a perfect spot for stargazing and thought it would be a good idea for all of us to pack up some gear and go star gazing.

Immediately agreeing after working so hard, Freddie agreed to the idea instantly, Deacy was down for it as well wanting to have a break from the arguing and the complaining. I agreed to it because it would feel like a camping trip and I hadn't been camping since I was a child. Roger also agreed because that'd give him some time away from the recording studio since his hands were still recovering from abusing them so much.

Unfortunately Paul Prenter decided he needed to insert himself on this little outing, claiming that he needed to make sure the band wasn't too distracted since they were on a strict deadline and that Mr. Reid would come and check on the progress of the album, along with Miami.

So here we all were out in the forest walking across logs, hopping from boulder to boulder, gazing at little mini streams, or observing the wildlife of nature, especially Brian. He especially got distracted when a fox would quickly come out from a bush and stare at us before running away.

I was currently hopping from boulder to boulder and of course Deacy being the overprotective cousin that he was said to me.

"Careful (y/n), last time you did that you had a broken ankle for weeks."

"I was 7 years old when that happened Deacy, I'm as agile as a jungle cat." As I hopped onto one boulder I nearly almost fell until I was caught by Roger who said smugly.

"Yeah, a dead jungle cat." I stuck my tongue at him and we continued to tread on.

Of course Paul made the walk seem longer because like every 2 minutes he just had to take a break so I took the time to screw around with him and fill his backpack with small rocks. Roger who of course supported my pranks on Prenter kept watch to make sure the other three didn't rat me out.

As we came down a step hill. I first got on the log and walked down it before squealing out and jumped onto the boulders below.

"Careful guys, that last step is pretty steep."

"Thanks for the warning love." Brian spoke out as he came down next, followed by Roger, Freddie and Deacy. While Paul mainly crawled along the rocks like the snake that he was exhausted and winded.

"Ohh I'm going to kill my doctor. He always said I was in perfect shape." Before we could go on, Brian then spoke up.

"Alright, we'll break."

"Again?" complained Roger. "Brian, at this rate it'll take us a week just to get to this special spot you found."

"Look I don't like it either but since it's not too far from here we'll just rest for a bit, allow Paul to catch his breath and we'll walk the rest of the way. Just chill Roger." He then walked on ahead with Deacy and Fred walking alongside them to talk while I slowly sneaked back behind Paul who had taken his backpack off and I proceeded to quickly fill more pockets of his bag with rocks.

"God I'm in such bad shape. Someone had me my water, I can't move."

"I got it." I said. I soon found his water bottle lying between the two boulders that we were sitting on top of but what I found interesting was the little lizard just a couple inches from his water bottle just sunning on the rock. A smirk spread across my face as I whispered, "Brilliant."

I grabbed the lizard which squirmed between my fingers till I set her down on Paul's bottle. I turned to Roger to see him trying to hold in his laughter as I said as I handed Paul his water bottle.

"Here you go Paul." He took it without even looking at me let alone thanking me as he immediately began to douse his water down his throat. A split second later he let out a scream as he fell off the boulder and screamed like a little girl waving his arms in a shooing motion as his legs spasmed.

"What's happened?" asked Deacy. I then grabbed the female lizard and said as I held her gently between my fingers.

"This cute little girl made herself home on Paul's water bottle." I stroked her long tail as Freddie said.

"Be thankful it was just a lizard Paul. It could've been a lot worse you know."

"Oh right, right you're right Freddie. I'll be fine, thank you." I rolled my eyes as did Roger and pretty much the rest of the guys minus Fred because we all knew of Paul's infatuation with Fred. I then held the lizard out towards Paul so that when he turned after milking his praises, the second he turned the lizard squeaking in his face making Paul shriek out as he told me, "Get that bloody thing away from me! I hate things that crawl!"

Wow then I pity the poor child that you'll have to bear one of these days Paul, though I hope you never reproduce your poisonous seeds.

"How can you even touch that, I thought girls were supposed to hate things like that? Just—put it away!"

"Okay, okay I'll put her down." I muttered as I stood up before an even better idea came to mind. I slowly leaned over Paul's head and placed the lizard on top of his head.

"Rog, (n/n)." Deacy spoke up.

"What?" Both Roger and I chorused alarmed almost fearing I had been caught.

"Brian, Freddie and I will take the lead. You two help Paul, okay?" As the three of them walked ahead, Roger came up beside me before Paul as the mustached arsehole muttered as he stood himself up with his backpack once again on his back.

"Sure you'll help me. Right over a cliff you'll help me." He then walked on ahead complaining and muttering in pain as Roger whispered to me.

"Not a bad idea."

"Yeah see any cliffs? I doubt he's got anyone that'll really miss him." We turned towards Paul who was still muttering in agony as I spoke up in mock sympathy. "Need some help Prenter?" He stopped in his place and turned towards me as he sneered through his forked tongue.

"Not from you Deacon. Don't think I can't see the She-devil behind that angel face of yours. One more trick out of you lass and I promise I will make your life hell from the day this album takes off into the charts. Got it?" Roger protectively wrapped his arm around my shoulder as I was unaffected by Paul's empty threat before he turned around.

"Got it, Norman Bates." I muttered. Roger snickered as Paul froze and turned around and hissed out.

"What did you call me?"

"Nothing, nothing she didn't say anything. Norman Bates." Roger muttered as the two of us walked past him. He muttered the name to me and I softly snickered as Roger stopped to say, "Oh by the way Prenter, I think I saw something on your head." He then turned back and followed behind me.

The two of us hid behind a tree while Roger peeked out and I could hear Paul scream before it was silenced for all but his whimpering.

"Oh my god." Roger was almost in complete hysterics. "You brilliant She-devil it went in his mouth."

"Oh that poor lizard." We fist-bumped each other as we saw the guys coming around as Brian was asking what happened now as Paul was now coughing and groaning in disgust.

"What.....happened now?" asked Freddie panting. Paul was gasping like a fish out of water but I did manage to hear.

"Ask—her....." I then heard Deacy sigh heavily and I could just feel him looking behind him towards the tree we were hiding. Roger and I peeked out innocently as Roger said.

"Oh come off it Deacy what did she do? She was by my side the entire time."

Finally we reached Brian's spot. It was a nice open meadow filled with beautiful wildflowers as far as the eye could see. All in various species and colors, there was also some points when the creatures of the forest would peek out like deer, does with their fawns, badgers, foxes and even a couple of hedgehogs.

I definitely got some good pictures of the wildlife as well as the flowers and of course the boys. By nightfall we were all gathered around and I'll admit Brian was right, this was the perfect spot for stargazing. I mean you look up and there's just billions and billions of them.

"Wow Brian, you—were right this is.....gorgeous." said Deacy.

"Told you." Brian spoke up.

"It's so unreal of just how many stars there really are in the sky." Said Freddie.

"I could live here forever if it meant getting to look at this every night." I said in awe.

"I agree with you on that love." Brian said.

"Hey Brian, do you ever wonder what lies beyond our world? I mean as an astrophysics major does it ever occur to you that maybe we're not the only beings in the universe?" I asked him.

"That's always the question love, and that's why astronauts and the people at NASA always work so hard. We've already managed to colonize the moon, who knows what we'll be able to accomplish in the future. And maybe we might discover something far beyond our solar system."

"Cool." I said in awe. "Hey Bri?"

"Hmm?"

"How—how do constellations get named? I mean do the astronomers just look at an image and just say 'oh hey we'll name this the Big Dipper and little dipper' or is it more scientifically?"

"Oh don't get him started (n/n), we'll be here all night." Roger spoke up. Brian scowled at Roger but said.

"Ignore him (y/n), he's just jealous you're not asking questions about dentistry."

"You know I changed my major to biology." Roger pointed out but Brian only chuckled and sat up allowing me to go up to him and actually rest my head on his lap as he spoke.

"Well to answer your question (y/n), it's sometimes varies. It sometimes does deal with the actual formation that the stars make, but that's because their names have dated back to the ancient Greek and Roman days when the first astronomers began mapping the stars. We've just added more onto what was previously said."

"So what did you do for your major?" I asked.

"My current thesis is about the radical velocities in zodiacal dust cloud. I completed it just last year but I'm putting in on hold for publication for a while due to my commitment here."

"Will you ever get it published?" I asked.

"Someday. It'd be ashamed and a waste of my time if I didn't. Hours spent doing research on my thesis and everything for it to not be shared with the field of astrophysics."

"You know science was always my favorite subject, I especially loved it when we got to do the astronomy section."

"Really?"

"It's true. Ever since primary school she's been obsessed with space, planets and the stars." Deacy spoke up.

"Now not to judge on why you picked up photography, but why didn't you try to go for a science degree?"

"Because every boy in my grade always said 'science isn't for girls'. I got teased about it relentlessly. Then one day after coming home with a bloody nose I decided to keep my mouth shut and find something else."

"Well they were obviously jealous that a girl was not only cute but too smart for their feeble little minds." Proclaimed Freddie. I blushed after remembering the baby pictures of me that the boys have seen when they all came to visit me and aunt Lillian on my birthday just a few months ago. Of course Deacy helped out with the embarrassment just to irk me.

"Freddie's right love. I won't tell you to change your dream because you've got a future in photography, but if it doesn't work out then you should try to give science another chance. Clever girl like you, I know you'll get far." Said Brian.

"You mean that?"

"Of course." He playfully poked the tip of my nose which made me laugh as we continued to observe the stars. With the gentle strokes he was giving my head, the sound of the crickets making a beautiful symphony and the beauty of the stars, I soon found myself falling asleep in Brian's lap.

*3rd Person POV*

Brian looked down to see (y/n) asleep in his lap. He smiled softly and softly whispered to the boys.

"Lads, take a look." Freddie awed softly and said.

"She's like a cat when she sleeps."

"I think it is time we head back to the house." Answered Deacy.

"About time." Paul muttered as he stood up. Roger and Deacy glared at Paul. Brian gently picked her up and to help make the trip easier so that she wouldn't wake up, he placed her on Deacy's back and he gripped his cousin's legs while Brian adjusted her arms around her cousin's neck.

Feeling the transition, (y/n) buried her face into her cousin's neck, his long hair gently tickling her face and the five of them headed back to the house.

Once they got there, Deacy and Brian helped (y/n) into her bed, Brian helped eased (y/n) into the bed while Deacy covered and tucked her in. The two of them kissed her goodnight and whispered their goodnights to her before heading off to their rooms.

The stress of making an album is straining, so its always nice to find those little spaces in between to find the time to have some fun and keep the peace. Whether it's a nice relaxing swim in the summer heat, having fun with the farm animals, or just stargazing in the cool summer heat.

Luckily with Queen they managed to find the time to do it, especially when their little mini-Deacy was around. Because they hated for her to be bored, so they always made time to pull anything that might interest her just to make her day better. And when she was happy, they were happy.

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edge-lorde · 4 years

Text

hp update: what time is it? its VALENTIMES! thats right, i am in the midst of the new gildaroy lockhart themed valentines special event!

its valemtimes time in the magical phone game-iverse, and lockhart is on tour with his new book voyages with vampires and as part of that tour hes coming to his former boarding school. we get a level where we all gather in the cafeteria for an assembly before he talks to us. get a cute scene with all the different house kids sitting together at their tables talking about their opinions of valentines day. i dont remember all of them but heres the ones i do:

penny: its good and i love it.

tonks: of course you love it penny.

penny: i love that you know that about me!

diego: one of my character traits is that im inherently flirty. i have both hit on the mc and a centaur before but im not dateable so dueling or whatever.

jae: anybody want to buy some love potion? i swear im not a cop.

charlie: this holiday has no dragons in it = charlie no carey.

bill: im not here so i guess i graduated already

ismelda: i hate valentines day cause im goth

merula: i hate valentines day performatively because im merula and full of angst.

liz: aminals

barnaby: i get valentines sent to me in the mail all year round :) doesnt everyone? i have heard someone call me a heartthrob before :))

andre: gildaroy lockhart is a fashion icon i hope this lockhart themed event doesnt disappoint me.

tulip: prankintines anyone?? hmm???

talbott: i prefer................. flying solo (looks into the middle distance as themesong plays)

we get fun valentines themed class levels after this, in potions, transfiguration, charms, and herbology. each of these classes is implied to be made up of kids from your house plus one other house, so every player will have at least one class with each of the other characters. the potions class was notable because snape had a cauldron of love potion pre-made to show us and lecture about, but hes not about to teach us how to make it.

snape: this causes very potent infatuation only. using this potion is comparable to coercion. children conceived under its effects will be doomed to be unable to love*.

liz (!!!! who is IN THE CLASS!!): gross. why is it here?

snape: so i can teach you how to recognize and avoid it. this is the closest thing to sex ed you will ever get so pay attention.

we then get a bit where we can say what we think it will smell like, because love potion smells like what you love. your options are merula, barnaby, and nothing here. i picked nothing here.

barnaby: but... we went to the dance together... we went on that date too... why dont you want to smell me?

because i thought that would be a really weird thing to say in front of someone... barnaby or merula....

transfig class has a lovebirds to lovenotes lab. you get to pick how much of urself you want to put into the lovenote. i chose to keep my feelings private and so my note only said “be my valentine.” lovenotes work like howlers in this world, meaning they open themselves up and read themselves out loud. this implies the existence of many more emotion-based talking mail species but that is a thought for another day.

then we have lockharts talk. all lockhart levels so far have it so that the only thing you can click on is him and this is done intentionally. hes got some good new character specific animations. he says hes having a book signing in diagon alley and hes inviting a few randomly selected students to attend because he doesnt want the whole dang school there. seems like if this is a book tour, he should be having this signing somewhere in hogsmeade, you know the town close by. diagon alley is in london i thought and hogwarts is in scotland. granted, there are many forms of fast travel that make a move like that feasible but it just seems unorganized. i suppose the game devs cant make up a bookstore in hogsmeade that wasnt in the original text though im sure there would be one.

the event skips over the selection process but the mc is chosen along with the 5 dateable characters: merula, penny, andre, barnaby, and talbott. mama weasley is also there just cause she likes lockhart and wanted the book and hoped one of her kids would be chosen for the trip, the statistical odds being in her favor. this is post the latest christmas special because she greets both the mc and merula.

later lockhart names us his new valentines party planners and makes me captain, but he refuses to specify whether this party should be focused on his new book, himself, or valentines day. he then tells us to just plan it and leaves. we get down to business and decide that my captain name should be captain valentine. then we have a slow pan across all of my potential suitors faces as we ready for the next leg of the event, one-on-one levels with each of them. thats where i am now, but i just wanted to highlight andres animation in this shot. the game creators have really been killing it lately, giving some characters their own signature animations and therefore mannerisms. andre gives a nice little fingerwave here and it adds a lot of character.

so far ive done one-on-one levels with barnaby and penny. barnabys was first and i thought it fit with the story pretty well. i meet him in the herbology classroom and hes like i have an idea for decorating! we can use the roses we grew during out valentines herbology special class (which i didnt mention earlier because nothing else happened.)

we are given the option to say no barnaby thats stealing but im not percy so i didnt pick that. then at the end hes like

barnaby: so... remember how we went to that dance together...

mc: ye

barnaby: and then we went on both of ours first real date together...

mc: uh-huh. romantic, totally.

barnaby: well.... i dont have a valentine yet....................

he of course doesnt come right out and make you say yes or no right there because theres 4 more suitor levels i have to do but it actually makes sense for him to beat around the bush like this if it were that i really did shake his confidence by saying that i didnt smell him in the potion before. i am gonna pick him at the end, all these other levels are just filler. i would feel bad if i didnt pick him for everything date-worthy now both because not doing so leaves him up to the mercy of ismelda and just cause im boring like that. i picked him and ill see it through to the end of the game, which likely will end with us going to different colleges and loosing touch but still.

next level was penny. she wants my help with a charm rather than a potion this time. shes out of her depth. she comes right out and asks me to be her valentine even though ive never chosen romance options with her before at all. i was flabbergasted in a good way when it turned out that the game did in fact allow the mc to be gay by not locking any date choices by gender, but so far this was only in the mcs hands, this is the first time a character has confessed romance for the mc without the mc choosing it first. meaning, all of the datable characters could be canonically queer. i think thats pretty cool. penny is gay to me now.

the next level in my docket is with andre. lockhart has told him he wants the color scheme to be lurid pink. andre is distressed. never meet your heros kid U__U next hp update we find out why.

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eirian-houpe · 4 years

Text

The Library Beneath the Clock Tower - Chapter 4

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle/Gaston (Once Upon a Time)

Additional Tags: Bookshop On the Corner, slightly AU, Cursed Storybrooke (Once Upon a Time), Alternate Universe - In Storybrooke | Cursed (Once Upon a Time), Eventual Smut

Summary: Storybrooke has no library, and neither does Belle, not since the library where she worked in Boston discovered her past as an inpatient at a mental hospital. Taking her future into her own hands, Belle travels to Storybrooke where her intention is to open up the town library, but all does not go according to her plan. Obstacles and false starts, and diversion along very wrong pathways interrupt her journey toward fulfilling her dream, as well as taking her rightful place and becoming a part of the Storybrooke community.

Read here on AO3: [Chap 1] [Chap 2] [Chap 3] [Chap 4]

The journey back to Boston from Storybrooke had left her, not determined, but despondent. It was a long bus journey, and she couldn’t even read her book because, on opening her bag, she discovered she had left it at the diner. It did give her a small moment of a lighter heart as she thought on the irony of that, since she’d wanted to open a library there after all, and she wondered if anyone would read it.

With nothing to pass the time, all she thought about was how stupid she had been to allow herself to be almost duped by that jowley swindler of a man. She couldn’t imagine how anyone would want to buy flowers for special occasions from a man that was as obviously shifty as he was. At least, obvious to everyone else, she chastised herself. Maybe that was why he was behind in his loan payments: because everyone knew the kind of man he was. Still, she hadn’t seen any other florists in Storybrooke - hadn’t seen very much except one of everything, a real backwater town, which for a place with a dock as it was, seemed a little odd to her. Then again she supposed the bigger towns, with larger quays probably made Storybrooke’s dockside obsolete.

She grumbled at herself. There she went speculating again, trying to give herself a reason to turn around and go back. It was as though she were a fish, and Storybrooke had gotten its hooks into her. She even kept taking out her phone and looking at it, in case the garage owner, who’d promised to keep his eyes open for anything that might fit the bill for a mobile library, had left a message for her. There was nothing.

She sighed again, and finally closed her eyes. With nothing to do besides fret and worry, it would probably be better if she just tried to sleep the journey away. That wasn’t very successful either, so when the bus finally pulled into the Peter Pan Bus Terminal in Boston’s South Station, she was tired, disappointed, irritable and just plain ready to be home. Except it wouldn’t be her home much longer if she didn’t get her act together and try and find a place for all the books she’d gathered together in the hopes of beginning her own library. Ruby had given her a few months to look for a way to fulfil her dream, but that time was rapidly running out.

When Ruby got home from work later that evening, Belle was sitting at the kitchen table, still staring, purposeless, into an almost stone cold cup of tea.

“I take it it didn’t go well then?” Ruby asked as she slipped into the chair opposite Belle and replaced the cold cup with a hot one and then tipped her head to one side. “Even with the extra day?”

Belle seemed to awaken and looked over at Ruby.

“He tried to swindle me!” she announced without preamble.

“He did?” Ruby frowned at her and Belle wasn’t sure if her friend was following at all.

“Yeah, the man… the florist, with the van I told you about?” When Ruby nodded she continued, “Well he wasn’t looking to sell the van at all. Seems like he had fallen behind on his loan payments for the damn thing and was trying to sell the loan, so that he could keep the van and just…” she growled softly, “Ugh! I almost fell for it. It was a lovely van as well,” she said, “would have been perfect. Instead…”

“Instead, you did the sensible thing before stuff got out of hand and you lost any actual money,” Ruby interrupted, putting the matter sensibly and logically to Belle.

Belle sighed, “I know,” she conceded at last. “But what will I do, Ruby? There are no jobs here, and I can’t keep living off of you. I have to find something.”

“And you will, I know it.” Ruby reassured her, “You’re a smart woman, with a good degree. Something will come up.”

That was probably the moment Belle’s temper snapped.

“Well, much as I love your ‘glass-half-full’ sunny as hell attitude,” she scraped her chair leg against the floor as she stood up, raising her voice and grabbing her overnight bag from where it sat at the side of the kitchen. “I don’t share it. Storybrooke was my last resort. My last ditch attempt to not only find a way to actually support myself, but to do it in some kind of work that would make me feel wanted, maybe me feel needed , and that would actually satisfy me, not some… some… some…”

Ruby stood up too, and it seemed that Belle’s mood was contagious because she picked up where Belle left off, “Some dead end, nine to six or seven job that I hate with every ounce of my being but which pays our rent? Is that what you’re driving at?”

“Yes!” Belle snapped and then immediately, “No!... I mean… Ruby, no I just… I didn’t mean it like that I…”

“Yes you did,” Ruby countered. “Yes, you did, and I don’t blame you for wanting better after all that’s happened to you, but Belle, sometimes you just have to swallow it, like the bitter pill of BS that it is, and just… head down and do what you have to. They offered to transfer you to the stacks down-town, rather than just… let you go out of hand, and you were the one that poo-pooed that notion.”

“Because being a librarian isn’t just about the books,” Belle felt like screaming at Ruby. Why couldn’t she understand? “It’s about the people too, and I wouldn’t come into any contact with anyone down there - and that was their point - they found out I’d been in a mental hospital, and they didn’t trust me with people.”

“Well maybe they were right not to!” Ruby snapped, “You haven’t exactly been the world’s most compassionate and understanding person just now have you? And with all these books you keep bringing home, what’s the difference anyway?”

Belle gaped at Ruby. How could she say that… and mean it? How could she compare saving old books that still had a good deal of life in them to working in some dusty basement archiving books that statistics said no one wanted to read any more, until they could be legitimately consigned to the literary scrap heap. How dare she!

Without another word, Belle stormed off, taking the stairs of the apartment almost two at a time, her bag slung carelessly over her shoulder as she went, and on reaching her room, threw open the door with such force that it swung all the way back and rattled the dividing wall between her room and the landing.

Unfortunately, standing against that was was a rather precariously stacked tower of mixed hardback and paperback books that wibbled, and wobbled and finally passed beyond its fulcrum, and slid, as gracefully as a dame fainting, across the landing, wherein the uppermost book nudged the bottom of an equally poorly stacked pile of books.

Belle watched, as if someone had pressed a slow motion button on life, as that pile also spilled and then another, and finally another that sent a particularly heavy tome - a copy of The Complete Works of Edgar Alan Poe - sliding down the stairs as though delivering a tale of the ragged mountains* of books to Ruby’s prized, framed photograph of herself embracing a timber wolf. When the book had picked up enough momentum it flew off the stair tread, into the air, and shatter the glass of the picture.

Belle covered her mouth with her hand in horror, and Ruby came hurrying out of the kitchen to let out a strangled cry, and rush to the fallen keepsake. Picking up the photograph, and largely ignoring the broken glass, she looked up at Belle, and Belle looked down at her, knowing this was the moment they’d both been trying to avoid, the point of no return.

Later, when the crying was done, and the hugging and the eating of ice-cream in front of the television had ended in the declaration of a comingling of brain-freeze and a sugar induced headache, Ruby asked softly, “Where will you go?”

Belle shrugged, and said quietly, “I don’t know,” and hugged Ruby again. “But like you said, something will turn up.”

Notes:

*A Tale of the Ragged Mountains is a short story written by Edgar Alan Poe, and published in 1844. It concerns the (possibly hallucinatory) adventures of a man called Bedloe, who suffered with neuralgia and therefore retained the services of a Dr. Templeton, advanced in years, and a student of Franz Mesmer. The tale is told by an unnamed narrator who recounts the story as it was told to him by Bedloe, who, by the end of the tale has unfortunately met his demise. (Hey, it wouldn’t be Poe if nobody died).

#rumbelle #ao3 #AU (slight)#bookshop on the corner

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writing-of-a-british-bitch · 5 years

Text

Baby Steps

Fandom: Queen/ Bohemian Rhapsody

Specified gender: Neutral ( or at least I tried, I may have fucked up a few times)

Pairing: Roger Taylor X reader

TW: language, mention of death

Genre: angst with a fair bit of fluff

Word Count: 2.4K

Request: can you write a roger x reader in which the reader is sad and roger consoles her and then he tries to kiss her and she gets angry with him because she thinks he is taking advantage of the moment of sadness to have sex with her but in the end, he confesses his feelings

A/N: I honestly feel like I could've written this better. Sorry guys.

Requests: OPEN

"I put my heart and soul into this song "Roger growled, moving the bacon around the pan aggressively. You strolled in, leaning on the counter between John and Brian. Bri waved silently.

"No one is disputing that, "John replied, pointing his fork in the air.

"And you don't like it because you want your song on the album" Roger accused and Bri slid you a cup of coffee.

"It's not that Roger." John huffed, his long hair following as he tilted his head in annoyance. Your rolled your eyes and Roger prickled angrily. Out of all the boys, you were the most distant with Roger. You two didn't hate each other, you just didn't have too much in common. He still cared about you, as you did him, you guys were a family after all.

"Then what is it?" Roger snapped. Grabbing the lyrics of his song off the counter, your eyes scanned the page and your face scrunched up in confusion and in slight disgust. Then a certain line pulled a laugh from your throat and Roger glared daggers at you.

"'I'm In Love With My Car'. Maybe it's not strong enough?" Brian suggested, sarcasm tinting his smooth voice.

"What does that even mean 'not strong enough'?" Roger exclaimed before Freddie wandered in, taking his place beside John.

"I know I'm late, what did I miss?" Freddie asked, bringing the mug to his lips.

"Discussing Roger's car song," John answered with a raised eyebrow

"Is it strong enough? That's all I'm asking. If I'm on my own here then I apologize." Brian stated, raising his hands.

"How does your song go then?" Roger angrily snatched Bri's song from the table, crushing one of the corners accidentally. "You call me sweet like I'm some kind of cheese'" he read, throwing his arms down.

"I mean, it's good." You responded and Roger's eyes turned to you.

"Wow." He hissed sarcastically.

"What? 'When my hand's on your grease gun'?" You shot back, carefully folding the paper and handing it to Bri. John was hiding a smile behind his mug and Freddie wasn't even attempting to contain his laughter.

"That's very subtle isn't it?" Bri enquired, shooting Roger his signature bitch face.

"It's a metaphor, Brian!" Roger snapped, eyes narrowing at the curly-haired guitarist.

"It's just a bit weird, Roger. What exactly are you doing with that car?" John interjected. He was clearly teasing, but Roger didn't get the memo.

"Children, please. We could all murder each other but then who would be left to record this album?" Freddie stated, taking a sip of coffee.

"Statistically speaking, most bands don't fail, they break up," John responded between mouthfuls of food.

"Why the hell would you say something like that? Roger, there's only room in this band for one hysterical queen." Freddie said, keeping his eyes trained on Roger.

"You know why you're angry Roger?" Brian began. You shot him a side-eyed glance, knowing he was about to reignite the fire.

"Why?" Roger requested, frustration clear in his voice.

"Because you know your song isn't strong enough," Brian answered and Roger grabbed some bacon, flinging it at Brian's face.

"Is that strong enough?" Roger yelled, before throwing some bread and eggs at you and John.

"How about that?" You rolled your eyes, knowing you'd have to wash your hair again to get it out your hair. Roger grabbed the coffee machine, lifting it over his head.

"NOT THE COFFEE MACHINE!" You all shouted and Roger stopped mid-air, steam practically rolling from his ears. Roger slammed the coffee machine back down before storming off. You watched him for a second as John and Bri continued eating.

"Sorry about that (Y/N). You're gonna have to wash your hair to get that crap out"Bri apologized and you shook your head.

"Don't worry, hun, I signed up for this when I joined the band." You grabbed another piece of bread and slotted it in the toaster.

"He'll be over it in at least half an hour," John added, standing up and placing his plate in the sink.

"Is he always this ... on edge?" You asked. You'd only been part of the band for a few weeks after being kicked out of your own band. You were a drummer and a backup singer, though singing was most definitely your strong point. Your bandmates were some people you used to be friends with in college. They were a bunch of dicks and the lead singer constantly wanted attention to an absurd degree. His name was Mike. Mike wasn't a very good singer, but because he knew singers usually got the most attention, and he wanted all the limelight, he took that up. Despite knowing that you were a better singer, he forced you to learn drums and continuously pushed you past your limit, resulting in countless scars on your hands. Every day led to a new argument, but apparently one day you 'went too far' and they kicked you out. However, a group called Queen had seen you playing and found you mid-argument. After seeing you getting kicked from your band, Freddie practically demanded you become part of theirs.

"He's got an explosive temper, threw a TV out the window once, "Brian answered. You rolled your eyes. Sounds like Roger. The toast suddenly popped up, causing you and John to jump in unison. You pulled the toast out, taking a bite as Brian began washing his and John's plates.

"Where'd Freddie go?" John inquired.

"Probably with his little pet." You muttered bitterly, mouth full of toast.

"Probably," Brian remarked. You soon finished your food and Brian took your plate off you to wash.

"I'm gonna go get this shit out my hair. I'll be back in time to record." You told the boys before sauntering towards the bathroom.

You walked into the studio, towel in hand as you dried your hair.

"Ten minutes late, my dear," Freddie commented from his seat on the couch beside John and Roger. Brian was in the recording booth with his guitar, playing a tune you'd all agreed upon for 'Lazing On A Sunday Afternoon'.

"Rich coming from you, Fred. Besides, I wouldn't be late if someone hadn't thrown an egg in my hair." You responded, slumping between John and Freddie on the couch.

"Fuck off." Roger murmured, adjusting his necklace.

"Phone's been ringing for you for the last 15 minutes." John butted in, trying to focus on Brian.

"You know who's calling?" You asked, standing up again and walking over to the phone.

"Your mother. Number's written over there." Roger said, pointing at a note beside the phone set. You thanked the three before dialling the number and bringing the phone to your ear.

"Hello?" Your mother's voice crackled through the phone.

"Hi, ma. It's just me. Is everything alright? John said you'd been calling?" You requested, speaking quietly so Freddie and Bri could converse.

"Oh, (Y/N), darling. I need to tell you something." She replied, voice weak.

"Oh sure, what's going on?" You questioned, beginning to feel anxious

"(Y/N), you know your dad hasn't been very well for a long time..." she began. You felt your heart stop.

"Yeah..." You muttered

"Well...he passed away last night. We rushed him to the hospital but h-he didn't make it." She finished. Your hand shot to your mouth and tears pricked your eyes

"We'd really love for you to come home. Your brothers will be here. Alex is coming in from Australia and Danny managed to get a break from his work to visit." She added.

"Ma, I can't come home right now. I'm recording an album with the guys. I don't really have a way to get to your house in America right now." You reasoned

"Oh. Okay. I suppose we'll see you soon." Your mother replied, disappointment clear in her voice.

"Yeah, mom. I'm sorry. I wish I could come home. Say hi to the boys for me. Bye. I love you." You mumbled before placing the phone back. You sniffed, quickly wiping your eyes.

"Everything alright, dear?" Freddie asked, glancing up from the paper he was writing on. Roger had gotten up, standing next to the sound guy, talking to Brian in the booth.

"Y-Yeah. Everything's... everything's fine, Fred." You coughed, wiping your nose, fighting back a new onslaught of tears.

"Are you sure? You're acting a bit odd." Deacy pushed and you nodded.

"Does, uh, does anyone want some tea?" You asked, trying to find any way of getting a little bit of alone time without looking suspicious.

"Me, please, darling. Bring one for Brian too."

"I'm good, thank you (Y/N)."

"I'm in the booth next, so I'm alright."

Three voices rang out and you rushed out of the room as fast as your legs could carry you. Upon reaching the kitchen, you set the kettle to boil before breaking down into sobs. Tears streamed down your cheeks and you covered your face, attempting to fist away the water running from your eyes. You should've been there for him. Now you'd never see him again. you'd never hear his shitty dad jokes, never have your hair ruffled by him again, never hear his laugh again. Never see him smile.

You were so caught up in your grief, you didn't realize that someone else had joined you in the kitchen. A hand was placed on your shoulder, the other on your cheek.

"(Y/N), what's wrong? Did something happen? Talk to me." Roger watched your every move with eyes swimming with concern. You couldn't even form words so you simply allowed yourself to collapse into Roger. He wrapped his arms around you protectively before slowly sliding down to the floor so it was either for the both of you. After spending a few minutes in that position, your tears soaking Roger's shirt and his fingers running through your hair calmingly, you began to shakily explain what had happened. Roger couldn't find a way to describe how he felt. He was freaked, to be honest. Seeing you, strong, independent (Y/N) broken into pieces was unnerving. But overall, he couldn't help but think how beautiful you looked, despite the tear stains and messed hair. And he couldn't stop himself from kissing you.

He regretted it immediately.

You shoved him back, feeling hurt and betrayed, putting distance between you.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?! I'm here, crying because my dad is fucking dead and you think it's perfectly acceptable to fucking kiss me?!" You yelled harshly, scrambling to your feet.

"I didn't mean-" He tried

"And just when I started thinking that you care about me because I'm your friend or your bandmate! I'm not your friend. I'm just another fucking girl for you to score then throw into the gutter!" You continued, feeling more tears well up.

"You're not-" Roger started

"Fuck you, Roger Taylor! Fuck. You." You exclaimed, raising your middle finger to the blonde haired drummer before running out, leaving Roger on the floor, calling after you. You didn't attempt to go back to the recording studio. You couldn't face your friends right now. You felt too... embarrassed...used. You threw yourself on the bed and swiftly pulled the covers over your head, wanting to hide from everyone and everything as the river returned to flow from your eyes. You loved him, you truly did. But he wasn't the time of person for commitment. He only wanted you when you were vulnerable. He could never love you.

It'd been a few hours since the whole 'Roger' incident and you'd made no attempt to move from the room, only opting to angrily song write. Your grief mixed with the awful feeling Roger had left you with left no room for anything other than anger. Suddenly there was a gentle knock on the door.

"(Y/N)? Roger said you weren't feeling so good. I brought you some soup for dinner. You're free to come to eat with us if you feel up or it." John's voice broke through the cracks in the door. You carefully placed your pen and paper down before opening the door and taking the soup with a small smile.

"Thanks, John. Sorry I missed out on the recording. Freddie's probably pissed." You mumbled, voice hoarse from crying. You placed the soup on the small table by the door, but as soon as you placed it down, a body was thrown at you, colliding into you and making you fall to the floor. The door slammed shut and after a second of groaning, you realized who had fallen on top of you. You raced to get out from under him, and you turned your back to him.

"(Y/N), I know you're angry with me. Just hear me out." Roger said quietly, you tilted your head to let him know you were listening.

"I wasn't thinking. I should've been more tactful. Kissing you was not appropriate at that moment in time. I just... you looked so broken, it hurt me. I just wanted to distract you from the pain. And I know after this, you'll probably be mad at me still but I want to say I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to take advantage of you in any way and I'm an idiot for not realizing that that's the way it would be taken. I really care about you, as more than a friend or bandmate. I would do anything to make you happy. But that kiss wasn't appropriate at the time and I'm so fucking sorry."Roger explained. You sighed, turning around, looking anywhere but the drummer's eyes.

"Rog... I love you too but I need time. I'm going through a lot at the minute and something is telling me that it's not going to get any easier in the next few months." You replied softly. Roger cupped your cheek, pulling your face up to his.

"I want to be for you (Y/N). I want to help you through what you're going through. I want to be there for you in your darkest or best moments. We can take it slow. Baby steps. Just give me a chance. Please." Roger pleaded. You could never say no to those eyes.

"Baby steps..." You agreed after a long pause. Roger broke out in a grin and he carefully entwined his fingers with yours. Maybe this could work.

Tags: @writingfortoomanyfandoms @queens-n-roses @yourealegendfred @fierce-bab @dusthas-beenbitten @silvver-rose @benhardyjones @bensroger

#queen #phoebe writes #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #brian may #brian may x reader #john deacon #john deacon x reader #freddie mercury #freddie mercury x reader #rami malek #rami malek x reader #ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #joe mazzello #joe mazzello x reader #gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #i remembered tags this time lmao

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