#i'm erring toward english for a few reasons | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sanzaibian · 1 month

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I'm loving the stories! I'm heading to Mexico in a few weeks with work, but hoping to immerse myself in the culture a bit. Can you help me out?

You find yourself in front of your local Spanish-language association. You thought that taking a few classes in Spanish would help you recover some of the long forgotten classes you took in high school… though in all honesty, it won’t likely do much. You’re quite old, now, so it means that your brain cannot learn new languages as easily as it used to...

As you enter, you see the Mexican flag front and center, along with flags of many other Latin American countries, as well as that of Spain. You walk up to the receptionist, and she tells you, directly in Spanish :

“¡Bienvenidos! ¿Cuál es el motivo de usted venida? (Welcome ! What is the reason you came here ?) - Er…” You try to conjure some of the very old memories, and only manage a “Hola !” Before going back to English. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know Spanish… I’m here to take classes, in fact.”

The receptionist nods, and thinks a bit before taking out a timetable.

“Okay, well, you see, I have a... beginner’s course of Spanish in a few hours… It’s not perfect because they already started in January, but I think you can still catch up if you work hard enough.” She says, with a perfect American accent. She is visibly bilingual. - Oh, in a few hours ?”

You are quite interested, considering that you did want some beginner-level courses, but in a few hours… That’s too short to just go back home and come back later, but that’s also too long to just stay here and wait without getting bored !

The receptionist notices your embarrassment.

“You know, we are also a place where Spanish learners and native speakers can hang out. If you want, you can go to the hangout room while waiting ?” She offers sympathetically. - Well yeah, I could do that.” You nod. It may be geared towards more hard-core learners, but you can always try to immerse yourself…

You go to the room she waves you to. It isn’t loud, but there’s quite a lot of people in it, all speaking Spanish. You go and find somewhere to sit, when, on your way, someone hails you.

“¡Hola! ¿Cómo te llamas? (Hello ! (...) ?)”

Your long-buried memories start churning, as you recognize the second sentence as meaning something like “What’s your name ?”. You think a while, and then, flash of brilliance.

“Me llamo Charlie.” You answer, giving out your name in the most American of accents.

Your conversation partner smiles, and speaks quite slowly to let you understand what he means.

“¿Cuántos años tiene?” You understand the sentence to mean ‘How old are you ?’ - Er… Soy… cuarenta y dos… años ?” You try, but he shakes his head. - No, ¡es ‘Tengo ventidós’ o ‘Tengo ventidós años’!”

You blush of embarrassment as he corrects you. Yes, you now remember that to mean “I am x years old” you say “Tengo x (años)”… you even remember the worksheets from way back when… Huh, it seems like it was less far of a memory than you thought.

“Lo siento…” You excuse yourself with sentence that came back strangely fast. - ¡Jajaja!” He laughs. “¡No te preocupes! ¡Hablar español es difícil! (Don’t worry ! Speaking Spanish is difficult !)”

You are surprised how easy it is to understand him. Visibly, you had more memories than you expected ! Then, that guy continues.

“¿De dónde es? (Where are you from ?) - Soy de… Mexico… Nuevo Mexico. (I’m from… Mexico… New Mexico.)”

You almost stumbled on yourself. There seems to be something wrong with that statement. You know you’re American, but something seems wrong…

“Ah, de... ¿Nuevo México? Pero tu acento no suena asi… (Ah, from… New Mexico ? But your accent doesn’t seem like it comes from there...) - Si, es verdad… (Yes, it’s true...)” You’re about to tell him that it’s because you’re American, but then you say : “La gente dice que tengo un acento de la Ciudad de Mexico. Sabes, Mexihco Hueyaltepetl. (People say that I have an accent from Mexico City. You know, Mexihco Hueyaltepetl (?).)”

Wait, why do people say that ? You never went to Mexico City ! Okay, yes, you did go there for the holidays, after all, your father lives there… Wait, your parents aren’t separated !

You get more and more confused as multiple versions of your history start competing with each other.

“¡Ah, tenía razón! Puedo verlo en tu cara que eres… eh… ¿mexiqueño? (Ah, I was right ! I can see by your face that you are… er… from Mexico City ?) - ¡Jajaja!” You laugh. “¡No se dice ‘mexiqueño’! ¡Se dice capitalino, o chilango si estás familiarizado! (You don’t say “Mexiqueño” ! You say “Capitalino”, or “Chilango” if you’re familiar !)” You don’t quite know where this knowledge comes from. It seems like something only locals would know… - Perdón, soy chileno, no lo sabía… (Sorry, I’m Chilean, I didn’t know...)”

You smile at him. Of course, he couldn’t know that, you’re familiar with these terms because you’re a Chilango through and through ! Born in the city, lived in the city ! Yet you furrow your brows, as something still feels off.

Somehow, you’re convinced that you’re American, even though it seems to be a more and more distant fact. Well, when you look down and see those tan arms, you know that you aren’t, like, a total gringo, you’re at least part Latino…

“¿Cómo es la vida allá? (How is life there ?)” The Chilean guy asks you, a torrent of memories coming back (?) to you. - ¡Es complicado de describir! Pero México es muy dinámico, ¡entonces siempre es interesante! (It’s difficult to describe ! But Mexico is very dynamic, so it’s always interesting !)” You think back to how frantic life is over there… and how much you love that. “Especialmente comparado con aquí, parece que esta citudad está muerta… ¡En México siempre hay un xochitzin con el que te puedes topar! (Especially when compared to here, this city seems dead… In Mexico, there’s always an xochitzin (?) you can run into !)”

As the Chilean nods, you keep getting quite confused. You know you’re from Mexico City, you know you’re American, yet somehow there is like… a piece of the puzzle missing. You keep on thinking strange words like “Mexihco Hueyaltepetl” or “ihni”, and you know it’s not Spanish, nor English – not that you would know too much of that language.

You continue thinking as your body starts feeling strange, as you feel it shifting. You put your hand on your forehead and sense your wrinkles relaxing. You feel quite queasy…

“¿Estás bien? (Are you alright ?) - Me siento un poco mareada… (I feel a bit dizzy…) - Sólo tienes que ir al baño. ¿Quieres que te ayude? (Just go to the toilets. You want me to help ?) - No, estará bien. Tlazohcamati. (No, it’s gonna be alright. (???)) - Okay… eh... ¿Eres indígenas? (Okay… er… Are you a Native American ?)”

You don’t answer the Chilean, only giving him a small wave to thank him. You find your way to the toilets, still queasy, and look at yourself.

You’ve got your usual short black hair, your nascent beard that doesn’t want to come along, your brownish tint, as well as your light muscles. Nothing looks out of place, yet something seems wrong.

Is it the fact that you are so youthful ? You know you’re quite twinky. Is it the fact that your skin looks weird ? You know that it’s clearer than the other’s because your mother is gringo.

You feel even more queasy, as you feel your entire body tensing. Memories come back of your time in the gym, but also of the time with all your xochitzmeh (bros)… Yes, you now remember how you’re the son of an American linguist and a Nahua man. How you grew up speaking Nahuatl along with the other kids from around Mexico City. How you started going to the gym to prove that gays aren’t cuiltemeh (sissies/fags). How you now cringe to that line of thought, yet continue doing it to attract guys.

As the pieces of your life go back together, your queasiness dissipates, and you feel better. You drink a bit of water, and then you go back to the hangout room. As you go in there, the Chilean hails you once again.

“¡Charlie! ¿Esta mejor? (Charlie ! Doing better ?)”

Laughable, “Charlie” is only the nickname your grandparents use when you’re at their house… Why does that guy even know it ?

“¡Mi nombre no es Charlie, es Carlos! ¡Carlos Zopiyactle! (My name isn’t Charlie, it’s Carlos ! Carlos Zopiyactle !)” You say in a very matter-of-fact fashion. - Lo siento, pensé que te llamabas Charlie… (Sorry, I thought that you were named Charlie...) - No es nada. (It’s nothing.)” You answer with a very Mexican accent, aspirating your ‘s’. “Pero, tengo que irme ahora. ¡Adiós! (However, I need to go now. Goodbye !) - ¡Adiós, Carlos! (Goodbye, Carlos !)”

You leave the room, go past the receptionist who smiles at you a bit weirdly, and make your way back to your grandparent’s home. You don’t really like going there, because you’re not very good in English, but eh. Pleasing your mom is a good enough reason.

Suddenly, you hear a very familiar-sounding sound from your phone. You open it, seeing a notification, smile, and answer it before calling your mother.

“¡Cualli teotlaltzintli! ¡Amo niyaz tlacualpan! (Good evening ! I’m not going to be there for dinner !) - Pff… ¡Aic timotlamahzehua nanmonahuac! (Pff… You never come eat with us !) - Nomati, pero tengo cosas que hacer. (I know, but I have things to do.)” You say, switching back a bit to Spanish. - ¿Zannima tihual mocuepaz? (You will come back soon ?) - Quema. Nantli, nimitz nequi. (Yes. Mom, I love you.)

- Ohuihqui nimitz nequi. (I love you too.)”

You finish the call and smile. She doesn’t have to know that you’re missing the family dinners to be pounded. Those jocks on Grindr don’t know what your pseudonym “Moiztactlaca” means, but it sounds foreign, and they love it.

Soon, you’re going back home to Mexico City, but it doesn’t mean that you can’t take advantage of all the hot guys here in the meantime !

#male transformation #male tf #twink tf #twunk tf #twinkification #twunkification #age reduction #latino tf #mexican tf #nahua tf #mental change #reality change #transformation #tf story #ask

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roses-for-rosalyn · 9 months

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i desperately need dealer!ellie and her sweet girlfriend (who is also totally a stoner (;). maybe if reader went out of town for a while and ran out of weed, so she got some off of a dealer/from a dispensary in that town. then reader gets home and ellie would be (mostly jokingly) horrified by the weed that wasn't hers, and so on :3

(sorry if this does not make sense, english is not my first language and i've never done an ask before so im a bit nervous :])

Rahhh what an amazing idea!! I'm so honored I was your first ask, also don't be nervous to approach my account this is a safe space for anyone darling 💕 Sorry it took so long to respond!!

the people who like my Ellie content come 'ere, this is a treat for you.

word count: 3.7 k

minors dni (please bro)

cw: sprinkle of fluff (haven't had a productive therapy session in a loong time), mutual masterbation sort of, neck kissing, drug use 🍃, established relationship, dealer! Ellie, strap on use (r! receiving), teasing, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, no use of y/n (lmk if I missed anything)

You stand before a familiar rust colored door, contemplating for a moment before you rap your knuckles against the hardwood. You were visiting your girlfriend for the first time in a few weeks–which felt more like a few months. You had gone back home to visit family for a while, and to meet up with some old friends. Naturally being with family was incredibly stressful and you were relieved to be able to return to your girlfriend for multiple reasons: 1) she has weed 2) you were extremely sexually frustrated after being without her for a few weeks 3) you simply missed her company (which you would never explicitly admit to her considering she was a pain in the ass half the time). You had been texting Ellie every day and she never failed to turn the conversation from something wholesome into something incredibly dirty. You would go from talking about your day to shaking, nervous hands trying to type a response without dropping your phone. She could have you aching for her in mere moments simply by stringing together a strategic set of words. It was truly a gift, an oddly specific gift that you were incredibly grateful for when you were separated from her.

You had told her almost everything about your visit. You failed to mention that being with family got so stressful you met up with your old plug from highschool. You only bought like three prerolls, but for some odd reason you felt like you were being unfaithful to your drug dealer girlfriend. It was something so incredibly silly, but the action just felt…weird. She enjoyed being possessive a lot of the time, mostly because it was fun for her (particularly in bed). Someone might flirt with you at a bar and she would take you home and not let you come until you had said you were hers over and over and over. A combination of nerves and excitement invaded your body every time you thought about telling her. You would imagine her reaction and an ache would immediately grow between your legs. But then another side of you wondered if it might actually bother her, and maybe she wouldn’t react that way. It was a gamble and you were unsure if you felt like risking it.

The sound of the door opening disrupts your train of thought. As soon as you see Ellie’s face your worries dissolve, you leap towards her, wrap your arms around her tightly and kiss her. You were both smiling so hard your teeth gently knocked together. You lean back, taking her in, you had missed her perfectly placed freckles and familiar green eyes. You kiss her again and again and again, pecking your lips against hers. She moves away from your lips, cups your face and plants gentle kisses on your forehead, cheeks and nose. You giggle and scrunch up your face at the feeling, your cheeks starting to warm.

She breaks away and rests her forehead against yours, “Hi.” she says breathlessly.

“Hi.” you reply, giggling. “I missed you.”

“I know, I’m an incredibly amazing person to spend time with, anyone with a brain would miss me.” She smirks, almost challenging you to retaliate.

Your eyes narrow, “you know what?’ You scoff, ‘I know you missed me,” a grin forms on your face before you continue, “In fact I have proof of exactly how much you missed me right in my phone.” You lean in, whispering in her ear, “And if you don’t admit it we won’t do anything we talked about while I was away.”

Ellie smiles, “Ok, Ok I missed you,” she looks down, “you and your perfect tits.” You pull away from her and playfully slap her on the shoulder, poorly pretending to be offended–your giggling gave you away. you could tell she meant it when she said she missed you because she was looking at you with such adoration in her eyes you think you might explode.

Ellie finally walks away from you to close and lock the door before gently grabbing you by the hand to lead you to the couch. Her hand is so warm and familiar, you squeeze it softly, savoring the feeling.

She looks back at you, mischief in her eyes “Wanna smoke?” she asks.

“God, I thought you’d never ask.” You smile, giddy as ever. You eagerly sit down on the couch next to her, close enough so the sides of your thighs touch. You were more needy than usual and Ellie took notice.

Your eyes move to the coffee table which has various weed related objects strewn about. Ellie had clearly been smoking a bit before you had gotten here. You watch her hands as she leans over the coffee table and begins to expertly roll and pack a joint with her slender fingers. You get lost in her movements, studying the way her hands move so carefully and purposefully.

She finishes rolling the joint and offers it to you with both her hands, head bowed as if she was bestowing a wondrous gift to you. You giggle at her amusing antics and gently take the blunt from her hands, pinching it between your thumb and pointer finger. Ellie is quick to grab the lighter off the coffee table as you bring it to your lips. You wait for her to burn the tapered end off before wrapping your lips around it and deeply inhaling. Thick smoke fills your mouth, flows into your throat and lungs. The feeling is warm and familiar, ever since you started dating Ellie, smoking stopped burning and started feeling more tingly. It was a sort of comforting feeling- knowing your body would eventually relax and your thoughts would become muted. Your eyes instinctively close as you breathe out, a smile forming on your lips.

“Wow, you really missed smoking huh?” Ellie laughs at your dramatic display.

“Well I didn’t exactly go completely without it, but I missed your shit, this is actually good.” You look down, sigh and take another small hit. You offer the joint back to Ellie and look up at her, trying to read her expression. Her appearance doesn’t give anything away as she takes it from you and takes a long hit. Her eyes stay on yours as she exhales, all you can do is stare back, your eyes frantically searching hers for any hint of anger or jealousy.

“Where’d you get the other shit from?” Her tone is completely flat. “Wasn’t from me was it?” she pinches her eyebrows together, trying to recall if she sent you off with anything.

“No, no. I got really stressed and I was desperate for any type of relief sooo I messaged my old plug from highschool.” You let out a short laugh. Ellie hands the spliff back to you calmly.

“Was it any good?” She tilts her head and watches as you take a long hit before answering.

“Pretty good, but nothing compared to your shit babe.” You smile as you exhale and hand the joint back to her. She takes it and puts it out, her expression remaining scarily blank. She was obviously planning something in that brain of hers.

She hums and nods looking down at the coffee table. She sits up and finally looks at you, pats your thigh and mumbles “come ‘ere.” You do as she says and adjust yourself so you're straddling her. “Cheating on your drug dealer who is also your girlfriend huh?” She shakes her head, “Bad idea.” Her expression turns into a wicked smirk.

You laugh “No I-”

She interrupts, “Uh, uh, I don’t want to hear any excuses.”

“But I-”

“You’ll have to make it up to me princess.” Her voice lowers, a suggestive tone lacing it. The way she said it, dominance dripping from her words sent butterflies straight to your cunt.

“Whatever you want, Ellie.” you say in your most submissive voice, hoping it will convince her to take mercy on you. You know she’s gonna make you ache tonight one way or another. She smirks and kisses you. She opens up your mouth with her tongue, the kiss this time was different; it was hungrier, her tongue roughly massages against yours and she groans at the feeling. You move your hands down to the hem of her sweatshirt and tug. You break away for a moment to throw her sweatshirt across the room leaving her in a white tank top. She grabs the hem of your t-shirt and does the same, leaving you bare for her.

You hadn’t worn a bra in anticipation for tonight and it definitely paid off. Ellie wasn’t expecting it and stared for a moment, your nipples beginning to harden from being exposed to the cool air in her apartment. You can’t help but giggle at her ogling, but the giggle is quickly cut off once she latches her mouth onto your sensitive nipple. Her warm tongue swirls around your hard bud and you gasp at the feeling, threading your fingers into her hair. She brings up one of her hands to begin playing with the other breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between her thumb and index finger. The feeling was even more intense from the weed, her actions sent arousal straight to your cunt. She takes her time, licking and sucking until she’s satisfied. You're a panting mess after mere moments, mumbling breathless obscenities as she has her way with you. She moves to the other nipple and you have begun grinding against her to try and relieve the ache that had now grown painful between your legs. She removes her mouth, before moving up your body. She kisses along your clavicle taking her time, sucking and licking as she moves. She made her way to your neck and latched on to the sensitive skin causing you to moan. She is slow and methodical, purposefully trying to mark you up. You didn’t mind, you kind of liked the bruises she would leave behind. Your heightened senses deliciously exaggerate the feeling of her warm tongue on your skin, while also making the ache in your cunt almost unbearable considering everything was sensitive.

“Ellie please.” you whimper, wanting her to do anything to satiate your sore cunt.

“Please what, Princess?” She asks between kisses.

“Ellie” you whine out, frustrated beyond belief. She hums and grabs your thighs, wrapping them around her waist, then your arms to wrap them around her neck before standing up and walking you both to the bedroom. She continues teasing you with her tongue, touching you everywhere, but where you need her. She lowers you down to sit on the edge of the bed and you break away from her to back into the middle and lay down. She raises her eyebrows at your eagerness, but crawls on top of you and kisses you, her tongue intertwining with yours, her leg in between yours rising higher and higher… before she pulls back. You frown and tilt your head in confusion.

Ellie smirks and raises her eyebrows, “Oh, you thought I was gonna make this easy?” She lets out a dry laugh at your desperation. She finds it cute, but not cute enough to give in and give you what you want.

“But I just got back-”

“And what did you do while you were gone?” She tilts her head questioning you. “You gave me a reason to make this difficult for you,” she answers her own question before leaning in so close you can feel her breath tickle the shell of your ear and whispers, “And you know how much I love an excuse to make things difficult for you.” The bass of her voice invertebrates through your body sending tingles down your spine.

“F-fine,” You try to sound confident, but she has you in pieces underneath her. “What do you want?” At your question Ellie sits up kneeling over you.

“Get up.” You sit up slowly as she gets off the bed and you follow. You stand in front of her, chest heaving from arousal, eyes shining with desperation and Ellie almost scraps her whole plan for the night. She grabs the hem of your shorts and gently lowers them past your hips, letting them slip to the floor. She does the same with your underwear, all the while you stand still, allowing her to have her way with you. Ellie unbuttons her jeans and lowers them to the floor, her tank top following. You can’t help but stare, her sports bra doesn’t do much to conceal her hardened nipples, her toned abs and arms practically made you drool. She rests her hands on your hips and takes a moment to admire your bare body. “So beautiful, baby.” Ellie breathes out before planting a gentle kiss to your shoulder. You smile at her and she smiles back, then she walks towards the head of the bed, grabbing one of the pillows and putting it in the middle of the bed. You're confused until she gestures for you to sit on the bed. Oh.

You crawl on to the bed and straddle the pillow, facing the head of the bed. Ellie moves to the top of the bed, gently grabs your hips and encourages you to lower down on to the pillow, you put your hands on top of hers and start to sink down. Once your sensitive clit contacts the soft fabric of the pillow you let out a small gasp. Subconsciously, you start rocking back and forth on the pillow, so needy and overstimulated you couldn’t hold back anymore. Your eyes start to close from the delicious pressure on your clit.

“That’s it princess, just like that.” You let out a little whine and continue rutting against the pillow, chasing relief. After a moment you realized the pillow wasn’t going to be enough, you needed more. You move your hand from Ellies and start to bring it down between your legs. She grabs your hand and tuts “uh, uh you’re going to move just like this,” She nods to you, “until I say. Not any faster, not any slower.”

“But-”

“You didn’t seem to want me enough,” She shrugs, “so I’m gonna make you need me.” You let out a quiet moan at her words. She was intoxicating when she was like this, you loved it and hated it at the same time.

Ellie lets go of your hips and you do as she says, keeping a steady rhythm against the pillow. Once she watches you for a moment she leans back onto the pillows one leg bent, the other straightened out in front of her. And she just…watches, staring you right in the eyes, she doesn’t plan on touching you or helping you in any way. Fine if she was going to watch, you were going to give her a show. A show good enough to get her to give in–hopefully. You begin letting out little whines and gasps as you move fluidly against the pillow. You maintain eye contact as you let your moans build, your clit being teased from the fabric. She groans “Keep moving just like that Princess.” Your eyes follow Ellie’s hand as it slowly starts to move between her legs, palming at her clothed cunt.

The action immediately sent a wave of arousal to your needy pussy. “Ffuck, Ellie.” you whine out, letting your head fall back and eyes close. Your moans grow a little louder, pleasure slowly building in your stomach. You look back at Ellie, her chest is heaving as her hand moves a little faster against the fabric of her underwear. She is looking down, watching you fuck the pillow, both of you longing for the pillow to be Ellie. You decide to boldly move one of your hands to your breast, cupping and massaging the soft skin. She doesn’t protest, only watches you in awe. You could tell she was on the verge of giving in. You start moving your fingers around your nipple teasing the sensitive bud, before pinching and rolling it between your fingers. You moan loudly at the sensation and begin to move faster against the pillow. Ellie gets up quickly and grabs her strap from the night stand. You let out a sigh and halt your motions, feeling relief flow through your body.

Ellie looks back at you “Did I say you could stop?”

“N-no but-” You stop talking once Ellie tilts her head, silently challenging you. You start moving again, whining a little bit at the feeling of your sore clit rubbing against the soft fabric. You watch as Ellie adjusts the harness. Taking her time to secure it, you would almost be pissed off if you had any room for any emotion besides complete and utter desperation.

Finally Ellie moves behind you on the bed, she caresses your shoulders, moving her hands up and down and kisses the side of your neck. You are still desperately humping the pillow as she said, waiting desperately for her to say the word. “Ellie please.” The desperation in your voice is pathetic, but you were reduced to a puddle from her literal torture.

“Come and then I’ll let you stop.” She whispers in your ear.

“Ellie I can’t, it’s not enough I need more please.” She moves her hands to your breasts and begins cupping and massaging the tender skin. Once she starts teasing your overstimulated nipples your head falls back on her shoulder and you moan her name. She starts sucking and kissing your neck and that was all you needed. The pleasure in your stomach finally started to build to a peak. You start rutting your hips faster, chasing your high.

“Come for me baby.” Ellie breathes into your ear. At her words your orgasm hits you, your pleasure coming to a satisfying peak after the relentless teasing. You buck against the pillow over and over, riding out your climax. “Good girl.” Ellie says as she continues teasing your nipples. When you start to come down Ellie immediately guides you so your upper body is laying against the bed, still straddling the pillow. She grabs the pillow and puts it underneath your hips, giving her a perfect view of your swollen, dripping cunt. You suddenly feel her fingers running up your slit, gathering your arousal, before shoving two fingers inside your soaked cunt. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, tightening around her fingers. “So perfect for me baby.” Ellie says before starting to move her fingers, curling them up against that perfect spongy spot inside of you. You moan as she moves her fingers in and out of you perfectly. She removes her fingers from you and you feel her begin to guide it against your soaked pussy, nudging your clit as she moves her hips forward. You moan into the sheets as she moves her hips back and forth a few times, grazing your clit each time. The strap was coated in your juices after mere moments. You were almost dripping down your thighs, clenching around nothing as Ellie teased you. She massaged the silicone cock, coating it with your arousal, before teasing your entrance with the very tip. You groan as it stretches your tight cunt. She moves slowly, opening you up with the thick black cock.

“Oh god.” you moan as she moves deeper into you.

“Relax for me baby. You can take it.” Ellie assures you. You relax, allowing her to sink all the way into your tight cunt. You whimper as she bottoms out, feeling a painfully pleasurable pressure in your pussy. She grabs your wrists and holds them together with one hand and places the other on your hip. She starts to fuck you mercilessly, not giving you any time to adjust, forcing a pathetic “fuckfuckfuck.” out of your swollen lips. Ellie begins grunting at every thrust from the effort, but keeps her pace. The harness was rubbing against her clit perfectly, her ache being soothed as well as yours.

“God I fuckin missed this pussy baby, missed using you however I wanted like this.” You moan at her words, you loved it when she used you however she wanted. “Such a good girl for me.” She begins moving faster, getting lost in her pleasure. She uses her grip on your wrists to pull her cock deeper into you, causing you to moan at every thrust. Ellie could tell you were already close.

“You can come as many times as you want, princess, but I’m not stopping until I’m done.” You started to come undone, your orgasm ripping through you as Ellie fucks you through it. Waves of pleasure wash over you and you moan so loudly, you are sure the neighbors heard, hell maybe the whole neighborhood. You start to come down, but Ellie doesn’t let up, you whine as she continues to pound into your overstimulated cunt. You whine out her name and she reaches under you to lift you upwards, your body flush against hers. She slowly moves her hand down your stomach, you can tell what she’s doing “Ellie I can’t-”

She pauses, “You can take it, give me one more baby.” You nod and she moves her hand to your clit and starts rubbing it in small controlled circles. She uses her other hand to tease your nipples and you’re already close again, muttering obscenities and letting your head rest on her shoulder. Ellie begins panting and moaning in your ear as she thrusts into you, reaching her high as well. Her hips start moving sloppily and she breathes out “Come for me.” before coming undone herself. You let go, your moans syncing with Ellie’s as her thrusts become slower and less controlled. Your body completely submerges into your pleasure, your hips rocking back into Ellie’s mindlessly. You can barely hold yourself up any more as pleasure washes over you. Ellie holds you against her as you lose your strength. She pulls out of you slowly and lowers you down to sit on your knees as she removes the strap, throwing it to the side. You turn around to face her and smile lazily, she smiles back and kisses you softly. She lowers you onto the bed as she continues kissing you. You collapse into the soft pillows, every bone in your body giving out.

“I missed you.” You barely manage to whisper.

“I missed you too.”

#the last of us #the last of us 2 #ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie smut #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you

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a-random-whovian7 · 10 months

Text

What your favourite Doctor says about you (just like the Master and Companion lists, this is all just jokes and my own terrible takes, absolutely no offence intended towards anyone). This is gonna be a long one, so good luck:

One (I think):

Is somehow able to sit through The Keys of Marinus whilst completely sober. Their feelings on Twice Upon a Time completely depend on whether they are able to accept that TV shows made in the 1960s will inevitably have some outdated bits or not. Loves slow-burners and less science-heavy stories, and wishes the Doctor would go back to trolling his companions again. Prays every night for The Celestial Toymaker and Marco Polo to be found. Hates the Timeless Child with a burning passion.

Two:

Two fans deserve a lot better. Despite a large chunk of their era being limited to surviving audio, PowerPoint presentations telesnaps and the, er, mixed bag of animated reconstructions, they still contribute a lot to the discussion of Classic Who and are usually well versed in the lore of the EU. 2nd Doctor fans are remarkable, as they are able to get along with pretty much every other group of fans. However, there is plenty of infighting thanks to the UNIT dating controversy and which story should be reconstructed next. If they ship Two/Jamie, they have fully earned your love and are surprisingly good if you pass them the aux.

Three:

Pretty much blows a gasket whenever some idiot says that the modern era is 'too political'. Like, I'm sorry, but was the "England for the English" scene in the Claws of Axos a little too subtle for you? Were Malcolm Hulke's scripts absolutely apolitical in your eyes? Does the mere existence of The Green Death mean nothing to you?! Oh, well maybe you should try WATCHING THE SHOW and DOING YOUR RESEARCH before you start claiming that it's become 'tOo pOLiTiCaL' because the main characters aren't always played by Whiteguy McStraight now, shouldn't you?! YOU AND YOUR MEDIOCRE OPINION SHALL COWER BEFORE MY KNOWLEDGE OF THE THIRD DOCTOR'S ERA AND THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP ME!

It is for this very reason that 3rd Doctor fans get along particularly well with 13th Doctor fans. Perfectly nice people with a great sense of humour and an excellent taste in episodes, unless a conversation resembling the above occurs, at which point you will see how much damage the repressed urge to do Venusian Akido can do. Refuses to admit that The Ambassadors of Death is two episodes too long.

Four:

Either a child of the 70s or chaos incarnate. Yes, 4 is pretty much the universally recognised Doctor, but that doesn't stop him from being one of the most unhinged Doctors. Loves more gothic horror-themed episodes and can ignore the somewhat questionable production qualities of early Baker stories. They have almost certainly attempted to make The Scarf at one point; whether they were successful or not entirely depends on their talent for knitting. Is surprisingly ok with admitting that Tom Baker stayed for a little too long and that his later seasons were a little underwhelming. Hasn't stopped them from watching every version of Shada though.

Five:

The tired parental figure of any group they are in. They immediately related to this Doctor when they saw 5 trying to hold it together whilst his multiple adopted humans argued, whined and got themselves trapped on doomed freighter ships. Has tried to play cricket once, but a general confusion over the rules and a few broken windows stopped that. You can take care of the cinnamon roll that is the standard 5 fan by providing them with cups of tea, giving them lots of hugs and removing all copies of Time Flight from your house.

Six:

Best fashion sense out of all the fans... somehow. Their favourite episodes are usually Vengeance on Varos or Revelation of the Daleks (both bangers), although they lean more heavily towards EU and Big Finish material, where the stories are more consistent and the costumes are less yikes. Either the best or worst fan to be around, either giving fair balanced views on the show or just being an absolute arse. Loves cats. Hates Michael Grade. Kind of ambivalent towards Mel.

Seven:

If 2nd Doctor fans are well versed in the EU lore, then these individuals are fucking academics. Constantly annoyed that 7 had two of the best seasons of Classic Who and was the darkest Doctor but is only remembered for Time and the Rani for some reason. Their favourite companion will always be Ace, which is what motivated them to watch Power of the Doctor. Usually excellent taste in stories, but is completely capable of dragging you to the depths of the EU. Wishes the Doctor would commit a few more genocides. Their religious beliefs can be summarised in the phrase "Cartmel Master Plan". Still annoyed that the most strategic Doctor was killed by the two most American things (guns and bad healthcare), but gets along well with 8 fans despite that. Somehow understands Ghost Light after just 3 rewatches.

Eight:

Big Finish fan. Basically willing to explain the entire plot of Dark Eyes if you ask them. Thinks the TV Movie is just OK, and has rewatched Night of the Doctor too many times to count. Loves a sad boy, and has definitely referred to 8 as a "poor little meow meow" at some point. Wishes 8's TARDIS interior was still intact and that he'll get his own live action series. Had an actual heart attack when he appeared in Power of the Doctor. Usually a bisexual from my personal experience, and looking at Paul McGann in the 90s, I can see why.

War (or is it Nine?):

We're stepping into the depths of the Moffat cult with this one. Wants a more traumatised Doctor, and kind of wishes we saw more of the Time War beyond the laser battle in Day of the Doctor. Content to sit back and watch due to the fact that the War Doctor had the perfect arc in his one episode, although they are happy that the War Doctor still pops up in the EU. Bridging the gap between the modern and classic series means they get along well with everyone except Shalka fans.

Nine (the Curse of Fatal Death one):

Does this one count? Just loves the classic series. Still praying for Joanna Lumley as the Doctor. Nowhere near as obnoxious as the Shalka fans and surprisingly funny.

Nine (the Scream of the Shalka one):

They pride themselves on being 'against the trend' and being fans of an overlooked bit of Doctor Who history. Doesn't quite realise that Scream of the Shalka was basically an B-tier Big Finish story with janky animation. Wants Richard E Grant to show up again. Constantly attempting to upset Eccleston and Hurt fans, only to get angry when everyone forgets Scream of the Shalka existed. They definitely listen to Weezer.

Ten, no, another Nine (the Eccleston one):

The word "fantastic" is permanently superglued to their vocabulary, and yet it never gets old. Owns a leather jacket too. Wishes that the BBC hadn't been stupid and Eccleston had stayed on for another series, but doesn't hold it against Tennant. Knows the Daleks were at their best in S1. Really wants the Reapers to return, and was utterly distraught after Chibs kind of ruined 9's role in the wider arc by blowing up Gallifrey again. Major nostalgia for the 2000s with this one, and is slowly becoming a member of the Big Finish cult thanks to Eccleston's return. Understandably forgot Adam was a thing. Both loves and hates John Barrowman.

Ten? Eleven? Ten and a half? The Tennant one. I hate numbers:

Their first experience to Doctor Who was during the golden age- wait, no, sorry, the RTD cult has threatened to terminate my membership if I'm not honest with this one.

Either a child of the 2000s, a member of the aforementioned RTD cult or someone who just likes the show to be more emotionally resonant. Well, that or they are the blandest person alive. If they acknowledge how good 10's arc was in terms of deconstructing the Doctor and setting up his fall from grace via misplaced attachments and vanity, then absolutely someone to be around. If they simply say "because he was popular", definitely bland. We all know Tennant was popular, it's still not one of the many valid reasons to love him. They have an easygoing relationship with 4 and 11 fans, and otherwise OK relations with the rest of Doctors fan groups, although there is a bit of friction between 13 stans due to 10 being dragged into a lot of 13's media post-2020 to boost ratings. They didn't like it because it cheapned 10's return and era whilst also overshadowing 13. 13 stans didn't like it because it basically gave the message that the BBC had given up on 13 before her era had finished.

Definitely excited for the 60th after the regeneration and the announcement of RTD's return. Has tried owning a pair of converses, only to find out that they aren't exactly cheap. Has fought for the Ten/Rose ship on multiple occasions. Tried hair gel once, with disastrous consequences.

Huh. This one was incredibly easy to write. All I had to do was look in a mirror.

Thirte- no, Eleven:

Major ADHD energy in the best possible way. Saw the chaotic excitable Doctor and immediately fell in love. They will not rest until they have forced every former Doctor to read the "Hello Stonehenge" speech. They have also cosplayed the most out of any fan, due to the availability of fezzes and bow ties. Definitely the most fun to be around at a party. Was disappointed by Matt Smith's decision not to return for the 60th, especially after the absolute banger that was Day of the Doctor. If they ship 11 with River, they're cool, even though 11 was very asexual in S5. If they ship him with anyone else, then yikes. Wishes for the show to return to a quirky fairytale tone again.

If they were present during the SuperWhoLock days, keep an eye on them. You're only one drink away from dragging us back to 2013, and I ain't reading any of that fanfiction again *shudders*.

Fourte- FUCK, Twelve:

A certified member of the Steven Moffat cult, or just someone who likes some of their stories to have a slightly more mature tone. Has tried to play the electric guitar more than once, only to be forced to stop by their partners or housemates. Either willing to admit some of the flaws of the era or strongly defends it, with no inbetween. Absolutely correct in their assertion that S9 and 10 absolutely slapped, although this cam be undermined if they try to defend Sleep No More. If they ship River and 12, then you can trust them with anything, and they will offer you good relationship advice. If they ship 12 and Clara in a romantic way (which is strange to me cos i always got platonic BFF vibes from them, but that's just me), they definitely have relationship advice, although waiting 4 billion years to get your memory wiped is a questionable means of resolving conflict. They have a pair of the sonic sunglasses. Cried when Capaldis majestic floofy hair got shaved off for a superhero film.

Thirteen? That's right? Phew, finally getting the hang of this. Ok, Thirteen:

There are two types of 13 fan. The first is cinnamoniest of rolls. Is just happy to sit back and have fun, thus allowing them to enjoy pretty much any episode (something that a lot of people could learn from). Immediately realised that Jodie is an amazing Doctor and deserves more praise and justice. Definitely shipped Thasmin, and are the best at constructive criticism, recognising what worked and didn't in a respectful, polite way (again, something we could all learn from). Wierdly enough, they get along well with all the Doctor fans, as they are a wholesome ray of sunshine that reminds us that every era has something to offer, no matter the general consensus.

The second type masquerades as the first, but gets all hipster-y and more than willing to use the term 'overrated' when RTD or Tennant are mentioned (so basically a healthy 80% of the #antiRTD tag).

Both are convinced that the Chibnall Era will receive a massive reappraisal like the 12th Doctor's era did, despite the odds of that happening being the same as an on-screen Thasmin kiss. I'm so sorry, that's a really mean line to end this bit on. Let's instead end by saying Haunting of Villa Diodati is an absolute banger of an episode.

Ruth:

Loves the admittedly cool concept of a mystery incarnation. The rest depends on their theory of where the Ruth Doctor fits in. If they use the season 6B theory, then they have an encyclopedic knowledge of the classical series and the EU regardless of whether they have watched it or not. If they use the Timeless Child/Division theory, then they basically settled for the easier version of 6B after looking into the insane asylum that is classic who and EU discourse (wise choice). If they think she's from an alternative universe, thinks that she's Omega, Rassilon, The Rani, The Master or any other figure, then they practically have a gold medal in Mental Gymnastics. Either way, all of them don't like to admit that they are unfortunately limited to 4 episodes (three of them being fairly mid, the other being a mild car crash) and a pretty good comic. Cool fashion taste. Gets along with 13 stans and, surprisingly, 2nd Doctor fans.

Fourteen- oh for fucks sake:

YOU ARE TENTH DOCTOR FANS. GO BACK TO EARLIER ON IN THE POST. YES, I KNOW THAT'S THE BBC'S OFFICIAL LINE AT THE MOMENT. YES, I KNOW YOU'RE HYPED FOR THE 60TH, I AM A HYPED RTD CULTIST TOO. JUST WAIT UNTIL SEPTEMBER. P L E A S E.

Fourt- no fifteen- no, fourteen- BBC, HAVE MERCY:

Only in the Doctor Who fandom can a Doctor who has only appeared in a brief clip and some photos have a fully developed fanbase. I should know, I've already joined it. Ncuti's photos in that suit sealed the deal. Either an RTD cultist or someone just looking forward to a fresh new direction. Also very fashionable. Has a somewhat complicated relationship with 13th Doctor fans due to the fact that Ncuti's first season and casting completely overshadowed S13 and the specials, but Ncuti also had to deal with the same levels of toxicity from the same 'fans' who threw temper tantrums at Jodie's casting in 2017. Best haircuts out of all the Doctor Who fans. Strange but true.

Full Fathom Five:

Y'all scare me.

Zagreus:

Y'all terrify me.

The Watcher:

Y'all confuse me.

The Valeyard:

Has wanted a darker series since god knows when. Was kind of annoyed when the Time Lord Victorious arc wasn't dedicated to a whole series. Also, the Valeyard is the Shadow the Hedgehog of the Whoniverse. I refuse to elaborate any further.

The Curator:

"Alright gang, let's see who the Curator fans really are!"

Pulls off mask

"Fourth Doctor fans?!"

All jokes aside, they just want a more experienced Doctor. Accepts that the show will have to end one day, and is cool with that, since they already have the perfect ending. Either cool grandad vibes or an actual grandad. Good knitwear. Their response to everything is simply putting the kettle on.

Doctor Moon:

Now these ones are very, very rare. I personally love the theory that Doctor Moon is a future version of the Doctor who is keeping River and the Library safe, but limiting your favourite Doctor to two episodes and an endorsement of the theory from Steven Moffat? Now that takes guts, and I like it. Usually partial to classy clothes, and talks in a very formal tone. Their best subject is usually maths.

Dr Who (Peter Cushing):

Unashamedly insane. Saw the absolutely glorious cheese-fest that was the 1960s Dalek movies and ended up loving one of the most unique versions of the Doctor. Is absolutely fine with bypassing 90% of the TV shows lore, making them really fun to talk to. Time Lords? Nah. Sonic screwdriver? Nope. Their Doctor is a wacky grandpa who built a multi-dimensional time machine in their back garden, and they love it. Is a sucker for Alternate Universe stories and usually loves classic B-movies. Knows that the movies kind of suck as adaptations, but as pure 1960s camp, they are unbeatable. Absolute legends.

All of Them:

The glue that holds this fanbase together. Enlightened individuals who have to check in every now and then to make sure that we mere mortals are behaving ourselves. They just simply enjoy the show and hold no biases. Absolutely infuriating to talk to for that very reason.

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fierceawakening · 1 year

Note

You're probably the most well versed in Phyrexian of literally anyone at this point, so if you get a minute I'd like to ask for a favor.

Do you know how I'd say/spell: "New Phyrexia's Hottest Couples"?

Of literally anyone? Wow, I'm honored, but I'm pretty sure that's the dude who wrote the Field Guide.

And hmmm... Couples is the one I'm not sure I could come up with a good guess about. We really know very few words for relationships between people at all. ("mother," "father," and "son" are the only ones coming readily to my mind.)

The number two is ķu, so I guess you could call them that, but I don't think it would make sense. "group" is (probably) por_g but I'm not sure whether "group of two" would be ķupor_g (two-group) or would need a particle in there somewhere, or what it would be. If so, coupleS would likely be ķupoor_g but I'm not at ALL convinced that's not nonsense.

So um, maybe something like "Hottest People from New Phyrexia?"

New Phyrexia is šopraptφyrxkeθəɢð (new-Phyrexian people-'s-land)

Hottest has a couple issues. One is that I'm not sure how to do comparison (-er, -est in English) and the other is I'm not sure about hot. Heh.

Great or grand is šχa'_θ and we suspect but aren't sure glory/glorious would be 'ɒjb_ť so you could use that. I'd personally stick with šχa'_θ just because we've seen it enough to be sure how it's used, where 'ɒjb_ť we have like... one instance of, so if the translation's not literal we could be very off about what exactly it means.

"Great People from New Phyrexia" I could give you! Which is pretty unspecific but I'm reasonably sure I could actually do that and not be saying incomprehensible nonsense.

If you're going for like a teenybopper mag or something, how about "Behold Great People from New Phyrexia?"

"People" I'd likely translate as "čkaaqq" (cyborgs, roughly) here, just so I'm not saying "Phyrexians from New Phyrexia" and sounding like a broken record. We have some pretty good evidence that when they're saying people in general, like just some guys, they use this word.

Which would give, I think:

!lo-šχa'θčkaaqyq-šopraptφyrxkeθəɢð-χtenu.

! + (imperative) + (great-cyborgs-of) + (New Phyrexia) + (behold-you toward-them).

Behold the great cyborgs from New Phyrexia!

(Hm. You could probably also do it with ǩaπa rather than lo. "May you behold the great people!" rather than straight up demanding people do it. But that's a weird thing Phyrexian does and English doesn't that I'm not fully sure about so I'm going with this one.)

#fierce learns phyrexian #i have no idea if this is anywhere near sufficiently close #but an attempt has been made

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davisexplainableart · 7 months

Text

(Yeah, I admittedly rushed this one. Sorry)

September 14, 2018:

Davis (as Scorpi): Er... Okay, I think it's on, now...

*moves over to the couch that the camera is pointing directly at*

Davis: Uh, hi there, everyone. It's uh... me, Davis. So, I'm sure you're all probably wondering what is going on... Well, erm...

.......

Davis: O-Okay, let me explain. So, obviously, I'm currently stuck as a penguin in the Cartoon World, and I'm not able to speak English as one. Well, I decided that... that I could try to interact with you guys, seeing as I'm able to speak again... a-as a Mixel.

.........

Davis: N-Now don't worry, Tommy and Tara aren't being replaced. They're... they're still hosting in the Cartoon World... but they... hopefully aren't aware of this. I mean, there's not that many people that I'd... feel like telling about this whole Mixels thing... towards...

Flare (offscreen, holding the mic): *Ahem*

Davis: Oh right, um... well I uh... think it's time to get back to tonight's Stick Friends now... y-yeah....

================================================

Okay, so what the heck is this supposed to be, exactly?

As I stated in that segment, in the cartoon world, I had been stuck as a penguin that was unable to speak any language (besides penguin noises). I had been stuck as a penguin since January 2018, and I didn't get my old body back until 2 years later (January 2020).

Luckily, however, since I had access to the Mixels' dimension through Scorpi's body (don't worry, I don't think he minded), I was actually able to speak in my normal voice (despite Scorpi only being able to make squeaking noises).

So, because some of the Mixels were familiar with TV production, I decided to ask a few to get involved and film live segments for Fridays in the Mixels dimension.

At first, however, everything was pretty much improvised. I didn't use a script until a few months later (I think it was November), I often missed cues because I wasn't paying attention to the time, and I didn't even have a studio until February 1, 2019. Initially, I just filmed in the Spikels' tribe base, sitting on a couch.

I remember thinking that none of the Fridays crew in the main Cartoon World were aware of me doing this. That was until January 29, 2021 when I was told that they knew the whole time.

Naturally, many were upset with my addition for obvious reasons (lack of studio, no script, me being lazy, etc.).

Luckily, we began to pick things up around January/February 2019:

We got our own studio for the show, which was almost identical to the original studio from the Powerhouse Era, all the way down to the transporter they had during that Era.

With the studio, we were able to bring on an audience, just like in the Cartoon World.

On February 8, 2019, I brought on a co-host in the form of Chao (AKA that Cragster+Zorch lookalike with brown hair). She would stay for the rest of the block's run.

We quickly got a much bigger crew to help us out.

Also, If I'm being honest, another reason I did this was because of things falling apart.

2018 wasn't the best year for Fridays, with production nearly being cancelled twice.

The 1st was due to us constantly skipping weeks. This warning came about in March of that year, after a 4-week period without any Fridays shows.

The next warning came around August or September, due to the cast and crew not doing much other than say when a show was next or whatever, that or just making normal conversation with each other. This issue had started around late 2017, but had gotten worse by fall 2018.

Ultimately, this Mixels thing, though disliked, ended up being one of the factors that helped save Fridays.

I'm mainly bringing this up because there are some segments from the Mixels dimension that I'd like to share with you guys this month.

#CNFridays20 #Cartoon Network Fridays #CNF #CNFridays #Mixels #Davis #CNF20 #CN Fridays #Cartoon Network #CN #CartoonNetwork

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helloalycia · 3 years

Text

The Wrong Lifetime – Five // Wanda Maximoff

chapter four | story masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad | chapter six

author’s note: dying of cramps but didn’t wanna leave y’all hanging, so enjoy! x

Taking Wanda to Blackpool was something I couldn't stop thinking about for the past three days.

I kept telling myself that I had to remain calm, not make her feel uncomfortable with my obvious attraction to her, and to give her the best day out considering she'd never been before. It wasn't anything more than a girl spending time with her soon-to-be sister-in-law, and I had to keep reminding myself that whenever I'd feel a stir of desire in my chest at the thought her pretty smile or intoxicating gaze.

My family were thrilled when they heard of my plans with Wanda. My parents were glad I was actually making an effort to get on with her, whilst my brother was excited I was becoming 'best friends', as he put it, with his fiancé. That one stung a little, the guilt pricking my insides, but I convinced myself that that was exactly what I was doing. It wasn't wrong if I didn't think of Wanda in any way but what she was. Right?

The weekend came around quickly enough, and on Saturday morning, I met with Wanda at the train station where she waiting for me with an enthusiastic smile.

"I brought my watercolours and sketchbook so I can paint what's there," she explained as we boarded the train. "I also bought a lot of pencils in case some snap. I'm gonna draw everything I see so I don't forget a single thing."

We slid into our seats and I smiled with admiration as she continued to ramble about all of the things she wanted to do today. She looked so lively when she spoke, her hands moving about frantically to express her excitement, and her lips permanently etched into a smile when she wittered on. I didn't mean to stare, but God, she looked beautiful.

"Thank you again for doing this," she finished, head turning to mine.

Now, I'd read and written many clichés of someone falling for someone else, particularly the moment they knew they were too far gone. It was hard to believe if they were true depictions of liking someone, but I liked reading and writing them.

It was now that I learnt that they were no exaggeration, for when she looked my way with a beaming smile and glowing green eyes, I knew it was too late. There was no going back for my attraction to Wanda.

"No need to thank me," I spoke slowly, surprised I could speak at all since she'd knocked the breath from my lungs. "I'm glad you're excited."

The journey was a few hours long and we made conversation the whole way. It was the longest I'd spent alone with her since meeting her and I was intrigued by everything she had to say, hanging onto every word with all of my attention. If that wasn't enough, her accent only made everything she said sound so much better. She was naturally soft-spoken, but syllables rolled off her tongue in a silky, raspy way with her accent entwined in her words. I loved it.

At one point, the topic of our families came up and I felt like my brother came up in almost every conversation I'd had with anyone who discussed family, so I took this as my opportunity to get to know hers instead.

"What's it like to have a twin?" I asked, leaning on my elbow as I watched her attentively.

She mirrored my action playfully, though answered my question. "It's just like having a normal sibling, except they're way more annoying."

I smiled, imaging just how annoying Pietro could be as a sibling.

"I love Pietro, but he's very frustrating at times," she spoke with a hint of endearment. "He constantly throws it in my face that's he's older than me by twelve minutes. As if that makes a difference."

A chuckle flew from my lips as she pouted at her own words.

"But he's also my best friend," she said with a sigh, like that fact was irritating in itself. "He knows me better than anyone and he's the easiest person for me to talk to. I don't have to hide anything from him." She paused, glancing upwards in thought. "Well, almost anything."

Pursing my lips, I wondered what she meant as she mumbled the last part, but didn't question it. Everyone was entitled to their secrets.

"So, you and your family moved to England when you were kids, right?" I tried to recall what my parents had told me of them. "From Sokovia."

"Yes, we were about..." She scrunched up her nose as she tried to remember. "Eight years old, I think?"

"Wow, that's young," I realised.

She hummed in agreement, smile fading as her eyes fell to her hands. "Yeah... I don't remember much, but there was a lot of unrest at the time. A war. It was dangerous for everyone and my parents were lucky to get us out when they did."

I frowned, knowing some of this already, but it was sadder to hear when it was coming from Wanda herself.

"Our extended family didn't make it out," she continued to explain, voice quieter. "I didn't know them much, my parents' siblings, so it's not that sad for me. Pietro, too. But it's strange to think, you know? Especially when all of your family are around with this wedding and–" She sighed, shaking her head and looking to me with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bring the mood down."

I straightened up, reassuring her instantly. "Wanda, you don't need to apologise. It's okay. I... I didn't know any of that. I'm glad you told me."

She nodded, though the regret was still present in her gaze.

"I'm sorry all of that happened," I expressed honestly, not looking away. "But I'm glad you're here, if it makes a difference. You– your family are good people."

A small, appreciative smile graced her lips. "Thank you."

I shrugged, trying to brush it off so she wouldn't notice the heat rising up my neck. "It's nothing... so Sokovia. You speak Russian and English. That's pretty bloody cool."

She laughed wholeheartedly and any hint of sadness disappeared from her face, reassuring me completely. I didn't like to see her sad, especially when there was nothing I could do to make her feel better that I knew of.

"I promise to teach you some Russian today," she said with amusement. "A few words, just to diversify your vocabulary."

"Gee, thanks."

Another laugh escaped her and I chewed on my lip to contain my grin. I could get used to that sound.

—

When we reached Blackpool, Wanda was radiating with excitement. We couldn't make it two steps anywhere before she whipped out her sketchbook and began to sketch. She wasn't kidding when she said she was going to capture everything she saw.

I was patient, since the reason we came was for her, and watched as she worked. It was cute, seeing her concentrate and trying to stop dancing around with excitement every time I showed her something new.

We walked along the promenade and dipped in and out of the shops, looking at the gifts and clothes they sold. We bought a few things to commemorate the trip, but then Wanda was quick to drag me back outside so she could sketch the view of the beach from where we were stood. The grin on her face was convincing enough for me to let her drag me wherever she wanted. She looked so happy and I didn't care about anything else.

Eventually, around lunchtime, we headed to a café to have a break from all the excitement. Or rather, a break from running around. For Wanda, it was a better opportunity to sit still and sketch some more.

"So, you're drinking what, Y/N?" she asked, not looking up from her sketches as she worked.

I looked at my tea and lowered the cup. "Er, tea?"

"In Russian," she instructed.

"Oh." I cleared my throat, remembering what she taught me earlier. "Chay."

"And what's in the chay?" she asked, lifting her eyes to meet mine patiently. "The milk?"

"Moloko," I remembered, and the proud smile on her face reassured me I was correct. My shoulders relaxed as I returned her smile. "Thanks."

"You're a natural," she assured me, before looking back to her sketchbook. "I only taught you the words. You remembered it yourself. And before you know it, ty budesh' govorit' polnymi predlozheniyami na russkom."

My mouth opened with confusion, not knowing what she said. She seemed to realise as she chuckled at my expression.

"Never mind, milaya (darling)," she said with humoured eyes, before resuming her sketching.

I breathed out, taking another sip of my tea before grabbing a fork to dig into my pasta. As I chewed, I watched Wanda move her pencil effortlessly, creating lines that somehow resulted in a perfect drawing of the horizon.

"Do you only draw and paint landscapes?" I asked curiously.

"I can do portraits, too," she answered with a nod, glancing at me. "But they're never as good."

I gave her a knowing look. "I doubt that."

She merely smiled in response, eyes meeting mine for a moment, before shaking her head with amusement and looking back to her sketches. I chuckled, leaving her to it as I enjoyed my lunch and read the newspaper.

It was nice to just sit and enjoy each other's company as we did our own thing. I'd occasionally glance up to see Wanda focused on her drawing and smile, allowing myself to appreciate the sight, before looking back down to the paper and enjoying my pasta.

By the time I finished my food, as had Wanda, she straightened up and tore a page from her sketchbook. The noise pulled me from my reading and I looked up to see her holding the paper towards me.

I quirked a brow, but she simply shook the paper, signalling for me to take it. With confusion, I took it and became speechless when I saw what she'd drawn. It was me reading the paper, the exact view she must have had from being sat opposite me. It looked exactly like me, probably better since I knew I didn't look that good, and I was amazed at her talent all over again.

"You did this just now?" I asked with disbelief, looking up at her.

She shrugged and distracted herself with her pencil. "Yeah, it's not much. It's not my specialty."

I scoffed. "You're kidding. Wanda, this is amazing!"

Bashful smile on her lips, she glanced up at me. "Maybe it's the best portrait I've done. But I think that's down to my subject."

Even when she was embarrassed, she was still capable of turning the tables on me, leaving me a flustered mess. It was like her superpower. A very annoyingly cute superpower.

"That's what you look like y'know," she continued, nodding to the paper in my hand. "When you're focused on reading. You chew your lip with thought. And you get this little crease–" she pointed between her brows with a laugh, "–right here, and you seem to forget that anything else exists."

A sweet smile spread on her face as she tilted her head, watching me with intimidating eyes, very much aware of the effect her words had on me.

"You're very observant," I said, trying not to stutter, her gaze making me nervous. "Perfect skill for an artist."

She hummed in agreement, though didn't look away. "Mere artistic observation, right?"

My heart was hammering in her chest the longer she stared, especially when her words dawned on me. I'd said the exact same thing after she confronted me about picking her ring. I wondered if she could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

Just like the first time I saw her, I was at a loss for words and couldn't look away. She was compelling, beautiful and remarkable all at once.

—

"Nebo," I said, hoping it was the correct word for 'sky' in Russian, as Wanda had taught me.

She grinned. "Yes! And horizon?"

I pulled a face as I thought carefully. "Er...gorizont?"

"The student is soon to become the master," she said, and I rolled my eyes, knowing that was anything but the truth. I appreciated her encouragement though.

"Okay, before we head to the beach, we have to buy some rock," I told her, leading her to the stall on the promenade. "I got it last time and it's so good."

She furrowed her brows. "What's that?"

I smiled at her expression. "It's a sweet. Kind of like boiled sugar that's formed into a stick of, well, rock."

She didn't seem convinced. "If you say it's good, I trust you, I guess..."

I laughed, grabbing her hand and tugging her to the stall. "You'll love it."

After getting two sticks of rock for Wanda and I, we began to walk to the sand. I glanced at the brunette, wanting to see her reaction. She eyed the hard candy before attempting to bite it, a small piece breaking off at the top. Crunching on it, she scrunched her nose up.

"It's hard," she noted, swallowing the piece. "Tasty, though."

"It's better if you suck on it, love," I let her know with a hidden smile. "Tastes much better."

She did as I said, beginning to suck on the top, and seemed to enjoy it more. Giving me a thumbs up as she sucked it, I couldn't help but laugh again. She looked adorable, so I left her to it and did the same as we walked along the sand and towards the benches in the distance.

Like a child experiencing something for the first time, she began to point excitedly at Blackpool Tower and the ferris wheel in the distance and I just kept nodding along, letting her get excited because it made my heart skip a beat every time she flashed me a smile.

When we reached the benches, I was glad that today wasn't a busy day. It wasn't exactly tourist season, so the beach was scarce of anyone but residents of the town. And even then, our side of the beach was pretty empty, giving us first dibs on a bench that wasn't broken or uncomfortable.

Settling on it, Wanda pulled her legs up and sat cross-legged so she could lean on them and pull out her watercolours. I sat beside her and leaned back, inhaling the salty air and exhaling peacefully. I never had much reason to visit here apart from when my parents took my brother and I on the occasional trip, but it was nice to appreciate the sound of the ocean washing over the sand and the seagulls squawking in the sky. A big difference compared to back home.

Another silence formed between us as she painted the water ahead, and I couldn't help but glance her way, watching her pucker her lips with concentration. All she'd wanted was this and I was glad I could finally give it to her.

So she wouldn't notice, I looked away and stared out at the blue expanse of ocean before me. I should have been appreciating its beauty, but all I could think about was how it was no contest to the girl sat beside me.

"I'm really glad you brought me here today," she said out of the blue after a while, "but I wouldn't have said yes if I'd known you would be bored."

I looked to her and saw she was still preoccupied by her painting. "I'm not bored. We came here so you could see the water and find some new subjects to paint. And that's exactly what we're doing."

She sighed, looking up at me with a questioning glance.

Smiling reassuringly, I said, "I like the quiet. And I like watching you work. You look happy. It's good to see."

She tensed her jaw, stifling a smile, but her eyes said it all. She was grateful. Of course, her eyes were also very easy to get lost in, even if she didn't mean for me to. And right now, under the sun, I found myself drowning in pools of blue.

"What are you thinking?" she asked quietly, a hint of a smile on her face.

Stupidly, I felt compelled to tell her the truth. "I'm thinking about how you have really pretty eyes."

Attempting to make me flustered yet again, her favourite hobby by now I was guessing, she raised a brow teasingly. "Oh, really?"

It didn't bother me this time though, as I maintained eye contact and felt my heart swelling with adoration. "Yes. It's like you hold all the elements in a single gaze."

Her smile faded and that's when I realised what I'd said, my heart dropping to my stomach in an instant. Swallowing hard, I looked away and shook my head. An apology was waiting on the tip of my tongue when she spoke with realisation.

"It was you."

I glanced her way nervously. "What was?"

She was staring like her mind was working something out and I was the missing piece. "The letter that Y/B/N gave me last week. He wrote the exact same thing. What you just said."

My brows knitted together with confusion, then it hit me. The love letter Y/B/N wrote. The one he assured me was for his own eyes. He'd given it to her. And I'd just gone and said the exact thing he'd written on it, no doubt passing it off as is his own words.

"Th–that wasn't me," I got out, shaking my head slowly. "I didn't even know he gave you a letter, Wanda."

She continued to watch me, eyes squinting with scepticism. I swallowed hard under her gaze, trying to think of how I could come back from this. But apparently I didn't have to, because she suddenly leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine.

My mind was foggy when her fingers rested behind my neck, tugging me closer. I closed my eyes, melting at her touch, and began to kiss her back, moving my lips against hers. She was slow and gentle with me, her lips as soft as they looked and sending the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy. I could have kissed her forever and been content, but my brain finally caught up to my actions and I reluctantly pulled away, stunned.

Glancing around to make sure nobody saw us – there was literally nobody here – I caught my breath and looked back to Wanda. Her eyes were drawn to my lips before they flickered to meet mine, darkened with desire.

"Why did you do that?" was all I could think to ask, and I was acutely aware of her fingers still grasping my neck, the skin burning where her tips grazed.

She licked her swollen lips, expression softening. "I think I've been falling for the wrong Y/L/N."

My lips pressed together, missing the feeling of hers against them. Never in a million years did I expect her to say something like that. I thought she'd been teasing me this whole time, but now, maybe there was truth to her actions.

"Did you really mean what you said?" she asked apprehensively.

"What?"

She swallowed. "What you said about my eyes. Did you mean it?"

Well, she'd kissed me, so there was no going back now.

I nodded, noticing the hesitance in her eyes. "Yes... you're beautiful, Wanda."

She didn't say anything and the silence was deafening. I almost wanted to run back home and pretend this never happened, but that was the cowardly side of me. The other side, the disbelieving side, wanted to stay here with her and keep living in this little bubble we'd created.

"Can I kiss you again?" she finally spoke, eyes flickering between mine for confirmation.

Not trusting myself to speak, I nodded slowly, and she didn't waste another second as she leaned in once again. This time, I wasn't so surprised, so I kissed her back quickly, trying not to think about how wrong this was. How I'd been taught that this was wrong. Because I refused to believe this was wrong, that it was a sin, when it felt so damn right.

Wanda felt right.

—

When I got home later that afternoon, I couldn't stop myself from smiling.

Wanda was all that was on my mind. Everything about her was floating around up there – the contagiousness of her smile, the brightness of her eyes, the taste of her lips. When I left this morning, I wasn't expecting to return with– well, I wasn't sure what we were, but we'd decided to give whatever this was a go.

Of course, she was still engaged to my brother, but I tried not to think about that. She made me happy and maybe in a different lifetime we could have been together, but this was the wrong lifetime which meant I'd have to make some wrong decisions, this possibly being one of them.

The guilt was still present, but the adoration I had for Wanda overpowered it. The fact that she actually liked me back was too thrilling for me to even concern myself with the lack of future this relationship would have. I just wanted to enjoy what we had whilst we had it, even if it meant being together in secret.

"So, how did your trip go?" my mum asked me when I returned, looking up from her knitting.

I stifled my grin the best I could. "It was fun. Wanda loved the seaside."

My mother seemed pleased as she smiled my way. "Y/N, that's great. You know, I'm really proud of you for making an effort with her. It means a lot to everyone."

"Mhm."

"She's going to be your sister-in-law after all," she continued knowingly, "so it's good you're spending time with her. Maybe you could do it more."

I hummed in agreement, my heart fluttering at the possibility of spending more time with Wanda. "Yeah, that could be good."

"Go on upstairs, you must be tired from the travelling," she said after a moment, noticing my distant headspace. "I'm glad you had fun today."

Wanda's smile appeared in my mind again, her lips ghosting my own. I sighed contently.

"Me, too."

#wanda maximoff au #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen imagine #elizabeth olsen #marvel #marvel imagine

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shihalyfie · 2 years

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Hi! I've been devouring your Digimon meta lately, and I was hoping I could ask you a (hopefully simple) question. I think there's a general fandom perception of Mimi as boy-crazy, but I can't actually come up with any canon that states she's romantically interested in boys. The closest I have is the Mini Drama 2 CD, where she just fantasizes about boys being interested in *her*. However, there are definitely gaps in my Digimon knowledge, so I put this one to you. Does Mimi canonically like boys?

Hello! First of all, thank you so much for stopping by, I hope you're enjoying the meta!

So for clarity's sake, I'm going to be assuming we're talking about the Japanese version of Mimi and not the American English dub version, because although I still have general familiarity with it and its major changes enough to be able to roughly describe the changes, I can't remember things to the level of detail I do with the Japanese version, and to be honest, if said dub did have a line like that, I wouldn't be surprised. But as far as the Japanese version goes, you are correct: Mimi does not express romantic interest in boys, or in fact anyone, at any point, and in fact you have a better case for her not being particularly on the hard lookout for a partner at any time we saw her. Elaboration under the cut!

There are a few reasons why I think that fandom perception might have happened, but the first one is simply cultural. Mimi’s archetype in the Japanese version is recognizable as one you’d call the “parents’ spoiled little princess” kind, where the emphasis is more on her being sheltered and pampered and generally growing up in comfort (especially since her parents were upper middle class). So in other words, while it’s easy to see her as “shallow” based on her actions of complaining often in the beginning parts of the series, it’s more in the sense that she wasn’t used to dealing with hardships or having to physically get around everywhere, and she was otherwise a very insightful, polite, and empathetic person. She’s also one of the most adherent to proper honorifics among the entire cast, so, again, you see her a bit like a “proper princess”. In fact, it’s probably because of this slight sense of distance and formal respect she treats everyone with that it often becomes difficult to interpret her actions towards others as romantically loaded, and it’s presumably why Koushirou/Mimi became such a dominant ship on the Japanese side to the point of nearly every other Mimi ship being rarepair there (because Koushirou is just about the only person you can really make that argument for when they had no less than three major interactions -- Adventure episode 10, Mini Drama 2, and Diablomon Strikes Back -- that entailed Mimi getting a bit petulant about the idea of not getting Koushirou-kun’s attention).

However, I think a lot of people on our end of the fanbase have a tendency to want to pigeonhole Mimi into a very textbook “cliquey materialistic girly girl” framework, which of course was helped along by said American English dub definitely assigning many of those associated tropes to her character. Things like “lacking in common sense”, “looking down on others”, “judging everything by appearances”, “constantly making everything about shopping”, you know the package -- whereas Japanese version Mimi always erred more on the side of polite, any concept of being fixated on appearances only showed up very rarely, even her variety of clothes in 02 was portrayed more as her being open-minded to experimentation rather than materialism filling her head, and she was borderline incapable of being particularly condescending, being rather empathetic and insightful instead.

This, incidentally, is why I find that you really need to be careful when buying into fandom rhetoric about just about anything, and not necessarily listen to everything the fanbase treats as truth just because it’s been circulating for 20 years or so, because while the series itself of course has some aspects that haven’t aged well, there are many ways it was ahead of its time and intent on not forcing its characters into certain boxes, but -- to be blunt about it -- the fandom that formed 20 years ago was far more guilty of internalized misogyny, heteronormativity, and stereotype/trope forcing in regards to its characters than the actual series was, with said takes based on those still circulating even now just because so many people have treated it like longtime fact. (You have no idea how much it irritates me that I still have to hear discourse accusing Sora of “friendzoning” Taichi in this year 2021.) Again, not really helped by the heavy impact of the American English dub even on non-dub discourse and the fact it was rather guilty of forcing the characters into the trope boxes itself, but even then, the longtime fanbase has a penchant for absolutely taking things way farther than even said dub did. So while I wouldn’t put it past said dub to have inserted a line or something about wanting to chase after cute guys, I think it’s more likely to simply be a byproduct of the general stereotype that the sort of “cliquey materialistic girly girl” must also completely lose her mind over cute boys, resulting in a lot of people in the fanbase attempting to cram Mimi into that stereotype.

So in regards to how Mimi herself is portrayed in regards to relationships and romance: well, in general, Adventure and 02 were the kind of series that wanted to portray its children with an extra touch of realism from how media tropes would usually do it (case in point, it’s meant as an archetype subversion that Mimi is of the sheltered princess archetype but is also genuinely empathetic and insightful). In the end, the kids were only in elementary and middle school, and it is kind of prominent that things like Daisuke and Miyako’s crushes on others are very much treated as the sort of somewhat shallow, didn’t-seriously-think-through-this kind of mild attraction (no commitment to anything) you’d get out of eleven- or twelve-year-old kids, and the one “prominent” relationship of Yamato and Sora involved two fourteen-year-olds who treated it as a hookup (no dramatic romance plot, just one person asking the other to try out dating) and kept their relationship as a footnote in public. In the case of Mimi, she was certainly depicted as being somewhat of a social butterfly by the time of 02, but there’s no indication she was interested in anyone in her periphery as anyone but friends -- in fact, in Armor Evolution to the Unknown, she very casually refers to getting chocolate for everyone around her in the form of “social courtesy chocolate for friends”, which is explicitly drawn as a contrast to Sora getting the more romantically-loaded kind for Yamato (her boyfriend). In fact, I would say that Mimi’s attitude in that entire scene arguably says a lot about her -- she brings up the comparative gender egalitarianism of Valentine’s Day in the US compared to Japan without making a big deal about it, and she’s also the one who takes a minute to analyze Sora’s relationship prospects with Yamato, so I would say it’s actually more likely Mimi’s own potential pursuit of a partner would involve being thoughtful about whether she’d want to spend a long-term relationship with them rather than just casually clinging to anyone she finds attractive.

Now, there is one character you could call “boy-crazy”, and that’s Miyako, although even then Miyako also plays with the trope by being less so “boy-crazy” and more “a twelve-year-old girl who has absolutely no filter whenever she finds someone to be attractive” (especially since Miyako’s own self-esteem is utterly shot, and so she’s not the type to feel up to trying anything besides just being a bit too blunt about complimenting and gushing about the other party). It’s understandable that Miyako and Mimi sharing a Crest might make one inclined to compare them, but in fact, 02 episode 14 has Miyako explicitly compare her own tendency to judge by appearances and shallowness negatively and in contrast to Mimi, meaning that Miyako acknowledges that Mimi, whom she admires, does not have those traits of shallowness and handles everything much more maturely. So Mimi really can’t be described as that kind of archetype at all, and Miyako spends the episode constantly recognizing that Mimi is much more thoughtful and capable of getting to the heart of things than she is.

Moreover, while the stage play came after 02 and may not be considered applicable Adventure universe canon to many people, I find it to be an interesting case study of an example of a writer studying the series very closely (there is some very good attention to detail with the original series, and Tani “showed his work” very well with it) without preconceived notions from the fandom. The stage play has Mimi admit explicitly that she’s not interested in anyone at the moment, having only momentarily lied about it in the hopes Sora could open up about her own love life -- which Mimi explicitly contrasts with having lied about not being interested in her future, when in fact she wants to do so many things she can’t commit to one. So it reinforces the idea that something like a relationship would be something Mimi would treat with gravity and as something she’d want to have proper commitment to, but she won’t when it’s a time in her life she’s having a hard time figuring out commitment to anything.

And, finally, as you mentioned, there’s Mini Drama 2, but as you say, it’s Mimi joking that all the boys must be into her (because she’s attractive) and that “all of the boys in the world will be kneeling before me before long” -- and the reason she throws a fit is that Hikari indirectly implies that the love letter Koushirou’s writing could not possibly be for Mimi, which Mimi interprets as Hikari indirectly trying to pick a fight with her or insult her by acting like it’s such an impossibility. Knowing that Hikari is well-known for being capable of passive-aggressively trolling, and in fact is very heavily implied to be doing so in this scene, it’s not like Mimi’s entirely wrong, either. (Also, the Adventure mini dramas are infamously full of fourth wall-breaking and characterization-irreverent crack -- it wasn’t until the 2003 drama CDs when actual “serious” drama CDs would become more of a thing -- so it should be taken with a grain of salt.)

#digimon #digimon adventure #digimon adventure 02 #tachikawa mimi #mimi tachikawa #shiha's ask box #vethica

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spanishskulduggery · 3 years

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Hi! I'm very curious about something regarding the Spanish language. I'm currently studying A2 Spanish but I had this question and my teacher did not seem too willing to discuss it. Here it goes:

I know that Spanish has, something my Spanish teacher says, linguistic gender. I was wondering how do the people who don't align themselves with the gender binary (masculine and feminine) speak/write in it? I have read this article about Spanish speaking people from US adding "x" Or "@" and people from Argentina using "e" to make the words gender neutral.

Thank you so much for responding, whenever you get to it. Also love your blog. ❤

Short answer, in general speaking terms people are tending towards the -e now because the other two are very hard to actually speak, and because Spanish-speakers feel the -e is more authentic

What you're most likely to see in Spanish is masculine plural as the default, or in written things you might see todos y todas or like un/una alumno/a "a student", or like se busca empleado/a "employees wanted" / "looking for an employee"

If it's something official or academic you typically include both [todas y todas] or you go masculine plural [todos] unless it's specifically feminine plural

Related, linguistic gender applies to all things, not just people. Why is la mesa "table" feminine, but el libro "book" masculine? Just linguistic gender. I can tell you that most loanwords (that aren't people) in Spanish are masculine, and that there are certain words that come from Greek are masculine, and that -ista words are unisex most of the time... And I can tell you there are some words like testigo or modelo that are unisex and don't change for gender. Aside from that, speaking about nouns and grammatical gender... those particular things are harder to parse for regular people, but if you go into the field of linguistics you can explore that more deeply. Some of it is source language (i.e. "it came from Latin this way") or things like that. And in general when talking about nouns it's unimportant and not considered sexist, that's just how it is.

There is such a thing where it gets a little too far the other way and people will say "history? what about herstory" which is a nice thought but the etymology has nothing to do with gender there

When it comes to people - and when it comes to gendered attitudes - that's where it gets more confusing and more complicated.

I believe there was an experiment where people had French and Spanish speakers [I believe it was Spanish] try to identify how a "fork" would sound. French people gave it a more feminine voice because "fork" is feminine in French, while Spanish speakers gave it a more masculine voice because it's masculine in Spanish.

Whether we like it or not, certain gendered things do influence our thoughts and feelings and reactions. A similar thing in English exists where the old joke was something like "There was a car accident; a boy is rushed to the ER and the surgeon but the father was killed. When they got to the ER the doctor said 'I can't operate on him, he's my son!'" and it's like "well who could the doctor be?" ...and the doctor is his mother. We associate "doctor" as masculine and "nurse" as feminine.

There's a gender bias in our language thought patterns, even though the language changes. And that does exist in Spanish too, to different extents.

There are certain cultural and gendered stereotypes or connotations attached to certain words, many tend to be more despective or pejorative when it's women.

For example - and I know this has changed in many places or it isn't as prevalent - el jinete "horseman/rider", while the female form is la amazona "horsewoman/rider". Because la jinete or la jineta was sometimes "promiscuous woman".

There were also debates about things like la presidente vs. la presidenta or what the female version of juez should be, whether it should be la juez or la jueza

Most languages with gendered language have varying degrees of this, and all languages I'm aware of have gendered stereotypes related to professions or cultural attitudes in some way, and not just for women, and not all in the same way with some of them being very culturally based

The longer answer involves a bit of history, and I'll be honest, some of it is contested or considered a little controversial in Spanish-speaking countries particularly in the conservative parts (which honestly should come as no surprise)

The first symbol that I know of that came about was the X

First piece of contested history: As far as I know, it was the trans/queer and drag communities in Latin America who started the trend of X. When there were signs or bulletins that had the gendered endings - specifically masculine plural as the default plural - people would write a big X through the O. This was a way of being inclusive and also a very smash the patriarchy move.

Some people attribute this to women's rights activists which may also be true, but a good portion of the things I read from people say it was the trans/queer/drag communities in Latin America doing this.

I've also read it originated in Brazil with Portuguese; still Latin America, but not a Spanish-speaking country.

Where it's most contested is that some people will say that this trend started in the Hispanic communities of the United States. And - not without reason - people are upset that this is perceived as a very gringo movement.

That's why Latinx is considered a very American-Hispanic experience

The arroba (@) is relatively new. I remember seeing it in the 2000s. I don't know if it existed earlier for gender inclusivity.

People used it because it looks like a combination of O and A, so it was meant to be cut down on saying things like todos y todas or niños y niñas in informal written speech

I remember quite a few (informal) emails starting like hola tod@s or muy buenas a tod@s or things like that

I think of it more as convenience especially in the information age where you never knew who you were talking to and it's easier than including both words, especially when masculine plural might be clumsy or insensitive

Still, it's practically impossible to use the @ in spoken Spanish, so it's better for writing casually. You also likely won't be allowed to use the @ in anything academic, but in chatrooms, blogs, or forums it's an option

I love the E ending. And the gender neutral form in singular is elle... so it's él "he", ella "she", and elle "they (singular)"

The -e ending is I think became more common within the past 10 years though it might have existed longer than that. These sorts of changes tend to come from the queer or trans communities and tend to be more insular before becoming more of an outside thing that then the general population finds out about

It came about because there are some adjectives in Spanish that end in -e that are unisex. It's not an A, it's not an O, but it's something grammatically neutral for Spanish

It's not as awkward as X, and E exists very firmly in Spanish so it's not perceived as some outside (typically gringo) influence

The good news is, it's pretty widespread on the internet. Not so much in person (yet), but especially in Spain and Argentina at least from what I've seen, particularly in the queer communities and online culture.

The only issues with it are that for non-native speakers, you have to get used to any spelling changes. Like amigo and amiga, but to use the E ending you have to add a U... so it's amigue.

That's because there are certain words where you have to do spelling changes to preserve the sound; gue has a hard G sound like -go does [like guerra]... but ge has the equivalent of an English H sound [gelatina for example]. Another one is cómico/a "funny" which would go to cómique. Again, because co has a hard C/K sound, while ce is a soft sound more like an S or in some contexts TH/Z sound; like centro is a soft sound, while cola is a hard sound

Unless you make it to the preterite forms where you come across like pagué, alcancé, practiqué with those types of endings... or subjunctive forms, pague, alcance, practique ... Basically you'd have to be exposed to those spelling rules or you'd be really confused if you were a total beginner.

It all makes sense when you speak it, but spelling might be harder before you learn those rules

The other drawback is that the E endings are sometimes not applicable. Like in damas y caballeros "ladies and gentlemen" there's not really a gender neutral variation on that, it's all binary there. And while la caballero "female knight" does exist, you'd never see a male variation on dama; the closest I've ever seen is calling a guy a damisela en apuros "damsel in distress" in some contexts where the man needs rescuing, and it's feminine una/la damisela, and it's very tongue-in-cheek

There are also some contexts like jefe vs jefa where I guess you would say jefe for "boss" if you were going the neutral route, but it's a bit weird because it's also the masculine option.

I can't speak for how people might feel about those if they're non-binary or agender because every so often you kind of get forced into the binary whether you like it or not

I totally support the E, I just recognize there are some limitations there and it's quirks of the Spanish language itself

Important Note: Just to reiterate, E endings are the ones most Spanish-speakers prefer because it's easiest to speak and doesn't have the American connotation that X does in some circles

Where it gets very "Facebook comment section" is that you'll see many Latin Americans traditionalists and conservatives claim that "this is just the gringos colonizing our language" and "grammatical gender doesn't matter in Spanish". They'll say that the "gender movement" is an American feminist movement and that it's a gringo thing and doesn't reflect actual Latin Americans or Spanish-speakers

Which on the one hand, yes, English does have a lot of undue influence on other languages because of colonization, and American influence and meddling in Latin American politics is a big important issue

But as far as I'm aware of the X (and especially the E) were created by Latin Americans

The other issue I personally have is that any time this conversation comes up, someone will say something like somos latinOs and claim that masculine plural is gender neutral

To that I say, first of all, "masculine plural" is inherently gendered. Additionally, there is a gender neutral in Spanish but it's lo or ello and it's only used with "it" so it sounds very unfriendly to use on an actual person... and in plural it looks like masculine plural and everything applies like masculine plural

Second, the reason masculine plural is default is because of machismo. It's more important that we don't possibly misgender a man, so it has to be masculine plural. It's changed in some places, but growing up when I was learning Spanish, if it was 99 women and 1 man you still had to put masculine plural

I'm not opposed to there being a default, and I understand why it's easier to use masculine plural, but some people get very upset at the idea of inclusive language

...

In general, my biggest issues with these comments come when people act like non-binary/queer/trans people don't exist in Spanish-speaking countries, like English invented them somehow. So it's nice to see linguistic self-determination and seeing native speakers using the E endings.

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joaquinwhorres · 3 years

Text

Stitches & Blankets (Joaquin Torres x Reader)

SUMMARY ››››› You find Joaquin Torres after he tries to stop the bank robbery.

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,000-ish

WARNINGS ››››› language

A/N ››››› OK, why are there not more Torres fics? I'm legitimately confused about that. Also, I realized after writing half of this down, that a bank was robbed, so there were probably still police on the scene and the reader'd probably be speaking Swiss-German but uh...fan fiction.

There was a body in the street, which was not what you expected to see coming out to your car.

You'd heard the wailing sirens and shouting and the thunderous footsteps--they're what kept you pressed against the side of the building for the past ten minutes, avoiding the chaos as much as possible. It wasn't fear that kept you there though, it was experience. You'd become used to the quick riots and little skirmishes for resources over the past few months. You knew it was better to stay out of the way, wait out the storm, and then go about your life. They became nothing more than minor nuisances. Bits of unrest that were there and then gone in the next instance. They weren't supposed to leave a body behind.

"Meine Fresse," you murmured, racing forward to the person lying supine on the stones, arms out to their sides, the white of their sneakers reflecting the street lights. As you drew closer, you saw it was a man--about your age with blood around his eye and nose and lip. For a brief second, you wondered if he'd been trampled, but he definitely would have looked worse for wear based on how many people you'd heard.

"Bist du okay?" Your voice was loud as you checked over the rest of his body. He didn't seem to have any other injury, and there wasn't any blood under his head, so you decided it was safe enough to gently shake him.

He didn't rouse.

So, instead you knelt your ear down to his lips, laying your hand flat on his chest. You felt your hand rise before you heard the slow intake of breath, and you rocked back onto your knees. He was breathing. He was alive.

Still, something gnawed at the back of your mind, urging your fingers up under his jaw, gently pressing into his neck. It was only then that you felt a surge of relief. His pulse was there, and it was strong. He was really alive.

And then you remembered that you should probably call 112.

All things considered, it was a quick phone call--the operator seemed to know your exact location and vaguely what had happened as you explained where you were and how you found him. Instead, most of the conversation was spent listening to their instructions to roll him into a recovery position and check for any signs of life-threatening injuries. When they told you that you could hang up because they were close, you did so and found the man blinking at you.

"Hoi," you greeted soothingly. "Wie heisst du?"

He groaned, attempting to roll onto his back once more. You reached out a hand stopping him, and he looked up at you confused.

"Comment t'appelles tu?" You attempted, hoping he wasn't an Italian or Romansch speaker. You hardly knew enough of either language to tell him you couldn't speak it.

He winced and lifted his hand to his face. "Shit."

English. Good.

"What's your name?" you asked, and his eyes seemed to focus on you once more, this time a spark of recognition or maybe just awareness lighting up behind them.

"Joaquin," he informed, and you released an arm, allowing him to finally roll onto his back like he wanted. He had a strong American accent, even through the gravelly voice of barely regained consciousness. "Did they get away?"

"Ähm," you looked around at the empty street. "Yes?" you guessed.

He let out a heavy sigh. "I'm gonna have to call some people."

"I think you should wait for the ambulance."

"Yeah," he agreed, the word breathy and pained. "That's probably a good idea."

"What happened?" you asked, and he raised his eyebrows, looking back at you.

"Flag Smashers."

"I didn't think the Flag Smashers hurt people."

"I'm just lucky, I guess," he answered, and you smiled, letting out a small laugh. He offered a small smile as well.

You could hear the siren now, the faint sound winding its way through the curving streets of Zürich and towards the two of you. Your head turned towards the sound, as if you could trace it back to the ambulance, and gauging the distance. "They should be close," you said, returning your attention to Joaquin.

"What's your name?" he asked, and the question surprised you. Then again, if the two of you were stuck waiting for an ambulance at nine o'clock on a Sunday night, maybe a bit of small talk shouldn't have been so surprising.

"Y/N," you answered, and he repeated it.

"You're very pretty, Y/N."

The laugh escaped you on instinct, although to call it a laugh might not be the best descriptor. It was more of a surprised noise, partially exhale and a tinge of amusement added through the slight smile at the corner of your mouth.

"Thank you," you said. "You are very pretty too."

And he was, underneath the dark red and rapidly purpling injuries. He had a strong jaw and kind eyes, and even the hint of a smile he'd given earlier had made something in your chest constrict.

"I don't feel so pretty," he responded, and this time your laugh was more of a laugh, and he reached up to feel at his face. You took hold of his hand, bringing it back down and trapping it in yours.

"Pretty enough for me to hold your hand," you joked, hoping to distract him from continuing to poke and prod and break all of the rules and instructions the EMTs had given over the phone.

"Well, I got that goin' for me, I guess," he said, letting his hand relax into yours.

Headlights bathed you in a warm yellow light as flashing blue lights bounced off the surrounding buildings, illuminating the rest of the street.

There were some shouts as the doors of the ambulance opened and people poured out, running towards you and Torres. The paramedic crowded around quickly, a blonde bearded man asking quick questions in German.

"Er spricht Englisch," you explained, and he nodded, switching languages.

It became apparent as police officers pulled up and flooded out of their cars that you were no longer needed. You stood up, backing away and letting Joaquin's hand slip through yours.

"You're not going to stay and hold my hand?" Joaquin called out to you, and you let a smile curl across your lips. Around you, people were starting to come out onto the street, lured by the sounds of the sirens and lack of shouting and general ruckus. Your eyes fell back on Joaquin who was still looking up at you, even as a paramedic flashed a light into his face.

"Maybe he can hold your hand," you said, gesturing to a paramedic who had slid into your place. Joaquin gave half a smile as you turned and left him in the hands of the professionals.

As you rounded the corner, arms full of blankets, the last person you expected to almost run into was Joaquin.

Part of the surprise was the kind that generally accompanied running into someone outside of the context you know them in. A larger part of the surprise was the fact that he was not in the hospital.

Instead, he stood before you, face swollen, bloodied and bruised, with the small white bandages of butterfly stitches above his right eye. He blinked at you, as if he was caught in the headlights.

"Pretty Joaquin," you said, surprise ringing through every part of your voice.

"Y/N."

At least his memory wasn't affected by whatever the Flag Smashers had done to him. His response time was also quicker than it had been two and a half hours ago, and he seemed all in all more present and less hazy. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here." Your own surprise and mild confusion had not quite worn off. "What are you doing here?"

For a variety of reasons, he was not the typical person who stumbled into the Zürich GRC Refugee Camp. He was both too young and too old and far more put together than a normal incomer. He didn't have that haunted look behind his eyes that made your heart wrench. He looked battered and bruised but ok.

"I need a place to stay."

Your eyes ran over his form, from his fluffy dark hair and banged up face to his bright white trainers. You lifted an eyebrow. "The hospital wouldn't take you?"

He shook his head with a sheepish grin. "It's just a broken orbital. Not much else they can do for it." Your eyebrows didn't lower and he gave half a laugh. "Trust me I'm as shocked as you are."

"I'll need you to fill out some paperwork."

He winced. "Any way that could wait until tomorrow? My head is killing me."

You stared intently at his face. Over the past four months of working at the GRC camp, you'd gotten good at reading people. You had an eye for knowing who was going to be trouble down the line and who would need some extra comfort and care. You knew who to push about their stories, and who to wait for--to be there as they slowly unraveled their tale.

So while there was a lot about pretty boy Joaquin that just didn't add up, you could see in his eyes that he could be trusted to stay the night. Just not here.

"You can't stay here without going through intake," you shook your head. "But if you really need a place to sleep, you can come with me."

"Really?" Joaquin asked, turning to follow you as you set back off towards your car, and you nodded.

"It's nothing special--just my couch. But I've been told it's very comfy."

Joaquin faltered a step, slowing down. "You're sure you want me coming and bloody-ing up your couch? I could just stay here and leave before--"

"I'll put down some papers," you said jokingly in an attempt to cut off the subject of him staying at the camp.

"Ok," he said, his voice distracted before there was a quick shuffle of footsteps and he caught back up with you. "Ok, thanks."

The two of you arrived at your car shortly thereafter, Joaquin moving to sit in the passenger seat as you dumped the blankets in the car. You came around to slip into the driver's seat, quickly backing out of the spot and setting off back home.

"So what's with all the blankets?" he asked, pulling his attention from the streets and buildings and back to you.

"We got a late donation tonight," you answered, flicking on your turn signal. "They needed someone here to help organize the drop off and then our washing machine broke, so I have to take work home with me." You smiled at the joke, but he just nodded, leaving you to wonder if maybe your English was off. The next few moments passed in quiet before you checked over at a traffic light to see if he was still awake. He was, but he looked dazed. Maybe he had been telling the truth about his head. You eyed his injuries which looked even worse in the red light. Like his entire right side of his face had been smashed.

"So what brought you to Switzerland?"

It wasn't the question you wanted to ask. You wanted to ask him what had happened with the Flag Smashers--why had they beaten him up so badly. But you weren't sure you were ready for that answer or if he'd even give it. So you asked a question you didn't care if he lied to you about.

"I was looking for someone," he said, and the light turned green, causing you to turn away and focus on your driving rather than him. Still the sentence seemed to end earlier than his thought as you could feel the weight of more words hovering between you. It was a familiar pressure in your ears and your chest, and you'd long grown accustomed to the discomfort.

Like many, Joaquin didn't give the thought words to escape on.

"A refugee?" you asked, and he wobbled his head.

"Yes and no. She survived the Snap."

"She?" A small feeling like a tight wire cord wound its way around your chest and a warmth of embarrassment flooded the back of your neck. "Your sister? Your wife?"

"No," he shook his head. "My grandmother."

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him look at you for the first time.

"What's her name? If she came to the camp I should know her."

"Mariana Torres," he answered, and you ran through the array of faces you'd met. There was a Mariana Böschl , but she was old enough to be his mother, not his grandmother.

You shook your head slowly. "I can check the registry tomorrow, but I don't think she's with us."

"Thanks," Joaquin said, looking back out the window at the passing city. "Were you Blipped?"

"No," you shook your head, pulling into your designated parking spot by your apartment. "I was lucky." The two of you climbed out of the car, and he met you by the trunk, pulling the blankets out before you could reach for them.

"Thank you," you said. And he gave a small grin.

"Thanks for letting me stay with you."

You gestured with your head up the stairs, heading to your third floor apartment.

Joaquin trailed behind you, arms laden with the blankets, waiting patiently as you stopped and opened the door. "Welcome to my home," you greeted, allowing him to enter before you. Your small apartment was dark, and you flicked on the light so that Joaquin could walk further inside without running into a wall or your table. "You can put the blankets by the couch, I'll wash them tomorrow," you instructed, and he did as you suggested before wandering over to the couch.

"I think I have an extra pillow in the closet," you said.

"Great," he thanked, dropping down onto the couch.

It took a few minutes to find the pillow and put a pillowcase on top of it. By the time you walked back out to the living room, the light was still on, and so were his shoes, but he was passed out. You walked over to the sleeping boy, placing the pillow down next to the couch in case he woke up and pulling the blanket over his body, your eyes once more tracing over his injuries.

You would have to speak to Karli about the violence.

#joaquin torres x reader #torres x reader #joaquín torres x reader #joaquin torres #joaquín torres #lieutenant torres #lieutenant torres x reader #fatws #tfatws

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dannyphantom-rewrite · 3 years

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Nurse. "Good" Character Ref;

Art by the incredibly cursed child, @wet-ass-vlussy

Alright let's get down to business BAB-EY!!

-Nurse Good is one of a small handful of ghost OC's that I've allowed myself to incorporate Into the rewrite, and as such, has a very minor role in the overall plot.

-She appears mainly in "episode" 1, as the main antagonist's frankenstein esque assistant, although she herself has no malicious intent towards Danny, rather, she's simply ""villainous"" by her association with Dr. Alyosha.

-The Good Doctor will get his own post at some point, but the important information to note about Alyosha for now is that he's a Russian, cold war era medic, (approx. 1947) who has a very concerning intrest in Danny's Biology.

-The Doc created Nurse good, and she's cobbled together out of various....er...scraps, from previous medical experiments.

-if you haven't read my post on ghost cores, ya might wanna do that cause I'm gonna be referencing those headcannons now.

-So, Nurse Goods core is actually made up of different chunks that were taken from the cores of other ghost. Which is. Immensely fucked up for a multitude of reasons but mainly that in doing this Alyosha either maimed/disfigured/disabled or just straight up obliterated another sentient creature.

-as a result of the cracks in "her" core her body formed in superate pieces and she had to be stiched together. Her creation was ultimately, a very messy process.

- This is also why she's a bit uneven. If you look, you can see that one of her legs is shorter than the other, hence, the high heel and flat shoe combo. She walks with a very distinct shambling gait thats somewhat reminiscent of the Nurses from silent Hill.

-She has green/blue heterochromia as well.

-aside form looking like a jigsaw puzzle gone wrong, the other abnormalities in her core are that:

1) Rather than the standard 3 mitochondria (this is the bit that takes in ecto energy) Nurse Good has 6. The ecto energy input from the extra three doesn't make her any stronger or anything though. All that extra ecto-energy goes towards keeping her body from literally falling apart at the seams.

2) Her Vibrato strands, (AKA ghost vocal chords) are tangled. While she can speak/vocalize, this deformation makes it uncomfortable and sometimes painful for her to do so and thus she is selectively mute.

-Nurse Goods primary means of communication is the sign language variation of Esperanto, although she is also fluent in spoken and written english and Russian.

-Doctor Alyosha never bothered to call her anything other than "Nurse" so Danny Is Actually the one who named her. It was completely unintentional and due to a bit of miscommunication, but she liked the name "Good" enough to start using it.

-As mentioned earlier, she's not villainous on purpose, but Alysoha is, and as her creator she feels that she's indebted to him.

-However, after the events of episode one leave her separated from the Doctor, she makes attempts to distance herself from him, taking up residence in Casper high as the new School Nurse. Danny is a little weirded out at first, but after realizing she genuinely means no harm, efforts are made to help keep her there. Image number 2 up there is her human disguise. She inevitably ends up being the closest thing Danny has to a primary care physician cause the poor kid is fucking terrified of going to a human doctor and getting exposed.

-She eventually ends up becoming friends with Mr. Lancer, as the two of them are the only new faculty members that year.

Ghostly abilities/skill set;

-Standard abilities; flight, invisibility, intangibly, and overshadowing/possession.

-Ecto-charges: similar to ectoblasts, but a good deal weaker. Feels kinda like getting zapped with a tens unit. Probably better suited for physical therapy than Fighting.

-Sedative Touch: There exists a plant in the same family as blood bloosms with the opposite effect. Often reffered to as ghost nip, it's commonly used to produce a calm, sedated high in ghosts. Nurse Good has glands on her finger tips that excret a similar chemical to ghost nip, to the same effect.

-Bedside manner: might just be part of her personality, could be an extension of her sedative touch, either way, she has a very calming presence.

-Due to the nature of her core, she's a lot weaker than the average ghost and it's easy for her to over exert herself. When this happens she becomes prone to having some of her stiches pop. She's really excellent at sewing as a result, and may or may not have ended up teaching Tucker a few things here and there as well.

#danny phantom #art #oc #episode 1 he's a Phantom #Nurse good #character reference

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rixxy8173571m3w1p3 · 3 years

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Mamihlapinatapai Or The Season Of Longing

A/n: Here is another fic. Since it's been raining like crazy and I have spent way too much time indoors because of the weather, I decided to write this. The poem featured in this fic is called Lluvia by Jorge Luis Borges. I finally figured out how to put things under the cut so that my followers don't have to scroll through a large post 😅 It's another piece set before Doofus Rick and the reader were dating. Feel free to check out the other fics in my Masterpost.

In this fic the reader isn't the only one longing

___________

Imagine that instead of a blue sky, there was an off white, almost grey sky, and what should've been wispy white clouds were blankets of rumbling thunderstorms without a drop of rain; that was how you thought you might've felt. There was a name to this feeling, but you weren't sure what to call it; as though you were missing something you couldn't place; not sadness or grief, but whatever came in between. No, nothing bad had happened, and there hadn't been any disagreements between you and Rick, but something did occur which fed this alien feeling. It seemed that only a few days ago you were alright, but then you invited him over and he had a chance to look over those books you had mentioned. That day he had returned home from work and came over right after; offering his best of smiles and a piece of candy from his labcoat pocket as soon as he crossed the threshold of your doorway; it was nothing out of the ordinary, but it was charming all the same.

With swiftness, you had led him to your hallway closet so that you could bring down the box of books sitting on the upper shelf; that was where you kept a great portion of your father's old books. Father had been a fan of languages and botany, but ventured into the bizarre mystery from time to time; being a master of neither, you had hidden them away for a later date; mostly because the memories were more disheartening then they space they took up. With all your might, you stood on the tips of your toes in a vain attempt to reach, but your fingers barely brushed the edge of it; you should’ve just used the step ladder. It was Rick's small huff of effort which alerted you to his nearness as he unexpectedly stretched up and grabbed said box when you had a little trouble. Goodnaturedly, he carried it towards the kitchen while you took a moment to calm your girlish heart.

Coaxed away from your thoughts by the dusty cardboard and the delighted guest, you nodded lightly to give him the go-ahead to help himself. His gentle presence made him a joy to study; not in the way he examined things in the world or of the world, but in the way one does when fascinated by a butterfly or a fresh bloom hidden in an otherwise barren bush; he was a miracle. With care he pulled out one book after another, glancing through their pages and making piles for which one's he'd like to borrow. In a way he seemed to belong to this house; as though what wasn't found within pages of novels could be sought, and felt beyond reason; flowing calmly and relished in these favorable moments. Although it wasn't much, and that borrowing books could be of little consequence except to the reader itself, you hated to see him go.

Now thinking of it days later, you found yourself wondering about its significance as well as a plethora of other things as you walked to the store and back. You hadn't needed anything in particular, but you felt slightly better being outdoors; the fresh air allowed you to believe you could think better. The sounds of light traffic and grass being cut somewhere along in the neighborhood felt timeless as you walked around the corner, almost home. The wind blew, rustling your clothes and you narrowly lost the receipt that hung out of your pocket, but that didn’t bother you.

Rain clouds were rolling in from the west and you hoped it wouldn't rain before you reached home. And the closer you got, the more you could see the familiar house of your lovable neighbor. A smile couldn't help but stretch across your face at the thought and you hoped he was home so that you could ask if he'd had a chance to look those books over but that alien feeling bloomed again; the sinking, drowning, heavy feeling. How you wanted to be with him despite what reason thought was logical. The dance of your heart would've loved nothing more than to place a dozen or more kisses upon his smile lines while he stammered into the next week. Oh, your foolish heart had taken on a personification of its own these days; speaking and thinking of itself and it's wants like a second brain; draining you whenever it appeared.

Yet, before you knew it you had reached home and dropped off what you had bought before stepping out again. From your front yard, you could see that he was in the garage and you questioned whether you should go over and attempt to alleviate this feeling; it’d vanish whenever you were with him. You must’ve stood there thinking for a while as to what ought to be done for the pitter-patter of rain broke this trance-like state and you ran back towards your front porch. How silly you have become as of late with this strange crush of yours. Weren’t you past these sort of schoolgirl feelings? Perhaps, but it was more than that.

You sunk into your wicker bench and listened to the sound of the rain as it hit the roof and walkway. The earthy scent of the lawn and the splash of puddles as cars drove by was a welcomed distraction. A nap didn’t seem like such a bad idea. Yet, gentle footsteps and the sound of a closed umbrella woke another sort of feeling within you; that of hope.

“Golly, it - it sure is raining cats and dogs t-today.” he commented.

The words were out of your mouth as soon as you were aware of him; of this creature who walked out of a daydream. “I didn’t think I’d get to see you.”

“Huh? Are you alright? Did s-something happen?”

“I'm fine,” you answered; all at once conscious of him and your surroundings. “it’s just...I thought about coming over to ask if you checked out any of the books but it started to rain.”

“Th-that's part of the reason I'm here,” he confessed. “I-I had noticed you went out for a-a walk and wanted to make sure you had come home safely.”

“As you can see, I made it back in one piece. Although, I did get my hair wet. Though, that's the least of my problems.”

“Do you mind if I-I-I take a seat?”

Patting the space beside you, you nodded. “Not at all.”

He set his umbrella to the side before he seated himself and turned towards you. His warmth radiated from him and being as tall as he was, the bench might’ve been too low to the ground since his legs seemed to stick out too much, but he made no complaint. From his inner labcoat pocket, he pulled out a small book. “I thought y-y-you might enjoy this.”

“A book?”

Handing it to you, he commented. “I thought y-you might enjoy this collection of poems. I um - I bookmarked my favorites but I'd like t-t-to know what your thoughts about them would be.”

You knew this whimsical creature was well-read in many respects, but you hadn’t given much thought to the possibility of including works of a more abstract nature. “Sure, that sounds lovely. Though, I hope you don't mind me asking. Do you read works like this often? It's not because I find it strange. Honestly, I find it fascinating and wonderful that you would even consider it, but I ask because I thought….well, I thought you only read serious works related to your work.”

Scratching the back of his neck, he explained. “I read whenever I-I-I find the time and it uh - it usually doesn’t matter what the subject may be. In the pursuit of knowledge, one reads everything. For example, th-the terms and conditions for some computer programs or limited warranties at times list amusing reasons why y-you might be able to get a replacement for a damaged product. It keeps things interesting.”

“I see. It certainly makes sense.”

With a smile, he sighed with contentment as he looked towards the street. “Boy, th-this weather reminds me of a certain poem. It's called um - it's called Lluvia. That's the Spanish word for rain.”

“That's right,” you remembered; his last name should’ve been a reminder enough. “you can speak Spanish. I forget sometimes since you only talk to me in English. So, tell me, how does this poem go?”

“Please forgive me since my Spanish is a-a little rusty.”

Taking a deep breath, he recited calmly. “Bruscamente l-la tarde se ha aclarado, porque y-ya cae la lluvia minuciosa. Cae o cayó. La lluvia es una c-cosa qué sin duda sucede en el pasado. Quien la oye caer ha recobrado, el t-tiempo en que la suerte venturosa. Le r-r-reveló una flor llamada rosa y el curioso color del c-colorado. Esta lluvia que ciega los cristales, alegrará en p-p-perdidos arrabales. Las negras uvas de una parra en cierto. Patio que ya no existe. La mojada, t-tarde me trae la voz, la voz deseada, de mi padre que vuelve y que no ha muerto.”

You stared at this man, amazed by his fluency and ability to fascinate you with the simplest things. Yet again, a reason to be marveled by him. “Whoa, I don't know what you said, but it sounded beautiful when you said it.”

Turning towards you, his smile seemed brighter than usual albeit a bit sheepish. "It's n-nothing special."

"But it is, especially since you can think and speak in more than one language. I can't do that."

"I-I can teach you if you'd like."

"No, that's okay. You're busy enough as it is, but I appreciate the thought. You really are so incredibly smart."

"And you…eres maravillosa."

"What?”

His smile faltered a bit, and he thought to himself for a bit on what he was about to say before his smile returned; albeit more gently. “Eres amable y-y dulce. No soy digno de una amiga como tu.”

“Rick,” you started; confused as to why there seemed to be some sort of admission that you weren’t able to understand. “all the poetic talk is lovely, but I don't think it's fair if you reply in a way I can't understand."

"Si pudieras entenderme," he sighed, wringing his hands in the nervous way he did. "me pregunto qué creerías si te expresara cuánto me preocupo por ti."

Raising from the bench, he said to himself. "Si puedo llegar a la luna, algun dia podria...¿Q-que estoy haciendo?"

"Rick?"

“I’m o-okay. I uh - I zoned out there for a second. I’m sorry.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

He studied you for a moment longer; a world of words unsaid in his melancholic glances. Was something secretly hurting him like it was hurting you? You could only wonder as thoughts were drowned out by the sound of the rain.

———————————-

It was warm and comfortable with him sitting beside you. His presence always provided a sense of calm that was softer and sweeter than that of the sedatives that eased your anxiety. Why you could fall asleep right here if it weren’t for that fact that you’d be mortified if you allowed it to happen.

“Are you a-a big fan of the rain?” he wondered.

This question had come after a half-hour of companionable silence. “Hmm, it’s not the rain so much as the memories that accompany it.”

“Do y-you want to talk about it?”

“Only if you don’t mind hearing it.”

“I-I don’t mind.” He reassured you.

“Well,” you started. “my dad enjoyed rainy days since he said the plants almost seemed to smile when rainwater hit their leaves.”

“Th-that’s a nice thought.“

“Yeah, I thought so too. When it rains like this, and I’m watching it fall,” you softened; feeling lighter because you had someone to share your thoughts with. “it feels like I’m looking through a curtain. It’s not completely see-through, but the shapes I can see appear softer and more mysterious like how you must’ve appeared when you showed up. Too bad I wasn’t paying attention.”

Oh, you did not just say that out loud. “Or something like that.” You added.

If he had noticed you had tripped over your words then he gave no indication of it. “Gosh, I-I never thought of it that way b-before. I usually see it as part of the pr-precipitation cycle and it smells nice, doesn't it?”

“It does. I wouldn’t mind bottling up this scent, but then it might lose what makes it special.”

Yet, if you could bottle up his scent, it would’ve been nice to keep nearby just in case you wanted a little piece of him.

“That um - that reminds me,” he brightened. “I had baked some mandarin scones before walking over tonight, and I-I-I thought you’d like t-t-t-t-to try them but I didn’t want to risk them getting wet. I-I thought we could share some over tea tomorrow if that’s alright with you.”

Tea time with Rick was like what others did over rounds of drinks; it was to unwind and talk about the day; minus the drunkenness and the unforeseen embarrassment. “Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”

“Gee, I um - I was supposed to, but there was a shift change. Actually, I have a shift t-t-tonight in a-about an hour, but I had wanted to make sure you were alright before I left.”

“Why?”

“Because I-I thought you were going t-to walk over.”

So he had thought the same thing. “Oh, well like I said earlier I had planned to or thought to, but the weather put a damper on things.”

“Yeah.”

“Though, isn’t it funny that we both had the same thought?”

He smiled at that. “It's because gr-great minds think alike.”

What right did he have to be this adorable you thought. All you could do was smile up at him and fight the urge to run your fingers through what appeared to be soft hair; as odd as you had initially thought his haircut was when you met him, you couldn’t imagine him any other way. Still, drawn to his bright, kind eyes, you wondered if you were being attracted by some invisible force to test the limits of this friendship, and yet you knew well enough that now wasn’t the time. Following a slow blink of his, you mentioned without looking away. “Now that we have gotten to see each other, it's probably time to let you go. I wouldn’t want you to be late for work.”

“Y-you’re right.” he straightened; jumping up on his feet with much more agility then seemed possible for someone so mature. “Until next time.”

There he was leaving again when you didn’t want him to. Still, you had no right or claim to him. At least, not yet. “See you tomorrow.”

Grabbing his umbrella, he motioned to open it but paused, and slowly, but surely turned back; his smile almost boyish. “Gosh, I-I will see you tomorrow, right?”

Clutching the book of poems to your breast, you giggled. “Whichever way it may be, we will. I promise.”

Fin

#doofus rick x reader #doofus rick #rick sanchez x female reader #j19z7 #j19ζ7 #j-19-zeta-7 #rick and morty #rnm fanfiction #rnm #Rick x reader #my fanfiction #my works #rick sanchez x reader #Rick Sanchez

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inconcieveable · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2 bby. Have fun reading and any feedback is greatly appreciated. :)

Chapter: 2

Words: 1.7k

Roman P.O.V.

"Okay, i'll pick you up here later. You should be fine, just remember-"

"To look for the signs, make friends and don't beat anyone up we get it." Remus reiterated. Uncle sighed.

"Just.. be careful. okay?"

"We'll be fine uncle. C'mon Roman." Remus said, nearly dragging me out of the car.

"see you later," I smiled at Uncle as I shut the car door.

We stood in awe at the building in front of us. "Who knew schools could be this big," i whispered.

"I know right. Fucking hell."

We wandered around like lost puppies as we tried to find reception. "Look." I said, pointing to a sign that said "office"

"Thank-fucking-finally," Remus sighed as we started to follow the signs.

/////

"Oh you boys must be Roman and Remus King, correct?" The receptionist asked, noticing us as she lifted her head from her computer, before she went to back to her work.

"That's us. We were told to come here and get our schedules?" I replied, noticing the "she/her" badge she had on her blouse.

"Oh! You're English!" She stated, looking up and giving us her full attention.

"Yep! We're good ol' Brits! Now can we get our schedules please?" Remus interupted, already annoyed at her.

"oh, of course! here-" She said as Remus snatched the schedules off of her. I elbowed him in the rib, somewhat harshly.

"ow! you bitc-"

"be nice" i chided. He responded by growling lightly.

"Sorry for him," I apologised to the receptionist.

"Its okay!" she smiled. "There should be a student coming soon to give you a tour.." She went on, explaining how the timetables worked, where to get lunch and how the one-way system on the stairs worked. Remus gave up listening pretty quickly and instead was looking out for the student that was going to tour us.

"hey babes" I heard as Remus nudged me. I turned to look at Remus as he nodded towards the student. click click. The sound of heeled shoes filled the room. A man wearing big, round sunglasses, a black jacket and obnoxiously sipping a Starbucks strutted into the room.

"Remy!" the receptionist exclaimed "Good to see you. Here are the new students, Roman and Remus king" She gestured towards us.

"hi!"

"sup bitch." Remus saluted. Remy giggled as I turned to Remus exasperatedly.

"I'm Roman. He/Him" I continued, sticking out my hand. He shook it.

"Remy. Also he/him." He purred, winking at me. He chuckled lightly at my eyes widening slightly at his confidence and forwardness.

"Oh, and who is this cutie?" He pondered, moving so he was in front of Remus. He took a slow sip of his Starbucks as he checked Remus out, eyes fluttering up and down.

"I'm- er- Remus. Um- he/him and all- hehe- did you know if you clenched every muscle in your back at the same time you'd break your spine? hehe" Remus spluttered quickly, not used to all the attention. Remy smiled affectionately.

"I didn't. Thanks for the knowledge Einstein. Logan's gonna like you." He said, muttering the last of the sentence.

"Remy dear, the receptionist interrupted. "May you please give our new students the tour so they can get to lunch on time?."

Remus looked to me, confused. "Lunch? Isn't it like half way through first period at the minute?." Remy chuckled again.

"Yeah, but schools here aren't as small as they are in England. It might be a while. Plus I need to take you to the Principal's office and god knows how long that'll take. So come on hon," he gestured with his head towards the door and took another slurp of his Starbucks as he placed his phone in his pocket. click click. I turned to Remus who just shrugged and started following Remy.

/////

It was around lunch, when we had finished being dragged around and severely warned by the principal of the punishments for any misbehaviour. We trudged along through the canteen, making our way outside.

"that's a good spot," Remus said, pointing to a big oak tree, where no one was sitting.

"alrighty then."

Remus plonked down as we reached the tree. "heads up" I called. Remus barely had any time to react before I flung my bag towards him. He caught it milliseconds before it would've hit his face.

Bitch." he scowled as I sat down, a few feet away from the tree. "That tour took us fucking forever," he complained.

"I knowww."

"Why the fuck did we go to the dorms if we aint gonna get one for another week or so?!"

"I suppose it was so they could get the tour done in on hit?" I reasoned.

"Yeah.. Its still fucking shite though." I smirked as Remus sighed dramatically and brought his sketchbook out of his bag. Along with a pencil and rubber.

"I thought Uncle said not to bring that. It coul-"

"I don't give a shit. Let me have this one thing. Be thankful I didn't decide to bring my iPad." Remus scowled. I pouted at him.

"Well what am I supposed to do now?"

"Practice your lines for that shitty play your doing." He offered, throwing my back towards me.

"Excuse me. It aint 'shitty'. Its fun! Plus doing community plays will help me get to a good place in the future. you know this." I defended, air-quoting the word "shitty"

"Whatever. I still don't understand how you managed to find a theatre and audition when we've only been here for like a week and a half." I flicked the ends of my hair obnoxiously.

"What can I say? I'm just amazing." Remus snorted at that and through a crumpled piece of paper at me.

"nerd." He returned to his drawing, ignoring my "offended princey noises" as he called them. I stuck my tongue out at him as I rooted through my bag to find my lines.

Remus P.O.V

Watching Princey practice was always funny. Without fail, he would always go from sitting down, to walking around, practicing the delivery of the lines, script in one hand, the other flourishing through the air, within a maximum of 5 minutes. I leant back on the tree more as I stopped drawing for a second to watch my brother. He was walking back and forth, reciting about slaying some dragon thing. "Don't worry. I will save you! Begone evil Dragon!" he shouted, jumping into a fighting stance. His free arm acting like it was holding a sword. I burst out laughing at him. Roman turned around furiously, shooting death glares at me. Unfortunately for him, this only made me laugh louder. His eyes narrowed at me before he too, started laughing.

"You're a fucking dork."

"Yeah, yeah. Just lemme practice." I rolled my eyes before focusing back on my design. No matter what I did, I couldn't get it to look right. And boy, was i determined to get it right.

/////

"Hey!" a new, chirpy voice said. I looked up to see a kid looming over me.

"can I help you?" I asked, trying to be nice.

"Yeah. I was wondering If you've seen our friend? they're around so-high, chestnut hair, blue overalls, yellow t-shirt, black jacket with a.... double headed snake? on the back." The boy explained.

"nah I don't recognise the description. Why would I have seen.. them?" he asked, noticing the pronouns used and feeling slightly proud of himself for noticing.

"It seems they're new Patton. That would probably explain why they don't recognise Janus and they don't know that we normally sit here." A different boy said. "where the fuck did he come from?!" he thought.

"Its alright Logan. Janus will find us and we can always sit somewhere else for today." the first boy, Patton? ,said.

"But vi-"

"Hold on lemme get that dipshit." I interrupted. I turned towards Roman, who was oblivious to the entire conversation as he was quite a few feet away. "OI TWAT!" I shouted. Roman jumped at the sudden noise and his foot caught on a visible tree root and he fell over, landing on his arse. I, once again, burst out laughing.

"Wha-" He cut himself off when he noticed the boys. He quickly got up and walked back towards us.

"He's much better at things like this." I explained between laughs as Roman arrived, cheeks dusted In pink from embarrassment.

"twat?" The taller one, Logan?, asked.

"Its a British thing." I said, waving my hand dismissively.

"Oh, you're British!" The smaller one, (Patton? I don't fucking know) said excitedly.

"Indeed we are." Roman said, entering the conversation.

I let Roman take over as I tuned out the conversation and focused back onto my design.

"I'd draw an extra petal there." someone said. I jumped slightly at that and turned to see someone sat next to me, snickering at my shock. I turned to see that Roman was sat opposite me, the boys from earlier were sat to my left and the person who I could only assume was 'Janus' was sat next to me. I stared into their face, searching for a sign that he was mocking me. "Janus. They/them." The person said, unfazed, confirming my suspicions. Once I felt satisfied with their intentions, I turned back towards my page where they had their hand.

"Remus. He/him." I said as I started sketching. I was trying to draw a rose, with its flowers wilting off. Kinda like the flower from Beauty And The Beast. The movie which I was forced to watch the other night by my brothers demands.

Once I was finished sketching the flower, I saw how much better it looked with Janus' addition. I turn to thank Janus, only to see them looking at me. Smiling at my own happiness towards the now finished design.

"Thanks," I said cheerfully "it looks so much better now"

"No problem," Janus simply said.

"Ah so you've decided to come back down to earth now?" Roman teased, noticing how I wasn't fixated on my page anymore.

"Fuck off." I said, sticking out my tongue. Roman giggled whilst Patton inhaled sharply. I turned to Janus, a confused look etched onto my face.

"Patton doesn't like swearing." they explained. I chuckled mentally. "Well i'm fucked" I thought, Laughing again at the irony.

"well at least he didn't fall over a tree root now," Janus said to Roman, smirking. I started laughing.

"I like this one." I said and everyone joined In with my laughter.

The bell cut the fun short though. We all, besides Logan, groaned as we started to collect our things and head towards our next lessons.

#sanders sides #roman sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sander sides fanfiction #fanfic

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aelaer · 5 years

Note

Suicide TW!!! I live for the Nick/Stephen frenemy relationship, so: AU where Stephen is severely depressed and, instead of crashing his car, he parks in a pull-over and attempts suicide (drugs, alcohol, cutting, up to you) only to then be hit by an oncoming car. As a result, he ends up in hospital to realise that not only is he still alive, but Nick knows what he did. He can't stand the shame and humiliation, until he hears the words "I'm sorry" out of nowhere.

Okay nonny, so a couple things:

By relationship I presume you meant “platonic relationship” as my list of (serious) romance-focused stories in the MCU is a big fat zero and will remain that way probably for some time. If not all time. But I never say never.

I altered the scenario a bit and decided not to use a car crash, but the main elements (depression/suicide, Nick and Stephen interaction, Nick Knowing) remain. This also sort of allows it to potentially be in the “realm of canon” with enough stretching, should one decide to want the headcanon. Though IMO this is an AU-verse.

So I hope that’s all okay and you still find it fulfilling. I’ve never actually written Nick before (though I dabbled with the idea of all the events of Doctor Strange from Nick’s POV like, back when the film first came out) so that was also fun. I really dislike fics that make him look like an idiot (or worse, a pervert for some weird ass reason) so it’s great to get my own view out.

And I also didn’t want to write a book because I’ve got too many WIPs that are books that need to get finished first, so I was going for “short and sweet”. In a manner of speaking. I mean it seems I’m still incapable of doing something under 2000 words but it’s shorter than the last prompt so you know, I’m getting there.

As the prompt suggests, this fic will go into detail about very serious subjects around mental health, including depression and suicide. Please proceed with caution if these are sensitive subjects for you.

Please also note that the symptoms and actions taken within the story are not a guide or diagnosis tool and should be interpreted as strictly fictional. Please refer to official literature such as those offered by the National Suicide Prevention Hotline (US) and other verified sources for what you should do if you believe someone you know is suffering from suicidal thoughts.

Written for @stephenstrangebingo square, “It’s Not About You”.

—————–

Every employee at Metro-General took the confidentiality of their patients’ conditions seriously. There was no doctor or nurse on staff that could be bribed to leak any celebrity’s medical information; they were known for having some of the best doctors for a reason. Many of the elite of New York went to that hospital in the middle of Midtown for that famous discretion.

There was, however, one glaring exception to this rule that every nurse and doctor learned early on: if one of their co-workers had something very serious happen to them, their status would eventually leak out to the rest of the staff. There was never anything particularly hostile about the whispers, and while curiosity was the biggest fuel to the information train, news tended to spread out from concern rather than scorn. This trend even applied to staff members that were generally seen as assholes.

Doctor Nicodemus West learned this during his next shift. A couple minutes after entering his office, just as he was getting into his email inbox, a quick knock at the open door broke his concentration. He looked up and smiled. “Morning, Alyssa.”

The nurse offered a brief smile in greeting, but stepped inside and closed the door before speaking. “Did you hear the news?” she asked softly; her smile was gone.

His brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, news?”

“Doctor Strange was admitted to the ER last night.”

His mind came to a screeching halt. “What? Seriously?” He generally avoided the man if he could, though from what was going around the gossip circles the last couple weeks, Strange was still a raging asshole, but in good health. “What happened?”

Alyssa shook her head. “I don’t know all the details, but he had to get his stomach pumped.”

Nick winced in sympathy; that was not a pleasant experience. “Jeez,” he muttered. “Is he doing okay?”

“Last I heard, he’s stable,” she answered. “Apparently Doctor Palmer’s still his emergency contact, though.”

“She would be anyone’s emergency contact; she’s too good of a person,” he replied in return. “Thanks for letting me know, though; I suspect others in the department may need to take some of his patients that can’t wait for him.”

Alyssa nodded. “The administration is already looking through his cases, though I expect he’ll be up and back at work as soon as he can. Doctor Strange is never really one for breaks.”

“I suppose not,” said Nick. The conversation turned to other topics and the neurosurgeon put the matter with Strange in the back of his mind, left as generally unimportant in the grand scheme of his life.

—————

Strange got back to work and things got back to normal in the neurology department.

Only thing was, Nick started noticing things.

While Doctor West was no prodigy like Doctor Strange, he would not have the ability to become a neurosurgeon without the ability to notice details. It was the details in life— in the human body in particular— that fascinated him and turned him towards medicine in the first place. No, he wasn’t a prodigy, but he was still damn good at his job.

So when Strange came back to the office a few days after his visit to the ER, Nick decided to break his usual policy of avoiding Strange as much as humanly possible and went to his office to welcome him back. It was good for department morale to act mostly cordial to each other, even if most of the effort was on his part.

The door was open and Strange was still in his outer coat, back to him, when Nick knocked on the doorway. The doctor turned to face him and Nick raised a hand in greeting. “Hey. Just wanted to say welcome back.”

Strange’s brow furrowed and he made a rather weird expression. “Oh… uh, thanks.” He turned to the coat rack in the corner of the room and began to remove his outerwear.

“How’re you…” Nick started, but paused as the coat was fully removed, revealing Strange’s dress shirt underneath. It hung rather loosely on his figure; apparently the man had lost some weight recently. Due to Christine Palmer’s honeymoon phase about two years ago, Nick was more aware than he would prefer to be about how ‘fit’ Doctor Stephen Strange was (which really was unfair).

It seemed that wasn’t the case anymore. When had that happened?

Strange didn’t seem to notice his trailing off. “I’m fine. Perfectly alright, thank you. I hope you didn’t botch any of my surgeries while I was gone.”

And there was the asshole he remembered. Nick pressed his lips together. “All your patients are recovering without setback. You can even see them for yourself.” He did his best to cut back the bite of sarcasm in his last sentence.

If Strange heard it, he didn’t comment on it. “I’ll let the nurses handle it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I do have a lot of emails to catch up on. Close the door behind you, if you would.”

Nick rolled his eyes and shut the door as he left the office, but the detail seen settled in the back of his mind to remain quiet, but not forgotten.

And with that one thing noticed, he started to notice more things as the weeks passed on.

According to Alyssa, Strange was rarely seen in the hospital cafeteria anymore— one of the cafeteria staff members who had an open crush on the doctor was complaining about it, apparently.

Strange was having bouts of insomnia, according to gossiping security personnel. There were times that doctors did not go home for the night, but his were becoming more consistent occurrences.

As Nick ate with members from both his usual surgical team and Strange’s surgical team one lunch time a few weeks after Strange came back to work, the topic somehow went to Strange and his uncanny recollection for music, no matter the genre or decade it was released. It was well known that he liked to have the others on his team try and challenge him with their song choices while he was performing his operations.

“Not anymore,” said Billy, and Alyssa frowned at him.

“What? But that’s his gig! He’s been doing that for years.”

Billy shrugged. “He hasn’t been doing it for a few months now. He’s told us he doesn’t care what we want to play, but he doesn’t guess at songs anymore. Doesn’t give any recommendations, either. It sort of sucks; my music library has barely expanded this year.”

“Maybe you need to find something really challenging, a song so obscure that he’ll be drawn into it again,” she said. “I wonder how well he knows Jamaican music.”

“We tried British and Australian Top Hits of the ‘80s last year, but we haven’t done Jamaica. Do Jamaicans generally speak English? He hasn’t memorized songs from every language in the world.”

She rolled her eyes, and as Alyssa started explaining the history of Jamaica and Jamaican Creole, Nick stored this new bit of information away in the section of his brain that, somehow, had become dedicated to collecting all these tidbits.

And Nick noticed that every time he bumped into the other neurosurgeon in the hall, he appeared exhausted. Nick did not know if anyone else noticed the clear loss of weight and the dark bags around his eyes, but they were blindingly obvious to him.

Usually Strange moved with an endless amount of energy when off to surgery, and with some of the more challenging surgeries the energy stayed with him no matter how long the procedure took. It was an exuberance that even he admired, though it was never something he planned to admit to Strange. But now the energy was missing. He was still snarky and aloof, but the spark of genuine joy that was once clear to everyone in the department was gone.

If Strange was a friend, he would have acted weeks ago. If Strange was a colleague he got along with, he would have waited no longer than a month, just to make sure. But two months after his short medical hiatus and Nick remained uncertain, because this was Stephen Strange. Surely no one as big-headed and arrogant as he could ever actually be— yes, there were some signs, but it just seemed too far-fetched. Surely not.

A couple weeks later and some of the doctors from neurosurgery, some from cardiology, and some from the ER were having a rare lunch together. Somehow Christine Palmer had managed to drag Strange out of his office to see his coworkers. And somehow he ended up sitting next to Strange, though the man was mostly quiet as he took the occasional bite from his salad. That in itself was very unusual, as Nick was used to Strange enjoying all the attention of the room.

The conversation turned to a sudden, inexplicable death that happened just yesterday that the hospital was still trying to solve. As theories went around the table, Nick heard Strange mutter under his breath, “Maybe she just realized life wasn’t worth living.” None of the others heard it. Nick pretended he didn’t, either.

But the comment resonated in his head for the rest of the day.

————

This was not going to be comfortable. This was not going to be easy. Nick hated that he, of all people, had noticed. Had no one else seen it?

It only took another day to push his discomfort aside. “It’s not about you,” he mumbled to himself in the mirror in the early morning. “Strange needs help.” And he was a doctor, first and foremost. And doctors helped people in need.

He wanted to speak with Strange outside the hospital, in a neutral place for them both. The only problem was that he never saw the man outside of work and he had no idea how to approach him.

The opportunity came a few days later when Nick was already performing surgery while on call. Another emergency craniotomy was required and Strange stepped in at Christine’s request while Nick was unavailable. It was as good a reason as any.

“Thank you for taking that patient yesterday,” he said in greeting the next morning.

Strange looked up from his computer, surprise crossing his features. He looked tired. “No surgeon can be in two surgeries at once,” he said with a shrug.

“Still, I appreciate it,” Nick said. “I know you’re not fond of the ER.”

“A butcher shop.”

He ignored the comment. “So I’d like to thank you. You free after work? Dinner’s on me.”

The other man stared at him. “You want to have dinner,” he said flatly.

“As colleagues,” he added, hopefully unnecessarily, because really? “I’m trying to be nice and show my appreciation, Strange. Don’t be an ass about it and just say yes.”

Strange lifted his brows high, but the fuel to his ego did the trick. “Yeah, sure. Got any place in mind?”

Nick shrugged. “There’s a good Italian place three blocks south of us.”

“Italian’s fine.”

“Cool. See you later.” He ignored the expression on Strange’s face and took his leave.

—————

The walk from the hospital to the restaurant was a bit of an uncomfortable one, but Nick wasn’t certain if it was mostly one-sided or not; Strange was more or less expressionless. He only tried to instigate conversation once throughout the walk, but it trailed off to silence before they reached the second block, so Nick decided then to save all attempts at conversation for dinner.

It was going to be hard enough then.

After they arrived and were seated, he also decided to wait until they had finished eating before approaching the topic. Maybe the food would relax the nerves in his gut.

So in the meantime he talked shop. It had been some time since either of them had discussed their cases with each other, so he figured that it was a safe enough conversation topic until the end of the meal.

Unfortunately Strange, bastard that he was, threw him off his planned course. It was just after they ordered food; both had a glass of wine and their waiter had already set down a basket of bread and a saucer of olive oil for dipping. Strange caught Nick as the latter was ripping off a piece of bread to smother in the dipping oil.

“What is this really about?” he asked.

Nick paused mid-dip. “What?”

“All this.” He waved an arm to gesture to the restaurant. “I’ve helped in the ER several times when your hands were full. What is this actually about?”

He set his bread on his plate, frowning. “You can’t wait until after we eat?”

Strange raised a brow. “Consider yourself fortunate I said yes to this at all. I only came because, admittedly, I’m curious; I cannot begin to guess what you could possibly want to talk to me about outside of work.”

“Fine, fine.” Nick sighed and set his elbows on the table. He pressed his lips against his closed fists as he figured out how to start. All the while, Strange stared at him with an odd mix of exasperation and puzzlement. “You…” he started slowly. He trailed off.

“Me,” said Strange.

Fuck it. “You’ve been off lately.”

His brows shot up. “Off?”

“Yeah, off. Not yourself. Different.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly that. You’re acting differently lately. For a while, apparently.”

He bristled in clear irritation. “If you’re just going to waste my time—”

“You don’t enjoy your work anymore.”

That shut him up. Nick continued in the silence. “You used to always enter and exit your operations with this excitement that echoed down the halls. That’s completely gone.”

Strange recovered his voice. “If you’re implying that my work has suffered—”

“No, no,” he interrupted. “Not at all. This isn’t about the quality of your work; this is about you.” Strange didn’t have an immediate retort to that, so Nick continued, “Or maybe it’s not about you but about this man that’s taken over you the last several months. That man is clearly not eating and sleeping well, barely comes out of his office, hasn’t bragged about his newest studies and speeches in months, and mutters about life not being worth living at lunchtime.”

His colleague’s mouth hung slightly open as if he wanted to say something but had forgotten how to speak. Nick couldn’t quite read the emotion in his eyes, either. Before he completely lost his nerve, he said one last observation. “And that man,” he muttered, “had his stomach pumped two months ago, and those circumstances combined with the rest paint a picture of a man who… might be a bit lost.”

Something raw flashed through Strange’s eyes that made him appear more vulnerable than Nick’s ever seen him before. That brought on a strange and discomforting feeling that joined the rest of the jumbled nerves in his stomach.

Quickly he continued, “You don’t need to tell me anything. I’m not demanding anything from you. I just wanted to say that— no matter what differences we have— that if you do need someone for— for anything— that I’m here. Even if it’s just to listen.”

He fell silent, and still Strange didn’t say anything immediately, which was unusual in itself. Nick wasn’t sure if he should continue looking at him or if he should look away, or what.

And thank God, dinner arrived and gave him the perfect reason to look away and leave Strange to his thoughts.

The silence sat for the remainder of the meal. Strange didn’t eat much (though he couldn’t blame him) but also didn’t leave. Nick didn’t know what that meant, or if it meant anything at all.

Still, he had one last thing to say.

After he paid the bill, he pulled a card from his wallet as he stood up. “She came with high recommendations,” he said as he put down the card of a therapist that most certainly did not work at Metro-General. “Think about it.” With that, he took his leave, allowing Strange time alone to dwell on what he said.

————

When they next saw each other at work, neither of them made any indication to each other that they had dinner last night. Their last conversation never crossed the threshold of the hospital. Strange never called him, and Nick never inquired about his well being more than he did any other coworker.

But a few months later, when he got word that Strange was starting his music challenge games in his operations once more, Nick allowed himself a small smile at the news.

#doctor strange fanfic #stephenstrangebingo #doctor strange #stephen strange #nick west #my writing #my fanfiction #prompt fill #tw: suicide #tw: mental health #Anonymous

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lesbianau · 6 years

Note

I'm a trans mtf gal majoring in LGBT/queer studies so I'd just like to add something! English isn't my first language rip so I apologize for my grammar. But there was so much misinformation being promoted yesterday and from what I could tell the op's of these posts were mostly cisgender? Which is so so uncomfortable. The idea of these messages from cis people on gender being cemented in this fandom as the acceptable way to talk about gender is a bit distressing. And from what I can(...)

tell from following you is that you’ve been very respectful about this topic from the posts you reblogged so overall I feel comfortable sharing this message with you. Since it seems like others who tried to do the same thing were met with hostility and anger. So to get to the point, I’d just like to say that from where I stand, with both academic and personal experience with this, er, discourse, is a few things. A lot of people have already said this and for whatever reason(…)

it’s been rejected. Which is bad! Let me make this clear: gender exists as a mental, emotional, and physical spectrum. It’s incredibly complex. A queer person’s experience with gender is their own to put into words. No one else can. This goes for gender identity and gender expression. The reason why it’s such a sensitive topic is because the idea of gender we know know comes from a misogynistic, homophobic, and transphobic society. When you assign gender- that is, categorize(…)

(I’m putting the rest under the cut, but this is a very interesting read i highly recommend)

anything at all as either feminine or masculine- you are by default perpetuating those standards. Pink is not feminine, blue is not masculine, sewing is not feminine, woodwork is not masculine, certain manners of speech or dress or walk or physical features- none of these things that are gendered. Society assigned them genders and decided to shape us around it. It is through this idea that queer people experience oppression, shame and violence. It is because of it. And as(…)

long as we continue to live in this society it’s an influence that we cannot escape. It shapes us, our perception and our beliefs on a subconscious level whether we like it or not. To change it would mean undoing centuries of social conditioning on a global scale. It just can’t be done. What we can only do is decide for ourselves our own feelings with gender, sexuality, etc. We weren’t born with the perks of falling into every societal standard demanded of us. As a result(…)

we are forced to examine our identities and try to make sense of what makes us feel a disconnect with the identity we’re told we must have. For some it’s a journey away from those societal standards entirely. For others it’s about finding a more comfortable spot within those norms. There is no invalid way of experiencing this. For gender specifically the experience is even more nuanced, confusing and delicate. This is because the further away one strays from gender norms(…)

specifically the greater the danger. There can be fatal consequences to simply existing as a trans individual. Both from violence and suicide. Because this is what our society perpetuates. So the second any of us project something born from discrimination and hatred onto anyone or anything other than ourselves, we are are honoring what it was meant to do. As a trans woman my experiences with masculinity have been very unpleasant and as such I’m very sensitive about conversations(…)

involving femininity and masculinity. For me womanhood is something I associate with femininity and I can’t break free from my feelings about it. However not all women feel this way. There are masculine women who are joyous in their womanhood and they are valid in their experience. It does not and would never affect my experience nor would mine affect theirs. Unless I came up to her and told her women can only be feminine or she came up to me and congratulated me on(…)

being a feminine man because we would both cause each other a lot of pain. Even if she meant to be nice to me I would be experiencing depression for weeks even though she meant no harm and even if she apologized to me right after. Another example is if someone told me they loved how feminine my demeanor despite having no hips I would probably burst into tears right there! I can’t help but have a very traditional view of gender in regards to my own identity. I’m a feminine woman(…)

who thinks everything I am and do is feminine. But because I can’t afford to transition I feel that I have to be more loyal to societal norms of gender in hopes I can be more passing. I see a feminine woman when I look in the mirror without makeup or my wig. But the world doesn’t see that. I go to sleep a masculine cis man according to society. Hell, I’m a cis man crossdressing in a wig to my neighborhood Kroger when I groceries. Someone might say that to me as a complement(…)

but hearing things like that nearly drove me to suicide in my teens. I can’t think of a more clear example of the harm in societal gender norms. It is a one-sided word. I walk towards the handle and I am given security. I love being a girly girl and wearing pink and wearing padded bras and a wig because I feel feminine and when I feel feminine I feel like a woman. If I were to take all that sitting at the tip of my sword and walked right towards a trans man what do you(…)

think would happen? It’s a terrible thing! If I waved around my sword out in the open- gave my view of gender and interpreted the identity of gender according to my experiences- what do you think would happen? It’s dangerous! And what I see every day with Harry is a lot of sword waving. Yesterday it was an outright sword fighting! When people were saying what made Harry masculine and feminine the only thing they were doing was promoting every homophobic, mysogynistic and transphobic(…)

and traditional societal standard of gender. Harry’s feminine because of this, followed by a statement that is meant to contrast the previous one regarding why he is masculine because of something else. The excuse is that they’re appreciating how multidimensional he is. But what they do is very blatantly categorize these traits as paradoxical. That there is something about the things being mentioned that are different, complex and unharmonious. And(..)

in a way that is the most harmful they make the implication that this is something he means to be. Harry has made a connection with gender and himself and it’s very simple. Masculinity, femininity, womanhood and manhood. The context has always been lighthearded and it has always been consistent. There is ironically no complexity at all. By simply wearing a leopard print suit he became Shania Twain according to his friends. He thoughtlessly talks about being pregnant without(…)

commenting on his gender or biology. So I find it strange that others try to make him out to be so deeply complex when he talks about himself so bluntly! The only way to speak on gender identity and gender expression is to take cues from the other person and stay true to respecting their identity. This is never seems something that’s given to Harry in the way people talk about him. It is the only way you can refer to someone’s gender identity ever. When he is taken apart(…)

and categorized into what is and is not comparable it directly opposes how he talks about himself. This isn’t something that doesn’t do his character justice or undermines what a complex and multifaceted human being he is. I’m a complex and multifaceted person and I only connect with one gender! I don’t like how this always used as an excuse or even something that comes into question. The only way to talk about gender and everything that falls into it is by mirroring(…)

the comments of the individual and those closest to them who are already doing the same. By not doing that you’re stepping into the minefield that is societal gender norms. It’s no wonder the people at the forefront of yesterday’s discourse were met with an entire onslought of outrage. This is how it will always be and honestly should be. People need to learn compassion and understanding and distance if they are trans or not. The great irony is the fight to establish(…)

Harry’s masculinity and the guilt that is demanded from those who don’t mention it the way they do. Not being masculine is one of the rare things Harry’s been very vocal about. Yesterday’s discussion should’ve never escalated the way it did. This is much bigger than fandom. Because what is shared is what you are being told is oksay by the person. If they compare themselves to women and use female pronouns then take cue. If they says they are not masculine then take cure. If(…)

the person shares with you a comment involving themselves within the gender spectrum then this is the only thing it’s okay to repeat. To speak generally is to place your view of gender onto a queer person who will always be listening and who will always disagree. Reading through some of the things from yesterday broke my heart in two. I don’t ever want to see such reckless comments on gender in a fandom full of so many queer people ever again. Wasn’t the outrage and pain obvious enough? I(…)

just can’t believe it could happen when the person they were arguing about has, to me, been more than clear about how they are comfortable being spoken about in their relationship with gender. If my opinion is of any value to people then I hope they listen and make an effort to at least think about something I said in the giant essay I didn’t meant to send you initially rip I apologize for that Kaleigh! I didn’t mean to send as many messages as I must have after all these hours(…)

I couldn’t help but get this off my chest. At least a trans person has had a say in this in a way outside of yesterday’s debate and maybe people will be more understanding of what really went so wrong yesterday. Anyway thank you so much for giving me this space Kaleigh! I hope I worded myself well enough and didn’t accidentally miss the anon button 😭 Have a lovely day ❤💙💚💛💜

hello darling! thank you for sending this to me because while i know a lot of what was being discussed was making me uncomfortable, i also didn’t feel comfortable speaking on it because i didn’t feel educated enough to do so. i’m sorry people made you uncomfortable and you’re so strong for reaching out to educate people who happen to read this. gender/identity is so personal, and people trying to “disprove” certain aspects of someone’s expression just to fit their personal narrative is so horrible and in no way okay in an lgbtq+ space. i love you a lot and i really really appreciate these messages ❤️

#you're incredible and so valid honey!!#thank you for spending so much time on this!!#asks #anon

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