#it's called 'sometimes having a job and paying bills puts things into perspective' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starlightdreaming · 30 days

Text

Lucifer x Fem!Reader!

Content warning: ANGST TO FLUFF! :3 REALISTIC themes of REALITY (FROM MY PERSPECTIVE) this is a vent fic but I added my delusions of fluff for comfort, theres slight starvation of oneself (eating disorders right?) (this fic been in the back of my head all week)

(this MADE ME CRY WHILE WRITING I KID YOU NOT)

Synopsis: dealing with reality isn’t easy for anyone, upon walking home one day, you found a mirror, hoping you could sell the mirror for some cash, you discovered something money can’t buy… happiness.

(im craving for fluff)

making a one shot for my delusions

(the song that supported my delusions)

ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭*Dancing within the mirror* ੈ✩‧₊˚

Your life wasn’t very pleasing to live, hell, life wasn’t pleasing to live at all, all the stress and endurance was so tiring, going to school, day in, day out was the least of your worries after you graduated.

Every kid has always said, “I can’t wait to grow up and do my own things!” at least once. once.

Now that you are an adult, nothing was as it seemed when you were younger. Yeah, you can do anything you wanted if you put your mind to it but it came with a price.. and that price was money.

Without money, you couldn’t do anything you dreamed of doing, without money, you couldn’t afford the things you even wanted- and to get anything you wanted, you had to get a ‘job.’ it’s the balance of life some say, but to you? it was control, it wasn’t about what you want or what you get, it’s all about having you work for the… them.

those people. the 1% some would call them.

Your mind deteriorated more and more from just not living anymore, just surviving.. you work, get the money, pay your taxes, pay your bills: your car, your electricity, your water, food, housing, insurance- everything.

You sat on the edge of your bed in your cold dark room, the moonlight twinkling in, it’s luminous rays escaping through the curtains at the window, you laid your head down crying and stressed, you can’t continue to survive like this, you just wanted to live.

You watch old shows and movies for comfort, wishing life would never change and forever stay the same, you wanted the world to stop revolving so you can just breathe. You watch cartoons and such, cause it seems they are living much happier than you ever will. Your mind always drifted off to just one day, you can lay in the grass and listen to the soft winds, the trees and grass rustling, dancing together as one with the wind.

You drew characters of your own, characters from your favorite shows and wrote everything your mind would drift off to, to cope with the bleak life that you had.

Sometimes, you wish reality could just.. shift, like if you wanted to live in your comfort characters universe? you could just poof! and then be there, talking for however long you wanted.

You sighed as you turned off your device, going to bed, too tired to do anything due to fatigue from nine hours of labor, you tucked yourself in, playing soft music to help you sleep with some sort of comfort, you closed your eyes to await another lifeless day of nothingness.

✧ • ✧ • ✧ • ✧ •✧

Another exhausting day at work, you walk home, your car broke down for the nth time, knowing how corrupt reality is, it was intentional by the people who you got it from. Another bill to be paid, just to get your car fixed, just to work more, pay more, just to feed them.

You barely made it through the monthly payments, saving enough to pay them all off but not enough to feed you. You silently walked in the grass, no sidewalks to be seen cause everyone used cars nowadays, never their feet and it made the people who are supposed to run the country (or states), neglect their ideals that they offered the people.

You sighed, exhausted, walking for a whole hour, you decided to rest. You worked nine hours that day, walking endlessly and now you’re here, walking home. You pulled a bottle of water you had with you from your pocket, taking a sip to refreshen yourself, it was less half than empty but it was enough for you to be hydrated for your next other hour you had to walk home. When you drive to work, it’s only eight minutes but walking? it was fifteen times longer.

You got up to your feet to walk again, stuffing the empty plastic bottle into your pocket to find a place to dispose it, not wanting to litter the earth than it already has been from neglectful people who could care less where their trash goes.

Walking past a dumpster, you neared your destination to home, you tried to put in the bottle but as you did, you saw something glimmering in your eyes, you took a second glance at what was shining in the dumpster, there, you see the sun reflecting off a mirror- but not just any mirror, a beautiful one. It looked old and antique but it was so mesmerizing to look at, it had unique designs, embedded with gold, at the top of the mirror, sat an apple, a white snake wrapped around it, it was in quite good condition, not even the glass was cracked, ‘who would throw such beauty away?’ you thought, you wanted to take it home but you hesitated, wouldn’t you look like a hobo if you were to jump in to get it?

You looked in all directions, seeing if anyone was watching, when the coast was clear, you jumped in to get it, trying your best to reach it, without falling in. After a few seconds to a minute or so, you managed to get out scot-free, holding the mirror with both hands, you looked at the distinctive details more closely, it really looked at shiny as gold, you couldn’t tell if it was, you were no genius to know, nor did you have the knowledge to know, all you knew it was dirty from the grime in the dump, it definitely needed a cleaning.

You held the heavy glass carefully, walking down your neighborhood to your home, you put it down gently next to your front door, trying to get your keys to unlock it, when you did, you happily tuck your keys into you pocket, picking up the mirror and walking inside.

The moment you got this mirror, you thought about how it could benefit you, ‘could maybe clean it and then put it on sale at an antique shop or mall?’ you thought, hoping to grab a bit of money to help you probably get something eat for once other than toast and cereal.

You put the mirror in your bathroom tub, getting towels and wipes to carefully remove the dirt from the lined details, sticking your nail covered by the wipe, to chalk the dirt out from deep corners, after a bit, you washed it off carefully with water, holding it gently as to not let it fall and shatter, you turned off the water, grabbing a towel to carefully dry it, not wanting to accidentally scratch the glass somehow.

You took the mirror to your room, holding it with both hands, you sat it down to the ground, making it lean against the wall, you stretched before you took off your work clothes, deciding you wanted to shower after today, I mean, after walking endlessly for two hours at work (not to mention the additional two hours, walking home), and dumpster diving? You definitely could use one. You began collecting comfy clothes to relax in, digging through your drawers, you got just a tee and some shorts and an extra pair of undergarments, you took your clothes, grabbed a towel and left to the bathroom, leaving the mirror alone in the dimly sunlit room.

While you cleaned yourself, unbeknownst to you, the mirror flickered in and out bright yellow auras, the little dust and dusk of yellow floated around the mirror like fireflies, it was glowing at that point, bright yellow, the gold designs that traced around the mirror began to glow as well, and it immediately went out as you entered your room, a towel on your head, you sighed as you jumped into bed, digging out your work clothes that you left on your bed to grab your phone, you tossed your clothes to the side as you laid back down, scrolling through what-not to distract yourself from the loathing pain of loneliness in your life.

From evening to dusk, you blinked lazily, tired of scrolling on social media for hours, you continued to do so until you stopped at a video, a video that was quite a little too relatable. You thought that - that’s when you know it’s time to put the phone down, it’s enough internet for the day, You plugged in your phone, placing it on the night stand.

You shifted under the covers, bringing your pillow to your chest to hold it, hugging it tightly as if it were to ever be your significant other, knowing full well that - that one day, will never come… but it doesn’t hurt to imagine it right?

You hugged the pillow tightly, nuzzling your face in it, looking at the mirror that faced your bed, you laid there silently, feeling the loneliness get to you again, the clock ticking in your room as you waited for sleep to consume you, you closed your eyes, resting your head in the pillow you held, before falling asleep. As you slept, the mirror began to glow again, the same golden aura surrounded it, little small dots of light floating around it again, the light began to glow more, the longer you slept, the small dots of light danced in the air, eventually making it to your bed, the small dots of light gently touched your skin, one even kissed your nose, it made your face scrunch as you scratched it, removing the tickling feeling in your sleep, you then turn the other direction of your bed, faced away from the mirror, the lights backed away from you, like curious little fireflies, they floated around you once again, raining golden dust onto your head as if it were sandman, raining sand onto your head, gifting you the night of pure lofty dreams.

✧ • ✧ • ✧ • ✧ •✧

You groaned as the morning light from the sun entered the room, waking you up from your dreams, it wasn’t often when you dreamed, usually they’d be nightmares or just plain weird.

You sat up on your bed, rubbing your eyes to wipe the sleep off them, you yawn as you shifted to slide off your bed, walking past the mirror to leave your room, with a quick glance while walking past it, it showed a different person in your reflection, you paused, you stepped back to look again, now puzzled, did you see that right? You look back at the mirror, seeing your reflection perfectly fine, you shook the thought off, thinking it was just you not being fully awake and your eyes were just messing with you, you left your room after that, not thinking anything further about it.

You brushed your teeth, brushed your hair, anything and everything needed to start the day, you grabbed your work clothes and your phone, glancing at the mirror again before taking a photo of it, later deciding to post it on the internet to see if anyone was willing to buy it. You left your house, locking the door, awaiting another repetitive day of your life… wasting away.

You had woke early for a reason, without your car (and the inability to afford an uber, nor risk spending any money), you had to walk to work, it was going to be a long exhausting day but that’s just life, the imbalance of it from what you could see at least.

After a long day of work, the painful exhaustion of walking home, you opened your door, dreadfully, today was worst than the last, you sighed as you went straight to your room, taking your work clothes off and jumping straight to bed, crying.

You curled up in your bed, grabbing your pillow to hold as comfort as you silently sobbed, the sun, slowly fading away from the room, dusking out that the day was nearly gone. You didn’t bother how hungry you felt, you just wanted to cry yourself to sleep, your co-workers were more aggressive today towards you, tripping you and telling you how you don’t seem to put more effort into you job as they do, it even got to the point where they’d report you to the manager, it was only worse when the manager actually believed them! You’d end up being scolded by your boss, not even he tried to listen to your side of the story, making this all the much worse to endure. You wanted to cry at work, you did during all of your lunch break, you spent the whole time crying silently in the restroom, forgetting to get at least something to eat during your time.

You just wished this whole nightmare could be over, you barely had time for your mental health, not to mention the time to do anything else to cope with the repetitiveness of reality either. You cried yourself to sleep that night, not the first of your many rests. It was however, noticed by the mirror you seemed to have forgotten about.

The mirror shimmered softly with light, the same as it did last night, unaware of it’s presence of magic, the light reached your bed, alluring you with comfort as you rested, dots of light danced around your exhausted body, giving you sweet dreams as it did last time, you smiled in your sleep, dreams overflowing in your subconscious as you slept, your body seemed more relaxed when the light tended and touched you, draining the soreness out your body, hoping you’d wake up feeling much better.

✧ • ✧ • ✧ • ✧ •✧

More often than not, you’d wake up exhilarated and refreshed from the nights before, it bothered you at first but you adjusted to it rather quickly, seeing as you always felt bursted with energy, you could take on the day and go home like you just went through hell to just sleep and wake up feeling alright again. You still haven’t had gotten any responses on anything about the mirror in your room, no one willing to offer for it, it just sat in your room collecting dust, it had been like about a month or so by now, your depressed mind never really bothered with time anymore, seeing as it was pointless, nothing really changes in your life, you don’t even bother with holidays, seeing as there was no one to celebrate with.

After many times and days going through the same thing, you crashed onto the floor in your room, laying next to the mirror. You couldn’t bother getting up into bed this time, everything just felt so tolling, your co-workers were at it again, excusing themselves with how they had families to take care of and you didn’t, they hated how you got paid the same as they did, expecting you to be rich or something by now. You hugged yourself on the floor that night, crying once again, you were facing the direction of the mirror, ignoring it in your vast of self loathing.

You just wished and craved for affection from someone, anyone, just something, anything to stop the pain you felt inside your heart but that would never come, no one cared for you as you hoped that one day they would, you fell asleep on the floor that night, crying yourself to sleep once again, no different than all the other nights that shared the same.

An emitting aura glowed softly again from the mirror, amongst your sleep, brighter than all the times than the last, this time, it didn’t try to comfort you in your sleep, no, this time, it was trying to wake you, wanting you see what it held within itself, the dots of light kissed your face, their bright auras bringing you to wake, you opened your eyes, curious from what the light source was, you sat up from the floor rubbing your eye, “what the..” you say as you blink awake now, you see the mirror glowing with a golden aura, you were bewildered from such a thing being able to happen.

You looked into the mirror before backing away, your reflection making you gasp in shock, you slowly leaned into the mirrors view, looking at your reflection again, it was so different than what you actually looked like, you looked more… demonic? it was creepy, it made your skin crawl, the light that was doting on you, floated around you, catching your attention. You raised your hand out, the little light landing in your hand, you looked and admired its radiance before it flew up and towards the mirror, going straight into it, “wha…” you said rather quietly im confusion and curiosity, the mirror glass sending waves against itself like a water drop landing into water.

You hesitated, you weren’t sure what to do in this situation, when you first got this mirror- you didn’t expect it to be fucking magical!

The mirror calmly whispered a tune, alluring you, you looked at your reflection again, it going from your human self to something else.. You reached your hand out to the mirror, touching the glass but when you did, your hand phased through it, you pulled your hand back in surprise as you watched the mirror glass ripple from movement, you shifted closer to the mirror, the golden light being the only thing that lit up your room in the dead of night.

You put your hand through the glass again, feeling more calm about it, seeing as it was safe, you smiled in fascination, it wasn’t long before someone or something grabbed your hand on the other end, you tried to pull away but it held your writ tightly, you saw a hand hold onto you, covered in black and claws that looked sharp as knives, it pulled you through as your yelp in shock and fear, closing you eyes as you expected to endure some sort of pain coming your way but you didn’t feel any, you felt the warmth of someone’s chest, your hand in theirs, his other on your back, ensuring your safety through the glass.

“Greetings, little duckling.” The man coo’d, you look up to the stranger who caught your fall in confusion, your eyes widened when you realized it was your major comfort character currently, the devil himself: Lucifer. You pushed yourself away from embarrassment, trying to look at your surroundings, seeing as you were in a massive ball room, the tiles on the floor were shining gold as the stairs were cloaked with red, “where am I?” you panic, looking at your body, seeing as your color was different and your body was less humane, “what is happening?” you ask, startled, looking at Lucifer.

He walked closer to you, “hey, it’s okay, you’re safe here, I won’t hurt you,” he reassured as he reached his hand out, patiently waiting for you to take it, you gave yourself a moment to breathe, trying to process everything, you looked at him as he smiled comfortingly at you, waiting patiently for you to take his hand, before long, you took his hand, he leaned toward your hand kissing it gently, a surge of golden light looming from the kiss to around your body. You blinked in surprise and look at your body, clothes had been changed from your work attire to something more extravagant and elegant, you were suddenly wearing a ball gown, you picked up a piece of the fabric of the dress, looking closely at the details it withheld.

“Through that mirror of yours, i’ve been watching you,” he says as he stands up straight again, holding your hand in his, you looked at him, slightly uncomfortable from that statement, his eyes widened at realization as he turned away before scratching his neck, “I mean- I don’t mean in a weird way- like- I was- I just-“ he sighed in defeat, unable to explain his situation correctly, “It’s not what it seems,” he attempts again, looking at you with soft eyes, “it’s just- that mirror is a portal, it’s a portal that only one side could see from, I don’t even have control where it goes but-“ He trails off, “look,” he says, taking both your hands now as you stare at him, patiently waiting for him to fully give you his explanation, “It was something I made long ago,” he attempts again, “I left it on earth for centuries but I still had access to it, from one end I mean.” he pauses as he turns both of you toward the portal, his hand trailing across the glass, changing the location on the other end, you watched with your mouth a-gap, in awe from how surreal this all was.

“I watched many humans through this mirror, good and bad,” he says as he shows many past memories the mirror seemed to hold, “It’s the only thing I have that shows the good in humanity… sometimes.” he says as he cracks a side smile, hoping you aren’t weirded out too much by the whole ordeal.

Letting go of Lucifer’s hand, you lifted both hands to your chest, intertwining your hands together as you walked toward the portal mirror, “so you’re saying..” you spoke as you stared at the glass, “I have a magical mirror in my room?” You ask, turning to him, your dress swaying as you turned, “yeah,” he smiles in relief that you aren’t panicking as he was, “we could go with that.” he says as he walked to you again, “I watched all the nights you cried..” he began as he looked away from your gaze, “I saw how much pain you endured everyday, it was obvious in your eyes and…” he explains to you, his demeanor changing to nervousness as he avoided your gaze, “I tried to make your nights better as you slept, hoping you’d wake up, feeling like your days would be better.” he confesses with a awkward smile on his face as he showed you the golden light in his hands, resembling the same as the light you saw glowing around the mirror in your room.

“So you’re the reason behind why I always felt better in the morning?” You ask, expecting he would confirm your answer, “Yeah.” he admits, rubbing his neck again, you walk up to him, taking his hands in yours as you raised both your hands up together with a smile and a, “thank you.” Lucifer eyes sparkled as he felt a flutter in his stomach, he sort of expected you to panic or something but this was way better, he smiled at you softly, “I saw you crying earlier, worse than ever before,” he says emphatically, he placed of your gloved hands on his shoulder, the other one held with his, his hand was placed gently on your waist as he leaned towards you, “so I thought maybe this time,” he pauses, turning you to a different direction and dipping you gracefully, “I could make your dreams a reality.” he spoke with an ever graceful smile, doting on your beauty.

Your eyes widened in wonderment as he began to move on his own, “wait- I can’t dance-“ you try to exclaim but your feet moved on your own as well, “don’t worry my dove,” he says as he looks at you with that sparkle in his eyes again, “I got you covered on that, just enjoy it, like a dream.” he comforts you, his voice soft and alluring.

He snapped his fingers and you saw a set of ducks with bow ties and orchestrated instruments appearing with them, they sat between the open space of the stairs, “fond of ducks, i see?” you ask, giving him a sided glance with a smile, he rolls his eyes playfully before taking your hands into his again, “not as fond as I am with you tonight,” he says back, smirking playfully as he guides you towards the center of the ballroom, “you’re absolutely stunning tonight.”

✧ • ✧ • ✧ • ✧ •✧

(prolly too dramatic but it was making me go insane while writing this (fluff is my kryptonite))

✧ • ✧ • ✧ • ✧ •✧

A melody began to play in the background as you let Lucifer take the lead, looking at him in awe, entranced by his charms and his smile.

He spun with you around the ball room, your dress flowing behind every move you done, you looked at your dress in wonderment, you then looked back at Lucifer who was still giving you doe eyes. You had your mouth opened slightly, still processing that this was actually happening… and with Lucifer of all people.

Watching and feeling every shift both your bodies had made, you both move left and right in circles, you yelped softly in surprise when you began to spin, one of his hands still in yours, bringing you back to him to waltz across the massive golden ballroom, you looked at him again as he gave you a toothy grin, making you smile in pure delight from this dream.

It wasn’t long until golden light began to ignite under his feet, each step he took left a trail of golden luminescence, ducks soon flipped up from under ground as if they went under water to collect food to eat, they swam across the ballroom floor as you both stared into each others eyes, lost within the melody.

You looked down at your own feet in amazement, your own steps were leaving a trail of golden light, those golden trails soon grew into buds that blossomed into lotus flowers, the flowers slowly drifted across the floor, gracefully, like they floated above water. You were mesmerized in such beauty of magic, it wasn’t long until you felt a hand trace under your chin, bringing your gaze back to Lucifer, “eyes on me, my darling.” he says with a soft smile, bringing his hand back into yours.

You felt flustered from his gesture as he sprouted out his wings, all in their grace and beauty, you looked away again as you heard him chuckle a light laugh at your reaction, he closed his eyes as he soaked in the moment, spinning you around again before bringing you in, your attention came back to him as he opened his eyes to look at you, you began to feel light, you looked away for the third time, you saw yourself floating in the air with Lucifer, you looked back at him in a little worry but it quickly vanished away as his gaze comforted you, “I got you.” he says, knowing what was running through your mind.

The golden light still trailed after you both, the ducks and lotus flowers floating up with you both in unison, you were so dazed by how pleasant you felt, your eyes locking with Lucifers, you both leaned into each other, your heads touching, closing your eyes as you began to relax and enjoy the moment, everything feeling so perfect.

You both danced in the air in sync, your steps finally moving as your own, adjusted to the dance, he reeled you out, you spinning out before spinning back in, back into his arms, his wings feathers fluttered gently as you danced in circles, in and out, left and right.

You both leaned out, hands locked as you laughed lightly, making him smile even more that you are enjoying your time with him, he brought you in before spinning you once again, back to him again before dipping you gently, ensuring you won’t fall from his grasp, his eyes were in awe as you smiled, your smile is all he wanted to see after seeing you cry so many endless nights.

He drifted you both back down, the golden lit ducks and flowers following you both as you both twirled around, heading towards the mirror, a trail of ducks and flowers blooming from you both, when you reached the mirror, he dipped you again with one hand this time, his other hand caressing your hair, a soft golden glow luminously flowed in your hair before he gently cupped your face, “until next time, mon chérie.” Lucifer says with a smile and loving eyes, kissing your head lovingly before pushing you carefully into the mirror.

You sit up quickly waking up, the sun shining through your curtains into the bedroom, you looked at your hands, your skin color back to normal, your ball gown gone, ‘it was all a dream.’ you thought, only to frown, believing it was too good to be true, you looked at the mirror on the floor, leaning on the wall as it had always been, you looked at it curiously, you threw the covers to the side, shifting out of bed to walk to it, you picked it up, seeing that your reflection was completely normal, however, a golden lotus laid in your hair, confirming that maybe, it wasn’t a dream after all…

You heard a ‘ding’ on your phone, catching your attention, you put the mirror on your bed carefully, grabbing your phone to look at the notification.

- Hey, that’s a beautiful mirror! It looks super old! antique even! How about $1,500 for it?

You smiled at the notification, that was enough for you to pay most of your bills for this month, you left a response before putting your phone back on your nightstand, picking up the mirror and leaving the room.

- Sorry but I decided not to sell it, thank you for your time though. :]

✧ • ✧ • ✧ • ✧ •✧

thank you for coming to my ted talk.

#lucifer morningstar #character x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #character x oc #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel angst #hazbin lucifer #bestie i hope you cry like i did #lucifer x reader angst #lucifer x reader fluff #Spotify #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar x reader #character x y/n

173 notes · View notes

the-dawn-star · 1 year

Text

Place to Stay 22 Klaus M. x Gilbert!Reader x Elijah M.

A/N: Hello everyone and I'm sorry for the long wait. Life is getting hard but I hope you haven't lost your intrest just yet.

-S

+2500ish words, and proofread by lovely Ana_Mia_Lisa on ao3.

All interactions are highly appreciated!!

Waking up had never felt harder than it did now, right now, at this very moment. I did not attempt to push away the covers, probably because my whole body ached. The lack of an active heating system didn't help much.

Whose turn was it to pay the electrical company this month?

Now that I think about it, it was such a mundane thing to worry about…electrical bills…what a joke.

I’d have to check the calendar to be sure, but I was pretty certain that my sister must've missed her turn. And not for the first time.

Not that she seemed to care that our house lacked a heating system.

The list of things Elena cared about were surprisingly limited these days.

Apparently, I didn't make it in her new list.

I pulled my feet closer to my body, sustaining as much of the heat as I could.

Back when we were still a team, we devised a plan, my sister and I, to have each other's backs, to support each other no matter what life threw at us. We would both get jobs if we needed to, maybe sell a few things. We promised to keep ourselves a float no matter what, we made it our top priority.

Obviously, both our priorities had changed since then. Hers had become murder and betrayal. And mine…, I wasn't sure what my priorities were anymore.

I let out a groan, finally finding the strength to move, reaching for my phone, and not because I was expecting a call.

Old habits die hard I suppose. Sometimes too hard…

Instead of my phone, my hand made contact with a vase, causing it to fall to the ground, shattering into a million pieces. That made me jump out of bed at last.

Maybe, even if I wasn’t going to go to school, I could be productive, maybe...

Maybe I could do something actually useful instead of lying-in bed with no sense of the responsibility that I had. Responsibility that I have for mom and dad, for Jenna…

I tiptoed towards the door, opening it slightly, not sure if the crash had been loud enough to wake up the whole house or not.

And then I remembered the painful–but also comforting– truth, no one was home.

I was alone. And that was a good thing, I needed time to think, to put the events that happened into perspective.

I got into some comfortable–and warm– clothes, fetched the mop and two plastic bags from the kitchen, and I started to clean.

The sky was gray, my sweater was gray, my mood was gray.

Could it get any worse than this?

My answer might've been no if you'd asked me that question roughly forty-eight hours ago, but that was before my sister thought me expandable.

During the day, I tidied the house, cleaned the kitchen, dusted the photo frames and did two sets of laundry,–most of it being my clothes, which wasn't surprising, Elena seemed to practically be living in the Salvatore’s residence.–

School was a solid no today, for obvious reasons. Besides, I was so behind on homework. And I’d already called in sick for work.

It was nice to just clean around the house and just be.

Around midday, after cleaning the downstairs bathroom, I felt a bad headache coming along, the pain running wild behind closed eyes.

Unfortunately, we had no pain killers on hand, most of them had expired and I'd thrown them out earlier that day.

I made my way to the kitchen, maybe if I ate something I'd feel better. I sat behind the counter with my slightly wizened apple in front of me. I didn't feel like eating it– or anything really–.

I just wanted to close my eyes and forget yesterday, and the day before that. Just to concentrate on the good things and maybe, possibly forget the gray world around me.

My throat burned–the culprate probably being dehydration–, just like the back of my eyes. It took over my mind and numbed my senses. Enabling me to feel anything but a dull aching pain. I guess in that sense the pain from the headache was preferable to the pain of my shame–and possibly regret–.

My phone vibrated. Again. It had been doing so since morning and the day before, also a few times during the night. But I hadn’t bothered to look at any of the texts.

I sighed, getting up and putting the apple back in the fridge, and decided that the living room needed a change of decor–and perhaps the windows needed to be cleaned–.

As I moved the single red armchair to the other corner, I saw something I wish I hadn't seen. Jenna's key chain. It must've fallen off sometime. I could distinctly remember her looking for it everywhere.

The key chain felt heavy in my hands, and I had no idea what to do with it. Jenna certainly didn't need it anymore.

I decided to put it back in its place near the door, if not for any reason than for the vain sense of nostalgia. This house didn't feel like my house anymore. It wasn't home. It was just a place we slept in,–mostly me, by the looks of things–.

And who was it that once said something about homes being where hearts were?

---

As the hours creeped by and the light of day gave way to darkness, my tasks came to an end as well. I would've loved to sit on the porch and enjoy the night's cool air–if I wasn't scared to leave my own house, that is–. All my homework was done, as well as the dishes, the vacuuming, dusting, scrubbing the sink, and of course the laundry that was still drying.

My self obligatory tasks were good distractions, they left me very tired– just like I wanted–, but also, there was this painful truth, that if I wouldn’t have done the chores, no one else would.

Because the only person actually living here was me now. Upstairs my phone had rang at least thrice and not once did I go up the stairs to retrieve it.

It was only seven o’clock but I was exhausted.Exhausting was good though, because then I wouldn't feel so miserable when thinking about what had happened. Exhausting was…perfect.

The doorbell rang, plucking me out of my thoughts. I froze.

Someone was behind that door.

I should open the door. But what if Damon was behind it? or Stefan or…Elena?

Nevertheless, it's better if I open the door than them–whoever they were– kicking it open.

I threw myself off the couch and ran towards the door, standing in front of it.

And then I stopped. I really didn't want to open it.

“I know you're in there, Y/N.”

I sighed, angering an Original wasn't a part of my plans for the day.

“Open this door, Y/N. I shall not ask again.”

Rebekah sounded destructive and not very interested in preserving my house.

“Why are you here?” I said, certain that the vampire could hear me through the door.

My first words for the day… How lovely.

“I shall be keeping you company today.”

The day was almost over. But I didn't tell her that.

“Perhaps tomorrow?”

“Are you rejecting my company?”

“What? No! I…”

“Then I shall be keeping you company then, believe me, I'm one of the more preferable options, and least I'm a company that is not involved with you intimately.”

That shut me up.

Rebekah tapped her perfect heels impatiently on the porch. She had a high sense of fashion. Of course she did. Being a thousand years old did that to a girl. And that was just what Rebekah was.

A girl.

“You are not invited into my house.”

“I suppose not.”

Was she giving me an out? Did that mean I could actually refuse to invite her in? Perhaps. But was it wise to do so? Was it safe to do so? Perhaps not.

I took one deep breath before breaking my bubble of ignorance that I’d built around me throughout the day.

I averted my eyes from hers before taking a few steps back and giving her the space to walk in. “Come on in then.” I murmured, my eyes glued to my feet.

Angering a vampire wasn't wise, angering an Original was pure stupidity.

She stepped in, walking past me and into the living room, before settling herself on the couch. “Come on, sit down. Unless you are planning on standing there the rest of the night.”

What was that saying about unwanted guests again?

Nevertheless, the female Original wasn't your average guest now, was she? No, no, Rebekah Mikaelson wasn't like any other person in this messed up town. She was confident, proud and of course, purly, entirely and unmistakably herself.

My school mates tried to imitate her. They failed, of course. She was the kind of person who owned whatever space she walked in–my house stood as the perfect example–.

Was it just natural to her or was it required with thousands of years of practice? I didn't know, I'm not entirely sure she did either.

I let myself fall on one of the armchairs.

“So, my brother told me about what happened to you.”

Had Klaus told her or had Elijah? I wondered.

Rebekah bit her lip, crossing one of her delicate ankles over the other. If she had wanted to say something more, she didn't. It wasn't her place to do so. However, Rebekah Mikaelason wasn't one for holding her tongue. But I didn't think our friendship–or lack thereof–was enough for her to feel particularly sorry or concerned for me.

“ Is this why you are here? Did he put you up to this?”

“Niklaus is concerned for you, but no, none of them put me up to this.”

I raised an eyebrow, like I could snatch the truth from between her carefully chosen words.

Rebekah stayed quiet for a minute too long.

“I know what it feels like to get stabbed in the back. Your sister did just that to me.”

I opened my mouth to object, she didn't let me.

“And she was not the first, Klaus has done the same over the centuries, more than I care to count.”

She sat tall while speaking about her trauma, like she was talking about something as mundane as the weather. It put me on edge. How broken could one be to even be slightly fazed in the face of such cruelty?

But she wasn't completely unfazed now, was she? Oh no, if you took the time to look closely, you could see her fingers playing with the hem of her blouse. It was a slight sign, barely visible and all too easy to miss. Not for me. Certainly not for me. It dawned on me that maybe she needed to be comforted, not give comfort.

Were vampires in the habit of going to therapy?

Unlikely, it would be too complicated.

But Rebekah Mikaelson should definitely consider it nonetheless.

Has she ever talked about the stuff that she had gone through to anyone? or did she bottle up all the anger, hurt and hatred? Hoping that it would explode when she was in the company of someone unpleasant? Someone who deserved it…?

“Should I go to therapy?”

Her sudden chuckle surprised me. She shrugged. “Honestly, I wouldn't recommend it. Not for you at least.”

“Why?”

“Therapists are disposable after we're done with them.”

“What does that even…oh”

“How do you deal with it, then? You know your own family is hurting you.” I couldn't help but ask.

“It is no easy feat, but eventually, you try to forget and look past it. Every time that Klaus has killed me– regardless of him being in the wrong or not– he and I both knew that it wouldn’t be forever. In your case however, your livelihood wasn't the first– or second– priority.”

An invisible hand clenched itself around my heart. I knew Rebekah was speaking the truth. The fact that it was painful or I wanted to avoid it, didn't make it less so. She was good at that, telling the harsh and brutal truth when people couldn’t fathom facing it themselves.

“What would you do if your family had done the same to you?” My words were barely above a whisper and I couldn’t meet her gaze. In fear that I might see things that I wouldn’t like.

Coward.

She sighed, “My family is complicated and less than functional Y/N, but through it all we still love each other for always and forever. And we would never throw each other to an almost certain death–if that would even be possible–.”

The vampire kept silent before getting up and walking towards the kitchen. I couldn't see her but I heard cabinets opening and closing.

“Your alcohol reserves are surprisingly low.”

Yes, Alaric Saltzman didn't leave much.

I finally turned around to see Rebekah with a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and two wine glasses.

“So, this is your plan, then? Drinking…wine?”

“Certainly not.” Rebekah sounded like she took offense. “We have much better vintages at our reserve.”

I had never enjoyed wine much. In fact, I hated the taste, but still I took a sip, letting the taste of berries settle on my tongue. Rebekah on the other hand, rolled her eyes after her first sip.

“If my family had done something like this to me, they…wouldn’t be my family anymore. Families protect and take care of each other when you cannot do it yourself.”

I took another sip of the wine mostly because I couldn’t find any words to form a coherent response.

“I’m not saying you should disown your family; I’m just saying that ‘forgiving and forgetting’ wouldn't do you much good either.” Rebekah took another sip, and licked her lips clean, her eyes staring into the abyss.

“I don’t think I can forget.” That ship had long since sailed.

“From what I know of you Y/N, you are meant to do more than just following orders.”

I've never thought of myself as a follow the leader type, but during the past year or two, that was exactly what I've become.

Drinking with Rebekah wasn’t something that had been on my to-do list, nor was our heart to heart. Alas, anything other than crying in bed was better, anything other than dwelling in pain.

“I’m not so sure about that.” Not anymore, at least. I said words barely above a whisper.

“I’ve lived for a thousand years Y/N, you're simply not like the coward. Except maybe in choosing your lovers–you’re really dumb in that regard.–”

Wine entered my windpipe and a violent cough ripped out of me. I placed the glass on the coffee table. “What are you talking about?” I asked, covering the lower half of my face.

Rebekah was surely amused.

“Oh come now, there is no reason to be so shy about your and my brothers’...relationship. Believe me, I've seen them make worse choices.”

Rebekah poured the rest of the wine into her glass, and then she froze.

“Your sister is coming.”

I didn’t have the time to say anything, only turning my head in the direction of the front door in panic. I couldn’t see her, not now.

“I really enjoyed talking to you,” The whisper next to my ear made the hairs at the back of my neck rise.

The lock turned, and I was alone.

---

( @dark-night-sky-99 @venomsvll @teenwolfbitches28 @haloangel391 @queenthorin1 @ollieandbonnie @hcqwxrtss123 @redwolfs-things @theweirdoleigh @mostly-meg @fandom-princess-forevermore @musically-ambiguous @isawritesstories @felinegrate @i-like-horror-andshitt @original-siphon @meyocoko @eddiebea @multistanhell @haroldpotterson @anastacia1705 @fictional-characters-i-love-them @beingsthings @kiaraandrea @hazgold @hallecarey1 @ethereal-imagies @pinknerpersona @ lil-writer-523 @malfoylaufeysonweasleybarnes) @queen-of-arda )

#the originals #the vampire diaries x #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries hc #the mikaelsons x reader #the mikaelsons #klaus mikaelson hc #klaus mikealson x reader #klaus mikaelson #klaus x y/n #klaus x reader #elijah mikealson x reader #elijah x reader #elijah mikaelson #elijah x y/n #the originals x you #the originals x y/n #the originals x reader #rebekah mikaelson

148 notes · View notes

bloodonhissocks · 5 months

Text

Charmed: S1 Ep. 20 - "The Power of Two"

I'm genuinely very impressed by how well-written this episode is. This is my first rewatch and it's been years, so I'm going off opinions and perspectives I had a long, long time ago.

One of the focuses of the episode was the awful relationship between Phoebe and Prue attributed to differing attitudes toward working and having a job. It's been brought up over and over again, sometimes more directly and aggressively than other times, that Phoebe doesn't work. There's an implication that she doesn't contribute financially, at least consistently, and that she isn't financially conscious either. I do agree with this attitude toward her; she's always wearing Prue's clothes (even says things like "hogging all the good clothes" when there were 3 Prue's) and making large purchases (when she takes self-defense classes and puts them on her credit card with the implication that she doesn't have to money to pay for it yet).

This aspect of Phoebe's character has always annoyed me. I definitely share a lot of Prue's attitude and reactions when Phoebe shows "irresponsibility." In this episode, Piper and Prue rapidly (and vocally) give her a to-do list before they leave the house in a hurry to do their jobs. The list was:

Prue

pick up dry cleaning

grocery shopping

shoe repair

mail letter

make ---------- payment (I couldn't make out the word bc it was blurry)

"we need lightbulbs"

Piper

talk to the gardener about the weeds

shopping

pay bills

call cable guy

cancel hair appointment

Honestly, if I were given this list, some of it would piss me off, like "pick up dry cleaning," "shoe repair," and "cancel hair appointment" (for someone else). Everything else sounds more reasonable to me bc it relates to the house and their living situation. However, Phoebe said something specific at 25:40, "Which is that I get absolutely no credit for all that I do around here. It's just assumed that I'll do it. Like, that crack that you made to Piper yesterday morning. 'Don't worry Piper, Phoebe'll do it. She's got time.'"

I rewound the episode to see exactly how it played out, what exactly they all said, and how they said it. It turns out that Piper said, "I am so behind. I didn't go shopping or pay the bills or call the cable guy or cancel my hair appointment." Phoebe responds, "Don't worry about it, sweetie. I'll do it." THIS is significant bc Phoebe replied to Piper without anyone asking her to pick up those tasks. However, Phoebe says it with a very specific tone. It was very automatic as if it wasn't the first time she's offered to do it, like it was frequent enough that it became a routine reaction (implication again of being consistently "useful" in other ways than financial!). PIPER stops in her tracks for a second and says with a frown on her face, "Are you sure?" to which Prue immediately follows up with, as Phoebe very accurately recalls later in the episode during their fight, "Yeah, I mean, you've got time, right?" and Phoebe has an extremely irritated look on her face. Prue doesn't even give her time to respond before moving on about Piper catching her flight. It's so key that Phoebe has more of a blank expression and tone when volunteering to pick up Piper's to-do list and she only reacts after Prue makes her comment.

At the start of the episode, I didn't think any of what I just said above ^^. I was completely understanding of Prue and Piper and how important it was for them to retain their jobs. The episode is set up very well with Prue's office scene following Phoebe's scene where she witnesses ghost crimes on Alcatraz. Prue is put under enormous pressure to keep her job, pressure that's been building for the whole season as she spends more time fighting the supernatural as a witch. This made me understand even more how significant it was for her to keep her job bc her and Piper's mentions about their jobs in jeopardy at the beginning of the episode relate to the upkeep of the house. I agreed that money was needed to keep the heat/water/electricity on, feed themselves (and their cat), and other basic living needs. Phoebe's call that interrupts Prue's lecture from Claire directly highlights their difference in values, goals, motivations, and aspirations. Prue highly values her job, which is why she's stressed from having to manage both parts of her life. Phoebe highly values her duty to protect the innocent and save lives as a witch, which is why she was practicing calling her premonition powers on command and was so passionate about researching the ghost of Alcatraz.

This divide between them is even further exacerbated when Prue gets home and sees the dishes in the sink and no groceries in the fridge while Phoebe is sitting in front of her laptop researching Alcatraz. Phoebe pissed me off here again bc I, too, would be frustrated as hell if I asked my housemate/sibling to go grocery shopping and I came home after work to an empty fridge without any ingredients to even cook. Phoebe mentions that there isn't enough money in the house account, pushing me even more to "Prue's side" about having a job bc I couldn't see how Phoebe could be concerned about something else when there was barely any food. I can't say for sure that they're in poverty or something, but my personal assumption is if you don't have enough for groceries, how are you feeding yourself?

Phoebe was also consistently lying about where she was, which ended up being the surface-level reason for her fight with Prue. Their fight was very captivating bc every time Phoebe said anything I could feel Prue's (and my) frustration and annoyance rising. Phoebe doesn't tell Prue the truth about where she was bc she knows Prue will blow up and she wants to save herself the drama, at which point I thought, "Girl, if you just admitted it, maybe it would help you both fight the ghost a bit better instead of pretending your friend saw everything. You are creating the drama, not Prue." Then, Phoebe says, "You're really mad at me bc, as far as you're concerned, I was slacking off yesterday, which is pretty much what I do every day, right?" I thought, "Yes!!! You literally crumpled the to-do list bc you decided it was ridiculous and then lied about where you were!!! The bills are not paid, there's no food in the fridge, and you avoided taking responsibility for what you DIDN'T do by bringing up 'We're not gonna prove Piper right by getting into a fight already, are we?' How are you not sorry for not doing all the things you said you were gonna do?"

But then Phoebe goes off on Prue, explaining how the root of all of this is Prue's animosity toward her for not having a real job. I even understood Prue's (implied) animosity. I, too, would be stressed about having to make sure I have a job to make money to "take care of my family," especially if one of my family members who lived with me didn't have a job. I would feel responsible for them and that is one of Prue's core characteristics. Phoebe's mention of Prue's underhanded comment about Phoebe having free time was the turning point where I started to understand more of Phoebe's POV. It's implied that Phoebe does all the housework such as grocery shopping, vacuuming the house, and waiting all day for the cable guy to show up. She even mutters, "I'm not even married and I'm already a housewife," after Prue and Piper leave the house. I admit that I rolled my eyes when she said that and thought, "Prue and Piper are literally carrying you financially and you can't help them out?" That was one of my many many mistakes and I realized that I was shitting on Phoebe for "not being grateful," yikes. I even downplayed and diminished the sheer amount of work that a housewife does just bc she's "not earning money."

My solidarity with Prue character isolated me from Phoebe and everything she did, everything she was passionate about, seemed childish and immature to me, and the fact that I felt that way personally speaks a lot about how realistic these characters and their relationships are (in my opinion). Phoebe's power fits so well with her emotional personality and her intrinsic desire to help in her own way. She may not pay the bills, but she cares about people outside of her immediate family and can't understand why people, for example, Prue, might prioritize their jobs and careers more than helping others. I think it's just a misunderstanding in which Prue and Phoebe live in their different worlds as a result of their different personalities, so it can be difficult to understand where the other person is coming from and how they feel.

Anyways, I already wrote so much lmao, I'll stop here. I'm ashamed of how I viewed Phoebe for so long. I made this post about 2 months ago when I first started rewatching Charmed and I believe that if I watched the first 3 episodes again after writing this post, I would most likely have a more informed opinion about some of the points I made. I feel very judgemental and I am reminded that there's always another perspective. I'm really glad that I kept going and pushed past my initial discomfort. This is a wonderful show and, again, I LOVE the writing and consistency in characterization in this episode.

I wrote this on Reddit originally, but I wanted to share it here too because I originated from Tumblr lol. It feels like coming home.

#charmed #season 1 #s1 ep 20 #the power of two #prue halliwell #phoebe halliwell #piper halliwell #amazing characterization and writing #mkwg4271

8 notes · View notes

untruthsteller · 1 year

Text

A Plea for Help (So close!)

It's time for that one kind of post, you know the one. It starts with "I hate to have to do this but..." And it ends with a G/F/M or someone's cxshxpp.

If you're broke as hell, me too bro, keep scrolling. But if you're setting aside for mutual aid every month, we’d love if you'd hear us out. Under a Readmore.

tl; dr: I can’t afford my bills this month due to chronic unemployment and waiting for a response from the SSA about disability. my payment info is at the bottom of the post, as well as information about art commissions. As of Feb. 23, I'm only $43 away! I really appreciate all the help i've gotten so far.

I'm Clyde. Nice to meet you. I'm a 24 y/o white transman. I go into it more below, but I deal with depression, anxiety, a possible dissociative disorder, and psychotic symptoms. I also had a spinal fusion surgery when I was 17 which had to be revised twice and never healed quite right, giving me some serious chronic pain. Let me tell you about my situation a bit.

Last year, I had to leave the longest job I've held to date. I liked it, but between my own paranoia, physical issues, and moving out on top of it, it was impossible to keep working there. Since then, not only has my car become undriveable, but my mental health has continued to decline.

Last July, I filed for disability. They said it takes ~8 months. I'm expecting a response in March or April. I'm also expecting a denial. I can only work a maximum of 20 hours a week and have a lifting restriction of 35lbs. I can't do call center work, I'm unskilled, got my GED and didn't finish my associates. I also experience migraines and vertigo that make me a working liability, since I might fall over on the job. But as we all know, that doesn’t mean I can’t work!

Other factors keeping me from employment:

agoraphobia

chronic pain due to a spinal fusion surgery that had to be revised twice

my car is broken down and it costs ~$650 to get it operable again (keyword operable. Not safe-to-drive.)

i have to bike to and from work, which cuts into the 20 hours a week I can work and causes me significant pain

I'm in the process of talking to a therapist about a possible dissociative disorder and being plural.

dissociation makes me fuzzy (i don't experience full blackouts, but i have to search for memories and sometimes it feels more like I'm watching from a different perspective)

I'm in a pickle because I need *$730 a month* to make rent and bills. I don't qualify for SNAP in my state because my roommates make too much money, regardless of how much food they're willing to share with me in a month. *The $730 doesn't include food money.* Ideally I'll be able to take a bus to a food bank, but given how often I'm able to leave the house and the fact I can't make the fare means that not only will the trip take ~4 hours, but I also can't afford it.

I do have some things going for me. I'm still on my parents insurance, they pay my phone bill, and occasionally they're able to send me money. They're in debt though, and they really can't afford to be supporting me like this.

So let's put it on the table.

This month, I've made partial payments on things. I still need $453.98 to pay my bills. I am begging you to consider sending even a little my way, as every bit helps. I'm willing to talk about my experiences with you further if you reach out.

Lastly, my art blog is @tellerofuntruths

I have old commission rates up there, but ignore them. I'm doing special discounted rates, shoot me a message to this blog, untruthsteller and we can work something out.

Thank you very much,

Clyde (and company)

$410/$453

Vxnmo: untruthstell (without the cat icon)

Cxshxpp: clythomas

Chime: (ask)

Zxllx: (ask)

#mutual aid #signal boost #queer mutual aid #disabled crowdfund #share your dollar

24 notes · View notes

the-era-of-shadow · 9 months

Text

In Regards to a So-called "Twisted Maiden"

Written by Black Shadow & Ash Rose

Cover Art by Ash Rose

THIS STORY CONTAINS: Swearing, Mild gore description, Character Death

Notes: Happy 3rd anniversary to The Twisted Mystery of Wilma Breviar! (technically chapter 1 of the original version but it counts) To celebrate the occasion, We've made a new side story, giving another perspective to the tale! Who's perspective, you ask? You'll see if you keep on reading.... ;]

The planet of Aerth before and after the Shattered World Crisis are not exactly the same. Certain chunks of land had found themselves in an altered spot from where they had once been after the world was put back together.

A notable example of this is the nation of Mobotropolis.

Before the world had broken apart in late 2007, the land that the nation had stood on was an archipelago. A very large archipelago, but still an archipelago nonetheless. But a year later when the world had finally been restored, the land that made up Mobotropolis was now suddenly connected to the lands of the United Federation and Holoska!

While it was a shock to the citizens of the three nations, the change in land placement really didn't make as many changes to the world as one would expect, given that the three nations were already semi-unified with one another via the United Nations organization. In fact, the event was deemed to be one worthy of celebration!

One of the ways that this celebration had taken place was the building of a strip mall that served as an intermingling point between the Mobotropolis town of Spiral Hill and the United Federation town of Starlight City. Being given the name of "[The] StarSpiral Mall", businesses and business startups from both towns were invited to set up shop within.

One of these shops was a pawn shop that was originally made by a pair of pigeon mobians; brothers Reginald and Benson Cadere. They were both rather young at the time of the shop's founding, being 24 and 23 years old respectively. Growing up in the small village of Spiral Hill as immigrants from Spagonia meant that the two often couldn't afford the things they wanted, and sometimes even needed. Their parents lived paycheck to paycheck, and sometimes they would need to find side jobs just to be able to pay for both their bills and their children's needs. Neither of them wanted to live that life anymore, so once they had both graduated from college, they agreed to create a business together, so that they would now be able to call the shots on the money they would have.

A year went by, and the pawn shop was a big success. Benson very much enjoyed running the shop. He liked going out and finding new rare and strange items to sell, he liked talking to the customers, he even liked sorting through business emails. Reginald on the other hand… Was not as invested in the shop. During the year that had passed, the extra money and time away from studying made Reginald realize that business was not his passion after all, but instead, his passion was photography. Benson supported his big brother in this passion, and set aside revenue from the shop to be saved up for getting Reginald a camera.

Soon enough, the camera and related equipment was bought, and Reginald finally moved out of the pawn shop building, ready to travel the world and capture all sorts of exotic sights.

Despite the distance, the two did still talk often through text and calls. This is how Benson had found out that Reginald had decided to come back into town for a while, and that while he was traveling about Starlight City, he had run into a beautiful maiden that he intended to take on a date. Benson was happy to hear this news, and offered Reginald to come by the pawn shop and say hello.

But Reginald would never do such.

Only almost three years after the pawn shop was founded, one of its founders was… gone.

The maiden that he had gone out with was an infamous one.

Wilma Brevair, a fox mobian known by many for the vast list of men that she had dated, and then had disappeared shortly after.

It would seem that Reginald was, sadly, one of these many men.

Benson only found this out via the news a few days later, he had already been too late to even possibly save his beloved older brother.

But…

It wasn't too late to avenge him.

For a few days straight, Benson had abruptly closed the pawn shop in order to orchestrate his plan of attack against Ms Brevair. He looked through piles and piles of items he and Reginald had collected to be sold in the shop, trying desperately to find whatever he could use as a weapon against the woman who he very much believed had killed his brother. As he did, he ended up finding a strange necklace that had wound up in the pile of items. It was huge, and very heavy, and the center of the charm almost seemed to glow slightly. Benson put it aside to sell it later, figuring that it wouldn't serve any use in his revenge, but could serve to help him stay afloat financially after the days of being closed.

Eventually, he was able to fashion a sort of dagger out of various items in the store - but by the time he had done such, it was very late into the night, and he would unfortunately have to wait a little longer to get his revenge. He took this truth in stride, and headed off to bed, telling himself that he would finally confront Wilma in the morning.

It didn't matter what would happen after that. It didn't matter if Benson went to court, it didn't matter if he went to jail, it didn't even matter if he was given the death sentence. Reginald didn't deserve the fate he was given. It wasn't right that he was gone and Wilma was still alive. Benson would make it right. He swore that he would.

But he would wake up much sooner than planned.

As he groggily pulled himself out of bed, Benson noticed that the necklace he had found earlier was now on his doorstep. Even though he remarked to himself how classic-horror-movie-like it was, he approached the doorway.

Something compelled him to take the necklace and wear it around his own neck, despite how large and hefty it was. The charm dragged on the floor as he tried to get some sort of handle on the situation.

But suddenly… A thought had come to him.

"... Could it be…?" He muttered. "Even the spirits beyond are begging me to put an end to that twisted maiden's reign of terror…?"

But as those words left his mouth, he immediately began to feel extremely disoriented. His vision quickly faded, and he had fallen on the floor in a matter of seconds.

Before he completely lost consciousness, he heard a voice speak. It was dark, foreboding, and worst of all, passive-aggressive.

"Wrong answer."

———————————————————————————————

A few minutes later, the pigeon's eyes slowly, but surely opened up once more, and when they did, they saw a pair of ghostly women, looking down at it in concern.

"Hey! Are you all good or do ya need a bit?" The ghost on the left asked, peering over the body in a nonchalant way, despite her tone of voice.

"I think we might have to give it some time, Mama… The way he went about all this was… Very risky. Impulsive, even…" The ghost on the right proclaimed, looking to the ghost on the left.

"Heh. Guess we have a knack for that, hmm?" The ghost on the left remarked, now turning her gaze to the other ghost.

"I don't think I would call it a "knack", given that such impulsive behavior was the cause of our demises…" The ghost on the right argued as she placed her hands on her hips to emphasize her pouty tone.

"... Yeah." The ghost of the left sighed in defeat.

"Sendrir… Tea… Thank you for your concern." A voice said to them via the pigeon's body as it began to stand up. "But I promise you both, I am perfectly fi-" Suddenly, the sound of a crack was heard. Immediately, the pigeon's body hunched over, hand placed on the edge of a nearby table. "ine…" The voice concluded through gritted teeth.

"Wow! You've been in that body for a solid minute and a half and you've already thrown its back out!" Sendrir loudly remarked in a teasing manner, grinning widely as she peered over him once again.

"How… did you manage to throw out the back of a twenty-something year old..?" Tea added, placing her ghostly hand on his shoulder in consolidation despite her confusion.

"This amulet was tailor made for a body much larger than this one… It is not my fault that by comparison it is incredibly heavy…" Doom grumbled as he tried to keep themself stabilized within this body.

"Well, if that is what you want, then may I ask what your plan is from here?" Tea responded quite genuinely, quickly backing away from Doom in order to give them space.

"Oh yeah, that is a good question!" Sendrir agreed. "Like, how long do you even plan on being in that body, anyways?" She then questioned, pointing to the pigeon mobian body that Doom was currently inhabiting.

"As long as I need to. This is all for Widow's protection. If I had not stepped in, she would have been attacked." Doom explained quite bluntly as he finally got himself standing up straight once more.

"Guess that's true. She seems to be the last of us OG leaders still kickin, since I heard from Lillian that it seems like Death and Vladdie kicked the bucket too a few years back. She can't end up like the rest of us." Sendrir elaborated, leaning back through the air, still carrying on her nonchalant tone - though perhaps now in order to hide her grief.

"Exactly." Doom said, nodding.

Suddenly, Tea let out a disappointed sigh.

"What's wrong kiddo?" Sendrir inquired, sitting up to face her daughter.

"If only I had a body to possess like Doom… Then I could make him some tea… Help him acclimate into this body…" Tea lamented, looking into the distance.

"Oh yeah, Doom can't drink the ghost realm tea now that he's in a body again. Should've figured that'd be the case…" Sendrir remarked with a shrug.

"Hmph… There must be a coffee shop or a restaurant open around here somewhere…" Doom surmised, scratching his chin to signal them thinking as he began to pace about the room.

"Or at least a fast food joint!" Sendrir mentioned.

"I hope we don't have to settle for that…" Tea muttered to herself, wincing at the thought.

"What time is it, anyway? Surely it can't be that early…" Doom wondered, stopping his actions and turning to face the two ghostly women in his company.

"... 1:49 am. 5 hours from sunrise." Tea answered, looking at and pointing to the clock on the nightstand next to the bed.

"... Of course." Doom groaned, rolling his eyes.

"Fast food it is, then!" Sendrir exclaimed. She could tell that her statement brought annoyance to Tea and to Doom to a lesser extent. "Unless you two have any other ideas?"

"I'm sure this person has a fridge, no?" Tea suggested, seemingly bewildered by how they hadn't thought of that before.

"Ah. We really should check that first and foremost… Thank you, Tea." Doom responded happily, opening the door to leave the bedroom.

"You're welcome!" Tea replied as she and Sendrir followed him from behind.

———————————————————————————————

As it turns out, there was quite a lot of food in the fridge, and more in the freezer above it. With it being so early in the morning at the time, Doom simply grabbed one of the microwave meals out of the freezer and heated it up to eat. Tea of course had her complaints about how such a thing wasn't good for the body, even saying that it would've been better just to get fast food, but Doom promised her that he would make something more nutritious later into the day.

But after opening up the pawn shop at seven in the morning, Doom realized that he would not be able to keep that promise. Almost immediately, customers began to come through, making Doom have to always be alert and ready to assist at a moment's notice. It was no wonder then that Benson had so many of those microwave meals readily available within the freezer, between helping customers with finding items within the store, to checking customers out, to handling trade-ins, and keeping track of the money in the cash register, there simply was no time to make a "full" fresh meal! At least, certainly not for breakfast.

But things began to die down around noon. Not as many customers were entering the shop by then. Finally, it would seem, Doom had a moment to breathe.

"About time! Things weren't this hectic even back during the revolution on PetalBloom for fucks sake!" Sendrir exclaimed in an exasperated tone, lounging her ghostly form upon one of the shelves attached to the shop's walls.

"Really? From the stories you've told me, I always imagined it to be far more of a rush than this." Tea questioned curiously, "sitting" on the same shelf that Sendrir laid on.

"Heh. Guess I do like to over exaggerate things to ya, kiddo…" Sendrir remarked with a sigh.

"Hmph... If you ask me, I'd say it is rather even." Doom interjected into the conversation, calmly wiping down the checkout counter with a relaxed smile. "You both were a bit late to the whole affair anyways, so you do not necessarily have much ground to stand on, one could easily surmise…" He added in a joking tone as they went over to the sink to ring out the towel he had been using for cleaning. At the very least, that and the fridge were just right behind the countertop. That made things more manageable for Doom. Not to mention how right across from the fridge were the steps leading up to the bedroom. Everything was essentially right within reach. As they should be.

"Yeah, by like, a few hours?? A day if you don't wanna count until I actually showed my ass up at Lillian's place?? Sorry that my dad wanted to keep me from doing basically anything other than run his stupid fuckin' restaurant!" Sendrir argued, her tone just as equally laid-back and non serious as Doom's.

"Was I even born yet when you two first met?? I don't remember!" Tea inquired, an amused giggle coming from her as a backing track to every word she spoke.

"Of course you don't remember. You were an infant." Doom answered simply, turning to face her as he was looking through the cupboards for any food that could be prepared.

The two ladies immediately began to laugh hysterically. They probably would have caused every single item on the shelf they were on to come crashing to the floor if it weren't for the fact that their ghostly bodies were unable to interact with physical objects.

But as quickly as the laughing started, it had stopped, for there was once again a customer. Four of them to be exact.

A tiger mobian with brown fur, yellow eyes, and very short hair - a lemur mobian with light gray fur, purple eyes, and big fluffy hair done up in a pair of buns - a wolf mobian with pale yellow fur, her eyes too narrowed and hidden in the shadow of her mask to see their eye color, and her hair in a ponytail - and a beetle mobian with light blue skin and an iridescent outer shell that resembled neck-length hair who had pink eyes. One after another, they all filed into the pawn shop and began to look around, frequently gazing over the sections of the small shop that was nearby the windows.

"Is there anything I can help you four with?" Doom asked, quickly returning to pretending that he was Benson.

"Nah! Just searchin’!" The lemur responded without even turning to face him, her tone being very informal, and her voice being quite… loud. Like Sendrir's, in a way, but far less charming than when she does it.

"Awww… You think I'm charming~?" Sendrir teasingly inquired, teleporting herself from laying on the shelf to leaning up against Doom.

"In a way, yes. Save your flirtatious flattery until after work, please." Doom replied plainly through the hivemind, trying to hide his blushing cheeks.

"Ah… Mom, Lord Doom, may I ask a question of you two?" Tea soon asked as she watched the four teenagers wander aimlessly about the store.

"What's up kiddo?" Sendrir replied, perking her head up towards Tea as she took note of her serious tone.

"If I remember correctly, you two told me that Widow's disguise form was that of a purple and pink fox mobian, yes? Often seen wearing "old fashioned" dresses and carrying a parasol that conceals her trusty blade?" Tea inquired further.

"Yeah, you've got that description down pat, hun. Why? … You think you see her?" Sendrir responded, flying through the air to relocate herself next to Tea instead of Doom, so she could get the same view Tea had been getting.

"Indeed I do. But not only that. I… hypothesize that these visitors of ours are following her for some reason. They are not here to actually buy anything, but to simply make their attempts at stalking unknown…" Tea elaborated, gesturing to the group of teenaged mobians below her and Sendrir in distress.

Doom couldn't help but overhear the conversation between the two ladies and looked out the window that was nearest to him. Just like that, there she was, the one the Aerthlings call "Wilma Brevair" - Black Doom's beloved wife, Black Widow, walking down the street with her son - Doom's son, Garrick. As the group of teenagers looked around the shop, they would take turns at seeing where Widow would go. Their gaze was obvious to Doom. A hunter's gaze, tracking down their prey. A million thoughts began to rush into Doom's mind in a single moment. He has to stop them, he can't let them hurt her. But he can't, too many people might see whatever it is they might do. If he attacked the girls in this body he would surely be arrested, if he left this body to try to possess one of the girls, Benson could very well run off and hurt Widow instead. He can't possess all of them, not even with Sendrir and Tea's help would he have enough. Something would be loose, someone could get away, something would go wrong. It was hopeless, wasn't it? He couldn't do anything. Just like back then. Fighting Shadow. They should've never fought Shadow. He was too wrapped up in his emotions to put up a proper fight. He was too emotional to realize he should've never fought it at all. Too broken. Too shocked. He took out all the hurt and anger and heartbreak he felt and had used Shadow as a punching bag because Gerald had died long ago. He never actually wanted to hurt Shadow, looking back. It was just too much, it was all just too much. It's too much again, he felt trapped again. But now on top of everything else he also so desperately was trying to get a fucking hold of himself so they didn't ruin everything again like last time-

"HEY!! IT. WILL. BE. FINE!!!" Sendrir suddenly yelled, hovering over Doom in a manner that highly suggested that if she still had a physical body, she would be shaking Doom at that very moment.

"I-I have a plan, if you're willing to hear it…" Tea added, trying to get things back on track.

Doom took a moment to respond, startled by Sendrir and still haunted by intrusive thoughts of how everything will go wrong no matter what. But after about thirty seconds, he nodded.

"Take deep breaths, bud…" Sendrir muttered to Doom in an attempt to comfort him, placing her hands on his shoulders the best she could.

"We might not be able to stop them entirely… But we can take measures to slow these girls down in their pursuit. Try striking up a conversation…" Tea calmly suggested. "See that one there?" She then pointed at the wolf mobian, "What is that strange mechanism that she's got with her? Ask her about it. It seems like it would be complex enough to hold a decent conversation about it, no?" Doom noticed what Tea was talking about. Being held by the wolf mobian in a manner similar to that of a cane at the present moment, she had on her a device that resembled a sniper rifle, though it differed from a usual sniper in the fact that it had no scope - and had a pair of matching half circles towards the front of the weapon that looked as if it contained some sort of strange energy within it. He couldn't help but be intrigued by it, and that intrigue, in an odd way, helped him calm down.

"Pardon me, miss, but may I ask about that device you have with you…?" He asked of the wolf mobian.

"Are you… talking to me…?" The wolf questioned, seemingly a rather shy and reserved type of person - to which Doom could relate.

"Indeed I am… I didn't mean to bother you, I was just curious about it… I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like it." Doom answered in a calm tone, causing the wolf mobian to seemingly trust him enough to turn around to face him directly, rather than looking off to the side like she had been before - probably having her eye on Widow…

A success…

"This is my wispon… I use it to utilize the powers of my wisps while in combat…" She explained quite simply, presenting the "wispon" to Doom's gaze in a manner that seemed rather prideful, in an innocent sort of way. Like a young child showing a parent their drawing.

"What… is a wisp?" Doom asked, both to continue the conversation and out of genuine curiosity, not knowing what such a thing could be.

"Oh, I forgot that not everyone knows what they are…" The wolf remarked to herself, seeming to be embarrassed as she looked away again. But before Doom's nerves could get worked up again, she looked back at him. "Wisps are small little creatures that can fuse with a person, or a specially made object like this wispon here, to grant them a certain power up depending on what kind of wisp is used… I-I'd show you what it looks like, but I don't have my wisps with me right now..! They're getting treated for an illness they all came down with recently, a-at a clinic in the main part of Starlight City…! Doctor Ezrieal Clysdale i-is the name of the doctor that runs the place- I-I'm sure that they'd be willing to tell you more if you paid them a visit…!" She elaborated, seeming to become more excited as the conversation went on. It was clear to Doom that this was something that the girl was rather passionate about. He wanted to ask more. Honestly, not even for the plan anymore. He liked seeing the passion in the wolf's eyes and hearing it in her voice as she spoke. It reminded him of themself.

But despite how much either one of them wanted to keep talking, the wolf was pulled away by her friends, and the four of them left the store.

"Hey. You did a good job. As I said, my plan wasn't going to stop them completely… I knew that. But we slowed them down. We did what we could… I know Widow would understand if she knew." Tea said to Doom, appearing behind him as she seemingly could already tell that Doom was beginning to succumb to his thoughts again.

"The kid's right, you know. Sometimes life just puts ya in the shitter, and the best you can do doesn't feel like it's enough. But it is. Because it's your best. And you can't give any better than your best." Sendrir chimed in, sitting down on the floor behind the counter. Doom slumped down and joined her, grasping the legs of this pigeon body within its arms.

"I think you should close up shop for now… Give yourself some time to rest, okay?" Tea suggested, making her way over to the counter.

Doom nodded, getting up to do such.

"Think you can let Tea occupy that body, maybe so she can brew you some of her namesake?" Sendrir added, still sitting on the floor.

"Uhm… No offense Mama but… We can't possess non Black Arms bodies like that. We don't have the capability, I'm afraid." Tea interjected, sounding rather sullen, as she did indeed like the thought.

"Dammit." Sendrir cursed, "Well, make yourself some tea anyway. You need it." She then said, rephrasing her previous statement to Doom.

"I will…" Doom muttered, finally returning to the countertop after lingering upon the action of flipping the store sign for a prolonged amount of time.

"I can help guide you through the process if you'd like." Tea offered, appearing at Doom's side, arm wrapped around his shoulder.

"I'd like that…" He responded, accepting the offer.

———————————————————————————————

About fifteen minutes had passed since Doom had closed up the shop. The tea kettle on the stove was just starting to quietly whistle, communicating that the water inside was almost ready, but not quite completely at the exact temperature needed. The tea bag was placed on the checkout counter, ready to be placed in the water once it was hot enough. It was a moment of calm that Doom very much needed, but was soon interrupted by a knock at the front door.

"Geez… Don't people know how to read signs??" Sendrir scoffed, rolling her eyes in annoyance as she was once again laying on one of the shop's shelves.

Doom was just about to agree with her, but when he turned to see who it was knocking at the door, he immediately realized that it was his very own beloved wife Widow, and their son Garrick.

Looking down from their spots among the shelves, Sendrir and Tea quickly noticed this too - and also noticed that Doom was unsure of how to approach the situation.

"Uhm… Keep going with the disguise for now?? See what she's here for and then we can maybe figure things out in more detail afterwards??" Tea hesitantly suggested, also unsure of what would be the best approach.

Doom silently nodded, agreeing to the idea, and opened the front door to allow Widow and Garrick to enter.

"Please pardon my interruption - I know that the sign says that you're closed right now… But I fear that my dear son and I are being stalked, and I don't feel safe to go back to my residence at the current moment…" Widow explained in a hush tone, constantly looking behind her as she spoke.

"I see. Please do come in." Doom quickly responded, gesturing the two to step further within the shop as he closed and subsequently locked the door behind them.

"Oh thank you, you're too kind." Widow remarked with a smile, closing her parasol and placing it at the foot of the checkout counter. "I don't know why… but I just had the feeling I'd be safe in here… I suppose I was right!" She added.

It would seem that she had no idea that the pigeon mobian that stood before her at this moment was her late husband. Although he had the thought of telling her outright for a moment, the thought went away as soon as it came - Doom worrying that if he did try to explain the situation to Widow, she would think that they were lying to her in order to trick it in some way. For now, he decided to continue the facade, and leave it up to Widow herself to possibly discover the truth. After all, all that truly mattered to Doom was that Widow was safe from harm.

Now that she was, for now, safe - Doom began to allow himself to get a proper look at Widow's mobian disguise. A fox mobian with deep purple fur that extended out into hair that was pulled into a low ponytail save for her bangs which gently laid up on one side of her face. Her irises were the vibrant bright purple with an outer ring of hot pink that Doom had always known and loved, but her sclera were white now instead of yellow, and her other three eyes were nowhere to be seen - which is understandable given how mobians always have only two eyes. Seemingly to compensate for losing over fifty percent of her eyes in the disguise, Widow wore a pair of large round glasses. They suited her quite well. She also wore a long pale lilac dress that had a white collar at the chest area, a matching lilac bowtie that wrapped around the collar of the dress, a maroon coat over the dress, a pair of short mid-heeled boots that matched both the dress and coat in color, and a belt wrapped around her waist that pulled the entire outfit together. She was absolutely gorgeous.

"Ah, pardon me, but I do believe the water in your tea kettle is ready." Widow informed Doom as the now loud and clear sound of the kettle whistling became perceived by him.

"Right, of course. Let me go deal with that real quick…" Doom replied, his cheeks beginning to burn up from embarrassment, which was only made worse by the sound of Sendrir cackling like a maniac in response to the situation, even if it was quickly stopped by Tea.

Even if it was brief, the sudden sound echoed into Widow's mind through the hivemind, and she began to look around for what the source might have been. But when she didn't find anything or anyone that the laughter could have come from, she ended up just assuming it was her imagination and shrugged it off, going back to finding herself and Garrick chairs to sit in.

Soon enough, the tea had been prepared, being portioned out into three cups, one placed on the employee side of the checkout counter for Doom, and two placed on the customer side of the countertop for Widow and Garrick.

"I can't help but notice how… familiar you seem to me." Widow suddenly exclaimed once everything had been set.

"Is… Is that so?" Doom inquired, taking a sip of tea to hide his cheeks, which were once again blushing.

"Oh, but of course! Now that I think about it, I do believe I went out on a date with your brother recently, if I'm remembering correctly, that is… Does the name "Reginald Cadere" ring a bell to you?" Widow responded, once again completely unaware of Doom's presence, despite what seemed like an indication of her knowledge coming from her just a moment ago. She innocently took a sip of tea.

"O-oh… Yes, that would indeed be my brother…!!" Doom awkwardly answered, having almost forgotten for a moment there that he was disguised at all, let alone who's body it was that he was possessing.

"Well, my apologies for his disappearance… I'm sure that must be hard on you…" Widow said, a gesture that Doom could tell wasn't genuine - she just didn't want him to suspect her of anything. Wow, she really was unaware of his presence, huh…?

"Oh, don't apologize! I-It's not like you're the one responsible!" Doom replied, trying his best to keep the conversation going as if they were Benson.

But the response caused Widow to tense up slightly, clearly misinterpreting him to have been accusing her.

"Real smooth." Sendrir quietly remarked in a sarcastic tone, as if Doom wasn't embarrassed enough on his own.

"Thank you for the tea, Mister!" Garrick exclaimed, bringing the conversation back on track as he happily sipped from his cup.

"Oh, why thank you, young man…!" Doom replied, happily taking the opportunity for a new conversation topic.

"I must agree with you, Garrick. The tea is simply wonderful… It reminds me of the tea an old friend of mine would make for me and my late husband…!" Widow added, taking in the soft steam that wafted from the cup in her hands.

"Is that so…?" Doom inquired, hoping that going further down the road of reminiscing might lead them to a point where Widow would realize who she was talking to as he took another sip of tea.

"Indeed… She had gotten swept up in that alien invasion just like my husband… She had been with her mother at the time, who I was also quite close to… I miss all three of them dearly…" Widow elaborated, her tone now achingly sincere, especially given how the spirits of those she missed were right there in the room with her - but she just didn't know it. "I've been dealing with the whole grieving thing a lot better as of late… It was hard to not feel lonely when it was just Garrick and I in a little apartment in Westopolis… But now that we're living with a new friend of ours in Starlight City, things seem a lot less bleak…" She continued after having had another sip of tea.

"Well that's great to hear…!" Doom replied, feeling genuinely happy to hear that things were going well for his beloved. "Who is this new friend of yours, if I may ask?" He then asked, quite curious to know.

"Ah! Their name is Doctor Ezrieal Clysdale! They run the wisp clinic in Ebony Avenue - though, there aren't any wisp clinics in all of Starlight City aside from theirs, so I probably shouldn't need to specify so much! … They really are such a kind, smart, and talented fellow…" Widow answered happily, pausing in between her sentences to keep on drinking her cup of tea.

"Well funny enough, this isn't the first time I'm hearing of this "Clysdale" person today!" Doom exclaimed, by this point just letting the conversation flow naturally.

"Is that so?" Widow replied, her eyes sparkling with intrigue as she took another sip.

"This young lady that had come into the shop earlier with her friends had told me that her own wisps were being treated at their clinic." Doom answered. "... I might have been seeing things incorrectly, but now that I'm putting the pieces together, I think that the girl and her friends were the ones that had been stalking you, unfortunately…" They then added, concluding in his mind that Widow deserved to have such information with her. It could serve quite useful if those girls decided to keep going at it, he figured.

"Oh goodness…! I'm not sure what ol' Ezzy could do…. aside from banning them from visiting the clinic in the future, but I'll let them know that." Widow responded, clearly considering the thought for a moment of this "Ezrieal" person actually being able to do more than just a simple ban.

Who was this "Ezrieal Clysdale" anyway? Doom wondered. How could he not, now that they had been brought up to him twice in the same day. Were they a regular mobian that Widow had either tricked or threatened into letting her live with them? A mobian that she had genuinely befriended, meaning that they were either slated for assimilation or had already been assimilated into the Black Arms? Or maybe… perhaps… A fellow refugee Black Arms? At first, Doom had dismissed the thought, not remembering anyone outside of Widow, Garrick, and Tea's partner Justice that had survived the failed invasion of Aerth back in 2005. But then they remembered about the New Black Comet that had been piloted by Black Death and Vladmira. When Sendrir and Tea ran into the spirits of Death and Vladmira some time ago, they had found out through them that the New Black Comet had been destroyed by the Aerthling government, and that the number of survivors from it were likely in the single digits. But that still meant that there were survivors. Could it be that perhaps this "Ezrieal Clysdale" was in fact one of these survivors…? Doom hoped to get the chance to one day find out.

"Speaking of Ez, I'm sure that they're just worried sick waiting for us…!" Widow said as she got up from her seat, having finished her tea.

"Awww… Are we really leaving so soon, Mama?" Garrick questioned, looking up at Widow with big ol puppy dog eyes.

"I'm sure we'll come back here another day if you really want to, okay?" Widow told him, gently patting him on the head.

"Are you sure it's safe for you to be leaving now?" Doom questioned in concern, grabbing Widow her parasol despite his words beckoning her to stay.

"It's been about thirty minutes now, I'm sure those girls have given up and gone home by now…" Widow surmised, gracefully taking her parasol from Doom's hands.

"Ah… I see." For a moment, Doom felt saddened by the fact that Widow was leaving so soon, and that she had never realized that it was Doom that she had been talking with in that time. But he thought it over for a moment, and revised his tune to a happier melody. They had found out that Widow was doing relatively well for herself, living close by to his current location, and was living with a potential survivor of the destruction of the New Black Comet. That amounts to a rather successful day, in Doom's eyes.

"I can't help but linger on her comment about the tea…" Tea mumbled joyfully, appearing at Doom's side once Widow and Garrick had left.

"I did a pretty good job following your instructions, it would seem." Doom responded feeling rather proud of himself.

"Indeed you did!"

"So, what's the plan now, Doomie-boy?" Sendrir questioned, appearing at the side of Doom that was opposite to Tea.

"... I will open the shop back up for the rest of the day. During the night, I think I will look further into Widow's current living situation, given how she so kindly gave me the street that she lives on. What happens next… Should be left to a future version of myself to plan for." Doom answered, finishing the last of his tea while he cleaned up the checkout countertop.

———————————————————————————————

Surprisingly enough, after all that had occurred in the early part of the day, the rest of it had gone over quite smoothly. There hadn’t even been any complaints about Doom closing the store for the day about an hour earlier than when Benson would.

For this, Doom was incredibly grateful. He would be needing all of the energy that can be provided to them for his planned midnight outing.

The clock on the nightstand read 12:30 in the morning when Doom had awoken - a bit later than he had planned for, but with something like this, he figured that there was no true reason to be so ridged with such things as “scheduling”, for the night was his completely.

The trip to Widow’s residence was a bit harder than he had anticipated. Even with the street lights that dotted the roads, it was not very easy to clearly see what was road and what was sidewalk in the darkness of the night, let alone the words on the street signs. This mortal mobian body was clearly not equipped for seeing in the dark, and despite Doom’s godly nature, there was not much that he could do to remedy that fact.

Despite this, he kept to his determination and pushed through these struggles, eventually finding himself on Ebony Avenue, just as he wanted. But his search was not over just yet, no no, they still needed to figure out which one of these buildings was the one that his beloved wife called home.

Choosing to inspect the buildings on what he perceived as the right side of the street first by sneaking his way through the backyards, he at first had no results. But as he switched to the other side of the street, he noticed a building that still had some of its lights on, namely the room that was closest to the front porch of the building, which caught Doom’s attention. Walking closer to the building revealed more of its details, which were illuminated by the lights of the rooms within. The most striking of these details was a sign that hung above the roof of the front porch that read “Doctor Clysdale’s Wisp Care Clinic”.

This was the place.

Doom began to slowly walk down one of the sides of the building, looking through the windows for any sign of Widow.

Soon enough, he did indeed find his beloved, sleeping comfortably in one of the rooms that did not have the lights on, towards the rear end of the building. She was still in her mobian body, probably for just in case there was some sort of emergency where she would not have the time to transform, or if there were to be a break in. Regardless, she still looked absolutely stunning, the soft smile on her face as she slumbered making Doom feel the same warmth that she probably felt underneath the massive blanket that laid upon her.

But just as Doom began to find himself enveloped by the serenity of this view, they began to hear a pair of voices. At first he became concerned that the two that these voices originated from were going to awake Widow with how loud they were being, but then he quickly realized that the conversation was being broadcasted to Doom via the hivemind. Surely then this conversation had to be important, no? Doom wondered to himself. The hivemind must know something that I do not…

“Okay, excuse me for intruding, but… I’m pretty sure you told me earlier that you were just making a phone call? Why are you in your disguise form?”

“I couldn’t get my voice to sound correct while being in my true form. I know, I know, waste of chaos energy - that’s just how it is.”

“Okay..? What’s up with the defensiveness?”

“Oh it’s nothing, truly. I just figured that I’d get my explanation out of the way right off the bat, since I know how much you love seeing yourself as the authority on all things chaos control.”

“The… what-? You know what, I am an authority now. An authority on telling you to go to bed before your damn temper gets any thinner.”

“Still haven’t made the phone call yet.”

“Why not??”

“I can’t do it with you nagging at me, obviously.”

“Wasn’t trying to nag you, but okay. Make your call. But you better go to bed right after that, you hear me?”

“Yeah yeah, I will, I will.”

“Good. Now if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go back to packing my stuff for my trip to Station Square.”

One of those voices… It sounded so… familiar. Painfully so. During the conversation, Doom was moving all about the exterior of the house, looking for where it could have been taking place. It wasn’t until the end of it, however, that he finally saw who it was that the oh so familiar voice was coming from for just a brief second, before it left the room to go pack as they said it would…

Shadow…

Despite the animosity that seemed to exist between them and whoever it was that it had been talking to, the fact that Shadow was here, seemingly of their own free will, could only mean that… Shadow rejoined the Black Arms???

The thought of such a thing immediately consumed the entirety of Doom’s mind, paralyzing him with a never-ending barrage of thoughts that all came from a variety of mindsets.

For how long has this been a thing without him even realizing it?

What prompted this change?

Is there a reason why Doom hasn’t known about this until now?

Was Shadow secretly always on the side of the Black Arms?

… Did this mean that things really could have just been talked through back then?

These thoughts and more swarmed Doom in a matter of seconds, bringing him down another spiral of thoughts, this time without Sendrir nor Tea around to snap him out of it. It felt awful, he felt so pathetic. He should be above such inner turmoil as a god, but no, of course he wasn’t. He was defective, he was broken, he was corrupted beyond repair. No wonder he was so irrational, so much so in fact as to it be the very thing that resulted in his demise. It was clearer to him than ever before, everything that he has ever done and ever was has been a mistake-

As soon as the thoughts had come, they had also left, being interrupted and pushed aside by the hivemind once again broadcasting the goings on of its vessels, this time playing the phone call that was being made. Having not moved at all since the last conversation he had heard, Doom was able to look up and see that the call in question was being made by a fox mobian with gray fur that had streaks of red in it, with their hair in a loose low ponytail quite like Widow’s, and that was wearing a pale blue turtleneck sweater, loose-fitting long navy blue pants, pale blue slippers and an off-white lab coat - or at least, the form of one. Doctor Clysdale, they heard them call themself during the phone call.

So… This was the one? The Doctor Ezrieal Clysdale that had peaked Doom’s curiosity oh so much?

They… They seem nice.

Despite the bit of bickering they had with Shadow earlier, of course.

In fact… The way they spoke so softly, so elegantly, and the way that their go-to with this “Whisper” they spoke to was seemingly to offer some parental guidance… to help “set them on the right path”, as it were… It reminded Doom a lot of his own self.

Despite the bit of bickering they had with Shadow earlier.

… Actually.

On second thought.

The fact that “Ezrieal”, or whatever their actual name was, had bickered with Shadow like that, but neither of them had been irreparably damaged by it, or even really that damaged at all by it. The fact that Shadow had this fight with someone so much like Doom and didn’t so much as threaten to leave the Black Arms…

It was a comforting thought. The thought that someone so similar to him could have a positive relationship with Shadow… It made Doom wonder if he could then perhaps repair their own relationship with Shadow? Oh, to put aside the transgressions of the past and to once again be the one to help guide Shadow on how to be a strong, smart, and victorious member of the Black Arms… on how to be a wise leader like himself, even…

That’s it. That’s exactly it!

Now that Doom and so many other leaders had passed on, there needed to be a replacement, someone new to take on the role of bringing glory to the Black Arms, to take back the glory they once had.

Despite everything, Doom knew it in his heart that Shadow was exactly that person, and that he would show it the way to do such things.

There was no hesitation, as there was no need for any. Doom immediately took off from the clinic building and went to somewhere hidden to teleport back into the pawn shop - specifically, the bedroom on the second floor of the pawn shop building. On the door handle was Doom’s necklace, his Doom’s Eye amulet, right where he had last placed it.

Doom took the necklace off of the door handle and rushed with it down the stairs and out the shop’s doors, to hide it somewhere special, somewhere he wouldn’t forget it, but also somewhere no one else could see it.

He left it there for Shadow to find.

So that Shadow could find him.

———————————————————————————————

The room was dark, aside from the very minuscule amount of light that emitted from the small LED digital clock that sat on the nightstand, its hue shifting through the entirety of the rainbow, as was per Garrick’s request.

Four in the morning, the clock read. If it were any other morning, Widow would have responded to such a sight by immediately plopping herself back into bed and going back to sleep for a few more hours, but this morning was… different. She didn’t know why, but it just was. She just had the feeling that it had awoken at this time for a certain reason, though she had no idea what that reason could be.

Throwing on a light floral dress and a pair of slip-on shoes that she kept in the closet for occasions such as this, it could feel the outside world, which hadn’t even been touched by sunlight yet on this day, beckon to her. It sounded absurd when she thought it through with herself, and certainly felt strange regardless, but Widow still obliged to the call of the night, she simply could not resist.

Journeying through the streets of Starlight City as she felt the energy of the world itself guide her through the town, Widow eventually found herself standing at the entrance of the very pawn shop that she had visited the day before.

She stood there for a moment, confused as to why it was there of all places. Sure, she did have a good time talking to Benson, but was it really so good that she simply couldn’t wait until the next day had even truly begun before visiting him again? Or was it, perhaps, something compelling her to finish what she had started? To kill Benson as she had his brother Reginald? Either way, why was the universe so impatient today?

But as her curious inquiries continued on within its mind, Widow looked down and saw that the keys to the door were resting on the door handle, another piece to the ever compelling puzzle, waiting oh so patiently for her to notice them. Taking the keys, Widow somehow managed to find the right one first try, and unlocked the door to the cozy little pawn shop.

Once she had entered the building, she immediately noticed something that had not been there before - Benson’s dead body lying on the floor behind the checkout counter, his throat having seemingly been slit. The body was fresh, it couldn't have been more than just a few hours since his demise, Widow had surmised. She made sure to get a good look at the pigeon mobian’s corpse, and even got a lick of his blood for good measure as well, becoming even more sure of her theory.

So was this it? Was she guided to the pawn shop so early in the morning so that she wouldn’t miss out on a bit of fresh meat for herself and the rest of the hive? The thought of that, though underwhelming, still felt satisfactory enough for her. So it was quite the surprise when she noticed a folded piece of paper that was on the checkout counter itself, placed under a tea cup. The paper had her name written on it. Not her disguise name of “Wilma Brevair”, her actual name, Black Widow. That fact both intrigued her and worried her a bit as well. Regardless, however, she set down Benson’s body and grabbed the paper, unfolding it to reveal the writing within.

In regards to a so-called “Twisted Maiden”, the one that they call Wilma Brevair

Who I’ve watched be so cruelly rejected, they say “she doesn’t deserve to be here”

Who I’ve seen rumors about and secrets been found be spread around without a care

I’d find it a tragedy upon the universe if you were to disappear

Even if it meant we would reunite in the afterlife, it would be a tragedy

Once again, she was standing still, staring at her surroundings in utter bewilderment. She had thought back to the day before, having tea with Benson… Or who she had thought was Benson. Within the moment itself, Widow did notice things about the way “Benson” spoke and acted that struck her as familiar. In fact, the whole event had given her immense nostalgia for the little mini dates that she used to have with her beloved late husband Doom, drinking freshly brewed tea and talking about whatever came to mind, so much so that it almost felt like that the event itself was one of these dates. But she had dismissed those thoughts as just her mind trying to depart from reality, and that any similarities to Doom that she saw in “Benson” had simply been a coincidence.

Now such thoughts were completely unavoidable. There was no reason for Benson to have known her true name, and even if he somehow did, everything about this little note just screamed Doom to her. The nostalgia had returned, but for something new this time. This time around, she had remembered how Doom often took joy in writing little letters quite like this one for her, even though the two had lived together back when Widow had lived on the Comet, and he could have easily said such things either out loud or through the hivemind. It was a love language for him, and also a “reclaiming” of sorts, according to him. Doom never told Widow much about his life before he had met her, but it had managed to get out of them some sort of explanation behind the “reclaiming” part - for whatever reason, Doom could only communicate with his creator via writing, and before he had realized how awful their creator was, he found an odd joy in the arrangement. So now he was restoring that joy, but making the effort for someone who truly deserved it.

The handwriting, the poetic formatting of it, the breaking away from the set rhyming and syllable scheme in the final line, it all was undoubtedly Doom.

That fact filled her with immense joy, but also confusion.

But she simply sighed and placed the note in the pocket of her dress as she once again picked up Benson’s dead body, preparing to teleport back home with it.

She had the feeling that she’d be seeing him again soon, and that then, and only then she would have her questions answered, so there was no need to worry about them now.

#the era of shadow #teos #sonic au #undescribed #writing tag #black arms #sonic fanfiction #black widow tag #black doom #mod shads #mod ash

11 notes · View notes

demdelis · 11 months

Text

Friends,

I want to start today with a bit of history that sheds some light on what’s happening in Washington this week, and what Biden should do about the debt-ceiling crisis created by Kevin McCarthy’s Republican House.

On October 22, 1985, Treasury Secretary James A. Baker III told congressional leaders that if Congress failed to raise the debt ceiling by the end of the month, the Reagan administration would pay the nation’s bills by taking back Treasury securities in which Social Security had invested.

I remember being stunned at the time. It was an extraordinary move. It meant Social Security would lose interest paid on its funds.

If Congress still didn’t raise the debt ceiling, Baker said the administration would borrow from the railroad retirement and military retirement trust funds.

And if the impasse continued, the administration would begin selling gold from the U.S. gold reserve “even though that could undercut confidence here and abroad based on the widespread belief that the gold reserve is the foundation of our financial system,” Baker said.

Baker’s point was that the Reagan administration would continue to find ways to pay the nation’s bills, come hell or high water.

An agreement was finally reached after the Reagan administration had begun raiding Social Security but before it took any other measures.

The Comptroller General of the United States later found Baker’s raid on Social Security technically illegal but concluded nonetheless that Baker “did not act unreasonably” under the circumstances.

I recount this history to give you some perspective on the current debt-ceiling crisis, and what I believe should be Biden’s next move.

First, showdowns over the debt ceiling have been going on for a long time.

Second, they have often been fueled by soaring national debts due to Republican tax cuts for the wealthy and big corporations. (The 1985 standoff involved a refusal by senate Democrats to support a balanced budget, even though Reagan’s mammoth spending on the military and huge tax cut had doubled the national debt in less than five years.)

Finally, fights over the debt ceiling have required Treasury secretaries to do extraordinary things to keep paying the nation’s bills — sometimes technically illegal.

Hence, there have never been “X-dates” at which time the Treasury runs dry. There are just ever more extreme government bookkeeping measures.

And there is no end to the measures the Treasury might use to keep paying the bills. Although their legality of some might be dubious, who is to complain? Who is to say a Treasury secretary acted unreasonably in paying a lawful claim on the U.S. government?

This standoff is different in one respect. Previous standoffs have been carefully-crafted dramas in which both sides demonstrate their commitments to their position, knowing full well how the play will end — with the debt ceiling lifted.

This time, though, gonzo lawmakers like Marjorie Taylor Greene and raving nut-jobs like the current Republican frontrunner for president have considerable influence.

And unlike Bob Dole in 1985, these players have no real commitment to cutting the government debt. (Were that their goal, presumably they wouldn’t have supported the massive 2017 tax cuts for the wealthy and big corporations that fueled the debt, or would now urge its repeal. And they certainly wouldn’t demand cuts in staffing for the IRS, which House Republicans are also now doing.)

Their only commitment is to power — gaining dominance over, and submission from, Democrats, progressives, putative “coastal elites,” and so-called “deep state” bureaucrats.

For them, this is not play-acting. It’s not for show. It’s for real. If they don’t get their way, they’re prepared to blow up the economy.

In fact, as the so-called X-date appears to loom ever closer, their demands have escalated. And as Biden appears ready to give in to some of those demands, the demands will continue to escalate.

Which is why it’s critical for Biden to stop negotiating.

Meanwhile, he should continue paying the government’s bills and Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen should continue using every bookkeeping scheme imaginable to find the means to pay those bills.

And they must never declare an “X-date.” And must never default.

#us politics #the debt ceiling #Biden #robert reich

4 notes · View notes

bigballofstress · 3 years

Text

Pickpocket (Avengers x Child!Reader)

Description: You have been living on the streets for years, and over these years, you have become incredibly good at pickpocketing. Unfortunately for you, though, you picked the wrong target one too many times.

Part 2 if you guys want it, just let me know!

Chin up, shoulders back, even steps. My heart is calm, my breaths slow and measured, and every muscle in my body is relaxed. In other words, every last inch of me screams that I am a confident, kind young lady without a care in the world.

No matter what anybody says, looks really are everything. Every time you meet someone new or even just pass by them on the street, your mind makes a snap judgement about them. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that everyone you meet is prejudiced or anything of the sort. Those snap judgements can easily be changed with an open-minded person, sometimes without even needing a whole conversation. Still, that doesn’t change the fact that when you see a well-groomed person in a suit, your mind automatically thinks they are successful, and when you see someone coming at you with a hoodie covering their face and their hands in their pockets, you automatically tense up. None of that is your fault, and actually it’s probably a good thing that you would be wary of people who are acting rather suspicious. Really, the only issue with these immediate ideas of every person you see is the fact that it makes people like me -- people who understand how these momentary impressions work -- able to take advantage of them.

It didn’t take long to realize I had a talent for it. I already looked the part, -- a helpless, adorable little girl -- I had a surprising knack for staying calm under pressure, and as much as I hated the old bitch, my caretaker had given me all the tools I needed. She was a stickler for proper manners, so I learned how to speak, sit, and walk like a “proper young lady.” Plus, her insane rules about tiny meal portions and too-early curfews taught me to be light on my feet as I often sneaked downstairs to grab a roll of bread at night. Yes, I had everything I needed. The only real hurdle was actually deciding to do it. I never really wanted to be a bad person. But the world is a heartless place, the city even more so, and by the end of my first week, I knew what I had to do if I was ever going to survive.

So, I started working -- oh, and by the way, no matter what you think, it is still a job. I put my time and effort into a certain task, and I obtain money because of it. I don’t know about you, but that certainly sounds like a job to me. And it was easier than I thought it would be. Within about a day, I realized that people saw me as sweet, innocent, and harmless -- no, more than that, they wanted to see me as harmless. Because if I wasn’t harmless, then that meant their world was even more screwed up than they thought. I learned quick, and by the end of the year, I had perfected my technique. It was simple: avoid all conversation if possible, and if absolutely necessary, smile and point out the farthest adult man within reason as my dad before weaving through the small gaps in the crowd, preferably around taller people, so they couldn’t see or follow me. I only got caught once or twice, but I’m grateful that I did. It forced me to learn perspective, that I needed to know more than just how to talk well. So, I learned how to run through a city. And now, I’m practically unstoppable.

As I take my even, not-too-fast-but-not-too-slow stroll down the sidewalk, a small, ambiguous smile decorating my lips, I can see it in each person’s eyes as they walk past that I have completely embodied my character. My arms swung with a practiced nonchalance as my eyes flickered from one person to the next, each time going through a mental list as I weighed the chances I had of succeeding on them versus how likely they were to catch on and calculated the amount of time that both of these events would likely take to happen. Finally, after a few minutes of this practice, one of them caught my eye.

He was larger, more muscular. Guys like him were a gamble. Often, a man of his appearance simply cared a bit too much about his appearance. Still, every now and then, they look like that because they been trained, and while past training usually meant they had no practice running in a city, it also meant that he would be much more jumpy and alert to his surroundings. However, his deep, loose pockets with the corner of his wallet just barely sticking out and the thoughtful gaze as he surveyed the buildings tipped the scales further and further in my favor. The wonder in his eyes just screamed tourist.

I gazed forward with an absentminded look in my eye that I’d spent months perfecting in the mirror while keeping him clearly in my periphery before bumping into him. As I hit him, two of my fingers simultaneously dipped into his pocket, where my knee bumped against his leg to jolt his wallet up and out. The moment the warm leather was in my grasp, I forced myself to fall backwards. Before I could hit the ground, though, I felt one of those strong, muscular arms had wrapped itself around my waist and was helping me back up.

My jaw clenched for half a second. This wasn’t good. His reflexes were too quick to have just worked out at some random gym, which meant my hunch was right: he had been trained. And that meant that I needed to get out of there fast. I wouldn’t be able to slip the wallet back in his pocket without bumping into him again, and that would only make me look even more suspicious, so I quickly emptied it of all of the cash behind his back and slipped the bills into my sleeve before tossing the piece of leather on the ground a few feet away.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern evident in his eyes, and immediately I decided on my personality for the day -- bright and bubbly but proper. Gently, he released his arm from its position on my waist once he knew I had regained my footing.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I quickly apologized, my left hand shooting up to cover my mouth in fake shock while my right hand carefully dropped the money in one of my own pockets, all the while watching every last one of his movements for any sign of suspicion. “It was all my fault. I wasn’t paying attention where I was going.”

“It’s ok, really.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I wasn’t really looking where I was going either, so it was partially my fault, too.”

“Well, thank you for catching me, sir, but I really have to go,” I smiled at him apologetically. “I’m supposed to meet back up with my dad in about five minutes.”

“Oh, no worries,” he responded kindly before sneaking a glance at my old, slightly ripped clothes, the concern still dancing in his eyes. “You’re sure you’re alright, though?”

“Absolutely!” I dismissed. “Thank you again!”

“Um, yeah, no problem.” We both started to walk away.

I waited patiently as I listened to his retreating steps. 1... 2... 3... 4... and then-- “Hey, mister!” I called, bending down and grabbing the piece of leather from where I had tossed it earlier. “I think you might’ve dropped your wallet!”

The man turned back, shocked, before jogging back towards me. “I didn’t even notice,” he mumbled to himself. “Hey, thanks, kid.”

“My pleasure!” I chirped. “Now, sorry, but I really have to get going. See you around, sir!” I quickly jogged off, allowing myself to get lost in the crowd before he could even have a minute to fully understand what happened.

-- 3rd Person POV --

“I told you guys the world wasn’t such a bad place!” Steve called as he entered the living room of Stark Tower. The rest of the Avengers looked up in surprise. They had been having this argument for the past three days, with Steve insisting that there were still people who put others first living in New York while the entire rest of the team tried to convince him otherwise.

“Alright, show your work,” Tony leaned back against the wall, watching the captain with curiosity.

“I met a kid today who couldn’t have been older than 16. I was trying to remember what the city looked like before I went in the ice, and I accidentally bumped into her. She then spent the next few minutes constantly apologizing and saying it was all her fault. And the best part is, after we’d already walked away, she found and returned my wallet. I hadn’t even realized I had dropped it!” The 96-year-old man finished with a triumphant grin, leaving the rest of the team silent for a moment. That is, until Tony busted out laughing. Steve frowned. “...What?”

“Steve, honey, check inside of your wallet,” Natasha sighed as she turned back to the tv to watch whatever was on.

Steve frowned, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his wallet. “I don’t understand; why do you want me to....” He trailed off as he stared at the now empty pocket that only just earlier that day held around 65 dollars in cash. “She... but how did she...”

Tony slapped a heavy hand on Steve’s shoulder, wiping away a tear from the corner of his eye. “She scammed you, bro. And you fell for it hook, line, and sinker,” he grinned before walking back to his room, still chuckling softly to himself at his friend’s misfortune.

------- Time Skip -------

About two weeks had passed since that godsend of a man and I crossed paths. I can’t remember the last time I had managed to lift 65 dollars off anyone. That kind of cash can last someone like me a really long time. But sadly, all good things must come to an end, and after buying myself the first decent meal I’d had in weeks plus a ton of canned foods and non-perishables that I dropped off at the nearest homeless shelter, that good thing ended ended all too quickly. Which meant it was time I went back to work.

I stepped into the public library, that same ambiguous smile painted ever so gently across my face. There weren’t a whole lot of people here and there were almost never any big scores, but working here was a lot less guess-work, and more often than not, the target was too engrossed in their book to even notice what I was doing, so there was also much less risk of being caught.

After a quick scan of the quiet room, my eyes landed on the man sitting at one of the long tables, his bag haphazardly laying next to him on the table. It should be easy enough to grab something from in there, and he seemed invested enough to have his guard down. He should make for a good target.

I walked into the science section and grabbed a few scientific papers, most of which were generally about to nuclear physics, before walking back to his table and sitting down right across from him. Scientific papers are the best way to make sure no one has the confidence to talk to you. I opened the paper that I had read a hundred times and started pretending to read it once more, my left hand resting on my cheek as my right hand slowly made its way towards the bag.

“Excuse me.” I glanced up, pausing my movement towards his back but still being careful not to react too quickly and retract my hand. I didn’t want to draw his attention to what I was doing, and if at all possible, I would still like to come out of this with something to show for it. As I met the glasses-clad, clearly intelligent eyes of the man in front of me, it was easy to figure out what my personality should be -- shy, smart, and above all else, kind. “Is that Schippers’s work?”

I blinked in surprise and allowed a soft smile to spread across my lips. “You know Stefan Schippers?”

“Yeah, his work in antimatter is amazing,” he grinned fully now, his eyes lighting up and making him almost look like a completely different person. “Particularly regarding his research in collisions.”

I grinned back, taking note of how his eyes were now trained on mine, instead of glancing around like before. Maybe I should’ve started a conversation before -- clearly it was a good distraction for him. Well, either way, it’s going to be easier to lift something off of him now, so I guess I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. “I completely agree. His work is amazing,” I giggled softly, glancing down at the table before looking back up at him, a slight red hue now painting the apples of my cheeks as my hand slipped inside of his bag.

“I was honestly surprised to see you reading that paper, actually,” he chuckled nervously. “I’ve read it at least 20 times, but I figured I was the only one.” I laughed lightly, slipping what felt like a wallet out of the bag and tucking it under my arm.

“Trust me, I’ve read this so many times, I’m afraid the library is going to have to replace it because I’ve worn it out so much. You know, if you’re interested in Schippers, you should read some of Dr. Banner’s papers,” I laid my left hand on his arm gently while my right arm swung back over to me, pushing the wallet into my lap. “As much as I love Schippers, Dr. Banner’s work is unparalleled.”

The man chuckled nervously again, ducking his head a bit. “You really think so, huh? How old are you anyways? I don’t see a whole lot of kids brushing up on nuclear physics.”

“I’m older than I look,” I casually brushed off the question. I was not about to give up any personal information, fellow science geek or not. “Oh, by the way, do you have the time?”

The man glanced at his watch. “About 6:00.”

My eyes widened in shock. “You’re kidding, it got that late?! My dad’s gonna kill me!” I gasped and quickly stood up, catching the wallet in my left hand and slipping it into my pocket. “It was really nice meeting you, sir, but I have to go home. I really liked talking to you, though! I hope we can meet again!” I hurriedly gathered the papers and rushed off, waving with a broad smile.

“Oh, uh nice meeting you... too...” he tried to respond, but she was already well out of sight.

-- 3rd Person POV --

“What the hell?” Bruce mumbled, digging through his bag. The pizza had just arrived, and he needed to pay his share.

“What’s wrong?” Natasha glanced at him, an eyebrow raised.

“I could’ve sworn I put my wallet in here, but now I can’t find it,” he frowned, continuing to search every last nook and cranny of the old bag.

“Don’t worry about it, buddy, I can cover you if you’re short,” Tony shrugged.

“That’s not the issue,” Bruce frowned, finally giving up and tossing his bag to the side in frustration. “That had my credit card, my driver’s license, and my ID for Stark Tower. If it’s lost somewhere, it could be a real problem.”

“When was the last time you remember having it?” Clint mumbled through a full mouth of the piece of pizza that he’d already shoved in his face. Natasha rolled her eyes and wiped off the bit of spit he’d gotten on her in disgust.

“I was at the library. I used my library card to check out some books,” he responded confidently.

“Again?” Clint asked, once again through a mouthful of cheese and marinara sauce. “What, do you live there or something?”

“Ok, now walk us through exactly what happened after you checked out those books,” Natasha suggested, doing her best to ignore her best friend.

Bruce sighed and nodded, sitting down. “I checked out my books, then walked over to one of the tables to start reading. Then I talked to that teenager for a little while about some of Schippers’s theories before she ran off--”

“You talked to a teenager about Schippers? And she actually understood?” Tony asked, lifting a brow in surprise.

“Yeah, she even recommended I read Dr. Banner’s work in the same field,” Bruce chuckled. “I thought it better not to tell her who I was, but according to her, Banner’s work is ‘unparalleled’.”

“Damn, the kid knows her stuff,” Tony nodded, impressed. “Did she say anything about--”

“Boys,” Natasha cut in. “The wallet.”

“Ah, right,” Bruce mumbled apologetically. “Anyways, after she ran off, I kept reading for a few minutes before leaving, too. Then I came back to the tower and got up here just in time to decide on ordering pizza with you guys.”

“Did you use the subway?” Natasha asked.

Bruce shook his head. “No. I figured since it was such a nice day out, I would just walk home.”

“How did you enter the building?”

“I ran into Steve downstairs, and we came in together.”

Steve, who had been silent up until this point, finally spoke up. “This teenager... Was she about 16? With (H/C) hair?”

“What, you think it’s the same girl who totally scammed you the other--” Tony started, getting ready to take part in his favorite pastime of making fun of Steve.

“Actually, yeah, she was,” Bruce answered, his eyes wide in realization.

Before anyone could say anything, Tony’s incredibly loud laughter filled the room. “Holy shit, you guys both got scammed by the same teenager! How does that even happen?!” He wheezed, laughing so hard he could hardly breath.

“Hey she seemed like a nice girl!” Bruce defended. “How was I supposed to know she was robbing me?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a genius or something?” Tony asked, tears streaming down his face now. Bruce opened his mouth, trying to come up with something but came up blank. A heavy hand landing on his shoulder knocked him out of his stupor.

“Just let it happen,” Steve sighed, his eyes cast down as he shook his head in sympathy.

------- Time Skip -------

It had been a week since I had spoken to that science nerd in the library, and I was still pissed. Seriously, what kind of grown man only carries around 4 dollars and 36 cents? Well, apparently, that weirdo did. I had thrown out all the cards and IDs to at least sell the what looked to be leather wallet to a pawn shop, but apparently the thing wasn’t even leather! All of that time, wasted for a measly 12 bucks. I’ll say it again: I was pissed.

So, now I was back out working again, because the money I’d made was barely enough to buy a few snacks that I had to portion out over the course of the past week.

As I walked down the sidewalk, still grumbling softly to myself about what had happened, I saw him.

Tony freaking Stark.

I grinned. Maybe my luck was getting better after all. I mean, a billionaire who’s famous for having, shall we say, questionable morals? After all, it’s not exactly nice to sleep with as many women as humanly possible before tossing them away like they’re nothing. I mean, sure there’s the whole iron man thing, but he’s still kind of a dick, let’s be honest. And while I usually tried to refrain from taking anything major in case my target doesn’t have a whole lot of money or the object is sentimental, billionaire jerks are fair game. And the best part was, I didn’t even have to read him to know the part I was going to play. Tony Stark would only ever fall for one personality: sarcastic, quick-witted, and strong.

His head was down, buried in his phone, so I casually walked towards him, picking up an old cup of coffee from one of a nearby cafe’s outdoor tables, before smacking into him head-first, spilling the coffee everywhere.

“What the hell?!”

“Oh my god!” We both yelled at the same time.

“Oh c’mon, kid, this is silk!” Tony continued to shout, staring down at the coffee covering his chest.

“Hey, I’m not the one with my head buried in my phone while walking through one of the busiest cities in the world,” I snapped back. “And you’re not the only one whose clothes got ruined. This is cashmere!” I lied through my teeth. It was a ratty old sweater that I’d bought for about 3 dollars at a thrift store.

Stark scoffed. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

“Yeah, you’re Tony Stark. That doesn’t change the fact that my parents are gonna be pissed about me ruining a hundred dollar sweater,” I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms defiantly.

That was when he finally glanced at me and my coffee-stained outfit. Stark sighed and put his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Alright, I’m sorry.” Wait, what? Since when does the great Tony Stark ever apologize for anything? “I’ll pay for the dry-cleaning, ok? Just give me your parents’ numbers.”

Shit, that’s not how this is supposed to go. Ok, new strategy. A sassy front but a kind interior.

I sighed and shook my head. “No, it’s not entirely your fault. I guess I could’ve tried to avoid you better. Anyways, you got a pen and paper?”

Stark nodded slightly and reached into his inner pocket, pulling out a tiny pad and a fancy looking pen. I quickly jotted down the phone number and handed it back to him. Shoot, he looked like he was about to walk away. I had to act quick or lose my chance. Time to add one more very important characteristic to my identity: pitiable. “Hey, I really am sorry. I kind of overreacted. It wasn’t cool. I guess I just got a little nervous. My dad likes things to be clean, and he can get pretty mad when I don’t follow that rule...” I trailed off a bit, glancing down at my feet. I shook my head quickly and met the billionaire’s gaze, now filled with concern, again. “Sorry, didn’t mean to dump that on you. I just wanted to say thanks.” I held out my right hand, praying that I’d guessed which hand to use correctly. As Stark grabbed my hand, I had to hold back a sigh of relief when I saw the watch casually placed on his wrist.

“It was really nice meeting you, Mr. Stark,” I smiled a bit, with my left hand closing over his wrist while three of my fingers on my right hand undid the clasp on his watch. Then I pressed down one the buttons on either side of the clasp with my middle finger on my right hand and my thumb on my left hand, making sure to hold the watch in place. “If you’d like, I’d be happy to buy you a coffee to make up for it. There’s a really nice café right over there.” I squeezed the watch tightly with my left hand and jerked my chin towards the store just behind him. He turned his head and looked, pulling his hand back slightly as he did so, which allowed me to slip the watch off his wrist. Immediately, I dropped it in my pocket before he had a chance to turn back around.

“Thanks, kid, but I’m good. I’ll give your parents a call when I get home, ok?” He said before awkwardly giving me a pat on the shoulder. “Now go run off and play with some dolls or whatever.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks, but my collection can’t be nearly as big as yours,” I bit back with a slight, good-natured smirk. “Anyways, I gotta go home and get yelled at by my parents. Nice meeting you, Mr. Stark,” I called, waving to him as I was already leaving.

Stark shook his head with a small smile. “Yeah, you too, kid.”

-- 3rd Person POV --

“What, no watch today?” Tony furrowed his brows at Bruce’s question.

“Of course I have a watch today. I have a watch for every day of the week,” he scoffed, lifting his wrist to show off the rather expensive Rolex.

“Umm dude...?” Clint started.

“Yeah, I know it’s awesome, and no, you cannot try it on,” Tony smirked. “I have a very strict look don’t touch policy. These bad boys cost quite the pretty penny, and I wouldn’t want any of you trying to take it from me.” Clint just shrugged in defeat and unpaused his video game -- it wasn’t his fault his friend interrupted him trying to help.

“Tony, look at your wrist,” Steve rolled his eyes at the pompous man’s antics.

“What, just so I can admire it--” he cut himself off as his eyes landed on the bare skin of his wrist. “...Where the hell is my watch?”

“Maybe you forgot to put one on today?” Bruce shrugged, going back to his computer as he continued to work.

“No, I didn’t forget; I never forget,” Tony snapped. “It was there this morning, and now it’s gone.” He yanked up his sleeve to search in vain for the incredibly expensive missing item.

“Hey, maybe Tony was pick-pocketed, too,” Clint joked absentmindedly before cursing at some ‘dumbass little camping noob’ who kept killing him.

Tony’s eyes widened in realization. “Holy shit, it was the kid.”

“What?” Steve frowned.

“The kid! The kid who spilled coffee on me today!” He shouted. “I had my watch, then she shook my hand, and now the watch is gone. She totally took it!”

Clint paused the game again. “Wait, so basically some kid took your custom watch, which is worth thousands of dollars, right off your wrist, and you didn’t even notice?” Tony bobbed his head up and down frantically. “Hold on... You don’t think...” Clint glanced between the three other men in the room.

“(H/C) hair?” Steve asked.

“(E/C) eyes?” Bruce called, suddenly no longer able to focus on his work.

Tony nodded slowly with wide eyes. Reality crashed down on all three of them.

A wide smile slowly took over Clint’s face. “So you mean to tell me that three of the Avengers, the Earth’s greatest defenders, got scammed by the same teenage girl in less than a month?” The three men were silent, each of them staring at the ground as they started to question how smart they actually were.

About 30 seconds later, the silence was broken. “Nat, you’ll never believe what just happened. I can’t believe you weren’t home for this,” Clint talked excitedly into the phone while his teammates all slowly left the room to sulk alone.

------- Time Skip -------

It had been a whole month since I had gotten the watch off Tony Stark. I almost couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the amount of zeros on the offer the pawn shop had given me. It was probably one of the best days of my life. Immediately, I had gone out and bought myself a meal at an actual restaurant, and let me tell you, they weren’t kidding when they said restaurant food is delicious. Every protein bar and bag of chips in the world couldn’t live up to the food I ate that day. And with that kind of money, I could be eating like that for maybe even a year! Still, I knew what I had to do.

It was almost Christmas. With the money I’d just gotten, I could afford to buy each and every kid at the orphanage actual brand new presents that year, instead of the crummy second-hand stuff that had to be shared between three or four kids that I usually brought. So, I went out and blew a good three quarters of my new budget on toys, and not the kind from thrift shops or even the ones from the big department stores. I could finally get them toys from one of the fancy stores that had display windows. And it was worth it, too, seeing the pure amazement that lit up those kids’ eyes when they saw there was enough for all of them. I then spent another quarter of the money on nonperishable foods that I donated to the homeless shelter plus one massive turkey for their Christmas feast.

After all of that, I was left with around 20 dollars for myself. Usually I can make money like that last with just a few extra marks, but as the month dragged on and less and less people were out on the streets at night, my budget ran thin. Eventually, I reached my breaking point. I’d gone I think four days now without any food. My stomach growled loudly, begging me to give it something, anything. I just sighed and receded further into the fabric of my thin, worn down coat that I’d found a few days back by a dumpster -- the coat I used to wear long traded in for a couple spare dollars. Sure, the wind cut through it like a knife, but hell, it was better than nothing.

I glanced up as I heard the crunching of footsteps in the snow, my heard immediately leaping into my throat at the prospect of there being people out. I frowned when I saw who they were. A couple walking together, chatting away about something or another. Normally, I would never choose a couple to target -- it was too easy for one of them to spot what I was doing to the other -- but I had gotten desperate. I was freezing cold, and I needed food now.

So, I walked directly towards them and crashed my shoulder into the guy’s, my hand slipping into his pocket. I thanked whatever higher power was watching over me when my hand came into contact with a money clip.

“Sorry,” I mumbled and slipped my hand back out before continuing to walk at a casual pace away from the two, tucking the clip into my pocket.

-- 3rd Person POV --

“Well that was rude,” Clint huffed, dusting himself off.

Natasha stared at the back of the young girl who continued to walk away like nothing had happened. “Hey, Clint,” she muttered.

“Yeah?”

“Where’s your wallet?”

“I put it back in my... pocket....” Clint froze when he realized he couldn’t feel the familiar clip in his jacket pocket. He whirled around to look at the girl, who was already a ways away. “Hey! Get back here!” He screamed, breaking into a run, Natasha quickly following suit.

-- Your POV --

“Hey! Get back here!” I glanced back with wide eyes, my heart leaping into my throat before immediately sprinting.

I ran through the snow, turning right and left through back alleys and narrow shortcuts, thanking my past self for never eating well, as my skinny form was able to stay on top of the snow for the most part. Still, somehow I hadn’t lost the two adults chasing me yet. They had barely fallen a foot or two behind over the last eight blocks. My stamina was quickly running out, the malnourishment over the past week finally catching up to me. I felt dizzy, and my chest burned as I focused on continuing to put one foot in front of the other. I turned down an alleyway with a brick wall at the end.

“Ha! We’ve finally caught you!” The man behind me panted. I completely ignored him, not pausing a single step as I sprinted towards the wall.

“Uhh, hey, kid? Rock beats teenager...” He called warily. I continued to ignore him. I was only five feet away. “Stop, you’re gonna hurt yourself!” he shouted just before I jumped, pressing my feet into the bricks to launch my further and further up. I reached as high as I could and just barely caught the edge of the wall with my fingertips. I swung my other arm up and forced my arms to pull myself to the top.

I panted as I gazed down from the top of the wall, the couple staring back up at me. “Holy shit,” the man muttered, to which the woman immediately smacked him in the arm.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I was hungry.” I wasn’t really sure why I was apologizing. Granted, I knew what I was doing wasn’t very nice, but I don’t recall ever apologizing before. Maybe it’s because they reminded me of my parents -- or, at least, what I imagined my parents to be like. Maybe it’s because I was so dizzy that I couldn’t really think straight. I nodded slightly to the two before turning around, preparing myself to jump down the other side.

Suddenly, a massive wave of dizziness and nausea smacked me in the face. I groaned slightly and put my hand to my forehead, trying to get a hold of myself. Evidently, that didn’t work, because the next thing I knew, I was falling.

Time seemed to slow as I fell through the air. I probably shouldn’t pass out right now, the surprisingly calm thought entered my mind. If I do, I’ll most likely just freeze to death. Then again, passing out would save me a lot of pain from falling. Alright, I guess that’s it then. I’ll pass out now and hope I wake up in time to not die. My eyes fluttered closed just before I hit the ground, the fog in my brain thickening as I finally allowed myself to just give in to it.

-- 3rd Person POV --

Clint grunted as he caught the girl. He was expecting to fall to the ground with her, only really serving to break her fall, but was surprised to find that she wasn’t even heavy enough to knock him down. Natasha made her way over to his side, looking down at the little thief in her friend’s arms.

“She’s light as a feather,” Clint murmured with a frown on his face, “and freezing to the touch.”

“She said she was hungry,” Natasha muttered thoughtfully.

Clint grit his teeth and nodded, determined. “Alright, that settles it. We’re taking her back to the tower.”

Natasha glanced at him warily. “You sure? The others might not be so accepting.”

“They’re gonna have to be,” he stated, already walking back, holding the girl as close as he could in an attempt to warm her up.

#Avengers #avengers one shot #avengers imagine #avengers reader insert #avengers x reader #avengers x you #avengers x y/n

431 notes · View notes

loki-darkprince-odinson · 3 years

Note

King Loki, I apologize for the rant but I would like some advice.

My father always makes me feel like complete garbage. He is always putting me down, never appreciates me, and makes my depression so much worse. I'm fixing up a house to move in with my friends but I'm still stuck at the house since my parents won't help me get my license or a car, much less a job. I cook, do dishes, take care of the pets, take out the trash, get the mail, do my laundry, wash towels, and help with their laundry. I also take care of my sick mother and while I'm currently on summer break, I'm going to college to become a clinical psychologist. Even then, my father will point out other things that I don't do, and expects me to clean the entire house every day. He always talks about how he needs to do everything around the house yet all he does is sleep, play video games, and watch television. He also says he works hard yet on many occasions he says he sits on his ass all day on his tablet. He also yells so much. I get scared every day when he starts yelling because I worry he may leave us, which he has threatened before, or he may actually hit us. He never has hit either my mother or I yet, and says he never would but he slams and throws things when angry at us so it's his way of showing us how much he wants to hit us, even if he doesn't realize it. However, not only do I have many responsibilities, My depression makes it difficult for me to do much, and he makes it worse. Even when I do try to clean the house he always makes comments such as: "About time." or "How long until it gets cleaned next time?" or "This was half assed, you didn't do it right." I have tried so hard to have a connection with him but I'm so tired of fighting for a relationship that he doesn't care about. I can't address my concerns with him because he will threaten to not take me to college and pay the bills. Do you have any advice to help me deal with my father until I can escape?

Best regards, Catrina.

“Catrina,” Loki drawls, in his smooth resonate voice. “I firstly must commend your good work. For caring for your ill mother, minding the household needs, and that you get up in the morning even if your soul is weary and your bones ache for a rest; that you keep on living even if you do not know how to anymore. Secondly, you have my deepest sympathies for your grievances. I am all too familiar with what it is like to seek the approval of a parent; only for there to be none in return.” His eyes were completely unfocused, yet his pallid features bore the most intense concentration as memories flowed unbidden.

He says nothing for a moment. Then, something in the edge of his mouth—and the corner of his eyes—resembled the ghost of a sad smile.

“Those whom I knew and called my mother and father are dead. That much is beyond dispute. They were not my real parents, but they raised me as their own. I daresay they loved me. That had been in dispute, at least in my own mind for awhile. I found out very late that my identity was a lie. Not Asgardian, not a son of Odin, I was completely unmade. That was how I felt when I learned of my true parentage. I was a fraud, a monster; it explained so much. It explained why I never felt like I fit in, why I would never be my brother's equal, why I would never get what I'd been promised my whole life.” His voice was soft, hoarse. Intent.

Loki raises his left hand and rests his forefinger against his lips as a line forms between his own eyebrows in thought.

“I have lingered around Midgard long enough to come to an understanding of how your minds tick. I shall do my best to give advice where I can.

Try, if you will, to put things into perspective. The most loving parents commit murder with smiles on their faces. They force one to destroy the person they really are: a subtle kind of murder. Even the most loving parents damage their children with the best intentions—to protect them, to guide them, to better them. In most cases, it would appear they do it by imprinting their own fears and prejudices on them.

The point is, parents are mere, imperfect people.

They have flaws, struggles and impaired judgement. They have both emotional and intellectual handicaps. Regardless of their parental role, they are afflicted by personal blockages and limitations.

But most of all, they are people who make mistakes, and who are terrified of being judged by their children.

Learn to see your difficult parent as just that; human. Learn to see their emotional immaturity as a type of disability.

With that in mind, you would do well to keep your expectations of them low.

In many ways the effect a difficult parent has on ones self is fueled by their feelings of injustice and the belief that things could be different, or ought to be different.

In other words, your expectations dictate how you feel.

You need to let go of your expectations and accept your parent for who they are.

You cannot expect someone with, say, a narcissistic personality, to act with empathy and kindness. No more than you can expect a scorpion not to sting.

Difficult parents are much easier to deal with when you accept that they will not change. So do not expect of them more than they are capable of, and you will not be disappointed or hurt.

Do not fall into the illusion of guilt, Catrina.” He warns. “A difficult parent loves nothing more than to make you feel like you’ve hurt them. Or, in a different scenario, like you’re a bad person if you do not do something they ask.

Do not fall for it. If they’re setting a guilt trap, calmly tell them that you do not appreciate being emotionally manipulated, and you will not tolerate it anymore.

Manipulators, and I should know, detest being called out on their dirty tricks.

If they continue to harass you, reiterate that you cannot do what they’re asking you to do this time, and you need them to respect that.

The trick is agreeing with everything they’re saying (how can they argue when you agree with them?) and re-stating your decision over and over again.

Now this part I find to be… far more easier said than done. You must let go of the need for your father's approval, Catrina. It goes without saying that every child needs and wants their parents’ approval. It is normal to want it, and it is normal to receive it.

Yet so many have to accept the fact that this is not going to happen. For whatever reason, their parent has chosen to withhold their approval. Some difficult parents do it as a form of punishment. While others hope to influence their child in the “right” direction.

Most likely, your father loves you, but they have a very warped idea of what parental love is.

In their misguided quest to make you into a version of themselves, they missed the chance to get to know you. And so they cannot appreciate you for the wonderful being that you are.”

He shrugs elegantly. “It is their loss. When you realize this and let go of the need for their approval, you will be able to start living your life in a whole new way.

When confronting your father, be direct and calm without expecting a specific response. That is the part you cannot control. The part that is within your control is letting your thoughts and feelings known, which is empowering.

Stick to the facts and use “I” statements such as, “I feel like my words do not matter to you when you constantly interrupt me” or “I feel scared and misunderstood when you yell at me”

Remember that manipulative parents are not known for their empathy. They will try to confuse you, go on the offensive, or assume the role of a victim.

Do not allow them to bully you into submission by invoking guilt or pity. State your case in a calm and polite manner, and stay cool regardless of their response.

Your goal is to be honest about your feelings, and to make it clear that you will not tolerate certain behaviors.” He softly clears his throat.

“Last but not least, an unhappy alternative is forgoing the relationship that is too harmful. I know, a parent is not someone you can so easily cut out of your life. But if all else fails and your father continues to cause you psychological harm, then this may very well need to be taken into considerable consideration; at least for the foreseeable future. Sometimes it is the only logical recourse.

A parent that is fundamentally incapable of showing love and support, unable to see the error of their ways after numerous attempts to communicate how their behavior or words affect you, consistently dismissive, demeaning or critical, manipulative in a habitual manner, punishing and cruel whenever you disobey, are disrespectful of your boundaries and using threats and intimidation to get what they want is a destructive force that will continue to tear you down until you put a stop to it.

It is not an easy feat, my dear. The parent-child bond is hardwired into the brain, which means children get attached to even the most awful of parents.

But consider the cost of having that toxic relationship in your life—stress breeds anxiety, depression, internalized feelings of inadequacy, and failed personal relationships.

I wish you all the best, Catrina. I truly do.”

#loki #loki rp #loki odinson #ask loki #ask #parental troubles #gothiccatrina #loki roleplay

29 notes · View notes

jiminrings · 4 years

Note

Hello hello 🥺 I miss Hobi nd I just wanted to request a drabble piece with him as a teacher and your also a teacher and somehow??some students??? Ship you two??? And the next thing you know, they're trying to get you two together and oh boy...chaos ensues :') there's no pressure 🤗🤗 stay safe Hannah! 💞💞

base line

pairing: hoseok x y/n

wordcount: 3k

glimpse: hoseok swears that you’re intolerable, but maybe that’s just because you don’t greet him good morning like you usually do :D // gif isn’t mine!!

notes: my first hobi drabble!!! thank u for requesting and waiting babie!!! this threw me back to when i was in preschool and one of my earliest memories ever was me being a teacher’s pet and being able to read straightly and coherently :D (i am a mess now hee-hee)

you love your job

YOU LOVE YOUR JOB!!!!

YOU LOVE YOUR JOB!!!!!!!!

you shouldn’t even call it a job if you’re genuinely enjoying what you do, right??

there’s just some days that you feel like you’re going to sit down the puzzle-matted floor in the middle of the class, tuck your head in between your knees, and sCREAM then yeet yourself out to the corridor

ok but listen

you really do!!

you studied for this!! you have a degree!!! you have a license!!! being a preschool teacher has been the career path you’ve always wanted to take!!

you like being around kids in general and taking care of them and teaching them!!

your age gap with your older brother isn’t exactly small and that meant that growing up, you had to keep up with him!!

because FUCK coloring books and building blocks :-) let me read your textbooks :-) i can’t read but i wOuld like to pretend and bond with u

jin has kids of his own and since it’s only the two of you, that automatically meant that you’re the favorite aunt!! well because after all you are the only one

you’re young and you’re hip and you watch animated shows still!! you can resOnate with them!!!

seokjin can’t make his two-year old eat his steamed carrots but YOU can!!

aha you have now established power <3

but ya know,,,

being a teacher is different from being an aunt!! it’e worlds apart because not everything that applies to your nephews and nieces, also applies to other kids necessarily

obviously you can’t treat every kid to the park once they master their ABCs and can grip a pencil properly

you’re just exhausted ok!! it doesn’t make you love your job any less

it’s just as simple as that

wait actually no

there is ONE more hiccup in your job and at this point, the thought of it plagues your mind beyond your place of work

not it

h i m

jung hoseok — your co-teacher!!

your co-teacher that helps you in handling a batch of fifteen preschool kids for hours, two batches a day, five days a week

hoseok whose hair smells like vanilla and flowers and is never not wearing an article of beaded jewelry and has the good voice that could make three to five year olds listen

.,.,. hoseok.,.,.,. who isn’t yours.,.,.,

and hoseok.,.,., who probably hates you.,.

you’re not trying to make a reach but you FEEL it,,,, you feel it in your knees and your spleen that oh god your co-teacher probably resents you and just tolerates you to not make the kids worry :((

it doesn’t certainly help too that uhm

well

aha

... you may have a tiny crush on hoseok

maybe you really do like him or oR!!

or maybe you just see him practically like everyday and you find yourself paying more attention to him and finding details that you normally wouldn’t find for any other person besides him but-

“good morning, hoseok!!”

you mostly make french toast every morning because:

a) you’d probably eat it as often as you could until you could no longer look at it anymore and practically barf at even the mention of it

b) baby it’s EASY

c) you can make it as a batch and that way you won’t have to wake up every morning to cook for yourself

d) tastes immaculatE whether warm or cold

e) jungkook gave you his recipe after nagging him everyday for a month <3

you knew how to make it in the first place but uh well,,,.,,

jungkook is jin’s regular babysitter for his kids and he’s very organized although you won’t admit that

he’s carefree but like disciplined at the same time y’know

like YES eunji you can take a sip of my orange juice that ur appa told me not to give you BUT you need to drink one whole sippy cup of water okay??? say yes uncle goo

and he’d also have snacktimes and he’d make his own and french toast is one of them

one time you came over and babysitted with jungkook and u snuck out a piece from eunji’s bowl and wow

𝔀𝓸𝔀

every time you came over you’d make him cook and he’s all???

“y/n are you SURE eunji told you she wants two bowls of french toast?? to herself?? are you sURE???”

lmao he’s figured it out late that it was you who kept eating the french toast because he peeked at the bowl and then??? eunji’s mouth doesn’t bite THAT big??

not unless a toddler’s mandible is already that big and he’s been wrong all along

so the french toast?? yeah you put it in your cute tupperware with the cute waterproof stickers in the lid

AND SPLIT HALF WITH HIM

one loaf is to four squares and two of those are for hoseok :D

minor problem tho

he doesn’t take up your offer :((

maybe it’s just yOU who’s the problem at this point because you tried bringing other food and ?? he just shakes his head no and gives you a curt smile

every morning, you greet him!!

“good morning, hobi!!”

you call him that because that’s what jimin and namjoon call him since they’re your co-teachers!!!

... although maybe it’s just for friends of his only...... a-and well maybe you aren’t his friend

.... aha anywAys!!

you leveled it up a notch and switch up your greetings

“good morning handsome!!” or like “heeeeey cutie!!” or maybe even “hi sunshine!!!”

you: :D

him: :|

every afternoon, you ask him if he wants anything from the vending machine in the faculty room

every month, the principal gives tHREE bottomless cards to the best-performing teachers and that basically meant you don’t have to pull bills from your wallet to pay for overpriced soda

you’ve gotten it twice consecutively in the last month

free pass or not, if hoseok finally tells you what he wants from the vending machine, then you’d get it for him in a heartbeat and less

vending machine talks r some of the best talks and you want that :((

sometimes he’ll tell you that he’s full, or shake his head no, or semi-rudely glances at you and sets his head down and that translates to no

every weekend, you ask him if he feels ____ because you totally have that in ur apartment

“it feels a bit hot, no? good thing i have a new airconditioning unit :D”

no you don’t have a new airconditioning unit

you just had jin clean out the filters while you were at work and it’s basically the same thing, right??

pls say right

you’re basically FLIRTING with him

and you feel useless about it because you haven’t made any progress whatsoever no matter your approach :((

at first you didn’t feel embarrassed whenever namjoon pointed out your crush on hoseok

in fact, the whole faculty knows but you’re just gonna ignore that

you didn’t feel like a FOOL because it’s hoseok you’re making strides towards to

he’s worth the embarrassment that you don’t feel at all

and he doesn’t notice and doesn’t care and he probably won’t talk to you if you are the only preschool teacher in this school besides himself

you’re starting to feel the secondhand embarrassment joon always points out to you multiplied to five

oh god what you’re doing is LAUGHABLE

it’s even more painful to look at yourself in a third perspective because you look like an utter fool chasing after him and all he does is push you away

you’re tired of trying

it’s okay :)

hoseok looks like someone who’d tell all about your doings to his groupchat and they’d laugh at you together

wait no that’s quite a reach

you’re probably not even tHAT important to be made fun of in the gc :((

fine then

you’re gonna focus on everyone and everything else besides him -- it’s not like he’s even gonna notice anyway!! not that it’d matter

if hoseok can sleep at night peacefully without even acknowledging you, then you could sleep at night without him crossing your mind

sike

you kept thinking about not thinking of hobi last night that in return you did think about him

but that is the LAST time ok

you’re gonna start tallying this morning

wait a minute!! you don’t have to tally because you genuinely need to not care and be indifferent!!

....

oh....

wait this was easier than you expected

you feel a weight out of your chest when you kept your eyes on the ground when you passed by hoseok in the hall

you felt nervous initially because you never skip a day of not being all googly-eyes for him but you know!!!! this was actually nice!!!!

for a change yOu’re the one who’s unaffected and as cold as it sounds --

it feels good to not care :D

“up please!! up!!”

you’re feeling so zen and un-dejected that you forget for a moment that you’re still in class and yOU’RE the teacher

and it’s hyunjin!! one of the younger kids in class

also he’s quite the troublemaker and intentionally likes teasing you and being play-mad at him makes him giggle to no end

he does nOt vibe with hoseok he’d jus keep a straight face on and ??? no ur not teacher y/n

he’s tugging at whatever he could reach and if he turns out to be holding a marker in his hands then you might just Pass Away

you comply to hyunjin’s request but you know you’re gonna put him down in two seconds because you know that the other kids are gonna see and-

yeah nevermind

it’s now a carrying train :D

you just made up that name on the spot

it’s a line of kids going up to your arms, and then you passing them to hoseok, and then putting them down to the ground and them running back to the line again until everyone’s satisified

bAsically you’re passing around kids and it’s hoseok who calls off the game because you have no backbone sometimes when it comes to four-year olds

throughout the whole time though, hobi feels like something’s wrong

he just can’t place it

he’s trying to sniff so hard if someone had a toilet accident and he can’t smell anything??

maybe his shoelaces skipped a hole??

either way there’s just something wrong in the back of his head

anyways he better snap out of his daze before you ask if he’s okay or if he needs anything

....

........

why are you not looking at him

....

......

....

wAIT WHY ARE YOU NOT LOOKING AT HIM

huh

that’s weird

but you always look at him??? and he can see you in his peripheral vision and this time he can’t even see you glancing when his head’s turned????

hmmm

omg

his prayer’s been answered!!

honestly hoseok finds you kinda annoying and he’d like it if you just leave him alone and stuff and give up whatever it is that you’re doing

you finally got the message :D

yeah that’s good :D

hoseok’s okay he’s cool he’s happy he totally feels complete

“let’s stop now?”

hobi leans in to tell you because he counted and this is hyunjin’s third time on him

you’re kinda lost because he stops this game in his own accord but whatever

you just give him a smile and what’s THAT supposed to mean???

“oh sO do you want another round?? or??”

he’s enunciating it for you but it’s more for him actually

you just wave him off

.... communication.... where is it

he’s gathering the facts so far.

you’re not looking at him!! that’s fine

you didn’t call him handsome but hEh he’s handsome even if you don’t call him that

not that he needs comforting words and compliments.. or whatever...

that he can let pass because he doesn’t really care

but what he dOES care about is why are you not offering him anything right now???

where.,., WHERE is his french toast

he’s been putting his hand on his tummy for the past five minutes and rubbing it in circles and he’s ALSO humming every now and then

jimin’s lost as he’s writing his agenda for the week and hobi’s across him looking constipated and relieved at the same time

aHEM

ok what’s happening now

you’re... not trying to wedge into the same table he’s in.. ?

you plop right next to namjoon and he instantly throws his arm around yours because he’s been looking for you too

“hey!! how did your recipe night go??”

you reckon that joon allotted another evening for trying out new things because it helps him destress!!

he shudders just by thinking about the smell in his apartment and how opening the windows didn’t do shit

“tasted so bad i couldn’t even eat it :((“

mug cake is the actual devil!!!

imagine having to crack an egg along with a couple other things in a mug and cook it in a microwave and it doesn’t turn as good as the ones you’d see in youtube videos

congrats you now have bread stuck in a mug that smells like chocolate but tastes absolutely nothing like raw eggs

there’s an irritable scowl on his face and great now hobi just feels worse

it’s been almost a week

and practically everyone knows that something’s wrong going on with him and they don’t know wHY

some people dO have an inkling though,.,.

“ah, what seems to be troubling my best teacher?”

principal min drawls out as soon as hoseok enters his office before rolling his eyes at him

normally in other schools you’d be fIRED if you disrespect the principal but nah :D

yoongi takes pride in being the cool principal

he’s so cool that everyone’s in a first-name basis with him

he’s not your typical principal!! normally they’d be preppy and he’s not that much but when he sees the kids??? immediately goes soft

“you say that to EVERY teacher”

lol everybody knows that but no one points it out

he’s so grumpy that even the principal took notice of his behavior!!!

“there’s nothing wrong, okay??”

hobi says it in more of a scoff and that just goes against what he said

yoongi’s sitting here,,, eating his plain loaf of bread aND minding his own business,, and then now hoseok’s mad at him??

“don’t show me bread sTOP showing me bread!!”

the next day hobi’s so grouchy <3

there’s a circle that the kids are in and it just keeps going in and out

you and hobi are in the middle and each time they sing, the circle keeps getting sMALLER

now normally y/n from a week ago would blush to death

but present y/n just feels awkward and kinda :// at the whole situation

it’s not really a tight squeeze tbh but hoseok kEEPS going forward torwards you to the point that his arms around you already

he’s obviously flustered and he’s trying to recompose himself but you’re barely meeting his eye contact

okay now that hurt

god he’s just so left behind with what’s going on :((

and he won’t say this now but fUck he misses you!!! a lot!!!! he feels like pavlov’s dog and he’s automatically wired to miss your affection whenever he’s aware of your presence

does he uhm

does he l-word you??

“and that’s it!”

you’ve just finished teaching them how to fold a paper boat :D

that is a BIG achievement okay you’re actually serious

it teaches them how to be more patient and pay more attention!!

“you can give them your mom!! or if you have a tiny crush on someone in the room then-...”

lil seungmin steps right up to give you a boat

yes it’s wonky and the folds aren’t really done properly and won’t float in water but wow!!! that’s so cute!!!

you immediately thank him and ruffle his hair

he’s such a cute kid omg

“thank you s-...”

however hyunjin wOn’t be affected by that

with a huff does he march over to you and his long hair’s getting in the way (hobi just tied it awhile ago) but nO that is not important rn

he gives TWO paper boats but the other one he just stole it from jisung lmao

the kids are catching up and sUddenly it’s a competition to who gives who paper boats

there’s a fair share of boats between you and hoseok

you’re awed bc wow they really did learn and yOU taught them and it’s just so fulfilling to see wonky wittle boats :’’)

“give to who??”

the tiny felix sitting by your side tugs at your shirt and he’s pointing to the boat you made yourself sitting on your palm

“o-oh!”

how did you get put in the spot by preschool kids

oKAY definitely not hobi

maybe you can call namjoon from the other room???? or maybe even yoongs and-

the sudden shrieking in the room brings you down from your thoughts and you’re quite frantic trying to catch up

the commotion?? ur palm

hobi himself folded a crane!!

and it’s sitting snugly in your palm

he’s been feeling so lost the past week and he realized that it’s because of yOU and how he’s so dense to drive you away when all he wants to do is keep you close

hobi’s never really beamed at you directly like that before

you might just cry

hyunjin’s kicking the air and so does every kid who has googly eyes for their teacher

but it’s okay

it’s all okay because hobi’s looking at you the way you look at him and he’s the most gentle and pleasing thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on

it’s his turn to put his chin against his palm, a knowing smile on his face before he asks

“do you feel chilly tonight?”

#FEEDBACK PLS AND THANK U :D I NEED SLEEP NOW OK #hoseok #jung hoseok #hoseok imagine #hoseok imagines #hoseok drabble #hoseok drabbles #hoseok au #hoseok oneshot #hoseok oneshots #hoseok fluff #hoseok fluff imagine #hoseok fluff imagines #hoseok angst #teacher!hobi #requested drabbles

272 notes · View notes

star-anise · 4 years

Text

An ask I got recently:

hi so i’m a transmed and i’m not sure if you’ll answer this because of that but i saw your post about transmedicalism and was wondering if you could expand on that? you seem like a genuinely kind and judgement-free person, thank you darling x

My response:

Heh, you call me “judgement-free” and ask for my opinion on a topic I’ve formed a lot of judgments about… I get it though, I’m not into attacking people for what they believe so much as providing FACTS. As a cis queer, my insight into transmedicalism isn’t really about the innate experience of trans-ness so much as using my education and professional experience to talk about social science research, diagnostic systems, and public health policy.

This ended up really long, so the tl;dr is, I think transmedicalism as I understand it:

Misunderstands why and how the DSM’s Gender Dysphoria diagnosis was written,

Treats the medical establishment with a level of trust and credibility it doesn’t deserve, at a time when LGBT+ people, especially trans people, need to be informed and vigilant critics of it, and

Approaches the problem of limited resources in an ass-backwards way that I think will end up hurting the trans community in the long run.

TW: Transphobia; homophobia; suicide; institutionalization; torture; electroshock therapy; child abuse; incidental mentions of pedophilia.

So first off I’m guessing you mean this post, about not trusting the medical establishment to tell you who you are? That’s what I’m trying to elaborate on here.

I have to admit, when you say “I’m a transmedicalist” that tells me very little about you, because on Tumblr the term seems to encompass a dizzying array of perspectives. Some transmedicalists believe in what seems to me the oldschool version of “The only TRUE trans people suffer agonizing dysphoria that can only be fixed with surgery and hormones, everyone else is an evil pretender stealing resources and can FUCK RIGHT OFF” and others are like, um… “I have total love and respect for nonbinary and nondysphoric trans people! I qualify for a DSM diagnosis of dysphoria but that doesn’t make me inherently better or more trans than anyone else.”

Which is very confusing to me because according to everything I’ve learned, the latter opinion is not transmedicalism. It’s just… a view of transness that acknowledges current diagnostic labels and scientific research. It’s what most people who support trans rights and do not identify as transmedicalists believe. But I kind of get the impression that Tumblr transmedicalism has expanded well past its original mandate, to the point that if a lot of “transmedicalists” saw the movement’s original positions they’d go “Whoa that’s way too strict and doesn’t help our community, I want nothing to do with it.”.

Okay so. Elaborating on the stuff I can comment on.

1. DSM what?

The American Psychiatric Association publishes a big thick book called The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, called the DSM for short. This is the “Bible of psychiatry”, North America’s definitive listing of mental disorders and conditions. It receives significant revision and updates roughly every 10-15 years; it was last updated in 2013, meaning it will likely get updated sometime between 2023 and 2028.

The DSM lists hundreds of “codes”, each of which indicates a specific kind of mental disorder. For example, 296.23 is “Major depressive disorder, Single episode, Severe,” and 300.02 is “Generalized anxiety disorder.” These codes have information on how common the condition is, how it’s diagnosed, and what kind of treatment is appropriate for it.

Diagnostic codes are the key to health professionals getting paid. If there isn’t a code for it, we can’t get paid for it, and therefore we have very few resources to treat it with. The people who actually pay for healthcare–usually insurance companies or government agencies–decide how much they will pay for each code item to be treated. They’ll pay for, say, three sessions of group therapy for mild depression (296.21), or they’ll pay for more expensive private therapy if it’s moderate (296.22); they’ll pay for the cheap kind of drug if you have severe depression (296.23), but to get the more expensive drug, you need to have depression with psychotic features (296.24).

Healthcare companies, especially in the USA where the system is very very broken and the DSM is written, are cheap bastards. If they can find an excuse not to fund some treatment, they’ll use it. “We think this person who lost their job and can’t get off the couch should pay this $1000 bill for therapy,” they’ll say. “After all, they were diagnosed as code 296.21, and then saw a private therapist for five sessions, when we only allow three sessions of group therapy, and you’re saying they haven’t had enough treatment yet?”

A lot of the advocacy work mental health professionals do is trying to get the big funding bodies to pay us adequately for the work we do. (This is a much easier process in countries with single-payer healthcare, where this negotiation only needs to be done with a single entity. In the USA, it needs to be done with every single health insurance company in existence, as well as the government, sometimes differently in every single state, and then again on a case-by-case basis as well.) Healthcare providers have to argue that three sessions of group therapy isn’t enough, that Medicaid needs to pay therapists more per hour than it costs those therapists to rent a room to practice in, or else therapists would lose money by seeing Medicaid clients. DSM codes exist a tiny bit to let us communicate with each other about the people we treat, and a huge amount to let us get paid. The fact that their existence lets people make sense of their own experiences and find a community with people who share common experiences and interests with them is a very minor side benefit the DSM’s authors really don’t keep in mind when they update and revise different diagnoses.

So when it comes to convincing insurance companies to pay for treatment, humanitarian reasons like “they’ll be very unhappy without it” tend not to work. The best argument we have for them paying for psychological treatment is that it’s economical: that if they don’t pay for it now, they’ll have to pay even more later. If they refuse to pay, let’s say, $2000 to treat mild depression when someone loses their job, and either refuse treatment or stick the person with the bill, then that person’s life might spiral out of control–they might, let’s say, run low on money, get evicted from their apartment, develop severe depression, attempt suicide, and end up in hospital needing to be medically resuscitated and then put in an inpatient psych ward for a month. The insurance company then faces the prospect of having to pay, let’s say, $100,000 for all that treatment. At which point somebody clever goes, “Huh, so it would have been cheaper to just… pay the original $2000 instead so they could bounce back, get a new job, and not need any of this treatment later.”

Trans healthcare can be kind of expensive, since it often involves counselling, years of hormone therapy, medical garments, and multiple surgeries. Health insurance companies hate paying for anything, and have traditionally wanted not to cover any of this. “This is ridiculous!” they said. “These are elective cosmetic treatments, it’s not like they’re dying of cancer, these people can pay the same rate for breast enhancements or testosterone injections as anyone else.”

So when the APA Task Force on Gender Identity Disorder (a task force comprised, as far as I can tell, entirely of cis people) sat down to plan for the 2013 update of the DSM, one of their biggest goals was: Treatment recommendations. Create a diagnosis which they could effectively use to advocate that insurance companies fund gender transition. Like when you go back and read the documents from their meetings in 2008 and 2011, their big thing is “create a diagnosis that can be used to form treatment recommendations.” So that’s what they did; in 2013 they made the GD diagnosis, and in 2014 the Affordable Care Act required insurers to provide treatment for it.

A lot of trans people weren’t happy with the DSM task force’s decisions, such as the choice to keep “Transvestic Fetishism,” which is basically the autogynephilia theory, and just rename it “Transvestic Disorder”. The creation of the Gender Dysphoria diagnosis, basically, was designed to force the preventive care argument. They didn’t think they could win on trans healthcare being a necessity because healthcare is a human right, so they went with: Trans people have a very high suicide rate, and one way to bring it down is to help them transition. One of the major predictors of suicidality is dysphoria. The more dysphoric someone is, the more likely they are to attempt suicide (source). Therefore, health insurers should fund treatment for gender dysphoria because it was cheaper than paying for emergency room admissions and inpatient psychiatric hospitalizations.

I have spoken to trans scientists about what research exists, and my understanding is: The dysphoria/no dysphoria split is not actually validated in the science. That is, when you research trans people, there is not some huge gaping difference between the experiences, or brains, of people With Dysphoria, and people Without Dysphoria. Mostly, scientists haven’t even thought it was an important distinction to study. The diagnosis wasn’t reflecting a strong theme in the research about trans experiences; that research showed that trans people with all levels of dysphoria were helped with medical transition. The biggest difference is just that dysphoria is a stronger risk factor for suicide. Experiencing transphobia is another strong risk factor, but that’s harder to measure in a doctor’s office, so dysphoria it was.

(I’ve seen some transmedicalists claim that dysphoria’s major feature is incongruence, not distress. And I’ll just say, uh… in psychology, “dysphoria” is the opposite of of “euphoria”, literally means “excessive pain”, and is used in many disorders to describe a deep-seated sense of distress and wrongness. As a mental health professional, I just can’t imagine most of my colleagues agreeing that something can be called “dysphoria” if the person doesn’t feel real distress about it. If you want a diagnosis that doesn’t demand dysphoria, you’d need Gender Incongruence in the upcoming version of the ICD-11, which is the primary diagnostic system used in Europe, published by the World Health Organization.)

2. Doctors are not magic

Medicine is a science, and science is a system of knowledge based on having an idea, testing it against reality, and revising that knowledge in light of what you learned. We’re learning and growing all the time.

I don’t know if this sounds painfully obvious or totally groundbreaking, but: Basically all medical research is done by people who don’t have the condition they’re writing about. Psychology has a strong historical bias against believing the personal testimonies of people with conditions that have been deemed mental disorders, so researchers who have experienced the disorder they’re writing about have often had to hide that fact, like Kay Redfield Jamison hiding that she had bipolar disorder until she became a world-renowned expert on it, or Marsha Linehan hiding that she had borderline personality disorder until she pioneered the treatment that could effectively cure it. Often, having a condition was seen as proof you couldn’t actually have a truthful and objective experience of it.

So what I’m trying to say is: The “gender dysphoria” diagnosis was written and debated, so far as I can tell, by entirely cis committee members. The vast majority of psychological and psychiatric research about LGBT+ people is written by cisgender heterosexual scientists. Most clinical and scientific writing has been outsider scientists looking at people they have enormous power over and making decisions about their basic existence with very little accountability.

And to show you how far we’ve come, I want to show you part of the DSM as it was from 1952 to 1973. It shows you just why so many older LGBT+ people find it deeply ironic that now the DSM is being held up as definitive of trans experience:

302 Sexual Deviation This category is for individuals whose sexual interests are directed primarily toward objects other than people of the opposite sex, toward sexual acts not usually associated with coitus, or towards coitus performed under bizarre circumstances as in necrophilia, pedophilia, sexual sadism, and fetishism. Even though many find their practices distasteful, they remain unable to substitute normal sexual behavior for them. This diagnosis is not appropriate for individuals who perform deviant sexual acts because normal sexual objects are not available to them.

302.0 Homosexuality 302.1 Fetishism 302.2 Pedophilia 302.2 Transvestitism […]

Yes, really. That is how psychiatry viewed us. At a time when research from other fields, like psychology and sociology, were showing that this view was completely unsupported by evidence, psychiatry thought LGBT+ people were fundamentally disordered, criminal, and incapable of prosocial behaviour.

My favourite retelling of the decades of activism it took LGBT+ people and allies to get the DSM to change is from a friend who did her master’s thesis on the topic, because she leaves in the clown suits and gay bars, which really shows how scientific and dignified the process was. The long story short is: It took over 20 years of lobbying by LGBT+ people who were sick and tired of being locked up in mental institutions and subjected to treatments like electroshock training, as well as by LGBT+ social scientists, clinicians, and psychiatrists, to get homosexuality declassified as a mental illness. And that was homosexuality; the push to change how trans people were listed in the DSM is very recent, as seen in the latest version listing “Transvestic Disorder”, a description very few trans people ever use for themselves.

Here are a few more examples of how people with a condition have had to take an active part in the science about them:

When HIV/AIDS appeared in the USA, the government didn’t care why drug addicts and gay people were dying mysteriously. Hospitals refused to treat people with this mysterious new disease. AIDS patients had to fight to get any funding put into what AIDS is, how it spreads, or how it could be treated; they also had to campaign to change the massive public prejudice against them, so they could be treated, housed, and allowed to live. Here’s an article on the activist tactics they used. If you want an intro to the fight (or at least, white peoples’ experience of it), you could look into the movies How to Survive a Plague, And the Band Played On, and The Normal Heart.

Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS) is a little-understood disease that causes debilitating exhaustion. It’s found twice as often in women as men. Doctors understand very little about what it is or why it happens, and patients with CFS are often written off a lazy hypochondriacs who just don’t want to try hard. There are basically no known treatments. In 2011, a British study said that an effective treatment for CFS was “graded exercise”, a program where people did slowly increasing levels of physical activity. This flew in the face of what people with CFS knew to be true: That their disease caused them to get much worse after they exercised. That for them, being forced to do ever-increasing exercise was basically tantamount to torture, so it was very concerning that health authorities and insurance companies began requiring that they undergo graded exercise treatment (and parents with children with CFS had to put their children through this treatment, or lose custody for “medical neglect”). So they investigated the study, found that it was seriously flawed, got many health authorities to reverse their position on graded exercise, and have made strides into pointing researchers to looking into biological causes of their illness.

Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS) is a rare but debilitating disease that isn’t researched much, because it affects such a small portion of the population. The ALS community realized that if they wanted better treatment, they would need to raise the money for research themselves. In 2014 they organized a viral “ice bucket challenge” to get people to donate to their cause, and raised $115 million, enough to make significant advances in understanding ALS and getting closer to a cure.

A common treatment for Autism is Applied Behaviour Analysis (ABA), which is designed to encourage “desired” behaviours and discourage “undesired” ones. The problem is, the treatment targets behaviour an Autistic person’s parents and teachers consider desirable or undesirable, without consideration that some “undesired” behaviours (like stimming) are fundamental and necessary to the wellbeing of Autistic people. Furthermore, the treatment involves punishing Autistic children for failure to behave as expected–in traditional ABA, by witholding rewards or praise until they stop, or in more extreme cases, by subjecting them to literal electric shocks to punish them. (In that last case, they’ve been ordered to stop using the shock devices by August 31, 2020. That only took YEARS.) Autistic people have had to campaign loud and long to say that different treatment strategies should be researched and used, especially on Autistic children.

So I mean… I get that the medical model can provide an element of validation and social acceptance. It can feel really good to have people in white coats back you up and say you’re the real deal. But if you get in touch with most LGBT+ and transgender groups, they’d say that there’s still a lot of work to be done when it comes to researching trans issues and getting scientific and governmental authorities to recognize your rights to social acceptance and medical treatment.

Within a few years, the definition you’re resting on will turn to sand beneath your feet. The Great DSM Machine will begin whirring into life pretty soon and considering what revisions it has to make. You’ll have an opportunity to make your voice heard and to push for real change. So… do you want to be part of that process of pushing trans rights forward, or do you just want to feel loss because they’re changing your strict definition of who’s valid and who’s not?

3. Scarcity is not a law of physics

One of the major arguments I see transmedicalists push is that there’s only a limited number of surgeries or hormone prescriptions available, so it’s not okay for a non-dysphoric person to “steal” the resources that another trans person might need more. This makes sense in a limited kind of way; it’s a good way to operate if, say, you’re sharing a pizza for lunch and deciding whether to give the last slice to someone who’s hungry and hasn’t eaten, or someone who’s already full.

When you start to back up and look at really big and complex systems–basically anything as big, or bigger, than a school board or a hospital or a municipal government–it’s not a helpful lens anymore. Because the most important thing about social institutions is that they can change. We can make them change. And the most important factor in how much the world changes is how many people demand that it change.

I’ve talked about this before when it comes to homeless shelters, and how the absolute worst thing they can have are empty beds. I used to work in women’s shelters, which came about when second-wave feminists started seriously looking at the problem of domestic violence in the 1960s and 70s, It was an issue male-dominated governments and healthcare systems hadn’t taken seriously before, but feminists started heck and did research and staged demonstrations and basically demanded that organizations that worked for the “public benefit” reduce the number of women being killed by their husbands. Their research showed that the leading cause of death in those cases were when women tried to leave and their partners tried to kill them, so the most obvious solution was to give them someplace safe to go where their partners couldn’t find them. Therefore the solution became: Women’s shelters. When feminists committed to founding and running these shelters, local governments could be talked into giving them money to keep them running.

(Men’s rights activists, the misogynist kind, like to whine about “why aren’t there men’s shelters?” and the very simple answer is: Because you didn’t fight for them, you teatowels. Whether a movement gets resources and funding is hugely a reflection of how many people have said, “This needs resources and funding! Look, I’m writing a cheque! Everyone, throw money at this!” In other news, The BC Society for Male Survivors of Sexual Abuse does great work. People should throw money at them.)

When the system in power knows there are resources it wants and doesn’t have, it finds a way to make them appear. For example, in Canada, the government knows that it doesn’t have enough trained professionals living in its far North, where the population is scarce and not very many people want to live. Doctors and teachers would prefer to live in the southern cities. But because it’s committed to Northern schools and hospitals, they create incentives. For example, the government offers to pay off the student loans of teachers or health professionals who agree to work for a few years in Northern communities.

Part of why trans healthcare resources are so scarce is that for a long time, trans people were considered too small a part of the population to care about. Like, “Trans people exist, but we won’t have to deal with them.” Older estimates said 0.4% of the population was trans, which meant a city of 100,000 people would have 400 trans people. A single family doctor can have 2000 or 3000 clients, so the city could have maybe 1 or 2 doctors who really “got” trans issues, and all the trans people would tell each other to only go see those doctors because all the rest were assholes. And the cracks in the system didn’t really seem serious. A couple hundred dissatisfied people not getting the healthcare they needed? Meh! Hospital administrators had more to worry about!

But the trans population is growing. A recent poll of Generation Z said 2.6% of middle schoolers in Minnesota were some kind of trans. which is 2,600 per 100,000. That’s enough to make hospitals think that maybe the next endocrinologist or OB/GYN they hire should have some training in treating trans people. That’s enough to make a health authority think that maybe the state should open up a new gender confirmation surgery clinic, since demand is rising so much.

Or well, I mean. Hospitals have a lot on their minds. This might not occur to them as their top priority. They’d probably think of it a lot sooner if a bunch of those trans people sent them letters or took out a billboard or showed up by the dozens at a public meeting to say, “Hello, there are a fuckload of us. Budget accordingly. We want to see your projected numbers for the next five years.”

When you’re doing that kind of work, suddenly it hurts your cause to limit your number of concerned parties. Sure, limited focus groups or steering committees can have limited membership, but when you put their ideas into action, to protest something or lobby for political change, you need numbers. If you want to show that you’re a big and important group that systems should definitely pay attention to, you don’t just need every trans or GNC or NB person who’s got free time to devote to your campaign, you also need every cis ally who can pad out numbers or lick envelopes or hand out water bottles or slip you insider information about the agenda at the next board meeting. You need bodies, time, and money, and you get them best by being inclusive about who’s in your party. Heck, if it would benefit your cause to team up with the local breast cancer group because trans women and cis women who have had mastectomies both have an interest in asking a hospital to have a doctor on staff who knows how to put a set of tits together, then there are strong reasons to do it.

Basically: All the time any marginalized group spends fighting over scraps is generally time we could spend demanding that the people handing out the food give us another plate. If you don’t think you’re getting enough, the best answer isn’t to knock it out of somebody’s hands, but to get together to say, “HEY! WE’RE NOT GETTING ENOUGH!”

That kind of work is complicated and difficult! It’s definitely much harder than yelling at someone on Tumblr for not being trans enough. But if you do any level of getting involved with activist groups that fight for real systemic change, whether that’s following your local Pride Centre on Twitter or throwing $5 at a trans advocacy group or writing your elected representative about the need for more trans health resources, you’re pushing forward lasting change that will help everyone.

#staranise original #transmedicalism tw #transphobia tw #homophobia tw #my problems with sj let me show you them

350 notes · View notes

jonthethinker · 4 years

Text

After a long day of truly cursed thoughts, I’ve come to the determination that the Cerberus Assembly can act as a sort of Exandrian analog of our world’s Silicon Valley, and I hate it. I hate hate hate it.

The more I think about it, the more it just sort of melds into my mind as fact. I can’t escape it. This is where I live now.

You’ve got this collection of self-proclaimed super geniuses, unbounded by modern social mores and determined to invent a new sort of ethics, with an intent on shaping history and sagely guiding the world into a better future. This is despite the fact that most of the ideas they have inevitably end up making the world worse, and the only thing “new” that they really bring into the world is a bunch of actually very old ideas coated in fresh circuitry/magic.

But let’s dig a little deeper and start getting specific.

They both have these images of fiercely independent, creative bodies desperate to remain free from government control, and sometimes even as a check on that very government. The heads of the Cerberus Assembly outright say their intent is to act as a check on the Crown, and are known to have many secrets the Crown is, to their knowledge, totally unaware of.

Tech companies, particularly in America, have this outward facing very libertarian outlook on things, saying they don’t wish to interfere in the very important process of democracy and free speech, while simultaneously feeling it is their responsibility to fact check those in power and hold them to account, with their “serious vetting” of political ads and the like on their platforms. They also lobby heavily against any and all regulation of their various products and services, preferring to let the “invisible hand” of the market provide the service of keeping them in check, much as the Cerberus Assembly prefers to handle its own problems internally.

But when you really dig into the details this is all bullshit. The Cerberus Assembly, for all intents and purposes, IS the Empire. They run the secret police, for goodness sake. The two are so interconnected, and the Assembly as an institution is so dependent on the infrastructure and manpower, and of course money (because the fancy clothes, giant towers, and expensive sets of material components don’t pay for themselves) of the Empire to accomplish its goals, it can’t serve as a real check on Imperial forces possibly “overstepping”, and it also has no material interest in doing so; the more power and control the Empire has, the more power and control the Assembly has; the less freedom the citizens have due to authoritarian “safety” measures implemented by the Crown, the safer the Assembly itself becomes to pursue it’s morally dubious work and experimentation.

The same goes with Silicon Valley and the various tech companies that fall under its ethos. They will expound continually on the necessary freedom from government control they must have to truly change the world in the ways they think are best, but the primary source of money for most of these companies are governments. They either primarily contract with governments for most of their actual profits or to use its already established infrastructure, as is the case with Amazon, or depend heavily on publicly funded research for their innovations, which is everyone from Apple to Google to Microsoft and dozens and dozens of smaller companies besides. They then even get to patent these publicly funded innovations and hold a monopolized stranglehold on their use. This is not even to mention the starter capital necessary to form many of these companies in the first place itself was provided by governments, with the rather, shall we say “morally questionable” Kingdom of Saudi Arabia being among the top contributors to such start ups.

Even when either of these groups claim to be self-made, it’s all bullshit. So many of our famous tech overlords that supposedly built themselves from nothing started at the upper reaches of society, with more than enough capital and connections to insure they were never at any real risk of failing in the first place. Most even went to the same elite institutions of learning that provide the vast majority of the political leadership of the United States, institutions they had access to due to their wealth and familial connections, not their brains. Elon Musk’s family owned an emerald mine in Zambia for God’s sake, one his family would have never owned without the British Empire being a thing.

The same can be said for the Assembly. The upper classes of the Dwendalian Empire are lousy with mages and magic users. If they don’t have a place to climb among the nobility, they work for the Assembly, and hope to climb there. It shouldn’t surprise anyone that the only poorer mage recruits we know anything real about all were sucked up into the service of the Scourgers, one of the few arms of the Assembly known to regularly interact with societies lower reaches and not so positively at that, and had their familial identities obliterated in the process. Both of these groups are of the upper reaches of society and serve the upper reaches of society, and we should never think anything less.

And this brings us to the ideological framework both of these groups think with. They are both full to the brim with people who are individualists to the extreme. They all believe they are singular actors in the great tapestry of history, who got where they are by hard work and dedication, and anyone who isn’t there just didn’t do enough. The folks living in the tent city outside Zadash? lazy layabouts who simply have not applied their mind to be something greater, or perhaps their veins are just full of bad blood. Poor former factory workers in Detroit whose jobs have been moved to places where labor laws are weaker and wages are lower? If they’d only taken their education more seriously, they could be where I am! Or maybe they just never tried to be an Uber driver or delivering for Grubhub, because that’s how you really pull yourself out of poverty.

Meanwhile, most of the groups consist of people who have never once known real adversity and certainly not the hardship of poverty nor the lack of social and political power that position entails. They are blinded to the reality of most people in the world outside their rather small one, and thus have no understanding of the material hardship that most people experience during their everyday life.

You see this most clearer in the manner in which they try to solve what they see as societies great problems, with no clear thought put into the consequences of these particular solutions. In our world, this is particularly obvious. Uber is painted as an innovative means of transportation on a budget, when in reality it’s just a fleet of untrained, underpaid, non-unionized taxi drivers using their own personal vehicles at their own expense. Elon Musk is seen as this super genius when his solution to LA traffic wasn’t a more robust public transportation system or slowly reconstructing the city to be more pedestrian friendly, but instead to build a massive network of single car elevators under the city to zip cars to key hot spots faster in a manner people less anxious than me would still call risky at best. I mean most of these people think the key to ending poverty is teaching people to code or giving them STEM education, even when in a capitalist economy the only thing a sudden flooding of new coders and STEM educated folks would insure is that the jobs that require those skills will see a sudden massive drop in pay and benefits as the pool of prospective employees becomes over-saturated and individual workers no longer have any bargaining power to protect their once rare jobs. You already see this in animation and video game design, and you’ll certainly see it elsewhere.

For the Assembly, despite being praised as the brightest arcane minds of Wildmount, seem to get most of their ideas either by stealing them from others or digging them up out of the ground. But this is just the nature of empire; it’s always easier for an empire to consume than it is to create. So as little as they think of the Dynasty, they are eager to steal every little bit of knowledge they’ve discovered about Dunamis, and without the faith and moral sense the Luxon-based religion imposes, they will never be forced to put the use of this rare and dangerous magic into perspective. Imagine what harm they can cause with gravity and time magic when they don’t have that religious pressure to consider the value of life and choice. But this makes sense when their main sources of inspiration are the wizards of the Age Of Arcana; you know, the wizards whose hubris nearly destroyed the entire world and spurred an apocalyptic war that sent society into a dark age in which the gods themselves abandoned them? A+ inspiration material if you ask me.

Even the culture of these two groups in regards to how they regulate themselves is so eerily similar. Think of Delilah Briarwood. Member in good standing of the Cerberus Assembly. Also, worshipper of Vecna and talented necromancer. Only expelled from the Assembly after involvement from the Cobalt Soul, even when you know every other member of the Assembly almost certainly had loads of information on this lady.

It just makes me think of all the weird, right-wingers and Nazis who occasionally get expelled from the heights of Silicon Valley whenever some journalist exposes them, and how quickly their colleagues are to condemn them even when so many of them either knew this person was this way well before they were exposed or actively agreed with them and still do. I mean, think of how protected Bill Gates is, because of how much his philanthropist image has served to insulate and protect the gross consolidation of wealth and power in the hands of so few, even when his fortune was built on stolen ideas, military funding and research, and a hardcore software monopoly for well over a decade or two. Also, his philanthropy has done nothing to help African people build their own institutions of power independent of European and American influence, and have help distract us from the damage really caused to the entire continent by earlier colonialism and later capitalist imperialism.

This is to say as bad as our world is, I now definitely don’t want to live in Wildemount. I don’t want to live a world where Mark Zukerberg can cast Disintegrate. Not ideal. I guess I’ll just have to work that much harder to fix this one and not depend on learning Dunamancy to just put us on a different path. Bummer.

#Critical Role #Cerberus Assembly #Dwendalian Empire

200 notes · View notes

brynfelan · 3 years

Text

The One Where Hajime Only Knows Class 77b Because He Works At A 24-Hour Grocery Store

it’s DONE, it’s BAD, it has all the pacing of a POORLY-WRITTEN SNL SKETCH, but I can’t give less of a shit I am tired and putting it out into the world. @idnek83 I told you I’d fucking write it. It’s 5am and this was written purely out of spite. also, the credit for this idea goes to them. the only reason i wrote this is because they were too much of a coward to.

Word Count: 3272 Summary: Hajime Hinata works at a 24-hour grocery store and only knows class 77-B because they all come in at different times to buy some weird shit. Chaos ensues. This is crack, just straight up crack.

There are worse things than working the graveyard shift. It pays a little extra than day hours, there’s less work to do at the counter, and the only thing Hajime really has to worry about is a drunk customer getting rowdy. Actually, he enjoys it in a weird way. He just stands at the counter, runs people up, and then leaves at six in the morning to do whatever the hell he wants with his day. Usually sleeping, but it’s also nice to be free all the time.

His favourite part of the job is the set of students that come in between the hours of two and five almost every day. They aren’t usually together, but he’s pieced together that they’re all in the same class by descriptions that he’s gotten from the more talkative of the bunch. He doesn’t know all of their names, some of them he only knows by nicknames, but he does know all of their faces.

Kazuichi Soda for example, comes in at around two in the morning every Friday night. He usually buys shitty beer or cheap liquor, and complains that he’s the one that got sent out from the party to get more booze. Sometimes he also picks up random assortments of tools or screws. Hajime thinks it should probably be illegal to sell a man a 40 of cheap whiskey and a power drill at two in the morning, but he learnt to stop questioning the combination of things that people buy at this kind of hour. He dreads to think of the drunk creations that Soda makes.

On the other hand, Mahiru only comes in around once a month. Hajime knows her name is Mahiru because the first time, she drunkenly introduced herself to him and tried to explain that her combination of items were for a photoshoot and not for any kind of nefarious purpose. He isn’t quite sure what kind of crime she could commit with several bunches of half-dead flowers, a whole cream cake and a bottle of champagne, but he’d definitely like to see it.

It’s four in the morning on a Tuesday. Hajime gets off in two hours, and he’s currently dealing with one Gundham Tanaka. He knows his name is Gundham Tanaka, because he announces it every single time that he gets rung up.

“Huh. Sunflower seeds and hamster bedding. You got any pets?” It’s an innocent question, but at this point he really should have learnt not to question Gundham.

“You fool! I, Gundham Tanaka, have my four Dark Devas of Destruction at my command, ready to strike at any moment for insinuating that they are mere pets as you mere mortals call them!” Ah, good. This happens every time. “You may also notice that I am purchasing this protective potion. This is a defensive measure to protect myself from the very devils that seek to feast on my demon blood!

Hajime looks down at the mosquito spray. He’s definitely not getting paid enough for this.

“Right, yeah. Sorry man. I hope those, uh, devils don’t bother ya too much. That’ll be twenty-two fifty-nine.”

Four hamsters poke out from Gundham’s scarf to deliver the money to Hajime. He isn’t sure if that’s sanitary, but at least he gets to see some cute animals during his shift. For “warriors”, as Gundham calls them, they’re pretty sweet and don’t seem to be adverse to getting pet when they hand (mouth?) him the bills.

Even if it gives him daytime freedom, this job isn’t worth ten seventy-two an hour. He sometimes thinks about switching to the day shift, but he gets paid more to work nights and effectively does half the work. Hajime knows that it’s the best job he’s gonna get for a while, and it pays enough to get him through college. Still, he reminds himself to check for something better when his shift’s over.

Gundham is the last of the class he sees that night. He’s definitely eccentric, maybe the most eccentric of the bunch, but he’s never caused a real scene. Except for one time when he managed to smash three bottles of red wine in quick succession, but it happens. Hajime didn’t have to clean it up, so he’s definitely not paid enough to care.

The next night, it’s Sonia that walks in. She’s never formally introduced herself to him, but Soda never shuts up about her, so Hajime has a pretty good idea of who she is. She’s buying nearly his month’s rent in skincare products and murder mystery novels. She talks the whole time too, about how this store is so different to ones in her home country, how he must get so many interesting experiences working at these hours.

“Yeah, you sure could call it interesting,” He snorts a little, “You get some interesting people come in at these hours.”

“Ah, of course! You are a respectable man to hold a necessary job such as this, I believe I would be, as they say, boned without you here! Is it customary to tip workers in institutions such as this?”

Jesus, how much money does this girl have?

“Uh, not grocery store workers ma’am. Cash or card?”

When she pulls out the cash from her purse, Hajime nearly faints. He decides that she must either be a foreign dignitary or deep in some criminal ring in order to have this much money on her person at any one time. It’s not even in exact change, and she’s a hundred over her total.

“This is too much, ma’am. Here, this is yours.”

When he tries to give the hundred back to her, she steps away from the register and puts her hands behind her back. She’s smiling, and shaking her head.

“Oh, no. I shan’t be taking that! You must keep it.”

She’s either an angel, or Satan trying to tempt him with nearly double what he makes in a night. Arguing with her is pointless, she refuses to take her items until he pockets the cash. He hopes that he never has to explain that to his manager, because he hasn’t read the company policy but he’s nearly a hundred percept sure that accepting personal money is very much against it. She finally leaves nearly half an hour later, after insisting he keep the money. He can’t tell if he hopes she comes back, or that he never sees her again.

He ends up keeping the hundred. That’s way too much money to be given to pass up.

If Hajime had to name a favourite customer out of the students, it would have to be the girl that comes in a couple of nights a week to buy snacks. He doesn’t know her name, but she always talks about video games. They share the same taste in them, and he likes hearing about his favourites from another person’s perspective. He doesn’t really have anybody to play them with, but it almost feels like he does when she comes in and asks how far he’s gotten in whatever just came out that week. He thinks about her during his shift sometimes when things get slow.

That same night, a boy with all the manners of a particularly pissed off cat comes in. He’s with a girl that towers over him, and Hajime would laugh if he wasn’t afraid of getting his ass handed to him, since he’s pretty sure the girl is carrying a sword. He’s buying twelve packs of cookies, and a single toy bunny. He pays with a black credit card. Neither of them say anything to Hajime. He’s pretty sure that’s the “Baby Gangsta” that Soda has spoken about on a couple of occasions, but definitely doesn’t want to ask just in case he gets sliced in half. He only notices that he was holding his breath when they leave.

An absolutely giant man walks in just as Hajime is about to clock out. No really, he’s huge and all muscle. Hajime might be scared of him, if he didn’t have such a huge smile on his face. He occasionally comes in early in the morning to buy a hideous amount of protein powder and other groceries. Every time he does, he invites Hajime to “train” with him. Hajime is too scared to ask what training involves, and turns it down every time. By the size of the guy, he’s pretty sure any amount of training would kill him.

Hajime doesn’t know when he clocks in the next night that it’s going to be the most hellish night of his life. He doesn’t know that tonight is the night he hands in his two weeks yet. He’s pretty optimistic when he walks in, freshly showered and having just gotten back a pretty decent grade for one of his classes.

It starts at five. Kazuichi Soda walks in first, already drunk and talking to Baby Gangsta about some motorbike he’s going to jack up so much it won’t be road legal anymore. The Giant Man is close behind, talking to a girl about doing “it” (Hajime has no idea what “it” is and frankly he isn’t sure he wants to know). That’s the first sign. No more than three of them have ever walked in together at any one time.

Lagging behind a little is Gundham and Sonia, followed by Mahiru and the tiny girl that sometimes accompanies her. The only thing Hajime can remember about her is that she called some other girl a “toilet clogging bitch” one time. Three other men follow behind, one with light hair that looks just a little too skinny to be healthy, one that looks nearly exactly the same as him except taller and heavier, and one that’s even shorter than Baby Gansta. A girl with her eyes glued to a Game Girl trails behind them, the Sword Girl almost steering her out of the way of a promotional stand for donuts. Behind them is Ibuki Mioda, a girl that comes in sometimes to buy Monster Energy by the crate at three in the morning, talking to Mikan Tsumiki who usually accompanies her to run of the health risks of drinking too much caffeine.

Behind all of them is the devil himself, dressed up like an angel. Hajime doesn’t know he’s the devil yet, but he will in about an hour.

They’re in the store for all of ten minutes before shit starts going south. Hajime can hear things being tossed around in the aisles and shouting. He definitely isn’t paid enough to deal with that, so he stands at his register and hopes it calms down.

“C’mon, we just finished our finals, Ibuki wants to go hard!”

That’s never a good thing to hear when you still have two hours of your shift left.

Now, part of the reason why Hajime likes working the graveyard shift is that it’s quiet. Nothing happens, except for the one time a guy in a Scream mask came in and robbed his register at axe-point, but he’d already been working at the store for two weeks and couldn’t give less of a crap whether or not the company lost money over that. Tonight, it isn’t quiet. Tonight, there are sixteen students that Hajime thinks might give him a migraine if they don’t shut up for five minutes.

The worst part is when they disperse through the store. Before, all the noise was coming from one place. Now it’s everywhere. Hajime thinks that some of them are having a competition to see who can make all the toys that make sounds go off in the quickest amount of time. He can hear shouting and squealing and laughing (and is that crying? Is one of them crying in his store?) and he wonders if it would be worth it to just walk out and let them take whatever they want.

It doesn’t end there. There’s a loud smashing sound, and then the high-pitched whine of the girl who looks too young to be buying booze but Hajime has never cared enough to card because it’s not his job to parent her.

“You snot-nosed bitch! I bet you’re trying to make Hope’s Peak look bad, you drunk whore!”

“I’m s-sorry! I didn’t mean to!” The crying gets worse the more the short one yells, “I-I’ll clean it up and pay for it, don’t worry! Please forgive me!”

Hope’s Peak is that exclusive private place down the street, right? Hajime passes it everyday, but couldn’t have ever dreamed of getting to study there. He isn’t even really sure what they teach, besides that they always push out the greatest in whatever field of study they run. No, Hajime chose the cheaper option, and while it might have been nice to go somewhere so prestigious, it definitely wouldn’t have been good for his wallet.

From the other side of the store, he hears clapping and laughing. He doesn’t even want to think about what fresh hell is going on in the DIY section, where he’s pretty sure he can hear Soda spilling paint everywhere if the swearing from Baby Gangsta is anything to go buy.

Half an hour or so after they all walked in, Hajime is ringing up fifteen people. He’s the only one working tonight until the cleaners come in, and this is more people than he’s ever had to deal with in his life.

Sonia has bought sixteen bottles of the most expensive champagne the store sells. Hajime doesn’t want to think about the ordeal he went though last time she was here, so when she pushes an extra hundred into his hand he doesn’t bother arguing with her. Gundham, on the other hand, has apparently bought up every single vegan burger that was in the freezer section. He’s also got all the buns, and what feels like a hundred different condiments and salad options. Through tears, Mikan apologises for the trouble she’s causing while trying to pay for whatever bottle she broke – while at the same time picking up enough hangover medicine to cure an army.

By the time he’s rung everybody up, he’s exhausted. He wants to go to bed and never get out of it, to never see anybody again. He hates customers at the best of times, and these people might be excellent outside of this setting, but in his store they’ve been an absolute nightmare.

They’re all packed up and ready to go when the girl with her nose in the video game pipes up.

“Hey, where’s Nagito?” She asks through a yawn.

Then, it happens. Hajime hears a “whoops” from the back end of the store, and everything he’s ever wanted to not happen on his shift happens.

One shelving unit goes down, then another, then another. The sounds of shattering and splintering echo through the now otherwise silent store. They go down like dominos, each falling shelf worse than the last. It’s five fifty-seven in the morning, and Hajime can only watch as his divine punishment for choosing to work in a grocery store near a college is shown to him. Bottles are smashing, toys are crushed, he’s pretty sure that whatever happens in the fish section is no longer safe to look at with the naked human eye.

“I’ve never thought about committing murder before,” He says, “But now I think I understand.”

Everybody is quiet until the dust settles. The white-haired demon walks out completely unscathed, with an innocently shit-eating grin on his face.

“Ah, I can pay for this. I’m so sorry to have caused such trouble,” He says, waving his hands like it’s no big deal, “Please, allow me to pay for the damages. My terrible luck is a scourge on this Earth, I simply can’t apologise enough.”

Hajime sighs, and looks at the clock. It’s five fifty-nine. There isn’t an enough money in the world to pay him to deal with this.

“What the fuck happened?” Baby Gangsta asks, from the back of the crowd, “Seriously, you’ve had some bad fuckin’ luck before, but this shit takes the crappy cake.”

“Oh. I tripped.” He dusts his knees off, and smiles again.

It’s unnerving that he’s so calm about this. Hajime dreads to think what else he’s done in the past that would make this seem so natural to him. Can you bar somebody from your store for accidentally wrecking every single item that you have to sell?

“There is some hope to come from this, Kuzuryu, don’t worry!” He pulls out a tiny stuffed dog from his pocket, “Please, how much will this be?”

All Hajime can do is stare. He isn’t sure what god he pissed off to deserve this. He doesn’t believe in karma, but he hopes that whatever he gets in return for this is pretty damn good.

Six in the morning rolls around. The day-staff have walked in to the mess that is the store, and his manager is just staring at him. Hajime looks at him, and just shakes his head.

“If you want the story, talk to the guy with the white hair. I don’t even know what’s happening anymore.”

Immediately after he says that, he hears a whoosh. Then, everything starts feeling a whole lot warmer.

“Shit, store’s on fire. Komaeda, you’re going to get us banned from this store!” Kazuichi yells, running as fast as he can to the exit.

The others follow, and Hajime gives his manager a “what-can-ya-do” shrug, before following. This store isn’t worth getting a lungful of smoke over. Hell, he isn’t even sure working here is worth the extra cash that Sonia seems adamant to give him every time she comes in.

Sixteen students, Hajime, four other co-workers, two cleaners, and a General Manager stare as the building burns. Before his manager can open his mouth to speak, Hajime looks at him and says, “Nope. I quit. I’m leaving. Now. This isn’t my fault, and you can’t pay me enough to deal with it.”

There’s no argument. His manager just lets him go. The sixteen students get a lifetime ban. Hajime also gets a lifetime ban. The white-haired devil writes a check and walks away basically scot-free. The store is going to be closed for the next fuck-knows how long until it can get repaired. From the number of zeroes on that check, Hajime’s pretty sure this is an expensive problem to fix. He doesn’t care, it isn’t his problem.

“Hey, Mr-Store-Clerk Guy!” Ibuki grins at him, “Wanna come and party with Hope’s Peak? We just got done with finals!”

“Ibuki, that’s a fantastic idea! To repay our debt to him for causing so much trouble, we simply must invite him to part-ay with us!” Sonia claps her hands together and smiles like Ibuki’s just discovered Atlantis, “Please do come with us! But first, might we get your name? We all see you so often, and have never thought to ask!”

It’s six in the morning. Hajime rubs his temples. Any sane person would say no, because he’s tired and just quit his job so he’s going to need to find another one as soon as possible, and having a store burn down on your watch is not good on your resume.

It’s six in the morning, and if there’s any day that Hajime wants to start drinking at ass-o-clock in the morning and not on his dime, it’s this one.

“I’m Hajime Hinata. Please don’t burn anything else down.”

“Oh, don’t worry!” Nagito calls from where he’s standing by the manager, “I’m sure that after that I’ll have some incredibly good luck!”

#brainrot #drabble #not really a drabble it's like 3k #but have it #love it #do what you want with it #this is the worst thing i've ever written #yes counting the fanfiction i wrote for my gcse in english language #this is so dumb #i can't even tell if it's funny or if i'm just tired #either way #have it

26 notes · View notes

faraway-in-headspace · 3 years

Photo

I?? I searched Chicken Choice Judy on google out of curiosity because it sounds oddly familiar like there’s a similar-sounding name and I found 4 websites selling the shirt design. But the descriptions on these pages are BUCK WILD??

Written version of the descriptions under the cut (very long).

[Begin ID

First image states: Long ago, when I had hair, I was an undergrad living in a house with nine other men. Near as I can tell, three of them (not sure which three) never bought food, just lived off what they stole from the Chicken Choice Judy shirt But I will love this other seven. We had several house meetings about it, but nothing changed. One day, I came in from grocery shopping. By coincidence, all 10 of us were in the kitchen. I started putting my stuff away. 1st thing I pulled out of the bag was my half-gallon of milk. I opened the carton, took a couple of drinks from the carton, then gargled some of it, and spit it back in. I opened my tub of margarine and licked the whole surface. By now, the room chatter had stopped because the other nine jaws had dropped open.) To your original question, those specific topics would take several years to build, as they depend on several layers of pre-requisites, which would require either that more advanced topics such as algebraic topology to be taught in elementary school, or that the buildup process happened blazingly fast during high school – both of which probably stretch the biological limits of what pre-teens and teenagers can reasonably be expected to accomplish. I spit on all my veggies, took the bread out of the package, and licked and spit on it, then carefully put it all back in the plastic bag. Remind teenage daughters to look through them before going on date with the boyfriend, in case they want to use one. I labeled it all and put it away. None of it was stolen. I never said a word, but I made it a point to repeat the performance anytime anyone was around to see it. Others began to emulate my approach and food theft stopped. Even I found it revolting, but it solved the problem. Works even better if you are sick or can at least make your thieving roommates think you are. While some cities are starting to reopen in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, people around the country are continuing to wear masks in public and practice social distancing. Vogue is committed to staying safe, and offering hopeful, optimistic content that highlights moments of camaraderie and exceptional acts of heroism from around the world. We are all looking for a little comfort too—be it a soothing Instagram account or a stylish creator on TikTok. It reminds us of the power of little things.

Second image states: A couple of guests informed me my office was too minimalist and that they expected more things to be hanging on my wall the Chicken Choice Judy shirt besides I will buy this next time they visited my wife’s and my home. I kinda hope they held their breath while they were waiting for our next invitation. They both went on to backstab me and my wife pretty bad a few years later. Another set of guests tried to squat. I had driven them all the way from Florida to Massachusetts under the impression that they had jobs and a place to live lined up. They offered no money for gas, hotels on the three-day trip, or compensation for the inconvenience and effort. He even tried to weasel out of the dinner he offered as a thank you by forgetting his wallet. The dude got me off the streets years ago and I wanted to pay him back in some way, but my wife and I were in no position to have extra residents in our home. We just don’t have the room or money. I made all of this VERY clear and told my old buddy that we could only house them for a couple of days max. There are MANY other details, but the disrespectful thing my former friend said was wordless. As I was kicking them out and they were angrily loading stuff into my car to bring them anywhere but here, my buddy left his gigantic knife right in the center of my wife’s desk. Like that was supposed to make us change our minds and let them stay? In the days of dial-up, I had a family call and not be able to get through because we were online. They decided to show up unannounced. They literally caught me in my underwear as they were let into the apartment before I could even react to being rudely surprised. Some of my family members have a history of abuse, violence, and stalking, something at least one of the visitors, my mother, was quite aware of since she lived through it with me. Her tagalong friend decided to put in her two cents and tell me I should get a call waiting or a second line because they were trying to call me. That did it! I suddenly forgot I was just wearing underwear and angrily asked my mother’s friend if she was paying my phone bill. My mother-in-law, stepfather and mom’s friend beat a hasty retreat and NEVER did the pop-in ever again.

Third image states: That was why when we did get to reality shows, Etro and then Dolce & Gabbana plus Jacquemus later in France, it was wonderful. Clothes are all about contact: As a wearer, you feel them on your skin, and as a watcher, you process them with your eye. The watching part can be done secondhand, but the Chicken Choice Judy shirt in contrast I will get this impact will always be second to the real thing. I read some commentators in the U.S. saying, “Too soon” or “Wear a damn mask!” which I always did, but these opinions while valid enough lack perspective. Milan and its surrounding region Lombardy went through what New York did but earlier. Through sagacious governmental management much more effective than that of the U.S., Italy has managed dramatically to flatten the curve across the rest of its territory. These shows just like the reopening of flights, stores, factories, and restaurants were symptomatic of recovery that, far from being taken for granted, is being tended to with vigilance and cherished with gratitude. The digital Fashion Weeks were better than no Fashion Weeks at all, but as an upgrade on the real thing? Nah. Like everyone, I missed the shows in the experiential sense this season. But for the first time since I began covering the collections several years ago, I didn’t miss a single brand or designer’s contribution to Paris Fashion Week. Which is to say, thanks to the Fédération’s online platform, I was able to watch every name on the haute couture and men’s calendars. This brand on-demand convenience not to mention being spared the logistical headaches of zigzagging across the city was pretty great. Also, everything was on time, from the films to the manner in which we filed our reviews. While efficiency can be satisfying, it’s not necessarily exciting. Ultimately, we had to accept that the focus this season wasn’t going to be the clothes but rather the brands conveying some combination of identity, process, and values. And in the absence of standardized criteria as in, showing a minimum number of looks, specifying a time range, it was interesting to observe how heterogeneous these experiments proved to be quasi–ad campaigns versus short films, conceptual or fantastical visions versus raw and documentary style. A proper kimono takes nearly an hour to put on – I’m sure most Japanese girls would much rather spend a few seconds and slip on a dress. Get survey responses from targeted consumers today.

Fourth image states: Around a decade ago, not long after he started his own label, Massimo Alba made a great mistake. A batch of shirts and T-shirts he was working on that had already been garment-dyed one color were mistakenly exposed to another. Speaking at his showroom presentation this weekend, Alba said: “It’s very interesting to me that so many good things start out as mistakes like this.” That accident was to Alba what the Chicken Choice Judy shirt moreover I will buy this mold-infected petri dish was to Alexander Fleming: a stumbled-upon eureka that led to a career-defining course of the investigation. This collection featured a series of softly tailored jackets, corduroy pants, and shorts, plus light cashmere sweaters that were hand-overdyed two, and sometimes three colors. It’s a process that led to variations in tone that included acid-trip floods of purple on purple to subtle bleeding of magenta across mustard yellow. Like most of Alba’s garments, these dyed pieces appeared at first glance conventionally prosaic. The more attention you gave them, however, the more their exceptional qualities became evident. Take a pale blue jacket, for instance, which at that first glance seemed passingly related to a surgeon’s scrubs. To the hand it was light and almost textureless in its softness: The fabric was a cotton mousseline developed for Alba by Albini. Long-sleeved, in a delicately mottled finish of washed-out sky blue, it made for an ideal mid-summer shake in pink, sleeveless, it was an impactful shirting second skin. Other interesting developments this season included a cotton pant named the Myles with acutely kinking stitched gather at knee-level on both legs and another handsome pant, baggy in white poplin, with patch pockets. A blue tropical weight jacket named the Lenny, after Bernstein, was Alba’s interpretation of a bohemian creative’s ideal piece of workwear. Collarless shirts in ripstop linen and button-up short-sleeves in terry were further finely effective coups de théâtre. Alba is a self-deprecating yet dangerous designer: Try just one carefully chosen piece and that’s it, you’re spoiled for good because nobody else quite compares. The museum in Prague where this portrait is held describes the ring on her first finger as the ring given to her at her wedding. It’s not comfortable. Maybe a lot of girls think that a see-through blouse can attract the attention of boys or they think that it will make her look much smarter. Meghan has no dress sense: no knowledge of fabrics, fit, styles that flatter, proper tailoring, Her father raised her in L.A. Enough said. Her idea of dressing for an event is “dress up” like a little girl dressing up as a princess. Shiny! Tight! Celebrity “fashion” not elegant, just flashy.

/end ID]

#infinity train #chicken choice judy #mine

14 notes · View notes

that-rock-chick · 3 years

Text

Love Bites

Love sucks. That's pretty much common knowledge. Combine that with addiction, money, fame, and childhood trauma and you've got a recipe for disaster.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Same shit, different fucking day.

Don't ask me how I'm balancing six days a week at my job and band practice three to four days a week, because I truly have no fucking idea. I tried college but once the band formed, I cut that out of my schedule completely.

It's been about a months since the argument with Gwen and Tiffany went down and our band hasn't practiced. I tried to be sympathetic for the longest time, but it's beyond ridiculous now. Veronica, Tiffany, and I have been wanting to do band stuff but Gwen refuses because she's mad that Tiffany is dating a man SHE broke up with. It's not like Tiffany did it intentionally, and the fact that she's letting her own personal stuff interfere with our band is really pissing me off.

We've all got shit going on, but Gwen loves being a drama queen. Veronica has suggested kicking her out of the band a few times and Tiffany has echoed the same sentiment, but I don't think my patience has thinned to that extent just yet.

But it's getting there.

Young musicans aren't hard to come by, but finding someone who fits the band's sound as perfectly as Gwen's adds on a large layer of difficulty that I'm not prepared for. We'd have to start all over, teach our new singer the songs, establish chemistry...it seems exhausting and more trouble than it's worth, at least for the time being.

"Hey Julie." Dylan greeted me as I walked past, something he does whenever we work together. Sometimes it ends up being the best part of my day.

As the day progresses, I find myself smiling a lot more than I usually do. Customers are easier to deal with and a large amount of them were actually friendly. It created a light-hearted atmosphere in the restaurant that we don't get too often, unfortunately. The time seemed to fly by.

"Good luck Dylan." I said goodbye and walked out of the front door. Dylan was always there a hour before I arrived, and an hour before I left. The rest of the staff is pretty cool, but Dylan is the only one I'd consider to be a friend of mine. He's essentially the less musically inclined male version of me.

I head to our rehearsal space for the second time this week. I've extended the invitation to Gwen, as if she needs an invitation to show up to her own fucking band's rehearsal. If she doesn't show up tonight, she's out. Our time is just as important as hers and we're all tired of it being wasted.

I'm usually the first person to show up, but some days that isn't the case, like today.

"Hey." Gwen says shyly.

I give her a blank stare and proceeded to put my things down on a table nearby.

"Nice of you to finally decided to show up." I stated plainly.

"Look, I know I've missed a lot of practice and I totally understand the three of you being pissed at me, but can you please take one second to see this from my perspective?"

I couldn't help but scoff at what was coming out of Gwen's mouth. Has she seriously taken an objective look at the situation and came to the conclusion that she has a leg to stand on.

"Okay fine. You broke up with a guy, he moved onto Tiffany, you were so jealous that he wasn't falling you around like a lost puppy, and you took it out on Tiffany."

Gwen rolled her eyes but before she could speak, Tiffany and Veronica entered the room. Anger was written all over Tiffany's face, while Veronica seemed to be as cool as a cucumber.

That's one thing I've always liked about Veronica. She can keep her cool in some pretty tough situations. That's not all there is to like about her, though. She's utterly gorgeous. Her dark skin and hair that was almost always styled in an afro were truly beautiful features that I couldn't help but admire. She's beautiful, smart, talented, and has an amazing personality. She's the full package.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Tiffany wasted no time begining the screaming match we all knew was about to go down.

"We're in the same band." Gwen managed to maintain her regular tone of voice, but if I know Tiff like I think I do, and trust me, I do, she'll keep going until she sets Gwen off and then everything will go up in flames.

"Clearly the band hasn't been very high on your list of priorities for the past four weeks. Finally make time in your schedule for us, princess?" Tiffany was speaking with her genuine emotions, but part of her wanted to get a reaction out of Gwen. She knows how Gwen feels about being called "princess".

Gwen looks like she wants to say something to Tiffany that would no doubt escalate the situation even further, but she takes a deep breath and regains her composure.

"I'm sorry, okay? For everything. Julie was right, I should've maintained my professionalism above all else...and I shouldn't have put some guy over you and our friendship."

The three of us looked at Gwen semi-shocked. That girl never apologizes for anything. Instead of responding, Tiffany tells Veronica and I that she's stepping out for a smoke.

I'm not sure if we should discuss things further or let bygones be bygones, but it's not exactly my place to make that call.

Tiffany returns just as I finshed tuning my guitar and walked up to Gwen. If I didn't know Tiffany, I'd say she was going to punch Gwen in the face with the speed she was moving.

"That whole situation was fucked up, but I know how hard it is for you to apologize to people, so I forgive you." Tiffany pulls Gwen in for a hug and for the first time in awhile, things seem okay between the four of us.

"I would like to reiterate that Gwendolyn said I was right." I smiled proudly.

"Yeah, don't get used to hearing that from me."

It was nice while it lasted, at least.

Band practice turned out to be super productive, and it hasn't been that way in a long time. We got a lot of work done today and hopefully we can keep this up for awhile. We spent about 7 hours in our rehearsal space and it felt more like 5 minutes. Time really does fly when you're surrounded by positivity.

The girls and I said our goodbyes and parted ways for the night. Tiffany had mentioned that we haven't seen each other this past month like we usually do. Of course I feel bad about that, she's been my best friend for so long. But I've been spending a lot of time with the Guns N' Roses boys...Axl in particular can be a persuasive little shit when he wants to be. I've already told the guys that Tiffany's birthday is this weekend and they can't keep monopolizing my time. I need more feminine energy!

"Julie!" I hear someone call out. I recognize the voice as soon as it hits my ears.

"Hey Slash, what's up?"

Minus Izzy, I'm becoming pretty close with the members of Guns N' Roses. I just wish that man wasn't so goddamn illusive.

Slash and I walk and talk. Clearly he's decided we're hanging out tonight. I don't mind it much since Tiffany's going out with Victor tonight, Gwen is visiting her parents, and Veronica is doing god knows what, like always. So even if I wanted to make plans with someone, it's not like I had anyone else anyway.

"I don't think anyone's at the house, besides Izzy." From the way he phrased his sentence, it was a clear indication that Slash had no interest in staying at the "Hell House" with Izzy, he usually opted to spend his nights the same way he spent his days: completely wasted. It didn't matter if it was alcohol or heroin, if it got him high, he'd take it.

But this isn't about Slash. I want to see Izzy...I might have a slight obsession with a man who has never even said a single word to me, but I mean, he's absolutely gorgeous. There's something about him that keeps me drawn to him and I'm determined to figure out what it is. No matter how long it takes me.

"Then let's go to the house."

Before Slash can process what I said so he could say no, I grab him by the arm and run as fast as I possibly can while dragging a grown man behind me. It only takes about 15 seconds of running before I realized, Slash in tow or not, I'm very out of shape. I'm running out of breath, determined to get to the band's house. I'll be wheezing all the way down Sunset Boulevard and trying to convince myself it's worth it by the time we get there. But knowing me, it won't.

We enter the house and lo and behold...

Izzy isn't there. Despite me struggling to breathe, the look of defeat plasters my face and Slash starts laughing his ass off.

"Izzy's out working, I just wanted to see how you'd react. Sure didn't think you'd go runnin to our house, though." Slash manages to get out through his fit of hysterical laughter.

"Slash! Why the hell would you do that?"

"Because I know you like him. I got the confirmation I needed. Just wait until I tell Duff!" Slash heads for the stairs, but I grab his arm before he starts his ascent.

"You cannot tell Duff." I tell him seriously.

"He can't tell Duff what?" Duff appears from the kitchen

"And why are you out of breath? And why are you holding Slash's arm?"

"She totally likes Izzy, dude. I told her that he was here and she dragged me through the streets. We almost got hit by like, 5 cars."

My shocked face slowly twists into a look of confusion as Duff rolls his eyes, pulls out his wallet, and hands Slash a 20 dollar bill.

"Dude, you guys bet on whether I liked Izzy or not?" I was part shocked, part confused, and part mortified that my crush on Izzy was that obvious. Izzy seems like a smart man, so I couldn't stop thinking about the possibility of him knowing and not talking to me because I'm a weird chick who likes him without even knowing anything about him.

"Yeah, and now I'm out 20 bucks because you can't control your goddamn hormones." Duff says in mock frustration. I ignore his joke as the overthinking sets in further.

"Does...does he know?"

"Nah. The man's pretty oblivious, plus he doesn't pay much attention to anything except drugs, work, and music. It's fine." Duff reassures me.

Then Izzy walks in. The three of us get quiet when he shuts the door behind him. He looked at the guys then looks me up and down. He then looks back up at my face like he's done several times before, but this time he doesn't look away when our eyes meet, not immediately, at least. I feel my heart start beating a mile a minute at the momentary eye contact and feel myself longing for it again when it breaks.

He nods his head and walks up the stairs. I guess his first words to me will have to wait another day.

"What does Izzy do for work?" I ask, to no one in particular.

"He's a drug dealer." Duff replies nonchalantly.

I don't know how to respond to that, so I don't. Slash and Duff have their own conversation and I find myself wondering what kind of person Izzy is. I don't know what to think. All I know is he's a damn good musician, an equally gifted writer, and a drug dealer.

Who the hell is Izzy Stradlin?

#guns n' roses #guns n roses #guns n roses fanfic #axl rose #steven adler #izzy stradlin #duff mckagan #slash #slash gnr #saul hudson

8 notes · View notes