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peachesofteal · 5 months

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Simple Math / Part Four

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Descriptions of past domestic violence, past abuse, past sexual assault, SANE exam. Death scene in relation to reader's job. Stalking. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Trauma. PTSD. Medical inaccuracies, hospitals, medical procedures, medications, nurse!reader. Comfort. Soft dads. Johnny is a shameless flirt.

“Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday sweet Penny-“

Their baby shrieks at the crest in the song, smile shoving her plump cheeks upwards, little fists banging on her highchair tray. She has no idea what’s going on, Johnny imagines, but he knows she’s excited that everyone is singing to her, looking at her, celebrating her. “happy birthday to you!” She swings a hand forward, plunging into the buttercream icing of the cupcake, fingers digging in as much as she can. Johnny can't help but give her the biggest kiss he can manage while trying to dodge the flying food, and Simon laughs over his shoulder.

“Atta girl.” Simon encourages, trying to peel the wrapper so she can get more in her mouth, icing and cake all over his fingers now too, and Johnny wanders for a second, imagining something certainly not appropriate for their daughter’s first birthday.

“Can’t believe your kid is a year old.” Kyle says from behind him, two beers in his hand. “Feels like yesterday you were even tellin’ us she existed.”

“Time is movin’ too fast.” Johnny agrees, taking a long sip as Simon pulls Pen from the highchair, white and blue icing all over her face, arms, and hands. Kyle is right, it is hard to believe it’s been a year, hard to believe that their baby is already one, growing up right before their eyes, taking her first steps, saying her first words. He knows it won’t be long until she’s really talking, running, riding a bike, going to school… thoughts of the future forming a lump in the back of his throat that sticks like taffy.

Simon steps into his orbit with Penny in his arms, keeping her turned outwards away from his body, half tilted to avoid the sticky smear of icing that’s painted all over her.

“What is it?” he murmurs, leaning in to brush his lips against Johnny’s cheek, warm breath fanning over his skin.

“Nothin’ ah-“ Penny babbles, head tipped back, gazing at him with wide, pretty eyes, and Johnny rubs a knuckle across her messy cheek. “she’s gettin’ so big. Feel like ‘m missing it, sometimes. Like I should be here.” Simon sighs.

“Johnny-“

“I know, I know.” They made this decision, together. They chose what was best for their family, even though they both knew the distance, the time apart, would sting.

“The option is always there if you want to swap. Though I think we both know you’d lose your head behind a desk.” He nods, but the longing lingers, and Simon reads him right through to his heart, like always. “After this next op, let’s sit down and talk about it. Maybe we can make some adjustments for next year.”

“Ah love ye.”

“I love you too.” He shifts Pen into his side, inclining his head towards her grubby hands. “Can you wash her up?” She reaches for him, trying to latch around his neck, and he rubs her back, cooing into her hair.

“Whit happened to my precious bairn, eh? Where’d she go?” Pen giggles, fingers finding his nose, long strands of his hair with a tug, and he playfully lifts her, mouth against her tummy, blowing loud raspberries over her shirt that has her absolutely screaming with glee.

“Da. Dadadada-“ she babbles at him.

“C’mon wee lamb, let’s go get ye into some clean clothes.”

There’s an envelope shoved under your front door.

The shitty carpet in the hallway is too high, threads jagged, so it sits a little crumpled, half wedged beneath the bottom and the floor.

It’s manilla. Letter sized. Stepping over it to get inside, you immediately notice the lack of postage. Or addressing. Or anything at all, that would signify that it had been delivered by proper authorities.

It’s from him.

You know it is, even though you try to find any other rational reasoning, anything that could explain the mystery behind the envelope and how it got here.

You know. You know it’s probably a letter. Handwritten. Signed in perfect penmanship. You know it’s probably something foul, sick words twisted into terrifying sentences.

You kick it inside and let it sit there for a few minutes. You get changed, get into comfortable clothes, start your kettle. You wrap your sweater tight around your body and lean against your countertop, staring at the offensive tan-beige paper that lays in the middle of the floor.

It’s from him.

He knows where you are.

“That’s impossible.” You answer yourself aloud, fingers curled so tight into your palms that they make little crescent moon shapes in your skin.

Your illusion, delusion, of safety, anonymity, is easily washed away by the appearance of the envelope, and whatever lurks inside it.

It’s too soon.

You didn’t make it.

It’s not a letter inside the envelope at all.

It’s a photo.

A photo of you, taken in harsh hospital lighting, dated over two years ago. It’s taken from the shoulders up, skin bare and exposed, fresh impact bruising around your neck, eye starting to swell, lip crusted with blood.

You remember this photo. You remember the awful experience of the SANE exam, the drive to the hospital that took over two hours because you had to go to another state, just in case.

You hadn’t changed. Hadn’t showered. Your white eyelet blouse, one of your favorites, was splattered red, bright ruby dried a dark wine by the time you pulled into the little county hospital.

You remember the way it felt, to have your clothes put in a bag. To be handled by gloved fingers, with care and attention. The same way you had done for others before that day, and since.

“What’s your name?” your nurse had asked you, so cautiously, so kind. “It’s okay. You’re safe here.” She tried to promise, but you knew the truth. There was nowhere you could run, not a single place you could hide, where a shadow wouldn’t find you.

The girl, the woman, in the photo is the same person that looks back at you in the mirror every day, except now she’s buried beneath layers and layers of function, schedule, consistency. She’s silenced by distraction. By work.

By fear.

You flip it over with trembling hands, looking for the note or signature you know will be there. Like a greedy, starved pig; he cannot help himself.

Found you.

Bile rockets up your esophagus and into your mouth. How long will he toy with you this time?

“Hey, you okay?” Nia asks, frowning at you from her locker.

“Yeah, just slept like shit.” You roll your shoulders, emphasizing the half-truth. You really did sleep poorly, fragments of nightmares keeping you suspended in twilight sleep, clips of memories morphed into the snapping. bloodied jaw of a monster who reared their head every time your REM cycle started, and it shows. In your face, your posture, your skin. You look awful, the only thing really holding you together the resolve you have to push through, to get it together, to leave the envelope and its contents behind in your mind. You’re safer inside these walls above anywhere else, that you know is true. Your safety. Your sanctuary. Nothing can hurt you here. “You know how it is.” You add, and she chuckles.

“Tell me about it. Thought I was going to love overnights, but the sleep schedule is brutal.”

“You get used to it.” You assure her, the two of you making your way down the hall to the pit, and she shrugs.

“If you say so.”

You stand outside of two sixty-eight for too long. People pass you in the hallway, eyes curious, and you pretend to scroll through the tablet, decidedly trying to distract yourself from the dread that’s gathered like a sailor’s knot in the pit of your stomach.

You’re a professional. This behavior is definitely unprofessional. Get yourself together.

You try, filling your lungs with a deep breath, but you can’t shake the shame, the mortification that is curdling in your stomach at the idea of facing Simon and Johnny after the code black situation last week.

“Go sit with Johnny.”

“Ye’re shaking, pretty girl.”

Will they be angry that you were so rattled? Could they tell?

Your watch alarm beeps, and you uncurl your spine.

Buck up.

You’re both anxious, and relieved, that Johnny is asleep when you finally step inside. Simon sits in his usual spot, paperback book’s spine split in the palm of his hand, and at first… he doesn’t even look up. Not until you clear your throat, and he startles in the chair, eyes snapping up to find yours. “Hi.” He frowns.

“What day is it?”

“Uh, it’s Wednesday?”

“I thought you start your week on Thursdays.” That makes your eyebrows raise, uncontained surprise filtering through you. He knows your schedule? Butterflies thrash in your stomach at the notion, something hot flooding your veins as you blink at him.

“I’m on OT.” You drift towards the other side of the bed, eyeing Johnny’s monitor before lifting the blanket to peek at his elevated leg. “How is he?”

“Uncomfortable. The burn debridement has been… difficult.” You chew on the inside of your cheek. They better not be letting Simon even stand outside and watch that through the window, you think. You’ll have to follow up with whoever is on days.

“Healing burns can be a long and painful process.” You tell him, pulling back the blanket a little further. “I’ll be quick, try to let him get enough sleep as possible.”

“He’ll be sad he missed you.” Simon answers, still watching your every movement, eyes dark and focused above the black cloth mask. The intensity in them catches you off guard when you meet his gaze, hair on the back of your neck standing up straight, and you swallow.

“Well, I’ll still be here in the morning when he wakes so…” you trail off awkwardly, choosing to direct your attention to the scaffolding that’s supporting his femur and hip, checking his sutures for any redness or swelling.

“Do you work a lot of overtime?” Simon asks at the same as he leans forward to brush a stray lock of hair from Johnny’s forehead. The touch is so tender, so gentle, it makes your heart bleed inside your chest, blood warming beneath your skin, captivating your attention until he’s tearing his eyes away from Johnny, and latching onto yours with an expectant expression.

“Oh. Um. Sometimes?”

“Seems like a lot.” He comments, words lazily pulled from his lips, his tone soft, nearly a whisper. “Must make it difficult to spend time with your family, or partner.”

“Oh, I don’t have one of… those.” You immediately refute, pulling up short before the word those, embarrassment making your nose burn. Why are you telling him this? Why are you announcing to a stranger that you’re practically a recluse loner?

Simon’s head tilts, and he looks like he’s about to say something but your tablet chimes, insistent and loud, signaling a vitals issue in another room.

“E-excuse me.” You stumble, and he nods, turning his attention back towards Johnny.

One… two… three… four…One… two… three… four… One… two-

The count in your head is second nature at this point, turning over and over after four as your arms, back and core start to scream, your breaths coming in shorter. Where the fuck is he?

The count continues to roll on, lactic acid building up through your muscles, and you take another deep breath, as much as you can manage. The pain is familiar, it’s necessary, it’s a part of your job, but today, it’s burrowing itself beneath your skull, tugging and tearing at the memories that you’ve buried deep.

Pain. Gnarled and knotted strands of associations pull free from the confines of compartmentalization, stretching out across the front of your mind.

One… two… three… four…

You think about the photo. About being on your back, in a bed like this, lost inside the maze of a panic attack while the NP took photos between your legs. While they swabbed for DNA inside of you, under your fingernails, in your mouth. It’s funny how certain things can stick with you, the sound of the plastic bag crinkling as your bloodied clothes were shoved inside, how you can’t sleep on your back now, the way you counted the ceiling tiles over and over that day. One… two… three… four…

“How long has it been?” Nia asks from the other side of the bed, hand steadily squeezing the bag at the correct rate, still watching the monitor like a hawk.

“At least ten minutes.” You glance at the shade pulled over the window, grateful you remembered when you came running in here, the patient’s family standing just outside the door, holding their breath, hoping you’re in here bringing their beloved granny back, when in reality, you’re just traumatizing her body. You’ve already broken one of her ribs, and you’re worried if you keep going, her sternum will fracture too. It’s not fair. “Where the fuck is he?” you hiss between breaths, anger starting to heat your skin, irritation clear in your tone. This isn’t even your patient. Lazy, slacker, pompous ass, where the fu-

“How long has it been?” The nervous voice just inside the door calls, and your head snaps up.

Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.

“Eleven minutes and twenty-two seconds. Where is Marshall?”

“He- he sent me.” You shake your head. Nia sighs.

“Have you pronounced before?”

“Um. No.”

“And where is Marshall?” You ask again, just to clarify, and the resident swallows.

“I uh, don’t know.” Normally, a resident’s first pronouncement would be supervised by their attending. But since this one’s attending is Marshall, a grade A prick that you can’t stand, it looks like he’ll be on his own.

“Great. Okay.” You take a huge breath, trying to flex your wrists without losing your position. “It’s been twelve minutes now, and no response. Do you want to check?” He nods, and you chew on the inside of your cheek when he doesn’t verbally respond. “I need you to say it out loud.”

“You can stop compressions.” You immediately wilt, stepping away from the side of the bed, the motion of Nia’s hand also slowing until it stops, and she slumps. Marshall’s resident physically checks for a pulse, listens for breath sounds and then finally, does a sternum rub, to no avail.

“Sh-should I…” they trail off, looking back down at the elderly woman in the bed. The deceased woman, whose family is waiting, desperately. You nod.

“Yes.” You tell the resident gently. You can tell he’s unsure, nervous even, and for a moment, you’re transported back to your first code, when you were a baby nurse, a terrified, bumbling mess that needed help, just like he does. And since Marshall is a piece of shit… “No pulse?” You ask, and they nod. “No breath sounds? No sound of a heartbeat?”

“None.” They answer you confidently, and you manage an encouraging smile.

“No response to painful stimuli, no reaction to the sternum rub?”

“Right. No.”

“Okay. So normally, you could also use a thumbnail to press into their nailbed, if you feel like you need it, if you’re not comfortable with the sternum rub, but-“

“No, no. I’m. Yeah. Okay.” They too, take a deep breath, and check their watch. “Time of d-death… twenty one forty five.”

“Great job.” You tell him, pulling the blanket back up around her shoulders. “Do you feel comfortable speaking with the family?” He blanches, and Nia’s work phone dings, signaling another patient’s needs. You sigh for the eightieth time tonight. “Okay. Come on, we’ll do it together.”

The supply closet welcomes you with open arms. It hides you in the low light of it’s forgotten space, and when you fall into the chair, your face drops into your palms, pressing so hard into them that you start to see stars. The curtain falls. The walls of your sanctuary start to feel frail.

Found you, found you.

He found you.

Get it together. Get yourself together.

“Hey, there she is. Missed ye.” Johnny coos, eyes half shut, sleepy and sweet.

“Johnny.” Simon rumbles his name like a warning, one your patient doesn’t seem to heed, still blinking slowly at you with a sly look on his face.

“Had a dream about ye, pretty girl. Dreamt ye were at ho-“

“Alright.” Simon cuts him off, swiftly. Patients often have vivid, weird dreams when they’re all dosed up on medication, and it’s not the first time someone has slurred out some weird vision they’ve had of you in their sleep.

“Good morning to you too.” You quip, glancing at the catheter bag before putting your hands on your hips. “How are you feeling?”

“’m alright. Stomach hurts.” You frown.

“Can you tell me where the pain is?” He motions to his upper right, the area where his newly repaired liver is sitting, and you nod, pulling out your phone immediately to update his doctor. Could be nothing. Could be something. Not for you to determine, but you won’t let it go unnoticed, and you’ll make sure it’s top of mind during shift report. “Can I check your side?” You motion to where his burn is lightly wrapped, and he nods with a sheepish smile.

“Aye, sure can. Ye can take my clothes off anytime.” You roll your eyes, unbuttoning his gown at the shoulder, peeling the gauze away very slowly. The wound looks better than you were expecting, if you’re being honest, and it relieves some of the anxiety that curled up in the pit of your stomach after his admission of upper right quadrant pain. “Yer hands are warm, bun. Feels nice.” Bun? You opt to ignore it. Probably still a little floaty.

“Good, that’s… good. Better than them being icicles.” Your hand brushes across the center of his abdomen when you pull the rest of the dressing away, and he tenses, ab muscles becoming clearly defined, enough that you stall out for a second before turning away to grab fresh gauze for his wound care, hands just a little unsteady. “Oh, fuck.” You mutter when the pack slips, sliding halfway under the little table that’s along the wall, and you sigh, whirling away from both of them and bending at the waist to tiptoe your fingers across the floor until you feel the corner of crinkly plastic. “Gotcha!” When you straighten, turning back towards the bed, Johnny and Simon are staring at you, and there’s a glee filled smile on Johnny’s face, it’s presence both mischievous and beguiling, fingers of his good hand slowly rubbing circles into the inside of Simon’s forearm. “What?”

“Nothing. Ignore him.” Simon deadpans, and then shoots his partner a very serious look, one that nearly has you straightening like you’re in trouble.

“Ach.” Johnny huffs, stroking a gentle touch upwards across Simon’s jaw as you start to reapply his dressing, taking your time to ensure everything looks good and he’s comfortable. You smooth over it once you’re satisfied, checking for any precarious pieces of tape. “Ye take such good care o’ me.” Johnny murmurs, accent soft and scratchy. It’s decadent the way his voice sounds sometimes, enough to make your throat dry and the room feel too hot. “Got lucky, didnae we, Si?”

“Well, it’s m-my job.” You answer, trying not to look down at where his chest and stomach are still exposed, or get caught in the cerulean blue waves of his eyes. They’re such a stark contrast to the intense, velvety hue of Simon’s, the pointed focus of his gaze that’s able to stun you, throw you off kilter the same time Johnny’s makes you feel overheated, and lightheaded. Both of them together could drown you. Overwhelm you.

Balanced. A yin and a yang.

Get it together. This is your patient and his partner, for gods sake. What is wrong with you?

Something warms brushes along the skin of your knuckles, a fleeting touch, and when you look down, you see Johnny’s hand, two fingers barely stroking yours, the lightest touch catching your breath in your chest like time is slowing to a crawl, and you’re freezing along with it.

Everything goes quiet in your head.

Simon’s watching you, methodically studying you like he’s trying to decipher every twitch in your expression as Johnny’s fingertips move over your knuckles to the back of your hand, thumb slipping into your palm, blazing heat sparking beneath it.

What… what is happening?

A phone vibrates. The noise snaps you free from your near statuesque state, and they both divert their attention to its screen.

“They’re here.” Simon tells him, glancing at you before looking back to his partner. “Be good.” He warns, and Johnny rolls his eyes in response, but he looks almost… desperate now, eyes wide and anxious.

“Hurry?” he asks, hopefully, Simon leaning down to press mask covered lips to his forehead, his eyes shuttering closed, deep breath passing between their two bodies.

“I’ll be right back.”

“I’m really concerned about the pain in his upper right quadrant. I already sent a text, but if his doctor isn’t on this floor in the next hour, page him again.” The dayshifter nods, tapping a note into her phone. “And Marshall’s resident is practically unsupervised, so keep an eye out.”

“Okay, sounds good.” You mention a few other things, details you noticed throughout your day, and she thanks you for the extra eye, sending you off with a parting wave into the cold, crisp morning, your mind already skipping over your commute to when you’ll be able to sink into your bed one last time.

You’re busy compiling a list as you wait for the elevator. Necessities, things you’ll need indefinitely as you bounce back and forth between a rotation of hotels and on-call rooms, all the usual stuff, clothes, toiletries, and all the important things that can’t be left behind, your birth certificate, passport, other things that could make or break you if lost.

Deep breath. You can do this. It’s not the first time. You’ve done it before, and you can do it again.

The elevator dings. You take a step forward, not paying attention, and then pull up short when you see who’s getting out.

It’s Simon stepping towards you, with a baby girl in his arms. She’s situated on his hip, nestled into his side and for a second, you falter because… you recognize her. Or at least you think you do... she looks just like the little girl you saw last week.

“Um. Hi.” You blurt, failing to notice at first that he’s not alone, the man from the first night you met them, the one with the mustache standing behind the width of Simon’s body, his arm curled around the woman you saw last week. They step into view, and you give them all a polite smile, one you really hope doesn’t betray your confusion.

“Hi,” he says your name next, says it so softly it feels tender, and then takes another step closer. “This is Penelope. Our daughter.” Oh. Oh.

They have a baby. A girl. They have a little girl. You don’t know why, but something inside you stumbles, melting into a frazzled, awkward mess, heart thumping in your chest. They have a baby, and Johnny almost died. They have a kid and he’s been trapped in this hospital, miserable in pain, missing his kid. “Pen, this is your Da’s favorite nurse.”

“Bunny.” The baby, Penelope, says, little finger stretching out towards your badge, which is facing outwards with the giant sparkly sticker. Simon chuckles, genuinely, masked lips pressing to her cheek, and you see a glimpse of a father, a protector, a provider. It makes you feel dizzy.

“We’ll see you tomorrow?” He asks, and you nod like a robot, unable to really form a word with your tongue. “Alright baby girl. Let’s go see your Da, yeah?”

#simple math #peaches writes #ghost x soap x reader #female reader #soap x ghost x reader #ghoap x reader #simon riley x john mactavish #simon riley #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader x soap

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thesherrinfordfacility · 9 months

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✨already on the metatron erasure campaign™ let's fucking go✨:

*EDIT, IMPORTANT* I can't believe i even missed this...but metatron is dressed in a dark coat and (iirc) tie

we know from s1 that metatron has very little patience for aziraphale, was pro-armageddon, and at least claimed to be the voice of God (when my man is basically a glorified answerphone)

the half-and-half miracle was conducted on top of the sigil, the transportation circle through which aziraphale dialled 101-metatron in s1, and we know the miracle ended up being Very Powerful

michael doesn't seem to recognise metatron... which is odd as theyre high ranking, uriel and saraqael seem to recognise him, they've definitely met, and michael was shown in the job minisode to have pretty good recollection for job's kids' names - possible memory wipe? saw something they weren't supposed to?

says he has consumed human matter before - why would metatron have been on earth??? and know what to order in a mf café???

speaking of the café, the dialogue, about people asking for death? "No... I don't suppose they do... So predictable."not sure on what this means but 💀 fckin weirdo

refers to muriel as the dim one but still puts her in charge of a heaven sanctuary on earth? as far as we know, the only one? hmmm seems like you want a puppet metty babes

butters up aziraphale with the sweet, cosy coffee - but indicating that he barely knows him at all given that we mainly see aziraphale drinking tea

what he ordered in the café was a small dash of almond syrup, but then describes it to aziraphale as being a hefty jigger of the stuff, indicating something added? wondering if there's further significance to the laudanum poison - an opiate? planning to essentially kidnap aziraphale knowing that crowley won't come looking now?

'hmm it's nice!" "yes I should jolly well hope so" 😁

a veeeeeery faint miracle chime as the coffee is handed over and when aziraphale raises it to his mouth, but hesitates... He asks "shall i...?" And metty goes:

"DRINK IT???😠 of course🙂"

definitely History™ with crowley; crowley readily recognises him after a moment, the look metatron gave him as they left the shop was filthy, and: "ah well! always did want to go his own way... always asking damn fool questions, too!"... like i get metatron is the voice of God, but was it metatron that actually made crowley fall? does metatron have that power, not exclusively god? did metatron say it was on god's orders?

plus - metatron tells aziraphale that he can reverse falling which, to me, seems like a pretty bomb ass power... and a bit OP even for the highest Archangel of heaven, leading me to:

very low, sultry ass voice, maintaining eye contact with aziraphale - all trademarks of hypnotism (temptation?) behaviour? while aziraphale was possibly drugged?

and was the promise of getting crowley restored to heaven actually a bluff, metatron knowing the aziraphale even attempting to broach it with crowley would split them up?

"go tell your friend the good news!!" Said in a voice that makes me think metty knows it's very Bad News Bears

is the whole thing a ploy to split them up? they came together in heaven, and then again on earth; is metatron trying to solve this one by essentially making aziraphale an offer he can't refuse, but that crowley absolutely will?

why choose the lift? why not just power up the circle and go through the sunroof???

and im sorry metatron but you must realise that aziraphale is severely underqualified right💀

#lmao you can take the girl out of theory writing but you cant take theory writing out of the girl #good omens #feral domestic/final fifteen meta #metatron spec

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ohara-n-brown · 2 months

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Hey everyone,

'The New ThoughtCrime' is an anti-trans community detransitioner essay

Just wanted to give a heads up to the FTM community on here that a user named @mewthoughtcrime is trying to repost the 'New ThoughtCrime' think piece from 2017 - tagging it with this such as 'trans man', 'nonbinary' and 'transandrophobia'.

However this blog fails to mention that the main author of said piece is a lesbian who considers herself a detransitioner. While there is nothing at all wrong with that -

the problem more comes from the fact that said author also believes the trans community is a cult.

This quote comes from the author's interview with Genspec - an organization that pretends to be trans supportive, while also believing trans kids are a myth, trans men are just confused teen girls, and pushing the book Irreversible Damage.

The author also believe in the idea of 'cotton-cieling' - a terf dog whistle that implies trans women intend to force lesbians to sleep with 'males who identify as lesbians'.

The think piece is NOT at all about trans men or transandrophobia.

It's about detransitioning from a woman who believes the trans community engages in 'thought reform' - in a way akin to cults.

The piece reads largely inspired by 'Irreversible Damage' - an anti-FTM shred-piece. This is basically J.K Rowling ideology.

They're in their right to repost whatever they want, especially if that piece of writing specifically spoke to them and other detransitioning folk.

However I do think it's incredibly disingenuous and sneaky to not include this information - or the true nature and intention of the work - in the Tumblr post, as the original author was very clear in stating so.

To post such a piece without tagging the detrans community is a disservice to them and a deliberate choice towards us.

The piece is not at all about transandrophobia - the OP is simply mistagging it to target particular groups - mainly, actively transitioning FTM who are looking for community.

This isn't to say you can't read and enjoy the piece, or connect to it. You absolutely can, it's about someones valid personal experience (well - some parts.) that's eloquently written.

What I do not support however is posting such material, purposely and vaguely mistagging it, while not explaining the contents, the context, and the intent of the author clearly.

I believe readers should always be informed about the source and intention of the writers of the information they received.

People should be allowed to make informed choices about what they read and involve themselves in - whether that be trans politics, or reading think pieces online.

That's why I am making this post.

'The New ThoughtCrime' is an Anti-Trans Community think-piece that targets trans men and lesbians by supporting TERF ideology.

Read with that information in mind. With the situation going on now with staff, I think it's important to be on high alert for indoctrination or misleading literature like this.

By all means, read if you like. I was just not at all impressed with the lack of transparency from @mewthoughtcrime when it comes to detailing the actual contents and source of that information.

It's one thing to call the trans community a cult - before turning around and releasing anonymous faceless think-pieces that you spread around without sources or actively informing others of its contents, in order to purposely get a demographic of people who do not wish to interact with you to unwillingly engage in your rhetoric.

As a essay that calls for 'transparency in the trans community' we can first start by lending some transparency to THIS essay.

Stay safe and stay informed y'all ✌🏾

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booksandabeer · 10 months

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Stucky, Fandom Longevity, and "Primacy Bias"

There’s this post that's been floating around the past few days about how the Stucky fandom in its heyday produced fic and art masterpieces like they were all collectively possessed by an unprecedented spirit of creative insanity. It’s a good, fun post and I agree with the person who wrote it. (not rb'ing because I didn't want to hijack their post with something that's only tangentially related).

It was indeed a magical time and the creative output in both quantity and quality in the two-year period following the release of CA:TWS is—with perhaps a few exceptions—unmatched by anything that I’ve seen before and since. However, going through the notes on that post, I noticed something that left me a little irritated and quite frankly sad since it is in congruence with, and to a certain extent the confirmation of something that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.

For one thing, there are so many people in the notes expressing sentiments along the lines of “it was such a wonderful time; I wish I could go back; I miss these fics; I want to read these fics again,” etc., etc., you get it. And it feels a little silly pointing this out, but…you can just do that? Almost all of these fics are still right there, waiting for you to be (re)read. Yes, a lot of people left the fandom after The Great Devastation of 2019, but their stories didn’t just disappear. It's not like there is now a big, black hole where the Steve/Bucky tag used to be on AO3. So, if you miss these fics and you want to revisit them—just do it. Chances are the authors will be delighted that people are still finding and enjoying their stories all these years later. And—since apparently this needs saying, too, judging from the notes on that post: A lot of people seem to be very concerned with losing ‘coolness points’ for openly admitting that they still miss the ship and often feel tempted to dip their toes back into the Stucky pool. I don’t know how to tell you this, but if someone tries to shame you for simply enjoying or missing something, they are an asshole. Not to mention that all this is happening on tumble.com—'coolness' doesn't exactly live here. And that is a good thing, to be clear. Fandom is not about being cool. It’s about being as enthusiastic, as silly, as absolutely fucking unhinged about the things you love as you want to be. So, stop caring what other people think and enjoy yourself.

The other thing is that there seems to be a pretty widespread misconception that the Stucky fandom hasn’t produced any good fanworks after 2016.

First, that is patently and demonstrably untrue. There is so much incredibly good fanfiction and fanart still out there. Not as much as back in the day, sure, but it still exists. And more is being posted every day! Even some of the OG Big Names are still around. One of the most beloved Stucky series that started all the way back in 2014 was updated as recently as December of last year. The artist, who I believe the op is referring to as creating ‘baroque’ paintings, posted their latest Stucky art not even two months ago.

Second, I find this “primacy bias” more than just a little insulting to the many hardworking and incredibly talented people who are still putting their blood, sweat, and tears into creating for this community. And it’s one thing if people who have long left the fandom believe or say something like this, but it’s frankly irritating when I see people who are still very much active—and therefore definitely should know better—feed into that same false myth. Yes, it sucks that the Stucky ship isn’t as big as it used to be, but that doesn't mean there isn't any 'fresh talent' to be found anymore. I’m also not saying we shouldn’t still celebrate and recommend older works—I do it all the time! And it sure as hell doesn't mean everyone has to reblog absolutely everything all the time, either. Your blog, your rules.

But maybe we should put a little more focus on the good things, on the creators and the community we have now, especially if we want that community to still exist in another ten years. I mean, imagine you’re a person who’s just gotten into the fandom (because yes, there are indeed still new people discovering Stucky all the time) and one of the first things you’re being told is “eh, nice that you're here, but you’re about 7 years late; the big party is already over.” Does that seem like a fun space to hang out in to you?

So. Let’s all—and I do not exclude myself from this because God knows, I love to complain—spend a little less time mourning the ‘good old days’ that are never coming back anyway, and instead focus our attention on enjoying and appreciating both the incredible treasure chest of an archive we have AND the wealth of high-quality art and fic that is still being created by this wonderful community every single day. With this in mind:

🥳🎊Happy Stucky Week 2023!!! 🎊🥳

*I want to make it very clear that this is a general thing that’s been on my mind lately and that I’m trying to work through here—probably not very coherently. I'm not trying to tell anybody 'how to do fandom' and I’m most definitely not vagueposting about any particular incident, person, or group in this fandom. This isn’t a callout post. It’s an I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about this and I don’t know what else do with them post.

#stucky #stucky fanfic #fandom culture #i once again have no idea what to tag this #fanfiction forever #fanart forever

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luffyvace · 2 months

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Hey there brook! I hope u having a nice day! Can I ask for a luffy x heroic fem reader headcanon? by heroic I mean that she completely dedicated her life to help and save ppl and that her purpose in life, she's strong and seems cold but when u get to know her she has empathy more than anyone else, I feel like this is the perfect character that luffy would fall in love with, pure kindness hiding behind a tough facade, she doesn't even like being called a hero, yet she is willing to do anything for those in need, slaves, poor villages, she goes against anything unjust without any fear, cause thats her purpose in life (sorry if that was too long 💀)

Hi anon <33 (it makes me so happy that someone finally addressed me as that💗)

today was a very chill day 😊 thank you! How’s yours?

Reader sounds so genuine with such a good background for a op character!!

(Don’t worry it’s not too long—I love to read:3)

Ngl luffy subconsciously sees a little bit of himself in you!!

like your hearts are so similar—gold!

of course he doesn’t directly think that way- but he feels the connection!

which is through helping!

you two never turn your backs on those who have never wronged you

its not even about if they’re on your side or not, as long as they haven’t wrong you? and they need help?

the both of you are on it 🤜🤛👍

you wanting to save others becomes admirable to more than just him, to all of the straw hats—chopper and usopp especially!

I’m gonna go ahead and say it here and now you remind both Jinbe and luffy of whitebeard and fishman island type thing

LIKE THAT’S HOW IT IS!!

Y/n is just her tbh 🤷‍♀️

and if the ops don’t like that? 🤨

🤜💥

how you like that? >:)

your strength may or may not be hereditary but either way if you don’t continue training or working out your gonna loose that strength eventually

which shows just how hard you train everyday!!

bro works harder than zoro 🗿

and we all know he don’t sleep on workin out

so y/n is a gorilla the og

its no wonder you be cookin the ops like breakfast👩‍🍳👍

this is literally turning into a rant about me being (name)’s biggest fan ok let’s move on

luffy saw you cold exterior and was like

😍😍😘🥰😘💍💋💋💋

LOLOLOL no but fr he looked straight past that

he always does- he ignored law’s and zoro’s why wouldn’t he with you-

and once he sees your true kindness???

Locked in like a booty hole 🔗

(ANYWAY I HAD TO🧍‍♀️)

yeah he pretty much busts right through that

he pretty much instantly demands you already are is nakama after that

Your empathy is what really swoops him off his feet tho

like luffy has a good sense of empathy so much so he can hear the voice of all things

and you probably can too! It’s highly likely!

(y/n could have her own anime at this point 🤷‍♀️😚)

But seriously the way he can just feel the way you long for others when they’re in pain just gets him right at the heartstrings you know?! 🥺❤️‍🩹

you comfort them so assuredly and keep your promise to win every time !!

luffy would admire himself more than he would know if he realized how alike the two of you are

tbh you probably admire luffy!!

like it’s a mutual thing, where you pretty much don’t see your own coolness you only see the other’s

so you admire each other unaware that your the same 😂💗

he absolutely adores and admires that empathetic part of you thoo!

he loves how your kind and tough

he wholeheartedly believes the strong should protect the weak, cuz that’s what a man does.

especially with nakama.

so he definitely understands your need to protect those who can’t do it for themselves

there are many times he can recall where he had to rely on others

so he loves that your the one who does that for people

and you don’t do it for the money or fame!

you don’t even view yourself as the hero and savior that bystanders see you as!

that’s so cool to him!

you background/past might’ve caused it! Like maybe you had no superhero! So you decided to become one!

he kinda looks up to you in a way 🤩

as someone who has also helped slaves and the poor he completely understands where you come from in your kindness

and it’s even cooler that you charge head on into battle for others without a second thought

that’s just how tough you are ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

not an ounce of fear in your eyes as you walk up to someone 20x the size of you to simply get back the bread they stole from a poor little child

LIKE HOW COOL IS THAT?! 💥💥

your a super hero!! Dundun duh-duuuuuun!!

🦸‍♀️‼️🤩

you have a goal just like him!! He wants to be the king of pirates and you wanna help others!

With the type of pirate he is?, those things go hand in hand 🤝

”STRAW HAT LUFFY AND PIRATE HERO (NAME) IS HERE!! RUN AWAY!!”

says the pirates who know they’ve done wrong doing!! 😎

also excuse (name)’s lame pirate alias i couldn’t think of one 😊💖

(Name) is so cool 😎 I admire her ��

hope you enjoyed your hcs anon!! *super heroes away🦸‍♀️🚀*

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thebeast-dennis-etcetera · 22 days

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Remember Us

Note: I changed the request just a little to make it more authentic to the shows storyline and Gibbs’ character.

“Do you have to go right now?” you groaned, rolling over in bed to hide your face in your fiancés chest. Jethro wrapped his arms around you and placed a kiss on your head.

“Things are moving quicker than anticipated. They want me on the ship asap.”

The thought of Jethro in the middle of a possible terrorist plot made your stomach twist, especially when you knew you still needed to tell him that you two were now expecting, but if you didn’t tell him now and something happened, you’d never forgive yourself.

You decided you would tell him once he was fully awake, waiting until he finished his shower and getting dressed.

“Hey Jet,” you started as he brushed his teeth.

“Hm?”

He rinsed his mouth and walked over to you as you sit on the edge of your shared bed, twiddling your thumbs nervously. He noticed and took your hands in his.

“I’m gonna be fine sweetheart. I’ve done plenty of undercover ops. This one is no different,” he reassured, misplacing the reason for your nerves.

“I know, it’s not that, exactly. I- uh- just don’t know how to say-

“What’s the matter hun?”

“I’m pregnant Jethro.”

It was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop as his eyes got a little wider as he blinked bewilderedly.

“You’re what?”

“Pregnant. I’m about 3 weeks along. Just got the results from the doctor yesterday.”

He continued not to say anything and you started getting worried. Worried that he wasn’t ready. You two had talked about having a child but never really planned anything.

“Jet. Can you say something? Please.”

He finally took a deep breath and exhaled, letting your hands go so he could run them through his hair.

“Uh- this is definitely unexpected.”

“I know we’ve been careful but I think it happened that night at the Gala. We were both pretty drunk,” you began rambling but Jethro stopped you.

“Hey, I’m not mad. This is great. We’re gonna be a family.”

You smiled, completely relieved at his reaction and jumped up to give him a hug which he chuckled at.

“I’m gonna have to make room in the basement for my new crib project now. Do you like oak or maple better?”

“You choose babe. It’ll be your present to them,” you said leaned back to give him a kiss.

“Oak it is then.”

————

It was late when you raced through the entrance to the Emergency Department. You would’ve been there sooner if you weren’t literally in the middle of a major surgery and didn’t have anyone to cover for you. Luckily, the hospital that Jethro was brought to was

You spotted the sign in desk and made your way over, pulling out your id.

“I’m here to see Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He should be out of surgery by now.”

The nurse gave you a visitor badge and a quick rundown on how to get to his room. You wasted no time and it took everything in you not to just absolutely sprint down the corridors.

Once you reached the room, you walked in and was not expecting to see the Director of NCIS to be sitting at your fiancés bedside, holding his hand.

“Jenny,” you greeted flatly. She released her grasp and stood up before clearing her throat.

“I was just keeping an eye on him until you arrived. He’s in a stable condition but still in a coma. The doctor said-

“I know. He told me too,” you cut her short. You knew all about Jethro and the Director’s relationship, and for the most part it didn’t bother you because you trusted Jethro but Jenny was another story. You knew she still had some feelings for him and seeing her here with him before you irked you.

“Alright. Well I’ll leave you too then,” she stated before collecting her purse and walking out, your eyes following her all the way. Once the door shut behind her, you stood in the same place she had been in and looked down at his sleeping figure. His head was bandaged and burns adorned parts of his face, pulling at your heartstrings. Your hand found his as you leaned in to place a small kiss on his forehead.

“You said this op was no different Jet. You promised me you were going to be ok,” you whispered, trying not to cry.

For the rest of the night, you sat by his bedside, praying he’d wake up or even just squeeze your hand. The doctor assigned to him had a cot sent up so you could also catch some sleep.

The next morning, you were wakened by the door opening. Picking your head up from the edge of the bed, you winced at the sharp pain in your neck and saw Dr. Mallard standing there.

“Goodness dear, have you been here all night?” he asked, looking over at the untouched cot.

“I couldn’t leave him Ducky. I wanted to be here when he woke up.”

He sighed knowingly and pulled a chair up beside you.

“Well I hope you don’t mind if I join you for a little bit?”

You nodded and he took a seat, putting a comforting hand on your arm.

“We’re expecting Ducky.”

You didn’t mind the doctor knowing about the pregnancy. He was one of Jethro’s closest friends and you came to trust him completely as well.

“That’s wonderful Y/N. You two are going to be great parents.”

Looking at Jethro’s chest rise and fall rhythmically, you spoke lightly. “I can’t do it on my own Duck. He needs to wake up. Who’s going to make all the baby furniture and paint the nursery?”

“He’ll wake up Y/N. Just give him some time.”

You wiped the tears from your eyes and took in a shaky breath.

“I hope so Duck. I really hope so.”

————

You were literally gone for less than 5 minutes to grab something to eat when Jethro decided to wake up. You arrived to his doorway just as he got done telling Ducky he didn’t remember him.

“Jethro?” you called softly, everyone turning to look at you. You made your way over to his bedside, fearing the worst.

“Do you remember me Jethro?”

He focused hard on your face before shaking his head no. Not being able to hold back your emotions, you down in sobs and walked out of the room with Ducky following.

“Just give him some more time Y/N. Retrograde amnesia is very common for coma patients that suffered head trauma.”

He pulled you in for a hug and held him tight, hoping he was right.

————

The next couple of days were terrible as Jethro recovered physically but still couldn’t remember who you were or the life you two shared. Somehow he managed to remember Jenny and their time together which only made you feel worse but there was nothing you could do about it. It hurt so badly and had come to the point where you couldn’t take the constant rejection and decided to stay with your mother until he recovered completely.

You received occasional updates from Jethro’s team about his memory state but they never spoke the words you wanted to hear. So the only thing you could do was compartmentalize and keep your mind busy with long hours at the hospital.

The rain and thunder outside reflected your mood as you unenthusiastically put a sandwich together. You had absolutely no appetite but knew you needed to eat for the baby’s health. A knock at the door startled you as you glanced at the microwave that read 2am.

You walked over and saw Jethro standing out on the porch, soaked from the rain. You opened the door quickly, with a smile on your face but it faded when you saw his furrowed brows. He still didn’t remember you.

“I know we have something together Y/N- I get these small flashbacks, small snippets of us together, but never the full memory. The team tells me all about you and how happy you made me. I want that. I want to remember,” he started. “I need your help. Help me to remember.”

You stepped out onto the cold porch barefoot to stand close to him and did the only logical thing you could think of. You took his face in your hands and pulled him in for a deep kiss. If this didn’t work, then you were all out of ideas.

His hands tentatively placed themselves on your waist, slowly deepening the kiss as the butterflies fluttered in your chest. It happened every time you kissed Jethro, even though you’ve known him for years. When you felt his breath hitch, you pulled away and searched his face for an answer.

“Do you remember now Jet?”

Another faltered breath and he nodded his head slowly.

“You’re pregnant,” were his next words, bringing the smile back to your face.

“Yes.”

Ecstatic, you jumped into his arms and he caught you easily.

“Jethro, I missed you so much,” you breathed into his neck, tears falling.

“I know baby. I’m so sorry I took so long. Please forgive me.”

“You don’t have to apologize Jet, it wasn’t your fault.”

He set you back down and tucked a piece of stray hair behind your ear. Your clothes were damp from hugging him and the thin pajamas you had on did nothing to stop the cold stormy wind from sending a chill through you. You hadn’t realized your mother walking up behind you until Jethro turned his attention towards her.

“Look at you two, kissing and talking in the rain like some cheesy rom-com. It’s like one of Y/N’s dreams,” she teased, making you roll your eyes in slight embarrassment.

“It’s good to see you M/N,” he answered with a smile before giving her a tentative hug, careful not to get her wet.

“You too Jethro. Now both of you get home before you catch a cold.”

You ran inside to grab your purse and shoes before hugging your mom and following your fiancé quickly to his truck. Jethro drove through the streets, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your tummy.

#gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs #ncis #ncis fanfiction #agent gibbs #mark harmon #ncis request #jethro gibbs x reader #ncis imagine #jethro gibbs fanfiction

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blueteller · 3 months

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TCF Theory: What If God of Death Had a Reason for Kidnapping Minors?

(Hey, @murasaki-cha, I might have a theory that could sorta maybe redeem your pathetic little meow meow! 😂)

[Also: SPOILER WARNING for... basically everything in TCF?]

So, here's the thing:

It's no secret I always had… issues with the God of Death for kidnapping the Chois.

Let me clarify a bit.

What he did to Kim Rok Soo, aka. Cale, was not okay either – however! I can see it justified somewhat by circumstances: he was cursed, his life was generally depressing and terrible, and there was a world in need of saving. Honestly, the deal with the Original Cale Henituse to switch the two of them was best for all parties involved. (I'm still angry he did not ask Cale himself for permission, though! All the God of Death needed to do was tell him: "Look, this is the world where your BFF Lee Soo Hyuk reincarnated into. And the world is going to be destroyed in about 20 years if nothing is done about it. Would you mind cleaning that up for me?" You bet your butt Cale would have agreed fair and square, even if he were EXTREMELY miffed about the deal. But it's so much easier to simply hide your involvement in the transmigration, so that Cale doesn't have a personal vendetta against you once he gets OP, right…? Not that it succeeded, lol. Cale still ended up cursing the God of Death a lot)

However – all of what I just said? NONE of it applied for the Choi family member.

First, we have Choi Jung Gun, aka. Nelan Barrow. Let me remind you, the kid was FIFTEEN. Freaking 15!!!! The God of Death kidnapped a literal CHILD with no combat experience, and dropped him in the middle of an active war zone! Sure, technically Super Rock was there and presumably took care of him – but still, that was an objectively a terrible thing to do, God of Death! Bad boy!! 🧹🧹🧹

Then we have Choi Han, and ohhh boy, he had even worse somehow! Even though he was 2 years older than Choi Jung Gun when he got transported, he still ended up in the freaking FOREST OF DARKNESS. Weaponless, isolated, under constant threat of death. It's a miracle Choi Han did not die or completely lose his mind – and in a sense he did – but he was still able to retain a piece of himself, NO THANKS TO YOU GOD OF DEATH. My goodness! What a way to treat your "chosen hero ", mister!

...as you can probably tell, I was pissed enough at the God of Death for kidnapping poor Choi Jung Gun, but I am NEVER forgiving him for what Choi Han went thought. Should have given him something! A letter, a sword, or at the very least – A FREAKING MAP!!!

Aaaand finally we have Choi Jung Soo. Which was a bizarre case in comparison to the previous two. Even the God of Death remarked how unusual it was.

First of all, consent was asked – WHAT A TWIST! 🤣

Secondly, Choi Jung Soo was already an adult, and experienced fighter. He'd have a much better time in Nameless 1 world than any of his predecessors (excluding the fact that he'd have a TERRIBLE time trying to fight the White Star; who may I remind you possessed Kim Rok Soo's face... Also, did he even get to read "The Birth of a Hero"...?). He was also on the verge of death. AND he allowed to say no!! It was much more fair than what happened to the other two.

...But why though? Why the special treatment, God of Death? Why not kidnap Choi Jung Soo as a kid as well? The timing was kind of strange.

So here my theory comes in.

What if, it wasn't the God of Death who determined the timing of the transportation? What if there was an outside factor involved? Just because there seemingly wasn't a strict pattern to WHEN the Chois got transported, that doesn't mean there couldn't be one.

An outside factor like, let's say.... the Hunters? 🤔

From his behaviour in the Sloth Test, we know that Choi Jung Gun absolutely hates the Hunters. And it seemed very personal too. Even if we take it for granted that the Hunters were responsible for the existence of the Original White Star and the war and all that... It was still VERY personal. Like, "I will tear you to bloody pieces with my bare hands and chew on them with my teeth" level of personal. So, what gives?

Then it hit me.

The Five Colored Bloods Hunters are Wanderers who can freely travel across dimensions. They targeted young Kim Rok Soo, because he had a "mark" of the God of Death on. They assumed it could be a sign of a Single Lifer, and it did not matter to them if it necessary to kill him just to "check". The only reason why Kim Rok Soo survived was because Choi Jung Gun was there (even though I have issues about his execution – using a minor as BAIT?! Not cool man! Almost as bad as the God of Death!). Without him, young Kim Rok Soo absolutely would have been killed. And the way Choi Jung Gun was acting in the Sloth Test made it seem like it wasn't the first time something like this happened either.

Meaning: the Hunters were already on Earth 1. They have been there.

So, what if... the Hunters had already targeted the Chois in the past? Including Choi Jung Gun himself?

Think about it. If the Hunters had any clue that this particular lineage could produce Single Lifers... they'd certainly keep an eye on the Choi family, right? There would be no need to directly interfere. Just, watching them from the sidelines and let them produce next generations. Spying on their kids – like the total creeps they are.

And perhaps, there was a particular sign of a potential Single Lifer to watch out for, that could manifest around adolescence? What if Choi Jung Gun showed such a sign at the age of 15?

Instead of simply using him as a weapon to save another world... was the God of Death actually trying to save Choi Jung Gun? By transporting him into another dimension??

It would... kinda make sense, right? By transporting Choi Jung Gun, his "Single Lifer power" activated. His lifespan became much longer, he developed an Ancient Power too. He was initially weak, but he grew stronger overtime. Strong enough to stand up to the Hunters and protect himself; and also taking him away from their immediate reach.

...What if the same happened with Choi Han? What if Choi Han became a target at the age of 17? And the only way to save him was to transport him as well? I mean it worked with Choi Jung Gun, why not try it a second time? If the first one became a powerful ally who could fight the Hunters, the God of Death would certainly like another one on his payroll, right?

And then there's Choi Jung Soo, of course. Maybe he escaped the scrutiny of the Hunters? Or maybe because he developed powers which made him a harder target? Why would the Hunters bother with difficult opponents when they can always play dirty and go after literal children, instead? There is also the issue of the Monster Apocalypse, as Cale suspects the Hunters were behind it as well. Maybe the Hunters had a different plan for Earth 1, and so they had to stop using it as hunting grounds for Single Lifers?

If I'm right about this, then the God of Death's actions became a liiiiitle bit more understandable.

I will forever criticize the man for not asking at least three of his victims (and don't try to give me some bull about him being "unable to", God of Death used various means to communicate through the story; Choi Jung Gun even freaking wrote "The Birth of a Hero" books for the sole purpose of giving necessary exposition to a transmigrator – more than that, if he had enough space to simp for Whales and provide Harol's backstory for no reason! He could have included ANY type of message in there, to ANYONE!), but if Choi Jung Gun were to literally die if he did not get kidnapped and transported into a war-torn dimension in need of saving... Well? Saving someone's life via transmigration might be unconventional, but I've seen it happen a lot in many isekai. I can roll with this.

...But seriously tho, I hope Choi Jung Gun makes that broom beating a regular thing. The God of Death certainly can use it. You know – for emotional intelligence improvement! 😏

#tcf #trash of the count's family #lcf #lout of the count's family #god of death #tcf god of death #theory #tcf theory #tcf meta

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superhoeva · 6 months

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𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄: 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

next chapter | series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

⬩ pairing(s) sebastian "sebby" garvey (original male character) x musician!reader, carmen "carmy" berzatto x musician!reader, (brief) luca davies-bernardi x musician!reader

⬩ warning(s) language, toxic/emotionally abusive relationship, sad girl!reader (but it's okay bc it's gonna get better!), nervous!carmen, a hint of the crush on your professor trope, basically everything that comes with being a self-doubting music student, anxiety, mention of injury (burn), mean boyfriend alert :(

⬩ author's note super excited to post this. it's been in the works since july! special special thank you to my loves @nolita-fairytale and @arctvrvs! they've been down in the weeds with me as this story materialized, and should basically be seen as betas considering how much i was able to lean on them while creating this story. this one is near and dear to my heart, and i hope you all enjoy as much as i do writing it. a lot more to come, so stay tuned!

⬩ word count 4.7k

A stage is a hard thing to command. That fact is one of the first things you learn when stepping onto it. Just the sheer act of pretending like one is comfortable with doing so takes hours of preparation; late nights full of callous skin and cramping muscles; dry eyes from staring at the same two measures, listening to the same four beats; and more dedication than one ever thinks one can give.

But it is wonderful. And, God, does it make you feel alive.

That feeling one gets from knowing that you hold the attention of the entire room. The action of creating a sound or movement big enough to reach the very back wall of the recital hall. To reach and affect the furthest person in the furthest seat.

However, tonight is not your night to conquer those feats or enjoy that attention. Instead, you get to act as a member of the audience, residing in a plush seat near the very front of the stage. It’s a little uncomfortable, but the way Sebastian glides his bow across the strings of his violin more than makes up for it. He makes it look effortless, but you know it’s anything but.

No one can look away from where Seb stands at the left of the conductor. His movements are seamless–suave and mesmerizing. His playing even more so, the quiver of his vibrato touching enough to make Hilary Hahn shed a tear or two. Full of character yet seeped in control, it causes you to look at him like he hangs the stars.

You don’t even glance down to reposition the bouquet of red petunias in your lap. Tonight is Sebastian’s night, and nothing will stop you from catching every single note of the first movement of Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E Minor Op. 64. The piece ends with a high-energy tutti–every performer’s sound becoming one–and you’re the first one on your feet after the conductor cuts off the final note.

The rest of the room joins in your standing and clapping, several whistles of admiration filtering from the crowd to the stage. Sebastian, his smile as wide as it’ll ever get, takes his bow.

The roar of applause grows a little louder. Your hands hurt from clapping, but you can’t care.

It was wonderful. He’s wonderful.

A small grin tugs at your lips at the sight of Sebastian turning to shake hands with Abeni–the Concertmaster and one of your fellow classmates–and Dr. Hansen–the conductor and highly respected orchestral music professor. Your smile blossoms further when the entire orchestra (which mostly consists of orchestral performance majors) takes a final bow. The relief visibly lifts off his shoulders, into the air of the concert hall, and blankets right over you.

Although it squeezes and tenses most of your muscles, you’re able to keep a pleasant, proud expression. Smile unfaltering. Clap never breaking in rhythm. It takes you absolutely no effort to fake the dread pooling inside your stomach. You’ve gotten quite good at it, actually.

How’s the saying go? Practice makes perfect.

.・゜゜・

Sebastian’s been a magnet as long as you’ve known him. He easily attracts anyone within the near vicinity. Now is no different as everyone from professors to members of the orchestra surround and congratulate him. You stand and wait patiently a few feet away as Sebastian jokes with the principal cellist, Kenny, with light eyes. Your usual place, but you don’t mind it.

It isn’t until Kenny points you out to Sebastian that he turns to you. Face brighter than the sun, you drag your gaze over the suit you helped him pick out for tonight. He’s already loosened his tie and undone the top two buttons. And taken off his suit jacket, which you suspect is bunched up somewhere backstage. You’ll have to remind him to hang it up properly tonight. So it doesn’t wrinkle. Flicking your eyes back up, you’re heart speeds at the way he steps over toward you.

“That was amazing, Sebby,” you breathe out after traveling over, hand reaching to settle a hand on his cheek. “You’re amazing.”

Sebastian sends you a half smile. His hand reaches for yours. He gives it a small squeeze before letting it drop.

“Thank you, darling,” he rushes out, pressing an even faster kiss on your forehead. “Go fetch my things, yeah? Can’t be late to my own get-together.”

You blink and clutch the bouquet. He doesn’t even glance at the flowers before departing with an arm around Kenny, laughing to him and a few others about how close he was to fucking up a measure in the middle of his first piece. You blink again. Bite the skin inside your cheek.

“Okay, yeah.”

Your attempt at an answer reaches nowhere near his ears and ends up trailing off into nothing.

It takes you all of ten minutes to gather Sebby’s belongings–both his violin cases, suit jacket, and music binder. The bouquet and your purse are still in your grasp as well, and you’re certain you look something foolish as you struggle toward the building’s exit. Balancing his items along with your own proves to be just as difficult as it sounds. You bumble and nearly drop one of the cases, but what makes your chest jump is the unexpected call of your name. A sigh of relief leaves you when you turn and see a familiar pair of warm, brown eyes.

Dr. Henry Solano. Department Chair of Composition at the Royal Danish Academy of Music. Your trusted advisor. And the only reason you haven’t gone completely insane during your recital preparation.

“Need some help?” It sounds like a question, but he’s already over and lifting the violin cases out of your hands with a knowing grin before you can answer. You give him a small thank you and sheepish expression. He nods at you and holds open the door. It isn’t until both of you are outside and several steps away from the building that Henry clears his throat.

“While I wanna ask what kind of guy leaves his girlfriend to carry all his shit, I think my time would be better spent asking you about how you think your recital prep is going.”

You sigh. “He’s just inside saying goodbye to a few people. And it’s going good, I’m actually really excited.”

There’s a wobble in your answer that you hope Henry doesn’t notice.

“But?”

The single word pulls another sigh from you.

“...I’m really fucking nervous,” you release with a laugh and Henry has to chuckle alongside you. “Probably more nervous than excited, if I’m being honest.”

“If it makes you feel any better, what we went over a few days ago sounded great,” Henry tells you. “You might not think you’re ready, but I know you are. Wouldn’t let the program happen if you weren’t.”

Something in his voice allows you to breathe easily. For now, at least. His deep, steady tone has been a sense of comfort, a place of ease ever since you moved to the City of Spires. He’s always been there, whether your problems have to do with a tricky rhythmic passage or with your family back at home.

“This is you, right?”

You nod as Henry points out your nearby… something. You don’t bother to remember the name of the make and model. It’s somewhere on the registration papers stuffed in the glove compartment.

“Yep,” you tell him, fishing the keys out of your pocket and popping the trunk. “I really appreciate it, Prof.”

Henry shakes his head as he slides the violin cases into the vehicle. He even grabs Seb’s suit jacket and binder, placing them neatly in the back before shutting the trunk.

“It’s no problem, hun” he promises and you can tell he means it. “And I was serious about what I said earlier. You’re gonna kill it. I’m certain.”

A warm feeling blossoms throughout your chest. You bite the inside of your cheek and glance down at the flowers still in your grasp. Before you can even realize what you’re doing, you hold out the bouquet with a small smile.

“Here. As a thank you.”

Henry huffs out a laugh, scratching the back of his head. He purses his lips, eyes softening at your action.

“No, I couldn’t–”

“I insist,” you nod, pushing them closer to the now bashful professor. “As an extra thank you. Not just for this, but the entire semester. And the four others before that.”

Henry sighs at your words, staring at you. Then the flowers. Then back at you. Finally, he takes them delicately, and your face brightens in victory. It’s the least you could do.

“Thank you.”

His words are quiet but moving. He observes the flowers with a meaningful intention and you blink when he carefully removes one from the bouquet and hands it back to you. It takes everything inside you to force away the wave of wetness that wants to pool at your eyes.

You grab the single petunia, so bright and red, and take a moment to treasure how pretty it is.

“I’ll see you on Monday. Three, right?”

A nod from Henry.

“Uh-huh. And do me a favor and don’t look at any of the music until tomorrow evening at the latest. Give your brain a little break.” He wants to laugh at the way your eyebrows pinch together but doesn’t. “I’m serious. Don’t need you overanalyzing shit this close to the performance.”

A breath blows from your lips and you lull your head to the side. Well, there go your plans for tomorrow morning.

“Fine.”

“Good,” Henry winks with a kind hand on your shoulder. “See you Monday.”

With that, he’s gone. Whisking himself away further into the parking lot and making sure to hold his gift from you upright. You nibble at your bottom lip, looking back at your flower. Raising it, it just about reaches your nose. Only a hint of sweetness meets your nose before a loud hoot cuts through the silence, startling you.

The flower drops from your hands, onto the hard cement beneath you. You hurry to try and pick it back up but the flash of a familiar face prevents you from doing so.

“There you are, come on!”

A sloppy kiss presses into your cheek and you just barely conceal a frown at the unpleasantly wet feeling it leaves behind. You’re suddenly surrounded by a rowdy group of Kenny, Emil, Lars, and Seb. The latter with a heavy hand around your arm as he pulls you to the driver’s seat of the car.

“Need you to drive. You’re the only one who knows the way to Anya’s place from here.”

You know for a fact that that’s not true, but Sebastian shoves the keys in your hand before you can remind him. You’re promptly shuffled into the driver’s seat, Lars who called shotgun settling in next to you. Through the rearview mirror, you see your boyfriend, Emil, and Kenny clamber into the back seat.

The four young men continue their hollers as you pull out of the parking space. You drive as they talk loudly, slapping the seats, full of post-performance adrenaline. There’s an attempt from you to laugh and joke along, but the flower from Henry sitting sad back on the pavement clouds your mind in a haze that lasts all the way to your destination.

.・゜゜・

Carmen’s head hurts. He’s been staring at the table of scribbles and drawings of potential dishes for hours now, and his head hurts. Nothing is working. Flavors are clashing and the color isn’t right.

“Fuck,” he spits out quietly, eyes reaching up to rub his eyes painfully hard. Nothing is fucking working. What the hell are these flavors? And don’t even get him started on the colors.

He carelessly drops his pencil, letting it bounce against the table and onto the floor. It falls next to the other seven he’s chucked down there. Fingers running through his greasy hair, Carmen sniffs. Break. He needs a break.

Luca is already out on the balcony, halfway done with his cigarette. A nasty habit he’d picked up under the stress of the kitchen, but he’s young. He can quit later.

Carmen doesn’t have to say a word as Luca plucks a smoke from his own pack and hands it to him. Carmen lights his cigarette with familiar ease, the action feeling automatic after all this time. He finds himself grateful when the gracious silence continues, yet his thankfulness leaves him at record speed when Luca rumbles out a quiet, “Still working on recipes?”

A wordless nod from Carmen pushed a mixture of smoke and a light laugh from Luca’s lips.

“You need a break, Carm.”

“I am taking a break. Right here, with you.”

“A real one–one that has nothing to do with making sure the colors on your plate match. You need to get outta the apartment. Get somewhere where I’m not the only person you see.”

It’s Carmen’s turn to laugh, and it’s almost bitter. “You’re the only person I like.”

Luca pauses at the words, a small smile decorating the drag he inhales.

“I’m flattered, mate. Really. Still taking you out tonight, though.”

Carmen’s eyebrows furrow almost painfully. He shakes his head and almost chokes at the smoke he let sit in his lungs for too long.

“I don’t wanna go to a party.”

“It’s not a party,” Luca clarifies, looking away from the currently calm sidewalk that lies nicely in front of their apartment and at Carmen. “Just something a friend of a friend invited me to. Some gathering at someone’s place over in Vanløse–”

Carmen’s speaking before he means to, his voice pinched in a whine.

“–I don’t wanna fuckin’ go.”

Luca stops, a look cutting over to the Berzatto with expertly subdued annoyance. God, he hates it when Carmen gets like this. Pissy and borderline rude and completely consumed in something he doesn’t need to be. He stares for one more moment, just to make Carmen feel it a bit, before smashing out his cigarette in the ashtray to his right. He’s turning to head back inside when a low sorry halts him.

“Sorry,” Carmen whispers out again. He searches helplessly for something else to say, eyes trailing down to Luca’s sneakers. Forest Green Campus 00s. Adidas. The pair Luca’s been looking forward to since the announcement of their return two months ago. “They look good.”

Luca follows Carmen’s gaze and has to bite back a proud smile. “...Thanks. Picked them up this morning. You know, I’ve still got an in with the guy, might be able to get you a pair. Whatever color.”

A slow nod bobs Carmen’s head. He turns back to the city, a long cloud of smoke streaming from his lips. “Maybe… maybe.”

As Luca turns to resume his journey back to the flat’s living room, one last mumble catches just inside his ear.

“I’ll go.”

The pastry chef grins to himself, sliding open the balcony door and leaving Carmen alone in the kind Copenhagen air of late afternoon. Carmen spills a heavy sigh. Only now does he remember the burn on his hand from yesterday’s mishap in the kitchen, still sore and fresh.

He really should patch that up.

.・゜゜・

Sebastian, Lars, Emil, and Kenny are tumbling out of the car before you pull it to a full stop. The quiet it brings doesn’t allow it to irritate you. If anything, you’re grateful for the lack of whatever the hell the four of them were rambling about on the drive over.

You take your time getting out of the vehicle, triple-checking to make sure it’s locked before falling into line behind the guys. They knock on Arya’s front food an obnoxious amount of times, and you can already imagine the look on her face when she swings it open.

“It’s open, you idiots,” Arya groans out as soon as she pulls open the door. Lars giggles childishly, and you feel a hand grab at your wrist. Seb. He yanks you into his side as he enters behind Kenny, Lars, and Emil.

Arya looks right past all of them, cementing her gaze onto you. She tugs you away from Seb, gently, squeezing a warm hug around you.

“Hi, love,” she breathes out over the already commotion of the music and guests in the other rooms.

When she breaks away, something inside you needs you to turn to Sebastian. Does he need anything? A snack? Drink? Drink, he definitely needs a drink after an already long evening of sonatas and concertos.

Arya can feel you thinking, the strain of the gears in your head bleeding out of you clear as day. She flicks her eyes to Sebastian, who’s already accompanying Emil to another room. Before you can turn any further, Arya links an arm with yours and guides you down the hall to your left.

“Wait, but,” you try, but she shushes you. “Arya…”

She tuts you one last time, shuffling you towards a closed door. She flicks it open, and you’re both inside before you get the chance to blink.

Arya’s bedroom.

A collage of old polaroids you watched her take on the pier of Svanemølle Beach is still taped to the side of her queen bed. The one you spent laying on for most of last summer, as you cried over the problems that attempted to follow you over the Atlantic. All the while Arya helps you through your tears with delicate hands and comforting whispers.

You smile at the fairy lights she has hung in the corner of the room. They’re just as warm as you remember.

“How’s work going?”

Arya lets out a sigh but smiles. She’s been working as a music teacher at a nearby primary school for the past several months–teaching children the more simple concepts of music theory. Arya had been in her last year of Music Education when you arrived on campus as a wide-eyed, shaky freshman. You’ve been under her wing ever since, staying close and growing closer as the two of you watched each other learn and age through womanhood. Shoulder by shoulder. Step by step. In many ways, she reminded you of your older sister. The nice one.

You wonder how she’s doing.

“It’s actually going really great,” she grins with something warm. “My co-workers are nice and the kids are sweethearts. I’m especially excited for when Christmas comes around. Hearing them sing those little carols I have planned for their holiday recital is going to have everyone melting. Oh! Speaking of recitals, how’s your prep going? Are you ready?”

A thick bile threatens to rise up your throat.

“Can we talk about something else, please?”

Arya squints her eyes with crossed arms and pursed lips. She thinks for a moment.

“Okay, fine. How’s the man-child?”

“...Can we talk about something else, please–”

Arya stops you with a scoff. “I just really don’t get it, darling. You deserve so much better than that. I mean, i’s why I dragged you away so quickly. So you couldn’t dote over him like he’s your kid.”

“I don’t dote on him,” you clarify, and the bile rises a little higher. “I just like to take care of him.”

Another sigh from Arya. This one’s longer and extra heavy. She just stares at you for a moment before stepping over and pressing a kiss into your forehead.

“Gotta go make sure Eli’s not fucking up anything, you know how he can get. Stay in here as long as you want, ‘kay?”

With that, Arya heads for the door. You don’t catch the sympathetic look she throws back to you before trekking down the hall, the clunk of her thick platform boots falling into a quiet nothing.

She got the job right out of graduation, which neither of you could believe. Yet you still celebrated the offer with plenty of fruit wine with a name on the label you don’t dare try to pronounce.

A burn heats your eyes. Snapping them shut, your fists clench. You feel as though you’re ten years old all over again. Standing in your room back home. Legs ratting. Little heart sore and broken.

Get over it a horribly familiar voice sneers inside your head, echoing with a darkness you still struggle to find yourself in. Get over it.

Your recovery happens in record time. It’s as though you blinked and you’re walking into the front room with a drink for Sebastian held safe in your hands. A simple plastic cup with an even simpler party punch mix that was made concocted by Arya a little while ago.

You make it to Sebastian, who’s busy chatting amongst a group of familiar faces. Lars and Kenny next to him, the two of them messily laughing and talking over one another. Lux across from them, to Sebastian’s right, giving an impressive attempt at trying to follow along the several spillages of words tumbling out around her.

A few others you recognize from campus are there, too, but your eyes gravitate towards Sebastian. Your hand is soft and careful as you graze it across his shoulder. The expression on his face when he turns to meet your eyes drops your stomach a little, but you smile through it.

“Hi, Sebby. Brought you a drink.”

He waves you off. The flick of a grin crosses his face, but it’s rude and dismissive. You swallow and try again.

“It’s just the stuff Rya made,” you mumble out quietly, not wanting to attract any extra attention. Sebastian cuts his eyes to you, fingers wiggling in a silent order for you to knock it off. Something inside you makes you try one more time. “You sure, baby?”

A gasp tightens your chest once Seb finally turns around, placing a grip on your waist and jerking you toward him. His other arm circles around you as his lips press up against your ear. There’s a tight smile on his face, and you have to balance the drink to keep him from sloshing onto the back of his shirt.

A squeeze on your hips.

“Can you just fuck the hell off, baby? Please?”

Sebastian pulls away just enough to look you in the eyes. His smile is still plastered across his face, something vile behind it. You blink and tip the corners of your mouth upwards. A stiff nod finally allows him to let you go. You keep smiling as he returns to the group, jumping back into the conversations with a sickening ease.

Your eyes dance around the room, and you feel so hot. Glancing down into the cup, your legs haul your body back to the sink in the kitchen. You don’t remember to blink as you dump the liquid down the drain. The rest of the world grows mute around you for what feels like hours.

.・゜゜・

Carmen found that it’s a lot easier to do things when Luca’s around. Too bad he’s back somewhere in another part of the house Carmen can’t remember. In the middle of a riveting back and forth with someone Carmen can’t remember the name of.

Carmen steps into the kitchen, skin sizzling with uncertainty. His gaze zips right to a young woman staring deeply into the steel of the sink. He blinks and glances around.

Is… is she real?

The chef waits a few moments. When the woman doesn’t disappear, Carmen feels his throat tighten.

He debates just leaving whoever she is be, but his mouth is so dry. And he needs some kind of alcohol if he’s going to make it through the next few hours. His feet take easy steps toward where the rest of the drinks sit pretty in a bucket of ice on the other side of the stranger.

The deep breath he inhales only steadies him a tad as he continues. He freezes when you turn to him. He can barely get out his small, “You mind if I get a drink?”

Carmen knows he’s blushing when you look at his lips. He bites at them unintentionally, waiting for you to say something. Anything. Finally–

“Sorry, what?”

Carmen relaxes a little and almost smiles. His eyes soften at the genuinely lost expression on your face.

“Nothing, just uh,” he starts, “just tryna get… something to drink.”

It takes a long ten seconds of you and Carmen staring at one another for you to realize that you’re blocking his access to the drinks on the counter.

“Oh, sorry,” you hurry out and scoot away. Carmen is quick to shake his head.

“No problem,” Carmen replies and is quick to shake his head at you. “S’alright.”

Silence fills the area as he goes to pull a random drink from the ice. He doesn’t remember to glance at the label on the glass, mind busy with averting his gaze from where you stand. You’re no better, shuffling back and forth in your chunky heels. The ones you decided to wear because you know how much Sebastian likes them.

Carmen barely stops himself from jumping when you quietly ask, “Are you a student at the conservatory?”

Conservatory?

“Con-conservatory? Uh, no. No, I’m, uh, I’m a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend that dragged me out here tonight.”

Your nod is interrupted by the dropping of your head, as another wave of weak but noticeable tears pools its way into your eyes. Carmen’s widens slightly, and his internal desire to retreat back into himself is so strong.

“Are you, uh… are you okay? You just, you got some,” Carmen sputters, finger reaching up to gesture toward his eyes. When he tries to finally push out the question, the sound of footsteps stops him.

“Carmen? You good?”

Everyone in the room pauses. You and Carmen, who looks like a deer caught in headlights, whip your heads toward Luca. His gaze immediately drags over to you, and he swallows. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not. Just talking to…” Carmen shrinks into nothing looking back at you. Name. He wants your name. You rattle it off to him in a way that makes the skin on his neck redden some more. Carmen repeats it softly, those big, baby blues intense and unmoving. Luca steps further into the kitchen, smiling lightly at the way the syllables fall from your lips.

Your lips. They’re nice, even in the dim light of the kitchen.

“I’m Luca. That’s Carmen.”

Their names fit perfectly. So perfect, that it makes you forget all about the cup you dropped in the sink. Carmen clears his throat and sniffs. He shifts, unsure of what to say next, but grimaces harshly when he brushes his hand up against the hard of the counter. Your eyebrows furrow at the action but unwrinkle as soon as you see the bright burn on his hand.

Luca, who moves as soon as Carmen hisses, rounds the island in the middle of the room. He towers over Carmen, grabbing the smaller man’s hand and raising it up to get a better look.

“I thought you took care of that,” Luca gently scolds, face pinched into a frown.

“Yeah, no,” Carmen answers.

Just as Luca lets go of Carmen, you take a smaller step toward the men. “Uh, I can patch that up, if you want. There’s stuff up in the bathroom to take care of it, plus I’m really close with the owner of the house. I know she wouldn’t mind. Especially since you’re a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend.”

Carmen lets himself grin a little while Luca releases a short chuckle.

“Okay, yeah. Yeah, I’ll take you up on that.” He turns to Luca and begins to follow where you’re heading for a nearby hallway. “I’ll be back in a second–”

“Luca can come, too. If you want. Arya won’t care.”

Carmen shuffles so you can’t see the way he widens his eyes at Luca. He tries to nod as inconspicuously as possible, and the taller man has to hold back the strong giggle that tries to exit him.

“Yes, okay,” Luca nods with a shrug, looking to you with a soft smile. “Lead the way.”

#the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #luca x reader #chef luca x reader #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #luca the bear #chef luca #au: rule of three

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rotten-pup · 2 months

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18 + Only, minors will be blocked, you are not welcome here

☆About Me☆

You can call me Rot. I'm 21, he/they, transmasc and this is my horny blog! This will be my general horny content blog where I'll post/reblog the stuff I like however I will separate some of my interests and kinks onto other blogs. I am pre-t and pre-op. Generally just queer but I like people of any gender however I do lean more t4t

My asks are open for anything! Send me stuff!!

My dms are openish. At this time I'm not looking to sext and heavily flirt. I'm going through a lot and will be slow to respond most times. I really only have the brainpower to hold conversations about my special interests or if someone infodumps to me and I get to ask questions.

I'm comfortable with most masculine or feminine terms when referring to the parts of my body, I don't usually have a preference. I'll update this when I find something I don't like! I should probably add on that I'm a switch/vers in theory, mostly a sub/bottom in practice as I'm not confident enough to fully dom/top quite yet.

(rest of this post is a work in progress, bear with me please)

Without any further ado; list of content/kinks I like that you may find here(list incomplete):

Absolutely Yes: Petplay, Degradation, Praise (giving) Bondage, Impact play, Breeding, Somno, Edging, Overstim, Oviposition, Humiliation, Primal Play, Intox, Light CNC, Mommy kink??

Sometimes/Maybe: Choking (receiving), Praise (receiving)

Hard Limits: Scat, Death/Slob Feedism, Inflation, Raceplay, Feet

Kinks that will be mostly likely on a separate blog that I still like: Hypno, Knife play, Heavy CNC

Outside of all that, I'm going to list my sideblogs and tags down below and any other information I see fit so this intro isn't too long! (ps: if you know me from my previously deleted blog, feel free to say hi, I'd love to talk to y'all again, I was going through a really rough patch and honestly I'm so sorry I just disappeared)

My tags:

- rotposts: original content

- rotbarks: answering asks

- rotspeaks: non horny, rambles, or unrelated content

My sideblogs:

- @barkandbarkandbark : vent blog, rambles, literally anything just me talking to the digital void

Just a little more about me:

- @boymommy-brainrot : Mommy kink blog, a mostly gentle softer vibe, pics of me will also be on here

*Mommy is mostly a title, I like taking care of people and being gentle with them and just making them happy through acts of service. My kink is in no way an incest thing and as much I may use certain terms/words it is also not a ddlg thing either

Major theatre nerd, musicals, plays, plays with music, don't matter I love them all! I've acted in a few local shows, I've ran lights, I've staged managed, done a few other things. I'm really into dungeons and dragons and other ttrpgs and board games, and card games like magic the gathering. I love to draw and I love my silly little ocs I've made. If you upload your ocs or your fursona on your blog, there's a chance I might draw them, I like making art for others when I have the time.

Uhhhh, idk what else. I'm currently playing palword, this war of mine, overcooked 2, lethal company, escape the backrooms. However I do have many other games and if you ever wanted to play, just dm me, I'm down to find sometimes as long as we've talked a bit first and we vibe! I have major brainrot for Dead by Daylight right now so so badly

Oh yeah I fucking love robots I absolutely love robots and puppets I'm surprised I'm not like into fnaf more but man I just want to scream they're so cool.

I'll probably think of some other things to put here idk lol

#rotposts #rotbarks #rotspeaks

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iamadequate1 · 4 months

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Izzy and Media Literacy

I keep seeing variations of this:

The show established that a wound on the left side isn't fatal, so Izzy should have survived!

Is that what the show established? Not at all! What the show established is that a wound only matters as much as the plot demands. It's the same internal logic as the travel: people pop in and out of locations as the plot demands it.

For example, Stede was gut stabbed in 1x3 and 1x6, but only 1x3 had any lasting physical effects on screen in order to set up his meet cute and bonding with Ed. The one in 1x6 was just to show that Stede was a maniac who could beat Izzy unconventionally, and Stede was just fine afterwards. I mean, Ed was saying this "left side" stuff while his intestines had been perforated and had doomed himself to a death by sepsis, but the plot demanded he lived.

And, really? If we're talking wound logic the show established, Geraldo died of the same wound.

Where are the cries that it's so unfair that Izzy didn't die instantaneously? Well, Geraldo didn't have to give a dramatic monologue, so his death was instantaneous. Izzy had to stick around to help give Ed closure, so he didn't die right away.

Izzy was a dead man walking in the show. There was nowhere for his story to go. This post really summarizes the options. He was never going to supplant Ed and Stede as a protagonist, and he was never going to be allowed to survive threatening and coming close to murdering the romcom leads. He had no character traits besides being the antagonist of S1 and being narrative embodiment of the what was holding Ed into the pirate life he hated and was throwing him into a suicidal spiral.

Ed: You ever heard of retirement? Izzy: That's not much of an option in this line of work.

And here is the media literacy point: the writers weren't spraying bullets at the cast and it was only your favorite blorbo who got caught in the crossfire. They didn't accidentally shoot him and say "Ope, it's on the left side! Let's kill him anyway!" Izzy was going to die in 2x8 no matter what and he was going to give a final apology deathbed speech to Ed no matter what. Is there a way they would have done this without angering the canyon? Absolutely not. This "left side" argument is a distraction.

In media arguments, look at what they put on screen and what was highlighted. These characters aren't real people, and they are just vehicles for a story. When people say that Izzy isolated Ed, it's because that's what the show emphasized. When people say that Izzy was a terrible pirate and leader, it's because the show never demonstrated him acting competently (Dunning-Kruger: high confidence is not directly linked to high competence). When people say that Izzy tried to kill Stede, it's because that's what was on the show! When people say that Izzy threatened Ed unless he performed properly, it's because that's what was on the show! (If I see another person give a reductive "People don't like Izzy just because he was mean to Ed and Stede in S1", I swear...) Izzy may say things to the contrary (and people like Geraldo or Steak Knife may fall for the High Confidence), but we're in a medium of Show, Don't Tell, and Izzy is an Unreliable Narrator.

What the show didn't show was Izzy doing any "protecting." He wasn't protecting Ed in S1, and he wasn't protecting the crew in S2. If he had, it would be easily read on screen. Just in S2, we see him whining to Ed that the crew isn't doing their job, we hear Archie calling him a dick, we see Izzy shaming Ed in front of his crew with a lie that it was Ed's soft feelings that was the problem, and we see Izzy trying to pass off equal blame of the situation onto Stede. There is nothing onscreen that supports a "protection" reading. The crew has sympathy for him because they're kind to people, not because they think Izzy is a protector or really care about Izzy as a person specifically.

(Aside: this media reading is also why I don't abide "Izzy and Lucius should have bonded because they were both traumatized!" Well, Lucius was just helping Ed and got pushed overboard as a thank you, and Izzy, well, *waves at his reign of terror in S1* Izzy was a great and fun antagonist of S1, and I don't like this sanitization.)

When we look at Izzy's death, I'm sure the next argument step is "He should have sacrificed himself while protecting the crew!"... and... why? He had never had a protection arc. That wasn't his place in the story. He was a pirate, The Pirate, who antagonized and threatened the crew in S1, who put Ed on the spiral at the beginning of S2, the pirate who SOLD THEM ALL OUT to the English for personal gain. He was a Walking Plot Device for Ed, and his use was over. His luck had simply run out at the hands of the likely S3 villain, someone from the English navy, and this has allowed Ed to move onto the next stage of his life.

Ed, no. No, I deserve this. At some point in a man's life, he has to face the music, for the things he's done, and the people he's hurt.

Stede really foreshadowed Izzy, didn't he? (Appropriate this was on one of Izzy's many attempted murders of Stede.)

And if we're going there, what kind of physical wound would have been acceptable in this heroic sacrifice scenario?

So, that's what I got. If you're upset at this appearing in the #izzy hands tag without an "appropriate" marker, might I suggest getting your friends to start using a properly curated #canyon izzy or #fanon izzy tag instead of harassing people who want to talk about canon? Stop trying to scare people away from the fandom. I'd sure like to post about what I liked about Izzy in S1 without people thinking I'm in the canyon.

#our flag means death #ofmd #media literacy #izzy hands #izzy canon #ofmd meta

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doublerainebow · 7 months

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Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Look, I gotta be honest, I've never actually watched One Piece outside of the episodes that would air on Toonami back in the day, and I only really cared enough about it because my brother-in-law and my irl best friend both LOVE One Piece... and now my older brother is getting into One Piece too... but like I said in a previous post, I caved and ended up watching the One Piece Live Action (though I guess it didn't help that seeing Taryn cosplay as Zoro kinda reawakened my crush on ZoloZoro as a 4kids)... and I'm also sick right now and I have nothing better to do than write some Zoro boyfriend headcanons apparently. Aside from watching the OPLA, I did do my research on Zoro.. research being reading his page on the OP Wiki 😂😂

Okay, I'm rambling too much and this is still the introduction asdfghjkl

EDIT: Added the links lmao

~ Masterlist ~

The way Mackenyu said that he looked at his wife and knew that he wanted to marry her (supposedly, I couldn't find any concrete sources for this save for a YouTube video using TTS... but hey, it fed my imagination for this), I felt that so much for Zoro.

Of course, it doesn't happen overnight for Zoro. It takes a while, maybe even years, for him to look at you and be like, "I wouldn't mind settling down with you if possible." Oh boy, but when it does happen, he becomes very perceptive of you.

Just like his training, he takes his relationship with you very seriously, and even if he doesn't act on his feelings for you straight away--because one, he has a strong sense of duty to Luffy first, and two, you'd be his first and maybe only romantic partner ever--he'd still reserve a certain amount of softness and gentleness to you when not in the presence of others.

Let's go back to Zoro's perceptiveness really quickly. Yes, my man can be a dumbass at the best and worst of times and we all love that about him, but when it comes down to what's important, he knows how to analyze and read the situation. So, because he views you as someone important and someone he should take seriously, he's going to personally be making sure that you're okay, mentally, emotionally, and physically. He's that dedicated to you.

There will be times where his loyalty to Luffy might have to take center stage in the relationship, especially if its during a critical juncture, rest assured that he will do his best to make it up to you afterwards. He doesn't voice it often because of his strong loyalty to Luffy, but there are brief times in which he wishes that he could just spend time with you.

Now, Zoro isn't one for PDA, he gets very embarrassed by it because showing affection in public isn't something that he's comfortable with doing, but, get him out of public and into private, that man is on you, no question. The most affection he's comfortable with showing in public is you two taking a nap together, or even sharing a bottle together (which is very hard to get him to do, the man loves his alcohol, so congrats if you manage it).

As an official romantic partner, he's actually very sweet. Yes, he can come off as very blunt and cold sometimes, but he's just being honest with you. To him, its more important to be truthful than to sugarcoat things. For you, however, he's working on saying things more gently if in the case you get hurt by his initial blunt tendencies. Past that, however, he tends to you with the same care he tends to his swords. He sees a fruit or snack that you adore in the markets when he's helplessly lost? He'll absolutely buy it for you. Finds an item you've been wanting for a while? Don't worry, he's already paying for it. He finds out that you maybe feel a bit homesick? He'll begrudgingly ask Sanji to cook one of your favorite hometown dishes. He sees that you're feeling down on yourself? He's there to either quietly lend an ear or his presence, whichever you need. My man is an attentive boyfriend.

Also also, Zoro is a man of few words, so don't expect to hear him say, "I love you," very often, but that's okay. He's a man of few words, but his actions speak so much for him. You can feel him say those words in the way he kisses you thoughtfully, in the way he holds you so securely to him when you two nap or sleep together, in the way he dutifully monitors your alcohol intake (if you drink alcohol of course), in the way he tends to you carefully if you get hurt in a fight. To him, words are useless and actions mean so much more.

In other words, Zoro would make the best boyfriend in his special own way.

#zoro x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro roronoa x you #zoro x you #one piece zoro #op zoro #one piece live action zoro #opla zoro #zoro #roronoa zoro #raine rambles and muses #too much in the intro

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m1ssunderstanding · 3 months

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Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day Five

The thing is I absolutely love the album that comes out of this mess. Like I know a lot of people do not like Let It Be, but so many of my favorite songs are on it. One of them being “I Me Mine.” The walz element is haunting, and I can read the lyrics as anti-capitalist even though George himself mostly wasn’t.

Laughing my head off at two boys from one of the best grammar schools in England, who have at this point made millions off of their writing, genuinely not knowing whether it should be “more freer” or “more freely”

The difference in how George shows Paul his new song vs John is striking. For Paul, he’s relaxed, nonchalant. For John, he stands up and performs it. And I think both are a defense mechanism, poor baby, because clearly, although Paul was very supportive of the song while they were alone, when John is roasting it, Paul just laughs along and George has to go “I don’t give a fuck whether you like it.”

Ah, the famous “up-against-a-wall” conversation. Paul comes in all dominant and sure. “Haven’t you written anything else? Haven’t you?” But then John touches him, and makes him laugh, and Paul’s a melted, goo-goo-eyes mess. This is the real reason why John got to be the leader isn’t it? Because Paul was too damn soft on him to ever follow through with his bossiness.

Their scouse sounds BEAUTIFUL compared to the stupid ugly RP and MLH’s transatlantic shit.

“And now John’d like to say a few words on the subject.” John starts singing, Paul strums along and joins in on the “chorus.” They can’t communicate like healthy people, but they Can do this.

So Peter Jackson took out Paul’s bitchy nod at Yoko as he’s stealing her man in real time right in front of her eyes. Unforgivable. But he kept in this adorable laugh, so that’s something.

Three more covers that I think *mean something* “Stand By Me” and “Spinning Like a Top” by Paul, followed by “You Win Again” by John. Yoko’s sweet little shoulder kiss. Thank you for taking care of the poor wet kitten, girly. Maybe don’t introduce the poor wet kitten to heroine, but you do you, I guess. (OP recognizes that poor wet kitten is also an adult capable of making his own decisions)

The cut from Paul literally dancing to get John’s attention straight to John dancing with Yoko while inside Paul’s head a silver hammer is clanging ominously. I can’t. Followed by the knowing, loving smile from Ringo to Paul. You know, those moments when you validate your friend’s bitchy thoughts with a look.

George is literally SO big inside himself, you know? You have to have superhuman self-love abilities to watch your friend – who is supposed to be helping you – shamelessly make fun of your art . . . and just “Do you wanna do that walz on the show? That’d be great.”

But did you guys know John was actually a really great mover?

“Yes, alright. Just sod off.” I love John. Paul’s people-pleasing ass would literally die first and he needs John to do this kind of shit for him and John’s only too happy to.

The moment when Paul and John are on the same wavelength about Dennis O’Dell’s stage.

OK but. Did John get the clear plastic idea from Yoko’s art exhibits?

“Any time we do anything it’s always got to be the best.” Poor Ringo. They’re all literally so tired of carrying so much weight for such a long time.

“See, I’d watch an hour of him just playing the piano. Cause he’s so great.” With that fond, loving, smile. SUCH big dick energy here. The others could NEVER.

“And I’ll have the plastic when you’re finished.” Literally for what, though? John, you little hoarding goblin.

And then Ringo responding to MLH’s “I love you” with “Yes, I love you too.” Yeah, Ringo wins the prize for most healthy beatle of the day.

*Pattie Boyd voice* “I just wish I knew what was going on there. But something. Something.”

Ugh, John looks so hurt. So tender. So heartbroken. While Paul is over there playing a damn funeral march because that’s the only way he lets himself express anything. But I actually love how Dennis O’Dell knows the clearest path to cheering John up is to say that Paul liked his idea. And how well it works. They’re literally so obvious to everyone but themselves.

I love the bit when John walks in on the rest of them discussing the live show and MLH calls, “We’ve decided. We’re going to Africa.” And Paul hurries to cut in, “No we’re NOT.” Because he knows exactly how John can get and he’s going to nip this in the bud before John gets let down. And of course, John is all “YEAH LETS GO LETS GO!” And he’s talking about how they always wish they were recording abroad. “We could be in LA, or FRANCE.” (side eye emoji)

Paul’s “Well said, John.” and “I’ve seen it, John. I went to the premiere. I thought you were great.” Why do all your compliments to him have to be in silly voices? Like, I know you think everyone is going to call you a pussy for saying something genuinely kind to your best friend, but they’re not, and he needs it.

Holy shit this was a long day. See you all tomorrow with another long-winded-ass post.

#paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison #get back

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spicywhenspeaking · 27 days

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Star-Crossed Connection: Chapter Three

Nick Folio x Original Female Character

WC: 2.5k -> unedited :/ if you see something wrong ....no you didn't

masterpost

this is a complete work of fiction, some characters while based on real people are totally made up. :)

Seraphina Holloway is Hollywood’s new it girl. But, when an embarrassing viral video of her ex / costar publicly dumping her goes viral, she thinks she needs a quick fix to help maintain her image. When she’s set to appear at her new movies premier she scrambles to find a date to bring that will help take the white hot spotlight away from her public dumping and show that she’s still desirable to all. Enter Nick Folio, drummer of the metalcore band that’s taking over the scene, Bad Omens. He’s a sweet down to earth guy with a heart of gold and when a smokin hot movie star asks him to be her fake boyfriend for a week he agrees to help. But will the line between fake feelings and reals ones start to blur when Seraphina lets her true self show.

Taglist: @cookiesupplier @lma1986 @to-be-written @bngurngheart @jessicafg03 @knivesforapr0 @thatchickwiththecamera @somewhere-diamond @sorrowsofsilence @malerieee @dsireland86 @collapsedglasshouses @jilliemiw86 @samanthasgone -> tags are open !

warnings: degrading language towards Seraphina is used by a character , mild physical assault.

After quickly checking in we found our room and immediately crashed onto the bed, completely exhausted from the long road trip. Tomorrow is the first day Folio and I will have to fully put on the show. Acting lovey-dovey like a real couple. We talked about it a little on the car ride up.

“So…how do you feel about kissing?” I ask Folio as we draw nearer to our destination. He does a quick double take towards me and then back to the road and I laugh, “I didn’t mean kissing right now you dork. I mean like when we’re at the festival. If we were really dating I’d probably kiss you a little, I’ve been known to like a little PDA” I say again and he nods, his face is thoughtful as he considers. “Um, yeah I guess kissing is fine. I mean I kiss my grandma so kissing you shouldn’t be too bad” he jokes and I push his shoulder lightly. “Hey! I kiss way better than a grandma!” I protest. He raises his eyebrows suggestively, “I guess we’ll see when the time comes.” A blush takes over my cheeks that surprises me. I’m obviously attracted to Nick, I mean he’s totally hot and we definitely have chemistry so I don’t think selling that we’re attracted to each other will be hard.

“So my assistant Jules tells me I have a four-hour block of interviews and then there’s a photo-op on the slopes that will lead to some free ski time. It should be a pretty fun day….but that does mean Conner will be around and he’s been such an ass.” I explain to Nick as I finish the last of my room service breakfast while we wait for my hair and make-up girls to arrive. “Yeah, I’ve seen the tweets. He’s a dick and if he says half of the shit he’s saying online to your face I’ll punch the shit out of him.” Nick responds and I giggle like a preteen schoolgirl talking to her crush in the hallways.

My glam team arrives and we decide to do a simple and gentle glam with a soft half up half down hairstyle. I’m wearing a black midthigh dress that hugs my curves paired with sheer tights, knee-high boots, and a thick black wool coat. I do a spin and check myself out in the full-length mirror. Lala my stylist did an amazing job putting my looks together for this week.

“So, How do I look?” I ask the group in front of me. “You look amazing!” my hair and make-up girls cheer. “Hot as fuck.” Nick says as he rounds the makeup area and gets a better look. Putting his hands on my hips and turning me around to face him. “Absolutely beautiful.” My glam squad quietly exists but my make-up artist pokes her head quickly back in the door to cheekily say, “Don’t mess up my make-up please!!”

Laughing I rest my head against Folio’s shoulder, “Okay, you ready?” I ask him, looking up into his chestnut eyes. “Almost,” he whispers, moving his hand up to brush as stray hair out of my face and dipping his lips down to softly press against mine. It’s over as quickly as it began, but it’s left me breathless either way. “Didn’t want our first kiss to be in front of a bunch of strangers,” he says against my lips and I feel my knees buckle. “Mmhm, good idea,” I mumble back and pull away to fix my dress and recheck my make-up in the mirror. I look down to check my small white gold watch, “oh, we gotta go! Interview time.” I look at Nick with a smile. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

We meet my assistant, Jules in the lobby of the resort where she gives me a quick debrief of what I’m doing for the next few hours. First I’m talking to Entertainment Weekly and then Vanity Fair, Rolling Stone and last is an interview I have to do with Conner for Wired Magazine. Not looking forward to that one, not because of Wired. I’ve loved working with them in the past. It’s Conner, I should have never got involved with him. Ugh. Speaking of Conner, I see him exit from the elevators looking douchier than ever in black ski pants with a matching turtlenecked black thermal. He gives me an acknowledging nod and I roll my eyes, “fucking asshole, nodding at me like he’s not completely shitting on me on Twitter.” I grumble as Nick throws his arm over my shoulder and kisses the side of my head. “Don’t worry about him, sweetheart. He’s all talk.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be on his best behavior with all these journalists surrounding us.”

“It’ll take about four hours for me to finish the interviews, but, there’s lots to do around the resort. My credit card is attached to the room if you want to get a massage or just hang around and watch a movie.” I say to Nick as we walk closer to the conference room. “Nice, okay I’ll walk around and think about it,” he responds, and as we reach the entrance I turn to say goodbye and he quickly wraps me in his arms and presses a soft kiss to my mouth. “Good luck in there baby, knock ‘em dead.” I can’t stop the giggle and blush that comes through. “Thanks Nicky.”

I enter into the conference room on the opposite side of Connor. They have the room sectioned off for the interviews. I head over to start my first interview with Kelly Brinks from Entertainment Weekly.

Kelly: hello there Seraphina, you are looking beautiful today. Seraphina: oh, thank you, Kelly. It’s wonderful to see you again. Kelly: and you as well. So we’re here today to talk about your upcoming Movie “Tomorrow’s Promises” a dramatic comedy that you star in alongside fellow Hollywood newcomer Conner Frank. Now how does this movie feel compared to other films you’ve worked in? Seraphina: This movie has one of the largest budgets of any film I’ve worked on so far, however, I know that budget is only a portion that can make a movie better. This is a huge production, that’s probably the biggest change, just the magnitude of the cast and crew. All wonderful and hardworking people making movie magic. Kelly: This is a rather dramatic role, one we haven’t quite seen you in yet. How did you prepare for such emotional scenes? I mean I saw the extended trailer and you’re performance is looking potentially Oscar-worthy. Seraphina: oh wow, thank you, Kelly. That means so much to me. I did a lot of soul-searching after my father passed a few years back. I still feel a lot of emotions from that and this character and I share a lot of similarities. I was able to tap into some of my real feelings during some of those scenes which I think helped sell the performance more. Kelly: and an amazing performance it was. Seraphina: thank you. Kelly: Do you mind if I address the elephant in the room? Seraphina: oh Kelly, whatever do you mean?.. I’m just kidding. Of course Kelly. Kelly: There has been a bit of a rift online with you and your costar, is this something that concerns you moving forward with the rest of this festival week? Seraphina: Oh, Conner and I go way back. We’ve made some mistakes but he’s a great actor and I’m proud of the movie we made. I think whatever has happened in the past is easily left behind to ensure a harmonious festival.

The rest of the solo interviews went, with lots of questions about the movie and some about the situation with Connor. Which is annoying, but I’m able to maneuver past them with ease. Nathan from Vanity Fair spent about twenty minutes of our interview asking me about my Bronco. Which I didn’t mind.

Connor surprises me before our joint interview by pulling me into a side alcove, I push him back and huff an annoyed breath.

“Connor, what the fuck?! You can’t just ask me to talk like a normal person?” I gripe out at him in a harsh tone. “Well, it’s not like you’re easy to get alone these days. What did you hire a male gigolo for the week?” I scoff offended. “Oh fuck off. He’s actually my boyfriend you jerk.”

“Yeah, that guy? What did you find him in a hot topic catalog?”

“You really are a piece of work. You come here with a beautiful Victoria’s Secret model but have the audacity to question my relationship? Fuck off Connor, You have made it pretty clear in your tweets that I’m nothing more than an obsessed coworker.”

“Come on Phini, you know I didn’t mean that,” he says moving in closer and backing me up into the wall. “Get away from me Connor and don’t call me that,” I say and push him back, “we have an interview so get you’re shit together and try to keep it professional. If that’s a possibility for you.” I say walking away but he grabs my arm and pulls me back. “Come on Phini, I know you miss me, baby, There is no way he can make you feel good like me.” his grip on my arm is tight and hurts. “Let me go, Connor.” I try to move my arm but can’t get it out of his reach.

“You don’t know how good you had it, now you’re with some new guy. Should have known you were just some whore, sleeping her way to the top.”

“FUCK YOU LET ME GO CONNOR!” I yell louder and he reactively pushes me back against the wall.

The commotion brings an audience of reporters from all over the room, Kelly from EW comes rushing to my side. “Seraphina, are you okay? What happened?” she asks as she helps me back up to my feet.

“She tripped,” Connor says and gives me a sharp glare. “Seraphina? Are you okay?” Kelly asks again and the sudden attention overwhelms me so I just give a small nod, “mmhm, I’m fine. It was just a trip.”

You idiot, you’re just letting him get away with it? What’s wrong with you? You’re letting some guy push you around…

“Oscar-worthy performance” Kelly’s words ricochet through my brain. I quickly decided to bide my time, I won’t let his dramatic antics ruin this opportunity for me. I won’t be brought under by his immaturity. He will get what’s coming to him, I know it.

Because he’s truly a wolf in sheep’s clothing Connor and I are able to complete the Wired interview without any drama. We are actors after all.

I get out of the conference rooms as fast as possible to meet back up with Jules and Folio so we can all grab a quick lunch before heading out to take a few pictures and the slopes. I get the opportunity to wear my pink ski suit. It looks so cute with my hair in two French braids.

The photo-ob is cute, the cast of the movie all takes pictures in front of the snowy mountains and I even power through to take a few with Connor, fighting off the urge to push him over into the nearest pile of snow.

Our director, Rachel McKnight, specifically asks me for a few photos and whispers in my ear, “Just don’t forget me in your acceptance speech. You are amazing.” she says softly and I fight back tears. “Of course, I couldn’t have done it without you,” I respond back to her. “Go have fun with your guy, he’s quite a looker.”

I look off to the side and see Folio watching me with a small smile. I turn back to Rachel, my mouth forming a big grin, “he is isn’t he?” I agree.

With the photo-ob done, we are free to ski at our leisure. “Alright let’s hit the slopes, sweetheart,” Folio says as I approach him and Jules. “Let’s go!” I cheer.

“You looked amazing Ser!” Jules remarks as we walk towards the lift together. “And Rachel asking you specifically for a photo! And not Connor! Amazing!!! I bet she wants a picture of you she can post it on Instagram when you win the Oscar!” I laugh and playfully push her, “stoooop, that would be insane, I can’t even think about that! Let’s just have a fun rest of our day.”

“Agreed” Folio comments from my side, taking my hand in his as we get to the line to get on the ski lift.

The rest of our afternoon is a blast, we take multiple runs and at one point Folio gets his skis tangled and tumbles into the snow. I approach him and try to keep the giggle I have brewing at bay. But he just looks so silly half buried in the sand. “Laughing? At a man fallen in the snow? What kind of a woman are you Ser?” he jokes and tosses a handful of soft snow at me. “I’m sorry, you just look so cute!” I say reaching out my hand to help him out.

“Oh really? Let’s see how it looks on you then,” he says and pulls me down into the snow right on top of him. “Oof! Oh, real funny Folio.”

“Say cheese!” Jules says from above with her phone in her hand.

“Cheese!!” we both say, smiling brightly despite wearing a full face cover and goggles. “Omg so cute! You gotta post this one Ser, sups adorable.”

“Sups cute for sure!” Folio jokes while we climb back onto our feet and stretch for our final run. “What a crazy day!” I say once we reach the bottom of the hill and head back towards the resort for dinner.

Jules is quietly engrossed into whatever is on her phone as Folio and I continue ahead. I suddenly hear fastly approaching footsteps and Jules is calling out my name, “Ser! Ser! Oh my god! You have to see this!” she has wild eyes as she catches up to us with her phone stretched out in front of her. “Look !” she pushes the phone into my hands and as I’m asking “What is it?” I look down and see a darkly lit video of Conner and me, the volume is low but you can make out the growl in his voice and see the ferocity in his eyes. You can clearly make out when he calls me a whore and then see him push me into the wall. Folio looking at the video over my shoulder has gone completely still.

“When did this happen Seraphina?”

#nick folio #folio #nick folio x ofc #original female character #folio x ofc #ofc #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens #nick folio fanfiction #Nick folio fic #folio fic #bad omens rpf #rpf #nick folio rpf

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fbfh · 6 months

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curiosity is a wonderful thing - ch. 6

wc: 2.8k

genre: slowburn, best friends to lovers, painful tooth rotting fluff

pairing: Audrey x Ben, eventual Ben x daughter of alice!reader

warnings: ben's deeply repressed feelings looming ominously in the distance, audrey being an absolute bitch but what's new, op fixing the lore with nail glue and packing tape, Evie is a fucking icon as always

summary: After a long day fighting your way through a mountain of paperwork, you find yourself unable to sleep. Sneaking into ben's room always does the trick. Mal can't find a love spell in her spell book, but she finds something that should work almost as well.

song recs: spring fever - sub urban

a/n: the one thing that pisses me off is that there is no canonical use of love spells in the disney universe outside of descendants. they literally don't exist. genie says no making someone fall in love with someone else. you'd think they would know their own lore /lh

anyway fangz to cici as always (i am so sorry about buggy) and also as always, an optional fit for your viewing pleasure

tags @yesv01 @magcon7280 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sunshineangel-reads @strawberry-cake1 @dustyinkpages @kiara7777

You spend the next several hours by Ben’s side as you bounce between various meetings, and of course, your etiquette lessons that you’ve been attending since you were no older than a twizzleroot blossom. They're not really etiquette lessons, not anymore. They were when you were young, you would attend a few times a week with all the other kids your age. You’d learn how to drink tea, how to write thank you notes, and all the other things you need to know to feel comfortable in royal high society settings. By the end of middle school, most of your peers were no longer in attendance.

You and Ben, however, used the opportunity to learn about more and more of the nuanced aspects of politics, social graces, and media training. Your parents were both glad for this, and since you seemed on track to be real politicians and not just socialites, it was a perfect fit. However, saying that you have to go to your class for advanced political studies, world history, social graces, and media training is a little too clunky for your taste. You and Ben never grew out of calling them etiquette lessons, so the name stuck to this day.

On this day in particular, you now find yourself sitting next to Ben at a large table in one of the many makeshift conference rooms on campus. You’ve been in and out of meetings and lessons and debriefings about the Isle kids’ arrival, and now you’ve finally made it nearly to the end of your to do list. Ben insisted you didn’t need to stay late with him to do all this paperwork, but you insisted equally as much that you wouldn’t dream of leaving him to do it all himself. Now as Ben skims the monotonous text, signing on lines and initialing boxes, you dig through a seemingly endless database of forms, trying to find the right one.

You bounce increasingly obscure form titles back and forth for a few minutes. After coming up with nothing, Ben lets out an amiable laugh. He should have expected something that seems straightforward would take at least ten times as long as it should. That’s government for you, that’s what his dad would say. A knock at the door draws both your attention, and Jane pokes her head in awkwardly. She tucks a section of her dark blunt bob behind her ear, then speaks nervously.

“Uh, hi. My mom sent me,” she says in a quiet, hesitant voice. “She said she’s going to be about half an hour late. There was a problem with some ducks in the forest, or something?”

Ben smiles at her politely.

“Thanks, Jane.” Ben says politely. Jane nods and leaves quickly, fussing with her short hair. You let out a puff of air from between your lips.

“Even more delays…” you murmur, clicking onto page 23 out of 66 of forms to look through. “How fun.”

Ben chuckles, agreeing as he stands up to stretch his legs. He walks around for a moment, and turns on an extra lamp. It’s starting to get dark out, and the last thing either of you need right now is eye strain. Wait, it’s already getting dark out? He stops in his tracks.

“Shit.” He mutters, reaching for his phone on the table. He completely forgot about dinner with Audrey, but he has to find these forms and get them filled out tonight. You try not to look like you're listening too closely as the phone rings, but Audrey’s voice is quite hard to ignore. Before he can greet her, she’s already demanding to know where he is and why he’s late.

“No, no. I- I didn’t forget. I… well… uh, no. It’s-” Ben rambles around Audrey’s interjections. He gets up, pacing around a little, and walking across the room away from you. He doesn’t want you to have to hear this.

“We’re just running behind. No- No! I would never intentionally… stand you up… I-”

“Right!” Audrey snaps on the other end, forcing a smile. “Well then. Maybe we should just cancel!”

“Wh- uh, okay. I- I’ll make it up to you. We can… uh, later this week? We’ll - before the next tourney meet? I…”

Ben sighs and pulls his phone away, looking at the screen. Call ended. He walks back over to the table, sitting down to continue trudging through the task at hand. You wordlessly slide a teacup over toward him, the colorful porcelain filled with warm chai, perfectly sweetened. He cracks a smile, and accepts the cup.

“Thanks, bunny.” He says quietly. You hum warmly in response. You settle back into your comfortable silence, trudging through forms and digging through documents. As you sit across from each other, the pile of completed paperwork steadily grows taller. Hours pass, and you don’t realize how late it is until you’re finally ready to call it quits for tonight. You stumble through your bedtime routine, grateful that you have your muscle memory to carry you through. As soon as your head hits your soft pillow… nothing happens. You toss and turn for a few minutes, trying to get comfortable, then let out an irritated sigh. You managed to get through such a long day and mountains of paperwork, and you still can’t sleep.

In the opposite wing of the dorms, Ben has no trouble winding down. He’s cozy in his silky royal blue and daffodil yellow sheets, and he’s satisfied with a long day of hard, productive work. He lets out a soft breath, feeling himself teetering on the brink of sleep. Then he hears his door creak open. Soft, muffled footsteps creep across the wood floor, then grow silent as they meet the expansive carpet covering the majority of the floor. He doesn’t move, doesn’t open his eyes, but he can feel someone crouching next to his bed.

“...Ben?”

He cracks a smile at the sound of your voice, how quiet and tiny you sound in the lateness of the night. You smile a little too when you see him fighting a little grin. After a moment, he answers.

“Yes bunny?”

“Are you asleep?” You ask carefully. You wait in the darkness for him to answer.

“Yes.”

You smile at his sarcastic response, letting out a little breathy giggle through your nose. You kick off your bunny slippers - complete with little tophats - and crawl into bed next to Ben. He’s already scooching over and lifting up the blankets for you, pulling them over your shoulders the way he knows you like.

He doesn’t need to ask if you couldn’t sleep, he already knows you couldn’t. You’ve been doing this, sneaking in for sleepovers when insomnia gets the best of you, for as long as he can remember. Something about his presence comforts you, relaxes you through even the longest, most never ending nights. No matter how tired he is, he’s always happy to be there for you on nights like tonight, he’s always happy to keep you warm and talk you to sleep.

And that’s just what he does. He lets you lead the conversation, rambling about whatever springs to mind, emptying out your brain so you can rest. He’d like to think he knows you pretty well by now. He knows just what to do to help you settle down, to give you the best chance of having a restful night. It’s no surprise to him that you mostly seem to be thinking about the Isle kids.

“I mean, this is real. Our actions mean they get a chance at a better life.” You mutter drowsily. Your cheek is squished against his pillow and your words are heavy with fatigue. Ben can’t help but think it makes your Wonderland accent that much… cuter.

“Yeah,” He agrees. He traces his hand along your back soothingly. He glances down and notices you’re wearing the white button down shirt you sometimes wear as a pajama top. He asked you about it once, and you said it made you think of him. He smiles a little as he settles back into his pillows.

“I just hope they’ll be able to assimilate well.” You say, a tone of worry now present in your words. “The only thing worse than doing nothing would be having their decisions made for them because of social pressure…”

“We’ll keep a close eye out for that.” Ben says. His voice is husky and drowsy. It fills you with warmth, with an appreciation for him and the way he stays up with you even though you know how tired he must be. You nod a little, then find yourself rambling again.

“I just wish there was a way to guarantee that they felt welcome and not… ostracized.” You mumble. You inch closer to him, snuggling into his warm chest and listening to his soothing heartbeat. It speeds up almost imperceptibly as you do.

“Make sure they know that we know them as people. As individuals, and not just…” You continue, cutting yourself off with a yawn. You stretch a little as you do, then curl back up. Ben looks down at you, smiling a little at how sweet you are, at how clingy you get when you’re sleepy.

“As the children of their parents…” You finish. Ben hums in agreement. He notices how heavy your eyes are getting, how your speech is slowing, how the flow of your thoughts have gone from a fully blasting garden hose to a subtly dripping kitchen sink. You’re about to fall asleep, which means he can let himself sleep too. He couldn’t have gone to bed before now if he wanted to. If he knows you can’t sleep, he won’t be able to either. But feeling your soft breaths across his skin, feeling the way your chest rises and falls as his hand lays comfortingly on your side, knowing that you’re warm and safe here, with him… Ben feels more relaxed than he has in a long time. Probably since… the last time you couldn’t sleep.

Sometimes when it’s just the two of you like this, all drowsy and late at night, in the moments before he falls asleep, Ben sometimes gets… weird thoughts. Weird, random, impulsive thoughts that are not at all like him. Totally out of left field stuff, like… wanting to kiss you. Like, really, really wanting to kiss you. Sometimes that turns into wanting to hold you, too. And not like this, not holding you platonically, like a best friend, but… holding you a different way. Maybe wanting to hold you tight in his arms, and lay you down in his big, silky bed, and…

Ben squeezes his eyes shut tight for a moment before relaxing his face. He puts a manual stop to that train of thought, absolutely refusing to let it continue anymore. He won’t entertain it, he won’t let it heat up his cheeks anymore. He doesn’t like thinking things like that about anyone, and he certainly won’t let himself think anything like that about you. He sighs softly. These crazy thoughts will be gone by the morning. They always are. They have to be.

Besides, it’s so late, he won’t even remember this by the time he wakes up. That’s what he always tells himself. The last thing he would never admit to anyone - not even to himself - surfaces right before he falls asleep. It must be the late hour, where everything vulnerable feels completely abstract and intangible, but he thinks it’s a lot easier to stop himself from thinking those things about Audrey than it is to stop thinking those things about you.

While you and Ben drift off to sleep, safe and sound in each other’s arms, someone else is wide awake. Sitting in the dorm she shares with Evie, Mal sits on her bed, scouring her spell book exactly like she’s been doing since Ben left earlier that afternoon. After hours of hitting brick wall after brick wall, Mal is met with the back cover of the book. Again. She lets out a frustrated noise, and flips back to the beginning.

“There’s not a single love spell in this whole fucking book!” She exclaims. She looks over the first few pages, reading them more closely in hopes that she somehow missed something. Evie sits across the room in front of a lit up mirror, plucking meticulously at her eyebrows.

“Are we…” She winces, then inspects her skin and eyebrows again. “Are we sure we need a love spell?”

Mal rolls her eyes at the question. Yes, obviously they need a love spell. Evie is oblivious to her irritation, and continues thinking out loud around her careful use of the sharp tweezers in her hand.

“I could… just work my charm on him. All it would take is one look into my…” Another wince. “Hypnotizing eyes, and he’d be wrapped around my finger.”

She leans back, taking a final look at her work, more satisfied with her appearance now.

“I mean, he’s not really my type, but…” she shrugs, and looks at Mal, waiting for some kind of reaction from her. Mal doesn’t look up at Evie’s eyebrows, she just keeps digging through her book and ignoring the sound of Carlos and Jay playing videogames.

“No, we need a spell. This has to work. It has to be foolproof.”

Evie grabs a jade roller and some hydrating gel. She still can’t believe how amazing the makeup and the skincare in Auradon is. She hasn’t seen one half wilted aloe plant, and this gel is infused with roses from Aurora’s moors, glacier water from Arendelle, and caviar fished from the Caribbean. She can’t wait to get her hands on a decent blush, and a lip liner that doesn’t double as eyeliner and an eyebrow pencil.

Evie notices the scowl on Mal’s face as she hunches over the spell book. Normally she would scold Mal for making faces that will give her wrinkles, but now that she has her hands on retinol, hyaluronic acid, and hydrocolloid patches, she can fix any stress wrinkles Mal brings upon herself. After what feels like an eternity of searching the same pages over and over, something catches Mal’s eye, causing her to stop in her tracks. It’s more of her mothers rambling annotations and scrawled notes, this time on the topic of hypnosis.

Hypnosis can be useful as long as you’re stealthy with it. Jafar got sloppy, he kept hypnotizing that stupid sultan over and over, not bothering to use hypnosis for it’s true purpose - a means to an end. If you’re an evil genius like I am, and you use hypnosis sparingly, no one will be the wiser. Don’t get me started on that oversized calamari - Ursula has to be the best example of what not to do when you’re hypnotizing a bonehead prince to make him think he’s in love with you. Something as easily breakable as a necklace? Please. Besides, everyone knows the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.

Her mother’s scratchy handwriting goes on for a while, some anecdote about her and Mal’s father, something she’d rather not read. Ever. She thinks back to what Evie said about wrapping Ben around her finger, and in one desperately needed moment of clarity, everything falls into place. A plan begins to form in her mind.

“This… this could work.” She says. Those three, quietly spoken words get the attention of everyone in the room. Evie sets down her gua sha stone, and Carlos pauses their videogame. They all walk over, hesitant and eager to hear what Mal figured out. Mal lets out a laugh of disbelief. It seems so simple now, she wonders why she didn’t think of it sooner. She can just hypnotize Ben into falling in love with her. She can trick him into thinking that he loves Mal more than he’s ever loved Audrey, then - boom! Front row seats to coronation, which means front row seats to stealing the wand out from under their noses.

While Mal silently hashes out the details so she can tell her friends, Evie inspects her cuticles. She really should push them back. She stands up, grabbing a cuticle pusher and an orange wood stick from her pencil cup before making her way back over to Mal’s bed. As the three of them wait with bated breath, Mal looks over the hypnosis spell again and again. After a few moments, she tucks a piece of paper between the pages, marking her spell to reference later. She slams the book shut, and looks up at her friends.

“Come on guys. Let’s go bake some cookies.”

#curiosity is a wonderful thing #ben florian #ben florian x reader #descendants #descendants x reader #liddell!reader

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