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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years

Text

Day 42: Sensitive

“I’m tired of hiding,” Draco whispered into Harry’s skin, the other man still smelled of sweat, and heat, and them.

Harry trailed his fingers along Draco's spine, "Let's not decide tonight," he said reasonably, they'd been through this before. Sometimes, especially after sex, Draco decided that he wanted to tell everyone about the two of them. Harry was always willing, and had told Hermione and Ron, in fact, because Draco had said he was telling his parents. But that was months ago and Draco's parents still didn't know.

And it was fine, truly. Harry didn't care about the rest of the world. He didn't mind pretending they were just friends as long as he got to come home to Draco each night.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, his face crumpling, "Merlin, Harry." He sat up out of Harry's embrace and rubbed his hands over his face. "I've made a mess."

"You haven't," Harry said, sitting up with him. "Sweetheart," he pressed a kiss to his temple, "Don't do this to yourself."

"I've done this too many times," he said, "You don't even believe that I want to come out anymore."

"I don't think that," Harry said, pulling the sheets up higher around his waist and wandlessly summoning his glasses. "There are a lot of reasons to keep this a secret. Your parents-"

"Are bigots," Draco finished.

Harry cupped his face in his palm, "They're still your parents."

"And I am their son," he replied. "I'm telling them tomorrow. At brunch."

Harry shook his head, "I'm not asking you to do that. This is fine," he said, gesturing to the two of them. "So much better than fine, it's good, Draco. I love you."

"I love you, too, Harry," he said, "And that's the point. You are amazing and I am proud to call you mine. I'm telling them," he said decisively.

"Okay," Harry breathed, pressing a kiss to his temple. "But I won't be upset if you change your mind."

"I won't."

(Read more below the cut)

Draco left for brunch at his parents' at 10:30 so Harry assumed he wouldn't be back for at least a couple of hours. He had a routine on the days Draco went to brunch; he made coffee; wrote notes to Molly, Minerva, Luna, and Hagrid; and then curled up in the chair by the fire to read a book.

He was entirely unprepared for the floo to sound in the middle of his letter to Molly, a mere twenty minutes after Draco had left. "Babe?" he called, standing and heading toward their living room, "What did you forge-" he started but broke off when he saw Draco standing in the middle of the living room, looking stunned and lost, with tears sliding down his cheeks.

"Hey," Harry murmured, hastening forward to pull Draco into his arms. "Are you alright?"

Draco's fingers clenched in Harry's shoulders. "They disowned me," he whispered.

"What?" Harry asked, his stomach dropping, this had been exactly what he was afraid of. He could never expect that Draco would choose him when the cost was so high. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice clenching tight around the words. "Fuck," he breathed, it felt like his chest was being torn in two. "I'll go, love," he said.

"What?"

"I'll go," he repeated, pressing a kiss to Draco's forehead, "You can tell them I was a lapse in judgement," he said, he couldn't ask this much of him.

"Harry, stop," Draco said, pulling back to look at him, "I told them they could go to hell."

"What?"

He nodded, "They told me I was being ridiculous, that I was turning twenty-five in a few months and they'd already found a wife for me."

"They found a wife for you?" Harry repeated incredulously.

"Yes. I told them I'd never marry her," he shook his head, "and my father told me that no son of his," he paused and let out a shaky exhale, before visibly steeling himself to continue, "No son of his would be a bloody poof."

Harry stared at him, aghast, what could he even say?

"He told me to stop being so sensitive and to grow up." Draco shook his head, "As though I haven't been grown up since the summer I turned sixteen."

"What did you say?"

"That if no son of his was a poof, then I was no son of his." Draco looked down and Harry watched a tear roll down his cheek, "He burned my picture on the tapestry."

He held the other man tighter, "I don't know what to say, Draco. I'm so sorry."

Draco shook his head and pulled back, wiping the tears from his face, "It's fine. It doesn't matter because we're free," he said, looking up at Harry with hopeful eyes, "We don't have to hide anymore."

"Come to family dinner at the Weasley's with me tonight," Harry entreated. "Let's tell them together, they'll be thrilled and they'll finally stop trying to set me up with Charlie."

"Are you sure?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded, "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

The Weasleys were good at adopting people into their family, Draco was no exception. They'd opened champagne in their honor, had officially added a chair to the Sunday dinner seating chart, and by the time Draco and Harry were getting ready to floo back to their home Molly had a pale blue jumper ready for Draco to take with him.

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Two months passed, they came out to everyone they knew and people were overwhelmingly supportive. The press had a field day, but that was mostly about who they were, "childhood rivals," "the savior and the death eater," etc, and not so much about the fact that they were both men.

Everything seemed to be turning out fine, better than fine even, but Harry knew that what had happened with his parents still weighed on the other man. There was nothing Harry could do and any time he'd catch Draco thinking about it, Draco would just give him that sad little smile and shake it off.

One afternoon, when Draco was at work, there was a sharp knock at the door. Harry frowned, he hadn't been expecting anyone. He opened the door to see Narcissa Malfoy standing on their front stoop, looking elegant and regal, her chin held high as she looked Harry up and down.

"Draco's at work," Harry blurted because he wasn't sure what to say.

"I'm aware," she replied coolly. "Do you think you might invite me in?"

He took a hasty step back, "Yes, of course. Tea?" he offered.

"Thank you."

"Right," he said, starting off, "The kitchen's this way." He made his way into the kitchen and put on the kettle before taking out a box of biscuits and offering one to Mrs. Malfoy.

"So he lives here with you?" she asked, looking around the room.

"Yeah," Harry replied as he fetched down two mugs. "Yeah, we bought the place about eighteen months ago at this point."

"It's charming," she replied.

Harry fetched the whistling kettle and made their tea. "Why are you here?"

"Is he happy?" she asked in lieu of answering Harry's question.

"As he can be when two of the most important people in his life abandoned him because he had the audacity to love someone," he replied.

Her face hardened, "You have no idea what it's like to live in the world we live in."

"I don't care," he spat. "I don't care about any of that. I know what it's like to live in the world that Draco lives in now. He keeps pictures of you and his father by the bed. He tells me stories about the two of you all the time. He just starts crying sometimes, because he misses you and he's fallen asleep crying more times that I've been able to keep track of. You've broken his heart.

"And," Harry continued, "If you are just here to hurt him again and to tell him that he's not enough as he is, that he was never enough, you can turn around and walk out the door."

"I came to see you, Mr. Potter," she said before taking a long sip of tea. "What could I give you to convince you not to see my son anymore?"

"Nothing," Harry said. "And if that's all you came for, you can see yourself out."

"Do you love him?"

"Immeasurably."

She stared at him for a long moment, "Will it be enough?"

"For?"

She raised the teacup to her lips before answering, "That's the question, isn't it?" Mrs. Malfoy set the cup down once more, "Did you know that Lucius and I were not intended for one another?" she asked. "Our parents made different matches for both of us but we fell in love and fortunately our blood lines were compatible."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"We've often questioned the decision we made," she said, like it wasn't difficult to admit something of this magnitude at all. "I think that Lucius doesn't want Draco to repeat our mistakes."

"This isn't a mistake," he protested. "I love him and I would do anything for him."

"Anything?" she asked. "Would you give him up? Give him a better life?"

"If I believed it was possible for someone to give him a better life than me I would in a heartbeat," he replied evenly. "But we are happy together, we've built a whole life together, one that he was too afraid to even tell you about because he cares so much about it."

The floo sounded and Draco tumbled through, "You'll never guess what flavor ice cream Fortiscues ha-" he broke off, freezing in place, "Mother," he managed and Harry could see the way be ached to touch her.

"Draco," she whispered and she rose and flew across the room, pulling him into her arms, "I've missed you my darling."

"I've missed you, too," Draco replied, voice thick with unshed tears. After a moment he pulled back, "But I haven't changed my mind," he said, reaching for Harry's hand and Harry moved around the table to stand next to him, slotting their fingers together.

"Yes," she said, a smile tugging the corner of her lips and making her look so like Draco. "He's made that much clear," she said, nodding to Harry.

"I don't understand."

She sighed, "I won't make the mistakes my parents made with Andromeda. If you love him, you have my blessing," she said. "I will continue to work on bringing your father round."

"Really?" Draco whispered and Harry squeezed his hand.

"Yes," she said, glancing over at Harry, "I can scarcely imagine someone who could love you more than he seems to." She brushed her thumb over his cheek, "You are my darling boy and I want you to have the world," she said. "And it seems that Mr. Potter will stop at nothing to give it to you."

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Day 41: Embrace | Day 43: Truth or Dare

Sorry, friends, this one is messy. I'm just too tired to clean it up any more tonight. I'll take a look and fix it up tomorrow. <3

#drarry #drarry drabbles #drarry ficlets #coming out #100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #day 42 #sensitive

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spoonful-of-fixations · 3 years

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Hi! I was wondering if you could do headcanons with L and/or Near from death note with a S/O that is Nonbinary and uses Neopronouns. Specifically comfort headcanons where a close friend or family member finds out about neopronouns through someone with similar pronouns and they mock the person's pronouns very openly. I had something similar happen to me recently and I just need some form of comfort from my favorite comfort characters. Also I love your writing!

I’m so sorry that happened to you, love. As a fellow neopronoun user, you deserve respect for what makes you feel comfortable. Im so sorry this took so long, hopefully these bring you a smile, at least. Im sending you a virtual hug! <3

L and Near with a nb!s/o who uses neopronouns

L Lawliet

First off, too be clear, he himself would never judge you for such a thing. There’s no point in it. It makes you comfortable, and makes you happy, you’re not harming anyone, there’s no problem!

The first time he hears them bring it up, he’s quite confused. Obviously he knew there were going to be people against the way you present yourself, there’s always a few bad apples in the bunch, but your own family? Your own friends? That doesn’t feel like them,,

Why are they so worried about it that they’re taking the time to make jokes about it? What’s so funny about it? What’s the punchline? It frustrates him. There’s no logical reason for them to do this,, so why?

He’ll ask you about when you two get away from the situation, and if you need calming down or anything, he’s very good at subtly de-escalating situations. He’ll remind you that what you’re doing isn’t wrong. There’s absolutely no problem with you, it’s the assholes in the other room that don’t have the heart to just accept other people for who they are.

He now isn’t exactly fond of whoever was making these remarks, by the way, and will be doing his best to make you feel better about yourself in day to day life. He will be unnecessary excessive about it, most of the time he’s being totally serious even as joking as it can come off at times.

He’ll (not so) cleverly talk about you very loudly so you can hear that he’s using the pronouns you most prefer, and will constantly remind every single person he works with of which ones you like best, among a bunch of other slightly silly things. He thinks, hey, if anything it’ll at least crack a smile from you, right?

From there, though, it can really go one of two ways.

Option one, L makes sarcastic or snide remarks at them every time he sees them. He’s very good at being very mean with very few words. He has little to no boundaries on these things either, he can and will leave them speechless with one joke.

He will only be doing that if you’re alright with it, though. If that’s not something you’re comfortable with, he simply will keep his mouth shut.

Can’t promise he won’t send a few judging glances their way though,,

Option two, he will indirectly keep you away from them as much as possible. You probably won’t even notice, but you’ll find yourself only being with those people when it’s absolutely necessary to be.

He’s obviously not going to completely cut you off from them without your permission or any of that jazz, but he’s certainly not opposed to you doing so. They can’t be the best of people if they wouldn’t respect your identity.

Those are his two ways of doing things and there is no third /j

Generally, though, he just prefers you to be comfortable over anything else. He can handle others emotions fairly well, and it infuriates him that these loved ones of yours are acting this way. You don’t deserve to hear that stuff, especially when it’s something you hold so dear like that.

Nate River (Near)

Near has a different approach to things than L does, he won’t get as,, directly involved.

Once you tell him about it, he simply says you should cut them out of your life. No sarcasm, no jokes. Just “if you know they won’t respect you, why do you keep them around? you don’t exactly need them, do you?”

Obviously you can’t just,, get rid of them, it’s not that easy. To him it’s a simple choice, though. They’re being pricks about something they shouldn’t be sticking their nose in, they’re being bigoted.

You don’t need people with that level of toxicity in your life. He goes on a bit of a rant about it, actually.

“That group doesn’t deserve you in it. If they’re going to act like children about something so minuscule, there’s nothing saying you have to babysit them”

It’s their problem that they’re not open minded enough to accept people as they come, it shouldn’t be your responsibility to deal with them and teach them basic respect.

That’s the way he sees it, at least.

If you’re ever really upset about it, though, he’ll have you sit on the floor with him and talk about it while he does whatever he may be doing with his toys

He understands now how difficult it could be to cut these people off, so he does the best he can to get it into your head how ridiculous their dumb jokes are.

He doesn’t like repeating himself, but he will repeat this over and over as many times as it takes. It’s not you that needs changing, you are wonderful how you are, it’s them that needs to rethink their mindset.

#I hope this is in character #I hope you enjoy this love #💜💙💜💙💜#death note #death note headcanons #death note x reader #l lawliet headcanons #l lawliet #l lawliet x reader #near death note #near x reader #nate river #nate river x reader #bun bun writes

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frostsinth · 4 years

Photo

I scuttled quickly down the hallway between the private rooms of the bathhouse. Boots thundered behind me, and my heart raced in my chest. I had perhaps only minutes before my pursuers rounded the corner and spotted me. If that happened, there would be almost no chance of escape. I jerked to a sudden halt as the sounds suddenly came from ahead, further down the hall. Damn it! They must have gone around the back as well to cut me off.

I darted to the nearest door, trying the handle. But it was locked. I didn’t linger, moving to the next. The voices were growing louder; I didn’t even hesitate as the bolt slid back on my first try and the door popped open, slipping quickly inside and closing it behind me. I pressed my ear to the wood, listening intently.

“You lost, hotblood?” Came a thick voice over my shoulder, and I jumped, spinning sharply, “This is a private room.”

The flickering red coals warming the stones in its center bathed the room’s occupant in their soft light, his form partially obscured by the steam that filled the air. But even so, what I could see had my eyes widening slightly as I took him in.

He sat in one of the deep wooden bench seats lining the center of the sauna floor, one leg extended and the other propped against the cool base of the black iron brazier in its center. The man had no clothes to speak of, which was not unexpected in a private sauna room, but instead of bare skin he boasted dark, rough looking green scales. His eyes were a glittering yellow in the low light, and four dark grey horns curled out from the back of his head. As I stared, he leaned back, stretching one large, scaled green arm up to rest languidly on the wide back of the bench behind him. A thick tail draped lazily over the seat next to him, dangling off the edge, and his long, dark red tongue flicked out at me.

“A-apologies for the intrusion, sir!” I stammered quickly, straightening my back and offering him a smile, “I was just making sure you had enough towels.”

His scaly brow arched, and his elongated mouth opened slightly to let his tongue snake back out. Inadvertently baring sharp teeth as well. My breath caught in my throat at the sight, and I swallowed hard. He ran his opposite big hand over the smooth top of his head, flexing his large bicep in the process. Drawing my eye over his muscular torso. Forcing my smile to remain fixed in place despite the sight of the reptilian man before me, I bustled over to the small pile of white linens set by the changing screen in the corner. I tsked as I looked at them.

“Oh no, these will not do!” I exclaimed dramatically, making a point not to look at him as I gathered them up, “Let me bring you a fresh set.” I hugged them to my chest. “Is there anything else I can get you, sir?”

I heard the footsteps in the hall behind me, and had to work hard not to flinch as I slowly straightened. Just a few moments more, then perhaps I could sneak out past them.

“You don’t work here.” The reptilian man intoned simply.

I jumped before I could catch myself, then gave him an apologetic smile. His voice didn’t sound accusing, or upset. In fact, it sounded almost curious.

“Oh, I usually work in the back-”

“I’m sure you do.” He interrupted, sounding a little amused now. Then he waved one clawed hand at me. “But I’m not looking for company so I’ll have to ask you to leave now.”

A sudden resounding knock had me jumping again and my eyes shot wide. I spun, quick as a wink, and darted behind the changing screen. Ducking low as if that would make any difference. The heat of the room and steam already had plastered my tunic to me with sweat, but the beads that dripped down the back of my neck had nothing to do with the temperature.

I had reacted just in time, and the door slowly opened in the room beyond. “Good evening… sir,” Came the voice, suddenly tight as the speaker was greeted by the same strange sight that had assaulted me moments before. “...Apologies, but we are looking for someone.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, sensing my impending doom like the rope was already tied around my neck. Just knowing this was my last few moments of freedom. I waited with bated breath for the boots to cross the wooden floor. For my hiding spot to be smashed aside and grabbing hands to snatch at me.

“...Well, as you can see, I am alone.” Growled the reptilian man after the longest minute of my life, and I drew in a sharp breath of surprise, both at his words and the feral tone with which he spoke them. “And this is a private room. So if you don’t mind.”

There was a pause, and I thought I heard feet shuffling. As if deciding whether or not to take the green scaled man at his word. Then I heard a soft huff, and a final mumbled apology. The door slowly creaked, then clicked shut.

A few more painfully quiet moments slipped by, and I didn’t dare breath for a single one.

“You can come out now.” Came the same thick voice, and I started at it. “They’re gone.”

Slowly, hesitantly, I came out from behind the screen, still clutching the towels to my chest. Sharp yellow eyes waited for me, studying me from head to toe as I stood before him. I looked down at the ground, unable to meet the fierce gaze. I heard him give a deep sigh, and when I chanced a glance at him, his eyes were closed, his head leaned back.

“... Thank you…” I mumbled sheepishly, unsure what else to say as I rubbed my toe against the worn floor.

He snorted, a deep, billowing sound, shaking his head and reclining back. Stretching out further. “Do you know how I knew you didn’t work here?” He asked.

“... No sir.”

“Because you acted as though I was just another guest. Not a racist bigot like the rest of the staff.” His heavy tail twitched, and one yellow eye slitted open to consider me again. “Keep that in mind the next time you’re looking to hide in a customer’s room.”

I opened my mouth in surprise, then closed it. “I’ll… keep that in mind.” I breathed, then glanced back at the door. The sound of boots marching up and down the hall was still quite apparent, and I swallowed nervously. “Not that I wish to impose upon your goodwill further… But perhaps you might allow me to facilitate your room just a bit longer?”

He snorted again. “Very well. But as payment, come and share your warmth with me, hotblood. Those bastards always sit me in the draftiest room they have, and I’m getting chills.”

I stammered something incoherent, trying to manage some excuse. But then he set one of his fierce yellow eyes upon me, and my last excuse died on my lips. What choice did I have, after all? If I raised his ire, a simple shout would alert my hunters to my presence. I was at his mercy, at least for the time being.

Numbly, I placed the towels back in their place and slowly paced over to him. He reached out as I drew closer, and I resisted the urge to jerk away from his hand. But he didn’t grab me as I thought he intended, instead plucking a cup of water from the waiting bucket and pouring it over the hot stones. Rejuvenating the steam of the room with a loud hiss. I watched with surprise, then glanced back at him. He reclined back, a deep sigh expanding his broad chest and the large plate scales that ran down his middle.

Hesitantly, I eased myself onto the bench next to him. His arm did come out then, scooping me closer to him gently. I stiffened as he pulled me halfway onto his lap, curling one arm around me. It was long enough to wrap the full length from one shoulder to the other, and I found myself with my face next to his thick neck. The hairs on the back of my own prickled, and sweat rolled town my temples. With my torso pressed to his scaled chest, I realized just how big he really was. Perhaps only a head taller than me, but wide set, with thick, knotted muscles beneath his tough looking green scales. His tail slid closer from the seat beside me, pinning against my thigh and encircling me with its girth, and he sighed deeply again, relaxing.

“That’s better.” He purred, and I felt his thick voice in his chest beneath my hand.

I was surprised to find him cool to the touch, as if the hot room had no affect on him in the least. I snuck a peek up at his face to see if he was watching me, but his eyes were closed. I used the opportunity to study him closer.

His scales were a mottled emerald, like moss on a forest floor, but became a lighter shade of pale green along his stomach, abdomen, and up the center of his neck beneath his chin. There was more of the same color between the barbs that extended from the crown of his head, following the curve of his skull in larger scales that seemed to trace down the back of his thick neck. Behind them, four dark grey curling horns created a crest to frame his square face. His jaw protruded out like a muzzle, long and pointed, with a small snout boasting tiny nostrils at either side of the tip. Several smaller spikes jutted out from the edge of the corner of his jaw, and every now and then a dark red tongue darted from his wide mouth to lick at the air.

I tensed as his big hand that was wrapped about my shoulders moved, sliding over my arm, tracing down to the bare skin beneath my sleeve. His fat tail lifted, then fell to drape heavily across my lap. I noticed the small, pale bone spikes there, the same color as the scales on his stomach, that followed in two lines on either side of the flat top of his tail.

“If you’re looking to make some coin,” He mused, his thick voice soft, and I felt it vibrate in his chest against me, “I believe I might have a job you would be interested in.”

I swallowed hard. “... I don’t think I would be.”

His long snout brushed near my cheek as he looked down to consider me. Then he laughed; a smoky, heavy sound that had my heart skipping a beat. “An interesting proposition, hotblood,” He replied, hard brow twitching, “But not exactly what I had in mind.” He cocked his head to the side. “However, if you change your stance on that, let me know. I would be foolish not to consider it,” His long tongue darted out, and I felt its forked tip brush lightly against my temple, “I have heard humans make delightful partners.”

My skin flushed even hotter at his words, and I quickly turned away. With nowhere else to go, and not wanting to meet his gaze, I rested my ear in the crook of his burly neck.

“...Then what did you have in mind?”

“I find myself in need of an assistant,” He continued, still sounding lightly amused, “An ambassador, if you will. To aid in the procurement of goods and services, to help set camp and tend my mount when we travel.” I started to pull back to look at him, but his arm tightened. “Stay there for now, you feel quite nice.”

My heart leaped, and I clenched my muscles to keep from shaking. “Why offer this to me?” I asked suspiciously. Beginning to believe that it would be much harder to leave this room than I had initially thought. Especially with his strong arm wrapped so insistently around me.

He gave a thoughtful ‘hmm’ at that before continuing. “Honestly, it just occurred to me. But I make enough coin now to afford to take on a dependent, and I am tired of receiving the short end of the stick in regards to supplies and treatment. Perhaps, if I had a human to do the bargaining for me, I might not end up in a drafty sauna.” I rolled my eyes up to look at him, and saw him bare his sharp teeth in what I hoped was just a grin. “And you seem to have fallen into my lap quite opportunely.”

I blushed again, and twisted in his grip. He loosened his hold, albeit regretfully, and I propped myself up to look at him more fully. The chance of a job? A real job? It sounded too good to be true. And the manner with which the opportunity presented itself was certainly suspect. There had to be some catch, or else he was lying to me. I tried to consider his face, but found the features too foreign to determine his truthfulness.

“You just met me. You know nothing about me!”

He shrugged, skimming his hand between my shoulder blades absent mindedly. “You didn’t run when you saw me, nor scream.” Again, that haunting grin. “Best recommendation you could receive in my book.” The teeth slipped back behind his scaled lips, and he tilted his horn head to the side. “Can you cook?”

I blinked at him stupidly. “Well enough, I suppose. But-”

“What’s a reasonable amount?” He pressed, “You’ll have to travel with me, but I’ll provide you the same food and shelter I procure for myself at my expense. I assume you have no attachments. And it’s probably too much to hope for that you have a horse, considering the circumstances of our meeting. Do you have any healing skills?”

“I-I know the basics. But-”

“One gold a day, fair?” He interrupted again before I could even start to protest. “And some spending money whenever we go into town.”

He finally fell silent, and I stared at him. Dumbfounded. My mouth opened and closed uselessly a few times, and he waited patiently. I tried to wrap my head around my swirling thoughts, but found it obscured by more fog than the steam that filled the sauna.

“I… I don’t even know your name!” I protested finally, and was surprised to find I was actually considering his offer seriously.

His toothy grin returned. “My name is Devaraj. Shall we be on our way?”

UPDATE: Continued HERE

A special gift for @ivymemnoch who was kind enough to be my guinea pig for a Monster Match. Thank you so much for you patience and your support, and I hope you enjoy this!!

This was my first reptilian monster (not including nagas)! Its neither quite a dragonborn nor a lizardman; seems to be some combination of the two, but I already have a species outlined in my head for them. I really had a lot of fun creating it and its little blurb! Shoot... maybe I have another story idea for the future...

This Art and One-shot style will be a prize in my upcoming raffle, so please keep an eye out for it! If you have any questions, comments, or just want to say hi, drop me a DM/Ask/Comment. Check out my MASTERLIST for more stories and one-shots, and feel free to BuyMeACoffee while you are there.

#dragonborn #reptilian monster #monster x human #monster romance #monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster pinup #oneshot #lizardman boyfriend #lizardman lover #dragonborn boyfriend #dragonborn lover #oc #exophilia #terato #lizardman

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m-y-fandoms · 4 years

Text

Mondo Oowada x an effeminate male S/O

Request: Oml heyyy may I request a Mondo x male! S/O (imagine or headcanons i don't really know the difference dkfjlds) where the s/o is very feminine and tries to get Mondo to do feminine things? Painting nails, etc.

Of course! This was gonna be a head canon post but I just kept writing so I turned it into an imagine. The bullet points were getting too long LMAO, but it does include some personal headcanons throughout. And thank you for giving me my first ever request! Means the world to me! - Mod Kokichi

Imagine below the keep reading cut! SFW and no spoilers included~

Your first day at Hope’s Peak Academy as the Ultimate Tailor, you got teased a bit. It was inevitable. You were the new transfer student, fresh meat to pick on, and you were a dude in a skirt, a doubly enticing threat to bullies. Immature high-schoolers were always going to whisper and glare at the ones willing to step outside the norm.

On one of your first days there, during a particularly ruthless bullying session, the school’s hall monitor and student council president, Kiyotaka Ishimaru, stepped in after noticing the noise, breaking up the situation by standing between you and your oppressors.

“Bullying is not supported in this progressive and nurturing school environment!” Taka’s loud and volatile personality always made quick work of the school’s trouble-makers. He spun quickly around to you, inviting you to spend lunch at his table for your trouble.

You hesitantly agreed, but were glad you did in the end. That day, you met Taka’s best friend, Mondo Owada, a toothpick between his teeth and his feet kicked up onto the lunch table as he fixed his perfectly styled hair.

You immediately found him extremely attractive: the sharp jaw, the bit of chest hanging out the top of his tank top. Quickly, you fell into their little friend group full of excitable and extroverted men. There were random stragglers to your lunch table on certain days, with Akane and Shuichi tagging along occasionally, but the main staples that ate with you every single day were Fuyuhiko, Mondo, Taka, Kaito, and Nekomaru, subconsciously scaring away anyone who wanted to start shit.

You weren’t nearly as close to the rest of them as you were with Mondo, however. You often found yourself leaning against his chair, sharing your packed lunch with him, entranced when he laughed.

He found himself always hanging out with you, shootin’ the breeze, smoking up on the roof after classes, putting his hand around your shoulder when you told a joke that made him and Taka crack up at lunch. He kept many secrets of yours, and promised to take them to his grave.

When you came out to him as someone who likes men, he stuttered his response a little, but pulled it together.

“It takes a real man to admit what his heart’s feelin’, S/O, you can be sure your secret’s safe with me until you’re ready to tell everyone else.” Feeling the atmosphere become awkward out there alone on the rooftop, he quickly changed the subject “So, Ultimate Tailor, huh? Shit’s pretty sick. Seen some of your clothing designs out in the art wing’s showcase. Don’t tailors just tighten up and fix a person’s clothes, though?” You smiled at his interest in your field.

“Uh, yeah, normally I think they take in and size up clothes, b-but,” you put a hand to the back of your neck, nervous with his complete attention on you, “ I think some make designs from scratch, I have always loved making my own clothes. Maybe I should just be the Ultimate Fashionista instead of Enoshima…” you giggled, feigning envy humorously. Mondo smirked.

“Yeah, maybe you should. You gotta design me a new coat sometime. This one’s seen better days.” You both looked at the dirt caked at the bottom of his coat, permanent stains throughout, and loose threads hanging in random places.

“F-for sure!” You grinned.

Your days returned to normal, lunch together and group hangouts after school, but something was different...to Mondo at least. He had to admit, to himself only of course, that he felt a little jealous of you. You could just come out and tell him who you are inside. He could never be that open. He usually was the one keeping secrets, not expressing them. But then, he caught himself. Why should he feel jealous...he was a simple guy, he didn’t even have any secrets or desires to share, even with who would listen. He brushed it off as just his normal hot-headed mindset, and packed up his stuff in his bag for the day.

But the next few days, his eyes would linger on you even more, and he would become uncomfortable, his insides warm, his head clouded with that same envy tugging at his heart strings. In the hallway after last period, he kicked his locker, frustrated at this knot in his head and mind. What the fuck is up with him. Then it clicked…

“It takes a real man to admit what his heart’s feelin’.”

The next day, he pulled you out to the rooftop, his cheeks red and his heart beating wildly. You waited patiently, sitting down, figuring you were just in for another hang out session like usual, and pulled out your homework from third period, until he began to speak.

“L-look man, I have been thinkin’, ever since you told me you’re into dudes…”

Oh no...your head dropped expectantly. You felt like this was bound to come eventually, no matter what. He was this macho dude and hung around you all the time. It must be bothering him, ruining his rep-

“That shit takes heart, like I said before, and I owe you my truth too, r-right, since you trusted me with yours?” He startled you, looking for validation. Mondo only stuttered when he was pissed and screaming, but he looked nervous now, a look of begging to be understood that you empathized with all too well.

“I…” he looked out over the roof. Stop being a little bitch, Mondo, he seethed internally. “Fuck, I don’t know, man. I like you? I want us to be more than just friends. I mean, you’re cool as my bro, but…” He didn’t expect you to reach out and take his hand hesitantly, his cheeks flushing. You didn’t want his evident struggle to drag out until he blew a fuse.

“I think that sounds ‘sick’ ” you mused, taking up one of his favorite sayings. He nodded, a arm around your shoulder, unable to look you in the eyes. But he felt a wave of peace run over him.

Your close friends immediately picked up on this new relationship, seeing you lean on Mondo a little harder at lunch, Mondo’s blush as he rested his hand on yours over the table. Nekomaru slapped your shoulder loudly that first day as a new couple, almost shattering the bone there. He laughed, saying he couldn’t wait for you two to just finally admitted your feelings. A team works smoother when everyone is on the same page, after all.

Weeks passed, and inside school, there was little issue. It’s the 21st century. Most were accepting of your obvious relationship. Those bigots who weren’t didn’t try anything. No stupid ass student was picking on a dude with Mondo, Taka, Fuyuhiko, Kaito and Nekomaru at his back.

The problems started to arise when Mondo took you on rides on his bike, to his gang’s HQ or stomping grounds in general. That was the outside world, not an institution of modern and formal learning like Hope’s Peak. Japan itself was a little behind western society in terms of LGBT acceptance, and like the rest of the world, had a long ways to go.

With Mondo being the leader of a biker gang, a setting known for violence, masculinity, grit, toughness, and a yakuza-like brotherhood of men, it just wasn’t an environment most conducive to openly gay relationships, but no one in the gang dared to call out Mondo, knowing how hot-headed he is and ultimately respecting him as their leader. They owed him unconditional loyalty.

That was, until one day, a rather cheeky second-in-command saw you filing your nails, sitting in Mondo’s lap on a couch at HQ, and decided he’d had enough. He confronted you both in front of everyone, all eyes on you, making you shrink back into Mondo’s chest.

“Eh, boss. If you’re gonna have a dude in a fucking dress doin’ his nails and twirling like a princess on your dick, why not just date a chick? This is gettin’ a little embarassin.” He spoke angrily. Mondo was taken aback, not used to being challenged by his men, obviously the alpha of his pack. He paused, struggling to find a response.

“What’s the fuckin’ issue?! Like most of you idiots aren’t so close that you might as well be tuggin’ each other’s dicks anyway!” He spat defensively, refusing to take back talk from a subordinate. He looked down to your shaking form in his lap, seeing that you were obviously disappointed with his response and looked up at him with a bit of anger, tears at the corner of your eyes.

Why was he defending his rep, and attacking the man back? He should be defending the relationship, and pushing forward acceptance. It made you feel like he wasn’t proud of you, ashamed of what you two had become.

He saw this in your eyes and hated himself, changing his stance quickly. He scooped you up from under your thighs from his lap and set you on the couch beside him. He stood, stepping up to the out-of-line gang member, chest out, looking down on him with malice.

“Maybe you’ve forgotten your place, yeah? You forget who’s in charge? I’m involved with S/O, he’s with me, so he’s part of the gang. You’re gonna accept that, or there’s gonna be trouble to deal with, got me? What, you such a pussy that you can’t accept shit if it ain’t what you expect it to be?!” The second-in command cowered, breaking eye contact with Mondo, and the rest of the onlooking members returning to what they were doing. “Now, we got any other issues?”

When Mondo drove you home on his bike hours later, you sat behind him as always, but squeezed onto his waist a little tighter than usual, and his heart beat proudly, knowing for once he was sure he did the right thing. You two rode silently, you pecking his cheek before slipping inside your house. He walked back to his bike, blushing like mad, and you two texted all night.

The very next week, Mondo was over at your house for the first time, doing homework in your room. Well, that’s what you were supposed to be doing. Mondo wasn’t exactly the model student, much the the chagrin of his best friend Taka, and you just weren’t in the mood. And so you sat, him eating some chips from your pantry, watching you paint your nails on your bed, a towel to catch loose drips under your flattened out palm. You looked up to him, smiling at having his full attention on you as per usual when you were alone..

“Want me to paint yours next?” It just slipped out. You didn’t really mean it. A guy like Mondo wouldn’t want that, surely, but you figured it wouldn’t harm to tease him. To your surprise, he responded rather quickly.

“I seen Kaito walkin’ around this week with that shit on his nails. Maki apparently forced him to after he lost a bet to her. Didn’t look that bad, actually. Kinda looked sick with his jacket, all purple and shit,” he paused to think, “ fuck it, sure. But no pastel shit, yeah?” Your heart leapt with excitement. There’s no way you expected him to answer in a positive manner, but in this relationship, you quickly learned that you often underestimated Mondo, and let his macho-biker-gang persona leave you biased. You didn’t want people judging you by your sexuality or the eyeliner you wore, and suddenly felt hypocritical for ever pre-judging your big motorcylce-head of a boyfriend.

Mondo held his hands out after you finished, observing the slick coat of black polish that covered his once grisly and battered nails. Yes, you had to manicure them real quick to even get the polish to stick. They had dirt under them and the cuticles were disgusting.

“Hell yeah.” he simply spoke, smirking before pulling you in to lean on him as you finally pulled out your homework.

Weeks turned into months, and soon Mondo was watching you get your ears pierced again in a new place, then sitting in the chair to get his done. He took you, in turn, to get “ink that matched your bitchin’ sense of style” as he put it. The tattoo didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would, and certainly inspired you to design clothes that showed it off and accentuated it.

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stachmousworld · 3 years

Text

Incorrect quotes (1) - The helicarrier

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Tony Stark

Tags: Flirting, Steve Rogers is a little shit and Tony is his victim.

Words: 970

Steve closed the gap between them and stared him down. “Big man in a suit of armour. Take that off, what are you?”

Tony smirked and spun around arms stretched. As he finished his turn, he lost track of his thought. Steve had been looking at his...butt? Tony opened and closed his mouth feeling naked under the hot gaze. He cleared his throat. Steve slowly looked up not even looking embarassed. Who was this dude and where was the real Steve Rogers? The one who was shy and somewhat conservative.

“Genius, billionaire, playboy, phil...philanthropist.” He cussed himself for stuttering and what seemed to be a really cool retort came as lame.

Steve didn’t seem perturbated by all that and smirked. “I know guys with none of that worth ten of you. I've seen the footage. The only thing you really fight for is yourself. You're not the guy to make the sacrifice play -” Steve walked closer to Tony and leaned to his ear. “-to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you.” The little growl when he said “crawl over you” didn’t go unnoticed.

Tony’s anger at the insult flopped. He forced himself to remain calm. Although his pants may be getting a little too tight and he may have trouble focusing on everything except Steve breath on his neck. Tony inhaled sharply when he felt the phantom touch of his lips. Surely Steve had to know that what he said and how he acted were a bit suspicious.

It took him two times to get his answer ready and he was more than proud to say it all at once. “I think I would just cut the wire.”

Steve...honest to God chuckled and took a step back.

“Always a way out... You know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero.”

Tony’s anger flared up and somehow accented his horniness. He would have the time in the future to reflect on his less than appropriate kinks. “A hero? Like you? You're a lab rat, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle!” He spat.

Steve’s smirk grew wider. He grabbed his tac belt and looked down at his lap, than up into Tony’s eyes, a dark gleam in his eyes. “I’m afraid to tell you but a few things didn’t change at all. The serum couldn't enhanced what was already big.”

Tony’s heart was now racing in his chest, his eyes grew wider and he was sure his mouth was gaping. It was not happening. Steve was not...in the 40′s being queer wasn’t well seen, right? Tony was sure his dad had been a raging homophobe until his death, so how could Steve be so calm about being out. Hell, even in the 21st century people were still bigots.

“What? No smart answers? I thought I’d have to drill -” Tony shuddered “- it into you that being a smartmouth was not really appropriate.”

“You are not my dad!” Was Tony’s only response. He mentally sighed. After years of being in the public eye he had been force to create a persona so no one could take him by surprise and see his true self. No one except a nonagenarian.

Steve tilted his head and frowned. “Is that a dare?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, at loss. “What?”

“If I can make you call me daddy, would you act accordingly?”

There and for the first time, Tony blushed. He looked around finally realizing that there were other people. Other people who had left the room apparently. This little pause didn’t give him enough time to face Steve who -

“Put on the suit. Or even better only keep your underwear and let's go a few rounds.”

- towering him. Steve was towering him and didn’t let any space to flee. Wait! Why would he flee, he admonished himself. He was a Stark and Stark were made of Iron. Without any agreement from his brain, his ego spoke loud and clear and a “Yes” escaped his mouth.

Fuck, he thought. I am truly fucked, he laughed maniacally. He couldn’t take it back now, or Steve would try to control him. No one would control him.

A day from now

The only reason Tony was standing was the suit. Frankly, his legs were jelly and even his upper body strength was weak. He forced himself to stay still. Each move was a reminder of what happened and of the lesson that was ‘drilled’ into him. He was sure he was still leaking. Gosh...it shouldn’t sound so hot. He almost burst in tears when the dull pain turned into sparks of pleasure. He mentally begged for Fury to stop talking. This goddamn meeting was lasting too long and he was losing his mind.

Tony had lond stopped listening and would keep his head looking straight in front of him and away from Steve. He wouldn’t give him the opportunity to taunt him. Again. A little flame of hope bursted in his chest. Maybe Steve would do it again if...NO! He was a Stark and he couldn’t be -

“Tony, are you listening?" Steve asked.

“Yes, Daddy,” he whimpered softly, without thinking.

His entire body froze. What did he say?! For the second time in a long time, Tony’s face and neck were burning. His only consolation was that no one could see him.

The entire room was still silent. Even Clint looked shocked and Fury didn’t make any joke. And Steve? He was now leaning back, legs open and hands toying with a knife. A wave of warmth rocked Tony's body.

Yep, still not the time to consider his kinks.

Steve offered a boyish smile. But Tony knew better. He knew that behind this All American face was hidden a roggish mastermind.

Fin

#steve rogers #tony stark #steve rogers x tony stark #incorrect stony #incorrect quoters #stony #stony fic

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edwardforkhands · 3 years

Text

Asking for help to become not transphobic

This is a long rant, very unorganized. Sometimes I don’t know where I’m going with it. But basically, I’ve been on terfblr in secret for the last 3 years or so, and I’ve become transphobic during that time. I want help to try and change. If anyone could point me to any articles, documentaries, studies, etc to help me get out, I would appreciate it. If you can add in your own two cents, that would be appreciated as well. I’m not sure how much I’ll respond to replies or reblogs on this post, or DMs, as I’m pretty shy and non confrontational (hence why I was on terfblr in secret). But I will read everything!

Basically I agree with a lot of things terf believe, but one thing I want is to find a way to escape the transphobic side of everything. I want to be a radical feminist minus the trans exclusionary part. I’m pretty leftist and progressive, but I hate being bigoted in this way. I almost feel like someone that’s fallen down a neo nazi rabbit hole, in the ways that I have to hide my true beliefs from friends and family. The problem is, I just can’t find a way to for my brain to make peace with a lot of principles of present-day trans activism.

I feel like the only way to make progress is to first just flat out say I’m transphobic. In many ways I’m not, but in a lot of ways I am. That way when I ask my questions, people aren’t just like “that’s really transphobic of you to ask” and shut me down. I want to be kinder, but I need to be able to say what I think. Like how you need to be able to write out your math in order to find any mistakes. But the way things are now, my math looks perfectly fine to me.

So that everyone understands where I’m coming from, here’s a summary of my beliefs:

I agree with terfs/swerfs on a lot of things. I believe there are 2 sexes, gender is a social construct that is not at all innate, women face female-specific oppression, sex work is dehumanizing, there is no such thing as a genital fetish, I think in recent years that some people are transitioning when they not “actually trans,” etc. And there are some more petty things I get annoyed at like saying “uterus owners” or “pregnant people.” I also disagree with the term swerf (though I don’t think terf/swerfs are slurs). I want to protect women and sex workers. To me, this is like calling people who are against child labor “child exclusionary human rights activists.” In my mind I’m trying to do a good thing for them. Sex work is the commodification of consent— which imo can’t be commodified.

But then on the other hand there are a lot of topics on which terfs would disagree with me. I think we should respect peoples’ pronouns, trans people should be able to use what bathroom they want, using someone’s deadname is rude, for many people medical transition is necessary, there are cases where it is appropriate for children to transition, and even if gender roles were totally nonexistent, there would still be trans people.

Here’s where I think I started to get sucked up into “terf” ideology: I think dysphoria is necessary to be trans. I think this was the “gateway drug” that made me into a terf. This stems from my belief that there are two sexes, gender is fake, and your biology is tied to being trans. My understanding of dysphoria is this: It is a state of being dissatisfied with the sex of your body, feeling like it shouldn’t be the way it is. Like how some people feel like a limb shouldn’t exist, and they want to cut it off (I can see how this analogy is a bit transphobic, I just don’t see how else to explain my understanding). Dysphoria is innate, and would exist no matter how men and women are viewed in society. If you don’t have dysphoria, then what is the point of being trans? Is it to change the gender roles you have to/don’t have to adhere to? Could that not be solved by being gnc? And wouldn’t it be more progressive to push to abolish gender? How is transitioning without dysphoria anything other than reinforcing gender roles?

I’m not trying to be bigoted, these are genuine questions and concerns I have that keep me in terf circles.

There are also just so many things my eyes have been opened to on terfblr. Why porn and sex work is harmful to women, why makeup and sexualized clothing is bad, how to read between the lines in advertising targeting women, seeing just how much woman-hate there is everywhere and how acceptable it is in society. These are beliefs I could never see myself abandoning.

Just a heads up: I use the phrase “trans positive” as an antonym to the word “transphobic” (can’t think of a better one atm).

But with the whole trans issue, that’s where I feel like I might have crawled into a hole that I want to get myself out of. I don’t like that in being a terf, many would consider me to be a hateful and bigoted person. I want to be progressive, and on the right side of history. But there are so many things that I see in modern day trans activism that just don’t make sense to me logically, and some that I view as actively harmful. Like reinforcing gender roles, or eliminating the ability to talk about sex-specific and female-specific issues. It seems every few months things that were once considered trans positive to believe are now transphobic. Most of the time, progress like this is wonderful! It’s good when realize they have racist, sexist, homophobic, etc microagressions and work towards becoming better people. That’s great! But a lot of the times the new transphobic things just don’t make sense. For example, I realized saying things like “bitch” or “cunt” casually was sexist, and it made sense. But if I were to say your sexuality is based on someone’s sex, not their gender, that’s transphobic because it implies trans women aren’t real women, or trans men aren’t real men. If they pass, society can see them as being men or women. But biologically, they aren’t. That’s why the word “trans” goes in front of their name. It just doesn’t make sense to me how it’s transphobic to have a sexuality, so having what’s basically a “gender-ality” is the only acceptable thing now. Obviously it would be rude to go around telling every trans person “actually, you’re not a REAL man/woman!” randomly. But when the context permits, like with dating or for female-specific issues, I just don’t see how it’s transphobic to acknowledge a very relevant biological reality.

Trying to say anything relating to feminist issues in a non-transphobic way feels to me like walking on eggshells to escape a maze. It would be easy to give up and just say everything’s related to gender, sex is a social construct yet somehow gender’s innate, and go with the flow but I just can’t if it doesn’t make sense to me. I know I don’t have to understand everything about everyone else’s experiences, especially if it’s not hurting other people, but I feel like in some ways trans activism nowadays is.

I just wish all this made sense to me and I could happily say I support everything trans positive. I don’t want to be transphobic. In some ways I’m not, but in so many ways I am, and I want to change. But I want things to make sense at the same time. Currently it feels like terf beliefs align with common sense, while believing a lot of principles of trans activism takes so much mental gymnastics.

Obviously if you don’t want to respond you don’t have to. It’s not your responsibility to change me— it’s my responsibility to change myself, and fix my beliefs. But if anyone is willing to listen or help, that would be appreciated. I feel like a lot of terfs start out where I did— initially trans positive, but had just one or two issues that brought them to terfblr, and they come out the other side transphobic. Hopefully helping me will help at least one other person down the line.

I feel terrible interacting with trans people, knowing I follow and listen to so many terfs. I have so many conflicting feelings and beliefs and I wish things could balance out the right way.

#tw transphobes #tw transphobia #tw transmysoginy #tw transfobia #tw trans discourse #tw transmeds #transphobia #transphobic #terfs #terfblr #op is a terf #including the tw tags so that people who don’t wanna see this don’t have to #felt good to get this off my chest holy shit #swerf #swerf mention #tw terfs #tw swerfs

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bellakitse · 4 years

Text

We begin on a Tuesday

When the 126 have a spot to fill in their crew, Judd recommends his buddy Carlos Reyes from the 121.

Firefighter Carlos AU!

30 days of Tarlos - Day 16

Part 1 of a 3 part series

TK meets Carlos Reyes on a Tuesday. He studies him quietly from across the table between them as his father interviews the good-looking firefighter for a recently open position in their team. He and his father have been in Austin for almost eight months now, and in that time, they have built a solid crew, but when Price requests a transfer because her wife got a promotion that requires relocation, they’re left with a spot to fill.

Judd is the one that comes to them with Carlos Reyes as a candidate; the man sings his praises; he tells them about Carlos’ record, his instincts as a firefighter, his empathy, and his loyalty. It’s obvious by the way Judd speaks about his friend that he respects him – given that it’s taken months for him to earn the same level of respect from him, TK is impressed before they even meet with Carlos.

“I have to say, Reyes,” Owen starts, he looks down at his notes like he’s studying them again. TK sucks in the corner of his bottom lip to keep from smirking. His father has read it more than once, and though this interview has been going on for almost thirty minutes now, he knows his father made up his mind less than ten minutes in. “Judd was right; you really are impressive.”

Carlos doesn’t blush, but it’s a near thing as he gives them a small smile. “Judd is a good friend, sir, he might have embellished a bit,” he says humbly, and TK has to bite down on his lip to keep from letting out a ridiculous smitten sigh. He can’t help it though; Carlos Reyes is a dream, he’s the walking definition of tall, dark, and handsome. Add to that his soft voice, and bashfulness and TK is already crushing hard.

“Captain Blake also raves about you,” his dad continues, and this time Carlos does blush.

“Michelle has known me since I was in high school, I had classes with her sister,” he explains with a shrug. “She’s my best friend.”

“So she embellished too?” Owen questions with a raised eyebrow and a grin.

“Probably,” Carlos chuckles softly before turning serious. “I’m good at my job, sir. I work hard, and I make a commitment every time I put on the uniform to be the best I can be for the people we’re here to help, but most importantly, for my team. If I’m not, one of them can get hurt, and I’m not about to let that happen.”

TK looks over at his dad catching the glint in his eye; it’s one he’s familiar with, an understanding of that instinct to protect, to save, he’s seen it in the eyes of every one of his crew members at some point.

“You’ve been with the 121 for two years now, Carlos,” his father comments curiously. “That’s a long time to bond with a crew, and by what you just said, it’s obvious you’re loyal. Why consider coming here to us?”

Carlos makes a complicated face before letting out a sigh. “You’ve had run-ins with my former Captain, Billy Tyson,” he says matter of fact. Now it’s TK who makes a face at the reminder of the man that tried to take his father’s job.

He turns a little red when Carlos’ eyes stray to him; the way the corners of his mouth lift lets him know he caught his reaction.

“I hear he’s getting better,” his dad answers much more politely than TK could ever be.

“So I hear,” Carlos says with a tight smile. “But given that you know him and what he pulled here by trying to take your firehouse, you know Tyson is a bigot,” Carlos continues, not holding back. “His temporary replacement is cut from the same cloth.”

Owen sighs with a deep frown on his face. “Disappointing but not surprising, unfortunately.”

“I agree,” Carlos answers, his eyes drifting back to him for a moment before looking back at his dad. “It’s not a great place to be an ‘other’ as you can imagine, and that’s what I am because I’m gay.”

TK sees how the words cause his dad to sit up straighter, that protective streak of his radiating off him.

He feels a kinship instantly to Carlos; he remembers his first firehouse before ending up in his dad’s. It’s never easy being considered different, and he sympathizes with Carlos and what he might have to put up with on a daily basis to do his job.

“Now I’m not saying that Tyson or anyone else at the 121 discriminated against me because of my sexual orientation,” Carlos says quickly. “If that had been the case, I would have had them before a review faster than they could blink.”

“That’s right,” Owen says instantly, and with force, it makes Carlos smile, more freely and comfortable than before.

“Right,” he repeats, still smiling for a moment before it’s wiped away from his expression. “But even though they never discriminated against me, there has always been a wall between my team and me that I can’t seem to overcome.”

Carlos looks down at his hands, and TK can’t help but ache for him. His team is his family; he can’t imagine what it must feel like not to have that with the people that your life depends on.

“That’s why Judd recommended me for your team,” Carlos explains, giving them a half-smile. “He’s my friend, and he wants me to be in a place where I will be accepted. He talks about you, Captain, with so much respect and admiration.”

Carlos’ gaze finds him again, soft brown eyes that are warm and lovely, and TK just wants to get lost in them.

“He talks about the team,” Carlos says softly, his stare staying on him now, and TK has to remind himself to breathe. He’s been around good looking men before, but he’s never had an immediate reaction to a man the way he’s having one now with Carlos. It’s more than just Carlos’ pretty face; there is something in those brown eyes of his that TK is instantly connected too. “You’re his family; he and Michelle want me to have the same; that’s why they asked you to interview me.”

Owen makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, his face is neutral, but TK knows his father well, and knows he’s affected by Carlos’ words. “Carlos, would you mind stepping out of the office for a moment?”

“Of course,” Carlos says as he quickly gets up from his seat and heads for the door, at the last moment, he turns back to them. “Whatever you decide, sir, I appreciate that I was even considered. And given everything Judd has been through, I’m grateful you’ve made him feel welcomed,” he tells them with a nod before he walks out, closing the door behind him.

The office is quiet for a moment after Carlos leaves, TK studies his dad, waiting for him to speak.

“What do you think?” he asks finally, and TK can’t help but chuckle.

“Why are you even asking me that, when you’ve already adopted him in your head, dad?” he questions, raising an eyebrow when Owen tries to protest.

“Okay, fine,” Owen huffs begrudgingly. “Maybe I’m considering adopting him.”

“I know,” he says, laughing again at his father. “You’re awesome that way.”

Owen grins at him. “Did you like him?”

“Yeah,” he says quickly, knowing it’s entirely true. It’s not just that he’s attracted to Carlos, though he is, ridiculously so for someone he’s known for less than an hour and who spent most of that time talking to his dad and not him. He likes Carlos as a person; what little he knows of him just makes him want to know more; he wants to know everything. “I really liked him.”

The words aren’t completely out of his mouth, but he knows he’s said too much from the way his dad’s expression changes in a second, it goes from considering to amused in the blink of an eye.

“Oh TK,” he says, chuckling in a way that has him blushing at how knowing he sounds. “That fast, kid? Really?”

TK blushes harder, scowling when it just makes his dad chuckle some more. “Shut up, dad,” he says, standing up.

“Well then, on top of feeling like Carlos would be a good fit here,” his dad starts, zero remorse for his amusement at his expense. “It will be fun to see you deal with a crush; it’s been a while.”

TK ignores the ribbing for now and focuses on the rest of his dad’s comment. “So, you’re hiring him?”

Owen rolls his eyes at him. “Even if I didn’t like him, on qualifications alone, I would be nuts not too. He was being too humble; he’s damn good at his job. Plus, I do like him, and I don’t like the idea of him spending one more second in the 121 where he’s obviously not comfortable. This is a no brainer.”

TK smiles, his heart full of love for his father and his kindness. “Good, I’m glad.”

“I bet you are,” Owen snorts, and TK loses his smile to glare at him. “Go, let him know he’s ours now.”

TK rolls his eyes, but even now, he can’t hide that he’s pleased by his father’s decision.

“And TK?” he calls out, stopping him just as he reaches for the door. “Keep it professional while on the clock.”

He doesn’t say anything as he leaves, arguing with his father would be pointless. His dad has always been able to read him clear as day, and he knows when he’s interested in someone.

He finds Carlos downstairs sitting down on the edge of the ladder truck; he stays quiet as he takes a seat next to him.

“So,” he says, looking over at Carlos, swallowing hard when he turns his head to look at him. Up close, those brown eyes are stunning with their specks of gold.

“So,” he says back with a soft look on his face. “What’s the verdict?”

“Oh please,” he says sarcastically with a grin. “You won him over about five seconds after you sat down. You’re officially his new favorite.”

Carlos chuckles, shaking his head, the smile on his face is like sunshine.

“Come on,” he says, patting Carlos’ shoulder before standing up. “I’ll introduce you to the crew, and let's see if you can charm the pants off them too.”

Carlos gets up, bringing his body close to his as he goes to his full height, this close TK is even more struck by his beauty.

“Charm their pants off, huh?” Carlos grins, it makes his eyes crinkle at the corners, and TK is sure his heart is going to burst out of his chest from beating so hard. It beats with the knowledge that this is the beginning of something. “Yours too?”

TK licks his lips, his stomach clenching as Carlos’ eyes drop to his mouth, his eyes darkening when he looks up at him again. He smiles, the anticipation of what’s to come coursing through him. “If you play your cards right.”

#911 lone star #tarlos #tarlos fic #911 lone star fic #30 days of tarlos #my writing #tk x carlos #firefighter Carlos! au

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fishoutofcamelot · 4 years

Note

Merthur

[Send me a ship and I’ll give you my brutally honest opinions about it]

Hooooo booooyy you really wanna open that Pandora’s Box? You really wanna go swinging at that can of worms, my good sir? Well alright...

Okay! So since I respect the fact that people probably don’t want to hear me riff on their otp for a million years, my Brutally Honest Opinions will be located under a cut-off.

Tldr: every ship has flaws and it’s important to see value in the human-ness of that - but while Merthur is an objectively good ship, most of its flaws happen to be ones that personally make me very uncomfortable. If you don’t feel the same way, that’s perfectly fine because we’re all entitled to our own opinions and preferences.

I’ll preface this by saying that every relationship, fictional or otherwise, has some level of problematic-ness to it. People are messy and imperfect, and our relationships reflect that. Lack of communication, codependency, distrust - for the sake of simplicity we’ll call these things ‘Problem Factors’. And these Problem Factors play a big role in determining who/how we ship. That is, each person can tolerate certain Problem Factors while finding others uncomfortable, which leads them to shipping or not shipping certain things. You might tolerate secret-keeping and ship Merwen, while you might not tolerate heteronormativity and not ship Arwen.

I know that the fandom largely likes Merthur, and it’s easy to see why. It’s an objectively good ship - excellent buildup, chemistry, and overall dynamic. They have amazing scenes together and their banter is simply electric. So I don’t blame the fandom for adoring this ship so dearly, and under any other circumstances I probably would too. HOWEVER. It just so happens that Merthur hits up on a LOT of my personal squicky Problem Factors. And if it doesn’t hit up on yours, then great. More power to ya.

I could harp on about codependecy, Arthur’s occasional harshness and violence towards Merlin, fanon interpretations, oversaturation, power imbalance, or even the amatonormativity of the soulmate thing. Those would all be valid things to critique, and have probably already been critiqued to death at this point. So I’m not gonna talk about that. Instead, I’m going to address another elephant in the room that makes me far more uncomfortable than probably anything else:

The Minority Metaphor

I’ll be the first to admit that BBCM’s discrimination metaphor is...shoddy, at best. The victim-blaming, victim-antagonizing, and fascism-apologizing are some major issues that make this show unpleasant to rewatch at times despite it being one of my all-time faves. However, it’s also oddly relatable.

I make it no secret on this blog that I’m an American Muslim. And as a Muslim who lives in a very non-Muslim region of the world (seriously, I’m so deprived of Muslim interaction that I get visibly excited whenever I see one in public), I’m no stranger to discrimination.

When I watch magic-users be harassed for the actions of a rare violent few, despite the majority of them being peaceful people who just want to be left alone - when I watch magic-users constantly feel they have to apologize for being who they are - when I watch magic-users be antagonized in the eyes of the public - you can bet your fricking biscuit that I relate.

I couldn’t imagine falling in love with or being put into a relationship with an islamaphobe/bigot. Even if they’ve changed their views and reformed, it would still be a point of contention for me. Because I’ve been screamed at and harassed, and to think of my love interest having once been on the other side of the fence...I don’t think I could stomach a romantic relationship with them.

Now I love Arthur as a character, but we can’t ignore the fact that he’s part of the oppressive ruling class that has discriminated against and subjugated Merlin’s people for decades - and when he became king, Arthur himself contributed to that same oppression. And though he felt remorse for it, though he was just a young and impressionable child at the time, Arthur also still has that druid camp raid on his conscience (not to mention that he promised the druid ghost he’d make changes, we never see any of that happen on-screen).

Yes, his prejudices were the result of ignorance and his father’s propaganda/conditioning, but he’s not a child anymore. He can’t blame his mistakes on anyone but himself. He had moments of questioning magic, questioning the morality of the Purge, but ultimately fell back to his father’s rhetoric every time. You can blame Merlin and Morgana and his environment for manipulating him in that direction, but he’s still a grown man capable of forming his own opinions, not a pile of clay to be molded by the whims of others.

I sometimes try to ship Merthur, because it has a lot of appeal - but then I remember scenes where Arthur told Merlin that magic was evil straight to his face, and I can’t bring myself to be okay with that. If someone called me a terrorist to my face - and people have - I’d probably cut them out of my life then and there. “Oh but they’re a good person deep down.” Tell that to the people they’ve hurt and offended, Patricia. We can only excuse the bigotry of others because we have not yet found ourselves in the position of their victims.

Of course, canon has shown that Merlin is a far ‘better’ person than I. And by ‘better’ I mean that a lifetime of propaganda and subjugation, as well as the impression of Kilgharrah’s destiny-heavy rhetoric upon him, has brainwashed Merlin into being complacent in his own oppression. He’s okay with supporting and defending his oppressors, choosing the tyrannical ruling class over his own kind, because that’s how his mind has been twisted (not that that excuses his actions either, of course). And though Morgana kinda went off the rails, her heart was arguably in the right place with wanting to overthrow Camelot’s current government. If you’d put me in her shoes, I’d probably want to kill Uther too.

Nevertheless, I can accept that Merlin has more room for forgiveness in his heart, and could somehow find it in himself to love someone who was once (and maybe still is) in a position of oppressive authority over him. Like, I get it. If someone changed their ways, I’d probably be able to be their friend and get along with them, but to be in a relationship with them? Even if Merlin could conceivably fall in love with Arthur, I can’t in good conscience ship it.

Okay, what about shipping them but only in aus? Well, rock meet hard place. I can’t bring myself to ship them in canon because of everything I just talked about, along with the other uncomfortable Problem Factors I briefly touched on earlier. And I can’t bring myself to ship them in aus because I feel that if you have to change things about the ship to make it work, then maybe it wasn’t a good ship to begin with. Plus I just don’t generally like fanon interpretations of Merthur for reasons I do NOT have the time to get into unless you want me to write a full-length dissertation on fandom trends.

So...yeah. Those are my Brutally Honest Opinions about Merthur. I hope you’re prepare to contend with the tides of discourse this will likely spark.

Thanks for the ask! <3

#bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merlin #bbcm #ask #fish post

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adarlingwrites · 3 years

Text

Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who’s willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

XXII

January 5, 2278.

Percy tosses aside her wrench and huffs, putting her hands on her waist and admiring her work. “Looks like you’re finally ready,” she says to the motorbike that she has been tinkering with for weeks.

“Now let’s see if you work.”

My partner hums as she leads the cruiser through Megaton’s gate, ignoring gawkers and onlookers. We wear our helmets, which Percy picked up from Moira this afternoon.

She sits on the motorbike seat, exclaims a triumphant “Yes!” when the engine roars to life… and screams when the damn thing went careening around in circles.

I caught her before she could crash, and the bike fell to its side as she got off of it, legs shaking.

“Dammit,” she curses, clinging on to me, breathing hard. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this.”

“If it’s too dangerous to use, we can still travel on foot, but it may delay our plans,” I tell her, steadying her to her feet.

“Delaying is not an option we have the luxury to choose now,” Percy sighs, pulling the bike back into position.

“Then I suggest that you navigate with your PipBoy. I’ll drive.”

My partner looks at me curiously. “You know how to ride a bike?”

“Yes. I am proficient in driving pre-war vehicles.”

Percy clears her throat. “Was that a part of your training?”

I run my ruined hands through the driver’s seat’s worn leather, and get on.

“Yes.”

I start the engine, and Percy gets on the passenger seat behind me.

“Now, hold on tight.”

She did as I said, wrapping her arms around my waist, and letting out a surprised scream when we zipped away from the gate.

As we sprinted past jet-addled raiders and freaked-out mole rats, Percy was whooping and laughing, her body warm against by back despite the winter air blowing.

“Holy shit! This is fun!” Percy yells, and I feel her heart pounding through her chest.

I’m glad she’s behind me, or she would’ve seen the smile I had when she held me tighter and leaned on me.

I could get used to this.

As we rode our way to our destination, my mind wandered back to the conversation we had with Doc Church earlier today.

Percy got inside the clinic first, and I followed suit, looming over Church, who was sitting on his desk, looking over a medical clipboard.

“Unless you’re dying I- Oh. It’s you.”

“Doc Church. Do you have any patients with you today?”

“None. I’m not sure how that is any of your concern, though.”

“Charon, guard the door,” Percy instructed me, and Church was about to get up when Percy pressed on his shoulder, forcing him to sit. I lean against the metal and watch the two intently.

“We know about Paradise Falls.”

All the color from the doctor’s face drains.

“You’re training to be a doctor too, am I right? The oath requires me to offer my services to whoever is in need. Slavers included. Even so, I’ve put that all behind me when I opened this clinic in Megaton. Please, don’t hurt me,” Church blurts out, defensive.

“I understand your intention to follow the oath. Don’t worry, we’re not planning to hurt you. In fact, we need your help.”

“Aside from offering my services as a doctor, I have nothing else to offer. I’m sorry.”

My partner turns to me, and nods.

I come forward, cracking my knuckles in a show of intimidation. The old man shrank in his seat even further.

“I know you remember me,” I tell him, and he gulps. “And I know you remember the people you worked for.”

“We need information about Paradise Falls. Names, a layout of the location, and anything that could help us take down the slaver operations there,” Percy continues.

Church’s eyes widen, and he gives us an incredulous look. “Even if I give you the information you need, you can’t take down Paradise Falls, kid. Those slavers have contacts everywhere. You’ll have a target on your back for the rest of your lives.”

Percy shakes her head. She drags a chair and sits in front of the doctor.

“I’ve gotten used to looking over my shoulder and sleeping with one eye open, doc. That doesn’t concern me anymore. What concerns me is there are innocent kids who were snatched from their home by bastards who think that people are a commodity to be sold. I know you think that’s fucked. Why else would you pack up and leave? This is your chance to make things right.”

“Make things right? Kid...”

I felt the urge to speak up. I look at Percy, asking for silent permission, and she seems to understand, taking a step back and allowing me to take the helm.

“Percy is right. Why else would you leave that life behind and start a clinic here, where people needed your help the most? You feel guilty,” I tell him.

He was as still as a stone.

“You still think about the horrible things you saw in Paradise. You regret being instrumental in keeping those slavers healthy and alive as they hunted down more people to sell as slaves. This is an opportunity to let go of that guilt. You don’t get that chance every day. Don’t waste it.”

“What, do you have psych training now too?” he asks me, mockingly, disbelievingly.

“No,” I tell him. “It’s an observation, from a ghoul who’s in the same boat.”

Tense silence fills the room. Finally, Church relents, taking a pencil from his desk drawer.

“I’ll look for a piece of paper.”

I let out a breath that I was holding. Percy sighs in relief too.

“Thank you,” she says to the doctor.

The old man sketches the layout of Paradise Falls on a yellowed piece of paper, and tells us all he knows about Paradise Falls before his departure.

As he went on, my memories of the place started becoming clearer, but I have no desire to dwell on them.

When we got back to the house, Percy looped her arm around mine. Percy looks at me with those eyes again, filled with trust, devotion, and now… admiration.

“I’m proud of you, big guy.”

I stroked her hair and went on with our preparations.

My mind snapped back to the present as we reached Tenpenny Tower, and I parked the bike as Percy rings the intercom. Taking off my helmet, I look up at the tower, which sticks out like a sore thumb in the Wasteland. The people who lived inside were obsessed with the finer days from before the war. Worse, Tenpenny was a landgrabber, their chief of security, Gustavo, was a gung-ho bigoted bastard, and their doctor made assumptions about ghouls without even looking at one up close.

They reminded me of the people I used to serve, the ones responsible for my indoctrination.

Percy hated them so much.

However, we need all the ammunition we can find, and Gustavo trades them.

“Huh, no one’s answering,” Percy mumbles. She touches the gate lightly, and gasps when it opens on its own.

“Did you think something happened?” she asks me, and I retrieve my shotgun, loading it with bullets.

“I thought you hated those people.”

“Yeah, but, after helping the Warrington station ghouls get in I thought I’d give them a chance to change their mind about ghouls…”

Percy trails off as her eyes scan the courtyard. There were no more human residents present, only the ghouls she helped get in the tower.

“Don’t tell me...”

Gasping, Percy pushes the gate and rushes inside, pushing the heavy double doors open. She runs up to a ghoulette, the one called Bessie Lynn.

“Bessie, where’s the rest of the residents?”

The ghoulette squirms in place, nervous. “Oh, I don’t know where they are. But everything is fine! Roy said not to worry about the other residents.”

I could tell she was lying, and Percy could too, so she moves on, running past the timid woman. Michael Masters, another one of the Warrington ghouls, sits in the lobby.

“Michael!” Percy exclaims. “Where are all the humans?”

The ghoul laughs. “Roy took out the trash. You better steer clear of the basement storage room. I’m glad I lost my sense of smell.”

“He did fucking what?”

Percy brushes past Masters, footsteps heavy as she stomps her way to the basement. As she opened the door, her hands flew to her nose at the stench of rotting bodies.

Most of the corpses were unrecognizable. They were brutalized. The only one I could recognize was the old man’s. Herbert Dashwood. That one was the only human resident who didn’t insult me when we first visited this place.

His face was bloated and decaying. I looked away.

Percy retches, eyes wet and shiny with tears, and I grab her, pulling her out of the room and slamming the door shut behind us.

She was shaking. I pressed her against my chest as she trembled and sobbed.

Then, I heard a mocking laugh. I looked up, and the leader of the Warrington ghouls was strolling towards us. Roy Phillips.

“Hey kid. Thanks again for helping us get in.”

Wiping her tears away, Percy faces him. She wore that expression she had when she talked to Ahzrukhal, when she confronted Wally Mack, and when those Talon mercs ambushed us.

That look on this angel’s face is one of the few things in this world that frightens me.

“Nice pile of bodies in the storage room, Roy,” Percy spits, shoulders tense. “You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Assholes had it coming,” Phillips spat back. “But I don’t answer to you, or any other smoothskin. In fact, you’d best piss off before you join them.”

Muscle memory kicking in, I shield Percy with my body at the bastard’s threat. He looks at me, disgusted.

“What the hell are you even doing, defending this smoothskin? You should be with your fellow ghouls.”

“Charon, this is hopeless. Let’s get out of here,” Percy tells me, touching my arm.

“You get out of here,” Phillips interrupts. “I’m not done talking to him yet.”

The asshole turns to me, looking at me from head to toe.

“Not man enough to ditch this little girl and stick with us? How much is she paying you for you to betray your own kind?”

Phillips gave me a hard shove when I didn’t give him an answer.

“Huh. ‘Not man enough?’ Wow, sounds like someone is projecting his insecurities about his masculinity,” Percy interrupts, hand flying to the spot on my chest where the other ghoul shoved me. Phillips’ eyes flick to my partner’s hand, and he gives us a mocking smirk.

“Oh, I get it now. This kid gives you a taste of smoothskin pussy and now you’d tail her ass around like that stupid dog of hers? You’re her fucking gigolo?”

“God, you’re disgusting. How could someone as nice as Bessie stay with someone as horrible as you?”

“Keep your mouth shut, smoothskin bitch.”

Percy grabs him by the collar, knocks him off-balance with her footwork, and slams him against the wall, like she did with Wally Mack.

“No! You listen, you piece of shit! I helped you get into this fucking tower in hopes of a non-violent solution to everyone’s problems. I guess that was a fucking mistake, huh? I’m not going to shed tears for Gustavo and the other bigots who wanted you dead. But Dashwood? Does it make you feel like a bigger man, killing a senile retiree? You killed the only person in the tower who viewed you as people, too.”

“That asshole was gloating about having a ghoul manservant. I’d fucking do it again. Of course you’d defend him. You have one too, you two-faced bitch.”

Percy falters, but then slams Phillips against the wall again, his head hitting it with a dull thud.

“Charon is not my manservant. He is my friend. You don’t know a single fucking thing about us. Forget it. You can rot in this tower for all I care.” She lets him go. Then, she turns to me.

“Charon, let’s get-”

As Percy turns around, Phillips lunges for her neck, but I move her out of the way and grab the other ghoul’s arm, twisting it and shoving him to the ground.

“Traitor,” Phillips spits at me. “Goddamn smoothskin titsucker! You’ll pay for that!”

“Percy is my contract holder,” I start, towering over him. “And my friend. I don’t care what she is. I am loyal to her.”

“Is that it? That’s all you ever want to be? You’re fucking hopeless, kid. She’ll use you and throw you away once she’s done with you.”

The mere suggestion of Percy abandoning me coming from his mouth made me want to shut him up.

“Big guy, don’t listen to him. C’mon, let’s just go.”

“Once she finds a human who can protect and fuck her better, you best bet she’ll put you down like the dog you are.”

He should shut up.

Shut up. Shut the hell up!

I’ll fucking shut him up!

“Charon, enough! Stop! I order you to stop!”

Small hands were pulling me away, and Percy’s orders went in my ears as sharp barks.

Conditioning kicking in, I freeze. I look down, and my hands are bloody.

I smeared Roy Phillips to the ground.

Fuck.

Around us the other ghouls, his followers, were too shocked to even fire their weapons. Lynn runs over, looks at me, then her boyfriend’s brains on the ground, and lets out a frightened wail.

Percy grabs my arm and pulls me towards the entrance. “Charon, we need to get out of here!”

Behind us, they were firing their guns like crazy. One of the bullets grazed my thigh, but I kept going, the pain numbed by holding Percy’s hand.

We rode our way out of there.

It’s getting dark and unsafe to drive.

Making camp on the side of the road, Percy treats the bullet graze on my thigh in silence. Then, she stares into the fire, eyes glazed over.

“Charon, what have I done?”

I scoot closer to her, and she begins to cry.

“You couldn’t have predicted that Phillips would turn against his word.”

“No. I trusted him and now people died because of me.”

Doing my best to soothe her, I stroke her hair. “Can I make a suggestion?”

She nods.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for things you have no control over, angel.”

Percy sniffles, and looks up to me.

“You know, I hate it when people call me that. I’m just a kid who’s also imperfect and makes mistakes… not some Wasteland Avenger, and definitely not an Angel.”

“I can stop, if that’s what you wish of me, Percy.”

“If it’s you? It’s fine. Consider it my thanks for allowing me to call you ‘big guy’.”

Pulling her closer, I chuckled.

Percy kisses my cheek, yawns, and settles in my arms.

I smile.

#lone wanderer #female lone wanderer #charon #fallout charon #charon fallout #fallout 3 charon #charon fallout 3 #oc: percy zhou #charon x lone wanderer #tenpenny tower #fanfic: absolution #series: through river acheron #fallout 3 #fallout #fallout fanfic #writers on tumblr

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benkouji726 · 4 years

Text

So I wrote my 5+1 Forlex fic, as I was saying earlier. I really lack impulse control when it comes to rnm, sigh.

Jealous Guerin may have some appearances in this fic too, but it’s eventually Forlex.

This is the first part of it. I will try to update it daily, before I lose my nerves.

Five times Alex surprised Forrest and one time he didn’t

It was supposed to be some harmless fun, at first.

Forrest was intuitive, to put it mildly. You didn’t grow up in a Long household and become this well-liked and popular family member by being dense, especially when you were gay. Besides, his gut feeling had saved him more times than he could count in battles, it was one of the reasons his buddies trusted him with their lives.

He was very good at reading people and situations around or between them. He didn’t always care what people thought of him, of others or of themselves, but he noticed all the same and would efficiently use that information to his advantage. Call it his people skills, but it was how he managed to live through his rebellious youth period, his military years, and now his adult life in a backwards town like Roswell, while never stopped being his colorful-haired, emo-poetry-writing, 20 pounds of personality in a 5 pound pocket-sized body self.

So he had known there was something between Alex and Alien Guy even when they first met at the Long farm. As they talked, it was like there were only them in the whole world. The air seemed thicker and more tangible, the atmosphere charged. Then at the diner, Forrest noticed the meaningful glance Alien Guy shot his way. When Alex sang that song, Guerin walked in and they seemed to have some soul searching conversations through their eyes only, well, it was really not that hard a guess who the song was for. And frankly, Alex needed to work on his poker face a LOT if he was ever gonna sell that obvious “it was a long time ago” lie.

But at the time, it hadn’t really mattered. Whatever it was between them, it seemed neither of them was going to make a move. And Alex was so hot sometimes he wondered how the hell he remained single in the first place, but he WAS single, and a smart guy like Forrest was never gonna miss out a perfectly good opportunity to make out with a hot guy and have some fun time with him.

It was supposed to be just like that, some fun, some company, some glorious make out sessions. Nothing heavy or potential heartbreak or anything.

Which was probably why he didn’t even realize he was falling for Alex until it was a bit of too late.

They were dating for two months at that point. Forrest had met almost all of Alex’s friends and family members (the ones who counted as friends and family in Alex’s book anyway), minus Michael Guerin. And Forrest had won them over one by one. He once overheard Liz call him “charming, funny, honest and loyal to a fault”, to a reluctant Isobel Evans, who had been giving him stink eyes ever since he and Alex had gone out, but in their last get-together thingy (Forrest honestly didn’t know how to call these, because they were irregular as fuck, both in schedule and in attending member counts), Isobel joined him at the bar when he was getting them the last round, considered him for a second, patted him on his shoulder without looking at him and said in a small but genuine voice: “You are not half bad”. So Forrest would call it a win.

In hindsight, it should have been his first warning sign that he cared so much of what Alex’s friends think of him. But in his defense, Alex was most at ease when he was with his friends, which meant he would always be sweet, adorable, sometimes sassy, sometimes soft, and had the unique sense of humor in a deadpan way, and Forrest was too busy being charmed to notice it.

So when his platoon buddies, Tony and Chris, came into town to visit him and he brought Alex to have a beer together, he was so caught off guard when Alex went to bathroom and Tony said:

“Man, you’re so gone on him, aren’t you.”

It wasn’t even a question.

Forrest spluttered, red faced, and said, eloquently: “uh, what?”

Tony and Chris changed a look, both amused. “You’ve been staring at him all night, Long. You look at him as if he hung the moon. You can’t seem to keep your hands to yourself, not to be PDA or something, but little touches, I think you didn’t even notice. He made a joke earlier, granted, it WAS hilarious, but the way you laughed, like you think he is the most funny guy in the whole world, which, no offense, is really not the case.”

Tony drank some water after his long ass bullshit, and Chris went in for a final blow. “So in conclusion, you’ve had it bad, dude, like, we’ve-never-seen-you-like-this level bad.”

Forrest was dumbstruck at that. He must’ve seemed like a dumbass too, because they decided to take pity on him, and changed the subject.

“Anyway, you know we’ve been relocated to the nearby base, Tobias and Leo are near enough too. The others all cashed in some long-overdue vacation days so we can have a little get together for our platoon in Santa Fe next month. You should come too.”

OK, that was exciting news. He missed his buddies and would be very happy to spend some time with them.

But Tony hesitated a little before continued: “There is a catch though. We thought it would be nice that we all bring our significant others, or even our children. So it would be a more family style setting. It may not be your thing.”

The thing was, it would totally be Forrest’s thing. He just didn’t know how to say it. With his platoon buddies, he always seemed like the free spirited lone wolf, easygoing, open and honest, but never the one to talk about family issues or kids problems with. But he would enjoy being surrounded by family love and loud but innocent kids, so he opened his mouth to just say that when he was interrupted by a light laugh.

“What are you guys talking about, family and kids and platoon buddies all under the same roof? It’s totally his thing.”

Forrest was startled, both by Alex’s sudden reappearance and his seemingly psychic ability to read his mind. When he remained silent a second too long, Alex apologized.

“Sorry, did I overstep? You actually don’t want to go or...?”

“No! I mean, yes, I wanna go. I just, something they said earlier, it was a lot to unpack. But you are right, I would love to go.” Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie.

Alex didn’t seem to buy it, but he was kind enough to drop it at the time.

On their drive home though, Alex picked it up again, as Alex would do, because he was a stubborn son of bitch like that.

“You wanna talk about what happened earlier?”

Forrest sighed. Best to just cut to the chase.

“Why did you say it was totally my thing? We didn’t often talk about family and kids, if any.”

Alex frowned, “No, we didn’t normally talk about that stuff. But it’s obvious you like family energy and friendly gatherings, isn’t it? Am I not supposed to know that?”

“But how? I served with my buddies for a long time, we trust each other with our lives. But almost none of them know it.”

“Forrest”, Alex smiled, “you like almost all of your family members, stay friends with a lot of them, despite some of them are real assholes. You even like hanging out with my friends and family too, not just because we are dating, but because you love being around people who give you warm family-like feelings. You organize every open mic night at the pony, and are genuinely interested in the acts and the people behind them, you like to talk to them about their lives and their relationships. You volunteer at the youth shelter. You are, simply put, a people person. You like people, you see good in them, you want to be around them and be a positive influence for them. You don’t necessarily tolerate stupid bigots, and you would be the first to call out their cowardice, but if they are willing to change and be better, you would want to believe in them too.”

He exhaled, oblivious of Forrest’s stunned expression, and continued.

“For a man who has that big a heart, I’d imagine spending some time with his buddies and their families would totally be his thing, don’t you agree?”

“Yeah, but...”

“And there’s also your poetry.”

Forrest was getting whiplash tonight, he could hardly keep up.

“My poetry?”

“Yeah, you gave me your emo poetry journal the other day and asked for my opinion?”

“I remember that. In fact, I remember it was a week ago and I still haven’t got any feedback yet.” If he was being honest, he would say he had been a little hurt by that too.

Alex’s face turned a shade pink. “I know I was being a little slow. But I just want to do them justice, you know? I’ve been reading each of them multiple times, so I can get the gist right.”

OK, hurt instantly healed. He really should be concerned how Alex’s words could so easily affect his mood.

“Anyway, the poems you wrote, they are all very pro-humanity, at least in my opinion. Like, the themes vary, some about personal journeys, some about lost love, some about struggling life, some about anger and pain. But the words have something like warmth attached to them, like despite all, there’s hope, and there’s good, in people, in humanity, in the whole world.”

He looked down at his hands then, voice quiet.

“And that’s the thing I like most about you.”

Shit.

“Shit”, It was definitely too soon, but Forrest just can’t not say it. “I think I might be falling for you.”

Alex looked at him right then, hesitated then determined: “I don’t think I’m there yet. But I think I could see myself heading down that road someday.”

He added in a more unsure voice: “Is that OK?”

Forrest reached out, squeezed his hand, and reassured him: “It’s OK”.

And it really was.

#forlex #forlex fic #my fic #alex manes #forrest long #roswell new mexico

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ofillyria · 4 years

Text

I have been toying around with A LOT of WIP ideas recently and I’m not really sure where I want to focus my energy or which ones I want to add to my WIP list or make intros for. So I figured I’d make a masterlist of all of my ideas that I have a rough plot and character list for so y’all can peruse! If there’s one that jumps our at you, a few you like, or any that you have questions on please please flood my inbox! There’s no better way to get me jazzed about a WIP than to send me asks! I’m putting them under the cut since there’s so many!

NIGHT TWELVE: Vi crashes into enemy territory and is taken in by the army. She's given an assignment: win the heart of the wealthiest woman on the planet to procure war funding. But she's already fallen in love with her superior officer.

DAVID’S PEAK: In the small, Oregon town of David’s Peak people are being mysteriously abducted, and blame is placed on possessed park ranger Diane Atwood. She has a choice: prove herself innocent by finding the real culprit, or say goodbye to the friendly voice in her head.

YOUNG DEMONS: After failing her first spell Cecily Young swore off magic. Her power is building, brewing. The repressed magic is manifesting as a hurricane set to destroy Louisiana in a month's time. She must find a way to expel the magic in time, without tearing herself apart in the process.

THE GODLING TRILOGY: Lea is the firstborn child of Morpheus, making her the most powerful godling in a millennium. Which means she’s the perfect scapegoat for Zeus to send to do his dirty work. Including murdering the ancient being known as Nyx, who’s determined to plunge the modern world into eternal night.

BERSERKERS: Gal pals turned fearsome warriors. When the clique dons their fur coats they gain the strength of the animals they wear. It’s time for revenge on selfish exs, bigoted teachers, and abusive parents,. That is, if the consequences don’t catch up to them first.

THE BLITZKRIEG BREAKER: When Teddy’s clock repair shop becomes both the epicenter of a magical war and the London blitz, he is tasked with keeping a strange device out of the wrong hands. In a world filled with demon dogs, falling bombs, and a mysterious shapeshifting witch it’s hard to know which threat to focus on.

HELL’S EMPTY: Sometimes, the dead get restless. There are a few who manage to slip through the cracks and back into the world of the living. On autopilot, the soul takes the first available body and become a zombie. Over time the body, incompatible with its new soul, will begin to decay. Desperate to live, but falling apart, these creatures seek new fresh bodies to enter, even it means killing to get them. Luckily, hell, like any good business, has a lost prevention specialist. And she’s ready to go hunting.

WASTELANDERS: In a post apocalyptic wasteland, a team of two girls band together to fight to survive. When crossing the desert from ration station to ration station they encounter a man on the side of the road, he claims that his car was stolen with his young daughter inside. The two girls venture to find the lost girl in a no holds barred rescue mission through deadly dive bars, life or death road races, and russian roulette tournaments.

TRAGEDY ANNE: Anne, a bandit known for terrorizing the rich folks of Round Rock, caught wind of the local mine owner’s plan to blow out the dam. Even if it means washing out Round Rock in the process. Anne wants to save her hometown but no one will listen to a lying, cheating thief.

SOUL: SOLD: Six years ago Jac sold her soul to a demon so that she could say goodbye to her mother. But now her contract is up and she only has a week before she becomes a demon herself. The plan: find the family heirloom, use it to barter with the crossroads demon, and avoid damnation at all costs.

AMELIA BRIGHT PETSITTER TO THE ABSURDLY RICH: Amy loves her job: nice houses, free food, and cute puppies. But when she’s accused of stealing jewelry from a rich client everything falls apart and her reputation is destroyed. She has to prove her innocence. Hopefully, before the super hot CEO she’s dogsitting for returns from a business trip.

THE TEMPEST PROTOCOL: Mira’s mission is to study the defunct pleasure planet which orbits a black hole. But the mission is overturned when the owner of the planet returns and kidnaps Mira’s team. Mira has to rescue her crew before they are all swallowed by the looming void or murdered by the psychopathic resort owner.

THE ELECTRIC PIGHT - Winona is an archaeologist that studies the fallen society of the 21st century. When her brother returns home severely injured, she’s determined to use old world medicine to save his life even if she has to travel for days to find it. But the way to the city of old is guarded by militiamen, cannibals, and rabid dogs. Winona’s attempt to save her brother and prove her theories right might kill her first.

WELCOME TO THE NEIGHBORHOOD - Bee has been demon of the month over nineteen thousand times. She’s assigned a meager corruption mission and saddled with a newbie demon. Now, she’s determined to prove to Satan that she doesn’t need a partner. She has to find a way to kill her ‘husband’ without it looking suspicious. All while corrupting the perfect 1950s suburbia around her.

HELL FIRED - When one of the groundskeepers for the underworld goes on maternity leave her coworker has to find a suitable replacement. So they set up a reality show competition and the last person standing wins the role of right hand man to Hades’ right hand man. Which is sort of an honor.

ARTEMIS AND APOLLO - Agent’s Artemis and Apollo have been working together for nearly twelve years. He’s the impulsive rogue and she’s the one who actually gets the job done. But now that she’s getting married he’s worried the agency will realize his incompetence. Instead of fighting it, he’s determined to make their final mission together the wildest ride possible.

FUN FUN AT THE BOARDWALK - Daniel works at the Santa Cruz boardwalk and knows for a fact it’s haunted. The giant stuffed animals have started to roam at night and recently, one tried to kill him. He has to round up a team to help him fight back but first, he has to make people believe him.

VIENNA - After being exposed to radiation from the sun an astronaut returns to earth to find that she is imbued with starlight. She’s recruited into an organization of mutants and tasked with rounding up others like her. But the more she uses her powers to render outside threats inert the more she risks burning out and turning herself into a black hole.

10 PERFECT DATES - Katherine Day’s website claims she can set up the most romantic date possible just for a small fee of $200. Rory, an investigative journalist, is determined to prove this offer a scam. So they buy 10 and ask Katherine to be the one to join them on these so-called ‘perfect’ dates. Rory thought this would be a disaster worth writing about, but the only problem is Katherine herself seems like the perfect person for Rory.

SOUL SEARCHING - A witch and her disembodied wife search for a body that can house the wife’s soul. The witch becomes a spiritual guide to people in comas, entering their minds and helping them through to the other side to open a space for the wife to have a body again.

CRITICALLY MISSED. After the death of David’s father he invites all of his childhood friends back to his childhood home for a reunion game of dungeons and dragons. When they start to fight they are interrupted as they are pulled into the game. The old friends are forced to fight off giant spiders, ogres, and long buried resentment. If they die in the game do they die in real life? And is an epic takedown worth risking your brother’s neck?

These ones don’t have titles yet so I’m just gonna give some comps so you get the vibe:

WES ANDERSON x THE HALF OF IT - Mindy’s life is going exactly how she wants. She has perfected her waffle recipe, a successful b&b, and no friends. But when her mom decides to get remarried Mindy is faced with the reality that the world goes on without her even when she constructs an eden for herself. So she enlists the help of a childhood friend to teach her how to deal with change.

STRANGER THINGS x PARANORMAN - Ryann drowned, and was resuscitated minutes after being declared dead. Now the kid sees ghosts: unmoving, unblinking figures staring at a singular location. Ryann must discover why the spirits are back and what it is they want that’s in the Courthouse.

TOMB RAIDER x UNCHARTED - The Bloodright Chalice is the last unrecovered piece of known treasure, and Kel is determined to find it. With the help of a tagalong history nerd, she must fight off mercenaries, navigate perilous terrain, and withstand the draw of a magical artifact.

KICKASS x DAREDEVIL - Kimberly Price is trying to be the hero her powers deserve, but her moral ambiguity keeps leading her off track. Upon discovering an underground crime ring, Kim discovers her big break and that the mob boss, a mutant like her, can break any bone in her body with his mind.

INCEPTION x ARRIVAL - Dr. Parson has been having dreams recently of waking up next to a woman who he doesn’t know and she claims to be his wife. His new research partner on the particle accelerator is revealed to be the very same woman he’s been dreaming of since the beginning of the project. He knows more about her than he should and it feels like an abuse of power, but he cannot help but fall in love, or rather stay in love. But how can he be honest when it would paint him as insane and ruin both his relationship with her and his plans for the project?

#writeblr #writers of tumblr #writblr #writing #allwip

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evangeline-of-montfort · 4 years

Text

ash garden (i)

read it here on ao3

I scuff my boots against the rocky ground, bored out of my damn mind. My assignment this week must be one of the most pointless in border patrol history. This sector is of no importance whatsoever, a lonely stretch of granite and pine trees. But due to its proximity to Davidson’s estate, it has to be patrolled.

The day is overcast but chilly, and I huddle in my thin uniform. Gray clouds scud the light sky. Fall is bearing down on Montfort: according to Carmadon, we have about two weeks before the first snows hit Ascendant.

My ability forms a protective shield around me, searching for the steel of raider weapons. As usual, there is nothing. The Prairie raids have slowed since Montfort troops withdrew from the Dancing War and border security tightened. But I haven’t lived this long—twenty-five years, now—by being complacent.

The edge of the cliff looms before me: six inches of granite are all that stand between me and the hundred foot drop. I peer over the edge anyway, a cursory glance to check for raiders, who have been known to scale the cliffs. None. Obviously. I straighten up again and pace back towards the Hawkway, the road that runs from Ascendant in the mountains all the way down to the plains.

I switch on my wireless, a broadcaster that taps into the same signal as the other patrol units. “Sector E-1 is clear.”

Static. I wait for the standard response from the rest of my unit, but nothing comes.

“I repeat, Sector E-1 is clear.” My voice rings out in the silence, echoing off the mountainsides and into the wilderness.

Still nothing. I switch the wireless off and then on again. No change. The device feels the same as ever, even to my ability: all the inner workings are fine, so it isn’t a mechanical issue.

A sense of unease rises inside me. In my five years on border patrol, I’ve never lost connection like this. Something is wrong.

There’s another, smaller, wireless hanging from my belt. A direct line to Elane and the Premier’s office. She made me take it in case of an emergency. I switch it on, just in case.

Her voice comes through the other end immediately. “Eve? Is everything alright?” There are other sounds in the background: shuffling paper and people talking in lowered voices. I’m guessing she’s sitting in one of Davidson’s meetings.

“I’ve lost contact with everyone else in my unit,” I say. Even as I talk, my eyes scan back and forth along the tree line, watching for potential danger. There’s no sign of metal, no sign of movement. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t anyone waiting, just out of sight. “I’m keeping this line open just in case. Is that alright?”

“Yeah. Stay safe. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

I hook the wireless back onto my belt and continue pacing, but farther away from the ledge. If I have to fight, I’d rather not do it backed against a cliff.

A minute passes. Then five, then ten. I’m about to call it a false alarm when I hear a sound like muted thunder in the distance.

Then it draws closer, and I realize it isn’t thundering.

It’s hoofbeats.

~~~

“Love you too.”

I smile briefly at Eve’s voice on the other end before setting the device on the table. On my right, Lyrisa glances at me, a question in her eyes.

“Everything’s fine,” I say, even as worry snakes its way through my heart. “Apologies for the disruption.”

“Nothing to worry about, Elane,” Davidson says from across the table. “If you need to be excused, or anything else at all, let me know.” His expression is worried, tense. I used to think the premier was immovable, his restraint unbreakable. After five years, I know better—he can be read like anyone else, if you know him well enough.

The others—Davidson’s closest aides and various Scarlet Guard officials—shoot me worried glances. “It’s going to be okay,” I reassure them. “Really. We should continue.”

It feels like I’m lying through my teeth. My mind is consumed by Eve, my fiancée, on patrol. Sworn to protect us all, even at the cost of her own life. But I have my own job to do—our weekly intel meetings are preciously short—and I won’t let my emotions get in the way.

“Back to the situation in the Lakelands, then,” Ada Wallace says after a second. “One of their nobles made contact with the Silver Secession last week.”

She’s the only person in the room without a notebook or files of any sort—naturally, she doesn’t need them. Sometimes, I envy her ability. Paperwork is a nightmare.

“Lord Cassius Merin,” Davidson says, consulting his own papers. “What do we know about him?”

“He’s a cousin to Jidansa Merin,” Lyrisa says. “Very close to the Cygnet royal family. I believe I met him once.”

Ada frowns, and I can practically see the gears whirring in her mind. “The royal family and court are still in turmoil following Cenra’s abdication last month. If Merin contacted the Secessionists on their orders…”

I shudder. The Nortan Silver Secession are violent blood supremacists and bigots, intent on restoring Silver rule through any means possible. If the Lakelands back their play, that could be very bad for us. “An alliance between them could be strong enough to stabilize the Lakelands and threaten the Nortan States,” I say. “Especially after the Dancing War.” This has always been the endgame for them—restore the Nortan monarchy, fix the thrones that Cal and Eve broke.

“Potentially,” Ada says. “But I don’t see who they could possibly put on the throne. Maven is long dead. Cal is not a viable–”

Suddenly I feel the wireless vibrating against the table. I put it to my ear, my heart pounding like a kettle drum. “Eve? Eve, are you there?”

Her voice is nearly unintelligible, punctuated by crackling static. “There’s—trouble—raid—E1–” A high-pitched whine splits the air, and I jolt in my seat, dropping the device to the table with a clatter.

When I raise it to my ear again, there is nothing but static.

Trouble, she said. A raid.

The blood drains from my face. The room has fallen silent, every eye fixed on me. “She needs help,” I say hoarsely. “Evangeline’s in danger.”

Lyrisa grabs my arm, her grip bruising and viselike. “I’ll go help her. I can get to Sector E1 in five minutes if I take a cycle up the Hawkway.”

“You can’t–”

“Watch me. Whoever tried to hurt Evie, I’ll kick their ass–”

“No—Elane is correct. You are too valuable.” Davidson’s voice cuts through the rising clamor like a knife. “A Piedmont princess, the former betrothed of Orrian Cygnet? You cannot let yourself be captured.”

She doesn’t back down. “There’s only one cycle—we can send one person. I’m the only fighter here. It makes sense for me to go.”

“You will not be going,” the premier says. “That is final.”

I turn to him, desperate. “Evangeline needs help. She might be injured, or—” Bile rises in my throat. Eve isn’t dead. She can’t be dead. I can’t imagine a world without her in it.

“Enough,” Davidson says. His voice is deadly calm, but his eyes burn with gold fire as he stands from the table. “I will go.”

“So Lyrisa is too valuable, but the premier of this country is not?” Carmadon appears suddenly in the doorway of the library, and I wonder how long he’s been eavesdropping outside. His face is as hard as I’ve ever seen it, cut with lines of anxiety. “Dane, please—”

“I will go,” Davidson repeats firmly. “My life should hold no greater value than those of my officers. Premiers can...” He hesitates, and I can see through his composure to the person he is underneath: shaken but determined.

“They can be replaced,” he says at last.

His husband closes his eyes, as if he’s willing the words away. “No. They can’t. You can’t.”

“Every second I spend here is a second Evangeline could be in greater danger. If anything’s happened to her…” His voice darkens, and I realize Dane Davidson would be a formidable enemy on the battlefield indeed. I pity whoever tries to cross him.

“Then let me go with you,” Carmadon says suddenly. His voice is afraid, but he does not back down. “I can—”

“You can stay here, in case something happens to me,” Davidson interrupts. He steps through the doorway, and the look he exchanges with his husband is so private that I drop my gaze. “I cannot fight knowing you are in danger as well, Carm. I cannot afford distractions.”

I am suddenly reminded of Evangeline before she went to defend the walls of Corvium. She had begged me to remain safely at the Ridge House. You would only distract me, she’d said. So reluctantly, I had stayed.

She and Davidson are so similar. Destined for greatness, destined to fight a dozen wars and emerge victorious. Theirs is a flame that will never stop burning.

And Carmadon and I? We are similar as well. We tend the hearth, feed the fire, ensure the blaze doesn’t consume itself. We are content to stand in the shadow of greatness, strong enough to let our loves go again and again to the jaws of mortal danger.

Davidson presses a kiss to his husband’s forehead. “Trust that I will come home to you. But if I cannot? Have strength, my dear Carmadon. Have strength.”

The door swings shut as he leaves, and I pray that I have not sent him to his death.

~~~

tag list: @evangelineartemiasamos @fuvkingmagnus @lilyharvord @freaky-freiday @drasticsarcastic

#red queen #evangeline samos #elane haven #dane davidson #red queen fandom #evangelane #rq fandom #red queen fanfic #evangeline of montfort #ash garden

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crxmsxnmemories · 4 years

Photo

Did anyone else just see SLOAN WASHINGTON ? I hear from the WASHINGTON family they can be a bit OVERLY CRITICAL & DEMANDING. But I also heard they can be ELOQUENT & INQUISITIVE. If you dare I hear they frequent CHITOWN PARK in their spare time when they aren’t being an INTERIM MAYOR. Tread carefully or else you might be next on their

Sooo here is my fourth kiddo. This intro is really long sorry lol but she will have connection that I would like for her pertaing to her backstory. I’ll leave that in the discord channle when it’s ready. But right now I’d love some Washington family connections, gang connetions as well for her. So let me know if you want to meet your new intrim- mayor!

INTRODUCING:

LA BALLERINE PRIMA MEUTRIERE

QUICK STATS

Name : Sloan Ray Washington

Nicknames :

Age: 36 years old

D.O.B : Aug 8th 1984

Eithnicity: Black

Nationality : American

Height : 5′5

Fun Fact: Her favorite color is pink, and so you will always see her with some kind of pink accent on her when in her suit jackets and such

Drug Use: None

Alcohol Use : Red Wine and popcorn

BACKSTORY

Ever since Sloan could remember she wanted to be a ballerina. Begged her mother and father to take her to lesson. It was her uncle that had finally helped make a young Sloan’s wish come true. It wasn’t how she pictured it; in fact it was hard. And she often got picked on by other girls in her class. So much so that she came home one day; she declared she would never dance again and ran up to her room. Her father came in later. To find a weeping Sloan clutching a toy ballerine in her hand. Tears streaming down her face. He sat down next to her, gently stroking her curly hair. “ You are a Washington my dear. We don’t give up because things are hard. We strive to do better, to be better. Because no one will give you anything in this life. You have to be willing to fight for it. You fight for your dreams and you hold them close.” She went back to class the following day. When she was sixteen, she was scouted by a french dance company. During one of her ballet camps held by the American Ballet Dance Company. Even though she was in Corps de ballet during camp. Sloan had been offered an exclusive contract to dance for the Paris Opera Ballet. Both she and her mother were so excited for the chance. However, her Father Authur, was harder to sell the idea to. She was born a Washington. A political career was a family tradition. They didn’t need to try and make change around the world. Not when America was still so bigotted, racist and prejudice. In his mind, he thought that dance would be a hobby. One that she would leave behind after high school. To join a company all the way in Paris. To live there on her own, he didn’t like the idea. “ This is my dream, I’m just holding on to it and fighting hard to keep it like you taught me.” Authur had no choice but to let her. The contract was signed and a now 17-year-old Sloan hopped on a plane to start her new life doing the thing she loved most. Dance. She trained and trained. Watching Prima’s dance, each one better than the next. Sloan invisioned herself as a principle dancer one day. Owning the stage like the diva she watched. That was when she met Christian, he was 21 and already a principle dancer and a popular one. Women and men came to see him. And of course, he lapped up the attention. He’d arrive back at the dorms every night. Sneeking a new boy or girl into his room. She didn’t know how he got away with it but he did. The one time she caught him in the hall kissing a man who had to be at least 10 years his senior. She averted her eyes as she went down the hall. Only to turn back to find Christian still standing at the door; giving her a wink before he disappeared behind it. Sloan blushed for days after that. But also, Christian started to talk to her more and more. She had only been there for a year. Not even Demis and Soloist paid her any attention. But Christian did, he would help her with her positionings. Giving her tips that would make her stand out to the dance directors and choreographers. Things that would make them notice her in a good light. “ You have such pretty lines, Mon petite. You have to show them with boldness. You have something no other girl has here.” Sloan looked at him through the mirror wating for him to tell her. Leaning forward, his lips against her ear he whispered “ Me.” And she kept him. With Christians help, Sloan slowly rose up the ranks. From Corps de ballet to demi, to soloist. Until finally, at the age of twenty-three. She took the stage as a Principle... with Christian by her side. Christian open a whole new world to her. Sure he wasn’t always the nicest, sometimes he pushed her to hard. But that was the price you paid wasn’t it? To hold onto your dream. So she took him yelling at her, took the constant cheating, the emotional abuse, the mental abuse. She took it all because she was doing what she loved and he... he had helped her get there. She was indebted to him now and forever But forever came a lot sooner then she would have thought. The company had grown tired of Christian and his antics. Finally releasing him from his contract. He came to their paris apartment in a rage. Drunk, high, looking for a fight. With Sloan as his target. He told her to pack her things, that they would be leaving paris and going to Russia. That they would dance there, but Sloan said no. She loved him; she would always love him. But, this was where she wanted to be and the company hadn’t fired her. This engradged him and he lashed out. The beating was so bad Sloan didn’t know how she had been able to fight him off enough. But she did... she was a fucking Washington and enough was enough. Christian grabbed her by the hair, pulling her towards the kitchen. Saying that if her face was ruined then no one would want her. No one would love her except him. Sloan was screaming, arms flaying as he pulled her closer to the stove. She saw the kitchen kneif she’d been using. Quickly reaching for it, she swong at him. Cutting his arm that held her. When he let go, she lept at him. Even to this day she couldn’t tell you how many times she stapped him. All she remebers is that there was so much blood. It covered her, and that he had long stopped moving evern as she continued to stab his dead flesh. When she arrived at the dance company the next day. She was bombarded with questions. People asking if she was alright, where was she staying. How the fire started. Sloan, was the picture of a devesated woman. Because she was. She had killed a man she fallen in love with. And the sick part about it was, she still loved him. Christan had given her her dream and he paid for it with his blood. PRESENT

Sloan returned to Chicago. After retiring from ballet at the age of Thrity- two. She had a fullfilling carree and now lived with her mother. Returning to her hometown was bitter sweet, she had always thought she would stay in Paris forever. But that was something she just couldn’t do. Upon returing, she found that her family has grown in power in Chicago; significantly. Which wasn’t surprising , Her uncle and father always being one to push for change. Sloan longed for change for the city. Real change it didn’t help that her past was like a looming shadow off in the distance. So she distants herself for the Ballerina that she was. Helping out in the Mayor’s office. Going to political rallies and events. The picture of a Washington child , the picture of perfection. After so much training from Christian she was a natural at it. Smiling to hide the fears and worries that haunted her ever night. But did nothing to wash away the blood on her hands. Looking for anyway to quite her demons, Sloan took the intrim Mayor postions. In the hopes that if she could help stop the blood shed done by the gangs. That it could possiable attone for her own sins - that night in paris all those years ago.

#⎮⠘⠘ᴸᴬ ᴮᴬᴸᴸᴱᴿᴵᴺᴱ ᴾᴿᴵᴹᴬ ᴹᴱᵁᵀᴿᴵᴱᴿᴱ #crimson.intro #⎮⠘⠘ᔆᴸᴼᴬᴺ ᵂᴬᔆᴴᴵᴺᴳᵀᴼᴺ #tw: blood #tw:death #tw:domestic abuse #tw:murder #tw: violence

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sheepsandcattle · 4 years

Text

Chapter 20

A fortnight later, he sees him for the first time in six weeks.

For the first time sober, at least.

Thank God Jordan’s not the type to feel awkward, because Curly feels weird as fuck when he picks him up, but J has that going right out the window when he drops into the passenger seat and starts grumbling about some bloke that was meant to lend him his car.

“He thinks I’ve been hooking up with his girl,” he’s already saying as Curly pulls out of his street. “He knows I’m a queer – he’s always tweaking though, he ain’t right, I’m tellin’ ya.”

They go to a cafe for lunch where he gets pizza, Jordan gets a burger and they share chips in the centre of the table and it’s… Well, nice wouldn’t be the word for it. Jordan is oblivious, of course. Head bowed as he sucks his shake through the straw, his cap not quite shadowing him enough to cover the spray of freckles that last month’s sun must have brought. The lost time feels heavy. Curly’s enjoying being back in Jordan’s company and loves that they laugh and make fun like nothing ever happened, but it all feels a bit… Unsettled.

He’s always been stubborn like that though. Can’t take no for an answer; can’t take nothing for an answer.

Curly’s dad used to say he could always feel when an ‘if,’ ‘but,’ or ‘maybe’ is in the air – usually when Curly was trying to get his way and was looking for loopholes when his old man told him no. Now, as they cough at the end of each conversation, fill silences with chewing and slurping and stop-start words like they both keep changing their minds, there’s a definite ‘maybe’ in the air.

Maybe they can pretend it never went wrong.

Maybe they can just be mates, forget about all the other bits.

Maybe they’ll just pretend they never spoke in the first place, make it easier on their friends and themselves.

He’s almost there; nearly at the point where he’s feeling just content enough to let it all slide, but then Jordan’s foot nudges his and that’s what does it.

And to be fair they’ve been kicking each other since they sat down, with every playful dig they’ve made at each other, but this time is only gentle -an accident- and J’s face drops for barely a second. Curly’s just talking about those nose bleeds he gets and how he used to get them all the time, but now not so much; “just when I’m stressed or… Overdoing it,” he says as he catches J’s smile disappear for barely long enough to notice, before the pulls his leg away entirely, props his foot on the edge of his seat and hooks a tattooed hand over his knee to keep it secure at his chest.

He nearly says sorry -doesn’t know why- but then Jordan’s clearing his throat before he says, “well that explains it.”

It takes Curly a second before he clicks into what he’s on about. “I can’t believe it happened at the party,” he groans. “I can’t believe I don’t bloody remember it.”

“Bet your shirt remembers it.” The man snorts. “What do you remember?” It feels like a bit of a dig, but Curls knows better than to bite Jordan’s head off for the sake of saving his pride now. Jordan slides his milkshake across the table to Curly as he raises an accusing brow. “Anything at all?”

That phone call comes to mind; the morning-after call; Jordan saying “about what you said;” the call getting cut short before he could ask exactly what that meant.

“I remember calling some bloke a bigot for being up Morrissey’s arse.” He pauses to take a drink through the straw, humming as he rubs his head at the thought of his next recollection; “I remember fully nutting the bathroom wall.”

Jordan’s laugh is loud and comes from absolutely nowhere. It has one of the waitressed looking curiously in their direction and Curly hides behind his hands, shaking his head as he speaks.

“Put me out of my misery, J,” he wines. “What hell did I say to you?”

Jordan hesitates, retrieving the milkshake. “Well…” Curly reckons he’s just stalling. Was it that bad? He has a million scenarios running through his head; countless things he’d told himself were true about Jordan just to keep the guy out of his mind these past weeks. It would have been so easy for any one of them to slip out, whether he ever meant it or not. “Do you remember telling me you love me?”

He chokes on absolutely nothing.

“It’s fine,” Jordan is quick to say, a little amused by the looks of it, the tight git. “I wasn’t gonna say shit – I know you were out of it. I just… I mean, honestly, I wanted to see your face when I told you.”

“Evil little cunt,” he reaches across the table to knock the beak of Jordan’s cap.

“Besides,” J’s still giggling as he adjusts his hat. “You said it among… A lot of other things I’d like to think you also didn’t mean.”

“I’m so sorry,” he grumbles. Course he didn’t mean it; for once that’s not something he needs to convince himself of. He and Jordan had a mint few weeks together, but fucking hell, love wasn’t even a thought that crossed his mind. “Really, I am.”

“Don’t worry. I think that’s what you meant to say.”

“What else did I say?”

“Same as the last time we spoke. I shouldn’t speak to you anymore, I’m trying to control you…“

“That in’t true, it’s—“

“I know,” Jordan reassures him. His eyes are set, face blank, but Curly believes him.

“It’s just the shit I told myself to… I don’t know. Justify the way I was.” Curls shakes his head. “I’m mortified.”

Jordan just nods his head and he finished his shake in silence. “Let’s drive around a while.”

***

In England, Curly used to hate driving at night. His mates would ask to go for drives and he’d always make his excuses to avoid being behind the wheel, hating the way the lights on the road would blur together and the noise from the back seats would make him dizzy.

Now it’s the only time he ever really drives at all.

After around half an hour of making beelines through the city, he somehow finds his way back to that carpark by the old shop and parks up right in their corner. J’s gone quiet in the passenger seat, squinting up at the sky as he taps his heel to Curly’s playlist; something Curly knows he’d be doing with or without the music, but takes it as a compliment to his taste.

He follows Jordan’s eye line, up to the moon that’s almost full but not quite, and the light that hovers beside it.

“Uranus,” he mumbles.

Jordan coughs, turning with wide eyes as he chuckles. “What?”

“Next to the moon.”

Curly points, and Jordan looks up again, still smiling as the tail of his laugh trails away.

“Right.” He huffs. “Why the fuck d’you know that?”

Curly shrugs. “Got this calendar from my grandad. He’s proper into it.”

He only gets a hum in response, but it’s alright because Jordan’s not taking the piss at least. He’s leaning forward now, forearms on the dashboard as he ducks to look up at the sky.

“Weird ain’t it? There’s no stars up there, but then you stare for so long they just all start coming out of nowhere.”

J hums again. “Brockton’s kinda nice if you look hard enough.”

Unbuckling his seatbelt, Curly twists in his seat to lean back against the door, just barely feeling the cool glass press against the back of his head through his hair.

For a while, Jordan just looks up at the sky, bobbing his head through the end verse of the song before it finishes and Curls he lets the silence win them over until the track changes to the next.

Jordan finally pulls himself away from the view after a while, opening Curly’s glove box, and begins to dig.

“D’you mind?” Curls frowns.

“I’ve heard all of these songs now,” J explains. “You gotta get a bigger playlist, so—” He pulls a book of maps from the compartment, then fishes out a pen that Curls wasn’t even aware he had. “I’m helping.”

Jordan writes him a list of bands to listen to and, although it’s only ten when he drops him off, Curly promises to stay up to listen to the bands on the list as long as J promises to stay up 'til midnight to watch the sky when the moon and it’s temporary neighbour are at their peak, “but not through a telescope, you won’t fit them both into the view.”

“You think I have a telescope?” J laughs and Curly shrugs as he watches him slip out of the passenger-side door.

“See you later,” Jordan says before he shuts it, but then rounds the car to duck beside Curly’s open window. “It was good to see you, Curls,” he smiles, nods and taps the car roof. “Really good.”

***

It becomes more frequent. It’s usually Curly that drives, since it turns out that Jordan actually got into a fistfight with the guy whose car he was borrowing before, so there’s no going back there any time soon.

It’s strange, how there are so many things that never came up before. So many little facts about each other that they never uncovered before, like how Jordan’s hair is naturally brown (but near-black in high school) or how one of Curly’s bottom teeth is fake because he fell off the top of an outdoor toilet when he was sixteen and chipped it.

“What the fuck did you land on?” Jordan’s pulling a face as he ducks in a little to get a look at the tooth, although Curly knows it’s good as new now.

“Concrete, mate,” he snorts and, for a second, realises his choice of words, then notes that Jordan doesn’t correct him this time, but it’s alright. He gets it. They’re not going there this time and it’s fine. Living and learning and all that.

After their second meeting, he burns some of his favourite songs from Jordan’s artist list onto a CD, mixed with a few new ones from his personal collection, and they listen together when they go for drives. He makes a mixtape just for Jordan too, of songs he needs to hear because he’s sick of hearing him say “never head of them.” He makes him promise to listen to The Streets and New Order in particular at first but then finds out that Jordan only knows “The Cure’s popular stuff” and digs out their entire discography to educate him as a priority.

“They’re the best band out there,” he declares. “Can’t beat ‘em.”

“That explains the tattoo,” Jordan nods toward Curly’s arm where, beneath his sleeve, is a small cartoon bottle with the band’s name scrawled over the label. Although it’s covered, Curly grins at the thought of the man remembering both the tattoo’s placement and design.

“That was my first one. It wrecked. Stick’n’poke.”

“Ouch. Was it worth it?”

“Mate, The Cure are mint. ‘Course it was worth it.”

A few days later, Jordan climbs into his car with all of the CDs in his hands and says “okay, yeah, I get it,” as he ejects the CD already in the player to replace it with one of the mixtapes. “I see why you’re so into The Cure.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, British people talk about really weird shit but—” Jordan shrugs. --I’m used to it.” He gives Curly an accusing look.

***

He isn’t getting ahead of himself this time, but they are always texting and calling each other now. They really are just trying to be mates and it’s going well. They can pretend that nothing ever happened because he supposes that, in a way, it never really did.

Maybe it’s because he’s back in a good headspace that he’s making half-decent money again before long; enough to pay rent and enough to keep himself sorted. Some of his clients (yeah, he says clients now) passed his number on to friends and his connections have almost doubled since his last peak. He’s got a bed frame now. He’s saving for a portable heater.

This new headspace isn’t the magical cure that stunts his cravings, but it’s helped with the habitual drug use. He’s not sure he even realised he’d started defaulting to coke when he had nothing better to do (thought he was doing well, having a hit a day and only in the evenings) but he can feel it now. The world is back in HD again and the days feel nice and long. He’s not losing as much time recently and, where heroin is concerned, his hits are purely necessary now. He takes what he needs and that’s all.

One evening, they’re in Jordan’s apartment and they’re watching American Psycho, crammed up on the same side of the couch with Jordan’s arm draped behind his back. Curly’s now accustomed to hanging his left leg over Jordan’s right because the man shakes it persistently when the plot gets tense and it’s just a little bit annoying. This he can live with.

They both know they’ve sort of been working towards something but are equally unsure as to what it is this time, because it all feels nice and content just the way it is, but it suddenly doesn’t feel like it’s going one way or the other.

He’s not entirely aware that he needs it, but it’s so good to hear it when Jordan says, “hey, Curls? Let’s give it another try.”

#ch20 #ch #writing

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svartalfhild · 4 years

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Reflections on My 2019 and the Decade

I guess it’s time for me to do a reflect.

Maybe instead of going through all the awful things that have happened, though, I should look back on the positive stuff. Now’s not the time to dwell on pain and I’m trying to be a more positive person in general.

This year was not an easy one, but I got to have some great experiences and I feel like I learned a lot.

In terms of cool stuff I did:

I went to my local Pride celebration for the first time this year, which was fun, even though I didn’t get to spend much time there. I got to really experience an arcade for the first time. I got to go to Youmacon again and did some new cosplays that people actually recognized for once. For the first time, I got to go to late panels, because I stayed near the convention center instead of driving back and forth each day, and it was a really good time. I applied to two grad school programs, and I’m feeling pretty hopeful about the work I submitted, like I don’t feel quite as anxious as I did last time.

In terms of where I’m at as a person:

I’m not gonna lie. Shit’s been rough. But through all of that, I think I’ve become a better, more emotionally mature person. There’s a lot I’m still trying to figure out and improve on, but I guess what’s important is that I’m trying. I’ve been faced with a few big social challenges, but they taught me whom I should be cutting off. I don’t have to be that person who burns herself out just to keep friendships with people who don’t respect her or are just too much, not anymore. There are people in my life who I don’t have to expend much energy to be with, who make me feel safe and at home, whose voices are like a warm blanket around my cold heart, and that’s who I want to hold onto. And hey, if they eventually don’t see me fitting into their lives anymore at some point, that’ll suck, but that’s how it be sometimes, and I’ll still come away with happy memories and the things I learned from them.

Something I realized this year is that life is very transient, and it’s okay and good to cherish what you have, but you also have to be open to the idea of change, and just because something is going to be different than you wanted doesn’t mean it will be bad or that things won’t eventually change again to be better. Don’t cling to things that hurt you just because they make/made you feel happy or validated too. Sometimes you have to go through some discomfort in order to find comfort.

Looking back on my life through the 2010′s sort of reinforces those thoughts. A fuck ton of important shit happened to me in the past ten years and so very much changed.

I went through all of high school and college. I figured out that my family, particular my dad, is terrible and abusive. I figured out that I’m asexual and nonbinary. I made and lost like four groups of friends to drama and/or distance, until I got I group of friends that I really vibe with and for whom distance is no object. I fell in and out of love for the first time, which, shockingly, didn’t shatter my world and instead just sort of slid me a really cool friendship like a dealer passing off weed. Got a second crush, but we’re gonna have to wait and see what the new decade has to offer that thrilling new saga, especially given this guy would literally be the last fucking person to figure out that it’s him and I ain’t about to make any moves. I got my first job, which I still have (and yeah, it’s a shitty job, but I’m very fond of some of my coworkers). I overhauled my wardrobe so I don’t hate my clothes anymore. I became the goth witch I was meant to be. I manage to get a driver’s license, despite a shit load of anxiety problems. I did like so much fucking art and writing in the past ten years and I’ve come so damn far. Wee high school freshman me would have her mind fucking blown if she knew the quality level I’m at and that I get paid money to do art. She’d also be fucking stoked about how good I’ve gotten at writing.

Honestly, my young teen self was a little piece of shit, even for a teenager, and I’ve come so far in ten years. I’m definitely a better person by miles and miles than I used to be, and even though my mental and physical health are worse than they used to be in a lot of ways, I’ve learned a lot about how to cope appropriately; I’m by no means where I need to be, but I’m so much better than where I was. I’ve unlearned many of the toxic and bigoted behaviours that I was taught growing up, and I can honestly say that I’m proud of myself for having managed to get this far.

I will be in my 30′s by the end of this new decade, and I hope I become someone even better. I hope I find my way to a fulfilling life, where I’m strong and independent and getting the help that I need for my problems. I may not get all of those things, but it will be enough to just be able to say that things are better.

#personal #New Years Reflections #long post #sorry mobile users

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