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shingia · 3 years

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DATING SUNA...

in honor of this smexy middle blocker’s birthday, here are MANY hcs about what i think dating suna would be like (as exhaustively as possible) bcs he’s on my mind 25/8 <3

cw : one or two suggestive stuff, mentions of food

— EARLY RELATIONSHIP

• ok so suna would definitely not waste his time dating someone if he wasn’t truly in love

• that’s why it took him a few months to ask you out because 1. he wanted to be sure of his feelings 2. he wanted to be sure of yours 3. he was scared

• he probably acted detached at first, but it was just to compensate for the fact that you had him wrapped around your finger since day 1

• he probably didn’t officially tell his friends that you were dating and just casually kissed you before for his class (lowkey enjoyed leaving without a word while everyone else was freaking out)

• nicknames came after a few weeks, when he ‘accidentally’ called you babe after asking for a kiss. yeah he is that smooth

• because it took him so many months to ask you out, you already knew each other pretty well so he felt comfortable around you very quickly

• and he tried his best to make you feel the same if you were a bit more nervous

• honestly he couldn’t wait for you two to become closer over time <3 he's a sucker for the boyfriend/bestfriend dynamic

— LOVE LANGUAGE

->| QUALITY TIME

• he cherishes every single moment you spend together, even if it’s just for a few minutes between classes

• sure, there are times where you two just hang out at his place or yours, scrolling on your phones and enjoying each other’s company. but tell him once that you want to talk to him about something and you’ll have his undivided attention

• and lemme just kdjqdhvjdmsjvh real quick : eye contact. that’s how you know he’s listening, and he always leans in just enough for you to know that he’s paying attention. no phone in sight, just you.

• he doesn’t need to take you out on fancy dates for it to be called quality time, because he values impromptu face-to-face late night conversations much more than a dinner at the restaurant.

— DATES

• your first date was one of the only dates you spent outside, it was nothing extravagant you just went for coffee after school and ended up walking through the city, holding hands for the first time

• once you guys started officially dating, you realized that at-home dates were actually more your thing. but there needs to be a difference with the rest of the time you spend at home, so you always have one or two things planned like :

• cook together an elaborate meal for once, actually put an effort in the choice of the movie/tv show you’re gonna watch (and not end up watching rick and morty for the 23rd time this week), try the most questionable face masks recipes - he loves them and doesn’t even deny it

• but i feel like you guys might go out for your anniversaries, and it’s a great opportunity for him to take really nice pictures of you and update his phone’s lockscreen (he’s a huge simp)

• your dates often take place in the evening because he loves to see your face illuminated by the city lights, and he likes to know that you might get cold because he can be smooth af and give you his jacket (most of the pictures are taken when you’re wearing it)

• i think official and ‘elaborated’ dates with suna maybe occur every two weeks because he wants them to be special and likes to look forward to them

— CUDDLES

• he gets a kick out of kissing your whole face except your lips, but really he’s just waiting for you to get frustrated and kiss him yourself

• however, if you ever don’t play along he’ll stop like “wtf you’re not supposed to do nothing”

• he’ll give you lazy and passive cuddles where you just lay on top of him, hugging him while he watches something on tv or on his phone, BUT

• if he ever wraps a blanket around you then real cuddles begin. i’m talking scalp massages, back strokes, kisses, playing with your hands...

• i just know his kisses are aphrodisiac, there’s something about the way he holds your head still with his hands that’s just UGHHH

• you could be sharing a perfectly peaceful moment together and he’ll suddenly get bored and feel an urge to tickle your sides, squish your cheeks or randomly blow in your face/ear

• but god forbid you ever do that to him, he will crush you with all his weight until you can’t move

• he also uses your hand to scratch his back because he can’t do it without writhing like a cat, not that you’d complain about seeing that one day

• you two always end up dozing and losing track of time. “we stayed like that for NINETY MINUTES?” (he’d have to find an excuse for being late at practice, because there’s no way in hell he will tell the truth in front of the twins)

• it’s very likely that you guys wake up still cuddling after nine hours of sleep. i mean it’s canon that he has a good shoulder mobility so he can keep holding you even if you’ve moved in your sleep

• his biggest struggle is morning cuddles because it’s really hard for him to get out of bed and go on with his day when he’s so comfortable in bed with you

— PDA

• i think he’d adapt to your needs, he doesn’t really mind pda

• if he ever pulls you in for a hug in public, it won’t always be a soft and sweet hug, no. sometimes it might look like a literal headlock, but he’ll give you a quick peck on the head to make up for it

• in fact the only times his hugs are sweet and lovey in public are after his matches

• if atsumu ever makes fun of him for ‘being a softie’, he’ll do the exact opposite of what’s expected of him : and by that i mean ruthlessly tongue-kiss you until tsumu begs him to stop

• he uses hugs as a way to talk shit to you about someone without them realizing it

• he doesn’t necessarily hold your hand all the time but he has affectionate gestures like giving you little pats on the head or wiping dirt off of your clothes

• pokes your cheek for no reason, and that’s daily

• he’s also a fricken tease and doesn’t have any problem with gripping your thigh when you’re sat at a table :)

— COUPLE DYNAMIC

• he tries so hard to act like you’re the clingy one but everyone knows it’s a lie

• he probably has a private story called ‘being held against my will’ where it’s just him roasting you on a daily basis

• which is a great contrast with all the albums full of pictures of you in his camera roll. like i said, he’s a MAJOR SIMP

• you also have a private story called ‘exposing the truth’ and it’s filled with stolen clichés of him being a needy and whiny little bïtch (sorry i got carried away) : it’s the twins’ main source of blackmail

• i said before that suna’s a sucker for the boyfriend/bestfriend dynamic. yeah well you guys definitely have it - you can spend entire afternoons together without once acting like a couple

• he’d give you a kidney if you ever needed one, but steal one of his fries and he’ll flip your chair over without thinking twice

• you both think that your failed attempts at being romantic are hilarious. one time he tried to kiss you under the rain but you were so cold that you couldn’t stop your teeth from chattering and yeah it was just terrible

• the efforts you put in to embarrass each other are remarkable. you once kissed him in a supermarket and he just pulled away, yelling “MOM AND DAD SAID NOT IN PUBLIC !”

— RANDOM HCS THAT GIVE ME LIFE

• remember when i said you guys would do face masks together ? yeah well suna doesn’t own any headband which means that you have to tie his hair up in two pigtails at the front (it’s too short for one ponytail or a bun hehe)

• he has a silent laugh, the kind of laugh where he just wheezes while slapping his thighs, and he has to make a conscious effort to catch his breath

• he tugs on your sleeve whenever he wants to show you something <3

• in winter he writes messages on the frost of your car’s windows. nothing cheesy, probably something along the lines of “nice ass”

• he thinks it’s hilarious that your contact name in his phone is your full name, no emojis, nothing. he even put caps at the beginning

• he sends you 30 tiktoks per day and expects you to answer to all of them

• he makes you playlists for the dumbest things. one of them is called ‘dentist appointment vibes’

• he likes to see you wear many layers of clothing in winter because he takes great pride in being the only one to know what’s hiding under them *wink*

• when he’s driving, he often tries to be smooth and stare at you lovingly when he’s at a red light, but he always misses the moment when it turns green and the other drivers start to furiously honk at him (another failed attempt at being romantic)

• i’m gonna be honest w/ you : he’s probably effortlessly seggsy when he drives

in conclusion : you might not be the most romantic couple, but your vibes are 𝑖𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒 because you’re both so madly in love with each other

pspsps: here’s a link to my suna playlist that fuels my mind with thousands of scenarios

#did i just describe my ideal relationship? yessir 🙃#haikyuu x reader #suna rintarou #suna x reader #suna headcanons #suna fluff #suna rintaro headcanons #suna x you #suna rintarou x reader

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morgana-ren · 3 years

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I noticed youd said that you get more shiggy requests. So, if you'll indulge me for a sec.

We've had gatos input on how strade would be if the roles were reversed. Mc somehow had him under their control with the shock collar on.

I want your input because your writing is so detailed i know id enjoy reading what a submissive little bitch he'd become.

Please and thank you Morgana.

ily :3

Oh OH You know me so well! This is one of my favorite things to daydream about when I get angry or annoyed because since Strade is such a garbage human being, it tickles me so much to think about how cathartic it would be to turn the tables.

So as well all know, Strade, while very experienced, is not the brightest bulb in the box. He’s got years of know-how behind his expertise in kidnapping and torture, but there’s some shit that just kind of evades him sometimes. Double checking your ropes after he gets a little too excited and wants a dirty basement floor romp, for example. Thanks to his overexcitement and shit-idiot brain fungus he’s got going on, it’s entirely possible for you to slip your bonds. This mistake, in canon, costs him his life.

But what if MC wasn’t so kind?

With a level head, you might be able to scrounge around his torture room for a little bit. Maybe he has a needle with some knockout liquid hanging around for “difficult” catches. Maybe you just wait around behind the door until he walks in and smash him on the head as hard as you can and knock his ass out. Either way, he’s got plenty of restraints, and now he’s the one cuffed to a rusty pole. The look on his dumb face when he comes to is priceless.

You’re not making the same mistakes he did. He’s triple tied to that thing. You know he’s strong, and you’re playing on his home field. You’ve got to be prepared for everything. At least long enough to get upstairs and find help or call the police. Right? Right?

But what if you don’t?

What if, after he comes to and is sputtering and howling and hissing things at you in German that would make Lindemann blush, you decide not to go for help? He’s mad. He’s oh so very mad. He does not like this, not one bit. But he’s panicking beyond what you’d expect, even for a serial killer who’s been two-timed by his own victim. There’s something else in those dilated eyes. Something you’ve become very acutely familiar with over the last few days. You can still smell it lingering on you the same way it’s staining his shirt now.

Fear. He’s afraid. And not of death or capture.

I mean, he very well might be terrified of those things, but whatever it is he’s feeling right now is far overshadowing that. His face is red, and you can practically see the veins in his neck popping in rhythm with his thrumming heartbeat. He’s sweating extensively, and while that’s not uncommon for him, there’s not that macabre jolly smile plastered across his face. He’s baring his teeth and snapping at you like a feral hound, swearing to end your miserable life in a manner that would make the ghosts of his past shudder in horror for you.

You don’t put it past him to snap these ropes any second and wrap his hands so tightly around your neck that your eyes pop like overinflated balloons. Even if the cops show up and try to escort you to safety, there’s an unspoken darkness in his glare, something that promises pain in your future even if they manage to subdue him. A promise that you can’t guarantee yourself that he can’t keep.

It strikes you that you know nothing about this man.

Surely someone out there knows about this. Someone knows about him and his little hobby. Monsters run in packs and even if you can’t see them, you know they must be there. Best case scenario, they can’t have him spilling their secrets so they find a way to end his life before the police can. Worst case scenario? Worst case, they come for you.

You’ve seen enough Hollywood horror movies to know just how wrong it can go if justice is left to the authorities. You haven’t seen much of it, but this looks like a pretty nice house. If he has money, he can just buy his way out. Who is to say that he doesn’t already have a deal with the cops? Kidnapping people is risky business, especially when folks begin to notice that you’re gone. Surely he has some safety net?

What if he’s part of a network of psychopaths? There’s been enough late-night conspiracy youtube binges in your existence to know that shit like that is perfectly plausible. What if he’s just one of many? What if they have the pull to see him set free even after you’ve gone through the proper avenues to get him locked away? What if, one night, when you think he’s rotting in a 6 x 6 cement cell miles away from you, you wake up back here in this basement with even more Strades with different names and faces but each one shares the desire to see you ripped apart at the seams and devoured?

No. HELL no. You’re not going to be the cliche victim. He can bark and screech at you until his throat is sore and his gums bleed, but the plain and simple fact of the matter is that you have this monster on a leash, and you’re not about to hand that leash over to someone else.

How many people has he killed? How many have met their end in this godless basement? How many unsuspecting people has he dragged here only to take them apart piece by piece until their eyes glaze and their final breath moistens his cheek as he watches the light in their eyes extinguish? Do you even want to know? Would it make you feel better or worse to know that, at least for now, you’ve narrowly escaped such a fate?

You have to know.

His screaming turns fearful as you ascend the stairs. Again, not for fear of being caught, but because he already has been. It’s so odd to hear the phrase “Don’t leave me here!” from his quivering chest when he’s apparently in the place he values most, and there’s a sick sense of catharsis that settles in your gut as you listen to him begin to whimper and whine. You don’t let yourself dwell on it but you do slam the door behind you loudly enough that he will be forced to acknowledge that his pathetic pleas mean nothing to you.

His house is painfully average, at least for someone like him. He’s even got portraits up with what must be friends or family or someone that cares enough to pose for a cheesy photo with him. If you didn’t know better, you’d say an upstanding, if a little tacky, upper-middle class man lives here. The furniture is unremarkable and well cared for but lived in enough to not raise suspicion. His kitchen is filled with expensive appliances that might as well be fresh out of the box. His fridge, as expected, is filled with beer and various quick meals. Not much of a cook, you guess.

The car sitting in the garage costs in the six digit range and looks like it’s the most beloved thing in the entire area. It reeks of Armor All and disinfectant, and you’re willing to bet that if he was so inclined, he could put it on a showroom floor right now. He’s got tools and cables of all sorts thrown about, but not the kind you’ve gotten so used to. Maybe he actually does use them for their intended purpose sometimes.

As you walk the length of his home, you notice a distinct lack of screaming. You can’t hear anything, not even a peep from the basement, and you are very certain he’s crying up a storm down there. Interesting. He’s go this place sound proofed. You’re not sure what you’d expected, but it’s good information to have regardless.

After you’ve sated your curiosity by observing the dragon’s den, you make your way to the upper level. He’s probably not foolish enough to leave any sort of evidence behind where friends and neighbors can see it, so whatever it is you’re looking for is going to be somewhere a little bit more personal. Perhaps like a bedroom?

Bingo.

His bedroom, much like the rest of his house, looks about what you’d expect. King sized bed, wooden dresser with a TV and player on top, and a desk beneath the window. Sliding closet doors with all manner of free range dad apparel inside, and honestly, it’s the closest you’ve been to laughing since you got here. He would wear cargo shorts and plaid, wouldn’t he? A scrounge through the drawers of his dresser and closet reveal nothing remarkable, but you’re willing to bet your injured thigh that there’s something special in the desk.

Just like you’d expect, the desk is locked, but you’d noticed a pair of keys sitting willy-nilly out in the living room and you’d picked them up. About 7 key changes later and the desk pops open for you like a cheap whore. He really isn’t too bright, is he? Or maybe he just wasn’t expecting this to ever be a problem. Either way, you’re grateful he’s a moron.

Inside the drawer seems to be loads of DVDs, unmarked except for dates. It feels like you’re the unprepared cop in a serial killer movie as you look down at them. You don’t need to watch them to know what they are, but you’re going to anyway. You have to know. You need to know just who you’re dealing with here.

You pick one at random and pop it into the DVD player and the scene that greets you seems all too familiar. A hunched figure, bloodied and tied to the pole you’d become so intimate with over the last week. This person was in much worse shape than you, however. You could see shadows moving off screen and the camera fuzzes and refocuses repeatedly as what you assume is Strade messes with the controls. Not long after, he emerges, practically skipping into frame. Even though most of his face is concealed behind a hideous bandana, you can tell he’s smiling. It reaches his eyes.

He says what appears to be a rehearsed greeting and you’re left wondering just how crazy is he? Is he talking to his future self? You can see him making these videos to relive his sick, sadistic fantasies but talking to himself like an absolute lunatic is just a little disconcerting. However, you also acknowledge that the only reason you’ve even thinking about this is to distract yourself from the fact that you’re watching a homemade snuff film that you almost starred in yourself.

And then he begins.

Despite the visceral horror on display before you, the urge to vomit never comes. You watch, blank faced, as this poor soul is faced with every horror a human mind can conceive. It goes on for long. Too long. And Strade never stops talking.

The realization sets in that’s because he’s not the only one watching.

He’s not talking to himself. He’s responding. This wasn’t for him. This was for them.

If you had any emotional energy to give, surely you’d be absolutely horrified, but you don’t and you can’t. You’re not even surprised. Someone like Strade, that bubbly personality and 1,000 watt smile, of course he’d find a way to utilize his talents. He’d found a market. He had a hobby and he made money from it. ‘Love your job and you’ll never work a day in your life.’ and you are just so willing to bet he loves his fucking job.

You let the video keep playing as you sit up from his bed and leave the room. You make your way down the stairs, back to the living room, and then back to the basement door. You open it and immediately are bombarded with the sounds of his screaming and hateful vitriol. It doesn’t phase you. You’re not sure anything will ever again.

Calmly, you walk into the room and stare at him. He doesn’t cease his incessant threats until he realizes you’re waiting for him to finish so that you can speak. He finally silences himself, though he continues to rip and tear at the ropes holding him hostage as you tell him you found his little home video collection.

“Let me out.” He demands, and you realize he doesn’t quite understand that he’s not the one in control anymore. Of course a dog without a tangible leash will continue to run wild. You needed to drive the point home.

You turn your back to him and begin to ruffle through his various cabinets, searching around the nooks and crannies for something that will help him understand just what position he’s found himself in. You make a very interesting discovery next to his med kit. A collar. A literal collar.

Poetic justice.

It’s thick and burdensome and more than a little hideous. It’s definitely homemade, because not even the most fucked of BDSM sites are going to offer something like this. It’s accompanied by a small remote with a large red button and not much else. You push the button and yelp in pain, the collar clattering to the floor as it slips from your fingers. It shocked you. It was so very painful, but you’re smiling.

You retrieve it from where it fell and pop it open, observing it curiously. Strade watches you through wide eyes and sniveling, trembling lips. The look on his face is a dead giveaway that you’ve found something you really shouldn’t have. The toothy grin you flash him shows him that you understand that.

Without a word, you approach him, holding the open collar in your sweating palm. His struggles begin anew and before long he’s practically yanking his arms out at the sockets trying to get away from you and your newfound toy. He’s throwing his weight around and doing whatever he can with his limited movements to make damn sure you can’t get that terrible thing around his neck, but it’s all in vain because energy is finite and he’s been expending a lot of it over the last hour.

He’s breathing heavy and you could swear he’s begging between heaves as you clap the collar around his thick neck. His flesh bulges from the side and you’re fairly certain it was made for someone much less burly than himself in mind. You get the odd urge to adjust it on him like a necklace but he’s still dangerous, even caged. You feel weirdly... proud.

“Stop-! you don’t know what you’re doing!” He hiccups, and as he pulls his head upward, you can see he is indeed crying. “Please! Don’t!”

You’ve never thought of yourself as particularly sadistic, at least in that sense, but some ghostly force pushes your thumb down on that big red button. Watching his eyes go wide and his body convulse and seize fills you with a sense of sheer euphoria that can’t properly be conveyed. The utterly satisfying clang of his head hitting the pole at mach 5 as he shakes and bumbles almost humorously while the collar sends x amount of volts through his body makes you giggle.

When you finally pull your thumb off the button, he’s still shaking from the residual shock, drool and mucus bubbling from his mouth and nose and sloping down onto his chin. He looks defeated; utterly pathetic. Is this how you looked to him all those times he stood over you grinning as he gifted you pain the likes of which had been unthinkable to you before you met him? The desire to push down again is overwhelming but you’re determined for him to understand there’s a point to this misery.

There’s a thousand thoughts going through your mind right now faster than you can comprehend them all, but they all have the same general principal. This man is a murderer. This man is a rapist. This man is contained. This man is afraid. This man is at your mercy.

And unfortunately for him, you just ran out.

‘How many’ you ask, despite already knowing. If the videos upstairs are any indication, there’s more than he can probably count. More names and faces than he can practically remember and they’re dead because of him. He looks up at you through wet lashes with a trembling lip, already caught on to the fact that there is no correct answer. Your thumb hovers over that seductive red button and he’s quick to spit out whatever he can regardless.

“I don’t know! I don’t!”

You don’t doubt that he’s being honest, but it sickens you none he less. You press that button for half a second and he jolts up off the floor as much as his restraints will allow. When he comes to, his eyes can barely focus in on you and when his slumps over, you can see the burns from the collar already settling in on his tan skin. You’re not sure how to turn down the voltage or how lethal it is, but you don’t really care at the moment. If he dies, he dies. You’ll deal with the complications of that later.

You could sit here all day and grill him, literally and figuratively, about his track record of atrocities, but it won’t bring you any peace. You’re not sure that peace is something that you’ll ever feel again, all things considered. Meeting the monsters that dwell in the dark is drastically different than simply acknowledging that they exist, and through some twist of fate, you’ve been given the opportunity to show this particular monster that he’s no longer at the top of the food chain. There’s so much you could do, so many things you want to do, and it’s at that moment you realize you’ve spent too long staring into the abyss to try and claw your way out.

You’re being offered the chance they never were. You’re holding the controls now. He’s already crying and you’ve barely touched him, barely done anything besides shock him a little. You remember that feeling well. If you recall, you were already crying before he put that knife to your thigh on your first day with him.

Truth is, you decided the second he fell unconscious what you were going to do.

Maybe a revenge like this isn’t yours to take, but you’re taking it regardless. For yourself, and for every sorry sap that’s met their end in his cement hellhole. They died for you to have this opportunity, and you’d like to think that maybe they’re there with you in this moment. Even if you never knew them, you feel a strange kinship with them. After all, it was almost you.

He continues to babble underneath his breath, various pleas for mercy or sympathy or any form of compassion you can muster from your still aching body, and though you desperately wish you did, you can’t find any. You’re certain when you look in the mirror next, it won’t be your own eyes looking back at you anymore, but something closer to his. Maybe you did die in this basement, because whoever you were before you met him is long gone and has been replaced with something so much more empty.

You explain to him, as gently as you can, that it’s your turn now, and his resistance will only make this harder. You don’t delight in seeing him in pain (whether or not that’s a lie has yet to be determined) but it’s a necessary evil for all he’s done. You don’t believe his life is yours to take, but you’d be as terrible as him if you let him loose on the world again. You can’t trust anyone but yourself, and since this situation is so delicate, you need a bit more time to think on it.

He doesn’t seem to understand, at least until you’re binding his legs and securing his head snuggly to the pole. Maybe it’s overkill considering the man looks like he belongs in a shibari magazine right now, but there’s no precautions you can’t take. You can’t have him escaping. It’s far too soon, and you have such wonderful things planned.

Were you a kinder soul, maybe you would put him to sleep because it’s so apparent he’s terrified. Being bound like this has really brought out his inner little bitch, and the way he’s looking, he’s going to piss himself. But its a price it’s only fair that he pay, all things considered. You don’t know what time it is or even where you are, but you know you’ll return to him when you’ve been rejuvenated, eager and ready to begin on him. You’re only a few steps toward the door when he begins shouting, words barely discernible between his emphatic weeping and sobbing hiccups.

“D-don’t leave me here in the dark! Let me go, let me out! You can’t! You can’t leave me here like this!” You grin softly, turning slowly to face him, and tell him that you can and you will. You ask what he’s so afraid of, but you don’t wait to hear the answer as you step through the frame and shut the door behind you, leaving him to rot in his personal dungeon. It’s only been an hour and he’s already so pliable. You wonder what you can make him do when you really make it hurt. Psychology says it takes 7 years to brainwash someone and coerce them into absolute compliance, but you’re willing to bet you can have it done in a few months.

You already know one of his fears, and are very clearly not ashamed to exploit it. How many else does he have, you might wonder, already planning tomorrow’s festivities. Maybe you were sicker in the head than you thought. Maybe Strade just brought out the worst in you, stripped away all that made you human and left you with raw hurt and despair.

It’s tempting. To give in. To sit and massage your aching body while listening to his screams as they echo through the soundproofed basement. But you’re tired, and you haven’t slept in a bed in over a week. His looked awfully nice. Maybe after that, you’d wash the dried blood from your battered body, order some food, and appreciate the niceties that civilized life had to offer. Niceties you took for granted.

After that? Well, after that you had a new pet to train.

#snaspants #Strade #BTD #NSFT #tw torture mention #im mean just mean lmao #IM LOVE YOU GIRL!!

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whynotwinnie · 3 years

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Timida part 3: Roger Taylor x OC

sorry it took so long college is kicking my ass rn but thank you for all the support y’all have given me i’m going to start writing the next part rn thank y’all - bennie <3

T/w: body dysmorphia, talks of anxiety and depression, cussing

MICKEY

Throughout the night you woke up a total of 4 times getting frustrated you sat up and stared at the clock 4:13 in the afternoon. You flopped back on the bed, you should’ve gone to bed earlier.

You swung your legs to the edge of your bed and hopped down popping your back as you made your way to your shower. You turned on the hot water and let it run while you stripped yourself of your clothes. You turned yourself toward the mirror staring at your body, oh it was going to be one of those days. You turned from side to side checking your figure and felt the tears start to form in your eyes.

You stepped into your shower and started to cry while the hot water hit your back. You always got these weird mood swings where you felt like shit and wanted to hide from the world, you would say these mood swings happened at least once a week. You know you probably needed some type of help for it but as of right now you didn’t have the time or the funds to deal with that.

You spent a little extra time in the shower resulting in the hot water running out and turning freezing cold. You groaned and turned it off grabbing a towel to dry your body, when you were leaving the restroom you made sure to avoid looking in the mirror.

You grabbed a different big t-shirt to use as pajamas and threw on a random pair of house shorts and headed to your work area to finish whatever orders you didn’t start on last night.

Making quick work with the simple alterations you sat bored after folding the last article of clothing nicely. You got up from your desk and walked around your small apartment trying to find something to keep you occupied until it was time to call Roger.

Deciding you should make an early dinner you went to your kitchen area in your flat. The flat itself was small and the only way you could describe it was tolerable. It was one bed, one bathroom flat the only reason why you ended up signing your lease was that it was cheap and had an open living room area so you can set up all your work stuff there. But that also meant that your living room was always a mess with scrap fabric on the floor, 2 working mannequins plus the broken one being propped up by the wall, your huge old sewing machine that was way too loud, and a wardrobe that you found on the street that you cleaned and kept some spare fabric and clothes in.

You decided that you were going to make chicken and rice, you would’ve had beans but you ran out a week ago and never got the time to go get groceries. As you seasoned your chicken you made a promise to yourself that you would go get groceries tomorrow.

Then your phone rang.

“Shit,” you said while you left your chicken on the stove, quickly checking the time before you answered 6:05 it seemed too early for it to be Roger.

“Hello?” you said to the phone wondering who it could be.

“Mickey?”

“Oh hey Roger, I wasn’t expecting you to call this early,”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” he signed into the receiver “Remember when I told you yesterday how we had a really good practice, well today was shit.”

“I’m sorry about that Roger, what happened?”

“Well, Brian and I couldn’t get on the same page to save our lives he kept insisting that there needed to be a guitar solo in every fucking song when there really shouldn’t.”

He kept his rant going for a few minutes talking about solos and songs you just tried to keep up with the names and strange vocabulary he was using. It wasn’t until you started to smell burning when you remembered your chicken on the stove.

“Fucking shit hold on Roger.” you dropped the phone and ran to the chicken taking the pan off the burner. The chicken was black on the bottom and stuck to the pan.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you did your best to scrape the chicken in the trash but some stayed stuck you would have to deal with that later. You turned your rice off before that could burn too, you guess rice for dinner would do.

You threw the pan in the sink and turned on the water and watched the steam come off the pan, you never had this happen before you were a pretty good cook it came naturally after your mother made you help her cook for your whole family. But burning something if she could see you now she would be so disappointed, well she’s always disappointed in you nothing you could do to change that.

You turned off the water and went back to the phone.

“Hey sorry about that.” you sighed into the phone

“Is everything okay Mickey? You really had me worried.”

“Everything is fine now I had started making chicken right before you called and I didn’t keep an eye on it but now it’s burnt.”

“This is all my fault, I bored you with all my stupid problems.”

“No, you didn’t! I should’ve known better.”

“You have to let me make it up to you.”

You paused for a second. “Don’t be silly it’s just chicken.”

“Let me take you for dinner.”

“I- When?” you said softly

“Right now.”

You didn’t say anything, you weren’t ready or anything like that.

“Unless you don’t want to go that’s okay too.”

You panicked “No, I would love to it’s just that I look like a mess right now.”

“I bet you’re lying, I want to see you Mickey please let me take you for dinner. If not for me then for the poor chicken you just burned.”

You laughed. “Okay then.”

“Great, what’s your address I’ll pick you up.”

You stopped, was it smart to give him your address? No.

“Or we can meet there Mickey. I’m fine with either.”

You didn’t have a car, you knew how to drive and all that but after one time where your mom yelled at you for making too sharp of a turn you always got nervous when you got behind the wheel. So you walked or biked everywhere now.

You decided to give him your address and in the worst-case scenario maybe Dayla would tell the police it was Roger who murdered you. But you doubt that would happen. He said he’ll be there in fifteen and that you didn’t live far from each other.

You rushed to get ready putting on black jeans and another t-shirt much like the same outfit you first saw him in except this time you decided to put on a little mascara and to fill in your eyebrows.

While you were tying your shoes you heard the buzzer “Hey Mick it’s Roger can you buzz me in?”

Your heart fluttered at the new nickname he had for you “Yeah Roger, I’ll meet you down there.” as you buzzed him in.

You practically ran to the elevator cursing it for taking so long and once it opened at the lobby you saw him there looking extremely good and with flowers in hand.

“Roger!” You called him over.

“Hey Mick, these are for you,” he said as he handed you a bouquet of carnation flowers.

“Thank you so much!” you said as you grabbed them he looked down at you and you leaned into him for a short embrace.

“Would you like to come up for a bit so I can put these in water,” you asked hoping he wouldn’t get the wrong idea.

“Yeah of course.”

You both took the elevator back to your floor in comfortable silence and then you walked him to your door.

“It’s a bit of mess right now and it still smells burnt.” You said as you opened the door.

He took a look around as he walked in “I like it.”

“You don’t have to lie Roger.” you laughed as you filled a vase with water.

“I’m not I like it, it’s cozy even with the burnt smell,” he said as he grinned at you.

“Please don’t remind me.” You groaned as you set the flower vase on the small dining table you had.

He laughed and walked toward your living room “Oh wow.”

“Yeah, that was the mess I was talking about.” you cringed at how it must look.

“This is where you work?”

You shook your head yes.

He walked to the dress you made last night hanging on the mannequin.

“Did you do this?” he asked eyes wide.

“Yeah.”

“Like you made it made it, not like hemmed it or anything,” he said not believing you.

“Yeah, look.” you flipped the back of the dress to show the custom made tags your aunt had made for you when you lived with her. The tag said “Luci’s Attire” it was the best idea you had at the time.

“Wow, this is really good Mickey like for real.”

You grinned at him it felt good being seen.

“Thank you, Roger.” You smiled at him.

“Hey, before we go is it okay if I use your bathroom before we go?”

“Yeah of course.” You led him to the bathroom and told him you would be in the living room.

You decided to crack open a window to help get rid of the burnt smell feeling less nervous about hanging out with Roger.

You both left your apartment building shoulders touching feeling the cool September air blow through your hair. He opened the door to his car with a huge smile on his face. You gave a soft thanks and sat in his car.

The car itself was really nice probably the nicest car you have ever been in. The outside was painted in a sleek black and the inside leather was all red. You were honestly scared to touch anything so you kept your hands on your lap. Roger got in the driver’s seat and turned to you.

“Is it okay if we go to this place I know they serve the best Italian food.”

“The best?” you said with an eyebrow raised.

“Well, the best I had, actually maybe we should go somewhere else.” He said while reversing.

“No, I would like to go actually.” You said laughing

“I don’t think it’s a good idea now Mick-”

“Please Roger.” You said with a pleading voice.

He did a quick double-take at you and gave a small smile.

He turned the dial of his radio to change the channel.

“What kind of music do you like listening to?” he asked

“Can I be honest?” you said low

“Yes please.”

“I like American music.” You said laughing.

“AMERICAN MUSIC! Mickey you have got to be kidding me!”

“I’m sorry Roger I don’t know why I’m just obsessed with America for some reason.”

“Mickey we are probably living in the best era of music in Great Britain and you choose America. It’s simply not patriotic of you.”

“Well, I’m not from the UK Roger! Also, I could’ve sworn you put on more of an accent than you really have on ” you said laughing

“I did not! Don’t change the subject either!”

“Yes, you did you said ‘Amerikah’ like you were the Queen herself.”

“Ok maybe but come on Mickey!”

“I like music from here too, the first song I heard that was in English was the Beatles.”

“And you think American music is better?!”

“Just purely because I have this fascination with America. And I do like music from here and Spain and Italy it has nothing to do with-”

“Alright alright alright, but I’ll show you some real music.”

He pulled into the Italian restaurant and of course, it was named “Giovanni’s Italian Restaurant” You almost rolled your eyes.

“Let’s go,” he said with a smile as he opened your door for you.

Taglist <3: @johnricharddeacy

#Queen #queen band #queen smut #queen fluff #queen imagine #rogertaylor #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor smut #roger taylor fluff #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy smut

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s1utspeare · 3 years

Text

Get To Know Me!

@foxofninetales tagged me in this ask game and since I LOVE HER i will now be doing it (i mean i’d do it anyway but now it will be filled with love for FOX i am not accepting CRITICISM ON THIS POINT)

Part I

name: Brigid! I’m named after the Irish goddess of like, poetry, healing, smithcraft, and protection, or the Irish saint (they’re both pretty similar it’s just whether or not you’re talking about Celtic religion or Catholicism). She’s very cool, and I think it’s a very fitting name for who I turned out to be!

pronouns: she/her

star sign: i’m an insufferable theatre kid of course I’m a Leo

height: 5'8″ babeeeyyy (172 cm). I’m not short like, at all, but all of my family members are over six foot, so I’m like. tiny in comparison. they all make fun of me all the time for it :(

time: 8:49pm! A delightful time of evening!!!

birthday: July 31st, same day as Harry Potter lol.

nationality: american :P

fave bands/groups/solo artists: hnnnngggghhhh why would u ask me this I don’t KNOW jk i just have a lot uhhhhh all time faves would be Bastille and Mumford and Sons, but I’m SUPER into kpop right now, so my top groups are BTS, Stray Kids, and One OK Rock (who are technically jpop but I really like their stuff). I also am a Broadway BITCH (hello, theatre kid) so before this year all of my Spotify library was basically just show tunes.

song stuck in your head: Get Away by VeriVery. I think they’re a pretty new group? idk i saw them on one of those tumblr promotional things and checked out the music video which is like??? really interesting conceptually? so I’ve just been listening to the song for a while lol.

last movie you watched: Train to Busan! I’m gearing up to write a dmbj zombie apocalypse AU and so I was like “this is a popular zombie film! I’ll watch it for inspiration! :)” holy shit. holy shit i was so wrong. It’s one of the most viscerally affecting films I think I’ve ever seen, I was like. On the verge of an anxiety attack the entire time but in like the best possible way?? it’s a mastery of character introduction and action/horror and I cried for like the last ten minutes straight. SO affecting. I do NOT RECOMMEND IT if u are already made anxious by zombie apocalypse scenarios, blood, violence, and a Lot of Death.

last show you binged: hmmm uh like I’m currently watching Mystic Nine but at like a normal pace, so the last show I probably binge watched was maybeeee The Uncanny Counter on Netflix? HIGHLY recommend that one, I made @cross-d-a watch it and I’m living for her liveblog reactions lmao. Idk most of my free time has been spent writing the past few months which. After months of only having the energy to watch shows is kind of really invigorating? the things u can do when u fix ur health I’ll tell you what

when you created your blog: in 2012 asldighalsdkfjladskjga i came on here to like burdge’s pjo fanart :)

the last thing you googled: "is it bad not to have an air cap on your tire” ALSDIGHALKDFJLADFJA FUCK ME (i learned that it’s not necessarily bad but it can get dirt and stuff built up in there so I went to the store after work today and replaced it)

other blogs: everything is here bc i am too lazy to create a sideblog! so sorry to everyone who does not follow me for cdrama content bc this is all I am now.

why i chose my url: cause it’s my ao3 username and i wanted people to be able to find me more easily on tumblr! :) the long answer is because i love shakespeare and also i think that slut is a really funny word and concept for me especially because i am one of the most sexless people u will ever meet in ur life so slutspeare is like. an aggressively ace joke that only I think is funny.

how many people are you following: 588

how many followers do you have: ah just over 200?!??!!? which is like. a lot for me. I think it was like 75 up until like last year omg

average hours of sleep: my sleep app says I average around eight! which is very good for me! I do have to get enough sleep consistently or I will Have A Bad Time so my sleep schedule is pretty good and luckily I don’t have the Insomnia depression I have the Sleep Lots one which I am glad for bc idk what I’d do if I couldn’t Be Unconscious regularly. Die probably.

lucky numbers: I don’t think I have lucky numbers?? my favorite number is 21 for no reason other than the vibes alone.

instruments: i’ve played the piano for uhhhh.... eighteen years now? and I can play the ukulele and am surprisingly good with the recorder since I’ve had to play it in Multiple Theatre Performances. I was also an honor choir singer back in high school so I’ve done a lot of select ensemble stuff which was super fun!

what i'm currently wearing: a Life Is Good long-sleeved t-shirt that says “Not All Who Wander Are Lost” that I got in a military surplus store like a million years ago and red Adidas athletic shorts that I found at the thrift store a couple weeks back

dream job: playwright! I just wanna be a playwright! playwriting is like drugs i literally go nuts for it

dream trip: I don’t know??? I don’t really like traveling tbh aslidhalkfdj umm I do want to see the grand canyon sometime before I die tho so maybe a road trip down there? I definitely like traveling solo so I’d probably just hang out with myself and drive and go to whatever places I want and see dumb tourist attractions and sing loudly in the car

fave food: CURRY i know i said eggs the last time it asked me this but I miss my local Indian restaurant I want to eat literal Platefuls of tikka masala at 12pm at the Indian buffet after my physics class again :(

top three fictional universe you'd like to live in: hmmm i don’t know, actually! probably one where I have Powers and could do Cool Hand Motions and make Lights Appear. If I were anywhere with like. An Actual World-Dooming problem tho I would not be helpful at all. I would just die. Besides, I already live in fictional universes half the time, I’m a writer!

Part II

last song: Basquiat by Pentagon! The music video is like. Very whumpy. So if you’re into that... the song’s also a bop

last stream: i don't watch streams very often, I just watch clips from them, cause those usually just give the best parts lol

currently reading: mmmmmbbbaaaaahhhhh literally nothing? I’m trying to get caught up on the backlog of dmbj fic I haven’t gotten around to so Binding by @vishcount is next on that list! oh I guess I’m also reading Johnny Tremain with my kids (one of them SPOILED THE END and I forgot how it ended and now I’m big sad).

currently watching: Mystic Niiiiinnnneeeeee! love those gay history bitches. everyone in that show is so funny. I just finished the Fuba Side Plot tho and now we’re back to Politics so i’m like >:( someone give zhang baby rishan a hug (and then i write angst about him what is wrong with me)

what is antipoetry to you: antipoetry??? what the heck is antipoetry hold on... uhhhh that’s just poetry. who came up with this term. i guess like lyrical fiction would be the technical correct definition but idk I consider anything to be poetry! like that’s the whole point! poetry is poetry is poetry as long as it’s focused on intensity and emotions it’s poetry! a haiku? poetry. the random one-lined mess of words on my phone? poetry. a literal drawing of a cardinal with the word “bird” written next to it? poetry. idk I’ve been trying to teach my kids that there are no wrong ways to write creatively; if you’re expressing yourself and making emotions, then you’re writing! also like half of my work could be considered antipoetry lmao. I love emotionally supercharging the mundane.

currently craving: i have noooo ideaaaasssss i’m literally just vibing. uh. water? ok i took care of that one my water bottle was right next to me.

AH IF YOU READ THIS MUCH THANK YOU???? i love u

uhhhh no pressure tags for @xia-xueyi, @nope4ever, @bookjoyworm, @elletromil, and @gaiahenshin, as well as anyone else who would like to give the full-rundown on themselves! :D

#ask tag #about me #Brigid's Fox #asldighalsdkfj i thought cross' tag was very funny so i've decided that's my foxofninetales tag from now on #because i love her

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sugarcoated-pain · 5 years

Text

Heavy Rotation Part 4

Hey guys! I’m excited to share this next part with you! Let me know what you think! As always, big thanks to @sublimehood for making sure this shit is actually worth posting! haha

Warnings: Mild drug (just pot) and alcohol usage, cussing.. that’s about it. lol.

Best Friends to Lovers- original character + Ashton

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

As is to be expected, I slept for most of New Year’s Day. Things were pretty quiet, so I assume the others did the same thing. I lay awake in bed that afternoon staring at the ceiling, dreading leaving my room after what had happened. Would things between Ashton and I be awkward now? Would he be mad at me? Would he pretend nothing happened? My brain analyzed every possible scenario over and over again. I eventually decided that I couldn’t hide in my room all day and would have to greet the day, whatever it may bring.

Georgia and Calum were watching TV on the couch when I entered the living room.

“Good morning sunshine.” Calum’s tone is dry and unenthusiastic. He is clearly also suffering from the night before.

“Hey guys,” I grumble, taking a seat on the other sofa. “Where’s everybody else?”

“Mikey is hung over as fuck and went back to bed. Luke disappeared halfway through the night, and never came back. We think he left with some girl at some point.” Georgia answers, “but since I know you’re actually referring to Ashton, he went over to Camille’s to tell her the truth about what happened last night.”

My eyes go wide and I glare at Georgia, looking quickly to Calum and then back to Georgia.

“Relax. He already knows.” she responds.

“GREAT. Thanks G.” I retort sarcastically.

“Actually, Ashton told me.” Cal replies.

“WAIT WHAT?!” my eyes go wide again. “What did he say?!?!”

“NOPE. Not playing that game.”

Before I can respond, the front door opens and Ashton walks through. He looks like HELL. I mean, let’s be real, even at his worst, he looks better than anyone else I’ve ever seen, but this might be his WORST. His appearance is disheveled and he’s clearly hung over, but there is something else there. His eyes are red and puffy, and he has a pained look on his face that I never wanted to see.

“Hey Ash… everything okay?” I ask, concerned. He plops down on the couch next to me and buries his face in his hands. I exchange a quick worried look with Georgia and turn back to Ashton.

He’s quiet for a few moments, and then without lifting his head, says “I went over to talk to Camille… and there was another guy there.”

The other three of us gasp. “Are you fucking kidding me??” Calum says angrily.

“Nope” Ashton answers as he sits up and leans back on the couch. “Apparently she’s been seeing him behind my back for about six months now..”

I sit up straight, “Georgia, let’s go. We’re beating this bitch’s ass right now.”

As I begin standing up, Ashton puts his hand on my arm to stop me and gently pushes me back onto the couch.

Georgia ignores me and watches him sympathetically. “Ash, I’m so sorry. That is so shitty.”

He sighs. “I should have known. I’m so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.” I answer quickly. “She’s a horrible bitch and I really hate her now.”

“You always hated her..” he comments..

“I strongly disliked her before but now I HATE her for doing this to you.” I’m in best friend mode right now. Last night is completely out the window at this point. I rest my hand gently on his shoulder supportively. He looks up at me, those perfect eyes filled with pain, and my heart shatters. How could anyone do this to him? How could this bitch not realize what she had?

“What did I do, Em? What did I do wrong to deserve this?” he asks me quietly, leaning his head on my shoulder.

Georgia, clearly coming to the conclusion that this is not the time for an audience, suggests, “hey Cal, why don’t we go grab some food or something to cheer Ash up?”

Picking up on the cue, “yeah okay. Your favorite pizza and beer, sound good buddy?” Calum adds. Ashton shrugs, and the two of them get up to leave.

Once they’re gone, I turn to Ashton.”Wanna go up to the roof?”

“Sure.” He shrugs again.

“Okay. I’ll meet you up there. I gotta grab something.” I reply and stand up to head to my bedroom. When I get there, I pack the last of my pot into Ashton's favorite pipe. After that, I reach under my bed and pull out a small shopping bag. I grab my acoustic guitar and lighter along with everything else and climb out my window onto the fire escape.

Ashton is waiting for me when I get up to the roof. I hand him the pipe and lighter and sit down next to him, setting my guitar on my other side.

“I got you something. It reminded me of you so I got it for your birthday, but I don't want to wait that long and I think you could use it now.” I say as I hand him the bag before he can light the pipe. With a questioning look at me, he reaches into the bag and pulls out a dark red, ornate journal with a matching pen. “This kind is my favorite for writing music in, and this one made me think of you for some reason.”

He spends a few moments examining the journal, then turns to me with a look of mild disbelief, followed by a smile. “Thanks, Em.”

“I write when I'm going through some shit, and I know you're the same way, so I figured you could use it now.” I add with a shrug.

After looking it over for a little while longer, he sets it down and lights the pipe, handing it to me after taking a hit. “Hey… about last night..” he starts.

“Don't. We don't have to talk about it now.. or ever. I messed up.” I answer quickly.

“No. I mean… I just don't want things to be weird between us.. especially now. I could really use my best friend right about now…”

“Calum?”I ask with a smirk and take a hit off the pipe.

“No, dork. I mean you.”

“I can handle that role.” I reply, passing the pipe back to him.

“Or maybe even .. best friends with benefits?” I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“Suggest that again when you’re not so vulnerable..” I say with a short laugh, half hoping he’s not joking. I pick up my guitar to prevent myself from looking as awkward as I feel right now and start lightly strumming. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that he has started writing in the journal. We sit like this for a while in comfortable silence. Eventually, I ask, “Do you wanna talk about the Camille thing or would you rather just chill?”

“I think I’d rather just chill for now.” he lets out a sigh and leans back, staring out at the city ahead. “What’s that you’re playing?” he asks.

“Eh, just a little something I’ve been working on lately…”

“You wrote that? Are there lyrics yet?”

“Yeah.. it’s basically done. I haven’t played it for anybody yet…”

“Can I hear it?”

I stop strumming and turn to look at him. The look on his face is one of genuine interest. “You sure? I don’t really know how good it is..”

“I’ll tell you if it’s good or not, just let me hear it.”

I sigh. “Alright.” I begin playing the riff he had just heard, only louder and more deliberate now. After a few seconds, I start singing along. I don’t know why I’m nervous, I’ve sang for Ashton dozens of times. Maybe it’s because of what happened last night. Maybe it’s the fact that this is an extremely personal song that means a lot to me. I glance over at him every now and then, and every time, he is watching me intently. I can feel my cheeks getting red. Why am I being so weird about this? I finish the song and look over at him expectantly.

His expression is impossible to read. After a few seconds, he starts to stand up. “C’mon. I have an idea.” he says, reaching his hand down to help me up as well.

“What? Where are we going?”

“Just follow me.” He heads back down the fire escape in the direction of his room, then climbs through the window. I follow behind him. I’ve only been in his room a couple times and I try to take in as much as I can every time. It smells like him. It’s a little messy, but not gross. There’s band posters on the walls and random musical instruments all over the place. Ashton grabs his keys off his dresser then pulls me by my hand out of the room. He continues out of the apartment, down the stairs. The record store and studio are closed for the holiday, so it’s dark downstairs when he unlocks the back door to the store. Once we are through the purple curtains, he flips the lights on in the recording studio.

“Ash.. what are we……” I start to ask, completely confused.

“That song was incredible and I want you to record it.”

“What the hell? Are we even allowed to be in here?”

“I’m vulnerable right now, remember? I can do whatever I want. And I want to help you record a demo using that song you just played for me.”

My brain can’t process what he is telling me, so I just stare at him in disbelief. He turns the rest of the lights on and starts to turn on the machines. “Go on, get in the booth.” He motions for me to enter.

“You’re insane.. Are you serious right now?”

“YES. I just got my heart broken and this is a damn good distraction now get your ass in the booth and sing for me.”

I feel like I could cry. A mix of every possible emotion rushes through my body, and I’m eventually able to convince my legs to carry me into the recording booth. I sit on the stool that’s already in the room and position my guitar. Watching Ashton through the glass, I wait for his signal. When he gives me the thumbs up, I take a deep breath, and start to play. My song flows out of me. I know if I think too much, I’ll fuck it up, so I allow the music to take over. I’m not paying attention to anything but this song- not the fact that my life long dream might finally be coming true, not the gorgeous man on the other side of the glass making it a reality-nothing but the song. Approximately two and a half minutes later, it’s over. I’m shaking from head to toe, I’m almost hysterical. I set my guitar down and run out of the booth. Ashton is grinning from ear to ear. I practically jump into his arms to hug him.

“That felt so amazing. Oh my god I can’t believe I just did that!” The hug lasts a little longer than it should, and take one awkward little step back from him, still beaming though.

“You sounded fantastic. I’m really fucking proud of you right now.”

If I wasn’t blushing before, I definitely am now.

“There you guys are! We’ve been looking everywhere!” Calum and Georgia push through the heavy curtain. “We’ve got pizza and beer upstairs… what’re you guys doing down here?”

“Emma wrote a kick ass song and I just helped her record it for a demo.” Ashton says, beaming down at me with pride.

Georgia turns to me excitedly, and bounce over to her and jump up and down while squealing. It’s real cute, I promise. The rest of the evening involves the four of us eating pizza, drinking beer, talking about music and watching movies, and never once mentioning that bitch Camille’s name.

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

taglist: @cheyenne-in-wonderland @drummerboy794 @harrysgucciclothes @emmamarshmellow

let me know if you’d like to be added to the list for future parts! Also, if you’re enjoying this series, I’d love it if you could reblog so others can see it too! THANKS! <3

#5sos #5 seconds of summer #5sos fanfic #5sos fanfiction #ashton irwin #calum hood #luke hemmings #michael clifford #5sos ashton #5sos calum #5sos luke #5sos michael

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jortsman · 5 years

Note

Yooo 2 and 13 for before the century was stolen?

yessssss love both these! I’m gonna answer 13 first because 2 is long, hah

13. What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

I listen to so so much, except certain scenes when I’m getting really into them, I turn everything off and get into this super-focus mode. But! I actually have a playlist for writing this (though I throw in random stuff all the time) and here is that playlist. It’s 2 hours, hah, but that first song on there especially gets me into some feelings that are very blupjeans appropriate (like, put in some headphones and close your eyes and just chill while listening to that song and get totally emotionally wrecked. The song after it is pretty oof too).

2: What scene did you first put down?

It was their conversation in the lab in ch.14 (I’ll post the scene below the cut). I just finished relistening to TAZ and got blupjeans super stuck in my head, specifically during Stolen Century, and I read all of the fic that I could find that was in that particular vein of what I wanted to read. But, my brain was still all wrapped up in it and I was running scenarios in my head while doing my mindless job, and then was like... what if I wrote this down? I felt positive that I couldn’t actually write a legit fan-fiction or stay committed to a thing, but I convinced myself to just write this one scene, and it ended up being way longer than I thought, and I actually kind of liked it.

But then I got really into the idea of figuring out how/why things got to a place where they would have a conversation like that and started forming all of these ideas. And then I thought maybe I should actually try writing something for real, figuring that I probably wouldn’t be able to stick to it for very long, but it would be good writing practice. But now it’s been *looks at watch* 5 and 1/2 months, and I’m still so invested in this, and I’m just really glad that I allowed myself to write that first scene, because I was really close to not doing it and speed-running sudoku instead. But anyways! The scene is under this!

The lab was filled with a low, warm, golden light. Barry had obviously been hard at work since before the natural light from the couple of small circular overhead windows had disappeared into darkness.

Barry had the automatic lighting of the Starblaster disabled in the lab; sometimes he would need it to be completely dark or to have light focused only in a certain spot, so he used his own, manual light sources. That night, there was only one dimming, dying bulb on above his work space. Lup wondered if maybe he needed more light and was just too engrossed in his work to notice, but she was really digging the atmosphere; it was very homey and not so clinical or science-y. Lup was sitting in the swivel chair on the opposite end of the long, curved counter that made up the back half of Barry’s workplace. She kicked back away from the desk a bit, fully slumped in her chair, arms hanging off the armrests, fingers almost dragging on the floor, looking very obviously bored. She straightened and scooted towards Barry, who was moving between plant samples and his notes every few seconds.

Lup kicked at the ground to roll towards him, almost knocking her chair into his. “Baaaarry. I want something to do.”

Barry looked up from his work for the first time in over an hour. “Oh damn, yeah sorry, I was so involved in what I was doing that I forgot to catch you up on -- what it is that I’m doing. Which is not a great way to get your help,” and he chuckled even though he was obviously nervous and blushing. He was getting back to being a little bit more open after having clammed up some over the past couple years. He was talking with her so much more and frequently joking again instead of stammering out apologies over and over. And his laugh. She was getting a lot more of that lately, and it was the best laugh and she did what she could to hear it often.

Her boredom dissolved and she lit up knowing that he was about to teach her something new or just get her involved in some shit. And, that she had his attention. No, no, no. It was about learning and working, not about Lup being noticed. Lup was always noticed, but she didn’t always get to learn and gain new skills; that’s what made it exciting to spend time with Barry in the lab.

Time with Barry was productive and fun. Time with other people was about being noticed and the center of attention, which happened without her even trying or necessarily wanting that. But, there was something about having Barry’s attention that felt so different, and she couldn’t figure out why that was.

“So, I’m trying to develop a way for us to be able to determine if uh, starting with plant based food I guess, if we can find out what’s safe to eat in a more efficient, and faster way and with clearer results, y’know. This stuff is hard; testing things according to our standards and our knowledge of biological makeup of plant matter when we’re literally on alien planets. But, I figure I can do this now while we’ve got some down time, and it can save us time in future years. Figure the faster we can know what’s safe when we start a new cycle, the sooner we can get to real work.”

He was obviously genuinely enjoying working on a project that he came up with and assigned to himself apropos of nothing. He could have been using the opportunity for some rest, as most of the others were. Not Barry, though; he loved to work. But, she was also there, looking to him and his work to solve her boredom, so what did that say about her? He was about to talk, but she cut him off before he could expand on his idea.

“So, you came up with something to work on now, so that you can get to other work faster in the future. And I’m gonna guess that it’s probably so that you’ll have more time to work on other things between and after work? Maybe some things that will, hmmm, let’s see; give you more work?”

“What can I say,” he said brightly while shrugging, “I’m not livin’ if I’m not science-in’.” He laughed faintly, not because what he said was at all funny, but just because he was happy. Obviously, visibly happy.

After he he had spoken, while still wearing his goofy smile, he transitioned seamlessly into a fake, stereotypical, super nasally nerd voice and pushed up his glasses -- not in his normal way, but in a well timed, intentional way, and said “Me and science are best friends.” And Lup died laughing.

He was in such a fun mood and uncharacteristically confident and Lup was ecstatic.

“You!” she said with lingering emphasis, through a huge smile. “Are. SUuUch a NERD!” And then Lup did something that she’d done tons of times before; socked him somewhat gently on his arm. And then Barry did something he’d never done. The same thing, back to her.

And Lup was surprised. In a good way, but definitely surprised, and Barry saw her surprise and realized what he had just done.

“Oh gods, Lup, I am so sorry, I-I-I I don’t know why I did that or why that happened, what is wrong with me, I-I-I-- ” he was spilling out bits and pieces of words impossibly fast, his brain exploding as he saw flashes of their entire friendship collapsing within a moment. Lup interrupted him by leaning forward a bit and grabbing him by the shoulders. He stopped talking, but his mouth was still slightly agape and his eyes clearly showed the immense shame and panic he felt.

“B-a-r-o-l-d,” she said his name firmly and drawn out and with emphasis on both syllables, as if she was trying to wake him from a trance, which she might as well have been. “That. Was hilarious. I am so into this Barry that you are Barry-ing tonight, and I do not want you to freak out and never be like this again. Because one, it’s fucking cool and two, I don’t want you backing off from our chill hangs again, like last year.” He visibly calmed, though still a little nervous. Only really enough for her to be able to tell though; she’d become an expert of reading his face.

“Look. You shouldn’t ever feel bad about reciprocating, yeah? I punch you in the arm, it’s fair game to punch me in the arm. We are buds and it is okay! And, Barry?” She waited for him to make eye contact with her, and she was glad that his eyes had relaxed and were meeting hers in such a natural way; it was kind of distracting. “If anything ever did happen between us that wasn’t okay, I would let you know and we would talk. Listen. I would never throw our friendship away or let it change over some tiny thing. Or even a medium sized thing. Medium-Large, though? That could be taking it too far.” She smiled and he smiled with her.

He pulled in a deep breath as she let go of his shoulders and leaned back into her chair. He exhaled and said “I’m sorry I can be so, I guess easily shaken, and sorry that I --”

“Hey, Barry?”

“Yeah?”

“ Stop apologizing. ”

“Heh. Yeah, I’ll try. That’ll be a tough one,” and he drew in another deep breath, trying to pull his body back into sync, his adrenaline still a little bit off.

“I’m sor -- nope, stop,” he caught himself and partially covered his face with his hand in exasperation and momentarily closed his eyes, trying to think of how to say what he felt needed to be said without tearing himself down or apologizing profusely; things he had never even thought about working on before Lup.

“Your friendship is really important to me. And I guess -- hitting you in the arm like that felt really disrespectful. And, Lup.” He purposefully met her gaze again, “I have so much respect for you. You’re an amazi-” and his adrenaline was flooding him and his heart was gearing up to go wild, and gods, why did he start that sentence? He took a short breath, lowered his tone a bit, and forced some calm into himself just be calm for a second, he begged his body. Try to summon some of that professor mentality from way back when, from a lifetime ago.

“You’re an amazing person. I am constantly impressed and surprised by your work and how unnaturally fast you can learn. You are a good friend, a good sister, and a good colleague to us all. You are so needed and cared about.” He took in a sharp breath and gulped. “By everyone. And I don’t want to do anything to disrespect you.”

The words had to be forced at times, and he was getting more and more light headed, but it all came out and nothing was stammered or unfinished and left hanging or surrounded by apologies. He didn’t say a word wrong or spontaneously forget a word completely. He said it all, and he felt good about what he said.

What a fucking feeling .

Lup was taken aback. Just by virtue of being Lup, she had gotten lots of compliments throughout her life. She didn’t believe them all and she knew some come from a place of self gain. Many others she knew she deserved. Absolutely no one aside from Taako had ever said something even close to that sincere to her before, though. Was it only because she’d let basically almost all of her barriers down around him? Would everyone be that sincere with her if she were even less guarded with them? No -- that was just Barry. And she was either going to cry or say something really stupid if she didn’t reel the conversation back, at least a bit.

“That means a lot to me Barry, truly. Even though that first half felt a little like I was getting a pep talk from a dad or a teacher.” She got a small laugh out of Barry.

“You need to loosen up around me!” She went on, trying to turn the flood of feelings into excitement and sincerity and to drown out anything else that was knocking around in her head. “I am never going to be put off or offended or uncomfortable about anything you do, I’m sure. I want Barry unchained, let loose, uncensored, free roaming, all natural 100% grade-A-Barold, got it?” He smiled and exhaled and gave a relieved laugh. He got it, and he knew he was going to do whatever he could to be that for her. They met each other’s eyes with mutual gazes of deep warmth and calm.

But, she realized; there was something else very important that needed to be addressed. Couldn’t end on a joking note quite yet.

Her face went soft and then formed a furrowed brow and slightly downturned lips. She took both of his hands into hers as they faced each other.

“Barry. What you said about not doing things like that out of respect for me…” and she involuntarily, abruptly paused, something forming in her throat and not allowing her to continue. It was not quite a lump or a hiccup but more like a strain; a sudden half-second restriction of her breath. Because she was barrelling head-first into “serious conversation” territory, and that was territory that she had successfully danced and tiptoed around for most of her life, save for the conversation with him back in their ninth year -- but that was all about him, not about her being vulnerable. Now she was walking around the edge of a boiling vat of her own vulnerability and was about to either decide to jump down to safety or intentionally let herself fall into it. And why would she choose to do that? To fall? Why was she definitely about to do that? Her eyes couldn’t face his; she was looking down at his hands in hers.

“...do you think that I don’t respect you?” And at the end of that sentence, there was definitely a lump in her throat.

There was a long pause between them and then Barry stammered through several different beginnings of a response that he didn’t have. His voice shook and he was even more nervous than usual because he was taken off guard by the question and by Lup’s sudden shift in demeanor (and definitely, and probably mostly, by her hands holding his) and also because he didn’t know how to answer, because either he had to lie to spare her feelings (but he could never lie to her) or… he had to admit that he didn’t feel like he was respected. It wasn’t something that he was angry or resentful about and it absolutely was not something he demanded or needed or even wanted. It was just something that was absent, though he wasn’t even actively pursuing it or trying to get it from anyone. It was simply a fact that he was aware of. That he was certain of. He wasn’t respected.

As he stammered and fidgeted, Lup took her right hand away from his and raised it to his face. She cupped his cheek and let her thumb lay over his mouth to hush him. It was an intimate and soft gesture that made him lightly gasp but also, as her hand settled perfectly around the curve of his cheek and her thumb lay still on his lips, made him warm everywhere and loosened all the tension in his body at once.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said in a voice softer than he thought was possible to come from his boisterous and loud friend, softer than when they had talked on a more serious level in the past. She sounded sad, and his heart dropped. And him being warm and without any tension and a heart that just free-fell, he completely melted and his shoulders dropped, too.

She was looking straight at him, searching his eyes for something, and Barry was looking into her eyes without glancing away or lowering them as he almost always did.

“Barry. I respect you immensely. You are one of the -- no, actually, the most intelligent person I have ever known. I have learned so much, just by being around you. You’re approachable and kind and willing to share your knowledge, without so much as a trace of pretension. There’s no stick up your ass, like most of the people I’ve ever known who thought they were smart,” she barely smiled and exhaled sharply through her nose in a kind of almost-laugh. Then she was completely serious again; a look that Barry didn’t know what to do with or how to react to.

“You are — so knowledgeable, and you utilize that and apply it to your work, to which you are dedicated in a way that I have never seen anyone be dedicated to anything . And you constantly push yourself to learn more, and you share and teach everything you can to anyone who wants to listen, and you do it with patience and kindness, and…” and then she was the one nervously rambling. That was not Lup. She let her hand drop from his face and scooped his free hand back up.

“I have a lot of respect for you, Barry. So much. And I trust you, completely. But,” she paused and felt like she was on the verge of tearing up. “I’ve never said that. And I’ve never done anything to show it.”

She sighed and looked back down at his hands in hers, feeling warm at the sight, but still guilty. Barry was trying to put together a response, to protest, to tell her that she did so many things to show her trust in him, but he couldn’t find the words. All he could do was sit there with a slightly agape mouth and sad eyes as Lup continued.

“I can’t just expect you to know how I feel. So, now I’m telling you. And if you know me at all, you sure as hell know that I wouldn’t say any of this or get this vulnerable if I didn’t mean it.” She looked back up at him and she was finally actually smiling; a little bit weakly and through slightly watery eyes, but a real, happy smile. Barry’s entire body felt like it was on pause. But then, she dropped his hands and raised hers to smoosh each side of his face, looking directly at him and putting on her best mock serious expression as she leaned in close. Barry’s heart shot back up and into his throat with Lup that close to him.

“But, now that you know, you will never see me this mushy again, Barold,” she told him in an assertive tone. “You only get one Lup heart-to-heart, and you’ve just burned yours, cowboy.”

And she laughed, and Barry laughed even though tears were free-falling from his eyes without him even crying.

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uas-fics · 6 years

Text

Title: Cheat The Reaper

Summary: He was warned this target had avoided death before, but Stan was not going to let this 'Kenny McCormick' guy cheat him. You can bet your life on that!

Rating: T

Ships: Stenny

CW: Temporary Character Death

Other: For Day 3 of @stenny-week “Death”

Read on ao3

~~~~~

“‘Kenny McCormick.’” Stan read. “‘Age nineteen, lives in South Park, Colorado, Roman Catholic, death by asphyxia.’”

The other reapers around the table exchanged looks. Cartman laughed into his hand.

“Pulled a good one, Stan.” He snorted.

“What?” Stan frowned. “Seems like a normal death to me.”

“Most deaths in that town are weird, dude,” Tweek looked up from his paperwork. “Craig had to reap a man there once, and the paperwork for him took ages!” He glanced at his boyfriend as he worked on his own papers.

Craig didn’t look up. “Yeah, time and logic are fucked up there. I don’t know if its because some way lines cross there or because of the cult there, but if you make any mistake, no matter how small, then your target can avoid death altogether.” He tapped his pen against his paper. “What’s the death date for that newscaster I reaped last week? Tenth or eleventh?”

“The tenth, I think,” Tweek told him.

“Thanks, babe.” He leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek.

Cartman rolled his eyes. “Get a room.” To Stan, he said, “yeah, South Park is a fucked up place, but I mean that you got Kenny McCormick. That guy isn’t human, you know. I’ve overheard reapers that were sent to get him before, and he has unworldly powers that let him cheat us.”

Stan pursed his lips. It was not an uncommon occurrence for someone to make a deal with a reaper to avoid death. There was even a special form just for the scenario that the reaper lost their deal. It was an old tradition that Stan doubted would ever die.

“No, that’s not possible,” Stan muttered, shaking his head. “Cheating a reaper once or twice, but you make it sound like he’s done this multiple times.”

“He has,” Cartman stated matter of factly. “At least ten times now, maybe more.”

“Bull shit.” Craig jabbed his pen at Cartman. “No one can cheat a reaper that many times. The Big Man wouldn’t allow that.”

“If this kid was human, but he’s not!” Cartman threw his arms up. The air movement from his action sent some of Tweek's paperwork off the table.

Craig glared as he reached down to help pick up the loose papers.

“Still, I call bullshit.” Craig grumbled, then louder, he demanded to know, “Why are you even sitting with us? Go pester someone else!”

“This is the best table in the workroom. Closest to the snack machine and under a vent.” Cartman explained, pointing to the snack machine and vent in turn. “Also, no. You move. I claimed this table our first day.”

“You can't claim a table like that. This isn't fucking middle school.” Craig growled.

“Craig, it's fine.” Tweek shook his head. As the two boyfriends began to bicker, Stan stood up. Cartman propped himself up on his elbow, watching the couple with an impish grin.

Stan folded the paper with his target up and shoved it into his pocket.

“I'll tell you if it's bullshit when I get back,” Stan promised, but he doubted anyone was listening.

~~~~

Stan wasn't sure how the ramshackle building was still standing. The roof sagged and pieces of the siding were missing. A clear plastic replaced some of the broken window panes. One good storm could probably topple the whole house over.

Stan watched as a family of opossums crawled out from inside the trunk of a rusted out car in the lawn. He sidestepped around them as they marched towards the back of the house. Like all other living creatures, the animals didn't actually see him, nor could they have interacted with him unless Stan wanted them too. Which, given the fleas and ticks and mud on the vermin's fur, Stan was more than alright with.

He stole a breath and started towards the front door when it swung open, slamming against the siding.

“Fucking bitch!” A man yelled as he stormed out.

“Yeah, just go, you drunk bastard! Don't even think about coming back here!” A woman screamed.

“Fuck you!” The man snapped as he left the front lawn.

“Fuck you!” The woman replied just as angrily before slamming the door.

Stan shook the shock from himself before he made his way up the walk. He paused a moment to look the way the man went. The man had already disappeared down the road to town. Stan knew he was too old to be the Kenny he was looking for, so he didn't dwell on him long.

He walked through the front door into a messy living room. The woman sat on the ripped couch, a cigarette dangling from her mouth and her forehead in her hand. She took a shuddering breath then grabbed for the purse on the low coffee table and began to dig through it. After a moment she had a pair of car keys in her hands.

Stan watched as the woman stood. She ran her hands through her hair and shouted, “Kenny, I'm going to get your sister from art club. I'm locking the door, so if your son of a bitch father comes back, don't you dare let him in.”

From farther in the house, a voice called, “Alright, Mom.”

She walked right past Stan and out the door. He wondered if she planned on driving the rusty opossum car or not, but didn't look out the window to check. He had a job to do, after all.

The voice from a moment ago came from down the hall, so Stan wandered that way, standing tall and imposing with his scythe in hand and hood pulled down to shadow his eyes.

If nothing else, at least Stan looked the part of the grim reaper.

There were three rooms down the hall. The first room must have belonged to the parents, one bed in the middle of the room, pictures of the what Stan assumed were their children on the walls. Clothes and empty beer cans littered the floor.

The next room Stan peeked into was the daughter’s. Posters of whatever teenybopper star was popular covered the pink painted walls. Somewhere under the pile of cheap stuffed animals, there had to be a bed, Stan assumed.

As Stan turned to leave the room, he heard a coughing. He froze a moment as the coughing began to comingle with wheezing.

‘Asphyxia’ The paper had said. That was how Kenny died. Stan suppressed a shutter. Reaper or not, he hated actually seeing the death occur. He could handle the aftermath, but watching the life fade from the living’s eyes made him uneasy.

He idled outside the door until the house fell silent then phased in.

The room looked completely normal for a nineteen-year-old from a hick town: Playboy foldout tacked to the wall, clothes on the floor, a messy bed. The only thing Stan wouldn’t expect to find normally was the corpse laid out across the desk and the soul standing behind it.

“Kenny McCormick,” Stan announced, raising his scythe just enough to be threatening, “I have come to escort your soul to the after--”

“Oh, hey, you’re new,” Kenny commented warmly. “Gimme just a second here.” He began to pat his pockets. “Mine taking off the hood, by the way? It’s too dreary for a Wednesday afternoon.”

“I'm keeping it on.” Stan held his ground, gripping his scythe tighter. “We need to get going.”

Kenny pulled a piece of paper and pen from his pocket. He set it down on the desk and began to write as he spoke, “What? Got a hot date?”

“What? I--no!” Stan scowled. “I don’t want to waste time.”

“The dead can’t waste time. That’s kind of the point.” Kenny quipped. With a flourish, he held out the paper. “Here. Since you’re in such a hurry.”

“What’s this?” Stan shifted his scythe to one hand before taking the paper.

“Your form?” Kenny raised an eyebrow then shook his head. “Goddamnit. I get your assignments are mostly random and all, but I wish they’d assign one person to me so I don’t have to keep explaining this.”

“Explain what?” Stan narrowed his eyes. “Is this how you keep cheating death?” He waved the paper around. “Faking forms?”

“I’ve never cheated a reaper.” Kenny scoffed, then walked around to Stan’s side before jabbing his finger at the symbol in the corner of the paper. “You can’t take my soul. See here? The Big Man’s authorization and everything.”

Finally, Stan took a closer look at the paper. The color drained from his face. No doubt, that was The Big Man’s seal in the corner. Stan quickly scanned the form for before looking back up in shock.

“You’re immortal?” He asked, his jaw hanging open.

Kenny nodded. “Uh-huh.” He strolled back to his corpse. “Watch this.” Before Stan could stop him, he raised his hand and slapped the back of his body. A flash of white light blinded Stan for a moment. As he blinked the stars from his vision, a coughing filled the room. Kenny, back in his body, sat up straight in his chair, beating at his chest, until a spittle-covered bone came flying out of his mouth.

“There we go,” Kenny mumbled. He kicked back his chair before reaching under the desk. A moment later, he set two soda cans on the desktop. He cracked one open and chugged nearly half of it in one go.

“I...I don’t get it.” Stan pushed back his hood to get a better look at his assigned target. Kenny was thin and a touch shorter than average. He had a thin nose and faint freckles across his cheeks. His hair was a mess of straw that sat atop his head.

In all regards, there was nothing remarkable about him. Nothing that on first glance would make anyone think this person was an immortal.

Kenny sent Stan a sympathetic smile. “Long story short, some local elder god cult cursed me when I was little. I can’t die. It’s a pain in the ass for everyone, so to make things a little more streamlined for you reapers, it was made so I would just have one of those forms on my soul at all times.”

Stan shook his head. “Why have us come at all? What’s the point if you’re just going to come back to life?”

Kenny looked around the floor of his desk as he spoke. “It’s not always this easy. Sometimes my body is way too fucked up to easily fix, so I have to go to the world you reapers live in until my body regenerates.”

“I’ve never seen you around before.” Stan furrowed his brow.

“Yeah, well,” Kenny dropped out of his chair to his knees, “once when I was, like, seven, I snuck into a file room and got to playing with a rubber stamp and important papers. I got both chewed out and my privilege to wander around your world revoked.”

Stan frowned. He vaguely remembered hearing about something like that from some of the reaper veterans. A little kid screwing around once caused a huge mess up in deaths and life expectancies. It apparently took nearly two years to get everything back in order and was the reason children had to be accompanied by an adult at all times in the head office.

Kenny popped back up from the side of his desk, smiling proudly. Hopping to his feet, he dropped a red and white paper bucket onto the desktop. Stan raised an eyebrow, stepping closer.

“The Colonel's best,” Kenny explained, gesturing to the fried chicken. “Been saving my nickels and dimes for weeks to afford it. You can have some if you’d like. Don’t worry, I’ll take the one I knocked onto the floor.” He grabbed a breast from the top, blowing a small ball of lint off it.

Stan eyed the bucket for a moment then shrugged. He deserved something for coming all the way to Earth, after all, so he reached into the bucket.

The moment his hand fell on the thigh piece, he let himself become corporeal. Instantly, gravity took hold, and he dropped the inch from the floor down.

It had been ages since Stan had eaten food from this world, and damn, he forgot how good it could be. It took most of Stan’s restraint not to greedily chow down on the thigh. Kenny watched him with an amused expression half-hidden behind his breast piece.

“Soooo,” Kenny stretched out the word, “You’re kind of young to be a reaper. I always thought you were all older people.”

Stan swallowed, absentmindedly wiping his mouth on his robe sleeve. “No, this is the normal age most of us start. I’ve been reaping for about year now.”

“What’s it like? Is it hard?” Kenny pulled a sliver of white meat from the breast and dropped it in his mouth. “I know there are different kinds of reapers, but they don’t tell me much otherwise.”

“Yeah, I’m just a normal reaper. I lead adults who die of natural causes to the next world for processing. It’s an alright gig. I’d rather this than be one of those guys who has to deal with murder victims or children.”

Kenny shuttered. “I had to stay in the office of one of those kid reaper guys until I was sixteen. He had clown pictures all over and made these really shitty jokes. I really hated that guy.”

“Yeah, most of us try not to talk to him much,” Stan admitted with a shoulder raise. “I have a friend who is a way better comedian than him anyway. I’m not missing much.” Stan paused a beat then asked, “So, do you have friends? Or are you just, uh--”

“A brooding loner suffering from his cursed life or torment?” Kenny grinned. “Nah, I’m a people person.” He pulled out his phone from his pocket and began to fiddle with it. “I’ve got lots of friends. Like this guy.” With greasy fingers, Kenny pointed to the phone.

A photo had been pulled up of another young adult with his eyebrows up in surprise and half the cheese and toppings from a slice of pizza hanging from his mouth.

“That’s Kyle,” Kenny explained. “He’s an old friend, loyal, morally good, and has some weird sixth sense going on, so he can see you reapers too. He gives me a heads up every now and again so sometimes I know death is coming.”

Stan took the phone and eyed the photo a moment. Humans with sensitivities to the supernatural weren’t uncommon, but usually, their abilities were weak and very limited. To be able to actually see reapers was extraordinarily rare.

Maybe it had something to do with all the oddities that happened around South Park.

“That must make things easier,” Stan replied as he returned the phone.

“Hell yeah, it does.” He leaned back in his chair. “You can sit on the desk if you want. I don’t care.”

Stan shook his head. “Nah, I’m fine. Thank you, though.”

“Yeah, it’s not that comfy.” Kenny dropped the remains of his chicken next to the bone he’d choked on. “Or, so I’ve been told. I’m not the one who's bent over it, if you know what I mean.”

Stan nearly burst out laughing when he saw the wink Kenny gave him. He coughed into his elbow to cover his unprofessional snickers before he placed his bones next to the others. He rubbed his hands off on the inside of his robes. When he got back, he’d have to send them in to be cleaned. He’d write it off as an accident, so the guys down in dry cleaning can’t make fun of him for wasting time chatting with his target.

“I need to head back.” Stan let himself slipped back into the realm of intangibility and returned to floating above the ground. “Thanks for the chicken, dude.”

Kenny shot him a finger gun. “No problem. You’re fun to talk to, uh...”

“Stan.” He filled in.

“Stan.” He nodded back. “You’re fun to talk to, Stan.”

Stan moved towards the door, only to pause a moment. He took a breath before turning back.

“Hey, next time you die for a while, you can ask for me to watch you if you want.”

Kenny’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“Yeah, you know, if I’m at the base, you can sit with me and my friends while we do our work. I doubt any of them will mind.” Stan smiled.

Kenny’s entire face lit up in delight. For a moment, Stan was sure he was going to leap from his chair and try to hug him, but Kenny remained seated, though he seemed to shake with excitement.

“Dude, that would be great! I’ve only ever seen the main offices before. Thank you!” He ran his fingers through his hair several times seemingly just to do something with his hands. It was an adorable action, and Stan felt his heart flutter just a bit.

Pulling his hood back up, Stan hoped his cheeks remained the same color. He opened his mouth to speak again when something rattled the window, making both of them jump.

“Kenny! Kenny!” The man from before, presumably Kenny’s father, beat at the window. “Open up!”

Kenny rolled his eyes, then sent Stan an apologetic smile. Stan waved his hand dismissively. His own father used to do the same thing after his parents' divorce. If Kenny was anything like him in the matter, then it was best to not make a big deal about it.

“I’ll leave you to him,” Stan said, back stepping towards the door.

“Yeah, bye, Stan. It was awesome to meet you. I’ll probably be seeing you soon enough.” Kenny gave a small wave so that his father couldn’t see it from the window. He then spun around his chair and yelled, “No, Dad. Mom’s pissed. You’re in the dog house tonight.”

Stan smiled to himself as he left Kenny. A selfish hope that Kenny would die enough to visit his world and stay with him crossed his mind. He entertained the idea as he walked back through the messy house. Kenny seemed like a genuinely nice person, especially given his circumstances. Just about anyone else Stan knew would have laid right into the brooding immortal stereotype, himself included.

Stan continued to think about his new, immortal, friend all the way back to the reaper world.

~~~~~

AN: The fic I wrote for the Spooky!verse theme (tomorrow's) deals with death and deeper things like that already, so I didn't feel like writing more of that, so I decided to play loose goosey with the theme. Which everyone should get used to because I did that for pretty much ALL of the fics I wrote for Creek-Week next week.

#south park #stenny #stan marsh #kenny mccormick #tweek tweak #craig tucker #eric cartman #fanfiction #reaper au #one-shot #stenny week #Michelle Writes Stuff

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manifestoonmoralmanlove · 5 years

Text

Soulless Riffing: Brainless Ch.10 + 11.

I got a supernatural action/romance book series as a gift that’s just riddled with stuff that I hate….and as a steampunk Victorian London action romance story filled with werewolves and vampires…it’s yeah gonna be easy to poke fun at.

I just want to say, it’s totally cool if you like this story or ones like it! It’s certainly a better caliber than a lot of what I make fun of…however…I can’t help but want to make fun of it.

Over here for the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, 7+8th, and 9th.

Chapter 10 is short so I threw in 11 too! SO FUCK IT HERE GOES!

Chapter 10

So this zombie bursts in to attack Alexia and Lord Akeldama. The zombie’s clever plan is to just start…pouring chloroform on the floor. I don’t think that’s how that works but lol ok whatever. Immediately the super powerful vampire is out cold. They talk about how gaudy and huge Lord Akeldama’s house is, so I totally pictured the zombie kicking the door open, pouring it, and even though he’s still like 50 feet away he’s out like a light.

So my head canon for this is the zombie is like, “Well they’re obviously going to get away! Why bother!?” So he just pours out a medicine bottle’s worth of chloroform out of annoyed futility. Lord Akeldama since he’s such a DANDY thinks the zombie poured some kind of staining liquid like wine all over his centuries old, priceless Turkish rug. He’s so mortified that his favorite rug is ruined and feints on the spot.

Now this scenario makes sense, YOU’RE WELCOME!

Alexia is able to hit the zombie in the head 3 times before she realizes that’s not working and the fumes OVERCOME HER! YES SHE LITERALLY GETS THE VAPORS!

THANK FUCK! FOR ACTUAL DRAMA!

When she wakes up she’s being dragged bound and gagged into the Hypocras Club for scientists. She overhears some shady biz about how they want to experiment on Lord Akledama. She also notices an obnoxiously prominent octopus motif in the place. It might as well read,

“Alexia turned the octopus-shaped knob, of the octopus-shaped door, to reveal an octopus-shaped hallway, with live octopuses hanging from the wall all wondering where they got such a bad rep from.”

The two of them get thrown in a cell and are able to undo their gags. The less cool version of Blackadder’s Prince George (Lord Akeldama) explains that the zombie-thing is an automaton or basically a fleshy robot/golem. He also explains that the robot can only be undone if you speak the magic word. Looks as if safe words work much better in this universe than they ever did in 50 shades!

ALSO JUST KIDDING CAUSE THERE’S ANOTHER WAY TO STOP IT BUT WON’T BE REVEALED UNTIL IT’S A SUPER TENSE MOMENT! HARDY HAR HAR!

But we actually get a genuinely good scene after this where Lord Akledama talks about the fact they both may die. He says that, if it’s possible, he wants Alexia to hold his hand so he can see the sun one last time. It’s cheesy, and probably not going to be applicable in the situation they’re in, but it’s really sweet and sad and I like it. The baddies then come back to drag Akledama out of the cell, presumably to be tortured to death.

NO! I WAS JUST STARTING TO ACTUALLY LIKE HIM!

Say something Nice Faps:

Actual plot

No or little mention of the dumbass ship

Akledama wanting to see the sun.

Chapter 11

So Alexia is not having the best time in the cell by herself but eventually she hears voices. We have super unsubtle exposition that boils down to.

“So yeah we’re torturing werewolves and vampires, so we can figure out how to genocide them REAL GOOD!”

Hoo boy listen. The only other racist thing against vampires/werewolves we have seen in action is a woman talk briefly about how untoward it is that a business is catering to THOSE kinds of people. I will not count all the vague times Alexia alludes to them being oppressed with no concrete examples.

Going from, Bad person is annoyed they may have to glance at a vampire while at a cafe, to inhuman experiments meant to further genocide is AT BEST a huge jump and at worse flat out feels entirely separate from the setting created.

Fun Fact: Racism isn’t a child predator who hides in the shadows and pops out when you need a scapegoat. Racism is fucking everywhere effecting everything.

Don’t try to add racism allusions in your story if you can’t grasp that fundamental concept.

Faps, nobody picked up steampunk werewolf fucker for commentary on race. And besides the inability to grasp the complexity of racism is going to seem quaint next to some of the dumb writing bullshit coming up next.

So during this conversation this mysterious bad man also states, “We have a random human in this cell, cause she was there lol.”

“Can I see her?”

“Lol why not!?”

So we open up the cell to meet the big baddie Siemons, whom, I’m probably just going to refer to as childish evilguy nicknames for awhile cause his characterization is as on the nose as you can get. Like no joke, whenever they mention him smiling it’s, “He smiles psychotically.”

The guy, Mr. bigbad was talking to turns out to be #1 Stud MacDougall!

GASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSP

Actually I totally called this cause she mentions 3 times during their short conversation that she recognizes the 2nd voice, it would be most DRAMATIC, and cause I have money down that he’s secretly a bad, bad man so Alexia doesn’t feel bad about not fucking a fatty. She’s not shallow; he’s just a bad person you see.

BUT, to this story’s credit MacDougall is AGHAST to find Alexia in there, goes to her side, and demands she be set free at once.

Evilbaddy Von Octo-dump is like, “Oh! She’s Alexia the Soulless who can stop supernatural powers! We inexplicably did not put 2 and 2 together despite being super smart Nazi-scientists. I mean we very obviously tried to kidnap her 3 separate times, and stole her records for more info. But we weren’t actually interested in kidnapping her. We just tried to get a vampire and took her along for the lulz!” Why even put in the effort to say they weren’t after her? This is stupid!

MacDougall, despite studying the supernatural FOR A LIVING, has never heard of the Soulless phenomenon and like…

FUCK HOW AND WHY AND ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!

The author states explicitly that all the supernaturals in England not only are aware of the Soulless but are informed of the identity of every single Soulless. How would normies NOT know? Vampires and werewolves hang with humans all the time, and it makes no sense why the Soulless would be hidden information from the general public. Soulless can pose a threat to the supernatural not regular boring humans, there’s no reason to believe that the average citizen is going to be upset at this knowledge at all.

This wouldn’t even, so far, cause any plot inconsistencies if everybody knew. I think the rub here is that we have to justify her family not knowing so the reveal would make them upset, but we’ll see how important that plot point actually is. Honestly, I fear the author is just so used to supernatural media where SOMETHING is hidden from the general population she felt compelled to do the same.

MacDougall convinces Meaniemollusk NaziStink to take off her restraints and try to get her on their side. They allow her to clean up and change. Alexia takes advantage of this to go to the Octopus shaped mirror, break off an octopus-shaped shard, cover it in octo-cloth, and hide it in her octo-bosum.

Alexia tries to play dumb and meek in order to appease Squidlly MurderMan. He tells her he plans to kill all Vampires and Werewolves. She points out that they’re scientists with a political agenda and apparently that’s her breaking her bimbo character and the gig is up.

OKAY?????????????????

They then take her to another cell. On the way there she hears Lord Akeldama’s blood-curling torture screams, but she doesn’t seem all that upset. I mean she probably doesn’t want to appear outwardly upset to blow the gig even more, but we don’t really have much internal monologue about how worried she is.

So that’s cool.

They want to test her soulsucking ability and she lies saying it takes an hour. (Which is hard to believe, isn’t soulless supposed to be common knowledge in England, and also they stole all the notes anyway they probably know.) They also OUTRIGHT SAY they’re planning on killing her anyway but it would be rad if she was cool about it. They say they’re going to murder/test it by putting her in a cell with a rabid werewolf to SEE WHAT HAPPENS!? (She’d probably die but lol turns out it’s Lord Maccon aren’t we all shocked.) But like let’s break this whole mess down.

1.) You uhhh consider LYING that you won’t kill her if she cooperates. That tends to encourage people to cooperate. YOU ARE BAD PEOPLE AFTERALL AND BAD PEOPLE LIE!

2.) HOW FUCKING INCOMPREHENSIBLY DUMB ARE THESE FUCKING SCIENTISTS!? You UHH MAYBE consider you could learn a fuck-load from experiments where a person can turn off a supernaturals’ ability at will? PERHAPS it’ll be easier to genocide them if they’re not super-fast, super strong, immortal AND can heal real fast????? WHAT COLOSSAL FATHEADS ARE RUNNING THIS JOINT!? AUTHOR? YOU CAN HAVE THEM BE SUPER EVIL AND BAD WITHOUT THEM IMMEDIATELY TRYING TO KILL PROTAG? YANNO?

Also throwing her in a locked room with a PEAK werewolf, even if they never believed it took that long, is basically instant-death for her. She’s kinda arrogant when it comes to self-defense but even she’s like, “I’d be super lucky if I even reach the point of having the shit kicked out of me before I can turn him completely enough for them to not be a threat.”

So they take the antidote to the supposed poison they want to snuff out and just dump it down the drain.

BUT GOLLY I’M SURE LOOKING FORWARD TO THOSE OVERGROWN CHILDREN ALMOST FUCKING IN THAT CELL! THAT’S GONNA BE SWELL!

Say something Nice Faps:

No shitty Maccon/Alexia verbal sparring

MacDougall does try to not get her killed. I mean he just shouts dramatically. Not that I’m asking him to fall right on a sword but it does seem a bit tepid. But like for a woman who gleefully and regularly puts herself in danger? Maybe that’s the response that’s appropriate.

Also the author never really says MacDougall is down to clown with Murder Bigots. So I guess what I’m trying to say is I’d still fuck MacDougall apart.

#soulless #brainless #riffing

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carolunea-matea · 5 years

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Mistletoe

A/N: Well this is my first time trying out a writing challenge. And of course, I take on a 12-part challenge. @like-a-bag-of-potatoes and @thing-you-do-with-that-thing are running Kari and Ida’s 12 days of SPN Christmas. This is day seven. Mistletoe

“I’ll see you tonight at the party?” Jade asked me as we were pulling our coats on, getting ready to leave work.

“I don’t know. I hate going to these things dateless.” I shrugged.

“Oh, come on! It’s going to be fun! Maybe you’ll meet someone!” She wiggled her eyebrows making me laugh.

“Maybe…” I really didn’t have anything else to do.

“Look, Sam’s big brother just moved to town. I’m sure he doesn’t have any plans tonight. Let me text Sam and see if Dean is up for the party tonight. If he is, I’ll tell him to pick you up at your house around 7:30. Worst case scenario, you end up with a new friend and we get to spend more time together!”

“A blind date? Really, J?” she was already texting Sam. I rolled my eyes.

“He’s related to Sam, Carebear! Practically raised him! He can’t be that bad! Sam did graduate from Stanford with honors after all.”

She had a point. Sam was a great guy. This couldn’t be that bad.

“Yes! Dean will be at your place at 7:30! I’m so excited! I ‘ve been wanting to set you two up since Sam told me he was moving here!”

I just shook my head and laughed.

“Well now I have to go get all cute and shit. Thank god this is a dressy casual thing. I don’t think I could handle having to get all decked out tonight. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

We waved good bye as we headed for our cars.

By the time I got home it was almost 6 o’clock. I jumped in the shower after pulling out my dark skinny jeans, a burgundy sweater, and a dark green top to so underneath.

It was almost 7 by the time I had my hair dried and curled, makeup applied, and was running around my house looking for my knee-high boots. I had finally found them when my doorbell rang.

“Coming!” I yelled as I hopped down my hallway pulling on my left boot. I knocked into the table I dropped my mail and keys on every day.

“Ow! Fuck!” I was still rubbing my hip as I opened the door.

There before me stood an emerald eyed, dark haired, drop dead gorgeous man.

“Hey, you must be Caroline. You ok?” He was smirking obviously having heard my run in with the table.

I laughed, “Yeah, the table just attacked me is all. Nice to meet you. Come in. I still have to get my coat.”

He walked in and shut the door behind him. I led him to the living room and told him to make himself at home.

“So, you and Jade work together at the hospital?” He asked as I dug through the closet looking for my leather jacket.

“Yeah. She’s one of my techs in the main pharmacy. We’ve worked together for, wow for five years now. I actually remember when she met Sam. She was like a school girl! Couldn’t wait to talk about every date they had.” I chuckled at the memory.

“Yeah, Sammy would call me after every date, too. She’d a good woman. She’s good for my brother.”

“Sam’s a great guy. J told me you practically raised him. You did a good job.” I had just pulled on my burgundy hat and match gloves and was buttoning my short leather trench.

“Thanks. Dad was on the road a lot. Mom, she passed when Sammy was six months old. Our Uncle Bobby watched us a lot, but yeah. We pretty much only had each other.”

I grabbed my purse, “Ok, I’m ready.”

“Let’s party!” Dean joked standing up and opening the door for me. He offered me his arm with a goofy grin on his face.

“Why thank you, kind sir!” I teased in a southern belle accent.

We laughed as we walked to his car. My jaw dropped.

“Holy Shit! A 67 Impala? She’s beautiful!” I walked around his car impressed.

“A woman who knows her cars. Nice.”

“Not all cars. But this, this is my dream car.” Dean was opening the passenger side door for me. I got in and rubbed the dash and the seats before pulling on my seat belt.

“This is my Baby. She was my Dad’s. When he passed, I got her.”

Dean had just bought his own mechanic shop. We talked about cars, my job, how cute Sam and Jade were together. All the random first date stuff. We were laughing about our favorite episode of Friends when we pulled up to the bar the Christmas party was at. Sam and Jade were just arriving as well.

“Well look at you two, laughing and getting along,” Sam teased and Dean opened my door for me.

“Hush, Sammy. Respect your elders!” I teased right back.

“Oh God, you’ve already started telling her stories, haven’t you?” Sam glared at Dean while I gave Jade a hug.

“Oh my God! How did I not think about that? Dean, please! You have to!” I gave Sam a hung before spinning around to look at Dean.

“Oh, there are tons of them! We have all night. Let’s get inside and get drinks. I hope there’s pie.” Dean grabbed my hand and led the way into the bar.

My co-workers called out to Jade and me with a chorus of “Merry Christmas”. We said hello to everyone and I introduced Dean around.

“What’s your drink?” Dean asked in my ear so I could hear him over the noise in the bar. I got chills.

“Captain and Diet and a shot of Patron.”

“Coming up!” Dean and Sam walked to the bar to get the first round of drinks. As soon as they were far enough away, I smacked Jade’s arms.

“Dude! You didn’t warn me about how hot he is!”

She laughed.

“Well what did you expect? He’s related to Sam.”

“Fair point. But, my God, those eyes!” I fanned myself to further my point.

We pulled off our outerwear and hung them on chairs reserved for our party as Dean and Sam walked back with our drinks. We drank to Christmas and family with our shots and settled in to our seats.

“Ok, everyone! We have our food to the left and we’re going to start karaoke in about twenty minutes. Solo, duets, and groups are all welcome! Let’s have some fun tonight!” The head nurse of the hospital’s trauma center, Meaghan, announced.

We all cheered as people started going to sign up.

“Santa Baby?” I asked Jade. It was a sort of tradition for the two of us to perform the song together.

“Absolutely!”

I told them I’d be right back and went to sign us up.

“You guys carrying on tradition?” Stephanie, one of the trauma nurse’s asked.

“Of course!”

“Who is that guy you walked in with? He’s fucking hot!”

“Dean. He’s Sam’s brother and just moved into town. J fixed us up on a blind date tonight,” I explained, taking a large sip of my drink.

“Good luck!” Steph said while nudging me with her shoulder. I laughed as I walked away.

Back at the table, Jade and Sam were smiling widely while Dean shot a dirty look at them.

“Whoa! What did I miss?”

“Oh nothing,” Jade responded, not making it sound like nothing.

I shrugged it off and sat back down.

Two and a half drinks later, Jade and I were called up to do our song.

“Now up, your favorite duet in the pharmacy and at the Christmas party, Caroline and Jade!”

Our group cheered and Sam and Dean threw in a couple cat calls.

Jade and I laughed our way to the stage.

Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree for me Been an awful good girl Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight

Jade began the song giggling.

Santa baby, a '67 Impala too, dark blue I'll wait up for you, dear Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight

I sang, walking toward Dean, shrugging at the color of the car, shooting him a wink. We were now standing in front of Sam and Dean and pulled them to the stage with us.

Think of all the fun I've missed Think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed Next year I could be also good If you'll check off my Christmas list

We alternated the lines. Circling the men while we continued.

Santa baby, I want a yacht and really that's not a lot Been an angel all year Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight

Santa honey one thing I really do need, the deed To a platinum mine Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight

Santa cutie, and fill my stocking with a duplex and checks Sign your 'x' on the line Santa cutie, and hurry down the chimney tonight

Come and trim my Christmas tree With some decorations bought at Tiffany I really do believe in you Let's see if you believe in me

Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing, a ring I don't mean on the phone Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight Hurry down the chimney tonight Hurry, tonight

When we finished, we turned back to the guys to see Sam down on one knee. My jaw dropped as I turned my face to look at Jade, who had dropped her microphone. I slowly walked to stand next to Dean.

“Jade, we’ve been together for four years. I don’t want to spend anymore time not being your husband. Will you marry me?”

The room had fallen silent. Our co-workers all holding their breath waiting for Jade’s answer.

“Of course, I will,” she replied in a barely audible whisper.

“She said Yes!!” I screamed jumping up and down in excitement, tears streaming down my face.

The room erupted in applause while Sam slipped the ring on Jade’s finger before they kissed.

They were the talk of the rest of the party. Everyone congratulating them and hugging the couple while we were dancing.

Dean and I walked over to the food table and began filling our plates. We were about to head back to our table when I heard Sam yell, “Hey Dean! Look up!”

We both looked up to notice we were standing directly under a mistletoe.

Dean smiled taking both of our plates and putting them on the table. He placed one hand on my hip and the other on the back of my head.

“I’ve been waiting all night to find an excuse to do this,” he whispered against my lips before kissing me.

I could feel myself blushing as I stood on my toes, my hands traveling behind his neck. His lips parted and kissed me deeper.

It wasn’t until I heard the cat calls from my co-workers that I slowly pulled away blushing bright red.

“I am so glad Jade talked me into coming tonight.” I was grinning ear to ear.

@idk-wtf-is-happening (Merry Christmas, Darling!)

#Kari and Ida’s 12 days of SPN Christmas

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evelyntransitions-blog · 7 years

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Day 3ish

Yesterday was full of unexpected surprises. It started off with school, and I presumed that we’d start picking topics for our argumentative essay that’s coming up and start writing. Instead I was met with the lovely surprise of movie day. I never expected to get a “random” movie day in college, but it happened. We got to watch a video on fracking and were told to take notes on the narrators arguments and if they were good or not good and do an online journal assignment. This was much easier than starting an essay. After school I decided to spend more time Pokemon hunting while I still had free time, before I got into it however I went home to clean my room, make lunch/dinner and change over my laundry. Bam! A wild new surprise appeared. My mom had went out of her way to clean my room, do my laundry and cook food, left by sticky notes with smile faces on them. She received a promt “THANK YOUUUUUUUUUUUUU” later that day. The Pokemon hunting/raiding adventure that I partook on was generally the same as always, hatch some eggs, look for good Pokemon that are examined with the breathtaking and stat exceeding traits and meet up with the raid group. The good news was that I was able to evolve my Chansey into a Blissey after getting enough rare candies, and also managed to get a Bannet with good stats that I named “Cheshire” because of the Cheshire Cat grin from Lewis Carolls Alice in Wonderland. The bad news took form in another unexpected surprise; one of the raiders in my group, a middle aged mom had asked why my profile pic for the raid chat was female and why I had (what’s looked at in Murica’ as) a girls name (Evelyn). The middle aged mom stated something along the lines of it being unfair and not very nice, due to it being misleading. With some of the members of our raid group staring at me I blurted out without thinking “Oh i’m transitioning to female.” There was a short awkward silence followed by the mom saying “Oh that makes it a little bit better.” this was followed with a conversation of me trying to justify having a beard (i’m dressing up as Jesus for halloween and using the humour of the costume to bypass the dysphoria of the beard itself. Being able to laugh at yourself seems to make things easier, plus might as well give my beard a going away party) and her saying something like “Yeah a beard wouldn’t work well with a girl.” I was both flattered by her gendering me correctly, but also a little annoyed because some girls out there may like beards. If a person wants to identify as female, or are just born cis female and they want to grow a beard, that’s cool, if it makes them happy and they present it with confidence, that action within itself is attractive in it’s own right. Nevertheless she’s entitled to her opinion *shrugs*, I can’t change what she finds attractive, though I wish she wasn’t so nosey. After the raid was done I promptly drove back home, but before I exited the parking lot we were in she said goodbye Evelyn, which may seem normal, but the group itself hardly refers to anyone by their names directly, only to talk about how great or silly someone is, it’s this weird formality that just kind developed. So her saying my name directly may have been a polite gesture, i’d hope so, either way not everyone in the county knows me by Evelyn and for some reason i’ve got a reputation here because of all the silly shit I do, so hopefully this doesn’t come back to bite me. When I got home I got a text from my best friend with plans to hangout late overnight, I told him that i’d be taking a short nap and he could just call me. I set an alarm just in case as a fail-safe. Furthermore I took the dankest mini nap of my life, my cool ass cat chillin’ up by my arms, had chillhop playing in the background, all the good shit. I woke before the alarm went off about an hour and a half later and turned my alarm off and sat at the computer, just taking in the music and just letting it further fill the room and deciding to leave it on. The peace was interrupted by my parents arguing about my Dad working too many hours at his job. Now, my parents are in excellent finical standing with more money than the bills, while they’re just getting done paying off their debt. *THIS PART DOESN’T HAVE TO DO WITH MY DAY BUT PROVIDES SOME BACKGROUND AS TO MY SITUATION WITH MY PARENTS*

The problem more lies with two major things. Supporting me to some extent living here, which is one of the reasons i’m moving. The other thing lies in my Dad’s past where as a child he was put in a not so good situation ( I won’t say what out of respect for his personal privacy), and had to work his ass off just to get away from his own father and make something of himself. He tries to cope with this by making himself seem stronger than he is, flaunting his ego and making connections with people in high places. By the very nature of his personality and hard work ethic this has led him to the top of the food chain so to speak. This has also led to him not being able to deal with me, a person who takes shit personally and has this weird uncontrollable fear of doing new things, which is just stated as part of my anxiety. If I do things i’ll get distracted or make dumb mistakes at best and at worst will avoid doing them at all. This is not to be confused with laziness or procrastination, it’s ABOSLUTE FEAR. He’s hated my inability to be coherent in the past, maybe out of concern for me and/or feeling like he’s not in control of situations presented to him. This has led to a lot of yelling from him, and by default over time the indoctrination of my mom yelling alongside him (she had a very similar background but without the ego). This in the past had me being a cross between manipulative shithead who lied all the time to get away from bullshit, and an avoidant recluse who spent all their time playing video games. I’m now in the future and trying to do everything possible to get my lack on track between school, getting a promotion, transitioning (it’s sort of like working 2 jobs because I work in two departments) doing volunteer work, and now moving out. With all this in mind, they got into it over my Dad working too many hours and not taking care of himself. This isn’t all due to him but also his employer who I won’t state the name of not respecting him despite him busting his ass for the company. My mom being both lonely over me moving out and not being home very much due to wanting to escape from being inside to combat depression and also not feel trapped due to some mental things that I won’t explain here and my Dad working all the time. She got on my Dad’s case about him working too much and he jumped to the defensive being the breadwinner (though my mom makes a good amount of money too, and I also pay for rent, insurance and most of my food). *THIS PART IS BACK TO MY DAY*

The argument my parents had start as a “WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?!” argument in reguards to my Dad’s job and lead to a “I’M NOT MAD AT YOU, I JUST FEEL HELPLESS BUT I’M GOING TO EXPLAIN IT THROUGH ANGER.” argument. In short my mom just wanted to spend time with him and quit his job or do something else and he felt hopeless because all he knows about coping with anything is through work (with the occasional party). I believe the adult fear of having to go back to having less is what got him the most, that he regressing being on the bottom and starting with nothing scared him so much that it led to his outlandish anger. The fear of not being in control of a situation being a bonus. (This also happens outside of financial situations and just normal situations as well. Even ones that have nothing to do with my success or the success of him or mom.) The argument itself of just dissolved into this passive angry stew and then there was silence. I got a message about ten minutes later from my best friend that he arrived and I told him to just come to the door, that if I answered things might get hairy. Having to deal with many of these scenarios before, he did just that and we got ready to leave. Before I left I told my Mom that I loved her and asked her if anything was wrong (it obviously was, but I was wanting to see if she needed to talk). She lied and said it was fine and waved goodbye. After this me and my best friend headed off into the night.

#evelyntransitions #trans #transgender

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