#the kid i talked to a few times when i worked in the local library who told me lots about dinosaurs each time he got books out

[fictional-worlds-are-exquisite]

I just finished reading Letter to a Stranger by Colleen Kinder (and, of course, many many others) and it was quite a unique read for me

when given the choice (the time), i always read a book all at once in a few hours or over the course of a day or two (depending on how long it is). i’m not so good at pacing myself when it comes to books (i never willingly pace myself...i’m bad). when i don’t have the time, i’m terrible, it’ll take me months to finish a book because i feel so demotivated knowing i might be able to read a few chapters but no more because i’m too busy.

but i started reading this book on the 17th of july, a sunday. i read a few letters. i called it a night. i had a busy week. the 22nd, friday, i read some more letters. i had time to read the majority of the book but i put it down. i read an entire fiction book instead over the course of 2 ish days. i loved that book. i read some more letters. i read some letters each night before bed. just a few. i honestly think this was the first book i’ve ever deliberately paced myself on because it felt like it’d be better consumed slowly, like reading it all at once would ruin it.

i really liked it. not every letter to a stranger of course, some drew my interest more than others. but i just loved the concept. when i think of people who have been a part of my life in one way or another, i never think of strangers. friends, family, teachers, school peers, friends parents, bosses, coworkers, sports leaders/coaches, and so on and so forth, i think of them. but if you ask me about strangers, it’s definitely true some have stuck in my mind often without so much as a name.

When I was 15, I spent one night in the hospital for observation, I was in severe pain and felt miserable but there was a girl in the bed next to me who i remember thinking of as beautiful and falling slightly in love with her (that may have been the very strong pain meds they had me on but still). when morning came, her family came to visit, and her boyfriend. He kissed her and i remember feeling like ‘aw man...’ but then he called her Sharlina and i was like wow that’s a name as beautiful as she is, I’m going to write that down. And I did. And it’s still in my notes. The first name in a list I started of names I like. The name doesn’t particularly appeal to me now but then I remember her and I’m like never mind it’s still beautiful.

Across the room from me was a woman who’d just had kidney stones removed or something of the sort. She was feeling like shit, I remember. Her son had found her passed out and called 111. But in the middle of the night when I was throwing up painfully into a small hospital container she pulled back the curtain around my bed, asked if I wanted her to get a nurse, and patted me on the shoulder. She couldn’t even get up to use the bathroom earlier! But the second she heard a kid around her son’s age throwing up it was like fuck it, my pain is irrelevant, I’m going to help. I never forgot that act of kindness.

and that’s just one occasion. there’s been so many strangers that have a cemented place in my memory it’s wild. and i guess i also have a place in some people’s memory as a stranger who did x.

when i was walking home from high school when i was maybe 14 years old I was stopped by a little kid, maybe 6 or 7, who explained he was walking home from school but was a bit scared. I held his hand and walked with him in the opposite direction from my house talking about his day at school on the way to his house making sure he got there safely until his parents car pulled up alongside us and they took him home from there. i dunno if he’d remember that. it was a minor act on my part, no big deal for me. but it’s cases like that I guess I might’ve stuck for some people.

I know some people hate the idea of Being Known. But from this book I’m actually quite fond of some glimpses people may have caught of me and remembered. Not knowing my name, or anything about me, just that I was doing x once and it was weird or interesting enough that it stuck. I’ll never know any of that. They’ll never know me I imagine. But little fragments of me could exist in random strangers too. that’s a cool thought to me. maybe i’m the grown ass adult they saw jumping in puddles, or the one wearing weird ass neon pink leopard print sweatpants to a council meeting, or the one who couldn’t get a hearty mince pie out of the cafe shelf without spilling half of it on myself, or the person licking an ice block on the coldest day of winter, shivering. i have no clue what’d stick of my actions. but it’s a fun idea to me.

#the taxi driver at the airport who directed us to the competitor company in front bc that was etiquette that we didn't know #and they didn't care about a potential customer just the respect of the system #the time i got pushed through into a blood test place in a wheelchair and everyone else in the room jumped to their feet #and shifted everything out of the way so i could be wheeled through #without a word while moving. just a 'can i help?' after #the girl from high school who barely knew me but invited me to her home after school when it was raining and hers was closer than mine #whose mum was delighted to meet me despite not knowing a thing about me prior. a warmth #when i was a kid fishing off the wharf without much luck and a random stranger fishing there recommended luncheon to us #we got a roll of it for fishing every summer after that. it was far cheaper with more of it and it worked #one summer i was walking home from hs and it was ridiculously hot and a car pulled up alongside me and offered me a ride home #it was the parent of someone i went to primary school with who THOUGHT they recognised me. and wanted to help #the kid i talked to a few times when i worked in the local library who told me lots about dinosaurs each time he got books out #haha the group of bellydancers who took care of me during a christmas parade i rode my bike in #like it just goes on and on #could not tell you the name or anything more about 95% of these people! just random fragments interacting in my life #anyway. i really liked the book. made the world feel more connected less separated #letter to a stranger

[finelinefae]

tongue-tied

synopsis: y/n has a stutter and harry likes to hear her talk

word count: 3.1k

contains: fluff, highschool romance, harry's a football player, popular boy x shy girl, brief mentions of bullying

a/n: happy soft girl Sunday !! I wasn’t planning on posting just because I posted the second part of the aviator a little later than I was meant to but I could resist putting this one out <3

. . .

“E-excuse me!” Y/N weaved her way through the mass exodus of students heading in the opposite direction to the lunch hall. She had tried to leave class a few minutes before the lunch bell to avoid the large groups of people but she had been so invested in writing her essay, she’d lost complete track of time. 

She was running as fast as she possibly could to get to the library, knowing the person waiting for her wouldn’t get too impatient but she didn’t want to waste a second of their lunch break not being with him. Her bag slipped from her shoulder, her braids flying behind her and her knee-high socks falling down her calves. 

Y/N barely registered the people around her, wondering where she could be going in such a rush, until her face collided with soft, grey fabric. Before she could even get embarrassed and profusely have to apologise for bumping into them, long arms snaked around her, hands clasping behind her back. She caught a whiff of his woody cologne and the floral fragranced detergent his mum always used to wash his school uniform.

“There y’ are, Dove.” He murmured, “I was starting to get worried.”

Y/N looked up and settled on those familiar green eyes she loved so much. She relaxed into his embrace, “Harry,” She sighed. 

Harry and Y/N had been dating since they were fourteen. If it weren’t for the fact that their parents all worked together at the local hospital, they probably would never have met at all, although Harry liked to believe they were fated to be together so they would have ended up meeting each other some way or another. 

Harry had always been popular at school. For one, he was on the football team which instantly made him a name within their year group. He was also very handsome for his age. Girls would whisper and giggle whenever he passed by in the hallways even those from the lower years. Despite the fact they had just turned seventeen, Harry could honestly pass for an almost twenty-year-old with how tall and mature he was. 

Y/N was the complete opposite. When it came to her social life she was shy and not often one to make friends easily. She was part of the arithmetic club and had made a few friends there and in some of her other classes. She liked to keep to herself and struggled to talk in class not only because she was quiet but also because she had a particularly bad stutter. 

It had developed when she started High School. She had been to multiple speech therapists to help her get rid of it and although it wasn’t as bad as it used to be, it still never failed to make her life all the more difficult than it already was.

A lot of the other kids liked to pick on her for it too. Whenever teachers picked on her in class and she’d reply, the rest of the class would start snickering, whispering in each other’s ears. She wanted to be invisible to everyone but it was her stutter that made her stand out.

When Harry’s family would come over to Y/N’s house for dinner, her parents would often force them to go off together whilst the adults spoke in the dining room. She remembered the first time she invited him into her room and how embarrassed she was when he saw all her comic books lying on the floor that she had forgotten to put away. But it eventually became the seed of their relationship, the common ground that allowed them to bond. 

Soon Harry was inviting Y/N to his football games and up to his room every other weekend when she’d come over with her parents. They’d exchange comic books and talk about their favourite characters. Y/N was always apologising for her stutter whenever she’d ramble on for too long but Harry never cared, he loved hearing her talk. 

Their first kiss was on her bed whilst their parents were in the room below them. Harry was the one to initiate it and Y/N hadn’t been expecting it so it was slightly awkward at first but then she got used to it and eventually all she ever wanted to do was kiss him. Every weekend, whether at her place or his, all they did was sneak around and kiss each other, giggling and falling in love all at the same time. 

Now, three years later, things were still the same except they were older now and more in love than they were yesterday. 

Wherever you looked, Harry was there, and Y/N was never too far behind. Students had grown accustomed to their relationship, and the bullying Y/N endured wasn't as severe as it used to be. Even teachers couldn't help but be enamoured with their young love — how fortunate it was to find love at such a young age. 

Things were great, everything was great and Y/N had hoped she could finish her last year of High School on a high note. That was until she entered her English class on a Friday afternoon when the teacher announced it was time for their presentations which would go towards their final grade. 

“I can’t Harry!” Y/N cried into her pillow after school, Harry was sitting on the end of her bed with his back against the wall as he rubbed his hand up and down her back. 

“I know Dove,” He comforted her, already knowing the reason she was so upset over it.

“Everyone’s going to l-laugh at me,” She could already picture herself standing up in front of her class and everyone pointing and laughing at her. 

Harry sighed, “Dove,” He shook her gently, “Will y’ look at me?” 

Y/N hesitated before turning her head so her cheek lay against the pillow. Harry smiled and lay on his side in the spot next to her, their faces inches apart, “There’s m’ pretty girl,” He cooed, his heart hurting at the tears on her cheeks. He cupped her cheek in his big hand and wiped some of those tears away with his thumb. 

“I-It’s not fair,” She huffed, “Why’d I have to have this stupid stutter.” 

“Hey,” He frowned, “Enough of that hmm? Everything about you is beautiful, y’ know I love to hear y’ talk. Could sit here for hours and just listen.” 

“But you’re d-different,” She whined, shuffling closer to him so she could hide her face in his grey jumper. Her stutter was rarely ever that bad in front of Harry which was why he was the easiest person she could talk to. 

Harry laughed breathily, his hand going to her hair to play with the strands, “Would it help if I helped you a little?” 

“How?” Y/N asked, her words muffled by his jumper.

“We could practise in the library at lunch, y’ could read me a few things and it might help your stutter.”  He thought.

Y/N’s head looked up to his face where she could count every mole and freckle on his nose and cheeks. She couldn’t help but pucker her lips to kiss his jawline, “That’d be nice,” She murmured. 

“Yeah?” He smiled, kissing the top of her head in return, “I only want to help you so if you don’t enjoy it or you’d rather practise alone then y’ can tell me,” 

She shook her head, “N-No, I want to do that with you. I’d like it very much.” 

So it became a daily occurrence, five days a week during lunch hours when Harry didn’t have practice, they’d sit in the library and Harry would pick out a book for them to read. They started with simple YA books with less complicated words. 

“Good job, Dove!” Harry cheered every time Y/N finished a chapter. 

“Wait I’m not done,” She huffed and then said the last line just for Harry to cheer for her again just as proudly as the first time. 

Now that the day of her presentation was getting closer, they had finally made their way onto Classical novels which Y/N had come to despise. 

They walked with their hands intertwined to the library after Y/N had bumped into him in the hallway. It was natural as they stepped into the library and headed straight to their table in the corner hidden away by two tall bookshelves. 

Y/N placed her bag under the chair whilst Harry unzipped his to pull out the book they were currently reading. It was Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, even looking at the front cover made Y/N’s stomach turn. 

“A-Are you sure we can’t go back to YA books?” Y/N huffed, taking the book and opening it up to the chapter they were last on. 

Harry laughed, “But you’re doing so well, Dovey.” 

“I-it’s hard though and the w-words are so tiny.” She pouts, Harry can’t help but lean forward and kiss her. 

“C’mon, jus’ a few pages and then I can show y’ something I got for you.” He tried to persuade her, knowing the surprise would be enough to win her over.

“Fine,” She sighs dramatically. 

She read for five pages, Harry listening intently to every word. His eyes focused on her lips as she spoke, stumbling over a few words here and there. He tried to hold back from smiling so much with how concentrated she was on each letter of every word. He thought it was adorable how her eyebrows creased and her hands gripped the book. 

Eventually, she had enough, placing the book down on the table and closing it shut. “Good job baby!” He cheered, pressing multiple kisses to her cheek, “M so proud of you.” 

Y/N giggled, “Thank you, Harry.” 

Harry smiled and reached into the pocket of his blazer for the surprise he had promised her. Y/N looked down and saw a small, black pouch in his hand. He gave it to her, her fingers carefully pulling on the ribbon before pulling out the small item inside. 

“It’s an anxiety ring,” Harry explained as she held the silver ring in the palm of her hand. He picked it up and slid it on his pinkie finger to show her, “Y’ can twist this band whenever you feel nervous, thought y’ could wear it on the day of your speech.” 

He passed it back to her, Y/N narrowing her eyes to look at the spinning band which had a small inscription written on it, ‘i love the way you speak almost as much as i love you, your harry.’ 

Y/N’s eyes watered, unable to come up with the right words to say how much she adored it as well as the boy sitting in front of her. Instead, she leapt forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, “Thank you,” She murmured, “I love it. I love you.” 

Harry softened even more from her embrace, “I love you more, Dove,” He whispered. 

Y/N pulled away enough to kiss his lips, she was thankful for the privacy they had in the back of the library since she was never that good with public displays of affection and all she wanted to do now was kiss him because she was so grateful for him being there all the time. 

It wasn’t long before the day of her presentation. After school, Y/N had been working on a short essay. She was going to speak to the class about her favourite comic books and why she loved them so much. She had recited the words out loud to herself and Harry and even her parents, that she could probably speak it off by heart. 

Harry and Y/N stood outside the school. Her English class wasn’t until the third period but she knew she wouldn’t be able to concentrate in her morning classes until the presentation was over. Harry was wearing his football uniform because he had a game against another school in the morning. Y/N had been with him after school as he practised for it, wearing his coat as she wrote out her speech on a notepad. 

They stood side by side facing the school building as if it was some kind of beast they had to tackle, “O-okay,” She huffed, “I can do this,” 

Harry looked down at her smiling and then reached for her hand, “You can do this,” He squeezed her fingers in encouragement. 

“Good l-luck with your game today,” She grinned, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. 

“Thank you, baby,” He spoke softly, “Y’ can tell me all about your presentation and how well it went afterwards.”

“Okay Harry,” She nodded, completely determined despite how nervous she was. She had spent weeks preparing, she couldn’t let fear get the best of her. 

“Good luck kiss?” Harry grinned, cheekily. 

Y/N playfully rolled her eyes and craned her neck to kiss his lips. Harry held her face in his hands, unable to pull away from her even when she tried to, “I love you,” He murmured against her lips.

“I love you too.” She sighed, blissfully. 

When third period came around, Y/N stood outside her English classroom, counting to five in her head. She clutched onto the piece of paper where her speech was written out in gelled ink, spinning the ring Harry had gifted her on her finger. With a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped foot into her classroom. 

. . .

Harry could hardly concentrate during the football match but he was trying his best. His team were two points ahead and it wouldn’t be long before the game was over. Since it was the morning and the game was mostly practice for the two schools competing, there wasn’t a huge audience watching them. 

He was glancing down at his watch every few minutes when he was supposed to have his eye on the ball, checking to see whether third period was about to start. All he could think about was his little dove and how nervous she was when they stepped into school this morning. 

She had been working so hard on reading things out, even stopping in shops when they went to town together to read the labels on the backs of food containers. He fully believed in her and her ability to speak in front of the class even when she didn’t and it killed him not being able to watch her do it. 

So when the whistle finally blew marking the end of the game, Harry ignored the celebrations with his team after they won the match and ran across the field through the entrance of the school. He raced up the steps, his football boots clicking against the crowd. He knew he probably didn’t smell the best and his knees were muddy from falling over but he didn’t have much time to think about it as he searched for Y/N’s English classroom. 

“Y/N?” He heard the teacher’s voice call her name as he approached. 

“A-Already? O-Oh, O-okay.” He could hear her nerves just by listening to her speak. 

Harry was about to knock on the door but he hesitated, wondering if it would worsen her nerves if he was in the classroom watching her. He knew how much of a big deal this moment was for Y/N and he didn’t want to intervene or make a spectacle of the moment especially since he wasn’t in her class. 

He lowered his hand and instead pressed his ear up to the door. 

“H-Hello,” Y/N started, “My name is Y-Y/N and today I will be sharing with you m-my love for comic books,” Harry’s heart ached as her voice came out quietly. 

“C’mon Dove,” He whispered, wanting her to do well. 

Y/N cleared her throat and let out a shaky exhale, “A-As you can probably tell, I-I am not all that good at speaking. I s-stumble over letters and sometimes even have to replace words with o-others because my mouth t-turns into mash potato and I can’t seem to get t-the words out.” People chuckled and Harry’s heart began to beat against his chest, “T-That is why I love comic books so much because of the l-lack of words. Instead, there are pictures,” Y/N continued, her voice gaining strength the more that she spoke, “T-They tell stories without the need for p-perfect sentences or flawless speech.” 

Y/N continued her speech and Harry spent the entire presentation with his ear pressed up against the door. He ignored the looks of teachers and other students walking past as a huge grin spread across his cheeks the more Y/N spoke in front of the class. 

By the time she had finished, it fell silent before the class responded with a round of applause, “Brilliant work, Y/N,” Her teacher said. 

Y/N felt like she was floating on a cloud as she left her English classroom. Even if her speech wasn’t perfect, she had done it and gotten through it all in one piece. As she stepped out, two arms snaked around her waist and lifted her off the ground, “Harry!” Y/N giggled as he spun her around.

“M so proud of you, Dove.” He kissed her softly, lowering her to the ground but refusing to move his hands from her waist. 

“I-I can’t believe I did it, Harry!” Y/N almost squealed. 

“Heard every word, y’ did so good, M so proud of you.” He rambled, unable to cease his admiration for her. 

“You heard?” Y/N’s eyebrows creased, her lips pouting slightly. 

“I ran here as fast as I could and stood outside to listen to you,” Harry explained, “Y did perfect, honestly, the best speech I’ve ever heard.”

“You really ran h-here to listen?” Y/N asked, still in disbelief.

“I did,” Harry smiled, “It was all I could think about when I was on the field.”

“Did you win?” Y/N asked. 

Harry pulled her flush against him, “You already know I did baby,” He smirked, kissing her. Y/N smiled against his lips.

“Let’s go out tonight,” Harry murmured, “To celebrate.”

“And do w-what?” Y/N wondered, even though the idea of spending any time with Harry was always her favourite. 

“Maybe go to the bowling alley and get dinner after,” He shrugs.

“O-oh and maybe we can stop at the comic book store on the way home!” Y/N said, excitedly. 

“Course m’love,” Harry’s smile widened the more she spoke, “We can do whatever you want as long as I get to hear you talk.” 

Y/N grinned broadly as Harry interlaced his hands with hers, feeling the cool metal of her ring against his skin. Together, they walked hand in hand down the hallway, Y/N unable to stop talking the entire time, while Harry hung onto her every word.

#softgirlsundays #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #fic rec #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic rec #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry edward styles #one direction #harry styles writing #writing #fanfic rec #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you

[bizbat]

When They're In Love HCS - Jason Todd

~ Fem terms used for reader

~ Partially based on these headcanons

🕸️Spiderverse Masterlist🕸️

🐼JJK Masterlist🐼

~ You can find part two here, and part three here.

~ You can find more of my works here

Jason Todd seems like the type to fall hard and fast. He might not admit it for a while, but he's been developing feelings for you from at least the second or third time you met.

He's the type to call you "Wifey" or "The Missus" even when you aren't married and regardless of whether or not you to plan to.

He absolutely keeps a picture or two of you in his wallet, and no, he doesn't think it's cheesy in the slightest.

He's the type to lay on you. Your chest, your tummy, even your butt if you're laying on your stomach, your size and weight is irrelevant.

You'll be minding your own business, laying down and reading a book or playing on your phone, and he'll come out of nowhere and drop all 230+ lbs of muscle on your smaller body.

If you wheeze and try to crawl out from under him, try to push his giant hulking form off of you, he'll just wrap his arms around you and tell you he's tired, and just needs a few minutes of sleep.

Doesn't actually spend as much time reading as he would like to, but if you enjoy reading he'll always find time to do it with you.

If libraries had gold card memberships, he would be the one to have it. He'd rent any and as many books as you want.

Sometimes, he'll go out of his way to find books he thinks you'd like or that you can read together. Sometimes, he'll even give you old books from his personal library if he thinks you'll enjoy them as much as he did

I don't think he's be huge on giving gifts, I see him as more of a quality-time type (but i see almost all of the bats as quality-time types so take that with a grain of salt), but I do think he'd give you lots of tiny gifts all the time.

He'll pick up a quick breakfast for the both of you at the local bodega, he'll get your pet treats, he'll bring over your favorite candy or snack everytime he comes over to your place, etc.

Loves movie nights. Doesn't matter which movie it is, it could be some dumb, low budget nightmare made to babysit kids, or the best piece of visual media ever made by human hands.

He loves being able to talk to you, he loves hearing your opinions, loves hearing your voice. He'll recommend movies to watch just because he knows you'll have a lot to say about them.

I don't think he'd have a big moment where he introduces you to his entire family, I think he'd introduce you slowly, one person at a time.

I think he'd start with Dick or Cass, or Alfred, then so on and so forth. I think Tim and Damian would either be dead last, or have to find out on their own.

The only reason the others were told by Jason straight up is because they have that bare minimum amount of respect to stay out of his business. 💀

If you're a civilian, I don't think he'd want you to have anything to do with the more dangerous side of his life. It's bad enough you're dating him to begin with, he doesn't want to put you at anymore risk.

It's a somewhat different story if you're another vigilante. I still don't think he'd want you involved in his work specifically, but he would at least know you could take care of yourself if it came down to it.

He almost always wakes up before and goes to bed after you.

He likes seeing you when you're asleep, your hair a mess, or your bonnet askew.He thinks you're so cute when you're sleeping.

I don't think he'd take lots of pictures, but i don't think he'd mind if you did.

He might actually enjoy it if you just have a ton of selfies with him.

You are his lockscreen. Whether that was a decision made by you or him is still up for debate.

Doesn't care if you're more masculine or feminine, i think he'd find something to enjoy about both aspects.

Or if you were more androgynous.

He'd for sure call you "My girl".

A list of names I think he'd call you: My girl/wife, Wifey, Angel, Sweet thing, Princess, Baby

I've said it before and I'll say it again, the man LIVES for domesticity.

Even if you aren't married, you guys will act like an old married couple.

He's not my personal fave, but guess I had a lot of thoughts about him lol

#bizbat #jason todd x reader #jason todd hc #jason todd headcanons #dc headcanon #dc #red hood #red hood x reader

[lovelybrooke]

What’s up with MC? (Platonic yandere Hazbin Hotel immortal au)

So I've really wanted to write some stuff about reader and their life. I hope this helps you guys understand them a little bit more. This doesn't have much to do with Hazbin Hotel, but hopefully you still enjoy.

Trigger Warning for: Very bad/neglectful parenting, disassociation, talks of regretting a child, bullying, please tell me if I need to include anything else.

masterlist

---

You were born a very small and loud baby. You cried and cried, even after your mother took you into her arms and laid you down on her chest. Even when your father took you for a few seconds so he could hand you to the nurse. And even when she rolled you down the hallways of the hospital to get your test done. It wasn't until you cried yourself asleep that it was finally quiet.

Life wasn't always so bad, back when your dad was around and your mom wasn't a drunk. Your father worked at a family pharmacy, had good hours and was home before dinner. Your mother stayed at home taking care of you. She would make you lunch, play games with you, and would even rent movies from the library to watch with you. In your childlike eyes, life was perfect.

Things weren't perfect though. In reality, your mother got pregnant young, forcing her to marry your father when she was 20. In her young, 20 year old mind, she thought she loved your father and he thought he loved her. So getting married seemed like the next step when she realized she was pregnant. And she loved you, she loved your smooth skin, she loved giving you baths, and dressing you up. But she didn't like the crying, and the sick days, and the clinginess. She hated having to be the one to deal with all those things while your father was at work. And when he was at home, he wasn't a help either. He was distant, they never talked or loved each other like they did when they were teens.

Your mother started drinking when you were three. It started off with wine at dinner, then at lunch and dinner, then at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Eventually, she started picking you up from Pre K drunk, the other moms could smell it on her. One mom told an admin who told the principal who told your mom that another parent would need to pick you up. You could faintly remember the fight your mom had in the parking lot and then with your father at the dining room table. Whenever your mom got like that, you imagined that you weren't yourself, instead you were a character in one of the books your mom used to read to you. It helped.

As your mom got worse, your father slowly stopped showing up. He said he had more work, his boss was getting older so he had to pick up the slack. When he was home, he was distant and cold. He never wanted to play with you, he treated you less like his child and more like an associate. As you got older you knew it was because he didn't want this life, he didn't like his 9 to 5, and he didn't like coming home to a drunk wife and a child he never desired to have. And when he stopped showing up, a part of you, even though you barely knew him, was relieved. It meant less fights, less loud yelling, and less time spent inside your own head.

You were a quiet kid all throughout school. You never were good at making friends, but it wasn't something that bothered you. With your dad gone, money got tight, and when you were seven, your mom started working at your local supermarket. It wasn't great, but it was better than having no money. That's also when she started smoking. You stopping kissing her goodnight because she smelt like cigarets. You felt bad, but she didn't seem to care.

When you were eight, you were trying to climb a tree in your backyard when you fell, breaking both of your legs in the process. You laid there until the bright blue sky became black, eventually falling asleep and having the strangest dream. Your mother didn't find you until the next morning, your cries being drown out by the beers and t.v. She took you the hospital where you were apparently fine.

When you were ten your father called the house. It was a Saturday meaning your mom would sleep in, and when you picked up the phone, you heard a voice you didn't know. It was old, manly, and angry. He was shouting something about money and credit cards, and when you hung up, he called again, and again, and again, until eventually your mother woke up. They argued for hours and when they were finished, your mother told you not to answer the phone again, so you didn't.

When you got to middle school you experienced bullying for the first time. A girl in your 3rd period made fun of your clothes, which your mother found at the thrift store. You never realized that you wore the same clothes every day until then, and so when you got home you learned how to use the washing machine. From that day on you did the laundry in your house, and when your mother suggest you make dinner, you did that too. It eventually became a routine, you'd go to school, your mom went to work, you'd get home and clean the house, do laundry, and make dinner, all while you mom watched t.v. It never bothered you, because if you didn't do it, who would.

The bullying didn't stop, even into high school. You were the poor kid with a drunk mom and an absentee father, you were the prime subject for bullying. It was never anything big, the occasional teasing and mocking, especially on days when your mother would pick you up. It was embarrassing, to have her yell at you from her old, beat up truck. Or when she'd smoke in the school parking lot. Or when she rant to you about work and get mad when you interjected. You got better as you got older ignoring it, ignore her, ignoring the way she made you feel.

When kids would talk about your dad, you'd make up a different person in your head since you never remembered who he was. You imagined him as a prince, handsome and knightly. You imagined dancing with him, him kissing you on the forehead before you went to sleep, and him telling you he loved you. You guessed that was the great thing about having a deadbeat dad, he can just kinda be whoever you wanted, even if it wasn't real.

When you were 15, you were working on a project after school when your mom forgot to pick you up. You were forced to walk home from school, alone, in the cold, when a car swerved your way and you fell unconscious. You were having the craziest dream until you woke up, in your bed, your mom asleep in the living room, game shows playing loudly on the t.v.

You stopped relying on your mother for anything after that. You stopped expecting her to help you, stopped expecting her to pick you up from school, or to even pay your bills. You got a job and started contributing what you could so you could keep the lights on. You knew it wasn't right, that this isn't how a parent should act. But she was still your mom, she still loved you, right? If not, then what was all this for.

---

A/n: I think I made readers life too tragic, sorry. Parts of this were based on my own experiences growing up but nothing this bad, so feel free to tell you what you think.

#yandere x reader #soft yandere #platonic yandere #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #platonic yandere hazbin hotel #yandere hazbin hotel #platonic yandere helluva boss #yandere helluva boss #helluva boss x reader

[wutheringmights]

After I finished reading The Epic of Gilgamesh today, I entered a fugue state where I sat down and read the entirety of Alanna: The First Adventure by Tamora Pierce.

On the record, I have had a lifelong love and adoration for Pierce's Tortall books. I first read the Song of the Lioness quartet when I was 11, and they rewrote my brain. I love them so much. I reread them and the other Tortall books on a semi-frequent schedule.

It's been a while since I reread any of the Alanna books, if only because my sister took our shared copies when she moved out. I've been meaning to buy my own set for a long while now but haven't been able to justify the purchase. The other week, I just so happened to find the first two volumes at my local indie bookstore. I bought them immediately, as well as ordered the third and fourth book. (And discovered that the store owner knows me by name-- when I went to pick up my order, she saw me and said, Hi Frankie! I got your books over here.) (I may be spending too much money there.)

So I have been in a bit of an emotional rut these past few weeks. Work sucks. Life stinks. The temptation to run off to Tortall and curl up in the fantasy story that captivated me as a kid has never been stronger.

Ergo, I ran off to read the first book as soon as I could.

If you're looking for any critique of this book, series, or Tortall in general, I will never give it. Sure, it's problematic and dated, and in many ways imperfect, but someone else can list out all of its issues. They're all perfect to me.

Anyway, the book. I should say something about this book in particular.

One thing I appreciate about Pierce's writing is how she handles school settings in fantasy. Learning and training is so mundane. All of her heroines have to work hard and put in extra hours of study in order to improve, much less keep up with their peers. It's so normal that it circles around to being weirdly refreshing.

Also, there is still no other fantasy author who handles period talk and birth control the way Pierce does. We make fun of the trope of fantasy birth control nowadays, but I rarely see it presented as it is here: as a part of normal puberty lessons and given long before sex is in the girl's radar. And even today with the glut of YA fantasy stories out there, I still have yet to see menstruation be portrayed as frequently or as bluntly as Pierce writes it.

There was a period of time publishers really tried to push the Tortall books as straight YA, which doesn't work for that reason alone. You gotta market them to middle schoolers. They're the ones just starting puberty talks, and getting scenes like this is so good for their brains.

Moving on: I fucking love these characters. Alanna was an icon of brash, temperamental heroines that have shaped my taste to this day. I love how even in the first book, Jon is kinda shitty. I adore George Cooper. Talk about a taste maker the way this man sets a standard.

I just can't be coherent when it comes to any Tortall books. I have no thoughts. Head empty. I am going to binge the rest of this series as quickly as I can before my library book comes in. Then normal book content will resume.

Before I go, I need to talk about the book covers.

Growing up, my sister and I had these covers:

Which, god. I love them. The black is striking. The art is incredible. Alanna looks so good. They were the perfect pocket-size too. I was going to buy the same edition for my copies, but instead I got the 40th anniversary reprints:

Not bad at all! These books have had some seriously bad covers, and these look great! Very anime, which will appeal to the 11 year olds who need to have their socks rocked by this series.

But, man. I really miss those black covers. One day I will splurge and buy a second set of them just so that I can stare at the art.

#having a not normal time on tumblr dot come right now #alanna my beloved #if you were a deity i would worship you #me rambling #me reading #bookish #books and reading #books #bookblr #Alanna: the first adventure #the song of the lioness #tortall #tamora pierce

[rrking]

Some General BG HCs

Me and my wifey often discuss Astarion things in real life, and there are a few that I thought I would share.

Spoiler warning⚠

Astarion

Random knowledge bank. Meeting your parents for the first time and your dad wants to talk about history? Ask Astarion, if he doesn't just know, he remembers.

Enjoys going to the library. Does not enjoy the rabble who also enjoy the library. You have to explain to him over and over about library cards and infrared scanners so he doesn't just nope out and steal the book. Also gets annoyed when books from his time are revised.

Don't want to touch the raw meat packaging? No worries, Astarion will lick it up for you. Imagine him leant against the kitchen counter sucking up the blood from that piece of paper at the bottom of the mince. (A wifey thought)

On the subject of blood, if you cut your finger in the house he will be licking that up for you with a leering grin. Dragging it out so he can watch how you roll your eyes at him.

Comes in late, as usual, but this time after taking out every fucking goose or pigeon in the local area. The council are unhappy. Astarion is ecstatic. Word of a bird plague is sweeping through the borough. You are not happy with Astarion. Astarion doesn't care about the council until they put your council tax up.

Glares out of the window at kids playing but won't admit they're kind of cute. Especially glarey when kids come to the door trick or treating. Bonus points if they're dressed as vampires... Maybe he'll compliment them. "Darlings, look at your adorable little capes! Does your mother know you lot are prancing around dressed like monsters?" Will absolutely deny any niceties when you look at him knowingly, a smirk appearing on your lips as you notice the bucket of sweets he's holding, still excited after giving the children far more than they needed. or asked for.

Moans and groans when you watch vampire films. "Darling, turn that nonsense off, would you? Were you curious about vampires, you have one right here."

Groans even more when you watch law and order style programs, particularly court ones. Bad memories. "And why did he not get the death sentence?!"

Serial social media meme stealer.

Always creeps up behind you when you are looking in the mirror, ready to scare you. Or shag you, you be the judge.

Gale

Want chippy but don't want to get up or wait for an order? Blink. Gale will blink there and back. What's faster than Uber Eats? Going via the Astral Plane.

100000% will make you a brew if you ask :) He turns up with your favourite mug and your drink exactly the way you like it.

The type of man to run you a hot bath ready when you get in from work or if you've had a hard day just because.

Definitely discovers Nivea for Men.

Remembers things like birthdays and anniversaries.

Sees shiny things and wonders if they're infused with the weave. Gazing through the jewellery shop window.

Suffers through Harry Potter at Christmas wondering where all the elegant wizards are.

Started a thing where you leave post it notes for one another with sweet nothings on. Today as you're walking past the calendar pinned to the kitchen wall, you spot a new post it note. This one is pink and bares Gale's graceful handwriting. It reads: "My most special one, everyday I wake up next to you I feel luckier than the last. Have a great day x" Such devoted notes leave you feeling warm inside.

Halsin

Prefers to buy 'living herbs' than ground jar ones because NATURE.

Is that person who goes past an adult shop and says loudly "let's go inside!"

Definitely gets stuck in garden chairs and the like due to being so massive. Don't get this man in a smart car.

Stands up at barbecues if the chair is too small. It probably is.

Literally has to be told to avoid the bear story to others because they will not understand but tells it anyway if he gets too drunk.

Actually finds it quite difficult to adapt to modern society almost more than Lae'zel.

If you live in the countryside, Halsin definitely finds it a little easier, but if you live in the city he is constantly asking questions. The thing that catches his eye today is a statue above the bank door - a lion with a key in his mouth. "Does that petrified displacer beast not wish to return to the wilderness?" "Halsin, that is a statue of a lion with a key in it's mouth." "...Oh. Why does it guard a key?" You look at him curiously, unsure of how to answer such an innocent question. "It's just HSBC's thing... I don't actually know."

Struggles to find clothes that actually fit.

Will share you a meme you tagged him in and never truly understand the new technology.

Totally enjoys long walks and feeding ducks. Eats all of the bread.

Tries to speak to the animals at the zoo. (Wifey)

Incosolably weeps at nature programs. Very confused when you try to explain that nature has to take it's course for them to film.

First thought upon seeing CGI animals dancing and talking : "IT'S A DRUID!"

Votes Green Party.

Lae'zel

Lae'zel struggles the most to integrate into modern society.

She takes up some form of fighting WWE and does not understand why the fighters don't actually hurt each other.

She complains about this after making absolute bank of course. "Ch'k! These istik talk about fighting for glory - Yet they simply roughhouse for pitiful coin." "Yeah, but look at how famous you are, Lae'zel..." Rollin', rollin', all my bitches rollin'.

Hates ood in Doctor Who for obvious reasons. "Tsk'va, ghaik!"

Wifey came up with 'Bae'zel'.

Karlach

Believes stupid spam emails you have to send onto others. (Wifey thought of this)

Shares that post of the missing dog on the other side of the world who was found 3 years ago.

Discovers TikTok, only shares animal videos and smashes TikTok dances.

Discovers aircon. 🥺

Discovers hot wing challenges... Excels at said hot wing challenges. and collects all the t shirts for winning food challenges.

Shadowheart

Posts things on Facebook like 'Shar/Selune keeps me in check. Like, share and comment 'Praise be to Shar/Selune' if she keeps you in check." Definitely gets flamed by the others.

Ends up with cute hobbies like paper quilling and crafts. Makes things for you. "You've really improved your crochet, Shadowheart! What is this one called?" Gives him a simple name like Bob or Clyde and puts him with the rest, cramming the mantle with them.

#imagines #bg3 #bg #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate tav #tav #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #gale dekarios #gale x reader #gale x you #halsin #halsin x reader #halsin x tav #halsin x you #karlach #karlach x you #karlach x reader #karlach x tav #karlach cliffgate #shadowheart #shadowheart x you #shadowheart x reader #shadowheart x tav #jenevelle hallowleaf #lae'zel

[holylulusworld]

Dreams of sharp teeth - Halloween

This story was written for @viking-raider's HALLOWEEN-KINKTOBER CHALLENGE. 🎃

This story was also written for @navybrat817 & @darkficsyouneveraskedfor 𝕹𝖆𝖛𝖞 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕽𝖔𝖔 𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖙: 𝕬𝖑𝖑 𝕳𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜’𝖘 𝕿𝖗𝖔𝖕𝖊𝖘 - I used the following tropes:

An unwanted houseguest

Power outage

A string of unexplained deaths

Summary: People disappear in your sleepy town.

Work Name/Title: Dreams of sharp teeth

Author: Holylulusworld

Fandom: Henry Cavill (MI & Night hunter)

Ship: Werewolf!Walter Marshall x fem!Reader x Werewolf!August Walker

Square filled for @halloweenhorrorbingo: Square 3: Wouldn't even harm a fly.

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2023

Halloween was always special to you. The costumes, carving pumpkins, and watching scary movies with your boyfriend.

Sadly, you are not allowed to leave your house tonight to watch the kids raid candy and have a few drinks with your friends. 

A string of unexplained deaths keeps people in your sleepy little town awake. It’s not unusual for people to die or get killed in accidents. But these days, people disappear and never get found. 

The few that got found were missing something important. Their hearts. That’s very unusual and concerning. Especially when the worst crime ever happening in your sleepy towns was when a few teenagers stole a car and crashed it. 

Your boyfriend is somewhere across the country, and you are alone in the empty house, feeling a little under the weather as you caught a cold from one of the kids at the local library where you’re working at.

It feels like the hours passed by in a blink, and dusk falls soon after you dragged yourself out of bed. You yawn and try to get your legs to obey. 

It’s a struggle but you manage to walk inside the kitchen to make some coffee.

You hate the dark liquid, but you are scared to fall asleep since the killings started - like everyone else in town. If only you can stay awake until dawn, the nightmares will go away.

The monotone noise the coffee brewer makes lures you into sleep again. Your eyes feel heavy, and you yawn once again. “I need to stay awake,” you remind yourself as you remember the dream you had last night.

Teeth - sharp and deadly haunt your dreams. And voices. Deep voice luring you in, calling for you in the darkness. They say your name and promise a life beyond your imagination.

Watching the coffee run into the cup you sigh. If only you could sleep for a few hours. It’s all you want and need. Your migraine is getting worse with every hour you force yourself to stay awake and you are so tired it’s painful.

“Just a few more hours,” you take a large sip of the bitter brew. “Hang on, Y/N. The curfew will be over soon. They will hunt the wolves killing the people in town down, and you can go back to your normal life.”

You chuckle as you realize that you tend to talk to yourself lately. With no one around, and no chance to leave the house, you are stuck here with too many thoughts running through your mind.

Maybe watching a movie will take your mind off the current situation in your town. You walk back inside your living room, searching for the remote control to switch the TV on. As you plop down onto the sofa, you groan as your bad knee cracks again.

“You’re getting old, Y/N,” you chuckle to yourself. “That’s payback for all the times you made fun of your mother for complaining about her age, and the little aches and pains that come with it.”

You take another sip of your coffee and switch to another channel. Horror movies are out of the question. The horror you experience in your dreams is enough. 

Switching channels, you try to find anything else to watch but a horror movie. You sigh, as you end up watching a talk show. 

Between sipping at the unwanted coffee and watching nonsense on TV you try not to fall asleep. Eyes trained on the tv you try to follow the conversation going on between the host and their guests. It’s boring but distracts you from the nightmare you had.

“It’s not that bad,” you lie to yourself while listening to the show. You are about to laugh about something the host said when the TV turns black. “NO!” All the lights go out, and you are sitting in darkness. 

Not another power outage. That’s the last thing you need right now. Fear grips your heart hearing noise come from outside your house. You grab your phone and run toward the front door to double-check if you locked it.

It’s locked, and you feel a little safer. Next is the back door, and all the windows. You almost run upstairs to check on your bedroom window, only to find it closed too.

“Y/N, you need to calm down,” you tell yourself once again. It’s hard to remain calm while people in town disappear, and die, though. “Relax. This is only another power outage. Nothing will happen to you.”

It doesn’t matter that your doors are locked. You walk back inside the kitchen and get the biggest knife you own. Your boyfriend will call you paranoid or crazy when he comes back, but you don’t care.

Better safe than sorry.

You walk back upstairs when someone knocks at your door. It’s in the dead of the night, and you don’t want to open the door. 

But what if one of your neighbors is in trouble? 

Maybe Mrs. Sinclair, a widow who can barely walk. Or Annie, from three houses down, a nurse with a heart of gold. You cannot ignore them, not if someone is in trouble.

Turning back around, the knife still in your hands you silently walk down the stairs. You’re a good neighbor, but you don’t want whoever is standing in front of your door to know that you are at home.

You look through the peephole, frowning because you can’t see shit.

“Hi, miss. I’m Walter from across the street. Your new neighbor. I mean we moved to town some months ago, but I wasn’t around much lately.”

“Walter,” you whisper and try to remember the people who moved into the only vacant house in your neighborhood.

“Walter Marshall, miss. I was checking on the neighbors if anyone needs help,” he says. “I’m with the police.”

“I locked the doors, and my boyfriend is here with me,” you don’t know why you lie to Walter, but you do. “He checks the windows. We are good, really.”

He chuckles darkly, and you step away from the door. “Sweetie, we both know you are all alone. I can hear your heart racing and smell your fear.”

Smell your fear? How’s that even possible?

You only know one thing for sure - that you won’t open the door for him. No matter what. You step backward, almost knocking the small coffee table next to your couch over as he knocks again. 

“Sweetie, open the door. It will make things so much easier for you and us.”

“Go away,” you shiver as he knocks again, louder this time. “Please just leave me alone.”

“I can’t,” he almost sounds sorry. “Y/N, you are not having a cold. Didn’t you ask yourself why so many people died after you got scratched by the kid in the library?”

You shake your head. How can he know about the incident and your cold?

“We know because we were there that day,” another voice says. You feel his hands on you, holding your trembling body in a tight grip. His strong arms wrap around your body. “Let us help you before you hurt more people. It’s not your fault. We should’ve been there to guide you through this.”

“August, go easy on her. She doesn’t know,” your eyes widen when the front door opens. You are sure you locked it and now your neighbor invades your home. “Hold her tight, we need to bring her to the basement before the moon rises again. She cannot control her powers yet.”

“What do you want? Let me go! Now,” you grow and snarl in Walter’s direction. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. “I’ll kill you.”

��I know you are confused,” August whispers in your ear. “But you need to listen to us. The kid that bit you wasn’t a normal child. It was our cousin’s boy and a werewolf. He cannot control his instinct.”

“He’s a good boy. Usually, he wouldn't even harm a fly. But the full moon was close, and you tried to take the book out of his hands. We are sorry, but you are one of us now,” Walter steps closer to cup your face. “You need to come with us before you hurt more people.”

“So far, we were able to cover your attacks. If you run around town and attack more people, they will find out about our secret, and we cannot let this happen.”

“I don’t…understand. I was at the library and then I…” you frown. “I lost track of time. My boyfriend…I need to call him. I…”

“Sweetie,” Walter tries to calm you. Your eyes glow, and you snap your teeth in his direction. “This is going to be hard to stomach but...”

August holds you a little tighter before he says, “He was your first victim…”

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! This is the end of this year's kinktober.

Tags in reblog.

#walter marshall #august walker #halloween horror bingo 2023 #hhb2023 #werewolf au #werewolf!walter marshall #werewolf!august walker #Dreams of sharp teeth - Halloween #kinktober vs flufftober 2023

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x fem!reader

during - part five

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

and then it all comes crashing down.

a/n: outbreak day! plus the time leading up. I couldn’t bring myself to write joel’s side of the tragedy, but here we are. the start of “during”. potentially a little bit of canon-divergence from here until the “after”, but I’m trying to stick with that information we have, while filling in the gaps for reader’s story. (“after” will be when they leave boston with ellie)

word count: 4.4k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, fluff, a super brief mention of 9/11, this is definitely not as sad as part four but it’s also involves outbreak day so there’s that, canon-typical violence, death, yes I am turning reader into a badass and I will not apologize.

✨follow @friskito-library and turn on notifications for updates on new works/chapters✨

You never really stop thinking about him. And he never really stops being apart of your life, not truly.

He’s the first person you call, when the Towers fall in New York, not a week after you’ve started your internship. You see it on television, standing in line to get your boss his daily latte, and you pull out your cell phone without a second thought, dialling Joel’s number. “Have you seen the news?”

A freak snowstorm stops you from getting home for Christmas that year; the airport is a disaster to get through after everything that’s happened, so you take a few days off to drive it instead, but you can’t even get out of the state, let alone across the country. So your holidays that year are spent with local friends you’ve made at work, calling your family on Christmas Day and New Year’s.

You try to call Joel on New Year’s, to wish him a good year as the clock strikes twelve, but the call goes to voicemail, and your friends are counting down the ball drop as you ramble into the phone.

Hey, it’s me! Just calling to say Happy New Year, hope you’re having a good night. And hope I get to see more of you in 2002. That year sounds so funny, doesn’t it? Talk to you soon, Joel Miller. Bye.

You almost say it, the words creeping up the back of your throat. The missing him hasn’t abated, even with the time and the distance. You sleep in one of the flannel shirts you’d stolen every night, and you’ll admit that you cried a little when you had to wash them, realizing that it would wash the scent of him away almost completely.

The phone calls get more sporadic, and you don’t blame him. There’s only an hour time difference between Texas and Massachusetts, but it feels like much more. You’re off-kilter from one another, always seeming to catch each other’s voicemail instead of the real person.

You manage to make it home for the Fourth of July the following summer, your internship having turned into a real job, but a real job that’s kept you busier than ever for the first half of the year. Your boss is, blessedly, understanding, and lets you take two weeks to go back to Austin.

He meets you at the airport, your name scrawled on a piece of paper, a bouquet of daisies in his grip, and you nearly burst into tears right there in the terminal. Your entire two weeks is filled with him, though you try to split your time between the Miller’s house and your own, letting your sister talk your ear off more than she already does on the phone, taking a few afternoons to help your dad around the hardware store. But almost every night finds you in Joel’s bed.

You all go to the park for fireworks on the Fourth. Your parents are re-introduced to Joel, though you’re both adamantly just calling each other “good friends” — which earns you an eye roll from your sister. Sarah runs around the field with the other kids, waving sparklers and giggling like mad. You stick close to Joel, the three of you sitting on a blanket in the grass, and you watch the firework together, your head resting on his shoulder, his arm swung around your waist. Sarah’s too preoccupied with the firework display to notice.

When you get home the next morning, your sister hands you a polaroid, the words July 4th 2002 written in sharpie along the border. It’s you and Joel, backlit, your head on his shoulder as a gigantic white firework explodes in the night sky. You don’t know what to say.

“I know you never wanted to leave him,” she says, and you nearly burst into tears as you hug her.

It’s another tearful goodbye when your two weeks are up, and you’re a fool to think it’d be any easier than the first time. You say goodbye to your parents first, and Joel picks you up in his truck, taking you to the airport. He kisses you deeply outside, burying his hands in your hair and squeezing you tight before letting you go.

And always the same farewell, the same thing he said when you first left, the same thing he’s said at the end of every phone call.

“Take care of yourself, baby.”

+

You meet Dean through a friend of a friend.

It’s almost Christmas, 2002, and you haven’t been home since July. Your phone calls with Joel have dwindled to almost non-existent; you just don’t have the time. Work is busy, to the point where you find yourself still sat at your desk until nearly midnight some nights. And you’re still missing each other, voicemails left occasionally, the missed calls stacking up through the week until it’s the weekend and you feel too tired to put yourself through the heartbreak of hearing his voice.

Hey, darlin’, it’s me. I keep missin’ ya, I guess. Hope you’re doin’ okay. Don’t work too hard, yeah? Been thinking about you a lot and I just…Take care of yourself.

It felt like a goodbye. Standing in your kitchen, takeout spread out on your counter, chopsticks in hand. He hadn’t said it, not specifically. There was no I can’t do this anymore, no this hurts too much, doesn’t it hurt you too? But it still felt like a finality, of sorts.

You took the takeout to bed with a bottle of wine.

That weekend, your friends drag you out to some party. A housewarming thing for someone you don’t know, a fancy loft on the other side of the city. It’s as good a reason as any to get out of your head, throwing on a new dress and a bit of makeup. You do shots in your apartment before piling into a cab, tipsy by the time you get to the party. There’s lots of faces you don’t know, your friends pulling you through the crowds, one of them grinning at you.

“You have to meet Dean.”

He’s tall. Sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes and he’s a lawyer. He laughs at your jokes and gets you another drink when you finish your first. He’s from Boston; a pure-bred, he tells you, and chuckles when you ask to see his pedigree.

You wake up in his bed the next day, your dress and shoes scattered on the floor of his stupidly nice apartment, head throbbing with a hangover, guilt bubbling up on your tongue like bile. Dean makes you coffee and calls you a cab, gives you a business card with his number on it. “God, this feels like a business deal,” he says, shaking his head, nearly taking the card back. “I can find a takeout menu or something, write my number on that instead.”

“No, this is good,” you laugh, and the guilt mixes with something strangely giddy when he kisses you goodbye.

When you get home, you wrap yourself in the flannel you’d taken from Joel, and weep. Part of you whispers that you shouldn’t feel guilty, that Joel’s all the way across the country, that you two aren’t technically together to begin with, but it does little to ease the ache in your chest.

Your friend calls in the early afternoon, and when she hears the crack in your voice, she’s on your doorstep not thirty minutes later. You spill your guts — recount the story of you and Joel, show her the polaroid from the Fourth of July, tell her everything, until you’re crying on your couch again.

“Honey, maybe you should talk to him,” she tells you, and you know she’s right, but the idea of talking to Joel just makes your chest hurt more. “This isn’t good for either of you, holding on like this when you can’t be together. Talk to him.”

Joel beats you to the punch, calling you shortly after your friend has left. “Hey, finally got you instead of your voicemail.”

“Hah, yeah,” you reply, sinking a little deeper into the couch. “Sorry I keep missing you.”

“S’okay,” he mumbles, and it only hurts more when you can almost see him in your head, sitting on his couch or at the edge of his bed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” you lie, wiping the wet from your cheeks. “Just busy lately, y’know?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, then pauses. “You sure you’re okay?”

You inhale deeply, feeling the air rattle its way through your lungs. “Joel, I met someone.”

It’s a long moment, before he says anything, so long you think you’ve lost him for a second, that he hung up. But then, “That’s good.”

“Is it?”

“No,” he says instantly, and you both let out watery laughs. “No, but it…It is good. You’re all the way out there and I’m here and…Missin’ you, not havin’ you around, it hurts, y’know?”

“I do,” you agree, biting into your lower lip when it wobbles. “I miss you too, Joel, it’s just—”

“I know, baby,” he replies, and the tone in his voice makes your eyes slip shut, tears pouring down your cheeks. “I gotta go, I promised Sarah movie night. We’ll….we’ll talk soon, alright?” A pause. “Take care of yourself.”

The line goes dead for real then, and you launch your phone across the room, groaning when it lands on the carpet and doesn’t smash to pieces. You bury yourself in the pillows on the couch, and just cry.

Dean calls the following week, and asks you out to dinner. Dinner evolves into more than that, more dates and more conversation. He works two blocks down from you, and brings you coffee every morning on his way to his office. He takes you to museums and art galleries and introduces you to his friends. It’s easy to fall for him, and you let yourself do it. He kisses you at midnight on New Year’s, whispers that 2003 is going to be the best year of your lives.

You have no idea how wrong he will turn out to be.

+

It’s September 26th, 2003. It’s your twenty-fifth birthday.

It starts out like a normal day; as normal as it can be, lately. You’ve made a point to ignore the news as best you can, letting Dean recap it for you when he gets home each day, filling you in on the water cooler talk that you only half listen to.

Dean’s up and gone when you wake up, but there’s a birthday card beside your pillow, a cartoon cake with a silly face. You’re another year older… And the inside reads: and other year cuter! Happy Birthday! It’s cheesy and you scoff out a laugh, getting up and going about your morning routine. A fire truck screams down the road when you walk out of the building, cop cars trailing after it, but you think nothing of it; sirens are a common occurrence in the city.

It’s a short walk from your apartment — the apartment you now share with Dean, the pair of you having relocated somewhere that was closer to both your jobs — to work, and you stop by your favourite coffee shop, only slightly disappointed when they don’t have the raspberry scones you like. “It’s a supply chain thing,” the girl behind the counter tells you with a shrug. “They haven’t been able to get ingredients in for weeks. I’m just glad we have coffee.”

“That makes two of us,” you agree, taking your cup with a nod. “Have a good day!”

“You, too!”

There’s a big bouquet of roses waiting on your desk, the card signed with Dean’s name, and the other girls ooh and ahh at the arrangement. One of them asks you if you think he’ll propose, and you have to resist the urge to sprint in the opposite direction.

Dean calls on your lunch break, tells you he’s already pre-ordered from your favourite Thai place, and it’ll be waiting for you when you get home from your post-work drinks with your friends. When he tells you he loves you, it still makes your chest ache, just a touch.

You still think about Joel. It’s hard not to. After that last call, when you told him you’d met Dean, you called back a few days later, unable to stop yourself. There were apologies, from both him and you, and the conversation ended with a promise that you’d still stay in touch, that it would still be friendly between you, and that maybe someday could be an option, if the time was right, but you wouldn’t stand in each other’s way.

So you’ve stayed in touch. The phone calls are still more sporadic than anything, but it’s always nice to hear his voice, and he always has a joke to crack. And, consistent Joel Miller, at the end of every phone call: “Take care of yourself, darlin’.”

You get a surprising amount of work done that day, your friends appearing at five o’clock on the dot and dragging you away from your computer. You let them buy you happy hour drinks and put a Birthday Princess tiara on your head, laugh your way through the evening until it’s almost nine. You thank you friends and leave the bar, and think as you walk past one of the little corner store grocery shops that you could really use a chocolate bar.

You’re walking down the toiletries aisle, the basket hanging from your elbow filled with not just chocolate, but a few other things you couldn’t resist, when your phone rings, an Austin area code flashing on the screen.

“I didn’t know today was your birthday,” Joel says by way of hello, and you giggle. “How have I known you this long and not known that you and I have the same birthday?”

“You never asked,” you answer, reaching for a tissue box with a fun pattern, “and it never came up, really. Wait, today’s your birthday too?”

“Thirty-six and still breathin’,” he confirms, and you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. “I stopped by the hardware store today for a few things, your dad told me.”

“Ahh.” Your parents had called you just before you’d left for work. “That store must be so boring without me in it.”

“It really is,” Joel agrees, and then his voice drops. “No one around to make out with in the aisles.” A beat, and then. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you say quickly, shaking your head even though you know he can’t see it, the memory of being pressed between the shelves of paint cans and Joel Miller making your face heat. “It’s a good memory.”

“It is,” he agrees, making a little humming noise. “So, boyfriend got big plans for you tonight?”

“Thai food and a movie,” you tell him, grabbing a bottle of toilet cleaner. “Just left the bar, had some drinks with my work friends. Never really been a big birthday person, y’know?”

“You’re preaching to the choir, darlin’.”

“What about you, Joel Miller?” you ask, heading down the next aisle. A lot of the shelves are empty, and it makes your brow furrow. “What big birthday plans do you have this evening?”

“Hah, none,” he replies. “Working a double with Tommy, just took a break now. Told Sarah I’d be home by nine, but I don’t know if that’ll work out. They gave us the wrong size for the headers and…” He trails off. “That doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?”

“I’d listen to you read the phone book,” you joke. “At least get yourself a cake? Something like that? If I’d known we shared the same birthday I would have had my sister bring something over for you.”

“Sarah made me breakfast, got me out of bed on time. That’s all I need, really.”

“Is it?”

You don’t mean the question to sound as heavy as it does, and silence hangs between you for a long moment before you stutter out an apology. Joel’s quick to change the subject.

“Boyfriend is still your boyfriend, right? No ring on your finger yet?”

“You know, you’re the second person to bring that up today,” you say, heading down the next aisle. It’s just as empty as the one before, and your confusion deepens. “You want the truth?”

“Generally.”

“If he asked, I don’t think I’d say yes.” Heat rises in your face, and you stutter again. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“You can tell me anything,” he replies, and there’s a softness in his tone that you recognize, making warmth spread through your chest. “I’m always here for you, darlin’. I know things are different now, but I’m still here.”

“I appreciate that.”

You hear Tommy’s voice in the background, and Joel curses under his breath. “I gotta go. Enjoy your night. Happy Birthday.”

“You, too. Happy Birthday, Joel,” you reply, a smile in your voice, and then the line clicks off.

You loop through the rest of the aisles, sliding your phone back into your pocket. When you ask the cashier about the empty shelves, you get the same answer you’d gotten at the coffee shop. “Supply chain issues.”

The apartment is quiet when you get inside, tossing your keys into the bowl beside the door. The Thai food is sitting on the counter, as promised, and you set your grocery bags down beside it, stealing a few noodles before calling for Dean. “Honey, I’m home!”

There’s no response, and you assume he must be in the shower, so you pad down the hall. The bedroom light is off, moonlight flooding through the window, and as you step into the doorway, you see him, standing there, facing the window. His hands are at his sides, and as you watch, his hand twitches, the movement making your brow furrow.

“Dean?” you call, taking a half-step forward. In an instant, something feels wrong, and worry rises in your chest, makes your heart racket against your ribs. “Babe, what’s going on?”

He turns then, so fast you can’t even blink before it happens. And he just…stares. There’s no light in his eyes, just a dead look that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You say his name again, the worry seeping into your voice, and then he snarls.

“Fuck.”

You don’t understand what’s happening, but your body seems to react of it’s own accord. Dean lunges toward you, an inhuman sound falling out of him, and your eyes skirt around, looking for something to protect yourself with as he scrambles over the bed, limbs flailing, those dead eyes boring into you. Your hand flashes out, curling around the leather-wrapped handle of the baseball bat, and as you’re knocked to the ground, you use it as a barrier, shoving the metal against his chest.

His face is all wrong. It’s not just the dead eyes; his teeth are yellowed and his gums blackened as he snaps at you, trying to claw at you. White marks have risen all over his face, spreading out like a map beneath his skin.

What the fuck is going on?

You manage to plant your foot on his chest, and shove with all your might, yelling as the movement makes your knees twinge. He doesn’t go far, but it’s enough to get him off of you, and you scramble backwards, throwing the door shut as you run for the kitchen, the bat held tightly in your grasp. Heart racing, you find the biggest knife you can in the kitchen, sucking down hurried breaths. You’re in shock.

There’s a flash of red outside the balcony door, and you turn to see flames explode from the building across from yours. On the streets below, cars start to crash into each other, the sound of sirens twice as loud. You can hear people screaming, even through the glass.

A loud bang pulls you back into the apartment, and you turn just as Dean comes sprinting down the hall, losing his balance and skidding across the carpet. You throw the kitchen knife as he lunges for you, but it misses, the blade bouncing off his chest and sliding beneath the coffee table. A guttural growl echoes through the apartment, and when he leaps at you, you swing.

Your first hit smacks his shoulder. It doesn’t do much, but he lets out a pained yowl and when you swing again, there’s a sickening crack. He swipes at you, lunging again as you stumble backwards through the living room, the couch toppling over as you both fall onto it. His fingers dig into your shoulder and you scream, pain radiating through your arm, but you tighten your grip on the bat and ram the end of it into his face.

Another growl, another swing. You manage to get to your feet, blood pouring down your arm, painting your blouse crimson, and you put the kitchen island between you and him, moving quickly, keeping the bat held high.

When he jumps again, you swing. Hard. The bat connects with his temple, his neck cracking loudly as his head snaps to the side, and he slumps to the ground, blood pouring from his mouth. The metal rings as you drop the bat, collapsing onto the kitchen floor a moment later, blinding grabbing for one of the dishrags hanging from the stove, covering your shoulder with it and clamping your hand over the wound.

Why is this happening?

You’re not quite sure how long you’re sat there, curled against the cabinets. The bleeding on your shoulder slows, but doesn’t stop completely, and you’re starting to feel lightheaded. Not just the blood loss, you know, but the shock. Dean’s body has stopped twitching, but there’s something seeping out of his mouth, curling across the tile. When you spot the movement, you’re on your feet in a second, blinking past the momentary wooziness, grabbing the bat again.

When you click on the television, a loud beep echoes, nothing but a black screen, and you try to change the channel, but it’s the same on every one. Finally, the beep ends, and a robotic voice takes its place.

…indoors. Law enforcement and emergency services are in the area and will be in contact with further instructions. Stay indoors…

Over and over again.

Your arm is pulsing, the rag on your shoulder wet with blood. You need to clean it, you think. You need some water, you need to—

The phone starts ringing. Your phone. Cell phone. Where you left it, in your purse. Your purse is by the door, across the apartment. You have to walk around Dean to get there, and you go slow, your eyes glued to his unmoving form. The bat is still in your hand, the end of it dragging over the carpet as you walk towards the door. Another metallic noise when it hits hardwood.

Your eyes are still on Dean as you dig in your purse, on the thing still coming out of his mouth, crawling along the grout lines in the tile. Out, out, out, you need to get out, you need to get away, you need to—

Your fingers close around your cell. Hit the button, bring it to your ear.

“Are you safe?” Joel barks, and you nearly drop the phone, the sound of his voice slamming you back into your head, your breath hitching so hard you almost choke. “Baby, where are you?”

“Home,” you cry, leaning against the wall, gripping the bat so hard your knuckles hurt. “I-I got home and Dean, he just…he…I…” You wheeze, your breath not enough, your head feeling lighter, your vision spotting with black. “He’s dead. I’m bleeding.”

“It’s everywhere,” he says, his voice low, and he keeps talking, but you don’t think he’s talking to you. You space out, your gaze glued to the body on your floor, until Joel says your name. “Why are you bleeding? What happened?”

“He…” you trail off, your eyes focusing on Dean’s bloody knuckles, limp on the kitchen floor. “He grabbed me, he…he was trying to bite me.”

“Did he?”

“No,” you say, your voice sounding a bit more sure. You shake your head, pressing your palm against your shoulder. The pain spikes, but it helps, clears your head a bit. “It’s a scratch. Deep.”

“You need to clean it, you hear me?” Joel says. “Patch yourself up, baby, all right? You have a first aid kit?”

You drop the bat, pressing the back of your hand against your forehead. You’re shaking. “In the bathroom.”

“Good, go, do it now. I’m not hanging up until you do.”

You reach for the bat again, use it as a prop to get back to your feet. You cast Dean’s still form one more glance before retreating down the hallway. He’d burst through the bedroom door, and wood splinters cover the floor, the door still half on its hinge, split down the middle.

“Joel, why is this happening?” you ask, your voice climbing, fear taking over. You get into the bathroom, momentarily shaken by your appearance in the mirror. Your hair wild, the blood smeared along your chest and neck, your stained and torn blouse. “What is happening?”

“I don’t know,” he replies, and the thread of fear in his voice makes tears spring in your eyes. “But I want you to listen to me, okay? You patch yourself up, you grab what you can, and you run. You understand? Get in your car and get out of the city, as fast as you can. You don’t wait, you don’t stop for anyone, and you just keep going.”

You nod for a moment before you realize he can’t see you. “Okay. What do I…?”

“I’ll find you, baby,” he says, and the surety in his voice makes everything in you ache. “I’m gonna find you, you hear me? Just get out of Boston and I swear to you, I’m—”

Static. Dead air. Gone.

“Joel? No, come back, Joel, please—” You stare at the phone, try to redial the number, hit the button over and over and over and over. No signal, the screen informs you.

Nothing. Nothing but the sound of your own heartbeat, the rapid pulse against your ribs, the breaths that seem to rattle through your lungs. Outside of that, silence.

You slam the phone down, slam your hands against the bathroom sink.

“Joel!”

PREV | NEXT

#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers

[strangerqueerthings]

The Camaro

Neil was adamant: Billy had to get his own car if he wanted to go anywhere that wasn't school, and he had to pay for it himself.

Billy was equally adamant that he was going to get his hands on one.

So he worked his ass off, starting at the age of thirteen. He started small and local, mowing lawns, or offering to help elderly neighbors with grocery shopping- and bringing them in for them afterwards.

The latter got him far more pinched cheeks than he wanted, but when he laid on the charm, he was paid well.

To his delight, an elderly neighbor, Mister Grant, gifted him with a bike. His grandson never visited anymore now that he was in college, and Billy had been so helpful with the yard work, so he was happy to give it to him.

Billy kept the bike at Mister Grant's, afraid that Neil would take it away, or worse, destroy it or give it away- if Neil knew that he'd been given something like a bike, he'd accuse Billy of being weak by accepting charity.

The bike opened up entirely new venues of work, expanding his reach. More work offers, thanks to the bike, and his work ethic- which was talked about, spread by word of mouth.

All the while, he checked out car maintenance books from the library, rode his bike to the closest mechanic and volunteered to help, in exchange for the mechanics explaining what they were doing, so he could learn as much as he could about cars.

By the time he was sixteen, three years of working in the sun, doing manual labor, Billy was tanned, fit, and had plenty of money to start searching for something even better than a bike.

His first car.

Billy had never even dared to dream about getting a new car, even a relatively new used car. He'd saved up nearly 1,500 dollars, had it hidden in various places to keep it out of Neil's reach, going to the bank to swap out coins and singles for bigger bills so it'd be easier to hide.

He had finally brought the bike to the house. He told Neil he'd bought it used, to help him get more work, and Neil had almost been pleased at his work ethic- but as Billy had expected, it was taken away as punishment whenever Billy pissed him off.

He browsed the sale pages in the newspapers, kept his ear to the ground for deals, and finally, a few months after his birthday, Sid told him a cousin was selling his Camaro.

"It's kinda shitty," he drawled, exhaling clove cigarette smoke into the summer air. "He swiped a few cars and a mailbox with it, so it needs body work. He also didn't do a lot maintenance on it, and it's a 79, so... yeah. He's selling it for cheap."

"Does it run?" Billy asked. That was all that mattered, really.

"Yeah," Sid said, nodding. "It runs, it just... it's a mess. Real fixer upper."

Billy hadn't minded in the least. He'd wanted something with horsepower, something that would be loud, go fast, but he'd suspected he'd get something rusted and slow with the money he had.

"How much?"

Sid shrugged.

"I think he said 900 or so, but you know... you could probably haggle."

Billy did just that. He ignored the scratches and dents- they were all cosmetic. What he pointed out were all the mechanical issues- just like the guys at the mechanics had told him.

'College kids who have something like a Z28? They don't know shit about cars, just the model,' Bert had said, and had showed him what to look for, and told him what to say to bluff his way into a reduced price.

"I don't know," he said, putting the dusky blue car into park after a test drive. "That clunk? That's a CV joint- either I'd have to replace the boot, or the entire front axle."

He popped the hood and got out, peering into the guts of the car he already wanted more than anything in his life- save for freedom from Neil. He winced audibly, a sharp, hissing intake of air through his teeth.

"Yeah, I dunno," he said, folding his arms over his chest. "The serpentine belt is starting to look a little frayed. I'd have to replace that before disaster hit."

He pulled the dipstick out, examining it, making a show of sniffing the oil on it, and made an overly exaggerated face.

"When's the last time you changed the oil, man? It smells burnt."

Derek looked taken aback, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Honestly... idunno," he said helplessly.

Billy replaced the dipstick, closed the hood with a loud clang and dusted his hands off.

"Yeah I dunno," he repeated. "Nine hundred bucks can get me a car that isn't riddled with issues- mechanical OR body."

"It's a Z28, man," Sid's cousin said, scowling.

"Yeah, but she's nearly fifteen years old, and she's been poorly maintained- and I'm being generous," Billy retorted. "I'd be better off saving up for another three years for something better than getting this heap. It'd cost me nine hundred to fix all the shit that's wrong with her."

Derek was quiet for a bit, and Billy shrugged, moving to pick up his bike and head home.

"Eight hundred," Derek blurted.

Billy paused, making a show of consideration.

"Six hundred."

"Seven hundred."

"Six fifty, and you write the bill of sale as five hundred so I don't pay as much on the title fees."

Derek sighed, defeated.

"Done."

Derek wrote out the bill of sale, and filled out the title. They both signed where appropriate, and Derek handed the title and keys over to Billy, who fought to keep his hands from shaking as he took them.

Registering the Camaro would have to wait- he couldn't take her home as she was. He took her to the shop, where Bert congratulated him on his haggling, and enthusiastically offered to help him fix her up.

By the time October came around, Billy pulled up at home in the Camaro, and Neil came outside, clearly surprised at the car his son had managed to find.

She was perfect.

He and Bert had changed out her fluids and filters, put new tires on her, replaced her old serpentine belt, put in a whole new front axle, and had hammered out and smoothed out the dents and scratches.

She looked good as new, gleaming in the driveway.

Billy handed him the title and bill of sale, showing him how much he'd paid, and Neil had immediately held out his hand for the keys.

"You may have paid for it, but legally, you can't own it until you're 18," he said. "When you turn 18, it's all yours, provided you don't do anything stupid."

Billy's heart sank, but he knew it was going to happen. He placed the keys in Neil's open palm, watching his father's fingers curl around them.

"I'm not going to ask how you got the money for a car that looks this good."

"She didn't," Billy blurted. "I worked on her. I fixed her up. She's been at Bert's. Bert helped me learn how to work on her, so I can maintain her upkeep without using my money for someone else to do it."

Neil glanced at the Camaro again, his look appraising, critical.

"And here I was worried that you'd learned nothing."

He turned to go back into the house.

"Glad to learn I was wrong."

Billy didn't dare read too much into it, but he could have sworn there was a note of pride in Neil's voice. It made the affection he felt for his new car swell in his chest.

Neil may have taken ownership of her for now, but he hadn't been mad. He hadn't punished Billy for taking initiative.

For once, he'd done something right, and the proof of it sat on four wheels, gleaming like a beacon of freedom in the driveway.

#billy hargrove #sqt drabble #Christine The Camaro

[local-lesbrarian]

Yesterday, the board of trustees for the library I work at voted unanimously against banning This Book Is Gay by Juno Dawson! This was a huge relief for me (and my fellow staff), and I just wanted to share a few takeaways from this experience.

For context, a library patron had submitted a formal request to have the book removed after seeing it displayed alongside other recent additions to our YA section. He took issue with, of course, the chapter on sex ed and provided pages of out-of-context quotes and straight-up lies to make the book appear "dangerous." Lots of the homophobia and puritanism you'd expect. Per our policies, we formed a committee to address his request, and the committee decided the book was fine where it was. Again per policy, he had the option to appeal to the board of trustees, which he took.

We found out he was doing this 5 days before the next board meeting. And even with that short warning, we had over 150 people show up to a small-town library board meeting that often has few or no public attendees! We couldn't fit everyone in our biggest room! Look at us all!!

Public comments are limited to 3 minutes or less, and that still lasted for more than an hour. People spoke who were parents, teachers, nurses, therapists, voting activists, workers at other libraries, and of course, many queer people. They talked about censorship, freedom of expression, freedom to read, the positive impacts of this book and books like it on youth, their own experiences as queer kids and teens or parents or such, and more--too many perspectives to list here. Every single speaker opposed the book ban. Every. One.

The patron who initiated this challenge was present, but left before public comment was over, without speaking.

So, those takeaways:

This is further evidence that campaigns of censorship and queer erasure are perpetuated by individuals and small groups, and don't represent the common view. You can check out stats on ala.org to back this up, but most people, including most parents, oppose book bans.

This turnout was gathered mainly through texts, email, chats (like Discord), phone calls, and word of mouth. Every town and city has people willing to fight and support those fighting the tides of fascism--keep in touch with your community and your allies, your local friends and trusted acquaintances, and when the time comes for action, they will show up.

Pushback, especially public, visible pushback, demoralizes bad actors. These are often people with little to do except organize and promote their hatred, often people with few material problems demanding their attention. (In this case, a retired eye doctor.) Give them a fight, and they often back down. If they don't back down, see #2 and beat them with numbers and passion.

Even after a victory, stay alert. We're prepping for litigation (not that we think he has a case, but he does have a reputation). We're also keeping a close eye on the smaller libraries in nearby towns and townships. Even if someone like this backs down once, they might try their luck somewhere easier. Keep those contact networks from #2 ready to go.

None of this is comprehensive, and your particular situation may well require different tactics. I'm not an expert, just a chronically online trans woman and librarian who's gotten unexpectedly attached to her current town. It was incredibly heartwarming to see so many people stand up for queer teens where I live, when it usually feels like nobody cares about what's happening to queers in the States. This post has already gone on longer than I expected, I'm just still quite emotional and wanted to talk about it. (Also still mentally drained from the past few days of stress...)

Huge shoutout to everyone who helped make this community action happen. Many of them were more eloquent or piercing in their comments, but here's my 3-minute spiel. It was delivered with none of the eye contact or dramatic reading I'd rehearsed because, holy shit, there were a lot of people there!

#public libraries #censorship #community action #my words #this book is gay

[fullofgutsndopamine]

Sleeping In The Garden (You Broke The Dark)

(or the single dad hasan fic no one asked for)

tw/cursing, insta-love

cavity inducing fluff below the cut, don't say i didn't warn you

more here

you arrived early to the library to set up.

you didn’t need a full hour and a half to unpack a small suitcase full of various cheap school supplies; Crayola paints and old brushes warn with age, stencils and small canvases.

it's winter break at the small school you teach, and to make ends meet, you've been doing small paint and sip activities at local libraries for the kids.

it gets the children out of their parents hair for an hour and a half, and they're usually excited to see the artwork they work on come to life-and the hot chocolate is an added bonus for most kids.

kids file in, and while the class was filled, you can't help but notice the seat in the corner unoccupied as you gather your supplies, say a quiet prayer to whatever god exists, and walk to the front of the room-

the door is thrown open, and a tall man ducks into the room, snow covering his mop of curly brown hair, hunched over so he doesn't tower over his kid, his hand on their back as he speaks quietly to them:

"Go on. You're okay."

She takes a step, but immediately retreats back and hides behind the mans leg, her tiny fingernails dig into his leg.

"Baby," he sighs, "C'mon. I promise-"

He looks up and sees you, his face turns pink and he stands a little straighter, takes the hat off his head and tries to wipe the snow out of his hair.

"I'm so sorry we're late," he sounds genuine, "I can offer you an assortment of excuses, each shittier than the last-"

"Papa."

he realizes his mistake, the curse word, and half turning around, speaks gently: "That's right. My bad. That's a quarter in the jar when we get home, okay?"

finally, a small giggle from behind his legs, and he stands a little straighter, as if proud of this breakthrough.

"You aren't too late," You reassure him, "We didn't even really start."

"Oh, good." and he sounds so genuinely happy, you have to bite your lip from smiling back, "She hasn't stopped talking about this since I signed her up."

"Papa."

A groan from behind his leg that makes him laugh

"You can stay," You say, probably too quick even, borders on pathetic, "If it makes your daughter more comfortable. Plenty of parents stay."

And that's not a lie, necessarily, a few parents stayed, but they mostly linger towards the back, by the various snacks, heads buried in their phones.

"Papa," the voice from behind his legs come, border on pleading: "Stay?"

and then, a little quieter, a little teary, she finishes with a, "Please?"

and listen, you don't know the man in front of you, or the kid either, but as he kneels on the floor, his head titled and voice low, "Okay." He nods, "I'll stay."

he pushes down the laundry list of things he needs to do; phone calls to make, grocery shopping to do-

his daughter comes first, always.

He looks up at you, a small smile on his face: "I won't get in the way, I promise, where do you want us?"

And he stands, and slings his daughter onto his hip, a carbon copy of him, a mop of curly hair on top of her head, some sloppy ponytail and a knit hat shoved over her head-

"There's a seat right there." You bite your lip and turn, pointing towards the empty chair, hoping you turned in time so he doesn't see the red of your face.

"Thank you uh-" He shakes his head, laughs, "Sorry, I didn't get your name uhm-"

You laugh, "Right, It's nice to meet you-"

And you offer your hand, hands in the air and feels awkward for half a second as you introduce yourself, but he laughs, shakes back:

"hasan," he gives the kid on his hip a gentle shake, "And this is Ophelia."

"It's nice to meet you two," You smile at the small figure on his hip, who buries her head into his shoulder blade, her hands hold tiny handfuls of his sweater, makes him roll his eyes but fond at the side of his lips as he bounces her on his hip, "Have a seat, and i'll bring everything over in a second."

He shakes his head, as if dazed, "Of course, right." and walks to the table, trips over his own feet, but manages to help himself from falling.

He sets Ophelia on a chair, and takes his own coat off, sits cross legged next to her on the floor, still towers over her, his voice low but he's smiling and pointing at everything, obviously trying to make her more comfortable-

You stand at the front, slowly starting the beginning instructions after you set hasan and Ophelia up with the supplies, watch as he carefully ties the apron around her waist, a tickle on her side as she finally giggles, reaches over and stars grabbing at the paint exctidely-

you go around, getting ready to serve the small paper cups of hot chocolate, once you realize everyone is mostly comfortable (even Ophelia, who has made friends with the little boy next to her) when you feel a presence by your elbow.

"Sorry, hope I didn't scare you," He smiles, scratches the back of his neck, "Thought i'd ask if you needed help."

He smiles weakly for a second before his eyes go wide, "Not that it doesn't look like you don't have this under control or anything!"

finally, you laugh, and it seems to make some anxiety he has go away.

"That would actually be great," You laugh, "If you wanna carry the tray, I can hand 'em out. We can doule team."

He nods, "Sure, of course-"

"And I can re-pay you," you continue, a smirk on your lips.

"Oh," He shakes his head, "No way. How happy Ophelia is, is good enough payment"

'and meeting you' hangs on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows that down

"The payment is unfortunately," you continue, turning around, "In marshmallows."

you turn back around, a large bag of mini marshmallows in your hand

he laughs, a giggle, his voice teasing, "Hot chocolate and marshmallows?"

"Marshmallows are my love language." You laugh, and before you realize what you're saying he's nodding, like that actually means something

"Good to know," he laughs, "I'll keep that in mind."

And your face blushes red again and you shrug, struggle with the ends of the bag for a second before he takes it, opens it without asking and hands it back

he snorts at himself, "I'm so sorry," he shakeshis head, "I think i'm still in dad mode."

You laugh, shake your head, "That's okay-"

He cuts you off, "You lead the way?" he says gently, "And maybe i can make it up to you later?"

for a second, you wonder what, exactly, he wants to make up, but as he looks at his dirty converse and kicks gently at the ground, his face red, you know what he's getting at.

"Yeah," you shake your head, hoping it doesn't come off as desperate as it feels, "I'd love that."

"Yeah?" his head whips up, and he nods, as if he's calm about the whole thing.

"yeah," he nods a final time, "It's a date."

and you two deliver hot chocolate with marshmallows, both of your faces tinged pink, ignoring the way your hands knock into each other the entire time.

#caroline writes #hasanabi #hasanabi x reader #hasanabi x y/n #hasanabi x you #hasan #hasan piker x you #hasan piker fanfiction #hasan piker fic #hasan piker fanfic #hasan piker imagine #hasan piker x reader #hasan x reader #hasan piker #hasan piker ff #hasan piker x y/n

[chucksfavouriteprophet]

End of the Line

Dean Winchester x (gn) Reader

Request/Summary: Hi! Could I request a lovers to enemies with Dean x reader? Say there was miscommunication between the two during a hunt and it just spirals from there? But they still hunt together for Sam. If that makes any sense😂

Warnings: Nothing much just some angst, arguments, falling out of love

Word count: 2,074

You’d managed to avoid Dean for the best part of a week now, but inevitably there had to be a point where you’d have to see him. You were dreading it; not because something happened, but more because nothing had happened. You’d just been drifting away from each other for the past few months, and at some point you were going to have to face the music and admit you no longer felt the same way about him as you did all those years ago.

As Sam hollered your name for the third time, you rolled off your bed with a groan and headed to the bunker’s kitchen to see him grabbing a few snacks and ramming them in a bag.

“Erm…how long is this hunt expected to be?” You crossed your fingers behind your back hoping he was just overly hungry already.

“A week, maybe more. We don’t know much about the case so we’re gonna need to rest up in a motel and get studying first.”

Fuck.

“Really? We can’t just do that here before we go?”

Sam shook his head as he swung his bag onto his back. “We need to scope out the town first, talk to some locals. Is Dean ready?”

You shrugged. “Not sure, I haven’t seen him yet this morning.” Sam frowned but knew not to push the subject further. It hadn’t passed him by that his brother and his partner hadn’t be spending much time together recently but he knew not to get involved.

Dean ended up to be in the garage, giving Baby a fresh clean before she hit the open road. You seized the opportunity to hop in the back seat while Sam loaded her up, meaning he would have to ride shotgun with his brother. You didn’t fancy having to make awkward conversation with your boyfriend for the next few hours, especially with Sam able to listen in. He’d definitely know something was wrong if that was the case.

Having slept majority of the way, the drive to Dripping Springs, Texas, flew by. Before you knew it, you were trying to act like you weren’t disappointed the motel only had one double bed and Sam had refused your offer to sleep on the sofa. Maybe sharing a bed with Dean would help your relationship seeing as you hadn’t done it in a while?

He seemed just as disinterested though, so that wasn’t likely. 6 years together had left the two of you too comfortable, and sure, at this point most couples might be thinking of marriage and kids, but that had never been on the cards for you. You’d always imagined that once your Gran had passed, you’d leave Lawrence and join them properly on hunts, but that just wasn’t working out. You missed caring for her, and working with Dean wasn’t at all like you’d expected it. You were constantly bickering and always too tired to show each other any love. It had quite literally killed your relationship.

You knew Dean felt the same too. He got frustrated when you got hurt, and honestly he could never focus on the job at hand because he was worrying about keeping you safe. Although he knew you could do that yourself, that didn’t change how he felt. To Dean, you’d always be that sweet 17 year old he had a crush on for years.

The next few days dragged. You tried to get out of the motel room as much as possible, volunteering to talk to the locals and to do research at the library so there was always a distraction. You'd established you were dealing with a classic haunting by a woman who was out to get revenge on town members who had something to do with the death of her young son, who had died when playing in an abandoned warehouse that had failed to be secured properly. So far, she had already gone after the families of the town's mayor and the head of the health and safety council. Now, the daughter of the building regulation and planning committee's exec was reporting seeing a strange woman follow her home from school.

Truth be told, this news was exactly what you'd been hoping for. Now you finally had a lead, you could get on with hunting and clear out. With the family shipped out of town, you lay in wait around the house, each one of you stationed particularly. This ghost was sour with revenge, and seeing you'd soiled her plan would certainly mean she'd be after you. As a result, Sam was ready as bait to lure her out, while Dean was responsible for burning the bones, and you tried to tame her with a list of hoodoo shit that would keep her in the house and hopefully slow her down. With the three of you being so split up, you'd managed to avoid Dean for the best part of the day, which had given you a chance to think about what you were doing to do.

You had to break up with him. There was no other choice. Things just weren't the same anymore, and you had to face up to that.

But not before you put this ghost in the ground for good. On Sam's cue, you chanted around the house, following the woman once you caught sight of her. Alongside the younger Winchester's luring techniques, you managed to isolate her in the living room just as the clock struck midnight. As it did, your shoulders relaxed slightly, knowing this was Dean's sign to have the bones burned. Yet the ghost remained passionately visible, lunging at Sam as you were thrown off by her lack of disappearance.

"What the-" you cursed as you shot at her with salt, pulling her away from Sam and sending her in your direction.

"WHY ISN'T SHE ASH?" you demanded as you shot at her again, this time making her go up in smoke. You took a breath as you looked confused at Sam, knowing she'd be back any second.

"I'd like to ask you the same question!" You whirled round to see Dean standing in the doorway, book in hand, chalk on his fingertips.

"Did you burn the bones?"

Dean frowned at you and grunted. "Did I burn the bones? No of course not, Y/N, that was your job!"'

"What?!" you demanded, looking from one brother to the other. "No, Dean, that was your job. Sam distracts, I defend, you burn. That was the plan!"

Sam backed off, distancing himself from the bickering. He'd let the two of you sort out your allocated roles, so he wasn't going to take the downfall.

"That was not the plan! I was the one supposed to stay here and ward the house and weaken the spirit. You're the one who's done all the research, you know where the bones are!"

You couldn't believe this. Yes, you'd figured out where the woman was buried, but you never signed up to do the heavy work. The most crucial part of the plan had just been abandoned because neither you nor Dean had the patience to communicate with each other effectively.

Sam's gunshot bought the two of you back to reality as the ghost returned. "For the love of God will someone please go and burn those bones!" Sam hissed as he battled the now incredibly irate ghost. Without a moment's hesitation, you leapt towards the door, only to be followed closely by Dean. The two of you sprinted down the road towards the cemetery, rolling your eyes that both of you had just reacted when previously neither of you had.

Skidding to a halt at the location, you clawed with your fingers at the soil. Dean had disappeared, only to return seconds later with a shovel, which he eagerly thrust into the ground beside you. It was probably the speediest grave dig in history; before you knew it, you were coating the bones in salt as Dean sacrificed a lighter and sent them up in flames.

You panted as his phone rang, and collapsed back into the dirt at the sound of Sam's voice confirming you'd finally been successful.

"What the fuck was that, huh? We could have all been killed!" Dean ran a hand through his hair as he hung up on his brother, looking at you with piercing eyes.

"Dean, I think we need to talk," you panted.

With a sigh, he collapsed up against a tree and crossed his arms.

"I know. We've needed to talk for a while. Things haven't been the same, have they?"

You shook your head, biting your lip to try and hold back the tears. You'd been so angry at your own feelings for so long, but only now in your exhausted state did the emotion start to get at you.

"I don't know what happened, Dean. Everything was fine, we were fine, then just..."

"...then just it wasn't." He finished for you, shaking his head. "We aren't the same kids we used to be, Y/N. We've grown up, and we've both seen some shit. I mean, I've been to hell for god's sake. That changes people."

"But I thought it would be easier once we were hunting together. No more long distance, no more responsibilities. What went wrong?" The tears were flowing freely down your cheeks and reflecting in the moonlight.

"Maybe that just wasn't meant to be. We worked so well together before, but I guess people change. You've changed, that for sure. Theres this fire in your now...I'm not saying its bad, but you're not who you used to be. You've lost your innocence."

Your body shook with anger. Sure you'd changed, you'd had to change. You were used to the kind, soft side to Dean, the side you saw after the hunt. You'd never quite prepared yourself for how vicious he could be when he was doing his day job, even though you knew you should have expected it. "Yeah," was all you could manage.

"You're a good hunter, a really good hunter. I think if anything our relationship has made it hard to see that. But we can't work together cos things like this happen. You almost killed my brother back there." Oh he was livid now, but so you were you.

"No, Dean, don't you dare put that on me. You were supposed to burn the bones, or at least thats how I interpreted it. I would never put Sam in harms way, and you should know that. But you're right. We can't work together, clearly."

The two of you stood in silence, your heavy breathing the only sound in the dark night.

"I did love you, Dean. I don't know when I stopped, but I did. And I know at some point you did too."

"Michigan, five months ago. After that Wendigo kill, you came out like a different person. Thats when I stopped."

You winced. That hurt. You'd thrived on that hunt, you'd finally felt like you were alive again. You got all the anger about your Gran's death out, and you truly felt like you'd fought like the brothers. You thought you'd made Dean proud.

"There's no saving this, you know." Your voiced sounded like gravel but you held your ground.

"I know, and I'm sorry. What we had was amazing but its just..."

"Gone." You finished for him, this time stronger. He nodded and glanced down.

"I owe you a lot, Dean Winchester. And your brother. But this is our last hunt together. I'm going to continue, no matter what you say. But I can't do this with you any more."

He sighed heavily and shifted his stance. "I know. I can't stop you, and like I said, you're a damn good hunter. But I think it's the right choice."

"It is."

You both stood there, taking it all in. Eventually, the looming silence was interrupted by a faint shouting in the distance and a shaky flashlight started to grow stronger to your left.

"C'mon, we better tidy up this grave before your brother gives us a mouthful for almost getting him killed. We owe it to him to at least see this hunt through."

Dean agreed, scooping up the shovel and getting straight to work. Silently, you worked to let the poor woman rest once and for all. You only hoped that one day, you could rest peacefully too.

Supernatural tag list

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#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean x gn reader #spn fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural dean #dean winchester angst #spn fic #supernatural angst #sam and dean #sam winchester fic #sam and dean winchester fic #spn fandom

[dudadragneel]

Hello guys! It's me!

How are you doing?

AFTER HALF A CENTURY...IM BACK WITH ANOTHER SICKFIC!

Now, this one was supposed to be a little drabble but I got a little carried away...

Anyways, enjoy!

Thinking about Hyunjin who has a really bad stomachache and he’s been crying on and off all day and can barely eat anything but once he feels a bit better he goes with reader to the library while she study’s in silence and he just kinda tries to distract himself with reading, but then he starts feeling nauseous and can’t really talk because yk you gotta be QUIET in a library. So he has to text her to tell her he feels like he’s going to vomit but she’s not quite getting the hint that he wants to leave so he has to be really blunt with her 😭. THEN she takes him outside and he just dry heaves, then she gives him water and he just throws up the water. but when they get in the car…oh that’s a WHOLE new situation and mess.

LIBRARY DATE

While you were on your midterms, Hyunjin was in a well-deserved rest period. However,  the poor boy's body was feeling the toll from the last promotion. His immune system wasn't doing that great and he ate something that didn't sit well with his stomach.

He woke up with a really bad stomach ache, it was a sharp pain around his middle, especially sharp in the pit of his stomach. The pain was so strong he actually started crying at some point.

- babe, it hurts!

- oh baby. I know it does. I gave you medicine, it will take some time for it to work. Do you want to eat some light soup? Or maybe a fruit?

- no...it feels horrible...I feel like I've eaten enough for the week.

- but you didn't eat anything. Not since last night.

-I know....but I just can't, it's hurting too much.

- oh Hyune...do you want me to rub your belly?

- yes...

You sat next to him at the edge of the bed where he was lying down and proceeded to rub his belly. He felt comfortable with your touch and closed his eyes to try and rest. In a few minutes, he managed to fall asleep.

You let him rest while you finished doing your chores at the house and prepared something light for him to eat in case he woke up feeling a little better.

A few hours later, he woke up feeling a little better, the pain was barely there and he was actually feeling a bit hungry.

You had prepared some light snacks for him, as you thought that would sit better than soup.

- Hey sleepyhead.

- Hey babe.

He said going towards you like a little kid for a hug.

You hugged him as he buried his face on your shoulders and spoke softly.

- Are you feeling better?

- Yeah...a little....

- Do you want to eat something?

- Yeah...

- Come on.

You said as you grabbed his hand and walked to the table. You served him the snacks you were preparing before in hopes he'd be able to get at least a little bite in.

- You don't have to eat everything. Just pick what you think your stomach will agree with.

- Woah! Thank you, honey.

You just smiled as you sat in front of him while he ate. You kept scrolling through your phone and chatting with him.

- Hyune

- Hm?

- I'm thinking about going to the library to study later. Are you gonna be ok alone?

- Can I accompany you?

- are you sure? Are you feeling better?

- Yeah. I think going out of the house might help me feel less stressed.

- Okay then. Why don't you finish eating and while you digest your food, I'll take a shower and get ready?

- ok!

He did as you told him, he sat on the couch and patiently waited while you showered and gathered your stuff.

The local library wasn't that big but it was beautiful and cozy and definitely helped you feel more concentrated to study.

You found a free table, sat down, and organized your things, you put on your earphones to help you concentrate more. Hyunjin just sat in front of you, completely in love seeing you so focused. He loved seeing how passionate you were about the things you did, even if it was just sitting down and studying.

He couldn't really keep on using his phone so he decided to look for a book about art to read while you studied.

At first, he was entertained, almost like a toddler, he managed to learn about some other painting techniques and he was happy that this outing turned out to be productive for him as well.

But then things started to go south. As he was reading, the stomachache from earlier was starting to turn into full nausea.

And unfortunate to him because, ironically, he picked a book that had tons of Van Gogh's paintings in it, and all that swirling werent helping at all.

He brought a hand to his stomach and gently pressed on it because even though he felt nauseous, the pain from earlier was still lingering around.

He tried to stay focused on the book but the more he tried to read or look at the pictures the more his stomach twisted. He placed the book on the table, closed his eyes took and deep breath in, and exhaled, trying to keep the nausea at bay.

He kept bringing his hand to his stomach and fidgeting on the chair, most to catch your attention, but you were basically in another dimension of full focus, and he didn't really want to use his phone and risk feeling even worse.

But the nausea was growing stronger, so he had no other option. He got his phone and texted you, but the contents of the message weren't shown so you just shrugged it off as him trying to distract you.

He sent a few more texts, but you didn't even bother looking up, part of you wanted to show him that you could stay focused even when he incorporated a toddler to annoy you. But little did you know the distress he was in.

He set down his phone and lay his head on his arms, but the nausea was reaching its peak. He could feel the little he had eaten earlier sloshing around and his mouth started pooling with saliva. He started to swallow convulsively but things just weren't working.

He felt something rushing up his chest and a foul taste in his mouth, he was gonna throw up and there was nothing more he could do to avoid it. And you still hadn't read his texts. He didn't want to talk, first because you were in a library and it was really quiet, and second because he was afraid that if he opened his mouth he'd throw up right then and there, but he had no other choice. He needed to get out of there.

He abruptly put down your book and if you weren't in a library, you would've yelled at him.

You looked straight at him but before you could even get angry, he took his only chance.

- I'm gonna throw up.

He said as quietly as possible but still urgent. Apparently, just admitting that he was gonna be sick, made his stomach contract and he was quick to cover his mouth to surpass a gag.

- Shit.

You said standing up and getting to his side. You just grabbed his arm and wrapped your arm around him as you guided him out, his body already bending over as his stomach contracted again.

Unfortunately for him, some people noticed the sudden commotion.

For some reason, the bathroom wasn't near the room you were in, so you just took him outside in the yard.

He bent over, hands on his knees for support while you kept on holding his arm and rubbing his back.

He spat out the thick saliva that had filled his mouth as you two were walking out of the room.

He felt awful, saliva kept filling his mouth over and over again and he just kept spitting it out. But the nausea was still there and it was strong.

He tried straightening his back for a bit to see if he would feel any different, but it just made his stomach flip again.

He bent over one more time and began gagging again, you could feel him tensing up under your touch with every gag but nothing but saliva came out. You felt horrible and could only hope people would just pass by and not notice him.

- Hyune? May I try something?

He just nodded. You massaged his stomach with a bit of pressure to see if you could stimulate it somehow to help him get whatever was making him feel bad out. But it didn't work, he just kept dry heaving.

- I-I feel awful...my stomach is churning and flipping but nothing is coming up...

- Oh baby...Why don't you try drinking some water? Maybe trying to get something in will help you throw up. Don't take small sips, just try to drink as you normally would.

You handed him your bottle of water and he drank it just as you said.

He drank almost half a bottle and he could feel his stomach revolting inside him. He bent over again and gagged a few times before his stomach contracted a little more and brought up all the water he had just drank but nothing else.

You kept rubbing his back as he proceeded to throw up water and thick saliva. In a few minutes, he was left dry heaving again. You gave him some water to rinse his mouth and then wiped it.

- Babe? Why don't we sit down for a bit?

- Hmm...

You guided him to a nearby tree and helped him sit down.

- How are you feeling?

- Sick...

- Okay. Let's go home. I'll go grab our stuff.

- I'm sorry...I'm sorry for interrupting your study...

- Don't apologize...I should be the one apologizing for not noticing sooner... Just wait here, I'll be right back.

He lay his back on the tree and tilted his head back with his eyes closed. He took deep breaths and tried to pay attention to his breathing or the sound of the leaves rustling with the wind, anything that could distract him from nausea in his stomach.

You grabbed your stuff and apologized for the sudden commotion and left to get the sick boy waiting by the tree.

- Come on, let's go. Can you stand?

- Can you help me?

- Of course.

You positioned your arms beneath his while he held you for support, and helped him to his feet. You stood like that for a while, with a firm grip on him, to make sure he wasn't feeling faint before heading to the car.

- Do you prefer to roll down your window or the AC?

- The AC...I'm afraid that any smell will enter the car if the windows are open.

- Okay. Babe, tell me if you feel like throwing up, okay? So I can at least try to pull over.

- Okay.

The first 30 minutes of the ride were okay. He kept his eyes closed while you held his hand, thank God for automatic cars. You kept quiet the whole time because you didn't want to overwhelm him.

But then, the worst happened. Traffic. For some reason, traffic stopped. And you felt desperate because you wanted to get home fast, so Hyunjin could rest.

- Shit! There must've been an accident or the traffic lights are broken...you okay?

He just nodded and closed his eyes again. You knew he wasn't okay, he was far from being okay. Traffic felt like it was moving one centimeter at a time.

He was okay at first because the car wasn't moving but the realization that he'd be stuck in a car for god knows how long while feeling sick made everything worse.

The nausea which was somewhat controlled, increased ten times. He squeezed his eyes and let out a shaky sigh while his hands gripped his thighs and the door handle with such force his knuckles turned white. He tried taking deep breaths but the sudden movement of the car made his stomach jolt. He felt something coming up his throat and started to swallow convulsively. There's no chance in hell he was gonna throw up inside the car, he had already ruined your study day and now he was going to soil your car with vomit? No chance.

You were too focused on the road, trying to understand what was causing the traffic jam, so you didn't notice him fidgeting by your side.

He managed to swallow it back but it was a useless effort. As soon as it went down it shot back up, hot foul tasting liquid hitting the back of his throat. He gagged and quickly brought his hands to his mouth, fearing the worst.

The gag snapped you back into the reality of the car.

- Hyune? You okay?

He barely made eye contact with you when his stomach jolted one more time, making him gag once more. But this time, vomit gushed out, slipping through his fingers, and soiling both him and your car.

- Oh my god! Hyune!

His stomach didn't give him time to think before contracting again and sending even more pale vomit up, once again escaping through his fingers.

You were shocked with the situation unfolding before your eyes so it took a few seconds for you to react.

You quickly reached for the glove box and found a little towel you always kept with you, considering how he had gotten sick in the car before.

- Oh babe! Don't worry.

You placed it on his lap and told him to open his hands and let the vomit fall on the towel, while you drove a little more. Once you stopped again, you looked for a plastic bag inside your stuff so that Hyunjin could throw up everything making him feel bad.

- Here. Use this.

- S-sorry...I'm s-sorry...

- Don't apologize. It's not your fault you're sick.

He closed his eyes as he gagged again, this time inside the bag, liquid coming out and hitting the back making a sickening sound. You could only rub his back and mutter some words while you drove.

- Oh baby, just let everything out.

He burped another wave, followed by another one making him bend forward a little and you could feel him tensing up under your hand.

- Just get everything out.

He gagged a few times until he threw up again, vomit mixing with the liquid inside the bag. The car was starting to smell and you both wanted to get out of there.

Thankfully, the traffic jam stopped and you as fast as you legally could to get home.

Arriving there, you went straight to Hyunjin's door to help him.

- Here. Let me get rid of this.

You threw away the bag filled with vomit and turned your full attention to him, who was sitting inside the car facing you.

- We're home, baby. Let's go. Can you stand?

- I don't kno-

He was cut off by a sudden gag that sent up more vomit making him bend forward and you barely escaped from soiling your shoes. You shifted to his side and rubbed his back as he vomited again.

- Here. Rinse your mouth and let's go up. You need to take a shower.

He rinsed his mouth and you helped him up, wrapping your hands around him and carefully heading to the elevator.

Arriving home, you went directly to the bathroom with Hyunjin. You helped him out of his soiled clothes and tossed them in the dirty laundry basket.

- You don't need to stay here...

- Hyune, we've been dating for quite some time now...you don't need to be embarrassed. I just don't want to risk you fainting in the shower. But I'll turn around if that will make you feel more comfortable.

- Thank you...sorry...

- it's okay, honey.

Thankfully the shower ended without any accidents, despite him dry heaving over the rain for a brief moment.

You helped him change clothes and then got the bed ready for him to sleep.

You embraced him in a tight hug and kissed the top of his head. And that was the last straw. He started to cry and sob and buried his face in your shoulder.

- Honey? Baby? Why are you crying?

You said with a cute voice and almost crying yourself.

- I'm sorry...I'm so sorry...

- it's okay, baby! Stop apologizing.

- but...I ruined your day...you couldn't study because of me, your car is completely dirty...I'm sorry

He said breaking down even more.

- Oh baby! There's nothing to apologize for. You were sick! It's not your fault! You didn't ruin my day! Stop worrying about that! Hyune, I love you! I'd never, not once, think that you ruined my day.

You said as you cupped his face in your hands and wiped his tears away.

- promise me you'll stop feeling guilty about it.

- I- I promise...

He said pouting. You kissed him and then embraced him again as you two lay in bed.

- How are you feeling?

- Still a little nauseous...

- Wait here a little bit, let me grab a bucket just in case.

You grabbed the bucket at light speed and went back to bed. You cuddled him and started rubbing his belly. He sunk under your touch and within minutes, the poor tired boy was fast asleep.

You changed your approach and kept stroking his hair until you fell asleep as well.

The night went on without any other incidents, the poor boy had his energy completely drained after everything that happened and you couldn't be more grateful that he managed to sleep like a rock until midday.

#emeto #sickfic #whump #kpop sickfic #kpop emeto #stray kids emeto #stray kids sickfic #skz emeto #skz fanfic #skz sickfic #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin emeto #hyunjin sickfic #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #seungmin x reader #jisung x reader #jeongin x reader #felix x reader #skz fluff #skz angst

[jabbage]

I keep seeing a post floating around from an aspec person saying how they'd been made to feel monstrous and broken and wrong.

I went through those feelings in my teens and twenties and had some really dark times. I think that society gives us such limited views of what happiness and success look like, and it can be crushing. If you're someone who knows you're not going to pair off or get married or have kids, it's hard to know what a happy domesticity looks like?

I'm in my early 30s now, and I'm so contented with my life. I thought I'd share a little, in case it gives anyone a bit of hope to see one form a happy life can take which isn't perhaps the mainstream?

I wake up to find my little cat purring on my chest, and I give her a cuddle.

I get dressed in a new suit I've brought. I realised recently that off-the-shelf clothes never fit me right, so I've been saving up money to have them adjusted at a tailor. It fits perfectly now and I feel great in it. It's taken a while, but I feel like I've finally nailed a style for myself.

I walk to work, through the park so I can admire the flowers. This takes longer, but it gives me some exercise and I enjoy having the time to think. I stop off at a shop on the way and get some nice sandwiches, my favourite kind of pastry and a drink. Normally I make a pack lunch, but this is my weekly Tuesday Treat.

I have a morning meeting with some of my coworkers, who I feel value me and my work. Personal organisation in my worklife has been a struggle for me, but recently I realised I'm one of those folks who probably has ADHD and wasn't caught by the system. Just knowing this has given me so many new tools which are designed for the way by brain works, and I feel so much more confidant.

For the rest of the day instead of staying in my office I work on a picnic table in the sunshine, occasionally stopping to watch some skateboarders. At lunchtime I eat the food I bought, and I chec discord and catch up with online shenanigans. I enjoy having friendships I've forged with people across the world. I love to visit people and to travel, and my independent lifestyle gives me chance to do that. I also like having people over to stay. I like to say I'm like Bilbo Baggins, I live along in my little hobbit hole but if you come round I'll cook you an elaborate dinner and put you up for the night.

After work I go on a free guided history walk around my local area, and find out about lots of little historical things of interest I hadn't seen before. I also meet new people. Even if I never see them again, it's nice to have that moment of connection. When I get home, I video call with my parents and we share our news with each other.

I cook a quick dinner - these days I don't put pressure on myself to do anything too elaborate. I figure if frozen chopped onion and ready meals help me to eat moderately well and keep healthy, I'll use them. I have some cream which needs using, so eat it with some absolutely monstrous strawberries.

I check my personal emails with my cat purring away on my lap. I've got a little side gig writing and illustrating. I worry that I'm not very good and It doesn't make me much money and I know I'll never be famous (do I even want to be?!), but I do enjoy it. Sometimes I'm confronted with a pile of rejections which can hurt, but it's all good stuff today: the money from a book I worked on came in. There are some more details about a talk I'm giving at the British Library later this year. My agent is sending some possible opportunities my way.

I still have a few hours before bed, so I work on a creative project for a bit. Not something I'm being paid for today: it's a personal craft project. I realised a while ago I have a bad habit of monetising everything, so now I make sure to set aside time in the week to work on things that will be presents for myself or friends.

And then when it gets to about 11, I snuggle under the covers and read PG Wodehouse. I giggle. A lot.

It's been a hard slog, but I suddenly find that I'm a very happy person. There's no partner-shaped or child-shaped hole in my life. I'm content. Every life has highs and lows of course, some days are better than others. I'm sure I'll have many troubles to face in the future, but I consider my asexuality to be a positive and joyful facet of my life.

#asexual #asexuality #aroace #aromantic #aromanticism

[babybluebanshee]

Things I've Had To Deal With As A City Librarian: I'm Just So Tired

Haven't done one of these in a while, and things have just been...they've been a time, let me tell you.

*We caught a guy hiding in one of the bathroom stalls after closing. We check the bathrooms to clean up any messes for the next day, and Julie knocked on the men's room door. No one answered, so she went in and checked the stalls. Didn't see any feet so she starts opening the doors. She gets to the handicap stall, and she tries to open it. It's locked. She mutters something about having to unlock it, and suddenly a voice from inside calls out, "Hey, I'm still in here." Julie nearly shrieks. The guy claims that his fly was stuck, but given the fact he didn't say anything when Julie came in and we couldn't see his feet under the stall door means he was probably crouched on the toilet, hoping we'd think the bathroom was empty and he could spend the night in the library.

*My coworker Allie did a cute little display in the kids area where you can write a letter to Curious George. She even made cardboard mailbox for it and put out a bunch of books and movies for people to check out. The amount of vandalism this thing has seen is unreal. One night a kid poked holes in the mailbox with a colored pencil. I was doing a walkthrough after a particularly rowdy family was in the kids area, only to discover that they have thrown everything on the display into the mailbox - the books, the movies, the postcards, the coloring materials, even one of the book stands. We spent about ten minutes fishing everything out.

*Speaking of displays, I did the Black History Month one this year. I worked on it for three months, and to be honest, I was very proud of it. It took up two tables, full of historical events and famous figures of black history. Needless to say, since black history is so damn expansive and my space was limited, a lot of people ended up getting left off (especially local people I'd never learned about). The amount of times people told me I left out a person they personally believed should be on it drove me to distraction. Two separate people told me I missed Kamala Harris (which I'll be kicking myself forever about). One woman asked me why I didn't redo the whole display to add one local figure she thought needed to be included. One woman asked me why she herself was not included one the poet's wall, because she was a published author. No, she was not kidding. I guess I should be thrilled that people were actually interacting with it, but at least a few people telling me I did a good job would have been fucking nice.

*To branch off from the black history month display - the city has an anti-discrimination policy when it comes to people reserving rooms for events. The only thing we explicitly do not allow is social events like parties and anyone attempting to sell something; everything else is fair game. This means we get a lot of obnoxious groups whose views we really, really do not agree with - homeschoolers, churches, conservative clubs, and, my personal favorite, the Sons of the Confederacy. Or as Rachel and I like to call them, The Sons of a Bunch of Loser Piss Babies. They had a meeting there during February, and Rachel was working that day. One of them, in his stupid little gray hat, was standing talking to someone...right next to my black history month display. Rachel told me she wanted to take a picture because the juxtaposition was...stark, to say the least. We're really not that surprised Failfuck McStank didn't notice the irony.

*We've had a guy coming in with his guitar and just...hanging out in the study rooms to play. We can't really do anything about it unless he's too loud or someone actively complains, but we're all kind of puzzled about the library being his first choice of places for a jam session.

*There's a pair of teenage girls that have been coming in for about four months now and their punk vibe is immaculate. The first time I ever saw them, one of them had a giant bleach blond mohawk, a leather jacket with studs, hot pink and black striped stockings, and the most badass combat boots I've ever seen. Her friend had a bleach blond buzzcut, a black jean jacket covered in patches, teal leggings, and red converse that were falling apart. Sherri stumbled on them chilling in the kids area, and noticed the buzzcut one was bent over something. She got closer and realized the kid was knitting a scarf. Mohawk comes in more often, and always has a thick book with her, just lounging in the chairs and quietly reading for a few hours. They're my second favorite patrons and hope they never change.

*A woman was interested in attended my classic book club meeting back in June. We were reading Fun Home by Alison Bechdel, so I gave her a copy. She didn't attend the meeting. She returned the book a few days later and said it was "gross". While she was there, she also picked up her inter library loan of a "romance" novel about a woman falling in love with her abusive stepbrother. I'm all for people reading whatever the fuck they want, but I also feel like if you're gonna read stepsibling porn, you don't get to call lesbian comics gross.

*Two women came in with a little boy who was absolutely bouncing off the walls. They did absolutely nothing to control him - one of them was busy talking to someone on her phone (on speaker till someone complained), the other was perusing the shelves - and the kid was just kind of running around being a nuisance. I was walking back from helping someone in the computer lab and saw the kid taking off his shirt. I told him he had to keep his shirt on, and that's when one of the women finally turned to me and said, "He wants to put his Spider-Man costume on." And I'm like, "Lady, that's great, but you're in a public space, not your living room. Have him change in the bathroom." Luckily they didn't hang around long after that, but fucking hell, the entitlement.

*A woman came in to fax a police report to her lawyer, and Sherri and I ended up being privy to the sordid tale of having her car stolen. She was out with a guy she met on Tinder, and they went to a bar in the next town over. They were getting ready to leave, but she wanted to have a cigarette, so they were standing by her car in the parking lot. Suddenly, three police cars come shooting up, right next to them. Turns out the dude she's with has a warrant out for his arrest. He panics, grabs her keys out of her hand, jumps in the car, and fucking peels away. He ended up crashing it into a ditch less than ten miles away, totaling it. She doesn't even know what warrant was for.

*It's very funny whenever I call anyone for reserve reminders or things like that, because people are so used to getting calls from robots and scammers that they're immensely suspicious any time they answer their phone. And it makes the absolute 180 they do into delighted toddlers, excited to get their books, that much funnier. The scenario usually goes like this:

Me: Hi, is this [insert name]?

Patron: *clearly doing the suspicious Fry face* Yeeeees...

Me: This is Blue, at the library! I was just calling to let you know you have a book on reserve ready for pick up!

Patron: *brightening instantly* OMG thank you! Oh, I'm so glad you called! You've made my day, you guys are wonderful!

Never fails to make me chuckle.

*The assistant librarian is in charge of a lot of the teen programs we do, and by far the most popular are her teen book boxes - the kids fill out a form of stuff they enjoy, and she puts together a box of three books, plus crafts and snacks, for them. On average, she does about twenty of them a month. However - because we are located in the heart of Conservative Brainrot Land, where a not insignificant portion of the population thinks if they're a good little conservative who hates what Fox News tells them to, Tucker Carlson will come give them the hug their dad never did - this has also given us great insight into the minds of ultra controlling parents who would encase their kids in wax if that could keep them from learning things they don't want them to. One particularly baffling example started with a mom asking that no "social justice" be included in the box. The next one asked for "no gender identity". This time? No inclusion. Like...I get why she put that. Because inclusivity = woke = liberal = the devil. But like...do these people hear themselves? Do they know what words mean? Also, I told the AL that she should just give the kid an empty box. She did not follow my advice.

*On the flip side of the crazy, controlling parent thing, y'all remember this family from a while ago? The one where the aunt came in and said Pretty Little Liars had opened a satanic portal that drove her niece to a mental hospital? Well, I'm happy to report that I think the mother of that girl might have had a face turn. The same kid just recently returned several books from the Anita Blake series (which are pretty mature as far as sexuality goes), and she's been in talks with the AL to volunteer for us, informing her that she doesn't know her schedule just yet because her mother is letting her start public school. I like to think the mom looked at that whole situation, took a long, hard look at herself in the mirror, and thought, "Ya know what? I don't think I want to be like this anymore. I think this is a problem." And ya know what? Good for her, and good for that girl. I hope it does them both a world of good.

#woe to the librarian #the conservative brain rot is starting to leech into my professional life #and i'll be here to report on it every chance i can

[livingmeatloaf]

WIP Wednesday snippet

"washed up nobody worms his way into local governmental leader's heart" was in the lead when i last checked the Out of Context Wip poll.

Taxes fried my brain on Wednesday, so you get it now! What is time anyway!!

The summary refers to "A Serpent Among the Lotus", my double-post-canon crossover with endgame Jiang Cheng/Zhuzhi-Lang. Zhuzhi-Lang is stuck in a form closer to his birth form right now, mostly monstrous.

"I am dangerousss."

"Yeah? So am I. And so is the sect leader. If he's not worried, I'm not." Jiang Cheng shrugged. It had gotten easier to shed the awkwardness of referring to himself like that with each day. Now, Jiang Wanyin sat separate from Sect Leader Jiang, held at a distance if only for the hours they spoke together.

Zhuzhi-Lang considered him, propping his head up on his folded arms. "Tell thiss one about your ssect leader? He musst be different from thosse I've met before."

Jiang Cheng sighed. "What's there to tell? He's loud and short tempered and yells a lot {lists his negative qualities as he sees them or has heard}."

"Jiang-gongzi does not like his sect leader."

"What? That's not true!" Jiang Cheng huffed at Zhuzhi-Lang's disbelieving look. "He's powerful," he said slowly. "He has a very strong core." That little fact comes with a bewildering stab of guilt and grief that he shoves back down. "He looks out for everyone in his sect. He makes sure no kids are running around begging on the street with no home. He does his best to be fair in dealings." He was quickly running out of nice things to say about himself. "Um, he looks fine, I guess? People used to say he was the fifth most handsome bachelor of his generation."

"Only fifth then? What doessss he rank now?"

Jiang Cheng stopped. Lan Huan was still technically a bachelor, secluded though he was. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were married. He did not dwell on them. Jin Zixuan...

"Second, I guess, of those who were originally ranked."

"Handssome man."

"I guess."

"Oh? Jiang-gongzi preferss women?"

"Maybe?" He scratched his head, then shook it. "Who has time to consider romance or attractiveness or anything? We're still reestablishing our sect."

Zhuzhi-Lang hummed. Songs of insects filled in the long stretch of silence. Jiang Cheng fidgeted.

"Do uh... Do you prefer lady demons or guy demons?" Zhuzhi-Lang looked at him and Jiang Cheng puffed up defensively. "Fair's fair, you asked first!"

"Thiss one hass only found a human man attractive." Zhuzhi-Lang tipped his head, long hair sliding over his arm to pool against his chest in a dark waterfall. "Where does Wanyin-gongzi rank on the list?"

Jiang Cheng choked on the sip of water he had just taken. He sputtered some incoherent response about not ranking at all.

They turned to safer topics, Jiang Cheng complaining about the water ghouls that cropped up around this time of year and how annoying they were to hunt down. It was nice to complain casually. As sect leader, he didn't really have anyone he could talk this candidly with. They compared water ghouls to some demons and similar resentful dead further west.

The notes Jiang Cheng has taken from his conversations with Zhuzhi-Lang far outstrip the few scrolls they have on demons. He sets some of the scholarly disciples who work in the library to organize and transpose his notes into useful scrolls. After all, if one demon has floated down the river, what would stop more from following?

Whatever choice wins the poll will get a snippet post like this! Go vote, or send me an ask with a summary and I'll be happy to talk about any of these! :D

#My fic #Work in progress #A Serpent Among the Lotus #Wip Wednesday #Jiang Cheng/Zhuzhi-Lang