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#i will also add unrelated tags to bring more attention
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!!!!!!THIS IS IMPORTANT!!!!!
The massive oil extraction project named “Willow” in Alaska has to be stopped. If they go through with the plans, it will cause irreversibke damage to our planet. It will cause death of ecosystems, an even more rapid pace of climate change/global warming, and massive amounts of pollution.
Please sign the petition linked, and don’t forget to confirm your signature.
Update: willow project had already been approved, as a commenter kindly brought it to my atention
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council-of-beetroot · 6 months
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pls make a longer post omg
Tolys and his struggles with body Image and Appearance
Alright anon you and a few others wanted me to elaborate so I will!
So in a previous post I said this
"I genuinely think Tolys has issues body / appearance wise and it's probably because of Ivan"
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So you know how in quite a few strips Tolys is weirdly overly embarrassed by things Feliks does like how he dresses or when he suggests Tolys try a certain hairstyle?
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It's odd to me because Tolys has been friends with Feliks for a very long time, he should hypothetically be used to Feliks' interests and unusual hobbies. Tolys is seemingly used to everything else weird that Feliks does so why does this bother him so much?
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Now let's take a look at this panel from 2007 where we have the stripping panel
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To which Tolys responds with this before it moves on to the next person.
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Now we're circling back to Ivan. This leads me to believe Ivan used appearance as a quite effective humiliation tactic. Additionally it gives Ivan a ton of control.
Now why is this a good tactic? Well for one it gets to Liet, not only is he easily embarrassed it makes him overthink. To him, it's one thing to get beaten to the point of unconsciousness and it's another to be forced into a maid dress. It's over the top and deliberate, it ends up with Tolys "thinking how did I get myself into this situation it's ridiculous, I am a warrior, why is this getting to me?"
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And Ivan knows this
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He knows that he can make it so Tolys is so in his own head questioning things that his mindset quickly becomes just Tolys and Ivan.
Now here's where it comes back to Tolys having residual issues with his appearance/ or femininity.
It's simple Ivan knows this: Refer to him as your ex, your wife, call him your toy, call him cute and pretty and compliment his long hair. Eliminate the space between you and him, rub his shoulders, come up to him from behind. Show him off to others and tell him how adorable it is to see him blushing from the attention. Strip him of his privacy, his self autonomy, and safety. Control him so it's only you he can turn to whether you give him comfort or pain.
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Now if you've ever experienced that you know in particular how much it can mess with your head when things like compliments are used to hurt you or when someone is cruel one moment and nice the next. And it's even more of a mindfuck when they confide in you let, their guard down, and perhaps you do too.
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Hence why I am lead to believe Tolys still is struggling with this. Any comment of his appearance makes the alarms in his head go off. A compliment on a date makes start searching for the nearest escape route. Feliks' comfortability with his feminine aspects and wanting Tolys to join in reminds him of Ivan dressing him up in bows and dresses and telling him he's pretty. Feminine things were used to humiliate him. Appearance was used to humiliate him. It's genuinely triggering for him even though with Feliks, he's just being him and wants to include Liet. For Tolys, it reminds him of being dolled up and paraded as Ivan's cute secretary. Even a genuine compliment brings him back to a time where he couldn't say no and he felt powerless, because it was weaponized against him.
Hopefully I worded this right and let me know if i should add any warnings in the tags
Totally unrelated but in searching for images I found a bunch of HWS lithuania tiktoks and if I didn't refuse to ever download tiktok I'd go watch them.
(I do want to say people often use this especially back in the day wondering why he's portrayed as so weak especially when he's shown to have defeated Prussia. Here's the thing that's important to know, enduring abuse doesn't make anyone weak, anyone can get trapped in abusive relationships even if they think they can't.
Tolys has been under Ivan for a long time this gives Ivan the advantage here to create the perfect atmosphere to isolate, control, and facilitate abuse.)
Also if you wonder why doesn't liet do anything or fight back in panels like this let me explain, you can't survive if you are constantly choosing every battle. Tolys has a lot to lose and he can't afford to lose it all by not being careful.
Yeah it bugs me when people complain that lithuania is protrayed as "weak" he's not.
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ashes-writing · 2 years
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hey! could you do headcannons for tommy hagan with an alt/goth s/o? thanks so much!!!
OKAY FIRST OF ALL BLESS YOU FOR ASKING ABOUT MY FAVORITE IDIOT. THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH. I had so much fun doing this. I really hope you like it even though it's not really the longest thing I've done ever. It was fun to try and imagine, I'm not kidding. Thank you so so so much for asking this.
Tag list ; @allelitesmut @musichealsscars and @hcloangcls are the only three people presently on my Stranger Things taglist. If you'd like to be on my tag list for anything, including Stranger Things, please add yourself -> here
Warnings ; Nothing, really. It's fluffyish! There is some randomness thrown in here and there bc I ramble like a fool, but nothing I feel you need to be warned about.
Other Stuff ; pinned rules/fandom post | masterlist | requests ; open. Headcanons, filth/fluff letters only atm.
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✯ Gonna be totally honest with you here… This probably starts out with a lot of heckling, banter and teasing. But Tommy’s one of those guys, as he’s saying shit, there will be this flirty little smirk on his face. He’ll also step closer. He’s not so obvious with it that you /know/ he’s flirting or even interested, you’ll actually start off firmly believing he either doesn’t like you or he lives to annoy/hurt you for some unknown reason. Look, if he has to internalize his feelings for his best friends -i said what I said babes, do you really think he’s going to be all open and lovey-dovey with someone who simply dresses and acts just a little different just like that? No. No, he won’t. Plus, he has to get his head around whatever it is he’s feeling. If it’s just a physical interest, if the interest isn’t constantly there in his mind, he won’t act on it. Better to not rock the boat then to rock it. -unrelated, but I honestly feel in my heart that Tommy is the way he is because he was the one who was bullied to oblivion as a kid. So now he’s bigger and meaner so he bullies people as like… Payback or something, I suppose.
✯ Now if that attraction isn’t just physical, Tommy’s not the kind of guy who will just sit on his laurels and let you slip through his fingers. But he’s gotta feel something and to date alt/goth, especially in the 80’s, he’s gotta feel it strongly. Because back in the day, you didn’t really see a whole lot of jocks / grunge -alt - goth couples. But I digress. Once he realizes this is more than just the need of a warm body, - another totally unrelated thing here to note, Tommy is only hypersexual when he’s dating his guy/girl of choice. Any other time, guy can make use of his hand like nobody’s business bc he has a very vivid imagination. ANYWAY, WHERE THE FUCK WAS I? OH OH YEAH.. This is when Tommy tries to kind of… Immerse himself in the things that interest you, whether it be music, true crime, spooky stuff, you name it. He’ll even lean more heavily towards plain black t-shirts. If they hug those biceps (to show you what he brings to the table bc.. Sheer brawn, minimal brains god bless my idiot baby), all the better. Guy will try to listen to the music you like but nine out of ten, outside of The Cure, Siouxsie and maaybe one or two others, he just can’t. He’s more of a classic rock / hard rock / stoner rock kind of guy I think. But he tries, oh my god.
✯ The above being said, sometimes he tries a little… too hard.
✯ He’ll do anything to get you to notice him, he’s an attention whore like that. When he finally accomplishes it, he’s all giddy and grinning. A real grin. Not that bs one, the smug one you wanna knock off his damn cute freckly face. If you’re an alt/goth who likes less traditional first dates, you happen to be in luck because Tommy is lowkey high key very very good at thinking outside the box and somehow, he’ll manage to nail down something totally unique, maybe a little weird but definitely thoughtful. This is when you know he’s serious, btw. Because if he’s looking for a casual fuck or three, he won’t often bother. And he’s not really a casual fucker type, Imo.. So, yes. You have just gotten yourself a brawny, mouthy, fireball jock boyfriend.
✯ Will surprise you with random stuff. Maybe he sees you eyeing a rock or something. Maybe it’s a cameo at some pawn shop in town. Maybe it’s just deeeep red roses. It winds up in your possession.
✯ Tommy in a known goth hangout, this is more funny than it should be. I picture him trying to make the Moonwalk happen to some slower paced Cure song. And everyone will be staring at him like what the fucking hell? But he doesn’t mind doing things that make you happy. And he’s not really bothered by the staring or anything. He’s uh… developed himself a thick skin.
✯ This man will literally fistfight God if somehow, God were to upset you. This isn’t just applied to alt/goth, but to anyone he lets close enough to him to care about deeply. Tommy is like… Real protective. Real protective.
✯ Cannot keep his hands off you. Loves to watch you getting all the makeup on when you’re going out somewhere. Genuinely enjoys showing you off when you’re with him and does not give one flat footed fuckola if everybody else is looking at you two like you’re the oddest couple they’ve ever seen.
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damienthepious · 2 years
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ahhh dunk here we go again, ,,,,, poor lizard hours,,,, payyy attention to the tags/notes for cws
The Beast In On His Chain (chapter 2)
[ch 1] [ao3] [ch 3] [???]
Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast
Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien, Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla
Characters: Sir Damien, Lord Arum, Rilla, Sir Absolon
Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, prisoner/guard dynamic, Dehumanization, (which feels like a weird word to use for a nonhuman person bUT. it’s what i got.), Despair, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, (EVENTUALLY!!!! it’ll take a while), Captivity, Suicidal Thoughts, (that will be a theme throughout. inescapable in this particular fic. alas.), Eventual Romance, (Yes the dynamics in this one are fucked. honestly i’m kinda Stretching my limits these days.), (having fun with it. fucking around. it’s fine.), Recovery, (eventually), Self-Reclamation
Chapter Summary: Damien learns more about one of the trophies he is assigned to guard.
Chapter Notes: mmmm continuing warnings for captivity, dehumanization, basically kinda torture, malnutrition, isolation, nightmares, inaccurate pronoun use unrelated to gender, canon-typical and canon-extrapolated monster treatment. let me know if i missed anything PLEASE. I'm awful at suspense so i'll say up front (if the angst-w/happy-ending tag didn't give it away) that this will become a recovery story, eventually, and i am pretty goddamn eager to get there. Also, side note, Damien's inaccurate-pronoun-use should NOT be read in any way as my own position on folks using it/its pronouns. Y'all kick ass. Damien himself just doesn't have a context for it/its besides the inanimate and the inhuman, unfortunately. He hasn't met the Keep yet, lol
~
The boredom is an issue, about as soon as Sir Damien expects.
Marching in the same exact circle, surrounded by the same exact trophies, hours and hours in the gloom by torchlight...
Damien thinks of Sir Angelo riding off north, valiant and grinning and promising gleefully to break their tie while he travels, laughing off Damien's somewhat blustering protests to the contrary.
The twin-faced head by the swamp lord's plinth whispers if it cannot prove itself, what is it even good for? and Damien pretends not to flinch.
The swamp lord himself seems to be sleeping again. Sleeping most of the time, in fact, so far as Damien can tell. He would wonder if the creature is simply nocturnal (Damien has not yet been assigned any overnight shifts), but- how would the thing even tell when it was night, down here? Not a flicker of sunlight pierces this deep. There aren't any timepieces, either. Damien himself loses track- the next shift arriving at their posts is the only way Damien knows that enough time has passed to end his own shift.
"Who feeds that creature?" Damien asks the knights at the entryway, curiosity taking command of his tongue. "The swamp lord, I mean."
The pair of them meet eyes, and then one of them shrugs. "No one does."
At the obvious confusion on Damien's face, the other wrinkles his nose. "It's a familiar, Sir Damien," he explains. "The familiar of the swamp. It's made of magic. It could eat, it can, but it doesn't need food or drink to survive. Not really."
So. Why would they bother? It makes... enough sense, an efficiency that Damien acknowledges, though the idea of it- it is difficult not to think it as starving a prisoner, even if that isn't the case in truth.
The question floats through his mind, later that night as he rolls over on his cot in the barracks, and Damien stares hard at the stone wall beside his bed for at least a quarter hour as he tries to make the question go away.
How, exactly, the did lizard's captors first discover what he did and did not need, to survive?
~
He brings his poetry drafts with him for his next few shifts. His notes are bound only loosely, easy to rearrange when he makes connections between two pieces, or when he needs to add more sheets as one of his ideas expands, or if he wishes to look at two budding poems side-by-side.
Obviously he can't walk around his patrol effectively with his notes and a quill and an inkwell - for a moment he envies the swamp lord's extra limbs - so he borrows one of Rilla's clever, narrow, wrapped charcoals. They're better for sketching than for script, but Damien has gotten used to the way they write by now and he doesn't particularly mind the thickness of the lines. Rilla even seems pleased that he isn't complaining quite so much about the inertia of the assignment, so long as he can stretch his mind with other tasks.
He finds himself speaking aloud as he composes, after a little while. It is an old habit, and besides- the creaky, chittery noises of the room are somewhat distracting, and he finds that if he keeps his focus more firmly on the poetry, the twin-faced head in particular is far less likely to try to get under his skin.
At times the poetry shifts, dissolves somewhat, and Damien realizes belatedly that he has fallen into prayer rather than poetics. The line between the two is rather thin, on occasion. A decent number of his poems come in the form of entreaties to his saint, anyway.
Perhaps he requires the prayers, here. This place seems to unsettle his Tranquility. It turns his stomach, if he thinks about his surroundings too deeply. He almost wishes that he requested the dungeons, instead. Speaking to Saint Damien helps, as it always does, although-
The feeling, the sensation of his saint within his chest, that slow pulsing wave of cool affection and protection- it feels strange here, as well. Less certain. Damien suspects that it is the melange of fragmented magic that surrounds him, causing the disruption, but he is unsure. He prays all the more fervently in response.
He does not notice the attention of one of the trophies upon him as he speaks, not until he hears the creature growling in its corner again on the fourth day after he began bringing his drafts along.
Damien blinks as the words die on his tongue, his gaze fixing on the incongruous vivid purple glaring out from the storm-gray monster crouching on his little platform.
His first instinct, oddly, is to feel embarrassed. Which is foolish in the extreme. He clutches his papers close against his stomach, careful not to drag the charcoal over the page as he does, and the monster growls all the louder as Damien meets its eyes.
The creature bares its teeth, when it sees that it has his attention, and then it rolls itself slowly to stand, taller than Damien expected even with his horns shorn down, the entire weight of its body pressed against the chain at its neck and the ones on its wrists. It uses its own weight to help keep it upright, Damien realizes, hanging forward against the chains pulling it back.
And then it- it opens its mouth, and coughs harshly, and then-
He speaks.
"Do you," the monster grates, face screwed up with effort, a hand curling against his collar, "ever... shut... up?"
Damien- Damien stares, lifting one hand to cover his mouth and watching the creature glare at him, panting with a vicious sort of effort.
"You..." Damien swallows. "You can speak," he says, the emptiness of his tone turning the question into a statement, and the monster bares his teeth again, snapping them together and growling as he turns his head away. "This whole time? You could speak this whole time, you could understand me, and-"
"Is this the newest torture your queen has devised?" he snarls, and then he whines, closing his eyes and digging his claws into the collar again, tugging uselessly at the metal as if trying to pull it away from the scales of his neck. "Deprived- deprived even of- of silence, deprived of my own thoughts, tormented by your- your relentless chattering for days on end-"
The creature's voice gives out, his throat moving for another moment as he cringes, stuttering into a painful sounding round of coughs.
"Oh Saints," Damien hears himself say, faintly. Too startled for any proper response, yes, but also-
Deprived of-
Silence, freedom. Food. Water. Deprived, apparently, of his own voice. Deprived of words, and Damien can tell from the coughing and the choking, forced tone in his voice. He can tell, from the way Damien can feel a pulse of strange energy from the monster's heavy collar with every word, and from the way the monster seems to respond to that energy with visible pain.
"I have endured much," the monster spits, his body swinging fractionally forward as his expression twists in fury, the collar at the taut end of its chains pressing deeper indentations into the scales of the monster's throat. "I will endure- endure more, certainly. But if you c-cannot find a way to hold your tongue, then I will find a way to pluck it from your head."
Damien only stares, too stunned to truly comprehend what is being said to him for a long moment, and then-
The absurdity of this creature, cowed and collared, attempting to threaten him- it strikes him as strangely humorous, suddenly and perhaps somewhat grimly. He feels his face twitch, a half-breath of almost-laughter slipping from his lips, and the monster only contorts the expression on his snouted face even further, looking more alive than he has for the entirety of Damien's post here.
"I... will... kill you, little knight," the monster says, visibly struggling to force out the words, his vivid violet eyes locked on Damien's with obvious hatred. "Someday the cage will crack, someday the guard will be sloppy, someday I will again curl my tongue around a shred of magic and then-"
The monster spasms, the collar apparently paying him back for speaking so long against it, and the creature collapses back onto his little plinth with a pained exhale, and Damien-
Damien holds his breath for a moment, shocked by the sharp, strings-cut drop of the creature. He can't help the way his eyes widen in alarm, uncertain whether or not the monster has just injured himself on Damien's watch or- or worse, perhaps, but- no. No, he seems to be- he's still breathing, at least, and there doesn't seem to be any blood around the collar, at least, so.
Not that Damien is- concerned, exactly, but- he is meant to guard these... trophies. That certainly includes keeping them from harm- from damage, at the very least.
(and he knows, of course, that this beast in particular must not be allowed to die)
"You'll forgive me," Damien says slowly, eventually, his tone blank and oddly dry, "if I am not quite terrified of such threats from a creature in your position."
The monster sort of... curls in on himself, two arms around his head and two clutching at his stomach, his tail wrapping up into an almost catlike circle, hissing ineffectually through his teeth, but he does not try to speak again.
"Though..." Damien pauses, paces a few steps, and watches the poison-bright gleam of one of the monster's eyes follow him as he goes, glaring out from between his arms. "I certainly will know to mind my tongue a bit better, here, in the future. For my own sake, you understand, and not yours. Of course, I should not care if you find my prattling an annoyance. You are a prisoner, after all."
The creature glares at him, and even with his face still mostly hidden behind his arms, there is enough venom in his eyes that Damien has to force himself not to take a step back in response. He still remains silent, though. Aside from the pained panting.
No reason whatsoever to feel threatened, Damien muses. Despite the overt threats.
Damien opens his mouth, as if to say-
He does not know.
It seems pointless at best to mock the creature, needlessly cruel at worst. What good would it do? He presses his lips closed after a moment, then reshuffles the pages of his drafts in his hands. He pulls his gaze away from the monster, and he continues his patrol.
~
In silence, this time.Damien dreams the weight of cold iron around his own throat. Dreams a prayer trapped in his lungs, begging for deliverance, begging for voice and sky and any gentle touch. Cold fire curls beneath his jaw, scorching away his words before they can bloom from his lips, the pain sharp enough to pull tears from his eyes, streaming hot down his cheeks.
Across the room, lazing on an identical plinth, the monster watches him wail soundlessly, his violet eyes the only points of color in their grey prison, his own chains slack with hopelessness.
Another knight shoves Damien awake to stop him screaming. Damien can hardly hear the rest of the grumbling complaints from the other cots over the furious thudding of his heart. His throat hurts, ragged as if he were swallowing thorns.
His pillow is wet with tears as he tries to find sleep again. When he closes his eyes, he sees the monster staring back.
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hoghtastic · 7 months
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Damn, now kinda suspect of Lucas. Right after your bar opening, you post and tag Alex in an old “Vogue Scandinavia Magazine” shoot, just to shout him out about how much fun you had this summer? Also using “Viking” in the caption is kinda low is is not. Alex has even said he is tired of that being the only thing he is associated with and you specifically use that to bring even more familiarity and attention with his name for you post? I guess his bar opening didn’t get enough attention like her thought it would by inviting him, so he had to go and do that. Sad.
Well said anon, nothing more to add. 😅 One would think Lucas was famous enough on his own by now, without needing to resort to this... It's sad for the both of them, actually. Alex will always be "the viking" whatever he does (even that "Nordic Narcos" series changed its name to make a reference to this, which was kinda sad and totally unrelated to the story, as if they just added that last minute...), and people will keep on inviting him to these things just for more fame and attention. I truly wish he was given better roles where he could show his potential and improve his acting, just so he could outgrow this phase (as much as I love Ivar!), otherwise his career isn't looking too promising right now... 😕
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feeling-grubby · 8 months
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About/rules
Name-> Howdy hey I'm Ace as stated before.
Age-> I am 19 years old currently.
Pronouns-> My pronouns are he/they.
Follows-> @acedrawa
Trollsona/blog avatar-> Traice Draawa
Get to know me-> I am a hobbyist artist and don't fully intend to do a lot of professional art related things. I'll dabble in commissions and adaptable, but I can't promise ill to do those things often. Instead, I am more fascinated with the field of psychology, though not to become a therapist. I want to do the test and studies more so than civic duty side. Like run experiments and do surveys. I am more interested in that aspect. I love writing, drawing, and just being able to create in general. I may open up some other blogs about my other projects, but I think that's enough about me, unto the blog.
->DNI
Pro-shippers
Racists
Homo/Transphobes
"maps" (you're just a fucking pedo stop trying to relabel it)
ableist
(More to be added I am just blanking)
-> Rules
Almost all my trolls on this blog are 18+. Only two trolls are minors on this blog. With these minor characters interactions and/or rp's with other trolls from other blogs will be very limited/selective if there is any at all. Along with that I will not tolerate people trying to ship them with other characters or do more suggestive things with them. They are on my blog to be just wholesome. (I really hope the suggestive part can go without saying.)
Which leads us to NSFW. I may do some suggestive stuff but explicit stuff I would prefer to do privately. if I ever do post anything suggestive here, I will be sure to tag it. if I forget or wasn't sure if to tag it as let me know if I need to. just don't me malicious about it. I am also okay if people want to draw nsfw art of my trolls who are 18+. I am not against nsfw all together and I just would like to keep this blog relatively SFW.
Dark themes, violence, and triggering content will appear on this blog. I will try my best to tag it appropriately and will put trigger warnings at the top of the post before cutting it. If you think I need to add a tag let me know I will add them upon request.
Shipping and violent exchanges I would like it to be discussed about before becoming canon to our characters. I like plotting those things out beforehand, so we are on the same page when it comes to such plot revealment things.
Some characters I have are morally grey or just evil. Just because I write characters that do awful things does not mean I believe what they are doing is right and does not reflect my own moral standings. I do not condone their actions. it is for plot.
If you find something offensive on my blog, please let me know, and I will fix it. It's never my intention to make harmful content. I am willing to learn and change but I will never learn if it's not brought to my attention. the burden of educating me is not what I am asking for. I will easily put in the effort to educate myself. just please inform me of what is I need to change and learn about.
please do not bring drama to my inbox/dms I am not involved in or is irrelevant to me. I use this blog as a safe space and an escape. I don't want drama here.
-> Tags
trolls so far have one tag. where it is their first name an example is "#hollie" I am unsure if I will add more tags for them or not
ooc tag is for when I am just interacting with other people or talking about something unrelated to my trolls.
Traice Talks is when I ramble about trolls or Homestuck.
judgment meme is for just any judgment meme I do.
(More tags to be added.)
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shig-a-shig-ah · 3 years
Note
Hey mootie I was wondering if your requests are still open, and you were comfortable if you could do Shiggy with a Trans man s/o who has a ridiculously high sex drive. Just nothing takes the edge off. Just the s/o can go several rounds and it concerns Shiggy. I don’t have anything else to add other than I just wanna get raw dogged by my husband 😔👊🏻 feel free to ignore if you don’t wanna do this. I just am thirsting hardcore for my fav villain boss again.
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Moot I could never ignore this, I fucking love it too much and I am very flattered and touched you thought to ask me for this. I focused a little more on the ‘high sex drive’ and ‘raw dogged’ parts of this, but I think I got the concern in there too. I seriously had so much fun writing this one <333333333
» pairing: shigaraki tomura x transmasc!reader 
» cw: insatiable horniness, thigh riding, penetrative sex, some AFAB terminology, teeny-tiny mention of HRT. 18+, minors DNI. 
» a/n: I am not transmasc, exactly, just tried to draw on what I’ve heard from several transmasc people about being on T and being super horny all the time. So, please feel free to let me know if there’s any language I should adjust, or additional tags I should add that I didn’t think about! 
» wc: 1.3k 
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The dream you were having is already slipping away when your eyes flutter open, but you make no effort to cling to it. The way you feel makes clear it was another one of those dreams, the ones you keep having that are yet another symptom of the hormones you're flooding your body with on a weekly basis. They leave your skin flushed and sweaty in the aftermath, that familiar ache pulsing at your center. Throbbing.
It's an arousal so overbearing that it borders on painful, has you curling into the pale-haired man sleeping next to you, fisting at his shirt as you slot yourself against the firm muscle of his thigh, your hips already grinding and tiny whimpers clawing their way up from your parched throat. Any self-consciousness you might feel about this—humping your swollen sex against his leg in the dead of night—is far outweighed by your desperate need for relief.
He starts to slowly stir as you increase the pace, chasing a release that will bring no more than a temporary reprieve at best, and that often offers no real reprieve at all. Somewhere beyond the heat roiling under your skin, you feel gloved fingers tracing over your back.  
"Again?" Tomura murmurs, his raspy voice thick with sleep and tinged with concern. You can only nod and mewl pathetically in response, not slowing even the slightest when he shifts, your chest pressing flat against his as he tugs you atop him. It's followed by his lips pressing soothingly against the crown of your head.
You use that change in position to your advantage, working yourself harder against him, burying your face in his torso to muffle your whines as you ride his thigh all the way to your peak, your own legs trembling as your core clenches around nothing.
Tomura doesn't wait for you to come down—knows you won't, not when you get like this. He's already using one hand to peel away your slick-soaked boxer briefs and shoving his own pants below the jut of his hips, just enough to guide you on to his waiting erection.
You're fluttering at the invasion the moment he's inside, rocking yourself back against his movements, and fuck, Tomura has mixed feelings about what the testosterone has done to you—can't help the pangs of concern and sympathy that plague him as you suffer through a seemingly unending haze of arousal—but he also loves this. Loves how desperate and needy it makes you for him, and how responsive you are to the simplest of touches.
You whimper when he slides a hand beneath your shirt to pinch lightly at one sensitive nipple, watching your face screw up into that expression he finds so becoming—your brows knitted and your lips twisted with frustration, choked sobs spilling out every time your stiff, puffy nub catches on his pelvis. It's as though you can barely handle the sensations, as though it's too much to take, but he knows it's what you need.
"Shh," he whispers, even as he thrusts up into you a little harder, angling his hips to stroke against that sweet spot inside in just the right way, obviously working to send you over the edge again. "You're okay, I've got you."
"Tomu—" your hands tangle into the white fluff his hair, your voice a pitiable pule "—Tomu, please. Need it so bad."
"I know, sweet boy. Don't worry, I'll take care of you." The softness in his voice has your heart squeezing, warmth spreading through your chest, because you know it's true. He's been so patient, even though you've been so shamefully demanding.
Even now he wastes no time making good on that promise, dipping his hand to roll your clit between deft fingers, that added pressure enough to send you hurtling over the edge again. You keen as he strokes you through it, rutting into you faster until his own hips are stuttering and he joins you in that ecstasy.
His cracked lips catch your own when he cums, his tongue licking into your mouth for a kiss that's long and deep, the two of you not separating until he's slumping beneath you, crimson eyes half-lidded. He lifts a calloused thumb to trace over your quivering lower lip.
"Does my handsome boy need more?" he asks, and it's only then you realize you're still fidgeting atop him, that briefly sated ache already returning.
Your face heats up as you nod, embarrassed, but Tomura only grins lasciviously and rolls you off him, arranging you on all fours, grinding his already-swelling length against the curve of your ass and then gliding it over your soaked slit as you whine.
Some days Tomura likes to tease, likes to make you beg for it, but not when you're like this. No, he means it when he swears he'll take care of you, would never even dream of prolonging your misery, no matter how much he might enjoy seeing you writhing and libidinous.
If he's being honest, he enjoys this urgency, too, relishes sinking his length into your soaked, greedy cunt, and the way you yelp in response, bucking feebly to meet his thrusts before you're quickly overwhelmed, collapsing under his efforts. His hands gripping your hips are the only thing keeping you in any way upright as your face presses into the bed, the mattress dampening your cries as you drool against the sheets, lost in the sensation of him stretching you wide.
The head of his cock strokes just right against that sensitive place inside as he pumps himself in and out, enough to have that knot in your belly tightening yet again, and when his thumb moves to brush at your clit it only spurs you even closer to your next release. He keeps his touch gentle, that sensitive nub already tender and overstimulated from the constant attention it demands.
Tomura can feel your slick walls pulsing around his cock as he works you over, that physiological reaction quickly joined by your high-keyed cries. He runs one hand along your back again, trying to comfort you even as he encourages you come apart for him.
"That's my—a-ah—good boy. Cum for me as many—fuck—" he swears as your walls clench again, harder this time "—as many times as you need."
That permission is all it takes and then you're crumbling, quaking as another orgasm tears through you, white spots swimming behind your eyes as you tremble and squirm. He fucks you straight through your release again, so rough and unrelenting that you can't quite tell where that climax ends and the next one begins, can't do anything more than clutch at the sheets and sob with gratitude, practically writhing with overstimulation until he's burying himself to the hilt and filling your insides with yet another rush of his hot seed.  
You can feel those combined juices dribbling down your thighs when he finally withdraws, collapsing next to you and tugging you once again to his chest, softly petting your hair as he places a kiss to your sweaty forehead, and you cling to him gratefully.
Tomura doesn't speak, only enjoys this brief respite knowing that you'll soon be restless again. That's okay; he'll fuck you again if he's had enough time to recover, and if he hasn't he'll bury his face into your sloppy heat and enjoy the strange thrill of tasting your juices mixing together.
No matter what, he'll always make sure you're taken care of.
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mcmoth · 3 years
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Dream SMP fandom etiquette
So. This post is probably too little, too late, considering the fandom and the issues I'm about to talk about have existed for so long now, and a lot of the people who need to hear this probably aren't on tumblr anyways, but I just wanted to dedicate a quick post to talk about fandom etiquette. Mostly pertaining to discourse, and interactions with people outside of our circle. These are just going to be my own personal thoughts, of course, but I felt it could be good to bring some of this to attention. So without further introduction:
Where to (not) talk about discourse:
Don't go into other streamer's vods to only focus about a different character. If you want to analyse, for example, c!Techno, do it in Techno's stream. Don't go into unrelated streams, like Tommy's, Tubbo's etc. to do it, even if they were a part of the event in question. This is, of course, with the exception if the character in question didn't stream their own pov. But otherwise, stay in your own space. This is to prevent cluttering a streamer's comments about unrelated discussion. To give further example: Tubbo's vod comments should primarily focus on Tubbo's character. Not Tommy's, Ranboo's, Techno's or whoever else's.
Don't start discourse in the comments of animatics. Seriously, stop that. Animatics aren't discussion boards. The comments are there to analyse and appreciate the video presented, not argue. It's especially rude if you pick a small detail, that wasn't even the focus of the animatic, or even a completely unrelated issue to rant out your frustrations about. To give examples: starting disc discourse in an animatic of Tommy talking to Wilbur, or rambling about how tragic Techno's character is in an animatic focused on clingy duo, etc.
This applies to fan songs as well.
Video essays are the exception to these rules. I think it's safe to say they're the place to bring your hot takes, if you really feel so inclined to argue in youtube comment sections (Though I'd personally advise to still keep the topic relevant).
Keep negativity out of fanfic comments. This isn't nearly as big of an issue as the last points, but I've seen it happen a couple times, so I'm deciding to mention it. Fanfics are written for fun. Even if you disagree with the characterisation or something else, unless the author is clear in accepting critique, keep criticism to yourself. And definitely don't rant about how you dislike a character unrelated to the fanfic. Sharing your thoughts on the fanfic itself is of course fine and welcomed, but when it turns from discussing the author's story to talking about how you dislike a character in canon, that's when it crosses a line. Example: comment talking about what you don't like about c!Tommy on a Bench Trio fanfiction.
When commenting on art, keep the feedback positive. Even if you dislike any presented character, keep that to yourself. Example: Don't say things like "I hate x character, but this art is good". You might think the author would feel honoured, but it's actually just hurtful.
How to deal with discourse:
This is gonna be a shorter section, because I think we all chose to do it in different ways, and that's valid. Also, it's just that I, myself, am still learning how to do this well, but I thought it could be good to try to lay it out anyways.
Try to scroll past takes you disagree with instead of arguing if you don't think you'd be able to keep your cool. Noone likes a random person yelling at them through a screen, and if you rant, you'll get an equally frustrated reply back, and noone will be happy. Either explain your point in a calm manner, or scroll past/ unfollow/block.
On the keeping cool thing, remember to just step away. Take a deep breath and calm yourself down before proceeding. To minimize the frustration you feel on a daily basis, filter tags, block people, avoid videos and youtube comment sections that you know will upset you, and leave certain internet spaces if you find yourself unable to escape negativity even with all those steps. Remember: in the end, it's all a game played by friends, a story, and your enjoyment of it lies in what you take from it. Abandon what makes you unhappy. Marie Kondo your fandom experience.
Also, here's your reminder, to whom this is relevant, to take care of yourself. Hydrate, eat, sleep, clean up, get fresh air, remember the things outside of all this. There's plenty to do outside of this fandom, and what you can do here can wait. There is no pressure, or obligation. Not for the content you create, not for the discussions you bring, not for responding to discourse, not for anything. Fandom is meant purely for fun, so take care <3
Interacting with people outside of the fandom:
This is something that I've seen a bit of talk about, and I thought I'd drop in my own thoughts on this as well. No matter the differences, we're all just trying to vibe, and I think these are important things to keep in mind to leave both sides better off:
Don't interact with hate posts. Just don't. You don't want to see them, they don't want to see you. Even if your response is lighthearted, their animosity is not. They will feel frustrated regardless, and the grudge will only grow. And if they're being agressive, calm discussion most likely won't happen even if you're being polite. Just leave it, please.
Correct misinformation calmly. I completely get how it can be frustrating to see blatant lies and all, but with our reputation, people will not listen if you're being antagonistic. Provide sources, explain, and leave it at that.
Don't be hateful, send death threats, or assume privilege or whatever else. That's stepping into the same shoes of the people you hate. Misunderstandings go both ways, and the fact of the matter is, I think most people who dislike DSMP, even the ones who are agressive about it, don't have their stance rooted in maliciousness. To expand on why the situation became what it is today, taken from a discussion on discord:
I think it's just a combination of Dream growing so insanely quickly + how internet spaces have changed over the years. When ccs like jackstepticeye or pewdiepie etc. grew popular, activism wasn't as prevalent and held to such importance. Now it's thankfully more talked about, but that also leads to Dream being more scrutinized in comparision. Add twitter trends and the general prevalence of the fandom, and you've got everyone feeling tired and frustrated and paranoid. People also tend not to fact check stuff, especially when it comes to celebrities and stuff they're not really interested in, so rumors spread fast.
And actually, I think there's absolutely valid reasons to be made uncomfortable by Dream SMP, either in it's creators, content or fandom, and there is, of course, stuff to criticise in general. The problem is the hate and misinformation and overexposure, but we are not going to solve any of that by being aggressive in return.
(This is, by the way, not talking about more serious cases. Like doxxing, or leaving gore images in hashtags, or similar instances. That's a whole different complicated issue that I don't feel qualified to tackle.)
And finally, don't overwhelm outsiders who merely mention the Dream SMP. Don't send asks asking them to watch it, don't write paragraphs explaining the lore, don't confuse them with inside jokes, just... Don't jump on people like that. Unless they're explicitly clear in wanting interaction and getting into the fandom, that kind of thing will just drive them away. This is in no way exclusive to the Dream SMP fandom, pretty much every fandom has people enthiastic to have more people involved, but since there are so unbelievably many of us, it's especially easy to go overboard with this stuff. Just... be polite, and don't pressure anyone. Be nice, please.
So.... ya! This would be it for this one, I think. Sorry that it's kinda long, thank you if you read it at all. Hope y'all have pleasant days ^^
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dontcallmecarrie · 4 years
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screw it, this “too many options that all sound appealing” thing is really messing with my rhythm so here, outlines for Endings 1-3. Major spoilers inbound, read at your own risk.
Ending 1: Stay With The Original Plan
canon ensues on Loki’s side, aka he falls right into Thanos’ clutches. [Un]fortunately for him, Thanos is even more pissy than in canon, since ‘his love’ is MIA and he’s hyperfocused on assembling the Infinity Gauntlet under the belief that this’ll be what finally gets her to say yes
somewhere in here, Loki realizes that this is the purple bastard Hela kept telling him about. Just to make this entire experience even more hellish, because having to listen to Thanos talk is more torture than the torture. 
optional, probably won't write: at some point, Thanos asks Loki for dating advice. Which’d go about as well as expected.
Meanwhile, Asgard, Earth, and just about everywhere in between has their hands full now that Helheim is empty and all of its demons are having a field day.
somewhere during the chaos, Fenrir breaks his binds and steals the Aether on the way out. 
cue potential alternate antagonist to make the Avengers assemble. Surtur, perhaps, for maximum irony because...
Jörmungandr wakes up just in time to see Hela bust out of Helheim, and immediately invites her to come with him. Fenrir joins the club when he gets out, too, and cue minor time skip as they all catch up and help each other reacclimatize to living outside of a glorified prison/the modern world. 
okay, from here, there’s two further endings I’d be having to pick between.
Option A:
shit goes down when Loki shows up.
The Avengers assemble, and get not one, not two, but five Asgardians crashing the party on the Helicarrier.
turns out one of them’s an ancient sorcerer who’s been camping out on Earth over the past thousand years and influencing some of their myths. Somehow, this isn’t the weirdest part.
a lot of dirty laundry gets aired in a very short period of time, aka the Avengers get a front-row seat to the shitshow that is the Asgardian royal family and Thor’s respect for his father tanks. 
The local sorcerer is the one who figures out Loki’s being mind-controlled, and Hela is royally pissed off when she finds out who’s responsible. 
well, actually, that’s not entirely accurate: when they find out Loki’s condition, nobody takes it well, and since some of the people in the room were basically used as living weapons for the better part of a millennia, well...
RIP, Thanos. 
[insert family reunion and happy ending here, probably]
Option B: 
[insert antagonist name here] shows up, Avengers assemble.
Cue confusion when an alien trio beats them to the punch, feat. a fuck-off huge wolf, a goth chick who keeps throwing swords [seriously, where is she even getting them from?], and a honest-to-goodness wizard. 
Cue even more confusion when Thor recognizes them as Loki’s friends, and then a lot of stuff goes down very fast when he finds out that they’re famous on Earth— because they’re prophesied to bring about Ragnarok, the fall of Asgard. 
[insert drama here]
Fenrir, Hela, and Jörmungandr quasi-joining the Avengers? Not as impossible as it sounds. 
Thanos shows up looking for the Infinity Stones. Hela oneshots him, and maybe brings him back to life just to kill him again when they find out what he did to Loki.
cue happy ending.
Ending 2: All The Angst And Dramatic Irony [feat. Major Character Death]
this one’d make it all a tragedy, and I hate making myself sad and also I didn’t tag for major character death, so that’s already two strikes against it but my brain can’t let it go so here goes:
Loki died when he fell from the Bifrost. 
Hela and Jörmungandr don’t know this, and don’t have much to compare notes because Jör last saw him when he fled and Hela’s last conversation was right before Thor’s coronation. However, they are aware that Loki succeeded in his mission of getting Hela free, and they know how happy Odin would’ve been when it happened— they’re operating under the assumption that he’s been imprisoned for treason, and gearing up to invade Asgard for the sole purpose of getting him out. 
The events of the first Avengers movie doesn’t happen/gets skipped.
Fenrir breaks out during the Convergence, scaring the crap out of Jane Foster and taking the Aether with him. 
The group has a reunion, and then all eyes turn to Asgard. 
Chaos ensues when the Dark Elves’ invasion is interrupted by a separate, entirely unrelated attack that somehow manages to do even more damage.
and incidentally end up fulfilling the prophecy along the way, because they have a bone to pick with Odin and everyone who helped him
Cue angst and sadness when the truth about Loki comes out. Because Thor enters the fight, and Fenrir/Hela/Jörmungandr would inevitably ask “where’s your brother?” and then out comes the story of what happened on the Bifrost
...and because I made myself sad, here, have an alternate ending:
Hela and the others categorically refuse to accept he died, and keep looking. 
Jörmungandr in particular points out that the Bifrost can result in wonky time-space shenanigans if not monitored closely, and considering the circumstances in which he fell, well...
Fenrir goes to town on Sakaar when they find Loki.
cue tearful reunion and happy ending.
Ending 3: CHAOS [the fun one that I’m honestly leaning towards]
aka taking all of MCU canon that I remember, and sticking it in a blender because timeline fuckery abounds and absolute no one knows wtf is going on anymore. 
Taking full advantage of the “Bifrost can result in accidental time travel” thing, and the fact that Thanos is distracted looking for Hela and the Infinity Stones which in turn affects when the events of the first Avengers movie happens, well...
after Loki falls, cue minor timeskip because of Reasons. Hela and Jörmungandr get the chance to start recovering from the whole “living on the run/being forced into this position” thing, and also start looking
then a lot of stuff goes down very very fast.
Loki shows up in Germany, catching the attention of not only the Avengers, but Hela and Jörmungandr. 
...the alien god talking about subjugation should’ve been the guy getting all the headlines, had it not been for the gigantic glowing wolf that showed up halfway through his speech. Or the aliens that followed him from gods-knew-where.
aka Fenrir breaks out during the Convergence, and the Dark Elves really, really, really want the Aether.
aka yes, this is the one where the events first Avengers movie and Thor: The Dark World happen concurrently.
SHIELD has their hands full, Erik Selvig and Jane Foster are working overtime to figure out wtf is going on, and Thor is less than helpful because all of other aliens can and will attack him on sight. 
Thor tries to drag Loki into custody.
Loki gets kidnapped on the way. By a wizard, because why the fuck not, things were already weird enough as is. 
Tracking down said wizard is an exercise in futility, but damn if they don’t try anyway. 
Having Clint Barton and his associates get portalled in with an honest-to-goodness apology note? Sure, just add it onto the pile. 
Everyone in SHIELD is confused, anyone who knows their myths has just been screaming this entire time because there’s also been sightings of an enormous snake in the oceans [Jörmungandr’s defense system was working overtime, sue him], and things just keep escalating.
Eventually there’s a team-up, and then a human wizard shows up too? Saying something about how their duty was to safeguard the Earth from extradimensional threats and obviously SHIELD was doing a shit job of it? Fine. Just...fine.
hi, Stephen Strange
aka the Avengers assemble and there’s more of them because all hands on deck
[insert snappy dialogue and interactions here]
Hela when she finds out what Thanos is up to: (ง'̀-'́)ง
[insert cinematic fight scene with all the drama and irony and Norse mythology references]
cue happy ending
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Text
Hello Darlings, just a quick update and psa of sorts.
First of all, I have just a little under 5,000 notifications to get through today, so I don’t think I’m going to be able to post more submissions like I said I would. I will try to do so tomorrow instead, all things going well.
As for the “announcement”, I’ve noticed a sudden increase of strange blogs that are using my tag and reblogging my posts, that are starting to become an issue.
I’m pretty sure that they are bots of some kind and that they’re designed to mash together random sentences that will grab attention, but are rarely very coherent, and tend to get less so the longer they go on.
Most commonly, these responses or posts contain rather vulgar or degrading messages, or things that are meant to get people offended, or are simply dramatic and completely unrelated to the content they’re reblogging. For example; racist slurs, homophobic comments, threats, seemingly “personal” insults, and so forth. They also seem to send lots of messages and submissions to peoples inboxes too, again in the hopes that you will respond and bring more attention to their blog.
Interacting with these “bots” as I assume they to be, makes them add you into their range of focus, and causes them to start adding you or your most commonly used tags, to their own, all in the hopes of drawing even more attention. They also seem to be going after the more popular blogs, or blogs with lots of traffic.
Please do not interact with them, it only makes their messages more visible and more active, which is the opposite of what we want.
I’ve tried to block all the ones I’ve found so far, but I’m not quite sure how well that’s working out. But if you see any of these hateful and baffling off subject messages, please quickly take a moment to block them yourselves so that we can slowly start flushing them out of this circle.
Good luck Darlings, and sorry for how wordy this is. I’m frustrated and a little drained from some personal stuff that’s going on too.
Love you all dearly 😘🖤
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the-final-sif · 4 years
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(4/?) (I'm so sorry this got WAY out of hand,,,,,) And like around the Bakusquad they notice and ask but he just goes into Panic Mode so they back off, and Izuku (the only one to notice the 'fire' (haha reference)) actually distracts the teacher best he can. But I mean if it's one he has to be around consistently?? Ho Shit, That's Bad. And I mean he was probably asleep actually, but like maybe the one who muzzled him at least?? Or he could've seen them at first, I guess.
(3/?) ... Also,,,may I PLEASE add what I did in the tags: Katsuki being highkey wary of whatever teachers might have bound him down at the Sports Festival. 
God, Katsuki being scared of the teachers who chained him up + muzzled him at the sports festival would be a fucking amazing plotline.
I explored that a little with Katsuki being scared of All-Might during his panic attack in lesson’s learned, but it’d be fascinating to take a look at it more up close and right after the sports festival.
Midnight would’ve had to have been involved, though I don’t think she’d be able to pin Katsuki down if he wasn’t drugged. She might’ve knocked him out a second time though, if he was refusing, and then the chaining/muzzling part.
Going through it logically, I think what would’ve happened is that Katsuki woke up for the first time somewhere backstage/in the nurse’s office not too long after he passed out. There Midnight who’d hauled him in told him that he won. Katsuki who was still pissed about the match and rightly pissed about being knocked out, declared that he didn’t want the shitty medal and that he hadn’t really won. He was told that declining wasn’t an option for whatever reason, and he said fuck that and tried to leave. Midnight knocked him out again as a result.
I don’t think Midnight would’ve made the call to chain him to the podium, I think that was probably Nezu. But Midnight would’ve helped get him chained up to the podium, and then Katsuki woke up. Again, he’s rightly pissed the fuck off and super freaked out about being 16 years old, waking up bound and chained with no ability to escape or protect himself, with thousands of strangers watching him and cameras broadcasting his situation. From there he almost certainly started shouting/protesting, at which point he was muzzled (if he wasn’t previously) until the All-Might exchange. Out of all the teachers, I think All-Might or Cement Toss would’ve had to have been the one to muzzle him, since there’s no way in hell he’s not biting anyone that gets too close to him. Probably Cement Toss. So he’d have the most trauma/direct associations with Midnight and Cement Toss, but All-Might/the rest of the teachers all let it happen, and that would hurt him a lot too.
That leaves Katsuki fundamentally unable to trust any of the adults in his life. It also leaves him with weeks and weeks of humiliation as he has to endure constant reminders of what happened, with himself painted as the villain of the story despite having been the victim. God, the amount of news articles, headlines, tv broadcasts, photos, even just people on the street talking about it, must’ve seriously fucked with him.
I really hold tightly to my personal canon that Izuku was the only one who was willing to call out how fucked up it was. Because he actually knows who Katsuki is, despite everything, he never has and never will see Katsuki as the villain of any story, and as such he saw what really happened. There certainly a lot of him being pissy with their teachers, trying to keep them away from Katsuki, and offering direct help to Katsuki, but I think what he would’ve done that helped most was letting Katsuki know that what happened was fucked up & Katsuki was right to be upset about it.
Beyond that, it’s a lot of little things. If the sports festival awards comes up, be in in classroom conversation or on tv/etc, then he’ll change the subject/channel/distract from it. When he and Katsuki are walking somewhere together, he’ll make sure that he’s blocking out as much of that crap as he can. If strangers on the street try to approach Katsuki about it, he’s more then willing to get in the way and blabber at them about unrelated topics until they give up. He probably writes long, long emails into news stations and websites, pointing out how fucked up their reporting is and the truth of the matter. His letters do help kill some of the negative media attention and even lead to a few more thoughtful media outlets bringing up some of his points.
The damage is still done though, and Izuku tries, by god that kid tries, but he’s a child too, and neither he nor Katsuki have even the faintest idea of how to handle this level of hurt.
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theatresweetheart · 5 years
Text
Thorns and Arrows
Fandom(s): Sanders Sides, G/t
Prompt: “I’ll take real good care of you, I promise.” With prinxiety? Maybe with big Roman and tiny Virgil? — Asked by @arc852
Summary: Virgil, after narrowly escaping capture by humans who believe his witchcraft is demonic, ends up getting caught by Roman instead.
Warnings: Brief mention of Remus, brief mention of Deceit (Darien), multiple descriptions of blood, disturbing use of language, talk of death, character being treated inhumanely, fear, fainting, crying, swearing, fire. (I think that’s it, but please let me know if I missed anything!)
Pairings: Platonic Prinxiety, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it Logince
Word Count: 4140 words.
A/n: So, I actually had a lot of fun writing this and getting to play around with different perspectives and such. Also, a huge thank you to the ever lovely @hiddendreamer67 for being a fantastic beta and helping me edit! 
(Also, as a side note, I decided not to add this into the ask with the prompt, only because it had gotten so long. Adding “Read More” into my asks has been problematic for now, so I might do every long story like this and the shorter ones answered in asks. That is still to be decided.)
Anyhow, enjoy! 
Taglist: @isle-of-gold  (Feel free to let me know if you ever want to be tagged in future works!) 
                                      +~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+
Life is a cruel mistress, some would say.
She taunts and giggles and gifts more misfortune to the already unfortunate.
To those that had been born into a life with little to no chance of success or survival, she can be loving and kind and extend assistance and a caring hand. Or, she would sit by, watch and grin at the suffering she caused.
Virgil didn’t want to be ungrateful, but as he stumbled through the overgrown underbrush of the forest in a panicked escape from the king’s knights close behind him—with swords and shields and bows and arrows ready—he felt as though he had every right to be sour about his life.
“Halt in the name of the King, witch!”‌ One knight shouted, causing the witch himself to reel and press on forward faster. “You will cease your useless attempt and repent in the Halls of the King before the Royal Court!”
If he had wanted to repent and be dragged back to the court to either be hung or drowned, he would have already turned himself in.
The sounds of his own breathing got loud enough that it was the only thing he could focus on. The blood rushing in his ears, the adrenaline pounding through his veins.
His coven had already been ravaged by fire and death and destruction, his familiar was nowhere to be seen—which worried him greatly—and now he was running blindly through a forest he didn’t know his way out of.
He was in an area of the forest that he had never had the chance to see. A place he had never been taken to, or shown around. He was completely on his own when it came to navigating his way out.
To put it lightly, Virgil was terrified.
The sound of an arrow whizzing by his head, nearly nicking his cheek, made him recoil and duck to the other side, catapulting himself over a fallen log and continuing his sprint.
There was just so much that had gone wrong in such little time. This morning had been like any other morning, quiet, relatively peaceful. He was going to try and spend most of his day perfecting his potions, only for that to have changed within the hour.
How had the knights figured out his coven existed?‌ A false accusation by one of the paranoid townspeople, claiming they had seen another of Virgil’s coven commit a heinous act of witchcraft.
It hadn’t been hard to figure out that the townsfolk were bluffing. It also wasn’t hard to understand that the townspeople didn’t like him or his coven in the first place. They were isolated and kept to themselves a lot, only entering the town square when absolutely necessary. To an outsider, they almost did look a tad too much like witches, but they had never been accused of it before.
There had been rumors, Virgil remembered, when he was little. He remembered staying close to Darien, a hand latched onto the older witch’s jacket as they navigated the town. People would whisper to each other, point and stare, but nothing had ever come of it. It remained only as if it were a whisper on the wind.
There had always been paranoia within the town about the forest and what lurked inside of it, which was understandable.
There were terrible creatures that lurked in the night, searching and stalking for an easy meal. If you didn’t know how to fight back, it would be far too easy to lose. Sometimes, even if you did know how to defend yourself, you just weren’t strong enough.
Some of the animals that did haunt the night were wolves and bats and coyotes and such, but then there were mystical creatures as well; the fae, werewolves, and vampires, which were rare, but there. They mostly lived among the people and not so much in the heart of the woods. It was easier to feed that way.
There were even creatures that were so big they’d be able to swallow a human whole if they so desired.
Now those were the encounters that would strike fear into anyone’s being. Anyone that had a rational head on their shoulders would avoid a giant at all costs.
Then there were the so called “giant hunters”‌ who decided it would be a good idea to go after these massive beings and try to claim fame and fortune.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t likely anyone would return from such a quest.
Not that Virgil felt a shred of pity for them. They had made their choice—no matter how stupid—and it had cost them their lives. So, the only way to go about that was to learn from their mistakes and never make the same choice himself.
The twang of another arrow being loosed caught his attention, but the searing hot agonizing pain that rose from his left shoulder was the thing that shattered every coherent thought in his head. The yelp of pain that came sharply from his mouth made the knights behind him cheer in glee; they had hit their mark!‌ It was only a matter of time now before the witch stumbled and dropped.
While his vision was hazy, Virgil wasn’t letting the arrow get the better of him. He needed to get out of here. He needed to find– to find… find what exactly? What was left for him? His coven was nothing but ashes, his familiar was possibly dead and he was being hunted. It really was only a matter of time before he stumbled to his knees and let the knights have their way with him.
But there was also the sharp resilience that said this isn’t what his family would want for him. The fact that giving up meant losing immediately. The moment one gave up was the moment one lost.
Chancing a glance down at the wound, Virgil saw a steady stream of crimson blood oozing down his left arm, dripping off of his fingertips before it had the chance to dry. He needed to dislodge the arrow, find some way to heal the wound before he bled out…but without a safe place to stop and rest, it was pointless.
Without his eyes on the escape route, he had failed to notice the steep drop down the bank in front of him. Just as his foot caught on a stray root, a sharp cry was ripped from his throat and he stumbled and slid to his knees. Unable to hold himself up any longer, he collapsed to the ground and rolled onto his uninjured side just enough to see the knights approaching him quickly.
The sounds of the armour and weapons clattering got closer and closer, until Virgil could see the three knights standing over him. Looking red in the face and furious, but almost mixed with a horrible look of glee. They got to take what they wanted of him. Torture him, kill him.‌ Anything they so desired.
His chest rose in panting breaths, unsteady but in an almost recognizable pattern. Hazily, his eyes slid over each and every knight, taking in what they looked like. Burning their images into his brain as the last thing he would probably see before they ran him through. He memorized every little detail, including their unbearable grins, sneers and sharp looks that said so much more than words could.
“Absolutely pitiful,”‌ the one to his right said, voice dangerously low. He crouched down, prodding Virgil roughly in the injured shoulder and grinning as the witch hissed at the unwanted and painful touch. “A single arrow takes down the last witch of that disgusting coven. You’d think it’d have more fight. At least a will to live.”
Of course Virgil had a will to live, but surrounded like this, too weak to even try and utter a simple spell?‌ His odds weren’t looking great. But that knight could go and take what little knowledge his fat head carried and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.
“I almost feel bad,”‌ a second voice piped up, cruel and unrelenting. “Get it up boys. Bring it back to the King.”
The first knight got down lower, so low that Virgil could feel his breath against his neck. It was a vulnerable section of skin for someone’s mouth to be hovering over and he was half afraid that the knight would take the advantage to sink his teeth into his jugular. Of course it wasn’t a human move, but it didn’t stop Virgil from worrying about it. He even tried to writhe away to the best of his ability but was stuck in place by the third’s heavy grasp. “The King ain’t gonna be happy with you,”‌ he snarled, “I‌ like to think that your coven got off easy.”
The thought that being burned alive in your own home was getting off easy, made Virgil feel so unbelievably sick that he felt bile rising.
There was no way that Darien and Remus had gotten off easy. Buried under rubble with heat from all sides, heat that you couldn’t escape, that you choked on and eventually made your suffering so unbearable—
Virgil coughed, blood painting his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling heat prickling the back of his eyes. The water threatened to spill, but he fought back the urge. The knights already had enough reason to mock him; he didn’t want crying in front of them to be another.
The first knight grinned wider. He pushed himself away from the curled up form on the ground and circled around to the other side of him. He grabbed Virgil under the shoulder where the arrow was still implanted into it, before seemingly like he had a better idea. “Hold the witch down,”‌ he said to the other two. “Roll it over onto its back.”
As he was pushed onto his back, Virgil’s eyes snapped back open, blurred as they were, and they locked on the first knight. They widened as he noticed the knight’s hand wrapping around the shaft of the arrow.
He’s going to pull it out. It’s going to get ripped out without care or precision.
Doing that, could ruin his shoulder for life. There was only so much healing magic could do when you weren’t skilled enough in the practice. The fact that the arrow itself was going to be ripped out the opposite way it had been shot in made his stomach churn.
“N-no!”‌ Virgil had finally found his voice, but the demand came out weaker than he had anticipated it. The three men above him didn’t seem to care about his protest as the arrow was grabbed half a moment later. “W-wait, please! Don’t— don’t do this!‌ I’ll go back willingly…ju-just leave the arrow alone!”
“So, it talks,”‌ The second knight snarked, his hands tightening on his good shoulder. Virgil’s eyes frantically searched the features above him, the world beginning to darken in his terror. “It’ll only hurt for a few days.”
“Don’t worry though,” the knight said, giving an experimental tug on the arrow shaft, watching Virgil’s pained expressions carefully. “I’m sure you won’t live that long anyhow. So, perhaps, it’ll only hurt for the rest of your miserable life.”
Virgil tried to prepare himself for the feeling of something being torn out of his body, but nothing could have prepared him for the excruciating feeling that rippled through his entirety.
The arrow head had been so far embedded into his shoulder that it had nearly been poking out the other side. It had torn through layers of skin and had caused the wound to enlarge. More blood spilled from the gash and Virgil almost felt numb. So much agony was flushing through his body that he could hardly put two and two together.
He choked on his breathing, blood made another reappearance as he coughed, gagging at the unbelievable amount of torment.
It only made the knights howl with laughter, looking down at the witch. He wasn’t a big kid, in fact Virgil was actually remarkably small for someone his age. His short stature only made it easier for the knights to keep him trapped.
Virgil gasped, trying to find a way to steady himself enough to process just what exactly was happening to him.
Die.
The word was so sudden and startling that he almost couldn’t fathom the meaning of it.
You are going to die.
Everything that had happened in his life was going to be rendered meaningless. As if he had never done anything at all. There was no one left to remember him.
They’re going to kill you right here, right now so the King will reward them as heroes.
He squeezed his eyes shut, tears finally spilling over. He choked on a sob and shook his head, trying to get them off. Trying to get them to let him go. Trying to do something that could possibly save his life. Anything.
You’re going to die and there is nothing you can do about it.
His mind was alive and buzzing, but numb and everything was confusing and he couldn’t see straight, he could hardly breathe. There was so much assault happening to him that his senses couldn’t comprehend everything. From the sharp, stinging pain in his shoulder that was going to kill him if he didn’t get it treated to the electric buzzing going on inside his head from the constant movement and chatter, or even when it came to noticing the quaking in the ground that hadn’t been there before.
Wait.‌‌ What the holy hell was that?
“I didn’t think witches understood human emotions,” the first knight said, snapping the arrow between his two hands and tossing it to the side idly.
He seemed to be the only knight that hadn’t honed in on the difference in the air around them. The way the ground kept shaking in a steady and oddly familiar pattern. It was timed and paced, but shook with a passion. It felt like…like… oh.
Oh no.
No, no no no!
Virgil was too scared to open his eyes, knowing that his consciousness was just barely holding on. It was only a matter of time before it was over for all of them. Seeing through the blood loss and tears wouldn’t help either, but he knew what was coming. He knew that it was way worse than what the knights had in store for him.
“L-let me go!” He grit out, almost trying harder but with his strength failing him, he sounded pathetic.
“Now, why would we do something like that?” The knight crooned. “We caught you and now we’re going to fulfill our duty to the King.”
“No!”‌ Virgil’s voice verged on shrill. “You— you don’t get it!”
The footsteps were getting closer, more prominent. The earth shook with every footfall and the force rattled through him as he was laying flat on the ground.
It was then that the knight seemed to realize what was happening. The first knight was turning to see something he did not want to see.
“What?” The knight barked in surprise, immediately on his feet with his sword drawn. The other two followed suit leaving Virgil on his back, heaving with gasps and anguish.
Just as the knight had gotten the word out, the darkness slid over them, casting the four humans into its shadow.
Virgil knew that it wasn’t a cloud blocking the sun; it was something far worse.‌ Far more dangerous.‌ Something that made him want to be dragged away by the knights and thrown in front of the king. He’d rather that then suffer a death at the hands of a giant.
“Now isn’t this quite the sight,”‌ the rumbling voice from overhead made Virgil flinch further into himself, keeping his eyes screwed shut. He had already memorized the faces of his other tormentors, he didn’t need to see this one too. “The King’s men, supposedly meant to protect the citizens of the Kingdom, attacking one of their own.”
“A‌ witch!”‌ The knight barked, his hold on his sword wavering, terror eating away at his insides. It was obvious how frightened he was, but the stubbornness within him refused to let it show. “It is no member of our society!”
Roman scoffed, his eyes locked on the quivering little form on the ground. “I don’t want to assume, but I‌ would believe the witch would prefer to be addressed as a he not an it.”
The knight threatened to take a step towards the witch again, but Roman moved forward more, to match in confidence and challenge the knight. Giving more of a protective loom over the group of three knights.
“Witch or not, he is still a person,” The giant said, a growl just under the tone of his voice. “Or is that too hard for your bitty human brains to understand?”
The second knight reeled back from that, looking white in the face. His terror was clear to read. The third knight was harder, but the quivering of the blade showed real fear. The knight that was still talking back just seemed to be an idiot.
The first knight met the giant’s eyes, fearless and stupid. “I suppose that means monsters stick together.”
A sharper look filled Roman’s eyes, almost immediately the aura darkened, and he leaned down so much so that they were nearly at eye-level. He hovered just over them to assert his dominance in the situation. To further assert himself, he planted his hands on both sides of the group of knights—even though he was carefully aware of where the little witch was cowering, sobbing, bleeding out and shit I‌ have to deal with these fools quick.
So, he focused all of that irritation and frustration into staring, unwavering, at the knights in front of him. Their swords were nothing compared to him. Humans were absolutely nothing compared to him. “Keep using language like that and I will scrape you across the forest floor like old gum.”
Finally, that got the reaction he had been wanting. He wanted fear, and he wanted them to regret stepping into his part of the woods and torturing an innocent person—witch or not—as if they could get away with it. As unbelievably angry as he was, he knew that he would have to treat the little human and his injuries.
“I’m going to give you a single chance to leave without getting hurt,” he said, voice dangerously low. ‌A menacing snarl that reverberated through his chest and rumbled around them like a thunderstorm waiting to happen. “Get out of here. Now.”
The two other knights had no problem sticking their swords into their sheathes and bolting in the same way they came, their armour clanging together as they escaped. The first knight held his ground, but when chocolate brown eyes stayed locked on him, unrelenting and cold and unsympathetic, the knight felt his heart jump into his throat for the first time. He took an unsteady breath and his resolve shattered when he watched Roman bare his teeth in a sneer at him.
It took nothing for him to scamper off in the same direction as his colleagues.
Now, with the threats gone, he could pay some attention to the witch that was still bleeding out on the ground.
His hands moved from their defensive position, that he had been using to keep himself upright, to one that was encompassing the little human. Curled around the tiny shivering form as if to protect him and ward off any further predators that intended to harm.
“Hey,” his voice was softer, as quiet as he could get it to be without causing more alarm. Perhaps after everything though, Roman would still be registered as a threat because of what the witch had just witnessed. He watched the tiny form flinch away from the sound, one hand moving to cover the gaping wound on his shoulder. “This might not sound all that…reassuring, but you don’t have to be afraid of me.”
The witch gave the tiniest shake of his head in a clear and obvious distrusting “no,” but his eyes remained screwed shut. The human’s hands were smeared in his own blood, the ripped white shirt he was wearing had been stained crimson with the thick liquid.
Biting into his lower lip, Roman let his gaze flicker. The creature was obviously in a great amount of pain and he seemed to be losing consciousness. “I‌ know you have no reason to trust me, but would it help if you knew my name?” Without an answer, he was sure the human was starting to doze but he needed him awake. So, talking to him was the only rational thing that came to mind. “My name’s Roman. I know this is an odd way to meet someone, but it makes for an interesting origin story, don’t you think?”
The witch groaned up at him and for a moment, he thought they were actually communicating, only to be let down—unsurprisingly—when the human didn’t react anymore than that.
While he wanted to get him patched up as soon as possible without moving him, as that could agitate the wound further (or so Logan said), Roman needed to get the human back to his home. There, he had medicines and remedies that would help begin the healing process. And, if the knights were right and the human was a witch, he should know some healing spells himself, too.
Quickly making up his mind, knowing that he couldn’t leave the half-conscious human here by himself to go and retrieve medical supplies, he began to close his hands around the tiny form before pausing. The human hadn’t even looked at him once and Roman didn’t want to startle him by just suddenly grabbing him and hefting him high into the air.
“I’m gonna have to move you, alright?‌ That way I‌ can take you back to my place and my friend and I‌ can get you all fixed up,”‌ Roman chattered at him quietly, explaining his plan while also asking for permission. “That way you’ll be right as rain in a couple days. Will you let me do that?”
The witch made a small noise and Roman was ready to roll with that, when instead it opened its mouth. He held his breath, wanting to make sure he didn’t miss anything important.
“…nuh.”
It sounded like a no but even knowing that the creature didn’t want to be moved, Roman couldn’t just leave it here to die. At least, not in good conscience.
His shoulders drooped and he couldn’t do it. “Sorry little buddy,” he said quietly, the apology doubled as a warning.
It seemed the witch understood that much as the eyes fluttered open lazily. The brown eyes were glazed over, that much was obvious to tell. The little one was watching but Roman didn’t think he was actually seeing. Or if he was even able to connect what was happening right now to reality. The little thing had to be inches away from death and, if worse came to worse and Roman couldn’t save him, at least the human would be in safe company when he passed.
Refusing to let that thought rule his motivations, he carefully scooped his palms underneath the tiny being, incredibly savvy to how he cried out with such a heartbreaking noise. The little one was absolutely petrified.
Heart crawling up into his throat, Roman cupped the human between his two hands and lifted the little one off of the ground and out of its puddle of blood, into the cupped bowl of his palms.
The human groaned in agony and Roman was quick to coo to him, making small comforting noises in the back of his throat. Trying to make the awful situation better as he rose to his feet. “Shh, shh. I know, little one, I‌ know,” he soothed, “I know it hurts but I’m going to get you back home and I’m going to get you all patched up. I’m not gonna hurt you, you’ll be okay.”‌
He felt so horribly guilty that he hadn’t heard the commotion earlier. He knew it wasn’t right to blame himself for this, but he couldn’t help it. Not with how the witch was trying to focus on him, only to let his eyes slip closed.
It looked as though he was ready to accept his fate.
Roman couldn’t let him do that—not without at least trying first.
“You’re okay,”‌ he hushed the tiny human, “no one’s gonna hurt you again. You’re safe with me, I‌ swear it.”‌
Roman looked up briefly to make sure he was heading in the direction that would lead him home, before focusing back down on the form in his hands.
“I’ll take real good care of you.” His voice was nearly a whisper, a silent vow as the human began to drift off into full unconsciousness. “I‌ promise.”
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acrispyapple · 4 years
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If you get this, answer with 3 random facts about yourself and send it to the last 7 blogs in your notifications, anonymously or not! Let's get to know the person behind the blog!😘😘😘😘 (Sorry im doing it for the sake of it but its ok if you dont want to answer >
heya! i don’t mind~ tho i’m a pretty boring person so i don’t really have anything interesting to share haha ✿
i still watch scooby doo movies. it’s something i can watch without having to pay attention or exert too much effort. it’s relaxing haha
i like cold weather over hot weather.
i still bring my dogs with me at night when i get up for water or something, because they’re my spirit wards~ dogs gonna alert me if there are ghosts and crap (yes, i’m an adult lmao)
also tagged by @ruionizuka​ for the same thing! so i’m gonna add another one. ♪
i also love reading about ancient history especially greece. (i read your answers)
noisy chewing / open mouth chewing / noisy eating makes me die inside.
most of my injuries are caused by my own clumsiness or reluctance to get help
that’s it! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°
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heya, thankies! it makes me feel better receiving stuff like this~ ♡
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heya! not really. i started this blog because my main blog is another fandom blog and i can’t reblog / post stuff i wanted that’s unrelated. so i made this sideblog with the intent of just dumping whatever i like / whatever i’m doing here. then i guess it became the kind of blog you see now. you guys should see my first ever post here or better yet, search for zac efron haha. ☆
i started getting into the whole “no art theft” thing when i got into fanart posting. i learned about art theft + some jp artists added more knowledge regarding stuff they’re not okay with etc. (^ ^*)♡
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exhausted-joy · 5 years
Text
SCARY HOURS [YANDERE!JUNGKOOK] [04]
CHAPTER FOUR.
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SYNOPSIS: Jeon Jungkook is a high school delinquent who also happens to be your awful new next door neighbor. Every night at three am, you jolt awake to the bangs and screams that leak through the thin walls of your apartment. Eventually, you can’t stand it anymore and decide to confront your problematic neighbor. But as it turns out, Jeon Jungkook is no ordinary high school student, and the screams are not that of his own.
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It’s been a few days since Jimin has somehow sliced open the side of your face with his backpack, and it seems that since the incident he just won’t leave you alone.
 Not in a bad way, of course, you actually enjoy the constant attention considering the fact that you have been starved of it since your only friend decided to switch schools last semester. It’s liberating to know that you and Jimin actually get along so well; you both like a lot of the same music, watch the same tv-shows, and he even likes to go to the same arcade as you after school sometimes. It’s almost as if he were a clone of you, but he was much cuter, you think. 
However, Jimin’s sudden fixation on you has become a breeding ground for some nasty rumors. Over the course of the last few days, you have begun to realize some things. One, the boy is popular amongst his peers as he is not only incredibly handsome, but is also the very studious and bright class president of your year. And two, his being apart of this rigged democracy and hanging around a loner like you has caused a rift in his relationship with his student body friends. 
This reason being why today he wasn’t going to eat lunch with you, but instead with his fellow student body friends - more like fan club - who all immediately lightened up when he joined them at their designated lunch table. You watch from the entrance of the cafeteria for a moment, feeling somewhat bad for him. You honestly couldn’t imagine having such a responsibility to please people in this magnitude; he jumped from clique to clique like clockwork and yet no one was ever satisfied. 
Jimin briefly turns around to give you an apologetic smile and an encouraging thumbs-up before returning to his conversation. You sigh and force yourself to straighten up, walking out of the cafeteria to go to your usual spot on the rooftop. You brought your own lunch on days when you usually ate it alone, for walking through the cafeteria and waiting in the lunch line seemed to trigger some sort of tripwire of anxiety in your mind. It also saved you a pretty penny, too.
 Despite it only being a few days, it practically feels like forever since you have been completely alone at school. It’s not necessarily weird considering you have beared most of the burden of your school life alone, but the feeling of being able to talk to someone all the time, anytime, was a feeling you could possibly get addicted to. But, alas, today it was only you, with your thoughts to keep you some form of company. Getting attached to Jimin shouldn’t make hanging out with yourself any less fun than it used to be. 
You reach the familiar stairwell that lays on the farthest point in the west wing of the school, and just the sight of it brings that loneliness crawling back up again. Shaking your head, you crush it down, scowling at your weakness. You begin to make your way up the three flights of stairs, occasionally glancing out the windows lining the walls that give a nice view of the outside field area. Some kids are playing soccer and others are on the courts playing basketball, their laughter and yells of joy almost audible through the thick panels. 
You never considered yourself to be much of an athlete, but you found yourself wondering what it would be like to have someone invite you to play a game of ball with them. The idea of sweating in your school uniform sounded unappealing, but you honestly wouldn’t mind if it meant having a good time with someone close. It was a foreign thought, but it was nice to think about. 
As you round the corner to go up the last flight of stairs, you are suddenly unable to ascend any further. Laying in the middle of the path is your neighbor, Jungkook, whose name you learned when you dreadfully found out the news that he would be your seatmate for the rest of the year. You are more surprised than anything because you haven’t seen him since that day in the nurse’s office, and he hadn’t shown up to school any other day after that. You never got the chance to thank him, but you aren’t sure you want to considering the fact he beat up Jimin, a literal sweetheart, for a mere accident. And not to mention the way he slammed the door in your face; you get nightmares just thinking about it. 
“Jungkook...?” You question softly, the unfamiliar name sounding strange when you say it aloud for the first time. It seems like he’s fallen asleep on the stairs with the way his body is sprawled out across a couple steps, and how his head is uncomfortably propped on his backpack as a substitute for a pillow. Looking around, you notice the hall on this floor is totally empty, as it usually is when it’s lunch time. You couldn’t blame him - this was the perfect spot for an afternoon snooze, if you did say so yourself. 
You aren’t quite sure whether or not to wake Jungkook up so you can pass, or to just carefully step over him and try not to accidentally bump him. There’s a tug of concern in the back of your mind on the way he’s positioned himself - what if he turns over too far, tumbles down the stairs, breaks his neck  and dies? What if he gets some kind of viral disease from laying on those filthy steps? Who knows where the bottom of peoples’ shoes have been.
A part of you tells you to just walk away and leave him be, but your guilty conscience says to wake him up to prevent a possible accident. And you can’t resist the unrelenting desire to do good, for you are already making your way over to disturb the peacefully sleeping menace-from-next-door. 
“Hey, Jungkook,” you place a hand on his shoulder and start to gently shake him.“Wake up.” He doesn’t stir. Shaking a bit harder, you begin to fear he is no longer breathing. 
A few moments later, Jungkook groans and grabs your wrist, ceasing your intrusive shaking. He takes you by surprise when he roughly pulls you downwards, causing you to land face first in his chest. Instantly, you feel your face get hot and you try to pull away, but his grip is tighter than a shirt that’s two sizes too small. Somehow, he’s still in a deep sleep, and you begin struggling against him in an attempt to free yourself. 
This was a bad idea. This was such a mistake. Whatever crime you had committed in your past life must have been so bad that the karma is just now catching up to you. And gosh, it was bad. 
It’s only when you start losing oxygen that you feel Jungkook stir and the grip on your wrist loosen. You pull back for air, ripping your wrist away and finding purchase on the step above him, unintentionally trapping him beneath you in a position that would look suggestive to anyone who happened to see you. Jungkook’s eyes crack open groggily, taking a second to remember where he is before they nearly pop out of his skull when your equally horrified gazes clash. 
He violently shoves you away and had you not grabbed the railing, you may have lived out the same fate that you thought Jungkook could have in your delusions prior to poking the bear. 
Jungkook’s eyes are furious as he regards you with the coldest, darkest glare you have ever fallen victim to. The poison that bubbles behind his scleras is almost palpable, pinning you down in your spot like a deer caught in headlights. You don’t know what to say or what to do in the face of this boy’s brewing wrath, but one thing does register in your mind that seems to make the most sense in the moment: run. 
You spin around to make a run for it, but you don’t get very far as a hand wraps around your wrist and jerks you back, the momentum kicking your legs from under you so quickly that you fall and make a rocky landing on your tailbone. You inhale sharply at the jolt of pain that rattles up your spine, blinking back the tears that unconsciously well up in your eyes. It’s times like this that make you wonder if life alert is only for the elderly. 
“Are you stupid, [Name]?” Jungkook’s harsh jab makes you jump and you turn to look at him, brow creased in frustration and pain. 
“What? You’re the one sleeping on the stairs like a homeless person!” You retort, returning his glare just as harshly. You rub at your lower back where an ache has begun to settle - you can tell there will be a nice, big bruise there in a few hours. 
Jungkook breathes through his nose angrily, his pupils flaring. The pure, unadulterated fury that radiates off him in waves is so immense you think you can almost taste it in the air. It actually would have been scary if you yourself weren’t so mad. 
“Shut up,” He seethes, tightening his grip on your wrist until the pressure becomes uncomfortable. “It’s your fault I have to.” 
You wretch your wrist out from his hand. He lets you, his unrelenting gaze never wavering for even a moment. Your anger is slowly muddled into confusion and you can tell it shows by the way he suddenly averts eye contact, his eyes softening back into a chocolate brown. He almost looks… guilty. 
“Me? I’ve been nothing but nice to you.” You grumble and watch as Jungkook sits up properly, his uniform looking awry from jostling around too much. The immense anger that painted his face just minutes before has simmered down to a look of slight irritation, and he still refuses to look at you. There’s a lingering silence. 
“I- Don’t… touch me while I’m sleeping. I don’t like it.” You notice his attempt at averting the focus from his previous statement. You don’t push it, opting to just go with the flow. This is the first time he’s said something without saying anything mean; perhaps you even learned something about him. Don’t touch him while he sleeps or else he wakes up as Satan. Got it. 
“Sorry, I didn’t know.” you apologize warily as a moment skips by, still somewhat frazzled. Jungkook only nods in response, observing you from his spot as you wince while trying to shift into a more comfortable position to face him. He cringes in sympathy at the seemingly painful maneuvers - he did that. He hurt you. Why couldn’t he ever control himself? So, so useless. 
“Hey.” You grab his attention, shaking him from his own chastising inner monologue, “How do you know my name, anyways?” 
“...” 
“...” 
He doesn’t respond. 
“Jungkook?” 
The dark haired boy gives a single shoulder shrug, completely unbothered by your question. You purse your lips and start to feel the same awkwardness from before begin to hang heavy in the air. He glances at you and leans back against his book bag, an indifferent look overtaking his features. 
“How do you know my name?” 
One question is all it takes to turn you back into a bumbling mess. “W-We’re seatmates now. Of course I know your name..” You trail off defensively, looking anywhere but his eyes.
“We’re neighbors. Of course I would know your name, then.” 
You scoff at the mocking undertone in his voice, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. He had a smart mouth, didn’t he? How unattractive. Shaking your head, you move to fix the skirt of your school uniform that had twisted askew when you had fallen and practically broke your whole pelvis in half. 
Jungkook stares at you for a long time, taking in your features like you are an abstract piece of work in an art museum. There’s still a bandage plastered on your cheek but it’s smaller than before and most of your hair hides it from curious gazes. The sight of it makes his blood boil and annoyance to spike at the thought of that idiotic class president, but he calmly keeps it under wraps. 
Looking at you now strangely elicits no emotion inside Jungkook, the burning feeling he felt a few days ago behind the lockers nowhere to be felt. The voice he usually hears is mute for now and, in the moment, he feels a sense of peace. What is going on..?
Through the awkward silence, you take the chance to observe Jungkook back - to really look at him. You notice the deep bags beneath his eyes, the way his shaggy dark brown hair hangs unkempt over them, and his wrinkled school uniform that has the top buttons undone and is missing the tie. Honestly, he wouldn’t be bad-looking if he put some actual effort into his appearance and dropped the anger issues, but you weren’t about to tell him that anytime soon. Definitely not after what just happened. 
You sigh and look away, grabbing your bag and pulling out your lunch. Seeing how he had pretty much crippled you and blocked the path like an ugly bump in the road, you decided it would be smarter to just stay put. Opening your food container, inside lays leftover spicy tteokbokki from last night’s dinner and a smaller paper cup filled with fruit. It wasn’t much; you honestly didn’t get very hungry during school. You saved all the binge-eating for until you got home most of the time. 
From the corner of your eyes, you can see Jungkook swallow thickly as he eyes your lunch. Internally, you feel the pull to be a good person again and you try the best you possibly can to ignore it. Crush it into dust, stomp on it until it burns out. You didn’t want to be nice to this raging boy - that is, until you hear his stomach growling that you break completely. 
Your eyes flit between your food and Jungkook for a second before you slowly hold out your lunch before you can stop yourself again. 
“...Here.” 
He seems a bit surprised but does a good job of hiding it. Staring at the container of nourishment in your hands, he feels a blooming warmth at the thought of eating a home cooked meal, but he also weighs in the fact that he would probably owe you something in return. And Jungkook doesn’t owe anybody anything. Especially not you. 
“Don’t want it.” He grunts, turning his head to the side defiantly. 
You tilt your head, an amused smile slowly finding its way across your lips. Shrugging, you take the food for yourself, chewing slowly in a way that inadvertently taunts Jungkook’s appetite. Neither of you talk but the tension in the air has lifted a bit, allowing for a more comfortable silence to settle in. Sneaking a peek at your phone, you see that lunch break is almost over and it’s almost time to go back to class. 
You shovel the rest of your food down your throat while Jungkook shoots you a slightly disgusted look you ignore before packing your things up and hoisting your bag over your shoulders. 
“Where are you going?”
You turn to see Jungkook staring, eyebrows furrowed at your sudden movement to leave. 
“Uhm, to class..?” You drawl in question, jutting your lips out as if the answer was obvious. “The one you never come to…” He scoffs, running a hand through his unruly hair.
 “I got in-school suspension.” He says, glancing at you as he shrugs his bag on, quietly gauging your reaction. 
“Oh.”
You nod slowly in acknowledgment, the memory of his concerned gaze scouring you as you lay on the floor briefly flashing in your mind. Shuddering, you mask your discomfort with a small smile, giving the straps of your bag a firm tug before offering the boy a small wave. 
“See you, neighbor.” You turn around as quickly as you say that, completely missing the way he looks at you, eyes squinted with unknown emotion. 
Jungkook doesn’t respond. But if he did, it didn’t matter; you were already long gone. 
━━━━━━━━━
WHEN YOU reach the classroom, there’s hardly anyone there yet besides the few stragglers who usually stay inside to play cards and entertain themselves with other various forms of games. You navigate through the sea of bags and belongings to get to your own desk, which sits near the back by the windows. You can’t lie - it’s a pretty good view. 
The desk beside yours remains polished and untouched, but you know it won’t stay that way for long. Whenever Jungkook comes back from his suspension, you would then have nowhere to hide your extra snacks or books when you got too lazy to run to your locker and properly put them away. You would surely miss the convenience. 
Plopping down in your seat, you wince at the harsh contact it makes with the aching part of your lower back. You would have to ice it when you get home because you could almost feel it swelling up with the way it throbs painfully against the band of your skirt. Sighing, you pull out your phone to pass the time. 
It’s not even a few minutes later when the door opens to reveal your teacher, who scans the room before laying her sights on you. 
“[Name]-ah, a word, please.” She beckons you over and you quickly oblige, moving down the clustered aisle to the teachers’ desk. Your palms begin to get clammy as your brain searches every crevice for anything you may have done wrong. Were you in trouble? 
You stand before her desk, watching as she checks something off on a clipboard in her hands. You unconsciously gulp when she peers at you, her cat-eye glasses making her look somewhat more devilish than normal. 
“I have a very important task for you…”
━━━━━━━━━
THAT NIGHT, you slip into bed with your comfy sleeping clothes, a content sigh escaping your lips as you sink into the slice of heaven that is your bed. Pulling the covers over your body, you switch off your light and rest your head against the pillow, letting your eyes flutter closed in bliss as you begin to nod off. 
It doesn’t take long for you to drift away into dreamland, your mind running wild in the fantasy world sleep has conjured for you. You have a very detailed dream about running inhumanely fast; where and from what, you aren’t quite sure. But you can faintly hear the familiar stomach-churning screams and wails that puncture through the seams of your own delusions and reality, haunting you incessantly. 
Your dream ends with you tripping and a cold sensation shrouding your form. This is enough to startle you awake, where you quickly sit up with bleary eyes. Your ears tune in for any kind of noise or the screams you haven’t heard from Jungkook’s apartment in a while, but it’s eerily silent. 
Uneasily, you settle back under the covers, not thinking twice about closing your eyes and escaping back beyond the grasp of exhaustion. And as you are about to slip into unconsciousness, you hear the same tortured cry you couldn’t bear to listen to the first time you had heard it.  
But, this time, you think you can make out something through the strangled voice cracks. Sleep is muddling your senses but you are suddenly wide awake, frozen in your spot at the echo that ricochets from the cheap plaster between the walls. 
Strangely, it sounds a lot like your own name.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
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likeshipsonthesea · 5 years
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okay so legit one of my first-ever nurseydex posts was this one right here and while i still agree with/hc parts of it i have to admit it’s a bit outdated for how i see nurseydex’s relationship now so i thought why not make a new “why i ship nurseydex” post three years later to explain my own rambling understanding of them??
so, anywho. imagine a dex-- back when he was just will-- growing up with this huge weight of expectation around him, about every aspect of his life-- expectation of what a man ought to be, expectation of what a student ought to be, a worker, a son, etc-- and despite what he wants and feels, striving to meet/exceed this expectation to satisfy his parents and make them proud and be who they want him to be. like, following his ma around when she does chores might be fun and helpful, but a man is supposed to be doing the dirty, heavy work, no baking or doing laundry (at least that’s what his brother says) and from the time he’s little he knows that college means money and they don’t have that, but education is also very important and college is how he gets a better life for him and his family, and so from elementary school he’s studying his spelling words and times tables and striving to be the best student he can be because scholarships and respect and expectation. and yeah, maybe there’s other expectations, around who he can and cannot like, and maybe that doesn’t always fit the way he thinks it’s supposed to, and he allows himself little indulgences knowing one day that he will do what is expected of him and make his parents happy, and the crushing weight of that-- of knowing what the future will force him into-- has him frozen between the need to be what he’s supposed to be and the want to be free, and these warring ideals within his own mind leave him grasping and uncertain and--and angry at everything (family, town, society, himself) for putting him there to begin with and then-- and then-- he goes to samwell
MEANWHILE there’s a little nursey, small and surrounded by smiling parents and nannies and love, and somehow, despite it all, he’s anxious. it’s his brain, probably, but at four, nursey doesn’t know anything about brains, all he knows is that his parents aren’t home and maybe that’s his fault and before he can understand how jobs work and how their importance doesn’t outweigh his parents’ love for him, he’s sitting at home wondering how to be better, how to be enough to keep them there, how to be good. and he excels in all his classes, gets bored sitting there with all his fancy private school kindergarten work finished on his desk, and his parents bring him to the doctor’s thinking it’s an attention disorder and he gets diagnosed with anxiety. at eight. and his parents-- mama gets mad (and nursey hasn’t yet learned to distinguish anger at the world and anger at him) and mom becomes focused, ready to fix it (not realizing, really, how nursey sees it as a need to fix him) and dad is maybe the best, he just buys some puzzles and makes hot cocoa and sits with nursey when the world gets too tough, and still nursey leaves thinking i’m a burden, he has to take the time to do this, i’m a burden, and he grows up with the idea that he has to be good, can’t be broken, has to pretend to be perfect even if he isn’t otherwise his parents will be sad and it will be his fault, and it works (until it doesn’t) and he thrives (until he doesn’t) and everything is happy and perfect and wonderful (until it isn’t) and things break apart and nursey decides perfection is impossible to fabricate but pretending to be chill, pretending to at least be okay is enough, and so he moves on with this veneer of okayness and this mess of anxiety and apprehension and worry underneath and it’s such a delicate balance he somehow manages to handle until samwell
(under the cut bc, well. it got a little long. oops?)
and there it’s like-- they’re both at the perfect point to just completely explode one another. nursey sees this walking ball of seemingly together person and pokes at it, this kind of self-projection thing really, trying to break the outside and see the mess within, and meanwhile dex looks at nursey and sees someone perfectly content with everything in life and turns on every probing question like it’s an attack, and maybe it takes a few terms-- maybe all of their frog year-- to start seeing past the cracks. maybe a few of nursey’s questions poke at places more sensitive than he’d meant to see, and maybe dex calls nursey out on things his anxiety has whipped out of control, and maybe after they lose the playoffs and dex is angry and violent and not enough and nursey sees that-- feels the ache of imperfection, too-- and somehow the knowledge that he’s not alone makes it better? and suddenly he wants to make it better for dex, too? and so they go into the summer after frog year with the beginnings of an understanding and things are-- tentative, but they know how to deal with fragility better than most, and it survives the break, survives the infrequent texts and tangential group chat conversations
and sophomore year they have rooms across the hall from one another, randomly. they walk together to practices, because why not, and tag along on team breakfasts (dex is a morning person, nursey is not, dex likes being helpful, nursey likes making it to bfast before holster eats all the waffles) and maybe they start talking-- actually talking, not barbs and banter and chirps just a bit too sharp to laugh at. it’s like an actual conversation for the first time since they’ve known each other, and c’s ecstatic and their hockey’s great and things are going wonderful.
until one of them catches feelings.
it doesn’t quite matter which one of them-- maybe dex falls in love with the way nursey gestures with his hands too much as he talks and how he waxes poetic about everything, but mostly nature and books and how it feels to smile without knowing it, and maybe dex falls in love with the way he feels around nursey, like he could say anything and nursey wouldn’t- he’d judge, maybe, because nursey likes doing that, but it would never be maliciously, it would always be out of a want for dex to grow, learn, be himself more. and seriously, that wouldn’t be hard to fall in love with
or maybe nursey falls in love with the weird bits of knowledge dex drops about any and everything, always attributed to an aunt or uncle, of which he likely has an unlimited stock, and the way that dex catches him when he trips on the sidewalk and the strong, sure way his hands curl around nursey’s body, and how when he gets flustered or embarrassed or angry or happy, his flush is a different shade depending on the emotion, and how nursey-- when he’s around dex-- doesn’t wonder if dex thinks what he’s saying is dumb-- he probably does-- because dex cares anyway and isn’t that just completely and wholly unavoidably wonderful?
so. one of them falls in love. there’s a dib flip. dex goes a little overboard. so does nursey. neither of them reacts accordingly and it’s nearly impossible to say which one reacts to the other’s overreaction. one person has their heart beat up (he still doesn’t like me, he still thinks i’m just someone to annoy) and then they lose before they even make the playoffs and then jack and bitty come out on live tv and dex’s parents infer things that break expectations and nursey’s parents start fighting (unrelated) and nursey wonders if it’s his fault (it isn’t) and they come back to samwell in the fall poised to break one another apart.
if in frog year it was an explosion, in junior year it’s a careful disassembly. they poke at the soft spots they’ve learned in the past year until the whole living situation comes crumbling down and, in the rumble, everything is silent and so much clearer. nursey is alone in a top bunk with a broken wrist, isolated from the team and his parents, scattered across the globe for work in an effort to get away from one another. dex is tucked away in the basement, sucking at hockey as his body refuses to get used to a different d-partner and his conversations with his parents consist of short sentences and loaded silences, and he has no idea what to do with either.
spring comes early that year. flowers poking up amongst frost-bitten blades of grass, birds chirping in the early hours of practices. nursey is back on the ice. he and dex don’t speak, except to work through plays. it begins to come back-- their understanding-- if only on the ice.
bitty starts visiting jack more on the weekends and chowder is off with caitlin and doing compsci homework and talking to recruiters. whiskey usually isn’t there anyway and tango is off doing everything and the waffles are cool but suddenly they seem so young.
on saturday nights, dex cooks and nursey sits at the table with him and complains, mostly to himself at first, about his writing prof. as the weeks wear on, dex adds his own complaints, too. sometimes nursey will throw in something good that happened. sometimes dex will tell a joke (usually a pun, usually horrible, usually inducing belly-aches in nursey regardless). afterwards they do the dishes. dex mentions how he used to love doing the dishes, how it calmed him. how his brother used to comment on it disparagingly. nursey mentions, another time, how his roommate at andover would hate the impromptu headphone dance parties he’d put on-- how it was something he’d do with his dad, when he was young. how it made things better, for a while.
(they never really talk about when happened, dex’s parents or nursey’s, the ache of loneliness that fall term, not until very later, after samwell, after-- well. it takes a while, but when they finally do talk about it, it hurts less if only because of the delicateness with which they’ve learned how to handle such things, by then)
 by the time the end of the year arrives-- when they win  the fucking playoffs and hoist bitty onto their shoulders with a burning pride in their chests-- nursey and dex would call one another friends. to their faces and everything. and then there’s a banquet and dex gets the c and-- as a twist-- nursey gets the a (maybe coach and hall approached dex before the banquet, explained how close the votes were, asked him if he’d mind, and dex gave the most honest answer maybe he’d ever given in his life-- it would be an honor)
they go into the summer with one another at the top of their messages. they call nearly every week, snapchat daily, about nursey’s internship at a publishing house, dex’s at a tech company in boston. maybe nursey panic-calls dex at three in the morning going on about the publishing process and how crazy it is and how i’m never going to be published and dex calms him down with some seriously misinformed words about the literary business that make nursey breathe easy anyway, and maybe dex goes home one weekend and there’s radio silence until dex calls him on the way back home and asks nursey to just talk and so from maine until massachussetts it’s nursey’s voice rambling about pears and children’s books and cooking equipment until dex gets back to the apartment his internship is paying for and simply says thank you
and they go into senior year this unquestionable team with a legacy to uphold. dex works through plays without hesitation, showing the baby frogs (juniors, they call them) the ropes and silently making the team a warm space, while nursey inspires and comforts and corrects the little things, and they run the haus in the same way-- nursey planning movie nights and board game nights (now that holster and jack are gone and there are strict rules in place) and dex is usually there in the kitchen, cooking and baking and willing to listen to anything the players have to say, and if you asked any of the baby frogs what they thought of dex and nursey’s relationship, they would’ve said that their captains had been friends for years (and maybe, in the right light, that would be true)
how they get together at this point is not important. whichever one didn’t catch feelings sophomore year found them, sometime afterwards, behind a box of forgotten things, forgotten only because they’d been there quietly for so long that no one had every thought to question their presence, and so, in senior year, when they are both in places where things are no longer fragile, where “broken” is a word easily thrown away, they come together with little fanfare.
over a pie, one softly raining afternoon, or in a slipped-into-snowbank on the way back from practice, or in the library over an open textbook or between laughter or in the moments before sleep embraces them on a roadie, or any number of other things.
that is not the most important part-- it’s important, of course, but not the most-- the most important part is that they were, are, together long before any moment like that occurs. because they both learned, grew from the volatile, fragile people they arrived as. grew because they forced each other, became better, stronger, with the guidance and comfort and assurance the other offered. because that is what makes a partnership, a bond of the souls, a love like theirs. it is not being perfect, not even being perfect for one another, but being there and willing to grow.
maybe it’s samwell-- got your back-- that puts them in a place where this kind of process can work. maybe it’s the nature of college itself. maybe it would’ve happened regardless of where they were. but it happened, and it’s wonderful, and that’s what matters.
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39hystericalqueens · 4 years
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It’s A Hard Life (Brian May x Reader) Chapter 1
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This series was written alongside a companion playlist. Each song on the playlist is related to a certain scene or moment within the story and while this fic can 100% be read without the playlist, it adds so much to the story to listen along as you read. Throughout this series, you will see numbers in parentheses within the text. Each number corresponds to a track on the playlist. For example, if you saw: (1), this would mean play the first track on the playlist before continuing on reading. Some of the songs serve to set the mood, some correspond with a song that is actually playing in the story, and some tell part of the story better than I can and so they help to drive the plot. I will say again that you don’t need the playlist to understand and enjoy this fic but I strongly recommend at least checking it out. 
MASTERLIST
Chapter 1
Warnings: Some swearing
A/N: It’s finally here! The first chapter of my Brian May x Reader fic, It’s A Hard Life. I worked really hard on this so I hope you all enjoy! Additionally, I don’t have a taglist yet so if you like what you read please message me and I’ll be sure to tag you in all future installments. 
Word Count: 4.8k (she’s a long first chapter)
October 1969
*beep beep beep*
*beep beep beep*
It never ceased to amaze you how jarring the sound of your alarm clock could be. Loud and unrelenting, it was especially obnoxious this morning because it signaled one thing: the beginning of the week. Grudgingly, you rolled over to check the time. 
6:45 AM
Ugh. In an hour you’d have to be in class, and not just any class. Professor Wesham’s Intermediate Music Theory course was taught at 8am sharp every morning five days a week. Professor Wesham was a rather vile man with a love for discipline, trick questions, and embarrassing his students in front of the rest of the class. He had no interest in being a professor and mentioned that at any moment he saw fit. Rather, he believed that music theory was a subject that very few could teach correctly, and so it was his duty as a musician to impart those teachings upon young students, no matter how much he hated it. If you could have you would have dropped his class after the first week, but for a degree in music performance, all levels of theory were required.
You looked over at the clock again. 
7:02 AM
C’mon Y/N, gonna have to get up sooner or later. 
With quite a bit of effort, you finally pulled yourself up and out of bed and into the first pair of jeans you saw lying on the floor. 
(1)
____
“...so when we’re looking to find a mode of a scale we can look to the intervals for the answers. Each mode has its own unique combination of whole tones and semitones, so if you know the patterns you can accurately alter the scale…”
As expected, class that morning was hellish. A thirty-minute lecture on the basics of modes followed by another twenty minutes of history and you found yourself slowly drifting back to sleep. Your thoughts were soon taken over by memories of being curled up in bed this morning and fantasies of what you would be eating for lunch in a few hours. 
Maybe spaghetti? Or soup? I could really go for soup today. With luck they’ll have that creamy tomato one that I love down at the cafe...
“Miss Y/L/N?!” Professor Wesham’s voice rang out through the lecture hall  
Shit.
“Miss Y/L/N I asked you a question, but it appears as though you can’t be bothered to pay attention to what I’m saying this morning. Have you heard a word of what I’ve said?” 
You opened your mouth to protest, but nothing came out. 
“That’s what I thought. Can anyone else answer my question? Anyone at all? Or are you all just going to sit there and stare at me like a bunch of deadbeats?!” 
Silence filled the hall and for a moment it seemed as though he was about to give up and move on when suddenly he yelled,
“Susie! What is the C Mixolydian scale?”
From the back of the hall, a faint voice answered, 
“It’s the 5th mode of the F major scale, it follows the Mixolydian interval pattern of whole whole semi whole whole semi whole, and the notes are C D E F G A and B flat.” 
“Correct.”
And with that, he moved on forward with the lesson. 
I could have answered that, you thought to yourself, all the bastard needed to do was repeat himself.
You sighed and silently took notes for the rest of the period. 
When class let out you made a beeline for the door, hurrying out of the building and down towards the green commons in front. You didn’t stop walking until you saw the sign for The Cafe. Located right in the center of the music department, The Cafe was your go-to spot. Coffee and pastries in the mornings, sandwiches and soup for lunch, and full-on dinner seven nights a week. Although technically open to the general public, the music students at Ealing had claimed the place for themselves long ago, and you had never seen it empty in your entire time at the college. Today was no exception. You pushed your way in and headed straight for the counter to order. 
“One creamy tomato soup please,” you said to the woman at the counter, and with your table number in hand, you found a small booth in the corner and collapsed into it. 
It had been a particularly difficult week for you. The new term just started a few weeks ago and already your professors were piling on work. Theory worksheets, composition assignments, and three new solos had all been handed to you in the past few weeks, and it wouldn’t have been so bad if you didn’t also have a job that demanded long shifts late at night. You worked at Selmer’s, the music store in town and, due to your schedule, almost exclusively worked the night shifts from  6 until closing at midnight. It wasn’t a bad gig by any means, in fact you really liked working there. You never knew who would walk through the door. One moment it would be a broke uni student popping in to buy new guitar strings and the next it could be a famous musician like Pete Townshend. Okay so maybe not Pete Townshend, but you had once sold Jim McCarty a set of drumsticks. It was your one claim to fame. 
As you ate your soup you enjoyably became lost in your own thoughts, so much so that you didn’t notice when someone sat down across from you. 
“Hello? Earth to Y/N?” 
The voice of your best friend Freddie interrupted your quiet contemplation. You loved him to death but sometimes he really had the worst timing. 
The story of how you two met was actually quite funny. It was back in September of last year, the beginning of your first year of uni. The night before classes were set to start you had gone to a party and somehow ended up right in the middle of a game of truth or dare, only the rules had been altered slightly so that anyone who chose truth also had to take a shot. Being the relatively shy person that you were, you hadn’t taken many dares and as a result found yourself to be rather drunk. 
“Alright c’mon Y/N,” said a guy named Greg (he was in your year and studying music as well) “you can’t pick truth forever.”
“Ok fine, dare”
“I dare you,” Greg continued, “to make out with Freddie.” He gestured to a man who appeared to be just as drunk as you were sitting across the circle. He laughed and said, 
“Whenever you’re ready darling, I’ll just be over here waiting.” With a roll of your eyes toward Greg, you had crawled your way across the circle, straddled Freddie’s lap, and started to viciously make out with him to the best of your abilities in your drunken state. 
The next morning you had woken up wickedly hungover and as you walked down the street to find something for breakfast you had bumped into none other than Freddie from the night before. He had laughed at the state of both of you (“we need to make sure that neither one of us ever drinks that much again!”) and offered to take you out to breakfast and the rest was history. It was definitely an odd way to start a friendship, but you two found that you just clicked together. His outspoken nature balanced out your tendencies to sink back into the shadows, and your level-headedness counteracted his love of making decisions on a whim. It really was, at least you two thought so, the perfect friendship. 
“Hello? Y/N? Is anyone home in there?” Freddie continued as you looked up from your food. 
“Hey Fred,” you said, coming to terms with the fact that your time for quiet contemplation was over. “What brings you down here? I thought you had a class way at the other end of campus this morning.” 
“I did. And then I decided that I was feeling a bit peckish and could go for a bowl of The Cafe’s famous tomato soup, even if it is all the way on the other side of school. But this worked out perfectly, me running into you here, because I have something important to tell you!” 
He dramatically reached his hands out and motioned for you to take them in yours. 
“You know I have been following this band called Smile around for ages.” 
You nodded.
“And you know I’ve been begging you to come out and see one of their shows with me” 
Once again you nodded. At least once a month (if not more) Freddie would try and drag you along to one of their shows despite your efforts to tell him that rock concerts really weren’t your thing. 
“Well recently I’ve started to hang around with them properly, them being the band, and we’ve become rather close. You and I both know Tim of course but it’s the other band members that I’ve really started to click with. We’re even talking about getting a flat together. They still won’t let me sing in the band, but that’s an issue for another day. What I need to tell you is that they’re playing a free gig tomorrow night right here at Ealing and you and I are both going!”
You opened your mouth to protest but Freddie kept talking. 
“And don’t even try to get out of this one. I know for a fact that on Tuesdays you only work until 7, and I also know that you don’t have plans afterward because yesterday on the phone you expressed to me just how boring your week was going to be. So unless within the last 24 hours you have made plans to go out late on a Tuesday night after work, you have no excuse not to go with me to this.” 
You stared back at him in disbelief. 
“Alright Fred, you got me fair and square. I will go with you tomorrow,”
“Excellent!” he exclaimed, “I’ll be at Selmer’s to pick you up from work at 7 PM sharp tomorrow. Oh, this is going to be so fun!” 
“Sounds like a plan,” and then you added, “And just because I’m going this time it doesn’t mean you’ll get me to go next time.” 
“Fair enough,” Freddie said, “but you’re going to have so much fun tomorrow night that I won’t even have to ask you to go with me again.” 
And with that he sprung up and made his way over to the counter to order some food, leaving you alone to wonder what on earth you had gotten yourself into. 
——
The store was surprisingly slow for a Tuesday evening. Two hours into your shift and only three people had come in, and all within ten minutes of each other. To kill time you had started reorganizing the reed display, but quickly lost interest and for the past hour and a half you had simply been sitting behind the counter, listening to the old rock n roll music that played in the background, and thinking about nothing in particular. 
(2) 
🎵Without her I will be in misery (oh oh oh)
In misery (ooh ooh ooh)
My misery (la la la la la la) 🎵 
As the song came to a close you heard the bell over the door jingle, alerting you that someone had just walked through the door. You craned your neck around the counter to see a guy with long dirty blond hair looking around frantically as though he had lost something. 
“Hi,” you said, “Welcome to Selmer’s, can I help you find anyth-“
“Guitar strings!” he nearly shouted, “I need guitar strings!” 
“Okay,” you said slowly, “do you have any idea as to which type of strings?” 
“Oh shit...uh, I don’t know. The normal kind I guess? I just need strings!” he once again looked around frantically, eyes finally settling on the clock on the wall behind you. “Shit! I’m so going to be late!” 
“Ok slow down a second,” you said calmly, “what’s all the hurry about? What, are you about to go onstage any second now?” You had meant it as a joke but to your surprise, he screamed, 
“Yes!” 
“Oh shit sorry I didn’t actually think you were- ok, um, so you don’t know the type of string but do you know what model the guitar is?”
“It’s uh...oh dammit I don’t know.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but what kind of guitarist doesn’t know the kind of guitar they play?” 
“I’m not the guitarist,” he said, “I’m the drummer. Our guitarist broke a string like ten minutes ago so I ran out to grab him more while he helped the rest of our band keep setting up.”
“Ah, I see,” you said. “Well since you don’t know which kinds of strings he uses I’ll just give you some Fender 12 gauges. They’re pretty standard, I’ve got a lot of people who use them so hopefully that should be ok.” 
“Yeah, those should be alright.”
You rang up the package and handed it to him. 
“Thank you so much, you just saved our show.”
“My pleasure,” you said as you handed him the strings, “I hope these will work out for you guys tonight, and if not, well then you didn’t buy them here.” 
He laughed at your comment. 
“You’re funny,” he said. “Normally I would stay around and chat, maybe ask for your number, but I do kind of have to be going or else my bandmates will have my head on a spike. But it was great to meet you…uh….”
“Y/N,” you answered his unspoken question. 
“Great to meet you Y/N, I’m Roger.” Is all he said before turning on his heel and sauntering out through the doorway. You could tell he was trying to maintain a cool, laid back composure despite having burst through your door in a panic not ten minutes prior. You laughed to yourself, wondering if you would ever see him again. 
Looking at the clock you saw that it was eight till 7. Freddie would be here any minute. You got right to work closing up the store for the night. You were right in the middle of locking the window display cases when once again you heard the bell over the door ring. 
“Hello darling I hope you’re ready for a concert!” Freddie’s melodious voice sang out. 
“Hey Fred, just give me two more minutes and I’ll be ready to go,” you replied. 
“I have been absolutely restless all day today thinking about tonight,” Freddie continued, “We are going to have so much fun!” 
He made his way over to the counter and leaned against it, facing your back. “I really think you’re going to like their music,” he continued, “they’ve got a very real sound, none of that formulaic clean-cut bullshit.”
“I told you, Freddie,” you said, turning around to face him, “I make no promises as to whether or not I’ll like them. But they do sound quite lovely from the way you describe them.” 
With that, you shut off all the lights, lock up the doors, and the two of you were on your way. 
____
The concert was being held in the student center at Ealing, right in the middle of the campus. On a normal day the large open room was typically used for fundraisers, game nights, and a variety of other student-run activities, but every now and then the school would allow bands to put on shows. As you walked through the door you were immediately overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people packed into the room. All the tables and chairs had been pushed to the sides making it so it was barely possible to sit down, though there were a few people who had managed to squeeze themselves into a seat. You were about to follow their lead, your eyes fixed on an empty table close to the back, but Freddie grabbed you by the arm and pulled you both up to the very front. 
“Do we really have to be this close, Fred? I can hear just as well from back there,” you said, gesturing towards the table you had so lovingly had your eye on. 
“Darling we’re seeing a rock concert, not the symphony, it’s not just about being able to hear them. Watching them play and being right up in the middle of things is all part of the experience.” 
You looked at him rather quizzically. 
“Alright, but if I get my ears blown out tonight it’s your fault.”
“That’s the spirit! Now I’m going to go and get us both something to drink. I’ll be right back.” 
As you watched your friend disappear into the crowd of students you turned to focus your attention on the stage in front of you.  They had taken the small stage that permanently stayed in the back of the student center and never usually saw anything more exciting than experimental theater pieces put on by the drama students, and had completely transformed it into something out of a whimsical fever dream. Brightly colored metallic fabrics had been draped over the dingy, dust-filled curtain that hung behind the stage. In the center of the stage sat a drum kit with a giant red-lipped smile on the bass drum. To the side, there were two guitars on stands, a pretty standard bass guitar, which you recognized as Tim’s, and a guitar which you had never seen the likes of before. It was a bright cherry red color with a black pickguard and it was oddly round in shape. You had been working at a well-stocked music store for nearly two years now and had never seen any guitar that remotely resembled it before. To top it all off you saw that they had covered the lights facing the stage with different colored translucent films, further adding to the whimsical ambiance. 
You know, this actually seems like it’s going to be a lot of fun. Dammit, Fred, why’d you have to be right. 
You shook your head to yourself and began to look around to see if you could see Freddie anywhere when suddenly everyone started clapping. 
The band was making its way onstage. On bass, there was Tim Staffell. He went to Ealing, studying graphic design, and was a good friend of Freddie’s. The three of you often went out together for drinks. You then looked over to see the man behind the drum kit and couldn’t believe what you saw. Sitting there was Roger, the guy you had sold guitar strings to mere hours ago. 
“Ha!” You said aloud.
“What’s so funny?” Interjected Freddie, who had just appeared next to you holding two beers. 
“I know the drummer,” you said. 
“You know Roger?”
“Yeah,” you continue, chuckling, “I sold him guitar strings a few hours ago. He was in a right panic about it. Apparently, their guitarist broke one earlier and didn’t have any extras on hand.”
“Brian didn’t have any extra strings on him? That must have really caused a panic, I don’t think Brian has ever forgotten anything in his entire life.” 
“I’m assuming Brian is the guitarist?”
“Yeah, and he’s bloody brilliant at it. There he is right there.” Freddie pointed to the man standing on the right of the stage. He was incredibly tall and lanky, with a head full of unruly curly brown hair and deep brown eyes. He was wearing black pinstriped trousers and a white top which he had accessorized with the most interesting looking fuzzy vest. He exuded the most peculiar combination of confidence and recluse, and as he stood there fiddling with his guitar you couldn’t help but think he was the most beautiful person you had ever seen. 
You turned to say something to Freddie, but before you could get any words out Tim had started talking into the microphone. 
“Hello Ealing!” He shouted. He was met with a resounding chorus of cheers and whoops from the crowd. “We are Smile!” More cheers. “You all know me, I’m Tim Staffell, over there on guitar we have Brian May, and back there on the drums is Roger Taylor. We’ve got a good set for you tonight, all originals except for a few, and we’re going to start with a song called Step On Me.” 
At once they struck up an upbeat tune and it didn’t take long for the audience to start dancing and singing along with them. 
(3)
🎵Know what I said when I saw you crying
Hang on that’s folly
I was weak in the head out to meet your lying
You’re just a bad memory 
My life was going to be better
My why did I never ever see she’d step on me🎵
As you listened to them sing you couldn’t help but nod and dance along with the rest of the audience. Fred was right again, they really did have a sound the likes of which you had never heard before. Not only were their harmonies perfectly in tune, but they had an almost angelic quality to them that pulled you in, wanting to hear more. 
“Well now look who’s actually having a good time,” Freddie said to you as they finished their first song. I knew you would like them. 
“They really are something else,” you said, “although I would probably like them even more if I weren’t surrounded by so many people right now.” 
Freddie laughed. 
“I guess I’ll have to talk to Tim about getting you a private show then.”  
They went from song to song, each one more enjoyable than the last, and while you tried to keep your attention from wavering, you kept finding yourself drawn to Brian the guitarist. Freddie hadn’t been lying when he said that Brian was bloody brilliant at what he did. You watched him easily play his way through several guitar solos, making them sound effortless, though with your musical knowledge (and by the look on his face) you could tell that they were anything but that. He played with a look of concentration on his face, never wavering except for the few times he looked up and out into the crowd. It was then, you noticed, that a small smile would cross his face. 
All too soon Tim was at the microphone again, announcing that this would be their last song. You felt as if you could continue to listen to their music for hours and wished to yourself that the show wasn’t over yet. 
“You all have been such a great crowd tonight,” Tim went on, “and so to finish we’re going to be bringing you everyone’s favorite: Doing Alright!” 
If you thought you had liked the songs they had played the rest of the night, then you loved this one. It started out with a slow ballad, complete with more complex guitar work, but as it went on it morphed into hard rock with grit and feeling. You thought the juxtaposition of the two styles was a daring choice seeing as it would be easy to mess up, but they did it with such grace and style so that it completely worked. When the song finally came to a close and the band took their bows you joined in with the thunderous applause and cheering. 
“Fred, I’ve got to say it: I really did enjoy myself tonight. It was a little loud and crowded for my liking but I think the music and the show were able to make up for it, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll come with you again.”
“Oh that’s wonderful darling! I knew tonight was going to be a success. But it’s not quite over yet.”
“No?”
“Of course not! You didn’t think you were going to get away without meeting the band, also known as my new friends. C’mon, they’re probably around somewhere outside packing up.”
You and Freddie fought your way through the crowds of students to get to the door and out into the night air. As Freddie had said, you found Tim and Roger sitting on the back of a van which you could see was full up of their equipment. Brian was nowhere in sight. 
“Freddie! So glad you could make it!” Exclaimed Roger, standing up. “And,” he turned to you, “I don’t believe it. Y/N from the music store, why on earth didn’t you tell me you were coming to the show tonight?” 
“Mostly because I had no idea this was your band,” you replied, laughing. “Freddie here has been after me to see and meet you guys for ages.” 
“And,” said Roger, “what do you think?”
“Coming from someone who doesn’t tend to enjoy rock concerts, I thought you guys were wonderful. I did not expect to enjoy myself tonight as much as I did. I think you’ve really got something special here.”
“You flatter us too much,” said Tim, “if you keep talking like that we’re all gonna get big heads. And Roger’s is big enough as is.”
“Hey!” said Roger, but he smiled. 
“So,” you continue, “Freddie said you guys are thinking about getting a flat together?”
“Yeah, Brian and I found this place up the road a little, Brian’s our guitarist by the way,” said Roger. 
At the mention of his name, you could feel your heart flutter slightly in your chest.
“Freddie mentioned him,” you said, “Did the strings end up working out for him?”
“I thought they were fine, but Bri gets particular about these things. I guess they were the wrong brand or gauge or something like that. He kept going on about how he was going to sound awful tonight and his sound was going to be too abrasive.”
“Well yes, different strings are going to give you different sounds and I don’t know what he usually uses, but you guys sounded just great to me.”
Part of you desperately wanted to ask where he was right now, but you decided against it. 
Against your better judgment, you had let Freddie convince you to stay around and talk with him, Tim, and Roger for a while longer. In that time you learned that Roger was studying to be a dentist at London Hospital Medical School, and Brian was over at the Imperial College studying, as Roger put it, “some sort of space physics.” 
“He’s real into all that,” Roger continued, “but I can’t say the same for myself. I get good marks and all that, professors think I have a lot of ‘promise’, whatever that means, but a dentist for the rest of my life? I’m not sure I could handle that. Nah, I’m hoping to stay in rock n roll for as long as I can. What about you? You’re over at Ealing with Fred and Tim, right? Are you another graphic design nerd like these guys?”
“No, music actually. Nothing like what you guys do,” you added, seeing Roger’s face light up, “classical repertoire mostly. I play the flute.”
“You any good?”
“I suppose that’s a matter of opinion. Personally, I tend to think I’m shit, but you ask any music student and they’ll tell you the same thing.”
“Oh don’t be like that, Y/N,” interjected Freddie, “she’s bloody marvelous. She can play you Bach like you’ve never heard before, although Roger I don’t think you have ever heard it before.”
“Oh come off it, I’ve heard my fair share of the classical stuff.”
“Yes, next time you go to the symphony be sure to refer to it as ‘the classical stuff’ I’m sure you won’t get any funny looks at all.”
You and Tim howled with laughter at Freddie’s comment while Roger gave him a good punch in the shoulder. 
“Dear god, look at the time,” you said a moment later after having glanced at your watch. “Is it really two thirty in the morning?!”
“I suppose it is,” said Tim, “sure hasn’t felt that long.”
“I’ve really got to be going then,” you said.
“Aw c’mon stay out for a little longer with us,” said Tim, “Fred and I hardly get to see you anymore.”
“I know, and I wish that I could, but I’ve got class at 8 tomorrow morning and I should at least try to get some sleep.”
“Oh alright go on, we know you’re right,” said Freddie, “I should probably be going myself, I am quite exhausted.”
“See ya later Fred,” said Roger, “great to see you again, Y/N. You should come round to the flat once we get it, we’d all love to see you again and you can meet Brian as well.”
The flutter was back. 
“I definitely will,” you replied before giving them all a wave and starting back to your own flat. 
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