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apothe-roses · 7 days ago

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UK ADULTS IT IS TIME AGAIN TO SHOUT AT YOUR MP.

It is about that Wes Streeting plans to make the ban on puberty blockers for specifically trans children and not cis children undergoing precocious puberty permanent.

Advice on what to put in your letter, with sources, is available here:

You can and should personalise it as much as possible, but there's nothing wrong with C&Ping most of the text from the doc and adding a couple of sentences on your own experience/views.

Mine, below the cut:

I am writing to you to ask you to oppose the permanent ban on puberty blockers, for the following reasons:

The ban was implemented by the previous and current Secretary of State for Health and Social Care in an apparent response to the Cass Review, which itself did not directly call for such a ban;

The review however marked all observational studies as poor and itself only conducted a systematic review, which under the GRADE II methodology is classed as very poor, as has been noted by a Yale study on the metholody of the review;

According to NHS figures, a typical waiting time for a child to be seen by a gender specialist is 6 years. If they turn 18 before being seen, they then progress to adult services, where they face another 6+ year long waiting list (this information was obtained via a freedom of information request to the NHS https://docs.google.com/document/d/1neOdLdAPHD6wTikLi9s7Y1AFxrOR9FZQjoMvxKIyJGk/edit?tab=t.0).

The inability to access timely treatment, even for serious cases, leads many to obtain puberty blockers via private healthcare, an avenue of access that has now been removed by the ban.

The ban therefore currently leaves transgender children with no medical treatment options for gender dysphoria within the UK, forcing those who can afford it, to take their children overseas for treatment, and leaving those who can’t with no medical pathway.

As a transgender adult, I am well aware of the acute, often suicidal distress suffered by transgender children undergoing a puberty which does not align with their experience of their own gender. It is not inconceivable that blocking transgender children from accessing this healthcare will increase suicide rates in this group.

A preprint paper by Goldsmiths lecturer Dr Natacha Kennedy (Kennedy, 2024) examines the effects of the ban, using a survey for the parents of young transgender people after the ban was implemented. The parents responding to the survey commented that the ruling seemed to have emboldened transphobes, particularly transphobic politicians and media, by making transphobia more respectable:

“She feels as though the government and media hates her. It’s disgusting that our country is doing this to children.”

As part of this, there has been an increase in delegitimizing language, such as referring to transgender children as ‘gender questioning’:

“It seems since the ban following the Cass Review that it has given politicians, the government, the press and public endorsement to try to further reduce trans youths’ rights and even the word ‘trans’ or ‘transgender’ is being removed from the narrative and there seems to be an erasure of using the word ‘trans’ for youth and it has been replaced with Gender Questioning Children. My child is not gender questioning, they are transgender and have been out for over 9 years and living as themselves. They know who they are and it hurts terribly when people doubt that or don’t accept it.”

The results of the survey show the lack of treatment options has already had a horrifying effect on children and young people’s mental health. Parents noted:

“I have a child who has been suicidal, self-harming and has been unable to leave the house.”

“My child was suicidal and has self-harmed many times as a way to express her emotional distress at the change in her access to gender affirming care.”

“Distraught. Devastated. Distressed. She had already been through the experience of having her healthcare access stopped after the Bell judgement - she had been due to start blockers that week and they were instantly stopped. This deeply affected her trust in adults responsible for her care, and had a knock on effect on relationships with teachers, club leaders, the GP etc.”

The paper also shows that parents and families have been severely impacted by the ban. They feel powerless to protect their children and abandoned to deal with the impacts alone:

“I am so worried about puberty. I think about it at least once a day. I am deeply concerned that if she struggles then we are helpless.”

“It has caused direct damage to my mental health by causing panic and confusion. I was left to support a child whose mental health changed for the worst overnight (literally). There was no support for her or parents. There was no warning. I felt confused and desperate and also totally unseen.”

“Watching my child suffer and struggle needlessly due to the decisions made by people who this has zero impact on is single-handedly the hardest thing I've ever had to do as a mother.”

One parent noted that their daughter was now frightened of being outed at school and potentially stabbed because she will go through the wrong puberty:

“I am so afraid for her. She is in stealth at school, afraid of being stabbed and now she will undoubtedly go through the wrong puberty for her.”

With the rise in hate and transphobia, this ban may well put children and young people at physical risk from their peers, which is more dangerous than any safety issues from puberty blockers.

Much as anti-immigrant rhetoric from public sources in the UK has embolded violent racism, so a government which is seen to withhold support from transgender children emboldens violent bigotry against them. We have already had one despicable, very widely-publicised murder of a transgender teenager in this country. It falls upon us all to prevent any more.

The ban is not firmly based on medical recommendations or evidence. The Cass Review remains controversial, has been criticised for its quality by various professional institutions and is still being critiqued and analysed. Banning puberty blockers is a politically motivated and scientifically unjustified response. The UK is an outlier in implementing a ban and goes against the expert opinions of many professional associations and nations worldwide. Several other countries, including Australia and France, have conducted reviews of their own finding that puberty blockers are a considerable help to transgender children.

Some instances of precocious puberty have been treated with puberty blockers for the past 50 years, with no discernible side noticed. By this point if there was a serious issue, it would be endemic. Contrary to their presentation as being a recent and experimental innovation, Puberty Blockers have been used in the treatment of cisgender children since the mid 70’s and transgender children since the late 90’s, with no discernible epidemic in side effects. We have decades of observational studies which show that for 90% of people transition is the right course of action and even for the 10% who detransition, only 3% of them detransition because they’re not trans at all. (Numbers are from the preliminary results of the world's largest review of detransition rates in the world, the North American Dare Study.) A decade-long study of 200 trans children which showed no decline in mental acuity, was ignored (Arnoldussen et al., 2022).

The Cass Review was conducted without the assistance of Gender Specialists and Endocrinologists due to a perceived bias, that in itself should be cause for concern. Imagine a review of natal services in the UK excluding specialists in that field. Yet, members of SEGM, a designated trans hate group (Southern Poverty Law Centre, n.d.), participated in the NHS Working Group on Gender Dysphoria, which helped to create the Cass Review (https://www.reginfo.gov/public/do/eoDownloadDocument?pubId=&eodoc=true&documentID=136692)

I therefore ask you to get in contact with Mr Streeting and to urge him to lift the ban, before more children and young people are hurt.

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apothe-roses · 16 days ago

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💗💗💗

Linger

Pairing: Michael Gavey x f!reader Warnings: Angst, smut, tarot. Word count: ~4k

Summary: A chance encounter with a free spirited girl on a fresher's week night out leaves Michael frustrated, but is quickly forgotten by him. That is until he keeps running into her, and a battle of wills ensues.

Author's note: A (belated) birthday gift for @hoosbandewan - happy birthday, Erin! No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Michael tutted as he flipped open his copy of Matrix Mathematics; a card had slipped from beneath the dog eared cover of the well used secondhand textbook, and fluttered to the carpet tiles beneath the table.

He sighed, pushing back the wooden chair he was sitting upon in the library, and leaned forward, retrieving the offending article from the floor. Flipping it over between dexterous fingers, he scowled upon seeing what it was. It was not the lurid yellow background, nor the floral smock that the figure upon it was wearing that offended him, however; it was the words in bold, black text across the bottom - The Fool - the term brought unpleasant memories of Fresher’s Week flooding back.

It had been the night of the welcome dinner, and Michael had been feeling hopefully optimistic. He had met a literature student named Oliver, and they had made arrangements to meet up in the common area of the Brasenose for a drink afterwards. It didn’t matter to Michael that Oliver was his intellectual inferior - mathematics was obviously the superior of the two subjects - he was just excited to have made a friend. It would be nice to have a conversation with someone that went beyond the realm of discussing which items to buy from the shop - the unwelcome dynamic between him and the girl staying in the room opposite him, who suffered from agoraphobia. He had unwittingly fallen into the position of getting supplies for her, as her condition left her too afraid to leave her room. She was the only person, besides his tutors and lecturers, that he had spoken to since arriving at Oxford. Oliver would surely change all of that, and it filled him with excited anticipation.

The common area of the Brasenose had been bustling with other students, all shouting to be heard over the thumping bass of a song, the only lyrics of which Michael was able to decipher were “sexy back” - not his cup of tea at all. He stood taller than most of the people gathered, so was able to search through the crowd for the much shorter Oliver with ease. He couldn’t see him, though craning his neck, he noticed a throng of people hanging around one of the sofas in the far corner.

Pushing through the press of bodies, and narrowly avoiding the sticky, sweet contents of a large bottle of WKD Blue, slopping onto the carpet as it was passed around, he slowly approached the sofa and was able to see what was causing all of the commotion.

A girl wearing a purple scarf as a headband, dressed in a floaty skirt, had cards spread out upon a coffee table, the crowd gathered around were all trying to get a better look, with occasional shouts of “do me next!”

She’d looked up as she’d seen Michael approach, and a lazy smile had spread across her face - she was pretty, but prettier when she did this - it lit her face up in a way that was bright as pure sunshine.

“Alright, Specs?” she’d asked casually, “you want a reading?”

Before he could answer, she had slid the card that had come to live in his textbook across the table. Michael had felt his skin grow hot with humiliation at the words “The Fool” and he’d snatched it up, turning and shoving his way back through the crowd. It was more than apparent that Oliver had decided not to bother meeting him, and he didn’t need some stupid hippy girl’s theatrical mocking to confirm how he felt in that moment - he was a fool, but it was embarrassing to have that made a spectacle of in front of people who were so far beneath him. Vapid cunts.

Michael sneered at the memory, half tempted to simply throw the card away, but in the end decided to use it to keep his place within the textbook. There was no use in throwing away a free bookmark.

The night that Oliver hadn’t shown up became a repeating pattern - more often than not, Michael would make plans with him, and end up waiting for over an hour, before giving up and going back to his room. Most people would have sworn off the friendship long ago, however, he was lonely, and Oliver did show up sometimes; often enough to inspire hope in Michael that he might not be stood up again. He always ended up bitterly disappointed.

It had been half an hour since Michael had arrived at the Lamb and Flag, and Oliver had yet to make an appearance, his agreement to meet Michael for a quick pint during a free period clearly forgotten. He sat in a far corner, Matrix Mathematics open upon the sticky table in front of him, though he wasn’t actually reading any of it; his gaze was continuously drawn to the door, waiting to see if his friend would walk through it. He was beginning to wish he hadn’t walked here so briskly from the library, as Oliver was clearly in no hurry.

He sighed, lifted his glass to his lips and tipped back the bitter remnants of his now flat Carlsberg in a thick swallow. Fingers brushed against his as he was about to pick up the ‘Fool’ card to place it back in his textbook, startling him. He froze, eyes focused upon the chipped green nail varnish adorning the nails of the dainty hand that covered his own. Slowly, he lifted his eyes, looking up into the familiar face of the girl from the Brasenose, who had given him the very same card they were both now touching.

From this close up, he could see she had a nose ring. A green scarf now served as her headband, and she wore a pair of peacock feather earrings. She was every bit as pretty as he remembered.

“We meet again, Specs,” she said, that familiar lazy grin lighting up her features, as she sat down on the bar stool opposite him, “this is mine though.”

She slid the card out from beneath his fingers, holding it up as if to make her point.

Michael cleared his throat, finally finding his voice. “My name’s Michael, not Specs,” he replied defensively, “and you gave that to me.”

She laughed, a breezy, effortless sound that made her earrings dance with the slight movement of her head, before giving her own name, and correcting him. “You stole it. You aren’t supposed to keep the cards from a tarot reading. You snatched this up and left before I could even start yours. Haven’t had a full deck since – until now.”

Michael watched silently as she slipped the tarot card into the tote bag she had slung over her shoulder, before dropping his gaze to his textbook to make a mental note of his page number - seventy-four - since he had now inconveniently lost his bookmark.

“Quite an elaborate way to take the piss, I’ll give you that,” he said bitterly, closing his textbook and stuffing it into his rucksack.

“What d’you mean?”

He sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger, and fixed her with an accusatory stare. “You were trying to call me a fool.”

She laughed again, and this time the sound of it grated upon Michael, he felt like she was making fun of him yet again. He felt his skin grow heated with annoyance, his brows pinching together as his eyes narrowed.

Seeing his expression, her laughter faded and she took a deep breath before speaking, her tone one of reassurance. “That’s not what the card means at all. If you’d just let me finish the reading, I could–”

“No,” he cut her off dismissively, “it’s a load of bollocks. I don’t believe in any of it.”

“And yet one little card was enough to make you so angry,” she said teasingly, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, come on, one reading won’t hurt. Looks as though you’ve been stood up anyway, so it’ll give you something to do.”

His skin blazed hot once more, a potent blend of humiliation and anger turning his cheeks pink as he shot to his feet, snatching up his rucksack. “I haven’t been fucking stood up,” he snapped, storming away, ignoring her as she called after him.

She was right though, he had been stood up, and it stung to have someone else acknowledge it. How had she managed to catch him again at such a low point?

As Christmas had approached, pigeonholes had filled up with invitations from Felix Catton, who would be hosting a festive themed party within his college, spread out across the common area and the rooms of a few close friends, before they inevitably descended upon the pubs of Oxford. Almost everybody was invited - everybody except Michael and Oliver, it seemed. It didn’t bother Michael, he had no interest in fraternising with the spoiled elite, all wielding their parents’ wealth in exchange for good grades. At least Oliver would be free.

However, despite having made plans to go for a beer at the Eagle and Child, Oliver had once again failed to turn up, and Michael’s texts to ask if he was still coming had gone unanswered. As he’d walked back towards the Brasenose, feeling dejected, the muffled sounds of Christmas music and laughter emanating from the party inside had soured his mood further.

“Alright, Specs?” a familiar voice called out, causing him to turn towards the girl he’d walked away from in the Lamb and Flag a few weeks ago.

“Sorry…I mean, Michael,” she corrected herself, pushing off of the bench she’d been seated upon, and crossing the lawn towards him.

She wore a faux fur trimmed jacket that she held closed with her fingerless gloved hands. Her hair was free of its usual scarf, falling loose around her shoulders as the glow of the lamplight above shone down upon it.

He was surprised she even wanted to speak to him, considering how he had left things the last time they’d spoken. He shuffled from foot to foot in an attempt to mask his discomfort, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets to stave off the chill that nipped at them incessantly. “Surprised you’re not at the party,” he said, attempting to sound nonchalant as he nodded towards the Brasenose.

She huffed, a slight smile playing upon her lips as she looked towards the building then back at him. “NFI,” she stated matter of factly, “not fucking invited.”

Michael was unable to mask his surprise at her admission, his eyebrows raised as he studied her, trying to decipher if she was being genuine. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she said with a slight shrug, “my appeal kind of wore off after Fresher’s Week, they all just think I’m a weirdo now.”

“Fucking losers,” Michael muttered, the words puffing out in a white cloud against the frigid air.

She giggled, her eyes sparkling even in the gloom of the lamplit lawn. “Maybe we can be weird together?”

“You think I’m weird?” He asked, stiffening as he could feel himself becoming defensive at the perceived insult.

“All the best people are,” she said with a grin, reaching out to playfully touch his arm.

He blinked rapidly, not knowing what to say. He was at a loss, thoroughly unused to anyone, let alone a girl, attempting to converse with him like this.

“New beginnings, having faith in the future, being inexperienced, not knowing what to expect, having beginner's luck, improvisation and believing in the universe,” she rattled off, as she clutched her coat closed once more.

“What?” Michael asked incredulously, his brow furrowed as he wondered if perhaps she was drunk.

“Those are the interpretations of the Fool card I pulled for you. Impossible for me to say which of those applies to you, considering you won’t let me give you a full reading.”

“Oh…right,” he felt his face flush at the reminder, the sudden warmth stinging against the chill of the air. “Not sure any of those apply to me.”

“Maybe they could,” she said, her eyes meeting his as she stepped closer, “to new beginnings?”

Before he could respond, she had closed the gap, her hands grasping the front of his coat as she’d leaned up and pressed her lips to his.

Michael froze, not quite able to comprehend what was suddenly happening. The scent of her filled his nostrils, heady and sweet, it reminded him of the incense his aunt was so fond of burning. Instinctively, his lips began to move against hers - soft and supple and slightly coconutty. As his eyes fluttered closed, his head spun, his hands reached out tentatively to rest upon her waist.

She grinned up at him as they broke for air, both panting softly.

“What did you do that for?” He asked breathlessly.

“Just wanted to see what it would be like. I wouldn’t mind doing it again. Here,” she reached out, grabbing his arm, pushing his sleeve up, before fishing an eyeliner pencil from her pocket and scrawling her phone number on the inside of his forearm. “In case you’d ever like to do it again too. Text me.”

“Where are you going?” He called after her, looking from his arm to her retreating form.

She smiled at him over her shoulder. “To bed, and you’re NFI. At least not this time.”

At least not this time.

Her words echoed in Michael’s mind, making his pulse race and his cock twitch in his cargo trousers. She was the antithesis of everything Michael believed; she was spiritual, chaotic and he didn’t know the first thing about her, yet he found himself drawn to her all the same.

His thoughts were filled with her as he made his way back up to his room, excitement fluttering in his stomach at the thought of putting her number into his phone and being able to text her. So distracted, it never even occurred to him to be careful when removing his coat as he stepped inside, the sleeve dragging over his forearm as he tugged it off.

Fuck.

His heart sank as he turned his arm slowly, attempting to delay the inevitable as he revealed the smear of black across his skin, what were once numbers were no longer legible. He had no way to contact her, he didn’t even know what she was reading. He only knew her first name, and that wouldn’t be enough to track her down.

Fuck.

He slumped down onto his bed, not bothering to undress or climb under the covers, allowing misery and hopelessness to drag him into unconsciousness.

As the weeks passed, despite the eyeliner on his arm having long been washed away, she never left his mind. He looked for her in every crowd, but never saw her. Oliver’s flakiness grew worse, which served only to make Michael feel more isolated. He had allowed his chance for romance to slip through his fingers, and his attempts at forging a friendship were failing too.

Having finally coaxed Oliver out for a drink at the Bull, Michael had gone to the toilet, only to find their table empty when he’d returned. Looking across the pub, he’d seen Oliver sitting with Felix Catton and his friends. He’d completely blanked Michael as he’d waved to him, and he had left the pub with his head bowed in dejection, vowing silently to make no further attempts at friendship with Oliver Quick. If he wanted to be a bootlicker, then Michael wouldn’t stick around to watch. He’d rather be friendless than humiliated.

He had kept his head bowed as he’d walked away from the pub in long strides, so he failed to notice the person walking in the opposite direction to him. Colliding with them, he had stumbled backwards, falling into a sitting position upon the hard pavement.

Great, as if this night couldn’t get any fucking worse, he thought.

Then he had looked up to see that it had been her he had walked into and his eyes widened in disbelief momentarily, before he had seen how flustered and upset she looked.

He scrambled to his feet, straightening his glasses. “Are you alright?” He’d asked, reaching for her, but allowing his hand to drop as she’d moved away from him.

“I’m fine,” she said hurriedly, continuing on her way.

“Wait,” he called after her, “you’re not fine.”

“You never text me,” she said, turning around slowly to face him, the movement encumbered by the guitar case strapped to her back.

His expression softened and he stepped towards her, his tone apologetic. “I wanted to. I would have, but I lost your number.”

“I wrote it on your arm!”

“It smudged…”

“Right…”

He studied her face, she looked on the verge of tears, her eyes big and glassy, as her bottom lip trembled slightly. A surge of acrid guilt filled his chest. “I’m sorry it upset you so much.”

“It’s not just that,” she said, her shoulders sagging as she sighed, “I played an open mic tonight and I got booed.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, turns out Linger by The Cranberries is considered a bummer for a Friday night.”

“If it’s any consolation, my night’s been pretty shit too,” he confessed.

“Why’s that?” She asked, cocking her head.

“My mate ditched me for Felix fucking Catton,” he spat, failing to keep the bitterness from his voice.

She nodded in understanding. “Oliver, yeah? I always got a bad vibe from him.”

Vibes weren’t a social currency that Michael dealt in, but he failed to find fault in her logic. Oliver was bad news.

“I’ll walk you back,” he said, eager to change the subject. He fell into step beside her as they began to walk. “So, you play guitar. Are you reading music?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I’d like to be a music therapist one day, or perhaps teach music to underprivileged kids. I just think learning an instrument is something that should be accessible to everyone, you know?”

He looked at her in quiet admiration. When they had first met, he had expected her to be studying something pointless like history of art, he had grossly misjudged her.

“So, you’re on the mathematics course?” She asked.

“How’d you know?” He looked at her quizzically.

“My tarot cards told me.”

He turned his face towards her as they continued to walk, narrowing his eyes as he stared at her, his nose wrinkled in derision.

She stared back with eyes filled with mischief, before huffing out the laugh she’d been struggling to hold back. “I’m fucking with you. I saw your textbook that day in the pub.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand you,” he admitted, as they came to a stop outside of Christchurch college.

“People are people, Michael, they aren’t mathematical equations.”

“What do you mean?”

“Not everybody needs to be understood completely, and that’s fine. You want to come up?”

He blinked rapidly, taken aback by the invitation. “To your room?”

“Well, that is what I meant, but we could try the roof, if you’d prefer?”

“God, you’re fucking infuriating,” he muttered with a slight smile, pulling open the door to the building and gesturing for her to go in first.

Her room was exactly as Michael had imagined it would be; colourful textile hangings adorned the walls, there was a dreamcatcher above the bed and a scent that hung in the air, similar to the one he’d smelled the night they kissed, that suggested she regularly burned incense.

He watched as she lifted the strap of her guitar case over her head, before carefully depositing it in the corner. She kicked off her boots, and sat down upon the small double bed, leaning back against the headboard.

She patted the space beside her and Michael hesitated, realising how out of place he was in her world. What was he even doing here? His lips parted as he stared at her with uncertainty, quickly glancing around the room again before he spoke.

“Why did you kiss me?” He asked quietly, rooted to the spot where he stood.

She looked at him thoughtfully, fingers playing idly with the ends of her long hair. “I wanted to,” she answered casually.

“But why?” He repeated, beginning to feel exasperated.

“You have kind eyes, and you’re not like anyone else I’ve ever met. Now will you sit down? You’re making the room look untidy.”

Michael relented, somewhat placated by her answer and sat on the edge of the bed as he pulled off his walking shoes, before stretching out beside her.

He clasped his fingers together over his stomach, not daring to look at her as his mind raced with thoughts. Would she try to kiss him again? Why had she invited him up?

“Not knowing what to expect,” he finally said, a thoughtful musing almost to himself, “I think that’s the meaning I’d take away from that card, especially when it comes to you.”

“You remembered,” she uttered quietly.

He turned his head to look at her and their noses almost brushed as he did, the silver of her nose ring pressed gently against his flesh. Her eyes shone with affection, a soft smile upon her face as she looked at him. Without thinking, he reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, the gesture a silent admission of “of course I did”.

“I still think it’s bollocks though,” he whispered as he leaned in.

“Whatever you say,” she murmured, tentatively brushing her lips against his.

He tangled his fingers into her hair, as their mouths moved together, his breath hitching as her tongue licked at his bottom lip. He groaned as the kiss deepened further, the sticky sound of their saliva driving him to involuntarily move his hips against hers as she shifted beneath him.

As their lips parted, she trailed hot, open mouthed kisses along his jaw, and down his neck, pausing to suck at his pulse point. He screwed his eyes shut in pleasure, his fingers tightening in her hair as his other hand gripped the bedspread with such intensity his knuckles turned white.

He ground against her with reckless abandon, and she bucked her hips back, hooking a leg over his hip, her clothed core rubbing against his throbbing erection with such delicious friction that it made white hot sparks of ecstasy dance along his spine.

She pulled his face back to hers, moaning softly into his mouth as their kisses intensified, the sound of it shot straight through his body, the telltale tightening of his balls signalling what was to come. He was desperate to hold off, to not embarrass himself from a simple heated kiss, but as she tugged at his hair, nipping at his lip as she rolled her hips, he knew he was done for.

He held her tightly to him, groaning as his mind went blank, aching pulsations of rapture made his cock twitch as he spilled himself into his boxers. He pulled back, wide eyed and panting, the moment he was lucid enough to, uttering apologies.

“Fuck…I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…I’ve never–”

She raised a hand, gently cupping his heated cheek, silencing him. “It’s okay,” she soothed, “new beginnings, remember? No need to be embarrassed.”

He stared down at her, her eyes were glossy and filled with sincerity, lips shiny from their kisses and slightly parted. She looked utterly radiant, and though he didn’t believe all of the things that she did, it was difficult not to believe in her. Perhaps there was some truth to being a fool after all.

#Michael gavey fic reblog

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