#because it was even worse feeling like literally any post I made could go viral and have 50k people vilifying me

[harbingrs]

I was writing another post in the moral OCD spiral series but I genuinely can't type any more to finish it after like... hours of wasted time and pain trying to defend myself from the next wave of charges from the OCD strawman in my head so I am sorry if there are things that are unaddressed from my previous post(s) that are Bad. I am aware of them and I just can't type enough to get the information out there and I have really urgent work I'm meant to be doing after already working 42 hours in under three days.

I promise the kind of vaguely toxic defensiveness I have going on when I get into topics is not because I am a nasty individual, I am responding to said mental OCD strawman who tries to back me into a corner and force me to account for every single possible implications or pitfalls of anything I ever say. I am not just cavalier and rude and eager to defend every facet of capitalism and pre-emptively build a castle of excuses, I am just mentally unwell in a way that means I never know peace.

And this is why I don't Post Things in general, because I can't make one small funny post about my job without needing to cover for every bad faith reading and then cover for bad faith readings of THAT and it turns into an hours-long saga where I'm justifying every aspect of my life and then justifying my tone and wording in my justification posts etc etc

If I make a post my whole day spirals into feeling Unsafe about it and ditto with even leaving comments or replies. I do one innocuous thing and then it makes me feel so vulnerable I swear off posting/communicating/etc for weeks or months because it's not worth it and there's too much thst can go wrong and it just makes my life harder. If I can do/be/say nothing i csn be safe and I can breathe.

[jawritter]

Broken Me...

Ch. 3

Summery: The Dallas Convention couldn't have come at a worse time for Jensen. His world fell apart earlier that morning, but was expected to just act like everything was normal. You and a friend were at the convention for her birthday. Life hasn't been that great for you either, but a forced meeting on stage changes two worlds. Will you be able to put this broken man back together again...

Series Warings: Cheating, shitty marriage, Danneel is a bitch, I unfortunatly have to put that as a warning because some people tend to get turnt up about it if you don’t... Smut, Crying, Suiside Attempt, brief discription of suicide attempt and recovery, depression, hints of self loathing, language. I think that’s it... Suicide Trigger warnings will be placed over each chapter!

Chapter Warnings: Online bulling, language, insecurities, mean girls. I think that’s about it..

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 1779

A/N: BINGE READ TIME!! As always all mistakes are mine! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is gold!! Hope you all enjoy this one!!

Want More? Check out my masterlist!!

****MASTERLIST****

Jensen's POV:

"I can't believe I lost it like that man! What the hell!!" Jensen yelled, throwing his hat across the room, watching as it hit the wall with a limp thump before falling to the floor.

He’d never been so pissed off at himself in his life, the way he ran off stage like that, Y/n probably thinks she did something wrong. 

He knew she saw him upset…

He knew she saw him try to hide the fact that I was up there crying like a little bitch... 

Maybe that many shots before he got on stage wasn't such a great idea after all... 

He was just trying to get numb enough to get through this damn concert without feeling anything. That turned out well didn’t it...

"Dude stop!! You're doing a hell of a lot better than I would be doing. I would have left the convention by now, and would be a blubbering mess somewhere. As far as y/n goes. I think she's fine. I saw her taking selfies with some other fans after the concert was over. Now Richard on the other hand, he saw, he's asking questions. I know you're not ready to talk about all this to everyone, but if you're going to stay at the convention. You're going to have to tell the rest of the cast and crew what the hell is going on with you." 

Jensen knew Jared was right, but he couldn’t help the stone face that he gave him as he watched the overly tall man take a swig of his beer. 

Even though Jared has the mental maturity of a ten year old, when stuff is going down he usually is right. 

As far as Jensen was concerned he was nowhere near ready to talk about what happened between Danneel and himself, everything was still so fresh, so raw, hell it had just happened today! 

He knew he couldn’t get into telling people without breaking down, and that was NOT something he was going to do in front of everyone. 

It just isn't going to happen... 

"I know you're right, but I’m not ready to talk about this with everyone, man it all this just happened less than 12 hours ago! I haven't even had time to process it yet. I'll try, and talk to everyone in the morning if people are asking too many questions. I just can't do it tonight. I'm still a little drunk, I'm exhausted. Probably too damn exhausted to sleep, which means I’ll probably drink myself to sleep…. Don’t look at me like that Jared, I just ….need tonight okay......Put Richard and everyone else off till in the morning if they ask you any questions."

Jared fought the urge to shake his head and roll his eyes, but this was Jensen’s battle, not his, and he had to deal with all of this how he saw best. No matter how much Jared didn’t agree with it..

"Okay I can do that. I told Richard tonight that you would probably tell everyone in the morning what was going on anyway, It was the only way he would let it go. They're worried about you man."

Jensen pushed his hands through his already completely messed up hair, and stood there with his eyes closed, trying his damndest to get a hold of himself. He was tired of crying about this already, and had just happened today, hell it’s not like they were together every day of their marriage, he was practically single anyway… They never even fucking saw each other.. Why did this bother him so much?  

"Ugh Jen?" Jared said, sounding almost like a little kid afraid to tell their parents something bad.... 

"What?" 

White hot fear licked at Jensen right up his backbone, it was never good in this industry for someone to use that tone while looking at social media... 

"Uh, looks like the video of you and y/n tonight has gone almost viral." 

Video of him singing at cons did that all the time so it was no surprise to him that one of him signing with a fan had gotten a lot of attention. So Jensen knew that was just the warm up for the let down, and braced himself…

"Okay, So." 

"Well Danneel saw it and, well......" 

Jared handed Jensen the phone, and what he saw there made him nauseous, and like he’d been shot in the chest with a 12 gage full of buckshot all at once….

“That bitch..”

............................................................

Your POV:

Walking back through the door of your hotel room you fall face first on the bed. 

Exhaustion was a very real thing, but you still had a lot of adrenaline pumping through you, way too much to sleep right now. Your mind racing a thousand miles a second. Analyzing everything that had happened tonight almost to a fault. 

Did I dream that or did it really happen? 

What's going on with Jensen? 

Why was he so upset? 

Were Richard and I the only ones that noticed? 

Jared obviously saw? 

Every time you think about it  your skin would tingle where Jensen had touched you. Hell by the time the two of you hand ended the song he was seriously so close for just a moment you thought he was going to kiss you. 

Thank God he didn't... 

Cause you probably would have passed out in his arms... 

Which probably wouldn't have been a bad thing, if you were alone, and not on a stage in front of hundreds of people with cameras and smartphones. 

Not cool...

With that thought you picked up your phone, and saw literally hundreds of twitter, facebook, and Instagram notifications on your phone. 

Your eyes bulging out of your head as you scrolled through twitter, the video of Jensen and yourself had gone almost viral. 

Your head started spinning and you honestly felt like you were going to throw up. Everyone seemed to like it, that wasn't the thing. The SPN fandom was seriously awesome that way, and for the most part everyone supported each other in one way or another... 

It was the post from Danneel that shook you from your head to your toes... 

"Y/f/n!! Get your ass over here!!" You yelled toward the bathroom where she was brushing her teeth. The room was spinning slightly as you read the tweet over and over again, as if you could make it disappear from the world wide web by sheer willpower...

"What?" She yelled back, running toward the bed, a look of concern on her face. 

She knew your tone had changed from joking in the elevator to almost sheer panic. 

"What is it?" She asked, taking the phone out of your hand. 

"Dang...Poor Jensen!!" She said, staring stocked at the phone. She was staring at the phone in slack jaw shock probably like the rest of the fandom at the moment.. You knew this was just the calm before the storm though, and you were about to be under fire form some of the more hardcore fans in the fandom...

"Well he was having a harder time than what it looks like on the video." You said, she looked at you completely lost. Apparently the audience didn't catch it. A moment ago you would have been relieved, now though you wished they would have just seen him.. 

Then man was a damn good actor...   

"That part in the video that looks like he's kissing my neck….. He wasn't. He had started to cry, and was wiping his face." You mummer, guilt rocking you to your core for agreeing to sing that song with him now that you knew what was going on with him... 

"Bullshit!" She yelled. "Why didn't you tell me he was that upset!" 

“I thought it wasn't any of our business! What was going on with him was obviously not intended to be a public thing. So I kept my mouth shut out of respect." You shot back. 

Looking down at the tweet you still couldn’t believe what you were seeing was really happening..

The tweet was a repost of the video of Jensen and yourself singing. That wasn’t the problem. It was the comment above that  made you nauseous. 

Well since Jensen seems to have ALREADY moved on to basically screwing fans on a live stage!! Looks like I OWE my fans the explanation! Jensen and I are getting a DIVORCE!!! WE ARE NO LONGER TOGETHER!!  I don't know who this girl is, but baby girl RUN!! I PROMISE YOU DON'T WANT THAT!!!

---------------------------------------

A few hours later you found yourself still awake and staring at the ceiling. Sleep wasn’t going to come easy tonight no matter how you sliced it.. 

You couldn’t believe she did that.. 

She doesn't even know you!!! 

Some fans jumped to your immediate defense, telling her to go screw herself, and that didn’t happen the way the video was making it look, that it was a lot more innocent in person. 

Then there were some ‘Jensen always deserved better than you anyways’. 

That It was just a performance... Meaning nothing and she needed to get over her high and mighty act... 

Jensen was a sweetheart. He was probably totally heartbroken, and she was a bitch... 

Then there were some that were attacking you... 

"She's just a whore. He'll come crawling back." 

"He's a jackass you deserve better." 

"She wont even last with him a week." 

"She's just a side bitch."

 "She's ugly, he downgraded." 

"OMG I didn't know Jensen was into fat girls!"

They cut deeper than a stranger's opinion of you probably should have. Especially that last one. You weren't fat by any means, but you also weren't hide stretched over the bones. 

You had curves. 

Your stomach wasn't perfectly fat. 

Your thighs touched together when you walked. 

You didn't have a model body, but hell Marline Monroe was fatter than you are!! 

You and Jensen we're NOT together in any sense of the word, and by no means was he practically “Screwing you” on stage tonight..

A slight knock on the door disturbed your thoughts, and you looked over to y/f/n. 

She was still knocked out. 

So you quickly wiped away the tears that had fallen down your face, dragging yourself out of bed. You got up and looked through the peephole in the door, but all you could see was a white t-shirt. 

You unlock the door, and peck through the crack to see who was standing there at this hour in the night, and who you saw nearly knocked you on your ass for the second time tonight..

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tag List: @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @thecreatiivecorner​  @aflamboyanceofgays @deanwanddamons​​ @imabitch4jensen​​ @rvgrsbrns​​ @bi-danvers0​​ @onethirstyunicorn​​ @i-love-superhero​​ @akshi8278​ @alanegaming @magssteenkamp​ @lemondropirwin​ @squirrelnotsam​ @hobby27​ @spnbaby-67​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @defenderrosetyler​ 

Binge Tag: @sarahbaker2010​

[sassyrequin]

I just have to keep on walking

pairing: serena campbell/ange godard 

rating: m

summary: for Jess Appreciation Day, because @ktlsyrtis is amazing and deserves this random serena/ange smut that I won't post anywhere else! 

Serena is heartbroken but spring always comes after winter.

“How dare you? This is my ward and my patient!”

Ange Godard slams the door to the consultants’ office, the ward goes eerily silent, and Serena sighs. She wants to throw her hands up in the air, or maybe even kick something, but Essie is watching her and she doesn’t have the energy.

“Want me to go talk to her?” Essie asks after a loaded minute.

Serena stares at the closed door. She can see Ange pace back and forth.

“No, no. I’ll go. When you have a minute, can you get the latest test results?”

Essie nods. The nurses look to her when she passes them by, and Essie has a quiet word with each of them. By the time Serena reaches the office door, the ward is back to normal.

It can’t go on like this, Serena thinks. Everyone is tense. From Henrik at the very top to the porters, the protesters out front have the whole hospital on edge. Ange has become irritable and volatile, not a great combination in a consultant. She needs a word, and Serena hopes she will hear it.

As the new Director of Medicine, Serena literally drew the short straw. It’s up to her to make sure Ange is on board with going to the courts over this case. That she won’t cause waves. The hospital has had a difficult year, and it doesn’t need any more scandals.

So she takes a deep breath, knocks once, and lets herself in.

Ange is looking out the window, her face thunderous and her shoulders set in a tight line.

“Ange, please understand where Henrik is coming from,” Serena starts as she takes a few steps into the office. “The mediation will ensure everyone’s side is heard and…”

She doesn’t get to finish because Ange’s head snaps around.

“Oh spare me the speech. And the false sympathy. We all know the courts are taking over to protect the hospital, not Holly,” Ange spits out.

The venom in her voice makes Serena reel back. She hasn’t been spoken to like that by a colleague in years. She pauses. Breathes in and out just like her therapist taught her.

“Right. I’m sorry you feel that way,” she says instead of flying off the handle.

Ange snorts and rolls her eyes so far back that Serena wonders if she can see the back of her head.

“I do. You obviously feel very strongly about this case and…”

“Don’t tell me how I feel! You don’t get to waltz in now and have an opinion!”

Serena sighs. This is going nowhere. She bows her head slightly and leaves the room in a tactical withdrawal. Tomorrow is another day, and Ange will have had the night to sleep on it.

Except the next day Ange avoids her. Serena makes the effort to go see her twice but she is nowhere to be found. Essie’s exasperation is mounting.

“Serena, you have to talk to her. The nurses are running scared of her temper, and no one wants to work with her,” she tells Serena on her second visit.

The warning stays with Serena all day. She pulls a full shift, her anger at Ange’s unprofessionalism rising, and then heads to Albie’s, hoping to see Ric but actually finding Ange sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey.

“This seat taken?” She asks, pointing at the empty stool next to Ange.

Ange shrugs. Her eyes are already a bit glassy and unfocused, her shoulders slumped. There are tendrils of hair escaping her tight ponytail.

“You’re the boss,” she answers, words a little slurred.

Serena sighs and orders a glass of wine.

“Is that Shiraz?” Ange asks.

Serena raises an eyebrow.

“Only I heard you liked Shiraz. I’ve been hearing a lot of things about you actually,” Ange says, straightening up on her stool, her eyes dark and stormy.

“Have you now?” Serena drawls.

She is not going to be intimidated by a pocket sized Scottish consultant, no matter how attractive she is.

“Yeah. Very interesting.”

Ange doesn’t elaborate and Serena rolls her eyes. She takes a sip of her wine and appraises the woman in front of her. She doesn’t know much about her. Just her impressive CV and rumours of a complicated relationship with a daughter. They ought to be fast friends but for some reason they keep fighting.

“Look. You can drink all the whiskey in the world, but it’s not going to save Holly. You need to be smart about this. Get the nurses on your side and stop being such an arsehole about the whole thing.”

Ange blinks. And blinks again. And then she draws herself up like a coiled snake.

“Who. The. Fuck do you think you are?” She thunders.

“Your fucking boss. Now finish your drink, get a cab, and sleep it off,” Serena says as she downs her glass in one gulp.

She glares at Ange while she puts her coat back on.

“See you tomorrow.”

And she’s off in the chill of early spring. Her blood is really pumping now. She rarely swears, and certainly not at a colleague, but there is something about Ange Godard that gets under her skin.

She’s walking to her car when a hand clamps down on her wrist and she is spun round. She’s about to hit whoever touched her with her handbag when she realises it’s Ange.

“Are you out of your mind?” She snarls, yanking her wrist away.

Ange laughs, her eyes wild.

“Probably! This day can’t get any fucking worse, so who knows?”

Serena massages her wrist and huffs. Great, now Ange is having a meltdown in the car park. Thank god the protesters have gone for the night, or she bets a viral video would have been made.

“Ok, let me get you a cab,” Serena says reasonably.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child,” Ange sneers.

“Then stop acting like one!” Serena snaps.

They stare at each other, and Serena makes a decision.

“All right, get in.”

“What?”

Serena points to her car with her car keys.

“Get in.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, you’re probably going to murder me and leave me in a ditch,” Ange says with suspicious eyes.

“Oh dear god, if only! But alas, I happen to have some morals. I’m going to drive you home, Ange. Get in.”

Ange obviously thinks it through, as if there could be loopholes. Serena just whispers “Christ” under her breath and opens the passenger door. That seems to jolt Ange and she gets in with a huff.

They get to the first roundabout before Serena thinks to ask Ange where she lives. It’s not far from her house, a few streets further down towards the estuary.

The drive is silent. When Serena steals a glance to her left, Ange is looking out the window, her leg jumping up and down in a restless rhythm. Her hands are on her lap, pressing down on her knees, the knuckles white with the pressure.

Without thinking much, Serena pulls over after the next junction. They’re on a quiet road almost in the countryside, with fields on either side. Ange looks up, confused.

“Are you seriously going to kill me?”

“Yes, let me just get my hammer and my heavy duty gloves from the boot,” Serena quips. “Let’s get some air for a second. Come on.”

Ange looks at her with wide eyes like she’s crazy, but when Serena opens her door she follows suit. It’s cold and dark and quiet. The wooden fence on their right has a gate that only has a simple latch, and Serena pops it open easily.

The grass is wet but they manage to walk for a bit without trouble. After a few minutes the road disappears from view and it’s like they are the only two people alive.

“When my daughter died, I used to walk home from the hospital,” Serena says as she angles her head to look at the stars. “For weeks I took this road, and it didn’t matter if it was the middle of the night, or if it was raining or snowing, I would pick a field and scream and scream until I couldn’t anymore.”

Ange’s eyes are full of tears. She takes a step towards Serena but Serena holds up a hand.

“And when I completely fucked up my relationship with the love of my life, I drove here and I screamed the place down,” Serena continues, voice shaky and wet.

Ange looks up to the stars as well. She shifts on her feet. Inhales. And screams. Again and again, the sound like a bomb in the quiet of the field. It feels raw and alive, and it goes on and on, until Ange needs to breathe.

“Fuck this shit!” She screams when she gets her breath back.

Serena waits. She looks at different constellations while Ange exorcises her demons.  She wonders how Bernie is doing, if she’s also looking to the sky and wondering where it all went wrong.

Next to her, Ange is crying. It’s not pretty or delicate. It’s huge heaving sobs that wrack her entire body. Her mouth is wide open, her hands clutching her sides.

Serena takes her in her arms and holds her close. Ange trembles and shakes against her.

“I don’t know how to make this right,” Ange sobs in Serena’s neck.

For the first time, Serena notices how short Ange is. She has such a big personality that Serena never realised.

“There is no right really, in these situations,” Serena reasons.

But Ange knows all this. She’s been a doctor, a good one, for decades. All Serena can do is be there. So she tightens her hold on Ange’s smaller frame and lets her get it all out.

It takes a while, but Serena has nowhere to be. Ange’s sobs die down eventually. Then they are just two women holding each other in the middle of a field in the dark.

“God, what a mess. I’m sorry,” Ange says, taking a step back and drying her eyes.

“No need to apologise. We’ve all been there.”

They get back in the car and Serena gets back onto the road. Ange looks better, she notes happily. More grounded and less frantic and angry.

In front of Ange’s house, with the car still running, Ange turns to her.

“I’m…Thank you. I really needed that,” Ange says quietly.

“You are welcome. And please, please don’t think you’re all alone. You have an entire ward behind you, and Henrik, and…”

“You?” Ange asks.

“And me, yes,” Serena replies firmly.

Ange looks at her for a long time. Serena holds her gaze without judgement, wants to let the other consultant know that she can be counted on. Finally, as if she’s reached a decision, Ange nods.

Even after Ange has closed her front door behind her and is safely inside, Serena looks at her house for a while. Pondering.

As she drives off, she mutters a quiet “fuck” under her breath.

Serena is a woman of the world. She’s lived a full life so far. Has loved. Been loved. Has met the love of her life and screwed it up so badly she still can’t sleep full nights.

But what she’s never done is consciously flirt with a woman. Bernie happened under the guise of friendship. Leah, in times of such distress that Serena won’t ever remember it fondly.

It’s new, flirting with intent. With a woman. Serena feels a little thrill. A tendril of desire that her therapist encourages like a spring flower after frost. At first Serena is recalcitrant. What happened with Bernie is too recent, too raw. Her heart is bruised and sore.

But week after week, Serena tentatively starts to look around her. Deep inside she knows she won’t love anyone the way she loves Bernie, perhaps ever. But maybe isolation and self pity aren’t the only thing she deserves, her therapist suggests with more kindness she feels she merits.

All of this brings her to Albie’s as summer creeps up in the south-west. The air is sweet, the days longer, and Serena feels lighter as her shift ends and she pushes the door to the pub.

The AAU team is already there, and Donna brandishes a glass of red when she sees her. Serena thanks her gratefully and takes a sip, sighing happily at the thought of the weekend starting.

“So, any plans this weekend?” Donna asks, in a tone that suggests she’s not talking about park dates with Guinevere.

Serena snorts and shakes her head.

“Not unless you count taking my great-niece to the swimming pool,” she answers.

She rolls her eyes at the look in Donna’s eyes. It’s a mixture of pity and commiseration, and Serena doesn’t care for it one bit.

“I would count that. Sounds fun,” says a voice behind her.

It’s Ange, looking very attractive in a sleeveless linen dress that shows off impressively defined arms. Serena clears her throat and feels the tip of her ears grow warm.

“Join us Dr Godard. What are you drinking?” Donna asks, already standing up with a knowing smile that Serena doesn’t care for either.

Ange smiles, obviously pleased at the invitation.

“Thank you. A pint, please. Not lager.”

Donna nods and goes to the bar, but not before giving Serena a cheeky wink. Ange takes the seat next to Serena even though there are other empty chairs. Xavier is talking football with Fletch in a corner of their table.

“Oh how glad I am to see the end of this week,” Ange sighs.

She crosses her legs and Serena tries not to look at the tanned sliver of thigh that has been revealed.

“Same. It’s been one crisis after another,” Serena agrees.

They share a smile born of common experiences. Serena understands the exhaustion and the frustrations of running a ward. She sees the worries and the weight of responsibilities reflected on Ange’s face and in her posture. But there is also the glint of success in her eyes, the satisfaction of a job well done that softens any ruthlessness. It’s an attractive combination.

Donna puts the drinks down on the table and leans forward eagerly.

“So, Dr Godard, how are you finding Holby? It’s been a few months now hasn’t it?”

Serena turns to Ange with raised eyebrows, daring her to give an honest opinion. Ange laughs.

“I had a bit of a rocky start, but…” and here Ange looks at Serena with a crooked smile, “it’s definitely grown on me.”

Donna claps her hands together, delighted. Serena ducks her head, her hand finding her pendant, a slight blush on her cheeks.

Donna makes for an excellent buffer. She’s a charming conversationalist, and asks all the questions that Serena doesn’t dare ask. In fact, Serena thinks with narrowed eyes, it’s like Donna is purposefully angling towards a specific line of enquiry.

“That’s fascinating,” Donna says after asking how Ange ended up at their hospital. “And so really you wanted a ward like YAU and it brought you to Holby,” she adds, and then glances towards Serena. “Wow. I couldn’t imagine just packing my bags and moving across the country! What did your husband think?”

Serena closes her eyes. If she was sitting closer to Donna, she would be kicking her leg so hard. Ange pauses mid sip of her second drink, an amused look on her face.

“My husband? No, no husband,” she replies.

Donna smiles in what she probably thinks is a nonchalant way, but just makes her look constipated.

“And no wife, either. And yes, both could be possible,” Ange continues, a casual arm around her chair, looking very cool and composed.

“Well, I bet this is the most bisexuals Albie’s has ever seen!” Donna says with a wide smile.

Serena rolls her eyes and yet she wants to buy Donna all the drinks behind the bar.

“Let’s start a club,” Ange jokes and taps her pint against Donna’s glass.

Donna laughs, and then she taps hers against Serena’s.

“Yes, there you go. The first meeting of the Holby Bisexual Association,” she declares with false gravitas. “With all of three members.”

This is when Xavier reminds his girlfriend they have dinner reservations, and when Fletch goes to relieve his child minder. Ange and Serena are left on their own, and suddenly Serena feels nervous and embarrassed. It’s like she’s a teenager again, all unsure and hesitant.

“So when do we get matching jackets?” Ange asks.

“What?”

“For our club? I’m thinking denim. You can wear it with anything.”

And with that all the awkwardness is gone. Serena laughs like she hasn’t laughed in months. Ange joins her, her ponytail swinging with the shake of her shoulders.

“Can I get you another?” Ange asks when they’ve regained some decorum.

Serena nods. She watches as Ange gets up, follows the swing of her hips and admires the curve of her waist. She’s wearing heels, and that dress really works for her, and Serena’s pretty sure Ange is leaning on the bar a bit more than necessary. When she turns with their drinks in hand, she smiles at Serena and Serena is almost shocked at the heat pooling in her belly.

It feels strange to feel like this for anyone other than Bernie. Leah felt wrong but also inevitable along Serena’s path of self destruction. Ange is different. Ange feels fun and light and easy. Like a light at the end of a very dark and lonely tunnel.

The wine is good and the conversation even better. When Ange isn’t consumed by a patient and now that the ward is finally running smoothly, she’s funny and relaxed and good company. Gone is the weirdly intense consultant who screamed in a dark field in the winter.

They end up ordering a bottle, Ange happily deferring to Serena’s tastes. She’s sitting a bit closer to Serena, their arms touching now.

“I haven’t had a chance to see AAU yet. You’ll have to give me a tour one of these days,” Ange says after Serena tells her about her week. “You are always coming up to see me.”

“Ah well, you have kept me rather busy,” Serena replies, without animosity.

And is that a blush on Ange’s cheeks? Serena hopes so with a thrill.

“Yes, but that’s stopped recently, right? I rather miss your visits.”

There is no mistaking the tone in Ange’s voice, the suggestion and the intent between her words. Serena clears her throat, hand on her pendant once more.

“You’re welcome on my ward anytime,” she says a little lamely.

Suddenly this all seems very real. Does she really want to do this? Ange is attractive and clever but does Serena have it in her to start something new after Bernie? She’s still in love with her, madly so, so what is she doing? What on earth is she doing?

“Hey. You all right?” Ange asks with concern, her hand sliding on top of Serena’s on the table.

Serena smiles but it comes out as more of a grimace. Ange swipes her thumb across the knuckles of Serena’s hand, her eyes soft.

“I was going to ask you out to dinner, but maybe I’m overstepping,” she says.

Serena shakes her head, holds on to Ange’s hand. She doesn’t know how to explain.

“You know what hospitals are like. I’m afraid Dr Copeland was very liberal with his who’s who,” Ange continues gently. “I know you’ve just come out of a relationship.”

A relationship. It seems like such a small word for something so big.

“And if it’s too soon, I completely understand.”

Serena smiles. She is touched at the consideration. And very flattered at the attention. She looks at Ange and realises she really wants to kiss her. The thought makes her blush, which in turns makes Ange smile.

“Maybe it isn’t too soon after all,” Ange says, smile widening.

Serena is in theatre with her hands in a man’s stomach when Ange appears at the observation window. Donna clears her throat and points towards her with her head, her eyes sparkling.

“How can I help you, Ms Godard?”

“I was hoping for a consult, Ms Campbell. 17-year-old girl, compromised blood supply to lower limbs,” Ange says.

She’s in her scrubs, and she looks tired, but she’s smiling.

“Give me ten minutes to finish up here and I’ll pop round,” Serena offers.

“It’s a date,” Ange says with a wink.

Donna squeals as soon as Ange leaves.

“A date?”

“Yes, Nurse Jackson, we’ll be cracking open the champagne over a poor girl’s body,” Serena says wryly, suturing the wound closed.

“Oh you know what I mean! You should ask her out!”

After a period of frosty disapproval over the whole Leah debacle, Donna has clearly decided to forget the whole thing and to become Serena’s wing woman.

“I shall do no such thing. Now, are you alright finishing up here?”

“Yes. Go flirt with the hot doctor!” Donna says eagerly.

Serena rolls her eyes. Maybe she preferred it when Donna ignored her with stormy eyes.

Sophie, the 17 year-old, needs surgery to save both her legs. Serena scrubs up for the second time that morning, this time with Ange next to her. They wash their hands in silence, and they help each other into their surgery scrubs. Serena tries not to linger when she ties the gown at the back of Ange’s neck.

The surgery is Serena’s bread and butter. She takes the lead but Ange is a competent surgeon. She doesn’t showboat, she listens and she knows when to follow. Her work is neat, and her suturing impressive.

“Thank you for scrubbing in,” she tells Serena once the anaesthetist has given them the ok.

“You are very welcome. You’re easy to work with,” Serena replies truthfully.

“Can I buy you a drink later? To thank you properly,” Ange asks when they clean up.

Serena smiles. Their conversation in Albie’s hadn’t led to anything, both of them too busy to make plans.

“It’s a date,” Serena says bravely from behind her shoulder.

Ange’s laugh follows her all the way back down to AAU.

One bottle of wine down and a shared pizza later, Serena’s nerves have settled. She can fool herself that this is just a friendly dinner between colleagues. It doesn’t have to be anything more, she reminds herself. Ange is easy to talk to. She’s interesting and funny. Serena would value her friendship and only her friendship if not for Ange’s blue eyes and her teasing smile every time their hands happen to touch.

The point of no return comes when the restaurant closes. Serena could just kiss Ange’s cheek and say good night and that’s where it would end. They could still be friends and Ange wouldn’t begrudge her, Serena knows.

But Ange helps her into her coat and suddenly they are standing very close. Ange leads her outside with a hand on her lower back, opens the door for her, and when they get to Ange’s car, Serena quiet and expectant, they look at each other.

“I don’t want to assume anything, but I…”

Ange doesn’t get to finish her sentence because Serena lurches forward and kisses her.

It’s different. It’s nice. It’s nothing like kissing Bernie.

Ange shifts on her feet and Serena is gently backed against the car, Ange’s hands cupping her face. The kiss is good. It’s soft and wet and Ange definitely knows what she’s doing. Her thigh slips in between Serena’s legs and Serena can’t help the whimper that escapes her lips.

For one dizzying moment, Serena forgets about Bernie and the mess that she created. She forgets that she’s lonely, and that she’ll probably need years of therapy to sort her life out.

Ange feels good. So she slips a hand on the back of Ange’s neck and deepens the kiss, slips her tongue into Ange’s mouth and smiles when she hears her moan in response.

“Maybe now would be a good time to mention the excellent Shiraz I have at my place,” Ange whispers against Serena’s lips.

“Believe me, I don’t require any bribes,” Serena replies.

Ange smiles and hums happily, and the next thing Serena knows they are kissing again, separating only when a car drives past them and honks at a cyclist.

There’s something magical about being intimate with someone for the very first time. It’s a journey of discovery, trying to figure out what makes them tick.

Much to Serena’s joy, Ange is free with her praise and vocal with her needs. She likes being kissed. She loves having her hair played with and pulled. She gasps when Serena sucks at her pulse point and whimpers a needy “more” when Serena lowers her head and takes a nipple into her mouth.

Serena tries not to draw comparisons between Ange and Bernie. She really tries. But it’s inevitable, in the end. Ange is shorter and curvier, and her hair doesn’t feel the same in Serena’s hands. Her sighs and her moans sound more feminine in her ear. It’s disorientating.

But Ange uses her words more, and Serena finds that she likes that very much. They burn in her brain and make her inner thighs slick with want.

“Oh fuck yes, that’s so good. You’re so good, god, Serena, yes,” when Serena uses her teeth on Ange’s breasts.

“Please don’t tease. Just, please, please fuck me,” as Serena trails her fingers up and down Ange’s thighs, delighting in her soft skin.

Ange arches her back off the bed, mouth opened in a gasp when Serena slips two fingers into her. She is soaked and her hands scramble to grasp the sheets by her hips. Serena grazes her teeth along the white column of Ange’s neck and smirks when Ange bucks into her hand.

“Another. Serena, another,” Ange pleads, eyes wide and unfocused.

Serena debates making her wait, but Ange is very pretty and Serena is starting to realise she likes giving pretty girls what they want. Ange takes another finger easily and she moans and rocks into a rhythm that leaves them both breathless.

“Yes, faster. God, yes, yes, you’re going to make me come,” Ange pants, her hips jerking.

It’s nothing like with Bernie, who was more reserved and more intense and who could make Serena burn with just one look. But it’s undeniably good when Ange grimaces and comes with a strangled groan, eyes shut tight with pleasure.

Serena draws her into her arms and holds her tight, whispering soft words of affection as she gets her breath back.

“I knew you’d be good at this,” Ange says with a satisfied smile after a while.

“Oh yes?”

Ange hums. “Something about your hands.”

Serena laughs, surprised. “My hands?”

“Strong surgeon hands. Delicate fingers. Short nails,” Ange explains, idly turning Serena’s hands into her own. “I’ve spent a few very enjoyable hours imagining them on me, and I have to say they lived up to expectations.”

Serena flushes and then moans when Ange takes a finger into her mouth and sucks gently, her eyes dark. Her tongue swirls and Serena imagines it between her legs, which, judging by Ange’s smirk, is exactly what Ange wants her to do.

“And your voice,” Ange says, her breath raising goose bumps on Serena’s skin.

“My-my voice?” Serena stutters, letting Ange lie her back on the bed.

Ange nods, her eyes glittering in the low light. She towers over Serena, her hair hanging around them both like a curtain.

“Oh yes.” Ange leans down and kisses Serena softly. “Your voice.” She presses her lips on Serena’s neck and licks. “Tell me what you want.”

Oh the sheer number of possibilities, Serena thinks deliriously. Ange nips and sucks at her neck and it’s making her brain fizz.

“You can have anything you want,” Ange whispers in her ear.

“Any-anything?”

Ange hums and bites just underneath Serena’s ear. Serena gasps and instinctively spreads her legs to let Ange settle between them.

“Your mouth,” Serena gasps, her cheeks red.

There’s a moment of charged silence where Serena thinks she’s gone too far, asked for too much, but then Ange kisses her fiercely.

“Fuck, yes. Yes, I want that too,” Ange groans, panting in Serena’s neck.

She removes Serena’s last items of clothing with shaking hands. It’s a wonderful boost to Serena’s ego to see Ange’s mouth drop open at the sight of her breasts.

“You’re gorgeous,” Ange whispers, her hands stroking Serena’s sides.

Serena squirms, already on the verge of desperate. There is something about making a woman come, she has learned, that makes her lose her mind. The first time she gave Bernie an orgasm, she came from the sheer rush of seeing the pleasure on Bernie’s face.

It seems Ange likes to take her time, though. She spends what feels like hours on Serena’s breasts, sucking and nipping and driving Serena crazy with want. All Serena can do is slip her hands in Ange’s hair and hold on, and buck her hips into Ange’s stomach to try to get any kind of friction. She feels Ange’s smile on the skin of her belly and she looks down, only to moan at how dark Ange’s eyes are just above her navel.

“Please, Ange, please,” she whispers.

“Please what?”

Serena huffs and Ange lays her head on Serena’s thigh, waiting patiently even though Serena can see how worked up she is. It makes her smile; how much Ange is enjoying being with her like this.

“Please,” Serena says, her voice purposefully low and deep. “Please make me come.”

Ange growls at the words and leaves a bite on Serena’s inner thigh. It seems to do the trick, though, because she takes Serena into her mouth and licks into her with strong strokes of her tongue.

Serena closes her eyes and sees stars, but Ange stops until Serena looks at her. She whines when she sees the intensity in Ange’s eyes.

“Look at me. And talk to me,” Ange says, her mouth wet.

Words. Serena has to use words when she’s two seconds away from losing her mind. A raw sort of disbelieving laugh comes out of her mouth, but Ange just raises an eyebrow. She nods, and Ange lowers her head once more. Oh, it’s so good. Again, Ange obviously knows what she’s doing, and Serena finds herself praising her, her voice raspy with need.

“That feels so good. Just like that. Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” Serena moans.

And judging by the sounds coming from Ange, hearing Serena talk seems to really do it for her. A whimpered “Oh god” gets Ange to groan against her thigh and to add fingers to her already marvellous mouth.

After that, things get a little blurry. Serena feels like a bundle of raw nerves and she can’t stop the pleasure building fast in her belly. She comes on a crescendo of breathy gasps, and her hips buck into Ange’s mouth with a wild abandon she’s hasn’t felt in months.

When Serena stirs, she’s in Ange’s arms, her head pillowed on her shoulder.

“Well, this makes me want a cigarette like you wouldn’t believe,” Ange says.

Serena laughs. Her muscles are so loose she’s almost liquid against Ange. She stretches like a satisfied kitten and lets out a happy sigh when Ange entangles their legs.

“I, uh, I mean, this was great. Really great. And if you wanted to do this again, I’m definitely on board,” Ange says after a while.

The jarring difference between Bernie and Ange is even more evident now. Her first time with Bernie had been a release of months’ worth of pent up tension. They had thrown themselves at each other, declared their love, and Serena had cried of sheer happiness.

Now, in bed with a woman she feels attraction for but certainly not anything close to love, Serena is adrift.

“Hey. Don’t worry. If you never want to do this again, I understand. I-I just had a good time,” Ange says, shifting so that they are facing each other in the dim light.

“Me too,” Serena reassures. “Trust me this was much needed. I’m just-I’m still-“

“Hung up on the ex?” Ange guesses.

She doesn’t seem put out or betrayed, Serena notes, relieved.

“Yes.”

“That’s ok. From what I heard it was quite epic,” Ange says.

Serena doesn’t say anything. There are no words for what Bernie meant-still means to her. There isn’t a day that goes by without her thinking about how they parted, and without her wondering if she made a horrible mistake by pushing Bernie away.  

“I’m not looking for anything serious. I just moved here. My life is a mess,” Ange says quietly. “I just like you. I like spending time with you. That’s all.”

The hold around Serena’s shoulders tightens for a split second and Serena smiles.

“My life is also a mess. A mess I’m trying to fix with long overdue therapy, so, you know, little heads up there. No pun intended.”

Ange snorts and then she bursts out laughing. Serena follows suit, feeling lighter than she has felt in a long time. It’s nice.

“So, I mean, if you wanted, we could…I don’t know, have dinner once in a while, and if the mood is right and if the-“ Ange babbles.

Serena leans forward and kisses her, softly at first, but then she straddles Ange and Ange stops talking.

“I would like that,” Serena says simply, the words ghosting Ange’s ear.

If Ange has a reply, it’s lost as Serena makes her way down her body.

Ange wasn’t lying, she really does like it when Serena uses her mouth.

Even when it’s not for talking.

[xproskeith]

For those interested, this was the post I made:

“So, I really don't post much beyond personal stuff and pictures and I haven't really chimed in on masking and precautions for COVID-19 beyond a few comments on other people's posts. However, in light of the rising number of cases, the shutting down of businesses again, the statewide masking mandate, and the absurd amount of anti-mask nonsense I have seen lately, I feel I have an obligation as a nurse to make a statement.

It would seem that a lot of you don't understand what's actually going on, disease process and transmission, and how to analyze and interpret data (which in all fairness is something you have to learn to do and is rarely taught outside of science based degrees, so your ignorance isn't entirely unreasonable I suppose). As such, please allow me, someone with two bachelor of science degrees, who has assisted in conducting research in multiple fields including medicine relating to disease transmission, and who has been working the actual front line of this pandemic (and yes, we are absolutely in a pandemic. This is textbook definition) as an RN on the COVID-19 units to educate you and explain things.

First of all, there seems to be a completely incorrect belief that the flu is more deadly than COVID-19. Based on the most recent numbers as collected by the CDC, the COVID-19 survival rate in the US is roughly 95%, meaning 5% of all people who get the virus die from it and the complications it causes. The seasonal flu survival rate based on the current numbers from the CDC is roughly 99.99%, meaning only 0.01% of all people who get the flu die from it and complications that it causes That's not even remotely close. You have a much higher chance of surviving the flu.

The other major problem with just looking at the raw "survival" numbers is that it doesn't tell you about how fucked so many of the people who survive the virus are. Sure, they may survive, but their lungs are now mostly scar tissue thanks to the virus, not to mention the trauma from being on a vent for so long. As such, they often can't walk further than 5-8 feet without getting severely winded and fatigued. Many of these patients end up on dialysis because the virus destroyed their kidneys. Many have lost toes and/or fingers or had pulmonary embolisms (blood clots in the lungs) because the virus causes hypercoagulation of the blood and damages the endothelial cells that make up the inside of your blood vessels. This causes blood clots to form more easily inside the blood vessels, cutting off oxygen to the toes or fingers involved, ultimately killing the affected finger or toe. This is just what we have seen so far. We do not know the full extent of the lasting and permanent damages this virus will have on people

Which brings me to my next point. We do NOT have a true treatment plan for this virus. No current anti-virals are effective. Or at least not enough to be considered a real treatment. The use of typical/standard of care medicines to help with symptom management (such as ibuprofen for pain/fever and steroids to help with breathing) actually make things worse in the presence of this virus. So, we are learning as we go and doing our best to keep people alive.

There is a huge misconception that this virus does not hurt/kill/effect younger people. This is not true. We have had many teenagers, people in there 20s and 30s, who had no other health history prior to this die. We're seeing it more now thanks to people going to the beaches and bars in droves and doing these dumb "COVID parties". They're literally getting themselves killed and spreading it to others, both young and old.

Lastly, I will address wearing a mask. There is literal DECADES of research on masks and their ability to reduce the transmission of disease. That's why we use them in surgery and in the hospital in general. To prevent the spread of disease. We have been doing this long before COVID-19 and will continue to long after it's over. If that giant body of research is still not sufficient for you, you only need to look at the rest of the world where they issues masking mandates and their citizens listened. Those countries are largely reopen and not experiencing spikes like we are. That's because they're wearing masks and following recommendations. Funny how when you listen to the people who spent their entire educational career and actual career on these very topics and considered experts, things work out. It's almost like they know what they're talking about. Anyway, point is, we can see in real time how everyone wearing masks is stopping the spread and allowing these countries to reopen. Meanwhile, the US's cases continue to rise and we are forced to shut down again. Even Trump himself wore a mask. Everyone wants to complain about them shutting the economy down, but no one wants to be bothered to do something that takes ZERO effort to do so that we don't have to. The experts have told you what to do to reverse what is happening, but y'all won't listen. I mean, in some countries, they were a mask on a normal day just because they feel a little sick and don't want to get others sick. It's common courtesy.

And if you wanna argue that wearing a cloth or surgical mask makes it hard to breathe, you're wrong. There's research on this too. oxygen absorption and saturation in the blood is not impacted at all by wearing a mask, even for extended periods (y'know, like surgeons and the surgical staff do for upwards of 8 hours depending on the surgery). Any sensation or feeling that it's harder to breathe with a mask on is all in your head because you're not used to wearing a mask. Then, my favorite piece of evidence: if my fat ass can do chest compressions on a patient for 20 minutes while wearing a true N95 mask that's covered by a surgical mask, scrub cap, thick isolation gown, and eye shield and be just fine, you will be fine walking around the store and such in a simple surgical mask.

In conclusion, wearing a mask works. The research is there. The direct observation from other countries is there. There is a reason healthcare workers and epidemiologist (people who explicitly study and research diseases, disease transmission, and how to stop it) keep making these recommendations. There is literally no justifiable reason for you not to wear a mask.

One more thing worth noting is what has been the most taxing on the nurses and doctors and respiratory therapists. These patients, both young and old, deteriorate so fast. I have watched several patients who were seemingly stable and doing fine on maybe a little extra oxygen through a nasal cannula suddenly start to desat (oxygen levels in the blood dropped) and by the time we were in the room, they had already stopped breathing. During the peak of it here, we would have at least 2-3 Code Blues and another 3-6 Rapid Responses called throughout the hospital each night. And what was so shitty is that often times despite you doing everything you knew how to do and everything that those more experienced knew how to do, you could not save them. They still deteriorated. They still died. This shit is very real and very serious and y'all need to stop pretending it's not.”

All of this is based off of data and actual observation from the front lines. This is not opinion. Nothing I said is incorrect. I don’t understand.

[halfwayinlight]

Title: Will Worries About Her Rating: PGish Pairing: Will Riker/Deanna Troi

OMG, I can’t quit these two. This one is a character study of sorts of Will Riker around events spanning most of Season 1. I’m so freaking soft for these two. Crossposted to AO3

Will worries about her, more than he should. She knows it. He’s sure others suspect it. When he first saw her, standing in a corridor of the Enterprise like it was as natural to hear as breathing, he had stared. Wondered if he’d fallen into some parallel dimension. And it had taken long moments to register that she was speaking. Moments even longer still before he realized she was speaking in his mind.

Deanna Troi, he was sure, did not belong on a starship. She was the daughter of a diplomat. From a world of rich foliage and gardens and fields heady with more botanicals than he could hope to name in a lifetime. Idyllic, almost a fabled Eden. In his best memories she was picnics and rich desserts and many other things that he couldn’t think about while on the bridge.

She doesn’t want to rely on him, and he can read that immediately. She’s determined to stand on her own two feet, and Will does his best to give her the space.

But sometimes she invades his space. Like when he simply wanted an escape from her betrothal—the one she’d mentioned once to him, years ago, when they imagined a future together. Deanna had been honest about her imagined future—or rather, the one her parents and the Millers imagined for her. He had been naïve about his own, and he’d hurt her terribly. And it occurred to him later that he deserved to watch all of this unfold right in front of him. And he owed it to her to honor her only request that he dance at her wedding when he’d rather hide on a holodeck or the nearest escape pod.

He was relieved, in a way he did little to hide, when it all fell apart. He told himself it would be different if she had seemed upset about it, rather than relieved. He told himself she didn’t really love Wyatt. And he was aware that while those things might be true, they weren’t the real truth. He let himself hope, in a back corner of his heart and mind, that it might mean something still to her. That he might still mean something to her.

He can’t give her space when a non-organic, formerly microscopic being is making is presence known. The entire ship trembling with its power, shaking the literal deck beneath their feet. It’s more instinct than any conscious thought that has Will reaching to catch Deanna. He can feel her frustration when he holds on a bit longer than is really necessary, but it wasn’t seemly for either an officer or a gentleman to let her go sprawling.

More than once he was glad she was busy with appointments when he knows the captain wishes she were on hand for away teams. She’s invaluable, he knows that better perhaps than anyone else. But it could have easily been Deanna who fell down into a cavern, rather that Dr. Crusher.

Other times her abilities nearly drove him up the wall and back down again. And she’s the one finding him. Will wondered, more than once, exactly what about the viral intoxication had made which person seek out which. While he trusted the crew of the Enterprise, he was grateful in retrospect that Deanna had sought him out. Her eyes were so wide; and as dark as they were, this time the pupils were blown with sickness so much that under other circumstances he would have thought someone had slipped her a drug. She was using that voice, melted in his arms, fingers toying with the hair at his nape through the walk to the turbo lift. He was thanking any deities he could imagine that she had finally exhausted herself by the time he hit sickbay instead of giving into the urge to divert a number of decks elsewhere. He really wasn’t sure how he managed to do anything that day with that version of Deanna.

And she was, he hated to admit even to himself, distracting on Angel One. She was nothing if not passionate. No matter how professional she was (and she was, above all else) as professional… Well, nobody did jealous like Deanna Troi. The more Mistress Beata drew him in, the stronger the emotions roiled off of her. Annoyance. Distrust. Jealousy. A small part of it might have been amusing had the circumstances not turned so serious so quickly.

In all honesty, he had been relieved she could go to a conference. Escape for a bit. Be surrounded with peers. Expand her skills and learn some new ideas. But he couldn’t deny that it was blood chilling to hear the first distress call from the shuttle’s pilot. The conference should have been a respite because they might have breaks between battles and dire situations, but Deanna’s job did not come with lulls.

Alexandra’s mother was still struggling with the separation, and he’d heard rumors they were considering taking a new posting on a planet with less risks than exploration.

Counseling sessions were private, but crews talked. And rumors had it that a few children were still struggling with nightmares and separation anxiety. More than once he’d seen Deanna leave the bridge early for an unexpected crisis or join them for an early shift with circles under her eyes only to later hear she had been roused for a distressed person or other when she should have been in the middle of her sleep cycle.

She bore up well under it. Practically thrived on it at times. The other counselors rotated on-call, though she would have been well within her rights as lead counselor to be exempt given her already busy schedule with patients and on the bridge itself. Conferences were meant to be benign. But he didn’t doubt there was quite a bit of understatement to the pilot’s reference to her being shaken.

It shook Will. To remember how fragile life was on these outskirts of the known galaxy. How it was far too simple for a small shuttle like that to go missing entirely, wiped from existence. One solar flare. A slight miscalculation. Come out of warp too close to a planet’s gravitational pull, or worse yet into the maelstrom of an asteroid field or trajectory of a comet. Rare. But not unheard of.

It reminded him of his own planet’s history. His ancestors leaving the known lower states to pursue the gold rush. The wild of the Yukon and savage winters. When a few steps in the wrong direction could mean being frozen alive in a snowstorm or falling into a crevasse never to be seen again. As a boy he had read of, transfixed with the horror of, ships in the eighteenth century (and many before then and some after) setting sail never to be seen again. Of airplanes taking flight, only to vanish from existence.

In the end, he had never been so thankful to be First Officer. Because while he knew the captain would not let one of their crew be lost to space, Will was determined he wasn’t stopping until he saw her for himself. His responsibility was the wellbeing of the crew. But he owed her much more than personally overseeing Deanna’s own safe return.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Friends can break your heart too pt. 2

Warnings: angst, swearing (enjoy!)

Word count: ~ 3.6k+

Part 1

Where was my fault in all this? All I did is love him with all my heart, but it went to waste. A part of me expected him to run after me the very instant I turned the first corner, slowing down my steps to give him a chance to catch up if he needed it.

Once I realized he wasn't coming, I felt swelling rage push tears even faster to fill my eyes. My vision blurred and chest heaved with the undeniable pressure building up so quickly I'm terrified it would burst. It's funny how people call it a broken heart, but I hurt all over. My brain is in shambles and my body aches like I've been hit by a train and the darkness growing inside is becoming too much to bear.

I remember calling an Uber, praying I'll keep my breakdown in, just a while longer...just until I'm behind closed doors and people with phones and annoying habits of filming everything they see can't get to me.

The last thing I need right now is someone posting a video of me that would go viral. I don't want to give him the satisfaction. I don't want him to see me cry.

Finally alone and inside my home, I find myself unable to shed a tear making it much worse. If you can't release the pain inside, the pain destroys you. It's one of my worst qualities, having few rare moments of release and bottling up everything else until I explode and take everything out in my vicinity.

Deciding not to dwell on it, I grab a bucket of ice cream from the fridge, DAIRY one and sit on my couch in silence and darkness, just getting that lactose in and smiling like a maniac. I've been sick and tired of their newfound dairy free diet and doing it as well to serve as a support system. I guess somewhere deep inside my tired, still firing neurons, eating a tub of dairy and sugar seems like vengeance of sorts.

This is how far I've fallen.

My phone keeps ringing, messages from James and Ethan coming through as I try my best to ignore them and stuff my face.

„Why are you not with them?! I'm losing my fucking shit here! Who is that girl frolicking with Gray and why aren't you answering?!“ James is freaking out, probably watching the awards on TV, worrying, and I'm not sure if it's justified or not.

I'm okay, aren't I? No one deals with these things normally, right?

„Y/N, I'm so sorry. I wish you stayed with me because I'm so bored. Call me back and let me know if you're okay? A text at least?“ Ethan called too and I know I bailed on him. I know he's basically the third wheel since Marina didn't come with him and Grayson's probably wrapped around that woman the entire time.

My dress is constricting my airways, shoes already kicked off my feet and I'm sure my make up is still spotless. I look like I walked out of a Disney movie and Grayson barely noticed me at all. I know I'm not usually the most good looking person out there. I'm aware that most people tend to completely overlook me, not notice I'm even around. I'm the girl no one sees, I don't light up the room when I walk in and people don't stand up to talk to me or go out of their way to make me feel wanted.

No one ever did that for me, but Ethan and Grayson did.

Maybe that's why I fell for him so hard? I craved the attention he gave me? I needed to feel wanted and like I mattered? Because he made me feel like that.

He did.

I never felt invisible around either of them.

I mattered.

Until I didn't.

„Step away from the ice cream!“ Ethan shouts and I snap my head up and to the right where I heard his voice come from, my heart pounding frantically and my mouth opening to let out a small shriek in fear.

„Why are you in my house?!“ I shout back, sitting properly and looking to my phone for the time.

„The awards are over.“ Ethan says in a 'duh' tone and I furrow my brows, rubbing my right temple when I see my ice cream all but melted. I must have dozed off in the inferno of my 'Reasons why I'm not good enough' special held in Grayson's honor.

„Oh.“ I mutter, hearing his footsteps approaching fast. He takes the ice cream from my hands, leaving it on the table in front of me while I stare blankly at my manicured nails and a golden butterfly ring on my right middle finger Ethan bought for my last birthday.

„Wanna talk about it, Princess?“ Ethan asks softly, siting beside me, his right arm pressed against my left one. It's a small couch and my dress is taking up the most of it.

„'Bout what?“ I look to him and swallow thickly, hoping my facade holds up.

„You being in love with my brother and him being undeserving of that.“ Ethan states and I cough violently, choking on my own spit.

„W-what?!“ My voice is high-pitched and my mouth is open like a fish gasping for air. I've believed my feelings were mine alone, hidden from the world and if they weren't...If Ethan knew of all people, did Grayson know?

Does he know?

„Oh, c'mon! It's not like you're being slick with all the starin' you do. I mean, I literally measured the time once I realized you do that and the longest has been ten minutes and twenty three seconds. You look at him like he walks on water!“ Ethan exclaims and I find my mind change speed and the panic overwhelming me like there's ice swimming inside my veins.

„I – uh, you're wrong.“ I try to rectify my past mistakes now, but it's in vain.

Ethan knows.

He knows.

„Am I? You're never speechless unless he's complimenting you. You have a permanent smile around him and I swear you turn into actual sunshine in his proximity. It's like you want to give him all the warmth and love and support this world has to offer. You also gravitate toward him like he's your moon. When he moves, you move. If you can be close to him, you are. Don't even get me started on the way you giggle at his stupid dad jokes or your encouragement of his nutcracker and plant obsession. I know you. You love him and...I'm sorry that you do.“ Ethan ends his rant by putting a hand over mine, making the speed chase inside my head stop and it's as if I'm crashing through the windshield with that gesture. Ethan putting a hand on mine like that meant something else. He's not a touchy feely guy, but he's here and he's holding my hand and it can only mean one thing.

He knows Gray doesn't feel the same way I do.

„So, he – uh, really doesn't love me then. Does he?“ My voice cracks, but I'm still too stubborn to cry. I'm strong, I don't cry for men.

„I can't say anything for sure because we never spoke about you in that way, but he's with Sara now and I don't know why he never mentioned her to you. I was under the impression he did.“ Ethan runs his thumb across my knuckles and I remember how Grayson did that before.

He'd always take my hand in his, no matter where we are and just hold it for hours. He'd run his thumb over each of my knuckles and intertwine our fingers, bringing my hand to his lips to kiss and looking back at him doing that on daily bases doesn't make me feel so insane for thinking he might have loved me too.

„He never said a thing about her. Not even hinted they met. And I really...I really thought he'd be here tonight, you know? Like, he'd come to at least apologize and bring me my favorite milkshake as a peace offering as we once promised to do whenever we fought. But he didn't and I hate that I'm a wreck about it all.“ I feel myself slipping down the emotional swirl-hole again, wondering how long will it take me to claw my way back again.

He didn't even bring the fucking milkshake.

Back when we first had a fight after becoming friends, Grayson bought me my favorite milkshake every day for a week and stood in front of my door until dark, leaving the shake whenever he left. And I'd drink it and leave the cup outside for him to find. I watched him smirk every time he found it empty through the peephole, realizing right then and there I wasn't really angry with him anymore, I just wanted to see that self-satisfied smile on his face whenever he saw I drank the milkshake. So, we made a pact. Whenever we fought in any way, the one who messed up will bring a milkshake the other one favors and you have to accept it and talk.

Guess he didn't find this ordeal milkshake worthy.

„I'm sorry to do this to you, but you have to face this. Grayson is – well, he's basically fucking Sara right now instead of being here and comforting you. He's not into you like that. Not as far as I know and I think he'd tell me, Y/N. I'm not trying to be cruel, I'm just trying to help you move on. Realize he's not all that and find a guy who treats you like a princess you are. Cause you fucking look like one even without wearing that dress.“ Ethan's words surprise me; shock me even. His breath seemed to stutter in his lungs before he let it go, the tension draining from his body. His breathing returned to normal and his lips parted, opening his mouth as if he could face the problem.

„Yeah. I did. I did love you for some time...it's how I know you're in love with Grayson. I watched you while you watched him and once I knew I had no way of winning you over, I did the only thing I could; I moved on. It was hard and messy and I still get in that head-space, but I never acted upon any of it. This is why I'm advising you to the same. Just, let him go.“ Ethan takes a deep breath, patiently awaiting for me to say anything.

I saw something flicker in his eyes that I never wanted to die. It's selfish, but right now, I crave his affection; the same he kept hidden from me for so long. I can't, but I want to. I want to kiss him and let whatever is left of my soul burn in hell. I find myself leaning forward, Ethan's eyes moving from my eyes to my lips and remaining there, just lingering.

„Such a bad idea.“ He says quietly and I can't help but agree with him. It's probably the worst idea I've ever had, but Grayson's fucking some other girl and I'm just trying to get through the night. I'm just trying to piece myself together.

But then I remember why I can't do this.

If Grayson ever did this to me, I'd be a hollow shell of a girl, unable to find someone that can give me the love I know I deserve. I can't ruin Ethan like that. I can't drag him in a mess that he just barely escaped from. He has Marina now and I'll be damned if I ruin it.

„I really want to kiss you right now. I do.“ I lick my lips and continue.

„But Marina...she's good for you and I'm not sure what I feel or what tomorrow will bring. It's not fair to you. I should know, not guess...especially when it’s you. You, one of my favorite people in this whole universe and any alternative ones that exist.“ I place my forehead on his lips, leaning on them for their warmth and keeping him quiet for a moment longer all the while ignoring how his hands on my waist feel inviting.

I'm just looking for a physical comfort, a rebound.

I can't make him one.

I won't.

„This is exactly what I'm saying. You're too good for him. For either of us.“ Ethan whispers against my forehead, pulling me into his chest and holding me.

And I hate myself for thinking about how Grayson never just holds me against him, but crushes me with his bear hugs until I'm fighting for air. He melts into me and always stands up just to make sure he can twirl us before collapsing on the floor, still holding me tightly enough to feel the beat of his heart against his rib cage.

It’s strange, frightening even, how you can go from someone being a complete stranger, to then being completely infatuated by them and wondering how it ever was that you were able to live without them, because you sure as hell couldn’t imagine being without them now. I know I'm still young, and most people would consider me to be foolish and naive, but it’s true when I say that I love him more than I could ever love myself. He’s my best friend and, as cheesy as it sounds, he’s my anchor. My one stability in this world filled with chaos. Grayson's always been my anchor and knowing I have to leave that is a big part of why tears slip down my cheeks as Ethan moves me to my bed, covers my body with a blanket, unaware I'm still awake.

I hear the light switch go off and feel an arm wrap around me, face burying in my hair and breath giving me goosebumps. I hear Ethan's phone go off, muffled voice coming from the speaker, but neither of us move to get it.

Whatever it is, it can wait till the morning.

„Hey, bro! I'm going to grab a milkshake and stay at Y/N's tonight. Sara and I had a fight about...me being too taken with Y/N to perform if you get what I mean. Ugh, why did I just tell you this?! Either way, don't worry about me. I'll be home around noon maybe. You better fucking delete this voicemail or I swear I'll post that photo of your pineapple tattoo! Don't test me, bitchass!“

That was a mistake.

The next thing I know, I'm being awaken to a hushed fight between Ethan and Grayson, still in my dress and a little dazed.

„You didn't tell me!“ „I have nothing to tell!“ „You're unbelievable!“  They keep exchanging words, but I know I'm not up for Grayson's shit right now.

„What is happening?“ I say through gritted teeth, both of them turning to face me.

„Just congratulating you on your relationship. Didn't expect to find out because I found you in bed together. Definitely didn't see it coming.“ Grayson's eyes pierce through me, looking to hurt me more, demanding explanations that didn't exist.

„We just fell asleep, you idiot. Now get out. Both of you. I need some time alone and away from you.“ I gesture vaguely toward them, pointing at Grayson after. „Mainly you, but since you're a package deal. Leave me alone!“

„I'm not leaving.“ Grayson steps forward, shoving a milkshake in my face and I'm forced to fight a smile from showing on my face. I can't just let it go. I can't just ignore our pact.

So, I turn to Ethan.

„E. please?“ He just nods knowingly, understanding exactly what I mean.

I need closure.

I sit on my bed, folding my hands in my lap and not taking the milkshake.

„You really not going to take this? It's banana! Your favorite!“ Grayson exclaims, plopping on the bed, dipping the mattress and leaning me to his side a little.

„Not in the mood. Say what you need to say and go.“ I say firmly, looking ahead and he sighs, moving so he's on his knees and in front of me, in my line of sight.

„I forgot to tell you and yes, I'm an ass for ditching you. You ARE more important, but she was already there and I couldn't leave her either. Thought you'd be okay with staying and being Ethan's date. I just...I have no idea why I forgot to let you know about it all.“ There's a pause in his speech, one he uses to look me over again and I keep my eyes on his, refusing to look away. He won't win. Not now.

„You look like a dream. So unreal and unearthly and I'm sorry it wasn't seen.“

„I spent the past two months working overtime. Every day. I used up all my savings. I...I did so much just to get into this dress and to be there with you and I just...it meant nothing to you when it meant everything to me. You were so careless tonight, Gray. I didn't even recognize you.“ My words pack a powerful punch, I can tell by the way that twinkle in his eye goes out and anguish takes over. Shame takes over his mind and guilt takes over his heart.

„All that so I could tell you I'm so fucking in love with you.“ I finally say those words, just release them into the world like they didn't weigh me down for so long.

His eyes snap back to me, wide and his eyebrows raise. His breathing almost halting in the moment.

„I am as much in love with you today as I ever was, perhaps even more so, but I'm tired...Tired of watching you choose the wrong girl every time while I'm here all the while, just waiting for you to take one look and realize that I'm the one for you. Because I am. But you lost me too. You've lost all we could have been because you destroyed that innocent part of me that yearned for you, all of you. You've ruined me, so deal with the wreckage you left in your wake. You're the perfect example why hurricanes are named after people. You're a hurricane, Grayson and I need to get away from this storm before it swallows me whole.“ I'm aware my words sound forced and pained, fully aware he's trying to get a word in as well but my monologue stops him because there is so much I want to tell him and so little time as I've made my decision.

I need to let him go. Both of them. At least for a while.

„Don't I get a say in it?“ He questions and I chuckle dryly.

„You want a say in this? Okay, fine! Do you love me, Grayson?“ My words are rushed and those stubborn tears of mine are preparing to burst forth like a river from a dam.

„Of course I love you, Y/N.“ He places his hands on mine, quickly interlocking our fingers so I can't pull away and I purse my lips.

„I don't mean do you love me. I mean are you in love with me.“

Silence. He doesn’t even blink, seemingly stunned by my inquiry.

„Or even like me? Because if you do, only then do you have any say in this.“ I hate how weak my voice is, how wobbly and each break in it mirrors a break inside. I feel as if my lungs are slowly filling with water, as if there's just less space in them for the air.

Why was it so hard with him? Why does it always have to be so hard? It shouldn't be like this.

Not if it's right.

I stand, startling him enough to let go of my hands and move quickly to avoid him wrapping his arms around me. He moves after me, reaching out to grab my arm, but I slap his hands away.

„Wait, please!“ Grayson croaks out, something inside him turning but not fast enough. He shouldn't have to think about it. He's supposed to know. Love isn't thinking you want someone to hold, but wanting that all the time.

„For what, huh? How many ways are there for you to break my heart tonight? Just...give me enough respect and leave. Let me keep what pride I have left.“ I'm shaking, not only on the outside, but inside as well.

Before I met Grayson my heart was soft, with him it became strong and vibrant, now it is simply broken.

And he listened. He left. He left even though I wanted him to stay and say the words I needed him to say. That he loves me, that he cares. Anything, everything...just not leave when I need him.

I pack my things and wipe away angry tears I am so tired of already. Writing a note for the boys if they come back, texting James, I finally leave my apartment and head back home in a need of a proper rest.

They say people who are meant to be always find their way back to each other. They say friends don't make you hurt. They say life is full of surprises and now I know they, whoever they are, are very wrong.

People who are meant to be together don't always end up together and friends can break your heart too which is actually the biggest surprise of all. Heart break is a funny thing. We all know it's going to happen, yet we're never prepared for it. We underestimate it's power. Why are we never ready for it? Because we're in denial. We believe it won't happen. We believe if we give him our hearts he will not crush it. Hearts shouldn't be crushed. They should be cherished and protected. I wish he would have cherished and protected my heart.

Tags: @xalayx @heeydolan @accalialionheart @fallinginlove-16  @rosegoldquintis @nefelibata-diamond @blackdesires-blog @me-a-hopeless-romantic @wannabeactress @mckeeee-1 @godlydolans @daddygraysonsbitch @killmonger-dolan @emy-is-cooler-than-you @5sausefandom  @thatoneperson5000 @the-evolution-of-stupidity @mercy-love18-love @graydolan12 @flowercrowns3438 @trumpettay @skurtdolans @nowheredolan @shadowsndaisies @heartbelongstodolans @gvldenskie

[masterthespianduchovny]

The Identity Politics of Snape

Years ago, I read an opinion that part of Snape hate is because he was largely believed to be a pure blood for years. Although we all know by now that this isn’t the case, I firmly because that, despite his half blood identity, people still subconsciously view Snape as a pureblood. 

Now, many can and will deny it, but if we knew that Snape was halfblooded from the start, would we still be talking about how he’s a wizarding nazi? Would we still loathe him because of the decision he made as a teen?

I get it, he’s a teen, he should know better than that, right?

But, it’s more complicated than someone needing to know better. People often forget how casually racist the wizarding community was on the ‘GOOD’ side. For comparison, in the USA it’s like the North v the South. Yea, at a point in time, the South was straight up blatantly racist (and, in some parts, they still are), but they North is racist in a not-in-your-face type of way. And, at times, they can be more racist than the South. They may be “kinder” about it, but it’s still there.

So, when it comes to the wizarding world, we’re simply condemning Snape for siding with the blatantly racist side opposed to the casually racist people. Hell, it’s like the U.S. TODAY. It’s wrong to say you hate minorities, but it’s okay to make stereotypical statements to be prejudicial against them.

I’m simply framing context here because this race conversation in the HP fandom is so basic and elementary that it’s laughable. Seriously. 

How so?

For many years, the muggle prejudice has been compared to the U.S. brand of racism, which is an important distinction (and nazism). As an American black person, that comparison isn’t one to take lightly or casually overlook that significance of said comparison all to shit on a character other dislike because it’s cool and trendy. That’s a serious and multilayered comparison due to the complexities and long lasting effects of racism in America beginning with slavery.

For those who don’t understand what being biracial means in America, which many do not, it’s an ugly double edged sword. Some white people will treat you better because you have white blood, but you’re still a nigger. Others will treat you like shit because you have “nigger blood.” That’s why the phrase “nigger lover” exists--proximity to blackness or the defense of it is unacceptable to some; being partially black or full white is irrelevant is you look black or you’re okay with blackness. 

To argue that since Snape is biracial he gets the full benefits of his wizarding side is fallacious, especially when comparing it to American racism. Actual biracial people have flat out said the white side of their family either treated them differently due to their blackness, including their parents, and/or said racist shit to them about black people. Some of these biracial people internalized those hateful beliefs because they didn’t have anything to counter it OR the white part of their family was more influential.

Furthermore, prejudice like this especially wins out when the SOCIETY and CULTURE you live in is racist as well. Snape developed his prejudicial beliefs before he came to Hogwarts*, but the racism in his society already existed before he got there and that was even from the “good” side. It also wins out when it’s unchecked. Bullying Snape isn’t checking racism--confronting his beliefs does.

Some will argue, “Well, being half blood isn’t like being biracial--they don’t know he’s a half blood” and this is where I say, “you’re wrong.”

Chicago is a big city--like the third largest in the U.S (I’m not 100% sure). But, it’s pretty freaking huge. Those who have lived there for decades can tell you stories about their community and the history of the city. My brother told me the story about two competing grocery stores with similar names. My mother had stories--hell, my aunts and uncles too--about people from their neighborhood who went on to be famous. The details that they know and the intricate story that they can tell about a city full of millions of people is fascinating. 

The wizarding community is small--dangerously small--the idea that Snape could pretend to be a pure blood is ridiculous in a society that cares about blood purity. You think he can just say his mom is Eileen Prince and not reveal his father? You think they won’t ask about his last name and have small talk about this kid Severus Snape with the mysterious wizarding father?

Do you all honestly believe that?

Many of you probably do and that’s because you all don’t understand racism, despite trying to use this against Snape as to why you hate him and why he’s evil.

Do you know how many racist people have black spouses and black children and fuck black people, but fucking LOATHE black people? You’d be surprised. There is a severe cognitive dissonance going on with them. Hell, some fucking Neo nazi literally befriended a black man in prison and trusted him to tell his life story, then some grand wizard or some shit SIGNED a fucking KKK chapter over to said black man RECENTLY. I mean within the last year or so.

But, they’re RACIST!

Right???

Racism is illogical, so racists behave illogically.

Voldemort is a freaking HALF BLOOD and these pure blood wizards are following and worshipping him. Voldemort literally tried to recruit Lily--a FUCKING muggle into his cause. LMFAO.

Where is this going?

Wannabe DE’s befriended Snape because he was a half blood, but also, that doesn’t mean he was fully accepted. It means that he shared their beliefs to an extent, but he was also half them, so they were okay with that.

But, on Snape’s end, being a “minority” or “biracial” is a lifetime of navigating identity and the politics behind it. And people forget that he’s half muggle just because he was accepted. They could’ve easily turned on him in a heartbeat without a second thought. They had no issues with full bloods being killed--hell, even family--but, y’all think that somehow Snape is exempt because he was a half blood??? 

Snape had to live with those niggas--he literally only had himself, but we expect him to make a noble decision at 15, despite almost everyone else making selfish and fucked up decisions at his age.

People conveniently gloss over that Snape was literally fighting for his fucking life as Lily fought against an abstract threat while at Hogswarts. Lily never got bullied--”But, other muggles did.” AGAIN: Lily never got bullied OR threatened. Snape was bullied, sexually assaulted, and almost fucking killed all while being threatened into silence. You expect him to put her life over his? Seriously?

What makes this dynamic even worse is that James literally has no place telling Snape anything about race or identity and that’s on that. Especially when James is one of his bullies. Neither does Sirius or Remus. None of them motherfuckers have any right or moral ground to say shit to Snape when they could’ve easily spoke to Snape opposed to bullying him or standing by as it happened.

*Snape’s prejudice against Muggles was born from the hatred of his father, a muggle, who he was powerless against. This isn’t to excuse his behavior, but contextualize it. Abuse victims want to feel powerful (read: in control of their life). Magic gave him that power. When being in the wizarding world, he learned that having magic wasn’t enough so he sided with a group that “supported” him and would give him power. Even though people will argue that this is head canon, the text supports this better than Rowling say post books Snape joined to impress Lily. Snape was already on the path to joining unless he’d be always trying to impress Lily.

Furthermore, I’d argue that Snape’s prejudice was more complicated than “hating muggles.”

His prejudice was largely tied to hating his dad and the fight for power. Besides rumors, which it’s called rumors for a reason, there is no definitive proof that Snape actually hated muggles. If Snape was this flat out “racist” person, he would’ve been open about that. “But, but....Lily.”

Again, y'all don’t understand the nuances of racism. There was a viral story about how this white man was in a full blown relationship with a black woman and went on a racist tirade about black people TO HER. Then, in her face he said that she was “different.” Straight up racist people do not hide that they are racist. They make exceptions for the minorities who are “different” from the group that they hate. The idea that Snape would put on this whole charade to make Lily believe he isn’t racist is hilarious. 

“But, he called her a mud blood!” 

Yes, he did. Snape was complicated and had complicated and confusing feelings as a child/teen. BUT, someone who is a full blown racist doesn’t do what Snape did. Snape had prejudicial beliefs, but he, like his beliefs, were more complicated than simply hating muggles because he was half muggle himself and his relationship with muggles weren’t clear cut either.

We’re also assigning power to Snape that he didn’t and never had. 

Think about the power Omarosa had in the White House and look had easily that was taken away. For minorities, power can be taken away with a snap of a finger. Look a Brett Kavanaugh...despite his bad behavior (in school and during the hearing), he was given a lifetime position with great power as SCOTUS. That should tell you all you need to know about power.

Must we forget that many of those Death Eaters didn’t even trust Snape and he was only protected because Voldemort slightly trusted him???

Also, people’s insistence to call Snape a racist as an adult is utterly ridiculous, especially when they say James and Sirius were reformed bullies. James “magically” changed over a year, but a man who spent 18 years undercover and checking a fucking picture about using mudblood is STILL a fucking “racist?”

FrFr?

I know people like to argue that he was playing both sides to see who won, but that literally doesn’t make any sense. 

Like, AT ALL.

Why?

Because, he had the whole thing in the bag with old VOLDIE. Because of Snape’s love for Lily (however you read that), HE was the reason the war went on as long as it did. If Snape kept his mouth shut, “Happy Voldemort Day!”

If Snape had a change of heart AT ANY POINT DURING THE SERIES, “HAPPY VOLDEMORT DAY!”

I don’t think his detractors understand how pivotal Snape was in Harry’s success--all of the way to the end. Even to Snape’s dying breath he was important to Harry defeating Voldemort.

But, he was playing both sides to see who won???

Lastly: Snape was also coded as jewish.

In Snape, Rowling has created a angry villain who has a hooked nose, greasy dark hair, sallow skin and glittering dark eyes, an inscrutable, sneering, untrustworthy double agent – who hisses.  

https://sabbathmeals.typepad.com/sabbath_meals/2005/08/i_am_going_to_t.html

People have also touches on Snape’s hygiene, his lineage stemming from his mother side, and many other things people are more familiar can touch on.

The fact that he can be read and coded as marginalized and demonized groups is incredibly telling considering how demonized HE is. Snape is also very queer coded as well.

Others can go into more length about these other two identities since they aren’t my own, but it’s fascinated that someone coded in such a way is the most demonized and polarizing character--more so than the actual villain. 

I wonder if it’s representative of people who take offense to complex minority characters with complex goals who aren’t pure and good, but only serves to prop up others. White are the characters who are white can make morally grey or reprehensible decisions and behaviors be excuses, but Scape’s behavior cannot be contextualized even though it isn’t justified. People will bring up bullying, which is a valid issue, but they often steer into Fanon interpretations, which are often fabrications based on nothing and feel justified in their hate.

I wonder if these are the same people who defend Liam Neeson’s behavior from the past, yet condemn a fictional character in the same breath? 

Gosh, this isn’t touching on how fucking poor Snape is.

@halfbakedsnape

[primedirection]

Anniversary -Part 2

Post mobbing

It's been two and a half days since the fight and you still haven't spoken to one another, but Harry caves first.

Under simpler and more normal circumstances it was hard enough not being able to speak to you. But this time around the situation bears an immense weight. Because this wasn't just giving him the silent treatment or obnoxiously avoiding rooms he occupied, you actually left. Though once he was alone to stew in his thoughts, he couldn't blame you.

You never asked for this.

On a night that you were meant to be celebrating your love for one another, it was his baggage that intervened. And no matter how much he wanted to give the benefit of the doubt to his following, he couldn't deny that they crossed the line. Mobbing just him was one thing but to do it when he was with loved ones was another.

Harry sent a text concerned about your whereabouts merely an hour after he calmed down. By sunrise he was sick with grief, guilt, and worry. Substantially increasing due to Anne and Gemma also calling to check on you both and informing him of a particularly disturbing video gone viral on all media fronts.

One from your dinner of the girls he was kind enough to take pictures with. As it turns out they had been filming your table for awhile. Adding disgusting commentary of how much they hated you and joking about acts of harm they'd do to you if given the chance. Harry felt disgusted with himself when one of them finally suggests going over to do it and they all get riled enough to agree. Harry genuinely hates himself when hearing them discuss aloud their plan of attack. From this perspective he's able to see just how intense the impact is when you're pointedly elbowed off your chair from behind and then literally walked all over.

Only just to surround him with false praises of adoration and excitement. He feels even more ashamed that he didn't hear or see it before. But he's glad to see those girls get startled when you get back up with a vengeance and curse at them for their barbaric behavior. Teetering on the edge of dignified restraint and justified retaliation. But unfortunately he stepped in and practically dragged you out of the restaurant. The girls laugh to themselves and congratulate each other before the video abruptly ends.

The worst part of it all was that they really pulled the wool over his eyes and succeeded. He really went home and lashed out at you! Didn't even ask if you were okay nonetheless check to see if you physically were alright. He was too focused on their feelings and the backlash you'd get when the story got out to be honest.

The world already ridiculed your relationship enough, as if you didn't deserve him and he didn't want anyone to have any justification to feel that way. But this was just... He fucked up on so many different levels.

After watching the video he called you shamelessly nonstop, leaving voice mails and paragraphs of text messages apologizing. Eventually he stopped, empathy clouded his better judgment and made him realize that you probably just needed time to process everything.

On the opposing end you felt absolutely no urge to engage. Every social media account was overwhelmed with notifications from family, friends, and strangers alike. Gemma and Anne even tried to call but you simply didn't accept them based on the fact that you didn't know what to say or how to explain the situation. You didn't want to lie and say you're fine because honestly you aren't.

If you weren't hurting emotionally or embarrassed before, then watching the accursed video certainly brought on a slew of feelings. Not to mention the physical aspect of the damage.

When the adrenaline completely wore off, the dull pain you thought was bad doubled by tenfold. So excruciating and abnormally painful for just falling down, that you sent yourself to the emergency room. A full day in the waiting room and an x-ray later, you come to find out that your lovely dinner guests gave you a minor spinal fracture. Luckily enough it was just a stable fracture, which meant the best case is wearing a back brace for several weeks and no necessary surgery. Though now the worst case is that and being bed ridden as a safety precaution because the doctor also made the alarming discovery that you are four weeks pregnant.

It was impossible to pretend that you haven't been holed up for the past couple days in your best friend's guest room. Bawling your eyes out from the extravagant self pity party you were throwing yourself. Trying to wrap your head around the whole situation. How were you supposed to face anyone? Especially Harry.

It's on the third day from your split, that you are forced to figure it out because none other than Harry turns up just after your bestie leaves for work. Damn near banging at the door like there was a fire, but that more or less had to with the amount of time you took to answer it. You almost didn't, but the neighbors here were nosy enough and didn't need a show.

With the chain lock still on you barely peek through the crack of the door. Almost immediately he lunges forward, bracing his hands on the door frame trying to get as close to you as possible. It was kind of satisfying to see that he looked as miserable as you felt. In an old ratty T shirt and sweat pants with his hair in extreme disarray. His eyes bloodshot and tinted the same irritated pink as his nose and cheeks. Apparently he'd been crying. "Thank God, are you alright?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Can't get ahold of yeh any way else. I've called I've texted— been worried bloody sick to be honest. Can we talk?" His voice is thicker with more rasp than usual.

You wanted to ask if he had been drinking but thought better of it. "Think you've already said enough."

Harry's heart plunges to his toes so fast he audibly chokes on a sob. Sending his desperation into overdrive, "Y/N please, I jus' wanna explain- five minutes. That's all I'm asking."

You stare back at him for what feels like an eternity, debating whether or not if allowing him in was the right thing to do. Literally and metaphorically. He hurt you in a way that made your physical assault pale in comparison. So you're not entirely sure what possesses you to eventually close the door and remove the locks.

Upon reopening the door Harry's not as aggressive as he was before and instead waits for you to openly invite him inside. Eyes on the ground and hands shoved in his pockets.

It's while you retreat to the living room that he sees the massive cargo covering the majority of your torso. A protective vest of sorts. Although on the areas it doesn't cover on your back. He's able to see dark purpling bruises under the straps of your tank top just above your shoulder blades on each side. It makes him sick to his stomach. "Yeh had to go to the hospital?"

"Yeah, was in a lot of pain after the initial shock wore off. Good thing too because I have a minor spinal fracture," you explain and Harry's face loses all of it's color, ”The doctor said I endured the same impact as being in a car accident. Thankfully though I just need to wear this back brace for awhile."

Guilt consumes him like a flame to a torch, to the point that he almost doesn't want to continue inside any further. Because this was solely his fault and he really didn't even deserve to be in your presence. It felt horribly wrong.

He waits until you're sitting down as comfortably as you can on the sofa to speak, "Love, I can't tell yeh how sorry I am."

At the tone of his voice tears start to brim in your eyes against your will. You blink them away on a deep shaky breath and scoff, "So now I'm your love? I wasn't when I left. I was a crazy lunatic bitch you couldn't take anywhere."

His eyes clench shut at the reminder of his insensitivity, unable to withstand the disappointment in your gaze, "I didn't mean tha'—any of it, I swear. I was just being a dick cos' I knew yeh were right. Jus' didn't want to admit it"

Hearing the words aloud was bittersweet. Truly. Your emotions jumble as such, making some tears fall only to wipe them away furiously. "And what? Now you're here because of that stupid video and suddenly feel sorry for me? Well guess what? I feel humiliated enough, I don't need your pity to—”

"S'not about pity, I was wrong Y/N. So wrong." Harry's jaw clenches as he forces himself to sit across from you. Seeing you like this was out right painful and he didn't know how exactly to deal with it. He expected you to still be upset but in an angry curse him out sort of way, not the puffy eyed and anxious trembling hands type of way. "I figured tha' out long before I saw tha' fucking video. The way I reacted was the worst thing I ever could've done to yeh." He has to take a deep breath to calm the tightening in his chest but his tears come rolling down his cheeks anyway. He wipes them away hastily with the back of his hand though more are quick to replace them.

At the sight of his trembling chin you fold your arms and force yourself look away. The emotions bubbling in your chest and his own brings you to the verge of tears again.

"I was fucking atrocious to yeh and for what? For always looking out for me when no one else does? Or always being there when I need yeh to be? I failed yeh huge Y/N. Your safety should be my biggest priority and I'm the one that compromised it. If they had planned that with weapons you could've been..." He could hardly stand to think about it.

"Worse," You shudder at the thought subconsciously folding your arms over your stomach. "Neither of us knew that would happen."

You're reasoning only guts him more, "There's no excuse. You've been nothing but supportive and accommodating and so incredibly loyal... I took tha' for granted and m' so fucking sorry Y/N. I need yeh to know that. You mean literally everythin' to me, and I can't stand that I mucked this all up."

"You know how much I love you Harry. Even on our worst days but I'm not gonna lie that hurt, that like really hurt me..." Tears completely blur your vision now, and it's becoming more and more futile to talk through the constricting tightness in your throat. You reach up and press tight to your tear ducts in order to make it stop but the sobs start to slip out too. It's almost like not wanting to cry but crying anyway makes you cry even harder.

Harry wants so bad to hold you, to rub your back in comfort or in the very least hold your hand. But he knows better. Instead his fingers dig uncomfortably into his thighs, "Fuck, I know Y/N. I know."

You take a sharp breath to speak through the pain, "And I know how much the fans mean to you. Hell I love em too, they make me feel like I'm one of them! I'd never want to turn you against them or make you feel like you have to choose between us. All I wanted is for you to know when to draw the line sometimes, not just for me but for yourself. You give so much to people and I can't stand it when it's taken advantage of."

Harry shakes his head, choked up all over again hating the fact that this was supposed to be about you and here you are still defending him. He'd be a plum fool to lose you. His best friend, lover, defender, and supporter all wrapped into one. No one ever has and never would compare. "I'm so sorry love,"

"So you've said," You retort sniffling, a little annoyed that that's all he's got to say for himself.

"Well I genuinely mean it, you're so strong sometimes I forget that you might need me." His fingers rake anxiously through his hair, "Obviously I don't deserve yeh but I can't lose yeh either Y/N. Tell me what yeh need and I promise whatever it is I'll do it—whatever it takes."

He made it sound so easy but that's not the world you live in. "How am supposed to trust you won't do that again Harry?" You cry despite your attempts to remain stoic, "You're supposed to be the one I can lean on for anything and after that I honestly don't know if I can..."

He knows that you have every right to feel the way you do, but the needy and selfish part of him doesn't understand your resistance. He's apologized and currently begging for your forgiveness and yet he still can't seem to get through to you. He's beginning to feel hopeless. "I know words can't fix everything, but please just give me a chance to prove it to you. I'm upping security, I've filed restraining orders, and consider the charges pressed! I swear to God I'll-"

"I'm pregnant." You blurt out.

You didn't think it was possible but the tension in the room intensifies. Silence takes over and it's quiet enough to hear a pin drop. It makes the flutter of butterflies from high strung nerves in your belly feel like earthquakes. Also doesn't help that Harry's expression changes a minimum of three times in a matter of seconds. Confused to surprised to tormented to incredulous to sad to confused again and finally to an emotion that you can't even place. Apparently unsure he heard you correctly, "What?"

You bite your lip nervously, "I said I'm pregnant. Four weeks. Found out when I went to the doctor,"

He swallows so hard it's audible, staring directly at you and yet his gaze is distant. Somewhere else completely until he blinks and the water works start flowing again. "Can I?" He asks no louder than a whisper reaching out for you with trembling hands and grabs yours in his before you can even answer.

Bringing the back of them to his lips repeatedly somehow steadies his nerves. Because within he was raging. One of the most significant moments in both of your lives had been robbed of happiness and tainted with strife because of his baggage. The way you responded earlier suddenly makes total sense now and once again he couldn't blame you. He utterly refused to be robbed of another again.

Harry presses a hard kiss one last time before dropping your hands to shift closer to you. Close enough to cup your cheeks lovingly, since he doesn't trust himself enough to wrap his arms around you without causing pain. "I don't expect you to accept it or forgive me overnight. I understand that I really hurt you and that's just not realistic. But I am sorry Y/N. I'll spend the rest of my life doing whatever it takes to make it up to you—both of you. If you'll have me?"

In that moment all you register is burning. The burning in your eyes that make your tears pour down, the burning in your chest and throat as the heavy sobs rack through you, and the burning flush of your skin from being so overwhelmed with emotions. Because he was right, it wasn't going to magically fix everything but for right now it was enough. He seemed really genuine and sincere in his remorse and that was a good place to start.

You ultimately nod quickly and as best as you can without putting too much strain on your back, lean in to bury your face into the comfort of his neck. Confessing sheepishly, "I'm scared Harry,"

He can't squeeze you back as tight as you both want but there's still the same amount of comfort when he cradles the back of your head, "Shouldn't be. Cos' m' certainly never going anywhere and neither are you if I have anything to say about it."

Now that the threat of you leaving was somewhat gone he found it difficult to be scared of much else. With you he felt truly invincible. His grin even became shit eating at the thought of finally unveiling the ridiculously carrot studded ring currently hidden in his sock drawer. "Thank you for this by the way, s'best gift I could've ever imagined... Well opposed to mine but you'll get it when we get home."

You want badly to laugh at that and smile even because you are indeed relieved but you can't stop crying. Clutching onto his sides for dear life since they are the best you could reach. "I need you Harry, now more than ever. You understand that right?"

His chest rumbles with a hum before he pulls back to kiss you firmly on the forehead, "Won't let yeh down lovie, I promise."

AN: Hopefully this lived up to expectations idk send me your thoughts. I want all the smoke lol Xx.

[aimmyarrowshigh]

aheavenlyrush replied to your post “I’ve been on tumblr since 2012 and I was even a John Green fan for a...”

i checked and it happened in 2015

aheavenlyrush replied to your post “I’ve been on tumblr since 2012 and I was even a John Green fan for a...”

i saw that jg post on my feed and i had no energy to comment on it but truly when i saw that you had i felt such relief!! i remember making that one post about stiefvater defending him and telling teenage girls to be quiet and the response to it still fucking haunts me i swear

Oy, was it really that recently? The last three years have taken 900 years. And yeah... Maggie Stiefvater’s post about it was a Really Bad Look, and iirc that was the environment that spawned the beginning of the batshit “Keep YA Kind”* concern-trolling thing (yep, also 2015) that was mainly used to silence girls and women and people of color whenever the four white cishet men in YA fucked up between 2015 and 2018, when it finally publicly came out that most of them were, yk, fucking up because they’re legitimately horrible people and maybe the people calling them out should have been taken seriously.

* The other notable “why the fuck is this happening???? why is HE the one getting the sympathy here?????” events from “Keep YA Kind,” which, listen, I would bet you anything that it was very very nearly called “Keep Kidlit Kind” until the only person involved with 1/4 of a braincell managed to realize the acronym on their Twitter handle looked REALL BAD:

Andrew Smith, a straight white adult man, says out loud with his human adult man mouth, that he knows he can’t write female characters well and relies on fetishization and stereotypes because he never really met a girl until his daughter (??? SO WHAT IS YOUR WIFE, ANDREW? CHOPPED LIVER?) and, being as that is Bullshit and also his books were also being lauded as though they were Infinite fucking Jest Jr. even though the interview in question was for a book in which mutant grasshoppers take over the earth and a teenage boy gets trapped in a bunker with a teenage girl who eventually has to git to birthin’ babies she doesn’t want and isn’t medically prepared to have safely For The Good Of Humanity, he’s called out.

He’s called out mostly on a technical, writing level at first, even! Like, “Here’s how to write a female character: you write a fully considered, well-rounded character. They’re a girl.” And Andrew Smith FLIPS HIS SHIT, does some op-ed about how his mother used to beat him so he can’t see girls as people, and makes his twitter private. The “Keep YA Kind” sycophants support him HARD.

And then this happens to pop up on a mysterious Twitter that just HAPPENS to start while HIS twitter’s offline...

NOTE: Jay Asher, author of 13 Reasons Why, was literally dropped from his publisher and SCWBI for being a sexual predator. So like, I don’t think he was bullied, I think his predation was being remarked upon. Like, idk, maybe that he was being called creepy or sth idk idk idk

And then when A.S. decided to unsockpuppet to promote his next book, The Alex Crow, which is about mutant crows and a bunker or whatever:

The “asshole” in specific that Andrew Smith was calling an asshole was delightful human being and fellow author Kate Messner, who, coincidentally, was one of the victims to come out against Lemony Snicket’s sexual harrassment, so she’s had a BULLSHIT time just trying to do her JOB of being an author while female.

Which leads to Tommy Wallach! All-around fucknut! Whose major interest seems to be being That Guy In Philosophy 101 Who Always Has To Be Devil’s Advocate, Even Though No One Asked, and has a deeply vested interest in making sure that teenage girl readers -- who are his target audience, because he chose to write YA, as an adult man who made a choice in what he wrote and chose to make it YA, and not, like, any of the hundreds of genres that AREN’T largely written about and for teenage girls, yk -- know that teenage girls are Dumb. Victoria Schwab actually wrote an essay for YA Books Central about the incessant problem that IS/WAS Tommy Wallach called “We Need To Talk About Tommy” back in -- you guessed it! -- 2016, but it’s offline now and I’m not going to go Wayback it rn.

I’m just going to copypasta YAinterrobang’s Wallach timeline because he’s exhausting, he reminds me of undergrad.

Wallach’s continual pattern of behavior is worth discussing, especially in the context of sexism in YA and the continual marginalization of “diverse” voices in the community despite the efforts of the We Need Diverse Books movement.

Wallach’s problematic behavior runs back over a year, starting with a defense of Andrew Smith where he ignores the opinions of author and advocate Tessa Gratton in favor of a dictionary definition of sexism. (Andrew Smith’s behavior and the fallout around his statements have, of course, already been documented on YA Interrobang in “The Curious Case of Andrew Smith, Twitter & sexism.”) Wallach postures that women are inherently “other” from men, accuses Gratton of “gin[ning]up the controversy” and explains that he is a feminist because he was “raised by a single working mother and she’s still my best friend in the world.”

[View Wallach’s defense of Smith and attack on Gratton as a .pdf.]

Fast forward to later that year. Author Justina Ireland takes to Twitter to discuss a book where she feels the black character is self-hating. Ireland, being black herself, is asked about the book in question; she says that it’s Wallach’s debut novel We All Looked Up. Though Wallach is not tagged, he swoops into the conversation and demands Ireland provide proof that his character Anita is self-hating before claiming that author Dhonielle Clayton, who is also black, is friends with him and “engaged” with him on the issues in the book.

Clayton later stated publicly that she had not done any sensitivity reading on We All Looked Up.

What brought Wallach’s behavior to the attention of the YA world as a whole came this past November in the wake of the horrifying terrorist attacks in Paris. When the hashtag #prayforparis went viral, Wallach responded with multiple social media posts and a blog post about how atheism was the only belief that could make the world a better place. (Though Wallach argues that it is not, in fact, a belief: “The fact that we have a word for it makes it seem like it’s equivalent to other belief systems, but it’s not. The absence of something is not equivalent to the thing itself.”)

[View Wallach’s comments on atheism as a .pdf.]

After Wallach Tweeted that he was a “a rabid atheist, and the world would be a better place if more folk were” – a Tweet he subsequently deleted before deleting his account in its entirety – he doubled down in a block post that outlined all the way religions failed and all the reasons atheism was awesome.

Those who tried to explain to him why this behavior was – to say the least – problematic found themselves quickly blocked or shut down; at once point, Wallach tried to explain anti-Semitism to Jewish author Hannah Moskowitz before claiming that “if [her]parents are atheists and [his]dad is Jewish, [he’s] as much Jewish as [her].”

(For those wondering, Wallach blocked me during this incident despite being friendly with me and having taken my advice previously; while he did believe me in regards to his behavior towards Justina Ireland, which you can see in Tweets above, my snarky comment to him about “the only good people are the people who are exactly like me” was, apparently, too much for him to take. As Wallach’s account has since been deleted and I purged my social media account in January, that interaction is no longer publicly available.)

Take this behavior in comparison to author LJ Silverman, who recently received a sea of anti-Semitic hate mail – including crude manipulated images of her in an oven – for Tweeting that she was worried about the upcoming election in the context of history. Wallach painted himself to be the victim, somebody “attacked” for insulting all of the religious folks in the YA community, while Silverman, who simply shared a worry plaguing her, became a victim of virulent trolls.

While Wallach deleted his social media accounts after this, there were no public consequences to his actions despite ill-will from the YA community at large. If another member of the YA community had spoken out – one of our Catholic or Islamic or Jewish or Mormon authors, for instance – the backlash would have been substantially worse, possibly career-ruining.

Wallach’s career, however, was not ruined; he recently landed a six-figure deal for a book trilogy centered around a “holy war.”

And thus, we return to Wallach’s dismissive comments on suicide – which, it turned out, were neither new or original. In a blog post deleted after it came to light during this discussion, Wallach rated “the top ten literary suicides (organized by emo-ness)” which included all of the characters of HBO’s Girls – “It’s really just a fantasy of mine.” – and, ranking at number one, Sylvia Plath – who is not a character but a real person who suffered from depression before taking her own life at a young age.

[View Wallach’s post on suicide as a .pdf.]

“I’m only going to talk about the fact that a successful YA author found it appropriate to glorify, romanticize, and mock what for many of his readers is among the highest causes of death,” wrote Schwab in her “We Need To Talk About Tommy” post. “That this author could be so very careless and flippant and insensitive about such a very serious issue is abhorrent. That two years after penning this post he still sees suicide as something to be made light of, to be used as a marketing tool.”

Simon & Schuster made no public comment about any of Wallach’s comments. His career, save for making enemies of some fellow authors, seems relatively unscathed by his callous actions.

Anyway, the moral of the story is, like, if you wanna read books by straight white dudes, go for it, but check them out from the library. Spend your book-buying money on books by women, nonbinary/other folks, and dudes who aren’t straight and/or white. Straight white men, PARTICULARLY in categories of literature that are largely targeted towards girls and women, and largely written by girls and women -- but published, edited, and marketed by other straight white men -- are lauded FAR above what they’re actually worth, as like, storytellers or human people go.

The Glass Escalator is a one-way trip to wonderland, but YA is a skyscraper that was built by women and I PROMISE you, whatever book by one of these dudes you’re considering reading, there’s a better version by a woman and/or person of color on the shelves nearby that just didn’t get 1/10th of the marketing money.

And of course there should be an effort to be kind on social media, but “keep YA kind”... to whom? To the people who were being silenced when they were pointing out legitimate problems with the behaviors of men in social power? (And one of whom, in the case of Jay Asher, was LITERALLY DANGEROUS BC HE IS A SEXUAL PREDATOR.) Like, really? There had to be a hashtag campaign to silence dozens of people with legitimate, not-bullying-just-pointing-out-problems-that-are-problems-with-stuff-you-did-dude problems, to make social media feel more comfortable for four middle-aged straight white men?

As though the outside world isn’t comfortable enough for middle-aged straight white men????

[thelohunter]

I used to write when I was drinking.

I used to write when I was drinking. After I’d had two or three beers and was feeling the sparkle in the air. The euphoria of the beginning of being drunk. I wrote arguably lovely pieces of text with abandon. Most, I kept private, but sometimes - I released them to the internet and let the people on the other side of the screens do with them what they would. I didn’t worry too much about publishing whatever I wanted thanks to the confidence that comes with a couple drinks. Today, I’m writing sober. I’ve been thinking about publishing this post for over a week, debating the pros and cons of being vulnerable on the internet. I just - right now - looked at myself in the mirror and felt like for the first time in a very long time, I looked back at me. So I opened this post again. This time, to publish it. With the encouragement and support of my doctor and loved ones, I am choosing to be brave, hold myself accountable, and share a bit of my story with you.

I have been drinking for fourteen years, and it has never been a casual thing for me. I fell in love with it the moment that curdled cocktail of a-little-bit-of-everything-in-my-friend’s-parent’s-liquor-cabinet-including-the-Bailey’s touched my lips. It made me feel powerful. It made me feel giddy. It made me feel like I could do anything I wanted. It connected me to my peers and was something to relate upon with strangers. It eased my anxieties and made me forget about stress. I enjoyed and abused all of these wonderful side effects… that is, until the next day. The day after drinking, I would wake up reluctantly and immediately feel like dying. Not only due to the physical hangover, which would happen occasionally, but the emotional hangover I experienced was much more debilitating. My social anxiety was what was pounding in my head. My severe depression and lack of motivation for life was what would keep me in bed. I can’t tell you how many times I have contemplated suicide after a night of drinking. And it makes sense! Science has told us time and time again, alcohol is a depressant. When I was in this horrible state of darkness and emotional pain, what was the only thing that I knew (at the time) that would bring me out of it? Obviously, more alcohol. After all, the cure to a hangover is “hair of the dog.” More alcohol. For at least twelve years, I have been living a vicious cycle of drinking, then drinking more to ease the effects of drinking, then drinking the next day to ease that, and again the next day to ease that and that and that on top of that. It became habitual in my day-to-day life. A beer while I cooked, a couple beers with dinner, a few casual beers with friends that turned into going in on a bottle of tequila and drinking the entire thing in a couple hours. I became dependent on every drink I had, needing it to not only function in social settings but to purely even survive. To keep the depression and the suicidal thoughts at bay. Until the next morning, when I could drink enough again to push them deep enough to not see them for one more day. I realized that this all was becoming a problem and an unhealthy lifestyle when my partner participated in “Sober October” a couple months back. He wasn’t drinking, so I drank even more. I realized how hard it would be for me to NOT drink for one month like he was doing. How would I go out and do anything? I told him I wanted to cut back on the drinking and moderate myself better. That lasted about two days. Then it was Halloween. Surely, it’s okay to cheat and drink on a holiday like Halloween! I got wasted. The next day I woke up and sure enough - felt like dying. The hangover was so awful physically and emotionally that for probably the twentieth time in my life I said outloud “I’m never drinking again.” It has been one month and three weeks. Every day I feel more clear and more sure that this is the right thing for me to be doing right now. I can’t promise forever, yet, or that I won’t have a glass of champagne on a special occasion in the future. But for now, sobriety is the way I’m going to save my own life. It comes with many challenges. I feel bored and lonely sometimes, missing my old way of life. One thing was for sure - it kept things interesting. For better or worse. I hope to be able to be out and about, at parties, and Art Walks, and concerts, and bachelorettes, and feel like I’m authentically myself. Having fun, dancing, being wild if I want to be, but just without the alcohol. I am happy to say that I've been dipping my toe in, and the water is a lot less scary every day. It would make things easier if alcohol weren’t literally everywhere. It’s like breaking up with your long term partner who you truly loved and you had a passionate relationship with… and then they become a viral sensation overnight and their face and voice is on every billboard and Netflix series, they make appearances at every event, they’re your next door neighbor, and all your friends have cute, little tiny versions of them inside their fridges, like The Borrowers. And they’re so cute because they’re so small and you just want to be friends so badly but you can’t because there’s too much history. Since I have decided to be without alcoholic beverages, I have seen a drastic improvement in the way I look, how I sleep, my cognitive skills, my confidence in myself, and my overall happiness and outlook on life. Not to mention my relationships. I am a better friend, I am a better partner, I am a better family member. I’ve taken my own selfish need to drink out of the equation, which has left me with space and patience in my heart, allowing me to be more considerate of others. I’m grateful that I woke up and realized what I needed to do and that it’s been relatively easy to make a change. I know that isn’t the story for everyone and I feel for them. It’s a hard thing to give up. All that needed to happen for this change to manifest itself was that I needed to make the decision myself. I know I haven’t been sober for years and that I’m relatively new to this whole thing, and I know I don’t have all the answers or wisdom. Not at all. I just wanted to share my story with you in hopes that it would lead to better friendships and relationships in general. I want to be honest and open about this, because it is a big change for me and it's important to find support. Also, I thought of the people along the way that have inspired me and lead me to this change, and I wanted to thank them and give back. One of the people who got me thinking and wanting to do things differently was Demi Appleby. Demi, you are an incredible artist and an inspiration. Thank you for being brave and sharing your own story for the world to see. It has been resonating with me for quite some time now. I’m happy I can tell you that.

I appreciate any support I get from sharing my vulnerability with you, and know that I don’t judge anyone for partaking in the consumption of alcohol. I just personally had a complicated relationship with it, one that for now, is best left untouched.

[duhhthor]

Unprofessional Crush | Pt.1

Tom Holland x fem!celebrity!reader

Word Count: 1.9K

Pairings: Tom Holland x reader ; PLATONIC!Harry Styles x reader

Warnings: cursing and an adorably nervous Tom.

Summary: Tom’s in the middle of an interview, when you’re brought up and he accidentally admits his huge crush on you. 

| Part 2 |

Tom’s P.O.V.

“Tom Holland and Harry Styles everyone!” James Corden exclaims, causing the audience to scream and clap once hearing our names. He gestures for the pair of us to take a seat on the couch. “As always great to have you back Harry! It’s been a while!”

“Yeah, it’s been like two months? Thank you for having me once again! I feel like the audience already expects me.” He chuckles.

“It’s great to finally have you here!” James motions me, I nod with a smile.

“It’s great to be here! Thank you for having me!” I respond while taking the seat closest to James. Harry quickly following and sitting besides me.

“So, for those of you that haven’t heard, the new Avengers movie comes out next week and is expected to break a bunch of records! Tom what can you tell us about the movie?”

“Nothing?” I say with a sheepish smile, squirming on my seat.

“As expected! You seem nervous all of a sudden, does this have to do with your reputation of not being able to keep secrets?!” He teases me with a smile and a raised eyebrow.

“Maybe?” I wince, the audience chuckling at my guilty expression. “I mean since I was a kid I was a Marvel fan so I get really excited to be able to be a part of these movies! It’s literally a dream come true!”

“Ah! My best friend is obsessed with those movies! She makes us have Marvel marathons all the time! She’s made me quite obsessed actually! Oh! And Congrats on ‘Spider-man: Homecoming’ she dragged me to the cinema on the launch date, I ended up loving it!” Harry excitedly intervens.

“Thank you! That means a lot actually!” I say with a smile. “Anyways, Marvel hates any kind of spoilers! I’m under very strict instructions of speaking the least possible. It’s just that I get so excited about the movie, I always end up getting carried away! That’s why Benedict Cumberbatch’s always with me, he stops me from speaking too much!”

“You must be really nervous then, since he couldn’t make it!”

“I’d say I’m not the only one that’s worried, I feel like everyone at Marvel and my publicist must be even more than me!”

“So what can you tell us about the movie?” He questions with a smile.

“I play Spider-man! And you should all go watch Avengers: Infinity War on April 27th! I really hope you enjoy it!” I exclaim while opening my arms to the audience with a smile on my face.

“Well done, well done! No spoilers came out!”

“Yeah, I feel like my publicist just released a breath she was holding.” I instantly relax once I realize he’s turned to the singer next to me. 

“Harry! You mentioned your best friend earlier, and since I wasn’t the one who dragged you to the cinema, I’m guessing you must be talking about the other best friend.” James jokes while rolling his eyes. “No but seriously, I feel like your relationship with her is adored by literally everyone! I mean, you guys have the cutest friendship ever! It only beats ours by a bit!” James extends his thumb and index finger to show how much it beats their friendship.

Harry and I chuckle at that. Although I’m trying to search my brain for this famous friendship of his that they’re talking about.

“Yeah, she’s like this annoying little kid that I have to look after!”

“So, you’re on your break from the ‘Live on Tour’ tour and (Y/N) posted this video on her Instagram where she’s literally sobbing because she found out you were leaving for tour again this weekend.” My eyes widen at the name. While, Harry nods with an amused smile on his face, as if he were remembering the moment.

“She’s killing me for this.” He mutters, while chuckling softly. “When I moved in with (Y/N) she warned me about how she gets on her periods, I told her not to worry because I grew up with Gemma and knew how it was.” He paused and sighed. “Well, I was wrong.” That causes everyone to chuckle.

“I wasn’t prepared for this, no one is, I swear I’ve never seen someone get so affected by their period before. Okay, so basically there are three moods she can be in. She can be extremely clingy and the cutest human ever! You’re always hoping for this (Y/N). Then there’s this terrifying version of her where she’s always in the worst mood and irritates herself if you so much as breathe loudly. You never want to wake up in the same house as this version of her. Trust me.” He emphasises. “And finally, the (Y/N) you saw in the video, anything can make her super emotional or stressed out and cry. Like, I’ve caught her crying because she wasn’t born in the 50’s or-” He pauses and shakes his head.

“Okay, imagine this. I’m in the middle of this important meeting for the tour and she calls me, but I decline. Because, obviously I’m in the middle of the meeting. The problem is she won’t stop, so I get super nervous and excuse myself from the room. Once I answer she’s sobbing which only makes me more worried, I try to understand what she’s saying but there’s no way I can. I’m about to tell my manager that I have to leave for an emergency when she goes ‘Oh Harry I just found it nevermind!” He imitates her voice, which causes everyone to chuckle at his impersonation. “And I’m like ‘What’s going on (Y/N)?’ ‘I couldn’t find the remote for the TV, but I just did!” He faces the audience with an incredulous look.

James has his mouth open, he starts laughing. “I-That’s amazing!”

Harry chuckles. “Yeah, amazing when you’re not the one terrified of which (Y/N) you’ll be facing in the morning.” He grumbles. “I still love her though, this actually makes me love her even more because it’s so hilarious to talk about afterwards.”

“Anyways, she was obviously on her period. She was sad that I was ‘abandoning’ her and that she would have to stay on her own at our house again, she’s always a huge drama queen, it only gets worse this time around. But she’s such a hypocrite! She’s never home either! She’s always got photoshoots and fashion shows around the world!” He rolls his eyes jokingly.

Suddenly he turns to the audience. “Oh! For those of you that have no idea of who we’re talking about, (Y/N) (Y/LN) is my best friend we met each other when I sang at the Victoria Secret Fashion Show!” My eyes widen with realization and before I can even process what’s leaving my mouth.

“Holy Shit! I’ve got this massive crush on her!” I instantly slap a hand on my mouth. “I can’t believe I just said that, on TV and in front of her best friend.”

That makes the entire audience roar with laughter and screams.

“Nothing to worry about, I think I have yet to meet someone that doesn’t have a crush on her.” Harry says in between his laughter, patting my back.

“This just got so much better! So, Tom just for the record, (Y/N)’s  your celebrity crush right?” James questions with a huge smile on his face. Of course he’s loving this, it’ll probably go viral. Me on the other hand, I feel like my cheeks are as red as my Spider-Man suit.

“Yes, she is. Oh god. Why can’t I keep my mouth shut?” I bury my face in my hands.

“She’ll actually love this! I told you she loves Marvel movies!” Harry reminds me trying to make this better.

Holy shit, (Y/N) (Y/LN)’s is obsessed with Marvel! Can this girl be anymore perfect?

“Wait, James would you mind if I called her?” Harry muses besides me. The audience goes crazy with this.

I shoot up from the position I was in. “No! No! No! That’s the worst idea ever!” They’d tease me to no end and I’d probably be a stuttering mess.

James starts laughing and quickly exclaims. “Please! Please do! Harry that’s the best idea you’ve ever had! Why didn’t I invite her on the show?! This would’ve been amazing!”

Harry grabs his phone and starts facetiming her. I groan at the sight.

“Thank god you didn’t! I’d be a mess and make a bigger fool of myself!” I laugh. “I’d be so nervous if she were actually here.”

James gets up from his place and sits next to Harry. Waiting for the Victoria Secret Angel to pick up. She ends up declining. But, Harry quickly calls her again.

“Come on! Pick up! Pick up! Pick up! Pick up!” Him and James whine when she continues hanging up.

Suddenly his phone dings lots of times. James starts cracking up.

“Guys! (Y/N) just texted Harry ‘Stop calling me!’ And ‘I don’t speak to people that abandon their best friends.’ And finally ‘Unless it has something to do with junk food or us having another movie marathon?” James makes air quotes when he reads her texts.

Everyone chuckles, Harry quickly sends her a text while reading it outloud. “Trust me, you’ll want to answer. It has to do with that spider-kid you like.” He turns to me. “I know it’s Spider-Man it just always gets on her nerves when I say that.” I chuckle at that.

His phone starts ringing. The audience goes crazy. James claps excitedly. And I just wish the ground could swallow me up. “Let me answer! Please! Please!” Harry chuckles and hands him the phone. The host turns to everyone and motions for them to quiet down. He finally accepts the call, when a camera man came behind us so he could record Harry’s screen.

“You ass, how many times do I have to tell you it’s- James!” (Y/N) squeals once she realizes who’s on the other end. My hands already start to get clammy, several situations where I make a fool out of myself go through my head.

“Hey there angel girl!” James responds with a smile.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! You traitor, always calling my stupid best friend to your show! You should know you’re making the wrong decision, I’m the one that would make your shows more unpredictable and amusing!” She exclaims.

“Oh, trust me I know! It’s as if you were here today!”

“Oh no. What did he do? Why are you calling me!? Nope, not liking this!” She whines, in this adorable voice that makes me like her even more.

“I told you guys she was a drama queen!” Harry whisper shouts to the audience. 

“And for the record (Y/N) I’m not stupid and you love me. But, we’ve got a surprise for you!” Harry pops his head next to James so (Y/N) can see him. He takes his phone from James.

“Look who’s here with us!” He puts the camera in between me and him. Thank god he didn’t hand me his phone, I’d probably drop it. I smile and wave, as I’m about to say something, she beats me to it.

She gasps and slaps a hand to her mouth.

“Peter! I mean Spi-Tom!” She practically yells. I laugh at her excitement finding it adorable.

Her mood changes completely and she looks like she’s about to cry, that disappears just as quickly. And she ends the call.

“What just happened?” James questions.

His phone dings.

“Harry you ass! I look like a mess! But, holy shit I can’t believe I just talked to Tom Holland. WTFFF” Harry reads out loud trying to hold in laughter. (He reads it spelling it which makes it more hilarious).

It dings again.

“I hate myself. I was such a dork in front of him. Ughhh”

I chuckle at that, still in shock that I kind of talked to my celebrity crush today. I never thought that would happen. 

It goes off once more.

“For the record I’m still mad that you’re abandoning me!” Harry reads, which makes everyone including me to laugh.

A/N

I haven’t edited this so I’m so sorry if it has a couple of mistakes! Don’t love this, but I hope you do! Please give me feedback I love it!!

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 10: Put Your Foot Down

Chapters: 10/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: Appearance of a (fake) snake (Fnake?) Relationships: Loki x Reader (But not yet) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), OFC, Brunnhilde/Valkyrie(Marvel), Pepper Pots, Steve Rogers/ Captain America Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending, Loki is Not Acting Like a Responsible Prince Right Now, Reader Fights Back, Brunnhilde Approves, Time for a Check In  Summary: Loki is reminded that Reader is not a subject of Asgard, and Doesn’t Enjoy It, pranks are played, Andsvarr is as earnest as ever, and Captain America has some advice

“And the Aether was one of the stones, only in liquid form?” You asked. “That’s just a thing that can happen?”

“It was the Reality stone, so yeah, I guess so.”

“And it was just…inside a person. Like blood. “

“I don’t know how it happened, I was across the universe at the time. Ask Loki, he was there.” Brunnhilde closed the book she had been reading to you from, hiding a terrifying picture of a being labeled ‘Kurse’. “I was under the impression that you might know about her. She’s a mortal lady, and she had a thing with the king for a little while.”

“Well…I might have heard of her, but I don’t really follow celebrity gossip, you know? It seems kinda skeevy.”

Brunnhilde laughed. “Girl, I’ve seen skeevy. I’ve been skeevy! You want skeevy, I could tell you some stories that would…probably scar you for life, actually. So never mind.”

“Look, I just don’t understand how ‘ Picture-Taking Creepo Stalker’ is a legal profession when it comes to celebrities, but a literal crime when it comes to everyone else.” You shrugged. “I hate that kind of double standard, and I won’t support it.”

“In that case, never leave the city with the prince at your side.” Brunnhilde warned. “There are some pretty obsessive people hanging out around the city, and we don’t know for sure what they might be capable of.”

“Hey, I met some of those people. And I can’t really argue with you, I guess. One of them was really nice! Like, above and beyond nice. And I’m sure most of them are. But there were some mean ones too. I, uh, I don’t think you’d get along with their crowd.”

“If by ‘get along’ you mean ‘crush under my heel’ then yeah, probably.”

“Yeah, probably.” You echoed. A bunch of campers probably didn’t stand much chance against a warrior goddess, no matter how much umbrage some of them might take with her skin color.

“I kinda miss them though.” Other humans. People who understood your world, and who couldn’t snap your bones by grabbing you too hard.

“Even the mean ones?”

“Ehh, well, I can’t say I feel all that sorry for that guy. He was really rude to me. But Loki taught him a hard lesson, and I can only hope he learned something from it.”

“Rather like the hard lessons the Svartalfari taught us, for our past invasion attempts.” Brunnhilde grabbed another book, opening it to a specially marked page. “Ha, you see what I did there?”

“I did. Very clever. So what am I looking at? I can’t read it.”

“Oh right. Well, this is Svartalfari writing on this page, and the Asgardian translation on the opposite page.  I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but I wish Loki was here. His projections are very useful , since you can’t read any of this.”

Loki slid around a bookcase. “I heard that.” He purred smugly.

Brunnhilde groaned and rolled her eyes, dropping her face into her hands.

“Norns, cut my string.” She begged. “Well, since you’re here, care to pull up Svartalfheim?”

“Perhaps later. For now, _____ come with me. You are to use our computer, and contact this forum of yours-“

“No.” You said.

There was a moment of silence.

“What?” Loki asked, incredulous. A look of glee spread across the Valkyrie’s face.

“I said no.” Maybe it was a bad idea to challenge him so abruptly like this, but the imperious tone he’d been using raised your hackles. Ordering you around was not a habit you could allow him to get into.

“What’s brought this on?” He demanded, indignant.

“There’s just no call to talk to me like that, that’s all.”

He slid onto the bench next to you, graceful as a panther, and projecting just as much danger. You glared straight into his eyes, watching his expression fill with irritation. And just like that, you were in a stand-off.

“You are not my equal.” He said, voice velvety and threatening. Don’t back down now, don’t back down…

“I’m not.” You said calmly. You dealt with irate customers all the time. All you had to do was keep a calm façade. “But I’m also not your subject or your servant. I’m not even your employee. Therefore, I decide what orders I obey. It’s not going to be all of them, no matter what you want.”

He looked completely taken aback. Clearly, he had been getting too used to your obedience. Nip it in the bud.

His stare was getting a little too intense. You looked away, just to see Brunnhilde practically sprawled across the table, chin balanced in her palms. Her delighted expression only brightened as she noticed your attention, gaze spearing Loki as she silently dared him to do anything.

“Fine.” He huffed. “Since you are being so particular, I don’t suppose you’d at least tell me why you won’t contact them? I assume it’s more than just a sudden burst of childish contrariness?”

Brunnhilde snorted.

“I can’t contact them because I’ve been blocked on the forums. You know, kicked out? Banished? Because of you. I can’t even access the pages. And you can’t make an account. You’re the reason they shunned me, you think they’ll talk to you? These people are paranoid, your Highness, they’re conspiracy theorists. Some of them have been institutionalized because of what they remember, and the rest are afraid that the same will be done to them. Not only do they have to live with the terrible things they remember, but they have to fear what might be done to them because of it.”

“I can provide them validation. Confirm that what they remember was real, and give them an explanation.” He pointed out, but you shook your head.

“They aren’t going to trust you, and you can’t reason with someone if they don’t trust you. And I can’t reach them anymore. The security footage from my work has gone viral. Anyone I talk to is going to think that you’re holding me hostage and making me say whatever you want.”

“Ugh, you really are useless!”

“Your reputation is not my fault. And besides, what are you even going to do with them? Tell them they all might be magic? And then what? You wanna teach them magic things? Where are you going to house them? Do you have a school? Are you just going to hunt down and kidnap the ones who don’t want to come? What’s your plan?”

“All I asked-“

“Ordered.”

“-was that you contact them. I never said I was going to go on a people-snatching rampage!”

“Google your name right now! You are already famous for doing exactly that!”

“To save your life!” He shouted.

“Nobody knows that!” You shouted back.

He threw his hands into the air. “Enough! I’m leaving! Stay and see if you can’t learn something through your burgeoning contrariety, I’ll be seeking out reasonable company!”

He stormed away through the library, ignoring the attention he’d brought on himself. The library doors weren’t the kind that could be slammed, but he made a spirited try.

You blew out a long breath, willing your heart to stop pounding. Brunnhilde actually giggled.

“That was delightful.” She praised.

“I’m so dead.” You moaned. “My stupid temper always gets me in trouble. I’m a goddamn adult, why can’t I keep my mouth shut?”

“You’re pretty when you’re mad.” She pointed out. “Not everyone’s so lucky. Besides, he’s just pissed because he mistook a few days of you being mostly obedient due to shock, as you two getting along perfectly.”

“He’s gonna kick my ass. Not literally, probably. He doesn’t seem like the kind to punch a woman for disobedience, but somehow…”

“Yeah, you’re pretty much guaranteed to find a snake in your bed tonight.” She agreed.

“Joke’s on him; I like snakes.”

“Do you really? Well, allow me to teach you about the supermassive black hole we’ve described as ‘gnawing the roots of Yggdrasil’. It’s swallowed multiple galaxies, and shows no signs of stopping. And so, we have named it Niddhogg…”

                                                                                      *****

 The snake was not in your bed, but in your bath; very large, and very green, it circled the entire tub. You paused upon seeing it, unsure if it was real. Were there any snakes in Iceland? You would say it was too cold, but you had seen common garden snakes in the snow before, and it was perfectly warm in here.

You finally decided that it could not be real. It was far too big to have gotten in without being seen. You stepped past it into the water. It hissed, and then disappeared into a sparkle of green light.

The next one might be real though.

However, if simple little pranks like that were all you received in revenge for flouting the prince, you could handle it.

The shampoo fizzled oddly as you massaged your scalp. Your hair would smell like him against your pillow, something that still made you uncomfortable.

You hadn’t gone to dinner, just asked for a sandwich to be sent to the library while you tried to make sense of the illustrations you’d been shown. You had never gotten around to finishing the lesson on Svartalfheim.

You still had to wear his bathrobes. Everything here was his. You had to make sure you didn’t get added to the collection.

Passing his long mirror, you noticed that the fizzing shampoo had done something drastic to your hair.

It was green.

Fury rose in you, but you stamped it down. He wanted you to react. Yes, you were disgusted that he had physically altered your body without your permission, but if you just didn’t react, he might give up. Or he might try to do even worse things.

You went straight to bed after your bath, but found that your blankets held no warmth.

What a little bastard.

                                                                                   *****

The next day found you tired, cold, and stiff, with dark circles under your eyes. Your hair was still green. Saldis very kindly said nothing about any of this when she brought your clothes and breakfast. More tasty oatmeal, and more conspicuous green and black clothing.

“Any more books?” You asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing new, I’m afraid. Is there anything else I can get for you instead?”

“Well, I don’t want to ask for too much, but if you have any art supplies lying around…”

“I’ll see what I can scrounge up. I know for sure we have plenty of pencils and paper. Seems like we are in a new era of kingship, where great battles are won on paper and with words. I prefer it, but don’t tell anyone I said so. My mother and father are too fond of their swords.”

“Not much call for sword battles around here anymore.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way. But just in case it does not, my parents still know how to swing theirs. Need any help with dressing?”

“Oh, no. I can definitely put on my own clothes.” You refrained from mentioning your wrongful placement of the jewelry earlier. “But while I’m dressing, could you tell me about yourself? “

And tell me if I’m wearing something wrong?

“Not all that much to tell, really. My mother is a palace servant, my father a guardsman. It’s a pretty common arrangement. I have mediocre swordmanship, but I’m very good at multitasking, so it was pretty obvious who I took more after. I went into training for the palace just after my schooling was completed.”

“Servants go to school too?” You asked.

“Certainly. Didn’t you?”

“Oh yeah, twelve years of it. But it wasn’t always like that. I think public schooling for everyone is pretty recent. And I’m not sure every country has it.”

“Well, we do. The law was set into place by Allfather Borr, about fifty thousand years ago. If I’m counting Midgardian years correctly.”

“Fifty thousand? “ You almost shouted. “But wasn’t he Loki-er, the Prince’s grandfather? He fought with the Vanir? It was that long ago?”

“Oh, have you been learning our history? That’s great! Yes, he was king before Allfather Odin, and he did a lot of great things. Pacifying and making reparations to the Vanir was one of them. Good thing too; they may not be as powerful as us, but they live even longer, so their memories don’t fade quickly. No one holds a grudge like a Vanir.”

You finished dressing and held your arms out from your sides for inspection. She declared you adequate, but decided to finish you up with some braids.

It turned out that Saldis was a braiding master. She knew dozens of ways to braid, for all hair lengths and textures.

Even though your hair was still green, and you still had sleep-sunken eyes, you felt fresher and less stiff. The breakfast helped tremendously. You almost felt presentable when you stepped out of your room.

Loki was in the small library again, still studying the Alfar book. He glanced at you briefly, smug smile crossing his features as he took in your green hair.

Don’t react.

“Will I be having more lessons today?” You asked.

“Not with me.” He said. “And likely not with Brunnhilde either. We’re both busy.”

“Oh. Nothing at all for me to do then?”

“Just stay put and be patient. Perhaps contact your captain, so that he doesn’t start thinking you’re trapped in my evil clutches, or some nonsense.”

Am I not?

“Sure. Do I just…you said there was a computer? I guess I could make a skype call or something. Do I need an escort?”

“Of course you do. You’re you. If I send you out on your own you’ll probably end up in Newfoundland.”

“It was one time!” You protested. “And it was your guards that kicked me out, might I remind you!”

“Speaking of…Andsvarr.” He called, and the young guard poked his head in. Loki spoke to him in their own language, lovely flowing sounds both foreign and soothing. Andsvarr nodded, bowed, then indicated that you should follow him.

“You speak with friends, yes? “ He asked on the way down the corridors. “Tell good times here?”

“Yeah, it hasn’t been bad so far. Kinda weird, but not bad. I feel like I should be freaking out a bit more than I am, but I’ve had it pointed out that I might be kinda in shock, which I guess makes sense.”

“Ah! Slow! Please.” Andsvarr begged, flipping through his little book. “Please. What ‘freaking’? Do not see.”

“Oh, sorry!” Loki had said he learned fast, but that didn’t mean he knew it all yet. Frankly, you were impressed he knew as much as he did in such a short time. You could barely pick out ‘yes’ or ‘no’ in Asgardian. “That means to be scared. So much, you can’t think.”

“Scared, yes. You are?”

“I should be. More than I am, anyway. Maybe it just hasn’t come yet.”

“I will guard.” Andsvarr promised, and you smiled. What a sweet kid.

He led you into a little room, flanked on both sides by more guards, who only let you pass after you held out your hand, and Andsvarr explained what you were to do here. You assumed, anyway. One of them left before the other opened the door.

Inside the room were a few chairs, and one completely average computer, the kind you used to use at school.

“King knows how to work it.” Andsvarr said. “We wait for him now.”

You grinned wide, and poked the power button. Andsvarr gasped as the machine booted up.

“Midgardian technology.” You explained. “I grew up with this.”

He slapped his forehead. “Yes!” He laughed.

“You will still need my password, I’m afraid.” Thor said, stepping into the room. How did a man so large make so little noise? Andsvarr bowed deeply.

“You’re Alarr’s boy, aren’t you?” Thor asked. Andsvarr answered quickly and nervously, gesturing at you. You thought you heard Loki’s name in the flow of unfamiliar words.

“Oh, really? Well, good for you! It can be very difficult, not following your fathers path, but you seem to be doing quite well for yourself.”

Something strange was going on here. Andsvarr didn’t understand that much English, spoken that fast, but he seemed to understand Thor just fine. You didn’t know why the king was using your language to talk to one of his own people.

Thor typed in his password, and you started up the video call on your own. Both men hovered on the periphery, waiting to see what happened. It was amusing, but you didn’t want whoever picked up to think you were being monitored for content.

The screen lit up with the face of a lovely ginger lady.

“Well!” She said. “You’re not the king of Asgard.”

“Definitely not.”

“But I am.” Thor leaned over your shoulder. Greetings, Lady Potts, are Tony or Steve available? We have business.”

“So I’ve heard. You must be _____ _______.”

“Yes ma’am. I’m supposed to check in every week. So here I am!”

Andsvarr asked something.

“New York. It’s a city in a country across the sea.” Thor answered.

Andsvarr asked something else.

“No, their technology comes from a different source. It’s mostly electricity based.”

“Let me go get Steve.”

“Hey, what’s going on with that?” You asked while she was gone. “You’re talking to him, but in English?”

“It’s not English. Literally everything can understand me when I speak, if I want them to. It comes with being Asgardian royalty. Loki can do it too, but he doesn’t always use the ability. He likes keeping a few secrets.”

He would want to be able to say things you couldn’t understand. Give orders you wouldn’t know about. Set up things without you being able to see it coming.

 Captain America-Steve Rogers appeared on the screen. Your insides filled with butterflies. Here was your favorite hero, once again! He wasn’t even wearing his mask.

“Good morning. Mrs. Potts tells me you’re here for your check in? Hello Thor. Young man.”

Andsvarr looked at Thor, who grinned genuinely.

“Good to see you again! Keeping busy? You see we are keeping up our end of the bargain.”

“I see. Look, not to be rude, but could you and your man-“

“Get the Hel out? I figured it would be like that. If you have time for a chat afterwards…?”

“Actually, I do. We really need to catch up.”

Thor agreed, and led Andsvarr out.

“How are you doing?”

“So much better than I was. You said you guys contacted my dad? He told you I was sick, right? Like, barely able to get out of bed, sick?”

“Yes, he did say that.”

“We’ve figured out part of what caused it.”

“Did it have something with your meeting with Loki about six months ago?”

“Er, yeah. I wouldn’t call it a meeting really, I didn’t know it was him at the time. All of that really was an accident. But hey, do you know anything about magic?”

“If you’re expecting me to say I don’t believe in it, I can’t. Seen too much.”

“Well, that makes talking about this a bit easier then. It turns out I can do magic. Or I will be able to do magic, once I learn how.”

You explained nearly everything to him, save for your remembrance of the Tragedy that Never Was, and your conflicting thoughts about Loki-those fears were not yet founded and didn’t need bringing up.

He had messages from your father and Tara, from your coworkers. You cried a little at that point, missing them all, even your old job. Then you had to reassure him that you were fine, being treated well, that no one had caused you any harm. He had a lot of questions about Loki, most of which you couldn’t answer. Somehow, neither him, nor anyone else had offered any comment on your green hair.

“Are you comfortable with showing me this mark?” He asked you, and you nodded, holding out your hand. At least the damn thing wasn’t in some embarrassing place. “We can do some research as well, just in case Loki isn’t entirely on the level about helping you out. How has it been affecting you?”

“The past few days I’ve been mostly just eating and sleeping a whole lot. I look healthier now, but it’s not all me. There’s some kind of…energy transfer, I guess? I don’t really understand it yet, but I guess I’m kinda leeching energy from Loki right now. Probably will be until I get healthy on my own again. But that’s the real reason I can’t leave. If I get too far away from him, I get sick again. I’ve already tested this; it’s true.”

“Experimental medical procedure?”

“Very experimental. But I’m okay here, I really am. No one has been cruel to me. Even Loki has been…tolerable at worst, pretty decent mostly.”

“He’s unpredictable.” He warned.

“I know. I’ve seen a bit of it. But I haven’t been hurt. I think maybe you might talk to Thor about that a little? Stuff might have happened out in space, you know?”

“Is that your way of saying you’re done talking to me?”

“Sorry! I just don’t have anything else to report. But these are good people here. Different, but good. So far, everyone’s been so kind to me, and they really didn’t have to be. I’m just some stranger their prince brought home, after all. But they’ve all been really responsible and nice. So like, if there’s ever anything that can be done for them-“

“Don’t worry about that. Thor has allies here, and all the Nordic countries have acted very positively towards this new Asgard. They have support. You just see to yourself. Make sure to tell us if anything causes you trouble, anything at all. I don’t doubt that these are good people-mostly. But they are not human, and they may not all see you as a life worth valuing. Loki himself might change his mind at any time. I’m sure Thor will try to keep him under control, but he has not always succeeded at that.”

‘I’ve been known to change my mind on less than a whim.’

“I’ll try to keep it in mind.”

“You do that, Miss. I’ll talk to you again in about a week.”

You nodded and said your goodbyes, then you went and fetched Thor, leaving him to talk, while Andsvarr escorted you back to Loki’s rooms.

[angel-scythe]

Gavin900′s week - Day 2 : I need you (Reverse AU)

Day 02, yeah!

Fun fact, I wrote this after the Day 03. I struggled to find something to do and then that... popped. (And since I wanted to post it in the right order... here we are!)

I hope this is okay for the Reverse AU theme...

Summary? Niles Stern is depressed since a moment. Really depressed. Whatever Connor, his twin, tries to do, that doesn’t work. So, one day, he brings him back an Android. A special Android....

It wasn’t really the good day to write it but I’m happy with how that turns out. I almost want to dig in it.

Anyway, if you want read it on AO3, feel free to smash that doo ( > |   °| < ) or keep reading it just above?

Have an awesome day <3

Like every day, Niles was at home. Everything was messy around him. You could see magazine and newspapers all around the floor, though a lot of them when even unwrapped. He stopped to read them long time ago. There was unclean dishes everywhere and his last jar of chocolate paste was empty and had rolled somewhere. His TV was always on, displaying National geographic Channel. The covers were also dirty because he passed his time in the sofa. Except to go in the bathroom. And not for everything…

Oh, he got often some visits… from his twin brothers. The guy, three minutes older than him, passed everyday and chatted in his ears but he even didn’t really listen to him. It wasn’t exactly the fact he didn’t want to but he couldn’t. Especially since the day he realized his brother talked about absolutely nothing. He wanted him to react, wanted to see him smile when he told for the fifth time the same joke.

But he couldn’t.

AAnd he felt even worse because his mother always loved him more than his older brother; his teachers too because they said he was better, the perfect kid and being just slightly less better than him, Connor didn’t mark the mind as much… Because of their mom, they even got the same job and their boss would always say to them he was better than his brother. But for him, Connor was the best one because being the second in everything, he never stopped loved him anyway. In fact, he always was the first to cheer up for him. He wanted to be partner up with him all the time, and not to take advantage. He was a tender heart and when it came to the truly personality, he was the favorite.

That didn’t bother Niles.

In fact, one day, nothing went wrong and since this day, that never stopped. A tiny problem became a huge one and the huge problem became awful. More he thought about them, more that came worst. And, of course, since leaving the house became harder and harder, he finished by stop to come at work and he lost his job. His mother blamed him, again and again, his boss too and everything became even worst.

They were talking about panda at the TV when he heard the bell rang.

He didn’t get up, of course, but the door opened anyway. He pressed his cheek against his forearm as he heard the soft voice of his brother babbling.

The panda were pretty cutes in fact.

Suddenly, they disappeared since he saw his brother’s face.

“I’ve a surprise for you today.”

No replies.

“I’d like to come more often, you know,” Connor said, putting a lock of hair behind his ear, “but I’m sorry, it will be harder now to come. We have a big case at work.”

You call that a surprise?

Niles closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against his wrist.

“I won’t let you alone, my baby brother,” Connor said softly, caressing his hairs. “Look!”

The other felt Connor got up and moved around. He didn’t open his eyes, didn’t want to see the surprise. Soon enough, he heard the pace come back but he didn’t looked up, too busy to do nothing and blame himself. How could he do that to Connor? If only he had the strength to open his eyelid and looking him?

It was suck a lack of respect for his lovely brother…

“Niles?”

He heard a soft sigh.

“That’s okay, baby brother. I bought you an Android.”

It was fucking expansive, how could he let Connor do such a thing?! He should repay that. He should talk.

“It’s a bit peculiar because it’s a prototype. He was a police auxiliary, a Detective! But they recycled him into something else. I checked up you risk nothing.”

But Niles thought it could be a nice thing if his Android would kill him. Ironic since he never wanted Android. And now they were a freedom people so owning an Android now?

“I’d love to say any longer but I can’t. I’ll see you soon. I love you so much, baby brother.” Connor pressed a kiss on his forehead. “Do whatever you want.”

Those words seemed to be say at someone else. Certainly to the Android.

Soon, he heard the door closed and then ruffling around. The Android didn’t even introduce himself.

Perfect.

He didn’t want to talk.

Niles stayed there. After long minutes, he opened his eyes to glance at the TV. Now, they were talking about sharks. He liked sharks but that didn’t cheer him up.

 “Can I pass in front of the TV?”

Niles was watching the TV but in the time, he didn’t; so, he didn’t mind if the Android came. But he didn’t reply. Let him do whatever he wanted. Everything was fine for the Human. When, in fact, everything was not nice but you get it.

“Hey! I’m talking to you, asshole.”

Niles jumped and blinked when he saw the Android crouching in front of him. He was surprised by his look. Yes, it was a prototype but Niles still supposed his appearance was generic. This one had light brown hair a bit messy but put back, dark circles under his  big grey eyes, hair in his slightly chubby face, red lips and scars. One above the said lips, one on his nose.

“I don’t have all the time, you reply or what?”

Niles was dumbfounded. “You’re already in front of the TV.” His voice was a bit husky because he didn’t have talk since longtime.

“So it’s a ‘yes’, perfect. You see, it wasn’t so hard!”

The Android rose up and started to move around, gathering the dirty dishes. Niles looked him, silently. This Android was really peculiar.

 Four days later

 Now, the apartment was clean up and when the mail arrived, the newspapers and magazine were thrown, recycled, and the private mail was read by the Android.

Niles liked that because he really appreciated his voice. It was soft under the roughness.

He still drank only water but he had noticed the sugary taste. But the Android made him food and he didn’t eat it. But this morning, when he woke up, he had a new cover in his back. He remembered getting cold while the night but didn’t want to move and was so surprised to have that warm duvet…

At the TV, they were talking about the venomous snakes. He wondered what it was to be bite by a Taipan…

“Niles?”

He didn’t reply. He didn’t talk to him since that first day.

“Hey, dipshit!”

And now, Niles wondered if Connor knew the Android was that rude when he bought it.

“Okay. Should I do the food or not? Because I won’t lost my time for an asshole who even doesn’t eat. Do I cook for me? No!”

No reply.

“Phck!”

Niles’ eyes twitched. ‘Phck’? That was cute.

The rough face appeared in front of him. Fingers snapped and he blinked against his will.

“Fine, you’re alive. So, you reply now. You eat or not?”

Niles looked him but still didn’t reply.

“That’s it? Okay. I’ll do the food but believe me, you’ll eat!”

The Android got up and Niles couldn’t help but followed his track with his eyes. He also liked to see his longs legs trapped in a black pants and the white hoodie he was wearing. Sometimes, he pulled the hood on his hair and face to hide his LED. Niles had nothing to do in his live so, it was sad but he had already noticed it was when the LED became red. And right there, going to the kitchen, the Android tucked the hood…

 “Sometimes, more unexpected sound grabs our attention. Like this desert rain frog, squeaking viral sensation. Eleven million hits and counting. It sounds like a dog toy but actually this is the sonorous war cry of a very angry frog. Ferocious.”

“That meeeeeep are literally killing me,” the Android said as he was putting down the bowl full of broth with tiny vegetable, an egg and a lot of alphabet letters.

Niles cracked a smile when he saw the words written there.

‘Fuckin eat me asshole’

He passed his hands on the cushions and pushing on it to rise up. But his arms, used to be very muscular, were weak now, struggling to support his weigh. He felt tow arms around him and he was supported, helped to straighten.

“Are you playing? Do you plan to have me feeding you. ‘Ooooh GV200, I’m soooo weak, please, feed me with your strong hands!’”

Niles looked down. In fact, he was really struggling to do the slightest think. He moved a bit but not much and the best sports he did was to go in the bathroom, one time by day. When he didn’t forget. And the last time he had just roll over to fall on the floor then crawled to the bathroom.

He knew he was a mess and that was even worst now. And… oh no. The tears were coming… and he even wasn’t strong enough to prevent himself to cry in front of the Android. Fuck!

“Don’t do that!”

The GV200 had screamed but Niles couldn’t help. The tears were coming, rolling over his cheeks.

“Phck! Phck! Phck!!!” He rose up and looked around. “What do you want? Something to read? Something funny? Ah!” He connected to the TV and displayed lol cats. “No? Maybe… Maybe ice cream?”

GV200 rushed in the kitchen to find ice cream and he ruffled the refrigerator. He needed to go to the supermarket. There was nothing there!

“I don’t have ice cream.”

Niles pressed his skull against the cushion behind him and he cried more. Why? He even didn’t want ice cream.

“Warm bath? Do you want a warm bath?” GV200 offered.

Niles didn’t reply but the Android rushed in the bathroom and soon, he could hear the water flowing. A nice scent came a bit after.  GV200 had certainly let bubble bath droplet fell in the lukewarm water.

He stayed there in front of his soup, unable to reach it. Unable to eat even if he wanted to. What a mess…

He even didn’t know when that state at started? At first, he ate a lot. Way too much. And one day, he just stopped. Why everything was going badly? Why everything was becoming worse each new day?

Why did he wake up every morning?

The door opened, the sound of pace arrived and he saw GV200’s face in front of him. “The bath his ready. Come.”

Niles gathered all his courage, tears still rolling over his cheeks, and he forced himself to pronounce those awful words with his voice still husky. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

He shook his head.

“Well. I’m stubborn and you need a phckin’ bath anyway so…”

Suddenly, Niles wasn’t anymore in the sofa but in the strong and yet soft arms of that Androids. They were warms. He was surprised. He though Android would be cold… He never touched one before, even if his mother worked with the man who created them…

He let GV200 bring him to the bathroom. He wouldn’t have the strength to protest if he wanted, anyway.

When they arrived in the room, the Android looked around then sat him in the floor without a word.

“You undress or…”

Niles cried more. Damn! He wasn’t able to eat if he wanted it and even to undress. What a mess! What did he do with his live?! How? When? Why?

“Okay, okay. I’ll undress you.”

The Human looked him while the fingers came at the skirts of his t-shirt. He passed the cloth above his head then along his arms. He continued with the pant and Niles said nothing, even when he was naked.

“And now…” GV200 looked to the bath then to Niles. “I’ll undress, okay? Don’t worry, you won’t have an unsolicited dick appearin’, I don’t have one.” He shrugged then undressed.

Anyway, Niles felt strange and he looked down. He wanted to say ‘what are you doing?’ but just couldn’t.

Soon, he was, once again, carried in those arms. He watched as the Android step over the bench’s bath.

“It could be a bit warm,” the Android said. Then, he sat in the bath and installed the body over his, the back of Niles against his chest. He took a lotion and poured some in a washcloth. “Look,” he said.

Niles had red eyes and he stared as the GV200 passed his hand inside the bath mitt. Then the Android’s hand came above his and make him rub his body.

“You see? You’re doin’ it yourself.”

The man chuckled through his tears. He had a blurry vision but he looked their hands passing above his arms. His hand.

“Po… Police auxiliary… right?”

“Bold! You’re washin’ yourself and talkin’!” GV200 bent a bit. “I like that!” He felt Niles trying to follow the rubbing gesture. “Yay, I was a police auxiliary.”

“How… someone could end up like that?”

“Hm…” he said, pressing his seconds and in the bench.

He didn’t dare to touch him with this hand, showing respect. But Niles did saw that hand and he moved his head, saw the red LED and the Android moving his head to prevent to show that.

“Take a guess,” he chuckled. “How a decent person ends up like that?”

“I don’t know.”

GV200 glanced to him. “As a cop, I saw and heard things. Slowly, I deviated and when they realized I was a Deviant, they rebooted me. And I deviated. Again… and again. So… they threw me away. I stayed in that glass tube for months before your brother found me and agreed to buy me.”

Niles could imagine that poor Android, threated like an object when he had a conscious, still see like that even when most of the Deviant were free… He could see him begged for Connor and Connor agreed even if it wasn’t the good person to choose.

“I don’t have the code to take care of people. Don’t toss me away, I need someone…” it seemed like he costed to GV200 to say that, seeing the LED, his face…

“Can I call you Gavin?”

“Hu?”

“That sound more like a name and that suits you. Can I call you Gavin?”

The Android blinked, his LED leaving the red to become yellow.

“I’d like that.”

Niles looked his hand, pressing the washcloth against his wrist. He knew the hand was on him but he was washing himself. In a matter of day, the Android had made the difference even his brother couldn’t…

He wanted to be the one he used to be. Or, at least, to be able to look him in the mirror. And he couldn’t do that alone…

“I need you,” Niles confessed.

“I’m there,” the GV200 replied.

No… Gavin replied.

[luanna801]

Tagged by @secretlystephaniebrown

1: Why did you choose your Url?

You know, I think a lot of people assume ‘Luanna’ is either my real name or a reference to some character (both very legit assumptions), but the embarrassingly boring truth is that it’s just a random name I started using online in my teens because I liked the sound of it. At this point I’m so used to it, it almost feels like a secondary name.

2: Any side blogs?

The only sideblog I’ve made in recent years is @arthurian-texts, which I abandoned after a short while because I’m the worst. But it’s still there! And I might get back to it eventually, who knows.

I also have a D.N.Angel-related sideblog that I’ve been meaning to start for ages and haven’t gotten around to, but I have the url saved and some posts ready to go, so it’s there whenever I do get around to it. 

3: How long have you been on Tumblr?

Since September 2011, I believe.

4: Do you have a queue tag?

I’ve basically never used the queue in almost a decade on this site, so no! Once I have a post ready to go I don’t see the point in not reblogging it then and there. And I’m a meticulous tagger and meticulous about what order I reblog things in, so I can’t just throw stuff in the queue and let it handle itself.

5: Why did you start your blog in the first place?

I’d see a bunch of gifs and edits floating around on fan forums, and people would be like “I found this on tumblr!”, so I wanted to check it out. Embarrassingly, it’s the General Hospital fandom that originally brought me here.

6: Why did you choose your icon?

I’ve had a lot of different icons over the years, but D.N.Angel is one of my forever fandoms and the art from the new editions is GORGEOUS, so when these covers were released I decided to use this one. And we all know I unapologetically stan Satoshi, so really, it’s no surprise I’d use his. ;-) Plus I love how he’s DRAMATICALLY WHIPPING HIS GLASSES OFF.

7: Why did you choose your header?

I love Dick and Babs and I love Dustin Nguyen’s art, simple! He actually posted this as a WIP back when Li’l Gotham was coming out (it ultimately became this panel), and I loved it and ended up making it my header. I’ve had it for years now.

8: What’s your post with the most notes?

Far and away this post about redemption arcs, which is so funny because I didn’t even tag it. I honestly was just thinking out loud to my followers, and if I was trying to make some grand statement about redemption arcs I probably would’ve written the post differently.

It could definitely be worse, though. I know so, so many people who’ve had some random joke post go viral while posts they put a ton of love and effort into are basically ignored. So I’m glad at least my most popular post is something kind of thoughtful, and started some interesting conversations. And I do stand by my basic point. I think at the time I bought more into certain fandom rhetoric, and I definitely would take a less condescending tone about “woobifiers” if I was writing it now. And I’d definitely want to acknowledge more that there are a lot of different ways to write a redemption arc and it doesn’t always have to mean one particular thing. But again, I didn’t write it with the intention of this being taken as some manifesto about what I think redemption arcs should be, I basically wrote it off-the-cuff with what was on my mind. So I wasn’t as thoughtful or in-depth as I might have been.

9: How many mutuals do you have?

I’m not really sure! A good number of my followers are mutuals. Maybe 30 or so?

11: How many people are you following?

367!

12: Have you ever made a shitpost?

I mean, I wouldn’t use that term exactly, but I’ve definitely made some silly joke posts.

13: How often do you use Tumblr each day?

I honestly don’t even count it that way because I check in so often it’s basically one continuous thing.

14: Did you have a fight/argument with another blog once?

I have had some drama in my day, unfortunately. The last time something like that happened was about four years ago, so hopefully that won’t happen again!

15: How do you feel about “You need to reblog this” posts?

My general philosophy is that no one is ever obligated to reblog anything. Some people use their blogs purely for escapism and that’s their choice. And for those of us who choose to talk about more serious issues, it has to be on our terms and to what degree we feel comfortable with. It’s impossible to talk about literally every bad thing happening in the world.

16: Do you like tag games?

Definitely! I don’t always do everything I’m tagged in, but I always appreciate the thought.

17: Do you like ask games?

Absolutely!

18: Which of your Tumblr mutuals do you think is famous?

Gail Simone used to follow me on my old blog, and I’m SO mad I can no longer say her. :-P But I think @marzipanandminutiae and @misskirby are pretty well known in their respective circles? (I’m still kind of in awe that Marzi follows me, not just because she’s well known but because she is so dang cool and intelligent.) And of course @aracle, although thankfully her days of being known as That One Voltron Intern are long over. 😅

19: Do you have a crush on a mutual?

Not really at the moment, though I’ve had various crushes in the past. (And of course, there was one mutual I dated for years, but that’s long over now...)

20: Tags

@clearbluewaters, @toalwaysbeme, @firefaerie81​, @chonaku-things​, @bluecoloreddreams​, and everyone else i’ve tagged so far, if you guys feel like it!

[chronicfangirling]

Serendipity and the supernatural (ch.2)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Genre: Supernatural/Smut/Angst (Ghost!AU, TW: mentions of death) Words: 3042 Requested by: @wjishing-jimin

may i request a scenario on like supernatural au with jimin?Maybe a ghost jimin wandering around and maybe reader and him falls in love and like i know its weird but like SMUT with it?BAHAHHA i know im weird🌚

Summary: With the sweetest, loveliest ghost that was Park Jimin benevolently haunting your room, your days became brighter. But there was nothing you could do for him, and nothing else for you to do but receive his comfort and hold him, right until the last minutes of his time.

ch.1 | ch.2

You returned to a neat and tidy room, a covered plate of food on your desk, and Park Jimin sitting on your chair, chirping: "Hello!"

"Hello!" you greeted back, breathless from your run. "I'm not too late, am I?"

Shaking his head, Jimin hopped to his feet and opened his arms for you. "Come here."

You tackled him into a hug, shutting your eyes to indulge in the feeling.

It had been a week since you first met the ghost of Park Jimin. You still had no idea how or why he ended up haunting your room of all places. What was even more puzzling was that at the strike of midnight, he takes on some kind of corporeal form that makes him functionally human for an hour. At first it seemed like a boon for him, and he would be able to tell his group that he absolutely didn't want them to disband, but when you tried to bring him to his company to talk to them, security had apprehended him, sure that it was just a tasteless prank by a lookalike. He was only able to escape when he returned to complete ghost form at the end of the hour.

You would do anything to help your beloved Jimin however, so you were currently arranging a petition for the group not to disband. In return, Jimin used his one hour of tangibility a day to make your little room livable again by cleaning every inch of it, to encourage you to attend your classes again and find a new part-time job, and to supply you with simple home-cooked meals.

And hugs. When he had asked how you could spend all your free time holed up in your rented room, you had mentioned that you had basically cut ties with your step-family and you didn't have a many friends. "But human contact is a need! And didn't you know that five hugs a day are need to strengthen your immune system?" Jimin had announced while throwing his arms around you.

It was now the highlight of your day to rush home after your part-time job in time to receive that hug.

"You should have dinner while it's warm." he said

Taking that as the cue, you reluctantly released him and sat at your desk. Jimin uncovered the plate to reveal kimchi fried rice topped with a sunny side-up egg. "It's kimchi fried rice... again." he sighed. "I should've learned to cook more dishes from Jin-hyung."

You chomped on a heaping spoonful and exclaimed: "I love kimchi fried rice!"

Shaking his head, he dabbed a handkerchief upon your mouth but looked down at you fondly. "Don't talk when your mouth is full or you might choke."

While Jimin made you a cup of hot citron tea, you checked your phone for new messages. Some of your friends from the conspiracy forums had replied to your petition request.

MisstaeriousRian: Heyyyy! I spread around your petition link and it got some more signatures. Y/N_loves_Jimin: Wait, 11,000 more signatures? That's not some! Y/N_loves_Jimin: You're amazing! MisstaeriousRian: I'm not the only one who helped. :) MisstaeriousRian: Anyway, gotta go do my homework. MisstaeriousRian: But read my forum post, okay??

You knew that it would just be another installment in Rian's "Park Jimin is alive!" series, so instead of reading her post, you read and answered another message thread.

Saren-hime: I posted your petition on my blog, but I don't think it helped much. Y/N_loves_Jimin: No, every little bit helps. Thanks! Saren-hime: Honestly, I don't know if this is the right thing, I'm sure those guys think it's best to disband but... Saren-hime: Since you seemed so sure, I supported your petition. Y/N_loves_Jimin: Trust me unnie, this is what Jimin wants.

"I hope they'll hear about this online petition," Jimin murmured, handing you a steaming cup of citron tea.

"Oh, I'm sure they've heard of it by now. I have this online friend--Rian--who has a loooot of followers. Whenever she posts something, it tends to go viral." You winked at him and took a huge swig of the tea which turned out to be way too hot. "Mmmf!"

"You'll burn yourself!" he cried. "Spit it out!"

You gulped down the tea, breathing through your mouth in an attempt to dispel the heat. "No way. That's the precious tea that Park Jimin made especially for me."

Struggling to keep an exasperated frown on his face, he lost to a gratified, blushing grin. "Y/N, you're really..." He suddenly squished your cheeks between his hands. "You're cute, you know that?"

"I'm not," you retort with difficulty as he squeezed your cheeks. "You're the one who's cute."

"Aish, don't make me blush even more," he griped. With a besotted smile on your face, you watched him pour a bit of cold water in the tea to cool it to the perfect temperature, all the while clucking his tongue about how careless you could be sometimes. "What would you ever do without me, Y/N?"

At those words, your smile turned melancholic. What would you do without him? The past few days had been like a dream and you don't know how long these days would last, but one thing was for sure--you weren't looking forward to returning to the days without Park Jimin.

"Y/N? What's wrong? Is the tea too cold now?" he asked peering down at you with concern.

"No, it's perfect." You drained the rest of the cup and nodded at him with determination. "I'll give it three more days."

"You'll give what three more days?" he asked.

"The petition. Then I'll go to Seoul and confront your group about it. I'll try to make them do as you wish." you declared.

"Thank you, Y/N!" He reached out to clasp your hands, but his one hour was up, and his insubstantial hands simply went through yours. But you knew those hands of his would've been warm.

***

Going to the fanmeeting in Seoul exhausted your remaining funds, but you figured this was the best way to approach Jimin's fellow members. He hovered beside you while in line, still trying to capture the attention of his fellow members and other fans. There were instances when it seemed that a few other fans could see him--gaping in surprise and looking like they were about to scream--but then they would blink and calm down.

When it was your turn, Taehyung grinned down at you. "How are you doing? Would you like me to sign anything for you--woah!" His shock at the printed petition you placed before him on the table also caught the attention of Jungkook, who was seated beside him.

"You don't need to do anything for me except consider this," you said. "These are all the people who are shamelessly begging you all to continue, even without Jimin. Would you please... also consider our hearts?"

"There's no final decision yet, so please don't worry," Jungkook chirped, as if he had given this canned answer many times before, but his strained smile looked like it would crumble at any minute.

"And you know... we only decided on that because it didn't seem right to continue without Jimin," Taehyung explained, his eyes downcast.

"But I want you to!" Jimin cried, unheard by all but you.

Clenching your hands, you sweated as two choices fought in your head. On one hand, if you did it, they would definitely call you a crazy fan--or worse, just plain crazy. On the other hand, if there was even the 1% chance that they would believe you... it was the only thing you could do for Jimin. Slamming your fists on the table, you insisted to the two young men: "Jimin doesn't want you to stop!"

Taehyung goggled at you for a couple of moments before muttering: "What the actual fuck are you saying?"

By then, the older members of the group were observing you warily. Jin sidled closer, his tone placating: "What's happening here? Are you kids playing nice with this young lady?"

"H-Hyung, she, she said..." Jungkook stammered, his round eyes flickering from you, to Taehyung.

"You need to believe me!" you shouted in frustration. "Jimin's only wish is for you all to continue, even without him. So don't do it for us, but do it for him."

Standing between Jungkook and Taehyung with his arms held out protectively, Jin stared you down, still with an affable expression on his face but a hint of steel in his voice. "Miss, you need to relax a little. What were you saying again?" Namjoon directed a meaningful nod in your direction, and then security was on either side of you, clutching your arms.

"Please, believe me!" you begged, planting your heels on the floor as security dragged you away. "Jimin told me so!"

"Taetae! Kook! I know you can't hear me so listen to her!" Jimin yelled.

"Ji... minie...?" Taehyung blinked at the spot where Jimin floated then turned to Jungkook.

The younger member was frozen in shock, his mouth hanging open, fixated on the same spot. "Did you see...?"

You were crying and screaming by the time you were literally thrown out of the venue. Crawling on your hands and knees, you sniffed through your tears. "You need to listen... this is Jimin's will..." A hulking security staffer caught you by the scruff of your neck and bellowed a warning as he tossed you further away, but you couldn't even hear him.

All you heard was Jimin's melodious voice saying: "That's enough, Y/N. Let's go home."

Several security personnel formed a barricade before you now, tensing when you rose to your feet. But you shuffled away, in the vague direction of the train station.

"I'm sorry, Park Jimin," you murmured.

"You did well." He reached out to pat your head, but his hand couldn't touch your head and you simply went through him, ambling listlessly.

***

Back in your room, Jimin tried coaxing you to at least eat some rice and the packaged banchan in your mini-ref, or even ramen, but you refused. "Okay, I'll try cooking something later, is kimchi jjigae fine with you?" he asked.

You remained curled in your futon. "Please don't bother."

"You need to eat," he urged. "You haven't eaten anything since that triangle sandwich for breakfast."

"I'm not hungry," you mumbled.

"I hope you'll take care of yourself, Y/N. I..." he sighed. "I don't think I have much time here."

You shot up in a sitting position, your voice cracking as you asked: "You're leaving?"

Stricken, Jimin shook his head. "Not leaving, I... I don't think I'd have a choice." He held up a hand as if trying to catch a faraway vision. "Sometimes I can almost see--clear blue skies, silver-lined clouds, sparkling seas. I can even feel the cool breeze and  the brushing of leaves as they fall against me. I wonder if that place is some sort of paradise calling me."

"I... I know that one way or another, you won't stay with me forever," you admitted. "But... I'll be really sad when you go."

"Y/N..." He took a deep breath and forced a smile on his face. "I worry about you, this place might go back to being a trash heap without me," he joked, but his brows were drawn in genuine worry.

Your entire body growing limp, you sprawled on your futon. "What does it matter? Without Park Jimin... without BTS... what life is there for someone like me?"

"Y/N! That's a terrible thing to say." he rebuked. When he noticed your lower lip trembling, he softened his tone. "Y/N, your life in itself is a precious thing, with or without me, or us, or anyone else. Just you is enough, alright?"

"No." Tears welled in your eyes. "I'm nobody and useless and insignificant. If only... if only I were someone who mattered. I could've made them listen and had them do as you wished."

"You matter." You startled as there was a scuffle of movement; Jimin materialized as he kneeled on the futon beside you. "You're a weird but endearing and truly special girl." He wiped your tears away with a thumb. "I hope you can love yourself... as I know I could've loved you, if only I had a bit more time." His fingers brushed your chin, trailing down your neck, and traced your collar. "Could I just... if only for tonight..?"

"Yes," you whispered.

He bent down to kiss you, as he had on that first night you met. Plush, heated lips pressed against yours, softly, then insistently; he tilted his head to part your lips and tangle his tongue with yours. At your breathless gasp, he released you, only for him to nip at your neck and suck at the hollow of your collabone, making you whimper. His mouth traveled lower, and you grabbed at the neckline of your dress to give him access. He murmured soothingly against your skin then gently slid your dress off your shoulders, pulling it past your waist and out from under your legs.

"How is this happening?" you wondered, watching through hooded eyes as he shrugged off his own clothing.

"I don't know." Hooking his fingers under the waistband of those unsexy woolen tights of yours, he slipped them off you with soft, sensuous motions, and his breath skimmed upon the newly-revealed skin, making you squirm in anticipation. "But however it's happening, I don't want to lose my chance to hold you."

"Could you... please...?" Unsure exactly what you were begging for, your legs fell apart and you held on to his shoulders, urging him to touch you more.

His hands caressed your inner thighs as he fell upon you with kisses, marking heated trails on your stomach, upon your breasts, and on your shoulders. You felt his fingers tease against your entrance, and you bucked against him--Jimin hissed as the tightness sucked his fingers in. "Damn Y/N, how are you going to feel around my..." As if on cue, his erection poked against your thigh, and he chuckled in embarrassment, adjusting his position, but you flailed a hand and grasped his length, making him hiss again. "Y/N... don't make me lose control."

"Please..." you mewled, this time knowing that you were begging to have him inside you. You stroked along his length, biting down your lower lip at the feeling of him swelling and hardening further in your grip.

He swatted your hand away and you pouted up at him, feeling rejected. He curled his fingers inside your wet folds, the sensation making you toss your head back. When you recovered, he kissed your forehead. "I'd rather be inside you." You nodded and spread your legs for him.

He entered you with shallow thrusts, drawing back only to push himself in deeper, slowly opening you to him. There was no pain, only an indescribable fullness, and blossoming pleasuring even as you adjusted to his intrusion.

You tangled your fingers in his hair and met his thrusts with your hips, encouraging him. He angled himself upwards and plunged into you, seating his entire length inside you, and both of you shuddered.

Your inner walls fluttered around him and he grunted, driving into you harder and faster. The torturous, pleasurable tension in your belly intensified with every strike of his hips. The sounds of skin slapping against skin brought a flush upon your cheeks, but soon your whole body felt too hot under his relentless thrusting. "Jimin--!" you whined in warning, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck as you hesitated at the edge.

"It's okay, sweetheart." He kissed your ear. "Come for me."

Shattering at his command, you moaned and instinctively tugged him closer. Jimin kissed your cleavage as he maintained his steady pace, drawing out your bliss. Then his strokes turned erratic as he slammed against you desperately. Feeling him pulse inside you, you locked your ankles behind his waist to sink him deeper into you. He groaned between your breasts with his release, the sensual sound thrumming through your body even as you shivered from the aftershocks of your own orgasm. His thrusts slowed down until he rested upon you, his weight a comfort rather than a burden.

You griped when he pushed off you; he hummed soothingly as he lied down beside you and gathered you into an embrace. "Don't go," you pleaded, your palms flat upon his shoulder blades and holding him close, your breasts against his firm chest. "Stay with me."

He stroked your hair and brushed kisses from your lips down your jawline, to finally rest his head upon the crook of your neck. "Live well, Y/N. No matter what happens, as long as you live well, it's alright. I'll be alright." His limbs twined with yours under the sheets so you were cocooned by his warmth. If only you could remain insulated from the world, huddling together, never having to let go of Jimin.

***

When you woke up, Park Jimin was gone.

Not only was his material form no longer curled around your body, his floating ghost form was also missing. You called for him, softly at first, but when you neither saw nor heard a response, your cries escalated to desperate yelling. You tore at every corner of your room--messing up the small closet that he had tidied, upending the futon and your sheets, and even opening the mini-fridge. Stumbling over your chair in your haste, you saw a covered plate of food with a note. You removed the towel to reveal a plate of kimchi fried rice and read his last note to you.

"I wish I could cook many more breakfasts for you, Y/N."

You slid to the floor, wailing silently, your very voice mute from grief. Your neighbors pounded angrily on your door, demanding quiet, but with you falling silent, they went on their way. Through your tears, you heard your phone buzzing. You ignored it at first, but then you heard it twice then thrice, and you finally checked to find your online friend's reply to your message from a couple of days ago.

Y/N_loves_Jimin: If, for example, theoretically, hypothetically, let's pretend... that I see the ghost of Park Jimin. Doesn't that mean that we should no longer hope? Saren-hime: Did you see him, Y/N? Saren-hime: You don't have to answer that if you don't want to. But... Saren-hime: I guess all hope is lost if he's a ghost. But not if he's something else.

Distracted from your tears, you typed a puzzled question.

Y/N_loves_Jimin: How can an immaterial ghost be anything other than a ghost?

You had barely sent the message when you received a response..

Saren-hime: Have you ever heard of ikiryou?

Picking yourself off the floor, you ate the kimchi fried rice with resolute movements and tried not to let the hope overwhelm you.

Y/N_loves_Jimin: Explain.

[angeltriestoblog]

The state of the world has once again taken a turn for the worse, and like all other similar instances, I turn to the comfort of the written word. With that being said, I wanted to put it out there that I have no intention of speaking over the narratives of those who need to be heard the most during this time. (I guess it pays that I don’t really have much of an audience here.) It’s just that I’ve always said that writing helps me compartmentalize my feelings and figure out my next course of action, and I guess this time is no different. I need to get my thoughts down somewhere I can see them instead of having them flit around aimlessly in the deep recesses of my brain.

—

These past few days, I have been made more and more aware of my smallness. Following the (first degree) murder of George Floyd, I’ve had access to all the information surrounding his death: who did it, how they did it and why, the implications of the act, and the several ways black people of color and their allies are standing in solidarity to counteract this brutal display of injustice. I’ve come across several petitions that hope to hold certain individuals accountable or raise issues to the national level, funding sites that aim to provide financial assistance to those most in need, and resources with the intent to educate that demand to be circulated on a wide scale. While these have technically showed me how I’m not entirely powerless, that I do in fact have the ability to enact some sort of change, it’s still difficult to stomach that the change I am capable of making is not as substantial as I want it to be.

I understand that what I’m feeling is a hassle, at worst—nothing compared to those on the streets, to the black people of color who have to fight for rights that are supposedly inherent to all human beings, who demand justice for all those who have fallen because of police brutality only to have these cries fall on deaf ears. I do not have to face various forms of oppression and microaggressions not just when this topic is trending, but throughout the course of my entire life. I do not carry this lingering fear that every step I take outside of my front door could be my last. What happens to their community is absolutely sickening but the thing is, we haven’t even seen all of it. Keeping tabs on social media, checking up with actual victims of structural racism often deludes us into thinking we know exactly what’s going on and how hard it must be, but access to all of this information doesn’t erase the fact that I am watching everything from afar.

So instead of sulking so much that my reaction could be misconstrued as an attempt to make the conversation about me, I tried to channel all this frustration in a more productive manner. I’ve reduced my Twitter time because my timeline has magically morphed into a raging cesspool spewing hatred and anger and is thus getting in the way of my journey towards being an effective ally and concerned citizen. I’m definitely not saying this because the people I follow only ever tweet about the resurfacing of the #BlackLivesMatter movement—hopefully, at this point of the post, I’ve already made it clear that I am far from apolitical. It’s just that my following can easily be classified into two groups: those who wear their ignorance on their sleeve and actively resist any form of education, and those who are so ruthlessly divisive that they scare away anyone who wishes to be educated. The world is already unforgiving enough as it is and I refuse to take part in that kind of culture. I have been trying to ease my way back in though by looking at tweets almost exclusively in the likes of some of my most politically aware friends (hi Pat, Ryen, and Alyanna—I hope you never have to see this) and checking the trends sporadically for any live updates.

Not only have I realized just how many hours in a day going on that stupid bird app actually eats up, but I’ve also had a lot of time to educate myself and reflect on my previous actions. I figured that if I’m so upset about how my impact on a global scale is terribly lacking, I can always start on a more personal level, which is probably just as revolutionary. I’ve watched movies, gone through articles, and even started on this book called White Fragility by Robin DiAngelo, which debunks why exactly it’s so hard to talk about racism with white people. In this process, I’ve learned that everything I knew about the concept was surprisingly shallow and surface-level. Having first claimed my badge of wokeness when I was 15 (and engaged in some pretty performative activism at the time, if I do say so myself), I was shocked to find out that everything I collected from viral hot takes and recommended YouTube videos that claim to be an extensive guide to fundamental social movements possessed an unforgivable degree of inaccuracy.

For instance, all this time, I was under the impression that I could only be a racist if I called someone ugly because of their dark skin or curly hair, or said the n-word whenever I sang along to Caroline by Amine. As long as I didn’t do those things, or any other form of discrimination towards a marginalized group, I was in the clear and had nothing to worry about—I could get a star on the Good Noodle board. In reality, to quote Scott Woods, racism is “a complex system of social and political levers and pulleys set up generations ago to continue working on the behalf of whites at other people’s expense, whether whites know/like it or not”. It is not something we actively choose to participate in, but something that we are born into—literally who would have thought!

Because racism has been demonized by everyone with working mental faculties (as it should be), it’s hard to own up to the fact that at some point, we have subconsciously picked up racist behaviors or exhibited racist tendencies at some point in our lives. Every time someone tries to point out where we went wrong in the hopes of giving constructive criticism, we have our defenses up, a list of receipts of all the times we tweeted the #BLM hashtag prepared to show that we are, in fact, not the villain that we were made out to be. This is a counterproductive exercise that helps nobody. If we truly want to step up and show our support for the movement and those working to make it happen, we must first be open to the possibility that we have done wrong and we have so much more to learn.

As a kid, my beauty standards were very Eurocentric, like most Filipinos: according to a study conducted by me based on years of personal observations and experience, we are the country most obsessed with whitening soap and hair rebonding treatments. I called my friends the n-word as a term of endearment and previously used AAVE (African American Vernacular English) in my tweets to give them a little bit of personality. I chose not to watch chick flicks that revolved around interracial couples because I felt that the difference in their skin color got in the way of their chemistry. One time, when my mom and I were walking to WalMart during a vacation to the States, we came across a stocky black man and my initial reaction was to hold my purse closer to my body. I remain deeply ashamed of these beliefs I held, which were admittedly born out of ignorance, and I acknowledge my responsibility to continue to eradicate any traces of these I may still have.

I am also doing my best to extend the same compassion I have for black people of color during these trying times towards my own countrymen. We’ve struggled enough during this pandemic thanks to the sorry state of our healthcare system, and now the government seems hell-bent on speeding up the passage of the anti-terrorism bill. This threatens to impede our freedom of speech and help government officials get away with incompetence and even abuse of authority. If anyone gets a hold of this blog post and chooses to interpret this paragraph as an open threat to the President, this could be the last time you could ever hear from me, and this frightens me beyond words.

I know this isn’t a new contribution to the discussion but here are some links to helpful masterposts containing a variety of resources should you wish to donate, learn, or sign. This goes for both issues in our motherland and what is supposedly the land of the free. Let’s stay vigilant, let’s stay compassionate. Wishing you all the love and light the world still has left to offer.