#god it's just so fine that a man would be like nah fuck the norms fuck the stoicness THIS THING MEANS TOO MUCH TO ME TO NOT CRY

[sp4ceboo]

men who cry.

[wumblr]

i feel extraordinarily compelled to reveal all the secrets i've been keeping because at this point it presents more of a liability to leave them unknown and this is after all the rant journal that arbitrarily didn't get deleted when my leather fetish blog did (probably because both were a major draw for ad revenue for the site at one point) but like... those of you who would not judge me for charging $1000/hr for sex work WOULD judge me for putting some of it in bitcoin at exactly the right time because i thought i could see it coming. and those of you who would judge me for neither would want to know all my trade secrets. and at least one person i respect has said "if you engaged in financial speculation during the pandemic i hate you" which like. fair. the secret is if you're going into a ponzi scheme, you have to get out while it's up. nah i'm just kidding you have to target guys who consider themselves straight but secretly crave being dominated. it seems obvious, right? i shouldn't tell you this: they don't know what a normal rate is. and to be honest neither do i because they kept saying "sure that sounds fine" to the rate. insane. ok bye i'm deleting. unless any of you are buying...? but i don't have any of my gear right now because i left it at my ex-fiance's house because i thought. i really thought. didn't i. i thought i was getting out of the industry. I SAID IT WOULD BE FUNNY SOMEDAY do you even know how hard it was to keep this under wraps. i LOVE oversharing. that's what happened to the fiance i think if i had kept up the persona the whole time he would probably still like me but he was not paying so. he got the whole person. BIG mistake. still unclear whether it's over. if anybody can figure out some life advice to derive from this could you tell me what it is? because i'm literally. in indiana. GOD. IT'S SO FUCKING FUNNY. you can unfollow me for this. it's okay. did anybody else have a pandemic this weird or am i just living life at a 10 (standard deviations from norm)? and they didn't even print anything i said in that interview for the atlantic. i'm a $500 hoe on average because half the time i just do things for $0 because they sound interesting. i think the life advice is "do not do any of this" but how, on god, was i supposed to know that?? actually the trade secret is i kind of look like christian wilde. if he looked like shaggy rogers. if he was a phd candidate. and THAT is why i will never do a face reveal. somebody would be like "no you don't, your eyes are lopsided" and i would have to be like (ani difranco lyric from 2005 about having the kind of beauty that moves). not that it particularly matters for the sake of my clientele because they usually want the hood. anyway, this is why camp is homosexual. because it's inescapable. thank you for my tedtalk. sorry for fucking your man i guess i hope he's well

[kayluh1915]

Beautiful People

Paring(s): Pedro Pascal/Female Reader

Words: 5,378

Warnings: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Disorder, Medication Discussions, Insecurities, and Panic Attacks.

You and Pedro have been secretly dating for a few months now after a chance meeting. You both agreed that it was time to reveal your relationship to the public and chose to do so by accompanying him at The Oscars, but your anxiety does a great job of making you think that you don't deserve it.

DISCLAIMER!

This story is based on the song Beautiful People by Ed Sheeran & Khalid, but this IS NOT a songfic. It just gave me this vibe of Pedro walking down the red carpet with someone who doesn't quite feel like they belong and he comforts her by saying he doesn't really belong either and proceeds to list why they're better off because of it. I dunno, It just sounded sweet.

As always, comments are welcomed and encouraged.

You can also follow me on Twitter if you'd like. My life is boring, but I might be able to make you laugh if I’m lucky.

Enjoy!

(PS: Pepe is a real person. He was my Spanish teacher my first semester of college... and yes, he really went to Cincinnati every Friday to gamble)

Read on AO3

My Masterlist

The frigid February air was like icicles on your skin, sending a full-blown shiver down your spine as you hurried out of the Science building and towards the dining hall. It was nearly noon and you’ve had only had a banana and a bottle of water this morning, so lunch sounded pretty great right about now… maybe a cup of hot cocoa as well.

The dining hall was about a three-minute walk from the Science building, more than enough time for the cold to seep through the layers of your coat and deep into your bones. The possibility of a cup of cocoa turned into an inevitability, you running for the hot beverage machine as soon as your student ID was swiped.

You sat at your usual spot, hanging your backpack on the back of the chair before taking a greedy sip of the hot drink. The warmth was a godsend, the sugary beverage warming your icy hands with a pleasant hum tumbling from your lips.

“You make noises like that in bed?” Someone asked, snapping you out of your warming daze. It was your roommate and closest friend, Lauren. You snorted at her remark, almost spitting out a sip of your drink.

“I thought you had Spanish class at noon?”

“Nah. It’s Friday, remember?”

“Oh yeah, gambling day.” Like you, Lauren was a music student. It was how you had met nearly four years ago. Like most music students, you both used the extra humanities credits you had earned in high school to bail you out of the required foreign language credit until university. You were doing fairly well so far, but it was because you had a decent teacher. She wasn’t the best, but she was alright.

Lauren’s was just… something else.

On the first day of class, he told his students to call him “Pepe” because he didn’t do the “formal shit.” He also said that there would never be a class on Friday’s because he goes up to Cincinnati to gamble with his buddies. Why he didn’t just put down that his classes were only on Monday and Wednesday were beyond you.

“Yeah. Whatever, though right?” Lauren continued. “I’m not complaining about one less day of class.” You smirked mischievously.

“No, but your Spanish is…” Lauren scoffed, only causing you to laugh harder into your cup.

“Bitch, you shut the fuck up. You can’t speak the damn language either.” You shrugged.

“You’re not wrong, but at least I’m learning more than you are with Pepe.” Lauren groaned.

“Fuck you. Come on, let’s grab some grub.” You stood up and grabbed your backpack, throwing away your empty drink cup to grab something to eat. You settled on your usual favorite and sat back down with Lauren who had somehow already made it halfway through her plate.

“God, slow down.” You teased as you hung your backpack back on the chair.

“I didn’t eat breakfast this morning. Cut a bitch a break.” You shook your head, digging into your own plate, but at a much slower pace. You both sat in comfortable silence, enjoying your meals as the indecent chatter of the surrounding students and meme music playing from the jukebox continued on.

“So,” Lauren said, breaking the silence as she sat down her drink. “What are you doing this weekend?” You froze at her question but played it off the best you could. Any hint of hesitation would send her into a frenzy of questions that you weren’t prepared to answer.

“I’m going in to see Mom. Maybe stop by my Mamaw’s too.” Lauren’s shoulders slumped.

“Damn, that’s too bad. Devon invited us over to his Oscar watch party tomorrow night. Figured you might want to come along since you’re into that sort of thing.” 

You swallowed hard at the mention of The Oscars. Just play it cool… don’t. fucking. panic.

“Normally I would, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen Mom. You know how she gets when I don’t come to visit for a while.” Lauren nodded her head in understanding, knowing full well of how your Mom was after living with you for two years.

Little did she know that you had just seen your mother last weekend.

“I understand, boo. I’ll let him know you can’t make it. When are you leaving?”

“As soon as I’m done here. I packed my stuff this morning so I could just go. Trying to beat the traffic as much as possible.” She nodded in understanding.

“Well, I hope you have a good time with your Mom. Say hi to her for me, will you?” You internally sighed a breath in relief. How your big mouth managed to keep him a secret all this time let alone this was beyond you, but you managed to pull it off somehow.

“Yeah, sure.”

After you finished eating, you hugged Lauren goodbye and went back to your dorm long enough to drop off the books you didn’t need and pick up your suitcase. You went through your mental checklist one last time and locked your door behind you as you left.

You unlocked your car and threw your stuff into the backseat, making your way towards the interstate as soon as you left the college.

Home was about a two or three-hour drive down south, but where you were really going was about a 40-minute drive north. You put on some music as you cruise down the interstate, your nervousness slowly increasing the closer you got to your destination.

Your hands shook on the steering wheel, you bounced your left knee furiously, and you were biting your lip… pretty hard. You thought about reaching into your purse for the “take as needed” anxiety medication your psychiatrist prescribed you but decided to hold off on it a little longer. Maybe it’d taper off when you got to the airport.

It didn’t.

You had flown before, but that had been years ago when your micro home town had some kind of festival thing and gave free airplane rides. This commercial airline stuff was something entirely new to you which was already nerve wreaking, but the unexpected bustle of such a smaller airport made it worse.

Weeks before when you first booked the flight to Los Angles, you did as much research as possible to make sure that you knew the “norms” and guidelines of all the airports you were going to since there were no direct flights available. You were as prepared as anyone could be, but you were still extremely nervous and all the foot traffic only made it worse.

You went through security without any qualms and took a seat to wait for your flight to begin boarding. You pulled out your phone and texted your Mom and Lauren before someone walked up to you in your peripheral.

“Excuse, miss?” You looked up from your phone to come face to face with an older gentleman. He looked to be in his early 50’s with salt and peppered hair and a kind smile. He asked you your name and you confirmed with a nod.

“Sorry to disturb you, but your private flight is prepared to depart whenever you’re ready, Miss.”

...Excuse you, what?

“P-Private flight? But I-... I paid for an American Airlines flight.” The man nodded.

“Yes, but Mr. Pascal has sent a private jet to retrieve you. He was fairly insistent to make sure that you boarded.” You sighed heavily. You told him that a two-stop economy flight that you paid for was more than fine, but the thought of you doing anything like a normal person seemed to bother him for some reason.

“Okay. I-I guess I’m ready to go then.” The man smiled.

“Of course, Miss. May I take your bags for you?” You hesitated.

You had never been waited on like this before and you weren’t quite sure how to feel or respond to it. You were perfectly capable of carrying your own stuff and this guy probably wasn’t getting paid enough to carry some lucky college student’s stuff, but was it rude to say no even if you did so in a polite manner? So, you just agreed and handed him over your suitcase and backpack.

You followed him outside and over to a small commercial jet, a woman who looked to be around her mid 30’s standing right by the entrance of the aircraft.

“Welcome aboard, Miss. I’m Kendall Bishop and I’m your captain for today. If you’ll go ahead and take a seat and buckle your seat belt, we’ll depart shortly. I do ask, however, that you remain seated and keep your seat belt fastened until Mr. Clements informs you that it is safe to move about the cabin. Do you have any questions for me before we begin our descent?”

You smiled politely at her and shook your head.

Upon entering the cabin, you were at a complete loss for words. It was easily the fanciest thing you’d ever seen. Leather seats, stocked alcohol shelves, an endless assortment of snacks, a TV, even a fucking bed of all things. The man, Mr. Clements you assumed, gestured towards the seat closest to you. You sat down and buckled your seat belt like you were told to do.

Mr. Clements then reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope, gesturing for you to take it.

“Mr. Pascal requested I hand this to you as soon as you board.” You took the envelope out of his hands, looking down at it with a curious gaze. On the back of it had your name scribbled onto it in familiar handwriting. You’d know it anywhere after reading so many letters from him.

“Please enjoy your flight and let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.” You thanked him with another nod, turning the envelope around and tearing it open. The plane prepared to take off as you read.

Mi Abeja,

I know you wanted and paid for a normal flight, but the academy offered to fly you to me privately last second. I was going to ask you if you were okay with it, but you were in class and your phone was off and I had to let them know something before my table read this morning. You work and study so hard and deserve to be pampered so I told them yes. They reimbursed what you paid for your ticket and I’ll give that to you once you get here.

I hope the unexpected change didn’t spike your anxiety too much. I know you’re nervous about this whole thing to begin with and I probably just made it worse. I’m sorry if I did.

 I’ll be there to pick you up as soon as you land at LAX.

Love you,

Pedro. <3 <3 

Your heart soared at his words, leaning back in your seat and looking out of the nearby window just in time to watch the plane lift up from the runway.

________________________

Four hours later, Mr. Clements informed you that you would be landing shortly. Your heart leaped up in your chest as you put your phone back into your backpack and fastened your seat belt.

It had been a few weeks since you’d last seen him and you were nearly vibrating with excitement by the time the wheels touched down on the runway. Mr. Clements offered to take your things again. You still weren’t sure if it was rude to turn him down or not and you didn’t want to ask and risk looking like a moron, so you agreed and handed over your backpack.

The captain opened up the door and exchanged pleasantries with you as you stepped off the plane, but you barely heard her over the pounding of your own heart. As soon as you looked up from the ramp, you saw him. He was there just like he promised he’d be, standing by his car and wearing his favorite pair of sunglasses all while smiling at you with that blinding smile.

Your sneakers barely touched the tarmac before you were sprinting for him. He held out his arms for you and made a small sound when you collided with him, wrapping your arms around his neck and laying your head on his chest. One of his hands caressed the back of your head, holding you to him tightly as the other one held on to your waist.

“I’ve missed you so much, Abeja.” He muttered against the crown of your head. You let go of him long enough to reach up and kiss him, tangling your hand into his dark curls. “Did you have a good flight?” He asked after you pulled away.

“I did. I was a little nervous at first, but I’m okay now.” Pedro gave you a saddened look.

“I’m sorry. I know it was unexpected and didn’t mean to hike you up, I just figured yo-” You put your hand over his mouth.

“It wasn’t your fault, Pedro. I’m just… not used to this… any of it.” He placed a gentle kiss to your fingers, taking your wrist into his hand and gently taking it off of his mouth.

“Please tell me you at least ate something.“ You nodded.

“I ate with Lauren before I left for the airport. She actually invited me to an Oscar watch party this guy named Devon is hosting. I played it cool just like we practiced, but it took everything in me not to freak out.” Pedro giggled, pressing a kiss to your nose.

“Isn’t she in for a surprise?” You barely smiled, nodding gently. You’ve been trying not to think about it, but the idea of you being on display to the entire world made your stomach churn and your knees weak. You were just a first-generation college student from the middle of nowhere, yet here you are in the arms of Pedro Pascal about to walk down the runway of the most prestigious award show in less than 24 hours.

“... Yeah.” You eventually answered. Pedro noticed the change in your demeanor and frowned, placing a kiss on the wrist he was still holding and caressing it gently with his thumb.

“We don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to, you know? We can always go with plan B.” You shook your head vigorously.

“No, no, no! I-I want people to know… I just… all so new.” Pedro smiled at you sympathetically, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face.

“Just promise you’ll let me know if it ever becomes too much for you. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.” You look up into his mocha gaze, the butterflies in your stomach making you forget about your self-doubt if only for a few seconds.

“I promise.”

________________________

That evening you were curled up with Pedro in the hotel bed, empty take-out containers discarded onto the nearby nightstand as you watched The Shining together. He was fully engrossed in the movie, his fingers idly playing with your hair. You had tried to focus on the movie. You really did, but you’ve seen the damn thing a million times. Laughing at memes on Reddit sounded more appealing so that’s what you were doing.

“You know, I really miss you when you’re not with me.” Pedro said after a while. You looked up from your phone and up at his face.

“I miss you too. Music school sucks and I can’t cuddle Lauren… well, I can but it would be awkward.” Pedro laughed, caressing your cheek with his knuckle.

“Tomorrow, our stylists will be here around noon. I know you’re going to be nervous all day and will probably avoid eating, so I’m going to make sure you get up with me and eat a proper breakfast.” You groaned quietly.

“You won’t let me sleep in? Even on a Saturday?” You fake-pouted. Pedro tapped your nose gently with his finger.

“Not when tomorrow is such an important day. I don’t want you nervous on an empty stomach.” You both went back to what you were doing for a minute.

“You did bring your medication, didn’t you?” You hesitated before nodding.

“Yes.”

“Good. You’ll have something in case it gets too intense. Getting you to take it will be another story, though.” You didn’t say anything, favoring instead to raise up from your reclined position to swing your leg over his waist to straddle him. His hands instantly went to your hips, gently caressing them with his large hands.

“You’re so beautiful, Abeja.” He said after a while of looking you over and running his hands over your body. You smiled at him and leaned down to give him a kiss. It was pretty standard as far as kisses go, but when you pulled away you were both looking at one another with a fiery intent and slowly went back in for another. This one searing and far more passionate.

Pedro groaned deep in his throat as your tongues collide, the kiss deepening far beyond your original intent.

You weren’t complaining.

________________________

Pedro’s alarm going off scared the living hell out of you. You had been awake since 4 am, trying your best to go back to sleep, but it just never happened. When you finally gave up around 6:30, you grabbed your backpack and sat at the desk the hotel provided and did your weekend homework. You hadn’t realized that you were that engrossed in it until his alarm buzzed you out of it.

He groaned quietly and reached over to silence it, rolling back over and reaching out to the other side of the bed looking for you. When he noticed that you were gone, he raised up from the sheets and looked around the room. His hair was an absolute nightmare, sticking up in various directions as he stretched out his back and yawned loudly.

“Thought you wanted to sleep in.” He teased after he found you at the desk.

“You said you were going to wake me up early. Figured I might get some work done.” Concern then donned on his brow.

“Honey, how long have you been up?”

“Not long,” you lie. “I wanted to get some work done so I just got up at my usual time.” Pedro got out of bed and padded over to you, rubbing your shoulders and placing a kiss atop your head.

“You work too hard. You should take a break while you can.” You lolled your head back, Pedro’s hands rubbing your shoulders feeling absolutely amazing.

“I’ll do whatever you say as long as you keep doing that.” He laughed, kissing your cheek and heading to the bathroom.

________________________

You didn’t want to question the professional, you really didn’t. But after the third layer of concealer, you just had to.

“That’s a lot of concealer.” The makeup artist laughed.

“I know, I’m sorry. Use some cream for those bags next time and I promise you won’t need as much.”

You didn’t speak after that, allowing the hair and makeup artist to finish you up while they gossiped back and forth with each other. They made other side comments like that to you here and there. They weren’t necessarily rude so you couldn’t really say anything, but they did little for your already rock-bottom self-esteem.

The artist put a dark shade of lipstick on your lips, making a triumphant noise when she finished.

“Didn’t have the best canvas, but you look fabulous sweetheart! Smile with your mouth closed and you’ll be a knockout!” The makeup artist and hairstylist gathered up their things, leaving you sitting there in your robe staring at the floor and hoping they leave fast.

When they finally left, you got up from the bed and walked over to the full-bodied mirror. You showed your teeth and started looking over them. You never thought they looked too bad. Sure, they were crooked and had some spacing, but they were okay. Braces were expensive and playing a brass instrument with braces is a death sentence for lips.

What if you were wrong about them looking okay all this time? Maybe you should have taken out that loan and a semester off to fix your teeth…

Your stylist came in shortly after. He was quieter than the others had been and much nicer which you were thankful for as you changed into the white dress they had picked for you. When you came out, the stylist smiled and hooped.

“You look gorgeous!” You finished off your look with matching jewelry and a clutch purse, sitting down on the bed to put on your heels.

“It took me forever to find a pair of acceptable wedges for you, sweetheart. I don’t know why you didn’t just tough it out for one night, but hey. I get it. Country girls don’t like heels and that’s okay! It worked out.”

Again, not necessarily rude… but damn.

________________________

You were waiting in the lobby for Pedro to come out, bouncing your leg nervously and trying to remember not to touch your eyes or bite your lip because of the makeup. When you saw him step off the elevator, your breath caught in your throat. His hair was slicked back and his facial hair neatly trimmed, the black velvet suit hugging his broad shoulders perfectly.

“Wow…” He muttered, looking you up and down. “You look absolutely stunning, Abeja.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” You replied, playing with his bow tie.

“Hey, hey, no. Don’t touch it. I don’t know how to tie it back if it comes loose.” You laughed and shook your head.

“Fine… I’ll unwrap my present later.” Pedro’s own breath caught as you winked up at him. He cleared his throat and composed himself, offering you his arm.

“Ready?” You swallowed and nodded, taking his arm for him to escort you.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

________________________

You were in line for the red carpet, the flashing cameras of the paparazzi already blinding and you were still pretty far back. Your stomach churned, a wave of nausea rising up but nothing happening. Pedro took your shaking hand into his and squeezed it gently.

“You okay?” He asked, noticing how tense you were and only grew worse the closer you got.

“... fine.”

“Plan B’s still an option if you need it, Abeja. You have your medicine you can take too.” You shook your head, looking back at him to flash him a smile.

“I’m good.” You could tell that he didn’t buy your bullshit. Not even for a moment. He didn’t say anything, though, opting only to lift your hand and press a kiss to the back of it.

“I’ll be right there beside you the entire time, honey. If at any point you feel uncomfortable or need to leave, you let me know.” You nodded at him, accepting a kiss from him before looking back out the window of the limo.

Your turn came up way sooner than you would have liked, the greeter opening up the limo door as soon as the car stopped and allowing Pedro to step out into the public eye. The photographers went nuts, the flashing lights and screams from fans intimidating you more than you thought they would.

What the fuck were you thinking? You’re just some tired ass music student. You don’t belong here with all these people.

You almost chickened out and stayed in the car but when Pedro turned towards you and offered his hand you took it anyway even though your mind was screaming for you not to. Just the gentle touch of his calloused hand on yours grounded you enough to carefully step out of the limo, making sure that nothing happens to your dress.

You could hear the sounds of the crowd die down for a moment as they all started muttering to themselves. Your hand was shaking in Pedro’s larger one, the photographers gasping as soon as they saw your face. They started taking pictures faster than they ever had. The bombardment of flashing lights blinded you for a moment, but you adjusted to them quickly.

Pedro let go of your hand and put it on your back, gently leading you where you’re supposed to go.

“Okay?” He asked as he wrapped his arm around you and brought you close. You nodded. You weren’t comfortable in the slightest, but it wasn’t the worst thing ever. While both of you posed for pictures, people from the group of photographers said a lot of things to both of you. Some were kind, others were funny and got a good laugh out of you. There were also a few who were very rude, but they had been pushed aside by the others.

Overall, it wasn’t nearly as bad as you were expecting… but you were glad it was over.

________________________

You were standing aside checking your phone while Pedro did an interview with some of the press. He had offered you to be with him, but the red carpet had been more than enough fame for you. Your phone was on “do not disturb” mode, but you could still see all the notifications coming in. Your Mom, Dad, Lauren, and other friends bombarding you with messages basically asking what the fuck. You didn’t have the time to reply, so you didn’t open any of them.

Once Pedro was done with his interviews, he escorted you into the main hall where he introduced you to some of his friends and colleagues along the way. You considered it an honor to meet the people most only ever dreamed of, but you knew you didn’t deserve it. Someone else should be here, not you.

When you found your seats, Pedro offered you his hand. You took it and allowed him to seat you before he took his next to you and wrapped his arm around the back of the seat. The show started shortly after.

________________________

“And the Oscar goes to…” You held onto Pedro’s hand tightly as they opened up the envelope, your shaking hands encased in his. He had told you when he had been nominated that he didn’t expect to win it, but you could tell he had some hope as he tensely watched them read the card.

“Pedro Pascal.” You jumped up with Pedro, hugging him tightly as the audience broke out in cheers.

“You deserve it!” You told him, breaking away to give him a quick kiss. You watched him run up stage and accept the golden statue, walking up to the microphone with a few chuckles as he looked over the award.

“Wow, this is uhhh… this is incredible. Truly amazing.” He started. “I’d like to thank the Academy for this honor, my Mom and Dad who worked hard to raise me right and who supported me. My brother and two sisters for being there for me, mi Abeja for loving me unconditionally, and just… so many others. There are so many people in my life who have helped me get to this milestone and if I were to thank all of you, we’d be here all night. I love you all so very much and this truly… a dream come true. Thank you.

The crowd stands up and cheers loudly. You wanted to, but you were too busy trying to make sure your makeup doesn’t run down your face with a tissue from your clutch. Eventually, you give up trying and decide to go to the bathroom just to make sure everything still looks fine.

Your makeup looked just as flawless as it had before. You wish you would have known that the artist had used waterproof makeup so you could’ve properly celebrated Pedro’s achievement, but oh well. While you were there, you decided to use the bathroom. You didn’t have to go that bad, but might as well take care of it while you’re here.

While you were relieving yourself, you heard two other women come in.

“-ld for her. He needs to settle down with someone like us and around his age. Not some college student.” You froze solid when they realized that they were talking about you.

“I know. She isn’t even that pretty. Did you see her teeth? Do they not have braces where she comes from?”

“For real. Her body’s not that great either. Looks like she comes straight from the shack or something.”

“Wonder if that’s where he found her?” They both giggle.

“Either way, she doesn’t belong here.” You knew they were right, but you just couldn’t bare to listen anymore, pulling your underwear back up and fixing your dress after you flush the toilet.

You then run out of the bathroom, not even looking to see who the women were. It didn’t matter, though. They were right. You should have never came here and you couldn’t stay any longer.

You walked back to your seat and gently tugged on Pedro’s sleeve.

“C-Can we go… Please?” You ask, your voice shaking just as much as your hands. Pedro got up instantly when he saw the look on your face, grabbing his trophy, coat and your clutch. He didn’t ask questions as he placed his hand to the small of your back and began to escort you out of the theater.

By the time you got back into the limo you felt like you couldn’t breathe. The voices around you sounding like water as your vision became black around the edges. Oh God, is this what feels lie to die? You couldn’t die. Not now! You had so much to do, so much t-

Something extremely cold suddenly touched your face, the blackness around your vision fading slightly as you looked up to whoever had put something so damn cold on you.

You were instantly met with the warm eyes of your boyfriend, concern laced on his brow as he gently dabbed a cold washcloth over your face. You could see his mouth moving, but you couldn’t make out what he was saying over the pounding of your heart, but it eventually calmed down enough to where you could begin to hear him.

“There we go, bee… that’s it sweetheart. Nice and easy.” Your breathing slowly calmed down, Pedro cradling you in his arms as your panic attack faded.

“I should have never come here…” You muttered. “I don’t belong here. All these fancy dresses, the flashing cameras, nice cars… I don’t deserve any of this.” Pedro placed a kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t say things like that, Abeja. You deserve this just as much as anyone. And as far as not belonging, trust me when I say I don’t either. And, frankly, I’m fine with that. All of these designer clothes, the mindless gossip, the broken homes, being surrounded by so many but still alone? That’s not really a life worth living. The world of Beautiful People is a lonely life, one that I would rather not live.”

You wasn’t sure what to say, so you just didn’t say anything, curling up as close as you could to him.

He made you take a dose of your anxiety medication when you got back to the hotel, taking it with a swig of water before laying down and curling up close to him. You laid your head on his shoulder, the sounds of his breathing and the gentle feeling of his hand caressing your own shoulder lulling you.

Right before you doze off, you heard him say:

“No matter what any of them has said, you’re perfect the way you are and deserve everything.”

________________________

You wake up the next morning still wrapped up in his arms. You lay there for a while just talking and enjoying one another’s company before he finally got up to use the bathroom.

You reach for your phone on the nightstand, turning off “do not disturb” mode for the first time since yesterday afternoon.

Your phone was overloaded. Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, everywhere was flooded. You didn’t even know where to begin.

Eventually, you just give up trying to put a dent into anything and returned Lauren’s list of missed calls. She answered on the second ring.

“You tell me every little detail, you sneaky bitch. And I mean everything!”

[border-spam]

Everything, and far sooner than Tyreen was ok with, mostly because Troy is so weird.

Ty had given her a basic breakdown on the twin’s first night on her ship once Sei got a drip into Troy and it was clear he wasn’t on death’s door anymore. The buggy ride back to her ship had been terrible, not knowing these kids yet hadn’t made hearing Tyreen’s wracking sobs or the rattle of Troy’s lungs any easier. She’d done her best to focus on driving, tuning her hearing to the crunch of the scorched dust under their wheels, and away from what the girl was saying to her brother as she leaned over him in the back seat. Ty was whispering as she braced his head on her lap, reassurances and mild threats that he better wake up, and Sei would have smiled at the love being showed if it wasn’t so personal. Listening in felt... intrusive. There was a very real chance he’d not be alive by the time they made it to her dock, she’d let Tyreen have this time with in private. It was between them, not her. She was just the fool who hadn’t sense enough to turn down a stray girl's pleads for help, and Sei was sure she was going to regret it.

Once he was finally stable hours later, she’d insisted the girl level with her. The amount of charity she was willing to offer strangers was nearing its limit, it was time for Tyreen to justify why Sei should continue being hospitable when she’d done what she’d been begged to, now that Troy was going to make it. Ty slumped on the floor next to the wall cot where he slept, and sniffled between tears that they weren’t from Pandora. That they hadn’t been prepared for any of this and how quickly things had gone wrong. She’d said all she had now was her brother, whimpered through hiccups that she’d nearly lost him too because she hadn’t been able to help when he got sick, and promised she’d pay her back somehow if they could stay just a few more days. Sei had sighed, rubbing at her forehead tiredly as she felt a headache mull behind her eyes. Painfully aware that two dirty, sick kids with nowhere to go and no one to fall back on were people she’d never be able to forgive herself for turning away, she’d told Ty just to go to fucking sleep. They’d discuss it tomorrow, and that she hoped Tyreen was aware just how lucky she really was to have run into someone stupid enough to give them a chance... that they would need to earn their keep.

That dynamic became the norm even after Troy woke up. Ty did all the talking, while Troy said nothing for weeks. His fearful silence around her in the crew quarters or the way he’d pretend to be asleep and refuse to make eye contact had left Seifa worrying he may be mute; a real possibility considering how often you’d come across folk with selective communication on Pandora. When she brought it up with Ty eventually, she laughed, then waved her hand dismissively. Nah, he wasn’t mute, she’d scoffed. He was just an awkward tool.

Sei would hear them discussing things in muffled voices behind closed doors, but he remained silent around her, eyes wide as he’d pick at the threadbare hem of his sweater and nod yes or no responses politely. 

She would never have thought it would be him that would tell her everything.

Ty had opened up plenty in those first few weeks, especially once she’d decided Seifa could be trusted after not changing how she treated either when Troy’s Siren status had been noted by the medic he’d needed. Tyreen had been adamant at first that they couldn’t trust doctors, that letting anyone know what she and Troy were would be a deadly mistake, but Sei had sworn her “friend” would keep them both under wraps and helped the younger woman understand her brother needed help. She’d been right, Troy’s condition had improved, they hadn’t been sold to a corporation, and Ty blossomed into being genuinely chatty instead of suspiciously reserved.

A happy Tyreen was all confidence and NO subtlety, she’d make huge broad statements like how they were from a “A little backwater planet, oh you wouldn’t have heard of it...” whoever she learned it from was a rampant bullshitter who relied on being boisterous, not believable, and Sei would smirk as she sipped from her coffee, nodding along with Tyreen's clumsy attempts to lie about how they moved here to be stars, taking notes on what she'd need to teach this woman if she was going to have a chance. “Stars...” she’d replied, the twinkle in her eye betraying her amusement at the entire scene Ty had just worked so hard on, “Stars don't wear pants with the asses near tore out of em, Tyreen. You got a lot of work to do, and you gotta start from the ground, love." By the end of the month Ty was raring for opportunity to get off the ship, while Troy was just about mobile, still weak enough to not be able to stand for long. It had been painfully clear his physical condition was poor, the virus that had nearly killed him in their first week on the planet would have been shrugged off as a head-cold by most natives, but weeks later and you could still hear the rattle in his lungs and see the tremor in his hand. Ty had been accompanying Sei on small trade-offs, chores, sales approaches, and was confident enough to beg for the chance to run tasks alone. Said it was a ”Great opportunity to learn the ropes!”, insisted with practiced charisma that it would help teach her to handle herself around Pandorans, and Seifa had wholeheartedly agreed. She’d been on an errand planet side, picking up some carbon buffers from a friend of a friend when Troy had finally spoke.

He’d arrived silently to the table for the meal Sei had called into the cabin quarters to let him know would be up soon, and sat slumped, staring down at the food while Seifa tried to fill the heavy quiet with idle chatter as she prepped her own. ”Any word from Tyreen yet?” -silence, just the brush of cloth behind her as he shifted in his chair- ”She’ll be fine you know, been doing great with me, natural liar! Plays them like cards, heh-heh” She’d turned to sit with her meal and paused mid step as she saw the state he was in, at the exhaustion in his expression as he awkwardly hunched over the little table. He looked shattered, scruffy hair framing the dark rings under his tired eyes, staring quietly at the untouched food in front of him. Sei decided it would be worth gambling a different approach as she lowered herself into her seat.

“Ahhh.. sorry Troy” she’d sighed, resting her cheek on her hand as she leaned on the table and tilted her cup towards him in apology. “I’m boring you, huh. My company must be pretty terrible then, I’m getting rusty...” He’d turned quickly at the theatrically melancholy in her tone and fidgeted as his eyes flickered between hers and the plate in front of him, clearly alarmed and unsure how to respond. She waited, lifting the cup to hide her smile as the massive man in front of her squirmed like a child, before he finally stuttered out a choked:

“N-no. No. It’s not you. You’re .. fine.” There it was. Now they were getting somewhere, he’d taken the bait exactly as she hoped. Looks like letting others down was a weak-point, and she stored that away mentally for the future. 

His voice was softer than she would have expected, crackly from misuse and a still raw throat, but it was something. Now she had to get him to keep going. She’d flashed a friendly grin at him, eyes narrowing as she beckoned with a finger for him to continue. He’d turned to the food again, and his shoulders sunk as the worry on his face was replaced with the same sadness from before, hand shaking slightly as he rested it by the plate. “It’s n-not you. It’s the food. We... we had something like this at home..” He’d paused for a moment then, looking to her shyly for reassurance that it was ok to be talking to her at all, and when he was met with a nod and gentle smile, he started again... and did not stop for half an hour.

Everything. Things she would never have imagined asking about, things someone else would consider intensely private, he spilled in one long, shocking monologue. It felt like he’d been bottling this for god knows how long, and she hadn’t had a clue how to respond as she sat next to him, trying to keep her expression blank and hide how disturbing the things he was calmly explaining were to her.

Leda, Typhon, Nekrotafeyo, the accident with Tyreen, how dad had just thought him a freak but become overwhelmingly controlling and smothering of Ty after mom, how sick he’d been, how she’d tricked him into coming here and he should have known better but he never seems to learn, how hungry he was deep in his bones all the time, how he desperately didn’t want to be here but can’t leave, how much he loves his sister but doesn’t know what to do, everything.

He’d spoke till his voice was cracking and hoarse from misuse, and that was the only thing that had stopped him from continuing, coughing quietly as he stared at the cold food. If Seifa’s reaction was something he noticed, he wasn’t phased by it, and she’d sat in the terrible silence next to him, struggling to think of what the hell she was meant to say.

“That’s rough, buddy.” wasn’t going to cut it. There was no way she could have been prepared for everything he’d just shared so freely, like it was some mundane chat between close friends and not the kind of secrets a normal person would have the self preservation to know not to blurt out to a near stranger. Words were failing her, so she awkwardly extended a hand and rested it above the hollow of his shoulder, stroking her thumb over the ridge of his collarbone in a comforting gesture, and hoped that any kind of reassurance she could offer right now would lessen how vulnerable the moment was. He’d not reacted, still gazing down at the untouched meal, then timidly cleared his throat and shifted his eyes slowly to meet hers from under his brow. “I.. I don’t think I can eat this” he’d whispered as his voice hitched nervously. “I’m going to go back to sleep. Thanks though.... S-sorry again.” He’d stood and nodded gratitude to her, before quietly lumbering out of the room she remained sitting in shock in, the cold coffee still in the cup held by her mouth. Tyreen had a lot of explaining to do when she got back, and Sei didn’t make it easy.

Asks are Open!

[mae-gi-writes]

Deobi Playlist (EP 10) | The Boyz Imagine

The Boyz x Hospital Playlist inspired drabble series.

Main characters: Kevin, Juyeon, Hyunjae and OC (Mae)

Sides: the rest of The Boyz

Genre: fluff, slice of life, BROMANCE BRUH

EP 1 | EP 2 | EP 3 | EP 4 | EP 5 | EP 6 | EP 7 | EP 8 | EP 9 | EP 10

-----------

"Excuse me."

"Yes," Juyeon whips his head up to see a pregnant woman waddling over to the counter with an expression that looks murderous. Holding her belly against herself with a grocery bag slung over her shoulder, she slams her entire body onto the front counter, which causes him to jump in surprise. 

"How are you, ma'am? How can I help you today?" Juyeon flashes a wan smile, used to dealing with unnerved clients. There's usually always a reason behind their madness.

"I have been waiting for at least an hour!" The woman bellows, practically red in the face, "I'm due in two weeks, and there are so many other pregnant women waiting behind me. How come it's taking so long?"

"Ma'am, I'm sorry we--"

"Do you know how hard it is for us, pregnant women, to sit here in this stuffed waiting room while babies are kicking?!" She interrupts with another yell as Juyeon's hands come up in defense, "I want to see Dr. Bae right now! Right now, you hear me? I'm tired! I want to go home!" 

Panic rises at the back of Juyeon's throat, "I--I am so sorry about this ma'am. But due to the number of patients today, the office is running a little slower than usual. I'm really sorry--"

"I don't want to hear your stupid reasons. I want my appointment!" She bellows, "Now!"

Fear coils through his stomach, a sick feeling tying into knots as his throat dries up with the countless excuses dying on the tip of his tongue. 

Shit, his heart races. How is he supposed to deal with that? 

He'd give anything to be shadowing a doctor right now. 

The door to the doctor's office suddenly slides open, revealing a gentle-eyed Jacob who's gaze quickly flits between them in understanding. The woman doesn't even wait a second, quickly twisting her body and waddling towards him. 

"Dr. Bae, I was just telling your stupid staff here that you need to speed up your process! Do you know how painful it is to be sitting around with that?" She motions towards her belly, legs wide apart and fists clenched at her sides as though she's preparing for battle. 

But Jacob's expression stays unfazed, "I apologize, ma'am. Unfortunately the speed of the diagnosis does not rely solely on me, but my patient."

"Yes, but--"

"Some have--" Jacob pauses, presses his lips together as sympathy flashes through his face, "some have difficult obstacles they've had to face in regards to their pregnancy. Not everyone is as lucky that their baby is growing up to be healthy."

The woman blinks, opening her mouth, then closing it upon realizing that she has been shocked into silence. 

"I understand your frustrations, I really do," Jacob's voice is gentle, a soothing lullaby that instantly makes Juyeon feel like the world is a better place, "but we all have to cooperate a little, work together to make this work. Don't you think?" 

For a moment, there's a complete silence so palpable that Juyeon can hear the ringing in his ears. He can feel the eyes of a multitude of patients drilling into the back of his skull and goosebumps suddenly explode along his arm at the sensation. 

"Alright," the woman finally lets out a grumble, "fine. Whatever."

And she turns around, wobbly on her feet, before plopping back down at her seat looking slightly disconcerted by the effect of Jacob's words. 

Juyeon sends the said doctor a look of utter gratefulness, which Jacob answers with a wink of his own before retreating back into his office. 

Thank god. 

---------

It's been a long day running back and forth between the maternity department and the pediatric ward, but it is only when the last patient bids their goodbyes that Juyeon allows his neutral mask to fall.

"I'm sorry doctor," he bows his head to the ground, not daring to make any kind of eye contact due to the embarrassment coiling through him, "It was my fault. I couldn't calm her down in time."

"No no," Jacob's lips curl up into a smile, face softening with understanding, "it happens all the time. Impatient patients are the norm around here. Mothers-to-be, especially."

"Still, I'm sorry."

"Did that swear you off the Maternity Ward then?" Jacob's smile widens into a teasing grin.

"Maybe."

"Well, if it's of any comfort, it's no better in the other wards."

"What do you mean?" Juyeon frowns. 

"Some of them are always looking for donors, others always doing extra shifts. The pediatric ward is the only one that's doing okay, as of late. Cancer department is just a hole of sadness."

"That's...not very encouraging."

"That's the reality of it," Jacob shrugs, "did you give it any thought? What you wanted to specialize?" 

"I don't know. Cancer, maybe. I'm not good with kids and the Cardiac Department looks like hell. Also, Organs make me squirm."

Jacob laughs at that, the sound bouncing through the room like sunlight, "that's exactly the same reason why I didn't want to specialize in surgery."

"That makes the two of us."

After packing up their belongings and clocking out for the day, Jacob offers to buy Juyeon dinner as a thank-you for helping him throughout the day and though the latter tries his best to refuse, the doctor insists that it's just something he does with all of his underlings, and that not treating Juyeon would just not be right. 

So Juyeon has no other choice but to follow as they walk to the parking lot. They unexpectedly bump into Hyunjae and Changmin in the lobby, causing Jacob to invite them both to join. 

"Why Jacob, I think that's the first time you're buying me dinner," Hyunjae can't help but comment as they settle at one of the tables of Mama's chicken, a small restaurant just down the street from their hospital. Juyeon smacks his thigh in protest, aiming to be subtle while the former stifles his groan of pain. 

"What?" Hyunjae hisses venomously.

"You don't say those kinds of things," Juyeon hisses back.

"You only care because you want him to give you a good review."

"Piss off, Hyunjae." 

The dinner goes surprisingly well considering that Juyeon isn't really familiar with Jacob. Having Hyunjae helps ease the tension between the interns and the doctors, lightening the atmosphere and loosening up his tongue. They share stories about patients, heart-wrenching stories about the ones they lost, and the ones that they managed to save. The more they spoke, the more Juyeon felt like this was the right path he'd chosen, after all this internal dilemma that had cost him a few years. 

"So why did you want to study medicine?" Asks Hyunjae to Changmin, who is already slightly flushed from his second beer. 

"I--uh--I just wanted to make the world a better place," Changmin stammers, ears flushing red, "I don't think I've considered anything else."

"See, this is the problem with interns," Hyunjae shakes a hand at him, "you guys think that being a doctor is honourable. It fucking sucks, okay? Like, it's really shitty. The shittiest of everything shitty in this world."

"Not all that shitty," Jacob intercepts.

Hyunjae scowls at him, "for you, maybe. You work in the Maternity Ward. What's the worst? That a pregnant woman comes screaming at you?" 

At that comment, Juyeon can't help but glance at Jacob, eyes meeting for a quick second in understanding. 

“I think I got used to that,” Jacob answers with a small smile, “Pregnant women don’t scare me.” 

“You’re brave, Dr. Bae,” Hyunjae sniffs, “there’s no way I’d be able to make it.”

“Do you regret choosing to be a surgeon?” Changmin pipes up.

“Nah,” Hyunjae flashes him a grin then, leaning back against his seat and poking Juyeon’s neck as he does so, “couldn’t find myself a better match. Surgery is all I live for. It’s like me against death, and most of the time, I always win.” 

“And the times you don’t?” 

“You win some, you lose some. That’s the reality of it.”

When Jacob and Changmin bid their goodbyes, Juyeon accompanies Hyunjae back to the hospital -- the latter has a night shift. It is his second one in a row -- while throwing his friend a couple of worried glances out of the corner of his eye. 

He knows more than anyone how much Hyunjae gives to the people. No matter how much bravado he puts on about doctors and how medicine really is like a beast you can’t tame, there’s definitely always a sparkle in the said doctor’s eyes whenever he talks about it. Juyeon admires that, and he admires Hyunjae (not that he’ll ever tell him though), but his stomach can’t help but churn with worry when he notices the darkening blue aprons underneath his friend’s eyes, or the tiredness lining them, red-rimmed and mouth pulled down in a way that only suggests he lacks sleep and energy. 

“Hey,” Juyeon speaks up when they reach the hospital doors. Hyunjae looks back at him as he says, “try getting some sleep. You look like crap.” 

“Thanks Juyeon. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“I’m serious, Hyunjae. Continue doing that and you’ll pass out in mid-surgery.” 

“Yeah yeah,” the older man sticks out his tongue in retaliation, “I hear you, mother. You heading home now?” 

“Yup. I’m done for the day. I got tomorrow off too.” 

“Lucky bastard.”

-----

Tagging: @juyeonzz @thesingingfae1905 @gratefulmaria @nochuu17​

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Also, for all those who have sent me requests, don’t worry I’m working on them! they shall be up soon! <3

I’M SO SORRY IT’S SO SHORT FML BUT LIFE IS GETTING IN THE WAY AND MAE IS TRYING TO ADULT AND GO TO JOB INTERVIEWS SO YEAH IM SORRY FHSDLSDLKJDBUT I HOPE YOU LIKE ALL THIS BROMANCE. 

NEXT EP WILL BE FULL OF MAE AND KEV SFKSDHGKDSJGDSLGLDKN <3 

[megabadbunny]

Cosmic Love and Monsters (3/?)

(Just how much has this place changed him? What has this place done to him?)

(sfw version on ff.net; full tags and info on ao3)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

***

Chapter Three: The Empty Man

It’s surreal, how quickly they lapse into some of their old patterns.

(It’s strange, how they don’t lapse at all into others.)

After sprinting down a series of halls and staircases down to his workshop (or “the dungeon” as the Doctor refers to it), without so much as a glance back to see if Rose can keep up in her gown and heels (she can’t, so she slips the heels off and gathers them in her hand with her skirts while she runs), the Doctor pores over the dimension-hopper by the light of a crystal lamp. Breathless with anticipation, squirming in her uncomfortably tight bodice, Rose slips the shoes back on, pulling up her skirts and a stool so she can watch him work.

Swap out the gown for jeans and a hoodie, the surrounding stone walls for coral, and add a rumbling background hum, and they could almost be back on the TARDIS, chatting while the Doctor cobbles together spare bits into some kind of miraculous invention to help them on their adventure to Jupiter or Zrallor X or The Low Kirchief’s Gilded Mausoleum. Or more accurately, Rose tries to chat; the Doctor seems too intently focused on his project to provide satisfactory answers to very many of her questions, brow furrowed and lips pressed tight as he tinkers with the hopper here, makes adjustments there. A pity—after all her work on the Cannon, Rose might actually understand a bit of his technobabble for once (though her suggestion of such just makes the Doctor bark out a short and disbelieving laugh. Still rude, then). Eventually, Rose abandons any attempts to talk shop, casting aside technical anecdotes for information on the Doctor’s last few years, specifically how he ended up here.

(To say this task is like pulling teeth hardly does it justice; it would be more accurate to say the job is like trying to get an unwilling patient to admit they have teeth in the first place.)

“Okay,” Rose says, “so, let me get this straight. The stars going out was just a byproduct of your standard run-of-the-mill Dalek nonsense.”

“Yep.”

“But all that’s resolved now thanks to you, via the usual hand-waving and time magic.”

“Yep.”

“And now all the Time Lords are back somehow, too, cos why not.”

“Yep.”

“And as thanks for all your hard work, they exiled you here, to a prison planet?”

The Doctor heaves an impatient sigh. “Yes, quite. Good to see you’ve maintained your ability to memorize and regurgitate basic information over the years.”

Rose chooses to ignore the barb; if the Doctor has been imprisoned here as long as it seems, it only makes sense he’d have misplaced a couple of social norms—not that he ever kept particularly good track of them to begin with.

“Why, though?” Rose asks.

Shrugging, the Doctor slips on a pair of specs, squinting at the half-disassembled dimension-hopper splayed open on the table before him. Something about its guts exposed to the open air and shining bright beneath the worklamp reminds Rose of a frog being dissected in health class, makes her feel a little queasy.

“Fear,” the Doctor eventually replies, prying out a piece of the hopper with a pair of fine tweezers. “Fear, plain and simple. I have, on occasion, made things a little difficult for them, you see.”

“You? Never,” Rose teases, bumping his shoulder with hers.

Behind his specs, the Doctor’s eyes flash with something that could almost be annoyance, but maybe it’s just a trick of the light. “Couldn’t properly control me, couldn’t properly kill me—it never quite seems to stick, even if it’s a death of the supposedly-permanent variety,” he muses. “Not to mention you never know when a spare genius may come in handy. So, what do you do with the errant Time Lord who’s simultaneously responsible for your inconvenient time-death and subsequent joyous resurrection?”

The hopper lying in pieces in front of him, the Doctor scans each in turn with the sonic, which, Rose notes with a small pang, looks every bit as different from its previous incarnation as the Doctor does. “Why, you make an example of him, of course,” he continues cheerfully. “Strand him on some backwater rock full of barbaric rubes in some unknown corner of the universe, enclose the entire thing in an impenetrable looping EMP field that fries the gears of any kind of transport more technologically advanced than a rowboat, and point and laugh at him while he lives out his remaining regenerations without the ability to so much as reconfigure a Time Rotor, much less wreak havoc across the universe.”

He wrenches apart a spare component with perhaps more force than is entirely necessary. “The perfect punishment for the perfect fucking crime,” he mutters, grimacing in disgust.

The cursing surprises Rose a little—has she ever heard the Doctor properly swear before?—but even the Doctor has got his limits, Rose knows, and his time on this so-called barbaric planet must have taken its toll. She wonders exactly how long he’s been here in this nameless place, wherever and whatever here actually is.

(She wonders what has happened to him in his time here, how much a place like this could change somebody.)

“So, tell me more about this prison planet,” says Rose, glancing at the marble walls all around them, painted in flickering shadow by the crystal worklamps. “It’s all sort of posh for that, isn’t it?”

“I think you and I have got different definitions of posh.”

Rose laughs. “I think you and I have got different definitions of prison. Or do all Time Lord jails look like something King Arthur’d live in? And why all that bit out in the arena, anyway? Is it some sort of twisted Time Lord entertainment thing?”

“You really don’t let up with the questions, do you?” the Doctor says irritably.

Taken aback, Rose furrows her brow in concern, but she must have misinterpreted his tone, because not a second later he’s shooting her a wide, winning smile, one she can’t help but return. It’s like magic, the way her lips stretch to mirror his, like she couldn’t stop even if she wanted to. Thank god some things are still the same.

“What?” she asks, laughing.

“Oh, nothing.” He returns to his work, but his smile stays firmly in place, as if plastered there. “Had a bit of déjà vu is all. Scoping out evidence and piecing together the clues, just like the good ol’ days. Rose and the Doctor.”

“The old team,” Rose supplies.

“Holmes and Watson,” the Doctor beams.

“Elton and Bernie.”

“Jekyll and Hyde.”

“What on earth’d you want to be them for?” laughs Rose.

“Why not?”

“Isn’t one of them a beast? Just a wild animal in the shape of a man?”

The Doctor chuckles. “Well, that pretty much describes you, doesn’t it?”

“Oi,” Rose laughs. She’s a little disgruntled at the insult, but she playfully swats his arm all the same. “Don’t go saying any of that ape stuff again. That’s one thing from my first Doctor that I don’t miss.”

“Your Doctor?” the Doctor asks slyly, one eyebrow piqued.

Warmth blossoms across Rose’s cheeks as she registers the implications of her statement, his reaction after. But rather than scoot it under the rug like she would have done once upon a time, when she was so much younger and still had so, so much to learn, she simply looks the Doctor square in the eye, and smiles.

“Yeah, that’s right,” she says, her stomach flipping funny little somersaults in her gut all the while. “My Doctor.”

The Doctor chuckles deep in his throat, a funny little noise that would sound patronizing coming from anyone but him. “Been thinking like that for a while now, have you?”

“Might’ve done.”

“Rather possessive of you.”

“Pretty rich coming from He-Who-Glowers-At-Pretty-Boys.”

“Good point. Maybe it’s my Rose instead, ever think of that?”

Her stomach flutters. “Nah, my Doctor’s got a better ring to it.”

“Hmm,” he replies thoughtfully. Braiding together bits of wire, the Doctor furrows his brow in concentration, his tongue peeking pinkly between his teeth. Rose can’t help but wonder if he subconsciously absorbed the gesture from her. “Don’t know if I’ve ever belonged to someone before.”

“How does it feel?”

The Doctor glances up at her. “Risky. But I’ve always liked a bit of danger,” he says, with a wink.

Warmth floods through Rose and she beams at him like an idiot as the hopper beeps in his hands, a cheerful tweet-a-tweet-tweet that makes the Doctor whoop and slap his thigh. “And that right there, do you know what that sound is? That’s the new EMP-resistant multi-passenger pre-initialization process, letting us know we’ll be ready for a jump out of this hellhole any moment now,” the Doctor says gleefully. “That, Rose Tyler, is the sound of victory. We do indeed make quite the team, don’t we?”

He holds the half-disassembled hopper out to her expectantly, his smile radiating pure joy, and maybe it’s just the tightness of her corset taking her breath away, but it’s like all the air has left the room. He may look and sound like a stranger, his edges may be rough and his words too, but he’s the closest thing to the Doctor that Rose has seen in years—he is the Doctor—and Christ, does Rose want to kiss him—so that’s exactly what she does. On impulse, her heart hammering madly in her ears, she leans forward, accepting the hopper as she bridges the distance between them so she can press the gentlest of kisses to the Doctor’s lips.

Fighting the emotion that threatens to well up upon first contact—the nights of longing and waiting and pining and hoping, the brief handful of moments in which she allowed herself to imagine that any of this might be possible, what it would all look like, how it would all feel—Rose closes her eyes, preparing to lose herself in the kiss. To happily drown. But no more than a second after her lips touch his, the Doctor violently jerks back, punctuating the air with a knife-sharp gasp as he scrambles away from her.

The two of them stare at each other, wide-eyed, Rose frowning in confusion, the Doctor watching her warily, wide-eyed. He looks for all the world like someone who’s just had a nasty electric shock, a caged prisoner backing into the corner after a bad bout with a cattle-prod.

(Admittedly, she hadn’t given him much warning, but how had she managed to misread the moment so badly? How had she managed to so badly misread him?)

“Erm, sorry,” Rose says shakily, her toes clenching uncomfortably in their pumps. She runs a hand through her hair, her cheeks flushing flame-red from embarrassment. “I just assumed…”

Chest heaving with exertion, the Doctor watches her wordlessly, eyes wild and unblinking. Rose wonders. It’s a bit much, isn’t it, his reaction? She understands if her actions caught him a little off-guard, but surely a mere chaste kiss wouldn’t be enough to throw someone so violently off-kilter. She remembers Cassandra using her hands to draw him close and practically snog his face off, apropos of literally nothing, and certainly he was a little stunned afterward, but nothing like this. Nothing at all like this.

“I’m sorry,” Rose repeats.

(Just how much has this place changed him? What has this place done to him?)

“Doctor?” Rose asks when he doesn’t respond, concerned. “Are you all right?”

A quiet knock at the door breaks the Doctor’s manic silence, and secretly, Rose is glad for the distraction. “What is it?” the Doctor snaps, causing Rose to jump.

“So sorry, your Lordship,” peeps a timid voice on the other side of the heavy wooden door. “But you said if we had any news—”

Within several long strides the Doctor has crossed the room, yanking open the door to reveal a furry mammalian young attendant trembling in the hallway. It’s difficult for Rose to make out the Doctor’s words, his back turned to her and his voice as low as it is, but she can see in the sharp set of his shoulders that he’s working to hide tension, nearly trembling with the effort of keeping himself calm.

“What did I say about interrupting me here?” Rose can just barely hear him say.

The attendant shrinks away from him, unable to meet his gaze. “You said Never ever, your Lordship.”

“Excellent, so your hearing is unimpaired at least, as is your memory. Why, then, are you darkening my door now? Which part of never or ever escaped your understanding? What part of my instructions did your Cretaceous-era brain manage to so woefully misconstrue?”

The attendant’s gaze flickers down to the sonic, lying prone on the table where the Doctor dropped it, and she flinches. Rose wonders at that.

“But, my Lordship,” the attendant stammers. “You also said that—”

“It’s Your Lordship,” the Doctor snaps, and the attendant shrinks away from him. “And you would do well to remember that.”

He slams the door in the attendant’s face before she can reply, heaving an irritated sigh. For a moment, he just stands there, face to the door, muttering under his breath, ostensibly to himself, though Rose honestly can’t tell—she can’t make out anything he’s saying, now. She’s willing to bet it’s nothing good, though.

(Nothing about this feels good.)

Rose shakes herself. She’s being unfair. Surely that’s it. He’s just a little different now, that’s all this is. He’s a little different, new body, new personality, landlocked on a new and horrible planet, but he’s got all the same experience, the same memories, the same important stuff, and she’s just having trouble adjusting.

It’s not him. It’s her. It’s got to be.

Besides, it isn’t unlike the Doctor to be inconsiderate, rude, even a little cruel at times, much as Rose hates to admit it. He is, after all, the man who took her to see the destruction of her home planet for their first date, who touted the nonconsensual use of dead bodies as “recycling” and seemed to think that life as a paving slab was, in any way, acceptable—the same man who agreed to let her watch her father die in the street, who destroyed Harriet Jones’ life with only six simple words and no second thoughts. Surely this behavior isn’t any worse than what Rose has witnessed before, or there must be context that she’s missing, or his time on this planet has been harder on him than she knows. Maybe he’s rankled by his powerlessness here, or maybe he has grown numb to it all, yet another series of tragedies marring a landscape already pitted and scorched with death and loss. Maybe it’s the Time War all over again and he’s actually sad and weary behind that ever-present smile, secretly crushed beneath the great stone wheel of resignation as dozens or possibly hundreds of people die in the sand before him day after day—which is something he surely doesn’t have any control over, or surely he would have stopped it by now. Surely Rose is just overreacting to things.

Surely the suspicion slowly ramping up in her gut is wrong.

(Why would that girl look at the sonic like she was afraid of it?)

“Boy, I tell you, the help these days,” Rose says, forcing out the joke despite the nausea rising in her throat. She grips the hopper a little too tightly. “Downright shame, isn’t it?”

(Please, please let him know it’s a joke.)

She throws her hands up in the air helplessly. “What are you gonna do?”

“Tell me about it,” grumps the Doctor.

Rose swallows. “A little useless, aren’t they?”

“Preaching to the choir.”

“You’d think they’d have at least a little respect for your Lordship.”

A sigh. “Yes, you would think that, wouldn’t you?”

“Why do they call you that, anyway?” Rose asks, fighting to keep her voice casual. Inconspicuous. Her grip around the hopper is slippery with sweat, and suddenly her gown is claustrophobic, clinging to her, strangling the air out of her lungs even worse than before. “I mean, probably just because of the whole superior species thing, right? Everything just sort of falling into its natural order, you rising to your rightful place at the top?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Uh-huh. Except, I thought you said you were imprisoned here?”

“Oh, I was,” the Doctor mutters darkly. “I may be at the top of the food chain in this dungeon, but it’s still a dungeon, believe me.”

“Yeah, right,” says Rose, her breath tightening in her throat. “Is that why that girl was so afraid of you just now?”

The Doctor’s head quirks back in her direction, but he doesn’t turn back around to face her. Instead, his shoulders tighten, almost imperceptibly. “Couldn’t tell you, really,” he says. “Probably just your standard barbaric fear of tech and anyone associated with it. Likely the dratted thing hasn’t so much as come in contact with a toaster before I arrived. But it is little more than a circus animal, after all.”

“Makes sense,” Rose says coolly despite the several thousand alarm bells that have begun ringing out in her skull, because when has the Doctor ever referred to a sentient being as it? “‘Cept you said earlier that all your machines were gone. But you’ve got a sonic right there.”

The Doctor faces her with a shrug and a grin. “Just built a new one, didn’t I?”

“Of course, makes sense, what with all the materials available to you here, the barbarism and the nothing-more-advanced-than-a-rowboat and all.”

“Oh, you know me,” says the Doctor, plucking his screwdriver off the table. “I’m resourceful.”

“You’re off, is what you are,” Rose insists, stepping back.

Eying her suspiciously, the Doctor laughs. It’s a surprisingly nasty sound, nothing like before, and did his teeth always look so sharp, or so many? “What a curious little human,” he says, tucking the screwdriver away before wedging his hands in his pockets with a tight squeak of leather against wool. “Careful, now, or you’ll say something I’ll regret.”

“Sort of like calling the TARDIS a machine? Since when does the Doctor do that?”

“Since now,” replies the Doctor, his grin broadening. 

“And since when would you let something like a missing TARDIS stop you from doing what’s right, anyway?” Rose asks, backing away further, watching the Doctor as he follows after. Slowly, like a lion in tall grass, stalking its prey. Rose doesn’t stop until the worktable is solidly between them.

“Why haven’t you stopped those fights in the arena, Doctor?” she asks.

She swallows. “Are you even really the Doctor?”

“What a question!” the Doctor laughs. “A man changes his face and his voice and his personality and all of a sudden he must be a new person, mustn’t he? What a narrow conception of personhood, what an over-simplified view of the world, what a narrow little mind you have, Miss Tyler.”

Then he leans in over the table, his lips stretching thin and wide like a cheap Halloween mask. “Though I will admit, I’m not quite feeling myself these days.”

Rose’s grip tightens on the hopper till her arm shakes with the force of it.

“Who are you?” she asks quietly.

Before the Doctor—or the man who used to be the Doctor, or the man pretending to be—has a chance to answer, the hopper chirps in her hand once more, another chipper tweet-a-tweet-tweet, tweet-a-tweet-tweet shattering the silence. Pulse roaring in her ears, Rose acts without hesitation, smacking the button that will take her home.

And—

Nothing.

Horror washes over Rose like a tidal wave as the man chuckles under his breath.

“Pity,” he murmurs, clicking his tongue in disappointment. “But you know what they say; If at first you don’t succeed—”

Rose bites back a gasp as the man’s gaze flickers up to hers, his eyes dark, now, boring into her like a pair of cold-burning fires.

“Shall we try again, my love?” he asks, mouth curling into a smile, and the second he lunges for her is the second Rose hurls the hopper to the ground and shatters it with her heel.

Quick as a blink, Rose darts off and grabs a tool off the table to chuck at the man’s face but suddenly white-hot pain lances violently through her neck and head, sharp enough that she drops her makeshift weapon with a clang as she doubles over. Glowing white tendrils arc through her vision like lightning before receding, taking the pain with them. Gasping, Rose tries to stand, to run, but the pain strikes again, so hard it throws her to her knees.

“What—” she tries to gasp out, but the pain surges again, like a fire spreading from her throat to her skull to each and every nerve ending in her body, leaving her spasming and helpless. Through the haze of hurt and shock, Rose looks up to see the man aiming his sonic at her—at her collar. The collar that’s so much like the one the attendants all wear, Rose realizes belatedly.

And that girl saw the sonic screwdriver, and she was so afraid—

Swearing, scrambling backward over the floor, Rose reaches up to tear the damned collar off her neck but the man hits her with another blast from the sonic, one strong enough to make her shout. The pain strikes like a lorry, twisting and wrenching her muscles and clenching the air from her lungs. Choking, Rose slumps to her hands and knees. Black bleeds into the edges of her vision, ink creeping in at the corners, and she knows she hasn’t got long before her body surrenders.

“Who are you?” she spits out, fighting for air, for control, for anything.

“Finally! A question worth asking,” the man chuckles. “Though to be quite honest with you, I haven’t really had a proper name for a while now.”

Rose can’t make him out through her darkening field of vision, but she can hear his footsteps approaching, swears she can hear his smile, stretching wide and vicious over rows of eager teeth.

“But,” says the man’s voice, suddenly very close now, “you can call me Master.”

His laughter is the last thing Rose hears before darkness swallows her.

***

Previous | Next

[sanchoyo]

25 + 41 Spinaraki (happy things for the boys)(or not, your choice)

Fantasy + First kiss! I hope u like this bc. I Don’t Know Beans about Fantasy as a genre. :”D TY for requesting! (And sorry for the delay, I have Weird Split Off Days :( )

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

“I gotta kiss you, man.”

“No.”

“I gotta! We have to break this curse somehow!”

I said no!” 

Tomura was currently not hiding behind the couch; he was strategically crouching and avoiding, actually.

So, he’d been cursed. Their little guild of thieves and murderers had been attacked, and he’d gotten in the line of fire of a particularly skilled and spiteful witch. The stupid hag had declared ‘He who hates all cannot break the curse until he loves, realized the love, and seals the love with a kiss! That alone can break the curse!’

So. He’d been cursed in the most inconvenient way for him personally; corny as hell and unrealistic. Removing the witches head from her neck hadn’t broken the curse like he’d expected, his rot touch doing nothing to stop the hot pulse in his blood, the tell-tale, white hot pain of a curse. 

And sure, he’d been cursed before; this one was nasty, too intricate for him to untwine himself with his own black magic. His magic carried the death aura; it wasn’t a healing touch, it could only destroy.

He’d asked Sako about it, but the man had scoffed, declaring he was an illusionist, not a wizard or warlock. Magic was magic, wasn’t it? 

Toga was into blood magic, and knew a lot about love, and how to work with it alongside black magic- but she shrugged. She said wasn’t a healer. 

Dabi’s pyromancy would be useless; Twice’s doubling illusions didn’t even enter his mind. And neither did Spinner, because he couldn’t even use magic; sure, he was a strong fighter, but-

His head hit the underside of the abandoned tavern’s bar, alerting Shuichi to his location. He cursed.

“Dude, come on!”

“It’s not just a kiss to break it, I’ve said that already!” Besides, with his death aura, if anyone kissed him they’d probably die, right? “The hag said I have to love someone, and I don’t really love anyone!”

“But you like the league,” He pointed out. “So any of us could work, we don’t know until we try!” Spinner threw a toned arm against the wall, blocking the exit. “C’mon, I don’t want you to die, so I’m saying I don’t mind!”

“How generous,” He slipped under his arm, ignoring the indignant squawk. “No.”

“Really?! We need you!”

“Obviously, but I’m not going to die. I’ve almost died lots of times. We’ll break this curse. Besides, you probably suck at kissing. Have you ever even kissed anyone?”

“That’s- that’s rude.” He didn’t answer the question. “I just wanna help, man.”

And it would be inconvenient if he died; so what the hell? They were alone in the tavern anyway. He didn’t want it to seem like he wasn’t willing to try, and like hell he was flustered or something.

“Fine.” 

As many quests as they’d been on, Shigaraki had never even stopped to consider things like ‘romance’ or ‘kissing’; those were things reserved for normal peasants who needed more hands in the field, and royalty who had no say in who they married; Romance was a tool to sire the next generation of aristocrats and workers. 

To say he had a cynical view about the subject was an understatement, but he thought it was realistic. A fairy tale, to ensure the population didn’t plummet. It had it’s purpose, even if it was a lie.

“Fine? Oh, uh,” Shuichi slicked his hair back; there was a visible sheen of sweat on his face and on the pads of his palms. “Right, let’s do it!”

“Don’t make a big deal about it,” He snorted; but his own heart twitched, and his breath hitched. “And don’t regret it if there’s any side effects.”

“Nah, I won’t.” The other man’s voice was quieter. Their faces got closer, and…

They touched lips. Their noses bumped awkwardly, neither of them even shutting their eyes, or moving to- god forbid- open their mouths. After a moment, when he felt Shuici’s hot breath huff on his face, he pulled away.

“Well. That was stupid.”

“I was trying!” At least he seemed to be embarrassed; Shigaraki could barely tear his eyes away from him, amusement bubbling up. 

“Maybe we should try again; I still feel the curse.”

“Shit, stop teasing me! I’m going to go to the library and look into it!” He practically ran away; wasn’t that interesting? 

He tilted his head, and thought about it. It was a pretty bad kiss. 

So why’d be wanna try again?

                                  ---------

So he kept thinking about how Shuichi’s embarrassed face looked, and his own pride being at stake; besides, it was kind of sweet how loyal the dragonic knight was, willing to kiss his leader to help lift a curse.

“Hey, how are you? Is the curse..does it hurt?” A few days had past. All of them had been busy, looking into fixing it in their own ways; Spinner’d just gotten back from a binge at the library, and after pouring over the tombs, had admitted he couldn’t find a solution yet. 

“Yeah, not too different from normal.” It had faded in the background, like a hazy filter of constant pain, and he’d gotten used to it. It hurt, but he hurt pretty often anyway. Even if he was slowly dying, wasn’t that always the case?

“Hey, kiss me again.”

Shuichi sputtered, nearly spilt the drink he was holding, and looked at him with moon-sized eyes.

“What?”

“I wanna try again; don’t you think it sucked the first time?”

“Seriously, fuck you man.” Shuichi was mad? He frowned. He’d known he’d been a shut in before joining them, did he think he was honestly teasing him? 

“No, I wasn’t kidding. It’s distracting, I keep thinking about it.”

“...What, about the curse? We already-”

“No, about kissing you.” And he moved from his perch on the couch, putting a hand on the end of it and leaning over him. “As pushy as you were the first time, you don’t wanna now?”

“That’s- I…” Shuichi blinked. “You want to kiss me?”

“You don’t want to? I can do better.” he was determined to.

Shuichi’s eyes flickered to his lips, then back to his eyes. It was so quiet he could hear him gulp down saliva. “Sure I do.” He mumbled. “But it’s just a game to you. Ever since our last battle, when you were talking about how you’d show us that beautiful horizon, I wanted to, but it’s not..I’m your knight.”

“Since when,” He asked, slowly licking his lips. “ Since when do we follow the usual rules of the heroic guilds? What’s inappropriate for them is the norm for us; we have no honor, so don’t do acting noble now. Besides, remember what I said back then?”

“What did you say?” It was whispered, and Shuichi was looking so desperately at him that Tomura’s heart almost stopped completely.

“I said the wishes of my comrades were the only thing I wouldn’t destroy; they’re my wishes, too. So if there’s something you want, it’s my job to make sure you get it.” 

“I can’t break your curse.” Shuichi broke the gaze. “I can’t-”

“I wasn’t asking you to; I just want you to do what you want.” 

Shuichi hesitated, and was painfully gentle when he finally reached up, ran his claws through Tomura’s hair, and pulled him lower, closing the distance.

“Don’t regret any of the side effects.” Shuichi echoed his own words, softly.

“Like the witch said, I can’t love anyone, so I’ll be fine,” He tilted his head, and closed his eyes, and felt a glow, warm across his chest, bloom like a flower. 

He let his hands drift on Shuichi’s face, with care not to use five fingers. He’d never been this close to anyone; he felt like he had a fever, like he was melting. 

When he pulled away, Shuichi’s eyelashes fluttered open. He was left breathless; Was this what he’d been wishing for? 

How long had he wanted to kiss him back and hadn’t realized? He’d been jealous of the devotion the knight had had towards the blood rogue Stain, and wanted that, selfishly, to be on him; maybe he’d wanted it for a while, after all. Maybe he wanted more. Maybe...

The dull throb of the curse had faded, and he laughed to spite the witch, and because it felt euphoric to realize he wasn’t born solely from hate, but could also…

“S-Shigaraki?” Shuichi avoided his gaze. “Stop laughing, I actually tried this time-”

“You did fine; but I’m not happy with it.” He hummed. “I don’t like it if I’m not the best at it, so we have to again. Even if the curse was broken.”

“What?! I- I broke it?! Then- you-” Shuichi turned an adorable shade of pink, turning away. “What the hell, you can’t just- I gotta go!” A little spurt of fire blew out of his nostrils, making the room smell like smoke. 

He let him run out again, knowing full well he’d be back. And he fell back on the couch, grinning at the ceiling alone, heart racing, face hot.

Maybe Spinner was his horizon; beautiful, destructive, and bright. And Tomura?

 Tomura loved him.

[transfemininomenon]

Hey, i'm actually a "truscum" i found out recently, but im a little confused on the whole ordeal. Im not even sure if i actually am truscum or not- because some posts seem to tie up with me being one but others dont, but i saw you were really against them, so i wanted to ask if you're okay with a friendly calm conversation about it? I am very confused and i just want to learn a bit more or find out if i'm wrong about the whole ordeal. Are you open to it?

i'll be honest im not sure how friendly i can be with this kind of conversation because i really truly genuinely, and i don't use this word lightly, Hate truscum and its hard for me to really be civil about the discussion. but for the sake of this and me giving you a lot of benefit of the doubt that this ask is in good faith i'll explain why i do not like the entire truscum ideology

1. i guess i'll start off with the Big One - the claim that dysphoria is Required to be trans. i'll preface this by saying that i am someone who has experienced, and currently Experiences in wildly different degrees depending on what is happening in my life, dysphoria throughout my entire life. i had my entire teenage and young adult years stolen from me by it. i won't get into details about it because that is a Very Very Personal subject for me, but needless to say dysphoria is something that was a very prevalent part of my life.

anyway. the notion that dysphoria is a Trans Requirement™ is something that i hugely disagree with. i used to think that me figuring out i was a trans woman was because i experienced dysphoria, but frankly the opposite is true. dysphoria is what made me refuse to believe i was a woman or could ever be one. it made me believe i was a man and that was all i would ever be. it wasn't until i really started experimenting with my gender and unpacking a lot of stuff i felt about myself that i started to finally realize the woman i was. i first started trying our she/her pronouns nearing four years now, and started using the name Alice a few months after that. being referred to as a woman & experimenting with different feminine things gave me such incredible feelings of euphoria that i still experience to this day whenever i discover something new about my identity.

and that is something ive heard from SO many other trans people i know. or different things too - i know people who are completely fine with their bodies, just certain words and terms never felt Right to them. because the thing with dysphoria is that it, like all things gender related, is a product of society. dysphoria only exists because transphobia exists - people are told that there are these two rigid things that you are and HERE is what makes you one of those things, and those things are drilled into you literally since birth. everything from colors to jobs to hobbies to cars to entertainment to clothing to Literally Everything is gendered, and when that happens then of fucking course there are gonna be people who don't fall in line with that, and when it's so instilled into people and seen as such societal norms of COURSE people are going to have trouble with that.

and that's not even getting into the subject of gender on a biological level. the fact of the matter is that the two sex system Isn't True and that biological sex is very complicated. intersex people exist, people with all kinds of different chromosomes exist, people of certain body types that have higher levels of different hormones exist, SO much goes into that subject that frankly narrowing it down to two things just doesn't Work

and that's the real problem at the end of the day. dysphoria only exists because of a fucked up gender binary that clashes with both biology and sociology. people are complicated on both a biological and personal level and having set binaries for things is bound to cause confusion & doubt.

like, people's identities are SUCH personal things in so many different ways. there isn't any Right Way™ to be trans. i know trans women with beards, trans women who have no interest in starting hrt, trans men who wear dresses and makeup, non-binary people who make no effort to be androgynous, i know SO many different identities and different people. because the fact is that there's no right way to be trans because nothing is inherently gendered including people's very bodies. people are themselves and there is no Right way to be themselves.

that's on top of the lack of education when it comes to the subject of gender. such a huge part too of me figuring out i was trans was literally learning that it was even a fucking option. i genuinely didn't know just Being A Girl was an option. reading up on gender stuff and researching the different idea of transitioning was intrinsic in my figuring out who i was because oh shit turns out there are people like me and that is Okay.

like, dysphoria literally could've been a non-issue for me. i could've lived in a world where i could just Exist and enjoy whatever i wanted without it being weird. i could've decided so much sooner that i wasn't happy with the way my body was growing and not spent my entire teen years being so confused why i was so sad seeing my girl peers. i could have from the start just gotten to be a girl and never have had dysphoria be part of the equation.

im not trans being i experience dysphoria. im trans because being a woman is rad as hell and it's what i wanted. im trans because changing my name to Alice was the biggest moment of my entire life. im trans because rebelling against the societal restraints of gender is fucking metal. im trans because my friends can't even remember me ever not being me now. im trans because im a great older sister. im trans because god nerfed me and i said nah thanks man but im not feeling it.

my identity and my gender are very personal and complicated things, and narrowing it down to "i experience dysphoria" is frankly insulting to me.

anyway, that's the big point out of the way, so here's some shorter ones

2. this is kinda expanding on the last point, but truscum both insisting non-binary people aren't a thing and them insisting "transtrenders" exist is hmm Bad

the sheer fact of the matter is the concept of being non-binary has existed from the oldest known records of human history on TOP of that concept being prevalent in many different cultures so what do ya know there's a healthy dose of racism involved in the denial of non-binary people. the gender binary is such a western concept and there are SO many different cultures where different gender identities exist.

and, frankly, going back to the above point that gender is fucking Fake and is a societal concept - again, of fucking course there are going to be people who see a rigid set of rules on gender and are like "well wait that doesn't fit me" so of COURSE non-binary people exist

on the subject of "transtrenders" i feel like i shouldn't even HAVE to get into this subject because of how inherently transphobic it is. the concept doesn't exist. there are people who experiment with their gender and then decide their assigned one is fine. there are people who go through all kinds of different identities. there are people who come out as a different gender and then revert back due to backlash. there are people who get told the way they present their gender is the Wrong Way™ and get branded a trender. it's a dangerous thought process that literally does nothing but serve the cis status quo and make people afraid to experiment and think about their identities.

3. the idea that Those Evil Trenders™ are stealing resources from the Real Trans People™ is, frankly, fucking bullshit. issues when it comes to trans people finding difficulty accessing healthcare comes from a transphobic society hellbent on denying us care on top of fucked up healthcare systems in general. hormones aren't some limited quality hard to acquire thing - when i started hrt transferring my prescription from my clinic to my local pharmacy was a non-issue because it's something basically any pharmacy will have for ALL kinds of different purposes. it's an issue because healthcare in general is a god damn Mess on TOP of inherent transphobia

and, frankly, truscum are directly involved in that transphobia in the medical field. unless you find an informed consent clinic you're going to have to jump through all kinds of hoops to prove you're Actually Trans™ by getting referrals from other (almost always cis) people and then get put on ridiculous waitlists to make sure you're not about to change your mind. that kind of attitude is only encouraged by truscum and it is one of the biggest source of trans people having such difficulty accessing healthcare.

4. truscum as far as im concerned are no different than any other transphobe. two years ago before i started hrt i was harassed by truscum multiple times, each time having them tell me i wasn't trans, that i was just a trender, and it genuinely boggles my mind that anyone thinks misgendering me because i disagreed with their ideology is Woke, actually. I've seen so many fellow trans women getting called men by truscum who disagreed with them. i was actively told i shouldn't start hrt because i "wasn't really trans and was gonna ruin my life"

i really hope all of people live in anger every day knowing ive been on hrt over a year and a half and am fucking Thriving

anyway that's all i got to say on the matter i realize my points became less thought out as it went on but frankly the first point is enough for me to not like truscum

(please refrain from reblogging this i don't want any clowns in my inbox)

[athena1138]

2 and 7 for the oc ask

Ty sweetie

I’m in a weird mood so I’m gonna just do like... a shitton of ocs for both. (I’ll do DA first) 

What are your OC’s food preferences (flavors/textures/spiciness/calories/ when and how they eat) and how did they get that way?

Missella: She’s a simple woman, not overtly gluttonous or anything. She doesn’t need anything overly fancy to be happy, just some hearty stew is fine. But she does really enjoy lots of flavor. It took some getting used to because she’d been in the Circle all her life, but food on the outside is just. Incredible. She can’t get enough. And when she and Zevran start traveling outside of plain-ass Ferelden? Oh shit. Her mind is just. Blown. At the end of the day though, her comfort food is still simple stuff. Give her some bread and soup and she’s more than happy. 

Mireena: Much like Alistair, she’s all about sweets. And cheese. And boy can she pack it away. She has to learn how to reign it in once she’s queen, but it’s not uncommon for her to be walking around with just a smidge of chocolate on her mouth. The only foods she can’t stand are overly spicy things, and her favorite non-dessert food is her father’s meatloaf. 

Belladonna: She’s one of the more reserved in terms of food. She doesn’t eat a lot, and she’s very slow and careful about it. She was raised like a lady, and though she’s forgotten her lessons over the years, she maintains excellent posture and impeccable table manners (aside from stealing Varric’s food and wine.) But she also goes without quite a bit. It’s not uncommon for her to go off of one or fewer meals a day. She frequently sees other things as more important (i.e., training, research, etc.) She’s fondest of fruits. 

Anna: Anna is a big woman with a big appetite. She loves food. Anything and everything, she’s down. She does have quite a bit of self consciousness regarding it, though, because she’s so large. She struggles with it because she loves food and eating but she doesn’t like standing out, doesn’t like what people say about her. It’s easier when she’s not in public. She cooks big meals for everyone before missions, and she randomly goes over to cook for Fenris or invites him to her home. Big meals, sprawling across the table. Legs of meat, racks of ribs, vegetables galore, fruits, breads. It’s enough to make the Vikings weep with joy. 

Alena: She doesn’t eat much, really. Especially after Adamant, when she’s still recovering, she has to be reminded/forced to eat quite frequently. She’s a little pickier, sometimes. She can’t eat anything on the bone, and she doesn’t like combating textures (like nuts in cookies or pasta not cooked through.) Growing up in the Circle (and unliked in the Circle) and then Kirkwall and the Gallows, she’s learned how to subsist on as little as possible, and that just kind of becomes her norm until she begins settling in with Cullen. He had to teach himself how to eat again, so he teaches her how to eat, and they just sort of help each other stay on top of it. She likes sweets best, especially if they have fruit in them. Chocolate covered cherries are p much the greatest thing she’s ever eaten. And cheese. 

Asena: Another big woman with a big appetite, but she’s ridiculously mannerful. She favors meats and vegetables the most, but she also enjoys a good dessert. (She’s an amazing baker and cake decorator.) 

Val (Castlevania): This bitch loves her some spicy food. She doesn’t eat like.. a LOT. But she eats rather frequently. 

Marynn (DND): She loves everything, but tavern food is her favorite (mostly because she grew up in a tavern.) Give her a soft pretzel and some cheese and watch her become the happiest dwarf you’ve ever met. And she eats a lot when she can, but “when she can” is a very flexible phrase which here means “when she remembers.” 

Theni (DND): She’s huge, man. Tall and ripped as shit. Like. She’s a literal goliath. So she has to eat a lot, loads of proteins and carbs. She likes pastas the most, especially with meatballs. 

Darsys (DND): She’s a soft girl. She’s so quiet and gentle. You’d have no idea looking at her that she can and does eat more than her goliath compatriot both in terms of portions and frequency. Anything and everything she can get her hands on, she’s packing it away. (But like. Not in a gross way, like she’s a very polite eater. She just... takes a minute.) Above all else, though, she enjoys a well-put-together salad. 

Ellie (DND): She eats an average amount, really. 2-3 meals a day, not huge portions. She enjoys fluffy bread best. 

Kria (Outer Worlds): Bruh. She eats... so much. Just. So much. And it’s all candy. 90% of her diet is just. Candy. All day every day. You look into her satchel, half of the weight she has is just fucking wrappers. None of the crew has any idea how she’s alive. 

Morgana (Arcana): Bread and cheese man, that’s all it takes. Morgana isn’t a lavish liver by any means. She enjoys fine foods, but it gets to be too much quite frequently which makes her relationship with Lucio a bit strained at times. She’s such a simple woman, it can be ridiculous. Her favorite food is lamb kadai with rice, cooked at a medium-spicy level.

Neoma (Arcana): Nah. She hates eating. She has so many better things to be doing, she’d rather do them. She’ll eat as little as possible as infrequently as possible. It pisses Portia off to no end. The one food she could eat every week would be fried egg sandwiches, but really that’s like.. it. She just. Hates it. 

Caro (Arcana): Caro’s quite sensible. Her idea of “pigging out” is an extra piece of pumpkin bread every now and then. She’s very natural in her meals--just fruits, vegetables, salads. Not a lot of meats. And she eats a decent amount, maybe 3-4 meals a day just because none of what she eats is very hearty. 

Realistically, could your OC (in their normal circumstances- i.e. at thier own house/battlecamp/spaceship etc.) keep a small child alive for a week if they had to?  A Dog?  A Houseplant? A rock with a  smiley face painted on?

Missella: Oh, yeah, definitely. But would she? That’s the question. She’s not a maternal type. Petruchio is about all she can handle, really. 

Mireena: SHE CAN DAMN WELL TRY! Lysander has faired well thus far. Surely a child couldn’t be too different, could it? (She’ll find out because she and Alistair end up having twin daughters the year after Corypheus’s defeat.) 

Belladonna: Eh.. Ye....ah? She’d really... rather not find out. Caliban is it for her. No babies here, no sirree. *cough except for the elf baby they adopt and then their son when she’s 45 cough*

Anna: She’s dope as shit as a mom, are you kidding? She didn’t want to be one, and she’d never really thought about it before because she’s a mage and mages aren’t allowed to have children, but her daughter is the literal cutest. 

Alena: Oh. God no. Just. No. She’s. No. She can barely keep herself alive let alone something else. No. She doesn’t even really take care of the dogs or cats. Cullen does the dogs and the cats just kinda... come and go as they please, so. No. Please don’t make her responsible for something else again she’s so weak and tired. 

Asena: SHE’LL HATE EVERY MOMENT OF IT BUT GIVE HER ALL OF THE THINGS TO TAKE CARE OF AND SHE ABSOFUCKINLUTELY WILL. 

Val (Castlevania): Yeah, she’s alright. She’s not super maternal, but she’d do the job admirably. 

Marynn (DND): *incoherent laughter*

Theni (DND): I mean. In theory? In practice.....

Darsys (DND): Elven children are pretty hard to fuck up anyways, so, probably. She’s far more comfortable with a plant, though. Preferably a succulent. 

Ellie (DND): Please don’t. She’d probably in all honestly even fail at the rock. 

Kria (Outer Worlds): Same as Ellie. Except worse. Because she’d straight up lose the rock.  

Morgana (Arcana): A... a baby? As in... a... small person? Please no. She’s fine with her animals. A baby is.. no. 

Neoma (Arcana): Bruh she can’t even really take care of herself like what kinda shit--

Caro (Arcana): She’s the type of bitch who like. Goes to orphanages and volunteers to like... read to the children and teaches them how to do shit like read and write and makes them toys in her spare time. She’s almost disgustingly maternal, the kind of girl who definitely had a million baby dolls growing up and who once answered the question “What do you want to be when you grow up?” with “A mommy.” She has hella genetic difficulties, though, so she’ll be adopting please. 

[wendynerdwrites]

Random Rant about Princess Diana, Prince Charles, and Camilla

Okay, so despite being a gauche, socially progressive American who really doesn’t get why monarchies exist anymore, I am kind of a low-key royal watcher/follower. I was a HUGE fan of/admirer of Princess Diana when I was a little girl and am still a fan of hers in many ways.

But I’m also a fan of Charles and Camilla.

“But how???? Charles and Camilla ruined Diana’s life! They are eeeevil!!!!”

First of all, NO.

Diana Spencer had intense issues way before she hooked up with Charles, for one thing. Her parents had a bitter divorce and custody battle that basically ravaged her childhood. Seriously, at one point her dad was practically holding her hostage away from her mother during Christmas. You think the Wales divorce was messy?... It was. But it was basically just a sequel to Spencer family drama.

By Diana’s own words, she struggled with bulimia from her adolescent years and had severe abandonment issues.

Ever wonder why William’s pet cause is mental health? DIANA IS WHY.

She also grew up among a very specific “set” that included the royal family. She and her sister were playmates to Prince Andrew and Prince Edward. She grew up with the same weirdo aristocratic approach to marriage as them as well which was: pop out an heir and spare, then do whatever.

While she was young and naive and apparently did have a HUGE crush on Charles that resulted in her buying into the fairy tale narrative, she wasn’t the total shrinking violet/know-nothing people sometimes make her out to be. Diana thought she’d be the exception. She was wrong. But she DID enter that marriage with a shit-ton of pre-installed baggage that CHARLES HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH.

Second of all, ALSO NO.

God... This engagement and marriage was made of such crazy fuckery. But Diana was all in, hook, line, and sinker.

Charles, less so. And the situation was just... so fucked, you guys. And, no, sorry, it wasn’t all Charles’s fault. Or Diana’s fault. Or Prince Philip’s fault. But it went like this:

Basically, Chuck was pushing 30, was heir, and had yet to further the royal line, so to speak. It had been nearly a decade since he was formally invested as Prince of Wales. And the issue of him getting hitched had always been... there, but it really got serious as he neared the big 3-0. Especially since his younger sister, Anne, was already married and had a kid. But over the years, he’d had Richard Nixon try to set him up with his daughter and had been geared towards various COUSINS by no less than his “Uncle Dickie” AKA Lord Mountbatten AKA the guy who hooked Prince Philip up with Queen Elizabeth, who was basically Charles’s second Father.

Things got serious as Charles got older, though. Rumors were getting out that he might be gay (remember, this was the late 70′s/early 80′s and Charles is HEIR TO THE THRONE. One factor is/was that Charles is/was a surprisingly progressive dude even then and didn’t bat an eye at employing men who were OPENLY GAY IN THE 70′s. But the thing was, whether or not Charles was gay, if the public believed that, it could have potentially caused a CONSTITUTIONAL CRISIS BECAUSE ROYALTY IS ALL OF THE EXTRA)

Charles was into aristocratic blonds... Fine. Perfect... Except for the part where the aristocratic blonds he tended to go for were non-virgins (and therefore completely unsuitable according to his beloved Uncle Dickie)... also married.

...That’s not Camilla, BTW. Camilla was already married to Andrew Parker-Bowles at this point. The lady in the picture there is Lady Dale “Kanga” Tryon, a fashion designer and Charles’s other mistress who actually lived a really interesting life culminating in a super tragic death. We’ll come back to her later.

But basically, Charles had to marry a virginal aristocrat, and fast. So he entered into a sort of courting pool of eligible ladies, at one point dating Lady Sarah Spencer, Diana’s older sister. But Lady Sarah went, “Nah, my sister is WAAAY more into you anyways. Date her.”

Now, if this sounds SUPER CREEPY, ANTIQUATED, AND MESSED UP, EVEN FOR THE 70′S AND 80′S, THAT’S BECAUSE IT IS. THIS IS THE WORLD THESE PEOPLE OPERATED IN, HOWEVER. AND THE ONLY THING MORE INSANE THAN ARISTOCRATS WERE ARISTOCRATS IN THE 70′S AND 80′S. THE ONLY THING MORE INSANE THAN ARISTOCRATS IN THE 70′S AND 80′S WERE THE ONES IN THE 60′S. JUST ASK PRINCESS MARGARET. THIS SHIT IS TAME COMPARED TO THE SHIT CHARLES UNCLE TONY GOT UP TO. POINT IS, THIS WAS WEIRD FROM THE BEGINNING.

Anyways, the two seemed to hit it off, but they were only dating a couple months when the press moved in and started making everything a hundred times crazier. Diana found herself hounded by the press, culminating in the papers slut-shaming her for LITERALLY TAKING AN OVERNIGHT TRIP ON A TRAIN.

This prompted Charles dad, Prince Philip, notorious for choosing his words poorly, basically sending a letter to his son telling him to basically shit or get off the pot before he ruined Diana’s life and reputation. Charles, emotionally stunted and basically terrified of his dad, took this to mean that he HAD to marry her, or he WOULD ruin her life. Keep in mind Diana was SUPER SUPER into him.

WHICH LED TO THIS DISASTER:

Charles went into this marriage feeling bound by duty, figuring Diana was game, that he could make her happy, that he was doing the right thing, and that she’d be along for the ride --- which included the model of marriages they were both used to.

He was VERY WRONG.

Diana went into her marriage completely in love, knowing that Charles had girlfriends, knowing adultery was the norm, believing she’d be a game-changer.

She was technically right, but NOT in the way she imagined. She fell for the fairy-tale Charles thought they were merely selling to the public. She was an emotionally unstable 19-year-old with severe family baggage, and Charles was an emotionally stunted prince with his head shoved right up his royal butt.

What a winner.

THIRD OF ALL, NO.

Remember that Kanga lady from the picture above? Lady Tryon was a business woman and fashion designer. And one of Charles’s mistresses.

She was Camilla’s rival. NOT Diana’s.

See that dress Diana is wearing at Live Aid? Designed by Kanga, Charles’s mistress. Yes, Diana knew who Kanga was and the nature of her relationship with Charles. At this point, Diana was cured of her delusions and was onto her own affairs. She and Kanga became friends and basically allied against Camilla.

At this point, Diana accepted that she and her husband would not be faithful to one another (it’s worth noting that during the early years of their marriage, both of them WERE supposedly faithful. Charles had his last run-in with Camilla the night before the wedding and kept away from both her and Kanga at least until Harry was conceived. But he also basically told Diana at that point that eventually, he’d be bed-hopping again. Basically, he knew Diana would have to be faithful until an heir and spare were produced and seemed to consider it fair play that he not indulge while she couldn’t. If that sounds completely fucked up THAT’S BECAUSE IT WAS). She gradually stopped caring about Charles cheating. She just hated that it was with Camilla. She very quickly embarked on a string of affairs of her own.

----And yes, Charles was a douche. He was also dealing with a wife he did NOT understand who had severe mental health issues.

Diana did things like call Camilla late at night to tell her that there was a man waiting outside, hired to kill her. She would also sometimes abscond with Baby Harry and William without telling Charles or anyone. Not a big deal in a normal family. But they’re royalty. So basically, she was happy to let her husband go into a panic about his sons possibly being kidnapped because he had no idea where the fuck they were. Keep in mind that Charles’s own sister was nearly abducted in 1974 by a gunman and that in 1982, THE VERY YEAR WILLIAM WAS BORN, a man had snuck into the Queen’s bed in the middle of the night carrying a shard of broken glass. So, yeah, Diana grabbing the boys and taking them to Windsor Castle without telling anyone, including her husband? SUPER SHITTY.

Charles tried to get Diana help, but she didn’t trust him whatsoever (because of course she fucking didn’t, no one would). Diana didn’t start getting proper help for her mental health issues until the separation. But she was prone to fits of extreme paranoia and rage, at one point culminating in her physically attacking Charles while he was praying.

Point is, she had a lot of troubles and instabilities. While Charles and Camilla certainly did not HELP, this was shit that went back years and years. Granted, that WAS exacerbated by royal life, but much of that was the strain of royal work --- constant travel, unending media scrutiny, a ton of fame all at once --- and the intense workload she was given when she became Princess of Wales did not help, either. Diana was young, troubled, and had a ton of issues.

BUT

Charles did not ruin her life. Nor did Camilla. Especially since Diana was kind of a badass.

(Pictured: Badass Diana badassing through her badass post-divorce life like a badass)

She wasn’t a Rhodes Scholar, but she was a freaking genius at handling the press and an unparalleled activist. And she got some terrific revenge on her cheating husband, too. She nearly bankrupted him in the divorce (Charles had to borrow money from the queen) and turned him into a villain in the eyes of the press.

Once out of royal life, she felt comfortable enough to get help. She got joint custody of the kids. She found great fulfillment in her activism and did some really fantastic things for causes like AIDS and land mines. She had a string of hot, rich boyfriends who spoiled the crap out of her and she was adored the world over by almost EVERYONE. That even included her ex-father-in-law, Prince Philip, who still signed his letters to her as “Pa.”

Charles nor Camilla could NEVER have hoped to ruin her life. She had too much of it. Diana’s life was ruined by a drunk driver, some paparazzi, and a traffic accident.

(And to those who want to claim that the royal family had her killed: kindly fuck off. Mohammed Fayed has had his case dismissed repeatedly despite numerous appeals and investigations. The only way Prince Philip would have had Diana killed would be if he REALLY REALLY wanted to end the monarchy. Somehow I don’t think an exiled prince-turned-royal-consort wants that. There was nothing the royal family wanted more than to see Diana married off to some rich guy and fade into the background. The LAST thing they would want is for Willam and Harry’s mother to die tragically young and cement herself as an eternal legend. Diana’s death was a fucking nightmare for the BRF personally as well as professionally).

Charles and Camilla, meanwhile?

Camilla kept her head down and did quiet work for osteoperosis research after her mother was afflicted with it. Since becoming Duchess of Cornwall, she’s done extensive work on behalf of rape and sexual assault survivors. Among her initiatives was developing “wash bags” consisting of soaps and towels for victims to use after undergoing their rape kits.

Charles spent years being decried as a complete kook for being all worked up over stupid non-issues you might have heard of --- things like “climate change”, “sustainable farming”, “organic foods”, “the ozone layer” and a supposed “housing crisis” in Britain. Oh, and his lifelong project, The Prince’s Trust, is only one of the most important charitable organizations in the Western World.

So yeah, if I have to hear one more comment about EEEEEEVIL Charles and Camilla ruining poor, wilting flower Diana’s life again, I’ll see red. It’s insulting to all three of them.

(Once again, for the record, I think monarchy is outdated and dumb, But if you are going to have one, your heir to the throne should be a Charles. Or a Victoria. But if you can’t have a Victoria, you should have a Charles.)

[queen-scribbles]

The Company of Shadows

@pillarspromptsweekly #18, Infiltration. This is sort of AU, where Tavi says Fuck It to ruling Caed Nua, leaves someone else in charge, and goes to help Aloth with dismantling the Leaden Key.

“I’m coming with you.”

The words were expected, as was the determination with which they were uttered. “Tavi, no.”

“Aloth, yes.” Tavi plunked down next to him, spinning the point of her whittling knife against the table. “It’s important, an’ I don’t like the idea of you goin’ alone. And I don’t mean it like that,” she hurried on, raising a hand to cut off the protest he was about to make. “It’s not a slight against any of your skills, I just think for as ambitious a goal as dismantlin’ the entire fuckin’ Leaden Key, you should have at least one person’s worth of backup.”

Aloth smiled knowingly, tracing graffiti carved into the tabletop with one finger. “And you think it should be you?”

“Gods, yes,” she said vehemently. “We work well together, you know I’m good in a fight, if it comes to that, and I can read souls. I figure that’ll come in handy for something like this.”

Aloth bit his lip. “All of that is true,” he allowed. “But subtlety has never been one of your strengths, Tavi. And that will be a rather important skill for this... venture. As will the ability to bite your tongue.”

Tavi was quiet for a moment, staring at the divot her knife was making in the table’s surface. “For somethin’ this important t’ you, I could work on both of ‘em.”

“You know better than anyone the Leaden Key is not a forgiving opponent,” he felt obligated to point out. “Your first slip up would likely also be your last.”

“Well, good thing I’m a fast learner,” she shrugged, twisting the knife again.

“What about Caed Nua?” 

“Steward’s run the place for decades, she can handle a while longer,” Tavi countered. “And Keya can be my representative or whatever . I fuckin’ pay her enough t’ do that, and she has a better temperament for mediating conflict and shit than I do, anyway.”

Aloth sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not talking you out of this, am I?”

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “No, dear. You’re not.”

<<>>

They left three days later, with a mostly thought-out plan and complete confidence everything would be fine while they were gone. Keya had accepted the ‘diplomatic representative’ role with alacrity and Tavi trusted her.

“Next stop, Defiance Bay,” she grinned, as Caed Nua faded into the distance behind them.

“I’m still not sure this is the best idea, Tavi,” Aloth sighed, adjusted the straps of his pack. “You’re rather well-known in the city, especially since the Dozens assumed leadership, and that’s detrimental to keeping a low profile.”

“It’s also the location of the only Leaden Key cell we know about,” Tavi countered. She raised an eyebrow. “Unless you know somethin’ you ain’t tellin’ me, city slicker.”

He shook his head. “No. I said no more secrets, and I meant it.”

“So we go back in through the catacombs--disguised of course--an’ if the Acolyte and her cell are still there we try to delicately question some people. If they aren’t, we see if they left anything helpful behind. Both are long shots, sure, but it’s all we fuckin’ got.”

“Better than nothing, at least,” Aloth agreed. “Anything that helps is good.”

“That’s the spirit,” Tavi grinned, reaching for his hand as they walked.

<<>>

The catacombs under Woedica’s temple were empty, the former Leaden Key enclave deserted. Tavi had been expecting that, if she was honest. The unrest in the city had citizenry on edge, which would work against a group trying to go unnoticed. Also, it had been long enough since she killed Thaos that a strategic withdrawal made sense. It was easier this way, anyhow. 

She and Aloth spent the next couple hours combing the enclave for anything useful, but came up empty until Tavi found a half-rotted corpse in the Acolyte’s former chambers. Enough of the soul’s essence clung to the body that she could get a fairly decent connection, and there was just enough in the lingering consciousness to the point them where they needed to go. Much as she disliked the idea of traveling all the way to fucking Mercy Vale, Tavi couldn’t deny it made sense as a location for the Leaden Key. So after one more night’s rest at the Charred Barrel, they were on their way.

<<>>

Mercy Vale was further along in its recovery from the Saint’s War than either of them expected. There were still signs, of course; the wooden skeletons of buildings not yet completed, a smaller populace than expected for a town  this size.

“Alright, who are we looking for?” Aloth asked, pulling the hood of his cloak higher in a gesture that reminded Tavi rather sharply of their first meeting, in another, far distant, village.

I hope this one has fewer belligerent drunks, she thought idly as she called up the mental image provided by the poor soul in the catacombs. “Um... don’t have a name, that would be too easy. Dwarven man, brown hair, clean shaven, eye patch.”

“Well, that’s distinctive,” Aloth said dryly. “If you don’t have the name, do you at least have an idea where to find him?”

Tavi snorted. “Where do you always find people? The tavern.”

“Oh, of course. Silly me to expect any deviation from the norm.” He reached out and grabbed her arm as she began striding down the main street. “You remember our plan?”

“‘Course I do, city slicker.” Tavi patted his hand reassuringly, then shook it off. “Let’s go. An’ stop worryin’. If this group’s run by a cipher, they can probably pick up on that.”

“Right,” Aloth nodded. They made the rest of the walk to the tavern side by side in silence. A quick scan of the room when they arrived didn’t reveal the contact they sought, so Tavi asked the bartender.

“Aye, that’s Kendel,” the woman nodded. “Back in the corner, love. But he’s real picky ‘bout his comp’ny.”

“Warnin’ noted, but I’m sure I’ll convince him,” Tavi replied with a smile. She heard the bartender snort as she walked away, and briefly worried how much attention it would draw if they could convince Kendel to talk to them. “There he is,” she told Aloth, pointing toward the table the innkeeper had indicated.

The dwarf in question looked up as they approached, his remaining eye glittering dangerously. “What d’you want?”

“To talk to you,” Tavi replied, maintaining eye contact until he grunted and looked away.

“Well, then, state your name and purpose,” he said, tone surly, almost mocking.

The elves exchanged a look and then Aloth cleared his throat. “My name belongs to the gods and my hand to their service.”

Suddenly Kendel looked very interested indeed. He pushed aside his mug, the ale sloshing slightly. “And what company do you seek?”

Tavi had to bite her tongue to keep from answering with Aloth. “I seek the company of shadows, that our work may remain secret.”

The pattern repeated with the other two passphrases; Kendel asked, Aloh answered, and Tavi bit her tongue to keep quiet and play the new recruit even as her conversation with the Acolyte rattled around in her head.

Once Kendel was satisfied, he gestured at Tavi. “So what about her? Why’d she clam up?”

“She wants to join,” Aloth explained with a shrug.

“Even with what just happened in the Dyrwood?” Kendel probed. Seeing their blank looks, he leaned forward and explained, “Some elf bitch fucked up the Grandmaster’s plans. Some say she killed him, but I ain’t sure I believe that part.”

Believe it, asshole. “Even if that’s true, surely the gods still have need of you.”

“Right you are,” Kendel said with a nod. “As far as you joinin’ goes, I”ll hafta talk to our Acolyte; see if we’re even interested in bringin’ in new blood.”

“Of course,” Aloth said smoothly, squeezing Tavi’s hand under the table before she could protest at the delay. “Should we meet you here?”

“Nah.” Kendel jerked a thumb toward the door. “Take a room at the inn across the street. We’ll be in touch.”

<<>>

They took long enough to make good on that promise, Tavi was beginning to wonder if he cell had decided against recruiting now, or figured they were a threat. But finally, after two days of twiddling their thumbs and getting progressively more nervous, a messenger arrived with a short note. So short, in fact, it only contained a location and a time.

“Well, that’s promising,” Aloth murmured, toying with the scrap of parchment. “If they were suspicious, they would simply vanish like smoke on a breeze and we’d never find them.”

“So, what, we go to this meeting and they test me to see if I’m worth their time?” Tavi asked, running her fingernail up and down the length of a scratch on the table.

“Essentially,” Aloth nodded. “Mostly seeing if you have any useful skills or knowledge and how well you can keep a secret.” He looked briefly troubled.  “They won’t hold back, and I won’t be able to help you.”

“Got it.” She smiled at the lingering worry in his eyes. “I’m a big girl, city slicker. I can take care of myself, and withstand quite a lot.”

“I know. In most cases it’s just some questions anyway, so remember our story and everything will be fine.”

“Right.” Tavi cracked her knuckles. “Fine.”

It was. The Acolyte for this cell was male, tall enough Tavi briefly wondered if he was aumaua before catching a glimpse of dusky tan skin between his hooded masked and robe. He asked her some rudimentary questions, but she could feel him probing at her mind the whole time. She put up a wall of emotion to match her story--curious, seeking to best serve the gods--and prayed that it was enough.

The Acolyte didn’t seem thrown by what he found, and welcomed her as a sister and initiate of the Leaden Key. “Your first task is a simple one: attend the town meeting tomorrow, and report to me on the people’s attitudes.”

“Yes, Acolyte,” Tavi said blandly. “You want me to go alone or...?”

“Take him,” the Acolyte gestured almost dismissively at Aloth. “You two already seem to have something of a rapport, and a couple will draw less suspicion than a lone stranger.”

They both nodded and took their leave. Neither spoke as they climbed the stairs out of the basement, or made their way through the house.

“Well, that went well,” Aloth finally said as they walked down the street.

“What’s the point of havin’ us go listen to people talk?” Tavi kicked a pebble and watched it skitter.

“It’s an easy thing to give a new member,” Aloth explained. “As a test of ability and intent. I did the same thing many times when I first joined. And this sort of thing allows them to gauge if popular opinion is going the way they want it to.” 

“Alright, I guess that does make sense,” she admitted grudgingly. “Whaddya think they want public opinion to be?”

“Since I know them so much better than you?” Aloth said dryly. He smiled when Tavi rolled her eyes and bumped her shoulder against his. “Knowing the Leaden Key, almost definitely something negative regarding animancy. As to what angle they’re using, I haven’t the foggiest. I’ve no idea how much of an issue animancy could possibly be in a village this size, but I’m sure we’ll find out.”

<<>>

And find out they did. Not at the town meeting, or even the Leaden Key debriefing afterward, though a local thayn was a popular topic at both. It wasn’t until a few days later, when the Acolyte directed Tavi to slip into Thayn Yngmar’s house and switch some papers, that they realized he was housing and funding an animancer.

“The woman acts his wife in public,” the Acolyte explained disdainfully, “but in fact their relationship is of a different nature. Simply find this Esmy’s workshop and replace her research notes with these. Her work will remain fruitless for a good while.”

“Is anyone gonna get hurt?” the question escaped before Tavi could stop it, but fortunately fit her crafted persona well enough to not raise eyebrows.

“No one who wasn’t going to already,” was the cryptic--and not at all reassuring--reply.

But there wasn’t anything she could do about it. To get in good enough to truly dismantle this cell, she had to complete her task. Alone. Well, almost. The Leaden Key had someone in the household who could help a little, but she was going without Aloth, which she didn’t like. She hated the secrecy of this gods-damned organization. The Acolyte had simply said Aloth was ‘needed elsewhere’ and gotten huffy when she pushed for details, so she dropped it.

Now, as she followed a blond elven servant through the house, part of her was wishing she’d pushed just a little harder. She had a bad feeling twisting in her gut that something for one of them was going to go wrong. If she was right, she wanted to at least know where to stage a rescue. Hopefully she was just being paranoid, but she hadn’t survived this long by banking on hopefully. The secrecy was driving her insane.

“Here we are,” the servant said, tone reminding her far too much of her brother, as he gestured at a door. “The thayn and his animancer are out playing the happy couple for dinner with the mayor. So you don’t have to rush, but I wouldn’t dawdle either.”

“Well, with that in mind, you have any hints where she keeps her notes so I don’t have to search the whole fuckin’ room?” Tavi asked, looking the door up and down to check for enchantments.

“No.” He shook his head. “Mistress Esmy is very secretive. You’re on your own, I’m afraid.”

“Lovely.” She sighed and pushed open the door. “Does she keep a back up copy of her notes anywhere that I’ll need to find?”

He shook his head. “Too paranoid they’ll fall into the wrong hands.”

“Ironic. Alright, then.” She watched him walk away and tried not to dwell on the question she hadn’t asked. Why couldn’t you do this? She was pretty sure the answer involved her being far more expendable if she go caught.

Fortunately, she didn’t get a chance to test that theory. The switch went off without any issue, and was creeping out the shadowed back even as the thayn and his ‘wife’ returned through the front. In keeping with her instructions, she didn’t return to the Acolyte, but instead went “home” to the rented room at the inn. She pulled the curtains closed and locked the door before pulling a messy bundle of papers from under her cloak and spreading them across the table. All but two were Esmy’s original notes. Notes Tavi had been instructed to burn. The other two were from the altered replacement notes. She’d figured replacing the majority would still have the same effect, and now she had some proof of the Leaden Key’s dealings in Mercy Vale.

Aloth smiled tiredly when she showed him upon his return several hours later (enough she was starting to worry). “Is that your plan, then? Dismantle this cell by publicizing their sabotage?”

Tavi shrugged. “Why not?”

“Oh it’s a good plan,” he clarified, clearly fighting a yawn as he discarded his cloak and sat on the bed to pull off his boots. “It’s just... lighter on fighting than I would expect from you.”

“Yeah, I know.” She wrinkled her nose in pretended displeasure. “But most of the kith we’ve met in the cell don’t seem like bad people. I don’t wanna kill ‘em unless we fuckin’ have to.”

“And you don’t have an qualms about furthering their goals?”  he probed.

“Aloth...” Tavi sighed. “You know I’m not as settled on the animancy thing as you are. But even if I was a hundred percent in support of it, the way it’s bein’ handled here--in secret, with no oversight--is bad. I may not like that it won’t be fairly represented thanks to the Leaden Key’s meddlin’, but that doesn’t mean I fully fucking support it, either.” She ran one hand through her hair and focused on straightening the pile of papers. “‘Sides, I expect when we expose the Key’s activities here, we’ll also expose Thayn Yngvar an’ his animancer, so it’s worth waitin’.”

There was no reply or commentary from behind her, so she turned to see if Aloth had gotten lost in thought or something and couldn’t help but grin. He’d fallen asleep. Just leaned over until he was sort of laying on the pillows and gone out like a candle in a gale.

Tavi shook her head and tucked her hair behind her ear as she crossed the room. What did they have you do that wore you out so bad? She tucked her hand under his knees and shifted his legs up on the bed, which earned her sleepy mumbling but not much else. “Gods, I don’t remember the last time you were out this hard,” she whispered, tugging the blanket free from her side of the bed to wrap around him before she went back to the papers. She needed to find somewhere to hide them, and hopefully any others they found. This venture, keeping company with the very shadows they sought to undermine, was going to be risky.

<<>>

It took several harrowing weeks, four close calls, and at least two lost opportunities, but Tavi and Aloth did manage to scrape together a good sized collection of fairly damning evidence, amassed little by little on various endeavors. Thayn Yngmar had only been one person of interest to the Leaden Key. Mercy Vale’s archivist was a former animancer who still held favorable views toward the practice. Leaden Key agents had done much to subtly undermine the man, and Tavi had very nearly gotten herself caught collecting proof. That night had been the first one in a long time Aloth insisted on sleeping with one arm wrapped around her. Now, as they surveyed the collection of papers they’d built, Tavi could only think of one thing they were missing.

“We need somethin’ to prove who the Acolyte is,” she said as they bundled the evidence back up. “That’s the only way I can think of to be sure this cell stays wrecked once we’re done with it.”

“Tavi, you know how dangerous that is,” Aloth protested, straightening a stack of papers before folding them over and binding them with string. “We have plenty here to dismantle the cell; I don’t see why-”

“B’cause if we don’t expose him, he’ll just go to ground ‘til things are calm and start again,” Tavi shot back, raking hair out of her face impatiently. “If we’re gonna take down this cell, I wanna fuckin’ do it right.”

“I see your point,” Aloth conceded reluctantly, packing away the bundled evidence. “I just... you do realize what that will entail, yes?”

“Yeah,” Tavi nodded. “Infiltrating and searching his chamber in that basement without getting caught.”

“And we still need a lead of some kind to the next cell,” Aloth reminded her. “We haven’t found anything solid yet.”

“I know.” She sat next to him and squeezed his hand. “If there’s anything to find we’ll find it. The house is empty; we can sneak in whenever we want.”

“And if he’s there?”

“We sneak right back out an’ try some other time. There’s no evidence that he or anyone lives there. It won’t be that hard.”

“Famous last words.” Aloth smiled gamely. “Even if it would be, what choice do we have?”

“Exactly.” Tavi leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, trying not to dwell on the dangers inherent to their plan.

<<>>

Much to her relief, there were no guards posted, and no enchantments or traps that either of them could detect when Tavi and Aloth snuck into the empty house. She wasn’t sure if that was arrogance--thinking no one would look for them--or trying to make the house seem worthless, but it didn’t really matter. Still, they were cautious. Despite her growing impatience, Tavi made herself creep down the stairs only slightly faster than a snail, listening carefully for any sign someone was down there.

Given that it remain silent as a grave(bad analogy, Tavi) the whole way down, they relaxed slightly once they reached the floor. Still quiet, but with slightly more speed, they made their way to the room the Acolyte used. Tavi let Aloth take the first peek down the short corridor, and then did the honors of trying the door herself.

It was locked, of course. So she took the simplest route and broke the lock.

“What are you doing?!” Aloth hissed.

“Getting in the room,” Tavi whispered back fiercely. “Neither of us knows how to pick a lock, and this is our only shot anyway, so I don’t particularly care if someone knows we were here.”

He looked less than thrilled, but didn’t argue. Instead he nudged the door open. Both let out a breath they didn’t know they’d been holding when it was clear no one was in the room.

“Okay,” Tavi murmured, scanning the organized bookshelves and near-immaculate desk. “You search the bookshelves, I’ll take the desk, and we’ll both have to keep an eye on the door.”

Aloth nodded and both of them went to work. After a few minutes, he commented in an undertone, “Are we certain the Acolyte’s not a wizard?”

“Considering his multiple attempts to read my mind, yeah, I’m pretty damn sure he’s a cipher,” Tavi muttered, poking through a drawer. “Why?”

“There’s quite a collection of grimoires here for someone who’s not using them,” he replied.

She frowned, looking up from the desk. “Could he be both?”

Aloth bit his lip and pulled one off the shelf to page through. “That would be... unpleasant. But not unheard of. In theory, anyone could learn to be a wizard. And a cipher’s ability to focus would make it far easier for them. I don’t relish the thought of facing someone with both skills.”

“Was that your subtle way of telling me we should hurry?” Tavi said with a smile, closing another unhelpful drawer.

“It’s my subtle way of telling you perhaps we should just find a lead to another cell, turn what we have over to the authorities, and leave. Without unmasking him. I don’t think it’s worth the risk.”

After a few moments of thought, still furiously rifling through drawers, Tavi reluctantly nodded. “You’re right. As usual. Which isn’t fucking fair- Aha!” she crowed, pulling a small, folded slip of parchment from the back recesses of the drawer. “’Our brothers and sisters in Deadfire could use some help. Can the family spare aid?’ Here we go, this is promising.”

“I’m so glad you found what you were looking for.” The Acolyte’s voice rang in her head, but Tavi couldn’t see him.

She tensed, leaning over the desk, evaluating each item visible as a weapon and dismissing them all.  Behind her, Aloth had frozen as well, still paging through a grimoire.

‘You heard him, too?’ she mouthed, and he nodded. “Awful nice of you to be happy for me,” she said out loud, still trying to locate him.

“No trouble at all,” the Acolyte said smoothly, stepping out of the shadows at the far end of the short corridor and stepping closer. “In finding what you sought, you confirmed a suspicion of mine. So we both profited from your little venture.”

“Always glad to help out,” Tavi said glibly, mind racing. She was weaponless, and even if she had her sabres he was too far away--

A searing bloom of pain lanced through her mind, cutting off her thoughts as she dropped to her knees. She was dimly aware of banging her chin against the desk, Aloth’s cry of alarm, but they were a distant second to the agony speared through her skull.

Fucking ciphers, she groused internally, even if she couldn’t push the words past her lips. As she attempted to gather herself and regain her feet, another wave of pain pulsed through her head. Gods damn him!

Even as she struggled to push through the pain, Tavi could hear Aloth chanting something, and looked up just in time to see a crackling bolt of electricity fly from his outstretched hand. It hit the Acolyte’s chest with enough power to burn through him before rebounding off the wall and down the corridor. It slammed into a pile of dry-rotted crates, splintering them and setting the pieces ablaze.

“Nice choice. Guess he didn’t know you were a wizard,” Tavi managed as Aloth helped her to her feet. “Or he’d’ve made you put the grimoire down straight away.”

“That’s the spell I had it open to, and I worked very hard to keep that knowledge secret,” Aloth said, dropping the borrowed grimoire on the desk so he could tip up her chin. “You’re bleeding.”

“An’ the fuckin’ house is gettin’ ready to burn down,” Tavi retorted, running her tongue over her split lip. “Priorities, city slicker. Let’s get outta here an’ then we can worry about me.”

“Right.” Aloth nodded, his hand curling around hers as they hurried toward the stairs. Tavi gave in to the urge to spit on the Acolyte’s body as they passed, and Hylea’s tits did it feel good.

Old and dry as it was, the house kindled quickly, and the floor of the main level was already smoking when they emerged from the basement. Hand in hand, Tavi and Aloth hastily exited the building, warned the first locals they passed, and then hurried back to their room at the inn.

“Well,” Tavi said as she cleaned her lip, “guess we don’t hafta worry about unmaskin’ the Acolyte anymore....”

Aloth gave a sharp laugh. “That’s one way of lookin’ at the bright side, I suppose. We also burned down a house.”

“No one but us knows who did that,” Tavi protested. “An’ I’m pretty sure they caught it b’fore it burned all the way down. I know it wasn’t subtle, but it’s not like we did it on purpose, and it doesn’t tie to us, so the Leaden Key shouldn’t get suspicious...”

“Suspicion is in their nature,” he countered cynically. “But I do appreciate the we.”

Tavi shrugged. “We’re in this together, an’ you were protectin’ me. Figure we can share the blame.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s get this shit dropped off with someone in authority and get the fuck out of here.”

Aloth grinned. “Feeling antsy already?”

Tavi shrugged. “It’s a long way to the Deadfire Archipelago. I’d rather get movin’ sooner opposed to later.”

He slid one hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in for another kiss. “They’ll still be there in a few weeks, Tavi. Better to do things right than fast.”

She smirked and rested her forehead against his. “You do realize how many different ways I can make that dirty, right, Corfiser?” 

“Yes, and I’m fervently hoping you won’t take any of them,” Aloth replied, taking a step back. “Even if we’re not in a hurry, we still have work to do.”

“That we do,” Tavi nodded, eyeing the pile of evidence on the table and praying silently the next time would go more smoothly. “Deadfire, here we come.”

[border-spam]

Leech Lord: Quirks

Handling critique:

Troy:

He doesn't know them by name and they aren't showing respect when he turns to apprehend who just dared interrupt him rudely in front of others?

Dead. Immediately. There's no pause to hear them out or explain themself, their head will be crushed in that spined fist before he even finds out what they were about to say was criticism. There is no concern or regret over this later, he won't even care enough to remember their face.

Far more forgiving in private as he’s not needing to play up to his persona, but still - respect has to be shown.

Someone he is aware of by name/rank, or sees as having value?

Stay polite and factual and he'll listen. Hands clasped behind his back and shifting his eyes down their body as they speak, like they’re being measured, or read. He'll listen. The more numbers they can provide, the more clear data they can give that shows his information or his actions are wrong and what they are suggesting is better, the more likely he will take it on board. The God King is surprisingly polite and coldly calm when approached correctly, regardless of if he likes what he is being told.

- A close friend?

Nervous, picking at his teeth with the tips of his nails and finding it hard to meet their eyes. Hunched over himself and back bent even if he still towers over them, like a child who just wants to go hide. Stuttering. Apologetic to the point of becoming self deprecating even if what they were raising was only minor. It's not a big deal Troy, it's not, it was just some feedback. Calm down pal it's not worth getting worked up over, really. No you don't have to redo the whole thing, that's stupid come on y.. no you aren't stupid Troy, don't delete it all.. Oh, Troy.

Tyreen -

She does not hear, she does not see.

From anyone. It doesn't matter who they are. Unless you are her you're wrong, because she cannot be incorrect. She is infallible... you get it, right sweetheart?

She is omnipotent. She is a GOD. It's not that she's not listening to them, they don't mean enough for her even to be able to hear.

Seifa:

A stranger she views as someone below her in position?

Lol who are you. Who the fuck are you to think your opinion has any value, let alone matter to her? She's not even hearing what you're saying, you should be out of her presence by the time she stops eyerolling by the way, she's a busy woman. May not be healthy to waste more of her time.

Above her in authority or experience?

Silence. Not quite making eye contact, she's focusing on breaking down what you're saying and digesting useable information. A quick "Got it, I'll consider what you said" afterwards is genuine. She will consider it. That doesn't mean she will take it onboard, but she knows not to waste valuable data.

Friend?

A mix of both. She'll make it clear there's a very good chance her opinion on this is going to supersede yours, but that yours still has value for her. She might not make change changes right now based on it.. but it could affect how she approaches things in the future.

Pet Peeves:

Tyreen

A pet peeve, one she's irked by but doesn't spend a huge amount of time lost in rage over, is people treating her like she's airheaded. It happens often, especially when she's around Troy. She's not dumb. At all. Just because she's not a giant, brooding, scowling asshole who stands in silence while death-glaring everyone in the room, doesn't mean she's vacant or stupid. Just because she's louder, and more animated, doesn't mean she's ditzy.

In talks, the conversation always gets pointed to him for any discussion regarding anything with business or technical depth, she hates it. He's good at this shit, he's great with numbers and logic, but just because she communicates differently doesn't mean shes terrible. It's irritating.

Seifa:

Bullshit. She cannot abide hearing someone talk complete wank, and wants extremely direct clearcut conversation at all times bar if she's talking shit with friends. That's totally different.

She wouldn't manage to be in the same room as someone like Rhys or Katagawa for more than 5 minutes before she'd be ready to peel her own face off and eat her hands, so takes a lot of comfort from the "Please fucking kill me oh my god" gestures and grimaces Troy makes towards her from out of the speakers sight in meetings where they are dealing with the waves of verbal shite emanating from some corporate tool.

Troy:

Sleeping. It's just a fucking waste of time. It's completely pointless. Shut yourself down for hours so your body can release chemicals it needs? Fuck sake, just take the chemicals and stay awake, wow, well done, now you have 1/4 of your life back!

Dreams suck, waking up feeling like death sucks, spending hours laying awake staring at your ceiling while trying to make your "brain be quiet for once, just please.. be quiet.." for hours till you eventually pass out sucks, it's all stupid and wasteful and humans are dumb. He's dumb. Everyone's dumb.

Tenderness:

Tyreen: 

She'd see wanting it as being weak in a way, Ty doesn't need anyone for any reason, so she doesn't need intimacy or tenderness. Why would she? She's not weak, or soft. Not being able to touch others isn't even a factor here, don't you dare imply it is. Intimacy is for people who aren't strong enough to exist alone, don't insult her by thinking she'd ever want it. She watches those romcoms for the PLOT and the character development, did you see in that last episode of Skags of fire that Miguel finally got with Santia-

Seifa: Born 2 Tender (physically and monetarily)

She thrives off receiving and giving affection to close friends and partners, it's a part of herself she masks off from her general authoritative persona for a lot of reasons, people often see being caring or gentle as weak, and that's not something she can afford in day to day life.

People close to her know she's very tactile platonically, and an arm around a waist or shoulders is the norm if you're spending much time with her and she's in good spirits. She doesn't shy away from touch in general and has no problem initiating contact with anyone she trusts and is close enough with that she doesn't feel like being caring is a risk around. Intimacy and close tenderness with a partner is her main love language, and something she absolutely expects be provided to her.

Troy: Viciously envious of it

The last time he encountered freely platonic intimacy was in his childhood, both with Leda and Tyreen before Ty started to resent showing affection more and more as they got older. He's desperately, pathetically lonely and fully aware of that, even if he lies to himself that he's fine.

He can't request it from the people he sleeps with as it means showing them the real man under the persona, and he's learned that people do not like the real Troy, so he's starved of real intimacy despite having so much access to other people's bodies nightly.

Not all bad:

Troy

His intelligence.

It's one thing he can think back on and remember only ever receiving positive comments on, right from as early as he can recall. He's always been able to consider problems in a way that lets him break them down and approach them from a unique angle. Dad said he was able to "Think outside the box", but he never really understood what that meant till the twins landed on Pandora and he watched so many people run themselves into the ground when such simple solutions were right there. Maybe not moral solutions, but simple solutions regardless! He absorbs and retains information very easily without any real effort, and when he found out that wasn't the norm, it became a genuine point of pride for him. Something he was great at, unrelated to his persona.

Hips and thighs

While most of his upper body causes him physical pain or he dislikes in general for multiple uhh.. reasons, he's never had any issues with his lower body. He loves the definition of his hips and lower stomach, his knees haven't ever had any joint pain, his legs have always been toned and strong without really needing any focus on them. He's worked himself to the bone trying to fix the things about his upper body that he hates, but his legs? Nah. Nice :ok_hand:

He's really good at looking after plants

He's really good at it. Lots of people can't keep plants alive but he can :) No one knows about it, but he does. It's nice to be good at something. It's just ...nice. :)

Seifa

Her waist and stomach.

Sei is relatively curvy for her height and is very thankful for her narrow waist, or she'd look like a solid rectangle in heeled boots no matter what she wore. It helps her keep up the soft fem aesthetic she likes to mix with punk bullshit without much effort, gives her a shape in baggy engineering overalls, and keeps belt pouches ON. Like, ON on. Shit is never going to move. She has a slight soft curve to her lower stomach she used to hate, thinking it made her look overweight , but as she grew into her twenties learned to love. Other people liked it, she was just being a dumb kid.

Physical strength

Years of working with lugging heavy machinery has given her an unexpectedly solid core, and she'd have no problem lifting something, say, Troy weight, and flipping it over her low center of balance without a sweat. Which is very fun. On things that are Troy weight.

The loyalty she builds with others without trying

She's not sure what it is exactly she's been doing to prompt it, but over the last few years she's come to realise she has a genuine support network across the system of people who are very loyal to her, and are there when needed to back her up in trades, or filling positions she needs, or getting her in touch with a group she's got no foot in. People she works with or gets to know trust her and remember her even years later, it's been a nice thing to find out about herself, though she wishes she knew what exact thing about her was the source of it.

Asks are Open!

[flatandsassy]

Oh hey I never actually posted my first essay outline from this term. Emily says she likes them but heaven forbid I just like, send them to Emily. Plus this one has the best jokes and is entitled “who would win in a fight between head of state immunity and jus cogens norms?” because that is a burning question we all have.

So the question we’ve got going today is “who would win in a fight between head of state immunity and jus cogens norms?” and folks I am here today to defend the status fucking quo. Hold on, you say, I thought you were supposed to argue something contentious? Look, number one, the status quo is five minutes old, do you know how hard it was to find sources that were written after all the case law I’m relying on was established? Number two, everyone is leaving the goddamn ICC because they’re morons who think there’s a conflict between customary international law being like “hey don’t arrest presidents of other countries when they visit you” and the ICC being like “please arrest war criminals we don’t care if they’re presidents” which there ISN’T, did you even READ the Rome Statute before you signed up for this, because HEY YOU SIGNED UP FOR THIS yes I will fight you even on Bashir JUST TRY ME (fun fact like a month after writing this outline I was reading the Rome Statute for fun and discovered an article that totally proved me wrong on this so my now official position is ‘The ICC was 100% within its rights to indict Bashir but its member states have zero legal obligation to arrest him. Which. WHY IS THAT A SITUATION THAT IS ALLOWED BY THE ROME STATUTE. WHO WROTE THIS.) And three, it seems like all of academia has its panties in a knot about the Arrest Warrant Case and I have had a deep abiding love for the Arrest Warrant Case ever since I first learned about it and yes maybe it contradicts basically all the other jurisprudence about this and yes maybe the ICJ somehow got confused and mixed up head of state immunity and minister of foreign affairs immunity? But I spent all goddamn day trying to come up with a good legal reason why it’s a good decision despite all that because I will not ever give Belgium the satisfaction of saying it was justified in getting mixed up in the Congo again and honestly I’m pretty fucking pleased with the logic I came up with. So yeah. Status quo, which is neatly summarized in a flow chart I made at 6am on no sleep, is actually great, and it’s actually contentious to say that. LET’S GET STARTED.

What the fuck are you talking about?

Imagine you’re the president of a country, and you go on a trip to improve relations with your neighbour or negotiate a trade deal or represent your country at some international forum or just, you know, do presidenty things. But you get off the plane and you are arrested and thrown in jail. So now you have two problems: one, you can’t do presidenty things if you’re in jail, and like even if you’re about to go to a country and they call you up and are like “hey we’re for sure gonna throw you in jail if you turn up here” that still means you can’t do presidenty things there which sucks, and two, all the folks back home are like hey, didn’t we have a president? Wasn’t that president the one we picked ourselves which we have the right to do? So like, they’re getting pretty pissed.

According to international law this is the WORST THING THAT CAN HAPPEN TO A COUNTRY. Which, fair enough, that sounds pretty shitty. So the solution is that if you are president (or some other kind of head of state), NOBODY IS ALLOWED TO ARREST YOU NO MATTER WHAT (aka head of state immunity). And that’s been the case for forever and everybody agrees and you will get in SO MUCH TROUBLE if you arrest a president. You will get in slightly less trouble if you arrest diplomats or foreign ministers (lol or not wtf ICJ) but the LITERAL WORST is if a president is arrested. Oh right this is also because the head of state is the manifest legal existence of the state, which sounds like some made up bullshit but if you buy into it, arresting a president is basically the same as arresting a country, and you are super not allowed to arrest countries because that’s just nonsense.

But in the last like, 20ish? Years? There have been more and more people who are like you know what actually I CAN think of things that are worse for a country than having their president thrown in jail. Like, idk, genocide? Look it up man I hear it’s super bad for you.

But there are still lots of people who are like, nah bro you don’t understand, the entire world is built on this system with countries and each country gets to do its own thing and stay out of everyone else’s business and if we don’t stick to this system it’s going to collapse into a giant mess of everyone conquering everyone, we FOR REALS need to not fuck with sovereignty.

But then the first guys come back and they’re like nah bro YOU don’t understand, yes this whole immunity thing is important and has been around forever, but you know what else is important and has been around forever (by “important and has been around forever” I mean “customary international law”)? Rules like DON’T COMMIT GENOCIDE DON’T VIOLATE THE GENEVA CONVENTION DON’T TORTURE PEOPLE ETC. those are called jus cogens norms and following them trumps EVERYTHING.

So we’ve got these two groups of people staring each other down and it’s like, maybe we could find a way to throw people in jail for committing atrocities *without* having the entire global order collapse? Maybe under certain circumstances we COULD arrest presidents for violating jus cogens norms and if we’re reasonable about it nobody will freak out and we’ll all be okay. Just saying.

Let’s go see if we can find some rules about this.

HAVE YOU BEEN FIRED YET Y/N

Okay this time imagine that you’re not a president of a country, but you USED to be president of a country. And you show up in some other country and they’re like “dude, you did some fucked up shit when you were president, we are arresting your ass.” On one hand, you no longer do presidenty things, you no longer represent your populace, and you are no longer the state incarnate. In that sense you are now just regular joe war criminal.

But on the other hand, flashback to when you WERE president, and you’re trying to do your thing but you keep thinking like, “if I do this thing will people from another country arrest my ass the moment I’m done being president?” which is basically that other country getting all up in your business just by threatening to arrest your ass which isn’t cool (and is also incentive to become PRESIDENT FOR LIFE which we’ll talk about later). Also maybe you’re not the state incarnate now (the flashback has ended), but you were the state incarnate when you did that fucked up shit so it’s basically like the state did that and you can’t arrest the state!

Anyways this is what happened to Pinochet who used to be a dictator in Chile and did so much fucked up shit oh my god and so when he showed up in the UK the Brits arrested his ass. They actually did it on behalf of Spain? Which, what? Not important, the point is that a bunch of old dudes got together and were like “can we arrest his ass? Like if he were still president we wouldn’t go near him but the rule is ‘no arresting presidents’ and he is no longer president.” And then they arrested his ass.

This also happened to Yerodia who was minister of foreign affairs (yes I know that’s not a head of state but if it applies to a foreign minister it extra applies to a president) for the Congo and WHILE HE WAS STILL IN THAT JOB Belgium was like “dude stop telling everyone to commit genocide, now we’re gonna arrest your ass.” And the Congo was like “what the fuck” and went and told the ICJ and the ICJ went to Belgium and was like “PUT THAT THING BACK WHERE IT CAME FROM OR SO HELP ME” (to be clear they hadn’t actually arrested him yet, they’d just issued the warrant, so they didn’t have to put him back, they just had to cancel the warrant. Also probably it’s not nice to call him a thing, but one, that’s what the quote is, and two, I’m reasonably certain he called Tutsis cockroaches at some point so I don’t feel that bad). Basically the ICJ was like “dude you gotta wait until he’s done being in office” and Belgium was like “actually it’s been a while and he’s not in office anymore, can we arrest him now?” and the ICJ was like, “did you decide to arrest him while he was still in office?” and Belgium was like “maybe….” And the ICJ was like “goddamnit Belgium you signed the Vienna Convention on Foreign Relations you know better than this”

(Also side note from me because I cannot talk about this case without ranting a little bit: Dear Belgium, NOBODY EVER WANTS YOU ANYWHERE NEAR THE CONGO’S SOVEREIGNTY EVER AGAIN I KNOW YOU ARE TRYING TO HELP BUT YOU ARE ACTUALLY JUST BEING NEOCOLONIALIST AND GROSS YOU ALREADY FUCKED UP THIS COUNTRY ONCE PLEASE STOP TRYING TO HELP AND GO SIT IN A CORNER).

So to conclude, if you’ve been fired from being president, you are fair game.

DID YOU SIGN UP FOR THIS Y/N

Look I don’t get why this is so hard. Because head of state immunity is all about protecting the state, if the state is like “you know what we’re gonna take a pass on that immunity thing” then you DON’T HAVE IMMUNITY. (This is a lie, it’s so hard because it is frankly mind-boggling what counts as legal consent but something something Kirgis I don’t feel bad for you)

Level one (easy mode, aka stfu Kenyatta): the Rome Statute has a bit in it that’s like “we don’t give a fuck if you’re head of state” like it’s right in there. Which is not really surprising because the alternative would be “go ahead and be PRESIDENT FOR LIFE you can avoid jail and score! You get to keep being president in the meantime.” So if you ratified the Rome Statute, you ratified the bit that says that it’s cool for the ICC to prosecute heads of state, so WHY ARE YOU SURPRISED WHEN THE ICC ARRESTS YOUR ASS???

Level two (fine print mode, aka stfu Milosevic): Okay you didn’t sign up for the ICC. Fair enough. Quick question, though, did you sign up for the UN? Hells yes you did everyone signs up for the UN! Well friend, you may notice that the UN Security Council rules your ass now and can do whatever the fuck it wants in the name of peace and security using a nifty little thing called Chapter VII. So if they decide that your country needs to be subjected to a special international tribunal and they set it up through Chapter VII, you agreed to that because you ratified the UN Charter which says you agree to anything that happens through Chapter VII. Like I know it’s not super explicit but it *is* legitimate, that *is* what you signed, it’s nothing personal (probably). You signed away your sovereignty when you agreed that the UNSC could do whatever it wanted, and what they wanted was your immunity so hand it over.

Level three (spirit mode, aka stfu Taylor): So, say the UNSC set up a tribunal for your country but for reasons beyond comprehension they didn’t Chapter VII that shit. Is that your hail mary pass? NOPE nice try though. The court might not be a Chapter VII court but it was set up by the UN which means it was established in the SPIRIT of Article I, which is the most vague-ass fluff article ever and I find it HILARIOUS that this was a real argument used.  Also they were like “okay they didn’t say chapter VII but they said we could arrest your ass and they still have the powers of chapter VII” which is probably a better argument I guess? Why the fuck wasn’t the special tribunal for sierra leone established under Chapter VII

Level four (hard mode, aka stfu al-Bashir): So Sudan didn’t sign the Rome Statute. And there hasn’t been a special tribunal set up for it. Does that mean it hasn’t actually consented to having its immunity waived? HECK NO IT’S STILL A UN MEMBER. I read an article that was specifically dedicated to being like “waaaah the ICC doesn’t have jurisdictionnnnn” and it pissed me off so let’s deal with this shit. This dude was all “the ICC isn’t a UN body” like come the fuck on, the flag is blue and has olive branches for a reason. maybe it’s not directly part of it but it was still built out of the UN and still has direct links. And by direct links I mean THE SECURITY COUNCIL HAS THE AUTHORITY TO REFER CASES TO THE ICC. So that’s a pretty big link. Oh also THAT IS HOW AL-BASHIR GOT INDICTED. And when the security council does that, you know how they do it? CHAPTER FUCKING SEVEN. Like it is well established by this point that by signing the UN Charter, you are signing up to give up whatever sovereignty the security council sees fit, so take your pacta tertiis and shove it up your ass. Also just on a practical note this is the only mechanism we have to combat the PRESIDENT FOR LIFE phenomenon and personally I’m in favour of NOT letting genocidal maniacs run shit for the rest of forever so I’d really appreciate it if everyone could shut up about how awkward it is when al-Bashir comes to visit because he’s supposed to be under arrest, and instead maybe idk ARREST THE GENOCIDAL MANIAC WHO CAME TO VISIT.

You know when I see it all laid out like this I find it really amazing that the primary body of the United Nations, which is a statist organization if there ever was one, really has the power to shake down other member states for their sovereignty like a bully looking for lunch money. How is everyone okay with this? Oh wait they’re not that’s why this essay is contentious. Welp for once I’m on the side of the P5 screwing everyone over, because they have good reasons here.

So, to sum up: if you’re no longer in power, you’re fair game. If we can twist your membership to various things into something that looks like consent, you’re fair game.

JUS COGENS AKA DID YOU FUCK SHIT UP REALLY REALLY BAD Y/Y

Okay let’s just quick get through the first part of this analysis, which is just “nobody gives a fuck if you only did regular bad guy stuff.” This essay is about jus cogens, which isn’t like “don’t murder” levels of bad so much as it’s like “don’t wipe out and/or enslave an entire culture” levels of bad. So if this is obvious because nobody cares otherwise, why is there a special section about it?

Not only does nobody care if you only reached mediocrity in your path to supervillainy, also we can’t really do anything about it. Your head of state immunity has got you covered, hypothetical president who killed twelve people for reasons that had nothing to do with conflict or their ethnicity!

So why doesn’t it protect you if you committed jus cogens crimes? Are these like special magical crimes where we’re just like “man that is so much worse than losing head of state immunity, therefore you lose your head of state immunity?” Honestly kind of yes, but that’s such annoying analysis. Let’s go back to Pinochet for a second here.

So remember those old dudes who were like “should we throw this dude in jail now that he’s not president?” They weren’t just like “yeah it’s fine because he’s not president” because for a while they were like “he was president when he did those things so he should still have immunity for them.”  But finally they were like, “you know what? No. If you’re violating jus cogens, you’re not a president committing supercrimes, you’re a supercriminal who has been given WAY too much power.” Like it’s contrary to the nature of the state to violate jus cogens, so if you do it you are no longer the state incarnate. I know it’s still a little magical woo-woo these extra bad crimes are special because they’re extra bad, but I actually really like this framing.

It also goes really well with principles from the Nuremburg tribunal, which declared that international crimes are committed by people (I’m pretty sure it said men but you know it was the 40’s), not abstract entities (aka States) and we can only fight these crimes if we can punish individuals. Which. Yep.

So, idk, let’s try doing an application? To that theoretical case we’re talking about that doesn’t exist? Hmmmm.

THANK GOD I NEED FEWER SOURCES FOR THIS SECTION

Okay so here’s what bugs me about all of this. That framing that I just talked about that I really like? As a reminder (yes it was ten lines ago) it basically is like ‘you don’t get head of state immunity for jus cogens crimes because they’re default personal rather than state actions.” Which is great! But my question is this: that logic basically implies that there should NEVER be any immunity for jus cogens violations? Which is not the jurisprudence (I am still only 83% sure I’m using that word correctly I should check that) we’re dealing with today. Here is a chart that is less cool than my original chart but simpler and more likely to be included in my actual paper:

                      International Court          Universal Jurisdiciton

Current HoS  |     No Immunity         |           No Immunity

 Former HoS |     No Immunity         |          IMMUNITY

Which is weird, right? If Yerodia violated jus cogens norms, it shouldn’t matter that he had immunity, it shouldn’t matter that he was still in office, it shouldn’t matter that it was Belgium trying his ass instead of an international tribunal, because according to the logic of the Pinochet decision, he wasn’t acting in the capacity of his office when he said those godawful things. The logic they used wasn’t “it’s okay because he’s no longer a head of state,” it was “he NEVER WAS head of state in the context of the actions we’re talking about.” Which raises the question of “why you gotta be such a little bitch and still say you would never arrest him if he was still a head of state?” and like, I’m not sure if the ICJ took this into consideration (and if they did and came to different conclusions my whole essay is fucked LOL) but assuming we’re aiming for a unified worldview on when it is and isn’t okay to violate immunity (which I mean, *I* am, at least) then Yerodia similarly wasn’t acting as Minister of Foreign Affairs when he got all genocidal. So why couldn’t Belgium arrest his ass as ordinary joe war criminal? Er. Ordinary joe genocidaire. Joenocidaire? Stop.

So if you look at that “rules” stuff we went over in far too much detail earlier, you will note that “you weren’t really head of state” is only one justification used. The other one is “you waived your immunity even if you didn’t mean to.” And if you are like me, you might spend a whole afternoon being like “who gives a fuck whether or not you waived your immunity when we’ve decided in the Pinochet case that you never had it?” and in that case you, like me, would be WRONG. I mean one, from a practical standpoint, we don’t have to establish that what you did was violate jus cogens if you’ve waived immunity, which is nice. We just have to make a tenuous connection to ANY PART of the UN Charter and then presumably prove that prosecuting would be in the interests of peace and security. Which is not that hard. But the cooler thing, that I wish I had more buildup to because it’s really the point of everything, is that these two justifications actually serve different purposes. “what are you talking about, they are both justifications for ignore head of state immunity, that’s the same purpose” to which I say GOD LET ME FINISH MY THOUGHT.

If we’re going with the “you never had immunity” argument, that is, yes, a justification for you to be prosecuted, and it’s a good one. BUT I would say that it is NOT also a justification for depriving a country of its head of state. This is a reason for head of state immunity WAY back at the beginning of everything, and even if you decide that someone is too evil to get away with what they did, it doesn’t erase the practical harm of a bunch of people being like “hey so that guy is our president???? Can we please have him back?????”

And yes I can hear you screaming “But that’s true no matter what when you’re prosecuting a current head of state!!!!!!11!” which YES. I KNOW. CHILL. But if it’s an international court, you asked for it. I think it’s safe to assume that if you consent in whatever fucked up way we assume you’re consenting when you signed up for the UN, if we can read that as “sure you can arrest our current head of state in the name of peace and security” you recognize that doing so is going to deprive you of your head of state. Surely we don’t have to spell that out for you.

But there’s just no way to pull that shit under universal jurisdiction. Nobody anywhere even implicitly is like “we trust Belgium to decide unilaterally when we need to be deprived of our head of state for the sake of global peace and security.” Which legally means you can’t do it, and also the reason that nobody would ever do that is the practical reason why it makes sense to let international courts do this but not countries: Belgium may well have an ulterior motive (like, idk, they somehow magically forgot that decolonization happened?) whereas any international tribunal is (in theory! And that’s what we’re talking about here!) impartial and isn’t gonna deprive a country of its president for funsies.

So to sum that up, the nullification of immunity by virtue of jus cogens violations is a sufficient condition to prosecute *former* heads of state, which is why it was cool to arrest Pinochet. But it’s not sufficient to justify depriving a country of its current head of state without their (vaguely implied) consent, which is why it wasn’t cool to arrest Yerodia (okay fine it’s not sufficient to justify depriving a country of any major member of government GOD Belgium if you were going to fuck up this badly could you have at least issued an arrest warrant for the president of DRC instead?????))

This actually raises an interesting question about like, states that can’t be said to have consented to *anything* not even the UN. If the president of Kosovo goes on a wild rampage Pinochet style, we can’t actually be like “too bad, you secretly consented to an international court that didn’t even exist yet throwing you in jail!” because they could be like “we haven’t consented to shit just try us” so if that happens I guess we’d have to wait until they were out of power. Which is annoying but what can ya do. Probably argue that Kosovo isn’t a State, and then shit gets really messy because then it’s Serbia’s UN membership that would count? But wow that’s going to make a lot of people really angry to say that Kosovo *consented* to UN control by virtue of its separation from Serbia not being recognized. Like. Ouch. Also if you aren’t a State how can you have a head of state? Shit’s complicated, man.

So to conclude, if your question (my question) is “who would win in a fight between the jus cogens norms and the immunity norms” the answer is jus cogens norms. Immunity only takes it when the level of sovereignty violation we’re talking is literally one country trying to oust the leader of another country. And I think that’s the way it should be, because that’s about the point where I’m like “okay maybe if we do that the whole conception of sovereign states is circling the drain.” Anything less than that, though, and I am down with whatever moronic justifications we can try to use to throw bad guys in jail. Yay!