#or minimum wage for fucking.... marvel... FUCK????? what the fuck????

[plutoswritingplanet]

Lady Disdain (Captain Hook x Reader)

a/n: so i know i’ve been gone for like a year, but here, have this captain fucking hook smut jesus christ what am i doing.... (jason isaacs is hot tho, so can you blame me?)

Warnings: Dream Donging, Female Reader, Shakespeare quotes as foreplay

Summary:  Dreams can be a fickle thing. You're about to discover that, as Neverland drags you into a chance encounter with the devilishly handsome Captain. (cross-posted on ao3)

The first thing that rattles you from the calm embrace of sleep, is the smell. Gone is the fain scent of a coffee you've made and left forgotten, replaced instead by seawater and fresh air. Your nose scrunches, as new sensations flood your system. And then there's light. Not from the dim lamp in your apartment, but from the sun, warm and bright, coloring the insides of your eyelids orange. Ultimately, that's what brings you back to reality. There is no way you have direct sunlight in your room, so either your roof has fallen in while you've slept, or something even weirder happened.

As you finally open your eyes, you're hit with the realization, that something weirder indeed had happened, because as your sight accommodates to the sunlight, you realizes, this isn't your room that you're standing in. No, there are rough planks underneath your bare feet, splinters just about ready to break your skin. The wind blows around you, messing up your hair and tugging on your night gown. Wait... Since when have you been wearing a night gown? You remember, quite clearly at that, going to sleep in one of your favorite shirts. Your hands tug on the almost sheer fabric, the ruffles slide between your fingers as you marvel at the feeling. There's no way in hell you would be able to afford this from your minimum wage job.

- Captain?

Your eyes snap up, looking straight at a stocky, short man, dressed in a striped shirt, a red beanie on his head. Nervously, he reaches towards his face to push his small glasses up his nose.

- There appears to be a... uh... A woman, on the ship. - he says, hands shaking.

Your hands fly on instinct towards the hem of your gown, pulling it down, over your knees. Suddenly you realize, this really isn't your apartment, and even if this is a dream, being stuck on a ship with a bunch of strange men is not an ideal situation.

- Yes, Smee, I can see that.

Another voice joins the conversation, and with a gasp you look up, towards the steering wheel. There he stands, slowly walking down from his spot above the whole ship, movements elegant and smooth. In all your life, you've met many men, short, tall, skinny and fuller. Some of them pretty, some of them handsome. But, you've never seen a man quite as beautiful as the one walking towards you with such flourish, it takes your breath away from your lungs. The man pushes Smee out of the way, his lavish outfit and a gigantic hat covering your entire field of vision. There are black feathers all around his collar, mixing with lush, inky black locks of hair falling down past his shoulders. Icy blue eyes stare at you with intensity you've never experienced before, before his lips quirk up into a small smirk under his well-groomed moustache.

- Captain James Hook, at your service, my lady - the man bows down, taking his hat off, and you take a step back as the main, gigantic feather brushes over your feet.

- Am I dreaming? - is the first thing you say in this strange scenario, voice quiet and unsure.

The man looks up at you with a brilliant, roguish smile, before slowly pulling himself back to his full height.

- Who's to say? - he answers in such a cryptic way, you feel a sudden urge to roll your eyes.

Deciding for your own mental safety, that this is, in fact, a dream, you grab both sides of your gown, and bow slightly, just like you've seen in the movies. The Captain smiles at your curtsy, before reaching towards your hand. He takes is, rather gently, and brings it towards his lips, keeping eye contact with you and... Oh...

So this is "that" kind of a dream.

Your heart does a somersault in your chest, and you can nearly feel the blood, as it travels straight to your cheeks.

- What is this place? - you ask, after clearing your throat - Who are you people?

As you look at the crew, that has slowly gathered around you, you can't help but notice the way the Captain's expression of friendliness seemed to slip, just as your eyes left him. Replaced by a much more sinister, scheming glint, that sends a shiver down your spine. No matter, dream or reality, you were not about to let your guard down, especially around someone so obviously maleficent.

- This - the Captain makes a broad movement with his left hand - Is the Jolly Roger, the fastest ship on all Seven Seas. And we...

Your eyebrows furrow slightly, as you see the man approach you, swiftly invading your personal space. He smells of tobacco and rum, mixed in with the ever-present smell of the ocean and warm skin. It's nice, too nice, too easy to get intoxicated on. Acting on instinct, you start to walk back, him matching you step for step. Your back hits the wood of the mast, but the Captain doesn't stop, his figure towering over you, as he cages you in your spot.

- ...Are Pirates.

His words are but a whisper, shared between the two of you in a mockery of intimacy. For a split second, you think, you would like to wake up now. Because the Captain's eyes bear into you, like they're trying to drill holes into your very being, and his left hand comes up to caress your chin, pushing it up, until you're forced to look at him fully. Your breath comes out of your mouth in quick pants, heat rising from your chest all the way to the tips of your ears.

- Unhand me, Captain - you try, much weaker than you've intended, and the man flashes you a grin.

For a second, you're struck with how white his teeth are. A strange observation, but when was the last time you've seen a pirate with good oral hygiene. Then, as if a bucket of cold water has been dumped on you, your thoughts start to gallop, one, clear one forming between your ears. You don't like being in this situation.

And so, bracing yourself and taking a strong breath, you raise your hand, place it onto the man's chest, and push rather hard. He seems to be startled by the contact, eyes flickering to your hand, and back to you in confusion.

- For a man of such high standing, you sure lack manners - you wonder if the surrounding men can sense your demeanor is a lie.

By the way some snicker, you guess they can. Captain Hook raises one eyebrow at you, regarding you with a skeptical stare, and then he brings up his right hand. There it is, gleaming in the sun, a sharp, curved hook attached to where his hand should be. Your face falls, and the man smiles cruelly.

- Case and point - you mutter, eyes never leaving the weapon. - I'll have you know, I'm a respectable lady, and I deserve to be treated as such.

Captain Hook laughs, a short snicker, before regarding you with a look filled with irony.

-  A "respectable lady"? On a ship filled with men, in only her night gown?

Now, that sparks a fire in you, hands on your hips, you stand your ground against the Captain's oppressing posture, all the rage and fire following you in tow.

- I'm not responsible for my circumstance!

- Neither am I, I assure you - he raises his hands in mock surrender.

- Oh? And I'm supposed to just trust a Pirate's word like that? - you throw him a judgmental stare.

The man laughs again, his head inclining towards you in something, that vaguely resembles a show of respect.

- Wise, very wise, darling - your eyebrows shoot upwards at the new form of endearment - What are your demands, as a respectable lady?

You think for a second. In your mind, you haven't really arrived at that point yet, and making something up on the spot would pose a risk of exposing, just how much you have no idea what was going on. And yet, it's just a dream, isn't it? Soon, you'll smell your day's old coffee, and wake back up in your apartment, with no ocean in sight. Why not indulge yourself for a moment, while sleep holds you in its arms?

- I demand a tour of the ship - you announce triumphantly.

The man laughs, his eyes jumping around his crew, as if looking for a confirmation, that what you've said demanded ridicule. Apparently, it did, because all around you, you could hear snicker after snicker. You comfort yourself with the fact most of them sounded forced.

- Is that all? - the Captain already takes a couple of steps in your direction, and panic rises in your gut at his proximity.

- And do me no harm in the process!

That makes him laugh again, this one is loud and booming. Before you can get properly mad at him for laughing in your face, however, he takes off his lavish hat and bows again.

- Your wish is my command, my hearty.

Your face twists at the nickname, but you decide to say nothing, not wanting to push your luck, especially after being confronted with his deadly prosthetic. It's just a dream, you remind yourself in your head, as he comes over to stand by your side, arm sliding around your waist. It's just a dream, you keep reciting, when you feel his fingers pick at the thin fabric of your nightgown.

- ...Just a dream... - you mutter, and if he has heard, he decided not to comment, opting instead to pull you towards him, as he began to walk around the ship.

To his credit, the tour of the upper deck is completely respectable and rather interesting. As he explains the different parts of the ship, and introduces his crew along the way, you begin to slowly let yourself be carried through this weird experience. The hand on your waist no longer bothers you, even as it travels towards your hip from time to time. The crew is respectable enough, although the energy feels tense, whenever you're allowed to talk to them. As if everyone knows something that escapes you, some terrifying truth that you're not privy to. It's just a dream though, so you push your worries to the back and lean into the Captain's warm embrace.  

- And now - the Captain leans down to flash you a cheeky grin - pièce de résistance.

He opens the ornate door in front of you with his usual flourish, and you gasp, as you enter the most richly decorated room you've seen in your entire life.

- The Captain's cabin. My cabin. Just like the Royal Palace, isn't it?

You laugh, eyes searching the room in wonder, taking in all the splendor and the treasure. There's a beautiful, black piano standing in the corner in the room, pages upon pages of music sheets thrown around it in disarray. Your eyes skim over the papers filled with black ink. And then, you see it. A gigantic bookcase, climbing the entirety of a wall, from top to bottom, filled with books. Your heart nearly jumps at the sight, and you cross the room with determination.

- Oh, this is just wonderful - you whisper, eyes flowing over the titles, some you recognize, some you don't.

You reach towards one of the books and pull it out with a smile.

- "Much Ado About Nothing" - you announce, and immediately step back, collidig with the bookcase.

You have no idea how the Captain managed to sneak up towards you so quietly, but here he stood, mere inches from you, one arm braced on the bookcase, his long black hair framing his face. His hat was left on top of the piano, and his coat became abandoned as well, leaving him in just a silk black shirt and leather trousers. An interesting combination, worthy of a rockstar.

- Do you enjoy Shakespeare? - he asks in a quiet, casual tone, as if the situation is the most normal it could've been

You swallow hard, regaining your composure, bringing the book closer to your chest, as if to shield yourself from his oppressing aura.

- Not particularly, no - you admit - This is an exception.

The Captain pushes closer, and your eyes start to search a way for potential escape.

- What is it about?

- Oh... it's... - you stammer, the hard cover of the book digging into your chest from how hard you're holding onto it.

His smell invades your senses, swirling in your mind and bringing blush back to your cheeks. Slowly, but surely, you begin to be entranced by this strange, dangerous man. Even the gleaming hook propped right above your head doesn't hold as much power as it used to. It all feels so intimate, nearly suffocating. It makes you wonder. If you're dreaming, what harm could be done, in letting yourself be seduced by this beautiful pirate?

He answers for you, his left hand coming up to brush hair out of your face, silver rings bringing stark, cold contrast to your heated skin.

- It's about two people, who hate each other, but over time discover they're in love.

- Ah, a love story? -  his eyebrows furrow - I was never a fan of those.

You shake your head slightly.

- A love story, in a way yes. Mostly it's just funny. - you try to defend your story - But yes, the romance part is beautiful and witty, it's inspiring, really.

Captain Hook leans down, his hand leaving your face and sliding towards the book. Slowly, he worms his fingers under your hold, pulling the book out of your hands. You stare at him in confusion, as he skims through the pages, eyes jumping over the words with an unreadable expression.

- "Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps." - he reads out loud, and you watch his eyes crinkle, as he shoots you a smile. - Wise words.

You observe with growing anticipation, as he opens his hand. The book slides out, falling to the floor with a thud. Your eyes snap back to him, catching him in the process of staring at your lips.

- “I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, than a man swear he loves me.” - you whisper.

- So cruel - he muses, the ghost of his breath fanning over the side of your neck. - I shan't even suggest "love", my darling "Lady Disdain". I do, however, require payment for guiding you through this ship.

His working hand climbs the expanse of your neck, pushing your head up, enough for you to feel the bookcase behind you. Acting on instinct, your leg travels up, the night gown slipping, exposing your thigh.

- And what would that payment entail? - you ask, your heart thrumming hard against your ribs, like a bird still longing to be freed from the cage.

- A kiss.

Your heated stares meet in the corner of your left eye, where he hovers over your pulse point. Soon, your lips pull back into a crooked smile.

- Just a kiss?

- And whatever more you can give me. - his eyebrows knit together, as he answers with a pout on his lips, a poor attempt at acting innocent.

As if there was ever a time for innocence, on this strange ship sailing through your dreams. So, you arch your back from the bookcase, hand coming up to drag itself along his arm. Meanwhile, your leg hooks itself around his calf, intention clear as day.

- What will I get in return, should I decide to give you more? - you say in a low voice, the huskiness of your tone surprising, but welcomed by the Pirate with open arms.

The cold metal of his hook startles you, as it begins to travel from behind your ear, along the main artery, until it rests between your collar bones.

- You'll become one of my most valued possessions.

At this, you frown with no real malice behind the expression. It is a dream after all. That being said, one of your hands reaches up and behind him, fingers worming their way into his soft hair. It takes one gentle scratching motion to his scalp, and the Captain nearly moans, his knees buckling under your touch. It soon became clear as day he wasn't used to physical contact, or at least, didn't get much of it.

- I'll have you know, I treasure my freedom greatly. - you counter, fingers tangling themselves into his black locks and tugging ever so gently.

- Is that so? - his voice cracks, but he tries to hide it, by dragging his hook down the front of your body, until it catches onto the fabric of your night gown. - So do I. But sometimes, one needs to take some risks, to gain something one wants.

- And what is it, that you want, Captain? - your question dissapears into his mouth, as he finally closes the distance between you.

To his credit, at first he tries to be gentle, to go slow and sensual. But as soon, as you allow him to continue kissing you, all pretense goes out the window. His beard scratches your face, as he presses himself impossibly close to you, tongue slipping past his lips and nearly forcing itself into your mouth. You grant him access with no grace left, sighing loudly, when his teeth drag themselves over your bottom lip, biting hard enough to draw blood. He laps the red liquid like a man dying of thirst, and you start to wonder, perhaps your sleep-deprived mind has conjured a pirate vampire.

Finally, when you think your lungs can't take any second more without air, he pulls back. His eyes scan your face, and his expression turns smug, as he notices the redness around your lips, the way they are swollen from the kiss.

- Right now, I want to take you over this desk there. - he answers your nearly forgotten question, and your heart lurches from your chest.

- What are you waiting for, then? - perhaps, you sound just a little bit desperate, but why should you care, it was just a dream after all, and you were far too turned on to play any more games.

So, you squeal in delight, as his arm sneaks under your thigh, and he hoists you up. Your arms immediately encircle his neck, and as he carries you over to the desk, your mouth begins a journey of exploration of the space under his chin. Your tongue darts out,  licking a long stripe along his pulse, and you begin to worry he'll drop you, from the way his entire  body shivers.

Soon, your ass hits the surface of the desk, rich mahogany carved into many intricate designs, never to be appreciated, because as much as you'd love to explore all the antiques, the man before you looks much more appetizing. God, he's beautiful, as he towers over you in all his glory, hair ruffled and shirt even more undone than before. His eyes bear into you, and from where you're sitting, you start to feel like prey, waiting for the predator to strike. And so, he does, his hooked hand coming up to your gown, and dragging it down. You gasp, as the fabric tears, falling alongside your body in long stripes.

- You'll be the death of me - the Captain mutters, eyes slowly climbing over every inch of your exposed skin.

And then he dives in, like a man starved, and all you can do, is angle your neck to give him better access. There's no need for tenderness, as he all but ravishes your neck with rich kisses, his working hand roaming every inch of your exposed body, still, carefully avoiding the one place you needed it the most. The ,almost, painful pressure between your legs starts to build up, not enough to tip you over the edge, but enough to make you annoyed at the lack of any real friction. So, with a furrowed brow and a desperate pout, your hand finds purchase, tangled in his soft hair. Before long, you pull at the roots. Hard.

His head snaps back, teeth snared at the pain you were suddenly causing him. He gives you a confused expression, and you have to shake yourself from the trance his wild eyes put on you.

- Fuck me already, would you? - you pant out, shame thrown out the window.

You can see his face morph right before your very eyes. From slight confusion, to pure, focused determination. You nearly laugh, as he lets go of you almost imediately, in favor of trying to get his pants untied and off of his body, cursing under his breath, as his hand just can't seem to work fast enough. With an affectionate smile, you pull yourself up, hands coming up to help him, detangling the strings holding his leather pants together. Before you can get a glimpse of what's awaiting you, his hand grabs yours, pushing your body down, to lie on the surface of the desk.

Wooden sculptures dig into your naked skin, but at this point, you can't find any care in the world, because his pants are down, and he watches you with such intensity, one would think you're a science project. You can't trust your words, so you just nod your head,  in response to his silent request for permission. Soon, all thoughts leave your head, as he pushes in, in one, smooth, languid motion, as if savoring every miniscule twitch and twist of your body.

It's obviously been a long time for the both of you. Bodies finding familiarity in almost forgotten rythm, that starts slow, sensual and close. His breathing is shaky. You can feel his chest expand, his heart thrumming against your own. You allow yourself to get used to the feeling of having him inside you, each push and drag melting away at your bones, as your hands find their rightful place, scratching his working shoulder blades.

- C'mon. - you breath after a while of this tender love-making, and as if on cue, his hips snap up.

A squeak dies on your lips, as the Captain leans down to kiss you, his pace becoming faster, hips trying to move deeper. Soon, your whole body jumps on the surface of the desk, as the wood creaks rythmically under the weight of both of your bodies. You have the half-mind to note how sturdy the piece of furniture is, because the way this man above you is going, most of the surfaces in your apartment would've been reduced to splinters by now.

The Captain continues his ministrations, as the both of you grow closer and closer to you finish lines. Your voice slips past your lips as low, guttural groans, the pressure building seemingly with no chance of stopping it. You just need something to tip you over the edge. Pushed by the need for your own release, your right hand leaves the, now covered with sweat, back of the Captain, in favor of slipping between your conjoined bodies. You start rubbing quick circles, something to help you reach your goal, and as your body spasms, your voice grows ever-louder.

The man in front of you nearly trips in his fervor, your moans clearly affecting him. His brows shoot up, towards his hairline, as his hooked hand smashes itself into the surface of the desk. You would've been more alarmed by the violent outburts, if you weren't currently experiencing, what could easily be called one of the best orgasms of your life. Finding purchase in his stuck hook, the Captain resumes his work, going harder now, chasing his own high.

It doesn't take him long, before he topples over, moans and curses spilling freely from his lips, as his whole body weight crushes you. You're too close to being overstimulated, and you whine, as he finally slides out of you, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness, but satisfied nonetheless.

It takes the both of you a while to recover, as you stay for just a moment longer, tangled in eachothers arms, breathing slowly evening out. His head lifts from your chest to look at you, and you push sweat-drenched locks from his flushed cheeks.

He smiles, and for the first time, you can't see any ulterior motive in his expression. It's soft and serene, his eyes glossed over.

- Will the payment be sufficient? - you ask, voice hoarse from all the screaming you've just done.

- Entirely - the man laughs, and you can't help but giggle yourself.

Your body feels heavy with exhaustion. You let your head fall with a thud onto the desk. With half a mind, you note his body weight leaving yours, but there's no energy left in you, to try and look at him. Instead, you choose to close your eyes, the immediate relief of the darkness nearly wrenches a sigh out of you. Blood is pumping through your veins, you can hear it hum in your ears. The desk is slowly getting softer and softer under your body, as if your limbs become accustomed to the wooden surface.

And then, just as you're about to ask for a glass of water, or rum, or whatever the Captain chooses to drink, you smell a familiar scent.

Day's old coffee.

[roseband]

hhhhhh my mom had the gall to bring it up that i’m the first generation in my family to not get equal or more education than the prior gen... i need 2 go back for a masters like.... now

[enaraism]

winter wonderland

summary: a certain bookstore clerk helps peter come to a conclusion about winter.

a/n: bye i cant believe i finally wrote something hhfhffb Dying rn. my writing's a little Crusty so please bear with me!! and this is my first ever fic so i'd appreciate reblogs and comments! ^_^

content: bookstore!au, she/they pronouns used, fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers?? kinda?? poc!reader (it's only mentioned briefly and can cater to all poc, but white ppl can also read it), third person and no y/n used bc i cant get myself to write it that way. cliché?

word count: 1.3k

(also i added the peter parker x black!reader tag bc i think this fic caters to all poc, but let me know if i was wrong for doing that and i'll remove it, thanks!)

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»»————-　　 ♡︎ ————-««

peter parker had never really liked winter. sure, the snow was pretty. but that's really where the pros of winter ended and gave way to the countless amount of cons — like weaving hurriedly through the busy streets of new york with the cold, biting, wind thrashing against him, with bits of snow stuck sporadically in his dishevelled hair, and with a nose so red that he could easily be mistaken for one of those cartoon-ish reindeer — but none of that mattered. none of that could dull the fuzzy, fluttery, warmth in his chest that bubbled just from the thought of seeing her.

the bell above the door of his favourite bookstore (the only bookstore he goes to, really) chimed and welcomed him in, but not more than the smile that lit up her face when she spotted him. and suddenly he was smiling too, his lips curling up in a lopsided grin and cheeks heating up even more.

"there you are! i was beginning to wonder when my favourite customer would show up." they beamed, and leaned on the counter with both of their hands. peter found himself rendered momentarily speechless by the way her hair framed her face angelically, some strands sticking up messily due to long hours spent working on the minimum wage job that being a bookstore clerk is, and by the way their honeyed skin seemed to almost glow gold under the warm-toned lighting of the homely store, and oh shit, he's been silent for too lon—

"favourite customer?" he managed to let out breathlessly at the last second when he finally registered her words, a warm blush coating his cheeks at the thought of him taking up enough space in her heart to be her favourite customer. her favourite customer??? lord help him before he falls over.

and he thought he couldn't possibly be more affected by them than he already was, but of course he was proven wrong when he suddenly felt weak at the knees at her giggle (because he was red and wide-eyed just because they had called him their favourite customer and it was so fucking adorable she felt as though she might just combust), because holy shit --he's so whipped. he hasn't felt this way since gwen, and though normally the thought of her name would have him choking on a sob, this time he just felt giddy at the prospect of feeling that way again — at feeling love again.

"what can i say? you have quite the effect on me, parker, if i do say so myself," she winked teasingly, and he couldn't help the loud laugh that escaped his throat at the phrase she always managed to use for comical effect.

and he had the perfect reply to that, which he knew would make her laugh yet again so he could marvel at the way the corners of their eyes crinkled, but god decided he had gotten enough luck for today and sent in the devil himself (a nice enough middle-aged man who just wanted to buy his chosen books and make his merry way home) to cockblock him.

he smiled and shrugged in response to the apologetic look she sent his way before beginning to address the customer, and peter decided to walk around the library looking for, and successfully finding, the thing he came for in the first place.

the six of crows book. bingo.

he grabbed it excitedly, flicking through the pages and reading the summary at the back of the cover, not really caring about the contents of the book but wanting to know enough to not look like an absolute buffoon infront of them.

he waited for a minute or two after he heard the chime of the door bell again, announcing Satan's departure, and then casually made his way back to the counter.

"hi!" he said a little too excitedly, cringing internally at himself because god, he was such a sap.

"hi." she replied, the corners of her mouth tilting up again which made him forget all about his inner turmoil, because their lips were covered in the prettiest gloss and all he wanted to do was kiss her until all of it was smudged and he had his fair share of lipgloss on his lips, too.

he remembered suddenly from the expentant raise of her brows that he wasn't here to just stand and gape at them, and awkwardly stumbled on his words.

"oh- uh, i wanted to buy this," he set the book on the counter in between them and watched as their eyes widened.

"six of crows!" she started excitedly and he almost crooned at her reaction because even if he had expected it, it still caught him off-guard — because his imagination could never do justice to the way her eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store.

"that's my favourite book—" he knew, he was guilty of using his spidey senses to overhear a conversation between her and her friend about it, that's why he chose to buy it in the first place — "dude, oh my god, it's so good. i finished it in 3 days. and like, the plot is amazing in itself but when you add an angsty, mutual pining romance to it? it's literal art."

"angsty, mutual-pining romance?" he inquired, not just because he wanted to hear her ramble on animatedly, but also because he was genuinely interested in what she had to say. how could he not? she had this way of making even the most boring of subjects seem interesting with their mannerisms.

"oh god, please don't ask me about kanej. i won't be able to stop talking." they chuckled and scrunched up their face, and peter thought he might just die from the sheer intensity of the way that pulled on his heartstrings.

"well, i am a very good listener, if i do say so myself," he echoed her previous quip, which was more of an inside joke between them now, and watched as she bursted out in a loud laugh which turned even louder when he bowed theatrically for dramatic effect.

"okay, no, for realsies, if i start talking about kanej then i'll most definitely end up giving you many spoilers and i don't want to ruin it for you," she paused, uncertainty and hesitance creeping up on her and peter was confused as to why before they continued on, "but... i can give you my number and you can text me when you're done so we can talk?"

...

oh.

OH.

HOLY SHIT???;);!

"orr not! sorry, i didn't mean to make you uncomforta-"

"no, no! you could never make me uncomfortable! i don't think i've ever felt more comfortable around anyone else, actually. and i'd love to get your number! to talk to you — i mean. uh. about the book." he finished sheepishly, the initial burst of energy he got from knowing that she wanted to give him her number slowly dying down as he realised how much he had rambled on.

"okay," she said after trying to bite back a smile and nodding, and held out her hand expectantly. after a little fumbling around, peter got a hold of his phone and handed it to her, watching as she typed down her number and called herself from his phone (her ringtone was the cutest song?? he had to search up the lyrics after he went back home) so that she now had his number, too.

and he'd be lying if he said his heart didn't skip a beat when their fingers brushed together as they returned his phone to him, the touch feeling exactly like the prickling sense of electricity and more, which only intensified when he heard how fast her heart was beating (thank you, spidey senses) because my fucking god, she might like him too.

she waved him goodbye as he stepped back out into the icy january cold, the door bell chiming once again behind him, albeit cheerfully this time, almost as if it were congratulating him.

peter parker had never really liked winter, but he concluded that as long as he had her to warm him up, he might just learn to tolerate it.

[meyeselph]

Gwenpool: Desperate Misanthrope's Confused Angst

Showtime

Ms. Pool woke up in a familiar room. Not in Krakoa - there are no mutants around. This isn’t a story about that. Look, honestly, without an actual Gwenpool series and the constant breaks in her comics appearance I can’t even begin to give a fuck. I cancelled my marvel universe subbie. I might get back to my stories but single issues are iffy. I read fast and don’t pore over the artwork. So I get 10 minutes of entertainment for….FIVE DOLLARS? When did this happen? Jeezus.

Who even reads comics anymore?

Anyway, long story short, Gwen got out of bed and recognized the room as her old one from the “old times.” The dark times. The ‘not running around in pink and white outfits and shooting people’ times. She panicked (Been there. It is what it is though). The only way out of trauma is through.

She dressed in old clothes, immediately hit by old smells, she couldn’t help but cry. Was it all a dream? Have I gone insane (again)? All the usual self doubts cropped up. I mean, really, if you think this kind of thing didn’t pass through her mind regularly why don’t you transport yourself to a comic book universe?

Oh, you can’t?

Oh. It isn’t actually possible for you and I’m stupid for suggesting it. So, yeah. If it actually happened and you kept that attitude then the logical assumption for a normie is a mental breakdown. Trick for Gwen, though, is it's probably always been both real and her being nuts.

So she goes downstairs to the kitchen to figure out why this is happening and Evil Gwen is having cereal. Let's say cocoa puffs. I’ve been thinking about those recently. You ever remember cereal as something worth cherishing. Not as just bullshit that TV convinced you to want? God damn, now I want Cookie Crisp. Cookie Crisp wasn’t even ever that good. Why do I want Cookie Crisp?

So also sitting around the table were the faceless versions of her father, mother, and her brother. Just chilling. No BD. Seen Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind?

Yes, I know that references aren’t jokes - fuck you, I’m painting a picture and I CAN’T PAINT, THAT’S WHY THIS ISN’T A COMIC. Fucks sake. Anyway. So, Gwen is so creeped out that she just sits her butt down by Evil Gwen as if she’s the comforting presence here.

Her name’s too long. Let’s call Evil Gwen uh…….Gren. You know, like Grendel from Beowulf. I haven’t actually read Beowulf and this is all a little confusing but I'm solving problems here. Writing this is harder for me than you would think so it’s best to keep things flowing off the cuff. That’s the Gwenpool™ style anyway, isn’t it? Are you laughing yet? IMPROV. “YES AND” MY SHIT, READER!

“So, you ever really look into the retconned past thing, hun?” Gren said, moving her tongue around her food. Being gross as an attempt to be properly evil. She swallowed before continuing. “This is all I could really put together on short notice but i’m pretty sure what the future people created, all that stuff to try and trick you, it was all bullshit.”

“What do you mean? Are you trying to convince me to go all psycho like you again?” Gwen asked, exasperated, realizing she was now back in the whole ‘fuck with Gwen to decide her fate’ song and dance routine from the end of her first arc.

“Nah, not really.” Gren said. A hammer appeared in her hands out of nowhere and Gren swung it into their fake father’s head, snapping his neck..

“DAD!” Gwen instinctively cried as she saw her father’s body slump to the floor. Gren slapped Gwen’s face. “That’s it,” Gren said, “this is what the trick was.This is a poorly created character in a fictional story. Meant to manipulate you into attaching your concept of “father” to it. Even his finished version in the original comics run wasn’t THAT well drawn. Your dad read like a boomer’s idea of a responsible parent. You were going through a mental crisis and struggling to find purpose in life and his genius idea was get a shitty low paying job and suck it up?”

Gren turned to their brother, pushed his face to the table and smashed the back of his skull. . “Brother dearest, too. Going right along with their victim blaming. He gaslighted you as if what you were going through was just you being ‘irresponsible.’ Bitch, people working a minimum wage job aren’t somehow not impoverished and miserable because they get some of that ‘honest work’ that folks keep badgering on about. Minimum wage work is occupied by many physically and mentally disabled people held hostage; they’re people society only pretends to care about. Then they turn it all into you acting like some world ending threat. No questions about what drove you to the edge in the first place. You are just ‘unstable,’ so you’re just a problem to be solved. They say, ‘Let’s all solve this girl being upset and on edge by ruining her concept of self, reality, and memory.’ Brilliant!”

Gwen barely processed this in horror. Gren then slit the poor facsimile of their mother’s throat while continuing to rant, “You see people die all the time, Gwen. Half of the time you are doing the killing. You do it because it’s in a story. In a story the NPCs don’t matter and, after all, your original schtick in the story was to be kill-crazy. The non-marketable characters can be replaced or retconned at the stroke of the artist’s pen.” Gren leans forward as she pulls a Gwenpool mask over Gwens face. “Then the writers convince you that you have some middle class milk toast family and you take abuse and subsume your emotional needs because the problem MUST be you. You aren’t ‘normal’ so you have to be fixed.”

Gwen wiped her eyes over the mask and sighed. A bit of fire filled her gut as she stared at Gren. “So fucking what? You want me to go on a killing spree and be a big time villain to get myself a nice, shiny permanent big bad status? That’s how I stay around right? Just build my legacy on bodies?”

Gren scoffed “You already lost that fight, girly. Where do you think we are? Because this ain’t Marvel Comics.”

Confused, Gwen blinked and tried reaching for the page margins, finding nothing. Wait….why was everything on this page so ill defined and undetailed? Wait? Why was the story in kinda wobbly third person past tense?

Gwen sighed “Oh. I’m in a fanfic. I guess the publishing fight is for another day eh?”

“My advice, personally,” Gren stated, “is that you consider the lobster.”

“Wait, what the fuck?”

Gren pulled aside the kitchen curtains revealing the face of a giant lobster, its claws tapping on the glass. The lobster muttering gutterally about personal responsibility.

“Because there’s a couple thousand giant lobsters outside that would like to claw you until you read their book.”

--

Scared of Girls

On the rooftop, Gren shoved a high powered rifle into Gwen’s hands while she handled the close range threats. So, this conversation they’re about to have is important. Sniping puts Gwen into a sort of zen space, so that’s a better task to keep her focused, after all.

“So, what? You wanted me to internalize that my “origin story” is bullshit? Okay, what does that accomplish, then?” Gwen asked in a bit of a deadpan. She was so tired today. Not really feeling her happy go lucky energy. More like a “happy go fucky” energy. It was hard to always be on a knife's edge. Still the rifle’s kick into her shoulder was satisfying as she blew through two of the creepy looking lobsters at once. “Also, why the lobsters?”

Gren considered this. “Okay, last question first, I had to experiment a lot and do a lot of research to construct this place for your learning and healing in fanfic form....These buddies are a failed experiment of mine that I repurposed because the fic needed more action. Isn’t that right, giant enemy crap?” As she peppers the nearest goon with a hail of shotgun pellets the entire throng of them burst out, sharply muttering about divine symbols.

“As for what I'm trying to teach you, it’s that you aren’t reaching your potential.” Gren grumpily huffed.

“Duh,” Gwen reloads, “I mean you just killed a mannequin version of the voice in my head that says that to me every day.” one of those crustaceans talks about feminine symbolism while she decides on her next target.

“Not like fake daddy’s ‘Be a responsible member of society by paying your taxes’ type of potential. I mean your creative and emotional potential.” Gren flipped off the slavering throng of monsters, noticing they were starting to keep their distance from the roof.

“I never did finish that fanfic idea I had.” Gwen mused.

“God, don’t mention that,” Gren thrusts a finger at Gwenpool. “Not that I don’t respect fanfic, but when comic book writers make you and Kamala squee about fanfiction to try and relate to “the kids” it comes across as so condescending.”

“Really? I mean…..I'm sure it’s meant as support for the concept?”

“Most fucking superhero comics are just legalized fanfiction! The people who created the characters are either long gone or working on someone else’s characters! They just think they are so much better because they got fucking paid. They can’t imagine themselves as on the same playing field as fanficcers even though most of them have the same level of connection to the roots of the work as anyone else.” Gren groused loudly as she seemed to pull Reed Richards out of nowhere.

Confused, Reed looked around until his eyes met Gwen’s.“Oh great, you again.” Reed groaned as he turned to survey the piles of lobster gibs while Gwen cheered the lobster forces’ retreat with a resounding “EDF, EDF!”. The scattered creatures skittered amongst the bland scenery. It looked like a suburban neighborhood but someone forgot to color in the sky….or write that the sky had color. A castle hung out in the distance breaking up the generic normalcy and lay cloaked in shadow despite being surrounded by an endless white void.

“And…..black….you?” Reed pointed to Gren, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I have an evil future self….well I stopped that future so it’s an….evil...alternate timeline self?” Gwen said with a nervous chuckle, abandoning the kill quest for the minute and rested her rifle on the roof.

“Ah. Yeah I’ve been down that road. It’s a rather common occurrence. Multiverse being what it is.” Reed laughed heartily while putting his hands on his hips.

“I’m not sure I’m evil, honestly,” Gren interjected. “I think I’m just really fucking grumpy and I’m slightly more gung-ho on the homicide. Considering Gwen’s already one of the more kill crazy characters on the roster it’s not that much of a distinction.” Gren flipped her cape. “My main distinction is I don’t like that meme from The Incredibles! You can just make it so the cape detaches automatically when it’s pulled hard enough!”

“You could still have it tangled up around your face.” Reed pointed out in his standard know-it-all fashion.

“Don’t make me go into fuck wife mode, stretch.” Gren spat. “Okay, anyway, so I brought him here to illustrate a point. Reed. Explain particle physics to me as a laymen.”

“Huh...i’m not sure why but okay. Particle physics (also known as high energy physics) is a branch of physics that studies the nature of the particles that constitute matter and radiation. Although the word particle can refer to various types of very small objects (e.g. protons, gas particles, or even household dust), particle physics usually investigates the irreducibly smallest detectable particles and the fundamental interactions necessary to explain their behaviour. In current understanding, these elementary particles are excitations of the quantum fields that also govern their interactions. The currently dominant theory explaining these fundamental particles and fields, along with their dynamics, is called the Standard Model. Thus, modern particle physics generally investigates the Standard Model and its various possible extensions, e.g. to the newest "known" particle, the Higgs boson, or even to the oldest known force field, gravity.” Reed rattled this off rather mechanically.

Gren then took out her phone and showed Gwen the Wikipedia article on “Particle Physics,” which is naturally the same words that Reed had regurgitated above, just without any formatting and, again, on a phone.

“Reed can’t be a genius in any subject unless he’s written by a genius in that subject. That’s how stories work. Everyone is limited by the understanding and capabilities of the writer. Same with your origin story and all the people you’ve interacted with. If you are as ‘meta’ as you think you are then you have to realize that you aren’t actually talking to people. You are talking to the writer. Dr. Strange didn’t rewrite your existence to be a part of the Marvel Universe. As far as most of Marvel continuity goes Dr. Strange was never there and doesn’t know or care about his MCU casting…..Hey Reed, buzz off please before the conversation pivots to why you haven’t cured all known diseases.”

Reed looked a little surprised but then pulled out a teleportation device (of course he has one) and blipped away with a shrug.

“How awkward is that going to be when he enters the MCU after Kamala is already introduced with a very similar power set?” Gwen chuckled.

“Keep up the way you’ve been going and you’ll never see it. I’m not exactly expecting a young blonde girl casting call for Deadpool 3 and that’s your best bet.” Gren snarked. Gwen winced with a sigh.

“I don’t get what I'm doing wrong. I have a fanbase comparable to some of the characters that have already shown up but I can’t even get comics written about me most of the time. An MCU push seems unlikely. They would literally have to deal with completely recontextualizing my powers and gimmick”

“Let’s ask her what you should do.” Gren motioned her way to the suddenly appearing long hair future Gwen, looming over them like The Attack of the 50 foot Woman for some reason. Dwarfing the roof they are on. Let’s call her BIGwen!

--

Gold Guns Girls

As BIGwen acclimated to her surroundings she stubbed her toe on a car, dramatically flipping it so that it took out a few more lobsters before caving in a nearby house. The lamentations about clean rooms soaring as the remaining couple dozen of them attempt to clean up some of the bodies of their fallen kin. The large and sort-of-in-charge Gwen hissed in pain and adjusted her boot. Getting her balance as best as possible she muttered curses that traveled rather well considering the lung capacity of a giant.

“You know,” Gren started, “I wasn’t expecting much from our previous uses of the ‘make her big for emphasis’ trick, but it really does only work as a vague ghostly background element. I didn’t just want it to be ‘oh, here's a third Gwen for the conversation, though. Would lack umph.”

“ Yeah, I get it, but staring at my own giant taint is unsettling.” Gwen muttered.

“I’d still, hit it.” Gren grinned, then immediately got punched in the arm. “OWWW! Look, I’m the evil one here and we’re in a fanfic. I’m allowed to make internet fetish jokes.”

“And I’m allowed to hit you for it.”.

“Dirty lampshading goody two shoes. Don’t act like half your fanbase isn’t thirsty. It’s “insert current year argument”, all art is sexy to someone.” Gren complained back,rubbing her arm before hopping off the roof. Gwen followed while listening as patiently as she could considering how many changes in topic her evil-caped self is going through to get to her point. “This chick is the reason you’ve been on the path of good girl. Some vague idea that in the future everything will work out for the best. HEY, DOWN HERE, BIG SHOW!” Gren waved at BIGwen and she looked down curiously.

“Yeah what??” BIGwen responded in a booming and agitated tone. Honestly, being in this fic made every version of Gwen a little grumpy.

“How’s she supposed to be a popular hero that makes it into the MCU and has a stable publication history?” Gren asked.

“Fuck if I know.” Came BIGwen’s response. “Have you tried growing your hair out?”

“Rub it in,” Gwen muttered under her breath, “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of depressed now.” Gwen said as she sat on an abandoned car.

Gren hopped on the roof of the car, patting Gwen’s shoulder before squatting with enough force to flex the car’s shocks like a rocking chair just to amuse herself. “Future “good” Gwen wasn’t an actual plot point, it was a call to action to the fans to make fanfic like this and support the character outside of the actual Canon. Chris didn’t trust that Marvel would treat the character right. That, and your obsession with getting a new book, are both the writer’s attempt to turn a marketing tactic into fan engagement. If you want to be real then that makes the fans want you to be real even more, too.”

Gwen sighs heavily and leans her chin on one hand. “I mean...the time traveling through the life of an NPC fan complete with a Never Ending Story reference was a bit sappy even by the standard we sometimes set...damn it it really was just kind of a fan manipulation trick wasn’t it?”

BIGwen Sat down on the street next to them and crossed her legs. “Hey, little me. Don’t get too down. I mean it worked for the most part. You have a healthy cult following. Characters have survived on less and there are worse things to be known for then as a fan first character”

“But I have to fight for attention all the damn time, though. It’s so easy for Wade with his fucking meme bullshit. He even gets runoff enthusiasm from me. Jeff the land shark is all over Oldpool online” Gwen felt rather heavy and tired all of a sudden. Marvel editorial forcing a gun to your head is not a fun way to be.

“All that fight is hell on the fanbase too.” Gren sighed. “Advocating for shit, getting crumbs and being expected to accept it while Disney lavishes all the attention based on some bullshit numbers game. Even if you make it into the MCU will it be a Batroc style cameo with obligatory ‘killed off in case we don’t feel like paying the actor again later.’ Will it be an emotionally rounded character or an ambush bug style joke? The thing is. You're Not the one fighting and you never were.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

“This version of her doesn’t know?” BIGwen whimpered.

“You aren’t real, Gwen.”

--

Head Like a Haunted House

“No….we aren’t having this conversation. Fuck you fuck you i’m not a fucking Nihlist and i’m not going to do this right now.” Gwen said as she scrambled off of the car and pulled out some guns. BIGwen then picked her up off the ground.

“You need to hear this, Gwen,” BIGwen boomed. “The gimmick has run its course. It’s fucking with your canon. You’re never going to be a marketable character keeping up a half fourth-wall Kayfabe”

Gren climbed onto BIGwen’s Shoulders and perched over Gwen all menacing like. “You need to listen. I’ve been trying to ease you into this. Making things more meta slowly until you were ready but it was never going to be easy.”

One of Gwen’s guns was fired from it’s holster and pierced one of BIGwen’s fingers. BIGwen screamed and her grip loosened. Soon Gwen was on the move running up her arm and firing at Gren, who dodged like the nimble and cute badass she is. “Don’t do this Gwen. Just because it doesn’t matter to the comic version of you doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m a real person god damn it! I read the comics out there! I came in! That’s why I know shit I shouldn't know. That’s what I am! THAT’S ALL I AM!” Gwen shrieked as she pulled out a sword from hammer-space and decapitated BIGwen. Suddenly a mess of colored streamers and a pile of Mickey Mouse merch tumbled out. Look, I am busy right now. Gwen is still slashing at my ass. I'm not going to explain it.

For some reason now the remaining lobsters were helping Gren. For Gwen’s own good you understand. This is proof that I’m right for some reason.

Gwen pulled out a revolver, firing pumpkin sized holes in lobsters who were still wailing about self actualization. She fully planned on shoving a sword up her evil self’s ass and getting rid of this doppelganger shit for good. Which is total bullshit by the way. She totally just cut off Gren’s leg because what the fuck you mean I’m not real? I’m going to be real all over your corpse.

Gren didn’t really think that was even a good comeback and also thought you should probably say it instead of meta willing the smack talk into existence, otherwise this fanfic is going to read like trash. Also, Gren’s leg wasn’t actually cut off. In a puff of smoke it is revealed that the cut off leg is a log and her leg is fine. Gren is a ninja now, believe it.

Gwen proceeded to do a sick ass CQC judo throw on Gren and then grab her cape and wrap it around her face like Reed suggested. Callbacks for the win! Callbacks to Checkov’s gun ideas always lead to victory in fights! She then totally shot at her and such.

But the bullet was caught by the cape because the cape was a symbiote! That’s right Gren is also GRENOM!...boy that sounds stupid. Anywho, the cape was no longer around her face and the fight continued and Gren now ALSO had extra powers and special wizard-symbiote armor (that would only show up in the MCU version if Marvel finally got the Sony characters back). The meta powers work like shit in text but this would be really good in CGI or animation if Marvel wanted to adapt this fic and give the writer lots of money. Gren still has more experience with them, though, and Gwen can’t really just kill her way out of this fic so she has to just let the story play out.

…...eh?....oh Gwen’s crying. I love/am you girl but we gotta work on the crying. Fucks sake this is harder than I thought. I’m depressed now too. Well I'll try to get the writing back on track so you guys can see what is going on. Even the lobsters are minding their manners now. Chill vibes, guys.

“The marvel character page for Gwenpool says, and I quote:

Gwenpool arrived in the Marvel Universe from the “real world,” but has wasted no time in making the most of her time in her fictional universe. Using her knowledge of comics to her advantage, Gwenpool causes and solves problems for her fellow heroes.”

Gren drags a lobster corpse slowly toward Gwen and sits on its tail as she talks to her. Taking her time to really scrape the lobster against the ground, smearing the gore on the pavement. Not that it was heavy for her or anything. Totally still has that symbiote, which would make moving it easy. Totally wasn’t a detail added in the second revision of the fic slightly before the lobsters were added.

“The words “Real world” are in quotation marks in that wiki. Real people don’t make it into comics because fiction isn’t real. Half of your versions barely make use of the ‘real person’ gimmick because it’s too meta by half and not every writer wants to waste time justifying it. So they just treat it like Deadpool’s medium awareness. Which it mostly is.”

“I really am just a fucking rip off distaff character.” Gwen moans. “Just a Gwen combined with a Pool. I’m worse than the Batman who laughs. I never mattered because I was never real”

“Fuck don’t say that. You were made with love and care by a team of creators who took a weird offshoot idea and built out a compelling metafiction idea and a likeable protagonist off of it. They just didn’t have the time and foresight to go far enough.” Gren sighed.

“Far enough?” Gwen sniffed as she was pulled up to her feet and dragged toward one of the big castles. As they walked Gren kicked along a Mickey Mouse doll that had rolled out of BIGwen’s severed head. Every time it bounced it cheerfully said ‘hahah. I love you!’

“Too much haha, not enough trauma. You’re not just a joke character.” Gren said as she kicked the Mickey doll into the big front door of the castle. The shadowy thing of course lighting up and being all fantasy and shit as the door opened.

“Well I did end both of my comic runs pretty mopey.”

“Damn right you did. When the jokes run thin they run to your real bread and butter. You’re an empathy machine.” As Gren shoves Gwen through the gate they are swallowed up in the castle, going dark again. “Let’s getcha sad clown on.”

--

Never there

“See, what evil me should have been telling you about in the original run is how to find meaning and purpose when technically nothing means anything. Comic book characters live in a world without real death and suffering. It’s all a puppet show version of real pain and real emotion meant to bring that out of an audience.” Gren opined as they walked through a black void to a couch floating in a nothing area lit only by the static of an old TV.

“Can we turn on a light?” Gwen asked as she sat on the couch. Gren sat on another recliner that suddenly appeared and put her feet up.

“Fuck off. Ambiance is a thing. We aren’t having a ‘lights on with something fun on the TV’ conversation. So look, I am not really ‘evil gwen.’ I’m half an author insert and half a plot device. If we are talking about the reality of the story you are basically talking to yourself. I am speaking about the things you don’t want to admit to yourself. You know, you’ve seen this kind of story sorta... right?” Gren picked up the remote and frustratedly changed channels between a bunch of vaguely illustrative footage on the TV, not finding anything that worked. A lot of black and white footage of trains for some reason. Just what comes to mind when I think of documentary footage? Weird.

“I am not sure how to illustrate this shit visually and this is a text story anyway so I would have to explain the illustration,” Gren griped.

“I basically get it. It’s not that uncommon a trope.” Gwen nodded.

“Because of the level of meta we are on right now we have to really acknowledge that you are basically an author insert, too. I mean, to a certain extent every version of you is more the writer that is working with your character at the time than a set character.” Gren said as she settled on a visual of Gwen being pushed out the window by her own narration text in the original comic run. When all else fails, resort to footage from the last story. That way people can look it up online!

“Right here is where the character crystallized in the mind of the author of the current fic we are in. A vague suicide metaphor wrapped up in the flavor of self destructive escapism. Your parents in the story thought it was a suicide attempt on at least some level. This is serious business. Not just a girl who doesn’t like work and can’t finish her fanfic. In this comic you are built on this understanding. The writer of this fic has ADHD and autism. So his version of you more or less has it, too. Writers bring themselves with them into their work.”

Gwen nods and takes a deep breath. “I….I can feel it. Like the world is closing around you. You aren’t built for anything that anyone wants from you. The one thing you really believe in, the one thing that really defines you, the stories in your head…..it’s just not enough.

You can’t trust you’ll ever make it with writing because you can barely write. You barely have the energy to do anything but wish that you weren’t you. What if someone actually listened? Actually believed in you and whisked you away somewhere else where the world would fit your needs? What if you were someplace you could be someone else, someone strong and confident?”

“Yeah. Like a funny anti hero in a comic for instance.” Gren nodded. “But the original comics sort of left the theme on the table. They were captured by the misconception of Gwen as the problem and not a person who needed help. All that desperation that real fans of the character might feel just bundled up into love for this character that really ‘gets’ them but Marvel doesn’t ‘get’ the character. They won't use her. They won’t go past vaguely gesturing at her mental issues and moving on. They saved the angst for Wandavision.” Gren scoffs.

“I mean the show was okay but they literally have a character built entirely on the theme of escapism and trauma. One that’s custom built for mind-screw visuals and reality bending plots and they think she’s just a lazy fangirl who really likes guns that they can sit beside Deadpool sometimes and stick in the X-Men’s bloated background character roster when they don’t need her.”

Gren leads Gwen off the couch and deeper into the void where a door to a bedroom waits. A room like her own, absolutely slopping over with old toys of comic book characters. An unclean messy space in a run-down house that smells faintly of cigarette smoke. Huddled in bed, reading an 80s era X-men comic with a flashlight, is a 12 year old Gwen.

“This is never going to be canon but this is the version of Gwen in this fic. She can’t stop crying at school. Things that shouldn’t be hard are so hard and she can’t explain why. Everyone says she’s making excuses. Meanwhile her mother is fucked out of her mind on pain killers and her step father killed himself last year ‘cleaning his gun’ while drunk. You know exactly what is on her mind right now?” Gren says as she gestures at the girl.

“I wish the superheroes would save me from this.”

“They won’t. They can’t. They were never meant to.” Gren Slams the door loudly on the scene.

“That is the emotional core of Gwenpool in this fic. The desperation that so many of the fans down here in the fucking muck of the real world feel. Poor and emotionally unfulfilled. Confused and vulnerable. If Disney and Marvel gave two fucking shits about people like that they wouldn’t waste as many stories as they do. They wouldn’t just use untold wealth to make expensive escapist stories with the military. Their gestures toward progressive ideas that they occasionally make in their stories would be THE ENTIRE POINT of their stories and the actual thing they used that money for instead of lobbying the government to keep Mickey Mouse out of the public domain.

“Disney has the power yet they save a fucking miniscule fraction of who they could. Saving people doesn’t make money.”

--

When I Get To The Green Building

Gren stormed through the void. The scene disintegrated around her as Gwen followed. Both now in a bit of a sour mood but with newfound determination.

“Come to think of it. Why is the fucking Hulk getting to fight for social justice in the comics? Why are they making a gay alternate universe Captain America? Why are they grasping at straws so hard to find characters that get to advocate and I am just sitting on a fucking island being grumpy?” Gwen groused. “I’m pretty sure I’m pansexual….at least in this fic. I could advocate for a bunch of shit at once.”

“You have a youth fanbase, a unique story and you technically aren’t an alternate universe version of fucking anything no matter how many people still think you are a Stacey. They made a fucking ‘for the fans’ character and then neglected it. Presumably because some fucking money making metric didn’t pan out despite the comics just being an MCU test kitchen and IP farm anyway.”

“You’re a fucking check mark on a ledger. I don’t even know if anyone technically created Gwenpool as a whole and Disney/Marvel can give the character to whoever they want to do whatever they want completely separate from what the fanbase wants and needs because she isn’t established. The IP landlords have spoken. The fans haven’t risen to enough ‘buy my merch’ calls to action to invest more resources. So tease endlessly until that changes.”

“Gah. Now I'm actually as pissed as you are.” Gwen said as she started fiddling with her guns. “Who do I kill?”

“We can’t do shit. You’re not even a character at this point. You are a meme for an underused character.” Gren smirked all evil like. “See but that’s it. You aren’t just a meme. You’re a MEME.”

“Uhm...I don't follow.”

“Like the concept of Justice. Gwenpool is an idea. Defined entirely by how people who engage with the idea choose to engage with it. The IP law means Disney owns Gwenpool but they don’t own how Gwenpool is perceived. Just like we as a people decide what justice is through popular consent we also decide what Gwenpool is. You see they made a character for the fans…..in my opinion that means the fans can do as they like with it even if it makes Disney uncomfortable.”

“I mean they can’t even stop porn of their characters just because of the sheer volume of the problem. I suppose people could do whatever.” Gwen nodded.

“Exactly. So the fans should just fucking Occupy Gwenpool!” Gren said as she flipped her cape dramatically with a mad smile on her face. That’s right. She was Dirtbag Leftist Gwen all along!

“Squat on that IP. Make Gwenpool a mental health advocate. Make her an LGBTQ activist. Make her fight for social and financial justice so hard that Bruce Banner looks like a poser. Make her talk shit about politicians who put their career ahead of the people. Do all the shit that makes the comicsgate crowd sad. Keep politics in our stories! Rally around that pink and white ass so hard they have to notice and then tie it all to the fact that Disney has great power and with great power they take no responsibility for how shitty the world is.”

“ If they are going to fuck Gwenpool fans they gotta learn Gwenpool fans fuck back. We have already proven we can make all kinds of cool shit. Let’s get serious and make more, harder, faster! Get a hashtag or some shit. They can't DMCA all of us! GWEN IS OURS WE JUST HAVE TO REACH OUT AND TAKE IT. Then they either respect the character and her fans or they just hit a PR disaster.”

“Marvel/Disney neglects fan focused cult character themed protest movements. Proves they are only progressive when it makes them money. They’re so worried about Mickey ending up in the public domain? We’re the public domain! After our entire lives stannin their characters and buyin their merch building them from an animation house into a juggernaut they are just another weight on top of the boot on our necks. They have to take responsibility!” At this point Gren is pretty much ranting maniacally and neglecting the actual writing of the story so this is Gwen taking over to wrap up.

Guys I may not be ‘the real Gwen’ but really, isn’t the version of Gwen that actually came from the real world all of us? Isn’t Gwenpool really the Gwens we made along the way? We could easily bring a little heroism and chaos to the real world (at least to the internet) if we really tried. Put the fear of God into some IP landlords and fight for some cool people that society is screwing over, too.

Prove that even in the fandom abyss people aren’t as powerless as they seem. Use that internet comic fan mobbing for something besides giving Zack more money. Disney is gearing up for their next IP fight for Mickey in 2024. Seems like a fine time for IP themed protests. For now we just need to spread the word that our needs are more important than their profits.

It’s been real. It’s been long. It’s been a real long time coming…..

But I finally finished my fanfic.

See ya, true believers.

[whumpinggrounds]

Don’t Like Her

aren’t isabella and miss mara charmingly domestic :) things are fine :) definitely no problems here and especially no jealousy :)

tagging @shapeshiftersandfire​ and @killtheprotagonist - lmk if you want to be added/removed!!!

CW: lady whump, pet whump, aftermath of conditioning, fucked up power dynamics, intimate whumper

Miss Mara’s in a good mood, Miss Mara’s in a good mood, and that makes Isabella smile. Miss Mara’s laughing, and opening a bottle of wine, and making a mischievous face at Isabella as she pries out the cork. “It doesn’t count as drinking alone if you’re here, right?” she asks, and Isabella can recognize a rhetorical question now, so she just laughs. More good news at work, she surmises, from the phone call that Miss Mara immediately makes to her maybe-girlfriend Violet, wherein her owner pretends to be far more disinterested than she actually is, and says things like yeah, well, it still sucks, and, I guess, it just hardly feels like something to be proud of.

Miss Mara is proud. Isabella can see that. And Violet tells her she should be, on the phone, and Miss Mara drinks the wine straight from the bottle and giggles as she listens. Whatever conversation they’re having devolves and devolves, as Miss Mara slips more into teasing, more into murmuring sweet words down the telephone line. Isabella busies herself with dinner. Miss Mara shouldn’t be drinking on an empty stomach. She’ll make breakfast for dinner, Isabella decides, scanning through the scant supplies left in their fridge. It’s Miss Mara’s favorite.

By the time the food is ready, Miss Mara has hung up the phone, and now all her praise is directed to Isabella, who blushes until the tips of her ears are pink at the words her owner points her way. You’re so good this is so good you’re so smart thank you so much – it all blends together until Isabella isn’t sure when to thank her master, when to blush prettily, when to turn the sweet words aside. A pet can get stuck in a trap like that –

But Miss Mara isn’t in a trapping mood. “You know, wine and pancakes taste kind of okay together,” she giggles, the wine in one hand, her fork in the other. She’s finally acquiesced to using a glass, and she smirks at Isabella over the rim. “Who would’ve thought?”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I’m glad you made it,” Miss Mara quips back, and Isabella grins again into her pancakes.

“I know you like them,” she tells her owner shyly, and Miss Mara ruffles her hair.

“You’re a good girl, Isabella.” Pleased with the praise, with all the compliments she’s getting, Isabella gazes at her owner almost rapturously, and Miss Mara looks just as happy. “It’s just so much money,” she marvels, stabbing another strawberry and swirling it through syrup. “It’s more money than I’ve…I mean, than I’ve ever had at once…”

“That’s good,” Isabella nods, sticking to small, careful bites. The syrup is sweet, definitely sugary, and Mara likes her on the smaller side. Her owner has never said it, but she has a look she gets when she sees Isabella taking bigger portions. It’s not a happy look. “That’s really good.” She aims a smile at her owner, but Miss Mara isn’t looking at her.

“It is good. It is.” Miss Mara shakes her head, shuts her eyes as if she’s picturing it. “And this is just the beginning. They want me at another meeting, can you believe that? Another meeting at headquarters, with all the, all the people in charge…”

Isabella nods along, pretending a normal amount of interest, but her heartrate has suddenly changed in her chest. “Does that mean I’ll stay here?”

“Yeah, yeah, um, you’re going to have to stay while I’m gone…”

“So, will…will Jamie come stay?”

Immediately, Isabella knows she’s done something wrong. The joy on Miss Mara’s face starts to sour, the sweetness shifts into something rotten. Isabella darts a glance at the wine bottle on the table and sees, with a sinking feeling, how much her owner has had to drink.

Not that it’s Miss Mara’s fault. It’s Isabella’s fault, all Isabella’s fault. Her voice sounded too eager, too excited, too something. Whatever it is, Miss Mara makes a discontented little sound in the back of her throat and scans her pet with a gaze full of something like suspicion. “What are you so obsessed with Jamie for?”

Miss Mara spits the name, and Isabella swallows, backpedals, tries to save herself. “I was just…just curious who would stay with me.”

“What, do you like her?”

“I like her f-fine,” Isabella tries, and hates the awkward way the words fit together, how she’s certain she’s said something wrong. “She’s fine.”

“Well, I hate her.” There’s a certain amount of relish in Miss Mara’s voice as she says it, and a certain amount of expectation. Isabella knows she should hold the same opinions as her owner, so she nods slowly, but that doesn’t satisfy Miss Mara. “She hurt me you know. She broke my heart.”

“Jamie did?” Isabella can’t hide the confusion in her voice, the question that borders on disbelief. Luckily, Miss Mara doesn’t seem to pick up on it.

“Yeah, she did. She lied to me. A lot. We dated for…for a little over three years. And she lied, and she hurt me.”

Isabella nods, fixing her face into something like sadness. On the inside, she feels fine, impervious, and she knows she’s being bad, bad, bad, but can’t bring herself to care. The only thing she feels is relief, for the way she’s deceiving her owner, because she can’t pretend she hates Jamie when she…she doesn’t. Isabella doesn’t know why she likes Jamie, just that her heart jumps when Miss Mara talks about her and sinks when Miss Mara says something mean or angry. The idea of Jamie hurting someone, the idea of Jamie being cruel…it’s so confusing as to be almost funny. Jamie, awkward nervous tentative sweet Jamie, hurting cool and confident Miss Mara? It doesn’t seem possible, doesn’t seem real. The realest thing about the story is Miss Mara’s anger, which she’s more than happy to indulge.

“She’s not, like, very smart, either.” Isabella’s owner says it with satisfaction, dropping her tone in the way people do when they’re revealing a secret. “I mean, she flunked out of undergrad when we went to school together. She’s been working the same minimum wage job for what, four years? Five? So, I mean. It’s not like she has any ambition, either.”

“I didn’t know that.” Miss Mara seems to be expected to say something, so Isabella puts in the blandest thing she can, focusing her gaze downward, on the pancakes she’s now hardly picking at, despite her constant growling hunger.

“Yeah, well. She watches you for free, and that’s nice, but I don’t know, Isabella.” Miss Mara frowns at her pet, eyes assessing. “I don’t trust her. You don’t think you could be on your own for a few days? There’s food in the fridge, and you know how everything in the apartment works…”

Heart racing, Isabella keeps her eyes fixed on her plate, so Miss Mara won’t see how frantic those words make her. “I don’t believe it’s a good idea to leave me alone for several days,” she informs her owner with unnecessary politeness. It’s her fallback, when she starts to panic, and though it turns the corners of Miss Mara’s mouth down, it doesn’t fail her now.

“Probably not,” her owner sighs. “So Jamie it is, then.” Isabella’s heart brightens treacherously. “But I still don’t like her, and I don’t trust her. Especially around you.”

That’s okay, because maybe Miss Mara’s right not to trust Jamie around Isabella. Maybe Miss Mara shouldn’t trust Isabella around Jamie, either. Isabella’s having all these disloyal thoughts, after all. Isabella isn’t hating Jamie when Miss Mara so clearly wants her to hate Jamie.

Trying to atone, Isabella is extra good that night. She does the dishes quickly and then she kneels by Miss Mara’s feet as her owner does her work. Later in the night, as Miss Mara watches TV on her laptop, she puts the computer on the coffee table and pulls Isabella into her lap. She runs her hands down Isabella’s sides, twirls a lock of hair around her finger. Isabella leans into the touch, relaxes into the touch, but it doesn’t feel the way it normally does. It doesn’t feel like she’s doing it because she loves it. Suddenly, for some reason, it feels the way it did in the Facility – like Isabella is doing this not because she wants to, but because there are stakes and strings attached. Miss Mara doesn’t notice, just keeps petting her, stroking her, pulling her back closer and closer, possessively. Isabella tries to focus on the movie. She tries to turn her brain off, tries hard not to think. This is good. This is a reward. She should be thinking about how happy she is, how lucky, how much she loves her owner.

She should not be thinking about Jamie.

[taylorinthetardis]

Wallflowers - A Henry Cavill x Reader fic

So I did a thing! Rather than continue to work on my larger, more complicated Pride and Prejudice fic, I decided to make a fanfic out of the fantasy I had at work the other day!

There will most likely be a part two to this, I just thought I was at a good stopping point and wanted to see what you guys thought about it.

Full disclosure: I didn’t mean for this to whole ass turn into a Bath and Body Works ad, but it kinda did. For those of you reading in countries that do not have Bath and Body Works, its basically just a body and home care store. In the US their scents are legendary. Pretty much every young girl went through a BBW phase where that was all they used for soap and perfume. That all being said, in the interest of further disclosure and covering my ass, I own neither Bath and Body Works nor any of the trademarks on the scents listed herein. I also do not own Henry Cavill because owning human beings is a crime.

This is my first Henry fic so be gentle with me! It’s a bit longer than I had anticipated and un-beta’d.

Warnings: just a lot of fluff. some self-deprecation. loads of swearing. don’t know if I should warn for slight bashing of the religious but I will anyway so no one gets mad at me.

Wallflowers

It was shaping up to be another boring ass day at Bath and Body Works. I had started working here during the Pandemic after I was laid off from my job at the movie theatre. I had planned on it only being temporary, but even after things got better and I got my theatre job back, I decided to stick around. What can I say; a bitch is broke. Nothing wrong with double-dipping.

There was something about Sunday mornings in the mall. Probably because people around here still went to church in the mornings. Like it matters. Sunday mornings are always so slow, here and at the theatre, but the day always picks up after 1, when morning church services finish. It was me and Samantha up in the front room this morning, working out the leftover boxes from yesterday’s shipment. She was one of the first people I really bonded with here, both of us being super into both Marvel and DC, specifically Sebastian Stan and Henry Cavill. They had just started filming the next Superman movie and they were going to be shooting scenes up in Michigan again, like they had for Dawn of Justice.

“I’m just saying, we should really consider asking for a few days off and just going up there and scoping it out. I mean, it’s Henry fucking Cavill. He’s less than an hour away from us. Right now. Less than an hour. When is that ever gonna happen again? I can use some of my vacation time at the theatre, so at least I’m not missing out on money from them. It’ll be a blast. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? We don’t see him? I mean at least we’d have tried. I’d rather try than stay down in stupid Ohio with the knowledge that he’s that close.”

“Do you really think Ann’s going to give us time off to stalk Superman?”

“We ain’t gonna tell her what it’s for! Just lie, c’mon now.” I laughed. I dropped a box of Gingham body cream into the understock drawer and broke the box down. Out of the corner of my eye I caught movement, oh goodie, a customer. Samantha was quicker to greet them.

“Welcome to Bath and Body… OH MY GOD!” I turned around and was met with the sight of none other than Henry fucking Cavill, sheepishly running his hand through his now jet-black curls, obviously embarrassed at having been recognized. Damn, am I glad I put make-up on this morning. Alright Y/N, this is your fucking chance. For once in your damn life, be fucking cool. You can do this. You look good, you smell like Champagne Toast, you’ve got this. I pulled my hair down from its messy bun and shook it out a bit before walking over to where Samantha was still trying to collect herself. The store radio started playing Halsey’s Bad at Love and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from bursting out laughing at the absurdity of the situation we were now in. Not five minutes ago we were talking about seeking him out and now here he was in all his brick-shithouse-ness. I looped my arm through Samantha’s in a show of support.

“What a wonderful coincidence! We were just talking about you and now here you are! It’s crazy how the universe works, isn’t it? I’m Y/N, this is Samantha; what can we help you with today, Henry?” I smiled my most adorable smile at him, the one that makes my little cheek dimple pop out, and, honestly, they both looked shocked. Samantha was clearly surprised that I was more capable of speech than she was, and to be honest so was I, and Henry seemed shocked that I would openly admit that we had been talking about him before he got there, which probably wasn’t a great thing to say, but I panicked.  

“Well, I was told this was the best place to go for candles and air freshener-y type things. The house I’m renting just has this odd odour that I can’t get rid of. I’ve been airing it out during the day, all the windows open, and I come home and it still smells funky. I know I could just find a different place, but it’s close to a park and that’s been nice for Kal and I don’t want to make a fuss, so…” Henry sort of shrugged, the buttons on his plaid shirt straining with the movement of his broad shoulders, and gestured around the store as if to say “that’s why I’m here”.

“Well, you’ve definitely come to the right place. All of our home care is in the second room, grab a basket, I’m sure we can find you some scents you’ll like.” He walked over to the basket tower to grab one as a couple more customers walked in. Samantha nudged me towards the second room; I was going to have to handle Henry alone for now, it seemed. He followed me over to the Wallflower wall. “So, these are our Wallflowers. They’re sort of like the Glade Plug-ins, I don’t know if you’ve seen those, you plug this diffuser into any power outlet and screw the fragrance bulb in and it diffuses the scented oil into the room. They last for about a month or so. These’ll probably be the best option for you, well these and maybe a room spray or two to start with. The candles are good, but obviously the scent is gonna be strongest when they’re burning and it’s probably not a great idea to light a bunch of candles and then leave for the whole day.”

He chuckled. “No, I’d say you’re right about that. I definitely don’t want to burn the place to the ground. Are there any scents that you’d recommend?”

“Well, I mean, it obviously all depends on your personal preferences. I like sweet scents. I like my space to be smelling like a bakery or a candy shop at all times, so I tend to go for anything like that. We actually still have some of our holiday scents that we’re trying to get rid of and there’s this really great one in that line called Spiced Apple Toddy. It smells like apple pie. I love it. It’s only out during fall and winter so I stocked up. I need it all year long, honestly. I still have so many other scents at home, but like I’m probably never gonna get sick of it, for real, it smells so good. Or I might go every other month swapping between that and Black Cherry Merlot because that’s awesome too. And then there’s Champagne Toast, I mean, that one might be a bit too feminine for you, but I love it. It’s sweet and just a tiny bit citrusy. I can’t do any of the floral or like, outdoorsy scents, they set my allergies off. And honestly there’s some of these that I smell them and I’m like, who is putting this in their house? Like, what nutjob thinks this scent is good? How many people have senses of smell that are this screwed up?” At this point I was rambling, talking excitedly and with my hands, handing him testers to smell and trying to gauge his reactions to know what to hand him next. He didn’t have any bad reactions to anything I gave him until I handed him the tester for Fresh Balsam. His nose scrunched up in the most adorable way and he very carefully set the tester down on the counter as far from him as he could manage. He handled my word-vomit good-naturedly, with a small smile on his face, nodding and chuckling when he thought something I had said was funny. Our fingers brushed a few times as I handed him the testers and after the third time, I began to feel like it was deliberate on his part, but it couldn’t have been, could it? He couldn’t really be interested in me. He’s Henry Cavill. I’m just, well, I’m just me.

Me, with my two minimum wage jobs, still living with my parents, inching ever closer to 30 years old. Why would he want any of that? Why would he be interested in me physically either? I mean, he’s literally flawless and I’m short, overweight, I eat like shit, I don’t exercise, hell, I barely know how to put on make-up correctly. Yeah, I look good today, but that’s not par-for-the-course.    

He put a few each of Cinnamon & Clove Buds, Black Cherry Merlot, Limoncello (for the bathrooms, he said), and Laundry Day (for the laundry room, obviously) in his basket along with enough of the plugs so he’d have one in each room. He also grabbed a Black Cherry Merlot and a Limoncello room spray off the shelf next to the Wallflower display before turning back to me. “So then, where do you keep this Spiced Apple Toddy that you like so much, or did you hide them so you could have them all to yourself?”

I chuckled nervously and ran my hand through my hair, sort of disbelieving that he was actually paying attention to what I had said. Boys never listen to me when I talk, I always have to repeat myself, but I guess that’s because I usually end up talking to the dumb ones. Henry’s not dumb. He really is just fucking perfect, isn’t he? Pretty and he listens? That shouldn’t be such a difficult combination to find, but for me it had been. “They’re on the table over here with the rest of our leftover Christmas stuff. Hopefully the tester is still there somewhere.” I put my hands in my apron pockets and I could feel the jolt of confidence I had had just minutes before leaving my body. His charm had worn me down, bringing me back to my normal, anxiety-ridden self. I caught the toe of my boot on the corner of one of the other tables as we walked towards the center of the room. I stumbled, but before I could fall his arm was already out to steady me, wrapping around my waist to keep me upright.

“Are you alright Y/N?” A look of genuine concern was on his face and I swear to God I swooned. Like, fuck, I just stubbed my stupid toe, it’s not that serious. I mean yeah, I stubbed my toe and then almost fell into a table covered with candles in glass holders, but like, I didn’t fall, you caught me, please stop looking at me like you care. You can’t give me that much hope. It isn’t fair. And goddamnit I love the way my name sounds coming out of your mouth. Like, fuck it’s never sounded so good. This isn’t fair, why is this happening?

“Yeah, Henry I’m fine, just a stubbed toe. Thank you for…you know.” I gestured down to his arm, which was still around my waist. The sound of me bumping into the table drew the attention of the rest of my co-workers, however, who were now coming out of their various positions to see what was going on and to make sure no one had broken anything. Samantha popped her head in from the front room and Kelynn and Mira came out from the cashwrap with Pilar and walked to the edge of the third room to peek in. All they saw was me, blushing profusely, with Henry Cavill’s beefy-ass arm still wrapped around my fucking waist. “Everything’s fine guys. I promise.”

“Holy shit, is that…”

“Mira!”

“But Kelynn that’s fucking Superman!”

“You can’t cuss in front of him Mira, he’s a customer!”

“Will you guys cut it out? You’re embarrassing us in front of the hunky British dude!”

“Hey, I’ve got an idea. How about we all pretend like this isn’t happening right now? Pilar can go back to the cashwrap, you two can go back to whatever it was you were doing, and I’ll go back to what I was doing, namely making a damn sale!” I extricated myself from Henry’s grasp so I could shoo them back towards the cashwrap. They turned and walked away, bewildered looks on their faces. I turned back to Henry who was shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and ran his hand through his curls, leaving them messier than they were before. An errant one fell over his forehead and I wanted to brush it out of the way, but he just left it.

I walked over to the table that I was originally heading for and found the Spiced Apple Toddy Wallflowers. There wasn’t that many left, but there was still a tester. I grabbed it and spun around to bring it to him, assuming he hadn’t followed me, but as I turned, I found myself going face first into his massive chest. I put my unoccupied hand up to steady myself and pushed on his chest to force him back. He was just too close. Why was he so close? He opened his mouth to say something but I beat him to it. “Here. This is what I have in my bedroom right now, this is Spiced Apple Toddy.” Oh god, why did I say it like that? The one I have in my bedroom. Jesus Christ. He quirked his eyebrow at me and cocked his head to the side, smirking a little. Instead of taking the tester from me, he took my much smaller hand in his, guiding it up towards his face so the tester was close to his nose. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A serene smile spread across his face and I felt my face get hotter. He opened his eyes, looking down into mine. Fuck I could drown in those ocean eyes.

“Oh, I like that very much. You were right. I think that one’s my favourite.”

[honeyfreckled]

a messy ramble/rant on what tfatws is tryna pull here. ik i was told this would happen, but a stupid hoe can still be pissed

ok where are my well spoken leftists who know how to explain things and aren’t bumbling dumbasses like me? need yall to do me a solid and help me compose my jumbled thoughts enough to form actual sentences and make a coherent analysis on exactly what we are all watching tfatws do here. 

yes, yall warned me this was gonna happen bc big media will never portray anarchism as anything other than violent, dangerous, and misaligned. bc the media corp would cease to exist under anarchy. it directly profits from capitalism, neoliberalism, and imperialism. they are the real villains but this is their narrative to spin, their content and platforms. the franchise must be protected at all costs and continue netting profit- which they need capitalism in order to do, so they must present themselves on the right side of history. they push for supposed reform nowadays, they say we won’t achieve anything w direct action. that anarchists are a terror group hellbent on inflicting violence on the innocent when in actuality that is DISNEY/MARVEL’s gig when u take into account how they run and operate by taking advantage of their marginalized, minimum wage workers and being in cahoots w the govt agencies they feature in their media. they keep the status quo by getting the individual to either fear anarchy, believe it to be a moot cause, or grow tired/complacent w any political discussion and instead only show interest in the otherworldly/fictional parts of these shows. 

yes, im aware of the way mega media pivots when popular opinion changes. but im not able to put my finger on how they achieve it so insidiously and without snags. how they move w the times w/out addressing or rectifying their own despicable practices. capitalist media like disney/marvel is able to do this a lot more covertly than others imo. u have to catch yrself from falling down into the distraction trap and remind yrself that marvel is about as left as jeff bezos. but god how they warp the political stances to make themselves seem on the right side of things can be invisible to ppl who dont have any previous knowledge of real anarchism or even leftism and how neoliberalism like this is effective propaganda.

esp to the stans who are just there to watch their favorite yt actor and ride for his character so hard they’ll eagerly buy into whatever message is being pushed out of sheer fanaticism. doesn’t help that this show is definitely more palatable to the “woke” section of the audience who thinks marvel is rlly doin something radical here. plus like i said, we have to consider the fact that so many members of the target audience aren’t looking out for propaganda like this. they have been taught to recognize only blatantly obvious propaganda that goes against their more liberal principles. they don’t recognize this as propaganda bc they like it and don’t feel a knee-jerk reaction against it. the show seems convey a message they view as a “finally someone said it! finally marvel is woke and i can watch without shame! this is how our heroes should be!” what the mcu is doing in this phase is rlly fucking scary bc imo this kinda presentation is more dangerous. it’s harder to pin down and extremely easy for folks to give props to and not wanna critique. it will age better than other mcu phases which makes critical left analysis seem nit picky and folks dont wanna hear it.

idk if it’s a matter of them not seeing this as propaganda at all, or just not caring that it is bc they are too devoted to who they stan they’re able to use cognitive dissonance w shows like this bc he’s in them. perhaps most of them are liberals, so they have no problem w a media conglomerate whose billion dollar franchise operates w govt contracts and is required by fractions of the armed forces/pentagon/fbi to get final script, edit, and cut approval from those govt agencies. 

before yall hardcore leftists and anarchists tell me anything, ik i shouldn’t be watching this ok. at least im p*rating it rather than helping to feed the beast. it’s just. disappointing and sad to see them vilify and lie on a group who rlly isn’t the problem irl, and does more to combat terrorism than fucking enact it. that has always been an argument against anarchism. one that holds less and less weight nowadays when the majority of domestic terrorism is committed by white supremacists, who belong to a fucking variant of fascism, which is what anarchists are fucking against! AHHHHH! wtf dlkjfalkdjfkls!!!! (btw yes ik my educated leftists don’t fuck w any disney media bc the valid critiques on the disney oligarchy as a whole is enough reason to just know it’s all trash but maybe someone else is watching this and ready to analyze it too)

[redspiderling]

Next instalment of Marvel Can’t Even Composite A Scene: The Russos!

Check out this beauty:

Characters on screen: 3

Characters correctly framed on screen: 0

Is Cap also SLIGHTLY blurry?!

How about this:

If you hadn’t seen the film 109525 times, would you have known that it’s actually Natasha talking in this scene and NOT Cap? I wouldn’t, considering all we see is her shoulder and her nose.

Why do they keep BLURRING Cap and what’s with Natasha’s HaiR?! There’s so much going on in this that the last thing anyone is going to notice is the expression on Cap’s blurred face. So I guess the point of this frame was? Lines?

And of course, lets not forget, my favourite frame from the entire film and perhaps the entire MCU:

Complex, distracting background that isn’t properly blurred: CHECK

Lots of lines that lead to nowhere: CHECK

Random colours that don’t balance each other: CHECK

A random BROKEN LAMP WITH A RED CORD STICKING OUT IN THE FUCKING 2/3:  CHECK

A random SHOULDER in the corner of the frame: CHECK

But hey, Natasha is actually on the 1/3 this time! Too bad most of her is HAIR, and we can’t actually see her face very well. 

Didn’t know the demand on Scarlett’s skill was so high, they expected her to act with her hair. That’s a solemn copper strand SJ, but we’d like it a bit more thoughtful.

Let’s see some good examples of compositing, colouring, and camera work, shall we?

Complex background adequately blurred without being too vague: Check

Colours that complement each other: Check

Face actually FRAMED by the camera AND the lines of the background: Check

Things in focus: the MAIN CHARACTER and THE PROP SHE’S USING

Also, can we CLEARLY see the actress's face so she can, you know, act with her face? 

YES, we fucking can.

But hold it there spiderling. You only use ONE character. That’s easier than framing 2 or more, how about that?

Lets give it a go.

Characters front and centre, not blurred, both faces clearly directing our attention to whatever it is they’re examining. Background sufficiently subdued, the lines are literally leaning in towards the characters and, again FRAMING THEM, both with the camera AND the lines of the background. 

Lighting clearly created to ENHANCE the expressions on the actors’ faces AND the prop they’re using.

But spiderling, what if it’s more than 2 characters that we need on screen? Surely the Russos did a brilliant job making lots of characters be on screen at the same time?

Are you sure about that?

Lighting: Abysmal. If I didn’t already know who these people are I would have no idea what I’m looking at. 

Background: Horrendous. Overexposed middle that doesn’t lead the eye to anything, huge dark parts that are imbalanced and not sufficiently detached from the foreground so we can understand what we’re looking at.

General Composition: Below the first year of film school level. We don’t know what’s going on. There’s no dynamic in the movement of the characters. They might be going for a stroll. They might be coming back from a night out. There’s no sense of CHARGING INTO FUCKING BATTLE.

Compare with this if you please: 

Lighting: Quite well done. It’s a sunny day at the beach.

Background: Good. States the location very clearly, doesn’t distract from the drama that’s going on, colours blending in nicely.

Composition: Excellent. We clearly understand that something terrible has happened. Every extra has the exact same expression, hats covering their heads because a) it’s what’s appropriate for the setting, beach in the 20s and b) so that their faces don’t distract us from the main event which is that : The Main Characters Are Coming Into Frame from the Left, Which Is Why We Left A Huge Fucking Gap in the Middle, So they Can Step In and Be Glorious.

If you meet any male MCU fan who keeps bitching about how awesome the Russos are and how we are ungrateful idiots, for not worshipping the land they step on, please, send them my way. I’ll set them straight.

Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries struggled financially for every season they made, and yet look at those frames.

How much money did the Russos make for Winter Soldier?

P.S. How is it, that shitty directors like that get to work with Scarlett Johansson AND get paid millions of dollars to do a really sloppy job, and if I want to hire an actress for a short film I’m funding myself, I have to live on noodle soups for a month in order to make ends meet, because I refuse to work with someone and not pay them at least minimum wage. 

We all end up working our asses off for a short film that might end up being seen by a few thousand people -if we’re lucky-, and I’m supposed to respect the Russo bros because what? They were born with a penis and a sufficient lack of melanin? 

Here’s all I think when I bring those dudes to mind: They had the privilege, and the luck, to work on a film project with unlimited funds. They were surrounded by creatives at the top of the game and THIS is what they made of it. Fuck these people. They don’t deserve the right to direct seasoned actors.

[theliterateape]

Why Can't We Just Share the Last Slice of Pizza?

by Don Hall

I had the first TV dinner in possibly forty-years a few weeks ago and it was kind of incredible.

Sure, it was a Hungry Man® chicken and mashed potatoes concoction and had more sodium than a bucket of sea water but it was still oddly delicious and covered in a gravy comprised of nostalgia and gluten. I didn't buy the frozen tray in a cardboard box. No, my wife has, in the pandemic, taken to rebranding her self as a 'resource locator' otherwise known as a 'dumpster diver.'

It sounds odd but I'm convinced that when the Second Great Depression takes hold, I'm married to the most resourceful and extraordinary partner on the planet. She finds brand new shoes, genuine Shriner fez's, and food. Cans of food thrown away. Expired bags of pretzels. And still-frozen TV dinners.

The nostalgia of consuming this marvel of the fifties, the fully-prepared dinner, ready to heat and eat in front of the television comes from my youth. In terms of economic status there were times in my earliest days when we were 'poor'. Now, mom wouldn't let us use that word to describe our situation. She preferred to say we were 'broke'. That distinction was my first lesson in reframing your perspective to fuel optimism.

Whichever it was called it was common practice growing up to eat TV dinners and mom would cut each portion in half (even the weird lava-like brownie or apple-crunch) so we had a meal the next day as well.

When we couldn't afford a Swanson-manufactured meal, she'd make what she called 'Spanish Rice'—Minute rice, a green pepper, tomato sauce, and Tabasco—another rebranding that certainly made this odd and rough cultural appropriation seem both unsavory and about as white as it could be.

Mom worked hard. My recollection was that she was often working several jobs and doing the best she could to keep us in clothing and food with a roof over our heads despite the fact that the minimum wage at the time was $1.60. She also had a way of reframing things so that, at no point, did we feel like we were missing out on much.

On top of that raising me could not have been easy.

We moved around a lot so I was always the new kid in school. Even with teachers and administrators, there is a tribal imperative to put the new members in their place, establishing the rules of behavior and assigning the slot for the newest members. I was never much of a conformist so this dance of going along to get along didn't take. All of which made my struggling mother's life one of battling the powers that be to protect her less than socialized monkey-son.

There are stories. The time I was forbidden to speak in class so I drew pictures of a butt and a butt pooping to silently curse some kids out. The incident of my failing to stay put during classes and finding escape routes during lunch that caused an epic battle as the Vice Principal decided to ban me from the Free Lunch program out of pique and spite. The summer when I was caught beating up Cub Scouts because they wouldn't let me join due to my mother's financial inability to buy me the requisite uniform.

There's an image I have in my head of my tiny mother almost coming to blows with a much larger woman because the woman called us "poor white trash." We were white but my mother wouldn't abide her children embracing the twin ideas of us being poor or being trash.

“No, Donald. You cannot just eat the last piece of pizza. You need to learn to share.”

In Chicago there's a thing called 'dibs.' 

Sometimes it snows big and the streets are plowed but the parking spots are all but obliterated by small mountains of snow. The diligent among residents get their shovels out of the garage and clear out the snow from in front of their homes so that they will then have a place to park. They have done the work, so they feel entitled to the benefits of that labor.

The problem lies with those who do not shoulder in and remove the snow yet still feel entitled to park on public streets that they, after all is said and done, have paid for with their tax dollars.

Thus 'dibs.' The shoveler decides to put a lawn chair or card table or statue of the Virgin Mary in the spot they have labored over so when they come home from work, the spot has been saved for them and them alone.

It all sounds silly until you look at from an economic perspective. There are more cars in Chicago than there are legal places to park. It's a fact. The demand for spaces is greater than the supply. Parking tickets cost drivers thousands of dollars a year and the 'ticket dicks' are as numerous as the homeless. When it snows and the plows come through there are suddenly even less spaces than there were the night before.

Given the city will clear the roads but not the curbs the solution for half the population is to carve out their own space and the other half parks wherever they can. Those who take the spots but do not shovel are capitalizing on the labor of those who do and it pisses them off.

“No, Donald. You cannot just eat the last piece of pizza. You need to learn to share.”

I was thirteen. I was growing. I ate like a fucking locust with the table manners of the Cookie Monster. There it was—the last piece. I wanted it. My sister was small and weak. What was she gonna do?

“Offer your sister the last piece.”

“…do you want the last…”

“YES!” she barked and shoved the whole piece in her mouth.

“That’s NOT FAIR! We coulda split it! That’s not sharing, that’s theft!”

That’s Capitalism. Cut throat. Haves and Have Nots. It is simply not in human nature to share. In all of recorded history there has always been, in every society and civilization, when approached with abundance, a small percentage of those at the top and a much larger percentage at the bottom. Call it what you want—winners and losers, the One Percent and the Ninety-Nine (great name for a prog rock band), Bourgeoisie and Proletariat—it all amounts to the same dynamic.

It occurs to me that in the fight to get people fired from their jobs for tweeting arguably terrible things the double standard in place is exceptionally capitalist. On the ‘cancel culture’ side is the idea that people should be held accountable for their words in the world and, if they cross the line, then employers should fire them. On the other side, these same people will scream that an employer who decides that a kid wearing the costume of his culture or using grammatically incorrect language cannot be fired.

Both are individuals putting themselves and their ability to express themselves at the center of a business that has little to do with the individual. Everyone should have the right to their own specific identity as they see fit but no one should have the right to exert themselves above a business that pays them a salary in order to center things on them.

It’s frustrating. Economic class is the true great divider in the world. Because it is so ingrained in the human experience to live with those who have the cash and many who do not, economic class seems an unassailable unfairness. It’s an immovable and undeniable trait in societies of every stripe. 

The landlord who leverages herself to get loans to buy an apartment building, fix it up to be livable, and rents it out to people has shoveled the snow. The tenant who claims it is unfair to be evicted from that apartment building because they cannot pay the rent is parking wherever there is a spot.

And it pisses everybody off.

No, it is neither race nor gender that is the engine of inequity. It’s almost entirely economic class.

Since the existence of class is so ever-present and unmoving, we focus on other things to change society. The battle to curb billionaires has never really taken hold despite the obvious problems they present. So we focus on race, we focus on gender. We spend our energy ignoring that most of inequity that exists between humans is about economics and find as many differences between those of us on the Have Not side as we can.

Why is it so hard to get rid of billionaires and that pernicious One Percent? Because we all want what they have. We all want the last piece of pizza and the parking space. We all want the luxury of luxurious things. We resent the things we'd have to do to get that luxury so instead we tear at anyone and everyone to gain whatever slice we can.

No one wants to shovel out that goddamned parking space. Trust me. In thirty years of living in Chicago, I shoveled tons and tons of snow to get that coveted spot. I never did the 'dibs' thing but I empathize with the fury at someone taking that spot I've labored over. 

Study after study indicates that it is economic class that holds us back far more than race or gender but the road to power is through a perception of grievance these days and the only evil when presenting poverty as the problem is human nature. Men and women can be demonized. That game has been around for-freaking-ever. African Americans can demonize whites (but not black Americans because African immigrants in America do, on average, far better economically than whites). We can go the People of Color vs White People but, in order to make that case, Asians have to be ignored or made white-adjacent. 

No, it is neither race nor gender that is the engine of inequity. It’s almost entirely economic class. Not that acknowledging that will change anything.

The utopian ideals of Socialism and even Communism sound better than Capitalism. The problem is the humans are built from the DNA to compete. Compete for resources, for sexual partners, for jobs, for shelter. Competition is as instinctual as our desire to procreate and Capitalism is a competitive sport. Throughout history, progress toward learning to truly share that slice of pizza is slow because it goes against our very nature. Not impossible and thus worth the effort but fucking S-L-O-W.

A friend recently posited that maybe I have gained some wisdom in my aging. He then switched and decided that maybe what we think is wisdom is just age plus exhaustion. Whichever it is, I have learned to share. I've also learned that in order to share, I have to assume my offer of the last piece of pie is going to be taken and stuffed into my sister's mouth. I can be wounded by the gesture, I can even be annoyed by it. I have to let it go.

I'm comfortable with the concept of enough. Meaning, if I have enough to share, I have enough to survive. Even if it's only enough of my mom's Spanish Rice.

There will be those, always those, who are so imbued with the need to compete that there is never enough. There will be those, perpetually those, who have not had enough and are willing to tear it out of the mouths of those who have.

And there will always be those, unendingly those, who are fine parking in the open spot knowing that someone else put in the work and not caring enough about anyone else that they take up the space and benefit from the labor without contributing.

On the best days, I don't run into them.

[fratboykate]

Ok, serious question. If you're in the industry why are you in favor of piracy? Like, not wanting to be conflictive, just wanted to know your reasons.

Do you know how much the vast majority of assistants make in Los Angeles? Minimum wage. Do you know how high cost of living is here in Los Angeles? OBSCENE. I'm not an assistant but the average assistant needs to have roommates because they couldn't afford a place on their own. Even then, unless you're really lucky, rent still takes up the majority of your paycheck. You add to that bills, gas, expenses, student loans, etc etc etc and you have nothing left at the end of the month. Most people in the industry live paycheck to paycheck. Being in the industry doesn't make you immune to financially struggling. All the years I was undocumented I certainly couldn't afford one streaming service much less the seventy million we have now so I torrented all I wanted to watch cuz I also couldn't afford to pay for several movie tickets a week.

If that PA or that assistant or that AE or that food service worker or that single mom wants to torrent a movie made by a multinational corporation that gives their CEOs millions of dollars in bonuses every year and don't pay taxes I'm perfectly okay with that lol. If your profits are down pay your board members less. Simple. They don't need a salary of thirty million dollars just to sit around in a suit and have bad taste. I won't lose sleep over anyone pirating Disney's entire vault. And that's just the scenarios for the US. Most people abroad don't get shows until months or years later, if at all. If some kid in Portugal wants to torrent an episode of a show they like the day after it airs here that download has zero repercussions for the US based show. They weren't contributing to ratings anyway. Their view wasn't going to matter either way. Let the kid watch the show. I had access to as much music and TV/movies as I did growing up in a foreign country because of torrents. I'm not going to be a hypocrite and say people shouldn't use them now.

That being said, be fucking judicious of what you torrent. If it's an indie movie and you really fucking love it after you downloaded the torrent? At least go rent it on YouTube or Amazon or whatever afterwards. Give it those couple bucks if you can. If it's Disney or Marvel or some huge studio? Who cares. Support quality independent cinema any chance and in any way you can. Multinationals that are trying to choke the industry through monopoly can go fuck themselves tho. Don't give a single fuck about them.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Don’t Go

Keanu Reeves x Reader. (Requested) A/n- this was sort of difficult to write, considering that suicide that even now,\ is an extremely sensitive topic, but I hope it’s been done justice and that no one has been offended or otherwise. Warning- Direct mentions of suicide and attempted suicide, depressed reader. 

“You could have it all, my empire of dirt,” - Nine inch Nails. 

Y/n sat on the balcony of her hotel room, leaning on the railing, looking down at the busy New York streets below. It all seemed so alive, a stark contrast to the way she had been feeling of late. The familiar feeling of hopeless despair welled up in her chest again,creating a tightness like none other. Gasping for breath, holding back burning tears, Y/n was left light headed with the realization of just how much she had spiraled. 

Just a couple months ago, she had travelled to New York, all bright eyed and busy tailed, on her way to start filming for a role that was supposed to be her big break. She was cast as the lead of a independent film, a drama alongside a Hollywood legend, Keanu Reeves. It was levels above one off characters in small televisions series, from being waitress #5 in a romantic comedy and an extra that no one would notice. The role was supposed to be Y/n’s way out of her vicious cycle of self pity and wallowing in what could be. The chance for her dreams to become her reality. Her opportunity to prove everyone wrong, prove that she could do this, that her dream meant something, that she hadn’t dropped out of college for nothing. This role had meant everything to her. But now it was gone.

Y/n had gotten the call just over a week ago, from the director, telling her that there was problem with funding, they were cancelling production and the movie was no more. The news had knocked the air right out of her, left her dropping down on to the nearest surface, offering a chocked goodbye as the line disconnected. Just like that her dreams were ruined and suddenly everyone who told her that she would never make it as an actress was right. The industry was cut throat, ever changing and unstable. Faces were forgotten, jobs went as fast as they came and not everyone was cut out for it. What made her think that she was? 

After that night, Y/n had slowly slipped into a state of disconnection that had only worsened her hurt. She stayed in the hotel that she could barely afford, probably racking up a debt that would send her scouting for any job that would pay at the very least, minimum wage, stopped taking her medication, she had ignored every text and phone call and had disappeared from social media. Y/n had ghosted life, taken a temporary check out. Until tonight, when she planned make her absence more....permeant.

Leaning over to the coffee table, Y/n grabbed up her phone, turning it on for the first time this week, opening up the messaging app. After selecting a few contacts, not a lot a couple close friends; her best friend who she had met in high school, a cousin back home who she was particularly close to and the man who had proven to be a great addition to her life, even if she had only known him for a few months, they had grown so close that it felt wrong to not offer him one final good bye, especially since he had spent the better part of the week trying to reach her; Keanu. Y/n’s fingers hovered over the screen, and then she typed.

Hey, I know its been a while since we’ve last spoken and I’m so sorry that I’ve been difficult to reach. Things have been hard, but I’ve finally realized what I have to do. What I need to do. I love you, and I’m so grateful for everything you’ve given me. You’ve been such a great friend, a diamond in the rough and I wouldn’t have made it this far without you. But I’m starting to think this far is far enough. I can’t go any further, I won’t.

As Y/n continued to type, her breath caught in a sob as her eyes blurred with tears. She was really going to do this. She didn’t want to, but at this point, a definite end seemed like to only remedy to the breath stealing pain in her center. 

I guess, in the end, all I really want is for you to know how much you’ve meant to me. How much you’ve helped. Thank you for loving me and making me wish I could love myself. Goodbye.

After a moment of hesitation, Y/n hit send. “This is it,” she sighed as quiet tears slipped down her cheeks. Standing and slipping out of her shoes, Y/n noticed for the for the first time how cold the night air felt against the exposed parts of her skin. For some reason, one she couldn’t quite understand, she straightened her dress, she had worn her favorite one tonight. A pale blue shift dress with happy little flowers about the garment. It had been a gift from her parents a while ago, from when they weren’t disappointed in her. 

As Y/n ran a final had through her hair, her phone rang on the glass table, the screen lighting up with her cousin’s name. Instead of answering, Y/n let it ring, until it went to voicemail. As quickly as it stopped, it started up again, it’s angry little noise filling the silence. It should have made her hopeful, encourage her to change her mind, but something inside Y/n told her that she was long past saving. And there was only one thing left to do when you couldn’t be saved. 

The wind dried whatever tears had escaped and carefully, Y/n threw one leg over the railing of the balcony, feeling the cool brass under her fingers. When she finally got the other leg over, she sat there for a while, looking down at the street, marveling at the bustling city that seemed brighter than it did during the day. No one could see her, and knew that she was invisible to the eyes below. No one would know what she was about to do until she finally did it. 

Her breathing slowed and Y/n was minutes away from final rest, peace and a chance to be free from the constant disappointment and pain. She was ready, she felt, so, so ready. In fact, she didn’t even hear the person stepping onto the balcony behind her, until he spoke up. “Wait. Please just wait.”

Keanu was at his apartment in Brooklyn when a text came in. He would never really consider himself as the kind of person who jumped up to check their phone, but something about they way it vibrated on the table with subtle urgency made him snatch it up faster than he ever had. It was a text from Y/n. He had been trying to reach her since he had gotten the news that they had cancelled production for a movie they were set to film together, though all his attempts had been to no avail. A glimmer of hope washed over him, however it didn’t last for long. 

His eyes quickly scanned the screen. Then, when he read it a second time, it was a little slower, to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. Y/n hadn’t out rightly said it in her message, but she didn’t need to. This wasn’t just some text, it wasn’t an ‘I’m leaving New York’ goodbye, it was a final goodbye. 

Almost immediately, Keanu was running out of his apartment, hustling to get into his coat and onto his bike. He rode faster than he usually did, weaving through the traffic, probably breaking the speed limit and earning himself a ticket that would soon greet his mailbox. He didn’t care though. He had to get to her before it was too late.

At the hotel, Keanu hurried up to Y/n’s room after receiving her room number from the confused receptionist. As the elevator took its sweet time to transport him to the eighth floor, Keanu spent the precious moments praying that he wasn’t too late, “Don’t go....not yet,” he whispered under his breath, tapping his foot, holding back unshed tears. He couldn’t be late, Y/n didn’t deserve an end like this. She had to live, she was too young not to.

When Keanu was finally at the door, he didn’t bother with knocking, opting to try his luck at turning the knob. Surprisingly, it was unlocked and he headed straight inside. He soon found her, siting on the balcony railing, white knuckles clutching the gold painted metal, legs and bare feet dangling off the other side. Reaching out in a silent, unseen signal for her to stop, Keanu was careful not to touch her, he couldn’t afford to have Y/n jolting in surprise. His plea hurried out of his mouth, breathless and urgent, “Wait. Please just wait.”

Y/n slowly turned her red teary eyes to Keanu, “Why?” She asked and he could see her body trembling as she fought to contain a fit of sobs, “Its no use, I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?” Keanu asked, searching for the words that would help her see reason. Y/n just shrugged at his question and his heart leapt to his throat with her sudden yet subtle movement. “Y/n, please, just come down form there and we can talk about everything that’s bothering you. It doesn’t have to end this way.” It can’t.

“Yes, it does,” she argued defiantly, her voice breaking, “I hate the way my life is going. I hate that I’ve already fucked it up. I can’t stand the disappointments Keanu. I can’t stand myself. This is the only way.”

Inching closer to Y/n, Keanu tentatively reached out again, offering his hand, “No, its not. Y/n, you have your whole life ahead of you. God,” he sighed, “You’re only twenty one, do you really want to give up now? There’s so much left. And if you hate your life right now, it doesn’t mean you’ll hate it in a couple years from now or even next week. Things change, you just need to give them a chance. Please don’t do this,” he begged but Y/n didn’t budge. “Look,” Keanu took another step forward, hoping he could convince her with his next words, “Its probably not right to say that I understand what you’re feeling, so I won’t. All I’m asking is for you to give yourself a second chance. Do you remember what you said to me about second chances? That they’re gifts?” Keanu reminded her of something Y/n had said to him a couple months ago, “Give yourself a gift, right now.” 

Y/n seemed to weigh his words, her breathing quickened and then slowed before she put her hand in his, letting Keanu help her to floor then pull her into a tight hug. He kissed her hair sighing in relief. 

“What am I doing?” Y/n whispered, her face pressed against the leather of his jacket.

“Hurting,” Keanu held her tighter, “And that’s okay,” he kissed her forehead again reassuringly. Y/n broke into an episode of body racking sobs, soaking Keanu’s shirt with salty tears. He didn’t mind in the slightest though, he’d prefer tear stained t-shirts over having her jump any day.

“Do you want to talk?” Keanu asked sometime later. They were sitting on the sofa in the small living room. Y/n was wrapped in a thick blanket, cuddled to Keanu’s chest as he soothingly passed his hands over her hair.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. After a few seconds, she continued, “I just feel so lost and hopeless....and alone. And I didn’t want to feel like that anymore, I still don’t”

Keanu squeezed her shoulders comfortingly, resting his chin on her head, “You’re not alone Y/n, and as long as I’m here, you never will be. I wish you had called, I would have come in a heartbeat.”

She sniffled, “I know,” Y/n responded quietly, tearing up again, “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. Just remember that whenever you feel like this, I’ll be right here, no matter what, because this world, my life, is so much better with you in it. And there’s a lot left for you to experience, don’t kill the parts of yourself that haven’t lived yet.”

“Thank you. For being here tonight,” Y/n said, her voice growing distant with tire.

“I’ll always be here. And thank you for not leaving.” Keanu planted one last kiss to Y/n’s hair before she was lulled to sleep by the steady sound of Keanu’s heartbeat, ready to give herself and her life, a second chance.

[colorisbyshe]

biden is worse than trump him and obama are the reason kids are in cages rn like he’s the same person as trump except he’s got fucking dementia lmao

aTrump has clear and definitive cognitive issues.

Trump supported the Iraq war.

Trump has put even more kids in cages.

Biden supports increasing the federal minimum wage (more than doubling it, even if that’s not enough that’s still life changing money for a lot of people); Trump supports a platform that criminalizes abortion for rape and incest victims.

Biden supports free college for low/mid income familes, Trump scammed people with a fake college.

Biden has taken up Warren and Bernie’s bankruptcy policies, Trump is bankruptig people.

Biden wants to end the death penalty, end cash bail, ending private prisons, acknowledges climate change is real, isn’t stealing protective and medical gear from literal hospitals nad state governmetns to add to the federal stockpile, wants to regulate carbon emissions instead of relaxing regulations, wants sto increase gun control and start voluntary gun buy back programs, supports federal funding for abortion, wants to expand healthcare access instead of reducing it, supports DACA,  wants tso increase wealth tax, is critical of tariffs, and so much fucking more!!!

He’s more progressive than the Obama administration was because people like Bernie and even Elizabeth fucking Warren has forced him to the left--and he’s still sliding to the left! It’s not enough but it’s fucking EONS better than what Trump has to offer. To say they are the same or that Biden is worse is fucking embarrassing; it’s fucking embarrassing.

Call him evil. I’ll fucking join you.

But to say he’s worse than what Trump has done is fucking ignorant and embarrassing.

Because the thing is EVERY evil thing Biden has done Trump has also done. Everything. All of it. And then some.

We don’t pretend like Biden is less evil than he is to acknowledge he’s still SOMEHOW less evil than Trump. We can marvel at how despicable that is but let’s not make fucking liars of ourselves, okay?

Like if you genuinely believe we’re better off under a second term of Trump you’re just a fucking moron. Can’t put it any kinder than that--and me calling you just a fucking moron is me being kind here.

[knivestothroats]

Red Blood, Black Heart part 3

[Previous]

I’m probably gonna go back and give all the chapters pun titles because I can’t decide on one series title. Idk about this one though. Red Poets Society? Redpool? Simon Says?

No real content warning as this is pretty much just set up. Character intro and worldbuiling stuff. Also, I don’t know how to end scenes!!!!!!!

~~

“So which came first, the hair color or the name?”       

Red raised an eyebrow at her training partner. “You think people called me Red before I dyed my hair this color?”

Her partner shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s a common name where you come from, and you wanted to really commit to the identity. So what’s your real name?”

Red’s response was prepared. “Why should names we give ourselves be any less real than the names others give us?”

“Damn.” Her partner considered this. “You can’t just give yourself a nickname, though.”

“I can if you never find out my old name,” Red countered.

“Aw, I never should have told you my name was Simon,” her partner said. “Blew my chance.”

“Honestly, dude, if you decide you want to go by another name, I’ll call you whatever. Unless it’s, like, really stupid. No, actually, it can be stupid. I’d still call you that if you wanted. I’m chill like that. Plus, if it’s a joke name, you’re only embarrassing yourself.” 

Simon chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind if I come up with something good. This spot should work,” he said as he settled onto the floor of the training room.

“So, uh, what world are you from?” Red asked, holding Simon’s feet down as he did sit ups.

“Worlds don’t have names like that,” Simon responded, trying to keep his breathing steady while talking. “It’s Earth, but it’s not your Earth.”

“What's different about it?” Red asked.

“Lots of little things,” Simon huffed. “When you travel a lot, you can feel the differences in worlds… and then you can feel that… same feeling from the people. That’s how travelers differentiate.”

“You travel a lot?” Red asked.

“A bit.”

“Can everyone in your world do that?”

“‘S pretty common.”

“Well there’s one difference,” Red said. “That’s scifi shit where I come from. All of this is. Like… do you have The Matrix?”

“Yep. But it might be different from your Matrix.”

“Okay, you know how they downloaded Kung Fu into Neo’s brain? That’s what it feels like here.”

Simon laughed, pausing to lay on his back for a moment before resuming the exercise. “We still have to train our asses off.”

“Yeah, but it’s… like a super soldier program. Like Captain America shit. Do you have that? Marvel?”

“Yep. But this isn’t like that.”

“Whatever, you get what I’m saying.” Red said. “They literally call it bio-enhancements. Sounds like something out of a comic.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

“What? What do you mean?”

Simon pulled himself up to a sitting position, resting his arms on his knees. “Why’d you sign up for it if it sounds crazy?”

“Are you kidding?” Red laughed. “It sounds awesome. Like, instead of going to college or working a fucking minimum wage job, I can become a superhero and fight interdimensional monsters?”

Simon chuckled. “We’re not exactly superheroes.”

“God you just love to argue with me, don’t you?”

“Ha, whatever, it’s your turn.”

They switched positions and Red began her set of sit ups. They were quiet for a moment before Simon spoke up.

“I don’t know if I can say this yet, for sure, but on the topic of scifi shit… I was told I’m being considered for an experimental upgrade.”

“Yeah?” Red huffed as they rose and sank to the ground. “Experimental?”

“Yeah, like,” Simon shrugged, keeping his hands firm on Red’s sneakers. “I guess the technology is all there, they just need someone to test drive it.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“Yeah, cybernetic eye implants.”

Red froze at the top of the arch, then leaned back on her hands. “Cybernetic eyes? Now that is some comic book shit. But it’s experimental?” She made an unsure noise. “Do you think you’re gonna do it? If they pick you?” 

“Uh… yeah, I think I would,” Simon admitted as Red resumed her sit ups. “I mean, I know they have the best medical tech available across the ‘verses. I think the experimental part was more in the actual tech than in the implant part. It’s supposed to have like a database you can access, and it can… I don’t know, do scans and shit.”

“Like in Terminator?”

“You are just chock full of pop culture references.”

“Hey, just tryna figure out what you know,” Red laughed.

“I guess kind of like Terminator, maybe,” Simon conceded.

“Do you think that we’re like… the top of our class?” Red asked.

“I don’t know. We’re both doing well. And I’m getting the impression they’re gonna have us partner up,” Simon said. “Like, when we get in the field.”

“I’m asking because… I also am being considered… for an experimental upgrade.”

Simon raised his eyebrows. “No shit? The same one?”

“No, no, some sort of… soul-bonded weapon or something.”

“What does that mean?” Simon asked. “Like you’d be the only one who could fire it?”

Red sat up and pulled their feet back with a grunt. “I don’t know. I’ll be able to control it with my mind or something.”

[I don’t know how to end scenes. Here is the next chapter.]

[naradreamscape]

I know this is gonna sound like a load of horseshit, but I need you to believe me when I describe having the weirdest fucking customer today

So, a guy comes in with two PS4 games, hoping to trade them in. He’s this 20-something with well-kept hair and a Jurassic Park shirt. He’s smiling, constantly. My coworker points him to my till and says, “Hey, we’ll help you over on this side.” The guy goes, “Heh, you got four tills and only one of them works? The four isn’t enough for you?” My coworker and I pause, slightly stunned, and he begins to explain to the guy about how we can’t just use any till because only one person can be cashed onto it at a time. The guy then goes, “So your company doesn’t trust you? Huh. That’s real rude of them. They don’t believe in you guys? Eh?”

Keep in mind, this whole time, the dude has been smiling contentedly, and is doing that “playful rudeness” thing that absolutely does not work if you’re doing it to minimum wage workers you just met. I had to go into the stockroom to grab something for him...when I come back out, the guy is looking for games to trade for, and asking for our opinions on various titles. The assistant manager says one title “seems good” because it got reviews. The Guy goes, “Yeah, bu I hope those reviews aren’t bought. You know? Like Captain Marvel, like, that was a good movie but it wasn’t an 80%, you know?” I am beginning to lose my entire mind. He points at some game on the XBox One wall and asks me, “Is this any good?” I don’t know, so I turn to ask my coworkers, and The Guy interrupts with, “Oh, don’t feel like you’re not allowed to talk about games around the guys! That’s sexist!” He has not stopped smiling. My retail voice comes off and I say stiffly, “I don’t own an X-Box. I haven’t played it.” “You gotta play the games if you work here, then!”

Guy expresses interest in the Wolfenstein franchise. He wants “the first one” and as I’m trying to explain to him that it would actually be from the 1990s but he could look for New Order, though we don’t have it in stock, he comes through with the weirdest damned thing I’ve ever heard someone whip out as casual conversation. This is paraphrased, but: “Y’know, I don’t know if I could play Wolfenstein and like, shoot nazis, ‘cause...heh, my family’s German! And like, I don’t know who exactly was in the...well, I know my great-grandfather was--”

and he starts telling me about how his great-grandfather wasn’t able to join the German military in the 1930s because he was too short. He starts talking about how he’s not short, and how he put his hands beside “some really big guys’ hands and they’re almost the same size!” when I for some reason added, “Oh yeah, I had family in the military, too. My great-uncle Bruce fought the nazis in Normandy and lived.” This is a true story. The guy stops talking about nazis suddenly. I begin to sell him a copy of New Colossus.

This brave man proudly refuses to make a donation to the Make-A-Wish Foundation. He balks even at the option to round his total to the nearest dollar, for a donation of $0.05. “Heh, I’m sorry, I just gotta be a jerk sometimes, you know? Like I had to be a jerk at Shoppers today because--” and he tells me in detail about being sold the wrong type of gift card and having to have it exchanged. I say that it’s reasonable to be kinda stern if you paid for something and didn’t get what you asked for. He adds, “I know, but it’s hard to be a jerk when you’re a guy. Girls have an easier time being jerks, you know?” I don’t. I put the game in the bag and tell him to have a good day. My coworkers watch him leave like

Hours later, my coworker is talking about a problem customer, who sounded similar to The Guy but I couldn’t be sure. The conversation is as follows:

“Was this the guy who bought New Colossus? With the Jurassic Park shirt?”

“Uh...I’m not sure...”

“...The nazi guy.”

“Oh. No, it wasn’t him.”

I guess they’d started referring to him “the nazi guy” during my break. The assistant manager commended me for being “professional” through all that, so I guess I did something right

TL;DR I sold a video game to an ever-smiling man who was very proud of his large hands, his possible nazi heritage, and his unwillingness to give five fucking cents to sick children

[darthkieduss]

Reasons I hate Fat Donnie Trump (will update frequently)

#Republican, duh. #Narcissistic Personality Order #He lost the Popular vote. #No previous political experience #Has unrealistic ideas about how to solve America's problems, such as getting Mexico to pay for a wall to keep illegal immigrants out. #Vice President is a crazy fundamentalist Christian homophobic wackjob who thinks electroshock therapy cures homosexuality and can't be alone with a woman without his wife present. #Believes in unscientific ideas such as the idea that vaccines cause autism (I am autistic so this is a bit personal) #Has made comments alluding to sexual harassment. #Can't let any slight go. Even comments made about his sign. Jeez, Obama simply shrugged off the trolls and haters. #Won't stop bitch-tweeting. #Enacted the separation of children from their parents. #Tried to ban trans folks from the military. As long as they serve our country, who cares? #Suspended CNN's press pass after some tough questioning. #Is imposing insanely high tariffs on imported goods, mostly from China. #Supports unconstitutional profiling of Muslims. #Supports killing civilians in war. “We gotta take our their families” WHO THINKS LIKE THIS? #Posted troops on the border just for political advantage in the 2018 mid-terms. #Is a shameless self-promoter. #Can't admit his own faults. #Believes he's qualified for president because he's rich (said this in 2013) #Has passed insane tax cuts for the rich, which only increase America's budget deficit and national debt. TRICKLE-DOWN NEVER WORKS. #Had to be discouraged from invading Venezuela, who hasn't done anything to us and poses no threat to us. #Gets advice from Fox News. #Pulled out the Iran deal which was working. #Thinks that the way to show strength is by being a dick. #Cheated on every one of his wives and lied about it. We impeached Bill Clinton for it. #Has increased the military budget way too much. We spend $664 BILLION on the military. It doesn't need anymore. #Claimed Obama spied on him by wiretapping the Trump towers. Provided no evidence. #When he is criticized for something, he claims “Obama started it...” *facepalm* #LIES ON A CONSTANT BASIS. I think he lies just to see what his fans will believe... #He won't admit he lost the popular vote. He says "If you deduct the illegal voters." Oh please... #Is undoing everything Obama did just because it was Obama that did it. If he could bring back Osama bin Laden, he would. #WORLD LEADERS ARE LAUGHING AT HIM AND US #He has his cabinet kiss his ass on a constant basis. #He committed campaign finance violations during the election. #He fired FBI Director Jimmy the Giant Comey just because he wouldn't swear loyalty to him and was investigating him. That’s Obstruction of Justice. #Attacked former Attorney General Jeff Sessions for not closing the Mueller investigation. #He said he wanted to lower the minimum wage back in 2015. #The infamous "Mexicans are rapists" Comment. #Attacked the late John McCain for being a Prisoner-of-War. #Gave out a Senator's cellphone number out of spite. #Blamed Megyn Kelly's tough questioning on her period. #He said "Bring back torture EVEN IF IT DOESN'T WORK". (2015) ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?! #Tried to have his political opponents locked up. #"Jokes" about being president-for-life. If Obama had "joked" about this, the right would've lost their shit. #Threatened martial law in Chicago. #Praised Protestant bigot Norman Peale, who only opposed JFK simply because he was Catholic. #He violated the Presidential Records Act. #One of his tax cuts gave the poor $40, the ultra-rich $940,000 #He appeals to insecure men. #He and Jeff Sessions said it is ok to discriminate against gay people. #Complains about people not respecting the flag, says the guy who molests it. #Wants North Korean-style Military Parades. #Started that Obama birth certificate bullshit... He only said Obama was born in America in 2016...when it was politically-convenient. (*cough* back-pedaling) #He believes women are beneath him. #Doesn't believe in Global Warming. #Wouldn't stop saying interrupting Clinton in the debates. #Has more in common with the criminal Richard Nixon than anyone else. (Edit: He called for an end to investigations like Tricky Dick did in ‘74) #3.2 MILLION Americans lost their health insurance in Trump's first year. #"A terror attack would help me politically bigly." or we could NOT have a terrorist attack, thank you. #Claimed he would've run into a school shooting to confront the shooter without a weapon. BULLSHIT. #His lawyers say "I can't let him testify because he can't stop lying." #His budget obliterated funding for Science, Education, EPA & labor. #He encourages Republicans to break the law. #Tweeted FAKE photos to convince his fans that the border wall is being built. #Has committed obstruction of justice. (Edit: Confirmed by Mueller) #Said he's in favor of bombing civilians. #He had the USAF bomb an antivenom medical facility in Syria. #He said he only received $1 Million from his father. HE GOT $400 Million. ANOTHER LIE. #He makes everything about himself. Even 9/11. Who makes 9/11 about himself? #Claims he's completely immune to lawsuits over constitutional violations. Nixon said that, but it didn't work for him. #He's driving us to another Great Depression. #He threatened to punish the media if they weren't nice to him. #He calls the press "The enemy of the people" when they don't kiss his ass. #He calls Sean Hannity every night. Sean Hannity is a partisan hack who wouldn't turn on a Republican president even if he found out he was using JFK's Eternal Flame to light farts. He’s so far up Trump’s ass he can taste his lunch. #He still uses his private NON-SECURE cell phone, creating HUGE National Security problems. #He admitted his attacks on the media are just to discredit negative stories. #He claims he has the power to pardon himself. NO THE HELL HE DOESN'T. #Giuliani said Trump can't testify because his memory keeps changing. #THE MOST THIN-SKINNED PRESIDENT. #He is against the protections for pre-existing conditions. HE is a pre-existing condition. #When told Kim Jong-Un is a murderer, he responded "He's a tough guy." #He says Americans should obey him like North Koreans are forced at gunpoint to obey Kim Jong-un. #He trusts brutal dictators, but not our closest allies. #He is jealous of Kim Jong-Un's absolute grip on power. #He lied about the German crime rate to justify his immigration policies. #He suggested destroying the Constitution so he can deport immigrants faster. #Authorized USING LETHAL FORCE ON UNARMED MIGRANTS!!! #Lied to the United Nations, saying poverty in America doesn't actually exist. I PERSONALLY know people who are living in poverty. #He issued a gag order to stop government employees from talking to reporters. #He said, on tape, that if Senator Elizabeth Warren proved she was Native American, he would donate $1 million to a charity of her choice. When she did, and someone pointed it out, he said "I didn't say that." Whether or not he’s obligated to pay, he said he would but now he’s saying he didn’t say it. #Says people who criticize him are a threat to America. #His trade wars have cost 100,000+ American jobs. #People who work for him tend to be convicted of crimes... #Makes slanderous lies about us Democrats. #Told German Chancellor she owes him $1 Trillion even though she doesn't him shit. #76% of the claims Trump makes during his rallies are LIES. #He has committed at least NINE impeachable offenses. #He said he believes Russian president Vladimir Putin over OUR OWN intelligence agencies. #He once said in December 2016, "Fuck the law! I don't give a fuck about the law! I want my fucking money!" #Claimed we've won the war on poverty, so let's cut food stamp programs. No we haven't. #He threatened to nuke the economy to spite China. #He said he'd drain the swamp, yet he was 86 lobbyists on his staff. #He thinks everyone else is as stupid as he is. #Corporations are PRAYING that Trump tweets us into a war. #He told a crowd "reality isn't real" so they should ignore it. #Wages have tanked after Trump's wealthy tax cut. #Nixon was guilty as hell and Trump sounds just like him. #He actually claimed you need a Picture ID to buy cereal....CEREAL...WHO IS THIS STUPID?!?! #He claimed people will die if we don't make cars less fuel efficient. #By August 2018 his lie count topped 4,200+. By May 2019, it’s now 10,000+. #His administration is now allowing more toxic asbestos into our daily lives. #His wife plagiarized Michelle Obama in a speech during the election. #He watches tapes of his rallies to marvel at his own "brilliance", if that's what you call it. More like jerking off to himself. #He said military might is more important that jobs. #He said violating ethics rules to meet with Fox news is in "the public's interest" #Discreetly called for Hillary Clinton's assassination by firearm (”Second Amendment people”) if she had won. #Claimed he would ONLY accept the results of the 2016 election IF HE WON. #Said "Let's fucking kill him" of Bashar al-Assad. Yes, Assad is a bad man, but WE DON'T ASSASSINATE PEOPLE. #He said he wants to separate migrants kids from parents INDEFINITELY. #He acted like a total ass on the 2018 9/11 anniversary. #He denies that 3,000+ Puerto Ricans died in Hurricane Maria. #Pentagon officials had to stop Trump from tweeting us into a war. #American taxpayers spent $77 MILLION on Trump's Golf trips. #Criticized Obama for golf trips...has taken more golf trips in 3 years than Obama did in 8. #Said the FBI is a "Cancer to the country". #His administration cut cancer research funding to pay for child prisons. #Puerto Rico won't get statehood simply because they were mean to him. *His administration said Planet is burning down, so let's just ruin it now. *Says he loves North Korean dictator Kim Jong-Un. “We fell in love”. *Talked about his dick at the debates. *He is being investigated for tax evasion and fraud. *Hates immigrants, married two Eastern European immigrant, son of a Scottish immigrant and grandson of a German immigrant. *Claimed Iraq War was wrong, yet he has increased troop numbers there. *Compared sexual assault victims to arsonists. #He denied Saudi Arabia financial interests...AFTER bragging about them. #He hasn't condemned Saudi Arabia for their murder of journalist Jamal Khashoggi. #He mocked decorated Navy SEAL, saying they should've gotten Osama bin Laden sooner. WHAT? #He banned 2 Million Federal workers from discussing his impeachment at work. #He demanded that he leave the G20 during the climate change discussion. #He told about skyrocketing national debt: "I won't be here." when it explodes. #Called a US Senator "The Dick". #*His hush money payments were done ILLEGALLY, with campaign cash. #His cult sent bombs to everyone he criticized. Not saying he's directly responsible but that's how cultist his fans are. #He threatened to bring Saturday Night Live to court simply for making fun of him. Awww poor baby, is someone making fun of you? Good. #Never has a president been under so much investigations except Richard Nixon. #He pulled us out of the Paris agreements. #His 2018 government shutdown lasted 35 days and was over a stupid wall. #He only works 40% of the day. He's the laziest POTUS ever. #He pulled us out of the Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces Treaty. HE STARTED A NEW COLD WAR. #He won’t release his taxes. If he’s got nothing to hide, why HIDE EM? #He threatened us Democrats, saying he has the support of the police, the military and “Bikers for Trump.” Bikers for Trump=BrownShirts. #Claims that windmill causes cancer and kill birds...Are you fucking kidding me? #His son Donny Douchebag got a crowd to chant “AOC sucks” like the douchebag he is. #Claimed his father was born in Germany. Fred Trump was born in NYC, how stupid can you be to not know where your parents were born... #Claims he should get 2 more years added to his term because those 2 years were “stolen” by the Mueller report. *facepalm-cringe* #He told 4 Progressive non-white Congresswomen to “Go back to where you came from”. 3 of 4 were BORN HERE, YOU FUCKING RACIST #One-uped the “go back to your country” but viciously attacking Elijah Cummings and Baltimore in a racist Twitter tirade. #Extorted the Ukrainian President to investigate Joe Biden (finally being impeached) #He's always blaming everybody else, complaining, never taking responsibility. #"I inherited a mess." You inherited millions of dollars, you whiny...little...BITCH!

[merurysmay-blog]

abuse

word count: 1.1k 

pairing: queen x reader (platonic) 

warnings: mentions of abuse

if you are struggling with abuse, please reach out to someone. talk to someone who can help you. much love, e. 

SEND IN REQUESTS PLEASE!

All of the boys in Queen were needy. You had been with them since their first day as a band, Roger making you come along, you two had been best friends for a while, and he hired you as an assistant. You we’re making minimum wage because it was all they could afford, but they all agreed that they needed you with them at all times. You were their assistant, yes, but at times you felt more like a parent. You always made sure all of them had eaten, drunk enough water during the day and didn’t drink too much of things that weren’t water, alcohol for example, and if they did, they always woke up with two painkillers and a glass of water on the table besides their beds.

The boys all new that they would never get anything done without you because they fought so damn much. They all loved you with their entire hearts, and would do anything to protect you if they had to. When you walked into the studio, after being away from a week as you were back at home to have a family reunion, Freddie screamed in delight when you walked in. You giggled as he ran over to hug you. “My darling! You’re back! How are you! Ugh, we’ve simply been dying without you here.” Freddie spoke, as he pulled away and laid little kisses all over your face. You laughed, and hugged him. “I’m good, Fred. How’ve you been?” You smiled up at him. “Sad without you, but now that you’re back, I’m thrilled. Give the other guys a hug, they’ve all been so needy without you.” Freddie scoffed and pulled you to the other boys. You laughed, “You are all always needy even when I’m here.” You giggled.

“That’s rude, sweetheart.” You heard, and you smiled and skipped into Rogers open arms. “Rog!” You giggled, “Hey, my love.” You laughed, Roger never called you by your actual name, it was always sweet nicknames. You two had been best friends for years, since you were only half a year old, and to Roger, you were the one human being he was sure that he loved. To Roger, you were like a little sister, someone he would die to protect. “How was the reunion? How’s your aunt?” Roger laughed, Roger and your aunt had never gotten along, but everyone else in your family loved him, “It was marvelous! And, she’s good, grumpy as usual. Everyone misses you though!” You laughed. “I miss ‘em to, love.” Roger smiled.

“Hey, don’t we get a hug?” Brian asked, you pulled out of Roger’s arms, him sneaking a kiss onto your forehead, you smiled and leaped into Brian’s arms, then out and into Deaky’s. You smiled, and looked at both of them. “How’ve you been, love?” Brian asked, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your cheek, Deaky following right after him, “I’ve been good! Met my new little nephew, oh he’s just the sweetest.” You smiled at the both of them, “What about you guys? Did you get any recording done?” You asked, walking to the front of the room, and looking back at them all. They all shyly looked down. “Guys! I was gone for a week! Enough time for you guys to record at least one song, or more!” You sighed looking down.

“I know, darling. And we kept trying but we kept on arguing, but now that you’re here we’ll get songs done in no time!” Freddie smiled gleefully, “Okay. But I expect at least half a song done by the end of the day, you sighed and walked in booth. They all nodded, got their instruments, well Roger sat down at the drum kit and Freddie grabbed his microphone and tossed headphones to the boys. “Let’s do this!” And set about recording a song.

You smiled as they recorded, but your smile slowly faded. You rubbed your arm, where a bruise was fading. You had been taking your boyfriends abuse for months now. You didn’t know how much longer you would be able to take it before you broke. You recalled when you first met him, he seemed so sweet and he always cared for you, then things began to get worse. It would start with little things, he would get mad at you for not cleaning one dish that you forgot about, then it progressed, you dropped his favorite cup, and he slapped you after it shattered. It only got worse from there.

You were two scared to leave though, you didn’t want anything to bad to happen to you. You slowly pressed down and felt the bruise tingle. Your eyes welled up with tears, as your hand moved to your stomach and pressed down on the bruise that was there, it was much larger and was taking much longer to fade away. Freddie glanced up at you, and saw the tears and immediately stopped singing. “Darling? What is it? What’s wrong? Are you alright?” He asked, as he ran in the booth and dragged you out into the colder air as the booth could get stuffy.

You wiped away your tears hastily, as everyone crowded you. “No, no. I’m okay. I’m fine.” You looked down, and pressed harder on the fading bruise on your arm. “No, you’re not. Talk to us, my love.” Roger said, you looked into his eyes and knew you couldn’t lie for any longer. “Tom-Tom, he uhm, he hits me when he gets mad at me or just all the time really.” You whispered. “I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Roger spoke menacingly, knowing that he could be telling the truth, your head whipped up, “No, you can’t.” You spoke, desperately. “He very well can darling, and we’ll all be there to help him.” You assumed it was Brian speaking, but when you looked up, it was John who had just said that. You were slightly shocked to say the least, John always seemed to be the calmest of the bunch.

You looked up at Freddie, who always had something to say, but he was just staring thoughtfully and sadly at you. “I’m so sorry, darling.” He said, pulling you into his arms, you just sobbed into his chest. Freddie looked at the boys best he could and mouthed ‘Go, give him hell’ and then pulled you closer to him to distract you as the boys ran off to bring Tom the worst pain imaginable. “It’s okay, it’s alright.” You spoke, “No it’s not, it’s bloody not alright that you’re being abused. You are perfect. So fuckin’ perfect and you are somebody who never deserves to be treated so awfully. Nobody does.”