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stabortega · 1 year ago

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NO SURPRISES — CHAPTER TWO

Summary: Having to deal with the aftermath of that situation was definitely worse then finding out the truth.

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Fem!G!P!Reader

Warnings: NSFW. Implied fem reader, she/her pronouns used. Mentions of sex, dirty talking and sexting. Knife play. Mentions of kinks, nothing explicit. Top!Reader x Bottom!Jenna. MDNI.

Author's Note: Still think my writing is trash but you guys seem to like it. 💜

MASTERLIST.

"What the actual fuck?!" Jasmine almost yelled as Jenna shoved her inside one of the dressing rooms in the set, while she tried to shut the other actress up. "Thank god someone's paying that poor girl's college."

"This is not fucking funny, Jasmine. I shouldn't have told you." Jenna locked the door behind her, looking at her apprehensively. She made a terrible mistake by telling Jasmine what went on last night. "And now they expect me to work with her? After I-"

"Seen her dick? Oh god, what will be of you?" The black girl laughed, while sitting down on the couch. "Chill, alright? She probably doesn't even know you donated. I mean, what was your username?"

Jenna gulped. "I don't wanna say it."

"Come on, was it that obvious??" Jasmine rolled her eyes, waiting for an answer.

"It was my first name then the first four digits of my birthday."

"I cannot fucking believe you."

Living in New York wasn't easy. Every apartment was obnoxiously expensive, so you had to resort to leave the city and start living in Brooklyn. It was a nice neighborhood, the best you could afford if we're being completely honest. Moving to the big city was by far the best and the worst decision you've ever made. Other than starting college, obviously.

I mean, you loved every second of it, but it started to fuck your financial life right up the ass.

"You should create an Only Fans or something." You almost spit the whiskey shot you were drinking right back to your cup, looking at your friend as if she just told you that she had killed three men with a needle. "I'm serious, (Y/N). Do you know how much money you can get just by posting out some feet pics, or whatever?"

"I'm not gonna sell pictures of my feet for cash, Liana." She shook her head no while taking a sip of her Appletini.

"Then don't. Sell your dick pics, or livestream. Come on, I know how much you're struggling and you know you're putting that body to waste. What's the worse thing can happen?"

And she was right. You started out with just an account on that website, posting some pictures here and there; until one of your followers suggested livestreaming and said she would pay some good money just to watch you cum on your stomach (which obviously, she did). It happened so fast that, when you realized it, you were able to get yourself a better place right downtown, pay off your college debts and buy a professional video camera to shoot some amateur movies. And no, not the pornographic kind.

You wanted to be a director someday, but you were also really good with a camera; which is why you got the opportunity to work in the upcoming Scream movie as an assistant videographer (and because Liana put in a good word for you). It was your first real gig in your area of interest, you couldn't be more excited.

The first day was just like any other. You got to meet a few people and get a hold of the equipments you were going to use.

"Ay, (Y/N)! Come here for a sec!" Your boss, Dave, called your name while you were looking at one of the IMAX cameras, which you've never got the opportunity to film with. You realized he wanted to introduce you to some people, which he did. You just didn't expect it would be one of the protagonists (and the newest it actress of Hollywood). "It's a pleasure to meet you, Jenna."

You extended your hand for her to shake, which she did after looking at it for a couple of seconds, almost if she was analyzing you. "Nice to meet you too, (Y/N)."

And that was pretty much it, you guys didn't exchanged any other words besides that on that particular day. You even thought that she could be avoiding you, for whatever reason. All throughout the day, you felt her gaze on you multiple times, but everytime you looked at her, she just looked away.

"You're definitely not subtle." Jasmine whispered in Jenna's ear, while she watched you handle one of the camera films. "I'm pretty sure that she can physically feel your eyes on her butt as we speak."

"She's definitely gonna find out that I was on her stream last night." The Ortega took a deep breath, looking away when she realized you looked at her again.

"She's not, don't get paranoid. You have the most obvious and boring username ever? Yes. It would take just one Google search to figure out your identity? It would. But still!" Jenna got up from the chair she was sitting, realizing that all she wanted to do was to smoke this off.

"You're not helping, Jasmine." She took out her pack of Marlboro's and her lighter once she was outside. "I never even watched porn before, not even by myself."

"And now you donated $1500 to a complete stranger just so she could cum while moaning your name. That's a character development." Jasmine stood beside Jenna, who had just started smoking so she could even try to forget that she wanted to sit on her coworker's dick less than 24 hours ago.

"I'm never doing that again, Jasmine. It's inhumane and gross. It was the first and the last time."

jenna2709: thought about you a lot today.

"Oh, did you? Good to hear that." She locked the door behind her and sat on her bed. That was Jenna's, at least, 10th day of watching your streams nonstop. And she had just "caught" you in the beginning of your livestream (which meant that she had the notifications of your page on and was too much of a chicken to admit it). So that meant that you weren't even undressed yet, you were just rubbing your dick over your sweatpants and chatting a litte bit with your followers before you started your actual show. "What exactly were you thinking of, huh?"

jenna2709: of me sucking your cock under this table while you tell me how much of a good girl i am.

Jenna realized what she said after she already sent the message. Where did that came from? She thought while looking intensely at the livestream, hoping you would just stop with the teasing and take your cock out of your pants for her to see (and drool). "Oh baby, I'm sure you're very good with your mouth. Wanted to cum right on your throat and make you swallow every drop."

jenna2709: i would be honored to be your cum dump.

"Okay, I crossed the line." She took a deep breath, not even recognizing who was that person inside of her, the person that would say the most obscene and erotic shit that she ever heard. It was almost if something awakened inside of her everytime she saw you. Every couple of days, at exactly 10PM, she would lock herself in her hotel bedroom and fuck her pussy so deep until she passed out from having like, five orgasms. And that was the easy part, obviously. The hardest part was definitely waking up in the morning and having to look at you as if she didn't saw your dick inside of a fleshlight the night before.

Jenna grew up christian. In a american dream type of household. But getting in touch with Hollywood and all of the film industry made her get out of her bubble and quite literally, discover the world. She drank, she smoked, she went to 2AM parties at some A-List celebrity's house that she never even met before. But sex? Never sex. She met a few people here and there, but nothing further. It made her think about that, the fact that she couldn't even be interested enough in someone to actually have some sort of contact with them; but with you, she would stay all night thinking about you fucking her raw and senseless until she couldn't remember who she was.

"Stop teasing, Jenna. We both know you were born to be my cum dump, and mine only." You were so horny imagining having that stranger on her knees while she had her mouth open, waiting for you to dump your cum inside of her pretty little throat. You took your cock out of your pants, a little bit earlier than you've expected, but you were getting so worked up that you didn't even thought about your stream routine. You started to stroke the member gently, feeling your dick pulsate right on the palm of your hand. "I know that you're the only one who can take care of this right, don't you think?"

jenna2709: if you were mine, i would make you cum on my pussy everyday.

Jenna started to get scared. Who was this person that was hiding inside of her? Was she really like that? Is she the female version of Christian Grey and doesn't know it yet? How the fuck she got so horny all of a sudden?

She knew that the reason you were playing that little game with her was merely money. But there was a part of her, a tiny part that hoped that you felt attracted to her as much as she felt to you. Even if you'd never seen her face, or her body. It didn't mattered if she had just met you a couple of days ago; she wanted you to want her, the same way she wanted you.

"And if you were mine, I would carve my name on your belly so everyone would know who you belong to." Oh yes, the knife play.

Jenna wasn't naive or innocent, she knew about fetishes and BDSM practices; and thankfully there was the option of marking your kinks on your own profile when you created your account. The actress spent an embarrassing amount of time researching some of your kinks that were listed on your profile (there was so many things she didn't even knew existed, to be completely honest). And the thought of you doing all of those things with her got her aroused in a matter of seconds.

jenna2709: you could carve your name on my face, for all i care.

jenna2709: i would definitely want people to know that i'm yours.

The rest of the livestream went as usual, you doing all of the things that your subs asked you to, Jenna being awarded as the number 1 tipper for the 5th time in a row, nothing out of the ordinary. You were just about to cum for the second time when Jenna tipped you again with a request.

Wow! "jenna2709" donated $2000 with the message: i want you to cum for me, again.

"You know I never decline your requests, baby. But, let's be fair this time around?" You answered, a little bit breathless, masturbating your cock as hard as you could. "I'll give you a private livestream if you show me your face."

Oh, a private livestream?

Jenna had been following your for awhile now ever since her first time watching your stream. She knew that private livestreams weren't something you did. And yet, you were here, offering one for free, just to see Jenna's face in return. It was a really good offer, but Jenna couldn't accept. If you found out who she was, the shooting would be the most awkward work experience for both of them. It would be like, "Hey, (Y/N)? Can you get this camera ready for me? Also, I've already seen your dick and I'm having wet dreams with you fucking me like the slut I am." So, she took one last breath after she decided to stick with her original plan and decline.

jenna2709: it's a deal.

#scream #jenna ortega smut #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday #the fallout #you #scream movies #pwp

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defectivevillain · 11 months ago

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judgment by the hounds

pairing: Loki Laufeyson & Reader (can be read as platonic or romantic; reader's race is ambiguous and gender/pronouns are unspecified)

summary:

Loki is captured and held in S.H.I.E.L.D. captivity. However, he doesn’t attempt to break free right away. Instead, he bides his time by waiting for something—or, more accurately, someone.

You’re an FBI agent called in by S.H.I.E.L.D. to interrogate their newest prisoner, Loki Laufeyson.

word count: 5.6k | ao3 version

warnings: blood, injury & gore typical to SotL; manipulation & mind games

I thought about writing this as I was reading Silence of the Lambs — I imagined questioning Loki & having a similar dynamic with him during his temporary imprisonment. There aren’t any explicit references to SoL in here, but I wanted to include it as a fandom tag because Hannibal & Clarice’s dynamic really inspired this fic.

This is not canon compliant, and there will likely be some discrepancies. Just pretend this is an alternate timeline. :>

The title of this fic is from I’m Your Man by Mitski. The lyrics “I’ll meet judgment by the hounds… People always gave me love… Others were never to blame after all… You believe me like a god, I’ll betray you like a man” felt pretty relevant to this fic.

The reader is racially ambiguous, gender is ambiguous, and pronouns aren't used. warnings: canon-typical violence and gore (typical to SotL)

thanks anna (@pinocchiospissrock) for the beta! (any remaining mistakes are mine.) luv u and so excited to see u soon!!!! <333

If you told your younger self that your criminal investigative work would earn you a conversation with the legendary Nick Fury, the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., your younger self would have laughed. The mere thought would be preposterous. Fury is the face of the entire organization, and the founder of the Avengers! What would a mere FBI agent like yourself do to even earn a moment with him, let alone a full conversation?

Apparently, you’re becoming somewhat renowned for your investigative work. You’ve always avoided the press—otherwise you would have noticed your name cropping up in cases with big profiles in the public eye. You would’ve noticed that you were slowly starting to get more and more credit for your accomplishments; you would’ve been able to connect the dots between Nick Fury—desperate for information and willing to do anything to get it—and you—an FBI agent rising in the ranks for important work with the Behavioral Analysis Unit and Jack Crawford.

Despite these recognitions, however, you can’t quite believe that you’re being flown to the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters in New York City to speak with Nick Fury. Truly, this feels like some kind of fever dream. As you’re escorted through the high-level security installments on the ground floor of the building, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re not meant to be here. This must be some kind of mistake, you’re thinking to yourself, even as you’re given a visitor ID badge. You’re led into a glass elevator that rises to the twentieth floor, through a cold stone hall and even more security installments. Eventually, you come face-to-face with a nondescript wooden door. The security guard knocks on the door and opens it for you, revealing a clean and modern space with black leather furniture and an array of windows (bulletproof and likely very durable) overlooking the street below. There is a figure seated at the grand desk in the center of the room. Nick Fury looks up at the sudden disturbance, his brown eye immediately assessing your form before moving to the guard in the doorway. He nods and the guard steps out of the room, closing the door behind them.

“Agent, have a seat,” Fury offers. It’s an order, not a simple statement. You comply immediately and Fury raises an eyebrow. For a long moment, tension settles in the air as Nick Fury unsubtly scrutinizes you. Fury puts a contemplative hand on his chin and stares at you. Despite the eye patch covering his left eye, his menacing gaze is enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here,” Fury remarks vaguely. You nod. “I need you to do something for me.” You raise an eyebrow. When he continues, any confidence you gained from the notion of him requesting something of you promptly fades from existence. He tells you about a god with a penchant for mischief that borders on cruelty—about a devastating attack on New York City that left thousands injured and hundreds dead. You had heard about the attack on the news, but you had too much going on to truly process what you were seeing. Fury tells you that this trickster, a Norse god by the name of Loki, is currently in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most secure containment. It’s clear S.H.I.E.L.D. is desperate for information, otherwise they wouldn’t be bringing you in for something like this—this is far above your pay grade. Norse gods were never mentioned in your training at Quantico.

“Loki has been largely uncooperative,” Fury continues, immune to the emotional whiplash you’re currently experiencing. “We needed to try a different approach.” He looks at you after that. “And we need more information. Can I count on you to do this?” You take a slow breath in. Do you really have a choice?

“Yes, sir,” you respond. Fury regards you for another second, before evidently deciding that your answer is satisfactory. He then hands you a device, which appears to be a pass that allows you entrance into the high-security cells. It’s an effective dismissal. You take it and murmur a word of thanks, before stepping out of the room. With the security guard’s guidance, you’re able to learn the location of the high-security prison and you take another elevator ride. When the doors ding, a giant metronome sounds off in your head. You can’t go back now, you think to yourself as you cross the threshold of the elevator and step towards the reinforced metal door with a fingerprint and retinal scanner. You glance at the guard, who nods and urges you to continue. Somehow, in the brief time that you spoke with Fury, your information must've been registered in the system—as your name appears on screen after it scans your finger. You then lean down and allow the machine to scan your retina, before a blue light flashes once. You frown at the door, before seeing a screen flashing on the left side. You press the pad Fury gave you to the screen and the door clicks, swinging open ominously.

You take a step forward and leave the door open, expecting for the guard to follow you. They shoot you a disbelieving look and take a step backwards, letting the door fall shut. You’re left alone in a hallway reminiscent of a steel prison. As you slowly walk down the narrow path between iron bars, you feel hard gazes boring into your very skin. Someone jeers at you. You keep walking until you reach the solitary cell at the end of the hall. For the first time since entering the space, you allow yourself to look up—only to look into the glimmering green eyes of Loki Laufeyson.

Safe to say, Fury neglected to mention that Loki would be the single most intimidating individual you’ve ever had the misfortune and displeasure to meet. Staring at him through the thick walls of glass, you’re suffocated with a sudden, intense dread. Even if Fury hadn’t given you any background on him, you’re sure you still would’ve been able to surmise this man’s maleficence and cruelty. He has long dark hair, sharp features, and a positively malevolent grin on his face.

“Hello,” you murmur guardedly. The thick walls of glass aren’t enough to ensure you of your safety—that attentive gaze cuts straight through your skin and sinks deep into the bone. The god raises an eyebrow at you, pausing for a moment to allow you the opportunity to turn tail and run away. You very nearly take the gifted opportunity, before you remember that information on the invasion could save lives.

“Are you lost?” Loki asks, regarding you with as much respect as someone regards a pebble beneath their feet. Your hands are ever so slightly trembling from your sides and you stuff your hands in your pockets, suddenly feeling the need to keep yourself occupied.

“No,” You eventually reply. You decide to introduce yourself, before raising your eyebrows at the god in return. You resist the urge to ask him to introduce himself. You know who he is, and you would likely end up insulting him with the question anyway. Unfortunately, you’re going to have to be very careful around him. The slightest word or provocation would lose the information for good. Why are you being called in for this, again?

“What could possibly have possessed Fury to send a mere agent such as yourself to speak with me?” The god questions, echoing your very own thoughts. You take a deep breath and try to steel your nerves.

“I’m a criminal investigator,” you respond, once your tongue is no longer ironed to the roof of your mouth. “I’ve spent most of my life studying how criminal types think and what motivates them. I want to ask you a few questions.”

“Interesting,” Loki hums. He doesn’t seem the least bit intrigued; rather, he appears incredibly bored. “And you think this Midgardian experience is enough to grant you a conversation with me? You know nothing of who I am and what I am capable of.”

You want to be surprised, but you expected something along those lines. A brief white-hot fury overtakes you as you remember the tension in Fury’s shoulders, the withdrawn tone in his voice, how he seemed to expect you to fail. Everyone is expecting you to fail. “I know enough,” you respond, before you can contemplate the consequences of doing so. In truth, Fury had given you Loki’s file earlier. He also left you with a few words of warning. You manage to tear yourself away from your conversation with Fury and focus on what you viewed in Loki’s file. The information comes to mind within seconds. “You caused quite the scene in Germany. I suspect that was the intention.” There is no acknowledgement that he’s even listening to you, save for the intense gaze that seems to be dissecting you for his own amusement.

The words slip from your tongue before you can stop them. “You’re the adopted son of Odin and Frigga, and the brother of Thor. Your real father is Laufey, the Frost Giant King. You’re the God of Mischief. And you’re a constant thorn in the side of the Avengers and Nick Fury.”

“Those are just the facts,” you conclude. You’re met with nothing but silence. There’s an undercurrent of expectation in the air, as if he’s waiting for you to continue. You grit your teeth. Somehow, you have his attention now. It would be best if you didn’t lose it. “As for my first impressions… You’re manipulative, obviously. Cunning and clever. Selfish, extremely controlling. You derive pleasure from other people’s pain. You enjoy being the chessmaster—manipulating your pawns and discarding them the moment they’ve fulfilled their purpose.”

“Beneath all that, you’re frighteningly human. Jealousy, envy, a visceral desire for Odin’s approval, and a thirst for power… You delight in your darkest urges and scorn any of the ones that come close to resembling even a hint of genuine emotion.”

“Now will you answer my questions?” You finish.

Loki’s head is down now. His shoulders are shaking and for a second, you think he’s crying. Then he raises his head, revealing a twisted grin on his face. “No one has possessed the courage to talk to me in such a manner in millenia,” the god remarks, his hands clasped behind his back. He takes a step forward and inspects you through the glass. You remember your fear from earlier. “Who are you, exactly?”

“I’ve already told you,” you answer. You’ve done this song and dance before, and you have enough experience to know nothing good comes from giving a criminal your name. In the few rare instances in which it seemed that they simply wouldn’t give in, you would give a fake name. You weren't foolish enough to try that with the God of Mischief, though. “Besides, that doesn’t matter. I’m here for information.” You repeat for what feels like the umpteenth time.

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Loki says, studying you with scrutiny. Your skin crawls. Everything about this feels like a horrible idea. Not for the first time, you question why you were called in for this assignment. “I’m not allowed visitors otherwise—on account of the last one being found in his home with his throat slit.” There’s another flash of amusement in his eyes.

“Fun,” you remark flatly. Your heart is racing out of your chest, but you know not to show your apprehension. Fear is Loki’s game. “Seriously, though. I assume you want to get out of here in the next millennium.” You remark.

“Au contraire,” Loki replies. It takes you a few seconds to process what he says, and several more seconds to recall the translation: ‘On the contrary.’ You wait patiently for the god to continue. “You don’t really think I’ll be released, do you? And don’t bother pretending otherwise—you don’t have the power or authority to make promises here.”

“I’m not sure why you’re entertaining conversation with me in the first place, then,” you reason. You feel lost in this conversation, admittedly. It’s taking an unhealthy amount of mental energy to keep yourself afloat in these verbal traps.

“Maybe I’m bored,” Loki drawls. In the fluorescent lighting beaming down on him, he looks every bit as royal as he is rumored to be. “Maybe I’m waiting for you to let your guard down, for your mental defenses to fade away and corrode into nothingness before my control slips into your psyche, forcing you to be a spectator as I pilot your body and mind.”

You stare at him for a moment, heart hammering away in your chest. Somehow, it’s that sentiment that cements the reality of the situation. You’re not qualified enough for whatever the hell this is. You’ve interrogated loads of criminals before, but they’ve never posed a legitimate physical and mental threat to you in the same manner that Loki does. You find yourself genuinely fearing for your safety as you stare at Loki’s glittering green eyes.

As your heart races and you take a few steps backwards, you catch a sudden blur in your peripheral vision, before you’re struck with white-hot pain that flares up the left side of your face. You blink dazedly and bring a hand up to your left cheek, only to find blood splattered across your skin. There’s a jagged fragment resting on the floor near your foot—evidently the cause of the wound. You turn to the left, only to find the man from before clutching at the bars of his cell with ferocity—a crazed look in his eyes as he stares at you. Your gaze then falls to the porcelain toilet in the corner of his cell, with a notable chunk missing. That must’ve been where he got the shard. The side of your face is burning, hot blood trickling down your cheek. You press the back of your hand to the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. Unsurprisingly, the wound doesn’t magically heal or stop bleeding. You grimace and set off down the hallway, intending to leave and find a first-aid kit. Just as your palm flattens on the door, Loki says your name.

You pause, your cheek stinging. You feel Loki’s gaze at your back and you know you probably don’t have the luxury to continue walking away. Yet… you can’t bear to turn around. You open the door and walk away, unaware of the furious expression on Loki’s face. The security guard’s eyebrows climb up their face as they see the blood trickling down your face, but you simply hand them the keypad and walk away.

You have nothing in lieu of information and a fresh, jagged cut on your cheek. You don’t expect to be called to the high-security cells again any time soon—not after that complete and utter failure. You leave S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters that day with a bandage on your cheek and wounded pride. The conversation with Loki keeps you up that night in your hotel room, as you turn over every statement in your head. There’s a notable disconnect between Loki’s words and his actions. Furthermore, if he’s truly so powerful, then why is he still contained? You know S.H.I.E.L.D. is well-equipped to handle villains, but Loki is a Norse god. Surely he could snap his fingers and transport himself somewhere else? If that’s the case, you can’t help but wonder why he hasn’t escaped yet.

You avoid work the next few days to fully recover from the physical and mental injuries acquired that day. It’s nice to have some free time, but it is still somewhat dampened by the knowledge that you didn’t get any information from Loki. Fury is going to be, well, furious.

Safe to say, you don’t expect to see Nick Fury on your doorstep one morning, a troubled expression on his face. You greet him and try to invite him in, but he remains outside. His dissecting gaze flits about your face, searching for something. “It’s been an interesting day, Agent,” he evidently decides to say.

“How so?” You ask. Fury glances to his left and right, before taking a small step forward and leaning closer.

“A prisoner in the high security area was murdered,” he murmurs, “He was found in his cell. It seems he was fed his own tongue before he choked and suffocated to death. Miggs. Awful guy, but… we had intended on getting more information from him.” Fury shakes his head. Meanwhile, you’re reeling. There’s no way the victim was the same prisoner who assaulted you earlier. That would be a truly troubling occurrence—one you’re not quite sure you could put down to coincidence.

“Anyway… I need you to speak with Loki again.” Fury continues, his expression serious. He raises an eyebrow upon seeing the slight shock that must be showing on your face. “You seem surprised.”

You nod. “I was under the impression that our conversation didn’t go well,” you decide to respond honestly. Fury seems to appreciate the truthfulness, although his eyebrows furrow and he takes a deep breath.

There’s a beat of silence. “He’s refused to speak with anyone else we’ve sent,” Fury explains, “Since your last visit, he’s been exceptionally…Well. He asked for you specifically.”

What was Fury going to say just then? And, more importantly, did you even hear him correctly? Did Loki really ask to speak with you, even after the tense conversation you had? You’re immediately suspicious.

“Listen,” Fury breaks off, looking conflicted and resolved all at once. “For whatever reason, he’s different with you. I’m not sure why, but whatever the reason, we need to take advantage. Loki has valuable information about the attack on New York.”

“In reality, he asked for you a few days ago,” Fury continues, after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. You look over to him in surprise. “I refused. But… since then, he’s been extremely disagreeable—and we’re running out of time.”

“I’ll try to speak with him,” you answer. That’s the best you can promise. You certainly can’t promise that it’ll be a productive conversation, or that you’ll get any information from him. Indeed, the last discussion you had with Loki, it felt as if you were disclosing more information than he was. Still, the prospect seems to be good enough for Fury.

“Thank you, Agent,” he nods, returning the keycard that grants access to the high security area. You take a deep breath and follow him back to his car, steeling your nerves as the city buildings pass before your vision. Once you reach the headquarters, you walk down the halls and head to the elevators. Fury and you part ways as he gets off the elevator, and he leaves you with a brief nod.

It only takes a few steps in the hallway of the high-security cells for you to notice that something’s missing. A cell is empty—the same one that Miggs had occupied before. You feel dread coiling in your chest, yet you can’t stop yourself from taking a step closer and getting a better look at the empty cell. There’s blood splattered all across the ground—although it appears as if someone tried to clean it, since it bears a closer resemblance to dark brown than red. The sheets of the mattress are clean and the cell looks entirely untouched, save for the stains across the floor and the noticeable chunk missing from the toilet.

Your attention is captured by the cell—so much so that you forget your company. “Ah, what a pleasant surprise,” Loki remarks, sending your heart racing as you remember his presence. You take a deep breath and tear your eyes away from the evidence of Miggs’s death. As you break the distance between Loki’s enclosure and you, you can’t help but shake the feeling that he had something to do with the death of Miggs. You don’t have any proof, but the awful feeling stirring in your gut certainly makes you question what you thought you knew.

Loki clears his throat pointedly and you remember yourself. “You asked for me,” you then answer cautiously.

“Yes, but I wasn’t sure if Fury would oblige,” Loki drawls, regarding you with mild amusement. You’re not sure what he thinks is entertaining, so you just pretend not to have noticed his smug grin. “He doesn’t seem to care for me much.”

“I’d argue most of us don’t,” you hear yourself blurt out. You really need a better filter, especially in a conversation as important as this one. If you want information from Loki, you’ll have to be nicer to him. Despite that thought, Loki is staring at you with the same amusement as before. There’s no sense that the insult even registered.

“And yourself?” The god asks, once again reminding you that you’re the one at the mercy of the conversation. You grit your teeth and try to remain calm, despite the overwhelming feelings of inadequacy that threaten to send you down the hall.

“What about me?” You raise an eyebrow.

“You said most of us,” Loki says, “Does that include you?”

You don’t bother to dignify that question with a response. “What do you want?” He doesn’t respond and you resist the urge to exhibit any signs of your growing impatience. “You asked to speak with me—I’m assuming you want something.”

“I have information you want,” Loki states, his eyes boring into yours and sending a prickling sensation down your skin. His intense gaze is unnerving, and you feel as if you’re being intensely scrutinized. “You have information I want. I propose a trade.”

You’re not surprised by the remark, save for the idea that you have something he wants. “I’m not quite sure what information I could give you,” you frown, shifting your balance slightly to keep your body occupied. You cross your arms over your chest and pretend you don’t feel entirely vulnerable in front of Loki.

“I’ll be the one to determine that,” the god says. His next statement is entirely unexpected. “Now, tell me about yourself, your childhood.”

“What?” You choke out. “About myself? I don’t see how that’s relevant.” You break off. Loki’s gaze is focused on you with burning intensity. You take a shuddering breath in and try to summon some information that isn’t dangerous for you to disclose. “I’m a criminal investigator—have been for years. I’m from around here, grew up here.” You end up settling for a mix of ambiguity and omission. Loki seems to pick up on it regardless.

“Don’t lie to me.” His gaze is dark and dangerous. It suddenly feels as if the temperature dropped in the space around you. You’re pinned under the god’s watchful eyes. “I think I deserve more than that, don’t you?” You can’t find the words to answer. You have, once again, severely underestimated Loki’s capabilities.

“Very well, then,” Loki murmurs some time later, after it’s clear that you’re unwilling to give him more information. His posture is effortlessly casual, but you know it’s just a façade. “I can start for you. You worked as a criminal investigator for years in your hometown, until you decided to become an FBI agent. With more responsibility came more criminals, and closer calls. Even so, you began to gain notoriety for your cases. Your name appears in more and more press coverage. Meanwhile, Nick Fury grows increasingly frustrated with me, with the lack of information. He sees you on the morning news and finds his perfect solution. He calls you here to New York, tells you that he needs you for this pivotal role. An exaggeration, of course.”

“You agree with his offer—surely, you don’t have any other choice. Meanwhile, Fury promptly forgets your existence, until he needs you once more. A tool in a toolbox is all you are to him. Why else would he send you to me? He doesn’t have faith in your abilities, Agent—he just needs bait.”

You know it’s true, but it still hurts. Truthfully, you had suspected the same thing; something about the Norse god speaking on your thoughts cements them in reality. Indeed, why else would Fury have called you in? There are plenty of high-ranking officials that would’ve been better suited for such a task.

“You come in here and provoke me,” Loki continues, as if you aren’t even there. He seems entirely in his element as he paces about his cell. “I attack you, then break out of captivity. A group of agents lurks outside to interrupt my eventual escape. The whole thing is laughably predictable, really.” Your eyes widen as you realize just why the security guard lingered outside the door. They aren’t guarding the door—it’s secure enough on its own. They’re guarding you, waiting for you to fail and for Loki to escape. The thought sends a shiver down your spine.

“And, of course, you have a visceral desire for Fury’s approval,” he continues, repeating what you said to him mere days ago. You feel as if a bucket of ice cold water was just dumped all over you, making you shiver and question everything you thought you knew. Are you really so formulaic? Have you been lured into a false sense of confidence these past few years? You try to grapple with these questions, while the god stares at you. “Am I ‘in the ballpark,’ as you mortals say?” There’s a sharp grin on Loki’s face that deeply unsettles you.

It takes you several moments to collect your composure and find the words to say. “I think you know you are,” you respond, ignoring your heart pounding out of your chest. It’s unnerving that Loki could glean that much about you in such a short time span. Despite his obvious attempt at mockery, you know that you need to answer his questions if you want information. You keep silent and wait for Loki to continue.

“Now, you still haven’t given me anything,” Loki reminds you, dispelling any hope that he may have forgotten. You feel extremely restless and steadily avoid his gaze, even when you feel his eyes practically tearing holes through your form. “So, I ask once more: what was your childhood like?”

You can’t afford to argue this time—not if you want information. The glint in Loki’s eyes grows brighter with each tidbit you give him. At his request, you tell him about your past—everything from your childhood home to the relationships you have with your family. Time becomes fickle and you don’t realize you’re oversharing until you glance down at your watch and see that far too much time has passed. “That’s more than enough,” you interject some time later. You don’t feel as if you can truly grasp the severity of your actions just now. Even so, you know that you’ve given him too much ammunition. You pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache developing. “It’s your turn.”

“Very well,” Loki responds, his lips parting to reveal a crooked smirk. The expression on his face confirms your suspicions that he was planning on continuing the conversation until you stopped him. “I will answer two of your questions.” You feel your heart drop.

“Two?” You exclaim in disbelief, “You must’ve asked me a hundred just now-”

“I didn’t force you to answer any of my questions,” Loki reasons. Unfortunately, he’s correct in that regard—you should’ve been more wary. You let your guard down and he was content to take advantage of it. “Now, do you want information or not?”

You grit your teeth. Damn it. Two questions is a very insignificant number. You try to remember what Fury told you mere minutes before. “He’s been extremely disagreeable… and we’re running out of time.” You can’t afford to slip up here.

“Fine,” you say. The look on Loki’s face doesn’t change, but you can still sense arrogance radiating off of him. “Why?” You decide to ask.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Loki drawls, continuing to pace about. He looks completely and utterly bored. “Why does one do anything?” You resist an eye roll.

“Why did you do it?” You rephrase. You don’t need to specify for Loki to understand what you’re referring to: the attack on New York, the Chitauri invasion. Surely, knowing his motivations would help S.H.I.E.L.D. prevent instances like it from happening in the future. Besides, you’re not sure what else to ask. As has been established, you don’t think you’re the best fit for this task of vital importance.

“I was seeking revenge,” Loki answers without hesitation. His unblinking gaze is beginning to unnerve you. “Is that what you’d like me to say?”

“I’d like you to tell the truth,” you assert, unable to hide some of your irritation. The god picks up on it and smiles infuriatingly, as if your annoyance is entertaining. Perhaps it is entertaining to him. You take a deep breath and remind yourself to keep calm. It would do you no good to get riled up. You have one job: collecting information.

“The truth,” Loki remarks languidly, tearing you from your thoughts. His answer comes without hesitation. “I was bored.” Boredom. Boredom pushed him to wreak havoc on the city, causing hundreds of casualties and inordinate bloodshed. Loki was motivated by a lack of fulfillment. The thought is extremely disconcerting. On the one hand, you’re not sure what you were expecting. On the other, you had been looking for a more clear-cut, legitimate reason to contextualize his actions. You weren’t planning on excusing his crimes, but if he provided something that seemed to somewhat justify his reaction, you would’ve been able to get more information and also deduce a clear motive to these kinds of attacks. Perhaps that was your error in thinking, though: Loki can’t be a predictor of a pattern. He is wildly unpredictable, and trying to predict him will both waste your time and result in more frustration.

“One more question,” Loki reminds you tauntingly. You grit your teeth, pushing past your irritation. The god seems to enjoy emphasizing the differences between you and him—your mortality, your weakness.

You try to think a little harder. Admittedly, a particular question has been weighing on your mind throughout most of your interactions, burrowing into your subconscious and refusing to let go. After a few moments, you decide to verbalize it. “Why haven’t you escaped yet?”

The god laughs. “Haven’t I?” Loki asks in response. A shiver rolls down your spine. You watch warily as he takes one step forward, then another. From what you’ve seen, the god will often pace about his cell. However, his current movements make it seem as if he has a purpose, an endgame. Loki’s eyes flash. He takes another step forward and his foot crosses the threshold where the glass is supposed to be. Loki grins and crosses the entirety of the boundary, before looking at you with a truly malicious smile. He’s free from captivity.

You can’t even take a step backwards before the god is there, extending a hand to your temple and pressing his fingertips past your skin, into your very being. And suddenly, you’re a child again. Everything you told Loki is rushing through your head all at once. You’re trapped in vivid memories. The world around you is blurred with childlike joy and hope. Your surroundings all seem to fall away; despite your knowledge that you aren’t a child anymore, you can’t escape this onslaught of memory that Loki seemed to force on you.

When Loki removes his hand from your temple, you nearly choke on your breath. There’s an excruciating pain running through your head—strong enough to make you lose your balance. Despite the fact that you’re horribly outmatched, you still try to get away from him. You’re not sure what the God of Mischief wants, but you doubt it’s anything good. This interest—as Fury said—that he’s cultivated in you… It’s dangerous.

You should be dead right now. Surely, were you any other S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, your corpse would be slowly decaying on the ground in front of you. You heard whispers of what Loki did to some of the agents that spoke to him before you. One of them was directly admitted to a mental hospital—unable to ground themself in reality. The thought shakes you to your core.

You take another step backwards, only for him to match your retreat with a step forward. Your balance is growing more and more unsteady as you try to fight against the vertigo threatening to send you tumbling. Your vision is oscillating between painful sharpness and indiscernible blurriness. “What do you want from me?” You manage to spit out through the pained haze.

“Everything.” Loki answers. Before you can push him away, he’s bringing a hand to your temple again. Your mind explodes with energy and you feel your eyelids fluttering shut of their own accord. You try your hardest to remain conscious and you manage to catch glimpses: Loki’s hand slipping from your temple as you fall to the ground, Loki carrying you out of the building. You’re stuck in the recesses of your own mind, with no hope for escape. Eventually, you’re forced to succumb to the darkness lurking in the corners of your vision.

It may strike you all as strange that Loki stays in captivity rather than escaping, but I think I can justify that with a multitude of reasons. First of all, he's immortal—time passes differently for him. While a mortal may agonize at the thought of being trapped in a capsule for an indefinite time, Loki is entirely unbothered by it. He knows that he has the ability to escape; the question then becomes when he will escape, not if he will escape. Second, Loki has a reason to stay: the reader. He is interested in the reader [the nature of this interest is up to you]. He enjoys the conversations they have, especially when they’re under the false guise of him being trapped and in a position of need. The God of Mischief isn’t one to rush things. Anyway, that’s how I justified these choices to myself. *shrugs*

I desperately wanted to add something like this, but I couldn’t find an authentic moment for it… It may seem a little out of character, too… So I’ll throw it here and walk away:

“You should put some ointment on that,” Loki suggests, looking pointedly at the scar on your face. “Don’t Midgardians care about that sort of thing? Quite foolish, in my opinion.” “How is that foolish?” You ask. “Scars are proof of conquest,” Loki responds. “Of course,” you sigh.

#loki x reader #loki x gn reader #loki laufeyson #loki x male reader #male reader #gn reader #x male reader #nb reader #etc

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hangingslothcentral · 1 year ago

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what i didn't realise when i started making Spirit Box Radio back in 2020 was how inexorably it would become tied up in my own real life transition. before i started recording the show, it felt like my decision that i would play Sam, who was originally only going to use he/him pronouns, was a risk because i was pre-t. would people misgender him? how would i feel about that? would it make people switch off?

i made that choice as a person who was expecting not to be able to start transitioning until after the show ended. when it became clear it would be sooner than that (thank u Indigo Gender, my beloved), my feelings about playing Sam changed. i decided he'd use the same pronouns as me - he/they - and that i wasn't going put off going on t until after the end of the show, though i did very seriously consider doing that.

i went on t halfway through the show's middle season. my voice didn't properly drop for ages but it got a smidge deeper quite quickly, and i had to make a decision, fast, about how i would manage that in the show's world. throat spiders? weird magic effects? or... just. make it so Sam transitions medically at that point, too.

and i opted for the last option not really thinking about how it would make me feel. the story of Spirit Box Radio is very much a story about stories, those which get told about us, those we tell about ourselves and each other. stories have the power to shape our lives , and in the world of Spirit Box Radio, they often do this literally.

Sam as a character is someone who takes up his mantle of host of Spirit Box Radio with nervous enthusiasm, in much the way I started making audio dramas in the middle of COVID lockdowns after five years of my manuscripts getting steady rejections from literary agents. we both being unsure of ourselves and how valid it is for us to take the role we find available; for Sam, host; for me, showrunner, director, writer, main character, sound editor, etc.

the show is coming to an end now, and just two months after it does so, i will be getting top surgery. my voice seems to have finished changing and is now just sort of evening out as the story of SBR reaches its conclusion. and it all just feels very... neat.

i don't really have a point to make here, just that it's very emotional for me to be getting to the end of the show. finishing any project is emotional, especially a long one, but my relationship with making SBR has been one of many ups and downs and a lot of emotional turmoil, and the experience of making it had been the backdrop to one of the strangest, most exciting, most terrifying times of my life.

i really hope those of you who've listened to the show have enjoyed the jouney it takes you on. thanks for coming with me on this one, folks. you're the real ones <3 <3

-- Eira xxx

#eira speaks #spirit box radio #audio drama

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abbyromanoff · 2 years ago

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Little own family

Natasha Romanoff x reader

Summary: you’re scared to find out what her reaction might be to your new found secret. Will she be happy or mad?

Warnings: pregnancy, angst with happy ending, kissing (?), swearing, fluff, no pronouns are used for reader except the word ‘mom’ twice, and I think that’s it

This is my first story sooooo yeah I hope it’s not bad! Thank you to @agathashcrkness for giving me the motivation to write for the first time! You do not have the right to steal this, copyright, or reblog as your own.

Gif source:

Two lines. Two lines was all that marked the pregnancy test. You took multiple just in case, hoping that they’d all be wrong. But test after test each one revealed the same lines, which meant only one thing, you were pregnant. You slowly brought your head up to look back at your tear stained face in the mirror, this wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. You and Nat weren’t able to have kids, that’s what the doctors told you. You were on birth control and Nat only had a 4% chance of getting someone pregnant. You could still see the way her face dropped when the doctor told her the news, she has always wanted kids. You could see it in her eyes when she’d see Clint and Laura having fun with their kids. The way they wrote cards to them for the holidays, celebrated their birthdays by trying to make a cake. She wanted that more than anything. Even if she refused to admit it you knew she dreamed of the day she’d have to be woken up by her baby jumping on her yelling at her to wake up because it’s Christmas. She dreamed of braiding their hair just like hers so they could be a mini Nat and giving her kid what she always wanted as a child. All she ever wanted was a child of her own to love and cherish. But this wasn’t the time for a child, you guys aren’t even married and Nat loved her job too much to quit or retire. You loved your job too, getting to save people and seeing the relief on their face when knowing they’re safe. It was your favorite thing to do. Your thoughts got interrupted when there was a soft knock at the door, followed by a voice you could tell was Nat.

“Babe, you almost done in there? We have a meeting in 5 minutes and we really can’t be late again, you know what happened last time we were late.” Chuckling to yourself you remember approximately two months ago when the director was yelling at you both for never being on time. You made up a lame excuse that you lost track of time but really you both were in the middle of having sex. Choosing to ignore the calls and texts you received from everyone you both continued until there was a pounding on you guys’ door followed by an angry Fury.

You answered the girl on the other side of the door with a, “yeah, just give me a second.” You frantically tried to find a place to put the tests only to throw them in the trash as fast as you could, hiding the boxes as well. You put on a normal face and walked out of the door only to see your girlfriend on the other side.

“Took you long enough. Is everything alright? You’ve been a little pale lately and don’t think I haven’t noticed how much you’ve been puking.”

You tried your best to think of an excuse that she’ll believe, as if she couldn’t detect your lies from a mile away.

“I’m fine, just a little nauseous I guess.” You replied, trying your best to hide the shakiness in your voice. Nat stared down at you, clearly not believing you. Before she could say anything else you dragged her with you to the meeting room where all the avengers awaited for your arrival.

“It’s about damn time. Were you two busy swallowing each other’s tongue again?” Tony snickered. Of course he had some snarky response as usual, he always did. You both rolled your eyes and went to your seats as Fury and Steve started talking to you all.

You were an hour in and you haven’t registered a single word they’ve said so far, only being able to think about earlier. How were you supposed to tell Nat? Would she be supportive? What if she’s not ready? What if she leaves me? You looked to your side once you felt a hand rest upon your thigh. Looking only to see Nat worriedly staring back at you mouthing, ‘you okay?’ Your only response was a nod, leaving her filled with worry. She could tell whenever you were deep in thought, she picked up on all of your habits. When you’re anxious she sees you biting your cheeks or lips, when you’re stressed your eyebrows furrow, and when you’re deep in thought your leg bounces and you don’t blink. She could read you easily, like she always knew what was going on in that head. But right now she couldn’t figure out what was bothering you so much. She listened back in on Cap and Fury talking, keeping her hand on your thigh as a reassurance that she was there for you.

As the two men wrapped up everything they had to say she watched you stand to leave as fast as you could. She tried to grab onto you to keep you with her but you were too fast. She was forced into conversations with the team as the only thing she could think about was you. She ran up the stairs when finally being freed from the never ending conversations up into you and hers shared bedroom. Knocking on the door she waited for a response only to be left empty handed. She wanted to prepare you and tell you that she was coming in instead of just opening the door, it was something she’s always done even when you tell her it’s her room too and she doesn’t have to, she always insists on letting you have privacy. Opening the door she saw you sitting on the bed, head in your hands and tears spilling out of your eyes. She rushes over to you, trying to figure out why you’ve been like this. She tears your hands away from your face and holds them while kissing the backs of the cold hands. She studies your face, red, wet with tears, and your eyes filled with sadness. She hated seeing you cry, all she ever wanted was the best for you, she’d do whatever it takes to make you happy at all times.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Can you please tell me what’s bothering you so I can help you?” Your partner asks, clear worry in her voice. You want to tell her but that fear in the back of your mind of her leaving you overtakes it.

“I-it’s nothing, I’m fine.” You say as you go to stand up only to be stopped by Nat.

“No you’re not fine, stop lying to me! Tell me what’s wrong.” She persisted. There was no choice now, whenever she was like this you knew you had to tell her. You prepared for her to walk out and leave you there, even if she didn’t seem like the type who’d do that doesn’t mean she won’t, anything could happen.

“I’m pregnant.” Was barely heard with how quiet the two words were spoken. She could barely hear the words but she was able to make out what you said. Still she asked ‘what?’ Thinking she must have heard you wrong, there was less than a 1% chance of it happening, unless it wasn’t hers.

“Is it- is it mine?” Came from your girlfriend. Shock appeared on your face as you listened to her questioning your loyalty. She knew you’d never cheat, you’d be stupid to ever even think about cheating on someone as amazing as her but she still worried.

“Of course it’s yours Nat! Do you really think I’d cheat on you?” Came your enraged voice. You couldn’t believe her, how could she really think you’d do that?

“Well no, but do you know how small of a chance we have of me getting you pregnant? It’s less than one percent y/n.”

“There’s still a fucking chance Nat! Look I’m pregnant, it’s your child and that’s it, if you want to leave then leave okay but I’m keeping this damn baby.” You prayed she wouldn’t leave, you couldn’t do this by yourself. And you couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her with someone else because of a mistake you both made. You felt the tears arise once again as you thought of the possibility that she could leave you, the woman you love could leave you because you were having her baby.

“What? No Id never leave you, of course I wouldn’t! I’m in love with you y/n and I’m going to love this baby just as much. I can’t believe I’m going to be a mom.” Your girlfriend said as her eyes started to water at the thought. Her dream was finally coming true, her dream of having a child with the love of her life. She tried to hide her feelings by putting her head in your neck as she leant in to hug you, but it only caused more to arise. By now you were both sobbing as you held one another in your arms. You leaned back to look her in the eyes as you muttered, “We’re gonna be moms.” She nodded excitedly as she pulled you in for a kiss, not letting either of you break away for air. When you both finally let go you sat in silence, the only noise that could be heard was you both breathing hard, trying to get back as much air as you lost from the kiss.

“Marry me?” It was out of nowhere, making you question if you were just hearing things. You didn’t respond, you sat there thinking about what she just said. She repeated what she said just minutes ago, hoping you’d say something this time. You did,

“Marry you? Are-are you sure? I mean this is a big ste-“ you were cut off as she was already answering you.

“I’m sure, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I bought a ring two weeks ago with Clint but I’ve been too scared to ask you. But now I’m sure that you’re the one for me, I can’t see myself with anyone other than you. So will you marry me?” She finished her sentence with evident fear in her voice, fear of rejection.

“Yes! Yes I’ll marry you Nat!” You yelled in excitement as you threw yourself in her arms once again. A large smile was planted on both of your faces that no one could remove. Nat worried that she’d end up waking up from a dream and that none of this would be true, that you wouldn’t be getting engaged and having a child. Even when there was a knock on the door followed by Wanda entering you both stayed still, not even paying attention to the girl, fearing that if you let go the moment would end.

10 months later you were screaming at Nat while crushing her hand, giving birth to your bundle of joy. Once the twenty hour process was over you cradled the baby in your arms with Nat overlooking the both of you. The newborn wrapped their little hand around Nat’s finger and she cried of joy seeing her baby interact with you both. Nat had to hold her sister when she broke down hearing that you guys have decided to name the baby after her nickname, Lena. And you both shedded more tears when you officially became a Romanoff, joining Nat and your baby as you officially shared a name with them. Your little own family.

#natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff angst #angst with a happy ending #natasha x fem!reader #natasha x reader

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 5 months ago

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By: Madeleine Rowley

Published: Jun 18, 2024

Mandatory ideological training has now come to the drugstore. In California, pharmacists and pharmacy technicians, in order to keep their license, must study the latest in gender identity, colonialism, and white privilege. Such “cultural competency” courses are required by a state law that went into effect this year.

When the bill was introduced, Democratic Assemblyman Christopher Ward, the lead sponsor, said that the continuing education class would help “ensure pharmacists are looking out for the well-being of LGBTQ+ individuals.”

Like many licensed professionals, pharmacists are required to take continuing education courses, usually with titles like “Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disorder (COPD)” and “Trimming Trends: Unveiling the Latest in Weight Management Guidelines.” Though this new training requires only an hour of the pharmacist’s time every two years, it’s another demonstration of compelling people to passively accept dubious assertions and assumptions, or risk losing their livelihoods.

One such course, titled Caring for All: The Pharmacy Professional’s Role in LGBTQ+ Health and Equity comes from the California Pharmacists Association (CPhA). The outline, obtained by The Free Press, features many charts that are hard to square with the duties of a pharmacist. There is a chart illustrating many “systems of oppression.” These include “sexism,” “cis-sexism,” “heterosexism,” and “adultism.”

Another chart describes “effects of colonialism and colonization on pre-colonial ways of being.” It states: “Racism creates race: otherness and whiteness.” Some of the pre-colonial ways of being pharmacists are taught include “two-spirit,” the term used by Native Americans to describe someone who has “both a masculine and feminine spirit.”

The training also suggests that pharmacists introduce a question about a customer’s gender at their first interaction. The course gives this prompt: “Hello, my name is Jay. I use they/them and he/him pronouns. How would you like me to address you?”

Click here to see a slide show of the training.

What does any of this have to do with being a pharmacist? Not much, said several pharmacists The Free Press spoke to.

Lisa Marino, 54, a hospital pharmacist in Los Angeles County, says the new cultural competency course provides nothing that relates to her job. “Our role is to aid in providing safe and appropriate use of medication for all people, regardless of culture, and with a respect for everyone’s privacy and dignity,” said Marino. “This feels like indoctrination.”

Joe, 50, who asked The Free Press not to use his last name, worked as a pharmacist for 25 years and owns an independent pharmacy in Los Angeles County. He says that respecting all customers, no matter their race or sexual orientation, is a given.

“To be a competent pharmacist, you need to know about medications, professional ethics, and the law,” said Joe. “That’s it.”

Dr. Carrie Mendoza is an emergency medicine physician and the recently appointed director of Genspect USA, an organization that seeks evidence-based treatments for people with gender distress. She says people are taught to be so hyper-sensitive to avoid offending people, especially to those in a designated “marginalized” group, that pharmacists may be afraid to bring up legitimate concerns. “A pharmacist might not raise medication safety concerns such as adverse effects [or] inappropriate dosing. . . out of fear they will be called discriminatory,” said Mendoza. “Political trainings like this undermine safety for all patients and should be immediately removed from our healthcare system.”

But one of the three CPhA cultural competency course authors, Dr. Tam Phan, an assistant professor of clinical pharmacy at the University of Southern California—and the clinical pharmacy program coordinator at the Los Angeles LGBT Center—told The Free Press in an email that a pharmacist’s role has expanded beyond quick interactions at the prescription counter.

“Pharmacist prescriptive authority in California has expanded to immunizations, hormonal contraceptives, travel medicine, nicotine replacement products, and HIV. . . treatments,” he wrote. “For pharmacists who are not interacting with patients directly, LGBTQ+ cultural sensitivity is still important since pharmacists should be knowledgeable of potential drug interactions between hormones being used in gender affirmation with the patient’s other medications.”

This has nothing to do with "well-being." The point is to proselytize and indoctrinate at any and every available opportunity, to embed their particular ideological commitments as deeply into society as possible.

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i-wanna-linger · 2 years ago

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i like to joke sometimes as a nonbinary girl scout camp counselor that my gender is girl scout camp, but it’s honestly not far from the truth

because i think that growing up at camp influenced how i see gender

i think of my very first counselor, leaf. at school i felt so out of place with the other girls, we were getting close to middle school and all my friends wanted to look more grown up, they wanted to wear make-up and talk about boys and between the autism and the queerness that i wouldn’t discover for a few more years, i just didn’t... fit. then i got to camp, and i met leaf, the unit leader for the juniors. i remember thinking she was so cool, how she wore basketball shorts and sneakers every day, she wore glasses and never wore makeup. as far as i know, she was straight and cis, but how she was at camp inspired me, defined what “butch” was in my head when i first began to question my identity

i think of our old archery instructor when i was a camper, who had short hair, and moved to california the year before i started cit. i think of how even today how those of us who knew them try to avoid pronouns when referring to them, only using their camp name, because none of us have talked to them in years, but we feel that they may have ended up trans. but we don’t know, not really, so it’s best to avoid pronouns at all.

i think of when the trading post first got the girl scout barbies. how everyone was so excited but so few got it (because who really shows up to the trading post with $20+ in hand). and once the novelty wore off, when we eagerly crowded around the one person who bought one that week, and we’d all laugh because she may be girl scout barbie, but she wasn’t a girl scout. she was supposed to be someone at camp, but we laughed because only an idiot would come dressed like that, with makeup caked on and uniform impeccably pressed. this barbie, a symbol of girlhood to many, just... couldn't be a girl scout. not at girl scout camp.

i think of our current adventure specialist, who first came to our camp in 2015, then was a counselor at the other sleepaway camp for a few years before returning in 2019. they were the first counselor who i knew to be openly gay, when i overheard her talking to another counselor my first year as a ca in 2018, saying the words “my girlfriend”. it was the first time i had ever seen an adult be queer in real life. up until then, the only gay people i knew were the other kids in my middle school friend group, and we were relentlessly teased by our classmates for it, especially the one friend who was trans and used they/them pronouns. but here was evidence that an adult, a normal, well-adjusted adult, could be gay. we weren’t just “chronically online” or “watching too many buzzfeed videos”, we were… maybe normal. even as a camper, too, back in 2015, she was cool, she didn’t dress how girls were supposed to dress. they had what seemed like a different baseball cap every day (the one i remember most being bowser). now that i’m on staff, we’re friends now, and they still inspire me.

i think of being a camper and braiding each other's hair, sitting in the acorn huts we used to change after pool. i think of talking to my best friend imagining going to sleepaway camp and a hypothetical situation where a tentmate would forget sunscreen and got horribly burnt. “i’d let her use my aloe vera” i said. “i’d laugh and say i told you so” she replied. i think of the two of us and a third friend running wild around the camp, thinking we ran it at the age of 11 simply because we were nearly cadettes now and had been here for longer than some of the counselors.

i think of two of our old waterfront directors, who inspired me in different ways. the first, a retired ap bio teacher. she was unmarried and had short hair and always told stories about her girl friends going on canoeing trips in their younger years. i think about how her camp name (she always said it was after a sea monster from an old cartoon) was a name usually associated with guys. i later learned that it was really just a shortened version of her “real” name (only two letters omitted) and that a lot people she knows outside of camp call her by that nickname.

the second waterfront director was a lot younger. they had short hair, it was dyed green, they were nonbinary and weren’t afraid to tell the kids that, they may have even been the first to. they taught me how to make bead lizards, and they hugged me after campfire the last day of summer in 2021, when i was crying about how i was so terrified to go to college and leave my little sister alone with my parents. they post memes about bugs and science on their instagram story. they were only here last summer for a few days, but every moment felt special.

i think of the daisies and brownies who don’t quite get gender, who to them long hair=girl and short hair=boy, and any deviance from that breaks their brains, because surely that’s all gender is. they don’t get my pronouns right, but that’s okay. they’ll learn.

i think of the one spring event where i helped run boating, where a couple of cadettes came up to me, excitedly saying they like my pin (which had my camp name and pronouns). and i think maybe i’m that adult that inspires for a new generation of girl scouts.

i think of all these things and more.

because i will never be a girl again.

but i will always be a girl scout.

#Girl Scout Camp #gay scout camp #camp counselor #long post #gender #forest rat thoughts

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aurallyaddison · 8 months ago

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on the infantilization of transmascs (and a little bit on that of neurodivergent people)

I have told my choir director twice, on "Getting To Know You!" forms, that I use he/it pronouns. I have never heard her use anything but they/them for me.

She seems to see me as a level-headed, gentle, unable-to-do-any-wrong leader, a kind person who never loses their temper.

She seems to not realize I am more than old enough to find this insulting. My temper isn't nearly as bad as it used to be, but I still get frustrated easily, and when I am frustrated, I am rude.

I swear like a sailor and call myself a faggot. I regularly fantasize about sex. I have experienced more trauma than I think my brain will accept. I enter a room with my earbuds playing a woman's screaming about her own trauma, and leave with them playing men's screaming about the genocide of their people.

My leading style is very condescending. I push away my friends and don't talk to them for days on end. I have a crush on someone whose life is falling apart and I can't bring myself to either abandon my hopes or offer help and support. I can barely talk to him at all.

My own life is falling apart, in its way. I have no motivation to work towards my future, though I desperately want to do so.

But oh, everyone should see me as a role model! I'm so gentle and polite, look at Felix and their [xyz]...

Sure, maybe she doesn't know all of this. But she sure as hell assumes that it isn't the case anyway.

Is it because I'm visibly (and audibly) neurodivergent, nervously infodumping whenever I get the chance? Is it because I'm quiet and reserved and insecure? Is it because I'm a slightly feminine twink who rarely binds and never packs? Something else? All three?

I'm so incredibly tired of this shit. How many angrily political metal songs do I have to play for her, how much do I have to manspread, how many times do I have to make a thinly-disguised innuendo for her to stop seeing me as an innocent little not-boy? These are things I do normally, they just never seem to register.

Will nothing short of taking T for over six months change her mind?

Sure, I could confront her about it. But to get the results I want, I would have to be very forceful, and risk permanently damaging our relationship. And she's a perfectly kind woman! I don't want to hurt her.

I just want her to stop assuming.

#aurally addison #ask to tag #f slur #trans #transmasc #ok to rb #not really a vent just. idk. it gets on my nerves a lot

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nokingsonlyfooles · 1 year ago

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Head-Wigs and Not Even an Inch

Abigail Thorn made me cry last night.

I mean, I knew this was not outside the realm of possibility. I presumed she would produce a work of stunning artistic beauty and overwhelm my jaded brain with some Profound Meaning. Or, fat chance, maybe she’d trip over something I’d written and tear it to pieces like a hamster going to town on a cardboard tube. Or maybe I’d go back to London, and spill my drink on her shoes in a dark club, and she’d thrash me with a riding crop — that’s slightly more likely than someone with a decent platform noticing my writing, at this point.

But, uh, no. That’s not how it went.

We pay money to get the bonus episodes of Kill James Bond. You should too. In fact, if you don’t, you’ll be lacking some context for this. But most of my work goes out into the void without context, so to hell with it. You can watch a theatrical version of Hedwig and the Angry Inch for free, on YouTube. Or you can probably pirate the film version with a clean conscience, I don’t think any of those performers are seeing much compensation from sales at this point.

We haven’t been listening to the bonus episodes in order. We often try to watch something close to the version of whatever-film they’re doing, and then listen to the episode with context. We’ve heard them mention Hedwig, and it seemed to be a profound, emotional experience. I really wanted to see Hedwig first. Well, we found a Hedwig available for free and we watched it. They tried to update it a bit, and I found that off-putting. A lot of the tropes in play are dated — “#problematic” in some ways, and genuinely hurtful in others. If you’re going to update something like that, you can’t just throw in a reference to Harry Potter and Title 42 and call it good. Preserve it in its original messy form for us, or rewrite the whole thing — if they’ll let you.

The way the actor playing Hedwig moved and sat in her (the character uses she/her and I have no idea about the actor) short skirt bothered me too. She had shorts on underneath, but I don’t think we were supposed to know that yet. “Nobody has ever told this person how they’re supposed to sit in a skirt,” I said to the spouse. Like, it wasn’t even as if she knew and had decided to ignore it. If one were transfeminine, or faking it to get out of East Berlin, someone would’ve mentioned it. “Maybe it’s for the character,” he said. Maybe it was. You could read it that way. But there’s a read on this where transness is artifice, and I don’t like that read very much. I hope that wasn’t what they were going for.

The ending could be read that way too. It’s all very surreal and that has the potential to be read a lot of different ways, but a male (or male-presenting) actor winds up bare-chested in shorts and the female one ends in a wig and a dress and they both seem very happy about it. One could say, “Well! Glad all that gender confusion’s cleared up! Now they’ve stopped pretending to be something they’re not!” I don’t like that the possibility is left open like that. It feels slimy and centrist.

But the music was great and there were some excellent moments and I was eager to hear the whole thing get dissected by some trans folks.

About a half hour into it, they were discussing John Cameron Mitchell, who identified as a gay man at the time and has since refined it to nonbinary with he/him pronouns. Hedwig’s gender is messy — she’s a fictional character written by an enby who was still in egg form, from a time before people were expected to define their transness as binary or nonbinary. Abi acknowledged the nonbinary actor/writer/director, and mentioned that there’s a lot of pressure to define your gender neatly these days… And said, “No.” That’s not it. Hedwig is a woman like her. Period.

I had been saying to the spouse (we talk over the podcast; we get excited) that I saw a lot of myself in Hedwig’s disaster gender, and in that way you could read the ending as her deciding to stop splitting herself between her popular, cis-passing, sellout persona, and the real, messy her. And then Abi cut me off, and I said, laughing, “Oh my god, just hip-check my identity right into the orchestra pit! What… What…” And I started to cry.

I didn’t have my guard up. I didn’t expect it. And I’d never taken a hit quite this way before. This wasn’t being denied the validity of my existence, this was the validity of my artistic merit. Abigail Thorn, a demonstrably smart person with a lot of theatre experience who loves writing and acting, will not be requiring me or John Cameron Mitchell for her interpretation of Hedwig and the Angry Inch. Not even as a possible read. Please, go find yourselves in some other character, enbies. Let the transwomen have her.

…To the point where “Hansel” is treated like a modern-day deadname of a real person, when all we know for sure is that the character got rid of it to get out of East Berlin and she doesn’t use it anymore. It could be like that, but by the end of this, “Hedwig,” another name and gender she did not choose for herself, might be a deadname too. I’m not saying it has to be like that, but it’s not so ridiculous that we need to dismiss it unsaid, is it? Especially given that the goddamn originator of the character has been on a similar journey and decided to keep “John” and he/him for the moment. A person can do that and still kick their assigned gender to the curb, you know?

I didn’t need Hedwig to be about me and only me, I just needed the possibility to be left open and discussed a little bit. Another trans egg movie, but perhaps a nonbinary one this time. Like Speed Racer, it went hard and fell short! That’s all. I didn’t even know I needed that! Until Abi said I couldn’t have it.

The spouse stopped the podcast and comforted my surprised tears. He gave me a nonbinary read — which is not hard to do! — and said I deserve to be seen. I said, “I know why she said it. I do. It’s too close to their (hers and Alice’s) own experience and they don’t want to see anything else. It’s emotion-based. But… But… Nonbinary actor (and writer/director/producer/singer)! …What about Dev?” Dev really took a backseat on this one. They saw themself in Yitzhak, and Yitzhak isn’t the main character, and Abi and Alice were so into Hedwig, and they’re all friends. Yeah. I mean, I understand that too. Back off and let your friends have this one, it’s clearly important to them both.

I wanted to hear the rest of it, because it made Alice and Abi feel seen, and a lot of other trans folks too. Yeah, there’s a lot in it that aged like milk — cringy and outdated even when the film was made — but there’s a lot of valid queer experience in there, too, warts and all. I was surprised as hell that, in the end, Abi supports the “Tommy isn’t real” theory and believes this is a story about uniting one person and making yourself feel whole. And yet, she reiterated, “No.” It’s not about being nonbinary. It’s about reconciling with the male-gendered stuff you try to cut out of you when you transition. Dev and Alice were at least willing to allow that nonbinary was possible, if not quite willing to delve into it, but not Abi. Splitting yourself in two is a binary trans thing! As are many, many other things about Hedwig that I related to.

As an enby who came up with the “splitting yourself in two” metaphor while still in egg form, for a fictional character of my own who is also still in egg form, please let me tell you — please let me tell someone — that that’s not true. I didn’t meet Hedwig until last night, but I know about performing your acceptable, cis-passing, assigned gender and hiding all the “garbage” that doesn’t fit. I know what it is to be crammed into a false persona that gets a lot of love, while the real you, when you let it out, is only worthy of snarling punk lyrics into a mic at a dingy seafood restaurant with a hostile audience.

And, oh my god, do I know what it is to have a piece of you that will not come off, and prevents you from fitting fully into either binary gender. It can feel like a broken piece, like a scar, like a botched surgery you didn’t need that was inflicted on you… But it doesn’t have to be literally that. Hedwig, both the play and the person, doesn’t seem to have much use for physical reality. She’s here to unload her emotional reality, and she doesn’t care about any other real things she might damage along the way.

KJB were rather amazed that Hedwig chose to redefine herself by a (medically impossible) surgical accident. How brave of her to own her trauma like that. But I wonder, is it trauma? Or is it the only path a nonbinary egg in 1998 could see to gain an outside that expressed his inside? This isn’t what any of you wanted me to have, this isn’t even what I want to have, but it’s still me. It’s what I have to work with. (All signs point to “Tommy,” as a character, being at least a closeted gay guy who would’ve been fine if the “front of” Hedwig had been a penis, but it isn’t. It’s not quite anything at all, and he flees because that’s just too much for him to handle. Hedwig already is one of those androgynes she envies; she doesn’t need an Adam, she doesn’t need him. But she loves him/her cis-passing self, and she’s not yet ready to let him go.)

I don’t know what it is to actually try living as the other binary gender, I wasn’t active enough in queer circles to really feel that pressure to conform to the binary before I hatched. But I see it now, and I feel the same instinctive revulsion that Hedwig feels about being a divorced housewife in a trailer in Arizona. That’s not me either! Did I spend all this time and energy escaping one box, only to be trapped in another? Must I content myself with this simply because I don’t want to go back to the way I was? Is this only way I can get a green card that lets me access a queer space? To put on an ugly wig and pretend I’m more palatable?

To me, the revelation about wigs is not “I could be happy as ANY woman!” but, “This is a performance… This is all a fucking performance! This isn’t me, this is a hat someone put on my head. It comes off! I can have another hat! I can have all the hats!” And, selfishly, she denies Yitzhak that same joy, because he wears it better and seems happier. Hedwig clings to her suffering so tightly, it’s such a fundamental part of her identity, that she can’t bear to be around trans joy. No. There is no room for trans joy here, only trans spite. This story is about me. I don’t like transwomen, I don’t like transmen, and I sure as hell don’t like myself (yet)! In the end, after a lot more suffering, she’s willing to let that go.

In the end, Abi says she knows a lot of transwomen who seem to model themselves on Hedwig, and she wants them to know that isn’t how they have to be. They don’t have to choose between being just like a cis woman, or being a monstrous, chaotic, damaged other. You can be… Better than cis! Yes, says the cast of KJB, laughing, we are better than you! We are THE FUTURE! Three friends, having a ball on a podcast, trans joy at its finest — but you don’t find humour in feigning cruelty if you haven’t had some of that cruelty directed at you. This joy formed around a grain of spite. Not only does one often feel they have to be better than cis people, but when you’re still unhatched and stuck on the outside looking in, trans folks really do seem better than you. At least they know what their deal is.

I get it. I do. Because Hedwig fits me too. We all have our reasons to put on that perfectly ridiculous blonde wig and take the form of Hedwig, the Destroyer. Hedwig, the Chaotic. Hedwig, the Liar. Hedwig, the Truth. Hedwig, the Unrepentant Disaster. Hedwig, give me strength! But, it comes off. Look. It is literally a head-wig, a costume for your brain. I know sometimes you find a new wig and you really, really like it, and you become very attached and you want it to be just yours forever and ever, maybe even to the point of calling it your real hair, but… Someone else could still wear that same wig and feel just as happy as you, or maybe even happier. Maybe you’ll find a wig you like even better too. Transitioning isn’t just one and done, and Hedwigs don’t have to be forever. We do know this, don’t we?

Gender is a performance. Gender is a Hedwig. A lot of other things that you consider immutable parts of your identity are Hedwigs too. They are as real as any other social construct, but if you don’t like them or need them, you can just take them off. Sometimes it’s hard and it hurts, but I promise you can. Like Hedwig the character, or whoever that is, does. Inevitably, she must pick some new clothes, maybe new pronouns and a new name, too, but she’s not obligated to do that on camera for us. We can’t force her to say “Aha, see? This identity suited me all along!” No. We’re not entitled to know her or define her. She will be doing that for herself, later, as a whole person. What is so scary about the ending, what makes it look like a detransition instead of a synthesis, is that we insist on gendering her naked body as a male head-wig. Wouldn’t she wear something else if that wasn’t who she was? Well, maybe not. Or maybe so, but it’s her decision, not ours. Self-expression is not the Self, it just helps to define and validate the Self. Hedwigs are extremely fucking important for defining and validating the Self!

So, you know, you have to be willing to share.

#hedwig and the angry inch #kill james bond #nonbinary #transgender #deep dives #long post #abigail thorn #alice caldwell-kelly #devon #messy genders #messy is good - messy leaves rooms for lots of interpretation #yours and mine and theirs #you are valid #just - ya know- ow - the orchestra pit is painful #🐸🧠#🐸✏#🐸🎨

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thecobraghost · 2 years ago

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What’s really made me giggle is going through peoples Tumblrs of those who have insulted for playing Hogwarts Legacy and seeing that things they support or enjoy (other games/films & TV/large companies) that once had or currently has transphobes, terfs, antisemitic, homophobic, racist, sexist bigots being part of them…

From characters, to actors, to crew members, to writers, directors, producers ect. Yet they ain’t saying shit about it

But no. You okay Hogwarts Legacy and your the worst person in the world. Even worse then serial killers.

Oh and seeing them spit out support for mental health and how to care for one another, but have told people themselves and supported others in telling people to kill themselves for playing HL….

A known ‘supporter’ of the trans community told my trans friend that they’re not a real trans person because they’re playing the game and purposely used the wrong pronouns…

Yet players of HL are the ones hurting the communities. I’ve not seen one HL player insult, misgender, send death threats to the keyboard warriors (Temper Tantrum Toddlers) But from my own experience, my close friends and innocent people online who are playing this game. It’s the keyboard warriors who have far too much time on their hands and cry if someone dares to have a different opinion to them. The minuet we dare to insult you, you all cry. You all scream that we’re ‘this’ or we’re ‘that’ or ‘that’s a hate crime’….

And it’s so funny when they stop after you ask for real proof or you say you yourself Trans or Jewish or if you’re like me you tell them that you’re part of a family that is Jewish (my partner’s) and that family you’re literally apart of are playing the game themselves and have no issues with it, they go radio silent

With your ‘logic’ anyone who plays Hogwarts Legacy is a bigot, a transphobe, supports Nazi propaganda, antisemitism and so much more. Are you going to say that to a kid that’s under the age of…let’s say 12 for example…who has no idea what’s going on and is innocently playing a game where they can be in their favourite fictional world and be a wizard… are you seriously saying that young kids playing this game deserve to die?

So many of you are hypocrites but y’all can’t even accept that.

And for the last time…

WE DONT GIVE A FLYING FUCK ABOUT THE SPOILERS. WE’RE MORE BOTHERED ABOUT THE LACK OF ROMANCING SEBASTIAN (or the professors for some people) AND THE FACT REVELIO IS OUR MOST USED SPELL

#am I wrong though?#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts #harry potter #jk rowling

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allthisdwarvishracket · 11 months ago

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"Tell me what thou thinkest of me."

I read Twelfth Night about a thousand times this summer while dramaturging for a local production, and there's one little detail that I love.

Olivia: Stay. I prithee, tell me what thou thinkest of me. Cesario: That you do think you are not what you are. Olivia: If I think so, I think the same of you. (Twelfth Night, 3.1.145-147)

Did you catch that?

Olivia calls Cesario "thou" for the first time in the play. Let's dissect that.

Quick Grammar Lesson

[Disclaimer: I'm not a scholar on early modern English, just a passionate amateur, so take what I say with a few grains of salt.]

"Thou" and "you" aren't always interchangeable. When you're speaking to more than one person, you have to use "you." When you're speaking to just one person, you can choose between "thou" and "you," depending on how formal you want to be. Even though it sounds fancy to modern ears, "thou" is the informal pronoun - you use it with someone who is 1) lower status than you, or 2) a close friend.

Back to Twelfth Night...

Which brings me back to why I love this scene, and how the grammar reveals personality.

Olivia has been addressing Cesario as "you" in every scene so far. It's polite and professional, suiting Cesario's position as a gentleman and a member of the Duke's court. But then Cesario starts to leave, and Olivia (who up to this point has been calm and collected) addresses him as "thou." It's an expression of intimacy - she's talking to him like a friend or a lover.

Degrees of formality are a lot more blurry in modern English; you might sound a bit odd if you get it wrong, but you're not likely to offend someone by being too informal. But I think, in context, Olivia's comment is a bit like calling your coworker "babe" or "honey" - it's uncomfortably friendly for the situation.

In that light, Cesario's next line has another interesting layer. He uses "you" three times in the next sentence - as if he's saying it pointedly, as if he's noticed what Olivia's just done and he's correcting her without explicitly pointing it out. And Olivia responds by going back to "you," back to professionalism, even as she continues to plead her case.

There's so much personality in this short exchange, and it encapsulates why I love both these characters. Olivia is full of passion that, in spite of herself, keeps breaking through her reserved exterior. Cesario is gentle but firm - and is also avoiding direct conflict, which is ... very on-brand for Viola.

The Challenges of Performing Shakespeare

These lines are a perfect example of why I love performing Shakespeare: it's a long, in-depth process of interpretation.

Shakespeare plays, compared to modern scripts, have very little stage direction; the actors are told when to enter and exit, but the way they deliver their lines is up to the actor's and director's interpretation. The actor must study the text to decide how best to support what is written (the dialogue itself) with what isn't written (inflection, gestures, blocking).

There's an extra level of challenge in moments like this, where the audience is unlikely to understand the original intention of the words (because some of the words aren't in use anymore, or there's a pop-culture reference that is now obscure, or whatever). The performers now have to not only understand the intention of the dialogue, but figure out how to translate that idea in a way that the audience can understand through their delivery of the dialogue. It's a wonderful collaboration between director, actors, and playwright in order to bring life to the story once again.

#shakespeare #twelfth night #performing shakespeare #ramblings #grammar #early modern

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rgr-pop · 11 months ago

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okay my job is Very blue collar, can you talk more about being told to go to a… doctor’s appointment???? for inappropriate workplace behavior? is this common? obv not saying you were actually inappropriate. but if someone was homophobic at your workplace, hr can tell them go to therapy??? like a tumblrina scorned???

yes well i can do my best! officially i can say all this now Technically but dont rb but if you are in the field im happy to speak to colleagues, i had a disciplinary action filed against me for privately correcting a coworker for using the wrong pronouns for a trans girl student. she is on the school board and she works closely with someone who lost a city council race in large part because she had worked with bethany christian services and was discredited. so of course i very innocently talked to our director about how im soooo worried about her possibly being radicalized by this issue on the school board--have you watched the news? no? are you not getting the ALA emails....? so i had a conversation with her about she pronouns, she screamed in front of patrons that nobody can tell her what she has to call them. she called our student a karen. i asked my director to handle this, specifically said if you ask me to handle this i will feel like its undue attention as a queer person in the workplace please have someone else do it. set up a process for pronoun stuff, i found him some training resources, the whole thing. his solution was to force me in a meeting with this person in which she said that pronouns quote reminded her of being enslaved. i was not allowed to leave, cried, made five or six on paper and recorded on video claims of quote homophobic retaliation. the other person filed a complaint against me which means she cant face any disciplinary response. officially my report on paper you can probably FOIA it says that the discipline was for using the word homophobic and transphobic. well actually my discipline was for rude behavior in that meeting plus saying the words homophobic and transphobic but they found in my hearing that i was appropriately apologetic for raising my voice and crying but that i refused to apologize for saying homophobic and transphobic (they didnt ask me to but obviously i would not have. so thats what my report says. a little birdie told me that in the hearing discussion the words quote religious freedom were tossed around. its unofficially prohibited to communicate about someones pronouns in the library until further notice and ive been told they will get a procedure on paper next year. as a consequence for my behavior (saying homophobic and transpobic i face mandatory counseling. can they do this - i think yes but i really think its a legal technicality that has never seemed a winnable fight to anyone. my understanding is that it is probably common. what i believe is typically the case is that employers will partner with something called an employee assistance program. the employee-facing component of these orgs is access to mental health services as a benefit (in the case of me, in lieu of healthcare benefits(. employers partner with these orgs to offer those employee-facing mental health services while contracting the company for other org psych/HR services. here is one of the big companies that does this, based in detroit, who i believe does this work with state of michigan employees (who i am not( - https://hmsanet.com/managed-behavioral-health.html the employer contracts this company to provide employee benefit limited mental health services and also uses their services for various disciplinary, mediation, crisis management, probably also consulting purposes. in my case, im being required to have a counseling session with a counselor through what is described by the company and my employer as a voluntary program, but i have been instructed that doing so is mandatory.

interestingly, in the past when ive worked with union members who got this disciplinary action, it was posed to them as they could choose to go to counseling or have a higher level disciplinary action. i was expecting this to happen to me, but i was not given the false option. mandatory referral through your employer are the words used. im required to sign a release of information allowing the counselor to disclose information about my participation and progress and it appears that this will likely be in the form of a checklist certifying my compliance. obviously what i would prefer is to create an even more complete paper trail of them doing homophobia on purpose so were considering the strategy...

#ignore my broken keys #tldr i dont know the hipaa technicality !

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jamiethebanished · 2 years ago

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Eternal Love

Joseph Quinn x GN!Reader

A/N: The character the reader is uses they/them pronouns but has the body of a female. Also, I’ve seen this format of fanfiction done so many times. I just wanted to try it myself. Oh, and this gets saucy. So, people below 18…DO NOT READ! Also, this one is EXTREMELY long. But, hopefully it’s worth it. Lastly, a MASSIVE thank you to the writer @ceriseheaven! They helped out with my writers block and get this fic out sooner than I thought!

Warnings: RPF (if you don't like it, don't read it), semi naked dry humping, neck biting kink, mentions of blood, oral (receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up!) If I missed any, let me know.

Word Count: 3,815

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Y/N had travelled quite extensively in their life as an actor so far. But, they hadn’t been to the England countryside up until now. A film crew had set up in the heart of the woodland at night. The production Y/N was starring in is for a dark romantic film called “Searching For Eternity”. It’s about a vampire finding someone to love and be with forever. Y/N is playing said lover. But, the vampire? It was kept a secret from them. The director only told them that it was "a surprise". However…They were about to find out very soon.

They had arrived on the set of the production and stepped into their trailer to get into costume and makeup as their character Amara Kearne. This production was set in a modern era, but everyone does make an effort to take care of their appearance in this setting for the film. Y/N’s costume consisted of a dark grey V neck jumper, high waisted black jeans with a belt that had silver embellishments and slip-on shoes with a small heel. The makeup was simple. Natural eyeshadow, mascara and a bit of blush to give some life into their pale complexion. They were also wearing very bold red lipstick. Y/N never wore lipstick in that shade before, as they thought it didn’t suit them. But, after their hair was styled into a neat ponytail, they looked in the mirror. It was like they were looking at someone different at first, but when they realised that it was their reflection, all Y/N could do was gasp.

“Wow…I look…spectacular!”

A few minutes after the costume, makeup and hair team went away, there was a gentle knock on Y/N’s trailer door. They were fully dressed and waiting for the all clear from the production team to let them know that it was ready to start filming, so they gave them the permission to enter.

“Come in!”

Then, the door opened. They turned their head to greet whoever came in. Y/N’s eyes widened and their mouth slightly hung open.

It was Joseph Quinn.

He was already in costume. Black shirt with the top 2 buttons undone, silver chain around his neck that sits just above his collarbones, matte black suit with a subtle glossy floral print on the suit jacket and trousers. He also wore a glossy black belt and shiny black shoes. He had a little makeup on as well. His nails looked like small claws. He wore brown contact lenses that have a subtle dark red tint when in the light. There was also dark eyeshadow around his eyes to give that “sunken in” look. And, there were small fangs poking out from underneath his top lip. His hair was naturally curly and it was a shade of rich chocolate brown. He had a trimmed beard as well.

Joseph fully walked into the trailer and smiled gently at Y/N’s gobsmacked expression.

“You must be Y/N. It’s lovely to finally meet you. I’m a big fan of your work.”

He held out his hand to give them a formal handshake. Y/N smiled and accepted, holding his hand.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you too, Mr Quinn. Your performances have always been astonishing.”

He blushed gently at their compliment, the fangs adhered to his canines peeked through his adorable smile.

Then, Joseph brought the back of Y/N’s hand to his lips and gently kissed the surface. The hairs of his beard brushed against their skin as he kissed their hand. His naturally pink lips were soft like silk, causing Y/N to feel butterflies in their stomach.

“Please…call me Joseph. And, the pleasure is all mine, Y/N.”

The two of them were now locked in eye contact. His doe eyes gazed into Y/N’s eyes. It felt like forever. In those brown eyes of his was the warmth of an everlasting hearth, as if they were the wood that could burn with golden flame yet be forever perfectly entire. The way his eyes twinkled under the fluorescent light in the trailer was almost hypnotic. After a while, Joseph realised that he was still holding onto their hand. So, he gently let go and chuckled a little.

“I, uhh… I think they're ready for us. So, I…I better get to the location this scene is set in. Also, neither of us will know what our characters will do together. That knowledge is with the director, and he won’t tell me. So…let’s wish us both luck and…do this thing!”

Y/N chuckled before Joseph left the trailer to get started on filming. They followed moments after.

The setting of this scene was a lone house in the countryside, where lush woodland surrounded the garden. The house itself looked quite gothic. It suited Joseph’s character, Tristan Dagenheart, more. But, Y/N didn’t mind. They went upstairs and into the master bedroom, laying on top of the neat bed and closing their eyes.

Action.

Amara Kearne lay in peaceful slumber on the queen sized bed that was cushioning her body. She twisted and turned as she struggled to feel comfort. The sensation of trepidation crawled its way through Amara’s body like claws latching onto her delicate skin. As Amara slept, an icy mist slipped through the gap of the open window in the bedroom. The mist then started to take shape.

Amara’s unsettlement became worse. Her head was warning her about the presence of another in her room. Amara awoke with a gasp as she quickly sat up in her bed. She was now seeing who was in her room, sitting on her bed and watching her. It was Tristan Dagenheart, the man shrouded in mystery. She had become acquainted with him not too long ago. They were somewhat friends, but he had kept a lot of information about himself from Amara. She never wanted to pry, but she was intrigued by him. She caught her breath and looked at him.

“O-oh! Tristan! You…you startled me. What are you doing here? H-how did you get in? I-“

Tristan then raised his hand to her, which silenced Amara. He cleared his throat.

“That doesn’t matter right now. I will explain later. But, as of this moment, I need to speak to you. It is very important, so I advise that you listen to everything I have to say. Do you understand, Amara?”

His low yet gentle South London accent felt like satin softly sliding against her skin. She nodded gently. Tristan smiled a little.

“Thank you... Amara, I have had this feeling ever since our first encounter. A feeling that I have to pursue. I can’t hide it anymore. Amara… I am in love with you. I am consumed by the desire to be with you, to talk to you, and to feel you near me. It is like this…insatiable taste in my throat that I am somewhat addicted to. I…"

Tristan then closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths and straightened his suit jacket. Once his eyes were open, his dark irises gazed deep into hers.

"...I love you, Amara."

Her eyes widened.

But, then, the director shouted.

“CUT!"

Joseph and Y/N turned to the director, a look of confusion on both of their faces.

“What’s the problem?”

Y/N spoke. The director chuckled.

“Oh, there’s no problem. You’re both doing fantastic. I’m just stopping to tell you what’s about to happen with your characters.”

This was it. Their curiosity was about to pay off. Y/N and Joseph put their full attention onto the director.

“Okay. So, Amara tells Tristan that she loves him as well. They kiss. Then, a passionate moment ensues. After that, Tristan bites Amara, turning her into a vampire. I’m leaving the juicy details up to you, since I want to keep this as raw and genuine as possible.”

Joseph and Y/N were both flabbergasted. They were not expecting that. But, when Y/N looked at Joseph, he had a dark blush spread across the apples of his cheeks. That caused them to blush as well. Joseph then chirped in, his expression now determined.

“Okay! Let’s do this!”

Y/N was too stunned to speak, but they went along with it. Despite being nervous, they wanted to know how this would turn out. Both of them got back into position and the director set a timer on the camera before leaving the room. Since this was a passionate scene, he didn't want to make it awkward by watching them.

Action.

Amara’s eyes widened and her mouth hung open a little bit. Tristan…loved her? She then swallowed a lump in her throat and gazed into his rich chocolate irises.

“Tristan…I-I love you too”

He had hope in his eyes and a shy smile on his face. Tristan then gently placed his hand onto Amara’s cheek, his thumb lightly stroking the surface. He inched closer to her so their thighs were touching. He then tilted his head and leaned in, pressing his lips onto hers in a soft yet passionate kiss.

Unbeknownst to Joseph, this was Y/N’s first kiss. They hadn’t been in a romantic film up until this very moment, and no person wanted to pursue them outside of their career. Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut as they melted into the kiss Joseph was giving them. His lips tasted like Madagascar vanilla ice cream. But, the subtlest hint of smoke from a cigarette mixed with the taste of the rich vanilla flavour. The fusion created an unusual yet enticing symphony of passion.

Y/N kissed Joseph like they wanted to be kissed, like no one had ever kissed them. Soft and moist and hot and breathy, not trying to win a battle but seeking union and closeness and the sharing of one breath.

One sensation.

One passionate and timeless moment.

The heat rose in Y/N’s cheeks as their tongue touched Joseph’s tongue, quick and electric and delicious.

The kiss then became firmer, more determined, more curious about the heat that lay within, seeking to chase down that elusive liquid lightning that reached through both of them. Joseph then slowly and lightly pushed Y/N down onto the bed, their back pressed into the mattress and their head rested on the pillow.

Joseph then pulled the quilt up to their waist so their lower halves were covered up. He pulled away from the intense kiss and took off his suit jacket before he unbuttoned his shirt. Y/N began to see his smooth, detailed chest being revealed to them slowly, causing a deep pink blush to form on the apples of their cheeks. Once he took his shirt off, Joseph loosened his belt and pulled his trousers down so they were off. Y/N caught sight of his boxers and the blush on their cheeks became a darker shade. After he was undressed, he slid his hand underneath Y/N's back to lift them up and undo their bra. Once it was unclipped, Joseph pulled down the straps until the whole thing came off to reveal their breasts. To Y/N, they weren't anything special. But, seeing Joseph blush and turn his head away bashfully made them smile.

"It's okay…you can look. I trust you."

And with that spoken consent, Joseph turned his head to see their body being presented to him. He was lost for words.

"W-wow…you look…stunning. You have the body of a goddess, my love. You're…ethereal"

Y/N smiled gently. His words could bring tears to their eyes. Joseph spoke like a poet.

"I-I…I don't know what to say…"

He silenced them with a gentle kiss, laying them back down onto the bed and positioning his crotch in between their legs. Feeling the sensation of Joseph's concealed member gently rub against their clothed nether regions made Y/N quiver in anticipation. Under the incandescent light of the chandelier that hangs on the ceiling of the bedroom, Joseph's rich chocolate brown eyes gently sparkle as he stared at Y/N. He had a gentle expression on his face. It looks like he had broken character since Tristan was shrouded in mystery and had a cold yet subtly gentle gaze.

"Are you ready, my dear? We don't have to do this if you don't want to. I'll understand"

Y/N smiled softly. He sounded so genuine, even though this was a performance. They nodded.

"Yes…I-I'm ready"

Joseph smiled kindly and he let out a gentle exhale.

"Th-then…if its alright with you…would you…would you like to…spend eternity with me?"

Y/N had almost forgotten that they were in a production. They smiled through the pain in their chest. This love wasn't real. It was merely a facade. A performance. But, they had to go on.

"...oh Tristan…I would be delighted to"

Joseph smiled and exhaled heavily. His hands were steady on the bed as he began to press his clothed manhood against Y/N's concealed nether regions. This wasn't the full experience, yet both of them didn't mind. Joseph had kept a calm mindset up until this very moment. Now, his breathing was irregular and his chest was heaving harder than before.

He then began to slowly move his hips, gliding his cotton boxers against Y/N's lace panties. The unexpected sensation of Joseph's gradually hardening cock rub against Y/N's surprisingly damp altar of Venus sent a strange yet intoxicating symphony of shivers down their spine.

Maybe this performance was more real than they had thought.

His movements were slow yet full of a burning passion that felt right. Joseph's breathing was light yet quick and there were a few gentle moans sprinkled in between. Y/N's bare chest gracefully pressed into Joseph's pectoral muscles, their nipples lightly grazing each other occasionally. They wrapped their legs around his waist, pulling his hips closer and pressing his covered manhood further into their concealed genitalia. Y/N's breathing became heavier as the pleasure began to build up inside of them.

Joseph then snapped back into the character of Tristan. His gaze became intense and there was a subtle growl in his throat as he exhaled heavily.

"Now…let us seal this eternal bond…if you will allow me, I want to make sure you're with me forever. Amara…may I bite you?"

Y/N became a little nervous. One of their biggest turn ons is neck biting. The character of Amara is oblivious to vampires, since she'd never seen one. Y/N had always been intrigued by them. After a soft gulp, they slowly nodded.

"...y-you may"

Joseph as Tristan then slowly leaned down as Y/N tilted their head to the side, giving him more room. He then placed his hand on the back of their head and his lips onto their neck, kissing the surface of the skin before opening his mouth and wrapping his lips around their neck and pressing his teeth into the skin, gently biting them.

Y/N gasped loudly, pretending that this hurt. But, it was overwhelmingly pleasurable. It was hard for them to focus on acting as they felt his cock underneath his boxers grow harder since there was slight movement from his hips against their genitalia. The sensitivity of their nether regions only heightened the sensation of Joseph's hardening bulge rubbing against their soaked panties.

As Joseph had his teeth and fangs pressed into the surface of Y/N's neck, he moaned softly. Not only because he was acting like Tristan was enjoying the taste of Amara's blood, but because he could feel his cock rub against Y/N's dripping wet pussy that hid behind a thin wall of silky fabric.

Y/N gripped onto his back tightly and pressed their chest into his as they neared climax while Joseph bit their neck. They couldn't tell how he was feeling since, in all honesty, he was a more experienced actor than them. After a few more moments, the camera had finished recording.

It was over.

Joseph retracted his mouth from Y/N's neck and looked into their eyes. He nervously chuckled.

"Well, that was certainly an experience."

Much later…

After everything had wrapped up, Y/N was back in their classy hotel room that was paid for by the production. They were having a long soak in the luxury bathtub, letting the warm water envelope their entire body as they let out a long exhale. It had been a long day, so it was nice to have a break from the excitement.

But then, there was a gentle knock on their door.

They panicked. Y/N's heart began pounding in their chest as they got out of the bathtub and wrapped themselves in a towel and fluffy dressing gown that stopped at their ankles. Y/N then took deep breaths before opening the door.

It was Joseph Quinn.

This time, he was dressed in a burgundy jumper with slightly baggy dark blue jeans. The usual chain donned his neck as he looked into Y/N's eyes.

There were no contact lenses. Joseph was looking at them with his pure chocolate button eyes. He took some deep breaths before coming closer, gently placing his soft hands onto their covered shoulders and leaning in to press his silky smooth lips onto theirs.

This time, the kiss was hungry. Full of a burning passion that had been kept at bay for far too long. His lips were warm and soft. They had the familiar taste of Madagascar vanilla ice cream. This time, the deep passion created a rich, amoretto tainted fudge taste which only made Y/N want more. Joseph's subtly swollen lips parted slightly, allowing their tongue to slip inside and explore his mouth. Heavy breaths and guttural moans filled the hotel room as Joseph pinned Y/N to the wall. Their bodies pressed together heatedly, breathing heavily as their lips moved in sync, like they were created to kiss each other. Y/N could taste their shared breath, feel the thud of their combined heartbeat as they fumbled to take off each other's clothes. This was almost primal instinct.

They needed each other.

They wanted each other.

They craved each other.

Joseph only pulled away to get Y/N onto the bed, gently pushing them down onto the soft mattress and getting on top of them like a vicious animal finally catching its prey and preparing to feast.

No words were needed in this passionate interaction. They both knew that they wanted to feel the full experience since they weren't allowed to in the production of the film. Joseph and Y/N both stared into each other's eyes as their breaths calmed down. The pair only slowed down to remove the rest of their clothes. Once they were fully naked, Joseph drank their body in like it was a glass of water at the end of an exhausting journey.

He lowered himself until his face was level with their throbbing cunt. Joseph bit his lip before licking a thick stripe up the neat folds of Y/N's genitals. As soon as Y/N felt his warm tongue against their clitoris, they arched their back and firmly pressed the back of their head into the pillow underneath them. This was the all clear Joseph needed to start aggressively tasting his muse as they gently squirmed underneath him.

Y/N gripped the sheets underneath them with such force, their knuckles turned white. As Joseph tasted the juices that leaked from Y/N's nether regions, he noticed it was very fruity. A mixture between pineapple, orange and a hint of mango filled his mouth.Their legs gently clenched around Joseph's head, his curly brown locks tickling their thighs only slightly. That only made them squirm even more. He chuckled at their actions as he tasted the juices that dripped from their subtly aching cunt.

Y/N was getting close to release, but that was when Joseph stopped and looked up at them with a devilish smirk on their face.As Y/N looked at him, Joseph crawled on top of them. His legs spread theirs only slightly, leading Y/N to wrap their legs around his waist. His arms pinning their shoulders to the bed as he gazed into their eyes. At that moment, only two words were exchanged between them since every inch of Y/N's cunt was already dripping for his cock.

"Ready?"

"Yes"

The next 35 minutes for the pair was pure euphoria. Joseph, despite being eager to fuck them hard, went slow at first and making sure his cock was fully buried in their entrance before pulling almost all the way out and thrusting back inside them with just the right amount of force. The sounds of Joseph's balls gently slap against Y/N's bare ass and the wetness from their dripping cunt echoed through the luxurious hotel room.

Y/N's walls cage his cock perfectly, like the two last pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Y/N's hands gripped onto Joseph's back, using their nails to make claw lines on his back. He growled seductively before leaning down and capturing the surface of their neck with his teeth, biting their neck like he was a vampire.

This time, Y/N could fully enjoy this moment instead of restricting themselves. They moaned loudly as they felt his teeth against their neck. Y/N used their arms and legs to pull Joseph closer to them and place their feet on his ass while their arms are around his shoulders and their hands still on his back.

Both of them were close to climax. Their sweat mixed together as Joseph's mouth was still on Y/N's neck, their bodies entwined together in euphoric harmony, their breaths heavy and their hearts racing. Joseph let go of Y/N's neck and looked into their eyes. He smiled softly, a gentle blush crawling onto the apples of his cheeks.

"Let us come undone…together"

Y/N nodded. Then, in the span of a minute, both Joseph and Y/N closed their eyes and moaned loudly as they reached the peak of their orgasm. Y/N could feel his seed enter them as their highs died down. After the vigorous experience was finished, Y/N let out a sigh of relief as Joseph got off of them and laid next to them. He then wrapped his arms around Y/N's waist and pulled them close to his body. He started to kiss their face and run his hand through their hair.

"We may not have been acquainted for very long, but I…I would love to call you mine"

Y/N's eyes widened as a smile slowly crept onto their face. They gave him a quick kiss on the lips before saying the word that they wanted to say, and he wanted to hear.

"...Yes."

The End

#joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn

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