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ilooklikeaburntchickenugget · 4 years ago

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Sick Days

A/N: Another Steve AU for you guys. Also, I just hit 100 followers (like after I began writing this) which is crazy so thank you all! I’ll probably do one of those follower milestone things, I just have to figure out what. Thank you again my lovelies, I love you all! Pairing: CEO!Steve Rogers x F!Chubby!Reader (Or skinny reader, you can really fluctuate to your body type.) Word count: 2,486 Warnings: Some slight angst against side characters, swearing.

"Where’s Y/N?” His voice boomed to his various employees, the important ones all across the glass table in the large conference room. The sunlight beaming in through floor to glass windows was interrupted with shadows of the New York skyline, or at least the few buildings that were as high if not higher than the one that occupied Rogers Industries. Everyone fell completely still, completely quiet.

“Um, she texted me this morning, saying she was very sick, Mr. Rogers.” One of his associates very quietly replied.

“She’s sick?” He asked, sighing deeply, turning around and marching out of the room. He flew past the various hallways, every employee immediately moving out of their way for him in confusion and fear. Making his way to his office on the top floor, he slammed the grand doors grabbing his phone and immediately dialing your number.

“Steve?” You answered after the third ring. Your voice was crackly, he could hear your sniffly nose from the other end, “I’m sorry I didn’t call I-” “Hey, hey, baby.” He cooed, immediately understanding you were actually sick, “No need to justify. How are you feeling?” His voice grew soft and tender, his face dropping from tensions with anger to now tensions with concern.

“Like death.” You responded, to which he sighed, “I haven’t been able to get out of bed, I have a fever of 102, I can’t eat, I couldn’t sleep last night I-” “Okay, okay, alright.” He interrupted you, thinking for a moment. “I need you to head over to my place-” “No, Steve.” You interrupted, “I am not going over to your apartment, excuse me, penthouse, in this condition.”

“Yes, you are.” He fought back.

“Steve, how am I even supposed to get out of bed?” You tried to reason, “It hurts to even pee.”

“Then I’ll pick you up. Literally.” “Steve, no.” You concluded, “Your day is already probably messed up because I’m not there to answer calls and deal with stupid people and help you with whatever you need. I don’t need your pity.”

“I’m not pitying you, I’m worried about you. And no my day is not messed up.” “Yet,” You began.

“Okay, yet.” He admitted, “No one is as good of an assistant as you are. I have four people, two of whom have PhDs, trying to juggle your job. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I don’t know either,” You lightly laughed, to the best of your abilities.

“How about I come over after work then?” He settled, “I’ll bring you some food, anything you want, okay?” You hummed over the phone.

“Sounds great.” You replied, “I love you, Stevie.” You smiled lightly.

“Love you too.” He smiled as well, hanging up.

You had been Steve’s assistant for 10 years. It was funny at first, he was an unknown man starting his own company at 24, you were fresh in college at 18 and needed a job. So, after seeing your work ethic and how smart you were, he decided to hire you, finding you as the perfect fit.

You has been his constant companion for those 10 years, traveling with him all the time, attending meetings, you were always by his side. There was a silent relationship between the two of you. Both of you knew some form of chemistry existed, but never acknowledged it. Until Steve finally asked you out only four months ago.

He had finally grown mature enough to throw away his playboy-type persona. He didn’t want women just to be there, and for them to be attracted to him for his money. Though he was one of the most handsome bachelors for women to lay their eyes on. No, he wanted a true life partner.

And you had been with him since the get-go, when sometimes he couldn’t even pay you one week because everything was so tight. But you stuck with him every second of the way, and he knew if you would go out with him it wasn’t because of his money, but because of him.

Sure, you weren’t as fit as many of the girls he had dated in the past. And maybe the media wouldn’t categorize you as a “beauty”. But you were the most gorgeous woman to him. You were mature, kind, smart, organized. He bragged about you to his closest friends from the beginning, before you even began dating, categorizing you as an “intellectual”, a compliment you would brush off not wanting to boost your ego.

“Jackie,” He called one of his associates who was an acting assistant of the day.

“Yes, Mr. Rogers?” She asked over the phone.

“I need you to get all of these things, preferably from that diner off Broadway and Warren. I need it ready in exactly 20 minutes, back to me in 30.” He began, “I’ve sent them over to you. Get it done. Now.” He hung up, residing back to his usual work.

Only a minute later his office phone was ringing. “Hello?” He answered, partially annoyed considering this has now disrupted his response to a passive aggressive email sent by a nobody at a partnering company.

“Mr. Rogers, they said it wouldn’t be ready for 45-” “Did I say 45 minutes?” He interrupted, aggravation filling his voice.

“No I just-”

“I don’t have 45 minutes. You’re now down to 28 minutes before the food should be placed on my fucking desk and ready to go.” “Mr. Rogers there’s nothing I can do-” “Maybe you can be assertive next time, Jackie, or you’ll be out of a job in a second. Figure it out.” He slammed the phone back on the desk with a loud bang, grunting and rubbing his hand over his face. Leaning back he reflected on your words. “Yet”. If you were the one in charge of that, the food would have been on his desk in 20 minutes, not ready in 45.

It didn’t only annoy him that clearly his associates had no ability to think outside of the little boxes they had placed themselves in, but he was talking about you. Although no one at the office, or in the company, knew you two were dating, anyone who got in the way of you would be fired in a hot second. In a moment he could have them standing outside his skyscraper, box in hands sobbing if they even attempted to bother you. You were not only the most precious asset to his company, you were the most precious thing in his life.

He continued his work, not worry too much about how everything was going outside of his office. If anyone fucked up, he would fire them. Easy as that. Once again, his gratitude for you grew greater and greater as he got a text from you.

Please don’t say you’re going to hard on people. I know you’re kind of an ass of a boss, but at least go a little easy on them today. Xo, Y/N

He couldn’t help but smile a little bit. Damn right he was an ass of a boss, and he prided himself on it. As he began responding, Jackie rushed in, looking both winded and scared. “Here you are, Mr. Rogers.” She placed the three bags full of food on his desk.

“You’re three minutes late.” He sat up, looking over the bags, “If I wasn’t in a good mood you would be fired. I’ll let you off on this one.” He sighed, she stood there and took a deep sigh.

“T-thank you, Mr. Rogers.” She nervously walked out.

Trying not to, babe :). Try to be nice to yourself, too, you deserve it. Xo, Steve

He responded, smiling as he sent it, counting down the minutes to be home with you, cooing you and comforting you. He wanted nothing more than to just sit with you all day and watch TV shows, hearing your snarky and stupid commentary. He loved every moment of it.

He removed his mind from his favorite topic, you, and decided to try and focus on some work, as a distraction from the fact he couldn’t be right there with you. Scrolling through stupid emails and paperwork only made his need to be with you all that much worst, his watch not moving fast enough for his liking. With a frustrated sigh he took matters into his own hands.

Stuffing his work in his workbag, he grabbed his phone, getting up and storming out of his office with the take out bags. Everyone looked up at him, confusion and worry ridden all over their faces. He never left early, let alone an hour early.

“Um, Mr. Rogers,” One of his associates perked up, trailing behind him a bit.

“What.” He snapped, not changing his gaze from straight ahead.

“You have that meeting in an hour with Mr. Wilson, where are you going-” Steve stopped in his tracks, turning around to face the boy behind him with a grimace look. “Where I am going is none of your business. And reschedule the meeting with him, he’ll understanding.” And just like that, the man took off again, leaving out the doors and to his car. Slamming his door, he messily started the ignition, holding the leather steering wheel to his Audi, knuckles turning white with annoyance.

His face was blank as he sped through New York traffic, aggressively beeping at all the idiots in his way. He knew you would be scolding the shit out of him right now if you were in the passenger seat, letting him know that you thought he should go back to driving school. He would just lightly smile at your spunk, loving it ever so much.

Speeding into your parking garage underground, he managed to finally find a spot, cursing himself out numerous times for not being there earlier to save one of these now filled spaces. He grabbed his keys and bags with speed, clumsily hanging onto everything, only determined to get to you.

He made his way up the elevator from the parking garage to floor 34, where you were. The elevator was far too slow, in his opinion. He had been meaning to get you a new apartment recently, not that your apartment wasn’t safe or anything. It just wasn’t nice or good enough for you, in his opinion. Granted, nothing in this world would be good enough for you in his eyes. You deserved every damn thing.

He walked out of the elevator, perseverance painted across his face. Finally, he made it to the far end of the carpeted hallway, grabbing your key off of his key ring and placed it in, taking a sigh when it opened. “Baby?” He called, his entire mood changing in a second at the smell and sight of your home. When there was no response, he quietly shut the door, locking it, placing the bags of food on the counter.

Taking his work shoes off along with his jacket and tie, he crept into your room. There you were, an angel from the heavens in his sight, scrunched up in your own warmth under your large comforter, your favorite blanket sprawled out over you. He smiled to himself, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt and removing his cuffs.

Climbing into bed next to you as easily as he could, in hopes he wouldn’t stir you, he placed his large arm over your body, shorter than his, and moved himself closer to you, providing warmth. You moved a bit with a light groan, “Stevie?” You asked, still half asleep, but moving over and closer to his warmth so now you were now the little spoon.

“Hey, baby doll.” He whispered with a smile, kissing the top of you head. “Go back to sleep, m’kay? You need rest.” You shook your head with a yawn, opening your eyes to see the man you loved, a smile growing across your face.

“You woke me up.” You slightly laughed.

“’M sorry.” He smiled back, taking your messy, natural, unbrushed hair in his fingers and brushing out some of the small tangles.

“It’s okay.” You moved even closer to him so every inch of your side was touching his warmth.

“Have you eaten anything today?” He asked next, with a sweet, calming voice. You shook your head into his shoulder, “Okay,” He muttered, “I brought you some food.” “Stevie I’m not that hungry-”

“I got you chicken tenders.” He countered. You sighed in defeat.

“Fine.” You replied, rolling over just a bit to let him go get it. He got the memo, getting up and quickly retrieving the take out boxes.

“Here ya go, babe.” He smiled, helping you sit up, and giving the box to you.

You graciously accepted the food, opening it and taking a bite, sighing with a smile. “Best boyfriend ever.” You smiled, taking another bite and leaning your head on his shoulder. “So,” You began, “How was the office today?” He scoffed, “A nightmare.” You chuckled.

“Of course it was.”

“I had four people playing my assistants today, and not a single one could send an email to Stark or Barnes, my two most prominent allies in this business. It’s ridiculous-” “Steve,” You interrupted, “I already sent those emails today.” “For real?” He turned to you, his face turning serious, “You have a fever of 102, can barely move, and you sent two emails?” “And faxed over some paper work, and scheduled a few of your meetings for next month, and got your next travel itinerary set.” You responded.

“Jeez,” He sighed, at a complete lose for words, “You are one of a kind, you know that? Literally the most incredible person at that company, or most companies for that matter.” You lightly smiled.

“No need to flatter me, I was doing my job.” You blew it off.

“Your job today was to rest and relax.” “Steven,” You looked up at him, “You’re forgetting who I am. I’m not relaxing until my work is done,” You continued, “Now that it is, I say we watch some TV for the rest of the night. Game of Thrones or Westworld?” You asked next. He just looked at you confused, “Westworld it is.” You replied, grabbing your remote on your bedside. “Now c’mon, you need to relax too. I can feel how tense you are from here.”

“Fine.” He replied, reluctantly loosening his shoulders a bit.

“There you go babe,” You smiled, sniffling a bit due to your current condition right after, “Just relax a little. We’re not at work, no stupid people.” He lightly laughed. Using his hand, he took your chin and moved your head to look at his face.

“I’m the luckiest guy in the world, you know that?” You smiled and maneuvered your head to his shoulder again.

“Not nearly as lucky as I am to have you, Mr. Rogers.”

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fan fiction #ceo!steve rogers #ceo!steve rogers x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #mcu #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #steve rogers x chubby!reader #ceo!steve rogers x chubby!reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #ceo!steve rogers x y/n #ceo!steve rogers x you

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softinkshadows · 4 years ago

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drunken wrong room encounters w adultrio (x female reader)

Disclaimer: contains some lime-y content! HISOKA

The elevator at Heaven’s Arena dinged softly as its doors opened to the 200th floor. Flushed with a giddy smile on your face, your heart was full from the night’s festivities. Today you scored your 4th win on the 200th floor, and took to a nearby bar afterwards to celebrate. Being one of the only female fighters on the floor, you were swarmed with many fans; you smiled to yourself remembering the cheers and ruckus from everyone at the bar, hands offering you yet another shot, loud hooting when you downed them all as you found yourself happily egged on to take one too many drinks. Thankfully the corridor was well-lit, if not you’d have trouble finding your way back to your room. You turned the door handle, going inside. Did I forget to turn off the bathroom light? you wondered absentmindedly, kicking off your shoes. The room smelled a little different - sweeter? There was a scent of damask rose, but you brushed it off. You hummed a small tune as you started to undress yourself for the night, stripping yourself of your pants and outershirts (a little dirtied from the fight earlier) and laying them over the armchair at the room desk, finally only clad in a fitted neoprene tank top and underwear. You sighed a little, steadying yourself with the desk in order to stand up straight when you felt a rush of heat behind you. Strong arms pinned your hands to the desk as you felt the immobilizing weight of another body leaning against you from behind, the scent of roses now wafting heavily close. In your disorientation you felt the texture of a soft bath towel against your butt. “Eh?? Who the hell -” your protests were cut short as the strong limbs flipped you around, maintaining their grip on your wrists. “My, my, it seems like someone went into the wrong room.” A voice purred. You were spun around to face none other than the strongest fighter at Heavens Arena. His striking red hair fell in a damp tangle around his face, still dripping wet from the shower. Your eyes followed the thin trickles of water, as it fell onto his bare, sculpted torso. “Hi-hisoka!” you gasped aloud both in shock at in the embarrassment of the man who was barely clothed and leaning over you on the desk. You felt your face flush with warmth, your head still spinning from the effect of alcohol. He moved closer, golden eyes glinting with mischief, until his face was barely inches away from yours. “I saw your fight earlier, you were.. good,” he emphasized the last word, his lips curling into a smirk. The slight suggestiveness, his piercing eyes, the proximity of his body were enough to make you more flustered, as a strange heat began to pool in your abdomen. “Wait- wh-what is thi- I’m gonna kill y-you,” you stammered incoherently. Hisoka leaned towards your ear.

“Would you like me to... stop?” he whispered, biting on your ear lobe. “A-ah!” you gasped, feeling a tinge of arousal creeping between your legs. He moved downwards to breathe lightly against your neck. “Yes...” he began, using his tongue to delicately trail your skin, travelling the length from your collarbone to your ear, “or no?” His tongue flicked your ear again. His fingers laced with yours, body pressing into you, the sensation of his tongue making you tremble as you felt the heat between your legs grow. “N-...Ye-..yes,” you struggled to form your words, your mind clouded with a feeling of confusion, irritation and pleasure, along with that heady scent of damask rose. “Very well.” You heard a chuckle before you felt the world spin a little. Everything was a blur; you being carried bridal style - the lights and airconditioning of the corridor - another door opening and closing - the softness and familiarity of your own bed. You felt exhaustion begin to wash over you, barely making out Hisoka’s chuckled words before he closed the door. “As for a fight... I’ll do you anytime. Come to me when you’re ready, or when you want your clothes back.” ILLUMI “Y/N, are you sure you don’t want me to walk you back to your room?” Leorio asked, being the gentleman that he was. It was the 287th Hunter Exam, and you managed to clear the 4th round. Now all the participants who passed were on the airship headed from Zevil Island back to the Hunter’s Association building, and you and Leorio had taken to celebrating with rounds of indulgent drinking. “NAH IM OKAY!” you exclaimed exuberantly, even though you were clearly wasted. “Thanks for, y-your hard work todayyyyyyy, Leoleo!” “It’s Leorio!!” he yelled back, irritated but stifling a laugh, before walking towards the other residential wing of the blimp. “Room 16...17...ah 18...?” you clambered around unsteadily, before finding the door knob. The room was dark save for a rectangular window on one wall, letting in some shafts of moonlight. The bed looked incredibly inviting after a long and tiring day, especially with the physical strain of the last exam round. White soft sheets and a thick fluffy duvet heaped on the large bed. At least there were some perks for getting this far, you thought. Standing by the side of the bed, you stretched your body in exhaustion and satisfaction. “Tsukaretaaaaa~ (trans: I’m so tired~~)” you breathed, removing all your clothes in one fell swoop, letting them fall noisily to the floor. You weren’t going to bother with a shower now, you could deal with that tomorrow. Now, you just needed some quality rest before you’d be raring to go for the last exam round the day after. You pulled the soft duvet up to your chin, ready to drift into deep sleep. Next to you, on the other side of the bed, something stirred. A soft, displeased voice grumbled, “Hisoka, what is it this time...” Someone got up and was now above you, legs on either side of your waist, forearms bent at right angles and pressed to the bed to hold themselves up. “I thought we agreed...” Illumi trailed off, looking down at the person he thought was in his bed, before realizing he had made a mistake. For a moment, he was stunned. “Huh?” “Haah?” You responded, in a drunken drawl. Through your flushed cheeks, and slightly blurred vision, you saw a beautiful man with deep raven-coloured eyes. Long black hair fell silkily down to the pillow, cascading like a veil over your head. You were vaguely aware of his arms on both sides of you, and the proximity of his body to yours, but it didn’t feel intrusive. There was almost a feline lightness to his features and limbs. You were certain that you’d never seen this man before, at least throughout the hunter exam, and you were so sure that you were dreaming. Illumi turned his head to look at the discarded clothes on the floor, before turning back to you. “Ah..” He then realized the state of you resting in his bed, and his eyes wavered a little, his heart leaping just a bit faster than usual. What should he do? How did years of assassin training not prepare him for this? At this point you had made a move to sit up slightly, the duvet falling a little further around you below your chest. “Um...” his nimble fingers picking up the duvet to cover your chest, a faint blush dusting his pale cheeks. Enjoying every moment of what you were certain was a dream, you reached up to gently twine your slender fingers in his black hair. “So soft....” you remarked as you felt the strands, your eyes dazzling with awe and inebriation. Your hands made your way to his face, and your fingers moved along his brows, nose, before resting on his cheeks. “So soft~~” you squished his cheeks gently, giggling a little. W-wh-what was that? In a flash, the man above you moved away, and your hands grasped only at air. You sulked out loud a little before falling finally into slumber, letting out a small snore. At the other end of the bed, Illumi was awake, staring at the wall with a strange tingle in his chest, his ears unmistakably red. CHROLLO You’d just about had it. Seething with anger, you pressed your floor button in the hotel lift, leaning back to the wall with your arms crossed. You knew you would have to meet unsavoury people in your job as a reporter, but nothing had readied you for tonight’s event. This gala was attended by the supremely, grossly overpaid upper class, another fundraising event to line the pockets of yet another private trust. The pitiful looks they gave you, their derogatory comments...! Thankfully as part of the job you had a suite in the hotel that hosted the event, and you exploited the complimentary flow of alcohol too... You noticed your suite door ajar, and caught a glimpse of a service cart. Hmph, at least there’s additional room service too, you thought, pushing the door open to enter. The hotel maid caught a glimpse of you, cheeks red from all the wine and champagne, stumbling a little into the suite. Her eyes glanced over towards the master bedroom and back at you, turning embarrassed as if having understood something, before leaving the room hurriedly.

“ANNOYING RICH PEOPLE!” you yelled to yourself, flinging your shoes near the doorway before collapsing on a large leather sofa. You looked out of the down to floor windows at the glimmering lights of the city, floating hazily before you. You felt one of your dress straps fall past your shoulders, and your black evening gown was already hitched up past your knees, but you didn’t really care. A sound of soft footsteps approached before you saw someone looking down at your lying figure. His black hair fell close to his shoulders, there was a funny cross tattoo on his forehead, his grey eyes piercing and inscrutable. Ah, you remembered him from the gala too, although he was alone most of the time, interacting only with a few select people. Now he had half unbuttoned the vest of his 3-piece suit, and was in the process of loosening his tie. His voice was gentle, but contained a trace of amusement. “Miss, I’m afraid you’re in the wrong room.” “NO YOU’RE IN THE WRONG ROOM!” you yelled in drunken stupor, not even making sense anymore. You sat up disheveled. “PEOPLE LIKE YOU ARE ALL THE SAME, LOOKING DOWN ON OTHERS, USING PEOPLE LIKE THEY ARE TOYS AND THEN THROWING THEM AWAY. DO YOU EVEN HAVE ANY HUMANITY?” you ranted, not realizing that he had taken a seat on the sofa near you. He propped his head up with one hand resting on the armrest, his eyes twinkling and he gazed at you. Even with his loosened tie, and a dress shirt tucked out, there was something alluring about him, drawing you deeper into an abyss. You couldn’t tell if it was dangerous or just seductive. You didn’t even hear the words you were saying. “AND DAMN YOU AND YOUR GOODLOOKING FACE.” He chuckled to himself, before looking back into your eyes with his steely grey ones. “And how shall people like me be punished?” he asked softly. You found yourself climbing into his lap, your tousled hair now falling a little out of your bun, you knees between his, as you leaned close to his face. You felt the heat of his body below yours. “LIKE THIS.” Without warning, you raised your hand, and gave his forehead a quick and powerful flick. He didn’t even blink, although his eyes registered some kind of shock. Then Chrollo burst out into a small laugh, running his fingers through his hair. So amusing, he thought to himself. Perhaps I can enjoy myself tonight.

Feeling a little mocked, you continued, spurred by embarrassment, “Y-YOU KNOW WHAT IT IS WITH PEOPLE LIKE YOU? NO MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRY, YOU’RE JUST... EMPTY!”

Before you knew it, suddenly you were on you back, and Chrollo’s hands gripped both of yours, pinning you down hard. Your words had struck a nerve. Surprised from the movement and his reaction, you were speechless, your cheeks now a little warmer when you realized the position you were in, your dress now hiked up almost to your waist. “Perhaps I can prove you wrong,” he whispered, leaning so close both your lips were almost touching. Chrollo knew, from all the women that threw themselves at him throughout the gala, that any of them would immediately take this chance now. He was craving a little release after all, and by this point, no one would refuse. Then, you stared at him, face red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment, and stuck out your tongue defiantly like a child. With your hands pinned above you, you looked away, pouting. S-so cute! One of Chrollo’s hands flew to shield his face momentarily to stifle a laugh, and a discernible blush covered his cheeks. He stood up from the sofa and straightened out his shirt, walking into the bedroom before returning with an extra duvet. By then, you had dozed off asleep, and he glanced at your weary form. Such an amusing, vulnerable creature. He chuckled, laying the duvet gently over you. “Sleep well tonight, my dear. I’ll be with you in the morning when you wake.” ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Notes: I wanted to write the last Chrollo-only one for the previous situation, but somehow this floated into my mind. I found myself internally screaming when writing the Illumi portion becos Hiso-Illu just dropped so casually I’m like... sometimes I’m glad I have this brain

#adultrio #adultrio x reader #hisoka morow #illumi zoldyck #chrollo lucilfer #hisoka morow x reader #illumi zoldyck x reader #chrollo lucilfer x reader #hunter x hunter #hxh

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im-like-if-a-girl · 4 years ago

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*THE* mean-girl-dean-girl's Supernatural reboot MEGAPOST!

I'm gonna stick a little "keeping reading" here because hoooooo boy, this is a very long post.

Let's start with

Plot

Season 1

Dean kills John while they are out on a hunt in a crime of passion, but Dean doesn't remember because he blacked out. Cue Dean going to Stanford to get Sam and tell him "Dad's on a hunting trip... and he hasn't been home in a couple days."

The audience doesn't know what happened to John, but slowly figures it out with Dean and Sam as Dean slowly remembers what happened that night.

The entire first season, the boys are following the trail John left and fighting monsters as well. They find out Dean was with John, Sam realizes Dean has an unreliable memory, they have heart to hearts about their childhood and the fire, they find John's body, "how could you kill Dad?" but maybe Dean didn't kill dad, whooaaaaaa, misdirection.

It was actually good ole yeller eyes (Azazel) and he made it look like Dean killed John.

Okay, now let's move on to the first episode

Not sure how the opening would work, I would like the story of the fire to be revealed over the course of the first season, but maybe the opening scene could be a little bit of an establishing character relationships and backstory, idk, I haven't thought that far yet.

I'm thinking maybe it's like, Dean gets back to a motel room covered in blood and he listens to a voicemail on his phone from John saying he was on a hunt or something, I don't really know lol.

HOWEVER

I do know that after the intro rolls, we get a scene of Sam waking up to his alarm and "Nine to Five" by Dolly Parton starts playing.

Y'all know where this is going.

Cue a montage of Sam's normal Stanford college life (him sitting through lectures, walking through the campus with friends) spliced with scenes of Dean absolutely slaughtering a nest of vampires (or some other monsters, whatever works best.)

But

Now onto

Characters!!! (And descriptions)

Dean Winchester

Some lovely person on this site made edits of Dean with platinum blond hair and it made me feel some kind of way so we're doing that, homie's gonna have platinum blond hair

Side note about the hair, later when the brothers are running from the FBI he dyes it a dirty blond/light brown (insert jackles hair color controversy here) as a disguise.

He also gets tattoos because we were robbed.

Speaking of tattoos, concept: when Dean comes back from Hell, all of his tattoos are gone. His body is a clean slate, devoid of tattoos, scars, etc. So he gets his tattoos done all over again, which he doesn't mind because he made some bad, drunk tattoo decisions in his youth.

(And before you ask, yes, he does get one for Cas, either a bee or Cas's name in enochian, something cute.)

Dean goes to therapy after Sam gets sent to the Cage.

It's actually court mandated because he got in trouble, lol, he would never go to therapy on his own.

Along with the hair, Dean gets to be the grade A twunk we all know he is.

Sam Winchester

His hair gets longer in every scene he's in

No jk, but imagine

King of Microaggressions

Sam starts off like the sweetheart he is in season 1 but in later seasons he starts enjoying killing a little too much...

It's that demon blood, ba-by!!!

He brings up issues of morality to Dean, i.e. killing monsters who aren't hurting anyone. (Yes I know this is contradictory to my previous statement, but these two facets of Sam can and will coexist.)

Sam and Jess's relationship is explored further, meaning we'll need to start with a different inciting incident, but that's fine, I think everyone can agree fridgings are *(thumbs down)*

Sam doesn't truly know what happened the night of the fire until later, and then he understands why Dean is so protective of him.

Jess

She gets to live beyond the first episode

She is also trans

No, I don't feel like I have to explain myself and I won't 💜

She urges Sam to join Dean in a search for their brother, kind of gets pulled into the hunter lifestyle by association lol.

She dies on a rusty nail after fighting vampires on a routine hunt with Sam

No jk!!!

But imagine....

She's amazing and I love her and Lucifer also uses her as leverage against Sam and possesses her because I think that'd be cool.

She supports Sam 100% and also she and Dean are buddies, pals if you will.

She meets Cas Thee El and immediately she Knows, that is a homosexual.

She dies still so that we can have a Saileen Endgame but she's not dying the first episode or in a fridging. Not on my watch.

Castiel

He gets to keep his raw, light-fixture-exploding power.

I want more of that "I pulled you out of hell, I can throw you back in" energy except over dumb shit like Dean not cleaning up after himself.

He looks like a Dilf in every scene he's in, yeah, that's right, dilf with a capital D for *(GUNSHOTS)* *(gets sent to horny jail)*

Claire

She gets pink hair

And more time with Cas

And maybe a nose piercing

Feel like she should be able to kill a couple angels onscreen, punch a couple homophobes

She gets to meet Jack and teaches him swears and fun slang words.

She deserves it.

Jack

I says "that's my baby and I'm proud."

Jack starts off as a baby, but like Amara he grows up super quickly.

Like, baby to 11 year old in a couple days or less.

This is because Jack's emotional age on the show is on par with that of a 5th grader.

It's at this point when he's a young kid that he runs away from the Bunker and shenanigans ensue.

It's also at this point that Dean threatens to k*ll him.

(Still not sure if I want that in my Supernatural (threatened infanticide? In my Supernatural? It's more likely than you think) but we'll see. We'll see.)

Throughout a majority of season 13, Jack is like an 11 y.o. kid

Season 14 he's like a 16 y.o. teenager

Season 15 he's 21, you get the picture.

Listen, I love Alex Calvert a lot. He's great.

But Jack is a child and should be a child.

Kelly Kline

Kelly, baby, stay right where you are, you're perfect.

Eileen

SHE DOESN'T DIE

SHE GETS TO BE IN THE FINALE BECAUSE SHE'S AMAZING AND I LOVE HER.

BLURRY WIFE WHO? I ONLY KNOW SAILEEN ENDGAME!

She teaches Claire and Jack swears in sign-language. Castiel is not impressed.

John

J*hn W*nchester stans, DNI.

He's dead.

We only see him in flashbacks and only sometimes hear his voice in voice overs.

He's not "down the road" from Dean in Heaven, in fact he instead gets to wander around in some Purgatory like Hell for the rest of his time :)

People who get to say "fuck" on the show:

Cas (but only Once)

Jody

Bobby

Now onto other things

I want more of

Ghostfacers

(they need more screentime because I love them)

Dean/Benny

We know they had a thing.

They definitely had a thing.

Demon Dean

Again, I feel like more should've been done with this. All that build up for what, 2 episodes? was not utilized well at all.

Dean's Bisexuality

Straight Dean truthers DNI, my Supernatural is a show about love and being true to yourself

You think Supernatural is a show about 2 straight brothers fighting monsters?

Naw bitch, this is a show about the Gay Experience

He will get to have relations with men on this show.

Of course, only after John dies does he, y'know, display it. Maybe he kisses Cas on his dad's grave just to fuck John over, make him roll in grave.

We all agree John would be/is a homophobe piece of shit, right?

Okay, glad we're on the same page.

Dads

3 men and a baby with Jack is what I'm saying.

I love it when the Trio are father-figures to younger troubled characters they see themselves in, even better if it's like reluctant-but-loving father figure, oh, that trope gets me every time :'^)

Dadstiel and DadDean are my favorites, but I like it when Sam plays "Uncle Sam" to kids too lol.

"Fellas, is it gay to want a tight knit family with your husband, his son, his vessel's daughter, your brother, his wife, your cop mother figure and her wife and their adopted daughters? Asking for a friend."

Garth

Biggest flaw of Supernatural was underutilizing Garth.

I will never not be bitter that Garth was only in like, 7 episodes out of the whole 15 season series.

Every episode with Garth gets immediately 5 times better.

I love Garth.

Follow ups on characters who had entire episodes featured around them and then just... vanished???

This is mostly about Jesse, the magic kid whose imagination ruled an entire town like, his daddy was a demon and nothing came of that kid??? Only one episode about him?? No follow up???

KID CAN MANIPULATE REALITY AND WE'RE NOT GONNA GET A FOLLOW UP ON THAT?????

Uh, there was that one episode with Ennis the guy whose girlfriend was killed by a monster? I think?? Who we never see again, that was weird.

Tamara from season 3, episode 1.

And of course-

Cassie

She was so cool, and then we never saw her again :////

She gets to be a badass.

Religious imagery

As a former Catholic school student who has become for the most part, disillusioned with religion, religious imagery in TV shows like Supernatural make my brain go "brrrrrr."

Fun episodes!!!

Like, after season 6 or so, there's a drop in funny episodes

I'm talking Changing Channels, The French Mistake type stuff. (Scoobynatural is an outlier and should not be counted.)

So anyway

In my version we would have more fun episodes

I'm thinking

GENDER-SWAP EPISODE, BABY!!

(why they didn't do that in the original, we'll never know.)

An episode where Dean gets to wear eyeliner

That's it, end of post.

I want less

Racism

Yeah I feel like this is self explanatory, nearly every reoccurring character in SPN is white, and black side characters normally die in the episode they first appear in, or they'll be featured as a villain (Uriel, Raphael, Billie, etc)

Also there's a lot of... uh... asian fetishism featured in the show (what with "Busty Asian Beauties) that's really gross, also Kevin was a bit of a stereotype...

Also also it's super yucky how they kill the gods from other religions like???? Uh??? That's super disrespectful, let's not do that????

I know Supernatural is like, inherently racist because monsters are a separate race that are seen as some dangerous "other" that must be eradicated by hunters in a form of genocide-

Okay we won't get into that but

Still

Stop killing all your POC

Fridgings/Unecessary murders of female characters

I know Supernatural starts with a fridging, so this will be a hard thing to remedy, but

One death that really pissed me off was the death of Charlie

Yeah, that was pointless and we're not doing that. Charlie gets to live and be an awesome aunt to Jack.

And also Claire

Charlie Bradbury Superiority

Charlie and Garth get to meet because they're nerd/geek solidarity.

British Men of Letters

I fucking hate these guys

They're "litcherally" the worst.

The worst part is that the actors they have playing the British AREN'T. EVEN. BRITISH.

And you can tell

Uh, and that's all for now, I'll add more later.

tag list for people who liked my "if this post gets one like I'll post my SPN reboot masterpost" post.

@darianyunidi @sarasidlesaid @crazybananaalpaca @playfulpanthress @ultfreakme @fififeelsmellow @heller-char @luna8eaton @princessmeganfire @insanebot109 @queenofnightsnow @mongoose-underthehouse

Thank you for the support, hope the wait was worth it.

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pinnithin · 4 years ago

Text

invited home

This started as a “haha funnie gman eat a pizza” fic and turned into a soft little story about family. 3406 words.

Remembering etiquette was, perhaps, the hardest part of this.

The “hardest part of this” changed pretty frequently — often associated with whatever he was dealing with at the time. The week that took Gordon’s hand and very nearly his life was several months behind him, but he still heard the echoes of the Resonance Cascade in little things as the days passed. He heard it in the low hum of the air conditioner in his window and the backfire of a tailpipe outside. He kept the lights on at night and heard the echoes in his sleep.

It would never really go away, he guessed.

The best he could do, dealing with the hardest part of whatever his day brought him, was to simply keep living. A clockwork routine grounded him. He did normal things like buy groceries and hike in the county foothills - sometimes alone, sometimes with Tommy. Black Mesa and all the horrors it held may have broken the two of them, but they were slowly putting the pieces of each other back together.

So it shouldn’t have surprised him when he invited him to dinner with his father, right?

They were... well, they were something. Gordon found it difficult to call Tommy his boyfriend when they’d crash landed straight from acquaintances to partners in Black Mesa. The guy was the only reason Gordon was still alive, and he felt that he’d be repaying that act of kindness for the rest of his days. That sort of unwarranted devotion wasn’t exactly grounds for a normal courtship.

But this is what people did. They bought groceries and went for walks and had dinner with family. Tommy was offering this ritual to Gordon in an attempt to ground him, just like he helped him establish his other routines. It was in his best interest to take it.

The one story adobe in Sandia Heights was far more nondescript than Gordon was expecting, fitted cozily into the neighborhood on a street named Desert Finch Lane. It was evening, and the setting sun washed the walls a soft pink. The front lawn was xeriscaped with a bed of gravel and some strategic placements of yucca and saguaro, and a straight stone path marched right up to the front door. Gordon checked his phone one more time before he exited his vehicle - this house seemed far too normal to belong to someone like Tommy’s father.

No, the address Tommy sent him matched the numbers on the mailbox. Briefly, he glanced over the rest of the conversation as he reached with a free hand to kill the ignition.

T: Only if you want to! I know the last time you spoke was kind of weird... G: its fine it was a weird day haha G: no yeah id love to though G: do i need to bring anything? T: :D T: I guess you can if you want? It’s not going to be fancy or anything - we’ll probably order takeout. T: We just like to get together every month or so to catch up and I wanted to bring you along this time! No pressure. G: oh is this like G: a family thing? T: Well, yeah. Is that okay? G: its great! just checking G: see you then

T: :) T: See you.

A smile touched his mouth. Tommy rarely asked Gordon for anything, so he knew this was important to him even if he downplayed it. Gordon wouldn’t say he was a fan of Tommy’s father, but if Tommy wanted him to smooth things over after the Black Mesa incident, well, he’d try. For him, he’d try.

He didn’t know if Tommy’s father drank, so he passed on the wine, deciding instead that one can never go wrong with garlic bread. His eyes fell to the loaf he’d picked up from Albertson’s on his way over, still warm and wrapped in a foil package in the passenger seat. He’d done the meet-the-parents dance a few times before - a lifetime ago, it felt - but none of his partners had ever mattered this much to him, and none of their fathers had ever been gods.

Remembering etiquette, he reflected, was the hardest part of this.

He slid out of the car, taking the bread with him, and marched up to the front door. It was painted a bright turquoise with the word Bienvenidos scripted across the middle in white decal letters. This struck him as odd, because Tommy’s father didn’t seem the type to care about suburban design motifs, but he only hesitated a moment before raising a fist to rap his knuckles on the door.

Only a few seconds passed before the door swung open, and relief rolled over Gordon when he saw it was Tommy in the doorway. He was dressed in his usual button up, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he smiled like a sunrise. Gordon grinned back. He didn’t think the rush of affection that overtook him every time he laid eyes on the man would ever really fade.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Tommy answered, still smiling. “Come on in.”

He stepped back to allow Gordon entry, and his presence somewhat quelled Gordon’s trepidation as he crossed the threshold into Mr. Coolatta’s house.

“I hope garlic bread is okay,” he said as Tommy shut the door behind him. His eyes caught the neat line of shoes in the entryway, and he began jimmying his sneakers off. “I wasn’t sure what we were having.”

“It’s perfect,” Tommy answered, turning from the door. He watched Gordon attempting to remove his shoes without the help of his hands with a hint of amusement. “Um, do you want me to take that?” he asked, indicating the bread.

“I’ve got it,” Gordon muttered distractedly, finally kicking off one shoe and then the other. “You didn’t grow up here, did you?”

Tommy watched the sneakers go flying down the hall, a laugh in his eyes, but he didn’t comment. “God, no,” he answered. “Dad downsized a couple years ago.” He paused, flicking a brief look around the room, before adding, “He decorated the place himself.”

Gordon followed Tommy’s gaze. It looked like a house, at a glance. There were throw pillows on the leather couch and an artificial plant rested tastefully on the coffee table. Picture frames and various ornaments adorned the mantle, functionally useless objects stuffed between photos of the Coolatta family through the years. His eyes caught a decorative globe, some pillar candles, and a geometric silver figurine before landing on a sunny portrait of a smiling child - Tommy, he guessed. A wall hanging of colorful overlapping rectangles covered the space next to the south window.

All at once, Gordon felt he was in a place that was trying very hard to be a house, without quite knowing what a house’s qualifying factors were. Aside from the photos, the only clue to the owner’s tastes was the record player against the far wall, crackling out music from a time period Gordon didn’t recognize. Something with a strange time signature and a dreamlike melody. It was possible the song was from an era that had not yet happened.

He looked back to Tommy and found him studying his face. “It’s nice,” he offered summarily.

Tommy laughed quietly through his nose. “I think he just went to the home decor section of Target and picked out some stuff he liked,” he said.

“Oh,” Gordon replied. “Y’know, now that you say it - yeah. Yeah, I can see that.”

Tommy didn’t exactly look uncomfortable with Gordon’s presence in his father’s house, but he didn’t seem wholly relaxed either. The set of his shoulders betrayed him, as did his hands, which fidgeted at the seams of his pockets before extending to take the bread from him.

“Here, let me - we can put this in the kitchen,” he said, gesturing behind him.

It was possible that etiquette slipped his mind as frequently as it did Gordon’s, and that made him feel a little better about the whole thing. He should have assumed as much - he and Tommy both used the skeleton of routine to prop themselves up, despite the fact that they found social rules tiresome at best. A necessary framework for people like them. Gordon allowed Tommy to take the package from his arms and followed him down the hall.

The kitchen was a little more homey, if only for the healthy clutter of appliances on the counter. Two boxes from Dion’s Pizza sat on the island, and seeing them pulled an audible sigh of relief from Gordon.

Tommy noticed. “Yeah, we’re not - we don’t cook a lot around here,” he admitted, sliding the package of garlic bread next to the pizza.

“That makes me feel better about bringing over store bought bread,” Gordon chuckled. “Where’s uh,” he darted a glance around the room, as if the man in question would materialize if he mentioned him aloud. “Where’s your dad at, anyway?”

“Oh, he’s...” Tommy finished his sentence with a vague wave of his hand. “He’ll show up sooner or later.”

He didn’t seem concerned, as if his father disappearing to another time and place arbitrarily was something that happened a lot. It made sense - Tommy was self-sufficient to the point of being an outright loner - and Gordon guessed that Mr. Coolatta’s inhuman qualities probably didn’t lend to a very warm upbringing.

Tommy was watching him, observant as always. “He’s not really a bad person,” he said at length. “He just… he sees things differently.”

“Shit, man,” Gordon laughed and shook his head. “Sometimes I think you can read my mind.”

“Oh, I never told you?” Tommy responded, raising his eyebrows impishly.

He didn’t seem to want to discuss his father any further, so Gordon laughed at Tommy’s joke and didn’t press it. They fell into a comfortable discussion, standing together in the kitchen and waiting on the third member of their little party. This part Gordon knew how to do - speaking with Tommy always felt like coming home, and while they were still learning things about each other, he never felt any pressure to behave in a way that wasn’t his whole, genuine self. He saw the slope of Tommy’s shoulders slowly relaxing while they talked, and felt himself mirroring him as the minutes ticked by.

Tommy’s father materialized in the time it took for Gordon to blink, one moment absent and the next present. Spooked, Gordon jumped slightly at his appearance, while Tommy uttered an unaffected and congenial, “hey, Dad.”

Mister Coolatta stood under the kitchen lights exactly how Gordon remembered him. His suit was as smooth and clean as his hair, and he wondered if the man even thought about wearing anything else, much less owned a varied wardrobe. Tommy’s father was, in many ways, like Tommy himself. Tall and neat and watchful. Seeing them side by side, it was easier to envision them as family, and Gordon no longer wondered where Tommy picked up his carefully neutral expression from.

The man in the suit fixed his cool gaze on Gordon. “Mister Freeman,” he said. “It is, hm, good to see you again.”

Gordon extended a hand before he could lose his nerve. This was what people did. And while Tommy’s father may not necessarily be a person, that was no reason for Gordon to deny him the courtesy of a handshake.

“You too, sir,” he answered. “Happy to be here.”

Tommy’s father paused for a moment, studying Gordon’s outstretched hand with interest. “I trust the hand hasn’t been giving you trouble since your little incident?”

“Uh,” Gordon faltered only for a moment. “No. It’s been just fine.”

“Dad,” Tommy intoned quietly, passing a glance between his father and Gordon.

This spurred the man in the suit to recall etiquette, himself, and then Gordon was shaking hands with a god.

It was surprisingly normal, all things considered. His grip wasn’t quite as solid as Gordon expected, though that was less a testament to his grip strength than it was to his short-of-corporeal nature. His skin felt like something that was pretending to be skin, and it was the same temperature as the air around them. But he nodded and looked Gordon in the eye like any other man, so he guessed he’d had worse handshakes before in his life.

Mr. Coolatta released him and angled his head to his son. “Forgive me for my lateness, I… had to take care of some things on the ah, ‘out-side,’ as it were.”

“It’s fine, Dad,” Tommy answered, then added, “I picked up the pizza.”

His father’s eyes lit on the boxes, seemingly for the first time. “Dion’s,” he observed. “Excellent choice.”

After a short, awkward silence, Gordon blurted, “should we eat?” and Tommy sighed a grateful “yes,” before nudging his father toward the dining room.

As Gordon took a step to gather the pizzas into his arms, he felt Tommy skate his fingers delicately across the inside of his palm.

“Thank you,” he murmured in his ear, quiet and just for him.

Gordon wasn’t sure what exactly Tommy was thanking him for, but he caught his hand before he could withdraw and gave a reassuring squeeze. He was warm and solid and alive, and it anchored him.

“We got this,” he told Tommy, smiling.

The dining room was another testament to Mr. Coolatta’s decorating tastes. Gordon was not quite successful in withholding a chuckle when he noticed a Live, Laugh, Love sign on the wall, and this earned him a gentle elbow in the ribs from his partner. Tommy was carrying a set of plates and silverware in one hand and some napkins in another.

When Gordon offered to help set the table, Tommy only shook his head mischievously, and the cutlery leapt from his hands on their own.

Right. He was dating a demigod. This was a detail Gordon often forgot about, if only for the fact that Tommy displayed his power in subtle, quiet ways that went unnoticed. Here, however, he had no such reservations.

This was a Tommy Gordon hadn’t gotten to see yet, and he caught himself staring as he set the table without even touching a plate. He handled himself with an ease he didn’t show out in public, manipulating space with a well-practiced comfort that indicated years of doing it this way. A Coolatta ritual, for Coolattas only. Gordon, an outsider, felt his nervousness slowly melt into gratitude at being invited to the table. He understood now - Tommy didn’t want Gordon here just to smooth things over with his father. He wanted to share his life with him, every jigsawed piece of it.

Conversation was easier than anticipated. Tommy led the discussion at first, updating his father on his new job at the VLA in Socorro. Working with radios in the quiet desert, listening to the stars, seemed to suit him, and the fondness with which he recalled his nighttime shifts alone was genuine. Gordon tucked into his slice of 505 (pepperoni and green chile) and watched Mr. Coolatta’s facial expression as he absorbed the information.

The man sat perfectly still except to give acknowledging nods here and there, and his pizza remained untouched on his plate. At least, that was Gordon’s first assumption, until he realized the slice was gradually disappearing bite by bite every time he looked away. Mr. Coolatta’s face was impassive as always when Gordon gave him a questioning look, and when Tommy didn’t acknowledge the mystical pizza disappearance, he chose not to say anything about it.

“Mister Freeman,” the man in the suit said after a time, turning his swirling gaze on his guest. “It is my under-standing that you… have a new profession, as well?”

Gordon, figuring he’d picked up the “Mister Freeman” thing from Tommy, didn’t bother to correct him. “Yeah, I’m teaching physics at NMT,” he answered.

He didn’t think he’d enjoy an academic environment all that much, choosing to teach as a backup while he pursued streaming in the meantime, but he was developing a fondness for it. His students were bright individuals, and some of them were just as weird as he was, which kept his days interesting.

Gordon wasn’t one to discuss his new job at length with anyone. It felt strange, after everything he lived through, to complain about something as trivial as grading papers or writing coursework. But Mr. Coolatta was among a handful of individuals who knew exactly what happened to him during his employment at Black Mesa, so he felt what he said next was entirely understood by everyone at the table.

“It’s a nice change of pace,” he added. “Things are better.”

“Yes,” Tommy’s father answered. “I have… heard the same from Tommy. It is, good to know that the two of you are, hm, recovering well.”

His tone was one step away from apologetic, and Gordon was sure he imagined it, but he was touched by the sentiment nonetheless. Tommy smiled softly down at his plate and didn’t say anything. They were recovering well, weren’t they? Finding a place for themselves. Learning how to be human again.

Gordon wasn’t sure, at first, if it would ever be possible. The Resonance Cascade was the worst thing that ever happened to him, but… Tommy was the best thing that ever happened to him. And even with all the complicated emotions that surrounded the Coolatta family, he was happy to be here. He was happy to see that small, private smile cross Tommy’s face.

The evening concluded with Gordon and Mr. Coolatta getting into a discussion about whether a hotdog was actually a sandwich, with Tommy joining in as moderator and rewarding imaginary points as they each went over their arguments. They wiped out the pizzas handily between the three of them. When Gordon had to excuse himself to begin the drive back to Socorro, Mr. Coolatta initiated another handshake with him. It was only a little less weird the second time.

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” Tommy offered.

The setting sun bled a soft orange onto the neighborhood as the two of them left the house. Tommy kept his hands in his pockets, just barely brushing shoulders with Gordon as they went.

“Thank you,” he said again.

“Yeah, thanks for inviting me,” Gordon responded. “It was nice.”

They pulled to a stop next to the station wagon. “Sorry Dad’s so…” Tommy trailed off and shrugged. “Like that,” he finished.

His eyes were down, studying the sidewalk as he scuffed the sole of his shoe on the concrete. His expression was drawn, but Gordon could see from the crinkle of his eyes that he was happy with how the night turned out.

“Hey,” Gordon said.

Tommy’s eyes flicked up to meet his. His gaze was sharp and watchful, cutting Gordon in a way he found he liked.

“Don’t feel like you need to apologize for your dad,” Gordon said. “He’s cool. And I’m… Like, I’m glad you wanted me there. I had a good time,” he rambled further, “and it’s - I haven’t been to dinner with someone in a long time, and it was just - like it was really nice to just talk about stuff with family like that.”

Tommy’s mouth split into a smile, face flushing slightly as Gordon said the word ‘family.’ “Yeah,” he agreed. “It was nice. This is - we should do this again.”

The fact that there would be a next time sent a rush of emotion into Gordon’s chest. He loved Tommy, loved how trusting he was to invite him to such a private part of his life. Certainly this was difficult for him to do, but he allowed Gordon Freeman, of all people, to cross the threshold and see inside. He was close enough to be considered family. Sheer affection made him dizzy.

Tommy’s smile was infectious, causing Gordon to grin outright. “I’ll see you back home later?” he asked.

“Mm hm,” Tommy nodded. He leaned in, but stopped short when Gordon held up a hand in protest.

“Uh,” he intoned, pointing. “Your dad is totally watching us from the window.”

Tommy glanced over his shoulder and caught the dark visage of his father beyond the glass. He rolled his eyes, still smiling, and gestured with a hand. The curtains snapped shut at his command. “No, he isn’t,” he said.

They kissed on the curb, Gordon laughing softly into Tommy’s mouth. He was home already.

#hlvrai #freelatta #tommy coolatta #gordon freeman hlvrai #fanfiction #writing #pin talks #listen i think about tommys relationship with his father a lot....#but this was not the fic for that #anyway please enjoy this was very sweet for me to write i smiled a lot #i love them....#gman hlvrai

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addams-beineke · 5 years ago

Note

didnt queer start off as a slur n then was reclaimed to an identity... where as gay was an identity then turned into an insult (but not slur) because of homophobia (like... calling a person gay is only negative because of the negative perception of lgbt folks

Gay has meant basically, sexual immorality, since as early as the 1300s (whereas the word queer didn’t even exist until the 1500s) and had fully gained that meaning by the late 1600s. Gay and Queer both specifically became slurs for LGBT people around the same time in the late 1800s but gay had been in use for male prostitutes who serviced men for a long time before that. Queer actually began being reclaimed around the same time it started being a slur because a lot of gay men preferred it to being called a fairy, which was another slur that had been partially reclaimed at the time, or homophile, which was their very scientific official name that now sounds a lot like another word we don’t want to be associated with.

Funny enough, by the 1940s, some young gay men had started referring to themselves as gay and would often chastise older men who called themselves queer....now why does that sound familiar? The origins of the reclaimation of gay actually comes from a place of internalized homophobia as it was butchier gay men who didn’t want to be associated with “those effeminate queers” who reclaimed the word for that purpose and that purpose alone. The reclaimation of gay as an umbrella term really started in the late 1950s, but the community as a whole had shifted to queer by the late 1980s because people really only see a certain subset (see: gay men, who almost all of this has exclusively applied to up to this point because lesbians and trans people and certainly bisexuals were not really believed by the general public to exist) as gay and because in a time of increasing activism thanks to the AIDS crisis, the community didn’t WANT to be associated with a word that describes them as happy. They were PISSED. They wanted people to associate them with a word that means weird because they wanted the reminder that the rest of the world will always perceive them as different. It was also very much the preferred term of LGBT people of color because in their minds, the “gay” community had been hijacked by white liberal conservatives who were willing to make concessions to their human rights so long as they were granted basic things like military inclusion, marriage, adoption rights (all important things but definitely not the whole picture, as we know full well in this the year 2020) so that they could more seamlessly blend in with straight people, while the queer movement was all about civil disobedience and direct action in order to be recognized as a minority group all its own, and if not for their actions, the so-called gay assimililists wouldn’t have been granted ANY of the rights they cared about.

Basically, queer was reclaimed in the Victorian Era, the WWII tough guy gays said “okay but actually, we don’t want to be associated with THEM” and reclaimed gay to counter it, and by the 1980s-1990s, they had basically split off into two groups with the gay movement being the more politically conservative of the two while the queer movement’s the one that actually got shit done and tended to include more than just white gays.

Also there is no difference between a slur and an insult based on someone’s minority status. They’re both slurs.

#boom #long post #sorry for the essay but there’s a lot here

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crosbymalkin871 · 4 years ago

Text

The Price of Love (1/?)

CHAPTER TITLE: All It Takes is One Huge Paycheck…

RATING: M PAIRINGS/CHARACTERS: E. Malkin/S. Crosby

CHAPTER WARNINGS/KINK: Alcohol, Foul Language, mentions of Prostitution, Mario Lemieux, vague allusions to Smut

AUTHOR’S NOTE: FINALLY! AFTER FOUR-FIVE MONTHS OF NO HOCKEY, THE LACK OF MOTIVATION, AND ME ACTUALLY NOT HAVING TO DEAL WITH A LOT OF STRESS, I’M FINALLY BACK!!!! Originally I wanted to post this the night of game 1, but shit happened and then I tried to post it before game 2, but y’all are getting it today! XD As a piece of compensation on my end, chapter 2 will be posted on Sunday evening. I promise, and if I don’t keep my word, bash me in the head with a hockey stick until I get a concussion.

Before you all begin reading, I just have to say thank you to everyone who has messaged me their excitement and their support throughout these difficult moments, it really means a lot. I also wish to extend my appreciation to 3 specific individuals: my friends @justinschultzy & @eafay70, and my dear Zhenya aka @cakemakethme (who will also be my Beta from chapter 2 or 3 onward). You three were the ones I continuously messaged updates on and your cheerleading was what ended up leading me to finishing this. So thank you very, very much! xxx

I have been wanting to write this fic for…gosh, maybe 2-3 years now and it’s finally being presented to all of you. I’m so excited for everyone to read it and to join me on this insane rollercoaster that is The Price of Love. With that all said and done I hope you all enjoy it, like and reblog, and I will (hopefully) post more sometime in the near future.

DISCLAIMER: I am not the owner of the Pittsburgh Penguins, or are associated with anyone in the NHL. I just have a very strong imagination.

A variety of noises ring out in Geno’s ears.

“Beer, over here!”

“Four sangrias for table three.”

“Vodka. Straight.”

“Whisky on the rocks.”

“Daiquiri. Make it a double.”

“Two champagne cocktails for table seven.”

Orders just keep coming and coming. He had been tossing and filling up a number of glasses and flutes for hours, sending them out left and right at the bar with almost no chance of having a small break in between. It was alright though, he grew used to it throughout his years of being one of the many favored bartenders at the Emperor Nightclub.

That, and he gets some real good money out of it, collecting all the large tips he gets whenever he cleans up the dirtied tables afterward.

With he and Tanger, his best friend and the other tender manning the bar, it feels like a marathon— albeit an easy one— to serve the feisty ladies and semi-agro men currently trying to take over the club.

The Emperor Nightclub is still up and running as the night starts to grow late. With a birthday bunch, a small group of ladies having a girl’s night, a married couple looking for a partner or two to join their bed (whether they were open or poly, Geno wasn’t sure), and college graduates dominating the patrons tonight along with the regulars— the nightclub roars as if it is New Year’s Eve in NYC instead of any other weekend in Pittsburgh.

No empty space could be seen on sight from where he was standing, with new patrons coming in the later part of the night, while the earlier patrons have made the decision to stay even after hours of partying and hollering.

Geno was given a small break as the crowd in front of the bar disperses, having been satisfied with the drinks they were given, taking whatever leftover bills he was given as a form of tip.

So far, it was a relatively good night for him.

Well…until a small, very familiar group came in, with the leader catching his eye like he usually does.

Being a bartender at a pretty famous nightclub in Pittsburgh, he sees a whole spectrum of people walking in and out of the nightclub’s doors: with some of them wanting to down tons and tons of alcohol that’ll make them black out until tomorrow afternoon, and others being on the prowl for someone to either take to their car, a nearby hotel, or even the nightclub’s bathroom.

One of them was about three or four, sometimes even more, prostitutes that are part of the latter category, but that doesn’t mean that they won’t take the time to chat with the bartenders, something that always brightened Geno’s night, especially when he was continuously swamped with drink orders…

…which is how Geno’s break ends: more people clamoring to the bar.

As of on cue, the moment that he continues to engage in dealing with patron’s drinks, the orders come rolling in even faster that he almost skipped a beat. From the corner of his eye, he could see the expression on Tanger’s face becoming more focused as his orders keep coming in with some extra flirting and touching from the patrons on his part.

He snorts at that. While Geno didn’t necessarily mind a customer or two coming up to flirt with him, he was never really interested in them, only responding back just to make their night a little bit better.

Out of all of his friends, it was Tanger that got the most attention from the patrons, with he following at a close second. It made sense because the French-Canadian looked like a supermodel. And himself? Well he wasn’t really sure if American people have a thing for foreigners like him, but he continuously gets complimented on his ability to wear a suit. So he considers that a plus.

His other friend, Dumo, tended to get third; primarily because he got a lot of attention from the college kids, either doing an insane number of shots or just randomly asking about his athletic abilities. Needless to say, it was very amusing to watch him wrack attention from the younger crowd. Though if anybody were to catch his eye, they should be aware of how damn good a cook he was.

The other two bartenders, Big Rig and Schultzy, also managed to garner themselves some attention from the patrons. Big Rig, for his height as he stood almost 7 feet tall (much taller than Geno), and Schultzy, for his happy-go-lucky personality. It was always something that made event the downiest of drinkers smile a little.

Even if he feels just a tad overwhelmed by the all of the drinks he has to quickly make, getting a glimpse of dark, curly black hair and a thick, white fur coat was enough to quell his nerves.

“You all need some additional help?”

A voice comes from Geno’s left side and it makes him jump a little (but not enough to make him mess up an order, which he has done before and has given the person who scared him a very stern talking to). He looks over to see who it was and finds Dumo standing there with his usual laid-back smile. Geno may or may not have breathed out a small sigh of relief at his arrival.

“Possibly, considering that G has been trying to catch a glimpse of Sid rather than seeing how much booze he’s pouring in.” Tanger smirks, placing at Geno teasingly.

Geno rolled his eyes and answered with a scoff. “Yeah. Like you not staring at Flower too, Tanger.” He feels a little vindication when seeing the French-Canadian man scowl in return. “But help always needed, Dumo. Things getting a bit out of hand and no one planning on going home soon.” Even though he knows he’ll get teased about it even more, his eyes couldn’t help wander off around the club, looking at all the excitement that is still going strong.

And again, seeing black curls and a white fur coat— Sid was his name— releases some of the tension in his shoulders.

“Alright then.” Dumo clapped his hands before he started to roll his sleeves of his button-up. “No one is really wanting drinks on my end of the bar, might as well waste time by giving you guys a hand.”

Neither Tanger or Geno responded to him as he already accepted his first round of orders from the loud frat boys and flighty sorority girls welcoming him, leaving the other two to tend the ones lining up at their respective corners.

Within the next minute or so, all three of them found themselves falling into a rhythm as they worked side-by-side, the drinks continuing to flow out and tips continuing to flow in. And with more patrons visiting the bar, come more even more orders and even more tips.

The extra pair of hands certainly help a lot in making the work feel a whole lot easier.

Dumo serves every patron that tries to start a conversation with him, listen to their problems in one ear while paying attention to orders in the other. He also subtly brushes off any flirty advances, but he does throw a smile here and a wink there to please all who are openly staring at him. He even does a little dance to the beat of the music as a little extra entertainment.

“Should’ve been a stripper, Dumo.” Tanger tells him as he stuffs some more bills into his pockets. “Missed the chance to be Magic Mike in Hollywood, but there’s still a chance here.”

Geno snorts as he slides a mint julep down the bar.

“Ha ha. Very funny, Tanger,” Dumo states unamused. “Can say the same about you too.”

Tanger just flips him off while Geno snorts again.

Eventually, the orders died down and the patrons scattered about. Dumo returned to the other bar on the opposite side of the room with Schultzy and Big Rig, while Tanger cleaned up any spilled alcohol left on the bar top.

Geno, meanwhile, began pouring more cocktails, glasses of wine, and laying more beer bottles onto a tray; but these were for any of the people hugging their half-full drinks, or for the tables that were littered with empty glasses and lime wedges.

No. This tray of drinks are for a certain group that he had noticed earlier.

Carefully, yet a little giddily, he manages to carry the tray single-handedly, and without spilling a single drop of liquor, all the way to a very specific table within the Emperor Nightclub.

As he walks closer and closer, the wild pacing of his heartbeat grows more and more. When he finally reaches the table, standing behind the object of his secret affections, he quietly gulps and places a gentle hand on his fur-covered shoulder.

The man stops whatever he was doing and turns around to look at him. And Geno swears he could feel his breath escaping his lungs and his rapidly-beating heart stopping.

Aside from their beautiful curly hair, the man also had the prettiest brown eyes and the biggest, most kissable lips imaginable (not that the bartender would ever admit that to him). He also had on an outfit that was not afraid to show off his…well, assets; outside of the white fur coat, he wore a white crop top with a red maple leaf on it, black leather shorts that magically fits his ass, and past those long, thick legs were a pair of black stripped high-heels that decorated his feet.

Sid smiles kindly at him, his teeth showing behind those glossed lips. “Hi, Geno.” he calls in his deep yet sweet-sounding voice. It didn’t sound flirtatious or seductive, which is normally how he talked to his clients, with the bartender, he always sounded genuine and pleasantly happy to see him serving drinks to him and his friends.

Geno nervously smiled back. “H-Hey, Sid,” he replies, silently curing himself for stammering in front of a prostitute who he may or may not have a big crush on. “Flower, Segway, Mitch,” he also greeted, who were all looking at him before he grabbed Sid’s attention. He began setting down the cocktails, wine, and beer. “Here are usual orders.”

The three other men accepted their drinks: a margarita, a beer, and a glass of white wine, respectively.

Still smiling, Sid happily accepted his cosmopolitan, plucking a strawberry off the skewer that was resting atop the martini glass. “Thanks, G,” he says before popping the mini strawberry into his mouth. “I know everyone has their favorite bartenders, but I still say you make the best cocktails.”

Hearing that from Sid (and watching him eat a simple piece of fruit) was enough to bring a blush and a dumbstruck smile to Geno’s face. “H-Heh…Thanks, Sid.”

Sid nods, eyes shining with a glint of something as he takes a sip of his cocktail.

It was a small moment or two of awkward (on the bartender’s part at least) silence before he coughed. “I, uhm, I’m best get back to work, so…bye.” With that, he quickly flees back to the bar.

(As he did so, he heard the soft giggles coming from Sid, but he failed to see him lightly admonish his friends as they smirked at the obvious crush the bartender had.)

After that little incident, Geno spent the rest of the night catering to any other patron that walked up and asked for— or sloppily demanded— drinks. Whenever he had a spare moment or two, he would glance up at table eight, watching the small group of friends chatting, laughing, and attempting to flirt with some of the other patrons that would stop by their table.

Part of Geno’s heart crumbled whenever he saw Sid respond to some of the men’s flirtatious mannerisms, whether it be throwing out seductive words, or a teasing touch, or even a tickle of breath or the faint press of lips.

He knows Sid isn’t tied down to someone. Why would he, the man was a prostitute after all. But that didn’t mean watching him act like that with others didn’t hurt.

From the moment he first met Sid, back when they were teenagers to young adults and Geno had just started working at the Emperor Nightclub, he always harbored secretly feelings for the young Canadian. He remembered the first time he ever plucked up the courage to speak to him and slide him a cocktail: one of his first attempts at a watermelon cooler, too easy of a drink to mess up on.

It was a bit strong on the booze and not fruity enough, but Sid didn’t tell him that. He just smiled and thanked him in a voice that oozed sensuality and charm, throwing in a wink for good measure. When he saw how awkwardly the bartender responded to it— by stammering and not completely picking up the subtle cue— he dropped the act, apologizing for making him feel awkward. To which Geno has to apologize as well, because he didn’t meant to make the moment awkward, he just wasn’t good at responding to someone who was cute like him.

That made Sid pause and blush, looking away from the bartender for a split second before gazing back up at him, a gentle smile on his face. This caused Geno to smile back, the both of them feeling a bit more relaxed than before. When the awkwardness of it all faded away, the two of them began to chat during the bartender’s break, or whenever he would get a breather from serving. In those small conversations, he realized that the flirty prostitute was actually…very dorky.

A dorky man who had a passion for history, craved mozzarella sticks and cheesecake, and had a strong affinity for sports just like he once did. And he had the goofiest laugh Geno had ever heard and thought it adorable. Seeing this, Sid’s true colors was what made him slowly start to fall in love.

But deep down, he knew that Sid would never feel the same about him. To him, it was fairly certain that he would get rejected upon confessing his feelings. So, in every encounter the two had after that, Geno would simply swallow his feelings and allowed Sid to flirt and be affectionate with other men that weren’t him.

They were just friends, nothing more.

(Although he can’t help but secretly wish for that to change one day).

Geno sighed sadly and began to untie his apron, ready to go into the staff room and change back into his regular clothes when Tanger tapped him on the shoulder. He looked over at him, ready to tie his apron back on, when he sees him pointing to the stairs near the back of the nightclub.

Coming down the stairs was owner Mario Lemieux.

He turned back to Tanger, brow raised. “So? He does that a lot.”

“Yeah he makes his rounds like he usually does, but does he ever personally come to us for anything? Usually it’s Jen that does it for him.” Tanger points out as they see Mario making his way over to the bar areas.

Geno hummed. He had a fair point, usually it was Jen, Mario’s personal assistant, that went and searched for them whenever he needed to have a conversation with them. In any other instance, the bartender would not hesitate to flee whenever he could, but she would usually find him in the end.

But Mario himself coming out to talk to one— or maybe all of them— was highly unusual.

It was even more unusual when he realizes that Mario coming towards him. He didn’t know whether he should run, or accept whatever was going to be handed to him.

Still tying his apron back on just in case, he meets Mario halfway: near the dance floor but not that far from the tables.

“Ah, Geno,” he says as the bartender comes up to him. “I was just coming to talk to you.”

“Need me to stay extra hours?” he asked, seconds away from letting out a tired sigh. He doesn’t like the idea of staying later than 1 or 2 AM on most days, but if the boss says so, he’ll make an exception.

“No, actually,” Mario shakes head making Geno confused. “I wanted to give you something.” He hands the bartender an envelope.

Taking it, Geno still looked confused as to what it was until he opened it, then his eyes widened in shock.

“Boss, are you— Are you serious?!” he exclaimed as he looked between the envelope in his hand, then back at Mario.

“It’s just little bonus, if you will, for being one of my best workers.”

“This more than bonus and you know it!”

Mario placated him by resting a hand on his shoulder. “As I said, you deserve it,” he reassured. “I know it’s more than what you normally make, and more than the other bonuses I give, but there’s nothing wrong with giving a little bit more to hard workers like you.”

Geno gazed back down at the envelope. Inside was a bonus check of over $10,000.

“But—”

“No buts.” Mario tells him seriously. “I mean it. You’ve been very dedicated to your work from the beginning, even if you were completely new to it. But you quickly improved over time and became a favorite amongst The Emperor’s patrons. It’s not hard to see why, Geno. So, go on, take the extra bonus. Do whatever you want with it, a gift from me to you.”

With that, he gave the bartender a pat on the back before heading back upstairs to his office.

The whole time, Geno’s eyes never left the check.

It was a large amount of money. In fact, it was double than what he normally makes for a bonus: $5000 at most, but if his boss said that he deserved it…well, who was he to deny himself a paycheck like this.

Finally, his eyes left the large sum of money, trailing back to the beautiful prostitute that was still sitting at table eight.

Maybe…maybe his chance had finally come. He may not be able to have a proper relationship with Sid, but he could at least spend one magical night with him, for however long he could make it.

He didn’t know what Sid charged for his services, but he hoped ten thousand dollars was enough to satisfy him (he was sure that it was, he was just being really nervous about confronting him).

Gulping, the bartender slowly— and anxiously— makes his way back to table eight. Along the way, he tries to remember all of the fancy restaurants that are in Pittsburgh, and there are quiet a number of them within the city and the surrounding area.

There was the Altius that has an amazing view of the city… the Monterey Bay Fish Grotto is one of the most famous restaurants… LeMont has been around for decades and is still highly regarded… most of the locals would know about the Grand Concourse… since he liked boats, one of the Gateway Clipper’s Dining Cruises would be nice…

Maybe the Hyeholde since it almost be like dining at a castle… the Carlton has a lot of national recognition… Bravo! Italian Kitchen has a good menu and they do have creme brûlée...

Or…he may just happen to like the Cheesecake Factory instead.

Before he could even make a final decision on what he was going to say, he was standing right in front of Sid (or behind, since his back was turned to him). Luckily for him, his other friends were either out on the dance floor or chatting up the other bartenders; maybe they were in the back lounges, but Geno doesn’t really care, he needed to focus on his main objective right now: gaining Sid’s attention, even if it was for one night.

Reaching a hand out, he hesitates for a split second before he decides to gently tap Sid on the shoulders.

The prostitute turned around to see who was standing behind him again, smiling when he realized who it was. “Hey, G. What’s up?” he asks curiously while he licks something sticky off his fingers.

Geno stared for a hot minute before quickly snapping out of it. “U-Uhm—!” He blushed and scratched the back of his head. “I-I want you to know that Mario gave me big bonus just now…”

Sid smiled wider at that. “That’s great, G! How much of a bonus was it? The usual 5k?”

He shook his head, looking away shyly. “No…gave me double that.”

Brown eyes widened as he exclaimed, “Wait. He gave you $10,000?!”

Geno nodded, showing him the envelop with the check in it. “Yeah, and uhm…was wondering if…” He blushed darker, still keeping his eyes away from Sid.

The prostitute was looking at him with concern now. “If uhm…You want to spend a night with me…?”

Sid stayed silent for the longest time, staring blankly at the bartender as he processed what he just asked him. “Geno, are you— Are you asking me to…service you?”

“Yes. I mean, no! Argh!” The bartender shook his head, feeling more embarrassed and stupid now. “What I’m mean is…I take you to fancy restaurant, maybe do shopping, and…” The blush on his face grew darker. “I-If you wanted, we can go to hotel and… you serve me.”

A blush now came to the prostitute’s face. “O-Oh…”

Geno makes a flustered noise, still not looking Sid.

“I don’t— I-I don’t charge that much for a night's service, Geno,’ he tells the bartender with a shy voice. “Y-You can’t spend 10 grand on me in one night…”

“I-I’m know,” he nods. “But I’m try.”

Sid’s blush grew darker as he now looked away from the bartender. Neither one of them really knew what to say after that, the moment growing tenser and more awkward by the second.

Eventually, the prostitute was the one to speak first. “E-Even if you can’t spend all that money on me…it’d be nice to spend a night with you.”

Geno’s head snaps back to Sid, his own dark brown eyes widened at what he said. “R-Really?”

A small smile came to the prostitute’s face as he nodded. “Yeah,” he admits shyly, now looking back at the bartender. “I really do.”

He’s never admitted this to him, but he’s had a crush on Geno for a very long time now, ever since they met as teenagers in this very nightclub. He always thought the bartender would never want to be in a relationship with him because of what he does, but after hearing what he just said to him, he might actually have a chance to see if they would really work out.

“Uhm, great!” Geno exclaims with a grin.

Sid smiles a little more. “Did you have a particular restaurant in mind?”

The bartender pondered on the choices he thought about earlier before finally making a decision. “Altius?” he asks. “Is on Grandview Avenue and have good view of skyline.”

“Sounds great,” Sid nods in approval. “Maybe we could stop by the Cheesecake Factory afterwards. I haven’t had any in a long time and I’m overdue for a craving.”

“I figure you say that,” Geno chuckled. “Had that in back of mind in case you say no.”

An embarrassed giggle managed to escape the prostitute’s lips. “I guess I make my love of cheesecake very obvious, eh?”

“You do, but is okay,” Geno reassures. “I like that about you.”

Another giggle, this time, one that was more airy and a little bit giddy-sounding. “So, when did you want to do this? Tomorrow night?”

“We can do that,” he nods. “I take night off.”

“Are you Mario would allow that?” Sid raises a teasing brow at him. “I mean, he did just give you a big bonus. He may change his mind when he hears you taking a day off.”

Geno waved at him nonchalantly. “Eh. He not mind.” he tells him. “Besides, be nice to get away from club for one night. And I spending night with you, so is good reason.” He lightly smirked at him.

Sid’s blush couldn’t get any redder, but it manages to with the bartender’s words. Just then a waiter came by and served him another drink, this time, a vibrant sunrise cocktail.

He takes the drink with a nod and a slight smirk before the waiter walks away. He takes a sip before turning back to Geno, his smirk growing in seductiveness. “So,” he starts before licking his lips, a little cayenne salt sticking to them. “Will I be seeing you tomorrow night?”

The bartender gulped and managed to nod, trying to keep his dirty thoughts at bay. “Yeah…see you tomorrow night.”

#SidGeno #Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin #otp: we grew up together here #hockey rpf #my hockey fanfiction #mpreg tw #The Price of Love

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virtual-toast · 4 years ago

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Scream Queens VH1 recap - Season 1 Episode 2

Michelle, Sarah, Kylah, and Jessica come back from the grand ballroom and the rest of the girls are shocked and/or pissed that Jo-Anne went home instead of Kylah. Lindsay says “This house will mourn the loss of Jo-Anne” and Sarah, in tears, calls her “such a sensational actress”, which are both super melodramatic reactions, you knew Jo-Anne for three days, but okay. Meanwhile Kylah has no idea why everyone is upset that she’s still there haha.

The following day sees Kylah declaring the house has been divided into the “queen bitches” (herself, Michelle, Lina, and Angela) and the “more homely girls” (Marissa, Lindsay, and Sarah). I’m assuming she’s put Tanedra and Jessica in the latter category too but she doesn’t mention them specifically. The bitchy girls talk shit about the other girls behind their backs, specifically about how they think Sarah didn’t deserve to win the previous episode, that she’s ugly and annoying, etc.

The girls meet up with Shawnee who tells them they have 15 minutes to dress themselves up and impress a casting director (Kelly Wagner, who seems pretty cool tbh) with the winner getting a guaranteed callback. While getting ready, Michelle and Angela mention that if the winner is not one of the bitchy girls, the competition must be rigged. An awful lot of confidence for week 2, lol.

The girls go back into the room with Shawnee and meet Kelly. They take turns doing a sort of one on one interview / audition, which I’m gonna summarise in dot points because they each get a small amount of screen time:

Lindsay talks about being a child actor and Kelly says that means she probably actually has a harder job than someone just starting out. Lindsay is wearing a weird sort of frilly top and skirt with polka dots but it somehow doesn’t really work for her shape, and Kelly mentions it as well as Shawnee straight up calling her frumpy. True, but also, rude.

Lina goes up and immediately shakes Kelly’s hand. She doesn’t even get a word out before Kelly is like “yeah no, don’t shake casting directors’ hands, personal space / germs” etc.

Kylah talks about playing Price is Right with her brother which Kelly says is a bad choice because she’s automatically associating herself with being a model rather than an actress. Kylah proceeds to mention that she wants to “get ugly, get dirty, like Halle Berry did in Monster.” cringe

Marissa gets up and starts off on this huge spiel about how horror films are like modern Greek tragedies and everyone is just staring at her like GIRL WHAT.

Michelle introduces herself and Kelly asks if she primarily does theatre because of her big personality. Michelle proceeds to brag about being Miss Teen Texas.

Jessica is wearing a smart-casual outfit of jeans and a simple white top with her trademark giant hoop earrings. Kelly comments on her look being unique. Jessica is kinda speaking like a cute little girl who doesn’t want to let the evil out??

Angela mentions how she thinks she has the stereotypical horror “look”. Her outfit isn’t relevant but I have to mention it anyway - it honestly looks like she cut the top off a blue evening gown to wear as a shirt?? and then just jeans. Like idk.

Sarah introduces herself and Kelly immediately comments on her unique nasally voice.

Tanedra tells Kelly that she has no formal training. Kelly says “And you think you can beat out all these girls?” and Tanedra’s like YES. Fuck yeah get it girl.

So Kelly goes ahead and gives her overall impressions - Kylah has no personality, Angela has the best horror look, Lindsay looks like the best friend rather than the leading lady, Marissa is the one she didn’t remember, and she liked Jessica’s personal style. Ultimately she gives Jessica the guaranteed callback, and also sends Lindsay and Marissa for makeovers which Michelle finds hilarious.

The girls go back into the house and Kylah proceeds to have a tantrum about not winning, stating that if the casting director was a man the results would have been different. But get this, she DOES NOT CHANGE EXPRESSION THE ENTIRE TIME. Even when she’s yelling “I’M ABOUT TO CRY” she literally just has this blank look on her face like is she actually made of wax?? Meanwhile Lindsay and Marissa have their makeovers, Lindsay gets a cool short reverse A-line bob cut and looks really badass, while Marissa gets her hair dyed jet black and cut in choppy layers. It looks fine but you can tell by her face Marissa is not happy.

The girls go to Homa’s class and since the week is all about first impressions, they have to do freeze frame shots of particular expressions, I guess so they can see what they actually look like vs. what they think they look like or something. Most of the girls do pretty well, Tanedra kills it again, Marissa bombs, and Kylah once again LITERALLY DOES NOT CHANGE EXPRESSION. What the fuck.

Back at the house the girls are all gushing over Lindsay and Marissa’s makeovers, Michelle voices her jealousy despite earlier thinking it was hilarious, and Angela is mad that she’s no longer the only one with her “look”, even though she and Marissa don’t look the same at all, the only similarity is the colour of their hair?? Marissa goes and has a cry about her hair because she’s now lost all her confidence and honestly it’s actually kinda sad / hard to watch.

The next day they find one of the rooms in the house has been filled with creepy dolls and of course one of them is actually a person that jumps out and scares them because omg what a funny prank haha. The “doll” tells them their director’s challenge is a photoshoot which many of the girls are stoked about. They’re basically given generic horror themes and have to shoot the poster. Dot points again!

Lina gets “Tie Die” and her costume is literally a length of rope that’s wrapped around her. She immediately cracks the shits and goes into full blown diva mode, complaining about her costume, how apparently difficult her theme is compared to other girls, telling the makeup and hair people how to do their jobs, etc. Whaaaaat, Lina is a bitch?? This is brand new information!! Unfortunately she still does a really good job with the photoshoot.

Lindsay gets “Blinded By the Fright” and her costume is a hospital gown and white contact lenses, which she has difficulty putting in but is EXTREMELY polite about it with the makeup lady (a nice juxtaposition to Lina’s bitch fest). Lindsay also does really well in the photoshoot.

Kylah gets “Thin Skin” which she comments sounds like a porno, lmao. Her costume is literally just black liquid latex painted all over her body and the other girls are fucking FROTHING with jealously. Kylah proceeds to completely bomb the challenge, giving absolutely no emotion and James literally has no idea how to direct her.

Michelle gets “Don’t Go in the Water” and is basically just wearing a bikini, but then James dumps a bottle of cold water all over her. She does really well in the photoshoot.

Sarah gets “Blood Skate”, her costume is just a bloody ice skating outfit, and she does okay.

Tanedra gets “Prom Scream”, she is wearing a bloody prom dress, and she does really well.

Jessica gets “The Butcher’s Girl” and she’s literally wearing a hat, gloves, no shirt, just an apron and shorts? And there’s blood? This one confuses me. She does okay.

Angela gets “Monster’s Wedding” which some of the other girls (correctly) complain is SUPER easy - she’s literally in a wedding dress posing with a bloody hand prop. She does fine but I mean all she has to do is stand there and smile??

Marissa gets “Mummy Maker” and she’s wrapped in what I assume are bandages but it looks like toilet paper? She’s pretty covered, including the bottom half of her face, and she’s supposed to be seductive but honestly it kinda just feels like an awkward interpretive dance??

The next day back at the house, Marissa vents to the other girls about her insecurity with her new hair. Like I know it’s just hair but it’s kinda sad, they completely changed her look which obviously fucks with her confidence. The girls get their photoshoot posters and everyone is stoked except Marissa (rightfully) and Lindsay, who basically has an anxiety attack and hates hers even though everyone is telling her how great it is. Whoo boy I relate to Lindsay so hard. Jessica reads the list which summons Marissa, Kylah, Lindsay, and Lina to the grand ballroom. They all think they’re at the bottom except Lina, who of course thinks she’s top shit.

In the grand ballroom, Lina gets pulled forward and despite doing well in the challenge, the judges straight up read her for being a bitch, which is hella satisfying let me tell you. Lindsay gets pulled forward and the judges tell her that she did an awesome job and that she needs to go easier on herself, before awarding her the week’s leading lady. Marissa and Kylah are predictably the bottom two, Marissa gets told she’s overthinking everything and Kylah just that she’s completely emotionless. Kylah gets the axe and Marissa lives another week.

Stay tuned for Season 1 Episode 3!

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vincent-g-writer · 4 years ago

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The Silver Screen Savant: Thoughts on Hollywood Autism, Pt. 1

When I was a child, I didn’t fit in.

A common statement, many people empathize with. However, to say “I didn’t fit in,” is a gross understatement. I stuck out like a sore thumb, and at times, still do. Now, why was this, you may ask? Well, there are things I could name. A banal little checklist of traits and characteristics would probably do the trick. But I’m not sure that would do it justice. So I’ll tell you what it felt like:

I had trouble reading facial expressions, because people’s face, and hands, and body would say one thing, while their words said another. Smiles that didn’t reach the eyes. Laughs that were a little too hearty, or loud, or hollow. Disingenuous conversations and actions frustrated me. If lying was wrong, why were, as my mother used to call them “little white lies” acceptable? Why did we smile and thank our new neighbors for their homemade casserole dish, before promptly throwing it away when they left? These things, and many others, puzzled me. But the thing that puzzled me the most, was interacting with my peers. I didn’t understand the sensation of a hundred million bees, pricking me with electric anxiety when I went to school, or played with children in the neighborhood. I didn’t understand why they weren’t constantly talking, wondering, asking- about everything. I didn’t understand how their minds worked. Most of all, I didn’t understand why it physically hurt me to look into people’s eyes, child and adult alike. On the other hand, I did notice they didn’t like me very much. “You’re weird,” they would sneer. Or “you talk too much.” And, they were right. I knew they were. Even as I would wax poetic about all sorts of nonsense, like the difference between a cocoon and a chrysalis. I knew. But I couldn’t…I couldn’t shut myself off.

And that’s just one tiny example, of a lifetime.

Back then, if you’d asked what was “wrong” with me, on a good day, I would have shrugged. Other times, when I despised every fiber of my being, I’d parrot back the sentiments of my peers. “Freak,” “loser,” and “r*tard” were words I heard often. And for a long time, I believed them.

Today, I know differently. Not to say the above struggles no longer apply. If anything, some of them are worse. But now, I now longer blame or hate myself for being different. Now, I understand.

The Lightbulb Moment

In 2014, my daughter began speaking. She was four years old. Before then, she could say “dada,” “juice,” “two,” and “go.” The rest was garbled noises, when and if she made a sound. Most of the time, she didn’t. My wife and I were concerned, to say the least. But it wasn’t exactly a new worry. My princess never crawled, never pointed to get people’s attention, or show them things, and did not play with toys. Plus a host of other concerns. So we hopped on Google, and after about, oh, half an hour of research, got in touch with a doctor. Now, I feel like I must add the caveat here that we wanted to have her seen before then. However, many issues (including a bout of homelessness) prevented that. So we were a bit…late, in that regard. No matter. Her doc sent her to a local play therapist, and after about fifteen minutes of interaction, the therapist knew exactly what was going on: Our little Princess was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder.

But wait! There’s more-

Once this became clear, my wife started looking into other things. Her own independent research, as it were. She kept it to herself for a month or three, then avalanched it all into my lap . Our Princess wasn’t the only one, as it turned out. And really, had I ever bothered to look…it was obvious. But I was in denial. I couldn’t possibly be autistic. So, like the stubborn Taurus I am, I dug my heels in. I refused to discuss it, for almost year. But, my beloved wife, who is much smarter and wiser than I am, knew what to do. In the name of “research for Princess,” she had me read a list of common autistic traits/symptoms. And it all came crashing down. I couldn’t deny it anymore. I was, without a doubt, also on the spectrum.

The gift of the Media: Fear, self hatred, stigma…superpowers?

Now, you might be asking, why exactly did I doubt myself? Cultural association, of course. And by “cultural association,” what I really mean is “the media.” Mostly, anyway. See, I’ve noticed a trend. In movies, tv and books, autism is usually presented in one of two ways: The Rainman, or the Idiot Perma-child, who cannot care for themselves. And I’m neither.

On the one hand, I was a straight A student. I could sleep through classes and make 100%. I was reading by the age of three or four, and I graduated highschool at fifteen. On the other, I have been known to go a full forty-eight hours without eating, because I “didn’t think about it.”

But I’m not the autistic person you see on tv. Now, that isn’t to say those people don’t exist. They do. For example, my daughter deals with much more noticable struggles than I ever have, while I have another member of my family (also on the spectrum) who is a certifiable genius. And I’ve known many others who are “obviously” autistic, whereas I pass as allistic* (see footnotes below) easily. Which is a sad discourse altogether, really. One the one hand, an “obviously” autistic person, what one might call “Low Functioning” (I could write a whole other post about why “low/high functioning” labels are harmful, however, for the sake of brevity, there’s some here, here and here) are often boiled down only to their struggles, where as people such as myself are relegated to “Not autistic enough to be my problem” or “well, you don’t look autistic.”

To quote-

“The difference between high-functioning autism and low functioning is that high-functioning means your deficits are ignored, and low-functioning means your assets are ignored.” -Laura Tisoncik

Why is this? As you might have guessed from the title of this post- I put a lot of it on the shoulders of the entertainment we consume. Nevermind certain hate organizations who swath themselves in the cloak of “advocacy” such as Autism Speaks, and Anti-Vaxcers, who think it’s better to have a dead child than an autistic one.*

I could go on. At length. However, I’m going to try and stay on track, just this once. To put it plainly, Hollywood Autism often works exactly like “high” and “low” functioning labels: We’re either uplifted to inhuman portrayals of superpowered savants, or downgraded to an “inspirational” invalid. In these stories, we’re props. The “Magical Disabled person!” as Tv Tropes puts it, there to uplift the neurotypical character from their adversity. After all, if this poor dumb sod (i.e- me) can be happy with their burdensome life, surely the pretty white able-bodied protagonist can! We’re “funny,” “scary,” or “sympathetic,” characters, who lack dimension, and nuance. We’re “inhuman.” We’re the lesser. Or at least, that’s one way it’s written. The other is the hyper intelligent, almost “superhuman,” and definitely super jackass genius, who’s much too smart™, and logical© to ever have feelings, friends or empathy. That’s it folks! That’s the show!

That’s what books, tv and movies told me, anyway. And what I truly believed for a long time. It’s why I cringed away in terror and shame when my spectrum issues were finally noticed. And why it took me so long to come to terms with it.

So, there you have it. Part 1. On the next episode, I’ll give some examples, both good and bad, and maybe even a little “what not to do,” or at least a “please consider real hard before doing this in your own work.”

If you like writing, talking about bad tropes and even worse marginalized representation, you can follow me at wordpress or at my “still has that new car smell” twitter. For now- thanks for reading.

-Your loving Vincent

*allistic= Non autistic.

*Vaccines do NOT cause Autism, however, if they DID, it would still be better to have an autistic child than one who died at the ripe old age of “easily preventable but deadly communicable disease.”

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kainumbernine009 · 4 years ago

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I literally cannot do anything else until I get this out.

I’m... really not okay.

And when I say that, I’m not mentally unstable. I say that because I’m tired of waiting on empty promises, I’m tired of never having money in our account, I’m tired of living in a fucking city where half of the white people fucking worship the ground Trump walks on, and where most of the gay community has so much messy drama that it’s worse than middle school. And I went to a rough middle school.

I never talk about my past, because I don’t like to. It sucked. HARD. Being and only child in my family was nothing less than torture, especially as a closeted queer person. We grew up in the white Christian part of Nashville that dominated Music Row in the 90′s and early 2000′s. I played basketball with Alan Jackson’s daughter, and being around famous people was just no big deal. But, my parents decided to leave Nashville after my dad lost his job at TPAC, and we moved down south an hour to the town where the KKK got started (Pulaski, TN).

I had maybe two non-white people in my private Christian school growing up. I was never afraid of Black people, but my parents showed their racist asses quick when we moved there. The KKK has never left America, guys, no matter how many articles you read or studies you do. From 2005 to 2009 I saw a white town show its very worst to the Black community. I’ll never forget the first time I saw a march for “White Christians for Purity” the summer before Obama got elected. The disgust I felt inside was palpable. I had all kinds of friends in school, and I didn’t give TWO SHITS who they were or what they looked like... but I saw children my age, being brainwashed by their parents, that “white” is “right.”

Ever since then, I have been learning and growing about the issues of race. I remember my white classmates using the N word and getting away with it. I remember hearing about the principal at the high school punishing all the Black kids but not the white kids. I remember being invited to a church south of town that was a historically Black church, and how nice the ladies were to me for coming.

But I’ll never forget the racism that the religious groups promoted there, especially First Baptist Church and the 12 Tribes. I’ll never forget how FBC told me that my friend was going to Hell because she killed herself. I’ll never forget my mom telling me not to marry a Black man because of “impure genes.” I WILL NEVER FORGET THE INJUSTICES I SAW WHITE PEOPLE DOING TO BLACK PEOPLE THERE. NEVER.

And thank God, I have shaken the burden of religious guilt, but I still fight against this mentality. I live in a place that’s usually not even 10 minutes away from Trump-humping, sister-fucking, meth-addicted Confederate cunts in any direction. And we’re even closer to the rich white people who silently supported him, upset that their taxes would go up because of Biden.

And in the past four years since Trump got elected, I’ve gotten married, graduated college with honors, started my own photography business, and was making more than my husband there for a minute. I did my own taxes, marketing, editing, and everything. And then I came out as trans.

I lost everything.

I lost my studio. I lost friends. I had rumors started about me. I had people post hate messages on my wall. I had people at my drag shows tell others not to tip me, for whatever fucking reasons. I’ve had bosses give cis people jobs over me, and I’ve had government workers give me second looks when I hand them my license.

It. Fucking. Sucks. To. Live. Here. Like. This.

Oh yeah, did I mention I’m also a witch/medium? I’ve talked to dead people before and have told their relatives things I shouldn’t have known otherwise about their grandparents. Like, this information doesn’t even exist on Google. And I’m attuned to reiki. I’m always aware of what’s happening on at least SOME metaphysical level. This is a gift that I’ve had to go through life developing and learning about myself, with no one’s help but me.

I didn’t even know until I was an adult that I have autism and ADHD.

I’ve taken bullets from people who were about to kill themselves. I’ve yelled at 5th grade music classrooms for doing racist dance moves and appropriating Native Americans (I have a degree in Music Education K-12). I’ve consoled kids in classrooms who suddenly have panic attacks. AND I’ve told horny teenagers to stay in their fucking lane and respect the girls around them. I’ve apparently been an inspiration to those around me, but inspiration NOR exposure pays the bills. I’ve already had COVID, and so has my husband, but I knew that after graduating college that I would never have a fulfilling life being a music teacher in Tennessee’s public schools.

And now that we have COVID, and an orange, small-dicked, pedophilic, rape apologizing, dirty, crusty white president who STILL REFUSES TO CONCEDE, who is DIRECTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR HAVING HIS FOLLOWERS SEND DEATH THREATS TO MY FAMILY, I really don’t know what the fuck else to do other than go burn down all the houses I know of in North Georgia that belong to these Christian sex cult pedophiles and call it a day. My girlfriend unfortunately was born into one of those families, and I know just how bad it can get. In fact, her dad’s lawyer threatened me with blackmail earlier in November, so that was fun!

And now, on December 11, 2020, I’m still sitting here in the same fucking house, doing the same fucking things I’ve been doing all year - trying to get a job and failing horribly. I’M SICK AND TIRED OF THIS COVID BULLSHIT AND OUR INCOMPOTENT CUNT OF A PRESIDENT! And there’s only ever one other person I’ve ever called a cunt... my own mother.

I’ve lived in many places. I’ve met many different people. I’ve made mistakes, and have grown, but there’s one thing for damn sure that I always make sure to do, every single fucking day.

I ALWAYS try to do better.

In addition to this, I treat everyone with the same amount of respect, unless they have done something directly to me to negate that. If I know that someone believes in something that directly harms me or my family, I don’t even associate with them. I don’t spend my energy on things that don’t need it. And everyone else should, too.

The problem with some of y’all is that you care about the wrong things. Like will Becky text me back or did I get front row seats to that concert, or did I slave my life away to capitalism just so that I can own a Mercedes and have my friends jealous. I’ve had way too many dear death experiences to know that EVERY single fucking day is a gift. EVERY day.

I don’t want to be remembered first for the art I create. I want to be remembered for my character. I want to be remembered as the courageous person who never backed down in the face of adversity. But when you live in a place that already hates you and that is against you, that’s really fucking hard. Trust me. My marriage went from a cis straight passing couple to a white gay passing couple. I’ve seen how people’s attitudes changed around me as I transitioned. I know what it feels like to slowly lose a piece of your privilege you were born with.

So yeah, I kinda get a little fucking upset when I see people saying All Lives Matter, or when I see doctors refusing to treat trans patients in pandemics, or when I see cops YET AGAIN harassing Black people only a few blocks away from my house for no other reason than racism. And at this point, anyone who thinks they know me but only knows what people think they know about me can suck my entire ass and eat ten dicks. I don’t give a FUCK about who you are or what you’ve done. If you treat me or other people with no respect for no reason other than to be an asshole, you’re just plain shit. If you SERIOUSLY believe every little rumor and lie that someone tells about me before meeting me, fuck you AND the horse you rode in on.

What I can’t stand is people doing or saying things just to get a rise out of me or others. I thought we left petty shit in high school. Some of the people that “know” me really need to fucking grow up and grow a pair and either say what they want to my face, or stay mad. I’m tired of playing fucking petty games with y’all. We have a whole ass pandemic to solve.

So here’s the ultimatum... if you agree that Black Lives Matter and that queer people deserve basic human rights, EVEN THE ONES YOU HATE, then that’s the bare minimum to even be a decent person. If you can’t even do those things, then I don’t fucking know what else to say to you.

So NBC, maybe not have John Mulaney joke about my license debacle with my gold van on SNL, and Seth Meyers... maybe HIRE ME INSTEAD of Mulaney because clearly y’all don’t know about the south as much as I do? Oh, and that gazeebo joke with Lee University... I caught that. I may have autism, but I’m not a fucking idiot. I mean. I’m funny when I’m given the chance. And yeah, I’m on a watchlist, but who the fuck isn’t these days? At least all my secrets are out for the world to see, and I have a bangin’ tattoo.

I’m tired of everyone being like “omg, I’ve seen what he can do, it’s fantastic!” or “omg you’re so funny haha” and bragging on me and then NOT FUCKING HIRING ME. I’m TIRED of waiting on something that’s clearly at this point never coming.

I don’t even have testicles, and my balls are bigger than most of the cis men I have EVER met.

So, if you want to help me, or hire me, or get me out to an audition... I’ll be there. But until then, I’m so fucking MAD at some of these producers. Yeah, my mom is a cunt, but she worked in various forms of digital production from the 1980′s until she retired this year. She taught me SO MUCH about directing, writing, shooting, and more. I know how these things are supposed to run behind the scenes. I know what the fuck I’m doing, and I don’t take constructive criticism like a bitch. I actually WANT to be criticized, so I can do even better.

So PLEASE, for the love of Christ... y’all need to get your priorities together AND PLEASE STOP LEAVING ME OUT OF THE LOOP WITH THIS BULLSHIT. Grow a fucking pair and either call me, email me, or leave me alone. It’s really not that fucking hard. Looking at you, Lorne Michaels.

Oh and someone tell my husband what the fuck’s been going on because I’m tired of him gaslighting me about it.

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imagineforyourminds · 5 years ago

Photo

You had settled down well at Rydell. The teachers admired you for your academic excellence; whereas the students adored your kind personality, not to mention your captivating looks. However, it came as a surprise when you turned down the opportunity to attend the cheerleader try outs, which added the word unpredictable to one of the adjectives people would describe you with. The cheerleaders didn’t hold any grudges against you to popular belief, if anything it made you better friends with the school’s do-gooder Patty Simcox; now that you weren’t a threat to take attention off of her at future prep rally’s. You could understand why the student body had mixed opinions about the enthusiastic blonde; however, you were your own person and based your opinions of people on actual interactions with them, not rumours. Hence why Patty had become a dear friend to you. This didn’t sit well with your other friends though, the pink ladies. The iconic female empowered clique had heard about the new girl whom had everyone’s heads spinning and took it upon themselves to invite you to accompany them on their excursions. Many wondered why such a sweet being would associate herself with girls like them. Truth was that you enjoyed their company and humour. They only thing you didn’t particularly enjoy about them was when they tormented Patty, especially when they convinced the guys to join in as well. Kenickie was by far the worst out of the T Birds when it came to mean antics towards your friend. Ever since your first day witnessing him torment Eugene alongside the others, you tried to avoid him as best as you could. Due to his and Rizzo’s chaotic relationship though, avoiding him was extremely hard.

You were currently late to your biology class, but had a note from your previous teacher giving you the all clear. As you entered the room all eyes were on you, however not wanting to come across nervous or intimidated, you smiled and handed Mr. Jones the notes before taking your seat next to Patty.

“Hiya Honey, how was French? I feel like we should travel to Paris, meet two handsome French men called Pierre and Francoise who we could have beautiful multilingual children with.” Patty smiled her pearly white teeth towards you. You laughed at how enthusiastic she always was.

“It was good thanks, and that definitely sounds like a plan. Has it been eventful in here, or slow as usual?” You asked back whilst taking your notepads and pens out for note taking.

“Well the actual lecture is dreading slowly by as usual, however I have discovered that I have an admirer in this class which will hopefully help the time fly by.” She sighed whilst dreamingly gazing towards the right corner of the room. You looked up to see Kenickie waving at Patty and her waving back. Times like this is when you disliked how naïve the girl could be. What Patty didn’t notice was the rest of the T Birds snickering around the boy. You instantly knew this was bad. Kenickie pointed down to his bag, signalling for Patty to check inside hers. She let out a small giggle as she did, only to shriek with fear as a frog leaped out at her. The poor girl ran out of the classroom of fear, as everyone else laughed at her embarrassment. You hated it, pure rage for the guys and disappointment for all your classmates. You picked the frog up and placed it back inside its tank before following your friend. But before you did you walked straight up to the T Birds and slapped Kenickie across his right cheek. The painful noise caused the whole room to silence within the space of a millisecond.

“What the actual F-“ Kenickie stood up so now he was looming over you, pure rage and shock expressed in his eyes. Before he could finish the sentence you pushed him harshly back away from you.

“No! Patty should be the one saying that Kenickie! What the hell is wrong with you? Matter of fact What the hell is wrong with all of you? Laughing at a poor girls expense, when she’s done absolutely nothing wrong. It’s disgusting, you’re all Disgusting” You yelled at the class, tears brimming at your eyes for the pain of your friend, and the fact that you couldn’t stop it before it happened. Nobody could see the tears apart from Kenickie whom had the feeling of guilt build up inside him. He thought it would be a funny joke, not something you’d get so upset about. You left the room hoping everyone would start to rethink their actions. Your managed to get down the third corridor before you heard rushed steps behind you.

“Y/n Wait!” Kenickie had followed after you much to your disappointment. You ignored him and carried on.

“I said wait!” The tall boy exclaimed as he took hold of you arm trying to turn you towards him.

“What?” You asked as you pulled your arm away from his. He stood there and it was the first time you had seen him in such an awkward stance, not knowing what to do.

“I’m sorry, I thought it would be a funny joke. “He started; you just rolled your eyes at him.

“How can I make it up to you?” he asked taking a step closer to you.

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to, I’m not the one whose crying in the toilets because the guy she likes pulled a mean prank embarrassing her, because he thought it would be.” You said as you stared into his eyes. What made you feel worse is that right at this moment you couldn’t stop thinking at how attractive the guy before you is.

“I’ll apologize to her, for fucks sake I’ll apologize in front of the whole class. Just please let me make it up to you.” He said quietly as her got closer to you taking hour hands in his. A shiver ran down your spine as you realized how close he was, and the fact that the corridor was empty didn’t help your nerves either. But just in that instant the image of Patty running out of the classroom crying kept replaying through your head, and you found a way for him to repay both you and patty.

“You can repay me by inviting patty out for a date. A real date, no prank.” You said knowing her friend had always had a schoolgirl crush on the T Bird. Patty would appreciate it, even though secretly wished he would have just kissed you right in that moment.

#Kenickie imagine #kenickie #Grease #grease imagine #musical imagine #bad boy imagine #patty simcox #Danny Zuko #Sandy Olsson #grease lightning #50's

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1-800-hellraiser · 4 years ago

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Born This Way (Jane the Killer x Female! Lesbian!Reader)

Pages: 5.1

Words: 1,793

Genre: I have no Idea tbh/kinda fluffy?

Associated song: Born this way - Lady Gaga

!Tw! Swearing and alcohol

(P.s Happy Pride! :))

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

"No matter gay, straight, or bi, lesbian, transgendered life. I'm on the right track baby, I was born to survive."

You stand nervously at Jane's door, trying to work up the nerve to knock. 'Why is this so fucking difficult for me?' You ask yourself, you don't really know. You want to ask Jane to go to a pride parade with you and Clockwork that's somewhat close to the mansion. But, you can't bring yourself to ask her. You don't want to be a pussy and ask someone else to ask her for you, that's middle school level pussy-ness. You are not going to stoop down to that level. Ever.

Taking a deep breath, you knock on Jane's door. You immediately regret it as you hear a muffled 'I'll be there in a second' through her door. You are tempted to sprint back to your room. Before you could, Jane's door opens. Your breath hitches in your throat. "Oh hey Y/n." "H-hey Jane." You manage out, Jane looks at you funny. "Are you okay Y/n?" Hearing that, you finally come to your senses.

"Oh yeah, I'm fine. I just zoned out a bit. But, I came to ask you if you wanted to maybe go to a pride parade with me and Clockwork?" You squeak out, Jane's eyes widen a bit. "I would love that, Y/n. When are we going?" Jane asks, gently rubbing her left hand over her right. "Tomorrow at noon, its going to be on walnut street. We're gonna walk." You explain, a hint of relief in your tone.

"Ok, great!" Jane says, putting her hands together. You smile and nod. "I'm gonna go tell Clockwork that you're coming, I'll see you tomorrow." You say, giving Jane a gentle wave, she waves back and goes back into her room. You silently celebrate in front of her closed door. Then, you happily walk to Clockwork's room.

After navigating through a few hallways, you find a door with 'Clockwork' messily etched into the wood. You knock on Clockworks door excitedly, rocking back and forth on your heels. After a few seconds, a disheveled looking Clockwork emerges from her room. "What do you want." She slurs, your face explodes into a giant grin. "She said yes!" You say, bouncing on your feet. Clockwork smiles and wipes some drool off of her chin.

"That's great, now leave me alone, I'm trying to sleep." Clockwork insists, closing her door on you. That didn't phase you though, since she's just like that. You go back to your room to find something to do. You arrive back at your room and decide to pick out some clothes for pride tomorrow.

You decide to take the lesbian flag you have hanging above your bed with you. You search through your wardrobe and find a sleeveless flannel with the lesbian flag colors. You take that and find a pair of black jean shorts. You grab those and look for a pair of socks. You find knee high rainbow socks with white hearts you got last year from Spencer's. You also have some bracelets that are the lesbian flag colors. You set your outfit on top of your dresser and look around for something to do.

You glance at the clock on your wall. It reads 10:37 (22:37) pm. You decide to shower and hit the hay. You grab your pjs and walk to the bathroom. You grab some towels from the cabnet next to the sink. You place your pjs on the edge of the sink and strip off your old clothes. You toss your old clothes to the side, and turn on the shower. You step in and let the warm water cascade over you.

Stepping out of the shower, you wrap at towel around your figure. After you dry off, you brush through your h/c mess of hair. After that, you brush your teeth and pick up your clothes and put them in with the rest of your dirty clothes. You finally flop onto your bed and slowly slip out of consciousness.

Tomorrow arrives with a bang, literally. Clockwork got back at you for waking her up by sneaking into your room with a gun and firing it in your room. Thankfully, nothing was damaged. "YOU MOTHERFUCKER." You screech falling off your bed. Clockwork is doubled over crying. "You ass!" You yell, Clockwork only laughs harder.

You sigh loudly, "I'll deal with you later, I need to shower." You sigh and close the door on the dying Clockwork. You collect your pride apparel and trudge into the bathroom. You peel off your pjs and toss them aside. You test the water before getting in the shower. The water is perfect, so you step in.

Stepping out of your nice morning shower, you feel refreshed. You dry yourself off, brush your hair and teeth, then get dressed. You also used body paint and painted the lesbian flag on the bottom of your right eye and the top of your left eye. You look at yourself in the mirror. You smile, you look cute today, you hope Jane thinks the same.

You blush and shake your head, ridding that thought from your mind. You walk out of the bathroom with your pjs, butting them back to wear tonight. You put in your shoes and gather your things. You leave your room and notice that Clockwork left. You shrug and walk down to the living room. Clockwork is decked out in pride gear, but Jane isn't so much. She does, however, have a medium sized lesbian flag laying on her lap and lesbian flags painted on the cheeks of her mask.

"Wow Y/n, you look cute." Jane muses, resting her face in her hand, being careful of her makeup. "O-oh, thanks, Jane." You respond, gliding your fingertips over your flushed cheek. "Well, we better get going, I want to get there early before it get's to rowdy," Jane states. You nod, some pride serve alcohol for the adults, some don't serve alcohol. The pride closest to you, does. You follow Jane and Clockwork out the door and make your way through the forest.

You finally make it to pride. There are quite a few people there already. About, 50-100 people, with more probably on their way. There are many flags, of course. There are the most common ones, like the gay, lesbian, bisexual, pansexual, transgender, nonbinary, genderqueer, LGBTQ+ ally, and many more flags. But there are also some that are less common, such as intersex, omnisexual, aromantic, asexual, polysexual, and even lithromantic flags.

You're so happy to see so many people that are accepting of themselves and others. You feel this fuzziness inside you, and it's not just the beer. You feel at home, safe. You look around at the people, and vendors. The vendors are selling food and apparel for people that want to buy it. There are also a few drag queens and kings walking around, taking pictures with people. There is also music, the song playing right now is 'Born This Way' by Lady Gaga.

"Holy shit, is that Trixie Mattel?!" You hear Clockwork shout over the music. You turn and sure enough, it is the infamous Trixie Mattel. "It sure is." You add, Clockwork grabs your and Jane's wrists and proceeds to drag you to ho meet her. You giggle, for as long as you known Clockwork, you've known about her love for the queen. Clockwork watches Trixie's videos religiously.

Once you reach the queen, Clockworks freezes. You never seen her do this before, at all. Jane taps Trixie on the shoulder. "Excuse me, Ms. Mattel?" Trixie turns around and smiles at Jane. "Oh honey, no need to be so formal! Please, call me Trixie." The queen declares, Jame nods. "Okay, Trixie, my friend Natalie here wanted to get a picture with you, she's a huge fan." Jane explains, nudging Clockwork closer to Trixie.

Clockwork snaps out of her broken-ness and grins ear to ear. She pats around her pockets for her phone, a look of panic sets onto her facial features as she realizes she left her phone at home. You hand her your phone, "I'll send you the picture when we go back home," You affirm. Clockwork smiles and hugs you tightly, "Oh my god thank you Y/n, you're the best!" "You're welcome." You say, patting her back.

Clockwork goes up to Trixie, Trixie wraps her harm around Clockwork and Clockwork wraps her arm around Trixie's waist. Clockwork snaps the picture, says a quick 'thank you' and scuffles away. After she walks away, she bounces on her heels, gushing about how nice Trixie is and how cool she is. You giggle at Clockwork fangirling over her favorite queen.

You, Jane and Clockwork had fun at pride. You won a dance competition between you and a random person who bet on you losing. You gained twenty dollars from that experience. Jane got hit on by a lot of women and used you as an excuse to get away from it all, while Clockwork made out with a total of twelve single people. Eight female and four male. You bought some more pride apparel at some of the vendors and some fucking amazing food. Clockwork also got drunk and threw up in a trashcan, that's when you and Jane decided to call it a day.

You and Jane haul a drunken Clockwork up to her room. "Nooooo, I wanna go *hic* backkkkk." She pleads, Jane shakes her head. "Clockwork, you're very drunk, we can't go back, besides, it was getting dark anyways." You try to explain, but it didn't work. You open Clockwork's bedroom door and lay her on her bed. You set her phone in her hand and walk out of the room with Jane.

"I had a lot of fun today with you, Jane." You inform, rubbing the back of your neck. "I did too, we should do that again sometime." You nod and look down. "Y/n, look at me, I think you have something on your face." You look up at Jane and she leans forward and plants a sweet peck on your lips. "Goodnight Y/n, see you tomorrow," She says. Jane turns and calmly walks away from you. You brush your fingertips over your lips and break out into a goofy grin.

#writers on tumblr #writing #oneshots #requests are open #jane the killer #creepypasta #lesbian #lesbian pride #pride 2020 #happy pride 🌈#lgbt pride #x reader #jane the killer x reader

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scoutception · 5 years ago

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Ranking the next 5 animes I’ve recently watched

After many distractions on my part, including playing through Steins;Gate, something that has quickly become something I adore like few others, I’ve continued my descent into the world of anime with 5 more series. The stuff I watched was a lot shorter on average than last time, and my attempts to be “objective” and my personal biases align much more closely compared to last time. With that, I’ll begin. 5. Soni-Ani: Super Sonico the Animation

Number of episodes: 12. Language options: subs only. Streaming availability: Crunchyroll. When it comes to visual novels, nitro+ is one of the biggest developers out there, alongside Key. Whereas Key is mainly out to make you really, really sad, nitro+ prefers a different approach. To my understanding, at best, their works are really, really dark, and at worst, they’re going straight for your nightmares, with stuff like Song of Saya and Sweet Pool. So clearly, the best mascot for them is the pink haired, constantly headphoned, and downright adorable Super Sonico. Even if it’s not outright official, it’s pretty jarring. Anyway, with that little rant out of the way, here’s the only thing on this list I actually wouldn’t recommend. Produced by White Fox back in 2014, this anime apparently got slammed pretty hard, and honestly, I have no idea why I even ended up watching this one. Perhaps this’ll be a reminder to be less impulsive in my choices in the future. Soni-Ani focuses on, who else, Super Sonico herself, an energetic and kind, yet clumsy college student who should reasonably be dead from stress and exhaustion. Along with college, she’s an idol, gravure model, helper at her grandmother’s restaurant and guitarist and main singer in the band First Astronomical Velocity with her friends Suzu Fujimi, the witty and manipulative bassist and official leader of the band, and Fuuri Watanuki, the mysterious drummer single mindedly obsessed with food. The series just explores some of the odd, extremely fanservice filled days of her life. It’s ok idea on paper, but in practice it’s just not really anything special or even entertaining for the most part. While I can usually ignore fanservice, it’s downright distractingly prevalent in the earlier episodes, to the point of several episode premises pretty much only catering themselves to it. Even without that, there’s just not much to be found; aside from Suzu and Sonico’s manager, the honestly hilarious Kitamura, who constantly wears a hannya mask and is willing to attack people for attempting to take advantage of Sonico, the characters aren’t anything memorable or entertaining on their own, leaving a lot of episodes feeling dry. They do improve in the second half, featuring episodes like a fairly charming murder mystery spoof, and an episode focusing on Sonico’s cats, of all things, but they’re still not something going out of your way to watch. The voice acting and animation, while at least ok, don’t stick out much either. Overall, again, this is the one thing I’d say to just avoid. There’s tons of other slice of life animes out there that are way better. If nothing else, though, I’m kinda glad I stuck to it just for the surprise cameo by Kurisu Makise’s outfit, considering I was already playing Steins;Gate.

4. Monthly Girls’ Nozaki-kun

Number of episodes: 12. Language options: dub (video release only, apparently) and subs available. Streaming availability: Crunchyroll, Hulu, Netflix. Moving onto stuff I’d actually recommend, here’s a nice little anime adaptation of a gag manga by Izumi Tsubaki, produced by Dogakobo. Chiyo Sakura, a high school student who stands at an impressive 4′9″, confesses her love to the tall and mysterious Umetaro Nozaki, and gets his autograph, of all things, for her troubles. Trying again, Nozaki instead takes her to his apartment... to assist him with his manga. As it turns out, Nozaki is a popular romance manga author, whose interests in life start an end at manga, rendering him utterly oblivious to Chiyo’s feelings. Thusly, Chiyo officially becomes his assistant in order to grow closer to her crush, meeting his other associates along the way. The main thing that must be said is that this is not a serious anime in the slightest, and it’s all just big parody of romance manga more than anything, especially with the characters, like Mikoshiba, who acts like a playboy, but in reality is cripplingly shy, and Kashima, the “prince” of the school who is both actually a girl and an airhead who’s frequently on the nerves of the drama club’s president, Hori. A lot of the humor thrives on miscommunication, and it’s exaggerated enough that it works well. Every character is an idiot, in their own ways, but endearingly so, and each of them stands out, from Chiyo, who mostly plays the straight man but has her moments of over imagination, or the hilariously abrasive Seo. The plots are the right kind of dumb too, like Nozaki and Mikoshiba becoming obsessed over a helper NPC in a dating sim, or Hori gaining an intense hatred for people standing on boxes due to Nozaki’s attempts to fix perspective problems. The jokes can get a bit predictable after a while, especially with Nozaki, but overall it’s a pretty funny time. The voice acting is good, and the animation is charming. Overall, this is definitely a fun watch. If you want a good laugh, or just something that doesn’t take itself too seriously, this is definitely something to check out. 3. Angel Beats!

Number of episodes: 13 (+ some OVAs not on streaming services). Language options: dub and subs available. Streaming availability: Netflix, Crunchyroll, Funimation. As it turned out, visual novels, or at least visual novel developers, became a theme in the things I watched this time around. As mentioned before, Key is one of the biggest VN developers out there, who specialize in making you really sad. From Kanon, to Clannad, to Planetarian, to Little Busters, Key’s made a lot of great stuff, and had some great anime adaptations made, particularly for Kanon and Clannad. Thus, Jun Maeda, co-founder of Key, conceived Angel Beats to originate as an anime, produced by P.A. Works in 2010. Angel Beats focuses on Otonashi, a teenager who wakes up in a strange high school with amnesia, only able to remember his last name. He soon meets a girl named Yuri Nakamura, who informs him that they’re dead, and stuck in a sort of afterlife, seemingly ruled over by a mysterious girl they only know as Angel. In this purgatory, they’re unable to die, as Otonashi finds out first hand at Angel’s hands, and the school is populated by fabricated teachers and students, but the real people stuck there are at risk of being “obliterated” if they act like normal students, ceasing to exist. Unwilling to accept this, Yuri leads class SSS in opposition of Angel and the assumed God that created this world for the cruel fates that everyone stuck in the afterlife met, Otonashi seemingly included. With seemingly no other path to take, Otonashi joins forces with the SSS. The main strength of Angel Beats is its cast of characters. From the pretty mean yet charming Yuri, to the reliable, yet often abused Hinata, to the crazy and energetic Yui, to even some of the side characters, like Shiina, the ninja girl with a crippling weakness for wind up dog toys, or TK, who speaks in gloriously mangled English and dances constantly. The premise as well is honestly fascinating to me, and makes for some very interesting episodes. It’s got some pretty entertaining action scenes, along with some really funny moments, mostly by playing the “nobody can actually die” tidbit for all its worth, with the second episode devoting a good amount of time to slowly killing off the main group in horrible, yet blase fashions. It delivers emotionally too, with the second half in particular having a good deal of touching episodes, especially episode 10. Unfortunately, there’s one giant problem with this anime that brings it down quite a bit: it’s only 13 episodes long. While I’m not a fan of 12 or 13 episode seasons, I can’t say that’s a problem by itself. What is a problem is that they were planning to have double that amount of episodes, causing the storyline to feel very rushed, and leaving nearly every character in the cast that isn’t part of the main group very underdeveloped. While there’s an entire expanded universe of stuff, good luck tracking it all down, and while Key themselves were making a 6 part visual novel of Angel Beats to expand upon it all, something that’s very promising, only the first volume has been released so far, back in 2015, with no word since, very likely because of Jun Maeda’s health issues. Overall, Angel Beats genuinely is a good watch, but it’s kinda depressing, just because of how much potential was cut short thanks to whatever genius decided to cut the episode amount in half. Unless the VN project really gets going again, it’ll probably just remain a bunch of what could have beens. 2. Puella Magi Madoka Magica

Number of episodes: 12. Language options: dub and subs available. Streaming availability: Netflix, Hulu, Crunchyroll, Funimation. Continuing the theme I unintentionally set up, here’s this famous little thing, from the mind of Gen Urobuchi, who, among other things, has worked on several nitro+ visual novels, mostly notably Song of Saya, wrote the apparently horribly depressing Fate/Zero, and was a scriptwriter for Kamen Rider Gaim, which, to my understanding, is one of the darkest Kamen Rider shows out there. Will all this in mind, there’s no real hiding that this isn’t going to be anywhere near as innocent as it tries to appear. Even if you didn’t know that, its reputation probably far exceeds it by now. Madoka Kaname is an average middle school student whose life is thrown into chaos when a mysterious girl named Homura Akemi transfers into her class, whom Madoka later finds attacking a strange creature called Kyubey. After rescuing it, Madoka and her best friend Sayaka are attacked by a strange creature known as a witch, only to be rescued by Mami Tomoe, a “magical girl” given power by Kyubey. Kyubey sees much potential in Madoka, and offers to grant her any wish of her choosing, in exchange for her becoming a magical girl as well and helping fight the witches. Homura, however, is completely determined to keep that from happening. Thus starts a chain of event in the lives of Madoka and Sayaka that, suffice it to say, don’t go very well. Without getting too specific, what starts as a mostly typical, if slightly odd, magical girl show quickly goes to very dark and twisted places, comparative to Neon Genesis Evangelion, though not quite as in depthly depressing with it. Everyone takes a beating in some way, and even with just 12 episodes, it can get a bit much for some people, even when it doesn’t end quite as awfully as you might expect. Still, it’s actually very well done. The characters are complex and flawed, but ultimately sympathetic, the overall plot is fascinating, and it ends in a very fitting way. It’s emotional, and has surprisingly good action. The dub voice work is solid, and the animation by Studio Shaft is as well, especially helped by the abstract designs of the witches themselves. While I’m not quite as passionate about it all as some are, it’s definitely earned its reputation. It’s a great watch, and definitely a big recommendation. 1. Steins;Gate

Number of episodes: 24 (+ 1 OVA). Language options: dub and subs available. Streaming availability: Funimation, Hulu, Crunchyroll. Finishing off my unintentional theme with an actual adaptation of a visual novel, there was no way I wasn’t checking this one out with how utterly passionate the VN made me. This is at least partially a bias placement, but this anime is a very, very good adaptation, and a great way to experience the story without the VN, and a great watch even having gone through it. Rintaro Okabe is a college student on break living in his “laboratory” in Akihabara. A self proclaimed mad scientist, he whittles his days away hanging out with his friends Mayuri Shiina and Itaru Hashida, inventing useless gadgets in a supposed fight against an evil organization. One day, Rintaro and Mayuri go to attend a press conference by Doctor Nakabachi in Radi-Kan, who claims to have invented a time machine, only for it to end horribly for all involved when Rintaro discovers Kurisu Makise, a young neuroscientist who had recently had her thesis published in a major science magazine, murdered by an unknown assailant. Sending an email to Itaru about the incident, Rintaro suddenly finds the world to have changed. According to everyone else, the press conference had been canceled due to a mysterious satellite that crashed into Radi-Kan, and Rintaro later runs into Kurisu, alive and well. Investigating, Rintaro finds that, by complete accident, his modified microwave has become a device capable of sending emails to the past- and that SERN, a French research organization, has been conducting time travel experiments of their own. In his attempts to understand the capabilities of what he’s invented, and his curiosity as to why his memories appear to be out of sync with everyone else’s, Rintaro rushes into a series of experiments that change his life, and those of friends old and new. This is something I could rant about all day, but putting it as succinctly as I can, I’ve never been as fascinated by time travel as Steins;Gate has made me. As fantastic as it, it’s also shown to be unpredictable, limited, and downright unsettling, especially when nobody knows just how time even works. It’s a story about the concept of time travel as much as a story about using it. The story definitely starts a bit slowly, but it’s well worth pushing past. As an adaptation, it doesn’t even need to sacrifice much, with the most that’s lost being some details in a few later arcs that aren’t worth much in the long run anyway. Beyond that, the main strength of the story is the cast of characters. Rintaro, with his rather severe case of chuunibyou, is a unique protagonist to begin with, but the events of the story turn him into an honestly fascinating and downright tragic character, and easily one of my favorite protagonists in a long time. The rest of the cast is just as good, with Kurisu being a great mix of intelligence, ravenous curiosity, and flusterability, with her and Rintaro’s interactions always being entertaining. As well, there’s the always kind, yet ditzy Mayuri, the outgoing, but odd Suzuha Amane, the endearingly gentle Luka Urushibara, and the energetic and wily Faris, just for some examples. The cast is downright loveable and very easy to get attached to. While I prefer the Japanese voice cast overall, the dub isn’t to be overlooked, with Trina Nishimura as Kurisu, Tyson Rinehart as Itaru, Cherami Leigh as Suzuha, Lindsay Seidel as Luka, and especially J. Michael Tatum as Rintaro giving great performances. Visually, White Fox did a great job giving it a distinct look. While the VN had a gorgeous and unique artstyle, it’s not really something that can be translated into animation. Instead, they used a whole lot of washed out colors and saturated lights that, combined with the sparse use of flashy effects and even music, gives a very subtle atmosphere to it all. Even beyond the style, it looks very good on its own, and it’s especially nice not having Rintaro look like a ghoul half the time, like he does in the VN.

Overall, this is very much something worth checking out. I’m beating a dead horse here since Steins;Gate is already wildly popular, but it’s that way for a very good reason. There’s also an extra OVA episode, along with a sequel movie, though both are only available via Funimation. They aren’t quite the best, but they make for entertaining watches worth checking out. And with that, that’s the end to my rambling. With the exception of, again, Super Sonico, everything here is very much worth a watch. I’m sure, once I emerge from the hell of Steins;Gate spinoffs, I’ll get to watching even more stuff. Till then, though. -Scout

#anime #steins;gate #monthly girls' nozaki kun #angel beats #puella magi madoka magica

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williamsockner · 6 years ago

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LGBT+ Identity in the Time of Mindless Self Indulgence

Mindless Self Indulgence isn’t an act that could have flourished at any other time. The emo/pop punk wave was gathering steam; hip hop was still a novelty one could distinguish themselves from the flock by cribbing. “Random” Invader Zim-style humor was in the decline, while “edgy” no-limits humor was skyrocketing. Nerds hadn’t become the dominant force they are today, but due to the internet and the rise in manga and anime sales in the United States, they were able to access nerdy content much more easily. Youtube was taking off, music piracy was booming, and reliance on both radio and local record-store gatekeepers was at a low for young music fans.

Perhaps most critically, our national understanding of politics and identity at the time, particularly LGBT+ identities, was in a different stage of development than it is today. “Punching up” vs. “punching down” was not a concept that most people considered in their comedy. “It’s just a joke” was more widely accepted as an excuse for transgressive entertainment than it is today. “I’m an equal opportunity hater” was a common refrain.

Early in their career, the band released multiple tracks where Jimmy Urine, a man who was certainly not black, used the n-word. The “Pantyshot” cassingle was a treasured possession among MSI fans, featuring an early song that supposedly lost them a record deal due to being about lusting over a 5 year-old. Little Jimmy Urine sold kisses for a dollar to fans after shows, including to the teenagers. As a whole, the band made punchlines of racial and sexual slurs, rape and child abuse, school shootings, prostitution, drug use, incest, and just about every other taboo under the sun.

The understanding was that none of it was real and that none of it had any real consequences. Calling someone a faggot didn’t matter if we were all in on the joke, that homophobia was stupid. Words were just words. The identity of the speaker didn’t matter so long as their ideology was clear. It was something of an inversion of the way we publicly navigate comedy now, in that their identity determines where on the ladder they are to punch up or down, and the contents of their ideology is of minimal consequence compared to the text of their words. The context of a joke is not a matter of what the audience believes, but of the many complexities of hierarchy that society as a whole believes.

“Who cares?” asks 2008. “It’s just words.”

“How could it not matter?” answers 2018. “Words create culture.”

So LGBT+ identity in the era of Mindless Self Indulgence.

Describing the difference between 2005 and 2018 to young queer people is a source of anxiety for me, because I feel like the old woman talking about how she walked uphill both ways to the library if she wanted to read a book. It’s difficult, however, to put in perspective how quickly the culture around LGBT+ identities has changed. As dangerous as it is for queer kids today, they have much freer access to information about their resources and history than we did, and far greater representation in all forms of media.

When I was a teenager, I was the first person openly LGBT at my school, and my only point of reference for LGBT identities were Rosie O’Donnell and Elton John. There was no “Born This Way” yet, no Halsey and Hayley Kiyoko and Ellen Page, no Troye Sivan and Adam Lambert and Frank Ocean, no Miley Cyrus, no Laverne Cox. There were no empowerment ballads.

Which was fine, because I didn’t want empowerment ballads anyway. I felt disgusting. In reckoning with my LGBT+ identity, I felt small, broken, repulsive, confused, discarded and doomed. I was sickened in my own skin and filled with self-loathing because of my sexual orientation. Sometimes I still am. When I was 15, I drew a map of my heart, and in between the “fields of sexual insecurity” and “possibly irreparable damage” I had written “guilt!” several times and underlined it.

“You’re beautiful” didn’t only feel false, it felt invalidating. I was fiercely defensive of my self-hatred. I was working so hard at it, spending so much time and energy convincing myself I deserved the beating I was giving myself. To this day the barriers I’ve put up against generic bromides persist, and songs like “Scars to Your Beautiful” or “Roar” make me cringe. Maybe someone gets something out of them, but I can only think of the teenagers like me who used that sort of sentiment as fuel for their own self-abuse. I remember once bursting into tears at a “Jesus Loves You” sticker because it served as proof that the whole world was playing a joke on me, telling me that someone so unlovable should have some hope.

It was impossible to internalize that queerness was not dirty, unnatural and loathsome. Any attempt to break that association was drown out by the rest of the messaging we were receiving and our own tried-and-true mental gymnastics. Reassurance could not reach us at the bottom of the well.

At the time, I was obsessed with Mindless Self Indulgence with the kind of all-consuming adoration that only teenagers can possess. I aped frontman Little Jimmy Urine’s fashion, writing slogans across my coats with white tape. “What Do They Know” and “Cocaine and Toupees” were my ringtones, much to my mother’s chagrin. I had catalogues of bootlegs, lovingly sorted and pressed to CD. Mindless Self Indulgence populated my artwork, both in classroom doodles and in art pieces for my portfolio that I labored on for weeks. They were the subject of my college application essay. I met my first love on an MSI forum (which I moderated) and lost a few romantic relationships over my inability to talk about anything else. I owned every shirt. When I was hired on at Barnes & Noble’s music section, I would nominate Frankenstein Girls Will Seem Strangely Sexy for the staff recommendation shelf every single week, and whenever it inevitably got recalled to the warehouse for lack of sales, I’d order it right back.

Sometimes my friends and I would go to the mall parking lot at night and blast Mindless Self Indulgence from my car, dancing around the empty lot with our striped stockings, fingerless gloves and Hot Topic trip pants.

This band kept me from killing myself.

“I’m filthy, disgusting, horrible, irredeemable,” we’d say. “People tell us we’re beautiful and we know they’re lying. I’m a freak.”

“Yeah, you’re fucking ugly,” the music said. “So what? So’s everything else. Have some fun with it.”

Despite the fact that Jimmy Urine has never publicly labeled himself with an LGBT identity, we young LGBT MSI fans claimed him as our own. We enshrined the article where he described being sexually attracted to anyone regardless of gender. We imitated and revered his gender fuckery onstage, the skirts, the pink suits and tutus, the eyeliner, his yelping falsetto leaping up from the masculine shouting, the way he danced. We pored over lyrics - that we transcribed ourselves in many cases, through multiple listens and endless debate - for those nuggets of same-sex attraction and gender ambiguity.

“I make a good girl but I make a terrible boy,” went one song. “These things in my pants that we’re all waiting for, I never really knew what that thing down there was used for,” went another. And the most sacred text of all was “Faggot”, off Frankenstein Girls Will Seem Strangely Sexy, the most beloved record of the vast majority of hardcore MSI fans.

“I played that shit straight / blowing suckas to the side hopin' I get laid / now everybody knows / no way in hell I can ever live it down”.

Shit was a revelation.

Kitty, the drummer of Mindless Self Indulgence, once said of the band’s LGBT fans that listening to MSI’s music was like vomiting: it hurts at the time, but then you feel better. You got it out. And the band always cultivated their relationship with their LGBT fans. Gay marriage was one of the few political issues they openly took a stance on, in a time when states like my own were amending constitutions to protect themselves from Massachusetts’ same-sex marriages.

Thus, we had a place where we felt simultaneously seen and valued by the band, and unseen amongst the chaos surrounding us. The irreverent humor of the band created a safe space where homosexuality could be disgusting, but so was everything else. There was no shame at an MSI concert. You were listening to a man famed for drinking his own urine sing about whipping his meat out, who cared if you liked to kiss girls? That’s old news. We’re all freaks down here at the bottom of the well.

I’m 28 now, and I don’t know if the kids these days have an equivalent band. I don’t know if there’s a market for it anymore; I’m sure there will always be queer kids who have internalized the awful message that they are inherently unlovable, but I’m not sure if they can’t find more accessible and more inherently positive panaceas. I see mutations of the same style of humor in Willam from RuPaul’s Drag Race and in some of the undercurrents of Tumblr’s teen humor. “We’re goblins, trash, garbage babies.”

“Yeah,” my inner child says. “I fucking feel that.”

The paradigm of humor has changed since 2008, at least in my circles, and the reasons for that are manifold, political, social, capitalistic. In many ways, it’s been a good thing: bigotry can be exposed rather than cloaked in excuses. A basic understanding of social inequality is presumed of most audiences. People are responsible for the impact of their words, not the intent. “Equal opportunity hater” is seem for what it is: intellectually lazy and blinkered, the refuge of white guys who don’t want to own up to the fact that some jokes aren’t funny.

But I’ll always have a place in my heart for comedy that meets people where they’re at. Where we’re at isn’t always beautiful or acceptable or healthy, but sometimes it’s the place where we need the laugh most.

#music #personal #lgbt stuff #humor #mindless self indulgence #jimmy urine #sorry guys i can't figure out how to text break

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