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whatsmyline-pb · 3 years

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I guess I’m now writing a modern T/A series based on ridiculous Tom Hardy photos (and eventually CM pics too?) Here’s part two:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32103217

Series: Inspired

Work: Business as Usual

Summary: A modern Tommy/Alfie riff on those ridiculous TH MySpace photos.

They say to never mix business with pleasure and this is an anthem that Alfie could give fuck-all about; he is more than happy to spit in the face of conventionality and its ridiculous adages. Tommy, on the other hand, is not so keen to shed such things, is annoyingly determined to maintain some semblance of professionalism.

He shrugs off Alfie’s hand with narrowed eyes when it lingers too long on his shoulder during meetings. Shoots off deadly glares at the subtle innuendos Alfie throws his way when they meet with potential clients. Greets him with stony, infuriated silences when they reconvene later in the evening for purposes that are decidedly not business-related.

Alfie fucking loves it. Loves it when Tommy strides into his flat after a day during which he’s been particularly indecent, radiating annoyance and petulance and arrogance. It’s a challenge Alfie welcomes with open arms, all together delighted to set about the task of unwinding Tommy’s moods, teasing him into bed where he can then dutifully strip him bare and turn his ire into quivering need.

And as with most things when it comes to Alfie, Tommy should know better. His bad moods and sullen responses to Alfie’s behavior only serve to further encourage it, pushing him to infuriate him more and more.

—

It’s about a month after Alfie’s fateful run in Margate that he begins to send scandalous texts to Tommy throughout the workday. The idiot had made the mistake of sharing his calendar with him, so Alfie always knows just the opportune time to bombard him.

It starts off innocent enough. The occasional text recalling the night before (Can't stop thinking about how glorious that beautiful ass felt around my cock) or anticipating evenings to come ( I’m going to make you come so hard tonight you won’t be able to walk for days). Alfie always hits send with a rush of glee, imagining Tommy checking his buzzing phone during important negotiations, his cheeks flushing pink upon reading them, followed by a clenched jaw and quickened breaths.

Without fail, Tommy never responds, but still comes to him later, throws his briefcase onto the couch before seething out, for fucks sake, Alfie, and slamming him against the wall or counter or fridge with an aggravated kiss. It’s utterly delicious, and Alfie happily welcomes the bruises that emerge under Tommy’s aggressive ministrations and the moans of desire that soon follow as he takes him fully.

—

Alfie ups his game quickly from words to photos. He makes sure to not send anything too incriminating, no dick pics or anything, he’s not entirely lacking in class, after all. But there are teasing shots of bare arms and his unclothed chest and wetted lips and an exposed inguinal crease. All his parts that he knows Tommy likes best.

The result is far more effective than words, Tommy later barreling into his flat in a storm of ferocious lust and annoyance, equally.

One time, when Alfie yearns to taunt Tommy during what he knows is a particularly important meeting, he can’t find a moment of his own to take a current photo, and instead delves deep into his archives, finding one from his MySpace days, nearly decades ago.

The photo he stumbles upon is absurd. A young picture of him nude but for a pair of scrunched white drawers, leaning languidly against a door frame, crotch unabashedly defined. He sends it without a moment's hesitation.

Tommy doesn’t wait until their evening plans to respond. He strides unannounced into his office midday and slams his phone onto Alfie’s desk.

“You’re getting fucking lazy, Alfie,” he says, a strange, unfamiliar energy humming about him. “Can’t even be bothered to send something recent, eh?”

Alfie grins in response and cocks his eyebrows.

“Ever rescued a dog, Tom? Naw, I bet not. See the thing is, when you rescue a dog, often it’s no young pup. And all you can think the whole time you’ve that majestic beast in your care is, fuck, what I wouldn’t give to see this beauty in his youth. So, considerate man that I am, I figured I’d grant you said pleasure.”

Tommy barks out the rare, loud laugh, his eyes twinkling and mouth spread wide. Alfie wastes no time in undressing him and fucking him senseless against his desk.

—

From this, Alfie learns that the one thing he loves more than riling Tommy up is making him laugh, and from then on his actions take on a whole new purpose.

His sent photos become less scandalous and more ridiculous and are more often from the past than not.

There’s the picture of him, lips pursed and bare-chested, but for a green vest, hand sneaking beneath his waistband. And the one of him flexing his youthful upper body quite wonderfully, if he does say so himself. And then there’s the one with him donning nothing but an orange thong and a baseball cap and a wonderfully trimmed mustache. So many to choose from, so he sends them all.

Tommy doesn’t make it easy, and Alfie has to admit he’d be disappointed if he did. More often than not Tommy strolls into his flat, skillfully masking amusement with annoyance, parading about uninterested. But Alfie can see the lightness glinting in his eyes, the slight twitch in his hard-pressed lips, and it’s with wholehearted joy that he strips away Tommy’s pretenses and delights in his ensuing undoing.

—

One day, things go particularly awry. It’s not Alfie’s fault, really. How was he supposed to foresee that Tommy had recently synced his texts to his computer and that his latest sent photo, entirely unprofessional— in fact, the most raunchy of them all— would pop into frame while Tommy was reviewing spreadsheets with his newest client?

There’s no world in which Alfie should be held accountable for this, except for Tommy’s. But still, when, instead of a non-response to his text followed by a late-night visit, Alfie receives a phone call, there’s an unease deep in his stomach.

“You crossed the fucking line, today,” Tommy informs him, with a particularly steely tone. Alfie balks.

“I what? ” He asks, incredulous. Tommy recounts his day and hangs up abruptly at Alfie’s ensuing laughter.

Countless texts later Alfie has convinced Tommy to come over, after all. Despite his complete lack of responsibility for the disaster his earlier text had resulted in, Alfie can’t help but feel a pang of remorse.

So he swallows his pride and sets about a scheme to rectify matters. He’s naked but for his cinched white underwear, posing against the wall, emulating that first MySpace post he’d shared, when Tommy enters his flat. Tommy falters when he sees him, clearly so ready for defiance, but shocked into something else entirely.

Alfie rubs his free hand over his beard, says, “2005 called. They want me back.”

The grin that splits over Tommy’s face should be relief enough, but it’s not until he steps forward and cups Alfie fully in his palm, his lips grazing softly over his, that Alfie knows his sins are truly forgiven.

They spend the night enthusiastically fucking and, when morning comes, continue, canceling their workdays, pleasure thoroughly trumping business.

#Peaky Blinders #Tommy/Alfie #tommy x alfie #Tommy Shelby #Alfie Solomons #Tom Hardy #ao3 #fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic

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wallwriterstuff · 4 years

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When You’re Lost, I’ll Leave My Gaslight On ||Yandere!Alec Volturi x Female Reader||

A request by @tiger-khans-blog Part 1: Obsession Part 3: These Violent Delights

Warnings: Yandere!Alec, obsessive behaviour, unhealthy relationships and implied non-con later on. This is possibly one of the darkest fics I have ever written so please be aware if controlling behaviour, gaslighting etc. is triggering to you, do not read this fic.

The following link will take you to a Citizen’s Advice Page that have resources regarding Domestic abuse and violence. They detail various organisations offering support, refuge and advice for both women and men in abusive situations, however these only apply to the UK.

https://www.citizensadvice.org.uk/family/gender-violence/domestic-violence-and-abuse-getting-help/

I am from the UK and therefore am not sure about what resources may be available internationally, however I know many of you are from places outwith the UK. If you have any resources you know of that would be useful or helpful to add here then please do! You can reblog this post with link in or message me a link to have me edit it into the original. I will post this link and any that get added in all three parts of this fic that I post.

Words: 4,436

Summary: Alec’s actions earned him some time in the dungeons of Volterra, and he really seems to be trying his best to behave himself the second time around. However, as your relationship with him blossoms, you find yourself growing more and more insecure, unsure if things are really as they seem to be. Your descent into madness seems much slower than Alice’s fall down the rabbit hole.

Bella didn’t even write to you. Nor did Alice or Edward, or Emmet or Jasper. Only Carlisle had bothered to contact you, expressing his deepest regret you had gotten tangled up in all of this and his promise to speak to Aro on your behalf. Carlisle’s efforts had granted you your own quarters on the opposite side of the castle, smaller and far less grand than the ones you had woken up in but entirely yours to decorate how you pleased; at least, that was what Felix and Demetri had decided. The silence from back home was bad enough but on top of that you had to come to terms with the fact you were now forced to live with vampires who had little to no respect for human life, one of which had a mental gift she had loved to use on you as punishment for turning her brother against her as she put it.

To say you were depressed would have been an understatement.

It felt beyond impossible to consider feeling anything remotely positive when nothing seemed to go right for you. The secretaries who brought you food were the only interaction you had for the first few days and they were mostly too afraid to stick around and talk to you after hearing you were Alec’s mate. You had been utterly and entirely alone. Unbeknownst to you, this was a test, one you failed miserably, and after they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of you by day 4 of your stay with them Felix and Demetri had taken it upon themselves to visit you. They were quite patient, letting you stay as far from them as you wanted while they invaded what had become your safe space, those unblinking red eyes taking in the sparse walls and boring, plain wood desk and doors. It was then that Felix had spoken up about decorating and Demetri has enthusiastically agreed this was a wonderful idea.

Felix, it turned out, was quite the talented artist. Looking at the brute you’d never imagined he could hold a pencil without snapping it in half, but he had drawn up the most beautiful sketches you could imagine as you told them what your bedroom back home had looked like, and how you had wanted to decorate it with your father. They had let you cry again at that point and looking back on it it was rather amusing to watch the two immortals – who physically had lacked the ability to tear up for over a millennia now – share a panic stricken look and throw tissues at you. By the end of the week, they had come back to your room with everything they would need for their DIY project and helped you start painting your room. You had been a little overwhelmed at their kindness, but both had waved it off as nothing and whenever they got the chance over the next week, they had helped you decorate.

You had shared music tastes, let Demetri try to interest you in poetry (even if he had failed dramatically) and even sat to watch a movie with them once while you had lunch. Still, it didn’t feel like home, just an escape from an abysmal reality.

“You know, he will be freed tomorrow.” Felix said quietly. You were in the middle of stringing up some fairy lights around the canopy of your bed when the news rendered you immobile. You barely remembered to breathe until Demetri very gently touched your waist and helped you down from your bed before you fell.

“I don’t want him to be.” You whispered, eyes ducking away from theirs. Alec had been their friend for far longer after all and the confession was cruel. Demetri sighed slightly.

“We have visited him once or twice, spoken to him. He truly does feel awful about what happened.” He promised you. It was very obvious on your face you didn’t believe him, and even if you did you were certain Alec’s behaviour was not normal, it didn’t eradicate your fear to know he wished it never happened when it seemed like he had had no control over it in the first place. If he couldn’t control it, it could very well happen again. Felix watched you carefully as you sat back against the headboard, curling your knees to your chest.

“Why…why was he like that? Is it – I mean could he…will he be like that again?” you swallowed, mouth a little dry as your heart fluttered in your chest. You felt sick, suddenly no longer curious about whatever dinner the new secretary might bring. Gianna had stopped showing up two days ago and you didn’t need to ask to know why. They shared a side long look, Felix going back to putting together the bookshelf you had repainted with him. It was a bit of a pattern, that Demetri handled your more sensitive questions – Felix just didn’t have the tact or patience for them.

“You remember our discussion on the transformation process? How we are frozen at the stage of growth we are at when we turn?” he questioned, waiting for you to nod before continuing, “Alec was turned no older than you are now, just 16, you know yourself from growing up I’m sure what a volatile time that can be. It is not that Alec wishes to scare you, just that the violence of his feelings is something he will have to learn to control.”

“The violence of his feelings?” you asked warily. Demetri hummed, head tilting.

“We feel emotion far more intensely than you, little human. Our bodies are frozen but heightened, so that we might experience everything to the fullest extent and therefore miss out on nothing. Alec is essentially a teenager seeing the girl he has a rather potent crush on for the first time, the mate pull was both entirely unexpected and strong. He admitted himself he had no way of controlling his own actions but he has meditated and spoken to master Marcus for help since. He really does not wish to put you through that again.” Demetri assured you.

“You have to give the boy some reprieve, he wasn’t exactly having fun either. Alec prides himself on his self-control, your appearance tossed it right out of the window.” Felix pointed out. You hung your head, brows furrowed. It sounded an awful lot to you like they were defending the inexcusable behaviour. He’s just a boy, he couldn’t control it, it’s not his fault…well, it didn’t change the fact it had hurt you. It had traumatised you really, so much so that even when you replayed Demetri’s words in your head in an effort to help calm yourself you still found no sleep that night knowing Alec would be at your door tomorrow.

Except he wasn’t.

He didn’t come the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that, and you hated that you were beginning to wonder if he was ever coming at all. Was this a new, peculiar kind of torture? Making you wait for him? Every knock at the door made you jump the first day or two but after that you slowly began to unwind, your heavy heart coming to the conclusion he maybe wasn’t coming back, that he felt it better to stay away from you. You almost passed out when he finally did show up at your door, standing behind Demetri as still as stone and looking jut as perfect as any sculpture could. It really wasn’t fair the boy was so pretty. Demetri gave you a warm smile.

“Good evening Y/N, do you mind if we come in little human?” he asked. You hesitated. Did you want Alec in your safe space? Your room was your sanctuary, decorated how you liked with no trace of Alec inside it as of yet. He seemed to notice your hesitation and you were surprised to see just how much anguish it brought him.

“If you prefer, we could take a walk around the Gardens? Demetri says you haven’t left your room much.” Alec said. His voice was softer now, no longer did it have the rough edge to it it had held in the throne room. You swallowed thickly, slowly nodding your head, and moved to get your shoes from by the door. Alec inhaled sharply as the shirt you were wearing rode up slightly. His arms had left to sizable bruises on your torso and he had obviously seen them. You weren’t expecting him to look so torn up about it. Demetri glanced between you both, his eyes knowing.

“I would suggest a jumper, the evenings can be somewhat chillier.” He advised. You nodded, crossing to your closet. Once you were ready, you shut the door firmly behind you and stuck close to Demetri’s side, much to Alec’s obvious ire, but the boy kept himself in check with remarkable discipline that gave you hope he could maybe be better.

“How are you?” he asked, his voice strained. Your hair fell, covering your eyes until you pushed it back with a quick nod.

“I’m okay. How are you?” the small talk was entirely forced and thoroughly unpleasant, but Demetri stood firm between you two, absorbing it all. You were more than a little grateful.

“I have…been better,” Alec confessed, “Demetri explained the…difficulty, I’m having in being around you?” he asked. The strain in his voice was growing more obvious again now but one look from Demetri forced him to settle as you shuddered, memory flashing to the violent grip his arms had on you. If he noticed your hand subconsciously go to your bruised flesh, he didn’t comment on it.

“He told me you couldn’t control your feelings.” You said quietly. Alec huffed, eyes flashing with irritation.

“It’s as upsetting to me as it is to you, to think a mere human would make me so…so…” he trailed off, trying to choose the right word. You prompted him, curious to see what he would choose. “Obsessed.” He settled for the word with such a flat tone you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around yourself, mind reeling. It wasn’t a good word. It wasn’t your preferred word. Carlisle and Esme had been mates, hadn’t they? Rosalie and Emmett? Alice and Jasper? They had proven to you if nothing else that mates should be loving, kind. It was a relationship based on mutual attraction and desire, caring, not one person’s obsession with another. It was an unhealthy word.

“Why don’t you tell Alec of our trip to the market the other week?” Demetri hedged. He was clearly acting as chaperone today as you headed out into the fading sunlight. The Gardens of Castello Volterra were magnificent, kept tidy and neat and bursting with colour. A massive expanse of green dotted with vibrant hues of flowerbeds and glorious leafy sculptures in shapes you could recognise. Horses, chess pieces. Your answers were short, quiet, and Alec seemed to have moments he was incredibly open and vulnerable before he became a little more robotic, his control slipping when he found his emotions getting the best of him again. The amount of effort he put into his composure really astounded you, and by the time you were half-way around the Walled Garden you were actually starting to feel a little bit bad. Clearly your presence really did make him suffer.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” He admitted finally, fists clenched at his sides. With a sharp exhale, Alec turned to you, ruby red eyes darkening as soon as they made contact with your own Y/E/C.

“Alec-“

“Y/N, I have tortured myself over the way I behaved towards you. I am truly sorry I ever laid a hand on you. I hope that as I work on controlling myself around you, you work on being able to forgive me for that.” Alec cut Demetri off, his body rigid with tension and eyes flickering to the very slight gap left between you and the tracker as you moved closer out of instinct to the person you trusted most out of the two of them. His nostrils flared, seemingly annoyed by it.

“I…can try. But you need to promise me Alec, promise me you won’t hurt me like that ever again.” You said. Truthfully you were intrigued by him. Demetri had told you you would also feel the mate pull eventually, though not as strongly as Alec did, and your curiosity to know more about the witch twin was the start of a very deep dark hole you were about to fall into. The air turned almost ominous, like that strange moment between hearing thunder and waiting to see if there would be lightning.

“I won’t make you promises I can’t keep.” Alec’s voice was all that was left of him, as he was gone by the time you blinked again. Demetri sighed slightly, though he tried to perk up his expression when he realised you were looking helplessly to him for answers.

“Well, that went rather well, do you not agree?” he asked. What had Alec meant? He had done so well today. Clearly he was getting the hang of controlling his emotions, he could be less of a threat. You had rather liked the sweeter side of Alec you had glimpsed today, the side that told you about how Jane had planted the peonies and had chased Felix quite literally out of the city when he accidentally trampled on them once, just to hear you laugh. You liked the side of Alec that had quietly complimented the way your hair reflected the dying light while you stood and admired another topiary.

A month passed this way before you finally felt comfortable enough to be around Alec on your own. He had really tried hard to become a better man for you and it showed. His smiles were more natural and he found it easier to relax in your presence, no more uptight Alec that left you wandering when he would snap. Felix and Demetri had continued to chaperone your dates for all that time until you finally asked one night if you might be allowed to be with Alec on your own for a little bit. Demetri had enthusiastically agreed, both Guards seemingly happy you were finally letting their friend have his chance. Alec seemed to sense your nerves when you appeared in the library, where you’d both agreed to meet for an hour to two to test the waters. He was more relaxed than you’d ever seen him, leaning back against the sofa with his eyes closed while he listened to some far-off birdsong you couldn’t hear, or so you imagined.

“I wasn’t sure you would come.” He admitted. You smiled slightly, pulling your sketchbook from your bag as you sat on the opposite sofa to him.

“I said I would,” You reminded him. Alec smiled slightly, head bobbing in agreement. “What are you reading?” you asked. Alec glanced to the book beside him.

“The Picture of Dorian Gray, though I confess myself bored of it. Wilde has never been my preferred author.” Alec answered, sitting up and eyeing your sketchbook with interest. You didn’t notice, too busy flipping through your pages to find the sketch you were working on now. The lines were already drawn, you had just wanted to finish your shading today.

“How is Jane?” you asked. You wanted to chase away the silence and figured it would be a nice way to maybe broach the topic that she had avoided you like the plague. Alec didn’t answer you and when you looked up to see why you saw his eyes fixated on your sketch, nothing but awe painting his face. You flushed a deep shade of red.

“Beautiful and talented, little human.” He breathed. You were fairly sure you weren’t supposed to hear, but it only made your blush darken. It was nothing worthy of a spot in the Louvre, just a sketch of the view from the fountain in the plaza looking down one of Volterra’s many alleyways. You tucked some hair behind your ear with a small smile.

“Thank you,” you said softly, “I started it the other day, when Demetri took me to that café I told you about? Where they do those really nice pastries?” As if a switch had been flipped Alec’s face shut off, all expression wiped away and an impassive mask replacing it. It had happened so fast you were unsure anything other than apathy had ever painted his face in the first place.

“Demetri takes you out often.” He noted. There was nothing his tone or his face to give away his feelings about that, but a strong sense of foreboding settled in your gut. You shut your sketchbook, knowing deep in your chest that the damage was already done. The atmosphere in the room had changed drastically, becoming charged and electric, like it was filled with current just waiting to frazzle and consume you whole.

“Yeah…it’s nice to get out of the castle, and it’s not like I’m a prison so why shouldn’t I see the city I’ve got to live in now?” you rambled ever so slightly, voice wavering a bit, but Alec’s expression changed so quickly you were sure he was trying to give you whiplash. With a laugh he nodded his head.

“Of course.” He made no further comment and you descended into silence again until it was time to leave, your sketchbook long abandoned and your eyes fixed on him, waiting for his mood to shift again. He was perfectly respectable in every other way however, his silence easy to brush off as nothing when he kissed your knuckles chivalrously after walking you back to your room. He still hadn’t set foot in it yet despite his obvious intrigue, waiting for you to invite him in personally. When the door closed behind you, you released a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. The whole evening had gone far better than expected even with the few minor road bumps. In fact, Alec’s mood seemed to do an entire 180 compared to how he had been when you first met. He was pleasant, charming even. That was where the problem started.

One night, he bought you flowers and a pastry from your favourite café, remembering the exact kind you liked and bringing it to your door so you could enjoy a walk with him in the Gardens once more, watching the stars come out. You’d passed Felix in the corridor and waved but the giant had hurried by as though he hadn’t seen you. A few days after that Alec had promised to take you out to the markets, but the weather had been too bright for him apparently even though you had argued it was overcast enough that the chances of him exposing himself were slim to none. He had come to your room with new sketching pencils that night, an apology gift to make it up to you, he said.

It had become a theme though, you noticed. Alec would promise to take you somewhere, and then he would find one way or another to weasel his way out of taking you out.

“I never promised you anything, I said we might, your imaging things.” He would dismiss it the same way every time and always follow up with a nice gesture that made you feel bad for questioning him on it. He really did feel guilty about you not getting to go out, didn’t he? It wasn’t just that though either, it was Demetri and Felix’s absence in your life that had grown concerning. You were conscious you hadn’t seen your friends for quite some time, Alec always claiming they were busy with guard duty or some other task, yet when you caught Demetri in the corridor once he had brushed you off with the enough regret in his eyes that it made you question Alec’s entire story.

“But they always found time to at least say hello to me before, so why-“

“Y/N, my love I don’t wish to upset you, but do you really think they were ever your friends?” Alec asked. You blinked, frowning in confusion.

“Of course they’re my friends! We decorated my room together and they helped us get to know each other. I just don’t get why they aren’t around anymore.” You huffed. Alec ran his hand down your arm gently, your skin tingling at the ice-cold contact. He had slowly started to incorporate physical affection into your relationship, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t thrilled with the little touches. It was a far cry from the rough embrace he had given you nearly two months ago.

“They were fulfilling a duty tesoro, you required a room and at the Masters request they built you one, and do you really think one little human can go unguarded in this place? They were your sentries, not your friends.” His expression was so sympathetic you wondered how you couldn’t not believe him, and he’d held you to him as you cried over their obvious betrayal. As weeks dragged into another month though your anxiety only grew, and it didn’t make sense. Things between you and Alec were really good. He had much more control now and he was affectionate and sweet, always giving you little gifts and making time in his day to see you even if no one else would, but something was just…wrong. You were sure you were going mad.

You wrote home frequently to the Cullen’s so they could pass letters on to Bella, but those letters sometimes went missing and despite being sure you wrote them, Alec assured you you hadn’t and he had never seen them materialise. As sweet as he was Alec always put down your clumsy little accidents to you being human to, laughing when you tripped into his arms or holding his breath as he cleaned up scrapes for you with that dreaded little saying of his.

“You’re only human Y/N.” he chuckled, as he carefully placed a band aid around the finger you had accidentally cut while cooking yourself dinner. You sighed dejectedly.

“I wish you’d stop saying that.” You admitted. It felt like you weren’t good enough. Your human needs were a bother to him, that much was clear. He always had to take time to make sure you had something to eat when he really just wanted to spend his free hours with you. Most of the time when he was free you were asleep and you could only imagine how boring it must be for him to have to spend so much time alone when you were across the castle, sleeping peacefully. Bathroom breaks were another thing that gave you almost nauseating anxiety now to, and you’d scrubbed your body pink on multiple occasions wondering if your personal hygiene was assaulting his nose or not after a day or two without showering.

You needed to clear your head, you decided, so a trip to your café was in order. Alec wouldn’t be able to take you you knew, not with the sun as bright as it was right then. It would fade quickly given the late time of year but you left a note just in case Alec wondered across your empty room. It felt good, to get fresh air and to sit in a window seat, watching the world go by without a care as sweet pastry melted in your mouth. You had brought a book with you to enjoy to, a fantasy world to escape to for a little bit before your old anxieties came crawling back in. Though your relationship with Alec was as yet undefined, you felt like you were to blame for that due to your inferior status. After all, what could you possible bring to a relationship with him that would make him want to call you his mate? You were only human after all.

“Now what are you doing here little human?” Demetri’s voice startled you so much you dropped your book to the tabletop with a gasp. Heart fluttering, you couldn’t help but laugh breathless, if only to ease the tension.

“Demetri, god you scared the hell out of me.” You swallowed, not liking the way he was frowning at you.

“Well you can consider us even then.” He said, arms folding across his chest. You felt a lot like you were a child being scolded in that moment.

“What?” you asked.

“You heard me. You cannot just leave the castle Y/N, not without telling someone or at least leaving a note. There was an uproar when Alec found you gone, we thought something had happened to you.” He chided. Your frown deepened.

“But I did leave a note, I taped it to my door so Alec would see.” You protested. Demetri’s eyebrows rose.

“Not according to Alec. He found no note and I did not see anything resembling one when I came to your room to see what the fuss was about. Come on, you have had your fun. A harmless misunderstanding it may be but you will be in for a scolding from the Masters.” he sighed, holding a hand to help you out of your chair. Your stomach twisted. You were going to have to see the Masters because you’d gone out for coffee? How had Alec missed your note? You were sure you had left it on the door for him! You remembered the schluuuuck sound of sticky tape and everything as you taped it up!

“But Demetri, I swear I left a note.” You said, packing away your things as your good mood crumbled. Demetri was quiet for a moment.

“Perhaps you did and it was overlooked, either way you have scared us all enough for one day.” He took your bag from you like the gentleman he was, escorting you back to the castle. You were so sure you had left that note for Alec, as sure as you were about your own name, but what if you hadn’t? You resolved to steel your nerves for now, take your scolding and ensure you left one next time. Hell, next time you would even tell the secretary to go and tell Alec in the throne room just to be safe. You weren’t going to worry your mate like this again, it wasn’t going to become a pattern.

How wrong you were.

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #dark themes #volturi #alec volturi #female reader #alec volturi x female reader #demetri volturi #felix volturi #gaslighting #emotional abuse #this fic just gets progressively darker with every part I post #reader is really going through it #but seriously folks emotional abuse is no laughing matter #please don't suffer through it if you see a way out #each and everyone of you is a gift

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devilsskettle · 3 years

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(^^^ from howling (and bleeding) at the moon: menstruation, monstrosity and the double in the ginger snaps werewolf trilogy by erin m. flaherty)

tw for discussion of suicide ideation

okay. so. i agree with the “doppelgänger narrative” idea but the idea that brigitte “[comes] to stand for the symbolic order she resists so enthusiastically at the start of the film” is, in my reading of the ending, a misinterpretation of what ginger’s “monstrosity” signifies in the film. flaherty’s reading follows a common structure of creature features in which the monstrous transgresses social norms, so the overarching conflict is the “other” vs. normalcy. in that case, killing the monster at the end is a return to normal and reinforces societal expectations. however, i don’t think that ginger snaps is actually that kind of story. at the beginning, both ginger and brigitte “resist so enthusiastically” being part of society to the point of rejecting life, becoming isolated and codependent. before ginger gets her period, brigitte tells her that she better not become basic like all the other kids at their school, but she leaves her behind pretty quickly once she becomes interested in teen society sex drugs and rock n roll and is more accepted by her peers. brigitte continues not to give a fuck about what anyone thinks of her, even though ginger is part of that world now and not their own. part of ginger’s transformation actually helps her gain social acceptance - she is now part of the “symbolic order” even as she transgresses it. i’m not saying her transformation doesn’t transgress this order, or that she gains the acceptance of everyone at her school - trina in particular certainly isn’t a fan - but especially at the beginning, the changes that she undergoes is perceived as her becoming a “normal” teenage girl instead of the freaky death-obsessed kid ostracized by her classmates.

i would argue that ginger’s transformation makes her both super- and unfeminine - super-feminine in the sense that all the side effects of puberty for people with uteruses (menstruation, body hair/shaving, developing new body parts, hormones/mood swings, and awareness of sexuality/being sexually active) are exaggerated during her transformation - and a lot of these symptoms are ways in which a woman’s body is policed or found unacceptable or gross; unfeminine in the sense that, first of all, she’s becoming inhuman and gender is a very human concept, and second of all, she still doesn’t fit the mold of female expectation (i.e. shaving, dressing a certain way, being demure or nurturing, not being overconfident, not being a slut OR not being a prude, not having physical strength, etc). flaherty does make this argument via david j. hogan’s dark romance: sexuality and the horror film: “in complete confrontation with the classic view of the werewolf as ‘masculinity carried to an outrageous extreme,’ the werewolf is actually aligned with femininity carried to an extreme,” an idea that i think works really well in discussion of ginger snaps in particular. she also rejects the identity of “girl” several times - “wrists are for girls, i’m slitting my throat,” yelling at brigitte and saying she’s “just a stupid little girl” - and disparagingly points out the difference between the expectations for male and female sexuality - “he got laid, i’m just a lay.” so.... i definitely do get the interpretation of ginger’s death to have a kind of punitive logic for transgressing gendered expectations in these two different ways, but i think that’s a meta-criticism on the part of the writers, not the role that brigitte fills (for a movie that rejects the “death by morality call” of hollywood monster movies, they really did still punish her narratively for moral transgressions lmao - like flaherty says, “it appears that as subversive as the ginger snaps films are in respect to the werewolf narrative, they also reflect a deep cultural ambivalence about female identity. there is no option offered to ginger or brigitte, and due tot heir unwillingness to accept the roles predetermined for them in the society in which they live, they must be punished”). honestly i think i am nitpicking a little bit because i guess i do ultimately agree with flaherty that the story follows a normalcy > otherness > return to normalcy pattern with gendered ideas of what normalcy is, and where she loses me is her interpretation of brigitte and ginger’s social standing. to me, ginger seems really frustrated trying to navigate gender roles and her own position in society - but she is engaging with society.

you know who’s still not engaging with society? brigitte. she isn’t part of that “normalcy” at all, so to me, her rejection of the lycanthropy that ginger embraces signifies less that she sides with the social order and wants to reinforce normalcy, and more that she did a lot of growing up over the course of this movie as well, in a different direction than ginger did, and she reclaims her agency as well as her will to live. i feel like the monstrosity vs. normalcy framework ignores the fact that both ginger and brigitte are actively suicidal at the beginning of the movie - the first shot we get of ginger is her holding a knife to her wrist. at the beginning, brigitte hesitantly agrees to their suicide pact despite her obvious reservations. at the end, she strongly asserts, “i’m not dying in this room with you. i’m not dying.” so if we consider ginger’s mimetic role for brigitte, killing her isn’t reestablishing the social norm, it’s rejecting her own destructive and suicidal tendencies. i think her narrative arc teaches her: 1) how to make her own decisions separate from ginger and have agency in her own life, 2) recognition of her mother’s feelings of estrangement from her family, 3) how to connect with other people in a way that isn’t codependent, 4) rejection of suicide ideation. all of these lessons are ways of treating yourself and others with respect, compassion, and understanding - even though brigitte doesn’t change dramatically, magically becoming a saccharinely nice person or a social butterfly. she maintains her isolation and personality much more than ginger does over the course of the film. while at the beginning their fascination with their own deaths “not only demonstrates the duo’s disgust at the banality of their suburban surroundings, it also proclaims their self-stylized exclusion from the heterosexually fueled dynamics of the teen scene” (via menstrual monsters: the reception of the ginger snaps cult horror franchise), it’s ginger, not brigitte, who ends up participating in this “compulsive heterosexing high school culture,” where brigitte’s choice to not commit suicide isn’t her opting into this culture, but attempting to find a less destructive way of escaping or coping with it.

flaherty argues that because brigitte’s first period is never discussed in the films, “she remains a child and therefore is unable to understand the true restrictiveness of woman as Other, what leads ginger to eventually embrace and enjoy her monstrosity,” but in unleashed, a fair amount of time has passed and i think it’s fair to say that brigitte no longer seems child-like (that role is assumed by ghost), and also she starts experiencing the same kind of monstrous sexuality as ginger did in the first movie - i think it misrepresents her characterization in the sequel to say that she maintains “child” status. i also think it’s not relevant to try to distinguish between “girl” and “woman” in terms of the monstrous-feminine. she still experiences alienation and otherness because she’s female and transgresses gender roles. so.... i don’t know. it’s a weird argument to make, especially since, like i said before, i consider this story a kind of coming of age for both sisters. “lycanthropy and femaleness” are not “ultimately unknowable” to her because.... she does become a werewolf over the course of both movies and she’s already female (like..... getting your period doesn’t magically make you a Real Woman lol)

i also think it’s significant that as a stand-alone movie (ignoring the sequel, which is worth watching but seriously bleak as hell) the ending is tragic but tacitly hopeful as well - as far as we know at that point brigitte has the cure (which actually works!) and is not going to kill herself. in her final confrontation with ginger, she has the cure in one hand and a knife in the other hand, and i think that nicely represents the choice that is hanging over her head the entire movie: choosing to live or choosing to die. (flaherty calls this “a telling moment of double phallic-appropriation” which..... meh. okay. not every weapon/tool used in a horror movie has to be a phallic symbol but also, sure, whatever. that’s one way to read it i guess). ginger made her decision at the very beginning of the movie

this quote by karen walton expresses this interpretation really well:

The two sisters had this childhood bond with their pact. These two sisters were also best friends who created a bubble for themselves and took strength from each other, nourished and informed each other for a long time; but the film is not just the story of Ginger turning into a monster. It is also a story about Brigitte surviving her sister who is on a death spiral. Ginger's is a story of self-destruction. But where people get confused is that they think Ginger is the hero, but the film is really about a sister who survives a sister, who survives a best friend. An intimate relationship that becomes unhealthy and deadly.

and i’ve talked a little bit about why i feel uncomfortable with attaching a ~*girl power*~ narrative to ginger so i won’t get to much into that but i have some thoughts about that here

also i’ve said a little bit about this before and i am basically copy/pasting from a post i already made but with a doppelgänger story like this, especially with a focus on women and madness, to me it immediately brings to mind jane eyre. i am thinking in terms of the mimetic function of jane/bertha and brigitte/ginger, with the repressed emotions and desires of the protagonist coming through in the actions of the “madwoman” character. especially brigitte’s assertion of “now i am you” when she voluntarily lets ginger turn her into a werewolf. the “madwoman” is portrayed as bestial, hypersexual, intemperate with substances, jealous, vengeful, as well as dealing with extreme anger toward confinement (ginger’s panic at getting locked up and her escape and weaponized sexuality brand of revenge is so similar to bertha like. trying to burn rochester alive and biting her brother badly enough that he passes out and other shit like that). but ALSO the other women in jane eyre have a mimetic function as well, where they can be read as potential paths for jane to follow (these choices generally can be summarized as dead or married). i think ginger snaps can be read the same way - ginger, trina, and her mother are the models of womanhood brigitte is presented with, and she is repeatedly told that what’s happening to ginger is normal, that all women experience that, and soon she will too. like the women in jane eyre, they’re models of femininity that she rejects but has to navigate because there are no other models for her. these three characters are either killed (directly or indirectly) or abandoned by her by the end of the movie. it’s actually ginger who defines the roles that women are cast into: “a slut, a bitch, a tease, or the virgin next door.” this is similar the female archetypes that jane has to navigate (and resist) throughout jane eyre. anyway this is a really roundabout way of saying that although brigitte does reject her worldview from the beginning of the movie, she doesn’t accept social order and normalcy. she doesn’t fall into any easily defined category. which is the point - “no one thinks girls do fucked up shit” but of course they do, no one thinks they can be more complex than these categories but of course they are, no one entertains the possibility that brigitte isn’t going to follow some made up universal experience of girlhood but she resists that through the end of the movie. she’s still a total weirdo <3

so yeah, i will also disagree with the assertion that both sisters lose their identities, because while i think there is a loss or a shift of identity in both ginger and brigitte, like flaherty argues, part of brigitte’s narrative arc is figuring out who she is without her dependence on her sister. brigitte saying “now i am you” feels less about loss of identity to me than actually identifying herself with the traits she sees (or used to see) in ginger - where ginger’s response (“i know you are, but what am i?”) indicates actual loss of identity rather than something transitory

oh and also one of the main claims of this paper is that the male werewolf’s source of pain is beyond the “lifetime of morning-afters where he must confront the previous night’s excess,” and is really his “bodily alignment with another ungraspable Other, the woman” which 1) i don’t think follows the definition of the Other she establishes earlier in the paper as something that is repressed in a self or society - this use of “otherness” seems more about alignment with something different than his own identity and less about the jekyll and hyde comparison she evokes with the expression of a repressed self (imo i don’t think she should’ve used that story to support her argument since it isn’t actually about werewolves, even though i get her point about the repressed self, it’s kind of irrelevant to her argument), 2) brigitte in the first movie doesn’t seem repressed to me - she genuinely doesn’t seem to have the same impulses as ginger does and it’s not until the sequel that she actively is attempting to repress the changes that are happening to her; however, since the paper does concern the whole trilogy, i think the point is still valid, but there’s such a heavy focus on the first movie that i feel the need to dispute that interpretation of her character arc, and 3) i don’t think this interpretation really lines up with classic werewolf movies - there’s nothing particularly feminine about your standard werewolf except arguably the cyclical alignment with the moon that ginger snaps uses as a menstruation metaphor, but like. for example. i would never watch an american werewolf in london and think, “oh, his distress isn’t actually about killing innocent people, loss of control, loss of sanity, guilt and mourning because of the death of his friend, a predetermined fate, and suicide, it’s about him being female-coded” or something. like, yes, “the tragedy of the male werewolf is believed to lie exclusively in the deep anguish he feels in violating the very societal boundaries he has come to live under” and it’s interesting to dig deeper into that in terms of gender and sexuality, but i don’t think femaleness is inherent in the distress of the male werewolf - of course this is true in ginger snaps (with jason’s transformation being particularly distressing to him because it mirrors menstruation). the assertion that the classic werewolf “bleeds uncontrollably until his transformation is complete” similarly seems unfounded to me because i’ve never seen that in werewolf movies and she doesn’t cite where she finds that symptom of the transformation - maybe i am missing something there? if anyone knows of a depiction where that’s the case let me know, because that’s definitely a stronger argument for werewolves = menstruation-coded.

and re: the quote i cited earlier about werewolves = femininity taken to the extreme: i don’t think that argument holds true in the classic depiction/cultural perception of the werewolf. i think this post makes a more supportable (and concise) argument:

There are hardly any female werewolves because they break all the classic rules of femininity. They force you to confront female violence, strength, size, grotesqueness and uncontrollability. Historically female shapeshifters always shift into something dangerous (snake) or sleek (cat) or dainty (bird) but female werewolves ignore the masculine gaze completely. They're distorted beasts that have no ulterior motive except to destroy. Nothing about them is nurturing or modest. They're the opposite of what a woman "should be." Their omission from pop culture is not an accident.

all that being said, i did enjoy this article, especially starting at the section titled “wrists are for girls; i’m slitting my throat:” ginger fitzgerald’s monstrosity and all the stuff about ginger’s transformation as a reflection of "monstrosity” as a teenage girl, and suburban landscape of repression. one description of brigitte’s conflict that i actually really like: “unlike the male werewolf’s double, brigitte yearns not for the eradication of her other half but for the reconciliation.” i think it’s a really interesting read, even if i don’t agree with a lot of it. and maybe i’m way off base? maybe i’m interpreting brigitte as a character too generously? let me know what you guys think

#ginger snaps #hell is a teenage girl #anyway..... i've got some opinions #i have no outlet for ranting about ginger snaps OR jane eyre anymore so just.... bear with me #suicide tw #long post

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beeftony · 4 years

Text

RE: Hordak and Representation

During a recent stream, a few things happened. This post compiles the events and sets the record straight on a few misunderstandings. I can’t comment on the racism, or the use of the d-slur (even though, as that post points, out, it was part of the title of another podcast that the host of the podcast was promoting, whose creators presumably were okay with the name of the podcast being read in full). But I can talk about Hordak.

Hordak’s disability is presented in canon as a genetic defect that took time to fully materialize and start tearing his body apart. Before that he was a respected general in Horde Prime’s army, but was cast out due to his “imperfection.” This directly motivates nearly every action Hordak takes to try and prove himself worthy by the standards of the one who created him.

Now here’s the part where I tell you I have Type-1 Diabetes.

Diabetes is a degenerative autoimmune disorder in which the pancreas stops producing insulin, the chemical which helps the body process sugar. It’s very often genetic, and my family history with it dates at least as far back as my maternal grandfather. The effects of this disorder can absolutely ravage the body. It ate the muscle tissue in my legs to the point where I could barely walk or even stand up straight, and the nerve damage in my feet and legs is so bad I literally couldn’t fall asleep during the worst of it. It can also cause vision loss, and in extreme cases it can necessitate limb amputation. I qualify for accomodations under the Americans With Disabilities Act, and while Hordak and I are nothing alike, I know how it feels to have your body betray you.

But is he good disabled representation? It depends. I don’t feel represented by him, but what started this whole kerfuffle is that a fan wrote in and said that they thought he was good representation. Noelle neither confirmed nor denied whether this was the intention and instead talked about his development in very general terms. She’s been very hesitant to claim any sort of representation that she doesn’t personally have life experience with, as evidenced by how she said she would have cast a trans voice actor if they’d intended for Bow to be trans from the beginning (even though she loves the headcanon), and that the crew headcanoned Catra as latina, but because it’s not addressed in the show itself it didn’t feel right to claim that.

There is no escaping the fact that Hordak’s disability--his body literally falling apart as a result of a genetic time bomb--is directly linked to the actions he takes to prove that he is “not a failure.” This is complicated. My diabetes manifested at a time in my life when I was already confident in myself and who I am, and I don’t feel like it makes me any less of a person. I’m more annoyed by it than anything. But part of the standard battery of questions my doctor asked me is if the diagnosis made me feel depressed or worthless, because that is a common reaction. It’s perfectly natural for someone to feel the way Hordak does about what happened to him, especially considering the ideology he was born into.

But uh... that doesn’t mean he had to become a colonizer. He chose that. Yes, on some level he was just regurgitating the ideology he’d literally been programmed with, but he had a fresh start in a place where he never had to deal with Horde Prime again. The reason he tried to conquer the place is because he’d already been drinking the Kool-Aid so enthusiastically that he wanted to do everything in his power to get back to where he was.

Even when he betrays Prime in the finale, his motivations are not altruistic. He cares about Entrapta specifically, but his goal is really just to take over, to conquer, to keep spreading Horde Prime’s imperialist bullshit virus of an ideology because it’s all he fucking knows. He just wants to keep his pal alive so she can, idk, rule at his side or something. It’s not until after Adora cleanses him that he remembers a time when he wasn’t quite as much of a bastard.

And as much as I’d like to say that his disability has nothing to do with that... it does. It set him down that path. He grew more and more resentful because of it. And while that’s certainly a realistic reaction (I wasn’t exactly thrilled when I got diagnosed), it’s still not a good look for the show because it’s some of the only disabled rep in the whole series. Entrapta does encourage him to think of his imperfections as beautiful, and is an example of a character who deals positively with her disability, but as I discussed above, he doesn’t actually develop into a better person because of this. It takes the closest thing this show ever gets to a deus ex machina for him to even have an epiphany.

So idk. I definitely think this specific part of the stream was taken out of context and blown out of proportion, but I also don’t feel like Hordak is good representation. That may just be me, but I have a feeling it’s not.

#she ra #hordak

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fireolin · 4 years

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Ohoho, I see someone has been reading the Murderbot Diaries 👀i'm so excited to hear how's it going!! How're you liking the series so far? I'm sure you've seen plenty of spoilers (sorry lmao), is there anything you're especially looking forward to?

Yes indeed I am! I'm 77% into the first one, according to my Kindle, and so far I'm loving it. I haven't seen any spoilers (or not that stuck in my memory) so I've got no idea what happens. Your posts on it caught my interest, so when it came up again in another context, I thought, right, I have to try that! So don't apologise for anything - you've put me onto something captivating. The thing I'm most enjoying as far as I've read is Murderbot itself. I'm really drawn to the way its actions show its differences from regular human characters. For example, when it didn't want the crew staring at it, and it went to the corner to face into the wall and avoid them. But it kept communicating through its feed. Reading that from Murderbot's perspective is kind of heartwrenching and endearing. You can feel its strong discomfort, even though it's not human. And I love seeing the rest of the crew through Murderbot's eyes (feed or whatever, lol). The access it has to information the rest of the crew does not, and the way its calculations about how it can be harmed and recover are different from those of a human give it a fascinating perspective. I'm also really loving that its come to regard the crew as 'my humans' and good humans. The crew are also great! I'm only just getting a feel for them I guess, but Dr Mensah is admirable and kind and insightful. It's fun when they don't react the way Murderbot expects. I think the science fiction is done cleverly too, because Martha Wells uses very simple words to create the feeling of future tech, and to be honest, I think that's an art. It's very easy to read, less work than a lot of science fiction, which means for me it's a great novella to relax with. This is maybe too long an answer! I don't know what's happening next. I guess what I'm looking forward to most, is hopefully, Murderbot somehow saving the crew and surviving everything. The overall premise, how Murderbot's own survival is at risk if the Company finds out it has hacked its governor module, is fabulous. I've read a lot of stories about AI's over the years. (Less in recent times.) My favourite before this was Anne Leckie's Ancillary Justice series. Murderbot is very different - different world, not a spaceship restricted to just one body, a fraction of its former self - but I'm enjoying it as much. Ancillary Justice is more challenging to get into at the start (but definitely worth the effort) so I think Murderbot is maybe an easier series, but just as interesting. Anyhow, I was looking for some fun SF, and now I'm looking forward to the rest of the series! Thanks again for your enthusiastic posts because this is right up my alley!

#grammarpedant #murderbot #my reading #thanks so much for asking! i hope didn't overload you with my answer #i should finish the first one in the next day or two depending on how much of a chance i get

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snowdice · 4 years

Text

Folds in Paper (Chapter 8: In the Nick of Time)[Folds in Time Universe]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Janus/Patton, Remus & Roman, eventual Logan/Virgil (maybe more)

Characters:

Main: Janus, Patton, Remus

Appear: Remy, Emile, Virgil, Logan, Roman

Summary: Janus, a disillusioned senior agent working for the Time Preservation Initiative, struggles to find meaning in a world where time travel could change everything about your life’s history in less than a moment. When time distortions start popping up, threatening the timeline and the fabric of reality as he knows it, it becomes a race against the clock to fix the damage before everything unravels. And the problem with time travel… you never how long you have before the clock strikes 12 and your time is up.

With a partner who has more mysteries in his past than Janus had anticipated and an enigmatic free agent time traveler mucking about time always with a clever pun or a time appropriate pet name on his lips, Janus will need to figure out what went wrong with time, and more importantly, how to fix it.

Chapter Summary:

The TPI let’s Nick go... just in time.

Notes: Time travel AU, mystery, enemies to lovers, alcohol

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined! You can see the process I went through to build this at this link.

I also have a playlist on youtube (because Spotify didn’t have one of the songs I wanted).

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Pat looked up as Janus stepped into the interrogation room. “Hi,” he said with an innocent smile that could cut steal.

Janus didn’t say a word as he took a seat; he just watched him intently. He leaned slightly over the table and steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “So, your name is Nick this time?” Janus asked.

“Nicholas Jonas,” he said. “Always has been.”

“Stop it,” Janus said.

“Stop what?”

“Cut the crap. I know.”

Pat leaned forward, mirroring Janus as he leaned closer, interlocking his fingers and laying his chin on top of his knuckles. “What did you say your name was again?” he asked, pleasantly.

“Janus,” Janus replied.

“No, I’m Jonas,” he said, pointing to his chest.

“Not Jonas,” Janus spat. “Janus.”

“Um,” Pat said, eyes alight with amusement. The bastard. “Those are the same words.”

“No, they’re not. It’s Janus. J-A-N-U-S.”

“Well, that’s confusing,” Pat said with a frown, but his nose was crinkling. “It’s close to my name. You should go by a nickname instead.”

“What?” Janus said. “No.”

Pat hummed. “How about Love Bug?”

“What! No!” Janus sputtered, almost flipping the table, as Pat winked at him.

“BB Good?”

“What does that even mean?!”

“Mandy.”

“No!”

“Okay, okay, how about Macy Misa.”

Janus stared at him for a moment. “Fine. Whatever. What was I even talking about?”

“Hmm. I Believe we were talking about my name and how you think it’s not my name.”

“Right,” Janus said. “So, Nick. That was your roommate, Kevin on the phone, right? He seemed a bit unhappy with you. Any reason?”

“Nah, we’re Cool” said Pat. “That’s Just the Way We Roll.”

“Not because you’re messing up a mission right now?”

Pat’s eyes crinkled together. “A mission?” he parroted. “I’m not messing up a mission.”

“Oh, really?” Janus growled. “Because you’ve been captured by the TPI, and I know who you are and what you’ve been doing.”

“I have no idea what the TPI is,” he claimed.

“Yes, you do!” Janus said, standing up. “You obviously do! Or you wouldn’t be playing this game!”

“Game?” Pat asked. “Macy, I ask you what you’re talking about.”

“This is all just a game to you isn’t it!” Janus said, slamming his hands down on the table in front of them.

“Whoa,” Pat said, putting his hands up. “Calm down. Your face is getting all red. You must be Burnin’ Up.”

“I’m not sure what, but something about what you just said pisses me off.”

“And that is five minutes,” Khalid said, bursting into the room. He felt a tug on the back of his shirt and glared back at Remus who was putting his own body between Janus and Pat.

“There was no way that was five minutes,” Janus growled.

“It was five minutes,” Khalid gritted out. “Clockson, get him out of here.”

“Come on Jay,” Remus said, dragging him back towards the door.

“Remus, I swear to god,” Janus said after the door closed behind them.

“Just chill, Janus,” Remus said.

Janus shrugged him off. “You chill!” he snapped. “He’s playing you all for the fool.”

“Wow, Macy,” Remy drawled like an asshole. “I’ve never seen you so fired up.”

“Oh, my gosh. No one is going to believe me, and he’s going to get away with this.”

“You’re not really helping your case, babe,” Remy said.

Remus grabbed him by the shoulders again. “Here, let’s go get some water.”

“I don’t want water,” he said even as he let Remus lead him to another room to get a glass of water.

“Look,” Remus said. “I know the Mask Guy thing really sucked, but you have to look at the facts.

“I am looking at the facts,” Janus insisted, “and the facts are, he’s fucking with me.”

“You don’t know what Mask Guy looks like,” Remus said. “You didn’t see Nick take the time bomb, he has an ID from this time period and a roommate in this time he called on the phone, and he legitimately seems to not know what any of us are talking about.”

“Did you even listen to our conversation?” Janus asked. “He was screwing with me the entire time!”

“Janus…” Remus said.

“What?” Janus said, narrowing his eyes at Remus’s tone.

“I know you recently had a bad experience, but not everyone who flirts with you is doing it out of evil.”

Janus’s mouth hung open for a few seconds. “That’s what you got out of our conversation?”

“He called you Love Bug.”

Janus felt his face heat a bit at the reminder. “That’s not… I. I’m stealing your cat and then never speaking to you again.”

Remus laughed. “Ah,” he said. “Young lust.”

Janus elbowed him roughly in the side. “No!”

“Yes!” he crooned, pleased.

“You are the worst partner,” Janus hissed. “When I’m right you owe me 10 loafs of your fresh bread.”

“Branching out from poptarts?” Remus asked.

Janus shook his head. He still wasn’t happy about the state of things, but he could feel himself cooling down a bit.

Khalid came out of the interrogation room after a few minutes, leaving Pat with Remy. “What was that?” she asked him.

“He got under my skin,” Janus said.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she said. “For now, we’re letting him go and then going back to looking for the bomb like we’re meant to be.”

“Fine,” Janus relented. “Just do me the favor of tagging him before he leaves. Just that. I beg of you.”

“Sure,” she agreed. “If it will calm you down.”

He nodded.

“Then, let’s go,” she said. When they met back up with Remy and Pat, he saw Khalid make the subtle gesture that would tag Pat like they would have for the Millennium Birds. Pat sent him what could pass as a sweet smile if Janus didn’t know better. Then, they walked him outside, leaving Remy on clean-up duty for the make-shift security office.

“So, I’m free to go?” Pat asked. His bemused expression edged far too much on the side of amused verses confused for Janus’s taste.

“You are,” Khalid said. “Have fun at the festivities.”

His hands went flapping about. “Oh, you too!” he said. “Well, I guess you’re working, but you can have fun anyways, I’m sure.”

“We’ll do our best,” she said.

He gave her a blinding smile and reached forward to shake her hand enthusiastically. Janus rolled his eyes and looked up at the heavens. “It was nice to meet you!” he said, “and you too, Agent Clockson!” He turned to meet Janus’s eyes. “Macy Misa.”

Janus pressed his lips together.

Then, Pat turned and walked away.

“Well, now that we’re done with that,” Khalid said, turning to them. “We have only a few more hours before midnight and we really need to find the time bomb.

“Oh,” Pat called. He’d paused a few yards away and turned back to them. “Thanks for letting me go so easily by the way,” he said, “and just in the Nick,” he winked, “of time too.” Janus narrowed his eyes at him. He smiled back. “Wrist check,” he said holding up his arm to show off the timepiece there. Khalid immediately looked down at her own wrist just to see that the one timepiece that could move through the time lock was no longer there. Pat made a gesture and disappeared.

All three of them stared at the spot he’d been for a long moment.

Janus was the one to speak first. “I want. The yellow. To be erased. From my record.”

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 9

#sanders sides #janus sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #moceit #folds in time universe #folds in paper #adriana writes #not pieces fic #logan sanders #analogical #virgil sanders #time travel #bomb mentioned #roman sanders #creativitwins

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420pogpills · 3 years

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✿ my rollerskating diary ✿

making a new post for it so i can put it under a 'keep reading' since it's getting long and i don't want to keep flooding anyone's dashboard with it. but basically i just started rollerskating this week and i'm documenting my journey just because :'D this is all very long and rambly so feel free to ignore it, i'm just rambling for myself haha!

(pinning it so i don't lose it, since i can't reblog and add stuff under an existing 'keep reading' link)

starting from june 15th

DAY 1 rollerskating update: i fell on my ass two times so hard that i still feel my spine vibrating 😭😭😭

DAY 2: doing alright.. i went in with 0 expectations LOL so i'm happy! i shoved shirts down my pants so my butt was nice and padded, falling was less scary! i've gotten a y3 tool to loosen my trucks a bit too cause they are crazy tight.. also decided to get an instructor! there's someone who does 121 lessons super locally to me so i'm going for it, i reallyyyy wanna get good at this :')

DAY 3: i can actually skate a bit now? i loosed my trucks and wheels a tiiiiny bit and definitely felt a difference. my biggest issue now is with stopping ohhhh my god why is that so hard? 😭😭 also absolutely cannot walk on skates?? i thought that was gonna be one of the easiest things but boyyyy. but yeah definitely seeing improvement which is exciting! today’s practice ended with my worst fall yet, i fell so hard on my ass.. it was a bit scary and now i’m in quite a lot of pain buuuut we keep on moving! can’t wait to actually have a lesson but it ain’t till the 29th…

DAY 4: short-ish practice today. focused on using my toe stop, tried to work on slowing down and stopping mostly. kind of felt more unstable today compared to yesterday? which left me feeling a liiiitle discouraged :’) but i know it’s early days!

i think it’s because of the bad fall i had yesterday, i moved a little more hesitantly to avoid falling again so i kept focusing on that instead of fluid movement. there’s been a pretty sharp pain in my tailbone from that fall, so realistically i think the smartest thing to do was for me to stop altogether until the pain goes. but because i just started i feel like i’ll have to start from square one if i take a week off or something :( i just really want to get better at this soon so i can go practice outside cause currently i’m relying too much on grabbing on to things and i feel like i’d improve more in more natural surroundings. but i think until the pain goes away, i won’t be skating outside just yet :’) plus it’s planning to rain for the whole upcoming week.. skating is hard man aaaaa i can’t wait to get better at it!

DAY 5: shortest practice so far today (literally did like 10 minutes) because i wanted to get on the skates so my body doesn't forget the feeling but i didn't want to skate and risk falling today because i really wanted to give my coccyx a break as it's still hurting from that fall on day 3 lmao.

i actually went on a mission today, i walked around my local area and beyond trying to find some good spots to practice. like i said in day 4's post, i am just relying too much on grabbing on to walls and tables when i practice at home, so i just really want to get out there.

i found 3 places that i'm going to keep in mind for now (and will be looking for more soon i reckon!) one is a tennis court in a park like 15 mins away from my house. literally no one ever uses it and the ground looks pretty good so that's gonna be my number 1 spot. there's also a basketball court there that looks even better for skating but that place does get used by people a lot, so i'm only gonna use it if i'm ever feeling super enthusiastic and manage to get to the park at like 7am or something haha! the other spot is a massive parking lot of an exhibition centre that doesn't have any events at the moment due to covid, and the other is a smooth long path by the water! (but the water is gated off so i won't fall in :P) there's a great long path by my house, but there's always people there, walking or riding bikes, so i can't risk going there just yet in case i crash into a child or a dog or a bike haha i'm not good at stopping yet :')

DAY 6: another short one today due to some pain (i suffer from chronic pain) - again i just wanted to keep my body familiar with skates and skate around a bit, practice stopping, but not fall and risk causing myself more pain while i'm still recovering from that fall earlier in the week cause yeah unfortunately, it's still hurting :'D bUT i got something today that i wanted from the very beginning - IMPACT SHORTS! i know they aren't gonna work miracles but any protection is better than none so i'm excited about them.

gonna skate some more at home tomorrow and tuesday, and them from wednesday i promised myself it's time to be brave and start practicing outside! i'd start from tomorrow but i've got plans on tuesday so i didn't want to risk getting scrapped up or too hurt since i'm seeing a friend i haven't seen since last summer! looking forward to that :)

DAY 7: today was the first time i felt like 'okay i really want to go outside now' - the space at home is just too cramped, and the tiles sometimes catch me up, but today i actually felt pretty confident on the skates! i fell twice but both times on my front and catching myself on my knees is pretty easy. i hope i can keep that confidence for wednesday when i go outside for the first time :')

i know my first time outside i'm gonna struggle and fall a lot, but i think once i don't have any limits like walls or furniture around me, i'm going to improve much faster since i'm going to be much more reliant on my own balance and strength. honestly nothing more exciting than seeing real progress. cannot wait to get better, and get more confident, and skate in more places!

#rollerskating diary #personal #not mcyt

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nonbaznary · 3 years

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Carry On Countdown - Day 10: Crossover

(Not posting on AO3)

Keep reading on Tumblr below the cut!

Words: 2401

I’m a bit late with other prompts BUT for today, I edited a Cemetery Boys scene (no spoilers, really, it’s in the beginning and the plot/summary of the book basically gives this scene away), because I couldn’t help but see similarities about Snowbaz and Yadrian, both canon and headcanon. Anyways, I love my transmasc awkward heroes and their undead nobinary gay boyfriends who may seem scary but are total sweethearts. I also changed some elements of the original story so it sounded more like Carry On, so it’s kind of a Cemetery Boys remix, or something. Anyways LOL happy COC day 10!! Hope y’all like this <3 Also thank you Aiden Thomas your gays gave new meaning to my life

Cemetery Boys AU

Simon could feel energy swarming below him.

“Do you feel that, too?” Penelope asked.

“Yeah. It’s way stronger in here.” he said. Whatever spirit that led them here was close.

Simon took a step back, and his shoe slipped. He’d stepped on a piece of cloth.

Penny moved in. “What’s that?”

“I think it’s a scarf.” Simon muttered, pointing his lantern to it. The scarf was pale blue. He bent down and carefully picked it up. As soon as his fingers made contact with the fabric, a shiver ran through his body. Electricity flooded through his veins, and he took a sharp breath. Something pulsed under his feet, synchronized with his own heartbeat.

“I think- It’s a tether.” he said, a spike of adrenaline making him feel light-headed.

When a spirit attached itself to a tether, they had to stay near it. That was why haunted houses existed, but not many cities haunted by a single ghost – spirits couldn’t venture far from their tethers. And mages could only release them and help them pass peacefully to their eternal rest once they were free of their earthly bindings.

Simon had never actually held a spirit’s tether before. They were incredibly powerful. Some of the mages claimed that mishandling a spirit’s tether would get you cursed. But Simon had never heard of anyone actually getting possessed, and he had no intention of disrespecting this tether.

“But it’s not Ebb’s. She didn’t own any silk blue scarfs, that I’m sure of.” Penelope said, reaching out as if to touch it before thinking better.

“It could be Ebb’s.” Simon tried to reason, his hope of finding his friend fighting against logic. He squeezed the scarf in his hand. Warmth spread through his palm and up his arm. He turned to Penny with a smile. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Penelope gave him a skeptical look, and Simon shrugged.

“I have to try – What if Ebb’s spirit got tethered to this instead of her staff?” he said, twisting the scarf between his fingers.

“It could be attached to someone who’s gone malefic.” Penelope said, casting a pointed look around the dilapidated church.

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve got a sword now, innit?” Simon said. Penny raised her eyebrows, but then grinned.

“All right, Greatest Mage, work your magic.”

The rush of excitement made Simon feel giddy as he knelt.

He held his hand over his hip, calling for the Sword of Mages. "In justice. In courage. In defense of the weak. In the face of the mighty. Through magic and wisdom and good." The hilt materializes in his grip, and he swings the sword up to his shoulder. Maybe it was the feel of the blade in his hand or the magic he knew flowed through his veins, but Simon felt recklessly brave.

He stood up again and tried to take a deep breath, but he was too excited, practically buzzing. His palms were sweaty. He looked over to Penelope, who gave him an enthusiastic and encouraging nod.

Simon had seen his mentor, Davy, summon spirits before. It wasn’t exactly general knowledge for mages, but he knew what to do and how to do it. It was one of the few incantations that Simon believed he could get right, like with the Sword of Mages, because those weren’t like other spells. They didn’t come so easily to other mages as regular incantations did. Magic words are tricky, and Simon had never been good with words. You have to have a good vocabulary to do magic. You have to be able to think on your feet and be brave enough to speak up. And you have to actually understand what you’re saying, how the words translate into magic.

None of that came naturally to Simon. And his magic... He was powerful, he knew that, but his magic behaved differently than everyone else’s. His magic was immediate and literal. Sometimes, it acted when he didn’t even mean to make it do anything. It just… happened.

And that was exactly what he needed right now.

He felt the magic inside him, strong and infinite. He called it to the surface, his skin suddenly warmer, and held out his arm, the scarf looped around his hand. Simon cleared his throat, trying to breathe around the lump that had formed.

“I summon you, spirit!”

For a terrifying second, nothing happened. Then, an explosion of heat and golden light. Simon sprang back, choking on the smoke.

There was a person in front of him, doubled over their hand and knees, clutching their chest.

Simon could hardly believe his eyes. “It worked!”

The spirit’s face was screwed up tight in a grimace, their fingers knotted into the material of his shirt, a beautiful floral, white with blue and purple flowers and fat striped bumblebees.

“That’s not Ebb.” Penelope tried to whisper, but she’d never had a very good inside voice.

Simon groaned and dragged a hand over his face. On the bright side, he had actually summoned a real-life spirit

On the not-so-bright side, he had summoned the wrong one.

“Obviously.” Simon growled back, unable to look away from the spirit as they gasped for breath, the muscles in their neck straining. They had that translucent quality around the edges, like all spirits, Their eyes swung to Simon and Penny, with a handsome but very angry face, their grimace now more of a sneer.

“Well, at least it’s not a malefic spirit?” Penny offered.

The person staggered to their feet, upright but unsteady. “Who the hell are you?”, they snarled, dark grey eyes blazing, sharp as obsidian.

“Uhh” was Simon’s unhelpful reply, suddenly back to being capable of forming a coherent sentence.

“Where am I?” the person’s voice coming out of them in a tight roar, head tilting back as they took in their surroundings. “Am I in a church?” their attention swung back to Simon and Penelope with an accusing glare. “Who let me in a church?”

Familiarity prickled at the back of Simon’s mind, racing to place their sharp edges, posh look, and the irritated, cold tone in their voice.

“Uh- well- you see,” Simon stammered, not really sure how to explain their situation, but he wasn’t given the chance to finish. The person’s eyes snagged on the scarf still dangling from Simon’s hand.

“Hey!” Simon saw their anger swell, hunching their shoulders, and propelling them forward. The spirit stomped up to him, fire in their eyes. “That’s mine.”

They reached out to snatch the scarf, but their hand went right through it. They frowned and tried again, and when their hand slid through it a second time, they froze, blinked their eyes, and slowly waved it back and forth.

Their eyes went wide, and they stumbled back. “What the hell is this?” they demanded to know, looking between their hand and the scarf and Simon and Penelope.

“Wow, this is really awkward.” Simon said, scratching at the back of his neck. Penelope seemed less worried.

“Well, there’s no denying you’re an actual mage now.” she said, circling the spirit with keen interest. They scowled at her.

“Who are you, and what are you doing with my scarf?” they demanded, looking to Simon for answers.

“Well, uh, I used it to summon you.” he tried.

The spirit crossed their arms, arching a thick eyebrow.

“Yeah, we thought it might have belonged to Ebb.” What was the gentlest way to tell someone they were dead?

“Ebeneza. Our friend.” Penelope specified.

The spirit didn’t seem at all interested in who Ebb was. “It’s mine.” they insisted with a growl. “It belonged to my mother. It’s got our last name on it see?” their fingers curling in demand.

Simon turned the fabric over to find that a name had indeed been recorded in a tip. He blinked. “Oh.” The delicate cursive letters read PITCH. “Oh.”

The Pitch family was well known, and also magickal. They didn’t do any death-related magic, though, not like Davy or the Bunces – they were magickal authorities. Royalty, aristocrats, leaders. Researchers, linguists. They knew spells like no other magickal families. They were fire magicians, brilliant with fire. But they weren’t involved with action, not like the mages Simon and Penelope grew with. The Pitches didn’t know about death magick, not like them.

Simon knew the Pitch’s heir, Baz Pitch, or rather knew of them. They went to highschool together, and Baz had a bit of a... reputation. They used to be a top student, and when they were roaming the halls it was hard to not notice them. They had the sort of presence that demanded everyone’s attention without needing to ask. They were hard to miss.

Until they got expelled.

“Do you know how you got here?” Simon questioned them. Baz glared.

“No. All I remember is walking down the street with my friends. Then something- someone-” they frowned. “I just remember getting knocked over.” They unconsciously rubbed at the same point on their chest, near their heart. “Then the next thing I knew, I was in a church with you two.”

Three beats passed before Baz’s eyes went wide. “I died, didn’t I?” Simon and Penelope looked at each other. “Am I dead?”

Simon gave a small nod. Baz stumbled back a step, their body wavering in and out of existence for a moment. “Oh, Crowley. My aunt is going to kill me.” They pressed both hands against their face and groaned against their palms.

“Looks like someone already beat her to it.” Penelope pointed out.

“So I’m a spirit now.” Baz scowled, ignoring the girl. They didn’t sound angry or dismayed, just… annoyed. As if this were just an inconvenience. “And you’re also mages, I suppose. So you can send spirits to the afterlife, right?”

“Yes- Well, no-” Simon fumbled, trying to explain himself. “I should be able to- er, I guess- I haven’t done the releasing part yet-”

“Great. So I’m stuck with two shitty witches.”

Annoyance flared in Simon. “Look, this is my first time, okay?” Baz blinked slowly at him, unimpressed. “You- You’re attached to a tether, your scarf. So I just need to destroy the-”

“No, no way!” Baz shook their head. “That’s my mother’s scarf, you are not destroying it.” They tried to snatch it from Simon, but, again, they were left with a fistful of empty air. Penelope chuckled.

“No, just listen-” Simon gripped his blade, raising it.

Baz scoffed, which was not how Simon thought any sane person should react to getting a sword pointed at them.

“What are you going to do, stab me?” Baz’s laughter was flat and sharp. “Already dead, remember?”

“I’m not going to stab you!” No matter how tempting it is, Simon thought. Penelope cut in.

“He can use this to destroy the tie keeping you here.” Baz opened their mouth to argue, but Penny pressed on. “Not the scarf, just the tie anchoring you to the scarf. Then you can go to the afterlife and be at peace, okay?”

Baz smirked. “Yeah, no. He’s not doing that.”

Simon groaned. Of course the first spirit he summoned was a git that wouldn’t just be released willingly. No, he had to get stuck with the one who had an attitude problem.

“I’m doing this. Right now.” Simon said. “We still need to find Ebb, and, besides, if you stay here like this for too long, you’ll turn all dark and violent and start hurting people.”

Baz crossed their arms over their chest. “No.” Simon looked at Penelope for help, but she just shrugged her shoulders.

“You’re leaving me no choice.” Simon pushed his jaw forward to stand his ground. A thick eyebrow quirked. Simon called for his magic, squeezing the scarf in his hand. “Show me the bond!”

The Sword of Mages and the scarf glowed bright, filling the church with a warm blaze that made all three of them squint. A golden thread sparked to life in the air, starting from the blue fabric and ending at the center of Baz’s chest.

Simon inhaled a deep breath. “I set you free for the next life!” he sliced his sword through the air, aiming directly for the golden thread. Instead of severing it, the edge of the blade caught on the line. The Sword of Mages vibrated in his hand, and small sparks flew from where they met.

Baz relaxed, but Simon wasn’t giving up just yet. He tried slicing through it again, then tried sawing at it, but all it did was send more sparks flying and make his shoulder hurt.

Simon turned over to see an obnoxious smirk on Baz’s face.

“Wow. You really suck at this.” they said, looking pleased with themselves. Simon turned to Penelope.

His heart hammered in his ears, and his throat felt like it was closing up on him. The sudden aching in his chest (surely not helped by his tight binder) threatened to swallow him whole. Penny was immediately at his side, her voice calm and soothing as she gripped his arms.

“Don’t worry about this! This isn’t your fault, Si.” she jerked her head in Baz’s direction. “They’re probably too bull-headed to cross over.”

“Hey!”

Penelope ignored their protest. “Just like my great-aunt, remember?”

“Maybe.” Simon mumbled. He didn’t want to think about it. Shame burned hot on his cheeks.

“Look.” Baz called. “I’m willing to cut you a deal.”

Simon and Penny turned to them.

“I’ve got unfinished business.” Baz said, brow furrowed. “And I need to check on my friends. They were with me when I died, I need to make sure they’re okay.” their face twisted between annoyance and something that could’ve been worry. “And maybe they know who got me. That could be connected-” They shook their head, interrupting themselves. “If you help me on a personal project, and let me find my friends and make sure they’re okay, I will willingly let you do what you need to do and send me to the afterlife.”

Simon looked at Penelope, who shrugged. “I don’t think we have much of a choice here.”

“Okay.” Simon took a step forward. “Wait. What’s this ‘personal project’ you’re talking about?”

Baz’s features got rigid. They stepped closer to Simon.

“My mother’s killer walks. You are going to help me find out who he is, and avenge her, and bring her peace.”

[my other works for the countdown]

#carry on countdown 2020 #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on countdown #coc 2020 #aiden thomas #carry on #cemetery boys #snowbaz #yadrian #julian diaz #nonbinary headcanon #they/them pronouns for baz pitch #trans simon snow #transmasc simon snow #rewritten scene #cemetery boys AU #carry on countdown day 10 #crossover

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logical-little-lies · 4 years

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Your Boyfriend’s Cute- Little Vlogs (pt.2)

a/n: I love the fact that this is already receiving support on tumblr and here, and I posted the first chapter like less than twenty four hours ago! it's giving me lots n lots of motivation to brainstorm the plot to this story. just so yk, it's boutta move FAST (aka: lots of timeskips).

chapter summary: Virgil and Roman go to Patton's house for the first time, and Virgil starts to realize why Roman has a crush on Logan. Also, Patton and Virgil film a video for Patton's channel.

Virgil exited the Hot Topic with an extremely positive attitude. He had hit send on a list of things he wanted Roman to get for him, and he was ready to meet Patton. The mall was an outdoor mall, so he quickly scanned the 'workers only' parking spots for Logan. He spotted him, in a dark blue t-shirt that read 'Eldenridge Bookshop' with a little book logo on it. Virgil caught himself admiring Logan's body and face from afar, before snapping out of his (slightly gay) daze. He waved, catching his attention. Logan smiled warmly, and Virgil crossed the parking lot.

"Hello Virgil," Logan held his hand out, and Virgil shook it lightly.

"Very professional," he teased, smiling to show that he was just playing. Roman was right. This man was definitely cute. Logan chuckled.

"Yeah, that's what Patton said," Logan opened the door to the passenger seat on his car, motioning for him to get in. Virgil climbed into the vehicle, the door closing behind him.

Logan walked around the back of the car, getting in on the drivers side. "Buckle your seatbelt, honey," Logan instructed, following the directions himself before starting the car. Virgil did as he said without question, willing himself to stop blushing at the casual use of the word 'honey'.

"How far do you live?" Virgil questioned after a few moments of silence. Logan had pulled out of the parking spot, making his way to the exit of the outdoor mall.

"About ten minutes. Roman wanted to be there when you met Patton, but no doubt, we'll beat him there. Patton's waiting at home,so I'll just record it, yeah?"

Virgil nodded at Logan's words. He had a very caregivery tone, in a stern, but soft way. He could understand why Patton liked him as a caregiver, and why Roman had a crush on him. "Sounds good to me," Virgil smiled.

"So, how was work?" Logan turned onto the main road, tapping his finger against the steering wheel.

"Good, just another day of selling twenty one pilots merch to twelve year old wanna-be emos," Virgil shrugged, causing Logan to laugh lightly.

"I'm guess you used to be one of those emo kids when you were younger?"

"Bitch, I still am. The only difference is that I'm technically an adult."

"Language!" he scolded lightly, speaking in a playful tone.

There was a few beats of silence, Virgil taking the opportunity to look out the window and admire the beautiful weather. "Patton's very excited to see you, he has so many ideas for stuff to do with you."

Logan and Virgil continued on the conversation, distracting Virgil from his excitement for the time being. Suddenly, Logan turned into a neighborhood, and onto a small side street. The two-floored yellow house Virgil saw in many videos was at the end. There were flowers in the front yard. Patton sat on the front porch, and he jumped up when Logan entered the driveway.

"You stay here until I motion you out, I want to make sure I catch this on video," Logan put the car in park, pulling his phone out of his pocket and getting out of the car. Patton awkwardly stood by the door of his house, Logan holding up his phone. Virgil unbuckled, excitedly jumping out of the car when Logan made the motion.

Virgil almost tackled Patton to the ground when he hugged him, jumping into his arms. Right then was when Roman pulled into the driveway behind Logan's car. "I can't believe this, you're actually...here, i-it's crazy."

"I know kiddo, I'm happy to see you too."

Patton held Virgil in a tight hug for at least a minute straight, running his fingers through his hair. Patton was slightly chubby,wearing a very soft light blue sweater. Therefore, he was very cuddleable. Roman and Logan made sure not to interrupt their moment, not speaking until they finally pulled away.

"I'm so happy right now, you have no idea," Virgil smiled, turning and approaching Roman, hugging him.

"Yeah, and this little emo here doesn't get this excited unless he regresses. He tries to keep up his angsty exterior, but he's really just soft."

Virgil playfully glared at him, pretending to be mad at him for the silly teasing. "Come inside," Patton was quick to open his door, welcoming the couple into his home.

"Like I say whenever we video chat, your house is nice as hell," Virgil admired the home.

"Yep. There's so many rooms that we have a normal bedroom, the little bedroom that you see in most of my videos, and a set of extra rooms. Seriously, this place is perfect," Logan sat down on the couch as Patton spoke. Patton disappeared, going up the stairs.

"Where's he going?" Roman pondered, sitting on the couch near Logan.

"Probably to grab the vlogging camera from the little bedroom," Logan replied as Virgil sat down next to his boyfriend. Virgil could've sworn he caught Logan's eyes lingering on Roman before he spoke again.

"Uh, Roman, how are you?" he stumbled upon his words lightly.

"Good," Roman smiled. Virgil saw Patton stop at the bottom of the steps, holding a small camera.

"Logan, is it okay if me and Virgil hang out upstairs? You guys can do whatever you want down here..find some common interests or something."

Logan gave Patton a look Virgil didn't get the chance to decode, automatically fixing his face when Roman looked at him. "That sounds good to me. I get that you guys have known each other forever, and I understand if you wanna spend some time alone," Roman smiled at Patton softly.

Patton came over, grabbing Virgil's hand and pulling him up. He didn't let go, leading him up the stairs. Neither of them said anything until they were in Patton's little room. "First of all," Patton closed the door behind him, moving to pull his tripod out of the corner of the room, "Your boyfriend is cute as hell. Like I knew that before but seeing him in person just confirmed it."

Virgil laughed, "We're all so gay, I swear to god. Your boyfriend is cute too, at least Roman thinks so."

"Roman's poly right? Logan and I are...kind of why I left Logan down there, he's lowkey been crushing on Roman since forever," Patton motioned Virgil over, patting a spot on the edge of the bed, facing the tripod he had set up. Virgil took his spot, watching Patton attach the camera to the setup.

"Yeah, Roman's polyamorous. And that's funny, because Roman has a crush on Logan too," Virgil revealed. The two of them looked at each other and did a fangirl-ish squeal that only best friends could successfully do in sync.

"So, what are we doing for the channel?" Virgil questioned, motioning towards the camera.

"I figured we could just talk about like, how we became friends and stuff. This how thing feels unreal, and I kinda want a video to look back on so I remember how I felt during all this."

Virgil quickly agreed, and without a word, Patton started the camera.

"Hey Kiddos, welcome to my channel: eat a second cookie! Today, I have my friend with me. I've talked about him on my channel before, but this is the first time I actually have him here in person. Please welcome, Virgil!" Patton spoke in an enthusiastic voice, motioning towards Virgil, who waved awkwardly. There was a beat of silence before Patton nudged him.

"Here's where you plug your tumblr and stuff," Patton instructed, breaking the silence.

"Oh," Virgil laughed at himself, "Uh, follow me at anxiousbabey on everything."

Just like that, the two filmed an unscripted video, talking about the first time they talked, telling quite a few stories. It all lead up to the end of the recording, where they talked about how they met.

"Now that we know we live so close, hopefully he'll be on my channel lots n lots. Right, Virge?"

Virgil giggled, nodding a bit. "I hope so! I'm really glad we realized this, I'm so happy y'all have absolutely no idea!"

"Well, I guess that's all for today kiddos! Bye princes, princesses, and enby royalty, please check out my tumblr and instagram, all under eat-a-second-cookie!" Patton held out the word 'cookie' so that his statement rhymed. He finished closing out the video, turning off the camera.

"Y'know, I've been waiting for the day we'd get to finally film a video together."

There was a second of silence before Virgil engulfed him into a hug. "I feel like my life was good before..and now it's perfect. I'm so glad this happened," Virgil mumbled.

"Let's go check on my nerd and your boyfriend," Patton caused Virgil to laugh, taking his hand softly and leading him down the stairs. Virgil didn't know why this act of affection made him blush, because he knew Patton was just generally affectionate, but his cheeks were definitely burning.

"Hey, Vee," Roman looked up from the laptop him and Logan were watching something on.

"Did you guys film anything?" Logan questioned softly, pressing the spacebar on the laptop and closing it.

"Yeah, just a video about like our friendship," Patton shrugged, taking his spot next to Logan. Logan automatically wrapped his arm around his shoulder.

"That's surely gonna be an adorable video," Logan praised, and Patton smiled lightly. "So, you guys are welcome to stay for dinner, or even spend the night if you want to."

Patton nodded in agreement and excitement with Logan's statement. "Ro!" Virgil tapped his shoulder lightly, tilting his head, "Stay pleasee?"

"Is that your little voice I hear?" Roman teased, causing Virgil to pout lightly, shaking his head.

"Awe! I think it is," Patton cooed, "But, can you guys stay, pleasee?"

"I don't know," Roman sighed, "Virgil has work tomorrow."

"Okay? And I can give him a ride in the morning, seriously, you're welcome to spend the night."

Virgil gave puppy dog eyes, pouting to convince his carer. "Stop with the pouty face, I was gonna say yes anyways," he sighed, causing Virgil and Patton to cheer.

That night was gonna be fun.

A/N: There's gonna be a timeskip, like a one-month type gap, where the four leave the awkward stage and they're all kind of close. I don't wanna write all that out and I WANNA GET TO THE GOOD PART.

Tag list: @stimmingsides @smollilsanderssides @novacloudcat @analogical-agere @fairyhuman2000 @aphandgflover @softastarlight @littlesapphygem @softflowerinmyheart

please ask/reach out if you wanna be added to the tag list

#ts logan #ts virgil #ts roman #ts patton #The Agere Channel Lamp AU #The Agere Channel AU #CALM #LAMP #Polysanders #ts agere

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monster-noises · 3 years

Text

under a cut cause Idk how long this is gunna be... (hint... it’s Long) CW: confusing trans stuff, surgery mention, there’s nothin graphic and it doesn’t get Too Heavy so don’t worry

I have such a.. weird relationship with my body and my gender and change and I am so frustrated with it right now...

In case you hadn’t.. guessed from my highly unspecific cryptic references over the last few days I was just lucky enough have had top surgery on the 10th, which is something I’ve been waiting five years for and I’m so relieved it’s finally happened at least theoretically my real emotions are much more complicated and far less... elated I don’t like change, especially sudden, abrupt, change. It’s not fun, it’s hard to process, and it’s always incredibly stressful. And top surgery is a Big Permanent change to my Permanent Singular Human Body. I can’t go back now, my bodies now different than it has been from the body it was for over a decade. All familiarity with it stops here and needs to be rebuilt from 0. And my brain doesn’t care if it /knows/ it’s the right decision for my happiness long term or my quality of life, that’s!!!! too much!!! it’s too much!! I can feel nothing but looming distress and dizzying discomfort! I had.. similar fears and worries about regret and dissatisfaction just before going on T. I was /terrified/ it wasn’t going to be the right choice for me, the shaky impermanence of my identity up to that point made me worried I would start T and “phase out” of “being trans” and it would be too late (turns out, a shaky impermanent sense of identity is a symptom of being Trans and not out to yourself, who woulda’ guessed?) I would have changed (read: damage) what,at the time, was a perfectly reasonable body and I wouldn’t be able to go back. Five years on those fears seem Ridiculous, I was miserable, I was uncomfortable in my body and could not relate to it at all! And now I’m able to feel (somewhat shaky, but definitely much more present) confidence in my appearance, and the face in the mirror gets less and less foreign as that chasm that so long separated me from myself grows smaller and shallower. But I had five years to slowly adjust to the changes brought on by T as they appeared one, maybe two at a time. And only in the last year or two have they really settled into a human vision that I can call “The person I thought I would become as a child” Top surgery is much more...immediate There is not years-long period of slow steady changes until one day you look in the mirror and realize “Oh.. when did he finally get here?” it’s rapid, and all at once, one day that changes everything in a small two hour window. So suffice to say... my brain is not Elated, or relieved, or excited, or euphoric, or any of the other emotions people relate to their top surgery. Instead have a mundane toiling knot in my gut that I’ve somehow done something very wrong. I remind myself I haven’t, I remind myself of all the things I’ll finally be able to do, the things I’ll be able to feel comfortable doing again, the ways it will make my life easier, that last tiny leap across the crack in the earth to join my body and my person, and I remind myself that “The way things have always been, they were fine, you were fine, you didn’t need this” is completely untrue, and is something we will see stronger in retrospect than we do now. I still can’t shake it though. The damnable feeling that something has gone wrong. I think that has a lot to do with my issues with change but also the fact that there is a long drawn out recovery process that has so far proven to be uncomfortable and miserable does not make the awaited feelings of gender euphoria come any faster. I think once this fucking binder is off, I don’t have tape and gauze all over my chest, I don’t have to sleep on my back and grit my teeth through the ensuing back and hip pain, and I can just live and get used to things being the Way They Are Now, the euphoria will come, just as it did with T, or when I cut my hair, or changed my name and pronouns, those thoughts of “But things are fine, sure it’s uncomfortable sometimes but you don’t /need/ to change” will be replaced with “you made the right choice, you chose to live” but I’m not there yet and if I’m being honest with where I am right now I’m.... kinda miserable in a very different way than the subtle pervasive misery of my specific experience with dysphoria but none the less I’m not... happy not yet I think I need to mourn? is that... would that be accurate? do you mourn the loss of something you didn’t want? that you distinctly felt as your body betraying you when they first appeared? that you wished you wouldn’t get, that maybe you’d be the exception and you wouldn’t have to deal with? (all very real thoughts I had as a 9 year old going shopping for a training bra) can you.. mourn that? I wish I could just.. have the text book experience, wake up post surgery and cry tears of joy and relief. say “yes please” when the nurse asks me if I want to see my chest for the first time and grin at the new beautiful home that’s been crafted for me. Feel giddy and euphoric and proud as I go through the healing process, answer every “how do you feel?” from caring friends and relatives with an earnest “fantastic!” but instead I have a quiet murmured “not yet” to a now slightly confused nurse, no smiles, no big celebrations, an ever building tension about the final reveal, feigned enthusiasm when responding to the texts and phone calls (though I don’t have the feign too much, I can be truly enthusiastic about the fact I am in almost no pain, which has been brilliant, thank you body, for that at least). A disjointed experience that I don’t understand. It’s all very... isolating. And I feel like I can’t talk about it because it’s not dripping with the expected celebratory tones, it’s not even like... just a quieter experience, it’s genuinely kinda sad. And how do you talk about that? how do you expect people to react to that? “Hey everyone! I got this thing I’ve been waiting over half a decade for at long last! but I feel like shit about it right now! come back in 2-4 months when I’ll have settled into it and we can celebrate then!” That’s a great way to invite people to try and talk to you about things that they don’t understand and you don’t know you can explain even to people who Might. I’m worried about my final reaction to the big reveal, which will probably be tomorrow as I take the binder off to wash myself as best I can without gettin’ the gauze wet. I have a feeling I’m not going to react at all, I’ve never been one for big emotional reactions even without all the weird other shit going on, but I would like to feel... something. Ideal, some kind of joy, okay.. maybe only some kinda joy, I think breaking down crying would suck pretty bad. Regardless, I’m not looking forward to my big reveal moment reaction being a Neutral Head Nod. At least I won’t have to perform it for anyone. Being trans is weird and hard and I want to crawl into a cocoon for the next six weeks please and thank you.

#monster noises

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electra-xt · 4 years

Note

midnight hotline is one of my favorite fics! it's so rare to find an author willing to treat both luther AND diego as, yk, three-dimensional characters instead of caricatures. i was wondering if you still have interest in their dynamic after s2? tbh i love reading your lists of headcanons, so would delight in any thoughts you have about them as a ship or polycule w/ other characters. no worries if not! thank you either way for feeding us the good content!

ahhh thank you!! luther deserves sooo much more than the fandom gives him, doesn’t he? (although i feel like after the initial s1 backlash i now see a lot of posts that wax eloquent about how poor luther is misunderstood and the most traumatized, so perhaps people are seeing it differently.) they deserve to be three-dimensional characters! they have the potential! even if the writers in season 2 decided to dumb them down a ridiculous amount. olga foroga? everyone leaving diego hanging with ‘team zero’? it felt like the writers were like “well tom hopper has great comedic timing. what if we did that and nothing else.” that being said though, i DID like how when luther stormed out of elliot’s house, diego followed him and tried to give him a pep talk. good shit! enemies to brothers!

i don’t think i’d personally write more about luther/diego as a couple— midnight hotline encapsulates pretty much all i have to say about the two of them, tbh. in terms of polycules i am a huge fan of luther/allison/diego as a threesome and i can trace this back to the fight scene at the academy in s1e3 which was decadent for a simple person such as myself who appreciates competent people kicking ass together. the reason i love luther, diego, and allison together is the power dynamics between them and the rest of the academy” luther obviously was number one, allison had an extremely socially potent power, and diego schemed all he could to climb in his status. in general, i’m much more interested in stories about powerful people experiencing a reckoning with their status and assumptions than i am about underestimated underdogs. so i am enthusiastic and excited when i see them all kicking ass togethee

i actually wrote about 7-8k words of a second luther/allison/diego fic last december, but i don’t think i’ll be able to finish it— buuut i can post a snippet here! the premise is that they are teenagers at the academy, allison is goading them into manifesting their sexual tension, and diego and luther are coming back from sneaking out to a club :)

The footsteps got louder. Allison inhaled and then exhaled, forcibly calming herself, and then she heard the sound of familiar laughter.

“They fucking loved you, man, don’t act so surprised. You can’t go in a club flexing all your muscles like that and then act like it’s crazy when girls start coming up to you and petting you.”

“I wasn’t trying to flex at anyone— you told me this shirt was fine.”

“It is,” Diego said, “if you’re trying to get laid.”

“You said it was normal.”

“Wanting to get laid is normal, buddy. We’re at the house. Come on, I’ll show you how to get back in.”

Allison stubbed out her cigarette on the metal piping on the roof, and then she climbed out onto her window, perching carefully on the windowsill as they came around the corner into the courtyard.

Luther was dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a white tank top. It clung to every curve of his muscles. No wonder the girls had gone crazy over him. He looked good, appealing in a rugged way, yet less rough-and-tumble than Diego, who looked like he was smudged with some girl’s body glitter. Luther was leaning on Diego a little bit as he walked. The two of them looked excruciatingly perfect in the dim light, and Allison let out a tiny sigh.

“You good?” Diego said, looking up at Luther.

“Can we,” Luther said, “just sit for a moment?”

“You really need to?” Diego said.

“Yeah,” Luther said, stumbling to the bench in the courtyard and sitting down hard. “Yeah.”

“Oh, baby, you’re drunk,” Diego said, in awe.

“So?” Luther said. “Don’t you do this all the time?”

“I’ll have a drink,” Diego said, sitting down next to him. “But it’s not really the point of going out.”

“You’re tipsy right now,” Luther said. He reached in and tapped Diego’s nose.

Diego batted his hand away too quickly, and Luther laughed. “I don’t usually drink too much,” Diego said. “It’s… special occasions.”

“Like this?” Luther said.

“Going out with my clueless straight boy brother?” Diego said. “Yeah, I’d say that’s special.”

“I don’t know why you’re always telling me I’m straight,” Luther said.

“‘Cause you are,” Diego said. “I mean, I’m not— it’s not a big deal. I don’t care about it. Thought I just… we both know where we stand.”

“I’m not straight,” Luther said.

There was no noise. Allison leaned out the window a little further.

“Oh,” Diego said.

“You wanted to know where we… stood,” Luther said.

“Yeah,” Diego said.

“Is that a problem?”

“You keep it pretty quiet,” Diego said.

“So do you,” Luther said.

“Fuck,” Diego said. He rubbed his face. “This whole time, gay chicken, I thought you were a…”

“I’m not a clueless straight boy,” Luther said.

“You’re a clueless not-straight boy.”

“Diego.”

“Sorry,” Diego said, sounding the opposite of sorry, but he was quiet for a moment. The next time he spoke, he sounded tentative. “You’re really into guys, huh?”

“Don’t be weird about it,” Luther said, looking down at his hands.

“I’m not, man, I promise,” Diego said. He laughed a little. “I mean, I get it better than anybody.”

“It’s not really a part of me I thought about a lot,” Luther said. “Until Allison’s… game.”

“Allison made it weird,” Diego said.

Allison felt a flush of shame from her perch on the windowsill. Fuck her intentions. Fuck herself. Whenever she tried to intervene in a situation, save for a crime scene, she always dug her fingers in too far and made a mess, didn’t she? And Jesus, she didn’t even rumor them this time.

“Yeah,” Luther said. He paused.

“What?” Diego said.

“I don’t know,” Luther said. He still wasn’t looking at him. “You’re right. It’s weird.”

“She has some balls to pull this shit,” Diego said. He shook his head. “Gay chicken.”

“I don’t mind that it’s weird,” Luther said.

Allison went still.

“Really,” Diego said.

Luther shifted. “I know it’s— weird that I don’t think it’s weird, because it’s weird, but—”

“Are you into it?” Diego said, voice low.

Allison could barely breathe from the silence.

Luther looked down.

“Hey,” Diego said, tipping Luther’s chin up with his hand. “You get shy all of a sudden?”

“Diego,” Luther said, “are you…” He shook his head, as if chastising himself. “Are you—”

He cut himself off. Allison watched him, holding her breath, and she could see Diego watching him too. Everything seemed to hinge on Luther in this moment— unlike every mission in which he was Number One, titled as the captain, the boy king, and it was easy to brush him off. But right now, from her windowsill, Allison was magnetically drawn to the boy on the bench with a question in his mouth and a white undershirt that seemed to glow in the nighttime.

“You can say it,” Diego said quietly.

“You don’t know what it is,” Luther said.

“If I knew,” Diego said, “I wouldn’t need you to say it.”

Luther swallowed.

“C’mon,” Diego said. “Let it out.”

His voice was hushed. Allison could barely hear him. Luther looked up at him, disbelieving.

“Are you into me?” Luther said, looking up at him.

Diego nodded, once. Then he nodded again. “Yeah,” he said. “I— this whole time, Allison’s game, I wanted… you better not be fucking with me, you better not tell anyone, I swear to God— you better forget this when you sober up tomorrow.”

“No,” Luther said.

Diego blinked. “What?”

“I don’t want to forget,” Luther said, and he dragged Diego in and kissed him.

#replies #shipping talk

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scullysexual · 4 years

Text

Time Can Heal (4/ )

Season 2 | Abduction Arc | Canon Divergence | Angst

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | AO3

Mulder realises his quest for the truth costs too much.

When I deleted the first fic blog I ended up deleting this chapter along with it. Most would have read this before I’m posting it so as there’s no missing chapters when the time comes to create a masterlist for it. Tagging @bevh78 because I’m unsure if they got round to reading it before I deleted it. And for anyone else who has yet to read it, this is the full chapter, you won’t be directed to ao3.

- - -

“So I said to him- What have you got there? He looks at me, looks at his friend and mutters nothing. So I give him a look, not believing him at all and the lad just bolts for it.”

“Hmm,” hums Mulder, trying to listen to the surveillance recording but also pay attention to his new partner’s story.

“So we cuff his friend, and I look at Ben- you met Ben?

“No, I don’t think so,” says Mulder turning up the volume on the recording.

“Oh, well you will soon enough. Anyway, I look at Ben wondering if we really have to chase this other guy.” The man laughs. “I don’t know about you but my knees just don’t have it in them to run anymore.”

Mulder smiles and nods like he understands that feeling.

He met Agent Moe Bocks on his first day, the partner Cavanagh mentioned. Bocks had been excited to work with Mulder, enthusiastically shaking his head and telling him that he couldn’t believe he was working with the Fox Mulder.

Mulder just smiled and nodded comfortably, not used to the level of excitement he was receiving. Most people did not nothing to hide their disappointed that being partnered, or even working alongside him. Not even Scully had managed it when she first met him but she was smart enough to hide it all an air of pleasantries.

He thought he would have been able to move on from her by now but she had followed him all the way to Minnesota. He still had urges to call her when he thought or read about something and he wanted to hear what she had to say about it. He got as far as picking up the phone before remembering.

He would fall back on his couch feeling sorry for himself.

You did this. You only have yourself to blame.

He guesses he got kind of lucky with Bocks. His new partner believed in aliens and UFOs, had people he knew in MUFON that regularly kept him updated about any UFO activity in the area.

But Bocks’ interest in it was fun and trivial. He believed in it all because he had a passion for it. He wasn’t interested in unearthing some deep government conspiracy, his sister had been abducted, neither had his last partner as far as Mulder was aware.

There was fun in Bocks’ belief. There was no fun in Mulder’s anymore.

“Anyway,” says Bocks, now finished with his stories. And people thought he could talk for hours. “You got much off that tape yet?”

Mulder shakes his head, throwing off the headphones.

“Just a load of shit,” he says, sighing and leaning back on the chair.

“Yeah, well…You’ll be out collaring people for walking the wrong way soon,” Bocks says with very little enthusiasm.

Mulder looks up at the ceiling. He never thought he would miss the Hoover Building but now, just short of a week, he would do anything to go back.

.:.:.:.:.:.

Three times is the charm. She ripped open, what would be, the final envelope with less rigor than she had the first two, already deciding that she would have to take the exams a fourth time.

But no. As she glanced over the scores she thought maybe there had been a mistake. She passed. Just. But she passed. For the first time in weeks Dana felt herself smile.

“You’ll be back at work soon?” her mother asked when she told her. Maggie had a mix of delight and apprehension in her voice.

Dana nodded enthusiastically. She was just happy to have a purpose again.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

“You’ll have to be monitored,” Skinner tells her at their next meeting. “See how you go.”

“I feel better,” Dana tells him. And she did. After that night she doesn’t like to think about, she hadn’t had another nightmare since. She wanted to think that was her body’s way of telling her it was healing mentally now.

“You’ve been through trauma, Agent Scully. That stuff doesn’t just go away.”

Dana nods, of course she understands that. Yes, she’s healing but what if something on the field was to trigger her? She only needed to pass the exams once, she needs to do her job every day and if she can’t do that as efficiently and effectively then there is no reason for her to be here.

That scares her.

Her job is the only thing she has left now. Without it, what would she be?

“What are the conditions?” she asks.

Skinner sighs in relief and leans back in his chair.

“You are to attend counselling. Weekly.”

Dana nods but inside she is reeling. Counselling meant talking and Dana was never very good at that. Since she was a child she learnt how to bottle it all up until naturally it faded away. She found herself never needing to talk, talking wasted time.

“And if I don’t?”

Skinner seems prepared for this question.

“Then you’ll be decided unfit for the field.”

Desk duty, in other words. Surveillance, background checks, all the stuff she is extremely over-qualified for, stuff that would have her ripping out her hair at how mundane and simple it is. Making it the perfect consequence.

Understanding this, Dana nods in agreement, telling him she’ll go.

“Good,” says Skinner. “A placement opened up. Violent Crimes Section is looking for someone to fill the post.”

Dana feels her blood run cold at the mention of that department.

“I told them I had an agent looking for some field work,” Skinner continues. “The Agent in Charge would like to see you ASAP.”

“VCS, sir?” Dana asks, making sure she’s heard right.

Skinner nods. Then sighs.

“I know you and Agent Mulder didn’t form the greatest relationship with them when you worked together-“

“Agent Mulder,” Dana says, cutting Skinner short. “Agent Mulder didn’t form the greatest relationship with them.” She smiles reassuringly. “I’m sure it will be no issue. Is that all, sir?”

“That’s all.”

Dana says her thank yous and leaves as briskly as she can, ignoring the anxiety that swirls around in her stomach at the thought of being assigned to the VCS.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

The bullpen area is empty when Dana enters, something she is incredibly grateful for. The Violent Crimes Section wasn’t the first on her list of places to be assigned.

The Eugene Tooms debacle had left both departments sour with each other, so much so that VCS didn’t work on the case once Tooms was released. Dana wasn’t sure what their reaction would be of her now.

She raps against the door of SAC KEVIN FULLER softly and waits to be called in.

“Come in.”

Dana pushes the door open. Inside sits a man she’s never seen before. His sandy-blonde hair styled perfectly, his suit fresh and new. He definitely looks down on people, Dana decides.

“You’re the agent AD Skinner told me about?” the SAC says, looking Dana up and down. She feels self-conscious standing under his gaze but tries not to show it.

“Yes, sir.”

He begins rooting through the files on his desk.

“Name?”

“Dana Scully.”

Fuller briefly stops what he’s doing, the name halting him before he quickly resumes.

“Scully,” he mulls over. He’s well aware of who she is. “Well, sit down,” he says when he notices she’s still standing up.

Dana quickly walks over to the chair, embarrassed by how fumbling and lacking initiative she’s appearing.

Control yourself, Dana.

Fuller finally pulls out her file. He places it on his desk and opens it up, his eyes immediately falling to where he suspected, surpassing all of her achievements, Dana notices with slight disappointment, and focuses upon one area.

A grin cracks across the SAC’s face.

“X-Files a bit too out there for you?”

Dana doesn’t find it funny.

“Agent Mulder left,” she answers simply and straight-faced. “Skinner saw no reason for me to stay on there any longer.”

“So I got saddled with you,” Fuller says, disdainfully.

Dana makes no comment.

Fuller looks down at her file again.

“You’re a pathologist,” he notes. “We rarely have any need for a pathologist here.”

“I think I’ve gathered enough experience to offer myself in other ways, sir.”

Fuller regards her. “Really?” he asks. He leans in closer. “Let me let you in on a little secret, Miss Scully.” Dana swallows feeling smaller and smaller with every second with this man. “Women don’t last very long in this department. The cases are too much for them. I’m not wasting my time by taking you on, am I?”

His intention was to make her small, to have her running back to Skinner and ask for another assignment. Well, Dana wasn’t going to run. She was going to stay and prove Fuller wrong.

“No, sir. You’re not.”

“Good,” Fuller answers, giving her another slimy grin. There was no way she was never going to like this man. He leans back in his chair again.

“There’s one other thing,” he says.

“Yes, sir?”

“This department is one of the more respected departments here. I want it known that I won’t let that reputation be tarnished by taking Mrs Spooky on board. Are we clear on that?”

She feels a familiar twang of hurt at the nickname, the same feeling she felt when Tom Colton brought it up. Nicknames and reputations spread around quickly here.

“Loud and clear, sir,” Dana answers.

“You’re desk is near the back wall, furthest away.”

Dana rises, taking his words as a dismissal.

“You’re on probation, Agent Scully.” Dana turns at the door watching as Fuller stands. “One mistake and you’re out.”

She nods, understanding, and leaves the office.

She has her own desk now, like she had always wanted, yet this isn’t a desk that fills her with the satisfaction she had hoped for.

- - -

Do what you want with this.

#txf #xf fic #time can heal 4 #season 2 fic #i write #this should be fun

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kittensjonsa · 4 years

Text

Otherwise, Engaged

The Proposal AU.

Summary: Flashbacks. A discussion on consent, freedom and independence. Jon finds his heart again - and the burden of feelings that comes with it.

Note: Some angst and a backstory.. before the hot smut can begin, of course! Hence, the length of this one. Sorry not sorry. Rated M.

Chapters 1 - 6

Chapter 7

THREE YEARS EARLIER

“Sansa!”

Sansa wanted to run. Run away from it all. From everyone and especially her mother.

“Honey, please.. just let her be,” Sansa heard her father’s calm voice behind her as she stomped past the hallway and out the door.

Yes, just let me be. Be my own person and away from anything Winterfell or anyone named Stark.

It wasn't so much of the place or the people, it was just the fact of the importance of being a Stark she has had to deal with all her life. Grow up, live and breathe Winterfell. True that she was indeed very much a Northern girl and every bit a Stark but she still had her own character and personality, her own person - didn't that count for anything?

“So, here's our new guy, Jon Snow. Someone you all are familiar with I am sure,” Jeor gave Jon's shoulder a firm squeeze as the introductions made their rounds at the table. Jon smiled and nodded at the elderly gentlemen and a lady seated with them. Jon spoke very little and merely listened throughout the dinner. Jon realised very quickly that it was all business and had little to do with him, managing polite yes-es and a laugh at every dull joke every once in a while. Besides, he was far more concerned about getting his affairs in order and with so many accounts under his name, Jon feared he desperately needed an assistant. My brain can only handle so much, great as it is.

It had only been two weeks since the move into the swanky corner office of Mormont & Sons Publishing and it had been dinner every night as Jeor insisted on making sure Jon and his talent was right smack in the faces of the right people. Small price to pay for being the new hot shot editor in town.

“Hey Ryan, if you have a minute, send me some resumes my way would you? You know, for the opening for the exec assistant? Haven't heard anything from HR.”

Jon was ignored as Ryan, the HR head only continued his conversation on his phone. A token nod greeted Jon as Ryan finally waved a hello to him, patting down a pile of papers in a corner of his desk, his ear still glued to the phone. Jon wasn't sure what that meant but perhaps he was pointing out to the resumes the department had received along with the personal assistant posting. It was obvious Ryan did not really care if he existed or not.

Jon Snow was just another name on the payroll, amongst hundreds of others. Ryan had his work cut out for him indefinitely, though Jon couldn't care less, as long as he got the right person he wanted for the job. Another name on the payroll. Sorry, Ryan. Jon decided to help himself to the pile seeing how busy Ryan was, the active lines on his phone on hold blinking impatiently.

“Oh right, yeah. So, there are already some here you might want to look at. Sandra already found hers and these were the shortlisted ones. They seem promising.”

Sighing, Jon took the messy folder off the desk.

“Right. Of course. I'll look through them then. Thanks.”

No thanks.

Jon was about to say something about scheduling appointments when he saw Ryan going back to ignoring him as soon he got on the phone again.

Looks like I'm on my own. Story of my life, ain't it.

Jon stared tiredly at the piece of paper before him. This was the last resume from the pile of rejects Sandra had left him. The only piece of resume was from, quite possibly the only candidate left worthy of any attention. Jon was exhausted, realising this was tedious work - from the mingling dinners every night to reading manuscripts one after another - he was quite content with an extra pair of hands really. He hardly looked after himself recently. And if he had to eat from another take out box and sleep on the office couch again, he'd quit. So done. There was no way he could do everything himself. Especially the phone calls. Waking up in bed with his phone on his face was something he'd like to avoid as much as possible.

“Sansa Stark, let's see if you're the one,” Jon skimmed through the cover letter.

University of Westeros. Okay good enough.

“Please, please say you can start immediately.”

Jon rubbed his tired eyes as he clicked 'send' and decided he was done for the day. His head was pounding away, drained from all the reading he had done and all he wanted was his bed. He'd check for any emails from a Sansa Stark first thing in the morning. Right now, he needed to sleep and at home, not another night on the couch in his office.

Sansa Stark. God, I need you. Save me.

The blaring alarm had Jon spring out of bed and while he was normally up quite early for his workouts, he was not feeling quite up to it that morning.

Stumbling about, Jon grabbed the first shirt he found his hands on in the closet. It looked decent enough with yesterday's suit jacket over it.

Right, twenty-four hour dry cleaners. That's going on the list.

Twenty four hours never seemed enough ever since he started his new job with the Mormonts. Exhausted was an understatement. Although, now he was a little relieved, looking forward to the next few days when he could sleep a little easier thanks to Sansa Stark. Well, hopefully.

“Mr Snow, your 8.30 is here.” A bored tone greeted him the moment he stepped out into the lobby.

It was too early to choke on his triple shot espresso. "My what?"

“Mr Snow? Hi, I got your email yesterday and I replied, though I wasn't sure if you got it. So... hi, I'm Sansa Stark.”

Oh.

“For the executive assistant post? I figured the HR department knew about our appointment but looks like… nobody's quite in yet.”

A tall, leggy redhead with blazing blue eyes and a smile that lit up the sky.

Ahh...right.. Sansa Stark.

---

Her sultry drawl that lingered on a breathy rasp was his reckoning. Say my name. Again and again. Jon gently brushed away the soft copper locks from the creamy skin of her neck and kissed it. He inhaled deeply, as deep as he could drink her in, hungrily desperate, because this might the first and only time he'd have with her.

Her scent was unmistakable. A heady mix reminiscent of lavender and rose, Jon recalled how it greeted him every morning, almost every day the past three years. He had grown fond of it, comforted by it, knowing that she was a constant at his side. How he looked forward to seeing her leap into his office and greet him with a smile and his favourite coffee. How he noticed the way her lips pursed, poring over pages of manuscripts whilst sat next to him with her long slender legs crossed ever so daintily. Little bits and pieces of her, that if only she knew he'd taken a liking to- Sansa probably wouldn't have despised him so much.

He had chosen this life. He was good at it. There was no compromise on his career because it was the only thing he ever had that was his and his alone. Jon refused for it to be taken away for the sake of a mere whim or an itch to scratch. Years and years of hard work had him where he was right now, and it would have all gone to dust, if he were to ruin everything for the sake of feelings. Feelings he had buried so deep within that are now on the verge of imploding, teetering on losing the one thing he yearned for all his life. Acceptance. And if fate wasn't cheeky enough, it was all Sansa gave him and it was exactly what he needed.

It was fortune that smiled on him, chancing upon a resume his former editors had passed on due to her clear lack of experience. It was his first week at Mormont & Sons and it was clear, with all the new accounts thrown at him, the golden boy of print and press, that he was in dire need of an assistant. As long as they were willing to put in the time and work, Jon wouldn't be picky. Even a naive, inexperienced fresh graduate would do, he told himself that. It was just assistance he needed, nothing more.

Only thing was, he didn't expect a tall beautiful redhead named Sansa Stark to step into his office, all eager and enthusiastic and willing to do whatever it took to be an author of her own right one day. The day Jon couldn't possibly forget. And now, the one person Jon could not lose.

“Sansa…” Jon nibbled at her ears as his hands roamed to parts of her he once longed to touch while his lips quickly found their way lower to her bosom.

Sansa seized a fistful of his curls as his mouth hovered closer to her teats, soft yet hard from arousal. Heaving full mounds of soft flesh so scintillating Jon couldn't help but open his mouth wide and devour them still clothed. She was perfect in every way, just like he had pictured in his mind.

“Oh god… Jon..”

The kiss had gone further than they imagined as Jon and Sansa laid on her bed, a tangled mess of legs and arms caressing every inch of the other. Sansa writhed at every contact his lips made with her skin, with the hem of her dress shifting higher and dangerously above her hips, where his hands and mouth were only a breath away from a place no man had been before.

Sansa groaned at the clothed yet growing hardness stroking against the sides of her thighs as Jon's body moved along with his lips pecking lower and lower below her stomach. Jon had to pause, because if he went on, there would absolutely be no stopping him. He needed to be sure. He needed her to be sure. It was happening indeed, despite his best efforts to control himself.

“Sansa… please.. for the love of God... tell me to stop.. right now.. if you want me to… because I... cannot,” Jon muttered at the end of every kiss as he made his way up to kiss her lips again. Sansa groaned at his touch and responded with a deep kiss, like the one he gave her moments ago. Sansa hissed as Jon's mouth left hers and back to her lower body.

“Jon… don't.. stop.. but.. I have to tell you something,” Sansa answered in between gasps and hisses, her skin burning hot at every lick of Jon's tongue on her belly.

“Tell me… what?” Jon continued in bliss as his mouth found hers again, this time his eyes gazing deeply into hers.

“I…. haven't... done this.. so.. be gentle?” Sansa confessed, blushing as she cupped and kissed his face.

Jon could hear the sound of tyres screeching in brakes in his head. “W-wait… what?”

No... Hold on. Wait.

Jon sat up immediately the moment the reality hit him. He refused to face up to it but he now he had to. It took a moment before Sansa opened her eyes and found Jon sitting at the end of her bed watching her with a frown.

Oh God, what now?

“Jon? What.. why.. what's wrong?”

Jon bit down his lip. Should he ask? Should he say it? Perhaps not. It was an amazing moment they both shared and she gave her consent. True, that was enough, but why did it feel so awfully wrong? Sansa waited but grew impatient. It was a look she had never been acquainted with before and it worried her.

“You mean to tell me.. you haven't done it yet? Shit.. this is not happening.”

What?

Sansa felt the usual annoyance rising in her again and this time it was seething. Suddenly she felt naked and stupid. From a high she didn't want to come down from, it only took minutes to feel like she had been spat out onto the ground.

“What.. why are you being like this, Jon? Why.. why does that matter? I said yes didn't I?” Sansa dared to ask, her eyes filling with tears she didn't expect. Jon only sighed and looked away. Shame. She knew that look well enough.

“Why.. am I not good enough now?”

Jon panicked and hastened to cool the growing tension. “No, that's not what I meant, Sansa. It's just-”

“Just what? How ridiculous it is that I'm here almost topless and you giving me a hickey seconds ago and then.. for posterity's sake, I say I'm a virgin, because you know, I just wanted to let you know since I've never done this before, ever.. and then all of a sudden, you stop and GROW A CONSCIENCE?!”

“No, Sansa that's not what-”

“Then, what the hell do you mean? Because it was was as clear as day when you had your tongue down my throat seconds ago!”

Jon gulped, his eyes slowly meeting hers. “I just.. didn't expect us to-”

“To what? Have sex?” Sansa asked, her voice wavering.

“Sansa, look.. let me just explain, please?” Jon pleaded, lowering his tone and voice, hoping Sansa would do the same. The last thing he wanted was an argument about sex with Sansa under Ned Stark's roof and everyone else hearing them.

“Just say it... I'm not good enough am I? Well, screw you, Jon Snow, you're on your fucking own.”

Sansa wiped away her tears as she hastily put her dress back in order and stood up, wanting to leave. Sansa flinched and almost elbowed him as Jon reached out to console her. He didn't know what to do or say exactly and he did not want to leave nor did he know how. They had come this far and certainly this can't be it. This has gone way, way off course.

“Sansa, please.. listen to me. I.. I don't want to impose anymore than I already have Sansa. Please try to understand that. I can't… lie to your family and then.. take you.. like that... Under these circumstances. This.. just doesn't feel right.. I can't do that to you.”

Sansa blinked as she tried to comprehend what Jon was trying to say.

“Take me? What the hell am I to you? Cattle? So, you're saying if I wasn't untouched and pure like you said, you'd do it? And all of the above?!”

This wasn't going well at all.

“No." Jon paused.

"You're on thin fucking ice, Jon. After all I've done for you.”

Sansa knew the right words to hit right back. Ouch.

“Yes and you deserve better than this! Than all of this right now! You've been.. everything to me since we met. I don't want to ruin this just because I needed dick relief!”

Dick relief. Some editor you are. Jon groaned, exasperated. He was losing, fast.

“How would you know what I want or deserve? Don't I get a say in this? I chose it, yes. I played along with this, yes. Did I want to be intimate with you? Yes! What part of me telling you not to stop meant anything but?”

Sansa sighed and watched the trees sway in the chilly breeze from the balcony. She couldn't face him now. She had become just another conversation, an afterthought.

“It's 2019, you know. My body is mine to give, Jon. It's not for anyone to take. And I wanted to give it to you. It was my choice.”

Ah, fuck. Touché. And I wanted it.

Sansa could hardly believe what was happening. From pure passion one moment, to wiping away tears the next. Of course, it had to be Jon. Sansa had cried tears over the tyranny of the workload he dumped on her, but this.. this was something else.

Sansa turned and sat back down on the bed, seeing Jon seated at the bench, his face in his hands.

“Let me tell you something, mister. Do you know how hard I've worked to find my own two feet? Moving to the city and be a writer some day? All this, without relying on my parents, while being a Stark? Do you know how much I had to give up to get here? I did that on my own, because I chose to. Without any help from my family, knowing how much it hurt them. All my life, I've been told what to do, what to be and how to do it and for the most part, I played along and obliged. But one day I decided, no. I'm going to do my own thing. Myself. And from then on, I decided whatever I choose to do, it would be me who says so."

Sansa sighed, recounting the numerous arguments she had with her mother and the times she's had to skip Skyping her brothers just to prove her point on how well and busy she was doing on her own.

Jon had no idea how it had been for her but he understood what she meant. Sacrifices.

He raised his hands in surrender. It was getting far too deep and deviated away too much from what they had in mind - this wasn't how he wanted the weekend to go. They had one plan and no matter what, they both had to stick to it.

Sansa bit down her lip, struggling not to say too much before it was too late. She had said enough to make her point. Enough of everyone telling her how she should live her life. Enough. Besides, there was nothing to be ashamed about it, Jeyne consoled her once. The whispers behind her back, how she was the ice queen of the North, the ways they all stared at her in university the moment she stepped foot there. Sansa Stark, pride and joy of Winterfell - what shame if she was ruined. Sansa couldn't do that to herself and her parents. Being the eldest daughter of the North's power couple was already hard enough. Sansa assured herself constantly, how there was no one remotely interesting enough to spark any interest anyway. Plus, the Stark name was repellent enough. Everyone knew who her parents were, so nobody dared to try.

“So, all this, fake fiance bullshit? Yeah, I chose it. Me, working for you and staying on despite your royal douche-ness, I chose it. Why is that such a strange concept to you.”

Jon wanted to strangle himself if he could. Or kick himself in the balls, as it would be appropriate. Pretending to be fake-engaged with the threat of five years in prison looming over their heads was one thing, if only he could explain how taking Sansa's untouched body was quite another. And to think he was so close to ruining every single area of Sansa's life just moments ago. He couldn't do it to her.

“Sansa… you don't know.. how much I owe you for this. All of this. And.. man.. the things I want to do to you..” Jon scoffed at the irony of it all.

“Well, now you're just saying that,” Sansa huffed indignantly at the revelation.

Jon reached out to grab her hand but Sansa pulled back.

“No, I'm not this time. Listen, let's just-”

A loud knock jolted both of them back to reality. “Sansy? Can Jon come out and fish with us? Can he? Please?”

Ah, shit. The family.

Jon looked to Sansa for an answer. Clearly they both had forgotten about the day's program.

“Uhh.. yeah. We'll be out in a minute.”

Sansa sat on her bed, watching Jon deliberate his next move.

“Well? Don't make my dad and brothers wait,” Sansa prompted.

Fair enough. “Sansa, please.. can we talk when I get back? I promise I have a point to make. I'm just failing badly at making it right now.”

Sansa couldn't listen to anything, not to a single word he'd say, anyway. Time apart would be good. She needed to think, go over what had just transpired and perhaps how to move on from there. Surely she didn't want to lose her job if Jon went to jail, that was a fact whether she liked or not. Crawling back to Winterfell with her tail between her legs, hearing her mother gloat how she had been right all along, was hard to swallow too. Damn decisions. All after that speech about independence, Sansa Stark. Great.

“I'll be in the treehouse. It's behind the shed. Find me there when you're done.”

Jon nodded and grabbed his coat as he headed out.

All Jon wanted to do was tear his hair out. If only she knew how much I want her right here, right now. But the fishing call was a good save, he'd might have said worse things and dug a deeper hole than he was already in. He would think about what to say and how he'd say it. It was clear that this little adventure to meet the family, to convince some immigration officer and avoid going to prison was turning into something else entirely.

It was a nice but cold day out on a rocky boat that Jon mustered enough will to survive. He didn't like the water and certainly not the icy cold one at Winterfell and he longed to see Sansa again, counting down the hours.

He needed to do right by her, at least in keeping the boundaries, though they were already crossed. But that didn't matter as boundaries were boundaries. He had to do something. If he truly was a cad through and through, he'd have her four ways to Sunday, against the wall in her own room, in her parent's house where she grew up, having her scream his name for her mother and all to hear - and then leave and go back to normal once the visa got approved. But we can't go back to how things were, can we? Not after that kiss.

But he wasn't a cad, safe to say and he was proud of it. He actually cared for Sansa. Infuriating, smart-mouth and gorgeous Sansa Stark. He'd end the whole charade right now, if he had to do the right thing. A small part of him feared that it perhaps was already over. Whatever it may be, he'd rather go to prison in Dorne than put Sansa through all of that on top of everything he had dragged her into.

I would. She deserves better than this.

“Well, I guess better luck next time eh?” Jon turned to hear Ned's voice call out to him. He was talking about the day's poor catch but to Jon, it meant something else.

If there's a next time, indeed. So help me, God.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fic #the proposal au #modern jonsa au #some jonsa angst #it gets hotter i promise

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a-woman-apart · 4 years

Text

Separating the Boys from the Men

Yes, that title is click bait, and if you keep reading, you’ve been warned. I’ve got a lot to get off my chest, and it’s going to involve defending masculinity, femininity, and our right to BEHAVE LIKE CHILDREN FOR THE REST OF OUR LIVES because in many ways, we already do.

Let’s get straight to the point. As Millennials, regardless of our age, financial status, or level of “success” (air quotes 100% intentional) we have been accused of being lazy, entitled, and way too enthusiastic about avocado toast. At the same time, we have been described as having enough power to decimate the napkin industry, the diamond industry, and the concept of traditional marriage. We have been accused of a collective “Peter Pan” syndrome, because we “refuse” to cut off papa’s apron strings and get off the proverbial mama’s teats.

Wonderful to know.

Let’s unpack the “lazy” bit. Supposedly, this is tied to the fact that we have access to higher education, we [often, not always] have parents who financially support or house us well into adulthood.

So now, my question is, Gen X (the entitled ones, ironically) and Salty Boomers, YOU DIDN’T?

What do you call that “inheritance” you received? What do you call that education your parents paid for that was less than 1/3 what we have to pay? For Boomers, how do you explain the lavish weddings, cheap [and apparently nuke proof] home appliances, and “nights out on the town” that you were able to afford by working at whatever passed for a McDonald’s back in the day? Working on a farm, at a grocery store, or in retail used to ACTUALLY provide a livable wage; for us, those are a “side hustle” and we still have to get a “big boy job” that usually requires an education that can put us over $100,000 in debt by age 30.

Hate to say it, but if you hadn’t made most of your income “during the War” or in the absolute economic boom that followed it, you wouldn’t survive 24 hours in our shoes before having an emotional collapse.

Despite the disastrous living conditions of the U.S. in the 21st Century, not much has changed in how men define their level of “manliness.”

Financial gains (stocks, bonds, portfolio, bank account)

Bro “gains” (a.k.a. “gym gains”, how “Gaston” they are, including whether they want to go for the Adonis, Apollo, or Brawny boi look, or just how far they can throw something or how “boyish” they look if strength isn’t an option and they suffer from femme-levels of body dysmorphia)

Body count (since we’re in a time of peace and not literally war, this is LITERALLY a modern term describing how many people you’ve slept with, and I have never heard an adult man, regardless of sexual orientation, who isn’t a little concerned about putting those notches in the bed post, and if not that, VERY concerned about his bedroom performance: it’s quality vs. quantity)

Kill death Ratio (I know this is a video game term now, but did you know that before video games, men in England used to regularly get on horseback, get a bunch of hounds together, and chase down tiny foxes and rabbits? FOR FUN?!?!? Did you know, that before modern sports ((including Esports)), men used to just fight to the death, regularly, even if an official war wasn’t going on? It was known as “dueling”, and in less socially developed societies, men still behave like this. So the next time you complain about “male rage” and how heartless it is to make live chickens fight, note that even though we’ve quelled male anger and hostility on some level, you will NEVER be able to take away man’s urge to destroy. Boys and men will always like knocking things over, building things from the rubble, and ruling shit. It’s what they do-- and we women can and do, too, but we have a LOT more risk-aversion and self-preservation, which is a blessing and a curse for our species-- but we just need to make sure humanity as a whole stays...chill)

So what, say ye, has changed about how WOMEN define themselves now vs. in the past. I would say that very little has changed, but the level of internalized misogyny, insecurity, and good-old fashioned denial has SKYROCKETED.

Let’s look at some terms of how the majority of women value themselves.

Financial Security (few women will admit to “wanting to be rich”, because that sounds kind of “Trump”, but plenty will talk about having minimum income requirements for their partner(s), wanting to retire at a young age so they can “travel the world”, wanting to eliminate their debts, etc. It’s different language but essentially it translates to: I want to work so hard or marry into so much wealth that I never want to worry about money after age 35. #Hustle)

Looks (it doesn’t matter if you want a Kardashian butt, you’re in the body positivity movement, or you just want to “dress like a bawse” women are just as obsessed with clothes, image, and body weight/shape/size as they ever were, it is just that now that we’ve “slain the patriarchy” we have more fashion options than ever before, because “boy clothes” are just as “in” as femme ones)

Ability to attract a partner (some women, like me, “chase”, but thanks to biology, most women, regardless of sexual orientation, seem to enjoy being pursued more than being Artemis-style hunters. This is evidenced by the fact that when the feminist owner of Bumble changed the rules of the dating website to where women had to start conversations with men rather than vice versa ((a move that had ostensibly zero effect on lesbian matching)) 72% of women that she later surveyed stated that they liked it better when men were approaching them rather than the other way around. I am sure Bumble’s female CEO was shook ((as was I)), especially because she made the change to empower women, and apparently 72% of women didn’t want the power because it meant they now had the power to face rejection, and it made them uncomfortable. Big yikes. So much for #EndPatriarchy and #ChivalryisDead ?)

Playing house (this is probably going to get me some unfollows, but I’ll take my chances. Women, regardless of sexual orientation, often seem to be REALLY into having babies or just “playing house.” There’s also men like this, too, “Family men” as they’re aptly called, men in love with fatherhood ((or just being called “daddy”, and that will never not be weird)). So many women who never want to pop out a baby describe being taken by an OVERWHELMING urge to fuck during their “fertile window” ((or is that just me?)) and seeing every baby alive as the cutest human being ever once we pass the tender age of 25. The biological clock is REAL, and I learned the hard way that being bisexual and having immense fear of pregnancy and childbirth didn’t spare me from the awful truth of my biology.

I really don’t want to keep making references to modern video games, but they seem to serve the dual purpose of being deeply satisfying and helping us to quell “problematic” urges, including that one to dominate and destroy the world. For a lot of women gamers, though, our choices ((on a broad scale, every #girlgamer is different)) deviate from men’s in some interesting ways.

#1: We still love The Sims Franchise way more than guys do

Not only do we love it, but while a lot of men (again, #notallmen) tend to build elaborate neighborhoods to extensively mod and destroy them in terrifying ways, I still see women gamers taking obscene amounts of time to design homes, raise happy little families, and cause TERRIFYING blood feuds by having Sims marry Sims from rival families ((I guess we’re more Shakespeare than we thought, eh ladies?))

#2: We make up most of mobile gaming

Most male gamers think mobile games “aren’t real” and I tend to agree, but a mobile game is invaluable for when I, a woman, have time to kill between the 3 jobs I hypothetically have and I and don’t want to whip out something like a Nintendo 2DS that is both unwieldly and attracts the eyes of every impoverished, thieving human being in a .5 mile radius. #RiskAversion. These games are often low-quality, mindless, and insanely easy, but that is WHY WE LIKE THEM. Our entire life is a job. #Hustle

#3 We also love farming sims and RPGs

While we-- and most male Millennials-- beg god to not have to birth calves, milk cows, or labor in the tomato fields under the hot sun, most of us have no objection to having our virtual avatars perform the same back-breaking tasks to the tune of cheerful chiptune music. Also, even though men definitely enjoy them, too, I have never met a woman gamer who didn’t enjoy a nice RPG; why do you think we’re such avid readers of fantasy/romance YA?

We want to be transported to a different world, and if you won’t take us there, we’re happy to go there virtually ((because we probably can’t afford travel; we’re still millennials)).

Ability to murder people who threaten our young or our partner(s) (Okay this one is a bit more complicated, but I’m just going to tell you a bit about female animals. DON’T MESS WITH THEIR BABIES IF YOU WANT TO LIVE. Human females, are, in that regard, just as savage, if not more so, than our male counterparts.

I’ve never heard of any woman ((outside of prison, maybe)) who killed another woman for “looking at her weird” or saying “your mama” too many times. I’ve heard plenty of women threaten literal murder because another woman ((or man, we’re #progressive)) came too close to her romantic/sexual partner, or another human being threatened harm on our kids or our “squad.”

I don’t know where the meme truly originated from, but “Don’t talk to me or my son ever again” is SUCH a Mom thing to say. So much misandry is wrapped up in the idea that men are predators, and that is true, but not in the excessively sexually deviant ways you think ((that’s only sometimes true)). They just like hunting things, including people, but if you give them a toy to play with ((I MEAN ACTUAL TOY OMG)) they seem alright. Let them go play with their cars, Xbox, [insert whatever] or something. They’re men, okay, they’re easily distracted/impressed/occupied.

Women, on the other hand, have seemed to be having an EXTREME amount of trouble curbing that baby-making urge, or the Excessive Nurturing Urge, that one that makes you ask your grown husband if he’s remembered to pack lunch for work or if he remembered to pack money for his playdate with his bros, because he’s gonna need money at Six Flags and you aren’t going to bring it to him because he should’ve remembered, you reminded him 30093390 times.

THAT’S NOT HIS FAULT. HE HAS MANAGED BY SOME MIRACLE TO STAY ALIVE FOR 33 YEARS. THAT’S YOU, SWEETIE. STOP BEING SUCH A MOM. GO BE A NURSE, DOCTOR, OR SOCIAL WORKER OR SOMETHING OMG.

In summary...

What separates the “men from the boys” or the “women from the girls” isn’t the era that we were born in to, our economic status, or whether we’ve been able to “conquer” our biology. That’s definitely not possible yet, chiefly because transhumanism involves a lengthy, ethics-guided process, and even if we all turn into cyborgs, the goal is to become BETTER humans, not LESS humane. Societal advancements have done more in terms of making us healthier, less destructive citizens of planet earth than raw technology ever can and ever will. Rapid technological advancement, when not combined with respect for morality, ethical standards of living for humans and all other life forms, almost always leads to human slavery, widespread abuse of animals, sex trafficking, and environmental destruction, because the “rules of supply and demand”, when not governed by strong international trade laws, dictate that consumers should be supplied with whatever they demand, because the suppliers can profit, and their right to profit should be defended at any cost.

So, in summary, I believe that “adulting” involves giving up on entitlement. What separates a truly childish human being-- regardless of their actual age-- from someone who is, in essence, “adulting” is experience, and how much those experiences serve to broaden that person’s perspective. It is an extremely childish, self-centered view, to think that you “deserve” anything for being “a good person” or, in the case of many a “woman child” or “man child” in media and in real life, just being “not so bad.”

Grown-ups are able and willing to do something that is known as “delaying gratification” which is the simple ability to delay a temporary pleasure for a long-term gain. Grown-ups are also able to perform true “cost-benefit analyses” to determine if a course of action, business deal, or even relationship is worth their time and effort. Finally, grown-ups are able and willing and able to make an informed choice and stick to it; in essence, we don’t try to “have our cake and eat it too” we understand that once we’ve eaten that cake, the cake is gone, but we also realize that if we are willing to work hard and make sacrifices, we can earn the ingredients to make ourselves another cake to eat, even if we might need a lot of help from other adults in getting those ingredients (we call this teamwork and cooperation).

Children, on the other hand (in literal and metaphorical terms), are very impatient. They get angry when things don’t go their way, and instead of taking the steps needed to improve their situation, they storm off and return home. It doesn’t matter if their home is with their parents, with their 3 roommates, or with their husband or wife, these people throw tantrums, refuse to communicate/cooperate, and stew in their displeasure until someone feels sorry for them and fixes their problem for them. They lack the ability to work through daily life problems and refuse to take any responsibility for how their actions or inaction contributed to their dilemma.

There is one difference with an actual human child or teen, though, is that they have an excuse. Their brains are still developing, and they haven’t had the chance to live through these situations yet; these are new challenges to them. Even if they do have a “bad attitude”, with help from peers and patients, principled adult mentors and teachers, these cantankerous kids can grow into well-adjusted, able adults. The high levels of neuroplasticity in their brains actually make it so that it is easier for them to accept large amounts of sensory data and to learn from processing and practicing using it.

An “adult child” is someone who, more often than not, has been coddled instead of challenged. These people have often faced no significant hardships in life. There is a reason why, even after we have recognized the immense downsides of authoritarian parenting and have demonstrated psychological harms of corporal punishment for kids, we still call “bad kids” and “irresponsible adults” spoiled.

Authoritarianism produces rigid, scared people who often struggle with critical thinking and self-esteem or end up being authoritarian parents themselves, but that last one is actually one of the less likely options. Children of authoritarian parents often develop Borderline Personality Disorder or become defiant against authority (shocker). Overly permissive or overly neglectful parenting, though, are parental styles most associated with producing narcissists, who often become authoritarian parents, because when their kids challenge them, they completely lack the patience or emotional capacity to deal with it and resort to “because I said so”, stonewalling and/or physical abuse as forms of “character-building.”

The reason why overly permissive parents spoil their kids is because kids actually do need discipline and guidance, and so these kinds of parents produce kids who are outwardly capable and confident but completely lack any of the life skills to justify it, and when they ask their parents for advice they are just met with a bunch of hippie mumbo jumbo or told to just avoid the conflict rather than resolve it. These kids grow into adults who are still sad little kids inside, because they never grew up, but now they’re sad little kids who are articulate and well-spoken and now can-- and often have no choice-- but to con their way through adult life because they’ve maxed out Charisma and they have almost no points in Strength, Intelligence, Wisdom, or Dexterity.

The only parenting style worse than Authoritarian and Neglectful/Permissive is Mixed, in which a child grows up in a COMPLETELY unpredictable environment where the rules of the game change from day to day, and parents either give their children no attention at all, or they practically lock them up and throw away the key. Being raised like this is associated with the worse outcomes for the child throughout life.

So, why am I now talking about parenting styles? Because, for all that we love to trash Boomers and large swaths of Gen X on this page, we can’t forget where they came from, so we cannot allow them to forget WHO THEY MADE. It isn’t an accident that even though we live in the times of incredible economic hardship, WE are the generation (and Gen Z, to some extent) that got hooked on reality TV, video games, and social media in incredibly unhealthy ways. A lot of us 30+ millennials are growing out of it, and a lot of us have realized that it is an invaluable (and damn near unavoidable) way of marketing our products and talents. We’re often self-employed because that’s our only option in most cases.

The issue with Gen Z (who, while we called “Zoomers” now just all themselves “Doomers” and I think we should be a bit concerned about that) is that unlike us, they have no memory of “Before the Internet.” We remember dial up, we remember before that when you played outside untl the sun went down. They don’t have the privilege of being linked to that history.

Now, we have to be the Bigger Person. It’s our time to be Grown-Ups. Gen Z feels really fucking lost right now, and hearing us whine about our parents probably makes them pretty pissed off, when some of us older millennials are the parents, aunts/uncles, and older siblings to Gen Z kids. Even if we can’t be mentors, we have to lead by example, because we have a responsibility to these kids. A lot of them aren’t stupid, they see exactly what’s happening and they feel incredibly hopeless about it. Greta Thunberg is still 16 years old. She shouldn’t be out there doing that; I mean seriously, climate change is accelerating, but it isn’t even as bad as Al Gore said, it’s still reversible, but the fact that SHE FELT SHE HAD TO makes us shitty people. ALL OF US.

So you know, we all need to stop being hypocrites. We need to stop being entitled. We need to stop thinking this is about us. It isn’t. Not even close. We’re not important, even if our videos go viral or if we’re swimming in cash next to hot models by a huge swimming pool. America’s fucked up. I hate to sound Republican, but it’s because of our values. We suck at valuing what’s important, and if we don’t change that soon, it’s really going to suck to live in America.

It already does.

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