#be vocal about disagreeing with this move!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sanjisboyfie · 4 months

Text

when you know, you know.

-> basketball player gojo satoru x male reader

requested!!! a rlly old req from an anon in my inbox <3 ty for the req and jm so sorry it took so long however the 6k+ word count hopefully makes up for that. + listen to margaret by lana del rey on repeat for the full affect

-> prev

warnings : satoru ooc (i do NOT agree w that warning but i GUESS I could see why someone would disagree 🙄🙄🙄), very fluffy to the point it seems angsty!!! talk about the homosexuals!!!! satoru mentions small familial conflict in the interview portion

diamond on your ring

cause when you know, you know

when you know, you know

“thank you so much for agreeing to a sit down interview, gojo-sama,” the interviewer politely bows to the tall man the second satoru walks into the room. immediately, he bows in response, finding the sudden formalities almost abnormal.

at this point, he was so used to other interviews he’d done be super quick, informal and just reporters looking for answers to their questions with little regard for things such as respect.

this was a breath of fresh air, but satoru couldn’t help but feel bad for the interviewer whose back must be hurting now with how long they’d been bowing.

“oh, please, no need for such strong formalities,” satoru chimed in, gently resting his hand on their shoulder to goad them into standing upright, “gojo is fine, too, no need for the honorifics. it’s not like i’m royalty,” he joked, hoping to lift the mood in the room.

it seemed to work as the interviewer finally cracked a smile and dropped their shoulders from being so stiffly held up to their ear.

“then, gojo-san, please take a seat and we can get you all mic’d up for the interview. it should take no longer than a half hour, longest running an hour and a half, but we really don’t want to take up too much of your time,” satoru shook his head, assuring them that it was fine and then taking his seat.

he noticed that the cameras were already filming, but didn’t think twice on it. technically, from the moment he stepped foot in the room, the interview already started. that’s what it said on paper, at least.

“erm, to just go over what we might be discussing in this interview,” the reporter said, clearing their throat as they looked over their list of questions, “since this is a very specific interview, the questions are going to mainly be centered around your romantic relationships and very personal questions,”

satoru nodded, moving in his seat to allow the staff better access in getting the microphone to stay hidden in his clothes, “yeah, my manager sent me the general idea of questions of stuff you’d be asking, it’s alright with me,” he said, taking off his sunglasses, “plus i think i’m pretty familiar with the publisher and the audience, so it’s alright. really, ask me anything, this would probably the only time i’d do something like this,” he encouraged with a friendly smile, trying to show his genuinity.

the interviewer nodded in understanding, clicking their pen and writing a note in their notepad.

satoru had done his research beforehand. the publisher that was interviewing him, or rather the person interviewing him in steed of the company, was a pretty vocal LGBTQ+ company. it was a rare occurance in japanese media, especially as a standalone party, but they proved successful. satoru knew why they were interviewing him, obviously because he was gay and very outwordly apart of the community. he also knew that they were always respectful individuals, which is why he didn’t hesitate in accepting the interview.

if he was going to be asked about his sexuality and his very much gay relationship, he’d rather it be done through a respectful, and most likely very understanding, person rather than those that would shout at him invasive questions.

“then, are you ready, gojo-san?” the interviewer snapped him out of his daydream, making him nod his head. “let’s test the mic really quick, then we can jump into it,”

“i am gojo satoru,” he recited, looking at the staff for a thumbs up on the feedback. when he got a positive thumbs up, the interviewer followed with their own test and then they were able to get into the interview.

“let’s start with introductions, i’m ishii haruto and i’ll be the one interviewing you today, gojo-san. lovely to meet you,” he bowed his head in greeting, making satoru follow suit.

a relaxed grin was on his face as he introduced himself again, “i haven’t said it before, but i’m gojo satoru,” it was a small joke that uplifted the mood of the room once more. haruto appreciated it, laughing to himself at satoru’s subtle charisma.

”well, to get right into the interview, let’s start with hard hitting questions,” satoru braced himself, clenching his fists in his pant’s pocket, “how are you?”

satoru smiled, shooting a fake warning look haruto’s way, “i’m wonderful, how are you ishii-san? i hope you’re doing well, too,”

“i’m doing very well. it’s an honor to interview you, thank you for giving us this opportunity,” haruto said, subtly bowing his head once more, “you truly don’t understand how inspiring it will be for the rest of japan to hear your story, you’re doing such a big thing for all of us in this room, and for those that will read this interview later. so, really, thank you, gojo-san,”

satoru pursed his lips at the sentimentality, realizing quickly that this interview was going to be really different than anything he’d ever experienced before. “sobering” up a little bit, he smiled at haruto and nodded his head, “i’m happy to be here, too. i hope whoever reads this learns something about themselves,”

“yes, that will be the end goal,” haruto agreed before looking down at his notepad, “well, i guess we can just start off with this one — when did you know you were gay?”

satoru hummed, “i don’t really know. for me, i guess it was always in the back of my mind? i mean, i never had a crush on a girl growing up. and i thought it was normal. my parents did as well, seeing how driven i was from a young age to be successful in basketball, i think they wrote it off as me just being determined to make my dreams come true. no time for distractions, or something like that. but deep down, i think i always knew.” he paused, crossing his legs as he decided to add one more tidbit, “and i never thought it was wrong, either. to me, having a crush on a boy wasn’t a big deal. i just thought, huh, this sucks i like someone, i might get distracted from basketball now,”

the two shared a laugh at his joking remark at the end, but until that point the interviewer was very immersed in the personal story. he was even humming in acknowledgement of everything he was saying, as if he related.

“so when you began pursuing your current boyfriend, it was not a big deal for you? even given your position as a famous basketball player?” then haruto looked at the camera men and held his hand up, a signal of some sort that satoru was cued in on, and leaned forward, “would it be alright if we refer to him with his name?”

satoru quickly nodded, understanding now that the hand gesture meant for their mics to be cut so that they wouldn’t receive any audio.

then they were back on and satoru answered the original question, “no, it wasn’t a huge deal. well, it was to everyone else, i guess. but to me and my close friends, it wasn’t. they already knew i was really into him and had a big crush on him before i did, so it really wasn’t a big shock when i made my efforts more obvious. well, as obvious as you can get with having everyone watching you. i tried to reel it in a little when my friend’s told me he may not be comfortable with all the attention, that was the only time i really was aware of it and began to calm down on my advances,”

“oh, so it wasn’t a big deal to you, but in consideration of his feelings, you kind of held back a little bit?”

“yeah, because if things ended up not working out, then all the neutral attention we were getting would have become negative. rumors could’ve started that would’ve hurt him, and i definitely didn’t want that, so yeah,” satoru said, reiterating his main point from earlier, “i just wanted him to be comfortable whenever we were in public,”

“that’s really considerate of you, gojo-san,” the interviewer complimented, making satoru laugh with a wave of his hand.

“he never asked for all the attention in the first place, i definitely didn’t want to make our already secretive position more hostile than it needed to be,” satoru explained, “so everything had to be toned down. fortunately, he was very understanding and could see where i was coming from.”

“what do you mean by that? did he ever say anything about it?”

“well, we’re just like any other couple. we just want privacy and respect, some people don’t want to give it to us. those people that just want to hurt our relationship just because we’re both guys. if i wasn't as famous as i am, i’d imagine it’d be easier to mange. not that it still wouldn’t be stressful — but at least, not the entire country would be breathing down our necks,” satoru explained, choosing his words carefully. “no matter what, though, if you’re in a relationship with someone of the same sex, it’s going to be hard.”

“that’s true, but you two have faced a lot of very hard obstacles. it’s sad how many times people have wished to see you two broken up,” haruto said, an angry look on his face, “how did you two manage to overcome those obstacles?”

“well, we had each other, loved ones, and close friends as support systems. they were really helpful and sweet, they were the most understanding. but i think, the most important one, was that we had each other. we were in it together. not to say that all the negative attention was good or even worth it, but it made our love for one another stronger,” satoru sighed, thinking about the early days when he was first officially dating [name], “i just wish they were nicer to him. he didn’t deserve any of it,”

there was a pause of respect from haruto before they continued on, “you said you had support of loved ones and close friends — were they supportive from the get-go or did it take “convincing” for them to understand?”

“most of them were really understanding and could see that my love for him was too strong to be denied, so that was nice. but there were definitely instances of family members not understanding or simply refusing to support,” satoru answered with a grim look on his face.

“how did you deal with that?”

“well, it was mainly family members, unfortunately, that rejected my lifestyle. so i had to do the best thing and cut them off. i couldn’t have them in my ear telling me that i wasn’t meant to be this way or that [name] and i’s relationship had to be put to a stop. so i cut them off completely and haven’t spoken to them since. i could afford to make that sacrifice since i had [name] and others as support. he really helped me through that and the realization that not everyone will understand or see it as we do…you just have to learn how to deal with it in each situation and circumstance,”

haruto hummed in intrigue and understanding, “was it hard? cutting them off and coming to that realization?”

“i would say it wasn’t as hard as one would think…not when i love [name] so much i’d sacrifice anything to be with him. i wasn’t going to settle for anything passive aggressive or half-assed when it came to support of my relationship with him. like i said, i wasn’t going to let anyone bad mouth him or our relationship, i wouldn’t settle for that in exchange of keeping blood relatives around. even if someone is family, if they hurt someone i love, it still counts for something. they’re still hurting him and in turn hurting me. that’s not family anymore,” satoru said definitively. he had a hard look on his face. almost the one that was only mirrored whenever he was on the court. it showed how serious of a topic it was to him.

“seeing you so be so openly protective and in love with your boyfriend has gotten you two a lot of attention over the years, most of it is praise from others since they do think it’s adorable. does affection that you show [name] come very naturally?”

“of course it does,” satoru grinned, happy to move onto more lighthearted topics. he had the widest grin on his face now, thinking of when he would go home and cuddle his boyfriend, “i’m a very affectionate person, anyway. ask suguru, he’ll tell you,” with the reference to his best friend, who plays on the same team as him, haruto grins, “but i made sure that [name] was comfortable with it first and then went on from what he was okay with, until we got to the point right now where we both don’t really care,

if i know i’m in love with my boyfriend, i want other people to know as well. there was a bad rep surrounding me, in my early days especially. everyone thought i was a playboy, for some reason,” he shyly scratched the back of his head, “so i thought that me showing that i was very loyal and very much in love with my boyfriend, people would stop thinking that of me. and it worked! so, it was a win-win situation,”

haruto nods, looking at his cue cards with a grin, “and you two have had a really long relationship-”

“almost coming on 5 years now,” satoru giggles, a blush evident on his pale cheeks, “it doesn’t feel that long, though,”

“yeah, it’s as if it was only yesterday the two of you made it public and sent everyone into a panic,” the two laugh at the memory. the headlines that day going hysterical over the basketball player’s very much gay personal life. “and since you’ve been in a relationship for so long, has it ever crossed your mind to tie the knot permanently? settle down with [name]?”

satoru paused, the smile on his face faltering ever so slightly as he repeated the question in his mind.

marriage with [name] always was the answer. but, the idea of when and where and how never crossed satoru’s mind. well, it did. in repeated passing thoughts. but, never long enough for him to commit to the idea. he’s thought of how he would do it, where, but never really when. and even then, the how and where were never set in stone. he wanted it to be romantic, definitely had to be something that the two would retell to their kids one day as the most romantic and loving gesture satoru has ever done.

but “when”…satoru never put a pin in the calendar on what date.

he hummed where he sat, resting his chin in his palms as he thought about how to answer.

“huh, well…i know i’m going to marry him someday,” satoru assures the interviewer, who was silently panicking that they had accidentally asked a question too invasive, “but, i think i’ll keep the details of that to myself, haha,” satoru played it off as a tease, but internally he was sweating bullets.

there was never going to be a right time. a right time insinuates a moment where satoru is so overwhelmed with love that a proposal would be the only verbal indicator of that feeling.

but, satoru has been so madly and deeply in love with [name] for so long already that the “right time” feels like every waking moment.

when the two moved in together, made that huge, empty house a home for themselves. when he took [name] on their first overseas trip and they learned even more about each other. when satoru takes him home for the holidays where he just so perfectly matches with his family members and comes even more out of his shell.

satoru’s been so in love with [name] for so long it feels like they’re already married. [name] knows him like the back of his hand and vice versa.

it was as if he always knew. he just knew in the back of his mind that they’d end up standing in perfectly tailored suits at the end of the aisle, saying heartfelt and cheesy vows to each other. satoru knows he’ll probably end up crying more than [name] and he knows that that day will be the happiest he’ll ever be.

the question made his head spin around as a flurry of questions of when he would propose filled his head, but it did solidify one thing. the fact that satoru just knows that one day he’ll end up being [name]’s husband and [name] his. and he wants that day to come sooner rather than later.

”well, i think the final question for our interview today that can wrap this up, will be: do you have any advice for young aspiring individuals that might read this and see this side of you?”

satoru gulped, suddenly feeling as if the temperature in the room had gone up twenty degrees. he tugged on the collar of his button up, swallowing as he spoke carefully, “just always be true to yourself and your dreams. it doesn’t matter what other people think because if you know what you want and you know that it’s your dreams on the line, there shouldn’t be anything standing between you and that goal. whether it be a person you want to pursue or if it’s your dream career, don’t give up.” he attempted a smile at haruto and it seemed to have done its work as the interviewer bowed his head deeply in gratitude.

the two finished the closing remarks of the interview with fluidity. he handed the mic back to the staff, who thanked him with their heads bowed. but before he could leave, he pulled haruto aside and lowered his voice, “uhm, could you hold off on publishing this for a while?”

haruto blinked rapidly, a nervous look coming onto his face, “well, the editing and transcription of the video will take some time, probably a little over a month…how long were you thinking of keeping it under wraps, gojo-san?”

it was a plead to not make him push the publication date back further. satoru hums, “a little over a month?”

“yes, that is what my advisor gave me as a “grace” period in editting everything,” haruto nods, the nervous look on his face not disappearing once.

“that should be alright then, sorry for worrying you. a little over a month is fine,” satoru grins, feeling his chest bloom with warmth. “thank you so much for the interview, have a lovely day,”

and with that parting farewell, satoru rushed out of the building with his mask and sunglasses on and practically jumped into his car.

in the safety confines of his car, satoru rested his head against the wheel. his breathing was rapid and his cheeks were ablaze. was he really going to do this? he looked at his phone that had the directions sent to the nearest luxury jewelry shop, his eyes flitting across the screen to take all the information in.

“seriously, satoru?” he panted to himself, leaning back to his seat and looking up at his car roof, “it took some guy interviewing you to grow the balls to do this? really?”

he cursed himself for waiting so long, setting his car into reverse and speeding his way to the shop. he had his sunglasses, hat, and mask on as he exited his car, careful to try and not attract too much attention. if the media caught light of this before he could properly do it, he would have someone’s head on a spike - he didn’t care.

no one was ruining this for him. for [name], too. satoru wasn’t going to let the stupid papparazzi tarnish this moment, as they had done for so many other intimate ones before this.

satoru grit his teeth, pushing the shop door open and breathing a sigh of relief to find that it was empty. he looked at the displays they had out, acting calm when on the inside he was sweating bullets.

“looking for anything in particular?” the attendent asked him, not at all acknowleding his appearance which meant that his disguise had worked.

he cleared his throat, still looking down as he shakily replied, “wedding rings, wedding rings for men, please,”

thank god the attendent wasn’t an asshole or else satoru might’ve really just slammed his head into the wall in frustration. because the attendent just guided him in the direction of where the men’s wedding rings were. he didn’t speak more either, just hovering around in case satoru needed help.

“fuck,” he cursed under his breath, trying his hardest to focus and think about which one [name] would like the most. “fuck, what if i get him one he doesn’t like? what the fuck does that mean for us? oh my god,” he panicked.

and it was almost funny. a 6’6 lean guy practically clutching his chest to stop his heart from jumping out of his ribs and flopping around on the floor. he was seriously getting heart palpitations, satoru swore this is the most nervous he’s ever been in his life.

what the fuck would he say when he actually proposes?

“i love you, marry me?”

fuck no. gojo satoru wasn’t going to settle for a shit proposal like that. and he certainly wasn’t going to settle for a shitting ring either, but it was so stressful thinking of whether or not his boyriend (manifest: soon to be fiance) would like the one he picked out.

satoru never was the one with good fashion or style sense in the relationship.

he was freaking out.

some of the rings on display were too loud and extravagant that he knew [name] wouldn’t enjoy it, but then going for someting super, duper plain was out of the question.

“do you have a particular agenda in mind?”

“i have nothing in my mind right now,” satoru snapped at the worker, apologizing seconds later, “i’m sorry, i’m just really stressed right now.”

“it’s alright, many are when they come in. they see the displayed rings and get self-conscious of the one that they choose. well, just go with your gut feeling on what you and your partner would like. that’s the best advice i can give you. you know them best, after all,”

this fucking attendent was right, satoru knows his own boyfriend (manifest: soon to be fiance) better than anyone. he just has to see something to spark an inspiration in him.

and he thinks he’s found it when he looks at a particular timeless piece that is cushioned on a small red velvet pillow.

“what can you tell me about that one?” satoru asked, although he’s almost completely set on just buying it right now. it was perfect. the coupled ring that pairs with it was also so effortlessly something he would love to wear as well.

”that one is in the style of an eternity ring, with the VVS diamonds cut into an emerald shape, obviously. the metal is platnium with 11 carats,” the attendent skillfully answers, “goes for about 9,871,750 yen ($70,000 USD). we offer installment plans, though-”

“no, i’ll just take it, thanks, though,” satoru said, easily sliding his card over. “i also want the paired one too,”

“that one is-”

“you don’t have to tell me about it or the price, just box them pretty for me and i’ll be on my way,” satoru grinned, looking at the bills he had in his wallet and pulling out a couple 10,000 yen notes, (adding up to about 200,000 yen - $1,417 USD). as the attendent very meticulously packaged the rings safely, satoru slid over the cash to him.

“thanks for helping,” satoru said, tapping his card and approving the transaction before walking out of the store. the hefty cash tip left on the counter for the attendent to gleam at.

and if he thought that the picking the ring part was hard, now he had to come up with how he was actually going to propose.

he always said that he wanted it to be romantic, but with [name] already waiting at home there was no way he could set something up at their own house. and, honestly, he wanted this to not be so public in fear of it leaking to the headlines. so he would have to settle with making it romantic in his home.

but, the more he thought about it, the more carefree he felt in the atmosphere. as long as [name] was just there exisisting, that was all he could ask for. satoru carefully pocketed the velvet box into his pant leg, keeping the pair safe as he drove back home completely undetected by papparazzi.

when he got home, he had to stop himself from automatically calling out to his boyfriend (manifest: soon to be fiance). the “honey, i’m home,” died in the back of his throat, thankfully, so his arrival home was still a secret. he took off his shoes and walked up the stairs to their shared bedroom where [name] was most likely resting.

it wasn’t too late, but by now his bedtime routine was probably done and he was getting comfortable in bed.

and satoru’s assumptions were right because when he gently pushed the bedroom door open, he saw [name] cuddled into a pillow and watching the TV that was set up against the wall. upon closer inspection, satoru saw that the pillow he was cuddling was actually from his side of the bed. he was cuddling his pillow as he waited for him to come home.

that, unfortunately, made satoru breakdown in tears almost right away. his eyes stung with the salty fluid breaking through his composure. [name] was too far to notice, though, simply lifting his head and waving him over with a loving smile, “you’re home! wow, you were so quiet i barely heard you come in,”

and when satoru just silently stood at the doorway, his hand covering his mouth, that made [name] get up out of bed in worry.

“hey, are you okay? what happened?” then he saw the way satoru’s broad shoulders shook, rushing over and holding him in his arms in an instant, “was it the interviewer? are you okay, satoru? talk to me,” satoru only broke down more, making [name] comfortingly rub up and down his back with “shh”s slipping from his mouth every now and then.

“satoru, are you okay?” [name] worriedly asked, gently pulling him towards the bed and urging him to sit. once the tall man was sat down, he immediately wrapped his arms around him again, hugging him as tight as he could to give him some sort of comfort, “you’re scaring me, satoru, what happened?”

satoru took a couple of seconds to collect himself, holding onto [name] in his arms as a means of grounding himself. but if anything, it made it worse. he was reminded that [name] was really real and not some figment of his imagination. he wasn’t just some “dream” guy, he was real and he was his.

[name] was sitting in their bed with him and comforting him lovingly. he was real and satoru never felt as lucky as he did than right now in this moment.

“nothing happened,” satoru breathed out, pulling [name] back from his torso so that he could properly speak to him. “i’m okay, really,”

“satoru, you’re crying. it’s okay, you can tell me,” [name] said softly, pushing his wet bangs aside and looking into his teary blue eyes, “it’s okay,”

satoru bit his lip, admiring the features of his boyfriend for a couple more seconds. how gentle his touch was, the hand caressing his face only having the lightest featherlike feeling against his skin. how concerned his e/c eyes were, staring into him and understanding him like no one else ever has.

he is so beautiful, satoru thought to himself. he squeezed [name]’s hand that was resting in his lap, making the man look down at their joined fingers.

”satoru?”

“i just,” he took in a deep breath, “i love you so much, you know that right?”

he almost laughed at the suggestion, but [name] politely nodded instead, “of course i know that, you show me everyday. i love you, too,”

satoru nuzzled his cheek further into [name]’s touch, relishing in the way the man’s warmth fell onto his skin.

“i love you so much, i’d do anything for you,” satoru breathed out, looking past his wet white eyelashes and into [name]��s concern eyes, “i’d do anything, i mean it. i love you so, so, so much [name],”

“satoru, you’re really scaring me. what’s going on?”

“nothing bad, i promise. just, please, let me?” satoru begged, voice hoarse and tight as he pleaded with [name]. and with a patient nod coming from the man, he continued on, “you’ve made me so happy, happier than i’ve ever been, these past couple of years. you deal with me and my annoying bullshit everyday, you make sure i’m healthy and happy even when you’re so tired. you always take care of me, more than i give you credit for and i’m sorry that i’m so selfish sometimes. but, i promise i’ll do better. i’ll be better, for you. anything you want me to be, i’ll work so hard in becoming, for you. i want to make you as happy as you make me,” satoru gulps, feeling his throat closing up and his tears welling back up, “i love you so much, [name],”

taking in all of his words, [name]’s eyebrows furrowed in confliction. he still didn’t know if he should be concerned and worried or just let satoru go on. but then he felt his own eyes well up with tears when he felt how sincere satoru was being. how tight his large hand was holding his own, as if he were afraid that he’d slip away if his grip on him loosened even the slightest.

even when he tried lifting that hand up to wipe his tears away, satoru didn’t let him, keeping a steady grip on his hand. instead, his slender fingers came up to the side of his face and wiped the tears away with a calm smile on his face.

“you make me so happy, [name]. and i'm so happy to be here with you. you make everything worth it,” satoru said softly, “you love me so gently, so softly — unlike anyone else in my life has. you’re my entire world. i don’t know what i’d do without you here. i know i’m meant to stay by your side forever. i know my place in the world is wherever you are.”

there was a pause as now both of them were crying messes.

[name]’s eyes were shut as he tried to wipe his stream of tears away. so he didn’t see the way satoru dug through his pocket to take out the velvet box. and he didn’t see the way his hands shook as he propped the box to be open, didn’t see how nervous satoru looked in the moment of unveiling the ring.

what he did see though was the ring blaringly presenting itself to him and a grinning, crying satoru behind it. he heard the words leave his lips, “let’s stay together forever, okay? please, marry me, [name],”

and [name] didn't react.

not immediately. he was too shocked. his jaw had dropped and he looked between the ring and satoru, who was still happily crying. then, finally, he snapped out of it and enclosed his arms around his boyfriend’s (fiance’s?) neck and sobbed into his skin, “yes, yes, yes,” over and over.

satoru cried more, this time a smile on his face as he cried into the air. he felt the stream of wet tears go down his neck, but he didn’t pay them any mind. he only held [name] closer by his waist in a suffocating embrace.

he didn’t know if he believed in multiple universes theory, whatever that was, but he just wishes that if it were true: he’d find [name] in every single one. [name] was his one and only comfort in the hectic life that he lives, the one stable root that keeps him grounded.

the two seperated, smiling and laughing with each other as they messily kissed in celebration. when they pulled away, [name] and satoru watched as the latter shakily slipped the ring onto the former’s ring finger. and the h/c haired man had to cover his mouth once more at the sight. it was slightly loose, running on the bigger side, but it was perfect. he didn’t care. it could have been a paper ring and it would have been perfect.

“i love you satoru, so much, you don’t understand,”

“i love you more,” the other softly breathes out, staring at [name]’s ringed finger with pride, “more than you’d ever know.”

the two smiled and laughed at their confessions, joining in another hug as they were high off of their dopamine. wordlessly, satoru collapsed onto the bed with [name] laying on top of him. and as he took the other velvet box out, he tried slipping the ring onto his finger. but it didn’t even fit on his ring finger, so he had to work with it on his pinky.

“it’s kind of cute that way,” [name] says in amusement, comparing their hand size and laughing at the difference, “i like it,”

“if you like it that way, we can keep it this size, then,” satoru said simply, kissing the top of [name]’s head.

“wear it however you want to, satoru, it’s your ring,” [name] chides him, looking up to softly glare at him.

“the ring doesn’t mean anything by itself, you're the one that gives it meaning,” satoru says, squeezing [name]’s shoulders to bring him closer, “if you like it on the pinky, it stays on the pinky.”

rolling his eyes and deciding that nothing is going to get through his fiance’s head, [name] gave up on challenging satoru. instead, he cuddled closer into his side and breathed in his faint cologne and natural scent.

“i love you, satoru. my dear fiance,” he said into the fabric of his dress shirt, smiling against satoru’s ribs as he repeated the phrase in his head.

satoru didn’t bother biting back his smile as he tilted [name]’s head up to look up at him. he kissed him softly, gently moving their lips against each other in a passionate kiss. and when he pulled away, he made sure to keep eye contact as he said, “i love you more, [name], my dear fiance,”

#this is the pt. 2 from the poll i did earlier btw #since basketball player gojo satoru won....LMFOA #satoru male reader #satoru x male reader #gojo male reader #gojo x male reader #basketball player satoru gojo #basketball player gojo #gojo satoru x male reader #gojo satoru male reader #jjk male reader #jjk x male reader #basketball player satoru

613 notes · View notes

luckthebard · 3 months

Text

I’m going to preface this by saying that I also got annoyed about a similar phenomenon around my favorite character in C2 (Caleb) so I don’t think this is just an Imogen problem but:

I’m increasingly frustrated with the way a lot of the fandom talks about Imogen and especially how other characters interact with her. There’s a lot of super uncritical “how could you be mean to my poor baby” that crops up even when she might kind of need to hear some hard-to-swallow truths and be questioned.

It ends up creating a fan environment around a character where it seems like some of the most vocal “fans” act like she’s so fragile she needs to be protected from any challenge or hardship or confrontation of her own fears - and what makes this frustrating is that the context of this character is that she’s in a D&D game. Challenge is the thing that will move and progress the character in that medium.

So I’d like to offer an alternative to the framing of that moment with Imogen, Orym, and Laudna I keep seeing. Yes, Orym was blunt, but he wasn’t exactly providing new information, just a reminder of the stakes and their job. “I’m pushing everyone” - I mean, of course! At this stage, why wouldn’t you if people faltered? In contrast I see Laudna’s clinging to soothing and comfort and “you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to” to be a depiction of how sometimes that kind of expression of love isn’t actually helpful and merely allows for continued indecision and stagnation. Imogen may end up disagreeing on a course of action with Orym, sure, but trying to stop her from even considering or engaging with alternatives is a smothering affection also borne of fear that doesn’t allow Imogen agency.

The interesting contrast with Caleb is that it was Nott, his ride or die pal, who was often the one pushing and challenging him to grow. And don’t get me wrong, the similar fandom problem I noted at the top with Caleb absolutely targeted Nott and later very strongly Veth for daring to tell him blunt or uncomfortable truths. But Imogen’s ride or die girl isn’t pushing her, she’s doing the opposite and trying to cocoon her. Which I guess the fandom “protect my poor precious fave” impulse agrees with and doesn’t read as its own kind of interpersonal issue.

Imogen does need to be challenged if only so she can decide, truly, what she wants to achieve out of being on Ruidus and how far she’s willing to go. She’s a deeply conflicted character who has a lot of fascinating conflicting agendas she’s struggling with. If she is never pushed or never pushes herself she may not take the time to actually consider where her personal line is. Someone constantly agreeing with and shielding someone can be a problem in its own right.

#meta #critical role #cr spoilers #imogen temult #don’t make me regret coming out of meta retirement #I will turn this post around and lock reblogs if I have to

253 notes · View notes

uch3na · 2 months

Text

𝙛𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙚𝙞𝙜𝙝 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨

paring: farleigh x afabreader

a/n: im ngl im jus gonna ramble a bit so… (some nsfw some sfw)

OKKSOOOBASIKULLYYY

SFW:

has to have a hand somewhere on you at all times. whether it’s on your thigh or just touching the hem of your skirt. he needs to constantly know that you’re right there with him.

when you makeout, he likes to keep a hand gently wrapped around your throat. like i said before he just likes having his hands on you, so it’s not there to choke you. it’s just there for him to feel safer.

loves to just look at you — especially if you’re sitting on his lap. he doesn’t even do anything, he just sits and watches. admiring you. his thumb rubbing across your hips as he just holds you in place taking in your beauty.

loves doing cute lil things with you — even if its like tiny picnic dates or even face care in your bathroom. he enjoys spending time with you and its always the little things that matter.

doesn’t let ANYONE touch his hair. it like actually makes him sick. he barely even lets you (😭😭) really only lets you when you say something is wrong with it and he can’t fix it each time he tries to.

enjoys helping you pick outfits, or just fully picking them for you. if you’re really struggling to make an outfit i bet you farleigh could find something in your closet and you’d love it immediately.

cooks for you. i dunno, he just seems like the type to really love cooking for someone he loves. his love for cooking probably developed when he was a bit younger and had to make something for himself when no one else was around. and to his surprise he had fun doing it.

loves to just fall asleep in your arms. you’re his safe space and whenever he’s in a close distance from you he just instantly feels better. usually he has quite a hard time falling asleep but ever since he started dating you, that problem was no more.

most of the time you wake up in his arms, and when you try to move you can feel his grip on you get tighter. he lets out a soft whine in protest to you trying to leave him warmth. all while pulling you back against his chest.

NSFW:

i feel like farleigh would be vocal when he feels like it yk. like he isn’t always gonna be the loudest man in bed but he isnt always gonna be dead silent. sometimes he might feel a bit more vulnerable than usual and lets out the cutest little whines while you ride him. his hands instinctively resting on your hips while you skillfully grind on his sensitive cock. he isn’t really the type to beg but he might let out a few “please”’s when he really wants something from you.

def uses his size to his advantage. whether in the bed or not. if you’re disrespecting him in public, he will tower over you and just watch. watch if you would even continue just a little bit with the act you’re doing. if he sees your attitude simmer down, he does that dumb smirk and leans down to kiss your cheek. in bed it’s way more. he would use his large hands to keep you pinned down — or to pin your hands above your head as he worked his cock into your tight little cunt. whispering sweet little nothings in your ear and peppering kisses along your face as he thrusted in and out of you.

puts your pleasure before his 24/7. makes sure you’re pleased before he worries about himself. even if he’s the one to ask you to do stuff, he would immediately be the one on his knees ready to let you use him.

eats you like some chinese takeout!!! disagree if you want (i’m 100% correct.) like this man is so dedicated to please you that he gets so focused and it just feels so good. he gets realllyyyy messy when he gets really into it. he’s so obsessed with the way you taste and the little noises you make while he’s eating you out. he gets so into it that he doesn’t even realize the moans that slip from his lips as he starts to grind onto the bed.

he’s 6’5 so we know his fingers are huge… and he uses them a lot. when he slowly but surely slides them in and out of your cunt, he curls them just right and due to the size of them you swear you see stars.

huge fucking tease. likes to pretend he cant hear your begging and whispers things like ‘huh? speak up baby…’ and ‘i cant hear you — use your words’ just to get you to beg and plead more and more for him to make you feel good.

praise kink forrrrr sureeeee. he loves receiving it but he most definitely loves giving it. even if he doing the dirtiest things to you he just loves to see the way you react to his praise. ‘doing so good f’me sweetheart…’ and ‘you take me so well’ all while basically fucking destroying you as he thrusts his thick cock into you. your face is buried into the pillow and his hand is tangled in your hair.

୨୧ for my baby @ludicdoll

lmk if i should do more of these pls…

#farleigh catton #farleigh smut #farleigh start smut #farleigh x you #archie madekwe #save me archie madekwe…

333 notes · View notes

garbinge · 4 months

Text

New Year in Jackson

Joel Miller x F!Reader Summary: New Years Eve in Jackson with a grumpy Joel. Warnings: Light angst, grumpy Joel but ends well. A/N: Just a little something for New Years! Happy New Year all <3 Hope to be posting more in 2024! Word Count: 1.5k

TLOU Taglist: @iraot @justreblogginfics @drabbles-mc

“It’s stupid.” Joel mumbled as he pulled out the items from the deep freezer.

“It’s not stupid.” You disagreed with him as you moved behind him.

“I don’t think it’s stupid.” Ellie said under her breath as she sat on Tommy and Maria’s couch, guitar in hand.

“See, Ellie doesn’t think it’s stupid.” You pointed toward her and smiled before your head quickly turned to Joel. His face looked less than pleased, his expression had hardened but that was just what he looked like. When he was genuinely angry you could tell the difference, this was more… annoyed. Which you knew your way around pretty well.

“I was able to grab champagne from the bar.” Tommy’s voice called out, it echoed against the bare walls of the house.

“Tommy was able to grab champagne!” Your voice was chipper, the complete opposite of Joel.

“I like champagne.” Ellie’s curious voice was peaking over Tommy’s shoulder to see what exactly he brought in.

“You’re too young for champagne.” Joel stared down the girl.

“It’s New Years, Joel. Let the girl have a sip.” Tommy’s grin would have earned him a push if company wasn’t around.

“I don’t know why we’re botherin’ with this. Days, weeks, years, what’s it matter?”

You looked up at him, Joel wasn’t exactly happy go lucky everyday but he seemed exceptionally more irritable today. It reminded you of Boston QZ Joel, pre-Jackson Joel. Your eyebrows moved closer together for a minute as you tried to understand what was happening with him but Maria’s voice interrupted your thoughts.

“It’s something fun. Keeps spirits high. Makes life feel semi-normal.”

“I don’t know why we gotta keep track of the years.” His voice seemed to be different, softer in the way Joel’s voice could be softer.

No one answered him, everyone knew it wasn’t really a conversation they could have or an argument they could win with Joel so they just continued talking amongst themselves.

As they talked you made your way around the round kitchen table and wrapped your arm around Joel’s, your head instinctually fell on his shoulder and you let out a sigh. He took his free hand and brought it up to yours, the one that was wrapped around his. He looked down when he felt the roughness across your knuckles, as quickly as he scanned over the dry and red patches he was scanning your face looking for an explanation.

“Traded Seth my good working gloves for the string lights at the bar, for the decorations.” Your head tilted to the inside of the living room that had the lights strung across the ceiling. “Didn’t get a chance to grab a better pair from the market before I went out on patrol last night. They got chapped from the ripped up pair I used.”

You had been here in Jackson just about 3 days but rules were rules. To stay, you had to work. It was the agreement you had come up with Maria and Tommy when Joel and you decided you’d move about 10 miles north where the abandoned farmhouse was. That and you brought in supplies from the farm, sheeps wool, cow milk, chicken eggs and they supplied you with items as well.

“Seth is a fucking asshole.” Joel was caressing your rough skin with his thumb as he cursed under his breath. “I’ll be sure to get ‘em back for you before we leave.”

Leave. You could tell Joel was eager to get back home, he only came this far to humor you, New Years lined up perfectly with your routine supply drop off, which meant you’d stay a little longer than your normal two days. He’d always be internally counting down until the trek back home but since day 2 came and went the countdown was beginning to become more vocal.

“What’s up with you today?” You changed the subject. Sure, you knew what was up, but this seemed more than just wanting to go home, this seemed like something specific was bothering him, and while you knew better of Joel to just tell you what was wrong, you still had to ask.

But apparently it wasn’t just you that wanted to change topics. “Hey.” Joel’s voice was startling to the others in the room.

Ellie froze and looked up, champagne bottle in her right hand and a half-poured glass in her left. “What?”

“Ain’t you a little young?”

The smirk on Ellie’s face was enough to tell you the sarcastic comeback was loading. “Didn’t you just say, I don’t know why we gotta keep track of the years.” The last part of her sentence was spoken in her version of Joel’s voice.

“She’s got you there.” You whispered in hopes that between the smile and the squeeze against his arm he’d back off a little.

The smallest nod was given from Joel and he broke your embrace to escape into the living room.

“Save some for midnight.” You pointed at the girl who was grinning as she poured the glass full.

Leaving Tommy and Maria to be with Ellie, you turned to see Joel sitting with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands running through his hair. It was typical, he had been experiencing panic attacks for years now, it was all the emotion he buried from the last 20 years overflowing out. It wasn’t an awful thing, it meant he started to feel happy again sometimes, which was something you didn’t think you’d ever witness from Joel since meeting him at the Boston QZ. But that also meant the good came with the bad.

The creaking of the floor in the house that belonged to Tommy and Maria normally would have alerted Joel but he was so deep in his head that he didn’t flinch a muscle. Picking up on his lack of awareness, you slowly approached him, not reaching out to touch him or even let your knee brush against his, you figured the sink of the couch to his left would startle him enough. And it did.

His hands released from his head and he looked down at the seat and then up at your face before returning to a similar position to what he was in but this time a bit more relaxed. You could tell the motion pulled him out of his thoughts.

It was silent between you both for a while, the only sounds being in the background of where you were. The sound of Maria walking out the back door, which meant the whining of their guard dog could be heard through the open kitchen window. The sounds of Tommy clinking and clattering as he made a small lunch for Ellie and himself. The murmurs of their chatter filled the silence between Joel and you nicely. Tommy asking Ellie how she likes living on the sheep farm, being away from Jackson. You hoped Joel was listening in, that the confirmation that Ellie loved the farm, loved how empty the sky was, how she had her own room, her own space.

Listening in to their conversation must’ve taken your attention fully away because the sound of Joel’s voice startled you to jump a little.

“This shit reminds me of her.”

A deep breath left your mouth, part of it was to let out the startle you felt when the words left his mouth but the other half was understanding the heaviness of his words. You knew it was the only thing he was going to say on the matter, the only explanation he was going to give as to his attitude and behavior. There was never really any conversation about Sarah, let alone mention of her name. It was always one off comments of her. So you just nodded and placed your hand on his knee.

“You don’t have to do all of this if you can’t. I’ll stay with Tommy and Maria until we get our supplies from them while you and Ellie go back to the house.”

This made Joel frown and look over to you. “Why wouldn’t Ellie stay with you? She seems excited about all this New Year’s nonsense.”

“You haven’t heard her these last few minutes.” Your right hand rested on his knee. It was a statement more than a question, you figured he hadn’t heard her. “She’s been raving about the house, the sheep and how she can see the stars, sometimes even planets.”

Joel’s face had the hint of a smile on it at your words. It made you wish he could have heard them come directly from Ellie because that hint of a smile would have been a full one.

“I think she came because she knew how much I’d enjoy it. You two have that in common.” Your fingers squeezed around his thigh.

It got silent between the both of you again, a comfortable one. Just enjoying the calmness of life around you, something that was hard to come by in this new world you lived in.

“Someone said something about champagne?” Joel was trying his best to be open to the situation, this was his version of going so far as to try and enjoy it.

The smile on your face was one that grew from the warm feeling filling your heart.

“Yea, if Ellie didn’t drink it all.”

#Joel Miller #Joel Miller Fanfiction #Joel Miller Fanfic #The Last of Us HBO #TLOU #TLOU HBO #Joel Miller x Reader #TLOU fanfiction #The last of us fanfiction #tlou hbo fanfiction #The Last of us

149 notes · View notes

jaegeraether · 4 months

Text

Sunsets and footballers (Part 36)

Lucy Bronze x Reader (34)

Masterlist (other parts here)

YFN enjoyed her morning and flight back, still trying to comprehend what was happening. She’d wished she had time to go through Edinburgh itself but had been swamped all morning with emails relating to the expansion of staff. Lumos management were also a lot more vocal with her now that they’d all met and decided she should be directly involved with their meetings and decisions.

Once she’d landed, she’d Ubered to her and Jordan’s house to pick up Miles and give Blu a pat before she drove to the conference room in town. She’d arrived just after midday and was delightfully pleased to see the entire team was already there with canapes just working and bantering away. She greeted them all as she entered and as she walked to her seat, she realised there were a large bunch of flowers sitting in her space. She was a little confused. Was this from Catherine? From the team for the first round? From the hotel the conference room was in? She looked around for an explanation and only received a few grins in response. She gently touched one of her flowers and leant in to smell them before taking the card out of the top.

Hi little one,

Well done on your first round of women’s football!

I’m so proud of you, always, in everything that you do.

I can’t wait to see you soon in Spain.

I love you.

Lucy x

She blushed as her heart fluttered, again finding a few of those grins, yet now they were teasing. She didn’t mind being teased for it. She was proud of her relationship with Lucy. She moved the flowers more central in the table and took her seat, setting up her laptop and notes before sending a quick photo and text to Lucy.

She knew they had a lot to cover and made sure to text Jordan, asking for a heads up when she was headed home. She wanted to be there for her. She put her phone on the table and they began. They spoke about the first round, each team member talking about their experiences and ideas. They spoke about the interviews, the posts, the equipment, all of it. When they were done, YFN made sure they were all comfortable and confident with their roles and then dropped the bombshell. They were expanding. Already. She told them how happy and ambitious management were. They’d expanded from ten including YFN to fifty. This was a shock to everyone of course, however YFN managed to ease them.

“Fifty?!” Ruby almost yelled. “How much money does this company have?!”

“The company has a lot of faith in us…and they were very impressed with the first round.”

“But that’s mainly because your interviews were amazing…” Ethan countered.

“No, we all did amazing work.” Bridget disagreed.

“Fifty sounds like a lot, but it really isn’t,” she assured. “We have six games a week. Fifty is our new number so that we can have three videographers, three photographers, one editor and one interviewer per game. That’s forty-eight people. The extras will be Noel for IT as our posting and editing becomes even more sizeable, and myself.”

They thought this was definitely a lot more reasonable when it was put like that.

“Management are throwing money into us to not only expedite the process of growth, but to make sure we’re training and preparing for the international fixtures as well,” she explained. “We won’t just be doing WSL the entire time. Plus, there are the other leagues in Europe, and the other minor leagues in the UK.”

“But the training…” Emily almost whispered.

YFN nodded, running a hand through her hair a little stressed. “Oh, trust me, I know. We need to be fully prepped and confident for our games so we make the mistakes in practise rather than onsite.”

“Prior planning prevents piss poor performance.” Sam quoted.

“Exactly and I have a plan for that. Now we’re all new here but we’ve all been in the field, we’ve researched and prepped and decided on how to best create a product that suits our brand image. It’s because of this that my plan is to have you all in supervisory roles for the new team coming in. The new hires will arrive next Tuesday which gives us time to prep with them prior to our third round. I’ll put you into game groups and you can work together to prep during the week, with this group supervising each game group and taking a bit more responsibility. Teach them what you’ve learnt. Next week is going to be a long week, but we can do it. I’ll expect progress reports also as I can’t monitor fifty people. If someone is excelling, or not quite up to scratch, I expect to be told so we can sort it out prior to our game. Also…” she looked around the conference room. “…we’ve just acquired an office space in London. I understand that not everyone will live there, and I just want to state that when we’re up and running more comfortably, the people who live further away will be able to zoom our meetings instead if they choose. In the meantime, we’ll continue with our face to face meetings, though don’t neglect yourselves. If it becomes too hard to travel; let me know. We’re going to have enough people to cover each other, it’s okay.”

The rest of the meeting was fairly better as YFN had decided they would only start to worry about the new hires later on. Right now, it was about prepping for the next games.

Their schedule set out for the upcoming week was as such:

Man United vs West Ham (Leigh Sports Village, Manchester): 12th Nov 1200 – YFN and Ruby.

Spurs vs Liverpool (Brisbane Road, London): 12th Nov 1230 – Sam and Olivia.

Everton vs Chelsea (Walton Hall Park, Liverpool): 12th Nov 1300 – Ethan and Daniel.

Man City vs Brighton (Joie Stadium, Manchester): 12th Nov 1300 – Bridget and Emily.

Bristol vs Aston Villa (Ashton Gate Stadium, Bristol): 12th Nov 1400 – Matt and Noel.

Leicester vs Arsenal (King Power Stadium, Leicester): 12th Nov 1845 – YFN and Ruby (relocate from United vs West Ham); Matt (relocate from Bristol vs Aston Villa in Bristol est arrival: 1900).

The scheduling was tight because all of the games were on the same day, and she needed to be carefully logistically to make sure she didn’t have people driving out of their way unnecessarily. Luckily, Matt lived in Birmingham and would be able to get to the Leicester vs Arsenal game for YFN to get some good interviews of the players, one she was hoping would be Kyra and Courtney.

Before she knew it, the clock had ticked over to 5pm and Jordan had messaged.

Dory: Training just finished. I’ll be home in 20.

YFN: I’m coming. I’ll get take-away for us. What would you like, Dory?

Dory: Anything I’m not supposed to eat.

YFN: You’re amazing. See you at home soon, roomie x

YFN walked through the front door, pizza in one hand and flowers tucked under the other arm, her work bag slung over her shoulder. Regardless of this, Jordan was on her from the moment she opened the door, wrapping arms around YFN’s waist. After a cute little hug, YFN spoke when she felt Jordan getting emotional.

“Okay, firstly, I love you. Secondly, we’re eating before we talk. We need to get this comfort food into you before it goes cold.”

They settled onto the couch and devoured the pizza quickly, having to snatch it away from Blu at times. Then, Jordan spoke.

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“Why? For having sex with someone you love? Someone who knows you and loves you too?”

“I guess it does sound better when you say it like that…”

“What happened? Tell me everything.”

Jordan sighed. “We dropped you off and came back home. We didn’t speak much in the car. She put her hand on my thigh, but I think it was more of a reassurance thing than a sexual thing. Then we spoke when we got home. I did exactly what you said, I sat far away so I wouldn’t be tempted by anything. She said the nicest things, YFN.” Jordan began to cry. “How much she loved me and missed me and how badly she’d screwed up. I couldn’t help myself, I cried and I couldn’t stop. I tried to hold it together. She comforted me and…” She put her hand on the back of the couch, presumably where they’d been sitting.

“Did you have sex right here?”

Jordan’s tears paused as she gave a cheeky, embarrassed smile.

“Ooookay I’m going to pretend I didn’t ask.” She reached out and brushed some of Jordan’s tears away. “Was it…bad?”

“No,” she admitted. “No, it was incredible. Probably the best sex I’ve had in my life. It was so desperate and passionate. I don’t know what happened, I missed her touch, I just melted.”

“Ah…and you cried after it?”

“No, I cried during it. It felt so good and to have her back so close to me. I missed her so much, YFN. I think after we’d been…doing it a while…the lust faded a little, and I just got scared. Scared that she made me feel so happy, made me feel so loved and then I got scared she’d leave again. I panicked and cried. She didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to do. I told her to go.”

“She tried to stay?”

“Yeah of course but I was just a mess, I needed to be alone.”

YFN hesitated. “You pushed her away before she could leave you…”

“Is that what I did?” She whispered.

“Oh Dory, come here.” YFN pulled Jordan into her lap and wrapped her arms around her, stroking her supportively. YFN and Jordan were both very, very affectionate people, especially physically.

“I don’t know if I can trust her again. I th…thought I c…could.” Her crying increased and she clung to the front of YFN’s shirt.

“Did you tell her why you wanted her to go?”

“That’s the worst part…she begged me to stay. She was on her knees at one point. On her ACL torn knee…but I couldn’t look at her. I wanted her to go. I knew she had a long drive back to London. I knew it was late. I still kicked her out.” She shook her head. “She begged me all the way out of the door to explain what was happening. I just remember telling her, “I can’t handle you leaving me again.””

YFN’s stomach dropped for Leah. She finally got close to Jordan again. Close enough for sex. For intimacy. She must have been so happy…and in a split second it was all taken away from her because of that insecurity she’d planted in Jordan with her previous mistake.

“It’s okay…it’s okay. Leah will understand, trust me. Has she messaged you?”

Jordan nodded into her. “She’s sent me multiple messages since.”

“And have your feelings changed?”

“That fear of her leaving? It’s not going away anytime soon.”

“I think she needs to win your trust back. You two made a mistake by diving into sex.”

“I know,” she whispered quietly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“You need to let her know that if she wants you, she needs to build that trust back. She needs to know that it may take a long time but it’ll be worth it because she’ll get to have you back.”

Jordan nodded. “You’re right…”

“If I’ve learnt anything over the past few days it’s that communication is key…”

“I just need a little space.”

“Okay…look, I’ll be at the Arsenal game on Sunday in Leicester. I’ll talk to her if you want? Explain a little…”

“I think that’s for the best.”

“Okay, I think you should message her asking for your space for the moment.”

“Can you do it?”

“I think this one is best coming from you, Jords.”

She sighed but took her phone out and texted Leah without reading the messages the other woman had sent her.

“You won’t be at the Aston Villa game this week?”

YFN shook her head. “No, I’ll be covering Untied vs West Ham and then Leicester vs Arsenal.”

“But aren’t you going to Spain?”

She ran a hand through her hair. “Yeah…I was planning on going Friday. Lucy has a game Saturday and then I’d fly back for the Sunday games.”

“You’re not staying for long, then? Lucy’s going to be upset.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I know, I planned on doing zoom for my meetings next week, but we’ve just expanded our employees by five hundred percent.”

“What the-”

“Oh, please don’t ask anything. I’m stressed and besides, tonight is all you, Jords. I think a phone call with Lucy and then with Katie and Caitlin may be just what you need, hm?”

Jordan agreed. “Yes, please! I’ll get rid of this rubbish and get us drinks while you message them.”

YFN opened her phone, hovering her finger above Lucy’s message before she remembered their phone call from last night. She bit her lip as she opened Instagram. Sure enough, the first posts were of Lucy boxing and YFN could feel her skin getting hot, and she squirmed as she also felt herself getting wet for her. God damn. Lucy. Those biceps. Lucy. That determined look. Lucy. She groaned.

“You okay?” Jordan asked from the kitchen.

“Yeah!” She called back and liked the post. She considered commenting and decided against that. She was worried how forward she would be in front of Lucy’s 750k followers.

YFN: Hey Luce, are you free for a call with Dory?

Lucy: Hi, little one. I’ve been waiting for your text. I smile when your name pops up on my phone. Yes, I’m free whenever you want me.

YFN: I always want you. And you’re always busy.

Lucy: Lies.

Jordan passed her a drink over the couch and she took a sip.

Lucy: Come to Spain and fuck the busy out of me.

She choked on her drink. Jordan gave her a look before she rolled her eyes as she made her own drink.

YFN: Behave. I’m barely hanging on with your Instagram posts.

Lucy: I hoped you’d like them…can we have a late-night call tonight when you’re free?

YFN: Yes, please.

It’s crazy how naturally they fell into teasing each other. She sent another message to the messenger with Katie, Caitlin and Jordan.

YFN: Hi! Are you all free for a group call with Dory and I in the next hour or so?

Caitlin: KEEN.

Katie: Only if we see your faces.

YFN: Done. I’ll message you soon!

Jordan joined her on the couch then and she called Lucy, giving Jordan the phone. Obviously, Jordan had Lucy’s number, but this was more convenient. She watched as the two old friends spoke, Lucy not failing to make Jordan grin and laugh. Of course she could. At one point they were even speaking about her, and YFN rolled her eyes, working a little on her laptop while they had their talk.

Their talk ended after about forty minutes, Jordan hanging up before YFN could talk to Lucy. She frowned. Lucy immediately texted.

Lucy: Call me in bed?

YFN: Okay, I’ll be about an hour, love. Thank you for that, she really needed it. You managed to cheer her up a lot.

Lucy: I know her too well. You’re welcome, though. Talk soon. x

YFN messaged the girls back then telling them to call whenever they were free. Apparently, that was immediately. Jordan and YFN on one end, Katie and Caitlin on the other. It was a hilarious conversation after Jordan had been honest about what happened with Leah to them. They’d given her support and told her to take her time which reassured her a little bit more. Katie had changed the mood of the conversation after that by introducing Coopurr by holding the cat up to the camera. Jordan responded in kind with Blu, of course. Then Caitlin surprised her fellow Australian with a question.

“Hey chicken, do you know what’s happening with Kyra? She’s been a bit off and we figured you might know…”

YFN hesitated. She didn’t want to keep anything from them, but knew it wasn’t her place. “Uh…yeah…it’s not really my place to say though…”

Katie turned to Caitlin. “I told you.”

“You were right,” Caitlin rasped. “It’s about Courtney then.”

They watched as YFN practically glued her mouth shut. Of course they knew. Courtney was a Matilda. Caitlin was a Matilda.

“Is that why you’re coming to our game now?”

“Oh, that's right! You two were so obvious when Kyra asked what game you were going to.”

“Mmnhmn. Yeah, look, all I can say is that I plan on interviewing them together. We’re going to start interviewing players in groups more, and also interviewing opposition together. So this weekend I’ll do a young interview with those two if I can catch Courtney, and then I’ll do an-”

“An old person interview? Rude.” Caitlin laughed.

YFN rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, we’re happy to do an interview with you, but I assume you want someone you haven’t talked to yet?”

“Yeah, you know, I was thinking Kim or…” She stopped herself as she looked at Jordan.

Jordan frowned. Leah. There was a moment of silence.

“That’s okay, you know.” Jordan reassured. YFN gave a grateful smile.

“…or Jen Beattie?”

“Are you in those little sleeping shorts of yours?” Lucy asked.

“Yes,” she almost whispered.

Lucy hummed. “Good. Take them off.”

YFN did as she was told, wriggling them off and turning back to her phone propped up against Lucy’s pillow.

“Shirt too.”

She pulled her shirt off, now fully bare beneath the sheets besides her socks. Lucy knew she loved her socks, though.

“I wish you could understand how much I want you right now.” She said a little exasperated.

“Tell me…” She whispered, looking at Lucy through the camera. She allowed herself to begin playing with one of her nipples and Lucy noticed, groaning.

“If you could feel between my thighs, you’d know just how much I miss you.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you…I can’t seem to get you out of my mind.”

“Good.” She said almost harshly. “That’s where I belong. Inside your mind. Inside you. Now I need you to touch yourself. I need your hands to do what I wish mine were right now.”

“Guide me where you want me, Luce.”

“Put your free hand around your throat. Good girl. Squeeze a little. Argh…yes. You like that, hm? Two days and that’ll be my hand.”

“God I need you, Luce.”

“I have no idea how I didn’t fuck you silly the other night.”

“Because you love me,” she whispered, her hand moving down over her body and under the sheets. She knew Lucy would enjoy that visual.

“Did I tell you to do that?”

YFN paused. “No…”

“Hm.”

“Can I…?” She trailed off as she saw Lucy’s darkened eyes through the screen.

“Use your words, love.”

“Can I touch myself?”

“Yes, but don’t go inside. Not yet.”

She felt through the wetness of her body, not realising just how ready she was. She was tempted to slip a finger in, but Lucy told her she couldn’t just yet, and so she didn’t. Her fingers found her little bundle of nerves and began to play.

“That’s my girl,” Lucy groaned. “T…that’s my girl. Feel that.”

Lucy stuttering a little was proof to her that she was also touching herself. Her eyes rolled back at the thought and her body was twitching and getting tingly at the stimulation of her clit. They worked themselves up like that for a while, both moaning and shakily breathing. Hearing Lucy losing control was one of her favourite things. She just wished she were right there, rather than across a phone.

“Luce, c…can I go inside?”

“Tell me who you belong to.”

She bit her lip and her back arched at the question, her fingers speeding up. She whimpered. “You, Luce. I belong to you.”

“Yes, you do. Don’t you ever fucking forget that. Two fingers inside, now.”

YFN eagerly thrust two fingers inside herself, her body jerking and her legs automatically widening.

“I want to hear you.”

YFN released one of her nipples to drag the phone down and place it on her left thigh. She could hear Lucy groaning from the other end. She threw the sheet off so she could hear her better.

“God, you have no idea what you do to me,” she repeated. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

“I’m yours, Luce. And I…I’m the l…lucky one.” She had no idea how she managed to get the sentence out. She was so wound up, her body arched into her hand, hips automatically thrusting against her fingers.

“I want you to come like this, fucking yourself. Don't move the phone, I want to hear it.”

YFN did as she was told, and sped up her assault, her body becoming a shaky, uncontrolled mess. It didn’t take long for her to get right to that edge, and she could hear Lucy getting closer. Lucy wasn’t very vocal, that was something they were still working on, however her moaning and panting betrayed her. She was close. She just needed to be tipped over the edge. So YFN gave her that.

“Arghh…Luce…Lucy…can I come?”

She knew asking permission would be Lucy’s last straw.

“Y…yes,” she gasped. “Come.”

YFN sped up her efforts once more as her body unfolded and that electric shock of ecstasy shocked her body into a tense spasm. She heard Lucy whimpering on the other end of the phone and that just made it last longer.

She let herself come down and reached for a tissue near the bed to wipe herself clean. She took the phone and put it back up near her face as she rolled to the side and looked at her girlfriend. Lucy pushed the glasses up her nose, giving a satiated grin. She couldn’t help but return her own.

“This is becoming a regular thing for us.” YFN said.

“I need this just to be able to think during the day about something other than fucking you.”

“Ah, but I thought you liked thinking about me.”

Lucy laughed incredulously. “Yes, but I also have a profession I should be thinking about. Mapi managed to kick a ball into me today while I was zoned out thinking about how good you look under me.”

The visual was hilarious. “You’re insatiable.”

“It’s never been a problem until you. I feel like I’m losing a battle of urges.”

“Keep talking, please, you’re making me feel very loved right now.”

Lucy laughed and YFN continued. “But if it’s any consolation, I also can’t stop thinking about you. The one time I managed to not, was when I was walking into my meeting but then I saw your flowers…”

Lucy grinned. “You liked them? I thought it’d be romantic.”

“Oh, it was. And just so you know, your surprise will be there tomorrow also.”

Lucy’s eyes widened with excitement. “You sent me something?!”

“Last night. I just wanted you to know that I sent it BEFORE I received your flowers.”

“Who’s the romantic one, now?”

“You, always you. I may be a romantic, but I’ll never have anything on you, Luce.”

#woso #womens football #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso soccer #jordan nobbs #lucy bronze #lucy bronze x reader #engwnt #lionesses #woso x reader #lucy bronze imagine #leah williamson

149 notes · View notes

vetteltea · 5 months

Text

Sebastian Vettel and Baking Christmas Treats [no warnings]

Day 3 of the Vetteltea Advent Calendar

You have never been able to understand how your husband brings such a gentle wave of peace to a household, but you would never complain.

Complaining would be pointless, especially when the ability to keep such a peaceful home had gained you an extra hour in bed that morning. It would have been so simple to let sleep overtake you, bury your head into your husband’s pillow and drift back into slumber, but curiosity had taken the better of you.

For a start, there was music coming from downstairs, upbeat, festive songs floating through the open-plan kitchen and up the stairs. You could hear his voice, singing along to each song which came on, only seemingly more performative in his vocals as they continued. Without hesitation, you slipped on the dressing gown which he had lovingly left at the end of your bed, adjusting the blankets on the bed and slipping away from the bedroom.

“Sweetheart?” Your footsteps were clearly not as subtle as you had intended. It either must have been that or the fact that you had stepped on the one creaky stair; both of you kept reminding one another it needed fixing, though with the life you both lead, sometimes it was easier to place a job aside for another day. “Are you coming to join?”

Stepping into the kitchen, you were certain you felt your heart melt and rejoin in various patterns. Your husband stood at the counter, blonde curls which he had finally let you trim still as unruly as when you had first met. He’s wearing an old t-shirt, his pajama pants are clearly stained, though to you he is still the most handsome man in the universe. In one hand, he holds a baking tray, shortbread biscuits already baked and if your visual clues are correct, ready for decorating. In the other, a blinking, smiling one-year-old, her curls identical to her father, but blessed with your eyes.

“Good morning, Momma!” His voice raises an octave, gently bouncing your daughter in his grasp and placing down the baking tray, his free hand now motioning you over. Your routine settles in, pressing a soft kiss to your daughters forehead, another to Sebastian’s lips.

“Are we decorating, then?” You adjust the sleeves of your dressing gown, making sure that they won’t dip into the icing or sprinkles he had already bought out. It had become a tradition when you were first dating, long before the birth of your daughter or even moving in together; the first weekend of December was for making Christmas Cookies and watching movies. Whereas last year was some slapstick about a holiday romance, you were more than excited to flick back to an animation this year for the youngest member of the family.

The youngest member in question has already transfixed onto the bright colors of the icing and sprinkles, cooing loudly and attempting to reach her tiny hand to grasp at the decorations. Your husband has always been a firm believer in physical development, hence why he gently leant forward, letting her hands grab onto what he thought would be one of the cookies they had baked whilst you had been asleep.

It all happens too quickly for you to stop; one hand dips into the royal blue icing before lifting dramatically at the sensation, flinging her tiny paw away from the counter and into your husband’s face, his chin and lips now frosted in icing.

For a moment, you think you’re about to have a crying baby and an annoyed husband - but, this is Sebastian. More importantly, his daughter inherits so many of your traits, though one which he holds close to his heart; the ability to laugh and smile anything off. Immediately, your daughter falls into a bout of giggles, her father being painted bright blue clearly amusing.

And of course, you can’t disagree, laughing alongside the baby as you walk over to the drying rack, collecting some kitchen paper to wipe away the frosting.

“Thank you, my darling.” He shakes his head at the grinning baby, still in fits of giggles as you gently take her hand, wiping away the remaining icing, before turning the attention to your husband, gently cleaning his jaw and chin. When the icing only remains on his lips, you pull away, smirking.

“I think you missed-” He begins, before realizing your intentions, his own grin mirroring your own. Lips are finally back on his own, the feeling of kissing you always identical to the first time; how his heart had raced and was shocked to believe it was actually happening. You were kissing him.

He would have kept it up, completely forgotten the cookies for another hour, if he hadn’t felt a tiny hand on his cheek, a whine from his daughter. The moment he pulls away, her tiny face is pressed to yours, adamant that she now wants kisses from her mama. The two of you trade her off, letting her nuzzle into your chest and blink up at your face whilst keeping eye contact with her father.

“Traitor.” He mumbles. “My own girls are against me!” It’s said with nothing but the sincerest amount of love, really.

“Awah, she just wants to decorate cookies, don’t you?” Your attention presses to look at the baby, kissing the top of her forehead. Sebastian doesn't hesitate this time in stepping forward, his arm around your shoulder as you both step back towards the cookies, keeping traditions whilst adding a third member to the memories.

#Sebastian Vettel #SV5 #Sebastian Vettel x Reader #Sebastian Vettel Imagine #Sebastian Vettel One Shot #Sebastian Vettel x You #Reader Insert #F1 #Formula 1 #F1 x Reader #Sebastian Vettel Blurb #Sebastian Vettel x Y/N

278 notes · View notes

ivys-garden · 17 days

Text

I, like many of yall, have noticed a vocal minority of people showing there support for Wilbursoot, going as far as to attack shubble and her supporters. In this post I'll go through the main points I've seen them argue with and explain why I believe that they are all wrong.

“Shubble was the real abuser” - No. If she was, William would have spoken up. There is no evidence for this, well, that isn't faked or saying one thing is another (like the guy saying a pic of will crying was because of shubble or the guy trying to pass a stream of a completely different girl of as shubble abusing will… live. On stream. Yah, think we would have heard of that before now.)

“She has no proof” - genuinely fuck of. In domestic abuse cases there won't always be hard proof, that's one of the reasons the police struggle to do anything about it. If a wife is struck by a husband and it leaves no mark that doesn't mean it didn't happen “why didn't she show the bruises” have you guys ever been bruised? Bruises heal quickly, and she doesn't have any to show since the allegations came out after their break up, all the bruises would have healed. “Why didn't she take photos at the time?” Look at it this way, if I punch you across the face you will have a lot of thoughts, none of them will be “I should take a photo of this so people belive me what I say it happened”

(Also don't pretend that people wouldn't just say the evidence was fake if she did have pictures)

Oh and she does have evidence, the fact William admitted to it.

“She just did it for attention” - bitch, shubble doesn't need attention she was doing great. Just because you never heard of her didn't mean she was some underground indie youtuber, she didn't need to lie to get attention. Also lying about domestic abuse is not a good way to do this since it's really easy to disprove. The other party would come out instantly to tell everyone the truth. William didn't do that because shubble WAS telling the truth.

“Her story changed” - no. It didn't. Even the idea that she changed whether or not wilbur bruised with the bites or made her bled (both of which are still bad, btw) is made up, she never said that, as was clarified by shubble herself

“She encouraged death threats” - She openly decouraged death threats. Saying she was like: “everyone go and tell people to kill themselves” is literally putting words in her mouth

Also, this by no means goes for everyone, but arguing about death threats while, wilbur hasn't told his supports not to send death threats and that wilburs supporters have been saiding threats to shubble and her fans while condemning the few shubble fans who sent death threats, is kinda stupid

(Also this is by no means the main point but I have seen people who support wilbur literally begging for death threats, soooooooo)

(Oh aslo I was mistaken in the early version where I said shubble had implied that she didn't belive wilbur could change, that was another misconception and I'm sorry for spreading it. Shubble does belive that people can change IF they put in the work to do so)

Also remember, William has not been shown to actually change yet. He still hasn't even given shubble an apology that takes proper accountability, when he does that, apologies to everyone else he's wronged, and puts in the effort to actually be better moving forward, then we can forgive him. But at the moment he has not shown that.

So until then: support shubble. Belive victims. Raise awareness for these issues in the gaming space (this has been going on for a long time). And don't engage with people who make up evidence to support there parasocial relationships, don't send death threats (obviously, because that's wrong) but also don't engage in any other way. This will be my last post on this subject. Move on from William and the support for him will die down when they realise there's no one to disagree with, and then William, Shubble and all of us can move past this and into the future as a (hopefully) better space

#shubble #shelby grace #wilbur soot #shubblesupportsquad #shubble support #shubble situation #wilbur situation

106 notes · View notes

scekrex · 1 month

Note

Hello there gorgeous ✨

Prompt idea with reader being a part of a band that's heavily inspired by Babymetal, like the type of music is pop mixed with metal, the outfits, the whole vibe basically. Heaven's got a new band in town and it's reader's band (You can either create a name for them, go without mentioning any name or whatever else you choose to do with that! You can even ask me and we'll both think about the name c:). Adam at first was like "Tf? New band getting popular? Pfft, they probably suck, no one can out-do the first fucking man🙄" but then when Lute asked him to actually go and check it out with her since she got curious when one of the exterminators went there and told her that it was absolutely fucking awesome. They go and it's literally just a blast. The crowd work is astonishing with how the fans, even the shy ones, have no problems with being vocal with the lyrics or movement, the light effects are just top notch, sound quality is gorgeous and clear, the vibe on its own is just one of a kind and Adam is like "Yeah, shit, this is actually really cool, like wtf" but the biggest magic is when he first hears and then sees the reader alongside the two of his like "backup vocals" (I wouldn't really call Mo or Moa that, but I can't find a better word rn) absolutely rocking out, enchanting everyone as if he was some sort of magician, making Adam start questioning his sexuality, simply going "Am I fucking gay? What's actually happening right now?"

Recommendations for like ideal crowd work representation would be any song but my favourite is this one:

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=E8pcFhPZQYg&pp=ygUKSGVhZGJhbmdlcg%3D%3D

Light and visual effects I'd probably say this one:

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Hru3zh8l2kE&pp=ygUUQmFieW1ldGFsIGRpc3RvcnRpb24%3D

And the one that could work the best in my opinion to like WOW his snarky bitch ass would be this one:

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ALznpaBWUTo&pp=ygUMbWV0YWxraW5nZG9t

Rock on my superstar! 🤟🎸❤️

Sup babes, I changed the vibe a lil, going in a more punk-like direction. I don't like describing outfits so the only thing that got a description is reader's vest bc low-key important. Anyway I hope you like it!! xoxo

Part 2

And I dream to be your fantasy

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language & sexual tension

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

A new band was blowing up in heaven, their posters were everywhere and Adam was already pissed off by it. Who the fuck did they think they were? Playing in his area? Fuck no. He avoided them as best as he could - considering that their posters hung in every window it wasn't that easy to do.

Lute landed next to Adam, she was visibly excited about something so the first man stopped with a sigh and turned around to look at her, “Sir, have you heard about Divine Fuck-Ups?” Adam growled as he gave Lute a nod, “Bitch, their posters are everywhere, how could I fucking not?” Lute simply rolled her eyes at him, “Yeah well, the other exorcists won't shut up about how good they are so,” the exorcist pulled out two concert tickets. Adam looked down at her, his expression a mix between hatred and betrayal. Had Lute seriously bought two tickets to a different band's concert? Especially when that band was playing in his fucking area on his fucking main stage? Apparently she fucking did. “You bought fucking tickets,” Adam grumbled, pointing out the most obvious thing ever. “The concert is tonight, I'll pick you up so we won't be late.” And it was not like Adam could have disagreed with her, Lute was onto something and the brunette was pretty sure she'd move mountains to get his ass to that concert.

The concert was… different than what Adam had expected it to be, the crowd was loud and wild, there were multiple mosh pits and none of their fans stood still for even the finest moment, they were constantly moving, vibing, enjoying their music to the brim. The first man had to admit: he was impressed by that. The only thing that bothered him was, that Lute had picked him up so fucking late that they were basically behind the massive crowd, enjoying the concert from the distance which also meant even though Adam was tall, he wasn't seeing shit.

So he simply grabbed Lute's wrist and pulled her with him as he made his way through the crowd, careful not to hurt anyone. Because while he was all for rock ‘n’ roll, the most rock thing to do was to watch out for each other at concerts, a rule he had learned very early.

He had somehow managed to make it to the front row, Lute by his side as he finally laid eyes on you for the first time. Your hair was sticking to your forehead, it was soaked in sweat just like the rest of your body - that was probably the reason why you were shirtless, wearing nothing but a black jeans vest with golden spikes on its shoulders. Your arm was wrapped around the waist of your background singer and you and him shared a microphone as you growled the lyrics of Lute's favorite song.

The background singer that had been in your arm only moments ago, was now dropping to his knees in front of you, grabbing your hips and wiggling them, his face only a couple centimeters away from your crotch, before he quickly got up again. Holy fuck that was hot. Adam was visibly mesmerized by your performance, not just the singing, growling and shouting but the way you owned that stage. The way you made the people go wild, your harmony with your band mates was a once in a lifetime sorta bond and the first man loved everything about it.

The song ended and you breathed heavily into your microphone. “Make some noise for Cove,” you yelled only to lick the man's jaw, Cove - the background singer that had gone down on you during your performance - was enjoying it, a little too much to Adam's liking but who was he to judge? Well he was the first man, that's who he was. “Okay, whatcha say to one more fucking song?” The crowd screamed and cheered, demanding the offered song like it was their air to breathe, shit even Lute screamed at the top of her lungs. Her white hair was all messy, her clothes clung to her body due to her sweating so much and she looked like she had one hell of a time.

The guitarist played the first three cords and the people around Adam were cheering, clapping and whistling. Then the drummer joined in and so did the bassist. Then your voice echoed through the air and Adam felt like he was in trance, all he needed was your voice and your body.

He wasn't able to dance, to enjoy the music, all he was hearing was your angelic sounding voice, it was enchanting through and through. The way you were moving your body held him in a chokehold, the amount of control you must have had over every single muscle was pure bliss in his eyes. He didn't even realize that the last song had ended and that you had just spoken your goodbyes, that's how lost he had been in your voice.

He really didn't understand why but everything inside of him was screaming to get to you, to make you his, to have you. Where those thoughts came from he didn't know, he wasn't gay after all but fuck you had looked hot on stage, better than any woman could have.

Don't ask him how, but he had managed to get a backstage pass once the concert had ended, it definitely had its advantages to be the first man. So there he was, waiting for you to arrive and once the door opened his eyes were basically glued onto you. “Hey there babes,” a cocky, confident smirk was on his lips as he pulled his mask off his head. You gave him a quick glance out of the corner of your eye as you walked over to your dresser, “So you're the bitch who thought of him as important enough to get backstage even though my team told ya no, huh?” Adam tilted his chin upwards as if that was something to accomplish, something to be proud of, “The one fucking and only.” You just rolled your eyes at his answer as you turned around to face him properly, “Listen, if you wanna hook up, now's a bad time. I have to get ready for another gig in just a couple of hours on the other side of heaven, be a fucking babe and leave, okay?” Oh but the brunette wasn't planning to, not now, not when he had the person he desired right in front of him. He walked over to you, his hand was quick to grab you by your hip and pull you in, the first man leaned down a little and murmured, “Oh babes, no need to act like you're fucking hard to get, I know you want me just as much as I want you.”

And that actually caused you to chuckle, because the confidence was so fucking wrong. You had just told him no and yet he acted like he was the man of your dreams. “Cutie,” your finger slid down his chest and stopped at his sternum, tapping him there harshly as your voice dropped an octave and your expression shifted to seriousness, “I do men, not boys. Come back when you decide to act like one.” And fuck, that did things to Adam, things he would never be able to admit to, not fully at least. Because you were acting like hot shit and for the first time he wasn't annoyed by it. Because you were hot shit, fuck probably the hottest shit he had ever laid eyes onto. “Now move your pretty ass out of my dressing room, babes,” you gave the first man one last sweet smile, your finger traced along his jaw and he leaned into every bit of touch he got from you. His eyes were clouded and for the first time in very fucking long it wasn't just lust that fogged up his mind, but interest and maybe even love.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x male reader #male reader #adam x y/n #adam x reader #adam x you

84 notes · View notes

0w0tsuki · 2 months

Note

Hey Ive seen Baeddel used in a lot of your posts but like,, other than a definition of the word I cant really find much on what it means like discourse-wise.

I know its something relating to transfems but other than that im lost x.x sorry for the bother

Basically it started out as an old timey slur for trans women. The word "bad" is rooted from it. In the early 2010s a group of trans women adopted the term and had a community for a very short time before it collapsed and not much information is left over.

Some say that had abusive dynamics. Some say they were just talking about transfeminism like they do now. My sibling swears up and down from their personal experiences with the initial group that they were a group of grifters using queer politics to fundraise for tumblers first big scam, The ARK(C?) Project.

A bunch of anti-transfeminists in their efforts to create the magical word that will allow them to terf-jacket trans women without having it called out as such happened upon the term and used the lack of concrete history/the fact that most of the subjective history isn't too charitable to this original group to fabricate a conspiracy theory that these original Beaddels were an evil cabal of bigoted trans women who never really went away and now operate and sow intracommunity discourse from the shadows for the explicit purpose of weakening the holy divinity of TransUnity.

And while some of them moved on to other terms like "TIRF" and "Neo Radfem" a good portion of TransUnity/Transandro anti-transfeminists have latched onto the term and have doubled down on their intent to use it to create a category of trans women that it's ok to exclude. Out of all of the anti-transfeminists that have come out of this new wave, the ones who build their politics around "Anti-Beaddelism" are some of the most mask-off exclusionists of the bunch. Like look at how they talk about Beadels

They will list how these groups have a bunch of ties to nearly every anti-queer group they could think of. And then they warn White™(Because everytime they attack trans women they have to pretend like it's a race thing to distract from the transmisogyny) that they mean to need to maintain a sense of hypervigilance around their transfem sisters and read into every laugh, every joke, and every word for the possibility of finding Beaddel rhetoric. This is a manipulative abusive tactic to keep the transfems within their sphere of influence to reach other to other transfems and rely on TME people to tell them what's right and provide community.

I remember on sailorportia's "Anti-Egg discoursers sound just like my conversation therapist" post I saw one of these people referring to the notes section as "full of beaddel dogwhistles" and inviting people to "take a look and educate themselves". Not specifying what the dogwhistles are or how they are dogwhistles. Just vaguely gesturing at the notes section and inviting you to regard anything a vocal trans woman as a crypto-beaddel and anything they say as "beaddel dogwhistles"

These communities cultivate a sense of paranoia. They encourage constant scrutiny regarding anything a trans woman says. Their leaders sell themselves as protectors of the community whose exclusion is a necessary evil to keep online trans communities safe. They are incentivized to keep the term Beaddel definition murky but representative of all the evils they attribute to trans women.

The term in the modern day is largely prescriptive and moreso defined by the reactionary "Anti-Beadelism" movement than it is defined by its history. Only a few trans women have reclaimed the term. When anti-transfeminists talk about Beaddelism they aren't talking about an organized group or community, they are referring to a bunch of individual trans women they have branded with the beaddel slur.

Currently I don't think reclaiming the word is a good move. Not that I disagree with it or think trans women shouldn't reclaim it. It's just that it will do more harm than good for as long as exclusionists control the narrative on its definition. I've seen mutuals have their posts on general transfeminism get completely discarded out of hand because they had Beaddel in their profile name or bio.

Because like it or not the current definition of Beaddels that gets passed around was written by current ex-terfs/transandro nothorses bro and cites TERF resources in their definition. This is the same dude who's responsible for the foundation or the current TransUnity echo chamber and used the influence from creating that community to try and redefine TERF to include trans women for the purpose of TERF-jacketing.

It's why me and some other trans women have been picking up the words trasfeminism to refer to discussions of transfem issues and anti-transfeminist to refer to these new wave of transfem exclusionist. It denies the exclusionists the ability to define our politics for us to outsiders. Also note: If the term trasfeminism picks up in use your going to see a lot of these people switch from "Beaddel" to "Radical Transfeminist" as their go-to anti-transfeminist TERF-jacketing slur

#transmisogyny #transfeminism #exclusionists #beaddel #trans unity #transunity

91 notes · View notes

cosettepontmercys · 13 days

Note

I truly can’t pinpoint when/what exactly changed about Taylor’s fans/fandom but the last few years (especially the midnights release) has really soured things for me and it’s honestly quite disappointing as someone who genuinely enjoys her music and thinks she’s a great artists. how did we get to the point of not even being able to voice an opinion about taylor without being crucified online. or if heaven forbid you dislike a song/album or enjoy the work of one of her exes (john mayer, the 1975, calvin harris, etc)

i’ve always been very fascinated/intrigued by the relationship between celebrities and their fans. and i think it’s really interesting to look back and think about how taylor built her fanbase by making herself as palatable/relatable/approachable as possible. like secret sessions, t party/loft 89/rep room, swiftmas, lover diaries, etc — all of which allow for fan interaction — but also relies on people getting noticed which then in turn encourages people to be as vocal? extra? whatever it is. which then feeds into the "who is a bigger / better fan" competition. i'm speaking from personal experience here, as someone who has liked her since debut — but i think a lot of this is also rooted in how much of the world hated taylor swift prior to ... i want to say folklore, really — like it was deeply uncool to like taylor swift, to be a swiftie, etc. and because a lot of that early criticism was rooted so much in misogyny, i think fans felt the need to (over the years) defend her — and i was one of those! i still am, when i feel like people are criticizing her unfairly. but i think that lends into the "taylor swift has never done anything wrong, and she's perfect and if you disagree then you're against us and you're a fake fan" mentality.

and then i think there's an element of ... not necessarily a superiority complex, but a something among fans who have met taylor. it's a genius marketing move, intentions aside. taylor's music is very personal — and taylor's marketing, and persona is very personal, in a way that other artists prior to taylor weren't, i think. relatability sells. you can see it in the way that people talk about her, and her music. which is very different from the way people talk about other artists — and obviously there isn't anyone else out there with the amount of fame/popularity as her, but you don't see the same amount of fanfiction-writing personal-life-speculating-projection onto other artists' lyrics as you do with taylor. and i think that when someone is that vulnerable with their thoughts, it makes it easy for people to think that they know them personally.

and i think that — as much as i love taylor — it's important to talk about her white woman feminism mentality. and i think that also seeps into how her fanbase interacts with her. the ginny & georgia "joke" is what comes to mind the quickest, but there are countless instances of taylor's white woman feminism — and her benefiting from it. and obviously it was in her right to call out a misogynistic comment, especially one directed at her, but not saying anything when the actress got so much hate for a line she didn't write ... made me feel a bit 🥴. it's interesting to see who taylor will choose to align herself with, i guess is all i'm saying.

i've really taken a step back from taylor — not just because the fandom is exhausting ( the amount of things i've seen about her, joe, travis, etc. is ... something! it's all projection! we do not know anything about these people other than what they choose to show us! ) but also because of her saying that she wanted to be on the right side of history and then over and over again choosing to be increasingly passive and silent. she will call herself an ally but won’t even talk about queer rights; she won’t talk about the literal genocide that’s going on. gun control, abortion rights, anything at all. it's just "go vote" but even that is incredibly passive. but she will take time to remind us to buy new variants, and to stream her music, and that her ex sucks.

i think there was a huge shift that started with folklore/evermore, just given that there weren't a lot of albums being put out during that time, the overwhelming public reception to it — a lot of people who previously didn't care for (or disliked) taylor started to like her, to give her a second chance, etc. then we get into the rerecordings era/midnights/etc., which started off with fearless and nostalgia and then became "how quickly can i put out the next thing". and bailey @placeinthisworld posted this earlier, which i fully agree with. it's about the next award, the next milestone. it's just all quantity. it's overexposure.

and then we have the joe alwyn breakup and the public response to that was also ... interesting. like i saw people crying over it, or saying that love is a lie, removing things from their playlists, acting like they were the ones who had been broken up with. which is just ... odd, given that we aren't the ones in the relationship. and now there are all these comments about being a "joe defender". and then with taylor dating travis, it feels almost like some weird american pipe dream unfulfilled fantasy for so many people — the singer and the american football player. and obviously, i want her to be happy! i don't care who she dates! but i do think the public reception about her and travis has been ... incredibly odd, and i think that the way people talk about her and travis is just ... very ... off-putting and is very rooted in some weird ... stuff. "she finally gets to be small :(((((" is such a weird thing to say. it feels like there's even more projection and self-insert-y stuff with her dating travis, which is a level i did not think was possible from her fans (and more so, the general public).

i have not felt this ... detached and impassive about a taylor release, ever, and it just makes me incredibly sad because i love her music, and am excited about the work, just not excited about the public reception, the public autopsy of her and joe's relationship, or the noise, and i know that internet spaces (and spaces in general) are what we curate, but it's also difficult when she is everywhere.

#so sorry this took so long to reply to! i was out of town!#post: answered #ts critical

68 notes · View notes

crispycreambacon · 4 days

Text

Ending April with a small parting gift. I’m gonna miss this.

Anyways, an announcement of my own.

The short of it

I’m leaving the Watcher fandom. Don’t worry, I won’t be unfollowing anyone, but I will be ceasing the creation of art for Watcher and interaction with the community at large. Thank you all for this short but meaningful ride. Feel free to unfollow me if you were here for Watcher art, and for those who stick around…

Thank you :]

I hope to not disappoint with this new era of mine.

The long of it

It’s been a couple of days since a certain channel dropped an announcement that imploded its fandom. It was… a mess. A lot—and I mean a lot—of us didn’t handle the news well, and we made that known to everyone. The impact was so massive that YouTubers, who are nowhere near the niche that Watcher operates under, covered the situation, and some of them explained very well why the decision went over so poorly. Meanwhile some of them made fun of the situation, and some were just there for the clicks, but that’s the cycle of YouTube drama for you.

With the amount of ears waiting for even a peep out of their mouths, Watcher couldn’t ignore the backlash any longer and released an apology video three days after the announcement. By all accounts, it was a pretty good response. The reception was mixed, but it was definitely more well-received than their first video, and they actually listened to their fans who gave them valid criticism over the sudden shift to a streaming service.

However…

For as much as I appreciate their response, I still can’t find it in myself to continue following Watcher. I really mean it when I say this disaster soured any enjoyment I had for them. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to watch them again for a long time without thinking about this situation or remembering the people they have hurt, even if unintentionally, through their poor execution of a business decision.

Do I believe they could’ve pulled off moving their content to a streaming service? Absolutely. However, so many factors doomed this decision and their announcement from the start from them believing that $5.99/month was “affordable to everyone” (seriously?) to them insisting that this was for the fans even though the fans have vocalized that they were never there for the high production value. They were there because the three guys who run Watcher were enjoyable!

I feel like if they had been honest about the fact that the TV quality they are aiming for was more for themselves than anyone–hell, it’s the mission statement in their About page, and, I don’t know, considered the idea that $6 is not cheap, especially for international fans, people wouldn’t have gotten so angry at them. Now, there are still numerous issues plaguing this business model, but to go through all of the arguments would require a separate post, and I’ve already expended too much energy on this situation. Needless to say, Watcher has burnt their bridges, and it will take a while before they can build them back up again, let alone get people to trust them enough to cross them.

On the other hand, I can’t blame Watcher fully for my departure. Despite my heavy disagreement with their initial decision, I understand why they thought this decision was a good idea in the first place as YouTube is a very unstable career path, and it would rather hurt its creators with its relentless demonetization, censorship and restrictive guidelines than give up just a tiny amount of its profit. Besides, they’re in control of their content, and they could do what they want with it even if their fans disagreed with them.

Speaking of the fans, my god. The situation revealed a side of the fandom that I never thought I would see, but in hindsight, I should have seen it coming. To see fans resort to anti-Asian racism and death threats so quickly was extremely heartbreaking, and as an Asian person, it made me feel very unsafe and unwelcome in the community.

Moreover, using Steven as a scapegoat to absolve Ryan and Shane of any wrongdoing was unfortunately a very common response. Yes, he is the CEO, and yes, his series being centered on traveling and eating expensive food really doesn’t paint him in a positive light, but need I remind you that RYAN AND SHANE ARE GROWN ADULTS. They’re the founders of Watcher, and they both have to agree to the initial plan for it to be implemented. You can’t assume that Steven was a boogeyman terrorizing your precious little boys just based on a 15-minute video. You don’t know what’s going on behind the scenes.

All of this to say that the initial announcement combined with how the community reacted violently to the announcement really nipped my interest in Watcher in the bud. It was a shame too because I really did love Watcher, and I still do. Had it not been for the time I invested in following them, I wouldn’t have made great friends, regained the joy in creating art–even reviving a hobby/skill that I assumed was long dead, and had a reason to be able to laugh or smile even in terrible days. I truly am grateful for Watcher, and I do not regret ever getting into them at all. However, I think it’s time for me to go.

Thank you all for this weird and wonderful ride, but at some point, you’ll have to hop off. I just didn’t expect to hop off it so soon.

#Back to hiatus I go (for real this time) I’ll see y’all in 3 weeks 🫡#I’m more sad than anything #But alas we move forward #Thank you everyone #It was fun while it lasted #the professor #puppet history #watcher #watcher entertainment #we are watcher #art #chris p fried art #chris p fried rambles

61 notes · View notes

secondjulia · 5 months

Text

Necessary but Stupid -> The StarvingArtist!Dream/Plasma AU You Didn't Request

UM. So. This was definitely just a weird little AU idea I had... definitely not while hooked up at csl daydreaming about Dream & Hob... that I was just going to dump in @gabessquishytum's Ask, as one does with weird little AU ideas. And then it kind of exploded. Into an actual story.

---Rated: G. Logistics in the tags. Ao3 link ---

There's no stopping the dark cloud that passes over Hob's head the moment he opens the door to the plasma center. But now he can smile brightly through it and let the storm blow quietly away. The dark memories this place holds still surface every time he walks in, but he's never once considered not going. Even though it's been ten years since Eleanor and the babe died of some rare blood condition that triggered childbirth complications, Hob's still there twice a week, every week, rain or shine.

He waves to the clerk at the desk. The security guard greets him with a comment about the latest football match, and Hob makes an appropriately pained, commiserating expression. He asks the technician taking his blood pressure how his honeymoon went — Côte d'Albâtre, right? — and Hob reminisces cheerily about his own trips to France.

Nobody’s ever exactly happy at the plasma center, but the sunny professor’s relentlessly friendly chatter brightens everyone’s day. All the staff know him by name, his surprisingly colorful stories can help pass the time on those long-line days, and his smile always lights up the room.

Sure, Hob can be kind of opinionated — like whenever he declares that death is stupid and nobody should have to die of preventable diseases! Everyone just goes along with it, and it’s so cruel! (Nobody actually disagrees, but he is very vocal about it.) The first time he said this — sitting hunched with downcast eyes, just weeks after his wife’s death — his voice was soft with hopelessness, and it cracked as he held back tears. But ten years later, when people ask him why he’s still doing this when he’s a tenured professor with a summer cottage and a retirement plan, Hob declares jovially that death is stupid! Nobody has to die when he can give them something they need from his own arms — it’s a renewable resource!

Hob, it cannot be said enough, brightens everyone's day — usually.

But not today. Not everyone's.

Dream cannot believe the insufferable words coming out of this man’s mouth. It's the first day Dream’s set foot in this particular center, and he already wants to go home.

But home is the problem. Dream's new apartment is much cheaper than the building that just evicted him, but this latest series of paintings are taking far longer to complete than he'd hoped. And also, the art world just fucking sucks. Dream can't fool himself. Even when the paintings are ready, it's unlikely they'll sell well enough or soon enough to plug the gaps in his income.

For years, Dream played the whole shitty-jobs roulette to support his art, but ever since he was kidnapped and spent years in a glass cage in a basement, he can’t even manage that. Seriously, try explaining that kind of resumé gap to a job interviewer. When he does manage to get work, it always goes bad fast. Dream wasn’t exactly totally undamaged before, but now he feels like he's all scars.

Dream is not here by choice. He cannot imagine who would be.

He'd gone to his old plasma center for years — till he was forced to move — in order to make ends meet. Today, he's here to fill in the glaring gap between the meager payment he got for a small watercolor last January, his savings, and a near-maxed-out credit card. (Nearly maxed out in the hasty scramble to get to a cheaper place to live. Moving was expensive. Funny how that works.) The plasma center is, in some ways, far preferable to many of the jobs he's had in the past, and it allows Dream to spend more time on his art. But it is absolutely unfathomable how anybody could pursue an eternity of this if they didn’t have to.

Dream keeps his head down avoiding the attention of the chatty professor. He stays quiet. His cold, bony hands are tucked into his long cardigan sleeves except for when he's chugging water, nearly by the gallon. He's about 2kg from the next weight class. Unfortunately, he's lost weight since his eviction, but if he could bump the scale a little higher, it would mean a higher draw — and a slightly higher payment. He's always cold these days, so the heavy sweater isn't a hardship, and the water fills up his stomach and supplements his inadequate lunch of oatmeal and stolen sugar packets.

The first time Dream meets Professor Hob’s eyes is when they’re sliding the needle into his arm and Dream has to turn his head away sharply. Dream was never afraid of needles — not until that night when someone (he later learned it was a twisted old cult leader named Burgess) stuck him with… something that knocked him out cold and he woke up in the basement. These days, although he's done this many times before, when the metal pricks his skin, Dream still lays frozen like an ice sculpture as his heart pounds against his chest.

He has sold his vintage leather jacket, his treasured collection of elegant handmade cloaks (there was a theatrical phase, it’s complicated), and most of his books (the shelves of his sparse apartment now hold only a few cheap volumes of blank paper for his sketches). But it wasn’t enough.

Burgess was years ago, but Dream's life still lies in ruins.

He does not like being here. But it seems that this — his body's materials, his very essence — is the only thing of value he has to offer the world. This most basic biological function, the blood pumping through his veins, is all anyone wants of him now.

So despite his fear, he lets them bleed him.

Hob is usually quiet when he’s hooked up to the machine. He'll chat in the line and in the lobby and at the vitals check, but on the donation floor, he politely minds his own business. Here, everyone retreats into their own world, usually scrolling on their phone or staring at the clock. People don't usually feel like talking when they’ve got a needle in their arm. And Hob’s an extrovert, not an asshole.

But today, the man beside him looks over, and Hob can’t wrench his eyes away. The man is thin and sheet white and his eyes are huge and watery over jutting cheekbones. His lips might be trembling.

“Alright there?” Hob asks kindly.

The man’s head twitches. It might be a nod.

Hob has seen people pass out here before. With the way this guy looks, Hob’s mildly shocked that anyone thought it was a good idea to drain him of vital fluids. But the people here know their business. His numbers must be under control, or else he wouldn’t’ve been allowed in.

Still, under control doesn’t necessarily mean ok.

So Hob gently keeps the conversation going with the man. Dream, he learns and his heart flutters at the name. He weirdly doesn’t seem bothered by Hob’s donation floor chatter (maybe because he's too bothered by the needle in his arm to notice anything else). Dream doesn’t even pull out a phone. He seems to hang on Hob’s every word of small talk.

“I can shut up if you’d life,” Hob offers when he realizes with a shock that he’s babbled through the entire first draw. “It just seemed like you needed some distraction.”

“Please.” Dream blushes slightly. Well, at least his skin is getting some blood. “Tell me about… your experiences. What… have you been doing?”

Huh?

What has he been doing? That’s vague.

But if anyone can find a way to fill a vague prompt, it’s Hob. So he chatters some more about the union organizing at his university and a ridiculous new scheduling system for the adjuncts — it’s like they’ve taken all the worst aspects of on-demand scheduling from the fast food industry and applied it to higher education for some incomprehensible reason. One of his colleagues had a class — and £2000 of pay — cancelled two days before term started. But not everything’s bad. Hob knows the students are planning a walkout next week, which he fully supports and has already adjusted his lessons to compensate for the lost time. Also, there’s a new pizza place on campus which is rather decent.

He really is just rambling.

But Dream seems to need it. He hasn’t looked down at his arm once, and Hob’s certain that’s for the best.

Dream has to admit that the insufferable professor has made the time go by a lot quicker. He’s shocked when they’re sliding the needle out of his arm, then wrapping his elbow up, and he’s free to go. He mumbles what he hopes is a polite goodbye to Hob, who is also finishing up, and then practically stumbles out into the rain.

He clutches his cardigan around him and pulls up his hood and plods away from the center. This place is closer to the new apartment than his previous plasma center, but it’s still a half hour hike home. The buses take even longer — his crappy apartment isn't exactly on a convenient route. But at least walking saves him a few quid.

“Hey!”

The voice makes Dream flinch. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a car slow down beside him, and his heart ratchets up in his chest. He doesn’t look over, only hunches deeper into his wet cardigan and walks faster.

“Hey, Dream!”

Oh.

Belatedly, Dream recognizes Hob’s voice. He finally looks up to see Hob looking out his car window and smiling despite the rain streaming onto his face.

“Looks like you could use a ride!” Hob jerks his head toward the passenger’s seat. “Hop in!”

Dream stares at the kindly professor. Who offers a stranger a ride in their car? Sure, Dream spent the last forty five minutes listening to every mundane detail of this guy's super normie professional life, but they still barely know each other! And if Hob actually knew Dream — a failed starving artist and all around fuckup, consistently two minutes away from homelessness — there’s no way he’d want to associate with him outside of the polite minimum of chatter at the center.

So what the fuck is Hob playing at?

“Come on, you’ll get soaked!” Hob prods.

Fear strikes Dream, and he recoils, stumbling away from the vehicle.

“Dream? You alright there?”

But Dream is already running, tearing off through the rain. He cuts through a shitty neglected park, climbs a fence and gets chased by a rottweiler through a closed off parking lot, and dashes across a highway — almost getting hit twice. He doesn’t stop running until he’s home.

Or, well, what passes for his home now.

Dream dries off, makes some tea, and grabs a sketchbook. His hand shakes as he doodles, but the process calms him and grounds his mind.

Then, as usual, after his fear begins to ebb, he feels stupid.

His mind replays the afternoon's events. Hob’s smile is brilliant in his memory. Though the initial snatches of overheard conversation were insufferable — not to mention incomprehensible — his recitation of the mundane details of life had been oddly calming. And, though Dream had perhaps not appreciated it in the moment, Hob had seemed genuinely concerned.

The more Dream thinks about it, the stupider he feels. Worse, he feels ashamed. How rude to run from Hob, who’d only wanted to help!

The scar tissue that has proliferated over Dream’s heart has truly damaged his ability to function among decent people. That night, he lays awake for a long time thinking about this. He should probably just never go back to the plasma center. He can’t imagine facing Hob after reacting so poorly to his kindness.

But the next day, after he scribbles up the month’s expenses and tries to make the math work, Dream realizes he has no choice.

The day after that, he’s plodding back to the plasma center.

The feelings of shame are almost overwhelming, and Dream slouches in with his head lowered, shoulders hunched, and eyes averted from everyone.

“Dream!” Hob’s voice is like a warm bubble bath. “Hope you got home alright.”

Dream can barely look at him, but Hob's smile is like a ray of sun on Dream’s face. There’s a cloud of concern shadowing his eyes, but he’s otherwise as cheery as ever.

“Forgive me. I…” Dream cannot explain.

“Look, I’m sorry. I totally overstepped,” Hob says. “I know I can be a bit much, and I shouldn’t’ve pushed.”

Dream cannot believe that Hob is apologizing to him.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Hob said gingerly, “was that your first time? It’s just you didn’t seem particularly pleased with the whole process. I thought I’d likely never see you in here again.”

“It was not. I have done this…” Too many times to count. “…frequently.” Dream finds the prospect of explaining the complexity of his situation too daunting. But he is touched by Hob’s concern. “I do not enjoy the process.”

Hob makes a sympathetic noise.

“But I did enjoy…” Dream pauses. What the fuck is he doing? Hob’s been kind enough to overlook his rudeness; Dream should just shut up and leave him alone. But maybe Dream has been alone too long, been too long without a sympathetic ear, because he keeps on mumbling, “I enjoyed hearing about your university. With the union… and the pizza… and everything.”

Impossibly, Hob brightens even further. “I could take you! The pizza really is delicious—Oh, shit, sorry, I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” The cloud of concern is back as he takes in Dream’s downcast gaze. “I’m being too much. Sorry, I didn't mean to push!”

“No, not at all. It sounds lovely. I just…” Dream shifts awkwardly. “They don’t exactly pay us enough here for going out.”

“Oh, I’ll get it!" Hob says with a wave of his hand. "It’s no problem. I’d love to take you out. You looked like you could’ve used a good meal after that last one. Have you at least eaten something so far today?” Hob tries to keep the worry out of his voice so he doesn’t sound like a mother hen. All the instructional materials are very explicit about not donating on an empty stomach, but he knows that people do what they have to.

“I have,” Dream says honestly. His lips twitch as he takes in Hob’s worried look. But Hob's smile, even suppressed, is a beautiful thing. “Really,” Dream stresses. “Oatmeal is cheap. I've had enough to be getting on with things. But later…”

“Great!” Hob’s heart flutters, but he stamps down the feeling. The memory of Dream running from him twists at his heart. He never wants to make him afraid again.

On the donation floor, they're next to each other again. And again Hob chatters happily about whatever he can think of to keep Dream distracted. It all seems to go well until they emerge together into the parking lot and Hob notices Dream tense as he glances at Hob’s car.

“We can hop on the bus, if you prefer,” Hob says. “The campus is just down the main line, and I've got extra passes.”

Dream blushes, and his shoulders hunch like he's ashamed. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“It’s nothing of the sort! It saves on gas and it's good for the planet!”

At the bus stop, Hob notices the way Dream’s gaze constantly flicks around his surroundings. Even when he looks down and hunches in on himself, his eyes remain alert, as if he's still hyperaware of every movement on his periphery. Hob wants so badly to reach out and comfort him and wipe away whatever has caused him to move through life with such fear, but he doesn't dare overstep.

Hob is glad that the pizza place is in the bustling, well-lit central food court. Dream's body relaxes somewhat, and that specific tension which Hob had notice in the parking lot doesn't return. Hob buys him a giant slice of spinach, mushroom, and feta and a sealed bottle of water, and Dream even cracks a smile.

“I apologize for my behavior,” Dream says as they find seats at a plastic table in the middle of the food court.

“No need," Hob says. "I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You were being kind, and I reacted… extremely.” Dream takes a deep breath and then a long sip of water.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Hob hastens to assure him, "about… whatever happened… if you don't want to."

Dream nods. He knows. Despite his annoyingly resurgent fear, he feels safe around Hob. So slowly, hesitantly, he begins to explain.

It’s an abbreviated form of the story. Dream avoids the details of how Burgess thought he could siphon the life force from vibrant young adults. How he'd drawn a whole following into his delusion, even though he'd ultimately kept Dream for himself. How (Dream had learned later) Burgess had boasted about having a fresh young man, the font of youth, trapped in his basement — and no one had done anything, whether because he was just a rich eccentric who could get away with a "joke" like that or because he'd paid enough people off. He didn't tell Hob how the elder Burgess hadn't ever been held accountable because he'd died before any of it had come to light, and the younger Burgess had fallen into a coma. A care worker had ultimately taken a wrong turn, stumbled into the basement, and that was how the police were finally called to Fawney Rig. But since no one was alive (or conscious) for a big, thrilling trial, the entire ordeal just fizzled quietly into the background.

It’s not the whole story. But it's enough.

Hob’s face grows progressively more horrified. He's abandoned his half-eaten pesto and prosciutto slice. It sits cold in front of him now. He feels sick.

“I make art,” Dream says into the silence. “It is not lucrative, but I can work when and how I wish. I have not… had a great deal of luck with traditional employment. Especially not since… those events.”

“Right. Of course." Hob's voice cracks over his words. For once, he's struggling to extract his usual chatter. "Can’t imagine anything’s easy after that.”

Hob doesn't touch the remainder of his pizza, but Dream polishes his off. He looks oddly relaxed now, as if, in the telling, some of the weight of the horrifying story has slid from his body.

“I’d love to see your art,” Hob says on the bus back to the plasma center parking lot. Belatedly, he cringes at the presumption, wondering if it's too much, knowing now that he really ought not to push his interest onto a bloody kidnap victim.

“I have a website,” Dream says, bringing it up on his phone and showing the address to Hob. Then he stands, though they're only about halfway back to the center. “This stop is closer to my home. I… Thank you. For the meal. And the kind ear. Perhaps… I will see you next Tuesday?”

“Of course,” Hob says, and a little bubble of happiness rises in his chest. “It’s Tuesday and Thursday for me until the schedule changes next term.”

Over the next few weeks, Hob isn’t always next to Dream on the donation floor. But he asks Dream to tell him about his latest project afterwards, so Dream has something to think about during the donation. And also so that it's not just Hob chattering away at their post-donation dinners. Which are happening regularly now. Sometimes they go for pizza, sometimes a good curry or a hefty shawarma; Hob introduces Dream to the pubs with the best (and biggest) burgers. He knows all the places to get a solid, filling dinner, not because he's concerned about getting his money's worth but because Hob just enjoys a good meal and he's more than happy to help put some meat on Dream's bones.

And get the artist to open up.

Slowly, Dream begins to do just that.

It starts to seem like Dream feels safe with Hob. When they're out, he stands close to Hob, as if comforted by his presence. His shoulders begin to straighten out, and he hunches less when they're together. Dream's gaze is still alert, but it rarely sinks to the floor now, and his eyes don't flick fearfully around so much when he's with Hob.

Three weeks after they meet, Dream lets Hob drive him home.

Two weeks after that, he invites Hob inside to see his current projects.

Hob knew Dream was a good artist from the first glimpse at his website, but seeing the bright canvases in person is just stunning. The glistening abstractions echo the swirling galaxies and deep, black voids of the universe. The colors blend in fantastic points of light or unearthly flames or brilliant streaks across the sky. The textures — flattened out in the photos — give an impression of looking into entire worlds. The brushstrokes are mountain ranges and deep ocean trenches and shaded valleys where, somehow, Hob can imagine entire populations living and thriving within the fibers of the canvas.

"The, erm… the university has spaces for community exhibits," Hob says, struggling to bring himself out of the captivating images as if wading out of a dream. How appropriate. "I could look into that, see if you could do a show. Maybe the Art Department could have you in for a lecture, too — you could talk about the real-life challenges of being an artist, the actual work involved, the practical—" Oh no. He's being too much again. "I mean, of course, you don't have to! I won't say anything without—"

Dream's arms are around Hob's shoulders before Hob can even turn away from the canvas. His wild, dark hair is tucked against Hob's cheek as Dream tightens his grip.

Hob's hands slowly move to Dream's back. He can't speak for a long moment. Instead, his hands gently rub against the thin material of Dream's shirt. Hob can feel the edges of his spine and ribcage, but Dream also feels softer than Hob would've imagined the first time he saw him, pale and shaking, weeks ago.

"Thank you," Dream murmurs. He steps back, and his gaze lowers, but now it's not filled with fear and sadness. He's smiling shyly. "If you could do that, I-I… would be grateful."

Hob can do that!

He's in Medieval History himself, but he's friends with half the Art History department due to overlapping lectures, the occasional historical consultation or spontaneous debate, and just being a friendly guy. And the Art History people know a few of the more curious, historically-aware Art people due to various collaborations and consultations on the evolution of modern styles and techniques and the socio-political contexts of artistic development.

Hob, with his talent for striking up conversation, takes less than a week to find several interested parties. And once he shows them Dream's work, everyone is extremely eager to invite the talented local artist to campus!

The next time Hob walks into the plasma center, Dream is already beaming. His smile is bright enough to singlehandedly banish the residual storm cloud that always follows Hob over the threshold.

"I hit the next weight class," Dream says. He leans subtly into Hob's side.

"Good on you!" Hob says, beaming right back. When he tells Dream about the interest in his work, Dream's arm snakes around his waist for a subtle but firm half-hug.

At Dream's first show (he's already scheduled in with both the Art and Art History Departments — the latter wants to address the reality of artist's lives across time — and, hell, Hob's even lobbying his own History Department to get Dream in as part of a series on creative work throughout history), Hob is enamored with one canvas he hasn't seen before. From a distance it's a dark oil-slick abstraction with iridescent slashes of green and blue, but up close, Hob can see the feathery edges of wings.

He cannot explain the sudden, confusing wave of sorrow-joy-awe it provokes deep in his chest.

"Departed souls," Dream says softly, coming up behind Hob, "come back as ravens. Or so it is believed by some."

Hob sniffs and tries to control the itch in his eyes as he turns toward Dream. "Oh?"

"I painted this one soon after I regained my freedom. It felt like a part of me had not survived the imprisonment. It was… necessary, perhaps, to lose something in order to regain my life, but it hurt nonetheless."

"Oh." Hob doesn't know what else to say, but he reaches out, gingerly wrapping an arm around Dream, waiting for any hint of refusal, but Dream turns into him and clutches him tight, and Hob's arms tighten around him in turn. "It's beautiful," he finally says, his words muffled against Dream's hair.

"I think now… maybe… some part of me that had not survived… has come back. In some form."

And Hob is gone. Tears leak down into Dream's hair. Hob clutches at him for support, but he can feel himself shaking, and now it's Dream rubbing soothing patterns into his back and tightening the embrace.

When they finally pull back, Dream wipes Hob's cheeks with his palm. He tilts his head in a silent question.

"Just… death," Hob says. "It's bloody stupid, isn't it? In all its forms. Necessary, maybe but stupid. I don't want any part of it."

Hob laughs at himself, as if the brash declaration itself is stupid.

But Dream only nods; he can see that there are deep forces moving beneath Hob's usually cheery exterior.

On the way home, he listens as Hob finally opens up about his wife and the unborn babe. After a decade, Hob says, the wound has closed up, he has "moved on" in all the ways one is supposed to move on, he has a new — and rather wonderful — life. But the scar will remain forever. It still hurts, but he's grateful for the life he had and the new one he's grown into.

"Shit," Hob says suddenly.

Dream looks around and realizes they haven't driven back to his own crappy apartment building.

"Sorry." Hob wipes his eyes. "I've blabbered so much, I wasn't paying attention. Driven myself right home."

"It's alright," Dream says. He peeks over at Hob shyly. "I've never seen your place."

Hob blinks at him for a moment — Dream's heart thuds against his throat — and then, despite the tear tracks still drying on his cheeks, Hob's face breaks into a brilliant smile.

"Are you hungry?" Hob asks. "I can actually cook quite well. It's not always pub food and pizza."

With perfect timing, Dream's stomach gives an almost painful rumble. "I'm starving."

Inside, Hob cooks a delectable dinner. Dream watches Hob move about the kitchen, chattering happily — he's already inviting Dream back over for brunch and maybe a Netflix marathon and Christmas. And Dream's mind is blossoming with new paintings, these ones bright with twining paths and colliding galaxies and shared dreams.

Hob is vaguely aware that he might be babbling into too much territory again, but when he sees Dream watching him with that dreamy sparkly in his eyes, his heart is just too full to care. As they eat together, he lets himself just be excited and not worry about reining himself in. Truly, he might not mind an eternity of this.

And Dream is thinking much the same thing.

#Apparently paid plasma donation is illegal in the UK & you can't donate 2x/week SO...#This is also the Dystopian AU where all the regulations have been axed sorry #+I don't know how buses work in the UK. This is how they work in my city :)#the sandman #hob gadling #dream of the endless #fanfic #dreamling #my fanfic

111 notes · View notes

toaster-trash · 7 months

Text

This is not an attack on you at ALL I’m sorry for moving this to it’s own post I just have Opinions™️ and I need be weird about this book rq I’ll tag you anyway in case you’re interested like at all in my dumb little opinion @adrianfridge-main

I just woke up but DISAGREED Victor’s complaining was completely and utterly justified tbh (bro fucked up astronomically big time and as a result his entire family is dead, I think he’s earned the right to be in despair), Victor’s biggest flaw was the fact he stitched together a mass of corpses and brought it to life and then told nobody, Victor’s biggest flaw is avoidance – and part of that is understandable, it’s a common trauma response, but Victor should have been open about how he felt about Elizabeth, he should have worked through his feelings about his family and expressed them, he should have confronted what he did with the creature and told someone, told Clerval, Victor’s biggest flaw isn’t that he’s in despair, it’s that he rarely explains that despair to others – and it’s understandable why he doesn’t, but it’s still wrong, because that’s how he hurts people.

He keeps parts of himself hidden – as arguably represented by the creature himself. He begins to isolate himself for really the first time, he has a lot of space away from people he’s been around his entire life for really the first time, and it’s fairly safe to say that psychological things begin to build up, as he builds the creature, almost represented by him – whatever interpretation you have of these knew-found realisations can greatly vary depending on the reading of the book you have, but personally I think it’s mostly how he feels about himself and his family.

I don’t think Victor wanted to marry Elizabeth at all – and I’ll probably make a whole catch-all rant on that point soon enough, but I think once he actually begins to get some time in isolation to think about things, he starts thinking about his mother, he starts thinking about Elizabeth, he starts considering all these complicated feelings, that he genuinely does love his mother, but that she’s effectively forcing him into something he doesn’t want to do at all, surely she’d understand if he just explained – but she’s dead, he can’t explain, it’s too late for that. Would she have accepted his explanations in the first place, or would he have disappointed her? This was his mother’s only dying wish, the last thing she left to him, the last thing he had to remember her by – and I do believe Victor genuinely loved his mother, even if I’m also absolutely of the opinion that she was a terrible person. Instead of coming to a conclusion about this, Victor spirals, it builds up, he tells no-one – I don’t believe he would’ve told Henry – and this coincides with the creation of the creature. His dead mother’s final wish being the definitive thing haunting him, and the representation of his spiral and all of his emotions about that being a mass of sentient corpses – seems accurate.

Following this argument, Victor sees Clerval again after all those years, and he collapses from the weight of it all – he rants about it vaguely, but he hides it, and he continues to do so, ignoring it, and that’s when it slowly begins to become harmful, purposefully picking off the people he loves and hurting them.

It’s important to remember still, of course, that the monster isn’t metaphorical, he is real – it’s just that a lot of heights of Victor’s despair and tendency to spiral into his own thoughts coincide well with the “building” of the creature, or with him becoming more vocally demanding of Victor or harmful to his loved ones, so he tends to be a pretty good approximation for a physical representation of Frankenstein’s mental state and guilt. And effectively, Frankenstein desperately trying to hide the creature, fumbling with promises to make further mistakes to push him away only to come to the realisation that they’re wrong, but still having to deal with the consequences of them, instead of just from the start being open and honest, even if that honestly was “I need some time to think, and I don’t know how I feel right now.” – that’s his biggest flaw. And the people Victor hurts is really best represented through Elizabeth herself – I hold the very very strong opinion that Victor and Elizabeth are both victims of what was pretty basically just grooming, and again, avoidance is a very common trauma response, but Elizabeth tried to confront Victor on multiple occasions, sending that letter asking about how he feels about the marriage, saying it doesn’t need to happen if he doesn’t want it to – instead he misinterprets this as his poor dear cousin in despair second-guessing his affections for her, (very likely because of things his mother probably told him as a child), and decides to “put her mind at ease” by telling her that he will marry her, despite his actions saying completely otherwise and Elizabeth herself pretty openly not really wanting to marry him.

He’s gone through so much at this point, feels himself responsible for so many deaths, and decides the final thing he needs to do before he dies is not to be a disgrace to his parents as well, or any more of a disgrace than he already is, in his eyes.

And I also definitely have a queer reading of the novel – I genuinely do really hold to the interpretation of Frankenstein and Clerval’s relationship being romantic, and from there and concerning the creation of the bride, Henry really is effectively murdered as a punishment for Victor doubting the role given to him – almost like his doubts and guilt, as embodied by the creature, overwhelm him in that way. “Ah! my father, do not remain in this wretched country; take me where I may forget myself, my existence, and all the world.” He’s pushing away the memory of Clerval’s death, repressing it, avoiding it, and that is extremely important for how he shifts his tone with Elizabeth and puts up that fake demeanour of wanting to marry her, because he thinks it’ll make her happy even though both of them describe dreading the wedding, even given the context for Victor and even by Elizabeth, who doesn’t know what he dreads – in order to forget Clerval, he assigns himself to the role given to him as a child by marrying Elizabeth and gives up whatever he hope he had.

All possibly discouraged from Clerval being murdered as a response to Victor refusing to finish the Bride and subject her to the same fate as him and Elizabeth to the Creature, a pact made without her knowledge or consent, an arranged marriage. Where has spiting that tradition led him? Where has him standing up to the shroud of his mother’s dying wishes, hanging over him the entire novel thus far, led him, by refusing to force the Bride into an arranged marriage with the Creature, as he was with Elizabeth? To the death of the one man he truly loved. So, can at least “make his dear cousin happy” and not die spiting the one thing he was meant to do – make his mother proud from beyond the grave by marrying Elizabeth.

And even then, adding to my argument of the creature being a physical embodiment of Frankenstein‘s guilt and dread – that building tension approaching the wedding, Victor being convinced the creature is going to kill him, but he kills Elizabeth – that’s a metaphor if I’ve ever seen it.

Even on the subject of grieving Clerval, Victor won’t sort his feelings, he spirals and tries so desperately to avoid them. “We had resolved not to go to London, but to cross the country to Portsmouth, and thence to embark for Havre. I preferred this plan principally because I dreaded to see again those places in which I had enjoyed a few moments of tranquillity with my beloved Clerval. I thought with horror of seeing again those persons whom we had been accustomed to visit together, and who might make inquiries concerning an event.”

I wonder what would happen if he did go through London, if he did meet those people again. Would things have turned out differently? Would he finally have been given a sense of comfort and clarity through mutual grief, as nobody so far since Henry’s death and for the rest of the book, except the creature, ironically, has grieved for Clerval except for Frankenstein. If he met people who took as fondly to Clerval as he did, at least on meeting him briefly, who would have sympathy towards Victor – would he finally have that space to grieve for him in a healthy way, to be comforted by people who at least vaguely understand a fraction of his anguish?

But he doesn’t, and instead he avoids the subject – confining himself to his union with Elizabeth, and hurting her because of that.

And even to his grave, Frankenstein doesn’t stop to consider his feelings properly, and by that I mean he doesn’t sort them with anyone, he doesn’t admit the dread he feels surrounding his family and his late wife, he doesn’t stay with Ernest and talk through things with him, bonding to his last remaining family member in his grief – instead he spirals again, chasing the monster and telling no one, except for Walton. And even then, he doesn’t discuss, he monologues – he doesn’t talk through his emotions with a trusted friend, he “tells his story” to an eager man who is mostly overwhelmingly curious, rather than genuinely concerned.

Victor Frankenstein’s biggest flaw is not that he complains. It isn’t that he’s in despair – it’s that he won’t articulate that despair properly. It’s that he avoids it and keeps it hidden out of pain, but he shouldn’t. Because the subject of that despair actively effects the people around him, and by extension, his despair actively effects the people around him. Elizabeth is left hanging by a man who doesn’t truly love her and won’t talk to her, forcing her into a marriage she doesn’t really want out of duty. The creature is cast aside and abandoned, viewed mostly by Victor as a representation of his guilt and shame, of his worst mistakes, although he expresses feeling pity for it fairly often, he still hides and shuns it, fearing it. Clerval is murdered as a representation of that hope for a better future, the one man who ever truly loved him being snatched away, and instead of standing his ground, coming to the conclusion that he won’t abide by his mother’s wishes, that he was right in his destruction of the bride, grieving Clerval with those people in London and using his death as a catalyst to not let it happen again, perhaps then meeting Walton at a later date if he chose to stay in England or otherwise by chance under different circumstances, writing to Elizabeth telling her his true feelings and confronting the creature properly, pulling a Christine Daaé there except like. Parentally instead of romantically. and showing his creation sympathy and compassion rather than just feeling it, and being open about everything; instead of that, Victor spirals, and Victor hurts everyone left.

And it’s understandable why he does – it’s realistic. The hero doesn’t always know exactly what to do and magically save the day by making all the right decisions – people don’t know what do do or how to make all the right decisions. Victor isn’t just complaining “woe-is-me” style, Victor is in genuine severe psychological torment and distress, and his actions reflect that. He is, to an extent, a victim of circumstance – and his circumstances haven’t made things easy for him. In his grief over Clerval, he’s led back to Geneva by his father instead of through London, and follows easily. He’s forced into a situation where he has to marry his cousin by his mother, since young childhood. When he tries to be assertive in what he wants, he’s punished for it every time. In real life, people don’t fix their situation easily like a superhero and pull themselves on their feet like that. They don’t get over everything that’s ever happened to them easily. They need space – and Frankenstein did not have space. If he wanted to fix his life, he would have had to actively fight for it. And he didn’t have any fight left. He didn’t want to live. He didn’t have any idea of what to do next. He didn’t see a future. Any time he tried to fight against what was expected of him, he was punished for it, so now that his life was effectively over, all he wanted to do was assign himself to the roles he was “meant” to perform, and not disappoint his family.

But it’s still a flaw, and it still hurts people. Victor was still in the wrong for what he did. For avoiding everything, for building the creature to begin with, that was Victor’s fault. But it’s understandable why he does what he does, and he’s a very sympathetic character because of that.

Me waking up to immediately write an entire Frankenstein essay I shit you not I’m still in bed finishing this I literally just woke up and started typing half asleep until I finished it (haha funny Nosferatu reference):

#rant #gothic lit #classic literature #gothic literature #frankenstein #goth lit #classic lit #frankenstein weekly #frankenstein or the modern prometheus #clervalstein #Victor Frankenstein #frankenstein the modern prometheus #the modern Prometheus

122 notes · View notes