#because growing up as a girl makes you feel so objectified
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my concept dev class is almost all seniors (literally everyone except a single guy) so we don't need it for creating capstone pitches and our professor talked to the chair to see if we could have more freedom over the projects we're gonna do since like. Following the class to the letter would be redundant to us
SO instead of creating a pitch for a 3 minute animated film, we get to create a pitch for a 3 minute proof of concept for a larger project, if that's what we want
And I asked
And we can use ideas we've already created as long as the work produced for the class is new
I have to present 2 ideas tomorrow and the professor will tell me which one to pursue, but you can bet your asssssss one of them's gonna be Willow Wren
#im so excited#i love this professor and know him pretty well at this point#so im already predicting he'll hear WW's concept and be like 'it's a little cliche. tell me why i should care about THIS story specifically#and I will get to bust out my speech about how it IS cliche and that's the POINT#because growing up as a girl makes you feel so objectified#society doesnt respect the autonomy of children OR women#so young girls? forget about it#and WW comes from the same place as my younger self pretending to get trapped in an aquarium every time i played mermaids at the pool#play is how children wrap their heads around things that dont make sense#stories are too#and this story deserves to be told because little girls deserve to see themselves in it
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𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬
𝙏𝙮𝙥𝙚. 𝖲𝗆𝗎𝗍
𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜. 𝖦𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗁𝖺𝗆 𝖳𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗄𝖺 𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋
𝘾𝙬. 𝖲𝖾𝗑𝗌𝗈𝗆𝗇𝗂𝖺, 𝖽𝗎𝖻 𝖼𝗈𝗇, 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗅𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀, somnophilia of sorts
𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩. 1.8k
Your eyes grow wide when you see whom you're assigned a room with.
"Ooo Good luck, Bestie" Akane pats you on the shoulder after reading the name.
Gundham Tanaka, what a name. Perfect for his intimidating nature.
You didn't have a problem with him in particular but you had the feeling he wasn't too fond of you.
His stare was always cold, it was hard to tell what thought was going through his head. He was big and shadowed over you by a good five inches.
You two never talked. You were afraid he would snap your neck in half if you step within ten feet of him. So you kept your distance.
Then you thought, why were you being paired with a male?
As you looked around the lobby you noticed that everyone else was paired with the same gender.
"Wait how come I'm paired with a guy?" You asked.
"Well you see Y/n because of the off ratio of guys to girls due to Nagito's suspension, this is just how things fell."
Damn Nagito, even causing mayhem miles away.
However, you swallow your nerves and confront him.
"Hey, so we're roommates I guess" your voice was a quivering mess, very smooth y/n.
He looks down at you his nonexistent eyebrows scrunched together as his lips turn into a sour snarl.
You felt a wave of fear travel through your system. A deadpan smile plastered on your face as you were afraid to make any other expression.
What did you do for him to hate you this much?
In reality, that was far from the truth. In fact, the other way around. Gundham was somewhat afraid of you.
You were absolutely gorgeous to him. What started as a desire to become friends with you grew into a raging lust. One he was ashamed of.
He didn't want to objectify you in this way but he couldn't remove his eyes from your curves, your dreamy eyes, your thick curly hair. Everything about you was stunning. He'd never felt so strongly for anyone like he does for you.
He was too scared to talk to you, worried he would ruin any chance.
"It seems so" he turns away from you pulling his scarf over his face to hide the blush rising in his cheeks.
You spare him a smile, and twist the room key in your fingers to show him you have it.
He follows you to the elevator offering to take your bags which was sweet.
"202" you mumble out loud. The room number.
"Guess we can find dinner once we settle in" he didn't respond to you.
You turn around to look at him. He was staring at the wall face again looking annoyed.
You frown and turn back to face the door.
In actuality, he was hard staring at your ass. He couldn't help it. It was just so plump. Your leggings framed it so well. The way it jiggled while you walk was hypnotizing.
He wondered if that's how it would move when continuously slammed against his pelvis as he fucked you to oblivion.
When he noticed you turning around he immediately looked away, cursing himself for the explicit thought.
He would never act on these actions but, he couldn't stop imagining them which he felt was just as worse.
You two make it to the room. Luckily it had two beds, with a few feet in between them.
You took the bed closer to the door as Gundham took the one further into the room.
-
Hours had passed since you two had settled in.
Your soft snores carried to his ears as you slept peacefully. They weren't loud but it was so quiet in the room it was the only thing audible other than the air conditioning.
He was still awake at the late hour of 2 A.M. thinking about how fine you looked in your selected sleepwear.
The t-shirt two times your size rode up your stomach showing off your pajama shorts.
Not the sexiest thing in the world, but exposing just enough to get his mind wondering.
He forced himself to look away, keep any innocence he had left if any.
Your bed creaked. He assumed it was you turning again in your sleep. Then, he felt the mattress dip behind him.
Quickly, he turned around to see one of your knees on the bed.
Your eyes remained closed suggesting you were still asleep.
Gundham's eyes grew wide as he watched your body begin to climb onto his bed.
Then, you fell over his lap still fast asleep.
He went tense, he wasn't sure what to do. He didn't expect you to be a sleepwalker and wasn't sure how to approach it.
Should he leave you there? Take you back to your bed?
Waking you from your peaceful state was the last thing he wanted so, he gently pushes you off of him to the side.
Face now burning with the thought of you in his bed, he tries to go to sleep but couldn't. Instead, all he could do was focus on your breathing which began to pick up by the second.
He looks down at you, your face scrunched together. Were you having a nightmare or something?
But then, your hand came in contact with his chest. He felt sparks burst from that spot.
You had never touched him before but damn, was it everything he ever wanted. Your hand was so tiny compared to his.
The small grip you had on his tank was adorable.
Your face had somehow nuzzled its way into the crook of his neck.
Your breath hitches causing the hot air to tickle his skin.
He was stiff. He wanted to jerk away from you but also wanted you close to him.
His hands hovered over your back, afraid to touch you.
Then he felt the gentle graze of your lips as you began to kiss his neck.
His body began to burn as well as a heat in his pants as you left love marks down his jaw.
Your hand traveled down his torso. His breathing picked up as you got closer to his core.
"Y/n?" His voice croaked as he confirmed if you were actually asleep.
Your lack of an answer made him think so.
He didn't know which he'd rather more. Though he wasn't performing the actions, he felt just as guilty for letting you subconsciously continue.
But how often does this opportunity present itself? Here he was getting the touch he's desired so much from you.
"Mm" a soft moan drips from your lips.
His erection presses harder against his sweats as they grow tighter.
Your leg stretches over him keeping him pinned down under you.
Your hand finally reached his clothed dick giving it gentle strokes.
"Shit." He muttered through gritted teeth.
The bed began to rock as you thrust your hips against his side.
Gundham was in shock. Like what was even happening right now?
You, one of if not the prettiest girl he's ever seen was here in his bed rubbing and grinding against him. It felt like something straight out of a dream.
"Ahh ah" Your moans grow louder in his ear as you rocked more vigorously.
Sweat rolled down his face as the pleasure of it all began creeping up.
Then you shifted again. This time you sat fully on top of him, on top of his dick. Still clothed, but he was praying that he could take his pants off.
"Baby~" your soft voice forced itself out of those pretty lips that were trying to stay together. Your hands pressed down hard on his chest. Your nails were nearly piercing his skin.
He couldn't hold it in any longer. Gundham carefully allowed his fingers to wrap around your hips.
You reacted with a breathless moan. Your head was thrown back. A pretty, almost sexy smile was present on your face as your mouth hung slightly open.
Your arms came around his neck pulling you closer to him. His teeth bit into your shoulder.
"Yes~" your voice airy and thrusts pressed harder against him. Gundham wanted to strip you naked, but would that be too far? Was what you two were doing already going too far?
But your pretty body felt so good on top of him. Your skin looked so delicious. The sweat made it glisten so nicely. Your moans were the closest thing to heaven.
You two had somehow slid off Gundham's sweat pants, but the barrier of underwear was still there.
There was a damp spot from where the precum stained his briefs.
"Mhm" your legs spasm and your hips were slowing down.
He began to whine at the decrease in speed. He gripped your waist and threw a thrust up into you.
"Ugh" you force out a moan at the sudden movement.
His breath was heavy as he continued to thrust against you.
Your body slightly clasped into him. Were you coming? Just the thought made his legs weak.
Knowing that you were about to orgasm because of him, using his body to get yourself off while he did nothing but moan along with you was so hot. Being your sex slave was something he never knew he needed.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes~" your body fell limp into him. Your hums vibrate as you tremble on top of him. Then he felt warm. He realized that you came on top of him.
Slowly he rides you down from your high.
His body jolts up and a groan leaves his mouth as his seed mixes with your juices.
Breathing heavily, he laid there eyes wide.
What the hell just happened?
Your body, now satisfied, reverted back to its restful state.
You looked so peaceful and so sweet as you laid on him fucked out and slightly trembling.
However, it was a mess. You both were a mess. Should he leave you here? Clean you up?
Questions and scenarios raced through his mind.
Finally, he got up to grab a towel and a pair of his sweatpants.
Carefully and gently, he removed your soaked bottoms and replaced them with his sweatpants instead. He left your underwear as he felt that was a bit too intimate.
Once you were dry and comfy, he carried you back to your bed and tucks you in.
He changes himself and returns back to bed.
It would be a lie to say it was hard to sleep after that. Hell, it was hard to still be in the same room as you.
Should he tell you? You deserved to know right?
"Gundham?" Your voice sweet and almost muffled traveled to his side of the room.
"Yeah?" It startled him and his heart began to beat out of his chest.
"Can you turn up the air. It's hot" you turn over away from him.
"Yeah, of course" he gets up to change the thermostat.
"Oh also" he turn to looks at you.
"Can we talk about that in the morning" he could hear the shame in your voice
"Uh yeah" he could feel the heat in his cheeks.
He laid back in bed. Mind spinning, heart pounding, and confused.
Finally he got the girl but was it worth it? Was it all he wanted?
#fanfic#fanfiction#x reader#x fem!reader#danganronpa smut#danganronpa#danganronpaxreader#danganronpa gundham#gundham tanaka smut#gundham tanaka#gundham tanaka x reader#sexsomnia#cw dubcon#cw dubious consent#smut fanfiction#anime#anime smut#tw dubcon#tw dubious consent#tw somno
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Filthy Girl ( John Price x Reader)
Notes: fem reader! sfw mostly ,literally just me projecting onto reader, reader is kind of a pervert drabble! This will be multi part!! (WC:474)
You whore.
Okay maybe not a whore lets relax on that. You’re not a saint but who could blame you.
Yeah maybe fucking your middle aged neighbour wasnt on your bucket list but if anyone saw him the way you did they’d do the same. It could be argued that you planned this but in your defense he might’ve too.
Can you help it? The way he hauled in those boxes to his shared home immediately drew your attention.
Henley's shirt stretched over his broad chest practically clinging to his shoulders and hugging those biceps, if you look at them long enough you could feel your mouth start to water. God what you’d give to have one of those arms wrapped around your neck, your mouth just latched onto his hardened forearms, tongue lapping an biting at the muscled between your teeth tasting both your sweat on him-
Fuck whats wrong with you? Objectifying your poor neighbor the second you see him?
Absolutely carry on.
Which is exactly what you did because here you are holding a box of freshly made cookies in a pair of controversially tight flared yoga pants and top. None of this is neighborly behavior.
You suck up your nerves ringing the door bell ignoring the way your hearts beating in your chest because fuck, its not like your actually doing anything wrong right? You just wanna meet the new neighbors, you even baked them cookies like a good little neighbor, and of course you've dressed appropriately it would be rude to greet them for the first time in some sloppy joggers and a hood no?
By the time he opens the door your just standing there like a fool too far in your head when you actually register his voice
“Can I help you?”
Fuck, thats gonna sound good all low and soft in your ear when you let him take you from the back.
He thinks its sweet that his little neighbor baked him and his boys some cookies for their tea and that its sweeter how she thinks he doesn't notice her practically undressing him with her eyes.
Not to say he isn't doing the same.
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You’re so gross
Its been less than 24 hours and you’ve already wanked to him.
Here you are back in bed staring at your ceiling practically heaving in the aftershock, sweaty, dry mouth and thighs soaked. He doesn't even know hes given you enough wank material for the next week from that 7 minute interaction.
It wasn't hard to lay back and think about how that beard would feel scratching the soft skin of your thighs, how that rough voice would grow soft for you for hushed whispers of praise, how he could hold you still under his weight to make sure hes taking you as deep as possible.
Fucking pervert.
#cod mw x reader#cod mw2#cod x reader#ghost cod#cod simon riley#john price#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley#ghost call of duty#john soap mctavish x reader#john soap mactavish#john price x y/n#john mactavish x reader#captain john price#captain price#soap cod#cod#call of duty modern warfare#cod mwii#cod modern warfare#call of duty#call of duty x you#call of duty x reader#john price x reader#john price cod#captain johnathan price
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Angel By the Wing - THIRTY
*slaps trio* these bitches can fit soooo much repressed trauma
Series Masterlist (Mobile Masterlist)
“Keep or toss?” Bradley held up the box set of the Twilight series. Jake let out a snort of laughter and you tossed the empty trash bag you were holding in his direction.
“Keep,” you announced proudly. “I noticed some empty spaces on your bookshelf, Tex. Time to get you educated.”
The blond rolled his eyes but he accepted the books from Bradley and placed them in the partially filled cardboard box at his feet. Since the three of you had the weekend off, the boys decided it was the perfect time to move you fully into Jake’s place. But there were two stipulations.
One, you wouldn’t lift a finger and simply direct them on what you wanted to keep, sell, or toss.
Two, you would wear a mask because they deemed your old apartment simply unacceptable conditions for their girl and baby.
So, here you sat in a little foldable lawn chair that Jake brought along because “my god, Angel, that couch probably has its own ecosystem” and a KN95 mask strapped over your face while two giant men puttered around your shitty little apartment, motivated by the promise of sex and Wingstop after this. Your hand unconsciously found its way to rest against the soft swell of your stomach through the thin fabric of your shirt as you wondered how exactly your life turned into this.
Your lease still had four months to go but one call from Sofia to your landlord found you free from rent payments, Her threat of legal action and tenant rights scared him straight and you were eternally grateful for your friend. Since your lease ended at the end of the month now, the boys wanted to get you out as soon as possible.
“I think this is the last of it,” Bradley announced. You moved to get up from your chair and both men surged forward to steady you.
“Fucking hell, boys, I still have my balance,” you huffed as you evaded their grasps in favor of checking out the apartment to make sure nothing was left behind. You couldn’t say that you would miss the place. It truly was a shithole. You had accepted it in the past, even with its shoddy locks and mold covered carpets, but now you had a baby to think about. You had a lot to think about, not just the growing little blob inside of you. You disappeared into the bedroom and Bradley took the chance to stop Jake with a warm hand around his wrist.
“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “About jumping you when you got home. I know you didn’t plan this.”
“It’s okay.” Jake brushed it off with a shrug but Bradley merely shook his head.
“You gotta stop that.” The brunet let go of his hand and instead grasped the back of Jake’s neck, making sure the blond looked him in the eye. “Just stop taking it. That’s not you. That’s not my Hangman. Next time I’m a dick, don’t just accept it.”
“And what about when I’m a dick?” Rooster’s hand was a steady, warm presence and Jake wanted to melt into his touch. Not many people can make him feel small but when Bradley grasped him like this and commanded him so easily, Jake welcomed the release of control.
“Pretty sure we’ve made it clear I don’t tolerate your shit.” Bradley offered him a crooked grin and Jake finally did relax. Good. They were good.
“Can you two kiss and make up now?” you asked from where you were leaning up against the doorframe.
“You’re objectifying us,” Jake declared through laughter. You shrugged and tried to appear innocent.
“If I didn’t objectify you, then I wouldn’t be standing here pregnant.” You wagged your finger at them. “And don’t lie and tell me that you don’t check out my ass every chance you get.”
Bradley’s answer to your taunt was a kiss pressed to the corner of Jake’s lips, leaving behind a tingle of beard burn and want. He still couldn’t believe he was allowed this. So many years tamping down these feelings and then hiding it behind closed doors and dim lighting in bars gave way to this euphoric yet burdensome realization that he could have this. It scared the shit out of him. His mother’s words wiggled their way to the front of his thoughts and fought for his attention. What happens when you decide you had enough of him? What would happen if the baby wasn’t his?
He didn’t want to think about it. It’s all he could think about.
“Alright, let’s get this stuff into the truck. I want wings. Do you think we should get a thirty pack?” Bradley pulled away from Jake to start grabbing at the trash bags and boxes that held your life.
“I think between the two of you, we need the fifty pack. It’s like sleeping with two garbage disposals.” You reached down to grab one of the trash bags full of clothes but Bradley swatted your hands away and pointed at the lawn chair.
You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest as you settled down in your chair, noticing the way his muscles flexed as he picked up two boxes with ease. Maybe being relegated to supervisor duty wasn’t so bad.
“Jake?” Your sweet voice broke him out of his thoughts and he offered you one of his typical cocky grins.
“Just thinking about how hungry I am, darlin’,” he assured you.
“For you!” Bradley called out from where the truck was parked out front. Jake chuckled and bent down to press a kiss to the top of your head before he went to grab some more boxes.
Between two naval aviators who both worked out like their lives depended on it, the truck was packed up with all of your belongings in less than half an hour. It gave you just enough time to look around and think about how everything had changed in such a short time. When you first moved to San Diego, it was on a whim. You had no plans, no job, and no friends.
Now you were pregnant, moving into your boyfriend’s place with your other boyfriend, and your phone was full of texts from people you considered not just friends, but family. Maverick texted you on the regular to see how you were doing. Amelia sent you TikToks and memes to “keep you young”. Penny was your emergency contact. Sarah had roped you into weekly visits that you wouldn’t miss for the world. Sofia and you discussed the pains of cleaning uniforms and how stubborn pilots could be.
The Dagger Squad members that were staying in California had even added you two into a group chat entitled “the Queens + their Jesters”.
You deserved this. You deserved to be happy. After so long of hearing that insidious little voice that sounded oddly like your mother telling you about how pathetic you had turned out to be, this was a chance to live a life on your own terms. You deserved this…right?
Bradley gently lowered the boxes into the bed of Jake’s truck and took a moment to breathe in the sea-salt-tinged San Diego air. In three days, he would be flying to Virginia, loading up all of his things into a U-Haul, and coming back here to settle down. Fightertown, USA was the place that ruined his family. It took his father and broke his mother. Could he really do this?
Tag List:
@mizzzpink@xoxabs88xox@dreaminglandsworld@khaylin27@loveforaugust@atarmychick007@itsmytimetoodream@krismdavis@emma8895eb@startrekfangirl@hangmandruigandmav@lunamoonbby@startrekfangirl2233@sihtricswife@jstarr86@drakelover78@abaker74@emma8895eb@hardballoonlove
#abtw#jake seresin x reader#bradley bradshaw x reader x jake seresin#hangman x reader#hangman imagine#bradley bradshaw x reader#rooster bradshaw x reader#top gun maverick imagine
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I've mentioned it before, but I think I finally want to try and explain how I write the characters in my Saiki K fics. It's mostly for me because I love talking about writing and Saiki K, but maybe some of you will enjoy this, too.
I did Toritsuka because @akechi-gf mentioned wanting tips on writing his dialogue, but 1) I felt bad info-dumping on his post and 2) didn't quite answer the dialogue answer and jumped straight into characterization (Sorry! Hope this still helps you in some convoluted way, if you're willing to read it all LMAO)
Obviously, he's very aggressively horny. He and Aiura are probably one of the firsts to laugh over something that could be taken the wrong way. But I think it's his way of trying to connect with others. He might open a conversation with some odd, vaguely creepy comment on a girl with the intention of moving the subject to something else.
He's vulgar, though I don't consider him much of a swearer. Not when compared to Kuboyasu or maybe even Kaido.
I personally write him as someone who is very opinionated. If he thinks Saiki is being too passive, or in over his head, Toritsuka is going to tell him straight up. Even if he knows the other won't take it well.
That's a big part of their relationship, I feel: even if Toritsuka is the first to cower away from Saiki puffing out his chest, he's also the first to come bounding back. He's not a 'once burned, twice shy' kind of guy. He doesn't really hold grudges, and can't quite go through with threats. I think it's why Saiki puts up with him. Like Nendo, Toritsuka is very devoted.
If you want to portray him differently, that's alright, but I always feel that something people miss with all the Saiki K. characters is that most of them are genuine assholes. They're teenagers, and I feel Toritsuka exemplifies this best. He'll say hurtful things and fucking mean them. It doesn't make him a bad person, but he definitely doesn't have the same emotional regulation as...I was going to give an example but I don't know if any of the kids are good at that. Akechi, maybe.
And speaking of emotions, he's not the best with them. He understands them, sure, but he's not even remotely delicate. That means he'll back off easily when he thinks things are beyond him. If Saiki tells him to leave it alone, that's what he's going to do. He isn't a bad guy. Toritsuka doesn't want to actively make things worse.
And on that note, he's also really fucking whiny. I try really hard not to shy away from making characters unlikable in certain aspects. If they're annoying, make them annoying. If they're a jerk, then so be it. I don't like sacrificing personality for likability. I just make sure its balanced out by other things. Toritsuka, despite his faults, has a lot of things genuinely good about him. He has pure, unadulterated faith in people, a genuine desire to become a better person (after some nudging), has shown care toward his ghosts...there's definitely stuff there.
Toritsuka's world view is fucked up, point blank. The way he talks about women isn't right. If I wrote from his perspective, it'd probably include him objectifying them. But, depending on what period of his development he's in, he might be able to step back and acknowledge that what he's thinking isn't right. He's very capable of growing and changing. Even if he's reluctant with it, he starts being less self-centered and more willing to do things just because it's the right thing to do.
He has mommy and daddy issues up the fucking wall. I think it colors his interactions with the other psychickers (who are willing to keep him in check), especially Saiki (who mother-hens basically anything that moves). He needs guidance, even if it's a bit of bullying.
#i don't know what to tag this as#character voices#maybe#that'll do for now#holy shit I could tag this under three of my catagories#woah#saiki k#fluffy writes a fic#fluffy cooks a headcanon#fluffy writes an essay
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Okay I can't stop thinking about the Barbie ending. Cause like as absolutely hilarious it was (the whole theater howled) it also is the perfect button for the theme of the movie, coming out of girlhood into womanhood. (this is going to be a very cis reading because, well, Greta is cis and was clearly drawing on her own cis experiences - terfs do not interact)
The first thing Barbie experiences in the real world is being catcalled and objectified, which reminds me a lot of a passage from Tina Fey's book. She talks about how she went to this women's conference when she was working on Mean Girls and they were asked how they knew they were becoming a woman. And pretty much every single one said it was when some dude said something gross to them out of a passing car. It's such a universal experience to get catcalled at 13-14-15 year's old, when your body is only just developing. And that's what Barbie also experiences first.
Then there's the scene where the Mattel men (and they're all men of course) try to put her back in the box. The shot of her hands being strapped down was so unsettling to me and I think that was Greta's intention. Maybe this is a huge reach but it almost felt like it was a metaphor for sexual assault. And I don't think it's a universal experience to be sexual assaulted, especially as a teenager, but I do think it's unfortunately still pretty common.
Then she gets back to Barbieland and has to confront the patriarchy head on, has to learn how to deal in this world catered towards men, has to learn how to develop a sense of self even though she's become depressed by the state of things. Depressed by the fact that she's changing and she doesn't know how to stop it. The "I'm not pretty anymore" moment is played for laughs cause the narrator rightfully calls out that this is an insane line to come out of Margot Robbie's mouth. But I think it speaks to going through puberty, to not feeling like you're at home in your own body anymore (hell this is the same scene where we see the Growing Up Skipper doll, a doll who's breasts can grow and shrink at her human's will - talk about body horror).
And because this is a movie centered on the hero's journey, Barbie and friends are able to get the patriarchy out of Barbieland and work towards a more equal future, but the real next step in Barbie's individual journey is seeing her creator (and this is where the gender swapped Adam/Eve myth of creation stuff really comes into full force but that's a whole other post altogether) who in a lot of ways is just Barbie's mother ("mothers stand still so daughters can look back and see how far they come" !!!!!). It's her mother figure that gets Barbie through that transition from girlhood into womanhood, who assures her that while things might not be perfect, it's still worth experiencing. (And of course there's the theme of mortality as well, that what makes the human experience special is that it's not infinite)
So that final button of Barbie going to the gynecologist for the first time is actually just the completion of her arc. I saw some people being like "I thought she was going to a job interview!" and I think that was absolutely an intentional misdirect, but I don't think her going to a job interview would've hit as hard. (For a lot of reasons, but the main one is it's a very capitalistic idea that you become an adult when you start to generate your own wealth) It had to be her going to the gynecologist, something only adults usually experience, not children. She's no longer a girl anymore, she is a woman.
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busy streets and busy lives • ralph penbury x reader
A strange day at work gets even stranger when you meet a man who claims he's from 1926. With no certainty as to when he can get back, you decide to take him in until that time arrives.
masterlist | prev. | next
Tags: Timewasters (series), modern!au, slow burn, mutual pining, idiots in love™, fluff, some angst, swearing and mentions of adult themes throughout, eventual adult content, alcohol content, penbury is a fanon surname
Word count: 9.3k
A/N: This thing's getting out of control at this rate! Not only do the chapters keep getting longer, I keep making more and more complicated assets to tell the story, too. I hope you like it!
Also, to all my patient angst queens (gn) out there - not sure how long it's gonna take me to write bc I'm sure it's going to RUIN ME but. Next chapter. Look out for it. :)
Also x2, big love to @steddiesandwich @joemazzmatazz and @heroeddiemunson especially for all the love and contributions they've given to this series. There's some special cameos from them especially somewhere in this chapter!
Another week goes by, another chance to check Ralph's social media numbers. Ever since he remained a trending topic on Twitter following his face reveal - along with the phrase “oh no he’s hot”, which your friends found hilarious but you found yourself feeling… Uncomfortable over. Every now and then you look up his name on social media sites, grateful that the name relatively died out to the point where he’s one of the most popular Ralphs these days, though it leaves you with a strange feeling in your stomach every time.
There’s just something about the way people tend to objectify him - he’s your friend, and you know he’s so much more than the curls in his hair and the chain on his neck and his chocolate button eyes - a phrase becoming very common amongst his admirers. Arguably the worst part about that is that, either just because you’ve been seeing talk of nothing but those details, or maybe they’re all things you’d already appreciated about Ralph, but you find yourself more and more aware of them with every day that you live with him. And with still no word from Homeless Pete about whether the time machine is awake again.
You even start to visit the building that Ralph had pointed out on that day 6 weeks ago for yourself, just to see if it really is taking that long to reboot, but it seems to be an ordinary lift every time you go to look at it. You’d be lying if you said you were anything other than relieved whenever the lift would work completely normally, even when you tried to replicate how Ralph had described Pete getting the two of them over here.
If you were a stranger, looking in on Ralph every now and then, you’d have no reason to believe he wasn’t just your flatmate. He’s been getting more confident about his own role in the modern world, even going so far as to hold brunches for his girl gang, which you’d appreciate a lot more if he ever told you in advance when they’d happen. Though you can usually predict at this point that, if you’re having a rough day at work, you can guarantee you’ll be returning to a flat full of people that you can’t decompress around.
Not that you didn’t like Ralph’s friends, of course you did - but you’ve been letting Ralph have this group to himself, so as not to make him fully co-dependent on you. You hope that, if anything, him having the confidence to keep up so many friends himself will translate once he’s back home and he can hopefully confront his sister. You know it’s a sore subject, and so you’ll never ask - and it’s not got anything to do with you, anyway - but you wonder whether he’ll seek Lauren out there as well. Whether the New Ralph will try to win her back, or realise that he deserves more than someone who even you know wouldn’t be compatible with him. But again, that’s none of your business.
Today’s another day off, and you and Ralph are sat in your living space. With Ralph growing tentatively more aware of what social media is actually for, he’s accumulated many questions about it that you’d told him you’d have to dedicate a whole day to answering, and that day has finally arrived.
“Okay, first things first,” Ralph starts, crossing his legs on the sofa cushion beneath him and opening a book he had bought a couple of weeks back. “Who is mister Stanley Loona and why do people insist on telling me his name all the time?”
You promised yourself you wouldn’t laugh in his face, that just because internet lingo is second nature to you doesn’t mean that Ralph is silly for not understanding. But Mr Stanley Loona immediately cracked you. Once you calm down, you apologise profusely. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I really didn’t want to do that! But, stan in this sense isn’t a name, it’s a verb. To stan something is to be a really, really big fan of it. Loona spelled the way you see it, that’s a Korean pop group.”
“That explains all the dancing ladies that accompany that name, then,” Ralph mutters under his breath as he scrawls on his notepad some more. You bite your knuckle so as not to laugh again. “So, if I were to express my gratitude to you, would I say that I stan you?”
You feel your face get warm. “Well - not exactly, stanning is more of a parasocial thing, between fan and celebrity, or character, or franchise. For example, you might call yourself an Audrey 2 stan,” you smirk as you jerk your head over to the TV screen, where Ralph has requested Little Shop of Horrors for the fifth time since he’s been here.
He looks at the TV in awe for a moment, “That puppeteering work is just spectacular, isn’t it?!” You’d felt your emotions rise and then drop fleetingly. He’d once referred to something as being “wizard”, and you’d been dying to hear it again, but clearly it must have been a phrase reserved for the most truly special of things. He clears his throat as he reads down his list. “Anyway, next question. Why does everyone feel the need to tell me about their lack of headgear when I ask for clarification on something?”
You rack your brain for a moment before it clicks, “Do you mean that they say the words “no cap”?” Ralph nods. “That’s just another way of saying “no lie”, it means they want you to know they’re telling the truth. Remember, we talked about fact checking the things you read for the first time before you believe them?”
Ralph frowns, “Listen here, it would not be entirely uncommon for a Penbury to be loosely related to royalty, we’ve always had ties with high society for generations -”
“Something tells me that maybe you’re probably not closely related enough to a Nigerian prince that they’d be genuinely emailing you to offer you a share in their fortune,” you reach out to pat his knee before smirking. “And the less said about your potential investment in enhancement pills, the better.”
“Moving on,” Ralph quickly continues with deliberation, his ears growing pink again. “So, when you posted that photo of me, the one where I had been wearing a red scarf. It seemed to make a lot of people sad,” he frowns. “And they kept telling me I was in an era that I didn’t recognise, the one of Jake Geel- Guy- G-” He sighs in frustration as he flips his book around to show you the name he’s copied down perfectly, but you’ve already figured it out, and texted both Anna and Grace to let them know that the time has come to show Ralph the full video of All Too Well.
Neither of them respond to your text, but they’re both at the flat within ten minutes, thankfully interrupting the second after Ralph deadpan asks you for the definition of the word “bussy”.
The girls are a little taken aback at the sight of Ralph, which worries him, but they answer his concerned expression with, “Oh, sorry, there’s nothing wrong! Just so used to seeing you always looking smartly dressed. Strange seeing you in pyjamas.”
Ralph frowns, “Well, yes, you must always look smart, even in your resting hours, that’s why I got these matching pyjama sets! They don’t quite seem to be what they used to be, but I’ve been getting rather used to sleeping in shirts without buttons!”
“I’m not sure how Pokémon PJs could be considered “smart”, but you do you, bud,” Anna ruffles his hair, which he sits upright to lean into happily. Between that and his co-opting of Grace’s love of pet names, he’s become very comfortable amongst your friends’ presence. Even if you do have to find ways to make sure they don’t see you react every time Ralph calls anyone “darling”.
“Poke them on? What am I supposed to poke?” Ralph asks, pressing the graphic of the yellow creature on his shirt.
Anna smiles, “No, Ralph, those are Pokémon. That’s Pikachu.”
“God bless you,” Ralph looks Anna in the eye immediately, straight faced as anything, before looking around for a box of tissues.
“Oh my god,” you groan under your breath, hanging your head as your friends laugh. “You know, the Pokémon ones aren’t even his worst set.”
“I got some that have a man named Rick on them who became a pickle, no less!” Ralph explains excitedly, his nose wrinkling as his head bobs back and forth. “The shop assistant assured me that it was quite hilarious when it happened.”
“This isn’t even the worst thing he’s said this morning,” you look at the girls in despair. “I’ll never let Connor take him shopping alone again.” They promise not to, either, and you gesture for them to join you around the TV. Before you can reposition yourself to allow for them to sit between you and Ralph, Anna has sat herself on the other side of Ralph to you, and Grace is on the floor.
Ralph’s brow furrows. “Grace, please, allow me to sit in your place and you up here, the floor is no place for a lady to be sitting -”
Grace interrupts, in her classic way, “Women can do anything, Ralph!”
He frowns, “I hardly think that sitting on the floor is something that anyone should aspire to, regardless of gender, but I suppose if you must.” Grace and Anna exchange similar expressions that you can’t quite get a read on as you set up the video to play.
Ralph’s first thought as it starts is, “Well, that actress certainly looks far too young to be playing the part of this man’s partner believably!”
“Keep watching,” Anna hushes, though it’s only Ralph that’s looking at the screen; the three of you anxiously await his reactions to the whole video. He pulls faces of disgust at every loved-up scene, and positively scowls when Dylan O’Brien drops Sadie Sink’s hand.
“Now, why would she possibly return to him after that godawful apology?!” he exclaims. “He was clearly just telling her what she wanted to hear, there was no weight behind that at all!”
“We were all young and stupid once, Ralphie babes,” Grace shakes her head.
“But surely these men would want something far more enriching with someone their own -” Ralph falters as he remembers how he and his twin had found their father on the day he had passed away. He had always found it strange that they’d found him lying naked on top of a far younger woman, and his mother’s rushed explanation of them both performing a specific style of Chinese acrobatics never quite seemed to ring true. He shrinks down in the seat as he watches, quietly seething.
He does seem to perk up ever so slightly when he sees the protagonist celebrating her birthday surrounded by her own friends. “I’m glad she saw what an awful man he was and left him,” he muses.
“Oh no, he broke up with her,” you explain, and Ralph’s expression once again shifts to that of total horror.
“What?!” he exclaims. “And she was just turning 21?! What an awful, awful man.”
“Yeah, when it actually happened to the real couple, his PR team came out and said it was all because the two of them were in the limelight so much.”
“Ridiculous,” Ralph spits, scowling as he folds his arms.
“Yeah, so that’s why now she’s getting her side of the story out there.”
“Good for her! As she should,” Ralph nods, earning himself another head pat from Anna. He gasps loudly, “Wait!” and rushes to the bedroom, soon emerging with the red scarf that prompted this whole situation, though he holds it as though it’s diseased. “Do you think she would like this one? Could we send it to her as a present?”
A chorus of aww s comes from your friends as you shake your head, “It’s fine, mate, and you don’t even have to throw it away, really.”
He looks at it, and then pulls a face. “No, I can’t. Red has never especially been my colour, anyway.”
The girls continue teaching Ralph about Taylor Swift’s relationship history as you inform the boys enquiring in the group chat as to where everyone is. They’re talking about how she’s always written her own songs when Anna asks, “Do you play any instruments, Ralph?”
His eyes light up, “Oh, yes! I must say, leaving home… The way that I did, I do miss my ukulele.” Your eyes dart quickly to see if the girls react to Ralph talking about leaving home, but thankfully that’s not the part that they focus on.
They excitedly ask him about his craft as you text the one friend you know can help you give Ralph a little bit of his old life back:
You also tell Scott that Connor is coming over, and he lets you know that he may as well complete the group.
Connor does, however, groan when he and Scott walk through the door, “We did not come all this way to listen to Taylor Swift the whole time.”
Ralph frowns at his new favourite artist being disrespected, but you pat his shoulder comfortingly. “Why don’t you play us a song?” Everyone else nods excitedly as Connor hands him the instrument, but Ralph looks unsure as he starts strumming.
“Well, I don’t really know any actual songs, I just know the chords and then I write my own,” Ralph admits, his ears getting pink.
Scott looks at him and gasps excitedly. “I beg, play one of your songs for us!”
“Oh, codswallop, you don’t want to hear any of that!” You could fry something on the poor man’s ears, they were that red.
Instead, in a bid to satiate everyone, you tell your Echo to play Queen, but it doesn’t recognise your voice, as you’d forgotten until this moment. Sighing in half-hearted frustration, you ask Ralph, “Can you ask it to just play Queen , please?”
Ralph shuffles in his seat, shimmies his shoulders and grins proudly as he looks around all of your friends. “I’m the machine’s best friend, you know, it only wants to listen to me!”
“He set it up to be locked on his voice?” Connor asks, amused.
“And figured out he could use it to buy things,” you smile sarcastically, flicking your eyes over to a new pair of shoes sitting just by the door.
“So it’s not you that’s suddenly into tap dancing, then? Shame,” Scott teases as you flip him off.
“He did also order me those as an apology,” you gesture at the arrangement of a variety of flowers that sits on your coffee table. “Though off my account, so really it was a gift to and from myself.”
“Do you all mind, please?” Ralph asks shortly, and you all fall silent. “Thank you.” He clears his throat. “Alexa, darling, be a gem and play some Queen music for my friends, won’t you, please?”
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
He frowns, “My speech was quite clear, was it not?!”
You squeeze your eyes shut as you pinch the bridge of your nose, to everyone else’s quiet titters. “Three words, mate. That’s all you need to say.”
Ralph’s eyes widen with fear as he shakes his head. “That thing already knows how to do too much, once it gains full sentience, I want it to see me as an ally!”
“Then just add a single please at the end,” you explain, resigned, which he does to his own chagrin.
While Ralph doesn’t know any of the songs, obviously, he does seem to be enjoying listening out for how chord progressions go and trying to play along with them. He seems at peace with the instrument. It’s very sweet to watch.
Connor pulls you out of your trance by loudly exclaiming from behind you, “Speaking of good old fashioned lover boys!” You cringe at your friend’s segue, terrified at what that could insinuate. “Hey Ralphie, have you managed to pull yet?"
He looks at you, confused, and mouths, Pull?
You roll your eyes and shake your head before addressing your friend again. "Ralph's had enough to learn just being here, and besides, I am not laying out here while he goes at it with some stranger in my bed, thank you!" You can't even think about Ralph kissing anyone else, let alone… No. Absolutely not.
When you look back over at Ralph, his ears resemble a pair of Polish flags. “Gadzooks, certainly not! I couldn’t - I would never - not even - that would take months of courting!”
Your warning stares at your friends to not laugh at the word gadzooks doesn’t last through the mention of courting. “It’s… A bit different around here these days, Ralph. You know those things on your phone, the apps?” He nods. “And how there’s apps for everything?” Another nod. “Well, there are apps that help you connect with potential… Suitors,” even you have to bite your lip as you try to translate the likes of Tinder into Ralphspeak. “You make a profile with photos and a description of yourself, and you look at other peoples profiles to see if you like them. If you both like each other, you can talk to each other and arrange to see each other from there.”
Ralph looks entirely perplexed, but he still hands his phone over to an excited Scott. “Right, do we use a photo from his Insta that’s already doing numbers? That way we know what’s gonna be the best received.”
Grace shakes her head, “Nah, anyone who recognises him will just think it’s a catfish.”
Ralph leans close to you to ask quietly, “Why would they -”
“They’re not gonna think you’re a fish, Ralph,” you groan back in the same volume. “A catfish is someone who pretends to be someone else on the internet. So, what photo do we use?” You hope they don’t ask to look through your camera roll. You’re forever taking candids as potential shots for Ralph’s social media, but the ratio of photos you take versus ones you feel are good enough to post may give your friends ideas about just why you take so many photos of him. And you don’t need that to add even more complications to what is already the most bizarre two months of your life.
“Definitely a brand new one, right off the bat,” Grace nods.
“Could we not use one that already exists that nobody’s seen? Anyone got any of those?” Connor asks. You quickly shake your head, keeping your phone out of sight. He frowns, “All I’ve got is group photos.”
“Oh, never have a group photo as your first one,” Anna shakes her head. “Why don’t we just let Ralph choose how to have his first photo, without our judgement? It’s his profile, after all.”
Despite their complaints, the others agree to let Ralph decide what photo he should take, though you do suggest that perhaps he change out of his Pokémon pyjamas first. Your friends are quick to hurry him, reminding him that he only really needs to change his top half.
The sight that befalls you within the next twenty minutes is arguably one of your most favourite Ralph moments. There he stands, against the back wall in your flat, wearing a smart polo shirt with bottoms that are adorned with Bulbasaurs, Squirtles and Charmanders; and after having plucked out a rose from the arrangement of flowers that he’d ordered for you and inspecting it for a while, Ralph had decided that the most charming way to pose with it would be to put it between his lips. You and your friends all look to each other to silently react without Ralph catching on, and everyone seems to silently agree that the best way to do so is to stare at Anna in a way that lets her know she’s entirely responsible for this, which she takes from everyone quite happily. It puts you at ease that all your friends are just accepting him as merely being a bit quirky, rather than anything suspicious.
Scott takes the official photos, and you’re happily documenting the behind the scenes for it all to look back on someday. Or later that night. Who’s to say? After Scott deems that the perfect shot has been taken, you all crowd around to decide what else to include. Connor comes up with the idea of creating a slideshow presentation in which you all contribute to help “sell” Ralph. He agrees to it quite happily, putting faith in everyone else’s knowledge of the modern dating world over his own lack thereof.
After much deliberation, and some creative brainstorming amongst the five of you, you create the perfect Tinder profile for him:
Once it’s all uploaded, Connor and Anna teach Ralph how to use the app, showing him how to read bios, look through others’ photos and ultimately swipe either way on them. Ralph still finds it all unusual to judge people so superficially, but Grace assures him from a distance that it’ll come with time.
While the idea of Ralph having a Tinder account did seem funny to you at the time, something doesn’t sit right in the bottom of your stomach. The idea of Ralph dating? Hilarious. The reality of it? Of him finding someone he’s attracted to, of him falling in love with someone els- someone, of him leaving you and the flat to start a life with them? How would you explain Ralph’s situation to them? What if they wanted to get married, have a family? The thought of Ralph becoming someone else’s husband just doesn’t compute. Maybe this was a bad idea after all, maybe once everyone’s gone home you can scare him away from it. But then, who are you to deny Ralph a little fun while he’s here? Surely, dating around might be a good experience for him, especially around the new friends he’s made. It’d be a good confidence booster for when he returns to his own time. It might even teach him not to fall as fast and hard for people as he did for Lauren. Or to be the kind of person that wins her back. Whatever he wants. The pros of him dating massively outweigh the cons, but there’s still something in your heart of hearts warning you against it.
At the end of the day, you tell yourself, Ralph is a grown man. Only he can decide if he is ready to date someone. It’s your job, as his friend, to support him even with all his… Extra stuff.
The gang suggests going out for a late lunch, but as you prove by gesturing to your own questionably mismatched outfit, you’d originally hoped you could take today as a laundry day. It's too late to start now, though; with the sheer amount you've got to get through, it's a full-day devotion, and now that you're all ramped up from the day's events, there's no possible way you could focus on something as mundane as washing your clothes. Instead, you all order in and pass time with some games while Ralph happily strums away in the background.
You occasionally pick up on him singing lyrics such as, “It’s easy to see yourself / through a negative lens / but it’s certainly harder / when surrounded by friends” and feel yourself welling up. As if the fact that he had changed into your favourite sweater of his, the blue mohair one that Connor had written that extra-cheesy joke about in Ralph’s profile, wasn’t enough to make your heart soar. He looks the very epitome of comfort right now.
Then Ralph gets a notification. He’s got a match! He’s thrilled, bragging about how the app found his ideal match immediately, when Connor had been talking about being on it for several years by now. The rest of the group explain that Tinder is not a matchmaking service in the sense that he thinks, and that it simply means someone he’s swiped right on has done the same to him. Connor and Scott help him communicate in a succinct, non-Ralph way that allows him to quickly arrange a date for tomorrow. That knot in the depths of your stomach wrenches tighter, but you ignore it, for the sake of Ralph’s excitement.
Connor encourages him to keep swiping still, in case he gets any more matches, and that way he can arrange even more dates! It takes Ralph a while to accustom to the modern world of dating, rather than just seeking out one person and “courting” them, as he would say, but he gets excited at the prospect of going out on dates. He doesn’t mention anything about any more matches, but he does lock himself in the bathroom for some time. You know that usually means he’s talking to his girl gang about important things; ever since that first night out, Ralph’s convinced himself that the only place to have a deep conversation with his new friends is anywhere that there’s a toilet, and quite frankly, the notion is too hilarious for you to correct him. Plus it gives him a little privacy, and you definitely don’t want him to keep relying on you for the entire duration of his stay in this era.
That night, as you lay out on your sofa, wondering if your back will ever get used to a mattress again, you notice one particular notification buried amongst the others:
Tinder Someone has Super Liked you! Find out who.
You admittedly hadn’t been swiping for a hot minute, yourself - you’ve been somewhat preoccupied with a whole new flatmate to worry about - but since it was the topic of the day, you figure you’ll bite. A few ordinary profiles show up, but none of them take your fancy. Even the cute ones, their bios are just so… Dry . And then you see it. The profile that Super Liked you, the blue border perfectly coordinating with the artwork that hangs on the wall behind you.
~~~
The following morning, Ralph awakens earlier than usual. He’s excited about his date tonight, and still conflicted about something else that had happened last night. He looks through the group chat app again to remind himself of his friends’ advice:
If you don’t say anything about it, neither will Ralph, but if you do, then it’s time to sit down and discuss these feelings like the adults you both are. That’s what he tells himself.
Ralph takes a deep breath before opening the door from the bedroom into the main part of the flat. You’re in the kitchen area, finishing off your breakfast with a duffel bag full of clothes resting on the counter. It appears that almost all of your clothes must be in there, since you’ve resorted to wearing one of Ralph’s most favourite T-shirts that he’d picked out himself. The way that it fits your form so differently to Ralph captivates him into silence, and the fact that it almost covers your pyjama shorts entirely feels so scandalous to him. He has to stop looking, or else his mind will wander to uncouth places, but he just can’t .
Not until you catch his eyesight and groan as you roll your own eyes at him. “Morning, Ralph! Don’t worry, I’ll make myself “decent” now that you’re out, I think I’ve got some yoga pants shoved in the back of the wardrobe from that one New Year when I was convinced I would join the gym,” your voice disappears as you walk past him and shut the door behind you.
Ralph makes himself some cereal, once again telling himself that he has to stop living in this secret. Especially if he’s to pursue other people.
You re-emerge from the bedroom, now wearing bottoms that cover your entire legs, but they may as well not at all be, with how little they leave to the imagination. You ask, “Oh yeah, by the way, did you… Happen to find my profile on Tinder last night? Because I think you must have swiped up instead of left, and Super Liked me by accident.”
“Accident!” Ralph exclaims hurriedly, squeezing his eyes shut and open again, and clenching and releasing his fist repeatedly, desperate to change his focus onto anything else. “Yes, that's entirely what that was, I’m so glad we cleared that up! Aha! I suppose I should get ready for my date now!”
You frown, “That’s not for hours yet, and Scott said he’d take you to get ready while I - don't forget your cereal!” You call out after him as he rushes back into the bathroom but the door closes behind him before you can finish your sentence. You write on the whiteboard that you keep on your fridge that you’re going to be at the laundromat for most of the day doing your laundry, but that Scott is arriving at 12 o’clock to take him out clothes shopping and to help him get ready, as you’ll be busy. You leave him your bank card to take with him on his big date, and wish him well before heading out of the door.
Ralph rests his phone against the bathroom wall, goes onto the only group he trusts himself to keep on WhatsApp and hits the video call button before immediately pacing the room. One by one, his friends pick up, all asking various questions.
“What happened?”
“Did you talk about it?”
“Are you okay?”
“Did you have an argument?”
Ralph blinks harshly again, his arms gesticulating with a deliberate wildness to them. “You all remember that the plan was, say nothing unless I’m spoken to, and then tell the truth, no matter what?”
“Yeah…”
“Well, I may have been… Distracted. And I may have shouted that it was an accident and ran into here.”
“Oh, babe, you didn’t.”
“Ralph!”
“We had a plan, hun! We mapped it all out!”
“I know, I know!” Ralph holds his hands on top of his head. “I was so ready, I was telling myself the plan over and over, and then… Well, it’s so-called laundry day, and I’ve had more time to get mine done and so my clothes were the only clean ones and -”
“Oof, god, yeah. Once you see your crush wearing your clothes, it is game over.”
“Oh, Ralphie, what are we gonna do with you?”
“Well, the damage has been done, now. It’s probably best to just… I guess, either try and get over how you’re feeling, or wait until another opportunity arises. If it does.”
“Yeah, honestly, babes, I’d say cut your losses for the day and focus on your big date tonight, that’s so exciting for you!”
“Oh my god, you’re gonna tell us everything, aren’t you?”
Ralph sighs, rubs his eyes and puts on a small smile. “Yes, of course I will. Thank you all for being my voices of reason, I do appreciate you.”
“Anytime, my lovely. Now, tell us all about this date. Where is it you’re going?”
“Well, Scott knows the location, but apparently it’s some kind of cocktail bar that plays swing and jazz and all the music that I like! I do hope there’ll be dancing,” he places his elbow on the sink to rest his head wistfully onto his fist, to an adoring chorus from the girls. They all sign off, wishing Ralph the best, and he hangs up, too. Right, Penbury, he tells himself, there’s nothing more you can do. You’ve messed up one more avenue of your love life, let’s not let it ruin another.
Instead, he focuses on his date tonight. He knows the exact look he wants to go for. And so, despite the comments he gets on how nice he looks, he just can’t justify having facial hair with such a smart outfit in mind.
Scott almost doesn’t recognise him, and calls Ralph “baby face” all day. It’s not his favourite nickname, but he’s been called worse. Scott helps him to pick out a nice suit with a bow tie - Scott had had the audacity to suggest Ralph wear a neck tie, for crying out loud - that Ralph liked because it reminded him of a suit he had back at home. Light tan in colour, with pinstripes down it. Just like his everyday going out suit. Scott had turned his nose up at it, but had admitted that “vintage” isn’t his style, anyway. Ralph had wanted to get a straw boater to really complete the look, but Scott wouldn't let him wear it past taking a photo.
Ralph gets ready at Scott’s apartment, a little more upscale than the flat, but he shares it with his partner. Ralph had only met him a few times, but he was always absolutely besotted with everything Ralph had to say, and Ralph couldn’t deny that he loved the attention. It was always Victoria that everyone wanted. But not here. People know the name Ralph here. Not The Penbury Boy, not Victoria’s Brother, or That Other One. Not Creepy Stalker. Just Ralph.
Scott and his partner help preen Ralph for his big night out at Ralph’s request, but they both audibly groan when he teaches them the hairstyle his old staff would give him - though of course, he omitted the involvement of any “staff” from his explanation.
“First the beard, and now you want me to gel down the curls? You’re killing me here, Ralphie. Literally taking years off my life,” Scott frowns as he pats down Ralph’s hair.
“I shall remember you fondly,” Ralph jokes, making Scott’s partner laugh.
“Rude!” Scott scoffs jokingly. “You’ve spent too much time with that flatmate of yours.”
Ralph’s heart still sinks thinking about his blunder this morning. Instead, he goes back to teasing Scott by composing an obituary as he styles his hair for him.
After a few final looks in the mirror, Ralph feels as though he’s gone back in time, as though the last 6 weeks had never happened. Another wave of sadness befalls him at that thought, but he pushes it aside. His nerves are a calling card for any negativity to overwhelm him, and he was determined to have a good time.
Scott walks him to the bar and waits outside with him until someone recognises him. As an extra measure to protect him from any radical internet followers, Scott borrows Ralph's phone to corroborate that he's definitely meeting his date, returns the phone back to Ralph with the reminder to ring you first and him second if anything happens, and bids the pair adieu.
Once he's gone, Ralph greets his companion for the evening by taking her hand and gently dusting her knuckles with his lips. She looks him up and down strangely, turning her nose up as she pulls back her hand slowly. Ralph could do the same, she certainly isn’t dressed for the occasion, but he won’t, because he’s a gentleman.
She does try to make the effort to get to know Ralph, at first. Making small talk about how he came to this part of London, he tells her he was simply looking to get away from his old life. She asks him what he does for a living, and seems to judge him again for saying that he was yet to find employment.
She lets him buy her a martini, despite him having ordered that with the intention of drinking it. She seemed to already be judging him for potentially ordering that drink for himself, so he ordered one of the only other drinks he knows that he likes - a double whiskey and lemonade, courtesy of Scott himself. She doesn’t seem to disapprove, at least.
Barely anybody in this place seems to be in the spirit of things. They’re all just standing. Talking. There’s a very sweet older couple in the corner who are dancing away, that Ralph watches wistfully. He gestures over to them, looking at his date. “Rather lovely,” he notes. “Do you dance, at all?”
“Not like that,” she shakes her head.
“Would you like me to show you?” He asks excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
She rubs her arm awkwardly. “I’m good, thanks. Nobody else is doing it, it’d be weird if we started.”
“Right. Right, of… Of course it would,” Ralph falters, dejected.
“I need to use the ladies’ room,” his date states plainly.
Ralph nods, “Of course, I shall be waiting right here!”
As she walks away from him, Ralph decides he can still smooth things over by buying her another drink. He buys himself another double whiskey lemonade, for liquid courage, and the lady another martini, and returns to the spot he promised he’d wait for her.
And he waits.
And he waits.
He sips his drink.
And he waits.
When he finally turns around to ask a member of staff to check on her, he’s met with many a sympathetic look. Ralph may not know a lot about dating in the modern age, but he knows that look when he sees it a mile off. Downing both the whiskey mix and the martini, he finds a quiet corner and takes out his phone.
~~~
You’d been a fool for going to the laundromat in October with just Ralph’s T-shirt and a light jacket on. Being in a heated building means nothing if the front door is being left open all the damn time. Checking the time on your machines, you deduce that you just about have enough time to drive back, very quickly grab an extra layer and drive back.
Rushing into your flat, you look around for anything that you could throw on that’s within arm’s reach. Nothing in the living area. Nothing in the kitchen area. Nothing in the bathroom. Desperate, you burst into the bedroom and you see it.
You’ve loved that blue jumper of Ralph’s from the moment you’d first seen it on him. You’d called it his Cookie Monster jumper, though of course that went over his head. It’s always looked so soft, and he’s forever burying his face in his arms when he wears it. It’s sickeningly adorable to be around. You’ve always wished you could experience its comfort for yourself, but Ralph would never let it out of his sight, and you very rarely get the opportunity to offer Ralph a hug without it potentially causing any more confusion in the nature of your friendship with him; certainly never so while he has ever worn the jumper.
And so you jump at the chance to finally experience it for yourself. Throwing it on, not only are you immediately comforted with the soft sensation against your skin, but a familiar smell wafts around you. The ultimate makeup of the olfactory cocktail that is Ralph Penbury’s signature smell.
You wonder how he’s getting on as you rush back out to your car. Whether he’s picked his outfit or if Scott’s moulded him in his own image. Whether he’s excited, scared, confident. Whether he plans on kissing her at the end of the night.
You hit the steering wheel with the heel of your hand. Why are you worrying about these things? You never do when Connor, Grace or Anna go out. Perhaps it’s because you’re so used to being on 24/7 Ralph alert that not having him around keeps you on edge. But he’s bound to go home soon. And then you’ll be in this Ralph-less void all the time. That’s far, far worse a fate. And yet, cruelly, it’s the inevitable one.
You make it just in time for the washing machine to chime. Throwing your clothes into the industrial sized dryer, you sit and scroll through your phone. You check the numbers of Ralph’s last Instagram photo, and end up reading through the comments from all of his little fans. None of them know that he could disappear off of social media at a moment’s notice.
Except, now he could never truly disappear. Whenever he goes back, whenever his fifteen minutes of internet fame are up, he’s left his permanent mark on the world. On you, your friends, even all these people. Though they only see Ralph superficially. They see his photos, and his twitter presence, and they think they know him, especially since he learned how to reply to people when they would ask him questions. Sure, they know that he prefers strawberry ice cream, and that his favourite Gilmore Girls character is Paris, but they don’t know that he ties his shoes with bunny ears. They don't get to see that no matter how wild his bed hair is in the morning, one curl always falls across his forehead. They don’t know that he smells like citrus with an extra whiff of cinnamon.
You bury your face beneath the sweater you’re wearing and breathe in deeply. An elderly woman looks at you fondly, and you bring yourself back to reality, sitting upright and switching to a puzzle game on your phone instead. You're already fooling yourself with these delusions of imagining a life where Ralph's a more permanent fixture. You can't be letting the locals believe it, too. That's just for you.
Once your laundry's dry, you quickly fold it as neat as you can back into the bag you'd brought with you and throw the bag into the back of your car. Once you’re home, you just can’t find the energy to unpack it all. And besides, putting it away in your bedroom furniture only means you have access to it whenever Ralph isn’t there. Perhaps it’s better to keep these clothes out here in the living room, anyway.
You laugh to yourself as you go to the kitchen to find enough things to cook together to make a decent meal. If you’d have been told 3 months ago that in the very near future, you’d be living out of a bag, sleeping on your own sofa, all for the sake of a man that you’d just met, you’d have never believed them. And yet, here you are.
Once your food is made, you settle on your sofa and find something new to watch - because heaven forbid you watch one of your ongoing series without Ralph, he’d be giving you the silent treatment for the rest of the night.
You wonder how his evening is going. He should be at the bar by now. No word from Scott, though you wouldn’t exactly expect him to check in with you about Ralph’s date. Although perhaps a photo in the group chat wouldn’t have gone amiss. No word from Ralph, either.
You’re rooting for the iguana on your screen to outrun the predators that chase it, despite David Attenborough commentating his lack of faith, and it’s just escaped a tight bind as your phone rings. A particular jarring photo of your flatmate smiling his animatronic-esque fake smile fills your screen, along with the word “rALPH”.
You answer, “This better be an emergency, I’m on high alert right now.”
“Alert? In what way?”
“I’ve got an iguana I’m trying to save from some killer snakes, it’s life or death here, Ralphie.”
“Ah, right! You’re watching one of those programmes about nature again.”
“Everything alright? You sound… Sad.”
“Yes, well…”
“How’s your date going?”
“It, um… It rather isn’t.”
“What?!”
“She - She told me she was going to the women’s room. Approximately forty minutes ago.”
“Oh, Ralph. You should have called sooner!"
“And this place is nothing like I had thought it would be, nobody is giving it the respect it deserves, I’m the only one appropriately dressed and yet somehow I am the one who sticks out like a sore thumb!”
“Okay, okay, it’s alright, mate. Get to the toilet, get yourself all sorted out, I'm on my way. Make sure you’re in the right one this time, too!”
“Ha-ha. Very funny.”
“Oh, I know I am. I’ll be there as soon as I can, alright?”
While you’re still not quite ready to say goodbye to the sweater just yet, you do fish out a far nicer lower half of an outfit to go with it, before heading out the door and following Google Maps’ directions to this bar.
When you enter, you look around trying to find your friend. The first scan yields no results. Neither does the second. You’re about to take your phone out to call him again when you notice a very sad, very baby-faced Ralph talking to a bartender. He looks just like he did when you first met him - without the coffee you’d spilled over his back, of course.
You speed your pace up as you head towards him, and he doesn’t even notice you approaching until you pat his arm. He looks close to tears when he makes eye contact with you, and you immediately pull him into a hug. That clean, citrusy scent of his gets stronger as he wraps himself around you. When you start to relent, he doesn’t. With a small chuckle of defeat, you return to hugging him tightly again.
Eventually he lets go, and so you do as well, rubbing his arm comfortingly as you pull away. “You look dapper,” you comment, “really smart.”
Ralph wrinkles his nose up as he waves you off, “It’s… Really not as appropriate here as I thought.”
“Codswallop!” You grin, putting on your best Ralph voice, which makes him smile, too. “Best dressed one here, hands down.”
“I do seem to be a style icon of yours,” he muses, poking at the sweater. “It’s very becoming on you.”
“Thanks, Ralphie,” you smile, trying desperately not to blush. Instead, you pull the sleeves over your hands and ask, “You still got my card?” He nods and fumbles through his pockets to grab it and hand it to you. You lean over the bar to order two of your usual drink, and one martini for Ralph.
The bartender hisses through their teeth. “You sure? He’s already had one along with the others, he doesn’t seem in a good place to be mixing his drinks too much tonight.”
You frown, “Oh, then sure, whatever he’s been having, get him another one of those.”
You smile at the impact Scott’s clearly had on Ralph with his change in drink choice. Clinking your glass with his, you finish both of your drinks in the time he finishes his one, to try and catch up with him.
As he swills the remaining ice cubes around the bottom of his glass, a high-energy song starts to play. You grin as you outstretch your hand, “Wanna put our kitchen dance lessons to the test with me?”
Ralph looks at you sceptically, but his excitement is palpable. “Oh, heavens, we’d be the only ones dancing!”
You shrug, “So? We’d be the only ones doing it right, everyone else would be the weird ones.”
Ralph nods, “Very well,” and takes your hand. You don’t see it as you’re leading him to the dance floor area, but he’s putting all his energy into not looking completely giddy with happiness.
The two of you dance together for several songs, swinging and twirling and laughing away. You nudge Ralph to show him that you’d even inspired some other coupl- other pairs of people , you correct yourself, not wanting to slip up and accidentally refer to yourself and Ralph as a couple in front of him. Other pairs of people are now dancing just like you two were. Ralph looks around in awe just as the music slows considerably.
He looks at you with uncertainty, squeezing his eyes and his hands as he does when he’s conflicted or trying to correct himself, though he’s yet to say anything to you. “May I - I mean, we - would you like to - we could stop now, if you like, or -”
You cut Ralph off by placing your hands on his shoulders. He places his ever so tentatively on your hips as you sway from side to side together. “Thank you,” he mutters to you.
“Well, you seemed close to having a stroke over getting your words out, figured I had a good shot at guessing what you wanted before I had to call for help!”
He chuckles softly, “Not just for that. For… Everything, really. Over the last two months. I really haven’t shown you the proper gratitude.”
“I’ve not been keeping you around for gratitude’s sake, Ralph,” you shake your head. “You’re not that bad to be around, you know,” you smirk. “I’m sorry that girl didn’t see that in you. But I’m proud of you for trying!”
“I don’t think I want to try much more,” he tells you quietly.
“Don’t blame you. I gave up a while ago, myself,” you admit. “But you did it! I bet the Ralph I first met wouldn’t have done this.”
“I am quite the changed man, thanks to you,” he says with a small smile.
“You sure don’t look it at the moment! I don’t know who this is, but I’m looking forward to getting Ralph back when we’re home.”
He frowns, “But this is how I always looked before I met you!”
“I know, but it just doesn’t… Suit you. Not like your new look. I mean, I guess if you go back in time looking like The New Ralph, everyone back there would think otherwise, but… I dunno,” you shrug your shoulders. “This doesn’t feel like the real Ralph.” Recalling a conversation you’d had with him a couple of weeks ago about how he was perceived back in his time, you add, “This is just That Penbury Boy.”
“I like that you all see a side of me that you don’t mind having around,” Ralph admits bashfully. “And I like spending time with you - all.”
“We love having you around too,” you grin. “But I am being serious, I’ll hold your head under the bathroom sink here if we don’t get that shit washed out of your hair soon.”
Ralph laughs, stepping out of the hold to extend his arm out to you. You take it and walk out of the building with him.
You laugh at the ooh! that comes out from him as you step out into the brisk air. “Yeah, all that whiskey finally kicking in?” You ask with amusement.
Ralph shakes his head, blowing a raspberry sound out into the air. “Just a tad!”
“I’m excited to see what Whiskey Ralph is like,” you muse, still keeping your arm around his as you lead him down the street.
He frowns, “Are there different versions of me based on what I drink?!”
“Different versions of Drunk Ralph, yeah,” you grin. “Martini Ralph is super sociable. Vodka Ralph, an emotional wreck. We stay away from vodka,” you warn, and he nods, remembering the shot he had taken weeks ago and shuddering again. “And from what you’ve told me, Champagne Ralph really loved to party.”
“Oh, I do so wish you could have been there for a Penbury social!” Ralph muses. “They were always such a blast to plan. I just… Sometimes I wish that Victoria let me be the “main event” host rather than the “planning” one.”
“Well, when you go back, you can down a couple of martinis, tell her to shove it, and then throw the greatest bash Penbury House will see before it gets filled with tote bag-carrying indie kids and grandmas hiding romance novels between murder mysteries,” you laugh, though it’s strained. You know it’s only fair to make sure you’re both still actively talking about him returning home, but that doesn’t make it sting any less.
Ralph gives you a small smile, “I’m not so sure about that. I think it’s far more than a few drinks that make me the man that I am while I’m here.” The way he bites his lip back bashfully would have you holding him by the cheeks and kissing it back, were you a couple more drinks in. He quietens after that, and you simply allow him to stay in that moment rather than pressing him as to what exactly he means.
Once you’re back home once again, you change back into comfortable pants while Ralph washes his hair under the shower. You also finally look at your phone’s notifications to see a lot of activity in the group chat:
Ralph re-emerges wearing another jumper and some sweats, but instead of sitting at his usual spot on the other end of the sofa to you, he sits far nearer and leans himself onto you. “Hello,” he greets simply, a dopey grin smeared across his face.
You cock your head as you smile softly at him. “Hello, cuddly-drunk Whiskey Ralph.”
“Is that what it is?” He asks, his voice slurring a little. “Do you mind?”
“Nah, just give me my arm back,” you tease as you move so that your arm is no longer trapped beneath him, instead draping it where it’s most comfortable - which just happens to be over his body.
You show Ralph the things everyone has been saying in the group chat, and he smiles into your torso. "Can I expect this jumper back any time soon, by the way?"
You grin down at him, "Yeah, you can have it back when it stops smelling like you. It's too nice to give up."
His ears burn pink as he gently settles further down until his head rests in your lap. “Do you want to see if your iguana made it out safely?”
“Oh, yeah! Here, I’ll restart the episode for you, I need you to care about this lizard as much as I do.”
Commentating alongside the documentary with Ralph proves a far more entertaining watch than before, and you both cheer as you watch the iguana finally climb up some rocks to the safety of its friend. At some point, your fingers end up absent-mindedly stroking back and forth through his hair, and you notice his chest starting to heave up and down heavier than usual. Leaning over, you see his lower lip move in and out ever so slightly with each breath as he sleeps. He looks so peaceful, and you could honestly keep him here forever. But, realistically, you can’t feel your legs and your body will certainly be unforgiving over you sleeping while sat upright.
You gently prod at Ralph all over until he wakes up. “Hmm, what?”
“Eh, what, what,” you tease, once again putting on your ‘posh voice’ before returning to your usual cadence. “C’mon, if you’re gonna sleep, go do it in a bed, please.”
“Of course,” he mumbles wearily.
When he stands up, you realise something with a laugh. “Oh, no! Oh, I’ve done a real number on your hair, look at it!”
Ralph reaches up and pats his wildly spread curls with a sleepy smile. He faces you, then turns to the bedroom door, then back to you. He repeats this a few times, and just before you can ask, he shakes his head. “Goodnight. Sleep well.”
“You too, Ralphie,” you grin as you push yourself around by your fists to lay across the sofa for the night.
When you wake up, Ralph is yet again trending on Twitter. Wondering what on earth he could have done, you’re horrified when you see paparazzi-ish photos of Ralph with you as you both danced last night. The original tweet with the photos going around has the caption, “Pack it up, girlies, Hot Ralph is taken”
Making sure your current account is most definitely still set to private, you make a new one under the name @RalphsFlatmate. You tweet an old selfie of you and Ralph with the caption, “hi, ralph stans. just here to remind you that sometimes people can be just friends and that’s it. please don’t take my photo without my consent in future. kinda insane that i have to ask that but here we are. cheers x”
Once Ralph is awake, you borrow his phone to retweet yourself onto his profile to make sure people see it and get ready for work, dreading what is now to come with also being perceived on the internet.
next chapter
#ralph timewasters#ralph timewasters x reader#ralph timewasters x you#ralph timewasters fanfic#ralph timewasters imagine#ralph penbury#ralph penbury x reader#ralph penbury x you#ralph penbury fanfic#ralph penbury imagine#ralph timewasters fluff#ralph penbury fluff#bsbl#fic: bsbl#*myfics
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Please someone lobotomise me. I don't want to have big human thoughts. I'm done. Just put me in a care home and let me go through dementia as I enjoy puzzles all day. I'd rather be at peace and forget things than have to continue feeling like I'm constantly drowning.
I hate myself and I hate that I struggle to fit into society.
I just want to be loved and I thought I'd be married with kids by now (yes I'm only 22 but I'm a Christian virgin who struggles with the physical feelings of being comfortable with sex other than the smut I write and read.)
I thought men were real- I thought men were romantic and worshipped women. I didn't realise how objectified and then shamed we are by men who behave like animals.
I don't want to work and I think that's a massive reason I'm having such a bad breakdown. I want to be a Pilates wife. I want to be at home baking and cooking and meal planning and loving a husband. I want to mend his work uniform and sit and rub his feet while he oats my head and tells me I'm his angel.
I don't want to work in disability care where my tolerance is so minimal to loud, overstimulated (overstimulating for me) aggressive clients. Or work with babies that scream and cry and hit along with angry parents that yell at you the moment something goes wrong. I wish job employment agencies would stop trying to pressure me into these roles. I KNOW THEYRE UNDERSTAFFED ALREADY SO IM NOT RIDING A SINKING BOAT- no THANKS
I just want my dad. I just want to go home. I just want to be 6 years old. I want to go to preschook again and do painting.
I don't want to work from 5pm-5am and walking Brisbane streets at night all alone going from one cleaning place to another just for one client to write passive aggressive comments in the Communication booklet and my boss to start telling other co-workers that I'm having meltdowns and I'm high maintenance.
I'm autistic and I just want to be treated like a toddler or a dog because that's kinder than what's happening now.
I just want a husband to look after me and protect me.
I want to just make cute little videos and not have to worry my pretty head about money.
I DONT WANT designer bags or clothes. I just want to have a house I'm allowed to decorate and make dresses or bake for church. And a husband who comes from work and pats my head and tells me I'm a good girl. At this rate I don't even care if he's fucking a receptionist on the side.
I get it how these are such white woman tears. But fuck I think every woman should have this dream off they WANT without any shame.
I know it's a "grow up this is reality, you're describing something that doesn't exist." WHY CANT IT EXIST. FUCK.
I don't blame feminism. Feminism is amazing and I love her.
I blame classism.
People can't survive on just single home incomes anymore and that's fucked up to me.
"but women had jobs too you're just describing the rich wom-"
Women with jobs were mostly young single women waiting to get married or women who never wanted to get married but needed a liveable income. YES some entire families worked to survive poverty back in the day, I wont disregard that, but FUCK
you would think being so advanced as we are considering we mass produce via machine etc, human life would be "easier" BUT IT ISNT.
And I'm TIRED. I really am. I've been depressed since the day I was born but because it's so normal to me I forget how depressed I am and then feel bad when I burn the fuck out.
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I'm researching some stuff about apothecaries and the history of the pharmacy, trying to find inspiration wherever. Chuck Jones always said to just read whatever you can to find ideas for your fiction making and stuff, so I'm just getting in on reading a bunch of history so I can come up with something to write
It's because I've been thinking about what life post-tower must've been like for Rapunzel. She's fresh off the heels of an abusive environment, now finding herself in a completely different place that she's unfamiliar with. She's only had a few hours to vibe with Corona's people, and that was when they didn't know she was the lost princess with magical healing powers. So here she is, having returned to them at last. And I find this idea interesting: what if many of them were kinda... disappointed? I don't know if I've expressed this idea before that I think Corona would really have to prove itself as an actually good environment for Rapunzel to grow in, and I think the answer would really be no, at first. There'll probably be this superficial way that the citizens of Corona all will see her. Imagine if Rapunzel had been sort of deified by the people in those 18 years? Imagine what that kidnapping had looked like to the average citizen? Your king and queen gives birth to a young girl who is now your princess, and oh my goodness! The princess has the power to heal the sick and injured! It's a literal miracle! The kingdom rejoices. Frederic and Arianna probably assume that they're celebrating the Queen's recovery and Rapunzel's birth, but it's more than that for some. They're celebrating their miracle. Plagues and illness and suffering and death will be no more. Then before a single soul can see this healing power, that miracle gets stolen from them. The kingdom is sent into despair. All the sick who were given the hope of being healed are now left to suffer fate's design. Plagues will come and death is here to stay.
In those 18 years, I bet there was a lot of praying for the lost princess to return, but not for her to be reunited with her family safe and sound, but for her to heal them and their own families. That hope for her return builds in the people's hearts, to the point where Rapunzel is now something of a messianic figure rather than a literal abducted child.
So now that miracle finally returns, except... it's not a miracle anymore. It's just a girl. And the kingdom's last hope that once grew from her head was now short and wilted (those aren't my words, I just feel like a particularly disgruntled Coronan would say that about Rapunzel).
Now imagine how that makes Rapunzel feel? That the kingdom shes supposed to call home is pretty much objectifying her similarly to how she's used to? And when you've only known one way of earning love your whole life, you're gonna stick to what you're used to if no one helps you actually learn different. Only now, Rapunzel can't offer herself the same way she did with Gothel, because she doesn't have her hair anymore. Now she has no way to give people what they want.
hnggggggg I gotta write this story someday
where was I? Oh yeah! So the apothecary thing. Yeah I was reading this article by Rachel Ewing for Penn Medicine, https://www.pennmedicine.org/news/news-blog/2017/may/then-and-now-the-healing-power-of-an-urban-garden. One of the lines in the second paragraph says "The plants themselves were therapies to be eaten or brewed into tea." What's being discussed is the history of herbs and plants being used for medicinal purposes, and that line in particular made my jaw drop for a moment because it made me think of Rapunzel, and how her being objectified by people into something of a medicine, or in the context of Tangled; a healing flower, rather than a person, is something she'll have to break past even after she's left Gothel's captivity.
#tangled#brushneb says stuff#tangled the series#Rapunzel#rapunzels tangled adventure#disney rapunzel#tangled rapunzel#Disney
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Feels good to say the Truth: Purity makes living in this shithole worth it. All the pointless psychology, personality typing, and horoscopes I learned for the world's sake is fake- I can't get along with debauched people. Doesn't matter how much we superficially have in common, there's nothing to say to people who have worms for brains. All their medical theories are wrong as well. I've attributed the headaches, nausea, restlessness of the heart and mind my body got around ordinary people as a personal problem, turns out those are symptoms of being fucking disgusted. I don't have to be around yeasty beasties talking about their deplorable conditions being "normal sexual health problems" anymore. Proud about their rank pussies & dicks being heterosexually active while growing 1 billion cultures in their body. Makes sense why I feel best when I'm alone while they feel calmer around me.
I wanted to be problem so I could fix myself which I tried for at least 10 years, but no, most people make me sick. I've only felt good around one person in my life. I told her I thought she was perfect and I couldn't put my finger on exactly why. She humbly denied it, of course, but now I know: her heart was pure. The poor girl was exhausted, drained and smiled weakly around her so-called friends who would use and discard her every chance they got. I would get glimpses into what she really thought cause she knew I wasn't heartless like everybody else and her covert expressions of disgust were hilarious. She would get the socially anxious label when she definitely was not that. Sex-addicts don't know the difference between a person who is insecure and somebody who knows your fragile yet aggressive anger-issue-having asses can't handle a proton of honesty. It's not shyness, it's not wanting our gorgeous minds to get raped by your foul opinions.
Speaking of opinions, I was always called stuck up. When I used to try to help trolls in person they got angry when I implied that they should give cleanliness a try before they run to get put on dope by anti-health white-coated soul-butchers. People like the idea of a spotless mind but when you actually apply it to your life they're ready to diagnose you with one of their delusions. I've always been sane and sound of mind: I don't want to objectify women, I don't want to "loosen up" and I don't want to forget God. I'm more relaxed than anybody I know: I've never worried about not having enough sex, whether I'm attractive enough for the billions of degenerates nor have I ever worried about amazing a stupid psychopath.
I stopped talking for a few years altogether (which were some of the best years of my life, looking back...) because everything I said was wrong or dismissed but of course, they could spew their psychic sewage in my presence without a single fuck about how I felt. I'm sick of bigoted blokes bullying people for their race, gender, sexual orientation when they all engage in the same noxious filth and hate purity just the same. I'm not self-immolating for whores anymore. The 20 minutes of depression afterwards isn't worth it and I've heard it all anyways. Sexophiles lament about the dangers of being in echo chambers yet they can't see how they all repeat the same shit like clockwork. They're all so fucking impressed with themselves too.
I've reached my capacity for depravity: no, lapping up discharge isn't the fountain of life and guzzling semen doesn't repair DNA, shiteaters. I thought this level of immaturity would change as I got older, but it's just fucking ridiculous how many lazy pieces of shit make up theories to brainwash themselves into thinking eating pussy and sucking dick is the point of life. And what really gets me is they think eating the "correct" race of dick makes them superior. Why the fuck do they talk so much anyways? They should be too busy choking on it. I thought I would at least be able to laugh at them at this point but they're boring, unfunny, psychotic losers who can't even wipe their asses properly because of their BBLs and acrylic nails. I'm not a tolerant person and glad I can finally admit that. Stay sick.
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Since there is "men asking women how to find dates" discourse on my dash, I wanted to add my two cents as totally chad proof I'm destined to be an anonymous guy's relationship advice expert XD It's very general advice but in my life experience (which is admittedly limited to 19 years, one failed engagement, and playing middle man when a couple of my best friends broke up) it seems to hold true. But that is mostly because a lot of what I have to say here is basic biblical doctrine about who a good husband and just generally a good ambassador for Christ is, both of which I have studied.
Okay guys listen up. This is how it works.
Just don't. Don't meet women to date. Don't do it. It's a trap.
Make friends with women though. (Not ones in relationships of course.) That's okay. And as your friendships develop, you'll find which ones align most closely with you.
Developing strong friendships with many different people is an important part of being in the body of Christ. A strong friendship will yield a stronger relationship. But just viewing a girl as a potential girlfriend isn't treating her with the respect she as a child of God made in His image deserves.
Be a good brother in Christ to them. Don't let your mind carry your fantasies away. Stay grounded and treat the women you know like actual people. Work in the church alongside your friends-- do different things with your groups of people. This will reveal the character of your friends and you will discover which girl is worth pursuing. And if she says no, that's no. Leave it at that. Work to heal the friendship and return your focus to being a godly friend.
Things girls like: good listeners, kind and respectful men, good decision makers, men filled with humility and compassion, men who are responsible stewards of the money and time God has given them, and men who radiate the peace, hope, and love of God. Those traits will make you a good Christlike husband one day. More than that, these are traits that make you a good Christian. As a man seeking God, you should be seeking these traits.
Things that certainly don't hurt: keep yourself well groomed, avoid being a stupid show off, don't wear navy blue and black together, learn to cook and clean. XD
Things to avoid: starting a relationship when you are immature, unstable, just lonely, or consumed with lust. Deal with those issues first. You should never objectify anyone. Don't play with the feelings of a girl. Don't lead her on. If you start a relationship and it's not going right, you need to pray over it, then DISCUSS the issues in detail using scripture to explain your thinking. If you need to end it, don't be vague, be precise so that she can grow from the experience.
And always have an older, more mature, godly Christian man to help mentor you. So if you need to know more than this, that's one place your mentor can help you a lot. He can also help counsel you through sin issues, point you towards Christ, and generally help you when you're struggling or need wise counsel.
Beyond what's here, a girl can't help you much. This is all general advice. If you need help wooing a specific gal, this is only gonna get you so far. Individual girls have individual preferences. If you need advice tailored to your situation, that's another place your mentor can help a lot.
So go forth and grow in Christ. God has already decided your lot and He knows your story. You just have to not worry about what's coming and instead apply yourself to growing in godliness and growing into your Christian communities.
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Talk of aroace stuff reminded me of a short story I submitted to a NZ journal. Got told it was a very strong contender but alas. Not meant to be this time
Anyway I don’t have plans to do anything more with it, so enjoy
Empty Chip Packets
I remember my childhood. Bare feet running on grass, dodging the sting of prickles. Pink smears of zinc on my freckled nose. Treasured toys. Squishing hot sand between my toes. Birthday cakes and a little girl wearing a schoolbag far too big. It was an adventure of new beginnings, of finding my place in the world.
“Who’s your crush?”
My friends liked to ask that question. It was an exchange of secrets between us girls, a giggling rite of passage I was expected to follow. But I never had an answer. Maybe the butterflies that were supposed to flutter their wings in my stomach were still asleep. Maybe my heart just preferred to follow its own beat for now, because the boy who made everyone laugh in class was just a boy to me, and I felt no urge to plaster a celebrity’s face on my bedroom walls.
“Who’s your crush? Who’s your crush?”
I got tired of the question. I lied. It was Max, the boy who sat behind me. It was Legolas, that elf guy in Lord of the Rings. I lied so much that I almost convinced myself it was true. Maybe these people were my crushes. Maybe it didn’t matter if butterflies never stirred their wings for me or that no one could colour my cheeks with pink blooms of heat. Maybe someone was cute simply because everyone else thought so.
Maybe.
A boy asked me out when I was twelve. I don’t remember his name, but I know I felt nothing. Not a thing. It was just weird, like being handed an empty chip packet or a flower stem with no bulb. I said yes anyway, because that’s what you do, right? Have crushes, get boyfriends.
We kissed. His lips were a caress of wet awkwardness, lingering like a sticky tattoo. I didn’t like it. Couldn’t. Just looking at him made me feel like I was holding that empty chip packet again—useless, unwanted, but now it was worse. Now, there were bits of crumbs getting stuck in my clothes, under my skin, itching and itching and itching until I couldn’t stand it anymore.
We broke up.
“It’s just because you’re young.”
“You’ll find the right person one day.”
I clung to those words. Clung and clung and clung, even as years passed. Maybe I’d got it all wrong. Maybe it wasn’t boys who could spark something in my blood. Maybe it was girls. But affection was not the same as attraction. Hugs could not satisfy when a partner wanted more. It was a lesson I didn’t want to learn, but it wedged its way through my bones, through the little gaps in my ribcage, and etched itself into my stubborn heart.
That’s when I knew. There was a void carved into my chest where no seeds could grow. No love. No desire. I was a broken thing, viewing people as if they were paintings lining a grand gallery hall—some I admired, some I cherished, but never more than that.
I was stuck following the beat of my own heart, walking a path that didn’t seem to fit anywhere.
“Hamish really likes you. You should give him a chance. Just one date.”
It frustrated me, the way people thought it could be so simple. It repulsed me that someone could like me even if we’d barely spoken. Objectifying. Violating. Their attraction was like nails digging into my flesh, because they didn’t know me. They didn’t know. They saw a pretty face and somehow that was enough.
I wanted to rip their desire to shreds, wanted to throw the scraps in their faces. It was useless. It was all useless.
I wanted to be that child again, running barefoot on the grass, dodging prickles and laughing with my friends. I wanted to squish hot sand between my toes. I wanted to be free from the ghost of the unplanted seed, from the demand to make roots grow from nothing. I wanted the pressure to stop, stop, stop.
But I couldn’t be a child again. I was trapped in a gallery of paintings, trying to find meaning in empty chip packets. I wasn’t supposed to be more comfortable on my own.
Romance is the endgame of life, the final rite of passage before death, or at least that’s what everyone seems to think. Fall in love, find your other half, have kids. It’s the happy ending found in fictional worlds and on television screens. It’s the truth shoved down our throats from birth. Lust is just the in-between, the blood-jumping itch that can only be eased by physical gratification.
There’s no room for someone like me. Not worth a story, not worth a happy ending, forever told that I’m missing out, that I’ll find this fabled One who can touch my blood with thunder and fire, and suddenly everything will be okay. I’ll be normal. I’ll be fixed.
But maybe I don’t want to be fixed. Maybe I don’t have to be.
I’ll carve my own space in this world. I’ll plant the seeds that matter to me. Love for family. Love for a friend. I’ll follow the beat of my own heart and embrace the future with open arms.
Because I was never broken. I never needed to find my other half. I am complete.
I am me.
#empty chip packets#original writing#aroace#my writing#lots of stuff I’d change now but I was in a rush for this one
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You know, it's funny when people write the girls in Naruto being all jealous of each other and willing to fight for "their man", when in canon you have their dynamics being actually kinda cute and the implications going beyond what they feel for a guy, into "what issues led them to that point".
Take Karin and Sakura, for example. In the canon they were made to feel like trash or like they were not enough, helpless, useless, they were abused from the way they looked and made fun of and beaten up for that. Karin was objectified given her healing abilities and Sakura was objectified as an object of affection, someone to protect and love but not someone with agency, not really. Tsunade and Orochimaru took them in and even when it was not saving (because being their apprentices made it worst in some aspects), at least they were capable of fighting for themselves now.
Yeah, they both loved (or had a crush on) Sasuke and the story made of their feelings a recurring comedy gag, like how "obsessed" they were. The point is that, beyond the comedy relief moments, Sakura and Karin genuinely cared for Sasuke and wanted to help him. They wanted to see him safe and happy, to help him accomplish his dreams or goals. They were not perfect, their intentions can be selfish and flawed, but it's the same for almost every character in Naruto. They are no exception.
So when Sakura and Karin leave their safety to go after Sasuke, to go "help him", it's not just 'cause they want to romantically claim Sasuke. It's also about being useful, about feeling others trust them, about reclaiming the control they lost over their own lives, making their own decisions.
No one forced them to go there or be there, no one forced them to care about Sasuke. To say otherwise is to insult them, okay?
There's no reason why they'd help each other. No reason at all. They're strangers, they are enemies, they are kunoichis. Yet, I love the words of those panels because Sasuke calls Karin useless and he says Sakura can replace her. Sakura's fears are spoken out loud about another girl, in that panel, Karin and Sakura are one, reflected in the other. Sakura knows she won't kill the girl, she must be innocent, her target is Sasuke. She can't tho, for the same reason why Karin tells Sasuke to not kill Sakura. For all their crimes as shinobis and for all the violence they have grown used to, they're still soft, they want to do good, they still believe in the friendships they've chosen or still believe in their own choices.
Sakura saves Karin's life right then and Karin feels Sakura's sadness over her, her tears, it's clear that it affects her for the composition of the panels, for her words. Karin has been used and abused once more by someone she trusted, loved even, and now she's seeing a girl just like her but not breaking, but healing her still.
We don't really see Karin and Sakura interacting after that. That's all there is of them together, but it's the same as the Chuning Exam Preliminaries fight of Ino and Sakura. Their relationships with Sasuke were a part of who they were, but they were so much more than that and their dynamics were based on their experiences, not only a boy.
Karin didn't want Sasuke to hurt Sakura. Sakura didn't want Karin to die. Yes, they were on the same bridge, heartbroken over the same boy, but it spoke also of what is like to be a medic nin and a kunoichi at war, what is like to grow from a life of neglect or abuse or bullying or being sidelined to a life where your choices might have terrible horrible consequences, but they are yours.
Later, Karin and Sakura would decide to trust Sasuke again. Save his life. Fight for him. It's their choice to do so, but also, it's their choice to save Tsunade or Naruto and follow Orochimaru or go with Team 7 to fight Kaguya. Their paths cross because of Sasuke, because he knows them both and had worked with them both, but it's not like they'd fistfight over him in other circumstances.
Sakura worried over Hinata loving Naruto and she worried over Hinata putting herself in danger to confess to him, but she could relate. She knew that type of pain herself. Even when Ino was still interested in Sasuke, she was great friends with Sakura because their rivalry was bigger than him, so was their friendship.
In the serious moments, when it really mattered, those girls had each other's backs. To reduce them to fangirls or jealous bitches is insane, when it's most probable they'd work together to save the world or their interests than to destroy each other to see who could marry the boy.
The kinship they feel given the misogyny of the shinobi world and the severity of the lives they lead is stronger than any romance plot!!!!
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Kinktober Day 5
DDLG/Size Kink - Zitao
!dom Zitao
“Taozi!” You shriek, “Put me down!”
If your boyfriend loved one thing only, it would be this, it would be your height and strength difference, it would be that he is so much bigger than you, and he always made sure that you knew it.
His stupid, endearing, effeminate giggle echoes through the halls of his house, fuck, you love it when he laughs. You playfully kick your legs in a feeble attempt to overpower him, but he can pick you up with one arm with little to no effort, the battle is never in your favour.
He walks with you hanging over his shoulder, one hand holding you up by your ass for in his words “good support” though you know really it is just because he likes to touch you. Once in the living room, he sits down on the sofa and finally lets you get comfortable in his lap, your legs spread with your knees either side of his hips, arms draped over his shoulders.
“I love you,” You mumble against his lips, “Even though you’re always mean and make fun of me for being so much smaller than you.”
Zitao rolls his eyes with a groan, moving his hands to your waist, touching his thumbs and fingers together with ease. He stares at your body for a moment before looking up to make eye contact with you again.
“I am not mean to you about that,” He disagrees, “Baby, you know how much I fucking love that you are so little.”
Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes, though only playfully, and as Zitao’s fingers tickle against your skin you giggle, moving slightly in his lap to get closer to him.
“I know, Daddy,” You reply, so easily dropping into subspace for him, “I love it too, love how big and strong you are.”
His hands move down from your waist to your ass as you lean in to kiss him again. He is fiery today, his kisses are charged and forceful, it is easy to be in the mood for him with his hands on your body, with the desperation that grows from him every second.
“So good to me, sweetheart,” He purrs, “You’ll let me take you right here, won’t you?”
You can feel how hard he is for you, with each kiss hotter than the last, you grind down on him in an attempt to answer without having to pull away, though you know that he won’t let you off that easily.
“Come on honey,” He chuckles, even more so as you whine that he has pulled away, “Use your words.”
You pout at him, but you know that he is relentless, so with a sigh and a wide eyed stare you answer.
“Please, Daddy,” You beg him, “Please let me ride your cock.”
Zitao smirks at you, nodding approvingly, and you lift your arms up in preparation for him to undress you, another one of his favourite things to do. It is objectifying in the most arousing way, how he acts around you, with you in any sexual situation. You are a plaything in these scenarios, but it is your chosen role as much as it is his.
He helps you undress quickly, guiding you to take his clothes off too before resuming your position on his lap again. It is impossible for you to sit still with his hardened cock pressed up against you, so you teasingly grind along him while you wait for his permission to lean up on your knees to take him in.
“You know Daddy should warm you up first,” He warns you, his fingers gently circling your clit each time you grind toward his hand, “It hurts you otherwise.”
You shake your head with a childlike scowl, ignoring his request by attempting to manoeuvre at the right angle to get his cock into you, a feeble attempt, it is not going to work but you will try.
“No, Daddy,” You whine, “Don’t wanna wait, don’t care if it hurts, please just want you.”
The baby-talk is enough to get you anywhere with him, and he sighs as he so easily gives in, nodding his approval before you move to hover over him, his hand around the base of his cock to line up with you.
“Slowly, baby,” He instructs, gasping as you take in just the tip, “Good girl, just like that… fuck.”
You don’t take his advice like you should have, forcing yourself down hard and crying out in a mix of both pain and pleasure, he fills you up past what should be your limit, but you fucking love it. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you begin to move, lifting yourself up before dropping down again, this time his moans mix with yours, as you make yourself more comfortable.
You begin to find a rhythm and make pace, and you reach to grab his hand, moving it to splay out over your stomach, leaning forward with each thrust so that your tummy bulges with the pressure of his cock inside you.
“Look how big you are, Daddy,” You praise him, “Can’t believe I can even fit you in, can you see?”
This sends Zitao into overdrive, his hand on your ass grips tighter to you, guiding you faster, harder, so much so that you can barely make a coherent sound.
“So fucking hot, baby,” He growls, “Fuck, you’re so fucking hot.”
Your thighs are burning, and if it weren’t for him holding you up, you are sure that you would collapse. He can feel it too, feel the way that you are faltering, so he stands, with his cock still deep inside of you, and flips your positions, laying you flat on your back to continue.
“More,” You plead, whimpering and whining, “Daddy, harder, break me.”
His gaze at you is endearing, starstruck, or maybe you are just dazed, cock-drunk, close enough to orgasm that your ears are ringing, needy, wanting more, and trying to convince yourself that he does too. He obliges you though, so perhaps you aren’t imagining things, he fucks you hard with no sign of reprieve, and you have no more words to give other than a repetitive cry of…
Daddy…
———
Kinktober Masterlist!
#kpop fanfic#kpop#kpop smut#exo#exo fanfic#exo smut#cpop fanfic#cpop#cpop smut#kinktober#Zitao#Huang Zitao#zitao fanfic#huang zitao fanfic#huang zitao smut#zitao smut
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Hi storm! 👋 I wanna state first that everyone is entitled to their opinion and they can agree or disagree. I also know that we come from different backgrounds and different upbringings, and so with that being said, I would like to share my thoughts about WOH if that's ok? So, the first song that got me into bts was black swan (black swan will always have my 💜 fight me lol 😆) and then after that I came to know all of BTS discography and when I came across the WOH MV I thought it was cute but also at the same time seeing men expressing how girls make them feel I thought, well that's nice to see them expressing how they feel when you go through puberty lol I mean, wheres the lie? I didn't see anything offensive about the mv or the lyrics but then I started getting shamed and made to feel bad for liking the song and I'm not sure if they were army's or not as I was a baby one myself back then but I wanted to share why I don't find the lyrics or mv offensive. well, because of my upbringing, I grew up (you can probably guess my age from this lol) listening to NWA, ICE CUBE, snoop, dre, 2pac, biggie etc. Etc. You name it, I've listened to it. so like 50% of my life growing up revolved around hip-hop/rap and in listening to those songs (not all were bad) I mean you couldn't hear a lyric without hearing B*tch or Wh*re or sl*t being mentioned in every other sentence, women were just considered objects in their songs and in their MVs too the women were half naked and being objectified, being a groupie was like a badge of honor, or at least, that's the way I saw it portrayed, and the sad part is that it was considered normal back then, and then I grew up and realized it wasn't normal. so when I came across WOH and people were bashing it so bad I was so confused lol because i saw that the song was appreciating women not demeaning them. (opinions) so, in a strange and weird way, I guess I'm glad that the people calling that song misogynistic and tried to shame me for liking it didn't grow up being exposed to what i have been exposed to because let me tell you it's a huge difference. I love WOH. hope it's OK that I shared my thoughts 🙂💜
I love WOH. I really do and I'm so sad they never perform it anymore because of all the backlash it got. What a song they took from us! Lol plus WOH Yoongi was giving everything! And his verse?? Idk, maybe it's like you said and what I grew up listening too vs WOH seems so tame and appreciative in comparison lol Yoongis verse particularly
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It really bugs me that the Homelander fangirls are so overtly objectifying that they have to take or turn every scene that's meant to invoke serious thought or gross you out into something overtly sexualized. Or turn the smallest most insignificant detail into a huge deal.
Take for example the scene where Doppelganger, transformed into Homelander, offers to suck his dick.
Antony Starr flat out said that scene was one where Homelander was looking at himself, and seeing a side he viewed as weak and pathetic and needy. A side of himself he hates. And at the same time, he feels disgusted and uncomfortable because he doesn't have any empathy for himself. Which means Doppelganger turning into him and doing that:
One, turned him completely off.
And two, gave him a ton of actual emotional dismay.
But then the fangirls will be like:
"OMG! Look at him think about it, he totally wanted it! He wanted to get it on with himself!"
When no. Based on the guy who actually legit acted the role and the words he said. He was disgusted and uncomfortable and having mental crisis because of it.
And the way fandom responds to half the shit either means one of two things.
That Antony Starr is a horrible actor who can't convey what he really means in any scene and is nothing beyond a handsome face.
Or the Homelander fangirls are the absolute worst at interpreting these scenes and cannot actually read the character properly.
Because they only care about objectifying him.
Weird how the people who constantly try to humanize him the most completely miss the mark and do the best job dehumanizing him in favor of sexual objectification.
Same fangirls will cry about his name being "John Gillman" and throw tantrums about it like high school mean girls with zero self awareness. He is the character from the comics whether you like it or not. There is no legitimate reason that wouldn't be his name. Not even being related to Soldier Boy who's only listed as his sperm donor in archives. Gillman would likely be his egg donor's/surrogate's surname.
But Homelander's reaction to people using his civilian name is negligible at worst compared to his reaction to Doppelganger. Or even his reaction to being called a "monster" in Diabolical, and even the main show. And yet somehow, he "wanted" to fuck himself but "hates" his name?
Two things. Get off your damn high horses that make you think you're an expert on Homelander when the stuff the actors say prove you wrong, and learn some actual media literacy and character analysis.
And, maybe grow up about the name thing and objectification too.
I get it you horny fuckers, Antony Starr is hot. So the least you could do is actually interpret his acting correctly.
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