ROLL WITH IT [g.way x reader]

Chapter 1: Doctor Who

Your life was miserable.

Alright, maybe you were overreacting a little bit, but your existence wasn't exactly what you wanted it to be. Living in the year of our lord, 2022, was an experience that you weren't too fond of going through, considering the political turmoil, the recession, the wars — everything just seemed to get worse and worse every day, like god was crossing off a list of things to make the world burn.

Speaking of lists, your shopping list needed to be done by Friday, if you wanted to, y'know, eat.

A mumbling curse escaped you, as you tapped viciously on your computer — the afternoon light shining through your window made your headache even worse, and the loud noises from the street underneath your flat weren't helping. Your eyes flickered to the clock in the corner of the screen, and you grimaced as you noticed it was only four; still yet another hour and a half until the blessed end of your work. This review of "Fleetwood Mac's 'Rumours': revisited" was taking far longer to polish up than you thought.

Being a magazine editor for the relatively underground 'Punk Movement' paper wasn't the worst job in the world, but you weren't exactly having the time of your life either. In terms of fame, it was pretty locally known, with the majority of the edgy teens hanging around town buying its bi-monthly copy, but it didn't really crop up outside of your home state of South Dakota. Though, you didn't really venture out of Watertown, where you were currently situated.

You spared another glance at the time, instead on your wristwatch. One minute had passed, and you'd made zero progress. Working from home had its perks, but it also had its downfalls, one of those being that you actually had to make yourself shit, rather than just buying something from the office cafeteria. As if to confirm your dismal state, your stomach let out a begging mewl, and you remembered that you hadn't eaten since lunch.

A small grumble escaped you, as you stood up, about to approach the kitchen; but then slumped over and groaned, recalling that the whole reason that you were going shopping tomorrow was because you had nothing in the fucking fridge. So, instead, you lumbered towards your living room, leaving your tiny, man-cave of an office, to search for your wallet.

Your house was small. Small, but practical, closed up with the blinds shut 90% of the time, with little pieces scattered around — a book here, a pen there, perhaps one of your treasured vinyls lying next to the record player you'd spent half your weekly wage on — you weren't good at being organised.

As you at last located some coins and notes, beneath an old copy of 'Kerrang!' you'd kept from your younger days, you frowned when you noticed a CD out of place, on the floor. Crouching down, you picked it up, wondering when you'd taken it out; and then softened, when you recognised the bloodied faces of the demolition lovers, both in silent misery and despair.

You had a soft spot for My Chemical Romance, you really did. You'd been an absolute emo, back in the day, kicking your feet whilst listening to 'Three Cheers', wailing "I'm not okay", while lying in bed, like a dying goat. Having been born in 1994, leaving you 28 now, they broke through at exactly the right time for you, as a lonely, depressed kid on the edge of teenage-hood. Even as the years had gone on, you'd been surprised that you'd only grown to appreciate the band more, with their musical talent only registering to you after you gave their discography a proper listen following your fresh graduation from college.