#it really made me laugh. conservative coded...

[blorbocedes]

george wearing a collar you say……….

this has been bouncing around my head so thank you for letting me throw it out

cw: undernegotiated kink, bad etiquette, slightly dubcon... misunderstanding(?)

This sort of club isn't George's usual scene; considering it's at an abandoned warehouse with a password to get in. But it is exclusive, and George likes that about his clubs. It's no Soho House but something about a gated community just made George feel more... comfortable.

"What are you wearing?" His friend, Soph, laughed at him, whose dress code instruction was incredibly vague -- "dress edgy" and George did! He wore the only pair of ripped jeans he owned, his black pure silk Saint Laurent shirt with too many buttons open for a bit of edge, and a plain leather jacket. He even had his sunglasses hooked on his button hole, in case he needed it, for an indoors event.

Sure, it was a bit tame compared to the glitter, spikes, fishnets, and giant combat platform boots Soph had going on — who was going through a bit of a rebellious phase to hide George's and her parents sat on the same board and they holiday together in Greece. George felt a bit miffed, he's never been dress coded before.

"Wear this at least. They have a no shoes, no shorts, no tories policy." Soph fiddled around her own neck, while George rolled his eyes, wondering why he agreed to be dragged to this hippie socialist pied-à-terre in the first place.

"Crikey, is that a dog collar?!" George asks, as she places as black, leather collar fitted across his neck with little metal hoops all around the side — to be pulled from. He delicately fingers it, it's snug across his neck but will no doubt get uncomfortable and will be itching to take it off before the night ends. The weight of the collar makes him keep his neck arched, like a noble crane. It's all kinds of ridiculous, isn't it?

"Much better."

Sophia, have you brought me to a BDSM dungeon?George wants to ask incredulously. By the way everyone else is dressed, Soph is conservative by their measures. Dimly lit, red lighting, a small, intimate stage, rock music playing; and various meandering rooms. Mohawks, bright peacock-like hair, body modifications, George is pretty sure he sees a woman in a mesh bodysuit with nothing underneath and nine inch heels. The exposed concrete of the warehouse really added a sense of debauchery, people wouldn't be practically copulating against a Calacatta marble pillar. There's no coat-room either, incredibly middle class of it all. Toto, we're definitely not in Camden anymore.

Before George can complain, Soph has abandoned him to greet some friends and George, distinctly uncomfortable and not sure where to look, or if he's allowed to look, goes to the bar to calm his nerves. The bartender is intimidating, she has a slit in her eyebrow and ear gauges, tattoos all over, and chugs down whatever she hands him, burning his throat; sliding a £50 note to keep 'em coming.

"Sorry, mat- George?" A blond stranger bumps into George.

No, not a stranger. Alexander Albon. Alexander Albon who is blond now, in those leather jacket with spikes across the shoulder pad, a tight graphic tee stretched across his chest, and... eyeliner. He has black rimmed eyes, and a smattering of glitter across his cheekbone like he'd hugged a fairy. He looks good, he looks really good, and George hasn't seen Alex since he'd asked him out and Alex politely declined, saying they'd be better off as friends.

George dry swallows. "Alex." He drinks his horrible vodka concoction to not say something stupid, like, 'you're blond now?' or 'why didn't you accept my Instagram follow request?'

Alex takes a seat beside him, "I wouldn't have pegged you for a place like this." Alex's eyes drop to the collar George is wearing, which once again makes George all too aware of the constricting weight around his neck. "You always seemed a little..." Alex waves his hand, grinning, and George can mentally fill in the blank.

"There's a lot you don't know about me." George says defensively, crossing his legs.

"Drinks like a champ too." Their bartender vouched, and y'know what George always liked her and her scary body modifications, he decides.

"Full of surprises, huh, Georgie?" Alex's voice drops low, giving George the once over before settling on his neck once again. He's being flirted with, George confirms to himself dumbly, gorgeous fit Alexander Albon, who had previously stared blankly with a polite indifference to George's dinner invite, is now eyeing him with very much of that reciprocal interest. The alcohol buzzing through him doesn't help, this isn't how he courts; but it allows him to be braver -- seize the day, carpe diem, carte blanche, his French gets all muddled when he's tipsy. Alex's fingers trace the edge of his exposed knee in his ripped jeans that's knocking against George's, the ghost of a touch but full of intent.

"D' you wanna find out?"

To George's immeasurable disappointment, Alex doesn't whisk him away to a 3 course meal at a Michelin star resturant, La Gavroche if mummy's still friends with the head chef, and then a night at the Ritz -- he's not a prude, he puts out on the first date. Instead, they make their way closer to the stage where the band was playing, apparently Alex's friends, but it truly sounded like just noise. And George isn't entirely snobbish about his music, he's listened to The Smiths quite a bit. It's good to align politically with your favourite artists.

Thinking he spotted Soph and needing her womanly intuition if Albon totally wants to shag him, George means to beckon to her but instead finds himself squished between a number of bodies, all throwing themselves around in the mosh pit. He's too uncoordinated, the weight of everyone around him too strong to do anything but be swept in the wave, helpless, until he feels himself being pulled by his collar, choking him, and then a stronger pair of hands across his waist pulling him out.

"Got you. You were getting swallowed up there. Unless... you're into that?" Alex's breath is warm against George's ears, and he's so grateful; to be pulled out of the crowd, to be in his arms.

"I'm into whatever you're into." George wraps his arms around the back of Alex's neck, pulling him in closer, every touch between them electric. He definitely doesn't need Soph's opinion with the way Alex smiles wickedly, correct answer, ding! one point for George.

"Georgie, I never knew," Alex gasps, and he sounds giddy, kissing George against the bathroom stall door. "I really thought you were this," Alex shoves a knee between his legs, pushing down on his crotch, "'posh,' 'uptight', 'wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this' type." Alex laughs, punctuating each denigration with a kiss, biting down on his bottom lip, hard. "Really, when you asked me out I thought it was like, to croquet. Fuck, I wish I'd known then." He shakes his head in disbelief, his eyes so dark George can barely see the brown. George's expensive Raybans meet their death, falling to the floor somewhere, and he can't bring himself to care as long as Alex keeps touching him.

George finds out two things about Alexander: he's kind of an asshole, and it does nothing to hinder just how much George finds him devastatingly hot. He was also not wrong of his initial assumption of George as vanilla, the most sexually adventurous thing he'd ever done was have a girlfriend peg him. Alex's hand wraps around George's throat, above his collar, and presses down; choking him, as he grinds down on him. George tries to say his name, to ask to go back to the kissing -- horribly out of his depth here -- but his garbled voice comes out as a moan instead, putty in Alex's hands, making no resistance to push him off.

"Prim and proper George Russell, who likes getting choked out. Who would've thought?" Alex mistakes it for wanting more, but the reverent almost impressed voice makes George continue the ruse. It's not lying, he tells himself, just obfuscating the truth and letting Alex believe what he thinks.

"Can I blow you?" George asks, thinking quick. Alex can't call out his bluff that way, and George does an especially good job Alex will fall in love with him and their reservations for La Gavroche are back on.

Alex barely nods before George slides on his knees, bare knees hitting the fake concrete, due to his ripped jeans, thanks so much Soph. Alex is half hard as George unbuckles, which is flattering, and pulling Alex out... he's a nice length, a nice weight in George's hand who strokes it to full hardness, nothing unbearable about it -- completely inoffensive, George could pen poems about its pleasantness. He tentatively closes his mouth around the tip, hand on shaft, when Alex pulls him in by the back of his head, and shoves his dick all the way in his mouth, fucking his face.

Oh.

That's how they're doing this then. George has a gag reflex, and he chokes the first time Alex's dick hits the back of his throat; tears springing to his eyes as he pulled off to cough.

"Sorry, shit, should I--?" Alex asks — and George imagines Alex walking out on him, in the middle of an aborted blowjob, because he couldn't keep it together for five minutes. It's one thing if Alex never gave him a chance, it's another entirely if George blows his shot -- quite literally. With renewed determination, he goes back to working on Alex's cock, with a fervour until his hands find his way back to his hair, face-fucking him but with a more careful pace, to not fully hit the back of his throat. The few times George does gag, Alex lets him breathe before going back in, relentless.

"Fuck, I'm gonna--" he hears Alex groan from above him, his grip on George's hair loosening. Where is George going to spit, he wonders, knee uncomfortably jammed between the commode and makes the pragmatic decision to keep hollowing his cheeks and keeping as much of him in as Alex comes inside his mouth.

George thinks, bloody hell fuck it, and swallows. It's gross, but the vodka he had was grosser and the way Alex sounds when he says his name is so worth it.

Alex thumbs George's lips, swollen and spit soaked, hair a complete mess and tears prickling from the corner of his eyes. It's not a pretty sight, but Alex's hand cups the side of George's face, gentle, sliding down to his neck to pull at the collar's hoops, which feels branded on him. George feels thoroughly debauched, breathing hard, tenting in his jeans, his knees fucking ache, his jaw aches; all intangible proof of Alex all over him. He got it. He won.

Someone from outside the bathroom calls Alex's name, who turns around, tucking himself back in.

"You're sweet, George. This was fun. I'll text you, yeah?"

Later that morning, George assesses the damage done to this throat. Splotchy red indents from where the leather of the collar dug in, from where Alex's hands had been. A week of turtlenecks for him, then.

His phone buzzes a notification.

@.AlexAlbon is now following you!

#i wrote this really high so I'm not sure about the pacing and all #if any of it's bad just chalk it off to George it's his pov ok #galex #my fics #f1 rpf #read the cws before proceeding! #cw: under-negotiated kink #cw: dubcon #this is deeply self indulgent bc eye think characters should have bad sex more #blorbocedes ask #nobody's allowed to feel bad for George everything here he has brought upon himself

[runthepockets]

Finished Shameless. Thoughts:

Gallavich 5ever bitch.

Frank dying actually made me pretty sad. I assumed he would have gotten covid or something being that he's old and conservative, but watching him slowly get worse with his dementia and watching his body fail was way more tasteful and actually made me feel bad for the old bastard.

Liam ended up being pretty awesome by the end. I wondered if they were just gonna be colorblind to him being the only black person in a white family but they actually handled his character arc really well and made him really well rounded and sympathetic. He's got all the street smarts and wit and charisma of his family but he's also the only Gallagher that you can say is a good person, which is a great balance for a little black boy to strike.

Carl's character arc with the police force was actually really tasteful? I was expecting him to just be a sadistic asshole and that it was gonna get played off / played for laughs the whole time, cus, ykno. But he was the only guy on the force who actually cared about doing the right thing and they just demoted him to a meter maid over it, and he just dished out justice via writing parking tickets for rich assholes and letting the poor people off scott free. Imo his character wasn't actually that inconsistent he went from a boyish thug, to a "tough guy" lout, to a kind, respectful, upstanding young man who still maintained a charming level of mischief and a disturbing interest in violence. He was younger than his other siblings and had a much different temperament than all of them (most noticably Debbie) so his ending just made sense to me.

I wish Fiona got to be in the finale, and I wish we got to see Mandy one more time too.

Lip's character arc wasn't actually that disappointing to me, it felt very real? Yeah he's a smart guy he went to college and tried to do everything right, but has always come up short cus he's constantly getting in his own way, be it via his lack of impulse control or his anger issues or both or neither. Him being stuck working doing Doordash or Postmates or whatever to make ends meet feels very real. Him fixing that guy's Crypto code and saving that guy's business only to get tipped a meager 4 bucks in the end is pretty all encompassing of being a smart guy with no money or connections, like it just is what it is sometimes.

Imo Debbie had the most disappointing character arc of the series. I wouldn't say it's a surprise she grew up crazy considering she, like, stole a baby from a birthday party as a kid cus she was lonely, and followed Jimmy to his mom's house to figure out about his double life, but a lot of her charm in those days was due to an integral childish innocence and naievete that everyone runs out of by the time they're like, 15. I like that she still had a strong sense of justice, I still think she was pretty smart and tough for the most part, I don't hate her or anything, but Jesus. A lot of the shit she did toward the end was just super frustrating and made no sense, she was just really bratty and bitchy and kind of a woman child toward the end, just starting a bunch of pointless beefs for no real reason, dating that ex con with a huge rap sheet cus she was a worse / "more pathetic" person than Debbie. Idk bro it was just weird. I did like her dynamic with Fiona as the only two female Gallaghers to Fiona leaving and her becoming the "matriarch" figure from then on pretty interesting but ultimately Lip was the better "parent". Lol.

#Now I settle down and read Umineko.

[carsonian]

stony prompt: trapped together while of them is injured, tropey goodness! :D

Forced myself....FORCED MYSELF to do a drabble. Hope ya like, Jen! <3 Other prompters, I'm making my way over to you!

Transcendental Blues on AO3 | 1,177 words | Rated G

“This is fine.”

Tony’s voice was edged with the frantic tightness of a desperate man trying to convince himself he believed what he was saying.

“I agree.” Steve said, swallowing back blood.

That didn’t seem to relax Tony at all; shoulders rising high enough that Steve was able to detect the plates of the armour moving with it.

“I’m sorry.” Steve said.

“This is not your fault.” Tony bit out. He was standing, body turned away a little as he finagled the comms.

“Bad call.” Steve said. It was getting harder and harder to talk; some gnarly combination of blood and phlegm crawling up his throat, making him desperate to keep his mouth shut lest it all come spewing out.

He pointedly didn’t look down at the rebar.

“You know, considering that you’re about as stubborn as a goddamn mule about your calls normally, deciding to pick now as the moment to go—” Tony breathed out petulantly, “Not the time. Anyway.”

He came back to Steve’s corner, gravel and blood underfoot, settling down on the floor next to him. Tony looked waxen; pale and worried, and what startled Steve more was how little he was doing to disguise any of it.

Tony was honestly terrified.

“Hi.” Steve’s voice was closer to a rasp now.

“Conserve your energy.” Tony urged, voice low, “I’ve sent out an S.O.S. to every comms network I’ve got the codes of, but I don’t know when it’ll get through to the team.”

“They saw the. . .”

“Shh.” Tony said, “I know, I know, they saw the explosion. But—we’re in a time crunch.”

“Heh.” Steve managed. “Time crunch” was a very Tony Stark way of describing the current circumstances: rebar through Steve’s torso, his left leg under a pile of debris heavy enough that he couldn’t lift it himself, and the only other person who may have been able to lift it—Tony—had scraped himself out of a decimated Iron Man suit.

“You okay?” Steve rasped. He’d never seen the armour crumple the way it had when the building collapsed. Tony’s yell had struck off true heart stopping panic in Steve’s own chest. And that was before the rebar had even made its way through it.

Tony gave him a put-upon expression, “Shut up.”

“. . .Distract.” Steve said, the word more of a sigh than anything.

Tony got the meaning of it, and he shifted a little, “Well. Would now be a good time to talk about our relationship?”

Steve couldn’t afford to laugh; he really didn’t have the breath for it. But his head lolled forward in helpless amusement and then Tony was there, letting him brace his forehead against his shoulder. And that, that was nice.

Below sweat and fear and blood, there was the faintest tinge of musky cologne. It bolstered him, reminded him of the solid strength of Tony in a suit, of the way his lips curved mischievously up when he knew he had someone by the balls (literally or metaphorically).

Steve breathed in and out, tried to acquaint himself with the pain.

“I hate this.” Tony whispered, “I hate seeing you like this.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Tony pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “I just. . .it freaks me out. When it’s you.”

“Rather. . .”

“No—no, don’t say that. I’d rather it was me.” Tony hushed him when he tried to muster up a strong enough denial. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, let’s not—let’s just—you just rest, okay?”

“Mm.” Steve sighed, froze after, “Puke.”

Tony managed to move away just in time.

“Jesus fuck.” Tony said, “That’s—there’s blood in that.” He propped Steve up, drew his sweaty strands away from his face and rubbed his thumbs against Steve’s temple. He watched with bleary eyes as Tony moved back to the Iron Man suit, yanking one of the gauntlets open and then—and then—Steve was having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

He must have made some noise, some wretched animal sound that betrayed his exhaustion, because just before his eyes gave up on holding out, he met Tony’s earnest, heart-stricken face as the man scurried over to him.

The last thought Steve had before he fell unconscious was a remorseful, I wish we hadn’t fought.

.

Steve woke up and immediately wished to return to unconsciousness.

“No, it’s fine. You’re okay.”

His lips split when his mouth parted, and he breathed in shallowly. It felt, for just a moment, like there was an asthma attack burgeoning in him. And then he got through the tightness and his lungs expanded reassuringly.

“Tony.” His voice was steady, if not a little dried out.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t remember.” Steve said.

“. . .Oh. The building collap—”

“No. I don’t remember,” Steve swallowed, and spared a thought for how long it would be before they let him brush his teeth, “What did we fight about?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Tony said. Steve still couldn’t get his eyes open, but he didn’t particularly want to, and he exhaled in a long, winding breath. There was the slightest whistle to it.

“I don’t remember.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, Tony.”

“I’m sorry, alright? We don’t need to talk about it—”

Steve couldn’t figure out how to inject the right amount of need into the words, to make it obvious how much he wanted to talk, for Tony to remind him what it was—what it was that had Tony pull away from Steve, that had Steve make the wrong call out of frustrated distraction, that led to all of—he begged, “I don’t remember.”

“. . .I do.” Tony said, “Do you want me to tell you?”

“Yes.”

He could feel the serum working in a slippery feeling close to placebo, healing him from the inside out. And then there was Tony, sandwiching Steve’s hand between both of his, rubbing the top of it slowly—and that was healing too, from the outside in. Hearing Tony’s voice, wholly uninterested in a fight, recall their disagreement with soft but clear words. Steve loved him for the fact that even now, he didn’t try and muddy either of their points; let the sharpness stick out without drawing needless attention to it.

“It was a bad call.” Steve admitted. His head was feeling a little clearer; wakefulness felt less and less like a mistake. “Going for the bomb first.”

“Yeah. It was.” Tony agreed simply, “And I was riding you too hard about the Brooklyn nest.”

“You were.” Steve said, and with less effort than he’d thought it take twenty minutes back, he opened his eyes.

And Tony was right there, with him. As he had been, for all of this.

“Thank you.” Tony said, and it felt like a mirror trick, like he’d pulled the words out of Steve.

“I meant to say that.” Steve said.

Tony’s smile had just a bit of mischief, colour returning to his cheeks, “I know.”

“Me too.” It didn’t quite make sense, but it felt true enough, and as Tony’s smile widened, slanted; he knew Tony understood it too.

#my writing #my fics #stevetony #ishipallthings #prompt fill

[notallwonder]

Watching the new episodes of Criminal Minds: Evolution again.

Under a Read More for those avoiding spoilers.

+ Point of clarification: did they retcon that JJ & Will never moved to New Orleans, or are we to believe they moved away then back at some point? -> answered in Ep 2 Will says "since we got back".

+ Garcia's "I used to be good at that" re: putting on English mannerisms made me smile bc callback to when Emily was at Interpol

+ Luke is a sweet sweet guy. I like him a lot, though to be honest I don't pay that much attention to him (because my attention is elsewhere *cough* Prentiss).

+ something really rubs me the wrong way about those "hers" antidepressant ads. They seem kind of creepy / dystopian?

+ I hope we get to know some of Penelope's new friends a bit.

+ it still really cracks me up that Garcia uses such tricked out GUIs on her computer. That shit takes up RAM and makes everything hard to see. Because computer nerd on (network) TV. But also, good for her.

+ the whole SOAR concept is too funny. No one born before the millennium has access besides PG? Does she code and maintain the whole thing all by herself (obvs not)? Are the engineers also only 22 and younger? (this would become a legal issue of ageism in hiring!) Also "unhackable"...so there's some kind of elaborate and potentially invasive verification system to prevent catfish accounts? Really. And once you age out of SOAR are you just thrown to the 30-50 feral hogs with the rest of us?

+ EMILY PRENTISS YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL GORGEOUS SHOWSTOPPING I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU

+ second time around I continue to appreciate AJ Cook's well muscled shoulders.

+ I'm very happy they got Zach Gilford for this role. Who knows if the writing will ultimately be good (lmao), but he has the range.

+ Director Noodle at it again, throwing a tantrum because Emily Prentiss did not bow to his will. Section Chief Foxiest Silver Fox does not simply roll over and obey (in her professional life at least).

+ lmao the not-an-Oscar-Wilde-quote quote attribution is so unnecessarily dumb

+ Emily & Tara are a great duo. Friends, crime-fighters, (etc!), they just stand up well to one another. The vibes are fabulous. It's the dynamic closest to what Emily had with Derek, that comfortable teasing and trust.

+ also noting that Tara asks Emily if she knows Rebecca Wilson, and apparently she does - enough to know she's at the DOJ. Perhaps they've worked on case(s) together before. Orrrrr maybe they met at some LGBTQ Feds networking event. 😏 Emily does give her a very warm smile when Rebecca shows her face at the BAU.

+ The way Zach Gilford asked unsub #2 "are you disobeying me?"............I don't know, it made my ears perk.

+ in the Garcia / Rossi scene, there is much to enjoy. The insight into Garcia's mindset. Rossi's resigned "I did. I kept falling asleep." I can't help but laugh at PG fully saying "Licensed Clinical Social Worker." I appreciate the specificity, but it's a whole mouthful!

+ fucked up that Garcia's login credentials still work. Any self respecting agency would make you change your password every 3-6 months at least, not to mention she's No Longer Employed There. But who needs real administrative mess when you can have loony toons (plot-based) administrative mess?!

+ Tara wearing a lot of plaid and window pane patterns. Aside from the obvious, it's just a nice costuming choice that remains kind of conservative but sets her apart from the others.

+ Most of the wardrobe is in blues and browns and grays. I wonder if this will change as time goes on (i.e. will Garcia bring the color back) or if that's going to remain through the whole season.

+ Okay, but did y'all also catch the weird look that Rebecca & Luke exchanged in this briefing room scene? It seemed like more than "close the door". Is there some kind of history there?

+ Oh this show is so silly!!!!! So silly, and it still makes me happy. Incredible.

#cm spoilers #criminal minds spoilers #cme spoilers #criminal minds evolution spoilers #cm16 spoilers #spoilers #so many spoiler tags #cm16 #criminal minds #criminal minds evolution

[llycaons]

ep6: oh shit, there’s women in this show!

the fact that nhs knocks with a secret code. lmao

every single time I see this scene I have the same thought and its ‘jc tells wwx to stop being gay for alcohol’ because that’s what wwx is doing here metaphorically

I LOVE when they’re all scrambling here and wwx crosses his legs and fixes his hair

mind-control talisman must be insanely powerful to work on lwj so it must have some kind of constraints, like it’s not a total mind control, the subject has to be caught off-guard, etc. I like to think wwx realized how unethical it was after this and destroyed it but it’s a very strong magic spell to just drop and never mention again (LIKE TIME-STOPPING)

cut-sleeve? is this an intentional nod? it seems deliberate enough. is wwx in-universe testing the waters? he seems to think lwj is straight later on

THIS SHOT. SO CUTE

how he says wife...

I think lwj def knows he’s gay he’s just resigned to being alone for life because he can’t fathom being allowed to marry anyone but a woman and he doesn’t want to do that obviously. also he’s isolated bc of the autism and reputation... god, this scene is so sad

I didn’t realize this happened so early in the series! it’s so cute!

wcz is wearing jiang purple

this kid is SO well cast, he looks so similar to wwx esp around the eyes

lwj’s posture is killing me he is so fucking funny drunk

this set is SO pretty

this scene REALLY jumped out to me on my first watch - wwx sees lwj not bend and is determined to match him. not to be outdone

HE IMMEDIATELY STARTS PLAYING UP HIS WOUNDS WHEN THEY MEET WITH LXC. god wwx is such a delight

aww, lxc. nobody else would talk about him to his mother. this is so kind bc obviously it means a lot to him

actually I think wwx is perfectly within his rights to be annoyed that lqr treats him differently based on something his mom did. come on, lxc!

SHOE FLYING AWAY. THERE IT GOES. LOVE THAT MOMENT

at this point I think wwx has a crush but he also just wants to be friends so if lwj isn’t interested in him that way (and at this point he def thinks lwj is straight)  he still wants to hang out. I don’t think he expects his feelings to be very strong and in fact, in the future I read him as avoidant and scared of his feelings precisely because they’re more powerful than he knows what to do with. but for now it’s just a crush that he thinks he’s okay with not going anywhere as long as they get to hang out

lwj’s hair is so pretty here. this shot of wwx does make me laugh

hm. this means nothing to me. they’re not at a point yet where it means anything to them either and it was done just to protect wwx so *shrug*

wwx sheepishly getting off the ancestral table and then makinh gestures to dust it off is so fucking funny he has so much personality and charm

ik this is supposed to be a romantic moment but the guy looks so head empty. nothing going on behind those eyes. what do they brits say? gormless? he’s gormless

that post like ‘he becomes excited and deferential at the sight of a lesbian’ very true.

lwj doesn’t interact with many women throughout the show but he’s always very polite to them. probably still misogynistic, as every man is in this series is, but arguably less so than wwx (calls jl a mistress to demean him) and jc (has that stupid list of ideal wife qualities, genuinely tried to marry wq away from her family). he clearly respects ly a lot as his elder and I would love to have seen more interactions between him and other women.

heyyy demon subdue palace

ly being the only female leader of a very conservative and patriarchal sect is so fascinating honestly. would love to see more of her

also the rabbits with headbands might be dumb, but I think they’re cute

every single thing ly says also applies to wwx. the show hitting you over the head with parallels: DO YOU SEE HOW WWX AND LAN YI ARE SIMILAR. DO YOU SEE IT?!

I fucking love parallels. they made those women lesbians together

personal highlights:

lwj slouched over when drunk

wwx playing up his wounds when they see lxc

that shoe flying into the pond

wwx making a show of dusting off the table he was sitting on

#cql re-rewatch #SQUEEZED IT IN

[mandalorianbrainweasel]

Hi! I love you writing! I never really thought about Walon/Jaster before, but you make it so soft?

Anyway, if you ever wanted too, I’d love to see you do anything more with Delta squad, either the four of them+ Walon, or just Walon and Sev? I feel like Delta has a lot more repressed feelings that are bound to burst at some point, and a lot of confused feelings surrounding Walon. Him as well, since he clearly wasn’t great for them as children, but he does love them in his own way.

Sorry if none of that made any sense, or you’re just not interested. Regardless, I hope you have a lovely day 😊

Hello!! Yes I came up with Jaster/Walon and I love them very much.

At the moment I'm not really in the headspace to directly deal with Walon's Fucked Up Canon Actions and how Delta deal with that and how they feel about him etc etc. HOWEVER! I have a stalled out WIP that has something I'll think you'll like, Nonny. Under the cut we go 😌

[Context: Delta have been sent to lie low at Keldabe City's Hotel Sarad, owned by the Mereel-Fetts and notably hosted by Akaani'ka "Spar" Mereel.]

“We’ll be fine here,” Boss finally decides. Hopefully they’ll be cleared to go back by the time Vau returns.

“Why do you call him Walon?” Scorch asks their odd host.

They blink a few times. “I knew him. Before. So I’ve always called him Walon.” They clap their hands. “I need to get back to the courtyard. I’m usually somewhere about. Since you have Walon’s keystone, you’re able to take the back lift all the way up to the family rooms on the fifth floor, the ones that are gated off from the rest of the fifth floor. I have a bigger kitchen, so feel free to use it. The manager, Yeva, has my comm code if you need to get a hold of me and can’t find me. Walon said you are free to explore everything, but he went ahead and locked his room so everything he put away is out of your way. I believe he is aware you can all slice locks. I’ll make sure that the keystones made for you are the only ones that can open your room. Though I believe eventually all of the squads Walon trained are supposed to receive keys. Unlikely that you’ll all be there at the same time, after all.” They have deep dimples when they smile. “Anything else?”

None of the others say anything, so Boss says, “Not that we can think of.”

They nod, hand him the keystone, a shiny piece of rock with little lines of blue that glow like electronics, and then disappear.

“What,” Fixer says succinctly, “the kark?”

---

They spend the next while taking stock of the place. Boss picks through the kitchen, looking for listening devices and pondering at what Vau keeps in the conservator. Things that keep well, but most of it is incredibly foreign to him. The counters are stone, a number of the cooking utensils are beskar, as are all of the knives from what he can tell. There’s a row of cookbooks, and, next to them, there’s a holo. It’s not on, but when he clicks it on it shows Vau, but much younger. He’s laughing, arms wrapped around a clone. Until it dawns on him that it isn’t a clone.

It’s either Fett, or it’s the glamorous Mereel who showed them up. Obviously close, and even...happy.

He’s not sure how he feels about it.

While Boss goes through the kitchen, Scorch picks the lock into Vau’s bedroom, peeking in like Vau’s going to be there with a disapproving look ready and waiting for him. Instead, the room is empty and dark. There’s art on the walls, with swoopy swirls, vibrant colours even in the darkness, and asymmetric figures. Men and women and others dancing and lounging. Some are in beskar’gam, some look to be in fashion not terribly different from the Mereel’s style. The bed frame has similar lines, carved of thick, dark wood, and the sheets are soft and dark. There’s a bed that just screams Lord Mirdalan on the floor. There are flightsuits and more varied garments both in the closets. A few of the leather jackets he’d wear when he was really tired, on Kamino.

He steals a super soft sweater. He’ll put it back before they leave.

Fixer digs into the tech, seeing how far he can get into the hotel’s systems. Not far, not without something else—he doesn’t think it’s an organic being—curses him out and about locks him out of the system entirely. It punts him to a collection of databooks and it takes him only a minute to realize that Vau wrote them. They’re...interesting. It’s a collection of linguistics and philosophy, bits of history, all how they wrap together. It’s not something he would have expected from Vau, from the brittle way he always held himself, from the snapping and the frowns. No, all of it is thoughtful and hopeful and...kind of whole.

He wonders what happened. He wonders why he cares.

Sev is the only one who wanders into the free bedroom. Their bedroom, in a way, that smells of freshly carved and stained wood. There are two double beds, just like the Mereel said. They’re both a red wood, sturdy, and when he sits down at the end of one, the one with the blue sheets instead of the red, they’re firm but with a little indulgent softness. A treat, but not one they’ll be discomforted by. He looks up at the shelves lining the walls, matching wood with matching carvings—star motifs and swirls that he doesn’t know match the bed in Vau’s room—and boxes along it. Less than one hundred, and when he counts them there are ninety seven of them. Well. Ninety six, but there’s a ninety seventh one on the bedside table. A note asking them to ferry it to Atin. He recognizes a lot of the numbers, but he stands up and pulls out the four most familiar ones.

He brings them into the living area and sits next to Fixer, who is frowning at a datapad, and passes him the box with his name and number marked on it. Fixer scowls, but he opens it. And then he just stops, frozen. Scorch sweeps in from Vau’s bedroom with a giant sweater on and he slings himself across the other two’s laps, accepting his box from Sev with an “ooo!” Finally, Boss comes over with a plate of snacks, sets them on the dark brown table that sits low in front of the sofa, and accepts his own box as he sits down in one of the chairs. Only then does Sev open his.

Credits—Mandalorian and Republic. Identification—at least three separate identities and one even has their names as Vau. Datachips—Sev’s has information for an armoury building, Scorch’s has a garage plot and a key code, Fixer’s has bank account details, and Boss’s has a list of names.

It doesn’t take them long to realize it’s people who owe Vau.

“What is this?” Fixer asks.

Boss sucks in a breath. “I think...I think this is if we ever need a new life.”

Boss has them close the boxes back up, taking only a bit of the Mandalorian credits for now, and then they all stack them back up on the shelves. In case of emergencies.

The Mereel arrives less than half an hour later, clapping their hands and offering to treat them to supper.

#my fanfiction #delta squad #delta squad scorch #delta squad sev #delta squad fixer #delta squad boss #walon vau #scorch vau #sev vau #fixer vau #boss vau #guest appearance from Spar #hotel sarad

[heartfucksmouth]

OK so we bitched a lot about the dress code etc of the wedding this past weekend, but once I saw my cousin walking down the aisle legit crying bc he is so happy to marry this girl, I no longer cared.

I cried during the whole ceremony while holding Myles hand. the reception was SO FUCKING FUN and I will survive off the memories of my white-ass dad's side of the family attempting to dance to Latin music. I, of course, am honored and very proud to see my usually very conservative paternal family welcome a huge Mexican family with open arms as new in-laws. The bride's dad's speech was in Spanish and then he translated it to English. and at the end he made a joke to my cousin saying he believes they can have a great relationship, but either he needs to learn more English or my cousin needs to learn more Spanish and I scream-laughed. idk the vibe was just really amazing and it was such a positive night. money sucks and stresses everyone out, but I understand she just wanted her dream wedding, and she def made it come true. I feel like my boricua ancestors are rejoicing lol

my dad was also there and I managed to avoid him all night. he had told my mom he would respect my space. but I feel like he was ALWAYS in my sight line... but it was a minor stressor and I'm so happy for that bc I wS scared I'd see him and get triggered and have an anxiety attack. I'm thankful he mainly held his end, and I guess I can understand if he was watching me bc at least he was seeing me happy? we're going to go to Thanksgiving and he will be there and he is going to see us with Aidan.... which again. I feel like he can watch from "afar" but I still don't want to be directly involved with him. Aidan won't remember him right now so it's less of a worry for me.... but j don't wNt him thinking things will change. I still am much too terrified of Aidan experiencing the truly negative and nasty side of my dad. it's not easier this way. either, but it's what feels right.

I had more to write but I'm so exhausted. I got really bummed out that we got home and by 2pm I couldn't keep my eyes open and had to hand Ade off to Myles. like. I know I crash after events like this. but I hate feeling incapable as a parent. like I always have to be like "I'm so lucky people help me" but I'm starting to think it's less of a grateful feeling paired with that. and more of a guilt/shame feeling when I remind myself of it. I don't feel like I deserve it, and it's totally an internalized ableism thing that I can't shake.

I have a mountain of things to do. but I have to prioritize rest and sleep this week. cross my fingers I don't have a meltdown :)

#personal

[10holmes]

Biological sex is not arbitrary and a matter of personal identity. Intersex people are male or female. There is no third sex. You just sound ignorant and how it's not a matter of our disorders confusing you but your intention to reject us. If we have a uterus, we're female. It's the female reproductive organ. You should educate yourself instead of clinging to 5th grade biology and whatever mutuals said about intersex people which made you deny our sex. And I know you're a self hating white woman and all, but try to not reduce womanhood to femininity. That's the social construct, not our sex.

Intersex is a recognized biological sex, please stop sticking to your narrow-minded and conservative, 5th year biology knowledge. You rather show yourself to be very ignorant yourself with this ask...

Sex and gender are arbitrary concepts, which means certain characteristics were randomly assigned to these random categories ages and ages past and they are culturally and socially, also historically dependent and therefore not universally, 100%, all-time reliable and natural concepts, but in fact made up due to wanting to depict a morsel of the visible reality in language. Look up how arbitrariness of language works. Interesting stuff.

So, I see, you define "woman" and "female" by the fact whether a person has a uterus? Alright, then what about my mum? She's a woman but doesn't have a uterus because it has been removed. Is she not a woman anymore? Alright... Then what about women that don't have a uterus because they just weren't born with one but they may still have ovaries or also the other way around? No women? Mm.. they might disagree...

Also are you really telling me you reduce "women" and being "female" to an organ being used to be able to have children? Isn't that objectifying women? Isn't that misogynistic because you only see those as women that could potentially have a baby? But some women may not want to be defined by their fertility or by being able to reproduce? What about them?

Reducing womanhood to feminity? Terfs do this. They are very eager about promoting these narrow concepts of what feminity and womanhood are supposed to be like...

I don't think in terms of feminity or womanhood though, as I'm non-binary. I just look at stuff and lable it "feminine-coded" or "male-coded" or typically assigned to womanhood or manhood because that is how it is. Society and media have assigned certain traits, styles, appearances characteristics to "feminity" or "masculinity" when in fact these traits etc are all shared among humans and shouldn't be restricted by these categories. That's why we have all these issues with girls being labeled tomboys just because they may dress or act more "masculine" or boys being laughed at for wearing skirts or make-up... "femininity" and "womanhood" should not be rigid categories enforcing outdated gendernorms... They should be open, fluid concepts allowing for deviation or open hollows at the fringes.

It's all a social construct - both womanhood and feminity - by the way.

[spacedikut]

my all ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary:  “hey could i do a fic request for an x spencer? could u maybe do something with really touchstarved spencer (bc germaphobia) and him being at first too awkward to go n cuddle and then as he gains more confidence he gets much more touchy and huggy and stuff? and reader being shocked by how cuddly he is? plzplzplz? its totally ok if u dont write it but just wanted to send in the request!” 2689 words

a/n: i hope i did this justice! i love spencer reid!!!!!!!!!

masterlist

Spencer first realised how much he loves your touch after a case where he put himself directly in danger.

You ran up, flung your arms around him and pulled him against you so tightly he felt winded.

He was shocked, stunned, and everything in between, but the most important thing is that he hugged back. It felt natural, the right thing to do, and his arms felt so snug and perfect around you his heart stuttered.

You pulled back, noticed his expression, and winced despite his reciprocation, “Sorry. I just. You could’ve died, you moron. You scared me.”

All he did was give you a breathless smile and with a squeeze of his shoulders you let go, allowing him to get checked by a medic.

Spencer struggled to sleep on the jet home, plagued by the thoughts of you - you with your arms around him, how much he enjoyed how it felt.

It felt… wrong to like it as much as he did. Like, in theory, enjoying your physical touch went against his moral code – as a germaphobe, the thought of having to come into contact with anyone in any way makes him want to vomit. But, with you?

You smelt so good, even after running for God knows how long. You were so soft, yet so firm, so warm and welcoming and dear God Spencer has never wanted to touch every inch of someone so bad in his life.

The case was a rough one, so Garcia was waiting for you all with loving eyes and a pitiful smile, arms wide open for whoever may need it. Spencer instantly decides no thanks, but you swoop in and cuddle up to Garcia within seconds of seeing her.

You even place a series of kisses against her cheek, and Spencer is transported back to your hug.

If he was more like Garcia, open to any form of love as long as it’s love, would you have kissed him like that?

His pulse quickens, palms get sweaty and he has to clear his throat to bring himself back to Earth.

He can’t afford to think like that.

But your lips…

No. Paperwork? Let’s do that and not think about a colleague’s lips.

+++

You’re furious.

You told Spencer to wait for backup, to not do anything stupid or irrational and definitely do NOT go in there alone, genius!

And what did he do?

He didn’t wait for backup, did something very stupid and irrational, and definitely went in alone.

And now he’s dealing with a hefty concussion and flurry of other injuries; cuts, scratches, and bruises alike all dotted over him like he’s a connect-the-dots drawing.

The second he wakes up, you’re gonna kill him.

For the time being, you’ll gently thread your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp, and watch his chest rise and fall to ensure he’s alive and breathing.

“Mmm,” A groan, “That feels nice.”

His eyes flutter open. You lean towards the table next to him, pick up the bottle of water and the jello cup, and offer him both.

“Thanks,” He says, hoarsely.

You sit back in your chair. Spencer doesn’t take his eyes off you once. Not when he drinks the whole bottle of water, or when he cracks open the jello and inhales it with one slurp.

Your brows furrow.

“You’re banned from work until you’re fully healed.”

“I’m suspended?!” He guffaws.

“No,” You shake your head, “I’m personally telling you you’re not welcome back until you’re okay.”

“I’m okay now.”

“Do a backflip, genius.”

Spencer giggles, “I can’t do that in peak physical condition, Y/N.”

“Sounds like a cop out to me. So, again, you’re banned from work until you’re fully healed.”

He considers fighting back, but then he remembers what you were doing when he woke up, what he felt when he woke up.

He was confused and, you know, in pain, but there was this tender and soft, repetitive touch that immediately eased him. His subconscious knew it was you, in all your glory and sweetness, that had stayed with him for however long, looking after him even when he wasn’t conscious to know it.

So he just keeps staring at you, spoonful of jello in his mouth.

+++

When you get to Spencer’s place, he looks around like it’s his first time seeing it – awe and wonder painted on his face.

Everything he’s doing, everything he’s going through, you’re putting it all down to his concussion.

On the way here, he told you the whole history of car air fresheners after taking a good five seconds to get a good sniff of the cherry blossom scent you have.

“Let’s get you settled in, huh?” You say quietly, guiding Spencer to his bedroom. He walks a little like a mummy, kinda stumpy and heavy, and he flops on the bed.

You give a lopsided grin as you watch him. He’s mumbling incoherently, shuffling up to the top of his bed to fall flat on his back.

He moans.

“Alright, alright,” You placate, “Let me go… gather some things.”

You don’t know Spencer’s place all that well, so it takes you a while to find even the simplest things like a glass, a flannel, a snack. You get lost in snooping around, trying not to profile him, and the one thing you deduct is his apartment is so him. So Spencer, so lovely and comforting and a little odd.

You can’t get enough.

There’s a weak call from his bedroom: “Y/N?”

“Coming!”

He hasn’t moved an inch from where you left him. He looks so pitiful, bruised eyes and a cut right through his lip, and you almost coo at him.

“I’m not a good cook, so I thought we could order some food later.” You hand him the water and gesture for him to drink. “In the meantime, you need to rest. Mind if I borrow a book while I keep you company?”

You turn to leave, but Spencer’s voice makes you pause.

“Could you play with my hair again?”

A part of you wants to say no, like this is some overly intimate thing he’s asking, but then you remind yourself that he’s injured, which has reverted him to acting like a sleepy child.

“Please?” He looks at you with glassy eyes and he looks adorable, “Only for a little while.”

You say nothing, sliding into bed next to him. He scoots over a little to make more room for you, curling into you before your back hits the bed entirely. One hand rests above the covers, naturally placed on his arm, thumb smoothing him back and forth. The other, the one wrapped around his head, cards through his lightly tangled hair, all warm and loving.

He falls asleep instantly and, not long after, you fall asleep, too.

You both dream of eachother and wake up blushing.

+++

Spencer’s back in work within four days. You’re working a new case the second you arrive.

There’s been a shift in your dynamic and everyone’s noticed it. No one questions it, however, because they’re all aware you looked after him while he was away, and they witnessed how worried you were when you found him, but they can’t help but ogle and whisper.

They might be federal agents, but gossip is gossip and they love it.

You’ve noticed it, too, obviously. JJ tried to tease you about it, after Spencer bought you your favourite coffee and morning muffin on the way to the precinct, but you shut her down (and yourself from thinking about it too much) by reminding her you spent several days caring for him. He’s repaying you, even though you’ve told him he doesn’t need to.

Ever heard of transference, JJ?

A shiver runs through you as you look into the interrogation room. It’s not because of the suspect, though, it’s because the AC has been turned up – a tactic Hotch promises will be worth it despite your chattering teeth.

Something’s wrapped around you, suddenly, light but cosy and adds some heat to you that you need.

It’s a cardigan. Grey, much too big for you, the sleeves falling way beyond your arms and length reaching your mid-thigh. There’s a little red heart with eyes stitched on the left breast.

It’s Spencer’s.

“You’re shivering,” Spencer chastises, seemingly appearing from nowhere, “You know, when we shiver, it’s our bodies doing the opposite of sweating – it tightens the skin and shakes the muscles, a process that conserves and generates heat. We shiver to get warm. Do you not have a coat?”

“Alright, dad,” You tease, “It’s in the conference room. I wasn’t prepared for Hotch to make the unsub an icicle.”

Spencer breathes a laugh, moving closer to reach an arm around you. His other hand presses against your bicep, his grip sturdy as he vigorously rubs up and down your arms to generate heat.

Whoa.

It certainly works. You feel hot, suddenly, but not because of the cardigan or whatever the hell he’s doing, because Spencer has voluntarily touched you and is standing so close you feel like you’re on fire from the inside out. You’re sure your heart skips a beat and you stare at him in bewilderment.

He shrugs, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, “My mom used to do that for me when I was young and got cold. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

You give a shy smile, “Yeah, I appreciate it a lot, Spence. Thanks.”

When Hotch leaves the interrogation room, he half-halts when he sees you in Spencer’s cardigan. It’s the perfect Hotch reaction, combined with the rise of an eyebrow as he walks past you to reconvene with the team.

You don’t take it off when you all walk back to the conference room, and Spencer doesn’t ask for it back.

Everyone notices. A lot of eye contact is made with many questions silently asked.

You and Spencer pretend not to notice.

+++

There’s a knock on your door at precisely 10:12pm. You check because your first instinct is if I’m about to get robbed, I’m making sure the timestamps are correct.

It’s not a robber. It’s Spencer – frazzled, wrapped up all nice and warm like a pretty present, Spencer Reid.

His nose is slightly red from the biting cold outside.

Leaning against your doorframe, you say, “Hey there,”

“Hi,” He waves.

You stare for a couple of seconds, then remember the polite thing to do is invite him in: “Come in, come in! Do you want some tea? You look cold.”

“Coffee would be great, thank you.”

You move to your kitchen, not very far from your front door, but Spencer stays put and awkwardly glances around your place. He loves it, he decides. Very you.

You notice he hasn’t moved, “Make yourself comfortable, Spence. My cat is somewhere if you want to say hi.”

He slowly moves to your couch, removing his coat, scarf and satchel as he does it. Two drinks in hand, you join him and fling your fluffy sock-clad feet onto your coffee table.

“So what can I help you with?” You ask.

Spencer takes a sip of his burning drink, “What makes you think I want something?”

“Why else would you be here? You wanna watch Grey’s Anatomy with me?”

Spencer laughs lightly. You’re right. He’s here for a reason that isn’t to watch TV that he loves to correct with you.

He’s quiet, then, and does that thing where his tongue flicks out to lightly wet his lips in nervousness.

“Something’s been going on.” He starts, ambiguously, “And it’s left me asking a lot of questions.”

Your brows furrow. It’s not like Spencer to be cryptic like this.

“Did it mean anything?” He asks, finally, turning to look at you. “Any of it?”

“Did what mean anything?”

“The.. the playing with the hair, the over-all gentleness, the cuddling.”

Your shoulders tighten up and you hope he doesn’t notice.

He does.

“Spence,” You give a fake laugh, “You were hurt and I was comforting you. Looking after you. You know, like a friend does.”

“No one else did as much as you.”

“You wanted comfort, and I’m more than happy to provide that, Spence. Everyone else was busy.”

“You took time off for me.”

You don’t have an answer for that.

You’re trying to keep the conversation light and breezy to not show your true feelings. You’re not ready for that kind of conversation, but he’s right. You used your vacation days to stay with him and care for him.. and you know you didn’t do it platonically.

“You’re my friend, Spence,” You say, voice soft.

“That’s it? That’s all it was?” He doesn’t sound angry, or hurt, maybe peeved. He won’t look you in the eyes, though.

“What else would it be?”

Spencer scoffs.

He moves away from you, hands running through his hair in exasperation when he lets out a breath.

“We cuddled, Y/N. I haven’t done that with anyone in-in years! The last person was my mother when I was ten years old!”

“That’s supposed to mean something?!”

“I-I don’t know,” He sounds exhausted, as if the complications of his emotions are taking way too much energy out of him, “But I really liked it. And I really like you.”

You look at him, then, and he’s staring back. He looks… hopeful.

“I really like you, Y/N.”

You swallow deeply.

“I tried to show you with the uh, the cardigan thing,” He scratches the back of his neck, a laugh to mock himself leaving him, “But I’ve never been good with that stuff.”

He moves closer, shifting to face you, eyes remaining locked with yours.

“Say something.” He whispers.

“I-I-“ You stutter, “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. I’ve spent the last week thinking about it non-stop.”

“Really?” You laugh in disbelief.

“Yeah!” He gives a small smile, “I-uh.. wrote to my mom about you, too. She told me that if I’m this caught up on you, you must be special. Which you are, by the way.”

“I’m special?” You grin teasingly.

“Very special.”

There’s a moment where you think he’s going to kiss you, but instead he shyly asks, “Do you feel the same?”

You bite your lip. “I do. Really, I do. I’m just.. a little apprehensive, I guess.”

“Of what?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Nothing is stupid when it comes to you.”

God, he’s so infuriatingly sweet. You wish you could kiss him all over.

You might be able to, if all this goes well.

“I don’t want things to be weird if we don’t work out.” You admit, adding a shrug to appear casual. It’s not like you’ve worried about this since you realised you liked him.

Spencer tilts his head at you, “You’re already thinking about a breakup when we haven’t even gone on a first date?”

You giggle, which he returns with a smile, “I mean- I like you, Spence, and have for a while. I’ve thought about all outcomes.”

“All?”

You roll your eyes as he gives you a look, “Yes, all. I’d want us to work out but.. what if we don’t?”

He places a now warmed up hand on yours, “Well, we won’t know unless we try, right?” His hold tightens, “I’m willing to give it my all if you are.”

You look from your hands to his face, and decide yes, if there’s one risk you want to take in your life, it’s a risk that could possibly result in you spending the rest of your life with your favourite person on this planet.

So you nod.

“I’ll give you my all, and then some.”

He grins, “That’s quite the promise.”

You don’t reply, instead swinging your legs over his lap and leaning into his side to cuddle up to him. He reciprocates like it’s second nature, hand slipping from yours to wrap around your waist and tug you closer.

“Wanna watch Star Trek as a mini first date?” You look up at him through your eyelashes.

You really are perfect for me, Spencer thinks.

“Yes. Yes I do.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #mine #thank u to everyone who has sent a request i promise ive seen it #i kinda hate how the confession is written but im tired n feeling d*pressed and anxious #so take it pls

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 4

Will

Cult girl attends her grandmother's funeral and is approached with a highly unorthodox last will and testament.

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warnings: emotional manipulation and abuse, verbal abuse, death, slight emetophobia, body-shaming, ED mention, pregnancy and family planning

There was no use recounting anything from the leading up to the funeral. You spent that first night wine-drunk, munching on foie gras, watching Arrested Development and diagnosing each character to the best of your psychological abilities. You remembered cry-laughing at the same jokes you had memorized, and reminiscing on all the insane shit your own personal Lucille Bluth pulled on you. That was the highlight of the week. It was all downhill from there. 

Firstly, you were sick. That Sunday, you wrote it off as a hangover. Then, the hangover returned with a vengeance, just to add salt to the already open wound of having to pretend to mourn your abusive grandmother. At least the physical pain would give your acting an air of sincerity, you thought. 

Hannibal dressed in a solid black tux: it was almost uncanny to see him outside of any of his normal checkered suits. You selected a plain black dress and a strand of pearls.

The funeral was to be held at the same country club Anna’s wedding was held. Your grandmother was like a pharaoh, insisting that the empire she built know that even in death, she reigned supreme. The country club was her pyramid. 

Anna asked if you wanted to say a few words. As much as you wanted to get up and tell all her country club friends about the time she reported you as an abducted child at age twenty-two when you refused to leave your boyfriend and move back in with her, you knew that it wasn’t in good taste. You racked your brain for any story that could be considered remotely funeral-appropriate, but none came to mind. 

You spent the entire funeral trying not to roll your eyes too obviously at the stories of abuse her country club friends somehow remembered fondly. Your soul just left your body throughout the entire process and you were unsure if it would ever return. 

All things considered, it could have gone much worse. Then, it did. 

The beginning of the end was when your grandmother’s estate lawyer pulled you and Anna aside to conduct the reading of the will. He showed you to a side room, then excused himself before closing the door behind him. 

“Hello, [F/N].” Liam greeted, trying to cut through the awkward silence that came with first seeing each other after four straight years. “I’m very sorry about your gran. She was a great woman.” 

You gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks, Lee. I appreciate it.” 

“No she doesn’t.” Anna muttered. “And it’s Liam.” 

“I don’t mind ‘Lee’.” Liam contested. “My mum called me Lee. I actually quite like it.” 

Anna was in one of her ‘I’m so upset, please ask me why’ moods. She sat on one of the heavy armchairs with her legs crossed and eyes to the wall. You weren’t going to bite. 

Liam wasn’t so cautious. “Princess, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” She pouted, not even dignifying her husband with a look. “I just think it’s interesting that I put the funeral together all by myself and someone couldn’t even be bothered to speak.” 

You shot Liam a look that said ‘way to go, jackass’. 

“Yeah,” You said, sitting down in an adjacent armchair. “That must suck.” 

Anna glared at you. “You really have nothing to say? Really?” 

You tensed up. “Let’s see, which charming anecdote would you have me tell? How about that time when she made you wear a fat suit for an hour after you complained about how the low-carb ice cream tasted like chemicals?” 

Liam looked in shock at his wife. “Did she really?” 

“Once.” Anna confessed, holding up one finger. 

You turned to Liam, as if you were sharing some hot gossip. “That was all it took to give her an eating disorder when she was thirteen.” 

Hannibal was just a fly on the wall. Anna noticed his lack of reaction. 

“And I bet Hannibal knows all about this, huh?” Anna said, throwing her hand in his direction. “Because he just needs to hear all of our private family business, right?” 

You stood up from your seat. “First of all, I take offense at the implication that my fiancée isn’t family.” 

An evil smile spread on Anna’s face. “But he wasn’t always your fiancé, was he, [F/N]?” 

“Holy shit, you cracked the code.” You said, flatly. “There was a point in time when Hannibal and I weren’t an item. Real shocker, that one.” 

“You know what I mean.” She sneered, then approached Hannibal. “Dr. Lecter, is it true that before you and [F/N] became romantically involved, you were her therapist?” 

Liam looked scandalized. Hannibal was just as put-together as always. 

“That is true.” He said, feeling no shame whatsoever. 

Anna turned back to you. “Now don’t you think that’s just a smidge unethical? For a therapist to date their much younger patient?” 

You narrowed your eyes. You carried yourself with the lightness of a woman who finally had the moral high ground. “So you want to talk about what’s ethical, huh? I suppose that means you’ve told Liam about pineapple.”

All the blood drained from her face. You crossed your arms and held your head up a little higher. 

“That’s what I thought.” You grinned. 

“Look, could we just pretend to be a normal, functioning family for ten minutes?” Anna pleaded, as if there were anyone other than herself to blame for provoking an argument.

“That’s on you two.” Liam, rightfully, pointed out. He gestured to himself and then to Hannibal. “Neither of us have said anything.” 

The estate lawyer must have gotten his juris doctorate alongside a master's in impeccable fucking timing, because that was when he decided to make his entrance.

"I'm sorry for the wait, everyone." He announced. "And I'm sorry for having to pull you aside in your hour of mourning. Usually the last will and testament is handled through email to the beneficiaries, but your grandmother was quite adamant it be approached this way."

"That definitely sounds like her." You said, exchanging glances with Hannibal. You'd talked about this for what felt like hours the week prior. She was going to pull some last-minute bullshit to humiliate you from beyond the grave. Give all the inheritance to Anna and leave a snide comment about you in a legal document. You knew it was coming. All you could hope was for it to be quick.

The lawyer pulled an envelope from his briefcase. "She specifically asked for her two living grandchildren and their significant others to be present."

"Did she say it like that?" Anna raised an eyebrow. "Or was it more like, 'Anna and her husband, and [F/N] and her therapist'?"

"Mrs. Young," Hannibal said, taking your hand. "Until you tell your husband about pineapple, you aren't allowed to judge us."

Anna glared at you. "What the hell? He knows, too?!"

"Yeah." You answered. "I tell him everything."

"Okay, who or what is pineapple?" Liam interjected. "And why do I get the feeling I'm the only one not in the know, here?"

"That's cause you are." You confirmed. "And you have your lovely wife to thank for that."

"Everyone!" The lawyer called out. Clearly, he'd seen his share of dysfunctional families. "Please, let me just read the will and you can continue arguing afterwards."

"Y'know what? Fair enough." You said, crossing your legs. "Let's rip off this band-aid, shall we?"

The lawyer opened the envelope and produced a single page. He cleared his throat.

"I, Beatrice [L/N], being of sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath all my worldly possessions-" He began reading the long first sentence. "Including but not limited to, a collective sum of $45 million, the family home and my shares of the country club, to the first of my granddaughters to give birth."

You expected nothing. You expected something. But you never could have expected this.

"Can you please read that last part again?" You asked, unsure if what you heard was the result of a stroke.

"The entire inheritance goes to the first one of you to have a baby." The lawyer clarified, trying to make it sound like a reasonable arrangement.

"That makes sense." Anna said, nodding.

You looked at her, dumbfounded. "How in the fuck on fire does that make sense to you?"

"Well, the money would be going to a good cause." She rationalized. "To raise the baby, right?"

You shook your head. "No, this is insane. Grandma has always had this weird obsession with bloodlines, and now she's trying to incentivize us to carry it out."

"What happens if neither of us can, y'know?" Anna asked.

The lawyer pushed his glasses up his nose. "If neither granddaughter is willing to produce a child, the entire inheritance will go to the Eagle Forum, so my ungrateful grandchildren can learn about family values."

"She hated the Eagle Forum!" Anna objected. "She wouldn't dare."

"She absolutely would." You pressed your fingers into your forehead. "That's upper-class white moderates for you. And she doesn't have to be around to see when they name a fucking wing after her."

"The Beatrice [L/N] center for denying women bodily autonomy." Hannibal said. "It's quite fitting."

"[F/N], we can't let that happen." Anna pleaded. "We can't let Eagle Forum get a penny of that money."

"Why the hell not?" You said. Though on principle, you agreed, you knew this was just another one of your grandmother's power grabs. At the end of the day, she chose to leave her money to the Eagle Forum. And it would be her name on that check, not yours.

"Oh my god, you actually hate babies more than you hate conservatives." Anna stood with her mouth agape.

"Don't put words in my mouth." You snapped. "I don't hate babies. I hate grandma for trying to threaten me into having one. I hate grandma for pinning us against each other and making sure it stays that way."

"What do you have against giving me a little niece or nephew, huh?" Anna folded her arms.

"I'm fucking done." You said, throwing up your hands. "This will be the last you ever see of me."

Of course, that's what you said the last time.

#hannibal lecter #hannibal x you #hannibal x reader #hannibal nbc #more cult girl #cult girl #cult girl 2 #tw pregnancy #tw emotional abuse #tw death #tw conservatives

[the-firebender-girl]

The Dragon’s Mark (Zuko x Reader)

-> In which Y/N has no idea that she’s being courted.

Part II : The Dragon’s Bride

Zan (簪) is mainly used to fasten and tie hair up into a bun but it also has decorative and symbolic purposes. Wearing a zan is considered as a symbol of one’s dignity. The more rare the materials, the higher the social status of its wearer. The head of the hairpin is usually decorated with motifs of flowers or lucky animals. Dragon and phoenix motifs are reserved exclusively for the use of royal family.

A new world. One filled with peace, openness, and equality. That’s the reality that she lives in right now and she couldn’t be happier. Y/N was born and bred in Agna Qel’a, the capital of Northern Water Tribe. Although her and the rest of their people lived their lives peacefully in isolation behind high walls of ice that protects them from the ongoing war and making them untouchable to the horrors of destruction that has befallen soo many others including their sister tribe, she always wonders what she would find in the unknown world outside if she has the courage to do so. But all her life, she was forced to go by the ‘ignorance is bliss’ code. Especially since her father is a member of the chief’s Council of Elders.

The people of the Northern Water Tribe are traditionally conservative. Women can’t really hold prominent position of power nor can they participate in activities that is considered more of a man’s job such as fighting, thus why their women waterbenders are only taught to heal but never to defend. Women also become marriageable at the age of 16 and some of those marriages are arranged, with the bride in particular having no say in the matter. That’s the sombering reality of it, and Y/N had enough of these extremely sexist views and patriarchal ways of living.

But the arrival of the Avatar and the siblings from Southern Water Tribe changed it all, they’re like her salvation, a way out of this gilded cage of false sense of security. Too long has their people looked the other way while the rest of the world needs them. When the match between the girl called Katara and Master Pakku occurred, she was in audience. Bewitched by Katara’s strong-mindedness, how she kept on fighting despite having minimum experience against a master bender, still she gave it her all and that’s what matters. That’s when Y/N decided that this is the kind of person that she’ll proudly stand by, and thus why she decided to join the Gaang, thankfully they accepted her and welcomed her into the fold.

That felt like a lifetime ago, and now she serves as her tribe’s diplomatic representative in Fire Lord Zuko’s newly reformed court. Much has changed since the Hundred Year War came to an end, especially regarding the shift in societal’s view of women. Chief Arnook decided that she’s the best person for this job since she’s his best advisor’s daughter plus she’s already a close friend of the Gaang. After all the things that they’ve been through together, seeing eye to eye shouldn’t be that much of a problem right? Y/N is well versed in the customs of her tribe and will without a doubt put her people’s best interest at heart, but she has also seen enough of the world to have a clearer judgement on what is best for everyone. What must be done to heal the world and harmonizing the four nations.

But that is a story for another day.

As for today, Y/N has reached the age of 20, officially a full grown adult. Zuko insisted that a celebration should be in order since she’s one of his closest friends and has been a huge help to him ever since his ascendency. Everytime his hot temper almost got the best of him and ruin whatever agreement was about to form during council, she was there like cool soothing water that pacify his anger away. She has saved his face countless of time, building a fine rap that will define his ruling in history. And for this alone, she deserves all the best that he could offer her, but Y/N being Y/N declined.

“You sure the celebration thing is a no go?” Zuko asked again as he looked her way pointedly, meanwhile Y/N is brushing her hair softly in front of a mirror as it settles around her shoulder in waves.

Y/N let out a content sigh, “I just prefer a slow and easy day, you know? we rarely get to experience those...” She said, sparing him a quick glance. “And the Gaang is coming here anyway, it’s been soo long since we all gather in the same place. That’s more than good enough for me, Fire Lord”

Zuko hums which she took as a sign of agreement but his stare never stray away from her. “Alright if you’re sure, i’m sorry I can’t do anything about today’s council hearing though, it’s your birthday and you shouldn’t be bothered with work but they insist that it can’t be pushed back”

Now it’s her turn to stop concentrating on her hair and look at Zuko through the mirror’s reflection. “It’s fine, Zuko. You don’t have to apologize for anything you know, it’s just one hearing session and we’re done! after that we got the rest of the day to do as we please”

Y/N pointed the end of her hairbrush to him, making him raised an eyebrow, “You need to stop worrying or else you’ll start getting gray hair one of these days”

Zuko scoffed but then let out a rare smile that is reserved for those closest to him only, he let his eyes trail over the lengths of her hair which she’s currently pulling into an updo. A traditional Fire Nation updo nonetheless. Fingers moving expertly as if she has done this her whole life despite the significant difference on hair custom in their respective nations.

“You’re getting really good at that...” Zuko said as he silently gives her an appreciative once-over. “It’s like you’re a natural at this, it took me a long time to got the hang of it. Even Azula can’t do it, she made her handmaidens do all the work for her” His eyes darkening as the memory of his sister briefly flashed through his mind, but he reigned himself right back. Deciding instead to lean his body to one side of the wall, giving himself a better angle of Y/N.

“It’s only fair of me to at least try and learn, I know that hair holds a significant place to your people and disheveled hair is considered as impolite. We wouldn’t want that, would we?” She said as she finished her look with one last twist of hair, making sure it looks perfect.

Zuko is touched by her respond, Y/N owes the Fire Nation nothing, in fact it is them who owes her after all that they had done to the Water Tribes, but still she treats them with utter respect and upholds their value despite being an outsider. She really was made for diplomacy.

“Before we go to the War Room, I have a gift for you” He said as he brought the both of his hands to the front, turns out he was actually holding a box behind him this entire time.

He took a few steps so now he’s standing directly behind her sitting figure, he’s soo close that Y/N can smell the intoxicating scent of his perfume, spicy but earthy. Zuko carefully put the box atop of the desk in front of them and pull the lids open, revealing the content.

Y/N can’t help the gasp that escaped her mouth as her eyes roamed over Zuko’s gift for her. A matching pair of hairpins or as they called it here, a zan. Her eyes took in every detail, starting from the heads of the dragon form with each head being surmounted by a turquoise cabochon, it’s made of gold filigree detail over gilded silver substructures. The manes of the dragons are particularly impressive comprising multiple, overlapping gold wire strands. The pierced, almost honeycomb-like shafts, each of which are of long, tapering form, are of finely worked silver that has been gilded with gold plates.

“Zuko this is....” Y/N is at loss for words, but Zuko is panicking inwardly at the unreadable expression on her face, what with soo many emotions flittering through in short span of time.

“Do you not like it? I could always make another one, I knew I should have asked for your input first but I just want it to be a surprise” Zuko sputtered, words keep on falling out of his mouth in his state of panic, even his voice has turned high pitch.

Y/N resist the urge to laugh out loud at his distress, this is becoming far too entertaining and she’s enjoying it more than she should. Not everyday you get to see the Fire Lord acting this hysterical over something so trivial. It’s adorable, really.

She reaches out slowly so she doesn’t startle him, placing her hand gently on his forearm. This seems to do the trick as he is snapped out of his agitation. “Zuko stop... I love it, I truly do”

His mood did a 180 degree turn as bliss overtook him at the sight of her sincere smile, eyes looking at him fondly. Zuko is mentally doing a celebratory fist pump.

“This is too beautiful, I don’t think I deserve it, it must have cost you a lot”

Zuko frowns at her hesitant tone. “You deserve this more than anyone, Y/N. It’s the least that I could do”

Y/N looks to the side while biting her lips in contemplation. A motion that nearly drove Zuko wild. His not-so-little crush on her is now probably bigger than the size of Sokka’s inflated ego. And that really is huge, people.

When her eyes meets his again, gone was the doubt, now it’s just pure gratefulness. “Well if you insist, then who am I to say no?” She said, completing it with a grin.

Zuko let out a relief sigh and give a huge grin that matches hers. “Now that’s what I like to hear”

“Would you mind giving me a hand? I think it’ll compliment my updo perfectly” Y/N asked, taking Zuko by surprise.

Zuko gulped nervously. “I would love that” He murmured as he’s trying very hard to still his trembling hands.

He reached inside the box and carefully took out one of the hairpin, sliding it into one side of her bun. Y/N enjoys the feeling of his hands on her hair, the soft motion bringing her a sense of peace. After he secured the second hairpin in, Zuko look at her through the mirror, admiring his work.

“It suits you, you look lovely”

Y/N resists the blush that threatens to bloom on her cheeks, opting to tease him instead. “Is this just a compliment or are you trying to flirt with me, Fire Lord Zuko?”

Zuko groans, stammering over his own words. “Oh knock it off! why do you always feel the need to ruin the moment”

“Oh i’m sorry, are we sharing a moment right now? I wasn’t aware” She can’t help but let out a teasing smirk, he’s just too easy to mess with.

“I’m just digging myself a deeper hole, don’t I?”

———————————————————————

Something fishy is definitely going on. Y/N can feel it. Ever since she stepped out of the confines of her bedroom, all eyes were on her. It’s not even a quick stare, she receives a full on stare from every servants and guards that passed by, complete with a small bow or curtsy. Is Zuko playing some sort of prank on her and succesfully got the rest of the palace on board with him too? whatever it is, Y/N intends to find out.

It gets even more bizarre once they reached the War Room. The rest of the advisors and generals stood up as they welcome the Fire Lord’s arrival, that is a customary show of respect of course. But the wide-eyed stares that follow her after was anything but normal. Some of them have an astonished look on their faces, body going stiffer than the looming pillars above. After they have shake themselves out of whatever daze they were in, they gave her a small bow. Now that is definitely odd, why in the name of Tui and La would they ever bow to her? no one ever did. She thought that is something that they consider is below their station. Just wanting to go over things quickly, she gave them all a quick nod back.

Council then is in session, with one of the new general that has been stationed to oversee the Fire Nation Colonies in the Earth Kingdom taking the floor.

———————————————————————

The hearing ended in record time. It only took them about 3 and a half hours compared to the usual duration which could take them all day and well into the early morning hour just to agree on something. Guess there is a first for everything.

As Y/N is busy tidying up the documents and materials that has gone under review earlier, one of the old Fire Nation general approached her.

“Excuse me, My Lady. I would like to congratulate you, may Agni bless you and your union”

Y/N’s face morphed into one of utter confusion, what is this man talking about? is he on something?

She struggles to form a coherent reply, thinking hard on the appropriate response. “Thank you, General. Do you mean to congratulate me for my birthday?” She finally asked.

“Ahh of course, My Lady. And for that too”

Y/N never thought that it’s possible to be this confused, what does ‘and for that too’ means? does it means that that wasn’t what he’s congratulating her for in the first place?

“Ookaay” She said as she drawled out the word. “I’ll be taking my leave now have a good day, General” Which he responded to with a salute and surprise, surprise another bow.

———————————————————————

After she successfully made her escape from the War Room before she has to suffer another absurd confrontation, she made it her life mission to find Zuko and torture the answer out of him. Okay maybe that’s too dramatic, she wouldn’t say torture per se, but yeah you got the point because this is getting ridiculous.

Her quest came to an abrupt stop when a pile of human slammed into her, engulfing her in a massive group hug.

“Happy birthday you beautiful human being” Sokka said while making kissy faces at her to which she can’t help but shudder and scrunch her nose at.

“Yeah Y/N! happy birthday, I can’t believe you are 20 now, you’re officially a part of the old people” Aang said, peering up at her from his awkward position of being mushed between Ty Lee and Katara.

“Uhh thank you... but you guys.. can I have some space now” Y/N said, struggling to maintain her balance.

“Oh yeah sorry about that, Missy. We’re just SOO excited to see you!” Toph said as she abruptly pulled back, accidently knocking the rest of them to the ground with her sheer force.

Y/N grinned widely as she chuckle, “You did that on purpose, didn’t you Toph?” Sokka grumbled from his splayed out position on the floor.

“Ehh guess you’ll never know” Toph said as she stuck her tongue out to him and then give Y/N a wink, to which she reaches out a hand to high five her.

“You guys are the worst” Suki’s voice mumbled out from somewhere underneath the piles of tangled limbs and body.

“Sokka, can you please just get up right now? your butt is right in front of my face, it’s really disturbing” Aang groaned, clearly distressed.

———————————————————————

After the incident they immediately went to the Dining Room because Sokka won’t stop complaining about how he’s on the verge of dying if he’s not fed in the next hour. Suki was so annoyed she nearly knock him out herself with her bare hands.

As the 6 of them sat around the long dining table, the door that leads into the room opened as Zuko comes in with Uncle Iroh in tow.

“Oh now he decided to show his face after pulling a disappearing act” Y/N grumbled mentally, shooting daggers in Zuko’s way.

Zuko head straight for his seat meanwhile Iroh took a turn around the table, greeting everyone, making his way towards Y/N last.

“Happy birthday, dear one” Uncle Iroh said warmly as he put his hands on her shoulder in a comforting manner. This brings a smile on Y/N’s face, Iroh is definitely one of her favorite person, you could never tell he was a former battle harden war general due to his welcoming and gentle nature.

“Thank you very much, Iroh” She replied, looking at him gratefully.

He was just about to head towards his seat when something about her appearance caught his eyes. There it is again, that same shocked look that she has received plenty all day long. Iroh threw a knowing smile her way, making her stare back at him dumbly.

Iroh then leaned down so that his face is align with her ear and said in a low voice, “So my nephew has finally grown a pair and pop the question, huh?” He asked excitedly, well it sounds more like a rhetoric question anyway.

Y/N can feel her eyes widening, Zuko didn’t ask her anything, what is he implying?

She glanced to where Zuko is sitting just to find him already looking her way, he looks uneasy watching the exchange between her and his uncle. Eyes flittering back and forth between their forms.

Before she could get any reply out, Zuko gave a signal to the waiter standing nearby and then the Dining Room door opened for the second time. This time bringing in the presence of several servants who are carrying various plates with all kind of dishes imaginable. To her delight, some of it are even Water Tribes cuisine such as sea prune stew and seaweed noodles to name a few. Y/N can feel her own mouth watering at both the sight and the smell.

Y/N tried to catch Zuko’s eye and when it did flicker to hers, she mouthed a “Thank you” at him. Eyes glimmering with a child-like excitement, ironic since this is supposed to be her first ‘adult’ birthday.

This view certainly makes warmth blossomed in Zuko’s chest. What would he give to make her smile that bright everyday...

Or I guess the more appropriate sentiment is what WOULDN’t he give.... he is certain that when it comes to her, Zuko has no limit at all.

———————————————————————

“Man, I feel so full i’m almost nauseous” Sokka moaned, holding his bloated stomach. Mouth making several vomiting motions although thankfully nothing comes out. Yep, he certainly doesn’t look well.

Katara made a sheesh noise at Sokka’s terrible table manner, “If you keep on doing that, you’re gonna make the rest of us nauseous too, idiot”

“I think it’s best to retire to our rooms then...” Uncle Iroh said, “-before something unsightly happens” He added as he too can’t help himself from avoiding looking Sokka’s way.

The rest voiced their agreement and they all stood one by one. Mumbles of good night’s and see you tomorrow’s can be heard around the room as everyone make themselves scarce.

Before exiting, Ty Lee, ever the sweet person, approached Y/N to give her one last hug for the night.

As she pulled away from the hug, she let out a happy gasp and flails her arms wildly, not able to contain her elation.

“WHAT IS THAT?!?! why didn’t you say anything earlier! how silly of me not to notice it at all!!!” She started talking animatedly without pause, leaving Y/N in another state of bewilderment.

“Ty Lee, what are you referring to?” Y/N tried to ask her.

“Don’t play coy with me now, young lady!” Ty Lee shoot back at her, putting her hands on both of her hips.

Suddenly, Zuko swoop in to the rescue. Putting himself between Y/N and Ty Lee, almost as if he’s trying to shield her away.

“I think that’s enough excitement for one night, Ty Lee” He started saying before he put one hand on her back and guiding her out the door as Ty Lee continues to protest against him, clearly still have a lot more to say.

“Oh I see what you’re trying to do, Zuko. Have fun you two!!! don’t do anything I wouldn’t do” Was the last thing Ty Lee managed to shout out before the door was closed in front of her face.

Well that certainly leaves a lot of wiggle room, Spirits knows that Ty Lee is always up for anything. And by anything, I really do mean absolutely anything.

As the both of them are the only ones remain in the room, Zuko turns his full attention to her.

“Would you take a walk with me to the garden? it’s a full moon tonight, no doubt the view will be enchanting” He said in a hopeful tone.

Y/N gives him a small smile as she just looped their arms together for an answer. Then they walk side by side in a comfortable silence.

———————————————————————

True to his words, as the garden came into view, Y/N can feel the sight took her breath away. The moonlight shone softly against the grass, its light reflecting like glimmering crystals in the turtle duck pond. She can certainly see why this is Zuko’s go-to place, his very own safe haven inside the palace.

He guided her to a spot beneath a big tree, right beside the pond where they both took a seat beside each other.

“Mind explaining to me what is going on?” Y/N asked as she trace circles on the palm of Zuko’s hand, a gesture that relaxes him completely.

He cleared his throat, clearly trying to pick his words carefully.

“You know how each nation has different customs right? especially regarding relationships”

Y/N cocks her head to the side so she could look at him better, then she hums to let him know that she’s following his train of thought.

“And by relationship, I specifically mean courting rituals” He continued. “Like in your tribe for example, the man has to make a hand-crafted choker that serves as a betrothal necklace to show how serious he is, right?”

“Yeah... that’s correct” She answers, now her undivided focus is on him as she’s trying to decipher where he is going with this conversation.

“In Fire Nation, gifting zan has the same meaning as choker is to the Water Tribe....” As he said this, his voice turns soft, almost lowering into a whisper as he scans her face for reaction.

Y/N is quiet for a while, the realization of the meaning sinks deep into her, but she tries to keep her face as neutral as possible although inside she’s over the moon.

“Ahh so that explains why i’ve been receiving weird looks all day”

“Y-yeah... wearing that dragon zan is just the same as screaming to the entirety of Fire Nation that you belong to me” Zuko said sheepishly, clearly embarrassed. “Not that I mean to offend by objectifying you, of course”

Frankly speaking Zuko is feeling very frustrated because the girl he has been pining over for the longest time is showing him no emotion at all, it’s nerve-wrecking.

“I’m sorry... I clearly don’t know what I was thinking” He said defeatedly. “You’re free to just leave it in the box and never wear it again now that you know what it signifies”

“And why would I do that?” Her reply got Zuko turning his head back up to face her so fast he nearly broke his own neck. “B-b-but” He stammered, but Y/N quickly shush him by putting her finger in front of his mouth.

“Now that I know... I think I may even want to wear it to sleep every night, perhaps I should never remove it at all, don’t you think?

To say that Zuko is shocked is not big enough of a word to describe what he is currently feeling. Did she just actually accepted his courting proposal?!

“Do you really mean that? and you’re not mad at all?” He asked timidly, eyes searching hers, finding nothing but genuineness.

“Why would I be mad?” Y/N said, as she put one of her hand on his chest, rubbing it softly from side to side. Trying to calm down his jumpy heartbeat but it seems like she only succeded in making it beat even faster.

“So does that mean that you like me back?”

“Yes, Zuko. It means that I like you a lot” She said, erasing his worries away.

He cups her cheek gently, to which she can’t help but close her eyes, sighing in contentment. She leans even further into his touch, loving the feeling completely.

Zuko leaned down to whisper directly into her ear, the feeling of his breath against her skin sending goosebumps all over her body as she could feel her own breath hitch. “May I kiss you?”

“Well you might as well do since we got a lifetime of kissing ahead of us” Y/N said teasingly to which Zuko can’t help but chuckle deeply.

And so he did. He look straight into her eyes, moving his hand to cup her chin instead and slowly leaned in, savoring the euphoric feeling. She can’t help the breathy moan that escaped her lips, Spirits, it’s like he’s drinking her in.

He pulled away for a second to say, “Careful there, i’m never letting you go now”

She just grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him in again “Never said I want you to” and Zuko can’t help but smile into the kiss.

———————————————————————

A loud crash from above interrupted their heartfelt moonlight tryst as they pulled away, startled from the sudden noise.

Zuko and Y/N squinted their eyes upwards, trying to point out the source when they see one of the bedroom’s window pane that overlook the garden is opened with 6 faces peeking out, clearly have not yet realized that whatever sleuthing they were up to has failed.

“Stop stepping on my toes, Sokka” Toph half-shout angrily, followed by a smacking noise and Sokka yell of pain.

“You’re one to talk huh, Toph? you are literally sitting on my lap right now” Suki voice raised above the commotion around her.

“Guys, would you please stop talking, they’re gonna notice if you keep this up” Aang pleaded.

“Clearly too late for you to worry about that” Zuko said from beside her, making the six of them stop and look down. Giving the Fire Lord and the future Fire Lady a guilty smile.

“Nice view from up there?” Y/N said, not wanting to miss out on all the fun. She and Zuko shares a look, one of pure mischief.

The peace didn’t last long for all six of them began fighting again about whose fault was it that they got caught. Meanwhile Y/N just shakes her head at another one of their shenanigans.

Then she laid her head against Zuko’s chest again, craving to be as close as possible to his warmth. Letting his scent engulfs her every senses. How she loves her very own human heating pad.

———————————————————————

A/N : Thank you so much for reading my fourth Zuko fic!!! I hope you all enjoy it because I certainly did🥰

#atla #avatar the last airbender #atla aang #atla rewatch #avatar the legend of aang #atla zuko #atlaedit #avatar the legend of korra #avatar zuko #iroh & zuko #zuko x reader #zuko fanart #fire lord zuko #prince zuko #prince zuko fanfic #prince zuko imagine #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko x you #zuko #zuko angst #zuko drabble #zuko imagine #zuko smut #zuko x reader smut #atla fanfic #atla fandom #atla x you #atla x reader #atla drabble #atla imagine

[deanwasalwaysbi]

Thinking About How This Wasn't Actually a Denial

But was it self preservation?

The year was 2013 and rather than a denial, Jensen said "Don't ruin it for everybody now."

What was the fan 'ruining' for everybody? The Con? or something else? So if I was a tinhatter - and sometimes I am - I might think about other tv shows from the past that were covertly queer and how they handled the question, were TV shows 'out'?

Mainstream shows like Bewitched, you know, shows that are so clearly straight, you can tell because... well. ... they never technically used the word 'gay'. ... witches honor

SPN Film Studies is Back in Session! Join Under the Cut for more on supernatural & the story about how Bewitched! came out of the Broom Closet

Bewitched aired from 1964-72, it's so old the first season was in B&W. The show starred Elizabeth Montgomery as Samantha, the strange housewife with a stranger secret. Her husband, Darrin, unwittingly married into the whole witchy family, from the now drag icon Agnes Moorehead's Endora with her open marriage, to the unmarried and batty Aunt Clara (Marion Lorne who played the mother in Hitchcock's heavily gay coded 'Strangers on a Train'), to the extremely coded Uncle Arthur (gay actor Paul Lynde). (We can't know for sure, but it seems at least 4 members of the cast were gay themselves.) The core premise of the show involves Samantha balancing who she really is with repressing that self for the safety and comfort of her family.

Samantha and her husband keep her [ahem] 'queer' nature a secret which gets harder on Samantha when she has to tell her daughter to live the same way, “I know what fun it is to be a part of the magical life ... to have so much at your fingertips. But we’re living in a world that’s just not ready for people like us, and I’m afraid they may never be. So you’re going to have to learn when you can use your witchcraft and when you can’t.”

There are plenty of generic 60s wacky hijinks but there are also whole episodes metaphorically about repression being harmful, episodes where characters asked if another was a 'thespian', episodes where Darrin was queercoded while under a spell, episodes about representation & bad stereotyping in media, and even two episodes where witches discussed whether it was time for witches to come out to the mortals, (whether mortals could accept that they were just nice normal people trying to live their lives like everybody else - or not - and would just freak out and kill them again).

When it came time to recast Dick York's Darrin with a new 2nd lead, Elizabeth and her husband, William Asher, knowingly cast the gay Dick Sergeant. (Although he wasn't out publicly at the time.) Then, when Sergeant came out in '91, Montgomery supported him and the two served together as the grand marshals of the Hollywood pride parade.

Dick Sargent expressed in the 90s what he would want in a Bewitched reunion episode: for Darrin to meet another like couple, a witch and a mortal who are married, and another, and another, and end up forming a whole community and support group, finding out that it was never so uncommon after all, that it was actually "about 10% of the population." The two would march in the first mortals and witches pride parade, saying they should have come out years ago.

In '94, Montgomery had this to say about the queer themes of the show, “Don't think that didn't enter our minds at the time. We talked about it on the set, that this was about people not being allowed to be what they really are. If you think about it, Bewitched is about repression in general and all the frustration and trouble it can cause. It was a neat message to get across to people at that time in a subtle way.” (x)

Interviewer: Are you concerned that your involvement in the gay-pride parade will lead people to believe you're a lesbian?

"[Laughing] I'm really not worried about that. There are bigger things to worry about. Like the presidential election and finding a cure for AIDS. I did the parade in support of Dick. I mean, in the end, didn't we all?" (x) (Montgomery was also one of the first celebrity allies to fight for LGBTQ rights and support HIV/AIDS-related fundraisers.)

So did they talk about it at the time? No. You can bet they didn't speak about it publicly. What would have happened if a fan, publicly, had asked Elizabeth, William, or Dick about the show's queer allegory content? This was a time when being gay was a literal felony. They would have had to have lied or risked losing the show, their careers, and possibly subjecting themselves to violence.

Now. back to Jensen and the Schrodinger's long con:

This was in 2013 - The same year that the Supreme Court of the United States struck down a federal ban on gay marriage. You certainly couldn't call homosexuality illegal in the US at that time. It's the same year that Dabb and Sgriccia spoke about the Aaron moment on the DVD and whether there's 'this potential for love in all places' for Dean. Of course Jensen said this about the very same scene: "But it was - you know - it was comedy. It was a comedic moment in the show and fortunately Dean gets a lot of the comedic moments in the show and it was just, you know, Ben was poking fun at the fact that - you know, how can we make this very kind of manly, heterosexual guy uncomfortable - uh -you know, or  or have him back on his heels and throw him off his game a little bit.”

I'm reminded of 2012 when Ben Edlund stepped in about a Destiel question at comic con, pretending it was some freaky thing that fans had made up even though he'd already written and directed TMWWBK, which had already aired.

Jensen: “What’s Destiel?” Ben Edlund: That’s some weird shit. Jensen: Is this something that you created, Ben? Ben: You don’t want any part of that.

Or the next year for season 9 when Jensen said “I think the whole Cas and Dean thing has gotten out of hand”  “I don’t think there’s anything secret to their relationship even though a lot of people wish there was” EVEN THOUGH- that season we got the nightstands acknowledgement and Misha (or both of them?) was told to “play him like a jilted lover”

Or Jensen's knowing bromance smile in 2015

I think recent events (cough spn gate) have made clear that the network and many viewers were still uncomfortable with CAS being gay in 2020, deleting even familial mentions of Cas from the finale episodes once he was revealed to be not only gay but also in love with Dean. (x) (x) (x) Can you imagine then what Warner Brothers would have said to an acknowledge bisexual Dean Winchester in 2013? Granted, there was no Trump election, but legitimate, could that have been the end of the show? Or the Russian and Conservative US viewership? Is it possible that Jensen would have feared so?

Is it possible that Jensen had a more personal reason for a knee jerk defensive response?

So was Jensen covering in 2013? Well. This happened 5 years later in 2018:

That hostile "? No." came even though Misha confirmed that he and Jensen had discussed Destiel by that point. Granted, discussing Destiel as a concept and accepting Dean being inherently bisexual are two very different things - Cas is GN after all - still, less than encouraging.

I may never get over the jumps back and forth that Jensen did. At this point I think there's no denying that a lot of SPN's queer content was on purpose, even as writers and actors were telling fans and network execs otherwise. Yet when each person involved was brought in? that question haunts me at night. I have gone off before about the timeline in my pursuit of whether Jensen was Ben Hur'd (x) and, if so, for how long. I'm sure many in this fandom have so much to add.

In the meantime we'll just have to cherish this moment from 2019:

Interviewer: 'So, tell us just a little bit about what you’re most excited to tackle with your character this final season.’ Jensen: “Cas. Just like a full football form tackle.”

Bewitched references in SPN:

2.05 - Dean: Well, it looks like he can't work his mojo just by twitching his nose, he's gotta use verbal commands.

2.20 - Dean says Barbara Eden was hotter than Elizabeth Montgomery - sigh - Dean.

7.05 - Dean thinks a husband has no idea his wife is a witch, and refers to him as Darrin. Dean also indicates he likes the first Darrin better. - (I guess I can't make a comment about how much TV Dean watched as a kid if I get all of his references and also haven't saved the world.)

14.03 - Jules refers to the witch as 'Brunhilde' - this is a minor character in bewitched but more so from mythology and likely referred to the cartoon witch from WB cartoons - the stereotypical witch that faced bugs bunny with the green skin and straw hair.

let me know if you have any to add. Stay Witchy ✌

#jensen ackles #jackles long con #dean was always bi #spn film studies #spn queercoding #Spn tinhatting #ben hur treatment #bewitched #queercoding #Caslighting #Spn gaslighting #elizabeth montgomery #dick sargent #paul lynde #original content #Marion Lorne #Marion Lorne was also in a show called the gay adventure in 1932 but i dont have any information on the plot #and to quote misha. it's probably gay like happy #Schrodinger's long con

[jvzebel-x]

💝 circa 2015 ~ present 💝

🦋

when people first heard me speak, for years, the first thing they'd note was the crystal English, clearly spoken&carefully grammatically groomed. the way i couldn't code-switch verbally, the split second&pause to blink(&translate). as a child, it made me furious because it marked me apart as much as the translucent skin no one could ever explain, no matter how much sun i ever got, thick blue veins pulsing under skin that could never hide them regardless of how brown my skin turned. my mother raised me differently than she raised her other children: i am her eldest daughter, the one who stole her beauty in the womb&changed her life forever, the miracle baby she was never supposed to have that grew next to an ovary that needed to be removed during pregnancy. there have always been expectations, rules for the trade i made in utero, the very first deal with the devil i ever sealed to see daylight. every time she beat the mispronunciation out of me, she reminded me that it marked me as stupid, as ignorant, as a lazy islander, just like it had marked her, &every time someone noted my speech, the unspoken part was how they weren't expecting it from me. now, as an adult, it makes me furious because people think that my assimilation is a compliment, not a scar, &twice as much because my accent only comes out with the fury&proves the stereotype right.

the silence from either side of my family is deafening, the way that silence is so often heavier than any word that could be said over a staticky phone line, the same way distance is so often so much more than just measurements in how the crow flies. twelve miles is almost nothing, but a childhood believing your parents are both God&Devil can turn twelve miles into levels of hell, if you do it right. an angry mother with a score to settle can't be contained by an island, an ocean, millions of miles, or the alleged freedom that comes with aging out&moving away, &sometimes silence is the only way to say that. sometimes, "i'm sorry this is happening to you," is the only way someone can say, "i can't let this happen to me, too." &"mom&dad will be visiting some time soon," means, "if mom finds out i'm letting you crash on my couch, she will kill me." sometimes, "call me if you need anything else," really just means, "anything else, anything else, but this." but when i survived&my brother hugged me, when he saw the aftermath of the year&the place i'd found to live, after all, that silence was only apologies, only the silence of a lifetime of just trying to survive&trusting each other to understand that-- &i do.

i was raised in polarity in every way: my parents called our neighborhood "Nu'uanu" not "Kalihi", as if the name change would change the three police stations or the kam4 gang colours or the kpt knife fights or the meth ziploc baggies. this subtle mental gymnastics trick was one of the few things they could ever agree on, but none of their kids ever agreed from either side of the divided household. i was raised with a father, but not by one: i was the sacrificial lamb, the golden goose fated to die full of potential the second i opened my mouth to prove it didn't matter how much i looked like my father when i sounded just like his wife, had my nose in a book just like his wife, thought i was smart just like his wife, had a smart mouth just like his wife, took a hit just like his wife. i was my father's least favourite child, but my mother's best friend, &this worked out for both of them, in the end, because they could each blame me on the other.

every bottle of darkened sauce or infused oil i've ever had, i've refilled with water to get every drop of it out-- just like my mother before me, &her mother before her, this is the only thing i know of cooking from my mother, this act of careful conservation&the collection of mismatched bottles under the sink. i spent hours&hours&hours of my life in the kitchen with her, but cooking was an art she'd taught herself, a sacred craft she'd learned on her own. cooking was how my mother illustrated her love for her family, in feeding her sons who could&would eat plate after plate&shower her in compliments the entire time, &her husband who was only ever happy with her around dinnertime. cooking was my mother's sacred&special place, &hers alone: i was only allowed to watch, &expected to keep her company while she made magic out of food stamps&air. the first time she saw my spice collection once i'd moved out, she laughed, she was so shocked: she just had never thought i was the type to want to cook without a family to feed.

it isn't always about what's there-- sometimes, it's about what's not, &what you'll do to fill the space.

#i am feeling very nostalgic today&am making that everyone's problem lol sorry y'all look away from The Sad(tm) #i took this pic the other day&realized i had another one in that exact shirt just fucking like it LOL. #i actually took that pic in 2015 right after an interview that i had been offered at a drug rehab center that i was trying to volunteer at #but the front desk person recognized me from visiting family a lot&offered me an interview for a paid gig. :) i was v. proud&super stoked. #it ended up not being able to pay enough lol but esp bc of where i was in life it was a huge confidence boost to even be offered the gig. #so anyway shout out to hina mauka for being an amazing facility that deserves more funding lol&my sense of fashion for being Timeless. #i'm grateful for both. ♡ #gratitude journal #me #mine #my words #tw #tw: abuse

[eastertag]

Role Model

@fallenfurther gift for @willow-salix 

—

Gordon was standing at the door of John’s room, peering in with a smirk on his face. Alarms bells went off in Alan’s head as he headed over to investigate. Peeking over his brother’s shoulder, his eyes fell on the subject of Gordon’s curiosity. Knelt on the floor, in a sea of beauty products, was their nephew with Selene’s hand mirror lying before him. The child was staring into it with a purple pencil gripped in his hand. He glanced up at them and waved happily.

“Alan!”

Alan’s mouth dropped.

“It gets better every time he looks up.”

Gordon grinned while fighting to suppress his laughter, which might distract their nephew from his work. The boy turned back to his reflection, before dropping the pencil and picking up three more. Selene was not going to be happy if she saw this mess.

“Should we do something?”

“You mean beside laugh?”

“Selene’s going to be mad.”

Gordon strode boldly into the room and slipped his phone from his pocket. Crouching, he lowered the phone to the child’s level. Their nephew, seeing the camera, leant back and posed. He had a big proud smile that Gordon eagerly captured from various angles. He flicked through them quickly to confirm they were in focus, knowing he would show them to his nephew when he was older, before tapping on the messenger app and pulling up his chat with Selene.

Gordon: You might want to check your room sometime soon.

“She’ll be mad, alright,” Gordon confirmed with a smile, “but not with us. Scott has a LOT of grovelling to do.”

Alan just stared as Gordon casually retreated, leaving their nephew to continue. Hurried footsteps sounded behind them caused Alan to turn. Worry plastered his eldest brother’s face and Alan felt sorry for the man.

“Have you seen-”

Gordon strode out of John’s room, interrupting Scott and throwing his thumb over his shoulder.

“He’s in there.”

Scott rushed into the room only to halt at the sight of his son. The fear that had filled him when he’d first noticed his son missing was replaced with complete shock.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Gordon jeered from the door, not wanting to miss a second.

Scott would have glared at Gordon if he was able to tear his eyes away from his son. Kneeling down by the dresser, which the boy had somehow managed to climb, he reached forward and gently turned the child’s head to get a better look.

“Daddy!”

“What have you done?”

“I like Selene.”

The innocence of the response made Scott close his eyes and take a breath. He adored his son but sometimes it was hard. The child was a mess. It appeared he’d tried to replicate Selene getting all glammed up for a date, only without any of the skill needed to do so. What Scott suspected was mascara had been brushed through his eyebrows and across half his forehead. Red lipstick, which currently lay crushed on the floor, was plastered around his mouth, with a red streak on his front tooth. To top it all off, there were thick blue and purple smudges on his cheeks with large purple whiskers cutting across his face under his eyes. Then there was the mess on the floor. The child had managed to get hold of Selene’s makeup bag and up end it. Half the stuff had been opened, from three lipsticks, one destroyed and two with small fingerprints on, multiple pencils were scattered about, their colourful leads probably shattered inside. Palettes of powders were scattered, the colours blended with nail scratches in them. Those same powders dusted the floor, along with various other colourful streaks, made by the grubby fumbling fingers. There were very few items that had survived unscathed from the toddler’s eager hands. Scott didn’t know where to start. There was no way he could hide this from Selene, but maybe he could at least salvage something and clean up the floor before she found out. A cough from the door made him turn. He swallowed. The witch was standing at the door between his two brothers, hands on her hips.

“I can explain.”

Her eyebrow rose. Scott stood, ready to try and salvage the situation with a dimpled smile and some pleading, when his bottom knocked the dresser. Even his speedy reflexes were no match against gravity. One of the perfume bottles toppled, having been knocked to the edge by his son, and shattered against the floor filling the room with its floral scent.

“Uh oh,” chimed his son as Scott put his head in his hands, his heart beating fast at the thought of creating not just a mess but a hazard for his boy. He sighed, turning his blue eyes on the witch.

“I’m so sorry, Selene.”

Eyes on the floor, Scott quickly used his shoe to drag all the pieces of glass towards him and out of reach of his son. Glancing at the dresser, he moved a second perfume bottle away from the edge before crouching down and collecting up the shards in his hand. Footsteps walked around them, before returning with a sigh. A small binbag was held open before him and Scott carefully dropped the glass in before taking it so he could drop the smaller pieces in as he went. The whole time he’d had half an eye on his boy, who had paused with the change of atmosphere in the room. The perfume pooled on the wooden floor had become a new target of interest and his hand went straight into it. With glass in his own hands, Scott was powerless to stop it. Arms scooped up the child. Scott turned to see Selene balancing the boy on her hip and taking in the child’s face.

“I like you Selene.”

A smile crossed Selene’s lips. “I like you too.”

“I think he means ‘I look like you’.”

John stepped into the room, having assessed the scene from the doorway. He ignored the glare his wife sent his way. Glancing down at his brother’s guilty face confirmed it really had been just an accident. Though the presence of his youngest two brothers, and the smirk on Gordon’s face, suggested they hadn’t done anything to stop, or help, the matter. John slipped into the en-suite and grabbed a fresh roll of toilet paper and the makeup wipes. He passed the wipes to Selene, who took them and fell back onto the bed with the child. Expertly slipping a wipe out one-handedly, she started attacking the boy’s hands to stop him spreading the mess further. Ripping the roll open, John spiralled a load around his hand, before tearing it off and dropping it onto the pool of perfume. As much as it would evaporate away, he’d rather help it along, the smell already filling the room. Scott wiped up the boards with the tissue, throwing the sodden lumps on top of the glass when finished.

With the floor dry and clear of glass, John watched his brother tie the bag and dump it in the bin. John made a mental note to discard it immediately. A grunt from the bed had John turn around. Selene was now wiping their nephew’s face, who was very upset about it. John’s heart softened at his pleading, even though the child was the cause of all this, it was hard to be mad at him. Instead, John turned to the toddler’s father. He made the most of the extra few inches he had on his brother with a downwards stare. He held out his hand to the man.

“Phone.”

Scott sighed, slipping his mobile out of his pocket and placing it in his brother’s palm. Right now, he had to do everything to avoid John freezing all his accounts in revenge. His mobile was passed to Selene.

“I believe you know the access code for this. Order everything you need. Replacements for all that has been damaged as well as anything that takes your fancy, Scott owes you.”

Scott scooped up his son as Selene tapped the screen and immediately got to work.

“Come on, mister. Let’s finish cleaning you up. Order more wipes and remover, Selene. I’m going to need plenty to get all this muck off.”

“Already done.”

The witch didn’t even glance up. Carrying his son into his brother’s bathroom, he perused the various bottles on the side. He selected a bottle that appeared promising before plonking his son on the toilet seat. Selene had gotten the worst off, though there were still some faint whiskers from where the liner had been applied extra thick. Popping the lid off the bottle, Scott squeezed the cream onto a cotton pad and rubbed it against his son’s face. Hands pushed against his arms as distressed cries of ‘no’ filled the small room, the child really not happy that his hard work was being erased. Rubbing the pad along the black lines of mascara, it thankfully began to fade. The pad became darker with each wipe, and Scott relaxed slightly as he carefully scrubbed his toddler’s skin. After a few minutes he sat back and surveyed his son. The child was pouting but appeared clean. Rummaging in a drawer, Scott retrieved a clean flannel and dampened it with soapy water. One last wash for good measure and Scott was satisfied. He rung out the cloth, stepped out the bathroom and lobbed it into the laundry basket. Scott ignored John’s eyeroll, though the scattered makeup had been picked up and floor cleaned in Scott’s absence. He was going to be John’s least favourite brother for a while. Turning back to his son, who was just as grumpy as his uncle, Scott wanted to start the day again. Retrieving his son, he hoped the strop would be short-lived.

“Okay sweetie. Next time you want to look like Aunt Selene, you have to come and ask me, okay?”

The toddler nodded, excitement sparkling in his blue eyes. He was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, clutching a bag containing the ruined makeup. Selene turned to her best friend, who was perched on the table before her.

“We shall start with nails. Scott, I want my toes painted purple.”

Stretching out her leg, she unceremoniously plonked her foot in his lap. Selene watched the commander of International Rescue route around in her box of polish for all the shades of purple, before presenting them to her. She pondered for a moment.

“The deep purple with glitter.”

Scott put the rest back before shaking up the selected bottle. The polish had been a gift from a friend. The deep indigo paint contained a conservative amount of glitter, so it appeared like stars on her nails. It reminded her of a night sky. After unscrewing the cap, he placed his fingers around her ankle and carefully started to brush along her nails. His face was a picture of concentration. Happy he was going to do his best, Selene turned to her nephew. She held up the small selection of child safe nail polish John had ordered the previous month, after seeing the boy’s interest in hers. Gods, her man was amazing. Her nephew’s eyes widened as he reached out to touch the colourful bottles. His eyes flicked back to his father.

“Which colour do you want on your toes?”

“Like Selene.”

“You want purple too?”

He nodded, his eyes smiling up into hers. Selene singled out the lilac one in her hands and presented it to the boy.

“How about this purple?”

The child paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. He could see it wasn’t the same one she was having applied. Flicking between the two colours, he finally agreed with a nod.

“Perfect. Now, I’m going to need you to hold very still now. Your toes are small.”

She grabbed his ankles and pulled his feet onto her lap, forcing him to lie back in the process. He giggled as his head landed in John’s lap. Slipping off his shoes and socks, Selene could hold his foot in one hand. His nails were tiny, but she was skilled. After a quick shake of the bottle, she offered her other foot to Scott, before getting to work on her nephew. With a steady hand, she gave each nail a coat of colour.

“Keep your feet still while they dry, and I’ll do a rainbow on your fingers.”

With the boy’s feet held in her lap, she made the most of the colours that came in the set. His thumbs were painted red, then his fingers were orange, yellow, green and finally blue. The only colour that hadn’t been used was pink.

“How about we paint your Daddy’s nails with this one?”

Her nephew turned to Scott, uncertain glee in his eyes. A nod from Scott had the child giving her a dimpled grin. The man had no choice and offered his hands out in sacrifice. A quick check of the child’s nails confirmed they were dry. Slipping her nephew onto her lap and cuddling him close, she offered him the bottle.

“How about we do it together?”

“Please don’t,” groaned Scott, “if I have to have pink nails, at least make sure they are neat.”

“You don’t have a say in this,” John stated, not even glancing up from his tablet. Scott’s death stare bounced straight off her man.

Selene passed the brush to her nephew and encased his hand in hers. She guided it towards his father’s thumb. Chuckles bubbled out the child as they stroked the pink polish over the nail. It wasn’t easy, Selene had to push against her nephew at times, but it was fun. The uneven edges and accidental coating of the skin around the nail made it all the better. Once finished, Scott scrutinised his fingertips while slipping off his shoes.

“You might as well do my feet too.”

A socked foot landed in their lap. Her nephew screwed up his face.

“Ew. Smelly.”

Selene threw her head back, laughing at the betrayal as John sniggered beside them.

“Traitor.”

Her nephew stuck his tongue out at his father as he yanked off the sock. Scott’s feet didn’t actually smell that bad, and it wasn’t long until he had a complete set of badly painted toes. Giving the child a squeeze, she shifted him round to face her.

“Ready to look like me?”

“Just what we need, a mini-Selene.”

Selene shot her husband a glare, only to be softened by the affection held in those stunning emerald eyes. Damn. Dragging her eyes back to her nephew, she unzipped the bag of damaged makeup and retrieved an eyeshadow palette. John had done a marvellous job of cleaning them up and salvaging what he could. Within the slim case was an array of purple shades, with black and silver to the side. There were large gouges in the silver and darkest purple where little nails had gotten in. Selecting a light purple, she started dolling up the boy. He fidgeted, eyes screwing up each time she brushed his eyelids, but she managed to give them a reasonably even coat. A second palette contained shades of red, which she used as a blush on his cheeks. There was no way she was going to be able to line his eyes, so used the black eyeliner pencil to shape his eyebrows instead. Finally, she retrieved the bright red lipstick that was now half the length it had been that morning. A few gentle strokes against his soft lips and he was complete.

“Perfect!”

Reaching over, Selene stole John’s tablet and brought up the camera app. Her nephew smiled; his dimples enhanced by his rosy cheeks. She snapped a few photos before passing it back.

“Same colour again on your hands?”

“If you please, Scott.”

Selene held out her hands as her nephew crawled off her and over to John, who scooped him up into his own lap. Fingers prodded the tablet and whatever John had been doing was put to the side, as sound of a game came from the device. The kiss John planted into his nephew’s hair as he watched what the child was doing proved he didn’t mind the disruption. Selene knew how much the child meant to John, as well as every other Tracy on the Island.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2004 #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds 1965 #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #alan tracy #Gordon Tracy #John Tracy #easterTAG #submission

[auncyen]

"So the good news is that that spell doesn't turn back time for real or anything, which explains why Mona still recognizes us," Futaba said, rubbing her chin as information scrolled over her console. "Guess that could be bad news too, if it was chronological reversal we might have found out what Mona's true form is. Buuuuut it's probably safer that it shrunk him down by scrambling his cognition."

Ren nodded, seeing the point. If that shadow really had been capable of turning back time for people, that would have been insanely powerful--and dangerous for Morgana, because when they weren't even sure what Morgana was, they had no idea if he even had a few years to be shaved off like that. Instead it just...made people think they should be young, and the nature of the cognitive world did the rest?

Morgana perked up in Haru's arms. She'd had to pick him up to soothe him; after getting hit by the shadow's attack he'd frozen up as though struck with fear, and even after the battle he'd been quiet and teary-eyed until Haru approached him. Then he'd scrambled to her on all fours, despite still being in...well, a smaller version of his Metaverse form. He was about half his normal size. "True form," Morgana murmured. "Haha, wanna transform."

"Can you still transform like this, Mona?" Makoto asked. "I suppose it's not like conservation of mass ever applied to your transformation, so you probably could..."

"Yyyyeah, and we're definitely not getting anything else done today," Ann said. She smiled widely at Morgana. "Mona! Time to go big!"

"I'll put you down, then," Haru told Morgana, but he shook his head.

"Throw me! Haha, throw me!"

"Throw you? Are you sure?"

Ryuji laughed at Haru's surprise. "Don't worry, Noir, he can take it."

Futaba nodded. "Children love to be yeeted. Yeet the child, Noir!"

Haru still looked very uncertain about this course of action, so Ren stepped up to her and held out his hands for her to transfer the supposed kid. She trusted him enough to pass Morgana over without question, and the small not-cat was vibrating with excitement, recognizing that Ren was willing to do the toss. "Throw, Ren!"

"Code names," Ren reminded Morgana. He still knew them, which was a relief, but he'd definitely forgotten some things in his confusion.

Morgana was too worked up to even pay attention. "Throw! Throw!"

Well, if he wanted it--

(And Ren had always been a little tempted to do it, since they knew Morgana could take it; now he got to do it with Morgana's permission)

Ren launched Morgana into the biggest underhand toss he could muster, the tiniest thief cackling with delight as he arced through the air until he poofed and landed on the tracks as...a car.

A play car. One of those toys for young children that they could sit in and push themselves around by their own footpower.

A round of groans went up amongst the Thieves. Morgana might not be limited by conservation of mass, but his altered cognition was still managing to create issues. "Come on, Mona!" Ryuji moaned. "You're the smallest of us already, how'd you manage to get hit by that attack?"

"...Let's just start walking," Makoto sighed.

"Nooo!" Morgana sounded his horn in a squeaky beep. "Drive me!"

"Mona-chan, you're just not big enough for that," Haru explained gently. "You look like you could fit two children, and none of us are short enough--"

"Oracle is," Yusuke pointed out.

"Shut up, Inari, I am not." Futaba walked up to the play car as though to prove her point, and then paused. "Wait, am I?" She opened the door on the driver's side and crawled in as Morgana's tail perked. "Holy shit, I am!" Even she had to stoop a bit to fit under the play car's roof, but she could.

"It may be the only vehicle I trust you to drive," Yusuke said with satisfaction.

"You shouldn't. I'll wreck your shins."

"Excuse me?!"

"Vroom vroom," Morgana said, giggling as Futaba propelled him with her legs toward Yusuke, prompting him to jump out of the way. She stopped and awkwardly turned the Mona play car around to face him again, Morgana's big blue headlight-eyes and ears trained on their target. Not that Yusuke's shins were in any real danger from a toy car being maneuvered by a cramped-up Futaba: after a few more passes, all dodged, Futaba decided she was bored and that she wanted to go home as much as everyone else. Morgana didn't seem to mind giving up chasing Yusuke as long as Futaba still drove him, and the two of them kept going like that for the rest of the floor as everyone else walked sedately. At the stairs he detransformed, immediately sitting down. "Tired," he said, as if it wasn't obvious from his drooping shoulders and ears.

"How?!" Futaba asked. "I was the one providing the horsepower!"

"Not a horse. Car. Vroom..." Morgana yawned, nearly sinking onto his side before Ren grabbed and picked him up. Mementos was not a place for anyone to be sleeping, but Morgana managed to snooze on Ren's shoulder as they walked the rest of the way. At least they hadn't been in the deepest parts of Mementos.

Still.  Mona was not winning the “MVP” title today.

#persona 5 #morgana #yusuke kitagawa #futaba sakura #haru okumura #ren amamiya

[randomoranges]

the first half of this is like haha oupsee and the second half is like But Also

Dress Shirt

Étienne mindlessly tugs on the sleeve of his sweater, as his second group of the day trickles in. It’s Edward’s class and he’s always privately amused when he has his boyfriend’s group. They don’t know, obviously, but he does and the knowledge amuses him.

 He’s busy giving out instructions when one of the students’ comes up to him and says, “Hen, M Étienne, vous avez le même chandail que M Édouard?!”

 He pauses, mid sentence and looks down to the shirt he’s wearing underneath the sweater and feels a split second of anxiety.

 It is, indeed, Edward’s shirt. Kids can be so – observant when they want to.

 There’s a perfectly good reason for the shirt.

 Kind of.

 Not one he’s about to share with the kids, who’ve now noticed that their art teacher has the same shirt as their teacher and who are making a Big Deal out of it.

 Last afternoon, like every other afternoon, at the end of the school day, Edward had set out to drive him home, like he does nearly every afternoon and as he’s been doing for the past year and a half. However, halfway through the ride, after their discussion on what they were each making for supper, Étienne had made a comment about how much better Edward’s supper sounded, and his boyfriend had asked him if he wanted to stay for supper.

 Étienne had said yes, obviously, and supper had turned into watching some television together, which had turned into making-out on the sofa, which had led Edward to pull Étienne to his bedroom, which had turned into more fooling around, which had culminated in Étienne spending the night on a weekday night.

 It had been a really good night, though. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had sex on a school night.

 Therefore, seeing as he hadn’t been prepared to spend the night and seeing as they’d gone to bed past their normal bedtime and had rushed in the morning, Étienne hadn’t really thought anything when he’d asked Edward if he could borrow a shirt for the day. He’d picked his favourite one, Edward had driven them to school, and all the while Étienne had thought that maybe he should leave a change of clothes at Edward’s – in case this happened again. He’d like for it to happen again. Especially the impromptu version.

 “Ah oui?” He plays dumb. Thankfully, the shirt is a simple button down in powder blue. “J’imagine qu’on a du l’acheter au même magasin. C’est drôle, hein?” He laughs and the students giggle as well, before he ushers them to their seats so that they can start the lesson.

 No one else brings it up and the rest of the period goes off without further incidents.

 There’s half an hour left before lunch, when he happens to see the light blinking on his cell phone, alerting him of a message. His third group is busy working on their projects, and so, even though he’s not supposed to, he checks his phone and sees that Edward has sent him a text. Curious, he opens it up, wondering what it says.

 “Can we do lunch?”

 They hadn’t discussed eating together, but Étienne is never one to say no, unless he legitimately can’t.

 “Sure : )”

 He doesn’t bother to wait for an answer and goes back to his lesson.

 Edward shows up to the art room ten minutes after lunch started, after he’s brought his own kids to the cafeteria, and knocks on the door as he always does. Étienne looks up from the paint pucks he’s been setting up and grins, before he motions him in. He walks over to the door and makes sure to lock it behind Edward, before he pecks his boyfriend’s cheek in greeting.

 “Nice shirt,” Edward offers and Étienne lets out a semi-embarrassed laugh.

 “I guess you heard?”

 “It’s all the kids were talking about.”

 There’s a point of seriousness to Edward’s voice and Étienne wonders if maybe his boyfriend is bothered by this. If he hasn’t had a change of heart.

 “I’m sorry if I made things weird – I promise I didn’t tell them anything – just that we must have gotten it at the same store.”

 They both take a seat on the couch at the back of the room and Edward lets himself slump over with a deep sigh.

 “No – it’s fine. You didn’t do anything wrong. I played along as well and it’s fine, but – is it stupid that I got scared for a moment? That they’d figure it out and react?”

 Étienne blinks, confused for only a second and then it hits him. What it could mean. What it could look like. What it could lead to.

 “It’s not stupid,” Étienne says after a moment, a quiet little admission of defeat. “This is still school. People like us have been fired for less.”

 It’s a sobering fact to remember. It leaves a chill in the room that even the coziest of sweaters can’t whisk away.

 “I don’t know – maybe it would be easier if there was a precedent. Some queer kid in the school. Queer parents. Something that would let us know it’s okay,” Sure, the union has an ally branch – but for the kids. There’s never really anything mentioned for staff. Even when he tried to look, he’s found nothing.

 Edward picks up, “Yet, in all my years here, I’ve never heard of a student having queer parents. Or even mentioning a queer family member or friend. I mean, I get we’re in elementary. Kids coming out happens more frequently in high school, but still. It would help. Would ease the tension and the anxiety.”

 He remembers hearing stories growing up. He remembers the fear he had felt, even then, without knowing. The sleepless nights afterwards. Wondering, always, how would it impact him, even though this was a new millennium. It’s always easier to say that one is tolerant, another to apply it when faced with the facts. Would the school accept two queer teachers? Would the parents turn on them? Would the school ask them to leave, politely, before they caused more damage? Because parents would talk? Would they even?

 Étienne reaches out and gives his knee a squeeze. “I hate that I get what you mean,” He sighs out and spares him a glance, “And that we have to choose – between being ourselves or going back into some proverbial closet. Potentially losing a job and causing a scene, or keeping our heads down and passing by.”

 “Yeah...” He’s relieved Étienne gets it. He would, obviously, but he’s relieved regardless. If anything, at least, he’s not alone. He’s not going back home to some other boyfriend who doesn’t have to worry about this one issue and who won’t understand. He’s been there before.

 “I know it’s not ideal, but I’m not – I don’t think I’m ready. To be out. Here.” He casts a worried glance around the room and then to Étienne, afraid his boyfriend will get annoyed. They’ve only been dating for a few short months and he knows he should have brought this up over summer, but – he’d forgotten. “I know you’re more – out than me. In your style and way of dressing... and I know it’s asking a lot.”

 “Hey, no, I get it – I really do.” Étienne says and tugs at Edward’s body until his boyfriend is leaning on him, using his chest as a pillow, “The school institution in itself is still a very conservative place full of archaic rules. I’m fine with playing it safe and testing the waters. Not rocking the boat and all. I might be the art teacher and get away with some things, but believe it or not there are still things I keep to myself as well.”

 They’ve spoken some about this over the summer, once they’d started dating. Of certain things they both enjoy doing that wouldn’t be accepted by the school’s dress code. Certain hobbies that might be frowned upon by more conservative minded people. It’s exhausting, really and they both hate it. Yet, even if they decided to take up arms to fight the stigma, it would take a lot of time and they’re both uncertain they have the drive in them for it.

 “Sometimes, I wish I had a different job. One where I could – dress the way I wanted and just be me. No one would question it.” Edward admits, his head on Étienne’s shoulder where it’s nice and safe. “I mean, I know that there are issues everywhere and that even if I worked at a bank a client could decide not to touch money I handled because I’m gay, or something, but I feel that there’s an extra layer in a school. Because of the kids.”

 He’s heard stories – on the news, online, of parents accusing teachers – hell, even more open-minded straight teachers of turning their kids “gay” because of class discussions or certain books they’d make their kids read or some other stupid thing. He knows they live in a pretty tolerant and open-minded city, but it doesn’t mean everyone is on board and there’s no way of knowing which parents would be on their side and which ones would want them out. Unfortunately, there is no survey that’s sent out at the start of the year along with photo authorisations.

 “I hate that I always have to fucking lie and pretend.” Edward concludes with another frustrated sigh.

 “Me too,” Étienne adds.

 They fall quiet for a moment, lost in their own thoughts, imagining what their lives could be like if there wasn’t this constant stress, simmering in the back of their minds, dictating their every move – watching and waiting for them to tumble and fall.

 “I don’t know if it makes things easier or harder that we work in the same place and that we’re together, but I know I’m glad I’m not alone – that if anything, we can at least get support from one another and maybe, hopefully, with time, we’ll find out who the allies are.”

 Edward looks at him and scrubs a hand over his face, before he offers him the smallest of smiles. It’s not much, but Étienne will take it.

 “I guess you’re right,” He pauses and then looks over to Étienne, “Okay, but what were the actual odds that in a job composed mostly of women, the only two male teachers would not only be queer but end up together?” He huffs a laugh and Étienne grins, joining him.

 “Probably very little, but I don’t regret it.”

 He means it, truly. He’d obviously enjoyed being friends with Edward, but he likes where their relationship has been going and he hopes that – even if it’s a little unconventional, that they’ll manage to overcome whatever hardships and insecurities will come their way.

 “Me neither.” They might have to make concessions because of their work, but Edward has vowed to himself, years ago, that he wouldn’t stop himself from being happy and living his life because of what others might think of him. He might not be willing to go to battle over every issue, but he’ll find ways to make this work. They both will.

 “For the record, you can keep the shirt – it looks really good on you.”

 Étienne laughs, this time for real, and it’s closer to his usual carefree laugh, before he playfully hits Edward on the shoulder.

 FIN

#pc: montreal #pc: edmonton #edward murphy #étienne maisonneuve #au #fic #teacher au