#Because I fucking love that he's an American stereotype

[lockerandom]

So, Oda said that Robin's real world ethnicity would be Russian. What would we think of an Romani actress for her?

[lay-z]

I'm sorry, but this is so self-indulgent, it hurts. I've been thinking about it since it happened...So, here goes nothing. Also, this took a turn while I wrote it, because I have no control over myself and usually change plotlines mid-writing. MINORS, DNI - 18+ only !!! Pairing: f!reader x John 'Soap' MacTavish Warnings/Info: German reader 🇩🇪; trash talk; banter; cussing; Scottish slang (I feel like that should count as a warning...); German language; fuckbuddies to lovers; sexual tension; explicit smut; unprotected sex; some jealousy; dom!Soap; fluff

“Ach, ye gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me, lass!" Soap scoffs loudly as soon as he sees you swagger in to the private 141 rec room inside the HQ with a smug smile on your lips and that popular pink football jersey of the German national team adorning your body. 

Soap is wearing his new cobalt blue Scotland jersey himself; fabric straining around his bulging biceps, stretching over his broad chest, and fitting snugly around his narrow waist like a second skin, because he's bought it a size too small on purpose.  

Captain Price and Gaz are both showing off their support and colours by wearing their white England jerseys, naturally, while Ghost doesn't seem to care much because 'our bloody team isn't playing tonight anyways'. Keegan is wearing a vintage looking Portugal jersey, because 'Cristiano is still the fucking goat', and Roach is just happy to be there, really. He's more into American football, but he doesn't dare to speak that thought out loud tonight. 

The atmosphere is light-hearted, riddled with boisterous laughter, crude banter and the smells of Price's cigar smoke, savoury snacks, hefty beer and hard liquor, while the group is gathered around the sofa in front of the large flat TV screen mounted on the wall, either sitting on its plush cushions or on one of the office chairs borrowed from one of the nearby meeting rooms.  

Tensions are high, especially between you and Soap as the group waits for the preliminary reporting and interviews to end and the match to finally begin. 

Germany vs. Scotland, the first opening match for this year's European Football Championship tournament. 

Soap chokes up during Scotland's national anthem, overwhelmed by the sheer pride his fellow countrymen display in the stadium in Munich, while you merely stand with your hand over your heart as the German national anthem is sung next – singing your own national anthem and showing any kind of patriotism for your country, always makes you feel weird somehow; many thanks to inherited generational shame.  

Still, you feel a tiny bit of pride as you witness your own compatriots sing the anthem just as noisily as the Scots. 

"That a rare smile I spy on yer lips, lassie?" Soap teases after the anthems are finished, nudging his elbow against your upper arm while he's holding a bottle of beer in his hand. He loves to tease you with stereotypes that don't even apply to you most times, but he does it, nonetheless.  

"Ye like how yer fellow Krauts have shown some pride in their country, eh?" He snickers, earning a sharp, scolding glare from Captain Price.  

"Careful, MacTavish," the Captain chides from his chair next to the couch, his voice muffled by the cigar he's currently chewing on, while the others chuckle and snort among each other, "Keep the bloody banter above the belt, son."  

However, you simply click your tongue and roll your eyes at him as Soap continues to grin at you. Both of you know that he doesn't mean any menace by it, and you've said way worse stuff to each other in the past anyway – all in the name of good-natured, friendly banter, of course. Besides, you live for the constant banter and bickering between you two. It's pretty much the main foundation of your friendship, and what inevitably lead to your affair.  

"Very proud of my Krauts, yeah," you retort eventually, completely unfazed by the "slur", poking his large biceps with your forefinger harshly as you shoot him a mock glare, "I'll be even prouder when our team has completely annihilated yours, Scotch." 

Soap's chest rumbles with a low grunt at your name calling, and he loves how you defy him easily, as he lets his dark blue eyes roam over your figure appreciatively. He notices how the fabric of your jersey clings to your upper body, accentuating your delicious curves and ample chest, and how the thin collar hugs your pretty neck, making him want to wrap his hand around your throat just like he did last night. 

Gaz chuckles at your comment and even Ghost snorts quietly behind his balaclava, while Soap narrows his eyes at you playfully, now towering as he takes one more step towards you; close enough for you to tilt your head back slightly to keep eye contact with him.  

Gods, you love how tall he is compared to you; how he could easily bend you to his will if he wanted to. 

Soap notices how your pupils dilate as you hold his gaze fiercely and he can already feel his blood heat up in his veins with excitement, rushing south. He clenches his jaw as you bat your eyelashes up at him with that bratty smirk of yours and his fingers tighten around the cold beer bottle in his hand, the other one stuffed into the pocket of his jeans, to keep himself from grabbing and bending you over the couch in front of everyone, including your superiors.  

The tension between you two is becoming more noticeable to everyone present now, all thick and palpable.  

"Is – is that behaviour considered normal for them?" Roach enquires in a hushed whisper as he leans in to speak to the other men, shoving another handful of salted and roasted peanuts into his mouth while his eyes flicker back and forth between you and Soap. He's more interested in whatever is going on between the two Sergeants than the goddamn soccer game on TV. 

Keegan simply nods with an affirming hum as he lifts the rim of his beer bottle to his lips, eyes glued to the TV, while Gaz answers verbally, also not taking his eyes off the screen. 

"Aye," the latter confirms, "Just ignore them, Sanderson. We don't interfere, unless they get physical. Right, Captain?" 

The older male nods firmly in return, his face a mask of seriousness as he watches the kick-off with intrigue, taking a slow sip of his glass of bourbon. 

"And even then, only if it's not sexual." Ghost adds gruffly, though one can practically hear that he's smirking beneath his mask. The Lieutenant has never said it out loud yet, but he is very much aware of the thing that has been going on between his Sergeant's for a while now.  

Soap manages to stay cocky after the first two goals for the German soccer team, despite his teammates and, especially, your teasing. The third one, a penalty goal, makes him break out in a sweat with both anger and devastation, all hope for a win now gone at once.  

The Germans don't stop there, though. 

You're tugging at Soap's arm, his jersey, jumping up and down like some excited bunny, laughing and cheering hysterically after having had a few drinks at this point, celebrating with the rest of the team, while the Scotsman looks on with a sour, stony expression.  

He doesn't even know when everyone else suddenly became a fan of the goddamn Germans, all he knows is that his team is losing, and he's currently outnumbered by impostors. Creepin' Jesus, even Roach is cheering for them! He should've known better than to watch the bloody game with you and the lads. 

"Aw, come on, Soapey!" You coo at him condescendingly, grinning widely as he crosses his arms in front of his chest with a huff, rolling his shoulders coolly as if he's not incredibly vexed, "Are you not enjoying the game, huh?" 

"Ach," he scoffs, shrugging off your hand from his shoulder like a petulant child, "Away an bile yer heid." 

"English, MacTavish!" Ghost scolds from his seat on the couch, having heard the insult despite the noise in the room, and you can see how badly Soap wants to flip the Lieutenant off.  

"Ah, ah, ah, Johnny," you butt in a with a smug tone to your voice, "Be nice now. Your boys can still win thi–" 

Your voice is cut off by loud cheering as Germany scores their fourth goal. 

"Fuckin' sore winner, hen," Soap grunts as he bullies his cock deeper into your quivering cunt; right up to the hilt, stretching your velvety walls and hitting your g-spot repeatedly while you're burying your face into the soft pillows on the mattress beneath you, muffling your desperate noises as you take his fat cock like the good little bonnie you usually are behind closed doors. 

In this position, he has the best view on your delicious curves and soft skin, now adorned with his deep blue Scotland jersey after he’d swiftly pulled the German one off you once you were in your bedroom; the fabric now rucked up to your shoulder blades, one hand of his fisting the stretchy fabric tightly to keep you exposed. 

"Teasin' me all fuckin’ night," he huffs through gritted teeth as his blunt nails dig into your skin, tightening his grip around the fat on your hips with his other hand, so you can't escape him, "Over some fuckin' football game." 

While Soap rolls and thrusts his hips in a steady, brutal rhythm, positioned between his spread knees behind you, you're grabbing fistfuls of your blanket as you moan and whimper helplessly, dampening the white sheets with your drool, taking everything he's giving you in retaliation to your bratty behaviour back at the rec room. 

Soap had immediately grabbed a tight hold of your wrist and pulled you out of the room, towards the 141 quarters, as soon as the final whistle had rung out, ending the match with a terrible loss for Scotland. He didn’t bear to stand a minute longer to listen to his and your teammates mockery, and he didn’t care about the confused looks everyone, except Ghost, were shooting you and him as you’d left together. 

He doesn’t care much anymore that Scotland lost to Germany – 5:1; it just so happens to be the perfect excuse to completely wreck you tonight, and Soap keeps telling himself that it’s not at all because he’s witnessed Keegan getting friendly with you over the past few times the team went out to the pub on base. You two might not be official, but you’re still his – and his only.

His friend, his fuckbuddy, his lover.

"You're jus'.... mad they– a-ah~" You slur, but your words are cut off by another pathetic moan that is ripped from your throat when Soap grabs you by the nape of your neck suddenly, like a dog would grab her puppies, squeezing your flesh and muscle with his calloused hand to keep you in place, then pulls his thick cock out up to its angry-red tip only to pound back into you with determined fervour to finally shut you up for good. 

No, Soap is not mad about the bloody game – he’s mad that you’d spent halftime sitting on Keegan’s lap like an obedient puppy when the latter had asked you to take a seat, because the chairs were taken and Ghost took up most space on the sofa – and Soap was too proud to tell you to sit on his lap instead.

The bed rocks and creaks under your combined weight, hitting the wall repeatedly with a very telling “thudthudthudthud–” for your surrounding neighbours, your teammates, while the warm glow of your bedside lamp casts a lewd shadow of your current activity on the white walls of your bedroom. Fuck, Soap hopes Keegan can hear you two going at it in his apartment.

“What was that, bonnie? Ye said sum’?” the Scotsman grits out mockingly, biting his lower lip, nostrils flaring with exerted breaths as he squeezes your neck tighter, forcing you to arch your back and your pretty ass up into him as he pounds into you; skin slapping skin as his balls tap against your clit with each deep and rapid thrust. 

Meanwhile, you don’t even register his teasing words anymore as you’re fully focused on the mind-blowing pleasure Soap is giving you; hard and dominating and the opposite of how the usually treats you during sex.  

Your eyes roll back, toes curling as the tension of your impending climax begins to build up, up, up then; heat blossoming in your lower abdomen as he keeps pushing you towards the edge with each delightful rock of his powerful hips and his girthy cock ramming into your sweet spot.  

However, Soap knows those sounds you’re making all too well already; the way you’re breathing pattern changes, the higher pitch of your wanton moans and sweet cries of pleasure, the way your walls begin to clench harder around his thick length, practically sucking him in deeper into your silky heat – he can read all the signs like the bloody morning paper, knows you’re about to cum on his dick... 

And despite his own pleasure licking and tingling at his lower spine, making his burly muscles tense and twitch and his balls tighten with the inevitable – he stops his movements at once, ruins both your orgasms, and pulls his throbbing cock from your soppy, warm cunt. Glancing down briefly, Soap sees his bare cock glistening with your slick, creamy arousal and his pearly pre-cum gathering at the base of his cock, and the sight makes him shudder and groan with excitement. 

He can’t have you cum like this tonight, though, fucking you doggy – Gods, no. Soap needs to watch you fall apart on his cock, needs to see your gorgeous features contort in pleasure and your reaction when he spills his thick load into you for the very first time without anything holding him back and separating him from you – knowing he’s the only one able to have you like this.

“Up,” he grunts out next, simultaneously pulling you upwards by your neck while he feels your rapidly fluttering pulse under his fingertips, until your back is flush with his sweat-slicked and bare, heaving chest while his rock hard cock rubs and pokes along your ass cheeks, “Gimme yer mouth.”  

Cranking your neck towards him obediently, Soap reaches out and cups the side of your jawline to angle your face to his liking, capturing your mouth in a sloppy kiss and swiftly plunging his hot tongue past your lips. Your eyes flutter shut as you moan into his mouth while his other large hand snakes around your body, slipping beneath his jersey you’re wearing, cupping and groping your plump tits greedily, pinching your stiff nipples with the rough pads of his thumb and forefinger.

Soap goes on to shift and manhandle you into a different position and you gladly let him. 

He pushes you down onto your back, smirking to himself when you spread your legs for him all too eagerly, making grabby hands with a frustrated pout to have him on top of you again – it’s adorable, really, and he appreciates the view of your pussy, all puffy and wet for him, before he nestles himself between your thighs – the place that has easily become his favourite over the past few months.

 “Yer such a brat,” Soap chuckles darkly as he grabs one of your legs by your calf to hike it up over his broad shoulder, then the other, before he spits into his palm and gives his cock a few good pumps with his fist, tapping and rubbing the swollen tip on your sensitive clit teasingly until you let out a needy whine, one hand of yours reaching up to hold on to the back of his neck, tugging at his short Mohawk.

You’re his brat, though. Emphasis on his.

“And you’re such an ass tonight, Johnny,” you mewl in return and suck in a breath when Soap aligns his thick tip with your slick hole, pushing in halfway with one languid thrust and leaving you both breathless again. 

“’m not an arse,” he objects with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he watches you bite your lower lip raw to keep your lewd noises at bay, “Ye just have a way of drivin’ me doolally, hen.” He counters, and then leans in to crash your lips together once more, folding your legs up even further while his cock sinks into your cunt fully, followed by a guttural moan of his when he feels your walls clench and tighten around him, squeezing him until his muscles tremble with restraint.

He groans against your lips; the feeling of your throbbing heat and the taste of your soft tongue flicking and lapping against his is nearly enough to make him cum on the spot. It’s almost like he can feel your heartbeat through your snug, perfect pussy, and it nearly drives him to the brink of madness each time you let him fuck you.

“You can’t say shit like doolally and not expect me to laugh,” you snicker softly, nipping at his lower lip as you lock eyes with him, batting your eyelashes, “Sounds fucking ridiculous.” 

Soap grins in return and continues his deep, deliberate thrusts into your delicious cunt. His heart always flutters giddily whenever you gaze into his eyes with that cheeky look of yours, especially when his cock is buried to the hilt inside you, stretching you out with every inch he has to offer.

“Say some in German then,” he croons lowly, nudging his nose below your chin to make you tilt your head up to give him better access to your neck before he begins peppering wet, hot kisses along your pulse point, sucking a purple love bite into your creamy skin to mark you up. “I wanna laugh, too,” he grumbles between nips and pecks. 

You click your tongue in mock annoyance, enjoying his ministrations and the way his beard tickles your skin too much to be mad at his teasing, and you tug on his short hair a little harder before raking your nails over his scalp until he purrs against your skin in pure bliss. Soap can feel how you swallow hard as he licks a long stripe from your collarbone up your throat, then your walls clench tightly around his cock and he grits his teeth as another pleasant shudder runs down his spine.  

“Say. Sum’. To. Me. Lass.” He demands, this time punctuating each word with a sudden deep and sharp rock of his hips that makes the bed’s headboard hit the wall again. 

Your eyes flutter shut with a breathy moan and your brain short-circuits while each of his thrusts makes a jolt of hot searing pleasure shoot right into your core, making your spine tingle and your body tense with bliss. 

“Ich liebe dich,” you blurt out unintentionally instead of an insult, your speech slurred and unintelligible as he presses his weight further into you, knocking the breath out of your lungs in this position. Your eyes widen as soon as you realize what you’ve just confessed and you pray he didn’t understand that. 

Soap doesn’t speak German, but those words do sound familiar. 

His stomach tightens, his heart skips a heavy beat while his mind begins to race, and his rhythm falters momentarily before he picks up his pace again, fucking into you fast, deep and thoroughly to drown out the sudden wave of foreign emotions on the brink of overwhelming him. 

“Again,” he demands against your ear, gripping your body tightly and keeping you in place on the mattress as he ruts into your cunt with newfound vigor and goad, his pelvis stimulating your clit with each sharp snap of his hips.

“Say –“ He gets a hold of your jaw, curling his large hand around it to make you look at him while he grits his teeth, huffing like some feral bull. “– that again.”

Reaching one hand out behind you, you brace your flat palm against the headboard while your other hand keeps holding on to the back of his neck, fingernails digging into thick muscle and skin as you cling onto him desperately.

“F-fuck, Johnny!” You cry out. “Ich liebe dich, du Vollidiot!” you repeat in between breathy, high-pitched moans, though more confident this time, before your eyes roll back in pleasure with another loud moan of his given name.

Soap can barely keep it together then. His heart nearly bursts out of his chest and his jaw clenches so hard, the veins in his neck start protruding and fluttering with his rapid pulse as he feels you come apart around his cock; your tight, soppy walls convulsing and clenching, pushing and coaxing him to his own sudden release.

And he lets go of your jaw, clutches the pillow next to your head tightly as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, groaning and moaning shamelessly as his body seizes up, balls tightening almost painfully before he spends his thick cum into your perfect cunt.

You wince and exhale a hiss when Soap leans back to look at you and lowers your legs at last, letting you stretch out your sore muscles while he stays buried inside you, moving his hips almost lazily and caressing your burning leg muscles soothingly while both your bodies keep twitching and shaking with small aftershocks. You can feel his warm cum and your own wetness leaking and dripping down your ass crack, ruining your bed sheets below – and you remember that you did actually let him fuck you raw this time in a fit of frivolity.

Your blurry vision becomes clear again once you blink away the haziness and then you already feel Soap’s calloused fingers tracing your jawline, his deep blue eyes drinking in your gorgeous, flushed features almost reverently.

“What?” You ask defensively, looking up at his ruggedly handsome face, now squirming under his uncharacteristically tender gaze and the feeling of his softening cock still resting all snug inside your cunt, acting as if you haven’t just professed your love to him, after weeks of dancing around the topic.

“Well,” he begins, clearing his throat after another beat of awkward silence as he can feel his cheeks begin to heat up with a burning blush,

“Ye cannae finally confess ye love me an’ not expect me ta combust, luv.”

[darkmatilda]

╰┈➤ HALLOWEEN TRADITION

in which one you and reid match your outfits every year for halloween

tw: mention of shoo!ing, dea!h of an animal

contents: spencer reid x fem!reader, they're both obviously in love with each other, time skips

words: 7.5k

a year ago

“Oh, I already ordered. Caramel cappuccino, almond milk, double amount of vanilla syrup and cinnamon sprinkled on top, am I right?

“Your photographic memory is sometimes just terrifying”

“Thank you. By the way, are you still afraid to order this coffee in front of Rossi?”

“Yep. I always take regular macchiato. The last thing I need in work is his judgemental, Italian look…”

Meanwhile, as Reid let out a short laugh, you quickly took in your surroundings: the brick walls and oak tables, the decorative pumpkins by the entrance, and the menu hanging above the barista’s counter, adorned with (artificial) leaves. Just like every corner of this trashy coffee shop was trying to remind you about autumn.

 One thing about you — you were an extreme autumn lover, who unfortunately was allergic to pumpkins, so you couldn’t fit the autumn white girl stereotype completely, by ordering a pumpkin spice latte. And you would rather die than wear a sweater. All of them were scratchy. 

“So” started Reid, hitting a notebook cover with a pen. "I spent all of last evening and more than half of this morning writing down ideas for our Halloween costume this year. I made sure none of them were too similar to our last year's outfits or anything our friends have ever worn to make sure we’ll be the best-dressed people at the party”

“God, Reid, you really took it seriously this year” you raised your eyebrows, shocked and full of admiration at the same time. “And how many ideas did you find?”

“143”

“143?!” you repeated, assuming that he was just joking. Spencer was looking at you with a deadly serious face. “Are fucking crazy? How are we going to choose between 143 ideas? I can’t even choose what socks to wear in the morning…”

“144” he corrected. “When you were saying that I came with another one, Tyler and Marla from Fight Club…”

You had this tendency to forget the names of fictional characters (though, somehow, you could name every American serial killer who ever existed and everyone from your high school class. It was both funny and slightly terrifying that, in two cases, those names overlapped) so it took you a moment to realize who Reid was talking about.

“A guy with a red leather jacket? And this woman who was always smoking?”

“Their names are Tyler Durden and Marla Singer. I don't mean to sound rude, but you made me watch this movie and claimed it was one of your favorites, yet you don’t even remember the main characters' names?"

You shrugged your shoulders. You could say nothing in your defense, that was just the way you were. A subtle smile danced on your lips.

“When I started working with you” you meant the whole BAU “I couldn’t remember all of your names. About two months later I slowly started to recognize them because of how you were addressing each other but because everyone was calling Hotch by his surname I didn’t know his actual name for, like, years…”

Disbelief showed on Spencer’s face but then got replaced with amusement.

“Years?”

“Don’t you dare laugh at me because of my memory problem, mrs. I know the moon signs of everyone around me…”

He raised his hands in a defensive gesture.

“How could I dare, ms. I don’t remember my boss's name even though we’ve been working together for five years…”

“I couldn’t remember it back then! Shame on you, Reid. I shared my secret with you and you immediately started laughing…”

“And what did you want me to do? Make you an appointment with a neurologist?” 

That's what our usual conversation looked like. Like a professional ping pong game. Year after a year, month after a month, day after a day you were just becoming better and better players. 

Waitress came along your table, setting your orders on the table. You always had to smell your coffee first, cinnamon aroma ticked your nose. 

“"Not that it means anything, but my memory problems have worsened since I met you." you said, taking the first sip of a coffee. 

“What do you mean by that?“

“Well, I don’t have the need to remember anything when you remember literally everything that comes your way. You've spoiled me a bit in this regard."

Spencer smiled softly, with a little bit of pride, caused by your words. 

“ Always at your service”  he declared. Suddenly his back went straight, as he probably reminded himself about something. ”Did you call your brother today? It’s his birthday… 

“ No way” you jumped on your seat and immediately started looking for your phone to check what day it was. 14 October. “God, Reid you’re right. I completely forgot…Have I already told you how much I love you? 

You standed up, ready to leave the coffee, declaring that you’ll be back in a moment. People around were having their lunch. The whole place became too noisy for a birthday phone call with your older brother, who lived in a different state. 

“Not today” He replied shortly. 

“So, I’m telling you now, Spence. You’re the best friend I could ever imagine…”

As you were busy with dialing the right phone number and trying to wear your coat at the same time, you couldn’t see how his smile faded after the last sentence. 

a week later

“It cost me like half of my salary” You said, tossing your dark hair back so it wouldn't accidentally catch fire while lighting the candle. A damn expensive candle, as you mentioned. “Another half goes for that little shit”

With a nod, you indicated the ginger cat that had already settled comfortably next to Spencer. He didn’t take his eyes off the laptop screen, checking something with a furrowed brow. With one hand, almost automatically, he gently scratched Mr. Cinnamon Roll behind the ear.

“It’s made only with fully natural ingredients. Vegan friendly. People with migraines friendly. Almost everyone friendly, except of your wallet” You continued your speech, agitated, recalling the guy in the store who refused to sell you a simple, cheap autumn candle, explaining its poor quality, and convinced you to buy the most expensive one he had.

Finally, the wick caught fire.

“So, you’ve got something?“

It was a late evening after work when you both felt exhausted, yet you decided to meet at your apartment to search online for essentials for your Halloween costumes. The idea of going as a couple from Fight Club had won.

You were supposed to be Marla, and he was to be Tyler. You weren’t a couple or anything like that, but for the past five years, it had been your tradition to wear matching outfits for the halloween party organized by your team. Usually, various other friends would join, and having more people allowed for a best costume contest, which you nearly won every year.

“Yeah, but you probably won't like that, considering that you’ve just confessed to spending your entire paycheck”

You set the candle down on the small coffee table in your living room and joined him on the couch, almost crushing Mr. Cinnamon Ball. He didn’t look offended by that — this cat would rather be crushed than leave Spencer’s side. Somehow, he loved him more than the hand that fed him. 

Sitting so close to your friend, your head nearly touched his shoulder, but neither of you minded.You had known each other for four years. You met regularly to watch movies or just to chat, and more than once, you had fallen asleep with your head resting on his arm, that was way more comfortable than any pillow. The rest of your team sometimes joked about your close relationship, but in your opinion, it was only because you were almost the same age! And maybe a bit because you felt the most comfortable in his presence, you understood each other the best, and he made you laugh the most…

For God's sake, why did you start thinking about that at that moment? When you were so close to each other and his gentle scent was slowly enveloping you...

Okay, you’ve thought of him as more than just a friend once or twice. Like that time he stayed over at your place, and you didn’t want him to sleep on the uncomfortable couch, so you shared your bed. You felt so good waking up next to him and regretted that it was just a one-time experience…

You realized he must have said something to you, but you were too lost in thought to hear it.

Instead of repeating himself, Reid pushed the laptop closer to you. On the screen was a website featuring an auction for….the original red leather jacket from Fight Club! You almost screamed. If you had won her over, the victory would have to be yours...

Your enthusiasm faded like a blown-out candle when you saw the final bid amount. 

“What the fuck? That's more than the total of our annual salaries…” 

 "Actually, it’s twenty thousand less than..."

You both fell silent in disappointment. Then, a very silly idea came to your mind.

“Reid” you started slowly. 

“"Oh no, I know this tone. You're either about to say something extremely absurd or something inappropriate, and I don’t know which one scares me more."

 "But listen. We'll wait for the auction to end and for someone to buy that jacket. Then we’ll talk to Garcia and convince her to track down the buyer. We'll go, knock on the door, and when they open it..."

"We’ll politely ask to borrow it?"

"No, sweet boy, we’ll show our badges and say the auction was illegal, and we need to confiscate the jacket."

Spencer burst out laughing.

"Your ideas are brilliant. But how are you going to explain this to Hotch afterward?"

“He won’t find out”

“He find out”

“Okay, you’re right. He’ll probably find out”

A silence full of smiles fell between you.

Spencer closed the auction page and started browsing something else when you let out a laugh at your own thoughts. 

“Okay, I have another idea that won’t cost either of us our jobs,” you said, capturing his attention. He tore his gaze away from the laptop and focused completely on you and your trembling lips, which hinted that you weren’t going to say anything serious “The beginning of the plan sounds the same but instead of showing our badges, you’ll give him a blowjob… “

“Fuck you!” he shouted, unable to stop himself from laughing. At the sight of his expression, a wave of laughter hit you so hard that Mr. Cinnamon Roll jumped off the couch and ran away from his sick owner. “I’m not giving any random guy a blowjob in exchange for a jacket. In exchange for the original diaries of Einstein, well, I wouldn’t say no; I would think about it, but not for a jacket!”

“But it’s the jacket from Fight Club, Spence. Brad Pitt was wearing it” you encouraged him, amused. "Besides, how do you know some guy will buy it? It could be a woman.” 

Spencer rolled his eyes and was ready to continue arguing on the topic, but suddenly it seemed as if he changed his mind. His expression grew more serious.

"Actually, it doesn't change much, but that's not the point. What worries me more is that I've lost my touch. Maybe you'd want to replace me in this? The buyer might not be satisfied."

He said it in a tone as if he were talking about a truly serious, real transaction, which only amused you even more. Also pretending to be serious, you patted him on the shoulder.

“Don't worry, Spence. I'm sure you'll manage just fine.'"

"Really? What makes you think that?"

You considered making a joke, but then you realized what you were talking about while studying him. After a whole day at work, he looked... surprisingly... attractive? With slightly tousled hair and two buttons of his shirt undone…

"‘Nothing,” you replied. For the first time in his presence, you felt slightly embarrassed to continue the topic. Your closeness on the couch didn’t help at all, and you regretted scaring off Mr. Cinnamon.

“No, something makes you think that” 

The tension between you escalated to the point where you weren't sure if he was still joking. You realized that in this silence, every change in your breathing would be audible, so you tried to control it. 

What makes you think that? Spencer just seemed that way. I mean, you often talked about your relationships, and you assumed that his potential partner would lack nothing.

Embarrassed, you wanted to say something when he suddenly burst out laughing.

"Jesus, we were talking about blowing somebody for a jacket. Why did you get so scared? 

You hit him on the arm so hard that he let out a groan.

"I didn't get scared! You just suddenly became so weird that I didn't know if you were joking or what” 

"‘Of course I was joking. Why would I ask you that seriously?” he asked, and you noticed that he also carried a hint of embarrassment.

"I have no idea. Maybe you wanted to know my opinion or something” You desperately tried to return to the atmosphere that had existed between you just a moment ago, one that felt more friendly.

Spencer swallowed hard. It was clear he also preferred to drop the topic. 

“I don’t know why you would have any opinion on that, but let’s get back to what we were talking about before you switched into perverted weirdo mode...’"

After his words, you had to hide your face in the sleeve of his shirt, unable to contain your laughter. He seemed surprised by your reaction.

“ What? What did I say this time?” 

“Perverted weirdo” you blurted it out, almost choking on your words.” You called me a perverted weirdo…”

“Well, considering your recent ambiguous comments…”

“I'm going to tell Emily about this. Hey girl, you know how Spencer called me last time? A perverted weirdo…Oh no, I got your shirt dirty with my makeup… “

Spencer looked at the sleeve of his shirt and shrugged, saying, "It's nothing."

"No," you shook your head, trying to rub the stain off his shirt with your fingers, but of course it didn’t work. "I spilled coffee on your pants last time. Take it off; I'll wash it today."

"It's late; you’re not going to deal with washing my shirt right now. Let's get back to looking for our costumes."

You agreed and once again found comfort leaning on his shoulder. He still held the laptop on his lap, and whenever you wanted to type on the keyboard, you had to rest your elbows on his body, on the lower part of his stomach. Why were you even paying attention to that? You shaked your head and leaned over the laptop when you found the perfect shoes for Marla's costume.

In that position, you couldn't see Spencer, but you felt he was almost completely still. After a moment, however, he slowly reached for your hair, gently brushing it with his fingers as if checking its texture.

"We don't need to buy you a wig, right? Your hair will do just fine."

You murmured in agreement as he continued to play with your hair, probably unaware of how much he was distracting you. You had been staring at the picture of the shoes for five minutes and couldn’t remember what you wanted to check. Ah, the size!

"Reid, we have a problem," you said. "They don't have my size. I checked to see if a larger size would be available, since I could stuff them somehow, but the smallest is a 10!"

"Your shoe size is 7; in such large ones, you'll either look ridiculous or kill yourself before even arriving to the party…Do they have to be those specific ones? Maybe you can find some others..."

"They have to be those! They're identical to the ones Helena Bonham Carter wore."

Spencer sighed thoughtfully. His breath tickled the back of your head, which distracted you slightly once again. Anyway, this one time, you came up with a solution faster than his brilliant mind…

You turned your head toward him — after he stroked your hair you were very, very close to each other. The flame from the candle on the table reflected in his eyes, filling the area with the scent of cinnamon that had lingered for a while. When your face unexpectedly came just in front of him, he looked at you with a surprise and a gaze that he had never given you before. It was as if he were trying to stop himself from doing something, while at the same time, a voice in his ear incessantly urged him to go ahead.

You looked away to avoid doing something foolish. You could feel warmth on your neck and cheeks. Finally, you remembered what you wanted to ask.

"Spence, what’s your shoe size?"

5 years ago

 It all started when the rest of your team found out about Penelope and Morgan's Halloween tradition. Every year, the two of them held a movie marathon of the scariest films they could find, watching them until sunrise.

 "Why didn’t you invite any of us? I love watching horror movies with friends!" Prentiss exclaimed indignantly.

You were on board a private jet. You had been working with this team for only a few days —  in fact, this was your first trip with them to work in the field.

The prospect of solving the case had you feeling stressed, and you were also wondering if you would find common ground with your team. You lagged slightly behind, pretending to read a book while actually listening to all the conversations around you. You wanted to get to know everyone better. Someone sat down beside you, leaning in to read the title of your book.

 "Rebecca. Have you gotten to the part where it turns out Maxim killed his wife?"

You looked shocked at the second youngest member of the team. You had a serious problem with remembering names, so you only knew his last name. Reid was a tall man with longer hair, dressed in a vest with a shirt peeking out from underneath. Until now, you hadn't formed much of an opinion about him, but that was about to change — he had just spoiled the ending of the book for you.

“No, I haven’t gotten to this part! “

An older man in a black suit chuckled quietly to himself.

"Guys, listen up," said the brunette with bangs, wearing a tight red shirt. "It just came out that Morgan and Penelope have their own secret Halloween tradition."

The woman mentioned was present only on the laptop screen. She was working with you remotely and seemed really nice to you. 

"Sweetheart, we weren't trying to hide anything from you; it just happened that we didn’t mention it..."

"That’s exactly what hiding is," Reid added, giving you an apologetic look for spoiling the book.

"What do you say to all of us getting together this Halloween? The whole team?" asked a muscular man dressed in gray, sitting across from Prentiss with his elbow casually resting on the table. "With a special invitation for you, newbie."

Saying this, he winked at you. You were surprised, but still smiled. Are there better circumstances for getting to know your team than a party? Everyone around you approached this idea. 

a week later

You stared at your phone in fear after just ending the call. JJ said something came up and she wouldn’t be able to make it to the party. You knew her best out of the whole team and had hoped that with her there, you would feel more at ease. Most importantly, you were supposed to wear matching outfits. You realized your breath had quickened slightly. You weren't sure if anyone else besides you planned to dress up. After all, they were mostly older than you —  maybe they weren't into that anymore?

 Back in high school, you were the only one who showed up in costume, and you felt embarrassed the whole evening walking around in a zombie farmer outfit while all the other girls wore mini skirts and beautiful, subtle makeup. You didn’t want to go through that again, but making this costume had taken you a lot of time. Recently, you and JJ had been enchanted by the animated movie Corpse Bride, and you planned to dress up as the title character and her rival, Victoria. Since you loved dressing up for Halloween, you chose the more challenging costume. You bought a cheap white dress that you styled to look more tattered. You applied pale blue makeup and heavily contoured your cheekbones. You even managed to get a veil.

In fifteen minutes, you were supposed to be at Morgan's house. If you removed the makeup, you wouldn’t have time to do anything else. You contemplated what to do. Ultimately, you decided it would be a shame to waste your hard work, and soon you found yourself in the car, heading to the address you were given. As you parked, you felt stress start to take control of you.

You needed to sit in silence for a moment, so you turned off the engine and stared at the empty sidewalk in front of you. Morgan lived in a large house in a quiet neighborhood, where all the homes were spaced far enough apart to host small gatherings without bothering anyone.

Suddenly, someone appeared by the driver's window. You screamed in surprise, your thoughts racing back to all the cases when women were killed in their own cars. 

You quickly realized that it wasn't another UNSUB. That one wouldn’t have screamed alongside you.

“Damn it, Reid, you scared me!”

“You scared me too” he managed to say, placing a hand on his chest. He glanced toward the house. "Weird that Morgan hasn't come out to help yet."

“Maybe the music is too loud and he didn’t hear. There are quite a few cars. Did they invite that many people?” you wondered as you got out of the car. 

Reid glanced at your costume. He wasn’t dressed up at all, just wearing a plain dark gray blazer and a shirt.

"Is that some fashion trend, or are you dressed as a zombie bride?"

“Neither, actually,” you replied, feeling stressed about being the only one in costume. “It’s from the cartoon Corpse Bride.”

“I haven’t seen it,” he admitted as you both headed toward the entrance of the house.

“It’s a great animation,” you recommended. “You should check it out. Although, from what I’ve noticed, you prefer reading more.”

“Not entirely. I like movies too, but I rarely choose cartoons,” he said, ringing the doorbell.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” you replied.

A very short girl you'd never seen before opened the door. She seemed slightly tipsy, confirming your suspicions that people from outside the team had also been invited.

"Oh, you dressed up! How cute!" she said, delighted to see you both, even though she didn’t know you. "Wait, I think I even know who you are. Emily and Victor from Corpse Bride?"

She pointed at the two of you, at your dress and his gray blazer. You exchanged glances, realizing she must have mistaken his usual clothes for a costume.

"No, we’re not…" Reid began to explain.

"Actually, I was supposed to match costumes with JJ…"

But she wasn’t listening. She let you in and shouted through the whole house,

"Look at their matching outfits!"

Everyone gathered around to see you, and you endured the whistles and applause with growing embarrassment.

Penelope appeared right beside you, placing her hands on your shoulders and inspecting your makeup closely. "Oh, sweetheart, you really went all out. This must have taken you ages."

"Which is more than I can say for you," joked Prentiss, holding a beer bottle and pointing it at Reid. "You decided to keep it a secret for a better effect, I assume?"

Reid tried once more to explain that it wasn’t intentional, but you stopped him with a nudge. He looked at you, puzzled.

"Let’s go get a drink," you suggested.

Not waiting for a response, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him along.

"I’m not going to be the only one in costume, so you’re going to stick with me and pretend we planned this all along."

He let out a surprised laugh, thinking you were joking at first.

"Wait, seriously? So… I’m Victor now?"

"Yes, you’re Victor, and you accidentally proposed to me. By the way, I’m dead."

"Okay," he blinked, processing the information. "I definitely need to watch that movie."

You spent almost the entire evening sticking close to each other. Without you by his side, Spencer looked like he wasn’t wearing a costume at all. And without Spencer next to you, you felt a bit awkward.

A few hours later, the two of you were sitting alone in the kitchen, drinking non-alcoholic cocktails and talking about… psychology. Not exactly a party topic, but somehow that’s where your conversation about favorite sodas had ended up.

“Next year, we have to do this again. I mean, plan a costume together. On purpose this time."

Spencer nodded.

"I think I even have an idea."

And that was how your tradition began.

now

He said Halloween is for kids. 

Starting from the beginning, everyone always asks how you met Travis. Well, your story has some potential for a romantic comedy — if only you were a bit more attractive and funnier to make it more watchable on screen. And maybe if there were some breathtaking plot twist. But real life has little in common with a romantic comedy, and you didn’t meet under any crazy circumstances. You only had potential. It happened during your rehabilitation.

Perhaps we need to go back a bit further. Six months ago, Emily passed away, and you weren’t even there for the funeral because, in the rescue attempt to free her from Doyle’s hands, you were shot. Seriously wounded. You spent two weeks in a coma. That might not seem like a long time, but when you woke up, it felt like years had passed. Everyone around you seemed so distant, changed, almost as if you’d suddenly appeared in an entirely different reality.

The following weeks were even more blurred, like rain hitting fiercely against the window with such frequency that the droplets slowly merged into a single cohesive stream. You weren't accepting visitors while in the hospital; something was wrong with you. Perhaps it was due to the grief and shock from Emily's passing, along with the trauma. You didn't want to return to that job; you were too afraid of the risks. Of dying yourself or losing someone from your team and having to relive it all over again. Fortunately, you quickly received an offer for a transfer. An office job, terribly boring, but there was something in that monotony that filled you with a sense of safety. You hated it, but you were afraid to engage in anything else.

Before you took the job, you had to go through rehabilitation. It was led by Travis, eleven years older than you, which stunned your older brother when you introduced them. “You’re dating a guy older than me?” he asked, shocked. They didn’t hit it off, but you didn’t worry too much about that. Everything in your life had changed, and being in a relationship with an older, more mature guy made you feel more stable. And since so many things had changed, why not go all in? You moved in with him. Just as you were starting to climb out of the pit, another tragedy struck. Mr. Cinnamon Roll was diagnosed with stomach cancer and passed away despite treatment.

Since that moment, you almost stopped talking to your old team. You still loved them — they were like family to you, but whenever faced with life's struggles, you felt that burning need for isolation. On the day Mr. Cinnamon Roll died, you received a message from Spencer, asking how you were doing and suggesting a meeting. You stared at your phone for hours, and ultimately replied to him only the next morning with a brief, "Sorry, I didn't notice you wrote." He responded just as briefly. He was also suffering due to the circumstances and probably didn't have the energy to chase after his friend who openly refused to give him any attention.

You pushed him away because you weren’t ready to confront what you were feeling. Something had happened between you during that Halloween party, shortly before Emily's death. After that, you acted as if nothing had occurred, but both of you knew that you needed to talk about what to do with your relationship. But before you had the chance, there was Doyle, your accident, then Travis, and it seemed that everything that had ever been between you was lost. A new agent, Ashley, joined the BAU. You knew her —  you were around the same age, and sometimes you caught yourself wondering if something might blossom between her and Reid.

You thought that if you accepted the loss of your previous life, it would be easier to move on. It was the opposite. Day by day, you felt more and more depressed, empty inside. This morning, you went into a café to buy coffee. While waiting for your order, you looked at the tiny pumpkins on the counter and realized it was Halloween—the holiday you used to love so much. This moved you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt a spark of life within you. You felt like you wanted to do something. Dress up as a character from a cheap horror movie, have a few drinks. Maybe even go trick-or-treating, hiding behind a mask like kids do. You did that with Spencer two years ago, but no one wanted to give that tall guy any candy.

You shared this idea with Travis.

And he said that Halloween is for kids. 

a year ago

“How the fuck I’m suppose to walk in these….”

As soon as you saw him in a black dress that reached mid-thigh (it should have been longer, but you bought it when you still assumed you would be the one wearing it), a short fur coat of the same color, and sunglasses, you nearly choked on your laughter. And when he added black heeled ankle boots and started cursing their practicality, you fell onto the couch, unable to stand on your legs any longer.

Mr. Cinnamon Roll watched his antics with curiosity.

“Run away, little one,” Spencer advised him. “Those heels are so sharp I might accidentally kill you.”

“Don’t exaggerate. I wear shoes with higher heels every day.”

“Your spine will thank you for it in ten years.”

“Alright, mom.”

The deadly shoes landed on the floor. You were planning to leave in an hour and a half, once you finished perfecting your costumes. Until then, Spencer had no intention of risking his life by parading around in them. He lay down on the couch next to you, the dress ungracefully riding up.

“Now it’s your turn to change,” he said, pointing to the Tyler Durden costume lying on the table. “And mine to laugh.”

“First, I wanted to do makeup.”

“Is that necessary?”

“Are you kidding? What kind of Marla Singer would it be without a bold smokey eye?”

“Fine by you,” he muttered, looking at the watch on his wrist. “One hour and thirty-three minutes. Will we make it?”

“Relax. Remember, for a better impression, we need to be a little late.”

You disappeared for a moment into your bathroom, only to return with a makeup bag in hand. You had bought a new eyeshadow palette specifically for this occasion. Tilting your head to the side, you looked at your friend, wondering in which position you would be most comfortable working on him.

“Okay, lean against the couch,” you instructed, feeling like a professional makeup artist. “And don’t look at me like I’m a mad scientist trying to perform some dangerous operation on you.”

“From my perspective, that’s exactly what it looks like. A mad scientist and a dangerous operation. Just don’t accidentally poke me in the eye.”

“God, Reid, I’m not going to do this with a knife…”

You stood in front of the couch, facing him. Following your instruction, he rested his head, but as soon as you tried to apply the first product on his eyelid, you felt that you weren’t doing it precisely. You sighed.

“It’s uncomfortable for me to work this way. I have a better idea. Lie down.”

Reid looked at you with raised eyebrows but obediently lay down on the couch. You sat on a free spot next to him, leaning over his face. You were glad he closed his eyes. It would be awkward to be this close and still have to endure his sharp gaze. Your hair brushed against his neck. A gentle smile appeared on his face as soon as the brush touched his skin.

“This is quite nice,” he said.

You didn’t respond, focused on turning him into a doppelgänger for Marla Singer. You would sooner die of embarrassment than admit it out loud, but you deliberately prolonged the entire process. You felt as if you were working on a painting. Additionally, you enjoyed the awareness of having him beneath you, so defenseless and completely unaware, that you wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

You would simply press your lips together to see what would happen. There was a possibility he would push you away, but even considering that, you were ready to do it. You didn’t even try to push those thoughts away. They had completely dominated your mind, and you were just observing them from the sidelines, wondering where they came from. Throughout your years of friendship, you had never experienced them. Or rather, you had experienced them so rarely that you didn’t consider them significant. After all, everyone sometimes feels like kissing their friend. The problem was that for quite some time, the only thing you had been thinking about was his lips on yours.

Spencer opened one eye. You felt as if he had caught you doing something wrong.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, his voice slightly husky.

You brushed aside the one strand of his hair that had strayed onto his forehead.

“About one of my friends.”

“You look worried. Can I ask why thinking about this person makes you feel that way?”

You let out a quiet laugh. You wondered if he knew you were talking about him. He should have.

“I doubt you want to hear about it,” you replied evasively. However, after a moment, you broke down and added something more. “Do you ever feel like you want to do something stupid so badly that you feel like you're physically shaking, even though you know it’s wrong?”

He frowned slightly. You accidentally applied too much eyeshadow, licking the tip of your finger to wipe away the excess product from his skin.

“Can you give a specific example of such behavior?”

You shrugged.

“I don’t know. Kissing a friend, for example.”

He smiled gently.

“Well, in that case, yes. All the time.”

You exhaled through your nose, feeling a painful tightness in your chest. You didn’t know what was happening to you.

“Done,” you said, abruptly rising from the couch. “I need to change. We don’t have much time.”

“There’s still an hour and eighteen…”

You grabbed your costume from the table and hid in the bathroom, not hearing the end of his sentence.

one hour and eighteen minutes later

Usually, nighttime drives had a calming effect on you, but this time it was completely the opposite. You were in a small space with Spencer, with whom you had just had… let’s call it a complicated conversation. You felt every part of your body tense.

You hated yourself. You hated that you didn’t understand what you were feeling. You hated that you didn’t know what you wanted. You felt like banging your head against the steering wheel. Maybe the sound of the horn would bring you back to your senses.

Reid just stayed silent, inscrutable.

“I’m afraid we’ll be right on time,” he said after clearing his throat. “And you wanted to be a little late.”

“So what should I do now, drive around the city for the next ten minutes?” you asked, slightly irritably.

He shrugged stiffly.

“Or stop and wait. It’s a much more environmentally friendly option.”

In the end, you pulled up outside Morgan’s house, where the annual Halloween party was set to take place for the fifth year in a row. You sighed with nostalgia and turned off the engine. You might have been in the middle of an emotional crisis, but you still intended to win that contest. And that meant waiting out those ten minutes.

You adjusted the sleeves of your red leather jacket.

“Remember when we dressed up as Harry and Voldemort?” you asked suddenly. That had been your first intentional costume pairing.

Spencer let out a short laugh.

“For the next two days, I couldn’t wash off all that white paint,” he muttered, reaching into the black purse you had lent him. Spencer had been outraged that mini dresses had no pockets, leaving him with nowhere to keep his things. You frowned when you noticed he had taken out his wallet. From it, he pulled out a photo taken on that memorable day, showing the two of you standing in front of the fireplace at Morgan’s cabin. You had your arms around each other, Voldemort and Harry Potter.

“You carry our photo in your wallet?” you asked, touched, admiring the picture with delight.

Slightly embarrassed, he nodded.

“And not just ours,” he reached into his wallet again, this time pulling out a photo of Mr. Cinnamon Roll curled up on your lap. You leaned closer to Spencer to get a better look, almost forgetting about your earlier conversation.

You extended your hand, but instead of taking the photo, you just grabbed his hand. He squeezed it tightly and briefly kissed the back of it.

“It’s been ten minutes,” he announced, letting go of your hand. “We can go inside now…”

He trailed off as you suddenly grabbed a piece of his fur and pulled him as close as possible. You felt as if someone stronger had taken control of your body and finally did what you had wanted to do for a long time. You were kissing him.

At first, he froze as if spellbound, completely surrendering to the pressure of your lips. You pulled back a little, unsure if you should continue.

“Why did you stop?” he asked softly.

“I wasn’t sure if you liked it.”

He laughed right into your mouth and resumed the kiss in a hungry way.

“I wanted to do it earlier,” you admitted after a moment. His eyes were shining, and yours probably were too. “When I was putting on your makeup. You had your eyes closed, and it was all I could think about.”

His hand rested on your neck, his thumb gently drawing circles on your sensitive skin. You had your arms around his neck, entwined like strands of hair in a braid.

“Good thing you didn’t,” he said. You raised your eyebrows in surprise. “I’d venture to guess we wouldn’t have even made it to this party.”

“Don’t get too bold with your assumptions. I wouldn’t let such good costumes go to waste…”

He kissed you one more time, pulling you close by the chin. Okay, he was right. If you’d done this earlier, you’d probably still be at your apartment, entirely wrapped up in each other. In fact, you’d lost all interest in going to that part

You spent a good few minutes smiling at each other, foreheads touching. You felt the need to talk to him — to make sure this wasn’t just a release of the tension that had been building between you recently, but something more. Before you knew it, though, you were walking arm-in-arm toward Morgan’s house.

“This year, you’ve outdone yourselves,” he commented as he finally came out of his shock at seeing Spencer in heels. He, too, was in costume. For the past four years, it was almost impossible to find anyone there without one. You could say you were the ones who started the trend.

Without letting go of his hand, you encouraged him to spin around in a circle. All evening, you wondered if people noticed that something had changed between you or if they just assumed it was all part of the act. His hand almost never leaving your waist, your conversations with faces close together, the prolonged disappearance in the bathroom under the pretense of fixing his makeup.

“Have you thought about what we’ll dress up as next year?” he asked, pinning you against the upstairs wall, his hand slipped under the fabric of your loose shirt.

You looked into his eyes thoughtfully.

“I liked the idea of Mia and Vincent from Pulp Fiction.”

“Mia and Vincent. White shirts and fake blood. Don’t you think it’s a bit too simple? We should raise the bar each year.”

You rolled your eyes.

“So, what is your suggestion?”

now

 You lay in bed next to the sleeping Travis, staring at his bare back.

Every day, he started with a run around six in the morning, so he didn’t let you drag him anywhere in the evening, despite it being Friday. You tried to fall asleep, but you knew it was useless. You’d always been a night owl. Besides, it was Halloween—your favorite holiday, and for the first time in years, you were spending it with your head on the pillow at 10 p.m.

You sighed and quietly, so as not to wake him, went to the living room to watch some show on TV and maybe have some ice cream. Sitting on the couch, you constantly felt the urge to reach out and pet Mr. Cinnamon Roll, who used to keep watch by your side. Each time, it ended with you touching the cold leather of the couch instead. You buried your face in your hands, stretching the skin on your cheeks.

You couldn’t live in this emptiness any longer.

It happened so suddenly. One moment, you were curled up on the couch, and the next, you were slipping back into the bedroom to grab one of Travis’s plain white shirts from the closet. Just regular black jeans. The only thing missing was fake blood, but you decided you’d just be a more polite version of Mia.

Your heart felt like it was about to burst from your chest as you drove. Doubts crept in, and the absurdity of your behavior caught up with you. It was highly likely that your previous team had stopped organizing those events due to circumstances. And even if they were still happening, why would you feel invited? You had limited your contact with them, almost cutting it off in recent months.

Your breath was painful as you pressed your hand against your side, where a scar from a gunshot wound marked your skin. The red light of the traffic signal turned into the flashing lights of an ambulance. You were inside, bleeding, the whole world blurring around you.

You tried to calm yourself so as not to accidentally cause an accident. However, that tragic feeling didn’t leave you even when you found yourself there again. For the fifth year in a row, on Halloween night, at Morgan’s doorstep.

Derek opened the door for you, wearing a plain t-shirt. No music was coming from inside, and no cars were gathering around. He blinked in surprise at the sight of you.

You greeted him sadly, ready to throw out some excuse, though none came to mind. You had shown up unannounced, unwelcome, when he was probably spending the evening at home working or resting. A flush of embarrassment covered your cheeks.

Before either of you could say anything more, Penelope appeared behind him. She wore a headband adorned with little pumpkin decorations.

“Morgan, we have a serious problem with picking a movie because Hotch…”

She stopped, stunned by your presence. But a moment later, she shouted your name and swept you into her embrace.

“Oh, why didn’t anyone tell me you were coming!”

Over her shoulder, you could see Derek’s gentle smile.

“We went back to basics, and instead of throwing a party, we’re just watching movies,” he explained, eyeing you closely. “But costumes are always welcome. You’re not even the only one who thought to dress up.”

Both of them pulled you into the living room, where the rest of the team was arguing about which movie to watch. As all eyes turned to you, you felt like someone had forcefully shoved you onto a stage and blinded you with a spotlight aimed directly at you. Lost, you didn’t know what to say.

Then your gaze landed on that one person sitting alone in an armchair. Dressed in an identical white shirt and a black blazer draped over the arm of the chair.

You managed to smile at your Vincent.

[headlessdino]

head empty just latino jason todd. no i'm not saying this because of the poor drug latino stereotypes, i'm literally latino. i just can't stop picturing him as a chilean (or mexican) american solely because i love to project onto him. look me straight in the eye and tell me that he wouldn't know how to make some good fucking empanadas, cause i know damn well he would.

[coff33andb00ks]

where i come from - LS

pairing: logan sargeant x fem!reader (lilli. it's lilli) summary: hitch a ride to the end of the highway where the neons turn to wood word count: 1.2k a.n.: the first of three small fics for my beloved Lilli @maxlarens Happy birthday my darling!! I hope you enjoy this little love letter to you (and to american road trips). inspo: all the road trip songs my family blasted during my childhood, compiled here warnings: it's not a waffle house it's a waffle home, author is in love with american south almost as much as Lilli's in love with Logan

"Logan, you can't be serious."

He laughs, parking the car next to a slightly bent light pole. "What? You want to see America, right?"

You press your lips together, staring at the small, flat building that looks as though it's been in that spot since the 1960s and hasn't been refurbished once. "This is America?"

"One of the best parts," he promises, climbing out. The balmy air of Florida immediately makes the car's cold air disappear and you sigh, unbuckling your seatbelt as he walks around to open the door for you.

"A Waffle House is America?"

"Trust me," he says. "You'll understand."

You do trust him, so you let him take your hand, sweat beading before you've taken two steps across the parking lot. There's a crowd of people near the door and you feel their eyes on you and Logan as you approach, the air thick with humidity and weed and tobacco smoke.

The interior is worse than the exterior. Your sandals slide with each step on the ancient tile floor and you can feel the grease in the restaurant. A bored server is leaning against a booth and hands you and Logan menus as you walk by, telling you to sit wherever. You want to turn around and go sit in the car, but…

Logan looks so fucking happy.

So you sit in a booth with him, ignoring the sticky spot on the bench that catches the material of your shorts. You ignore the faint aroma of tobacco smoke that lingers in the dining area. You ignore the yelling from the kitchen staff and the argument starting up between a couple at the counter.

The food is pure American stereotype. Sweet, greasy, and the portions enormous. But your first bite of the burger has you smiling. Because—

"Oh my god," you practically moan.

Across from you, Logan's grinning.

The server is pure southern charm as soon as she hears your accent, and you relax as you enjoy a meal big enough to last you an entire day. It's not great but it's good, and the atmosphere seems to shift.

He buys you a mug, telling you under his breath about a time his brother stole one because apparently everyone does that. Once outside in the sweltering heat, he pulls you in and kisses the top of your head. "Welcome to America."

The road trip was his idea. It's the best way to see this land he loves so much and because you love him so much you agreed, and after a week with his family you're driving out of the Florida panhandle, the windows down and the music blasting, both of you singing Sweet Home Alabama at the top of your lungs.

He takes an exit off the interstate and you're already lost but he's content, speeding along unmarked country roads, past lush forests and rolling fields. He has to slow to a crawl for tractors, and every time a car passes he waves like the other person is an old friend.

Left or right? at every stop sign. No map, no GPS, just a whim.

A tiny shop – gas station, babe, not a shop – in the middle of nowhere is selling fresh peaches and the woman is so sweet and talkative you want to stay and talk all day. Her great aunt makes those crochet blankets you're admiring and before you know it you've got three draped over your arms.

"Where y'all headed?" she's asking as Logan pays.

He shrugs, smiling that bashful smile that made you fall in love with him. "Nowhere, really."

She gives the vaguest yet most detailed directions to a motel – you're gonna wanna drive thataway til you see the old rusted school bus? Then take a left and keep driving til you pass the turnoff for the highway. It's down on the right. If you get to the stoplight you done went too far – and Logan gives you a look as you bite into a fresh Georgia peach.

You smile.

More rolling fields and woods. Farms and family homes and kids on swings. He gets to the stoplight and you both laugh all the way back to the motel.

It's tiny and has almost zero amenities but it's clean and the window overlooks a small field of wildflowers. You take a shower and when you come out there's a jar with a bunch of wildflowers in it and you smile at him. You've been smiling so much the past couple days that your cheeks ache.

He finds a place to get dinner and you feast on what he says is pretty okay bbq but you think is the best you've ever tasted.

The next day you're better prepared, and you fully enjoy the rambling tour of the countryside, relaxing with each passing mile. Feet on the dash, singing along to Fleetwood Mac and Tom Petty and Creedence Clearwater Revival. Songs that are familiar and songs that he knows every word to and you are still learning.

Lunch is a picnic, thrown together with gas station sandwiches and bags of chips, sitting on one of the blankets you bought yesterday by a river. You want to enjoy the scenery, because it is as beautiful as he always told you it was, but all you can focus on is him.

He looks so happy. You've seen him happy, of course, but lately he's been downtrodden. Anxious. And you sit there, watching him as he talks about maybe making it up into North Carolina by sundown, seeing how relaxed he is.

And you fall a little in love with this spot of the world that heals him.

"You love it here," you say softly after a bit of silence.

Logan nods, looking out to the river where it disappears into the trees. "I do."

"I'm—"

"I love sharing it with you more."

Oh. Oh. Your eyes are burning and it's not fair that he can drop the sweetest lines when you least expect them even though by now you should expect them because he always does and—

"Lilli?"

You blink and he's moved to sit right in front of you. "Logan?"

Why does he look worried? Your mind scrambles, thinking something must be wrong. He feels ill, or he just spotted some venomous snake slithering nearby or—

He shifts and you glance down, seeing the ring sparkling in his hand.

Later you'll remember every word he says. How his hand shakes and his voice wavers while he tells you how much he loves you and how happy you make him. But for now all you hear is the river splashing over rocks and birds twittering and the breeze ruffling the leaves of the oak tree. And all you can see his eyes, shining and bright and beautiful.

There's hot sauce on his fingers and yours are gritty with salt. His lips taste of salt and vinegar and there's an ant crawling on your leg, and he's apologizing for not giving you some grand proposal, but you don't care. You're glad he asked you here.

"I love you," he whispers, forehead resting against yours and you feel the sigh that exhales his worries.

He worried that you'd say no. As if yes wasn't on your lips before he said the words.

"I love you, Logie."

[smytherines]

This is such an interesting like 20-30 seconds to me. We go from this wholesome Sears portrait studio setup where Cynthia asks "is that Owen??" and they both grin like lovesick fools

Then Cynthia insults Curt and praises Owen and tries to recruit him. Owen looks surprised and shuts her down immediately, but Curt is (understandably) not thrilled about it and ends the call in a hurry

Owen says "what are you, jealous? You know I'd never work for the Americans," but Curt is already getting the flask out (hello rsd spiral my old friend)

And then we have Owen seeing the flask and saying "Oh Curt, no, not until we're out of here," and Curt responding defensively by mocking his accent and his concern, and then handing him the flask

Whenever I listen to 54 Below and hear Tessa say "when these two spies are together they are gay and unstoppable" I imagine that first image, and when Lauren says "until Curt's ego gets in the way" I think of the flask

I just find it fascinating because, to me, this is the moment it all starts falling apart. When it was just the two of them, before this call, they seem pretty happy to see each other. You certainly get the sense that they're competitive, and Curt initially seems a bit annoyed or embarrassed about Owen rescuing him, but uhh. I mean just look at them:

It isn't until Cynthia sort of pits them against each other, until the outside world starts to intrude on them, that things start to get tense. Curt starts dismissing Owen's concerns and taking bigger risks to prove himself, lying to Owen to take a bigger risk than Owen agreed to (Owen saying "make it four," and Curt deciding to set the timers for three minutes instead)

Just. Something about how painful it must have been for Curt to believe that he lost Owen not to some grand fateful accident that he never could have seen coming, but over something as small and petty and ultimately temporary as his own insecurity. That he wanted so badly to save face in front of a partner he loved and respected that he ended up getting that partner killed

And how painful it must have been for Owen to love Curt and trust him, only for Curt to lie to him and leave him for dead. How Owen must have thought back to this a thousand times and believed that it happened because Curt cared more about being the best than about him (which I don't think is correct, but is understandable from his perspective)

To have the kind of relationship that seemingly survived being separated by an ocean, and being property of two different governments, and being gay in the 1950s, and they still look at each other like that, and then to lose it all because you're so used to having to maintain this stereotypically masculine role in your hypermasculine profession. That seeing the man you love is dependent on you being the best, and trying to live up to that impossible standard is what ends up destroying the both of you

There's just something so fucking... tragic and futile about it

[relaxxattack]

can you rant abt hiveswap and how it changes the per-established alternian lore and not in a good way. i hold no stake in this topic but i love to hear about worldbuilding differences and people complaining

oh my god i would loveeee too. well first of all the obvious stuff with how they seem to think the beta trolls were the stereotypes for their caste (NOT TRUE... very very untrue but ESPECIALLY untrue with like. jadebloods goldbloods and purplebloods who seem to get this the worst somehow)

i hateeee how they made jades preppy THATS KANAYAS THING.. AND SHES EXPLICITLY *WEIRD* FOR THAT. they literally mention it like over 20 times how kanaya is sooooo weird for liking fashion and dressing well and then. oh no i guess every jade does that actually whoops sorry! ToT and god do i even need to go into the terrible prevalence of the idea that "jadebloods are typically/instinctively nurturing" when that is textually not the case?

goldbloods all having double horns is not that big of a deal tbh but its really funny to me that they made that assumption when sollux is like. actively called a mutant for most of the comic. "oh yeah hes mutated and weird and fucked up and some of his body parts are doubled (cue dick jokes here)". like that was a thing for sollux but they just decided to say "well actually. thats just how all goldbloods are"

most purplebloods having a "clowny aesthetic" is fine with me honestly since theres an actual Profession of being a subjuggalator and presumably lots of purples are going to be wanting to go into that? but alllll of them being full on juggalo cultists goes directly against canon. its like. the difference between american lawmaking and christianity. yes the separation of church and state is like nonexistent here. but just because american lawmaking is an enterprise controlled by christianity doesnt mean that All Politicians/Cops are automatically christian. and definitely not the same kind of christian?? there are probably agnostic clowns, or clowns who are only into cultism for the aesthetic. even reformist vs. orthodox clowns. they may all be upholding the same systemic white christian status quo, but they doesn't mean they all fit into that niche themselves. if that makes sense?

and of course i've already made a whole post about how i hate the idea that olivebloods are all feral little rogues, since that makes very little sense in canon.

i would really love to do that full stream of the hiveswap and friendsim games just. going through all of their alternian stuff and explaining my thoughts on it and how it relates to canon... i could go on and on about this stuff for ages and get into way more than just caste stereotypes. i think i would need to reread all of homestuck first to make sure i wasnt just pulling shit out of my ass and was truly studied up though, lmao

[skylarsblue]

this isn’t really a request or anythin’, just a thought. 141 havin to deal with a southern team member who only gets progressively more accented the more they get mad.

100% projecting here

pretty unaccented, American, whatever —> ✨ anger ✨ —> Memphis called they want their “oo-ol” back (translation: oil).

i have no idea if they’d be annoyed, charmed, or just confused.

✦141 + Los Vaqueros With A Southern!Teammate✦

(My first C.o.D request and it's for pEOPLE LIKE MEEEE, southern traassh! This my shit. Fair warning, I've never played one of these games cause I don't have a console, so if they're ooc, please tell me how I can improve writing them!)

✦Random headcanons, Southern slang, GN!Reader, Race neutral as well but American, implied to be Oklahoma/Texas style southern, aggressive cursing because I have the mouth of a sailor, a bit of Google Translated Spanish(forgive me), Rudy doesn't have a color cause I ran out I'm so sorry precious boy✦

✧Simon Riley✧

He's not real fond of Americans, admittedly. He's got a little voice in the back of his head that automatically associates Americans with betrayal, but he'll keep quiet.

He cringes at your accent at first. He's not fond of Americans, even less so of most American accents. It's a very thick drawl and after being in the team for a while, he'll tease you about it, telling you to "Speak English" like he does with Soap.

He shuts up when you bring up his Manchester accent being illegible sometimes. It's all in good fun though!

After proving you're trustworthy, he'll basically call you his "special American", to show you're an exception. He will never stop poking fun at you though, just as you do to him. Particularly when you say something intensely American.

"Look at her ass, out here pitchin' a bitch fit with a tail on it." "...What in the hell is that even supposed to mean?"

He'll give you one thing, you treat beef well, which he appreciates. Given he used to be a butcher's apprentice. Americans from the southern states know how to make a hamburger and we know how to cook a steak, that's like...the one thing we can brag about.

If you're like me and you dunk on your own country, he thinks those moments are really funny. Especially when you sound so American.

He probably enjoys you being angry the most. He loves it so much, he thinks it's extremely entertaining. Especially if you're a more small, non-intimidating person on the surface.

"Fuck off! Out here makin' a damn mess of the place, runnin' around like a chicken with its head cut off, wrecking my shit! I outta whoop yer ass!" "Should we step in?" "No no, let it go on a little longer..."

Probably tries to make your call sign something heavily American stereotypical, in a funny way. (ie. Bald Eagle, Stars(JILL!), Shotgun, etc.)

A bit hypocritical but if you have a farm with cows on it, he doesn't really wanna see them. His first thought his how to butcher them from years of training, and if they're not butcher cows, he feels kinda bad for thinking it.

Congrats! You're the only American Simon likes, aside from maybe Alex but I don't know for sure.

✧Johnny MacTavish✧

Laughs when you first speak. He apologizes but like, he laughs at you, I'm sorry.

Definitely asks if you have a cowboy hat, and he will lose his fucking mind if you do. The more cowboy shit you own the more he's entertained, especially if you wear them around base/on field.

He understands you super well but no one understands how or why. Johnny explains that it's just because he's good with accents. He'll hear weird euphemisms and, though it may take a second, 9 times out of 10 he'll get it.

"Fucker's so cheap I bet he pinches quarters til they scream." "What?! What does that mean!?" "Means he's a penny pincher! He's cheap. C'mon, that one was obvious, keep up, yeah?"

If you're a woman/female leaning, he'll call you cowgirl. If you're male/male leaning, you get the nickname cowboy. Non-binary/Genderfluid/Etc.? He calls you partner, and he'll always say it with a shitty imitation of your accent.

Asks you a buncha questions about American-Southern stereotypes to see if they're true. If they are, he gets really giggly about it.

If they ever have a mission in America, he'll insist you lead them everywhere. He likes seeing how you interact with people, especially if you're in a big city where some nutsos are. This man would have a blast watching you in a Waffle House. It's the only time he likes seeing you yell in public, thinks it's hilarious.

If you have any farm experience he's gotta see it. He needs to. I don't care if the farm is your great grandpa's and you haven't been there in a decade, you better take him to see the cows and tractors right now, immediately. Especially if there are chickens. He loves chickens.

He makes fun of your accent but he thinks it's really hot sometimes and he's very annoyed at himself for it. Particularly when you speak softly, trying to console/comfort him, slipping in a typical southern pet name.

"You alright there, sugar? Took quite a hit there. You need anythin', sweetheart?" "...I uh, uhm, ahem. N-no, no I'm alright." "Are ya sure, sweetpea? Your face is goin' redder than a tomato."" NO, I'M GOOD."

Manages to get the entire team to call you a southern callsign, whether you like it or not. He'll force it to stick. Most are animal-based too. (Cowboy/Cowgirl, Chick/Rooster, Bull/Heffer, Big Tex, etc.)

Your accent grows on him significantly. While he thinks you're very sexy when you're angry, he's really affected when you're soft and sweet. (bonus note; if you're faux sweet when you're mad? The whole "Oh...bless your heart" type thing? He's prolly gonna pop a boner, not gonna lie.)

✧John Price✧

He's not American but there are a lot of American things he likes, admittedly. Specifically, old western stuff, horses, ranches, etc. That whole aesthetic is something he's always enjoyed. He won't say it, but he has a particular fondness for your accent when he first hears it.

Doesn't understand you when your accent gets super thick but he thinks it's entertaining nevertheless. Unlike Ghost or Soap, he doesn't comment on it, because he doesn't think he has room to talk. Maybe he'd do it once and then you'd throw it back at him and he'd realize that...yeah he has no room to talk.

He's a calm individual but he will yell when necessary. But, what he finds admirable is when you jump in and yell for him. Like you can read his mind and he can save his throat, watching the people who were pissing him off jump back at thick southern curses being yelled at them.

"I outta jerk a damn knot in your fuckin' tail, ya fuckin' dumbass! Didn't ya momma ever teach you respect?! You ain't ever gonna talk to my damn captain like that again or I'll skin yer fuckin' hide!" "Ahem, thank you, sergeant, that's enough."

Buys you a cowboy hat if you don't already have one, for sure. Whether you take it as a genuine gift or you take it as a light jab at your roots, he'll get a lil' dopey smile if you decide to wear it. Gaz definitely makes fun of you two. Soap points out that Gaz also wears a hat religiously and he & Ghost start callin' you the hat trio.

Man melts at southern-drawl-spoken pet names. He truly does. Much like Soap, there's something about it that makes the tension leaves his body, though he's not really sure why.

"You alright there, Cap? You're lookin' bout ready to drop..." "I'm alright soldier, just need to finish this." "Captain, it'll be there in the mornin'. How bout a nap instead, huh? You can't go workin' yourself to the bone, hun. It ain't healthy."" ...oh alright, just for a bit though." "Sure, sugarcube, just long enough to have some tea."

He'll probably pick up on a few pet names and call you them. Whether you wanna take it as platonic or not, it's really just a sweet gesture that he wants to return. Pet names are kinda just...a staple of southern slang. It's part of the accent that he really enjoys, therefore he wants to return it.

If he ends up helping you with a call sign, it's going to be a really sweet & nice one. Or perhaps something that's from an old western he's seen. Probably based on something you've said before. (Sugarcube, Lasso, Hun/Hunny.) Bonus points if you get a super sweet name that doesn't match your stature, he thinks it's funny if it throws people off.

Piggybacking off the last one, I think it'd be real funny if your call name was "Sugarcube" and you're like...a 6'0"+ buff dude with a deep voice. That shit would be funny. Anyway!

If you own/live on a ranch or farm in your off time, he'll feel honored if you invite him to see it. Don't worry, he won't laze around and just appreciate the cute animals. (Looking at you Soap) He's got a little bit of experience with cows & horses, so he'll do his best to help you move the hay and such. Don't let him drive a tractor though, it's one of the few things he just can't do.

John doesn't play favorites, he's fair and precise to his entire team. But...off the field? ...you might get a little favoritism, he's got a weakness for bein' sweettalked through southern drawl. Don't let that go to your head though!

✧Kyle Garrick✧

Kyle doesn't care too much, he thinks every country has shitty stuff and cool stuff. He's a pretty big believer in silver linings. While America is far from his favorite country, and he knows the common trope of uh...less than tolerant people from the south, that doesn't affect how he sees you at all.

He does snicker at your accent sometimes, but only when you say something really aggressively southern. Especially making up random southern phrases that he doesn't understand at all. He finds it endearing.

"We just gotta haul ass and go tear shit up, run through like a buncha Tasmanian devils, right?" "...I understood...some of those words. Uh, sure, right." "We need to move our asses and fuck shit up." "Ah, okay. Could've just said that, but alright."

Thinks you're kinda scary when you're mad. He'll be the type to try and calm you down, but he understands if it's someone who deserves it. Not that he doesn't find your drawl fun to listen too, especially if someone was being an ass, but he doesn't like seeing you upset.

If the person you're yelling at was being a real big ass, he'll let you yell for a little, but step in. However, if you're doing condescending rage? Oh, go for it, do it all you want. He thinks it's hilarious.

Finds it particularly sweet if you're angry on the teams/his behalf. He can fight his own battles but he thinks it's a big sign of trust, friendship, etc. that you feel the need to defend him.

"Bless your heart, your brain ain't firing off on all cylinders is it, hun? Tsk, that's a shame..." "Excuse me?!" "You're excused, sweetpea. You're not gonna talk to my team that way, but you can turn your happy ass around and walk away. I ain't gonna have you disrespectin' the people who've been fightin' the good fight. Have a lovely day!" "How can you sound so sweet and yet so angry at the same time?" "Southern livin', sugar. Southern livin'."

Gaz is a bit of a foodie type, he likes trying cooking from any area he can go to. Southern cooking would...it'd be a new weakness for sure. A lot of it is unhealthy, yes, but he doesn't give a shit. It tastes good. Sometimes he thinks American food is an absolute sin and a disgrace, and he'll state it as such. Usually, it's stuff you agree on. Like bacon-covered donuts or fried butter. That shit's egregious. But things like southern-style chicken or rib-eye on a grill? You're gonna make him swoon with them roasted vegetables. Cooking for him is a surefire way to make you an unapologetic favorite in his book.

He won't say anything at the little jokes that people jab at you for your accent, but he will tell someone off if they say something that's clearly not funny and upsets you. Like trying to imply you're stupid because you come from Texas. (Speaking from personal experience) He thinks it's such a dumb thing to give someone shit over and he won't hesitate to say they're an idiot for trying to use it against you.

Hates sweet tea, I'm sorry. It's just tea but he can't stand it. He'll drink the unsweetened tea you make, but he'll make a dramatic face if he mixes them up. Something that you always laugh at.

He's great at driving basically any vehicle. Helicopters to mini coopers. He's never controlled a tractor before, but if you sit him in one and tell him the levers, it'll take him like...three minutes to get it down perfectly. Definitely gets a smug ass grin if you show you're amazed.

If he helps get you your call sign, he won't necessarily make it based on where you're from, it'll probably be based on a nickname, skill, or crucial event in your career. (Crash; you were thrown through a window, Hotshot; skill for sniping, etc.) But if he were to have one based on your southern ways? Sweet Tea, both for the fact you make it and the pet name you sometimes call him. (sweet pea)

✧Alejandro Vargas✧

Like Ghost, he's not super fond of Americans. His experience with most Americans are annoying tourists and Graves, leaves a pretty bad impression. He comes across unintentionally snappy when he first meets you, but Rudy will point it out, and he'll correct himself.

You aren't the annoying people he's dealt with and he knows it's not fair to say you are. Definitely talks shit on America though, and he'll honestly give you respect if you do the same. Since he's used to the kind of Americans that think being American give them a right to treat others like shit. He hates entitlement.

If you speak Spanish, he's gonna try really hard to not laugh at how your accent affects some words, but it's really hard. He means it in kind and if you're still learning when you meet him, he's proud when he hears you doing well in comprehension and sentences. Still, sounds just a lil silly.

He loves when your accent gets thick from rage, but he his favorite thing is if you speak Spanish in a rage, with your accent on top of it. It's a combination that fills his brain with serotonin.

"Eres un maldito idiota. ¡Tan útil como las tetas de un toro!" "Wha- Haha! What does that mean?!" "Did they say some super weird analogy?" "Si! They did!" "Yeaaah, they do that a lot."

He's notorious for having a naturally flirty personality, it's just how he's always been. Hence why not much phases him, but he does get a quite wide & genuine grin if you flirt back, making your accent extra intense. Especially with the pet names, another man who likes sweet words.

Thinks you having a southern call sign is really cute, especially if it's something your team calls you exclusively. He thinks it shows your endearment to your team. However, if your call sign is something you insist is only for friends, he'll get super giddy about being allowed to call you it.

If he were to pick? (Belle; Like southern belle whether you're fem! or not, Rodeo, and he might call you Americano- but like, in the coffee way. Like it's a sweet nickname, not just him saying your nationality)

Southern hospitality is something he is not used to. Again, bad experience with Americans. So if you explain all the various manners and nice gestures that are considered expected in your home state? He's completely confused, wondering why the Americans he's met don't keep that attitude up when they leave home.

Again, really likes it if you use southern pet names. Especially if you're trying to console him after a really tough day/mission. For some reason it really helps, like a cup of warm coffee on a cold morning.

"Aye, don't stress yourself over it, darlin'. Bad things happen that we can't control, you did everything you could and you were great at it. Don't let it eat at'cha, honey-bun." "Gracias, Bella. Lo necesitaba…" "Anytime, big guy. Now, you wanna see me try and fail again to open a de la Rosa without breaking it?" "Aha! How about I show you a trick to do it instead?"

Again, like Ghost, you're his special American. Gaz calls you his emotional-support American once and he thinks it's really funny, he'll call you as such every now and then.

✧Rodolfo Parra✧

Sweet darling man. He has nothing against you being American, nothing. But...he cannot understand anything you're saying. He's doing his best but he really doesn't know. He can feel his brain frying every time you bring up something super southern, trying to understand.

He'll have to lean over to your team to ask for a translation, anyone but Soap & Price will tack on an "I think, I'm not sure" at the end of their explanation. If he hears you use a phrase more than once, he'll add it to a little list of notes with the translation underneath it. Treats it like a whole different language. It's adorable.

Like Alejandro, he thinks it's funny if you speak Spanish with your accent. He'll keep a straight face because he knows you can't help it, but man is it fun to hear.

He's not very fond of a lot of yelling if he can avoid it, Rudy prefers disputes to be handled with calm words if possible. But he understands that sometimes it's necessary. Still, he'd want to try and calm you down if you're yelling. But, if you're just acting sickeningly-sweet, kind words that are clearly dripping with venom? He'll just watch. He thinks that shows you handle yourself very well and it's pretty attractive to him, not gonna lie.

"Awww I'm so sorry you're upset, poor thing. God bless you, sir, you have a lovely day. I hope that stick up your ass doesn't hurt too bad." "¡Soldado! No digas eso…" "Shh, sugar, it's fine. He wants to be rude, I can be rude back. An eye for an eye. Don't worry your pretty lil' head bout it, sweetheart." "Dios, a veces me asombras y me aterrorizas."

He's really hesitant about American food. It smells great sometimes but all he hears about American food is that it's greasy, or too salty, etc. Still, he won't deny any meal you make. He thinks it's rude to deny food unless it's something you're allergic to.

He ends up liking a few things, but he is biased to his home cooking. But if you start making his favorite foods, or somehow combine the styles in an honoring way? Oh, those are his favorites. He's particularly fond of American sweets though!

Please bake for this man, bake for him, I beg. Apple pie is an American staple for a reason and he'll jokingly claim he'll move to America if it means he can have apple pie every day.

"Rudy, that's your fourth piece! Ahaha, if I knew you liked it so much I woulda made ya more." "Ay, please do! ¡Fue enviado desde el cielo!" "Alright then, hun, I'll be sure to make you all the apple pie ya want."

Rudy really likes if you wear stuff like a cowboy hat. He's not really sure why, he just thinks it's really cute. If it's a staple of your whole look(like John's hat), seeing you protective over it, he thinks that's really cute. If you're protective of your cowboy hat but let him hold it/put it on his head to hold it, it's gonna fluster him. Even if your guy's relationship is completely platonic.

If you live near the border of Texas & Mexico, it makes visiting you pretty easy, so he'll have no qualms about going back and forth when off duty. He'll be more comfortable in his home but he won't turn down the offer to see your home, especially if it's a ranch. He's got a soft spot for farm animals. (Particularly goats)

If he has any control of how you choose your call sign, he'll likely pick something the same way Gaz does. But, if you have a thing about what certain people call you - like how only Ghost can call Soap "Johnny" - He feels really warm and fuzzy if he gets a special privilege.

(Translations; "Eres un maldito idiota. ¡Tan útil como las tetas de un toro!" - "You're a fucking idiot - as useful as a bull's tits/about as useful as tits on a bull!" "Gracias, Bella. Lo necesitaba…" - "Thank you, bella/beauty. I needed it." "¡Soldado! No digas eso…" - "Soldier! You can't say that..." "Dios, a veces me asombras y me aterrorizas." - "God, sometimes you amaze and terrify me." "¡Fue enviado desde el cielo!" - "It was sent from heaven!")

[thenightshadowqueen]

Livestream Watchthrough Thoughts (14-12-2024)

I loved this stream! It was a lot of fun, despite the heckler (they made some great jokes out of it, but it’s still a shitty thing to do), and… Yeah, I don’t have much else to say before I start my thoughts, other than I made a new tag for my watchthrough thoughts, because I’ll probably be making these again. They’re really fun to make, and it seems like there are some people who enjoy reading them, too, so it all works out quite well.

The audio is great!!!

“Lovely little Luke Manning” I love that this is a new thing Sam seems to be doing

Tom has his head in his hands a minute in… this is going to be a good show

Honestly, just settling in and listening to Sam’s intro is so comforting (can you tell my autism likes repetition?)

“I’m taking the joke about German train stations out of my head, because Tom doesn’t want everyone to hate me” this intro has had some edgier jokes and I’m here for it

Callback to the Prime Minister’s First Day!

“I almost understand everything you say!” He said it so earnestly

I know it’s a different tunnel, but… Cliff, is that you?

AJ inserting what’s meant to be a one-off atmosphere-setting singsong and then Sam making him change it over and over is peak SFTH

We made it all the way through munchkin land with Luke without a short joke—amazing!

“Your performance” okay fuck this guy (slight overreaction? …No.)

(They are doing a really good job of handling the heckler, though)

I love the new format of Letters!!!

“Jonathan Rolex” I genuinely have no idea if this is a real person involved with creating Rolex watches (I assume not, but I do not know anything about this sort of thing, so I could be wrong)

“How fucking dare you” Luke is amazing at picking tones of voice; he sounds so politely offended and it’s great

Ooh, we’re breaking the… It’s not really the fourth wall, but kind of?

“You’re. In. …Words.” I love AJ

“Yay!” That was so sweet; Tom is amazing

I love when they do this accent (I’m not sure what part of the UK it’s from and now I fear I’m living up to American stereotypes (I swear I used to know, but I’m exhausted and it’s been a minute since I looked it up))

“Shut the FUCK UP!” Fuck yeah Sam and AJ!

Also Sam indirectly calling the heckler an ass is iconic

“For a wise man, you’ve got to work on your mime” I love it when they insult each other (look insults are a love language, okay, and I like seeing people have friends)

“Tell me a little bit about gold, then” I love that AJ took not knowing what frankincense was (which I assume was genuine, although it could have just been a bit) and turned it into a running joke with the gold

This is so confused and I love it

“I’m Frank; it’s my incense” we can always rely on Tom for wordplay

“Then I put down the hammer” fucking plot twist, Luke, good god

“Cheryl is now…” “Knocked out.” Honestly, I thought they were going to go for ‘dead’, so it’s better than it could have been

“This is becoming a regular occurrence” Tom???

“Is this a robbery, Aaron? Are you robbing the company?” “Only if you force me to get the gun out of my pocket.” This show is gold

“You also have another gun, which is clearly in your belt” I really thought that we were going… somewhere else with that

I’m the tiniest bit sad we didn’t get two lesbians (but obviously I’m also very happy with the scene we got)

Honestly ‘in the round’ is a hilarious suggestion

“I don’t know how to cry. My childhood was bad.” Sam

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Wes Anderson film, but their impressions are always top tier

Luke desperately trying to get Sam to actually understand the Spanish and Sam just failing is amazing

“Get yourself... a drug problem” SAM

Is it a SFTH show if Sam doesn’t unbutton his shirt?

“Calm down” Sam is amazing

“I think I’m going to give Luke the most appropriate book that I've ever given him...” “I Want that Twink Obliterated” oh my god (also, like... I can’t believe that’s a real book) (I absolutely can)

“Pretty sure that's the title of one of our fanfictions” well I’m sure it’s going to be now (also I know they know about the fandom and fandom activities but it still kills me whenever they talk about it)

“Will you please stop trying to have a conversation?” I love that Luke and AJ are just messing up the way the game is meant to work

“Chapter fourteen.” “How did you know we're filing for bankruptcy?” Tom that was an amazing save

This was actually surprisingly wholesome considering the title of Luke's book

The five seconds of pure holding-back-laughter staring between Sam and AJ at ‘egg’

Sam

“I’m going to fuck you up, sun” as a person whose chronic illness gets worse in heat, I don’t think Tom has ever said a more relatable thing

“Well, aren’t we standing in two bland positions” Tom is great

“Here we are. The two men in the world with the longest penises, touching tips.” Well that escalated quickly

I know snake eyes is a dice thing, but... Snakehips?

“Calm down” pt. 2; I love Sam (although I do hope it doesn’t actually bother him)

“If you kiss me now” being interrupted by a kiss is brilliant timing

Also AJ’s still wearing the bracelet ❤️

Fucking hell, Sam (him just grabbing Luke unprompted like that caught me so off guard)

“I’m putting this in a museum” Tom???????

“Now, am I saying ‘see it, say it, sort it’ or ‘see it, say it, sorted’?” “Well, based on that poster, I think it's ‘sorted’.” Look, as an American, I am grateful for the clarification (also hi, SNftHitW)

“The next station is Cockfosters.” “That's not on the Metropolitan Line.” I said in my last watchthrough that I love when AJ makes an unimportant mistake and Sam latches on to it, and I stand by that statement. (Also, they mention Cockfosters station a lot; is that a particularly popular stop, or do they just pick it because it has a memorable name?)

“Yes, well, he does make a lot of promises, doesn’t he?” Oooh, drama (and sass)

“Good evening and welcome to Chip Harrington. I’m Chip Harrington—” Is Chip Harrington related to André Beetroot? (Also I love Chip Harrington already)

I realise AJ stumbling over his words is probably an accident, but I feel like it’s important characterisation for Chip

Also is Chip Harrington grown-up Chip from the Cardboard Stegosaurus? (Seems unlikely, but it’s possible)

Luke causing trouble is the best

“Be very scared” wow, what a news reporter

I adore the way AJ just said ‘~metropolitan~’ (and Chip Harrington and André Beetroot are definitely related, because that was almost a Beetrootian accent slip)

Luke as a child does the most adorable, innocent little faces, and it kills me

“Oh, I needed to tell you something...” see now i really want to know what that was

Luke’s abduction technique is… interesting

“I’m going to copy your face” Luke???

“Just because I fucked your wife Cassandra—” plot twist! (“You didn’t know that.”)

“I was going to give you anaesthetic before I did this; now I’m not so sure” Sam taking his cues from the audience’s response and going “kinky” killed me

“I’ve always thought you were a handsome fellow” hello (god damn it, another niche ship to add to the collection)

“These noisy streets” I love Tom’s passive aggressive way of calling out the people talking at the back

“You always say ‘this is Chip Harrington, and I’m Chip Harrington’, but it’s actually called the news?” I love Tom’s character, and I don’t think we got a name for her, but she deserves one

“I’m Chip Harrington” look he may not have any idea how but he’s trying to help

“I thought you were going to say anal” Tom

Okay so Sam’s acting as Luke’s character pretending to be Sam’s character is incredible

Tom’s baffled/disgusted face as he tries to figure out where they are is everything

“I need to be outside at all times” I know this is meant to be a bit character, but I’m genuinely really intrigued by this storyline

I can’t be the only one who feels like Chip and the mum have a bit of chemistry…

AJ messing up his name after saying it a thousand times might be my new favourite thing

I know we talk a lot about AJ’s singing—as we should—but Sam is also really good

“It’s like that, but really much weirder” AJ is amazing

Chip Harrington is the best

This is chaos

Honestly Tom’s character is a great mum

“There’s a man out on my lawn who won’t shut the fuck up” I love Tom

I genuinely think the mum might be the most sane character we’ve ever gotten

“The audience will ~never know~” god damn it, I’ve been entrapped by another play

I love that the Underground Murderer didn’t actually kill anyone

Tom and Sam’s high-pitched-voice bit at the end is amazing

“We’ll never see some of you ever again. Hopefully that motherfucker.” Fuck. Yes. Sam!

I really hate that they had to deal with that heckler (but they did do an amazing job)

[heartrender6]

most of the kuwei hate in this fandom is absolutely racially motivated and most of it is probably subconscious but i NEED to talk about this.

and not because i think people r thinking "i hate kuwei!! he's asian and i hate asians!!" tbh most anti asian racism on the internet goes way deeper than that.

basically, what i believe to be the most prominent type of racism against asians, especially on the internet, is stereotyping. specifically "uwu-ification." the east asian entertainment industry likes to paint asian people as cute, submissive and sweet because it markets disturbingly well to american audiences, and whether people mean to or not, they internalize it and it affects the way they think of asian people as a whole. This mostly happens to east and southeast asian women, but definitely a lot with men too, especially in more recent years with the whole yaoi culture thing (i fucking hated typing that) becoming more popular. simply put, it's fetishization.

so how does this relate to kuwei? well, when kuwei is introduced to us, and im not gonna dance around it— he is pretty stereotypically asian. he's shy, innocent, small, good at math/science and— you guessed it— no speaka engrish. leigh bardugo lays the perfect trap for fandom white girl weeaboos to gush over this guy. once i came across a modern au where kuwei's whole northern chinese-mongolian ass is a "shy japanese transfer student." i really wish i was making this up.

but then we find out that kuwei is actually a conniving little shit who is really quite terrible at science and spends all day making shitty drawings of his crush instead of doing math or wtv. The turning point where we are told this is the jesper kiss. This is the point where we find out kuwei is not the yaoi uwu baby we thought he was. and how does fuckin 2/3 of the fandom react?? hate. instant hate. If you search "i hate kuwei" on twitter there are tweets both defending and attacking him, but there is significantly more of the latter.

most of them claim to hate him for kissing jesper but like... jesper kissed him. He doesn't say anything because, in his own words, "we're all probably going to die anyway." does no one see how tragic that is?? he let his first (probably) kiss be taken by someone who he knew didn't even like him because he thought it would be the only one he'd ever get.

and yet the only thing people see is that he "got in the way" of wesper and he's evil. throughout the series kuwei is given no agency, and that's the point of his character. everyone on the planet treats him as a weapon or a bargaining chip. he gets tossed around like a rag doll and to white (or otherwise not asian) audiences, that makes him the perfect picture of a little asian cutie i almost vomited typing that holy shit. but the moments where he takes something for himself— insisting on going to ravka, kissing jesper back— that's what makes people hate him. and don't even get me started on the way people project their hatred onto the other crows, especially wylan. yall will act like wylan loathes kuwei with all his being. he doesn't!! wylan is not a hateful person and he always defends kuwei!! but nooo, kuwei sucks and he deserves it for daring to be a person instead of an idea.

and hey?? guess what?? kuwei was NEVER in the way of wesper. there was no love triangle. narratively speaking, there was never any threat that kuwei would end up with jesper instead of wylan. never ever. the kiss was literally only put there to create drama for wylan and jesper. we never even hear how kuwei feels about it. stop using that as an excuse to hate on kuwei when we can all see it's because you're subconsciously mad at an asian person not being nice.

also disliking kuwei does not automatically make you racist, im just saying a lot of hatred towards kuwei is rooted in racism.

tagging my fellow aapi moots (that i know of) because i wanna hear yalls thoughts on this! @hauntedacousticversiontv @dramaqueentruther

[wellofdean]

So in my ongoing efforts to say nice things about Supernatural and, as @luckshiptoshore said yesterday, "reclaim this nice, gay show" together, and also probably because I listened to Bruce Springsteen earlier today while I was thinking: why is it that this particular love story has me like it does? Why can't I let this Destiel thing go? I mean... I watched all the recent queer love stories and as much as I enjoyed Good Omens and OFMD, they just don't take up real estate in my soul like Supernatural does -- and that's not a decision I made, it just is. I don't know about you guys, but my little rages choose me.

Anyway, I was thinking -- it's probably not just because of queer representation or whatever, and I don't think it's because I want to see dudes be tender -- I think I ran out of that form of interest in the life of dudes awhile ago, but yeah, Bruce Springsteen. Born to Run. He says "I want to know love is wild, I want to know love is real" and I felt like it pretty much hit the nail on the head for me, somehow.

It's been a long time since I have felt moved by a het romance story. I feel like I can no longer believe it when the roles are so pre-packaged in the tropes and trappings of what was sold to me as idealised love in my younger days. And, like, I am Gen X, so it was pretty gruesome out there when I was learning how to want love -- the power of compulsory heterosexuality was strong, and the shit that was sold to us all as ways to love and be loved were pretty gross, just watch any romantic comedy from the 80's or 90's.

I think I love Supernatural so much because of the way Dean plays the role of a standard issue dude, and postures like he is a stereotypical red-blooded American dude, but it's so transparent that it isn't him. I don't know if it's just Jensen things, or if it was consciously done, but I love how unconvincing Dean's act is, and how clear it is that he is a wounded child whose own real desires and needs have been beaten out of him somehow, and I just love the way the real Dean and what that guy wants slow rises out of him as the story goes on, until he's choking on it, and visibly swallowing it down. For me, the queerest thing about Dean is his pain, his aching loneliness, and his sense of failure at being what he thinks he is -- a violent man who only knows how to kill, and I love Dean's moments of clarity, moments when he speaks from his own soul -- when he tells Cas he's sorry, tells John he has a family, tells Chuck "that's not who I am" are just everything to me.

Both Dean and Cas are victims of conditioning and coersion -- Dean trying to be his Daddy's perfect son, and being manipulated by Chuck, and Cas horribly violated and brainwashed repeatedly for millennia in heaven -- and they love each other in defiance of conditioning, because love is wild, and it's the product of their freedom.

I feel like ALL actual love eschews force and arises out of freedom. All real love is specific and weird, and is co-created in the space between lovers from what is most real in them and in that sense, all real love is queer in some way in that it is not part of the big social project of subjugating what doesn't comply. I feel like a lot of people lead lives of mindless compliance and that a thing that's wonderful about queer people and queer community is that we work against the grain to honor what is truest in us, whatever that is.

I guess I just love that, on Supernatural, the kind of love that saves the day is the kind that grows wild, like a weed you can't kill, out of more than a decade of choosing each other, again and again, and choosing to fight coercion and conditioning. Love that just fucking refuses to comply, and in fact, cannot comply, because non-compliance is it's very nature. There's something so hopeful and beautiful about that to me. I want to believe in it, and I do.

It's also why, after ALL THIS, in the context of that narrative, Dean is incontrovertibly queered, and anything else is just straight up narrative malpractice.

[realbeefman]

i think about this scene constantly. this is probably the only time they’ve both been totally genuine and honest with each other ever. and they still don’t understand each other.

charlie has always loved the idea of her more than her. arguably their most romantic moment before this occurs in jersey shore, when she’s very literally not herself.

to the waitress, charlie isn’t just saying “i love you.” he’s said that he loves her thousands of times before. to her it’s deeper than that. to her he’s saying, “i love you (for the person that you are. i know your flaws and i love you in spite of them. i always will, no matter what you do, no matter how badly you fuck up)” and to a person as chronically lonely as the waitress is, who has been rejected and humiliated by her lovers time and time again, that’s everything she needs to hear.

and of course, on some level, this is what charlie thinks he means as well. but his “i love you” carries no more weight than the other thousands of times he’s said it to her. in saves the day, charlie’s ideal world is a satirized version of the stereotypical nuclear family, because charlie genuinely believes that that’s the life he wants.

like most of the gang, charlie’s adherence to social roles and expectations are inconsistent, even as he professes to believe strongly in their value. he is a proud american when it suits him, he is willing to be a father when it benefits him, and he is interested in the waitress only when it suits him to be interested in her. the waitress isn’t anybody special; she’s an attractive woman that charlie has decided is the epitome of everything he should be.

this is why jersey shore is the peak of their romantic relationship. because ultimately, while charlie is willing to and, at times, actively wants to love her, the unfortunate fact of the matter is that he doesn’t even like her.

he puts vitamins in her shampoo. he gets her fired from jobs he doesn’t like, and protects her on jobs he approves of (most blatant example of this is when he barks at a passing stranger who might steal her bike when she’s delivering indian food vs literally trying to have her stabbed at the fair). he is constantly trying to make her into somebody he likes being around.

to charlie, this “i love you” is just a statement of fact. loving her is something he should do, so he does. it’s yet another frivolous idea that has passed through his imagination, of no more real significance to charlie’s core identity than being a patriot is. to the waitress, this “i love you” is the only one that has ever mattered, to her, this is a breakthrough moment in which she finally, finally understands and connects with this man who has been stalking her for more than a decade.

it makes it hit all the harder when she realizes, when all is said and done, that she still doesn’t understand him at all.

[satoriberry]

silly man higuruma :3 [headcanons!!]

-> because hot serious men deserve to be bbgirl,,,they deserve to be silly and have some lighthearted silly moments,,,,

⇝ he has a very cute sneeze. doesn't like it. holds in his sneezes because of that :(

⇝ when he's not losing sleep over a criminal case, he enjoys going to places you wouldn't imagine a mildly grumpy lawyer to be in. like, oddly sitting in the corner of a mascot café, or, exiting the movies with a barbie-themed movie goblet in hand and 3D glasses perched on his nose. he said it himself: he went off the trails after reaching his mid-30s :3

⇝ he has an affinity for ceramic animal decorations: a cute slug on his desk, a crab on his kitchen counter, a duck on the shelf next to his apartment door. they're scattered everywhere, and he likes watching people try to find each and every one on the rare occasion that he has guests.

⇝ he blushes easily and he doesn't like that either :( whenever he's embarrassed for example, he'll try to maintain his cool man façade but his face is very much to turning red so he's not very slick with it HA!

⇝ not pudgy but some parts of him are satisfyingly grabbable, especially his tummy and his upper torso!!

⇝ chips connoisseur. EXCLUSIVELY fucks with good quality chips. you'll never catch him munching on something as low-class as DORITOS or CHEETOS 🤮🤮🤢

⇝ he likes sweet people. sweet people as in individuals who find it in them to be altruistic and tolerate anyone and everyone with no discrimination; people who rarely hold grudges and who don't let the sucky parts of life get to them. he likes them because he wishes he was like that too (i said silly headcanons but this isn't very posiitve now is it uhhhh)

⇝ he eats biscoff spread from the jar. straight up CRACK for him. always regrets it right afterwards because tummy ache :3

⇝ he think sugargliders are fucking adorable and would love to own one if that was feasible (which i think it is in certain places??)

⇝ he's handsome now in his 30s but he was actually on the cuter side in university because homebody had BRACES. he looked like a stereotypical dork but it was extremely endearing and people thought he looked adorable (yes even at age 23)

⇝ thick luscious short hair. he doesn't fear baldness. baldness fears him.

⇝ however he started developping gray hairs before he had even hit 30 oopsie doopsie

⇝ bigggg fan of detective conan, loves the show and rewatches old episodes for nostalgia's sake

⇝ loves arguing with americans on the internet.

⇝ favourite food out of convenience is rice with seaweed OR!! a jacket potato because he gets to release some anger while stabbing the fuck of the potato before throwing it in the oven

⇝ wants a blond cat. apartment doesn't allow pets. would either name the cat cheddar cheese or keke (short for keylime pie)

⇝ he has big fat wet eyes that stare at your soul so you'll either fall for his bizarre charm or believe he plans on killing you from how hard he's looking.

⇝ loves those little applesauce pouches :3

⇝ ok that's it goodbye :D

[sopaprimordialy]

Hey boppers! Inspired by @almosthonest's post, I decided to make my own Warriors OC and share how they got initiated! I hope you guys enjoy it and feel inspired to do it as well :3

————————w————————

Burn Bright, Hilda Hurricane!

Pablo did not expect to make his mom so fucking angry.

Actually, everything about this was a consequence of a huge miscalculation, since he wasn't expecting to see her at all that day. He reflected on his own bad luck as he ran through the dark streets, already far from home, with nothing more than a worn backpack, makeup smeared with tears and a knot in his chest.

Throughout his ridiculously short 17 years of existence, Pablo has always struggled with one thing or another. Being born in an immigrants family trying to find his place culturally — neither fully being his family's nationality, neither fully American — was hard enough; when he realized that there was something wrong with himself that made him attracted to the neighborhood boys instead of the girls, he went through yet another identity crisis, which turned into a very well-kept secret.

After the first time he stole his mother’s makeup and clothes during a particularly inspired night, everything went downhill and he simply stopped caring so much.

He stopped caring about the glares and the comments, because in order to feel bad, one must feel alive above all things; if he only felt alive doing what he did, what's the point in feeling bad? Was it wrong for him to exist?

In his honest opinion, no, it was not. Still, his family was a completely different subject, as the bonds of blood are meant to be different from those forged out in the forest of steel and concrete. His mother was always very strict and stressed, it was almost comical how she passed herself off as a perfect portrait of the "Latina mother" stereotype, but she was not only that: she could also be loving and caring. Pablo always knew that, despite everything, he would always have his mother by his side.

This trust, or rather, hope, made the pain of betrayal by the one who was supposed to love him most even more painful.

He took a turn into a quiet alley, looking both sides before letting himself slide on the wall to sit on the ground. He was shaky, breathing heavily and dirty. Gods, he hated feeling like that, powerless and weak.

Pablo wiped his face with the back of his hand as best he could. Where was he, anyway? Running aimlessly, he had reached an unfamiliar part of the city. He imagined he was somewhere north.

His thoughts were interrupted by a small commotion on the street next to the alley he had pathetically ducked into. Voices were shouting things, but overlapping voices are hard to understand and he was not in the best frame of mind to deal with it, so his sorrow quickly turned into misdirected anger. He was about to stand up and tell whoever was shouting to go fuck themselves, when a speeding figure hit him head on.

The boy screamed and fell back to the ground, his fall cushioned by the backpack full of clothes he had packed in his rush to leave his family's house. He opened his eyes to see a bit of skin, a neck, perhaps? And a bunch of brown hair, covering his vision. The person above him quickly moved to stand up again.

"Get your ass up! Police's comin'!" She said. Her voice was unsteady from running for too long, but she was also practically shaking from exhilaration.

"T-the what? Who are you?! Why the fuck you have skates on?" Pablo jumped, now standing much more alert. He didn't do anything wrong, but he knew he didn't need to have actually done something to have the police up his ass.

"No time to explain!" The girl, who couldn't be much older than him, quickly skated to the end of the alley. He hesitated a few more times, looking toward the street, until he heard the more distinguishable voices shouting unkind insults and ordering the girl to turn herself in. Pablo swallowed hard and followed her.

"There's a wall here!" He stumbled, standing next to her and facing a brick wall.

"I can see that." She answered nonchalantly. Next to the two of them, there was a dumpster, which was exactly what she used as support to climb the wall. Pablo watched in awe as the girl used the front part of the four-wheel skates as a support to keep herself stable. Now on her tiptoes, she jumped and grabbed the edge of the wall.

"A little help would be good!" The girl said through gritted teeth, and that was his clue to climb the dumpster as well and push her up by the waist. When she managed to sit, one leg on each side, she stretched out her hand to help him up.

They proceeded to fall rather ungracefully on the other side. Luckily, it was a small vacant lot with tall grass, which cushioned their fall. They sit there in silence until they heard the police officers approaching, cursing some more, and finally giving up: in their opinion, the girl wasn't worth the effort of jumping over the wall.

"So..." Pablo was first to speak as they caught their breath. "Who are you?"

"Name's Yaya. And you..." She could finally take a better look at him. She made a face instantly. "You look terrible."

"Haha. Thanks. I'm Pablo, if you care."

"Well, now I do. What horrible accident happened to you? Your boyfriend broke up with you or somethin'?" That was not a nice thing to say, but Yaya couldn't resist to mess with him a bit. Pablo frowned, immediately taking note of the fact she instantly knew he couldn't possibly have a girlfriend.

Instead of snapping back, he decided to tell the truth. He was to tired to play this game Yaya was playing. "My mom kicked me out."

"Ah- uh..." She wrung her hands uncomfortably, then put one to his shoulder, now sounding much more empathetic. "That sucks. Tell me more."

"Well, as you can see, I'm not the perfect example of a son. I was supposed to go to this club tonight with my friend, even stole my older sister's ID to get in, but my mother caught me with her make up on. She wasn't supposed to be home so soon tonight but... guess I'm just really unlucky." He hugged his knees, hiding his face a little to keep the tears from coming, then continued.

"I don't even know where this club is anyway... my friend was supposed to pick me up, but I guess she's not going, 'cause my mom will likely tell her I ran away or somethin'. In other words, estoy jodido."

"Ah, hablas español" Yaya said, apparently ignoring the tragic account. Well, she wasn't actually ignoring it, just didn't know what to say. "Where you from?"

"Hm. My family's half Mexican, half Brazilian. I was born here." He was taken aback by the sudden change of subject, but didn't complain. Yaya stood up.

"Which club were you going?"

"Uh... somewhere called 'Hurricanes Club'. I have no idea how the place is" He stood up as well, watching his new weird friend smile.

"Well, honey, I happen to know."

"Wait, really?" a small spark of hope made her face light up, and Yaya's smile grew even wider.

"Come with me."

——w——

It turns out, this place was apparently owned by a gang, The House Of Hurricane, which Yaya was a part of. Pablo wasn’t all that surprised to hear this; it explained the reason for the unique clothes and the police chase, which she seemed to have a lot of experience with. They talked about it on the way, and she told him that all the gang members were drag queens, artists! After a night of misfortune, Pablo couldn’t believe his luck.

The club wasn’t that far from where they were, so it didn’t take them long to get there. Yaya skated gracefully to the side of the building, avoiding the crowded main entrance, and simply nodded to the security guard who stood at the foot of the metal stairs. Despite being on skates, she climbed up faster than Pablo.

They entered through the door at the top and found themselves in a large room, full of chairs, poufs and sofas, as well as dressing tables. It was a sort of dressing room for several people, and in fact, there was as much movement up there as below, where the loud music and party noises came from. Yaya guided him through the hustle and bustle of drag queens and makeup artists until she found who she was looking for.

A drag queen not much older than them, but definitely more imposing, was frantically giving orders. Pablo correctly guessed that this must be the Hurricanes' warlord.

"Élan!" Yaya called, trying to make her voice rise above the commotion around her.

"What- Yaya! Where the fuck have you been?" The queen immediately turned towards the two and placed her hands on the hips, a reproving look on her face. "I already told you I don't like your little escapes, girl, I won't tolerate it-"

"Élan, stop that!" She embarrassedly hissed. "I don't need a babysitter, I can manage on my own! Besides, I have something more important." She quickly added when the leader opened her mouth to say something back.

It was only then that she noticed Pablo's presence there; she raised an eyebrow. "And who are you?"

"I-I'm Pablo, ma'am, and I want to be a part of your crew because I don't have somewhere to drop dead and honestly you're my only hope I don't know what to-" He began to yap nervously, but Élan stopped him.

"Shush! Look, we're in a busy night and one of my performers called in sick a couple of minutes ago. I trust Yaya's judgement, so if you can prove you have what it takes, go ahead!" Élan snapped her fingers, catching the attention of a makeup artist. "Please, fix her up, dear." He promptly nodded and moved closer to Pablo, who jumped a bit, putting his hands up.

"Pera aí, espera, hold up! Just like that? Do you just want me to go there and, I don't know, pull up a show??"

Yaya smiled and gently pushed him back towards the makeup artist. "That's exactly what she wants, hermana."

"As I said, we're busy. Get used to the rhythm here." Élan wrote something in a piece of paper at the same time they talked, demonstrating what she just said. Suddenly, she looked back at Pablo. "What you said your name was again?"

"Pablo?"

"No, nonono. That won't do. You can't walk there and be introduced as Pablo, girl! Pick a new one."

Actually, I can. He thought as he was practically dragged away from Élan and Yaya by the makeup artist. It would be unusual, of course, but nothing necessarily stopped him... except pride. If it was time to be reborn into a new life, he needed a new name.

A few minutes later — seriously, an absurdly short amount of minutes— she was practically a different person. Her makeup highlighted her most elegant features, her blue dress contrasted with her long orange braids, which had been put there by a hairdresser (who had appeared out of nowhere), like water and fire. Looking at herself in the mirror, she felt alive.

She came back to where Élan frantically worked, now being helped by Yaya. When she looked at her, Yaya almost screamed.

"Holy shit, you look beautiful!"

"I gotta admit, you have the looks, girl. But do you have the groove?" Élan added, raising an eyebrow. "What's your name?" She repeated the question, in a tone that sounded much more like a test. This time, the answer came without hesitation.

"Hilda."

"Oh? Beautiful name, but don't you feel there's somethin' lacking there, dear?" Élan asked, tilting her head to the side curiously. Indeed, only Hilda didn't seem like a full stage name, and it wasn't.

"Hilda Huracán" Hilda Hurricane. Élan let out a loud laugh, and Hilda smiled at her.

"You got the nerves! Get your ass down on stage and surprise me, or you won't be gettin' that last name. Burn bright, Hilda Hurricane!"

————————w————————

oh, hello again! Don't mind me, I just have to drop these here-

Picrew used: https://picrew.me/ja/image_maker/1469769

(also I clearly have no idea how clubs and etc work. Normally I'd research and double check everything but I just wanted to write without much compromise so... yeah sorry KASKASK)

[rose-morose]

stop what you are doing right now and go watch Jentry Chau vs the Underworld immediately

I instantly fell in love with this show from the moment I saw the trailer, and when it finally got its full release, it did not disappoint

(season 1 spoilers under the cut and also probably the longest post I've ever made by far)

if you have any interest in Asian/Chinese mythology and culture, fantastic animation, soundtracks full of absolute bangers, Texas for some reason, stories that touch on the subject of being Asian American, or high schoolers fighting the supernatural/demonic, or if you just like things that are good, this is the show for you

I watched through the intro in every episode, despite the presence of the skip intro button, and I even often went back to rewatch it after it finished, it is so fucking exhilarating and exciting, I have never felt more hyped in my life

I personally love Chinese mythology, but I truly do not believe that proclivity is even remotely necessary to enjoy this show, it's just all around amazing

the writing is phenomenal

Gugu: "It's a jianshi thing, they can't help but count rice."

Ed: "Hey, I can quit anytime I want!"

this fucking killed me

referencing a jianshi's need to count grains of rice is one thing, that's pretty much expected, but the implication that doing math (counting) is an addiction is so ironically model minority racist Asian stereotype coded that it is genuinely hilarious and I love it so much I'm dying

no idea if that was intentional or if I'm just seeing things, but it made me laugh all the same, and maybe I've got rose tinted glasses on because of my love of Chinese mythology and being able to relate to the Asian American experience, but regardless I cannot praise this show enough

the cast is pretty stacked as well, with solid vocal performances by Ali Wong, Lucy Liu, SungWon Cho, Bowen Yang, Jimmy O Yang, and many more talented actors

the complexity of the relationships goes so much further below surface level than your typical supernatural teen action dramedy, for example Jentry and Kit

it's not just Jentry is initially afraid of Kit because he's actually a hideous monster but learns to love him in the end for who he truly is, Jentry, while admittedly initially shocked by his true appearance, makes it clear why she's really upset with him

it's not just because he was a demon or even just because he lied about being a demon, it's not just because he has killed people in the past, it's not even just because he is several centuries older than her, she's upset because he manipulated her, used seduction to lure her in, planted the pearl that used her (partially) dead parents to draw her into a trap, and sought to kill her, and the reason he did all of this was for his personal desire to get his very own human soul

Jentry didn't believe Kit's feelings for her were genuine, and who could blame her? regardless of the fact that his feeling were, or at least eventually became real, he did seduce her and manipulate her for his own selfish ends

and Jentry even recognizes his eventual genuine desire to be with her as entirely self serving and sought out solely for his own happiness, but in the end Jentry's rejection pushes Kit towards self reflection and growth and he realizes his own selfishness, and then he proves that he is capable of putting others first, by sacrificing his life for hers without anything to gain, a sacrifice made all the more meaningful by his permanent (tentatively) status as dead, especially in a show where ghosts and undead are common place

I have so much more to say about the relationships, and not just romantic ones, I could go on forever, but I'll just stick with the example of Jentry and Kit for now

the animation is beautiful and the color pallet is gorgeous, the music is great and could not be better suited to the show, a lot of passion was clearly put into the making of this show

though my favorite part may be the show's willingness to explore the darker horror-oriented side of Chinese folklore

the painted skin demon story, the actual torture of Diyu, the unheard nü gui, the gruesome deaths, Cheng's daughter's desperate want to return to the afterlife, the content can be a bit harrowing to say the least

while still maintaining a largely PG image, the show manages to put a good bit of horror into the story, but by far the most harrowing parts of the world of Jentry Chau vs the Underworld are the real world themes that it portrays

Jentry is surrounded by people that claim to love her and want to protect her, but many characters, whether on purpose or by accident, end up using Jentry for her powers to their own gain

she was cursed with a destructive power that she cannot control, a power that she does not understand, and she has no idea how or why, but everyone seems to want these powers except for her

in a break from the genre standard, whereas the chosen one teenager might have to hide their abilities and responsibilities to keep others safe, pretty much everyone knows about Jentry's predicament right off the bat, and better yet most of them have already formulated their own misconceptions and prejudices

if you thought it was hard fitting in while trying to hide your darkest secrets, imagine how hard it is to be accepted when everyone not only already knows your secrets, but has been given ample reason to fear you because of them

it suddenly makes more sense than ever why so many chosen one teens hide their peculiarities, it is truly a frightening prospect to exist in a world where everyone around you is both different from you, and keenly aware that you are different from them, there's no fitting in after that

it presents a metaphorical dramatization of a real world experience, something I myself have experienced, growing up in America when nobody else looks like you

I grew up in an almost completely white town, and there was no way of hiding the fact that I wasn't also white, though I was really lucky to live somewhere where racism was much less common place, or at the very least less overt than it is in many parts of the country, a lack of racism didn't mean I wasn't different

Jentry goes to a school that seems fairly diverse, though still mostly white, with many other kids who also aren't white, but race isn't what makes her stand out, it's something else that she was (allegedly) born with, something she (seemingly) has no control over, and something for which she is faced with prejudice much like race, though she later discovers that she can actually change and control these things, that's not how it starts

okay this is getting way too long so I'm gonna rap it up here, but I am hardly finished speaking on the topic, if you claim to have made this far into my rambling I will simply call you a liar, but if there are two things to take away from this mess, it's this:

a - I am desperately hoping for a second season

b - GO WATCH THE FUCKING SHOW

[hogzzlactosing]

Dinner in America micro analysis

maybe i’ll do another one later because there’s a lot to this film

I watched Dinner in America, and a lot of people seem confused about the "uncalled for" racism in the movie’s opening scene. However, I think some are missing the point. Every single character in the film is a caricature. We focus so much on how weird the main characters are that we forget to analyze the behavior of the background characters and see the bigger picture.

The film satirizes the American Dream and people trapping themselves in a system. All the families depicted are different stereotypes of white middle-class American families from the 1960s and 70s. The first family, for example, is a joke about the stereotype of a racist, football-loving dad, a clueless jock son, and a mother who stirs up drama to distract herself from her shallow and boring life.

To understand this, we need to reconstruct the idea of the American Dream as the film portrays it—a Christian family that’s strict, “normal,” and ironically, only "normal" from the perspective of the American Dream. The film reveals how absurdly flawed this "normal" is. Even the bullies fit this stereotype, perfectly embodying a version of small-town American life that feels trapped in caricature. Most of the characters are so isolated within the confines of this "American Dream" that they don’t know anything beyond what they’ve been spoon-fed about being "good Americans" (like when Patty’s mom asks her dad if he knows what a rave is).

Naturally, within this limited worldview, their behavior is racist, ableist, close-minded, and fearful of anything new. The movie mocks this system, the propaganda that forces people into a box, living a false dream of being “normal.” The main characters are the opposite of that. One actively rejects being liked by people stuck in the system, while the other physically can’t fit in, even if she wants to.

The whole meaning of the movie is captured in its soundtrack, “fuck everybody else but us.” If you live for others, afraid of being judged, you’ll end up living a boring, joyless life, where you’ll only have time to judge others.

Overall, I LOVED the movie. I think it was more of a statement in itself, though the filmmaking lacks some details that could have been added, like working more on storytelling through objects and other subtle elements. However, it delivers well enough when it needs to.