#and he sounds completely different when he's pretending to be american like he becomes a whole new guy

[volvolts]

Celebrity Paradox idea: Belos & the hexsquad are watching something starring Matthew Rhys, and they comment that his voice sounds quite familiar.

i havent drawn in a few days so i can only draw a minimum of two people right now sorry

i think the kids would have a whiplash of hearing that voice sound genuinely kind and friendly especially since everything belos says sounds vaguely threatening/authoritative even when he's not trying to be. i also think it would be funny if belos doesn't recognize it either, both because he's probably never heard his own voice via recording and also he never talks like that and can't associate it as his own. man's never not put on an act in his 4oo years so of course it sounds weird hearing that voice when its relaxed

[unkillable-gays]

Mexican-American!Eddie Munson

Okay so I'm becoming less in denial about being in the Steddie fandom. (I don't think I have to cop to being in the ST fandom given that I haven't watched the show since whatever year it was that s2 came out.)

Anyway I wanted to ask why Latino!Eddie Munson hasn't gained more traction? Or have I just not been able to find the content? I found several posts from people expressing excitement at the idea, but then never mentioning it again.

Is it because people think they're not allowed to use that hc bc it'd be racist because he's poor and/or because he deals? I guess I can't exactly say from every possible perspective, but from mine (Mexican-American but grew up thoroughly middle class) it seems fine? Like, it seems like you could easily weave all those elements into his story in a way that's respectful.

Anyway, in the spirit of furthering that agenda, here's some Mexican-American!Eddie hcs that I've been rolling around in my hands like marbles:

I figure he is probably, like, second generation or so? And his dad is regular not-latino white. (Hence the last name.) I'm going with what is either canon or the most widely accepted hc, that his mother died when he was elementary school-aged. I think he knew his Mexican extended family, but only barely; like, saw them every four years or so, kind of deal. Within that family, there's a large variation of levels of assimilation, Spanish language fluency, political views, etc. They are, just about, all poor/working class, though. (It's not stereotypical to acknowledge the systemic structures put in place to keep our people disenfranchised 🙂) and maybe they all live really far from Indiana? I guess I'm putting them in Texas bc that's where I am. They are all excited to see Eddie whenever the occasion rises, and they love him, for as much as that is worth, given they have really no way of knowing him at all. (This leaves open the potential for cousin ocs, if desired.)

(alternately, his mother could have completely split from her family before or soon after his birth, and his ties to that side of his family are completely severed. If we wanna be lonely and angsty about it. Maybe she did it for a good reason, though?)

(also his dad doesn't HAVE to be white, of course. There are infinite ways to be Mexican-American, and one of those ways is an asshole with a white-sounding last name.)

I don't think Eddie speaks Spanish. Even if he knows it. I think he probably understands it at a basic level, and he probably has several handfuls of slang/cuss/diminutive-type words in his vocab. (idk quite how to explain this rn bc I'm tired, but in my tex-mex community, there are certain words that even exclusive English speakers will often sub out, like the words for underwear, hair ties, boogers.) Though I think even Spanish words that are very natural to him, he'd probably keep close to his chest, because:

Being Mexican is a big part of what makes him a Freak. White people LOVE to act like there's just ~something~ weird or off-putting about us while pretending like they don't notice we're a different race than them. If we're pale, they can even pretend they have plausible deniability. Even if Eddie is white-passing, (which he doesn't have to be; it's my hc and I can picture him how I want) the Hawkinsites are obviously gonna know, and be racist dicks about it. It's true that Eddie tends to own his differences and shove them in people's faces, but I don't think he'd do that with Spanish, because it's such a loaded topic for us, and he's been cut off from it. You're either getting shamed by your relatives for not being able to keep up, or by the rest of the world for having an accent or being worse at English. Especially in the 80's, bilingual people speaking Spanish around English speakers (including their own relatives) just wasn't done. Given that Eddie's not fluent and doesn't have anyone to practice with, I don't think the linguistic difference is one that he'd build his identity around. He'd feel the loss of not having community to share that with. I think he wouldn't have confidence in what Spanish he does have, and would avoid speaking it in front of others whenever possible.

I was gonna talk about how he probably has a connection to his culture through food, at least a couple favorite childhood dishes, but I honestly don't think he'd be able to get the necessary ingredients in rural Indiana in the eighties, and, like, I can't see him making tortillas by hand on his own in the trailer, so. Maybe scratch that lol. (I think my mom actually WAS in rural Indiana briefly in the eighties, I should ask her about that.)

I do think he got exposed to your usual roaring heterosexual Mexican machismo growing up, and he is consciously rebelling against that. If we're making his dad Mexican, that'd definitely be a source of friction between them.

Also, in my, admittedly biased and limited, experience, Mexicans and Mexican-Americans are pretty into metal. It'd be cool if his connections to the metal scene outside of Hawkins extended to metalheads of color.

Okay, this one might be stereotypical. But he's loud, chaotic, goofy, and celebratory!! which is what we're like lol. 🇲🇽 Also musically inclined!!

He learned to play guitar from his family pretty young. Maybe not proficiently, but was encouraged to jam along with everyone else at parties. I do think he'd love pulling out mariachi tunes to annoy those he's closest to. Gritos are quicker and more general use than a whole song, but no less effective. (annoying) Like, I think he'd enjoy throwing in some "ay"s, tongue clicks, and rolled rs to embellish his already superfluous way of speaking. And when Gareth groans and tells him to cut it out, Eddie smugly asks him if he's gasp! Insulting his heritage? Gareth tries to tell him, "no, you're just fucking loud", but Eddie just tells him that's also part of his heritage. I think Eddie would be very willing to sing in Spanish to be funny or obnoxious, but rarely does it in other contexts. (I think he probably knows a lot of songs no one else ever hears, though.)

Actually, what if he could also play trumpet, (mariachi style) and would pull that out occasionally just to enjoy the sheer volume of it? Like, he doesn't even own one, he can just play a couple bars if one happens to be nearby. Logically I realize this doesn't make any sense, he'd have no way to maintain an embouchure, but imagine the comedic potential!?!???! Imagine the horror dawning on the faces of Steve and the Corroded Coffin boys when Robin smugly slides her horn over to Eddie, and they realize they're not backing down from the bit. Maybe once he and Robin start getting close, he can start practicing with her in secret? That could be fun. I know this boy's gotta have mad lung capacity. Aww, imagine him teaching Robin to play mariachi-style??!? 🥺

I like imagining his name is Eduardo, just cause I love Hispanic names in any context, and I like the idea of all his white friends getting confused by someone calling him Wardo or Lalo! But he could definitely still be Edward, or whatever Ed- variation y'all prefer. As I said before, there's an infinite number of ways to be Mexican-American! It's super common to give your kids anglicized names in an effort to assimilate. He might also choose to use Edward, even if it's not "actually" his name, for reason of navigating racism. Also, Spanish speakers may give him those nicknames even if his name doesn't quite correspond correctly. Really, everything is on the table here.

Okay, my stance on him speaking Spanish might be evolving, because I think it'd be funny if he cusses people or situations out under his breath when he's frustrated. Not to them; if he's talking shit to someone, he fully intends for them to understand it. But, like, when all his audio cables get tangled together, or when he gets told he has to go fight demons in a hell dimension, or when the cute rich white boy does something completely enticing without even realizing it. For example. 😶 But he still won't speak to people.

I don't think Wayne is Latino, just because he and Eddie already have this dynamic of coexisting on completely different wavelengths, and I think this would add to that.

Spanish lessons with Robin? There might be a non white-savior-y way to do that... Like, he teaches her more colloquial vocab and syntax, and she teaches him more formal stuff?

As he becomes more comfortable with Steve and the party, he does eventually start using Spanish around them more casually; mostly endearments and jokes. Calling Dustin, "pobrecito" when he's complaining, or "mijo" in a loving but condescending tone. (Not to be stereotypical but I LIVE for Mexican endearments; English speakers have nothing on us. And we already know Eddie is a verbally affectionate guy!)

ARGYLE. I saw a post hcing Argyle speaks fluent Spanish, which I can definitely get behind. I don't think he'd push Eddie to speak with him, but I think he'd notice when he understands things he mutters to himself, because Eddie's eyes will quickly flick over to him. So then Argyle will mutter knowing Eddie might understand him, and let Eddie respond however he chooses. That escalates to jokes just for Eddie, or digs at Eddie that the others won't risk overhearing. At first Eddie responds with huffs, chuckles, or eye rolls, but as he gets more comfortable it becomes common for him to snark back in English. Eventually, however, the teasing escalates enough that Eddie bursts out, "Oye! ¿de verdad, guey? Porque recuerdo specificamente una vez cuando tu--" Argyle just breaks down into hysterical giggles, and he never points out when Eddie has to switch back to English to continue their teasing. Sometimes he calls Eddie primo or hermano.

Eddie is delighted to be able to complain about white people and the Midwest to Argyle. Argyle is genuinely baffled as to how he's surviving. Eddie laughs and says, "only barely." Argyle's no instrumentalist, but he's thrilled to sing Mexican folk songs with Eddie, and refresh his memory of lyrics he's forgotten or gotten mixed up. (Alternately: Argyle kicks ass on the accordion, and has had one in his van this whole time.) Argyle starts bringing up whatever food that can make the drive whenever he visits, along with the good California weed.

(if anyone WANTS to talk about racial stereotypes, we can get into how Argyle is giving "token brown comedic relief character with no emotional depth whatsoever, but don't we get credit for not killing him off?!?! ����" but...I don't wanna get angry about all that, so I usually just try not think about it, and just look at Argyle and say, "what a nice young man! 😊")

(*deep breaths* 😤 this is why we stopped watching the show...)

I do absolutely believe Nancy is the kind of white girl who would put her foot in her mouth and stumble all over her words if she tries to address matters of race/ethnicity. ("Oh, but don't you... Because, you're.... um.") But only, like, once, maybe twice. She catches on fast. Steve generally manages not to embarrass himself just by virtue of the kind of directness borne of not knowing you're supposed to be being delicate. Robin's normal and relatively cultured so she's not a problem. Jonathan knows better from hanging with Argyle, who was probably the only vato patient enough to put up with his white ass in CA.

Huge thanks if you read this, and sorry it's so rambling and inconsistent! 😅 I'd love to know what you think, if this prompted any hc's or ideas, or if I've managed to accidentally say something embarrassing lol. Sorry there wasn't really any Steddie in this; I'm not used to writing romance! And it feels like it'd be super easy to slip into Latin Lover bullshit in that context. Is that why I haven't seen more people embrace this concept? I guess that would make sense... 🤷🏻‍♀️

[landinoandco]

An Unlikely Grand Prix

Daniel Ricciardo x reader

Warnings: flufffff

Word count: 2.1k

Requests are open :)

The Belgium Grand Prix was one that was highly anticipated - not only did it mark the end of the summer break and start to the second part of the season but it also promised some quality racing with its high speed corners.

You and Daniel were sitting in your hotel room on Sunday morning, a drink of coffee in your hand and a vitamin smoothie in his, your laptop open in front of you as you made some edits to the latest version of your book. You were an author and about to finish the final edit of your new novel.

“Have you seen the weather forecast for today?” He asked, leaning onto his forearms. You looked over your laptop lid and nodded, taking off your glasses.

“I have, you better be careful. It was bad enough in qualifying yesterday - “ You paused, saving your work and closing your laptop down. “I don’t care what people say - wet races always make me nervous. They shouldn’t have sent you out in Q3, it was hard to watch.”

A silence fell between the both of you, Daniel watched with a softness in his eyes. He knew exactly how you felt and he loved how supportive you were of him. You were his biggest fan and he could not be more thankful for it - you were there for him every weekend through rain and sunshine and through good races and bad races. You knew him better than anyone.

“I will be as careful as I can -” He reached across the table and took your hand in his. “I really feel like I’m getting somewhere though - P4.” He exclaimed, a smile flashing across his handsome features. You brushed your thumb over his hand.

“It was a really good lap - especially given the weather.” You agreed.

You moved your gaze to the window - the steady sound of rain hitting the hotel window filled the room.

“It’s definitely going to be a tense one.” Daniel muttered, pushing his chair back and getting up. You followed and made your way to the door, shrugging on your coat as you went.

The rain was pouring down as though the heavens above had opened - Daniel held an umbrella above both of you, sheltering you from the downpour. Members from different teams raced around the paddock to dry shelter - the buzz of conversation could already be heard from the grandstand in front of the pitlane. You admired the dedication of the fans; it was far from just a shower and for those exposed without even the slightest of cover would be drenched to the bone even by now and the grand prix was far from starting.

You looked over to Dan, his eyes twinkling and a spring in his step told you that he was looking forward to today’s race. His eyes flickered down to meet your gaze, bumping his shoulder into yours causing you to chuckle.

It was incredible to think about all of the things you two had managed to fit into 3 (going on 4) years. You met each other on the top of Table Mountain in Cape Town, you were there plotting for your next novel and Daniel was there hiking with his friends…

You were sat on a rock, looking out to the city of Cape Town tucked away under the mountain range - you were out in South Africa on an escape from the cramped conditions of London. You had a deadline quickly approaching to come up with a plot for your next book and as of that moment you still weren’t any closer to coming up with the next bestseller. Sure, you had ideas but they were yet to set a light a fire of motivation in you.

You had zoned out, your gaze attached to a bird soaring across the landscape ahead of you when a sudden voice pulled you swiftly out.

“Whatchu’ writing about?” The man asked, his tone was bright and as you looked over at him you saw the beaming smile stretched across his features. His eyes showed a confident but kind manner, brown curls stuck to his forehead and the beginnings of a beard covered the bottom half of his face.

“If I knew, I would tell you.” You quipped back, turning to face the man in order to see him properly. He had a muscular physique, no doubt a sportsman - you had thought at the time - an explosion of colour seeping out from his shorts caught your eye as you clocked the tattoos; they weren’t the only ones either as little drawings were littered over his hands and arms.

“Nice tattoos.” You complimented, nodding over to him. If it was at all possible, his smile grew larger and he put his fist out.

“I’m Daniel, by the way, Daniel Ricciardo.”

The rest was history - an adventure packed history. One filled with enough adrenaline to last you for the rest of your existence. The introductions had also prompted your next plot idea so the following week when you had returned to London you turned it into your agent - who had immediately loved the outline you had presented.

A few hours later and the start of the Belgium grand prix was approaching but still the track was resembling more of a spa - ironically - than a safe and functional track. Dan walked in from the drivers parade and shivered - his coat having provided no cover.

Frowning, you got up and handed him a towel, “What are the conditions like?” Nerves laced your tone. Dan sat down, shrugging, “They’re what we expected them to be like but it’s really rough. If we can even see 6 feet ahead it would be a miracle.”

A miracle was something they were all desperate for and before they knew it the race had been red flagged - deemed too dangerous to race so all of the teams were in their garages coming up with ways to entertain themselves.

You had made your way out of the McLaren garage to join Daniel who was wandering up and down the pitlane looking for a way to cause havoc.

You crept up to him and grabbed his shoulders and shouted: “boo,” in his ear causing him to jump up in shock and scream. You and many witnesses were doubled over in laughter as the Australian held his hand to his chest.

“I just came to say -” You started, “That you looked like you were about to do something mischievous and I wanted in on whatever your plan was.”

Dan looked at you with complete adoration in his eyes, a lopsided grin formed on his face. At that moment, he had never loved you more. It was a strange feeling that he couldn’t quite describe - it was just one he felt warming up his entire body. One thing he had always adored about you was the way you understood him - at the beginning of the relationship he knew you had found it hard to deal with his childish, devil may care attitude. As soon as you relaxed more around him, you two became more comfortable with one another - you decided to try his way of living. Letting fate take you to your next adventure and enjoying the unpredictability of it all. From your first adrenaline seeking adventure Dan had managed to persuade you to join him in - he knew he had found his partner in crime. Most importantly, Dan had taught you a way of living that was more enjoyable, a way of living that allowed you to get more out of life and push your comfort zone right to the limit.

“I have a few ideas.” He smirked, then grabbed your hand twirling you around as though you were ballroom dancing.

“What are you doing?” You giggled, the corners of your eyes crinkled as he pulled you into his chest, guiding one of your hands to rest on his shoulder as he grasped the other in his and held them up as though you were dancing the waltz; finally placing his hand on your waist.

“I don’t suppose you would have seen it but in 2015, the American qualifying was cancelled due to rain and to pass the time I danced with my teammate. I figured I would make a tradition of it.” He explained, twirling you around again.

“Did Lando not want to dance with you?” You questioned, the corners of your lips quirked up. Daniel stopped and took a step back. For a moment you thought you had said something wrong but then a spray of water splashed up the front of your coat. Gasping, you wiped the water from your face and Daniel’s smug smile came into focus. You looked down to where he was standing and saw a gaping hole that had now filled up with water.

“You little-” You had begun, a smile betraying you entirely as it crept upon your features. You wanted to pretend to be angry but he had caught you off guard.

“I thought that you would be a nicer dance partner - but apparently not.” He retorted, biting down on his lip in an attempt to stifle his laughter at your facial expressions. You looked at him and then down at the puddle, back at Daniel and then decided what your next move would be; before you could however he had picked you up over his shoulder, spinning around happily.

“Daniel-” You protested, having to close your eyes to avoid feeling motion sick. You heard him chortle then give in as you felt your two feet touch the ground once again. You pouted at him, strands of hair now stuck to your forehead - it was a sight to behold. Daniel’s heart skipped a beat, his breath becoming shallower as he brushed the loose strands of hair from your face. He had decided at that moment that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, he was ready to start the next chapter of his life with you. It would be a brand new adventure and probably the scariest yet.

“Marry me.” He mumbled, brushing his thumb over your cheek. He froze, an idea sparked, turning on his heel he fled in the direction of the McLaren garage.

Your eyebrows drew together in confusion, your heart thumping against your ribs. Drawing your lower lip between your teeth, you glanced around you only to realise the whole of the pitlane and grandstand of fans had fallen silent - watching on in anticipation. Had they heard what he had said? How could they have, Daniel had muttered so quietly even you had struggled to hear the words that tumbled from his lips. Little did you know, a camera had caught every moment and you were now the sole focus as you waited for Daniel to come back.

Moments later and he was running out of the McLaren garage, something in his left hand. You squinted to get a better look, from where you were standing all you could see was a flash of blue - but as he came closer you realised what he was holding was in fact a Haribo packet.

Your hands flew to cover your mouth, you knew exactly what he was about to do. You were fighting back tears of joy as he opened the haribo packet and pulled out a gummy ring, got down on one knee and said: “Marry me. Our new adventure, just you and me. My partner in crime.”

Tears ran down your cheeks as you nodded fervently, words appearing to fail you. You flung your arms around his neck. There was an eruption of cheer from around you, as fans whistled and clapped and fellow teams called out in congratulations.

You placed a hand either side of Daniel’s face, tears shone in his eyes. To most a gummy ring would seem immature - laughable even but to you, it confirmed to you how much you loved the man standing in front of you. The gummy ring he had presented to you meant so much more than being a Haribo. It represented you both as a couple. A love that was unconditional and would never get old and yet whilst you both would age - the love you had for one another would stay youthful, unpredictable and exciting.

You were more than ready to start the next chapter of your adventure with the man you loved most.

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Chapter 4: Unexpected (Bonding)

Prev

AO3

Bruce Wayne felt lost. This wasn’t an unusual feeling for him, but he wasn’t particularly fond of the events that led to him feeling lost. First, he found out he had a daughter. Yet another child that he hadn’t known of their existence. Then, he acted as Batman. He researched the girl and found that her school situation was...less than ideal. As was the supervillain situation in Paris. The girl- his daughter- had been targeted several times. Sometimes the Akuma went after her from the start. Other times, she was unfortunate enough to be in its line of sight when it was on a rampage. Any way you looked at it, she was in danger. No, the biggest mistake in researching her came with the phone number for the bakery run by her parents. Two lovely people who had raised her and taught her right from wrong. Something he hadn’t done. Their phone call was what left him feeling lost. They hadn’t demanded that he stay away from his daughter- from Marinette. No, on the contrary, they thought it was a great idea for the two to bond. Especially once Bruce had mentioned his other children. 

“Marinette was distraught when the only information we could give her about her birth father was his name.” Sabine had said, adding to Bruce’s confusion. 

“You had my name but didn’t reach out?” Bruce asked, trying (and failing) to figure out the situation. 

“We didn’t have much to go on. Just your name and that you were American and worked in business. Bridgette didn’t give any specifics, and back then it didn’t really matter. I assumed Bruce Wayne was a common enough name, especially in the US.” Sabine replied simply. The rest of their conversation had gone similarly, with Bruce growing more and more lost until the end. They hadn’t even suggested a DNA test (though he was planning on asking Marinette, just so that they could be completely certain). They just wanted Marinette happy. Even if it meant meeting and bonding with the man who hadn’t known about her existence. 

---

Marinette Dupain Cheng was not having an easy week. No, her week was sucky. In fact it was beyond sucky, it was shitty. So many things were happening at the same time, and she was just grateful that she wasn’t currently in Paris, since she was certain she’d be akumatized. From being attacked by the Joker for simply looking like a Wayne, to meeting Batman who was just as angry in person, and then figuring out Bruce Wayne really was her dad and accidentally calling him Batman, to fighting an Akuma by herself (one that she could barely handle) and then to top it all off, Adrien is Chat Noir. And Adrien has a crush on her, as Marinette. And apparently has for at least a month. Oh and now he knows that she’s Ladybug and so last night was filled with her Chat Blanc nightmares all over again. The cherry on the top of this mess was the fact that the class was practically ignoring her. She was sure they weren’t doing it intentionally and that they were just kinda distracted by Lila’s tall tales of Gotham. Tales that include her dating one of Bruce Wayne’s sons. She wouldn’t clarify which one, which was probably for the best. They two closest to their age were 12 and 19. Neither a great option for the 15 year old Italian. A shrill ringing tugs Marinette out of her thoughts. Glancing down at the unknown number attempting to call her, Marinette silently prayed that this would turn her shitty week around. 

“Hello?” She answers, wincing slightly at the way her voice sounds after a night filled with screaming and crying from nightmares. 

“Is this Marinette Dupain Cheng?” A deep voice asks. Marinette frowns. 

“Um, yes?”

“Good. This is Bruce Wayne and well, I’m not sure how to-”

“You’re my dad.” She blurts out, face instantly heating up. “Oh crap, I mean, um-”

“Well yes. I do believe I may be your father. I was in contact with your parents earlier, to ask about boundaries and such. Your mother says that you had shown interest in meeting me and seeing how we’re similar?” He says, the question clear in his voice. Marinette opens her mouth to respond, then frowns. 

“Just like that? We’re gonna meet, just like that?” She asks, hoping that her distrustful tone doesn’t push the man away. 

“I’ll admit that I was going to ask if you would mind a paternity test. After speaking with your mother, I have no doubts, but I thought it might make you feel better. And of course, if you would prefer to just act as though I didn’t speak to your parents and go on with your trip, we can do that as well. I just- I was caught off guard, if I’m being honest.” Bruce Wayne- her father- says. 

“I’ll do it. I- I would like to get to know you. I can’t have a relationship with Bridgette, but if my parents are okay with it, I do want a relationship with you.” Marinette admits, holding her breath as she waits for an answer. There’s silence on the other end for a long moment, but just as Marinette’s about to apologize and tell him he can go and pretend she doesn’t exist, he answers. His voice a little softer this time. 

“I would like that.” 

---

The paternity test came out positive, to no one’s surprise. Bruce had given Marinette the option of meeting somewhere more public (like a restaurant or museum) to bond, or coming over to the manor. Not quite ready to deal with the possibility of paparazzi and the rumors (no matter how true they may be) that would stem from a public visit, Marinette agreed to going to the manor for dinner. Which is how she ended up sitting in silence in a town car with a man who seemed like he knew more than he was letting on. 

“So, you’re the one who raised Mr. Wayne?” Marinette asks, not quite ready to call the man “Dad” or any variation of the word. The man nods and she meets his eyes in the rearview mirror. 

“Indeed, Miss. I am Alfred Pennyworth.” The man, Monsieur Pennyworth, says calmly. She tries not to let the frustration that she feels building show on her face. She feels like she should know this man, like there’s something important that she’s just barely missing. 

“Have we met before?” Marinette finally asks, racking her brain as she tries to figure out why this man is so familiar to her. 

“I don’t believe so, Miss Dupain Cheng.” He says, and for the first time since meeting him, it doesn’t feel like he’s all knowing. Instead, it feels like he’s just as confused as she is. Drat. She opens her mouth to question him more, when the huge manor becomes visible in the distance. Eyes widening, Marinette forgets everything else and turns her attention to the beautiful architecture. The giant fence and metal gates do little to hide the massive house. Sections of the house rise above others, almost as if there are towers. Dozens of windows are visible, as is the giant fountain at the front of the house. Ripping her sketchbook out of her bag, Marinette immediately starts sketching out the ideas that attack her mind. Dresses and suits and skirts, all using the architecture in front of her for the basic shapes of the outfits. As the car goes past the gate and the gardens come into view, Marinette can’t hold back her shocked gasp. Shaped hedges and flowers, hundreds of different colored flowers, and trees and- it was beautiful. Almost too perfect. Like something that belonged in a movie. She jumps slightly as the car door is opened, Alfred standing on the other side with an eyebrow quirked up. Right. She was actually getting out of the car. And going into this massive house. And spending time with her biological- nope. She can’t do this. She can’t- 

“Miss Dupain Cheng, if it makes you feel any better, Master Bruce seems to have run into some traffic on his way back from the office. You’ll have a few minutes to gather your bearings inside before he arrives.” Alfred says softly. Relief washes over her and she nods, finally moving to get out of the car. 

“Thank you, Alfred.” She says, smiling at the man. He nods back at her before leading her up the steps to the door. He opens it and then steps back, allowing her to take a tentative step into the house. Her previous panic is pushed aside as she realizes the inside is just as gorgeous as the outside. Immediately turning back to her sketchbook, she tunes out the world around her and just stands in the foyer, scribbling furiously into her sketchbook. 

“Um, hi?” A voice says, making Marinette yelp and jump, eyes scanning her surroundings until they fall on a guy. A pretty tall guy. 

“Hi.” She says softly, also confused as to who this guy was. Not her- dad-biological father-other part of her DNA-father-Mr. Wayne- not anyone she had ever met, that’s for sure. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Dick Grayson.” The man says, extending his hand, a smile on his face. Anyone else probably would have thought the smile was sincere, but Marinette had always been good at reading emotions. And she could tell that he was wary of her. Why would he- oh. Grayson. As in, Richard Grayson, as in this man was her brother. Or, well, maybe he wouldn’t want to be. Maybe he would think that she’s ridiculous or that she’s just here to get money or here to try and pull apart Mr. Wayne’s family or maybe he would think that she was trying to take his place and she would never but maybe he would hate her and- She takes in a deep breath, trying desperately to ground herself and wishing she’d taken up Adrien’s earlier offer of him coming with. 

“I’m Marinette. Marinette Dupain Cheng.” She finally says, reaching out and shaking his hand. He nods, obviously still confused. So Mr. Wayne hadn’t mentioned her. Did he hate her? Did he ask her here to have her sign a NDA? Did he not want anything to do with her? Of course he wouldn’t, he obviously already had a family. A family that he chose, not one that he had by accident. His name was on her birth certificate, surely he would have found her sooner if he actually wanted anything to do with her? He chose Dick Grayson to be his son. He wanted him. He didn’t want Marinette. He-

“Ah, Marinette. I see you’ve met Dick.” The last voice she needed to hear says calmly as he walks through the door. Marinette swallows back the thickness in her throat, the one that tells her the tears will be starting soon. 

“Uh, yes. Mr. Wayne. Um, hi.” She says, flinching slightly when he winces. What did she do wrong this time? Was he really going to tell her to take a hike? If he didn’t hate her before, he surely did now. 

“Bruce, what’s going-” Dick starts to ask but is cut off by screaming voices getting closer to them.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Demon Spawn?” 

“Not my fault your blocking skills are subpar, Todd.”

“Sub- you almost stabbed me, you little shit!”

“Almost, yes. But I didn’t. I’m sure Father will be pleased with my restraint.” 

“You little fu-” “Boys!” Mr. Wayne finally yells as the two screaming walk into view. Both freeze and the younger one’s eyes instantly fall on Marinette, narrowing as he takes a defensive position. 

“Another one, Bruce, really?” The older one asks, making Marinette flinch back. Of course. Two more of his sons-her brothers- who he chose. Another two that he wanted. Not like her, someone he was going to be forced to know. Unless he told her tonight that he never wanted to speak to her again and made her sign a paper saying that she would never contact him again and then they would never have to worry about seeing her again and- oh this is a lot. 

“What were you two doing?” Mr. Wayne finally asks, and that’s when Marinette sees the weapons in their hands. And the blood on the older man’s shirt. The man turns slightly so that that part of his shirt is hidden when he notices her staring. 

“Uh, bonding?” He says, not at all convincing. 

“Who is that, Father?” The younger boy asks, the utter distaste clear on both his face and in his tone. And this is it. This is where he’s going to say that she’s no one, she’s nothing, and then he’s going to make her sign that stupid piece of paper and the last chance she has at knowing one of her biological parents is going to fly out the window. Poof. And then she’ll be so embarrassed, she won’t be able to go back on the trip and then she’ll have to change her name but she can’t completely run away yet because of stupid Hawkmoth and-

“This is Marinette, my daughter.” Well that was unexpected.

Next

Tag List: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo

[hereticpridevinyl]

Ok I finished your gay!dean manifesto and SCREEEEEEEEEEEEE!! I am incabible of putting words together and sounding coherent cause my brain is melting from my ears and psalms 40:2 has gone and replaced it. Gonna think about it for life but honestly it’s made me such a gay!dean stan now! Can I hear more of your thoughts on it and just why cause it’s so big-brained snd there but I feel like my head has been caved in by the concept cause how tf am i only seeing this NOW???

first of all, i'm so glad you enjoyed my fic! thanks for reading :)

as for the gay dean brainrot... WELCOME BESTIE, JOIN US! gonna preface this all by saying that i adore every sexuality headcanon for dean (except straight—vile energy. evil, even, and wrong) and as a bi person i would be remiss if i didn't acknowledge how wonderful bi dean is. however. HOWEVER.

(under the cut because this got away from me enormously)

i've talked about this a lot on twitter, and i know a lot of people have said this more eloquently than i, but i'll try to sum up my thoughts here.

the way dean is into women is so incredibly performative that often it can't help but be read as an act. there's almost a routine to it: dean meets Beautiful Woman, dean flirts with Beautiful Woman, dean (sometimes, but not always) sleeps with Beautiful Woman, dean pats himself on the back for fulfilling his role of Most Hetero Man In America. it's as if being into women is another aspect of his job, another skill he was taught and forced to utilize, much the same way he was taught to hunt. in early seasons, dean's interactions with woman quickly gain a stale, rote sort of taste. we as the audience expect dean will hit on any attractive woman he sees; dean as a character seems to expect it of himself. there's no anticipation behind these interactions. they're predictable and often lead nowhere—especially if dean thinks the woman is unattainable. dean's hot-blooded all-american cishet lady's man persona is just that—a persona.

we see the cracks in this persona most often during moments that are ostensibly played for laughs. haha, dean likes a show about a sexy male doctor! he gets flustered when he's around the lead haha! he's so masculine and straight and tough but he falls apart when his favorite wrestler shakes his hand and winks at him! he can't form a coherent sentence when he thinks this man is flirting with him, and he's so flustered that he doesn't try to stop it haha! he's psyching himself up for this hookup with a woman because it's funny if he's not confident! look, he likes wearing panties and his comfy bed and cooking for his family and dressing up like a cowboy but those are all things he does in private because he's actually very straight and manly! see? in an effort to make dean seem incontrovertibly heterosexual, his character becomes a parody of himself. these brief moments that we're supposed to laugh at become tragic; watching dean winchester perform his compulsory heterosexuality becomes a waiting game, seeking out those flashes of his true self, his most genuine self, from-moment-to moment.

and then something insane happens: post-season 12, dean stops hooking up with women at all.

his hookups had been waning in the two or three seasons leading up to this point, but after s12 he stops trying completely. it's as if that aggressive need to perform this learned role eventually died out. he just... stops. late seasons dean is a man who would rather stay home and watch lost boys with his husband and his brother and their son for the millionth time than have sex with a woman he's never going to see again. this is who he becomes—and the show forgets to make us laugh this time.

and we all know that supernatural has a disease that almost always keeps them from writing women well—all marginalized groups, actually, but that's a topic for another rambling post—which could be a significant factor as to why dean's most compelling romance-coded relationships are with men, but it can't be the only reason. sam's relationships with women are frequently interesting to watch, and if not groundbreaking, they seem natural. there isn't anything forced or performative about sam being into a woman. obviously the brothers are very different people and cannot be compared one-to-one, but there's definitely something to be said about sam's lack of go crazy go stupid hot girl summer star-crossed lovers cas-benny-crowley situation that dean's got going on at all times.

in my opinion, the best chemistry dean has with a woman is charlie—and while that's very strictly platonic seeing as she's a whole lesbian and probably wouldn't go for dean even if she wasn't, it's undeniable that there's just something intoxicating about watching them on screen together. while i might be biased with this analysis, i think it's worth pointing out: it's like dean's letting out a breath he's been holding his whole life when he's with her. because he knows she's unavailable, he knows there's no world in which she'd be into him, and therefore he doesn't have to bother putting on his macho straight dude persona. he doesn't have to go through the motions of hitting on her, or sleeping with her, because it's out of the question. he can be himself. turns out, "himself" is a huge fucking nerd who likes to pretend he's someone he isn't and hang out with a woman because he loves being her friend and not any other reason. the axe of heterosexuality is no longer hanging over his head.

there's a throwaway interaction way back in s2e11 that sums this up more succinctly than i can:

DEAN: of course, the most troubling question is why do these people assume we're gay?

SAM: well, you are kinda butch. probably think you're overcompensating.

DEAN: (pause) right.

we've got some splendid jacting here where dean gets control of the vessel for a moment and sort of nervously smiles at sam, a sad kind of scoff that just gets me. here's another moment where we're supposed to laugh, but there's nothing funny about the way dean reacts to sam's words. there's no overblown anger, there's no begrudging laugh, he doesn't roll his eyes. he just smiles. looks down. doesn't argue.

[teawaffles]

Albert’s Drinking Contest: Chapter 2

“——This is, the twentieth!”

Announcing the number of glasses he’d drained, Moran set his empty wine glass on the table with a thud.

He was still clear-headed, and able to hold a conversation. But those wild features of his were now flushed, as red as the copious amounts of wine that had entered his stomach.

“Ready to give up now, Albert?”

In his tipsy, trembly vision, Moran beheld his opponent before him.

But far from giving up, Albert was completely sober. There was no discernible change in his complexion; as if he’d started drinking right there and then, he tipped back his glass, and downed his wine with ease.

With that, they were now tied at 20 glasses each. Ignoring the man staring at him with twitching eyes, Albert called out to Louis, who was still serving as their waiter.

“No matter how many glasses I drink, this profound flavour never ceases to delight. To have procured such an excellent vintage — your selections are exquisite as always, Louis.”

“Thank you very much. As I recall, this is an import from America.”

“Ah: I’ve heard that the French vineyards are still afflicted with blight. [1] It’s a pity we won’t be able to enjoy their splendid red wines for some time to come; but it’s also our good fortune to have learned about the quality of wines from the New World.” [2]

“…………”

Albert was being much too relaxed, and had even started to digress into areas completely unrelated to the match; hearing that, Moran shot him a look of displeasure.

Incidentally, the challenge had been much too great for Fred: he’d been the first to pass out, flopping onto the table with his glass in hand. Immediately after, they’d covered him with a blanket so he wouldn’t catch a cold, and the man was presently fast asleep.

“Well then, both sides have managed to consume twenty glasses. It seems both of you still have room for more, but…… if I were to speak from an impartial standpoint, you appear to be at a slight disadvantage, Moran.”

Having observed their match, William leisurely shared his views.

Moran knew his analysis was unbiased, and that was precisely why he let out a groan of frustration. His face flushed, he grabbed the bottle of wine, intending to pour his next drink; but when he realised that not a single drop had trickled out, he waved the bottle in the air.

“Sorry, Louis. It’s empty, so could you bring a new one?”

“Understood.”

Louis promptly retrieved a fresh bottle, and with brisk efficiency, filled both their glasses.

“This’ll be, the twenty-first.”

As soon as his glass was full, without any intention of savouring the wine, Moran chugged it all in one breath.

But the next moment, he was swamped by an intense wave of vertigo: somehow, it seemed he was much nearer his limit than he’d thought.

In contrast, Albert merely tilted his glass, observing the colours and clarity of the freshly-poured wine. Then he swirled it once, bringing it near his nose to savour its aroma, and took a sip to taste.

“Is this a Madeira?” [3]

Standing beside them, Louis revealed the bottle label with a smile.

“Indeed — your wine tasting is accurate as always, nii-sama. Would you like some salted cheese to complement it?”

“I’d prefer to pair such cheeses with a sweet port. [4] Or perhaps we could have a chicken with that, like Sir John Falstaff.” [5]

“In exchange for one’s soul, indeed.” [6]

Watching the two brothers quote Shakespeare as they chatted, Moran was incredulous.

“……Y’know, this is a drinking match on which I’ve staked my dignity as a man — not some wine-guessing quiz at a party,” he protested.

However, in a long-suffering gesture, Albert merely shrugged.

“Although this is an earnest match, Colonel, it’ll become a dreary affair if you leave no room for entertainment. Moreover, this wine was used to toast the American Declaration of Independence, making it perfect for tonight’s celebration.” [7]

At that bit of trivia from Albert, Moran looked positively fed up.

“Oooh, if you have so much time to share your vast knowledge, then why don’t you hurry up and drink already?”

But far from being put out, an elegant smile rose to Albert’s lips.

“Oh dear; you’re in an awful rush, Colonel. Could it be a sign that you’re nearing your limit?”

“Wha……! N-No way. I can still continue.”

Albert had hit right where it hurt, and Moran uttered a groan that was rather different from before. It seemed his opponent had observed his giddy spell from earlier.

Although the match was far from over, Moran was now consumed by a crushing sense of defeat. Seeing that, Albert made a show of draining his glass at a leisurely pace.

Even after downing a substantial amount of wine, the eldest son of the Moriarty family was unruffled, and Moran shot him a complaint.

“You’re not actually drinking some deep red tea instead of wine, are ya?”

Perhaps it was because the liquor had addled his brain, for Moran put forth a suspicion that he wouldn’t normally have entertained.

To that, both William and Louis burst into laughter.

“That’s a very unique deduction, Moran,” said William, as he struggled to rein in his mirth. “But even I can’t devise a magic trick like that.”

Louis was also trying very hard to suppress his amusement. “I filled both your glasses from the same bottle: how could it be that alcohol came out one time, and tea the next? It’s so unlike you to even consider such a ridiculous idea, Mr Moran. Wouldn’t you agree that it’s time to cut back on the liquor?”

“S-Shut it. I was just saying. And I’m not giving up now.”

Their teasing had completely soured his mood. Glancing to the side, he saw Fred, who was sound asleep.

“Somehow, I think he might’ve just laughed at that too……”

Moran gazed at the man he thought of as a younger brother, dead to the world with a peaceful look on his face. Then he fixed his blanket, which had slipped a little out of place.

When his two brothers had finally managed to regain their composure, Albert spoke up.

“In fact, Colonel: it would better protect your good name if we were to pretend that outlandish trick was true. Or perhaps we could give you a handicap, and allow you to alternate between wine and tea.”

“You don’t say. Then I’ll have two drinks the next round.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea, coming from you. If you’re the one to set up the cause of your own defeat, then it’ll make a convincing excuse to others, I see.”

“Urgh……”

No matter what he said, Albert had a ready riposte. As such, Moran swallowed his frustration, and returned his focus to the match.

“Anyway: Louis, keep it comin’, please.”

Seeing Moran try his utmost to put on a brave front, Louis was even beginning to find that a little cute; muttering his acknowledgement, he proceeded to fill Moran’s glass once more. Then, with great force, the man poured its entire contents down his throat.

“…………”

The alcohol burned like fire as it flowed into his stomach — all of a sudden, Moran came to his senses. Placing his glass on the table, he pondered.

His vexation at the Moriarty brothers’ teasing. His alcohol-induced befuddlement. And above all, Albert’s ability to hold his liquor, which had far outstripped his expectations.

His irritation at those three things had wound up completely flustering him. But once Moran calmed down and took stock of his situation, he realised William was right: he was clearly on the back foot.

Until now, he’d been unconsciously averting his eyes from his predicament by being oddly stubborn. But this pickle wouldn’t resolve itself if he just kept running away. If he continued to drink without a scheme in mind, then in his mind’s eye, he could see the outcome plain as day: he’d be out like a light in no time.

However, if he lost, then he’d have to listen to anything the victor said. Moran had originally set that rule as a way to spur himself on, thinking that there’d be no way he would lose. But now, it had lost virtually all effect in rousing his will to fight — all that remained, was the dread of what Albert would make him do upon his defeat.

He absolutely had to win. But the way things were going, it was all but certain that he’d lose.

In that case, the only option left would be——.

Within him, that conflict crystallised into a single decision.

“William,” he said. “Won’t you join in the match? Or rather: please, join.”

“Me? But why?”

Up to this point, William had been serving as an impartial judge, and he asked that with curiosity. But Moran did not answer; instead, his expression twisted into a bitter one as he continued.

“That’s not all. On top of you joining in…… If you’re agreeable, Albert, let’s ignore the count thus far and start afresh……. This is, truly a personal…… request from me.”

That faltering reply was very much unlike him, and William broke into a meaningful smile.

Moran’s decision — was to request that they increase the number of participants, and restart the game.

Despite his frustrations, Moran was well aware that he wouldn’t be able to beat Albert alone. Hence, he thought he’d bring in more opponents to counter him: even if it was just one more person.

The other part of his plan was to reset the match. If Albert agreed to that, then compared to the two existing players, someone joining in halfway would naturally have the advantage. But from Moran’s point of view, even if he was defeated, it would still be better than having Albert directly exercise his “winner’s privilege” on him — such were his complicated emotions. It was an absurd request, to be sure; but at least he hadn’t proposed having Albert compete against the combined total of both his and the other participant’s tally: perhaps that was a reflection of whatever faint scraps of self-respect Moran still had within him.

Perceiving Moran’s complex tangle of emotions, William placed a hand under his chin and pondered.

It’d also be fun to take on his suggestion. Although he did have his role as the judge, it wasn’t as if the match had any strict rules to begin with — they could easily do without one.

However, if he were to join in, and the match were to be restarted, then both Moran and Albert would be at a disadvantage. When it came to wine, he knew his elder brother’s stomach for it was bottomless; but still, it was clearly unfair to have a new and virtually-sober participant waltz into an honest drinking match. And yet, then again, he didn’t want to dismiss Moran’s “request” out of hand.

In this situation, the best option would be——.

But the instant William made his decision, and tried to voice his answer, Louis quietly raised a hand.

“Hold on a minute. Could it be that you were thinking of taking up his suggestion, nii-san?”

“……Yes, I was just about to say that. Seeing as Albert nii-san doesn’t appear to have any issue with that.”

William looked at his older brother, seated across from Moran. Then, Albert flashed them both a slight smile. Although it would mean that he would gain a new opponent, and the contest would start again from the top, it seemed he didn’t mind one bit.

Registering Albert’s generosity, Louis pointed at himself.

“In that case, may I participate?”

“……You, Louis?” Moran asked.

Louis proceeded to explain himself briefly. “I cannot countenance the possibility — however slight — that after joining the match, my brother will end up drinking too much and impacting his health. Hence, I believe that issue will be negated if I were to join the match in his stead.”

“But in that case, I would end up worrying for your health, Louis,” said William, furrowing his brows slightly.

At his brother’s kindness, Louis unwittingly cracked a smile.

“It makes me very happy to hear that. But it’s rare to hear Mr Moran make such a serious request, and so I can understand how you’d want to help him out. Of course, as Mr Moran said: this is only if you’re agreeable, Albert nii-sama.”

“Alright. Having heard that much, I shan’t object,” replied William. “What about you, nii-san?”

His elegant smile unfaltering as ever, the eldest son of the Moriarty family nodded.

“I don’t mind. If you’re certain, Louis, then I shall respect your decision.” Then, Albert’s expression turned solemn. “However, as you mentioned yourself, you absolutely must not reach the point of destroying your own health. Even though the colonel can’t help it, Louis, my condition is that you cannot drink recklessly. Is that alright?”

“Understood, nii-sama. ——Well then, it’s settled.”

Nodding in assent, Louis quietly took a seat beside Moran. Absorbing how his ridiculous request had been granted, more than gratitude, Moran’s expression was one of astonishment.

“Is this really alright, Louis? I know I was the one who asked, but Albert’s no pushover. If we lose, then you’ll have to suffer the forfeit too……”

However, Louis smiled wryly as he replied.

“I already knew that when I asked to join, didn’t I? To be honest, I don’t want to stand opposed to either you or Albert nii-sama. But now that I’ve made my decision, I have no intention of going down without a fight.”

“……Louis.”

That resolve had shaken Moran, so much so that he began to tremble. Watching him out the corner of his eye, Louis filled both their glasses; then Albert too filled his glass by himself, and raised it toward the two of them.

“Well then, once again, let’s give it our all.”

“I won’t be holding back either, you two.”

“Oh, both of you will be sorry real soon.”

Having gained a dependable ally, Moran’s enthusiasm was now back in full force.

Looking at the three of them, William spoke.

“So with Louis’s entry, the contest shall start again from scratch. But for both Moran and Albert nii-san, the next glass will be your twenty-third: please take care not to injure your health.”

With that word of caution from William, the drinking contest had resumed.

Footnotes:

[1] French vineyards had been devastated by aphids in the mid-19th century, and then fungal diseases after that. (Wikipedia)

[2] The “New World” refers to the Americas, in contrast to the Old World, or Eastern Hemisphere of the Earth. (Wikipedia)

[3] Madeira is a fortified wine made on the Madeira Islands, off the African coast. (Wikipedia)

[4] Port is a fortified wine produced in the Douro Valley in Portugal. (Wikipedia)

[5] Sir John Falstaff is a character featured in several of Shakespeare’s plays. (Wikipedia) He is renowned as a drunkard and glutton, whose favourite food is capons — roosters reared specially for their meat. (BBC article)

[6] A reference to Faust, who traded his soul with the Devil in exchange for worldly pleasures. (Wikipedia)

Aside: As far as I can tell, this line doesn’t actually appear in Shakespeare’s works. But in the legend of Faust, Faust makes his pact with the Devil via the demon Mephistopheles — who is mentioned in Shakespeare’s play The Merry Wives of Windsor (Wikipedia), which stars Sir John Falstaff as its main character.

[7] This is apparently true: Wikipedia

[safertokiss]

Lost in Translation

A/N: Heyyyyy guys...remember when I used to post like every two weeks? Yeesh that’s awkward...but I’m backkkkk woooooooo party time! I was so excited that my discord buddies organized another fic swap because it was so much fun the first time. This time around I was chosen to write a doozy for the wonderful @writing-in-april and I have decided to bless you all with a beautiful subby boy. Sub Spencer lives in my head rent free, no cap. So sit back, relax and pretend it's you getting fricken railed. Peace out girl scouts;)

Pairing: SPENCER x READER

Category: SMUT hehe oh yeah and fluff

Word Count: 4.8k

ENJOY:)

~~~

MASTERLIST

~~~

For as long as she could remember, Y/n had always wanted to learn Russian.

So, naturally, when she found out that their newest case involved two lovers who also happened to be Russian criminals trying to escape the United States government, she simply couldn’t help but jump at the opportunity to become more involved in the investigation. 

It’s not that she’d never been on a stakeout for the Bureau before, in fact she’d probably been on so many at this point that she’d lost count. The only difference that this specific stakeout brought to her life was the fact that it was her first one to have ever been shared with Spencer Reid.

Her and the young doctor had lived in the same apartment building since her first day at the BAU, but their relationship pretty much began and ended at that. Of course they greeted each other whenever they passed in the halls of their building and ricocheted off of each other’s theories whenever necessary during their meetings in the round table room, but it would be a lie to label their relationship as anything other than casual acquaintances as well as amicable coworkers. 

She had never been able to fully get a grasp on the elusive Dr. Reid. The fact that he was already such an integral member of the F.B.I. at the ripe age of 25 astounded and, well to be honest, perplexed her. Not that she doubted his abilities or intelligence in any way, quite the opposite really. She admired how utterly brilliant he proved to be day in and day out, even with the shy exterior he presented himself with to the world. Well, shy was definitely more of an understatement. 

She had never met someone more socially awkward in her entire life, but with that being said, she couldn’t help but find it endearing and pretty dang adorable. Y/n constantly found herself enjoying his pathetic attempts at human interaction on a daily basis. From the nervous stutters to the out of this world hand gestures, there was much for her to dissect about the young doctor. And while she could openly admit that he was quite easy on the eyes, in a boyish-innocent kind of way, she had never really been able to see him in that sort of light.

If she thought his normal social interaction skills were entertaining to witness, his reactions to any of the conversations that took a more raunchy turn were to die for. The speed at which his features would ripen red like a tomato whenever anything of a sexual nature was brought up during cases was truly amazing, impressive even. However, unlike the rest of their team, she knew he wasn’t completely innocent. The walls in their apartment were as good as paper when it came to thickness, so it wasn’t that big surprise that the sounds created within them carried fairly well. 

Or at least that was what she had discovered after the first night she heard him touching himself just through her bedroom wall. 

Yes, it was less than ideal that their bedroom walls just happened to be adjacent to each other, but what could she do about it? It wasn’t as though she never sought out her own pleasure while alone in her apartment...although she would bet money that she was much better at withholding her noises. Instead, she learned to adapt to the sounds from next door and continue on with her life, having accepted that guys will in fact be dudes, no matter how innocent and meek they may appear.

When her boss had explained the nature of the assignment to them, there wasn’t anything of significance that had jumped out at her. It was all pretty standard instruction. They would wait, parked, in a government issued SUV overnight at a location close to the whereabouts of the criminals and simply translate their conversations using the mics that were planted prior. While Hotch knew that Y/n herself couldn’t understand Russian, it was common knowledge that the resident genius easily could transcribe the language.

And that was how she found herself cramped next to Spencer Reid in the stagnant vehicle, pen and paper in hand, patiently waiting for the translations to begin. 

It was almost completely silent inside the car, apart from the quiet whirring of the heat coming through the vents, and she could basically feel the nerves coming off of the man next to her in waves. That’s why she was completely thrown off her game when his timid voice was the first to break through the silence that had encompassed the space they inhabited together.

“So um Y/n..h-how have you been recently?”

She did her best to hide the small smirk that started to form on her face from the stuttering mess that spilled out of his mouth. She definitely didn’t want to make him feel even worse about himself so she decided to humour his adorable attempt at conversation with her...well...sort of.

“Oh ya know Reid, just counting the days until I get some action. How about you?” If she  thought he was sputtering nervously before, that was nothing compared to this treasure.

“Oh um well uh I-I mean...I don-I don’t...uh...w-what was the question a-again?”

This time she couldn’t stop the airy chuckle that escaped her lips as she leaned over and patted him gently on his thigh.

“Relax Reid, I’m just fucking around with you. Well for the most part...I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to some action, but that’s a whole can of worms I am not about to open during a stakeout”, Y/n laughed, not at all missing the steadily spreading blush that coated his sharp features.

“Yeah...no..yeah right of course...I t-totally knew you were just um fu-messing with me! Uh we should probably um r-review our assignment...you know just so we’re all s-set before we start.” How adorable.

“Aye-aye captain Reid. Ok so..”, she muttered while fiddling with the listening device to secure the right frequency. “...we just have to wait until they get back so we’re in range of their conversations. That’s when you’ll have your time to shine and prove yourself as the resident genius once again. And I’m sure that you’re aware that I don’t know a lick of the Russian language so I will be the best damn transcriber for you that the world has ever seen”, she finished with a smirk. 

Even Reid chuckled a bit at her words, the ever-present blush slowly creeping back upon his face and neck. 

“I’ll uh-I’ll hold you to that then.” Y/n had to admit she particularly liked to see the boy smiling, especially when it was the result of her own words. His innocence seemed to call out to her like a siren and she didn’t know how to feel about it.

“Oh-oh there they are! Ok get the pen and paper ready because as soon as they’re in range I’ll start translating.”

Getting themselves situated, they waited the few seconds it took for the couple to get close enough to the vicinity of the SUV for their conversations to begin to be broadcasted through their system.

“Как вы думаете, они идут по нашему следу?”

“Do you think they’re on our trail?”, Spencer easily understands, leaning slightly closer to her so his words were clearly heard.

“Ни за что. У этих глупых американцев нет шансов поймать нас.”

“No way. Those stupid Americans don’t stand a chance at catching us.”

At this point, the couple had already disappeared behind the door at the entrance of their current base, leaving only their words to give the closely listening agents much needed context clues.

“Я когда-нибудь говорил тебе, как сильно мне нравится твоя уверенность?”

“Have I ever told you how much I love your confidence?” 

Even Spencer let himself smile at the chuckle that left Y/n’s lips. “Awww how cute...they’re flirting with each other over mass murder. I strive for that kind of intimacy.”

“Да у тебя есть. Но почему бы тебе не показать мне, насколько тебе это нравится.”

“Yes, you have. But why don’t you show me just how much you love it.”

Uh oh, Y/n thought to herself. Not a second after the untimely thought permeated her brain, the sounds of wet lips sloppily colliding against each other filled the otherwise silent vehicle. After the few seconds of shock wore off, their heads whipped to face each other, eyes wide and mouths wide open. “Huh...well this was certainly an unexpected turn.”

“I uh um-uh well w-what do we do now?”, Tomato Boy nervously sputtered out over the chorus of moans and groans that were currently bouncing off the SUV’s walls. As unexpected as the present situation was, she was absolutely eating up his reaction to the crude sounds.

“Well, Hotch did say he wanted us to take down every single word that was shared between them so...I guess we’re just gonna have to keep moving forward with the translations. You can do that, can’t you Reid?”, she explained, not even attempting to hide the growing smirk on her face.

“Yeah! Yes! Mhmm I can do that, I c-can definitely do t-that.”, he gushed, trying to subtly clear his throat to clear the steadily growing tension in his body.

“Good to hear, Doc.”, she cheekily replied just as the raunchy sounds echoing through the system transitioned to different methods of communication, more legible ones.

“Ты была для меня такой хорошей девочкой. Я думаю, ты заслуживаешь награды.”

Quickly clearing his throat once more, he jumped back into action, with what Y/n noticed was considerably less confidence than before. “You’ve b-been such a good g-girl for me. I think you deserve a r-reward.” Spencer’s voice had noticeably dropped to a whisper by the end of the sentence, forcing Y/n to lean closer to be able to hear his translations, only magnifying the already present tension in the air. 

“Пожалуйста, папа, я сделаю что угодно.”

“P-please daddy.” His voice broke at the end igniting something deep inside Y/n’s being. “I’ll do anything.” In that moment she truly believed he would do anything, his own words or not, based on the obvious strain in his pants that her eyes glanced over, and also by the way his skin completely succumbed to goosebumps as her warm breath caressed the shell of his ear. She didn’t really know what the hell was happening, why her body was absolutely loving the way he gradually leaned into her’s, submitting all of his vulnerabilities into her hands. 

“Тебе это нравится, не так ли, маленькая шлюшка. Как член папы глубоко внутри тебя?”

She watched the way he inhaled a deep breath and released a high-pitched sigh before continuing on, subtly pressing her legs together to control the excitement thrumming through her body at his pathetic tone and mannerisms. 

“You like t-that don’t you, you little-uh-you little s-slut?” From their close proximity, she could clearly make out the speedy heartbeat clambering against his chest as he spoke. And if that was the case, he must’ve been able to feel hers as well. “Like daddy’s c-cock deep inside of y-you?” She could’ve sworn she saw his dick twitch slightly in his pants.

“Маленькая шлюшка уже придет за мной? Тогда умоляйте об этом. Бля, умоля�� позволить тебе кончить.”

Y/n certainly did not miss the airy sigh that escaped his lips, watching as a bead of sweat dripped down his temple, confidently guessing it was not from the heat that had been coming through the vents.

“Is the little-little s-slut gonna come for me already? B-beg for it then. Fucking beg f-for me to let you c-come.” Spencer was speedily falling apart at the seams and she was loving it. More than loving it. She was craving it. Craving the little noises that he was trying to stop from escaping his lips. Craving the way he slightly bounced his leg in an attempt to control his arousal, which was futile because it had obviously already reached its full potential in the confines of his khaki slacks. 

“Пожалуйста, папа. Пожалуйста, позволь мне прийти. Мне это надо. Пожалуйста.”

Without even hearing the words translated back to her, she could hear the utter desperation in the girl’s voice. She no longer needed to understand the Russian language to be able to finish the translation, and as she sat there with her thighs tightly pressed together, she knew exactly what it meant.

“Please!” The utter need that was present in the original audio was somehow mirrored perfectly by the young doctor’s breathy voice, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, a prominent vein popping through the skin of his smooth forehead. “Please, p-please, please let me come. I n-need it. Please!”

“Приди за мной, детка.”

Deciding that she could regret her actions in the morning, Y/n quickly grabbed his face before he could translate, angling his head so she could whisper directly into his ear at the same time he spoke the last line of the night.

“Come for me baby.”, they both spoke at the exact same time.

Pulling away as fast as possible, she watched his clamped eyes shoot open as the most obnoxiously loud moan she had ever heard escaped the poor kid, his whole body spasming as a result. And using the large stain on the crotch of his pants as a guide, she was pretty certain she knew what had happened.

For the next few minutes there was silence in the SUV, apart from Spencer’s heavy breathing as he came down of course, leading them to believe the couple had fallen asleep after their...activities. Of course she wanted nothing more than to tease the trembling mess next to her, but she could already tell he was mortified beyond belief because of what happened so she didn’t want to make it any worse for him than it already was. 

After waiting a few extra minutes just to make sure that they had actually gone to sleep, the pair drove away from the stakeout location, Spencer not having said a word since his...big finish. As much as she loved watching him fall apart in front of her, she really didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable around her. 

“Well that was certainly an unexpected turn of events for the night, huh?”, she said, lightly chuckling with the intent of lightening his mood. She was very glad to see it had the intended effect.

“Uh y-yeah...you could definitely say that again.”, he mumbled with the ghost of a smile on his plump lips, though she could still clearly make out the blush coating his features.

“So hey, I know that you usually take the metro, but I’d be more than happy to give you a ride home after we drop the SUV off at the office if you want.”, she warmly smiled in his direction without taking her eyes completely off the road.

“Oh um..yeah that would be perfect. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it Reid.”

~~~

The rest of the ride back to the office was pretty much spent in silence, but it was much more comfortable than it had been before, which was a huge relief. After dropping the keys to the SUV in the lock box inside, the two agents piled into Y/n’s car to go back home to their shared building. On their way back she considered just asking him if he wanted to ride with her everyday just to make his life a little easier in the long run.

Once they got to the parking lot and exited the vehicle, they began walking towards the entrance together, the awkward tension from before creeping back into the air around them. Soon enough, they found themselves standing in front of their respective doors, both unsure of how they were supposed to end the night’s interactions. After a few moments of painful silence and eye contact, Y/n was the first one to rip off the band-aid.

“So...I guess I’ll see you tomorrow Reid?” He seemed to be broken out of his trance by the sound of her voice, snapping back to attention.

“Huh? Oh yeah uh yes of course. S-see you tomorrow Y/n. Goodnight.” He scampered into his apartment before she could even get a chance to respond to his bidding.

“Goodnight.”, she whispered to no one other than herself as she unlocked her door and headed inside to shower quickly before diving into her soft sheets.

She was sitting up in her bed, book in hand, with only the small glow of her reading lamp illuminating her room when she heard it. Of course she knew immediately what they were, a talent that had developed and strengthened from living adjacent to a pretty much pubescent boy.

The tell-tale sound of moans and groans vibrating right through her wall.

She knew she probably shouldn’t be listening, something about a violation of privacy or whatever, but she just couldn’t help it. He sounded so desperate it was driving her insane. So much in fact that she was in the process of skimming her own hand downwards when she was interrupted by a certain something from the Doc’s room.

“Y/n! Oh god, please. Please.”

Oh. Oh.

Not even giving herself a second to consider her actions, she was up on her feet basically sprinting to his door, pajamas and all. Not even bothering with knocking, she noticed it was unlocked and let herself in, beelining for what she assumed was his bedroom by the increasing volume as she approached it. Standing in his doorframe, she was utterly mesmerized. There he was, sprawled across his sheets, completely bare with sweat coating his hair as he rapidly pumped his angry, red cock, her name tumbling from his lips like a chant.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” She smirked as she watched his head shoot up to where she was standing, his hand immediately stilling it’s rapid movements. Watching the panic spread on his face was intoxicating to her as she slowly approached his bed.

“Y/n! Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I uh-I didn’t um...” His words trailed off and his eyes widened as he watched her slowly begin removing her clothes as she moved closer to him. 

“Shhhhhh.” She managed to remove both her shirt and pajama pants in the short trip over to his bed and she had no intention of stopping there. Now standing directly in front of him, she let her eyes wander over his still frame completely, soaking in the amazement in his dark eyes and the slight tremble that was periodically rippling through his body. Maintaining eye contact with him the whole time, she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, letting it pool on the floor next to her.

It was honestly shocking his eyes didn’t actually fall onto the floor with how far they bulged out of their sockets, a small moan leaving his mouth. 

She giggled at his enthusiasm before bringing her soft hands up to caress his face gently, his body shuddering at the contact. “Do you want me to keep going baby boy?” Taking a second to process the question that had left her lips, he slowly nodded while looking her in the eyes, his own full of awe. 

Happy with his answer, she reached for the edge of her panties before pushing them down to join the other pieces of clothing already inhabiting his floor. Spencer couldn’t speak. He could barely even breathe. Five minutes ago he had been jerking off to his neighbor, who also happened to be his coworker, and now said neighbor was crawling onto his bed, completely naked, with a wicked smirk on her face.

Straddling his lap, but making sure that there was no actual contact, she reached up to cup his face again, slowly rubbing circles into his defined cheekbone. “Is this ok baby boy? Is this what you want?”, she cooed. 

Spencer looked like he honestly might cry from the pure compassion laced within her words, but still found a way to nervously nod his head in affirmation of her questions. With a warm smile on her face, she leaned forward and placed a feather-light kiss on his lower jaw before continuing up the side of his face, basking in the small whimpers that fell from his pretty lips. Finally reaching his ear, she let her warm breath tease him before proceeding. 

“Do you want me to take control of you? Is that what you want sweet boy?” While the whine that immediately escaped him was answer enough, she pulled back searching for a more concrete answer to her question. “Hmmmm, you’d like that?” 

“Yes.”, he whispered, nodding his head anxiously. 

While he was answering she had leaned back towards his face, placing soft kisses all over. “As you wish baby boy.”, she whispered, changing course to attack his neck with her eager lips as soon the words left her mouth. Spencer gasped instantly and she couldn’t help but smirk against his pale flesh, increasing the pressure in which she was assaulting his neck.

Through the groans that spilled past his lips, she was able to make out his pathetic attempt at words, not slowing down her lips at all. “J-just make sure not to leave any m-marks. We’ll g-get in trouble at w-work.” Of course Spencer would be the only person on the planet to remember their office guidelines while getting his neck sucked like a vampire.

“No marks...that’ll be difficult. I want everyone to know just how thoroughly I fucked you.”

Feeling extremely satisfied by his enthusiastic response to her vulgar words, she slowly lowered herself down his body, pausing with her mouth right above his groin. Somehow the poor kid already looked completely fucked out and she hadn’t even done anything yet. Hearing him wince as she gently grasped and started stroking his cock, she knew this was gonna be fun.

Staring directly into her eyes, he watched the string of spit leave her mouth and drip directly onto his dick, eyes bulging at her bold actions, still in shock that any of this was actually happening. 

Entranced by the way his chest expanded rapidly as he watched her curiously, she leaned forward and licked the tip, his head falling back onto the pillow behind him. “I’m gonna suck your cock...but only because I want to see if you can not be a spaz about getting head from me.” Her words made Spencer whimper and she smirked as she took him fully into her mouth, soaking in his pretty noises. 

Y/n had only been going for a minute or two when she heard his groans get louder and felt him twitch in her mouth. Pulling off of him with a pop, she hummed at the sight of the completely wrecked boy in front of her, panting and shaking adorably. It wasn’t long before the perfect idea infiltrated her head, her body thrumming with anticipation and excitement.

“You’ve been such a good boy for me. I think you deserve a reward.”, she smirked, reciting the words that they had heard verbatim. Seemingly catching on to what she was pushing for, he responded accordingly.

“Please Y/n. I’ll do anything.”

She quirked her eyebrow in his direction questioningly, slowly grinding her dripping core against his achingly hard cock. “Anything, baby boy?”

Snapping his heated stare directly to her eyes, he cracked a beautiful smile. “Anything.”

She couldn’t control the grin that overtook her lips as she lowered herself down onto his erection, writhing in pleasure at the feel of him inside of her and the sound of his wanton moans. “Good boy.” 

Wanting to give Spencer time to fully adjust and control himself, she started her movements out slow, lifting herself up until only his tip remained inside before dropping down completely into his lap repeatedly. He was a moaning mess on the sheets below her, sweat coating his body along with goosebumps covering every visible expanse of his skin as he panted like a dog. He was so fucking pretty like this. 

Deciding enough was enough, she picked up the pace considerably, bouncing like a mad woman on his dick, while her sharp nails scratched down his creamy, pale chest in front of her, leaving angry, red streaks in their wake. Spencer had devolved into a blubbering mess underneath her and that lit her soul on fire.

“You like that don’t you, you little slut? Like your cock deep inside of me? Huh?” 

Y/n was pretty sure that he was short circuiting below her, his brain cutting off all control over his body as he spasmed uncontrollably and moaned for the entire fucking building to hear. Good, she thought. Let them hear how whipped he was for her. Even though it had only been a few minutes since she increased her speed, she could feel his cock starting to twitch violently inside of her and she knew he was close, really close.

“Is the little slut gonna come for me already?” All he could do was whimper in response, having to nod his head emphatically due to his loss of speech.

“Beg for it then. Fucking beg for me to let you come!” She was on fucking cloud nine right now, floating through the motions, as his whimpers increased in volume and speed. Mustering up all the strength he could, he spit out as many audible words as possible.

“Please! Please, please, please let me come! I need it! Please!” He was crying now, tears rapidly pouring from his eyes and spilling down his cheeks out of sheer desperation and need to release the tension built up within his body.

She was in awe of him. As she watched the tears pour down his face, she couldn’t help but whimper too. Desperately needing to finish, herself, she brought one hand down to make circles around her clit, while the other she brought up to wrap gently around his flushed throat, leaning over to whisper in his ear like she had earlier that night.

“Come for me, baby.”

She once again pulled back to witness his reactions to her hushed words, the outcome only more amazing than before. She watched as his eyes rolled back as far they could possibly go into his head as his mouth dropped open in pure ecstasy, high-pitched whines escaping his lips, his release shooting up into her like it had always belonged there. Maybe it had.

Watching him come undone below her, combined with her hand speedily rubbing circles on her clit, she was catapulted into the most amazing climax of her entire life, her body buzzing with excitement as she tightened around him and collapsed on his chest, weak as could be after that activity.

The pair laid silently, apart from the heaving breaths whirring through the room, still in shock over what had just transpired minutes before. Slowly shifting her eyes to the shivering boy below her, she saw he was caught in a trance, his eyes dazed, a soft grin on his lips. 

Breaking him from his stupor, she gently cupped his cheek with one hand as the other drew lazy circles on his blotchy chest. Rubbing the skin on his face lightly, she leaned forward and kissed his nose, making him scrunch it up and giggle as a result. “Such a sweet boy for me. Such a sweet, sweet boy.” Her words made him melt inside and words tumbled out of his own mouth before he could even think about stopping them.

“Вы красивы внутри и снаружи.”

She looked up at him in shock, before breaking out in giggles. “Did you just serenade me in Russian? How romantic.”, she giggled, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

He couldn’t seem to control his giggles either, a fact that warmed her heart. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

Smiling up at the adorable boy she just had to ask. “What does it mean?”

Y/n watched as his signature blush quickly coated his features once again as he looked down at her with a shy smile. “You are beautiful, inside and out.”

With the warmest grin she could muster, she leaned up and kissed his jaw once more before snuggling up against the young doctor who had melted her heart.

Tag List: @hopebaker @pastathighs @psychedellic-phase @gloryekaterina @sleepysnapesnake @racharr @etherealgubler @furiouspartyrebelhoagie @andiebeaword @liaabsurd @cielo1984 @starkeybaby @victomizedbyreginageorge @rainsong01 @moonlight-jukebox @gretaamyk @httpnxtt @rachelxwayne @goldnratio @cheyxminds @kricketc29 @cupcake525 @pinkdiamond1016 @slutforthegubes @shadyladyperfection @emilysallysmith @babblingbrookex @legendaryanimeaestheticclou @sunstspidey @ashwarren32 @pixels-impulse @eviewildflower @spencerreider @awkwardsadaa @dirty-pan-goblin @spencerspecifics

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

The Last Chthonian

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

Part 10

A/N: I can’t believe I’m already on part 10 for this series and to be honest it’s fun to write. And in all seriousness, the tumblr mobile app needs to allow you to put a read more link. But anyways love you all and let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list! Mwah! 🖤🖤🖤

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appear at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, some violence, and blood

“Im sorry, did you just say Madripoor?” You blinked at Zemo, dreading the destination ahead of you.

“What’s up with Madripoor? You talk about it like it’s Skull Island.” Sam questioned, looking between you and Zemo.

“Imagine Mos Eisley from Tatooine but without the aliens and blasters.” You tried to make an analogy. “In other words, a shithole. And to be honest, I’d rather be in Mos Eisley.”

“It’s an island nation in the Indonesian archipelago. It was a pirate sanctuary back in the 1800s.” Bucky explained to Sam.

“It’s kept its lawless ways.” Zemo added before turning to James. “But we cannot exactly walk in as ourselves. James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone.”

You had a feeling Zemo would suggest all of you going in with different identities, and being the only woman in the group, you already had a wild guess you weren’t going to be ecstatic about yours. You looked to Bucky with a frown on your lips. You knew what Zemo had meant towards him, and you didn’t know how it would affect him to transition back into the person he tried so hard to deviate from. Bucky saw the sympathetic smile you gave him, and he returned it with a look that reassured you that he would be fine.

“Y/n.” Zemo now spoke to you, tilting his head to meet your eyes. “I’m sure you are aware of the conditions.”

“Zemo if you...” Bucky trailed off as he glared at him, silently warning him to watch what he says next.

Sam and Bucky kept their eyes on Zemo, waiting to hear what his suggested persona for you was and ready to beat his ass if he dared to suggest something that would be demeaning to you.

“No way in the pits of Tartarus. I am not going in as an escort.” You voiced with a clenched jaw. “And if it’s eye candy you need, you have Sam.”

Sam gave you a surprised look from your comment, flattered to have you recommend him to be the designated eye candy before going back to the topic at hand. “Hell no Zemo. You’re not having y/n pretend to be an escort.”

“I’m afraid Sam is already going as someone.” Zemo sat back with his hands folded in his lap. “And don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on having you go as an escort, it isn’t befitting of a baron like me. Plus, I figured it would be uncomfortable for you, so I was going to suggest you act as my fiancé, if you are willing of course.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, pondering on the subject. You were a bit relieved in all honesty. But to pretend to be Zemo’s fiancé and be in close and almost physical proximities with him?

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to y/n.” Sam uttered to you.

“I’ll do it.” You confirmed.

“Are you sure?” Zemo asked you again, making sure you were comfortable with acting the part.

“I thought Zemo might step out of line with this one, but we don’t want you to do something that will make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m sure. I’ve had to do things I wasn’t comfortable with plenty of times in the past.”

Once you had all landed, Zemo decided to stop by a place so that you all may get dressed. You had already packed a dress and a pair of heels with you just in case for situations like these, since this wasn’t the first time you had to dress up for a mission. The dress you wore was a black, burned velvet silk slip-like dress with the velvet print being dark red roses. The dress wasn’t too tight to be constricting of movement and fit perfectly around around your curves. If the situation should arise that you needed to defend yourself, you needed the freedom to be able to move. Going down, the fabric flared slightly at your hips, brushing barely against the floor with your heels on. The skirt was slightly sheer from the bottom of your thighs and down with the floral velvet print, and had a slit going up your right thigh, perfect for kicking and concealing your dagger. The top torso portion of the front of your dress was a spaghetti strap cowl neckline that stopped just above the curve of your breasts, allowing for just a bit of cleavage. Your back was left bare, stopping at your mid back with thin straps that came across in a pattern. Your dress almost had a Grecian/witchy look from the way it draped over your chest and hips. It wasn’t too formal or too scandalous, it was elegant and classy, and showed just the right amount of skin where it wouldn’t be too revealing.

Even though you completely loathed and detested heels of any kinds, your heels were fairly simple, made of black velvet with straps that came across your ankles and toes. You dreaded heaving to wear them but at the same time you’d stick out like a sore thumb if you wore your docs with these. Perhaps you should’ve brought your nicer sandals, but it was too late now. You kept on your mother’s necklace and wore a set of amethyst drop earrings, throwing on a silver cuff bracelet on each wrist. Your hair was let loose to conceal your short sword that you hid on your back underneath your dress, the hilt resting right between your shoulder blades. You prayed that having your hair down would cover the scars and the sword you had on your back. But you were mostly focused about the scars, you failed to mention them to the guys about it since it was something that was hard for you to share. The only makeup you had on was some eyeshadow and mascara to darken your eyes, very little blush, and a lip tint.

The last thing to do was to put on some perfume, so you spritzed on your favorite oil based one that you had from Olympus on your pulse points. The scent was filled with incense-like scents like dragon’s blood, sage, crushed red roses, sandalwood, ghostly white musk, absinthe, almonds, and heady gardenia. It wasn’t as harsh as the common alcohol based ones, this one was more earthy and ancient, and every time you wore it, the scent lingered and heads turned. You gave yourself a once over when you were done, taking in a deep breath before heading out to join the others.

You became nervous as you saw them gathered together, talking amongst themselves as they haven’t noticed you yet. You rarely ever wore dresses these days, especially of the kind you were wearing now which left you feeling bare and exposed even though the dress wasn’t at all much revealing. So as you approached them, you couldn’t help picking at your fingers in anxiety.

The men turned at the sound of your heels clicking against the ground, and when they laid their eyes on you, they couldn’t help but gawk with their mouths parted open, as if they had seen the most beautiful creature to ever walk the earth. You chewed on the inside of your cheeks as you saw how they stared at you.

“Wow.” Sam was the first to say something. “You look like a million bucks.”

“What? Never seen a woman in a dress before?”

“No, I’ve just never seen you in a dress before.” Sam answered. “You’re always dressed like some hippie/librarian, with your bands shirts, sweaters, plaid pants and jackets.”

“Haha vary funny.”

“Also since when did you have muscles?” Sam noticed as he poked your bare arm. “And since when did you have a tattoo?” He observed the mark you had on your upper right arm, right below your shoulder. It was the mark that was given to you to signify your Olympian status and what you represented. It was about the color that henna left behind after you wiped the paste off your skin, the color of ginger and bronze. The center of your mark was a lightning bolt, which represented a child of Zeus. Below that was your symbol, the torch and the triple moons.

“Since when did you start asking so many questions? But yeah, I’ve always had muscles Sam, I was trained in combat since I was, you could say 9 years old in human years. Also, technically everyone has them, it’s what allows us to move and lift things. And that.” You pointed to your tattoo. “Is my goddess mark, not a tattoo. Every Olympian god has one and they each have their personal symbol that represents them.”

“Wait, so you’ve been trained since you were a kid?” Bucky looked at you to clarify what he heard as they all started to head out.

“Technically, everyone on Olympus starts training that young. Then, when they become of age, a tournament is held to display their skills, following a ceremony after, to celebrate their victory.” You explained as you walked beside them.

The four of you were currently walking on the bridge that led to Madripoor. You could see the city’s skyline out in the distance, the cyberpunk like buildings lighting up the night sky.

“Do you need my coat?” You heard Zemo say beside you, making you look at him.

“Sorry?”

“Do you need my coat?” He repeated himself, referring to how your arms were bare against the cool night. “I wouldn’t want you to get cold.”

You stared at him, stunned from the kind gesture as you tried to form words to say. “Oh uh.....I appreciate the gesture, but I’m fine actually. I’m not that cold.” Though you didn’t want to admit it, you actually would’ve liked to try on his coat, because in all honesty it was a damn nice coat.

“We have to fix this.” You heard Sam say with irritation visible in his voice. “I’m the only one who looks like a pimp.”

“Only an American would assume a fashion-forward black man looks like a pimp. You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing.” Zemo mentioned as he pulled out his phone to show Sam. “The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.”

“He even has a bad nickname. Hell, he does look like me, though.” Sam observed the photo.

“You smell this?”

“Yeah, what is that? Acid?” Sam sniffed the air as you did the same.

“Smells rancid.” You scrunched your nose at the smell.

“Madripoor. No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There’s no margin for error.” Zemo instructed as a black car pulled up in front of you. “High Town’s that way. Not a bad place if you wanna visit, but Low Town’s the other way.”

“Let me guess. We don’t have any friends in High Town.” Sam remarked as he opened the door for the back seat.

“Y/n. A moment please, if you will.” Zemo uttered to you.

You stopped in your tracks, seeing Bucky and Sam stand on either side of the car doors, looking between the two of you and especially Zemo, with caution. You nodded your head at them, signaling you were fine and that they can get seated. And though they sat themselves inside the car, that didn’t stop them from keeping their eyes glued to Zemo to make sure he didn’t pull anything stupid.

“What’s the issue?” You turned to Zemo, giving him your attention.

“Since you will be portraying my fiancé, there’s a certain key element you will be needing to complete the image.” You watched as he pulled out a ring from his coat pocket, displaying it in front of you. “If I may?”

You stared at Zemo blankly before nodding your head and holding out your left hand for him. You knew this was only for a show, but you couldn’t help but stiffen as he delicately held your hand with his gloved one before slipping the ring onto your ring finger.

“There.” Hi smiled softly at you, his hand still holding yours. “Now you look the part.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, his thumb brushing against your knuckles, leaving behind a trail of warmth as he gazed down at you. Zemo swore he could have gotten lost in the violet swirls and gold flecks of your eyes forever, which now sparkled against Madripoor’s lit up skyline, the neon city and the places he’s visited not even coming close to the beauty he held before him.

You tried not to blush under his gaze as you gave him a polite smile before slipping your hand out of his. “I should probably change my eyes huh.” You remembered, changing your eyes to a normal color known to earth. “Should I hide the scar?” You asked him, referring to the one on your face.

“I think you should leave it. It suits you, and besides, you never know who might recognize you without it.”

Nodding your head at him, you headed to the car and settling in beside Bucky as Zemo followed, getting in the passenger seat in front of you. In the car ride there, you glanced down at the ring Zemo slipped on your finger, it was definitely a beautiful elegant ring, with a rose gold band and a pear cut garnet in the center that had diamonds that accented the bottom. Once you arrived in the city, you walked through the neon lit streets beside Zemo while Sam and Bucky followed behind. You loosened up your body as you went, swaying your hips slightly as you tried your best not to walk like a bodyguard and look threatening as everyone’s eyes followed the four of you strolling through the streets.

“Here we are.” Zemo announced, stopping in front of a bar before speaking to Bucky in Russian. “Ready to comply… Winter Soldier?”

As you went in, Zemo leaned in to whisper in your ear, his warm breath tickling your neck and startling you as he spoke in a hushed tone. “I want to apologize in advance, forgive me.”

You looked at him with furrowed brows to question what he meant until you felt his gloved hand slide across your back before resting on your waist, pulling you closer to his side. You noticed how his hand fumbled after brushing across your sword as he gave you a questioning look. What was that on your back? Did you really conceal a full on sword on your back underneath your dress? On your way to the bar table you saw people stare as you went through, some of them gawking in surprise at Bucky, or the winter soldier as he was now portraying, while the slimy men in the area roamed their eyes over your body hungrily. Zemo noticed your uneasiness from the way your muscles tensed, though your face didn’t show a sign of it, and glared at the men who dared to lay their eyes on you, only pulling you closer to him to prove that you were with him while Bucky and Sam noticed this as well and positioned themselves where you were blocked from the view of your peers, allowing you to breathe a little better as you approached the bar.

“Hello, gentlemen.” The bartender greeted you all. “Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”

“His plans changed.” Zemo answered for him. “We have business to do with Selby.”

“The usual?”

Sam nodded his head.

“And for the lady?”

“Um Something fruity.” You answered with a flirtatious smile, silently hoping they had something like that on the menu and that you hadn’t blown their cover by ordering the wrong drink.

The bartender handed you what looked to be a pineapple martini and you internally thanked the gods for your sheer bit of luck, taking the drink and thanking the bartender with another smile. You watched as he went to work on Sam’s drink, pulling out of a jar what definitely was a snake. You gulped, your stomach feeling nauseous as you saw the bartender cut open the dead snake, taking out its guts and throwing it in the shot glass. You were mortified to say the least, snakes were one of your symbols and you had owned plenty of the gentle little creatures. You shot Sam a sympathetic look once you saw his expression.

“Cheers.” Zemo held up his glass while Sam stared at his before gathering the courage to drink it all in one go. If Sam wasn’t going to throw up, you were going to do it for him.

While your eyes were trained on Sam’s expression, you felt someone breathe over your neck before feeling a clammy hand graze across your ass.

“Hey baby-“

Your eyes widened before you grabbed the wrist of the man behind you in one quick motion, twisting his arm to an unnatural position as you yanked it away from your body, causing the sleazy looking individual let out a yelp of pain. You would’ve crushed his wrist like crumpled paper if Zemo hadn’t put a cautionary hand on your arm as he whispered to you. “Careful now.”

You let go of the man’s wrist before shoving him aside like a pile of garbage. If their identity wasn’t at risk of being revealed, Zemo, Sam, and Bucky would have gone over there and beat the guy up after you were done with him.

“I got word from high. You ain’t welcome here.” You watched from behind Zemo as a bearded man approached him.

“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me…” Zemo gestured towards Bucky.

“New haircut?”

“Or bring Selby for a chat.”

The man glanced between Zemo and Bucky before leaving.

“A power broker? Really?” Sam turned to Zemo.

“Every kingdom needs its king. Let’s just pray we stay under his radar.”

“Do you know him?” You asked.

“Only by reputation. In Madripoor he is judge, jury, and executioner.”

Another man was approaching in your direction, most likely to kick you all out or worse, and after following your gaze, Zemo turned to Bucky, speaking to him in Russian just as the man laid a hand on his shoulder. “Winter Soldier. Attack.”

You stood back, watching as Bucky grabbed the dude’s arm and twisted it back. You refrained yourself from intervening as Bucky took down the men that fought against him.

“Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.” Zemo commented to you and Sam.

Bucky slammed one of the men down on the counter. And as you heard the clicking of guns being loaded, your defensive mode nearly kicked in as you almost reached for your sword before Zemo stopped you.

“Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us.” Zemo whispered to you both before turning to Bucky and speaking in Russian again. “Well done soldier.”

You let your arm drop back down to your side, not a single change in your expression as you eyed everyone around you.

“Selby will see you now.” The bartender spoke up after getting off the phone.

Zemo gave him a thanks, nodding you over and holding out his hand for you to take as you went to his side again, Bucky and Sam following after you. You went through a back door, going down a dark corridor with Zemo’s hand on your back as he guided you through.

“You should know, Baron. People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.” You heard a woman’s voice speak, turning your head to see an older woman in a suit with short white hair lounging back on the coach with her security around her.

“Not a demand. An offer.” Zemo sat down on the couch before waving you over when he saw you standing near Sam. “Come sit schatzi.”

You straightened up, plastering a smile on your face as you went over to him. Selby’s eyes followed you curiously as you placed your hand in his, your eyes rapidly moving in nervousness for what area would be the most appropriate area to sit. Were you......were you supposed to sit on his lap? Is that how couples work? No, that would be inappropriate. Before things got awkward, you quickly plopped down on the empty spot next to him, crossing over your leg in a way so that it draped over his, leaving your thigh completely exposed from the slit in your dress, save for the dagger that still remained hidden. Sam and Bucky widened their eyes at what you just did, while Zemo stiffened at this sudden movement from you as you also draped one arm around his shoulders, bringing yourself closer to him. Were you even doing this right?

“A lot has changed since you were here last.” Selby observed the two of you before her eyes landed on your ring. “Who’s this pretty little thing?”

“This.” Zemo looked at you with a loving look, throwing an arm around your waist to draw circles on your bare back, while his other hand rested on your thigh, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps on your skin as you felt shivers go down your spine. “Is my fiancé. Gorgeous isn’t she?”

How long has it been since you were this close and personal to someone? The last you could remember, women still wore corsets and people still rode carriages. You felt your body heat up from being this close to him, and from the way he stroked your back. How was a mortal man able to leave you feeling like this? If he was able to send shivers down your spine with the mere touch on your back with his gloved hand, you wondered how it would feel to have his bare hands on you, just skin to skin. And if you were being honest, you never really were a fan of cologne but his smelled of a deeper earthy tones with hints of musk, and you were surprised and almost ashamed to say you liked how he smelled. You returned the same loving look to Zemo, trying to make it as believable as possible as you ran your fingers through the hair on the back of his head before placing a kiss on his jaw close to his ear. Sam and Bucky couldn’t believe their eyes at the scene before them, the same you who preferred to be a hermit and didn’t go on dates because it involved human interaction, was cuddling up to none other than Helmut Zemo himself. Zemo’s breath faltered a bit from from your touch as he swallowed the lump in his throat, struggling not to break character. Being this close to you, he was able to get a whiff of your perfume and my goodness, Zemo felt as if he could drown in your scent, you smelled like the heavens, not overbearingly sweet, but dark and luxurious and even seductive. Is this what vampires and sirens smelled like when they lured people to their deaths? You raised a brow at Zemo, your heightened senses were picking up on his breathing patterns and heartbeat. Was he getting nervous?

“Extremely.” Selby commented, smirking at the two of you before roaming her eyes over your body. You could feel her taking you in but you kept your eyes trained on the side of Zemo’s face. “Where did you pick this one up? She looks like a fighter.”

“As they say, why not get a woman who can do both. She was part of the Sokovian armed forces, I met her through there.”

“By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?” Selby added after finally taking her eyes off you.

“People like us always find a way, don’t we? I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for.”

“You’re taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger.” Selby turned to Sam with a flirtatious grin, using her hand in a claw like manner as she let out a purr. “What’s the offer?”

“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum.” Zemo got up off the couch, going over to Bucky and holding his chin between his fingers. “And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.”

“Now that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately. Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right. The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank. Or… condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on. The Power Broker had him working on the serum, but… things didn’t go as planned.”

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?”

“Oh. The bread crumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you, Baron. And before you get all cute, don’t think you can find Nagel without me. But.....” She turned you with a sly smile which made your insides turn. “Throw her in with the package and you have yourself a deal.”

Zemo, Sam, and Bucky turned to look at you with dread upon hearing her words. This wasn’t at all part of the plan.

“No, no no. That wasn’t the deal.” Zemo stepped over to where you sat, blocking you from her. “She’s not for sale.”

“Why not?” Selby raised her brow at Zemo. “I’m pretty sure a man like you could pick up someone else to be your plaything or fiancé or whatever. I like this one in particular.” She turned to you again.

“That’s not-“ Zemo started before he was cut off by Sam’s cellphone vibrating.

You breath was caught in your throat and it felt as if the room had dropped in temperature. You could feel the tension floating around the air as everyone’s eyes were trained on Sam now, making you sit up straight and uncross your legs so that they were planted firmly on the ground. Your hand rested on your thigh just above where the hilt of your dagger was as your eyes darted around the room, watching each and every person like a hawk about to swoop down on its prey. You had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well.

Tag List: @girl-obsessed-with-things @aerynchromie @sunshinepower17 @viviace @kakimakiloh @thebivirgin @gambitsqueen @spookycereal-s @lulu-yuming @mochminnie @gabitanaka47 @s00nhi @vanteguccir @tomhollandsslilslut @dracoxxyoflam @suchababie @uhhhcrypticbastard @on-my-way-to-erebor @thewinterrbucky @mylifeispainandiloveit @fillechatoyante @padmoonyfeorge @montypythonsholysnail

[way2exclusive]

notes on hate that by key ft. taeyeon

bad love era is just about to begin and it is truly the era where we see key showing the most of himself he ever has before in his work. a big part of what makes following shinee's career so much fun is that they are always trying new sounds and concepts and building on what they have done before, pushing boundaries but maintaining a strong sense of identity that is as deliberately crafted as it is the truth. kibum especially has always been very intentional in playing it as safe as possible while showing the public One New Thing every time he's active in the public eye. this ranges from aspects of his music taste to his entertainer personality on variety television to his famously androgynous/genderless fashion sense. he really is the master of intimacy without access – he has always been exactly who he is and fought to never compromise but he also strategically chooses when and how he wants to show himself with a professional ease. key's prerelease single "hate that" ft. taeyeon is a perfect example of how he builds on his previous work and bridging it with his new concept.

key has never released a song like "hate that" before, it's a midtempo american-style pop song about the bitter conflicted feelings after a break up. while he has had plenty of emotional lyrics before, this is the first time we're getting actual angst and bitterness and a kind of tortured pettiness that he expresses very well.

it feels somewhat like a continuation of don’t call me, shinee's first fuck you break up song. and aesthetically, dcm had hints some sort of mass disaster and post-apocalyptic future that mirrors hate that's spaceship and abandoned island concept. it's basically dcm kibum standing in the middle of the ocean & him saying don’t call me (미쳤어 넌!) & dropping the phone in the water but in hate that, he’s like “wow… no one’s calling me… : (“

from refutation of a toxic sort of love to mourning what could’ve been & his actions that led up to it… hate that ft. taeyeon feels like both of them commiserating about their different responses to a similar situation.

both key and taeyeon are talking about a break up where the other person moved on but they haven't, and key admits to this emphasizes angst and longing with lyrics like "you're still smiling as pretty as you used to" while taeyeon's voice, demeanor, and lyrics are colder and more bitter, like "even the breakup was perfect, you were being you til the end".

also taeyeon’s red dress & the red lighting in the mv—another connection to dcm? or it could symbolize her putting on a bold show but really is just pretending she's okay and becoming cold to avoid thinking about her ex. this contrasts w kibum who wears beige and white which could symbolize humanness & honesty. plus his full outfit has so much more detail than i first thought when i looked up close— it looks quite like an astronaut outfit up close complete with those big boots. visually he doesn't quite belong on earth but he doesn't belong in that spaceship either, he isn't protected for the atmospheric pressure of space. he activates an escape pod but falls into water, he's doomed and unable to be rescued.

Also, while kibum looks despondent & somewhat resigned, taeyeon looks regal in all of her shots, looking statuesque. when they’re in the same frame, she is always shown towering over him. At the end, she’s the one who walks away while he sits in the café, staring at the tv, which shows the news that she’s been rescued.also note that they pointedly never look directly at each other. love that we get an example of straight baiting… kibum pointedly saying, “taeyeon & i aren’t a romantic thing” in hate that, just in case there were heterosexuals watching… we love to see it…

taeyeon’s the one who has the strength & autonomy to walk away from the heartbreak & events of the mv… & also the news saying she’s been rescued but by whom?? aliens???

anyway, hate that is a fantastic prerelease single - it's a fresh sophisticated take on a recently archetypal genre of american pop music that's clever and cohesive in lyrics, visuals, and sound. it's a perfect more chill segue into a fantastic album and a concept that's from another galaxy. onto the space camp!!!

more posts on the rest of bad love coming soon!!!

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

What happened w the rationalist community, if you’re ok talking about it?

LONG REPLY TIME.

In my Wild Youth (tm) I was hardcore in the rationalist/skeptic/humanist community. You know, the New Atheist types (the vast majority of the community didn’t call themselves New Atheists, that was mostly American Dawkins fans, but we were those kinds of people, just less arrogant-PR about it). For people who don’t know, the core philosophy of this subculture basically comes down to: - humans are mostly good people, or try to be good people, and we should act in ways that are good for humanity, the environment, etc. - people with better or more accurate information about the world are capable of making better decisions - it is therefore vitally important that we view the world as accurately as possible. Truth is inherently important and valuable. We should do everything we can to make sure that our beliefs about the world are as accurate as possible. - your mind will lie to you. Cognitive biases have their social and evolutionary uses, but they result in bigotry and bad information. We should do everything we can to identify and compensate for these, and think as rationally as a human is capable of. - while it’s not perfect, science is the most effective tool we have for determining what is most likely to be true. Rationalism is therefore massively pro-science and pro-science education. (This isn’t a blind trust; most hardcore rationalists are scientists and fully aware of the limitations of the messy reality of how science is funded and published and the biases that introduces. These are taken into account. The other hardcore rationalists tend to be magicians/illusionists.)

All of this is perfectly fine and a hill I’m still perfectly willing to die on.

When you get a bunch of people together who are sincerely seeking truth and want the world to be a better place, there are some fairly obvious groups that they’re going to tangle with. Before my time, when we were just called skeptics, the main targets had been psychics and life-after-death spirit-communing con artists (this is where our magicians came from, the philosophical descendants of Houdini, one of the earliest voices in the movement, and later James Randi). But the big proponents of harm in my time were the healing crystals/essential oils/faith healing people, and the ‘Creation should be taught instead of evolution’ creationists. We spent a lot of time trying to stop people from selling oils that they said could cure cancer, and fighting against science education being replaced with religious belief inserted in science classes. (I spent a lot of my teenage years debating creationists on the internet. I can summarise this experience as a frustrating waste of time on both sides of the debate. Neither side was going to accomplish anything in these discussions.)

This is all perfectly fine. I won’t pretend I’m completely happy with everyone’s actions; it’s the internet, so of course there were subgroups doing things like mass trolling conservative religion forums and stuff, which had no purpose except to piss off people we happened not to like, but you get that. The problem with this is that it’s easy. People can believe what they want, but if you’re coming into a rational debate, every pro-Creation, anti-evolution argument is complete and utter bullshit, mostly demonstrating nothing beyond the fact that the creationist debater a) doesn’t understand the most fundamental things about biology or b) does understand and is willingly misleading the audience. Every pro healing crystal, pro astrology or pro telepathy argument is fatuous nonsense. Twelve-year-olds could walk into these discussions and completely shred every argument put forth by big-name “creation scientists” in minutes -- I know, I watched it happen regularly. I was on our conservative creationist Christian-owned community TV station for awhile doing a little ‘creation vs evolution!’ debate against the wealthy station owner’s son to fill air time, and I’d see him do a couple of hours of research for anti-evolution arguments every time we filmed, and it always pissed him off that I’d shred anything he said immediately, having done no research whatsoever, because even to me, a child, the giant drive-a-bus-through-this holes in his arguments were obvious. (Also, they were old hash; I’d read all the books by his idols before and checked the reasoning myself long before.)

Fresh voices in the community came from two main sources -- people who’d been pro-people and pro-reason/science for years finding others like them, and ex-creationists and magic healer victims who’d eventually found the holes in what they’d been taught. This second group, for obvious reasons, tended to be the most passionately pro-reason and pro-science people, and discussing different experiences in a place where people could feel safe being critical and actively celebrate doubt was great. But, inevitably, we got lazy.

A lot of the ‘laziness’ was perfectly reasonable and practical. Time and attention is always limited, and when you’ve dealt with six claims of “the eye is too complex to have evolved!” and explained the flaws in the irreducible complexity argument four times that fortnight, when someone walks in with “blood groups couldn’t possibly have evolved, therefore the earth must be 6,000 years old”, you just don’t fucking bother, and you shouldn’t fucking bother, there’s no value in that discussion.

That’s not the kind of laziness I’m talking about. I’m talking about the part where we got so used to ‘that sounds so fucking stupid’ leading directly being able to tear an argument to pieces,that it became normal to assume that anything that sounds stupid on the surface MUST be obviously wrong. Where ‘this is weird, let’s examine it and check for flaws’ became ‘that person disagrees with my preconceived notions, let’s double down and explain why they’re wrong, because I’m already assuming that they’re wrong’. At some point, “we want to be as rational and accurate as we can be, we call ourselves rationalist and work towards that” became “we’re rationalists, so we’re more accurate and rational than average and probably right”.

You might recognise that as in fact being *the exact opposite of the proported philosophy*. There were always some overenthusiastic idiots in any group, but watching it slowly become normal for rationalising to replace active rationalism and for the names of cognitive biases to be thrown around as gotcha buzzwords rather than things people were seriously considering in their own arguments was... concerning. (There were a lot of very smart people in the community, which unfortunately made it far more vulnerable to this particular kind of thing. Smarter people are better at fooling themselves; a person good at reason is also good at rationalising, and you can’t tell the difference between these things when you’re the one doing them.)

In practical terms, this doesn’t matter that much when you’re playing in the easy leagues of explaining to someone that the overpriced eucalyptus oil they bought from an MLM won’t protect them against chicken pox. The person who’s gotten lazy is shit at being a rationalist, but your reasoning skills don’t actually need to be all that impressive for this. You know what they do need to be impressive for? For when somebody says, “women are taken less seriously than men in science and biased against in hiring, payment and promotion”, and this hypothetical you, a male scientist who’s never noticed this and already knows that his profession is full of smart and reasonable people who wouldn’t do something stupid like that, thinks “that is fucking stupid” and automatically, without thinking about it, puts their energy into shouting down and dismissing alternate evidence. Or when somebody points out islamophobia in the community, or passive racism, or... you get the picture. Social issues can (and should) be examined and interrogated using rational philosophies, but it’s so much harder to do that than laugh at creationists who are sending you abusive messages about going to hell. And given the particular hot-button issues in the community, most of the people there were interested in biology, chemistry or physics and simply had no idea how to *do* social sciences, treating the parts that were familiar from their own specialities as valid and the rest as irrational nonsense. And now, you have prominent rationalists panicking about Sharia law, sneering at the made-up problems of feminism, and generally making fools of themselves... because they got lazy.

Because, like how it’s hard to be a liberal (American definition) but easy to be a conservative in a gay hat, it’s hard to be a rationalist, but easy to be an arsehole with a big vocabulary. And that’s why I can’t gush about how great Richard Dawkins’ early science books are without somebody bringing up his bullshit twitter opinions.

[kaitycole]

chapter one: does she know?

Summary: Two little friends have always desired one thing: to end up as siblings. So when the chance presented itself after a finalized divorce, who were they to decline such an opportunity to finally bring their parents together?

Pairings: Bokuto Kōtarō x f!Reader

Word Count: 2572

Warnings: Angst. Fluff. Mentions of divorce, cheating, cussing

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters portrayed in this series. Part of the @babythotshq​ Dearest Daddy Collab

Tags: open (send me an ask to be added!)

February 2025

“DADDY!”

Frowns fill the faces of those who look at the small girl yelling as she works her way through the sea of people to the court. Where are her parents? Riddle the faces of those around, but she pays no mind, she’s on a mission and there’s nothing that’s going to get in her way.

She screams out again, but this time stops halfway when she sees who she’s been looking for. A large smile spreads across her lips as she starts sprinting across the wooden court.

“Daddy!” She cries out once more and this time he hears her.

His round, golden eyes find her matching ones and he immediately stops whatever conversation he’s having, dropping into a squat with his arm extended outwards, just in time to catch her as she throws herself into his arms.

She wraps her arms tightly around his neck, barely allowing him room to pull her backwards just long enough for him to place a kiss on her forehead. She quickly realizes the mistake she’s made before pushing against him, telling him that he needs to shower. With a loud, hearty laugh, he puts her feet back onto the court before ruffling her hair.

“I am so sorry, Bo.” You start to apologize, “She took off and there are so many people.”

He waves you off before looking down at his daughter, who already knows what he’s going to say. “Seiko, you know better. What do you need to tell Y/N?”

“I’m sorry Y/N.” Seiko puts on her best apologetic face, poking out her bottom lip to added effect.

You laugh, shaking your head looking at the golden eyed little girl whose hair matches her mother’s brunette hair instead of Bokuto’s wild mix of colors. “Thank you, Seiko.”

Bzzzt Bzzzt Bzzzt

You slip the phone out of your back pocket before rolling your eyes at the name on your screen before pressing the side button twice; sending the caller straight to voicemail. Bokuto cocks his head to the side, having watched the whole ordeal, but before he can question your actions your son grabs his attention.

“Uncle Bo you looked so awesome!” Your son Haruki exclaims as he eagerly jumps up to give the volleyball player a high-five.

“I did, didn’t I?” Bokuto throws his head up victoriously while you and Seiko just roll your eyes.

*                      * “Careful, careful. Hold on to each other!” You call out to Haruki and Seiko as they run down the sidewalk and into a small café near the stadium. It had become somewhat of a tradition to eat there after a game or at least the games you and Haruki could attend. Seiko and Haruki are still talking a mile a minute as Bo opens the door for everyone.

Sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder if they were best friends because they were born just a few months apart and raised almost like siblings or if it had anything to do with you and Bo being best friends. You had met by complete accident; you had gone to your locker to get a textbook when you saw a boy with crazy colored spiky hair trying to open it.

When you questioned what he was doing trying to open your locker, he looked completely puzzled before stating it was his. You debated it for a few moments before he handed you the paper with his locker number and combination. You pointed out his locker was in fact the one next to yours, causing him to laugh. After that every day you were greeted with a very enthusiastic ‘hey hey hey’ and were attached at the hip. That had been 16 years ago.

The four of you pile into the same booth as always with you sitting across from Seiko and Haruki across from Bokuto. Your son absolutely adores the wing spiker and has been begging you to let him start playing volleyball too, but your husband doesn’t think he should.

Bzzzt Bzzzt Bzzzt

You quickly click the button on the right side of your phone, this time just silencing it instead of sending it to voicemail.

“Are you getting excited to see your mom, Seiko?” You ask after the waitress takes everyone’s usual orders.

She beams, “Yes! She said we can go No Very Farms!”

You look between her and Bo confusingly before he corrects her ‘No Very Farm’ to ‘Knott’s Berry Farm’ and explaining that it’s an amusement park in California. It still surprised you to this day that Bokuto ended up having a kid with an American journalist. Mostly because there was so much mystery as to why they didn’t end up together.

You’ve seen them interact on several occasions and they always seemed to get along really well. You understand that some people just don’t work together, but Bo and Jess were great. They even had an adorable how we met story, but alas they didn’t end up together.

“And Mommy said we can take lots of pictures to mail to Daddy since he’s gonna miss me.” She giggles.

Bzzzt Bzzzt Bzzzt

“Aren’t you gonna miss me?” Bo looks at his daughter who is still giggling as she shakes her head no. He places his hand on his chest and gasps before turning away from her, pretending to cry.

“I’ll miss you daddy, please don’t cry!” Seiko tries to throw her arms around his broad shoulders but her arms just aren’t long enough to wrap around his muscular form. She whispers repeatedly that she was just joking before he turns around, wrapping her into a hug.

This will be only the second time since finding out he would be a dad that he’d be apart from Seiko for more than a few days. Being a professional athlete meant that he spent a lot of time traveling, but those trips never lasted longer than five days. The first time was when she was two and he was gone for two weeks, this time she’d be gone for two months and he’d miss her fifth birthday. Jess has already promised to live stream her party and Bo had already mailed Seiko’s gift to Jess so she’ll be able to open it on her actual birthday, but it still feels like the end of the world.

Bzzzt Bzzzt Bzzzt

“You can answer that if you want.” Bo offers, “If you need to step outside, Haruki won’t mind sitting here with us.”

Haruki smiles up at you, “Yeah Mom. Your phone has been going off since we left home.”

You shoot your son a look, the ‘you shouldn’t have said that’ look which causes him to sink down in his seat. Truth be told you don’t want to answer the phone, you have nothing really to say to the person on the other end, but you didn’t want to ruin your outing with Bo and Seiko either.

“It’s fine. I can just get it later.”

Bo drops the subject as Seiko and Haruki begin talking about Seiko’s trip some more which includes promises of souvenirs, handwritten letters, and daily video chats.

You look at your phone: 6 missed calls, 3 voicemails, and 18 missed text messages. All from Nakajima Youta, your husband. As you sit there, staring at the excessive amount of notifications, your mind begins to wonder.

*                      * It was an early autumn day, the kind where it wasn’t too chilly but the overbearing heat of the summer was long gone. You sat in a room, surrounded by your mother, friends and future mother-in-law as they all chatted away about how beautiful everything looks. You fiddled with your engagement ring as your mother pinned your hair up, pressing her cheek to yours as she smiled at you through the mirror.

There was a knock at the door and your mother was shocked to see it was Youta who had his hand over his eyes.

“Youta? What are you doing?”

“It’s bad luck to see the bride, but I just need her for four seconds.”

A smile twitched on your lips as you walked over to him, “What’s going on?”

He removed his hand from his eyes, but they are tightly squeezed shut as he awkwardly moved his arms around before finding your face. He stepped closer before he pressed a chaste kiss on your lips, his thumb gently stroked your cheek.

“What was that for?” “This will sound lame, but I’m kinda nervous and I figured you were too. Thought it couldn’t hurt.”

You saw him smile before turning around so you could shut the door before he opened his eyes. Your mother and his began to talk about how sweet that exchange was. Followed by them wondering how you were remaining so calm when they had been complete messes before their wedding. Then it hit you that you were extremely calm, not once had you thought of bolting or canceling the wedding which to you was strange. You get nervous about a lot of things, you second-guessed a ton of things, and here you were with nerves of steel.

Two weeks later

“Mommy!” Seiko bounces up and down, glancing up at Bo with a huge smile on her face. Jess flew in so that she could attend a volleyball game with Seiko before heading to California. The original plan was for Bo to fly out with Seiko, but a last-minute change to the MSBY game schedule disrupted the plan.

“Hey baby girl!” She scoops the little girl up in her arms, spinning her around. She peppers her face with kisses as Seiko squeals, wrapping her arms around Jess’ neck. “Hey Bo.”

“Jess!” Bo wraps Jess and Seiko in a hug before placing a quick kiss on her temple. He grabs her bags as Seiko refuses to be put down; claiming she was too tired to walk. The family of three walk through the airport and make their way to the parking lot.

The ride back to Bo’s apartment is filled with Seiko asking her mom all about California, the same thing she’s asked her every night since she learned she was going. It doesn’t matter to Seiko that her mom has already told her the same thing, it’s different because this time her mom is sitting next to her instead of telling her through a screen.

*                      * “Can we watch a movie?” Seiko asks as Bo and Jess finish cleaning up the kitchen from dinner.

“Of course.”

“YAY!” Seiko screams before running up to hug Bo and Jess then takes off to find the movie she wants to watch.

“She gets that from you.” Jess says.

“Her adorableness? I know.” Bo sticks his tongue out and Jess throws the towel in her hands at him. The kitchen fills with laughter as Seiko comes running back down the hallway, DVD case in hand.

“I want to watch this one!” Seiko holds up Coco; it was her favorite movie lately which Bo was thankful for, he was tired of watching The Lion King 2.

It wasn’t even 45 minutes into the movie and Seiko was asleep on Bo’s lap, his shirt tightly gripped in her little fist while Jess’s head is rested on his shoulder.

“Jess?” Bo whispers, not wanting to wake their daughter.

“Mm.” She hums, half asleep.

“She’s asleep. Want to tuck her in with me?”

She nods against his shoulder before sitting up, stretching the best she could; her body heavy with sleep. Bo cradles their daughter in his arms as they walk into the four-year old’s room; it’s decorated in fairy lights, purples and grays with owls everywhere. She has books on the floor, she said she had been doing research for her and Haruki’s next adventure and crayons littered her desks with drawings she had done to take to California.

Jess pulls the blanket over Seiko, pressing a kiss to her forehead before the little girl turns over to get comfortable. Bo turns off the light after making sure her nightlight is plugged in.

“You’re really good at that.” Jess says as she curls back up on the couch, Bo getting himself a glass of water.

“Turning off lights?” He laughs when she rolls her eyes.

“At being a dad.” She smiles, “I never really did thank you for how great you were with all of this.”

He just shrugs, “I couldn’t imagine having a kid with anyone else.”

A wide grin spreads across her face, “Really? No one? Not even someone with a son? A son who is best friends with Seiko. No one else? Huh.”

Blush faintly covers his cheeks as he clears his throat, “She’s married Jess. Plus, we already talked about that, remember? When we met?”

*                      * October 2018

“That’s all we have time for today. A special thank you again to Bokuto Kōtarō and congratulations on the win.”

The cameraman signaled that they aren’t live anymore before the brunette let out a sigh.

“Are you okay?” Bokuto asked.

“Oh.” She started to fiddle with the microphone cord, “This was my first interview, I’m new to Japan.”

“Well you did great!” He exclaimed, holding up a hand for a high-five. The woman looked at him like he’s crazy but complied.

“Thanks. Ah, so did you.”

Bo smiled, “Jess, right?” She nodded. “I can show you around if you want.”

She shook her head, “Oh no, I couldn’t impose like that.” Bo waved her off, “I really don’t mind. I think it’ll be fun.”

“Only if you’re sure. I have a guidebook I don’t mind using.”

Bo scrunched his face up, “Those don’t show you half of the best places.” He asked for her phone and put his number in. “Just let me know when you’re free and we’ll work it out.”

She smiled, going to speak before you ran up to Bo whose expression had changed; it was no longer just a polite look but one of adoration. His eyes appeared softer and the way his face lit would melt anyone’s heart.

“You did so great out there!” You throw your arms around him.

“Thank you.” His cheeks turned red which didn’t go unnoticed by Jess, “Y/N, this is Andrews Jess, she conducted the postgame interview.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Nakajima Y/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” Jess said, feeling a tad bit awkward and blurted out the first thing she could think of, “You two make a lovely couple.”

“Oh no. No no no.” You shook your head, “We’re best friends. I’ve known Bo here forever.”

There was a slight shift in Bo’s demeanor but a shift nevertheless when a wave of sadness washes over his expression. He almost seems to have stiffened at the word ‘friend’ and somehow his hair seemed to have deflated. Jess tried not to think too much into it, she doesn’t know him or them at all.

“Y/N! Y/N!” Hinata waved from across the court.

“Hinata!” You waved back before heading over to meet Hinata.

“Did you see my spikes!?” He jumped up and down, “They were all swoosh bam!”

Jess looked back to Bo, “This is probably way out of line, but does she know?”

Bokuto frowned as his attention went back to Jess, “Does she know what?”

“That you have feelings for her?”

“I don’t…” He stopped when he saw the same look in her eyes that he’s seen in his, “No. She just got married.”

Previous/ Masterlist /Next

[misdre]

misi's beyblade AUs masterpost

i like making AUs, i have many of them, here's a post of them from oldest to newest. (at least approximately) (the ones that got no art of them have photos from unsplash. i just enjoy setting the mood)

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Magical boy AU takao is an ordinary middle schooler who one day gets dragoon the magical spinning top from a cute little azure dragon, seiryuu, and transforms into a magical boy to protect the world from evil for some cosmic reasons that i haven't come up with yet. the rest of the characters have similar powers from their holy beasts and takao needs to gather up his team to fight the evil and. you get the drill is there art of it? yes 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 is there a fic of it? no note: i originally created this just because i like designing the outfits so i haven't planned the story much (this used to be my main focus but then 4kingdoms happened GJSDHGHSDG) i'd want to though, i'll get back to it eventually...at some point...... one of the charm points of this AU is that the holy beasts are these digimon-like animals that hang out with the characters and each have their own personalities.

Fairy tale monster AU takao and gramps live in a cabin in the middle of a forest full of monsters and takao decides one day to venture out to look for a silver-haired boy he once saw, he meets up with the other BBA characters one by one in the grim woods. is there art of it? no is there a fic of it? yes note: my oldest halloween fic. the characters are all these different cute spooky creatures and it's intended to sound like a fairy tale.

One day, he determined that the time was ripe: Takao decided to leave for an adventure. For his grandfather was old, it was not at all unusual for him to lay down to bed before sundown. Once the hut had fallen in drowsy silence, Takao packed his one and only bag with what little he felt he needed, took his cap and jacket, and stepped over the doorsill. He had left the safe warmth of the hut behind.

Royal fantasyverse AU (the tale of four kingdoms) takes place in a fantasy universe with four kingdoms (east, west, south & north) created by the four holy beasts, in an era where each kingdom happens to be ruled by an exceptionally young king due to their respective circumstances. when the four meet for the first time, a snowball of events is set in motion that's going to affect all four kingdoms. is there art of it? yes 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 is there a fic of it? yes 1 / 2 note: like a period drama with magic and gay and tons of worldbuilding. probably has way too many mysteries for the boys to solve because i have no self control when it comes to creating twists. this is The one AU that i have crammed every usable canon character into, i need enough people to inhabit four fucking countries

After creating the four lands, the holy beasts created people to inhabit them. Because the beasts were celestial beings and couldn't but guard people and the world they lived in from far above, they needed human vessels to lead the four nations. Thus they created four kings who would rule over other people using the four beast’s powers. The four kings were neither human nor gods, but something between – they were messengers, or icons, of the four holy beasts.

Omegaverse AU a canon divergence AU (i guess??) where genders are replaced by A/B/O and everyone being either canine or feline. max is a late bloomer canine and finds out he's the only alpha of the BBA boys thanks to a certain feline omega. is there art of it? not really but i do have dog boy max and cat boy rei art (which are a bit too cute for this kinkfest. i mean they're obviously aged up for the real thing.) 1 / 2 is there a fic of it? it's been in the works for like, five years but i always shy away from finishing it note: it's omegaverse, it's exactly what you'd expect. the smut is so filthy i've been too embarrassed to even post it. hiromi is also an alpha by the way

Coffee shop AU highschooler rei goes on a venture to hit on a local Hot University Teacher and coffee shop owner judy in a cafe owned by her, ends up receiving a bunch of flirty cups of latte from barista max working there. is there art of it? no is there a fic of it? yes note: i mean, rei being into blonde MILFs is pretty much canon

Now that Rei looked at the boy more carefully, he realised his hair was just as fair and eyes just as blue as he knew Judy Mizuhara's to be. Maybe they were related? It wasn't that strange if Judy had hired a relative's kid to help out at the shop, right? He certainly looked American, but he had spoken Japanese. And then, all of a sudden, the boy turned to look back to him. Startled, Rei blinked his own golden brown eyes and shifted them back to his now empty cup. God, it was rude to stare at someone, wasn't it? He'd been too deep in thought to even notice doing it. Not that the boy had looked judgmental – he only seemed to wear a smile.

Soulmate AU max keeps having dreams with peculiar scenarios about a boy named rei. one day he borrows a book on soulmates from hiromi and finds a chapter talking about meeting your soulmate in the realm of dreams. is there art of it? no is there a fic of it? yes note: i don't even care for soulmate AUs, this was my own dare to myself to find a single soulmate trope that interested in me enough to write a thing of it.

Max was walking through a crowded airport, carrying a heavy backpack with him. He had never been to this airport in his life, but somehow he knew exactly where he was, and where he was supposed to go. And he was in a hurry, and Rei had at some point emerged from the crowd, as usual, keeping up with him without bumping into any of the people that should have blocked his way. “I'm sorry, this is probably my fault,” Rei said. “I haven't even travelled in ages anymore, but these dreams just keep coming back to haunt me.”

Chess player AU rei is a young chinese chess champion participating in the world junior championships, ends up falling for the american chess prodigy max somehow in the process and is determined to get to play against him again. is there art of it? no is there a fic of it? yes note: so this is one of the weirder ones i've done. it was inspired simply by me having a very vivid mental image of a scene of them playing dramatic chess together. this is probably my most underrated AU even by myself, i think the writing is pretty solid for such a short story of a topic i know practically nothing about

As a child, Rei had initially been taught to play xiàngqí, a Chinese game much more popular back in his home country; but chess with its refined, uniquely shaped pieces was love at first sight for the young Rei. He was a fast thinker and had amazing concentration skills once he set his mind on something, and he also had an outstanding memory, making it easy to memorise game patterns he once saw and then use them for his advantage. This all granted him natural talent in chess. But despite his skill, he had a bad habit of easily losing his temper and becoming indecisive once his focus wavered. Also, he was just a tad bit too sentimental. These traits often became his worst enemy in important matches, much worse than the actual opposing player. Keep your cool. Focus. Play well.

Flower shop + fake dating AU yuriy doesn't really know anything about flowers but is working part-time in a flower shop for the easy cash. he keeps getting a pair of weird customers who ask about flower language for hypothetical situations. is there art of it? not by myself and i don’t have a link to the fanart made of it unfortunately is there a fic of it? yes note: did i write this for valentine's day? i feel like i maybe did. this is my only AU (and fic in general) so far that's about a non-BBA character as the main lmao

“So, I need some advice for a particular situation,” the customer then began, idly tapping the counter with his hand. “I mean, not a real situation, of course – hypothetically speaking, if someone was just pretending to be going out with another person, but they weren't really going but it just needed to seem that way to everyone else, what kinda flowers would get the message through?” Possibly an idiot, Yuriy concluded his analysis. “So you need suitable flowers for a date,” he stated, shooting his eyes at his notes about common flower-usage.

Classical music AU (the heart that i love) max is a piano prodigy attending a classical music college that holds annual music competitions for the students. he's got some haters for being the son of a world-known pianist who's one of the teachers, but he also ends up having a budding romance with rei the mysterious chinese violinist. is there art of it? yes 1 / 2 is there a fic of it? yes note: the origin of this was my "max and mao are besties" college AU. then it got mixed in with my thirst for classical instruments and max being bullied.

Max isn’t exactly a synesthet, but he has always been able to see music as pictures – as entire sceneries, as great adventures. This tendency of his emerges especially strong whenever he’s learning to play a new piece on the piano; as he moves along the melody, the scenery is also being built around him like a jigsaw puzzle, creating a complete picture piece by piece; and once he has mastered the song, he’s able to freely traverse and immerse himself in the world inside that puzzle. Some pieces have a more relaxed or soothing scenery than others, some are exciting and thrilling – even deliciously sinister in the way that a good horror film can be. Setting himself down in front of a piano is always an invitation to a world of his choice.

Bakeneko AU after moving to a small rural town in japan, max hits his head and starts seeing things, such as a weird white cat following him around. after a while, he's convinced that he's being haunted. is there art of it? yes is there a fic of it? yes note: another halloween AU, a more surreal one where max is human and rei is. well. not

Max kept walking, his eyes still on the narrow road. He hadn't noticed while deep in thought, but it really was quiet that evening. The sun had nearly set by now, leaving the sky striped with the dusk of the approaching nightfall. There was no wind to rustle the treetops, no birds chirping, nothing. Only the sound of Max's own footsteps on the pavement, and the matching sound that followed. Followed. What if someone actually was following him? A sudden, violent chill struck down Max's spine, causing his hair to stand on end. He stopped. After a short delay, the steps also stopped.

Genderbend AU a canon divergence AU where everyone's a different gender from canon (duh). starts off as an alternate version of the g-revolution world championships where the girls meet for the first time and befriend each other. rei is a professional model in addition to being a blader in the baihus, and max from the PPB is delighted to be able to battle her. she has no idea that rei has fallen for her at first sight, though. is there art of it? yes 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 is there a fic of it? it's... in the works. note: i created this because i wanted to design attractive girls, what about it. absolutely partial to maxine's huge badonkadonks.

It wasn’t like Rei hadn’t already taken notice of her before, given that they were participating in the same world championship tournament, but the real turning point was the first time they stood on the opposing sides of a bey stadium. It was the day when the match-up roster signalled the match between the Chinese team and the American team, the Baihus versus the PPB All Starz; and despite both teams consisting of five players, it came down to, to Rei’s immense joy, the tag team of Rai and herself against the two most interesting US players, Rikki Anderson and Mizuhara Maxine.

Vampire & merboy AU rei is a starved vampire just about to end his own life when he meets merboy max at a forest lake. is there art of it? of max yes is there a fic of it? yes note: yet another halloween monster AU, this time they are both monsters though. this one’s a pretty grim one i have to admit

Rei succumbed into deep thought, considering his few options, when something grabbed his unsuspecting hand. Something yanked him forward in one mad splash and forced not only the rest of his arm but also his shoulders and head underwater. Half a second later Rei, so badly startled that he’d come close to slipping into insanity, found himself staring at a pair of bright blue eyes only inches away from his own face. His other hand and lower body still firmly on land, Rei pulled himself back with strength that he didn’t even know his weak body still contained. As he did, he also pulled up whatever was clutching his hand, which turned out to be another hand – a white hand with elongated, dirty fingers, so sharp at the tips that they looked like daggers.

Mafia AU max is the boss of the BBA mafia family, rei is a hitman and max's right hand man, the rest have various roles in the organisation. salima, mariam and some other girls (at least) are reporters doing investigative journalism on organised crime who get interested in covering the story of a group of russian elite detectives doing a thorough investigation of the BBA. is there art of it? of rei and max yes 1 / 2 / 3 is there a fic of it? it's in the works but it's just a gratuitous reimax smut note: this is a story i wish existed but this kind of police investigation action thing is so not my genre of expertise. that's why i'm just doing a PWP of my boys and the rest exists on conceptual level

“Did you know,” Salima said, perfectly peppy about it, “that there are secret underground auctions for stolen artwork that’s sold in the black market? Not just online auctions in the dark web but actual, physical events held somewhere in the city! Isn’t that so intriguing? Can you imagine how an event like that would look like, Max?” Max can – in fact, he doesn’t need to imagine. But he’d rather not think about it; the memories bring the familiar taste of bile in his mouth and make his gut curdle with a mixture of disgust and very particular guilt. The mere thought of it makes him set his coffee aside and bring a hand between his tightly shut eyes.

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the next thing i come up with? who knows............

[zalrb]

What’s a movie or show that everyone loves that you don’t think thats good

Those are a lot of movies, lmao.

I remember when everyone was gushing about The Town and I was like, it's a typical bank robber movie, why is this getting lauded?

Honestly, kind of anything from Guillermo del Toro, which I know is blasphemy but every time I watch a movie of his I'm like, I expected to be way more moved than I was, the only movie that has stayed with me was Pan's Labyrinth but I remember everyone going OFF about Shape of Water and I was like .... I guess? I just feel like it's pretty.

I haven't spoken about this in years because it created this whole thing on my blog but I really fucking hate Frozen and I think Tangled was better.

I expected Brave to be much better.

Any Marvel movie that isn't Black Panther, Ragnarok and even though most of the cast is shitty the first GotG.

I didn't think American Hustle was that great and I was disappointed because I went in expecting to love it.

In the Jennifer Lawrence vein, I don't dislike Silver Linings Playbook, I just think it was way overhyped for something that was, at most, decent.

OK this one is different because unless you're racist, you don't love Birth of a Nation but I'm including it because I'm tired of film school/cinema programs including it in the syllabus. I had to watch that movie at least once a year in undergrad because every film class played it.

I found Inglorious Basterds to be pretty forgettable tbh and while I actually do like Christoph Waltz's performance and his other performances, I think Hans Landa is an overrated villain.

The Harry Potter movies are like, it's not that I don't love them because I have so much childhood nostalgia wrapped up in them and me and my friends were kind of a mess about the last movie coming out because it meant the end of something for us, but after I would say the third movie, they're not good movies and I feel like we should be honest about that. There was a slight return to form in Part 1 of the Deathly Hallows although people got bored with the camping sequences but yeah.

I didn't see La La Land but I just know in my bones that if I ever did see it I would just be like, oh.

I haven't watched much Hitchcock but I feel like I'm just not a fan based on what I have seen i.e. North by Northwest, I wanted to riot in my class. That stupid fucking plane.

I should rewatch Black Swan but I remember when I did watch it I was like THIS is what everyone is freaking out over? Anyway.

I concede that Mad Max Fury Road is a visual spectacle but that's all it is so everyone freaking out about it had me like, it just does some cool things here and there, why is this an AMAZING movie?

Avatar is just a horrible movie.

Crash is so extremely racist while pretending not to be racist and it was SO lauded.

I think Spencer was a pretty film but I think people overhyped Kristen's performance in it, so much work seemed to be trying to sound like Diana and it just became a breathy mess imo.

And finally, Encanto. I went back and forth with a lot of anons about this one, but the structure and narrative of this movie was a complete mess.

And just in case this becomes another Frozen incident, I'm just linking the back-and-forths I did with anons here so people can read them if they want:

[ihatecoconut]

Bye, bye, Miss American Pie

Cross posted to AO3

“Home.” Melina says and the word sends an electric shock through Natasha.

Yelena giggles beside her. “You’re silly, mommy, we just left home.”

She cranes her head back to catch a final glimpse of the paradise they’re leaving, the house that she had called home for three beautiful years as it fades out of view, like it never really existed. It’s still early enough in the evening that people are still outside, neighbours and people they had called friends looking up, confused, at their frantic flight. She turns back to the front, doesn’t allow any of them to make eye contact with her and listens to Yelena singing along to the radio.

Bye, bye, Miss American Pie.

Natasha closes her hands into fists, doesn’t allow herself to cry- where they’re going, any emotion will be punished- and in doing so reminds herself of the photo strip she had grabbed as Alexei and Melina herded them out of the house.

Still, something lightens in her, at the reminder that they’re going home, something is relieved that the charade that they have been performing is finally over, even as her chest tightens in fear. Is that what home means? A confusing cocktail of emotions.

She hears the squealing of tires behind them, sees the flashing lights chasing and knows then, as she didn’t quite realise as they left, that there is no going back to what they had. Either they return to the Red Room and have their family dismantled, or they all spend the rest of their lives in an American federal jail.

Yelena smells like sunshine and grass next to her, a little girl who enjoys playing outside with no care in the world and Natasha wants to hug her, wants to wrap her arms around that little girl and hold her tight enough that nothing can ever hurt them, but the car is pulling to a stop and the lights are getting closer, the plane is revealed.

The popping sound of gunfire, coming from behind them as they clamber up into the plane is almost soothing. It’s a noise that she knows how to work to, a noise that has always come with complete focus and so she works with Melina and Alexei. A team now, not a family, escaping from their mission.

Even the smell of blood, when Melina gets shot is familiar in a calming way and she’s already prepared to take over when Melina whispers faintly that she needs her help. The controls are steady under her hands and she remembers brief and basic training on how to use one, pulling and pushing even as Melina murmurs orders, until they’re in the air, Alexei on the wing and Yelena quiet in the back. SHIELD didn’t bring a plane.

They’re free.

The elation at a mission well accomplished keeps her buoyant until they land in Cuba, lets her forget what’s coming next until she’s faced with Dreykov himself, a cigar in his hand and a satisfied smile on his face.

Please. She thinks, waving the gun at his men, even while knowing that she won’t shoot them, that she’s too afraid of his punishment. Please don’t take her.

She shields Yelena with her body, pulls the two of them back until Alexei kneels in front of her, smiles, and calls her sweetheart in the way he did when pretending to be her father and she’s only eleven. Melina is already gone, on her way to get medical help and that means that Alexei is the only one who has ever shown her any parental affection, no matter how fake it might be and so, with tears in her eyes and her bottom lip shaking, she hands him the gun and feels the sedative begin to take effect.

They’ve given her the same dosage as before, enough to knock an eight year old out immediately, but not quite an eleven year old. It takes longer. Just before her body slumps and she looses all control, she hears Dreykov’s voice.

“She’s got fire. What’s her name?”

And then Alexei. “Natasha.”

Natalia. She thinks. Not Natasha.

She doesn’t know it then, but she will never be Natalia again.

 The Red Room is familiar, the faces are not but they all have the same training. The handlers are different from three years ago and these ones don’t know her, haven’t seen her fight enough to favour her.

They take Yelena somewhere else, don’t tell her where, and the only thing that keeps her from breaking down over loosing her sister is the knowledge that they are still connected by the two halves of that photo strip.

Take it! Take it, please!

She thinks about Yelena nearly every minute of every day for the first week that she’s back. Wonders if she too is being forced to shoot at targets, black and red circles that eventually get replaced with people. Wonders how Yelena is doing at hand to hand, if she is already developing the skills to survive in a ring. Curls up on her bed, hand back in its cuff, grateful she never got out of the habit of sleeping with it above the headboard and imagines the nights when Yelena’s dreams would remember the Red Room and she would crawl into Natasha’s bed. Misses her warmth on the nights that the handlers leave them cold.

Nearly asks a few times, what happened to her, where she is, but always remembers the price of affection. Remembers being forced to kill the older girl who had shown her kindness, the way the girl had only feebly batted her limbs away and gone limp immediately when Natasha got an arm around her throat. She doesn’t think that she would be able to do that.

And then the end of the month comes and with it, the death matches. Natasha kills three girls in two days, curls up in bed with their blood under her fingernails and realises that she hasn’t thought about Yelena in nearly a week.

 Melina still comes by the Red Room, still reports to Dreykov fairly regularly and she still stops to watch the younger Widows train. Natasha knows she stands out, knows that her red hair means that most people look to her immediately in a sea of blondes and brunettes, but Melina’s gaze skips over her, their eyes never meet.

There is nothing left there of the woman who kissed Yelena’s scraped knee on the evening they left, of the woman who cooked them homemade meals and grated cheese over them to her liking. There is nothing there that Natasha can hold on to.

It’s a relief, somehow that Melina returns to her cold, empty shell, because Natasha isn’t certain that she wouldn’t throw herself at her and beg to be hugged, to be tucked into bed if she thought that there was anything left of the mother in there. Does Melina see Yelena? Does her gaze skip over her second daughter as well?

Fake. Fake daughter.

Tears don’t come to her eyes anymore. She kills without hesitation, shoots victims that the handlers bring in and the other girls without discrimination and promises herself that she will not (will not) become what the Red Room wants, will always keep her heart. 

It isn’t until years later, when she hasn’t thought of their family in too long, when she realises that Yelena always kept her half of the photo strip, when she thinks of the little girl she used as bait that Natasha realises they succeeded.

[lunmelia]

Some more Team Free Will raising Jack

Taking a break from recording all of Dean and Sam’s injuries, time for some more raising Jack headcanons

----

It takes a village to raise a nephil. Cas, Dean, Sam and Mary manage as best they can, but once Ketch hands Gabriel over and they convince a handful of angels to be on their side, it becomes significantly easier. Mostly everyone, even Gabriel, are still pretty clueless though. No one’s ever really attempted to raise a nephil before. Except maybe the Queen of Sheba, but there’s basically no evidence of how she was raised, and the angels don’t know a thing since she was somehow successfully hidden from them. So, really they just gain additional babysitters who can give only theories on how to raise Jack. But nonetheless, the bunker becomes Raising Jack Central, angels popping in and out, some staying permanently, hunters visiting and pitching in, even some demons wanna check out the child of the devil, though they’re promptly told to fuck off.  -- The angels react to Jack in different ways. Some immediately want to kill him, he’s an abomination and that’s just what they do to nephilim. Some approach him cautiously like he’s a ticking time bomb. Some look like they want to vomit at the sight of him. Some look at him with hope, like he’s their new saviour. Some look at him like they’re just confused, trying to figure out how and why he exists. One of the confused angels held Jack, turned him this way and that before they tipped him upside down and gave him a shake. That resulted in an explosion of sound as Jack started crying, and Dean, Cas and Sam jumped in to snatch Jack from the angel. Dean held Jack closely to his chest while giving the angel the stink eye and Cas fussed over the baby.  -- Jack was kept in and around the bunker for the first 7 years of his life, raised by angels and hunters who are human but sometimes don’t act like they are. He was mostly kept in the bunker and the house because it takes a lot to convince a nephil to not use their true voice when they have a tantrum. By the time Jack reaches 8-years-old, he finally understands that if he wants to scream and cry with his true voice, he has to do it in the safety of the bunker.  -- Being raised in a secluded bunker and a house by angels and hunters is just another cause to how weird Jack is. He either blinks too much or not enough, and he sometimes looks at you like he’s inspecting your soul (which he is). And he just sounds. off. Most of the time he sounds american, but no one can pinpoint where in america. He almost sounds like he’s from everywhere in america. But sometimes he sounds like he’s from england. His teachers can’t tell if he’s pretending or if he really does just sound like that. They become even more confused when they meet Dean and Cas, and Sam, and Mary because they can clearly tell where his guardians are from, so why does he always sound so off?? -- Sometimes he calls Dean and Cas dad or father, but actually he just calls them Dean and Cas a lot of the time. He understands that they’re his dads, but no one else ever calls them dad?? Everyone else refers to them as Dean and Cas, those are their names, so he just. calls them by their names. simple as that. On the same note, he actually refers to Mary as ‘mom’ a lot because Dean and Sam, and sometimes even Cas, call her that all the time. It actually took him a longer time to understand that her name wasn’t mom but Mary, than it did to understand that his dads’ names were Dean and Cas.  Other kids ask him why he doesn’t call his dads ‘dad’ and he just shrugs and goes ‘those are their names’.  -- Jack with his insane dad Cas and his equally insane uncle Sam. Jack, as the first nephil who is being actively raised by hunters and angels alike, is a complete mystery. And Cas and Sam love a mystery. They never do anything that will physically or mentally harm Jack, but they do perform tiny little experiments. Dean comes home one day and finds Cas and Sam lying flat on their stomachs on the floor, a two-year-old Jack between them and they’re all staring at a pencil. Dean: ... what are you doing? Sam: trying to see if he’ll move this pencil with his mind Dean: *flashback to that one time he walked in on Cas jumping off a roof to see if Sam could catch him with his telekinetic powers* Dean: oohhhh no. no no no no you don’t! you’re not experimenting on my baby! -- Sam: ... I wonder what would happen if I drank nephil blood? Cas: ... we’ll wait until Jack’s older for that one -- Dean: yeah he hit the ball and it just went... it disappeared into the sky. He broke the bat Sam: you WHAT!? Cas: how far do you think the ball went? Jack: personally I think it went into space Sam, getting up from where he was sitting: we gotta test this right now -- 16-year-old Jack: ... could I escape holy fire? Cas and Sam: *eyes slowly widening* Dean: don’t you dare- Sam: I’ll get the holy oil! Cas: I’ll get the lighter, Jack go stand outside Jack: okay!  -- Did you ever have those friends in primary school who were smaller than you but they were so strong they lifted you up and spun you around? Because I did. Anyways Jack lifts Dean up when he’s like 11 because uncle Sam told him to and Dean just screams.  -- Eileen being able to be around baby Jack when he’s throwing a tantrum because she literally can’t hear him. She holds him and smiles and Jack goes quiet and frowns because even though he’s a baby he knows the difference between a human and an angel, and the humans are always either wincing when he cries or wearing things in their ears, but this human is just holding him and smiling? Huh?? So he just becomes quiet around Eileen because he’s so confused as to why she’s not reacting and he starts to become excited whenever he sees her and she’s definitely his favourite aunt. -- Sam and Eileen’s kids are just as weird as Jack. Maybe a little less so, but look they were also raised around angels and hunters, have an angel as an uncle and a nephil as a cousin. They’re a bit weird.  -- If Sam and Eileen do have multiple kids, Jack definitely holds all of them at once and parades them around like “look! look at my cousins! I have cousins! these are my cousins!!” with a beaming smile. He’s so happy to have cousins because he’s always been the youngest! He’s never been around kids that are younger than him! He’s so curious and when he held his first-born cousin for the first time when he was 5 he just stared in awe because it was the first time he’s seen a baby! Babies are tiny! And their souls are so bright! He couldn’t stop staring and asking questions like “how did they come out?” “what do they do now?” “can they see? they haven’t opened their eyes” “do they know who I am? Do they know who you are? Should I introduce myself!? Have you guys introduced yourselves? What if they don’t know you’re their parents you should probably introduce yourself” 

[chiseler]

Hero of Our Nation

I first encountered Roger Ramjet on a Chicago public access station in 1983. It was part of an early morning show apparently aimed at stoner insomniacs. The show came on at five and also included episodes of Lancelot Link, Secret Chimp, that awful Beatles cartoon, and a weather report clarified by some appropriate pop song (“Here Comes the Sun” or “Here Comes the Rain Again”). I was usually up and around that early for some godforsaken reason, and originally started watching on account of Lancelot Link. Always did love that Lancelot Link. But Roger Ramjet was, well, let’s just say it was a revelation.

Roger Ramjet, “ that All-American good guy and devil may care flying fool” (as he compulsively introduces himself) was a none too bright and none too coordinated drug-dependent space age superhero in an ongoing battle against the assorted forces of evil (or more specifically, N.A.S.T.Y.) to preserve the American Way of Life. He was square-jawed, straight-laced, straight-faced, and True Blue if little else, so hyper-patriotic that nearly every time his name is spoken aloud an American flag, a bald eagle, or a rotating ring of stars appears on the screen. After catching one or two episodes, I forgot all about Lancelot Link.

The show was easy to overlook, especially when squeezed between the Beatles and some secret agent chimps with a psychedelic band. The episodes were only five minutes long (maybe seven with the abrasive theme song filling out the opening and closing credits), and were so crudely drawn and animated it might at a glance seem like something a couple of junior high school kids threw together in their basement one weekend. The shows were so primitive they hardly bothered with niceties like “backgrounds” satisfied instead to settle for rudimentary suggestions of a setting. But the writing was so sharp and the voice talent so good what it really felt like, if you paid attention, was a spoof of a ‘40s radio serial like Sky King or Gangbusters, complete with a soap opera organ and illustrated by a handful of jerky drawings scratched out by someone’s kid. People who thought Jay Ward’s Bullwinkle and Dudley Do-Right were crude when compared with the output from Disney or Warner Brothers had no idea what “crude” meant. 

Looking at it today what it reminds me of more than anything are the paper cutout animations of the earliest episodes of South Park, before they upgraded to Flash. Along with the lo-fi stylistics, the humor was clearly aimed at an adult audience while pretending otherwise.  You may not find any child molestation jokes or crass religious cracks in Roger Ramjet, but for 1965 the lightning-fast humor was pretty hepcat and sophisticated, with undisguised satirical references to the Cold War, Central American turmoil, and the  Vietnam War (“Hey kids, this is Roger Ramjet,” demanding that you stay tuned to this station to see my next adventure,” Roger announces in his commanding superhero baritone. “Or I’ll see to it that all you little rascals are drafted.”) . Mixed in with the topical jokes we also get some highly unlikely name drops, from Noel Coward and Henry Cabot Lodge to James Joyce and bawdy nightclub performer Rusty Warren, as well as film parodies and  literary nods to the likes of Catch-22 and Catcher in the Rye.  It’s also a little less than what you might call racially sensitive by modern standards (consider Mexican revolutionaries The Enchilada Brothers, Beef and Chicken).

While a lot of the more timely jokes might be lost in the murk of the over 50 years since it first aired, there’s plenty of rapid-fire absurdity that’s timeless, from the misspelled title cards punctuating the narration to the self-consciously dumb coked-up adventures.

Bullwinkle aired from ‘61 to ‘64. Roger Ramjet came along a year later and Jay Ward’s influence is undeniable. The difference was Roger Ramjet crammed the equivalent number of bad jokes, references, and plot twists of a typical 8-part Bullwinkle serial into each five-minute episode, both mirroring the rapid-fire screwball dialogue of the ‘30s and the frenetic quick-cut comedy to come along a year or two later in shows like The Monkees and Laugh-In.

The episodes were produced with essentially no budget and were cranked out very quickly by a small team of writers, voiceover artists and animators with solid day jobs in radio and TV. They were all seasoned pros, some dating back to the days of classic radio, who worked on the show after hours as a way of letting off a little steam and tossing around a few cynical, subversive  cultural jabs their day jobs wouldn’t allow. The show was created originally by animator Fred Crippen  (who went on to work on some pretty dreadful crap like the Extreme Ghostbusters  and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles) and Ken Snyder, an ad exec who moved over into producing cartoons. They brought in a remarkable team of voice talent and comedy writers, including Gene Moss (the voice of Smokey the Bear) Jim Thurmam (who did a lot of kids shows including Sesame Street), Dick Beals (the original voice of Gumby), and the great Gary Owens, a drive-time deejay in LA who would get national recognition soon enough as the on-screen announcer for Laugh-In. Although they would all get specific credits in the end (Crippen as director, Moss as a writer) it was a communal effort, in which everyone contributed to the writing, and everyone, even the executive producer, did a few of the voices. Apart from the regular crew, careful listeners might also catch a few uncredited guest appearances by some surprisingly big names (I’m told Sinatra and Dean Martin appear in an episode, but I’m still looking for that one). Owens was the star, though, as his ability to read the most ridiculous lines in a dramatic deadpan made him the perfect Roger Ramjet. Together they made 156 episodes (about 150 still exist), which were sold directly into syndication in ‘65 as half hour shows, each containing three unconnected adventures. I can’t say as I’m exactly sure who they thought their target audience was at the time, except maybe each other.

Much like William Conrad in Bullwinkle, each show opened with our narrator, Steve Allen alum Dave Ketchum, setting the mood and the scene (“In today’s depressing episode,” he’d begin with dramatic enthusiasm, or maybe it was an “existentialist episode,” “phlegmatic episode,” “rickety episode,”  “hairy episode,” or “ethnic episode”). Then we’re out of the gate at a breakneck pace, with a flurry of gags coming from every direction. “Ramjet rode into Boot Hill,” we’re told,  “where the men were men and the women were men, which can get pretty old after awhile.”

While none of the shows are connected, there are a few recurring characters and locations worth remembering: Roger hails from Lompoc, an actual California town (“where nothing ever happens, and seldom does”) and  takes his orders from General G.I. Brassbottom, a no nonsense military man who “hadn’t had an original idea since he was a civilian.” He’s also assisted by Yank, Doodle, Dan, and Dee, the unusually chubby  kids who make up the American Eagle squadron. Like Roger, all the members of the squadron wear their white jumpsuits and flight helmets at all times (Roger even wears his helmet on dates), and in true superhero sidekick fashion, their primary job is to get Roger out of scrapes and make sure his drugs are handy. 

That’s one little detail more than a few casual viewers have taken umbrage with. Roger, see, is a pretty hapless character most of the time, but he repeatedly saves the world thanks to a little help from his Proton Energy Pills (PEP), which take five seconds to kick in, then give him the strength of 20 A-Bombs for 20 seconds. Modern viewers seem a little uncomfortable with the idea of a superhero gulping amphetamines in order to function, but all I can say is, well, it was a different time, and hey, it worked for Roger and Elvis both.

The proton energy pills come in handy when dealing with his arch-nemesis Noodles Romanoff, the short, trench coat and fedora wearing head of N.A.S.T.Y. (the National Association of Spies, Traitors, and Yahoos). Romanoff may not have a Natasha, but he does have a gang of cronies and thugs who all mumble in unison (save for one, who can’t seem to get the rhythm). 

Along with Romanoff and his gang, Roger also has to contend with some lanky alien robots, the Solenoids (voiced by executive priducer Ken Snyder), and their repeated efforts to invade the planet in assorted ridiculous ways (in one episode, they begin kidnapping all the Miss America contestants, who “were disappearing faster than co-eds at a Dartmouth weekend.”)

When not saving the world, Roger found himself competing with the smarmy hotshot test pilot Lance Crossfire (who sounds an awful lot like burt Lancaster) for the affections of Lotta Love, the fickle Southern belle with a taste for the finer things in life.

Then there are the adventures themselves. Some seem standard superhero fare, but only to a point. Earth is besieged by flying saucer attacks (sort of). Roger’s hometown is terrorized by a werewolf (sort of). Roger plays tennis with a kangaroo, or becomes the first man to surf in space,  or, in a personal favorite, attempts to stop the flow of bootleg comic books into America’s drug stores.

Actually, there’s an interesting moment in that one that revealed just how subtle you could be even with animation this unsophisticated. Okay, so Noodles Romanoff, see, is replacing real comics in drug store racks with bootlegs in which popular superheroes are humiliated, all in an effort to destroy the morale of America’s children. After Brassbottom shows Roger a few examples (the issues include “Superman Gets Beat Up by a Chicken!” and “Ratman Stubs His Toe!”) he explains that if this sort of thing continues, “America’s kids won’t have anyone to look up to except YOU, Ramjet.” Then, for just an instant in that crude and jerky style, Roger cuts his eyes toward the camera, revealing in that moment everything we needed to know, namely that it’s what he’s always wanted.

Thirty years on and that still sticks with me.

In the end, though, the characters and storylines are secondary at best In Roger Ramjet. At heart it’s  a matter of trying to keep up with all the lightning-quick  jokes and wordplay, the non-sequiturs and references. In the five minute span of one cowboy-themed episode I counted nods to at least seven classic Western films, from High Noon to She Wore a Yellow Ribbon, and I suspect I missed a few. It really is such a dizzying blur of dialogue and bad puns and cultural references, sometimes, christ, even just references to old jokes that take the form of bad puns (“Waiter, there’s a spy in my soup” or “how many angels can swim in the head of a beer?”), that absurd as it all is, repeated viewings are a necessity to catch everything. It’s a bit like having the complete contents of an issue of MAD magazine jammed onto a single page. It can make your head hurt after a while, but it’s worth it. Whether the density and the pace make it better or worse for stoner viewing is something, I guess, each stoner will need to answer for him or herself. Lots of bright colors, though.

In 1965 there was nothing new about making cartoons with adult sensibilities in mind. Betty Boop and Bugs Bunny were made to be shown as short subjects to largely adult audiences. Jay Ward’s cartoons a few decades down the line were near-revolutionary for smuggling hip, subversive political humor into what had become an exclusively child-friendly format. What made Roger Ramjet so radical was it’s blend of ‘30s radio style with mid-’60s cynicism, as well as its foreshadowing of our shrinking attention spans, a hyper-condensed proton pill of comedy and commentary disguised as just another dumb, low-rent superhero cartoon. Although it’s barely remembered today, its influence is still evident in most any subversive animated show you can name, even if they’ve slowed things down a bit.

by Jim Knipfel