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bvnnetts · 2 years

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INTRODUCING

✿ * · ( danny griffin , cis man , he / him ) a little birdy told me BENNETT GRAYSON just moved to sunset hills . have you met them yet ? they look somewhere around TWENTY-TWO, if i had to guess ! pretty sure i heard them driving down the street playing ‘ TAKE A CHANCE ON ME ‘ by ABBA , they sounded a little pitchy but they had the spirit ! must be their favorite or something . hey … it looks like they just moved into MIDNIGHT PARK ROOM 205 . have you heard about what they do for a living ? someone told me they’re a BIOLOGY MAJOR , but who knows if that’s even true . guess we’re just gonna have to wait and see . nervous ? oh shit , maybe you should be . sunset speaks just posted about them … apparently they're RESIDENT 023 ? between you and me , i think that might spark some things in the community … but what do i know ! you guys might get along just fine ! ( ck , they / them , 21+ , est . ) — full app !

HIGHLIGHTS

a small-town boy who embraces that boy next door vibe ; plays defense for the mens hockey team & despite his tendency and preference to slip under the radar with not-flashy play ( very similar to how he is off the ice too ), he has a future in the nhl when he finishes his current and last year of college ; noted horse-lover ( & animal lover in general ), and if the nhl doesn’t work out, maybe vet school will ; generally good-natured & protective of those he loves, humble but private about most details in his life — not because he has something to hide, but because he doesn’t like to share ; can be hard on himself at times when he feels the pressure in spit of trying to take everything in stride, and unfortunately that manifests in not to tending the relationships in his life ( for better or worse ).

THE STORY

— born and raised in the state of CHEESE ( aka. wisconsin ). very much a small town boy, spending the majority of his life in fox lake, wisconsin on his parents’ horse ranch & rescue. didn’t have a lavish life, but had a good upbringing — albeit a little hard at times. super active childhood, horseback riding and lots of sports considering he had a lot of energy to spend. winter brought a ton of pond hockey with other local kids and that’s where his love for the sport first began.

— turned out pretty good at it. his growth spurt seemed more a hindrance than anything but eventually he grew into his new long limbs and was stronger for it. eventually become a us national team development boy, moved away at sixteen to play with the team in michigan. it was a very eye opening experience for him considering he’d barely left his small cheese town.

— playing hockey at wisc.onsin-madison was always a dream of his, but sunset hills men’s ice hockey team came along with an offer he couldn’t refuse and he ended up signing a commitment to play there. he was drafted in the second round of the nhl draft to the minnesota wi.ld not long after his eighteenth birthday, but sometimes life takes you in a different direction and part of growing up is accepting that.

— it wasn’t long after that bennett realized things were moving at a whirlwind pace and he needed to orient and ground himself. he ended up deferring his attendance at sunset hills and accepting another offer from the ushl ( city tbd ), spending a year playing in amateur junior instead. it ultimately was the right thing for him at the time and by the time the season concluded --- and he was also mentally in the right place to accept his attendance at sunset hills.

— he was offered his elc at the conclusion of his junior year, but he felt it was important to take that last year of college to finish his degree & be the best prepared he could be for the big leagues. bennett is now entering his final year at sunset hills and is very happy with his decision. he plays defense for the men’s ice hockey team and is definitely just making the best of his final year.

PRESENT DAY

— part of bennett just wants to make his last year at sunset hills the best it can be : just a normal year with no looming deadline at the end of it. but the more he pretends not to see it, the more the opposite happens. he wants to play in the nhl, of course, but there’s something to be said of hanging onto the last bits of normalcy. he likes his life now —even if schoolwork can be a bit overwhelming at times— and perhaps, this unknown scares him more than he’d like to let on.

— he lives in midnight park though he probably could have afforded a nicer place with his pay raise coming soon, but it’s all in the name of normalcy. it’s familiar and comfortable — and his roommate is pretty nice too he supposes. the apartment is the same one he lived in his junior year as well.

— you can often find bennett at the animal shelter in his little free time. he doesn’t really have the steady time to volunteer regularly, but he walks the dogs and plays with the cats.

— he misses horseback riding a lot. so if he spends some of that money he’s saving by staying in midnight park with a roommate at the stables taking one of their beauties out for a ride — you can’t blame him for that either.

— not inherently an early riser, but bennett does get up early. it makes him feel much more productive and it’s important to use every hour of the day.

— studies more than people give him credit for, but that’s okay, bennett’s always enjoyed slipping under the radar.

— hang outs : the gym, the rink, various coffee shops trying to get work done, plant shops & nurseries always looking but rarely buying, animal shelters, petting random dogs at the beach if their owners say it’s okay

— hobbies : hockey, yoga, horseback riding, cheese tasting ( unironically ), long walks on the beach ( unironically ), looking for the best pizza joint, making omelets, bouldering,

PERSONALITY

— private : bennett isn’t one to share details of his life that he deems private. perhaps it’s in part due to his upbringing and his parents’ values, but he’s often believed that live is meant to be lived, not broadcasted. it’s not so much that he looks down on those that do, but he does expect his privacy to be respected. he enjoys slipping under the radar, always one to deflect praise and let someone else shine in the spotlight. said things are reflective in his style of hockey play as well. however, said things shouldn’t be confused with being naive or a pushover either.

— self - analytical : love for a sport has meant facing a great deal of critique. bennett has long learned to take such things in stride --- and at times, perhaps takes things too far. it’s less that he things so little of himself, and rather he always believes in constant improvement, and that extends to beyond the rink as well. he was naive when he first left home, there’s no denying it, and perhaps the experiences he faced then and the re-calibration of his world had left a great impression on him. even know, bennett doesn’t doubt he still has a lot to learn about himself.

— humble : perhaps this ties into both of the traits above. bennett isn’t one to brag or to think too highly of himself. he just is and he’s not one to broadcast his accomplishments. he’s notably inactive on socal media, though he is on the main platforms... with mostly blank accounts. he’s quick to deflect praise to others, and one to embrace the team mentality.

— protective : anyone who’s seen bennett play or has played with him would know this. he looks out for the team, always one to butt in with things get a little to physical. he wouldn’t consider himself a fighter, but given the right reasons and provocation, he would.

— bennett is very much the boy next door, someone people trust and want to trust. gives a helping hand when necessary without overstepping and is a good person to hug when things go wrong. he is very much what people need him to be and that has at times caused him to question his own self-identity. hockey has helped him, especially as his play has evolved and more or less settled, giving him something tangible to hold onto.

— not surprisingly though, his on-ice style of play doesn’t often match his off-ice one. he’s not a physical person, not one to make his presence known. make no mistake, he is very much the same person, but the ice allows for certain things to be presented more. his on-ice physicality shouldn’t be confused with some hidden aggression, it’s simply his preferred style of play : he’s rather level-headed, both on and off the ice.

APPEARANCE

— 6′1″, 189 lbs

— blond hair that tries to be styled but is prone to getting tousled. blue eyes, deep blue not electric.

— style trends toward non-descript. mostly plain t-shirts and pants, but they’re often slim fit and fit very well, helped by the muscle he continues to put on. sneakers always, slides sometimes. doesn’t lean to much into stereotypical “athlete” unless he’s going to practice / the gym. practical clothing in general. on occasion, he does love a good playful printed button down shirt.

MISC HEADCANONS

— biology major : if the nhl wasn’t in the cards for his future, perhaps vet school was. of course, the nhl has worked out for bennett so far, but he still harbors a deep love for animals. summers are often spent helping animal shelters or on his parents’ ranch.

— can’t focus when it’s dead quiet. bennett is someone who always need ambient noise, hence his penchant for studying in cafes ( that and the lattes ). when he’s in his apartment, diners drive-in and dives is usually on in the background while he’s studying.

— only know english ( also speaks hockey though ). took a fair number of german courses through high school and college, but his language skills with it remain between elementary and conversational.

— capable but average in the kitchen. has the basic needs to survive fine, but isn’t a chef by any means. enjoys baking, but only simple & straight forward recipes ( eg. chocolate chip cookies, brownies, banana bread, etc ). loves cheese a bit too much.

— genuinely likes green smoothies

— packers’ fan i guess

— a mix of skill, demeanor, and yes, looks, have endeared him with fans

— takes notes by hand when possible and while they’re certainly not an aesthetic thing to behold, they are neater than expected.

— bisexual and you can thank the usnt.dp for that.

— a stripe of rainbow tape lives permanently at the bottom of the handle of all his sticks

HOCKEY NOTES

— a right-handed d-man, leans toward the classic style of defense with an emphasis on shutdown capabilities. the person who’s on the ice protecting a one goal lead with forty seconds left and the other team’s goalie pulled. kills penalties, stay at home tendencies but with a vision, hockey iq, and passing skills that still makes him compatible with the rising “offensive defenseman” breakout model. plays a physical but clean game. pairs best with more offensive minded defenseman, can be trusted to fall back and has the wheels to get back to protect the net after a rush. from the state of cheese but absolutely not a rat. you wouldn’t try to stop a freight train would you

— comparables : jacob trou.ba, ryan mc.donagh, charlie mc.avoy

— accolades : team usa iihf 2020 world juni.ors championship ( gold )

TIMELINE

FALL 2022 - PRESENT : senior, age 22 ( sunset hills university ) FALL 2021 - SPRING 2022 : junior, age 21 ( sunset hills university ) DECEMBER 2020 : world juniors championship FALL 2020 - SPRING 2021 : sophomore, age 20 ( sunset hills university ) FALL 2019 - SPRING 2020 : freshman, age 19 ( sunset hills university ) FALL 2018 - SPRING 2019 : age 18 ( ushl, chicago or green bay ) JUNE 2018 : nhl draft, age 18 FALL 2017 - SPRING 2018 : high school senior, age 17 ( usnt.dp, plymouth, mi ) FALL 2016 - SPRING 2017 : high school junior, age 16 ( usnt.dp, plymouth, mi ) FALL 2015 - SPRING 2016 : high school sophomore, age 15 ( fox lake, wi ) FALL 2014 - SPRING 2017 : high school freshman, age 14 ( fox lake, wi )

** you can more or less assume his summers were spend back in wisconsin !!

OOC

hello everyone !! i’m ck ( est, 21+, they / them ) and i’m very excited to bring you bennett here <3

over here you can find some general connection ideas. they are... very general, but i definitely love to see where things take us in both dm discussions and interactions with our muses. please don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any ideas or concepts !!

potentially filling resident 30 ?? read here !!

#sunsetintro

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gayfrenchtoast · 3 years

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Okay fine we're doing this. I havent read the books and I'm probably not going to I've only seen the movies so I'm sorry if anything I say is contradictory or has already been stated.

So! Descendants 3 was kinda shit and I dont like it but especially because of the ending because everybody was like "oh yeah island is open and we're all happy with no worries or implications about free villains or people being spiteful about being imprisoned for years!" In fact if anything they joked about those things.

The island is basically its own culture, I can't say how long it's been around, long enough for some almost adult kids to be about and to develop a kind of community.

The Isle is a place of poverty, people are dirty and on the street, eveyone steals from each other and most people don't put much effort into appearance upkeep (personal or of the sourounding area) not because of laziness or being "evil" but because they clearly don't have time or luxury to do such things or possibly even the clean water. Does the Isle have clean water?? How to they get electricity??? Someone tell me!

Another thing that I've noticed is easy to see but is not much explicitly said is the unique style of those on the Isle. As previously stated they don't have much but those who have the most "power" and such on the Isle are the best example of this As they have the most colourful outfits. However these outfits are often made out of patches and ripped things put together, even salvaged things like nets and chains as we can see on thing like Uma and Harry's outfits in D3 they make the best of what they've got and they do fantastic because their outfits are intricate and detailed and just tell you everything you need to know about them. Which is why it's a damn s h a m e when the original VK's ajust their style to be more like Auradon's. That's not an improvement! Be proud of where you came from!! It's like they forgot what it was like being on the Isle in D3!

Moving on, here's something that was touched on in D2 but not enough. Equality. On the Isle there is basically equal opportunity as in saying everything is shit and nome cares what gender and presumably what sexuality you are as long as you can work. Sexism is shown to be almost casual in aurodon from the looks of it, Chad makes sexist comments and litterally none else says anything or seems to see anything wrong with it except Jay who caves to pressure from peers and expectations. He does redeem himself because he's from the isle and he knows you shouldn't give a shit about anyone's gender or anything. If they can do something and ask to be included you give them that opportunity. The sexism is also implied in the way that the rule book has men written specifically in the first place and that it has taken until then for anyone but boys to be allowed on any kind of sports team. We never see it! It seems to be the hetronormative veiw where the boys do sport and girls do cheerleeding and other genders? What other genders? Never heard of that? BAD AURADON!! I bet there's so many trans folk on the island just living their lives, thinking Aurodon is the better place and not knowing that it's a cis het filled nightmare.

Okay no I'm headcannoning now, if their are now a bunch of Isle kids at auradon prep they find it fucking aweful the way all these preppy royals are treating them and make the first LGBT club in Auradon. There is lots of pushback and they get bullied a fuck ton for making themselves the most prominent queer folk in the school until a fight breaks out and the club demand that they should be treated better, taking all the evidence to fairy godmother who is very hesitant because COME ON she's never been that great she is biased to Auradon kids and if putting away those in the Isle is brought up she is all on it, she is jelly spined about doing anything against the royal kids. So the kids are like "Fine, if you won't help us we'll take this to the King himself!" Well mainly the queer mom's of the group (you know the ones I'm talking about) who lead the others and protect the anxious queers as they storm to Ben at his fucking locker and demand an audience because they are being harassed and bullied and none is doing anything. Ben had no idea there was even a LGBT club (too busy ig) and is gassed there is one for a moment before he's like "wait people are harassing you?" So Bisexual King Ben gets his lovely Bi wife and they start coming to club meetings and investing in the pins and stuff the club makes. Most club members are pleased but the queer mom's are apprehensive that this will help until some assholes come to the club to do their usual bullying only to find King and Queen Beast themselves siting there with rainbow bracelets and bi pins and all trying to have a nice old time eating their fucking cupcakes what the fuck are yall doing? The bullying dies down quick once they realise it ain't gonna fly, the other OG VK's that hear about this become members and very protective over their queer children. Did I mention Dizzy and Ceila are a part of the club? They're girlfriend's. Celia is one of the queer moms. Harry becomes one of the biggest protectors over the group as the pan dad. He's been going around snogging everyone and anyone wholl snog him everyone already knew he was queer they just didn't have the balls to try and bully him over it as much as they bullied the lil club members. But now Harry can often be seen in jackets and shit with pan and general queer patches and pins and running around with his gay children yelling "MOVE WE'RE GAY!!" He totally calls them his queer crew. Anyway as a result lots of queer royals start coming out of the woodwork, obvs Lonnie is one of them, and the club eventually serves to bring members of Auradon and the Isle close together.

Where was I? Yada yada auradon expects girls to be pretty princesses and boys to be brave knights or dashing princes. It's shit and should stop being portrayed as good. Moving on!

Food! One of the things we'll established in all movies is that the food of the Isle is shit compared to food of Auradon. The Isle has no fresh fruit which likely means its almost impossible for things to grow there which is fair because again there doesn't seem to be much fresh water and there are always clouds overhead so no sun. Maybe there is some people trying really hard to grow stuff but the general attitude of the Isle seems to be "there is no time for that" and fruits are forgotten so much that the VK's litterally don't knownwhat they are when they come across them. That and anything containing sugar. Actually it's mention by Dizzy and Celia that they enjoy the fact that the cake dosent have dirt or flies so basically food there is terrible. We don't see much food on the Isle but what we do see seems to be beans, eggs, chips and shellfish. Basically protine and carbs that can be easily stored and produced. To be fair beans are kidna good for you but they're likely a sign that if they get any imports from the mainland it is canned stuff. Prison food. There's probably some chef villain that is trying their best to make good food out of the shit but honestly the Isle dwellers should be angry that they've been deprived of good food for so long not happy they're finally been given decency.

Moving on, music! Auradon dosent have nearly as many musical numbers it seems, the Isle songs have a distinct style, to them, the villains that basically "founded" the place were masters of the dramatic songs (with backup or solo) so banging music is basically ingrained in the music's culture, even for battle as we see with the fight between Mal and Uma in D3. Meanwhile Auradon seems to have mainly romance and "I want" songs. Even Audrey's villain song is basically an I want song.

Okay let's talk about the Villains. We've established that the VK's are not inherently bad. However not all of them can be totally good and there are legit OG Villains just kinda chillin on the Isle. They've obviously lost quite a bit of their power, motivation and sanity (isolation will do that to ya as they lost everything and the VKs know no different) but deadass? They were bad guys. You can try to rehabilitate them sure but you've basically just let them free roam, they could make a runner and you wouldn't get the chance. They were also shitty patents which is brushed over/joked about in the interaction between Carlos and...man I feel bad I forgot her name deadass their relationship seemed to come out of nowhere in the second film she didn't seem interested in them at all and friendzoned them multiple times I'm pretty sure Disney did that becaue queer kids were relating to Carlos and headcanoning them as queer (which they deffinatly are) but deadass their mom is an attempted animal murderer and has hurt her child as we can see from how they're afraid of her and her rhetoric and yet it's "haha I'm afraid to meet your ma!" "Me too cus im a dog! Lol!" Fuuuuck offfffff

I think I'm running out of thoughts so here's a last one for now; with the magical barrier down a bunch of magical Villains kids should be coming out for the woodwork. We know Mal has magic basically stored in her so it's is possible, she technically doesn't need the spellbook to do magic it is just inherent to her. So with the diverse range of people from the isle there are deffinatly magic folk in there. Actually if we're following Disney movie law I saw something mentioning Jay being half Genie and yeah! He should be half Genie! Jafar got turned into a Genie he's probably only human because of the barrier! Oh also Ben should be able to go beast on command as long as he had a better beast form than he did in the movies. And give him back the beard and fangs like fuck you he looked so much better

Okay I'm done for now

#decendants #decendants 3 #mal #carlos de vil #jay #harry hook #uma

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pilarhamilton · 3 years

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i don’t want no scrubs.

NAME: Pilar Hamilton

NICKNAMES: ???

AGE: 23

BIRTHDAY: tbd

GENDER: Cis woman (she/her)

SEXUALITY: ….so I gotta have at least one lesbian okay

MAJOR: Marketing

OCCUPATION: being a bad bitch

FACECLAIM: Erinn Westbrook

TRAITS: Loyal & hard-working & resourceful. Ruthless & deceptive & blunt.

about.

Pilar has been a native to Cherry since the day she was born, and so was her father, and her grandparents. Generations have settled in Cherry, and though Pilar totally respects that - although she loves her Dad to death... She absolutely can't wait to get off of their little beach, and onto a much bigger beach!

Lambda Rho was all ever Pilar wanted in a chosen family, and when Belle Goode took her under wing in Pilar's freshman year? It was like a dream come true. Suddenly, she was popular - suddenly other girl's looked up to her and expected her to make them better. It was thrilling, and... terrifying, but Pilar had never shied away from a challenge. Especially when it came to Lambda Rho Iota.

She was voted Vice President because she'd do anything for her sorority - because her brand of tough love was respected, and coveted. It didn't matter what kind of nasty rumors Mia Montoya wanted to spread. Pilar knew that she was vice president because she deserved it - not because of Belle's influence. Maybe.

It doesn't matter, though... Because she knows things Belle doesn't. She's got secrets that would crumble the girl. But will she ever tell?

biography.

Pilar wasn’t exactly planned - she was born to too young parents Porter Hamilton and (as yet unnamed mother) trying to make the change work.

Three years later her mother was gone.

Pilar doesn’t remember her much, nor does she care to. Her dad is enough.

Because of her mother leaving, however, he had to lean on his family to help take care of Pilar while he finished med school. He was absent often, throughout her childhood and as a result, Pilar is close with her family, especially her grandmother.

Eventually her dad was a proper doctor, and able to move them out to their own place when he started working at the Cherry Family Clinic. Because of this, late middle school and high school is when she grew closer to him than she’d ever been able to when she was younger.

At school, Pilar wasn’t really on anyone’s social radar. She wasn’t picked on, but she definitely wasn’t one of the popular girls. She mostly just kept her head down and stayed off that radar.

College, however, was when she truly flourished. Rushing Lambda Rho and being plucked from obscurity by Belle Goode was like something out of a movie. Suddenly people paid attention to her, they listened, they followed. Something about Lambda Rho just clicked, and suddenly Pilar had a second home.

She’d do anything for her sisters, which she usually shows through tough love and straightforward advice. She isn’t always sweet and gentle but she is practical and people need that.

As for the future, she wants to see the world outside of Cherry once she’s done with her degree. She’s thinking LA, maybe. Somewhere with beaches.

headcanons.

We do not support JK Rowling but I’d say Pilar’s hufflepuff/slytherin aligned. For the record, Zahra is slytherin/gryffindor. I can and will elaborate if u ask.

Genuinely not sure if she knows she’s a lesbian. I feel like there’s probably some comphet but also she has such men ain’t shit energy that it’s hard to tell

Would do anything for Lambda Rho. Yes, that’s a threat

When she was younger, she wanted to be a doctor (but that was mostly because in her little kid brain being doctor = spending time with her dad and when they got closer she realised that she wasn’t super interested in it)

Best subject was math (nerd)

and oh yeah. Pilar’s a real good liar.

#me looking at any female character: okay. but what if she liked girls #cusaintro #i threw this together at some point and never posted it? probably because i wanted to make it better #but alas #this is the best it'll be

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betoomuch · 3 years

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12.9.21

Today I admired myself in the mirror as I dressed a little more masculine. I felt good. I have always loved dressing this way and mixing that with a bit of femme, vice versa. That’s me. Which is why androgynous ass Teyana Taylor on Sweet Sixteen was a huge deal for me as a young girl.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means for me to be a Queer identified person. Growing up I’ve repressed my interest in anything other than cis boys/men.

I could go back to my earliest memories and think about my friends and I playing “house” where I was the daddy and they were the mommy and when we put that baby to sleep to do what “grown folks do”.... You know… kiss and dry hump LOL. I could go back to those memories of me as a young girl exploring in secret and it validates what I've always been…. A fucking dyke LOL jk.

No but seriously. I think about the fact that as a teen before I even started dating, my mom would ask me If I was gay since I didn’t bring any boys home for her to meet. How kissing my girl friends in High School was just for “fun”. How my first boyfriend looked at me and said “you look like you would like eating pussy” and this all validated that even others knew I was Queer. What did I do though? Repress, repress, repress. Conform, conform, conform.

I’ve always been uncomfortable with labels, I never said I was straight. I knew I wasn’t fully comfortable with that because even if I thought it was just sexual I knew I had some type of interest in women. I acted as a straight person would though, my tongue could only speak the language of heteronormativity. My planned out future included a fly ass husband who would impregnate me and spoil my ass. Women couldn’t be my future.

When I got out my long ass straight ass first relationship, I wrote in my goals for the year that I wanted to “Fuck a Woman for the first time”. Sexualizing women made it more comfortable for me to explore my sexuality. You know a little internalized misogyny always helps :)

The first time I did, I fucking fell in love like WTF? What a typical lesbian experience LOL. That shit GOOD, it was fast. deep. It was hot. Passionate. Filled with undeniable love. It was the first time I ever felt a love that was fully safe. It was scary ass fuck.

Over the last year, I’ve been unlearning so much of my heteronormative ways of thinking, speaking and acting. Relearning. Redefining. Reconnecting. It’s been such a journey to come into myself.

I don’t identify as Bi-sexual or pan, I’m just a queer woman that likes what she likes. Getting to say that out loud proudly and being outwardly queer with my partner has been such a joy. Letting myself finally let myself to intimately love someone who isn’t a cis man. Affirms that lil queer ass girl fucking around with her lil friends. Sheds light on a part of me that’s always been there waiting in the shadow of this hetero ass world.

I never resonated with the action of “coming out”, I personally feel like I’m warning someone that I eat pussy. I wouldn’t have to come out as straight so why would I as a queer person? You’d figure it out as if I share my love life or experiences. It's no secret but to me a pride flag doesn't have to be a part of my IG bio, I will not sit my family members or friends or colleagues down and look into their eyes and tell them that I like what I like especially not the ones that may be homophobic.

Now that I am tapping into my full authentic self, I get to mentor and help other women who had to repress their queerness and are nervous to take that leap. I get to be the one that young girls look to as an example of a Queer woman and inspire them to be that fully. They get to come to me and tell me about the girl in class they’re crushing on and how they got their first girlfriend. It brings me tears of joy.

To young Ashley, baby you iz gay. Do gay shit, it good :)

And to any queer babies that have yet to bloom, be patient and be kind to yourself. Do things on your own accord.

It hasn’t been easy but I am so proud to be here and growing.

Song- Only If - Steve Lacy.

Con mucho amor y passion, Ashley Hernández aka Odd Ashley.

#writers on tumblr #queer pride #queer #lgbtqi #gay #gaypride #sexuality #coming out #SteveLacy #letters #reflection #loveyourself #selfCare #healing #identity #self-worth #family #friends

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brawltogethernow · 4 years

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a while back you said that you don’t think mj is cis, and that you have specific scenes informing that idea abt her.... do u mind if I ask what are the scenes? and what’s the gender diagnosis? 👀

I don’t have a concrete conclusion, just a vague impression and a habit of getting out my phone at five a.m. and texting my brother stuff like, “I feel like MJ would try out the label he/him lesbian but like, primarily on a personal Twitter account profile.” But yeah, she has two recurring traits that inform the bulk of this for me.

The first is her habit of inserting herself into traditionally masculine roles. I figure the writers were probably gunning for an exaggerated/comedic level of feminism. (It didn’t all age perfectly, but the other women of the cast were already written as feminist.) If you think speaking up for equal rights is cool, wait until you see...MJ try to singlehandedly destroy the gender binary? In practice you get this theme where MJ observes dubious male-coded behavior and then instead of going, “Stop doing that,” goes, “I am also going to do that.”

We see her take the reins of a date more than once on panel to literally go, “Wait, let’s do some very traditionally gendered date shit. And I am going to be the man.”

Physically taking Peter’s key to open his own door for him in ASM 136.

Playing out the ancient ritual of carrying his books for him in ASM 141. Both times she lampshades this as chauvinism and dramatizes the problematic subtext of how these are supposed to go down. In 1974 when these were published I’m pretty sure book carrying as a courting ritual was already considered a dated, cheesy trope living on only through media.

I wish guys pathologically trying to get the door had gone the same way, buuuut. Sigh. But personally, when dudes slow down our travel progress by stopping me and then making a big production of opening a door for me, I follow their lead by slowing us down even further and refusing to go through the door until after they’ve gone through, and when I’m with dudes who are not trying to do a gender at me I full stop don’t think about these behavioral habits unless a recent encounter has left me twitchy. But I don’t get a hit of gender euphoria from doing man shit, and MJ...might?

What other interpretation of this is there, really? Preemptively punishing Peter to get in ahead of it just in case he comes over weird and traditional on her, three in-universe years into their friendship? Nah, she’s literally just having fun with genderplay.

Also... Peter going along with it but very visibly not Getting it with a single bone in his body... RIP. Or not, because this read intensifies the ways MJ acts as a foil for Peter and Gwen by contrasting their traits.

Gwen’s way of addressing gender stereotypes, to have a point of contrast, were more along the lines of calling Peter a chauvinist when he tried to make decisions for her, and jabbingly cheerful reminders that she was a cute blonde girl and a science major.

The second trait is weaker evidence but still, like...noticeable? And less dismissable as a kink thing. That being MJ’s recurring tendency to parse emotionally complex situations happening to other people by zooming in on one of them and going, That one is the me of this situation and analyzing through that lens. Her pick is always a dude. If there are four women and one man, she’ll pick the man.

^literally recollecting her own sister’s divorce by her deadbeat husband, who if anything she should be comparing to their deadbeat father

SSM 96, ASM 259, ASM: Parallel Lives

This could just be the writers themselves overempathizing with men and discounting women! It’s definitely not deliberate. But also, there are lots of other women in this franchise, who don’t do this as far as I can think of. There are lots of women in these parts of MJ’s story who she is deliberately compared against, like, the Bechdel test is being passed.

And yet, most times I can recall where MJ compares herself to women are explicitly aversive, like how she’s terrified of ending up living a life like her mother’s.

Parallel Lives, incidentally, is wild, because it is simultaneously going “here’s how a man and woman met and got married👫” and dishing a condensed Mary Jane backstory that has every single “the one queer relative” marker. Young Mary Jane, inexplicably different from her family members in an ostracizing but decidedly stylish way, finds her mother and sister’s insistence she follow a normal path through life re: romance and relationships “suffocating” and generally existentially abhorrent. The only one willing to humor MJ is her unmarried aunt, though Anna's support is in the form of optimism about MJ’s potential within the expected romantic paradigm. Simultaneously MJ’s sister, whose trauma as a child of a bad marriage is identical to MJ’s, does hit all the life path checkmarks people expect to see from MJ. Okay. MJ’s main emotional conflict is literally: “A man: Is that my father, or is that me? (These are the only choices.)” ...Okay.

Bonus points granted for self-identifying by the gender-neutral nickname “MJ” over other nickname options that were available if she just wanted to ditch her uncool two-part first name. (Dubious for obvious reasons but we know her father calls her “Janey”, for example.)

Off in some other area of the great gender blob, MJ performs femininity with deliberate, studied exaggeration, and has clearly sampled what she likes from the chocolate box of womanhood and thrown out the rest. Citations: Literally every scene she is in from her introduction up until at least the 90′s Clone Saga.

What does any of this mean!? I dunno. Smells genderqueer tho.

#mary jane watson #spiderman #spiderman meta #spidey #marvel #someone finally gave me an excuse to compile this #anonymous #asks answered #essays

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mrs-nate-humphrey · 3 years

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no pressure or anything but if you ended up writing this my little nerdy punk heart would have been eternally grateful 🥺 (and please, please, please, boyband him a little, that hair can't go to waste) love you!!!!!💖 these tags actually made my day so thanks!!!!!!

hello jo, i hope you're doing well!! <3 sorry abt taking a while to get to this ask, i have been a little out of it, and i didn't want to half ass a reply to something as important as a natie themed ask....

this entire concept is 100% on my to-write list!!! i have a lot of thoughts about nate figuring himself out/figuring out who he is away from his family's expectations of him and the ideas people who think they know him have of him (since he's so popular, everyone thinks they know him, he can't escape the reputation that follows him around, etc etc).

in fact, since we're talking about this - i made a list of connected, nate-focused, stuff! and this response got RIDICULOUSLY long. so. 11-point bullet list focusing on nate, here you go!

you might enjoy my natessa fic "out of focus". it's not exactly this, but it is sort of the first time i dip my toe into the pool of.. whatever this concept is. nate lets vanessa buy him a shirt he would never pick out for himself. things go on from there!

i have a lot of thoughts about nate & ruby, specifically. we never actually got to see her, but i think he'd awkwardly gravitate towards her in that way that you do when you're young & queer and you meet an Openly Gay And Comfortable person for the first time. and i think ruby would see this and kind of adopt him/take him under her wing? anyway.

more natefic i am yet to write involves nate coming out to vanessa, vanessa being the first person he comes out to, it's after a lesbian punk concert and he's hyperventilating a bit and he KNOWS v will support him. she has literally shown him in a million ways that she's a good ally to the lgbtq+ community, and vanessa's just like, "what's wrong?" and nate is like. "nothing's wrong, and i really like you, but i'm not - i don't - " and then he says something awkward and stumbles through how he likes men, and vanessa gives him a hug and kisses his cheek and says "thank you for telling me that"

anyway i bring up #2 and #3 just to say that i feel nate has a sort of comfort with the abrams sisters that he doesn't have with anyone else at the time (he will eventually get here with blair and serena too, but in s1? they ALL had their own shit to deal with and i don't think nate was really in a place to open up to them, whereas vanessa & ruby aren't his childhood friends so in that way, it's easier, etc). and i love the thought of like. vanessa bleaching his hair super pale, ruby buying him a hair straighter (and of course he knows how to use it, he's blair waldorf's ex boyfriend what do you expect of him) and just. the abrams sisters - without even realising they're doing it - giving nate a space to explore who he is and specifically, his presentation

so we can either roll with nate being a trans man, which i LOVE, and am trying to write a fic about - OR - and it makes sense here, with these headcanons specifically, i feel like nate would maybe be one of those cis people who's explored their gender identity, realised they're cis, and therefore, is far more in touch with their gender than the average cis person?

connected to THAT, i have a fic in the works in which nate just presents... extremely femme. he goes super flamboyant, dresses in a way that puts himself on everyone's gaydar, etc etc. at first he does it to be like "fuck you" to his family, but after a bit he realises he actually really likes being perceived in that way, as a queer man, as a pretty queer man, and it makes him feel in control & good about himself to be able to do all these stereotypically feminine things WHILE identifying 100% as a man. putting on nail polish and mascara and gloss, wearing very femme things and heels, etc etc, it makes nate feel like himself in a way that he's never really felt before. (he IS a cis man.) dan bumps into nate at a gay bar, doesn't recognise him at first (this is a very au fic, i think they've lost touch since high school ended) and then promptly falls in love with nate AND has a gender identity crisis that goes a bit like "well nate maybe you can do these things and still identify as male but i can't" and it's just... trans dan my beloved.

unconnected to all that, you know what would've been fun? s2 nate is staying with the humphreys arc, and jenny... dyes his hair for him, and designs outfits for him, and basically both of them just. go thru a whole fashion revamp together.

i have a lot of ideas for futurefics in which jenny is like. 18, 19, etc and has a cool new line of men's clothing, but she doesn't have the $$ to hire a professional model for her clothes OR she wants the person modelling the clothes to be someone who Gets her mission statement in designing them (this is better but it could sorta be a combination of both) and essentially she awkwardly asks nate to model lingerie for her. he is like, of course! because i'm me, this doesn't go anywhere romantically, but if a jenate shipper wants to take this idea and run with it, go ahead, just credit me, lmaooo. i will definitely write this fic to centre around nate & jenny both being really gay, which is the other direction altogether, so that doesn't bother me.

since we're speaking about nate in lingerie, this fic of mine's first birthday is coming up in a few days! wow, it's been a whole yEAR.

so, disclaimer, any and all fics that centre around Identity... always take a lot out of me + i always have to be in a very specific headspace to write them (that's why the nonbinary dan series is taking ages, too). so while i really DO wanna write all the nates exploring how they present and, as the kids say, fucking around and finding out, it might be a while!

oh. this reminds me*. i REALLY have to finish writing my demisexual nate fic... it's a tricky thing to write. i have another fic im yet to write about how sleeping with dan makes nate re-evaluate a lot of things, in a very trauma survivor way (like an "oh, this is what it feels like to be with someone who respects me!" kind of way) and that... i want to write it sooo bad but i gotta do the idea justice. life is Hard.

*if anyone is curious about my thought process - “nate fucking around and finding out” ... wait, a bit like.. “nate fucking around and finding out that he doesn’t even like to fuck around, which is what happens in THESE fics i’m writing, let me just,...” etc.

#nate archibald #johermione #prompt #also #my writing #because i link. many of my writings in here lkfdhlkgh #fic progress #natie my beloved.............

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bestintheparsec · 4 years

Text

The Same Coin - Part 3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

A/N: Alright, this chapter feels like a big boi compared to the previous ones😂 I’m sorry for the delay in posting this! But I hope you enjoy it, and as always comments and feedback are appreciated!❤️ Special thanks to my lovely friends @hiscyarika @murdermewithbooks @aerynwrites for helping me proof/edit this thing, it would not be what it is without their help❤️

Words: 5.0k

Warnings: canon-typical violence, angst, a slice of Tender™

You pull your gun out of its holster, readying yourself against the side of the wall as Steve and Peña do the same. The sun beats down on you as you wait for the search bloc’s cue. Even if today’s mission is just a small-scale one, you’re glad to be back out in the field—and so is Peña, since it was his tip to begin with. Late last night, Peña received a tip from a previous CI regarding the whereabouts of a small lab. The colonel only allowed the use of fifteen men and a few cars, but this should be more than enough for the takedown of this particular site. Without the need for verification by Centra Spike, all three of you were promptly able to get the ambassador and Messina on board with the plan.

You’re shoulder-to-shoulder with the two of them now, waiting on the colonel’s signal as the men break down the entrance and toss a flash bomb inside. You’re given the cue as yelling erupts from inside and the whole search bloc barges in, sweeping the building. Gunfire from either side rings out, and when the smoke clears you’re able to make out the few sicarios that have been taken out on the ground.

The quiet only lasts a few seconds before more shouting and shots come from the stairwell. Suddenly, a slew of sicarios start flooding the warehouse, coming from all corners and every room. They fire continuously and your ears start to ring from the noise. You take some of them out, but the shots keep coming and never cease.

“What the fuck!” Steve yells beside you as he continues to aim and dodge bullets. The three of you split up and scan the whole area, but you’re unsure of what you’re even looking for now. Your adrenaline’s running so you can’t process for long. Peña said there would only be a few of Escobar’s men here, not a small army of them.

The bloc continues to take them down one by one, and you’ve already made your way through most of the building when a bullet flies past your arm, hitting the wall behind you. You dodge behind a shelf and watch as two sicarios fire at you, pushing themselves through the window in the room. One of them knocks a shelf over on his way out as a barricade, and you quickly follow suit, climbing over the hunk of metal and out the window. Javier and Steve hear the noise and make their way into the room, following after they see you throwing yourself onto the street outside.

Sweat starts to bead on your forehead as you chase after them, expertly dodging the objects they throw in your path. Innocent bystanders watch with concern and you dip past them—you’ve almost caught up and can hear Steve and Peña's racing footsteps behind you. You always outrun those two—your lungs haven’t been bogged down by cigarettes the way theirs have.

One of the men turns and shoots at you before disappearing through a doorway on the other side of the road; you’ve almost caught up to the other one so you make a split-second decision, letting this one go and continue running straight ahead.

You’re closing in on him when the sicario abruptly turns into a narrow alleyway. You follow, but lose your footing and trip over a large piece of metal that he’d thrown to the ground. He dashes off and escapes as you get yourself up, groaning loudly.

“Fuck!” you hiss at yourself.

As you go to pick up your gun off the ground, the other sicario that had slipped away earlier appears out of nowhere, his gun pointed at you and ready to fire. You freeze like a deer in the headlights, your hands ready to fly up in surrender when a shot rings out from behind you. The bullet goes straight through the sicario’s chest, sending his lifeless body to the ground.

You exhale in relief and whip your head around, meeting Peña’s eyes as he lowers his gun. He tries to catch his breath, giving you a curt nod. Seconds pass before you realize you’ve stopped breathing, but you return the nod after taking a deep breath. It’s the only thanks you’re able to give at the moment, since he gestures in the direction the sicario escaped towards. The chase is still on, so you grab your gun off the ground and run alongside him.

You sprint back out into an open street where you see Steve pointing his gun at the sicario, who’s got his own gun aimed right back.

“¡Baja tu arma!” Peña yells at him, but he doesn’t budge.

Your gun is pointed as well, but you briefly scope your surroundings. Aside from a few cars parked along the sidewalk, the street is void of any people.

No one else seems to notice the unsuspecting truck that’s parked to your left, carrying large tanks with the word “gasolina” stamped on them in faded white letters.

You turn your attention back to the sicario, but it’s too late—his eyes go to where you were just looking, and Peña and Steve see the truck at the same time he does. There’s a split second of silence, but then he jerks his gun in the truck’s direction and pulls the trigger before you can yell “No!”. At the same time, Peña shouts something you can’t make out, and you’re about to move when you feel the force of his large hand shoving you and Steve face-first behind a car for cover. Your arms brace the fall and you feel the vibrations from the explosion as you lie face-down on the ground. Following the sounds of shattering glass and debris, the street fills with blaring of car alarms and smoke.

You felt an impact on the way down, but now you’re not sure if it was because of your body hitting concrete, or the weight of Peña’s body on top of yours, shielding you. His free arm is over Steve and he quickly moves it off. He grips your arm with his hand, then releases it but keeps himself over you. The sharp ringing in your ears isn’t enough to distract you from the feeling of Peña’s chest against your back, pressing on you every time he breathes in and out.

All three of you stay on the ground for a few more moments before uncovering your faces and looking up to inspect the scene of complete chaos and destruction. Debris litters the ground and the dense smoke in the air burns your lungs. You know to always expect the unexpected, but this was definitely not part of the plan.

The colonel’s going to lose his shit. You shift your position, still aware of his weight on you. Peña starts to get up first, but keeps his arm over you just a second longer than necessary. You don’t know why but you feel a hint of warmth rush to your cheeks. With a shaky exhale, you push yourself up as well. What the hell was that? you want to ask him. He offers no explanation or the slightest comment about the strange moment of contact, so you figure it’s just you, thinking too much as usual.

You sigh with relief when all of you are able to stand, seemingly unharmed. Peña looks relieved as well, looking around as you brush the dust off yourself.

“Anyone hurt? Or hit their head?” he asks, rubbing his shoulder. You and Steve each let out a huff of air and shake your heads as you all start to walk back towards the warehouse. No one has to say it, but you know you’re all in for some harsh words once you get back to the embassy.

The three of you sit in the ambassador’s office with Messina, and as predicted, they’re pissed. While you three were off chasing down those two sicarios, the search bloc had managed to capture a couple of sicarios back at the warehouse—alive. So while they’re off being questioned right now, you, Peña, and Steve are getting reprimanded for how indiscreet the mission was. You’ve been listening to their lecture for nearly twenty minutes and they’re only now slowing down. Not much has been said on your part; you’re fuming on the inside and trying to contain yourself. Your jaw is clenched and you’re bouncing your leg on the floor, waiting for it to be over. It won’t make a damn difference what any of you tell them; it never does.

“Ma’am, with all due respect, we have two high-tier sicarios in our custody,” Peña comments with a wave of the hand, barely concealing the irritation in his voice. His other hand grips the arm of his chair, his knuckles white from the pressure.

“Agent Peña, this mission was supposed to be covert—in and out, is that not what the informant said? You were supposed to go in there quietly, not create a goddamn war zone,” the ambassador retorts.

“How were we supposed to know all of that would happen?” Steve clips. His frustration mirrors your own. You’re about to mutter something sarcastic when you notice Peña’s eyes shift down to the ground, then back up. He clenches his teeth and grinds his jaw. It’s a tic of his, when he’s up to something. You’re not sure what he has to do with any of this, but now’s not the time to bring it up.

After you get dismissed, you go back and sink into the chair at your desk, sighing with exasperation. Peña and Steve sit down at their own desks across from you, stowing their guns and badges away.

You quietly observe them as they pretend to skim some paperwork. Steve has some small bruises starting to form on his arms, and you’ve got a busted lip—but other than that, the three of you aren’t hurt. You shake your head at the irony—one small stakeout with Peña resulted in him being shot in the leg, yet a whole explosion happens and the most you get is a bloody lip and some scratches. Go figure.

Your fingers twitch and can’t stay still, and you can’t figure out why. It’s been a few hours since the event, and a scolding from the higher-ups has never fazed you before. Your fight-or-flight response has calmed down now. But you almost feel shaken by the incident, even though it was far from being your first encounter with danger. You didn’t do anything differently, and no one was hurt. But your mind can’t focus on anything else except those moments where you might’ve been harmed today—that sicario was ready to shoot, and the aftermath of it all could’ve been a lot worse. Your mind flashes to Peña’s hand on your back, and you feel your face getting warm again. Why the fuck are you thinking about this? You shake your head, immediately suppressing the thought.

As astute as you are, you don’t notice that Javier is observing you, too. He doesn’t miss the way you’re massaging your fingers again, something you haven’t done in a while—at least, not around him. You cross, then uncross them several times. He suddenly feels a pang of guilt; today must have affected you more than you’re letting on. He considers how this was yet another time he’s put you—and Murphy, of course—in harm’s way. His CI had greatly downplayed the amount of violence to expect, but his anger over this isn’t boiling quite as strongly as the nagging sensation of guilt that’s slowly making itself known again. He’s had worse problems with past intel, but for a reason unknown to him, this time it’s different. You might just be a coworker, but he can't help but feel like he's at fault for more than one thing today.

So when he watches you with your multiple nervous habits, he almost has to pull his eyes away. Steve picks up on your annoyance and says something to cheer you up, and a hint of a smile appears on your face. It’s not long before Javier's attention is inadvertently drawn to the cut on your lower lip; it’s a bit swollen along the area. He purses his own lips and forces himself to finally look away. It was just another day on the job. Why the hell does any of this bother him?

You stand up suddenly, tossing the files onto the desk and breaking his chain of thought. “I’m going to go get a coffee,” you tell them, pushing your chair in. They both nod as you pull your drawer out to grab your things and leave for your break. You don’t notice the frown on Peña’s face as he watches you leave, either.

As you sip on the steaming beverage and walk on the quiet sidewalk towards the benches on the outskirts of the embassy, you’re hit with the feeling that today’s events are going to linger in your mind for longer than they should. You wish they wouldn’t—you’ve seen so much worse. You exhale and take a seat on the bench, rubbing your temples and taking another long sip from the cup.

You weren’t stupid when you joined the DEA; you knew what you were signing up for. But you also knew what you had to give up, or at least you had to try to. You’ve worked here for too long to not know better. You don’t get close to people; you try not to, anyways. Even though Steve is a good friend, there's a lot about you he doesn't know; things you’ve never offered. Loss and suffering is all you’ve seen during your time here—it wouldn’t do you any good to get attached. Does this have anything to do with Peña? No, of course not. You try to brush your thoughts off, instead pondering what kind of shady dealings Peña's been involved in. He knows more than he’s willing to tell, but you don’t know if you want to know any more than that. It’s not the first time he’s done questionable things, of that much you're sure. Eventually, he’s going to get himself hurt if he keeps up the reckless behavior. Why doesn’t he realize this, or care? And more importantly, why do you?

You start to massage your fingers, as though it’ll wash the thoughts of your life choices away.

But you’re never allowed any reprieve. As if on cue, Peña’s voice interrupts your thoughts. “You’re in my spot,” he says, approaching the bench.

You’re about to make a smart remark, but hold back when you turn and see the resigned expression in his eyes. Peña takes a seat beside you and leans back, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and offering you one. You shake your head as he lights one for himself.

“This is my thinking place, too,” he comments when you don’t say anything. He follows your gaze to the street, full of loud cars and pedestrians out and about.

“I, um—Thank you. For today, with the sicarios,” you finally add after a few moments, turning to look at him. “I mean it.”

Javier meets your eyes, only breaking his gaze when he realizes you’re still rubbing your fingers. His mouth presses into a hard line and he doesn’t really know how to respond to your thanks, so he just nods.

“You don’t need to thank me. Just...doing my job,” he says quietly, practically under his breath. You were almost hurt again, and it would’ve been his fault.

“What is that job, Peña?” It’s a genuine question, and you don’t mean any harm by it. “I don’t know what you’re not telling us, but...you should be careful. If not for your own sake, then for ours.”

He puts the cigarette to his lips and takes another draw before he answers. “I can take care of myself,” he states simply.

You scoff at that—not just because he’s stubborn but because you’ve told yourself the same thing many times. You've learned to fend for yourself here.

“Maybe,” you reply. “But there’s a lot more at stake than your own safety,” you tell him. He glances away then, but acknowledges the statement with another nod.

“Don’t worry. You’re not going to get in any trouble,” he adds quietly, and it’s not laced with the typical sarcasm you’re used to.

“That’s not all I care about, you know.” If you sound a little defensive, you hope he can’t tell.

“Really, and what do you care about, agent?” He smirks, exhaling a puff of cigarette smoke.

“The same things you do,” you answer curtly with a shrug. “Catching that asshole, staying alive while I do it.”

“That’s all?” he asks with feigned disbelief.

“I think you know it’s for the best,” you say. “It’s best not to be attached to anything, or anyone else,” you add before you can stop yourself. Your eyes widen at the admission and you turn away—you didn’t mean to say that out loud.

There’s no way Peña misses the change in your tone, but he seems to spare you and makes no other comment. You exhale deeply and stand up, tossing your cup in the bin.

“We better get back inside,” you say, deftly changing the subject. “Let’s not give them another reason to make our lives difficult.”

He chuckles. “And when they do?”

“I’ve told you before,” you reply, a slight grin on your face. “I’m used to dealing with assholes.”

Lately, you’ve been getting a flood of potential new leads coming in. Some of them come from the sicarios that’d been captured days ago, but a lot of them seem to come out of nowhere. The phone’s been ringing more often than any of you have been used to recently, but more often than not the sources want to talk to an American; specifically, they ask for Peña. You and Steve occasionally question him about it, but he shrugs it off, reassuring you that these are all valid intel.

The good thing about having so much new information is that the three of you are actually motivated to look into it, grateful for anything beyond the mindless busy work that’d become part of your routine. Falling into your prior routine from when Peña was working from home, you all bring the work home to his apartment almost every night. Each day seems to run into the next as you work tirelessly, plotting and digging to move forward. Late nights turn into even later nights, but you all seem to be running on fumes anyways.

You can’t help but feel like the dynamic between you and your partners is different now, too. Something seems to have shifted after your short conversation with Peña that day at the embassy, but you can’t put your finger on what it is.

Steve catches on to something being off, too. One night when you’re all poring over one of the leads, Javier makes some darkly-humored remark about something and you let out a chuckle but make no other comment, continuing to focus on your work. Steve looks back and forth between you two with a wrinkle in his brow, racking his brain. He’s been used to being the middle-man, constantly mediating the hostility that was often present whenever you two worked together. The friendly banter—if that’s even what this is—is just a tad disorienting to him.

The three of you pass the liquor around; you have just enough to make you forget the exhaustion of another long day. Hours blend together and you continue to power through, but sometimes your minds give out for the night before you can make it home.

When Javier looks up and realizes you’re both out cold for the night, he sits up and stretches, getting up to head to bed himself. He’s mildly envious that you’re able to succumb to exhaustion so easily, because he knows it won’t be easy for him. But then again, it’s probably not much easier for either of you—sometimes you’re simply lucky enough to have a night where the baggage of the job is strong enough to allow you to rest. Steve’s got his face on his knuckle with his mouth agape, and you’re nestled into the side of the couch with your arms crossed. A gentle smile crosses Javier’s face and he shakes his head. His partners really are something else.

The smile fades quickly when that nagging feeling of guilt hits him again. Sure, he’s been keeping contact with his informants; it’s the only way your bosses will take things seriously. But he’ll be damned before he lets any of them put you or anyone besides himself in danger again.

He walks over and pulls the blanket that’s draped over the side of the couch, covering you with it before picking up the papers off the floor and stacking them neatly on the table. He brings the glass of whiskey with him to his room, not bothering to shut the door behind him.

A car horn blares in the distance and Steve jolts awake, realizing he dozed off even with the dim lights still on; he figures it’s time to call it a night. He stands and shrugs on his jacket, smirking when he sees your sleeping form slouching over on the couch. He takes another swig of whiskey from his glass, briefly deciding whether he should tell you to go home, too. He glances towards you, then to the paperwork on the table, then to Javier’s room, and smirks again before deciding to leave you alone. He places the glass down with a clink, turning off the lamp as he makes his way home to Connie.

Javier wakes up abruptly, his body still and his eyes adjusting to the surroundings of his bedroom. He can barely put together what he saw, but his heart beats rapidly and he can feel his pulse in his face. He remembers an indistinct image of broken glass and fire, nothing else. He steadies his breathing, in and out, willing the pounding in his chest to stop. The nightmares visit him so often that he’s never surprised by them anymore, but he’d like to be able to sleep through just one fucking night.

He exhales heavily and shuts his eyes again, knowing damn well he’s not going back to sleep. It only lasts a moment; he opens them again and sits up on his bed, running his hands through his hair and down his face. He pushes the comforter off himself and puts his feet on the ground, leaning forward with his face in his hands. He tries harder to remember what it was about this time, but it’s already been erased from his memory, leaving only the aftereffects. He’s so fucking tired. Not just from the lack of sleep, but from everything that leads him to dark places even in slumber.

He sighs deeply again, then stands to get his drink from the top of his dresser. It’s almost empty, so he pours himself another glass. He can’t tell if he’s a little buzzed from the earlier glass, or if it’s just his mind being too loud.

Your eyes open slowly as you try to reorient yourself—you’re still on Peña’s couch. The old leather cushion squeaks as you sit up, yawning. The lights are all off, so the space is completely dark, save for the blue-hued night’s sky shining through the window. You can’t have been out for more than a few hours, but you rub the sleep from your eyes before pushing the blanket off yourself and immediately shiver when the cool AC air hits your skin. You’ve only been tired enough to fall asleep here a few times, but every time you’ve woken up with this blanket on you. You can’t help but feel a hint of warmth in your chest, but push the feeling away before you let yourself think too hard about it.

At any rate, you need to go back to your own flat, so you get up and blindly try to find your things in the dark. You dig around and find your keys before swinging the bag over your shoulder. You’re about to head to the door when you hear a quiet groan and some shuffling coming from Peña’s room. You purse your lips, unsure if you should ignore it. But when you hear the clinks of glass and sounds of liquor being poured, you hesitantly remove your bag and gently place it back on the floor.

You’re afraid of breaking some unspoken boundary as you quietly walk towards his room. Coworkers—partners—watch each other’s backs, don’t they? This is normal.

His door is wide open, so you tell yourself you’re not barging in. Standing just outside the door, you nervously peer inside. You expect him to be under the covers, but instead find him sitting on the edge of his bed facing away from the door, his head in one hand, his free hand nursing a glass. If you leave now, he won’t notice. But you suddenly remember his protective hold over you and Steve during the incident. Before you can change your mind, you knock lightly on the door frame. You don't know what troubles him, but if it's anything like your own demons, he shouldn't have to be alone.

“Peña?” you whisper, so quietly that you’re not even sure he can tell you’re there.

He makes no response, but sits up straighter and rubs his face, so you know he heard you.

“Are you…okay?” you ask with a meek voice, waiting for him to answer with sarcasm, or anger, or...anything. Honestly, you expect him to ask you to leave, and at another time you might have gladly done so. But now you’re not so sure.

“Yeah, great,” he mutters, but his voice cracks at the end of it. You swallow dryly, not knowing what you should do. But he doesn’t tell you to leave, so you rock on your feet for a few seconds as you wait for him to add anything else. When he doesn’t, a feeling of courage overcomes you and you take a step into his room, joining him in the darkness. Your breath hitches because while you don’t know what this is, you know that there’s no going back from it.

You walk towards his dark silhouette—your pulse is racing and you have no idea why—until you’re standing in front of him, your knees almost touching his. He barely lifts his head, not meeting your eyes. If he wanted you to go, he would’ve told you so already.

Your hands want to fidget, so you slowly reach out and gently take the glass out of his hand, setting it down on the nightstand beside him. He rubs his hands together hesitantly, looking up at you for a moment before turning away, unable to match your gaze for long. Your arms are at your side, your brows furrowed as you ponder what to do. You don't ask for an explanation because there's none needed. If only to distract yourself from the biting tension in the air, you reach out again, timidly brushing your fingers along his bare shoulder. You’re pretty sure your fingers are shaking, but when he doesn’t pull away you place your whole palm on his skin, running it down his upper arm in hopes of comforting him. You feel his muscles tense and then quickly relax, so you start to pull away—abruptly, he stops you by taking your hand and giving it a light squeeze with his calloused fingers, taking you by surprise; he quickly retracts as if he didn’t mean to do it. He still avoids your gaze, looking straight ahead at the wall behind you. You’re never this brazen unless you’re in the field, but you don’t want to leave him alone now.

You lift your hand again, this time moving to softly run your fingers along his thick hair, smoothing it behind his ear. You swear you hear him inhale, and he seems to relax against the movement. You run the palm of your other hand along the smoothness of his back, then gently pull him in towards you. He doesn’t move his arms, but he almost instantly leans into you, his head pressing against your stomach. You wrap your other arm around him, and while he doesn’t do the same, he relaxes completely against you. Minutes pass but you don’t move, keeping your hold around him as you listen to him breathe in and out, occasionally lightly stroking the back of his head. The noises of the Colombian streets at night quietly fill the background, but all you can focus on is him. His skin is warm against yours and you almost feel comforted yourself, despite your best attempts to ignore the feeling. The heaviness of your tired eyes is long gone now.

You’re not sure how much longer it’s been when you suddenly feel him tense under your arms again. He gently pulls away as you let go. He finally looks up and meets your eyes, raising a hand towards your face. The tips of his fingers barely graze the skin on your cheeks and suddenly your heart rate picks up again; just as quickly, he removes his hand. You don’t even have time to let go of the breath you realize you’re holding. You take an inch of a step backwards, steadying yourself and tugging on the hem of your shirt.

“I...should go," you whisper. Your voice falters and you hope it doesn’t betray you.

A beat passes. “Yeah, you should,” he agrees, but his voice is gentle.

You linger for a moment, then slowly turn and walk away, leaving his bedroom door open like you found it. You keep your steps quiet as you pick up your bag again and walk through the front door. Once you’re out in the hallway, you pause and take a deep breath, shaking off whatever feeling has suddenly taken over the emptiness in your chest.

Translations:

Baja tu arma = lower your weapon/put the gun down

Series tags: @yabby-girl @mytinybaguette @mrpascals @dindjarindiaries @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @pascalesque @lady-sigyn @bel-13 @positivelife3000 @larakasser @buckstaposition @watsonwise @irishleesh93 @gigilame @lostingoogletranslate @kristalhi @supersonntag @lcandothisallday @keeper0fthestars

Perm tags: @immundusspiritu @aeryntheofficial @i-like-those-odds @heyy-honeyy @hail-doodles @hiscyarika @taman-a @electricprincess888 @spacegayofficial @myrin1234 @aloneontheoutside @pascalisthepunkest @ah-callie @fleurdemiel145 @katialvi @murdermewithbooks @pisss-offf-ghostt @kayebede @lamnothome @fan-g0rl @lokiaddicted @mrsdaamneron @poedaneron @wolfshifter4life @rociomz @opheliaelysia @dyn-djarin @randomness501 @hayley-the-comet @mrsparknuts @exy-issexy @blue-tidal-wave @palalover @forever-rogue @adikaofmandalore

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #narcos fic #javier pena #my ff #non sw

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runolllo-fanboygirl · 4 years

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I'm going to start by clarifying that these are messages I got in response to my post here /// LINK /// After this, I'm not replying to messages about this kinda thing in a long time. Talking about sexualization and such other topics is important but I'm not in a state to be made the center of it. Please, don't come to my inbox asking for discourse, go and create your own posts if you want to raise awareness or vent.

And now to answer to these new asks:

FIRST OF ALL: while I love the way Murata draws men, robotic stuff, monsters... I actually HATE the way he draws ladies! I prefer their proportions in the OPM anime and games. Murata is literally SO BAD at drawing women compared to the level of expertise he has drawing men, and it's all ‘cos he keeps drawing ladies "the h0rny way". We all know this, let's move on.

"He's drawing all the monster girls sexualized" Did the fact that Manako's genre reveal deconstructs the trope "the default is male" totally go over your head? That Psykos's reveal as a woman running the whole MA was a big deal for this same reason as well? There are a bunch of female monsters… you just assume they're all male unless you see big b00bs and then complain about that very fact. They literally made a whole point about this specifically!

"He changed Mizuki's shorts to p4nties to please fanboys" I liked the shorts better too (just because I find her whole character design a bit more balanced that way) so that change bothered me as well, but the "p4nties" are actually standard athletic wear for competition. Shorts are not. Technically, she’s drawn more accurately now.

"Sports Bras don't work that way he just wants to draw b00bs" neither do the shirts and bodysuits the guys are wearing. You can see all their muscles and manb00bs and cr0tch lines, just as much as with Fubuki and Tatsu's hero outfits and Mizuki's top.

"But when the boys are drawn that way, it's not to please the ladies, it's male power fantasy" THERE IS NO HETEROSEXUAL MALE POWER FANTASY BULLSHIT THAT CAN POSSIBLY EXPLAIN THE WAY MURATA DRAWS GAROU, FLASH, SONIC, STINGER AND SOME OF THE OTHER GUYS. The fact is that the way he draws eye candy of them appeals to other collectives other than the cis het men and he knows exactly what he's doing. Period.

"He constantly draws sexualized art of Mizuki to please the fanboys" Why exaggerate so much? This is simply not true. She's a woman in athlete wear, most of the time she's either standing up talking or fighting, no weird angles or anything. There is like 1 sexy cover of her, the back cover with all the girls in bikinis and then that infamous watermelon sequence. That's all the sexualization you are talking about.

"Mizuki only gets so much screen time because of how much p0rn of her there is" oh yeah Mizuki got a grand total of, like, *drum roll* 1 chapter and a half dedicated to her! Wow! Which is NOTHING taking into consideration how dense Garou's arc is and the fact that they will need at least 2 seasons of the anime to finish it.

But think about this: OPM desperately needed more female presence, in special with the prospect of finishing Garou's arc in the anime. Making anime is hard and COSTLY. Most of the people who is going to watch the anime haven't read the manga and they'll be like "what the heck there are no female characters in this anime for like 3 seasons?" and there is no team that's going to risk it working with such prospects. We know why.

Of all the expansion that Garou's arc got in the manga adaptation (and later in the anime), one of the most sensible and balanced decisions was to add more ladies. They put all those monster ladies for season 2, and then for season 3 we get Manako and Mizuki having some strong presence, Shadow and Kamaitachi there a bit in the back too. It benefits the pace and balance of both the manga and the future season 3 so immensely because Fubuki, Tatsumaki and Psykos take a LOOONG while to be relevant during Garou's Arc… in special with all the filler the manga put in between (but all that filler is of the S-Class boys getting development and a reality check which is kinda important too lol).

Point is: the screentime Mizuki got was VERY necessary to balance things in between of all the relentless Garou fights and the boys being boys. Sure Mizuki is beautiful and sexy and all, but really EVERYONE was waiting for a new female character that was relevant, likeable, fun… and on top of everything, it's so rare to see a strong 2m tall girl in fiction in general, not even just anime. Everyone got instantly excited about her because she's exactly what we needed AND MORE. And sure, people draw p0rn of her like they do with most other popular characters, what did you expect.

"The ladies are always more sexualized-" YES, in the OPM manga, the ladies are a little more sexualized than the men –but not by much AND not during plot stuff. By that I mean that most of the so called "sexualizing the girls" happens in the covers, back covers and promotional art very exclusively, and not during the story itself. HOWEVER, a lot of the sexy men bits do happen during the story, curiously.

In the anime though, there is almost zero ladies fanservice (which makes sense since there is almost no female presence in the first 2 seasons anyway). Yet it's full of naked dudes, sometimes for a good reason, but mostly just so we can look at them being sexy and silly.

I personally don't care if the man candy and ladies fanservice is not perfectly even in Murata's manga adaptation, because there is enough of both in his work, as well as other official OPM stuff like the anime and games to bring a very nice balance in the s3xy department.

"The way the women are dressed-" Most of the background ladies are wearing skirt uniforms and shit, but all the relevant ladies primarily dress in nothing you can call "sexualized" except for maybe Tatsumaki with her strong leg game. To recall:

Lilly wears the same as the men of the Blizzard Group; Twin Tail just dresses like a jester; Mizuki is the first to show so much skin, but she's still wearing real standard competition wear for athletes. All the other sportwomen (Hornet and Swim) and martial artists (Shadow, Suiko, Lin Lin) wear standard clothes for their respective professions too. Sure we've seen Shadow wearing some, uh, ninja bikini thing under her ACTUAL work clothes, but for actual fights she's fully dressed and surprisingly not stuffed in a tiny nylon bodysuit that rips like stocking, like all the ninja men in the series do lmao.

Fubuki and Tatsumaki are, like, the only ones wearing dresses and they can because they use psychic powers anyway. Fubuki doesn't even show ANY skin, ever! She just happens to have big b00bs! Kamaitachi is the other one wearing a "skirt" but it's similar to what Japanese martial artists would wear, too.

So, again… all this sexualization we are talking about is not even happening anywhere except in Murata's covers and some promotional art. ONE is famous for treating ladies very fairly, even if Murata tries very hard to exploit the sexy out of every single of the ladies ONE creates. All these ladies have their own agenda and personality that have nothing to do with being pretty or f*ckable. In fact, in-universe, no one ever mentions if the heroines are beautiful or sexy and no one ever talks about liking them for those reasons (except for Lilly and Erika who are gay for Fubuki and Tatsumaki respectively, amazingly enough no hetero characters mention it). I think the first time we've ever seen a relevant character talking about dating another relevant character is when Suiryu told Saitama and Suiko to date (but Suiryu is the resident h0rny fuckboy of the series, if someone was going to say something so stupid for all the wrong reasons, it was going to be him).

For being an adult series, a seinen that parodies shonen tropes and all, OPM is seriously very tame in the sexy ladies department. For this series, the sexy is just a luxurious accessory, just one more little thing. It's always pretty weird when people get so angry and disappointed about a new sexy girl cover or a couple of compromising panels, like they don't know what to expect.

"He only draws that way to please the h0rny fanboys" Murata IS a h0rny fanboy himself and draws shit that appeals to him as much as he feels he’s allowed to insert in the series. Please remember he's the insane fanboy that reached up to ONE to beg him to continue One Punch Man and offered to make a manga adaptation to promote OPM.

From the moment Murata started drawing OPM, the tone of the manga was set and never changed: lots of blood and guts, comical and non-comical nudity, irreverence, sexy angles, Genos ripping his shirts off, ninjas in body suits that rip like they are nylons… people in shirts, tanktops and dresses so tight you can see all their muscles, boobs and even belly buttons whether they are men or women or otherwise… h0rny chapter covers, stupidly h0rny monsters…

Just reading the manga to the point where Genos and Mosquito Girl first appear, you know what you are in for with OPM. I don't know what some fans are expecting to see in OPM next, but I'm going to take a wild guess here and say: you should expect more of the same.

At the end of the day, the manga is Murata's work with ONE, and if he likes drawing h0rny ladies more than boys, that's how things are! This is just 2 guys with their passion project. I don't expect of them the same as if there was a bigger team with a big budget behind the series, like it happens with many games and shows. In this last case, I would be a lot stricter about all this, because with more resources you're expected to do better things.

#one punch man #captain mizuki #tornado of terror #blizzard of hell #psykos #manako opm #fubuki #tatsumaki #opm #manako #lunamaria on the phone

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detectiveupstead · 4 years

Text

Coming Back [Upstead One Shot]

A/N: my little take on what happens after 7x18 “Lines”. Jay is the first person Hailey talks to after Voight tells her of her New York FBI assignment.

He was waiting for her at Molly’s, wondering what was taking her so long to show up. The rest of the team was around him, the buzz of the bar familiar as those who just got off work congregated to the local bar. Jay noticed something off about Hailey during the case, knowing her well enough at this point to pick up on any subtle shift of her demeanor to know something was going on in that quick-thinking head of hers. But she hadn’t told him, probably hoped he didn’t notice. Jay smiled wryly into the lip of his beer bottle, giving an absent shake of his head. She should know better at this point.

Jay glanced towards the table where the rest of the members of Intelligence were, mostly trying to keep Vanessa distracted from the outcome of the case that resulted in her losing a relationship she held close. Jay felt for her, aware of how rough the past few days had been for Vanessa. His gaze slid past the table just as the front door of Molly’s swung open, and he straightened where he sat on the stool at the bar when Hailey walked in.

There was a blankness in her expression as she entered, and Jay’s eyebrows furrowed together slightly as she walked past the table with their team members, returning their greetings with a brief smile but never pausing to stop by them. Instead, her blue eyes met Jay’s green, flashing seriously, and Jay knew immediately something was going on.

As soon as Hailey reached him, she said, “I have to tell you something.” She gestured towards the door, ticking her head towards it, and Jay nodded.

Silently, he got up and followed her, briefly exchanging a confused glance with Kim as he went. He shrugged his jacket back on as they made their way through the busy bar, walking out after letting a few people in. The sidewalk wasn’t busy, cars driving past occasionally on the street Molly’s was located on. Two men stood a few feet away leaning against the building, sharing conversation and cigarettes. The sidewalk was illuminated by the streetlights, and the music and chatter from the bar was muffled as they walked a few feet down the path.

“What’s going on?” Jay asked once they stopped, hands shoving into the pockets of his jacket as the familiar Chicago chill bit at him.

Hailey glanced away from him for a moment, the muscle in her jaw working, and Jay recognized this as her trying to find the right words. His eyebrows drew together, an uneasy knot forming in the pit of his stomach as he waited. Finally, her eyes met his, bright blue even at this time of night. “Voight’s sending me to New York for a few weeks as a loan officer for the FBI. I leave tomorrow.”

She spoke factually, trying to keep her voice monotone and flat, and yet her reluctance to following a direct order seeped through the longer she stared at Jay. He, in turn, looked right back at her, her words taking a moment to process, silently hoping that she was kidding, unable to say anything. Because panic had instantly flared in his head, feeling as though the universe was repeating a cruel joke—and Jay wasn’t sure if he was surprised that this time, it felt a hundred times worse.

His lips parted, yet no words came out, a tight lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. The Chicago weather had nothing to do with the way Jay stood frozen, all too aware of his heart beginning to pick up its pace, the panic slowly but surely increasing and threatening to take over every cell in his body.

History was repeating itself with a twist. He’d already lost one partner to New York—to the FBI. What kind of shit cards was he being dealt with to have another one leave, too, even if it was temporary? Jay knew the situation wasn’t the same. He knew he and Erin were done before she left—knew that leaving was her choice. She wanted to be gone. To leave Chicago. And leave him. So she did, without a word or a goodbye. Gone just like that.

And that had hurt. It hurt so damn much, to the point where Jay started spiraling in a way that frightened him, only allowing himself to get help, to get better, after Voight and Hailey gave him the push he needed. Hailey.

He knew she didn’t want to leave—hell, he could see it in her eyes, swimming with distraught and reluctance and absolute loathing for the assignment she was given. This wasn’t her choice—a difference from when Erin left. Another major difference: Hailey was giving him the respect of letting him know instead of merely disappearing.

Yet, Jay still felt as though he couldn’t quite breathe easily. Like someone had reached into the cavity of his chest, wrapped an iron fist around his heart, and was squeezing until there was nothing left to squeeze. And maybe that was a bit of an overreaction, but it seemed appropriate. Jay was too used to losing people, whether it be of their own doing or to death, but Hailey—she was someone Jay never thought would leave. She was someone he counted on never leaving him, even if the idea of it may seem wishful.

Jay appreciated and respected the partners he’d had in the past, whether it be in the military or as a cop, but Hailey was someone Jay was desperate to have at his side forever. A voice in the back of his mind teased him every time that thought came across—wondering if he meant it in a professional sense or more personal, more intimate. Jay tried his best not to dwell on it too much, not wanting to dig himself into a hole.

Was he even aware the hole had been dug, and he was already a good few feet in?

But now she was going and Jay didn’t get a say in the matter, and it foolishly pissed him the hell off.

“No—what the hell? Not happening,” he scoffed with a shake of his head, refusing to accept what he already knew was a done deal.

Hailey’s expression fell, like she expected him to react this way, eyebrows drawing together in an almost sad frown. “I don’t have a choice, Jay,” she rasped quietly, giving a shake of her head that had her blonde ponytail only slightly swinging. “Voight signed off on it himself.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Jay groaned through a clenched jaw, turning away from Hailey as he ran a hand through his hair. His back was to her, staring out into the parking lot, letting out a few heavy breaths as he tried to calm himself down from the anger mixed with panic running through his veins. He ran his hand down his face before turning to look at Hailey. With a shake of his head, he demanded, “Why the hell is Voight sending you?”

Hailey was silent for a moment, lips pressed together, as if she didn’t want to tell him. But Jay kept staring, green eyes clashing with blue, until she let out a breath, the air fogging in front of her, before admitting, “He says they run things differently there. By the book. Thinks it’ll be a good lesson for me.”

The frown of Jay’s face disappeared, chin lifting as understanding dawned on his features. The uneasy knot in his stomach only tightened, willing his fingers not to curl into tight fists as he looked down at the blonde woman in front of him. In a quiet voice, Jay asked, “This is because of what happened to Darius Walker, isn’t it?”

Hailey’s throat worked, instantly telling Jay that his thought was right, blinking once as she added, “And then some.”

Jay gave a disbelieving shake of his head as he broke their gazes, looking away as his jaw clenched together tightly. Darius Walker’s death was brought on by what Hailey did, talking to those gangbangers who had no problem seeking revenge for their dead brothers. He knew it and Voight knew it. Jay knew, the moment he talked to her after she’d done it, that Hailey was turning towards a road he didn’t want her going down. Ever since her CI Cameron’s death, there was a cloud hanging over Hailey that Jay had been trying to figure out how to get rid of. He certainly hadn’t helped matters when he ended up in the hospital, he knew, and Hailey was crossing lines Jay knew only Voight to cross.

And it terrified Jay, admittedly, to see Hailey like that. She was one of the best detectives he knew, a hell of a cop, and he didn’t want her to lose any of that because of some bad choices. As much as he hated to admit it, Jay saw the motive behind Voight’s decision of sending her to New York. The lines were clear there, no doubt about it, and he understood Voight wanting Hailey to take note of it, to work along with it and bring it back home.

Jay just hated that it had come to this in the first place. Hated that he could’ve helped her, been there for her, more.

“You’re pissed.”

He hadn’t said anything for a few moments, and Hailey uttering those two words reeled Jay back into reality, a sharp huff escaping him as his eyebrows lowered into a glare. “Damn right, I’m pissed. I think I have a right to be, given that my partner just told me she’s leaving.”

So many things—so many things he was pissed about. Deep in his heart, Jay knew this move would prove to be important for Hailey, understood Voight’s reasoning for it. But his chest still felt heavy, weighed down by the ghosts of the past that never seemed to entirely leave him, unable to completely ignore the sinister voice in the back of his head that taunted him with Hailey leaving for good. Away from Chicago. Away from him. He’d recovered from his past heartbreak. But looking at Hailey, at the woman who’d become his partner, his best friend, his confidant—Jay just knew if his fear came to light, this would be a heartbreak he wouldn’t recover from.

Hailey’s eyebrows knitted together, taking a step towards him, eyes never leaving his. She seemed to have read his thoughts, as always. “I’m coming back, Jay,” she reminded him pointedly, her sharp voice contradicting the softness in her blue eyes, desperate for him to believe her. It was enough to get his muscles to relax, to let some of the anger burning his blood to disintegrate. “It’s a temporary assignment, just a couple of weeks. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Despite himself, Jay scoffed, shooting her a flat look. A car drove by, its headlights illuminating Hailey’s face, and something softened in Jay’s chest at the glow of her features. Bright blue eyes glowing with reassurance, and a gentle smile successfully calming him down. With a raise of an eyebrow, he retorted, “You say that like I’m not gonna notice that you’re gone for a few weeks.”

Hailey raised her eyebrows. “You better,” she replied, her light tone cracking the tension. A ghost of a smile curled at her lips as she added, “I gotta have something to come back to.”

Jay’s throat worked at her words, though he still smiled, a warmth spreading through him as he nodded, “I appreciate you telling me, Hailey. You know, before leaving.”

“Of course,” she responded, as if not telling him hadn’t even been a thought that crossed her mind. “We’re partners, and even though I haven’t been completely straight with you, I wasn’t going to leave the state without telling you,” she continued with a gentle laugh.

A wry, almost bitter smile curled at Jay’s lips. Without thinking, he muttered, “You’d be surprised how many people would.”

What did it say about Jay that he felt more pain when people merely walked out of his life on their own accord as opposed to leaving by death, even if slightly?

He looked away as soon as the words slipped past his mouth, teeth clenching together as he focused his gaze on anything but Hailey. It wasn’t as though Jay was embarrassed by what he said—with Hailey, there was no room for that. Being openly vulnerable wasn’t exactly one of his strong suits, but his blonde partner was slowly changing that over the years for the better. And despite moments of morally gray decision making, Jay had a feeling it was mutual.

“I’m not any of those people,” Hailey spoke up, drawing Jay’s attention towards her once more. She looked at him meaningfully, a softness in her beautiful features that always stole Jay’s breath. Hailey was, without a doubt, so effortlessly stunning and if Jay wasn’t so damn good at his job, if he was someone else, he’d probably get distracted by her in the field. It didn’t mean he didn’t try to steal glances at her whenever he could, though. Jay watched as Hailey took a step towards him, gaze never leaving his as she peered up at him. “This is my home. I’m not leaving it. Or you.”

Jay’s heart leaped into his throat as he stared down at Hailey, the truth weighing down her words meaningfully, hanging between them in a silence not even the business of Molly’s could disrupt. And as Jay looked at Hailey, there was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to tell her—thoughts and feelings he’d been holding in for longer than he’d care to admit. But he was going to wait for when Hailey got back, to tell her when she was finally back home—back with him.

So he swallowed the emotions bubbling up, and instead he smiled, adoring the sight of her own small grin, before asking, “What time’s your flight?”

“9:15 A.M.,” she told him with a slight tilt of her head.

He smirked gently. “I’ll drive you. And I’ll bring coffee.”

Hailey raised her eyebrows, a teasing tilt in her voice as she asked, “You’re not gonna cry, are you?”

Jay gave a serious nod as they both began making their way back into Molly’s. “I’ll be sobbing on the inside.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder as they walked inside, a smirk dancing on her own lips as she approved, “Good.”

He wouldn’t be sobbing, of course. But as soon as Hailey would walk through the terminal gates at the airport, Jay knew he would be counting down the days until he could see her again.

#writing #upstead #hailey upton #jay halstead #cpd #chicago pd #chicago p.d.#hailey upton x jay halstead #jay halstead x hailey upton #hailey x jay #jay x hailey #jay halstead one shot #hailey upton one shot #jay halstead fanfic #hailey upton fanfic #jay halstead fic #hailey upton fic

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whumpiary · 4 years

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Dark!Timeline AU written in collaboration @untilthepainstarts. Lev is theirs and my favourite in every timeline. Cassius Bergen... meet Lev Viklund-Ried.

[content warning: referenced noncon, brief mention kidnapping, implied murder]

Cassius doesn’t move from the leather lounge chair as his guest steps into the room. He doesn’t even straighten where he sits, one leg slung over the arm. He glances up once, catching the dull shape of the other man in the doorway, and then sets his attention back on the skin of the apple he’s fixated on peeling off in one long spiral. The blade of the knife in his hand just barely catches the light.

“I don’t remember setting up this meeting,” he says, just loud enough to be heard from across the room “And I don’t like surprises”

The apple peel breaks off, just over halfway and he sighs in vague irritation, pausing to lift the peel to his mouth on the back of the blade and taking a bite.

“So whatever you want, Lev Viklund-Reid… it better be good”

His guest smiles at the brusque greeting, as though he’d expected nothing less. He stands casually, but still to attention. Eyes dark and soft.

“I should have known that a man like Cassius Bergen would want to get straight down to business,” he says, gentle humour lacing his voice. Cassius watches as his guest casts a careful eye over him, taking in the way he’s sprawled across the chair.

Viklund-Reid doesn’t move to sit—smart man; hasn’t been invited to. So he stands, just inside the doorway, hands clasped behind his back. He clears his throat, shuffling his feet as though embarrassed on Cassius’ behalf.

“So let’s do that, then—I heard about St. Clair. Heard about the... fallout, from your lunch.” Viklund-Reid cocks his head, offering a little smile. “You’re a very persuasive man, but I know that it’s hard to talk your way around other people when they stop inviting you to places. I’m here in the hopes of being the talk to your walk.”

Cassius feels a prideful sort of anger run through him, albeit muted by a curious respect. He runs his eyes over his guest. Kind looking eyes in a warm, brown face. It took a bold man to walk onto another man’s property, into another man’s house and start laying out the dirty laundry. But… down to business, he supposes.

Cassius laughs under his breath and starts carving into the apple again, angling the knife so he can get a perfectly even slice.

“Do you usually start your propositions by reminding the other person of their personal shit shows?” he asks, voice light like it’s some joke and not the foreplay to a threat. He places the slice of apple flat on his tongue and speaks around a mouthful of fruit. “Or should I be flattered that you feel like I need to be brought down a peg?”

"Apologies," Lev says, raising his hands slowly, sheepishly. Again… smart. No good to get a knife in the throat two minutes into the meeting. "My point was: there are those who wish to see you taken down far more than a single peg. And me and mine… don't want that to happen. I'm here to offer help, should you want it."

The man pauses, like he’s half waiting for Cassius’ blade to come spinning through the air. Cassius tilts his head. Not yet. There’d be time enough for that. When no blade comes for him, Viklund-Reid continues.

"A man such as yourself has no time for deference. For ingratiation." He laughs almost self-deprecatingly, looking up at Cassius through his lashes. "To say the right flowery words to fill the egos and the dicks of those higher on the food chain. And why should you? Lord knows you likely haven't needed to in a very long while, if ever.

"But more often than not… men like Jacob St. Clair feel incredibly threatened by anyone with the hint of a backbone, much less an entire spine," he says, gesturing in Cassius' direction. "It seems to me like you could benefit from a meek, mild, nonthreatening go-between retrieving you all the information that you need, while you no longer need to rub shoulders with… well, people that you hate." Offering a grin, he steps further into the room, stopping to stand a few respectful metres away.

Cassius rakes his eyes over the man with care. Lev Viklund-Reid looks every bit the mild-mannered mouse he describes. But Cassius would bet his fortune and then half that again that the glint in his eye suggests otherwise.

"Just because I hate the people doesn't mean I hate rubbing shoulders," he shrugs. He sets the tip of the knife on his knee and spins it idly. "The way I see it, it hardly matters if St. Clair is threatened by me if I still get what I want. And I don't know if you've heard, but I'm good at getting what I want"

He holds his guest's eye and takes a bite of the apple, chewing carefully. The other man wasn't wrong. Cassius did have a tendency to rub egos the wrong way. But he couldn't exactly palm all his meetings off to someone else, could he? He had to see people, speak to them. Otherwise how else would he get inside their heads?

"Lev's a pretty name by the way," Cassius says brightly, swinging his feet to the floor, "Is it short for something?"

Cassius knew better than to trust a mobster with their name. They were one of the few kinds of people left that cared the respect the power a name actually held.

“Thank you,” Lev says, the compliment bringing out his smile once more. “It’s not.”

Good. Cassius swallows, before lifting his hand with the knife and gesturing to the far wall of the sitting room. “Then, Lᴇᴠ, sᴛᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ.”

“Of course.” His guest moves unhurriedly but without delay, like Cassius knew that he would, his slender frame casting a small shadow in the firelight. When he reaches the wall he turns back to face Cassius, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“Is this okay?”

Flipping the knife over in the palm of his hand, Cassius stands. “Perfect. By all means, keep talking”

“Can’t remember what I was… oh, yes, right—you say you’re not bothered whether Jacob St. Clair is threatened by you or not, and that’s fair enough. And I do know that you’re very good at getting what you want.” Lev’s eyes follow Cassius as the latter paces slowly, tapping the knife on his bottom lip as if in deep concentration. “But surely the Bergen Estate knows that making enemies is rarely as profitable as making friends, and often comes with unwanted… side effects. Hiccups.” The warm little smile remains, even as Cassius starts to take aim.

“Like unwanted houseguests?”

Lev chuckles. “Like that, yes. But I’m here to—hopefully—see that these sorts of things don’t inconvenience you again.”

This fucker was so gracious. Cassius wanted to roll his eyes several times in rapid succession. “And how exactly do you, meek little house-mouse that you are, intend on doing that?”

The knife whips through the air and embeds itself in the taupe wall of the sitting room with a thunk. Lev’s eyebrows shoot up and his eyes flicker to the side, where the blade has found a brand new home only inches away from his face.

For the first time that night, Cassius gives a genuine smile. That had been a good throw.

“Well for one, I’ve got one of St. Clair’s men in the boot of my car. Caught him snooping.”

Cassius pauses for a beat, spine straightening just barely. Now that was interesting.

“Is that a Benchmade?” Lev moves to touch the blade where it’s sticking out of the wall. “It’s very nice.”

“You know, I don’t remember,” Cassius says “Bʀɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴍᴇ, and I’ll have a look.”

Lev moves fluidly, hand wrapping around the handle and he pulls the knife from the wall. Cassius tilts his head to the side, watching as the other man makes his way back across the room, turning the blade slowly in his hand.

“Benchmade,” Lev confirms with a smile as he passes it back, handle forward. Cassius flicks his gaze down to where the other man’s index finger taps at the engraved logo.

Cassius smiles with a little hum as he takes the knife back, feeling the balance of it in his hand as he holds Lev’s gaze. He gestures to the far wall again with the tip of the blade, giving him a little smile, “Back you go.”

Lev barely hesitates before turning on his heel and resuming his place at the wall, gentle smile still fixed infuriatingly in place. “Do you usually throw knives at your houseguests? Or am I just special?”

“When they’re wanted, or unwanted?”

“Touché.”

Cassius tosses the knife in the air and catches it again, tongue flicking to wet his lips.

“So. St Clair's man in the boot of your car,” he says, closing one eye as he aims the knife once more. “And that's meant to make him less threatened of me… how exactly?”

The second throw isn’t nearly as neat, the knife wedging itself in the wall noncommittally down beside Lev’s hip. Cassius tuts his tongue in disappointment. Always when you wanted to show off, wasn’t it?

He makes eye contact with his guest and juts his chin towards the blade.

“Well, fair shake, it probably won’t,” Lev says, plucking the knife out again and crossing the room with all the ease of a casual Sunday afternoon. “But it was only because he was snooping in your business that I caught him looking into mine, so when I found his guy poking around your property I figured it was the only decent thing to do”

Cassius watches as the man tosses the knife once, twice in the air, then balances it by the tip in the centre of his palm for just a beat before catching it smoothly, handing it back.

Cassius runs his eyes over the man again, just a little more thoroughly this time. If this was a mouse, he’d eat his fucking hat.

He smiles, cocking his head to the side, “Do you usually make your choices based on what’s decent?”

“When it suits me.”

“Good to know,” Cassius flashes a grin, stepping back a few paces as he waits for Lev to back up once more.

He knows that Lev is waiting on a response, or a go-ahead, so of course Cassius does the opposite: he takes his time. Deliberates. Plays with the knife some more, while he thinks.

Viklund-Reid isn’t doing this out of the kindness of his own heart—not exactly a done thing, in their circles—but for the life of him he can’t quite figure out what this man is getting out of all of this. Sure, there’s a steady thrum of want for power beating underneath that house-mouse exterior, but that doesn’t quite explain what’s happening here either. He could have turned the other cheek, let St. Clair’s man make a grab at whatever, watched the Bergen Estate burn. Just as much gain for him in that. It’s a sideways move.

So, Cassius does what he does best. He pries.

"I've got to say, ‘I have your nemesis’ merc tied up pretty in my backseat for all your vengeance needs' is all very Viklund-Reid of you. The other one, I mean,” Cassius looks carefully at the other man’s face, looking for a crack, however hairline. “Haven't heard much of him lately, though. Dead?"

The gentle smile doesn't shift, doesn't wilt like Cassius was hoping it might. If anything, it widens a little. Not a card shown.

"Disappeared," the man says easily. "No one's heard from him in months. Tragic, really."

Cass snorts a laugh, "Yeah it's funny how grown men can just… vanish."

This time the blade all but whistles as it flies through the air, lodging into the wall with a satisfying thunk, just a couple of inches from Lev's temple. The man doesn’t flinch. Barely blinks. And that's… well, that's almost more impressive than any knife trick could be.

"So the name change, then," Cassius says, walking forward to retrieve the knife himself for the first time "Did you actually marry, or was it just out of respect for the…" he catches himself before he says the word, over-enunciates to consonants in the replacement, "Missing."

Lev holds his gaze as Cassius reaches out to pull the knife from the wall. He doesn't move an inch.

"What about you?" he says gently, warmly, in lieu of actually answering. "Married or adopted? The rumours weren’t exactly conclusive."

There is a frozen, halting moment where neither man moves. Inches apart. Blade poised between them.

It's a curious thing, holding a knife this close to someone else, both knowing that one had the power to end the others life in a second but knowing just as well that they wouldn't. That probably they wouldn't. Hopefully.

And then Cassius grins and steps backwards.

“I guess I’m just confused,” he says, arms wide. He turns the knife lazily in his hand as he perches himself on the arm of his chair. “Not exactly conventional for the mob boss’ moll to take charge after he steps down. Did you have to suck all of their dicks to make that happen, or just the really important ones?”

The other man’s smile hardens just a little on his face, a pulse of something darker flickering over it. Like shadows reflected on ice.

Cassius holds the man’s gaze and tilts his head to the side, holding back a smile. What a silly little card to let show. Time to see if the little mouse could roar.

“Because I must say Lev, your reputation really does precede you,” he says. He gestures up and down the man’s body with the tip of his knife. “Martin was quite the film-maker, wasn’t he?”

Lev draws a hand up to rub at his neck, as though along the line of a collar, as though struggling with the vacuum in his lungs where the breath should be. He looks up, holding Cassius’ gaze for one moment… two. Then presses his head back against the wall behind him, shoulders loosening with a gentle shrug. “I refuse to apologise for the things that were done to me.”

There’s such a gentle sincerity to the words that it almost feels like a violence and Cass feels his smiling mask flicker and fall before he has a chance to catch it. Cassius Bergen was not a man who was easy to catch off guard. It wasn’t often he felt his stomach lurch; his heart miss a beat. He couldn’t remember the last time a person had said something that set him reeling. He doesn’t fancy it.

“Why are you here, Viklund-Reid?”

Lev shrugs again, and the ghost of a smile on his face is a little too close to sympathy for Cassius’ liking. “Thought you could use a friend.”

“That’s very funny.”

“I’m not laughing.”

Cassius inhales sharply and sits back a little on the arm of the chair. He looks Viklund-Reid over for what feels like the millionth time since the man had walked in, trying to get a read on him that seems increasingly impossible to grasp. Cass turns the blade over in his hand once more. Then he flicks it to the ground between them. A truce.

Lev smiles graciously, looking down, and steps away from the wall.

“You have power, Bergen. Nobody’s arguing that. Frankly, I don’t think anyone would dare,” Lev says and there’s that smile again. The little self deprecating shrug. Cassius feels his anger burn hotter for a moment – Liar. – but then the man’s eyes glint, expression caught somewhere between soft and calculating. “But let’s not pretend your reputation isn’t painted in the exact same colours as mine.”

Cassius snorts a laugh. Sardonic and dry. “Two whores is better than one, is that what you’re saying? I can’t decide if St Clair would disagree with you or agree a little too enthusiastically.”

Lev's eyes drop to the ground, and the Benchmade wedged in the fine wooden boards. He frowns. Walks forward to pluck it from the ground, of his own volition, and cleans the steel with thumb and forefinger around the hem of his shirt.

"I didn't realise he called you a… that. St. Clair. That… changes a lot, actually."

“Yeah, well,” Cassius shrugs. He keeps his eyes trained on the other man's face. “Can’t say I’m particularly fond of apologising, either.”

When Lev presents him his knife back once more, the gesture is clear: a reflection of his own truce.

"So I guess what I'm saying now... is that there's more than one way to skin a large, egotistical, loud-mouthed cat."

And at that, Cassius can't help but grin. "Now you're talking."

#implied or referenced noncon #referenced kidnapping #implied bastard murder #knife throwing #normal business partner courtship #u know #cassius bergen #lev viklund reid #dark timeline au #untilthepainstarts

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kainumbernine009 · 4 years

Text

I literally cannot do anything else until I get this out.

I’m... really not okay.

And when I say that, I’m not mentally unstable. I say that because I’m tired of waiting on empty promises, I’m tired of never having money in our account, I’m tired of living in a fucking city where half of the white people fucking worship the ground Trump walks on, and where most of the gay community has so much messy drama that it’s worse than middle school. And I went to a rough middle school.

I never talk about my past, because I don’t like to. It sucked. HARD. Being and only child in my family was nothing less than torture, especially as a closeted queer person. We grew up in the white Christian part of Nashville that dominated Music Row in the 90′s and early 2000′s. I played basketball with Alan Jackson’s daughter, and being around famous people was just no big deal. But, my parents decided to leave Nashville after my dad lost his job at TPAC, and we moved down south an hour to the town where the KKK got started (Pulaski, TN).

I had maybe two non-white people in my private Christian school growing up. I was never afraid of Black people, but my parents showed their racist asses quick when we moved there. The KKK has never left America, guys, no matter how many articles you read or studies you do. From 2005 to 2009 I saw a white town show its very worst to the Black community. I’ll never forget the first time I saw a march for “White Christians for Purity” the summer before Obama got elected. The disgust I felt inside was palpable. I had all kinds of friends in school, and I didn’t give TWO SHITS who they were or what they looked like... but I saw children my age, being brainwashed by their parents, that “white” is “right.”

Ever since then, I have been learning and growing about the issues of race. I remember my white classmates using the N word and getting away with it. I remember hearing about the principal at the high school punishing all the Black kids but not the white kids. I remember being invited to a church south of town that was a historically Black church, and how nice the ladies were to me for coming.

But I’ll never forget the racism that the religious groups promoted there, especially First Baptist Church and the 12 Tribes. I’ll never forget how FBC told me that my friend was going to Hell because she killed herself. I’ll never forget my mom telling me not to marry a Black man because of “impure genes.” I WILL NEVER FORGET THE INJUSTICES I SAW WHITE PEOPLE DOING TO BLACK PEOPLE THERE. NEVER.

And thank God, I have shaken the burden of religious guilt, but I still fight against this mentality. I live in a place that’s usually not even 10 minutes away from Trump-humping, sister-fucking, meth-addicted Confederate cunts in any direction. And we’re even closer to the rich white people who silently supported him, upset that their taxes would go up because of Biden.

And in the past four years since Trump got elected, I’ve gotten married, graduated college with honors, started my own photography business, and was making more than my husband there for a minute. I did my own taxes, marketing, editing, and everything. And then I came out as trans.

I lost everything.

I lost my studio. I lost friends. I had rumors started about me. I had people post hate messages on my wall. I had people at my drag shows tell others not to tip me, for whatever fucking reasons. I’ve had bosses give cis people jobs over me, and I’ve had government workers give me second looks when I hand them my license.

It. Fucking. Sucks. To. Live. Here. Like. This.

Oh yeah, did I mention I’m also a witch/medium? I’ve talked to dead people before and have told their relatives things I shouldn’t have known otherwise about their grandparents. Like, this information doesn’t even exist on Google. And I’m attuned to reiki. I’m always aware of what’s happening on at least SOME metaphysical level. This is a gift that I’ve had to go through life developing and learning about myself, with no one’s help but me.

I didn’t even know until I was an adult that I have autism and ADHD.

I’ve taken bullets from people who were about to kill themselves. I’ve yelled at 5th grade music classrooms for doing racist dance moves and appropriating Native Americans (I have a degree in Music Education K-12). I’ve consoled kids in classrooms who suddenly have panic attacks. AND I’ve told horny teenagers to stay in their fucking lane and respect the girls around them. I’ve apparently been an inspiration to those around me, but inspiration NOR exposure pays the bills. I’ve already had COVID, and so has my husband, but I knew that after graduating college that I would never have a fulfilling life being a music teacher in Tennessee’s public schools.

And now that we have COVID, and an orange, small-dicked, pedophilic, rape apologizing, dirty, crusty white president who STILL REFUSES TO CONCEDE, who is DIRECTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR HAVING HIS FOLLOWERS SEND DEATH THREATS TO MY FAMILY, I really don’t know what the fuck else to do other than go burn down all the houses I know of in North Georgia that belong to these Christian sex cult pedophiles and call it a day. My girlfriend unfortunately was born into one of those families, and I know just how bad it can get. In fact, her dad’s lawyer threatened me with blackmail earlier in November, so that was fun!

And now, on December 11, 2020, I’m still sitting here in the same fucking house, doing the same fucking things I’ve been doing all year - trying to get a job and failing horribly. I’M SICK AND TIRED OF THIS COVID BULLSHIT AND OUR INCOMPOTENT CUNT OF A PRESIDENT! And there’s only ever one other person I’ve ever called a cunt... my own mother.

I’ve lived in many places. I’ve met many different people. I’ve made mistakes, and have grown, but there’s one thing for damn sure that I always make sure to do, every single fucking day.

I ALWAYS try to do better.

In addition to this, I treat everyone with the same amount of respect, unless they have done something directly to me to negate that. If I know that someone believes in something that directly harms me or my family, I don’t even associate with them. I don’t spend my energy on things that don’t need it. And everyone else should, too.

The problem with some of y’all is that you care about the wrong things. Like will Becky text me back or did I get front row seats to that concert, or did I slave my life away to capitalism just so that I can own a Mercedes and have my friends jealous. I’ve had way too many dear death experiences to know that EVERY single fucking day is a gift. EVERY day.

I don’t want to be remembered first for the art I create. I want to be remembered for my character. I want to be remembered as the courageous person who never backed down in the face of adversity. But when you live in a place that already hates you and that is against you, that’s really fucking hard. Trust me. My marriage went from a cis straight passing couple to a white gay passing couple. I’ve seen how people’s attitudes changed around me as I transitioned. I know what it feels like to slowly lose a piece of your privilege you were born with.

So yeah, I kinda get a little fucking upset when I see people saying All Lives Matter, or when I see doctors refusing to treat trans patients in pandemics, or when I see cops YET AGAIN harassing Black people only a few blocks away from my house for no other reason than racism. And at this point, anyone who thinks they know me but only knows what people think they know about me can suck my entire ass and eat ten dicks. I don’t give a FUCK about who you are or what you’ve done. If you treat me or other people with no respect for no reason other than to be an asshole, you’re just plain shit. If you SERIOUSLY believe every little rumor and lie that someone tells about me before meeting me, fuck you AND the horse you rode in on.

What I can’t stand is people doing or saying things just to get a rise out of me or others. I thought we left petty shit in high school. Some of the people that “know” me really need to fucking grow up and grow a pair and either say what they want to my face, or stay mad. I’m tired of playing fucking petty games with y’all. We have a whole ass pandemic to solve.

So here’s the ultimatum... if you agree that Black Lives Matter and that queer people deserve basic human rights, EVEN THE ONES YOU HATE, then that’s the bare minimum to even be a decent person. If you can’t even do those things, then I don’t fucking know what else to say to you.

So NBC, maybe not have John Mulaney joke about my license debacle with my gold van on SNL, and Seth Meyers... maybe HIRE ME INSTEAD of Mulaney because clearly y’all don’t know about the south as much as I do? Oh, and that gazeebo joke with Lee University... I caught that. I may have autism, but I’m not a fucking idiot. I mean. I’m funny when I’m given the chance. And yeah, I’m on a watchlist, but who the fuck isn’t these days? At least all my secrets are out for the world to see, and I have a bangin’ tattoo.

I’m tired of everyone being like “omg, I’ve seen what he can do, it’s fantastic!” or “omg you’re so funny haha” and bragging on me and then NOT FUCKING HIRING ME. I’m TIRED of waiting on something that’s clearly at this point never coming.

I don’t even have testicles, and my balls are bigger than most of the cis men I have EVER met.

So, if you want to help me, or hire me, or get me out to an audition... I’ll be there. But until then, I’m so fucking MAD at some of these producers. Yeah, my mom is a cunt, but she worked in various forms of digital production from the 1980′s until she retired this year. She taught me SO MUCH about directing, writing, shooting, and more. I know how these things are supposed to run behind the scenes. I know what the fuck I’m doing, and I don’t take constructive criticism like a bitch. I actually WANT to be criticized, so I can do even better.

So PLEASE, for the love of Christ... y’all need to get your priorities together AND PLEASE STOP LEAVING ME OUT OF THE LOOP WITH THIS BULLSHIT. Grow a fucking pair and either call me, email me, or leave me alone. It’s really not that fucking hard. Looking at you, Lorne Michaels.

Oh and someone tell my husband what the fuck’s been going on because I’m tired of him gaslighting me about it.

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iseulfm · 4 years

Text

❛ 𝐅𝐎𝐗 , 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍'𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐃 ? it’s dangerous to be left alone in the lion’s den . ❜

❝ & who says the lion isn’t my prey ? ❞

okay listen , what we’re NOT gna do is talk abt how shitey this is & how i can’t FUCKIN write ( or read , yk ) . what we WILL talk about is how i , cc , twenty , have been HARASSED by iseul but u may NOT prosecute her – she caught ME slipping , okay ?

{ HA SOOYOUNG / CIS FEMALE / SHE / HER } whoa, whoa, you see that person over there ? that’s 24 year-old jang iseul . someone told me they were part of the london 47’s , apparently involved in some shit with the MONEY crew as a member . their leader just died too , so they must be feeling remorseful . but i also heard about ( REDACTED ) , which i’m not sure the group knows about . i mean, it sort of explains why they’re the premonition of the group and why they’re so cerebral & machiavellian and minacious & egocentric . i feel like when i look at them, though, they sort of feel like THE QUIET CALM BEFORE THE STORM - SOMETHING ELSE IS COMING ALONGSIDE THE LIGHTNING , PURE WHITE WINDOWSILLS LINED WITH DYING PLANTS , FOREIGN LANGUAGES DANCING ON A TONGUE KNOWN FOR SPITTING POISON , A SINGLE MANNEQUIN STOOD NAKED IN THE CENTER OF AN UNLIT STAGE MARKED WITH BLOOD & AN EERIE THREAT OF A LEATHER JACKET CLAD FIGURE OUTSIDE A GLASS PANE WINDOW ; CIGARETTE GLOW FADING INTO THE NIGHT - if that makes sense ? anyway , i’d stay away regardless .

❛ 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖓𝖊 ╱ 𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

full name . jang iseul / 장 이슬 nickname(s) / aliases . isolde age . twenty - four gender / pronouns . cis gendered female , she / her orientation . pansexual , demiromantic hometown . daegu , south korea faceclaim . ha sooyoung ( yves , of loona )

aesthetic . the quiet calm before the storm - something else is coming alongside the lightning , a cursed prophecy she’ll never be able to escape from , pure white windowsills lined with dying plants , foreign languages dancing on a tongue known for spitting poison , a single mannequin stood naked in the center of an unlit stage marked with blood , sweet nothings whispered from her lips while she surrounds her blindfolded prey , an eerie threat of a leather jacket clad figure outside a glass pane window ; cigarette glow fading into the night & greedy fingers picking up cash that’s worth more than anything she’s ever had in her entire life .

label . the premonition moral alignments . chaotic neutral ( + ) positives . cerebral , tactical , machiavellian , charismatic ( - ) negatives . minacious , egocentric , vainglorious , hubristic hogwarts house . ravenclaw godly parent . hermes deadly sin . pride

❛ 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖜𝖔 ╱ 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞

TRIGGER WARNING : sexy themes haha

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐅 , they call her a 𝐅𝐎𝐗 in the underground . with nimble fingers dipped in tar , there’s almost nothing that jang iseul can’t get her hands on ; if the fox wants it , she’ll have it . marching to the beat of her own drum , she’s the youngest of five siblings – grown up watching them each land a foot into a different branch of crime ( her sisters , spies & thieves , her brothers , muscles for hire ) & learns very early on that transgression is what makes the world go ‘round . seventeen with her life hanging in the balance ; iseul’s made dangerous enemies before she’s graduated high school & yet , the fox walks the streets of daegu with a smile on her face . hidden behind a uniform & an air of innocence , her intelligence is her greatest weapon . languages dance on her tongue as quickly as she can pick them up , street knowledge intertwines with book smarts & iseul shifts into isolde when she joins up with a notable heist crew – she only agrees to join ranks because her life is at stake . her options are to join a hubristic god or face the wrath of an underground king ( stealing nectar comes with a price – the king calls for her head ) .

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐃'𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐘 she learns survival . his consort teaches her how men are susceptible to what’s between her legs , his general teaches her how to wield bloodlust against vengeful women – iseul’s reputation precedes her by the time she’s twenty . three years spent with a wannabe god who collects beating hearts as sacrifice , she’s laid down her life for him & offered herself up as sacrifice to a man who calls her his goddess . a 𝐅𝐎𝐗 blessed with ichor , she looks up him and brandishes a knife to her own throat – anything he asks for , she’d do for him . that includes turning herself in when unexpected alarms go off in london – left on her knees with her hands interlocked behind her head , she watches as her god leaves her behind , his consort with a curled lip , fingers hovering over a red button that was never supposed to be pushed . interpol picks her up & in holding , slapped with the realization that he never loved her – he loved what she did to him , he loved how she held him , how she provided him comfort & pleasure the way no one else did . her downfall was her own foolishness , blinded by a false god & unable to see that she was nothing but a means to an end . prepared to spend life rotting in an unflattering jumpsuit , savior comes to her in a MAN . the gods are dead , iseul , back to humankind .

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃 & jamie singh takes her in with an outstretched hand . little 𝐅𝐎𝐗 , her talents are not to be wasted behind steel bars . an offer in the stolen crew , a life spent doing what she does best but she wants MORE – susceptible to mankind , jamie’s words bring her to the belief that she can become so much more than a fox . she wants to be a beast , formidable to heroes & comparable to typhon ; iseul lies in waiting , a dangerous omen that strikes mortals when she walks on graves . jamie helps her , hones her into sly danger wrapped in leather while her gaze linger a little longer , while he pretends not to see the extra money she pockets , while she follows his orders & turns into the kind of BEAST she’s always wanted to be . news comes of his death & she’s wrapped in sin , legs tangled with a partner while tainted with the memory of getting into an argument with HIM ; remorse , regret , she fails to hide red rimmed eyes while she returns to do her job .

in the enemies , there are allies but in her allies , there are snakes .

❛ 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊 ╱ 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

a notable criminal , most people know of her as the fox or simply , isolde . interpol labels her as isolde jange – wanted thief & the underground knows of her as the fox ; iseul is just iseul . intelligent , crafty & narcissistic , she knows she’s hot shit but she doesn’t say much about it . the premonition , it’s become standard practice for her presence & appearance to be an omen of bad things to come – mostly for the enemies of the group . exterior wise , she’s led by PRIDE ( always the smartest one or whatever brain not work ) & keeps her distance . head held low , she keeps to herself & lets her past do her talking for her . never the most chatty person , iseul’s track records with friendships & relationships is rocky & she’s appropriately labelled a lone wolf .

WANTED CONNECTIONS ; ah u know the more angst the better ; a rival who’s never liked iseul & iseul knows it & she’s like [ fuckboy voice ] haha but ur so sexy ; a hateship i think those are very thexy ; a ride or die who welcomed her in immediately ; someone from the stolen crew who she initially befriended cos she thought she’d do that ; someone from money crew who thinks she doesn’t belong w them ; someone who knew of her very obvious crush on jamie haha ; some ... mutual distant pining ; someone who speaks as many random languages as her ; ANYTHING .

❛ 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖗 ╱ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

this ... went downhill very fast please love me anyway okay thank u love u .

#47intro #PLS READ ON /MOBILE COS MY THEME SUCKS #& UH YUH LOV U SORRY THIS IS SO BAD

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valeriics · 5 years

Text

― 𝙈𝙀𝙀𝙏 𝙑𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙍𝙄𝘼!

( pinterest ) / tw: ptsd, death mention

hello ! my name is thalia and i bring to you all my second muse woop woop ! below the cut you will find some information on valeria ! if you’re interested in plotting with her please feel free to hit the like and i’ll come invade your messages or shoot me a message !

ADRIA ARJONA , CIS FEMALE , SHE / HER → according to the school records , VALERIA MORALES NARVAEZ has been teaching at sacred heart for the past 4 months . i last saw them around the courtyard ; i think they were preparing lecture notes . at twenty-nine years old , vale teaches international human rights law and get this , i heard that she witnessed her partner’s death — figure it’s true ? everyone around here always associates them with mud ridden boots traded for sleek shoes, a wedding ring gracing her finger even in mourning & a glare that would put medusa to shame. in this time of strange happenings , they have no affiliation with the cult in the woods .

― 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙎𝙏𝙄𝘾𝙎 !

name. valeria morales narvaez.

nicknames. vale.

age. 29.

d.o.b. 20th of january.

teaches. international human rights law.

ethnicity. guatemalan & puerto rican.

nationality. american.

languages spoken. english & spanish.

gender. cis female.

orientation. bisexual & biromantic.

― 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙎𝙏𝙊𝙍𝙔 !

valeria grew up in a town called tombestone, in arizona. with a population of a mere 1,400 people it was small enough that everyone knew everyone else’s business. she never liked that. at a young age, she grew bored of her life, choosing to follow her brother, javier, and his friends about like a lost puppy against her mother’s wishes. she had her hands full with the little farm she owned, javier and ensuring that the family had food on the table. she didn’t want to be running after her daughter, ensuring that she wasn’t found shooting targets with the boys, jumping out of windows late at night, racing old cars on dirt ridden roads, or stealing the neighbor’s chicken again for the fun of it all. and so the woman came down harshly on valeria, harsher than on her brother.

the harsher her mother’s verdict was, the more she distanced herself from the woman. the more she urged herself to leave this town. she wanted nothing more than to go to university out of state, to turn her back and never return. so, when the marines came knocking she answered. name was signed on the dotted line, they would pay for her education as long as she enlisted. perfect, she thought. not thinking twice, she packed her things and left for the other side of the country, not once thinking to call her mother and seeing if she was alright. she attempted to outrun the expectations her mother held.

after university, military service loomed over her shoulders, she knew she would have to keep her end of the bargain or suffer the consequences. and so, she found her way to the marines: a family she never asked for, but loved regardless. training was rigorous, it was hard– even more so considering she was a woman. it felt as though she had to work twice as hard simply to keep up with the boy’s club. the young woman was sent to boot camps all across the country, from sweating their asses of in the desert, to navigating the forests in negative degrees, and taking a well deserved break with an unhealthy amount of smoke. it was all fun and games, until she had to grow up– and grow up fast.

valeria was deployed to a conflict zone, she didn’t think to question orders. she simply did them, following her platoon into danger. it was then that she met a man whom she would fall in love with: jason carter. he was a complete and utter fool, probably the dumbest among men as vale would have said with an eye roll. he got on her nerves for the longest time, though during their time in the conflict zone together she learnt more about him, a side he didn’t show as much, and fell hard and fast.

*TW BOMB & DEATH MENTION*

after a year and a half they married, promises were made of settling down in the countryside together. they became each other’s solace in the messy world that they lived in. someone that vale could turn to, when she had already turned her back on her family. then, they were deployed on yet another tour. jason was in the car before her, perhaps they didn’t see it– vale could not make sense of the events that came to happen. there was a blast, a road side bomb went off. the car toppled over, and no man left behind was quickly forgotten as complete chaos unleashed itself.

her husband was dead. and she would never be able to tell him that she loved him again. she would never be able to feel his gentle touch on her skin, see his gleaming smile at first light, or press a kiss to his lips. he was dead.

*TW END*

her life was never the same again. returning from that tour was harder than any other before. she couldn’t even bring herself to step foot into her own house, haunted by the ghosts that still lived there. instead, she moved into the first motel she could find. she was released from duty shortly after, diagnosed with ptsd (post traumatic stress disorder) and told she would receive help for serving her country. but, the problem was there were too many soldiers, and too little help. she waited in line for an eternity, watching as her brothers and sisters fell to the bottle, drowning their traumas in booze. vowing, never to touch a bottle again.

she had her problems, and oh she had many, but she didn’t want to end up like them.

lifeless zombies.

not quite alive, but not quite dead either.

after a while of medication and therapy she submitted her resume to the united nations peacekeeping mission, and with a stellar recommendation from her commanding officers she was accepted there. after working her way through the ranks, the woman was assigned to various conflict zones this time instilling peace rather than the organized chaos the military orchestrated.

― 𝙁𝘼𝘾𝙏𝙎 !

valeria worked for the UN peacekeeping mission for 2 years, her military background served her well as she was sent out into various conflict zones and made overall possible due to her degree in international law.

she was offered a position at sacred heart and chose to accept it, she’s been working there as an international human rights law professor for the past 4 months.

her husband has been dead for years and yet she still mourns his loss.

she lives her life by routine: waking up, having the strongest coffee she can get her hands on, smoking a cigarette out of the window, boxing, preparing for lectures in the courtyard, holding her lectures, retreating to the comfort of her home with yet another cup of coffee before marking assignments and going to sleep.

she doesn’t have much of a life, because she’s afraid of getting attached to people again and losing them all over again.

sleep? who that?

she’s still suffering profoundly from her ptsd but she’s got a handle on it, and goes to her weekly sessions with the therapist never once missing an appointment.

she’s incredibly passionate when teaching, the type of lecturer that will waltz in first class of the semester and list a bunch of things wrong in the world then turn to the class being like “does this make you angry? if you’re not angry get the hell out, because you’re clearly not in the right class.”

her husband left her a large quantity of money, but she refuses to touch it, so it’s just sitting in a bank whilst she continues to live like she’s strapped for money.

― 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙉𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉𝙎 !

( these are just some ideas but feel free to hit me up with any you’d be interested in )

i. someone that keeps trying to drag her out to have a good time but she keeps saying no, slowly running out of excuses !

ii. a student that wasn’t too fond of the class at first but actually loves it now that she’s the teacher.

iii. a confidant.

iv. they often run into each other in the courtyard, don’t really talk much but the other’s company is the norm when she’s working on lecture notes. (can be teacher or student, maybe they see each other so often there that it’s weird when the other isn’t there at the usual time?)

v. someone she met when she first arrived that showed her around.

vi. friends from uni (they would know a very different valeria than the woman she has become nowadays).

vii. someone that reminds her of her brother? they’re like family but not really.

viii. frenemies

ix. they just really don’t like each other.

x. a student that had to take her class but slacks about and she’s having none of it.

xi. one night stand (let me make her feel guilty as shit hehe)

xii. flirtationship

xiii. they just roast each other a lot? full on banter where neither has to hold back from stepping over a line.

xiv. boxing sparring buddy.

#heretics:intro #tw ptsd #tw death mention

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