#every time I write something like this I think about that post where it's like 'Tumblr is where I come to turn my brain upside down

[lananiscorner]

Perhaps I was not clear enough in my original reblog, but I think you may have misunderstood several points of my post.

I was not trying to invalidate anything about the OP or miss its point--I was adding onto it, because for some adults who enjoy media for children, nostalgia is part of the appeal. I am sorry that the nature of your childhood meant that this could not be the case for you, but that doesn't change the fact that it is a factor for some, including for me. Your experiences are not universal, and neither are mine.

Personally, I occasionally rewatch cartoons from my childhood because they take me back to "simpler times". I occasionally watch shows or movies like them, designed for kids, even today as a grown adult long out of childhood, because there is something comforting for me in enjoying a well-made show/movie that focuses on the core messages we try to instill in future generations in terms that nobody can miss: be brave, be understanding, be kind, make friends.

The reason why I went into the second topic of my post (the stigma around adults consuming media for kids being puritanical panic around the potential of adults corrupting or hurting kids if they engage with the fandom) is because this is precisely the reasoning I see flung around most often by other people as criticism of adults who are in fandoms for child media or who enjoy media for children.

Gonna repeat that again: BY OTHER PEOPLE. I do not agree with that take.

I cannot count the many times I have either received asks myself, or have had mutuals receive asks, saying we should not be in fandoms X, Y, Z, because a grown adult enjoying stuff for children is creepy.

I was pushing back on said argument, to state why it is, in fact, beneficial to have people of multiple age ranges enjoying the same thing, precisely because it is the argument I most frequently had people try to wield against me and my mutuals.

I WISH I had no need to bring it up. I WISH that sentiment (that all adults who enjoy stuff for kids or are hanging out in fandoms for said media are creeps) did not exist, but it does, and so I decided to address it, before anybody tries to jump into my ask box and go "hurgh, hurgh, that post you reblogged about how we shouldn't shame adults for enjoying media for kids--do you not realize what massive creeps you are?"

You also grossly misinterpreted what I meant by "not every". "Not every" does not automatically mean "a good chunk" or "most". It means "not 100%". At no point, did I make any statement about how many percent of adults who enjoy kids media or enjoy hanging out in fandoms about kids media may be abusers, but I did acknowledge that they exist, because they do. They do exist in kids media fandoms, as they do in any sphere of life where kids may be present. So let me state this clearly for the record: In my experience, it is an incredibly small number, but it is not 0%. It is also not 100% though, which is what some other people like to assume.

There are plenty of people who are into children's media or part of those fandoms for entirely normal, healthy reasons:

They enjoy the simplicity of it.

They enjoy the quality of the writing/animation/music/various other parts of the work.

It helps them work through trauma or tough times.

It gives them nostalgic comfort.

They have loved ones or friends who enjoy it and want to be able to connect with them about it.

[Insert probably around half a dozen reasons here that I cannot think of at the moment.]

I do not judge anybody who likes media for kids for liking media for kids. As long as you are not harming anybody, you do you. Have fun, live your best life, enjoy the things you enjoy.

And regarding your question "How do you think about people who WORK in animation??" - In general, I think most of them are incredibly talented people. Whether they are decent people in a moral sense is something I cannot judge, unless:

A) I get to know them personally (highly unlikely).

B) They use their amazing talent to create something bigoted/hateful.

C) They publicly interact with others in a bigoted/hateful/abusive manner, or records of them interacting in such manner in private become public.

And if B or C ever happen (e.g. Rowling), I simply block them, stop interacting with their material, and move on with my life.

I like to think of people as innocent until proven guilty. I do my best to treat strangers with respect, understanding and kindness, and I say "do my best" because nobody's perfect--we all mess up sometimes and there have definitely been days when I have been physically or emotionally drained enough to be a sad ball of rage lashing out at anyone who interacted with me, and also because I am well aware that I have certain culturally-ingrained biases that I am actively doing my best to unlearn. But my default is always "assume decent person, until proven otherwise".

I will conclude by saying this: I wish you the best and I hope I made my point clearer this time.

Quick edit to add: I will also mute this post now, in the interest of not getting into any further arguments and derail OPs post even further. My initial reblog was meant to be a simple addition in further support of letting people enjoy what they enjoy.

I really have no patience for posts talking about "adults who only watch kids' cartoons," because, like...people accuse me of "only watching kids' cartoons," despite all evidence to the contrary. It doesn't matter how much I talk about other adult media I like, if I post too many things in a row about Steven Universe or The Dragon Prince or The Owl House, people come out of the goddamn woodwork to accuse me of "only watching kids' shows."

So I really can't take people seriously when they start talking about the supposed "problem" of "adults who only watch kids' shows." Are the "adults who only watch kids' cartoons" in the room with us right now, or are you basing your entire opinion of people solely on their fandom blog? Like, come on.

It makes me think of the couple years I spent volunteering in a school library. The librarian talked a lot about how it's hurtful to enforce "reading at grade-level" on every student with no nuance. Teachers would try to force their students to check out books "at proper grade-level," instead of letting students pick out whatever they wanted (even if it was "too easy"), and it resulted in a lot of students deciding books were boring, too hard, and only good for making them feel stupid. They started to hate reading entirely, because people constantly shut them down and told them they were stupid for not reading the right things. This was especially brutal on disabled students.

I personally apply the same philosophy to adults. You don't know what someone might struggle with, you don't know what someone's history is. You might think a piece of media is "too simple," but that's your experience and your opinion. People learn and grow and experience the world at different paces, and what seems to you like a "simplistic" piece of media may be the most complex, illuminating piece of media someone else has ever had the opportunity to experience. It doesn't make them "stupid" or "childish," and believing that it does is cruel and counterproductive. You cannot wield shame as a fucking cudgel if your goal is education, support, and helping people expand their horizons.

I don't think a culture of shame is helpful. I don't think a culture of "if you like 'childish' things, it means you're too stupid for anything else" is helpful. I don't think constantly making fun of children's media does anything other than demean people--and not just the people who enjoy it, but the people who make it, too.

[trashytracktales]

Heyy girliee, first of all I want to say that your writing is absolutely amazing. I’ve been reading your Lando fics for the past couple of days and “endings, beginnings” had me feeling butterflies in my stomach 🫢 I wanted to ask you if you could write something about lando and reader being friends but constantly having sexual tension building up between them. Maybe they flirt with each other but never think of it as something so serious and one night after a party they completely destroy each other. I fully trust you with this and how you’ll develop the story haha and don’t hold back. Thank youuu :*

Think twice | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Thank you so much for the love on Endings, beginnings & I appreciate you for taking the time to share this. Hope you like it 🤍🎀

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𐙚 summary ──── What starts as a chill party, where they sit in their old habits, ends with new boundaries crossed and a heavy tension they can no longer ignore.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, swearing, mentions of alcohol and drinking, friends to lovers, bit of jealous!Lando, smut, slight teasing, praising, fingering & oral (sit on it), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex.

𐙚 word count ──── 4.8k

𐙚 date ──── Jan. 21, 2025

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THE TWO OF them are always standing next to each other, no matter the room they’re in. The context, just like the reason why this happens, is redundant. Plus, they don’t even do it on purpose; rather, they are unconsciously drawn to each other like two magnets.

The party has finally slowed to a lazy hum, the music just a tolerable background noise now. People linger in clusters around them, their voices a distant murmur blending with the faint bassline of a forgotten playlist. The living room is dim, lit mostly by the glow of a string of fairy lights drooping across the ceiling.

It was supposed to be a small gathering, but then a friend told a friend, and that friend told their friends. And now, it’s almost impossible to find a private spot to catch your breath without breathing someone else’s air.

Somehow, they did. They are tucked into the corner of a couch, their space a small bubble of comfort. Her legs are draped over his lap, bare skin warm against the fabric of his black jeans. He’s cradling her calf in one hand, his thumb absentmindedly stroking her skin.

Her fingers thread through his curls at the back of his head, twirling them lazily. It’s a casual gesture, but it sends a shiver through him every time she does it.

Their conversation shifted into easy gossiping about a mutual friend — someone they both think is trying a bit too hard with their Instagram posts.

“It’s fucking obvious he’s fishing for attention,” says Lando, sounding almost conspiratorial.

“I know, right? The cryptic ass captions, the mirror selfies. He thinks he’s smooth with it, too,” she replies, giggling at the thought.

Lando grins, his thumb still tracing circles on her leg. The banter feels safe, the kind of effortless connection they’ve always had. But underneath it, there’s a quiet tension that neither of them is ready to address. Because they are, maybe, a bit tipsy, or because none of them has ever had the courage to take it further, for some reason.

“Alright, I need to pee,” she announces suddenly, getting ready to stand.

But Lando tightens his grip on her legs, his lips twitching in a smirk. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” she insists, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “If I don’t go, I might pee on you.”

Lando shrugs, “Go ahead. Then I might discover a new kink,” he encourages her.

“New?” she laughs. “That implies you already have at least one.”

Lando winks at her without saying a word, the corners of his mouth curling into a mischievous smile.

She rolls her eyes, smiling back at his immature behavior. “My God. You’re actually the worst. Move.”

He doesn’t. Instead, Lando, just stares at her with an expression that’s visibly different. His usual playful gaze has shifted to something more intense, and she tells herself he’s just a little... intoxicated. Still, it makes her heart skip a beat, because he looks so adorable when his eyes focus on something so intently. And so hot, that it makes her almost forget why she wanted to get up in the first place.

“Lan, I’m not joking, I actually have to go,” she whispers, her voice softer now.

He exhales, loosening his grip but not before giving her leg a small, reluctant squeeze.

“Don’t get lost,” he says, the words carrying more weight than they should.

She shakes her head, slipping off the couch and disappearing into the hallway. Lando watches her go, his eyes trailing after her like he’s afraid she might actually not come back.

Which is ridiculous, because he should not care. There are lots of other girls that he can take home tonight if he wants to.

Want, being the keyword.

Leaning back against the couch, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s always known she was the embodiment of the perfect girl for him — funny, kind, and loyal. But tonight, there’s something else in the air that makes his mind wander. The way she carries herself, her laugh, the way she makes everything around her seem brighter.

Lando realized long ago that he wants to he in her presence. The truth hit him like a punch in the gut. And he still feels that punch sometimes, especially when he sees her interacting with other people. Especially men.

He’s had thoughts about her before. Many thoughts. Wild fantasies he brushed off as nothing more than fleeting curiosity. And they’ve joked about it, too, their drunken ‘if we’re single at 35’ pact a favorite running gag. But tonight, it doesn’t feel like a joke — he might actually marry her if she keeps letting him invade her personal space like that. Except she wouldn’t have let Lando do that if she didn’t want him there.

He finds himself smiling at his own thoughts. But then, an unwanted stiffness claws his body.

She’s on the way back when a guy leaning against the wall near the bathroom is blocking her path. He’s tall, too close for Lando’s liking, and he is gesturing animatedly. She’s always too polite, smiling as she talks, but Lando notices the way she shifts her weight, edging away slightly.

Something close to jealousy ignites in his chest, but he manages to tame the feeling by looking away, and forcing himself to take a slow sip of his drink. She can handle herself, he knows that. But he’s also ready to step in, just in case he needs to. Most men don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and he’s aware of how insistent some of them can be.

When she finally returns, Lando’s mood has shifted drastically, and she notices it the second she looks at him.

“Hey, you good?” she asks, plopping back down and swinging her legs over his lap again.

“Yeah,” he says shortly, his hand resuming its absent stroking on her shin.

Her brows knit together. “Not you lying to me. Come on, Landinho, what’s with you?”

“Nothing,” he insists, but his tone is clipped, and his eyes won’t quite meet hers.

She punches his arm lightly, trying to break through whatever wall he’s just put up. “You sure?”

He looks at her then, and the vulnerability in his gaze takes her breath away. “Sure,” he says. But his hand tightens slightly on her leg, like he’s holding onto her in more ways than one.

Her heart clenches. Lando is her friend, the one person she can always count on, but in this moment, she feels the air between them growing in different direction. It’s not the first time, and it doesn’t make her uncomfortable, but it’s not easy for her to sit in it, either.

“You’re being weird,” she states, trying to lighten the mood, but her voice wavers.

“Yeah, sorry,” he mutters, forcing a small smile. “Just tired,” adds Lando, but there’s something he hides behind his eyes, something that makes her chest ache.

She studies his face, her teasing words dying on her lips. His eyes are heavy-lidded, the usual spark dulled by the late hour and maybe one drink too many. His movements are slow, lazy, his thumb still caressing her skin.

“I can see that,” she says gently, sliding her legs off his lap. “Up. Come with me?”

The sudden loss of contact pulls him out of his haze, “Where?” asks Lando, his voice faintly slurred with exhaustion.

“Do you trust me?” she replies with a knowing smile, standing up and extending a hand to him. “My god, Lando. My friend gave me keys to one of the rooms upstairs in case I wanted to crash.”

He hesitates, glancing at her outstretched hand before finally letting out a soft laugh and taking it.

They make their way upstairs, the faint thump of music growing quieter with each step. The room isn’t far, tucked at the end of a hallway. She unlocks the door, revealing a small but cozy space. The room is dimly lit, with a single bedside lamp casting a muted glow over the single bed that’s pressed against one wall, a small dresser, and an armchair in the corner.

Lando steps in behind her, the faint hum of the party fading as the door clicks shut. His gaze sweeps over the room, taking in the space. She lingers by the door for a moment, turning the key with a soft click, locking them in; the sound feels final, and heavier than it should.

Lando notices the bed immediately, his eyes narrowing briefly before he rubs the back of his neck, a gesture that betrays his unease. His voice is low and uncertain as he says, “You know what, I can crash on the couch downstairs. It’s fine.”

She tilts her head, her lips curving into a small smile as she watches him fidget. “You can,” she agrees, knowing that Lando has the superpower to fall asleep anywhere, no matter the place or how loud the background noise is. “Unfortunately, I locked the door,” she adds with fake concern in her voice.

Lando glances at her, his expression caught somewhere between playful and wary. “Yeah. You can unlock it, though.”

“But I won’t,” she replies, her smile softening, her words carrying an unspoken challenge that Lando catches immediately.

His lips part, and for a moment, he says nothing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Then, quietly, his voice dipping lower, he says, “Then don’t.”

His words linger between them, and she feels the weight of his gaze as it shifts to her. There’s no teasing in his expression now, no trace of the lighthearted Lando she’s used to.

She lets her arms fall to her side, her pulse quickening.

Lando’s chest rises and falls steadily, though there’s a tautness to his posture. His gaze darts back to the bed, then to her, and she swears she sees a flicker of something in his eyes — fear? Desire? Anticipation?

His jaw tightens, his eyes searching hers, and she feels the weight of everything left unsaid pressing down on them both. Every glance, every touch, every joke that lingered a second too long — it’s all there, bubbling to the surface.

The tension between them that has simmered for months, maybe even years, suddenly feels unbearable. Lando’s eyes meet hers once again, and the quiet resolve in her gaze breaks something inside him. And then, suddenly, a glance he catches from her it’s all it takes. The restraint he’s held onto for so long snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. Before he knows it, he’s closing the gap between them, his hands cupping her face as his lips crash against hers.

She responds instantly, her hands tangling in his curls as she pulls him closer. The kiss is all-consuming, months of buried feelings and unsaid words spilling out in a rush. It’s intoxicating, a heavy blend of alcohol and the faint sweetness of her cherry lip balm. His lips are soft, impossibly so, molding against hers like they were made to fit. The taste of him is dizzying, a perfect balance of warmth and want, and each movement of his mouth sends sparks of heat rippling through her.

It’s overwhelming, the way Lando kisses her — gentle, but with a growing intensity that leaves her breathless, her heart pounding as if it’s trying to match the rhythm of his. His fingers trail down to her neck, squeezing lightly and pulling her against him as they stumble backward toward the bed.

“Do you know how long—” he begins against her lips, his voice rough with need.

“Too long,” she cuts him off with another kiss while her fingers are rushing to tug at the hem of his shirt.

Lando groans as they tumble onto the bed. Their breaths are loud and uneven, filling the small space as their lips crash together again, need and desire fueling every movement. Her palm presses against the small of his back, coaxing him between her legs. He instinctively follows her guidance, his body lowering against hers until his forehead rests on hers. At that, Lando sighs, not with frustration but a soft exasperation that halts them both.

“Are we… okay?” he asks, half-amused and half-concerned. “We shouldn’t—we should not do this. Not like this.”

She doesn’t release him, her hands still on his sides, her legs loosely wrapped around him. “We are,” she assures him, her voice calm but insistent. “It’s just us, Lando.”

His brows furrow, his lips parting in disbelief. “I know. I just don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and—”

Her hands move to his face, cupping it firmly and forcing him to look directly at her. “Regret it?” the girl asks, her thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “Don’t be silly. You know this isn’t about tonight. I’ve wanted you for a while now. I know you do, too.”

His eyes flicker with something raw, and he swallows hard. “I do,” he agrees. “But. It’d be such a waste to mess it up.”

The weight of his confession settles over them, and he falls onto the mattress beside her. For a moment, they both stare up at the ceiling, their fingers brushing tentatively before intertwining. It’s quiet, save for the hum of the party faintly bleeding through the walls.

And then, “You’re such a good kisser, by the way,” she finally breaks the silence.

He lets out a chuckle, visibly affected. “You’re not making it any easier.”

“I’m already messed up because of you, Lan,” she confesses, turning onto her side, her fingers finding his arm and tracing slow patterns along its length. “I trust us. No matter the outcome.”

Her hand travels to his chest, her fingers brushing lightly over his collarbone before moving to his jaw. She traces the line of it, her touch light but electrifying. Finally, her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, her gaze following her movements so closely, as if she wants to devour him.

Their thoughts run wild, revisiting every stolen glance, the tension, the want — it’s always been there. Every moment brought them here.

And now?

“Do you, really?” asks Lando, his voice laced with curiosity.

She nods, her hands sliding down to rest over his, her fingers curling around his. “Completely. I trust us to figure it out as we go. Don’t you?”

He lets her words settle, a warmth spreading through his body. He does. But he still has to think twice before agreeing to something so drastic, especially when he is faced with something he wants so badly that it makes him burn with impatience.

Finally, Lando sighs, looking at her.

“It’s not a big deal, right?” she says with a quiet laugh, her voice tinged with both affection and relief. “We’ve always been good at just... being us.”

He smiles at that, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “That’s true. We’re pretty fucking great at that.”

Lando’s breathing hitches as she guides his hand to her ass, pressing it against her curves with an undeniable confidence. His grip tightens instinctively, and she drapes a leg over his waist, pulling herself closer. Their eyes lock, her fingers tracing his features, as if committing every contour to memory. They’ve never been so close to each other, and the intimacy of the moment makes his heart race, while hers almost melts under the warmth of his body.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he admits matter-of-factly.

Her lips curl into a faint smile. “Hopefully,” she whispers, her hand traveling south, to work on unbuttoning his jeans.

Lando swallows hard, his gaze darkening as he grips her tighter. “If I fuck you tonight…” his voice drops, laced with a possessiveness that makes her shiver. “I won’t be able to let another guy come anywhere near you again.”

Her eyebrows arch in surprise, finally able to put the pieces together, understanding why Lando was acting so strange earlier.

“Are you jealous, Lando?” she teases, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in her tone.

Lando’s response is silent; instead, he leans in, his lips finding the soft curve of her neck. He sucks lightly, then harder, leaving a blooming hickey that makes her gasp.

When he pulls back, his voice is firm, “No, I just want people to stay away from what’s mine.”

Her breath catches, and before she can stop herself, the word escapes her lips in a near-whisper. “Yours.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, but he doesn’t say anything, letting the intensity in his gaze speak for him. She pushes at his chest, making him fall back against the mattress with a soft laugh, and crawls on top of him, her thighs straddling his hips.

Impatiently, her hands work on his shirt, pushing it up his chest. “Off,” she demands, tugging until he lifts his arms and lets her pull it over his head.

His hands waste no time, slipping under her skirt and pulling at the lace of her panties. “These,” he says quickly, his breath warm against her collarbone, “are in my way.”

With a sharp pull, he slides them down her thighs, and she shivers as the cool air kisses her damp skin. She leans down, burying her face in the crook of his neck to hide her embarrassment as he guides her hips forward, her bare core pressing against the warmth of his abs. The firm ridges of muscle beneath her send a jolt of pleasure through her body, and she lets out a soft moan.

Lando’s hand tightens on her hip, his thumb brushing over her skin. “Look at that,” he breathes heavily, “What got you so excited, hm?”

She whimpers at his words, the heat pooling in her cheeks as much as between her thighs. “Don’t—” she mumbles into his neck, her voice muffled and shy.

He chuckles softly, the vibration of it against her skin making her shudder. “No, that’s so hot,” he teases, moving her hips just slightly so she drags against him. His own breath catches, and his hips shift upward, pressing the hardness of his length against her thigh. “You feel what you’re doing to me? It’s mutual.”

She lifts her head, her eyes meeting his as she lets her fingers trail down his chest. Next, she adjusts herself as her hand slides lower, brushing against the waistband of his pants before she pushes them down just enough to free him. His cock springs free, and she bites her lip at the sight of it, her own arousal growing as she reaches out to wrap her hand around him.

Lando groans, his head falling back against the pillow. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice rough and full of longing.

As she leans down to press her lips to his chest, her tongue flicking over his nipple, a sound escapes him that’s somewhere between a gasp and a moan. She glances up again, amused. “Well,” she teases, her voice playful but sultry, “I think I just found your new kink.”

Lando lets out a weak chuckle, his hand tangling in her hair as he pulls her back up to kiss her. “Shut up,” he speaks over her lips, but the way his hips buck against her hand tells her she’s right. “Everything you do is my kink,” he whispers, the rawness in his voice making her heart race.

Her cheeks flush a deeper shade, and with a playful glint in her eye, her hand squeezes his cock lightly, eliciting a sharp inhale from him. “Sorry,” she giggles, feigning innocence, “I just wanted to make sure.”

He scoffs, shaking his head with a smirk before his hands cup her ass firmly, pressing her harder against him. His voice is rough and dripping with need as he almost begs, “Come sit on my face.”

The unexpected plea is leaving her breathless, painting her face in confusion. “What?” she stammers, her voice nearly swallowed by the thrum of arousal coursing through her.

“Yeah, you heard me,” Lando assures her, his tone insistent, his eyes ablaze with anticipation.

Without waiting for her to argue, he pushes her skirt up around her waist, revealing the soft skin of her thighs, and pulls her closer to his face. She hesitates for a moment, her nerves warring with her desire, but when his strong hands guide her gently and his lips press a teasing kiss against her inner thigh, she gives in. The first swipe of his tongue against her entrance makes her gasp, her hand flying to the wall to steady herself.

Lando groans as he tastes her, the sound vibrating against her core and sending shockwaves through her body. One arm wraps tightly around her thigh, anchoring her to him, while his free hand drifts down to his cock, stroking himself in tandem with the rhythm of his tongue. Her moans spill into the air, mixing with his as Lando’s mouth works her over like a man starved, warm and wet and utterly relentless.

“Lan,” she breathes, her voice shaky as the intensity builds. Her hips jerk against his mouth instinctively, and he responds by pulling her even closer, burying his face deeper between her legs.

His tongue flicks, swirls, and presses in all the right places, and she can barely keep herself upright. She has to press both of her palms on the wall, but even then it’s not enough to keep her grounded. Not when Lando laps at her clit, his fingers digging into her thighs to keep her still as her body begins to tremble.

“You taste so fucking good,” he informs her between strokes of his tongue, his words muffled but clear enough to make her toes curl.

As her breaths turn shallow and erratic, she feels the pressure coiling tightly in her abdomen. Lando senses it, too, and his grip tightens, his movements growing more fervent. “Wanna come for me?” he asks as impatient as she is.

Before she can even process his question, her climax crashes into her like a tidal wave, her thighs trembling around his head as her moans echo through the room. Lando doesn’t stop, his mouth and tongue coaxing her through every pulse and tremor until she’s gasping for air.

In one swift, effortless motion, he pulls her down onto the bed and flips her over, positioning himself above her. His lips are slick, his gaze heavy-lidded with lust as he pumps two fingers into her, the wet heat of her still clenching around him.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his thumb brushing against her sensitive clit as his fingers curl inside. “Let me feel you.”

Her body arches off the bed as another wave of pleasure crests over her, Lando’s name spilling from her lips in breathless cries. The sheer intensity of his touch and the quickness of it all leave her spinning, her mind barely able to keep up as he drives her over the edge once more.

By the time her breathing begins to steady, Lando leans down, his lips brushing hers in a lingering kiss, tasting her satisfaction on his tongue. He grins against her mouth, utterly smug but entirely captivated.

“See how fucking delicious you are?” he whispers, and she can only nod, still lost in the aftermath of him unraveling her completely.

Seeing the pleasure etched across her face, Lando can barely hold it together. His hands tremble slightly as he shoves his jeans and boxers down for good, freeing himself at last. His cock, heavy and flushed, rests against her thigh, the warmth of her skin giving him goosebumps. He breathes heavily, his chest rising and falling in sync with hers as he pauses for just a moment, meeting her gaze with a mix of vulnerability and pure lust.

“Are we really gonna do this?” asks Lando, his voice hiding too much desire under its raspy tone.

His eyes search hers, looking for any hint of doubt. Luckily, there is none. She just nods frantically, her hands sliding down his back to cup the firm muscles of his ass.

Her touch sends electricity through him, and she guides him where she needs him most, her body arching in anticipation. “I want you. Please.”

Without breaking eye contact, he sinks into her, and the world stops for both of them. His head falls forward, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he feels her warmth envelop him, her slick heat drawing him in effortlessly. Her body opens for him so easily, so perfectly, that it steals his breath. The tension that had coiled tightly in her frame melts away as her legs wrap around his hips, pulling him closer.

Her arms encircle his shoulders, holding him tightly while she gasps Lando’s name. Her voice is music to his ears, and he presses his forehead against hers, the connection between them both overwhelming, yet grounding. Her fingers slide into his curls, playing with the strands at the nape of his neck as her hips shift instinctively, adjusting to his size.

“God, you feel…” he trails off, unable to find the words. Instead, he lets his body speak for him, drawing back before thrusting forward again. His movements are purposeful and powerful, each one making the bed creak slightly beneath them and pushing her up and down the sheets.

Her lips part with soft cries, her fingers tightening in his hair as her body meets each of his thrusts. “Lando,” she moans, her voice full of need and adoration, spurring him on. “Yes, that feels so good. Don’t stop.”

He catches her mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing her sounds as his hands wander over her body. His fingers hook under the hem of her t-shirt, and he tugs it upward, breaking the kiss momentarily to pull it over her head. The sight of her bare skin, flushed and glistening, takes his breath away. Her breasts are adorned with black lace, and the contrast against her skin ignites something primal in him.

“Stunning,” says Lando just as his hand drifts to her chest, brushing over the delicate fabric.

The way she arches into his touch, her nails scraping lightly against his shoulders, drives him wild. His thrusts deepen, his hips moving with purpose as the room fills with the sounds of their bodies meeting, her moans, and his ragged breaths.

“Fucking hell,” he rasps. His jaw clenches as he feels her tightening around him. “You’re killing me. So tight and—”

Before he can finish, she pulls him into a kiss. It’s shallow, their lips barely meeting as they breathe each other’s air. Her nails dig into his back, her legs trembling as she holds him as close as humanly possible.

“You’re so good, Lando,” she murmurs, her voice quivering, her praise like gasoline on his fire. “My favorite boy.”

Her words send him over the edge of control, his hips stuttering as he thrusts deep inside her, feeling her walls begin to flutter and clench around his cock. Her back arches, her head burying into the pillow as her orgasm crashes over her like a tidal wave. Again.

Her moans are unfiltered, and she clutches him like he’s her lifeline, while Lando stills inside her, groaning low and long as her body grips him so tightly that knocks the air out of his lungs. He presses his forehead against her chest, their breaths hurried as her aftershocks pulse around him so sweetly. Her nails scrape lightly down his back, grounding them both, continuing to whisper his name like a prayer.

It’s enough for Lando to surrender to his own orgasm, his body trembling as wave after wave of release takes him over. He stays buried inside her, unwilling to part just yet. The warm tightness around him makes him shudder, his hand gripping her thigh to anchor himself.

When he finally pulls out, he hesitates before pressing his knee between her legs, feeling the slick warmth of their combined arousal smearing against his skin. She squirms against him, her overstimulated body trembling, her hips shifting involuntarily as aftershocks ripple through her.

Lando watches her, his eyes dark with satisfaction, his voice husky as he whispers, “Forget 35. Let’s get married tomorrow.”

She exhales sharply, a laugh bubbling out of her. “I’m down,” she teases, her tone light but affectionate. “Let’s book the venue now.”

He looks at her, gaze softening, filled with something deeper as he reaches behind her and, with one measured motion, unclasps her bra. The suddenness of it catches her off guard, her eyes widening as he tosses it aside like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Before she can say a word, Lando leans over the side of the bed, fishing for his shirt. He finds it, holding it up, then tugging it over her head, the oversized fabric swallowing her frame.

“Perfect fit,” he says softly, his fingers brushing against her arms as he helps her adjust it. The gesture makes her chest tighten, her heart swelling with an ache she doesn’t fully understand yet.

After that, Lando slides back into his boxers and pulls the covers over both of them. The bed is small, forcing their bodies to press together in a tangle of limbs. It doesn’t feel awkward, though. It feels like a new home, safe and peaceful.

He rests his head on her chest, his breath warm and steady against her, while his hand absently caresses her through the fabric of his shirt, his fingers brushing over her nipple. Everything about the moment feels somehow so normal, like they’ve been this way forever.

The silence stretches on, so comforting, until she suddenly breaks it with a soft groan. “I have to pee again.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[fangbanger3000]

we need to talk about The Silence and The Song

as per my last post, i have received a lot of encouragement to go public with this, and the more disappointed people i have in my dms, the angrier i get. so i will.

the silence and the song is an ancient arlathan au DA fic on ao3 by luxannaslut, and it is partly, if not entirely, written by an ai. i have no wish to be involved in any kind of fandom drama or witch hunting or bullying, but as a writer myself there are few things that piss me off more than watching people steal the work of others because they can't be fucked to write. it's disrespectful to your fellow writers, it's disrespectful to your readers, and it's disrespectful to the authors of the works the ai is stealing from.

ai is a plague that has no business being in creative spaces and you must do better.

the writing pattern

there was something very odd and monotone about the sentence structure of tsats that i couldn't quite place, so i fed chatgpt a prompt along the lines of "two people in a fantasy novel hate each other, but they secretly desire one another, and they kiss", and the screenshots above are the results. the third one is an excerpt from chapter 40 of tsats. the writing pattern is identical and it doesn't seem like the "writer" has even bothered to pretend they wrote it. if you're going to use ai, at least be sneaky about it. you know, paraphrase a little.

nonsense descriptions

"her nimble fingers worked with quiet precision" (ct. 1), "his grip firm but tender" (ct. 33), "her gown pooling around her like embers" (ct. 1).

fingers don't make sound, so what does quiet precision mean? as opposed to what? her joints cracking with every movement? how is a grip firm but tender? what does that mean? since when do embers pool?

the entire fic is littered with these adjectives that contradict each other or just straight up do not make sense, because all an ai does is generate descriptive language with no understanding of what the words it's spitting out actually mean. i could spend hours picking out examples from the seven billion pages worth of text, but i quite frankly have better things to do and would simply challenge you to try getting through a chapter or two without noticing the pattern.

repetition at structure-level

all the scenes in this fic are described in pretty much the same way. they open with purple prose vomit of the surroundings; solas is standing somewhere looking "unreadable as ever"; ellana's fiery golden molten fire copper ember ginger red hair is flowing this and that way; there's some dialogue with whoever is present and it leaves ellana feeling different variations of "something she couldn't name". this is, once again, a blatantly obvious sign of ai. below is the result of me feeding chatgpt the line "write me a scene from a fantasy novel where a woman with red hair is sitting on the ground in a magical garden at night", and side by side with that is the opening scene of the fic. make your own judgement.

repetition at word-level

this one speaks for itself. we fucking get it. her dress is orange, her hair is red, mythal's presence is heavy in the room, solas looks unreadable, compassion is sitting on her head like a crown, solas' ears are betraying him and ellana's move with every thought she thinks. we get it. the issue here is that an ai remembers the info you feed it, but not necessarily the info it shits out. if it's being told to write scene after scene of an elven woman with a gown that looks like fire doing xyz, it's going to do so with no regard for how many times the reader has already been informed of these details.

lastly: the breakneck speed

359,6k words in four weeks by a person who allegedly is employed and married and hasn't pre-written anything? no. any writer will tell you that this simply isn't possible. it absolutely infuriates me to see how much praise this "writer" gets for posting up to three full chapters in a day without anyone calling bullshit. i am pulling out my hair, you guys.

why i'm not going to live and let live this one

perhaps i would be less angry if the fic was some silly bullshit court intrigue Y/A stuff, but this is a text that handles very heavy and triggering topics such as SA, coercion, domestic abuse, and other things of the same vein. to sit back and put your feet up while having a robot write these extremely sensitive and very real human experiences with words it has stolen from texts written by actual persons is fucking heinous. the "writer" should be deeply ashamed of themselves and i'm sick and tired of watching people eat up their bs.

and on that note: the amount of people in my dm's telling me that they feel stupid and naive for not clocking this has infuriated me more than anything else. you're not foolish for this. being fed ai-generated bullshit is not what is supposed to happen on any creative platform and much less a fandom-centred one, so of course no one approaches a fic through that lens. fandom and fic writing is supposed to be about passion and the only person in this situation who needs to do better and change their behaviour is luxannaslut. polluting our creative spaces, wasting the time of your readers, and minimising the effort of actual writers who are working hard to provide content for us all to share and enjoy is vile and so, so lazy. i beg of you: do better.

[inseobts]

Paths Diverged, Hearts United

Trafalgar Law x Strawhat Reader

A/N: it’s been years since I last wrote and posted something and it’s the first time I write about one piece so please be gentle with me lmao

Summary: after liberating Wano you get offered to join a new crew and you decide to follow your heart

Warning: none!

The celebrations of Wano’s liberation has finally calmed. The Straw Hats, the Heart Pirates, and the Kidd Pirates stood together at the edge of the Flower Capital, each crew preparing to part ways. The bonds forged during the war were strong, but now the time had come for each to follow their own path.

You stood near the Sunny, your gaze fixed on the horizon. The others are laughing, bickering, and preparing their ships, but your thoughts are elsewhere. Your heart feels heavy, torn between the adventure that await you with the Straw Hats and the unspoken pull you feel toward Trafalgar Law.

“Y/N,” Kidd’s gruff voice cut through your thoughts. You turn to see the fiery redhead striding toward you, his usual smirk replaced with something softer. “You know, you’d make a hell of a lot more sense on my crew. We’d make a killer team.”

You chuckle, appreciating his attempt to sound casual. “Thanks, Kidd, but you know I’d drive you crazy.”

He snorts “You already do.”

His expression grew serious for a moment. “But if you change your mind, the offer stands. No strings, no pressure.”

You smile, giving him a playful shove. “Thanks, but I think the Sunny’s where I belong.”

As Kidd walks away, Law approaches from the Heart Pirates’ side. His usual stoic expression tinged with something unreadable, his golden eyes locking onto yours.

“Strawhat-ya,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. “You’re really staying with Luffy, huh?”

You nod, heart pounding in your chest “Yeah. I can’t imagine leaving them. They’re my family.”

Law nods, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting yours again. “Good choice” he says, though the tightness in his voice betrayed him.

The night before the departure, you found Law standing alone by a small koi pond in the garden. The moonlight reflected off the water, casting a silver glow over him.

You approach quietly, nerves fraying with every step.

“Law” you called softly.

He turns, his expression softening when he sees you. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

You shook your head, coming to stand beside him. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching between you like a fragile thread. Finally, you took a deep breath.

“There’s something I need to say before we leave” you began, your voice trembling slightly.

Law’s brow furrows, concern flickering across his face “What is it?”

You clench your fists, summoning the courage you need, “I’ve been holding this back for too long. I care about you, Law. More than I probably should, considering we’re on different crews. But I wanted you to know… I actually have feelings for you.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and unpolished. Law’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he was completely silent.

Then, to your surprise, he stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours.

“Y/N,” he says softly, “I’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length. But you—you’ve made it impossible to do that. I like - I love you too.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and full of restrained passion. The weight of both your unspoken feelings melted away as you stood there, wrapped in each other’s embrace.

The next morning, the crews gather at the docks. Luffy is as loud as ever, already shouting about the next destination. Kidd’s crew is preparing to set sail, and Law’s crew is doing the same.

You stood with the Strawhats, you heart torn but resolute. You exchange one last glance with Law, a silent understanding passing between you.

As the Sunny pulls away from the harbor, you stood at the railing, watching the Polar Tang grow smaller in the distance. Law stood at his own ship’s deck, his hand brushing against the pocket where a small piece of your vivre card rested.

You are on different paths now, but your bond is unbreakable.

Weeks later, you found yourself staring at the horizon again, your fingers brushing against the matching piece of Law’s vivre card you kept tucked away.

“Thinking about him again?” Nami teases, coming to stand beside you.

You smile sheepishly. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Nami says with a grin. “It’s about time someone tied you down, even if he’s not here.”

Luffy bounded over, laughing. “Don’t worry, Y/N! We’ll see him again! And when we do, you can make him blush all over again!”

You laugh, your heart light despite the ache of missing him. You know you’ll meet again—after all, your love is as constant as the sea itself.

[bedfordxcx]

Keep it cool. | Spencer Reid

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⛧· ·⛧· · ───────⛧· ·☽◯☾· ·⛧─────── · ·⛧· ·⛧

Pairing: Post prison!Spencer Reid x Fem!Loser!Reader (I did try to make it as gender neutral as possible but I do believe some Fem slipped through the cracks.)

Synopsis: In which Loser!Reader works a case with the team, including a specific Doctor you're almost creepily in love with.

Word count: Around 2.2k

Warnings: Reader knows far too much about Spencer, mentions of death and crime scenes, I think that's it!

A/N: Introducing Loser!Reader, yippee! Although, there's not alot of the loser vibes in this (I do have a vision for the future though, comics hint hint.) Might make a vision board for you guys to see where I'm going.

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Joining the BAU is terrifying.

But for you, it isn’t the crime scenes or even the murderers. You’ve been an introvert your entire life, the sort of person who spends more time in fictional worlds than the real one. Friends? None. Social skills? Practically nonexistent. A loser in every way that counts. The very idea of interrogating suspects, chatting with local officers, or presenting your theories in front of a room full of people makes you want to curl up under your desk and pretend none of it exists.

So why do you stay?

For him.

Spencer Reid, the man who occupies every corner of your mind and whose name is scrawled obsessively across your journals. One look at him on your first day—gangly frame, untamed hair, lips that always look half a second away from darting into a fact-filled ramble—and you’re doomed. Completely and utterly bewitched.

Even the way he refuses your handshake that first day, with an explanation about pathogens, leaves you spellbound. It isn’t normal, but then again, neither are you. From that moment on, you find yourself obsessed.

You’re beyond gone.

When Spencer is sick, you swear you can feel the congestion in your own chest. When he takes time off to visit his mother, you stare at his empty desk, imagining his hands rifling through files, the ghost of his pen against paper.

Every moment revolves around him. You don’t just daydream about him; you study him. You memorize his mannerisms, his voice, the way he moves. It isn’t healthy—not by a long shot—but the more you try to pull yourself away, the more tightly you cling to the idea of him.

Now, as Hotch drones on about the case, his voice is just background noise. It isn’t important. Not compared to the gentle, rhythmic breathing coming from Spencer.

And then it happens.

The all-too-familiar snapping of fingers in front of your face, followed by Emily’s teasing voice. “Hello? Earth to Agent Daydreamer?”

Stupid Emily. Always ruining your (non-existent) moments with Spencer.

You blink slowly, your gaze drifting toward Emily as you come to.

“Hm, what?”

You clear your throat awkwardly and look down at the table, avoiding her eyes.

“I... I was listening, definitely.”

You glance at Spencer, making sure to memorize the highlights of his face, the way the button of his nose sits a bit brighter than the rest of his features. You’ll definitely write about that in your journal later.

Before blinking away and staring down at the file in front of you on the table, though your cheeks are flushed from lying.

“And—I—I asked you to stop calling me Daydreamer...”

“Uh huh.”

Emily’s lips tug into a knowing smirk. There’s something almost cruel in the way she looks you over, like she knows, but you quickly shake the thought out of your head.

Get it together.

Just then, Hotch’s voice disrupts the teasing (thank god). “Wheels up in five.” You’re not surprised the team was called in to take this case. Three women, all with dark hair and petite frames strangled to death with no solid evidence linking the cases aside from the MO.

Emily nudges your shoulder. “Ready?"

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The trip is uneventful at first. Hotch briefs you on the plane, and you do your best to listen with Emily’s teasing glances and Spencer’s fidgeting hands in view. You jot down notes about the case, but most of your attention is directed toward the man across the aisle. He’s wearing a sweater-vest today, the fabric accentuating the lines of his body.

You start to wonder what it would be like to feel his frame under your hands, to trace the curve of his waist, to kiss your way up to his Adam’s apple.

Your stomach flutters as you watch him. Is it too much? Do your stares linger a little too long? Do you look like a creep when you spend hours daydreaming about the feel of his hair or his skin?

Yes, you think, you certainly do.

But you can’t stop. Not when he’s there, right in front of you, so close and yet so far away.

He looks up, glancing around as if he feels your eyes on him, and you turn quickly back to your notebook, pretending to take notes.

“Where do you think he gets his coffee?”

Emily pulls you from your thoughts, the rest of the team still discussing the case in the background. The plane is dimly lit, the soft hum of the engines creating a soothing white noise. You’ve been staring out the window, eyes locked on the setting sun while your mind worked overtime, imagining all the ways you could make Spencer love you.

JJ arches a brow. “Who?”

“Reid, idiot.”

“Oh! The, uh... the café two blocks away from Quantico—they sell coffee beans for home use as well as the, well, drinks the baristas make..." You mumble, not realizing it might be a little weird that you know such specific details about him.

Why does Spencer drink his coffee black? Is it for the taste, or is it because it keeps him sharp? Maybe it’s routine. Maybe it’s just his preference. Either way, you have that fact on a page in your journal, labelled "What Spencer Likes."

JJ laughs softly. “You think you know him that well, huh?”

But Emily just nods, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “You know, I could see it. And I bet he has a little home espresso machine, too.” She smirks, glancing over to Spencer as he continues to talk, his hands flying as his tone grows more and more passionate.

“You know how he likes his coffee?” Derek’s smile is wide, and you can see the accusations forming in his mind.

“You’re drooling, sweetheart,” Emily teases, her voice a low whisper.

You pout. “Am not.”

But despite your denial, you raise a hand to your lips to check for drool anyway.

But you aren’t drooling. No, you’re so far gone that just staring at him lights up the pleasure centers in your brain. You have pages upon pages of notes just like this, detailing Spencer’s preferences and likes from the way he takes his coffee down to what you think is his favorite color (you haven’t confirmed, you are just that good at picking up on subtleties like his tie choices and such). But your lips might as well start to water, because now you’re imagining him pulling you in close, whispering all your favorite facts into your ear.

Does he ever whisper secrets to anyone? Is he the type to fall asleep talking about his passions? These were the thoughts you had before bed the night before this case, and you couldn’t help but imagine yourself in bed with Spencer, both of your bodies tangled together as he whispered to you, lips brushing the hollow behind your ear. Would he ask how your day was? Would he press kisses onto your skin, and tell you about one of the many facts he has stored away?

These thoughts are getting out of hand.

You don’t even notice the conversation has ceased until you look up and see everyone with their eyes on you.

Oh. They’d asked a question.

It wouldn’t be out of character for you to space out like this. You’re notorious for it. But still—it’s a bad habit, one you’ve tried to kick since your undergrad.

Spencer’s brow furrows ever so slightly as Hotch speaks. “So what do you think?”

“Well, from what you were reading in the file,” Hotch presses, waiting expectantly.

Is it a good answer? A bad answer? Are you supposed to respond? “Uh... what?”

A voice pipes up. Emily.

“Maybe it’s his first time out. Just a thought,” her voice is casual, but there’s an edge to it.

The rest of the plane ride is uneventful. Spencer spends most of his time reading, his lips moving as if reciting the words under his breath. You’d do anything to be that book. You bet it smells like him.

When the plane touches down, it’s already late afternoon, and the local precinct is eager for your help.

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The first victim’s house still smells of death.

You keep your face behind your collar as the M.E. walks you and Emily through the house, describing the scene with a level of morbid detail that makes you question your career choice. Spencer follows, his eyes scanning every corner, his lips moving in quiet conversation. It might be your imagination, but he seems closer than usual, his arm brushing against yours as he leans in to whisper something about the blood pattern.

Stay calm. You’re on a case. People are dead. Focus.

After the scene tour, the team splits up. Hotch and Prentiss go to the station, Rossi and Morgan check into hotel rooms, leaving you alone with Reid.

Alone. With Reid.

Emily flashes you a wicked grin before heading out, and you make a mental note to smother her in her sleep. How dare she leave you alone with Reid and look that smug?? Just to make it worse, she winks. Ugh.

Spencer glances at you. "I don't know about you, but I always work better with caffeine in me."

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The local coffee shop is relatively empty—just you and Spencer, the coffee machines hissing and gurgling in the background. You sit at a small table, a file open between the two of you, as Reid leans forward, fingers tracing the line of text.

“See the marks on her neck here,” he says, gesturing to the grisly photos. “That’s consistent with a rope or cord of some sort. But look at the angles. The depth.”

His finger travels up and across the photo, drawing your eye to the bruises.

“It’s not just strangulation.”

“It’s an odd pattern, though.” His voice has that familiar excitement to it, the kind that comes with unraveling a mystery. “It could indicate a signature, something personal to the killer. We should look into that more.”

Is his voice always this smooth? Are his lips always this pink? You’ve never seen him this closely before, at least not sober and awake.

Your gaze roams over his face, noting the way his tongue dips out to wet his bottom lip, the creases at the corners of his eyes.

Focus, focus, focus.

“And we could then link all of the victims together then.”

“Exactly!” He flashes you a grin, a real one this time, all teeth and crinkled eyes. It’s so damn cute you can barely breathe.

“Maybe he’s got a type, you know. A certain look, height—”

You can’t help but imagine Spencer pressed against your body, his breath on your neck, the rough stubble of his jaw dragging across your skin as he plants those damn perfect lips right behind your ear.

The warmth in his voice makes your stomach clench. You’re so close. If you leaned just a little bit forward, you could be kissing him. What’d he do? Would he pull back? Would he grab you and push you against the coffee counter? Would he pull your hair and bite your lips and whisper facts about how hot he thinks you are?

You can be a type.

“Mmhmm, a specific look, maybe... he wants revenge on someone who looks that way? And he’s working his way towards her. An endgame.”

The tension is almost palpable. You shift in your seat, trying to keep the air cool, to not let on how much you want him.

Spencer’s lips part slightly as he speaks, his tongue darting out to wet them. You can’t help but wonder if he tastes as good as he looks, like coffee and sugar and that je ne sais quoi that makes him… him.

You’re staring at him. You know you are. You shouldn’t be, but your eyes keep flitting between his lips, his hands, his eyes—you haven’t looked down at the file in what feels like forever.

You probably look like a creep, but you can’t help it. Every movement of his, every shift in his voice, sends a wave of warmth through your body. Maybe it’s obsession, maybe it’s hormones talking.

“The victimology might hold some clues,” he says.

“...probably, it usually does.”

“Right.”

Spencer licks his lips, his gaze lingering on the files scattered in front of you. He runs a hand through his hair, a habit you’ve noted when he’s deep in thought. If you had it your way, you’d have your fingers knotted in his hair, pulling him close as you kiss the curve of his jaw…

But for now, you’re here, in the coffee shop, trying to untangle your feelings for Spencer from the case at hand.

The smell of coffee and the hum of the evening news serve as a backdrop to your internal struggle.

Keep it cool. Keep it cool. Keep it cool.

[ssa-hotchs-heart]

The confession Aaron Hotchner

Summary , The reader tells Hotch how she feels after the case was over she’s very bold in this . I love her for being bold in this , I hope you guys enjoy this one this my first post for this account on here I Spent a couple days on this with editing it an re writing it with how I liked it .

Paring fem!BAU!reader Aaron Hotchner

Category emotional romantic moments vulnerability

Content warning The story contains, emotional vulnerability , mentions of workplace hierarchy romantic tension of boundaries and intimacy Y/N is mentioned

Word count, 1.115k

Author notes Can I add he’s all I’ve been dreaming about lately ?

Please be kind this my first post of Aaron on this page

And I’m excited to share this with you but nervous

You thoughts are welcome but please be kind and please re blog if you like or enjoy.

Request are open I need ideas

The case had ended, the unsub was caught, and justice was served, but you couldn’t shake the weight still pressing on your chest. It wasn’t the gruesome details of the case that kept you awake most nights. It was him. Aaron Hotchner.

He was always in your head—his voice, his presence, the way he carried himself. You thought about him constantly, the way his hand had rested on your shoulder, the warmth that lingered long after he’d pulled away. It was more than admiration; it was longing.

You dreamed about him, vivid, aching dreams where he held you close, where his lips pressed against yours, where he whispered things that made you feel safe and wanted. And in the moments you were awake, your thoughts weren’t much better. You imagined him pulling you into his arms, tilting your chin up so your lips could meet his. You wanted him to see you—not as one of his agents, but as a woman who cared for him deeply.

The walls you had so carefully built around yourself were crumbling, piece by piece, every time he looked at you, every time he said your name in that calm, steady voice. You didn’t want to fight it anymore. You didn’t want to hide behind professionalism and rules. You wanted to let your guard down—for him.

After Spencer’s gentle push, you found yourself pacing outside one of the empty rooms in the Boston field office. You knew this moment would change everything, but you couldn’t let it go unsaid any longer. With trembling hands, you knocked on his office door.

Hotch glanced up from his paperwork. “Y/N? Is everything all right?”

“Can we talk? Privately?” you asked, your voice shaking despite your best efforts to stay composed.

He nodded, setting his pen down. “Of course.”

You led him into the empty room, closing the door softly behind you. The silence stretched, and your heart pounded in your ears as you turned to face him.

“Sir...” you began, then stopped yourself. No, this wasn’t the time for formalities. You shook your head. “Aaron.” His name felt strange and intimate on your tongue, but it felt right.

His eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn’t interrupt, waiting patiently for you to continue.

“I need to say this,” you said, your voice trembling. “I can’t get you out of my head. It’s not just admiration or respect—it’s so much more than that. I think about you all the time. The way you carry yourself, the way you care for this team. I dream about you, Aaron. I dream about you holding me, kissing me, being close to me in a way I’ve never let anyone be before.”

His expression softened, but he remained silent, letting you pour your heart out.

“I want to let my guard down for you. I’ve spent so much of my life trying to be strong, trying to prove myself, but with you, I just... I don’t want to hide anymore. I need you, Aaron. Not as my boss, but as something more. I know I’m crossing a line by saying this, but I can’t keep pretending that these feelings don’t exist.”

You took a shaky breath, the vulnerability leaving you exposed in a way that terrified you. “I don’t know what you’re thinking right now, and maybe you don’t feel the same way. But I needed you to know that when I came to you last night, it wasn’t because I just needed anyone. I needed you.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, and his dark eyes searched yours for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he stepped closer, his presence grounding you.

“You’re brave,” he said softly, his voice steady and filled with something you couldn’t quite name. “Braver than I’ve ever given you credit for. And I’m not going to pretend I haven’t felt something, too. I’ve been trying to ignore it, to push it aside because of the job, because of the rules, but... you’re right. This isn’t something we can keep pretending doesn’t exist.”

Your breath caught, hope blooming in your chest.

“Aaron,” you whispered, his name a plead

He reached out, his hand gently brushing your cheek before settling on your face. “You mean more to me than I’ve been willing to admit, even to myself.”

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed. And when his lips finally met yours, it was everything you had dreamed of—soft, warm, and filled with unspoken emotion.

When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “We’ll figure this out,” he murmured. “But I need you to know that I’m here for you, not just as your boss but as someone who cares about you more than I probably should.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but they were tears of relief, of joy. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on your chest lifted, and you allowed yourself to hope for something more.

@hoe4hotchner

[rasolomonwrites]

Would love to read something where Armand is possessive of old Daniel, post-Dubai or during. You choose if Devil’s Minion happened or not :) thank you!

If you want some more input - maybe Daniel catches Armand staring at his scar in a ”strange” manner during the interview. Or Daniel cuts himself and Armand reaction is - strange? Thanks again! Loved your previous snippet!

Thaaaank. Here you go! I got mad into writing this and I feel so alive.

At first, Daniel thought he was imagining it, the unusual level of attention from the love of Louis' life.

But, as the days of the interview wore on and tensions rose, it became undeniable.

A glance here, a lingering gaze here, something definitely happened between them. Those haunted, mesmerizing, piercing eyes grew more cutting by the hour.

Fuck, it seemed like something was happening between them right now.

At first, Daniel had brushed it off as Armand being kind of a weirdo.

He probably just wasn't sure how to interact with mere mortals anymore, if he ever was in the first place.

After all, what would a sensually ethereal bordering-on ancient vampire want with an old man that was spending his last days shaking and hooked up to an IV?

Louis was waxing poetic about Lestat again and Daniel couldn't believe he was spending his last days like this.

It was a final gig which switched between the exhilaration of deadly discovery and the utter boredom of hearing Louis talk about what his half-murdered ex smelled like in the moonlight for the 86th time.

That feeling again, of being watched, of being hunted, distracted Daniel from his break in concentration. He managed to do the impossible.

He caught the vampire Armand off guard.

Those firey endless eyes were burning a hole right into his neck, to his scar, through long inky lashes.

Daniel felt every hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Terror and desire burned through his veins. He heard nothing over his own heart pounding, though he could see Louis continuing to speak.

He caught only the smallest flash of white‐ A FANG- the thought rang in his skull like an alarm and was enough to break the trance.

Suddenly the moment ended, almost like it had never started. His hands were shaking.

Armand looked at him fully composed from across the table, as if oblivious to their exchange.

Louis had stopped speaking. He propped a head on his chin, looking across the table at Daniel with concern.

"Daniel-" He began, only for Armand to interrupt.

"It's incredibly late for him, you probably tired him out. I don't think he's heard anything you've said in 20 minutes."

Daniel sighed and waited for his hands to calm before taking off his glasses and rubbing his temples. He wouldn't have to look at Armand if he couldn't see anything at all.

"It all gets recorded." He said, realizing that somehow not being able to see Armand properly only made things worse.

It seemed that somehow he was touching him without touching him, beyond vision the blurred lines of their bodies like a physical presence.

It felt of pure possession.

Daniel couldn't breathe.

"I think it's best that you rest." Said Louis.

Daniel bristled a little at being dismissed like a whiny kid in need of a nap, but he did want to get the fuck away from Armand long enough to figure out what the fuck had just happened.

He covered the scar on his neck with a hand, feeling strangely naked.

"Sure fellas, see you tomorrow night." Daniel ended the recording.

[fuji09]

I'm just now seeing this and I debated whether or not to say anything more about what I said in my post that this person is talking about. They said this like a month ago, but my words are being used as a way to prove that any negative thoughts towards a character who is a person of color is automatically racist, and that is really hurtful considering as a Hispanic person, I know how it feels to have people be racist towards me or see people actively be racist about characters who are people of color.

When I said that I know that Derek tied Deaton up and punched him, that wasn't me saying that it's ok and we should ignore what Derek did wrong in this situation. I'll talk about anything that any of the characters have done wrong. But my post was about Deaton and things he has done and said. I can absolutely make a separate post about things Derek did wrong, I know he fucked up a lot. I also understand why he did the things he did, fear is a very powerful emotion and motivator. Fear can override our rational thinking to protect ourselves, even when those actions aren't the correct actions to take.

As someone with ADHD who can go down every rabbit hole in existence for hours on end, if I don't stick with the topic at hand, which in my post the topic was Deaton, then I can end up completely off topic and lose what I was originally trying to express. I do my best to stick with one character at a time, at most two, in a post so I can stay on track. If that comes across as me not caring about the shit other characters did, that's not on me. That's others making assumptions about me due to things I didn't say and that's just ridiculous.

I don't hate Deaton. I don't think Deaton is evil. I don't have personal headcanons trying to make him evil. What I do have is the need to write out my thoughts about characters and see what others think as well to see if I'm possible taking something differently than intended or if I hit the mark or even if there's more than one way to interpret something.

I'm not going to gloss over the bad or mean things a character does because they aren't white. That does nothing to help actual racism within fandom. I will call out shit no matter what someone's skin color is.

I'm quite aware that Teen Wolf is about Scott. I know he's the main character and have no issue with that. I'm happy I get representation in a main character. I'm not trying to ignore that so there isn't that fueling any of my thoughts. I'm not creating headcanons to demonize Deaton. What I am doing is seeing the things Deaton says and does and judging based on that.

To me, Deaton did do Derek a little dirty. That's my personally feelings. Whether he actually did or not, it's how I felt. Honestly I feel like every character did someone dirty at least once. Because that's how people are, we all do someone dirty in our lifetime. We all fuck up. I also don't think it's fair to instantly jump to someone is being racist because of something they felt about a character.

I never said there was something wrong with Deaton helping Scott and mentoring him. It's good he did! I just felt that with Derek, instead of putting him down, he could have offered advice. Or even do both! Tell him something he is doing wrong and offer a better way at doing it. I would want anyone to do that because I feel kindness is the better way to go. Which is why I do my best to be kind, even when I'm being talked down to and insulted.

I understand Deaton is Scott's mentor. I understand he will have a lot of focus on Scott. But I guess because if I was Deaton, I would help them all as much as I had the ability to, because I understand the trauma they have all been through.

Trauma doesn't care if you're an adult, trauma doesn't care if you're a millionaire. Trauma rewires the brain. And Derek has had a lot of trauma in his life to the point where he is not a functioning adult. For 2 seasons Derek doesn't get an actual place to live, he squats in the burned up ruins of his old home and the ruins of an abandoned train station. The guy has no idea how to adult, and as someone who had to endure trauma hindering mental growth and not knowing how to function as an adult, I feel empathetic towards Derek. I understood the fear and the anger. I understood the hurt and confusion. Having to play catch up due to trauma after trauma is hard and its frustrating.

So yes, I will have a little more empathy towards characters I can relate to, but I still have empathy for other characters as well.

Just because I didn't bring up the sheriff, doesn't mean I feel he did everything right about the Hale fire. Hell, I don't even know if Stilinski was even the sheriff when the fire happened. But if he was, then yes, he did Derek dirty by not solving it and seeing that the fire was arson and catching everyone that helped cover it up. If he wasn't the sheriff yet, then whoever was at the time, did Derek dirty.

But my post wasn't about the sheriff so I had no reason to talk about that. I can definitely talk about that on a separate post if anyone wants, but like I said above, I like to keep my posts about who I'm talking about and not add in others who have nothing to do with my post so I can keep my posts on the right track, because if I don't, I'll never get to the point I'm trying to make.

I never saw Deaton as Derek's enemy. I understand Stiles is a supporting character. I understand that for a while, Derek had the role of antagonist. I understand that Scott is the main character.

Deaton is cryptic and is called cryptic by other characters. I find characters who are cryptic generally annoying because I have a hard enough time understanding people when they aren't cryptic. Being neurodivergent makes it harder to understand things unless bluntly stated. So yeah, I'm probably going to interpret some things wrong, but that doesn't mean it has anything to do with the fact that he's black.

I put my thoughts out there to have civil discussions. To see what someone's else's pov is. If something went unnoticed. If I possibly misunderstood something. But when I do, I instantly get met with condescension, accusations of racism, and having my words twisted.

If I get something wrong, by all means please tell something is wrong and why. But don't treat me like I'm stupid. When I post my thoughts, I want conversation, not attacks. I want to figure out if how I saw things was correct or if it's more ambiguous. And there are a lot of things in this show that's ambiguous.

I haven't been in the fandom since the beginning. I've been in the fandom for a year. For me, everything has been new. So lumping me in with people who were here from the start isn't fair. I'm not them.

I get being tired of racism in fandom, trust me I get it, but jumping to the conclusion that anyone feeling anything negative towards a character who is a person of color is automatically racist is damaging. Especially when people go straight to the accusations of racism and are condescending right off the bat instead of remembering the fact that some people are new to the fandom.

My favorite part of that post is, “and yes I know Derek had tied him up and punched him.”

Like, they’re really saying ‘let’s just agree to completely disregard the fact that Deaton’s sole interaction with Derek as far as we know is being beaten up and kidnapped and instead talk about how mean Deaton is to him!’

Also, folks hating characters because of their own awful headcanons about them instead of their actual canon characterization should be laughable at this point, but mostly it’s just sad.

There is one inescapable and, to certain parts of fandom, unreconcilable fact that lies at the bottom of all of this turmoil: Teen Wolf was the story of Scott McCall. There was no episode, no plotline, no detail in 100 episodes and a movie that did not impact Scott or influence his development as the lead protagonist. From how Derek's and Peter's trip to Mexico to recover Talia's claws led directly to Derek giving Scott the "Protector of Beacon Hills" title to how Claudia Stilinski's illness and death planted the seeds of the conflict in Season 5A between Scott and Stiles, he's always at the center of everything.

It is the fundamental rejection of this idea that leads parts of the 'fandom' to create hate-fueled headcanons in order to negate it. This is quite clearly exemplified in the racist demonization of Alan Deaton. All these clearly nonsensical interpretations, from "sinister tree wizard" to "cryptic demon worshipper" to "Peter's archenemy" to "Deaton did Derek dirty," all come from the idea that it is the Hales (which somehow includes Stiles and/or any other white male character to which fandom has grown attached) who should have the rightful claim to the focus and attention of the show and the characters therein.

From a Doylist perspective, if you take my premise above as true then, of course, Deaton would spend the majority of his time and focus on Scott. Deaton served as Scott's mentor, and as narratives usually do, they used a character in that role to highlight the protagonist's struggles and strengths and to reveal the protagonist's background. For example, when the writers wanted to highlight Scott's ethics they show this through the way Deaton treats him. In Season 1, he is a 16-year-old with the keys to the animal clinic who works unsupervised. Deaton scoffs at Scott's apologies for being "all of two minutes late" and praises him for being one of the "least slacking kids in town." In Season 2, Deaton's treatment of Scott shows his faith in him when other people in his life (Stiles, his mother, Allison) doubt him. Through later seasons, Deaton treats Scott less and less like a high-school student and more and more like a partner in his clinic, highlighting Scott's maturation.

That's Deaton's role in the story; he wasn't there to help a supporting foil like Derek resolve difficulties caused by an event six years before the start of the show. When he's negative toward Derek, it serves the purpose of defending Scott.

From a Watsonian perspective, it still makes sense for Deaton to pay most of his attention to Scott. Scott works hard for Deaton, and Deaton knows he's a child from an economically-distressed broken home. Deaton also understands that Scott's been introduced to the world of the supernatural violently and against his will and that he's been placed where he has to lead more children in life-and-death situations. Since Deaton suspects Scott has the chance to become a True Alpha, Scott will need all the guidance Deaton can give him. Derek, on the other hand, was an adult millionaire who has been a werewolf all his life and whom Deaton hasn't seen for six years. Furthermore, Derek broke into his clinic, assaulted him, and kidnapped him, as well repeatedly beating Scott, who we have to stress once again is a child, once to the point of Deaton having to give him medical attention. And yet, Deaton still provided advice, knowledge, and druidic assistance to Derek, once even to risking a permanent catatonic state to aid him. But that's not enough for some people.

In any setting, it would not have been an outrageous development for Deaton to scrap his promise to Derek's mother and become Derek's enemy in order to protect teenagers like Scott, Jackson, Isaac, Erica and Boyd from Derek's predatory behavior. Oh, let me correct that: it would not have been an outrageous development if Deaton had been played by Linden Ashby.

This is why I brought up the Sheriff when trying to defend Deaton from the accusation that he "did Derek dirty." Nowhere on the screen are Emissaries described as having an obligation to the packs; they were advisors, as Peter, Derek, and even Gerard all admitted. This is why I take issue with the concept that "Deaton was the Hale Pack Emissary, so he owed Derek his focus and uncritical support." One of the people with an obligation to protect and serve Derek was Sheriff Noah Stilinski, and yet I have never once seen any part of the fandom criticize the sheriff for treating poor orphan Derek as a murder suspect, for not solving the Hale Fire, or for being hostile to Peter. It very, very seldom happens in fanfiction that the Sheriff is revealed to be in cahoots with the Argents or revealed to be secretly influencing Scott to take command away from the Hale's for Stiles own good. On the other hand, I am pretty sure I would have seen all these takes and more if the Sheriff had been played by Seth Gilliam.

Thus, the twisted calculus that leads to headcanons such as "Deaton let the Hale Fire happen to serve the Balance" or ubiquitous fanfiction tropes like "Deaton suppresses Stiles's natural magical abilities," springs from a fundamental, and fundamentally racist, rejection of what even the lowest amount of media literacy would take as self evident: Scott McCall was the lead protagonist. Deaton is called shady, untrustworthy and cryptic even today because his advice and actions didn't conform to an interpretation of the show that was never going to happen. The Hales were antagonist or allies; Stiles --- as popular as he was and as much focus as he got -- was a supporting character. For this entitle fandom, someone has to answer for that, and a black man is as good a target as any.

[magpie-trove]

Actually I don’t think you are actually fr an adult author if you can’t write something without a s*x scene in it

[asleepinawell]

I've seen a lot of back and forth about the latest chapter of firmament and the conclusion I've come to is that people who have a basic knowledge of some specific parts of fl lore are more likely to have enjoyed it. the problem here being that fl rarely outright tells you big lore things but instead tries to give you bits to piece together, some of which are in ES or the sunless games. and then the lore continues to build on top of that lore. and you end up at lore point 5 where you don't know anything about lore points 1-4 and are hopelessly lost

you then have people who haven't played the other games or gone through the wiki or reddit not having a solid foundation to start from in terms of understanding not only what is going on but why it's important and what the implications of it are

i rambled about it before once somewhere but i think fl would greatly benefit from having a codex that filled in as you went through the main story. something that's an optional storylet at your lodgings with a disclaimer that you can safely skip it if you prefer not to use it. the codex would only give you very basic info (the great chain 101) and could even say things like hey if this lore point seems cool check out the sunless games or these specific ES for more story about it (obligatory statement that this is just wishful thinking and i know the devs are very busy and don't have time to implement everything)

i really enjoyed the latest chapter of firmament, but I've also done the wiki deep dive AND saw a spoiler about what certain things were before i hit the end of the chapter (and to be fair to the people claiming the writing was hard to follow, I'm not sure i would have put the pieces together on my own there) and it greatly increased my enjoyment of the big final conflict in it because i had some grasp of the stakes and the players involved. i don't know what will come of the decision i made (which is good!), but i do understand what decision i made. that's the key bit to me

like i was saying in the first paragraph, it feels like some of the frustration with firmament is partly coming from the fact that fl is a game that rarely outright explains big lore points and rather expects you to suss them out as you play (which probably worked great way back at the start), and that as the game has gotten bigger and longer, people are going to spend less time delving into things from the early game as they rush to get to the cool later stuff and get increasingly more confused when the game bases story off those lore points later on if they haven't stopped to research them. the more the end game lore expands, the more this becomes true. thus my codex idea, a 'here's what you need to know in order to be immersed in the next layer of mystery' guide

[astranauticus]

i don't have the screenshots on hand because this is just a thought i needed to let out after being woken up by my buildings fire alarm at 7am (i am in shambles, thanks for asking) but back at the start of canto 7 i was trying to figure out what in the Fuck hong lu meant by don quixote being 'the most lucid' of the sinners and eventually my read was that she's the one who's most clear on what she wants because hong lu brought up how her eyes are sparkling and the two times dante notes someone's eyes sparkling in that episode (?) were when don talks about saving all the people in la manchaland and when charon says she wants to eat candy at an amusement park, and also this would very nicely mirror the bit in the final sancho fight when dante ruminates about how so far they've been trying to help the sinners out of their issues by figuring out what they want and then promising it to them but with sancho she doesn't want anything because everything she's wanted as don quixote was part of that dream that she's now woken up from (especially with dulcinae talking at length about the difference between sancho and don's eyes)

but like..... there's one other thing about eyes that dante notices in that early episode

so i'm wondering if this is an idea that's gonna come back in canto 8, that dante's old tricks aren't going to work here either because hong lu just doesn't really want anything for himself when he's been living his whole life surrendering (hah) himself to being used by other people for their own goals

[royalcommunistthor]

OK the capitalist clutches finally released me for the next 24hrs so

first of all. again. idk what fem coded means. every time i've had someone try to explain to me it made me want to die.

however, i think i might have an idea of why anyone would ever refer to thor as femcoded.

again, really wish we could outgrow 'feminine traits' & 'masculine traits' but sadly, it's always one step forward two steps back in this world.

pls take this with a massive dollop of salt, this is incredibly tongue-in-cheek and isn't meant to be seen as 'meta' or a correct interpretation or any such nonsense. i simply got nothing better to do with my weekend. it's fucking january innit.

thor, gender roles & subversion of gender expectations

thor is a difficult character in that way where he's expected to be hypermasculine but there's something in him that's a little off. certainly, he seems to embrace the part - he's built like brick shithouse, in a proud warrior culture he is THE WARRIOR, even among other god-like beings he's elevated as exceptionally powerful and proficient at killing. thor's arc, broadly speaking since all these characters have been done and re-done a million times over, is about learning the inherent value of life. thor will always enjoy a good fight but as he grows he no longer kills for killing's sake/vengeance/because he feels he's been slighted.

however, we also constantly get glimses that had another path ever been available to him perhaps he wouldn't have been a warrior at all. he is given the choice so rarely but when he DOES have a choice, his interests do seem to lie elsewhere.

when he thinks his banishment is permanent, he is for the first time in his life free to do what he likes and the first thing he does is prepare a meal for his friends.

(gif by @asgardodinsons)

i would go as far as to say that time and time again food/food preparation is indeed a symbol of thor's freedom. we have this character, that's so often read as the very definition of machismo, choosing to nourish those around him whenever he indeed can make choices of his own.

(gif by @sersi)

the first thing we see him do with an orphaned child is to feed her

(gif by @ sersi)

mjolnir & masculinity

now mjolnir being a symbol of manhood is hardly a new concept, it's been here from the very beginning starting with 'the hammer is my penis' jokes. but since it's 'external' it can also be revoked. and with it gone thor is...well, thor is free. in more ways than one.

as a footnote that's somewhat vaguely aligned with gender expectations i also wanted to mention that thor wears his heart on his sleeve - all his emotions always on the surface- which openly clashes with victorian & post-victorian anglo sensibilities* but i'll go into it later on.

thor and sexual violence

actually this point has already been elaborated on by @kimmsauce : link some years ago and honestly i don't have much to add.

the frequency with which thor is either exclicitly assaulted by female characters(usually through the use of magic) or threatened with sexual violence by men is STAGGERING.

and that's even without getting into the disparaging comments from friends and foes alike:

thor the pin up

comes in two flavours: sexy distress

and sexy non distress:

(eh i guess all bar one are like sexy semi distress whatever)

what i find interesting is that male characters appearing in various states of undress or having ridiculous unachievable bodies isn't exactly hard to come by, but in the vast majority of cases it's very clearly a power fantasy or wish fullfilment for the readers to insert themselves into bit like men's health but for nerds i guess.

with thor, however, it seems a little different, the gaze a little more objectifying, there's always something distinctly 'page 3 girl' about it.

conception and reception

you see, for all the trademark superhero machismo talk that thor is often dismissed into there's always been this elephant in the room. which room? the writing room, the fandom room, probably many other rooms.

the elephant being that thor is simply 'too girly' 'too pretty' not masculine enough in a way that the male reader can relate to/identify with or could use as wish fulfillment in some way.

(the above is a very fun article btw)

norse mythology scholars aside, this isn't the only instance of thor's ever fluctuating reception. and again, it's not always just the dudebros complaining. i do think it's funny that for all the talk about toxic masculinity and how it permeates 'normie fan spaces', how the endless tirades on how feminists are destroying everything make fan spaces deeply hostile to anyone who is not a cishet man, the same fans tend to have a better reception of him when he's unironically more masculine. 'soft masculinity' is welcome; thor is allowed to cook for his friends and learn from his mistakes but the second it verges into campness or *gasp* makes fun of/criticises fantasy principles of white masculinity 'mcu is ruining thor' and the pitchforks are at the ready.

there has been a lot of demand for thor to finally be given space to grieve and deal with the emotional consequences of events past. but he's allowed to do it as long as it's dignified heroic martyrdom. as long as it's pretty. whenever he's given the space to be ugly with it, for it to be messy and inconvenient, all of a sudden it's too icky.

you can absolutely tell that 'emasculation' is on the tip of everyone's tongue while reading through the discourse. diversity loss; fandom retvrnists can come in any form.

loki stans - lol where do i even begin with that one. i remember bitching to a friend (who was in fandom but not in this fandom at the time) years ago and we both pretty much went OMG THOR IS THE FEMALE CHARACTER in unison. it's so funny; the double standards- any of thor's misgivings are blown out of proportion to overshadow or erase loki's own, the skewing of the narrative and rampant misinterpreting of canon events to put loki in a better light or straight up stripping off key elements of thor's character journey and giving them to loki. if he doesn't grovel he's an abuser, if he approaches the world with an open-heart that's just genuine idiocy. he really can't win. where have i seen this before? oh yes every time i've stanned a woman and had to deal with the fanbases of a male character that happened to be the fandom darling.

(i think that trans readings of thor are very interesting too but i feel like that digresses somewhat from the 'femcoding' so maybe another day)

*) footnote for a footnote i guess. what i mean is, patriarchy and gender roles have of course existed for millenia. but the 'gender roles on steroids' we have very much inherited from the height of imperialism/industrial revolution and its direct influence on gender politics.

i wanted to thank @the-mjolnir-owner because raiding Nat's archive was ESSENTIAL and @shinysoroka because re-watching infinity war and talking shite with her last night really helped me formulate some of the talking points i've had brewing.

Sorry. I didn't mean anything bad with fem coded Thor ask.

No no don't worry, I know what you were trying to say because I think thor (and thor reception as a character) is very different to how male characters are usually portrayed in superhero type stuff but the way fandoms use fem coded really has me climbing the walls.

I'll answer your ask properly because I absolutely DO wanna talk about but I gotta go get ready for work!

[icewindandboringhorror]

Just curious what the average level of personal investment in these sorts of things is. Like, how much do people usually get into silly stuff like this their friends ask of them? etc. etc. Which I know, only surveying a small sample on a very specific website means I'm not getting an exact average idea lol, but.. curious nonetheless .. Maybe reblog for bigger sample size but also this is not very serious at all/not worth a call to action gbhjbhjb

[puppppppppy]

i think the reason why im so drawn to spirit tracks and pkmn scarvi is that having the legendary/princess as a companion rather than a goal that marks the games completion makes me feel satisfied the way i would after helping a friend

my brother always teases me about how I still havent finished botw after almost 7 years bc "id rather be out picking flowers" which i wont say is untrue. and yes i know Zeldas been holding off ganon for 100 years, yes i can get some sort of idea what her relationship with link was like by recalling memories and going through her diary. ive always loved botw for its unique storytelling and setting which makes it stand out, because it lets you get to know who you're saving.

but because theyre memories, it only works if theres something for the player to investigate that already happened. its retroactive (but effective nonetheless)

on the other hand, spirit tracks does something similar but instead of having the player try to piece together memories and interpret them as a spectator, you actually have an opportunity to get to know zelda yourself by talking to her and working together. besides making it a gameplay mechanic, giving the player control over how they interact with zelda makes it so much more personable.

and I find that making the goal feel personal instead of an obligation gives me more of a reason to work towards it. I know what kind of person botw zelda was but as the player, shes still very much a stranger to me. but spirit tracks zelda? thats my friend!!!! she invited me to go to the beach after we get her body back!!! i dont want to whip her to make her move faster thats mean :(

you know how hostage negotiators are trained to introduce themselves and get to know the person theyre negotiating with because its harder to hurt someone when you know what their favorite food is? its kinda like that, because it feels like im helping a friend than being told or led to do smth

and although i havent played scarvi myself, i feel an attachment to koraidon and miraidon even just watching playthrough clips because its like!! thats my weird scaly dog!! it loves sandwiches and we're friends!!! you know!!!!!!

[kindahoping4forever]

Luke IG Story

[kariachi]

Midnight Rant #5 billion and 12 on Charmcaster and Kevin- That woman's fucking AF premiere.

Because we have Kevin, very obviously in a very bad place. He's being retraumatized, his girl's cut back hard on spending time with him with no explanation, our boy is going through it. And then he makes a friend, according to WoG over the course of a few months, in a grown woman. And it's great, it's fine, and then she starts macking on him. And then she plants a kiss on him despite him shutting her down. And while doing that she literally takes control of his damn mind, just fucking harpoons that poor boy's bodily autonomy, forces him to turn against his loved ones. All because she never actually gave any sort of shit about him and from the very start was using him to get to and hurt his girl. This relationship that he thought was forming for months was all a ruse, her using him and then abusing him. And this is

So painful for poor Gwen. Can you believe that Kevin didn't have faith that her pulling back with no explanation meant she was working hard to fix him, after the whole three-odd months they'd been together? And to have Charmcaster come back starting problems. Oh poor Gwen, everyone is so mean to her.

And it's not just in the fucking show, it's in the fandom as well, this idea that the shit Kevin goes through matters in how it affects Gwen and not in how it would have to affect him. Just, that had to be such a fucking painful if not straight up traumatizing event. Charm fucked with his goddamn mind. She made him think she cared about him only to hurt him.

Congrats, Charm, I'd say you were only a few steps below Servantis but he at least let the kids have a degree of autonomy and wasn't on screen macking on them. Slow clap, you're even keel.

Just, I sometimes remember that we have a whole episode surrounding Kevin, already openly in an awful headspace, being groomed and straight up mindcontrolled, and the big take-away is how much the situation hurt Gwen and how bad a boyfriend he is for not reading her damn mind. And it drives me up the fucking wall.

Especially when you remember that he spends that season in his underwear, I'm sorry but the parallels to the treatment of imperfect SA victims write their damn selves.

And when you also keep in mind that when Mike is pulling the 'charm them and thrall them' bit it's treated, by the show and fandom, as him being an irredeemable predator and his victims have every right to hate him forever and wish horrible things on him, but Charm gets to have the 'oh poor Charmcaster' treatment and Kevin's thinking she can go fuck herself is treated as a flaw in his character by the show and ignored by fandom.

Because in the end the disparity comes from the same place as the repeated physically abusive acts Gwen commits against Kevin, as Looma's threats being treated as humor, as Gwen's thinking they're romantic being treated as humor- plain old misogyny. Mind the misogyny isn't all of it, but the age old belief that this sort of shit committed by women against men isn't a concern, and in fact may even be treated as ridiculous, because women are too weak to hurt men plays a big role. Doesn't matter if it's a grown woman grooming a mentally ill teenager or a teenage girl shoving her boyfriend into freefall- she's just a girl so of course what she's doing isn't actually dangerous or harmful, because women aren't capable enough for such things. Which then plays into the age old sexist bullshit that men are simply too strong and rough to be hurt, and to be hurt by a girl especially- physically, mentally, however- is funny because it means they're weak.

And that's not even getting into the 'a guy is always eager' bullshittery.

Just, for the love of fucking christ...