#law is so dramatic but sometimes he's right

[shima-draws]

Grips my shirt and tears it apart so that all the buttons go flying and SCREAMS I love Law and Cora so much what the FUCK!!!!

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt. 7

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.8] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]

“I’m having a child.”

Danny stared at Batman.

“…Uh, congrats?”

Batman whips out a stack of paper and a pen. “It’s you. Sign here and initial the highlighted spots.”

Danny instinctively, from years of dealing with Vlad, whacked the stack right out of Batman’s hands and into the bay. He doesn’t even feel bad about littering this time because, “Begone, fruitloop!”

Wait, no, that’s not what he meant.

“I mean- I have parents!”

“Not for long.” Batman muttered and then did a double take. “You have parents? How?”

Danny gasped, placing a hand on his chest to clutch his metaphorical pearls. He ignored Batman’s mutters. Everyone knows the vigilante has an adoption problem. At least, everyone who lived in Gotham did, as everyone who didn’t was somehow convinced that he “worked alone” or some bullshit like that. “Are you naturally this insensitive or were you dropped on your head as a baby? Obviously I had to come from somewhere.”

“They’re still… alive?”

“And kicking,” Danny said, inching away from yet another rich weird guy trying to adopt him. “Mostly the kicking part, though.” He said, remembering the sparring sessions. His mom could kick his as six ways to Sunday with nothing but jiu-jitsu and still have time to work in the lab.

“I see.”

“I’m charging you extra for the emotional upheaval. I have trauma regarding rich people trying to adopt me.”

Batman sullenly handed over a thousand.

“Sweet. There’s a group of shades down here asking if you could find their murderer. Apparently the serial killer is still at large.” Danny pointed.

“Of course. Tell me everything.”

The adoption papers disappeared as Batman went into detective mode.

Danny shoved the cash into his glowing chest and breathed a sigh of relief. He needed to make rent this month so it was a windfall running into Batman.

——

“Hey, Tim?”

Tim woke up from his Power Nap. “Huh?”

“Phantom’s complaining that Batman kept trying to adopt him.”

Tim blinked. “Uh.. what does that have to do with me?”

Danny stared at him, a patiently amused smile on his face. “Just in case the rumor about the Wayne’s sugar-daddy-into the Bats was a thing. Other than that, we might have to confront Batman to get him off of Phantom’s back. ”

“You… want to confront Batman.”

“Hey, man, Phantom’s a friend and it’s ride or die.” Danny snickered. It was literally die, with his Phantom side of things. He held two fists up, and wound them, like Popeye right after eating spinach or something. “And if Batman bothers Phantom, we ride at dawn.”

“Batman doesn’t come out unless it’s dark, though? Or for the Justice League.” Tim grinned. He mentally classified Danny under his “to go to” list. That’s where Bart, Bernard, Cassie, Kon, and Garfield were. If he starts shit, he could count on them to have his back and cause even more shit. Danny, wanting to fistfight Bruce over the man making Phantom uncomfortable? He absolutely is making that list.

“Then we ride at, like, dusk. Or uh, like 10PM. I gotta get my beauty sleep.”

“You’ll definitely need it,” Tim inconspicuously texted the group chat, which quickly blew up.

“Shut up,” Danny playfully shoved Tim. “Wait, can Batman even legally adopt? Isn’t being a vigilante illegal? And how can he adopt someone dead?”

Tim dramatically flailed and splayed over Danny’s carpeted living room. “Dunno about his identity,” he lied to Danny, like a liar. “But Gotham has a bunch of laws for the undead/restored to life people so there’s probably enough gray space there.”

Danny spluttered. “You guys have undead friendly laws?”

“Yeah, geht do you think Grundy just chills out? Plus, we have like a minor resurrection event every few years. It usually doesn’t stick but sometimes it does. Bruce pushed for those laws when Jason came back to life, except he doesn’t actually want people to know he’s like, alive.”

“Jason died?” Danny blinked. Well, that would explain the vibes. “Huh. So what’s up with his rank vibes then?”

“Rank vibes?” Tim pressed record on his phone.

Danny nodded. “Yeah, you know how Phantom’s got like a really chill green vibe?” Inwardly, Danny snickered at his pun. Chill. Yeah, he meant that very literally. “Jason’s got kind of a rank green vibe. He’s kind of stinky? Definitely never introduce him to Phantom.” Danny’s senses got worse in his ghost form.

“Jason regularly showers, though?!”

“Not smell! Like, a spiritual smell?”

“You can smell souls?!” Tim sat up. “Bro, you’re a meta?!”

“Uh.” Danny hesitated. “Yeah. I can smell souls. It’s a thing. Everyone from my town can do it.”

“What?!” Tim paused. “Wait, can Phantom smell souls?”

“Yeah. We’re, uh, from the same town.”

“Danny, what the fuck?”

“Hey, don’t look at me like that, you’re the one with a soul-sick brother! Not to mention, you’re kinda stinky too!”

“Hey!”

“Soul-stinky nerd man!”

——

“I stink?!” Jason spluttered out, extremely offended.

“The Lazarus pits. He’s most likely smelling traces of Lazarus pit on you, you imbecile.”

“We need to speak to Phantom. This instant.”

“I dunno, B. Danny sounded like he was gonna break your face if you bothered Phantom anymore.” Dick snickered.

“Yeah,” Tim chimed in, from his seat in front of the Bat-computer. “He was pretty serious.”

“Are we just gonna glaze over the fact that they’re from the same town?!” Stephanie exclaimed, practicing her moves on a training dummy.

“How does that even work? What does that mean? I thought Phantom was an immortal?” Duke asked.

“We also can’t rule out time-travel.” Barbara slammed her baton into a training dummy, twisting her wheelchair in an agile maneuver that left the dummy on the floor.

“No bothering Phantom.” Cass proclaimed.

“That’s quite right. You all have a warm dinner sitting above your cave and should it remain uneaten, I assure you that sherbet Sunday and crêpe Tuesday shall be canceled.” Alfred stepped in. The Bats, threatened, scrambled to ditch their gear and go upstairs.

[kaivenom]

I think headcanons are good start for writing Yandere

Yandere!One piece Men x reader

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Trafalgar Law, Eustass Kid, Killer

A/N: This is my first time writing this so it's very general and i hope it's the right point.

Masterlist

Luffy

It's the type of Yandere that it's so funny and smiley that you dont get it at first, he is just to friendly and nice that you don't care about the dizzy feeling on your stomach.

But once you try to get out of the ship, he just convinces you to stay, that's his secret weapon.

Who says that Luffy doesn't know how to manipulate it's wrong, with his childness he can get whatever he wants and that happens to you.

He gets kisses, attetion, cuddles, sex and everything he wants when he says it and you can't say no to him.

Especially on those times you think about leaving, it's like he reads your mind and instantly asks you with a pouty face "you would never leave me, right my darling?"

And of course you cant, you are trapped on his mental games.

Zoro

Very bad at fights, even to the point that he sometimes scares you.

He compensates it with being extra protective, in some occasions too much but you say to yourself that you love that side of him.

If someone lays his eyes on you, especially the cook, he would deadly glare at them and when you aren't looking, he will break the shit out of them.

He tries not ot be that violent next ot you, and even tries to clean the blood.

You sometimes see the blood but you ignore it, the thing you cant ignore is how he yells when he is angry.

He doesn't have to be angry at you, sometimes he is even jelaous about how other people look at you and his mind tells him that you had something to do with that.

So he yells and breaks something but then he goes and apologies saying that he is a monster and that he doesnt deserve you (a little bit of mental games)

Sanji

Another psychological one but this men plays with your good heart.

He says "without you i have no reason to live", "if you leave me then i may die", "i can't stand living if you aren't there."

At first you thought it was cute and nice and all but then you started to not know where is the limit of the gentle words and a possible threat.

Cause most likely, he wont kill himself cause he would prevent you from leaving any way posible.

And you don't want to find the answer.

Other big aspect of him is that probably he would manipulate your foods like, putting aphrodisiacs or even putting sleeping pills if he thinks you can try something on the night.

Trafalgar Law

Living on a submarine makes its really difficult to leave so... first bad point.

He has a very good case of avoidant attachment which means he doesn't pay attention to you until you feel like crying and being really desperate and that's when he makes time to care about you, but even that saying some mean things like "you are dramatic", "you are overreacting", "it's not that much, you are an attention baby".

But then, when he gets needy it's a different story.

When he wants anything, since he can room you, he gets you to the bedroom and you have to give him what he wants... even when you arent on the mood.

This go forth and back leaves you on an emotion rollercoaster but when he is attentive or when he just relies on you that much, you just love that he goes to you.

Eustass Kidd

Unlike Zoro, he is jelaous, he shows it and he can beat someone brutally in front of you.

After that, you will have to reasure him that you won't leave him, it's the only way he can calm down and so do you.

You have to be careful on how you are with others cause he can misunderstand everything.

Since he is a lot bigger, he likes to toss you around and make you go to bed with him when he needs to, espeacially, when he is angry/needy/urgent he stomps really loud so you are prepared to not resist yourself to his grip, even if you are talking to someone.

I believe that he give you these gifts: a collar, bracelets and anklets. that are made of metal to inmovilize you and make you do whatever he wants.

Don't even try to take them out, he would get really whiney and grumpy, and wont let you alone in a long time, like a real pain in teh ass.

Killer

A little bit quieter than Eustass but still really possesive and paranoid.

He is more subtle about the jelaousy but of course, he landed one punch or two to one person in front of you, he isn't called Killer for nothing.

Otherwise he won't ever lay a hand on you, but he can get scary... with that helmet on and just standing there, with his big body blocking you from the world and completely silent.

He is not one of big words so he goes thru acts.

Wrapping your wrists to oblige you to sit on his lap, tossing you on his shoulder when he is upset on how you are behaving.

The no words treatment doesn't go only for bad things, he can also go behind you and hug you suddently, he can just slap your ass or lift you hide his face on the crock of your neck.

He is somehow very unpredictable cause he is very silent and his helmet doesn't help.

[maybe-boys-do-love]

It's wild that the whole global trend of gay-focused happy ending romance shows and movies has only been going on for *looks at calendar* a measly ten years!

Just ten years ago. 2014. That's when you get the discovery of a market for queer romance series and films with happy endings. That year the OG Love Sick in Thailand came out. Brazil puts out The Way He Looks, which deserves so much more credit than it receives for influencing the aeshtetics of the genre. Looking premieres on HBO, and although it had low ratings, it's an important touchstone. And, despite Nickelodeon’s censorship and shifting the program from tv to its website, the Legend of Korra confirms Korrasami in its season finale.

The next year, in 2015, we get Love Sick season 2, and China, pre-censorship laws has a few options: Happy Together (not the Wong Kar Wai one lol), Mr. X and I, and Falling In Love with a Rival. Canada, premieres Schitt's Creek. In the US, Steven Universe reveals Garnet as a romantic fusion between two female characters, and will proceed to just be so sapphic. Norwegian web series Skam premieres and sets up a gay protagonist for its third season, which will drop in 2016 and entirely change the global media landscape.

Then, 2016! This is the MOMENT. That aforementioned Skam season happens. Japan puts out the film version of Ossan's Love and anime series Yuri!!! on Ice. China has the impactful Addicted Heroine, which directly leads to increased censorship. The US has Moonlight come out and take home the Oscar. In Thailand, GMMTV enters the BL game and Thai BL explodes: Puppy Honey, SOTUS, Water Boyy, Make It Right, plus, the Thai Gay OK Bangkok, which, like its influence, Looking, is more in the queer tradition but introduces two dramatically important directors to the Thai BL industry, Aof and Jojo.

By 2017, Taiwan enters the game with its History series. Korea’s BL industry actually kicks off with Method and Long Time No See. Thailand’s got too many BLs to mention. Call Me By Your Name, though not a happy ending, makes a big splash that will send ripples through the whole genre, and God's Own Country offers a gruff counter-argument to problematic age differences and twink obsessions. This is also the year of Netflix reboot of One Day At a Time bringing some wlw to the screen, and the Disney Channel has a main character come out as ‘gay’ on Andi Mack ( I’m am ready to throw fists with anyone who thinks the Disney Channel aesthetic isn’t a part of current queer culture). And I'd be remiss not to mention the influential cult-following of chaotic web-series The Gay and Wondrous Life of Caleb Gallo: "Sometimes things that are expensive...are worse."

All this happened, and we hadn’t even gotten to Love, Simon, Elite, or ITSAY, yet.

Prior to all this there are some major precursors some of which signaled and primed a receptive market, others influenced the people who'd go on to create the QLs. Japan has a sputtering start in the 2010s with a few BL films (Takumi-Kun, Boys Love, and Jujoun Pure Heart). Most significantly in the American context, you have Glee, and its ending really makes way for the new era that can center gay young people in a world where queerness, due to easy access to digital information, is less novel to the characters. And the QL book and graphic novel landscape was way ahead of the television and film industries, directly creating many of the stories that the latter industries used.

There's plenty of the traditional queer media content (tragic melodramas and independent camp comedies) going on prior to and alongside QL, and there are some outlying queer romance films with happy endings that precede the era but feel very much akin to QL genre tropes and goals, many with a focus on postcolonial and multicultural perspectives (Saving Face, The Wedding Banquet, Big Eden, Maurice, My Beautiful Launderette, and Weekend). I don't mean to suggest that everything I’ve listed ought to be categorized as QL.

Rather, I want to point out how all of these new-era queer romance works are in a big queer global conversation together, in the creation of a new contemporary genre, a genre that has more capacity and thematic interest to include digital technology and normalize cross-cultural relationships than other genres (there's a reason fansubs and web platforms are so easily accepted and integrated to the proliferation of these series).

You're not too late to be part of the conversation. Imagine being alive in the 1960s and 70s and participating in the blossoming of the sci-fi genre. That flowering is where gay romance sits now. Join the party.

[bbyjackie]

𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐌, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘!

relationship headcanons with one piece feat: luffy, zoro, kid, law

warnings: fluff

(header by Loni)

𝙇𝙐𝙁𝙁𝙔 has a constant need to be around you. he follows you around absentmindedly everywhere like a puppy, sometimes it can be a bit of a nuisance.

"y/n it was so funny! usopp's hand was just stuck in the pipe and he was screaming for like an hour 'til franky saw him!" luffy cackled, a gummy grin etched onto his features as you felt your finger grow numb by the second. "hm, i bet.." you let out a light hearted scoff, trying to pull your hand back. it felt like with each tug of your hand, instead of loosening the grasp luffy had, it only made his arm stretch further. "but luf, i need you to let go off my finger!" you groaned under your breath as you felt your back grow sore from the odd angle. you were shrimping with your spine feeling like it was bent to a full right angle just trying to pull away from the - sorry, your rubber boy as he made very clear. you couldn't see him but you could already envision his dopey smile turn into a massive pout. "ehh? why do i need to let go?" "because if you don't want me to become an usopp and start screaming you're gonna have to let go sweetie!" "i dont see why i have to.." "luf as much as i love you, i'm not taking a shit with your hand snaked through the door like that."

we all know 𝙕𝙊𝙍𝙊 has the worst sense of direction, but it always becomes comedy, especially when you're mid argument with him.

"stop being so dramatic!" zoro groans as his fist pounds against the wooden door of your bedroom. "come on out y/n!", he waited for a moment only to be met with silence. you had turned away from him mid workout after he told you that he doesn't need someone to smother him like an over obsessive mother. you must be pissed. not that it's your fault, he shouldn't have turned you away, you were just worried for him. letting go of his pride, zoro's hand loosens as he purses his lips and thinks for a moment, "hey, 'em sorry, i shouldn't have said that." again, there is just utter silence. feeling dejected, zoro turns his back just to see you with an amused smirk and hands crossed against your chest and usopp giving him the most massive side eye from around the corner of the hallway. "that's great and all that you apologised marimo," you giggled, usopp jumps in, "dude, that's the utility closet."

𝙆𝙄𝘿 is always in stage one: denial. every time anyone brings up the fact that he is utterly whipped for you, his face blows red and he gets soo mad. but the thing is, he secretly keeps small trinkets of yours just so he can feel closer to you.

kid was busy at work with a screwdriver in one hand and the other keeping this small steel mechanism as still as he could. his crimson red eyes staring down intensely at the work on his bench. every time he gets concentrated like this, you could almost see the vertex of his tongue poking through the corner of his red-stained lips. "kid!" you shouted, scampering around the room, as you finally landed behind him, hands secured on either side of his broad shoulders. "hah?" kid gruffed, head leaning backwards, hitting against your chest as he looked up from his desk, "what?" "have you seen my bracelet?" you pouted, tilting your head slightly to the side as you noticed from your peripheral that the arm that was not mechanical twitch slightly. "i can't find it.." kid immediately scoffs, turning his head back down to his work. "no how would i know where it is!" "hmm okay, just asking.." when kid finally leaves his workbench, killer glances at him from the side of the kitchen. "y/n was looking for their bracelet." "yeah i know." "did you find it?" "why the hell would i know where it is?" "so the silver bracelet with a pink bunny pendant on your wrist is 100% yours?" "shut up - yeah it is mine so what!" "okay sanrio girl calm down."

𝙇𝘼𝙒 has to remind himself that he loves you dearly. you're the first person to make him feel this way. so when you're absolutely eating it up in the middle of his study with ice spice blaring through the den den mushi, he tries his best to live laugh love.

"HE SAYS THAT I'M WHAT?!" you shout, hand gripping the makeshift pen mic up to penguin as law tries his best to concentrate on the med book he has in his hand. he swears to himself that next time he'll never let you in this room again. "GOOD ENOUGH, GRABBIN' MY DUH' DUH' DUH'" penguin answers, nodding along as bepo stands utterly in the corner with the den den mushi in his hands. "THINK 'BOUT SHIT THAT I SHOULDN'T HAVE!" before you can really show your shit, law immediately shambles you guys out of the room. "law, i'm sorry!!" you plead from outside his room as the boys stand awkwardly behind you, ice spice still playing yet way quieter than before from bepo's hands. "c'mon!!" law swears he loves you, but if he hears another t-that boy's a liar! that boy's a liar! he's going to rip his ears off.

[keepmycandleburning]

I've thought a lot about Voldemort's speaking style in order to write dialogue for him. First of all, he typically speaks formally without using contractions. You can see this in the majority of his dialogue. But sometimes when he's teasing someone or joking (the next few examples too), he does use contractions:

Or when he's copying someone:

At the DE meeting in DH ch 1, Voldemort only uses one contraction the entire time, when he's saying this to Bellatrix:

In the graveyard, he seems to be putting on quite the dramatic performance. He has a speaking quirk where he repeatedly asks (mostly rhetorical) questions in a certain style, with a structure of 'is it not?' 'did you not?' 'will you not?' Typically with a name right after: did you not, Wormtail? He's doing this over and over and over in the graveyard scene:

It's so recognizable and so characteristic that I love to make my Voldemort speak this way. It's so him. And it's a fascinating thing because of how affirmation-seeking it is. He doesn't just make his statements, he has to actively draw the other person into it with this provocative questioning where he's almost daring them to disagree with him. Interestingly, in the rest of the series I think he only uses this structure once, to Bellatrix in ch 1 of DH.

Voldemort uses people's names very frequently when he's addressing them. This mirrors how the majority of the Death Eaters use a formal title for Voldemort every single time (or very close) they speak to him. See how frequently he uses Lucius's name here:

The only thing Voldemort ever (in the canon era obv) calls Peter Pettigrew is Wormtail. Voldemort calls most DEs by their last names: Yaxley, Avery, Rookwood, Rowle, Dolohov, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott; and some by their first names: Lucius, Narcissa, Draco, Severus. He is also on consistent first name terms (I mean... not reciprocally) with Bellatrix (and even nickname terms with 'Bella,' something she's only otherwise called by her sister, her brother in law, and her family house-elf), which notably remains consistent even in Voldemort's internal monologue that calls Lucius 'Lucius Malfoy' when the cup is stolen and just 'Malfoy' in the Shrieking Shack—and also note how in the Shrieking Shack Voldemort calls Snape 'Snape' when speaking to Lucius, and that later in the Shack Voldemort's internal monologue calls him 'Snape' even when out loud he's saying Severus. I'm not sure to what degree this is just the writing style of the books but to me it's notable because these sections are from Voldemort's POV.

On the note of names, Voldemort speaks of himself in third person as 'Lord Voldemort,' typically as a fear/power tactic, and also as 'he':

He frequently warns people not to lie to him (and calls them out for lying, like Wormtail in GoF 1 and Lucius in DH 1):

Voldemort tells a lot of jokes, most often at the expense of other people and for his own entertainment or the entertainment of his Death Eaters. He has a teasing, clever sense of humor:

I would have to make a whole post to show all the moments of Voldemort being funny as hell. Maybe I will...

Voldemort is often described as speaking quietly and softly (and the verbs whisper and breathe are used), so much so that multiple times his voice is barely audible (but also see the above quote where his voice remains audible even though it's quiet):

In GoF, he speaks lazily (he's also described as moving lazily, and looking relaxed in the Slughorn memory, and as 'gliding' when he walks). In DH, he screams multiple times to express negative emotions, typically fear. His voice is described as a hiss, and as 'sibilant.' And of course, high and cold and clear. He spoke differently when he was young, and super differently at the orphanage, but that's a whole new post.

Voldemort has distinctive mannerisms. He tilts his head a little to one side:

He holds wands delicately:

He paces, in the graveyard and in the Shrieking Shack. He's often in dim lighting (can his slit pupils see in the dark, like a cat?), and is drawn to be near fire (for warmth?): in the Riddle House, at the Death Eater meeting, in the Forbidden Forest. He laughs and smiles, again often at other people's expense. He's in general a very expressive person, which you can see in his face (so many examples. In his meeting with Dippet he even looks nervous and his face reddens) and eyes (wide with astonishment in the graveyard; pupils contract to thin slits when he's shocked) and nostrils (dilating with excitement lol). And he has this one weird facial expression he does when he's really happy:

When Voldemort was a child, he was tall, thin, and pale with jet-black hair and dark eyes, and looked a lot like his father. He was described as very handsome consistently.

In the scene with Hepzibah Smith (late 1940s or 50s), his hair is a little longer than it was at Hogwarts, and his cheeks are hollowed, but he looks even more handsome. He's pale in a way that makes Hepzibah think he's overworked. And his eyes become red when he's feeling a strong emotion.

In the interview scene with Dumbledore (around 1968), his appearance is drastically different:

Notably here, it's not just his irises that are red, it's his entire eyes.

As Dumbledore says in HBP (unless he's wrong/lying...), Voldemort's appearance is changing because of his repeated Horcrux creation. After this interview, he has around 13 years for his appearance to continue changing; note that at no point of the First War was Voldemort handsome (directly stated in above quote).

I'm running out of image space LOL, but it's really important that in the graveyard, Voldemort directly states that he got his 'old body back':

The potion that revived him gave him his old body. The way he looks in the graveyard is how he looked on Halloween 1981. This is also supported by Voldemort looking this same way in book 1 when possessing Quirrell, by the DEs immediately recognizing him, and by the Ministry workers immediately recognizing him in OotP. Also in the Halloween 1981 flashback, Voldemort's face scares a child, and he's described as having a 'white hand.' His skin is described as 'white' post-resurrection, but only as 'pale' at the DADA interview & earlier, which again implies that by 1981 he looked the way he did in the 90s. Also, at the interview his voice is already 'higher and colder,' which means his voice was a gradual change too.

And the way he looks is:

(Notice how it's the exact same face Harry recognizes.)

In GoF, OotP, and DH, Voldemort is described as:

-tall

-skeletally thin, with a gaunt face (very likely not muscular)

-white skin

-scarlet eyes with vertical slit pupils like a cat (also described as wide, red, bright red, livid, blank, pitiless, gleaming) (remember the whites of his eyes became red too)

-a flat nose with slits for nostrils like a snake

-lipless mouth

-masklike face

-snakelike in appearance, likened to a skull; flattened, serpentine face

-large hands with noticeably, unnaturally long fingers (compared to spiders)

-His eyes gleam in the darkness (GoF) and he's so pale he seems to glow (DH 1 'so pale that he seemed to emit a pearly glow,' DH 32 'the pallor of him gleaming slightly in the semidarkness').

-He wears black (hooded) robes and black cloaks.

-He is described only once as 'hairless,' and not until DH 1: 'his face shone through the gloom, hairless, snakelike, with slits for nostrils and gleaming red eyes whose pupils were vertical.' Voldemort is never described as 'bald,' despite the fact that a number of characters are called bald and balding throughout the books (none of which are ever also described as 'hairless'), and notably it's Voldemort's 'face' specifically that's described as hairless, which is odd. He's specifically described as black-hooded in OotP at the Ministry, so I can only assume he's dressed similarly in the graveyard and that's why. IDK why his head situation isn't described at the DADA interview. If you saw one of my author's notes on Keep My Candle Burning, you will know that when I was a child I guess I was either imagining him in the earlier books before I read to DH (or saw the films), or I missed the single word 'hairless' description that's only given once, and I was imagining Voldemort having black hair as he was described in his youth. There's something strange about this and I almost don't know what to make of it. If he's bald, why doesn't it say so clearly, and earlier, and more than once (like how his eyes are described probably a dozen or more times, and his long fingers, and his white skin)? I kind of wonder if this was decided after, like because of the films or something? Lol anyways... enough heresy...

-He's never described as having long fingernails, fangs (LOL), a forked snake tongue (LOL), any unnatural skin things like scales (LOL), or as not wearing shoes. (Other than in the graveyard where he doesn't appear to put shoes on, or underwear...) But you can write him however pleases you

[willowsnook]

Act my age

ham, steak, salami + veggies with white bread pleasee thank you 💞

Lewis Hamilton x gf!reader

The age gap between you and Lewis was a topic that the F1 media couldn’t seem to get over, even though you’d been together for two years. The 15-year difference was all they talked about, but you tried to brush off the chatter.

As an associate attorney practicing corporate law in Monaco, you felt you had the "maturity" box checked for dating Lewis by media standards. Still, recently the constant expectation to act “older” started to weigh on you. You were 25, and sometimes you just wanted to be you—without the shadow of “younger girlfriend” following your every move.

Feeling stressed, you called your friends and planned a night out. Lewis kissed you goodbye with a smile, promising to pick you up if needed and reminding you to stay out of trouble. A few hours and several drinks later, you found yourself on the dance floor, lost in the music. Taking a break, you stared at yourself in the restroom mirror for a little too long, realizing it was probably time to call Lewis.

“Lewis!” you chimed when he answered.

“Hi, sweetheart. Ready to come home?” he asked, amused.

“Yes, please,” you slurred. “Can we get Taco Bell?”

“That’s terrible for you.”

“Oh, live a little!” you teased, sensing his playful eyeroll over the phone. True to his word, he arrived in minutes. As you slid into the car, you leaned over to give him a soft kiss.

“Hi,” you whispered, and he gently brushed his thumb over your cheek.

“Hi, I missed you,” he murmured, making you giggle.

“It was only a couple of hours,” you reminded him.

“Still too long,” he replied with a smile.

“Yeah, it was good to relieve some stress.” 

The look Lewis gave you after you said that made you smirk, knowing he had another way to relax once you got home.

------------------------------------------------

The Friday before the Mexico GP, you were in the McLaren garage with Lando while Pato took the wheel for FP1. Lando was one of your closest friends in the paddock, and with you both living in Monaco and being around the same age, you bonded quickly. Caught up in a playful 1v1 soccer match, you giggled as you nutmegged Lando, who tackled you in a dramatic attempt to stop you.

You landed awkwardly, wincing as you hit the ground, and Lando immediately looked worried.

“Shit, Y/N, are you okay?” he asked, glancing around nervously. “Lewis is going to kill me.”

Crossing your arms, you raised an eyebrow. “Are you more worried about Lewis than me?”

“Uh, yes,” he admitted without hesitation, making you laugh.

Later, back in the Mercedes garage, you waited for Lewis to finish his interviews. As notifications began flooding your phone, you noticed you’d been tagged in a video from one of Lewis’s interviews:

Reporter: “So, Lewis, nice to see Y/N out here supporting you this weekend. Interesting video of her and Lando Norris playing football.”

Lewis: “Yeah,” he chuckled, “it’s like I’m babysitting a kid sometimes.”

Embarrassment hit you like a wave, and before you knew it, you had quietly excused yourself and called for a ride back to the hotel.

Back in the hotel room, you tried to calm yourself down in the shower, but when you stepped out, you found Lewis waiting, worried as he noticed your puffy eyes.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asked gently.

“Just thought you could use a break from babysitting,” you replied sharply.

He flinched, realizing the hurt his words had caused. “I didn’t mean it that way, Y/N,” he tried, but you shook your head.

“How else could you have meant it?” you asked, folding your arms defensively.

He sighed. “I just see Lando as... still a kid. And when you’re with him, it makes you look that way too.”

“You do know Lando and I are the same age, right?” you countered. “If you didn’t want to ‘babysit,’ maybe you should’ve dated someone your own age.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, pulling you into his arms. Tears slid down your cheeks as he held you tightly. “You’re the only one I want to come home to. Always.”

Exhausted, you nodded, letting the conversation drop as you both went to bed.

The next day, you still felt out of sorts but kept quiet to avoid distracting Lewis before qualifying. As he was stopped for a quick Sky Sports interview, you hung back with Lando, who shot you a sympathetic look.

“Rough night?” he asked gently, and you nodded.

“This isn’t your fault, Lando,” you assured him. “He shouldn’t have said it.”

Lando’s expression shifted, and following his gaze, you saw Lewis speaking with the interviewer, his hand resting on her lower back as he laughed at something she said. A wave of anger and hurt rushed over you.

“Y/N…” Lando started, but you brushed him off.

“I’m leaving.”

Storming out of the paddock you were pissed. You knew Lewis would think nothing of it and expect you not to either and to “take the high road.” But you were so fucking over that. Mixed with yesterday’s emotions you were feeling slightly crazy and you weren’t going to contain it. 

Calling Lewis’s assistant, you made her book you a flight home immediately and went to the hotel to get your stuff. By the time you reached there, you had seen countless pictures of Lewis and the reporter cozy together, so naturally, why not print them off for him to frame? You were a woman on a mission in the hotel business room printing these pictures. Spreading them out on your bed, you snapped a pic to send to your sister, who called you insane and then left.

Instead of Monaco, you took a shorter flight to New York, where Lewis kept a penthouse. You settled in, ordered takeout, and watched the race on Sunday from the penthouse, glad to see him finish P4 but still seething.

You weren’t expecting to see Lewis until tomorrow, so you went to bed around 11, only to be jolted awake at 1am by someone pounding on the door.

"Just let me in," you heard Lewis call out.

Groggy, you opened it to find him standing there, exhausted, dressed in a Mercedes hoodie and sweats.

He dropped his bags on the living room couch and crossed his arms, facing you. “Nice touch with the photos,” he said, his voice steady.

“I thought they were fitting,” you shot back, arms crossed.

Lewis sighed. “You know that wasn’t anything. She isn’t you.”

“Who cares that I know that?” You yelled. “You are mine! Not hers! And you know what I wanted to do? I wanted to march over there and rip her off you by her hair.” 

Lewis’ eyes widened but you kept going. 

“I’m done pretending that I’m too secure with myself to care about this shit because, guess what? I do fucking care! I do care when girls throw themselves at you all the time. So yeah, I printed off those pictures for you, and yeah, I knew that was crazy, but if that’s what I have to do to get an emotional reaction out of you, then I’ll do it every time.” 

After your outburst, the room felt charged with a heavy, vulnerable silence. Lewis looked at you, his face softened by something between understanding and regret. He took a deep breath, then stepped forward, gently wrapping his arms around you. You could feel the warmth of his embrace as he held you close, grounding you.

“Y/N,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low and tender, “I’m so sorry. I never, ever want you to feel like you can’t be yourself with me. I love you—exactly as you are. I didn’t realize how much pressure you’ve felt to fit into… some idea of what everyone else thinks you should be. I don’t want that for us.”

You looked up at him, eyes still glassy but softening as his words sank in. “Sometimes I feel like I have to prove I’m ‘mature enough’ to be with you,” you admitted quietly. “Like I have to be some version of me that fits everyone else’s expectations.”

He sighed, holding you even tighter. “Y/N, you’re perfect just as you are. I love you, not some ‘ideal’ of you. I love the person who’s goofy, carefree, strong… the person who prints off photos just to make a point,” he chuckled, squeezing your hand. “You don’t have to change or hold anything back for me.”

A small, relieved smile crept onto your face, and you let yourself melt into his embrace. “Thank you,” you whispered. “I just needed to hear that.”

He nodded, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “I want you to feel free to be yourself with me. I’m here because I want all of you, Y/N—all the real, unfiltered parts of you.”

You closed your eyes, taking in his words, letting them wrap around you like a promise. Finally, you looked up at him with a new lightness, feeling the tension in your chest ease.

“Alright,” you said softly, a hint of playfulness returning to your tone. “Then get ready, because the real me definitely wants Taco Bell at 2 a.m.”

Lewis chuckled, shaking his head with a fond smile. “Fine. But we’re getting fries, too.”

With your hand in his, you both headed out the door, leaving behind the weight of everyone else’s expectations. It was just you and Lewis—real, imperfect, and perfect for each other.

[alchemistc]

So about that deleted scene:

(shovel) talks - read on ao3

"So how many shovel talks should I be expecting?" Tommy asks, once the cake is mostly gone and Eddie and Christopher have wandered off. He tilts his voice low, so as not to draw the attention of Eddie's aunt, who has been eyeing him closely since he came back without any cake for Evan.

"Shovel what?" Evan's eyeing the cake.

"You could just have a bite," Tommy tempts, letting his grin go a little teasing, waving his fork a bit for emphasis, and Evan sighs. Pats his stomach, which Tommy is intimately familiar with, and very fond of, even if Evan wants to be a bit more cut.

"You're trying to deflect. Who gave you a shovel talk?"

"So far?" There's no reason to keep it going, really, except when Evan gets exasperated he huffs and puffs about it and Tommy - he doesn't not like his little attempts at dramatics.

Evan rolls his whole head in an effort to emphasize how much he's not in the mood, but his smile gives him away. It always does.

"Well, Hen and Karen just accosted me. Christopher's already promised anatomically improbable harm."

Evan, if anything, looks a little chuffed about that. Considering some of the things he's gleaned about his home life growing up, it's not all that strange.

Still, it doesn't hurt to ask. "They do know you're an adult, right?"

"Y-yeah, of course they know. It's - you know, that whole family thing you were so jealous of sometimes includes them being a little overbearing."

"Personally, I think they were just looking for some gossip."

Evan's face goes red. "Uh - that might be - that might be my fault. I'm... usually an over sharer."

"Is there something wrong with what I'm doing that you don't feel like over sharing?" It's a dirty ploy, but he's already over invested in this, in them. He wants to weasel a bit of praise out of Evan, even though he hasn't exactly been shy about it to this point at all.

Evan's face does something - a series of tiny expressions he'd have been hard pressed to catch if he weren't staring so closely - before he kicks at Tommy's foot under the table. "You're teasing me again."

Tommy doesn't hide his grin, even as he shovels his fork around the plate to get the last of the frosting off. "Can you blame me?"

Evan's blush is deep deep pink, but he still bites his tongue, tilts his head, tips his foot so that he can slide his toes around Tommy's ankle. He really, really wasn't kidding when he joked that he was trying his best to keep up.

He taps two knuckles against the table, looking like he's physically restraining himself from reaching for Tommy's hand. "It's - it's not like I don't talk about you. I just - some of it I wanna keep for myself."

Tommy fields fifty questions a day at work about the man who has him smiling to himself randomly, checking his phone and losing track of conversations because something ticks at a newly made memory of Evan Buckley. He understands the urge to keep some of those memories for himself.

"So what have you told them?"

He's picking at the thread, trying to unravel it, and he doesn't know why. He's more than satisfied with the state of things as they are now. Things are... different than he's used to, this early in. He's never been with someone so intent on getting to know him, spending time with him, so ready to share himself. It's intoxicating, really, and Tommy's never had a great handle on when to cut himself off.

Evan's expression is overly fond, and Tommy feels the thrill of it down to his toes.

"I told them about our date at the aquarium," he says, eyes sparkling a little. It had been a spur of the moment thing, Evan texting him for three days straight about hammerhead sharks, Frederickson mentioning his son-in-laws obsession with manta rays and the glass-side dinner they offered Saturday's and Sunday's. Evan's eyes drifting to the creatures in the water only half-as-often as they drifted to Tommy, and the air expanding in Tommy's lungs every time that smile landed on him.

Tommy hums.

"I told them a... very abridged version of you trying to teach me Muay Thai."

Evan, gleaming and wide eyed, pinned beneath Tommy, his hands giving up any pretense of doing anything but bracketing Tommy's hips, the gentling kiss Tommy'd placed to the birthmark over his eye before Evan whined and Tommy decided he was done playing games.

"Well, now Hen thinks I lied to her." Tommy jokes, and Evan's brow jumps quizzically. Tommy can't quite help it. Even with Gerrard here, even with eyes around them, even though they'd both decided together to keep the contact to a minimum, this being a work event and all - he reaches out and taps his finger to Evan's nose just to see his face crinkle in confusion. It'll have to do, with friends and family and colleagues all around them, but he can feel the urge to drag him in, to give Evan a taste of the frosting still on his lips, to press their bodies together and feel Evan's heart beat beneath his. The desire is there, crawling beneath his skin, and Evan watches him lean back in his chair like he knows every spare thought rattling around in Tommy's head.

"I told them you make me stupid happy," Evan says, all bright and sincere, something softening around the edges of his eyes, and the cage around his heart strains under the pressure of the muscle pressing for freedom.

Tommy darts a look around the room. Things are winding down, families with children drifting off early to enjoy having the day off, members of the 118 returning to their duties now that they've been thrown back on the dispatch register, higher ups huddled off in groups whispering to themselves about how they all would have been fired if Chief Simpson wasn't gunning for a promotion. Evan tips forward, chin dropping to the bridge of his hands with a grin.

"What do you tell the Harbor people about me?"

"Oh, absolutely nothing," Tommy says, standing, tilting a hip sideways so that he can hide the thumb the presses to the divot of Evan's chin. "If I did they'd think you'd bewitched me."

Evan's smile curls over his cheeks with the dopey expression Tommy's grown to adore.

"Let's get out of here before we get recruited for cleanup."

Evan looks like he's thinking about staying, anyway, so Tommy sweetens the deal. "I told Hen and Karen you were setting the pace. Are you gonna make a liar out of me again?"

Evan barely waits until they're out of sight before he's got two hands bracketing Tommy's hips from behind. Tommy knows he's staring at his ass - can't quite blame him. He works hard on making it look good in dress blues.

They manage to make it to the far side of Tommy's truck before Evan spins him, presses him to the passenger door before Tommy can get it open for him. "When we get home," he starts, too busy pressing his tongue to Tommy's pulse point to notice Tommy's quiet inhale at the phrasing. "I'm gonna take this uniform off of you, piece by piece, and then I'm gonna blow you so good you see stars."

"We should both wear our hats," Tommy negotiates, hoping to keep it light enough that he won't hone in on 'home'.

"The medals can stay too," Evan says, and sucks a bruise into the side of Tommy's neck when Tommy tilts his head back to laugh.

[evielmostdefinitely]

i can just imagine corio having sex with her in the president’s office the day he’s inaugurated and he loses all control bc he’s so obsessed with her and drunk on power in that moment

money, power, glory |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: after coriolanus' inauguration, the two of you christen his new presidential office.

contains: smut 18+. dom/sub themes. spanking. dark coriolanus. mean dom! coryo. pinvsex.

“Gem of Panem, Heart of Justice,” You sang dramatically, hands flinging to your chest, stumbling steps into the large office- The President’s office, which now was all Coriolanus’. 

“My darling girl,” Coriolanus couldn’t hide his grin, the champagne clouding his facade. You both had indulged at the celebration, the private party after the inauguration hosted by his in-laws, your parents, to celebrate his new role. To celebrate Panem’s new leader. 

“You give us light!” You trilled with laughter, flicking on the small switch, the lights of the office shining brightly. 

“Can you behave?” Coriolanus bit back a smile, your hand dropping from his grasp, stumbling to the middle of the room, eyes shining in awe at the many artifacts, tools and gizmos that it held. “I’ve only just got the keys. I don’t want to burn it down on my first night.” 

“I would never burn down the Gem of Panem!” You continued your song in a silly voice, spinning drunkenly behind the desk. Your brows raised, pulling the large chair back, smooth leather, firm and tall. 

“Don’t you even think about it-” Coriolanus wagged his finger at you, taking a step towards the desk. 

You smiled wickedly, a cackle of a giggle that echoed off the walls, left Coriolanus dizzy with a feeling he still wasn’t sure of. Falling into the large chair, your legs hanging over one side, head lolling over the other. “Seat of Power! Strength in… something. Coryo, what’s the words again?” 

Coriolanus feigned shock, brows raised sternly at you. “You don’t know?” He mocked, grinning wolfishly when you pouted, eyes still dazzling. He hovered over your frame, hands stilling the chair from swaying to hold you steady. “The First Lady of Panem doesn’t know the words to the Capitol’s anthem?” 

“Oh, please,” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “That’s the dark day’s song. We’re not in the dark days anymore.” 

“Still,” Coriolanus leaned down towards you. You could smell the alcohol on his breath, a very rare indulgent of his. “A very important part of Panem’s history.” 

“I know that, Coryo.” You grumbled, head spinning from your position. You reached for him, hand smacking against his chest clumsily, pulling on his vest for aid to lift yourself. 

Coriolanus scoffed at you, his hands reaching for you anyways, steadying you in the chair. “Do you?” He hummed, a wicked glint in his eye that had your mind racing, spine tingling with anticipation, heightened from the alcohol. 

“Of course,” Your words were jumbled, slurring a bit more than you’d usually allow. “I went to the same Academy as you, Mr. President.” Your manicured nail jabbed into his chest, right over his heart. 

“I wonder sometimes if you’re not deceiving me, darling.” Coriolanus muttered, holding your hand in his. You feigned shock, jaw dropping dramatically, eyes sparkling up at him. “Your indelicacy makes me think you were raised in the stables of Ten.” 

“Coryo!” You shrilled, his smug smile filling your heart with warm joy at his teasing. It was so rare of him to show you this side of him, playful and silly. He always kept such a stoic, cold demeanor at times that felt far too formal to be from your husband. 

Coryo pulled you from the chair lightly, a hand on your hip to steady you while he sunk down into the firm leather. Hands rubbing down the smooth arms of the chair, fingers curling around the ends like a king on his throne; in a way, he was. 

You watched him, spine straightening and jaw flexing back into that vision of pure power that had your knees shaking, pulsing between your legs. “Well, since you already think so lowly of me,” You stepped between his spread legs, hands sliding over his own. 

“Perhaps I should behave like a feral district woman, hm?” You purred, knee brushing his, mind foggy with the effects of the alcohol. 

“Meaning what exactly, my love?” Coriolanus hummed. He’d play your little game, indulge if for no other reason than his own entertainment. That look in your eyes, lip rolling between your teeth, he knew what you were hoping for- what you were needing. 

Your head tilted to the side, biting back a grin that had his heart jumping, fingers curling around the edge of the chair. “I’m so unpoised?” You quip, knee hiking to rest on his gently. “Perhaps I should go back to the party, really show you what a lack of decorum looks like.” 

“You won’t.” It was final, not a challenge, not a threat, simply a fact Coriolanus was stating. You both knew you wouldn’t, but Coriolanus played along with your little game. “I would advise you not to.” 

“Oh?” Your brows raised, heeled foot falling flat on the ground with a loud clap! that echoed through the office. “You think I won’t?” 

“I know you won’t.” Coriolanus' head tilted, eyes narrowed in a frigid glare. 

You scoffed, defiantly pushing away from him, and for just a moment, Coriolanus thought you actually might. “I’ll show you a feral woman, Coriolanus.” You grumbled, stumbling of a step away from his desk. 

Coriolanus stood. “Come back here.” His voice boomed authoritatively through the office, stilling you for a moment. “Don’t make me tell you again.” 

“You’re not going to do anything.” You muttered under your breath, slow steps towards the door. Your heartbeat in your ears, racing with excitement. 

Coriolanus’ lips twisted, swallowing back a smile, stepping out from behind the desk. He knew how you wanted to play, and he was more than happy to. The first warning stomp of his shoes against the wood had you whipping around, eyes wide with excitement, maybe fear. 

Another step and you were scampering towards the door, still in your heels, tiny shuffles and stumbles towards the door. Coriolanus caught you easily, just as your hand wrapped around the gold crested handle of the office. Hands on your waist, pulling you by your waist towards him, anchoring you to his side. 

“Don’t you dare!” You growled, digging your heels into the floor, scuffing the freshly polished floors. 

Coriolanus tsked, head shaking at you. “Oh, my darling, do you have any idea what you’ve done now?” His tone so chilling it left you shivering. You wondered for a moment if he was still playing or if he truly was angered by you. 

When he settled back into his chair, pulling you over his spread thighs, you got your answer. “Here I was thinking that you might have learned. That I had finally taught you how to behave after all those lessons.” Coriolanus sighed heavily, dramatically, securing you over his knee. 

Heat rushed to your cheeks, squirming over his lap. “Coryo, I have-” You huffed, just as bratty and petulant as when you two had first begun. 

“-Oh?” Coryo’s tone rose, nearly taunting you. “You just proved to me you haven’t, so are you lying now, too?” Coriolanus hummed, shaking his head in disapproval. His hand moved to the swell of your ass, leaving you jumping at the gentle touch, far too excited for what was to come. 

“I have to say,” Coryo pushed the hem of your dress up, letting the fabric settle and pool at the middle of your spine. “I’m disappointed in you. I thought you would have learned by now how to behave.” His hand smoothed over your exposed skin, pinky swiping near the edge of your panties, teasing you. 

He smirked when you shuddered, a whine trapped behind your closed lips. He could feel your hips clenching, willing yourself to remain still, not to grind against his leg though he knew you so desperately wanted to. 

“I suppose it’s my fault.” Coriolanus’s hand glided over your ass, squeezing each cheek firmly. “I’ve let you behave so poorly.” Fingertip trailing down your clothed slit, pulling a desperate gasp that had him grinning. 

“Don’t worry,” Coriolanus nearly cooed, leaning down, a hand trapping yours at the small of your back, pinning it into place. “I’ll make sure you remember how to behave again.” A squeezed to your wrists that had you biting back a whimper, a warning that he was about to begin. 

Coriolanus’ hand fell on your upturned bottom, the resounding echo of each spank bouncing off the walls. Your whimpers and whines, silent cries mixed in, making the most wonderful melody he’d ever heard. One he wanted to keep on a loop, play when his mind was clouded with fears and doubts. 

You bucked in his lap, squirming against his hold, fighting every stinging spank that landed one right after the other. A sniffling mess- a mess, indeed. Coriolanus knew you could feel his cock prodding your side. The way you’d whine when it would accidentally brush into you, thighs pressing together, grinding for friction. You really were no better than a feral from the Districts. 

“Have you learned your lesson?” Coriolanus growled, his hand resting over your ignited skin, still hot from his assault. 

“Yes.” You whimpered. Your head spun, dizzy from the champagne, from the throbbing between your legs, a clouding of pure need. 

Coriolanus hummed, finger slipping back between your legs over your clothed heat. A finger pressing into the soft fabric of your panties, your own arousal seeping through. Spit filled his mouth at the thought of how you’d taste. He had half a mind to shove you onto the desk, devour you until you had soaked him and the mahogany wood. 

But you weren’t playing like that tonight. He didn’t want to go soft on you, break away and show mercy, he couldn’t. Not now, especially, it was no time to begin faltering. 

Instead, Coriolanus did shove you over the desk, bared after he’d yanked your dress; tore the fabric, pulled you to his side and spanked you again when you whined about it. There was no warning, no light teasing. No, Coryo fucked you like a machine. Hard snaps of his hips, spearing his cock further and further into you. 

You gripped the desk, palm flat against the wood as your only anchor. It was nearly barbaric how furiously he was fucking you. Jaw set in a tight clench, eyes hard on yours, commanding your gaze back at him. Wordless from him, save for the few grunts and sharp sighs out of his nose. Coryo fucked you like an object, instead of his wife. Fingertips holding your waist in a bruising grip, jackhammering into you with a fury that made your ears ring. 

He filled you, when he finally finished. Sat back in his chair leaving you limp on the desk in front of him. Brainless, broken from his cock, spilling his seed, dripping it on the desk. He’d make you lick it up later, a watchful gaze that demanded your eyes back to his as you lapped up your mess- his mess. That was the first time, but hardly the last, that Coriolanus Snow- President Snow- would be unrelentingly cruel in that office- in power.

[makingqueerhistory]

The Pink Line: Journeys Across the World's Queer Frontiers

Mark Gevisser

More than seven years in the making, Mark Gevisser's The Pink Line: Journeys Across the World's Queer Frontiers is an exploration of how the conversation around sexual orientation and gender identity has come to divide--and describe--the world in an entirely new way over the first two decades of the twenty-first century. No social movement has brought change so quickly and with such dramatically mixed results. While same-sex marriage and gender transition are celebrated in some parts of the world, laws are being strengthened to criminalize homosexuality and gender nonconformity in others. As new globalized queer identities are adopted by people across the world--thanks to the digital revolution--fresh culture wars have emerged. A new Pink Line, Gevisser argues, has been drawn across the globe, and he takes readers to its frontiers. Between sensitive and sometimes startling profiles of the queer folk he's encountered along the Pink Line, Gevisser offers sharp analytical chapters exploring identity politics, religion, gender ideology, capitalism, human rights, moral panics, geopolitics, and what he calls "the new transgender culture wars." His subjects include a Ugandan refugee in flight to Canada, a trans woman fighting for custody of her child in Moscow, a lesbian couple campaigning for marriage equality in Mexico, genderqueer high schoolers coming of age in Michigan, a gay Israeli-Palestinian couple searching for common ground, and a community of kothis--"women's hearts in men's bodies"--who run a temple in an Indian fishing village. What results is a moving and multifaceted picture of the world today, and the queer people defining it.

(Affiliate link above)

[justporo]

I don't have any real writing in me but... I've been thinking about Astarion and Tav sharing a domestic life so much - maybe it's time for some headcanons again?

Domestic headcanons about Astarion and Tav settling down in Baldur's Gate

Tav likes to cook, and now they can experiment with a real kitchen. Astarion just loves sitting at the table in the kitchen reading or talking to Tav to take in the delicious smells and watch his soulmate bustle around the kitchen

He also likes to try what Tav comes up with; he doesn't need to eat and "Why should I waste my time eating something... dull. But your cooking, my love, is quite exquisite!"

Let's not talk about Tav's first tries at baking though, but Astarion tries to be nice... at first. "If you were going for briquette, my love, than it's indeed quite perfect." ("It was meant to be chocolate shortbread but thank you so much for the encouragement, Astarion...")

In their small little backyard garden Tav plants lots of night blooming flowers so Astarion can enjoy it as well

Sometimes they just lay there on a blanket and star gaze; "Do you have a favourite star constellation, Astarion?" Astarion gazes over at you while you keep looking at the night sky "Your eyes, my love." "Ugh, you're so corny sometimes!"

In winter Astarion loves to join Tav to go to the market and run errands, he also very gentlemanly carries their bags (although not all the way because "Love, what are you putting in all those bags? Cobblestones?")

Sitting in the window alcove and watching the twinkling lights of Baldur's Gate at night and the stars above: that's one of their favourite places in their house

Astarion got Tav into the legends of Drizzt so they sometimes read together; Astarion does a very dramatic Drizzt voice (Tav finds it hilarious and almost chokes laughing every time)

Also maybe Tav gets him like a collector's edition of Drizzt's legends as a gift sometime - nicely bound in fine leather and with illustrations (Astarion is awestruck and also learns that day that it's fine and nice to share your interests with someone who appreciates you)

Also maybe sometimes when they're adventure funds run out, Astarion thinks about getting back into law, "making it right this time" - because he IS smart and could pull it off

Should I keep going? I could keep going...

Also I am not using the word fluffy again here anymore, I'm terrified of it now since I always used to smuggle another "l" in there...

The part about Astarion getting Tav into Drizzt's story was inspired by another post I will hopefully find and link later on!

[peaches2217]

“Alright, I think we’re done here. Are you ready, love?”

Perfect timing. Mario shook out the blanket compressed between his hands with a dramatic flourish. After feeding it a steady supply of heat for a good five minutes straight, the entire room felt a few degrees warmer as its fabric cascaded to the ground.  “One fluffy blankie, floofed up and toasted to perfection!”

Bath Night was, by now, an easy routine: one of them washed and dried, the other swaddled and dressed, simple and efficient and predictable. That didn’t stop Peach from giggling at Mario’s theatrics as if bearing witness to them for the first time, and that certainly didn’t stop Mario’s heart from somersaulting at such a beautiful sound.

And even that didn’t compare to what his heart did as Peach passed a towel one last time over the squirming, fussy infant before her, clicking her tongue and “I know, I know, I know”ing with a gentle smile on her lips. 

He’d been assured the honeymoon phase of new parenthood would quickly fade away, slough from his shoulders at some point between the bi-hourly feedings and the 2AM crying spells. But he felt the same way watching his wife coo and kiss their freshly-bathed little girl as he’d felt seeing that little girl in her mother’s arms for the first time; wrapping the blanket he’d prepared around his daughter and holding her close felt every bit as magical as it felt the night she was born.

Two months in, and still he was waiting. He was beginning to think he’d be waiting forever.

That little girl — Cocoa Emilia Marionetti-Toadstool, Crown Princess of the Mushroom Kingdom, the very embodiment of all that was good and light and right with the world — protested noisily as Mario swaddled her, a task complicated by her tiny but persistent flailing.

“Oh, si gela, si gela! Lo so!” He maneuvered around her movements with only minimal struggle, bobbing and weaving in place in his efforts to keep her still. “Did Mamma not get the water warm enough? Oh, mio poverino ghiacciolo!”

“Mamma ensured the water was at perfect temperature, thank you,” Peach huffed as she wiped down the bathing cradle; she sounded decently affronted, but the reflection Mario caught in the vanity mirror was aglow in playfulness. “It’s not my fault standing water gets cold faster in the winter.”

“And you just let it get cold?” Mario inquired, summoning all the mock-accusation he could into his voice. “Didn’t even try bending the laws of physics for our perfect little princess?”

“We can’t all be sentient hot water bottles!” Peach harrumphed and turned her nose up, a perfect caricature of regal distaste, and Mario bit back a laugh so the noise wouldn’t startle little Cocoa. She was only now beginning to relax. They had already subjected her to enough for one night.

The art of soothing a moody baby was an art that Mario was made specifically for, he’d thought more than once. His body was stout enough to shield his daughter, strong enough to fight for her, yet soft and still enough to rock her to sleep. His heart beat loud and steady within his chest, a rhythmic pulse she sought out and relaxed into each time he held her close. “Lo senti?” he sometimes whispered to her during restless nights. “Questo cuore batte per te.”

Point in case, he cradled her to his sternum once she was secure within her blanket, and despite her fussing and fitfulness, she decided just as quickly that she wasn’t so upset after all. The plush pink fabric enveloping her retained heat well enough, but Mario wasn’t one to take chances; his hands tingled as he called forth his Firebrand, and little Cocoa sighed beneath the additional warmth, nuzzling in closer to her father.

Being a “sentient hot water bottle” always had its perks, but he was more grateful for those powers now than ever.

“Actually,” Peach said a few minutes later, “that’s something I’ve been thinking about.”

Mario hummed to assure her he was listening. The art of soothing came naturally to him, but the art of diapering did not, attentive and nimble-fingered though he was, so he double- and triple-checked the fastenings from all angles as she continued.

“How do you suppose her powers will manifest? Will she be able to summon fire as well, or will her abilities be limited to the ones I possess?”

Content with his handiwork, Mario began the simpler task of buttoning Cocoa into a onesie — footed for extra warmth and pastel pink like ninety percent of her wardrobe — and, as Peach’s words processed in his brain, he wondered.

Bleary sapphire eyes blinked up at him. Poor little Cocoa must have been exhausted. Since her last nap, she’d had a meal, a burping, a bowel movement, a bath, and now a change of clothes. That was a full day’s work for a newborn, and it hadn’t even been two hours. “It’s that Brooklyn work ethic,” Luigi once suggested. “Always putting in overtime. Mamma would’ve been so proud.”

Mario had yet to consider his daughter learning to heal, and to bless, and to levitate, and to summon fire and control it; there was plenty enough happening in the present. He scooped her and her blanket from the changing table once she was dressed and kissed her gently. Yes, for now, she had to focus on growing up big and strong. Then they could worry about magic.

The oddity of Peach’s question struck him as he transferred their child into her arms.

“Hey, hold up — tesoro, you’re making some pretty bold claims there!”

“Hm?” Peach’s eyes flicked to the rocking chair a few steps away, and Mario quickly made himself useful before bothering to elaborate, patting the cushions to ensure maximum comfort and holding the back of the chair steady for her.

“Well, why would she only have your abilities?” he asked as she lowered herself into the seat. “And how do you even know if she’ll have either of ours? It’s pretty much fifty-fifty on all sides, yeah?”

Peach muttered her thanks as she adjusted herself and her baby, and Mario carefully released the chair, taking a small step back so she had room to rock.

“It might be up to chance in the end, yes,” she continued as she settled into a gentle pace, back and forth and back again. “That said, the magic within me has passed through generations by birth. Predecessors who couldn’t wield wish power have always been exceptions to the rule.”

Mario Aaaaaahed in understanding. “And my Firebrand is first-generation, just like my mamma and papa, yeah?”

Peach turned her head, nodding as well as she could over her shoulder. “And given that it’s not innate, who’s to say whether it can be passed down?”

The beginning of an agreement died on Mario’s tongue. Not innate. He wasn’t born with it, no, but he certainly hadn’t gained it by way of study and incantations.

“Well, I’d say it’s pretty ‘innate.’ I mean…” He looked down at his right hand, rotating it in the soft lights of the nursery, examining the dark hair and skin lines and veins; with a single thought of Fire, so quick and routine that his brain barely registered it as a word, familiar heat flowed into that hand, and with a deliberate flick of his wrist, it was engulfed in a puff of flame.

He observed the flame for a moment before shaking out his hand to extinguish it. No burn marks, no singed hair, no reddening or blisters. Just skin that was hot to the touch. “Don’t need a fancy spell or a magic wand to do that,” he bragged, trusting she at least felt his flame if she hadn’t seen it.

Her expression was hidden from him, but he could see her cheeks drawing upward in a smile, and that was every bit as satisfying. “Still, it was given to you. Does it reside within your body, or is it entwined with your genetic makeup? Is it something that can be passed down?”

Mario thought on this in silence, resting his hand on the chair’s back and idly following along with Peach’s movements. The powers he and his brother gained in the Oho Oasis weren’t well-documented at all, but they were divine in origin (though he was still uncertain of the extent of that divinity). He’d never questioned how it worked on a biological level. It just was. But the more he thought on it, the more likely he considered that power to be part of him, woven into his very DNA just as Peach’s magic was tied to her soul. 

And if it wasn’t, well… that didn’t mean Cocoa couldn’t receive that power as well. Possibility and probability were two separate factors.

He stood on his toes to better peer over his wife’s shoulder. It was strange to think about. At that very moment, this tiny, fragile, precious life they had created could be storing magic the likes of which most would never experience, much less use. Maybe it existed for now as a whisper that would strengthen with time. Maybe it already flowed through her blood at full force, waiting only for its wielder to develop the fine motor skills necessary to summon it.

Just how powerful was that magic? How deeply did it run, and what sorts of powers would it grant her? How would they teach her to control it? What sorts of repercussions would come about as a result?

Mario knew only one thing for certain: right now, Cocoa didn’t care. She was fast asleep, her head tucked against the crease of Peach’s elbow, a trickle of drool at the corner of her mouth. Tiny hands that might one day fight or mend presently clenched at Peach’s nightgown, kneading lazily at the chiffon.

Yes, what good was ruminating on the future when the present was already so sweet?

Letting go of the chair and placing his hands on Peach’s shoulders, he called his Firebrand forth once more. No flames this time, no showy display of supernatural ability; just heat, the perfect temperature for tense, tired muscles. Peach sighed and leaned back into that heat, another quiet thanks on her lips.

“Kinda scary to think about.” Mario chuckled, massaging her shoulders and earning another pleased sigh. “I mean, a little Mini Me running around is scary enough, but a Mini Me that can float through the air and set things on fire before she even learns to tie her shoes?”

Peach’s laughter joined with his, soft and weary and sincere. “Then… let’s think about it later. How’s that sound?”

“Hm. Yeah.” He leaned forward to kiss her cheek, and he couldn’t resist lingering there, his fingers loosening Peach’s muscles and his temple resting against hers, watching the snoozing infant all cozy in her arms. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

[kaizokuniichan]

Attention - Part 1: Mossy Musings

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro/Afab Reader (referred to as she/her)/Trafalgar Law

Summary: There’s something going on with you and Law. But there’s also something going on with you and Zoro.

• This chapter is very tame and just kind of sets up the plot. Supposed to take place after Dressrosa so Law is onboard the Sunny. Everyone is pining.

CW: none for this chapter

Word Count: 2k

Next Chapters: Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

*This specific chapter doesn’t have any inappropriate material but the rest of the story will so MDNI

(Divider by @cafekitsune Banner by @/eelnoise)

Zoro knew you had a thing for Law. For someone as perceptive as him, he’d especially mastered reading you. Normally you were very precious with which parts of yourself you revealed, but when you liked something, that preciousness began to slip away.

He wasn’t jealous of Law, far from it actually. He respected the hell out of him, respected his strength and how formidable of a fighter he was, and respected how much he trusted Luffy as an ally despite how tentative that allyship was. But he was curious as to what exactly attracted you to him. He knew objectively he was a good-looking guy, he was older, and he had an underlying angst that seemed to appeal to you. But he was just as guarded as you were, and if your walls were a chain link fence, needing to be rattled to shake off little nuggets of your innermost self, his walls were a 20 foot tall, thick slab of concrete.

Maybe it was the mystery of wanting to figure him out and getting him to open up, something that seemed impossible given the incompatibility of his personality with the raucousness of your crew. But you did have a disarming air, and a penchant for making people comfortable enough to reveal their vulnerabilities. So maybe throughout the time Law spent on the ship you’d began chipping away at that concrete slab.

Law was even harder to read, though not impossible. Zoro saw the way his eyes lingered, intrigue pooling in his irises. How he seemed to anticipate your needs, wordlessly filling your plate with more vegetables and rice during meals; always at the right place and the right time to catch you whenever your clumsiness tripped your feet. How his scowl softened when you came to him with a question about an ailment you’d been plagued with since Chopper wasn’t available. It was subtle, but the tension in his shoulders, and the grit in his teeth (irritated by Strawhat antics) would dissipate as you followed him to extract yourselves from the chaos any time your social batteries depleted. Just like Robin, you were someone he seemed to have found comfort in, but it was different with you. He was different with you.

Zoro observed the two of you, tucked away in your favorite corner of the deck overlooking the glittering reflection of the setting sun. Law sat next to you at an appropriate distance, back against the railing and arms rested on bent knees. He didn’t face you but his body was positioned in a way that suggested he was actively engaged with your presence. A subtle movement of his mouth made you giggle, obviously in relation to something he’d said. Law didn’t say things that were intended to be funny, but sometimes his dry platitudes were so dramatic one could find them quite amusing. Your laughter pulled his attention back to you, eyes shifting to your face and lips curling into a barely perceptible smile. It took him several moments to drag his gaze away from yours to look down at his hands.

You must’ve complimented his tattoos, something you’d not so subtly alluded to liking on more than one occasion, though not to Law directly. To Zoro’s mild surprise Law held his hand out for you to trace your fingers over the ink. He watched as you gushed, biting your lip in concentration as you admired the intricate shapes and patterns. Law’s eyes never left your face, heated pride radiating from his skin. A hint of pink dusted his cheeks as you placed his palm on top of yours, curling and threading your fingers to you compare the sizes of your hands. Zoro snickered; this was your classic move. He’d seen you do it countless times in a local bar with some nameless patron; hell, you’d even done it to him. It always turned the person into putty, and the effect on Law was no different.

Zoro’s snort caught your attention as both your heads snapped over to him. Law discreetly snatched his hand from yours, subtly shifting further away. Zoro took pity on the man, obviously not realizing he’d had an audience, and raised his jug of sake in acknowledgment. While the two of you waffled about, trying to put some space between you, a workout in the crow’s nest suddenly felt very appealing as Zoro took his katanas and made his way back inside. As he approached the door leading to the kitchen he caught sight of Robin sitting at her little table, sipping on a cup of tea. She greeted him with a serene smile and a friendly wave which Zoro returned with another lift of his jug. Just as he was about to pass she turned to him, tinkling voice lilting over the lip of her teacup.

“Does that bother you?” She asked, eyes drifting over to you and Law still pretending to not have been canoodling on the other side of the deck.

Zoro knew it was pointless playing dumb about what she was implying. She was always in tune with everything going on aboard the ship.

“No, not really,” he huffed, already knowing where this was going.

“Just curious?”

Zoro looked back over his shoulder at you, still dragging your fingers along Law’s arm.

“Doesn’t matter,” he sighed, continuing on his journey and ignoring the amused glint in her eye.

“She seems to have a type, handsome and powerful swordsmen.”

Zoro stopped in his tracks as he shook his head, laughing to himself.

“Seems like her attention span is fleeting since there’s a new boy toy around.”

“Are you saying you’re also her boy toy?” Robin prodded, eyebrows raised in mock surprise and still infuriatingly calm and collected as she flustered him.

“I’m not saying I’m anything,” he muttered, grinding his teeth as his ears burned. Robin had a knack for zeroing in on the most humiliating parts of himself. It was why he avoided her as much as he could.

He started to stomp away, but she reeled him back with one final jab.

“If it does bother you, you should act fast. Something tells me he’s feeling more bold the closer we get to Zou. He might want to snatch her up before you get to her first.”

A niggling sense of dread ate at the center of his chest as he pictured you leaving the crew to join the Heart Pirates. To be with him. He knew there was no way that would happen, but the thought still shook him, ice filling his veins. He wasn’t going to let Robin’s predictably dark musings rattle him; he was fine. It’s not like he had anything going on with you anyway, save for some fleeting glances here and there, a lingering touch in passing. You two hadn’t even kissed. Neither of you were the type to commit to anything on a romantic scale, and Zoro wasn’t the type to delude himself into believing that any of it actually meant something. There was too much on the line with him working to achieve his goals, and your relationship as crew mates. A little mutual attraction was irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.

After a few hours of blowing steam in the gym, Zoro collapsed onto the bench, muscles groaning with relief. He’d brought the jug of sake with him upstairs, and took a healthy swig, gulping down as if it were water.

As trails of escaped sake ran down the sides of his face, your head suddenly appeared above the ladder, eyes meeting his and face blooming into a smile. As more of your body lifted up into the space he smirked. You’d donned an old sweatshirt of his, worn and fraying hem falling halfway to your knees. His mouth betrayed him as he grinned, feeling slightly gleeful that you’d chosen a piece of him to adorn yourself with.

You walked over to where he sat, the sound of your slides slapping your heels echoing against the walls. As you stood in front of him, you thrust your hand out and made grabby motions at his jug.

“Use your words,” he tsked, clutching the sake to his chest.

“Gimme some of that,” you pouted, still offering your hand to him.

He grasped your hand, pulling you down to collapse next to him, dragging you closer.

“You smell horrible,” you huffed, wrinkling your nose.

“You knew that when you came here.”

“I didn’t know you were gonna be here,” you grumbled, finally snatching the sake from him.

“But you knew it was a 50/50 chance.”

“Hm. Don’t flatter yourself.”

He snickered as he watched you take a sip, gagging at the taste. He’d busted your balls enough times about how you couldn’t actually handle it, so he’d let it slide just this once.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“No, I’ve hardly been able to at all this week.”

“Too busy thinking about Tall Broody Sideburns?” He couldn’t help himself.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumbled, lip poking out in another pout. Normally you wore an armor of stoicism when you felt exposed but now you weren’t even trying.

“You sure weren’t shy when you were making googly eyes at him earlier.”

“Don’t be jealous,” you rebounded, mushing his face with your hand. He caught your wrist in a loose hold, looking into your eyes.

“You know it’s not a good idea to fraternize with the enemy.”

Your shriek of laughter caught him off guard, but he buzzed with satisfaction for making you smile.

“You’re so annoying you know that?”

He let go of your wrist, stretching his arm along the back of the bench. You shifted closer, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I thought you said I smelled.”

“You do but I’m getting used to it. Color me shocked.”

His hand came down to grasp your shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“You know it’s fine with me right? It’s no pressure you know.”

You turned to look at him, an unreadable expression on your face.

“No pressure about what? There’s nothing going on.”

Zoro knew he’d said something wrong, your body pulling away from his grasp. You stood up preparing to leave when reached for your hand.

“You know how complicated this is though, right? He’s technically our enemy when all of this shit is over with.”

Still standing, you turned back to throw him a conflicted look.

“Yeah I know I just…I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You wanna be greedy and have us both?”

You pulled your hand from his, shaking your head.

“I just want to feel wanted, you know? I can’t help that I like…who I like,” you sighed, briefly catching his eye. “I just. I know none of this, any of this, can become anything. It’s all so fucked.”

Zoro grunted as he straightened up in his seat, wrapping an arm around your waist to plop you back down at his side.

“If you’re worried that this will put a damper on…whatever’s going on, don’t worry about it. It’s up to you to determine what you want. I’m obviously not going anywhere.

“Obviously?”

“You know that.”

His words seemed to melt the tension as you settled back into his side.

“Why are you being so accommodating?”

He nuzzled the side of your face and pulled you closer against him.

“Because. We live together stupid.”

You scoffed, playfully flicking his forehead.

“And because I respect you. And at the end of the day I do care about you.”

You turned in your seat to look at him, curiosity painting your face.

“You know, you’re a lot cuter than you give yourself credit for.”

He rolled his eye but couldn’t wipe the smirk tugging at his lips.

“Being cute isn’t something I strive to be.”

“So you just can’t help it. That makes it cuter.”

Refusing to argue any further, he squeezed your sides, eliciting another one of those banshee shrieks he always teased you about.

You were both unaware of the man at the bottom of the ladder, listening intently and brimming with a new resolve.

[ataliagold]

But My Heart Is Just A Little Boy

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Rating: Teen (swearing)

W/C: 2012

Tags: Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, hurt/comfort, Steve Harrington has dyscalculia, Steve Harrington has self esteem issues, Steve Harrington needs a hug, fluff, light angst, DnD, Mike and Dustin are a little mean here

Notes: Just slowly posting some of my AO3 stuff here as well :) Title from Rattlesnake by Jack Van Cleaf.

___

Steve joining in on Eddie’s campaign was supposed to be a nice surprise for his boyfriend.

And it was; Eddie’s face had lit up with joy when Steve had walked in and sat down with the kids around the table. Steve had taken the dice Dustin had loaned him and lined them up in front of him, from the D4 (the funny triangle one) up to the D20 (the one with heaps of sides, Steve reminded himself.)

If he kept them in that order it would help him pick the right dice quickly, he’d decided.

Because he wanted this to go to perfectly.

Eddie had been asking him to join in on a game for months, but Steve had so far refused, only coming along sometimes to watch quietly. There were parts of it that piqued his interest – namely the combat and the creatures Eddie planted into the game, because some of them were so damn cool even if Steve wouldn’t readily admit it out loud. A small part of him, a much younger part that had loved fairy tales and stories about knights and dragons and sword fights before his father had confiscated those books, deeming them too childish, watched with a quiet giddiness as the kids battled all manner of beasts.

But much of the game was so complicated - there were so many numbers, and Steve had no idea how Eddie and the kids managed to keep track of everything, how they added dice values together so damn quickly and kept track of a seemingly endless list of stats and bonuses and modifiers, whatever the hell they were.

Eddie knew about his difficulty with numbers. He’d seen the way Steve had to count with his fingers, how it took him far too fucking long to do a simple equation, how he stood in Melvald’s staring at the price of something just trying to make the numbers make sense so they wouldn’t blow their grocery budget.

And Eddie was patient, always. But D&D was Eddie’s realm, his place to shine, and Steve was so worried about holding him back and ruining the game every time he had to pause to add two fucking dice together.

Finally, he’d caved. Secretly, with Dustin’s help, he’d put a character sheet together. He’d made a paladin because Dustin had told him it suited him. Steve made him strong and lawful good, just like the knights he used to read about as a little boy. Dustin had rolled his eyes a little at that but Steve had been quite proud of what he’d put together.

Plus, Dustin had promised to help him with the math.

But here Steve was, well over an hour into the campaign, and he was struggling.

Cheeks burning, he turned to Dustin yet again.

“Wait, which one am I rolling?” he whispered.

Dustin rolled his eyes. The kid had been patient at first, but it was beginning to wear thin.

Steve was beginning to wear thin.

“The D10, Steve,” Dustin hissed.

“Right,” Steve nodded, grabbing for one of the dice.

“That’s the D8, Steve,” Mike said wearily.

Steve’s cheeks flushed even hotter, and he grabbed the other dice, rolling it quickly.

“Ahhh...seven,” Steve announced.

“You slash at the goblin, your blade cutting deep into its chest, the creature gurgling and reeling backwards…” Eddie leant over the table, giving a dramatic recount of events.

Steve smiled, unable to help it. His boyfriend was having such a good time, and even if Steve wasn’t enjoying himself so much, well, that was ok. He could do this, for Eddie.

“…but it scrabbles back to its feet, weak but alive,” Eddie finishes.

Mike groaned and slapped the table.

“It has to be almost dead,” Lucas announced.

“Yeah, but there’s still four others,” Mike pointed out.

“This one must be on two hit points or less,” Will surmised.

How did he know that? Steve frowned, let the kids talk amongst themselves. His gaze wandered over to Eddie, watching him lean back in his chair, eyes shining. He shot a wink at Steve when he caught him looking, then frowned a little, obviously noticing Steve wasn’t looking all that comfortable.

You ok? He mouthed at him.

Steve nodded quickly.

But he felt small.

Grow the fuck up, you’re fine.

“…Steve!” Mike groaned.

Steve’s attention snapped back to the kids. “What?”

“Stop staring at Eddie and tell us how many hit points you’ve got left.”

“Um…” Steve glanced down at the piece of paper in front of him. He’d scribbled some numbers down like Dustin had told him to every time his character had taken damage, but there were a lot of numbers there and he wasn’t sure they all actually related to his hit points…

“Give it here,” Dustin snatched the paper from him impatiently, peering down at it.

Steve waited while Dustin assessed his work, the feeling vaguely reminiscent of being back in school, his teachers reading over his work with a disappointed shake of their heads.

“This can’t be right, Steve,” Dustin sighed. “It says you’re on twelve hit points…is that a twelve? Your writing’s messy.”

Steve nodded. “Yours isn’t much better, pea-brain,” he mumbled, just to shoot something back at the kid.

Dustin narrowed his eyes at him. “You must have less than that because of the damage you took in the last round. You’re probably down to…eight at the most, by now.”

“Just make it eight, then,” Steve grumbled.

“Eight it is, big boy,” Eddie agreed.

“It doesn’t work like that, though,” Mike huffed. “You actually have to keep track of this stuff Steve, there’s no point playing if you just make the numbers up.”

“It doesn’t matter, really,” Will tried to intervene quietly. “It can just be eight.”

Dustin picked up his pencil, drawing some columns on Steve’s paper. “Ok, so just use this one column to keep track of damage, don’t write all over the page. There’s your total hit points at the top, and every time you take damage, write it down under there, ok? And then just take it off the total. Simple.”

Like it was that fucking easy. Maybe for them, it was. They didn’t get every number mixed up in their brain, they didn’t stare at a single digit trying to put some numeric value behind it and coming up with zilch.

Dustin was trying to help, Steve knew. But his tone of voice was so fucking condescending that it had Steve squirming in his seat, wishing he was anywhere else.

He felt Eddie’s eyes on him.

“Come sit by me, Stevie, I’ll help you keep track.” Eddie said gently.

“You’ll just go easy on him, and that’s not fair!” Mike whined.

“Can it, Wheeler,” Eddie snapped at him.

“Just because he can’t do basic math.”

“Right, you get to roll with disadvantage now, just for that,” Eddie told him smugly.

Mike was retorting with something, but Steve didn’t hear it.

His pulse was thumping in his ears, his cheeks on fire. The years were stripped from him, the sensitive child he’d tucked away inside a long time ago forced to the surface.

“Look, just carry on without me,” Steve muttered, and stood up quick enough that his chair scraped on the floor.

“Steve -” Dustin started, but Steve was finished, striding towards the stairs and blinking back tears.

He wasn’t going to cry in front of the kids, not over a fucking game, not over something his boyfriend loved so much.

But they were coming faster than he could blink them back as he headed out of Mike’s stuffy basement and out to the driveway, the cold night air caressing his flushed face.

This was supposed to have been a treat for Eddie. It was supposed to be fun, and Steve had ruined the night by being fucking stupid.

A tear tracked down his cheek , Steve losing the battle against them. He’d just drive home, he decided. Steve had come straight from work that day, so Eddie had come separately in his van, he wouldn’t be inconvenienced.

And then they could finish their game in peace, without having to treat Steve like a five-year-old.

He was getting in the driver’s seat when Eddie ran to him, both hands reaching for him.

“Stevie…” Eddie murmured softly.

“I’m sorry,” Steve mumbled, dragging his sleeve across his face, smudging the tears there.

“Why? The kids were being assholes, I’ve already yelled at them.”

Steve shook his head. “I was just slowing everyone down, they were getting frustrated, I get it.”

“No, sweetheart, they were being rude,” Eddie corrected him. “Especially Wheeler.” Eddie brushed his thumbs across Steve’s cheeks, crouching down beside the open driver’s door. “I’ve told them to pull their heads in. Do you…do you want to come back inside?”

“Eds…” Steve leant into his hands a little. “I’m no good at it. I really wanted to try, for you, and I’m so sorry I ruined it, but there’s too many numbers and I can’t keep track of everything and it takes me so fucking long and it’s embarrassing because I can’t even keep up with a bunch of kids, and I just feel like I’m back at school again.”

Eddie cupped his cheeks again, tilting Steve’s head to look at him. “Hey. You haven’t ruined anything, they did. I’m so happy you came along tonight, because I know you did it for me. But look, D&D doesn’t have to be your thing -”

“But -”

“It doesn’t,” Eddie cut in. “Just like…your balls in laundry basket games aren’t mine. But I like hanging around while you and Wayne watch them, and I love how excited you get about it, and how you sit there with that fucking pretty smile…”

Steve huffed out a small laugh, and Eddie grabbed his wrist to press a kiss to the inside of it.

“But I don’t know what’s going on most of the time,” Eddie continued. “It makes you happy, and that’s enough for me. So, I don’t want you to feel like you have to play D&D just for me if it’s not something you enjoy. It’s more than enough that you listen to my ideas, that you help me write -”

“I don’t really,” Steve said quietly.

“You do! Or have you forgotten who came up with that fucking amazing twist with the elven prince?”

“I got it from a movie,” Steve argued.

“So? I didn’t think of it, and it had the little shrimps completely stumped.”

Steve managed a small smile. “I do like some of the stories,” he admitted quietly. “But I think…I just wanna go home, ok? You can carry on.”

Eddie shook his head. “I’m gonna get them to pack up in there. I’ll drop them home, then follow you back, ok?”

“Steve?” came Dustin’s voice from behind Eddie, small and hesitant.

Steve quickly straightened up in his seat, wiping a hand across his face.

“Yeah, buddy?” he replied, his voice a little hoarse.

“I’m…I’m sorry. That we weren’t more patient. It’s ok if you struggle with numbers, and we should’ve helped more.”

“It’s ok, Dusty,” Steve told him.

Eddie frowned, reached down to squeeze Steve’s hand, then turned to Dustin. “It isn’t ok,” he argued. “But it was nice of you to apologize.”

Dustin nodded. “If you want to try again sometime, I promise I’ll help more. I…I really liked having you play.”

“Thanks,” Steve managed.

“Tell Wheeler to start crafting his apology too,” Eddie said firmly, still cradling Steve’s hand in his own. “Otherwise he’s rolling with disadvantage for the whole next session.”

Dustin’s eyes widened a little before he nodded.

After packing up, the kids waited sheepishly by Eddie’s van. Eddie stayed crouched next to Steve a moment longer.

“Go home, get comfy on the couch, and pick out any movie you want to watch, ok?” Eddie murmured to him. “When I get home I’m gonna order us some pizza, and I’m gonna cuddle the shit out of you, understand?”

Steve laughed softly. “Sounds perfect.”

“Good. I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.”

___

[squad-724]

Oof I’ve had a couple rough weeks at uni, have padmecker artwork I’ve been slowly working on. It’s an illustration for a short fic of the two of them, a twin piece to @electrikworm ’s fic

“There.” Padmé sighed as she put down the stylus, a moment ago used to correct the few words of her next speech on the Senatorial Ball she was organizing with Bail and Riyo to warm her colleagues up to the clones. A small tactic to make them look more sentient and humanoid than what they officially were written as in the law. One step closer to the bill that would recognise them as citizens of the Republic.

She straightened up in her seat, her back cracking in a few places, making her wince. No matter how much the chair cost, five hours of no movement will make her body ache. And because of the non-stop debates in the rotunda she had no time to prepare it earlier; the ball was the next day.

Padmé took her time, finishing sipping the cold caf she got delivered back when there was still sunlight, watching the lights of the Planet That Never Slept flicker in the distance. She knew how they looked up close, both on the triple zero and in lower levels she so rarely visited; only going there for her rare dates that she still had to hide from the public. If the media learned about her relationship with a clone, the whole rights bill could be compromised.

Sometimes she didn't care, wishing to be able to take Wrecker to one of the fancy restaurants, let him taste all the amazing foods she could get him, to walk around in broad daylight, visit museums and opera. She wished she could spoil him as much as he deserved.

But it would have to wait. Padmé knew she would make sure he and his brothers could soon walk around as fully free citizens.

“You done?” The senator almost jumped out of her seat as a male voice came from the doors to her office space.

“On the moons Anakin you scared me,” Padmé let out a sigh of relief, and the jedi laughed at her reaction. “What are you still doing here, you were supposed to leave hours ago.”

“Eeeh, I think I should give Rex a little room to breathe. He almost strangled me after I threw him down that hole two days ago.”

“And you don't want to spend the night on observation with Kix.”

“And I don't want to spend the night on observation with Kix, and Rex WILL rat me out in an act of revenge.” He walked over to her balcony doors, grabbing one of the donuts she kept on her desk, her favorite one she kept for last. “I'll sleep at Snip’s new apartment, apparently she got a great deal from the landlady that had a good family history with the Order, and didn't need a down payment. I'll see you at the ball.” He waved her goodbye and jumped down the balcony. Padmé knew he called R2 to come pick him up, just as all the times he decided to have that dramatic of an exit. One day he would fall and break his neck, and that would be karma for stealing the best donuts.

There was nothing more Padmé wanted than to sleep. But she desperately needed to shower, and knew Clone Force 99 was about to enter the Coruscanti atmosphere in a few moments.

She met the squad only a few months back, the four clones called as her escort during a mission. At first she was surprised at the differences from normal troopers, but soon learned about their mutations and special enhancements that were made to them.

Each one of them was unique and interesting, but it was Wrecker who caught her eye, his eyes that kept looking at her with awe when he thought she didn't notice, but also the difference between his pure show of power in opposition of how gentle he was with her.

He had that charm and authenticity that all her previous suitors lacked, speaking his mind and not carefully picking lines of dialogue they practiced before each meeting. He was himself at all times, and who he was was a man of big heart. And Padmé couldn't deny him the beautiful musculature and tanned skin.

And now, after three weeks of a comms-out mission, he and his brothers were coming for a personal debrief with commander Cody, and to crash at her flat for a few days.

She already stocked her fridge with food, readied her three guest rooms with a fresh set of beddings and towels. Yeah maybe she was playing favorites with that, but no one deserved being pampered like these four. Especially Wrecker.

As she waited for the clones to arrive she took a quick shower and brushed her teeth, finally getting rid of the acidic aftertaste of caf on an empty stomach. Once she put on her face mask, she got a ping on her datapad reading “Be there in 5 ;)”.

Padmé got her droid to brew some tea when the doorbell rang out. All of her sleepiness evaporates in an instance when she runs to the door.

She isn't done opening them properly before a massive set of hands hauls her off the floor and into a spinning hug that ends with a keldabe kiss.

“Hi sweetheart,” Padmé breathes out, looking into Wrecker's mismatched eyes. She locks her hands around his neck, pulling him close into a proper kiss. Oh how she missed it.

“Ekhm, we're still in the doorway love doves,” a snarky voice brings them back into reality, Wrecker laughing as he moves deeper into the apartment, letting his brothers in. “Great. I'm taking the bathtub first.” A few voices of protest ring out as Crosshair bolts to the refresher.

“Sorry for the wait, there were some issues with the docking system and they didn’ want to let us down to the planet.” Wrecker finally let Padmé down, putting his bag down soon after.

“Not your fault, I just barely finished my job anyways, didn't have to wait for long.” She stood on her tiptoes to land another kiss on her boyfriend’s scarred cheek, making him blush. No matter how many times she did it, the giant clone got red after signs of any affection.

“Thanks for letting us stay,” Hunter all but collapsed on the couch, cup of freshly brewed tea in hand. He looked a little roughed up, his cheek covered in a fresh dressing, left eye sporting a bruise. “I don't think I could survive another night bunking on the ship with those three idiots.”

Padmé laughed as a choir of three voices raised up with a complaint. She sipped her herbal tea. She had missed this.

Not just Wrecker, but his whole family. How much life they brought to this otherwise empty apartment. The sound of bickering during breakfast preparation, doors opening and closing when they left for the town, repetitive whirring coming from Tech's room, muted music from Crosshair's.

“I am completely exhausted, so I'll be waiting for you in bed. I don't want to smell ANY grease or pickled feet when you join, so take a bath beforehand.” Padmé smooched Wrecker one last time, putting down her cup next to the dishwasher, before she wished the clones goodnight and retreated into her own bedroom.

As much as she complained about the costs of her sheets to Sabé, in moments like these every single credit spent on them seemed worth it. She slipped under the covers, sighing softly as the pain in her back quieted down just a little bit. She had to wake up in the morning for the last dress try on, and then get her hair done before the ball. How lucky she was that a highly experienced squad of troopers was available as her security for the event.

Padmé felt herself fall asleep just as the mattress next to her dipped significantly. Wrecker put his calloused hand on her back, sneaking it under her shirt and drawing slow circles in between her shoulder blades.

“Mmm I really need to sleep my dear, we will have the whole night to ourselves tomorrow.” she murmured into her pillow, relaxing her back under the soft pressure of his palm.

“Then sleep cyar’ika.” The trooper whispered, drawing his thumb up and down her spine, kneading the locked up muscles into relaxation. Padmé knew how firm they must have felt, and let her boyfriend smooth them out as they slowly fell into a rhythm.

“Does anything else hurt?” Padmé could feel his warm breath on her cheek. She could deny it, let him lay down next to her. But, it felt so nice to be taken care of like that.

“Right arm, think I was holding my stylus too tightly.” She didn't even open her eyes as she turned on her side, reaching out the hurting limb.

With a gentleness a man of his frame seemed incapable of, Wrecker took it, moving it to face the palm up, and began massaging it too.

He started with her finger, so delicate and small in the embrace of his giant ones. Each one was delicately pinched in between his pointer finger and thumb, joints muscles and tendons kneaded into relaxation.

Then came the palm, painfully wiry, with the muscles tensed and coiled from the long hours of no rest. Wrecker's fingers carefully massaged them, and Padmé let out a few hisses of pain before these too relaxed into comfy hums as her boyfriend helped her with the pain.

She thought it would be it, but he continued the comforting movements on her forearm, now his actions bringing her more of a relaxing effect rather than purely pain relivement.

Wrecker arms continuously moved his hands up and down her forearm, drawing circles with his thumbs, making her back shiver with pleasure. She didn't even realize how wiry her muscles got until he made them relax, his fingers digging into knots deep into her limb.

“How did you learn to do this?” She murmured, her voice partially muted by the pillow she was laying on. Wrecker’s mismatched eyes didn't leave her arm, but she definitely saw the slight smirk under his nose.

“All of us got some pains a massage helps with. I was the first to need them, my growing pains making my whole body ache until I couldn't move. That's when Tech found some texts on holonet to teach me so I could do them before sleep. Then it turned out that Hunter's migraines can be lessened if you relieve the pressure on the neck,” Wrecker's pressure on Padmé's arm became weaker and weaker, his body slowly sumping to the side. “Tech tends to fall asleep on the pilot seat and next to his workbench, and I deal with his back afterwards.”

The senator gently pulled her boyfriend to lay down, his heavy body hitting the mattress. He didn't say anything, but let out a hum of comfort, wriggling closer to her, wrapping his arms around her much smaller waist. He was very warm, making Padmé shiver.

“Mmm, I'm glad you're here.” she settled her forehead just above his heart, taking comfort in the sound of the beat. Strong, just like him.

“Wish I could stay,” one of his arms moved to the base of her skull, gently scratching her hair bulbs, often sore from the extravagant hairstyles she wore on a daily basis. The hair and dresses, what she was most known for. A beauty of Naboo, queen and senator Amidala whose spirit never yielded. Just like her looks she never did anything halfway, giving her everything into how she presented herself as how she protected the innocents of the Republic.

But there she was, her hair in disarray, wearing an old t-shirt and underwear that has been for sweet release of the trash bin for months, and Wrecker was here, calling her beautiful in the pure darkness, his arms a comforting weight. Here, she was Padmé Naberrie, spending one of her rare moments with a man that found her beauty not in the make-up, dresses or jewelry, but her genuine laugh, lacking cooking skills, and the ability to stand her ground to help him and his brothers become people in the eyes of law.

He would protect her planet, while she secured his future.

Thank you Manhattan for edits and beta reading!

[jellyclogs]

op men reacting to you saying my uterus is trying to kill me.

quick definition because I'm not sure how common of a fraze it is: 

zerbert definition: when you press your lips against someone's skin and blow making a funny noise. It is also referred to as blowing raspberry.

trigger warnings: melodrama, periods

Law:

(Y/n) was lying on Law's bed. She had not left his bed all day. He knew she was on her period and didn't mind letting her take it easy. He knew just how hard her period was on her.

 He walked back into his room to check on her. He carried a sandwich a glass of water and a bottle of midiol. He was fine being her nurse for the time being.

(Y/n) was cuddled up to a pillow, a heating pad pressed to her stomach right over where her uterus was, " Law it's doing it again." She whined in a rather pathetic voice.

Law quirked a brow, " what." He asked in a soft understanding tone but it was clear his patience was running thin. He didn't have the best bedside manner.

"It's trying to kill me." (Y/n) whimpered.

Law tried hard not to groan. He loved Mel but she was being a drama queen. She was normally so tough he didn't get what about her period turned her into such a crybaby. He bit his tongue taking a deep breath, “You’ll make it, I'm sure you're not dieing.” he was trying not to sound annoyed and he was failing.

“I know I'll make it but it's really trying to kill me. But my uterus is still trying to commit a mutiny against the rest of my body.” (y/n) sat up she had a cute little pout on her face.

Law bit his lip, She was being so pathetic. “Eat this take some Midol and drink this entire glass of water,” Law said in a bit of a huff. “I have to get back to work, if you need anything call for me.” law kissed her cheek. She was being a crybaby drama queen but she was his crybaby drama queen.

Zoro:

(y/n) was sat in Zoro’s lap. She always got more cuddly on her period. Zoro didn't mind in the slightest. He liked it when he got to hold her. When she was in his arms he knew she was completely safe.

“My Uterus is trying to kill me.” (y/n) whimpered, burying her face in Zoro’s neck.

“That so?” Zoro asked amused. It was kind of cute how over-dramatic she could be.

“Yeah, it is.” not that Zoro could see but (Y/n) was pouting.

“Well, I'll avenge you if it succeeds.” Zoro gave her a gentle squeeze.

(y/n) couldn't help but smile, “Good.” she giggled.

“Theirs that dumb laugh I love.” zoro squeezed her tighter to his chest. He knew (y/n)’s period could be really hellish for her. He always did his best to get a smile or a laugh out of her when she was like this.

(y/n) let out a little snort, “My laugh is adorable.” she gently hit his chest.

“Yeah, adorably dumb.” Zoro bew a zerbert on (Y/n)’s neck.

(y/n) let out a full belly laugh, “Zoro!” she laughed out. Hitting his chest a little harder.

Shanks

Shanks looked at his adorable little (Y/n). She was sprawled out on his bed, her hair sopping wet dressed in little more than one of his shirts. She’d just gotten out of her second bath of the day, “so are you feeling particularly dirty or just feel like wasting water?” shanks asked playfully.

(y/n) shot him an annoyed glare, “My uterus is trying to kill me, and only boiling myself helps.” she pouted.

Shanks bit his lip before laughing. “Boiling yourself?” he asked shaking his head.

“It's a fight against my uterus’s mutiny against the rest of my body.” (y/n) huffed.

Shanks adored (y/n). He absolutely loved his lovely little girlfriend but dam it she could be melodramatic about her period. He'd be annoyed by it if she wasn't so funny with how she expressed her pain. He knew dam well she was fully aware of how dramatic she was being. She acted like this because it helped her put up with the pain she was going through. “You're too cute sometimes you know that right?”

“You weren't born with the curse of having a uterus you don't get to call me cute.” (Y/n) huffed.

“Well I could get your uterus to leave you alone for nine months.” shanks joked. Crawling into bed with his adorable girl.

“Like I wouldn't be even more whinny if I was pregnant.” she groaned cuddling up to her lover.

“Yeah, but your melodrama is cute I'd put up with it.” shanks hummed.

“I already have two masses of useless flesh on my chest, I don't need a parasite in my stomach too.” (y/n) snorted.

Shanks let out a hearty laugh, “Well I don't think your boobs are just useless masses of flesh, I like them.” shanks teased

“Then you carry them around.”

Shanks held her to his chest and ran his fingers through her wet hair, “no I think I like them where they are.”

(y/n) just let out an amused chuckle. She was glad that Shanks didn't mind playing along with her melodramatic self. She felt slightly better being held to his chest.