#me projecting onto Laura?

[monochromatictoad]

I have this mental image of Gabriel brushing and braiding Laura's hair while she works on her sewing, and I can't get it out of my mind. Enjoy this short!

The brush was soothing. Familiar. Mother used to brush Laura's hair, only to then put it up. She claimed it was to show Laura's status, but to also keep it from getting grabbed by any pesky intruders. Laura never let her mother cut her hair, so this was their compromise. At this point, Laura couldn't remember why she was so attached to her hair, but at least Mother had respected her choice to not cut it.

But Mother wasn't here anymore. One of those pesky intruders had managed to finally end Mother's reign of terror, only to start his own. But she couldn't hate him. No. Even if he had killed her mother, she loved him like a father. He had saved her. Had saved humanity. He wasn't given a hero's welcome. No. He took the curse and sacrificed his own humanity. He was her father, even if she was his dam.

His hands were soft, despite the blood coating them. They gently brushed her hair. He never complained about the length. Never told her she needed to cut it. Never forced her to compromise on it. Each stroke was the bond they shared. He had no kids. She had no parents.

Laura's hands stilled on the doll she was sewing. The brush paused. She leaned back, looking at the man who had taken her in. His once brunette hair, now as black as hers. His skin was as pale as hers. His eyes... His eyes were red, no longer those deep blue. Father looks down at Laura and pressed a small kiss to her forehead.

He was more affectionate than Mother had been. More careful with her. She was treated like a child, but he respected her more than Mother had. He took her thoughts into account. He played games with her. Deep in her mind, she recalled feeling this before. A long time ago. But that time had long since passed.

She smiled and said, "I love you, father."

He simply smiled back at her and replied, "I love you too, daughter."

She turned back to her project and started sewing. This time with a smile on her face. He went back to brushing her hair, braiding it in ways Mother would've hated.

Life was good for Laura and Dracul, and this little bond they created with each other.

[circle-of-the-spores]

Fandom seeing a religious male character: [writes in-depth posts and analyses exploring his potential queerness and how that interacts with his faith]

Fandom seeing a religious female character: "EW she's definitely straight and also homophobic"

This is about Laura Lee

[ithilien-writes]

just rewatched the ramon & eddie scene in 5x17 and it just makes 7x10 so much more obnoxious, like. where was that ramon??? that was such an incredibly powerful scene and then they did literally nothing with it afterwards. like why wasn't this storyline about the diaz parents actually showing up for eddie for once??? can we pls just let me live in a fantasy world where parents can decide to not suck anymore and actually make amends with their adult kids???

[littlewitchbee]

my ten most “literally me” characters, tagged by @megthemighty (thank you!! 💖 also stealing your Amy March because yes)

Gets tagged and then immediately forgets every piece of media I've ever consumed 😊 no pressure tagging @dreadfutures @kazsama @terminalberserker and anyone else who'd like to do this 💕

[mcrdvcks]

Hi! I have a small request with Logan Howlett. I was wondering if you could write a fic where the reader and Logan are putting up Christmas trees together (with their kids if possible) and it’s just so heart-warming, so domestic life, so cozy, so tooth-rotting sweet, so hunky husband material, and AAAAAHH—! #needthat 😍🥰🩷

Deck The Halls

Summary: You and Logan decorate for Christmas with your kids.

Word Count: 2k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

Notes: sorry if this took a bit too long anon! i had to listen to quite a lot of christmas music while also being stressed that finals are next week and having like 2 final projects due friday that i haven't started... anyways, i hope this is what you wanted!

(you can imagine any logan for this it's not specified. and thank you for 800 followers!)

warnings/tags: laura!!, reader and logan have a biological kid, fluff!!

Laura propped open the door, the cold chill rushing inside as you lugged the tree inside. Sierra, who was already inside, her beanie slipping down onto her forehead, her gloves a tad bit oversized.

“Careful, you’re going to scratch the walls,” Laura said with a smirk, standing off to the side with her arms crossed.

“I got it,” you huffed, struggling to balance the massive tree as it scraped against the doorway. “If someone actually helped instead of supervising, this might go faster.”

Logan appeared behind you, a grunt escaping him as he took the tree from your hands like it was nothing. “That someone’s right here.”

“Show-off,” you muttered, shaking your head but smiling.

Sierra toddled over, her beanie nearly falling into her eyes as she pointed dramatically toward the corner of the living room. “It goes there! Right there, Daddy!”

“Bossy, just like your mom,” Logan teased, earning him a playful glare from you.

“You better be glad it’s Christmas,” you shot back, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Otherwise, I’d make you do all the decorating by yourself.”

Laura leaned against the doorway with a grin. “I vote we let Dad string up the lights. He’ll get all growly when they tangle.”

“Keep it up, kid,” Logan warned as he hoisted the tree into place, his tone gruff but laced with affection. “You’ll find yourself untangling them.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Laura replied, grabbing a nearby box of ornaments. “I’m just saying, you’re the one who’ll probably break half the bulbs.”

“Okay, let’s focus,” you cut in, handing Sierra a tiny star ornament from the box.

“Laura said she’d lift me up so I can put the star on top!” Sierra announced, her words tumbling out in a breathless rush.

“Laura said what now?” Logan arched a brow at Laura, who shrugged, completely unbothered.

“She asked. I said sure,” Laura said, bending down to tug her boots off. “I’m strong enough. She doesn’t weigh that much.”

“Not the point,” Logan grumbled, shaking his head. “We’ll handle the star. You two can do the ornaments.”

Sierra pouted dramatically, her bottom lip sticking out in protest. “But Laura’s more fun! She said she’d spin me around so I could hang the ornaments way up high.”

“Logan, it’s Christmas,” you teased, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Let them have fun. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“She falls, and I’ve gotta listen to Sierra scream and you yell at me for letting it happen,” he replied dryly.

“Dad!” Sierra gasped, looking scandalized. “Laura’s not gonna drop me. She’s a ninja.”

“Pretty sure ninjas don’t decorate Christmas trees,” Logan muttered, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

Sierra turned to Laura with a grin. “See? He didn’t say no.”

“That’s not—” Logan started, but you cut him off with a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Let them have their fun. We’ll supervise,” you said, your tone leaving no room for argument.

Logan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. But if anything breaks—”

“Nothing’s gonna break,” Laura interjected, already hoisting Sierra up in her arms. “We’ve got this.”

Sierra let out a delighted squeal as Laura lifted her, and you couldn’t help but laugh as Logan grumbled under his breath, something about how Christmas was supposed to be “calm, not a circus.”

“Relax,” you said softly, leaning against him as you watched the girls. “This is what Christmas is about.”

He glanced at you, his expression softening. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I won’t,” you rested your head on his shoulder. “Now, let’s get those lights untangled,” you spoke, moving toward the box of decorations.

“Why do they always come out of the box like this?” he muttered, pulling out a jumbled ball of lights.

“Because you never roll them up properly,” you teased, pulling the end of the strand from his hand.

“Excuse me? I wasn’t the one who packed them last year,” Logan shot back, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Details,” you said with a grin, carefully working the knots apart.

Across the room, Sierra’s laughter rang out as Laura spun her in a slow circle, letting her hang ornaments on the higher branches.

“Faster, Laura!” Sierra squealed.

“Faster, and you’re gonna go flying,” Logan called over his shoulder, his tone a mix of warning and humor.

“She’s fine, Logan,” you reassured, giving him a playful nudge.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Daddy!” Sierra yelled, her voice full of glee. “Laura’s a ninja, remember?”

“That’s what worries me,” Logan muttered under his breath, though his lips twitched with the beginnings of a smile.

“You’re such a softie,” you teased, looping a section of untangled lights around your arm. “Admit it—you love watching them.”

He grunted but didn’t argue, his eyes softening as he glanced toward the girls.

“You gonna help, or am I doing all the work over here?” you asked, holding up the strand of lights.

Logan reached for it, his fingers brushing against yours. “I got it. Don’t need you getting zapped if there’s a bad bulb.”

You rolled your eyes but let him take over, watching as he started stringing the lights around the tree. His movements were precise but slow, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You do realize it’s not surgery, right? Just wrap them around,” you said, crossing your arms.

“Keep it up, and I’ll let you finish,” he retorted, shooting you a look.

“Touchy,” you teased, stepping back to admire the tree. “But hey, it’s looking good.”

“Duh!” Sierra chimed in, still perched on Laura’s shoulders. “That’s because we’re helping!”

“Helping, huh?” Logan said, pausing to glance at her. “You’re just supervising, same as your mom.”

“Excuse me?” you gasped, feigning offense.

“Yeah, Mommy’s the boss!” Sierra chimed in, sticking her tongue out at Logan.

“Boss of what?” Logan countered, his tone playful. “Boss of making me do all the work?”

“That’s marriage, honey,” you replied with a smirk, leaning over to kiss his cheek again.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, but you caught the slight flush creeping up his neck.

“Alright, I think we’re done!” Laura announced, setting Sierra down gently.

The little girl ran to you, beaming. “Did we do a good job, Mommy?”

“The best,” you said, scooping her up and planting a kiss on her cheek.

“Tree’s not even plugged in yet,” Logan pointed out, but the soft smile on his face betrayed his words.

“Then plug it in,” you challenged, nodding toward the outlet.

Logan grabbed the cord and bent down, pausing dramatically as if he were about to detonate a bomb.

“Just plug it in, Dad!” Laura said, rolling her eyes.

The lights flickered on, illuminating the room in a warm glow.

Sierra gasped, her eyes wide with wonder. “It’s so pretty!”

“It’s perfect,” you said softly, wrapping your arms around Logan’s waist as the girls admired their handiwork.

He glanced down at you, his expression tender. “Yeah, it’s not bad.”

“Admit it,” you teased, resting your head against his shoulder. “This is your favorite part.”

He smirked. “You’re my favorite part.”

“Ew! Gross!” Laura groaned, but you caught the smile she tried to hide.

Sierra giggled, clapping her hands. “Kiss her, Daddy!”

“Oh, you’re full of ideas tonight, huh?” Logan said, his gruff exterior melting as he leaned down to kiss you softly.

The girls’ laughter filled the room, and for a moment, everything was perfect.

---

After the girls were in bed and asleep, you and Logan sat on the couch, your feet propped in his lap while you cradled a warm cup of hot chocolate in your hands. The faint glow of the Christmas lights reflected off the window, giving the room a cozy warmth despite the cold outside. Logan had his head tilted back, his eyes half-closed, one hand resting lightly on your shin.

“You good over there?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

He cracked one eye open, smirking. “Tired. You and your Christmas tree schemes wore me out.”

“Schemes?” you repeated with a mock gasp. “Excuse me, but I distinctly remember you being the one who insisted we get a real tree this year.”

“Yeah, and I’m regretting it,” he muttered, his hand absently rubbing your ankle. “Needles everywhere. That thing’s gonna shed all over the place.”

“You’re such a Grinch sometimes, you know that?” you teased, taking a sip of your drink.

He snorted. “A Grinch who carried the tree in, set it up, and tangled with those stupid lights.”

“Hey, I untangled half of those,” you shot back, nudging his side with your foot.

“Half? More like a quarter,” he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You rolled your eyes, leaning forward to set your mug on the coffee table. “Fine, maybe a quarter. But I provided moral support, which is arguably the most important part.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, but his tone was warm. “Moral support.”

You leaned back, reaching out to cup his face with one hand. “Admit it. You had fun tonight.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, he just looked at you. “Yeah. It wasn’t bad.”

You laughed, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “That’s as close to a compliment as I’m gonna get, huh?”

“Don’t push your luck,” he said, his voice low and teasing. Before you could pull away, his hand caught your wrist. In one fluid motion, he tugged you down until you were sprawled across his chest.

“Logan!” you yelped, laughing as you tried to balance yourself. “What are you—”

“Getting comfortable,” he interrupted, his hands settling on your waist to keep you steady. “You’re the one who started it.”

You propped your elbows on either side of him, grinning down at his smug expression. “Started what?”

“Touching me. Flirting. Trying to make me all soft and mushy.” His voice was gruff, but his hands rubbed soothing circles into your back.

You raised an eyebrow. “And here I thought I was just being nice.”

“Sure, nice,” he drawled, leaning his head back against the couch cushion. “You’re always up to something.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw before settling your head on his chest. His heartbeat was steady, his warmth chasing away the lingering December chill.

“Impossible, huh?” he murmured, his hand sliding up to tangle in your hair. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

“Guess I am,” you replied softly, closing your eyes. “Lucky me.”

His chest rumbled with quiet laughter. “Yeah, lucky you.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire and the hum of the fridge in the kitchen. You let out a contented sigh, your fingers tracing absent patterns on his chest.

“You know,” you said after a while, your voice muffled against his shirt, “you’re not as grumpy as you pretend to be.”

“Don’t start,” he warned, though there was no heat in his tone.

“It’s true,” you teased, lifting your head to look at him. “You’re just a big softie, Logan. Especially when it comes to the girls.”

He gave you a look, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Keep talking, and you’ll regret it.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” you quipped, grinning as his hand slid up to cup the back of your neck.

“Both,” he said, pulling you down for a kiss.

The moment was unhurried, warm, and completely yours, a rare pocket of peace in the chaos of life. When he finally pulled back, his lips brushing against yours, you couldn’t help but smile.

“See?” you whispered. “Big softie.”

“Go to bed,” he muttered, his voice gruff but tinged with affection.

“Only if you carry me,” you replied, resting your forehead against his.

He groaned, but his arms tightened around you. “Fine. But if I throw my back out, you’re explaining it to Laura.”

“She’ll just say I’m bossy,” you said with a laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Logan stood effortlessly, holding you close as he made his way toward the bedroom. “That’s because you are,” he muttered, his voice low and full of warmth.

And for once, you didn’t argue.

[delusionaldaydreamz]

”come on, mamas.” | c.s.

   W/C- 715 | x reader/ y/n

in which Chris has to find a way to get his girlfriends attention

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••     “Hold on, hun.” I chuckled as my boyfriend continually tried to get my attention while I was deep in conversation with Matt and Nick. We were talking about personal projects and the brand Nick was launching soon, then something Matt was considering for himself to start working on. We were standing in the backyard at Tara’s house warming party, which was basically just a typical house party, so there was plenty of familiar people for Chris to go talk to. Even if there wasn’t, he’s not super reserved. He could’ve easily started making friends. 

        “Do you think like individuals too eventually? Laura doesn’t think it’s the best idea but lowkey I feel like it might be more accessible for the fans.” Nick continued. “Hands down, especially since they’re all younger.” Matt and I had both agreed with him. “I think that’s kind of mainly what I want to do with it but Laura-“ “y/n!” Chris groaned cutting Nick off. Nick shot him a glare as I rolled my eyes at him. “Baby please,” I chuckled. “Why don’t you join the conversation if you’re so bored?” 

      “Nicks already told us all this shit. It’s like all he thinks about right now.” “Sorry my brand doesn’t involve the same exact fucking design over and over again just lazily slapped onto a new color scheme every launch.” Nick said sarcastically. “Yeah yeah, whatever you’re better than me.” Chris brushed off his brothers words. “Can we do something?” He turned to face me. “Yeah in a minute, chris.” I chuckled. 

       After about ten more minutes of Nick Matt and I talking, Chris finally had enough. In a pretty brisk motion, he looped a single finger through one of my belt loops, tugging at it to get my attention, “come on mamas.” He said softly, removing his fingers from my jeans and grabbing my wrist instead, knowing he’d caught my full attention. He basically soaked me right then and there. 

      Nick stood absolutely flabbergasted as Chris began to pull me through the party, “come on mamas!” He mocked in a deepened voice acting manly, at the same time Matt shot out a “that’s insane Chris.” With a shake of his head. “Yeah but it got her attention!”  Chris called before we disappeared back into the house.  As he pushed through people, Tara caught sight of us. “Ooh, get it Chris!” She called over the loud music, making Chris shake his head with a sigh and an eye roll. Triple threat. “Second door to the right!” she called with a wink, ignoring his gesture as we made our way upstairs. The second the door shut behind us I spoke up. 

     “Mamas? Tugging at my fucking jeans?” I looked at him as he locked the door. “Ignoring me? To talk to my fucking brothers?” He matched my tone. “Chris what the fuck.” I folded my arms at him. “Don’t do shit like that in front of people, I’m literally wet.” I said sternly, causing him to smirk. “I had to do something to get your attention.” His voice lowered as he made his way over to me, his arm snaking around my waist. “No, not here.” I shook my head at him, gently pushing him away which made him chuckle.

        “Come on, mamas.” He teased, wrapping his arms around me again. “Ew, you like it don’t you.” He laughed seeing my reaction. He grabbed my chin so he could playfully shake my head a little, giving me a gentle kiss. “Shut up Chris, go away.” I swatted him away again making him laugh once more. “Not until you admit you like it.” He smirked, trailing kisses down my neck and collar. “Fine, it’s hot. Can we go back down now?” I chuckled, trying my best not to get turned on. Chris was not letting that happen though. 

     “Yeah?” He hummed in a low tone between his kisses. “You want me to start calling you mamas?” He asked before he started gently sucking on my neck. “Chris…” I trailed. “Fine,” he abruptly pulled away from my neck. “But you’re done for once we get back to my house, you hear me?” He joked making me laugh as I snaked my arms up around his neck. “Deal.” I gave him a quick, sweet kiss.  ••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• A/N—> sorry to throw in Tara, I didn’t know who else’s party to put lol;;; not really proof read either, sorry lol

[beifong-brainrot]

Hey so can we like stop with the "Zutara is for the girls and Kataang is for the boys" thing. It's silly and it's breakdancing just on the edge of gender essentialism.

The assumption that there is something inherent to Zutara that appeals predominantly to women and Kataang that appeals predominantly to men is dishonest because every ship can have appeal to all genders.

The discussion of the "female gaze" in Zutara and the "male gaze" in Kataang is also redundant. I enjoy dissecting the concept of "the gaze", however it is important to note that the "female gaze" doesn't have a set definition or grouping of conventions it adheres to. Lisa French,  Dean of RMIT University’s School of Media and Communication says:

“The female gaze is not homogeneous, singular or monolithic, and it will necessarily take many forms... The aesthetic approaches, experiences and films of women directors are as diverse as their individual life situations and the cultures in which they live. The "female' gaze” is not intended here'to denote a singular concept. There' are many gazes."

Now excuse me as I put on my pretentious humanistics student hat.

Kataang's appeal to women and the female gaze

Before I start, I want to note that the female gaze is still a developing concept

There are very few female film directors and writers, and most of them are white. The wants and desires of women of colour, the demographic Katara falls into, are still wildly underepresented. Additionally, the concept of the female gaze had many facets, due to it being more focused on emotional connections rather than physical appearance as the male gaze usually is. Which means that multiple male archetypes fall into the category of "for the female gaze".

The "female gaze" can be best described as a response to the "male gaze", which was first introduced by Laura Mulvey in her paper: "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema" , however the term "male gaze" itself was not used in the paper.

Mulvey brought up the concept of the female character and form as the passive, objectified subject to the active voyeuristic male gaze, which the audience is encouraged to identify, usually through the male character.

To quote her:

"In a world ordered by sexual imbalance', pleasure' in looking has been split between active'/male' and passive/female'. The determining male gaze' projects its fantasy onto the female' figure', which is styled accordingly."

Mulvey also brings up the concept of scopopfillia (the term being introduced by Freud), the concept of deriving sexual gratification from both looking and being looked at. This concept has strong overtones of voyeurism, exhibitionism and narcissism, placing forth the idea that these overtones are what keeps the male viewer invested. That he is able to project onto the male character, therefore being also able to possess the passive female love interest.

However, it's important to note that Mulvey's essay is very much a product of its times, focused on the white, heterosexual and cisgender cinema of her time. She also drew a lot of inspiration from Freud's questionable work, including ye ole penis envy. Mulvey's paper was groundbreaking at the time, but we can't ignore how it reinforces the gender binary and of course doesn't touch on the way POC, particularly women of colour are represented in film.

In her paper, Mulvey fails to consider anyone who isn't a white, cis, heterosexual man or woman. With how underrepresented voices of minorities already are both in media and everyday life, this is something that we need to remember and strive to correct.

Additionally Mulvey often falls into gender essentialism, which I previously mentioned at the beginning of this post. Funny how that keeps coming up

"Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema" started a very interesting and important conversation, and I will still be drawing from certain parts of it, however huge swathes of this text have already become near archaic, as our culture and relationship with media evolves at an incredible pace.

And as filmaking evolves, so does our definition of the male and female gaze. So let's see what contemporary filmakers say of it.

In 2016, in her speech during the Toronto International Film Festival , producer of the TV series Transparent, Jill Soloway says:

“Numero uno, I think the Female Gaze is a way of “feeling seeing”. It could be thought of as a subjective camera that attempts to get inside the protagonist, especially when the protagonist is not a Chismale. It uses the frame to share and evoke a feeling of being in feeling, rather than seeing – the characters. I take the camera and I say, hey, audience, I’m not just showing you this thing, I want you to really feel with me.

[Chismale is Soloway's nickname for cis males btw]

So the term "female gaze" is a bit of a misnomer, since it aims to focus on capturing the feelings of characters of all genders. It's becoming more of a new way of telling stories in film, rather than a way to cater to what white, cisgender, heterosexual women might find attractive in a man.

Now, Aang is the decided protagonist of the show, however, Atla having somewhat of an ensemble cast leads to the perspective shifting between different characters.

In the first episode of atla, we very much see Katara's perspective of Aang. She sees him trapped in the iceberg, and we immediately see her altruism and headstrong nature. After she frees Aang, we are very much first subjected to Katara's first impressions of him, as we are introduced to his character. We only see a sliver of Aang's perspective of her, Katara being the first thing he sees upon waking up.

We see that she is intrigued and curious of him, and very excited about his presence. She is endeared and amused by his antics. She is rediscovering her childish side with his help. She is confiding in him about her own trauma surrounding the Fire Nation's genocide of the Southern Waterbenders. She is willing to go against her family and tribe ans leave them behind to go to the Northern Water Tribe with Aang. We also see her determination to save him when he is captured.

As the show moves on and the plot kicks into gear, we do shift more into Aang's perspective. We see his physical attraction to her, and while we don't see Katara's attraction quite as blatantly, there are hints of her interest in his appearance.

This is where we get deeper into the concept of Aang and Katara's mutual interest and attraction for one another. While her perspective is more subtle than most would like, Katara is not purely an object of Aang's desire, no more than he is purely an object of her desire.

When analysing this aspect of Katara and Aang's relationship, I couldn't help but be reminded of how Célene Sciamma's Portrait of a lady on fire (in my personal opinion, one of the best studies of the female gaze ever created) builds up its romance, and how it places a strong emphasis on the mutuality of the female gaze.

Portrait of a lady on fire's cinematography is very important to the film. We see the world through the perspective of our protagonist, a painter named Marianne. We also see her love interest, Héloïse, the woman whom she is hired to paint a portrait of, through Marianne's lense.

We see Marianne analyse Héloïse's appearance, her beauty. We look purely through Marianne's eyes at Héloïse for a good part of the movie, but then, something unexpected happens. Héloïse looks back. At Marianne, therefore, in some way, also at the audience. While Marianne was studying Héloïse, Héloïse was studying Marianne.

We never shift into Héloïse's perspective, but we see and understand that she is looking back at us. Not only through her words, when she for example comments on Marianne's mannerisms or behaviours, but also hugely through cinematography and acting of the two amazing leads. (Noémie Merlant as Marianne and Adèle Haenel as Héloïse. They truly went above and beyond with their performances.)

This is a huge aspect of the female gaze's implementation in the film. The camera focuses on facial expressions, eyes and body language, seeking to convey the characters' emotions and feelings. There's a focus on intense, longing and reciprocated eye contact (I have dubbed this the Female Gays Gaze.). The characters stand, sit or lay facing each other, and the camera rarely frames one of them as taller than the other, which would cause a sense of power imbalance.

The best way to describe this method of flimaking is wanting the audience to see the characters, rather than to simply look at them. Sciamma wants us to empathise, wants us to feel what they are feeling, rather than view them from a distance. They are to be people, characters, rather than objects.

Avatar, of course, doesn't display the stunning and thoughtful cinematography of Portrait of a Lady on Fire, and Katara and Aang's relationship, while incredibly important, is only a part of the story rather than the focus of it.

However, the 'Kataang moments' we are privy to often follow a similar convention to the ones between Marianne and Héloïse that I mentioned prior.

Theres a lot of shots of Katara and Aang facing each other, close ups on their faces, particularly eyes, as they gaze at one another.

Katara and Aang are often posited as on equal grounds, the camera not framing either of them as much taller and therefore more powerful or important than the other. Aang is actually physically shorter than Katara, which flies in the face in usual conventions of the male fantasy. (I will get to Aang under the male gaze later in this essay)

And even in scenes when Aang is physically shown as above Katara, particularly when he's in the Avatar state, Katara is the one to pull him down, maintaining their relationships as equals.

Despite most of the show being portrayed through Aang's eyes, Katara is not a passive object for his gaze, and therefore our gaze, to rest upon. Katara is expressive, and animated. As an audience, we are made aware that Katara has her own perspective. We are invited to take part in it and try to understand it.

Not unlike to Portrait of a Lady on Fire, there is a lot of focus placed on mannerisms and body language, an obvious example being Katara often playing with her hair around Aang, telegraphing a shy or flustered state. We also see her express jealousy over Aang, her face becoming sour, brows furrowed. On one occasion she even blew a raspberry, very clearly showing us, the audience, her displeasure with the idea of Aang getting attention from other girls.

Once again, this proves that Katara is not a passive participant in her own relationship, we are very clealry shown her perspective of Aang. Most of the scenes that hint at her and Aang's focus on their shared emotions, rather than, for example, Katara's beauty.

Even when a scene does highlight her physical appearance, it is not devoid of her own thoughts and emotions. The best example of this being the scene before the party in Ba Sing Se where we see Katara's looking snazzy in her outfit. Aang compliments her and Katara doesn't react passively, we see the unabashed joy light up her face, we can tell what she thinks of Aang's comment.

In fact, the first moment between Katara and Aang sets this tone of mutual gaze almost perfectly. Aang opens his eyes, and looks at Katara. Katara looks back.

There is, once again, huge focus on their eyes in this scene, the movement of Aang's eyelids right before they open draws out attention to that part of his face. When the camera shows us Katara, is zooms in onto her expression as it changes, her blinking also drawing attention to her wide and expressive eyes.

This will not be the first time emphasis is placed on Katara and Aang's mutual gaze during a pivotal moment in the show. Two examples off the top of my head would be the Ends of B2 and B3 respevtively. When Katara brings Aang back to life, paralleling the first time they laid eyes on one another. And at the end of the show, where their gaze has a different meaning behind it.

We see Katara's emotions and her intent telegraphed clearly in these instances.

In Book 1, we see her worry for this strange bald boy who fell out of an iceberg, which melts away to relief and a hint of curiosity once she ascertains that he isn't dead.

In B2 we once again see worry, but this time it's more frantic. Her relationship with Aang is much dearer to her heart now, and he is in much worse shape. When we see the relief on her face this time, it manifests in a broad smile, rather than a small grin. We can clearly grasp that her feelings for Aang have evolved.

In B3, we step away from the rule because Aang isn't on the verge of death or unconsciousness for the first time. It is also the first time in a situation like this that Aang isn't seeing Katara from below, but they are on equal footing. I attribute this to symbolising change of pace for their relationship.

The biggest obstacle in the development of Katara and Aang's romance was the war, which endangered both their lives. Due to this, there was a hesitance to start their relationship. In previous scenes that focused this much on Aang and Katara's mutual gaze, Aang was always in a near dead, or at least 'dead adjacent' position. This is is a very harsh reminder that he may very well die in the war, and the reason Katara, who has already endured great loss, is hesitant to allow her love for him to be made... corporeal.

However, now Aang is standing, portraying that the possibily of Katara losing him has been reduced greatly with the coming of peace, the greatest obstacle has been removed, and Katara is the one to initiate this kiss.

Concurrently, Katara's expression here does not portray worry or relief at all, because she has no need to be worried or relieved. No, Katara is blushing, looking directly at Aang with an expression that can be described as a knowing smile. I'd argue that this description is accurate, because Katara knows that she is about to finally kiss the boy she loves.

Ultimately, Katara is the one who initiates the kiss that actually begins her and Aang's romantic relationship.

Kataang's appeal to women is reflected in how Katara is almost always the one to initiate physical affection with Aang. With only 3 exceptions, one of which, the Ember Island kiss being immediately shown by the narrative as wrong, and another being a daydream due to Aang's sleep deptivation. The first moment of outwardly romantic affection between Aang and Katara is her kissing his cheek. And their last kiss in the show is also initiated by Katara.

I won't falsely state that Kataang is the perfect representation of the female gaze. Not only because the storyline has its imperfections, as every piece of media has. But also because I simply belive that the concept of the female gaze is too varied and nebulous to be fully expressed. With this essay, I simply wanted to prove that Kataang is most certainly not the embodiment of catering to the male gaze either. In fact it is quite far from that.

The aspects of Kataang that fall more towards embodying the female gaze don't just appeal to women. There's a reason a lot of vocal Kataang shippers you find are queer. The mutual emotional connection between Katara and Aang is something we don't have to identify with, but something we are still able to emphasise with. It's a profound mutual connection that we watch unfold from both perspectives that sort of tracends more physical, gendered aspects of many onscreen romances. You just need to see instead of simply look.

✨️Bonus round✨️

Aang under the gaze

This started off as a simple part of the previous essay, however I decided I wanted to give it it's own focus, due to the whole discourse around Aang being a wish-fullfilling self insert for Bryke or for men in genral. I always found this baffling considering how utterly... unappealing Aang is to the male gaze.

It may surprise some of you that men are also subjected to the male gaze. Now sadly, this has nothing to do with the male gaze of the male gays. No, when male characters, usually the male protagonist, are created to cater to the male gaze, they aren't portrayed as sexually desirable passive objects, but they embody the active/masculine aide of the binary Laura Mulvey spoke of in the quote I shared at the beginning of this essay.

The protagonist under the male gaze is not the object of desire but rather a character men and boys would desire to be.

They're usually the pinnacle of traditional, stereotypical masculinity.

Appearance wise: muscular but too broad, chiseled facial features, smouldering eyes, depending on the genre wearing something classy or some manner of armour.

Personalitywise they may vary from the cool, suave James Bond type, or a more hotblooded forceful "Alpha male" type. However these are minor differences in the grand scheme of things. The basis is that this protagonist embodies some manner of idealised man. He's strong, decisive, domineering, in control, intimidating... you get the gist. Watch nearly any action movie. There's also a strong focus placed on having sway or power over others. Often men for the male gaze are presented as wealthy, having power and status. Studies (that were proved to be flawed in the way the data was gathered, I believe) say that womem value resources in potential male partners, so it's not surprising that the ideal man has something many believe would attract "mates". [Ew I hated saying that].

Alright, now let's see how Aang holds up to these standards.

Well... um...

Aang does have power, he is the Avatar. However, he is often actually ignored, blown off and otherwise dismissed, either due to his age or his personality and ideals being seen as unrealistic and foolish. Additionally, Aang, as a member of a culture lost a century ago, is also often posited as an outsider, singled out as weak, his beliefs touted as the reason his people died out and.

Physically, Aang doesn't look like the male protagonist archetype, either. He isn't your average late teens to brushing up against middle aged. Aang is very much a child and this is reflected in his soft round features, large eyes and short, less built body. This is not a build most men would aspire to. Now, he still has incredible physical prowess, due to his bending. But I'm not sure how many men are desperate to achieve the "pacifist 12 year old" build to attract women.

Hailing from a nation that had quite an egalitarian system, Aang wouldn't have conventional ideas surrounding leadership, even if he does step up into it later. He also has little in the way of possessions, by choice.

As for Aang's personality, well...

I mean I wouldn't exactly call him your average James Bond or superhero. Aang is mainly characterised through his kindness, empathy, cheerful nature and occasional childishness (which slowly is drained as the trauma intesifies. yay.)

Aang is very unwilling to initiate violence, which sets him aside from many other male protagonists of his era, who were champing at the bit to kick some ass. He values nature, art, dance and fun. He's in tune with his emotions. He tries to desecalate situations before he starts a fight.

Some would say many of Aang's qualities could be classified as feminine. While the other main male characters, Zuko and Sokka try to embody their respective concepts of the ideal man (tied to their fathers), Aang seems content with how he presents and acts. He feels no need to perform masculinity as many men do, choosing to be true to his emotions and feelings.

These "feminine" qualities often attract ridicule from other within the show. He is emasculated or infantiliased as a form of mockery multiple times, the most notable examples being the Ember Island play and Ozai tauntingly referring to him as a "little boy". Hell, even certain Aang haters have participated in this, for example saying that he looks like a bald lesbian.

I'd even argue that, in his relationships with other characters, Aang often represents the passive/feminine. Especially towards Zuko, Aang takes on an almost objectified role of a trophy that can be used to purchase Ozai's love. [Zuko's dehumanisation of others needs to be discussed later, but it isn't surprising with how he was raised and a huge part of his arc is steerring away from that way of thinking.]

Aang and Zuko almost embody certain streotypes about relationships, the forceful, more masculine being a literal pursuer, and the gentler, more feminine being pusued.

We often see Aang framed from Zuko's perspective, creating something akin to the mutual gaze of Katara and Aang, hinting at the potential of Zuko and Aang becoming friends, a concept that is then voiced explicitly in The Blue Spirit.

However, unlike Katara, Zuko is unable to empathise with Aang at first, still seeing Aang as more of an object than a person. We have here an interesting imbalance of Aang seeing Zuko but Zuko meerly looking at Aang.

There is a certain aspect of queer metaphor to Zuko's pursuit of Aang, but I fear I've gotten off topic.

Wrapping this long essay up, I want to reiterate that I'm not saying that Zutara isn't popular with women. Most Zutara shippers I've encountered are women. And most Kataang shippers I've encountered are... also women. Because fandom spaces are occupied predominantly by women.

I'm not exactly making a moral judgement on any shippers either, or to point at Kataang and go: "oh, look girls can like this too. Stop shipping Zutara and come ship this instead."

I want to point out that the juxtaposition of Zutara and Kataang as respectively appealing to the feminine and masculine, is a flawed endeavour because neither ship does this fully.

The concept of Kataang being a purely male fantasy is also flawed due to the points I've outlied in this post.

Are there going to be male Kataang shippers who self insert onto Aang and use it for wish fulfilment? Probably. Are there going to be male Zutara shippers who do the same? Also probably.

In the end, our interpretation of media, particularly visual mediums like film are heavily influenced by our own biases, interests, beliefs andmost importantly our... well, our gaze. The creators can try to steer us with meaningful shots and voiced thought, directing actors or animating a scene to be a certain way, but ultimately we all inevitably draw our own conclusions.

A fan of Zutara can argue that Kataang is the epitome of catering to the male gaze, while Zutara is the answer to women everywhere's wishes.

While I can just as easily argue the exact opposite.

It really is just a matter of interpretation. What is really interesting, is what our gaze says about us. What we can see of ourselves when the subject gazes back at us.

I may want to analyse how Zutara caters to the male gaze in some instances, if those of you who manage to slog through this essay enjoy the subject matter.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Working class Dems who campaign on economics beat Trumpists in elections

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me FRIDAY NIGHT (Mar 22) in TORONTO, then SUNDAY (Mar 24) with LAURA POITRAS in NYC, then Anaheim, and more!

The Democratic Party Pizzaburger Theory of Electioneering is: half the electorate wants a pizza, the other half wants a burger, so we'll give them all a pizzaburger and make them all equally dissatisfied, thus winning the election:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/16/that-boy-aint-right/#dinos-rinos-and-dunnos

But no one wants a pizzaburger. The Biden administration's approach of letting the Warren/Sanders wing pick the antitrust enforcers while keeping judicial appointments in the Manchin-Synematic universe is a catastrophe in which progressive Dem regulators (who serve one term) are thwarted by corporatist Dem judges (who serve for life):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/14/making-good-trouble/#the-peoples-champion

The Democrats – like all parties in two-party systems – are a coalition; in this case, a "progressive" liberal-left coalition with liberals serving as senior partners, steering the party and setting its policies. These corporate dems like to color themselves as "neutral" technocrats with "realistic, apolitical" policies that represent what's best for the country:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/05/not-that-naomi/#if-the-naomi-be-klein-youre-doing-just-fine

This sets up the left wing of the party as the starry-eyed, unrealistic radicals whose policies are unpopular and will lose elections. But for a decade, grassroots-funded primary challenges have made it possible to test this theory, by putting leftist politicians on the ballot in front of voters, especially in tight races with far-right Republicans (that is, exactly the kinds of races that the corporate wing of the party says we can't afford to take chances on).

The 2022 midterms included enough races to start testing these theories – and, unlike traditional midterms, these races enjoyed high voter turnout, thanks to the unpopularity of GOP positions like abortion bans, book bans and anti-trans laws. Jacobin teamed up with the Center for Working-Class Politics, Yougov and the Center for Work and Democracy at ASU and analyzed those races:

https://images.jacobinmag.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/03/11134429/CWCP-Report-2024.pdf

Their conclusion: candidates from working-class backgrounds who campaigned on economic policies like high-quality jobs, higher minimum wages, a jobs guarantee, ending offshoring and outsourcing, building infrastructure and bringing manufacturing back to the US won with a 50% share of the vote in rural and working-class districts. Dems who didn't lost with a 35% share of the vote:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-03-18-how-actually-existing-democrats-run-for-office/

In other words, in the kinds of districts where Trumpist politicians are beating Democrats, running on "left populist" policies beats Trumpist politicians.

That's the good news: if Dems recruit leftist, working class politicians and put them up for office on policies that address the material reality of voters' lives, they can beat fascist GOP candidates.

Now for the bad news: the Democratic establishment has no interest in getting these candidates onto the ballot. Working-class candidates, by definition, lack the networks of deep-pocketed cronies who can fund their primary campaigns. Only 2.3% of Dem candidates come from blue-collar backgrounds (if you include "pink-collar" professions like nursing and teaching, the number goes up to 5.9%):

https://jacobin.com/2024/03/left-populists-working-class-voters

All of this confirms the findings of Trump's Kryoptonite, an earlier Jacobin/CWCP research project that polled working-class voters on preferences for hypothetical candidates, finding that working-class candidates with economically progressive policies handily beat out Republicans, including MAGA Republicans:

https://images.jacobinmag.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/08125102/TrumpsKryptonite_Final_June2023.pdf

Since the Clinton-Blair years, "progressives" have abandoned economic populism ("It's not a burning ambition for me to make sure that David Beckham earns less money" -T. Blair) and pursued a "third way" that seeks to replace half the world's of supply white, male oligarchs with diverse oligarchs from a variety of backgrounds and genders. We were told that this was done in the name of winning elections with "modern" policies that replaced old-fashioned ideas about decent pay, decent jobs, and worker power.

These policies have delivered a genocide-riven world on the brink of several kinds of existential catastrophe. They're a failure. The pizzaburger party didn't deliver safety, nor prosperity – and it also can't deliver elections.

Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/20/actual-material-conditions/#bread-and-butter

[transmutationisms]

i admittedly don't know much about lynch or his work; would love to hear more of your thoughts irt your last post

i've written more on lynch (mostly twin peaks) in my twin peaks tag but to be very general, i think that many people who talk about his work, and i'm very much including a lot of professional writers and critics here, fundamentally misunderstand the way he uses symbolic visual language and write him off as basically making beautiful nonsense when in truth, his work generally does have very overt and deliberate meanings and arguments to it, only you do have to actually parse the role that his signs & symbols play structurally in the formation of a narrative. again being reductive and simplistic, but: most people would have a great deal more confidence interpreting lynch if they thought of him as working in a german expressionist tradition, rather than what i usually hear described as 'surrealism'—by which they really mean to denote a kind of vulgar nihilist / absurdist stance that reduces all symbols to nonsense and thus obviates the need to actually read them.

to take an example that really annoys me, i don't know if you've seen inland empire (would recommend!) but i can't tell you how many times i've seen people dismiss the giant rabbit-headed sitcom bits as "surreal", "absurdist", or just "lynchian" (this means nothing in this context). if the visual symbols of the film are supposed to tell us what environment laura dern's character is in, and are supposed to correspond 1:1 to that environment, then the sitcom bits make no sense. on the other hand, what i would propose is that lynch typically projects his characters' psychological needs, wants, and anguishes outward onto the environments they occupy, rather than configuring the environment as a thing-in-itself that impresses upon the characters. inland empire is a film about the creative (including but not limited to artistic) process. what, then, can we surmise about laura dern (im sorry i saw this film thrice & don't remember the characters' names) from the intrusion of a sitcom into her increasingly dizzying, borderline dissociative work as an apparently precariously respectable actor? analogously to the way lynch brings the formal elements of a soap opera to his idyllic PNW small town in twin peaks, the sitcom format in inland empire introduces an altered logic into a story form that we might otherwise expect to read and follow in very different ways. the rabbits that laura dern sees are not random imagery denoting generic insanity; they are deliberately chosen pieces that tell us what she fears in taking on this artistic project, and how her vision of herself and her work must articulate along the sort of formal demarcation that differentiates a hollywood production from a children's television show from a verite documentary and so forth. the rabbit sitcom is supposed to be destabilising, but not because it's random or nonsensical.

i of course wouldn't reduce lynch's entire artistic outlook to only one mode of engagement or symbology, but broadly i do think that failing to parse his expressionistic use of symbolism is at the root of a lot of responses to his work (both positive & negative) that fail to actually say anything or derive any meaning. this is how people miss the extremely glaring reaganisms of twin peaks or blue velvet, for example. these symbols are not hidden, nor are they random. the association of the demon bob with the us bombing of hiroshima and nagasaki is a visually asserted statement about evil as lynch understands it. the factory landscapes in eraserhead (here the german-expressionist influence is quite overt) don't just represent the encroachment of a modernist (derogatory) environment into the dad's family life; they are also framed & shot & dressed to be a reflection of how he perceives his work, his social reproduction via his son, and the broader social context in which he lives. again i don't mean to reduce lynch's filmmaking ethos to one single aesthetic method lol—but, this is certainly a huge constitutive element of a lot of what he did, and it matters to me both because (again there is more on this in the link above) his work is profoundly, obviously conservative in ways that a shocking number of people miss or deny—and because, despite that, i get a lot of enjoyment from his technical skill and craft as a filmmaker, specifically including the way that he uses visual language & symbols as richly articulated projections of his characters and their various trials & tribulations.

[societyfolklore]

Mess is Best

Title: Mess is Best (Prompt- baking together but neither know what you're doing) Pairing: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Kids x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky gets talked into Christmas baking with the kids and things turn to chaos while Mom naps.

Word Count:  2.1k

Warnings:  This ones just Fluff! All Fluff.. (No Beta Read)

A/N: Another entry for @the-slumberparty December daze challenge) -  Day 20 just went for something a little softer this time. Domestic and cute. The house was anything but quiet that morning. The holiday season had brought with it a whirlwind of preparations- decorations were finally all up (though the boxes were yet to be returned to the attic and had just been stacked in the corner of the living room) the dining table covered in gifts and paper waiting for wrapping to be completed, and the faint hum of Christmas carols playing from the kitchen radio. The smell of pine and cinnamon lingered in the air, mingling with the faint trace of snow that had clung to Bucky’s boots when he brought in the tree earlier.

You had spent the entire morning orchestrating the chaos, directing the kids to hang ornaments (even if most ended up clustered in one spot), wrapping presents, and trying to keep the sugar-fuelled excitement from reaching a fever pitch. By the time midafternoon rolled around, your energy was spent. After some gentle but persistent nudging, Bucky finally relented, letting you retreat to the bedroom for a well-deserved nap.

Now, the house was suspiciously quiet. Too quiet.

Bucky stood in the kitchen, his arms crossed as he eyed the two culprits in matching Christmas jumpers. Laura and Jack, their faces glowing with the kind of mischief only children could muster, stood before him like tiny conspirators. Their hands were clasped in front of them, and their wide, hopeful eyes made Bucky instantly wary.

“Alright,” Bucky said slowly, narrowing his eyes. “What are you two up to?”

“Nothing bad!” Laura chirped, her voice an octave too high to be convincing.

“We just wanna make cookies,” Jack added, tugging on Bucky’s vibranium hand. His small fingers left smudges of glittery red paint from earlier craft projects. “Please, Dad? It’ll be fun!”

“You sure about this?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Do we even know how to make cookies?”

Laura puffed up her chest. “How hard can it be? We have the box mix!” She held up the box like it was a sacred text, her enthusiasm unwavering. Bucky’s eyes flicked to the counter, the bowl sat waiting, surrounded by a chaotic assortment of sprinkles, chocolate chips, and food colouring. The kids must have raided the pantry while he wasn’t looking.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Mom’s going to kill me.

Fifteen minutes later, the kitchen looked like a Christmas tornado had blown through. Flour clung to every surface, creating a fine white dusting on the counters and the floor. The air smelled faintly of vanilla and chaos as sprinkles formed a rainbow mosaic across the tile. A suspicious puddle of milk was pooling near the sink, with a tiny trail leading to where Jack had ‘helpfully’ tried to clean up by tossing a damp paper towel onto it.

Bucky stood in the centre of the mess, his hands on his hips, surveying the damage. Laura and Jack beamed at him, their faces dusted with flour like a pair of pint-sized chefs who had just survived a battle.

“Alright,” Bucky said, holding up his hands as though calling a truce. “Let’s try this again, taking it one step at a time, reading the box this time. What’s first Gumdrop?”

“The box says mix the powder with eggs and butter!” Laura announced triumphantly, waving the instructions like a battle flag. Bucky had to admit her enthusiasm was contagious, even if it set off alarm bells in Bucky’s mind.

“Easy enough,” Bucky muttered, grabbing another mixing bowl from the pile of clean dishes. He grabbed an egg from the carton and cracked it against the rim of the bowl using his vibranium hand. The crack was… overzealous. Eggshell fragments rained into the bowl, some pieces sinking into the shiny white powder like tiny shipwrecks.

“Ew, Dad!” Jack squealed, pointing at the bowl with a mixture of horror and delight. “There’s crunchy bits in there!”

“Not anymore,” Bucky said, fishing out the pieces with exaggerated precision, his tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. He held up the last piece with a flourish, as though presenting a trophy. “See? Problem solved.”

Laura and Jack erupted into giggles, their earlier exasperation forgotten. The sight of their laughter made Bucky’s heart lighten, even as he felt the weight of impending doom over the state of the kitchen.

“Alright, next ingredient,” Bucky said, his tone determined. “Butter. Where’s the butter?”

Jack pointed to a stick of butter that had somehow ended up on the far end of the counter. It was half-unwrapped, a small dent where someone had poked it with their finger. Bucky sighed, grabbing the butter and tossing it into the bowl with the mix.

“You’re supposed to cut it up first,” Laura pointed out, crossing her arms like a tiny authority on baking, pulling a face that reminded Bucky how much she looked like her mother.

“Details,” Bucky replied with a shrug, grabbing a wooden spoon. He began mixing the ingredients together with an awkward vigor that sent a small cloud of flour puffing into the air.

The kids giggled again, and Bucky found himself grinning despite the mess.

By the time the dough was mixed, it resembled something out of a science experiment. The thick batter clung stubbornly to the wooden spoon, dotted with an outrageous amount of chocolate chips and sprinkles that the kids had insisted on adding (‘for maximum Christmas vibes!’ Laura had proclaimed, dumping the entire bag of sprinkles into the bowl without hesitation). The mixture sparkled in the light, an unholy concoction of sugar and chaos.

Bucky scraped some of the dough onto a baking sheet, attempting to shape it into a neat circle. The result was… underwhelming. The dough spread unevenly, forming an amorphous blob that barely resembled a cookie.

“Alright, your turn,” Bucky said, stepping back to let the kids take over.

Jack immediately grabbed a handful of dough, plopping it onto the sheet and mashing it with his fingers. “I’m making a snowman!” he declared, though the result looked more like a melting pile of snow. Laura took a more artistic approach, carefully shaping a star that ended up with one overly long point.

“Dad, look!” Jack exclaimed, holding up his hands, which were now completely coated in sticky dough. “I’m the Cookie Monster!” He made exaggerated chomping noises, pretending to eat his dough-covered fingers.

“You’re definitely something kiddo,” Bucky replied, shaking his head with a laugh. “Alright, let’s get these in the oven before you two eat the entire batch.”

He slid the tray into the oven, brushing stray sprinkles off the counter as he closed the door.

“Perfection is overrated,” Bucky muttered, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

“Exactly!” Laura said, grinning as she high-fived him with a hand still sticky with dough. Damn her smile lit up the room, Bucky couldn’t help but smile as he looked at their mismatched creations. The cookies might not win any awards, but they were unmistakably theirs.

While the cookies baked, the chaos continued to escalate. Laura’s eyes lit up when she spotted the small box of food colouring on the counter. “Let’s make frosting!” she declared, grabbing the box with all the authority of a professional chef. Jack clapped his hands in excitement, already imagining the colourful chaos.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Frosting, huh? You know how to make that Princess?”

“How hard can it be?” Laura shot back, echoing her earlier mantra.

They found a bowl and dumped powdered sugar into it with reckless abandon. Laura squeezed half the bottle of red dye into the mix, and Bucky watched in mild horror as the powder transformed into a neon pink mess that could probably be seen from space.

“Uh, maybe we should tone it down a bit,” Bucky suggested, but his kids were on a roll. Jack added a splash of milk—more than necessary—creating a runny, vibrant concoction that sloshed precariously as they stirred.

By the time they were done, the frosting bowls looked like a rainbow had exploded. There was bright green, electric blue, and a suspicious shade of orange that none of them remembered mixing.

When the timer dinged, signalling that the cookies were ready, Bucky opened the oven with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. The cookies, had personality. Some were lumpy, others were oddly shaped, and one snowman had mysteriously developed three arms during baking.

“They’re beautiful,” Jack said proudly, holding up the three-armed snowman with a grin that could melt the coldest heart.

Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “Beautiful might be a stretch kiddo, but they’re definitely unique.”

The decorating phase was pure, unfiltered chaos. Frosting ended up everywhere: on the table, on the kids, even in Bucky’s hair, where Jack had accidentally swiped him during an enthusiastic frosting application. Laura took her time, meticulously painting each cookie with an alarming amount of detail, while Jack adopted a more freestyle approach, dumping entire containers of sprinkles over the cookies until they resembled glittery mountains.

“Are those… abs?” Bucky asked, squinting at a gingerbread man Laura had decorated.

“Yep! It’s Uncle Steve in is uniform!” Laura replied, grinning as she added a tiny shield made of frosting.

Bucky groaned, covering his face with his hand. “Steve can never see this.”

Jack held up another gingerbread man, proudly announcing, “This one’s the Hulk!” The cookie was covered in green frosting and looked more like a blob than a superhero, but Jack’s enthusiasm was infectious.

“Sure is Buddy..But aren’t these suppose to be Christmas cookies”

“He had a Santa hat!” Bucky had to squint to work out where the hat was suppose to be.  

By the time the last cookie was decorated, the kitchen was a disaster zone. The counters were sticky with frosting, the floor was a minefield of sprinkles, and the kids were covered head to toe in sugary chaos. And yet, as Bucky looked at their creations—imperfect, colorful, and uniquely theirs—he couldn’t help but smile. These were the moments that made the mess worth it.

Just as the last cookie was finished, you walked into the kitchen, rubbing your eyes and stifling a yawn. You froze in the doorway, your gaze sweeping across the scene. It was a masterpiece of chaos: the counters were caked with frosting and dusted with flour, sprinkles sparkled like confetti on the floor, and a faint aroma of slightly burnt sugar lingered in the air. The kids stood proudly in the middle of it all, their faces streaked with frosting, holding up their creations like trophies.

Bucky, standing amidst the chaos, was a sight to behold. His dark hair had streaks of bright red frosting smeared through it, and his shirt bore the evidence of the day’s adventures: flour handprints, a sprinkle trail, and a suspicious smear of neon pink. He held up a cookie shaped like a lopsided Christmas tree, his expression both sheepish and amused.

“Mommy!” the kids squealed in unison, abandoning their cookies to rush toward you. They tugged at your hands, eager to show off their masterpieces. “Look what we made!”

You raised an eyebrow, your gaze shifting from the grinning kids to Bucky, who gave you a lopsided smile. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said quickly, holding up the misshapen tree cookie as if it were a peace offering.

You stepped further into the kitchen, carefully avoiding a rogue puddle of frosting, and picked up one of the cookies. It was a snowman with three arms and a slightly charred bottom. Holding it up to the light, you examined it with a critical eye, the kids watching with bated breath. Then, to their surprise, you took a bite.

“Well,” you said, chewing thoughtfully as their anticipation grew. “It’s… edible. Mostly.”

The kids erupted into cheers, their laughter echoing through the kitchen. Bucky let out a relieved chuckle, running a hand through his hair and wincing as he encountered the sticky frosting streaks.

You reached out, swiping a bit of frosting from his cheek with your finger. “Next time,” you said with a smirk, “maybe wait until I’m awake.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he replied, pulling you in for a quick kiss. His lips tasted faintly of sugar, a sweet reminder of the chaos you’d walked into.

The kids clamoured for you to try more cookies, each one presenting their favourite creation with the kind of pride usually reserved for art gallery openings. As you laughed and indulged their enthusiasm, you couldn’t help but take in the scene. The kitchen was a disaster, the cookies were questionably edible, and Bucky looked like he’d been through a war zone. And yet, in that moment, surrounded by laughter, love, and the sticky sweetness of family, everything felt absolutely perfect.

[resident-idiot-simp]

I would like to point out a few ester eggs with my writing that some people may pick up on.

Laura refers to Logan as Papá one because Spanish and two because OG Logan was Daddy. So obviously when she got older it would probably become dad. (That's what happened with me and I'm already projecting my relationship onto her so...) So that means no one but OG Logan gets that title.

Wade gets pop because it's really the only other one I can picture for him (bonus points it what my dad calls his father)

Laura is referred to as kit because that is the title for a baby Wolverine. Also Wade calls her mini simply because that is the only other nickname I can imagine him using.

Also it'd be super considering how much he loves Logan. He's just calling her mini version of the man he loves. It's also just true

What I call a character does matter. Logan and Wade are used when showing them more relaxed usually and not 'in character'

Other titles like hero names are used when in action while if I'm picturing the scene from a pov that would use more relaxed name you get that.

This isn't always the case but it is 90% of the time

My explaind backstory may change depending on what I'm picturing, but for the most part I like putting the events of Logan in a completely different universe.

My reasoning is simple it makes more sense that way and it has been said before Dp&W it is a different universe. Less plot holes for me and also it was all meta in the first place. Hugh gave up Logan and then Fox died because of it ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ I don't have to explain that lol.

Anyways I imagine Logan in Deadpool's universe just got killed saving Laura simple as that.

That's all I can think of for right now

[itscomingupaces]

Counterpoint for Laura: sometimes she Does Not want to study and ends up falling into a fandom and starting a discord server for it

Which of the counselors would join fandom spaces, and what fandom would they join? :)

hrrrnng this is a good question, it makes the rusty cogs in my head squeak 🙃

right off the bat, Jacob dearest doesn't strike me as the fandom type, & Laura's prolly so busy that she wouldn't have time even if she wanted to. Jacob prolly has a reddit account tho, so take that as you will

Abi definitely has a tumblr, prolly post some of her art online & she definitely participates in fandoms - she's a bit more courageous behind a screen. 90% sure she reads fanfiction. i imagine she would be in fandoms like The Owl House & Stardew Valley & Legend of Zelda, but also stuff like Supernatural & old horror movies like the original Jeepers Creepers & The Exorcist. & also Scooby-Doo

Ryan obviously spends time in the fandom space of the Bizarre Yet Bonifide podcast & he prolly hangs out on the fanpages, swapping theories & answering questions. he's just vibing in the fandom with all his knowledge & special interest. he also like classic/old movies & he & Abi brainrot together sometimes about classic horror (& she makes him watch Scooby-Doo with her)

Emma lurks in her own fan spaces lmao. i believe wholeheartedly that she LOVES shows like Bridgerton & she posts about it as soon as anything new comes out. she also follows fashion week & the Emmys every year, & liveposts about it the entire time. her fans recommend her romance/romcom movies & sometimes she'll host a movie night on her stream to review it, other times she'll just post about it. most of the time, the fandom comes to her (when Abi visits & agrees to be on camera, they stream a movie night & watch scooby-do)

Nick is so bizarre he has a twitter account that he barely remembers & hasn't even finished fully setting it up yet & he doesn't check his notifications, but almost every time he posts something, ppl go crazy trying to figure out what the fuck he's talking about. so he kind of has his own little "fanbase", if you could call it that

Dylan's for sure a shitposter, but he also loves digging into the lore & secrets - especially of video games. he's a total Dr. Who nerd & he's prolly read the Sherlock Holmes novels. he cracks all that shit open like a cold one with all the other fans online & mentally red-strings everything he thinks about. Abi tells Ryan to make him watch Scooby-Doo, unaware that Dylan has seen all the cartoons & movies, & posts Scrappy-Doo hate

Kaitlyn & Max i feel like are both the type not to interact much online, also they do lurk from time to time. Kaitlyn's more likely to jump in if she sees someone being blatantly & snobbily wrong about something she knows intimately. Max tends to just reblog fanart he likes. i think Kaitlyn loves horror movies - Scream, Halloween, Final Destination, etc - & she throws popcorn at the screen when someone makes a dumb choice then goes to find complaints about the dumb logic online so she can agree with them. Emma forces her to watch Bridgerton, which she reluctantly loves

Max likes romcoms & has a soft spot for cartoons like Steven Universe, but he also gets into some crime dramas like Criminal Minds bc Laura likes them. a lot of art he reblogs online is pixel art, it's his favorite, but 80% of the time, anything with a nice color palette will get him. he also likes Scooby-Doo

i would love to hear others' opinions on this!

[sugarsnappeases]

everyone stop what you’re doing and ponder lily evans w me. i’ve been rotating this quote for the last two months:

i’ve been thinking about it in relation to the way that lily is portrayed both within the books and within the fandom. the way she’s dismembered, split into all these different pieces (her green eyes, the power of her motherly love, her intelligence etc etc) and each of these pieces is exalted, nigh on idolised even. the way this means that the sum of these parts is something that is simultaneously more and less than a woman.

she’s a mother, she’s a wife, she’s a martyr, she’s a muggleborn, she’s head girl, she’s a sister, she’s a witch. she’s all of these things to the absolute utmost - every facet of her, every segment into which she’s cut, is put on a pedestal, she is the epitome of all of these separate things, and because of this she can never be Real. Tangible. Whole.

it’s like this:

over their dead bodies - kensuke koike

she’s more than a woman bc she’s made up of all these individually flawless parts of different women that have been projected onto her…. but she’s less than a woman for the same reason. she’s never complete. she’s a near-deity. she’s a fantasy. she’s everywhere and nowhere in the narrative. she’s dead. she’s alive in all these segments. she’s a fraction of a whole. she’s like trying to do a brand-new puzzle that’s still missing a good third of the pieces. she’s a ‘beautiful monster composed of every individual perfection.’

link to article in which i encountered the quote & link to article from which the quote originates (they’re both beautiful jstor articles about bestie petrarch and the way he portrays laura. haven’t acc read the second one (although i plan to soon!!) but the vickers article has enraptured me to an insane degree so if anyone’s interested i really recommend. might not make much sense if you haven’t read the rvf, but they’re so so interesting!!)

[zonedelicious]

In the X-Men fandom this scene is constantly brought up to call the character Noriko racist, call the entire book racist, and even call the fans and writers racist. And as a Muslim fan of Academy X I am very confused at this harsh reaction because to me it is obvious the story is siding with Sooraya.

For starters X-Men can be very VERY racist and islamophobic. I've recently been reading Claremont's New Mutants and it's painful how racist that book is to Arabs. I wanted to stop reading because of the racism.

But I do not get this reaction from Academy X, which is my favourite X-Men book.

I think a lot of people don't know what kind of book Academy X is. Academy X is a book about delinquents. The main characters are a bunch of asshole kids. The appeal to me is seeing these shitty kids grow and become better people. Yes they make mistakes that's the point. They're stupid kids.

Noriko is one of these kids. She was homeless at a young age because of the poor relationship with her family and because of this she's afraid of ever showing any vulnerability. Choosing to rather lash out at others. It's a realistic coping mechanism.

The scene with Sooraya shows this as Noriko is projecting her own trauma onto a poor girl who only wanted to be nice to her. Yes it's shitty but that's the point. We're seeing how their personalities and viewpoints clash, and how Sooraya is challenging Noriko's beliefs.

I do not see how anyone can read this as the book being racist when the scene even shows Sooraya sad. Something like this never happens when an X-Men book is actually islamophobic. Yet people never react as harshly to actually racist X-Men books as they do to this.

It's actually very similar to a scene at the start of Ms Marvel, where Zoe is racist to Nakia. We can clearly see both scenes are suppose to make you feel uncomfortable and make you side with the Muslim girl. And both Zoe and Noriko are humanized despite being bullies.

We even get a conclusion. Some say this isn't enough, but remember that Noriko refuses to show emotions, so the fact she's willing to go against her instincts here is interesting. It's more interesting to me than simply having a generic anti racism speech.

Again Sooraya is entirely humanized here. The comic is understanding of her struggle. I do disagree with the way she's drawn at times, but the writing makes her a character I could relate to. And reading this conclusion only makes me more interested in both characters.

Sadly neither character ever got a proper character arc after the comic ended. But to me that just makes me wish there were more comics of this group where we do see Sooraya and Noriko become close friends like Nakia and Zoe. It makes me think of writing my own story with them.

I love this book and what it means for Sooraya. I love seeing Sooraya's relationship with the Hellions, Jay and Laura. This is still her definitive comic, so why are we dismissing it entirely because of one scene that exists to make us relate to her?

It's very strange that this one scene, that to me is well made and relatable, is being used as a way to hate the characters, the comic, and everyone who likes it. Most hate isn't even coming from Muslims so is it just performative outrage and misunderstanding?

Or maybe this scene hits at home for some people? With the conversation being very realistic and grounded, people may see themselves in Noriko. Maybe they had a similar reaction towards a Muslim girl and are remembering it.

Noriko's stance isn't even that different from ex Muslim feminists who say similar things. The issue is how she is projecting onto Sooraya. And maybe that's what makes people uncomfortable. The complexity this conversation has in the real world.

Whatever it may be, Noriko still clearly grows after this arc. We do see her become a great leader who stands up for her friends. And even if she has issues to deal with, she was slowly becoming a better person.

In conclusion I love this book because it's relatable in how it portrays its characters. I like Sooraya being a Muslim character who's also a protagonist and a big part of the story. I hope more people give this book a chance and see the charm of it that I see.

Anyway time to go listen to anime music and imagine my OCs hanging out with the Academy X kids (need to draw that one day).

[pseudowho]

hey haitch, you're one of my favourite fanfic authors right now, so i'd like to get your opinion on something

i recently saw a post here on tumblr talking about how "x reader" fics aren't proper "x reader" fics if they add descriptions of the supposed reader's physical appearance (think, the whole, 'soft blue orbs, long blonde hair, really short' that type of thing), and i was like, yeah that makes sense. but then, the poster went into talking about how this also applies to tags like, "black!reader" or "chubby!reader" or "white!reader" (all of these are examples used in that post), essentially stating that any indication of physical appearance regarding the reader - even if it's supposed to target a specific demographic - nullifies the point of it being "x reader", because it is not universal to all readers. i was a little on the fence about this until I read the comments under it, they were overall in agreement. some said that those works should be tagged as "x oc" instead. to that, i was just like, uhhh i can't really say that i can agree, especially if the single establishing descriptor is that the reader is a specific race or plus-sized. perhaps it's because that i'm black myself, and have seen an uptick in "black!reader" works that this stuck with me, but i just felt off.

and on top of that, one commenter addressed how a work prescribing family members to you that you don't have irl (eg. "your aunt laura") is similarly inaccurate and breaks immersion. and to that, i was just like, so what character details can be made about the reader by the author without venturing into "oc" territory? at that point, if a reader doesn't speak the precise way you do, are they now an oc? is that breaking immersion? is it not universal enough?

i've said a lot here, so I'll get to my actual question - what are your thoughts? how much background detail can you give about a reader before it lacks suppose relatability and that universal factor that means the actual reader can project onto them? does making a reader of a certain demographic (black, plus-sized, etc) break that universality, and therefore cannot be considered a proper "reader" character?

So I think that your lengthiness here shows the truth of the situation, in a society where we're increasingly pushed to choose between two extremes, black and white, yes and no, etc: this is a grey area.

Ultimately, any individual reader's ability to relate to a Reader character relies on one core trait: empathy. Contrary to popular belief, empathy is not 'putting oneself in another's shoes'. It's a much more nuanced trait which is determined by one's emotional intelligence, ability to see context and intent behind a situation or actions, and willingness to put one's own heart and soul out to tender for the benefit and advocacy of another.

Empathy is being able to say 'no, I don't have personal lived experience of this; but if I did, here is how I would want to be treated'. Without pretence. Without a mask. With utter honesty.

In this sense, should a reader not be able to relate to a Reader who is black? White? Blond? Overweight? Suffering from mental health conditions? In possession of an aunt called Laura?

Tumblr is all about the fanservice. And reading literacy is gradually reducing, on average. While representation is truly important, many readers fall down the rabbit hole that only representations of people exactly like them matter. As such, a white reader will see 'Black!Reader' as a tag and scroll past.

Incredible, really; there's a pervasive, selfish tainting of the 'representation' element slipping in, where people are feeling deliberately excluded if they can't see past surface level physical descriptors, to be able to empathise with the character themselves, and the story that the writer has woven, beneath it.

It also suggests to me that many of those who read on Tumblr, don't actually read novels. There aren't typically 'x Reader' novels; they tend to have a main character. Do these readers then pout and say they cannot relate, to the frightened little Hobbit running off on a great adventure? Or to the young boy from a war-torn land who is fighting for a safe life? Or to the nobody, from nothing, who seeks to change the world?

My main point: while representation matters, why should a physical description of an 'x Reader' character be all that matters? Surely, it should be a side note at best. Instead, because Tumblr and writing on Tumblr is very much a fanservice site, readers are bypassing empathy, reading literacy and the beauty of storytelling for something altogether more surface-level.

I'm personally happy to see more representation of disenfranchised individuals (any person of colour in this white-dominated world, a change to the cis-gender rhetoric, etc), because while it doesn't matter to me, and I'll still devour a good story and class writing anyway, there are those out there to whom that representation really, really, really fucking matters. We can both read the story, and love it; they can read the story, and love it, and feel seen, beautiful, loveable, powerful, validated, etc.

I understand disenfranchised individuals' frustration more than perhaps, white-centric, cis-centric frustration; what could I possibly have to whine about 'not feeling represented' when I have been born into a world geared towards my benefit? I take a back seat on such matters. A black girl is angry about an 'x Reader' character with long blond hair, and big blue eyes? While, yes, as I said, we should be able to see ourselves as any Reader, it's fucking frustrating to be left out by society, and then be left out by fandom as well.

Representation should be equitable, remember; not equal.

While I have thinly-veiled dislike for someone clearly self-inserting themselves/their OCs and labelling them as 'x Reader' in a cynical attempt to get more readers, it is also in many ways not their fault; they should be able to happily, openly say 'this story is with my OC!' and be welcomed by an audience with enough empathy to be able to relate to a character who isn't cherry-picked for them. You tend to find that disingenuity and selfishness, breed disingenuity and selfishness.

In short: this is why, aside from my one Breeders' Hips fic, my Reader characters are exceptionally blank, physically. I have taken time to read disenfranchised individuals' gripes about ways they're left out; it's been very enlightening. I keep it in mind when I write an 'x Reader' character, so I never leave someone feeling sad because they're not my Reader.

And all of this aside, when all is said and done: I also do not deign to tell someone what they should do in their spare time. If they only want to read or write a Reader who is just like them, then that's utterly fine. I'm not their supervisor.

We're in this online community that encourages self-indulgence, then get angry when someone is self-indulgent? Give me strength. The writers are, for the most part, writing for them, not for you.

So, in short, as I said; very grey, very multifaceted, and I'm able to appreciate both sides of the argument.

It breaks down to making greater attempts to put our own selfish desires aside, to truly incorporate the emotions and lived experiences of others, really, doesn't it?

Another thing empathy is, is understanding that one person's negative or positive emotions aren't typically an attack on ourselves. A real 'it's not all about you' realisation, and incorporating that into one's treatment of others.

Those are my thoughts. Lots of variables to consider, hmm?

Love,

-- Haitch xxx

[nametakensff]

That prompt list you just posted awakened something in me hahah Wb “Do you have a cat?” and "Humiliated" for Eddie? 👀

Yaayy thank you for the prompts! 💕

I cooked up 1.7k of E/ddie having a terribly timed allergy attack whilst dealing weed to a regular client who, unbeknownst to him, has a cat he is horribly allergic to 🐱

Shockingly I have not projected the fetish onto either character in this fic?? It's fun to mix things up from time to time, I guess!

~~~~~

Content:

M sneezes, mentions of M/F, F OC for sake of plot, cat allergy sneezes, spray, mess, handkerchiefs, nose rubbing, nose blows, embarrassment, mild comfort + caretaking, build-ups, rapid sneezes, talking through sneezing

CW: mentions of drug and alcohol consumption (It should go without saying but both characters are 18+)

SFW but minors please dni!!

Eddie brought his fist down on Laura Paulson’s front door, trying not to get irritated at the fact he had been pounding on it for at least three minutes already. The blaring music inside masked the sound of his efforts and that of the doorbell. He pointedly ignored the sneers of the three guys skulking in the front yard, who clearly knew some way of getting in and out the building but had no intention of filling him in, and he had no intention of asking. This was so fucking dumb. He just wanted to make some sales and fuck off.

Laura was okay. She never asked for freebies, always paid what he asked and wasn’t especially shitty to him. They’d made out a couple of times in his van, even, when she found out her stupid jock boyfriend was going with other girls behind her back. He didn’t much like being used on the low, but it was also somewhat thrilling sticking his tongue in a cheerleader’s mouth and having her pull his hair in response.

She’d even mentioned that he should stay and hang out at the party, if he wanted to, but he could tell she was only inviting him because she seemed to think she had to. Like she felt bad about being pleasant to him when they were alone, and an ice queen when they weren’t. He turned her down for both their sakes, trying not to look offended when she failed to mask her relief.

He struck the door again, even more forcibly this time, and finally, finally it was opening. Laura smiled at him, clearly several drinks deep. He raised the lunchbox in his left hand by way of greeting, offering a half-smile as she moved to one side and let him in. He’d never been inside her house before, and it was as swanky as he’d pictured it would be.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s loud in here.” She sing-songed over the racket, sounding friendly but not sorry in the least.

“No biggie.” He smiled at her, feeling better in the presence of her admittedly contagious happiness, substance-related or otherwise. He’d been expecting a much colder reception. “So, do you wanna…?”

“Oh, yeah, this way!”

Eddie followed her up the stairs, realising she must be even tipsier than he thought if she would openly lead him up to her room whilst several curious onlookers watched them do so. He checked his wristwatch; only 19:00. Girl meant business when she partied, he guessed.

Her room was unextraordinary. Girly, neat, plastered in photos of her and her friends, and several more of her and her meathead boyfriend. He hoped said boyfriend knew where his girlfriend was and wouldn’t suddenly barge into the room, wasted and charged up by some stupid whispering about the pair of them sneaking off together.

“Sit, sit!” Laura said, inviting him to perch next to her on the edge of her baby blue bedsheets whilst she rummaged through her purse.

“You good for your usual?” Eddie said, opening his box and taking out the little baggie he’d set aside for her. He sniffled, briefly pressing his wrist to his nose against a sudden errant tickle.

“Uh-huh.” Laura replied, seeming distracted. “Shoot,” she muttered after a second, getting up a little too fast and staggering. Eddie reached out to balance her with one hand on her waist.

“You okay?” He asked, then winced at how stuffy his voice suddenly sounded. His nose still tickled and his eyes were starting to feel suspiciously itchy. Fuck. He was probably having some kind of reaction to her perfume or some shit, which was weird because hers had never bothered him before, but not unheard of. When she righted herself and moved to her chest of drawers he indulged in a violent nose rub, mashing his nose around with the palm of an open hand, desperate to quash the tickle before it blossomed into a sneeze. He hoped she couldn’t hear the wet clicking sounds the motion induced, and grimaced in dismay when it seemed only to urge the tickle along.

“I know I have more cash in here somewhere…sorry, one sec…”

“All good.” He said, even though it was not all good, it was bad, and he’d had enough allergy attacks in his life – hell, this past week - to know he was about to sneeze his fucking head off. He sat rigid, pressing a ringed finger underneath his twitching nostrils, pink and damp from the prior manhandling, and pushed hard against his philtrum. It did very little at all, and he bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to stave off the starts of an embarrassingly hitchy build-up.

He glanced at her back as she dug through the drawer, silently pleading with her to hurry up, when his eyes drifted to the lint roller on top of the chest. He squinted at it, realising it was covered in…oh, double fuck.

“L-Laura?” He asked, lowering his hand and scrambling through his pockets for his bandana. He was going to sneeze no matter what at this point, and he at least wanted to do so not all over her pristine upholstery.

“Hmm?”

“Do you hh’have a hh-!!...cat?”

“Yeah, Mittens! She’s probably sleeping under the bed right now, ‘cuz there’re so many people around. Ooh, okay, nice, found a twenty!”

She spun round, grinning in triumph, only for her face to fall in confusion at the sight of him. He averted his eyes, even as they started to slam shut, burying his face in the bandana he had been raising and continued to allow his breath to hitch – audibly, now that the gig was up and she could not only see him, but was actively watching him build up to a fit of tickly allergic sneezes. He felt his face flushing with heat, absolutely humiliated, but there was nothing he could do. He gasped pathetically, chest expanding under his Metallica t-shirt as the tickle finally crested.

“Eddie?”

He managed to shake his head, just once, before he was pitching forward into the bandana, clutched to his face with both hands as the sneeze burst out of him with so much force it brought tears to his eyes.

“EhhHGK’TSCHSS’IEWww!! Shit, sorry, I’m-!! Ihkg’tchieww!! AhhGK’TISSHH’IEwww!! Ohh…”

He felt the bed dip as Laura sat down beside him, blushing even harder as she placed a tentative hand on his back, expanding and contracting erratically under his leather jacket as he hitched his way towards the rest of his fit.

“Hh-Hh! Ehh-! HAH’GKkt!! EHh’NGXt’TSHh-NGXT’tshiew!! HdDT’TSCHH’U! ‘DDZZSh’iewww!!...Shit, I’m…I’m allergiii’CKK’SHIEeww!! Allergic-to-cats-!”

“Fuck.” He heard Laura mutter, sounding genuinely concerned, which heartened him and yet paradoxically made him feel terrible. The whole thing was mortifying, and the more he sneezed, the more the tickle seemed to tease.

To make matters worse, Mittens, the very source of his misery, seemingly roused by the cacophony above her sleeping space, had come to investigate. Through bleary eyes he peered at her in resignation, preparing to sneeze again. She tilted her fluffy, tortoiseshell head at him, mewed once, and then, to his horror, started to rub herself affectionately all over the shins of his jeans.

“Mittens, no!” Laura reached for her in an instant, snatching her away as she meowed her displeasure, but the damage had been done.

“HhHH’GCKT’TShhieww!! ESHH’IEWww!! EHh’NGXtt’TSCHh!! EhHH’TSCCH-TSSHH’IEww!! h’Ohh GoddD’TSXCHHhh!! IGSHH’Uu-IGKSHHhh!!”

Eddie could barely breathe between each explosion, eyes streaming as he sprayed into the bandana over and over, clutched between both steepled hands. The last few left mess bursting out into the cloth and dripping down over his lips, mercifully hidden from view. He sniffled reflexively, instantly regretting it as the tickle peaked with such intensity the resulting gasp made his chest squeak.

“EIISSHHHhh!! HaH’GKkt-GXK’TShhu-GSHHHh!! Hh’HH!! HAH’ENGXTt’TSSsHIEww!! AESHH’IEww!! iihHH’KhG’TSSHHUuu!!”

He trembled as they overpowered him, cruel and unrelenting, one leg jerking up as his body almost curled in on itself from the force before stamping back on the ground. He made the mistake of using a lull in sneezes to fold his bandana over and look for a clean spot, hands shaking, totally unprepared for when the tickle ground once more against his sinuses.

“’YYISCHHH’IEWW!!” He sneezed violently, dramatically, and worst of all, totally uncovered. His eyes shot open in time to see the spray dissipating in a glittering cloud of droplets, illuminated by a nearby lamp. He clapped the bandana back to his face, cheeks burning, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

“Fuck, I am so sorry.” He mumbled at exactly the same time Laura offered an audibly concerned “God bless you!”

He murmured a thanks before biting the bullet and indulging in a disgustingly wet nose blow. Laura gently patted his back, manicured, callous-free hand on his scuffed-up leather, and the sudden rush of emotions – humiliation, confusion, affection, irritation – had him lurching to his feet, even as his breath started to hitch, fucking again.

“Are you okay?” Laura asked, her hazy brown eyes looking up at him with far more kindness than Eddie could stand to face in the current moment.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, but…I’m sorry, I hafta-! GXXT’SHIEWWww!! Ah, fuck, shit, I-need-to-! IGSHHHH-! Ahh, Get out of here.”

“O-okay.” He felt her slip the money into his pocket. Pressing the sopping bandana firmly to his face, he began to reach for his lunchbox, which she handed to him.  “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s n-not your-! Not-your-f’hhault’TTSZZSH’IIeww!! Fuck!! Not your fauld’t.” He mustered up a reassuring smile, then remembered his face was obscured anyway.

“Still, I’m. I’m sorry. See you round?” She offered.

“Sure.” He said, knowing damn well the next time they bumped into each other and he didn’t have drugs on his person she would go right back to pretending he didn’t exist.

He left her there, standing awkwardly in the middle of her room, and bolted his way down the stairs, trying not to fall to his death as a series of smaller sneezes teased their way out of him half-way.

“Huh’GXTCH’zieww!! HDD’TZSCch’u! hh-HDT-!! ‘TISHH’Ieww!!”

He sneezed again as he strode past the three idiots still lurking outside, the dampness of the cloth beginning to transfer to his palm. They made sounds of disgust and derision, painfully predictable in their apery, and he fought the urge to throw the snotty rag in their direction before deciding in his current state it wasn’t worth the potential black eye and/or broken arm. He slammed his van door shut and started the ignition, snuffling and scrubbing at his tickly nostrils, which were already flaring in preparation for a repeat performance. He prayed he wouldn’t sneeze himself to an early grave on the road before he could get home and sneeze his throat raw in the shower.