#the amount of time I spend thinking about these two interacting is kind of ridiculous tbh

[epnusika]

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ- Noobador Romantic Headcanons

Author's Note: Poor Spanish skills ahead.

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•] To start things off, Noobador often attracts trouble in his life because of his work as a Mercenary. If he doesn't come home with a bruise or a new wound on his body, he's most likely in jail. Seriously. At this point, the amount of times you've bailed him out of jail is ridiculous.

•] Sitting there behind bars... He immediately beams up with joy when he sees you step inside of the Police Station, feeling thankful that you're going to pay his bail. Again. For the hundredth time... God... As much as you adore the lovely idiot, you're still not sparing him of the scolding that you're about to give him once you two get home.

•] Moving on... his nicknames for you are Darling, Mi Amor/Cariño, My Spouse... Although most of the time, he uses 'My Spouse' in public to refer to you.

•] You just don't know it yet, but he's been pouring his heart and soul to save a lot of money so that he could buy a ring for you. He's eagerly waiting for the day where he'll take you someplace beautiful, drop on one knee, and finally ask you to marry him.

•] Please say yes.

•] Anyway, like I said earlier, Noobador's life is always followed by trouble. Most of the time, he returns home with new wounds on his body, in which you have to patch him up while he tells you about his day. He mentions how there's this 'dummy' who beat up Red and Blue, so obviously he had to teach them a lesson.

"And you know what the bad thing was? Turns out—ow...easy on the disinfectant...—this dummy had a wooden sword! Kind of unfair considering that I was only using my fists but, don't worry Darling! I definitely took them to pound town!"

•] Haha, no you didn't.

•] Talking about wounds though... You mentioned to him about wearing more clothing whenever he would go out and do his Mercenary work. Unfortunately, he retaliates and argues that wearing more protection takes out the thrill of his job.

•] Though, as much as you'd love to support his decision, you just hope that one day, his stubbornness doesn't get to him.

•] When it comes to love languages, his are words of affirmation and quality time. As a Mercenary, his work allows him to interact with all kinds of individuals. So, it's no surprise that Noobador knows a thing or two about other languages. Most of the time, he would whisper sweet nothings into your ears in another language, adoring how you try to process his words despite lacking knowledge about it.

"Mi Amor... Te ves lindisima hoy. Que...? Por qué me estás mirando de ese modo?"

•] Moreover, due to the nature of his occupation, he tends to go all out on you whenever he's finally free from the shackles of his work. He's already got plans to spend quality time with you and he's very much looking forward to either taking you out on a date to a theme park, or if you want something more domestic... He's fine with just helping you out around the house.

•] He is the big spoon when it comes to snuggling, and no, you can't retaliate. Think of it this way, he's like Baymax during that one scene in Big Hero 6, a warm marshmallow.

•] In addition, he's very romantic. This applies to his kisses as well, as he prefers to savour each kiss that he receives and gives you. It doesn't matter if it's on the lips or not, the only thing that matters is how long the kiss would be. His emotions are swelling with love and affection towards each kiss, and the feeling is quite addicting.

"Te amo, Mi Cariño..."

•] But... He also has his moments where he just holds your hand within his. You two could be sitting next to each other on the couch but, while you mind your own business, Noobador is staring at your hand, intertwining his fingers against yours and admiring how smoothly they fit against each other.

•] Moving on... He snores quite loudly. But... At this point, you're already used to it, aren't you? Not for a certain two though, they certainly have their sleep disrupted. You have enough evidence to support your suspicions, based on the tape present on Noobador's mouth sometimes.

•] You two have adopted the little gremlins, taking the role as their parental figures. But hey... It's quite heartwarming. Noobador has grown to love waking up in the morning to the sight of you handling the young teens. With the kitchen busy and the dining table filled with food... the domestic sight adds a nice balance to the chaos of his Mercenary work.

"Need a little help, Darling? Here... I'll finish setting up the table."

•] Most definitely knows how to dance, more specifically, slow dancing. Oh, and don't worry. If you don't know how to dance, he's more than willing to guide and teach you. Holding your body by the waist, his voice and the way he holds your hand catches all of your attention. He's very patient when it comes to teaching you, feeling more than glad that he was the one helping you out. That he was the one sharing such an intimate moment with you.

"Hey, come on... don't shy out on me now. You're doing great, Mi Amor..."

[elainsgirl]

loved all the asks you interacted with yesterday. So i wanted to send one too. I never post in the acotar fandom, because its so hostile. But I follow Elriel content a lot. Do you have any thoughts about how many in this fandom need banter to see any interaction as romantic? And how they see any interaction that has banter as immediately romantic? The amount of hate I see for quiet people and introverst is so disheartening in this fandom. It makes it hard to exist in this fandom as an introvert when I see people calling Elriel's quite style of communicaiton "ew", "toxic", and "icky" all the time simply because they don't banter and arent loud. There's so much misunderstanding of introverts in real life, especially in the US where extroversion is so valued over introversion. I am very happy Sarah has written a beautiful romance between two characters that are quiet and introverted.

I think maybe i'm just not meant for this kind of space. I filter out content and block users to avoid the worst of it, but it literally hurts my heart whenever I see these "criticisms". Because it isn't just directed at two fictional characters, it is directed at qualities of those characters that a lot of people have. What do you think of this?

Hey anon 🫶

THANK YOU for bringing this up because you are so right & valid. There are so many important aspects and parts to a relationship. Before I start - I will say, its not just gwynriels. Eluciens also change Elains personality to be more extroverted - so that she can be sassy, bantering with Lucien in fact, despite Elain being potrayed as an introvert by Mass and in official acotar quizzes she is referred to as an introvert- Eluciens always say she is an extrovert. And the only reason she is quiet is due to her trauma.

I understand the desire of a “bantery” relationship - and having fun & joking around is definitely important BUT more then that, being able to communicate without words, spending evenings together talking or just spending time together without having the need to fill the silence is more important and meaningful in my very humble opinion.

Elriel have that. Both of them have the same humour - elains’ gifts for Az has made him laugh however to go along with that, they both spent time together chilling in the gardens - and as a side note: I love how it was this simple, domestic scene that sjm used to have Feyre question why elriel weren’t mates. She could have used any other moment yet chose one that displayed the ease that Elain & Azriel naturally had together. They’ve spent a night talking about Elains gardens - do you know how important and lovely it is to have someone show genuine interest in your hobby and allow you to talk whilst they just listen? - I can name so many other scenes but you get the gist.

I think the appeal of elriel is that you have these two damaged souls that are often over-looked and no one bothers to look past their surface until they meet each other. Elain paying attention and noticing Azriels headaches and their cause. Gifting him a gift for it. Azriel taking elain to the gardens and just sitting there in silence with her. They’ve formed such a beautiful connection.

“banter” at the end of the day - isn’t only enough to carry an important relationship. Does it even suit Azriels/Elains characters? Not really. And the reason I believe antis focus so much on banter is because to them - they believe Az/Elain need to come out of their “shells” and only Gwyn/Lucien can do that for them. God forbid, we have quiet characters who keep to themselves and aren’t loud and “outgoing”. You’re so right, they call elriel “boring” and “superficial” all because they’re more quiet and unassuming with their relationship. It’s ridiculous but you know what it comes down too? The enemies to lovers trope. This one trope has increased in popularity and demand - its almost found in every book and is so common, within this trope a microtrope is obviously “banter” - ofc a lot of antis must read enemies to lovers books -> therefore push this trope & microtrope onto elucien/gwynriel despite it not rlly making sense.

I also think anyone that calls elriel toxic or boring don’t fully understand how important it is to have someone like Elain/Az that you can just be & have so much ease with.

Even if the hate is not directly targeted towards introverted people - when you call characters like Elain/Az: boring, lacking depth, not interesting enough, need their “extroverts” to push them out of their shells -> for those that relate to elriel, it can feel like an attack/hate. Introverted people in general are always mislabelled and misunderstood which isn’t fair, starting off as kids when your teachers tell your parents they’re concerned that there’s something wrong as you’re more quieter and keep to yourself compared to your classmates or worse - try pairing you with the “outgoing” “loud” kids in hopes to bring you out of your shell to teenage years where the “popular” kids make fun off you to try and get you to talk - its a rough world out there.

Im sorry you feel like this fandom isn’t a place for you, but know the elriel side is definitely filled with lots of people that can understand how you’re feeling. I feel like - this whole thing of hating on introverted characters and their relationships such as elriel gives off slight immature vibes or not fully appreciating quiet, meaningful relationships over loud, bantery ones. And I feel Sjm is growing as an author -> her writing is maturing, personally after reading her recent books I do think she values a relationship like elriel more then anything elucien/gwynriel can be.

I agree with you & have felt this way myself when I would see antis hating on Elain for being quiet aka not interesting enough to them or when Id read elucien fics/Hcs where they changed Elains character to being more extroverted - as I joined the fandom quite young, I would see these takes & it used to make me think, I myself would have been considered absolutely uncool and dull. But as I’ve grown older, I like the way my introverted self is. And if thats boring or I lack a personality too some people, oh well. I no longer care. They’re going to eat their words when Elains book comes out and we see her shine.

[tanobatcher]

mingle

TCW SQUID GAME AU

commander fox (▵ guard) x fem (player) reader

summary: assigned as player 066, you’ve entered the squid games and made it through the first two days. under the assumption everyone around you is a complete stranger, you’re surprised when you discover that one of the guards is an old flame who disappeared on you a few years ago without explanation. warnings: violence and explicit content (oral + vaginal sex) .. also this is kind of toxic so pls don't mistake this for what a relationship should look like ig idk...it's complicated :) a/n: this one shot is inspired by the squid game universe with s2 currently trending rn. there is def canon divergence for there to be more realistic interactions (😏) between the guards and the players (each player has a room with a bathroom instead of the big common room. like what the guards have in the show. hygiene is very important guys!!) tbh this is a crossover i never expected to do but the idea randomly came to me as i was watching and i thought fox fit the guard persona super well. here we are!! if you’re not familiar with squid game, it’s basically a kdrama where people compete against each other in a series of survival games to win a LOT of money. most of them are in crippling debts or need the money for a bad situation. elimination during a game = death so there's a huge morality aspect to participation and just the overall idea. triangle guards like fox are responsible for eliminating losing players, among other things like maintaining order and making sure people follow the rules.

Blood is strangely dark after it’s been spilled for some time. The color only deepens with despair, staining flesh and fabric like a reminder of every choice that has brought you here.

“The lights are out, 66. You’re not permitted to leave your room at this time.”

Exhaling slowly, you look up at the guard standing before you as the door to your private room swings shut with an echoing bang. Unfortunately, you can hardly consider it up to standard with what a room should be. It’s a sanitary little space, but there’s only a cot barely elevated on a rickety bed frame for rest. You’re more grateful for the bathroom attached, given the amount of other players who wound up in these games. Sharing is not caring anymore. It never was.

“I was just wondering if you had an extra change of clothes,” you explain to the guard, “I…couldn’t get all of the blood off.”

Your fingers find the hem of your sweater as you stretch the fabric out to show him some of the lingering stains from a few hours ago. Getting through a series of childhood games thus far didn’t seem so difficult until bullets started raining from the sky. One by one, you had to watch the people around you drop like flies as their blood splattered across your body. It felt like a warning at the time. You’re next.

“The lights,” the guard replies tersely, “Are out. Return to your room.”

A frown tinges your expression as you register this dismissal. It’s hard to read what this guard is thinking—what any of them are thinking, for that matter—because everything about them is kept hidden. Their bodies are completely covered in their pink uniforms. Their voices are altered through a grainy modulator that leaves zero room for vulnerability. It’s as if they’re robots. Finally, to top it all off, their faces are left to question under their masks. This one in particular has a triangle on his. What’s more striking to you, though, is the firearm in his hands. It’s not pointed at you, but you imagine that it could be. Sooner or later.

“This place doesn’t have terrible hospitality…” you begin while thinking about all that’s been provided already. Food. Water. A bed. A bathroom. And clothes, which you’re really hoping to get a new pair of. Showering feels ridiculous if you’re just going to wear the same, dirty thing every day you spend here.

“…So, I’m surprised you’re not able to give us a fresh set of these upon request,” you continue, tugging at your sweater before letting your hands fall to your sides.

“We’re not. I suggest you comply with the rules,” the guard tells you in a monotone. You don’t miss that he’s taken one step forward, too. Just as his fingers tighten around his firearm, you instinctively shift backward and feel your heartbeat quicken.

“Or what?” You retort despite the goosebumps rising across your skin, “You’ll shoot me?”

He’s now right in front of you, still not pointing the muzzle at you even though you know he’s more than willing to do so. Just before, you and your fellow players voted on whether or not to continue the games. Stopping here would have meant walking away with an equal cut of what’s already been collected from the first couple of rounds. But, just as money makes the world go round, it’s also starved most of the people here. Everyone, including you, is hungry for a chance to collect as much as possible from this opportunity.

But the question of whether or not it’s worth all of this bloodshed lingers in your mind. Hence why you keep voting for termination after each game thus far, earning a blue patch on your sweater that indicates your unchanging decision. There were many like-minded individuals who felt disappointed upon seeing that the majority consistently chose continuation. Arguments arose, brawls festered here and there, but the triangle guards hardly tolerated such behavior. A simple threat from someone carrying a weapon was enough to silence the crowd. You know better than to test the patience of this one.

So, you don’t wait for his response. Turning around, your hand latches around the cold doorknob that is just about to turn when he speaks from behind you. His voice is cold, unfeeling. Stern and unflinching. Just as someone like him should be.

“Don’t waste your time asking for favors around here.”

“Got it,” you breathe, ignoring the chill running down your spine, “Thanks.”

You steal a glance at him over your shoulder before heading inside your dark room. Expecting the door to close behind you, you’re startled when it’s pushed back open a little aggressively. The action is unpredictable, like the sudden presence of the guard standing in your door frame. Your eyes go wide as he just stands there, heaving a ragged breath. But right when you open your mouth to ask what you’ve done wrong this time, he leaves. The door finally slams shut, and all is quiet except for the question of why he nearly followed you into your room. It’s unclear what his intentions were at that moment, but your thoughts don’t keep you awake. Only your memories do, as you try to sleep away the screams that will haunt you for the rest of this shortening lifetime.

Eventually, your body slips into a half-assed slumber that is quickly interrupted when you hear thuds and curses in the distance. These sounds are muffled through the walls, but there’s no doubt about their existence. You flinch when someone shrieks in pain, sending all sorts of questions about what’s going on tonight. For the past few days, the lights-out period has been your only time of relaxation. But with the growing hunger among your fellow players, it’s hard to determine if you’re still safe without any immediate allies. There have been some groups banding together, some of which cause more trouble than others. The worst ones are always provocative, looking for a fight. Has it arrived tonight? Or have they brought it themselves?

Your doorknob suddenly rattles, startling you out of bed. The sound is quickly paired with banging amid a pleading cry that causes you to stand and move forward.

“Help!” The person on the other side says, “Please, help me—they’re trying to kill me—Open the fucking door!”

Pressing your ear against the cool, metal door, you reply, “Who’s there?”

“Does it matter? Hurry—Please—“

The desperation in his voice wracks your body with a brief shiver. Noticing that the hallway outside has gone quiet all of a sudden, you crack your door open just a tiny bit to catch a glimpse of what’s going on. You’re not even able to blink before you regret this. Having been under the impression that this was just one person seeking solace in your room from whatever threat was nearing, you’re surprised when a rowdy group infiltrates your space as if it means nothing to them. Their faces are shadowed by the lack of lighting, but you don’t need to recognize them to know you just made a mistake when you should’ve minded your own business.

One of them reaches forward to grab you by the front of your sweater while the others circle your position like hawks stalking their prey. They’re definitely all men, bloodthirsty at that. Are they hoping to raise their chances of winning by morning? Collect more money from the silent deaths to occur tonight? This seems to be the only feasible explanation for why they suddenly have you pinned to the floor on your stomach with a switchblade to your neck.

“Told you this one would fall for it,” an unfamiliar voice snickers, “I think we’re getting lucky tonight.”

Despite the voice in your head telling you to fight back—even while the odds are against your favor—your body is locked and frozen. A bead of sweat drops from your forehead onto the floor as you inhale shaky breaths that can’t be controlled no matter how hard you try to remain calm. The blade presses into your neck harder, almost teasingly like the chatter going on around you. At this point, you’d rather these assholes just get it over with and kill you. That would save you from the panic crushing your insides so painfully that you almost can’t breathe.

“Aw, don’t cry…I think we’re scaring her…” The blade is now tracing a line down your cheek, still not digging past your skin. You didn’t even register your own tears until your assailant pointed them out.

“Fuck you,” is all you spit out in return.

“Careful. You’re not really in a position to get rude with me.”

You scoff at this, ensuring the tone is more mocking than meek. “Kill me, then. I hope it’s fucking worth it.”

The blade moves lower, and you fully expect this player to slit your throat right then and there. Biting your tongue, you internally curse yourself for not even trying to bargain or beg your way out of this situation. But it would have been useless. Throughout the past few days, you’ve witnessed the animalistic nature of greed firsthand. Even felt it yourself, at times. There’s no eventual escape in these games. Vote after vote, you now know the only way you’ll ever return home is if you die and search for that peace someplace else. You’re a victim to nostalgia as your final thoughts swarm your mind, but all of that subsides when the door suddenly swings wide open. Your eyes, still blurry from your tears, widen as a shower of bullets pelts across the room like a rainstorm. It’s ear-shattering, causing you to cover your head with your arms as soon as they’re freed from your attackers’ grip. Everything smells like blood and sweat. These two scents only heighten when some bodies, now dead, fall on top of you after hardly putting up a fight. They’re limp but heavy, suffocating you as you try to push them away and sit up.

Through your dizzy and darkened vision, you can see a guard standing in your doorframe, kind of like the one from a few hours ago. This could be a completely different person, though, given how many triangle guards you’ve seen over the past few days. His gun lowers, and he seems to take a step toward you until new orders sound from his radio device. You’re not sure what he’s told to do by whoever is talking to him on the comms, but you do hear his response. “Understood.” It’s one word, clear and firm as he leaves you behind with more blood splattered across your clothes. And now, your floor and walls. Your face. Your hair. Your hands. Everywhere.

The gravity of the situation sinks in as your eyes dart around the bodies strewn across the room with their eyes still open. It’s horrific, just like the oozing bullet wounds gaping through their chests and stomachs. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to make your way to the bathroom, simply feeling your way around with your hand braced against the nearest wall. This is where you remain for the next couple of hours, still stripped naked even after your second shower of the night. Standing over your sink that’s more of a bowl because of its meager size, you plunge your blood-stained clothes under warm water and much more soap than you can spare. Your ears are still ringing, distracting you from the fact that a few guards had come into your room and taken away the bodies at one point in the night. It isn’t until there’s a knock against your bathroom door that you realize someone is still here, inside.

“Yes?” You ask, clearing your throat when you hear how quiet you sound, “Yes?”

There’s no response at first, but you’re not planning to open the door with your current state of decency. Hoping whoever is there can just say their piece and go, you brace your hands against both sides of the sink and wait.

“Are you hurt?”

You straighten your posture, surprised by this question. Judging from the sound of this person’s voice, it’s another guard. Or maybe the same one as before—you don’t even know at this point. It hardly matters, though. They all look the same, talk the same, and kill the same.

“No,” you answer, confused as to why this person seems to be displaying compassionate curiosity toward your well-being, “But…I’d appreciate another set of clothes. I asked someone before, but he was a bit of an ass about it, and—”

“Open the door.”

“No!” You immediately react, surging forward to press your body against the door, “I mean, no. I can’t really do that right now.”

Another silent pause lingers until you hear some keys jingling on the other side of the door. Quickly realizing what’s about to happen, you snatch up your towel and wrap it around your body as tightly as possible. Once the bathroom door opens at the hand of another triangle guard, you furrow your eyebrows into a scowl that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a red, blushing mess.

“Having a master key doesn’t mean you can just invade my personal space like this, you know—”

Your mouth snaps shut when the guard grabs your chin, turning your face from side to side so he can examine your lack of wounds for himself. Keeping one hand on your chest, you press it into your towel as the other pushes his arm away.

“Don’t touch me,” you tell him while taking a step back.

He crosses his arms over his chest and replies, “Full offense, but I really don’t know how you’ve made it this far.”

Your face burns hotter as you copy his movements, but it’s more to cover your chest than anything else. “You don’t even know me.”

His head tilts to the side a bit, and you’re not sure why you suspect that he’s smiling behind his mask. It’s almost ironic how you’re borderline naked while he hasn’t even bared a single inch of flesh to your perception. You can’t confirm this for certain, but you feel his eyes on you. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you glance behind him and notice that his firearm is rested against your wall beside your bed. The room looks a lot cleaner from here already. You’re about to ask about that when his figure suddenly moves, occupying your peripheral so that all you’re seeing is him.

“That won’t dry by the morning,” he nods toward the sink where your bloody clothes swim in soapy bubbles.

“I don’t care. I just…” You inhale a deep breath, not to break in front of him, “I’m just trying to wash off the blood.”

“It’s only going to come back.”

“That doesn’t really make a difference to me. I know I’m not making it out of here alive.”

He’s quiet at this, casting his head down a little. You assume he’s looking at the floor, but there’s no telling where his eyes are fixated. Just like there’s no explaining the reason for his presence—whoever he is. You want to tell him to leave before this interaction becomes more awkward than it already is, but he lifts his head again and seems to stare right at you.

“You shouldn’t even be here.”

It’s a claim, or maybe an observation, but it sounds demanding. Even through his voice modulator, you pick up on a familiar type of tone you shouldn’t be thinking about at this moment. It’s long been forgotten, only because it left you behind first.

“I don’t think any of us should be here,” you reply before pointing out, “But you work here. Don’t know how you sleep at night.”

“Not very well, actually.”

“Oh. Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”

He chuckles softly, and an odd feeling clenches your stomach as you watch his shoulders shift before relaxing. It’s not that you recognize this specific reaction, but it feels too distinct to let go. Maybe it’s just your nostalgia kicking in, though. Teetering on the edge of death every day has left you reflecting on your life thus far, including what you’ve lost. What you never expect to gain back, even if you survive this place.

“You never go easy on me,” he murmurs, slightly exhaling with his words.

Your lips part in disbelief once this sentence sticks in your mind. Instinct takes over as old memories resurface. Someone has said this to you before, not once or twice, but numerous times during arguments that went in circles until nobody really won. You’ve tried to forget about the yelling, the laughing, and all of the affection he threw away for a reason you will never know. He’s not here to provide that closure. Or so you initially believed, until hearing this timeless phrase for yourself.

“Take off your mask,” you whisper.

The guard leans forward and tells you, “I can’t do that.”

Despite this, he doesn’t move away when you step forward until you’re directly in front of him. You’re so close that your feet slide between his boots, and his face tilts to accommodate your proximity. Fear tingles your fingertips as you push his hood back before pausing in expectance of some sort of resistance. An order to stop. But nothing comes, so you reach for his mask while holding your breath. It doesn’t take long for you to unlatch the covering, but you wait a few seconds to pull it completely away. He’s so still that part of you thinks this is all a joke or a dream.

“Fox?”

The hand holding his mask drops to your side when you don’t receive a response, revealing the face that’s been hidden all this time. Not the complete picture, though. Just the eyes. But that’s enough for you to know that your memory hasn’t failed you when fate certainly has. You let his mask clatter to the ground when he pulls the remainder of his face covering away, never taking his gaze away from yours. He looks…the same. Just more tired and sunken from the lack of sleep he mentioned before, but otherwise…that’s Fox. You can’t deny it. Blinding, hot rage seizes your chest automatically, sending your next actions into an overdrive with no brakes.

“You. Fucking. Asshole!” You punctuate each word with a fist to his chest, “This is where you’ve been? I thought you were dead! Or…you found someone else, and…“

He takes both of your wrists in one hand to stop you from hitting him again. “Are you done?”

You stare at him, breathing hard and heavy from the sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through your blood. He tightens his grip around your wrists before you can respond or pull away, bearing down on you with a hardening glare you find utterly ridiculous. He has no right to be angry at you. Not after he disappeared from the face of this Earth without so much as a simple text explaining himself.

“Let go of me,” you snap, trying to twist yourself out of his hand.

He only tugs you forward at this, causing your frontside to collide with his. “Tell me why you’re here.”

You scoff, meeting his eyes that are suddenly a lot closer than before. There’s barely any breathing room between your faces now, which is both frightening and exhilarating. The sudden rush of emotions accelerating your heartbeat isn’t easy to take in all at once, distracting you from what’s important right now: your survival. Anguish, sorrow, relief, and desire all cloud together in your mind before you blink away the tears that have begun welling in your eyelids. He doesn’t get to see you cry.

“Not unless you tell me tomorrow’s game,” you bargain, purposefully drying your tone of any vulnerability.

You realize this response disappoints him when he clenches his jaw and averts his gaze from yours. “I can’t—“

“You can’t do that,” you admonish sarcastically, “Figures. Let go of me.”

But he ignores this, lulling your conversation into a silence that allows you to register his other hand fisting your towel just along the dip of your waist. He could pull it away if he wanted to. If you wanted him to. The truth of this matter stings your cheeks as you frown at him, unable to mask the pain he caused throughout the past few years. All that you buried for the sake of moving on is now erupting once again, manifesting into pure hatred. It’s hot, and it burns. You feel it everywhere, just as you feel his eyes tracing over you with an uncharacteristic desperation. He looks apologetic—you can see it in his expression—but he hasn’t said the words yet. You’re not sure if you would even accept them, which is probably the reason for their absence. Because you hate him. You hate him so much that you feel the need to prove it just so he can experience an ounce of what he put you through after leaving without a trace.

“I hate you,” you whisper, “And I’m not telling you anything.”

“Is it your parents?” He squeezes his fist around your towel, “Did they—”

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“You’re an idiot for coming here. So, you better have a good fucking reason—”

“How long have you known?” You interrupt, pushing your bound wrists into his chest as your eyes widen with your question, “When did you recognize me? Was it tonight?”

A subtle flicker of guilt shadows his expression, so you press harder. It’s not enough to hurt him, not even close, but he looks as if he’s in pain. Good, you think to yourself.

“Since the first day,” he eventually answers, “I thought I was imagining it when I saw you, but…I wasn’t. Clearly.”

“And you didn’t think to help me?” You breathe harshly, knowing he doesn’t owe you that support even though it would’ve been nice, “Did that just not cross your mind once? I can’t even count the number of times I’ve almost gotten killed here, and it’s only been two days. Two fucking days, and you’ve been acting like I don’t exist.”

His scowl deepens, reminding you of the time when such an expression used to upset you. Not anymore, though. There are much scarier things in here than him. He lets go of you just to grab both of your shoulders, meeting your eye level to ensure you’re hearing him loud and clear.

“What do you think I could’ve done?” He replies just as venomously, “Break the rules? For you?”

You betray your resolve when you flinch, but he keeps going. “You’re not even supposed to be here. But you are, and there’s nothing I can do about that. I have a job to do, and—”

“I don’t give a shit about your job. You think I want to be here?” You shove at his chest before fisting his jumpsuit and pulling him closer, “I’m stuck here because everyone else keeps insisting on one more game, but I’m the idiot, right? I’m trying to walk away even though I won’t have nearly as much as I need to survive out there. But you don’t care. You’re just an errand boy carrying a big gun as if that makes you half of the man you wish you were.”

His hands leave your shoulders to wrap around your forearms as they stay rested against his chest. “How much do you need?”

“Why?” You scoff, “Are you going to give me the money yourself?”

“Are you going to answer any of my questions?”

“Seeing as you’re not going to help me, no, not really—“

“I want to help you,” he brushes his thumb against your skin, and it feels warm despite the gloved barrier, “But you don’t understand the nature of this place. I don’t have a choice when it comes to the players.”

“You’re wrong, Fox. You do have a choice—you’re just not choosing me. That’s nothing new.”

He looks at you warily before sighing and shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to leave like that. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not.”

His hands slide back to your shoulders to pull you even closer. “I am.”

Your stomach dips when you realize how little distance is between your faces now, with your noses touching and your lips sharing the same breath. His eyes are on yours until they’re not, lowering inch by inch across your mouth. Then your neck. Then your chest, which is still rimmed with the towel that remains wrapped around your body. You wonder how long that will last. The urge to let go of him screams in the back of your mind as your fists tremble around the fabric of his uniform, but you’re frozen in the past. Right when you expect him to close the distance and kiss you—or for you to do that first—he repeats, “I am.” His voice is hushed but not quiet enough for you to miss its warmth. An irritated muscle jumps in your jaw because you don’t want that gentle apology—it’s a facade, transparent like ice. You’re angry, so you want anger.

“Fuck you,” you hiss before yanking him forward, colliding his lips with yours with all the anger you can muster. His posture stiffens in surprise for a second that’s gone as soon as his arms wrap around your body. One hand fists your hair while the other grabs your towel from the back, tugging but not drawing it away just yet. He meets you halfway in the kiss, forcing your lips to part wider under his so he can take your mouth deeper. The intensity sends a rush of energy through your chest to your stomach, pooling into an ache that heightens when you feel his tongue slide over yours. It’s all so familiar. Recognizing his every move is what grows your annoyance but also your desire.

So, you bite his bottom lip hard, smiling when he grunts into another kiss. Your mouths meet, this time rougher like a test of who’s in control. At this moment, it’s him as he grips your jaw with the hand that was in your hair just before, tilting your face the way he wants every time his lips open and close over yours. Your breath hitches when he slows down and sucks on your bottom lip before soothing your swollen flesh with his tongue. And when he kisses you again, it’s soft—not the way you want it. You push at his chest until his back is against the bathroom wall, neither of you caring about the harsh impact. He exhales a low, disapproving sound before shifting your body so that it’s you pinned to this cold surface now, desperately kissing him in proof of how much you really do hate him.

“Is this why you’re here?” You whisper against his lips, “To fuck me and then leave again?”

He shakes his head and kisses you harder, nearly shoving you into the wall with his entire weight. “I thought those fuckers might’ve hurt you.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” you squeeze his shoulders, “Just take what you came for and leave.”

He leans back just slightly so you can see his face with more clarity. Glaring at you, he replies, “What did I say about asking for favors?”

You glare back at him, well accustomed to his intolerable arrogance. “I think I’d be doing you the favor.”

“Yeah?” He scoffs, “I doubt that.”

Grabbing him by the chin, you pull his face closer so your lips are just barely grazing each other. He can definitely feel every word you reply instead of merely hearing them.

“Prove it, then.” Your tone is soft but taunting, pressing right where it hurts: his ego.

He narrows his dark and glassy eyes at you, but you can still catch a glimpse of your own reflection in them. Instead of seeing the man you were once blissfully in love with, you try to recognize him for who he is now: a merciless killer, also probably victim to his manipulated greed. There’s no room for any remorse for whatever situation might’ve brought him here, though. All you can think about are the players who have already lost their lives to those wearing the same uniform. Perhaps tomorrow, it’ll be you in front of his trigger. Whoever’s arms you’re in now can’t be considered the Fox you’ve tried to forget but failed. He’s not your Fox anymore. And if it’s that easy for him to turn a blind eye to your current situation just to follow orders, then maybe he never was.

He seems to notice the growing hatred in your expression, dropping his gaze from your face to look someplace else. Your lips part in surprise when his hands find the knot of your towel, pausing as he just holds onto it for a moment. He glances up at you with a question brewing beneath his silence, to which you also respond nonverbally. All it takes is your raised eyebrows that ask, “What are you waiting for?” for him to undo the knot and let the towel drop to the floor. It lands at your feet, hardly making a sound, but a sharp exhale escapes your lips once the cold bathroom air hits your skin. Goosebumps rise all over your body that his eyes rake over, shamelessly taking the image for himself.

“Don’t just stand there,” you huff as you reach forward with the intention of undressing him, too.

He ignores this and pushes your hands away before taking off his gloves—the second part of his uniform he’s shed tonight. His hands are still large but also slightly scarred now, which must be why they feel rougher when he grabs your hips and pulls you away from the wall. You don’t get very far because he’s quickly kissing you again, touching you everywhere he can reach as if he can’t decide where to keep his hands. He doesn’t settle anywhere, groaning quietly into your mouth the more he feels his way around your body. You can’t decide what’s the most undoing—his hand around your neck, squeezing your breasts, holding your torso, cupping your ass, or caressing your face. It’s all feverishly desperate, warming your cold skin as the time passes with every kiss exchanged.

“What are you doing—“ you gasp when he suddenly pulls away and drops to his knees.

If he responds, you don’t hear it. A breathy moan sounds from the back of your throat as he drops a kiss against your inner thigh before parting your legs wider with an impatient hand. Closing your eyes, you lean back against the wall and tilt your head back for a surface that might ground you to this quickly escalating moment. You moan again, this time louder and more startled when he sinks his teeth into your skin—dangerously close to where you’re wet and waiting for him.

“Look at me,” he demands, “Or I stop.”

Your eyes are still closed as you push your hips into his face, clearly ignoring his command on purpose. “Fuck you.”

“You will if you’re lucky.”

You laugh at this mockingly, taking his words from before. “I doubt that.”

His lips immediately find your clit as he sucks, just once. You gasp and arch your back, widening your eyes at the sudden sensation that tugs on the growing knot in your stomach. A pulse begins to beat at the center of your body, beginning with that slow and anticipatory rhythm you’re used to. You don’t even realize that you’ve obeyed his command to look at him until you catch his smirk that’s partially masked, given that his face is buried between your legs. But you can see the amused arrogance in his eyes—it’s sickeningly triumphant. He hasn’t even won anything yet. And you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of any prize. This proves more difficult than expected when his mouth meets your pussy again, not even pausing to tell you what to do. Your chest rises and falls at the bottom of your vision as you stare down at him, watching him taste you with every stroke of his tongue. Everything goes spotty once his fingers find your clit, rolling it slowly for more stimulation. You curse under your breath, unsurprised he knows exactly what to do because this dance is just as familiar to him as it is to you.

The knot in your lower stomach only tightens, threatening to snap the faster his tongue pushes and swirls in and out of you with your clit pulsing and swelling in size. You try to control it, desperately writhing against the wall while a series of gasps and moans trap themselves within these four walls. It’s a miracle if your neighbors next door haven’t figured out what’s going on by now. He seems to know you’re about to come when he squeezes your thigh with his free hand before smoothing a caress across this specific area. It’s coaxing you into the release you realize you can’t prevent no matter how hard you try. It’s also soothing, unlike his rough devouring that drops your mouth open in a struggling cry as your body jerks and trembles after this game you feel like you lost. He’s still licking and sucking on you through your orgasm, savoring your taste for as long as possible. You rest your head back against the wall and take a few heavy breaths of air, closing your eyes to avoid looking at anything—not just him. The sudden urge to be alone while also fearing loneliness overwhelms this aftermath like the conflicting forces of your emotions tonight.

His arms quickly find yours, holding you upright before you can begin to slide down the wall. Your knees would have buckled if he didn’t do this, but you don’t tell him that. Opening your eyes, you look up at him and wonder why his expression is so unreadable at the moment.

“Do you have a condom?” You mumble, swiping some hair out of your face.

He snickers under his breath at this while bending down to lift you up in his arms. You’re about to protest when you notice that he’s bringing you to your bed, which is clean of any blood from before like the rest of the room. He’s silent as he lays you down and stands over you, just watching you catch your breath as the two of you hold eye contact. It would have been eerie if not for the noticeable softening of his expression that hardens when you speak again.

“Guess you’re just all talk now,” you hum, shifting under the covers a bit to keep warm.

“I don’t have a condom,” he answers, “And I’m going to guess you got off the pill.”

“Says who? Maybe I’m seeing someone. It’s been years, you know.”

His eyebrows draw together for a fleeting second. “I know.”

Your stomach twists when you hear how quiet his response sounded. It’s not the volume that provokes this reaction, though—it’s the weakness. You don’t want to feel guilty or sympathetic, but old habits are hard to kick. A small part of you wonders if he’s missed you after all this time, too. If he’s thought about you—if the mere suggestion of you finding someone else bothers him because he still…

“You’re right. I’m not on the pill,” you admit, hoping he catches the implication of this.

He runs a hand over his jaw. “Honestly, that makes me feel worse.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You should’ve just moved on.”

The blunt honesty is expected, but you can’t help how your mouth snaps shut at this comment. A lump forms in your throat as you look away from him, already feeling the bubbling return of your anger.

“I tried,” you close your eyes and press your tongue to the roof of your mouth to stop any tears from escaping, “You don’t even know.”

“It wasn’t easy for me, either. It still isn’t.”

“Then why haven’t you left this place yet?”

“This is my job now. I swore my loyalty to the Captain.”

The answer sends a chill down your spine because of how recited it feels. Fox has always been the most conscientious person you know, but to think that he’d ignore all the wrongdoing occurring around here just to be a good employee is almost…terrifying. No, not almost. It is.

“You sound brainwashed,” you tell him while sitting up and staring at his dark figure that’s now rested on the edge of your bed.

He turns his head to meet your eyes, clearly taking offense to this observation. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Yeah, I don’t. I don’t understand how you can go through with this—how many people have you killed here?”

“Players choose to participate in the games. And players who lose get eliminated. It’s the rules.”

“So, tomorrow,” you say, “If I lose tomorrow’s game. You’d kill me?”

His expression hardly wavers at this question, so you don’t notice the flicker of pain that crosses his shadowed eyes. “That’s a hypothetical.”

You lean forward and jab your finger into his shoulder. “Answer it.”

“I don’t know,” he snaps, “But I know what I’m supposed to do. I know my orders.”

You press your lips together and shake your head, not even trying to argue about this. At this point, you’ve accepted he’s not going to help you going forward. It’s been everyone for themselves since you got here, so you hold onto some hope that you can keep going without anyone else. You’ve made it this far, after all. Still, his words from just before echo in your mind like a torturous reminder of the person he’s become now. I swore my loyalty to the Captain. Whoever the fuck that is.

“You were loyal to me,” you whisper, your voice breaking slightly, “And I was loyal to you. Wasn’t that enough?”

You know he hears the vulnerable sorrow in your tone because he lifts his head and stares at you so deeply that you’re scared he can see right through you. Trying to act like these games—this entire situation—doesn’t bother you isn’t easy, but it’s necessary to push forward. With him in the picture now, it’s hard to keep putting up this front even though you don’t want him to know just how badly he hurt you. And just how desperately you want to return to the old days when nothing was wrong, and everything was perfect. That’s all gone now.

“Forget it,” you inhale shakily, not even letting him form a response, “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about anything right now.”

“What do you want?” He asks sternly.

You shift closer, smiling even though the expression doesn’t meet your eyes. Cupping the side of his face with a trembling hand, you whisper, “I just want to forget about everything. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

He closes his eyes, no doubt feeling your fingers caress his cheek before trailing down his neck. “We shouldn’t…”

You lean forward and drop a kiss right below his jawline. “I know.”

He curses under his breath before yanking you closer by the waist. You think he’s about to say something, but no words form as your faces gravitate toward each other until there’s no more distance. The collision of the kiss is soft and slow this time around. When he lifts you into his lap, though, the pace of your lips intensifies and quickens with breathy sighs that sound from both of you. Your hands find his face, squeezing a bit when his arms ravel around your body like he’s trying to seal this embrace into permanence. But everything about this moment is temporary. Both of you know this, which is why neither of you speaks. His increasingly heavy breathing is all you can hear over your soft gasps as he lays you back down on the bed before standing to undress himself. You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch each piece of his uniform fall away. That’s more like it, you think to yourself.

“You can still back out, you know,” he tells you as he pulls his undershirt over his head, “You should.”

“Would it kill you to stop telling me what to do for once?”

He tilts his head to the side a bit and smirks before pulling you toward the end of the bed by your ankles. “It might.”

You watch him reach for the waistband of his underwear while trying to ignore the sight of his broad shoulders silhouetted in the dark lighting of this room. Among all the things that have changed since you last saw him, you can certainly say his physique is one of them. Not that he’s never looked like this before, though. Before you can satisfy your urge to reach forward and touch him, starting with the hard plane of his chest before moving lower to his narrowing torso, you lift your hand to pause this moment. It’s not a good idea to be looking at him if you’re really going through with this.

“Wait,” you say before turning your body over so that you’re facing away from him on all fours.

You glance at him over your shoulder when his hands find your hips, curious as to why he looks more irritated all of a sudden. From the squeezing pressure of his grip, you suspect he’s about to turn you over, so you shake your head.

“Fuck me like this,” you tell him, “And pull out before you come.”

He briefly narrows his eyes at you. “When’d you become so bossy?”

Rolling your eyes, you face forward again to stare at the wall. “Shouldn’t be too difficult. You’re good at following orders.”

You hear an exhale and some rustling in the background before feeling his hands return to your hips, also palming your ass a bit from the size. You’re pulled toward him just a bit more, so slowly that you grit your teeth in anticipation of his next move. Arching your back, you press your face into the mattress until one of his hands fists your hair, and that’s when you know he wants to hear you like the smug bastard he is. All that escapes your lips is a startled, “Fuck,” before he suddenly slams into you from behind. There’s no warning, no patience. No inch-by-inch slowness that relaxes and stretches you out sweetly. You see stars as he buries his length inside of you all the way, unable to hear yourself moan loudly over the abrupt sensation. He’s thick and throbbing, just like you remember, but you hardly have the time to ruminate over what’s stayed the same. He doesn’t let you collect your thoughts, quickly sliding out of your wet folds just to push back in even harder than the first time. You gasp as he fucks you angrily, and the sound is sharp, unlike the sloppy noises that come from the joining and releasing of your bodies. It’s filthy and disrespectful, animated by the bed frame that’s banging against the wall with each thrust.

“Make it hurt,” you whimper, “Make it hurt, Fox.”

He sucks his teeth and groans, fisting your hair tighter as he doesn’t slow nor speed up. “I’ll fuck you how I want.”

You laugh through a breathy moan and steal a glare at him over your shoulder. “You’re hardly fucking me at all.”

“Yeah?” He pushes your face into the mattress right when he begins to pick up the pace, “What about now? Am I fucking you now?”

You fist the bedsheet as you muffle your cries in the thin fabric that hardly keeps you warm every night. Any control or precision he might’ve been displaying before is now gone. He’s completely lost in your grasp even though he’s the one driving you into the bed with every rough snap of his hips. Your skin collides loudly, leaving both of you raw and sensitive like your pulsing center that’s soaking his length so embarrassingly desperate. You’re so wet for him that there’s barely any resistance as he slips into you swiftly, hitting you deeper and wider the further you collapse with your ass in the air and your legs spread apart. His taunting question is now forgotten but definitely answered through the incoherent mess of your moans and curses, no doubt another win in his books. But feeling him inside of you like this can’t be considered a loss for you, either. You almost forget that you’re now on opposing sides.

“Close,” you moan, turning your face to the side so he can hear you, “I’m close, Fox.”

Your eyes crack open just in time for you to see him clench his jaw. A split second of decision-making crosses his expression before he pulls out of you completely and turns you over. About to protest and shift back to your original position, you gasp when he pins your arms down on either side of your head with his rough hands and leans over you. His stare is molten like his touch, both of which you can’t ignore. He enters you again just as his forehead comes down on yours in expectance of a kiss, but neither of you closes the distance. Your lips simply brush over each other with heavy pants that make it difficult for you to hold his eye contact. For some reason, though, you can’t look away. It almost doesn't occur to you that he’s changed his pacing despite your impending orgasm, slowing down when you’d rather he speed up.

“You don’t,” you gasp, “Fucking listen to me. Ever.”

His responding chuckle is ragged as he dips his head to suck on your neck. You instinctively tilt your face away to give him more access, closing your eyes as his mouth ravishes your sweet spot just above your collarbone. He grunts into your skin when your legs lock around his waist, hiking higher and higher to fold your bodies closer. This low sound only grows louder when you squeeze around him, almost pulling him inside of you every time you feel him pulse against your walls.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your neck before lifting his face to be directly over yours again, “I’m sorry.”

You lean forward to take his bottom lip between your teeth. “Are you?”

“Yes,” he breathes, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t care,” you reply before kissing him. He moans and parts his lips over yours, not saying anything further. There’s no more conversation as his slow fucking returns to its normal, faster state that leaves you struggling to kiss him back through the whines and cries he swallows for himself. You arch your back when you feel the tightening knot return, now pulsing wildly in anticipation of your second orgasm for the night. He comes soon after you, pulling out as his cock jerks and releases over your stomach. It’s warm and wet like the last kiss he drops to your mouth once you’re both finished. His lips linger against yours almost innocently, without tongue or any harsh movements that implicate a step further. Your eyes flutter shut as his hands leave your forearms to cup your face, sealing this kiss into his final attempt at apologizing. You don’t say you forgive him, but you do wrap your arms around his neck now that they’re free of his grip.

But when it’s over, the room turns cold again. He pulls back, heaving a few breaths before stalking toward the bathroom where you hear him take your clothes out of the sink. He’s in there for some time, probably handling your forgotten mess, all while you simply stare up at the ceiling not thinking about anything in particular. You know you should probably clean yourself up, but that expectation is solved when he returns with a towel. He pushes your hand away when you try to grab it from him, wiping the sore flesh between your legs before your stomach.

“I’m surprised this shitty thing is still standing,” you remark when he stands again, pushing at the creaky bed frame.

“Are you disappointed?” He asks, taking his underwear from the floor to put it back on.

“No,” you yawn, “I’m tired.”

“You have a long day tomorrow.”

You ignore this, just as you ignore his presence for the next few minutes to use the bathroom and finish cleaning yourself up. There’s not much to wear, given your sopping clothes that Fox seemed to have hung to dry in your tiny shower. Staring at the wet fabric, you feel sick when you see that some blood still hasn’t come off, making your efforts useless. Once you step back into your bedroom area in nothing but your satisfactorily dried underwear, you notice that he’s not completely dressed yet. You look at his gun, which is still leaning against the wall beside him, and you remember all that occurred before he turned your night upside down.

“Will there be more fighting tonight?” You bring up casually so as not to appear scared, “Like the guys from before, I mean.”

He reaches for the outer layer of his uniform while replying, “I don’t know. We’re not supposed to prevent them from happening.”

“But you interfered,” you remember aloud, “That was you, right?”

No answer.

“Fox.”

“Does it matter?” He snaps, “You’re alive. Just keep it that way for as long as possible.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand as he crosses the room with his mask in one hand and his firearm slung around his shoulder. He looks so different all of a sudden, but he doesn’t feel different anymore. You swallow the lump in your throat and approach him cautiously, reaching for his free hand. He lets you hold it, but he doesn’t look pleased when he meets your eyes. That doesn’t faze you, though. He never looks pleased.

“I might not have many options left,” you tell him quietly, “But you always have a choice. Please don’t forget that.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“What about you?”

A half-hearted smile ghosts his expression before he pulls his mask over his head. Then, the final piece that covers his entire face with that lone triangle. When he speaks again, it’s through the unmistakable modulator that sends goosebumps across your bare skin. But you’re not afraid of him.

“Don’t worry about me,” he answers, “You’ll only waste your breath.”

With that, he drops your hand and leaves your room. You hear the definitive click of a lock before the doorknob rattles like a test of whether or not someone can still enter. When the door remains closed, his footsteps depart into the distant hallway as quietly as they came. All is silent now, including your mind which is devoid of any knowledge of what tomorrow is going to look like for you. So, you sleep on your fears until morning, which is only a few hours away. The classical music that’s woken you up throughout your stay here thus far plays in every room once the clock reaches the hour of your destiny. Rubbing your eyes and pushing your covers away from your body, you catch sight of something at your entrance just resting on the floor. It’s a fresh set of your uniform—Player 066—folded neatly without any blood stains. But that’s not the most surprising part about this gift. A small piece of paper rests on top of the clothes, also folded until you spread it open in your palm. Only one word is written, so only one word is read.

Mingle.

[mcivercomix]

Tw, I mention rape and sexual assault / harassment and suicide in this response

I really wasn't expecting a reply, and I certainly didn't think it would be respectful as it is, thank you for that.

Most certainly there is misogyny, homophobia, and racism amongst trans people. But I don't think it in any way shows that trans women aren't women at all.

Just as trans women can be misogynistic, so too can cis women. Because again like you said, it's all encompassing. Everyone is taught to be misogynistic. There are women who advocate advocate against abortion and birth control of any kind. There are women who teach their daughters to be passive and to ignore male violence. Yet they're all still women.

You say trans women want to use female only spaces as to feel validated, and while I can't speak for every trans woman on the planet, I can say that for myself and pretty much every trans woman I know, the reason we'd use something like the women's restroom is because we're worried about getting assaulted in the men's.

All the trans men I know also prefer the women's restroom for this very reason. We don't have spaces where we can go that are deemed appropriate. Gender neutral spaces exist but certainly not in most places, at least near me.

It's not about our feelings, it's about safety.

You linked an article about desexed language and for the most part that language is for trans men. Men who often still have their breasts, uterus's, and may or may not be on hormones. They're the group of people being included with language like "pregnant people" and what not. I'm really arguing in support of desexed language, I couldn't read the article you linked actually because of a paywall but I found this and I think this section is a pretty good objection to it.

Like most things I think it depends on context. The hemoglobin level in my body is in the range of cis womens, and HRT has done everything from redistribute my fat to change the amount of oil produced by my skin. My medical needs are more complex than "male" or "female". Still, I'm not fully disagreeing with you on this point and I'll be sure to read Invisible Women.

When it comes to your claim that trans women call all lesbians who don't want to sleep with them transphobic... I'm really sorry but it sounds like you're fighting a strawman.

I don't know anyone with that mindset, and while I'm not saying it doesn't exist (I have seen it one or two times online) I am saying that it's ridiculous to act like most trans women think like that.

I don't care who you do and don't find attractive! Any serious person doesn't either. I'm not a lesbian, I won't speak about what's happening in lesbian spaces but is the presence of trans lesbians really that detrimental? We're not some huge percentage of the population. And most trans lesbians I know are exclusively in t4t (trans for trans) relationships.

I did grow up male, and I have no problem saying I was socialized as one. But do you really think that If a man came up to me and started sexually harassing me, he'd start treating me like a man if I told him I was actually trans?

The answer is he won't, I've been in that exact situation. Luckily we were alone so he just ignored it and kept harassing me, trying to get me to do things I don't wanna repeat. If there were other men around though I might've gotten my ass beaten or killed.

That's because of male socialization. Young boys are socialized to see women as some sort of prize and not as people. They seek to segregate themselves from women altogether, only interacting when receiving their "prize".

In these boys only congregations though they still seek blood, and constantly ridicule, exclude, and sexually harrass/assault any other boys they deem as too feminine or gay.

This is what it was like for me growing up.

I remember attempting to perform some hyper masculine persona for like a year in middle school but it didn't work. I eventually started to spend more of my time with girls which the other boys did not let go unpunished.

In highschool I wore a dress to school one day. I didn't pass at all, anyone looking at me would've thought I was a boy. But in the middle of some math class a boy I knew began to rub his foot up and down my legs, and just laughed when I told him to stop, moving his foot higher up to my thighs. I remember him telling me it was because of what I was wearing before almost kicking me in the crotch.

Men do this to keep other men in line, it's how they're socialized. Every trans woman knows this, every trans woman goes through this. Men look at us like they do cis women. Some of them only support us because they desire our bodies, others who either don't find trans women attractive, or do but are ashamed of it attempt to paint us as hideous hardly human monsters in order to dehumanize us.

When trans women are forced into male spaces, especially prisons, they are subject to this playground mentality times a thousand. Trans women in male prisons are raped every single day, in locker rooms and bathrooms they're often harassed if not assaulted.

I can't force society to see me or other trans people in the way we want to be seen. That's why we transition, because we want to be seen as women or as men and people won't accept that unless we completely change everything about ourselves. So when you see us advocating for stuff like this, please know it's about our safety.

This is the biggest thing that confuses me, and really just makes me sad. I've seen Terfs and Radicals Femisists reply to articles about this with laughter and mockery. If I didn't look at the profiles, I wouldn't have been able to tell them apart from the men. How can women who advocate for female liberation, who speak out against the exact same issues I also face, find the suffering of people like me amusing?

You mentioned stuff like terfbre@king, of course I think that's disgusting. I've never heard of it until now, and honestly yeah that might speak to a problem of trans people not calling gross shit like that out in our communities. But I've seen people with your exact mentality celebrate sexual violence against people like me. In fact, I've seen them deny that it's even possible for any not born a girl to experience sexual violence.

How is that not apart of rape culture? How are people like that any different from men?

I'm not trying to say you're like this btw. I hope it doesn't come off like that.

I simply don't think of gender like you do. I think people just make assumptions about people based on physical characteristics and social behaviors to determine someones gender. Both man and woman are social roles we've created, vaguely defined. It's like asking me to define a chair.

I can't give you a concrete definition of what a woman is, or what a man is. The best I can do is gesture vaguely at a handful of things we associate with each and yes, you're 100% correct to call out some of those as misogynistic stereotypes. Man and woman, it's a creation of culture. We force people into these roles, I've read countless stories by intersex people who say how surgery was done to their genitalia in order to put them into one of these boxes, irregardless of whether or said genitalia presented a problem for the child.

As for what separates someone like me from a feminine man, it's that I live as a woman. A feminine man might be treated exactly like me, or he may be treated entirely differently. I will say, one exception to the playground mentality I talked about earlier is performing femininity to mock it. When boys jokingly shove tennis balls down their shirt to look like breasts or talk in a overly exaggerated high pitched "girl voice". Sometimes a bunch of these dudes get together and build a whole culture out of it, and yeah it's really annoying and upsetting.

However it doesn't matter if he's a normal dude™ or some racist misogynistic femboy from the depths of 4-chan. He's a man if he thinks of himself as a man. Just as I'm probably a man to you. Ones gender is the role we assign to ourselves and others, typically based off appearance.

Lots of trans women will tell you the whole "I was always a girl" line, and that's really just a line to say to cis people. But myself and a lot of the trans women I know explain it as "we wanted to be girls, and then became women". Sometimes I look in the mirror and see a man, sometimes I don't know what I see, but most of the time these days I see a delightful young woman who I don't hate. Probably the best perk of transitioning is being able to look at mirrors.

I'm not just saying that trans women also experience a lot of the issues cis women do under a patriarchal society. I'm saying all trans people experience it.

Trans men and some non-binary people grow up as women, and those actively transitioning might not (and might not want to) fully pass in order to be viewed as "real men".

I just don't think gender works like some immovable switch. I think we're meant to get a little silly with it, experiment, and find what makes us comfortable. And it's so fun looking at all the weird shit trans people do!

Trans men who still identify as lesbians

Trans women who still identify as gay men

People with xeno-pronouns (I don't even understand these but they're so interesting from a linguistic perspective).

All the crazy shit non-binary people do.

And Im sure you're frowning with disapproval reading this, lots of trans people might be too. But imagine a world where that's all perfectly ok, a world where gender doesn't really matter all that much and people have the freedom to move between them as they please. In this fictional society, a patriarchy couldn't exist, because it requires control.

I do understand your counter to this, that a society where gender is no longer completely determined at birth would opt instead to control whatever class of people could give birth. And that's a very genuine thing to worry about. However trans rights are largely an issue of ones bodily autonomy, just as woman's rights are. It's why trans people align themselves with cis feminists and why they often align with us. I think your reasons make sense in vacuum, but I think the reality truly is that we truly do just have the same problems, the same enemies.

Sure, I doubt this society will ever exist on this planet, and if it does it certainly won't exist within my lifetime. But neither will the fictional female only society plenty of Radical Femisists strive for, and both of them will be filled with countless other problems.

I hope I'm not misunderstanding the Radical Femisist idea of this too much. I am still a little fuzzy on the topic, hence my general interest in it. I'm really sorry for how long this response is, I didn't intend it to be 😭😭😭

If you read this all (won't blame you if you didn't) thank you very much.

I go into a lot of detail because I'm worried about not explaining myself properly, so I'm sorry if it seemed like I'm talking down to you at any point in this. Not my intent at all.

Thank you for typing out your response too. Most of it didn't change how I feel but the bit about language did interest me and have me question a few of the beliefs I already had since it's not really a thing I think about alot. Your citing of sources is also very much appreciated.

lately i've been doing a lot of thinking about why women are the main supporters of transgenderism, and i think i've boiled it down to three main elements

1. women are socialised to be more accommodating and accepting of uncomfortable situations than men are. this has been discussed at length in the radical feminist tradition and the gender critical movement, but it bears reiterating. women are taught from early childhood to disbelieve their feelings of fear, anger and humiliation for the benefit of men.

2. i'd argue that the description of physical dysphoria is one that almost all women empathise with, because of how alienated women are from their bodies by society, in a way most men are not. even women who would say they are comfortable with their bodies have complicated feelings about having a female body in our society, even if they don't have the framework to express it. therefore, when women are confronted with men who make claims about sex dysphoria, they relate and empathise and some can draw conclusions that this distress aligns them with femaleness (i would argue that all women experience sex dysphoria in a misogynist society like ours but i digress). i think there many women also find solace in the idea that someone else could possibly have their physical distress alleviated and want to believe it is possible to find a solution to it.

In other words, “The body has been made so problematic for women that it has often seemed easier to shrug it off and travel as a disembodied spirit.” - Adrienne Rich

3. women want to believe that male oppression and men aren't really that bad. to comprehend the scale of women's oppression, and to fully understand that the men you know and love are as complicit in it as any other, feels like balancing on the brink of madness. women are desperate for evidence that things aren't as bad as they suspect.

Andrea Dworkin says it best: “Many women, I think, resist feminism because it is an agony to be fully conscious of the brutal misogyny which permeates culture, society, and all personal relationships.”

that is part of the allure of the trans movement for these women in denial. breaking down the categories of male and female, and denying the social dynamics therein, means they don't have to grapple with the ugliness of misogyny.

anyone else have thoughts on this? i'd be keen to hear if others on radblr think

[sleepingdogs]

ever since I started playing timelines I can't stop thinking about sisko and t'pol interacting (bc they are both at the top of my list on my crew).

like, somehow t'pol is on ds9 to help the federation and she meets sisko. I don't really have a headcanon on how that works lol but I love to think about how sisko would react to her. based on how he acted on the pilot with kira (y'know, respecting her and her anger bc he knew what she's gone through) I think he would really respect t'pol and wouldn't try to make her act like a human. but he's also so warm and kind, and he likes baseball and cooking so much that t'pol would find him illogical! but not in an overwhelming way, so she would eventually get used to it and grow to respect him as well.

and sisko would absolutely call her out when she starts being judgmental about humans and how bad we are, but never in a mean way

idk I just really like the idea of these two interacting, and I think it would be super interesting!

[profoundbondfanfic]

Bold Will Hold

Bold Will Hold by DarcyDelaney (@darcydelaney) Rating: Mature Word Count: 74k

All Dean Winchester wants is to open his own tattoo shop, which is why he signs up for Tattoo Gods, a tattooing reality show with a $100,000 grand prize. He also wants to avoid making an ass of himself on national TV, and he definitely wants to avoid falling for Cas Novak, another artist who’s not only his direct competitor, but someone he’s had an unspoken rivalry with since before he started apprenticing, and is just as ridiculously talented as he is stunning (and, as Dean comes to find out, kind and funny and passionate and sincere). Is that too much to ask? Apparently, yes. Yes, it is.

Dean Winchester, tattoo artist? Yes, please, sign me up immediately. Bold Will Hold does not hesitate to deliver. I could only think of one word as I was reading this fic, and that is immersive. Even if you don’t know much about tattooing, it doesn’t matter, This fic is written so well, you don’t need to spend any time in a tattoo shop to get a feel for the dynamic of one, and all the thought process that goes into working in one too. Dean is an artist in this fic, more than anything, and it's not a trope we get enough of in this fandom. 

This fic centers around Dean’s journey as an artist, in the pursuit of following his dream of owning his own shop and being the best tattoo artist he can be in the process. Despite his faltering confidence, Dean applies and earns a spot to contend on a tattoo reality show, the winner of which takes home one hundred grand, an amount of money that would more than help make his dreams a reality. 

He isn’t expecting Cas to show up in his life (again) and become his closest competitor. He certainly isn’t expecting their rivalry to turn into anything more. As the story progresses, we get a wonderful look at both of our favorites as they begin to drop their walls, and figure out that first impressions don’t always have to define a relationship. 

One of my favorite things about this fic is the great supporting cast, each glimpse of our favorites well written and in character and enriching the story with every interaction. This fic also handles the reality show aspect really well, which isn’t always easy to do. Overall, it's a great read, with incredible descriptions of art and ink, and another great depiction of our two favorite guys falling in love.

[mukamibabe]

What do u think karlheinz 3 wives or just cordelia would react to karl falling inlove with a guy?

Srry fot another request, im just rlly down bad for him

uhhh . ok. am i officially back? not uhh,, not really but all i know is: i can answer this one. whether i answer more, i have no idea- my amount of free time has run thin but i do know that i could do this pretty quickly. therefore! here you go!

no warnings other than.. the diamoms are.. the diamoms. they're not angels,, and uh cordelia is especially awful. that being said, tread carefully? i still never know how to warn about any works regarding this series bc.. it’s dark?? lol dl is it’s own warning.

cordelia is in complete denial. i mean, she can hardly believe karl loves anyone but her, and i highly doubt she took the news lightly. i also imagine her having a slight suspicion, because lets just say karl isn't exactly shy when it comes to spending time with his newfound love. sure, it might not be like.. extreme pda, but .. cordelia knows. she claims she does, at least. she thinks she knows this man to his very core, as he knows her. also, there's just.. something about the look in karl's eyes that makes her feel a sort of betrayal.

she keeps this info to herself for a while, but if anyone were to look closely, it won't be hard to realize that cordelia's being especially clingy as of late. it already hurts her pride enough, knowing that karlheinz has two other wives. but, for her beloved karl to be interested in a guy?? it's not something she could have even imagined, and it irks her more than anything. especially if karl's interested in a very .. 'plain' looking person. which is kind of hard anyways because cordelia has ridiculously high standards. will that stop her from trying to seduce them, though? definitely not.

cordelia will .. 99% at least attempt to sway the heart of both karlheinz (as per usual) and karl's love interest. and, if the seduction thing doesn't work on him? she'll make sure everyone in this messy situation is miserable. if she can't be happy with karl, no one else can be.

beatrix is shocked, but you will hear and see none of it. stone faced as always, no matter how she finds out of the news, she won't respond in anyways. deep down, i genuinely think she would be unbothered. in fact, she almost admires both karlheinz and his lover- it's a bold move. especially when there's so much... baggage involved. and by that, i mean : cordelia, christa + karl's millions of kids.

she's not supportive, nor is she against it. beatrix has always been one to stick to herself, and i highly doubt her and karl's new love interest will interact often, or at all, period, but truthfully, she wishes his new lover luck. she won't get in their way, but she knows there are others who will.

also i still.. i still feel that energy from her. who's to say she doesn't have a secret lady lover??? hm??

christa's heartbroken, but she would be no matter who karlheinz got with. she's .. going through a lot. like, a ton. it was hard for her to accept the fact that he had previous wives, but, with karl’s reassurance that she’s his true love, everything is okay. christa trusts karlheinz, at least, on some days, so .. there’s no way he could love anyone but her. i imagine christa being the last to find out, for some reason. i mean, i guess it makes sense because she’s kind of isolated and like.. locked away most of the time but.. idk. there’s also a part of her that literally will not process it. ..it makes her mental state in an entirely worse state than it was already, for multiple reasons. first, karl lied to her. did he? she is the one he loves the most, so why..?? ?why is she hearing all this stuff about him having a new lover?? with a guy, at that, too.. she’s in denial for the longest time but it’s also because she genuinely doesn’t believe it. hell, she doesn’t even know if she’s just hearing lies or not- even if she saw physical proof, i feel like she’d think she was hallucinating or something. 

once she’s past all of that, she shuts herself off. she’s completely heartbroken. empty. there was a part of her deep down that felt like karl never truly loved her, but at least she knew she was the favorite wife - again, as per karl’s reassurance.

honestly, if she were in a better mental state, i can see her genuinely worried for this guy. she loves karl, or at least harbors some sort of true feeling towards him, and her pity for his new lover isn’t out of hatred, it’s an actual concern. as much as she loves her husband, christa is very well aware that he’s never up to any good, and there is a part of her, deep down, that would feel bad for his new partner.

[lady-literature]

Found Family

holy shit did this one get way out of hand. Don’t expect them all to be this long because hot damn this is a monster compared to literally everything else but it just wouldn’t stop

(should I have expected this? probably. we all know how I am about found family.)

anyway enjoy 4.5k words ig

based on this post | @maribatmarch-2k21 | find more here

***

When Marinette had been chosen to intern with Monsieur Wayne’s PA, she hadn’t been expecting anything special. Sure, the Waynes were an odd breed and generally considered strange, but Marinette hadn’t actually expected to have much contact with them—if any at all.

She was here to earn credit for her business degree.

Instead, she has… well. She thinks she’s been somehow inducted into the Wayne family, mostly on accident and kind of as a joke.

That is, until it very much wasn’t.

***

Her first mistake, she supposes, was being too good at her job.

Marinette is an old hand at keeping track of multiple moving parts and riding herd on stubborn people who’d otherwise be too distracted or goofing off. (She was the Court’s leader for more than just being the latest in a long line of Ladybugs, after all.)

After the first two days shadowing Selina—“please, darling. Ms Kyle is so formal”—and learning the broad strokes of the job, Marinette felt confident enough to dig her nails in and get to work. Selina spent most of her time dedicated to international tasks and arranging Monsieur Waynes’ private affairs—all of which was highly classified and not discussed with Marinette—so she turned her attention to inter-company affairs.

Her first order of business was personally meeting with as many people in managerial positions as she could get. Not a requirement for the job per se, but these were people she’d have to interact with often and Maman had always stressed the importance of building connections in the workplace.

“People,” she would say, “are far more willing to do what you want them to when you’ve endeared yourself to them.”

So Marinette takes that advice and spends her breaks and lunches charming employees and giving baked goods to security guards and learning the names of the cleaning crew. She doesn’t speak to the department heads, because Selina handles their correspondences, but everyone else is free game as far as she’s concerned.

She becomes a well-recognized face astoundingly quickly.

***

Marinette probably should’ve seen the rumors coming.

It’s common practice in not only the Wayne family, but in most business conglomerates, for the children to quickly rise through the ranks of their company—if not just handed a high position right off the bat.

It took barely a month before the eldest was all but running Human Resources, and the second was placed as Head of Security practically out of nowhere. Monsieur Drake is the youngest (and most terrifyingly calculated) CEO to ever hold Wayne Enterprises, even if he does share the title with his father.

The other three are still too young or have yet to express an interest in the company, but people say it’s only a matter of time.

The track record speaks for itself, even if Marinette wishes it didn’t.

As a girl who’d come mostly out of nowhere and found herself with far more divisive sway in the company than she had any right to, it’s no wonder everyone thinks she’s some sort of secret Wayne finally coming out of hiding.

Marinette had nearly choked on her coffee when Selina dropped the bomb of that particular tidbit of company gossip.

“Most think you’ve been unofficially adopted,” Selina tells her, looking far too amused for Marinette’s liking. “Seeing as you’re too old for official avenues now.”

Marinette looks up warily from the schedule she’s rearranging. Selina had all but shoved the thing at her a month ago when she started suggesting more efficient ways of managing the CEOs’ valuable time.

“Only most? Does that mean the rest have common sense?”

Selina’s grin widens even further, if that’s possible, and Marinette regrets her question even before the older woman starts speaking.

“Oh, of course not!” she laughs delightedly. “The rest are hoping to hear news of wedding bells. It’s high time someone swept a Wayne off the market, don’t you think?”

***

“So you’re the new little sister I keep hearing about.”

Marinette stares up through narrowed eyes at the brightly smiling Dick Grayson. In her stomach, there are already the beginnings of resignation starting to form. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you!”

This man is going to bring her nothing but trouble. She can tell.

***

Dick takes a liking to her. And she, against her better judgment, finds herself doing the same to him.

It’s a little hard not to, if she’s being honest. He’s bright and bubbly and brings her bagels during his morning break without her ever having asked.

It takes practically no time at all before Marinette considers him a friend, relaxing when he’s near and laughing openly at his ridiculous jokes. Despite being the head of HR, he’s not great at the whole ‘professional’ thing and often employees will walk by to find him draped across a chair or balancing precariously on the edge of her desk while she tries and fails to get some work done while he’s around.

It really doesn't help all of the ‘Marinette is a Wayne’ rumors running around. Especially when Dick starts pointedly calling her every variation of ‘little sister’ that he can think of just to annoy her (and, she knows, because he thinks the entire situation hilarious).

***

Three weeks after befriending Dick, Selina all but shoves her into Monsieur Drake’s office and, in no uncertain words, says, “He’s your problem now.”

Marinette blinks at what she can describe as nothing other than a disaster area and just… sighs.

Tim blinks back at her.

The motion is somehow both completely blank and filled with an uncomfortable amount of knowing at the same time. There is also, she notices, a frankly ludicrous amount of concealer caked beneath his eyes and more coffee cups scattered on every flat surface than Marinette has ever seen in her life.

She knows his schedule like the back of her hand seeing as she spends hours of her day pouring over it to make sure everything runs smoothly. He has no prior engagements for the next three hours.

“You’re not going to take a nap just because I ask, are you?”

He snorts. “Absolutely not.”

She nods, having expected the answer; her phone was already at her ear before he even finished speaking. “Hey, Dick!” she greets, sounding brighter than she feels at the moment, and watches as Tim stiffens in front of her. “Yeah, no. I was just wondering if you’re busy right now.” She pauses. “Oh, good! Can you come up to Tim’s office for me? Yeah, I need you to knock him out so I can fix his dumpster fire of an office.”

Tim has since started waving his hands frantically at her, panic setting in behind his eyes.

Marinette stares at him, unmoved. “Thanks, Dick! You’re the best!”

The silence after she hangs up is deafening.

“I don’t know if I should be impressed by the ease you’re manipulating me or pissed off that you’re doing it in the first place.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Does your decision have any bearing on my future employment?”

His eyes squint. “…No.”

Marinette shrugs, mind already whirling with what she’ll need to get done first and calculating how long she’ll likely have to get it done. “Then I think you should skip right over both of those and land on resignation as quickly as possible, Monsieur, because you’re going to have to get used to it regardless.”

It’s silent for a long moment, and she worries for just a second that she’s severely crossed some sort of line. Then Tim bursts out laughing instead of, you know, firing her like he probably should have.

“Oh, yeah. You’re going to fit right in here.”

Marinette doesn’t ask where the ‘here’ is. She’s pretty sure she already knows.

***

It takes ten days for Marinette to wrangle Tim’s life into something resembling order. His office is clean and organized to his liking. She’s developed a system of filing so that all paperwork goes through her and is quickly sorted into ‘can be handled by Marinette’, ‘forge his signature and tell him about it later’, and ‘actually important enough to have Tim read through’.

His schedule is the most efficient it’s ever been and Marinette is quickly honing the skill of getting him properly dressed and out of his office in under thirty minutes. (Dick is, thankfully, a great teacher and has little to no qualms about giving her the key to all his little brother’s weaknesses.)

Selina stares at her when Marinette all but drags Tim from his office, a folder tucked neatly under his arm and the sugary monstrosity of a caffeinated beverage she’s bribed him with in her own, with a whole ten minutes to spare before his meeting with the Board.

“My dear,” she says solemnly, “you are positively magic.”

She doesn’t even look up from where she’s simultaneously wrangling Tim’s hair into submission and laying his tie down flat. “You have no idea.”

***

She knows Tim is capable of professionality. She’s seen the cool facade he pulls up in front of the Board members and the kind but impersonal smile he uses on the employees of Wayne Enterprises. (He is not the Ice Prince of the Wayne family, but Marinette believes he should have some equally ruthless sounding title.) He is aloof and sharp and every inch the businessman people praise him to be.

She’s seen it. And yet… 

“Monsieur. Why are all the Lexcorp contracts I gave you done in crayon?”

Tim doesn’t stop messing with his Rubix cube or even look up at her when he says, “Cause deadbeat fathers don’t deserve the respect of a pen.”

Marinette is very tired. She does not have time for this. “What are you talking about?”

“Lex is a bitchass absentee dad and I live to inconvenience him.”

“What about inconveniencing me?” she all but whines. “I can’t hand him these!”

That does make Tim look up at her, eyes wide with false innocence and mouth pouting up at her. “But sister dearest, I’m your little brother. It’s my job to inconvenience you.”

Growling in frustration is probably an inappropriate reaction to the situation.

But, Marinette thinks, so is the fact that both of the Waynes she associates with regularly seem hellbent on convincing the world that she too, is a Wayne, so.

(Is this how Alya felt dealing with the twins? Cause if so, Marinette takes back every joke she ever made—little siblings are a bitch.)

***

She meets Damian without warning.

Honestly, she never really expected to meet him at all but, well.

She finds him in Monsieur Wayne’s office, sitting at his father’s desk and doing something that she thinks is vaguely illegal, but she’s not about to tell her Boss a dozen times over how to parent his children.

Damian is a near-perfect copy of his father with darker skin and calculating green eyes. There’s also a more potent aura of danger around the child than there is around his father, like Damian hasn’t yet learned how to hide behind his public persona as his father had.

Or, Marinette looks at the teen thoughtfully, perhaps he just chooses not to.

“Monsieur Wayne,” she greets. Children like to be treated like adults, she knows, and Marinette doesn’t think this one is any different. “Selina hadn’t told me you’d be in the office today.”

“I don’t run my schedule by her,” he says flatly. A response she expected considering Dick’s stories.

“Of course not,” she agrees.

He finally deigns to look up at her and something flits across his expression, too fast for her to pick up on it. “Are those for Father? Bring them here, I’ll deal with them in his absence.”

Marinette raises her eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s wise Monsieur.”

Damian scowls and sticks his hand out. “I’m perfectly capable of forging Father’s signature. Give them here.”

She does not move and, instead, lets her lips quirk up into the smile she’s been fighting since she stepped in here.

“I don’t doubt it,” she tells him, and she doesn't. Forgery seems exactly like the kind of skill a child who broke into the CEO’s office of a multi-billion dollar company would have. “But you’ll find that all forging of signatures has been finished for the day and that these,” she shakes the sheaf of papers lightly, “actually require your father’s attention.”

He snorts disbelievingly and it says a lot about Marinette’s life up until now that the blatant display of disrespect doesn’t piss her off but instead reminds her of Chloé and of the fact that she still needs to reschedule their spa day. It's been too long since they spent time together in person.

“Well,” she pauses and eyes the papers thoughtfully. “‘Requires’ in the sense that its information needed to trounce the Board when they start spouting off greedy bullshit about cutting corners on our humanitarian efforts. I’m not sure how much of it is actually useful for anything besides that.” She shrugs. “But homework is homework, yes?”

That gets her a thoughtful once-over. His hand lowers and he then turns back to whatever he’s messing with on his father’s computers.

“Very well,” he concedes. “Father will be back in approximately thirteen minutes. You can leave the papers and I’ll inform him of their… importance.” He smirks, but it’s more like he’s letting her in on a joke than anything else.

Marinette smiles back as she sets the folder on the desk, feeling, oddly, like she’s passed some sort of test.

***

The day after, both Dick and Tim are waiting for her with what looks like an entire bakery laid out in her workspace.

“Uh,” she says eloquently, setting her purse down on her chair because there’s not a single open space on her desk not filled with some kind of pastry. “What’s all this?”

She looks up to find neither Dick nor Tim has stopped staring at her since she walked in. “We heard you met Damian yesterday,” Dick starts warily, like he’s scared of her reaction.

The response does not abate her confusion. 

“Yes, I did,” she says slowly. “That does not explain all… this.” She waves a hand, trying to encompass them as well as the state her desk is in.

The two brothers share a look.

“It’s a bribe,” Tim tells her simply and Marinette is taken aback for all of a second before her eyes suddenly narrow.

Dick cuts in hastily before she can say anything. “It’s more of an apology, really. For Damian’s behavior.”

But Marinette is confused and frustrated and just a bit offended by the apparent not-bribe at this point. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, but it only does so much.

“Damain’s behavior was fine,” she tells them with measured neutrality. “You two, on the other hand, are being weird and it’s freaking me out.” She crosses her arms expectantly. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

Appearing from out of nowhere, Selina drapes herself along Marinette’s shoulders and snags a raspberry scone. “I do believe,” she says as if sharing a secret, “That they are trying to keep you from quitting, kitten.”

Marinette wrinkles her nose. “Why would I quit? I like this job.”

She also likes the Waynes (in general, if not right then) and she likes Selina. The woman was a good mentor who didn’t shy away from the dirtier parts of the job and taught Marinette all she knew. (Even the bits, she noticed, that had little to nothing to do with being a personal assistant and were more likely to be found in the repertoire of a thief.

But, Marinette is in possession of her own sticky fingers and knows how to not ask questions, so. You know—curiosity killed the cat and all.)

She doesn’t voice any of that, but Selina, at least, knows it anyway. Marinette isn’t quiet about her gratitude after all.

“First meetings with the youngest Wayne don’t often go well,” Selina tells her. “In fact, I think he has a habit of making the interns cry.”

Dick makes some kind of offended noise. “Hey! He hasn’t done that since he was twelve!”

Tim elbows him in the ribs and Marinette makes a vaguely skeptical face at all three of them before deciding it wasn’t worth it. She has actual work to get done today and pastries to get rid of before she can even start.

She pats affectionately at Selina’s hand before grabbing as many boxes as she can hold. “Come on you two,” she says to the brothers. “You’re going to help me hand these out to the rest of the company.”

Dick immediately starts doing as told but Tim hesitates, humming thoughtfully. “You know that’s not going to help your whole ‘I’m not actually a Wayne’ thing, right?”

She glares at him. It doesn’t stop Tim from grinning like the utterly unrepentant little shit he is.

***

Things are quiet after the Damian Incident for a whole two weeks. It’s the longest lull Marinette has had since she first started and became somehow involved with the Waynes.

It ends because Dick finds out about the crush Marinette has been nursing on the Head of Security for three months now.

The Head of Security who is Jason Todd: second eldest Wayne sibling and Dick’s brother.

He takes it better than expected.

(Almost, she thinks later, a little too well.)

***

Despite her friendship with Dick and Tim—or perhaps because of it?—Jason had never seemed very interested in her. At first, Marinette had shrugged and counted it as a win; there was one Wayne, at least, who neither found her situation funny nor used it to poke fun at her.

They were on friendly terms, she supposed. Security has always been one of her more regular stops in the building, so she’d spoken to him often enough. He liked complaining that she spoiled his team rotten with all her treats.

But she also noticed that he likes her cherry danishes, so.

And then she noticed how crooked his grin was when he smiled. And how he seemed to have an arsenal of nicknames for everyone he knew. And the small collection of classic romance novels filled with sticky notes he tries and fails to hide in his desk. And, and, and.

It was around the time she began unconsciously memorizing his schedule based on when he was and was not there for her pastry deliveries, that she realized she may have made a misstep somewhere.

Jason was stubborn and passionate and flipped between overly proper and crass light a damn light switch. He was also, as stated, very much not interested in her.

Not that she would’ve pursued him anyway. He was a coworker as well as her friends’ brother.

Now if only one of said brothers could understand that.

“You should ask him out,” Dick suggests not for the first time and Marinette sighs, also not for the first time.

She loves Dick—she truly does—but he has been an aggravating level of unhelpful since he found out about Marinette’s latest romantic disaster.

“I’m definitely not doing that.”

Dick groans, like she’s being the unreasonable one. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“Because I don’t like embarrassing myself?” she asks rhetorically. “Not everyone can have a fairy tale romance like you and Wally.”

He throws his coffee stirrer at her. “We are not a fairy tale.”

She shoots him a flat look. She’s heard Dick talk about Wally and Tim’s told her all the stories and she was there when he and Wally finally got their shit together. Dick was unbearable for an entire week with his gooey, lovestruck new lease on life.

“You two are the definition of fairy tale. You two make fairy tales look like trashy romance novels.”

He opens his mouth to argue the point before forcibly cutting himself off. “No. Stop distracting me. We’re not talking about that; we’re talking about you and Jason.”

“There is no ‘me and Jason’,” she reminds him through her clenched teeth.

“Not yet,” he says optimistically. Like it’s a fact, like he knows something she doesn’t.

He makes her want to slam her face into a wall. Truly, he does.

***

Dick stops running his HR papers up to her office. Instead, he’s somehow convinced Jason to play errand boy for him even though he literally never looks happy about it. What used to be a flimsy excuse for Dick to slack off for a few minutes and gossip with her has now turned into awkward silence as Jason drops off the papers and leaves without even a ‘hello’.

During their shared breaks, Dick takes to orchestrating ‘chance encounters’ between her and Jason, all but shoving them into each other (and even actually shoving that one time).  She catches Jason shooting dark looks at Dick every time he does it, and if she’d been holding any iota of hope at this point, it’s been smashed to dust. Jason obviously knows of his brother’s meddling and isn’t happy about it.

But Dick just can’t take the hint.

Every failed plan of his makes him steadily worse about it all—more frantic and frustrated and like he wants to strangle her for her stubbornness. (The last feeling being more than mutual.)

Dick’s meddling starts to make her and Jason’s previously friendly, if distant, relationship awkward and embarrassing. With every pointed comment, she gets closer to just punching Dick in the face. Or, maybe, she’ll just tell Wally who really ate all the chocolate strawberry macaroons she made; it’d certainly be more devastating.

***

It all comes to head on a Thursday, after most employees have left for the day. 

They run into each other in a breakroom, and she watches as Jason suddenly goes stiff, eyes flicking over her shoulder to no doubt scan for Dick. That single action makes her expression sour and she slams her empty mug down with more force than was necessary.

For Kwamis sake, he looks like a cornered animal. An image not helped by the way he jumps a foot in the air and stares at her like he’s worried she’ll suddenly lunge at him.

“Can we agree this is ridiculous?” she says abruptly. “I don’t know what Dick is trying to accomplish with his wingman schtick, but we both know it’s not going to work. Can we just… agree that he’s an idiot?”

A complicated look crosses Jason’s face before he snorts wryly. “Yeah, we can agree on that. Dickie-boy has always been a few sandwiches short a picnic.”

“I know things have been awkward between us lately, and I’m sorry about that, but I hope we can keep being friends?” she says hopefully.

“What in the world do you have to be sorry about?” he asks before she can start catastrophizing about the bewildered expression he makes at her words. “It’s not your fault.”

The smile she shoots him is rueful and she shakes her hand in an ‘ehh’ type gesture. “Kinda is. And I understand if the-” she makes a vague gesture between them that she hopes properly conveys ‘my giant, stupid crush on you’, “you know, is too much for you. Just say the word I’ll try and keep out of your way.”

She’s trying to be comforting or understanding or something like that, but all her words seem to do is make him upset. “Absolutely not,” he insists. “Sunshine, you are not going to change your routine just to make me feel better.”

Marinette crosses her arms, frowning up at him. “Why shouldn’t I? If I’m making you uncomfortable-”

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Uncomfort- Marinette. ” She jolts a bit at the use of her name. She doesn’t think he’s used it since her second week at W.E. “I’m not sure who made you think otherwise—and if it was Dick just tell me cause I’ll kick his ass —but barring the fact that I still enjoy your friendship regardless of any… feelings-” Marinette concentrates very hard on not showing emotion when he says that, “-it’s not your responsibility to deal with it.”

Okay, but… that makes no sense. Of course her feelings were her responsibility, that’s the whole point of them being hers.

“If it’s not mine, then whose responsibility is it then?” she asks, wondering where the hell his train of thought is running.

“Mine, obviously.”

She gives him a look, complete with narrowed eyes and thinly veiled judgment. “What? Is this some kind of gentleman’s martyr complex? Is that what’s happening right now?”

Jason huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. “If me taking responsibility for my own damn feelings is a martyr complex then sure,” he snarks, not unkindly. More like he’s trying to protect himself by retreating behind a sour attitude.

Her mouth is halfway around a retort when his words catch up to her brain and she freezes.

“Your feelings?” she repeats. “Your feelings for… me?”

His voice is carefully neutral when he says, “Those would be the ones.”

Her mouth opens and closes and opens again. “You like me? Seriously?”

His face spasms at the question, starting at anger before he properly looks at her and the surprised expression on her face. He pales.

“You didn’t know?”

“No!” she squeaks, something she hasn’t done since she was fifteen. “Well Dick said but I didn’t believe him!”

And fuck, she thinks. This means Dick knew the whole damn time, didn’t he? Oh, she is so going to kill him the second she gets the chance.

Jason runs a hand down his face, covering his mouth as he gathers his bearings. Suddenly, his eyes shoot back open and land on her. “Wait. If you didn't know, then what the hell were you talking about just now?”

She blushes to the tips of her ears and buries her face in her hands so she doesn’t have to look at him. It was easy when she thought he’d figured it out himself. It’s harder now that she has to tell him. “I- I was talking about my crush on you.”

He’s quiet for so long that she gets antsy and peeks out from behind her fingers to see his expression. He’s still looking at her, but now there’s a wide, crooked smile on his face. The expression softens something in her chest and she lowers her hands.

“Really?” he asks, leaning closer.

Marinette nods, feeling a small smile spread across her lips.

He jolts forward, hands reaching for her before suddenly stopping just shy of touching. She startles a bit at the motion but doesn’t move away.

Jason licks his lips, smile smaller but no less bright. “I- can I?”

She blinks. “Can you what?”

“Kiss you.”

The blush returns full force, but with it also comes a smile, giddy and bright. She nods and no sooner than she does, is he swooping down to pull her into a toe-curling kiss. His hands cup her face with a tenderness that makes her smile, makes her giddy, and it’s not long before they’re both smiling too wide to actually kiss and are forced to break apart.

His hands fall to her back, practically engulfing her, and his chin drops onto her head. It’s warm and cozy and she thinks she could so very easily get used to this.

Later, they’re going to have to deal with Dick and Tim and Selina and the teasing they’ll no doubt have to endure—not to mention how much worse the rumors are going to get—but right now? Right now Marinette pulls Jason back down for another kiss and very pointedly doesn’t think about it.

[gingersnaaps]

too much of a good thing

he's so sweet, so kind, so dumb - is bokuto really capable of anything besides the best intentions?

wc: ~2.7k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): explicit n*fw, dubcon sex to noncon creampie, manipulation, lovebombing and then neglect, overstimulation, cunnilingus, fingering, penetration, a lil angst, timeskip!bokuto, fem!reader with inner genitals

i don’t want minors interacting with my content

Being subtle was never really Bokuto’s thing, not even in the beginning.

In some ways, you suppose that you’re lucky - that you’re better off than your friends who you would always hear complaining, muttering about boys who didn't like to commit, didn’t like labels, who didn’t like texting first or buying gifts or putting in any effort at all.

Barely a week into your relationship, you come home from work with your head dizzy and feet aching from exhaustion, and discover a dozen bouquets of roses on your doorstep. Crimson petals are littered everywhere, strewn against the grey concrete of the steps, and although you feel your neck and face heating up with embarrassment at the grand gesture, you can’t suppress the smile that tugs at the corner of your lips.

He really was so sweet. Who cares if he wasn’t exactly shy about expressing it?

None of the other guys you’ve dated before had sent you good morning texts quite like his, filled with exclamation points and emojis, and none of them had tried nearly as hard as Bokuto does with his breathy, eager i love you’s, his frequent hugs whenever he gets the chance to see you, or even his phone calls that come twice, three times, even four times in the middle of the day.

But the more days that pass by, the more intense it gets.

He picks you up after work all the time, cupping your face in his hands, eyes gleaming almost unnaturally bright. “I love you,” he’ll whisper. “You’re so wonderful, baby. You’re perfect. I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.”

You can’t help but think that these are the sort of words that come months into a relationship, if not years, but… there’s nothing really wrong with what he’s doing, is there? There’s no reason you should be uneasy, no indication of even the slightest hint of trouble on his part.

You’re probably just paranoid.

Bokuto doesn’t stop at words, though - he earns a good sum of money from his job playing professional volleyball, and he’s never hesitant to use it on you. A week after he leaves you the roses, he asks you out on a date to a restaurant you know is ridiculously expensive, and the uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach grows as you scroll through pictures of the establishment on Google Images.

“I don’t think I can afford it, Bo,” you tell him, voice hesitant and crackly over the phone. “If we go, I won’t be able to pay my share.”

“So?”

It’s just a word, but the implication isn’t lost on you. And if he’s fine with paying for you, if he’s okay with the hundreds of dollars you’ll be owing him, well - there’s no good reason to turn him down, right?

During the date, you talk with him as you spoon bites of delicate food into your mouth. The restaurant is too lavish, the plush velvet carpeting and crystal chandeliers almost a parody of luxury. You’re pretty sure the utensils are half the price of your rent.

He leans over in the middle of the meal, expression suddenly serious. “You’re enjoying this, right?” he asks.

“I am. I’m kinda lucky, aren’t I? Being spoiled like this.”

“Yeah,” he replies, his grin so bright it could rival the sun. “You really are.”

And suddenly - just for a moment - you catch a glimpse of something slightly off about his whole expression, as if it was a mask waiting to be ripped off to reveal something much, much different underneath, but the fleeting moment is gone so quickly you convince yourself that it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you.

Bokuto has been nothing if not perfect, after all. If you’re uneasy, it’s probably just because you aren’t used to being treated like this, aren’t used to someone that lavishes you with constant gifts and praise and displays of affection like he does. On the way back in the taxi, he whispers everything he loves about you softly in your ear, his arm snaking around your waist as his thumb rubs tender circles into your skin. His body is pressed so close to yours, his breath gently tickling your ear, warmth radiating out from his firm, muscled body.

He’s so good to you.

-

It doesn’t last forever.

Bokuto’s affection dries up slowly, but his presence has been such a constant in your life that it’s impossible for you not to notice.

Some mornings, you find yourself waking up to a hollow feeling in your chest as you check your message notifications and find nothing - no late night rants, no funny pictures, no enthusiastic, joyful good morning texts. During the day, the silence now stretches on for hours too long, uncomfortably empty and devoid of the persistent calls that you used to get every single hour.

When he does see you, he’s remarkably reserved - eyes always downcast, fingers fidgeting incessantly, clearly disinterested in what you’re doing, what you’re saying - in fact, disinterested in all of you.

Maybe he’s just busy with volleyball, you rationalize, but your stomach churns with anxiety and deep down, you know that something’s changed.

You try and ignore the dull ache inside of you that seems to follow you around wherever you go, a little voice inside your head constantly reminding you of what Bokuto used to do. Two months ago, he would’ve picked you up. He would’ve sent you flowers today. He would’ve taken you out to eat.

It builds up slowly and steadily, a crescendo of pain that grows in volume the longer he’s gone, like a tidal wave of confusion and hurt that swirls around inside you - until one day, you’re sitting by yourself in the car, sobbing quietly in the cramped darkness.

At least he doesn’t turn you away when you show up on his doorstep.

Your eyes are rimmed with red, streaks of eye makeup running down your face as a frown twists at his features. “Please, Bo,” you whisper. “Let me make it up to you.”

And you’re not exactly sure what you did, but you want to fix it, want him back in your life, want to wake up to his smiles and his laughter and his incessant, boundless energy, and you know you’re willing to do anything to get that back.

“Really?” he asks, eyes glimmering faintly with hope.

You nod almost imperceptibly, about to reply yes, yes, want you back so bad, when he grabs your waist with his hands and pulls you in for a kiss so passionate it borders on harsh. It’s a whirlwind of teeth and tongue, a mix of sucking and licking and biting that leaves you gasping for breath, your red lips swollen and slick with spit.

He pulls you inside, his hands roaming all over your body, groping and squeezing at your supple flesh, goosebumps running down your spine as he brings a hand up to brush against your nipple. For the first time in weeks, you see excitement on his face, and his voice trembles as he leans close in. “Let me take care of you,” he says. “Wanna make you feel good.”

And even though there’s apprehension crawling under your skin at his sudden mood swing, you’re so, so glad this version of Bokuto is back that you brush off that hesitation, the mixture of happiness and anticipation overwhelming every single thought in your mind.

As his fingertips graze the soft skin of your torso, his hands - so much larger than yours - maneuver your body around with such ease and grace that you barely notice when you end up on his couch, legs spread wide open as he looks up from between your thighs hungrily. “I - fuck, I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he says, out of breath, eyes running over the swollen outline of your cunt.

You whimper softly as his nose brushes up against your clit, his piercing, golden eyes still gazing intently up at you.

He doesn’t waste any of his time teasing you, his flat of his tongue sliding up along your slit with the perfect amount of pressure to leave you squirming. It’s almost as if he knows exactly where to lick and suck, eagerly pressing his tongue up against your clit in insistent circles, lapping at your dripping pussy until your juices are running down his chin. He’s so eager in between your legs, and everytime he finds a spot that makes your legs tremble needily, he gives it so much attention that you already start to feel that wave of pleasure building in your core.

“Don’t stop,” you pant, your hands sliding into his hair as your hips thrust upwards. “Please.”

Bokuto doesn’t need you to tell him that. Shouldn’t have wasted your breath, he thinks idly, diving in and eating you out with renewed vigor.

When his tongue glides around your spasming cunt and dips in briefly, you can’t stop the moan that tumbles from your lips. His tongue is so stupidly long and flexible, sliding inside and licking at your sensitive walls, curling up and brushing against your g-spot until you start to shudder and tremble under him.

You cum embarrassingly quick, your hips jerking and stuttering wildly as he finishes you off. He fucks you through your orgasm, sucking gently at your clit until the border between pain and pleasure starts to blur and you’re moaning so loudly he thinks the neighbors will have complaints for him the next morning.

“Feel good, baby?” he asks, voice sending vibrations through your pussy.

“Yeah,” you mumble.

“How about another?”

Your eyes widen. “W-what?”

“I think you can handle it, right?” a huge grin splits his face as he spreads your pussy apart with two fingers, looking at your swollen, spent cunt. He barely gives your chance to respond before he trails his fingers against your lips, fingers teasing in and out of your slick entrance.

This time, Bokuto uses his hands to stretch you out, inserting his digits one by one until three of his thick, long fingers are nestled inside of your pussy. He thrusts them languidly in and out, his fingertips caressing your nerves until you’re tense and wound up for him again.

“Come on,” he encourages. “You can take it.”

Your brain is hazy from the stimulation, barely registering anything but pleasure as his fingers search and probe like they have some sort of job to do. You feel damp with heat and moisture, the pulsing, burning need in between your legs insistent and demanding.

“Almost there,” he breathes, voice raspy with arousal. A fourth finger brushes up against your lips, and the thought of more stretch, more stimulation, more pleasure, has you clenching desperately against the ones that your cunt is already spread out on.

You sob, your body strung out and wrecked, suspended on the tipping point of another orgasm.

As you cum again, the feeling of relief - white-hot and blinding - rips along your core. You’re not sure you’ve experienced anything quite so intense before, and as you look down at him, hands still manipulating your cunt so expertly, you don’t know if he has the intention of stopping anytime soon.

He stands up and your eyes drift to his cock, flushed purple and almost painfully hard, dripping with precum. His hand strokes along his shaft, soft curses muttered under his breath, but he opens them wide again and looks down at you sadly. “I’m so sorry,” he says, voice pleading. “I don’t have any condoms.”

Bokuto sounds so genuine, his tone kind and filled with regret, and guilt begins to sting at your conscience. He’s made you feel so fucking good, given you the best orgasms of your life - is it really fair if you leave him wanting and unsatisfied?

You’re fucked halfway out of your mind when you answer, eyes still fixated on his cock, head swimming with thoughts of how much you want to please him.

“It’s fine,” you say, your words slurred and hesitant. “You can.. you can use me. Use my pussy to get you off. Jus’ pull out at the end.”

Ecstasy flashes across his face, and he looks down eagerly. “Fuck, babe. You’re so perfect. I love you.”

You hadn’t heard those words for weeks.

His strong arms pick you up easily, maneuvering you around until he’s the one sitting on the couch and your cunt is positioned right over his dick. His hands grip tightly at your waist, fingertips pressing so insistently that you’re sure you’ll wake up the next morning with bruises dotting your skin. He lowers you down slowly, carefully, groaning as he fills you up and the warmth of your cunt envelopes him whole.

He already looked big, just from the cursory glance you’d taken earlier, but as you feel the tip of his cock shove against your cervix, your breath almost catches at how you feel your walls expanding to accommodate all of him.

The drag of his curved cock up against your sensitive walls leaves your legs trembling and squirming, but he holds you firmly down as he thrusts up inside over and over. “Stay still,” he coos. “Let me take care of you.”

Bokuto starts off gently, fucking you with shallow little thrusts that have you panting with desperation. He can tell by the way your cunt is fluttering that you're craving more, that the two orgasms he gave you earlier just wasn’t enough for a greedy girl like you, and he relishes the way your small hands grip desperately at his shirt.

He raises you up off his cock, running the tip up and down your slit until your pussy throbs, and slams you back down again. The rhythm he maintains is steady and even, bouncing you up and down on his cock like a ragdoll, whispering stuttered curses and phrases of endearment against your ear, making you shiver from the overload of stimuli.

“Feels so amazing,” he moans. “Gonna.. Gonna cum soon.”

The heat in your core grows intense at the thought of his orgasm, involuntarily whining, and you start to rock your hips back and forth in an attempt to search out more friction.

Bokuto knows he promised to pull out. He knows that it wouldn’t be right if he stayed buried inside your cunt. But how is he supposed to stop himself when you feel this good, wrapped so obediently around him like a perfect little fuck doll? And the heat of your cunt is gripping incredibly tight all around his length, your little squirms and shivers so adorable as he uses you to get himself off.

He can’t help himself.

With one last, desperate thrust, he lets go, thick spurts of cum filling you up until he’s sure your insides are dripping white, and he caresses your stomach where your womb would be in satisfaction. It feels so good to cum inside of a tight cunt, much better than it would’ve if he’d forced himself to pull out, he thinks. And you look so pretty all full and leaking with his seed.

It takes you a moment to fully register the warm, wet feeling pooling inside you, your brain too fucked out, too stupid from the constant stimulation to truly understand what exactly dripping from your slit is.

When you do realize - oh god, he came inside me - panic starts to grip at the edges of your frayed nerves, your vision tunneling as the magnitude of what had just happened hits you. Tears start to blur the world around you, the dim lighting of his living room merging the furniture and warping the walls, and you faintly register the feeling of arms wrapped tight around you, a hand reaching up to caress soothingly at your cheek.

“You know,” Bokuto whispers, face lit up in wonder. “I think we’re soulmates.”

[plus-size-reader]

Weird

Stu Macher x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2755 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Stu developing a little bit of a thing for Randy’s coworker at the video store

Just a weird little thing my brain cooked up, with not too much intricate plot to speak of. 

—————————————————————————————————

He’d been staring at you for an hour.

If he didn’t knock it off soon, Stu was sure that it would start to get creepy but he couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t like he could just walk right up to you and start a conversation.

You probably wouldn’t even recognize him.

Besides, Stu wasn’t a super good conversationalist to begin with. He always got tongue tied and made inappropriate jokes at inappropriate times. There was no telling how it would go, especially with you.

Stu’d had his eye on you all this time, and while he had never had trouble making friends, it was different with you.

All he could do was walk around the aisles of the video store, doing his best to look busy as he browsed the video selection.

He had always liked movies, and wasted away plenty of  night watching tapes with his friends but as of late, the movies had little to nothing to do with his frequent visits to the Woodsboro rental, and everything to do with you.

At first, it was innocent.

One night while he and Billy were looking for a couple blockbusters to occupy their time, he noticed you behind the counter where he typically would have found Randy.

It should have ended there, but because Stu was Stu, of course it didn’t.

The next day at school, he had given his strangest friend the third degree about who the hottie in his place was and found out that you were new.

Randy didn’t know too much about you, other than the fact that you chewed gum the entire time you were on the floor and that your favorite movie was Frankenstein. 

It was hardly enough to get to know a person, but it seemed to appease the man enough to end the barrage of questions.

At least for a while.

It wasn’t until he came in six or seven times without his partner in crime that Randy started to get suspicious over just what Stu thought he was doing here. 

After all, he had a girlfriend, a very hot girlfriend, who he could be spending time with instead of stalking you at work.

Not that he actually went out of his way to ask the blonde right away.

While his being there so frequently definitely looked weird, there were plenty of explanations for what Stu could have been doing, and in all honesty, he kind of freaked Randy out.

Besides, if all he wanted to do was look through the VHS tapes, there wasn’t really anything he could do about it. Billy and Stu were both good customers and as long as they kept renting movies, it was all good.

If you just so happened to be there when he came in, that was just how it was.

After all, you worked there so you were bound to be there pretty often. That meant that, coupled with the amount of time Stu and Billy spent there looking for good stuff to watch, you were bound to run into them quite a bit.

There were a lot of regulars.

Woodsboro was a relatively small town and you got familiar with people’s faces, especially those you saw all the time, but that didn’t mean you really knew them. You had begun to recognize Randy’s friends, but they were little more than that to you.

Maybe that was why you seemed to be so oblivious to Stu’s constant attention on you. To you, he was just another customer, one that you were even less familiar with then most of the others because Randy handled all of their business.

You very rarely even interacted with them at all.

Not to mention that you were extra busy tonight with the murders and all that. The residents of this town had taken that terrible act as inspiration to have their own blood-soaked horror movie nights in the comfort of their own homes.

There were so many people here tonight that you weren't even sure you would have had time to notice any individual person at all.

You may not have had time, but Randy certainly did and he’d had enough.

Not only was what Stu was doing inappropriate because he had a girlfriend, but it just made Randy feel kind of weird. You were a really cool person, sometimes Stu would have known if he ever bothered to say hello to you, and you didn’t deserve to be gawked at while you were trying to work.

“You’ve been looking at that for a while, you need help deciding?” Randy asked, less than subtly catching Stu in the middle of his ogling, not that the latter seemed to care in the least. Randy worked with you all the time, surely he saw what Stu saw.

You were hot.

That wasn’t his fault.

All he did was notice.

“Nah man, I’m good” he hummed, even going as far as to wink at Randy, making it painfully obvious that he knew exactly what he knew. There was nothing wrong with checking out a cute girl, and if anything, he assumed that Randy was just jealous.

After all, Stu was sure that he hadn’t made a move on you yet.

“You know Y/N’s a person right? you could just go talk to her” Randy scoffed, snatching the tape from Stu before he could argue.

This whole thing had been going on for too long and it was starting to get ridiculous.

Stu didn’t say anything for a second as he thought over what Randy was proposing. It couldn’t have hurt to actually talk to you, even with as nice as just staring at you for the last hour or so had been.

There was a small chance Billy wouldn’t like it, with the threat it would pose to their long con it would pose, but when the blonde glanced over at his friend to find him chatting up a few girls of his own, he made up his mind.

It wasn’t like talking to you would be the end of the world or something. It was just a conversation and it was like Randy said, you were a person after all.

You had been stacking VHS tapes on the displays around the store for the last few hours, filling in gaps here and there, and by this point, it was like muscle memory. You didn’t really think about it as you put each case on the wall, hardly paying attention to your surroundings.

This was just supposed to be a job to help pass the time and give you a little bit more walking around money, and you didn’t get paid enough to cater to every customer's every need.

That kind of thing was much more up Randy’s alley, who treated this job like the greatest thing to ever happen to him. If someone had a question about a movie, you pointed them in his direction and kept on stacking.

...but that wasn’t always going to work.

Out of nowhere, you heard someone clear their throat behind you, too close to be directed at anyone that wasn’t you.

Naturally, having worked here for a while, you assumed that it was just someone with a question about where to find something and turned around. Helping people find the things they were looking for was literally your only job, after all.

What you could have never expected was Stu Macher, standing there with an almost expectant grin on his face.

“Can I help you find something?” you asked, practically reciting from the script you were given when you were hired here. He was probably looking for some movie full of Jamie Lee flashing her tits, just like every other guy around here was.

Whatever it was he needed though, he needed to get to it.

You had to restock all of these shelves with titles from the back, a task that would surely keep you here until midnight anyway. 

The longer he took to get to the point, the more behind you would be.

Besides, it wasn’t like he needed you specifically for that. He could have just as easily asked Randy for whatever horny horror fest he was searching for.

Not that such a simple idea had struck Stu in all the time he’d been here, doing whatever it was he was doing.

“I’m actually just looking,” he hummed, shrugging in a way that should have sent him back to where he had previously been browsing, if it hadn’t been for the fact that it was a complete and total lie. 

Stu was only here for one reason, and one reason alone.

He had to make a move.

If he didn’t, it was becoming clear that Randy was thinking about it and there was just no way the blonde was going to let that happen.

“You come here often?” he tried after a few seconds, letting himself lean a bit over you, consuming all the space that your height didn’t occupy.

It was quite the line, you had to give him that, not that it was anything other than awkward given his clumsy, goofy delivery and the dopey look on his face.

He wanted to be cool about this whole thing, and to come off mysterious and suave, like Billy always did, but it wasn’t working. Obviously, because as soon as he said it, you laughed.

You actually laughed.

It was hardly the reaction Stu had been expecting from you, or any guy could have expected under the circumstances, but he assumed it was better than you just shutting him down right off the bat.

At least if you were laughing, you weren’t walking away.

“What?” he laughed, an almost unsettled edge to his desperate attempt to salvage any part of this interaction. Given all the time that he’d had to prepare for what exactly it was he was going to say to you, it should have been much better than that.

...but you had to give him some credit.

As awkward as this was, he put himself out there in a way that took a lot of courage, courage that most guys around here didn’t have. Normally, they would just make some crude attempt at sexualizing you then call you fat when you rejected it.

Stu was already vastly ahead of the douchebags you were used to.

“Nothing, that's just much more of a line than I was expecting, Randy put you up to it?” you questioned, catching sight of the way the male in question was gawking over at the two of you, not even bothering to pretend he wasn’t snooping.

It wouldn’t have surprised you if he set it all up to be funny, but Stu didn’t seem to find the same understanding. In fact, he was almost insulted by the idea of what you were suggesting. Like he couldn't just hit on a pretty girl without a reason?

He’d done it plenty of times before without cause.

“Nah, I just wanted to get to know you a little better” he shrugged, continuing to talk even as you leaned down to gather a few of the movies from the storage boxes, headed to the rom com section to stock them on the shelves.

It was sweet, in a strange way.

He was really weird, you couldn’t act like he wasn’t, but there was also something about him that was almost endearing.

“Well, I’m a captive audience until six so ask away” you allowed, a small smile on your face as you tried to focus on doing your job while also maintaining a conversation with the man in front of you. You were trying really hard to keep it as professional as possible, but it wasn’t exactly easy.

After all, he was laying it on pretty thick, making it overly clear just how interested in you he was even though he was trying to convey an air of casualness.

“Okay, what’s your favorite movie?” came Stu’s voice again, accompanied by the tapping of his fingers on the shelf.

You thought over his question for a second or so, doing your best to figure out what he wanted you to say before you decided to just go with it. Talking to Stu wasn’t the worst thing you would have to do today, and based on how it was going, it might actually help pass the time.

At least he was entertaining.

“It depends on what genre you’re looking at, I guess. I like all kinds of stuff” you decided, standing up briefly to find him leaning over the shelf separating the two of you, his face in his hand.

If nothing else, he certainly seemed to be pretty enthralled with this conversation.

It was something you didn’t get super often, and it would be a lie to say that it didn’t feel nice to have someone so interested in every single word that fell from your lips.

It was no wonder he was so popular.

“I’ve always been a horror guy myself. Like any of those?” he asked, tapping his fingers gingerly on the shelf as he spoke, syncing up his words rather nicely as he grinned at you. He was hoping, not so secretly, that you did.

As much as he was clearly attracted to you, his obsession with gore was a big part of Stu’s life and he didn’t want to miss out on it in any way.

It would just be a huge bonus if you liked watching them with him, so that you could watch them together for date nights and stuff.

It would be a good time, not to mention the fact that he and Billy only ever really did that.

“Yeah, I do. That’s actually why I started working here” you informed, thinking about just how quickly you had applied for this job once you found out they were hiring. Of all the places you could work in this town, it just felt like the place.

It was perfect.

“That’s great, I was hoping you'd say that” Stu allowed, smiling at you as he thought about it. All in all, this was going a lot better than he could have ever assumed and now that he knew he could check the horror block with you too, he was thrilled.

You couldn't have been more perfect for him.

“Maybe we could watch some sometime, at my folks place?” he offered, a twinkle in his eye as he finally got to the point that he’d been waiting for all this time.

The two of you had never really had a conversation alone before now, because his friends were always tagging along. However, it wasn’t as if he’d made too bad a first impression, as strange as he was.

You were kind of lost as to what could have brought this on so suddenly but watching a movie or two at his house couldn’t have been the end of the world.

He was harmless, and besides, it could have been fun to get to know him better.

You stopped, straightening up to look him in the face, that same sly grin there that he hadn’t been able to wipe off his face in this entire time.

“Yeah, we can do that. You can just get my number from Randy and call sometime” you smiled, turning back away to finish up the last of the box from the back. The sooner you finished this up, the sooner you could start cleaning up from the rush.

For you, it was a simple enough suggestion. Randy and the rest of your coworkers all had your telephone number and seeing as they were pretty close, it would just be easier for him to get it there. 

If your manager found out you were flirting on the job, you would never hear the end of it.

Though, for Stu, it was far less innocent. He had only really just interacted with you in this new way but now that he had, he wasn’t exactly a huge fan of Randy already having your number.

Especially not knowing how much the male in question likes you.

“Cool, cool, I’ll talk to you later then” Stu nodded, turning around to find Randy still watching intently. He seemed to really think that he had a shot but now that Stu had made up his mind, there was no way he was ever going to let that happen.

You were too good for him to just let you go so easily.

[calliecat93]

Well I figured with the holidays almost here, I may as well do a Spones meta on All Our Yesterdays. It takes place in a snowy setting so it counts for holiday stuff, right? Plus this was the episode that got me fully on board the Spones ship and I haven’t done a meta about them in a long while so this was the excuse to do one I needed XD

We all know this episode. This is the “We go together or not at all” episode. Which that one line sums up the entire theme of this meta. There’s not much to say about them at the start of the episode. There’s no bickering or barely interaction with the two. They and Jim are all in professional mode and primarily concerned about why all the people on the dying planet disappeared and about The Library, so not too much interaction. But of course that all changes when Kirk goes into the portal and is sent to the past, then Spock and McCoy chase after him and end up in the planet’s ice age. That’s when the fun starts.

There are several major things to discuss, but there’s a lot of small things as well. When McCoy collapses from the cold, Spock of course delivers the “We go together” line (twice), but he also just kind of… sits there and holds/frets over McCoy. He doesn’t need to, he can just keep him sitting up. But add that to refusing to leave him despite McCoy pleading with him to leave him and go find Jim or some kind of shelter, which would probably be the logical thing to do since McCoy is dead weight, yet he doesn’t. Then after they’re in the cave, Spock spends a good chunk of time either checking McCoy despite having a tricorder or otherwise continuing to fret over him. Even when first interacting with Zarabeth, while it’s obvious what the episode is setting up, his attention goes right back to McCoy, who is knocked out, badly frostbitten, and possibly dying. That’s all that Spock can focus on at that moment: McCoy’s well-being. There’s SO much touching/hovering in this half episode. I only get ten images per post so I can’t show even a fraction of it, but…

And those are just the ones I could get off TrekCore, but screencaps alone cannot convey how uttelry ridiculous the amount of touching/hovering is. Amazing, but still!

Spock doesn’t start focusing on finding Kirk until McCoy outright tells him to. He asks Zarabeth to show him the portal… but she stops him. But it’s not due to her making a move on him or anything. It’s because she brings up that McCoy’s still sick. That’s when Spock begins to have a conflict with his logic and he’s frustrated about it, but it’s still notable. He worries about leaving McCoy alone despite knowing that finding the portal is the most logical thing to do to ensure that they both get back and he’s in a safe space now. He’s still himself enough to realize that this isn’t how he should be thinking, but we’re at the literal tail-end of the final season so IDT it’s a stretch to say that there is a concern that he genuinely has because he does genuinely care for McCoy. He almost lost him in For the World Is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky and The Empath earlier in the season and his concern was very evident in those episodes. But he was able to keep himself focused in those cases while here, because of the regression, he’s having a harder time doing so.

It doesn’t help when Zarabeth informs him that going back would mean that she would die, which Spock takes at face value and decides that it’s hopeless. Something he otherwise wouldn’t do. Something that McCoy knows that he otherwise wouldn’t do. You can just see the utter disbelief on his face when Spock informs him of this and has taken Zarabeth at her word. And indeed Spock just gives up after that, which McCoy definitely knows isn’t right. I’m not sure if his conclusion about Spock wanting to stay is entirely accurate (it certainly is later) since up to that point any attraction Spock has had for Zarabeth has been minimal. Like I said, any time it was clear that the show was giving them a moment, he turned right back to McCoy and we can assume that he remained that way until McCoy was mostly recovered. Although we have McCoy kinda sorta flirting with Zarabeth with Spock hovering, which is probably meant to show Spock being jealous of McCoy… but it’s not at all hard to say Spock’s jealous of McCoy flirting with someone else. The way that Leonard Nimoy delivers the “The prospect appeared quite attractive to you a moment ago.” line just reeks of it XD

Then we have McCoy getting frustrated with Spock giving up and his current attitude and uses his typical ‘pointed-ear Vulcan’ jab. Now, normally when the two bicker, while it has gotten tense a few times in episodes like The Immunity Syndrome and The Tholian Web, they’ve never gotten physical. McCoy kinda came close in the latter episode, but all he did was turn the captain’s chair around and he caught himself right away and apologized. But otherwise, they just snipe at each other to varying degrees and that’s it. Spock here? Outright grabs McCoy in a manner promising physical violence and outright glows that he never liked that jab or any of the others. Whether that’s true or not, this is not how Spock ever responds. Even in The Immunity Syndrome where he gives McCoy a very biting remark concerning his dismissiveness over a large group of Vulcans dying in one of their more serious bouts (admittedly it was more towards humanity in general but McCoy still provoked it), he never made any move to hurt the doctor or even threaten him, at least that I can recall. That was not the case here and McCoy is understandably disturbed by this intimidating, emotional response that Spock would never display, at least not willingly. And consideirng his repsonse when Spock was made to act emotionally in Plato’s Stepchildren, he has to know how distressing this would be once Spock regained his senses as well.

It takes McCoy only a few seconds to piece together what’s going on. It’s kind of ironic. With Spock struggling to think logically and responding to his emotions more, McCoy has to pick up the ball and be the logical one. So he decides to more or less do what Kirk did in This Side of Paradise: piss Spock off and let that snap him out of his current state. The way he confronts and then grabs Zarabeth is… kind of disturbing and one of the harder parts of the episode to watch, but it does work. Spock grabs him and is moments away from snapping his neck, but McCoy just grabs onto him and asks Spock what he’s feeling and if he’s ever felt this way before. It gets Spock to start thinking again and realize that he’s lost himself and get Zarabeth to confirm that she knows that she’ll die if she goes through the portal, but she has no way of knowing if that’s the case for Spock and McCoy. Like I said McCoy doesn’t come off as entirely great because of how he chose to confront Zarabeth, but he had to have known that he was putting himself at great risk with this stunt . He had no proof that he was even right, but he still chose to risk it to get Spock back to some kind of normal state. Can’t deny that it wasn’t bold, but this is the same guy who knocked his two best friends out to spare them and let himself be horribly tortured without any hesitation, so are we even surprised that he doesn’t give a damn about facing death for someone else’s sake?

Then we get to the juicy part. McCoy goes to find the portal, deadset on going back to where his life is. But he doesn’t force Spock to go with him. He can’t make him so he decides to go back with or without him… though preferably with him. Spock could have just let him go and stay with Zarabeth, yes he chose to go after him. Sure it’s to convince him to give it up, but again he didn’t have to. Heck if he was indeed jealous McCoy being gone would mean no threat, and he still chose McCoy. Then they find the portal and the two have the chance to go back, but Zarabeth can’t. You can just see Spock looking back and forth between the portal and Zarabeth with McCoy trying to get him to come on already. It’s almost kinda funny XD He has to pick one or the other: Zarabeth or McCoy? Spock pushes McCoy to the portal to send him back, seemingly making his choice… and it doesn’t work. They can’t go back seperately. It’s either they go together, or not at all.

And despite the ‘attraction’ to Zarabeth that the episode had been playing up… there’s no real conflict over what Spock should do. Zarabeth just walks away and leaves the two to return to the present. Spock doesn’t even linger as he goes back through with McCoy and tries to otherwise dismiss the whole ordeal as ‘in the past’. Any fallout that the two go through after this remains in the realm of headcanon, but that’s not the point here. We don’t see Spock’s face and he seems reluctant to let Zarabeth go… but in all honesty, once it was clear that McCoy couldn’t go back unless Spock went with him, I don’t think it’s even a question for him over what to do. We saw him caring for and hovering over McCoy the whole episode. Even at this point, just monments after their intense little confrontation and his conflict after realizing he’s lost himseld, Spock was still worried about McCoy’s well-being and chose to follow him. He chose McCoy earlier in the episode, and he did so again here. Nothing that he ‘felt’ for Zarabeth could ultimateley come between that. And even if one argues that Zarabeth made the decision for him, it’s still her ultimately giving Spock up to McCoy so even she knew that there was no longer any chance.

I’m not exactly sure where I’m trying to go with all of this, but the point is this really is a really interesting episode concerning Spones. There’s barely any of the usual back and forth between them and when it does finally happen it’s an indicator that something’s wrong. Spock’s openly concerned about McCoy when he’s ill. McCoy’s concerned about Spock when he’s losing himself. Even after pretty much deciding to go find the portal with or without Spock, McCoy pleads with him to come back with him. He was never going to go without him. Spock was never going to be able to strand McCoy in an environment that he would be miserable in nor leave him to die. It makes the fact that they had to go back together all the more impactful. There was never any other option but that.

By the time I got to this episode when watching the show for the first time almost a year ago now, I was already leaning towards shipping Spones, but not 100% onboard. Then when I watched this… it just clicked. The amount of closeness between Spock and McCoy, how Spock tended to and was concerned about McCoy, how McCoy put himself at great risk to get Spock back to normal and wanted him to go back with him, and the whole theme that they have to go together just… really hit. Especially after watching all the episodes, all the back and forth that made me hesitant about liking them as a pair even platonically, then watching them grow, and especially after all the S3 episodes in particular with several episodes that show how much they care for each other (The Tholian Web, For the World is Hollow…, The Empath, moments in various other episodes it just felt… right. The episode is by no means perfect and we really see some of the two’s dark sides (Spock when he loses control, McCoy and how he treated Zarabeth regardless of the reason), but also jus5 how much that bond has grown after three years. From work colleagues to bickering frenemies/rivals, to genuine frenemies, to true companions who would sacrifice themselves for each other (and Jim, the whole mess happened because they had to chase after Jim). And with how this was right at the end of the show, it’s not too bad of a note for them to end on.

(Image Source)

[army-of-mai-lovers]

in which I get progressively angrier at the various tropes of atla fandom misogyny

tbh I think it would serve all of us to have a larger conversation about the specific ways misogyny manifests in this fandom, because I’ve seen a lot of people who characterize themselves as feminists, many of whom are women themselves, discuss the female characters of atla/lok in misogynistic ways, and people don’t talk about it enough. 

disclaimer before I start: I’m not a woman, I’m an afab nonbinary person who is semi-closeted and thus often read as a woman. I’m speaking to things that I’ve seen that have made me uncomfy, but if any women (esp women existing along other axes of oppression, e.g. trans women, women of color, disabled women, etc) want to add onto this post, please do!

“This female character is a total badass but I’m not even a little bit interested in exploring her as a human being.” 

I’ve seen a lot of people say of various female characters in atla/lok, “I love her! She’s such a badass!” now, this statement on its own isn’t misogynistic, but it represents a pretty pervasive form of misogyny that I’ve seen leveled in large part toward the canon female love interests of one or both of the members of a popular gay ship (*cough* zukka *cough*) I’m going to use Suki as an example of this because I see it with her most often, but it can honestly be applied to nearly every female character in atla/lok. Basically, people will say that they stan Suki, but when it comes time to engage with her as an actual character, they refuse to do it. I’ve seen meta after meta about Zuko’s redemption arc, but I so rarely see people engage with Suki on any level beyond “look at this cool fight scene!” and yeah, I love a cool Suki fight scene as much as anybody else, but I’m also interested in meta and headcanons and fics about who she is as a person, when she isn’t an accessory to Sokka’s development or doing something cool. of course, the material for this kind of engagement with Suki is scant considering she doesn’t have a canon backstory (yet) (don’t let me down Faith Erin Hicks counting on you girl) but with the way I’ve seen people in this fandom expand upon canon to flesh out male characters, I know y’all have it in you to do more with Suki, and with all the female characters, than you currently do. frankly, the most engagement I’ve seen with Suki in mainstream fandom is justifying either zukki (which again, is characterizing her in relation to male characters, one of whom she barely interacts with in canon) or one of the Suki wlw pairings. which brings me to--

“I conveniently ship this female character whose canon love interest is one of the members of my favorite non-canon ship with another female character! gay rights!” 

now, I will admit, two of my favorite atla ships are yueki and mailee, and so I totally understand being interested in these characters’ dynamics, even if, as is the case with yueki, they’ve never interacted canonically. however, it becomes a problem for me when these ships are always in the background of a zukka fic. at some point, it becomes obvious that you like this ship because it gets either Zuko or Sokka’s female love interests out of the way, not because you actually think the characters would mesh well together. It’s bad form to dislike a female character because she gets in the way of your gay ship, so instead, you find another girl to pair her off with and call it a day. to be clear, I’m not saying that everybody who ships either mailee or yueki (or tysuki or maisuki or yumai or whatever other wlw rarepair involving Zuko or Sokka’s canon love interests) is nefariously trying to sideline a female character while acting publicly as if she’s is one of their faves--far from it--but it is noteworthy to me how difficult it is to find content that centers wlw ships, while it’s incredibly easy to find content that centers zukka in which mailee and/or yueki plays a background role. 

also, notice how little traction wlw Katara ships gain in this fandom. when’s the last time you saw yuetara on your dash? there’s no reason for wlw Katara ships to gain traction in a fandom that is so focused on Zuko and Sokka getting together, bc she doesn’t present an immediate obstacle to that goal (at least, not an obstacle that can be overcome by pairing her up with a woman). if you are primarily interested in Zuko and Sokka’s relationship, and your queer readings of other female characters are motivated by a desire to get them out of the way for zukka, then Katara’s canon m/f relationship isn’t a threat to you, and thus, there’s no reason to read her as potentially queer. Or even, really, to think about her at all. 

“Katara’s here but she’s not actually going to do anything, because deep down, I’m not interested in her as a person.” 

the show has an enormous amount of textual evidence to support the claim that Sokka and Katara are integral parts of each other’s lives. so, she typically makes some kind of appearance in zukka content. sometimes, her presence in the story is as an actual character with layers and nuance, someone whom Sokka cares about and who cares about Sokka in return, but also has her own life and goals outside of her brother (or other male characters, for that matter.) sometimes, however, she’s just there because halfway through writing the author remembered that Sokka actually has a sister who’s a huge part of the show they’re writing fanfiction for, and then they proceed to show her having a meetcute with Aang or helping Sokka through an emotional problem, without expressing wants or desires outside of those characters. I’m honestly really surprised that I haven’t seen more people calling out the fact that so much of Katara’s personality in fanon revolves around her connections to men? she’s Aang’s girlfriend, she’s Sokka’s sister, she’s Zuko’s bestie. never mind that in canon she spends an enormous amount of time fighting against (anachronistic, Westernized) sexism to establish herself as a person in her own right, outside of these connections. and that in canon she has such interesting complex relationships with other female characters (e.g. Toph, Kanna, Hama, Korra if you want to write lok content) or that there are a plethora of characters with whom she could have interesting relationships with in fanon (Mai, Suki, Ty Lee, Yue, Smellerbee, and if you want to write lok content, Kya II, Lin, Asami, Senna, etc). to me, the lack of fandom material exploring Katara’s relationships with other women or with herself speak to a profound indifference to Katara as a character. I’m not saying you have to like Katara or include her in everything you write, but I am asking you to consider why you don’t find her interesting outside of her relationships with men.

“I hate Katara because she talks about her mother dying too often.” 

this is something I’ve seen addressed by people far more qualified than I to address it, but I want to mention it here in part because when I asked people which fandom tropes they wanted me to talk about, this came up often, but also because I find it really disgusting that this is a thing that needs to be addressed at all. Y’all see a little girl who watched her mother be killed by the forces of an imperialist nation and say that she talks about it too much??? That is a formational, foundational event in a child’s life. Of course she’s going to talk about it. I’ve seen people say that she doesn’t talk about it that often, or that she only talks about it to connect with other victims of fn imperialism e.g. Jet and Haru, but frankly, she could speak about it every episode for no plot-significant reason whatsoever and I would still be angry to see people say she talks about it too much. And before you even bring up the Sokka comparison, people deal with grief in different ways. Sokka  repressed a lot of his grief/channeled it into being the “man” of his village because he knew that they would come for Katara next if he gave them the opportunity. he probably would talk about his mother more if a) he didn’t feel massive guilt at not being able to remember what she looked like, and b) he was allowed to be a child processing the loss of his mother instead of having to become a tiny adult when Hakoda had to leave to help fight the fn. And this gets into an intersection with fandom racism, in that white fans (esp white American fans) are incapable of relating to the structural trauma that both Sokka and Katara experience and thus can’t see the ways in which structural trauma colors every single aspect of both of their characters, leading them to flatten nuance and to have some really bad takes. And you know what, speaking of bad fandom takes--   

“Shitting on Mai because she gets in the way of my favorite Zuko ship is actually totally okay because she’s ~abusive~” 

y’all WHAT. 

ok listen, I get not liking maiko. I didn’t like it when I first got into fandom, and later I realized that while bryke cannot write romance to save their lives, fans who like maiko sure can, so I changed my tune. but if you still don’t like it, that’s fine. no skin off my back. 

what IS skin off my back is taking instances in which Mai had justified anger toward Zuko, and turning it into “Mai abused Zuko.” do you not realize how ridiculous you sound? this is another thing where I get so angry about it that I don’t know how useful my analysis is actually going to be, but I’ll do my best. numerous people have noted how analysis of Mai and Zuko’s breakup in “The Beach” or Mai being justifiably angry with him at Boiling Rock or her asking for FUCKING FRUIT in “Nightmares and Daydreams” that says that all of these events were her trying to gain control over him is....ahhh...lacking in reading comprehension, but I’d like to go a step further and talk about why y’all are so intent on taking down a girl who doesn’t show emotion in normative ways. obviously, there’s a “Zuko can do no wrong” aspect to Mai criticism (which is super weird considering how his whole arc is about how he can do lots of wrong and he has to atone for the wrong that he’s done--but that’s a separate post.) But I also see slandering Mai for not expressing her emotions normatively and not putting up with Zuko’s shit and slandering Katara for “talking about her mother too often” as two sides of the same coin. In both cases, a female character expresses emotions that make you, the viewer, uncomfortable, and so instead of attempting to understand where those emotions may have come from and why they might be manifesting the way they are, y’all just throw the whole character away. this is another instance of people in the fandom being fundamentally disinterested in engaging with the female characters of atla in a real way, except instead of shallowly “stanning” Mai, y’all hate her. so we get to this point where female characters are flattened into one of two things: perfect queens who can do no wrong, or bitches. and that’s not who they are. that’s not who anyone is. but while we as a fandom are pretty good at understanding b1 Zuko’s actions as layered and multifaceted even though he’s essentially an asshole then, few are willing to lend the same grace to any female character, least of all Mai. 

and what’s funny is sometimes this trope will intersect with “I conveniently ship this female character whose canon love interest is one of the members of my favorite non-canon ship with another female character! gay rights!”, so you’ll have someone actively calling Mai toxic/problematic/abusive, and at the same time ship her with Ty Lee? make it make sense! but then again, maybe that’s happening because y’all are fundamentally disinterested in Ty Lee as a character too. 

“I love Ty Lee so much that I’m going to treat her like an infantilized hypersexual airhead!” 

there are so many things happening in y’alls characterization of Ty Lee that I struggled to synthesize it into one quippy section header. on one hand, you have the hypersexualization, and on the other hand, you have the infantilization, which just makes the hypersexualization that much worse. 

(of course, sexualizing or hypersexualizing ANY atla character is really not the move, considering that these are child characters in a children’s show, but then again, that’s a separate post.) 

now, I understand how, from a very, very surface reading of the text, you could come to the conclusion that Ty Lee is an uncomplicated bimbo. if you grew up on Western media the way I did, you’ll know that Ty Lee has a lot of the character traits we associate with bimbos: the form-fitting pink crop top, the general conventional attractiveness, the ditzy dialogue. but if you think about it for more than three seconds, you’ll understand that Ty Lee has spent her whole life walking a tightrope, trying to please Azula and the rest of the royal family while also staying true to herself. Ty Lee and Azula’s relationship is a really complex and interesting topic that I don’t really have time to explore at the moment given how long this post is, but I’d argue that Ty Lee’s constant, vocal  adulation is at least partially a product of learning to survive at court at an early age. Like Mai, she has been forced to regulate her emotions as a member of fn nobility, but unlike Mai, she also has six sisters who look exactly like her, so she has a motivation to be more peppy and more affectionate to stand out. 

fandom does not do the work to understand Ty Lee. as is a theme with this post, fandom is actively disinterested in investigating female characters beyond a very surface level reading of them. Thus, fandom takes Ty Lee’s surface level qualities--her love of the color pink, her revealing standard outfit, and the fact that once she found a boy attractive and also once a lot of boys found her attractive--and they stretch this into “Ty Lee is basically Karen Smith from Mean Girls.” thus, Ty Lee is painted as a bimbo, or more specifically, as not smart, uncritically adoring of Azula (did y’all forget all the non-zukka bits of Boiling Rock?), and attractive to the point of hypersexualization. I saw somebody make a post that was like “I wish mailee was more popular but I’m also glad it isn’t because otherwise people would write it as Mai having to put up with her dumb gf” and honestly I have to agree!! this is one instance in which I’m glad that fandom doesn’t discuss one of my favorite characters that often because I hate the fanon interpretation of Ty Lee, I think it’s rooted in misogyny (particularly misogyny against East Asian women, which often takes the form of fetishizing them and viewing them only through a Western white male gaze)  

(side note: here at army-of-mai-lovers, we stan bimbos. bimbos are fucking awesome. I personally don’t read Ty Lee as a bimbo, but if that’s you, that’s fucking awesome. keep doing what you’re doing, queen <3 or king or monarch, it’s 2021, anyone can be a bimbo, bitches <3)

“Toph can and will destroy everyone here with her bare hands because she’s a meathead who likes to murder people and that’s it!”  

Toph is, and always has been, one of my favorite ATLA characters. My very first fic in fandom was about her, and she appears prominently in a lot of my other work as well. One thing that I am always struck by with Toph is how big a heart she has. She’s independent, yes, snarky, yes, but she cares about people--even the family that forced her to make herself smaller because they didn’t believe that their blind daughter could be powerful and strong. Her storyline is powerful and emotionally resonant, her bending is cool precisely because it’s based in a “wait and listen” approach instead of just smashing things indiscriminately, she’s great disabled rep, and overall one of the best characters in the show. 

And in fandom, she gets flattened into “snarky murder child.” 

So where does this come from? Well, as we all know, Toph was originally conceived of as a male character, and retained a lot of androgyny (or as the kids call it, Gender) when she was rewritten as a female character. There are a lot of cultural ideas about androgynous/butch women being violent, and people in fandom seem to connect that larger cultural narrative with some of Toph’s more violent moments in the show to create the meathead murder child trope, erasing her canon emotionality, softness, heart, and femininity in the process. 

This is not to say that you shouldn’t write or characterize Toph as being violent or snarky at all ever, because yeah, Toph definitely did do Earth Rumbles a lot before joining the gaang, and yeah, Toph is definitely a sarcastic person who makes fun of her friends a lot. What I am saying is that people take these traits, sans the emotional logic, marry them to their conception of androgynous/butch women as violent/unemotional/uncaring, and thus create a caricature of Toph that is not at all up to snuff. When I see Toph as a side character in a fic (because yeah, Toph never gets to be a main character, because why would a fandom obsessed with one male character in particular ever make Toph a protagonist in her own right?) she’s making fun of people, killing people, pranking people, etc, etc. She’s never talking to people about her emotions, or palling around with her found family, or showing that she cares about her friends. Everything about her relationship with her parents, her disability, her relationship to Gender, and her love of her friends is shoved aside to focus on a version of Toph that is mean and uncaring because people have gotten it into their heads that androgynous/butch women are mean and uncaring. 

again, we see a female character who does not emote normatively or in a way that makes you, the viewer, comfortable, and so you warp her character until she’s completely unrecognizable and flat. and for what? 

Azula

no, I didn’t come up with a snappy name for this section, mainly because fanon interpretations of Azula and my own feelings toward the character are...complicated. I know there were some people who wanted me to write about Azula and the intersection of misogyny and ableism in fanon interpretations of her character, but I don’t think I can deliver on that because I personally am in a period of transition with how I see Azula. that is to say, while I still like her and believe that she can be redeemed, there is a lot of merit to disliking her. the whole point of this post is that the female characters of ATLA are complex people whom the fandom flattens into stereotypes that don’t hold up to scrutiny, or dislike for reasons that don’t make sense. Azula, however, is a different case. the rise of Azula defenders and Azula stans has led to this sentiment that Azula is a 14 y/o abuse victim who shouldn’t be held accountable for her actions. it seems to me that people are reacting to a long, horrible legacy of male ATLA fans armchair diagnosing Azula with various personality disorders (and suggesting that people with those personality disorders are inherently monstrous and unlovable which ahhhh....yikes) and then saying that those personality disorders make her unlovable, which is quite obviously bad. and hey, I get loving a character that everyone else hates and maybe getting so swept up in that love that you forget that your fave is complicated and has made some unsavory choices. it sucks that fanon takes these well-written, complex villains/antiheroes and turns them into monsters with no critical thought whatsoever. but the attitude among Azula stans that her redemption shouldn’t be hard, that her being a child excuses all of the bad things that she’s done, that she is owed redemption....all of that rubs me the wrong way. I might make another post about this in the future that discusses this in more depth, but as it stands now: while I understand that there is a legacy of misogynistic, ableist, unnuanced takes on Azula, the backlash to that does not take into account the people she hurt or the fact that in ATLA she does not make the choice to pursue redemption. and yes, Zuko had help in making that choice that Azula didn’t, and yes, Azula is a victim of abuse, but in a show about children who have gone through untold horrors and still work to better the lives of the people around them, that is not enough for me to uncritically stan her. 

Conclusion    

misogyny in this fandom runs rampant. while there are some tropes of fandom misogyny that are well-documented and have been debunked numerous times, there are other, subtler forms of misogyny that as far as I know have gone completely unchecked. 

what I find so interesting about misogyny in atla fandom is that it’s clear that it’s perpetrated by people who are aware of fandom misogyny who are actively trying not to be misogynistic. when I first joined atla fandom last summer, memes about how zukka fandom was better than every other fandom because they didn’t hate the female characters who got in the way of their gay ship were extremely prevalent, and there was this sense that *this* fandom was going to model respectful, fun, feminist online fandom. not all of the topes I’ve outlined are exclusive to or even largely utilized in zukka fandom, but a lot of them are. I’ve been in and out of fandom since I was eleven years old, and most of the fandom spaces I’ve been in have been majority-female, and all of them have been incredibly misogynistic. and I always want to know why. why, in these communities created in large part by women, in large part for women, does misogyny run wild? what I realize now is that there’s never going to be a one-size fits all answer to that question. what’s true for 1D fandom on Wattpad in 2012 is absolutely not true for atla fandom on tumblr in 2021. the answers that I’ve cobbled together for previous fandoms don’t work here. 

so, why is atla fandom like this? why did the dream of a feminist fandom almost entirely focused on the romantic relationship between two male characters fall apart? honestly, I think the notion that zukka fandom ever was this way was horrifically ignorant to begin with. from my very first moment in the fandom, I was seeing racism, widespread sexualization of minors, and yes, misogyny. these aspects of the fandom weren’t talked about as much as the crocverse or other, much more fun aspects. further, atla (specifically zukka) fandom misogyny often doesn’t look like the fandom misogyny we’ve become familiar with from like, Sherlock fandom or what have you. for the most part, people don’t actively hate Suki, they just “stan” without actually caring about her. they hate Mai because they believe in treating male victims of abuse equally. they’re not characterizing Toph poorly, they’re writing her as a “strong woman.” in short, people are misogynistic, and then invoke a shallow, incomplete interpretation of feminist theory to shield themselves from accusations of misogyny. it’s not unlike the way some people will invoke a shallow, incomplete interpretation of critical race theory to shield themselves from accusations of racism, or how they’ll talk about “freedom of speech” and “the suppression of women’s sexuality” to justify sexualizing minors. the performance of feminism and antiracism is what’s important, not the actual practice. 

if you’ve made it this far, first off, hi, thanks so much for reading, I know this was a lot. second, I would seriously encourage you to be aware of these fandom tropes and to call them out when you see them. elevate the voices of fans who do the work of bringing the female characters of atla to life. invest in the wlw ships in this fandom. drop a kudos and a comment on a rangshi fic (please, drop a kudos and a comment on a rangshi fic). read some yuetara. let’s all be honest about where we are now, and try to do better in the future. I believe in us. 

[hangovercurse]

Favorites

You work at the preschool next to Casie’s middle school. One day, you catch Colson’s eyes while working, and lucky for him you happen to know his daughter.

Request: “Hi!! Let me start out by saying that you are so so so talented!! I was wondering if you’d write something about colson falling for a preschool teacher? like he just sees her one day while he’s picking up casey from the middle school and he’s all soft seeing her interact with the kids and he makes up excuses to keep coming to see you!?”

Colson X Reader

Warnings: Cursing (maybe?)

A/N: I did that thing where I write too much… again.

Word Count: 2394

Colson tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, drumming softly to the beat of the music coming from his radio. He pulled into the school parking lot, the line already a million cars long it seemed. But he promised Casie he would pick her up whenever he wasn’t working so she didn’t have to take the bus. If that meant spending thirty minutes in a line of slow-moving cars, so be it.

As he was jamming, he glanced out the passenger window, finding a smaller building with a chain link fence outside, surrounding a child’s playground. The door happened to swing open while he was looking, and from there time seemed to move in slow motion.

Out of the door came a dozen or so toddlers, waddling their way outside, surrounding the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. The sun bounced off of your skin perfectly, making everything around you seem so much brighter.

Your skirt flowed with the slight breeze, making the scene more picturesque. He watched as you reached down, picking up one of the toddlers and holding him in your arms. The small boy seemed to be crying, over what Colson couldn’t tell.

You seemed to be speaking to the boy, bouncing him up and down in your arms to comfort him. Meanwhile, a little girl with pigtails made her way over to you. You spoke to her brightly, reaching the arm that wasn’t holding the boy to hold her hand.

Colson’s eyes followed you as you let her drag you over to the playground. You supported her as she climbed the small rock-climbing wall and reach the landing for the slide. You then smiled as she made her way down the slide, telling her good job when she made it to the bottom.

You then turned your attention back to the boy in your arms, making silly faces at him until he laughed.

All it took was those few moments for Colson to get hooked. If there was one thing he found attractive above all else, it was women who loved children. He refused to date anyone who wasn’t supportive of his relationship with Casie, so you were already ahead of everyone on his list. It also helped that you were breathtakingly beautiful.

Colson just got good vibes from you. From his brief observation of you, he could tell you were compassionate and kind, but also childlike and fun, much like himself.

The blonde man was pulled from his thoughts as the car in front of him started moving, signaling the line was moving.

 The next day, Colson had a plan. Instead of driving into the school parking lot, he pulled into the pre-school. He checked himself out in the mirror, praying he would see you working. He stepped out of the car, putting on his best confused dad face, and walked into the building.

And by some miracle, you happened to be speaking with the woman at the front desk.

You were even prettier up close, eyes meeting his and stopping him dead in his tracks. You smiled kindly, voice ringing out, “can I help you, sir.”

He returned your smile, “I was looking for the middle school but I have a feeling I ended up in the wrong place.”

You giggled slightly, “just a little. The middle school is just next door.” You pointed to your right. “Are you picking up a sibling?” You asked.

Truthfully, the man had caught your eye the moment he stepped into the door. It was rare you saw someone your own age, and he was exponentially more attractive than most men. What would it hurt if you got to know him a little bit?

“My daughter, actually.” He spoke, fiddling with the key in his hand. You tilted your head, his face seeming vaguely familiar.

You hesitated before speaking, “who’s your daughter? I substitute over there sometimes and you look vaguely familiar.”

He bit his lip, hoping he hadn’t blown his cover. “Casie Baker.” But surely, he’d have remembered you if he’d met you.

Your eyes widened at the name, “Casie? She’s my absolute favorite!” You grinned at the man, realizing immediately that their similar features made him feel familiar. “She’s awesome.”

Colson smiled, letting out a nervous chuckle, “thank you. Yeah, she’s great.”

“She tells me about you. Whenever I sub in her classes, she talks about how cool you are.”

Colson blushed lightly, rubbing his neck. “I’m Colson.” He reached out an arm to shake your hand, mentally kicking himself as soon as he did it.

You found it endearing, shaking his hand “Y/N.”

 A few days passed and Colson still couldn’t get over how soft your hands were, or how your touch sent electricity running through his body.

He felt ridiculous, leaving rehearsals and recording sessions to pick Casie up with the hope that he gets a glimpse of you.

After a few days of nothing, he almost loses that hope. Until he happens to arrive at the school a little bit early, windows rolled down to let the cool air in. He hears the sudden sound of children laughing, pulling his attention to the playground next door.

And there you are, in all your beautiful glory. Guiding the kids out, helping them into swings and onto the stairs.

Colson must’ve pleased some God because you looked over your shoulder and found him. Of all the cars in the line, you found his, eyes locking immediately. You smiled softly, reaching a hand over to him and waving. He waved back, trying to keep his cool. But really, he was freaking out.

He thought about saying something, or mouthing something, rather, as you were too far away to hear him, but he was stopped by the beautiful brown hair of his favorite girl in the world. Casie plopped herself down on the seat next to him, her backpack falling to the floor with a frown on her face.

She looked up to her dad, about to complain about her day when she saw his preoccupation. She followed his eyes, finding you in the playground. Immediately her mood was lifted, and she turned back to her dad with a grin on her face.

“Daaad?” She questioned, her voice lifting at the end of her question. The blond man looked down to her a soft smile in his face.

“Hey Case, how was school?”

“You think she’s pretty, right?” Casie ignored his question.

Colson scoffed, rolling his eyes, and shifting his car into gear. “She’s… pretty. I guess.” He mumbled, pressing lightly on the gas.

Casie continued smiling up at him, “that’s Ms. Y/N. She’s the coolest.”

“Put your seatbelt on.” He said, pulling out of the parking lot. “And I know, I met her the other day.”

Casie’s eyes lit up at the thought of her two favorite adults meeting. “Really? How? Did you like her?”

Colson chuckled at his daughter, “I went into the pre-school parking lot by accident and she showed me how to get here.” He blushed, knowing Casie would easily spot his lie.

And that she did, “I’ve been going here for almost two years, how did you accidentally go into the wrong parking lot? You pick me up all the time.”

Colson coughed nervously, “so, how was school?” He tried to change the subject.

Casie gasped, “did you go to the preschool just to see her? You like her!”

“I just met her Casie.”

“You like Ms. Y/N!” she sang, dancing in her seat.

“How was school, loser?” He asked, laughing at her.

She ignored him, again. “Does she know you’re my dad? Did she say anything about me?”

He rolled his eyes, chuckling to himself at her excitement. “Yes, she does, and yes, she did.”

“What did she say?” Casie practically yelled.

“She said you were the worst student she’s ever substituted for.” He smirked, flinching lightly as Casie slapped his arm.

“She did not say that!” The girl pouted, “Ms. Y/N is my favorite teacher in the whole world.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her affection for you. “She’s not even technically your teacher. But she did say that you were her favorite student.”

Her eyes twinkled, “really?”

Colson nodded, “she also told me that you talk about me in class.” He looked at the girl, raising an eyebrow, “any reason why?”

Casie sunk into her seat, a guilty expression on her face. “No.” Colson looked back to the road, but his eyebrow was still raised, “Okay, fine. I just think it’d be really cool if my favorite dad and my favorite teacher were… friends.”

Colson laughed, “I am your only dad, first of all, and second… don’t be weird.”

“But you said you liked her!” Casie pointed out, making the man’s ears turn red.

“I said she was pretty, that’s not the same thing.”

Casie sang again, “whatever you say.”

He rolled his eyes again, letting out a sigh and dropping the conversation, knowing he would lose. “Are you gonna tell me how school was or not?”

Casie sighed, hitting her back against the seat, “Mr. Clemmons was being mean today again. He said he’s not gonna curve our test even though only 2 people got an A on it.” She crossed her arms and huffed.

Colson pouted, bringing a hand to rub her shoulder, “what’d you get on it?”

She mumbled out, “a B.”

His eyes went wide, “dude, what? That’s awesome, that’s above average. You should be proud of that!” He always tried to encourage Casie, knowing the insane amount of pressure people put on their kids nowadays and not wanting her to feel that.

Casie shrugged, “yeah but my guidance counselor says if I want to get into a magnet program in high school, I have to get all A’s. And I have to get in a magnet program high school to get into a good college.”

His eyes went wide as he pulled into his driveway, “woah, woah, woah. You’re 11 years old! You don’t need to worry about that stuff and whoever is telling you that is wrong. Getting a B or even a C isn’t gonna stop you from getting into whatever program you want, I promise.”

Casie sighed, opening the door, and sliding out. “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore. Can we go back to talking about how you like Ms. Y/N?” She asked, her shoulders slumped.

Colson rolled his eyes, climbing out of the car and following her inside. “I don’t like Ms. Y/N.” He groaned.

“Whatever, but next time she substitutes my class, I’m texting you and you’re gonna bring me lunch and talk to her.” Casie said, going to her room and throwing her backpack onto her bed.

 A week and a half later, Colson was sitting in his car in the school parking lot, staring at himself through his rearview mirror. He looked at the bag of chick-fil-a in the passenger side seat and sighed. His phone buzzed, a text from Casie coming through.

Lunch is starting, where are you???

He chuckled and texted back.

Going to the office now, calm down

He grabbed the bags and drinks, opening his door and stepping out. He made his way through the office, getting his visitor’s badge, and moving towards the cafeteria. He opened the door, searching through the sea of children for his daughter, only to find your eyes instead.

You smiled brightly, head tilting as if to ask why he’s here. He returned the smile, holding up the bags to answer your question. Casie appeared next to you, waving her hand. Colson made his way through the pre-teens, trying not to crush any of them.

Casie and you giggled at his struggle, joking with each other. Eventually he reached you two, setting the food on the table that Casie had reserved just for you three. The girl took her place across from him, motioning you to sit down next to him. You laughed but followed her directions.

Colson took the food out of the bag, passing Casie her sandwich and fries and pulling his food out of the bag. He turned to you, a smile on his face. “Woah, they must’ve given me an extra sandwich.” He held it out for you to take.

You obliged, giggling lightly. “How strange.” You commented, your smile never leaving.

“Oh, right. Ms. Y/N, this is my dad, Colson. Dad, this is Ms. Y/N, the best substitute ever.” Casie said, pointing between the two.

Colson chuckled, “yes, Casie. We’ve met.” He looked over to you, hiding his laugh behind his sandwich.

“Yep. Someone got lost and found me at the preschool.” You said, your voice exaggerating. Shit, Colson thought, you were onto him. “Speaking of, Casie. I know you’ve been talking about needing volunteer hours. If you want you can come by after school some days and help me with the aftercare program? I can take you home afterwards if your dad can’t pick you up.”

Casie smiled brightly, nodding her head. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

Colson watched the interaction, fondness in his eyes. If he wasn’t sure before, he was now. He was falling hard.

You turned to him, kindness in your eyes, “if it’s okay with your dad.” You said and he nodded.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind having her around. I’m cool with it.” He tried to hide the blush on his cheeks as you continued to look at him, taking in his features.

Casie squealed, “thank you!”

You simply smiled and shrugged, “it’s not a big deal. I get some extra help and I get to spend some more time with my favorite 11-year-old. Maybe her dad can even stop by and help sometime.”

You turned to the man next to you, who was sure he’d turned very red. He was never this nervous around women, but something about you made him incredibly self-conscious, like he had to impress you.

He mumbled out a quick “huh?” before registering your question. “Uh, yeah, sure. If you want me to come help. I’d be cool with that.” He turned to meet your eyes.

You giggled, holding the eye contact, “I do want you to. I’d like it a lot if you did.”

Casie looked between you two, suddenly regretting what she’d done, “are you two done? I’m trying to eat my sandwich.”

[lauras-collection]

✮ electric love | part 1 ✮

Harrison Osterfield x fem!reader | fwb!roommates au

|| Masterlist || Series Masterlist ||

Summary: Living with your best friends Tom and Harrison is all fun and games until one drunken night alone with Harrison, you give in to your attraction to him. You tell yourself you should leave it at that, forget about the night you spent with him and move on to not ruin your friendship, but neither of you can stay away from each other. So without considering the possible consequences, you make a deal. But how are you supposed to keep your shenanigans from Tom? And how are you supposed to not break the number one rule of an arrangement like this: do not fall in love.

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ [protected sex, drunk sex], alcohol consumption and being drunk, reader and Haz being horny idiots? (this kinda goes for the whole series lmao)

A/N: Ahhh I'm so excited for this (mini) series!! I hope you guys like it!

Feedback is always appreciated ❤️

Growing up, your dream was to go to university and have the time of your life with your best friends. It wasn’t until about a year ago that that dream started to become a reality. You and your best friends Tom and Harrison all got accepted to the same university. A university all three of you had dreamed of going to for years. So without having to think twice about it, you registered for the fall semester and started looking for a flat together.

You’d had countless sleepovers with the two boys, and went on holiday together, so you had an idea of what you were signing up for moving in with them. They weren’t neat freaks but knew how to keep a place clean. That was all you were asking for. No way were you going to be their maid and clean up after them.

What you weren’t prepared for, however, was that the harmless attraction you had felt towards Harrison for a while now got increasingly more prominent. Yours and Harrison’s friendship and the way you interact with each other had always been flirty. But ever since your final months in school you’d been a little confused by your feelings towards Harrison. You never did anything to explore those feelings, though. He’s your best friend, and there are always consequences when you cross that line with a friend. You told yourself it’s just a phase.

Anyway, living with Harrison presented itself as more of a challenge than initially anticipated. The guy has no shame running around the flat half-naked. Neither does Tom, but that doesn’t affect you in the way that it does with Harrison. Both of them are attractive, yes, but your belly does somersaults whenever you get the slightest view of Harrison’s naked skin. You hate it. And you start to wonder if moving in with him was as good of an idea as you thought.

Besides the inner turmoil, you’ve honestly gotten used to over the past couple of months, living with Tom and Harrison is a blast. You always have someone to talk to, to vent about how annoying uni homework can be, and always someone to cheer you up at the end of a stressful day.

Whenever one of the three of you is down, the other two are always there to make it better.

Tom had taken up a bartending job a couple weeks into the first semester, which ended up being beneficial to all of you. For Tom, the obvious benefit was earning money, for you and Harrison, it was discounted drinks. The pub he worked at quickly became your go-to spot even when Tom wasn’t working.

Right now, however, Tom was working and you and Harrison didn’t feel like going out. There’s no party or at least none that you are interested in going to, so you decide to throw your own little private party. And by private you mean no guests, you couldn’t be bothered to clean up after dozens of people who don't give a crap what they keep lying around.

Plus, both of you had a stressful week with tests and deadlines, and you’re looking forward to just chill for a bit. Harrison got the booze, and you took care of the snacks and movies, so now you’re sitting on the couch watching one of the most ridiculous horror films you’ve ever seen while guzzling down one can of cider after the other.

"Oh my gosh, no! Don’t go in there!” You shout at the TV, not that it makes any type of difference. “And he went in there. And now he’s dead.” You say matter of factly, causing Harrison to laugh.

“He’s not dead yet.” He points out, but it doesn’t take long for the music to get more intense. And ten seconds later, the guy on screen is, indeed, dead. You give Harrison a look, but he just keeps laughing.

“Why are people in horror films always so stupid? Wouldn’t it be much scarier if they were super smart and always did the right thing and end up getting killed anyway?”

“But then you wouldn’t be shouting at the TV. Don’t you think it’s kind of cathartic?” Harrison asks with a raised brow, “Honestly, I feel like you’re bottling up all your frustrations and then let them all out when we’re watching horror films.” You can see the amusement in his face, and all you can do is roll your eyes.

“Shut up.” You throw a pillow at him, which he, unfortunately, catches. Watching bad horror films was sort of your and Harrison’s thing. Tom wasn’t really a fan of them, so whenever he was gone, it was an unspoken rule that you and Harrison would be watching a horror movie that evening. There might be a limited amount of good horror movies, but for every good one, there were at least fifty bad ones.

“You want another drink?” Harrison asks as he gently moves your feet out of his lap and gets up from the sofa. He picks your empty can up from the coffee table and takes it to the kitchen along with his own empty can of beer.

“Yes, please!” You call after him even though your living area is an open space, so you can still see him as he opens the fridge. “There's only so much I can take while being sober.”

“You’ve already had two drinks, there’s no way you’re still sober.” Harrison chuckles, plopping down on the sofa next to you before handing you a new can of cider.

You make an undistinguishable noise as you open the can and take a sip.

*

An hour later, you’re both proper drunk. The movie has long since been over, but neither of you have been bothered to turn off the TV or put on a different movie. Harrison is slouched next to you, his arm loosely thrown over your shoulder, his fingers playing with your hair as he watches you intently while you try to explain to him why you think that one of your professors is actually working undercover for the MI6.

"It makes complete sense! Why else would he be late and unprepared all the time, huh?"

Harrison just raises his eyebrows “Maybe he doesn’t take his job very seriously?”

“No, he takes his job too seriously. Because he’s a secret agent for MI6 and spends his whole time fighting the bad guys instead of preparing his lessons!”

“But didn’t you say he’s undercover? Why would he neglect his teaching if that’s part of his job for MI6?”

“Shhhh” You shush him, placing your pointer finger over his lips “Don’t question my logic”

Harrison gently wraps his hand around yours to pull it away from his mouth.

“I’m sorry to say this, but there isn’t much logic behind that theory, love.”

“You’re mean” You push your bottom lip forward in a pout.

“I’m not! I’m just stating facts here” He’s still holding your hand in his and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of your skin that’s touching his. So in an attempt to stop the shivers running down your spine, you try to pull your hand out of his hold, but his grip just tightens. When you look up, he’s already looking at you, a challenging glint in his eyes.

“What are you doing?” You ask your voice barely above a whisper.

“Nothing” He shrugs his shoulders, the corner of his mouth kicking up into a smirk. And then he tugs on your hand, pulling you on top of him, and in a movement that has your head spinning, he rolls both of you over so he’s now hovering above you. You don’t even have the chance to say anything before he’s got his hands on your sides, tickling you.

“Oh my god, Haz, no” You press out between laughs, your stomach already starting to hurt. You try to curl up into yourself to get away from his wiggling fingers, but it’s no use, Harrison’s got you pinned down.

You hadn’t even been aware that he’s positioned between your legs, and the sudden realisation makes your breath catch in your throat. You try to get a grasp on his arms to push him away, get him to stop tickling you, but he’s too strong, taking your hands and pinning them above your head. The motion has his face only inches from yours, his breath hitting your lips, and it takes everything in you to keep still. The air between you is charged, his eyes flitting over your face, and you can feel his chest touch yours with every breath.

By now, he’s completely covering your body on the couch, and all you want to do is wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer into you. But you can’t move, kept in place by Harrison’s pale blue eyes. And then everything happens so quickly it takes your breath away.

Harrison makes a noise in the back of his throat, and then his lips are on yours. He takes your top lip between his, then your bottom lip and then you’re finally registering what’s happening and lean up, chasing his lips.

His grip on your wrists loosens, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck as you open your mouth, inviting him in deeper. You bury your hands in Harrison’s soft hair, tugging on his dark blond curls.

Harrison groans and rolls his hips into yours, and the feeling of him against you makes you throw all caution into the wind. You’re overcome with desire. With a swift but clumsy movement, you tug his shirt over his head.

Meanwhile, Harrison’s hands have also found their way under your shirt, his fingertip trailing over your skin, causing goosebumps to rise wherever he’s touching you. Your breathing’s uneven as he moves his lips to your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses all over your skin.

Arching your back you press yourself closer to him and wrap your legs around him. You run your hands over his toned back, feeling his muscles contract with each of his movements.

It’s been a while since you’ve been touched like this. And all of the sexual frustration you’ve been bottling up is threatening to spill over with the way Harrison’s hands are caressing your skin.

It almost feels like your brain shuts off completely when Harrison finds your sweet spot and starts sucking on it. You feel a tingling sensation in your lower belly, and then your clit’s throbbing, and you lose all sense of rational thinking.

“Fuck me” The words leave your lips without you even realising, and for a moment both you and Harrison pause. He lifts himself up to look at you, searching your face. And he must’ve found whatever he was looking for because in the next second his grip on you tightens, and then your shirt is pulled over your head.

“Gorgeous” The word falls from his lips with a hushed breath, as if he’s in awe, his eyes roaming over your half-naked body.

With frenzied movements, you both undress, not without getting tangled a couple of times. But then you’re naked, and if your mind wasn’t so foggy with desire, you would take a moment to appreciate Harrison’s handsome form as he positions himself between your legs. He’s got his hard cock in his hand about to enter you when he pauses.

“Fuck. I need to get a condom”

You let out a soft whine, but Harrison is back so quickly you hadn’t even really registered he was gone.

With one hand on your bent knee, he runs his fingers through your slick folds and lets out a low hiss.

“You’re so wet, this all for me?” You can hear the cocky smirk in his voice, and it takes everything in you not to roll your eyes.

“Yes, now please fuck me already.”

And then you feel his tip against your entrance. Harrison doesn’t give you much time to prepare as he starts pushing into you. You’re not complaining though, the feeling of his girth stretching you out is better than anything you’ve ever experienced.

When he’s completely inside of you, he halts his movements, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

“So tight” He murmurs against your skin, then places a sloppy kiss on your shoulder. Your cunt is throbbing, and in an attempt to get him to move, you roll your hips against his, causing Harrison to curse. “Fuck, you’re needy, aren’t you?”

You don’t grant that with an answer, and you don’t need to because the next thing you know, Harrison starts thrusting, moving in and out of you, his movements getting quicker and quicker every time he enters you.

The living room is filled with the sounds of skin hitting skin and breathy moans.

“Right there” You throw your head back with a groan when Harrison’s cock grazes your g-spot, and then Harrison seems hellbent on hitting it over and over and over again until you can’t think straight anymore. Your whole body is tingling, the coil in your stomach about to snap as you try to spread your legs even further, to feel him deeper.

You barely notice Harrison’s strained groans as he places his thumb on your clit. The sudden stimulation makes you cry out, your walls spasming around his cock as your release washes over you in shuddering waves.

You dig your fingernails into whatever you can hold onto as you cum around Harrison’s cock.

Your release pushes him over the edge as well, his cock twitching inside you as he orgasms with a deep groan.

You both need a moment to catch your breath. Your skin is sticky with sweat, but you don’t have the energy to get up and take a shower. Especially not with Harrison sprawled on top of you.

He pulls out of you, and before you can even register the cold air around you, he pulls the blanket from the back of the couch and covers you with it. He tugs on his boxers and gets up, probably to dispose of the condom, before he joins you back on the couch.

He squeezes himself between you and the back of the couch, pulling you close to him so you won’t fall off the couch.

“How was that?” He whispers as he joins you under the blanket and tangles his legs with yours.

“Good” You hum “Very good”

Harrison’s grip on you tightens a bit, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, placing a kiss there.

“It was, wasn’t it” You can feel him smile against your skin, and you let yourself sink into him. You’re starting to feel the energy draining from you.

And with nothing but Harrison filling your thoughts, you fall asleep.

A/N: here it is! the first part!! I hope you liked it! Let me know what you think!!! <3

everything taglist: @spidermanlondon​ // @duskholland​ // @tutuabby28​ // @missevrythingg​ // @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh​ // @thenoddingbunny-blog​ // @emilykjh​ // @clara-licht​ // @hollandfanficlove​ // @calltothewild​ // @crybabyalexxx​ // @hazardosterfield​ // @calsthomas​ // @quaksonhehe​ // @sinisterspidey​ // @thirzaholland // @tombrina​ // @outshineallthestars​ // @serendipitous-amor​ // @soincredible​ // @trustfundparker​ // @localfangirlx // @writertoo18​ // @viagracex​ // @skamlover200​ // @wonderlandfandomkingdom​ // @wehavetomakeourheartssitstill​ // @thearchersupremacy​ // @itstaskeen​ // @camimndess​ // @allyz​ // @technosoot​ // @fanficscuziranout​ // @parker-hollandx // @givebuckyhisplumsnow​ // @dangerouslovefanfic​ // @ertherealrose​ // @i-married-a-pineapple // @miraclesoflove​ // @bi-girlwrites-2000​ // @seasidetom​ // @katcontrreras​ // ** // @fallingforfics​ // @destinedbooklover // @parkerpeter24​ // @selfcarecap​ // @moonphoric // @just-a-littlebit-of-everything​ // @emistrash​ // @badreputationlove​ // @turtoix​ // @haloxmendes​ // @anjalika03​ // @iamsherloki-wholocked​ // @the-fan-18​ // @white-wolf1940​ // @aidinniram​  // @heyhihellowhatsup0​ // @blackbat2020​ // @keithseabrook27 // @annathesillyfriend​ // @hoodpankow​ // @practicallylivesonline​  // @millennial-teenybopper​ // @beautifulrose0809​ // parachutepanties // @jamiealenaa​ // @hallecarey1​

harrison osterfield taglist: @hjoficrecs​ // @lolychu​ // @hazardosterfield​ // @hollandbroz-n-haz​ // @emilyg453​

series taglist: @softholand​ // @svturtles​ // @cloverrover​ // @goodgirlgonetom // @justafangirlduh​ // @thegirlwiththediary​ // @beyond-the-ashes​ // @parkerbunny​ // @bearsbeetsbarnes​ // @keithseabrook27

electric love taglist: @blueraindrops​ // @spideyssunshine​ // @defensive_sarcasm17 // @captainbucky13​ // @frenchfrostpudding // @the-fan-18​ // @hotforharrison​ // @osterfieldvol6 // @castawayclaires // @littlebookbengal​ // @bigbootyjudys-blog​ // @abcxrandomx // @74limelight​ // @lolooo22​ // @justsayk​ // @mountainsforwords​

[nightswithkookmin]

So every member has been posting on weverse or Twitter lately, they've been coming on vlive. But Jk has done none of this. Do you see his social media absence as a silent rebellion against BH for them trying to hide Jikook or do you think he's probably just staying away for like mental health reasons or something.

Run that by me one more time???

Are you asking for my opinion on why JK might be absent from social media or are you asking me to choose between those two opinions as explanation as to why Jungkook might be absent from social media???

Is it for his mental health or relationship??? Lol. You are juxtaposing two extremely opposite theories so one sounds more appealing and plausible to highlight the other as outlandish and ridiculous. But that's a fallacy ma'am. Nice try though.

Also, the part about BigHit hiding Jikook...

I object. You is leading the witness sir/ma'am.

It's a little bit silly and presumptuous to assume whenever a member is absent from social media that the only possible reason I could possibly think of is that they are rebelling against their company.

Sometimes it's just a case of volition and personal interests. Sometimes you just don't wanna be social on social media. Sometimes you have work, family, chores, practice. Sometimes you've outgrown the space or lost track of why you wanted to be apart of an online community in the first place. Sometimes it's the toxicity and wanting to take a break from it for your mental health. Literally a plethora of reasons all of which could be valid depending on the context.

I try to give my theories context by sharing as much of my thought process as possible. It's asinine to strip those contexts away and present me with a skinned theory devoid of context.

About his mental health-

Let's try it this way...

Your first Ask: is there ever a moment I wonder if Jikook are just platonic brothers or something along those lines.

Yes. When they are not together romantically. I look at them and go huh... that's a very platonic hug, or interaction. I still uWu over their interactions though.

Cute. Next.

Is he rebelling against BigHit....

Why would he?? What's the context?

Do you think BigHit is making changes JK and the others might not be happy with in the company? Do you think the company or the members are interfering in his self autonomy and determination within the group or suppressing him in anyway in regards to what he says, what he does or who he does it with?

If so then him rebelling in that way would make sense to me because he wouldn't be the first idol to have used that tactic. A lot of idols do these and worse to assert themselves against their company.

If there's no such underling subtext then him rebelling makes no fucking sense to me.

Is he staying away for his mental health

Again, do you think he's been exposed to severe amounts of toxicity and hate online beyond what all the members experience on a daily such that he would need a break from the internet to rejuvenate like we saw around 2019? If so then taking a break for his mental health would make a lot of sense too.

But for someone who keeps reiterating how important connecting with his fans is to him, you gotta wonder how he strikes a balance between his mental health needs, his emotional needs and his professional deeds.

This is the last he was seen on Weverse.

Relatively recent I'd say. So when you say he's absent from social media which timeframes do you mean? They were all pretty much off the grid until recent times post PTD not just him. Are they all dealing with mental health issues or are they all rebelling against their company or something?

You have all these tiktok trends and memes he's been referring to here and there and incorporating into their freestyle dance- seems to me he's active online alright. Just not in the way we are used to them being 'active' online. He is fulfilling that need to connect with his fans just not in a way you'd expect. I can say same for Jimin.

Just gonna have to observe things for a while to form a definitive opinion. If you know what I mean.

BigHit hiding Jikook

Sigh. Sounds like shade when you put it like that honestly and so I didn't want to touch it but also I don't think anyone in Bangtan has had an out in the open romantic relationship with anyone yet💀

Show me RMs partner or Suga's girlfriend.

BTS are hiding their relationships gay or straight. If you can see it from that angle then I think the idea of Jikook hiding their relationship or Bighit aiding them or asking them to privatize their relationship isn't so outlandish and ridiculous like you make it seem. BTS are allowed to date, they are just not allowed to make those relationships public💀

If Jikook were heterosexuals and in different bands I think a lot of people would have entertained the thought. Hell people are convinced they are each dating female idols and keeping it a secret. People are convinced JK is dating Mijoo and keeping that a secret but him dating a boy in the same band and keeping it a secret is kapushkalava😌

Theories of RM married and raising a kid abounds in this fandom and people entertain the idea. However, because Jikook are in the same band and play out certain interactions in front of the cameras the thought that they may be hiding sounds funny in y'alls ears? Jokers💀

Most idols hide their relationships and are required by their companies to keep that out of the public eye. Jikook are idols ergo they are required to hide and are hiding their relationships be it with themselves or with others.

And yes BigHit does aid them in doing so when they issue statements about that "this relationship rumor is false" or when the members evade questions about their relationships in a way to insinuate they are single and not in relationships.

How Jikook feel about being required by the company to keep their relationships to themselves or their peers taking it upon themselves to enforce those company policies of private relationships is up for debate and speculation.

BTS wrote a whole ass song dissing the company and calling them out for having a no dating policy yet expecting them to write love songs and yet somehow we think it's ridiculous that Jikook who are part of BTS would rebel against their company from time to time over certain mandates? Lmho.

Edit:

This ask was sent in a few days before JK's recent VLive. I started answering it and let it go to draft because I felt it was pointless to answer it. Especially since a lot of my thoughts on this were regurgitative, abstract, and based on my own subjective opinion and assumptions about the boys. I feel I keep repeating myself and repeating the same things I've been saying over and over with these kinds of shady trolling asks. Sigh.

However, due to recent events that gives more credit to my thoughts and feelings on the matter, I'll attempt to answer it again.

In JK's VLive he said he noticed it's been a while he interacted with Fans which is why he jumped on the Live to see Army- if we take his word for it and at face value then he said nothing about his mental health ergo it can't be because of that😌

Tae equally said in his VLive he noticed the others coming on VLive and so he thought he would come too.

Now, don't you think they wouldn't have come so spontaneously if they were dealing with mental health issues or trying to take care of their mental health???

There was a time Tae was constantly online interacting with Fans and I think I was one of the few people out here who speculated he was lonely and wasn't dating anyone at the time- which he confirmed in Soop by the way when he told JK he being online constantly was because he was lonely.

Do you think he staying off Social media in recent times is because of his mental or that he doesn't feel as lonely anymore??

I stay off line sometimes for my mental health, sometimes too it's because I feel there are people and things in my life I've neglected and need to spend time with and pay equal attention to them.

Sometimes it's because there's death in the family or studies, or work or a film I need to catch up on...

As to the relationship between campanies and artists- in case you can't pick up on the subtle cues some of the members leave- Suga captures it so well in his Weverse magazine interview.

We made you, as long as you follow our instructions you will be good. Idols are expected to be subservient and sycophantic. As Suga points out it's a thing in the industry and it's destroying the industry.

As to whether or not you think BTS are fully and totally exempt from this harsh reality because BigHit is different is up to you frankly. As to whether or not you think this type of attitude from companies can create friction and tensions between them and the bands is equally up to you.

As to whether you think certain members in BTS are more obsequious than others, more rebellious than others is equally up to you.

In what ways they rebel is up to you too.

That's part A.

Part B. Lol

I answered the first part of this Ask based on the assumption you were being shady. But just in case you were not then here is an alternative response.

Like I said, JK is not the only member who's been absent from SNS in recent times. They all were at one point.

It's interesting how they will promise to come on Vlive whenever they have some to sell us and only recently started showing up on Vlive consistently when Permission to Dance received such mixed reactions from the audience.

It seems their disconnect from their fanbase and its subsequent consequences is becoming much more apparent to them...

For Jungkook, I think the members discussed his rebellious phase at the beginning of the year when they talked about him not posting for the members's birthday, how they expect his post for Hobi to be a start of something new and Jimin even said he was gonna cut his head off if he didn't post for his birthday- I don't think in all the times he didn't post for the members it's because he was grappling with mental health issues. It's just a post. It doesn't take more than a minute to wish your bandmate a happy birthday on their birthdays.

Especially not when he was posting relatively regularly on SNS but would go radio silent on their birthdays... Forget mental health that's antisocial and we saw how the members felt about that from the VLive.

Also, I think it would be insensitive for the members to expect Jungkook to post on their birthdays or for Jimin to hold him to such high expectations when they know very well that he deals with mental health problems or was dealing with mental health issues in those periods he didn't post for them- whoever says Jungkook didn't post for the members because he was dealing with mental health issues is a fraud. Yea I said it. If I ever spewed that nonsense out here then I'm a fraud too chilee💀

His other forms of silent rebelliousness has been in passive aggressive backhanded remarks aimed at the company and at times certain members. In my opinion of course. He won't do what he won't do and if he has to do it he will do it huffing and puffing and later chat shit about it during pillow talks at night with his boyfriend.

So I don't know what it is he might zeffbe rebelling against now. Like I said, being asked to tone down does not mean he can't Jikook. They are Jikooking. It's just on the low low.

And when you say he is reacting to BigHit hiding Jikook, you have to take into account if Jungkook himself wants to keep things hidden and private. Why would he rebel against something if it's what he wants too?? Know what I mean?

This is why I was talking about context. Jungkook of 2018 and 2019 is not the same Jungkook now. He's pretty much the same person, has the same values but he is learning and growing and that is equally important in the way he sees the world around him.

For instance, he wasn't one to think much about the future when he made certain choices and this is something I've talked about a lot in my blogs. Carpedium, make hay while the sun shines etc used to be his values but now he places a lot of emphasis on thinking about the future, being considerate and about how his actions could impact his future.

Those two mindsets produce totally different actions. One is likely to do very childish things, one is not. One is likely to be reckless, not very ambitious, and less serious, while one is likely to be thoughtful, calculative, intentional and less impulsive. He talks a lot about growing up fast but now it seems to me he's catching up with the times.

This is not to say he is a different person but more so he is becoming. He is learning and unlearning. He is not there yet but he is getting there.

If he wants to sit with Jimin, Vlive with Jimin, post on his birthday and not the others, if he wants to stand in a line up next to him but he can't then definitely he's gonna react strongly to that. But as it stands he is not doing any of that in my opinion- not that I'm aware of. Dude is living his best life out here.

I think I've said this, he is happy with where they are at now. If he is not we will know. That's when they ghetto jumps out of him. Don't know if I'm making sense chilee. Lol.

On the part of the company, I can only speculate to the effect that they are looking for various means to optimize and leverage the bands high demand. That they are trying to monetize their platforms and so restricting access to the boys is part of their mid pandemic marketing strategy- something I have been saying from day dot since the pandemic hit.

Like Suga says, monetization is a huge problem in Kpop and the Pandemic has only exacerbated it.

Showing up on Vlive gives us free access to the boys. As often as we would like to see them through that medium it doesn't pay their bills- doesn't pay much especially if they earn money in Won or whatever currency Naver uses.

YouTube is great. However it comes with restrictions and challenges especially with censorship- videos can be demonetized easily and willy nilly, You have to comply with Coppa and YT guidelines. There's CPM- whixh I don't know if it's high for BTS...

Then there's that whole breaching into Korea/China market agenda going on with them etc

Bighit is a business. BTS is not a nonprofit organization. I think the members can understand that much should the company explain to them why they all- not just Jikook- need to limit access to them.

Bighit made them and holds a contract over their heads. There's a certain amount of control they have over them yet a certain level of autonomy they reserve within such a transaction or business relationship.

Take Tae's appearance in Peakboy's MV for example. It's indication BTS does have a ree will to embark on such out of company adventures. There's Hwarang and features and all these side hustles they do...

Yet in the same breath they were at one point prohibited from taking photos with fans on the streets and stuff like that- I guess I should say allegedly.

If they want to VLive they will- as to whether or not they can VLive outside schedule is another thing all together.

As spontaneous as their VLives can be, a lot of them are scheduled too. So it's interesting how they all went MIA for a noticeable minute without the company officially scheduling these 'compulsory' Fan interactions via Vlive or even YT.

Let's not pretend they don't post sometimes on behalf of certain members. Let's not pretend that that doesn't happen💀

Jungkook showed up on YT grumpy and passive aggressive talking about that he didn't know he was supposed to do a VLive, he wasn't prepared, his hair was messy, he didn't know how to operate things- sigh.

Then he nagged us to death about the arts and crafts thingy... but in his recent live he said singing is all he can do so he sang and thrust his hips away- we can't be mad at that.

So if your question is whether I think there's something up with BTS and how they are interacting with fans or not interacting with fans my answer is yes. I mean that much is obvious...

Money is the root of all evil blink blink. Lol.

Do I think there's something up with Jikook and BigHit my answer is yes still- my theory?? Well I'm still observing things and hoarding information. Can't put out half baked theories you know?

I'm a professional ship delulu theorist and I take my delusions seriously😐

I can say this though, I think BigHit has a lot to lose now that they are a publicly traded company. They have investors and stockholders they hold themselves accountable to- how the fear of a scandal or the stigma of a queer relationship plays into all that is yet to be seen.

They are trying to mitigate that risk through strategic marketing and business models- separating BigHit under Hybe is one, their partnership with Dispatch has always been one. There's just so much they are doing we don't know and can only assume or infer.

If their recent interviews and line of questioning has taught me anything, it's that they are all well aware of our theories on BTS and speculations on their sexuality and if Taemin's manager can ask him or was asked if he was dating Kai to his face then others can equally speculate, wonder and ask BigHit directly if Jikook being the sticky ones in the group are dating fueled by all the fandom theories out there.

Rumour says Jikook is gay and are dating eachother. How Bighit feels about this, how BTS feel about it, how Jikook feel about it open for discussion.

There are those who just want to nip all such rumours in the bud and those who want to lean into it and and profit off of it because negative attention is still attention.

Which brings me to your question about Jikook, because I see you sent that Ask in twice, they sure as hell are goofy and dorky. Jungkook admitted that much in his interview.

They are the ones to troll the lives out of us and feed into our delusions of them. It's why most people dismiss them as messing with fans and playful and fanservicey.

So I find it interesting that the members calling them a couple because of their outfits isn't being taken as goofy, dorky, fanservicey but as a reason to further invalidate their relationship.

If you can't take whatever Jikook says and does seriously then you certainly can't take whatever anyone says and does concerning them seriously either.

I will answer the rest of it under the Ask you sent in. This post is getting longer already.

I hope this helps.

GOLDY

[abbynx]

Juliet and Ophelia (Trish Una X Reader)

Like I said I can't pass up an opportunity to simp for this girl.

So this is a continuation of 'How would the La Squadra family react to you having a crush on the former boss' daughter, Trish Una?'

So yes, this series will be called, "Juliet and Ophelia" A Trish Una X Reader with a dash of found family with La Squadra and the Bucci gang so stay tuned!

Genre: Romance, fluff, wholesome

School. Nothing else to say, the certain word can emit a certain reaction from every individual. Some recoil and wince from the sudden flashbacks rushing into them, embarrassment and shame from all of the stunts they pulled. Some react with a certain fondness within them, lips slightly tugged to the side as the sudden nostalgia just soaks them up. Some, indifference. It's just an establishment wherein an individual attended for a quarter of their life and held nothing against it. To you, it didn't really emit anything from you. As a person who has never attended school, you looked at in an indifferent manner. You've been homeschooled all your life, relying on the knowledge your tutor Melone or sometimes Ghiaccio teaching you. They're good mentors, always took the time to make you feel like they aren't dumping overwhelming amounts of data on you. Additionally, they were extremely mindful of your well-being and made sure to not over-work La Squadra's adopted child. You thought of school as something as that, a school. You have nothing against it at all, nor you feel any sorts of things to it but you can certainly empathize those young people who struggle against it, tiring themselves to no end and are unsatisfied until their unmeetable standards are met. So that's what sums it, you were indifferent towards it... Until you yourself have began to attend it and all you can associate it with would be utmost regret. You didn't know what came up to you when Risotto asked of you if you wanted to live normally, he clarified that again; would you like to start attending school, like any other normal teens your age? Admittedly, home schooling is the norm too, but do you really want assassins educating you all your life instead of spending times with people your age, just enjoying the wonders of life? Ohhh, the entirety of La Squadra does not want you to emulate the same misery they've live to get to this, dear no. Risotto was kind enough to give you time to think about it, his right hand man Prosciutto taking the time to also explain its benefits and negatives. They offered to enroll you to a boarding school, attain a certain normalcy in your life for once. Although it was a boarding school, you can always go home every weekend to see them again. They can try to play it smooth and casual, but you know that they'd be too clingy to let you go. And by that, you accepted for some reason and now you've come to regret it, and can never take it back. You remain unmoving from your desk for the remainder of lunch break, head tilted down and interacted at the most interesting specimen to you, that were the pair of polished black shoes Prosciutto bought you. They were ridiculously expensive for a pair of shoes, but they are durable and pretty to look at, I guess. Just the perks of having a fashionable guy around. It was a dumb sight in hindsight and in an outsider's point of view, but you liked the way it gave out a glimmer when directed in light. Not only that, it's not like you can do anything about your crippling isolation in school. Everyone seems to despise your guts in this damned institution for some reason. You really don't know what they problems were, nor were they willing to confront you about it and instead opted to whisper and laugh at you from behind as you tread pass them. It was so damn unfair that you were one of the most fierce assassins La Squadra Esecuzione has to offer and yet you were easily taken down by a bunch of high schoolers who talked behind your back. You loathed this place. You regretted accepting the offer to study in this god forsaken hell and just wanted to go home. Melone's home education was more than enough, heck his teachings were more advance than the school curriculum has to offer and yet Risotto has insisted for you to experience this period of life for some reason. You've grown up from them, raised by assassins and have experienced the weirdest shit as a Stand User and they still think you need to have a normal high school life? And for what? It's not like there's an underground

organisation ran by students at school where you were needed to play double agent but no-- they insisted you to study things you already knew and compete among students apparently. The lunch packed with food remained untouched in your bag, wherein you planned to just give it to the stray cats and dogs just as you wait for one of La Squadra to pick you up from this damned institution. It's not like you were starving yourself, you were just uninterested to eat at the moment and you really didn't want it to go to waste so why not give it to those who are more in need? You weren't really accustomed to eating alone, as there would always be a member of La Squadra eating with you. These past few weeks felt so full without them that now it's made imminent to you that without them— life can be so colourless, so monochrome, so damn boring. Your crippling sense of loneliness, in addition to your utter unaccustomed self in a new environment made life hell for you in here. It would only be a few, agonising hours until you would be picked up by one of the assassins. At least there you'd get some actual slumber that won't require you to wake up at five o'clock to practically rush towards the school shower rooms and bathe in ice cold water in the middle of dawn for another day in hell. The teacher's lectures remained audible to you, and yet you couldn't seem to properly understand what she was going on about. It was a mere noise, as your eyes would impatiently dart up to meet with the hands of ticking clock, idly zooming by, as your legs bounced at the anticipation of the bell ringing. It was only a matter of a few more hours and yet, you just can't wait to ditch this hellhole for two days. "L/N, are you paying attention?" You jerk your head up from your daydreams with a slight yelp. Your teacher stood indignant, hands on her hips as she raised a questioning brow at you. "Well?" She waits. "Yes, Madam." You nodded. "Then pray tell, what is the common misconception about Mary Shelley's Frankenstein?" She challenged, shifting her weight on one side and awaits for your answer. It was then you noticed all eyes were on you. You knew the answer very well, it was simple really and yet being the centre of attention certainly hindered you from answering as soon as you can. "See? This is why--" "The common misconception regarding the Gothic novel Frankenstein is that often they refer the monster as Frankenstein, when in reality it's the name of the creator of the creature, Doctor Victor Frankenstein." You once remembered Ghiaccio's outburst about that, his shrill voice just ranting on and on about referencing the name incorrectly in modern pop culture. For a moment the teacher looks at you from the tip of her nose, as if to say 'I'll get you next time', before returning to the lesson Well, that was a relief. You released a breathe you've been harbouring, before turning your head yet again to watch the ticking hands of the clock go by and finally have the day done. ~•~ Similarly to your situation, it has come to her attention that she deeply regretted transferring back to school after a year of her absence. It was as if nothing changed, she was the same ol' Trish no one paid attention to, nor cared about. She only existed amidst their faint breathes whispering amongst each other behind her back as she passes by; "Whoop, there is she is again. I don't get why she returned." "Maybe she was pregnant last year." "Omg, really?" And she despises it. She couldn't have a single shit about their thoughts about her, but if they ever dared to spread rumours she wouldn't hesitate to use her connection with the mafia. She tries not to abuse this power, but come on, who wouldn't? At least now, they knew they wouldn't dare to land a hand on her, she has her own Stand now and not only that, her new family wouldn't stand something such as this to happen to her. All she wanted to do was to leave to godforsaken hell hole for two days for the weekend but alas, her pickup person was taking way too long. As much as she wants to stand up,

march forward to her new home with Bruno and the others, she was strictly told to wait for one of them to pick her up. But alas, they were taking too long and the roof of the waiting shed wasn't ideal for a rainy day either, not with its leaky roof, that is. All she can do was to sit on the metallic bench, and dodge dripping water leaking from the roof of the waiting shed. Seated at arm's length away from her, was a classmate of hers. A memory implanted itself on her brain after that one lecture in class, impressed at their quick wit to respond to the teacher's question, even if they paid little to no attention to the lesson apparently. And not to mention, their nonchalance response after proving the teacher correct was admirable. If only she can do something similar of that, she knew she'd be more proud of herself. The pinkette looks up in anticipation at the sound of a vehicle pulling over in front of a waiting shed, but frowned once she sees it wasn't the usual van Bruno rents. It was a black van, with pure black tinted windows and honestly, she'd think it was one of those vans that you'd be afraid of when you see it approaching. The student beside her let out a relieved sigh, and practically skipped off before boarding the van. Trish couldn't help but to sigh out as well, as she was now left alone to wait under the leaky roof. Trish shivered from the cold, before she decided to gather her knees in front of her chest to provide herself warmth from the rain. If only she brought with her the pink umbrella Giorno gifted to her, but alas, she forgot and left it back in the villa they currently reside in. She wanted to disobey them, and just walk home but she had no umbrella and doesn't really want to spend the weekend with her nose clogged and throat sealed with pain, as much as she wants to stay and rest within the villa with her new found family. She wanted to go home, she hated the hell hole and regretted her decision going back to it. As she wallows from her regrettable decision, the van door opens and the students steps out of it. Trish was confused for a moment, but didn't reacted to it, as her gaze remains directed down. For all she knew they don't left something behind, but apparently she was wrong. "Hey, it's pretty cold and you might catch a fever. You can borrow my jacket, here," Trish looked up, shocked to see you holding a black jacket and a light blue umbrella. She was shocked to say the least, but graciously accepts it. "The umbrella is a bit broken, sorry about that—" "N-no, it's enough... T-Thank you..." "You're welcome," they were quick to interact with, before they run towards the van once again and drove off. Trish watches the black van disappear into a turn, before she looks back at the jacket, subconsciously smiling fondly at it. She shrugs the jacket on, as it was slightly loose around her frame, before opening the umbrella above her head. After glancing at the direction from whence your van drove off, the smile on her face never wavered despite her impatience for her pick up person to arrive. ~•~ "So how was school, Y/N?" Risotto asks after a cheery round of laughter at the dinner table. You halted for a moment upon hearing the dreaded s-word being spoken. Thankfully, no one took notice of your reluctant pause and cleared your throat. You went on as normal, as you poke with your food in front of you. "It's good." You hoped that it wouldn't come up but alas, it was inevitable they'd ask that like any other adult talking to a young adolescent.  "Anyone got your attention~?" Illuso teases with his usual lopsided grin, with a mock crone. "Not really." You deadpanned, as you mentally rolled at the idea of liking someone in that school when everyone's been mean to you. "Your asking the wrong question, did you get someone's attention, though?" Melone chimes in. Once again, you mentally scoff at the idea of someone liking you. "Nuh uh." Oh if only they knew. Well now that you think about it, it was better for them not to know. They're highly capable people with strings to

pull and honestly, your classmates hasn't done anything physical to you yet. "Enough about the lovey dovey crap, what's important is that they're learning crap in school like they're supposed to be!" Ghiaccio retorts towards the two. "We're just glad you're enjoying yourself at school." Pesci adds with a warm smile. Another reason you can't tell them about your hatred for school. They were happy for you having that normalcy in your life, something they've never experienced pleasantly. As much as yours wasn't that ideal of a usual high school teen drama in one of those novels, but at least it wasn't as worst as their experience. And honestly, you would do just about anything to see them smile. "OHHH SHIT, Y/N'S SCHEDULED TO WASH THE DISHES!" Formaggio shouts from the kitchen in joy, prompting you to jerk up your seat in shock. The man has the tendancy to trick you into washing dishes sometimes and now that you've grown and realised how naïve you were, you grew more wary of his tricks. "SHUT THE HELL UP, NO WAY—" "YES WAY!" Formaggio returns from the kitchen, holding up the chart of dish washing schedule, before sticking his tongue out at you. "SUCKER!" Truly, you've missed the rampant chaos within your family, a stark contrast against the repetitive schedule in school. It was sheer chaos there too, not gonna lie, but this is a different type. This was the type wherein you felt at home, just smiling as the villa becomes frosted with a thin layer of ice unlike the one in school. You wanted to stay with them, but of course, their main priority was for you to have some sort of normalcy in your life and honestly, if that's what makes them happy you'd be happy to oblige. You are certainly doing great at school, and they're proud of it, it shows... If only Gelato and Sorbet were to see you as well. They may be gone, but you can just imagine them smiling and encouraging you. ~•~ Of course happy days would pass swiftly than its duller counterpart. Happy days were over once Monday hits and you were once again strapped to your seat for the next eight hours, another three hours by the library to get the Mount Everest high school work due to tomorrow, before curling up against the corner of your bed staring off into the abyss until slumber has taken a liking to you and claim you within its embrace and then somehow, someway, you would be then pulled from your sweet escape by a shrill bell from your bedside table, before you would inevitably glare at the blaring alarm clock, slam your hand against it before attempting to regain about five more minutes of sleep— only then to remember how things function in this seventh circle of hell as it was enough to convince you to get up and march towards your dresser with your stuff and head to the shower room. Needless to say, you've got the school schedule memorised by now. Even the usual discord occurring from time to time began to bore you. Nothing much really happened in school, you were just slowly deteriorating from boredom and by home sickness... Once gain, just goes to show how much you missed your chaotic little assassin family. You set yourself by your desk with a sigh, just wanting to get through this place without wanting to wreak havoc within the school premises that will prompt a bad mark on your pristine records. Not that you cared, it's just that Prosciutto will surely bitch about once he catches a glimpse of it and make an hour-long lecture about it. You let out an exhausted sigh for the umpteenth time, slumping against your desk with your eyes closed when suddenly a figure stands in front of your table. You immediately straightened your back and tried your best to look alive, before glancing up at her. "Oh hey, what's up?" You instinctively asked to swerve yourself away from the awkward silence, smiling up to the pinkette. "Hi, thank you for lending me you cost and umbrella. If it weren't for them I would've caught a cold back there." She hands you your jacket and umbrella back, in which you graciously accepted. "You're welcome, Miss Una— I-um—" you

stammered, your hands brushing against hers once you've reached to collect your neatly folded, pressed and newly washed jacket, along with your light blue umbrella. It was the heat of the moment when you gave her those following items and felt sorry for the girl, concerned about the dripping rain and the cold, humid air. "It's no problem." "Please no need for formalities, we're the same age. Just call me Trish." She insists. "There's the cafe in front of campus. I'll see you there after classes, my treat. It's the least I can do to show you my gratitude." "Uhhh, of course." For a moment it didn't process that the café she was referring to was an expensive one. The posh, fancy, the Prosciutto's to-go-to type of thing that charges an arm and a leg just to buy a shot of espresso, and they'd charge you your pair of kidneys if you asked for sugar and cream. Money wasn't a problem now that the boss was actually considerate, but why in all nine circle's of hell did you not insist her not to treat you? Well now's too late, as class has started and she's trudged back to her desk. Aside from the expensive coffee shop... Wow, you never thought that your encounter with her would expand to this type of interaction. At the back of your mind screamed wary, but something stronger in you just found this as a perfect opportunity for a friendship to bloom. She seems like a nice girl and quite frankly, she'd be lovely to spend time with. Like the weeks before spending your time in school, you gaze up to the clock as always, excited for something new other than weekends to go back to the La Squadra villa. This time, you were excitedly anticipating the time after class to meet with the lovely pinkette. Something good will happen, I just feel it!