#use one hand to flip terfs off

[otterjpg]

obvs jk rowling sucks, but that ukpride account also handled the whole thing so badly

they used a super outdated 6 year old photo of Lucy and refused to update the post when asked directly by both Lucy and Lucy's wife, & refused to turn comments off either

they briefly deactivated, then this apology came 2 days after their initial post and Lucy's family had already received countless threats

anyways, Lucy Clark is the founder of TRUK, a trans community radio station, Truk Listens, a UK trans helpline, and TRUK United FC, the first ever trans only football club

alongside hexing JK, please use your energy to support these organisations - donate if you can, listen to some community radio, and cheer on the team in their next match!!

do i have any followers who know deep witchcraft? can you all get in a discord call and hex JK Rowling? like actually

[venus-haze]

Power Play (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Summary: So, you lost focus and had a consensual workplace relationship. It happens all the time. Maybe not quite like this.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. Crazy ass 80s Vought debauchery. I might be a little rusty, but it was fun getting back into writing readerfics after two months🖤 Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Power imbalance, cheating (Soldier Boy’s with Crimson Countess). Mentions of drug use. Soldier Boy is his own warning. Sexually explicit content involving elements of forced intox, semi-public sex, breeding kink.

You were dizzy. With Vought’s investor gala rapidly approaching, you spent the better part of your day camped out in your office, flipping back and forth through your rolodex to call and confirm catering, entertainment—you still couldn’t believe the board of directors actually approved Duran Duran’s booking fee—and transportation, off the top of your head. You already told Stan Edgar you were taking the following week off, which he had no qualms about—so long as the gala went off without a hitch.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you were interrupted by a knock at your office door, which you’d left open in an effort to be available in the lead up to the event.

“Don’t tell me Edgar’s got you working tonight,” Soldier Boy said, walking in when he saw he had your attention.

“The most important night of the year is less than a week away and I still have a to-do list as long as your dick, so, yeah.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Must be pretty busy then.”

“How about you? Where’s Countess?” you asked.

Soldier Boy probably would have sought you out even if Crimson Countess were around, but from what you’d been hearing through Vought’s extensive grapevine, they were in yet another rough patch. Though, it seemed to you like their relationship was one long, extremely rough patch with some calm once in a blue moon. You weren’t afraid to admit to yourself that you ate up the gossip of their relationship like candy, especially when the other members of Payback—including Countess herself—would rant to Edgar about it. Since your office was right next to his, and most supes had little to no sense of subtlety, you could hear just about everything.

“She’s at one of those wildlife charity things, pandas or some bullshit.” He rolled his eyes. “Bitched at me because I wouldn’t go. She won’t be back until Friday.”

“Soldier Boy, I can’t just—“

“Sure you can. I mean, I’m technically your boss too, aren’t I?” he asked. “So, I say there’s no harm in taking a ten, fifteen minute break. Relieve some stress.”

You sighed. It had been a while since you actually got up from your desk. “Alright. Fifteen minutes, tops.”

He grinned. “Now we’re talking. You keep that minibar stocked?”

“Pick your poison.”

“Whiskey?”

“Sure.”

At least, you were pretty sure. The minibar in your office served as a nice gesture for the variety of people who’d come into your office for meetings related to all of the aspects of event planning you were in charge of. Over the past few weeks, though, you’d been reaching for bottles of whatever you could find to relieve the stress. Powdered your nose every so often, but tried not to make that a habit—not that you blamed your coworkers who did. Working at Vought was brutal and demanding, but hell, who else got to work with superheroes? Especially handsome, smarmy assholes who knew just how to fuck the lingering thoughts of any deadline or event planning out of your mind if you played your cards right. 

He handed you a shot glass. “What should we toast to?”

“To taking next week off.”

“Yeah? What’ve you got planned?”

You threw back your shot. “Nothing.”

“That’s no fun. How does a few days in Miami sound?”

You nearly scoffed. Of course he could make something like that happen on such short notice. For forty years running he was America’s superhero and Vought’s cash cow. After a night of schmoozing at the investor gala, he could very well clear out his schedule and fuck off for a week of sun, sand, and sex, too.

“I might need some convincing.”

“Then make yourself comfortable,” he said, walking back to the minibar to pour another shot for each of you. Almost comical, he’d have to drink the whole bottle and then some to feel the same way you did after two shots.

You glanced at the open door. “Someone might see.”

“Are you gonna make me repeat myself?”

Sparing the door one more glance, you worked at unbuttoning your blouse, tossing it aside. You shimmied out of your skirt and let it fall to the floor. 

“Heels stay on,” he said, his back to you. “Everything else off. Everything.”

With a hesitant huff, you unhooked your bra and pulled off your panties, throwing them in his direction when he turned around with the shot glasses. You made yourself comfortable on top of your desk, pushing some of your belongings aside to accommodate you.

He whistled lowly as you quickly finished off the second shot he gave you. “Look at you sitting pretty for me.” His green eyes burned a hole through you, though your gaze was fixed on the prominent bulge in his pants. He brought his shot glass to your lips. “Drink up, sweetheart.”

And you did, forcing the alcohol down as your vision blurred with tears at the unrelenting burning in the back of your throat. Felt some whiskey dripping from the corners of your mouth when you drained the shot glass. He collected the excess from your lips with his thumb, sucking it clean as he kept his eyes locked with yours.

“See how much fun we have together?” he asked, leaning over you until you laid back on top of your desk. “Could do that all next week.”

He kissed you, hard and mean like you needed him to. Perfect teeth that caught your bottom lip between them for a moment before releasing. Whiskey on his tongue that went to your head even though you knew he could hardly feel it. Rough hands feeling up your breasts, giving your nipples a harsh tug that made you moan in his mouth.

“You’re soaked,” he said, his voice husky as he rubbed his fingers between your slick folds with tantalizingly slow strokes. “If you wanted it, all you had to do was ask.”

“Fuck,” you whispered.

“What was that?” 

You groaned in frustration. “Just fuck me already.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” 

His mouth was on yours again, nearly distracting you from the sound of a zipper, the your gut clenching in anticipation as he pulled his cock from his pants.

It’d been a while since you had to brace yourself to take him, but you were wet, and maybe a little more than tipsy, so your body gave little resistance when he slid his cock inside you. Though, if Soldier Boy were anything, it was a guy who took what he wanted anyway, giving you hardly a second to get used to the feeling of how his cock stretched your pussy before he was pounding into you with harsh, unforgiving thrusts that made you grip the edge of your desk. 

Sometimes you forgot how strong he was. Hell, so did he, and there was little else you could do but lay there and take what he gave you. In all honesty, it was nice letting someone else take charge after having to hold it together all day. Let him fuck the stress out of you and replace it with all the aches and bruises that came with having sex with the strongest man on earth. 

“Harder,” you forced out, pushing that damn rolodex onto the floor.

“I go any harder, I’m gonna break you in half, and I don’t wanna do that until I’ve got you locked away in a hotel room for a week.”

“What are you gonna do to me?”

“Whatever the fuck I want. Not like I don’t already.”

You moaned. “Soldier Boy—”

“I’m not pulling out, so you better be on the pill or say your damn prayers,” he growled, his hot breath kissing your skin. You were on the pill, but nevertheless your hips bucked at his words, pussy clenching around his cock. “Oh shit, you want that, don’t you?”

“Yes—oh my god!” you cried out, muscles cramping as your orgasm pulsed through you, pleasure stealing your breath, choking you gently enough to leave you dizzy. “Yesyesyes—fuck!” Your heart was beating so fast you thought it was going to explode in your chest, especially as he kept mercilessly pounding into you, chasing his own release. 

He soon came with a groan, his cock twitching inside you as he bottomed out, practically knocking the wind out of you with a particularly hard thrust. 

You felt empty and sticky when he pulled out, and you didn’t want to think about the poor soul who was gonna be cleaning the mess you and him left behind the following morning, because you sure as hell weren’t in any shape to clean up the cum that was leaking out of you and onto the floor.

You put your hands on your chest, trying to catch your breath as he stood over you. The guy hardly broke a sweat, and you felt like you just ran the New York City Marathon. Super stamina. God fucking bless America.

“Hey,” he said, waving his hand in front of your face. “You good?”

“Sure,” you managed to answer. “Except now I don’t know how I’m gonna walk out of here, let alone get home later.”

“The ride up to the 99th is quicker. And if you need more convincing about Miami—“

You pursed your lips, considering the work you still had left to do before you could reasonably call it a night. But you were tired, and admittedly drunk, and Soldier Boy was already hard again. “I might.”

[deepcolorobserver]

I really want a terf lesbian to coax me into detransitioning

At first she pretends to support me and my transition, pretends to be a trans ally, says all the right things to befriend me and we hit it off. She's cute, funny, and for a while we're just friends.

We flirt a bit, always silly and joking and friendly. The kind of thing close friends do, until one day she admits she sees me as more than a friend. And god it's exciting, it's exhilarating, it makes my heart flutter. Who cares that she's a lesbian, maybe I'm the exception. Someone she likes enough to look past conventional desire.

So we start dating, a casual fling, but the sexting is HOT. She doesn't use preferred terms for my anatomy, always says clit instead of tdick, always asks for tit pics, but it's okay, a lot of the transmasc terms are a little clunky in dirty talk anyway.

She tells me I would look good with long hair. Men can have long hair right? I would be so pretty, such a pretty boy, so I grow it out for her. My hairline starts receeding on T and I'm worried about it, I confide in her, and she suggests stopping T. I got the changes I wanted, right? It's better that I don't hate myself for the changes I don't want, and she's right, even if she says it's mutilating me now. So I stop.

The whole relationship has been digital, and we talk a lot about meeting in person. Joking around, of course, neither of us have plane ticket money. But one day she asks for pictures in panties and a bra. I don't own those anymore, so she offers to buy me a pair. It's not feminizing, and I'm into degradation, she says. Men in lingerie can be degrading, and it would suit me. So I agree, because the idea is kinda hot, and I dress up for her. She's right, it is hot, even if it feels so wrong.

Slowly, she starts to introduce terf rhetoric to me. Very subtly, starting with ideas I can agree with and pushing more extreme views onto me. It makes me hate myself, of course, for transitioning and living as a man. There are lesbians that use he/him, she tells me. And if I were a lesbian, we could make "I'm in lesbians with you" jokes. The rhetoric swims in my head. I'm a lesbian, yeah. I still identify as a man, for a while.

One day it comes to light that we live in the same city. We can meet up easily. And it's like a revelation, a sudden flip. I'm with her almost every day, I'll stay over several nights at a time. Always in the lingerie she keeps buying me. I'm wearing it all day, wearing it to work, just so she can take off my clothes and see it when I get to her place. It's not long before we move in together. She calls me girly pet names, things you would never call your boyfriend. And the wrong feeling, all it does is turn me on and endear me to her.

The day I bring up top surgery, she spends a very long time sucking on my tits, kissing them all over. Don't do it, she tells me. I look so good like this. It compliments my body type, I'm meant to have tits. She makes me say it, say I love my tits. She makes me say that I love my pussy, I love all the things that make me feminine. I'm crying as I say it, but I tell her I think I might be a girl. She says I always was, and always will be. My biology was made with a purpose, and I'm meant to be a woman. I ask her to use she/her pronouns, to use my dead name in bed. We scissor and I cum harder than I ever have, all because she uses my deadname. If it feels this good, how can it be wrong?

She misgenders me outside of bed anyway. Soon everyone is using my deadname and she/her. I'm so wet all the time. She takes my body every night and uses me to pleasure herself. She makes me cum while telling me what a beautiful woman I am.

She convinces me to get pregnant with a surrogate. We both want kids, and this is the only way to do it. The whole time she talks about how beautiful the process is, what a lovely woman I am, fulfilling my purpose. She holds my hand as I birth our child. I forget all about wanting to be a boy.

[beesandwasps]

At this point, one of two things must be true:

Labour is lying to right-wing voters to try to get an irresistible majority in Parliament so that they can force through policy which actually works, and as soon as the new government is in place they will quietly move left.

Labour is being honest about their policy goals, and they are hoping to continue the policies set by the Tories with the expectation that the problem is not the policies but the incompetence of the Tories implementing those policies. (This ignores, of course, the fact that those policies were put into place by those same incompetent Tories, while the implementation has often been in the hands of the civil service.)

It would be nice to believe in option 1, but Starmer has been remarkably consistent in tacking rightward, driving minorities and left-leaning candidates out of the party, and making totally optional declarations in favor of right-wing policy which the majority of the country either does not agree with or does not care about (see for example his recent pro-TERF comments). Option 2 is obviously the one to expect, and they are going to fail — it’s a King Canute and the tide situation, except that it looks very much like Starmer thinks he can issue orders to the sea. As the Obama administration discovered in Iraq: inherently bad right-wing policy cannot be made to work through “competence”.

Labour is, if they are truly following option 2, going to fail — they will embrace austerity, militarism, and bigotry, and take the same “we hold all the cards” attitude the Tories did when it comes to negotiations with the EU. None of that is going to work any better when it is being done by “competent” people than it did under the Tories, so the UK economy is going to keep getting worse, poverty will continue to rise, maybe a different set of already-rich people will be making massive profits off it all but that won’t help when an ever-increasing percentage of the public are in life-threatening poverty. In 2029, all the voters who flip-flopped from the Tories to Labour because of “what the Tories did to us” are going to abandon Labour and it’s only a question of where they will turn — meanwhile Labour has already been doing its best to alienate its actual membership, and after 5 more years of that, there will be a lot of people looking for an alternative.

The grim thing is, if there's little to no positive change (or the general population aren't patient enough to see things through longterm - unfortunately something we have to take into account) after the GE and a swap of governments away from the tories, then give it five years and the tories could well end up back in

Especially given that, if Labour get in, the right wing press and figure heads will be watching like a hawk to blow everything they can out of proportion

[meanferalbutch]

The way I want to be taken down a peg by a hot femme. Everyone sees me in my leathers and my boots and my tattoos and you in your bright colorful clothes and they think they know what happens behind closed doors. Depending on the day and the assumption, they might even be close to right.

But some days you want to be the tough one. I don’t like to give up power easily, so you plan your attack with precision. Maybe you let me take you out to dinner, let me be chivalrous and pull your chair out and pay for the check. Let me spend all night teasing you slyly and draping off of my arm like youre coy. We both know that’s not the case, but we also know it makes me feel confident to get to make the first move. After a lovely night of showing you off and working me up we head home to the bedroom.

You wear something pretty and silky and lay in the bed, looking like a masterpiece. You hold me close and kiss the spot on my neck that makes me shiver and tug on my short hair and that makes me gasp. After a while you lay back and pant, giving me the look that tells me I better leave and come back to bed with something nice and big to fill you up with. So I do, reaching into nearby drawers and grabbing a collection of things: a harness, one of my more impressive dicks, lube, a condom. I set my self up, slowly and luxuriously pulling the straps tight and stroking my dick in front of you like I’m a performer, teasing you as much as I possibly can. You even let me get underneath you, starting to ride on my thighs and stomach, letting my hands wander.

Right as I’m rubbing my dick in between your thighs and I’m guiding your hips you suddenly grab my wrists and pin them by my head. I gasp at the sudden change in power dynamic and my head swims a bit at the way you look at me. Somethings changed in you, and I can tell you’ve taken on a new goal when you grab my strap and start stroking. Not just taking me, but needing a full Conquest. Doing my part to make it harder for you, I again try to move your hips up and onto me, only for my hands to get slapped away and pinned down again.

We both know that if I really wanted to I could flip you over and take what I want, but it’s holding that urge back that fuels how bad I want this. I decide to give up some struggle when I feel you retreat and shuffle your own harness on, pink glistening cock sparkling in the dim light. My eyes widen as I realize exactly how much control you want this evening, and you lean in close to ask if I would like to bottom tonight. When I answer it’s overwhelmingly positive, but incredibly quiet, so you take your hand with your red tipped nails and slap me across the face. I gasp again, and over my panting I can make out you telling me to ask nicely when I want to get something nicely.

So I do. I take all of my hangups about not being masculine enough, feeling like I have to be in charge, feeling like I can’t show this side of myself, and I shove them out the open window our next door neighbors can surely hear me from. I shudder and blush, but I sit up proudly when I ask you to make me your bitch. So you flip me over, fucking all the way into me from behind in one smooth motion as I cry out. You hold onto my dick, determined to keep it from swinging there uselessly and start to stroke it and grind into my cunt, and all I can do is hold onto the blankets until my knuckles go white. I can feel you fucking the fight out of me with each thrust and every single “good boy, good boy, good boy” timed perfectly in sync.

When I eventually do come it’s so loud that I’m now 100% positive the neighbors heard us, but I’m too sweaty and fucked out to care.

MEN MINORS AND TERFS FUCK OFF

[tlcwrites]

Two Hearts Make a Whole

Prompt: “Kiss me again, like you mean it.” Photo prompt below.

Summary: NYC Pride is for celebration, and occasionally, long-overdue revelations.

Word Count: 2,001

Tags/Content warnings: Marvel. Stucky. If you have a problem with it, there's the door. SFW. Slight TFATWS spoilers so read at your own risk. Platonic Reader. Two idiots in love. Technically canon-divergent because I'm still in my everyone-is-alive-and-in-this-timeline happy place that I will never ever leave fuck you very much Russo brothers but not AU. Found family. All the feels. Complete and total LGBTQ+ support. Lots of bad language words because #me. Un-beta'd.

Author’s Note: Okay so yes this is technically 4 weeks late for @autumnleaves1991-blog's Writer Wednesday weekly challenge. BUT, it was incredibly important to me to finish this one before Pride month is over. Made it by the skin of my teeth.

Happy Pride, y’all. If you’re out, you’re amazing. If you’re closeted, you’re amazing. However you identify is valid and important. Trans folx are LGBTQ+. Bisexuals are LGBTQ+. Ace folx are LGBTQ+. Anyone who identifies or thinks they may be as queer is LGBTQ+. All are welcome in the family. You have the right to choose your pronouns and we have the responsibility to use them. Live whatever your truth looks like to you and love each other. Love is love is love is love. If your family doesn’t accept you for you, I’m your mom now and I’ve got mom hugs available on demand. Homophobes and TERFS can fuck off and roll in poison ivy. Always punch Nazis. Pride shouldn't be limited to the month of June. And don’t you dare forget that Black and Brown trans women were the ones who rioted at Stonewall, and we owe everything to their bravery. Don’t forget that much of popular ‘gay’ culture was appropriated from Black women. And for more facts about Pride that you should absolutely know, Rawiyah Tariq (@ mammyisdead on Instagram) has a phenomenally good overview.

“Oh my god.” You gasp loudly. "Oh my GOD. Is that-"

“What?!” Instantly in First Avenger Protective Mode™️, Steve surveys the crowd, wishing he had an actual shield instead of the screen printed one on his shirt. “What is it?”

You gasp again, smacking Sam’s arm repeatedly. “OHMYGOD IT IS HOLY FUCK.”

“First; ow.” Now-Cap rubs his bicep. “Second; clue in the class before Steve has an aneurysm, please.”

Vibrating with excitement doesn’t begin to describe your current state. “HER ROYAL HIGHNESS MISS LEMON MERINGUE IS STANDING RIGHT FUCKING THERE.”

With the finesse of a shampoo commercial, Bucky's dark locks fly as he whips around. “What?!”

“RIGHT THERE RIGHT THERE RIGHT THERE.” You abandon a relieved Sam and latch on to Bucky’s vibranium arm. “Oh my GOD I love her so fucking much.”

“She was robbed, absolutely fucking robbed,” he agrees, craning his neck to get a better view. “Divine Tension’s lip sync was shameful.”

Sam glances at Steve, who is slowly coming out of protector mode. “What the ever-loving hell are they talking about?”

“RuPaul’s Drag Race.” Nat flicks more confetti at both Cap-the-former and Cap-the-current. “They watch it every week.”

“Really, Steven, for a guy with enhanced super senses, you miss a lot.” Tony hefts a bedazzled Morgan higher on his back. The toddler, accompanied by Scott playing air-piano on the ground, sings along with the ABBA song being blasted at full volume through the street. Tony continues as if this is an everyday occurrence. “Why do you think both of your People disappear every Friday evening?”

Ears pink, Steve mumbles something.

“What?!” The only other one with hearing enhanced enough to hear a murmur over the cacophony of several thousand people belting out the chorus of ‘Dancing Queen’ at the top of their lungs, Bucky turns to stare at his friend. “You thought we were datin’?”

Steve’s blush extends down his neck.

You and Bucky stare at each other for a moment before you both collapse on each other, exploding into stomach clenching, thigh slapping laughter.

“I’m gonna guess that’s a ‘no’?” Clint confirms with Nat.

“Oh, a big ‘no’.” She watches affectionately as you and Bucky calm down enough to look at each other, breathe for a second, and both promptly dissolve into hysterics once more. “Like, the biggest ‘no’.”

Sam crossed his arms across his chest, his stoic stance so reminiscent of Steve it’s amusing (as well as a beautiful disparity to the sequined crop top he’s sporting. Oof, those abs.). “How do I not know about this?”

“Because you’re not a former super spy?” The usually-Black-but-today-Rainbow Widow tosses the last of her confetti at Tony, who spins a jubilant Morgan into it. “Or because you and that leggy barista from the lobby coffee shop are too busy playing hide-the-“

“-Baby Shark!” Morgan suddenly shrieks, flailing towards a guy on roller blades wearing a fin and tail (and not much else).

“Yeah,” Nat finishes with a smirk, “Hide-the-Baby Shark.”

Sam flips her a gesture that makes Clint laugh and Bruce sigh.

You and Bucky have finally managed to pull yourselves together. “Oh my god, Steven Grant,” you gasp, wiping tears from your eyes. “That’s the funniest fucking shit I’ve ever fucking heard.”

“Language!”

Steve glares at Tony. “One. Time. It was one. Time.”

Bucky slings his flesh arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Oh, punk. You may have perfect vision now, but sometimes you’re still as blind as you were before.”

Visiortn himself nods sagely. “Humans can be quite unperceptive when it comes to matters of the heart.” Vision casts a fond smile at Wanda, who is using her powers to make Pietro’s tinsel wig fly on and off. “Sometimes you have to look harder to see what’s right in front of your nose.”

A confused frown on that handsome face, Captain Clueless looks at Bucky. “Why do I feel like everyone else knows something that I don’t?”

His bestie sighs deeply. “Because, Stevie, almost everyone else on this planet knows that my tastes tend towards tall, blonde, blue-eyed knuckleheads who have zero sense of self-preservation.”

“And an ass you could bounce a quarter off of,” Scott helpfully supplies.

“And that,” Bucky agrees.

Steve frowns.

You press your palms to your eyes in vexation. “You, Steve. He’s talking about you.” (Seriously, how has this idiot survived for over a century while being so dumb?)

Whatever he was expecting, it was certainly not that. “He-“ The Man With A Plan gapes as he turns to his oldest friend. “You-“

“Me,” Bucky says gently.

Even though you’re slightly surprised that Bucky is going to do this in such a public forum, you can’t help but be so proud of your friend. It has taken a long time for Bucky to believe he deserves to be happy. There are days he still sinks into that dark place, where his inner demons whisper that he should have fought harder against his Hydra captors, and that his past actions were still somehow his fault. Those are the days no amount of baking or Modern Marvels will bring him out of his funk. You, Steve, Sam, and Nat have all held those strong shoulders as they shook with sobs, overwhelmed by the shame and horror at what his hands had done without his consent.

But he’s here. He’s free. And he’s smiling nervously at his best friend.

“I-” Steve is short-circuiting. “Me?!”

“Stevie.” With the kind of tender patience that can only be born of a lifetime of keeping (or attempting to keep) an idiot such as one Steven Grant Rogers from flinging himself headlong into every fight he comes across, Bucky moves his flesh hand to the back of Steve’s neck. His face is full of such soft affection that you almost want to look away for fear of intruding on this suddenly intimate moment. “What do you think ‘til the end of the line’ means, you idiot? You’ve been it for me since I was thirteen-years-old.”

Blue eyes are locked with blue eyes as Steve processes this revelation. “I-” He shakes his head as if to declutter his thoughts. “This whole time?”

“Since the first time I saw that asshole knock you down, and your scrawny ass climbed right back up.” A wry chuckle escapes as Bucky reminices. “You were ninety pounds soaking wet, and you stood there, against a guy who was three times your size, and never waivered for a second. It was magnificent.”

“I don’t like bullies,” is Steve’s quiet response.

Bucky’s grin is adoring. “I know, sweetheart.” He gently strokes the back of Steve’s neck with his thumb. “You’ve always had a heart way bigger than your brain.”

Steve is still back on the first part of Bucky’s admission. “If you’ve felt- if you-” He’s practically pleading. “Why didn’t you say anything then?”

Bucky shrugs, attempting and failing nonchalance. “It was a different time, you know?” He’s uncharacteristically unsure of himself, the subtle waiver in his voice revealing the anxiety born of a lifetime of being forced to hide his truth. “I mean, you remember how it was; you didn’t talk about, no one talked about- about being- about people like...” He swallows thickly.  “And I was so scared you didn’t, that you weren’t-” His voice breaks.

Even though you’ve all been emotionally invested in this love story for years, the entire team respectfully pretends not to listen as the former Winter Soldier quietly admits his deepest secret to his closest friend. It’s enraging as Bucky confesses yet another way he's been a victim of his circumstances, and denied his right to live freely without derision. Once more, you’re awed by his resilience.

“-it was a risk I couldn’t take,” Bucky finally gets out, that stubborn fire back in his eyes. “I couldn’t lose you, Steve. I couldn’t chance it. I could live with just being your friend and only your friend so long it meant you were in my life.”

Stunned silence meets the end of his confession. Steve’s face is impassive, those cerulean eyes uncharacteristically inscrutable.

You can all tell Bucky is heading steadily towards dread and heartbreak the longer Steve takes to respond. You and Sam exchange a look, both ready to intervene if Steve demonstrates any of the abhorrent attitudes that were so prevalent in the society of his youth. It would be completely out of character for him, but...

Finally, Steve speaks. “You’re telling me,” he says, his words slow and deliberate, “that you made me wait ninety-three years to tell me you’ve felt the same way about me as I have about you since the day you picked me up out of that alley?!”

The whole found family breaths a collective sigh of relief as Steve pulls Bucky even closer, broad chest to broad chest.

“Okay, to be fair, you were an ice cube for most of that time and I wasn’t exactly available for a relationship.” Bucky’s grin stands in contradiction to his mullish defense. “But yeah, that’s the gist of it.” There’s the Bucky you all know and love, biting his lip with those perfect white teeth. “Now, punk, I’d really like to kiss you now, but first I need you to say you want me to.”

“You-” Steve’s throat works as he attempts- and fails- to rein in his emotions. “You jerk.”

And then the Star Spangled Man seizes the president of the Sometimes-Former-Assassins Club by his ridiculously perfect face and crashes their mouths together.

At any Pride event, seeing two men kissing is, obviously, to be expected. But seeing The First Avenger and The White Wolf attempting to swallow each other’s tongues is not at all routine. As people realize what is happening, the crowd is whipped into a frenzy the likes of which is usually reserved for the aftermath of sporting events and elections that defeat fascists.

Watching the two men embrace, Scott sniffles loudly. “I’m gonna cry, I’m so happy.”

He’s certainly not the only one. Wanda has a watery smile as she wraps her arms around Vision and Pietro; Pepper, Tony, and Bruce are watching with fond parental energy; you and Sam sandwich Peter between the two of you, grins practically splitting your faces. Even Nat’s eyes look suspiciously shiny and she and Clint sling their arms around each other with platonic affection. And that’s not counting the several thousand people who are cheering for love being love being love being love.

When they finally break their embrace, the Centennial twins are startled to see they’ve collected quite an audience.

“Uh, so…” Suddenly bashful, Steve glances back to his- partner? Boyfriend? Soulmate? Is there a word that can accurately describe two people who have found each other time and again in a world that seems hell-bent on keeping them apart?- his ears practically maroon with embarrassment. For a guy with one of the most-recognized faces in the world, Steve is still incredibly and endearingly uncomfortable with attention. “Buck?”

Bucky seems just as stunned as Steve.

Thankfully, the masses demonstrate the usual support that’s the hallmark of Pride. “LOVE IS LOVE!” someone screams in the crowd. It’s quickly echoed, and chants fill the park.

The attention momentarily off them, the former Winter Soldier and his giant himbo of a soulmate look back at each other. You pretend not to watch through the happiest tears as they embrace again, bringing their foreheads together. The relief they share is palpable, as they’re finally able to show the world- and each other- the love they’ve each hidden for so long.

Bucky’s voice is so soft you have to strain to hear it. “You have no idea how much m’in love with you, Stevie.”

“Pretty sure I do,” Steve answers, bringing a hand up to carefully wipe the tears from Bucky’s face. “‘cause it’s as much as I love you, Buck.”

Bucky's answering grin can only be described as saucy. “Then kiss me again, like you mean it.”

And Steve, for once in his long life, does exactly as ordered.

---

A/N: “The Sometimes-Former-Assassins Club” is from Starry_Emerald173’s BRILLIANT The Avengers Wrangler over on AO3. If you haven’t read it yet, drop what you’re doing and do so immediately. Make sure you're not drinking any liquids, or your keyboard/phone may be in peril.

[breanime]

If you’re taking two, “who did this?” and “why do you care?” for Rio please! And if you’re only doing one, then “who did this” also you’re gorgeous and I blame you for my Rio and Johnny obsessions

Last one for Rio, tomorrow (or sometime this week) I’ll finish up my Johnny drabbles!

warning: steamy

*gif not mine*

Rio gave you the keys to the kingdom the same day he got them. He shared everything with you; you were his ride or die, his rock, and he was your King. You were with him through everything, and he kept you at his side.

So when he was arrested for his first big charge, and the FBI broke down your front door, they took you too.

You had been in holding for hours by the time an Agent came in and cut you loose. You asked about Rio, and he said: “your man’s looking at 5-10”, and that was all.

It turned out that Rio took the fall for you, saying that you had nothing to do with his business, and that you were just an innocent bystander. His lawyer ended up getting him off with only having to serve 3 years, which was a hell of a deal. And you were there for him. Every visiting day, you were at the jail. Every morning and every night, you were spending thousands in collect calls talking to him on the phone. You were in constant communication with his lawyer, doing everything you could to make things easier for him. You ran the business by yourself while Rio was locked up, dealing with gangsters and criminals and all kinds of crooked cops. You’d learned a lot from Rio, but having the reigns in your hands—alone—was like a trial by fire.

And you flourished.

The day Rio got out (32 days early, no less), he kept you in bed for the rest of the week. You could hardly walk, and when he touched you, you could feel how much he loved you.

A month later, you came home to find all of your stuff boxed up.

“We’re done,” he had said, his voice low and eyes hollow, “It’s over.”

And that was that. You moved out that day; there were no amount of tears or reasoning that would change his mind. When Rio made a decision, that was it. Of course, you asked him why, what had gone wrong? But his answers had been vague and unsatisfactory. By the end of it, you were telling the man you loved that you hated him.

You had to leave the city.

You couldn’t stay there; Rio owned it, and every single stone, every blade of grass, every scent in the wind reminded you of him. So you moved. You started your own business in your city, you made a name for yourself, answered to no one, and kept yourself working all hours of the day. It was the only way to keep Rio off of your mind. Anyway, you were good at what you did, and soon, you were a Queenpin in your own right.

But being the Queen wasn’t always easy.

Overnight, shit hit the fan. Your empire had been compromised—you’d been betrayed by one of your men. The Feds were on your ass, and what was worse, your life had been threatened. A bomb in your car was the way you found out that there was a hit out on you, and as you lay in the street, lungs full of smoke and dust in your eyes, watching the inferno engulf your wine red Cadillac, you knew you had to restock.

You had to lay low.

Fuck. You had to go home.

You decided to hole up in a luxury suite on the edge of the city. Only your most trusted lieutenants knew where you were, and you didn’t let anyone from your past know that you were in town. You just needed a safe, quiet place to lick your wounds and re-strategize before heading back to your city. You checked in under a fake name, only went out in sunglasses and a wig, and kept to yourself…

…which is why your heart stopped when you heard a knock at your door.

You picked up your gun, holding it near your leg as you stood up. You knew it wasn’t one of your people at the door—they knew to use a special knock, and they had strict orders to stay away until you called them. It couldn’t be the FBI, because they had the subtly of a bull in a china shop; they wouldn’t knock. You creeped towards the door, watching the shadow underneath it move. You’d seen too much to look through the peephole—one shot through the eye would have you dead, and if this assassin had a silencer, no one would even find your body for days. Carefully, you stood behind the door and put one hand on the knob. You opened it, sticking the gun up as the person stepped in, and your heart felt like it would burst when you saw him.

Rio.

“Huh,” he grinned, not at all concerned about the pistol in his face, “That’s one way to greet me.”

You lowered your arm, eyes wide, as Rio kicked the door shut behind him. He walked past you into the sitting area, looking around the suite with his hands in his pockets. He looked good, wearing all black and a beanie. He had more facial hair than he did when you were together, but you could see his tattoo—the eagle—on his neck. You would know that tat anywhere; you had a matching one on your ankle.

“Rio,” you said, and you watched as he turned, slowly. It occurred to you then, as he stared at you, that he couldn’t see how wide your eyes were. You were wearing your shades, and you wondered if he could see his own reflection in them. You swallowed. “How did you know I was here?”

“The Queenpin enters my city,” he drawled easily, “I hear about it. Don’t worry, though, no one else knows you’re here.” He quirked an eyebrow. “You gonna shoot me, Y/N?”

You sighed, placing your gun on the counter. You put a hand on your hip, raising an eyebrow back at him. “Don’t be rude,” you said.

He chuckled, and the sound of his laugh made your eyes water. You blinked back the tears and watched as Rio took out his gun—and oh. He was still using the gold pistol you’d bought him all those years ago… He placed it on the counter next to yours, and seeing your guns side by side made your heart flip. When you looked back up at him, Rio was walking towards you.

You took a step back, and he paused. “I don’t remember you being this jumpy,” he said coolly.

You frowned, and you took two steps closer to him. “I’m not jumpy,” you argued, taking a third step just to prove your point, “I’m cautious.”

Now it was his turn to frown, and he titled his head. “You think I’m gonna hurt you?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Rio,” you answered, “there is no way you could ever hurt me now, more than you have before.”

He licked his lips, nodding as he looked away from you for a second. “You find out who betrayed you?” He asked.

“I’m gonna handle it.”

Rio smirked. “That’s not an answer.”

Your eyes narrowed behind your glasses. “I’m handling it,” you amended.

“Hm…” He took a small step towards you, and you knew that if you gave any indication that you didn’t want him to get closer, he would stop. But you didn’t, so he didn’t. “And the car bombing? You handling that?”

You moved up, taking another step closer to Rio. “I’m alive, aren’t I?” You answered.

He was directly in front of you now, and he reached out, his hand touching your chin. You held your breath as his fingers brushed over your face, gently brushing over the small cuts there. “You know who did it.” It was a statement, not a question. He didn’t wait for you to respond before he was reaching up and taking your sunglasses off.

You didn’t stop him. You watched as his eyes took you in—the bruises, the scrapes, the redness in your eyes from staying awake, watching your own back for all hours of the day. His eyes were dark with emotion, and you had to look down to avoid getting sucked into them. Rio looked down at your collarbone, his fingers brushing your skin and the cuts there as well before dropping and picking your hand up, looking at the scrapes on your knuckles. When he looked back up at you, his eyes were black, and you could see the anger in them. He was still holding your hand in his, and you could feel the tension in him—or maybe it was coming from you. It was hard, with him so close, to know who was feeling what. You always felt so connected with Rio, and this was no exception. When Rio spoke, his voice was low and rough with rage.

“Who did this?”

You moved to step back, but he wouldn’t let you—and that pissed you off. You yanked your hand out of his and stepped back, glaring up at him. “I’m handling it,” you repeated, “and anyway, why do you care? It’s none of your business.”

“You know why I care,” he said slowly.

You shook your head; your heart wanted to hear him out, but your head refused to fall down that rabbit hole again. “I’m only gonna be in town for a couple of days,” you explained, “and I’m not trying to move in on your terf or take any of your territory—”

“I ain’t worried about that.”

“Then what do you want?” You asked, getting to the point.

He leaned forward for a moment, like he wanted to move closer to you again, but he stopped himself. “A name.”

“What?”

“I want a name. The name of the person who did this to you,” he clarified.

You bristled. “Why?”

“You know why.”

“He’s mine,” you said, walking up to him, “My rat, my problem—I don’t need your help!”

“I’m not asking,” he said calmly, “You could’ve been killed,” he said, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to you, “I can’t just let that go.”

“Oh yes, you can,” you argued, “You’re good at letting things go.”

Rio’s jaw ticked, and you swallowed back a smirk. He was getting riled up. Good. “Don’t…” He started.

“You forced me out,” you went on, “You told me to leave, and now, I’m telling you.” You turned, stomping to the door and ripping it open. “Leave.”

Rio walked over to you, and for one terrible second, you were afraid that he might actually go, but instead, he slapped the palm of his hand on the door and slammed it shut. He towered over you, his face just inches from yours—close enough to kiss. Or slap.

“Give. Me. A. Name.” He ground out.

“Fuck. You.” You said back.

The two of you glared at each other, two pieces of the same puzzle, a King and Queen, heartbroken lovers, and you wanted to devour him. He was so close to you, you could feel the heat coming off of him, you could hear the sound of his breathing, heavy like yours. You could see those long, dark eyelashes, the curve of his lips—you could see the man you loved. Love.

You reached up and grabbed him, pulling him to you fiercely. Rio growled into your mouth, wrapping his arms around you and picking you up. He carried you across the suite and dropped you onto the bed. He was on top of you in a second, his mouth melding against yours, kissing you so hard it would bruise. But you weren’t being gentle either; you scratched at his back, trying to bring him even closer. You nipped at his lower lip, and he hissed, but didn’t pull back. Rio’s hands were on you, pulling at your clothes and ripping them off, tossing them all over the room. You scratched at him as you helped him out of his clothes, relishing in the feel of his flesh under your hands. It didn’t take long for you to be skin-to-skin, and you gasped at the feel of him, the warmth, the heat, the pressure, the weight of him—you wanted to drown in him. He was kissing you again, his tongue swirling against yours, it was sloppy, it was primal, it was just so him. You felt Rio’s hands, big and rough, on your thighs, spreading your legs for you, and when you felt him against you, hard and ready, you dug your nails into his ass, pushing him forward.

You screamed when he entered you, there was no other man on the planet who made you feel like Rio made you feel. No other man who could make you so strong while keeping you so weak. He was grunting, his forehead pressed against yours, as he fucked you. You took him eagerly, your body moving naturally against his. Being with him, like this, was so new and yet so familiar; Rio would always feel like home to you, and you, despite your best efforts, would always come back to him. You could feel yourself approaching your climax, and he could feel it too. It was out of your control, you needed him, you needed him, you needed him.

You were powerless.

You came with a whimper, and Rio came with a shout. You shivered against him as he emptied yourself inside of you, and you never felt so whole in your entire life.

You were breathing heavy, trying to come back down with Rio still inside of you, when you felt him kiss you again. This kiss was soft, gentle… this kiss went from your lips all the way to your toes, and when you opened your eyes, he was staring down at you.

You wanted to cry.

“I made you leave,” he said, his voice hoarse, “because I wanted better for you.” You blinked up at him, afraid to hear him, but unable to do anything but listen. “I’ve done a lot of shit, but that… that was my one mistake,” his mouth was so close to yours, as he spoke, it was like his words were going right into you, “I told myself that I had to, to protect you, cause you weren’t strong enough, but we both know that’s not true. You’re stronger than me,” he admitted, “you always have been.” His eyes were staring into yours so hard, you couldn’t even blink, you didn’t want to miss a moment of him. “I knew it the second you screamed you hated me, and…” His eyes were so soft, so deep. “…You don’t hate me, do you, mama?”

You closed your eyes, trying to keep yourself from breaking. “…please,” your voice came out in a whisper.

You felt Rio’s lips on your skin, kissing you right on the corner of your mouth. “I love you.”

You hugged him to you, and suddenly, you were crying. You vaguely registered him pulling out of you, before gathering you in his arms. He held you to him, leaning back against the headboard with you cradled in his arms, your head on his chest as you cried. Rio let you cry, and you honestly had no idea how long you were crying—a minute? an hour?—it was unclear. All you knew was that he was holding you, his large hand rubbing your back and shoulders, his soft lips kissing away your tears, and he didn’t move away from you, not even for a second. You knew, as he held you, the same truth that you had always known, the truth that you had tried to swallow down and push back all these years: Rio was your kingdom, Rio was your home.

Rio kept you in his arms like that for hours, just holding you. Neither of you spoke during that time, but you felt closer to him then than you did all those years ago when he was yours. It wasn’t until now—just now—that it truly felt that he was yours, that he was letting you see him—all of him. And you could tell that you proved yourself to him, though you weren’t entirely sure when or how, but you could tell by the way he held you, the way he kissed you, the way he wiped away your tears, that he saw you seeing him, and more importantly—he knew you would never look away.

“I can’t say it back,” you said, your hand on his chest, over his heart, “I’m too scared.”

“I know,” he said back, his mouth in your hair, “and that’s my fault.” You felt his press a kiss to the top of your head. “You don’t have to say it back.”

You nodded, looking up at him. There was still a lot that needed to be said, trust that needed to be built back up, but when you looked at Rio, you saw your future. “I can give you a name, though,” you said softly.

He smiled.

A month later, you were moving back to the city—Rio’s city. All your enemies had either been viciously, publicly murdered, or disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Either way—the FBI was off your ass now, and so you decided to move back home and pool your businesses with Rio’s. You moved into your own place (much to Rio’s quiet annoyance), but you saw him every day and every night. You had a key to his place, his car, his warehouses…

…you had the keys to the kingdom. But this time, you were partners in a greater sense, and this time, you both grew and changed and flourished together. He came over to your place one day, and his heart stopped when he saw that everything was boxed up. You smiled, walking over to him and going into his arms easily, feeling him relax a bit as you held him.

You kissed him, and when you pulled back, you could see the question behind those dark eyes of his. “So…” You asked, your voice casual. “…Do you need a roommate?”

Rio answered by picking you up, kissing you deeply as you giggled against his lips. And so a new chapter of your lives began—

—an unstoppable duo; a King and his Queen.

*******************************************************************************************

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! I really want your opinions on this one, please!

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[skullamity]

I think it would be a mistake to say that these concepts are two different things when it is actually one thing that a subset of anti-trans people are attempting to use to discredit our existences and experiences by being incredibly fucking obtuse about how socialization actually works, and the reaction that trans people have had to it is to, as OP stated, throw the baby out with the bathwater.

Socialization IS real, but the thing everyone seems to get stuck on for some reason is the idea that TERFs have posited--that the socialization that you experience in your formative years is how you are going to be for the rest of your life, no matter what. If TERFs can convince people (both cis and trans because jesus christ have I ever seen other trans people who buy into this) that it doesn't matter if you transition and pass perfectly, you'll always be a man inside because you were socialized as male, then they are effectively convincing people who might be on the fence that deep down, no matter how good a show you put on, you can't go back in time and experience those formative years "properly" and so not only will you never be able to shake that male socialization, you also will never be able to absorb female socialization in any meaningful way.

Again, this is bullshit.

Socialization is mannerisms, vocabulary, shared experiences and expectations and so much more, and it is gained and reinforced by your social connections. And, shockingly, your social connections and support systems will change throughout your life, which means that your socialization is also constantly adjusting and transforming, learning and unlearning, every second that you are alive and experiencing social connections and being part of various social groups and communities.

Part of the friction between a lot of trans femmes and mascs re: socialization that I see online tends to stem from this.

Many trans femmes very much want to throw the baby out with the bathwater and deny that socialization is a thing specifically because TERFs have been using it to harm them, but also because they have bought into the idea that if socialization does exist (in the way that TERFs speak about it), then that would imply that their formative experiences are a permanent flashing neon sign that is going to count against them for the rest of their lives. It causes them dysphoria to frame it that way, to tie their formative experiences with socialization to being male makes them feel bad.

On the flip-side, many transmascs are very adamant that they did, in fact, experience female socialization. I don't want to speak for anyone else, so I will just say that, in my personal experience, when I say that I experienced female socialization, what I mean is that I:

- was taught to fear in a way that was generally only taught to girls and young women

- I was taught that my pain and/or medical problems would never be taken seriously by doctors in a way that they are taken seriously if you are a man

- I, like my female peers, were put into separate health classes where we were given self defense classes and taught cute little tips and tricks like always check your back seat if you're getting into your car at night, always park close to the entrance or a big street light, never a dark corner. If you think you're being followed, hold your keys between your fingers and use them to slash. Aim for the nose with a flat hand, stamp on the bridge of his foot, there are a lot of little bones there and it's easy to break them with even just a little force at the right angle, read The Gift Of Fear, how to recognize if you are in an abusive relationship, how to ask for help. None of my male peers were present for this, and in retrospect I think they should have been if the amount of men I've met over the years who were surprised that we were spoonfed this info while they were off learning about boners or whatever, or who were mortified when they learned that they accidentally scared a woman by waking behind them, too close to them, at night.

- more general and somehow more damaging things that started really young--don't play in the dirt, you'll get the dress we stuffed you into dirty. Don't be so loud. Cross your ankles when you sit. Make yourself smaller. You need to be better behaved, more polite, quieter than the boys have to be. Be obedient. Don't question the things your parents expect of you or say to you or you will be punished even though your brother is encouraged (and sometimes rewarded for!) to question and push boundaries

These are things that were drilled into me socially in my formative years. I was 30 when I started my transition, and in a few days I will be turning 40. So not only did I experience that formative socialization, I also experienced continuous reinforcement and pressure from the women in my family and social circles up until I came out.

It was especially uncomfortable when I was pregnant (you have to let people touch you, let them feel the baby kick, don't be mad at total strangers talking about your body even though it's none of their fucking business, always be good natured about middle aged men telling you they you look like you're 'about to pop' or how tired you look, don't flip out when your spouse's aunt greets you by grabbing your pregnant belly and shaking it without even so much as a hello, how are you. Your body is not your property, you are just a vehicle for a baby, so be grateful for the attention even if it makes you uncomfortable or violates your boundaries and physical space) and again when I was a "new mother" and everyone had their opinions on all of the shit I was doing wrong and how graciously I was expected to take that criticism.

Hell, I have been out and passing for ten years, and a lot of those things on that list? Are still things I am struggling to unlearn or change my approach on. I still don't walk alone at night. I park in bright places close to the door without even thinking about it. I check the back seat. I don't like people walking behind me at night. And those more subtle things at the end of the list? Are things that I am very much struggling not to unconsciously or even purposely dril into my OWN daughter. I don't want her to have these hangups! These hangups are shit and so hard to unlearn!

But that's the thing--you can and DO unlearn them as time goes on, if that's a thing you want to do because you disagree with them. I would argue that the act of transition forces you unlearn a lot of your formative socialization whether you set out to do that or not, and forces changes to your existing socialization out of necessity.

How many trans women have I met who now, as women, have learned to check the back seat? Park in bright areas? Have learned to make themselves smaller and more agreeable in situations where they might be in danger? Have learned how to let catty behavior from other women roll off of them? Have learned to give back that energy when it is appropriate or even necessary to do so? Have learned to walk the line between being a bad bitch (respected) and just a bitch (derogatory)? Have taken up hobbies that they previously felt barred from because they would have been mocked for it as men? Have stopped taking night walks or runs with their headphones on?

How many trans men do I know who go out of their way to cross the street so as not to freak out women walking alone at night? Who have encountered locker room talk and learned how to reject it in a way that the cis men in the conversation respect them? Have gone out of their way to learn all of the stereotypical handyman shit that their brothers were forced to learn because they didn't want to be chained to that purposeful helplessness that a lot of women are chased away from if they ask to learn, and are told not to bother with becaus their husbands will just do it for them?

Spoiler: its literally every trans person I have ever met. All of us do this, because we are going through big fucking life changes, huge social circle changes as we lose people who reject us when we come out and make or find our own families and fill them with more trans people like us, or more cis people whose genders align with our own genders. We are all changing so fucking much, and for some reason a lot of us seem pretty damn sure that the only changes that mean anything are the physical ones, and are willing to ignore the evidence of change in other areas, like socialization, because if we acknowledge that socialization exists, TERFs could potentially use it to imply that we will always be our birth sex where it counts.

We do not gain anything by giving TERFs this word and agreeing with them that their definition of it is in any way reflective of reality. If we try and find a new word for every word that TERFs attempt to shape into a cudgel to beat us with, we will literally have to do this for every word we think of going forwards, because they have proved that they can and will try to twist everything, every word we use or claim, to make us look unstable or scary or threatening or delusional.

Socialization exists, it is literally the same sort of shit that eventually causes tight knit teen friend groups to form their own intricate lexicon of in jokes and phrases that make them sound like literal space aliens if you are overhearing their conversations as an adult, and also the reason why we routinely subject children to info sessions and workshops design to remind them to Not Submit To Peer Pressure. But here's the thing--even if a friend group stays the same in membership, that shared lexicon, those shared opinions and mannerisms and implication only in-group rewarded behaviours and punished behaviour are going to be steadily morphing and evolving as time goes on. I had the same friend group between middle school and the point in time where I came out, and the "group opinions" on all sorts of topics were vastly different towards the end than they were in the early years. And it is the same with every social group, even if those groups are small and specific and organized (ex: queer women's support group) or if they are vast and nebulous and encompass a lot of different experiences and cultures (existing in society as a woman), even if there are cultural differences based on geography or dominant religion (existing as a woman in a liberal area or country vs existing as a woman in a conservative area or country, existing as a Mexican woman in Mexico vs existing as a white woman in Wisconsin), with further divisions as we consider things like age or poverty, and so on, forever.

There's a lot of overlap, there's shared experiences across the map, but nothing is universal. Your socialization is shaped by your unique social connections at any given point in your life, and no one experience can ever really be considered to be universal because what it means to be a woman in 2024 in the USA and what it means to be a woman in 2024 in Argentina or France or Spain or Germany is a completely different set of cultural expectations for what it means to be a woman.

Socialization, as TERFs frame it, is total bullshit. But they didn't create the term! Who gives a fuck about how they frame it, they frame it the same way they frame everything else--like someone who learned about a concept in middle school and then decided they knew everything there was to know and just skipped on taking more advanced classes that would have better explained or expanded on the subject. We don't need a new word, we need to reject the framing and importance and, most importantly, the stagnation that they insist the word represents.

Socialization is not a fixed position. It is always happening to us at all times, and the position we occupy in society generally dictates a shared set of directions and shapes that socialization will take. If, however, the position you occupy in society changes drastically for ANY reason (transition, homelessness, self discovery, loss, grief, fortune), the kind of socialization that will be directed at you will also change shape and come from new directions and teach new lessons and help you form new opinions and fears and convictions and mannerisms and ways to react and express yourself and think about things.

People are complicated; socialization is a web of interactions where each connection has a different weight, sense of urgency or importance and an ever-shifting order of priority. Letting bigots dumb it down for some minor comfort is not the win a lot of us seem to think it is.

I get a little frustrated with the discussion over socialization that I see in current trans discourses.

Like, I get that being called "female or male socialized" is used as a cudgel by transphobes, particularly radfems, to say that we can't Really BE our gender cause we weren't "socialized" the same. I get that there is a valid knee-jerk dismissal given how it is bandied about as some sort of litmus test for if someone is oppressed or privileged or whatever the fck other box people want to say has no nuance or needs credentials for having an opinion about.

But like, socialization is a thing. it is a thing that happens to people, and it is a useful academic term for understanding acculturation and how social norms and practices are reproduced. Male and Female socialization are things that have coherent meanings, but are context dependent and nuanced. it feels kinda like throwing the baby out with the bath water when we categorically say that socialization is "bullshit" or "not a thing" because it absolutely is.

It just Also has nothing to do with whether or not someones gender identity is "Real" or "Valid". it actually does not matter whether or not a trans man or woman or non-binary person is female or male socialized, that does not make their perspective less real and valuable or make them less their gender. It just doesn't. It's a non sequitur. If we can understand that someone who was put into one sex category is and can be a different gender...why does their socialization suddenly matter for whether or not they experience that gender?

Honestly, I think it just comes down to people reaching for logical short cuts, for ways to control and gate-keep spaces/discourses by misusing social science as a purity test. People are very obsessed with trying to find the "truest" or "most oppressed" experience that they ignore that actually every human has a unique perspective and you actually have to look at their arguments and actions not some immutable characteristic that you can somehow use to explain their entire perspective.

The problem with people who make socialization arguments are that their arguments are bad. They don't actually prove anything, because socialization can't actually prove gender identity or amount/type of oppression someone faces.

socialization is a description of a process that has no guaranteed outcomes, not a some sort of black mark on someones soul.

[anjuschiffer]

Amira Wayne - Chapter 11

A/N: Something I want to address - Updates will be coming slowly because not only am I writing this fic as I go, I have other irl issues that need my full attention. Just wanted to let you guys know incase you see inconsistent updates in the future.Thank you for reading and understanding! <3

Day 11 of @biodad-bruce-month event!

Chapter 11: The “Talk”

-

P.Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life @toodaloo-kangaroo @elijahcrevan

Tag: @vixen-uchiha @we-want-mini-mini @ramos123 @bluesimani @redscarlet95 @greatcatblaze @promiswords @fantasiame @corabeth11 @anonymously-odd @alexandriamw @officiallydarkgeek

-

MASTERLIST | FIRST | PREV | AO3

The weekend ended up uneventful (in terms of akuma attacks), allowing Amira to catch up with Dick and Wally. 

The three went to the arcade the following day, Dick smiling the entire time as he watched Amira enjoy herself. 

He watched as she went from arcade machine to arcade machine, pulling Wally along. He watched as she cursed out claw machines but shouted in victory at the pinball machines. 

He watched as Wally showed her how the ring toss worked, Amira easily nailing it after watching Wally miss his second and fourth shot. 

Dick watched as the two ventured around the arcade, Amira racking up the tickets as time went on. In the end, she was able to get herself the most expensive prize there. 

“Did you seriously just spend all day trying to get that?” Wally asked her, earning a huff. “And wait, where’s the other one?”

Wally looked as Amira swung around the lit up dagger, watching as she twirled it around with ease. The soft lavender glow came to a halt when Amira placed it on her holster that would usually carry an actual dagger.

“I can protect myself with just one.” Amira tried to brush off, only to confess when she saw Dick raise a brow. “I gave my other one to the girl that was beside me at the prize area. Every girl deserves to have a weapon.”  That caused the two boys to laugh, causing Amira to pout.

“Whatever you say, Mimi.”

“Shouldn’t we start heading back home? Looks like it's about to rain.” Wally pointed out. 

Looking at the darkening skies, the trio agreed to call it a day.

-

Amira had a bounce to her step as she entered the apartment, bouncing onto the sofa and grabbing the remote to see what was on the news.

Much to her disappointment, it was some news coverage about Batgirl’s latest appearance. 

“-amateur footage of the vigilante taking down-”

Amira quickly flipped to another channel, a frown now on her face.

“If you keep doing that, you’re going to end up with scowl lines for life.” Dick commented, taking out some ingredients to cook.

“Did you know about Drake replacing Jason?” Amira asked out of the blue, causing Dick to almost drop the cabbage in his hands. “Or what about Barbara being Batgirl?

“I...I didn’t know about Tim being the new Robin.” Dick stuttered, placing down carrots and potatoes on the table. He didn’t want this day to come. But he knew he was going to have to eventually tell Amira the truth. “I recently found out about it when I went to the Cave to retrieve some data. As for Barbara being Batgirl…”

He could feel Amira’s eyes on him, analyzing his every move. Taking a deep breath, Dick continued. “I was the one who gave her the mantle.”

Amira dropped the remote in her hands, staring at Dick with wide eyes. 

“You?” Amira whispered. “You asked her to become Batgirl?” Amira felt her chest begin to twist. 

“Amira, Bruce needed-“

“Why did you drag Babs-”

“I didn’t- she, ugh.” Dick ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t drag her into this. She already knew about us.” Dick defended. “I simply-“

“Then why did you let her! Why did you encourage her?” Amira screamed. “She didn’t need to be roped into our messed up family-”

“Gotham needed him back.” Dick cut off. “Gotham needed Batman back. And we both knew that. We understood that. With his head still in the gutter-”

“Then why didn’t you stay there with him?” Amira cried, hating that she was having trouble breathing. “Why didn’t you-”

“Because I couldn’t forgive him with what he did to you!” Dick shouted, Amira watching him look down at his feet despite his head being held up high. “He shouldn’t have sent you to Paris when we were all mourning Jason!  He should’ve let you go to the funeral, to visit him one last time before forcing you out of the country! He didn’t have to push you away just because he was mourning!” Duck didn’t care if his shoulder shook or if his voice warbled a bit. 

This was Amira. He could trust her. She was his sister. 

Amira watched as Dick walked up to the couch and plopped next to her. “We both know he’s still in mourning, hell all of us are. But that doesn’t excuse him for doing the shit he did!” Dick growled out before letting out a deep sigh. “Did you know he almost sent me to Germany?”

“Germany?”

“Alfred told me after I fled here.” Dick threw himself back, looking up at the ceiling fan. “To think he would try to pull that on me as well.”

“I...I didn’t know.” Amira said, pulling her legs to her chest and resting her forehead on her knees. All this time, she was venting towards Dick and she never asked how he was dealing with all this. He had to deal with all of his emotions on his own, storing them inside while he played peacekeeper. 

How selfish she was. How stupid and blind did she have to be to not notice her brother’s suffering? 

“Where are you going?” Dick asked her as she got up and started to storm towards the window. She whispered ‘Spots On’, watching as a soft red glow engulfed her. “Amira!” She heard Dick yell, but she didn’t turn back.

The sun was beginning to set, but she didn’t care. She was Ladybird. She can handle a few Gothamite thugs. With that in mind, Amira got on the railing before dropping from it and swinging herself towards Gotham.

-

If there was one thing any villain in Gotham hated, it was newbies waltzing into their terf. 

As for Selina, the moment she noticed this newbie, she knew something was up. After all, no one survived longer than ten minutes while on enemy turf. 

“I’ve never seen you around here before.” Selina looked at the girl from top to bottom, critiquing the girl’s choice of red and black. “New to the game, aren’t you?” She asked, noticing a dagger hidden within the shadows cast by her skirt. “Tell me, what brings you to these parts of Gotham?”

Selina watched as the cloaked girl continued to analyze her, trying to circle around her. 

“Okay then, would you like to tell me your name, kitten?”

“Marienkäfer.” The girl spoke, glaring at her with an ever so familiar glare through her red domino mask. 

So she spoke German. Great. To be honest, she wished the kid spoke Mandarin just like- “Wie heißt du?“ The girl asked her, or at least Selina judged from the way her brows furrowed a bit. She huffed, knowing this is going to go nowhere without help. 

Pressing her comm, Selina awaited for the other end to pick up. 

“Hey. Got a kid here who only speaks German. No, she doesn’t seem- yea. Yes she’s wearing- wait hold on. What do you mean-“ a frustrated sigh left Selina. 

What did he mean by he knew her? 

Selina kept watching over the girl, deciding to watch her as the girl started to make her way towards her. 

Her hooded cape flew back from the autumn breeze, exposing the girl’s midnight hair. 

Selina watched as the girl stood mere feet away from her, her green eyes holding a curious twinkle in them. She saw how the girl approached her before quickly falling back, her hand hovering over something at her side. Was that a yo-yo?

“Is this the girl you were talking about?” Bruce’s voice trickled down Selina’s back. 

“Why do you always have the need to do that?” Selina hissed, but Bruce remained silent. “Anyways, how do you know her?” She frowned when he ignored her. 

“Amira.” Bruce called out, Selina watching as the girl didn’t budge. “Amira, what-”

“She smells like you.” The girl -no- Amira said, Selina watching her scowl. So she knew English, so why did she act as if she didn’t know it? 

Or did she do it on purpose? Was it just a ploy?

“What-“

“Your cologne...it’s all over her...the cologne I gave you for your birthday two years ago.” Amira growled. “That could only mean one thing. When were you going to introduce us to each other, Father?”

Selina looked at Amira and then at Bruce for some type of explanation. She was his daughter? Why is she learning about this now? As far as she knew, he only had Dick and Jason...and currently Tim.

“Bats, explain.” Selina demanded, Bruce feeling a headache starting to form.

“Fine. But not here.”

-

Selina felt as Amira continued to glare at her, Selina starting to hate the attention from the younger Wayne.

They finally arrived at the manor, currently walking towards Bruce’s study. Of course, Amira didn’t change out of her costume yet, walking in the red and black suit.

“So Amira, how come I haven’t heard about you?” Selina decided to ask.

“I wonder.” Amira spat with venom, causing a brow to raise. “It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with my father-”

“Amira.” Bruce cut off, prompting Amira to frown. “I meant to say this earlier, but welcome back home.”

“Home?” Amira let out a dry laugh. “Last I recall, the apartment back in Paris is my home. Not this place despite having been raised here for 13 years.”

“Amira.” 

“I didn’t come back here to see you. I didn’t even plan on seeing you, yet you always seem to find a way to find me.”

“Amira, you said you used to live here for 13 years. So tell me, how old are you?” Selina asked, hoping to ease the suffocating tension. 

“Turning 14 in July. And you don’t have to worry about having to see me for the rest of the year. I’m going back to Paris in a few hours. After that, I won’t be back in Gotham for another half year or year.” Amira looked at Selina, her eyes dull and void of the anger from earlier. “Father’s never let me attend any gala or any event that requires showing my face, so coming back to Gotham would be pointless for me.”

Selina stopped herself from coming to a halt, absorbing Amira’s words. 

She was 14, living in Paris by herself while her family lived in Gotham...not only that, but she seemed so distant to Bruce despite loving -no- adoring Gotham... 

“Bruce, did you really send her to Paris...by herself?”

“What if I did?” Selina let out a scoff.

“Are you being serious right now? Bruce, she’s 14!”

“She’s still a child.”

“And yet you still thought of doing the same thing to Dick and he was 17 at the time, turning 18.” Amira interjected. “

She didn’t know what overcame her, she really didn’t.

“I’m going to Paris with Amira.” She never saw Bruce turn around so quickly before, noticing Amira had the same reaction as him when she said that.

“Selina. You-”

“I’m only going to be there for a week, make sure Amira is doing well and from there, I’ll come back.” Selina walked up to Bruce, sinking her nails into his arm. “After that, you and I are going to have a talk.” She whispered, letting go of Bruce. “So Amira, where are your things?”

Selina waited for a few minutes before getting a response from the girl.

“A-At Dick’s. I didn’t think I was going to be here for that long. I just wanted to talk to my father before heading back, although it seems like there will be a change of plans.”

“You wanted to speak to me?” Bruce asked, wondering what exactly Amira wanted.

“Yes. But of course, in your office.”

-

Selina had gone to pick up Amira’s things from Dick’s apartment, leaving father and daughter by themselves.

“So, what was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Is it true you wanted to send Dick to Germany?” Amira threw out the first thing in her mind, watching as her father tensed. “You could’ve just sent him to France with me. The two of us would’ve kept each other company, be safe with each other. But no. You thought it was best to separate us, to keep us isolated from each other because-”

“I...I didn’t actually want to send him to Germany.” Bruce confessed. “I...I also didn’t want to send you to Paris either, but I knew that if I didn’t, the two of you ran the risk-”

“But isn’t that why you fight? Wasn’t becoming Batman the solution to your worries?” 

“I can only do so much. I can only guide the villains towards redemption, I can’t force them to-“

“Then why? Why didn’t you simply kill them off?” Amira asked. “Why don't you just get rid of them...or rather, him? Of Joker? Of the bastard clown that took Jason away from us! Why didn’t you-”

“You don’t understand, Amira. Getting rid of Joker isn’t the solution nor is getting rid of anyone for that matter. Killing isn’t-“

“Don’t you realize it? He’s the main problem. He’s the one racking up the deaths in Gotham. The reason why we have to keep constructing new cemeteries. The madman behind the cruelest tortures. The one who-“

“Killing Joker won’t do anything!” Bruce yelled. “It won’t bring Jason back and it definitely-”

“I never said it would bring Jason back. I said it because if you did kill him, it would bring you peace of mind. It would make Gotham safer for me...and countless other children.”

“Amira, I don’t think you understand. I don’t think you nor Jason understood.” Jason had told Bruce this before? “Killing only brings out the worst of people.” Amira watched as Bruce walked up to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “If I were to kill anyone, I won’t be able to get back from there. My hands will no longer withhold the justice I claim to uphold...I also don’t want my children to have a murderer for a father.”

Amira watched as her father shook, but she didn’t care.

“You always said you wanted to be someone we could be proud of. A father whom we adored...but in your mission to become that, you’ve become a stranger to me.” Amira said, pushing Bruce off her. “I claim you my father, but...I don’t know much about you. 

I have a stranger for a father instead of a respected man. 

I found out about your girlfriend-no...fiance around a day ago, only to find out you’ve known her for longer. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice the inconsistencies in her files?” Amira brought up.

“You looked at her files? When? Why?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Despite not being in Gotham, I like being up to date with the news. As for how, I was downloading information from the computer to take back with me to Paris. Got bored and started to look at the criminal files you had there. That’s how I landed on Selina’s file.

To think you’re engaged, nonetheless to a thieve.” Amira glared at her father. “Then again, why am I surprised at you for hiding things from me? You’ve always hid me away from anyone else. Just like how you hid Barbara and Drake from me.”

“I never hid that from-” Amira raised her hand and shook her head.

“I don’t care about that. I don’t care about what the hell you do anymore. But just know this. I will never forgive that bastard from taking Jason away from us. Now, I better get going. I have a plane to catch.”

NEXT

[teenage-mutant-ninja-freak]

blood of the covenant part 2

Part 1 here

Summery: After your explosive argument last night, it’s time to take a look at the remains of your relationship as see what’s worth saving. You don’t know if you can do it after Raph’s betrayal 

Warnings: angst, murder mention

((A/N: This is the part I haven’t really thought through but some of you wanted a part 2 to this so here you go sorry it’s kind of shit))

The sun is shining through the window, it’s a beautiful Autumn morning and you groggily open your eyes that are still bloodshot from your tears last night. Could Raph have really meant what he said? You strip off your clothes and head for the bathroom, maybe a scolding hot shower would cure some of what you’re feeling.

The water pounds down on your delicate skin, turning it a slightly more pink colour from the heat and you sigh deeply. Nothing could scrub off what happened last night. You get out of the shower and wrap a towel around yourself. You wipe the away the condensation at look in the mirror to see the huge purple and brown bruise on our chin, you consider putting makeup on to hide it but decide against that idea. Let him see what he did to me. Heading back into the bedroom you get dressed, you decide on something more casual, a white T shirt and black jeans will do. 

Going down the stairs you decide that coffee sounds good as you’re way too depressed to eat anything substantial. You pass you meeting room which has it’s door shut, pausing for a second you can hear vague noises inside and know that the boys are in there talking about the business. Sometimes you’d sit in with them, perched on Raph’s lap and kissing his neck much to Leo’s annoyance. Today wasn’t like that, today you were estranged from the man you think you still love.

Flipping the switch to the kettle it roars to life and begins to boil, you grab your coffee mug that Raph got you, rolling your eyes as you look at the cartoon tiara and the word “Princess” scrawled across it in pink, swirly writing. Some way to treat your princess you think to yourself.

__________

Inside the meeting room the boys are all sit around a large table smoking. Leo is at the head of the table and takes one more drag before continuing his sentence.

“So if Paddy’s has been compromised we need to find a new drop off point. Any suggestions?”

“The docks, no one is ever down there since those bodies washed up” Donnie suggests. Raph side eyes him but Don brushes it off. Last night was not the first time he’s made advances towards one of Raph’s girls and he doubted it would be the last, but Donnie is his brother and he loves him so certain things can slide by.

“If we’re seen down there we’ll have the cops breathing down our necks even more than they are now. No, we need somewhere more discreet. Put it on the agenda to find whoever is killing in the city though, murders on our terf is the last thing we need”

Raph simply sits and stares at his hands. Last night was tough for him and he doesn’t quite know what to do now. The safety of the meeting room was his only solace; knowing that you wouldn’t come barging in with his brothers around. 

“Raph, you there, buddy” Leo interrupts his train of thought

“Yeah, just thinking”

“Hey, I heard yelling last night. What’s up with you and y/n? Another domestic? You’ve got to keep that girl in check, y’know”

Raph clenches his fists and doesn’t look up at his brother But shoots another look at Donnie who turns his head away. Advice from a man who couldn’t keep interest in a woman for longer than a week wasn’t what he needed right now.

_____________

You pour the boiling water into your mug and stir it around so that all the coffee grounds dissolve before adding sugar. You hear a noise from down the hall and assume the meeting is over. The boys come wandering into the kitchen and sit at the table, apart from Raph who stands opposite you. He winces when he looks at your chin.

“Pretty, isn’t it” you say gesturing to your face. He doesn’t reply but the boys turn to look at you and then at Raph with anger in their eyes. It was one of their rules to never lay hands on a woman, even the ones they has killed they were pretty gentle with beforehand but to hurt a significant other was an entirely different ball park however, this wouldn’t be the first time Raphael had broken this rule.

“Raph” Leo says sternly. “We’ll be having words later” 

Raph didn’t doubt that but, for now, he needed to talk to you.

“can we have a word in the other room?” He says sheepishly.

You follow him upstairs to your bedroom and once inside he shuts the door.

“I don;t know what to say”

“Sorry would be a good start” you suggest.

“I’m sorry” he stares down at his feet.

“Tell me about her”

“What?”

“Tell me about the girl you fucked and killed. It was her dying wish? What sort of psycho wants to fuck her killer?”

“I- I wasn’t entirely honest about who it was”

This is an immediate red flag for you. He wasn’t honest. Was it someone you knew? A friend? And why would he kill them? 

“It was Jess”

Jessica Brian, a woman he had known since before Splinter died. She always had a thing for him, you could just smell it and you never liked her for that so her passing wasn’t exactly traumatic for you. But he knew her and he liked her and he fucked her. She had been there for him when Splinter died and they became good friends so why did he kill her?

Raph could see the questions building up in your head

“She got a new boyfriend, Casey Jones, that detective. He was using her for information on us and a few tings slipped through the cracks so she had to go. It’s a shame really.”

“Oh yeah it’s such a shame that you had to put your dick in a beautiful woman, I really feel for you” you raise your voice.

“Listen to me!” he begs “It meant nothing to me, but everything to her. That’s the only reason I would do it besides, Mikey was egging me on”

I’m gonna kill Mikey you thought to yourself, how typical of him to get between you and Raph. Mikey had never really liked you, he trusted you but not liked. He thought you were too volatile for Raph and maybe he was right but fuck him for doing that. For going as far as to make Raph betray you, you know deep down that really it’t not his fault, it’s Raphael’s but you’re still so full of rage that you’ll take it out on anyone at this time.

“So her dying wish is to finally have you, and you what? Just forgot about me?”

“I thought you’d never find out”

That was the kicker. You always said you’d never keep secrets from each other, even if they hurt and this one felt like a punch to the gut. You were bubbling with rage and didn’t know any way to contain it. You had only one idea and it wasn’t a good one.

“NO RAPH!” you scream at the top of your lungs. He gives you a very confused look, not sure what you’re playing at.

“PLEASE, PLEASE JUST GET AWA- NO!” you’re howling now “PLEASE DON;T I’M BEGGING YOU!” you slap yourself hard in the face and this is when Raph catches on. Knocking everything from your vanity onto the floor it makes a crashing sound and you can hear his brothers running up the stairs to your rescue. Quickly you get into the corner of the room and begin to cower as Leo, Donnie and Mikey burst through the door and restrain Raph as he’s walking towards you. Leo throws a punch and it sends him flying onto the bed where Mikey jumps on top of him and begins to pull him out of the room with the help of Leo. Donnie comes towards you slowly and places a gentle hand on your knee

“You ok?” he asks sincerely 

“I will be” you sniffle, trying to hold back a sly smile.

You wondered what they would do to him but decided you didn’t really care since even that one punch was the least he deserved.

_______________

It’s been a few hours and it’s starting to get dark outside. You’re in the living room lighting up some incense and you watch as the smoke lifts up into the air, dissipating a few feet up above the stick. The room fills with the scent of smokey rose and you lie back on the sofa. Maybe you had taken it too far earlier but, then again, he betrayed your trust completely and you needed to do something to let your anger out.

Raph and Leo enter the room, Leo eyes you suspiciously clearly still not sure as to weather he should believe the events of earlier.

“Play nice now, you two.” he says “You’ll be the death of me, I swear it” he says gesturing between you and Raph before leaving the room. You watch as he goes and notice how good his ass looks in those tailored pants he always wears. Maybe you should have gone for Leo last night instead.

“That was cute, earlier” Raph begins “Really had me in the dog house with them”

You smile coyly, it was exactly what he deserved. Now he had a matching bruise on his jaw courtesy of Leo.

Raph sits on the sofa by your feet, places a hand on your ankle and begins to rub at it with his thumb back and forth. You knew he could be gentle sometimes, it was moments like this that reminded you why you were with him. Getting past that rough tough exterior and to the heart of this man was the best thing you ever did. You get that warm and cosy feeling inside that only Raph has ever been able to bring out in you.

“Did it hurt?” you ask, pointing at his face

“I’ll live” he replies.

You know you need to talk about last night but you’re unsure as to how to bring it up. Hey Raph, wanna tell me again why you fucked Jess, destroyed my trust in you and lied about it? Seemed a tad too forward. Raph leans in and kisses you on the lips sweetly, looking into his eyes you melt a little inside. It was so difficult to stay angry at him even though he gave you every reason.

“What do we do now?” 

He frowns slightly in thought

“Well, if this were one of your soppy romance books, this would be the part where I spill my heart to you and then you forgive me” he says

“Well then, I’m all ears”

“Jess has-had” he corrected himself “Been in my life for years, she was like family and you know the old man wasn’t keen on humans. With the anniversary coming up and her betraying us and what we had to do to her....When she asked for me...How was I supposed to say no? Aside from you she was the only one there for me after dad died and I felt like I owed her something even at the cost of hurting you.She was terrified and shaking and I think she just wanted to feel safe again so I did it and I’m sorry and I know I messed up. I’d take it back if I could and I mean that”

This was Raph’s go to line- that he’d take it back but, he seemed earnest and the sad puppy look on his face cut you deep. It wasn’t like now he’d said that you were going to forgive him, it would take a lot of time to do that, but at least you could move forward together. You know that at least the next three fights you have will be about this, though. For now, however, you let him put his arm around you and you snuggle into the nook in his shoulder.

“tell me I’m yours” you murmur

“You’re mine, baby. Mine and mine alone”

You smile into him and breath in his scent deeply.

“If you ever do it again, I’ll cut you”

He laughs dryly, knowing that you mean it.  You stay like that for a while letting the room grow darker around you as you sit in silence simply holding one another. The incense burns out and the house become quiet so you decide to head back to your room to go to bed.

Under the covers you face the wall with Raph behind you, one arm wrapped around you protectively. You much preferred this to the night before, falling asleep alone and sobbing and although you’re sure there will be more nights like that in your future, for now you allow yourself to live in this moment where you are safe and loved with the man of your dreams beside you.

Fin

[f00pyf00p]

Skateboard Go Zoom

Rating: General Relationships: Romantic Analogical Warnings: Foster System, Mentions of TERFs Word count: 4029 Summary: The poor victim Ms. Williams had preyed on began to stutter an answer. Virgil tried to pay attention, he really did, but the sun had decided to come out from behind a cloud at that exact moment and the light hit Logan in the face and suddenly Virgil was much more interested in watching Logan blink against it.His eyelashes always seemed golden tipped in the light. Other Notes: Analogical Week Day 5: Vocab card/Skateboard @analogicalweek

Read on AO3

Their town's skatepark was small. People trickled in and out of it, but there were never more than four people looking to use it at a time (unless of course, a group of high schoolers came together), and anyone stopping to watch only ever hung around for about a minute before continuing on their way.

The park consisted of a smaller-sized bowl, a short flat rail Virgil only ever used to practice hippie jumps, and a couple of quarter pipe ramps facing one another. There were several graffiti designs, a couple that Virgil had done himself, but generally, the park was well maintained.

Virgil absolutely loved it.

It was a rare afternoon to find the park devoid of Virgil. When he couldn’t be in the bowl, Virgil was manualing from quarter to quarter or practicing whatever newest trick he was working on off to the side. At the moment, that was an early grab finger flip. It was a move where he was supposed to squat down, grab the nose of his board with his hand, then lift up, while jumping, and flip the board so he landed flat on it and continued rolling.

At the moment, Virgil kept pulling up on the nose before he hopped and ending up not doing much of anything- besides tripping over the damn thing. He had gotten it a few times though; it was a work in process.

But of course, Virgil could only go to the park in the afternoons. Right now it was morning. Which meant he was in the worst possible place on earth, in the worst possible class, with the worst possible person sitting next to him.

“8 is to the power of 4x+2,” Ms. Williams said loudly. “And it's equal to 64. So, what do we do to solve for x?”

The worst person Virgil could possibly be sitting next to’s hand shot into the air.

Ms. Williams sighed. “Anyone besides Logan?”

The class was silent. Logan’s hand slowly stuttered back to his side and he looked down at his paper.

Virgil peeked over at it and found all the practice problems Ms. Williams had said they would be doing together already finished, answers neatly circled and not an eraser mark on the damn thing.

Which was impressive because Ms. Williams had only handed them out about five minutes ago.

“Sally? Do you know where to start?”

The poor victim Ms. Williams had preyed on began to stutter an answer. Virgil tried to pay attention, he really did, but the sun had decided to come out from behind a cloud at that exact moment and the light hit Logan in the face and suddenly Virgil was much more interested in watching Logan blink against it.

His eyelashes always seemed golden tipped in the light.

Okay, freak. Virgil scolded himself. You’re in math class, not theater.

He had just managed to pull his attention back to the whiteboard in front of them when Logan had the fucking audacity to brush his hair back with his hand and then all Virgil’s useless brain could think about what it would feel like?

Was it soft? It certainly looked soft. He could imagine running his fingers through the black roots before wrapping his arms around Logan’s neck and-

Stop it.

Virgil’s brain decided not to listen to his request and began to wonder on repeat if Logan’s lips would be squishy and delicate, or more commanding.

He glanced over at Logan and found the boy watching him. They met eyes and almost instantaneously, both Logan and Virgil looked away. At this point, Virgil was sure he looked like a tomato, and it was very small comfort to know that Logan’s face had darkened as well.

It took a moment for Virgil to gather himself, but he forced his attention back to the board and concentrated on each one of the practice questions Ms. Williams had assigned them. They ended up finishing a little early, so Ms. Williams passed out their homework as well.

Virgil, apparently, had not learned his lessons from the earlier eye contact and spent the entirety of math glancing over at Logan. Logan (of course) had already finished his homework and was leafing through what appeared to be a psychology book with notes all over the margins and Virgil watched as he reached over and highlighted a certain section.

God, he was adorable.

Logan glanced over at him again and again, both boys looked away instantly. Cursing himself, Virgil made a quiet vow that he wouldn’t look at Logan for the rest of the period- a vow that he broke not even a full minute later.

Math was a very stressful period.

Somehow, Virgil managed to finish all homework problems just as the bell rang and he shoved the papers into his bag before practically running out of the room.

He didn’t notice the wide pair of brown eyes that followed him out the door.

__

The skatepark was a little busier than normal- meaning that every piece of equipment was currently in use- but that simply gave Virgil the time to practice the early grab finger flip, a trick that continued to elude him like the annoying thing it was.

Rolling rolling… now jump and snatch! Flip and land it!

Virgil grinned as he put his foot down and came to a stop. That was the fourth time in a row he had gotten the trick down, and while it wasn’t nearly close to perfection, he was very happy with it.

He was about to do a 180 hippie jump over the rail when out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted a young African-American boy crouched over a book. His right hand held a pencil that he was diligently using to underline an area in the gigantic book he held and he followed that by a little scribble of notes off to the side

Virgil would’ve recognized that face anywhere.

Logan?

No no no no no no no noooo…

What is he doing here?

I want to talk to him.

No. Talking is bad. We don’t do that here.

Just go up and say “Hi. It’s Virgil from math class.”

ABSOLUTELY NOT.

Okay, what about an excuse? “Hi, it’s Virgil from math class. Sorry to bother you, but I’m struggling with question 3 on the homework-”

NO. That’s weird. And creepy.

Okay, what if we just wave to him. Waving is normal.

No, it's not.

Well, it's also weird if you don’t acknowledge him.

Shut uppppp.

Virgil swallowed. He shook his head wildly before facing the rail again and riding right for it.

As soon as the rail got close enough, Virgil jumped up and off of his board, and spun his body 180 degrees so rather than facing the beautiful boy on the bench, he looked over at the bowl. His landing was perfect, as expected of him.

He wondered if Logan was watching.

Virgil did another kickflip and then almost stopped to bash his head against the wall.

Riding was for him. For the adrenaline when soaring through the bowl, for the wind in his face, for the achievement when he finally mastered a new trick. Not for showing off to hot boys.

He wondered if Logan would be impressed by a flamingo.

Pull yourself together, Casey.

For the next couple of hours, Virgil did his best to forget about the boy taking notes in his book and concentrated on enjoying himself. He managed to get a number of different turns in the bowl, where he could enjoy doing a couple of bonelesses- a trick where he grabs the board, flips it up in front of him, and jumps off of his front foot, then turns the board and aims his front foot so it lands on the board. He got a couple of cheers each time he did one of those.

Later that night, when most people had cleared out, Logan and Virgil remained. Logan still hadn’t looked up from that stupid book, but Virgil had once watched Logan forget to go to lunch because he was engulfed in reading, so that wasn’t very surprising.

Virgil was back to working on his early grab finger flip when Logan’s black glasses slid down his nose. In one movement, Logan shoved his glasses back up, made a note in his book, and stuck the end of his pencil into his mouth.

Virgil tripped over the tail of his board and sent it riding solo, straight into Logan’s foot.

Logan glanced down at it

This was it. This was the end. Virgil was going to die, right here, and Logan would forever remember him as the terrible skateboarder who sent boards flying into people’s feet like a complete newb.

For some obnoxious reason, however, Virgil kept breathing and his heart kept beating- admittedly at a mile a minute. His hands became clammy as Logan looked over at him, back down at the board, and said;

“Do I… do I kick it back to you? I don’t want to break it.”

Holy shit, they were talking.

It took a few seconds for Virgil to realize Logan needed an answer and that they had in fact, been standing in silence for the past 30 seconds.

“Oh! Yeah! Sure!” Virgil debated slapping himself in the face. “It’s durable, trust me. I’ve wiped out on it loads of times.”

At this point, Virgil was pretty sure his face was brighter than the sun and he was more than ready to find a ditch to curl up and die in.

Logan put his foot on the tail of the nose of the board and before Virgil would warn him that it was too far to the left, Logan pushed and the board took off.

It rode straight for Virgil for about three seconds before promptly turning and heading off on its own adventure to the right.

Logan's entire face went a warm brown and he instantly leaped to his feet and went to grab the board. Virgil didn’t really notice and the two of them made it there at the same time, barely a couple of feet apart.

Virgil kicked his board up so the tail landed in his hand.

“I um- Sorry,” Logan said. “I mean to push it towards you.”

Virgil waved a hand to say “no problem” mostly because his tongue had stopped working in his mouth and he was pretty sure if he said it aloud it would be a garble of complete gibberish. He tried to come up with something to say- something to get this beautiful, beautiful boy to keep talking to him- but nothing was coming to mind and he was going to miss the one opportunity he had and then he would die alone and sad-

“You’re skateboard tricks are cool.” Logan scratched the back of his neck and Virgil’s heart stuttered to a halt. “I saw a couple of them while I was working. You’re very impressive.”

It was all Virgil could do not to squeal.

“Thank you.” Somehow, he found it within himself to keep his voice steady.

He still needed to say something else.

What else could he say?

Ummmm…

“I could teach you if you want.”

What?! NO!

It’s fine, it’s fine. He’ll just say no thanks and then I can go spend the rest of my life cringing at this moment.

“If you really wouldn’t mind, I do think I would enjoy acquiring a new skill.” Logan looked up and met Virgil’s eyes. “It sounds… fun.”

What?

Virgil blinked.

Logan. The most beautiful person on the planet. Wanted to hang out. With him?

Him?!

The sun might as well have just set in the east. Virgil closed and opened his mouth several times before he finally figured out that using his vocal cords was helpful in human communication and said;

“Y-yeah. Sure.” Virgil licked his lips. “I can go over the really basic stuff now if you want.”

“Satisfactory.”

“Right. Okay. Then um…” Virgil dropped his board onto the floor in front of them and took a couple of steps back. “So there are two basic stances. There’s regular, where you have your left foot in the front, and then right back, and goofy, which is opposite. You’re- Are you right-handed?”

Logan nodded.

“Okay. Then I’d go regular. That’s usually most comfortable for right-handed people.”

Logan nodded again and before Virgil could give any more instructions stepped onto the board. Almost instantly, the board titled forward and Logan went stumbling off it, right into Virgil.

Virgil caught his shoulders with both hands. “Right. So don’t do that.”

A half-smile appeared on Logan’s face and Virgil’s heart did a somersault. He managed to keep his breathing steady and let go of Logan in turn by reaching for the board and pulling it back over to them.

“So instead of… whatever you just did, you’re going to put your left foot near the nose- or um, the front of the board- a little after the bolt. And then your right foot should be shoulder-width apart at a slight angle. On the tail.”

Logan stepped up again, this time more cautiously. He glanced over at Virgil, who smiled encouragingly, and then slowly placed his feet precisely where Virgil had told him.

A more real, fond smile appeared on Virgil’s face. This guy and following directions…

“Right. Now bend your knees a little for better balance just use your right foot to shove you forward.”

Logan did both at once. The board rolled- a lot slower than Virgil could remember ever going and he stopped after a few feet, but when Logan looked back his entire face had lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning.

Virgil couldn’t help but smile back.

__

Skateboard lessons became a daily thing. Every day, after school Virgil and Logan would go to the skatepark (separately) and Virgil would spend the first two hours dicking around and doing tricks while Logan would read some random stupidly heavy nonfiction book. Once people had cleared out, Virgil and Logan would begin their “lesson” which started off as simple instructions but quickly devolved into actually talking.

The first time the talking happened, Virgil had been questioning Logan about being home on time.

“It’s getting dark.” Virgil glanced at the sun falling behind them and then back at Logan, who was trying (and failing) to do an ollie (a very fundamental skateboard jump). “Do you need to worry about going home?”

Logan jumped up and the skateboard hit the floor with an ugly crash. “I like being out of the house.”

“You need to make sure you’re comfortable popping the board up,” Virgil advised. He paused. “Your parents won’t mind?”

Logan shrugged. “My parents died when I was a baby and I currently reside in a house with eight other foster kids. They’ll barely notice.” He placed both feet on the board and leaned down, so the nose of the board was up in the air and his back foot firmly planted the tail on the ground. “I’ve got the popping down. I can’t do the jumping part.”

Virgil hadn’t been quite sure what to say. In the end, they had just carried on with the lesson.

The next time it happened, Logan had mentioned how the term “ssri” kept showing up in his newest psychology book and he wasn’t quite sure what it meant.

“I mean, I’m aware it's a type of medication,” Logan informed him as he tried (and failed) to perform the ollie again. “But it seems to be a category and I don’t know for what.”

“Oh its selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors,” Virgil said calmly. “I take Celexa, so I’ve had that term thrown in my face a lot.”

Logan blinked at him. “Celexa is prescribed for depression.”

Virgil met his eyes, licked his lips, and then sheepishly looked down at the floor. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“I um…” Logan shoved his glasses up his nose. “I think you’re very strong. I don’t know what it's like, but simply reading about it suggests that you’re incredibly strong. And if…” his voice trailed off. “If you ever want to talk to anyone, I’m open.”

Virgil had never appreciated anyone more than he appreciated Logan at that moment.

Skateboarding after that became more limited. Not because either one was no longer interested- but because conversation would take up quite quickly and figuring out how to ollie suddenly wasn’t the priority.

“You read all of Twilight!?” Virgil gaped at him from his spot beside Logan on the bench. “How!? You’re Mr. Read Long Boring Nonfiction books!”

“I read fiction too!” Logan was half-smiling again. “But, I didn’t read Twilight to enjoy the story so much as to critique it. It’s the same reason I read the 50 Shades of Grey series and watched The Kissing Booth.”

Virgil stared at him open-mouthed.

“I have a notebook- well, a series of notebooks really- dedicated to ripping apart literature. I’ll react to each chapter or each arc of the movie and put downtimes and chapter so I can go back to it, and then write what went wrong plotwise, characterwise, setting-wise, etc.” Logan’s smile turned into a full one at the look on Virgil’s face. “It’s really quite enjoyable.”

“Do you have them on good works as well?”

“Certainly! I have an entire notebook simply on where Harry Potter went wrong. Admittedly, I made it after J.K. came as a TERF in a bit of a rage but it is quite detailed.”

“I’ll need to read that,” Virgil said sincerely. “I’m pissed at her as well.”

Logan shoved his glasses up his nose and wiped his hands on his pants. “Yeah?”

“Oh yes. Look- here.” Virgil got up to his feet and offered Logan a hand. When Logan grasped it, butterflies exploded in his stomach and those butterflies flew all the faster when Logan didn’t drop his hand after.

Virgil swallowed and used the connection to pull Logan toward the two quarter ramps facing one another. There on the side in big red and gold bubble letters were the words “Fuck JK Rowling.”

“I wasn’t very imaginative,” Virgil admitted. “I was just kind of… mad and I figured this would make me feel better.”

“Did it?”

“A little.” He paused. “Not really.”

Logan’s shoulders had turned in on itself. It was the very first time Virgil had seen Logan without perfect posture and it didn’t sit right with him.

“Did ripping it apart in your notebook help you?”

“No.” Logan looked at the floor. “Why were you mad at JK?”

“Because she doesn’t support Trans people?”

“Do you?” Logan's voice was small and suddenly Virgil understood exactly why he had been acting off.

“Yes. Virgil looked at his friend until Logan met his eyes. “Yes. I do.”

Logan bit his bottom lip. “So if I told you that I was trans…”

“I’d thank you for trusting me and promise not to tell anyone without your permission. And then nothing would change.”

The responding smile was brighter than anything Logan had ever given him in the past.

There were lighter conversations as well. Somehow, Logan dragged it out of Virgil that he liked spiders and stuffed animals, and the next week, Logan had sheepishly given him a stuffed spider “in payment for the lessons.” Virgil had told him it was unnecessary, but Logan said if he liked it it was his and that was that.

“I mean, Marvel movies are better, obviously-”

“Obviously,” Logan agreed.

“But DC comics are pretty good.”

“As long as you don’t count Superman, I’ll agree with you.”

Virgil gave his friend an amused look. “What’s wrong with Superman?”

“He’s-” Logan grimaced. “Everything about him is just so… flames. On the side of my face. See-Seething fire.”

“You’re going to have to elaborate.”

“He has no flaws. He can fly faster than a bullet, he has superhuman strength, x-ray vision, lasers come out of his eyes, he can heal very quickly, he has superhuman breath, superhuman stamina, he’s invulnerable and he has superhuman vision! And these are merely the ones I can recall off the top of my head!” Logan's hands flapped around him and each word was aggressively punctuated.

A coy smile appeared on Virgil’s face. He loved watching Logan get passionate about something. It was fairly easy to set him off and once you did, it was a bit like watching an interesting nature documentary.

“If he had moral struggles he might be somewhat compelling, but he doesn’t even have that. It’s all truth, justice, and the American way.” His tone had adopted a somewhat mocking edge to it, especially as he said “the American way.” “He’s a horrible character.”

“What about Kryptonite?”

Virgil admittedly had only said that to see Logan’s head explode and explode it did.

“Kryptonite is the most bullshit thing in the entirety of literature and I’m including sparkling vampires.”

Virgil burst out laughing. For a moment, Logan simply blinked at him, face going a very warm brown before a large smile broke out over his face and he joined in.

__

“I did it!”

Virgil had been taking a drink from the sprite they had grabbed earlier and it took a moment for him to realize exactly what Logan was talking about. He smiled.

“An ollie?”

“Yes!” Logan’s excitement was contagious enough that Virgil felt his heart rate pick up- although that might’ve been because of the adorable grin on the boy's face. “Hold on.”

He went to do it again and ended up tripping over himself. The grin faded into a pout. “I had gotten this,” Logan muttered. “Hold on.”

He placed his back foot in the middle of the tail and his front foot in the middle of the deck, slightly closer to the top bolts. In the same movement, Logan snapped the tail on the ground so the board was going up at an incline and jumped. Virgil watched with no small amount of pride as Logan rolled his foot up to the nose of the board, forcing it back to the ground, and landed perfectly so each foot covered the bolts.

“There!” That adorable smile re-lit up his face and it grew all the more when Logan saw Virgil nodding. “I got it!”

“Well done!” Virgil beamed back at him. “Having taught you, I take 50% of the credit.”

Logan nodded (which had not been the reaction Virgil had expected) and jumped off of the board. Before Virgil could really react, black arms looped around Virgil’s head, and Logan crushed Virgil into the tightest hug Virgil had ever experienced.

Virgil froze. Slowly, he reached his arms around and reciprocated it, even if all he could think about was how close Logan was at the moment, how he could feel his breath on his neck, the bones of his back, and the plastic of his binder.

He wondered if he wasn’t hugging Logan close enough. Or maybe too close. Or maybe-

It’s a hug. Calm down.

But what if he was hugging wrong?

Then Logan pulled back, and it was far too soon and all Virgil wanted to do was pull him back into his arms, and god he looked adorable smiling at him, still elated from being able to get that trick down and-

“Can I kiss you?”

Virgil hadn’t even realized the words had come out of his mouth until Logan’s smile fell slightly.

Fuck, fuck fuck-

The smile came back full force.

“Yes,” Logan said simply.

Virgil leaned forward and their lips met and it was like fireworks had burst between them. Every part of Virgil’s body tingled and he wasn’t thinking about whether he was doing it wrong but the feel of Logan’s mouth against his and how silky Logan’s hair was to the touch.

They broke apart and Virgil just stared at him, stared at this beautiful, beautiful boy, and was suddenly really glad for the moment months ago when he had failed to land an early grab finger flip and sent the board rolling into the boy on the bench.

[punkpoemprose]

December 4th- The Movie Date

Universe: 2000′s AU Rating: G (General Audiences) Length: 1720 Words

Note: This fic deals with Kristoff and Anna waiting in line to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix in 2007 because for me the 2000′s were pretty much all Harry Potter all the time. I just want to say that while I’ve always been a fan of the Harry Potter series, I am not a fan of JK Rowling and her TERF ideology. If you like this fic please consider donating to The Trevor Project or another charity of your choice that supports trans folks. Trans rights are human rights.

Also on a less important note: I fucked with the timeline a bit because I wanted the last book to have come out before the fifth movie for the plot stuff I could do with it. Technically speaking the last book came out ten days later than the film, but semantics.

If someone had told him a year ago that he would be dressed up in a wizard costume, standing in line for over five hours just to get seats to see a movie, he would have called them crazy. Of course, he’d heard of Harry Potter, even then. It was a cultural phenomenon and really he’d been meaning to read the books at some point, it was just that he was busy with work or it was hockey season, or something came up and he never really found the time to sit down and read the books. That was, of course, all the excuses he’d made before Anna.

He’d met her mostly by mistake while at work. He’d been working on laying up brick for a new fountain in the city park, and she’d been walking a big fluffy white dog by one hand while texting someone on her Nokia with the other, and it hadn’t ended particularly well for anyone involved. The long story short was that she’d broken her arm, he’d needed stitches in his cheek, and the dog, Olaf, had needed to have chunks of fur cut away after cement dried into his fluffy tail.

It had also, coincidentally worked out very well for at least the human parts of the incident as, once they’d finished arguing over who was at fault, they’d also started talking civilly and despite their aches and pains, had actually went out for coffee after the incident. At the time, a Starbucks had just opened in town and it had been the excuse they’d both used, along with the promise of apology coffee, for their first date.

She’d been easy to fall in love with, and when she’d brought up the kids series and her love of it on their first date, he’d finally had the shove he needed to stop making excuses and read them.  He didn’t end up loving them nearly so much as she did. He’d never been much of a fantasy guy, but still after hours reading the books and discussing them with her, they’d ordered the movies through Netflix and watched them together as they arrived in the mail.

That was six months before they moved in together. Now, while he still wasn’t as into the series as Anna, he could say that he knew as much as anyone who had finished the series in July when the final book came out. He’d needed to stand in line then too, but it had been worth it to bring it home and watch Anna, who had been sick, marathon the book between breaks for NyQuil and sustenance. The snot and tears he’d endured, laying on the couch with her, her head on his chest, had been all worth it in the end, as the hours in line and the silly costume were now.

The things I do for love.

“Okay, so as soon as they let us in, we’ll snag the best seats. You’re on guard duty while I get popcorn because you look tough.”

He snorted, both at the fact that she had a game plan, and because he really didn’t feel like he looked tough at all in his Gryffindor tie (though he’d been told by Anna, and a quiz she’d found on Quizilla.com, that he was much more of a Hufflepuff) and large black robe. In fact, he felt like he looked a little bit ridiculous, but Anna, in comparison, looked lovely.

She’d decided to dress like Fleur Delacour in her Beauxbaton’s uniform, and he knew that he, by association was meant to be Bill Weasley, something which he not only liked the idea of from a romantic sense, but also by characterization. He’d liked Bill in the books, and for what it was worth, he’d also liked Fleur despite the way other characters looked at her. While he wasn’t sure he was quite brave enough to be Bill, he did like his work ethic, the strong sense of right and wrong he seemed to display, and his love for his family. Anna made an excellent Fleur, particularly in the sense that he found her so lovely that she could certainly have some Veela heritage, even if they were fictional.

“I’ll endeavor to do my best,” he said, only half teasing.

“You’ll do fine I’m sure. I mean they’re only selling as many tickets as they have seats, and it’s been sold out for weeks, so once we get our seats it’s not like anyone can make us move or kick us out or something.”

He nodded, “Honestly Anna I think that everyone is just excited to see the movie, I doubt they’re going to fight us on seats too much.”

“But if they do, we’re going to win.”

He laughed at that. There was a glint in her eye that seemed more like they were about to go to battle than that they were going to walk into a movie theater. He loved her competitive nature, particularly when it wasn’t aimed toward him, in their Livingroom, playing Call of Duty. Her bloodlust was legendary when a win was on the line, and “all is fair in love and war” was the law of the land as soon as the PlayStation turned on.  

“So I know you have a rule about soda because whenever you get it you have to pee halfway through the movie, but would you mind grabbing me a cherry coke when you get the popcorn? Because I haven’t had a drink in five hours and I understand the Order of the Phoenix is very important, and I was willing to sacrifice for it, but I’m going to need to drink something soon or I’m going to look like a dementor…”

He trailed off, noticing that Anna wasn’t paying any attention to a word he was saying, but instead was staring off past the pinball machines and crane games that dotted the lobby, straight over to the ticket counter, where a girl, appearing to be around ten, wearing a Quidditch uniform was crying into her extremely frazzled looking mother’s skirt.

“Oh geeze,” Anna said quietly, much lower than when they were explaining their battle plan, “That poor kid. I bet her Mom didn’t think to buy ahead… she probably didn’t realize how popular it was going to be.”

Kristoff frowned, he had a sister about her age, and there was nothing worse than watching her cry over anything. As much as he was wrapped around Anna’s finger, he’d been wrapped around hers first. There were many years, when she was even younger, that he’d bring himself to exhaustion carrying her around on his shoulders, reading her stories, and doing whatever it took to keep her happy. He could only imagine how much more he’d want to please a kid of his own.

“Anna… is she wearing a birthday girl pin on her robe?”

He probably shouldn’t have mentioned it, but he noticed the pink button and crown when she turned and wiped her little eyes.

“It is,” Anna agreed, frowning, “It is definitely a birthday girl pin. I bought Elsa the same one last month… but I don’t think she wore it as proudly as that kid is.”

An announcement was made over the lobby PA system informing the theatergoers that rope drop to enter theaters 1-4 for the release showing of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix would be in just five minutes. When Anna quickly ducked under the rope to the side of them that they’d been standing between for five hours, Kristoff smiled to himself, already knowing where she was going.

***

“’Well, I’m glad you listen to Hermione Granger at any rate’, she said, pointing him out of her office.”

Anna snorted, jostling the book, as Kristoff held it with one hand and played with her hair with the other. Her head was rested against his chest on their couch, and despite the late hour they were both still awake and quite comfortable.

“I love how you’re doing your best Maggie Smith impression when you read McGonagall’s parts. It’s almost like I can see it.”

He leaned forward and a bit awkwardly placed a kiss on her forehead as he flipped the book closed. They’d finished Chapter Twelve and while he would start Chapter Thirteen if she wanted him to, a moment to rest was required before they read any further.

“I’m sorry we didn’t actually go see it,” he replied, “But I’m glad that we found something else to do tonight. That little girl and her mom looked like they’d been given a million dollars when you handed them the tickets.”

Anna smiled at that, her eyes fluttering open. Her eyes were still  a little sad and at odds with her grin, but he supposed that it only made sense that she was still happy and sad about her decision to give up a night she’d been planning for months to a child she didn’t even know.

“Well I mean… I would want someone to do it for our… I mean my kid. You know, if we… I had one.”

The slip wasn’t unnoticed by him, and setting the book down onto the floor, he pulled her in tighter to his chest, wrapping both arms around her tightly. She squirmed a bit in his embrace, laughing at how between him and the blanket she was all but cocooned.

“Someday,” he said, “Yeah, I would hope someone would do that for our kid. Or you know… kids.”

She stopped squirming and instead hummed appreciatively at his comment.

“Maybe,” she said, “A whole burrow’s worth.”

They’d only briefly talked before about marriage and a family, but he did like the idea of a big family. He had many siblings, and he loved being with them even though he often considered himself a bit of an introvert, but he knew that Anna loved people, and she loved noise. He could imagine her happy in a big house with plenty of smiling faces and loud joyful voices to fill it.

“Someday,” he said confidently, thinking of the end of the final book, her sobbing into his shirt over a happy ending with families and friends and young children who were products of love and loyalty, “Someday Anna we will.”

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves]

You know what, go crazy. Write anything about Thunderhoof you want, make it as Tender, as kinky, whatever you want you deserve it go nuts! (Love your writing by the way!)

This one kinda sat here for a while because I didn't know how to go about an ask that's essentially ‘this character, go off’. So, I just looked up an nsfw prompt (i know, original. My writing muse has been fried. My writing...moose, you could say).

The prompt I ended up choosing is “Don't make me take you home and punish you”. I was going to make it Thunderhoof x Sideswipe, but @pastelpaperplanes had other ideas. Enjoy! (please note, this is only tidbits of a few ideas she floated past me, nothing is really canon for her)

“Boss lady aint gonna like this.”

“Boss lady can kiss my aft. I said imma do what imma do. Broad acts like she can lead us.”

Thunderhoof peered around the corner, halting Clampdown next to him. Did he like working with him? Not in the slightest, but he was a fantastic meat shield, and what Thunderhoof was doing more or less required it. Thunderhoof walked into the hallway, and after double checking for witnesses, he knelt down to the doorknob, starting to fiddle with it. He’d prefer to kick it down, but this was a stealth mission.

“You keepin’ an eye out?”

“Past my own shaking? Yep!”

Thunderhoof rolled his optics, and finally got the door open. He pushed open the door, and flicked on the lights. Room was empty. No traps, no way they’d be found out. It seemed too easy. He adjusted his tie, feeling smug for a moment.

“Pfft. Witch thinks she's all that. Can't even protect a room.”

“I-I wouldn't be sayin’ that out in the open, Thunderhoof.”

“Why not? She ain't here.”

“I-I know but-”

“Ya morons think she’s so capable and just damn special. She’s pathetic, when you get down to it.”

Thunderhoof went over to the file cabinet, and sifted through folders. Past the A’s, past the B’s, before he finally found what he was looking for. She had her finances all recorded, all by client name. Was this a bit sleazy? Sure, but honestly, he was willing to stoop so low to take her down a peg. 

“T-Thunderhoof?”

“Hold on, hold on. I need to get pics of these, show our clients we got the goods.”

Thunderhoof’s plan was simple. Sell her financial records to different terfs, get the cash, and pluck the spoils from their little brawl. Thunderhoof pulled out a small camera, and started to take a few photos.

“T-Thunderhoof we really need to-”

“Hold on, I said! Look, soon as I get these, we can bolt. Fem gonna be so broken, she’s gonna be lucky enough to have a penny to her name. Gonna see a wave of buckwheats, lemme tell ya-”

“Thunderhoof!!”

“I swear imma bust ya-”

He turned to unleash his fury, only to freeze. There she was, arms folded across her chest, her heels clinking against the floor in a silent fury. He peered over at Clampdown, trying not to flip shit.

“You had one job. Literally one fuckin’ job!”

“I-I tried to warn ya! Honest!”

Thunderhoof tried not to leap over and turn him into a steam pot, and instead chose to play damage control. As crazy as she was, she was a fem, and no fem could resist his charms. He cleared his throat, and slightly adjusted his collar.

“Look, boss lady, I can explain-”

“Clampdown, leave us. Lock the door on your way out.”

Clampdown gave Thunderhoof a small wave, only to suddenly scatter as Thunderhoof snarled at him. She held her hand out, clearly wanting the camera. He gave it to her, despite his clear hesitation. He opened his mouth to speak again, only for her to drop the camera, and shatter it under her heel. He took a step back as she walked towards him. Then another, then another, till his back was up against the wall. Small as she was, she had enough anger in her little body to fuel an army. She dug her claws into one of his antlers, making him swear as she brought him down to his level.

“I can't even begin to tell you, just how deep in the hole you are. You understand I can kill you here and now. It wouldn't be hard, at ALL.”

Thunderhoof winced as her claws only dug further into his antler, scuffing its paint. He thought that was going to be the extent of it, until she yanked, sending him to the floor. He felt her heel dig right into his chest, keeping him familiar with the texture of the hardwood floor below. He opened his optics, not recalling ever closing them. He had worked for her for a number of years, but she never ceased to surprise. Even as he was being forced to the floor, even though her fangs were eager to sink into his throat and rip out any bit of flesh it could get; she was a sight. Nice set of hips, killer rack, and legs that went on for days, contained only by her fishnet stockings. Unfortunately, she was so full of herself, there was no room for her to get a good dicking. He was knocked out of his horny thoughts when she put more weight into her footing, definitely enough to bring a bruise. That is, until she suddenly stepped off of him, placing her clawed hands at her hips. He lifted himself up weakly, not understanding why the sudden brink of mercy.

“If it aint hard, why didn't ya do it?”

Not that he WANTED her to keep going, he just never saw her as being compassionate.

“You’re good at your job. When you aren't causing me a headache. Not to mention, I have an appointment, so I don't have time to deal with what would be left with you. So today, you’re lucky. However,”

Blackarachnia was as quick as she was sadistic, and suddenly had his face in her claws, scratching up his chin. You’d never think something that smelled so sweet, would be such a hellspawn.

“If I get more of this traitorous attitude from you, I won't hesitate to take matters into my own hands.”

He felt those daggers graze against his throat, and was barely able to register her words.

“Don't make me take you home and punish you.”

With a snarl of disgust, she finally let go of him. Thunderhoof was on his feet in a hot second, more out of reflex than actual fear. He slammed the door behind him, and found himself finally catching his breath. He almost jumped when Clampdown tapped his shoulder.

“Primus, you alright? She bruised you.”

“I...yeah. I’m good.”

At least, physically. Mentally, he wasn't sure. Her last words shot fear into him, as well as a sickening sense of interest. All he DID know, was that he would take her down, one way or another.

If she thought she knew rough, she was dead wrong.

[thebisexualdogdad]

Fangs X New Guy in town (Male reader) . Fangs become fond with the new guy in town he is quiet and doesn't say much but it's obvious he is crushing hard on fangs. So fangs decides to break the tension by asking him if he would like a tour of the town and it goes from a ride around Riverdale on fangs bike to something more when they end up in the Southside and after he has been introduced to Sweet Pea ,Toni , and the rest of the serpents

You were crushing hard on your science lab partner Fangs Fogarty, not that you would admit it. 

Ever since you moved to Riverdale you had your eyes on the Serpent and unbeknownst to you he was just as intrigued. 

It took you by surprise when Fangs asked you if you wanted a tour of the town afterschool which you accepted not only for it being an opportunity to spend time with him but in the few weeks you had been here you still hadn't really done any exploring. 

There was no way you were going to tell your parents that this tour happened on the back of Fangs' motorcycle, they would lose their minds if they find out. 

Your arms were wrapped around Fangs' waist as he showed you the area, pointing out all the places your peers normally hung out. 

Taking a brief detour at Pop's you finally got to experience the hometown diner feel you had heard so much about. 

"Now that you've had one of Pop's famous milkshakes there's some people i want you to meet," he told you before taking you to the southside of town. 

It was more rundown than the northside and you heard rumors of a terf war between the Serpents and the Ghoulies but you weren't afraid because you were with Fangs. 

He pulled into the parking lot of a bar called the Whyte Wyrm. 

"Are we allowed to be here?" You ask as you both take your helmets off. 

"Don't worry it's Serpent headquarters you don't need a fake ID or anything though i could get you one if you wanted," he joked.

He led you inside, everyone giving him nods hello as he entered. 

The bar smelled of cigarette smoke and spilled beer, your parents would be so pissed if they knew where you were. 

"So this is the new kid," a voice said. 

"Y/N this is my partner in crime Sweet Pea," Fangs said introducing you to the guy you've seen him hanging out with before. 

"Nice to meet you," you said. 

"You're right Fangs, he is cute," a girl said from behind the counter.  

Fangs told someone you were cute? 

"And this is our third musketeer Toni," Fangs added. 

She put a drink in front of you and smiled, "on the house for Fangs' new friend." 

"Hey where's my free drink?" Sweet Pea chuckled. 

"You still owe me for all those shot glasses you broke when you were drunk and decided to dance on the bar counter," Toni retorted. 

"That was a fun night," Fangs said high fiving Sweet Pea, "come on Y/N lets play a game of pool while one of the tables is empty." 

The two of you went through your game getting to know each other, Fangs told you all about the Serpents and their history. 

Fangs was currently winning, he only had two striped balls left with you having six. 

"You know you suck at pool," he laughed. 

"Well I've never really played before," you said slightly embarrassed. 

"Here let me show you," he said moving behind you. 

He guided you into leaning over the table, his front flat against your back. 

"Just like this," he muttered in your ear as his hands were over yours, bringing the stick back and forward again to hit the white ball sinking one of your solid ones into the corner pocket. 

Fangs didn't move after the shot, instead you felt his hips rock slowly turning you on. 

"Fangs," you said low. 

"Yeah?" 

"Is there somewhere we can go that's more… private," you mumbled. 

"Come with me," he stated. 

He took you to the alley behind the Wyrm, kissing you roughly. 

"Is this okay?" He asked in between kisses. 

"God yes," you groaned as his lips went to your neck. 

Fangs' hand went down to your crotch, feeling your cock getting hard in your jeans. 

"Have you ever done this before?" He says undoing your jeans and pulling your cock out. 

"Have sex behind a bar? Can't say I have," you moan when he starts stroking your cock. 

"Lucky me, I get to be your first," he chuckled turning you around. 

Your hands were planted on the cold wall, one of Fangs fingers teasing you. 

"I always liked how quiet you were in class, lets see if you can stay that quiet now so no one hears us," he whispers in your ear as he eases his finger inside to open you up. 

Holding back a groan Fangs starts to pump his finger in and out of you. 

When he feels you're worked up enough he removes his finger making you gasp already missing the feel of him inside you. 

Thankfully he doesn't make you wait long until his cock is being pushed to replace the finger he had in you previously. 

Fangs' shushes you when you moan a little too loudly. 

"Toni's gonna be pissed if she finds out what we're doing back here," he says nipping at your earlobe. 

Fangs' thrusts pick up in pace, his hands on your hips holding you in place. 

He kisses the back of your neck, his thighs hitting yours with every thrust. 

One of his hands reaches around and returns to stroking your cock causing you to bite your lip to refrain from letting out another moan. 

With a few strokes you're spurting out onto the wall, your legs shaking. 

Moments later Fangs is following, filling you with cum. 

When hiss breathing evens he pulls out of you. 

"Looks like you need to clean up, want to head back to my place and take a shower?" He says suggestively. 

"I should really be getting home," you say reluctantly fixing your clothes, "my parents will flip if I'm late for my curfew." 

"Alright then how about you and I go see a movie this friday?" 

"I'd love to." 

[dateaweirdboysuggest]

Date a boy who once stole a jetpack and he steered the jetpack with one hand and used the other hand to flip off a group of terfs. And then he crashed into the ocean because he doesn’t know how to fly a jetpack. But then he burst out of the ocean, and this time there was an octopus with him and the octopus was controlling the jetpack and the boy was using both hands to flip off the group of terfs. Also, the octopus was doing the octopus equivalent of flipping off the terfs.

[youaresogoingtohell]

Flags and label policing are doing a great job of dividing what little remains of the queer world against itself.

I know lots of people my age who hide their feelings about it from the younger set because they want to keep that door open, and it would be a denigration of our ancestors to make you feel unwelcome. I think they're good and nice, but I won't be able to pretend that way, personally. I'm not going to the events, is all.

Oh it worked on me, too, the hate campaign. I hate well, I'm good at it. Therefor I haven't any forgiveness left over for young rainbow crusaders.

I don't want flag team to feel welcome, because I want my surroundings to be safe. It isn't demonstrations or parties that make a place safe, it's work that hasn't been done for decades and a lifestyle that no longer exists. Hunted to dwindling, then finished off by traitors with flags.

Ongoing losses of history and community into the future don't mean as much to me as the suffering they've already caused. The shit you've made for your bed is yours to sleep in, I'll be dead. We'll be dead, the people you're spending your energy on attacking today.

We won't have to live in the world you're making, which is already a failure.

We've had our good times.

You're operating on the belief that your fuckedly labeled fantasy world is one the rest of us want to live in. Why? That phone in your hand is propping such an absurd lie up alarmingly easily but it's not the explanation. What is the reason? I think I know but my answer is not very nice. What's yours?

There are a lot of the same mechanics at work in society, mainstream and creek, in every country I've seen, but I've always gotten by on confining my passion and effort to those I love and those that love me, personally. Do y'all do that anymore? Know people personally? Love them?

"There's a human being on the other side of the monitor" yes, and I know extremely well what humans are capable of.

Knowing that shitty old PLs tricked you into being the little monsters you are does grant you some of my exquisite and valuable pity, but that's it. That's all you get. I don't adore you. You type "protecc queer elders" with one hand and you're flipping me off or trying to throttle me with the other. Every day.

"You just envy youth!" haaaaaaahahahahahahaha oh honey.

Nobody envies your youth.

Ours were worth envying. Yours are a great big list of times you decided not to do anything cool. The "positive" feelings we have about it is that we pity you deeply. Don't believe me? Ask around. Go talk to that queer elder you treasure and protect offline and get the details on how we feel for you.

Specifics in the script change, but the play is acted out over and over again.

'Terfs' haven't even been dealt with yet & y'all are already moving on to finer, more heinous or just purely mindless prejudices.

You goddamn little aging puddings better fucking face the fact that queer people are human beings, and all human beings are like this: human.

Get over yourselves. It's too late but do it anyway for style.