#what is gender if not a farce

[eepyghost]

is there a scientific study linking watching ranboo for extended periods of time to questioning your gender

does ranboo turn the kids not cis. is this something they're known for.

[majchic]

[loop-deloo]

ok but yes remus is a soggy man. he’s a pathetic little loser i love it for him but fuck off with this nonsense abt sirius then being the man in the relationship or not saying that but having sirius then exhibit the typically manly traits. fuck off with equating the typically feminine roles with remus when you’re calling him pathetic. we’re not doing that shit anymore. remus will make the worst fucking inedible shit ever but he’s cooking every night. sirius is getting back from his job he’s obsessed with idc what it is. remus is taking the bins out late every time. he’s running to catch the bloody truck down the street every week. sometimes he misses it and they have stinky bins for another week. he drops the groceries he huffs bleach accidentally when he’s cleaning the bathroom he has a 9-5 it’s just a boring office job and he hates his job but he must work he gets self righteous he reads shit books he doesn’t enjoy he doesn’t know anything other than head n shoulders exists he pretends his feet aren’t blocks of ice even though his socks are wet he doesn’t know how to look after himself. fucking STOP with this bullshit and enforcing the goddamn heteronormative gender roles i’m done with it.

[dykeredhood]

Kara Thrace seeing her scruffy younger self sitting in the cockpit of her space fighter is doing me in

little Riva was never mistreated to that extent but also little Riva was never permitted to look unkempt or tap someone in the arm to get their attention or say “hey” to get someone’s attention; I consider it having good manners to nicely greet people (I’m not so deluded that I think that it’s “punk” to thank the bus driver) but goddammit. I’d love to be able to relax and be allowed any sort of space where I don’t have to be so uptight

I do remember fun things from my childhood but I also vividly remember my mother being so amused by my antics and in other instances actually making fun of me… she studied early childhood development and proceeded to give me PTSD. Makes me feel insane. Why make a career out of caring for others if you can’t respect your charges. Thank god I left before I wanted to use any pronouns aside from she/her

When I first cut off all my hair, my parents asked if I wanted to be a boy. I indignantly responded with “no, of course not” — I should’ve brought up the fact that we had a family friend who was a woman with short hair. And that Julie Andrews also has short hair. Gender feelings aside, clearly whatever unconditional love offered to me by my parents ended when I made my own choices about how I wanted to look

[shy-writer-999]

How many dreams to say "I love you?" (iv)

Summary: Zoro can't keep his feelings bottled up anymore. They've got to come out sooner or later. Will he be able to bring himself to confess how he feels, or will you beat him to it? ~5k words.

Part 4 of 4. (read part 1 here!) CW: Afab reader (w/gendered language, she/her pronouns). Reader gets drunk (sorry to those of you who abstain!), pining, tension, heart ache! (and... kissing). This is sfw but other parts of the story are very much not.

Part 4: "So, there."

Have you ever had a dream that was just emotions? No images, concrete thoughts or concepts, just raw, harrowing feelings?

The night after the encounter with the hostile pirate group, Zoro had one of those dreams. His sleep was fitful, distorted by intense feelings of worry and anxiety. He woke up early in the morning, sweating and distraught. He felt sick.

Unable to go back to sleep, he started his day. An ice-cold shower to distract himself and rinse off the stress from his dreams. He ate a sparse breakfast and sat on the deck, looking at the peaceful sea as the sun rose.

It was high time to get this over with, Zoro thought. He was tired of feeling scrambled in the head and tired of feeling guilty for evading being truthful to you. As your crewmate and best friend, you deserved his honestly. The mental gymnastics needed to end, and he needed to get this off his chest—the fact that he was in love with you—as soon as possible.

When you broke the thick chains and opaque brick concealing and masking his capacity for love (placed there by trauma and years of regret) you freed feelings that boiled and festered for many months. Your presence in his dreams and the workings of his subconscious slowly forced him to come to terms with this part of himself. The part of himself that was very much capable of love, that wanted it, and wanted you. He was forced to become acquainted with this aspect of himself, to sit with it, and to speak with it.

The self-realizations were at the same time elucidative and perturbing. What else about himself had he yet to become aware of? What else was there inside of him that he needed to recognize?

His stoicism thus far was nothing more than a farce, he told himself. To reckon with and control himself he had to be self-aware. Truly self-aware.

Zoro knew that ignoring your persistent presence in his mind and heart wasn’t going to solve any problems—it wasn’t going to aid his control over his emotions, wasn’t going to clear his head, wasn’t going to make himself feel better, and damn well wasn’t going to make you feel better. You were lodged in his heart and brain like a splinter that he couldn’t get out.

So, it was settled. Out with it. For better or for worse, it needed to happen.

The following night, the pair of you finally had drinks together and talked. You grabbed a couple bottles of sake and asked Zoro, “So, where do you want to go?”

He shrugged. “Crow’s nest?”

“That’s what I thought you would say. You love it up there.” When you smiled at him, Zoro felt like he couldn’t look at you—he was worried you see how tortured his eyes were, that you could read everything in his face.

The feeling was mutual. The tension in the air was palpable, as much as you tried to tell yourself that you were imagining it.

You were exhausted. Not from lack (or quality) of sleep, like Zoro, but the combination of the battle yesterday, your (actual) wound, and your lovesickness were crushing. Resigned and at your wits end with this man, you told yourself that if Zoro asked you the right series of questions, he would find answers for himself. You were at a breaking point.

If he prodded you for more information on why you felt like shit, he’d crack open something that should be left alone. You really didn’t want to share more about the fact that you felt alone and empty the past few weeks. But… you had a feeling that Zoro wanted to dig into the topic again. You dreaded it.

You climbed to the crow’s nest with Zoro around sunset. Opening the windows, you let in the golden rays of the setting sun and a cool breeze.

“It’s gorgeous out,” you observed, relishing the sea air that drifted in, salty and familiar. “Wow.”

The pair of you sat on a bench parallel with the row of windows. You were facing each other, straddling the bench so your knees almost touched. This was a sort of routine for you two—you used to do this frequently together, but it had been a while.

It was the early hours of sunset, right when the sun started to descend, and the horizon was stunning shades of pink, orange, and indigo. Zoro took a second to admire you as you stared out the window. Tendrils of sea air brushed your hair back, shining a heavenly shade of golden that reflected in your irises and off your cheek bones.

The make-believe you from Zoro’s dreams—the fantasy version of you that he spent every night with for the past two weeks—paled in comparison to the real you, radiant, material, tangible, and true. As he gazed at you, his heart twisted a bit.

“I love this type of sake.” You smiled once again, filling in the silence that took over the air as Zoro gawked at you. After a beat, Zoro opened the bottles, handing you one.

“It’s my favorite,” Zoro replied.

“I know it is.”

You raised your bottle for a toast. “Cheers to finally catching up after far too long!”

Your eyes flashed and Zoro’s heart did a flip. This sensation of being flustered felt so out of character, but he was caught up in the fact that tonight was the night he was going to confess.

The conversation started upbeat and friendly. You laughed together—you were one of the only people who could make Zoro laugh so hard he cried. You were making each other feel better, too. Spirits on the ship were a little low since yesterday and both you and Zoro felt it. But as you spent time together, Zoro felt a bit better because he missed you and wanted to be close to you, and he didn’t know it, but you felt the same.

You talked about Zoro’s new weight-lifting routine, some crazy dance move Usopp pulled out the other night, and the delicious soup Sanji made the other day (Zoro admitted that the shit cook’s soup was delicious, but he could only say that to you, no one else). The conversation wandered to sea kings, silly interactions with Chopper, and Franky’s new shirt (it was neon orange and camouflage, quite the attention grabber).

Your giggles made him feel like he was floating, and his smiles felt like home.

Zoro wished he could pause this moment in time and save it—that it could last forever, or that he could return to it sometimes when he wanted to. All of it was picturesque. He couldn’t believe how many of these nights you’d had together, nights that he never appreciated like he should have.

He had been in denial for months, egregiously so. He had been blind to the love for you that was brewing within him. Now that he could see his emotions for what they were, now that he was jolted and rocketed out of the opacity that locked his heart up, he could see that his love for you was plain as day. It was screaming at him, begging him.

 He was in agony, and you had suffered far too long.

Zoro’s thoughts raced while you told him some cute little story. One part of him was laser focused on your beauty and the rays of setting sun that lit your eyes up. It was breathtaking. Another part of him was trying to keep up with what you were saying, but he was distracted. And a third part of him felt intoxicated. Everything you did overwhelmed him. It was like he was being hit over the head with realization after realization—a sequence of memories flashed in his mind.

One night, two or three months ago, you two were drinking. You had gotten far too drunk and you were on the verge of falling asleep somewhere random on the deck. Your shirt rode up a bit showing your stomach, the strap of your tanktop fell down one shoulder, and your eyes were sleepy.

“Zoroooo,” you mumbled. “Wanna go to bed.”

He looked at you, tutted, and pulled his hoodie off. He then helped you put it on—it was a chilly out and he saw goosebumps on your skin. You murmured out a thank you and slumped into his arms. He sighed and scooped you up, carrying you to your room.

He liked how you felt in his arms. Your weight. Your warmth. The way your head rested on his chest. The look of you in his hoodie. How close you were. Back then he tried to ignore it.

Zoro then tucked you into bed. You looked like you were out cold, but when he pulled the covers up so you would stay warm, you opened your eyes, half-asleep. You lifted both arms up and looked at him with puppy dog eyes.

“Zorooo,” you slurred out your words, blurting them carelessly. “Wanna hug.”

He leaned over the bed and into your arms, clasping you into an embrace. You hummed and didn’t let go for a few moments. When he pulled away, you petted his hair for a second, mumbled out a “night night” and went to sleep for good.

Looking back at the moment you asked him for a hug, Zoro realized that his heart had done that twisting thing; it was butterflies. He recalled that he just stared at you for a second. Your face was peaceful, eyes heavy, lips pouting. When you petted his hair, his heart did the thing again. He ignored it.

The next morning you had been sheepish, possibly because you remembered the affection you gave him, the hug and the hair pets. You thanked him for his hoodie and he said, “no problem.” That was that.

Another memory flashed into Zoro’s mind.

Some day, months ago, you and Nami went shopping. When you came back to the boat, you both tried on your new outfits and showed each other, fashion-show style. In passing, Zoro got a glance of you in a white dress. He had to stop himself from staring. It complemented you perfectly.

Sanji practically screamed, “MY LOVEEE~ You look absolutely ravishing tonight!” Then he got down on one knee and kissed both of your hands. Zoro remembered that something about that interaction pissed him off. He remembered thinking who does that shit cook think he is, fawning over you like you were a piece of meat.

When Nami very pointedly asked Zoro what he thought of your white dress, all he said was “suits you.” Looking back at that moment, Zoro kicked himself. The dress didn’t just suit you, it was made for you. Sanji had a point. You looked ravishing. He tried not to muse on it.

Another memory blitzed into his mind, a dagger to his heart. You were having drinks in the crow’s nest just like this, many months ago. You had looked at him earnestly and said, “Zoro, I like you. I really like you.”

Was this your attempt at a confession? You continued. “I could be around you all the time—I think we make a great pair.” You had that sweet smile on your lips.

Zoro had nodded and raised his glass. “To good friends!” He didn’t really notice it then, but now he realized that your smile faltered.

Looking back at that moment, he saw that you may have been alluding to something else. He unwittingly, cruelly, friend-zoned you. It was sort of brutal. When it happened, he shrugged it off like it was nothing, hadn’t had a second thought about it. Now he wondered how deeply that must have wounded you, if you felt any sort of way about him.

The final memory that his brain threw at him (while you were in the middle of giving him your story) was the moment when he first looked at you. It was a simple moment, insignificant until he realized that he loved you.

He felt drawn to you, from day one, immediately interested in you. Right off the bat, he thought you were beautiful, brilliant, and hilarious. When he thought back on that twisting feeling, the butterfly feeling, he could tell that it happened back then, too. Something fell into place that day, whether it was fate or luck. That day, he had you and you had him.

Zoro already came to terms with the fact that he loved you, and these memories further enforced the realization that he loved you all along. He just didn’t know how to express it and never thought himself capable of that sort of emotional depth. But you changed that. You flipped a switch in his mind. It was you all along.

“Zoro?” You asked, shocking him back into the present. “Are you okay? You looked like you zoned out there for a minute.”

“Fuck, sorry. I did. What were you saying?”

You smiled, told him no worries, and the conversation continued. His eyes were glued to your face, his heart and brain felt all shaken up, and he only knew two things—he knew that he loved you, and he knew that he wanted you to know that. No matter the consequences, it needed to come out. Preferably now.

The sun set by now. The horizon was a dark purple, the stars were starting to shine overhead, and the golden rays on your skin disappeared. There was a lull in conversation. Zoro took his chance.

“How have you been feeling since we had our lunch on the deck? I remember you said you were feeling down?” He attempted to ask with casual ease though his heart was racing. He was going to get to the bottom of it. All of it. Now. The privacy was perfect, you were perfect, the setting was perfect, all of it was perfect.

Your answer was reluctant. “I’ve been okay...”

“What’s up?” Zoro avidly watched your every movement. He inspected the way your eyes fluttered and the way your lips parted.

“Ugh.” You groaned. So it was going to be like this tonight. As you expected, he wanted to revisit the subject. “I don’t know, Zoro. I’ve just been feeling weird recently.”

“How so?”

“Hmmm. I guess I’ve been feeling a bit lonely. And empty.” Your lips were pursed, looking out of the window, at the sea. You could see the moon in the reflection of the waves. All was quiet except for the sound of the sea lapping the hull of the Sunny.

“Empty?” Zoro feigned surprise. He knew you were lonely. He overheard you sob about it a couple weeks ago.

The painful truths that you had been trying to keep bottled up when he was around? They started to shake inside. They wanted out of that bottle, stat. And you could only ignore those feelings for so long before they’d fucking explode. It had to come out sooner or later.

If Zoro pressed you any more than this, you might start losing it. The explosion was imminent.

“I know it’s going to sound ridiculous because I’m surrounded with people all the time, but I just feel empty. Like…” you hesitated, “I feel like I’m missing something. Someone. I just feel so lonely.”

“Oh?” His heart was pounding. You averted your eyes for a second and he thought you looked bashful. He took note of that.

“Sometimes I just wish I had someone by my side all the time. Like someone I could share everything with? If that makes sense.”

Zoro paused. “Yeah, that makes sense. It doesn’t sound ridiculous at all.”

You took a deep breath and exhaled. He could see it now, glaringly, a sadness that lingered in your eyes. He could see it and his heart ached.

"It might sound absurd, but I’ve been craving a sort of… Well, I don’t know. A sort of company? Love, maybe?” Your voice was strained. Zoro’s breath hitched at the word ‘love’. “I just get so sad thinking about it sometimes. Like I have this profound emptiness inside. And it feels so out of reach, like that love will never happen for me. And maybe that sounds ungrateful because I have company, and I’m surrounded by my best friends all the time but… I just want a different kind of company. A different kind of love.”

You looked at him and frowned. If you said any more than that, you were worried you would start crying.

More silence for a few moments. Zoro was trying to figure out what to say.

“Why do you feel like it will never happen?” He prodded. He meant well, but that was enough to send you over the edge.

You were emotionally distressed and recently it felt like it was all coming to a head. You had been trying to flirt and send signals to Zoro for months, to no avail. Any time he was near you, you felt like you were suffocating. And now that he was asking you these things, trying to get answers or explanations out of you, you felt like you would fall apart.

The problem himself was in front of you, asking you what was wrong and why you felt like love was out of reach. You didn’t want to say anything and ruin your friendship and you were convinced he would never see you that way. It was just a blatant reminder that he didn’t care about you the way you wanted. He seemed unphased by the whole conversation—he was cautious and curious but that was nothing new.

As you started to get overwhelmed, tears welled in your eyes. What the fuck were you supposed to say to him? The risk of altering the dynamic between you two, along with the pressure of possibly altering the dynamic of the crew… You started to catastrophize. The pressure was too much.

A hot tear escaped one of your eyes and ran down your cheek. The emotions were starting to erupt, and his presence was agitating that.

“Hey, are you okay?” Zoro was concerned with your silence and frown. He hadn’t noticed the tear yet, and he thought you looked like you were about to start crying.

You shook your head and turned away from him as more tears started to flow out. Now that the tears started, they wouldn’t stop until the sadness was gone. You were trying to put a cork in that bottle of sadness, but it wasn’t working.

A moonbeam landed on the side of your wet face. Zoro realized now, catching the glint with his eyes, that you were crying. Did you just make her cry? He berated himself. You wanted to talk about love with her, and you made her fucking cry?

“Sorry, Zoro. It just gets me worked up sometimes. Hurts really bad.” Small sobs started to wrack your body.

Zoro stared at you. His heart was actively breaking—he couldn’t bear seeing you in pain like this. He had only witnessed you crying once before, on the deck when you had the conversation with Nami that started all of this.

He scooted closer to you on the bench and your knees touched. His voice was hushed and gentle. “Hey.”

Reaching a hand up, the ran it softly down your shoulder to your upper arm, a tiny movement. He repeated it, petting you, trying to give you some solace, to show you that he was there. His touch was delicate, so unexpected from him.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he continued, “and you can cry all you want. Don’t bottle it all up. I’m here for you.”

That note of sweetness you always saw in him was now bold, in full force as he comforted you. Your stomach flipped. He had never touched you like this before or seen you this emotionally vulnerable, nor you him. He said he was here for you, but how much did he mean that, and to what extent? You told yourself for the thousandth time that he would never be there in the way you needed.

“There are some things I have to bottle up, Zoro.” Your voice was almost a whisper. You were in anguish, and though your tears had stopped momentarily, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“Not if it’s eating you up like this. It’s not worth it.” His hand went still.

If Zoro told you to not bottle things up, if he comforted you like this, then you might as well just fucking confess, you told yourself. But before you could force the words out of your mouth, he was one step ahead. The silence was too much for him.

His mouth went dry. Fuck it.

“You said you wanted someone to share everything with? Someone to always have by your side?” Zoro asked. “I wonder if I could do that?”

He was painfully close to you. Your knees still touched, and his hand rested on your arm. Your heart skipped a beat.

He must not have heard you right. There’s just no way. You were convinced that the situation was hopeless.

“Oh Zoro, you’re sweet, but I didn’t mean it in a friend way. I meant it in a romantic way. Like I wish I had someone to hold hands with and kiss and stuff.”

“I know.” His words hung in the air. You were dumbfounded. “How do you feel about me, really? You won’t screw anything up. Just please tell me how you feel about me. I’m going crazy.” His tone was urgent, and he leaned closer. Every inch closer made you feel dizzy.

You were immeasurably caught off guard, too stunned to speak. Meanwhile, Zoro didn’t really know how to handle himself. While you silently collected your thoughts, he started to blurt out words. When it came to this sort of thing, he didn’t have the most tact.

“I’ve been having dreams about you. Really intense ones. It’s been fucking with my head.”

“Dreams?” You asked, again not sure if you heard him right.

“When I look at you, I start to feel weird inside, like something is twisting in me. It’s driving me crazy. It’s been weeks at this point. I thought I was sick, or something, but I think it must be something else so, please, please, just tell me how you feel about me.”

“Zoro…” Your tone was cautious. He was acting weird—the comment about dreams was particularly odd—and you were too caught up in emotions to really process what he just word vomited at you. But if he was asking you questions this desperately, then he would get an answer. Might as well. Especially after what he just said.

“I feel things about you,” you began. “Intense things. I know you just see me as a friend, but… I just—my feelings are intense. It’s okay that you don’t reciprocate, and I never said anything because I didn’t want to make it weird.”

“Don’t reciprocate what?” He pushed further.

More silence. You were trying to decide how to it into words. Your mind raced.

“You won’t make it weird,” he continued, pleading. “Just tell me, really, how do you feel about me? What’s intense about it? Help me understand.”

Ugh. You didn’t have the energy to play it safe or coy right now. If you regretted it, then so be it.

No longer would this eat you up inside.

“Zoro, I’ve loved you for a long time.”

The realization hit him like lightning.

So it was him. In the conversation he overheard, where you were talking about love with Nami, you had been talking about him. You said it was hard to be around him.

It was so obvious now that his ignorance to your advances slighted you; his overt neglect to recognize to your love, his insistence that he didn’t have the capacity and could never find it—it must have hurt you deeply. Now that he knew how he felt, now that he was so sure of it, he hoped he could make it up to you. He would do anything.

You continued, your voice taking on a hurried tone. You needed to get it all out and explain yourself before he had the chance to say anything. “I know you don’t feel the same. I’ve picked up all the signals, and whenever I’ve tried to… I don’t know… flirt with you? It bounces right off you. I get it. We’re close friends and crew mates and I know we aren’t destined to become any more than that. So, there’s no need to apologize to me or anything. It’s fine, really, that you don’t see me like that. And I don’t want to make things weird, and I’m sure you don’t either, so whatever those dreams were then that’s fine. I’m happy just being your friend, you don’t need to be anything more than that, especially if it’s just out of pity. So that’s it basically. I’ve been lonely because when I spend time around you I just wish that—”

Each word you uttered pulled Zoro forward just barely. You could hardly get the words out, rambling to make the awkwardness go away and help him understand. But he cut you off mid-sentence, pressing his lips onto yours.

You went rigid, eyes open wide as he brought a palm to cup your cheek.

The kiss lasted a handful of seconds, brilliant fireworks of confusion and exhilaration coursed through you both.

You melted, easing the rigid tension of your body slowly, leaning into his lips that were softer than you could have imagined. The warmth of his palm on your cheek was comforting, familiar, and welcome.

When he pulled away, he was crimson. “Did that help at all? Did any of that loneliness go away?”

He started talking before you could answer him.

“I already said it but let me be clear,” Zoro said, “I want to be that person for you. I don’t want you to be sad anymore. I want to be that person you share everything with and always be by your side. You said you’ve loved me for a long time? I have, too. It just took me a bit longer to realize it. You’re always on my mind, even when I’m working out, or asleep, or eating... I-I count down the minutes until we talk again and your smiles just… They make my heart feel funny. I’m in love with you. There’s just nothing else these feelings could be. So, there.”

“So there?” You asked incredulously. The sudden deluge of emotions felt like a smack in the face. “Zoro, what?”

He didn’t know what to say next. This conversation didn’t go as he rehearsed it in his head and you were so shocked that you thought you’d faint.

“I said I'm in love with you. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. I’m sorry. But hopefully I didn’t confess too late—and since you feel the same maybe you’ll let me, ah, fuck, I don’t even know how this works. Like, let me hold your hand… or something? Fuck. I’m so bad at this.”

He started to get redder, turning his face away from yours and taking his hand off your shoulder. This was a whole new side of him. An innocent, sincere, earnest side. A loving side. A side you dreamed about for ages.

If that was really how he felt, then you would welcome it with open arms.

This time, you brought a hand to his cheek and softly turned it towards you. His skin was hot, his brows were furrowed and he was doing a sort of grimace.

“Zoro. You’re something else. Are you absolutely sure you feel this way? Like, are you sure sure?”

He nodded and you cracked a grin.

“You should have told me earlier. But, if you’re certain…” you trailed off and held a hand out to him, palm up.

“What?” He looked at it, confused and clueless, and you pushed it towards him again with emphasis.

“Give me your hand, Zoro.”

The swordsman reached his hand out and placed it on yours. You moved your wrist a bit and threaded your fingers together with his, giving his hand a squeeze.

“You said you wanted to hold hands. So, there.” You smiled at him, and he squeezed back, turning even redder somehow. His hand was large; it felt strong, rough, and calloused. You had wondered for many months what it would feel like resting in yours like this.

In an uncharacteristically suave move, Zoro gently dragged your hand forwards, pulling you closer to him. He brought a hand to your waist and pressed his lips on yours again.

His hand felt heavy and strong on your side and his kiss tasted faintly like alcohol. He smelled just… manly and musky. But (surprisingly) clean. He must have showered today.

How was any of this real? How long had he known that he loved you?

Would you tell the crew?

What sort of relationship would this turn into?

You tried not to get lost in the details—those could be worked out later. For now, you needed to focus on how his lips felt on yours.

When Zoro pulled away from you, he kept his face close. “No more feeling lonely or empty, okay?”

You nodded, blown away by the delightful turn of events. Never in a million years would you have guessed that this is how the conversation would go.

“If you say so. Now,” you ventured, “before we get any further, tell me more about those dreams of yours.”

< previous part | masterlist >

taglist: @riftmage27 @eggrollforyou @imhwajaez @wiyenspanel @xxmysticxxx @moonmaiden1996 @theilluminatidragonqueen @becca-oak @my-name-is-heartache @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @adamwarlockislife-blog @olasz-2003 @kyllium @chibinasuu

a/n: this is how i feel posting this last part. FINALLY. i was stressing hard with this one because i wanted it to feel authentic. also what is that, eleven dreams and some change for zoro to realize and confess how he felt? on another note, thank you so much for reading this and for being patient with me. love yall so much and i cant wait to write more for you soon!

[pomefioredove]

Hello! Loving the event!

Can I get a sugar cookie, #16, with dried fruit, chocolate drizzle and whipped cream?

Saw the dried fruit and just had to have a bit of that in a cookie. Love fruit lol.

thank you for your patience! I hope you enjoy this one ✨

order #16, sugar with dry fruit, chocolate drizzle, whipped cream

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ political discourse

summary: political turmoil resolved with a kiss tropes: first kiss, royalty au, exes to lovers (kiiind of) characters: leona additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is not yuu, reader is... spirited! long bc I felt inspired

It hadn't lasted long, to say the least.

What, are you surprised? You'd heard stories about the picky prince from Sunset Savannah for longer than you'd known his name. The prince, the king's brother, the second son. That's what your parents called him. Never a nice thing to say.

Unprincely.

Of course, if there was anything more important to your father than his image, it was his empty treasury. When Falena Kingscholar sent summons for eligible suitor for the Prince, your name was thrown in the hat, and you were thrown in the fire.

Why, you? It was simple, at least in the whispers of the palace staff: your family were poor, penniless, disgraced aristocrats who were pushed to the very edges of Sunset Savannah centuries ago. You couldn't refuse Falena's generous offer. Or, rather, your father couldn't.

The last thing he said before you were brought to the capital was clear: Don't. Screw. This. Up.

You had lasted a little more than a month.

Which, all things considered, wasn't so bad. For you, at least.

IT WASN'T YOUR FAULT! You were nothing but cordial, elegant, and graceful, as a suitor of the prince should be, as you were taught to be. You never crossed or spread your legs when sitting, you stuck out your pinky when drinking, you said please and thank you and never complained about a thing.

You were a damn angel. It's not your fault that Leona Kingscholar is a flaky, fickle, and positively unappeasable piece of work! If you weren't under the pressure of your family, your father, and their fortune, you'd love to give that ungrateful prince a piece of your mind-

But you can't.

You have to be graceful. Appreciative. Dignified.

You have to please Falena and his wife just as much, if not more, than your would-be-husband-to-be.

"I couldn't give a damn about the marriage. It's just to get my sister-in-law off my back. But you? You stay out of my life,"

That's what he'd said- the prince.

Leona.

You had grit your teeth and taken it. Gracefully.

Now you're next to him, but there's still a gorge between you, threatening to swallow you and your family name if you so much as choose the wrong spoon.

You tap your salad fork against your plate. Family dinner is the worst of it. Despite having been summoned by the acting king himself, you couldn't have been more of a stranger.

Falena is describing some dreadfully dull meeting he'd had this morning. His son is smearing sauce on the passing waitstaff's uniforms, and his wife is ignoring it. Leona's ears flick. He's pretending to be uninterested, but you can tell he's listening to every word his brother says.

"-And, of course, they'd like to meet your spouse-to-be,"

You sit up straight, like a dog reacting to an order. Leona scoffs.

"Why? Not like we're of any importance to them," he says. We. You like that he's not throwing you to the wolves... er, lions.

Falena sighs. "Though the dowry has been paid, the press is... concerned that the family is taking advantage of royal funds," he gives you a pointed look. "It would not be the first time."

You stiffen, and Leona's eyes narrow.

"So, you want us to play happy couple so the people don't figure out this whole thing is a farce?"

"Arranged," Falena corrects him. "It would please the people and the press. We want this wedding to go well- it will be publicized."

Leona sighs, slouching in his gold-plated seat. He says nothing more on the matter, but anyone within ten feet could feel his misery.

Each dinner is harder than the last. You haven't eaten or slept since arriving at the palace. You can't seem to stop the churning in your stomach, or your mind.

"You,"

You stop in the center of the ornate palace hall, the architecture of which you can never seem to appreciate.

"Where're you going?" Leona says, suddenly standing beside you. "You heard my brother. If we're going to get through this tomorrow, we're gonna have to act like we know each other."

Like it's a chore. You sigh. "If it's for the- HEY!"

He yanks you by the wrist, dragging you with him as if you were a sack of flour rather than a person.

"Where are you taking me?" You demand. Leona scoffs.

"We're gonna do something fun,"

He's grinning now, green eyes reflecting the glow of the setting sun. The warm light, in all its colors, its reds, oranges, pinks, yellows, purples and blues, feels unfamiliar to you. You've been cooped up in your room with the curtains drawn for days.

"Come on," he says, taking you into a narrow corridor and pulling down a set of collapsible stairs. "This part of the palace is new, so don't worry about getting your fancy little outfit dirty."

You glare, and he grins.

Perhaps you were expecting a balcony, or a bedroom, or a ballroom, or something princely, but now you're in a crawl space, on your hands and knees above a sitting room.

Leona shushes you, a finger to his lips, and then points you to the vents. You squint.

There are a group of men and women, most impeccably dressed, sitting around on stuffed chairs and sipping water from tiny glasses. Falena is speaking. It takes you a moment to focus on what he's saying, and... it's...

...It's politics.

Not even the sort you were warned of at home- no insurrections, no power plays, not even a little poisoning! You knew your parents were wary of the royal family, but not even you had expected royalty to be so... so...

Boring. This is boring.

Leona listens, his ears flicking forward, sitting with his knees drawn to his chest (which is a pretty funny look, considering how large of a man he is).

It lasts all of three hours, and only when the last of the party has left the parlor does Leona lead you back into the land of the living.

What an utter graveyard of a get-together.

You're drained, tired, a deflated mess of sweat and sticky sighs. Still, you had listened to everything- which, admittedly, may be why you feel dead on your feet.

Leona looks your way. "Tired already? We have a cabinet meeting in ten,"

"We," you repeat. "You weren't even invited to the last one!"

"Nah, not really. They hate when I sit in on their little senates," he smirks. "I argue too much. I have too many unrealistic ideas. That's what they say, anyway."

You glance at him, meeting the green of his eyes, somehow even more vibrant in the dark of early evening. He's so... alive. No longer the apathetic, impolite prince you'd come to know.

"Well... why did you bring me?"

"It was a test," he grins. "And you passed with flying colors."

"What?" Your frown falters and fades, and Leona takes your confusion as a chance to cup your chin in his palm. He studies your face, the sweat glistening on your upper lip, the dull dark circles under your eyes.

"You look like someone who just listened to three hours of political discourse," he says.

"I am someone who just listened to three hours of political discourse!"

"...And learned something," he finishes. "I'm impressed. The princesses they shipped up here last just sat around eating imported chocolate and complaining about the heat."

You blink. "...So?"

"So?" he mocks, smirking. "Not one of them would've actually listened to any of that crap. What kinda spoiled princess actually wants a position in politics? I can tell you've worked for this- to be here. That's why you're so damn annoying."

He releases your chin and walks away, leaving you frustrated and flustered all the same.

"Excuse me," you say, catching up with him. "Annoying? I've been nothing but nice to you! Even when you insult me, and look down on me, and act like a complete prick- OH!"

Your hand flies over your parted lips. You've really done it now. You'll never hear the end of this at home...

Leona stops when he sees you stuck in place. He raises an eyebrow. "What're you standing there for? We have a cabinet meeting to get to, remember?"

"I-I'm sorry," you blurt out. "I... lost control of my temper, and-"

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is what I'm talking about. This meek... mousey thing. Annoying. I'm not gonna have you imprisoned for speaking your mind. You have something to say? Say it."

You're stunned. You stare at him, eyes wide, mouth agape, in perfect, proper, high-society manner, and then...

"You're- you're rude, dismissive, and cruel to those who have done nothing but try to help you. Your pessimism is absolutely intolerable, no matter how deserved you think it is- and what's worse- what's worst is that you're smart, and kind, and you obviously care about this country and its people, and you're letting your negativity stop you from even trying to help, and-"

Leona listens to your outburst, tapping his foot as he patiently waits for you to tire yourself, and then just before you're out of breath, he leans in for a kiss. It's nothing but a peck, only meant to put you out of your misery.

It works.

He walks again, and you stumble to keep pace.

"...Not bad," he smiles. "Better than before. We'll work on it, and I'll make a spouse outta you yet."

[monicahar]

“thanks for the flowers!”

“what flowers?”

in which they find out you receive a gift from someone that isn't them.

characters; wanderer, alhaitham, kaveh

; i keep seeing that damn tiktok 😐 gender neutral reader, fluff, crack,

WANDERER eyes you skeptically, suspicion being evident on his pale features as he scans your expression up and down. has he already caught on to your little prank?

“first of all, who in their right mind would court you? and with some sappy flowers as well?”

you return his unamused gaze, finding him very unfunny.

“you do know that you're dating me, right?”

“unfortunately.” he clicks his tongue, further leaning towards your face, brows still furrowed as if he's trying to decipher something, gazing at you with an unreadable expression that has your resolve crumbling. “is this another one of your antics to get a rise out of me? if so, it's not working.”

his lips break out into a grin upon watching your eyes widen. but your shock doesn't last long—him immediately seeing through your silly scheme isn't an unexpected outcome, funnily enough.

“you're too serious sometimes.” you pout at him whilst he scoffs, “just humor me. what would you actually do if i managed to receive flowers from another?”

“it's simple—you can't.” comes his swift and confident reply, offending you as you stare at him incredulously, weighing the implication of his words.

“you speak of me like i'm the most unattractive person in teyvat—what do you mean i can't?”

“you're an idiot. would i have really chosen you if you were unattractive in any way?” he crosses his arms before facing you completely, indigo hues staring directly into yours.

“i already eliminated all those who dare steal you from me.”

...?

you freeze on the spot, processing what you've just heard.

“...excuse me?”

“—just kidding. i'm no longer that type of person, hah.” he huffs out a derisive laugh, yet his humorous farce does not meet his eyes.

not finding any comfort in his supposed testament of it only being a joke, you opt to stare at him confusingly in return. weirdo.

ALHAITHAM, much like the wanderer, catches on to the prank immediately. whether it's intuition, scarily precise deduction or just the way you generally act weird when it comes to lying to his face—he still figured you out in the end like it's nothing.

but unlike the wanderer, he decides to humor you and play along. what a good boyfriend.

“...you mean you didn't give me the flowers?” you flutter your lashes at him, a horrible and terribly inefficient way to convince him that the whole thing with the flowers is actually real. alhaitham suddenly has the rare urge to laugh. since when did you act like this?

alhaitham shifts in his seat. “no. who do you think it's from?”

“hm.” you hum thoughtfully, bringing a finger to your chin as if in deep thought. the scribe briefly wonders how far you're willing to take this joke. but he digresses—the chances of him actually getting mad at you are akin to that of kaveh finally shutting up—

“maybe kaveh? he grew an interest in flowers recently, so i've heard. maybe he sent some as like a sign of friendship or something along those lines...there's no way it means something else, riiiiiight?”

alhaitham pauses his train of thought.

speak of the devil.

momentarily doubting his conclusion that you're just pulling a prank, he quietly glowers at you as if silently telling you to take back your words.

“what about him?”

you immediately cower upon the drop in his tone—raising your arms in defense when alhaitham moves to stalk closer to you. “i was joking! i didn't get any flowers from anyone and last time i conversed with kaveh was when i—”

“let's go.” he grabs the back of your collar and drags you along, a newfound heavy weight in his footsteps as an indescribable and uncomfortable feeling creeps up on his neck.

“i really was just joking, 'haitham! i was bored and i wanted to annoy you for a bit! i swear!”

even if it wasn't true, the thought of kaveh gifting you flowers without his knowledge—

alhaitham's expression subconsciously turns sour. quite unlucky that you couldn't witness the extremely scarce sight of jealousy on your boyfriend as you are comically dragged against your will behind him.

“the nearest flower shop is just around the corner. tell me if anything piques your interest.” he says in way that has no room for argument. he is getting you flowers now.

KAVEH falls for it, obviously. not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed outside his designated profession, you see.

“i don't remember buying any flowers...” he mutters to himself, the gears in his head turning. it's almost laughable when he finally pieces your words together, a look of disbelief painfully present on his faxe but by some miracle, you resisted the urge to burst out in giggles right then and there. “wait...i didn't send any!”

“is that so...then who would send me flowers other than you?” you edge him on, instigating at its finest, much poking a sleeping bear with a stick while you circle it tauntingly.

an actual enraged kaveh is something you've never seen before, just some tantrums and endless ranting about some clients and his roommate. you've always wanted to see it—just not directed at you, hopefully.

“that's...ah, people already know you're dating me though, so it can't be someone hitting on you. maybe it's just from a relative or—”

“really?” you tilt your head, feigning a bit of confusion. “then i suppose i should keep these red roses then. i'll ask tighnari how to keep them alive, i guess.”

“w-wait, wait—could you repeat that?”

“hm?” you face him, “i'll ask tighnari?”

“no, the one before that.”

“...i'll keep the red roses?” you had to hold yourself back from grinning ear to ear when his eyes widen.

it's not unexpected that someone versed in the beauty of art would recognize one of the most common flower's meaning. quite the handy trivia.

he immediately stands up, grabbing your hand in tow as you yelp in surprise at his abruptness.

“kaveh?!”

“those flowers mean love! like, actual romantic love! i'll burn it for you right now! where'd you put it!?” the intensity of his ruby gaze sends shudders down your spine.

“it's not like i reciprocate it—”

“still, no one other than me should be sending those...!” kaveh tightens his grip on your hands, “i don't like the idea of someone hitting on you. i can't let anyone attempt to take you away from me...”

you blink. “kaveh...”

“—that's why show it to me now! or i'll bite you!”

“okay, okay! jeez...”

now...how are you going to break the news to him that it was actually yellow roses, and most definitely not from an admirer?

the biggest hater of my work is myself. wtf am i writing bruh ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

[hayakawalove]

Politely asking for spoiled princess and suguru uwu you would do that saur much justice im shaking at the thought EEEE

🗿

CW: Fluff, Eating, Reader Just Gets Babied, Gender Neutral Reader

W/C: 1,332

“Happy birthday to you,” you wake with a melodic voice filling your ears.

When you open your eyes, the first thing you’re met with is the beauty that is Suguru Geto. His eyes are crinkled as he grins, tone soft as he sings. It fills your stomach with an emotion that’s a bit hard to place. Joy? Gratitude? No, something deeper.

Suguru finishes singing and places a soft kiss on your forehead. Warmth bursts across your skin, trailing across the planes of your face. Suguru loves you. He loves you. He loves you. It was palpable, felt in everything he did.

He’s looking down at you, his fingers adjusting a piece of your hair behind your ear. He smells sweet, like icing and yearly wishes. You think he was probably making your birthday cake, and your-

“I made breakfast, want me to bring it to you or do you want to eat on the couch?”

It’s a tender question, because you know he would offer to bring it to you regardless of it being your birthday. That’s just the kind of man Suguru was.

He loves to spoil, loves to baby, loves to love. It was a bit overbearing at first. Over time you’ve learned to lean into it. In fact, you may lean into it a bit too much. Especially during times like these.

“Will you carry me to the couch?” You bat your lashes, perfectly playing the part of a needy partner.

“What, no ‘please’?” He teases as he stands.

“Suguru, it’s my birthday!”

“Ahh, I suppose you’re right. Manners aren’t required on national holidays, huh?”

“No!”

He grins and pinches your cheek lovingly.

You think he gets off on your defiance more than you do. Freaky bastard.

Suguru spins on his heels to bring your breakfast to the living room while you nuzzle into the blankets. If the promise of food wasn’t imminent, you probably would be drifting back to bed. But it was Suguru’s cooking you were talking about. Not a chance in hell you’d miss that.

He comes back after setting the breakfast down by the couch. Suguru lifts you up, his strong arm holding the back of your knees while your head rests against his chest. It’s a short walk to the living room, with golden light filtering in through your windows. He sits on the couch with you draped across his lap.

You peek an eye open and see the tray full of goodies in front of you. French toast, fruit, and eggs to name a few. It looks wonderful. The aroma floats over to you and makes you stir against him, but you’re so damn comfortable.

“Have you gone back to bed already?” The tone is teasing and it goes straight to your heart.

You grumble and nudge his chest with your head.

“Don’t you want breakfast?” He asks.

“Feed it to me…” you whine as you look up at him.

Suguru lets out a loving sigh. He’s putting on a front as if he may be bothered, but it’s a farce and you know it.

“What am I going to do with you?” He chuckles, looking down to cut your French toast.

You relax in his hold, your body laying across his thighs as he tends to you. He gathers a piece drenched in syrup before holding it up on the fork, looking down at you.

“You have to sit up, I can’t have you choking on your birthday.”

You pout and nuzzle further into him before shuffling into a seated position. Suguru brings the fork next to you, nudging it against your lips. The stickiness spreads across your mouth, dusting your lips with sugar. You open up and grin when the food hits your tastebuds. So good. He never misses.

“You could have me choking on any other day?”

“Don’t be a brat, sweetheart.”

You bite your lip and look up to him. There’s pink growing on his cheeks, and you can’t tell if it’s due to the hard work he’s put in this morning, or if it’s from the sight of you needing his help.

He places another piece in your mouth before setting the fork down to grab the fruit. He’s holding a grape, plump and cold as he brings it up to your mouth. You wrap your lips around the grape and eat it, flicking your tongue against his thumb as you do so. It’s hard to make Suguru flustered, but every once in awhile you’re able to achieve the task. Like now.

Suguru clears his throat and continues to pamper you, feeding you as you drape yourself across his body.

Once you’re finished eating, or more aptly once Suguru’s finished feeding you, you let out a heavy sigh. Your stomach and your heart were full.

“What’s next on the agenda?” You ask, as if you’ve had an arduous day so far.

“You tell me.”

There were so many options. More than anything, you just wanted to spend the day with him.

You also wanted to be babied by him, but that was neither here nor there.

“Suguru, will you paint my nails and do my hair?”

He looks a bit ruffled at the request. He was ready to offer you the world on a silver platter, and you just wanted to have your nails painted?

“Sure, baby. What color?” He gets up and shuffles around to locate the polish, grabbing all of the supplies he needs.

“Black?”

“Birthday black it is.”

Suguru told you that sadly, you’d have to come to the kitchen table to get your nails painted. He told you that a couch full of paint wouldn’t be very good, and you were inclined to agree. Suguru sits across from you at the table, brush in hand as he maneuvers around your fingers. He treats them as if they’re precious, delicate pieces of art.

It’s a sight to see. Soft locks fall over his shoulders as he analyzes his work, you think he must be biting the inside of his cheek.

Once he’s done, you marvel at the results. Neat, because obviously it was. Your nails shine under the living room lights, honestly it looked so good you almost felt bad not paying for it. He’s watching you, his fist propped up under his chin as he smiles at your enthusiasm.

“It looks so good Suguru!”

“Thank you, I’m happy you like it.”

You take another moment to appreciate your nails before you look back towards him. There’s love in his gaze as he admires you, a soft smile resting on his face.

“Hair?” You ask, wanting to feel his hands on your scalp.

Suguru raises his brows, and looks up towards your eyes as if you brought him back to reality.

“Hair.” He responds, getting up from his seat to gather the supplies.

He works silently while you talk his ear off. At the beginning of your relationship, you were a bit worried you annoyed him with all your talking. But now you know that’s not the case. He loves when you talk. He loves to listen. It’s not really a surprise when his best friend is Gojo, king of loud mouths.

When he’s done, he holds a mirror up in front of you. Suguru was talented in everything he did. Your hair was perfect, no strand out of place. The sight brings a grin to your face as you whip around to face him. He’s standing behind you, brushing a hand against your hair as he looks down.

“Thank you!” You jump up from your seat and throw your arms around his steady figure.

Suguru coos and hugs you tightly, resting his head atop yours.

“Of course, darling.”

Once you’ve had your fill, although you could hug him for much longer if given the opportunity, you pull away. You beam up at him while he lovingly looks back.

“Was that all you wanted to do today?” He questions.

“We’re just getting started!” You respond.

(THANK YOU FOR SAYING I WOULD DO IT GOOD YOU’RE SO KIND. SUGURU LOVES YOU VERY MUCH. I KNOW HE DOES)

[leihaddock]

So the other day @musette22 and I were talking about Peggy Carter (or rather I went on an angry rant about why I don't like her) and that made me think of a Peggy that was very much Steve's friend, beard even, as much as she was a Nazi regardless. And that got stuck in my head so take some extended thoughts:

A Peggy that is outwardly a mirror to Steve; in gender and perhaps sexuality as well as social class and upbringing. But no less "takes no shit" than Steve, no less kind than Bucky, no less of a role model than Sarah. Her morals however are very much a polar opposite to Steve's, but we as the viewer at most get hints of it during CATFA

Steve genuinely considers her a good friend. And she genuinely likes him, for what it's worth. She clocked Steve as queer right away, went "oh I like him" pre serum and offered to be his beard after. Keeps the creeps away, she told him, and gives you a reason to not accept any courting that won't get you kicked out of the army

She does the jealous girlfriend thing we see in canon anyway, despite of course not actually being his girlfriend (and the whole thing being abusive as fuck) to "keep appearances" but ultimately she gains his trust somehow

They enjoy each other's company in how little time they have together

But behind the scenes she's pulling strings

As soon as Steve rescues the 107th, uses that trust to get insider information she's not supposed to have

Why would she know what the Howlies do and where they are? She's intelligence, not a soldier

She deliberately makes them have a couple of close calls with Hydra by passing along that information

And then comes that goddamn train. Of course Peggy knows that Bucky fell. But she also knows that Bucky should have survived, because she knows that Zola had managed to create a stable super soldier serum

She prevents Steve from looking for Bucky and makes sure Hydra finds Bucky instead

The plane wasn't part of the plan on her side, she wasn't informed, and she's not happy about it. It comes to no surprise to her that Steve wouldn't give her approximate coordinates though. Because as she so foolishly said in that bar, Bucky had made his choice and Steve chooses to follow him

Peggy does mourn Steve, she also mourned Bucky, because they were her friends, even if the friendship was a farce, and she's not stone cold despite everything. But she's still very much got her eyes on a bigger thing so

She initially deliberately prevents Howard from tracking the plane by skewing the data

And she goes to talk to Bucky. Who spits at her, realises the betrayal and refuses to give up despite her very clearly telling him Steve was dead

It takes 20 years to break Bucky to a point where they can use him as TWS

During that time, Howard has shifted gears as well. He's quite aware he's working with Nazis, has been for a while, but he doesn't know about TWS's identity (because for as much of an asshole Howard turns into, I don't think he woulda been cool with that) until that fateful day in the 90's

Which was Peggy's call, because he defied her one too many times, and she has too much power to deal with him personally

At some point, Peggy steps down from what is now Shieldra (because there's no way she woulda survived to die of Alzheimers without being a top dog in Hydra), and Fury takes over Shield, builds the Avengers, and the story as we know it unfolds

Steve defrosts just fine because they have a couple of decades worth of experience with Bucky, and suddenly they have two super soldiers at their disposal

Steve goes to visit Peggy who "comforts" him, of course she does, she's still got the awareness regardless of which time she thinks she's in to keep their friendship going. Tells him about her life and the kids she's got, maybe even about queer rights improving

He doesn't know about Hydra. Doesn't know about Bucky. Until that day on the bridge, when they come face to face and TWS breaks. But Hydra, they're so close to winning, it doesn't really matter. But then they lose

Bucky runs, and Steve goes after him

And Steve finds more and more information on TWS. The data dump, of course, but also in old bunkers and labs. And burns the rest of Hydra to the ground in the process

And he recognises the handwriting in some of the older documents. Finds the report on the day they told Bucky he was dead. And exactly who was behind all of it

And now he also mourns a friend, two of them really, but one at least never lied to his face in this time. He's angry, yes, betrayed, yes. But also just disappointed. And Hydra burns

Peggy dies of Alzheimers and Steve still goes to the funeral, to see for his own eyes that the person he thought was his friend can't ever harm anyone again

We as the audience can only connect the dots so much without flashbacks, and we do get those. But only at the very end do we get the whole picture. And we mourn right alongside Steve (and Bucky, once he remembers)

[oswildin]

Loki x Partner!You Halloween Headcannons

A/N: Leans into grumpy x sunshine trope, fluff/humour/lighthearted/not to be taken seriously. Gender neutral.

Loki awoke to you being missing from bed, confused and rather disgruntled that he couldn’t get morning cuddles, before he remembered exactly why you were up before him…

31st October… It was Halloween.

You had been yapping all about it the previous day, and of course he listened, even if he didn’t quite understand why it was such a big deal.

“I thought you would love Halloween!” “Why?” “Because you’re-“ “I’m…?” “Well… y’know… you.” “I’ll try not to take offence.”

And as Loki arose, he began to hear the faint sound of music, a song he didn’t recognise but sounded festive (it was ‘this is Halloween’).

It was then he found you, in the kitchen, still in your pj’s humming and singing along to the song playing gleefully.

Sometimes he envied just how carefree you acted, but he also loved it. It… brought out a different side to him, subtle but definitely there. Not that he would admit that, of course.

“Must you play that racket at such an early hour?” “This is Halloween, Halloween, Halloween!” You continued to sing gleefully, grinning at him in amusement. “And here was me thinking it was Christmas.” He quipped dryly, making you roll your eyes before turning to reveal the ghost shaped pancakes you’d made for breakfast.

Loki had to hold back a small smile from tugging at his lips, it really was quite silly. But… adorable. And so, he raised a brow, looking down at them with a skeptical eye.

“You’re lucky I like you.”

After breakfast, you were very insistent that your typical yearly routine commenced, much to Loki’s dismay. It consisted of going to the supermarket and grabbing as many sweet treats and spooky confectionery as you could.

Of course, knowing Loki didn’t appreciate artificially sweet Midgardian treats, you told him you would allow him to pick his own selection of dried fruits and any other snacks he wanted.

“How thoughtful of you.” He teased wryly at your ‘allowance’. “Shut up, you know what I meant.” Of course he did, he just loved winding you up.

“You do realise this is all a farce? What began as a tradition of the souls of the dead returning to their homes has been turned into a commodity, another way for corporations to make money.” “I didn’t realise you were so concerned about the effects of capitalism.” “Well, I do unfortunately inhabit this planet as well, do I not? It affects me too.” “Loki, did you even pay for that bag of dried fruit?” “No. Why would I?” Of course you sighed, fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose.

Loki loved teasing you, it was so easy.

Underneath it all, Loki was warmed that you wanted to share your enjoyment of the festivities with him. He loved seeing you excited about it, seeing your eyes light up at the silly decorations the mortals put outside their houses as you drove back home. Although, he did have to grab the steering wheel once or twice as you got distracted by some of them.

“I don’t understand why you mortals watch these ‘scary movies’.” “Why do you stab Thor as a prank?” “Because it’s funny.” “And?” “And because he deserves it.” “And…?” “And because it’s thrilling?” “Ding ding ding.”

“Also don’t you think saying he ‘deserves it’ is a little harsh?” “He’s a God, it basically equates to a paper cut.” “Paper cuts really hurt.” “I know.” He smirked.

It was when you began laughing at the rather gory scene on the TV that Loki raised a brow, slowly turning his head to look at you, watching you shove another handful of sweets into your mouth as if you were watching a children’s film.

“I do hope you’re not getting any ideas.” “What?” “That laugh of yours is almost maniacal.” That earned him a light slap on the arm. “I fear it’s too late.”

In your defence it was a very silly, cheesy, predictable scene. But that’s why you loved it.

Half way through the film, Loki conjured a blanket, putting it over you both as you continued to tuck into the sweets. He didn’t know how you could eat so many without being sick. It was… impressive.

Your pumpkins you’d carved earlier sat on the coffee table, the tea candles flames dancing within them both. You had carved yours into a classic spooky face and Loki had… simply stabbed one of his daggers into his and carved his own name. Yes, the dagger was still in the side of the pumpkin.

Loki now was deciding that he needed cuddles to make up for the lack of them that morning, his arm wrapped around your shoulder as you nestled against him, your head resting on his chest.

There was a jumpscare, which managed to actually make the God of Mischief jump.

“Oh my god, did that get you?!” “No-“ “It did!” “No, I was simply… readjusting my position-“ “You jumped! Ha! Who knew you were jumpy, you always act like-“

It was then Loki swiftly decided he could not have his fearsome reputation tarnished by such slander. His hand moving from its place on your arm, sliding up to cover your mouth, silencing you. He smirked as you glared at him, although you couldn’t hide your own amusement.

“You were saying?”

As the night went on, the excitement of the day and the early start crept up on you, making you grow sleepy, especially being nestled against Loki, safe and warm in his embrace - somehow you were always warm in his arms despite his cooler skin. He just… made you feel warm. Just as you did him.

It didn’t take long for Loki to sense you had drifted off, feeling your breaths slow into peacefulness - which was quite the contradiction to the chaos unfolding on the TV screen. But, you had always been able to sleep around chaos… Finding some sense of peace in it, in him.

He readjusted the blanket around you, shifting himself to ensure you were comfortable.

Whilst Loki may have not been the most vocal when it came to his feelings, he showed it in other ways. The subtle ways, like this moment. He let himself smile softly at your sleeping form, before he let out a content breath, resting his cheek against the top of your head.

Maybe Halloween wasn’t so bad after all.

[skrunksthatwunk]

sorry just watched all of lacey's games (thru rabbit hole at time of writing) and i wanna talk about laceys diner can we talk about lacey's diner? we're talking about it now

tl;dr lacey's games is about the presentation and consumption of girls.

cw suicide, csa, incest, cannibalism. if you've seen the series, you know. i only speak of them vaguely here though

in lacey's diner her livelihood depends on how well people like her food, how it looks, how it tastes, how quickly she gets it to them on time. if any of these things falter, they reject her and reinforce her desperation (trauma around failure and acceptance + threat of extreme poverty via the restaurant closing).

eating her food is accepting her, choosing to be with her in some way. lacey gets eaten in the prior episode so her stalker can be with her forever, out of an obsession with her (/her body) that leads him to destroy her to better possess and consume her (like her uncle). she can't be late serving them herself, because that's not good presentation—her inability to get food out on time is a reflection of her flaws, and a cause to reject her. she must be available for others, punctual. she can't put the wrong ingredients in—elements of herself, her life—she must exclude them entirely from the part they eat, the part she gives away. she keeps the part that is filled with the disgusting, ugly, painful things in her life, about her.

and when she gets fed up and feeds those raw, authentic parts of herself to them (out of spite, tired of trying her best to no avail, to give them a taste of their own medicine), she is punished, not allowed to serve anyone again bc it's too gross and dangerous. she is punished for lashing out, for not keeping it all bottled up, and in her helplessness, resigns herself to death.

as seen in rabbit hole, jay was too boyish to be consumed happily by the audience (the mothers in the emails), so she was killed off and effectively haunts lacey. if she is not presentable enough, she too will be destroyed and discarded. if she is too presentable, she will be consumed too completely. she has no control, no say (as we know from lacey's wardrobe), no agency outside of pretending she's in a sparkly dreamy world. and jay—who said she would rather die than wear makeup—is forced by lacey to wear makeup in death. she's fixing her by making her conform to the same gender standards she's strangled by, saying that if she was less boyish she wouldn't have died. again, femininity and conformity (and thus being pleasant to others, presenting oneself to be admired and consumed) is safe to lacey, something she must perform to survive. yet, of course, lacey is hurt immensely for her being a girl, for her being a woman, and for her trauma resulting from those events.

all her talk of being ugly when she's grieving, of almost crying in front of him (her uncle iirc), of needing to be pretty even for the people who abuse and hurt her... and how she wished the world was ugly and grotesque when jay died because that was how it felt, but it was just sunny and oblivious. she was the one standing out for being upset, and the world was pretending and consumable and she couldn't anymore. she had to scrape herself together though because what else is there? when her job and stability and life is at stake, how can she afford to be traumatized? to not pretend, even when she's alone? augh. ough. look i just like lacey. i want her to be ok

i don't know that lacey herself is supposed to have a linear, consistent story. i kind of think she's an avatar for like,, girlhood suffering and trauma, and the traumatized people who come from that (hence her dying in multiple ways and coming back). perhaps as rocio's way of warning or comforting girls who went through similar things to her, or to vent her own issues because the thought of making something that's such a farce, such a forced, gussied up version of what it's like to be a girl, bothers her. the audience comes to the website to consume lacey at her best, at her most presentable, and are instead met with the harsh reality of cockroaches and used condoms. and yet, the audience of lacey games the video series consumes her too, only they are seeking out her trauma, trying to invade her mind and pick it apart. we're all consuming what we want, whatever we find appetizing, of lacey. and for rocio, you get the sense that she is also a tool, a way for rocio to express her inner distress. in that, lacey is put through all this unfortunate shit by rocio to make her more presentable and consumable to her. we are all using lacey, we all see her and eat her and destroy her. and she comes back to us and her cage because the pain's comforting in its familiarity.

in short, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. 👍

[momentomori24]

For a character that has virtually said nothing (impressive feat considering Mark Berskii exists) and has been dead since the start, Cara is so SO intriguing to me. Her complete lack of humanity in the midst of a cast brimming with it stands out in such a fucked up way.

Take her appearance, for example. Outside of the fact that she's much paler than the group, her having redish hair feels so intentional. It physically ties her to two characters: Diana and Wolfgang's mum. By extension, that ties her to Wolfgang and Eva as well. I don't believe that she's directly tied to them, or anyone in our group really (which I think is the point). However, the links that can be tied-- that we as the audience are encouraged to tie-- still exist.

We are introduced to her as a murder victim, a girl who was brutally ambushed and stabbed to death by who is assumed to be a man. That serves as a parallel by what is implied to have happened to Wolfgang's mum; a woman who was murdered by her husband. Coupled with their vague resemblance, it explains why Wolfgang was so emotional during the trial. He's a lawyer, and it's both his job and moral code to have empathy for everyone, but it seems obvious that there was a lot of projection on his part related to this specific case. He doesn't just see a person, he sees a blameless woman, an innocent girl undeserving of her fate. A victim who had to have been sadistically murdered by a man, and "self-defence" was never on the table. He clearly cared about the case-- he cared THE MOST about the case. He was the only one to actually acknowledge that it's based on a real murder case, that the victim was a real person, and treat it with that same amount of appropriate care. But that care is rooted in his strong sense of justice for victims as a lawyer, in his own issues and warped view on gender due to his parents-- it's not entirely for her because he never actually KNEW her.

And we see her again in the execution. Quite literally like a puppet on strings, she mechanically reaches out towards Eva and offers her a hand. In my eyes, this is 100% a parallel to Diana. There's the obvious of a vaguely red haired girl being the only one to offer her support during her lowest moments, but the way Cara reaches to pull Eva up only for her to fall to her death is comparable to the way Diana reaches to pull Wolfgang up only for him to still get electrocuted to death. Here she is again, playing a different role, open to the interpretation of others. Here she is, twisting the knife about Eva's feelings about Diana. She looms over her, standing tall where Eva was at her lowest in every sense of the word. She's a girl offering help, but not out of the goodness of her heart, and the strings puppeteering her every movement emphasise that reality. Where Eva had rejected her advances before, in her desperation she actually reaches back for her, and the act of allowing herself to trust that kindness is what has her plummeting to her doom the way she was always of, the arm giving and tearing at the farce of it all.

Take her talent, for example. She's the Ultimate Teacher's Aide. By her very nature, she exists for the service of others. Uplifting others rather than uplifting herself. She's the Ultimate Teacher's Aide, and she fulfils that role by being Tozu's literal puppet in the killing game, her servitude entirely at his disposal and her autonomy nonexistant.

Take her motif, for example. She's the only character without an animal motif. Her motif, ironically enough, is a human. Two humans, in fact. And I think that's significant cuz we never actually learn anything about Cara herself when she appears. Her existence is always symbolically tied to someone else on appearance alone (Wolfgang's mum or Diana). Her motif is a human because it's the closest thing to what she looks like, but just like the Tree of Ignorance being a hollow imitation of the Tree of Wisdom, she's anything but. What do we know about her, really? What was she like? Was she a cheerful soul or a gloomy one? Was she aggressive or pacifistic? Was she someone who had confidence or none at all? Was she a perfect victim or a failed yet complicit perpetrator? The sad thing about that question is that it really doesn't matter. Her murder case is only proof of her existence that exists; history has taken this girl and reduced her to nothing else and it doesn't matter. In a group of individuals she's exists solely as a blank slate, a passive party, an entity they can project on. She's a girl. She's a victim. She's a doll. She's a reason. But make no mistake-- she was never meant to be a person.

(Cerise's made a great art piece on this idea go check it out!)

[romanceyourdemons]

the mexican horror film we are what we are (2010) tackles well-trodden concepts vis a vis cannibalism—cannibalism as sexuality, cannibalism as destructive and senseless “family tradition”—but it does so from an interesting perspective. unlike the texas chain saw massacre (1974) or house of 1000 corpses (2003), pioneers in the cannibalistic family horror genre, this beautifully and somberly shot film presents a serious and emotional, near-melodrama look at the workings and politics of its family of ritualistic cannibals. they take no twisted pleasure in what they do. cannibalism is an occupation and a tradition, and they treat it with the weariness and varying levels of respect that most families treat grandma’s birthday or christmas day. as the family seeks to fill the void left by the death of their patriarch, various gendered elements of family politics become clear; the women in the family cannot hold real power, cannot be the “leader of the family,” but they are the ones who enforce continued ritual observation, sending their brothers and sons out for victims and butchering the bodies they bring back. sexuality fits into this in an interesting way. as usual, cannibalism and sexuality are deeply intertwined; but in this film, unlike in films from the terror (2018) to microwave massacre (1979), there is no dimension of twisted, perverted pleasure to it. bringing home victims to be eaten for the ritual is what the head of the household must do, whether they like it or not. sex is a similar weary duty: the head of the household is expected to be the only one in the whole family really sexually active, but they are also expected to feel ashamed of it, keeping the ridiculous farce of sexuality and cannibalism both as a pure means to an end. although, as i’ve said before, the subject matter in this film is well-trodden, we are what we are (2010) treats it with a unique seriousness and grimness that i found very fascinating, and i would definitely recommend the film

[vivacissimx]

roose bolton as a father figure to theon

the theon's disturbing relationship to paternalism beam is still shining bright. obviously the ned and balon and balon and ned Thing is happening but if we are going to embrace the horror of ADWD, let's lean all the way in.

the role of the father is molded as such to manufacture obedience from his children—generally speaking but also daughters in a specific way, sons in a specific way. filial duty is considered a virtue in westerosi society (even when your father fails to be virtuous himself) and it's the mode by which the father holds power over his children when they come of age. the father reproduces himself by claiming a son under his name & castle, the father reproduces his values by shaping behavior, the father punishes unsanctioned behavior not (merely) by criticizing the contents of the actions of the son, but by virtue of it being disobedient i.e. obedience to my instructions has within it an inherent Rightness / my instructions are Right because they are mine (circular i know!). this is probably doubled for those who follow the Faith of the Seven where the image of the father is a reflection of the Father aka disobedience flirts with blasphemy. sorry for the monologue—this is gonna be important later.

one of the reasons ned & balon come across as such supreme assholes in theon's ACOK storyline is because even outside the emotional reality of theon being a hostage from 10 years of age, he also pretty much does obey what they have to say. there is a time where he plays by their rules and they still don't approve of him or claim him fully. it's a social contract where ned and balon don't really fulfill their ends of the bargain, so it feels unfair. it feels willfully blind because ned and balon SURELY see the benefits they've accrued at theon's expense—ned lives in peacetime having experienced war, and balon keeps his life/lordship which if he were to have been executed for treason, would have all seemingly gone to a boy lord theon—yet they don't recognize the "theon's expense" part.

see how that works? "you are virtuous and right for following my commands" but theon follows their commands and doesn't get his Virtuous and Right headpats. and that rankles him deeply.

okay, now onto roose as theon's father figure in ADWD:

theon is part and parcel of roose's son ramsay. Reek belongs to Ramsay, and Ramsay belongs to Reek. in fact the original reek was a servant who roose gave to ramsay's mother as the first act of acknowledgement. it's through reek that ramsay became roose's bastard. we see that when roose demands ramsay give theon up (briefly), ramsay must oblige... hence, reek is still a form of reward/acknowledgement from roose to ramsay. theon is entangled in them and for roose to kill theon could very well be construed as killing off (ramsay as) his son

roose thanks theon for giving him the north via taking winterfell & (inadvertently) ruining robb's situation. roose is thanking theon for the ability to reproduce himself as lord of winterfell and warden of the north—a duty that a son owes his father

i wrote a post about theon's gender troubles that delves into his parallels with barbrey ryswell dustin—how roose treats them both with certain cares to insure their good behavior, and how they both see through the farce. however the difference in roose bolton's world of easy replacement (he replaces multiple wives, domeric with ramsay, reek with reek II) is that barbrey is warned of her fate via the example of bethany ryswell bolton, her sister and roose's dead wife, while theon is warned of his by the example of domeric bolton, roose's dead son.

barbrey steps into the role of domeric's caretaker and main maternal figure because her sister is dead. then ramsay kills domeric. roose allows it. barbrey puts it as: “The widow of Barrowton… and yes, if I so choose, I could be an inconvenience. Of course, Roose sees that too, so he takes care to keep me sweet.” sweet is not the best word for our barb but she plays along with roose's game despite there being no real endgame beyond a petty revenge against the starks. the writing is on the wall though. not to put too fine a point on it but: ramsay will kill any children walda frey has from roose, and barbrey will know precisely who did it

in theon's case, roose's manipulations go like this: “Serve us in this, and when Stannis is defeated we will discuss how best to restore you to your father’s seat,” his lordship had said in that soft voice of his, a voice made for lies and whispers. Theon never believed a word of it. He would dance this dance for them because he had no choice, but afterward… he will give me back to Ramsay then

roose actually tells theon the story of domeric. he describes domeric's relative capability and desire for brothers. he confesses that ramsay killed domeric and that he did nothing about it, that he fully anticipates ramsay to kill any children he has with walda. later, when theon is thinking about how roose will give theon back to ramsay, the conclusion is clear: ramsay is going to torture and abuse you, and i will do nothing—just like i will do nothing for any other sons i might have

theon co-victimhood with jeyne. does that make theon roose's sort-of daughter-in-law?

that last point was a haha joke... unless? after all, theon did canonically desire for ned to adopt him via marriage to sansa. so roose adopting him via "marriage" to ramsay, theon's use to roose being dependent on his subservience to ramsay, or more specifically, his role as legitimizing ramsay/reproducing roose in a similar way to marrying arya stark and having bolton children with her will... that is to say, haha

starks and boltons are foils, ned and roose are foils, ramsay's dogs and starkling direwolves are foils: if ned was a quasi-father figure AND simultaneously warden to theon then why would roose not be as well considering the stark/bolton relationship?

remember when i said that theon is intensely bothered by the fact that he "obeys" ned/balon but gets nothing for it? if you agree with that then consider this passage: Theon wondered if he might be allowed to fight. Then at least he might die a man’s death, sword in hand. That was a gift Ramsay would never give him, but Lord Roose might. If I beg him. I did all he asked of me, I played my part, I gave the girl away.

there's likely much more i could say here but those are a few points that i think are interesting as part of the larger discussion on theon as well as the social critique in ADWD theon POVs. i mean it really pulls the curtain back—stripped of all romanticism and in the dead of winter where nothing grows, what is a wife truly? a whore, jeyne says. what is a hostage? mine own face on their lie, not [even] a man, theon says.

what is a father? well in theon's decidedly horrifying case, it's the man who has use for you or else what's the point of you being alive

[pigswithwings]

. + • °🌿🌻🌿° • + .

i hope that one day the concept of passing will not be as important to people as it is now. i think that needing to pass is mostly because of the insistence from cis society to conform, so the idea is that if you can't conform to your assigned gender then you must still rigidly conform to another. i think a lot of trans people would be happier if they weren't held to standards of strictly a man or strictly a woman. i think that its nigh impossible for people who aren't binary to pass as their true identity because being nonbinary or "neither man nor woman" is simply not recognized in many places. i think that the prioritization of needing to pass even hurts people who do pass. personally being told that i pass as one thing or another is not very euphoric, it just makes me feel as though what i do and how i present is a farce that i must keep up, which isn't true at all. i hope that trans people get to express their selves freely and unquestionably

[shoot-i-messed-up]

i wanna see the arranged marriage au 👀

tysm for asking !! I just explained the basic premise here, but I realized I didn't really actually talk about the superlantern dynamic so this is going to be what this post is about!! :)

under the cut bc I'm a little embarrassed (TW for consent issues altho that's like, lowkey the whole point of an arranged marriage AU)

basically, it's all set up by the first night they spend together after just having been wed:

Due to some miscommunications in the Krypton-Corps treaty, Hal (who is a trans man here because if I don't write Hal as having some complicated gender feelings, it's my sign that I have been kidnapped) believes that he has to get pregnant to make the treaty-required child. So. On their wedding night, Hal puts the moves on Clark, and Clark almost believes that Hal also wants it (and Clark's not even opposed to having sex with him because even though he was forced into the arranged marriage, sex is fairly decoupled from ideas of marriage for this AU Krypton because of the birthing matrix situation + Clark's also a progressive by Kryptonian societal standards), until Clark realizes that there's been a fundamental misunderstanding of the treaty and is like, okay, so now I'm never trusting your yes again because I almost couldn't tell the difference.

So like. They both still have to work together because they both want the treaty to succeed, despite their saboteurs lurking in the background (oooh political intrigue). But Clark, despite being a normally kind and agreeable guy, is pretty icy towards Hal initially, because of this. Maybe not icy per se, but like, distantly polite? Like, Clark will act close and warm with Hal when they're in public, but as soon as it's just the two of them, it's bland smiles and nonethusiastic dismissiveness.

But then the progressive social movement that Clark is a part of is genuinely super mad that he got forced into marriage and partially take out some of their anger on Hal via violence, so now the two of them have an incentive to actually pretend to fall in actual love even though everyone knows theirs is a political marriage.

Their whole marriage is essentially them being coworkers in the extreme where there's a bunch of problems that they have to work together to mitigate, like attempted assassinations and stuff. yk. just a casual Tuesday with the bae <3

Then it goes from them being coworkers + forced proximity to them being lowkey kinda actual genuine friends to them each slowly getting actual romantic feelings towards the other, which they know is requited back because they've learned the other well enough to know when they're putting on a farce and when they're being genuine, but like, they can't actually be in a relationship yet (despite being married lmao) because they have too much shit to worry about at the moment. yk. that kind of dynamic

the progressive social movement eventually becomes, like, a straight-up people's revolution. Clark joins, and so does Hal, reluctantly, because he's super wary of becoming a Sinestro-like figure interfering with intraplanetary affairs (Sinestro haunts the narrative lowkey bc of the dictator thing). At this point, there's little incentive for them to continue to keep up the "act" of being in love, so they are...kinda actual boyfriends now! yay! but then when Hal tries to put the moves on Clark again, Clark just gently stops him and is like, I'd rather wait until we are completely free of any incentives, so that this is completely pure and genuine. So instead of waiting for marriage to have sex, they're waiting for divorce

When they eventually reform the government and make what will essentially be their Bill of Rights but with a special emphasis on negative rights (as in, the govt can't do this or that to you), the treaty gets overturned, and their new Supreme Court (or the equivalent thereof) will have their first case: the El v. Jordan divorce

(I have the entire ending climax and resolution in my head playing like a movie. But I would need to write all of the middle parts before that could happen sobs)