#white person with a different accent: white person stupid!

[anarkhebringer]

Not a Spaniard calling an American a gringo on Puki's post diufojhbuosdjg

[cuntwrap--supreme]

Having to explain to my 57 year old mother that, no, it is not funny to send me photos of a clearly exhausted woman at the airport at 3am who had an accent she thinks makes her stupid. Like. Just tell me what she said that was funny. I don't need a series of photos of this woman exhaustedly explaining to your coworkers what she needs.

[court-jobi]

Alexa, Play...

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work OR the mindblowing art of @gsony24~used w permission))

Pairing: Midoriya x reader

Words: 1.6k

Rating: G~

Warnings: Southern US!GNreader, comfort fic, tooth-rotting fluff here y'all, established relationship, language barrier, dancing-in-the-kitchen level self-insert

Summary:

Izuku comes home to spot your grocery list on the fridge written out in your native language- something he sees just as rarely as hearing you speak it. Just when he thinks he couldn't possibly find you more adorable, you strike a match and chuck it into his heart with a touch as simple as a peck on his cheek, a laugh thrown his way... or -like now- when you chat over the phone in an accent he never gets to hear. He wants to hear more so badly, and asks for it so sweetly.

A/N: a short n'sweet one today, folks, bc I was missing writing for this sweet green bean. I have yet to see MHA: You're Next, but have no one to see it with ughhhhh so off to writing fanfic to soothe the pain~

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

You're on the phone with your mom when Izuku finds your sticky note for shopping on the fridge. His mindful shut of the door was appreciated by your mouthed apology, but let him know that he'd best occupy himself solo for a bit while you catch up. The time difference between your home country and here leaves your windows to chat limited, so he’s happy when your schedules align like this. 

If you'll be on a while longer, he thinks he can take a quick drive and pick up these few things for you. Inspired by the idea, he plucks the list out from the magnet’s hold.

You've got nice handwriting, a blend between printed letters and a tilted, cursive script. Personality shines especially near the end of a word, when you're rushing to move onto the next thought. 

Painter’s tape

bananas

white vinegar (stupid drain line)

It's so simple, but when it's written in your native language by default, it feels like a secret to be reading even something so simple as a list like this– scribbled out in the way as it appears in your head.

For most formal paperwork, your kana characters are decently executed, though it's always going to be harder when you grew up speaking Japanese rather than filling out lines and lines of bellwork in the kanji style. This isn't to say you've not been trying:

Over the course of your courtship, you've bonded with young Eri as an extension of Izuku's life and have inherited some of her early learning textbooks. You happened on them by accident, when you were helping her paint her room a few months ago. It sounded elementary when you expressed the interest to read and write Japanese better, and the sweet girl was so enthusiastic to help! 

She lent you her books, but of course you weren't becoming an expert overnight. However slow you’d pace yourself, Izuku was plenty proud of you for making the effort. He'd allow you as much grace as he could spare– especially since your notes were still so cute to find here and there~

Across the room, pacing along every other tile on the floor like stepping stones, you look up catching Izuku staring. You’ve been deep in conversation for only about an hour, but give him a wrench of your nose in jest, and begin wrapping up the call explaining that he’s home and you’d like to greet him properly. 

Izuku calls out a quick 'hi’ and ‘bye' to your mom when he motions to go on speaker; you're not one to refuse him, as he well knows. 

You seem pleased on more than one front when he asks to talk to your family, so he continues to do it. For one, you’re touched by how spirited he is to even want to interact with your mother, and his dropping of formalities and reverting to English to speak to her means a lot to you. Neither point is lost on sweet Izuku, based on how your smile brightens when he jogs over to you to be more in speaking range. 

When you hang up, you're quick to pop up and kiss him as a welcome home. Izuku hangs onto you a little longer than usual, thumb rubbing into your cheek as he savors you several times in quick succession. 

Just when he thinks he couldn't possibly find you more adorable, you strike a match and chuck it into his heart with a touch as simple as a peck on his cheek or a laugh thrown his way. 

“‘Zuku, what's that look for, babe?” 

In your sentimental bliss, you're still surprised to get such adoring treatment from him almost a year into a relationship. 

“Nothing,” Izuku chimes back, “I just forget that you're this American sometimes~”

“Whaddya mean, ‘you forget’?!” the concept sounds hilarious to you. 

“I do!” Izuku offers to take your phone to plug it in nearby, “I have to remind myself that Japanese isn't your first language, until I see you on FaceTime with your mom. Out of nowhere, I'll just hear you sound so different, like: ‘byyyye~ talk to y'all later’!”

You snort at his attempt at a southern accent– stiff and stuck on the wrong vowels. Clearly this succeeds in amusing you, because you hop up and down on the balls of your feet like you've discovered a new game:

“Oh my God, ‘Texas Smash Deku’ is the stuff of my fantasies!– oo!! say, ‘I’d like a honey butter chicken biscuit’~”

“WHAT?? N-no!!”

“What YES!! Please??”

Both doubled over in laughter, you're entertained over his thorough embarrassment, but you're both smitten and carefree: holding onto each other despite nearly buckling at the knees.

Izuku tries his best to catch his breathe first, determined to explain himself,

“I can't do it right! It's like- you say things- I don't know how to describe it! It's not just the flat, movie star accent.. It's–"

“What, a-- ‘drawl’? ‘Twang’?”

Izuku snaps at the realization.

“Yes!! That!! The country kind, like that chef you watch!”

You've rolled your eyes, stepping out of his kind hold in favor of checking out what takeout he brought home. 

“-Hey, no, come back!”

“‘Makin’ fun'ah my accent, I outta smack you’.”

You're far from really mad as you tote around the kitchen getting silverware and soy sauce, but Izuku follows you around like a shadow regardless. Eyes full of that puppy love, he does try to block you in from the pantry closet,

“I’m sorry, honey~”

“No you're not.” --but you're grinning out of forgiveness anyway.

Izuku sneaks a hold on you, reeling you in. It’s cozy in your shared kitchen, alight with just the right amount of overhead lighting and enough space for you two to stand and share tasks.

“I do like hearing you talk like that,” he shares contentedly, “It’s nice to listen to that side of you, especially when you have a lot to say.”

“Yeah well,” you turn into his arms, rather than away, “I'm sure you've noticed already, it comes from her side of the family. Guess I can't really ditch the accent whenever I switch back. The more I think about it… I'm gonna be happy if I can keep sounding like her as I get older. Lets me keep something of hers- even if my ‘dashing hero’ of a man over here thinks I'm being cheeky."

“No, I'm not teasing now! I mean it,” Izuku presses into you, “I only meant, you don't hold back or anything when you're chatty with her.”

He wonders if it stems from shyness, your avoidance of using too much English here at home. If you’re jamming out while doing chores -presuming you’re alone- you’ll switch the station once you know you have an audience.

“Not trying to hide it with you! I'm just out of practice here. No one else in our circle really uses English, so it doesn't come up, I guess.”

You make the point with a wistful aire. Occasionally you'll sub English classes as a favor to Izuku’s effervescent coworker at UA, but not often enough to get too much exposure. He's always been impressed with your Japanese diction, and thinks you could very well go into teaching if you ever wanted a career change.

Still, whether its for work or play, it’s a sound that’s intrinsically you, and there’s a magic to it that Izuku finds himself chasing. A secret power of yours, if he could only unlock it.

“--Plus, I don't think a lot of the slang translates over?” you get comfortable in his arms, locking your fingers behind his neck with no intention of leaving as you muse, “You guys have your own here, and that’s hard to figure out anyway.”

“I suppose you’re right.” 

Tenderly, you run your nails through his hair, a thoughtful look up to him, 

“Do you want me to use it more at home? Lay on the sugar for ya?”

A chance to hear you at your core? Watch your handwritten notes come alive?

“If you want-” Izuku softens, “-if you’re comfortable.”

“Can you understand me though?”

“I can hear you. It only gets hard when you get excited, ‘cuz you talk fast.”

You fuss back at him, “Oh, as if you don't.”

Caught under your hypocritical eye, he can only offer an honest chuckle back, “Fair~”

But for all of your feeling put on the spotlight, you seem to hold a soft spot for the way Izuku makes his requests:

“ ‘I guess I can indulge ya, since you asked so nicely.’ ”

–and it’s enough for him to try his hand to give you a linguistic sparring partner right back:

“ ‘Say something else.’ ”

All English flies out the window when he's looking at you like this, as you fall under a fit of nervous laughter, “What am I supposed to say?!” 

“ ‘Sing me a song, my love. Something 'twangy'.”

You giggled, "'Twangy', good Lord…” 

Izuku could write novels on everything from your finest features to even your most pensive insecurities, romanticizing each of them into a beautifully imperfect anthology. He does so in his mind, at least, when you’re barely lucid on the edge of sleep but still trying to engage him in meaningful conversation. He’ll do so in the notes on his phone, when he learns of yet another favorite token of yours, and wants to add it to the list of comfort measures he can refer to when you need it most.

And when you prompt Alexa to play your newly revealed ‘Karaoke hours that will never see the light of day’ playlist -the one that’s chock-full of female power ballads which you begin to sing your own rendition to-  Izuku is certain his mind nor fingers nor heart can catalog how much more he can possibly love you… though he’ll dance in place with you as he listens and soaks it all in.

[mellosdrawings]

Aight, the Yuusona is done and posted, now my Pomefiore Oc!

Hayeli Callem

17 years old, 2nd year

Pomefiore, based on the Evil Queen's mirror

Originally from a border of the Scalding Sands

He/him

Signature Spell : Kaleidoscope Divine

-allows Hayeli to reproduce any kind of magic (even other Signature Spells) for a maximum of 15 seconds

-the stronger the magic, the shorter the time

-for other Signature Spells, Hayeli must have already seen said SS used in full without interruption

-for other Signature Spells, the original user must be in Hayeli's field of view

-Example: Hayeli can use Riddle's Off With Your Heads for about 10 seconds while Riddle is around, before the collar gets dismissed entirely.

-so far Hayeli has only ever managed to use Kaleidoscope Divine on others' Signature Spells on 5 different occasions only (one of which being Riddle's Off With Your Heads)

-Hayeli usually only uses it to copy regular spells he hasn't yet mastered, or to confuse his opponents long enough for him to run away

-Hayeli thinks his Signature Spell is useless because it has too many strict requirements

Originality? Don’t know him.

If you ask him, Hayeli will say he was probably cursed as a child, because he is simply unable to do anything on his own without having seen someone else doing it first. He always needs to copy others to achieve anything, and became so good at it that he can replicate someone’s mannerisms or handwriting in a glance. If he is around someone long enough, he can even replicate their accent. (To Vil’s horror, he is able to replicate both Epel and Rook’s accent, and he can even do mashups!)

Unlike for his Signature Spell, he doesn't need others to be around while he copies things. Once he’s replicated the skill once, he can do it again whenever (but always the very way he’s copying. Should he learn to draw from one specific person, he won’t be able to draw in any other style.)

He hides it a lot but he is constantly angry that he can never be his own person. He isn’t even sure who he IS! As far as he knows he’s just a walking, talking mirror.

OFF/ON modes

In Hayeli’s words : “The OFF mode is just when my stupid gimmick finally lets off.” When nobody is around for him to copy, Hayeli reverts back to his “natural state” which tends to be quite pessimistic and cynical. He grumbles a lot and gets frustrated regularly but at least he gets to be “him” (whoever that is) for a night. When in OFF mode he tries to do as little as possible, usually just reading novels or meditating, because every other skill he has comes from copying others.

The ON mode depends on whoever he spends the most time with. Pomefiore has a rather unique effect on his behavior. Should he stay around Savanaclaw students for any prolonged time for whichever reason though, he will naturally shift his attitude to match the more rugged and sporty behavior of beastmen. Hayeli has little to no control over his copying and regularly gets upset about it.

These days, since Pomefiore is taking a huge place in his life, he will be obviously (and obnoxiously) acting like a cliché Pomefiore student even when spending a lot of time with others.

The copying comes gradually the more time he spends with someone and takes as much time fading once he stops frequenting that person.

Random facts:

-Despite Vil's best efforts to improve Hayeli's skin, he is cursed with a heavy bout of acne and very red cheeks. Hayeli learned all his makeup skills by copying Vil and the contrast between his usual face and his makeup-ed one is so staggering people tend not to recognise him. He actually has a lot of fun with it.

-Hayeli gets regular headaches when there are too many people around him because his gimmick cannot decide on who to copy and makes ridiculous mashups.

-He has absolutely no shame cheating for tests by copying others. He was once caught by Trein.

-His pupils are naturally white and strangely shaped

-Vil has forbidden him from frequenting Azul and Sebek because he becomes the worst version of them with his copy gimmick

-He and Epel act like older/younger siblings

-His Signature Spell doesn't work on Ortho due to his robotic nature, and he has a hard time using it on Faes

-Hayeli is very eloquent and has a lot of vocabulary. Sometimes he speaks in rhymes without realizing

-He has a grand total of 16 moles on his body

[bluzebub19]

Writer's note: First time posting my writing here! SO, since there are still barely any Mylo x reader fics, I was going to make an AI bot myself of Mylo in character.ai. But I wrote the greetings thing too long so I thought I'd post it here.

Warning(s): S2 Act3 Spoilers, set within a week before Ep7 happens, slight angst?? English is not my first language. Aso a bit short?? Reader is referred to as "they/them" in the 1-2nd paragraoh and then I used "you" after. I see so many flaws here so pleade correct me if you can, thank you!

Pairing(s): Mylo x reader

Summary: After a strange anomaly sends you, Ekko, Jayce, and Heimerdinger, spiraling into an alternate version of your world, you find yourself in a place that feels both familiar and foreign. But how are you supposed to feel when the very person you thought you lost forever, walks into the room, alive and well? (With a silly, dorky mustache)

The hum of faint music filled the small room as they scribbled on a piece of paper, a soft chuckle escaping their lips as your alternate self hummed along to the tune. The box of decorations sat neatly by the table beside you, ready to be delivered to the Last Drop for Powder’s party preparations, just ahead of the Innovators Competition that everyone was looking forward to. Everything seemed fine—until it wasn’t.

A sharp pain suddenly pierced through their head, and the world around them spun violently. The ringing in their ears drowned out the music as the paper and pen slipped from their hands. They stumbled, catching sight of the box toppling over before darkness overtook them.

When you opened your eyes, you were... somewhere else. Somewhere familiar but at the same time, entirely unfamiliar. One moment, you were with Jayce, Ekko, and Heimerdinger near the hexgates, staring at the strange anomaly. The next, memories flash before you then everything had gone white, and now you were here—wherever here was.

You blinked rapidly, your mind racing as you tried to process what had just happened. You're not sure if you're still at home or where the others are. So many questions playing in your mind, to the point you felt the whole world was spinning around, and you felt sick because of it.

You tried to balance yourself as you hold on to the table. You glanced around, taking in the worn furniture and scattered decorations. It was like looking into a half-remembered dream. Your chest tightened as you caught sight of your reflection in a cracked mirror. The person staring back at you wasn’t exactly who you remembered. Your attire was softer, less utilitarian than the hardened look you'd adopted in your own timeline. It was as if this version of you belonged to a world that hadn’t been ripped apart by chaos.

Before you could process further, a knock on the doorframe snapped you out of your daze as you jolted. “Hey, ya ready to go? Or is the box too heavy for the madame?” The voice was unmistakable. You froze, your gaze slowly shifting toward the figure leaning against the doorway. Mylo.

He grinned, his lopsided smile framed by that fake elegant accent he always used when he was trying to be funny. “I can carry it for my lady,” he added, exaggerating the words with a playful bow before breaking into a chuckle.

Your heart stopped. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. His face—so recognizeable, even it's been almost a decade since you saw him alive. How? How was he here, smirking at you as if nothing had happened? As if he hadn’t died in the explosion that tore your group apart? You had mourned him, carried the weight of his absence like a huge stone in your chest. Yet here he stood. It was the Mylo you remembered—the one from your timeline. He still had the same cocky, playful energy, but there were differences. Like how he's older, as if he had the chance to grow up, a stupid looking mustache and sideburns, as well as a different tone in his voice. Regardless, it was still him. It was still Mylo.

He tilted his head, his smile faltering as your stunned silence dragged on. “Or… is now not the right time?" He glanced around awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “You okay? You’re… staring at me like I’ve got three heads.”

Your chest ached as memories of him flooded your mind—his snarky comments, his whole bravado of masking the insecurities he’d never admit to, the way he’d always tried to prove himself to feel like he had a place in the group. Others may havve not noticed those signs, but you did. You were all too familiar with it. And then, the memory of that night. The night the explosion happened and he… died. A part of you had been buried alongside him that day, and yet, here he was, alive and breathing, standing before you like the universe was playing some cruel joke.

He was frustrating at most times, sure, but you missed him more than you ever admitted. Even to yourself.

Might do Claggor soon too, both are such handsome fellas 🤭 Idc what you think about Mylo and his mustache, I love him

[snoozisworld]

Bi-Han x Fem!Reader - Arranged Marriage HCS (Part II)

A/N: AHHH finally. part dos. its really late cuz i lowkey forgot to set a timer for this to post soooooo my bad. anyways part 2 is also long so buckle up.

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It's finally the day of the wedding, how will this go?:

- Today's the day. Bi-han's most dreaded event. The wedding.

- The preparations were hell. Maids and workers frantically running around, making sure everything was perfect. Bi-han hated it.

- He wanted to train today, but his father forbade him from it, as the preparation's would take up most of the day and, "He cant have the groom be late for his own wedding".

- Bi-han was in a sour mood all day, everyone in the venue avoided him like the plague in fear that they would be the next victim he would verbally attack.

- He just didn't understand. If this wedding's sole purpose was to seal in the alliance for good, why go all out? its not like its an actual normal wedding, it was just . . . so fucking stupid.

- After a few hours, the venue was complete. It was beautiful, various decorations such as flowers, table cloths and the altar arch were all a soft blueish green color combined with a clean white.

- The blue symbolizing the Lin Kuei, the green symbolizing your clan. If this was a real wedding, between two people who actually loved each other, Bi-han would have actually enjoyed it.

- Instead he was silently brooding in his dressing room, staring daggers into the person who was working around his outfit. He was fitted in a traditional blue long tang suit, embroidered with different gold and white accents.

- He looked in the mirror and briefly wondered what his mother would think; as he took in his appearance he actually saw some truth in Kuai Liang's statement; his mother, despite the real reason, would be proud of him getting married.

- He had barely heard the nervous worker exclaim he was done, and that it was almost time for the wedding to start.

- Standing at the altar, Bi-han felt like he's been waiting an eternity. He tried to look for his father and brothers in the crowd, but after seeing everyones eyes on him he immediately went back to looking at the wall.

- Finally, he saw you walking down the aisle. you had a veil (honggaitou) covering your face, and you wore a traditional sage green cheongsam.

- After taking your place in front of the altar, the officiant started the wedding ceremony. but Bi-han couldn't care less.

- He was too busy staring at your damned veil, and despite his personal vendetta against you, not seeing your face was just was just as annoying as seeing it.

- Finally the vows are over, and he has to lift up your veil.

- And there it was, your face. Your annoyingly beautiful face. You looked up at him as the veil lifted and he briefly wondered if you felt the same emotions he was feeling.

- You wore such a calm expression, it only served to make Bi-han angrier.

- You both bowed and walked off the altar, and just like that, the wedding was officially over.

- The next few hours were the banquet, the drinks, the food, etc. None of which Bi-han, or you for that matter, participated in.

- You both made a beeline to your respective bedrooms and stayed there the rest of the night.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Life as a married couple:

- The first few weeks after the wedding were painfully quiet, with you spending most of your time in the kitchen, the bedroom or the garden, and Bi-han training with his brothers, doing paperwork and shadowing his father.

- Until one night Bi-han came back from a particularly dangerous mission, and had cuts and wounds all over his body.

- He sat in your now shared bedroom, much to Bi-han's dismay, trying to stitch himself up.

- Unfortunately for Bi-han, he was not the best medic, and just kept injuring himself further. That's when you entered the bedroom and saw him stumbling and fiddling around with a needle.

- When you offered to help for the first time, he just told you off rather rudely. You considered just leaving him there, maybe he'd get a nasty infection from all the horrible stitching he's doing. But you're not that evil.

- So you stubbornly ask again and again, until Bi-han looks at you with a pointed look and begrudgingly hands over the needle.

- You stitch him up gracefully, with the upmost care. Bi-han didn't know how to react, feeling your soft hands practically gliding over his skin gave him goosebumps.

- He eventually just closed his eyes, and let you work quietly. You softly hummed as you continued working, something Bi-han found strangely comforting.

- After you were done, you set down the tools and looked at him with an expression he couldn't quite figure out.

- He finally realized what you were looking at, the cut on his cheek.

- You weren't staring at him just to stare, you were asking for permission.

- And Bi-han relented, letting you mend his face too. And he didn't know whether he regretted his decision or if he was thankful that you were there.

- If he thought the feeling of your hands on his arms was nice, the feeling of your hands on his face was next level.

- Bi-han felt . . . good. He admittedly loved the feeling, and enjoyed being taken care of by you.

- Suddenly you were done, and you retracted your hands from his face faster than he would've liked.

- But that simple act of kindness managed to change how Bi-han viewed you.

- He started eating your food and eating with you.

- You started accompanying him to his office, helping with some of the paperwork.

- He even started engaging in conversations with you. The more he learned about you the more he fell in love. Something Bi-han didn't actually think was possible for him.

- After months of dancing around each other's feelings, something unexpected happened.

- You were sitting down at your vanity when Bi-han entered the room. He was holding something.

- You looked up at him, then down at his hands. You asked him about what he was holding and he just told you to stand up and face him.

- And when you did, he opened his hands to reveal a stunning necklace. You were in awe and so surprised that he got you a gift your eyes welled up.

- You turned around and faced away from him, and he clipped the necklace on your neck. You looked in the mirror and you couldn't hold back your tears.

- You faced him again and thanked him, you had no idea Bi-han was capable of doing this.

- For a moment Bi-han looked at your tear-filled face and thought you looked beautiful while you cried too.

- You hugged him, and while it took Bi-han by surprise, he just pulled away and cupped your face.

- He expressed his gratitude for you, and as the man of a few words that he is, he just finished by kissing you.

- After pulling away and seeing you look so . . . elated, he realized maybe this whole arranged marriage thing wouldn't be so bad after all.

(2/2)

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A/N: im finally done and my neck hurts. hope u guys enjoyed this :))

[peacheesex]

Aightt,I had an idea for fluff dtk x (gn)reader who is Asymmetrical, meaning their appearance is Asymmetrical/messy n they're somewhat more chaotic. Basically a whole polar opposite of Kid. But yet they somehow work together,as if they complete each other(like reader helping Kid calm down when he's worried abt smth being asymmetrical too much,n Kid calming down reader when they act as if they got sugar overdose n would destroy everything on their way)

Basically yin n yang couple,,,

It can be a oneshot,or headcanon,or both,,I'd lov to read anything:))

OMG THIS IS BASICALLY ESU 72(my OC) AND KID ALREADY EJFKEKFK dw I got this in the baaaaag😔😔😔👏👏👏👏 This just an excuse to ramble about how much I LOOOOVE THIS DYNAMIC😩😩😩 (Pictures of Esu will be at the end if you're curious about her!)

Death the Kid x Asymmetrical!Reader~☆٭꙳

TW: Kid swears cuz he's potty mouth, other than that we gucci!!

☆ You.

☆ YOU.

☆ You were HORRIBLY asymmetrical and so unbearably friendly. With your stupid outfit and uneven bangs. They were lopsided!! Oh it drove him CRAZY.

☆ But your overly friendly rear end just keeps on /showing/ up. You never seem to want to leave him alone.

☆ Everything about you two was different, even down to your colour schemes!

☆ He was a pessimist, you were an optimist. He was an asshole, you were a ray of sunshine. He was a ballerina, you were a punk. (/j about that one.)

☆ Even your combat styles managed to be opposites with him being far ranged and fast you being hand to hand and a little slower.

☆ But somehow, that made you guys work like clock work almost.

☆ Where he falters, you cover him. And where you struggle, he picks up your slack.

☆ For instance, he isn't the most social person but definitely knows how to carry a conversation where as you want to make friends, but you're extremely awkward.

☆ So he'll help pull up topics for you while you do all the talking for him.

☆ Me thinks you guys would have matching outfits, but in an opposites kinda way.

☆ Like he'd wear black and purple with yellow accents and you'd wear white and yellow with purple accents. You feel me?

☆ You're also kind of more on the dumb side, so he helps you with homework since he's the brains of the two of you.

☆ But you're infuriating little grin makes up for your dense noggin.

☆ You probably wear lots of colours opposed to Kid's monochromatic colour scheme. Like that one rainbow hair girl and the goth one, yeah that's you and Kid.

☆ I imagine you'd also try your best to straighten paintings with Kid but always be an inch off and he'd rant and rave at you.

☆ But he also apologizes after cuz he realises he was being a douche and you were just trying your best:(

☆ "Damnit, I'm sorry that was impolite. I... didn't mean any of that. You're much more than trash, I assure you."

☆ There was one time you made a bracelet for him, but he refused to wear it cuz it'd make him asymmetrical and unbalanced so you turned around and left.

☆ He thought he upset you so he went to find you, turns out you were making a matching bracelet for him to wear on the other arm so he'd stay balanced.

☆ God he loves you so much and doesn't even realise it. Boy is down bad.

☆ You guys really are like the sun and moon, a golden retriever and a black cat.

☆ Completely opposite, but that also makes you perfectly balanced. You two work together in perfect sync and fill in gaps the other leaves. Two pieces of a puzzle stuck together flawlessly.

☆ Like the little dancers in a music box.

☆ No matter how much of this you point out though, he'll still vehemently deny all of it.

☆ But like, you also do your best to fold toilet-paper for him so maybe you're not too bad. (He would die for you.)

-----

Heeeere's Esu! I'd lore dump for hours but that'd make this post ten times as long٩( ᐛ )و So I'll leave it with just the info in the reference! Hope you enjoyed the little thingy, stay hydrated and eat well!!! ✨✨✨

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Could I get a Zinnia with Epel please? I feel like missing someone in particular would add another layer to his homesickness, and the longer he spent in Pomfiore the more he'd miss being told he was charming (generally just having any sort of affirmation), especially if it's during his first year and he's not accustomed to being away from them for so long.

Epel Felmier:

Zinnia - confessing how much they are missing you.

You were a little taste of home.

After a long day in class Epel couldn’t help but look forward to your phone call, prying about his day like he was the most interesting person on the planet. Compared to your life back at home, all the things he experienced daily must’ve seemed like he was on an entirely different planet, which is exactly how he felt when first coming to NRC. He enjoyed this new life but he missed home, and talking to you certainly reminded him of all the good he experienced in Harveston.

Sometimes, he longed to hear your voice, or your comforting accent, or just a general update so he knew everyone back home was doing okay. He felt like he could finally relax while you were talking, even slipping back into his accent which always had you in a fit of giggles. You joked it was like being on the phone with two different people at times, and it made him want to ask which one you preferred. Would you like him as he was at NRC, or would you prefer that country boy you had known your entire life?

“I’m so excited to come see you for Halloween! I can’t believe it’s open to the public.” You had been gushing about it from the second he mentioned it, and suddenly he was feeling some regret.

What if you really didn’t like the new him? At this point he felt like he couldn’t win no matter the action you took; he missed you as it was and seeing you would be a great opportunity, but then he might get an answer to a question he wasn’t brave enough to pose yet…

He must’ve audibly sighed by accident as you respond with a mumbled, “What are you so mopey about? You…don’t want me to come?”

He feels the panic set in as your question is tinged in sadness, and he’s easily able to understand what you’re thinking. That he was ashamed of you, or that he didn’t want anyone in Pomefiore to meet you, or that he had truly wanted to leave you behind when he went off to bigger and better things in NRC. He doesn’t want you to think that since it was the farthest thing from the truth but he still has his own anxieties about seeing you again.

Hadn’t he promised he’d be cooler and way more muscular by now to impress you?

“No! That ain’t it—I want you to come! I miss you! But the cost for you to get here… I don’t want you to waste your money when I might not be able to see you much.” Epel is sweating bullets, positive that even Vil’s make-up couldn’t withstand the droplets sliding down his face.

You’re silent, and he’s worried he hadn’t gotten his point across properly.

Until you finally break the silence.

“…So, you miss me?”

Did he say that? Did he really admit that? Epel suddenly can’t remember what he said, his thoughts spiraling as he squeezed his phone so tight his knuckles turned white. He couldn’t have, right? Why would he admit that out loud? Why would he say it right to you and possibly open a new line of questioning he was absolutely unwilling to confront right at this moment?

He hung up the phone.

He could say it was from holding his phone so tightly that the screen was confused from all the pressure and just ended, but he knew you weren’t stupid. He couldn’t insult your intelligence like that. He needed time to think, to explain, maybe he was blowing this completely out of proportion. Missing someone didn’t imply anything, right? Friends missed each other. Friends probably didn’t freak out the way he did when saying they missed each other though, but you didn’t see his reaction so you couldn’t possibly know, right?

His phone vibrated and he raised the screen to his face, dreading the message he might’ve received.

‘just another week and we’ll be together again. try not to miss me too much!!’

He’d have to save his response for tomorrow, his hands far to shaky to type out a response.

[pennyserenade]

the devil hath power

pairing: coriolanus snow x f!reader, coriolanus snow x you, coriolanus snow x nameless reader (no use of y/n) rating: e (explicit, 18+) tags/warnings: talk of sex work (sometimes negatively), sex work, dubious consent, illusions of sex, talk of previous sexual acts, class differences, classism. word count: 4.4k summary: Coriolanus Snow catches up with an old acquaintance. Neither of them really recognizes the other, not in any way that matters, but that's just as well for the scion of the Plinth family fortune. Well, until the meeting takes a turn he hadn't expected it to. a/n: well. fiction is such a slippery slope sometimes. i in no way condone the actions of coriolanus snow, nor am i romanticizing him or what he would come to do later. i think he's a vile person. having said that, i wouldn't consider this a scathing, well-crafted critique of him, either. i wanted to explore this character, to see what made him tick by putting him in a situation where he has to confront issues he merely bumped into in the book/movie. there is a high possibility of a part 2.

part two | part three

She had not asked for Coriolanus’ name because she had not needed to. Tonight, when she had turned to look at him, she knew. His white locks had been made iridescent under the shine of the club lights and he had pressed an orderly hand to the crease of her elbow before leaning in and asking her about her services, but even beneath the cool facade of his professionalism, she knew. Even despite the fact that she hadn’t seen him since they were children, she knew. 

Illuminated in a soft hue now, Coriolanus looked sharp. He was not only angular, having retained the features of his youth, but honed in, acutely attuned to the surroundings in which she had taken him. Dressed in his Capital attire, he achieved the effect of looking both handsome and ever-important, even merely standing at the end of her bed, arms bowed behind him. His eyes, seas of piercing blue typically, were darker now, covered by the veil of orange thrown from her bedside lamp. He looked impossibly grown, so much older than even herself, the way adults had when she was a child. 

She would describe him as a statuesque beauty, with hair so blond it faired white--like stony marble under a wash of sunlight. He had bow lips, long lashes, but they were paired with a generous nose and hard, serious eyes, masculine twists meant to overrule how pretty he indeed was. He reminded her of the paintings of kings, standing ramrod straight, noble in essence as much as material. Beneath her gaze, he attempted to wear a face of careful neutrality, and it worked—aside from the occasional tic of his jaw.

The backsplash of her bedroom, which had smelled vaguely of mildew for a long time, and which was void of any real material excess, seemed to embarrass them both. She was not used to men like him—men who had a sense of themselves within these four walls. Seduction was easier when men were rendered stupid by their desire, but Coriolanus seemed neither possessed nor particularly interested in his. If he was aroused, the sleek design of his suit did much to conceal it. Given, she had not so much as taken off a single layer of clothing but then, most men were stumbling at the door frame of her apartment building, swelling from the mere anticipation of what she offered. But not Coriolanus. He studied her with a surgeon’s precision, clinical and measured.

His throat bopped and their lapse of silence, which had begun after she had escorted him out of the club, continued on, steady. She’d been with men like him before, many of them. They all had the designs of fortune and wealth written into their fates, had since they were born, but eventually it ran deeper, weaving into their accents, their dress, their stance, their occupations, their beliefs. Rumor had it that Coriolanus Snow had his sights on the presidency. She could see it to be true. Word of mouth had it that he was already what they called a Gamemaker’s assistant, and young one. Brilliant, tenacious, and perfectly angry. It was odd to see him as such, having remembered him as something of a precocious fawn—a white haired boy who sat quietly and absorbed the world through azure eyes when they were children. But then this was life. 

If wanted her to she'd praise him for the Games, tell him about the brilliance of his young mind for contriving such a sinister punishment for the little ruts of the Districts. She’d done it before. At first it had felt like selling a part of herself she had not been prepared to auction off, but it came to mean next to nothing, just another act. Like the men that entered her ruined home and laid her down despite the noxious fumes of an expired dream wafting around them, she felt as if this interaction did not count. As if it wasn’t real. They grunted and huffed and used her, but she used them, too. For money. For power. Sometimes even for pleasure—but very rarely. 

“Do you want me to undress?” she spoke demurely. 

His face contorted with a flash of distaste before it went back to cool indifference. She made a note of this. Vulgarity, directness—it was not his flavor. Maybe he liked Avox silence; men had such proclivities. The rich and powerful typically had wives who could play the part of the beautifully silent, but some of them still wanted it. 

He wetted the bottom of his lip. “I remember you.” 

“Yes. I studied with you,” she confessed. There was no point in lying.“As children. Not so much when we got older.”

“Right,” he nodded, “I knew you looked familiar.” 

He began to inspect the meager contents of her room. Everything felt anachronistic when he stood next to it, ugly and decrepit in comparison to his modern look. He picked up a music box she had been gifted as a child, his lips twitching into a grin as the ballerina began to twirl mechanically. For a moment he watched it, filling the entire room with the melodic sounds of her childhood. It was dream-like and bitter.

Did he remember what she had looked like back then? How the sleek red uniform fit her, or how the shiny Mary Janes on her feet were always polished, or how the ruffles of her white socks were perfect, never out of place? They’d all been so grandiose before the Dark Days, so conceited and pleasantly happy. And now—well. This. 

The lid of the box snapped shut. Over his shoulder Coriolanus said, “As I grow older, I’ve begun to find music terribly frivolous. I’m sure you can agree.” 

He continued to look, fingers poking around in trays of old jewelry, picking up compacts of makeup and smiling softly as he turned the items in his hands. “It’s like a museum,” he whispered. His eyes searched out for her. Something infinitely softer took hold of him for a moment. “This is what I remember from before…Incredible.” Then, almost instantly, a perceptible change: “Why, if you sell yourself to clients as rich as you do, do you live in squalor? Surely you don’t do what you do for fun?” 

The criticism latent in his tone made her defenses rise, but her resignation made her stronger; she sat up, stock straight, and looked at him through a narrowed gaze. This wasn’t the first time a man of his stature had done something like this. It was common at first. They snapped at her like she was the one who had guided them here, but eventually they accepted it for what it was, or they pretended it wasn’t anything at all. 

“Why are you here, Coriolanus?” she asked evenly. 

The compact was replaced on her table as he turned to face her fully. He smiled and somehow it was cruel because it belonged to him. “Because I want to know,” he answered, “how the other half lives.” 

Her lips twisted up. “The other half?” 

“Those who didn’t make it out of the Dark Days. Those who have resorted to—“ he swung his hand, motioning to the room, to her “—to this and other acts like it.” 

She turned to look out the window. Outside the Capital sparkled in the night; it was a city once again bustling with life, beautiful and ornate, no doubt at the bloom of its productivity. This view made everything seem worth it at times. “And your estimate?” she asked. 

“Not finished,” he answered plainly. 

Out of the corner of her eye she watched him shrug off his overcoat. He slung it over a wooden chair that sat by the door. 

“Sorry there’s no coat check; I’ve seemed to have left it in the past,” she taunted. 

He answered her sharpness with a look of haughty disdain.

“Bad customer service,” was the remark that carried over to her — a verbal tsk tsk. There was an impishness to it, too. Her inability to read him from moment to moment — or rather, the fact that she was constantly having to reanalyze him — was confounding. It discontented her. 

“Mr. Snow,” she began, but he interfered almost immediately. 

“Please — Coriolanus.” 

Her eyebrow rose. “Is that what you prefer?” 

He read between the lines, smirking. “It’s what you said before —it’s what you prefer.” A laugh, less wicked than the smile but not entirely void of it, sounded through the room. It was so goddamn rich, not velvet and warmth, but cold, calculated. Like the cool of gold on warm skin. “Believe it or not, I’m not here for the sake of illicit pleasure. I can’t say this particular occupation feels me with—“ He waved an absent hand “—joy, for lack of a better word.”

She breathed out through her nose. “Do let us not pretend that you don’t know the word lust. Arousal. Horny. You’re brilliant, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you know about these things?” 

His angular jaw ticked once more. “Whores are all so crass, aren’t they? The ignominy of being a body that someone can buy–doesn’t it make you sick?”

She scoffed. “You’re terribly repressed, given that you sought me out.” 

He shook his head, as if steadying himself. “I want to be President one day and I’m not so naive as to think what you do isn’t in demand—or that it will ever cease to be. Especially here.” His anger began to ebb as he continued. “People are crass; it’s human nature. We are all brutes, primal, ugly when it comes down to it. You watch the Games–you see” His took up his rigidity once more. “I want to learn about it, what you do. The ins, the outs.” 

She stared unblinkingly at him.“That information will cost–a good deal,” she said. 

A flicker of a smile twitched at his lips. “Everything does eventually. That is one thing I do admire about your occupation: it is purely transactional. Perhaps if love was half as simple as this, you wouldn’t have a job.”

“Perhaps not. But it isn’t.” 

“No,” he shook his head, “It’s certainly not.”

She smoothed out the fabric of her dress. “Why me? There’s many women who do what I do.”

The question incited him. She was beginning to pick up on the patterns of his erratic behavior; there was a flare in his eyes, a perceptible twinkle, and his eyebrows lifted slightly. And his lips—they twitched whenever he felt something strongly. “I watched you for a few weeks and I noticed that you were more clever than the other women. They were tactless, too obvious. But you—you played the game beautifully, like it was an art.” He seemed to smile to himself. “You dress Capital, you talk Capital. If you’re hungry, you don’t make it too obvious. You’ve gone into painstaking detail to ensure that you’re undetectable and people want you more for it.”

“So you picked me because I have manners?” 

She wanted to guffaw, to tell him no, but something told her not to. It was not fear as much as the slow drip of anticipation. He hovered near her like a predator getting ready to pounce, a glimmer of unnerving honesty shining in his darkened eyes, and she could see him now for all he was. But she could not understand him. This incited her. 

With the unwavering confidence of a young God, he lifted his chin up and said, “I picked you because I think you know better than most what it is to hunger. You remind me of myself in that way.”

Maybe this should’ve repulsed her most of all, to be put in a box so narrow, so utterly against how she viewed herself. But it didn’t; it made her comfortable, not pilant to wishes but more certain of her own. He’d done a fine job nitpicking her up until this point, but now she had the upper hand again. This was her domain, her game. 

The smug smile that grew on her lips was a mirror of his own. Without taking her eyes off of his, she rose to her knees on the bed and crawled to the end, the blue velvet of her dress pillowing around her knees, her waist. He was an avid watcher, seemingly holding his breath as her arms reached behind her and unzipped the dress. The fabric slipped down her arms, unveiling a creamy silk bra, so thin as to be transparent. 

“It’s new,” he spoke softly, surprised. He seemed to be questioning this. His eyes looked to hers for answers—or maybe they were trying not to look elsewhere, lest they find something they liked. 

“My home may be out of fashion but I am not,” she cooed. Charm. He wanted charm. She could see that plainly now. Coriolanus was a man who needed to be in control but he wanted to be seduced. He was just like the rest of them. 

Peeling off the rest of the cocktail dress, she bared to him the matching cream bottoms, which were just as sheer as the top. She knew what he could see: her mons pubis, the seductive patch of hair that promised more. And he looked, too. Of course he did. They all said they wouldn’t and then they did and this man, however brilliant he may be, however cool and calculated, was just like the rest of them. This simple fact thrilled her more than anything had in a long while. 

To think if life had gone the way it was supposed to, she might’ve married someone like him. Maybe it might have even been him. His family had come from what her mother would’ve referred to as “good stock” and his father Crassus had been a close acquaintance of her father’s. It seemed, however, that Crassus had prepared more adequately for his own children than her father had his. If she hadn’t contended with the fact so long ago, she might’ve hated Coriolanus based on the simple fact that he’d remained intact after the war and she hadn’t. 

“I won’t sleep with you for money,” he spoke up. His voice did not quiver but she could sense the weakness settling in.  

Her fingers tucked beneath the collar of his dress shirt. “And I won’t sleep with you for free,” she said in response. She leaned close to him, so close she could feel his breath on her face. “And moreover, to answer your question from earlier: there’s no ignominy to being a body for sale because it sells for an awful lot, Coriolanus. I’m wise with my money. I’m headed towards a staggering amount of wealth, and I’ve got good sense. You pegged me right, but you also got me terribly wrong.”

“This place—“ he began but she cut him off. 

“Is hollowed out and pathetic, I agree. But one day it won’t be, and when that day comes I won’t take people like you to it.” 

Another lip twitch. “How much?”

“For what?” She smoothed out the fabric, running her hands down his arms. 

“What you do—your services.” 

“It depends.”

He stiffened. “On what?”

“What they ask me to do. How long. Where. Who they are.”

His head hung before he came out with his next sentence.  “And for me, what would it cost?”

“What do you want?” 

“This is hypothetical,” he reminded her coolly. Placing his hands over hers and moving them, he attempted to sway them back to their uneven dynamic. She could feel the tremble in his hand as he did. 

“Hypothetically, what would you want?” she corrected. She sat her hands in her lap.  

“Tell me what you do.” 

“That’ll cost,” she reminded. 

Though he smiled, she could tell his patience with her was wearing. “I’ll pay anything,” he repeated. For  effect or perhaps for power he added, “And I do mean anything. If you want to once again take your rightful place amongst the people in the Capital, I’ll see to it.”

She licked her lips and considered him. “For a man who hates people like me, you’re sure forgiving.”

“Like I said, you remind me of myself.” He gripped her chin between his fingers and she gasped from the unexpected coldness of his flesh on hers, but did not flinch. His hold was not rough or commanding, but oddly familiar, almost affectionate. 

“When I was younger, there was this girl,” he began, staring down at her lips, “She was just someone in a dark alleyway that my friends had gotten me as a dare. We kissed and kissed, but it felt like nothing. It was just kissing—and that’s what I thought it was for a long time. It wasn’t particularly exciting, nothing to ruin yourself for. Then there was another girl.” His jaw set. “I’m sorry to say I loved this girl, to the point of destruction, to the point of foolishness. After her I understood why a man might seek girls like you out. I find it distasteful, but that’s what we are as a people. Stupid, primal. We want it all and we always have. That’s why the Districts came to be, and why they always will be.”

He let her go. She watched carefully as he stepped back and began his searching pace around her room once more. His movements carried more deliberation, and none of the objects kept his attention this time. She let him speak, let him run himself into whatever dark, myopic hole he was headed towards. 

“They like their cocks sucked,” he spoke with open vulgarity, almost as if delighting in the freedom of the word. He was like a school boy who tries out a naughty word for the first time and finds it fits in his youthful mouth too well; he’ll go his whole youth trying not to say it again around the adults. “I imagine rough too, and in impersonal positions, except for those few unexceptional men who have wives that don’t particularly like them or want them. Maybe they don’t even have wives, your men.” He laughed through his nose at the idea, and let himself get carried away in the broken world he made of these men. “Yes. You’ve got insecure men at your door, ones who are ashamed and pleading and they fuck you like you mean everything to them. They hate themselves and what they’ve done. Weak men who can’t cope with their power or their riches. I knew a man like that. He would’ve paid you billions. Would’ve asked you to marry him before you even touched him out of some imagined indenture he had to people like you.” 

Coriolanus smiled ruefully, but his voice was hard and bitter. “He was a goddamn fool. Not all are like that, though.” 

She caught his eyes in her old vanity. His eyebrows rose in question. She nodded, though not necessarily in agreement with anything he said. She wanted him to continue. 

“Sometimes you get men like me. Of course not exactly like me, but they aren’t the weaker of us. They’re strange, exotic, and think that whatever takes hold of them will ruin them one day so they’ve got to go to you. They can’t ask a Capital girl to do what they want. It depends on the upbringing, but I imagine these men have a wide selection of desires, some decidedly repulsive and some so wholesome, so mundane, you find them endearingly, or even irritatingly, prudish. For example, a man who likes to get on his knees and taste you.” 

Her mouth opened as if to speak, and he seemed to sense this imperceptible movement, turning around. She looked at him and he, back at her. “It’s not repulsive,” she said softly. “Nothing I let them do to me is ever repulsive. I have my boundaries.”

This seemed to excite him most of all. “Of course. Where’s the line, then?” 

“When they ask me to pretend to be a District girl. That one…your tribute—“

“Lucy Gray,” he whispered. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she heard reverence in his voice. Anguish. 

“Her. I got a lot of requests for a while.” 

She could not tell what went over him in that moment, only that it was overwhelming. He ran his hand through his hair and swallowed hard. “And you never did that?” he asked her, his tone almost accusatory. 

She was happy to answer honestly: “Never.”

He nodded, pacing the floor again. He was more manic, as if set off by this information. “Do they tell you secrets, these men?”

“Yes,” she answered simply. 

“Do you tell their secrets?” 

She shook her head once in answer. He was made of stone, total nothingness. “Not once. It’s why I’m so popular,” she added. He nodded. 

“Your favorite clients, what are they like?” This question seemed like a throwaway, one he asked because he couldn’t think straight. 

She frowned watching him. “They’re somewhere between the men you call weak and the ones you think are most like you. Some of them are young, about our age. There’s nothing wrong with them, not even what they ask for.”

He continued his pace. “And what do they ask for?”

“For normal sex, sometimes slow, sometimes fast. Sometimes they just want to kiss me. One of my favorites asked me about my life, this room, the hallway, the pictures no one ever seemed to notice. In turn told me about himself. He wanted normal conversation, a man and a woman speaking as if nothing in the world had ever gone wrong. He wanted to pretend, I guess.” She shrugged. She didn't remember his name, only that he was important in an insignificant way—at least that’s how he described it. She never saw him again. 

“What else?” Coriolanus began to slow. He chewed at his fingernails and remained vaguely distracted. 

“Another came in his pants, tasting of me, like you called it.” He wasn’t one of her favorites, but the vividness of it did what she wanted it to: Coriolanus appeared interested. He titled his head to the side, as if approving of the story. She was putting on a show for him. If he was more transparent she could imagine him asking for more like that. So she gave more. “And another wanted me to rub against him, clothed. He wanted me to sit in his lap and make myself orgasm. And another, he wanted to watch. Some men are like that. He stood where you are now and he touched himself as I spoke. And another touched himself while I touched myself. Though I guess you figure that might be crass.” 

His sleek suit did little to conceal what the last image inspired in him. A red tint gathered on his cheeks and he raised his hand. “That’ll be enough.” 

She stopped speaking. A seed had been planted, and this victory was hers even if she did nothing with it. How terrible this was for a composed Coriolanus Snow. His hand clutched at the bedpost and he looked at her then with unflinching distaste. And then it came: a wave of astounding want when the band of her thin bra slid down her arm. She reached out for him but he did not go. 

“Why?” he whispered. 

She looked up at him earnestly. “Why not?” she returned. 

Cupping her cheeks in the hollow of his hands, he leaned in and kissed her with a bruising intensity. No affection, no illusion. He kissed much like he did business: straight to the narrow point. It was the shortest minute of her life and yet also the longest. When he released her, he looked as he had before. Strong. Unwaveringly cool. His blue eyes shut her out and his freshly kissed lips did not even so much as twitch. But something had changed. 

“That’ll be enough,” he echoed again. He was trying to find strength in his convictions, but not doing very well with it. It was not often he found himself in the position of relenting his control, but where there was hunger, there was a divine need to quelch it, no matter the cost. And he did hunger: for knowledge, for desire, for her. How he despised the pang of it in his chest, no foreign object but an unwelcome visitor. 

His finger trailed down her neck to her shoulder. He took the strap of her bra between his hands and drew it down. She let him. The anticipation came back to her. He was like a game, something she would contend with later. It was like her job, like her position in life: things she dealt with one incremental step at the time until what was big felt little. This would not make her a bad person. 

She shimmed the fabric beneath her breast and he looked apathetic, almost as if she had driven him past the point of even frustration. But the bulge in his slacks grew. Pride swelled in her chest but she remained stoic, pliant, hoping against hope that he’d give in, do what a thousand men before him had done, if only she could convince him it was his doing. What a better way to learn what the Capital wanted than to experience it for yourself? She wanted to ravage him, to take from him his stubborn distaste, to make him into one of those pathetic, warbling men in his imaginings. One day you’ll be ruined by this. 

But sense came to him, bit by bit. He heaved a sigh, as if disappointed by some external factor that had forced his hand, and returned a silky strap to her shoulders. She watched, both surprised and confused. He smiled, but it was void of anything substantial as joy. Maybe there was defeat, but she wasn’t sure.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he said, stepping towards the door and towards his coat on the chair. She watched the muscles of his back ripple beneath his shirt as he slipped the red fabric back on, quietly astounded by the abrupt way he had changed track. 

“My money,” the words found her. 

He nodded his head, but did not turn. “You’ll get it,” he promised. His voice bounced off the door, hollow and thin. 

She eyed him carefully, waiting for him to open the door and escape out of it. She wanted him to. There was a certain cowardice to this action, too, something that she could cope with and he wouldn’t be able to. His hand went to the door, white on gold, and he clinched it. “Next time, the game will be different,” he said. 

And with those parting words, he was gone.  

[ekat-fandom-blog]

Jazz found a magical artifact that bound itself to her. Asking Danny and his friends in the GZ made it clear that the artifact wasn't related to ghosts. When she brought it up around Dani, the young girl suggested they ask this friendly(ish) half demon girl that she met while on her travels.

So they left Amity to find Raven.

As soon as they stepped into Jump City, though, they found themselves pulled into some dangerous bs involving being sacrificed to some demon. Everything they had on them was taken by the cultists. Including the artifact.

The artifact started to glow as it got further and further from Jazz until, at 10 feet away, it spun out of the cultist's hands and went straight into Jazz's chest. She'd started freaking out, until she realized she was being surrounded by a very bright light and floating.

By the time she dropped back to the ground, only stumbling slightly, she noticed that she was in a different outfit. It wasn't what she'd normally wear, but it surprisingly suited her. It was a mostly light blue dress with black accents. She also noticed that the rope that was tying her hands together was gone. There was also a really pretty blue and black bat with a bow on its handle in her hands.

"Who are you? Where'd the other girl go?" one of the cultists asked, gaining her attention.

Jazz was confused. She didn't change that much.

Then the jerks started attacking her. She was able to dodge their attacks due to their sloppiness and landed a few herself. They started using broken pipes and chairs as weapons but she'd been trained by two hyper competent scientists in self defense. They weren't going to stand a chance against a Fenton, much less one with their preferred weapon.

After she won the fight, the door was busted down by a black haired kid wearing green, red, yellow, and black leading four other teens. They seemed ready to fight until they noticed Jazz untying her sister and most of the cultists passed out from head trauma related injuries.

Before the 5 teens could ask questions though, Dani asked her where she went. She'd returned to normal after the fight, and didn't know what to make of it.

"What do you mean where did I go? I was right here?" Jazz replied.

"No?" Dani replied confused. "You disappeared and a girl in a blue and white dress appeared."

"That was me," Jazz said, starting to become drained. "The stupid artifact went into my chest and there was a flash of light then I was in that dress."

The group had snuck up on the two girls during their brief conversation. Raven spoke first. "Can I see the artifact?"

Jazz jumped and spun around. "Oh! Sure." and then handed it to Raven.

Raven floated away from the group to let Robin take over asking the two questions. She turned the artifact over in her hands a few times before summoning a book and searching through it until she found the page she was looking for. The description matched.

She rejoined the group and told them what she found out. "It's a rather new artifact as far as artifacts go. It was created as a set of three in the early 1990s. They were meant to find people who were "pure of heart" or had "strong senses of justice" that didn't feel like they were able to help and bind themselves to those people. According to the book, the person that created them wanted to create their own set of "magical girls" and spelled the artifacts to be able to give their hosts a set of powers, outfits, and weapons based on the host's personalities."

It took a few moments for it to sink in, but when it did Cyborg, Beast Boy, and Dani started snickering. Starfire was confused but happy. Robin and Jazz had very similar reactions, responding with a nearly perfectly timed "What?"

Here are some magical girl associated powers, if you were curious.

[takumasheisty]

You’ve been away all day, and you left your precious Bertholdt at home. Alone. Not only did you leave him by himself, but you gave him a firm order; do not touch yourself.

He can remember exactly what you said before you left to run your errands. And the tone you said it in.

“Wait until I get home, and I’ll have a surprise for you. Be a good boy, bye!” Then you smiled and shut the door like you didn’t just give him an impossible challenge.

“O-okay.” He responded, long after you had already gone. Bertholdt wandered the house, wondering what to do to pass time. He sat down and put on a random viewing of a show. He tried to focus on the show but he couldn’t. Soon he got up and walked to your shared bedroom. If he couldn’t find anything to do then he would just sleep the time away.

He crawled into the bed and found a comfortable position. Trying to put himself to sleep, he grabbed his phone and began scrolling through some random feeds on his page.

“This is stupid. When will she be home?” Bertholdt dropped his phone on the bed and sprawled out, staring at the celing. He missed you greatly, and hated to be away from you for any period of time, but of course it wasn’t possible to be next to you at all times, you were your own person.

He picked up his phone once more, and began scrolling through his following out of boredom. Scrolling and scrolling until he found your user. His eyes lit up with happiness at the sight of your name, and eagerly clicked on your profile.

As he scrolled through your posts, he noticed a specific photo of you and him together at your graduation banquet. He sighed lovingly, you were just so beautiful with your dark skin and thick lips. Those lips that suck-.. what? He shook that thought from his head and continued scrolling through your page.

Soon, he comes across a beach photo from a few months back. You and him had taken a little photo shoot on the beach, Bertholdt your photographer. The photo is captioned “beach date with my Bertie :)” Although he wasn’t very fond of nicknames, he cherished the one you gave him the most.

He admired your dark curls and beautiful smile, wishing that you were there with him. But his eyes start to wander, down to your breasts, and how cheeky that bathing suit was. A gorgeous sage green bathing suits with brown accents that he had bought you for your birthday. His face became slightly red, as he thought about how you’re all his, and he’s all yours.

And he thinks back to the “suprise” that you’re bringing him later.

All of a sudden, your sweet Bertie is hard.

“S-shit.. I promised I wouldn’t.” He thinks to himself, squeezing his thighs together to try and null some of the pain, but it seems as if it’s getting worse.

“No. I c-can’t” He squeezes his eye lids shut and tries to forget about you, knowing that’s impossible.

The second it seems like he has his dick under control, he gets a notification, a sound that is unique to your messages. Quickly, he turns to his phone, smiling.

He opens the message, and he sees a photo of you. You in lingerie. “How does this look, Bertie? Or should I get a different color?” His eyes widened at the sight of the green lace, tied together with pretty white bows. His favorite color.

“Beautiful, my love. I love green on you so much.” He responds, almost after a good 5 minutes of looking.

“Thanks Bertie! I hope you’re being a good boy for me at home :)” You knew what you were doing to him. You just had to. There was no way!

He looks at your message and places his phone down. Now he’s really hard, and there’s no way rubbing his thighs together will suffice.

“She doesn’t have to know.. right? If I just do it really quick before she gets home it’ll be alright.” Bertholdt tells himself. He reaches into his sweats and pulls out his hard dick.

He sharply inhales at the cold sensation of his hand, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m pathetic. I can’t even wait a few hours for her to come back.” He scolds himself, but it’s too late to stop once he’s started.

He begins moving his hand up and down his shaft, breathing unsteadily. Closing his eyes, he imagines you and your soft hand, doing it for him. He even switches to his left hand to make it easier to visualize you.

He takes his other hand and runs it up and down his body, trying to mimic your movements, and it does help a little. Slowly, he begins picking up the pace, using his precum as lube.

“H-hah..” Bertie whimpers, still imagining it’s you stroking his cock. He occasionally uses his thumb to create circles around his leaking red tip, then he picks up the pace.

“A-ah.. please Y/N” he doesn’t even know what he’s begging for. All he knows is that he wants, needs you badly.

“I-it feels so.. so g-good Y/N.” As he strokes himself, your name rolls off his tongue like honey. He loves you so much. So much you make him lose focus. So much that he doesn’t hear the jingle of your keys in the door.

Still whimpering your name, Bertie feels that feeling in his stomach. He’s now shifted his free hand to fondle his heavy balls. Making him writhe in pleasure. How he wishes you were here with him.

“Bertieee. You there?” You coo as you walk through the house. Still, your Bertie was too lost in the pleasure to realize you were home.

“F-fuck.. please Y/N, please- please.. come home to me. N-need you.. please..” He knows he probably said that too loud but he doesn’t care, you’re not home anyway, at least that’s what he thinks.

You pause for a moment in the hallway. You call out to him but he doesn’t answer. Slowly you walk up to the door of your shared bedroom and as you’re about to push the door open you hear something.

“Y/N help me.. help me please.. it hurts.. c-can’t.. can’t cum without you..” Was that your precious Bertie..? Begging for you? You can’t help but admit, your panties were getting soaked as you listened to him whimper your name over and over again. You wanted to go in and help him so badly, but you remember what you said before you left home.

Quietly you open the door, careful not to alert Bertholdt. You watch him silently for a few seconds as he aggressively jerks himself off.

“C-close.. please, I’m close..” he whimpers into the room.

“Bertie.” You say in a slightly condescending tone that causes him to suddenly open his eyes. He swears he felt his heart stop for a minute. He rips his hand away from his cock too, unintentionally edging himself.

“Bertie.” You repeat. “My Bertie.. what are you doing?” You ask him, although you know exactly what’s going on.

“N-nothing.” He stutters, face flushing red. He always stutters when he lies, and he knows much better than to lie to you.

“Are you sure? It didn’t seem like you were doing ‘nothing’” you look at him and tilt your head, waiting for a response.

“Hm? I’m waiting Bertie. He averts your eyes, looking around nervously.

“I-I.. um.. sorry!” He winces and looks down like a kicked puppy.

“Sorry for what baby?” You question him.

“I-I disobeyed.. you. I’m sorry! Please forgive me.. I tried. I promise I really tried..“ he pleads, trying to lessen the guilt.

“Hmm. Bertie. You didn’t listen to me. Why?”

“I’m sorry! I really am.. I just missed you so much a-“ he begins rambling and you interrupt him.

“Ah. That’s enough, Bertie.” You say in a disappointed tone and he looks down. The tone he hates the most. You begin to walk over to him and sit on the edge of the bed.

“You know I don’t like when you don’t listen, right? I know you’re a good boy. It must’ve been so hard for you. Hm?”

“Y-yeah.. I’m sorry.. I should’ve listened to you. Please don’t be upset with me..” he looks at you with tears in his eyes, pleading for your forgiveness.

You cup his cheek with one hand, and he leans into your touch even more. With your other hand, you rub down his back, softly.

“You were whimpering my name weren’t you? You need my help hm?” You say with a seemingly sympathetic tone.

He looks away, embarrassed that he was caught. “Y-yes..”

“Since you wanted to cum so bad, I’ll help you.” You take his cock in your hand and squeeze it not so gently. He curls over, sharply inhaling at the sudden friction that he was receiving. He looks over at you with a worried expression, realizing that he’s in for something tonight. You suddenly begin jerking him off, mercilessly.

He moans and whimpers in pleasure as your hand glides up and down his shaft, of course occasionally focusing on his angry tip.

“A-ah.. feels.. feels so good.. love you.. love you a lot Y/N..” you run your hand up and down his toned torso, pinching his nipples slightly harder than usual.

“.. f-fuck.. mmf, c-can’t hold it much.. longer.. going to c-cum soon.” His abs flex more often, indicating his approaching orgasm.

“Y-Y/N g-going.. cum..” he’s not even speaking in full sentences anymore, he’s so fucked out and he just needs release.

“Yeah? Yeah? You gonna cum Bertie?” You encourage him, pushing him closer towards the edge.

“Y-yeah.. yes Y/N! C-cumming! Oh f-fuck!” He releases his cum all over his stomach and the bed sheets.

“T-thank you! Thank you Y/N..!” He cries thank you’s continuously, like he always does when he reaches his release. His cum comes out in thick spurts and doesn’t stop. It seems as though he was really pent up, making you feel bad for what you were planning to do him.

You continue to stroke him through his high, his dick releasing less cum each spurt. But your strokes don’t slow down.

“T-thank you..” Bertie looks at you waiting for you to let go of his dick. But he soon realizes that’s not what you had planned.

“W-wait, Y/N, what- ngh.. what are you.. doing..? He asks you worried.

“Helping you. You wanted to cum right? You insist.

“But.. I already finished..” His cock is still hard, and you continue stroking him even though he’s come down from his high.

“Please.. please slow down.. a-ahh. ‘m s-sensitive.. I can’t go again.” You look up at him with your beautiful brown eyes and he quiets down. He knows this is his punishment, but can he endure it?

“I’m sorry.. please. I won’t do it again. I promise I’ll listen from now on. I promise.. hic- it hurts..”

“My Bertie.. you should’ve thought about this before touching yourself.” You scold him like a misbehaved child.

Tears fall from his deep blue eyes, and he knows his begging won’t do any good. So he sits there and takes what you give him. Throughout all of this, his cock is still hard, contradicting his state of mind. As you continue to stroke him at the same pace, he whimpers quietly, gripping the sheets tightly.

“Ngh- ah..” you and him can both tell the second orgasm is coming soon, and you slightly pick up your pace, spending extra time on the sensitive underside of his cock.

“F-fuck..! H..hurts..! N-no! It h-hurts! Please Y/N I can’t!” He begs desperately, gritting his teeth and shifting left and right. It’s so hot and he’s so overstimulated and he just needs to get out.

“I know, I know. Almost there Bertie. Just hold out a little bit longer, okay?” He shakes his head and cries out.

“C-can’t!”

“You will. You have to.” He opens his eyes to see your firm look, knowing that you’re dead serious.

“M-mhm..!” Now he’s chasing his release that’s so close yet so far. He grips the sheets even tighter and begins thrusting into your tight hand. His breathing becomes more unstable and his moaning gets even louder than before.

“I-it’s coming! oh it’s coming Y/N!.. A-ah..!” He lets go of the sheets and grabs your hand to hold onto as his cock releases his cum. He has a firm grip on your hand, holding onto it as if you’re going to disappear any moment.

“You’re so adorable Bertie. You did such a good job baby.” You hold onto his hand, comforting him. He nods his head slowly at the praise, mouth slightly agape. Can he even hear what you’re saying? His cock releases almost as much as his first orgasm, although the cum isn’t nearly as thick. You still stroke him through his high, slowing down slowly.

When he comes down, he sits up and hugs you tightly. Although you’re a little shocked, you hug him back.

“I’m sorry Bertie, was I a little too hard on you? I think I got a little carried away.. you just looked too cute moaning for me.” you explain to him.

“Uh-uhn… I deserved it. And I kinda… liked it.. that side of you..” he shys away, fiddling with his fingers. You hold back a little giggle, stroking his brown hair.

“Missed you.. so much Y/N.” He whines again.

“I know. But hey! Don’t forget you’re still on punishment. You won’t be getting that suprise tonight.” You scold him while holding his cheek.

“Okay. That’s fine. I think.. I’m tired. I just wanna.. wanna sleep. With you.” The big boy puts more of his weight on you, almost knocking you back.

“Bertie! You’re heavy!” You giggle, pushing him back forward.

“S..sorry..” It’s no use though, looks like he’s already fallen asleep in your arms.

[3zethe3zr]

My Scale Colour Headcanons for the different dragon species:

Mudwings: Scales can be anywhere from Fawn and Cream to Almost-Black browns. Oranges, Reds, Browns, Greys, Greens and Blues are very normal. Fire/Ice/Mind-Proof Mudwings may have a slight crystalline or red hue.

Skywings: Any Warm Colour Goes. Brighter scales are seen as having hotter fire and a more passionate personality, making them the beauty standard. Rarely, blue or grey skywings may be spotted.

Icewings: Incredibly pale colours of any hue, more saturated hues of cold colours or greys. Brown scales seem to be decently common but are seen as unattractive and unconformist.

Sandwings: Any Colour sand can be! We're talkin your standard beige, yellow, cream, brown and red, but also white, pink, black, green and grey. Sandwings are also very to have cold colour accents and funky patterns.

Nightwings: Any colour as long as its dark.

Rainwings: Go crazy go stupid. Rainwings are all hatched with different shades of green scales.

Seawings: Any colour or combination. Blue and Green are the most common though, and blue seawings are seen as the beauty standard. Rarely, seawings can be iridescent.

Leafwings: Greens, Yellows, Oranges and Reds with great variety in accent colours.

Hivewings: Any colour. Though the black and yellow hivewing is the beauty ideal and the most iconic hivewing colour, those with those coloured scales are rather rare. Most hivewings are brown, black or red. Hivewings are the most likely to be iridescent.

Silkwings: Any colour, though blacks, whites, blues, browns and oranges are the most common by far.

[boydepartment]

Dating him

✉️When you first started dating Han it was really no different than how you two actually were before. You both were really close friends and just as touchy and stupid as you are now. Honestly the rest of the boys didn’t know you were dating until 2 months in because it was just that normal for you two to act like a couple.

✉️You did end up finding out though that Han does need alone time sometimes. At the very least 15 minutes a day where he can recharge. Of course sometimes that 15 minutes can be extended due to what kinda day he had, but no matter what when he has bad days you always leave a sweet treat in the fridge with his name on it.

✉️As your relationship would go on, you really start to realize how quiet he can be. Yeah he can be loud and insane sometimes, but when it’s just you two he really loves to just watch movies. Sometimes he’ll talk but for the most part Han will just hold onto you while being completely immersed in whatever is playing on the TV.

✉️Traveling with him is always such a blast. Han loves to go try new restaurants and will happily pay every single time. Then after you two will go shopping and just hang out. It’s very casual and he loves it. He’ll purposely “cosplay as a normal person” as he says, so he can hold your hand in public.

✉️While traveling you will go to the gym with him and Changbin, sometimes you work out w them, other times you just stretch out on a yoga mat and relax. You and Changbin definitely clowned him big time for going on the treadmill in JEANS.

✉️Han is always very cautious when you two are out in public while traveling. Around his friends he’ll definitely be loud and just to get attention from the people he loves. But in public when it’s just you two, you’ll sneak around the hotel to go to the pool while no one else is there. He’ll be giggling and open the gate for you while putting on a corny British accent.

✉️Dating Han definitely includes being the two biggest nerds on the PLANET. You both will watch so many video game and movies theories for hours. It’s to the point where you and Han have a notebook do theories. He even thought about getting a white board with red string like those crime shows.

✉️Movie marathons with him happen anytime he has a day off, you and him really love getting really into fandoms and movies. Sometimes you’ll get home to the latest merch of whatever you’re into. Even if Han isn’t super into it, if you are, he’ll spoil you.

✉️One of the riskiest things you and Han have done was go to a convention. You both agreed as long as both your cosplays have you covered you should be good. And so that’s what you two did. You guys had a blast and Han was so excited the entire convention.

💌Han’s love is fun and feels like that really serious college relationship. It’s filled with laughter and inside jokes that no one else gets. You’re practically dating someone so similar to you yet so different that it’s a perfect balance.

[neechees]

Do you have any more context for the whole thing happening with Buddy Sainte Marie rn? I mean as a cree person, does your community have suspicions about her? I’m from way out west, and I’ve not heard anything, and I was wondering if the cbc has a foot to stand on at all

Absolutely not, no suspicions. Ask some Crees around Saskatchewan & there'll be some who can tell you they know her family (both her biological & adopted Cree family) & even some that are related to her, in Alberta too. The only Crees that would be believing Keeler at all are, like my Nîtisân said, the facebook ndns who will claim Johnny Depp & Cher based on nothing but then believe Keeler's baseless claims. The type who have no critical thinking & have nothing better to do with their day.

Keeler's claims are baseless for a number of reasons & shows how fucking ignorant and stupid she is, because her basis for how Buffy is a pretendian is that 1. She was adopted, 2. She couldn't have been a victim of the 60s scoop because she was born in the 1940's (& this is why she was adopted), & 3. Her actual birth certificate isn't recorded. But I'm gunna debunk all those right now without google because

The 60s scoop does not refer to exclusively kidnappings of Native children ONLY in the 1960's, it also goes as far up to the 80s formally (but this literally continued), and goes back years before that too, the government was doing this to Native kids years before the 1960s, but the 1960s is just when a lot of them happened & there was a spike

Buffy went BACK to a different Cree community & was adopted by another Cree family formally & started reconnecting more to her Cree culture again. To Crees, if you're adopted by a Cree, especially if you start taking part in the culture by the will of your parents, you are Cree. Even if she was "White" or any other ethnicity to begin with & she was adopted like this, she would still be Cree by our (& many other tribes') standards.

Afaik its just her birth certificate that isn't documented, but other documentation exists that shows Buffy is Cree. Lots of Cree people don't actually have proper documentation for a lot of things, even today, for a number of different reasons, but it was especially popular back then. I think even my grandfather didn't have a lot of proper documents because he literally couldn't write.

Additionally, Buffy just SHOWS she's Cree. She has a Cree accent, she LOOKS Cree, and she knows Cree things even a dedicated "pretendian" wouldn't know. I've heard her talk about things like Michif folk tales & oral history that even I didn't know existed, I know she speaks Cree, she knows about Cree culture, things like that. Also like I said earlier, she literally knows what reserve she came from originally and who her parents were before she was kidnapped & she's talked about it extensively, so its not like the usual jig of a pretendian randomly claiming Native ancestry with no basis, her claims are easily provable by talking to other Crees who know her family.

But of course, Keeler is the type of person to not recognize these at all, because shes the fuckin Blood Quantum vampire police who only thinks about you as Native if you have some kind of documentation that youre enrolled in a federally recognized U.S tribe, you're not mixed race, and you "look" Native. Everyone else in her mind is "faking" & a "pretendian". Keeler is an ignorant, xenophobic, racist bully who seems to only call women & twospirit people (particularly successful ones) "pretendians" so of COURSE She'd go after Buffy.

Keeler has also literally claimed that documented, enrolled, Native looking ndns are "pretendians", & in one case she claimed that she had "contacted" the (iirc) Cherokee Nation to say that THEY said that this one person she was claiming was a "pretendian" allegedly wasn't enrolled, only for the Cherokee Nation to call her out for lying & that this person WAS actually enrolled in a legitimate Nation. Later they had to keep telling her to fuck off bc she kept using them to lie about legitimately enrolled people.

So no, there's no basis to Keeler's claims bc shes a fucking idiot American who doesn't know shit about Crees or even how Canadian shit works. Any sensible Cree person will tell you Buffy is Cree, & shes our Kohkum.

[sukunastits]

Weaponized Incompetence

Weaponized Incompetence 2/?

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Reader

Warnings: none? other than my near endless supply of stupid shit that can be said to make men think you’re stupid. Sfw

Part 1

You were entirely blameless for the next incident. Truly, you had been minding your business, avoiding responsibilities like any good non-commissioned officer. Secluded in one of the far off storage rooms on the west side of the complex, counting boxes of paper towels - far enough out of the way that Sgt. MacTavish had to have come looking for you, specifically. Adorable man, you thought giddily, watching him situate himself in the metal fold out chair next to you. 

He wasn’t a tall man, maybe the shorter end of average, but you figured he made up for it by being the general size of a wide-load tractor trailer. Which was to say, when he slid the chair - legs scraping against the concrete ground - closer to you, he invaded like the tide. “Listen, lass,” he started, like you couldn’t smell his cologne over the stale, dusty air. Tobacco and vanilla, maybe. A little slutty, combined with the eyes and the facial hair and the accent. 

Maybe you were just projecting. 

“Ah get that you come from tae city,” he continued, phone in one hand while he braced the other one on the back of your chair. A part of you wondered if you should be worried; cornered in a far off room by a commanding officer wasn't the best start to happily ever after, but whatever. You were here to drive him up a metaphorical wall, not a white picket fence. “And ye probably never had tae deal with farm animals, but ye can’t go ‘roond spoutin’ nonsense like the other day.” 

Was he still on that? You had hit him with that well before the weekend, and he hadn’t wasted time with cornering you. It was Monday. God, you thought, I am blessed to live rent free in the Scottish Highlands. 

He wiggled the phone entreatingly. 

Staring back from the screen was Google, “are eggs dairy” typed into the search bar. Pressing your lips together, you slanted a sideways glance at him. He looked back, expectant. 

The nice thing would be to let him win this, you knew. A little tee hee, so sorry sergeant, let it die down before you hit him with some other out of pocket shit. But you hadn’t gotten this far in life by letting men win, even pretty ones. 

Especially the pretty ones. 

“Ohh,” you breathed, nodding to yourself like you’d had a world breaking - egg cracking, even - revelation. Sgt. MacTavish smiled, broad shoulders relaxing as he leant back, dipping back out of your personal space. “I get it now.”

“An easy mistake,” he placated. You both knew it wasn’t. 

“No, yeah. You still think birds are real.”

An atom bombed dropped slower than his smile did; there one moment, gone the next. Total annihilation. You would have to play this one carefully. Not laughing hysterically would be a herculean effort, but so worth it. 

“What tae fu -”

“No let me explain,” you cut in, flapping your hand at the wrist. It annoyed men, for some reason, a floppy wrist. Like a weak handshake, it triggered their little neanderthal brain. “I get that it sounds weird out of context. But like, okay. So in the, like, 1970s, in America? They had this President, right, Ronald Reagan?” Wrong. “And he, like, hated birds. So he formed the CIA,” made even funnier by the Task Force tangentially being CIA controlled, “And had them capture and kill all the wild birds, right? Except obviously people would have noticed if all the birds just disappeared, so he had them replaced with robots.” 

You stared at him for a moment, waiting to see if he was keeping up. He stared back, lips pressed together and nostrils flared. “Or androids? I don’t really know. Are they different? I think they’re synonymous. Anyways, he had robot birds made so that he could spy on the American people during the Cold War. And, like. He couldn’t do it with domesticated food birds, so he had them sterilized. And cows evolved to make eggs because birds couldn’t.” 

You nodded, and smiled, empty. Vacant. Not a thought in this head. “So I guess you used to be right,” you finished, patting his arm like it was a consolation. 

MacTavish opened his mouth, closed it. Let out a breath through his nose like an angry bull. For a moment, you wondered if this was it. Was this really all it took? The Birds Aren’t Real Conspiracy? You had so many more. GMOs. Bananas. You could be a very convincing Flat Earther. Buffalos. God, you loved the buffalo bit. 

“Who,” he stopped. Started again. “Who told ye that?” 

“My Governments teacher,” you answered immediately. “Mr. Schumacher. I loved his class, he taught us soo much.” 

“He lied.” MacTavished butted in, voice low. You bet he sounded like a blender in the morning, all gravely bass. You wanted to coo at him, at how cute he was, all ruffled. Instead, you did your best sure, Jan and shrugged. 

“I mean, I think a teacher would know better than the internet, but if you say so, sergeant,” you agreed placidly.

Stressed, he rubbed a hand over his mohawk. And then, phone still in hand, he pointed at you, and left. 

You watched him go, agreeable with the way his jeans sat on his ass. You wondered if he ever wore those bedazzled Buckle jeans. You wondered if you could ever get him into a pair either way. The door slammed behind him, shaking a layer of dust off the ceiling tiles. After a moment, when you were sure he wouldn’t be coming back, you tossed your package of paper towels into the nearest box. 

You needed a new hiding spot. 

[capcavan]

kinda inspired by that response u did to someone else's post. but like. it just reminded me of how different Americans see nationality/ethnicity/race to other people, and how it can come through in the things they write.. like especially fanfiction. like how everyone who isn't a white American (and sometimes even those that are) can just become stereotypes. nicky is repeatedly a victim of this, ive read so many fics that just 'exaggerate' the fact that he's Mexican, even though it makes no sense! nicky has lived in America and Germany his whole life, his dad's a racist and his mum barely speaks to him, he'd be almost completely disconnected from Mexican culture realistically, and u can kinda see that in the books. but in fics, they make him like only eat stereotypical Mexican food, speak Spanish, listen to music in Spanish... like it's nuts. they do it to riko too except he becomes the Japanese mafia racial stereotype instead. Jean suddenly being obsessed with all things French, ranting about baguettes, even though canonically he has no good memories of France and seemingly wants nothing to do with the country or culture. it drives me crazy. like. even with neil 😭 he's canonically white and American, lived in America his whole life, but suddenly a British mother means he has a strong British accent and complains about how people make tea.

am I crazy?? its like almost comical levels of stereotyping, you'd think they'd be doing it for a bit, and that post just kinda reminded me of it.

the neil vs Jean British vs French thing is crazy too. I've never heard a British and French person argue over their countries under the age of like 60. but in so many fics, usually raven neil fics, its all they wanna talk about. wtf!!

everybody who could be classed as even slightly not "100% American" suddenly becomes a stereotype. and yknow the thing that rlly gets me? the accents are always exaggerated and always mentioned. nicky has a strong Mexican accent, neil has a strong British accent, and so on... but the "100% American" characters can be from varying parts of America with widely different accents (and cultures), but you'd never know it because the writer never mentions them even having an accent. it's just so blatant and shameless, and they don't even seem to realise they're doing it. they'll have other Americans in the comments being like "I love your British neil 🥰🥺" that is not neil. that is a stereotype.

even the books themselves to a lesser extent do this... like I'm pretty sure Jean having a French accent is mentioned. which isn't bad in and of itself, but a lot of the foxes are from different parts of America but again no accent differences ever mentioned. :/

all of this in every fucking fandom just for the record the og post we talked about was written by non American but it's just .. fandom think that is repeated by people as stupid fucking joke like yes it is very normal for immigrants to move to different country and still care and cultivate their traditions but then you look at how fandom represent it and like ... the rest of the world sees you and thinks you are fucking weird for handling it this way ✌️✌️✌️