#and like… even if she isn’t pretty to your standards… why not just let women be average ??

[evansbby]

bro now it’s actually pizsing me off the hate this poor young woman is getting for playing Juliet in some random play in London like not even a Hollywood movie but a random play 😭😭

[wildflowerluver]

beautiful sound

derek morgan x fem!reader

derek doubts your ability on the team. his words hurt more than normal.

cw: case mentions, slight enemies to lovers, derek is kinda an asshole, quiet!reader, reader knows sign language, first kiss, she/her pronouns, bau reader, objectification of women, hotch defender

wc: 2.6k

༺♡༻

you’re quiet, you always have been. 

growing up, you sat on your hands, often not making a sound. 

it became routine, a habit. speaking became a bother. 

you learned to sign from an early age. although most didn’t know the language, it was comforting to have a second form of communication. 

when drafted into the bau, your quietness was never a problem; marked on your file actually. it proved to be an asset at times. you see people differently and when a case involves someone who struggles communicating, your skill set helps out.  

the team is sent for a case in san jose. 

you hate referring to it as standard but that's what it was, four women murdered with the same m.o.

once boarding the plane, you slide into a window seat in the group of four. derek clambers in after you. when hotch assigns you and spencer to victimology and the geographical profile, he bumps your arm. 

“was hoping i would get victimology with you for once instead of pretty boy.”

you blush. the comment is flirty enough to speed up your heart rate.

as much as you want to work with derek, you like working with spencer. the two of you work well together and he knows how to sign. makes it a lot easier than writing information down to convey to the others. 

though the case is standard, it takes three days to get a lead.

no one takes a break. between another body being found in that time and a restless community, there isn’t time. victimology is tough too. the women are all different, no jobs, friends, or hobbies to connect them.

to combat the long hours, derek brings you and spencer coffee, his warm and yours iced. spencer grumbles about having to add cream and sugar to it but yours is perfect, your exact order. it’s a small gesture but it sends your heart fluttering. but, you know not to overthink it. if anyone asked, you could recite the team's coffee orders off the top of your head; except for hotch who, in secret, prefers matcha.

you choose to stay at the precinct when garcia gives off the name and address of the suspect; arthur miller. raids aren't your strong suit. each member of the team looks at you as they leave to which you nod. a silent be safe.

miller fights the entire way to the interrogation room. derek’s grip on his arms are strong but even he struggles a bit with the thrashing. you don’t blame miller. as of right now, he’s innocent. if you were brought in, you would be kicking too.

once the team regroups, the objective is clear; get a confession or frankly, anything that’ll help the case.

“y/n, get ready. you’re interviewing.”

hotch’s orders are stern. 

derek scoffed. “hotch, come on man. we have a missing woman and he is the only suspect we have. you want to send her? she never talks.”

your head drops. it’s not an unusual reaction but his words sting; you’re used to side comments from police officers or families from cases, not a close friend. 

“morgan,” hotch warns.

“no no. we have five dead women and who knows if there are any others. and you want to send in the girl who can barely even operate verbally on this team. are you not seeing how she could screw this up?”

it’s silent.

your heart splits out of pure betrayal and dejection. you weren’t exactly open with the team about why you’re so quiet, but you didn’t think anyone on the team thought of you this way, let alone derek.

hotch turns to you with a nod. permission to proceed. you stand up with your head bowed.

you like derek, more than you probably should. it's childish, delusional, to think he would ever like you back. but his words don’t just sting, they burn. barely even operate, screw this up. you bite your lip in an attempt to try to not to let it show how this is impacting you.

derek shakes his head and turns around, mumbling something about it being the wrong decision. you have no choice but to ignore it, grabbing your cosmetics bag and heading into the precinct bathroom to get ready. 

eyes fall to you as you stepped out of the bathroom. this is the biggest interview of your career yet, and you needed to dress the part. 

you kept your dress pants on, though you shed your top layer besides a tank top, pulling it down just enough to be considered scandalous. with makeup and hair dolled up, you grabbed the file from hotch and stopped.

“are you ready for this?” his questioned stems from protectiveness. 

you nod. “i am.”

with the case file in hand, you head towards the interrogation room. you look nervous, like you don’t know if there's a hungry lion or bouquet of flowers on the other side.

but the second the door clicked shut, your demeanor changed. 

“well hello pretty lady,” arthur greets almost immediately. 

to the teams surprise, you giggle. “pretty?”

“very.”

a smile remains on your face as you sit down, case file placed on the table. 

“now i have to ask, what’s a pretty lady like you doing with the fbi?” he muses. 

you shrug, hand moving up to twirl a strand of hair. “i dunno,” you start. your tone is sweet, almost sickeningly. “my daddy wanted me to make something of myself. thought crime might be fun. i was actually excited to be asked to talk to you.”

this catches arthur’s attention. 

“you interested in murder, little lady?”

you nod, pulling in your bottom lip as you lean forward. his eyes fall to your chest. it’s gross and subjective but expected. 

“i asked my boss to let me talk to you,” you reveal. “i couldn’t help it. they all left for the day so i’m working off the clock for this.”

“off the clock?” arthur clicked his tongue twice. “eager girl.”

“yup,” you beam, popping the last letter. “i asked if i could film it but they said no. have to pay to record after hours i think.”

“i guess i’ll just have to make this moment last.”

you met his eyes, though not for too long to keep up your act. 

“tell me about this?” you beg after opening the file, a pout passing your lips. “it’s so cool.” 

arthur grins and at that moment, you know you have him right where you need him. 

“well,” he starts, using two fingers to slide one of the pictures out. “that was lacy walker. ooh ooh ooh, she was sweet. screamed too. all the best ones scream.”

“these are all of your kills?” you hope your astonishment sounds genuine.

arthur grins. “only the public ones.”

only the public ones. 

there’s more. 

there’s more killings no one even knows about.

your head is spinning. you don’t even want to think about the reaction of the others behind the one-way glass. while you wanted to coerce more information out of him about it, you knew you would be pushing your luck.

instead, you roll your eyes and scoff. facade aside, you can’t help it. 

“you know i thought criminals like you were smart.”

arthur freezes. “what?”

“i mean come on. are you really dumb enough to think that all of this isn’t being recorded?��� the question hangs in the air. “because you just confessed to a hell of a lot of murders.”

he jumps up, realizing what he’s done. at the same time, you do too, slamming your hands on your desk. you stand taller, height not restricted by handcuffs connected to the table. 

“that’s honestly just embarrassing,” you titter.

arthur yells the entire time it takes you to gather the file and walk ouit of the room, but it doesn’t impact you. you got a confession and you got it quick. someone else can deal with interrogating him on his other victims. 

you don’t stop to talk to the team, though their faces show a range of emotions: proud, impressed, and a slight bit of panic, no doubt from the information you got out of arthur. after grabbing your cosmetics bag, you head to the bathroom. all of the team, besides one, has turned away at this point. you don’t even have to guess as to who keeps their gaze on you.

hotch sends everyone to the hotel to get some rest. interrogations on arthur’s other murders would wait until the following day. 

no one was going to argue with that.

derek made his way to your hotel room that night. he mind was swirling with what he said to you earlier and especially after a not-so-nice talking to from emily, he needed to apologize. 

you heard the knock on your door after you slipped a t-shirt on post shower. it was late and you were sure most of the team was asleep. 

after checking the peephole, you hook a deep breath and opened the door. 

“y/n,” derek greets. 

it’s weird for him to be here, especially at this hour and especially after what went down earlier in the day. 

“can i come in?”

you nod, opening the door a little wider for him to step in. 

your eyes look at him quizzingly and derek swears he melts. if his guilt hadn’t reached the surface, it did now. eyes were always a weakness. when you didn’t talk, your eyes showed how you were feeling and right now, they’re filled with sadness. 

“i wanted to apologize for what i said today,” he starts. “it was out of line. i shouldn’t have questioned your ability. I'm sorry.”

short and simple. 

you stay quiet. 

as much as you want to forgive him, tell him “it’s okay,” a simple ‘i’m sorry’ doesn’t fix things.

derek continues. “you deserve to be on this team, i shouldn’t have questioned that. i’m sorry, i really am. i like you,” you swear your heart stops. “i like working with you. i just hope you understand where i was coming from.”

that last part erases all prior apologies. seconds ago you would have placed money that there was an underlying confession in there. you would have gone to bed blushing and giggling over the possibility of requited feelings. how could you have understood where he was coming from? 

your eyes narrowed, lips pressing into a thin line. 

you rack your mind for something to say. you need him to know how he hurt you, but yelling isn’t something you do, especially at someone like derek.

the silence becomes unbearable even for him.

“god for once in your life can you please say something?” derek looks to the ceiling. “i’m trying to do the right thing here.”

each word stings more than the last. 

he didn’t want to apologize for the things he said, but rather he felt like he had to. 

“goodnight derek,” you whisper. anger bubbles but you don’t - can’t - lash out. 

derek looks to you defeated. you know that’s not the response he was expecting. 

the door closing after him rings in his ears even as he falls asleep. 

____

hotch and rossi lead the interrogations the next day. 

they’re the opposite of what you gave arthur. they’re strict and stern and get the information they need by early evening. 

but it’s too late to fly home to washington. 

when he makes the announcement that you would be staying in san jose until the following morning, spencer is nodding off on your shoulder and j.j. is slumped in a chair in the corner. everyone needs sleep.

you trudge into your hotel room, following the same routine as the prior night. a shower feels wonderful on your tired body. 

ignoring derek isn’t ideal, but it’s necessary. it’s painful and hurts more every time you remember how much you like him. when spencer goes quiet, derek seems to understand, never pushing him to speak when he doesn’t want to. but for you, it’s different. why is it different?

that question racks your brain as you get dressed.

before you can crawl in bed, there’s another knock. this time you don’t even have to guess who it is.

“we need to talk,” derek pushes out. 

everything inside of you is telling you not to open the door further, not to let him in. He didn’t even greet you this time. but you do, derek walking inside, though not moving past the space after the door. 

“i know i apologized last night,” he cringes at his words. “well, attempted to apologize. i don’t have any excuses, really. the things about liking you and working with you, those we’re all true, i promise. i let my emotions get the best of me and i took it out on you. i know it doesn’t justify any of this but i wanted to apologize again.”

his apology is nice, it feels genuine but the question from earlier is eating you up and you can’t have it unanswered.

“why do you treat me differently than spencer?”

derek furrows his brow. “different?”

“every time he doesn’t talk, you don’t seem bothered. but when it’s me, it’s like my silence is the greatest inconvenience in the world to you.”

“oh.”

you suddenly feel small, like every instance you’ve picked up on never even happened.

it’s easier to drop your head, tap your fingers consistently on your palm and go quiet. always go quiet.

but derek doesn’t let you. his finger hooks under your chin to pull your face up to his.

“hey hey, don’t hide from me now.” 

“i’m sorry,” you squeak.

“no need to apologize.”

his gaze is intimidating. you feel like he’s profiling you, the rule the team put in place seemingly not existing. 

“i treat you differently because you’re you. i promise it’s not a bother, i just really really like your voice.”

your mouth parts. you don’t miss the flicker of derek’s eyes down to them. you know your expression is probably embarrassing right now, how in love you look. but you’re past embarrassment and you take your chances.

your kiss is soft and gentle, short and sweet. 

derek isn’t expecting it. he thought you would’ve been a lot more upset, not using his mistakes as a reveal of your feelings. but in no matter does he mind. if he’s being honest, he’s waited for this moment for a while. 

you pull away first, mouth opening to utter an apology but derek beats you to it, meeting your lips in a bruising kiss. 

neither of you know if this would be your only kiss and it’s clear in the way he holds you.

you don’t part the entire way derek nudges you towards the bed. you fall first, him crawling on top. you pull back first. your breaths are heavy and your eyes never leave derek’s.

it’s expected that he would say something first, though you weren’t sure what he would say. are your feelings really the same? are you even allowed to date within the team?

but derek doesn’t verbalize any of that. his thumb moves to the space between your eyebrows, rubbing just slightly back and forth to ease the crinkle you developed from your overthinking. oh. 

you know he still feels bad about his earlier words. but he kisses the tip of your nose before ducking down to your jawline, trailing kisses there. 

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” each apology is met with a kiss to your neck, almost as if he’s pressing his words into your skin. 

and to his surprise, you giggle. 

“stop apologizing.”

derek pulls back, eyes meeting yours. 

your cheeks are rosy, lips plump from kissing. one hand rests on the spot beside your head, using it to hold himself up. derek’s other hand, previously on your hip, moves to cup your cheek.

“i think that might just be the most beautiful sound i’ve ever heard.”

and with that, his lips meet yours again.

[total-feminism-takes]

Yeah yeah tdi writers when it comes to female characters could be better but can we please focus on the fandom? Y’all have no excuse as to how you treat these characters!!!

Hello some of the best written and intriguing characters are female, some of the best dynamics include females but y’all are too busy with your male characters and male ships and your internalised misogyny I mean what who said that???

But fr to go onto some of my most hated things in the fandom because I’m in a whingey mood and want to complain and this blog is great if it’s okay I’m gonna dump these here;

Courtney haters need to SHUT UPPPPPPP!!!! I don’t care if you think she’s badly written she’s not and especially not for tdi standards y’all just want to complain about an interesting female character there’s sooo much to her you can just dig into it’s delicious I love her!! And yet she’s still antagonised by the fandom??? I’m not gonna act like she did no wrong and wasn’t the villain because hello did we see action but it’s more nuanced that her being annoying and evil! Y’all just need to look at her more!!!

Svetlana is ALWAYS neglected by the tdi fandom hello she’s one of the alters we see the most yet everyone hates her!! Why!! She’s not my favourite sure I prefer Vito, Manitoba and maybe Mal maybe but come on! She’s a part of the gang too stop ignoring her!!!

People who hc male characters as misogynistic are icky stop itttttt!!! It’s not fun!!!! I have more to talk about this later but I hateee when people say that male characters are misogynistic when either they’re clearly not or they make such a deal of it cough Ezekiel. I’m fine with it being a joke once again I will make fun of Ezekiel till the day I die but when people low-key make the male characters misogynistic it’s like why! Especially when it’s male fans sorry had to be said.

Can we please not ignore platonic male and female friendships pretty please!!!!! We saw how many of the male and male friendships were fake and caved in on themselves we saw the downfall of the guys alliance why do we act like it’s only the females?? I swear the male and female friendships are the only normal ones in the show bar like Gwen and Duncan because they had to do that but hello we all love a bit of DJ and Heather why do we act like we don’t???

The way tdi fans treat the male x male relationships compared to the female x female relationships is soo gross leave them alone please! They can be just as good!!! You don’t believe me well gwourtney has just as much potential as any male x male relationship but y’all don’t want to hear that! And they’re all so fun hello?? Mkulia did more for the homosexuals than anything pride ever did (jokes). Also you can have your toxic yuri like you have your toxic yaoi y’all just can’t understand that there isn’t as critical of a difference between females and men as you like to act there is oops sorry

The way y’all treat Dawn… sighs. She’s not some cute little garden fairy especially not after tdi she definitely doxxes people on Reddit if they’ve wronged her she definitely leaked Scott’s ip address after tdi. Like yeah she’s nice and a good person and likes animals but let her have fun too please

The way roti fans treat zoey is despicable. They treat her either likes she’s the devil and evil and poor little Mike zoey is so hypocritical and evil and mean, or they treat her like she’s a two dimensional piece of cardboard. Didn’t want to say this but she had some of if not the funniest lines in roti. Yeah she sucked in AS but everyone did and im predicting people treated her like this before AS even came out.

Uh TL;DR treat the female characters like how you treat the males please they’re not that different you just hate women.

Uh take this all with a pinch of salt if you do any of this you don’t hate women im just being hyperbolic but there is clearly some issues with the way you view women if you do any of this. Sorry it’s true I’m sending anonymously because I fear this will strike a nerve.

❤️

[michelleelizabethtanner]

Hi! Do you think Beth and Rio spoke at all during their lovemaking sesh in 2.09? If you think they did, what kind of words were spoken? Just dirty sex talk,like what to do more of or that something feels good, just to announce when they were finishing, or do you think they said MORE 👀 Do you think they said each other's name?? P.s. I would love for you to write whatever you think went down!

The amount of energy we all have given this moment. I love to reminisce, Anon. 🥹 So bittersweet. 💔

I don’t think they said much of anything. Nothing meaningful, at least. Maybe some verbal asks and adjustments. Probably mostly from Rio. I don’t think she ever said his name. I think she probably was very zeroed in on the actions. Because to her, it was the last time and she’d never done any of those things with anyone else besides Dean. I think Beth was really focused on experiencing the moment by being present rather than dissolving into the pleasure of just feeling. I have a lot of my headcanon about how the act went in this post.

I also think (and maybe this is projection) that Beth being the uptight, controlling person that she is, lead very little of that whole sexual encounter. I think she initiated it and I think she moved a little mechanically into some things she wanted to try with him (my headcanon is that she got right on her knees and took that thing for an immediate experimental taste test.) But I also think that Rio lost himself in the feeling and the passion a lot more deeply than she did. I think he allowed himself unguarded arousal and I think that led to him taking the lead fairly quickly. Most uptight, controlling women don’t want to be in charge in bed. It isn’t pleasurable to be the project manager in everything, including sex. So I think a lot of Beth’s experience of Rio’s passion was in her own physical surrender to him. It’s what makes sex good for her. And I think part of the appeal for Rio was getting her to submit. Seeing her submit. Not that I think he’s a dom. I think he’s actually a switch. But I also think he would view Beth’s physical surrender as a type of vulnerability. And Rio loooooves to save vulnerable women. That likely translates to his sexuality in a pretty powerful way and may be at the root of why he continued to be so sexually attracted to her even after a major betrayal.

So taking all that into account, I don’t think Beth said anything at all because she would have felt too self conscious or performative. I think Rio talked only to direct her because he generally tends to follow her lead sexually. In my mind, the sex wasn’t anything crazy or especially kinky. It’s the second dude Beth’s been with ever. First time sober(ish). I think it was your standard acts, no major dirty talk or letting loose. But I think the novelty of being with each other specifically, was so erotically charged for them both that it seemed like more than what it was. Brain chemistry is crazy sometimes. And these two just do it for each other somehow.

[for-dramas-sake]

My Favorite 2022 Dramas

In no particular order...

A Dream of Splendor

If the drama has a high production and an outstanding cast, it’s pretty much guaranteed to grab my interest and boy did this drama do that! I was hooked from the very beginning and loved it all the way through. Liu Yifei and Chen Xiao were stunning together. But what I really enjoyed about this drama was the focus on the 3 ladies working together to build a business, hold their friendships together and support each other in each of their relationships. The gal pals were my favorite part. 

Love Like The Galaxy

Speaking of outstanding casts and high production, Love like the Galaxy has it too. Once again Zhao Lusi proves to be one of my favorite actresses but now Leo Wu has caught my eye and I look forward to what he will be a part of in future dramas. Their chemistry was perfect. I had seen several memes of Zhao Lusi as the chaotic girlfriend and Leo Wu as the calm boyfriend and this fits them so well. Plus, the emperor is my favorite character. He is the rare “I don’t have to be dignified if I don’t want to” royal. I want more of him. 

Eight Hours

Though I haven’t finished this drama, it already is one of my favorites. It combines fantasy wuxia and science fiction so well. This one of those shows that dares to be different from the usual mold. You just have fun with all the characters (even if some of them are bit too campy and ridiculous) and not one episode is boring. This one is not going to get a lot of love from other drama lovers so let me give this a shout out. It’s good so give it a try!

My Sassy Princess

This was your standard costume drama with two big names, a simple love story and a little bit of palace drama to keep the plot moving. But that wasn’t what interested me. I was invested in the female lead who chased her man like a bull running through the streets of Pamplona during the bull running festival. Go, get him girl! Ordinarily I would have hated this character (she is pretty spoiled), but we don’t get enough women chasing men in dramas. So often it’s the men and that’s fine, but let’s get the ladies out there snagging their fellas. And this gal really went for it. And watching him give in to her love pursuits was pretty cute. She wore him down eventually. 

Love Between Fairy and Devil

Yes, I was one of those MANY, MANY people who loved this drama. This drama belongs on this list for quite a few reasons, but the big one is Dylan Wang. He really has grown in his acting since Meteor Garden and it shows. As usual Esther Yu continues to blind us with her adorableness and her cute character traits. Their chemistry was entertaining especially when they switched bodies. I compare the main two to Hades and Persephone but at least they didn’t have that ending. 

The Legendary Life of Queen Lau

Yessss!!! Funny, romantic and interesting! It checks all these boxes. Sure, the story is campy and some of the plot is a bit ridiculous, but overall it’s a lot of fun. It’s a great feel-good drama. Give me more of Jackie Li! She is so cute as the empress who has lots of fun adventures in the palace. Keep an eye on this lady!

Gentlemen of East 8th

Now for a drama from the guys’ perspective! Anything Zhang Han stars in is on my watchlist and the fact he WROTE and starred in this drama put this at the top of my list. Why isn’t it getting more attention? It’s so good! The problems are more real-world problems and the issues are more complex that the usual couples go in dramas. The relationships are complex and layered, not so simple or easily explained. All 4 men go through their own trials but still support each other and it’s so nice to see a good bromance!!

Here’s to 2023 and all the new dramas that come with it!!

[bouncinghedgehog]

“How to Talk to Girls

I went to a dinner party at a friend’s home last weekend, and met her five-year-old daughter for the first time. Little Maya was all curly brown hair, doe-like dark eyes, and adorable in her shiny pink nightgown. I wanted to squeal, “Maya, you’re so cute! Look at you! Turn around and model that pretty ruffled gown, you gorgeous thing!”

But I didn’t. I squelched myself. As I always bite my tongue when I meet little girls, restraining myself from my first impulse, which is to tell them how darn cute/ pretty/ beautiful/ well-dressed/ well-manicured/ well-coiffed they are.

What’s wrong with that? It’s our culture’s standard talking-to-little-girls icebreaker, isn’t it? And why not give them a sincere compliment to boost their self-esteem? Because they are so darling I just want to burst when I meet them, honestly.

Hold that thought for just a moment.

This week ABC news reported that nearly half of all three- to six-year-old girls worry about being fat... Eating disorders are up and self-esteem is down; and twenty-five percent of young American women would rather win America’s next top model than the Nobel Peace Prize. Even bright, successful college women say they’d rather be hot than smart. A Miami mom just died from cosmetic surgery, leaving behind two teenagers. This keeps happening, and it breaks my heart.

Teaching girls that their appearance is the first thing you notice tells them that looks are more important than anything. It sets them up for dieting at age 5 and foundation at age 11 and boob jobs at 17 and Botox at 23. As our cultural imperative for girls to be hot 24/7 has become the new normal, American women have become increasingly unhappy. What’s missing? A life of meaning, a life of ideas and reading books and being valued for our thoughts and accomplishments.

That’s why I force myself to talk to little girls as follows.

“Maya,” I said, crouching down at her level, looking into her eyes, “very nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” she said, in that trained, polite, talking-to-adults good girl voice.

“Hey, what are you reading?” I asked, a twinkle in my eyes. I love books. I’m nuts for them. I let that show.

Her eyes got bigger, and the practiced, polite facial expression gave way to genuine excitement over this topic. She paused, though, a little shy of me, a stranger.

“I LOVE books,” I said. “Do you?”

Most kids do.

“YES,” she said. “And I can read them all by myself now!”

“Wow, amazing!” I said.

“What’s your favorite book?” I asked.

“I’ll go get it! Can I read it to you?”

Purplicious was Maya’s pick and as Maya snuggled next to me on the sofa and proudly read aloud every word, about our heroine who loves pink but is tormented by a group of girls at school who only wear black. Alas, it was about girls and what they wore, and how their wardrobe choices defined their identities. But after Maya closed the final page, I steered the conversation to the deeper issues in the book: mean girls and peer pressure and not going along with the group. I told her my favorite color in the world is green, because I love nature, and she was down with that.

Not once did we discuss clothes or hair or bodies or who was pretty. It’s surprising how hard it is to stay away from those topics with little girls, but I’m stubborn.

I told her that I’d just written a book, and that I hoped she’d write one too one day. She was fairly psyched about that idea. We were both sad when Maya had to go to bed, but I told her next time to choose another book and we’d read it and talk about it. Oops. That got her too amped up to sleep, and she came down from her bedroom a few times, all jazzed up.

So, one tiny bit of opposition to a culture that sends all the wrong messages to our girls. One tiny nudge towards valuing female brains. One brief moment of intentional role modeling.

Will my few minutes with Maya change our multibillion dollar beauty industry, reality shows that demean women, our celebrity-manic culture? No. But I did change Maya’s perspective for at least that evening.

Try this the next time you meet a little girl. She may be surprised and unsure at first, because few ask her about her mind, but be patient and stick with it.

Ask her what she’s reading. What does she like and dislike, and why? There are no wrong answers. You’re just generating an intelligent conversation that respects her brain.

For older girls, ask her about current events issues: pollution, wars, school budgets slashed. What bothers her out there in the world? How would she fix it if she had a magic wand? You may get some intriguing answers. Tell her about your ideas and accomplishments and your favorite books. Model for her what a thinking woman says and does...

Here’s to changing the world, one little girl at a time.”

~ Lisa Bloom, author of "Think: Straight Talk For Women to Stay Smart in a Dumbed-Down World"

Photo by Ise Neltha

[starringsheshitposts]

Caroline: :( Ew...! I have a pimple! I’m so ugly!!

Alex: It could be worse. You could have grandma glasses and a children’s haircut.

Archie:

Caroline: :( Hm...! (desperately putting on concealer)

Archie: Yeah, well, you could have no discernible personality traits other than “undermedicated” and a poorly crafted pun about tea and punishment as your Twitter handle.

Alex: Ouch.

Caroline: :( But what about my pimple? I can’t cover it up!! It’s so gross!

Archie: It’s not gross, Caroline! No part of you is gross! (kisses her pimple) See?

Alex: I don’t know what that was supposed to make me feel other than nauseated.

Archie: Don’t you think Caroline’s pretty, even with her pimple?

Alex: ...Well, to be honest, Archimedes, I hadn’t really considered it.

Caroline: Archie kissed it! Now it’s your turn!

Alex: I’ll kiss it.

Caroline: :) Really?

Alex: Yes. As soon as Archimedes kisses the seat of my trousers.

Archie: >:C

Caroline: :( You think I’m ugly...!

Alex: I’m not kissing your pimple, Caroline. That’s disgusting.

Archie: OOOOOH, YOU SAID CAROLINE’S DISGUSTING!!!

Alex: I did not! I said that willingly kissing pimples is disgusting.

Caroline: Even though it’s on your best friend’s face? :(

Alex: Did you just declare yourself my best friend?

Caroline: (looking in the mirror at her pimple) Well, who else would it be? I’m not being nasty, Alex, but you don’t keep a lot of friends. It makes sense for me to be your closest friend.

Alex: You’re not my closest friend.

Caroline: ............Oh...

Archie: Well, if it’s not Caroline, then who is?

Alex: It’s this! (he holds up a completely unidentifiable object)

Caroline: ...... (she tilts her head) What is it?

Alex: I have absolutely no idea, but isn’t it great? I found it in a pond.

Caroline: ...................Okay, so back to what’s important!

Archie: Me.

Caroline: No!! :( My pimple!

Alex: Caroline, for the love of God, it’s only a pimple! It’s not that bad.

Caroline: You wouldn’t understand, beauty standards aren’t the same for men as they are for women!!

Alex: I understand why you’d say that, but I think you’re forgetting what I look like, Caroline. I wish my only flaw was a tiny pimple!

Caroline: Aww, you think that’s my only flaw? :)

Alex: I think you need a reality check.

Archie: I think we need a dog.

Alex: We’re not getting a dog, Archimedes.

Archie: C’mon, you know you want one!!

Caroline: (kneeling and pawing at Alex) :) Woof?

Alex: NOW LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE, ARCHIMEDES! SHE’S WOOFING FOR VALIDATION!

Archie: Pretty sure its not the first time she’s done that in her life, lmao.

Caroline: :( .......Woof?

Alex: NO! (he smacks her on the nose with a rolled up newspaper) BAD DOG! STUPID DOG! HORRIBLE, HATEFUL, LOATHSOME DOG!! GET UP!

Archie: You’re literally playing into it at this point, I don’t know what else I can do to stop it from happening.

Alex: Stop what from happening?

Caroline: >:C Ow!! That hurt!

Alex: I should warn you that the last dog I had died under gruesome circumstances so you should probably do what I told you to do if you want to live.

Caroline: ........ (sadly, slowly starts to stand up) I just wanted to be a cute puppy...

Alex: I’m not your target audience for that, Caroline, and to be honest with you, I don’t know who is.

Archie: OnlyFans, lmao.

Alex: WHY must you turn everything sexual?!

Archie: Bold of you to assume it wasn’t already sexual...

Caroline: Can we all say something else other than the word “sexual”?!

Alex: Putrefaction.

Caroline: ..........I was thinking more like “Let’s all go out for coffee”, but I suppose that will do.

Alex: We can go out for coffee, if you wish, Caroline.

Caroline: ...But what about my pimple...?

Alex: OH MY GOD! Alright, hold still! (he puts his hand over her cheek)

Caroline: :) I don’t know what’s going on right now but I don’t ever want it to end.

Alex: (he takes his hand away) There! It’s gone. Are you happy now?

Caroline: :o (looking in her compact mirror) ...Omg! Alex!! How did you do that?!

Alex: It’s what I do, Caroline. Will you stop your incessant whining now?

Caroline: :) You never cease to amaze me, Alex.

Alex: Good. Shall we go?

Archie: We’re going to a place that serves decaf, right...?

Alex: (putting on his coat) Nope, we’re going to poison you.

Archie: :( Aw...! Not again!

[lapetitechatonne]

Can I have this dance?

i am so obsessed with this ship, so here’s some more content.

ao3 link here

Kate’s Masterlist here!

Dani would never admit it, but she enjoyed being able to dress up on occasion. No matter how much she denied it, her time with Vlad made her like the finer things in life. Now, don’t get her wrong, she didn’t crave it like he did, but she could appreciate it.

Still, it felt odd, looking at herself in the mirror.

Her velvet, emerald dress was a simple silhouette, just slightly hugging her curves and a long slit up the leg. Her favorite part was the straps, which less resembled straps and more resembled a diamond necklace. They were a simple chains with beautiful stones that sparkled when she moved.

She put on the thin necklace that matched the straps, as well as a pair of dangly earrings Pamela insisted on. Not that Dani minded, Pamela was a bit much but the woman liked Dani better than any of Sam’s other friends, so she wasn’t unbearable. That was why Dani was going to the gala in the first place, Sam demanded to bring a friend and Dani was the only one Pamela could stand.

Dani slipped on a pair of long pearl-colored gloves and gave herself another once over. Her dark hair was pinned up, curls perfectly falling to frame her face. She liked the contrast against the white of the gloves.

“Are you ready?” Sam asked, her own silky plum dress catching in the light.

“As I’ll ever be.”

---

Mar’i could think of ten thousand things she’d rather be doing than attending another stupid gala. It was so unfair that Mar’i was the only person in her family who knew how to act at them. Like, get it together people, it’s just embarrassing at this point.

Whatever, not that it would change anything. The press was enamored with her every move as not only the first baby to be born into the Wayne family in how long, but also because she was the daughter of a model. Anytime she didn’t show up there were articles about it. Which, rude, where were the articles about Damian and Tim not being there?

Sexist press, with their stupid double standards and their stupid obsession with her.

She hated it here. But at least she got to wear a pretty dress. She liked pretty dresses, even more so if they twirled nice.

“So, any lucky boy yet?” Gag her with a spoon. “You know, your dad used to be quite the heartbreaker in his day. I always thought he’d end up with that Barbra girl myself. Funny how things work out, isn’t it?”

Mar’i focused very hard on not breaking the glass in her hand. God, didn’t these old women have anything better to do than gossip about her love life?

“No, I’m focusing on my studies right now,” She flashed her charming Grayson smile and the old ladies huddled around her cooed about her being so focused.

Mar’i spotted her dad out of the corner of her eye and excused herself. He was retreating to the snack table—not without her damnit.

That was until she collided with another person and spilled her drink on them. Fuck, this was going in the paper, wasn’t it?

---

Dani had no idea this would be so goddamn boring. She was going to die of boredom, again.

Everyone here was old. And annoying. And Sam had been whisked away the moment they got here, so why was Dani even here.

Dani ate another very small snack that she didn’t even try to pronounce, and contemplated just, phasing through the walls. Would anyone see her? Probably not, and Sam was preoccupied so it would be forever until she noticed. But neither of them had their phones so she couldn’t let her know she left without actually talking to her. Damn.

A waiter with a tray of champagne passed her and Dani was tempted to grab one but decided she should probably just find Sam. Escape plan or not, Dani was tired of being alone with these stuffy losers.

Why did they all have to smell like that? It’s like she’s walking through the worst perfume store ever, honestly, you’d think being this rich they could afford something better—

“Shit—” Dani bumped into someone and their drink spilled on her arm, soaking her glove and almost knocking her over. Damn, they were strong.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” Dani looked up and immediately felt her body freeze.

The girl’s eyebrows were furrowed in concern, her dark wavey hair half pulled up and half falling down her back. Her lilac tulle dress shimmered in the light—she looked like a fucking fairy.

The most beautiful fairy Dani had ever seen.

“Let me help you clean up, gosh I’m such a klutz.” The girl took Dani’s hand, and she could feel herself blushing.

Dani let the girl pull her through the crowd, careful to not trip on her own goddamn dress. The girl weaved through the crowd with practiced ease, her own t-length dress fluttering with each step. Was it weird that Dani liked the way she walked?—she’d have to ask someone later. Probably Tucker. He’d make fun of her the least.

The crowd started to thin, and suddenly they were in a hallway. They made a couple of turns that Dani didn’t retain at all—Pandora would be disappointed—before stopping at a bathroom.

The girl pulled out a washcloth—from where?—and ran it under the faucet. Dani took that as her queue to take her glove off.

“I really am sorry,” the girl pouted, and Dani could feel her heart beat a little faster.

“It’s okay,” Dani let out a strained laugh, “I was looking for a way out anyway. I’m not great in crowds of people.”

The girl looked up, her bright green eye almost seemed to glow while the glitter around her eyes shimmered in the bathroom lighting. Her smile was warm and welcoming, like she had all the love in the world to give.

“It can be a bit overwhelming, it’s it your first time?”

She put the washcloth down and picked up a hand towel, lightly drying Dani’s arm.

“Yeah, I’m here with a friend, well, really, she’s more my brother’s friend—but I um, I lost her. A while ago.”

She laughed, and Dani decided it was her favorite sound. God, she sounded like one of those bad romance books Jazz thought she hide well. She could practically hear Danny teasing her.

“I’m Mar’i, by the way. Hand me your glove?” Dani fumbled for a second before passing it over.

“I’m Danielle, or Dani—with an i—if you um, want.” Dani blushed, again, god what was wrong with her. Surly she was coming down with something because it was way too hot in here.

“My name’s spelled with an ‘i’ too, isn’t that funny?” Her heart skipped a beat. “Well, it shouldn’t stain,” Mar’i said as she ran the glove under steaming water, “but better to wash it out just in case. My dad’s lost quite a few shirts that way.”

“Well, um, thank you. For helping. Pamela would never forgive me if I ruined her gloves,” Dani laughed, and tried not to be as awkward as she felt, but it was hard with the way she could hear her own heartbeat. Usually, she couldn’t even tell if it was beating to begin with.

She was definitely coming down with something. A ghost sickness? Was the Gotham smog just finally getting to her?

“Well,” Mar’i turned off the water and rung out the glove, “that should do it, but you can’t very well put it back on.” She scrunched her nose and Dani had the sudden urge to reach out and soothe the line on her face. Because that wasn’t weird or anything. “I suppose we can hang it in the kitchen for now, we’ll just have to get it back to you before you leave.” Dani’s heart thumped at the idea of seeing Mar’i again. “Is that alright?”

Dani nodded and Mar’i beamed. Dani found herself grinning back.

“I’ll take you there, so you know the way in case you can’t find me later.”

“Lead the way.” Dani tried not to be too excited about going off with Mar’i. It was just because she was more interesting than anything else here. Yeah, that was it.

---

Mar’i walked out into the hallway and waited a moment for Dani to catch up. She adjusted the neckline of her emerald green, velvet dress, and Mar’i thanked the stars that she didn’t spill any on her dress.

It was a beautiful dress. The thin straps were made of gold chained jewels that matched the small pins that decorated her dark hair. Mar’i tried not to let her breath catch as Dani carefully removed her other glove and folded it up in her hand.

Dani joined her in the hallway, and Mar’i realized she was staring. She felt her cheeks heat up as they walked back the way they came.

“So,” Mar’i turned to see Dani looking around the hallway, “you know this place pretty well. Do you come to these things a lot?”

“I should, it’s my grandpa’s house,” Mar’i laughed. Dani blushed, and it made Mar’i want to tease the girl more. She looked cute like that.

“Oh, well, it’s a um, very nice house.”

Mar’i hummed. “It’s nice, but sometimes a bit too big to be comfortable. It helps that we have a big family, but still.” Huh, that wasn’t something she would usually say. God, she hoped Dani didn’t tell the press she said that, they’d label her an ungrateful snobbish socialite or something like that.

But, for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to be too worried. Something about Dani was just. . . it was different. There was something about the girl that Mar’i couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Like, it almost feels wrong to take up space, like you don’t belong,” Dani’s voice was quiet and there was a far-off expression on her face that made Mar’i want to pull her close, until she was completely present with Mar’i.

“Yeah,” Mar’i sighed instead, “but Grandpop does his best. He’s good to us like that.”

The troubled expression on Dani’s face got darker, and this time Mar’i didn’t resist the urge to reach out and hold the girl’s hand.

Her hand was cold, but not unpleasant. Like dipping your hand in a cool river, soft and engulfing. It was nice against her naturally warm skin. She took a moment to admire how their hands weaved together. Dani’s was a soft, cool white compared to her own warm brown skin. It was almost poetic, like those poems about the sun and the moon.

Dani’s eyes snapped to her hand, her focus shifted out of whatever made her look so sad. Mar’i was quite please by that, and even more so when Dani began to blush but didn’t move her hand away. Mar’i felt her inner flame flicker, warmth filling her chest.

They finished their walk to the kitchen in silence, luckily it seem all the staff was out serving leaving them alone.

“We can set them over here,” Mar’i laid the damp glove over the back of a dining chair, breaking her hold on Dani’s hand. The rush of heat back to the palm of her hand was uncomfortable, and perhaps a bit sad. Mar’i didn’t want their time together to end.

“Thank you,” Dani’s blue eyes looked up at Mar’i through dark eyelashes—and oh god, Mar’i was a goner. Yep. She had a big ass gay crush on this girl. “You really didn’t have to go through all the trouble of helping me.”

“Sure I did, I’m the one that spilled my champagne on you to begin with,” Mar’i giggled, “just don’t tell my dad. He doesn’t like it when I have a glass, but it’s hard to get through these things without one.”

“Right?” Dani sighed in relief and finally relaxed. Mar’i hadn’t even been aware of the underlying tension in the girl’s body until it was gone. “It’s so boring. You’d think a bunch of rich people could afford something more entertaining.” They both laughed, and Mar’i felt light in a way she usually didn’t at these events.

“It’s always so stuffy, it’s honestly nerve-wracking. I actually can’t remember the last time I had a real conversation at one of these things.”

The blush was back on Dani’s face, and Mar’i just wanted to kiss her little button nose. God, she was such a lesbian.

“Talking to you,” Dani shifted her weight and rubbed the back of her neck, “has been the most fun I’ve had all night.”

Their eyes met and Mar’i grinned.

“If you want,” Mar’i spoke before her rational thinking could stop her, “I can show you around a little bit. I’m sure no one’s missing us, and the gardens are really pretty this time of year.”

Dani looked at her, her crystal blue eyes wide and cherry lips slightly parted. Mar’i could feel her inner flame flare and she had to consciously think about keeping the flames out of her hair. Dani smiled, and Mar’i almost lost her control.

“I’d love to.”

Mar’i smiled so wide it hurt. She took her hand again and pulled her out the back kitchen door. They walked down the path past the greenhouse to the garden below the ballroom balcony. Alfred always made it look extra special for galas.

The spring breeze was cold, but not unpleasant. Small ground lights lined the cobblestone path and illuminated the rose bushed that had just bloomed. They were a mix of reds and pinks, the scent swirled in the air around them.

“Wow,” Dani said looking around in awe, “this is like something out of a picture book.”

“You haven’t even seen the best part yet,” Mar’i laughed. Dani looked at her with wide eyes, and Mar’i wondered if there was any merit to love-at-first-sight. Or if she was just a hopeless lesbian. Probably both.

They continued down the path until they finally came to the center of the garden. The beautiful stone fountain with a small cupid statue on top rained down water that sparkled in the low light. There were flowerbeds lining the rose bushes, yellows and purples contrasting the pinks of the roses.

Mar’i smiled as Dani giggled and pulled them both to the fountain. They could just hear the music drifting out of the ballroom over the rush of water, and Mar’i thought it sounded prettier like this.

Dani reached out and let the water run over her fingers. The look of wonder on her face was worth any backlash of disappearing halfway through the gala. Besides, it’s not as if it was the first time—and probably wouldn’t be the last.

“You can see the stars much better out here,” Dani’s eyes drifted to the sky, “but still not better than at home. Only a few constellations.”

Mar’i looked up at the sky, and despite being familiar with the stars, she couldn’t say she knew many earth constellations. After all, Tameranian space travel was far more advanced and useful.

“You know the constellations?” Dani’s face lit up.

“I love the constellations. I think there’s something wonderful about the idea of stories written in the stars. Like this cluster over here,” Dani pointed and Mar’i moved closer to see where she was pointing at. Dani smelled like lavender and rain, “that’s the Pleiades. The myth is that they were the seven daughters of Atlas, and Orion ruthlessly chased them. They prayed to be free of him, and so Zeus turned them into doves, and then into stars to keep their father company while he held up the heavens. It’s said that the Orion is still chasing after them in the stars.”

Dani’s eyes lit up when she spoke, her free hand waving in the air to emphasis to her words. The carefree smile on her face made Mar’i want to melt.

“How tragic.”

“That’s not even the worst one,” Dani moved, pulling Mar’i along by their joint hands to point at another constellation, “That’s Cassiopeia, and this one,” She moved then again, but this time she let go of Mar’i’s hand and moved behind her, pointing at some stars over her shoulder, “is Andromeda. They’re mother and daughter actually.” Mar’i found it hard to focus on Dani’s words when one of her hands rested on her waist and minty breath tickled her ear. “You see, Cassiopeia was a queen and she claimed she was more beautiful than the sea nymphs, and the nymphs got so mad that they asked Poseidon to punish her. He sent a sea monster to her kingdom, and the only way to stop it was to chain her daughter Andromeda to a cliff and sacrifice her.”

“That seems a bit dramatic.”

“It’s okay,” Dani laughed, “Perseus saved her. He was walk by after killing Medusa and used Medusa’s head to turn the sea monster into stone. Wild shit.”

Mar’i turned to look at Dani, who was still looking up at the stars.

“You really know a lot about them.” Dani blushed and looked at Mar’i, then looked away.

“I like stories,” she said quietly, “I think because there’s so much to learn from them.”

“I think that’s beautiful,” Mar’i said softly. Mar’i turned around fully, offering a hand to Dani. “Would you like to dance?”

Dani nodded placing her hand in Mar’i’s. Mar’i placed a hand on Dani’s waist, Dani’s other hand on Mar’i’s bicep. Dani’s cool touch was relief from the burning fire in her chest threatening to take her over. As they swayed to the music playing distantly in the background Mar’i had to focus on keeping her feet on the ground.

Dani was looking at their feet, even though they moved perfectly in sync. Mar’i felt time stop as a violin solo played in the background and Dani lifted her eyes to meet Mar’i’s. It was like looking into a swirling galaxy and seeing endless opportunities in front of you. Her eyes, they just held so much hope. More than Mar’i ever thought possible.

It made Mar’i’s heart sing and the solar warmth heat her skin. It made her want to fly above the clouds and just laugh with joy. Looking into Dani’s eyes, Mar’i had never felt so free.

---

Dani had never thought herself the romantic type. Sure, she read all the romance books Jazz kept under her bed, and maybe she liked a good romantic comedy—she was a clone not a heathen—but she never saw herself feeling fluttery because a pretty girl asked her to dance in a garden.

She also never imagined that a pretty girl would want to dance with her in a garden. Vlad made it pretty clear that she was unperfect, unlovable. Jazz and Danny and everyone always told her differently, but sometimes she couldn’t shake that tiny voice in the back of her head telling her she was nothing—that she would never be anything.

But here she was—slow dancing in the most beautiful garden she’d ever seen, with a girl that was way out of her league smiling at her like she was something.

The warmth of Mar’i’s hands took the permanent chill out of her skin, like she was a cat laying in the afternoon sun. It made something in her core purr, it wanted closer, closer, to the source. She wondered how it would feel to curl up in Mar’i’s arms and just be.

Dani looked down at their feet as they moved, too afraid that if she looked up, she wouldn’t be able to stop green from flooding her eyes.

The moment she did, it was like the world stopped spinning.

Looking at Mar’i was like looking at the sun, so bright and beautiful that it hurt. Her green eyes were so bright—too bright to be human almost, but Dani didn’t really mind. Because in this moment, Mar’i eyes refracted like emeralds and her lips shined like strawberries, and the only thing Dani could think about was if they would taste like strawberries.

Dani couldn’t be sure who started to lean in first, or when their lips finally meet, but the moment they did Dani’s heart pulse with her core, a rush of blood and ectoplasm flooding through her. The lips on hers were even warmer than she imagined, and she did taste like strawberries and something sugary. Through the dizziness and captivation, Dani pulled Mar’i closer, a hand on the back of the other girl’s neck, a hand resting on her shoulder.

Mar’i’s hand on her waist pulled her in, her other hand came to rest on Dani’s check, and she thought it might have been the gentlest anyone had ever touched her. Not like she was made of glass, but like you would touch a rose petal, searching and delicate and all at once. Dani decided it was her favorite kind of touch.

She leaned into Mar’i’s hand, pulling her even closer until Dani couldn’t tell where she stopped and the other girl began. The smell of roses and lilacs settled in the air between them, anytime Dani took a labored breath she thought it was magical and hoped it lingered.

When they finally broke apart, Dani could barely breathe. The air felt thinner and her world was disoriented, but Mar’i pressed her forehead to Dani’s and every worry washed away. Mar’i nudged Dani’s lips back to hers with a small movement, and this kiss, it was different.

There was still gentleness, but their grasps were tighter and hearts were beating faster. Mar’i bit Dani’s lip and the sound she let out probably wasn’t human, but Mar’i slipped her tongue inside her mouth anyways. She tasted sweeter like this.

“What the fuck—”

Dani’s eyes snapped open, she pulled back from Mar’i, only noticing a moment too late that they’d been hovering at least three feet in the air. Dani fell to the ground, losing her footing in her heels and falling towards the fountain. Mar’i grabbed her arm, but it wasn’t enough to stop the momentum.

They feel into the fountain, Mar’i’s warm body over hers. Damn—she definitely had water in her ears.

“Jesus, Mary, and fucking Joseph, what the fuck?” Dani peaked out from behind the curtain of Mar’i’s hair—so that’s where the lilac smell was going from, focus damnit—to see a slightly disheveled man running up to them. His tie was crooked and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days—maybe Dani could convince him he had a hallucination.

“Uncle Timmy!” Mar’i’s voice shot up a few octaves and Dani could feel her skin getting hotter. “We were just—i mean, it’s not what it looks like.”

Mar’i fumbled over her, and Dani admitted she was slightly enjoying it, before pulling herself over the edge of the fountain. She reached back in and heaved Dani to her feet, almost causing them to tumble back down. God, she was a mess. And now she smelled like—she didn’t know, stale water and leaves? Whatever it was she didn’t appreciate it.

“I can’t believe—do you know how many reporters are here! You could have outed yourself!” Tim—she thought she remembered Pamela talking about a Tim Wayne—whisper shouted at them. He was turning a concerning shade of red.

“It was just a little kiss—” Dani was going to try the ‘you-hallucinated-the-flying’ route.

“A kiss?! Most people don’t kiss three feet in the fucking air,” he threw his hands up before taking a deep breath. “This is fine. Everything is fine. God, Dick’s going to kill you, and then me.”

But why would ‘Dick’ do that when Mar’i wasn’t the one flying? Wait, could she fly?!

“Please don’t tell dad.” Mar’i walked up to him and gave him the cutest puppy dog face Dani had ever seen. If that girl looked at Dani like that? She’d gladly do anything. “It was just a little mistake, please Uncle Timmy?”

Dani could pinpoint the exact moment he caved in his expression.

“Okay, okay, fine. But you two need to go change, before anyone with a camera sees you. Otherwise, we’re all fucked.”

He ushered them back up the manor like he was expecting a reporter to pop out of the bushes at any time. Soon they were back in the kitchen and being pushed down a hallway that Dani hadn’t even noticed. It was a secluded hallway without much décor, obviously made for quicker and more discreet trips around the manor.

Dani could feel herself growing more anxious with every step. She didn’t know how she was going to explain this, and she couldn’t even think about Sam right now. She was so dead. Again.

Tim pushed them into a room—god, he had more nervous energy than one of those tinfoil hat people, he should really see someone about that.

“Okay, both of you stay here, dry off or whatever. I’ll tell them that you weren’t feeling well or something. Yeah. Something.” He was gone as quickly as he came with a slam of the door.

They both stood there, staring at the closed door for a moment. God, what even was her life? This was ridiculous.

“Um, there’s a bathroom through here,” Mar’i gestured to a different door. “I can grab you some clothes?”

“Yeah, that sounds, uh, good?” Dani said, shifting her weight back and forth.

Mar’i nodded and moved to pull some clothes out of a ridiculously big closet. Dani glanced around, noticing the circus posters and star maps she’d never seen on the walls. There were also pictures hung up on a cork board above a desk, lots of Mar’i with various different people. She noted that Tim showed up in a few.

Mar’i riffed around, throwing a piece of clothes on the lavender bedspread, and Dani realized that they were in her room.

Oh.

She was in Mar’i’s room. A pretty girl. That she’d kissed.

When Mar’i turned around holding out a small pile of clothes Dani was certain she looked like a tomato.

“Let me grab a towel before you get in there, feel free to use anything you need,” Mar’i disappeared and reappeared with two fluffy white towels in her hand. “Here, oh um, I’ll knock when I’m done changing.”

“Thanks,” Dani took the towel and walked into the whitest bathroom she’d ever seen. She closed the door and leaned against it, a little afraid to touch anything because of the sparkly pristineness. That was except for the vanity area around the sink that had a bunch of makeup products sprawled out over the surface.

Still, her dress was starting to itch.

Dani huffed, throwing the stuff Mar’i gave her on the closed toilet seat and began peeling off her wet dress. The body-shaping undergarments underneath were even harder to get off than they were to get on—she was never letting Pamela bully her into this shit again—but soon enough she was standing in the strange bathroom naked.

Somehow this wasn’t how she saw her night going.

Dani toweled down, enjoying the soft fluffy fabric against her skin. Normally she would just phase the water off her, but she already had enough she couldn’t explain. That was just asking for trouble.

After she was dry, she put the towel aside and pulled on the clothes Mar’i gave her. The top was a simple black tank top that fit well enough, but she was swimming in the sweatpants. Dani pulled the strings tight and rolled up the cuffs—three fucking times, god she hated being tiny—but she still looked ridiculous.

Well, at least she looked less like a sad wet kitten now.

Dani felt cool water trickle down her neck and realized she hadn’t dried her hair. She started by taking out the pins holding her curls up, which honestly didn’t look too bad. Whatever these Gothamites put in their hairspray really did the trick. She distantly wondered if it would hold up to ectoplasm too because Jazz would kill for some of that.

After getting the pins out Dani shook her head, shaking the curls from their spot glued to her head. She scrunched them with her towel, trying to preserve them at least a little bit.

Mar’i knocked on the door causing Dani to jump a bit. She was tenser than she thought.

“I’m decent if you want to come out. If you’re ready, that is, no pressure.” It sounded like she wasn’t the only nervous one.

Dani took a deep breath and stepped out. Mar’i was standing in front of a mirror towel drying her hair, only in a sweatshirt and shorts. From this view, Dani could appreciate Mar’i’s long brown legs and solid thighs. They looked like they could crush a watermelon—and that certainly did not have Dani drooling a little, thank you very much.

Mar’i turned around, a frown forming on her face, “If those are too big I can try to find something else, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think—”

“Don’t worry,” Dani found herself grinning at Mar’i’s concern, “they’re nice and comfy.”

Mar’i smiled at her, and Dani felt her heart melt a little.

“I’m glad, I still can’t believe that—well, ya know.” Mar’i slouched, her eyes focused on her feet and it didn’t suit the girl at all. Dani decided that Mar’i should never be unhappy or worried, at least not as long as she could help it. Not when her smile was pure sunlight.

“I’m so sorry about that—” Dani began, only to be cut off by Mar’i’s frantic voice.

“You’re sorry, I’m sorry. You never would have lost balance if I hadn’t. . .” Mar’i gestured to the air with her hands, looking genuinely distraught—which only confused Dani.

“That wasn’t your fault, I’m not very good at. . .” Dani gestured to the ground and hoped she conveyed something meaningful.

“Still, I should have been more careful.” If Dani was confused before, she was lost now. Did Mar’i think she was the one that made them float? It wasn’t like kissing Dani would unlock hidden powers—

Oh.

“Can you—ya know?” Dani gestured to the air again. Mar’i tiled her head, her sad expression replaced with confusion.

“Can you?” Mar’i squinted her eyes at Dani.

They stared at each other, the height difference between them becoming very apparent. It hadn’t been bad when she was in her heels, but Dani will be the first to admit that she got the short gene and Mar’i had very nice, very long legs. The other girl stood almost a whole head taller than Dani.

It was kind of hot. Damnit—dumb gay brain, focus. Flying. Right the flying.

“I mean,” Dani had no idea where she was going with this sentence, “I thought that I did the thing, but if you thought that you did the thing, then we both. . .” Nowhere good that’s where. “Ya know. So that means. . .” Dani trailed off.

She had no idea what she was saying. Why did she start talking again?

“I think I get it,” Mar’i said—which, that made one of them—and moved closer so Dani had to look up at her, “so that means we’re. . . I mean we’re the same, I guess?”

Dani frown her eyebrows and tilted her head. “So you’re a—”

“Alien.”

“—ghost?”

Oh, they fucked up. Dani could tell Mar’i was thinking the same thing by the look on her face. It took seconds for it to morph into a concerned frown.

“Wait,” Mar’i reached out slowly giving Dani more than enough time to pull away and grabbed her hand. She gently turned it over, palm up, like she was examining it. When she looked back up Dani thought her eyes looked mistier than before. “You’re—you’re dead?”

She said it like Dani told her she forgot her inhaler, concerned but not overly worried. It made Dani giggle a bit.

“Half. Half-dead. A halfa.” Dani could see the wheels turning in Mar’i’s head. She reached out and took Mar’i’s other hand. “Don’t think about it too hard, it’ll hurt your head,” She placed Mar’i’s warm hand over her heart, and she couldn’t tell if the warmth was from her blush or Mar’i’s skin, “all that matters is that my heart beats. A little slowly, but it’s still there.”

Mar’i’s face softened at the edges, she released Dani’s hand and brought hers up to the back of Dani’s neck. It felt nice there, warmth spreading through her tease shoulder muscles.

“I’m half alien. Tameranian.” Mar’i’s words brushed over Dani’s cheeks and the taller girl leaned down.

“Guess we’re both halfas, huh,” Dani giggled, and this close she could feel the laughter in Mar’i’s chest.

Dani looked up, and once again saw a soft green glow from Mar’i’s eyes.

“You’re eyes. . .” She trailed off, unsure if she was imagining the glow.

“They glow,” Mar’i laughed again, “we hide them with a holo-projector, secret identities, and all that.”

Dani reached up a hand to cup Mar’i’s cheek, “Mine glow too.”

Mar’i smiled and lifted her hand from the back of Dani’s neck to her ear. She pressed her forefinger against her earing, and Dani heard a soft beep before watching the holograph around Mar’i’s eyes fizzle out.

They were so green. Her eye whites were actually a soft green, her iris was a richer green, and Dani found them endlessly fascinating. They weren’t ectoplasm green, despite their persistent glow, instead, they reminded Dani of fresh grass or pine trees.

Dani blinked, finally letting go of the tight control she had over her eyes. Her eyes lit up and Mar’i gasped, eyes fluttering between both of Dani’s like she was trying to take in every detail she could.

Mar’i moved her to Dani’s waist and lighting pulled her in for another kiss. This one was softer, sweeter, than the others, and much shorter. They broke apart, the green glow of their eyes lighting the space between them.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Dani said, still a bit out of breath. She wanted this to stay between them. Their own little secret.

“Pinky promise,” Mar’i giggled, lifting her hand from Dani's chest and holding out her pinky finger.

Dani laughed breathlessly, raising her pinky to clasp Mar’i’s. With their clasped pinkies between them, they leaned in for another kiss.

[scuttling]

Those Who Wait

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader Word Count: 4,985 Tags: 18+, Loss of virginity, Insecure reader, Fingering, Protected sex Summary: When you let it slip to the team that you've never had sex, they make it their mission to help you find someone who will make your dreams a reality. *Requested by anons!

Link to A03 or read below! “I don’t know how many times I have to reiterate this, but I am not a virgin,” Spencer says, palms up, and it’s clear this is something he’s reminded the team of on more than one occasion. You’re on the jet on the way home from a case, all of you gathered around chattering mindlessly to decompress, with the exception of Hotch, who is in his usual seat, working on his computer.

“And I never said I was talking about you,” you reply, with a tone just shy of smartass. You regret bringing it up already, because this will open the door to a topic you did not want to discuss with the team, ever, but you can’t put the cat back in the bag.

“Hold on. Are you…?” Emily grins a little, but her face drops into a frown when she notices the change in your demeanor, the tension in your shoulders. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, at all.”

“You’re a virgin? Really? You’re almost thirty,” Morgan says, leaning forward to look at you, and you nod, shrug. “Is it a religious thing? Saving yourself for marriage?” You scoot back in your seat, blow out a breath, use the casual posture to try to mask your discomfort.

“Nope, it’s not a religious thing. I’m just waiting for someone who’s worth it.”

“If you’re waiting for the perfect person,” JJ says, folding forward, hands clasped in front of her, “you’re going to be waiting forever.”

You sigh, because this is exactly the reason you didn’t want to bring this up.

“I’m not waiting for the perfect person. For a long time, I didn’t have time to date, and I was—you know, satisfied, without it, so it wasn’t an issue.” Your cheeks heat a little when you say it, and you rub a hand over the back of your neck. “But lately I’ve kind of shifted toward wanting to have sex, to find someone to make the connection with. It doesn’t have to be perfect, but I do have standards.”

“Don’t put pressure on yourself to do it. You’ve waited this long, why rush into things?” Emily says with a soft smile, and you reciprocate, grateful.

“I actually think it might be better if she just goes for it,” Morgan disagrees. Why aren’t you surprised? “Get it in, get it on, and get it over with. Then you won’t feel like it’s hanging over your head.”

“I’m trying. It’s not that I’m not trying. I’m going on dates; they’re all just really, really bad dates—like, the worst I’ve ever been on.”

“How many dates?” JJ asks with an arched brow, and you grimace.

“In the last month? Twelve.” Morgan laughs out loud, and you kind of want to punch him.

“Twelve first dates in the last month and you can’t get laid? Where are you finding these guys?”

“This stupid dating app Garcia convinced me to sign up for. They all seem fine on their profiles—”

“Oh, no, you can’t go by their profiles. Complete bullshit,” Emily says, and you throw your hands up in frustration.

“How else am I supposed to know what they’re like? They’re strangers.”

“Your first time shouldn’t be with a stranger.” You’re a little surprised when it’s Spencer who chimes in; everyone turns to look at him. “You’re a lot like me, and I know that I was nervous and insecure, and waiting for the right person made it a really great experience for me. I think you should wait for someone you know will make it meaningful.”

“She’s going to be waiting ‘til she’s eighty,” Morgan says with a grin, but he pats you on the back. “And if you do, I guess that’s okay. Not every guy can be a catch like yours truly.”

“Oh, spare us,” JJ says with a laugh, and you move on to other topics for the rest of the flight.

When you go to grab your luggage before heading back to the office, it’s just you and Hotch left on the jet; he’s been quiet for most of the trip, but when he steps up next to you, he says your name, low, to get your attention.

“I just wanted you to know, you deserve to be treated well… your first time. You should wait for someone you know will make it meaningful, like Reid said.” You just look at him for a moment, not sure what to say.

Part of you knows what you want to say. You want to say, is it worth it? You want to say, how will I know? You want to say, would you make it meaningful?

What you say is, “Thanks, Hotch.” He nods, hands you your bag, then takes his, closes the luggage compartment; he gestures for you to go ahead of him, and the two of you exit the plane.

You all go back to the office. Everyone hangs around for a few minutes, but Hotch goes up to his office, turns on the lights, sits down at his desk, and takes off his jacket. He’s in for a long night, then. You’re just getting ready to leave when Garcia strolls over, bag in hand.

“Hey, girl. How was that date the other night? Haven’t gotten to talk to you about anything other than murder the last few days.” She notices that your eyes are on Hotch’s office, looks up at him and back down at you. “Is everything okay, hon?” The concern in her voice snaps you out of it, and you look to her, smile.

“Yeah, everything’s okay. The date was not, though. I’ll walk out with you.” You grab your things, throw your jacket over your arm, and take one last look up at Hotch’s office before making your way to the parking garage. You go on seven more dates over the course of three weeks that are a complete waste of time and effort. Who knew having what you consider relatively basic standards would make losing your virginity so goddamn difficult? You know you’re not a knockout like JJ or Emily, and sometimes your nerves get the best of you, but you’ve been pretty charming, funny, all dolled up and putting out clear, but not desperate, DTF vibes.

The longer your quest drags on, the more embarrassing it gets. It actually becomes a part of the morning meeting: as soon as you enter the briefing room each day, Morgan raises his eyebrows, and you shake your head. He’s keeping a tally. You want to die a little bit.

Finally, you’re sitting at home one evening when you get the call from JJ that you’ll be heading to Miami for a case first thing the next morning. You thank her for letting you know, but before she hangs up, she says, “Bring a dress, something sexy. If we have an extra night, we’re going to a club and getting you laid.”

You stammer, a little embarrassed at the directness, but you pack a short, light, red dress, something appropriate for a humid Miami night, on the off chance you’ll actually get to go out.

The case is solved in a day and a half, and you are going to stay the night again, so JJ and Emily make it their mission to get you ready for a night out, and Morgan and Spencer make it their mission to scope out your potential partners and check for red flags before you even get close to them.

It’s sweet, kind of wholesome, when you ignore the fact they’re trying to get you fucked.

You have a drink at the outdoor bar, try to loosen up a little; the place is swarming with gorgeous, supermodel looking women with very little clothing on, breasts and ass everywhere you turn, and you feel inadequate, self-conscious in your little red dress. You freaking hate Miami.

You get glances from Morgan and Spencer, nudges of encouragement from Emily and JJ—even Hotch is around somewhere, part of the red flag detail, which you hadn’t expected—and you’re so close to giving up when a song comes on that you know and absolutely love.

Sex is outside your realm of knowledge, but dancing you can do, and you wrap your hand around Emily’s wrist and tell her you want to. JJ takes your drinks, sets them on the table, and the three of you head out to the dance floor.

It’s clear they didn’t expect much of your dancing, because they looked surprised as hell that you know how to work your body to the music, putting your arms on JJ’s shoulders and moving against her. She looks up, grins at Emily over your head, and cocks her eyebrow, impressed.

“Not that innocent after all,” she says, and you toss your head lightly, laugh.

“Said I was a virgin, not that I was innocent.” The three of you dance together, and you’re approached by several guys who try to get behind you, in between you, closer anyway they can. JJ and Emily are selective with who they entertain and who they give the brush off, and you’re grateful, because despite the outcome, you’re having a good time, and you never would have done this alone.

Eventually, a man comes over, wants to dance with you specifically; the girls exchange looks, give you a nudge, and you put your arms around his neck, let him rest his hands on your hips.

He’s pretty hot, you have to admit, a little under six feet tall, with dark hair and eyes and a nice smile, and dancing against him feels good. If it’s any indication of what if would be like to have sex with him, you’d let him take you home in a heartbeat. Of course, it’s been pre-planned that you’ll go back to your room upstairs if you hook up, so your people are nearby in case anything goes wrong; it’s maybe a little weird, the thought of your coworkers being cheerleaders while you lose your virginity, but what about this isn’t weird? At this point, you’re just going with the flow.

This guy is nice enough, doesn’t go straight for your ass like other guys you danced with, but you can’t help feeling like something’s missing; you pull back, get his attention so you can tell him thanks for the dance, but you’re going to go back to your friends.

You don’t get a chance to say that, because you’re guided away from him by two strong hands on your waist. You turn, ready to tell someone off for getting handsy with you, but it’s Hotch, so the defensive posture you’d slipped into softens.

“Oh, hey. What’s going on? Is everything okay?” you ask loudly; his expression is serious, his brows pulled down in a frown. He shakes his head, leans in closer.

“I can’t let you go through with that—with him,” Hotch says in your ear, still hard to hear over the thrum of the music, and you put your hand on his shoulder, lean up so you can speak into his.

“What? Why not?” you ask, breathless from dancing and the heat. “JJ and Emily thought he seemed alright.” You didn’t actually want to go through with it, but that’s not important at the moment, not when Hotch is clearly trying to get some kind of point across.

“It’s not that, I just—you deserve better.” You frown, not sure you heard him right, and one of the hands on your waist moves lower; he presses you closer. “I don’t know if you would consider it, but I could do it. I could be the one.”

“The one?” you breathe. You need to hear him say it to confirm it’s not all in your head, that you aren’t taking anything out of context.

“The one you sleep with. The one to show you how good it can be. The one who will treat you well.”

You take a step back, have to see his face; is this pity, kindness, genuine interest? Because for the last few weeks, after every bad date, you’ve come back to the thought of Hotch kissing you, touching you, taking you apart. You know his hands are capable, you know he is kind and gentle, and it’s only the thought of him that keeps you from leaving with the first guy to show you attention. You’re so frustrated, never more desperate to feel than you have been since he told you you deserved something good.

He swallows when you look up at him, and your heart races.

“If you want to, I want to. No pressure if you don’t,” he assures you. What he’s saying is so unexpected, but so perfect, and you nod, wet your lips, lean back up on your toes to put your mouth to his ear.

“I want to. I trust you.” Feeling bold, you brush a hand over the back of his head, press your lips to the side of his neck. “Please?”

“Are you sure?” He sounds as tense as you feel, holds you tightly, like he needs to make sure this is really happening. You cling to him just as tightly, nod your head against his throat, and he squeezes your waist, ushers you across the crowded patio and inside the cool air of the hotel. You both sigh, because it’s quieter, more comfortable, and your gaze lingers over his body until he pulls you in for a gentle kiss.

You’ve done your fair share of kissing, and Hotch is so good at it, his hands on your face, his lips softer than you would have imagined, but firm in the way they press against yours. When the kiss breaks, you bring your hands to his wrists, breathing heavily, and then lean in to follow up with a kiss of your own.

He smiles softly, and you smile back, then slip your hand into his and let him lead you to the elevator. You’re not sure if it’s the night of dancing, the heat, the thrill of not only having sex after waiting so long, but having sex with Hotch, or what, but you feel changed; you’re a grown adult, you know that losing your virginity doesn’t mean much, doesn’t change who you are fundamentally, but the thought of experiencing it gives you a stomach full of butterflies in the best way possible.

“Would you like to go to my room, or yours?” he asks when you board the elevator, and he presses the button for the third floor. You plan to say it doesn’t really matter to you, but a thought crosses your mind.

“We can go to mine. I have condoms.” You’re not shy about using protection, know it’s just plain stupid not to, when you've been essentially searching for a new partner whose sexual and medical history you know little to nothing about, but telling Hotch makes your face heat a little. “I bought a variety pack—you know, when I started going on the dates.”

“Good. That’s good,” he says, nodding, and then he bends to kiss you, brushes his fingers over your jaw. “How are you feeling? Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Good,” you clarify. You feel so much better than okay you barely know how to say it, but there is one thing you didn’t think to ask before. “Hey, are you… are you attracted to me?” You look him over curiously, and the elevator dings; you step forward to get off, walk down the hall, but Hotch puts his hand out to stop the door, which stops you.

“I’m attracted to you. You’re gorgeous, and ever since you mentioned on the jet that this was something you were looking forward to… I can’t deny I’ve thought about being the one you share it with. Are you attracted to me?” You wet your lips, ready to reply with an emphatic yes, but he must take it for hesitation. “I understand why you want to do this, but if you aren’t attracted to me—it’s important that you want this with me, not just that you want this. I don’t want us to do anything that will make you uncomfortable.”

His words make you lose a little of the nervousness you were still holding onto, and you decide to show, not tell, how you feel about him; you wrap your fingers in his shirt and guide him down for a kiss that is hotter than before, still soft and slow, but wet and deep, too. After a moment, the elevator dings—likely due to the door remaining open for so long—and you break apart, breathless, and exit the elevator to head down the hall to your room.

Your interaction isn’t exactly awkward at first, but a little stilted: you both take off your shoes, and you grab waters from the mini fridge, hand him one and take a long sip of the other. It’s almost as if you are delaying the inevitable, but it’s not because this isn’t something you want to do; if pressed, you’d say the idea of having this time with Hotch is actually something you want to savor, not rush into too quickly. You aren’t delaying, but prolonging, and eventually you have to snap yourself out of it and just enjoy what you have while you have it.

You cross the room, walk over to him, and put your hands on his stomach, look up at him with clear eyes. His fingers ghost over your bare arms, and for a moment you just share breath, a lingering stare, until you stretch up to meet him in the middle for a deep kiss.

Hotch moves his hands to your hair, tips your head up, and you wind your arms around his back, pulling him closer and stepping forward until his legs hit the foot of the bed. He is warm, broad, solid beneath your hands, and you push them up the back of his shirt, skim them over his skin.

“Can I take this off?” you breathe when you separate, and he nods, helps you work it over his head and drops it to the floor.

Your hands rest on his stomach again, glide up his chest, and when you kiss this time, he turns you so your back faces the bed, eases you onto it. He lays between your legs, kisses until you’re both panting with need, and when you lean your head back to catch your breath he moves his mouth to your neck, trails it slowly up, then down, softly bites at the base of your throat. You hum softly, clutch his shoulders, bring your knees up around his waist.

“God, I want you.” He pulls back, looks down at you, his chest heaving, and you nod, brush fingers through his hair. “I want you, Hotch. Please touch me.”

He begins with the slow drag of big, careful hands down the outsides of your thighs, over your hips, pushing your dress up around your waist. You can’t stop looking at his face, serious and handsome, even though the rest of him is perfect too; you like that he looks affected by this, like it means something to him as well, like you’re not alone in feeling a bit overwhelmed. He moves his hands to the soft insides of your thighs, squeezes them, then leans up on his knees so he can pull your panties off, sets them on the bed beside him.

“I’m just going to rub. Tell me if it’s too much, not enough.” He curls over you for a kiss and slides his fingers along your pussy, three of them, long and thick. You close your eyes immediately, because the first touch is so good, his fingertips gliding through your slick and spreading it over your lips and clit; you are both breathing heavily, mouths hovering over each other, and you clutch at his biceps while he rubs where you are soft and aching.

It’s not that it’s not enough—you could get off this way, easily, you’re halfway there already—but you want more, imagine yourself clamping down around his fingers, digging your nails into him when you come.

“Can you…” You trail off, bite your lip, and he smooths a palm over your cheek, your hair.

“Ask me. Tell me what you want, sweetheart. I want to give it to you.” A soft, needy noise leaves your throat, and he presses his lips to yours, slips the pads of two fingers over your clit, rubs circles against it. “Is it this? Is this what you want?” You wet your lips, think no but yes, move a hand to his face.

“Can you put your fingers inside me? I want to feel you inside.” Your voice trembles over it, not used to being so direct, not used to asking for what you want, and his answering kiss is deep, wet; he pulls back to look at your face as he presses one finger inside, and you feel your expression shift, from desperate to intensely pleasured, your mouth open, eyes wide. “Hotch, oh.” He pulls it out slowly, nearly all the way, and pushes it back in, rubs your cheek, brushes his thumb over your lips.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?” Good is an understatement, and you clench around him, slide your hands down his forearms, nod. “Good. It’s okay if you’re just quiet, but if you’re nervous about how you’ll sound, don’t be. I’d like to hear how you’re feeling.” Another reason to feel so good about this—because you are self-conscious of the way you’ll sound, and you should have known he would pick up on it, try to ease your insecurities. You wet your lips, nod, and he moves the finger slowly in and out, adds another when you ask him to.

“Mmm. Mmm.” You bring a hand to your covered breast, squeeze it, and he moves to push your dress up further, to bare it, maybe, but you tense, then instantly feel silly.

“What is it?” he asks gently, running his hand over your stomach instead, and your muscles relax, you sigh.

“Just a little self-conscious… about my breasts—especially after everything I saw downstairs,” you say, huffing a laugh, and he chuckles, nods.

“Miami is a bit much. But you’re so beautiful, sweetheart, just as you are, and it’s clear they bring you pleasure. If you’ll let me, I’d like to take your dress off all the way, touch them… kiss them.” The prospect sounds so tempting—your nipples are sensitive beneath your own hands, but under his? His mouth?

Your breathing picks up again, and you nod, rest your arms over your head so he can pull it up and off. You swallow, trembling and bare beneath him, and he steps off of the bed to push the rest of his clothes off, too; you know you feel vulnerable, so maybe he sensed it, wanted to make you more comfortable? Either way, he is gorgeous, and you’re so grateful to be doing this with him.

“Where are the condoms?” he asks, bending over the edge of the bed to kiss you with a hand on your cheek. You direct him to your bag, and he opens the box, takes out the one he needs, walks back to you; you lean up on your elbows to watch him intently as he tears the package open, rolls it onto his cock. When he climbs on top of you again, when he pushes your knees gently apart and makes himself at home between them, you shudder; you can feel his dick for the first time, hard against your thigh, and he leans in to kiss your throat, your shoulders, and eventually, your breasts.

His mouth covers one, his hand covers the other, and you gasp when his lips close around your nipple, suck softly. “Hotch, oh my god.” You lift your hips, looking for contact, and he removes the hand from your breast, uses it to line his cock up so it can slide over your pussy as you rock against him, wet, perfect pressure, as he pulls your breast more roughly into his mouth, nibbles it.

You arch your back, pushing your chest closer to him, and he moans, slowly glides his hands over your throat, into your hair. He shifts the angle of his hips, and he slips out from between you, making you sigh at the loss. Now that you’ve felt him, it’s maddening to be without, and you wet your lips, touch his face.

“I’m ready.” He leans in to kiss your cheeks, your chin, rubs his nose softly against yours, and you meet for a deep, slow, wet kiss.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Please.” You move your hands to his waist, guide him closer, and he pushes slowly inside, lets you get used to the stretch it brings. It just feels good, not really a new sensation, since you’ve put toys inside before, but he is so much thicker, more satisfying to feel along your sensitive channel, his body warm on top of yours.

“How does it feel?” he murmurs, lips grazing yours, and you curl your hand around the back of his neck, just kiss him, enjoy the fullness and the slide of his tongue.

“So good. You can move,” you say, and your voice sounds strained, but it’s with arousal, not discomfort. You hitch your knees up higher, put your hands on his arms, pull him in so he’ll know that. “Want to feel you, Hotch.” You share breath for a few moments, and then he pulls back and thrusts forward, repeats it a few times, slow and steady, looking into your eyes.

You moan, carefully roll your hips in time with his, and he pumps inside a little deeper, a little quicker. You grip his arms, move your hands to his face, unsure what part of him you want to touch, anchor yourself against. He leans down for a kiss and you press your fingers to his cheeks, kiss him more passionately, less timidly than you’ve been so far. He groans against your mouth, and you pant as your bodies work together; it’s almost instinctual, the need to take him deeper, to meet, thighs hard against each other.

“Are you okay?” he asks, sliding his hands over your sides, hips, and you nod, gasp when he shifts up, gets his mouth on your breast again, kisses it wetly while his cock glides inside. That’s enough to have you moaning, loudly, head back, your hands on his body now, to feel his muscles flex while he thrusts inside you.

“Hotch, oh. Feels so good, I—” He bites down, lightly, just the edge of his teeth, and your legs snap tight against his body, shaking while you come around him. “Oh, oh. Mmm.” Your muscles contract so hard he grunts, your pussy all but trapping him there, and he grinds against you, grips your thighs.

“So perfect. You feel so good coming for me, so tight.” You ride out the pleasure, rolling your hips against his, and when you’re a little looser he thrusts again, slides an arm behind yours, his hand carefully around the back of your neck, kisses you until he comes, groaning, in your ear.

You look up at him as he gathers himself, wets his lips, and you curl around him for a hug; he holds you tightly, rubs gentle palms over your body, murmurs that you’re incredible and he hopes you know that was special. It's the connection you were looking for, intimacy, and you are so incredibly happy you found it, even if you did find it in the unlikeliest of places.

You lay together for a few minutes before he pulls out, ties off the condom, takes it into the bathroom, and then you go in to pee. You look yourself over in the mirror—again, fully aware that losing your virginity changes almost nothing—but you can’t help feeling like a missing piece has locked into place.

If makes you wonder if the missing piece maybe wasn’t sex, but Hotch.

When you head back into the other room, you expect him to be dressed, or at least getting dressed, but he’s laying back on the bed, covers turned down, body still bare—what you can see of him is bare, anyway, because crisp white sheets cling to his waist, make him look only that much more delicious as he waits for you.

You suddenly ache with desire again, touch your chest at the rush of emotion, of sensation, and then you climb on the bed, slip into his lap, kiss him again. This time it’s different, because your lips and tongue are all saying what you can’t, and it’s intimate, passionate, vulnerable, intense.

Except, maybe you can say it, because he kisses back just as furiously, and it translates into something as strong as what you’re feeling, his hands on your face and lower back holding you close.

“I want you,” he whispers, looking into your eyes, and you’re panting hard, desperate for more. “Not just tonight—I want every night to feel like tonight. I know you weren’t planning for anything more than this, but if you like, maybe I could take you to dinner when we get back. We could see if there’s something more?” He looks nervous, like the offer won’t be well received, but you just nod, smile, lean close for a gentler brush of lips.

“I’d really like that. I don’t want to only feel like this tonight.”

You kiss a little more, softer, sweeter things, eventually moving from his lap to curl against his side; the two of you cuddle, talk—it’s not awkward in the slightest, just feels right, and you drift to sleep warm and content in his arms.

Maybe Miami’s not so bad after all.

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream

[avintagekiss24]

Hi! I don't want to start anything on here and am always willing for civil conversations. At this point there's so much I've found out about Seb (besides the video he liked, the tommy lee thing, and the girlfriend thing) that I feel so guilty if I would continue to support him. I love him sm but it just doesn't look good rn. He is associated/follows an organisation (for helping veterans) that has posted a blue lives matter flag picture and who's co-founder has sexual assault allegations against him, and worked with him in 'The last full measure'. His friend Paul Walter Hauser has done blackface in the past, and when called out on it he just listed a few people that also did blackface. There's more, I found a discussion on here that I can link. I seriously don't support "cancel culture" bc I don't think it helps anyone but there are just a lot of 'mistakes' and shady people that can be linked to Seb, I wish it wouldn't be that way. I honestly don't know what to think about it anymore.

Hi! I’m also open to having civil conversations and I don’t believe you’re trying to start anything. I really do think this situation of dragging up a four year old video and taking it completely out of context is harmful not just to Black people, but to fandom/activism in general. This is gonna be long because I’m going to take your points one by one, and I want to preface this by saying that I will not answer any derogatory, sideways asks pertaining to this subject. I will delete every single one and will block your silly ass. I’m not going to argue with people who think I’m blindly supporting Sebastian because I’m just trying to get fucked by him, or people who think I hate myself and am��trying to appease some white man.

So, on with the discourse!

The video he liked - this video was taken completely out of context and that is my main issue with this whole situation. It was not a video of a white man saying that he thinks he should be able to say the n word as everyone claimed it was. They were quickly debating on whether or not it's okay to say in rap lyrics. He was told no, that's not okay, that's never okay and they moved on from it. That's it. End of story. That somehow was twisted into a click bait style headline of "Sebastian Stan likes a video of a white man defending his right to say the n word" when that is absolutely not true. My other issue is that people are more upset that Sebastian liked the video than they are about the white man in the video literally saying the n word. So, do you really care about the use of the n word like you're claiming? Cuz if you do, you'd be more upset at the white man that said the word than you would be about the white man simply liking the video. Or, are you just using this as an excuse to grandstand against a white man you don't like?

The Tommy Lee thing - Sebastian Stan playing Tommy Lee does not make Sebastian Stan a bad person. Is Charlize Theron a bad person for playing Aileen Wuornos, a prostitute who started murdering men? Is Leonardo DiCaprio a bad person for playing a slave owner? Is Edward Norton a bad person for playing a nazi sympathizing racist? Actors play bad people. That doesn't mean that they themselves are bad people. 1990's Tommy Lee was a bad person, but that should have no bearing on who Sebastian Stan is or his character as a man.

The gf/Paul Walter Hauser thing - Why are we holding Sebastian accountable for what the people around him are doing? Again, why are we more upset that Sebastian is associated with people who have done questionable things than the specific people themselves? I'm not going to speak on the kimono wearing -- I'm not Asian. It's not my place to say whether or not its offensive because it's not my culture, but she posted that picture and attended that party before she started dating Sebastian, quite possibly before she even knew him. Same with Paul. I think that black face thing was long before he knew Sebastian. Now, if Sebastian was defending these actions, going around saying "I think it's okay for white women to wear Kimono's" "I think black face is fine" "I think white people should be able to say the n word" then we'd have a different story, wouldn't we? But that's not what we have, and that's not what he is doing. He is not responsible for the things his friends do or have done in the past just because he's more famous than they are, and he is not required to speak on them. Let's put it this way -- would you be comfortable having to be responsible for something a friend of yours did before you knew them? Would you want to have to be forced to answer for your friend when you yourself had nothing to do with the questionable behavior?

The organization that supports the military/blue lives matter - Sebastian cannot control what message that foundation puts out and it does not mean that he is or is not pro-police himself. There is not enough concrete evidence -- if any evidence for that matter -- that Sebastian is a blue lives matter supporter. Did Sebastian donate before they put up the blue lives matter post? Or after? I don’t know, cuz I don’t follow him that closely, but if he donates before they come out with a particular stance, that means he should be held accountable for that? I know I donated to an organization once and they turned out to support something that i’m 100% against. That means I’m a bad person because I couldn’t see into the future? Another point, how can we be certain that Sebastian saw the blue lives matter post in the first place? I know I’m not online 24 hrs a day, I miss posts all the time and I’m just an average person. I make three or four tumblr posts a day, and I’m gone. I have to play catch up on social media, and even then, I still miss stuff. So I’m sure the same happens to a working actor. As for the co-founder, I don't know who this person is and would rather not get into any allegations against them because I don't want to trigger anyone who comes across this post. If Sebastian knows about these allegations, is a willing participant/supporter of this person then yeah, that's pretty shitty, but we don't know the inner workings of this friendship/acquaintance/work relationship. We don’t know how close they are or if they even still speak.

I’m a pretty big fan of Don Cheadle. He’s a stand up guy, he’s a great actor, he’s funny, he’s political and stands up for what he believes in and in a very public way. I support him. Don Cheadle is also friends with Chris Evans, RDJ, Mark Ruffalo, and Letitia Wright (just to name a few). Chris Evans has a bipartisan forum that highlights/promotes right wing politicians, RDJ defended Chris Pratt during the whole “he’s the worst Chris in Hollywood” crap, who’s technically done black face, and who once said to a female reporter “nice tits” when she walked into the room, Mark Ruffalo just walked back his support of Palestine, and Letitia Wright retweeted/supported an anti-vaxxer/anti-trans Pastor who equated an ingredient of the covid vaccine to the devil because it contained some parts of the word Lucifer. Does that mean Don is now a bad person because he’s friends with these people? Why isn’t he getting any heat for his friendships with them? Why isn’t he being held accountable for what they’ve done and said? Oh right, because he’s not a white fave. So people don’t care one way or the other, which brings me to my next point. 

I can guarantee you that if Sebastian’s gf or Paul or this co-founder were not associated with Sebastian in any way, nobody would give a shit about her wearing a kimono, about Paul doing black face, or about the co-founder/organization being blue lives matter supporters and in that lies the actual problem. Being critical of people and their actions should be consistent and should happen all the time -- not just when they interact with your white fave. That’s when it becomes performative and looks like you just want to be able to show internet people that you follow/support/stan unproblematic celebrities, when really, you don’t care.

I think the moral of this post is that I think it's unfair to hold a complete stranger to a standard that I cannot hold myself to. I also don't view celebrities the way most teenagers/twenty somethings do, and that’s because when I entered fandom we didn't have social media, so I grew up with a wall between myself and said celebrities. There is no wall now with the presence of social media. "Fans" nowadays have a weird ownership feeling over celebrities because they can read their personal thoughts or view personal pictures and think that they have this personal quasi-friendship with them. I can't get on board with that. I prefer having the wall and I still keep the wall.

If supporting Sebastian makes you uncomfortable, then by all means, stop supporting him. Just make sure you are making this decision for yourself based on credible sources and concrete evidence and that you're not letting this fake woke activist mob make you feel uncomfortable. Internet activism means nothing unless you put your money where your mouth is in your real life and 90% of the social justice internet warriors do not. Real activism is bigger than changing your avi to a black square.

[rocorambles]

Reciprocate

Pairing: Akaashi x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Mafia AU, Kidnapping, Rape/Non-Con, Forced Impregnation, Objectification, Degradation, Humiliation

Summary: You should have known better than to think you could ever truly escape from him, especially when you carry something he treasures so dearly inside of you. 

You reminisce on the early days when you had met the beautiful dark-haired man, when you had been swept off your feet by striking blue eyes and a serene composure. 

Akaashi had never been just normal to you and you remember how he had made your head spin with the air of mystery he carried around him, how your heart whipped back and forth between the always surprising mixture of sharp blunt words and eloquent poetry he entrapped you with. He was a man full of surprises, truly multi-faceted and you remember watching in awe at how quickly he could go from easily and agilely maneuvering his toned athletic body in the gym to lazily reading classic literature with a hand posessively but gently wrapped around your waist as you curled up besides him on the couch. 

There are many words you could have used to describe Akaashi. But dangerous? Dangerous was not one of them. 

Funny how quickly things can change. 

Even as careful as Akaashi is, even he can’t foresee unexpected circumstances, especially when you are more entangled in the webs of his life than he ever meant for you to be. And he is forced to reveal who he truly is to you or kill you when you get caught up in things and with people who shouldn’t have ever even known you existed. 

You wouldn’t be the first woman he’s killed and his mind flickers to numerous dead bodies, corpses of prostitutes and other unfortunate women strewn about when things became too complicated, when they threatened his position and the safety of his clan. But he can’t bring himself to pull the trigger, can’t even bring himself to think about aiming at you. 

You’re not like the other fleeting distractions and for the first time ever, Akaashi Keiji breaks Fukurodani policies by revealing everything to you in the hopes that you’ll accept him as everything he is, that you’ll join him for the long run. 

Blue eyes storm over when you don’t look at him with the love and acceptance he expected of you, only fear and disappointment apparent in your eyes, and his hands instinctively clench into fists when you flinch away from him, scrambling to create space between the two of you when he reaches out to reassure you that underneath the terrifying family name and insignia, he’s still just him. 

Fine. You’re scared? He’ll give you something to actually be scared of.

His fingers dig deeper than necessary as they roughly drag and shove you, movements harsh and rough enough to make a very clear point, but never enough to permanently mark you. He likes his possessions as pristine as possible after all. And he smiles at how quick you are to go limp in his arms, obediently letting yourself be led when Akaashi’s silky voice patronizingly tells you what a shame it would be for your beautiful body to be decorated with bullet holes. 

You know who Boktuo Koutarou is, even if you’ve never physically met him. Everyone in your city knows who he is, his name whispered and murmured in the streets, tales of his erratic temperament and ruthless wildness spread far and wide. The Fukurodani clan has always been a powerhouse in the underground world, has always controlled your city with an iron fist, and Bokuto, even by Fukurodani standards, has more than risen to the challenge of continuing his family’s undeniable reign, garnering respect and fear even among the monsters that share his insignia. So even though you’ve never met him, you know exactly who you’re shoved to your knees in front of, who Akaashi reverently speaks to and asks for permission from to keep you at the base as his pet, and you don’t dare open your mouth or raise your head, absolute terror paralyzing you. 

Gold eyes peer at you in interest. Whores aren’t uncommon in the base, lewd moans and slick sounds sometimes making the base seem more like a brothel than the home of illicit dangerous business and Bokuto has always encouraged and rewarded his men with the best cunts money can buy especially after particularly successful or tiresome raids. But for as long as he’s known Akaashi, he can count the number of times the younger man has partaken in those base pleasures on just his fingers and even then, they’ve always been one night stands, brief flings. So he’s surprised, to say the least, when the dark haired man asks to keep you around as his little toy and he has a gut feeling that you’ll become a permanent extension of the family, but how can he deny the man who’s resolutely stayed by his side all these years, who’s pledged his life and loyalty to him? Akaashi asks for so little and if all he wants is for Bokuto to provide protection and surveillance for one more body to be happy, then so be it.     

You’re no stranger to sharing a bed with Akaashi, but this is different. You had always thought that he had been holding back with you, swearing that you saw a hint of something darker gleaming behind blue orbs only for it to dissolve away as you were swept away by sensual languid pleasure and gentle, attentive words. And you hate that you were right, voice going hoarse as you scream at the top of your lungs as you’re ruthlessly taken over and over again, a coldness in the eyes you had once loved that pierces deep within you, animalistic possessiveness in the way he marks you, long slender fingers leaving bruises in their wake as he holds your writhing body in place as he thrusts in and out of your abused lower lips. 

Day in, day out. All you know is a fitful sumber that exhaustion forces you into and Akaashi. His scent, his touch, his voice. You’re drowning in his essence. Dying. No. That would be preferable. At least there would be an end. And you silently grieve, unable to even cry real tears anymore when you wonder when this will ever end, if this will ever end. 

As much as Akaashi would love to permanently lay beside you, duty and appearances do call from time to time and he reclines across from Bokuto, watching the black and white haired man boisterously chat with Kuroo Tetsurou, the current head of Nekoma as scantily clad women surround the two men, dragging fingernails down their chests and shamelessly shoving their breasts into their faces in the hopes of gaining their favor. They sure do seem to be enjoying themselves and Akaashi grimaces when one of the prostitutes begins to loudly moan as she grinds against his leader’s swelling erection which doesn’t go unnoticed by sharp eyes. 

“Akaashi, don’t be so uptight. Why don’t I send some of them to your room tonight to help you loosen up?”

Bokuto knowingly smiles in amusement when he’s promptly rejected. 

“Ah, that’s right. You still have your cute pet. But you know Akaashi, pets are temporary. Don’t you think it’s time to make it a little more permanent? Maybe put a ring on it? Hell, I love kids. I wouldn’t mind having a few runts running around the base, especially if they’re yours.” 

Their conversation is interrupted by a rude scoff and Bokuto snarls at Kuroo’s taunting words. 

“Because God knows Bokuto isn’t having kids anytime soon. No woman could stand bearing his kids and listening to his loudmouth for the rest of her life.”

Akaashi tunes out their bickering as the gears in his mind churn. 

He had kept you on your birth control pills, not wanting to disturb his time with you as he broke you in and figured out exactly what his plan for you is. He knows he loves you, knows there’s no life for him without you. But he wasn’t a dreamer. He’s fully aware just how dangerous his life is, how impossible it is for the both of you to be able to grow old together, how much more likely it’ll be that both of you end up dead side by side in a turf war gone wrong. Yet now all he can think of is what you’d be like as a mother, how you’d look pregnant with his children and when your pills run low, he tears your prescription to shreds in front of your eyes. 

You have more fight left in you than he thought you would and he’s enraged by how much you despise the thought of carrying his children, every desperate plea for him to not cum inside of you while you’re unprotected, a direct insult to him and his love for you. All he sees is red as he breeds you over and over again, stuffing you full of his cock and his seed, never stopping until you’re filled to the brim with the sticky proof of his adoration, stomach heavy and sloshing with his declared affection. 

Turbulent emotions ransack you and you wish you could blame it solely on the hormones raging throughout your impregnated body, but you know it’s deeper than that. It had been so easy to become numb to being used, being known as nothing more than Akaashi’s pretty pet, being the victim of a cold, ruthless stranger you realize now that you never really knew. But it’s agonizing to once again see the hints of the man you had fallen in love with and your heart aches at how gentle and considerate Akaashi is to you once more as your belly begins to swell, a comforting hand rubbing your back and holding your hair away from your face as morning sickness has you heaving over the toilet bowl. And you feel something break and shatter into a million pieces inside of you when one night, as your due date quickly approaches, he kneels in front of you, slipping the engagement ring of your dreams onto your trembling hand. 

“I know this isn’t how you dreamed of any of this happening, but I promise you, once the child is born, I’m going to give you the wedding you always wanted and do my best to be the husband and father you deserve and want. I love you.”

You sob, tightly returning Akaashi’s embrace, burying your face in his chest, wishing with all your heart that things could have been different, that you could go back to those early days, that everything in between was a dream, a nightmare. 

But this is reality and as you cradle your baby bump, you know that you need to do something, anything, now that it’s not just your life on the line anymore. 

For the first time in a long time, it seems like fortune is finally on your side as Akaashi relinquishes his leash on you, trusting that your growing bump will permanently tie you to him, that you won’t even think of trying to escape in your current state. And you play your role perfectly, smiling and leaning into his careful touches, accepting the gifts and attention he lavishes you with, looking to all the world like an excited expecting mother perfectly matched with her doting fiance. 

Akaashi resumes taking up longer projects and jobs, no longer seeing a need to keep as careful of a watch over you or a need to remind you of your place besides him every night. And seeing one of their higher-ups relax makes everyone else careless, no one paying you much attention, no more armed men outside your door and windows when Akaashi is away. 

Really, it’s embarrassingly easy for you to escape, so easy that you wonder if this is a trap, almost expecting Akaashi to appear from around every corner and drag you back to the prison he had created for you, and you shudder when you can almost feel his hands against your skin, his voice murmuring cruel cutting words into your ear. 

But no one stops you and you slowly, but steadily make the long journey to Inarizaki territory, discreetly settling in and making a new home for yourself, starting a new life. Inarizaki and Fukurodani have never dealt much with each other, their territories so far apart that it’s pointless to clash or ally with each other when there are so many other enemies and friends closer to both their homes to deal with. You pray that it’s enough to hide you, to allow you to leave your wretched past behind. 

It seems like your prayers are answered as month after month passes, as your belly grows and grows, as you give birth to a beautiful baby girl. You can barely remember a life outside of motherhood, your heart overwhelmingly full of love and happiness as you watch your daughter grow. And as you watch her take her first few wobbly steps as her first birthday passes, you let yourself finally believe that you can really move on and look forward, locking the blue-eyed demon of your past behind you once and for all. 

Except that demon doesn’t want to be locked up, that demon is far too strong and cunning for your flimsy padlock, and you clutch your daughter to your chest when your door slams open one night and your apartment is swarmed by men with the Fukurodani insignia, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes when one last final figure makes their way past your threshold and you stare into familiar blue eyes. 

As if your daughter can sense your anxiety, your fear, your hopelessness, she begins to loudly wail and bawl, wrapping her little arms around your neck and drenching your neck and shirt with her tears and snot, reminding you just how much is at stake right now. 

You do your best to fake some semblance of calmness, drawing on your maternal instincts to still the quivering of your voice as you gently whisper soothing words in her ear, telling her everything will be fine, telling her that these are just mommy’s old friends, all the while watching your ex-lover gracefully make his way towards the two of you, subtly shielding her little body with yours as he approaches. 

Realistically you know there’s not much you can do if he does mean harm to her, but you’d gladly die defending her to the best of your abilities if it came down to it, already ready to beg for her to be spared and for just you to be punished for your transgressions and your betrayal. You finch when you feel his weight settle besides you on the bed as he sits on the edge of the mattress, heart pounding as you feel his familiar presence, and you quickly turn to face him, only to be completely stunned by the softness in his eyes as he gazes at your daughter. 

Relief floods through you and you hesitantly shift, allowing him easier access to see her, something bittersweet trickling inside of you as long slender fingers gently reach out to caress tear-stained cheeks, as your daughter’s sobs die down and curious eyes peer at the stranger who’s touching her. And deep inside you know Akaashi won’t harm her, will fiercely love her, as he tugs her out of your arms and pulls her into his lap, a sad smile pulling on your lips as you watch father and daughter reunite. 

Deep inside you also know that you won’t be as lucky and your fears are confirmed when Akaashi stands, still cradling your giggling daughter in his arms, blue eyes pinning you down with a look you recognize all too well. There’ll be hell to pay for your actions. 

You feel nauseous, body already aching and throbbing in anticipation of your punishment. But you plaster on a smile for your daughter as she happily plays with one of her favorite toys in the backseat of the car between Akaashi and you, peppering her tiny face with kisses as Akaashi and you tuck her into the gorgeous nursery he’s prepared for her, and wishing her good night as Akaashi leads you back out, continuously waving until the nursery door is firmly closed. And only then does your act drop and you sob as a hand harshly grips your wrist, tears only flooding down more as you recognize the hallway you’re being dragged down, body shaking when you’re shoved into a room and a bed you had tried so hard to forget. 

Clothes are being torn from your body and you thrash around as lips descend upon you, a mouth hungrily molding with yours, yelping when teeth harshly bite on your lower lip before pulling apart. You feel so exposed, so helpless, so vulnerable as icy blue eyes glare down at you, Akaashi’s body pinning you in place as he takes in your figure, scrutinizing every line and curve of your body, mapping every familiarity and difference from the last time he’s seen you. But you lay still, wincing when his grip on your wrist becomes bone crushing when you try to instinctively cover yourself from him. 

“I trusted you. I love you. And this is how you repay me? Running away from me? Keeping my daughter away from me?” 

You open your mouth to stutter out some feeble excuse, but gasp when a hand wraps around your neck, warningly tightening before relaxing. The weight of his palm still against your throat keeps you silent. 

“There’s no excuse for what you did. But I promised you that I’d be a good husband, so I’ll forgive you if you show me how sorry you are.”

You nervously watch as he completely lets go of you, eyes trailing after him as he settles his back against the headboard of the bed, beckoning you over to him with a single finger. And you can’t help but feel like foolish prey walking into a trap as you obey, body quivering in fear as he pulls you in and positions you so that your legs straddle his thighs, back arching and a cry slipping past your lips as he teasingly captures one of your nipples in his mouth and sucks. 

“Still so sensitive.” 

You hate how well he’s trained your body, how easily your body betrays you even after being separated from him for over a year, how well he knows every inch of you inside and out and shame and humiliation lance through you when a long digit easily slides into your already dripping heat. 

“I think you’re more than ready, darling.”

Even past your wanton moans, the clanging metal of his belt unbuckling echoes throughout the room and you whimper as something hard presses against your entrance. 

“Come on, love. It’s time for you to apologize. Do you know how much effort and time I spent searching for you?”

You yelp as the hands resting on your waist dig into your flesh before relaxing and rubbing soothing circles into your skin. 

“But it’s okay because you’re here now, you and our daughter are here now, and neither of you are ever leaving me again. Right?”

You vigorously nod your head as blue eyes sharply stare at you, relaxing when they soften and a small smile plays on his lips. 

“Good girl. Now prove it to me.” 

You almost wish Akaashi had just forced himself upon you, finding it so much more demeaning to sink down on his cock all by yourself as he impassively sits back and watches you. But you’re sure that’s the whole point of this, for you to show your submission and acceptance through your actions. After all, nothing he ever does is meaningless. 

And you truly do feel broken, like nothing more than a good wife, a good pet as you wildly shake your hips, bouncing up and down on his cock in a way that makes your breasts jiggle, pussy clenching even tighter and gushing even more when he orders you to look him in the eyes all the while. 

“You’re making me feel so good, sweetheart. You’re so beautiful. You were made for my cock, made for me. Tell me who you belong to.”

In hindsight you’ll be embarrassed by how quick you are to babble his name over and over again in response. But here and now? All you can think about is the warmth in your chest as he praises you, the warmth in your belly as something pleasant and overwhelming builds inside of you. And Akaashi groans at how tightly you squeeze around him as your peak nears, almost cumming from just the hazed over arousal in your lust-filled eyes, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss and swallowing your cries of ecstasy as you reach your high, body convulsing and twitching in his arms as he holds you steady, lips still locked with yours as he thrusts up a few more times before finding his own release and spilling deep inside of you. 

You slump onto him, exhausted body collapsing and still twitching from the onslaught of pleasure. But as the fog from your mind begins to ebb away, you involuntarily tense at the whispered “I love you” that sounds like nails scraping against a chalkboard, hesitating too long to respond in kind. And you know you’ve made a huge mistake when blue eyes are coldly regarding you once more, shivering from both the cold and fear as he pulls back from you before shoving you onto your back and settling between your legs.

“Looks like you need a little more encouragement to reciprocate my feelings. That’s okay. We have all the time in the world for me to show you just how much I love you.”

[watchyourbluesturngolden]

howard stern

I'M BACK BESTIES!!!!! i'm not totally back to my normal writing, but I finally got through a whole piece! anyways I really liked this and i hope you do too :)

warnings: howard stern being a bitch, talk of weight & body image

word count: 2.1k

"Hello Harry, how are you doing today?"

"I'm well, thank you," Harry answered with a smile. He was on the Howard Stern Show, his first interview since Stevie had been born. He hadn't really wanted to; Howard was kind of a prick. Everyone knew this, but Jeff was convinced this was the right move. He said it would be good for Harry to get back into the swing of things, and no one else was available on short notice. In the end, Harry only agreed because you had pushed him to, reminding him it wouldn't be a very long interview and then he wouldn't have to interact with the abrasive man again for a long time.

"That's good to hear," Howard said. "How have you been these past couple months? Have you been getting anything done?"

"Not much that's music related, honestly," Harry laughed. "I've been busy with family things."

"Yeah, you've kind of been hiding away from the world for a while here, what's that about?"

"Well, as I'm sure you already know, my wonderful wife had a baby recently, so I've been pretty busy... just navigating the world of fatherhood." A smile crept onto his face at the mention of Stevie.

"That's a lot, isn't it? Babies are awful at that age," Howard chuckled.

"Uh- I wouldn't say awful," Harry's smile dropped a little and he sighed internally. He already knew how the rest of this interview would go: thinly veiled insults, questions that were way too personal, and having to pretend he didn't want to get up and walk out of the room. But he knew that wouldn't be a very good look for him, so he gritted his teeth and tried to think of happy things. Specifically, the fact that he would get to go home to his wife and baby in less than two hours. "She's a very sweet baby, we're completely in love with her."

"Yeah, sometimes they're cute, but mostly they just cry and wake you up in the night, don't they?" Howard asked smugly, as if he knew Harry's baby better than Harry did.

"Well, of course she wakes up in the night sometimes. She's hungry, can't blame her for wanting food, can I?" Harry asked, trying to speak lightly and with a smile, but he could feel his patience slipping. He was ready to go home and he was not in the mood to pretend to be happy when this man was clearly insulting his child.

"Sure, I just wish babies could be a bit less annoying when they want something."

Harry nodded, plastering a smile that hopefully looked real on his face.

"So, besides the annoying baby, how's the family? Everybody healthy over there?"

Harry nodded. "Everybody's happy and healthy. A little sleep deprived, of course, but we're managing well, i think. And by we, I mean Y/N. She's truly... just amazing. I have no idea how she does it- she's the one keeping everything together. There's no way I could do any of this without her."

"Yeah, she seems pretty great! I remember though, at first we were all a little uncertain about her. She's not exactly like the other women you have a history with, is she?"

"She's-" Harry started talking, but Howard cut him off.

"I just mean, we were used to seeing you with models and actresses and the like, so it was a bit of a shock to see you with one of us commoners, you know?"

Harry huffed a small laugh, still trying to sound polite. "When you love someone, that's all that matters."

"Right, of course, but don't you get bored sometimes? You stopped going out so much when you got with her, almost like she was keeping you captive or something," He laughed.

"Are you asking me if my wife forced me to stop hanging out with my friends?" Harry squinted at the man.

"No, of course not, but..." He leaned closer with a malicious gleam in his eye, like he was about to hear some big secret. "Did she?"

"No," Harry said firmly. "She did not."

"Okay, okay, if you say so," Howard put his hands up, but then he leaned in again and spoke in an exaggerated whisper. "Blink twice if you need help."

Harry played it off with a laugh, crossing his arms over his chest.

"He's good," Howard laughed loudly. "Anyways, let's move on. Since you two are supposedly so happy-" He paused again, as if he expected Harry to cut it and give some dramatic confession about how terrible his relationship was behind closed doors. Harry only raised his eyebrows, signaling him to continue talking. "Tell us about that. When did you two get married again?"

"Almost 2 years ago," Harry said with a smile. "Our anniversary is coming up, actually, it's in 3 weeks."

"Oh wow, you guys moved fast with the whole kid thing, huh?"

Harry nodded. "We both knew we wanted kids and were ready to have them, so... yeah."

"Yeah, no point wasting time, right? How was Y/N after having the baby- Stevie, right?"

"Yeah, her name is Stevie," Harry smiled. "She was good. Again, she's amazing for going through that. She's- i'm just so lucky to have her."

"Did she bounce back right away?"

"I'm sorry?" Harry's brow furrowed.

"You know, did she get her figure back fast? I know that's a big issue for some women," He laughed again.

"Are you-" All traces of Harry's smile were gone now.

"I just mean, I hope she's working to get rid of the baby weight," Howard said casually, as if his words weren't extremely rude. "Just to make sure she can fit into her old clothes!"

Harry cleared his throat. He knew he had to speak very carefully, since this was something you had been very self conscious about. "Well, the two of us are concerned with the new life she brought into the world, not some old clothes, but she looks as beautiful as ever. The amount of pressure women face to live up to certain standards is disgusting to me, and it's especially bad for new mothers. My wife just went through an incredible process, she grew an entire human being in 9 months, then went through labor and the delivery, and she's being told to worry about her figure? That's wrong."

"Right, right, of course," Howard smiled, but Harry could tell he was annoyed at how he couldn't be tricked into speaking badly about his wife.

"I'm really over the whole thing, honestly," Harry said. "And I'm not even the one going through it."

Howard laughed nervously, seeming to finally take the hint that Harry was uncomfortable and annoyed with the topic. "Let's talk about your latest movie, why don't we?"

Harry was closed off through the rest of the interview; anyone could see that. He laughed less, his arms stayed crossed, and his answers were short. He was professional, but it went no farther than that. There was no more playful joking or easy conversation, just Harry trying to get through the interview as fast as he could. When it finally came to a close after his final song, Harry couldn't pack up fast enough. He made sure to say a polite thanks and goodbye before he hurried out to his car.

He sighed deeply before picking up his phone to call you.

"Hi baby!" your happy voice came from the other end. That was good, he assumed that meant you hadn't listened to the interview yet.

"Hi love," he smiled, his mood already improving just from hearing your voice. "Did you listen to the interview?"

"I have been- I couldn't right at the beginning, Stevie was crying, but I caught the end. Why?"

"Why was she crying?" Harry ignored your question, instantly worrying about his baby.

"Sometimes babies cry for no reason, Harry. She's okay, I promise. Anyways, what's up with the interview?"

Harry sighed. "Just the normal for a Howard Stern interview- he asked some very personal and rude questions. Just prepare for that."

"What else is new?" You laughed. "Are you coming right home?"

"Yeah, unless you need anything?"

"Nope, I think I'm good. See you soon!"

"Love you, bye," Harry said, ending the call and starting the car to begin the drive home.

-----

"I'm home," Harry called, removing his coat as he walked in the door.

"We're in here," you responded, not moving from your spot on the couch where you were nursing Stevie.

Harry walked in, a small smile on his face as he looked at the two of you.

"Hi," He sighed, plopping down on the couch next to you.

"That bad, huh?" You asked, taking in his dejected tone.

He hummed in response, leaning his head on your shoulder. "Those interviews are... always something."

"Yeah, I only caught the end, but you sounded pretty upset. What did he say?"

"He just..." Harry shook his head. "I don't think you should listen to it."

You turned your head to look at him. "Why not?"

"He's just very rude and pushy, as always."

"Yeah, i figured, but I wanted to hear your songs," you argued with a small frown. "Did he say something really bad, or...?"

"He just makes some very impolite comments about you and our family."

"Oh," You nodded lightly. "I think I'll be okay, baby. I appreciate you trying to protect my feelings, but I'm used to it at this point, and I really couldn't care less about his opinion of me."

"Alright," he sighed. "If you're sure." He pulled out his phone, checking his email and going through some messages while you started the interview from the beginning. You could hear him grumbling under his breath and huffing every time Howard said something rude, but you ignored it, just laying a hand on his leg to calm him down.

By the time it was over, Harry was clearly not too happy. "I can't believe I went back on that show," he shook his head. "I'm never doing that again. I'm so sorry about what he said about you, I honestly should have just left-"

"It's okay," you cut him off with a smile. "Also, it was kind of hot to hear you get mad at him."

"Yeah?" He smiled back. "I thought I was very tame, actually. I wanted to say some other things, but I figured that wouldn't be a very good look for me."

"Right, but the way you attacked him but stayed professional... very hot," you laughed, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," He smiled, turning his head to kiss your cheek in return. "Is she done? I really need to hold her after the day I've had," He sighed dramatically, throwing his head back.

"I'm sure," you laughed, handing Stevie over to him and pulling your shirt back into place. "She's all yours."

"Hi baby," he cooed, holding her close to his chest. "I missed you so much."

Stevie yawned in response, cuddling into him.

"Oh, you missed me too?" He grinned. "See that? She missed me."

"She did," You agreed. "She was looking around when she heard your voice on the interview, she wanted to know where you were."

"I'm sorry," he pouted down at her. "I'll never go away again, and I'll never let the bad man be mean to you again."

"I don't think she's too upset about it, Harry," you laughed. "She is only 3 months old. She didn't exactly understand anything that went on."

"Excuse me," he said, looking very offended. "She may only be 3 months old, but she's very smart."

"Right, she's a genius baby, how could I forget?"

"I don't know," Harry shook his head at Stevie. "How could she forget how smart you are, hmm?"

Stevie yawned again, stretching her arms above her head.

"She's ready to take a nap," you said.

"Can I just hold her? I know it's not a good habit, to let her be held to sleep, but I don't want to put her down yet," Harry said, looking up with such pleading eyes, you couldn't possibly say no. Not like you would have said no anyways, but he didn't need to know that.

"Of course you can," you stood up, kissing his forehead before you turned away. "I'm gonna do the dishes, then we can watch something if you want."

"No, let me do those," he immediately protested.

"Harry, it's okay, I haven't done anything around the house since she was born-"

"And I'm not about to let you start now," he cut you off. "Come back here, please? Let's start that new show we were looking at the other night."

"Fine, but later I'm going to help you with the dishes."

"Fine," he smiled, agreeing with your compromise, even though you both knew he would argue later. "Now come back here."

[liesoverthec]

OG 911 Character Details from Canon Pt 2

Hi y’all I’m back! I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who reblogged the last details post - I sort of just thought people would like it and it would die, so to see it travel and hopefully reach more writers was so great so thank you again!

Details under the cut since I went a little crazy 😅 and if this is your first time seeing this, the first part, and any future parts, can be found under this tag here!

Quick note before I get to the details - always, ALWAYS take details from dialogue or plot over details from the set or props if they contradict each other. The writers have the ultimate say over what happens on the show/for the characters, so whatever they say goes, even if it goes against something props has already laid down (eg, Chim’s birthday, sorry Libra crew. He’s an Aries or a Pisces). So keep that in mind for the future in case some of these details I have which are from props/set are changed in the future, or if you’ve noticed something yourself!

Also if you have questions, I am MORE than happy to answer them, although if you leave them in the tags on this post I’m probably gonna lose them, so if it’s something you’d genuinely like an answer to, drop it in my inbox! Besides my standard “ask” tags, I’m also tagging asks about canon details with this tag here. Every time I make a big post like this, I’m going to link all the asks I’ve gotten since the last post, but if you’re looking for more info in the mean time, that’s the other spot to look!

Buck has a grill on his patio.

Eddie doesn’t hang Christopher’s art on the fridge - instead it is either hung on the corkboard in Chris’ room to the left of the door, or Eddie puts it in an actual frame and hangs it using a hammer/nails in Christopher’s room. All the Diaz family has on their fridge is a bunch of bendy people magnets. (I absolutely ADORE him putting all this effort into treating Christopher’s art like it’s something you’d buy from a professional artist).

Info on everyone’s ages can be found here. (Little more discussion of Chim’s situation here).

Albert has a bachelor’s degree! I don’t know in what though, except that it’s some field for which is a Master’s is useful.

Athena was in a sorority in college, Delta Sigma Theta. Their website describes them as “ ...a sisterhood comprised primarily of Black, college-educated women ... [that] considers the issues impacting the Black community and boldly confronts the challenges of African Americans and, hence, all Americans ”, which I love for Athena, and feel is very in-character for her at that time in her life!

Chim is an aviators dude. When he wears sunglasses, they’re always aviators.

Athena also wears nothing but aviators.

Bobby wears square aviators.

Eddie, on the other hand, always wears Wayfarers.

Buck either doesn’t really like sunglasses or he constantly forgets he owns them, since we’ve only seen him wear them once in 60 eps, in a move I’m pretty sure was ONLY for dramatic effect.

Hen’s sunglasses change style over the seasons like her regular glasses do, but she tends to like browline sunglasses.

Info on Christopher’s school can be found here!

There are two colors of dispatch polo, and there doesn’t seem to be any rhythm or reason for who wears what. Maroon - Maddie and Linda. Blue - Josh and May. Jamal has actually worn both maroon and blue, so it doesn’t seem to be TOTALLY set in stone although I’ve never seen anyone else switch. Sue is too badass to wear a dispatch shirt.

Both Bobby and Eddie drive 4 door pickups. Bobby’s is navy. Eddie specifically has a black, 2020 GMC Denali 1500 pickup truck (in case you want to specifically look up what the inside of it looks like or what features it has 😂)

Info on the 118’s medical certifications can be found here.

Correction to Eddie’s living situation from last post: no next door neighbors, but instead UPSTAIRS neighbors. (Pointed out by Abigail in this ask). Also since someone else was wondering the notes of the last post - no, there is absolutely no discussion on the show of whether or not Eddie rents the apartment or owns it. But based on the fact that it’s 1) LA and 2) an apartment, my guess would be he rents it.

When Maddie isn’t feeling like herself, she tends to straighten her hair rather than curl it. It seems to be more when she’s uncertain about her place in her own and other people’s lives, rather than just when she’s simply worried - eg it’s straight in 2B, when she’s uncertain if she wants to continue working as a dispatcher/is unsure about her relationship with Chim.

For work, Chim, Eddie and Buck all use black duffel bags with a LAFD patch on the top. Hen uses several different cute bags, and Bobby seems to have a plain black duffel bag.

Watches - Bobby, Athena, Chim, Hen and Buck all wear their watch on their left wrist (but Athena ONLY wears hers for work, she takes it off at home.) Eddie wears his on his right wrist, and Maddie doesn’t wear one.

Chim (and Maddie by default) literally still have the exact same couch as in the pilot. (Which means that Chim has cuddled Tatiana on that couch, AND Albert has had sex on it. TIME TO GET A NEW ONE, BUCKLEY-HANS 😂)

The 118 has five different rigs - the engine (E118), the ladder truck (T118), two ambulances and the captain’s truck. 95% of the time, when the team is chilling in the cab of a rig and chatting (eg the ‘stuck under a live telephone pole’ scene in Jinx), they’re in the engine, not the truck. (Which I personally learned recently are NOT interchangeable terms!)

Athena and Michael got married when Athena was 37.

If you’d like to give Maddie a full name beyond “Maddie”, you should use Madeline. (I know, I know, in 4x04 she says Maddie is the name on her birth certificate, and that you should never use props details if they contradict script details, but I always thought that was a super weird exchange in 4x04 which could be explained by Maddie getting a nickname since she was born when Margaret and Phillip, you know, actually loved their kids and showed it, so of course Buck doesn’t get one, and in 4x04, Maddie was trying to avoid the entire issue of why she got one and Buck didn’t. But! Do what you want, and use Madeline as the full version of Maddie if you’d like, since that’s what’s on the BOLO in 2x13 😂)

Athena’s call sign is 727 L30, but she doesn’t have a specific squad car - the number changes throughout the series.

Chim really likes chewing gum, but he’s the only one out of the entire family!

The station has an Xbox One S, and it’s white.

In the real LAFD, there are stations 1 through 114. To avoid confusion while filming on the streets (I’m assuming), our fictional LAFD never uses the number of a real station. So if you want another station for a fic, and you want something that would be real in OUR universe, use the numbers 115 and above. They’ve gone as high as 221 in our universe.

Battalions - station 118 is in Battalion 7, which is also not a battalion in real Los Angeles. The 118 has interacted w/ Battalion 1, which is a real battalion, but other ‘non-real which makes them more likely for our universe’ battalions include numbers: 3, 8, 13, 16, 19 and above.

S1 Buck knew the term Jedi, but based on context, didn’t understand AT ALL the context provided by Star Wars, so there’s another edge of his pop culture limits for you.

Chim is the most tech-savvy out of everyone, hands down.

Athena has a VERY active Twitter account.

Abuela’s house number is 8902. I don’t have a street name for you unfortunately though. :/

Athena’s favorite flowers are white roses. None of the other women are really flower people.

Michael likes to wear purple.

When they’re at a call, Buck does pretty much all of the stuff with the hammer and the saw. Eddie does all the work needed with the drill.

Harry goes to Meadowbrook Elementary.

Buck lives on the fourth floor of his apartment building, across the hall from Apt. 416. The lovely @lovelessmotel found this listing for what is more or less the apartment. What happened was: the set crew rented this apartment for the one episode at the end of s2 when Buck moved in, and then over the summer before s3 built their own set of it, and changed some things - eg giving him an island, and moving the sink to a second counter against the far wall, you can see the changes here in this amazing gif set by the awesome Austen, but the listing should let you click around a little more upstairs and figure out dimensions better than what the show provides!

When Athena and Hen go out to eat together, it’s always fast food burgers and fries.

Waffles are Athena’s favorite food, and tiramisu is her favorite dessert.

Every takeout we’ve seen Buck eat has always been in a Chinese food takeout container, and we know he likes Thai food the best. EXCEPT! The one time we see him eat takeout with Eddie and Christopher, they have pizza. So take from that what you will......

Eddie has a cell phone and a landline.

Chim is a shameless multiple texter.

Chim and Bobby sleep closest to the door in their respective bedrooms (both right side of the bed if you are standing at the foot, facing the headboard), and Athena and Maddie sleep furthest away from the door (left side).

Some canon last names for other firefighters at the station in case you wanna add more people to a fic - Mitchell, Sanchez, Serrano (woman), Porter, Meyers (woman), Maxwell, Voyta

Hen and Karen really love decorating their house with dark/red wood.

Karen is Mommy and Hen is Mama.

Bobby has a brother, and a grandmother, and that’s literally ALL we know about his family outside of Marcy and the kids.

Evidence points to Eddie being the oldest child in his family.

Karen has multiple brothers (no sisters), but no idea how many - just that one of them is named Trey, and one of them lives in LA and has kids. They might be the same brother and they might not be.

Both Hen and Athena are only children.

Athena has been on the police force for 30 years.

Christopher and Denny are the same age (born in 2011), and Harry is two years older than them.

Michael lives in apartment 308.

The bank in this universe is CalAm.

Hen and Karen have a picture of Denny, May and Harry on their fireplace mantel.

Eddie having a black thumb + a lot of plants in his living room = him buying fake plants bc he likes the aesthetic ™ or someone (cough Carla cough) is taking care of them for him.

The COVID timeline in OG’s universe is fucked up compared to the real world’s, so it shouldn’t be used as a way to measure time! They just throw it in wherever it makes sense for the story they want to tell (eg the vaccines in s4 ep 8), since s3 was both done before COVID hit but also airing while it was happening. It makes absolutely no sense for May to graduate in March nor for Chris to be going to what is specifically labeled summer camp, and the vaccine plotline was INCREDIBLY early, even for real life, so don’t use anything from that as a measure of time. I’ve found except in specific examples, eg the two tsunami episodes, it’s very safe to say every episode covers a week - fall holidays on the show line up with their real life counterparts, indicating about the same amount of time is passing for us and them.

On that note - Jee-Yun was born in late January, early February 2021. (Conceived in Pinned, which was end of March/beginning of April, meaning Maddie was around a month along at May’s graduation in May ➡ 42 weeks + 3 days from then = late Jan/early Feb. Which unfortunately means we most likely won’t see her birthday celebrated on screen. If we assume she was conceived on the date Pinned aired, aka the very sexy hotel scene, then January 21st or 22nd would be Jee’s birthday, depending on if she was born after midnight or not.

Buck has had at least one other Jeep between the one Maddie gave him, and the one he has now, which means that when he needs a new car, he is purposefully choosing Jeeps.

I hope this was all as interesting/enjoyable to you as it was to me! And just to repeat - I love answering questions so pls let me know if you have any at all ❤

🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝

Tagging: @buckbuckley

[fatliberation]

I’m Abandoning Body Positivity and Here’s Why

In short: it’s fatphobic.

“A rallying cry for a shift in societal norms has now become the skinny girl’s reassurance that she isn’t really fat. Fatness, through this lens of ‘body positivity’, remains the worst thing a person can be.” (Kayleigh Donaldson)

•  •  •

I have always had a lot of conflicting opinions about the body positivity movement, but it’s much more widely known (and accepted, go figure) than the fat liberation movement, so I often used the two terms interchangeably in conversation about anti-fatness. But the longer I’ve been following the body positivity movement, the more I’ve realized how much it has strayed from its fat lib origins. It has been hijacked; deluded to center thin, able, white, socially acceptable bodies.

Bopo’s origins are undoubtedly grounded in fat liberation. The fat activists of the 1960s paved the way for the shred of size acceptance we see in media today, initially protesting the discrimination and lack of access to equal opportunities for fat people specifically. This early movement highlighted the abuse, mental health struggles, malpractice in the medical field, and called for equal pay, equal access, equal respect, an end to fatphobic structures and ideas. It saddens me that it hasn’t made much progress in those regards. 

Today, the #bopo movement encapsulates more the idea of loving your own body versus ensuring that individuals regardless of their weight and appearance are given equal opportunities in the workplace, schools, fashion and media. Somehow those demands never made it outside of the ‘taboo’ category, and privileged people would much more readily accept the warm and fuzzy, sugar-coated message of “love yourself!” But as @yrfatfriend once said, this idea reduces fat people’s struggles to a problem of mindset, rather than a product of external oppressors that need to be abolished in order for fat people to live freely.

That generalized statement, “love yourself,” is how a movement started by fat people for the rights of fat people was diluted so much, it now serves a thin model on Instagram posting about how she has a tummy roll and cellulite on her thighs - then getting praised for loving her body despite *gasp!* its minor resemblance to a fat body. 

Look. Pretty much everyone has insecurities about their bodies, especially those of us who belong to marginalized groups. If you don’t have body issues, you’re a privileged miracle, but our beauty-obsessed society has conditioned us to want to look a certain way, and if we have any features that the western beauty standard considers as “flaws,” yeah! We feel bad about it! So it’s not surprising that people who feel bad about themselves would want to hop on a movement that says ‘hey, you’re beautiful as you are!’ That’s a message everyone would like to hear. Any person who has once thought of themselves as less than beautiful now feels that this movement is theirs. And everyone has insecurities, so everyone feels entitled to the safe space. And when a space made for a minority includes the majority, the cycle happens again and the majority oppresses the minority. What I’m trying to explain here is that thin people now feel a sense of ownership over body positive spaces. 

Regardless of how badly thin people feel about their bodies, they still experience thin privilege. They can sit down in a theater or an airplane without even thinking about it, they can eat in front of others without judgement, they can go the doctor with a problem and actually have it fixed right away, they can find cute clothes in their size with ease, they do not suffer from assumptions of laziness/failure based on stereotype, they see their body type represented everywhere in media, the list goes on and on. They do not face discrimination based off of the size of their body. 

Yet diet culture and fatphobia affects everyone, and of course thin people do still feel bad about the little fat they have on their bodies. But the failure to examine WHY they feel bad about it, is what perpetuates fatphobia within the bopo movement. They’re labeled “brave” for showing a pinch of chub, yet fail to address what makes it so acceptably daring, and how damaging it is to people who are shamed for living in fat bodies. Much like the rest of society, thin body positivity is still driven by the fear of fat, and does nothing to dismantle fatphobia within structures or within themselves.

Evette Dionne sums it up perfectly in her article, “The Fragility of Body Positivity: How a Radical Movement Lost Its Way.”

“The body-positive media economy centers these affirming, empowering, let-me-pinch-a-fat-roll-to-show-how-much-I-love-myself stories while failing to actually challenge institutions to stop discriminating against fat people. More importantly, most of those stories center thin, white, cisgender, heterosexual women who have co-opted the movement to build their brands. Rutter has labeled this erasure ‘Socially Acceptable Body Positivity.’

“On social media, it actually gets worse for fat bodies: We’re not just being erased from body positivity, fat women are being actively vilified. Health has become the stick with which to beat fat people with [sic], and the benchmark for whether body positivity should include someone” (Dionne).

Ah, yes. The medicalization of fat bodies, and the moralization of health. I’ve ranted about this before. Countless comments on posts of big women that say stuff like “I’m all for body positivity, but this is just unhealthy and it shouldn’t be celebrated.” I’ve heard writer/activist Aubrey Gordon once say that body positivity has become something like a shield for anti-fatness. It’s anti-fatness that has been repackaged as empowerment. It’s a striking double-standard. Fat people are told to be comfortable in their bodies (as if that’s what’s going to fix things) but in turn are punished when they’re okay with being fat. Make it make sense.

Since thin people feel a sense of ownership over body positive spaces, and they get to hide behind “health” when they are picking and choosing who can and cannot be body positive, they base it off of who looks the most socially acceptable. And I’m sure they aren’t consciously picking and choosing, it comes from implicit bias. But the socially acceptable bodies they center are small to medium fat, with an hourglass shape. They have shaped a new beauty standard specifically FOR FAT PEOPLE. (Have you ever seen a plus sized model with neck fat?? I’m genuinely asking because I have yet to find one!) The bopo movement works to exclude and silence people who are on the largest end of the weight spectrum. 

Speaking of exclusion, let’s talk about fashion for a minute.

For some reason, (COUGH COUGH CAPITALISM) body positivity is largely centered around fashion. And surprise surprise, it’s still not inclusive to fat people. Fashion companies get a pat on the back for expanding their sizing two sizes up from what they previously offered, when they are still leaving out larger fat people completely. In general, clothing companies charge more for clothes with more fabric, so people who need the largest sizes are left high and dry. It’s next to impossible to find affordable clothes that also look nice. Fashion piggybacks on the bopo movement as a marketing tactic, and exploits the very bodies it claims to be serving. (Need I mention the time Urban Outfitters used a "curvy” model to sell a size it doesn’t even carry?)

The movement also works to exclude and silence fat Black activists.

In her article, “The Body Positivity Movement Both Takes From and Erases Fat Black Women” Donyae Coles explains how both white people and thin celebrities such as Jameela Jamil profit from the movement that Black women built.

“Since long before blogging was a thing, fat Black women have been vocal about body acceptance, with women like Sharon Quinn and Marie Denee, or the work of Sonya Renee Taylor with The Body Is Not An Apology. We’ve been out here, and we’re still here, but the overwhelming face of the movement is white and thin because the mainstream still craves it, and white and thin people have no problem with profiting off the work of fat, non-white bodies.”

“There is a persistent belief that when thin and/or white people enter the body positive realm and begin to repeat the messages that Black women have been saying for years in some cases, when they imitate the labor that Black women have already put in that we should be thankful that they are “boosting” our message. This completely ignores the fact that in doing so they are profiting off of that labor. They are gaining the notoriety, the mark of an expert in something they learned from an ignored Black woman” (Coles).

My next essay will go into detail about this and illuminate key figures who paved the way for body acceptance in communities of color. 

The true purpose of this movement has gotten completely lost. So where the fuck do we go from here? 

We break up with it, and run back to the faithful ex our parents disapproved of. We go back to the roots of the fat liberation movement, carved out for us by the fat feminists, the queer fat activists, the fat Black community, and the allies it began with. Everything they have preached since the 1960s and 70s is one hundred percent applicable today. We get educated. We examine diet culture through a capitalist lens. We tackle thin, white-supremacist systems and weight based discrimination, as well as internalized bias. We challenge our healthcare workers to unlearn their bias, treat, and support fat patients accordingly. We make our homes and spaces accessible and welcoming to people of any size, or any (dis)ability. “We must first protect and uplift people in marginalized bodies, only then can we mandate self-love” (Gordon).

Think about it. In the face of discrimination, mistreatment, and emotional abuse, we as a society are telling fat people to love their bodies, when we should be putting our energy toward removing those fatphobic ideas and structures so that fat people can live in a world that doesn’t require them to feel bad about their bodies. It’s like hitting someone with a rock and telling them not to bruise!

While learning to love and care for the body that you’re in is important, I think that body positivity also fails in teaching that because it puts even more emphasis on beauty. Instead of saying, “you don’t have to be ‘beautiful’ to be loved and appreciated,” its main lesson is that “all bodies are beautiful.” We live in a society obsessed with appearance, and it is irresponsible to ignore the hierarchy of beauty standards that exist in every space. Although it should be relative, “beautiful” has been given a meaning. And that meaning is thin, abled, symmetric, and eurocentric. 

Beauty and ugliness are irrelevant, made-up constructs. People will always be drawn to you no matter what, so you deserve to exist in your body without struggling to conform to an impossible and bigoted standard. Love and accept your body for YOURSELF AND NO ONE ELSE, because you do not exist to please the eyes of other people. That’s what I wish we were teaching instead. Radical self acceptance!

As of today, the ultimate message of the body positivity movement is: Love your body “despite its imperfections.” Or people with “perfect and imperfect bodies both deserve love.” As long as we are upholding the notion that there IS a perfect body that looks a certain way, and every body that falls outside of that category is imperfect, we are upholding white supremacy, eugenics, anti-fatness, and ableism.

[keanureevesisbae]

But professor... - c.1

Summary: Penny Townsend is going to attend her first criminology class. What she didn’t expect was professor Walter Marshall.

Professor!Walter Marshall x Penny Townsend (Asian ofc)

Wordcount: 3.3k

Warnings: Mentions of murder and blood

A/N: I hope you enjoy this Professor!AU -- can you imagine? Walter Marshall as a professor? 🤤

Masterlist // But professor... masterlist // Next chapter

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My parents hoped that I would become a doctor. I get it—being friends with a lot of successful parents with equally successful children, must’ve raised their standard for me. They however must’ve known that medicine wasn’t it for me and going to law school isn’t my forte either. It must’ve been hard on them, knowing I wasn’t that intellectually gifted, though they tried their best for me to be.

They did a lot for me. At the ripe age of two to five hours, I was placed at the entrance of a church in Maryland. The pastor and his wife discovered me and brought me to the hospital, only to found out I wasn’t just a couple weeks premature, but also had a lot of heroin in my system.

My birth parents barely gave me a chance the second I was born (probably when I was conceived, but okay) and that is why I am so grateful that my adoptive parents care so much about me.

And that’s why I want to make them proud and studying psychology is my best chance at being the successful daughter they deserve, but man does it feel wrong to be here. I know there is another student out there who deserves to be here, who actually wants to do this, yet here I am taking their place.

Psychology wasn’t the greatest choice already, but having to take criminology was an even bigger mistake. I walk into the lecture hall for the first criminology class. My hands shake because of the nerves, they’re even clammy. I’m not good at making friends, so seeing those cliques that has formed after only two weeks of university, makes me slightly jealous and really alone.

I never really fitted in. My teachers would describe me as a sweet young girl, who is painfully shy.

That, of course, is if they even noticed me at all.

It can be hard to fit in, especially when you feel out of place the second you enter a room, like I have felt since I can remember.

‘Take a seat,’ I hear a deep voice say and I look up, to meet the eyes of the professor. He is unlike all of my other professors. He isn’t in a suit or at least some decent slacks. His denim jeans hugs his thick thighs, as he wears a sweater on top. His curls are disheveled and slightly frizzy and his beard is asymmetrical. A deep frown in between his brows.

‘Me?’ I ask in a soft tone.

He nods. ‘You,’ he confirms.

I walk passed him to choose a seat in the back. I take place and look around me, only to meet the eyes of the professor again. While I wonder what made him choose teaching, since he doesn’t look like someone who was born to teach, I also ponder about the fact he is looking at me again.

Why would he do that?

I grab my laptop and open it, opening a new document. I’ve been going to NYU for two weeks now, yet this is my first criminology class. I run my fingers through my hair, pushing up the glasses on my nose bridge.

‘Okay everyone,’ I hear the professor say, when it’s time for the class to start. ‘There is a sheet going around. Find the spot you’re sitting now and write down your name. If I find out you are messing with me, you have failed your class immediately.’

He is not beating around the bush.

‘I’m detective Walter Marshall. I have worked for the MPD, the Minneapolis Police Department. For this semester there are three subjects we’ll cover. Victimology, crime analysis and the psychology of criminal behavior.’

This is not at all what I want to learn. This is too gore for me. I should’ve stood up to my parents and go to cosmetology school like I originally wanted. It’s better for me anyways.

I’m so stupid.

The paper ends up on my table and I try to find my place on it. I write down ‘Penelope Townsend’ and slide it to the person two tables over. Professor Marshall explains how we have a weekly lecture of two hours and how he is available for questions every Friday, since he’ll be in his office.

‘Does anyone have any questions?’

A guy raises his hand. ‘Why aren’t you working for the MPD anymore, sir?’

Professor Marshall sits on the edge of his desk, crossing his muscular arms in front of his chest. ‘I was put on leave.’

‘Why?’

‘There were some issues,’ he says. ‘Between me and suspects.’

I have no idea what he is implying, but the silence in the classroom is so thick, that I have a clue what types of issues came with said suspects.

‘Really?’ the guy asks.

The professor only raises his eyebrows, which obviously means he isn’t joking. You don’t need to have studied Psychology to figure that out. ‘Any more questions?

‘Do we work in pairs for the assignment?’ a girl asks.

He shakes his head. ‘No, individual works only.’

I let out a sigh of relief. Thank the stars, I don’t want to work with others. Really, I don’t.

‘Okay, if that’s all, let me start right away. What do these women have in common?’ He presses a button on his presenter and the screen behind him changes. Three pictures of women appear on the screen. It’s their driver’s license photo.

‘They’re women,’ a guy says, causing a few to laugh.

Professor Marshall grabs the paper with names and says: ‘Does anyone have something less obvious to comment than mister Fitzgerald?’ He seems not amused at all by the words of Fitzgerald.

‘Brown hair, blue eyes,’ a girl says.

He nods. ‘And?’

‘They’re pretty,’ another girl says.

‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,’ he notes. His eyes scan the paper and he looks up. ‘Miss Townsend, do you have something to add?’

Our eyes meet again and I realize that I’m the only miss Townsend in the class. I clear my throat and look at the pictures. Say something smart, Penny. Say something intelligent. Really intelligent.

The obvious things have already been said, so I should stay away from those things.

I swallow hard, press my glasses better on my nose and say: ‘Their left eyelid is slightly droopy.’

I hear some people chuckle a bit, making me feel everything but intelligent.

‘Quiet,’ professor Marshall says and the chuckles die down instantly. ‘Their droopy left eyelid is what made them appealing to the killer.’ He looks up from the other side of class, right at me. His slightly annoyed gaze dissolves for a few moments into a soft one. ‘Miss Townsend made an excellent point here. It took an entire police department to come to that conclusion over the course of two months.’

Oh my goodness, I made an excellent point.

The slides change and I see another picture. This time it’s of a man. It’s a mugshot. I bet he is the killer.

‘Miss Townsend, since you are on a roll,’ the professor continues and I nearly groan. Really? He wants me to answer another questions? ‘What’s do you notice about this man?’

I scan his entire face. He has a crooked nose, blemishes on his forehead and thin lips. He looks like a killer. This would be the type of man I would avoid if I came across him.

‘His left eyelid is also droopy,’ I say.

Is that a tiny smirk on his lips? ‘Correct.’ While professor Marshall continues to explain about how his own appearance is unknowingly influencing his choice of victims, I can’t help but beam a little with pride. ‘Because,’ he continues, ‘if you understand your victims, you can understand your killer.’ The slideshow changes to one word. ‘Welcome to victimology.’

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Time spend in a lecture hall while professor Marshall teaches flies by. Though he is a bit grumpy and not very welcoming, he is interesting and smart. Much better than my other teachers. I put everything in my backpack, before I get up from my seat. I’m one of the last students to leave the place, mostly because I don’t want to be swarmed by the cliques.

‘Miss Townsend,’ professor Marshall says, causing me to stop misstep as I already passed him.

I turn around. ‘Yes?’ I ask.

He doesn’t look up from his notes. ‘You did well in class today.’

Is this man giving me a compliment? He might be the first one in a teacher like position to ever notice me, let alone give me a compliment. ‘I did?’

‘Yeah,’ he says, now looking up from his notes. ‘Don’t hesitate to say something in class next time. You have great insight.’

‘Or just luck,’ I say.

Professor Marshall shakes his head. ‘No, this isn’t about luck, this is good insight. So, can you promise me to raise your hand next class?’

I bite my lip, before shaking my head. ‘No, I can’t.’

‘Why can’t you?’

‘What I said: this was luck and it probably won’t happen again. I have to go. I reserved a spot at the library. If that is all, sir?’

He doesn’t say anything, simply looks at me. It takes a second, maybe two before he nods. ‘If you have questions,’ he says, ‘you know how to contact me.’

I nod, before I walk out of the hall. I see students gathering in front of the door and I quickly slip through them and make my way to the library. I’ve been going to classes for around two weeks now and I’m still up to date as we speak. I decide to at least make a beginning with the assignments of my criminology class, because the sooner I start, the less work and stress I’ll experience later on, because I most definitely will stress about it.

It’s been quite awhile since I opened a book for school for assignments or preparing for exams. After high school, I decided to take a gap year, which ended in two. I’ve traveled with all sorts of groups to different countries, worked at an international cafe in Japan for awhile. It did help me with my social skills. I was happy, social and totally in my element. Those wonderful skills were all forgotten the second I stepped foot back in the USA again.

It was my parents that pushed for going back to college and once they figured out that medicine or law wasn’t up my alley, they agreed psychology, though it wasn’t my thing either.

It’s okay, sure, but… Gosh, I miss the freedom I had during the gap years. I’m not stupid, but is the academical life for me? I have looked at cosmetology school and boy do I wish I was there at the moment.

And not here.

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I don’t know how long I have been at the library, but my eyes are tired by the time I close my laptop. Besides working on my assignment, I also texted my parents to tell them everything is going fine and checked out multiple cosmetology schools here in the area.

Originally I’m from Maryland, meaning it’s only a three hour drive to see my parents and for them to check in on me. I considered lying about my major, about attending NYU and just go to cosmetology school, but mom and dad are paying my tuition, which is another loophole in my plan.

I put the laptop in my backpack and walk out of the library. Every second my mind wasn’t occupied with university related things, it went straight back to my first criminology class, more specifically my professor. His words. It’s one thing he said those things to me, but another that he looked so handsome while saying it.

‘There she is,’ I hear from behind me as I walk through the hallways to the exit. I turn around to discover it’s Fitzgerald. I forgot his first name, which is weird since we share a lot of the same classes together. He isn’t easy to miss. Pleasant on the eyes, that’s for sure, but he is loud, thinks he is hilarious and that makes him kinda annoying. ‘Miss Townsend,’ he says in a mocking tone.

Okay, change kinda annoying to absolutely insufferable.

‘Hm?’

Fitzgerald walks next to me and he comes a lot closer than I prefer. ‘You’re already the teacher’s pet,’ he continues. ‘Bet the man has a thing for Asian chicks.’

I have no idea how to respond to that implication. My instinct says to get out of here, but the exit is right ahead of me and from the looks of it, Fitzgerald is going there as well. So there is no escape.

‘But let’s say it’s beginners luck,’ he says, ‘because it was actually the first time I heard you speak.’

‘You mind leaving me alone?’ I ask.

‘Why is that, sugar boo?’

Okay, now I’m gonna vomit. Goosebumps run over my spine and the hairs in my neck are standing straight up. I bet this guy’s dad is rich, therefore the only reason he is here. ‘I don’t want you here.’

‘You don’t want me here?’ He starts to chuckle. ‘Sweetheart, everyone wants me here.’

Not me.

‘Fitzgerald, are you deaf?’

It’s professor Marshall.

His eyes enlarge when he realizes that too. ‘No, sir,’ he quickly says.

‘She said she doesn’t want you here.’ He stands in front of the two of us, looking everything but amused. ‘You know, back when I was working, I encountered a lot of guys like you. Did you know they usually peak in high school, do okay in college, but the second they end up locked up in jail—and I promise you, they most often will—they aren’t so tough anymore. They usually end up as someone’s bitch.’

To hear this entire monologue and the word bitch from a professor, was not at all what I was expecting. Fitzgerald’s face is drained from all its color. While Fitzgerald looks like he shat himself, I am utterly amazed. I wish I was this intimidating, I think to myself.

Fitzgerald clears his throat, eyes darting around the hallway, almost as if he is trying to find the closest exit. He shoots out of this place very quickly, meaning I’m left with only our professor.

‘Thank you, sir,’ I say.

Professor Marshall simply nods. ‘You know, if you lowered your shoulders, you’d appear more confident.’

Why do I feel so offended? ‘Oh…’

‘It’s advice, miss Townsend, not criticism.’

‘Oh,’ I say again, this time in a whisper like tone. He could’ve brought it up a bit nicer though. No need to hurt my feelings like that.

Professor Marshall and I both walk towards the exit and I notice it’s raining. Great, guess who didn’t bring her umbrella and also isn’t wearing a jacket with a hood?

Absolutely fantastic.

‘Here,’ the professor says, holding out his umbrella for me.

Is this truly happening? ‘Oh, sir, that’s not necessary.’

‘I insist.’

With some hesitation I grab the umbrella from him and smile. ‘Thank you, professor.’

He politely nods and walks off, leaving me with the umbrella and a little bit confused. Though he looks so handsome and slightly intimidating, he still is nice to me. The only teacher ever. Maybe Fitzgerald is right and—

No, no, no, don’t think like that. It’s not that every man who is nice to me all of the sudden has this fetish. That can’t be it, right?

Maybe, despite my aversion, I am actually good at the whole criminology thing and isn’t it a one time thing. Luck. Maybe I do have something I am good at.

✎ ✎ ✎

That Friday I am still on campus after I spend my entire afternoon in the library. Since I have a question about the criminology assignment, I decide walk to the office of professor Marshall. To kill two birds with one stone, I brought his umbrella with me so I can give it back. I knock on the door and hear a low: ‘Come in.’

I open the door and am met with the professor, who is sitting behind is desk. ‘Sir, I have a question about the assignment.’

He leans back in his chair and gestures me to come in. I close the door behind me and expect to sit, until I notice there isn’t a chair anywhere for me to sit on. How unwelcome of him, I think to myself. Does that mean I have to remain standing?

‘What’s your question, miss Townsend?’

‘I didn’t know which format I had to use for the entire assignment. It’s not really that big of a deal, but I was here in the building and I thought that I could…’ Nice way of getting off track, Penny. As they said in high school musical: ‘Get’cha your head in the game’ and this is  not the game. ‘Never mind. Which format should I use?’

‘That’s up to you,’ he says.

That’s it? That’s the answer he is gonna give me?

‘Right,’ I mumble.

‘Other questions, miss Townsend?’

Yes. I let out a deep sigh. ‘The assignment is just harder than I thought,’ I admit. ‘I don’t really understand it.’

Professor Marshall stands up and holds out his hand. ‘Sit, I’ll try to explain it.’

‘In your chair?’

He simply nods and I walk around the desk, to take a seat, while he leans against the windowsill. Oh, the leather is warm… What a body heat does this man produce. ‘Okay, the point of the assignment is to use some of the example files of—staged—murders. Based on the file you choose, you choose a format. You write out the victimology, try to narrate who the killer is, writing down all your findings and there are things I’m gonna talk about in next classes.’

I nod. ‘That makes it easier, thank you, sir.’

‘You’re already working on the assignment?’ he asks. Why does he sound genuinely surprised?

I nod again. ‘I am. I find it easier to work a bit every day, than to cram it all in one day.’ I realize how that sounds. ‘That sounds dorky.’

‘It doesn’t really. It’s a whole lot better than what I did back in the days,’ he says. ‘What did you think of the class?’

Is he asking for my opinion? ‘Your class was very interesting. Slightly morbid though, but fascinating.’

‘Morbid?’ the professor asks. ‘There was nothing morbid about my class.’

I scrunch up my nose. ‘It was kinda scary. With the blood patterns and all. The peek into the murderer’s mind?’ I shiver. ‘Don’t know, felt too personal and too much into the killer’s brain.’

‘The class you’re taking is criminology,’ he says, ‘you should’ve known.’

I shrug, not knowing what to say to him. He is right…

‘Miss Townsend—’

‘Penny,’ I say. ‘It’s Penny. Penelope officially, but people barely call me that.’ People barely call out for me ever, but that’s a different topic. Total different topic.

‘Penny,’ he says, ‘could’ve known.’

I don’t know what he is implying, but I realize I am totally overstaying. ‘I’m sorry, I should go. Thanks for helping me out. Oh, I brought you back your umbrella. I don’t need it anyways.’

Professor Marshall nods. ‘Okay.’

‘I should go. It’s getting kinda dark already.’

‘Let me guess, you don’t do well in the dark.’

I smile almost out of guilt. ‘That obvious?’

For a brief moment I spot a smirk on his face. ‘I’m a detective, I spot these things.’

Okay, not gonna lie, but that’s pretty funny. ‘See you next class, professor,’ I say, standing up from his chair and I walk towards the door.

‘See you next class, Penny.’

[critical-thinking-is-mandatory]

Do you think Adrien is a nice guy or incel? I mean he does have an Asian fetish (speaks Japanese, a white person who likes Asians is very common on incel sites such as r/aznidentity) and he acts entitled to LB and gets mad at her for not being his gf

I'm leaning more to the Nice Guy TM as opposed to the incel angle. Just because, in general, incels take on a more... hateful ideology.

Putting this under a cut because it got long lol

Like to be clear, he's not 'nice' he's a Nice Guy TM in that he's got the standard manipulative, pitiable kind of attitude alongside the expectation of 'if I be her friend, then she owes me love/dating/sex etc.' This kind of attitude does stem from a limited, patriarchal world-view, where men/boys can only have intimate relationships with women/girls, because "men only feel anger and sex and that means you can't have an intimate friendship with your male friends" along with the expectation that women/girls treat their male friends like friends because they're romantically inclined (because men are encouraged by the patriarchy to treat women as less than human unless they're romantically inclined). So like. This whole mess bundles together to create Nice Guys and incels because Patriarchy.

I think it was Glaciator that gave us the clearest view of this attitude in Adrien, when he took Maribug to see his rooftop surprise, gave her a flower, kissed her cheek and told her that Maribug's friendship is the greatest gift, before he went home and told Plagg that when Maribug finally realises her feelings for him, he'll be waiting.

Combining this with the fact that Adrien pressures Maribug almost every single episode, and the 'Milady' nickname which just screams Nice Guy, it gives off major Nice Guy vibes. (Personally, I think most people don't realise it because Adrien is conventionally attractive and rich and most Nice Guys...aren't.)

And to go more in-depth with why I don't think Adrien is an incel as opposed to a Nice Guy is well. He genuinely thinks he respects Maribug, and we never really see Adrien taking his romantic frustrations out on the general female population (or even have it implied). Like, we know he doesn't actually respect Maribug, otherwise he'd let the matter drop, but as pushy as he gets he doesn't get overtly violent. Passive-aggressive, manipulative, increasingly unhelpful, definitely, but we're missing the violence/potential violence that takes a Nice Guy that step further into incel territory.

Like there's not really any threat of Adrien following Maribug home, or sending her threats over text, or threatening her with personal harm to himself or whatever. Other people might make other distinctions between the two categories, and there's a whole lot of overlap, but I firmly believe Adrien is a Nice Guy.

Like to compare Adrien's Nice Guy TM with Luka's nice guy there's a pretty stark difference.

During Frozer Luka encouraged Marinette to go after and talk to Adrien, even though the whole situation very much felt like a double-date. (And it was implied by this time that both Marinette and Luka liked each other, at least a *tiny* bit.)

In Copycat, Adrichat got so jealous of the artist expressing his admiration for Maribug, that he was rude enough to get the dude akumatised.

Luka confessed to Marinette in Silencer, and left the matter entirely in her hands. Very low pressure.

Adrichat confessed properly in Glaciator? Frozer? (idk can't remember 100% but it was one of the two) and to this time, 2 seasons on, he still hasn't let the matter drop and basically tricked Maribug into going on a date with him. (Gang of Secrets or Lies idk).

Like Adrien is persistent to the point that it's harassment, he's manipulative and sneaky, he guilt-trips Maribug what feels like every other episode, and what's more Season 4 has shown us that he's violent towards anyone and anything he perceives as competition.

Luka was straightforward and honest with his feelings, endlessly patient, and never offered more than gentle encouragement when other characters would've been forcing and demanding Marinette for action and answers.

I think I've covered everything but I will point out that having what very much feels like a fetish for East-Asian girls, isn't really a deciding factor in Adrien being an incel or Nice Guy. It just means he's racist. Probably not on purpose, but it's just as damaging as someone being overtly purposefully racist. (Will point out tho that he's learning Mandarin, a Chinese dialect, not Japanese.)