#like yes it's an accurate description but it's not an interesting comment. and you could instead tell me about a place that does great duck

[garbagequeer]

barbie discourse annoys me because like the normal person who doesn't hate women part of it just boils down to this movie about a specific doll that is a product of the brand that got the movie made and did huge publicity stunts for it is an advertisement but said as if it's a breakthrough to see that. like. and 1+1 is 2. can we get smarter in here

[hobiebrownismygod]

Let's talk about Jessica Drew - Character Analyzation/Rant (People don't like powerful women)

LOOK AT HER.

This magnificent woman sports a luscious afro while wearing 80s style clothing. Afros and natural hair in general are symbols of African American pride and embracing your African heritage. Her clothing style is very similar to the clothing style and fashion that African American women wore in the 80s.

I couldn't find a better picture, but do you see my vision? Also they are serving 🤩

She oozes culture and black power. She's a pregnant, yet badass black woman who drives a motorcycle and is proud of her heritage. Yet people dislike her. Why?

Because she's an aggressive, no-nonsense, black female character

One of the reasons people dislike Jessica Drew is because we see her reprimanding Gwen for visiting Miles, and telling her that she can't see him again. However, controversially, I think Jess was right about this. Gwen disobeyed direct orders and let her heart get in front of her head. She ignored her mission and the result of that was Spot's escape and a possibility of interdimensional unraveling. Jess had all the right to reprimand Gwen for this, because in her perspective, Gwen messed up. But even though Gwen messed up, Jess was still willing to give her another chance. She agreed not to tell Miguel, because she knew Gwen would be sent home, proving that she still had Gwen's best interests at heart and didn't want Gwen to have to go back to deal with her dad and the possibility of being arrested.

The second reason people dislike her is because she allowed Gwen to be sent back to her universe. However, people are completely forgetting the fact that she wasn't the person sending Gwen back to Earth-65. Miguel was. Jess did her best to protect Gwen, and gave Gwen numerous chances, but in the end, Gwen failed her mission and disobeyed orders, causing her to be sent home. This is not Jess's fault. People are also ignoring the fact that Peter B. Parker, a man that knew Gwen way before Jess did absolutely nothing to save Gwen from Miguel's rage. What did he do instead? He stood there and made jokes. Instead of actually addressing the situation and a girl who considered him her friend, he decided to crack a joke. Not even a funny joke. But people are blaming Jess for this. Why?

Because people don't like seeing strong, aggressive female characters. Jessica oozes confidence. She's confident in her heritage, she's confident in her capabilities and she's confident in herself. Her tone is sharp, she doesn't mess around and she doesn't put up with people's bullshit. Ex. her telling Peter B to "stop talking" and her telling Hobie he's "not helping". People don't like seeing aggressive black female leads, because it makes them uncomfortable. People are quick to label a woman who's aggressive as "harsh" and "argumentative" but proceed to label Miguel, the person who sent a homeless teenager back to her dimension, as someone who's "doing what he has to". I'm not saying Miguel is a bad person. I'm saying Jessica isn't a bad person.

Jess is also most definitely going to get a character development arc considering how she was obviously doubting her loyalty to Miguel in the last 30ish minutes of the movie right after Gwen was sent-home and during Gwen's speech with Miles' parents when Jess was listening.

Jess Drew was slightly harsh on Gwen, and didn't object to her being sent back to her dimension. Was this wrong of her? Yes. But does that make her a bad person? No. People are misinterpreting her character. She is not a bad person and she does not deserve the hate people are spewing against her. She is a strong black female character and we need more people like her in the media to look up to.

BTW, I'm not black but I tried to be as accurate in my description of how Jess embraces her heritage as I could, so if you see any inaccuracies or have any comments, please correct me <3

[pinbitch]

"and i am CONVINCED that it was azazel scheming to put someone else on the throne of hell to BLOCK lucifer’s ascension from the cage" literally stopped and stared bc i've never heard this one before, can you please elaborate

oh yes! i love this theory! be prepared for a LONG ANSWER

so basically imo the boyking and lucifer’s vessel arcs don’t entirely mesh. why go through all the trouble of creating all the special children and having them compete when sam is the one who HAS to be lucifer’s vessel? what’s the point of creating a monarch who is powerful enough and motivated to rule hell in their own right if they’re just gonna be possessed by lucifer? and why still be feeding babies demon blood in series 1? we know lucifer told azazel to find a child, to find his vessel, but having that child rule hell as the demons were expecting per the boyking comment doesn’t make sense. why would the winner of azazel’s contest ever give up their power and their BODY to be lucifer’s puppet? it doesn’t make sense

so, what does? (or at least is fun and interesting to think about)

i’ve always though demons as a whole should have been more conniving. the hell politics we got were always too simplistic. where are the SCHEMES. surely crowley wasn’t the only one who realised that lucifer had an even lower opinion of demons than of humanity and didn’t want him ruling?

azazel knew lucifer personally, was created by lucifer personally. he knows exactly what lucifer is like, so why wouldn’t he have an accurate understanding of how fucked demonkind would be if lucifer came back and the apocalypse started? also, he’s running hell, why would he want to give up that power? but he’d also want plausible deniability, both so he could control the demons who still support lucifer (like lilith and his own daughter meg!) and also on the off chance he failed and lucifer did rise

which leads us to the special children. this is where i get more into the realm of headcanon in terms of what hell is actually like, but i still think it tracks with the show. the descriptions of hell and the visuals of hell we get are all wildly different. crowley’s queue, dean’s pit, sam’s medieval dungeon, meg’s bone and blood and pain. they’re different enough that i think hell changes based in your perception. either to what will make you suffer the most (dean and meg), or if you’re powerful enough what you tell it to be (crowley very much on purpose, sam subconsciously. he created hell into somewhere he could relatively easily rescue bobby from)

all this to say that hell is a living thing. it can accept or reject a ruler, and the more accepted they are the harder it is for a ruler to be deposed. if they’re integrated with hell enough they simply can’t be. lucifer as the creator of demonkind and original ruler should be the best fit and the most accepted, but lucifer doesn’t want hell, he’ll always resent being there instead of heaven, so hell will never completely accept him. and a demon will never truly be accepted either, because they’re not lucifer and they’re not an angel, so they’re not enough like him to be a fully effective substitute

but a human with demon blood? they’re closer to the divine than a demon, but they don’t know heaven to long for it. there’s every possibility that hell would accept that special child more than azazel and more than lucifer, and because that child has the full power and support of the creature that is hell they might be able to hold the cage closed even with lilith’s death, or simply stop lucifer from taking power in hell once he’s risen, or even outright kill lucifer

so with that in mind, of course sam is the favourite. azazel is gambling here so he’s keeping his options open with multiple candidates, but lucifer’s true vessel is always gonna have the best chance of being accepted by hell and taking lucifer’s place. as long as he can control sam he’s coming up roses

but then azazel dies, and i don't see him trusting his true plans and motivations to any other demon, so they all just play out the apocalypse like they thought they were supposed to from the start. except for the crowleys (and in my headcanon ruby but that’s a question for when i finally finish and publish kindred instruments rip) who are smart enough to figure out that lucifer views them as vaguely useful cockroaches

obviously this is a watsonian answer to a doylist question, but i always find those the most fun anyway

[qqueenofhades]

Hey! Okay so I know this is gonna be a Big Ask, and will probably need the help of some of your followers. I definitely am not asking for a Complete List, but...

As an European, it's really difficult to get a good oversight of which American news outlets are used a lot, and what their general bias is in reporting politically (i.e. republican/democratic/neutral). I mean no doubt this is hard for Americans too but for me everything kind of blends together because I have no cultural context to place these things in.

In other words, could you give me a general oversight of the major news sites and how they tend to report on political news (i.e. "fox news: blood-red republican, best known for cherry-picking their stories so democrats can be made out to be filthy liars who lie and the republicans are the USA's, nay, the world's saviours). So kind of like but for media outlites like the NYT, CNN, etc.

Welp. So, just a minor thing then. I do congratulate you on your, uh, Extremely Accurate description of Fox News, because. Yeah.

It is worth noting that as is the case elsewhere in the world, Americans increasingly get their news of all kinds, including political, from social media (ie Twitter and Facebook) and that news is often aligned with the individual's existing political preferences. This is how we get echo chambers where the only information a person sees is what already confirms their existing bias, and mainstream news organs are increasingly falling out of use as most people's first go-to source. However, just by size and status, they are still important, so:

New York Times: Has become increasingly and rapidly worthless, despite enjoying a prestigious reputation as America's "paper of record." Of course I can't find it now, but a guy did a long, LONG thread on how bad their reporting was, especially about police violence and so-called crime waves, in regard to the headline that they put out this morning without ever taking responsibility for it. They are the KINGS of Both Sides Baderism and otherwise dwelling endlessly on so-called scandals for Democrats in the name of Editorial Objectivity, though of course Republicans hate them for being allegedly "too liberal." I have also posted various things on here about how they suck big time now, so yes.

Washington Post: Another prestigious "paper of record" that advertises itself as defending democracy (their site tagline for a long time has been "Democracy Dies in Darkness") and which has definitely printed some useful pieces. However, it is now owned by Jeff Bezos of Amazon (in)fame, and so is prone to printing things that are transparently in the interest of said billionaire club. Also a big offender in the recent Naomi Biden wedding nonsense.

CNN: Has openly tried to lurch to the right and remake itself as more Republican-friendly, resulting in many liberal or liberal-leaning commentators either leaving the network or being fired. As before, no clue who this is intended to attract; liberals will get pissed and stop watching and conservatives will still regard it as Biased Liberal Trash (aka Not Fox News). So. Good luck with that, guys.

MSNBC/NBC: Generally regarded as more liberal and hosts daily shows with liberal/progressive hosts such as Rachel Maddow. However, likewise their favorite pastime is obsessively dwelling on How Everything Is Going Wrong For The Democrats Right This Very Minute, so it is obviously a very mixed bag in terms of use.

CBS: Another major cable news network that pre-emptively lurched to the right and went recruiting sources in Republican Congressional circles and whose coverage has been tenored accordingly. What a surprise.

[movedtodykedvonte]

Fic writing asks: 1, 13, 33, 72, 74

1. Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike

The moment I start to daydream, I just start writing y'know? Like I try to turn them into a story or parts of a next chap/fic cause that's likely what I'm daydreaming about. So I guess it's the latter but it had to be a real good daydream.

13. Do you listen to music while you write?  If yes, what have you been listening to recently?

It's a bit of a yes and no. Music helps me get motivated but can serve as a distraction if I get too into it. Usually, I listen to certain music to get into a writing mood and then put on background noise or silence to stay focused. I tend to read my fics out loud as I write em.

Right now I'm stuck listening to The Great Gig in the Sky By Pink Floyd (good for angst) and Pork Soda by Glass Animals (generally just the vibe of what I've been writing/thinking about)

33. Is there a specific word count that you hold yourself to/enjoy writing the most?

Ok so I used to do this strictly, that I couldn't stop writing until I hit a word count, sorta to force myself to be as descriptive as possible, but then I started overdoing it and putting too much into one sitting. Now I try to cap off a chapter anywhere between 2500-4500 words. It of course depends on what I'm writing but it's a safe number that doesn't have me fitting like half the story in one chapter of a multi-chapter fic :p

72. What’s your favorite writing compliment you’ve gotten?

Ok, it was on my glittergolf fic Good Night Moon, and it was about how the commenter was happy I actually made Monty act like a gator/reptile. Not really aggressive and is sort of slow-moving unless provoked. I live for when people notice the real-life accuracy I put in my fics cause I do it a lot. I try not to make up rules for things that already exist and even try to incorporate them into the fic. I think it's fun to base some aspect of fictional characters in reality and I like when peeps notice it too.

74. Do you have a fic you wish got a bit more love?

Kinda, it's more so its a fandom I wished I stayed in and was more active in but the fic is def "Tolerance". Not many people remember me from when I wrote dsaf fics, but I had an au and dynamics and I was really proud of this fic for some reason? I think I wrote the story pretty accurately to the game's dialogue and serious moments, so ig that could be it.

No shade to DSaF's depiction of villains but I like when they have just an ounce of something to empathize with or depict how far they fell into their cruel nature. Henry was interesting but I always felt more could've been done if we felt more than just hate for the guy. It was gonna be the first as I slowly like wrote out my au but other than other stand-alone fics, it never happened. I upload the old ones occasionally but haven't really written anything new.

[driaswrld]

dria!!! hi how are you?? how was your day?? ♡

SO. in the new dynamic. i'd say i ship you with yuuji? honestly pretty much like the other anon said, you both kind of give the same emotional supportive vibe. plus i think you can sometimes be ,,,, a bit,,,,, unhinged?? (affectionate). while he's quite a baby so, yup.

also I DON'T KNOW WHY. but. but. choso too. don't ask me why, i just see it kay😭

btw!!! one of my friends (actually the one who introduced me to jjk) sent me this quiz? you might be interested???? hehe

https://uquiz.com/quiz/xFh5qI/which-jjk-character-would-you-realistically-end-up-with-adult-chars-only

-🫧

p.s: i just finished the spanish draft of my comments regarding your analysis🥺 i was quite busy today so i only sat down to write at 20:40/8:40 pm (it's currently 23:52/11:52 pm). sadly i could only write two pages and a half :(((( but i'll send it to your email rn!! (i said i'd finish today, and a promise is a promise. it might not be en english but i also promise it'll be ready in a few hours—). sigh.

my loveee hello !!

the unhinged part has me screaming i definitely take that as a compliment dw 😭 but choso? i am veryyy intrigued ab that lollol and tbh i could see it, maybe? maybeee? im not sure!

OMG the way i took the quiz and got geto lolol BUT i must say the descriptions were completely accurate and the quiz did me justice 🤭

ALSO OMGGGG i can't wait to see what you wrote! (im actually pulling an all nighter tonight so i'll be up to receive wtv it is you send dw)

(im having a movie night with my sister😭)

-yes, on a school night.

BUT i acc just saw the email notif so i'll look at your spanish vers (i bet it'll warm my heart omg) and then you can tell me when you've sent the english version so i can be sure to skim through that as well tonight <33

[marvelsswansong]

clumsy

summary: you're extremely clumsy. Steven worries. Marc finds it amusing. Jake gets protective. But they all love you for it nonetheless.

tags: pure fluff, oneshot, boyf!Steven & Marc & Jake, gn!reader (no pronouns/descriptions in place), cute slice of life moments, some comedic humor with Khonshu, bc I am a student in London ofc I had to add in English lingo/London tingz, please do not take as accurate portrayal of DID by any means

☆ word count: 3.5K+ ☆

Steven worries for you. Endlessly. 

He knows you’re a capable adult. You’re wicked smart, hard to trick, quick to respond with a sassy comment. But you’re extremely clumsy. He still remembers how the way the two of you first met was because you tripped and nearly fell onto an exhibit piece. Having just finished his shift, Steven was exhausted but his reflexes kicked in as his left arm quickly wrapped around your waist, stopping you from hitting the floor.

Your eyes remained closed, bracing for the harsh impact of the floor, but instead all you felt was… someone’s warm arm wrapped around your waistline. 

“A-are you alright?” a soft British voice asked you, your eyes slowly opening to be met with a gorgeous curly haired man with a name tag pinned onto his shirt. Steven, it read. 

“I- yeah, thank you. I didn’t mean to fall but I was distracted.” you sheepishly added, looking away from the handsome man’s gaze. You must’ve looked like such a fool, you berated yourself. Unbeknownst to you, he was mesmerized by the way the fading sunlight was illuminating your face, your smile hesitant but pure and your voice even sweeter to hear. 

“Yes, the exhibits are truly fascinating-” he started, only to be cut off.

“I was actually looking at the guide dog.” you interrupted, pointing to the golden retriever across the room. “But these ancient exhibits are interesting too! I just wish I had a tour guide or something because reading all this printed information on four hours of sleep is really difficult.” you quickly added, making Steven chuckle. 

“I-I could show you around, if you’d like.” 

Steven had no idea where the sudden courage came from, but he didn’t want to clamber onto the tube and go back to his empty flat quite yet. He wanted to stay here, with you, listen to you ramble about the most innocuous things. He nervously fiddled with the edge of his jacket, thinking he had perhaps crossed the line, but all you did was smile even wider.

“Really? Are you sure? I mean there’s only half an hour before closing so-” 

“It’s no problem, really.” 

“Thank you, Steven.” 

“No problem….” he trailed off, waiting for you to fill your name in. 

“(Y/n).” 

“(Y/n). Nice to meet you. So if you look closely upon this carving, you’ll see that it’s a depiction of Anubis. Anubis is the protector of the dead in Egyptian mythology…” 

That had been six months ago and now you had moved into his flat, your hoodies carelessly folded over the couch and your mismatched socks stuffed precariously into his drawers. He wouldn’t have it any other way though - being able to come home to you each night and to have your face be the first thing he sees every day (more or less given that both of you had hectic schedules) made even the worst days much brighter for him. It also helped that living together meant he could keep an eye on you more: it wasn’t uncommon for you to have shown up to dates, prior to moving in, with a sprained wrist, a small bruise on your arm, a twisted ankle… All from (badly) doing regular things. 

You were just so clumsy and out of them all, Steven worried the most. He carried plasters with him everywhere, in addition to filling one of his drawers to the brim with first aid supplies (which had the additional benefit of being of use to Marc or Jake after a night out, he supposed). He would be the first to drop all his books and come rushing by your side if he heard something drop or shatter, his first priority never being about the damaged item but your wellbeing. He didn’t care that you’d shattered three mugs since moving in or that you’d nearly given yourself a concussion from tripping over a package you were too lazy to pick up. Your clumsiness never annoyed him, though it just made him worry endlessly and be on high alert whenever you decided to do something even remotely dangerous. 

“Ah, shit.” 

You were sucking on the edge of your slightly burnt thumb for less than two seconds when Steven came rushing into the room, the sound of metal hitting the floor followed by your cursing forcing him to sprint out of bed and come to your aid. His hands carefully cradled your left hand, examining it in the dim yellow light of the kitchen, whilst you rolled your eyes playfully in protest.

“Stevennnnn, the cookies!” you attempted to pull away from him but his grip was iron tight.

“You’re far more important than the sweets, love. Hold on.” 

Turning off the oven, he pulled out a pack of plasters from the top shelf, ordering for you to run your thumb under cold water in the mean time. Afterwards, he carefully dried off your finger (being ever so careful to ask you to tell him if it was hurting as he applied pressure) and bandaged it nicely with a soft kiss to your hand. The action made your heart flutter.

“Thanks, Steven.” you kissed him gently, an action which still made him blush.

“No problem, darling.” 

“... Are the cookies okay though?” you pouted, pulling away from his embrace to check inside the oven. Steven’s hands quickly landed on your shoulders, pulling you backwards in an instant. 

“Hold on, love. Let me get the cookies out, alright? Don’t want you to burn yourself again.” he lightly teased, putting on oven gloves. You sighed - admittedly, that was probably the best thing to do anyways. Steven was the one to carefully take the cookies off of the baking sheet with a spatula as you arranged them neatly into stacks into the plastic container, carefully balancing one of the cookies on top of your palm so you could feed it to Steven. He smiled, gently biting into the dessert, a pleasant hum leaving his lips.

“Any good? It’s a new recipe.” 

“It’s marvelous, love. Very sweet. Only second to you.” 

“Well it was a team effort, I’d say. I bake and… you make sure I don’t burn the flat down. Or burn myself.” you added, taking a bite of the cookie as well. “Seriously, don’t you get tired of having to treat minor injuries for me so often?” 

Steven shook his head sideways, kissing you softly again - his lips still had the remnants of coconut and chocolate, with a hint of raspberry. 

“Never.” 

---------------------------------------

Marc, on the other hand, finds your clumsiness endlessly amusing. 

He wouldn’t hesitate to pull you away from a burning pot or to help you stand up if you fell, of course. But unlike Steven who worried endlessly, waiting anxiously by your side as you cooked or cleaned, he found your daring efforts amusing and fun. Especially when he’d be able to tease you afterwards, see the adorable way in which your face would crinkle up in embarrassment, thereby giving him an excuse to kiss away the sour expression from your face. 

Juggling trying to retain whatever was ‘normal’ for Steven with a mercenary’s life and an Egyptian god constantly bothering him in the background, there was something so comforting and normal about watching you. His favorite sight in the world was whenever you’d stay up late waiting for him to get home then fall asleep on the sofa, your face smushed into the cushions, your chest rising in soft breaths as you slept. Being able to carry you back to bed, after arranging the pillows and blankets to be as comfortable as they could, before falling into the sheets with you was how he wished every day could be. 

His heart burned for you. And amongst the millions of things he loved about you, above all, it was your heart - your never ending desire to help others, your generosity, your need to always give back to others. He even saw one time that you’d scheduled various anniversaries into your phone, each day color coded and neatly organized - he pretended to have not seen the first month anniversary notification and acted surprised a week later when you pulled out a pair of tickets to a new musical. His right arm never left your waist as you clung to him afterwards, the uneven cobblestoned streets of London making walking (especially as you were drunk) ever more difficult. 

“Oh!” you suddenly stopped walking, causing Marc to almost tip over to the side at the suddenness and force with which you stopped walking. Cautious, he quickly surveyed the surroundings, expecting you to have seen something to make you nervous. “Remind me to take out the cake I have in the fridge before Marc gets home.” 

His heart was overflowing with warmth as he chuckled quietly, brushing away your hair from your face so he could better see it under the moonlight.

“Baby, I am Marc.” 

You simply hummed in response, his reply not seemingly registering in your brain for a few moments before your eyes widened in shock.

“You are! No, now I ruined the surprise.” you dramatically flailed your arms, almost falling over as you took a misstep. Marc’s reflexes were fast, quickly pulling you into his chest as a black cab rushed by. 

“Careful, angel. Almost got run over by London traffic.” 

Gently walking you towards the other side of the street, Marc was vigilant to keep you away from the side facing the open traffic all the way until the two of you reached the flat. Opening the door took several tries as you insisted on being useful and opening it yourself, but you kept on dropping the key or using the wrong key for the door. 

“Just help the little human already.” Khonshu grumbled from the background, his arms crossed and his tone unamused. But Marc didn’t care. There was something so cute about seeing you get frustrated, your eyebrows furrowing in concentration as you tried over and over again to open the door. When Marc eventually stepped in and opened it in one try, you threw your arms around him, kissing his face and calling him your hero, causing him to accidentally knock against the kitchen counter with a mug falling and shattering on the floor as a result.

“My clumsy baby. What will I ever do with you…” he commented against your lips, the pads of his thumbs drawing circles on your face.

“Perhaps you could begin by cleaning up the filth on the floor.” 

Marc was about to chastise the god when your head suddenly whipped around to the tall creature. 

“Shut it, birdie! It was a mistake.” 

“... You can see me?” the god’s voice changed from annoyance to one of surprise, clearly having underestimated your abilities to perceive beyond the mortal world.

“Yes! And you need to stop being so mean to Steven, he’s a good boy.” 

The god was baffled into silence as Marc let out a wild laugh at your antics, hugging you closer to his chest.

God, he loved you. 

The sound of the door finally unlocking snapped him out of his memories, his thoughts running wild when you finally stepped out of the bathroom, nervously pulling at the ends of the fabric whilst looking yourself over in the mirror repeatedly. He knew you were meeting with your best friend’s fiancee tonight and that you want to make ‘the best impression possible.’ His throat immediately ran dry, his eyes hungrily drinking in your figure whilst you took his silence to be a bad thing.

“Oh no, does it look bad on me? Is it too much? Should I change? I can grab-” 

A swift kiss to your lips, firm but still gentle, cut your rambling off. 

“You look perfect, baby. Now you have to leave if you want to catch your Uber on time.” 

“Right.” you smiled against his lips. Quickly fixing your hair in the mirror one last time and grabbing your bag - quickly shoving your phone inside - you raced to the front door in your socks, knocking over a pile of books that the god had been skimming through for the past few hours.

“I’m so sorry, Khonshu!” you felt horrible, knowing that he’d been skimming over the books for hours, as you dropped onto your knees and began to pick them up one by one. The god let out a displeased sigh - at this point, the god had come to oddly respect you and care for you in his own right. But even so, he couldn’t help but marvel at your clumsiness. It was unlike anything else he’d ever seen. 

Marc was quick to arrive by your side, gently coaxing you away from the pile of books.

“It’s alright, baby, you go ahead. I’ll clean this up.” 

Apologizing fervently again, you planted one last kiss on Marc’s lips before hurriedly exiting the flat, the force with which you slammed the door causing the flat to shake. Shaking his head sideways in amusement, Marc quickly went about picking up the books as the god watched from above him. 

“I sincerely do not understand how one mortal can both perceive the higher realms whilst struggling to maintain basic balance and hand-eye coordination.” 

Marc chuckled.

“It’s a mystery to me too.” 

---------------------------------------

Jake didn’t worry for you nor did he find your clumsiness amusing. 

No, seeing you trip, knock over, cut yourself accidentally or drop things made his protective side kick in, his body immediately wrapping around yours and shielding you from whatever danger was created. It was a bit much at times, causing even Marc and Steven to complain - “they’re London cyclists, Jake, they’re supposed to go a bit fast” - but Jake didn’t care. He hated to see you in pain, to see any markings or discoloration on your pretty skin, so it was primal instinct to be protective around you. 

Sometimes you’d pout when he’d seat you away from an open flame or insist on holding your hand in open streets, but he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t the best with words - like Steven - nor with spending quality time with you - like Marc - so his love for you spilled over in his actions. Jake was fiercely protective of you, unafraid to snap, push or get a little violent with people if they could ever hurt you. Or if they flirted with you.

As Jake eyed the menu of the small cafe nestled in the corner of the bookstore, your order memorized like the back of his hand, he missed your figure leaving his side as a certain book cover on the top shelf caught your eye. Having decided what to order, he returned his gaze to his side to ask you if you’d like the usual, before he realized that you were no longer next to him. His eyes quickly scanned the surroundings, seeing that you’d opted to climb up a ladder to reach a book on the top shelf in the historical fiction section.

His brain immediately flashed with numerous scenarios of what could go wrong - you’d fall off the ladder, hit your head on a sharp corner and get a concussion, get a paper cut from flipping through too quickly - and Jake was quick to abandon his place in line, only to be cut off by another man accidentally walking into you as you stepped off the ladder. Engrossed in whatever was written on the back cover of the book, you hadn’t seen the man blocking your pathway who was now apologizing to you profusely.

“I’m terribly sorry for that.” the man kept repeating his apologies, bending down to retrieve your fallen book. Jealousy coursed through Jake’s veins upon realizing that the man was objectively good looking, his brown hair well styled, his prim suit indicating that he probably held a well off, stable job. It was one of Jake’s insecurities - the fact that he (or Marc or Steven for that matter, but especially him) could not offer you a ‘normal’ life free of violence, doomsdays and existential threats. And the way you keep giggling and entertaining the man’s quips caused his stomach to twist and anger to bubble up in his chest, his fists clenching by his sides. Jake wasn’t thinking when he stormed up to where you were standing and pulled you right against him, lacing your fingers with his. 

“Mi corazón, we should leave now if we want to catch the bus in time.” his voice was sweet when speaking to you but his glare to the man was deadly, who was now shifting uncomfortably under Jake’s stare. Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Oh, but Spencer was just about to tell me-” 

You weren’t able to finish your sentence nor get your book back from Spencer as Jake quickly dragged you away, leaving the brunette man confused and alone with your book. Jake was silent for a few moments, simply dragging you behind him as you hurried your pace in an effort to keep up with him amongst the busy crowds of pedestrians.

“What was that for?” you pouted. 

Jake stopped, dropping your hand before letting out a curt sigh. 

“That bastardo was flirting with you. Plus, he could’ve hurt you by knocking into you while you were stepping off a ladder.” 

The mix of jealousy and insecurity dripping from his voice caused your expression to soften, your delicate hands coming up to cup his face.

“It’s sweet of you to worry, Jake, but I’m fine, see? Also, even if he was flirting, I would never be interested in him. Not when I have the most handsome, caring and amazing boyfriends by my side.” 

His anger slowly dissipated, your lips meeting his in a gentle manner, which he was quick to turn into a full out steamy makeout session by pinning you against the brick wall of the alleyway. You laughed against his lips at his eagerness as a small smirk spreads across his lips.

“You’re mine, mi amor, aren’t you?” he growled.

“All yours, Jake... But I did really want to buy that book so you’ll have to make it up to me.” 

He kisses you again, his intoxicating mix of sandalwood and fresh leather flooding your senses.

“Of course. I’ll buy you that book. And anything else you’d ever want.” 

“Can I open my eyes now?” you whined, the blindfold placed on your eyes having meant you’d been led in complete darkness for the past ten minutes. Based on the attire you were told to wear and the soft feeling of grass and dirt underneath your feet, you had a feeling you were in a hilly area or a park, but you had no idea why you were here or what Jake had planned for date night. Jake simply chuckled in response.

“In a minute.” 

A few rustles of paper and the sound of fabric being straightened out, then he carefully took off the blindfold from your eyes, revealing the gorgeous sight in front. A hastily sprung out picnic basket laid out with white and red checkered squares, pinned to the grassy floor with a few glass candles. Two wine glasses and a bottle of wine sat in the middle. It was intimate and small, yet so beautifully done, you felt your heart squeeze in appreciation as you looked up at Jake’s face (which was uncharacteristically shy and withdrawn in this instance).

“Sorry for the... rather messy presentation. Steven and Marc helped with a few things but I’m usually not very good with these things, so-”

“It’s perfect.” you cut him off quickly, grabbing his hands and squeezing them in reassurance. “Thank you, thank you all so much. This is just… the best thing I could’ve asked for on our sixth month anniversary.” 

Jake’s shoulders quickly relaxed, a sly smirk appearing on his face.

“Oh, just wait until you see, mi vida, what we have planned for you.” 

As Jake sat down next to you, you popped open the wine bottle and began to pour him a glass, accidentally spilling some onto his pants. 

“Shit! I’m so sorry-” you quickly placed down the drinks, searching for some tissues and water to help rub out the stain. But Jake simply couldn’t care, choosing instead to admire you: the way your eyes glittered in the moonlight or the way the faint glow of the candles below carved your face in shadows.

“God, I’m just so clumsy, did we bring any tissues? Or I can run down to a nearby-” you continued to ramble, becoming silent only when Jake's hand reached out for yours, wrapping around your wrist and setting you back down on to the floor.

“It’s alright, mi amor. Just sit and enjoy this night with me, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

And as the two of you sat in silence, the object in his left pocket felt heavier than ever.

“Thank goodness the wine didn’t spill onto the ring.” Steven remarked.

“Though, that would have been very (Y/n)-esque to do.” Marc added.

And as he tore his gaze away from the night sky and onto you, all Jake could think about was how much he wanted to spend to spend the rest of his life with you. Even through all the falls, bruises, wine spills, forgotten items and cuts you’d rack up along the way.

a/n: sooo basically I haven't posted any fics since Aug of 2020. Whew. So posting this is pretty nervewracking for me. Sorry if this fic wasn't the best, I am a little rusty. Not sure if any of my older followers are reading this but if you stuck around, thank you!

As for everyone else, please let me know if you enjoyed by liking/commenting/reblogging - if the feedback is positive I may write more in this fandom :)

❤️ Drink water, nourish your body and be kind to yourself today ❤️

[wheelsup]

coffee is the sixth love language | part two

Summary: Over three cups of coffee, Spencer realized his feelings for you. And over three cups of coffee, he acts on them. gn!Reader.

A/N: the italicized this time indicates Spencer’s thoughts, not reader’s. part of this story is inspired directly from these comments made by @doctorthreephds on the reblog! thanks for letting me incorporate them :)

category: fluff, sfw

warnings: technically none, but the “profiling” part is kind of a reach.

word count: 3k

     Once Spencer was firmly resolute on asking you out, he knew he wanted it to be special in a way that only the two of you could appreciate. He realized that he had yet to be the one bringing you coffee, and so it felt only right that it should be how he makes his first move. He woke up extra early on a weekday morning to stop by your favorite coffee shop on his way to work because he knew you loved their banana nut muffins and double-brewed coffee. It was an extra twenty-five minutes out of the way for work each way, so you only got to go there on the rare occasion that you had a day off and were not out of town on a case. It might have been ridiculous to drive fifty minutes for a single damn muffin, but Spencer wanted to make this perfect for you by any means necessary. This was one of the special times that Spencer drove his car, needing the extra speed in order to complete his mission.

     He picked up your regular drink order and the muffin and was anxiously on his way back to Quantico. As per his plan he arrived at the office before you did, though not too much earlier because he wanted to make sure your coffee was still hot by the time you got it. If Spencer’s calculations were correct - which they almost always were - you would arrive within a two to four and a half minute window from when he did. Spencer took out a sharpie from his desk drawer and delicately scrawled a message onto the top corner of the pastry bag holding your muffin. He thought it felt like something out of a cheesy romance novel, the kind of novels that you could find in the fifty cent clearance bins, but dammit if Spencer didn’t deserve a little cheesy romance in his life. The other benefit of this was that he thought he would almost certainly choke on his words if he had to ask you himself. He set the two items on your desk and returned to his own to sit and observe. Spencer hoped it would be the first of many coffees he could buy you.

It wasn’t until you had already walked into the bullpen and were halfway to your desk that Spencer realized he had forgotten to sign his name to the bag. How were you supposed to react to him asking you out if you didn’t actually know it was him? And oh God, he left unsealed food on the desk of an FBI agent, with no indication of who had put it there. That is infinitely more suspicious than it is romantic. He wouldn’t be surprised if she took it straight to the trash can. So long for cheesy romance, Dr. Reid.

     But Spencer was absolutely elated when your first reaction was to peek into the bag and gasp out of joy at what was inside. He watched you break off a piece of your beloved banana nut muffin and chew it gleefully, and all he could think of was how cute you looked when you were happy. Shortly followed by concern that a federal agent would so readily eat unmarked food that could have been tampered with. That’s something I should bring up to her on the date. 

     Spencer’s stomach was in knots not knowing if you would pick up on the message. You swallowed that chunk of the muffin and turned the bag over to find an almost illegible black script that you had nearly missed: Would you like to have coffee with me? It just felt like all of the air had been knocked out of your body. 

     It didn’t even take you half a second to know who this was from; there were so many tells it was Spencer. Before you even noticed the note, you knew it was from him when you saw what was inside the bag. The whole team knew what your favorite coffee shop was because you had talked about it enough times. Hell, you even owned a oversized tee with their name on it that you kept in your go bag as a sleep shirt. But nobody knew what your favorite muffin was because you never mentioned it. In fact, if you thought about it there were maybe only a handful of times over the six months you’d been at the BAU that you even elected to eat this pastry in lieu of a real breakfast. But if anyone was going to detect a pattern, it would have been Dr. Reid. Of course he would pick up on the fact that you only picked those out at cafes when you felt like having a sweet treat, or that when Penelope brought in baked goods for the office you would only indulge if you saw your favorite item in the lineup. 

     You already knew it, but in case you had any doubt, the note itself confirmed your theory twice. One indicator was the phrasing choice would you as opposed to will you. Use of would posits a hypothetical, as in hypothetically, would you have an interest in drinking coffee together, rather than a hard, come with me to get coffee. The hesitance in the tone came off as if the sender were testing the waters, wanting to put the idea out there without coming off as too strong. Because it was reserved, it gave you room to think if you would genuinely enjoy doing so as opposed to making you feel like you should oblige. That level of respect screamed Spencer to you. And though it was so glaringly obvious, if you needed some concrete evidence it was the fact that nobody else had such endearingly atrocious handwriting like Dr. Reid. It was something you always found hilariously ironic for a man who often analyzes other people’s writing styles for work. You wondered what his way of scribbling said about him, and hoped he could tell you on that date of yours. 

     You looked straight at him, finding that his eyes were already fixed on you.

     “Yes.” 

     One word was all you had to say to make the lump in Spencer’s throat disappear, replaced by the sensation that his heart was leaping out of his chest. He was going to keep that memory stored in his brain forever, just to replay the moment when the future of your relationship changed with a simple word. Little did he know that when you finished that muffin, you neatly folded the pastry bag and tucked it into your desk drawer, saving it for the exact same purpose. 

_____

     Spencer had gotten to see your favorite coffee spot already, so for your date you requested that he take you to his to make it even. It was small, but incredibly cozy under the soft ambiance provided by string lights and charm of their mismatched furniture. There was one exposed brick wall adjacent to another that was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf; it housed copies that loyal patrons left behind for others to pick up. All of those books had different colors of post-its peeking out from the pages. It was almost too eclectic and disorganized for what you would expect Dr. Reid to be into, but at the same time it made perfect sense to you.

     “You know, I think I just learned something about you.” You leaned gently into his side to tell him, both hands wrapped around your coffee cup because you were too nervous to know what else to do with them. Spencer was the kind of guy to sit adjacent to you at a table, rather than across, and you loved that about him. You loved having him as close to you as possible. 

     Spencer’s lips pulled at the edges to form a perfect, lazy smile. “What did you learn about me?” The team had an agreement not to profile each other, but under your gaze, Spencer never felt the kind of scrutiny that came with picking people apart. He trusted that whatever you had to say was going to be kind.

     “I think this place says so much about you. Something about how all those books are donations passed on from locals, and that people feel comfortable taking a book off the shelf and opening it up to read what others recommend. The fact that they leave little notes in it for the next reader to share what those stories meant to each of them. Nobody asked those people to do that, but they all chose to take part in these small actions that ended up creating an entire community.” It was one of the most beautifully human things you’d ever witnessed. A group of people engaging in understated and innocent gestures of love between perfect strangers, completely unprompted. “I think you value simple acts, the kind that can take on profound meaning without even intending to. Like when silence feels so comfortable when you’re with the right person.” You paused to take in his reaction as a gauge for how right or wrong you may be. He gave no objection to what you had posited, eyes simply glued to you in intense focus. Spencer was hanging on everything you said, wordlessly encouraging you to divulge more theories you’d developed on him.

     “And, visually, this furniture reminds me of a family home. The kind where some items were handed down for generations, some bought new, and others gifted by a distant relative who has no idea what the family likes.” Spencer’s soft laughter mirrored your own at your very accurate description of the shop’s decor. The room truly could not be more disjointed in its aesthetic, but that was entirely its charm. “It probably reflects that there are some aspects of your life that just don’t make sense to you, that almost seem to conflict with each other. For a guy so smart, I’m sure it’s scary to feel like you don’t understand something, and there are probably dark spots in that brain of yours that you try to hide from the world. But in this room, these things that don’t seem like they work together actually amount to something so lovely. And just like the charmingly hideous suede couch and the oddly fur-covered armchairs, every facet of you deserves appreciation because without them you wouldn’t make up to be the beautiful person you are overall.” 

     Neither of you could pinpoint the moment which your hands had drifted together, fingers loosely intertwined in gentle embrace. There was too much to unpack in what you had said for Spencer to know where to begin. The only thing he could say for sure was that he was astounded by how deeply you understood him without him ever saying any of those things. He considered that maybe you understood him better than he did himself and wished that he could spend his whole life observing the world through the same rose-tinted lenses with which you viewed him. At a loss for words, Spencer chose not to say any right then. The silence I have with you is the most comfortable I’ve ever had. 

_____

     After each of you consumed one too many caffeinated beverages, you still were not prepared to let the date end. You were willing to sit there and have as many espresso drinks as you could to keep talking to Spencer. 

     The universe must have been in support of your romance as the overcast skies broke and began to rain just minutes after the two of you had left the shop. Spencer was walking you back to your apartment, clearly forcing his long legs to slow down their naturally fast stride so to extend how long it took to get there. He could get an extra thirteen minutes with you this way. Spencer was given his perfect excuse to keep the date going in the form of heavy downpour; his apartment was far closer than yours, and he proposed you two should seek shelter together until it stopped. I hope it never stops. 

     Spencer held tightly onto your hand as he ran with you through the rain, giggling all the way to his apartment. He may not like wet, cold climates, but he sure did like holding your hand. Being next to you made him feel incredibly warm somehow when the temperature outside was very much not. And you felt completely at peace sitting on Spencer’s couch wearing one of his sweaters that he lent you. Truthfully, your own clothes weren’t so wet from the rain that it was necessary, but you both pretended it absolutely was just to be able to experience this. 

     It was clear that the rain would be going for a while and all you wanted to do to pass the time was continue listening to Spencer talk. You discovered that when he’s not interrupted, he loves to go on runaway tangents, often bouncing between different trains of thought as one idea sparked him to remember another. It was almost a sport to keep up with him, but it was perhaps the only one you’ve ever enjoyed. It was so easy when everything he said interested you. You loved that Spencer taught you something new every day, but no matter how niche a piece of trivia or shocking an unknown fact was, it could not beat the things that he taught you about himself. He was letting you in on so many unseen dimensions of himself whether he knew it or not, the explicit ones revealing implicit ones. 

     You had happily stayed in his home for hours, absorbing every word he spoke. What entertained you the most was the ability of your conversation to jump from deep, serious places to lighthearted stories filled with jokes and teasing and back again in a way that felt completely natural. Your favorite anecdote of his was the story of how he got addicted to coffee. It was the BAU’s favorite inside-joke that Spencer liked his coffee sickeningly sweet and you always wondered how he could tolerate it. Just looking at it made your teeth ache. When he told you why, you thought that the backstory was even sweeter than the coffee.

     As a twelve year old college student, Spencer found himself experiencing sleep deprivation for the first time in his life. The course load was more rigorous than he had in high school and even the boy genius needed to readjust to the new expectations of college. More importantly, he needed to cope with pulling late nights at the library if he wanted his first degree by the time he was eligible for a driver’s license. The Red Bulls that the other kids seem to gravitate to seemed far too aggressive for Spencer, their potent smell of chemicals a huge turn off. They were definitely not for him. 

     He remembered how often his mom used to drink coffee, always in the morning while Spencer got ready for school. Being at CalTech and away from his mother, who remained in Las Vegas most of the time due to her condition, made him so homesick that he took up a coffee habit as a reminder of her. He loved the way it smelled like every comfort he had ever known. 

     Though he appreciated its smell, Spencer, of course, was not ready back then to love the way it tasted. He was still after all a twelve year old boy who had a sweet tooth like any other kid. The bitter drink was almost offensive to him, so he always made his coffee with extra, extra sugar. He was a menace to the baristas at the campus coffee cart because they would have to refill the shaker every time he stopped by. As it turned out, Spencer was actually a little troublemaker in his youth. 

     You utterly adored this story and the way it humanized Spencer in a way that other people did not consider often enough. Yes, he was the genius in incredibly advanced classes for his age, but he was also a little kid who behaved as all little kids did. He also experienced struggle and had to cope with it just like everyone else. He was not, as some chose to believe, a complete anomaly beyond understanding. Those many misunderstood idiosyncrasies Spencer had started to feel grounded as you learned more about him and could appreciate how and why they came to be.  

     But the night was dwindling down and two of you had gone through many stories since the start of your day together. Hitting a caffeine crash, you found yourself unable to keep some rogue yawns at bay. It was only eight o’clock in the evening, not an unreasonable time for you to ask Spencer to drive you back home. The rain was letting up to a mellow drizzle. Spencer was running out of excuses to keep you here.

     But you thought about how still hadn’t heard about his first pet lizard, which he caught in his backyard, and you didn’t yet know what kind of music he listened to when he was fourteen. And you no longer thought you needed to make excuses to stay with him longer, so you told him honestly that all you really wanted was to stay the night with him and keep hearing his stories. So you asked him if he would set on a fresh pot of coffee, just so you both could sip at it, staying awake all night together.

     He happily did so, and while he set the large coffee pot on and took out two cups from his cabinet, he thought, this is the first of many wishes of yours that I’d like to make come true.

______

PART THREE

Tag list: @rexorangecounty @rachel-voychuk @snitchthewitch @spencer-blake-supremacy @happyreid187 @rainsong01 @librarymagic 

[olderthannetfic]

Fandom scholarship

Instead of going to bed, I ended up writing a long-ass comment on some fan scholarship. I’m c&ping it here so I don’t lose it:

I just re-found your video while cleaning up some computer files and looked at it again. Interesting work, but I'm curious why you didn't compare to total AO3 numbers at all. One of the distinctive things about AO3 as opposed to, say, Wattpad is that you can just click on the MCU tag and instantly see a breakdown of how many works are each category. For that matter, you can click on m/m, which is also a tag. Right now, there are 191,999 m/m MCU works compared to 144,178 f/m MCU ones. The real question is why your _sample_ looks how it does, not why MCU does. I tried looking at various time ranges in 2021, and while m/m was still more common in each case, if I look only at August or only at the summer, het is pretty close behind, so I can see how you could have gotten a sample of 500 where it managed to just pass m/m in the new postings. At a guess, you sampled just when that Loki TV show had come out and everybody was shipping het for that.

You're also conflating "fanfiction" with "AO3", which is wildly misleading. Part of why AO3 looks how it does is that it's a reaction to other fanfic sites, and the audience it attracts is often preferentially choosing it over other fic sites. That factor has a massive influence on what AO3 fic looks like. It may be fair to call AO3 fic a "genre", but it's not fair to only look at AO3 in defining fanfic or to not consider how AO3's context shapes that genre. That's very shoddy work.

While AO3's greater freedom of labeling may more accurately reflect how fic writers prefer to categorize fic, it's also possible that people who liked the FFN way gravitate there, while people who like the AO3 way come to AO3. FFN's categorization system is most definitely of the 'fantasy', 'action/adventure' variety. AO3 finally surpassed FFN in total stories some time during the pandemic, but for much of AO3's history, FFN has been the larger site. The question about the _word_ 'smut' has a similar issue. Yes, there's something to investigate with the higher rating on BTS fic, but the use of the word itself should be pointing you to a completely different question: Who tags redundantly on AO3 and who likes that _word_ specifically? Since 'explicit' and 'smut' serve to express much the same thing, who is culturally likely to want to add extra tags like that? My off-the-cuff guess is that it's younger Wattpadders who redundantly tag and that they're the ones who tend to use the tag 'smut'. This is just based on experience, not data. I'd bet it tracks with what fandom spaces writers are coming out of, and that may track with specific fandom. If you wanted to delve into the 'smut' question responsibly, you'd need to be looking at cultural factors like who is using the 'Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot' tag a.k.a. "PWP", who is using 'Porn', etc. You might not find anything interesting, but to not consider that factor or go looking in the first place makes for a weak argument. I remember a case where a fandom I was looking at had plenty of m/m explicit works, but only the big het ship was often tagged 'smut': it was clearly a cultural thing.

This is a nitpick, but the Multi category on AO3 is described in the help popup as "More than one kind of relationship, or a relationship with multiple partners" rather than exclusively being for poly.

I think this statement is also questionable: "People are searching more emotional genre markers more than they are for theme/setting markers." That _may_ be true, but it's not really an accurate description of what your data show. It's true that "Tags are the user-generated subgenre markers on works in Archive of Our Own." but unless you were looking primarily at bookmarks, the users in question are _authors_. People aren't _searching_ for these tags: they're _labeling_ with them. I also think that while tone-indicating tags probably are more popular overall (just based on experience), major emotional tones in stories aren't that varied. Happy, sad, sad but then happy later, etc. Plot-related tags _as a group_ might be very popular without any one given tag being popular. There are 54k BTS fics on AO3 with some variant of the AU tag. There are only 32k using the tag 'smut'. AU is easy to look at because it has an elaborate metatag structure that gathers all those disparate tags into one. Other plot-related tags don't have that. You haven't considered this type of factor at all. To really get a sense of this, you'd need to grab a big sample, then hand-categorize tags into plotty vs. emotional or something. (Or knowing AO3, emotional tone vs. kink vs. plot trope.)

If your next step is to look at BTS, parasocial relationships, and desire, then you really cannot afford to ignore Wattpad. xReaders are on the rise on AO3, but they're still pretty minor compared to fic shipping group members together, both for BTS and for RPF in general, but on Wattpad, it's Jungkook/(presumed female) self as far as the eye can see. There's nothing wrong with preferring AO3 as a fan kicking back with some fanfic, but if you want to do good academic work, you need to either define what you're looking at more narrowly or explain to your audience how extremely non-representative AO3 is of other fanfic spaces.

[navegandoaciegas]

Fic Recommendation list #2

Check out my first list if you’re interested (and 18+)

Some are light, some are dark. Most are smut. Be mindful of the warnings.

Mostly Bucky Barnes. Lee Bodecker and Sam Wilson too.

I hope you all enjoy these as much as I did 🤍

DARK

📌 Twice Bitten | by @cherienymphe Hands down the best fanfiction I’ve ever read, from the plot to the characterization of Bucky and Steve, and every other little detail. I literally felt like I was watching a movie.

📌 Promises | @giorno-plays-piano Dad’s bestfriend is always a huge yes. Poor reader just latches onto him after a string of tragedies. Dark, hot, and surprisingly sweet.

📌 The House of the Rising Sun | @cryptidcasanova The descriptions in this story are so vivid that I could literally feel New Orleans’ humidity on my skin. Cryptid Bucky is mysterious and hot af. 10/10 would give him my name, let him drag me in a swamp and sell him my soul.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4

Also check out her Sam Wilson x Reader story: “Love Potion no. 9”. I love the magic atmosphere, and I love dark Sam with all my heart. (Part 2 here)

📌 What You Can’t See | @honeyhan-123 Delusional, obsessed Bucky gets me every time. Suprisingly sweet for a dark fiction. Very accurate description of the conflict between the reader’s mind and body.

📌 Breeding kink | @softboibarnes I love yandere, dark Bucky, especially if he’s scheming and creepy af. Hot smut as always.

📌 The Wrong Idea | @mypoisonedvine I’m slowly becoming a Lee Bodecker hoe: something about chubby Sebastian, probably. Rough yet sweet. The daddy kink is the cherry on top.

📌 Push, Pull, Pressure | @darkficsyouneveraskedfor Another great Lee Bodecker story. Very vivid setting, many asshole men, absolutely irredeemable Lee.

📌 The Thrill of the Kill | @nellblazer Absolutely unhinged, psycho Bucky. Badass reader. The story is written in the first person, so if you’re very much into that, you’ll love it. And even if you’re not, you’ll love it anyways because it’s so good. And creepy af.

📌 кролик | @mariessecretfantasies I love sensory deprivation, and I love this story. You wouldn’t expect the Winter Soldier to be as caring as he is in this one, but he is, and so he gets my heart and...other parts of me.

DARK-ISH?

Not really dark but... just being safe.

📌 some of them want to get used by you | @youtastelikesugar Darkish, brainscrambled Bucky owns my heart and my whole being. I love a good story of obsession, what can I say. Not completely dark because the obsession is reciprocated. The smut is steamy and the ending is sweet.

📌 Voyeurism Drabble (Bucky Barnes x Reader x Steve Rogers) | @sweeterthanthis Hottest smut I’ve ever read. I am a slut for voyeur, dark-ish Bucky, and exhibitionist Steve and reader. Also has a sequel that includes double penetration. I need to lay down a sec and catch my breath just thinking about it.

📌 mutual | @buckycuddlebuddy Yes, I have a problem with voyeurism, and another with creepy Bucky, and I feel no shame. I wish my neighbor was as hot as Bucky, tbh. Very hot if you’re into this kink. Check out Elif’s kinktober masterlist. Many great, steamy stories you’ll love.

LIGHT

📌 The patient in room 212 | @constantwriter85 Very original story, I’ve never personally read anything quite like this in the Bucky fandom. Bucky’s inner monologue is the best thing ever, second only to the amount of pining and fluff.

Also recommended: Where I belong. Short and sweet. Bucky is very good with kids in this, so be prepared. (Pt. 2, 3)

📌 Lose Control | @navybrat817 Words can’t even begin to describe how hot this story is. Possessive Bucky is something else, I swear, and so is the raw, passionate sex he has with the reader.

📌 thoughts and actions | by @ballyhoobarnes Bucky has a stutter and is super shy and the concept itself makes me all soft. This one is my favorite out of her librarian!Bucky masterlist, but you should read all of them!

📌 my sweet girl | by @sunmoonandbucky Heartbreaking but so, so sweet. It’s a story of love and mental illness. I don’t cry easily when it comes to fanfiction but I bawled my eyes out for this one.

📌 Abstract | @suntrastar Moody, broody Bucky is everything. Very fun, lighthearted story. I love the reader too much.

📌 All Good Things | @sagechanoafterdark I have a thing for Ghost!au, and in this one, the ghost...kinds comes back to life. Very interesting story, very original too.

📌 pictures of girls | @subtlebucky Hot and cute at the same time. If Bucky Barnes asked to take my nude photos for a class, I’d say yes. No hesitation. No questions asked.

📌 All of You | @moonbeambucky Heartbreaking but so, so sweet. Bucky is so used to being tossed away like he means nothing that it’s the reaction he always expects. Fluffy, happy ending.

📌 It’ll last longer | @angrythingstarlight If you’re gonna have sex in a photo booth, make sure you have a Steve Rogers with you. Public sex and hot af smut.

📌 Zoom Meeting | @tuiccim In a time where most of us work or study from home, this fic is basically... all of us horny hoes dreams come true.

-

These amazing authors put a lot of time and effort into writing their stories. Please make sure to reblog and comment on their fics, and show them your appreciation. Reblog this list too so that it can reach as many people as possible. 🤍

[catgirlxox]

A Deconstruction of The Flame Keeper’s Circle & The Audience’s Common Complaints | Catgirl

As the title states, I’ve been reminded of a couple complaints made about this episode that stem from a large portion of the audience’s general disliking of the way both Ben and Julie were handled during the run of Ultimate Alien. In fact, I recently read a "review" of “The Flame Keeper's Circle,” or, more of a parody, actually, since a review would actually have some kind of substance to it and not just...a slew of insults thrown at a show you claim to like. It's almost like you're looking for something to be mad at, but anyway.

One of those was the OP actually asking someone to (probably joking, but anyway) explain "how Ben's mind works" to them.

And I was like, gladly!

According to the comments under the review, it seems like the general audience didn't really like this episode all that much when it first aired. Which, I bring up because, I on the other hand, actually did. And for a reason: because it proves my previous defence points right.

There's a lot of talk about Ben coming off as a “jerk” or a “douchebag”...but, in a situation such as the one presented within “The Flame Keeper’s Circle,” I would argue he did exactly what he should have done. So that's where I beg to differ.

This episode puts Ben in a position where he, once again, needs to deal with the overlap of a romantic relationship and his priorities as a superhero. The only reason there is conflict here is because they are both important to him.

A bad boyfriend would only care about himself, but Ben clearly cares about not only the safety of his (clearly, quite naive) girlfriend, but also the safety of the rest of the earth. Which, as I’m going to be stating several times, should be something expected of him considering everything else within the series that establishes who he is as a character.

So, on the topic of things that are important, ask yourselves, why would Ben prioritize going along with Julie's idea of joining a cult more than keeping her, and the rest of the world, safe when he realizes the trouble she could potentially be getting herself into?

Throughout the episode, and the fandom’s discussions from what I’ve seen, there is so much focus on "oh, he laughed at her idea so he's a douchebag and therefore a bad boyfriend" and not enough focus on the fact that he's not blindly following an alleged “good cause” because he isn't naive and that's in character based on everything we know about him as a character.

Context matters. And this kind of thing only further makes me question the people who want to cry "inconsistent" writing or characterization because he's acting the way he's been conditioned to.

Arguably from the age of ten, Ben's been dealing with situations where he needed to fight to survive and decide who to trust. Sometimes he trusted the wrong person, which wasn't done out of any other reason besides wanting to help and do the "right thing."

For example, Michael Morningstar in the episode “All That Glitters,” who fooled Ben and his team into thinking he was innocent all while abusing school girls for their life energy and almost killing Ben's cousin.

Or, Simian in “Birds of a Feather," who fooled Ben into thinking he was royalty and into helping him steal something that would aid the Highbreed in their mass murder plot.

In that way, Ben and Julie could have related in this situation because they were both trusting people in the interest of doing something “good.” Both Michael and Simian made Ben believe that they had something in common, or a common goal they could work together to reach. But, he trusted them blinded by his ambition and drive to save the world. Much like Julie is blinded by the promise of being a part of a group trying to make the world a better place.

As such, Ben has made the mistake before, so he's extra weary of how things could go very wrong. He's not against his girlfriend just to be a “jerk” - he's been through things like this before, and we’ve seen him go through those things.

Furthermore, the situation in which Julie is trusting The Flame Keeper’s Circle involves her indirectly agreeing to work with Vilgax. Who, as anyone familiar with Ben should know, is one of if not Ben’s biggest, and more importantly, most dangerous enemy.

Again, she, at the beginning didn’t know that he was involved, or what Ben had gone through already to make him act the way he does in this situation, but she does know what his job entails at this point in the series. She should probably infer that he’s suspicious for a good reason, as should the audience.

Not trusting people blindly is something he learned from being the leader of his team, while trying to protect the earth, namely from the Highbreed invasion back in Alien Force when he was putting together a stronger team. It would only make sense for him to then apply that to a situation in which his significant other gets roped into that which he fights against.

Speaking of fighting against, that brings me to another odd criticism of the writing of this episode. It’s no surprise that the flawed belief of Ben coming off as an alleged “sociopath” is brought up again, considering this episode takes place after The Ultimate Kevin arc. And yes, I realize the problematic connotations of using that term as a borderline insult as part of the issue here. But that aside, in this episode, the fact that he begins to fight Vilgax in his apparent “weakened” state is what is being attributed to that description.

Besides the fact that defending Vilgax is questionable in itself, he’s never needed water to survive for the many times he actually tried to kill Ben. I can’t find a solid answer from a writer that knows for certain if his need for water is genuine except for one who is only assuming that is the case when he’s in this state.

But regardless, (since he clearly survived long enough to morph with Dagon and become a bigger threat to the earth later on) we are still defending Vilgax the LITERAL INTERGALACTIC WARLORD.

Y’know, the guy who’s only in this position because of his own immoral actions? Who absolutely would not hesitate to take advantage of his opponent's weakened state in order to further get away with his immoral actions? Such as he is in this very episode, taking advantage of the people wrongfully worshiping him?

If we are trying to imply that Ben is “just as bad as Vilgax,” then I would assume you’d easily find the flaw in that being Ben’s motivation for incapacitating a dangerous offender who is, at the moment, manipulating naive humans to work for him and help him continue get away with his immoral actions. Which is, needless to say, not the same as Vilgax, at all.

Again, you’d think that’d be obvious.

The Flame Keeper’s Circle’s mission is to end human suffering and find a solution to certain issues happening across the globe with the help of alien technology that is much more advanced than what everyday people are used to. And, while the end goal seems like a good cause, even something Ben as a superhero would be all for, the means through which they attempt to get there aren’t a good idea, at all.

A lot of people find it hard to navigate the use of technology considered advanced by human standards in the real world, so you can only imagine the various things that could go wrong if those kinds of people were suddenly exposed to something much more powerful. In short, a lot could go wrong.

Again, Ben has been in that exact position as soon as he was armed with the Omnitrix. Which is exactly why he’d see the flaw in what these people are trying to do, and therefore not be convinced that it’s such a good idea to allow them to continue, much less endorse it.

This is why I love when the writers actually allow Ben to speak for himself instead of cutting him off for drama or plot. Once he actually gets a word in, or more accurately, has his moment of heroic monologue, he makes himself very clear and, I think, only further proves what I’m trying to say about him.

Here he is, explaining exactly what I’ve been trying to highlight throughout this body of work:

Ben: “Even if Dagon was real, using alien technology to accelerate a planet’s natural development won’t bring utopia, it’ll bring disaster. It’s happened before. Why do you think the Plumbers have those laws? But even that’s not the point, because that isn’t Dagon! His name is Vilgax. He’s not a hero, he’s a selfish, evil warlord who’s using you. And if you let him get in his ship, he’s going to fly off and start an interstellar civil war.”

It’s not that only he can use alien technology to save the world, it’s that his status as a hero proves that he knows what he’s doing, unlike these businessmen in fancy robes leading a cult for profit.

That is not what I would have assumed reasonable people would consider “douchebag behaviour.” That’s actually smart, and going back to my first point, exactly what he should be doing in a situation like this.

The actual episode does end off on a positive note for both Ben and Julie, which is omitted from the review and most of the comments I have read from others on the topic. And, I bring it up because it’s actually vital to wrap up everything brought up within this episode that I have just expanded on. Not only because they make up and seem to understand each other’s perspective after all is said and done, but because they both agree to be open to further discussion on the topic, as Ben offers to go out for dinner.

Which, needless to point out I hope, but once again, is not “douchebag behaviour.”

[sk1fanfiction]

the many faces of tom riddle, part 2

 -you dislike frank dillane’s portrayal of tom riddle only because you don’t think he’s attractive-

FULL DISCLAIMER THAT THIS IS JUST MY OPINION OF A CHARACTER WHO DOESN’T HAVE THE STRONGEST CANON CHARACTERIZATION, AND THUS ALL THIS IS BASED ON MY CONCEPTUALIZATION (and this time, featuring a bit of armchair child psych from a student).

Wait, don’t clutch your pearls just yet. Compose yourself.

I am about to explain why it’s not actually that bad, and Dillane’s portrayal is vastly underappreciated.

I definitely agree that his portrayal comes off as ‘creepier’. It’s not helped by the stylistic decisions in the scene -- the smeary, green filter gives the scene a sinister quality. 

Even Slughorn looks suspect here, which is somewhat appropriate, given that he is complicit in this crime. 

Again, this scene is very much intended to be slightly off.

You’ll notice (and I’ll discuss this again when I talk about Coulson’s portrayal) that Dillane is almost always shot from at least slightly below, which makes the lower third of his face look bigger (and thus more menacing). The lighting also makes his eyes glow in a really unnatural way. There’s an echo-y effect to make his voice (and not Slughorn’s) sound unnerving.

People talk about how Coulson would have looked in this scene, and if he was filmed in the same way (monotone, smeary/shadowy filter, and always from below), he’d look a bit creepy, too.

But all of this, imo, is for a pretty good reason. Slughorn isn’t the POV character. Harry is. Harry is learning about how a young Lord Voldemort wheedled the secret of Horcruxes out of an unsuspecting teacher. Unlike in COS, he expects Riddle to be evil. And, so, Harry’s new perception of Tom Riddle literally colors how we perceive him.

Take this shot, for example: he does that head-tilt thing that Coulson does, and it’s actually... kind of... cute???

Imagine Dillane filmed from slightly above, like Coulson usually is, and it looks even more innocent. (I mean, come on, he does not look like he’s killed four people, does he?) It’s not hard to imagine teachers being taken in by this kind of act.

Even that little smirk he does when the camera (aka, Harry’s gaze) pans in, is for Harry’s benefit. No one else noticed that. 

However, I still fail to find this creepy, like, at all. Yes, it’s a fake smile, but he’s portraying a different side of Tom Riddle to Coulson. Whereas, in COS, he’s in his vindictive, murderous element, where he’s free to express himself, in this scene, Tom Riddle is doing what he does best -- manipulating and managing appearances. 

This entire scene is an act. And because Harry knows it’s an act, it should look a bit stilted. 

From the Hepzibah Smith scene in the books: Voldemort smiled mechanically and Hepzibah simpered.

So, Harry is pretty adept at parsing Tom’s fake expressions.

But just look at the expressiveness in his face: he goes from brooding, he blinks, and his entire face changes to this charming (fake) smile. 

At the risk of sounding elitist, I’m a bit tired of seeing the word ‘psychopath’, which is not an actual medical diagnosis recognised by any psychological or psychiatric institution, being tossed about, especially with reference to Tom Riddle (and from a neuroscience perspective, it’s doubly annoying). There’s no such thing as ‘insanity’ or ‘psychopathy’ or being ‘crazy.’

-although I use it too a shorthand in conversation to distinguish ‘canon’ Tom from his ‘softer’ OOC counterparts, I really shouldn’t-

Unfortunately, I’ve seen the ‘psychopath’ comment used time-and-time again as an excuse or a full explanation of ‘why Tom Riddle went evil’ (JKR in fact, has made a weird comment in an interview, basically saying that ‘psychopaths can’t be redeemed or learn adaptive coping skills’ or whatever), which really just goes to show the lack of understanding and compassion when personality disorders, especially, are concerned.

But what I like most about the opening of this scene, actually, is that first, listless expression. And this is where we get slightly into headcanon, but Tom Riddle is the opposite of a happy, mentally healthy teenager. By Dumbledore’s own admission, he has no real friends. He has no parental figures, no real attachments. Yes, he might derive some pride or enjoyment from being good at magic and top of his class and all that, but I really don’t think even Tom finds that truly fulfilling. There is nothing that makes him happy. 

In fact, although some might perceive it as ‘creepy’, I think that listless expression is an accurate window into Tom’s psyche. 

I know people aren’t big on Freud, but I think that he does make some interesting points (also, cut the guy some slack for being relatively open-minded for the Victorian Era, and inventing psychoanalysis and while yes he did say some sexist stuff, good luck finding a field of science that isn’t male-focused and makes crazy generalizations about women, especially back in the day) about the possible origins of thanatophobia, the fear of death.

According to Freud, thanatophobia is a disguise for a deeper source of concern -- he did not believe that people were capable of conceptualizing their own death to that extent. Instead, he believed that this phobia was caused by unresolved childhood conflicts that the sufferer cannot come to terms with or express emotion towards.

Now, I know Freud almost always attributes mental distress to childhood experiences, but I think in this case, it really has some merit.

According to attachment theory, the basis of how we form attachments in adulthood is dictated by learning it from experiences with caregivers in the first two years of life. We know Tom was born in an orphanage, and that he didn’t cry much as a baby, and subsequently, probably received very little attention. Compounded with possible genetic factors and his caregivers being afraid or wary of his magical abilities, he later struggled to form attachments because of this -- I would actually go so far as to say that by the time Dumbledore meets him, Tom Riddle is severely depressed. 

And that flat affect and anhedonia, I think, comes over very well in Dillane’s portrayal. There’s kind of this resignation -- a very deep sadness and loneliness to his character.

Of course, he doesn’t derive any comfort or fulfillment from human interaction, because (to borrow the description from the Wikipedia article on ‘Reactive attachment disorder’, which Tom meets all the criteria for) he has a “grossly disturbed internal working model of relationships.” In other words, he is unresponsive to all offers of attachment because of this unacknowledged trauma.

(You could arguably class Tom as having an avoidant attachment style, but I think in his case the trauma and its effect on him are severe enough to call it disordered.)

RAD isn’t particularly well-characterized (especially neurologically) and quite new in the literature, but here are some links if anyone is interested in doing a bit of digging: Link 1 | Link 2 | Paper 1 | Paper 2

And, instead of trying to resolve this conflict in a healthy way, or at least recognize that this is why he can’t be happy and try to learn how to cope from there, he (a) represses the desire for human attachment and (b) funnels that negative emotion into being the fault of Death, the Grim Reaper (again, to borrow Freudian terms). 

And we all know how that turned out...

(And now, this should go without saying, but psychoanalyzing fictional characters has nothing to do with assigning a morality to mental disorders. Mental illness is neither a cause nor an excuse for criminal behavior -- in the same way that the cycle of violence is a phenomenon, not an excuse. Tom Riddle did not become a genocidal murderer because, in common parlance, he was a ‘psychopath’ -- he was not necessarily ‘predisposed’ to evil and could just as easily chosen to not follow the path that he did -- instead, he willingly made poor choices. This is a descriptive analysis, not a justification -- a ‘how’, not a ‘why’)

Here’s a Carl Jung quote that articulates it better:

“I am not what happened to me, I am what I choose to become.”

Yes, he’s a bit stiff (and a lot more formal than in COS during his *conversation* with Harry). But, and here comes the controversial bit, this is appropriate for a portrayal of a schoolboy in the 1940s. The upright posture is accurate -- respectful, polite -- everything Tom Riddle would have been expected to be (and even Coulson, in that scene with Dumbledore in COS, is quite stiff). Even the way he looks at Slughorn and maintains eye contact is very *respectful.*

And, Dillane (I think he’s seventeen or eighteen here) actually looks like a believable sixteen-year-old. I’m sorry, I love Coulson’s portrayal as well, but he looks around nineteen in COS; so in HBP, he probably would have looked at least twenty-two or so. (Sorry, not sorry).

This may be influenced by my own interpretation of the character (because I imagine Tom always looks young for his age, and Dillane fits that archetype, but I don’t think that’s very popular), but I think young Tom Riddle is supposed to be *cute* and a bit stiff/shy/awkward (being charming and awkward is very much possible), if you consider the way Dippet and Slughorn treat him. 

To support this, he says very few words to Hepzibah Smith (in the book, that scene’s not in the movie), and is very... bashful and coy during the whole interaction? I think yes, he’s charismatic, but he’s not loud, suave, openly flirtatious or particularly verbose. Tom Riddle should have a quiet magnetism, and to me, that came across in Dillane’s portrayal.

"I'd be glad to see anything Miss Hepzibah shows me," said Voldemort quietly, and Hepzibah gave another girlish giggle.

...

"Are you all right, dear?"

"Oh yes," said Voldemort quietly. "Yes, I'm very well. ..."

Even the ‘ugly, greedy look’ described in the books, when Slughorn starts spilling his secrets, is there. This is how he’s supposed to look! Slughorn glimpses it, but doesn’t understand its significance. Harry does. 

“Slughorn looked deeply troubled now: He was gazing at Riddle as though he had never seen him plainly before, and Harry could tell that he was regretting entering into the conversation at all.”

Remember the context of this moment, as well: He’s just discovered how to create multiple Horcruxes. Excuse him for looking a bit creepy (if not now, then when?).

Here’s two direct quotes of Harry’s impression of Tom Riddle in that scene: 

“But Riddle's hunger was now apparent; his expression was greedy, he could no longer hide his longing.”

“Harry had glimpsed his face, which was full of that same wild happiness it had worn when he had first found out that he was a wizard, the sort of happiness that did not enhance his handsome features, but made them, somehow, less human. . . .”

Tom Riddle’s Horcruxes are a direct metaphor for his refusal to allow himself to heal from his trauma -- instead, he continues to inflict destruction on himself and others.

His desire to continue creating more Horcruxes sort of resounds with the fact that self-harm can also become a compulsion.

I’d also like to digress a bit to discuss the Gaunt Ring, while we’re at it. While we’ve talked about his attachment issues in general, this discussion is particularly pertinent to father figures. And while Tom’s attachment issues are extensive, I think there’s ample evidence that as a child, he craved acknowledgement and acceptance from a father figure -- the man who gave him the only thing Tom truly owned -- his name. He would have had a vaguely defined mother figure in Mrs. Cole, perhaps.

"You see that house upon the hillside, Potter? My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was.... He didn’t like magic, my father ... He left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born, Potter, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage ... but I vowed to find him ... I revenged myself upon him, that fool who gave me his name ... Tom Riddle. ..."

We know that by June of 1943 (COS flashback) Tom has already uncovered the truth of his parentage; he knows he is the Heir of Slytherin via the Gaunt line, and he describes himself to Dippet as ‘Half-blood, sir. Witch mother, Muggle father.’

In Part 1, I discussed the high probability that as a presumed ‘Mudblood’, Tom Riddle was treated rather poorly in Slytherin House. But by this scene in the fall of 1943, he is surrounded by a group of adoring hangers-on. Why?

In my opinion; the Gaunt Ring. We know that Tom stopped wearing it after school, so its sentimental value couldn’t have been that great. We know he likes to collect objects (which I believe stems from his attachment issues -- he seeks comfort in things instead of other people).

Signet rings (such as the one belonging to Tutankhamun seen above) were used to stamp legal documents and such, in order to certify someone’s identify -- like an e-certificate, if you will. Like Tutankhamun’s ring, the Gaunt Ring bears an identifying symbol -- Marvolo Gaunt tells us proudly that it bears the Peverell family crest.

By the Middle Ages, anyone of influence, including the nobility, wore a signet ring. Rings in antiquity were auspicious -- they signified power, legitimacy, and authority. And so, I believe that all the Sacred Twenty-Eight families would have worn these, too.

And so, bearing the Gaunt Ring would have established Tom Riddle, symbolically and in the eyes of the Sacred Twenty-Eight (his future supporters and followers), as the legitimate heir to the House of Gaunt. This is why, I believe, Tom coveted the ring as soon as he saw it -- not just because it was a family heirloom, and not just because he thought it was a pretty toy for his collection.

(He curses it so that no one else but him can wear the Gaunt Ring safely.)

This is why, to make the legitimization literal as well as symbolic, Tom murders his father and grandparents. It’s not just an act of vindictive, murderous rage due to his perception of being rejected by his father (although it is that, too). And so, Tom, abandoning his search for a father figure (and possibly also giving up on the possibility to allow himself to heal from his own personal trauma rather than continue to inflict it on others), ‘cleanses’ his bloodline, to make himself truly legitimate. It’s rather telling that instead of affirming his legitimacy as a Riddle, which would have put him in line for a nice inheritance, and hey -- money is money -- (thus accepting his half-blood status), he simply kills them all. He has done all the murdering he needs to become immortal (and he hasn’t had the discussion about multiple Horcruxes yet); but yet, he does it again. Frightening stuff. 

(Just look how the others look at Tom. All but the one to his left -- possibly Nott, Rosier, or Mulciber -- have their torsos turned towards him. Their attention is on him, while he knowingly regards the viewer/Harry. Tom seems a little uncomfortable with the attention.).

“And there were the half-dozen teenage boys sitting around Slughorn with Tom Riddle in the midst of them, Marvolo's gold-and-black ring gleaming on his finger.”

...

“Riddle smiled; the other boys laughed and cast him admiring looks.”

...

“Tom Riddle merely smiled as the others laughed again. Harry noticed that he was by no means the eldest of the group of boys, but that they all seemed to look to him as their leader.”

The ‘gang’ are true hangers-on; Tom doesn’t seem to pay them much attention. 

So, if not via careful flattery or charisma, the attraction must be status.

And perhaps yet more telling...

"I don't know that politics would suit me, sir," he said when the laughter had died away. "I don't have the right kind of background, for one thing." “A couple of the boys around him smirked at each other. Harry was sure they were enjoying a private joke, undoubtedly about what they knew, or suspected, regarding their gang leader's famous ancestor.”

That, in my opinion, is as good as we’re going to get as proof that Tom’s shiny new signet ring (and by extension, his new status) made a big impression on his fellow students.

So, when he returns to Hogwarts, he is ‘pureblood’. He is cleansed of his Muggle roots, and becomes the legitimate heir of the House of Gaunt, now well on his way to becoming Lord Voldemort...

Watch the scene again, with a critical eye, and imagine Slughorn’s perspective, instead of Harry’s. There’s nothing creepy about Tom Riddle... unless you know what he is...

Strip away all the effects of Harry’s gaze (and notice, here he’s still looking at Harry), and he’s quite the charmer, actually.

(I will concede that I don’t like the promotional images where they have him looking like he’s up to no good. And I do wish he blinked once in a while.)

My challenge to you: Rewatch the scene with an open mind, and let me know if you agree that Dillane’s portrayal comes off as depressive rather than ‘creepy.’ And if not, why do you dislike his portrayal?

[wildwoodgoddess]

Holmes At Girton--A Mini-fic of Miss Holmes' First Case, The Glorious Scot

(This is an ongoing series about the historical case for how canon Sherlock Holmes and John Watson could have been women. It is leading up to the launch of my new web novel series on Patreon, Ladies of Baker Street—a sapphic/wlw, Victorian women adaptation of Sherlock Holmes.

As usual, I’m using the hashtag #A Study In Victorian Women for this series, if you want to follow along. If this interests you, please follow me as well as comment on/like/share this post. Thanks!)

Continuing from my last post about how a woman Sherlock Holmes could have gotten a university education in the 1870’s, I thought I’d do something a little different this time.

As a welcome gift for my newsletter subscribers, I wrote a short novella that’s my version of The Gloria Scott, which is canon Sherlock Holmes’ first case. The original story is set when Holmes is a university student. During a holiday break from classes, he goes home with his friend Victor Trevor, and during his visit, he uncovers an uncomfortable mystery involving Victor’s father.

My version of this is The Glorious Scot, and today I’m sharing an excerpt from it with you all. It’s set during Sherlyn Holmes’ and Dr. Siân Watson’s early days together, after they’ve been living at 221B Baker Street about 2 months. They are in the middle of the case that I will be detailing in A Study in Garnet (via Patreon), and Watson has encouraged Holmes to take this other side case as a distraction from the main case. Holmes quickly solves the side case, but it brings up some bad memories for her. Watson wants to know what happened, and Holmes brings out a painting, The Glorious Scot, and tells Watson the story of it.

The excerpt begins after Holmes has shown Watson the painting, and it focuses on Holmes’ life at Girton and her first meeting of Victoria Trevor. It’s told from Watson’s point of view as she relays Holmes’ story to us. There is a brief section I cut for the sake of keeping the post a bit shorter. That is shown by […]. Hope you enjoy!

*****

“Did you know that I, too, attended university?” Holmes asked. Her lips twisted scornfully. “Or at least the milquetoast substitute offered to women in this country.”

The change of subject startled me. “I believe you may have mentioned it, yes.”

“I matriculated at Girton College in 1873.”

“Cambridge!” I sat forward, gripping the edge of the box holding the painting. “Now that is something you didn’t tell me before.”

“Not truly Cambridge, you know. I believe it is officially termed ‘a recognized institution for the higher education of women.’” She sneered. “’Cambridge’s unacknowledged bastard child’ would be a more accurate description. Girton students may now sit the Tripos examinations, but they are awarded no degrees and are not considered Cambridge students.”

I felt the bitter sting of it all in my own heart, but I summoned my most jovial tone. “Change is coming, Holmes. Look at the strides we’ve made just in the past twenty years!”

She wasn’t cheered. “Strides should not have to be made.” She leaned over her chair to reach for the coal scuttle where she—for reasons I could not fathom—kept a tin of chocolate-covered coffee beans. She opened the tin and offered me a bean. I took one, and she took three and then settled the tin on her lap. “Equality for women need not take time, except for the resistance of men.”

“Agreed.” A question came to me. “Why did you not go abroad for university? Zurich, as I did, or even America?”

Holmes grimaced. “Mycroft achieved senior wrangler at Cambridge, and at the time, it was my dearest wish to follow in his footsteps as nearly as was possible for me.”

The tightness in her voice reminded me that we were supposed to be discussing the reason for the breach between Holmes and her brother. “You were very close to him back then?”

She lifted one shoulder. “I’m not sure how close one can be to a brother who is seven years the elder. But Mycroft was generally kind to me, and I admired him far more than, on retrospect, I ought to have done. I foolishly created an ideal of him in my mind—a youthful mistake that I shall be careful never to replicate.”

Her words brought back memories of my own childhood adulation of my elder sisters; and for a moment, my throat tightened, and I could not reply.

“I passed the entrance examinations in 1872,” she continued, “but the college, which had originally been located in Hitchens, was nearing completion of larger and nicer facilities in Girton the following year. So Father convinced me to wait until 1873 to matriculate. There were fifteen of us in that class.”

“Were you reading for a Tripos?”

“Mathematics, of course,” she said. “Girton was quite adamant about that. But my real interest was chemistry, so I was also reading for the Natural Sciences Tripos.”

If Holmes had sat a Tripos exam, I would have heard of it. It was my understanding that there had been a few Girton students early on who sat the exams unofficially. […]

“You are wondering why I did not sit the exams.” Holmes’s voice was brittle, and she was uncharacteristically avoiding my gaze.

“They are known to be among the most grueling of endeavors, but you would have excelled—of that I am certain.”

“My excitement about attending university was boundless. But the reality was far more frustrating than I’d imagined. My fellow students were immensely clever, but most hadn’t had the necessary amount of education to allow them to keep pace with our male counterparts. And the lectures we had access to—both at Girton and at Cambridge—were disappointingly limited. I studied everything I could in math, Latin, Greek, and chemistry. But I felt terribly constrained.”

I could well understand her aggrievement. It had been the same for me both in medical school and in subsequent training. I had never felt as intellectually free as I had at Netley disguised as a man, and it was infuriating.

She ate another three chocolate-covered coffee beans and offered me the tin. I shook my head. Coffee beans were not a treat I could enjoy in abundance, but Holmes grazed on them like a horse on grass.

She wrapped her long, slim fingers around the tin and tapped it absently while she continued her tale. “It has always been difficult for me to remember that most people mistake impatience for arrogance. The other students thought my unhappiness with my studies revealed a disdain for my classmates—as if I believed myself superior to them because I wanted to proceed at a quicker pace. I found myself quite isolated by the end of my first year there.”

“I am sorry.”

Her mouth flattened into a self-deprecating frown. “The fault was my own. I’ve learned to be better at social graces—I can be quite charming, you know, when I determine to be so. But at the time, I was more interested in expressing my dissatisfaction than I was in cultivating friends.”

I had grown used to Holmes’s cutting insights into other people, but her capacity for ruthless self-assessment never failed to astonish me. “It’s difficult to accept the errors our younger selves made when they have such far-reaching consequences.”

“Indeed.” Her eyes fell on The Glorious Scot still in its box on my lap. “But you are wondering what this all has to do with that painting.”

“It may have crossed my mind,” I admitted.

She laughed a little. “Watson, you must feel free to set my story back on the rails if I have gone off. Don’t be delicate about it.”

I grinned. “Very well. Get on with it. What about the painting?”

“Well, you see, I did find one friend at Girton. She was the same year as I, but she was even less inclined toward friendships than I was, so we barely spoke that first year.”

“I thought you were wanting to be put back on the rails to talk about the painting.” I winked at her to show I was only jesting.

She arced an eyebrow. “Do try to have at least some patience and not ruin a story with constant interruption.” But her gray eyes twinkled.

“My most abject apologies. Please continue.”

With a triumphant look, she popped another coffee bean into her mouth. “I was out walking one morning, and I came across a woman’s backside protruding from under some bushes. She was murmuring something, and as it was a very elegant backside in danger of becoming snagged by the branches, I came closer to see if she was in need of assistance.”

“How chivalrous of you, Holmes,” I murmured, trying not to smile.

“I asked her if she was all right, and she replied, ‘I’m quite fine, thank you, but there’s an injured kitten tangled up in here.’

I thought it rather charming that she was so concerned about the kitten’s welfare, so I hunched down next to her. ‘May I help?’

‘Perhaps if you can go around to the other side of the hedge,’ came the response. ‘Some boys were tormenting it, and they tied sticks and other rubbish to its tail. Now the string is all snarled, and I’m worried the poor thing will injure itself further trying to claw free.’

So I circled around to the opposite side and peered under the hedge. Now I could hear the kitten mewling, and I saw the face that went with the backside. It was my classmate, Victoria Trevor.

When she saw me as well, she looked shocked. ‘Holmes! I didn’t think you cared much for animals.’

‘What an inaccurate assumption to make, from barely any evidence.’ I crawled further into the hedge. ‘I will hold it while you slip its tail free.’

‘I didn’t mean to be unkind,’ she said, now lying on her side while I reached for the kitten. ‘My apologies.’

‘I said nothing about unkind. Merely that your deduction was baseless.’

Once I was able to keep the kitten still, she quickly freed it from its tangles. We met again on the other side of the hedge, and I gave her the kitten.

‘Again, I apologize for my rudeness earlier. I appreciate your help.’

‘Think nothing of it,’ I assured her. ‘What will you do with that?’ I nodded at the kitten.

She held it close to her, and her eyes glowed with mischief. ‘Take it back to my room.’

‘And how will you hide the presence of a cat? It will need a box of sand, you know, as well as food and water. And it’s injured.’

‘It’s absurd that we aren’t allowed pets. Many of the Cambridge students keep animals.’

‘Well, I shan’t turn you in, of course, only it would be too bad if you’ve gone through all this trouble only to have someone put the cat out on the street again.’

‘I think there’s a sixty-three percent chance of getting away with it. I’ll accept the risk,’ she said.

I walked her back to her room and helped her smuggle in the kitten. And then I stayed, and we talked, and by the time I left, we were friends.”

“What became of the kitten?” I asked.

“She managed to keep it hidden for five days before it was discovered. By this time, though, she’d already convinced a woman in the village to take the kitten, with the promise that she could visit from time to time to play with it.”

“And now you had a friend,” I prompted her.

“Victoria was…” Holmes sighed, suddenly looking weary. “I don’t think ‘friend’ can fully capture it. We were inseparable. Obsessively so, really. I called her ‘Janie’—after her middle name, Jane. And she called me ‘Freddy’—a teasing reference to my Christian name, which, if you recall, is Winifred. There was a like-mindedness between us, as if we had known each other our entire lives and had just forgotten until that moment at the hedge.”

I shifted in my chair, my heart clenching for reasons I didn’t understand. “That must have been thrilling for you.”

******

If you want to read the full story, you can join my newsletter and download it from BookFunnel.

Next time, I’ll be posting about the “New Woman” movement and how Holmes and Watson would fit into it. Cheers!

[whitehotharlots]

A movement that cannot be criticized cannot achieve positive goals

The hardest part of talking about malignant trends on the broad left is that, well, you’re not allowed to talk about them. It’s no exaggeration to say that criticism has become fully conflated with violence. If you attempt to engage critically with a left-liberal writer--regardless of how thorough and respectful you may be, and regardless of how powerful, public, or insulated the subject of the criticism--you will be accused of dismissing and erasing the writer, of inciting violence against the writer, and of committing some form of genocide against whichever identity groups the writer belongs to.

Conversely, if you don’t provide specifics, you’ll be accused of making stuff up. The same people who claim it’s an act of aggression to ask for proof when they make claims of victimization turn into immense pedants the moment they encounter a heterodox opinion. 

Unsurprisingly, a discourse milieu in which critical analysis is forbidden is a prime breeding ground for unsustainable (and even horrific) behavioral standards. Never mind improving the world that exists outside their sphere of influence... these people are perpetually on the brink of destroying their allies, their institutions, and themselves.

Today I dug into an especially profane case that highlights both of these points. It’s a matter of public record, so I hopefully won’t get accused of “doxing” anyone for discussing it. It’s also the sort of story where if someone cares about it, they’ll have an opinion of it within a second or two of reading a headline describing what happened. This means it’ll only be of interest to the sort of cranks who read this blog. My goal here isn’t to express outrage or advocate for one side or other--although it is outrageous, and you won’t have to try too hard to see which side I favor. Instead, I’m going to try to move beyond that, to use this instance as a broader cautionary tale in regards to the more horrific tendencies of the identitarian left, and to begin formulating some means of resistance. 

In other words, this might get boring. Even more so than usual. 

The story involves a court case, documented here, in which a young man named Kieran Bhattacharya is suing the University of Virginia Medical School. Mr. Bhattacharya (a white supremacist name if I’ve ever heard one) was subjected to formal censure, repeated psychological evaluations, suspension, and eventual expulsion. This all happened because he raised some concerns after a White Fragility-inspired panel on microaggressions.

This is one of those cases where both sides are going to assume there’s a lot more going on beneath the surface and, like I said, are going to be disinclined toward actually reading the available evidence. Thankfully, the court brief is fairly exhaustive and--importantly--the account provided in the brief has received the approval of both plaintiff and defendant. To stress, everyone involved in this case agrees, legally, that the account provided herein is an accurate picture of what happened. Additionally, we also have audio of the initial microaggression seminar (Mr. Bhattacharya’s comments start at around the 28:30 mark), as well as of the pursuant committee meeting that ended in his expulsion. 

Here is the initial exchange, as documented by the brief:

Bhattacharya: Hello. Thank you for your presentation. I had a few questions just to clarify your definition of microaggressions. Is it a requirement, to be a victim of microaggression, that you are a member of a marginalized group? 

Adams: Very good question. And no. And no— 

Bhattacharya: But in the definition, it just said you have to be a member of a marginalized group—in the definition you just provided in the last slide. So that’s contradictory. 

Adams: What I had there is kind of the generalized definition. In fact, I extend it beyond that. As you see, I extend it to any marginalized group, and sometimes it’s not a marginalized group. There are examples that you would think maybe not fit, such as body size, height, [or] weight. And if that is how you would like to see me expand it, yes, indeed, that’s how I do. 

Bhattacharya: Yeah, follow-up question. Exactly how do you define marginalized and who is a marginalized group? Where does that go? I mean, it seems extremely nonspecific.

 Adams: And—that’s intentional. That’s intentional to make it more nonspecific . . . . 

After the initial exchange, Bhattacharya challenged Adams’s definition of microaggression. He argued against the notion that “the person who is receiving the microaggressions somehow knows the intention of the person who made it,” and he expressed concern that “a microaggression is entirely dependent on how the person who’s receiving it is reacting.” Id. He continued his critique of Adams’s work, saying, “The evidence that you provided—and you said you’ve studied this for years—which is just one anecdotal case—I mean do you have, did you study anything else about microaggressions that you know in the last few years?” Id. After Adams responded to Bhattacharya’s third question, he asked an additional series of questions: “So, again, what is the basis for which you’re going to tell someone that they’ve committed a microaggression? . . . Where are you getting this basis from? How are you studying this, and collecting evidence on this, and making presentations on it?”

You can listen to the audio if you like. There’s nothing there, in my opinion, that is not captured accurately in the written description. Bhattacharya does not yell or raise his voice. He sounds skeptical, but in no way violent or threatening. Nor does Adams, the presenter, signal that she is experiencing anything that approaches fear or trauma. 

Immediately after the event, a professor who helped organize the discussion filed a “Professionalism Concern Card”--a cute academic euphemism for a disciplinary write up--against Bhattacharya, alleging he had displayed a troubling lack of respect for differences (the irony here probably does not need to be explicated).

Soon after that--literally still the same day of the panel--Bhattacharya received an email from faculty asking him to “share his thoughts” so as to help him “understand and be able to cope with unintended consequences of conversations.” The tone of the email is polite and professional, but the text hints toward an attempt at entrapment. You’ll see this a lot in woke spaces--invitations to come to an understanding with one another that are, in actuality, attempts to get a person to say something cancellable.

Bhattacharya took the bait, and, well… 

During Bhattacharya and Peterson’s one-hour meeting, Peterson “barely mentioned” Bhattacharya’s questions and comments at the panel discussion. Dkt. 33 ¶ 73. Instead, Peterson attempted to determine Bhattacharya’s “views on various social and political issues—including sexual assault, affirmative action, and the election of President Trump.” 

At this point, the kid was fucked. He soon after had an uneventful-seeming meeting with a dean. Two weeks after that, a separate panel found him guilty of “patterns of unprofessional behavior and egregious violations of professionalism” and strongly encouraged him to seek psychological counseling. 

Pre-Trump, Bhattacharya still probably would have been fine if he had just kept his head down, gone to a couple therapy sessions, and maybe issued an empty apology. Since 2016, however, the rules have changed. An accusation is now absolute proof of guilt and no amount of ablution can save someone in a vulnerable position. 

Eleven days after receiving the ostensible suggestion that he receive counseling, Bhattacharya was informed that he would not be permitted to return to classes until he had been evaluated. A day after that--before even having the opportunity to seek the mandated counseling--he was given a mere 3 hours notice before having to attend another disciplinary committee meeting. 

This meeting found that Bhattacharya’s continuing behaviors were proof that he posed an imminent danger to the campus community, although the committee did not bother to explain what those behaviors entailed. His behavior was simply noted as “unusual” and this was proof that “Any patient that walked into the room with [Bhattacharya] would be scared.” The following day, Bhattacharya was forcibly removed from campus and told he could not return until he had been screened. He was, subsequently, not allowed to receive sanctioned screening, because of his status of having been removed from campus after being deemed a security risk.

Again, none of what I have described is an exaggeration. None of these details are even being contested. 

Now for my own conjecture: the problem isn’t that anyone genuinely believes Bhattacharya poses a threat to anyone’s safety. The problem is that he attempted to question the ideological firmaments of contemporary anti-racist training. These firmaments are protected with aggressive viciousness precisely because they cannot withstand scrutiny. Had Bhattacharya merely scoffed at them, or even if he had been outright condescending and dismissive, he probably would not have received such a severe punishment. The problem was that he was right, and his accusers knew it.

Understanding speech in the manner prescribed by the peddlers of microaggression theory cannot possibly be codified in a way that won't result in arbitrary punishment. Bhattacharya’s experience demonstrates that with horrific irony. 

The assertion here is that the intention of a speech act should have no bearing on how we adjudicate the morality of that speech act--such a point was made repeatedly in the initial discussion, and stressed once again after Bhattacharya’s concerns have been raised. This standard contradicts how we've processed the morality of speech for centuries, but that's what people are very explicitly demanding.

How is this workable, when literally any statement could, conceivably, be considered offensive by at least one individual? This, I feel, was the point Bhattacharya reaching toward. If you were to say, I dunno, "I love trees" to a group of 1000 people, 999 of them could regard that statement as benign. But what if one person takes offense to it? What if they work in the lumber industry, or they were molested by guy in a Smokey the Bear costume? What if that person then files a report accusing the tree lover of offensive speech? Will the speaker be disciplined? Or will the powers that be take intention and effect into account?

Of course, we're not going to criminalize all speech in this way. Like all extreme and broad-reaching disciplinary standards, this one will only be selectively evoked in order to punish people with heterodox opinions and/or those whose presence threatens the status quo. Someone who says something much more incendiary, like "all men are rapists" or "white people shouldn't get social security" would not receive a reprimand regardless of how much offense their statements caused, because they're saying something that's acceptable in our current milieu. And right now, the least acceptable speech is that which shines a light on the manifest flaws and hypocrisies of corporate anti racism. 

Back to my hypothetical example, if the tree-loving speaker was on good terms with everyone, the complaint would most likely be ignored. But if he had said or done other things that for whatever reason displeased the people in charge, the specious accusation could still ruin him. What's worse, the person who filed the allegation of offense might not have even actually taken offense at the statement--they were just looking for a way to get rid of him.

Bhattacharya was attempting to voice legitimate criticisms about a political movement whose suggestions are functionally unworkable and that, even if it were implemented fully and uncritically, does not contain even a hypothetical explanation in regards to how its goals would result in improved racial equality/equity. Because of that, he was cynically labeled dangerous and expelled from a public university. 

You'd think a group that obsesses over power differentials and their own marginalization would have some grasp of this. Regardless of which side you fall into with this particular culture war, it should fucking terrify you that a movement that’s been tasked with addressing pressing social problems is designed in such a way that any substantial criticism is met with aggressive punishment. 

There’s no way you can win if this is you is how conduct yourself. This is why we’re losing. This is why even if you get all the censorship and deplatforming you can ever dream of, even if every major bank and multinational corporatation professes fealty to your movement, you will still lose. Because there’s no way you can win. 

[luna-the-moth]

Crimson Rivulets (SFW) Pt.1

Alright, since Lucifer won first place in the poll, I’ll start off with the Avatar of Pride himself! This was supposed to be a hc/scenario, but I suppose this jumped out at me! GN! reader, and SFW. This’ll be a series, so I’ll link each part as they come out! 

Word count: 2.1k words

This is a Vampire!Lucifer AU and (SFW) Modern! CEO Lucifer AU

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

Reblogs, likes, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Vampire!Lucifer AU (SFW)

A pureblood vampire, scorned by his father, and cast out with his siblings. From a young age, Lucifer had learned to take care of himself, along with his brothers. As the eldest, he felt a strong urgency and need to shield and protect his siblings, at any cost. Even at the expense of his pride.

Before stepping out of his father’s light, Lucifer had been one of the most prestigious vampires; the most sought-after. Fellow purebloods, half-bloods, and turned vampires alike had flung themselves at him, left and right.

In truth, Lucifer had no interest in any of them. Why would he distract himself, when he was supposed to inherit the family business and fortune? As the eldest son of the household, he was expected to be the pinnacle of class, intelligence; the embodiment for everything a pureblood represents.

He was known by many titles and honorifics, having obtained various positions of high status throughout his eternal lifetime. Governor, count, high priest, etc. But the name you know him as now, is Lucifer, CEO of Morningstar Corp.

The same Morningstar Corp., where you were going to apply for. Specifically, the open occupation of a personal assistant. You had been searching for a job close to the city, with decent benefits and stability. Which is quite odd, as Lucifer was known for his short temper, and had a reputation of going through assistants at least once a month.

Along with the fact that he was one of the most influential businessmen, it added an extra reason to be cautious. After all, he could make or break you, and if he didn’t like you? Say goodbye to all future job potential. His influence spread across the country, connections with almost every important figure of power.

The position offered a higher-than-average salary, and benefits of high worth. It was a gamble, but if fate smiled down on you, it may as well be one of the best opportunities of your life. Well, it was, but not in the way you expected.

Adjusting your tie slightly, you entered the doors of the building, a pleasant demeanor sweeping over your features. You had to be poised and professional, after all, this was a multi-billion company, if you weren’t your best, failure was guaranteed.

You had worn a simple outfit, contrasting to the corporation’s high-class, expensive atmosphere. But you were just applying to be an personal assistant after all, behind the scenes; so you wore a professional outfit, that wouldn’t stand out.

Arriving just on time for your interview, you took the elevator to the 27th floor, as the receptionist had instructed. With smooth, light jazz playing in the small space, your mind wandered to the possibility of what would happen if the job was granted to you.

Would Lucifer be a haughty, conceited, arrogant boss to work for?

Snorting, you thought, “Of course he is, he’s Lucifer Morningstar, CEO of one of the most prestigious companies in the country, why wouldn’t he be?”

Ping!

Interrupted by the signal of arrival from the elevator, you took in a deep breath, and stepped out of the elevator, hope in your heart.

The interview had gone fairly smoothly, as you answered the questions in a concise, polite manner. It was surprisingly less nerve wracking, besides the fact that your interviewer looked like he wanted to bite you-

At least, he had seemed like it. With mesmerizing, and hungry forest green eyes, you felt yourself gravitating towards him. Although, you quickly reminded yourself that this was a professional setting, and you were applying for an interview.

Seemingly pleased with your responses, the interviewer bade you goodbye as you left the office, a mysterious smirk gracing his features. Leaving the room, the image of him stayed in your mind for days, the intensity and calculation in his gaze haunting you, luring you in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For a few days, you had idly scrolled through other job listings, as you didn’t want to rely on the Morningstar Corp. application. After all, you were just one of many applicants, it’d be foolish to place all your hope into that one position.

After another day or two, you got a callback. They had accepted your application, and Mr. Satan, your interviewer, had wanted you to come back and sign the official papers, along with a tour of the building.

With hope in your heart, and a lightness in your step, you entered the skyscraper of a building once again, an air of confidence about you. Well, a sense of security and assurance would be a more accurate description.

Walking down the clean, polished hallway of the 34th floor, your thoughts wandered. However, they were abruptly stopped when you heard a stern voice ring out, prideful and condescending.

“Yes, and? It’s almost pitiful, how lousy you are with your job. I hired you as an interviewer, yet all of your choices have been fired or left on their own accord.

Honestly, since you are one of the most educated and competent halfbloods, I thought you would at least have some potential. If you can’t even find a decent personal assistant for me, I see no potential for you here at Morningstar Corp.”

In an open conference room, you saw a young man, with blond hair, and seemed to be his mid twenties. With a scowl on his face, narrowed eyes were directed towards the man in front of you.

Ah, it was your interviewer, you had realized. Who else had such enchanting, deep green eyes? Focus, you chastised yourself.

“Oh please, you drive off even the most patient of assistants! Speaking of personal assistants, you can’t just call them ‘degenerate, insolent worms not worth the dirt on your shoes, much less your investment,’ because they brewed your coffee a little too long, sir.

If you weren’t such an entitled, demanding pureblood, I’d-”

Wait- pureblood?

As he was about to fire off an insult, his gaze darted towards you, eyes seemingly gazing into your soul. Your breath hitched, words barely being able to force themselves out of your throat.

“Ah, my apologies, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I’ll be back later-”

Hastily turning on your heel, you attempted to leave, but were stopped by a commanding voice behind you. Immediately, you had recognized him. The same voice you had heard over and over, in press conferences, and various ceremonies.

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

You turned around, suddenly anxious and on edge. Something about that voice made you shiver in fear, and...delight?

Lucifer was dressed in a dark navy blue suit, with corresponding dress pants, along with a crisp, white dress shirt, hidden under a dark blue not unlike that of the suit. To add on, a black tie was adorned around his neck, with black dress shoes.

Wow Y/n, the first thing you think about when confronted by one of the most powerful businessmen in the country, is about how hot you think his voice is, and that collar- Get yourself together!

Blinking once, your gaze meets that of a blood-red one, almost hypnotic. A deep, bloody red that was similar to that of roses, or perhaps rivulets of blood. Almost like the blood red eyes of a vampire, found in fantasy novels and mythological stories.

Although, maybe he was one, since Satan had mentioned him being a ‘pureblood,’ if I recall correctly. That could mean anything, though.

Nonetheless, you quickly snapped your focus back to the present, as you had realized you had been staring into his eyes for maybe a bit too long. With burning red staining the tips of your ears, you replied with a slight waver in your voice,

“I was just about to leave and reschedule my appointment with Mr. Satan, as it seemed the two of you were busy, Mr. Morningstar.”

Staring at each other’s eyes for what seemed like forever, Lucifer smirked, breaking the hold on your gaze to glance back at Satan. With a dignified air around him, his moniker of “The Peacock” seemed quite fitting.

“Is this the new assistant you were speaking of, Satan?”

Scowling, he nodded curtly.

“Yes, this is Y/n L/n, your newest personal assistant. Out of all of your previous assistants, they’re the most qualified, and seem to align with your standards the most. I have faith in them.”

Taken aback by the blatant praise, you dipped your head in a gesture of thanks and gratitude.

Lucifer observed with a slightly curious gaze, masked behind a cover of apathetic, uninterested layers of emotions. It was rare for Satan to praise anyone, much less a new assistant.

He couldn’t deny that his curiosity was piqued; after all, he held Satan’s opinion in high regard, arguments aside. If he believed in your capabilities, you had to have at least some merit.

As much as Lucifer would like to deny it, he was a demanding boss, especially since his levels of stress were through the roof. Hell, if he was human, he’d be dead from overworking and lack of rest. Fortunately for the undead immortal, he wasn’t.

“I see, well Y/n, why don’t you finish up the required paperwork with Satan, and he’ll give you a tour afterwards. Your first day of work starts this coming Monday, be here at 7AM, sharp.”

Turning away, you stole a glimpse his face once more before Lucifer left, leaving you and Satan.

Letting out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding in, you turned to Satan, mind clouded with thoughts flurried, flying through your head.

With  charming smile and a certain glint in his eye, Satan gestured to the conference room, with papers and files ready on the table.

“Shall we?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Monday, 6:50 AM

Arriving at the building, you were huffing, as you had rushed over. Your morning had been fairly quiet, but the real issue was with traffic.

There was a car crash on your route to work, and it nearly made you late, added with the fact that parking spots were far and few to find, it was a miracle you had made it on time.

However, the sight that greeted you when you stepped into the polished office was...something, to say the least.

The first thing you noticed was a wave of iron and rust permeating your senses, filling your nostrils and causing light-headedness.

On Lucifer’s desk, sat vials of blood, and the man in question, had his fangs inserted through a vial. seeming to drink the blood through his fangs.

With closed eyes and a contented look on his face, Lucifer seemed to drink the blood like a mere cup of tea, nonchalant.

Letting out a noise of surprise, you clapped a hand over your mouth in shock; your boss was a vampire, just like from the manga you had read....

Lashes fluttering open, Lucifer looks at you with . Removing his fangs from the vial,  he swiped his tongue along his fangs, not letting a drop of blood go to waste.

Setting it down, he placed his head on his propped hand in a bored manner, a contempt expression worn smugly across his face.

“Right on time, L/n. Since today’s your first day on the job, I’ll give you a simple task. Prepare a coffee with 18 shots of espresso, a dash of milk, and a caffeine booster.

Afterwards, you will stop by the clinic on the 13th floor, and collect a vial of Aspherion from the medicinal vault. The identification program should have your information set, and should be able to identify you by the card Satan gave you previously.”

Standing in shock, your eyes were wide with surprise, firstly, because your new boss was a vampire; also, that is an inhuman amount of caffeine, how the fuck has he not died yet- plus, having a vampiric boss wasn’t included in the contract.

No wonder the benefits were so great, he was gonna drink your blood like a fucking juice box.

“What in the world? First of all, my name’s Y/n, and I would appreciate if you would call me as such. Secondly, a vampire? Do you really think I’m just going to accept that, no question?”

Incredulous, you had gestured your hands in a dramatic fashion, genuinely offended that your new boss had thought you were going to take in this new information within seconds, and be completely fine with it.

Sighing with a look of irritation flashing across his features, he gestured for you to sit in an empty seat, proceeding to prop his chin on his hands. In his eyes, shone curiosity, and a challenge.

“Fine. What would you like to know?”

[suckerfornat]

Pt 1 Can I please request Natasha x small fem reader? R is small, adorable, incredibly sweet and understanding. However she’s had a rough and painful past but nobody knows but Nat. Because of this they have a close bond, Nat is very protective and deeply in love with R but has yet to tell her. One day a new recruit tries to flirt with R, making her incredibly uncomfortable. Pt 2 The recruit starts to become a bit handsy and tries to lean in and kiss R causing her to freeze up in distress. Natasha seeing this, immediately becomes protective and angry, and comes to her rescue. After breaking his wrist and scaring him away, R immediately clings to Nat hugging her and hiding her face in her shoulder. Pt 3 Nat slightly blushing, returns the hug and whispers words of comfort. Seeing it as a good time as any, Nat confesses and swears to protect R. R hearing this, gives a blushy smile and pulls Nat down to a kiss causing Nat to freeze in shock before melting into the kiss and pulling R closer. When they pull away, R tells Nat she loves her as well and Nat asks her to be her girlfriend. It’s a really fluffy request, and I hope it makes sense.

Saw this request once and copied it, I'm not sure if the blog I had it from is still active, I couldn't find them again

I didn't want to make the assault too drastic because it's triggering for me and I left the wrist snapping out because I don't think Nat would get that violent infront of someone who is already scared, I hope it's still accurate enough for the request!!

TW: MIGHT TRIGGER PEOPLE WHO HAVE BEEN SEXUALLY ASSAULTED, NO CLEAR DESCRIPTION BUT PERSON BASICALLY DOESN'T LET READER LEAVE FOR A FEW SECONDS SO BE CAREFUL IF YOU'RE SENSITIVE WHEN IT COMES TO STUFF LIKE THIS

"Need help putting those mats away pretty girl?" You whirled around at the question, having been too deep in thoughts to notice one of the new recruits coming up to you. Natasha, who was only a few feet away and putting some of the training equipment away as well immediately looked over, ready to step in if he came any closer.

You had quite the rough past and were sensitive when it came to men because of it so she naturally always had her eyes on you, especially at Tony's famous parties where her being around you was the only thing that helped with the sometimes disgusting comments and flirting approaches of men. They seemed to take you as easy targets, you were quite small and looked fragile even though you did posses enough strength to fight very well - which had gotten you in this position, as one of the trainers of new recruits at the Avengers facility.

"It's fine, thank you, enjoy your break." You cursed yourself internally for how high pitched your voice sounded, already getting nervous at the sight of the bulky man who often flirted with you, standing right in front of you . Him calling you 'pretty girl', something you definitely didn't want to be called by him, only made it worse. You wanted to call him out on it but him being so close made your throat close up and you knew anything you would say now would come out squeaky and quietly, so you just let it slide.

He leaned against the wall to your left, making you feel even more trapped, your heart beat slowly getting faster and more erratic.

"I actually wanted to ask you if you could come and help me with something real quick, there is this one move I just can't get right." He smiled slightly at you and since he was a recruit and you were obligated to train and help him, you nodded and went with him to one of the training rings.

He began rambling about how this one pose was difficult because of his balance.

It was a quite easy stance made to set up an attack but since people have different talents you didn't want to judge and gently tapped against his knee to get it more outwards, explaining to him how it will help distribute the weight and make him shoot forward faster once he moves to attack. He seemed to only be listening halfway, his eyes set on you - or more like the naked skin between your training shirt and your leggins.

"Is this the right way, princess?" You almost couldn't keep your pokerface at the use of this cringy pet name so you opted so simply shaking your head and moved closer to correct his slumped pose that lacked all tension.

You tried to remember how you yourself had once struggled with some fighting poses, lacking the strength and balance that you now, after a lot of training, possessed and that you should be patient with others who are still learning.

Natasha on the other side of the room had been listening and watching while cleaning up and the grip she had on the mat in her right hand at the use of the pet name for you was already so tight that it had marks. She closely watched, easily reading your body language that clearly showed that you had absolutely no interest in him but the recruit didn't seem to understand that and moved even closer before putting his hand on your shoulder and smoothing over your hair.

The mat in Nats hand ripped as she clutched it even tighter before she let it drop and marched over, seeing the way you froze up and seemed to be a few seconds from a whole panic attack.

The recruit apparently did not really care, following you when you moved a few steps back and blocking your way to the exit when you turned to that direction, moving closer and closer, intending on kissing you since you were already so conveniently right before him. He had attempted to flirt with you countless times and you were always simply friendly and never reacted to any of it correctly so his patience was gone now and his ego convinced that you were just playing hard to get.

Before he could actually go through with his plan, Nat was there, pulling him away from you with a vice like grip on his neck as he let out a high pitched scream due to her nails that roughly embedded themselves into his skin.

She threw him on the ground, a whole feet away from you before crouching down before him: "Are you incapable of reading body language? I thought you guys learned that before you got in here to train." She raised an eyebrow at him when he seemed to struggle to find a response for a few seconds.

"Yes, we learned that", after a short pause he added a careful ma'am, terrified by the way the red head was hovering over him.

"It doesn't seem like you really learned the lesson then, hm?" Her voice sounded casual but the way she had her eyes fixed on him and the smile on her lips that could only be described as perpetratory made it clear, even to him, that she was not happy with him right now.

She grabbed his wrist, him wincing at the harsh way she was handling him as she pulled him to his knees, standing in full height before him. "Maybe you need a reminder of what you learned. Do I look amused at the moment?"

He silently shook his head and she continued before he could properly answer her: "Atleast something you can read. Go and change and then meet me in the hall at 7am sharp tomorrow and we'll see what Steve thinks about this."

His eyes widened in panic, realising that she might kick him out for this but the way she was looking down on him told him that arguing with her would be no use so he simply mumbled a "Yes ma'am", quickly stood up and walked to the locker room to change.

Nat was just about to turn around to you and see how you were doing when you already approached from the side, basically falling into her arms, quickly stabilised by her as she pulled you closer and felt you snuggling deeper into her shoulder, her hands automatically soothing over your back and your hair to calm you down. You were shaking a bit, past memories and trauma having come up. You usually handled it quite well but in this situation you had been caught of guard, not expecting someone to flirt in such an uncomfortable way here. During parties? In the city? Always. But not here, in the training room. Maybe you shouldn't have worn your leggins, would it have helped? Or maybe you shouldn't have stepped so close to him when you had helped him. Had this been your fault? Had you given the wrong signals?

Natasha noticed that your thoughts were spiraling by the way you started to tense in her arms so she moved her head a bit downwards to your ear and quietly spoke to calm you down: "It wasn't your fault, alright? It doesn't matter what outfit you wear, he asked you to help him with a pose and you did, it was very clearly he was crossing a border when he started to make advances and he ignored it completely. He was the one who blocked your way several times and he was the one who didn't let you leave, Y/N, it wasn't your fault, at all. Do you understand?"

She stepped a little bit back to make you look up to her, so she could tell if you were lying while answering her. You thought about her words for a moment and realised that your guilt was simply from the past, when men had told you that it had been your fault, that you were the one who had moved too close past them, that you were the one who had flirted even though you had just been friendly. Natasha was right, it had not been your fault, you had simply wanted to help.

So when she very gently pulled your chin up to meet her eyes, you smiled and nodded which made her smile as well.

"Are you okay milaya?" Nats use of the pet name made your smile even deeper, it was sweet when she did it and the way she said it in russian made you shiver on the inside. You simply nodded again and she moved her hand from your chin to tuck a hair strand that had gotten lose while you had nodded behind your ear.

"Thank you." Your voice was very quiet but she had heard it and smiled before resting her hand at your cheek, enjoying the feeling of your warm skin underneath her fingers.

"I'll always be here for you, Y/N." Her eyes were set on yours and the way yours seemed to sparkle at her words gave her the courage to continue.

"I'd never let anyone hurt you, I promise you're safe with me", she hesitated a second before deciding to confess, "I love you, Y/N."

Your eyes widened in surprise and she was about to pull her hand back and apologise but in the same moment you moved forward, grabbed her face and kissed her. She was shocked for a second, body tense underneath your fingers, not having expected you to react so positive to her confession but it only lasted a millisecond before you could feel her basically melt into your hold on her, muscles relaxing.

The hand that had rested on your cheek wandered to your hair and she tugged gently on it, taking over the kiss while her other hand grabbed your waist and pulled you flush against her, causing you to gasp. She immediately tried to break the kiss and ask if you were okay but you tightened your grip on her face and deepened it, letting her know that it was just a gasp of surprise.

Nat relaxed back into the kiss, both of your hands wandering over one another's body and exploring, you enjoyed her soft skin as you let your hands trail up her shoulders and then to the free skin on her arm.

You could have kept kissing for hours but your breathing was irregular from the make-out session and you needed air for a moment.

Nat, always observant, noticed and let you go although not before she set another soft kiss on your lips.

Her hands were currently on your face as she gently wiped over your lips with her thumb, you probably had her lipstick smudged all around them but you simply stood still, breathing for a second and enjoying having her hands on you, feeling safe and protected with her this close.

After a few seconds you decided you had had enough air and moved a step towards her as well, wanting another kiss. Her hands pulled you closer to her face once you were directly in front of her again but you stopped when your lips were almost at hers and whispered a still kind of breathless: "I love you too, Nat." The bright smile that showed up on her face was interrupted by you pressing your lips against hers before you started another make-out session, content and safe with feeling her arms snake around your shoulders, holding you deep in her embrace.