#slathering these bubbles all over my socials

[vasira96]

not my normal art but i had to draw some colorful shinies and i love them, they make my brain go brrrrrrrr and i thought some of y’all might enjoy them too

[joontroverted]

of course other women want your boyfriend

pairing: nanami kento x reader

tags: nanami is 34. is that a warning? lol.

"your dad's kinda hot."

the bar isn't too full, just the regular crowd, and then some. of course there were other college kids, none that you knew. well, except this one.

you've seen aiko around, always at the back of the class. not that that's worth shaming, you ended up back there too often due to sleepy mornings to be looking down on her.

no, it's the constant bitching and laughing during class that pissed you the fuck off. not an ounce of respect or decorum for the rest of you depressed losers just trying to make it out of class with notes that made sense, or the poor professor, who has long since given up on admonishing her. so maybe you did once tell her off in the middle of class a week before finals. just once. or twice.

and here she is, having tapped on your shoulder as you were sipping your drink, bitching and laughing with her friends hanging behind her, snickering along.

"that's not my dad," you reply, ticked off.

her eyes widen in faux shock. "even better then! I didn't wanna make it too messy for you. what's his instagram?"

you laugh, bunching up your shoulders, finally putting down your drink and getting up. you're usually not the jealous type, and you're not even feeling jealous right now, more like a bubbling irritation.

"he doesn't have an Instagram. he's thirty four, what instagram do you think you're gonna be hitting him up on, huh?"

"thirty four? he looks forty plus at least! I didn't know being with a stuck up bitch like you would age a man like that, but makes sense!" she scoffs, looking you up and down.

"so you can pick up on social cues! I was wondering how you couldn't figure out that he's my boyfriend from the kiss he gave me or, perhaps from the way he was holding me, but turns out you're just a rude bitch who wants to slather her fingers all over my boyfriend!" you snap at her.

that makes a few people around you look over, and as much as you wanted to smack her across her face, you needed to maintain your standards.

"then where is he now? where's your boyfriend? and which forty year old brings his little girlfriend on a night out to a bar like-"

"there you are, sweetheart."

kento slides his arm around your waist, slipping into the seat next to yours.

nanami kento. thirty four. food critic! 6' 1", honey blonde hair slicked back, but a few pieces spill out on to his face, deep brown eyes that are both soft and sharp. his white shirt's sleeves rolled up to his elbows showing his thick forearms, veiny with light, golden hair. the bar and the girl in front of you almost fade to the back of your mind when his cologne hits your nose, sending you into a daze.

almost.

"ken!" you breathe.

"did i keep you too long? you know satoru, refusing to get to the point," he frowns, dropping a kiss on your forehead. "what's got you all worked up?"

"hey!"

his eyes leave yours to look at aiko. "yes?"

"how come she doesn't bring you around more often? she's always all by herself, in her own little world! so shy, really! i'm aiko, we go to class together!" she smiles at him, all cute and bubbly like.

"what are you trying to do?" you ask, shouldering youself between kento and her. "you trying to swoop in and show him a better life or something? do you need attention that bad?"

"oh my god, you guys, look she's getting all bothered!" she gasps to her friends around her. "no babe i didn't mean it like that, i just meant it like i am personally, SO happy that someone like you's found love, you know? even if it's with someone who is SO different from you, you're finally out of your shell, and clearly, there is someone for everyone!" she gushes, and then looks over your shoulder at kento.

"why are you looking at him, look at me," you interject, something finally snapping in you. kento can sense the change in you, and places his hands on your waist.

"sweetheart, i think- "

you appreciate it, but you can handle this, you're FINE.

"no no," you repeat, "look at me! because do you think he's gonna treat you the way he treats me? do you think he's gonna keep up with your bullshit, and your little friend group and not see you for the pathetic attention seeking loser you are? you think he's gonna buy you the stuff you want and take you to all your raves and whatnot? this man goes to sleep every night by eleven thirty! you don't see him at parties because he's thirty four fucking years old, and his definition of a night out is wine and fine dining, with ME! he treats me like this, and buys me whatever the fuck i want, because i'm me, he's not gonna treat you like that babe!"

"don't get all worked up!" aiko spits "we can just be friends, you know!" she twirls her hair, her eyes still on kento.

"what are you twirling your hair for? he's not even looking at you, the only thing that that's gonna do is make you even balder. spending all your time trying to poach another bitch's man the whole time your bald spot's been making direct eye contact with me."

she gasps, and deep down you know you would never say that to a girl unless she absolutely deserved it, and aiko has been begging for it.

kento squeezes your waist, standing up, towering over you from behind.

"baby, she said she just wanted to be friends, didn't she?" he asks. "why don't you give her my instagram?"

aiko chuckles, seeming to have recovered. she pushes her phone into his hands, instagram open, and he hands it over to you diligently.

you scoff and type in his username, pressing the follow button and shoving it back to her.

"now that that's done," sighs kento, holding you. "it's getting a little hot in here, isn't it honey? let's get this scarf off of you."

his hands unfasten the scarf that you had tied around your neck, that you're sure aiko just attributed to poor fashion sense. despite the previous chaos, your eyes follow his thick fingers as the open the knot, and unloop the scarf from around your neck, causing the scarf to slip out and leave you neck bare in the deep v neck top you had put on this morning.

deep red and purple bruises litter your neck, all the way down to your breasts, disappearing off behind the lace borders of the neck of your top.

kento stares at you, smug and unclouded desire clear on his face. he slides his hands up and holds the sides of your neck firmly, squeezing slightly. he pulls you closer and your lips meet in a deep kiss, his thumbs rubbing slow circles on your cheek. the kiss leaves you breathless as he pulls away and leans back in to place on more kiss on your wet, parted lips, taking you by surprise.

"that's perfect," he thumbs on one of the hickies, eyes never leaving you. "my perfect girl."

warmth floods up your chest and face. a smile can't help but spread across your face as you lean into him.

"let's go, love. dinner, wine and that eleven thirty nap time awaits us," he chuckles, taking your hand, gathering your bag and turning away to leave, not a single glance given to aiko.

aiko!

you turn to her, a lazy, easy grin on your face, glancing to her phone open with kento's instagram, and then back up at her. "happy stalking!"

aiko and her friends are sure to spend the night pouring over kento's instagram, which is filled to the brim with pictures of you, you and him, food, you, travel and his girlfriend, you.

DO NOT REPOST

yay first fic!!!

likes, reblogs, comments HIGHLY appreciated 🩷

[theliterarywolf]

Unpopular/Controversial opinion: Random products, and items with pride flags slapped on them, just for the sake of having the pride flags on them, are the exact same marketing bubble as gendered/gendering products. Especially by corporations. Like, where's the difference between someone owning a set of cups saying "His/Hers" and someone owning two mugs with some pride flags on it?

Everyone knows that every year, once June rolls around, all the big corporations are going to dust off that old expired bucket of rainbow paint and slather it over their social media icons while making offerings of rainbow-striped credit cards, vodka bottles, and cellphone mounts.

Hell, some are even getting a jump on it this year like how every company starts advertising for Christmas in the beginning of November. I work for Starbucks and they recently dropped off the sales plans for their summer quarter (which starts in May) with a big emphasis on Unicorns and Pride merchandising. 

When I saw the latter, especially some of my coworkers talking about ‘OMG, I can’t wait to get my hands on that Pride cup~’, I just looked at the flyer, confused, and said, “But... Pride is in June.”

Just for the ASM to say ‘Yeah, well, Starbucks just decided to make it easier for everyone and wrap it all up in this year’s Summer campaign!’

Just for the ASM to say ‘Yeah, well, Starbucks just decided to make it easier for everyone and wrap it all up in this year’s Summer campaign!’

Anyway, if you want Pride merch (and a much wider variety of flags) just go to someplace like Etsy and support actual independent artists and creators.

[mdawritings]

Wanna Be Yours: Ch. 5

I.V

Masterlist

Content warning: smut, daddy kink... you've been warned

"You almost ready, Einstein?" Katie calls from the other side of the door. You hurriedly slather on another layer of concealer on the fading bruise on your neck. It’s still pretty god awful after your meeting with Hotch yesterday. The deep purple splotch is the only one visible because it’s right smack under your jawline. It’s been hell trying to hide it from Katie. If she saw it, she would inevitably get curious and since you spend almost every moment together, you couldn’t simply lie and tell her that you had hooked up with someone randomly yesterday.

"We’re going to be late! You’re just asking for the sexy professor to yell at you!" She teases and knocks again on your door. You roll your eyes at the nickname for Hotch and scramble to pick out some clothes.

"I’m coming, just one more minute!" You glance over yourself in the mirror. You smooth out your skirt. It’s the only other skirt you own and it’s definitely not daytime appropriate. It’s a matte black fake leather skirt. Turns out, you did indeed rip the seams in your skirt the other day when you were busy on your knees. You hurriedly pull on some sheer black tights, tuck your shirt into the skirt and slip on your boots.

"Y/n, I swear to god-" Just as Katie is about to yell at you again you swing the door open, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

"No more yelling. I’m ready," You shake your head at her and move around her in the door frame.

"You look… nicer than usual," Katie teases and hands you a to-go cup of coffee. "Dressing up for someone special?

Your heart picks up in pace, thinking about how Hotch will react to your attempt to dress up for him. It worries you, how desperate you are to impress him. It’s not out of character for you to seek validation from respected figures, but you’ve never been one to seek validation through looks or appearance. That’s not to say you’re not good-looking, because you know you are. But you don’t pride yourself on being the hottest, most attention-grabbing woman in a room.

Just over two weeks ago, you were hoping for attention from Professor Hotchner, but not this kind of attention. You want him to shower you with compliments in relation to your hard work, your intellect, your drive. You want to know you’re the star student. It’s obvious, you’re the smartest student in the class. He’s made that clear to you. But he holds you to such a high standard. It’s as if your work will never be good enough for him. That would normally anger you, but this new, more personal kind of attention has distracted you from the intense standards he has for you. You love that he can’t get enough of you. He can’t keep his hands off of you.

Sleeping with your professor was never something you necessarily dreamed about or fantasized. You had exes try and role play with you but it never really turned you on. This new fling with Hotch has made you truly understand the appeal.

The idea that he can’t resist you. He’s so into you he has to have you. The stolen glances in class. He’s risking everything. His career, his job, his standing as a professor, all just to sleep with you. Just to have you. That’s how irresistible you are to him. And damn, that makes you feel good about yourself. But it feels as if you’ve sacrificed your need for respect for unbridled, animalistic passion.

"Huh?" You glance over at Katie, realizing you’ve ignored her question, losing yourself in your thoughts of Hotch, "No. No one special."

"Not even Charlie?" She smirks over at you, smiling behind her coffee cup like a giddy school girl.

You feel your face growing hot, "Charlie? No, I’m… I’m over that."

"Over that?" Katie stops in her tracks and latches a hand onto your arm, "When were you ever," She pauses, "On that?"

You laugh at her word choice and shake your head, "He’s cute! And really sweet to me and smart and we have really good conversations and—"

"So then why are you ‘over that’! He’s always finding ways to touch you casually," Katie throws an arm around your shoulders, imitating Charlie. You roll your eyes. If only she knew about your extracurricular activities with a certain ‘sexy professor.’

"I don’t know." You shake your head, "He’s just so… So unfocused. Don’t get me wrong, he’s smart, he really is. But I need someone driven like me. I need someone who understands my mind." Katie rolls her eyes and lets out a small scoff at you.

"I’m not saying you have to marry the dude, but you have an opportunity for a very," She wags her eyebrows as you open the door to the lecture hall, "Very fun time in bed with him."

You laugh boisterously at Katie as you step into the classroom. The class is loud, every student talking and socializing with those around you. Your eyes land on Hotch. He’s leaning against the whiteboard at the front. You swear you can see his eyes widen as they run up and down your figure. You give a smirk and turn your attention back to Katie.

"If you like him so much, you can sleep with him," You put your stuff down by a seat at the front. Katie takes the seat next to you like always.

Something about knowing you’ve caught Hotch’s attention is empowering you. You’re feeling bold. You keep your focus on Katie as she rambles on about your social activities. "This isn’t about me. This is about you, Einstein. And you? You need to get laid. I’m sure that Charlie would be more than willing to be that man for you."

"Katie!" You scold her and shove her arm playfully. You glance around to make sure that Charlie hasn’t heard any part of your conversation. He glances up from his friend to give you a small wink and a wave. As you take your seat, you bring your eyes back to Hotch. His brows have furrowed, his arms crossed against his chest. You give him another smirk and lean back in your chair, parting your legs just enough that it’s clear your actions aren’t innocent.

He clears his throat, "Alright everyone, quiet down. Time to get started." His eyes flick back to you. He gives you a glare that says ‘behave’ but you simply lean back a little more in your chair, parting your legs just enough to draw his attention. You see his line of sight travel down and you swear you hear him stumble over a word or two as he starts today's lecture.

——————————

Hotch has never been much of a fan of teasing. He likes to be in control. And looking at the way you’ve parted your legs, the black leather tightly clinging to your skin, and the devious sparkle in your eyes, he knows exactly what you’re attempting to do, and he’s not amused.

A mix of frustration, irritation, and desire bubbles inside of him with every passing minute he looks at you. He tears his eyes away from your velvety figure, pushing his attention onto the 50 other students in the class. He tries his best to hide the growing heat in his body but he practically lets out a groan when he looks back over to see the way that you’re pressing the end of your pen to your plump lower lip.

Hotch stumbles over his words for a second, seeing that damnable smirk of yours quickly growing as he does. There’s only one word he can think best describes you right now: wicked. Your whole demeanor, your outfit, it all reminds him just how much he hates being teased. He wants to grab you by the front of your shirt and take you over his knee, show you just how much he won’t tolerate such wicked behavior. He hates that he’s let you affect him, have some sense of power over him.

Just as he’s regaining his composure, you lean a little forward, flashing your cleavage in his direction. "Miss Y/L/N," He has to avert his eyes from you, not sure how he could possibly hold himself together while you look like that, "You mind giving a small summary of the facts of the case I’ve just discussed and its importance in the context of the history of criminal law and the state of the country at the time of the court’s decision."

"Oh not at all," You pause, "Sir." You give a small nod. He’s hoping to trip you up. Hopefully, you’ve been so distracted by your cunning little charade that you haven’t paid attention to his lecture. He’s hoping to regain some sense of power back. If he can remind you just how quickly he can embarrass you, he’ll feel less powerless.

To his surprise, however, you begin reciting an eloquent and complete response to his questioning. He mentally curses you. He’s not sure why he expected anything less from you. His mistake is underestimating just how powerful your mind is. You’re utterly intolerable. A wicked mind and a wicked little body. How is he supposed to remain composed?

"Was that enough? To your satisfaction, Sir? Or shall I go on longer?" That knowing little smirk hasn’t left your face and Hotch shakes his head.

"Good enough, Miss Y/L/N," It feels like the glow of his cheeks and the lustful look in his eyes will give him away to the rest of the lecture hall. He’s almost positive that every student can sense exactly what’s going on and that simply cannot stand. "Try to wipe that blank look off your face and at least pretend to be engaged in the lecture." He scoffs before forcing his attention back to the prepared lecture.

You don’t pull any more stunts the rest of class but just your appearance is enough to drive him wild. His head feels as if it's in a haze. Hotch isn’t even really quite sure how he manages to get through the lecture. He decides to dismiss everyone a few minutes early but he can’t let you get away with such utterly unacceptable behavior.

"Miss Y/L/N," Hotch calls from the front of the room as the entire class begins to pack up and file out. He gives a small gesture of his fingers to tell you to come to the front before pointing down at the ground.

Katie gives you a confused look and Hotch sees you mumble something to her as she glances between the two of you, hesitating a little before finally leaving

————————

You’re not sure whether or not to be terrified or proud. It’s clear your actions have gotten your professor’s attention. It’s also clear that he’s frustrated and/or upset. You gather up your books and throw your bag over your shoulder, making your way over to Hotch’s desk.

His eyes dart around the classroom as the last few students file their way out the door. In a blink, his hand grabs at the front of your shirt, yanking you close to him, "What the hell was all of that?"

You smirk. As soon as he grabs your shirt, you know he’s not actually angry with you. "Have I done something wrong, professor?" You glance up at him. Your tone is innocent but your body language tells a different story. You press your pillowy breasts into his chest and place your hands on his shoulders, attempting to brace yourself.

"I can’t wait a full week to see you," He mutters under his breath. You feel his hands ghosting over your body. He wants to touch you. His hands are itching to feel your skin, to take your warm skin in his hands. He wants to feel your lips moving with his. You want his touch. The feeling of his rough hands running over your body. "Come with me to my office now," You hear an almost pleading tone in his voice.

You smirk, his lips inching closer to yours every second, "I have plans. Sorry."

A low groan erupts from his throat but he tears himself away from your tempting, enchanting form. You feel him slide something small into the palm of your hand and you glance down at it, his messy scrawl is a series of numbers.

He walks around to grab his briefcase, packing up the classroom, "It’s my number."

You’re a bit confused, assuming that your interactions wouldn’t be more than just the weekly meetings and every day in class. He’s not some schoolboy crush that you’re going to call on a Friday night, sitting on your bed, your feet in the air, giggling and laughing to yourself over the phone with him, arguing about who will hang up first. He’s a man. A much older one at that. He’s over 10 years older than you. This isn’t a silly little flirtation. It’s rough, it’s messy. It’s purely physical and animalistic.

When Hotch looks up at you, he can sense the confusion in your expression at the gesture, "I’m not saying we’re going to talk on the phone each night but you know… just in case I have to get in contact with you."

You almost laugh at the diplomatic way he’s going about this, "Right. Well, I’ll put the number in my phone in case of an emergency." Now your word choice brings you to the brink of laughter.

In case of an emergency? What kind of emergency? An emergency booty call?

You turn away from him with a small nod and walk towards the door but he calls out stopping you, "Miss Y/LN,"

You turn back and Hotch stands at the desk, running his eyes languidly down your figure, taking it all in one last time, "Pull a stunt like that again and you’ll be sorry." He quirks a brow in disapproval.

"It won’t happen again, sir," You grin.

"And wipe that smirk off your face," He rolls his eyes. You press your lips tightly together, struggling to hide your pride as you leave the classroom.

You meet Katie outside the lecture hall. She stands up straight, pulling away from the wall she was leaning against. Just as you open your mouth to explain to her you feel an arm swing around your shoulder, pulling you close to a warm body.

"You get in trouble again, Einstein?" You’re pressed close to Charlie and you can feel his voice rumbling in his chest as he speaks.

"You know actually," You turn his arms to look up at him. He keeps his arm wrapped around you, holding you close so that when you turn, your chest presses against his. Your face is much closer to his than expected, "It’s none of your business."

Charlie glances down at you, a boyish smirk plastered across his face, "I like the new look," He grins and looks over your outfit. Katie lets out a small laugh and shakes her head at the two of you.

"Don’t be creepy, Charlie." She walks closer to the two of you.

"I’m not! I’m being genuine, I think you look really nice, Y/N," Charlie lets you go but wraps his free arm around Katie’s shoulder, bringing her in close to him as well. You laugh at the image of the three of you, Charlie’s arms around each of you, all laughing animatedly.

"Mr. Miller, I don’t mean to interrupt such an utterly enthralling conversation, but I do need to get to my office at some point." When you turn around you see Hotch standing in the doorway, that you, Katie, and Charlie have managed to block. His head is tilted slightly down as he scours at the three of you. Well, there goes his good mood.

"Sorry, sir," Charlie’s voice is soft and small as he releases his grip on Katie so she can move to the right, but keeps an arm wrapped around you, pulling you to the left so that you all move out of Professor Hotchner’s way.

You feel Hotch’s eyes linger on you for a second before he goes storming down the hallways to his office.

"I swear to god that man is the devil spawn," He shakes his head, twirling a ring around his finger.

"He’s not that bad," You roll your eyes, pulling your bag up on your shoulder.

"Not that bad? Einstein, I’m pretty sure he hates you more than me if that’s even possible." Charlie teases, dragging you down the hallway with him and out into the cold outdoors.

You shake your head with a laugh and lean into Charlie’s arms out in the cold, Katie trailing close behind you, "It’s fine. I can take it."

"So what are our plans for tonight, ladies?" Charlie glances back at Katie behind the two of you who simply responds with a little shake of her head.

"Our plans," Katie pulls you out of Charlie’s grip and you laugh, feeling a rag doll being pulled between the two of them, "Are to watch a movie and get drunk in our apartment."

"Sounds like fun," He grins.

"Aw too bad you’re not invited," Katie gives him a small little pouty face.

"I never agreed to getting drunk," You shake your head, "It’s a Thursday and we have class tomorrow. How do you expect me to get through the day if I’m hungover?"

"God you know sometimes you can be such a buzzkill, Einstein."

"Do you ever stop to think that maybe I’m so much younger and smarter and more successful than you two because I work hard?" Your words might seem harsh but it’s just how you interact with your friends. You all tease each other, make fun of one another.

"Yeah, yeah we know, high IQ, blah blah blah, you’re basically a kid genius," Charlie rolls his eyes.

"Well, kid genius," Katie chuckles, "Could you just humor me? One or two drinks?"

"The things I do for you."

————————

Katie was not joking when she said she was planning on getting drunk because she’s already finished off a bottle of wine herself and you’re barely halfway through the movie you two are watching together.

Your phone buzzes on the couch and you reach for it, flipping it open to see a text from Hotch. You furrow your brows slightly and read the message.

What are you doing tonight?

You bite your lip at the message, taking a second to glance over at Katie, whose eyes are glued to the tv screen.

Drinking, watching a movie. You?

The texting feels unnatural. Again, he’s your professor, not some cute 20-something-year-old boy that you casually text on a Thursday night.

Isn’t drinking alcohol illegal at your age?

You roll your eyes at his response. He has so flagrantly demonstrated a lack of respect for rules, aka, not sleeping with students.

Contrary to what you might think of me, I don’t always follow the rules

His responses are rapid. What happened to getting his number in case of emergencies?

I think I prefer you when you listen to instructions.

Where’s the fun in that?

There’s a long pause in which he stops replying. You let out a breath and turn your attention back to Katie, whose eyes are starting to droop closed, the wine bottle tightly wrapped in her clutches.

You reach across her body and pull the bottle away, "Okay drunk-o, time for bed for you. And time to drink some water," Katie lets out a small groan and rolls over on the couch a little. You grab the empty bottles and cans, carrying them to the kitchen to recycle them.

"Einstein!" Katie’s shrill, wine-soaked voice rings throughout the apartment.

"One second, K," You call back, dropping everything into the recycling.

"Who the fuck is A.H. and why is he texting you?" Your heart sinks into your stomach. You let the last few cans clatter into the bin with an aggressive clang before rushing into the living room to snatch the phone out of Katie’s hands.

"Do you have a secret admirer?" Katie wags her brows at you.

"No. You’re drunk. Go to bed." You point at her bedroom like a disapproving mother.

"No, I can’t let you clean everything up by yourself." She stands up, swaying a little as she does. She reaches down for an empty glass but you’re quick to scoop it out of her hand.

"Please just go to bed." You laugh a little, still clutching your phone tightly against your chest, out of her reach.

Katie grumbles out a ‘fine’ before turning and disappearing into her room.

You finally get a chance to steal a look at your texts.

I’m still at work. Meet me at my office. Now.

——————

You teeter back and forth on your toes, waiting outside Hotch’s office. You glance down at your phone again, checking the time. Hotch texted you nearly an hour ago. It’s only been one week and Hotch is already switching up your agreement. You’re not upset about it, you’re actually excited to see him more. You do wonder, whether or not this infatuation he has with you will soon fade. Will he get bored of you? Will he realize that the initial attraction was all physical, nothing more than a few slip-ups? You know there’s more to you than just appearances, but does he know that?

You let out a long drawn-out breath, flipping open your phone to look at the time again. If he wasn’t going to show, he should’ve let you know. You take one step away from the office door when Hotch catches your arm to stop you. You let out a small gasp in shock.

"Going somewhere?" Your eyes snap up to his and there’s a hint of a smile playing on his mouth, "You’re not going to bail on me, are you?"

"Me?" You shake your head, "You texted me nearly an hour ago! I’ve been waiting for you."

Hotch sighs and reaches for the key to unlock his office door, leading you inside, his grip still firm on your upper arm. In an instant, Hotch whirls you around, pressing you back against the door, trapping you between it and his body.

"Do you know how impossible it is to be around you all day without touching you?" He inches in closer to you and you can feel his hot breath fan across your face. His lips gently brush against yours. You instinctively lean your head up, wanting to press your lips against his fully. "That little stunt you pulled today?"

Your breathing stutters as his hands roam your whole body, squeezing. Your hot flesh in his hands is pliable and you melt under his touch. "You liked it," You pant out.

His hand comes up to your neck, wrapping around it tightly. He forces your face up so you look at him and he slams your head back against the door, "Don’t be so fucking snippy with me." He growls and yanks you by the neck to press his lips to yours. His mouth is hot and needy. The kiss lasts a long time, one hand still firmly wrapped around your neck, the other tangling in your hair at the base of your neck.

He kisses underneath your jaw before hooking his hands up under your legs and lifting you off the ground. You cling to him tightly, hoping he doesn’t drop you. He slams your back against the wall and you let out a small gasp, both out of pleasure and excitement. "This is what you wanted, right?"

You’re panting heavily already and he’s barely touched you, your skin on fire. "Mhm," You manage to moan out. You’re amazed at how Hotch is still managing to hold you up against the wall. You gasp out as he presses hard against you, spreading your legs widely, pushing up your skirt so it bunches around your hips.

His head buries into your neck, kissing and nipping gently. Both of his hands move to cup your breasts, his palms filling with your warm skin. You let out a loud moan at the touch and Hotch chuckles under his breath at the sound. You grip his shoulders tightly and only manage a small whimper as you clench your thighs together.

Hotch brings his mouth up to meet yours once again, hungrily devouring your moans. You want to tangle your fingers in his hair and tug at it. You want to cup his cheeks and hold him close. He presses even closer to you, leaving no space between his body and yours.

"I can’t stop thinking about this," Hotch groans, pushing your shirt open more, now only holding you up with one arm. You can see the muscles in his arms rippling, the veins protruding. He tugs aside your bra and palms your breast, his rough hands on your velvety skin. He rubs your nipple between his fingers, "Your mouth, your body, us together."

You rock against him, pressing the hardness in his pants against you, eliciting a loud moan from you and a small growl from him at the pleasure you send radiating through him.

Your hands drop to start to undo his belt. He pulls you away from the wall spinning you around to place you on the edge of his desk. You push the fabric of his slacks down and stroke his warm skin. He hisses and grits his teeth in response, pulling away from your kiss to throw his head back.

"Be careful," You smirk, "Someone might hear us, professor."

"Let them." He shakes his head. Hotch’s eyes snap back down to yours and he doesn’t care about anything but pleasuring you. He pulls your mouth back against his and he feels himself consumed by your scent. He reaches down, gripping your thighs in his hands, placing your feet on the edge of the desk, parting your legs wide, all for him.

You slide closer, rubbing yourself against him. You need him. You want him and you’re so fucking tired of waiting. His hand trails between your bodies, rubbing you slowly, dipping just one finger into you, thrusting it ever so slowly.

"Please," You whine and as you throw your head back, Hotch’s mouth clinging to your throat, sucking and biting, kissing over the fading marks from your last rendezvous.

"Please what?" He grumbles against your neck.

"Fuck me," You can barely get the words out before he lifts you up, flips you over onto your stomach and thrusts up into you, in one motion. He thrusts hard and deep and you let out a moan, louder than anything.

Your body moves with his, your hips going back slightly to meet his every thrust. He fills you in just the perfect way and you’re panting and chanting his name, "God yes, sir, just like that."

He reaches around to grab both of your wrists, pinning them behind your back. "You wanted me to do this. To get angry. To take you. Show you, you’re mine, right?"

You struggle to let out a throaty ‘mhm’ in agreement. He keeps your wrists pinned with one hand and grabs your hair, yanking you up.

"That’s why you put on that little show today, right?" He growls close to your ear. You grind your hips back against his, "Use. Your. Words." He demands. He yanks on your hair a little tighter, in an attempt to remind you who has the dominant position.

"Yes!" You whine out, "This is what I wanted!"

"Good girl," His voice has a malicious tone, but not in a way that scares you. It excites you. He’s rough. He’s wild. He’s uncontrollable. And you’re the one who makes him feel that way. That’s powerful.

You arch back, your chest pressing against the wood on his desk. Hotch keeps your wrists pinned tightly behind your back as he pounds into you relentlessly. He bottoms out with every thrust, which leaves you struggling to cry out with pleasure. You cry out senselessly, every muscle in your body trembling, "Fuck daddy!" The words tumble out of your mouth and you barely take notice of them, your eyes rolling back in your head as you do.

"Did you just call me daddy?" Hotch releases your wrists to bend down and grab your neck. He wraps a large hand almost entirely around the base of your throat and yanks you up, your back pressed fully against him.

"Sorry," You attempt to moan out as Hotch continues to fuck you harder.

"Don’t apologize, pretty girl," He groans against your ear, "Say it again."

"Fuck, daddy!" The pace increases into something animalistic. Your body is shaking wildly at this point and you feel the pleasure building steadily, surging through you with every thrust. You feel his grip on your wrists loosening as his palms grow sweatier.

It’s not long before you’re tightening around him, desperately wishing for something to grab onto. You’re squirming under his touch, the pleasure almost too much as he barrels into you. You come hard and fast and he continues to fuck you through it, yanking you up against him again, a hand wrapped tightly around your throat.

He thrusts into you a few more times and you’re practically crying out in response, your eyes watering, tears running down your cheeks at the overstimulation. He soon comes to a halt, shuddering and groaning, throwing his head back as he releases into you. He lets you down back onto the desk gently, your overheated damp skin contrasting against the cold, smooth wood.

You lie there a second, attempting to catch your breath and steady your heart rate. You feel Hotch press a small tender kiss along your shoulder blades and spine and it’s oddly comforting. "That’s it pretty girl." He says against your skin. He helps you sit up, "I knew you could take it."

You wipe your face, attempting to clean any smudged makeup but you know you must look a mess. Your eyes are glossy and your face is flushed. Your hair is a knotted mess from where he’s tangled his fingers into it. You right yourself, fixing your skirt, tucking your shirt back in.

There’s a long drawn-out moment of silence where you glance at Hotch awkwardly, not sure what you would say to him now. It’s odd how you two are so intimately equated with each others’ bodies but you feel flustered just speaking to him. "I guess I’ll… head home." You smile softly.

You start towards the door but Hotch stops you, "You shouldn’t-" He sighs and grabs his briefcase from the desk, "You shouldn’t walk home alone. It’s dark outside."

"I live just one or two blocks from campus, I should be fine," You shrug, "Plus I’m sure you want to get home. You’ve been working all day."

Hotch rolls his eyes and practically pushes you out of his office as he shuts the lights and locks up, "Stop being so stubborn and just let me walk you home."

You simply shut your mouth and nod, knowing there’s no point in arguing with him over this. You walk out of the building, Hotch walking alongside you.You wrap your arms around yourself as you step out into the cold, a small shiver running through you.

"You should’ve brought a jacket," Hotch nods slightly at your shivering.

"I didn’t really think to grab one when I was rushing out the door," You tease. Hotch smiles in response and the conversation comes to a lull as you both walk alongside one another. You glance down for a second to see Hotch rubbing his fingers together at his side. It’s something you’ve seen him do a few times, whether it’s while he’s lecturing or when he's focused or when he’s reading. "You do that a lot." You uncross one of your arms to point down at his hands. "That thing with your fingers. You rub them together."

He glances down at his hands and gives a small shrug of his shoulders, "It’s just something I do, I guess."

"It’s how I know you’re really focused on something," You nod letting silence take over once again. You try to focus on the sound of your shoes on the pavement or steadying your breathing. Your heart is beating fast. It always is around Hotch.

"That’s good," Hotch speaks suddenly. It’s as if he was having a conversation with himself before speaking out loud, "Being observant. It’s a good quality for a lawyer."

"How so?" You glance over at him, eyes trailing over every single facial feature. You smile at the way the cold air has given his cheeks a slight pink tinge. The wind tousles the little hairs at the top of his head.

"Being able to observe and understand your opponent’s behavior. The jury’s behavior," He nods, "you need to know what flusters people, what trips them up. You need to know their tells, their weaknesses, their strengths. If you can understand and observe the behavior of all the people in that courtroom… you have full control over them."

"So by analyzing behaviors… you gain some sense of how to control people," You nod, reciting back to him. There’s a pause in conversation again. "Do you know my behaviors?"

A wide smirk starts to spread across Hotch’s face, "Yes. I know when you’re angry, or when you’re focused. I can tell when you’re…" He trails and glances down your figure, "Excited. I know what makes you feel good."

You feel the heat rising up your neck and into your face. Suddenly the cold air isn’t as biting anymore. "Care to share any of these behaviors of mine?"

"I’m pretty sure you said it yourself earlier… something along the lines of ‘where’s the fun in that?" He laughs and you give his arm a nudge.

Another pause. You’re nearly a block from your apartment, do you just give up and resign yourself to silence?

"What’s your favorite color?" You blurt out and turn to look at him.

"My favorite… what?" He laughs and shoves his hands deeper into his pants pockets, "Are you serious?"

"Fine, nevermind." You shrug, "I’m just trying to get to know you."

"By asking about my favorite color?" There’s a judgmental tone to his voice but when you look over his face, that small hint of a grin lingers.

"I said nevermind," You stop in place and nod up at your apartment building. "Well… this is my stop." You joke. You feel a strong urge to stick your hand out to shake his which would be incredibly awkward, but you’re not sure what kind of send-off is appropriate. A goodnight kiss is simply far too intimate and a hug is too friendly. You settle for an uncomfortable nod and tight-lipped smile, "Good night Hotch."

"Aaron," He nods, "You can call me Aaron."

Your cheeks ache from smiling so hard. You give one last look before walking up the steps to the front door of your building.

"Hey, Einstein," Aaron calls out and you freeze in your place a little. Something about hearing that nickname come out of his mouth is incredibly endearing. You turn to him, "Blue."

"What?" You furrow your brows at his words.

"My favorite color. It’s blue." He smiles. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, suppressing your smile.

"Good night, Aaron," You repeat and open your door.

"Good night, Einstein."

Chapter 6: I.VI →

[luisjuanmilton]

ohhh, can you write number 4 with sewis? :))))

I love writing Sewis so much thank you for this (I also got really carried away sorry about that 🌚)

Sewis + “a hug after not seeing someone for a long time”

Send me a pairing and a prompt if you want :)

Sebastian was bouncing his knee up and down in a rapid motion, knowing that he was coming increasingly closer to have Britta snap at him but finding himself unable to stop.

The start of the bloody pandemic coincided with one of his visits to Maranello, and no matter how hard he tried to find a way out of Italy there was nothing he could do about it. He did have a house there so that part wasn’t the problem.

No, the problem was that he had left his husband back at their Switzerland home, and it had been almost four months since he had last seen him.

Obviously, they had been Face Timing literally everyday (even if it had taken a while for Sebastian to get the hang of it, since he was famously opposed to technology), but it wasn’t nearly the same as actually being in the same room as him.

Today was the first time they’d be seeing each other after spending so much time apart, and Seb literally felt like he would die if he had to spend even another hour away from him.

“Sebastian, I know you miss Lewis very much and I know how excited you are to see him, but please remember what we talked about”

He scowled at Britta’s words, not keen at all to follow the protocol she had told him about. Sebastian adored Britta, he really did, but right now he really didn’t want to do as she said.

“Sebastian”

“Yes, yes I remember. I’m not allowed to even shake my husband’s hand”

Britta rolled her eyes “It’s not like that and you know it. Most people don’t know about your relationship, so you have to keep socially distanced from him in front of the cameras”

Sebastian only scowled harder, and Britta let out a long-suffering sigh. Sometimes, she thought, he still acted like the twenty-year-old gremlin she’d started working with years ago.

Their car pulled up at the Red Bull Ring after what must have been 20 minutes at most but still felt like hours to Sebastian, and he was the first to get out of it as soon as they parked.

He ignored Britta’s voice as he quickly made his way further into the paddock, pursing his lips under his mask as he had to stop and get his temperature checked and slather antibacterial gel on his hands.

The rational part of him knew that all those safety measures were very necessary, but he was past being rational.

As soon as he was given the go-ahead, he continued to jog towards where he knew the Mercedes garage was, and he couldn’t even bring himself to feel bad about how he was literally ignoring everyone who tried to stop him and say hi.

When he finally reached the silver and blue garage he started to madly look around for his husband, and just as he was about to break about thirteen FIA rules and make a mad dash into another team’s facilities, he heard a very familiar voice calling his name.

“Sebastian!”

Seb turned around so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash, and as he caught sight of Lewis standing just a few feet away from him, looking as beautiful as he ever did even while a mask covered half his face, he felt tears brimming in his eyes.

“Lewis!” he called back, wasting no more time before running towards his husband and all but launching himself into his arms.

Lewis caught him with the ease of someone who’d being doing that very same thing for more than five years, burying his hands in Sebastian’s blonde hair, and letting out a shaky breath.

The German truly felt like his heart was going to implode by how fast it was beating, and he couldn’t help himself from running his hands all over Lewis’s back before moving to his shoulders, his neck and finally his hair, almost as if he wanted to make sure that he was actually there.

“God, I missed you so much” Lewis breathed out, the pained tone of his voice making Sebastian’s heart clench as he tightened his arms around him even harder.

“I missed you more my love”

After that Sebastian leaned backwards slightly, just enough so that he could see right into those brown eyes he loved so dearly.

Lewis brought a hand up to cradle Sebastian’s face, and the German sighed contently as he felt the coldness of his golden wedding ring even through the mask.

“I want to kiss you so badly, you have no idea”

And well, Sebastian had to use every ounce of self-control he had not to rip off both their masks and kiss him right then and there.

“Don’t worry darling, as soon as we’re alone I’ll make up for all the time we spent apart”

Before Lewis could answer a loud clearing of throat snapped them out of their little bubble, and when Sebastian turned his head to the right he gulped as he came face to face with a very angry looking Britta.

The couple smiled innocently out of force of habit, even if the woman wasn’t able to see it.

“Hey Britta” Lewis greeted sheepishly, dropping his hand from Sebastian’s face as he looked around them and noticed how every single camera was pointed towards them and how even many drivers had stopped on their tracks at their very dramatic reunion (he could make out Daniel exaggeratedly waggling his eyebrows all the way over at the Renault garage).

“Hey Lewis” Britta said after letting out a long-suffering sigh, and only then did Seb notice that Angela was standing a few feet behind her with her face resting on her palm.

“Just how much trouble are we in?” Sebastian asked, thinking it was better to rip it off like a band aid.

“I’ll have you two signing merch until your fingers cramp”

The two winced, knowing that she really wasn’t kidding.

But another look at Lewis’s face was enough for him to forget all about their imminent punishment, and he shamelessly linked their hands together, his stomach flipping around happily because of how right it felt to be able to do that again.

“Worth it” he declared cheekily, yelping as Britta slapped him across the head with the stack of papers she was carrying.

Even then, the sound of Lewis’s laughter made any pain he could have felt go away entirely. 

[teacupfulofstarshine]

but i make these high heels work

summary: roman has something new that he wants to try out, but he’s nervous about his family’s reactions. he needn’t be; they’ve always got his back. 

(OR: a birthday fic for roman sanders, set in my moxiety dad au)

a/n: i’m jumping on @notveryglittery‘s “giving the gay everything he wants” agenda. happy birthday roman sanders!!! 

cw: anxiety, mild angst, fear of homophobia

wordcount: ~1.8k

read it on ao3!! 

Roman carefully smooths his hands over the fabric spread out across his bed. He knows that no one else is awake yet. Not even Logan, who routinely wakes up early because apparently he can run on crumbs of sleep and nothing else. Not even Dad, the earliest riser out of all of them, since he doesn’t have any pressing appointments. No one is awake but Roman. 

He’d tossed and turned all night, barely snatching a few hours. He knows he’s going to regret that later, but he also knows that there’s nothing particularly important happening today, so Papa and Dad will be more lenient if he decides to nap. So, rather than waiting until later to roll out of bed, Roman gets up a good hour before anyone else. He makes his bed - properly, this time, pulling off the excess of blankets and pillows and stuffed animals and tucking his thick quilt in. He never has the time or the willpower to make it in the mornings, but today. 

Well.

Today, he has anticipation thrumming in his chest like caught lightning, and he needs something to do with his hands. 

Roman showers, quietly. The bathroom is between his room and Logan’s, and there’s always the off chance that the water running will wake up his lightweight-sleeper brother. He holds his breath, keeping in all the melodies that usually bubble from his mouth in the shower, and is rewarded with no signs of wakefulness from his brother. 

He doesn’t bother to wash his hair, so he doesn’t have to worry about blow-drying his fluffy curls. Instead, he spritzes them with dry shampoo he stole from his Papa and combs through them with his fingers. It takes him about fifteen minutes to get them to just the right state of artfully tousled, but it still doesn’t waste nearly enough time. 

Which brings him to here, sitting cross-legged on his perfectly-made bed, staring at the fabric spread across his quilt. It’s plain, compared to what he usually wears, but he supposes that’s the trouble with borrowed clothing. Adding to all that, it’s not real clothing; it’s an old prop he’d salvaged from a box of costumes destined to be torn apart and repurposed. He kind of wishes he had the courage to ask Dad or Papa to take him to the mall to buy a proper one, but he’s never been that kind of brave. 

Roman fiddles with the hem of the skirt between his fingers. 

It’s red, at the very least, but not the proper shade of red. It’s garish and bright, like a firetruck, like a cartoon bloodstain. It comes down to about Roman’s knees, hanging in loose folds, and it’s not the most comfortable thing he’s ever worn, but he loves it. He loves the way the fabric feels when it swishes around his knees, he loves the way it flares out when he spins in circles, he loves the way it feels to smooth the fabric beneath him in a single fluid motion when he sits down. 

He’s terrified to wear it out of the comfort of his bedroom, but he figures that today, June first, the first day of pride month, is as good a day as any to come out of the closet. Roman sighs, curling his hands into loose fists on his thighs. 

His phone pings with a notification, and Roman almost falls off his bed as he scrambles forward to snatch his cell phone off his desk. He takes a moment to smile at his home screen photo before answering the message: it’s a picture of himself and Janus from last year’s pride festival. They’re wrapped in a rainbow flag like a cape, leaning their heads together and laughing. Janus has a genderqueer flag painted across his cheek, and Roman has rainbow star stickers across his nose and a rainbow bandanna tying back his hair. 

Roman thumbprints his phone open and checks his messages. It’s from Janus himself. 

[7:41 am] snoyfriend (snake boyfriend): you’re going to do wonderfully, dearest. your family loves you, and they’ll support you no matter what. and even if they don’t, i support you no matter what. i love you <3 

Roman wiggles his feet back and forth eagerly in a gleeful stim as he taps out a response. 

[7:43 am] me: thank you, snove (snake love). ily2 <3 

[7:44 am] snoyfriend (snake boyfriend): are you ever going to stop calling me snake-themed nicknames, beloved?

[7:44 am] me: sno (snake no) 

[7:46 am] snoyfriend (snake boyfriend): i hate you <3 

[7:47 am] me: i snove (snake love) you too <3 <3 

*~*~*~*~*

Someone knocks on his door around 8:45. “Ro? Are you coming down to breakfast? I’m making pridecakes!” Dad calls. Roman’s stomach growls at the thought; every year, Dad makes multiple colors of homemade pancake batter and draws pride-flag pancakes on the griddle.

“I’ll be down in a minute!” Roman says. 

“Okay, kiddo!” 

Roman takes a deep breath. He slides off his bed and shimmies out of his pajama pants. Rummaging around in his drawers, he pulls out a white t-shirt with a swooping golden outline of the Disney castle on the front. Carefully, he steps into the puddle of skirt and tugs the red fabric up over his hips. It’s not a perfect fit, but it comes down to his knees. Roman studies himself in the full-length mirror on the inside of his closet. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he sighs, reaching for the rainbow bandana on his desk. He folds it and ties it to form a headband which he uses to push his bangs off his forehead. “It’s going to be okay. Dad and Papa aren’t going to hate you. Thomas and Logan aren’t going to hate you. It’s going to be okay.” 

Roman waits until he hears Logan and Thomas go downstairs before he leaves. He picks up his phone, glances at the photo of himself and Janus one more time, and then steps into the hallway. 

He lurks on the stairs for a moment, glancing into the kitchen. Logan is sleepily gnawing on a bagel slathered with jam. Papa is pouring coffee into a row of mugs while Thomas helps Dad with the pridecakes. Roman grips his skirt tightly in his hands, watching his family, and then he steps into the kitchen. 

“Morning.” 

“Good morn - oh!” Dad whirls around, holding a spatula which he quickly foists off onto Thomas. He hurries forward, taking Roman’s shoulders, eyes scanning up and down his outfit. “That’s new! Where’d you get it?” 

“It’s an old costume skirt,” Roman says. “Is that - am I - do you -”

Dad smiles, eyes crinkling up as he leans in to kiss Roman’s forehead. “I think you look wonderful, Roman. No matter what you choose to wear.” Roman smiles, hugging his dad tightly. He feels Dad reach up and press a hand into the back of his hair, rocking them back and forth a little as they hug. 

When Dad pulls away, Roman’s eyes jump up to Thomas. He grins, flashing a thumbs up, and Roman shakily offers one back. “Nice skirt,” Papa says, wrapping an arm around Roman’s shoulders and pulling him in. Roman feels Papa press a kiss to the top of his head, and he fights to keep himself from crying. 

Roman turns, looking at the only family member who hasn’t said anything yet. Logan is still placidly chewing his bagel, watching Roman with his typical calmness. “Logan?” Roman hates the way his voice shakes a little. “Do you like it?” 

Logan swallows and sets his bagel down. He scans over Roman’s outfit with a strange critical expression and says, “No. It looks completely wrong on you.” 

Roman’s heart sinks to the bottom of his chest. Logan stands up, scanning over Roman repeatedly, frowning as he stares at the skirt. “Logan,” Dad says warningly. 

Logan keeps talking. “That is the wrong color for your skin tone. It does not compliment the tan you always achieve in the summer months. The shape is unflattering on your body type, and the material is -” Logan reaches out and rubs the material between two fingers, shuddering. “- is entirely unpleasant. This skirt is completely wrong for you.” 

Roman recognizes the glint in his brother’s eye as he examines the skirt with a critical eye. It’s the way he looks at pieces of clothing that the theater department asks him to help tailor. “You would look much nicer in a circle or handkerchief style skirt. That red is hideous, you need a darker shade. I think that dark green would also look nice on you.” 

“You . . . aren’t mad about me wearing a skirt?” 

Logan blinks at him. “To quote that Avatar show you like so much, ‘Pants are an illusion and so is death.’ Gender is a social construct and clothing should not be dependent on the genitalia you were born with. I do not care if you wish to wear a skirt or not, Roman. Why would I care?” 

“I was nervous about wearing a skirt because I thought you would judge me.” Logan takes a few steps closer, offering a small smile, and Roman feels his heart start to swell and rise like a balloon.

“I was not judging you for wearing a skirt, Roman. If you would prefer to wear a skirt, I will support you, always. I did not mean to imply otherwise. I merely meant to offer my assistance because that skirt looks uncomfortable.” 

“It really is,” Roman sighs. “I stole it from a box of outgoing props.” 

“Go put comfortable clothes on,” Logan tells him. “I am going to the fabric store with Dad later today. I will take your measurements and you can come with us to find a fabric you like. I will make you a skirt that actually fits you.” 

“You’d do that for me?!” 

“Skirts are relatively simple garments to sew, provided you get the measurements correct. I cannot promise that it will be perfect, but I will work to make sure that it is comfortable and flattering on your form.” Roman bounces eagerly. “Can I hug you?” 

Logan tilts his head, considering. “Ten seconds,” he decides, which is more than enough time. Roman pulls his brother into a hug, feeling Logan’s hand flap back and forth against his bag as he happily stims. 

“I love you, Logan,” Roman says, squeezing him tightly. Logan hums at the pressure, pushing closer to his brother before leaning backwards to signal that he’s done being hugged. Roman lets him go, settling down at the table. He can change after breakfast. 

(Two weeks later, Roman comes downstairs in a dark red circle skirt embroidered with golden stars and detailing. Logan hums, flapping and rocking happily when he sees Roman twirl around and show off the way the skirt flares around his thighs. 

“It’s perfect, it’s perfect, I love it so much!” Roman squeals. “Thank you, Logan!” 

Logan flaps even more in response.) 

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - “Tricked and Treated” (Rated G)

Summary: Aziraphale and Adam bump into an intriguing man and his son while out Trick or Treating. Of course, it is Halloween, and nothing is quite what it seems ... (3415 words)

Notes: This is one of two stories I wrote for A Big Spooky Fan Zine. Be sure to check the rest of the collection for some amazing spooky works from other wonderful fandom creators :)

Read on AO3.

Knock-knock-knock-knock!

“Trick or Treat! Smell my feet! Give me somethin’ good to eat! If you don’t, I don’t care. I’VE GOT PURPLE UNDERWEAR!!”

The chorus of tinny voices dissolves into giggles as a multitude of pint-sized monsters, ghouls, and superheroes wait for the door to open. If it doesn’t … they won’t do anything. Not a one of them is older than nine, and their parents are standing a few feet behind them. But the song is tradition, even if they do tweak the lyrics a bit every year.

Last year, the preferred modifier for underwear had been ‘dirty’, and even though that isn’t age-inappropriate, per se, the parents are thrilled the quorum decided upon a color this year instead.

The group falls silent when they hear heavy footsteps approach from the opposite side. The brass knob turns, and the door pulls in. The children know what to expect, but still, they take a tentative step backward. It’s an old house, but a familiar one; that always has carved pumpkins on the patio at Halloween and handmade wreaths on the door at Christmas. A house that generations of children have run up to on October 31sts past and knocked on its door. Those children grew up and bring their children here to visit the same bubbly lady who never seems to age, always has a smile on her face, and a tray of homemade caramel apples wrapped in wax paper at the ready.

The door creaks open.

The children gasp in anticipation.

Then, she is revealed: a red-haired woman in a flowing, floral kaftan beneath a cozy pink peacoat steps out with her gentleman behind her, dressed in olive drab and menacingly pointing, of all things, his right index finger, as if he thinks it will protect him from the beasties gracing their porch. The woman looks at the crowd of masks and made-up faces surrounding her and gasps in mock fear.

“My goodness!” she says, putting a hand to her mouth. “Look at all these frightful goblins and ghouls at my door tonight! I don’t suppose any of you like caramel apples, hmm?”

“I do! I do!” Hands shoot up, eager to be seen. The woman smiles.

“Mr. Shadwell! Put your finger away and bring me that tray!” she scolds, grabbing up apples on their sturdy wooden sticks when they come her way and handing them out one at a time, receiving a grateful and excited, “Thank you!” with each one.

“I do believe everyone’s parent is present,” she says with a glance towards the ring of adults manning her garden gate, “but if they’re not, you let them know that these apples came from Tracy Shadwell’s own kitchen, so they’re safe to eat.”

“Yes, ma’am!” the kids answer obediently. Most everyone in the neighborhood knows Mrs. Shadwell and her famous caramel apples. For those who don’t, she ties a pink tag at the base of each stick with her name and telephone number embossed on it in gold, should anyone want to verify.

And while she hands out her wares, she looks over each child and comments on their costume – the hand-crafted along with the store-bought – with nothing but the highest praise. As the crowd thins, two boys approach, patiently awaiting their turns. Mrs. Shadwell spots the first of the boys and hands him two caramel apples. She knows him - and his chaperone - very well.

“Why, Adam Young!” she coos at the boy dressed in white satin brocade. “What a stunning costume! Another one from your grandfather’s collection?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the boy replies proudly. “French Revolution era. I’m a political prisoner, about to get my head chopped off!” He drags a finger across his throat in a slicing motion, tilting his head to one side and sticking out his tongue for greater emphasis. His eyes pop as he remembers the best part. “Look! Here’s my head!” He fishes around in his candy bag and pulls out a childishly executed but morbid prop - a bleeding papier-mache head on a stick. It vaguely resembles Adam, having the same hair color and skin tone, but drenched in fake blood and with X’s over the eyes. “I wanted to slather blood all over my neck, but my grandfather said no.”

“I can understand why!” Tracy chuckles. “That costume must be expensive! It looks quite handsome on you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Shadwell,” Adam says with a dignified bow.

“You’re very welcome.” Her gaze lands on the boy standing beside him. “And you! Another scary vampire!” The corners of her mouth tug down as she struggles for a name. “I can’t seem to recall your name, dear. Would you be so kind as to help an old lady out?”

“I’m Warlock,” the boy says, speaking with a pronounced lisp and spitting his consonants, courtesy of the plastic fangs crowding his mouth.

“Here you go, Warlock.” Mrs. Shadwell hands him two apples as well. It wouldn’t be right to give him only one since he’s seen Adam get two. Besides, thanks to her husband’s help, she has a whole army of apples sitting in her kitchen, waiting to be doled out. “Thank you for stopping by so I could see your costume. Give your parents my fondest regards.”

“Yesh, ma’am,” the boy slurs, trying his best not to spit again. “Thank you, ma’am.”

The boys wave politely as Mrs. Shadwell closes her door. They turn together, stepping down from the porch, eyeing one another’s costume as if the two of them are catwalk rivals.

“That belongsth to your grandpa?” Warlock asks, looking Adam’s shimmery outfit up and down.

“Yup.” Adam holds his head high and gives the boy a spin so he can view it from all sides. “Your costume is cool, too. Did your parents buy it? Or did someone make it for you?”

“It’sth vintage,” Warlock explains, tongue tripping over his teeth. “It wasth my father’s when he wasth a boy.” He holds the ends of his cape out wide, flapping the wings it creates.

“Awesome!”

“That’s right, Warlock,” a tall man says, receiving both children when they reach the wooden gate. “It belonged to your ancient, elderly father.”

The man standing beside him chuckles, reaching a hand out to Adam as the boy walks through.

“Well, despite its interminable old age, it really is a smashing costume, Mr….”

“Crowley,” Warlock’s father supplies, extending a hand in greeting. “Anthony J. Crowley.”

“Aziraphale,” Adam’s grandfather answers, taking Crowley’s hand and shaking it. “Aziraphale Fell. This is my grandson, Adam.”

Crowley nods at the boy who is less concerned with the subject of adults’ names as he is with comparing his haul with that of the boy beside him.

“I believe we’ve lost them!” Aziraphale laughs as Adam and Warlock dive into their sacks.

“Bound to happen,” Crowley concurs. “We’re nowhere near as entertaining as chocolate. At least, I’m not. Not to be rude or anything but aren’t you a little young to be a grandfather?”

Aziraphale grins hard enough to make his cheeks ache. “That’s very kind of you to say, but I am much older than you might think.” He narrows his eyes at the man tousling his son’s black hair - suspicious considering his own hair is red. Flame red. Of course, that could come from a bottle. Not that Aziraphale is judging. It looks rather fetching on him. “Forgive my saying so, but I don’t think I’ve seen you or your son around here before.”

“Is that so strange?” Crowley asks, his grin growing tight, but not terribly.

It seems Aziraphale may not be the first person of the evening to mention it.

“No, not really. But we’re a tiny hamlet. Everyone here knows everyone else.” Aziraphale leans in a companionable inch. “All their secrets, too.”

“Ah, well, we’re not from around here,” Crowley admits with a sheepish grin.

“Gotcha.” Aziraphale winks. “It’s no secret that we’re one of the few neighborhoods around that gives out full-sized candy bars by the handful and real popcorn balls – not that stale, store-bought crud.” Crowley’s lips quirk, in shame it seems, and Aziraphale rushes to elaborate. “Not that we mind visitors!” he says, waving his hands as if to wipe away any doubt. “As long as the children have a pleasant time, that’s all we care about. It’s nice to see some new blood around here.”

Crowley stares at Aziraphale, his face blank for a second. His lower lip quivers. He sputters, then he laughs out loud (harder than necessary, Aziraphale feels).

“What?” Aziraphale asks self-consciously.

“Nothing,” Crowley says, reining in his laughter with a snort that Aziraphale can’t help but find adorable. “It’s just been a while since I’ve heard that term. But to be honest, we’re here strictly to socialize. We don’t eat candy.”

Adam, totally engrossed in his conversation with Warlock, catches that last part. His head snaps up, jaw dropping to the ground, utter disbelief written on his face.

“Don’t eat it?” he moans with regret on his new friend’s behalf. “Why not?”

“I’m on a special diet,” Warlock says, looking down at his pregnant bag of sweets.

“A special diet?” Aziraphale looks from Warlock to his father.

“I adopted Warlock from a hospital overseas,” Crowley explains, distracted momentarily by a new wave of Trick-or-Treaters headed their way. “He has a rare blood-borne illness that they were ill-equipped to handle.”

“But … is he okay now?” Aziraphale gazes at the boy’s face, particularly his large, sleepy eyes, dark circles underneath made all the more prominent by his pale skin. Crowley watches the way Aziraphale looks at his son, examining him with an expression of genuine concern, and smiles.

“There is no cure, but we’re managing it the best we can.” Crowley puts a hand on Warlock’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “It helps when you don’t have to worry about trivial things like money. Heartbreaking for those parents in dire straits who don’t have an excess of disposable income. A lot of tough choices to be made when you find yourself in that position.”

“Aren’t you the lucky one?” Aziraphale teases, knocking Crowley playfully on the shoulder.

“It’s old money,” Crowley replies, that sheepish smile from before making a comeback. “I like putting it to good use.”

Aziraphale looks up when Crowley does and meets his eyes – boundless amber eyes that catch the surrounding street lights and flickering Jack-O-Lantern candles in a mesmerizing way, as if with a single blink he could read Aziraphale’s mind.

Or hypnotize him into doing his bidding.

They don’t look human. Snake-ish, more like - slit pupils and all. They can’t be real. They have to be contact lenses. Fake or not, there’s something about them that makes Aziraphale shiver. Crowley notices, grinning devilishly. Aziraphale laughs.

He’s letting the magic of the evening get to him.

Or the magic of this charming man.

From the corner of his eye, Aziraphale catches Adam yawn. He fishes his watch out of his pocket and checks the time.

“Oh my goodness!” he exclaims. “Look at that! When did it get so late?”

“We’re not going home now, are we?” Adam asks, whining the way tired children do while fighting back a yawn.

“I’m afraid so, my dear,” Aziraphale says. “You’re just about dead on your feet, and I can’t carry you all the way back to the house. Besides, I promised your mother and father I’d have you tucked in before they got home.

“We’d better be heading out as well,” Crowley says, wrapping an arm around his son’s thin shoulders and holding him close.

“Do we have to?” Warlock asks, sulking into his father’s embrace.

“I’m afraid so.”

“All right.” Warlock turns to Adam, who yawns again, shaking his head to dislodge the exhaustion from his brain. “It was nice meeting you, Adam.”

“It was nice meeting you, too,” Adam says.

“Do you guys …?” Aziraphale starts, not eager to see this captivating man disappear so quickly. “I know you said you aren’t from around here, but …”

“We’re in Mayfair,” Crowley says, anticipating Aziraphale’s question. “About two hours give or take, as the bat flies.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale casts his eyes down dejectedly. “That’s quite a distance to travel for conversation and candy you can’t eat.”

“We’re also visiting family. Family that we’ve been looking into visiting more often, maybe even moving closer to, so who knows? You could be seeing us around?”

Aziraphale nods because if that question implies what Aziraphale hopes it does, the answer is definitely yes.

“Who knows?” he echoes, hoping Crowley catches on to the fact that he’s flirting. It’s been a while, and he was never very good at it to begin with. “We might end up neighbors.”

“Maybe,” Crowley says, the word a vague promise but a promise nonetheless. It leaves Aziraphale with the feeling that if those plans to move fall through, he may still see Crowley again. “I could take you out for a bite?”

Aziraphale smiles, cheeks flushing red and not from the chill in the autumn air.

“I’ll take you up on that.” Aziraphale reaches into his pocket and pulls out his business card. “You can reach me at this number. I have a bookshop in Soho. I’m there most of the time … even if the sign on the door says closed.”

Crowley takes it, slipping it from between Aziraphale’s fingers and sliding it into his inside breast pocket. “Clever of you, really. Who wants to be bothered by a bunch of busybody customers anyhow?” He smooths down the front of his jacket, patting the pocket keeping Aziraphale’s business card safe.

That subtle touch of his palm to the spot makes Aziraphale tingly inside.

“Here …” Warlock, watching the exchange between the two men, holds out his bag of candy to Adam “… I want you to have this.”

Adam’s eyes grow big as saucers, his face lighting up at the offer of a sack of sweets as big as his own. “No way! Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Warlock says with a sad, one-shoulder shrug. “I wasth gonna hafta throw it out anyway.”

Adam looks up at Aziraphale, eyes pleading. “Can I?”

“I don’t see why not. It would be rude to turn down such a generous gift.”

“Yes, it would,” Adam agrees, reaching for the bag and taking it reverently. “Thank you, Warlock.”

“Don’t make yourself sick eating all that candy in one night,” Crowley says.

“Oh, I won’t!” Adam assures him. “I’m going to share it with my three best friends! Hey! If you come back, I can introduce you!”

“You would do that?” Warlock asks.

“Of course! There’s always room for one more in our group.”

“Now, you see, you must come back,” Aziraphale says when he’d meant to say ‘We’ll see, boys. We’ll see.’ He doesn’t want to appear pushy. He doesn’t regret it an inch, though, when he notices the new look in Crowley’s eyes - the one that says he’s prepared to move heaven and earth to make that happen.

If it’s because of the promise of new friends for Warlock or to see him again, however, remains to be seen.

“I guess we will,” Crowley responds.

“Have a safe evening, Mr. Crowley. Warlock.” Aziraphale raises a hand and waves good-bye, backing away, pulling Adam along with him.

“And you as well, Mr. Fell. Adam.” Crowley waves back, turning down the street with Warlock in tow.

Crowley and Warlock weave through several pods of children racing up to houses and knocking noisily on doors. They walk against the flow of revelers, ending in a dark street with no lamps lit, no decorations on the porches, no Trick-or-Treaters anywhere to be seen.

“Did you have a good time?” Crowley asks.

“Yesh.” Warlock reaches up and spits out the false teeth that had been covering his fangs, glad to be rid of them at long last. “That was a blast! Adam and his granddad are really nice. Don’t you think they’re really nice?” Warlock asks, vibrating with the enthusiasm of … well, an eight-year-old on Halloween.

“Yes,” Crowley agrees, turning one last time, using his supernatural vision to find the man and his grandson walking down the street. Crowley doesn’t believe for a minute that Aziraphale is that boy’s grandfather, but he couldn’t get a read on him … as in he couldn’t read Aziraphale’s mind like he can with other humans. Adam’s neither, which makes the two of them that much more enticing.

Aziraphale looks over his shoulder and bites his lip as if he knows he’s being watched. Crowley eyes the dent his teeth make in his skin, lingering on it and licking his lips. If his heart were still beating in his chest, it would be racing out of control by now. “They were great. With any luck, we’ll be seeing them again.” Crowley puts a hand over the pocket with the business card hidden inside and smiles. “So,” he says, clapping his hands in front of him, “are you ready to give it another try?”

“Yes.” Warlock sounds confident, but he looks ready to puke. “It’s just … I’m not as good at it as you are.”

“It takes practice,” Crowley says, and with a snap of his fingers (which is entirely unnecessary - he does it solely for dramatic effect), he changes - shrinks down, sprouts wings, keeping only his serpentine eyes and a tuft of his red hair.

Crowley transforms effortlessly.

Warlock manages the feat with a little less finesse and a frantic snapping of fingers, but even though he’s only done it about a dozen times, he makes a handsome young bat. Father and son circle the neighborhood once to stretch their leathery wings and then rise high into the air. From this height, they can see everything, the whole of London stretched out beneath them. Crowley manages to spot Aziraphale and Adam one last time, then heads towards the ocean, disappearing into the night.

***

“Here we are, Adam,” Aziraphale says, opening the door to the Young house and ushering his charge inside. “If you hurry, get yourself washed up and into your nighttime clothes, you can sort your candy until your parents get home.”

“Can I have a piece or two?” Adam asks, gripping hard to the handles of his bags. “Or seven?”

“Three,” Aziraphale counters.

“Five?” Adam negotiates hopefully.

Aziraphale bobs his head back and forth, taking his time on purpose.

“Four,” he decides. “Final offer.”

“Deal!” Adam takes it. No need to tempt fate any further. He races off towards the staircase, burdened by roughly sixteen pounds of sugar weighing down his arms, but stops at the bottom step. He looks at Aziraphale thoughtfully for a moment before he speaks.

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, Adam?”

“Warlock and his dad … they’re vampires, aren’t they?”

Aziraphale smiles to himself and nods. Crowley and Warlock are as much humans as he and Adam. Aziraphale is an angel, tasked by the Almighty Herself to care for the Antichrist, ensure he never comes into his power and brings about the end of the world. He’s been on the lookout for demons since Adam was born.

Which should make striking up a conversation with a vampire inadvisable.

But Aziraphale doesn’t believe Crowley meant to do them any harm. He didn’t come across as the dangerous sort of evil. For one thing, he didn’t seem to recognize Aziraphale and Adam for what they are at all. And a vampire adopting a son? Aziraphale has never heard of such a thing. Vampires tend to be opportunists. What could Crowley possibly have to gain by doing that? Still, Aziraphale can’t let his guard down, not for a minute. He isn’t sure what Crowley was trying to pull, but he hopes he gets the chance to find out. “Yes, I believe they are.”

“Cool,” Adam says with an awe-consumed grin. “I hope we see them again.”

Aziraphale pictures Crowley in his mind: his fair skin, his steep nose, his red hair, and his snake-ish eyes. Aziraphale has seen his share of demons, but they’ve all been wretched. Not Crowley. Crowley takes pride in his appearance, that’s for sure. It reminds Aziraphale of the sad state of his wings. He must groom them as soon as time permits.

“So do I, Adam,” he says, planning for later tonight when young Adam is asleep. Wing grooming is a messy business, one he’d prefer to do in private. “So do I.”

[letterboxd]

Sundancing.

As the 2021 film festival season kicks off, Sundance Film Festival alumni and this year’s newcomers share their best tips for at-home festival attendance.

With contributions from Joe Talbot, Aneesh Chaganty, Ekwa Msangi, Heidi Ewing, Jesse Moss and Amanda McBaine, Levan Akin, Max Barbakow, Jim Cummings, Sara Hirner and Rosemary Vasquez-Brown, Kentucker Audley and Albert Birney, Alexis Gambis and the Letterboxd Sundance team.

While it’s a small relief not to have to share a bunkbed with Gary from Australia, and go trudging up those Park City slopes in chunky ol’ snow boots, it’s still a challenge to create the ambience that the world premiere of a brilliant new indie film deserves. So, as well as creating a new, official Letterboxd festival hub (Festiville—give it a follow to receive festival updates in your main activity feed), we’ve also called in some friends to help us overcome the barrier of a lonely room, a smaller screen and a too-familiar couch.

At home, you can sit as close to the screen as you can bear. (‘Paddington’, 2014.)

Bring the mountain to you.

How best to recreate the specific feeling of trying not to break your neck while running across the icy carpark between the Doubletree and the Holiday Village 4 during a tight turnaround? Letterboxd’s West Coast editor Dominic Corry advises getting into the Park City swing of things right from breakfast: “Place a headshot next to your coffee machine to replicate the experience of bumping into an A-lister at the Starbucks in Fresh Market”.

Before your first screening of the day, say Boys State directors Jesse Moss and Amanda McBaine (Sundance 2020), “Stand outside in the cold for sixty minutes before viewing the film, then watch the film while wearing a very heavy parka, and realize you’re very hot twenty minutes into the movie and have to wrestle your parka off whilst not disturbing your fellow viewers.”

Or, don’t even bother trying to remove those layers, says And Then We Danced writer-director Levan Akin (Sundance 2020): “Recreate the sweat-soaked sensation I had by dressing in thermal long johns to outsmart the cold, only to sit through screenings in a pool of your own sweat. Rookie mistake!”

Between screenings, you have a couple of options. “Hit that StairMaster between virtual engagements to simulate the high mountain altitude,” advises Palm Springs director Max Barbakow (Sundance 2020), ”and don’t forget that chlorophyll to catch your wind!”

Kentucker Audley and Albert Birney, writers and directors of Strawberry Mansion (Sundance 2021) have an alternate suggestion: “After a screening, we recommend turning off the heat in your home, getting into your bathtub (imagining it’s a hot tub), and once it’s nice and freezing in your house, get out of the tub with wet feet, step directly into your snow boats and race to the nearest towel, which for some reason is nowhere near you. Then watch another movie and repeat the process.” Seems eerily legit.

There’s no corkage charged for BYO in the home cinema. (‘Forgetting Sarah Marshall’, 2008.)

Creating those creature comforts.

For those of you who have long since accepted that we’re on the sofa rather than the slopes this Sundance, the trick is to make home as inviting as possible, despite its being far too familiar these days. That could mean moving the screen from its usual spot. Heidi Ewing, writer and director of I Carry You With Me (Sundance 2020) has a three-step plan: “1. Carmel-corn 2. Bathtub with bubbles 3. Play it loud—bathroom-tile acoustics will make it all feel bigger and boomier. That’s my sage advice.”

“Definitely co-sign the bathtub!” agrees Letterboxd’s London correspondent Ella Kemp. “And I’d also suggest watching the midnight-leaning stuff—big horror, big genre, big WTF—first thing in the morning, if you can. I do not have the same energy late at night in my own at home as I do with a sold-out crowd.”

Expose your folks to a whole new world—make them watch Midnight category films with you over breakfast. (‘Good Morning’, 1959.)

Indeed, energy for film festivals is a thing whether you’re an in-person or satellite viewer—this applies to mental energy, too. “If you’re ever stressed or tired, watch a documentary to reset yourself,” says Jim Cummings, writer and director, Thunder Road short (Grand Jury winner, Sundance 2016), producer, Beast Beast (Sundance 2020).

And, given it’s a seven-day-long haul, feel free to throw cooking plans out the window and follow the Park City diet, in which you “eat nothing but finger foods for the duration of the festival,” according to Moss and McBaine. Or, as Ekwa Msangi, writer-director of Farewell Amor (Sundance 2020) recommends, “get some deliciously flavored popcorn and a hot drink for afterwards!”

Another at-home tip from Corry: “Don’t turn the lights on when you get up to go to the bathroom mid-movie, so as to recreate the sensation of your eyes struggling to adjust to the light in the restroom.”

Mac ’n’ cheese and a cold one for the last viewing of the day. (‘Once Upon a Time in… Hollywood’, 2019.)

Hell is other people (but animals are cool).

Not all of us live alone, and not all of us live with film lovers. Company is welcome, interruptions are to be expected, but do set some boundaries and decide what you will and won’t compromise on. “If you’ve got to bargain with roommates and family members for your turn to use the TV, be intentional about sound!” advises Letterboxd contributor, Selome Hailu. “Don’t compromise on music documentaries or well-scored horror, but rom-com dialogue might still sound okay with your laptop speaker.”

Housemates not human? That’s no problem for Alexis Gambis, writer, director and co-editor, Son of Monarchs (Sundance 2021): “Make room for your pets, let them be the film critics this time around.”

Importantly, says Cummings, “Be kind to everyone.” Whether you’re at a satellite screening, joining a festival event online or talking about the films on your social channels, “everyone is here to watch crazy weird movies. Remind yourself that it’s all about weird cinema and the creators. Watch movies!”

“And definitely stay for the Q&As,” say Moss and McBaine. “Always incredible.”

Director Dorothy Arzner and star Clara Bow are dressed to impress. (‘The Wild Party’, 1929.)

Watch the premieres as their makers intended.

Look, filmmakers know what they’re up against in 2021, but it doesn’t stop them dreaming big when it comes to how we see their films for the first time. Sara Hirner and Rosemary Vasquez-Brown, directors of the Sundance 2021 short GNT, have put some thought into this:

“We demand that GNT be viewed in one of two very specific ways, and since we have no control over ourselves or the world at large, we urge you to at least pay us this small kindness!

Option A: You shall view GNT at 3:00am, sans pants, with two-day-old pizza and your laptop perched on your titties.

Option B: You shall dress in your finest garb, slather your face in makeup (please consult the swaths of teenage beauty gurus if you’re unsure on how to accomplish this task), and adorn yourself in your highest heels. These must all be the same color (tone variations will be accepted). Crack open your cheapest available sparkling wine and get to it. We hope you enjoy the show.”

For those whose Sundance dress code extends only to bed-wear, Msangi pleads: “If you’re staying in your pajamas, at least put on a cool beanie to spice things up!”

Sharing is caring. (‘Shithouse’, 2020.)

Tweets, or it didn’t happen.

Finally, and most essentially, Aneesh Chaganty, writer and director of Searching (Sundance 2018), declares: “It’s not a Sundance hit without insane amounts of buzz. If you like it, tell everyone you know.”

After all, it’s what we’re here for… isn’t it? The last word goes to Joe Talbot, co-writer and director of The Last Black Man in San Francisco (Sundance 2019): “Since so many people at Sundance like to say that, between all the meetings and panels, they just haven’t had a chance to see any movies, let 2021 be the year that if you haven’t seen the movies, you admit it’s because you just don’t like movies.” Boom.

Related content

The ten most anticipated Sundance 2021 premieres according to Letterboxd members

The full line-up of the 37th Sundance Film Festival 2021

All the Dramatic Grand Jury/World Cinema Dramatic Grand Jury winners from Sundances past

Follow Festiville on Letterboxd for daily updates

The Sundance Film Festival runs from January 28 to February 23. Thanks to all the filmmakers for advice, and good luck to the 2021 festival fam!

[watch-grok-brainrot]

🌺💘🌷 get to know your mutuals ! when you get this, it 🌺🌺💘🌷means someone wants to know more about you, so list 5 things about yourself you want your followers to know. they can be as simple as your age or as complex as your deepest fear, as long as it’s something you’re comfortable with sharing. when you’re done, send this to 10 people you want to get to know better ! 🌷💘🌺

Hm... idk. I don’t really think there is anything. I’ll just ramble about 5 things? 

1) My family is from Sichuan/Chongqing areas. We eat SPICY food and SICHUAN PEPPERCORN! :D It’s super fun and before i could handle spice, i would still eat sichuan peppercorns straight. When I was a child i slathered a single peppercorn all over my mouth and just reveled in the weird tingly feeling for half an hour. I was a bored child and this was very entertaining. 

2) I identify probably too strongly with WWX: ENFP (or so I believe), smart but DUMB, scorpio, instinct to protect people, irreverent gremlin, dislike social niceties, cares about actual friendship a lot.  

3) i like tea. a lot. I have a bunch of nice black teas (not flavored stuff. jin junmei, 3 different yunnan black/red teas, 4 different chinese lapsong suchongs, a black tea that was processed like an oolong and allowed to fully oxidize, and some other stuff that’s escaping me. I also have less nice black teas that i drink as milk tea ), 6 white teas (fuding tea balls from 2012, vietnamese white tea that i got from a vendor in indiana, a moonlight white that i adore, a semi-wild tea from 2018, an aged white from 2005, and a white tea that i’m hoarding and trying to let age), 2 greens (”twisted green” and uh... .hm... maybe i only have one green tea right now. i should remedy that... ), 2 different grades of jasmine green (which i classify as huacha/flower teas and not actually greens), some sheng puer, some fuzhuan (from a friend), and probably over 15 different types of oolong (4-5 taiwanese high elevation from different mountains/seasons, a bunch of different yancha, some dancong, and a tgy or two). I also buy cheap grocery store lychee black tea and blend it myself with rosebuds and honeysuckle buds. it’s really yummy. oh and a darjeeling or two somewhere. i think they’re both SFTGFOP grade. lol. i like tea. 

4) i have a pickle jar. sichuan style with a lid that looks like an inverted bowl. I pickle things my parents mail me from their garden. When i put in fresh stuff to pickle, the live culture/fermentation releases gas and with enough build up, it bubbles out. i call it my pickle jar is burping. it’s really important to me for making food i like. and i love food. 

5) i live in the midwest USA and i use this word “ope”. i use it A LOT. and it’s weird to people because it’s a local thing. It basically combines oh! and oops! and eep!  into one. kinda like a startled apology. i sometimes use it like “oh well, oops. what am i gonna do?” but i think the oh and oops are always there. the tone of the oh changes though. i hope that helps any of my followers wondering what the heck “ope” means. 

i don’t know if i have 10 mutuals that have their asks open and i think will do this. but i guess i’ll try! hahahaha! 

[unholyhelbig]

Au where Hope and Lizzie have to take their kids to the doctors but Hope is afraid of needles.

Read on Ao3 | Send Me More Legacies Prompts! 

Title: You’re Afraid of Needles? 

Ship: Hope Mikaelson/ Lizzie Saltzman 

Every doctor’s office looked the same to Lizzie Saltzman; those plain puke colored walls, and carpet that was a dark enough shade to hide any accidents. There were mahogany tables dedicated to educational brochures and posters on the wall about how to perform the Heimlich maneuver.

This office was fancier. It had leather couches and a large bay window lead to the small, yet charming town, of Mystic Falls. The blinds were slit just enough to let some light in to counter that sharp buzzing of fluorescents. A small table crowded with broken crayons and printed pages of mazes and cartoon characters sat in the corner- but Lizzie had a tight grip on Andi regardless. Her arms wrapped tightly as the three-year-old wiggled in her lap.

The words ‘Doctor Elena Salvatore’ cast a backward shadow over the carpet as a flat cloud blocking the sun finally shifted and created a warmer feeling in the office. Hope squinted at the clipboard and stopped scribbling with her pen.

“What’s her social security number? She’s three; does she even have a social security number? Are we bad parents because we don’t know it?” Hope gulped in sterile air, eyes darting around the waiting room “Oh my god what’s my social security number?”

Lizzie fought the urge to roll her eyes. Hope Mikaelson was unbeatable; she had plunged her fingers deep into the chest cavities of monsters twelve times her size. Had marched headfirst into a war between the living and the dead- had thrown herself into a bubbling black pit of goo to save the fragile history of humanity, and god, Hope Mikaelson was afraid of the doctors.

She always had been, and Lizzie just didn’t have the apprehension to notice.

When they were at the Salvatore School, Hope would take the long way around the corridors just to avoid the wandering eye of the nurse. Even after the plunging touch of cupids brother had splattered blood across the nice hardwood floors- she still refused actual medical treatment.

And even more so when the two of them accepted the fact that they both wanted more out of life and started the process of having children. Six years of marriage and a lifetime of adventures slowly trickled into a home life in the very town that they were raised in.

Hope had braved her fear of hospitals when Lizzie’s water broke in the middle of the night but had sworn off of anything of the sorts for the last three years. Lizzie was the one to take Andi to her shots, and to checkups, but this time was different- this time Andi had a nasty cold and wouldn’t let Lizzie put her down for more than three seconds at a time, unless, of course, there were crayons involved.

“Hope, darling, skip that question.” Lizzie said tenderly.

“Right, yeah. What’s her address?”

The taller of the two groaned dramatically and snatched the clipboard from her wife before placing Andi in her lap to fill the void. Hopes arms naturally curled around her daughter as she pulled her close, despite the runny nose and shivering coughs. Besides, Hope was immune to this kind of thing- Lizzie could still get whatever cold was running through the house this time.

The girls stark blonde hair was pulled into two pigtails with a pink scrunchie and a light blue one, a pair of clear glasses that she liked to pull off her nose constantly were securely strapped around her head with a band that Lizzie accessorized as only she could.

She sniffled and hugged her close while Lizzie handed the clipboard back to the receptionist, whizzing through the next four questions where Hope stumbled on just the first. Her legs bounced nervously in an untamed bout of anxiety. Hope wanted to shift and run and Lizzie squeezed her shoulder to ground her, though, the only thing her wife could focus on was the poster of a kitten hanging from a tree.

Hope’s entire body tensed when someone in dark blue scrubs called their names and beaconed them to walk through a squeaky wooden door. Andi had to be lured onto the metal scale with the promise of some form of candy before burying her cold nose against the inside of Lizzie’s neck, allowing the taller woman to scoop her up.

They were led into an exam room at the end of the hall and told to wait. Hope stared at the door like a caged animal, pacing a hole into the floor as their daughter kicked her feet and crinkled against the wax paper. The nurse had given her a tongue depressor and it was enough to entertain her, if not for a moment.

“What are they going to do?” Hope stuck her nails in her mouth, tempted to chew them.

Lizzie started to regret her decision to bring her wife along but detested the thought of slapping one of those fuzzy monkey backpacks on her daughter to keep her from spreading her germs. She gave a slight smile and stopped Hope from pacing with two steady hands on her shoulders.

“They’re going to listen to her lungs,” Lizzie guessed “and then they’re going to give her medicine to make her all better. Nothing scary- Andi isn’t even scared, see?”

Her daughter gave her a toothy and distracted grin at the sound of her name before she went back to her stick. Hope let her shoulders slump as she fell into Lizzie’s arms, groaning into her sweater “What is it, darling? The white coats?”

“They’re just freaky” Hope answered, words muffled “Who willingly goes through that much school to get sneezed on and oh my god, the student debt.”

A slight knock came at the door and Hope tensed, the two of them parted, harmoniously moving to the side of the table. Hope felt instinctive, pulling her daughters' tiny fingers into her own. Andi nearly growled at the distraction from the popsicle stick, but quickly forgot when the doctor revealed her beaming smile. She let the door fall behind her before sticking out a hand. “Hi, I’m Doctor Donovan”

“Lizzie, and this is Hope.”

Her wife seemed to stumble through the introductions fine enough and only edged forward twice with the doctor pressed a metal stethoscope against her daughters back. Lizzie held a firm hand on her shoulder through it all.

“All right miss Andi, you were really brave.” Doctor Donovan said, placing the instrument back around her neck before sitting back. “Mom’s she seems to have a bit of a sinus infection going on, nothing too scary. We can give her some antibiotics and she’ll be good to go.”

Hope seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

“We'll just take care of that shot and send you guys on your way."

“The what?” all of the color seemed to drain from Hope's face.

“We don’t have any oral medicine to give her,” Doctor Donovan stood and started to fish through the white cabinets. She pulled a glass vile down, and then Andi seemed to bring enough air into her lungs to make her chest ache. She reached blindly for Hope's hand again and little nails dug into her palm. “It’s a series of two shots, but she doesn’t need the other one for another week.”

Something close to a whimper sounded as the doctor pulled some serum into the syringe. She turned towards the three of them and Hope suddenly felt her heart in her chest. Andi’s cheeks were quickly stained in tears and her cheek.

“She’s afraid of needles,” Hope explained, trying to keep her own voice level.

As if to drive her point home, Andi started wailing, loud like any child in the face of a needle would. Hope pulled her closer to muffle the noise and glanced at Lizzie helplessly because deep down the both of them knew that no amount of bargaining or comfort could quell the snot or the trembling lip. Hope pulled away and knelt close to her.

“Sweetie, hey-“ Hope held the girls arms, “Pay attention for a second, okay?”

Andi hiccupped twice and dragged her arm against the base of her nose. Lizzie fought back a smile because she liked this, liked when Hope talked to their three-year-old as if she were a tiny adult.

“What if I got one too? It doesn’t’ hurt, I promise. And I bet you’ll even get a really cool band-aid.”

“Oh you will,” Doctor Donavan confirmed, “It’s purple.”

Andi looked at the three of them skeptically but slowly nodded, accepting the fact that there was no getting out of this. Hope slowly let it set in too, she shed her jacket and rolled up her sleeve- because yeah, needles were scary but so was seeing her daughter upset.

Hope steeled her jaw and clenched her eyes shut as Doctor Donovan slathered alcohol against her arm, cool and calming. Hope waited for the countdown, and the painful prick, but instead focused on the fact that Lizzie slid her fingers into her hand.

“All right, mom is all done.” The doctor said with a smile and Hope propped one eye open carefully, staring down at the big purple band-aid because she hadn’t even felt that. “That wasn’t so scary, right?”

“Not at all,” her voice trembled but Andi didn’t notice, instead she was transfixed on the giant purple adhesive that she wanted to get her hands on, shot or not. “A real piece of cake”

Lizzie wrapped her arm around Hope's waist, fingers resting against her hip “That was very brave of you, Hope.”

“Oh you know,” her words came out breathy, because her arms throbbed, even with Lizzie’s touch. “Saving the world one flu shot at a time”

[gem-rewatch]

SU rewatch- S1E7- Bubble Buddies

Our first Connie episode!! I was super excited to get to this one, mainly because Connie is one of my favorite characters in this show. 

Her growth as an individual throughout the seasons is so, so good- and despite becoming an integral part of Steven’s busy chaotic life she never comes across as “just the love interest” or “entire life revolves around Steven” like female characters tend to do in plenty of other shows. This show- despite being told exclusively through Steven’s POV- still respects the fact that Connie has her own life separate from him and Gem stuff, giving glimpses into her relationship with her parents, her school life, and giving her plenty of hobbies, likes, and dislikes. I really appreciate that.

Okay, so first off I wanna talk about Steven and the glow stick. So, he saw this cute girl watching the parade drop her glow bracelet, and saves it in the freezer just in case he ever sees her again right? And it was a big Beach City boardwalk parade, likely with lots of tourists there watching, so there’s no guarantee that he’d ever see her again. Even with this, he still holds out a spark of hope that he’d be able to give it back. Which, is just who Steven is- he’s a hoper and a dreamer. 

And like the world’s best miracle, there she is. Right there. Sitting on the beach close to his house, reading a book.

(As an added note, Connie ran out to on obscure corner of the beach away from the boardwalk to go read a book in peace. She probably wanted to get away from her overbearing, overprotective parents for a bit to relax.)

Oh my- oh my lord, it looks like he’s doing the Bigfoot pose. I desperately hope this was intentional.

But Steven. Steeeeven. Honey. Are you really gonna have your first line be a tacky pick-up line??

Steven: “It’s a smooth ride.” (after absolutely digging his wheels through the sand. GAWD.)

Honestly it’s probably good that Connie’s first impression of Steven was him being a complete doofus like this rather than his bad attempts at flirting like a leather studded biker.

But gawddd even on first watch it’s made explicitly clear that this is someone Steven’s seen from a distance before and wants to get to know. This poor kid just doesn’t know how to... actually do it.

Steven: “It’ll mess up my funky flow!”

He doesn’t seem to need any so-called ‘funky flow’ talking to anyone else in town- in fact, he’s about as extroverted as they come. This kid would willingly converse with almost anyone. Almost. His awkwardness about this one person drives home the reality that Steven probably thinks she’s cute and doesn’t know how to deal with that sort of crush stuff yet. Because let’s be real- with anyone else, this wouldn’t be a problem. He’d just bound up to them in all his enthusiasm as if they were already friends. 

Garnet: "We won’t watch.”

She says, as she adjusts her glasses. 

She already can sense what’s going to happen anyways, she doesn’t need to watch. XD

He’s already eaten through the cookie cats, and he grabs the same little glow stick that’s been seen in the freezer in episode one. A nice continuity detail.

(Although I do wonder how much time has passed between Gem Glow and now.)

Steven: *testing out different vocal inflections* “Hi! My name is Steven. Hi! My name is Steven...”

Having to script out introductions to ease one’s nerves about talking to someone new is literally so relatable. The story of my life. It’s reassuring to see a traditionally extraverted character do this too.

Ah yes, the protective bubble overprotective Pearl’s always dreamed of enveloping Steven in. Thank god he can now summon one himself.

Assuming nothing else happened off screen, this is the third weird gem thing Steven’s ever been able to do in his life- after summoning his shield once and attempting to shapeshift. Thank god it’s a helpful one this time. 

Connie: “What... happened?” *Steven pauses for a short moment, considering.* Steven, casually: “I’m magic!”

Now, for Steven... Beach City has been his whole life. Here, the handful of locals have lived alongside Gem weirdness for long enough that they accept it without question by this point, with a sorta “it might as well happen” attitude. Because of this, I get the sense that he’s never actually had to explain anything before.

And so, as awkward as they come, he info dumps.

Steven: “Well, half-magic. [...] I’m a member of the Crystal Gems, we fight monsters and protect humanity and stuff-”

Connie, bless her heart, just sorta shrugs and goes “okay” to all of this. But hey, there’s no reason to deny the existence of magic when it’s all around you!

All of THIS scene is gold:

Steven: “That’s Lars. We’re basically BFFs.”

Lars: *making fun of the kid by slathering his tongue against the bubble’s surface like an utter loon, who as a result actually appears less grounded than Steven at the moment*

This is not the only time Steven tries to get his point across by playing pictionary and drawing an over-complex picture that literally no one gets the meaning of. It’s an ongoing habit, apparently.

Nice cameo of Obsidian’s sword! Makes you wonder how it got all the way out here. Also, is this an actual sword that Obsidian forged in their lava mouth, or is it a fake sword made exclusively to be a part of the fusion temple (before it was crumbled a bit)?

Connie: “Now we’re going to suffocate or starve at the bottom of the ocean, and only my parents will notice, because no one else cares about me! I’m gonna disappear without ever making a single friend!”

This scene makes me genuinely hurt. Connie is so lonely that one of her biggest fears/regrets at this point is dying without anyone caring what happened to her. 

What we know about her and her parents tells me that they’re just... so sheltering that she’s had barely had time to socialize with anyone. It’s left her timid, so anxious about meeting new people that it literally took Steven knocking right into her to save her life to get her to say hello. All she wants is one good friend, someone who will stick around, someone who will remember her-

And then comes along Steven. A boy who saw her drop a glow stick, and cared enough to save it in case he ever saw her again. A boy who remembered her, who wants to know her.

...a boy who’s. Apparently getting down on one knee to ‘propose’ friendship to her. XD

Hey, whatdya know? I guess diamonds really are a girl’s best friend.

Jokes aside, this is such a sweet moment- 

Steven: “We could be friends!”

It’s exactly what Connie needed to hear, and it’s exactly what he always wanted- to get to know the girl from the boardwalk parade more.

As a final note, Steven blushes so hard when Pearl and Amethyst are gently teasing him about Connie. Honestly I think the fact that Steven has a canonical crush on Connie is about as blatant as they can make it from episode one. 

That being said, most of all he just wants to be a friend. I’m thankful I’ve never sensed any sort of “possessive, jealousy” behavior from him when it comes to Connie which automatically sets Steven Universe as a show apart from like, pretty much every other kid’s show with a crush between guy and girl best friends. (I’m lookin’ at you, Star vs. the Forces of Evil.)

They’re friends first, and he respects that- and thus I respect him.

[flowerfan2]

Affinity - Ch. 6 (10.06)

McDanno, A03

A continuous story of season 10 episode codas.  Steve may describe their relationship as a dysfunctional marriage, but at some point, will he and Danny take a closer look at what it really could be?   

Chapter 6

“You’ve got to admit it, Danno, you can’t get this with an app.”  Steve is standing and stretching, looking out over the rocky landscape to the shining blue ocean.  

Danny shakes his head at Steve and pulls out his water bottle to take a long swig.  Steve had suggested the hike last night (“we’ve both got the day off – let’s go do something fun”) and Danny had quickly agreed.

The hike out to Ka’ena Point is long and hot, with absolutely no shade, but it’s ridiculously beautiful.  There’s something very satisfying about making it all the way out to Oahu’s westernmost tip of land.  It’s remote and wild and the only way to get there is to hike in (unless you somehow score a vehicle permit, which Steve just scoffs at, noting the danger to the degrading sand dune habitat).

When they set off early this morning Danny had thought that they had scored a perfect day for the trek, and for the most part they did, although it’s not as cool as he had hoped it would be. He did wear a hat, of course - no one on the island hikes Ka’ena without a hat – but it’s just a ball cap, not the floppy more protective get-up that Steve has on.  The skin on the exposed back of his neck is definitely regretting his choices.

Steve watches judgmentally as Danny pulls out a tube of sunscreen, but doesn’t say anything, at least not right away. Danny makes a show of lotioning up his arms first, as if he was just being extra cautious, but they’ve only been hiking for about forty-five minutes so it’s overkill even for his sensitive skin.

“Come on, let me help,” Steve finally says, taking the sunscreen out of Danny’s hand.  “We’ll be here all day otherwise.”

Steve zeros in on Danny’s neck immediately, smoothing in a generous amount of lotion with a surprisingly gentle touch.  Steve’s fingers are cool from his own water bottle, and Danny can’t help but shiver at little at the sensation.

 “You like that, huh?”  Steve says softly into Danny’s ear, and splays his cool hand out over the back of Danny’s neck.

 It’s oddly intimate, standing together in the bright sunlight on a quiet, dusty trail, nothing to see but sand dunes and rocky lava stretching out to the ocean.

 “Yeah,” Danny says softly, not wanting to break the spell.  “Feels good.”

 Steve leaves his hand there for another beat, until it’s no longer as shockingly icy, and then removes it slowly. He slathers more lotion on Danny’s neck, then comes around to stand in front of Danny and, smirking, reaches out and quickly dabs a bit on Danny’s nose.

 “Hey,” Danny steps back, surprised.

 Steve just grins.  “What?  I’m just helping out.”

 Danny can’t come up with a comeback that properly expresses “we were having a moment and then you acted like a child and confused me” so he just shoots a glare at Steve and continues walking along the trail.

 “You don’t want to show up at work with a sunburn,” Steve says, jogging to catch up with him.  “People might think you had done something social on your day off.”

 “Are you ever going to let that go? You can’t tell me you don’t appreciate being able to have any food you like delivered to your door.”

 “Yeah, but it’s not because I’m trying to avoid talking to people.  It’s just convenient.”

 “Convenient?  Sure, that’s part of it.  But you like taking a break from all the demands, too.  From all the people who are always asking you for stuff.”

 “People aren’t always asking me for stuff,” Steve says, but with less conviction.

 “Are you kidding?  Of course they are, all the time.  Remember last Thursday, when six different people asked you for help with things entirely unrelated to Five-0 in the course of one day, and you complained through an entire six-pack?”

 “That was different,” Steve says, and Danny glances at him.  Steve’s got his “I’m thinking my way out of this” face on, and Danny takes a minute to enjoy it.

 “How, precisely, was it different?”

 “Just, unusual, is all.  And if I can’t complain to you, who can I complain to?”

 Danny nods.  “Right.  And that is exactly why an app is helpful.  You weren’t fit to speak to anyone that night, excepting me, who has learned over the years how to handle a Steve McGarrett venting session.”

 “Oh yeah?  How do you handle it?”

 Danny grins over his shoulder at Steve. “With a six-pack of beer, obviously.”

 Steve huffs.  “Obviously.”

 They walk on in companionable silence, stopping every so often to look out over the water.  Sometimes you can see dolphins and even whales, but they haven’t seen either yet today.   Steve stops them at one point to look at what he thinks is a monk seal on the beach, but when they get closer they realize it was just a curvy rock.

 When they make it out to the point they wander around, looking around the point to see the rugged Waianae side of the island.  Danny uses his phone to take a few photos of the amazing view, and then they settle down for a snack.  Steve pulls a bag out of his pack and hands an apple to Danny.

 “Thanks.”

 There are more people on the trail now, and a few groups already at the point, reading the state park signs with information about the nesting seabirds and looking at the remains of the old lighthouse.  Two women with long dark hair and sturdy hiking boots walk past them, the taller one waving to Steve and Danny as they go by.

 “You know them?”  Danny asks.  

 “No.  And don’t try to set me up.” Steve says firmly.

 “Wow, okay, I wasn’t going to go there, but sure.”  Danny watches as the two women pause, one pointing out something to the other. “Just thought they looked familiar.”

 Steve looks at them and shrugs. “Reminds me of Tani and Quinn, maybe.”

 “Yeah, maybe.”  Danny thinks of the Tani and Quinn lookalikes the idiot you-tubers substituted for the real thing in their HPD recruitment video. Tani had taken the news with remarkable calm.  “The two of them make a good team.”

 Steve turns to Danny, looking pleased. “You think so?  I thought they might.  I hoped they would, anyway.”

 “Yeah, they do.”

 “It frees Junior up for other things, you know, not always being paired with Tani.”

 “Junior’s good with Adam, it’s true.” Danny wonders whether to mention the other thing Junior’s been good for lately, but Steve beats him to it.

 “I like having him along with us sometimes,” Steve says quietly.

 “Junior’s fast,” Danny says. “And he seems to have learned how to take down a perp from the McGarrett school of leap before you look.”

 “Oh, he’s looking,” Steve says. “Did you see him vault that chain-link fence and sideswipe the drug dealer last week?  He knows what he’s doing.”

 Danny nods.  “He does.  And he’s good at it.”  He breathes out slowly, focusing on the glittering ocean in front of them. “Takes a little bit of the pressure off of you.”

 He can feel Steve’s hesitance to respond, but the bubble they’ve been in all morning wins out.  

 “Yeah,” Steve says.  “It really does.”  Steve takes off his sunglasses and wipes them on his pants, looking a little glum.

 “Come on, you’re not that old yet,” Danny says, bumping his shoulder against Steve’s.  “Still got a few heroic take-downs left in you.”

 “Gray hair says otherwise,” Steve responds, rubbing at his scruff.

 “Lemme see,” Danny says, leaning in. It’s not as if he hasn’t noticed before, but it seems to make Steve relax to stick his chin out and let Danny commiserate.  “Yeah, definitely some grays.”

 “Not you, though,” Steve says, peering at Danny’s face and then looking up at him.  “Why don’t you have any gray hair?  You worry enough, you should have a head full of it.”

 Danny shrugs.  “Maybe I do, it’s just not as noticeable, you know, my hair’s lighter.”

 Steve squints and takes Danny’s chin in his hand, thumb and forefinger squeezing.  “I think you’d notice.”

 Danny lets his eyes fall shut as Steve tilts his face one way and then another.  “I shave closer than you.  Every day. So I can’t tell.”

 “On purpose?”  Steve asks, his breath puffing against Danny’s cheek.  “I mean, do you shave every day so you don’t have to see if there’s gray in there?”

 “No, of course not,” Danny responds, but when he opens his eyes Steve is looking right at him, and he gets the feeling he doesn’t buy it.

 “Why don’t you let it grow out a few days, let me see what’s there,” Steve says, rubbing his thumb along Danny’s jawline.

 Danny suddenly feels warm, and it’s not from the lack of shade.  Steve isn’t showing any signs of moving away from him, and he’s been stroking Danny’s chin for far longer than can be explained away by their somewhat contrived conversation about scruff.

 “Steve?”  he asks.  “Do you, um, do you ever think about…?”

 “Yes, Danny?”  Steve’s voice is low, and Danny sees Steve’s eyes flicker down to his lips and back up again.  He’s going to kiss me, Danny thinks.  Or I’m going to kiss him.  He closes his eyes, his breath stuttering in his chest, and gets ready to leap.

 “Hey, sorry to bother you guys.” a voice shatters the moment, and Steve’s hand drops from Danny’s face as they turn to see the dark-haired girl who had waved to them earlier.

 “No, no problem, what’s up?” Steve asks, while Danny blinks hard and wills his heart to stop pounding.

 “My friend scraped her knee up pretty bad, just wondering if you had a first aid kit or anything.”

 “Absolutely.”  Steve grabs his pack (which of course contains a comprehensively equipped first aid kit) and trots over to where the other woman is sitting, leaving Danny to stare after him.  He can’t believe the moment is over.  It doesn’t seem remotely fair.  He can still feel Steve’s hand on his face, feel his breath on his skin.

 Danny stands up and gathers their things, cursing inwardly at all the people that hone in on Steve’s relentless capacity to help, even when he isn’t wearing a badge.  But despite his annoyance, he knows something special just happened.   The memory of sitting in the blazing sun with Steve, gazing into each other’s eyes like teenagers, isn’t one he’s going to forget anytime soon.  

[girlafraidinacoma]

In The Lap of the Gods: Chapter Six - Fanta-seas and Denial

Summary: What do you get when you mix a tight-knit art community, young, hot-blooded twenty-something university students and good old-fashioned British Rock & Roll? Probably the next best hope for art and music that generation has to offer. With her friends’ band skyrocketing to fame, what exactly does a girl do when she suddenly finds herself sitting in the lap of the gods? The answer: do the only thing she can do, rise to the occasion of course!

Pairing: Gwilym Lee!Brian May x Original Female Character

Author’s Note: Sorry, not sorry for the incredibly late update dudes. Was super uninspired for months, had a break down, got over it, bon appetit.

( gif credit goes to @queenmercurys.)

Kind of AU, contains both elements from real life and the Bo Rhap universe, so imagine whoever you prefer whether they be the real thing or the Bo Rhap Boys–be free.

[Link to Ao3 fic!]

Chapter Playlist:

Both Sides Now - Joni Mitchell

Astral Weeks - Van Morrison

Chapter Six - Fanta-seas and Denial

Ealing, December 1969.

“You’re incorrigible. I’ll never finish at this rate!” Wyn cried, throwing her arms up.

“Nobody told you to leave it until the last minute to work on your project.” He grumbled. It seemed like only yesterday that she began her first day at the Ealing Technical College and School of Art, but December had finally crept in, summoning the looming toll of due dates and unfinished critical projects.

“I honestly didn’t mean to forget, I thought I’d still have a week, not three bloody days.” Wyn whimpered a little pathetically, feeling the mounting panic bubble inside at the thought of not submitting her work on time. Currently, they were seated on the floor at the centre of Wyn’s dorm room, the space her easel usually occupied, cutting out various images and words out of several dozen stacks of magazines, newspapers, catalogues and a charitable helping of Woman’s Weekly – courtesy of Jer Bulsara.

Wyn’s dorm was a site Freddie had quickly grown accustomed to during their past few months of friendship. He liked her place. Sure, there were several others that lived on her floor and there’s only the bare modicum of privacy, but it was a decently sized space for a dorm, generous even, were it not cramped with half-finished canvases and art materials at various stages of use. Despite this fact, Wyn had tried her very best to make it up as nice as she could without having to open a Better Homes magazine. It was a place of barely organized but brightly coloured chaos.

The room itself was divided into two halves, one half where she slept and lounged, and the other half reserved for her work. The narrow bed which she slept in had been pushed up flush against the far corner of the room for the spatial economy. There was an olive-green loveseat with faded upholstery situated opposite the bed, and next to it was her bookshelf (definitely someone’s previously discarded woodworking project), keeping her collection of vinyls, novels and art journals. The side of Wyn’s room that served as her work area had a very large window that provided her place with natural light from about six or seven in the morning to four in the afternoon. Beside the window was a small desk, perpetually cluttered with paper, and a heavy wooden trunk packed to the brim with art supplies. One would think she’d been living there forever with all the stuff she’d accumulated in the past four months; the result of which was an assemblage of mismatched furniture that on its own were rather forgettable or borderline hideous, but somehow miraculously worked together, grudgingly made ‘cool’ by the person inhabiting it.

“Now who’s incorrigible?” As much as Freddie teased, it only took about five minutes of begging and a promise to cover one of his shifts at the Kensington stall for Freddie to generously acquiesce his time to help her out with one of her class assessments, to her supreme relief.

“Besides, they only want proof of concept. The whole thing’s not due until the end of Christmas hols.” Wyn said, flipping to the next page.

“Sure, sure.” The man rolled his eyes, waving a large pair of shears around. “What’s the focus for this piece anyway?”

“Oh, you know, just a bit of social commentary about defining identity through materialism and the like.” She told him, picking up a scrap he’d just finished cutting out, “These little bits here, will eventually be put together and build up a face or whatever, then I think I’d slather some paint on it, use some charcoal and call it a day, probably.”

“Is it still Granger and Warton assessing?”

“Warton is on leave, taking the airs in Bournemouth. Connelly is subbing in.”

“Even better, Connelly likes anything that’s remotely opinionated. He’ll be eating this all up with his Sunday roast.” He laughed. It gave her that smidge more comfort to hear his approval and she told him just as much.

She and Freddie were both dutifully attending to their work when out of the blue, Freddie sniffs the air, saying: “Have I told you how much your room smells?”

“Oops,” The girl said sheepishly, “Sorry. Let me just open a window. Afraid I’ve gotten quite used to it.” Briefly, she pattered away from him to do just that, lighting a rosemary and orange-scented candle, a gift from an aunt who had taken up chandlery upon retirement.

“Yes, the smell of varnish does tend to make the uninitiated rather queasy.” He nodded. “Lucky for you, I know the smell intimately. Unlucky for you, it still makes me queasy. Unless… you’ve become a junkie, in which case there are better highs than paint fumes, my dear.” A hand rose to Freddie’s chest, playfully aghast.

Wyn shook her head with a laugh. “I don’t even realise sometimes, too stuck in my work.”

“Still, you should always remember to take care of yourself. What good is your art if you’re not there to appreciate it? I’d rather have you, than a painting.”

Wyn dropped the page she was holding and looked at him. “Always so sweet. Where would I be without you, my dearest Freddie?”

“Probably still glued to a wall in that function room with the horrible punch.” Fred snarked, letting out an inelegant snort in the magazine his face was buried in.

So far, they were amassing a pretty sizeable pile of clippings and Wyn wordlessly congratulated herself and Freddie for making progress, but the good feeling didn’t last long. The two had been quiet for a while, with only the sound of snipping and paper tearing to fill the silence when reluctantly Fred releases the lip he had been gnawing on for a solid two minutes and clears his throat. “I’ve got something to tell you,” He says, putting down the pair of scissors he was using. “Actually, I could use your opinion.”

Still focused on an area she was clipping, Wyn nodded. “Spill, it’s not like we’re going anywhere soon.”

He exhaled deeply and gave what could be likened to a formal announcement. “I’m thinking of seeing Mary. Scratch that, I’ve seen Mary and had a cup of coffee with her, and I’ve been thinking about doing that more.”

There was sudden a hush that came about the room and settled in like a third guest. It took her several moments to process and Wyn gently reminded herself to lower her pair of scissors, lest she accidentally hurt a friend. “Wait, Mary, as in 'the coat's BIBA', Mary? As in Brian’s Mary? That Mary?” She gauged him with a puzzled look.

“As in Brian’s ex-girlfriend, Mary Austin, Yes.” Freddie confirmed, not blinking.

“So, you want to go see Brian’s ex, that is what you’re saying?”

“Ex, being the operative word, but yes.”

“You don’t think that’ll put a wrench into things?” She asked with a furrowed brow. “Smile hasn’t even begun performing again yet with you as the lead. Do you understand where I’m coming from, how precarious your situation is?”

“I don’t know,” It was his turn to shrug, eyes large and expressive. “I think she’s sweet and gorgeous and she doesn’t mind my teeth. Wait, where did you hear about Brian and Mary anyway?”

Wyn shrugged, “Roger told me.”

“That gossiping cow.” Freddie scowled.

“Well, no, we were just talking and the subject came up,” Wyn said levelly, grabbing a new catalogue from the stack.

“Oh, it came up naturally, did it?” He asked, picking up his scissors and cutting the page he was on a tad aggressively. “Not that you were asking after a certain boy with a guitar, needling poor Roger until he revealed whether said boy was single or not?”

“No,” She denies, “Roger and I were just talking about that night at the bar, and he just happened to mention that until recently Brian had been seeing Mary and hinted that maybe Brian was still interested in seeing her.”

Freddie had narrowed his eyes. “And Roger told you that, did he? Are you sure this isn’t about you and Roger?”

Her head quirked. “Why would this be about me and Roger?”

Freddie laughed. “Maybe because Roger thinks you’re fit and he’s trying to eliminate the competition by hinting that one of his friends might be keen to reconnect with an ex so that you won’t consider that friend as a potential romantic partner?”

“Or, you’re spinning this intricate web because you’re in denial that Mary wants to be with Brian and continuing to see her might ruin your chances with the band?” She offered sweetly.

“Or, this is about you and Roger.” Wyn had to roll her eyes at that.

“This is so not about Roger.”

“Brian, then.”

“It’s not like that.” She shakes her head, eyes trailing to the ground.

Freddie was not convinced, “I saw you and Brian looking cozy together. In that booth, on the way home, going for a little shopping trip…”

“We went shopping to feed you!”

“It’s probably what set off Rog in the first place.” He said in sing-song.

“N-no, the man doesn’t even flirt with me--” She was growing exasperated quickly.

“So, you admit that you flirt with Roger all the time.” Freddie was a dog with a bone.

“That’s just the way we talk to each other! He just thinks it’s a bit of fun, and I’m not about to let him think he can get a rise out of me.” Freddie could have sworn her voice rose an octave.

"I think you have a crush on him."

"I do not have a crush on Brian."

"Who said anything about Brian?" Freddie cracked a devilish grin at having caught her out. He batted his eyes at her.

The girl, on the other hand, was at a loss for words, opening her mouth and closing it again a couple of times, before scoffing. “Oh, shut up. You haven’t proven anything. Go see Mary then if you’ve already made up your mind.” She resigned, covering her discomfort with a laugh. Wyn looked down and busied herself by neatening the growing pile of magazine and newspaper trimmings she was collecting, forcing her hair to fall and obscuring her face. She absolutely was not going to let her friend see the burning flush she was newly sporting.

Fred chuckled beside her, examining his manicured hand. "I honestly wonder what fantasy world you're living in, darling. You're so caught up in it."

Instead of answering him directly she chose to switch to diversionary tactics. "You say that like it's a bad thing, or like you're not right there with me. You're just as mad as me." She poked his cheek.

"True, darling." He conceded, "I definitely see the appeal; I mean who wouldn’t want to escape this old tedious business for one in a fantasy book?” Freddie sighed dreamily, “I say, human ingenuity peaked when we learned we could just imagine ourselves far away from here.”

The girl hummed, gladdened to finally be talking about something else again. “Where everything is weird and wonderful, and you finally belong…”

“You can be anyone you want to be.”

“And bugger the rules because there are none.” She supplied without missing a beat.

“Get out of my head, Wyn Clemens.” He chided her. “You know, this reminds me of when Kashmira and I used to spend all our time in the afternoons together lying on a dusty floor, making up crazy stories.”

A fond smile came over Wyn’s face. “Oh? What about?”

“Well, tis a tale of a long and arduous quest to save the magical Kingdom of Rhye,” He said indulgently, “Your usual fight between the forces of good and evil, brave knights, lavish castles, rival queens, and a sprinkling of anthropomorphic animals.”

“Ah, but of course! I wouldn’t expect anything less.” She leaned back and drew her legs under her chin. “Pray tell then, merry minstrel, regale me with the story of Rhye.”

Freddie sat a little more upright in his spot, his teeth showing in a big smile. “Alright, so, it all began when the White Queen was abducted from her castle. Now in hopes to rescue her, her brother, the handsome Prince, scours all the land gathering knights…”

Wyn had already forgotten they had been arguing not two minutes ago. It was like that with her and Freddie, they never could stay cross with one another for long, always managing to read what the other was thinking. It was shocking how close the two had gotten in such a short span of time. Suddenly the prospect of Freddie graduating brought a sinking feeling to Wyn’s chest. She silently hoped he’d still have time for her, or would deign to remain her friend. The future always seemed so unsteady. Standing on its precipice, Wyn supposed that if she’d have to drink some horrible punch at some mediocre party, she’d rather be suffering through it with him than without him.

[blessyourheartdharps]

Fried Dough and Half Truths || Dani&Rachel

Who: Dani Harper & Rachel Berry @broadwayberryforever

When: Thursday, 7/26/18 - after 9 am

Where: Rachel’s Hotel Room

What: Dani and Rachel catch up over beignets

Notes: there’s a lot of implied things (depression, abuse, etc), mentions of alcohol/drinking

Dani was more playing with the beignet in her hand than actually eating it. In truth, she'd barely touched most of her food, having forgotten how much effort eating breakfast was when she was tired. Pulling apart the fried dough she stuffed a piece in her mouth, hoping the conversation that was coming was going to be less draining than the one she had with Santana the day before. "So, you want answers, yeah?"

Rachel looked up from her own beignet--her second--and the knife she was using to spread a generous layer of strawberry jam across to top of it. She rolled her lips over her teeth, Dani's phrasing reminding her of the truth she still owed several people, then nodded. "Yes." She put her knife aside, then tore a chunk of her own beignet. "Starting with why you left."

Dani nodded a bit, sighing. She'd been expecting this, so why was it always hard? It's not like she was having to talk about Angela, like she had with Santana. "I took Santana breaking up with me harder than I thought I would. Something about it made me realize I'd lost myself. It made me mad, that I'd gotten so bent out of shape over something like that. I'd never been that girl. So, I decided to head south. I didn't tell anyone because I didn't want people trying to talk me out of it. It's why I changed my number, it's why I abandoned my social media, all of it. I just needed to get away. I needed to slow down and being down south, being out in the middle of bumfuck, nowhere, I got what I wanted." She shrugged, tearing off another bite of her beignet.

Rachel pieced her torn chunk back into place, then licked a spot of jam from the side of her finger. She'd felt much the same way over the last few weeks and if she hadn't had work or Quinn or Jesse to keep her here, she might have done the same. Taking a deep breath, she plucked her torn mouthful free again and brought it to her mouth, pausing long enough to ask, "No regrets?" before popping it between her lips.

Dani sighed at Rachel's question, shrugging a bit. Did she have regrets about it? She'd left the city, swearing to herself that she didn't. That she was doing what needed doing, that being alone was easier than keeping her friends and working through what she felt with their help. There were regrets, about Mississippi, about the people she'd hurt, the things that happened, but they all linked together. "I don't know. I did what I thought I needed to at the time and looking back... the regrets I have don't exactly fit a time period anymore."

Rachel nodded, tearing off another piece of beignet as she stared at the table containing the remains of their breakfast. "Regrets are like that." She said softly before she looked up at Dani. "Was it worth it? Did you find yourself?"

Dani looked down as Rachel asked her question. She'd been so sure of herself before yesterday, before Santana. Now, she didn't know. She wanted to say she did, that she found herself, that it was worth it. But was four years of regrets drowned at the bottom of bottles really worth what she found? "I found myself." She stuffed the rest of the beignet in her mouth to keep herself from saying something else, as if her silence didn't speak volumes.

Rachel washed down her mouthful of jam covered doughnut with a gulp of orange juice before tearing the remaining beignet in half, one part put aside as she picked up her knife to slather the exposed interior with more jam and a slice of the remaining cheese. "And who are you now?" she asked as she settled back in her seat.

Dani shrugged, thinking for a moment. She was a woman who had fallen in love with a devil named after an angel. Let herself been torn apart. Always just drunk enough to believe what was told her. But she was also a woman who took a stand for herself on the edge of self destruction and chose not to see the way blood could still pour from her body when she wanted it to. Chose to fight back against the force that had drove her there. Chose to leave when everything in her still wanted her to stay, as if loving someone else was worth learning to unlove herself. How did one put that into words? Put into words the pain it took. The process of finding oneself just to lose it again, and then once again be found. "Someone who knows that even the sweetest of people are sometimes the cruelest and that nothing is worth hating yourself, but especially not love."

Rachel cocked an eyebrow at Dani's reply. She hadn't been expecting anything that deep or that dark or that begged for so many more questions to be asked. She also couldn't help but feel a connection to Dani's answer that caused her to look down at the table again after only a moment. Her lips rolled over her teeth again before parting with a faint *pop*. "... I'm sorry you went through that alone..."

Dani shook her head, a dark chuckle falling from her lips. "You don't learn a lesson like that alone, hun. I'd have been better off on my own." Ever since her conversation with Santana, she wanted so badly to talk about, even as much as she didn't. She wanted to yell and scream and be angry over how stupid she felt she had been. She wanted to be angry about the fact she still couldn't sleep alone. That she woke up in cold sweats, terrified she'd never made it out of Mississippi. Her muscles tensed and she breathed out slowly, eyes closing for a moment. "Sometimes to find yourself you have to lose even more."

Rachel nodded. That's what she was afraid of most, of losing more than she already had. Losing any chance of her and Jesse maintaining any sort of relationship, or at least a cordial one. Losing Quinn. Losing her friends, her job, her career. The only thing she knew she was going to gain from all of this was a baby and even that... Rachel shook the thought off, the remains of her beignet tossed haphazardly onto her empty plate as she shifted in her seat, arms tucked tight around her waist. "I won't accept that."

Dani watched Rachel's reaction, head tilting in confusion, an eyebrow raised. None of it made sense, given the conversation. Even with how exhausted she was, Dani could tell something was wrong. "Won't accept what? Cause I feel like you're havin' a conversation in that head of yours that doesn't entirely have to do with me." She sighed. "Not that it's my place or anythin' but if you wanna talk about whatever's eatin you..."

Rachel wanted to say yes, to tell Dani everything that had been building up inside her for weeks, months even. And unlike everyone else in her life, Dani was safe. Rachel had gone years without Dani, she could survive losing her now. But what she couldn't survive was the guilt of knowing that she'd told Dani before she'd told Jesse or Quinn or her Fathers or even Santana. Shelby had been an exception born out of desperation and panic but one that could, hopefully, but understood once the truth got out, once the people she should be telling found out they weren't the first to be told, or even the second. But Dani- Rachel shook her head. "It's nothing." A smile forced her lips apart. "Just the actress in me getting riled up. You know me and drama." A too sharp laugh briefly bubbled from Rachel's throat before she drowned it with another mouthful of juice. "So," She said, not quite looking at Dani as she spoke, "speaking of your place, have you found one yet?"

Dani simply nodded, not really surprised at the way Rachel reacted. She'd been gone, they didn't know each other like that, and Dani certainly wasn't going to push the matter. If it meant anything, it'd come around again, provided this didn't end in disaster, which, Dani still wasn't sure it wouldn't. She wasn't sure of much anymore. "I have not. Abel and I have plans to go looking here soon, but between him just getting back in Tuesday and the slight chaos I've inflicted on myself since he got back... we haven't exactly found the time. It's hard finding places in the middle of the year, since most people sign year long leases. Worse comes to worst, and the whole couch living thing starts to bug me, I take Hunter up on his offer of his spare room."

Rachel tilted her head to the side as she tried to tie the name to a face. Abel... Abel... oh, yes. From online. A small shot of irrational jealousy shot through Rachel as she made the connection; Dani had been away for years and the person she asks to help her house hunt was some complete stranger. But as soon as the emotion hit, it was gone and Rachel could understand why Dani had sought out someone less connected to her past, or at least to Santana. Wasn't that the same reason she'd been so tempted to tell Dani about everything? "Wait-" Rachel's head jerked upright as her ears called her out of her thoughts. "Hunter? As in Smythe's Hunter?"

Dani raised an eyebrow at Rachel's response. They then knitted together. Was that his boyfriend's last name? She'd been so caught up in her own drama that she'd lost track of his life, which she made a mental note to catch up when he got back from Europe. "Currently gallivanting around Europe with his boyfriend?"

Rachel sighed, nodding her head. "That would be the one." She looked around her hotel room, knowing even as she did that she couldn't offer Dani an alternative even if she thought the other woman might accept one if she could. Sooner or later she'd have to move on herself; she was not going to raise her baby in a hotel. Rachel shook her head, another, heavier sigh escaping before she turned back to Dani. "How do you know him?"

Dani nodded. She really did need to connect the dots more, cause it was far more obvious and she hadn't connected the dots. Sure, she'd been in sparse contact with Hunter recently, before she left Mississippi, but she'd grown tired of hearing him mention needing to leave Angela. It's why she'd asked Abel and not Hunter for a place to live, despite everything going on in Abel's life. "Met him down in Mississippi. We've been friends since. Even when he said things I wanted no part in hearin, over and over again."

Rachel let out a short snort of laughter, followed almost immediately by an apology as she slapped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry it's just-" Rachel lowered her hand to her chin, "-I feel the same way about Smythe." Rachel cocked her head to the side, then added, "Except for the being friends portion. I'm not surprised you weren't introduced to him."

Dani shook her head, laughing a bit. "Totally fine, dear." She shrugged. "I was... preoccupied with personal things up until I left Mississippi, I'm sure he would have if I hadn't started distancing myself from him. He didn't even know I left Mississippi til I'd gotten back to New York. Didn't know I finally did what he'd been tellin me to for years. Think I'm lucky he stuck around as my friend through all that, honestly." Dani hated it. He'd had such an I told you so attitude about it, but he'd also been kind. He recognized that she had struggled because it really was easier said than done. At the end of the day she was thankful for his friendship and his stubborn ways. She just needed to get around to making it up to him, at least a little.

Rachel gave Dani a small, self-conscious smile. Between the significant pause and the vague phrasing, Rachel guessed they were skirting closer to the real reason Dani had come back, the sweetest of people who could be the cruelest, as Dani had put it and while Rachel felt that this was the sort of thing a friend should as about, and wanted to ask about, she also knew that she wasn't in the best position to start prying to other peoples secrets. "It's always nice to have someone you can count on." She said instead, her smile growing a hair for a few seconds before fading to half strength.

Dani nodded a bit, finally relaxing into the chair. She was glad Rachel hadn't pried, just because she wasn't sure she could have handled it. It was bad enough Santana knew about Angela, knew just how much she'd damaged her. Rachel didn't need to know that. Didn't need to know the way Dani had drowned parts of herself at the bottoms of bottles, that she'd lost so much more of herself in Mississippi and when she found herself again, she wasn't who she ever thought she would be. "Yeah, I'm lucky to have people like him and Abel, they kept me going, especially..." She rubbed the back of her neck nervously. Why did she getting so close to mentioning Angela? What did she think she'd accomplish by trying to talk about her? All she ever did was skirt the subject, mentioning bits and pieces, even when she didn't want to talk about it, she never wanted to talk about. Not with Abel, only sometimes with Hunter, and never with anyone else. Santana had forced her hand, the consequences Dani had to pay for drunk texting her. Trying to skirt the subject, talk of it without talking of it wasn't helping anything, yet she did it anyway.

Rachel flexed her jaw. There it was again, that significant pause. She pulled at her bottom lip, internally debating a second time whether she should ask or not. In the end she decided not to and forced herself to follow her decision by grabbing her discarded beignet pieces from her plate and stuffing one of them into her mouth.

Dani sighed, grabbing another beignet from the plate she'd brought. Her eyes wandered the room. When she'd been sent the address for a hotel, she'd been confused. It didn't really make sense to her. However, she didn't feel it right to ask. For all the she knew Rachel just did it for certain shows, even if it definitely looked like Rachel was living there. "Y'know, I usually make a bourbon caramel sauce to go with these and I seriously think I forgot what they tasted like plain." She couldn't handle the silence and she figured the easiest way to not keep accidentally half bringing up Angela was to change the subject completely.

Rachel bobbed her head in a semblance of a nod, not really agreeing with Dani's statement--though the mention of caramel now had her craving that, the bourbon she could do without... and for several more months, would have to do without--but not really sure what else to do while she chewed. Had this been a mistake? She'd been so desperate for a distraction that she may have rushed into this reunion without thinking the realities of it through; as the awkward lask of conversation could attest. After taking another mouthful of juice, Rachel said the first thing that popped into her head just to end the drawn out silence. "Have you talked to Santana?"

Dani let out an involuntary groan at Rachel's question. "I have done quite a bit more than talk to her. I drunk texted her Tuesday night. And then got talked into meeting her for lunch yesterday. She wanted answers and she got them... More than I was expecting to give, because she's Santana and such is my life." She ran a hand through her hair, pulling at it ever so slightly. "Worst part is, I'd take everything I had to explain to her, because I drunk texted her, than even the thought of drunk texting the last ex." And there it was.

Rachel held back a sigh. So much for avoiding awkwardness. "She does have an annoying habit of getting her way." Rachel said, trying to salvage herself with an attempt at humour. "Sometimes I wonder if I hired her or she signed me."

Dani rolled her eyes, laughing a bit at Rachel's attempt at humor. "She certainly does, though I wouldn't have had to deal with it quite as heavily if I'd done the smart thing and just not texted anyone and gone to sleep." She shrugged. "The world may never know, cause we both know she'd deny it from now until forever and say it was all on you." She laughed a bit, looking down at the table. "Though, I think I'm glad I got it over with, talking with her. Even if I hate how it came about. I hadn't talked about a lot of what I told her since leaving Mississippi, or even really before that, either."

Rachel smiled at her at least partial success but the smile lasted only a few moments before slowly fading as she listened to Dani. Would that be how she felt once she told everyone, glad to be done with it? Or would she be left wishing she'd held her silence a little longer, hating what the truth had cost her. After a few seconds--it had been seconds, hadn't it--of staring at her empty plate, Rachel shook herself out of her reverie and flashed Dani a quick smile. "At least you didn't show up at the old apartment. I don't even know who's living there now."

Dani watched Rachel quietly, wondering just how much had changed for the brunette over the years. Sure, she'd seen bits and pieces on the internet when she'd google various shows she was curious about. But even she knew that was never close to the truth of the matter. It never was. She smiled, laughing a bit. "I wouldn't dare, don't like being surprised, certainly ain't gonna try that on someone else. I actually know who lives in my old apartment, but that's because he keeps getting my mail, even now. I swear, I have tried everything to get the mail to not show up there, but it never worked. I may also be sleeping on his couch. I think we almost gave Gunther a heart attack when we showed up for lunch yesterday, though. Looked like he'd seen a ghost or something."

Rachel tilted her head in curiosity. Now this was the sort of distraction she'd been hoping for. "Gunther?" She asked, leaning forward in her seat. "Who is Gunther, and perhaps more importantly, who is 'we'?"

[sophie-zadeh]

Interpersonal Touch: Death of the handshake–or is it?

A few months ago, I was interviewed by Jack McGinn from Seven West Media, for an article for Leader magazine, a quarterly magazine published for the members and alumni of the Australian Institute of Management Western Australia. The interview centred around how the COVID-19 pandemic might change the way we interact non-verbally in the office, over a long period, particularly in terms of handshakes and physical contact.

If you haven’t been able to get your hands on AIM WA’s Leader magazine, then read on to read the article here.

A Touchy Subject–The Article

It’s a long-held tradition in western work culture, but as the nation navigates a period of disruption which has heightened our awareness of interpersonal contact, could the events of 2020 spell the end of a workplace staple?

by Jack McGinn

The handshake has come to symbolise many things in the workplace setting – signifying everything from introduction and greeting to a job well done, and appearing in just about every business-related stock photo there is to be found.

However, in a world where spatial awareness has been brought front of mind by public health messaging around COVID-19 and more people are working from home, could the desire for touch in the office be diminished for good? And what would be lost in the workplace if the handshake was no longer?

According to Perth-based My Alcomy Non-Verbal Communication Specialist and Founder Sophie Halliday Zadeh, touch is one of the more important non-verbal connections people can make in an office environment.

“We lose a lot without touch,” she said. “Touch builds connection between parties – a handshake is not just a greeting, it also signals other things like a willingness to cooperate or even an agreement.

“A high-five signals unity and celebrates achievement, togetherness and partnership. We could get used to practicing new gestures, but without touch we lose the benefit of oxytocin.”

Oxytocin is a touch-related hormone commonly associated with social bonding, which when released provides an anti-anxiety effect and influences behaviours, according to Mrs Halliday Zadeh.

“Oxytocin increases empathy, generosity and compliance – these are all really important for a professional environment,” she said.

“The benefits of oxytocin are significant, particularly when we meet people for the first time.”

With social distancing in place in many offices, Mrs Halliday Zadeh said it was likely people would be more wary of touch in the office moving forward.

“Something most likely will carry forward from the new awareness we have around touch and hygiene in the workplace at the moment, but what that will be I’m not sure,” she said.

“We may just be more aware of what we do after touching someone. For example, if we still do handshakes and high-fives, thoughts around hygiene and contagion might result in people trying to avoid touching their face, buying more hand sanitiser and washing their hands more we’re probably doing a lot of that already.

“Taken to the extreme, it could be that touch like handshakes and high-fives become more taboo.”

In the latter case, Mrs Halliday Zadeh said a process of moralisation could occur, where the thought of a handshake or high-five could gradually become perceived as disgusting due to the health risk it potentially posed.

“The purpose of disgust is to keep us away from, or to eliminate, toxins and contaminants,” she said.

“What’s interesting about disgust is how it differs from some other emotions, in that our mind makes our perception of disgusting things a lot worse. So if we’re thinking about contamination and people spreading germs, the idea of the handshake or a high-five may have less of an appeal.”

Thankfully for handshake enthusiasts, it’s considered unlikely that the current pandemic will lead to the end of the custom entirely.

“The handshake is so engrained in western culture that I think it’s going to be really hard for it to disappear just like that,” Mrs Halliday Zadeh said.

“I do think our behaviours will change somewhat – for things like hand washing perhaps – but I think it would take more pandemics for it to be eliminated from western culture. “It is possible that could happen in our lifetime if we take into account predictions surrounding an increase in pandemics, but I think it would phase out over a longer term.”

A handshake is not just a greeting, it also signals other things like a willingness to cooperate or even an agreement.

The Western Australian COVID-19 Experience

Here in Western Australia, we’ve had a very different experience of the COVID-19 pandemic, compared to some Australian states and many other countries. I think I speak for most Western Australians when I say I feel very fortunate for how our Premier, Mark McGowan, took early action by closing down our borders (internally and to other states). At an international level, borders were also closed early.

As a result, in Western Australia, we haven’t had a case of community transmission since April—that’s almost six months ago. We’re pretty much back to normal and have been for quite some time. We’ve had a total of nine deaths. While this number is comparatively low, nine deaths is nine deaths too many and the COVID—19 experience for the families and friends affected, must feel very different from that of your average West Australian.

At the time of the interview, WA was already on a different path to much of the rest of the world. I assumed that behaviours in WA wouldn’t see much in the way of change and was—still am—curious as to how behaviour will change globally over a longer-term.

Observations of Touch in Western Australia

After a break from in-person training/workshops during our lockdown and some additional time after that to work on projects in the making, I’ve been back running my own in-person sessions for over a month now. Although you could say, I’ve still been living in a bubble. Since these are my workshops, I’ve had full control over the distance between tables/seating and have indulged in a Monica (from Friends) cleaning obsession. So much so that at times, I’ve wondered whether I’m more likely to die from disinfectant fumes than a pandemic.

Nonverbal Communication to Reassure Clients

I’ve been following my COVID-19 Plan (which businesses need to have in place here), to keep my clients safe and happy. Even though the risk in WA is currently low, I believe it’s important to signal to clients that their safety is my concern. This doesn’t just apply to COVID-19 times. The signals we send to our customers or clients, via the environments we set up and how we communicate and behave, whether deliberate or not, send messages that affect emotions and alter behaviour. Reassurance for clients is always important.

I’ve also been avoiding touch, like high-fives and handshakes, despite knowing and espousing the benefits of touch. That is, except for a handshake with a very polite child with multiple and complex needs. He introduced himself and held out his hand for a handshake. Knowing that just a moment before, I’d slathered my hands with hand sanitiser and after a quick nonverbal interaction with his mum, who nodded the go-ahead. I broke the rules of my COVID-19 Plan and shook his hand to fulfil his request.

As Individuals, we Experience and Respond to Emotion in our own way

Other than running my own classes and workshops and mundane tasks like shopping, I haven’t been out much. It’s not driven by fear, I’m very comfortable with the lack of COVID-19 in WA. I’d quite simply rather be at home with my husband and cat, where I can indulge in my three passions (other than the nonverbal one)—creating, gardening and cooking (or rather eating). I’m one of those people who loved being bound to the corners of their property during lockdown—living the good life.

We’re all very different as individuals, experiencing and responding to circumstances, environments and emotion in our own way. I realise my experience of being in lockdown is very different from that of others. For me, it was peaceful and yet energising. My biggest fear has been not to be able to leave Australia during the pandemic, to get back to my family in the UK, should I need to.

I haven’t been out and about seeing how the little world of WA is running, until last week when I gave a presentation hosted by someone other than me. I was invited to present as the guest speaker and gave my favourite type of presentation, an open-ended presentation which moves in the direction of where the audience decides to take it. If you ever ask me to present, ask me for this type of presentation. The attendees were very much engaged, with so many questions that we didn’t get around to everybody.

Behavioural Change Since COVID-19

I know it’s an observation from just one event, but what I found in terms of behavioural change since the pandemic, is that at the event, there was none. The world of WA seemed very much as I left it pre-COVID-19, with handshakes galore and little distancing. That’s not a criticism, it feels safe here and I fell back into this normality with ease. It’s difficult to unlearn behaviour and adopt new ones, especially when the circumstances feel unchanged.

However, I’m still certain that some behaviours, at an individual level, have changed and that these behaviours will remain. Just this morning, as I cleaned the equipment from last night’s art/nonverbal communication workshop series (Sculpt and Sip, Emotions, Expressions, Drawing and Clay), I was thinking about my heightened awareness of germs and transmission. It’s early days, but I suspect this behavioural change will continue–I’ll be cleaning equipment like this long into the future, regardless of whether there’s a pandemic or not.

Whether you’re from a place which has or hasn’t been significantly affected by COVID-19, what is your experience of behaviour change in yourself or others around you?

What happens to humans when we can’t touch?

This BBC Ideas clip gives an easy to understand overview about touch.

[elizabethrobertajones]

I think Destiel is the show's end game but they want it to be the very last thing. So they set up the story around season 8/9 because they didn't really know if they were gonna get picked up and they had to dial it back up when it continued. Now it started again during season 12 knowing the show is gonna end in the next couple of years for sure without it being cancelled. Maybe? Thoughts? Love your meta!

Hi! Love you too!

I weirdly had a conversation about this yesterday in private so I’ve managed to actually coalesce some thoughts about this… Lots of thoughts.

Seeing as I joined fandom in the end of season 9, I basically joined a fandom that had been pretty hurt by the spec that season 8 might have been endgame if the show was cancelled… Obviously we’re never going to get any sort of statement on it until after we know the definitive line on whatever else they were doing with Destiel after the point it matters, so it’s going to be small potatoes if it was or not. 

But I don’t particularly think that it actually WAS - and the different way Cas, and his and Dean’s relationship, was portrayed in season 8 immediately threw a whole bunch of fuel on the fire but it was shocking in a way that it was being given attention rather than specifically being romantic, and it’s hard to tell the two apart, especially when you’re looking in the subtext and seeing romantic stuff, which when you’re a starving shipper suddenly seems like a feast of both charged interaction AND the old subtext, which is suddenly slathered all over everything when Cas is a major part of Dean’s emotional arc for the first time (in a good way). 

(LOTS more under the cut)

Whether there was an intent or not, season 8 changed the game and without knowing what they were doing or where it would lead (aka hello I am Hindsight from the future) it would look pretty shocking and suggestive that something might come of it. Because I know I’d flip out in the same scenario just from wondering, and kind of feel like I’m in the same place after season 12, because again it feels like the game changed.

I’m trying hard not to leap to conclusions to be honest, and I do *not* want to be in the middle of it which is partially why I’ve reacted so strongly to twice in the last month people using me as some sort of fandom leader whose words mean more than others’, because I really really hope not and I wish I didn’t have to disclaimer it because it makes my ego look enormous but on the other hand twice in a month is a pretty frightening wake up call about how people see me?

So. 

Even if it was written with intent in season 8, we’re so far past the point that if that was their plan they could have delayed it over and over without doing something substantial *in Carver era* about it, that it twists the fandom narrative about this into the show being very cruel. This narrative is a great one for people who feel wanky, to feel like they’ve got justified reasons to be upset that it didn’t happen and that they’re getting strung along. I’m not saying everyone who thinks that Destiel was slated to go canon in season 8 does, but it is a great narrative for those who do to feel somewhat certain the show is deliberately dangling and then holding back on Destiel, because nothing bonds a community like feeling as if some more important group of people is mistreating them. Justified rage and all that. If you don’t like the show because you feel it got kinda shitty over the last few years but instead need to take it as a personal betrayal in order to break up with the show, it’s a great thing to get riled up about. The bait and switch seems clear to them, and there’s been many discussions of the way they seem to build up only to yank away, in every season since 8. And part of the build up is meta writers freaking out about how canon it all looks and being naturally excited to see what happens with the story they’ve been reading positively (and this isn’t our fault, though some people think we’re complicit in queerbaiting just by wanting to analyse the show and give any credit to teasing the ship by pointing out its structural integrity).

Some people who see the idea it was going to be canon in season 8 positively also tell this as a way of making themselves feel good that it has been on the books and therefore has a chance of going canon in the future. 

You can get the same story of the show’s intent in two different places, but the ONLY way we can ever construct this narrative is by reading into the show and trying to guess at what they’re doing because they’ve never admitted to writing a Destiel narrative. 

A side effect of the 9x03 wank was a bemused message from someone waaaay up the chain and out of the writers’ room, who said they’d never been pitched the story. I’m inclined to believe that, because I don’t believe in any conspiracy except for the NHI (shh don’t ask if you don’t remember :P), meaning that at no point in season 8 was it EVER anything more than subtextual fun from the writers among themselves. And nothing that was on the books at least in the first half of season 9. Like, at the most generous thought that it might be later if you REALLY want to go hard on theorising about what they’re up to, it wasn’t at that point. 

(The NHI sprang from 10x10 so I’m covered there.)

(Also if you see people handwave 9x03′s wank as a conspiracy to cover it up and that it HAD been real but NDAs mean they’d say it wasn’t, don’t use a pinch of salt, put a whole salt circle around that thought and run away.)

Another thing about this sort of expectation or narrative is that I feel the recent meta writers wank has made it really obvious there’s still people in fandom hanging on for fanon content and character stanning who really don’t need more canon to unfurl, ever, and are only going to get more angry about it, and were hurt at some point in one of these mass-wanks about the show, probably one of these early positivity bubble bursts, but who nevertheless feel like meta still has some sort of mystical power or social influence or… something or other… that from how it sounds, seems like they were once all in on the “it should be canon at the end of season 8″ hype or equivalent for their season, and of course were shattered when it didn’t happen. 

And if season 8 didn’t finish them off, later things did - season 9 was a horrific obstacle course even just with 9x03′s wank and then JIB at the end of the year and the “we don’t play it that way” comment. Which I am contractually obliged to repeat every time I quote Jensen to give context of “as in a secret relationship where they’ve been fucking off screen as per whatever dirty fanart he was shown to get the concept of what he thought Destiel was”

I am fairly certain that season 8 hype was partially manufactured (a Known Fandom Cultist was in the mix and the heady combination of a new big fandom flooding tumblr from Netflix and all the season 8 subtext AND the chance for attention and followers is a wonderful mix for exploitation when the fandom hasn’t been hurt before from this particular direction), and definitely this hype was used to whip the fandom up into a frenzy of expectation that a lot of people either innocently repeated or expanded on in their own meta because the idea sounded interesting or halfway plausible based on their theories (as it was a positive growth of Destiel subtext and narrative ANYWAY) or they thought we deserved the best world of the show, or else they weren’t meta writers and just read it and bought into it and allowed this narrative to have *incredible* power over them by putting all their thoughts into someone else’s basket, and sharing the ideas and being excited in gifsets and fic and other fandom contributions for how the show had become a romance overnight.

(Spoilers: it hadn’t.) 

I don’t like theories which use abstract examples to hold up to the show like basic plot structures, character arc templates, etc, pretty much exactly for this reason, because you can ONLY apply those as analysis backwards on finished arcs without immediately being wrong about something, and that’s a generous thought for if you’re not trying to whip up a frenzy of enthusiasm for fake emotional currency of Tumblr followers :P Essentially I have no problem with meta written about this sort of thing so long as it isn’t “they ARE using this trope so this HAS TO MEAN that this WILL happen,” or “they ARE employing such and such narrative structure and that means they WILL do this next step exactly as it says here” 

… I could crack open my copy of The Seven Basic Plots right, now, pick one at random, apply it to the season 13 spoilers with dead certainty that it all adds up to Destiel and cash in my entire reputation on a 1/7 chance of being utterly right that the structure will look like it’s going that way to the letter, and hope I’d only lose a third of my new followers in the resulting storm when I’m not right about the pay off :P 

If you just think it’s interesting and might be USEFUL to try and UNDERSTAND what will happen next, then by all means as long as you’re not using it and hoping that it sounds academic will mean people without a good grounding in rationalising these things for themselves will just assume you’re smart and know what you’re talking about. And then you use it to push home ideas which you can’t possibly know like that Destiel is being built up to go canon at the end of the season/endgame or whatever, some people will go right along with it because it’s tantalising.

Whatever happened, though, I have heard more than enough since joining fandom about the end of season 8 wank and people quitting the fandom and basically the first positivity bubble shattering (over an episode I feel does no harm and considerable good to the ship without making it canon), so that even before season 9 the wank and bitterness about many things such as the disproportionate freak out about Tracey Bell being a love interest or rumours spread that April or Nora would be multi-episode love interests for Cas, had everyone behaving like the way fandom does before every season or character announcement now. Which is to get disproportionately upset about things which have not yet happened, because they’re already feeling *so hurt* by the things which have, for not living up to the expectations, that surely everything is IT, the END, the thing that will kill Destiel out of the show forever. Every female character is a threat and everyone’s always certain the show is out to damage the thing they love just out of spite.

(I know some people will pop up like, it’s not about the ship, it’s about Cas! but I really can not help feeling that it’s just a sliding of feelings from the ship, because of feeling Dean was horrible to Cas over season 9 and 10 for example, to being over-protective of Cas in particular, and, like, I get it. I do. I don’t feel it that way because I never got invested in any particular pay off that I then didn’t feel happened, and that by whatever point, Cas should be living with them or getting his own episodes on the regular or that Dean should have apologised for whatever, or that they should now be dating. I have a personal investment in this tailored to look for positive things and see good changes like Cas getting more episodes ABOUT him, a strong place in the narrative, a in-depth personal arc, and love from the cast and show. For others, almost nothing will go far enough towards what they want, so even these huge positive changes from what I experienced in season 10 as a Cas fan will get over the hurdle.)

I also think there’s a serious secondary problem that for some people the promise of “it’s going canon at the end of season 8″ turned into “well of course it got renewed so it’ll be whenever the show ends INSTEAD” but carried on essentially giving the same super positive message that Destiel was absolutely 100% on the mind of all the writers all the time as the overall conclusion of the character arc. Which is something you can almost never tell when people write about it and I think again is more like an idea that moved into general conversation so I don’t think there’s really anyone out there I encounter who is angling for anything. But it can be misleading about the concept that just because meta writers find a consistent narrative and are optimistic it will continue and be honoured through the show, that we’re saying that there’s a guaranteed endgame and everyone ought to hang onto it. 

Honestly if you can’t hack the wait, I’d much rather people went full-fanon, didn’t cast opinions on the show at all, put away the negativity in favour of enjoying the stuff they like - fics, art, canon-free headcanons, etc, and when the end of the show came, if they even halfway liked the sound of what people were saying about it, went and re-watched from the start to re-immerse themselves and try a positive take on it knowing what they were in for, canon or not. I’ve stopped watching several times out of DGAF feelings towards the show (weird dog episodes :|) and come back and again I can’t really claim to have the most healthy attitude, everyone follow my lead, but I do think I can be objective and careful about how I engage with it and try and not get sucked into negativity OR positivity rollercoasters that only go to hurt town. >.> 

I mean, I honestly feel in season 12, it’s the first time we’ve had an entire writers’ room of writers I even think *know* about it as a solid narrative construct (and yes I am including Buckleming because they DO write Destiel into the show, they just also write all the racism and rape and whatever else in along with it :P) Between the scattered application of serious subtext through Carver era and the approach to canon they occasionally winked at, they never seemed particularly competent at the work needed to actually make Destiel canon if it was EVER supposed to be building up towards it. I think the bait and switch yank away is too clever for them and their handling of the narrative :P I don’t think they’re stupid but, NHI aside, they are not up for complicated conspiracies.

To be serious, though… I know people say they saw it all the time from space, and their casual viewer mom did etc, but the fact remains they never wrote a CLEAR romance narrative except for the splitting Dean and Cas at the start of season 10 and *paralleling* their narratives with Crowley and Hannah, while everything else has been situational tropes or strong emotional narratives which could work either way. A slow burn romance in a show that will admit it’s one will use many similar tropes but also ones which expressly make it a romance that everyone’s supposed to read as happening, usually quite corny, on the nose ones, and Destiel has more of the subtextual or emotionally bonding romantic tropes than like… anything else ever… but very few of the “oops walked in on him changing, let me just accidentally turn around again on the way out the door” type nonsense that broadcasts to people on Mars that they’re going to bang, and probably soon. I say very few because there’s little outliers like the boner scene or “i can’t let you do this” which are copy pasted from corny romance, but of ALL the Destiel that happened in season 12, ONLY the mixtape crosses boundaries like that and even so people CAN argue it’s platonic love, and the only thing we can really say is nonsense is that it’s not conveying any love at all. 

Something like Crowley mourning his romance with demon!Dean and looking at photos to some sort of “all by myself” level song was very clearly a rom com trope and the one that for me sealed the deal that Drowley was intentionally meant to be seen in canon. Something like Dean and Aaron is disproportionately powerful because their main interpersonal interaction was literally described as being something from a rom com BY the director’s commentary :P Destiel is a 10 year old behemoth, largely NOT defined by rom com tropes, but with a few peppered here and there in a low enough concentration that it’s not the absolute norm to assume it’s going to happen.

But in season 12, like in season 8, Cas got a LOT of attention in the story, a good chunk of that was through Dean because Dean’s got the old profound bond, and Cas and Dean are intrinsically and inseparably connected in some ways that no amount of bro-ing up with Sam or forging a tentative friendship with Mary will do to NOT make it seem like Cas is talking to Dean first and foremost, especially when all 3 Winchesters pile through the door and Cas just says “Dean” :P 

This season has a STRONG narrative about Cas’s relationship to the Winchesters and through Dean in particular, and there’s one of the stand out romantic tropes in basically ever in this season, along with several other hallmarks of the things that made season 8 such fertile ground. 

12x10 had the crypt scene rehash to hopefully end these loops around Dean and Cas with the positive conclusion it needed, and a lot of the meta about season 8 flipped out about the human/supernatural relationships (with Charlie and Gilda foreshadowing the crypt scene perfectly, because Robbie) so 12x10 filled in a missing link from season 8, of a story about how angels might be into humans too. 

And it was the season with Aaron which was Dean’s personal stand out bi moment which made a lot of people feel the show was going to start taking it seriously on his behalf, and season 12 had Aaron back, even if it was only one scene, it was a reminder he existed and the main interesting context for most people was him and Dean. 

And season 8 had the angel fall spell, including the cupid nonsense in 8x23, and the nephilim which was the early forerunner of the suggestion of 12x10, that angels and humans can couple up, while in season 12 the angel fall spell was directly mentioned, 12x15 mirrored the first Hell trial, nephilim were back, and Crowley offered to close the gates of Hell. So season 8′s mytharc was slathered all over the season. 

And in the crypt scene Dean was supposed to say “I love you” and in 12x12 they found a way to make Cas say it instead, which I agree was the more logical progression, that Cas would crack first :P 

Anyway, season 8 was all over this season but season 12 felt amped up and going places season 8 didn’t, going several steps further and as I’ve said before to go straight from season 8 meta mindset to season 12, would utterly blow your mind. 

BUT to go right back to the start, I don’t think season 8 was building to canon Destiel ever, not even as a failsafe for cancelleation. I don’t think that the planned “I love you” was going to do more than make the fight about canon that much more bloody if it aired and doesn’t help even without it airing, knowing it was going to happen. Jensen was the one who argued it away, and they agreed for character reasons supposedly, so there was no meddling from above to say, wait, hit the brakes, we can’t barrel right into the canon build up.

I think season 8 was supposed to be used to bring Cas back in from the cold - kind of literally with using Purgatory to stagger his return - because after season 6 & 7 showing Dean cared about him in ANY way was important, and to establish that whatever Cas had done, Dean would forgive and want to rescue him and have him back in the family. I don’t think season 8 is a clean slate for Cas despite his attempt to put on the old uniform and carve a new path for himself in like… 2 episodes after he got back while he was still being fucked around with by Heaven unknowingly to him. He’s still burdened with guilt, and if anything, the season renewal is probably more to blame for stretching out Dean forgiving him than smooching him, with a lil more manufactured drama and Dean lashing out at him for season 6 & 7 in 8x22. He lashes out again in 9x22, but by season 10 he’s pretty much moved on, to be angry about like… everything else to push Cas away at the end of the season. I guess they’re living in the moment rather than the past by 10x22 :P Pfft. Sorry, got to be facetious about some things here.

I think the focus on Cas in season 8 was much more about his repentance and forgiveness from others - Metatron snags him by seeing he still wants to repent for Heaven, WHILE he’s in the gas station trying to buy stuff to repent to Dean for OTHER stuff. I think it makes perfect sense to read the season 8 narrative as a strong emotional narrative between Dean and Cas specifically engineered to delve into their relationship issues, let Cas back in to TFW, let him back into Dean’s heart, and try and establish for US what Cas is truly like as we’ve never been so deep in his head as in season 8 as a whole, except for in 6x20 where we learned A: he loved them and Dean in particular, and B: he was busy lying and betraying them and justifying it all on the slimmest reasons to keep himself going. If you love Cas, 6x20 is a goldmine. If you’re indifferent or don’t like him, as a one episode event, it might not warm your heart especially with the end of season 6 and his resulting failures, especially perceived moral ones against his friends. 

Season 8 let us right into Cas and showed us his inner processes, desires, and a narrative about how he wanted to do penance for season 6 and 7, and a feeling that Sam and Dean love him back, of course, but to them Cas is still a shaky person to depend on and Dean is going a great deal on faith that Cas is good even while thinking he’s sketchy and lying the entire time between 8x07 and 8x17, showing a conflict between Dean’s baseline faith in Cas and Cas’s behaviour towards them. Being in his head and seeing Naomi all season makes US insiders to Cas’s issues and puts us on his side firmly by knowing WHY he’s acting this way, so it’s a good storyline to nurture us through Dean’s issues with Cas while being given an inside line to being sympathetic to Cas since we know what Dean doesn’t about how he’s being controlled the entire time. 

Taken in that spirit, I can see the show just wanting to reconcile TFW and Dean and Cas in particular as a goal to shoot towards and the conclusion might just have been that they all make it good before whatever ending they had in mind for the main plot stuff. Along with a healthy dose of subtext to keep you guessing about how that relationship was. 

Anyway, as I said, I don’t like subscribing to theories which are too speculative and treating them like they’re too real and like… definitely what the show is doing… makes me really itchy for the above reasons in the fan wank section of this reply… so the one that Destiel is now being woven into season 12 to the same way it was in season 8 to the eventual aim of canon puts me off for the reasons I hope you can guess from all that rambling :P 

Even if I have hope that it MIGHT be on the books doesn’t mean I’ll really commit to saying it’s narratively going anywhere for sure, because that seems like a great way to start a cult and end up in the shame bin and reviled by people one day. I want to see fandom through to the end of the show and see what happens with you all, so short-sighted plans about building a rocket to Mars in my back yard seems like a great way to end up sitting in a fizzled out rocket still on the ground in my yard with a bunch of people who want their money back :D

I do think the endgame the show is working towards is going to be positive for Destiel fans and probably at the very least a good final touching moment, although I think the show will pretty much certainly end on Sam and Dean together as the sign off moment, even if the moment before that is Dean smooching Cas in the kitchen before grabbing a couple of beers to go hang with his brother just the 2 of them out on the front porch of their weirdo hunter commune house. Or whatever happens. But you know, even in the Destiel is totally canon and it all ends happily world, it’s not ABOUT them, it’s about Sam and Dean and as much as it’s about everyone else they love too, they’d be there to show there’s a world for them to save/that they have saved and can retire to, if Mary and Cas survive to the end. 

But there are many subtextual ways between that hazy dream ending and, like, total character death save the world through mass sacrifice kinda ending, and all of which can make Destiel look like it was where things were/would have gone. At the current point in canon you can say the exact same thing, which is the point I was making that went right over some heads where they got fixated on me dancing gleefully around Cas’s dead body fulfilling my prophecy or whatever. If the show ended there, with the way Dean and Cas were connected over the season, you could argue their hearts belonged to each other, but they never got a chance to really do anything about it. 

It’s the shitty subtextual Cas is dead ending I’d always dreaded if the show really wanted to fuck with us, but it’s one they could have done, and it would have left things open ended enough for academics and fans and whoever else to yell forever about if it had all meant what we thought it did, to a collection of contradictory comments from cast and crew.

The only way is up from here for Cas’s personal development, seeing as he’s finally doing the truly transformative death experience, and Cas’s personal development is where Destiel subtext is most closely tied, while Dean’s personal development has been a mess of performing Dean and bi Dean and issues with his parents and the codependency, and he’s opening up like a beautiful flower, but it’s still largely a sort of concept that Destiel can just sort of happen when Dean’s got far enough down the line on dealing with all these issues as a kind of lump problem, and Cas’s arc is much more mythological, tied into identity and belonging, but the target has been clear since like… 4x22… (and I mean “clear” rather than “oh shit it’s going to haaaappen” like it is from the start of the season :P) that it’s going to all land on Dean. And clear since like… idk, 6x20? that the feeling is pretty romantic from his end so in an ideal world he lands on Dean romantically. 

And all subsequent positive development on the ship’s possibility has been clearing hurdles and tidying up character development that’s all pretty much check lists made back in season 8 or after the wank when with clearer heads people began to wonder just what was standing in the way of them if they were going to go canon, but not right then. Stuff like Claire and the vessel occupancy issue. Or the slow progress of Cas putting words to his family to call them that and the Bunker home and so on. Steps that all the stretching of the story has let them explore in minute detail.

So I can see that it’s possible that this all develops into something that works incredibly well for the chances of Destiel and since season 10 I’ve had the suspicion, thanks to Claire and the Dean-focused character development episodes, that they were working on the same tick list as us. But I’m not sure if it will pay off exactly as we want to see, while at the same time  being over the moon delighted when another step forward happens. And season 12 moved a lot of ground, some of it unexpectedly quickly, and other things like, unburying them from ruts they’d been stuck in forever. 

I don’t think going on from here season 13 will be immediately disappointing if Cas and Dean aren’t desperately romantically linked all the time because the show still acts like they have their own personal dramas when it’s not letting them see each other as the only people in a room. I don’t think it would be very productive to tally up events as if they’re constructing a narrative where we have to wait for pay off at a very set date, because even though I think that pay off will come at a very set date if we’re lucky and they honour their subtext. The show doesn’t seem to have an end, I honestly don’t trust Dabb as far as I can throw him not to just randomly make Destiel canon because he thinks it’ll be funny and make us happy because I have no grasp on his showrunning except he’s a massive troll with his finger on the fandom pulse. And honestly I don’t get much pleasure from constructing the elaborate forward narratives when I can be much more excited about the immediate stuff, living in the moment, and taking the Destiel subtext as it comes. 

After the mixtape moment there was a lot of spec about if we’d see it again or what it meant building forwards, and I felt it wasn’t going to be mentioned again, and that it was much more valuable for that moment and what it told us about Dean and Cas, than using it for a forwards sign, which to me often just means taking quick stock of a thing happening in present canon then barrelling ahead into the future. While to me the richness in the story is wallowing in what has been opened up about the past, about Dean making the mixtape, when he gave it to Cas, and all the backstory implied by the 5 second moment of that exchange, because it implies so much more going backwards than it ever meant going forwards, as it wasn’t mentioned again all season. We could go forwards knowing Dean and Cas were at the sort of stage of the relationship where mixtapes happen in such a way, but we can’t use it to divine an entire forward plot about it, because that way lies the sort of “make everything Cas ever does about guinea pigs and bees” nonsense because fixating on passing moments as information about character stuff we need to know for later, that there’ll be a bigger pay off later, to me does sort of ruin the fun of the present.

There’s manageable foreshadowing and speculation like guessing what the turducken sign is all about, because its original context was very Destiel, and there’s stuff like guessing about the PB&J where it has so many contexts that even when it connects to Cas I saw that as somewhat connecting him with *Kevin* and lil baby Sam in 9x07 when Cas was eating it in 9x11, and the Destiel connection was the link to humanity, and Dean as being somewhat connected as the PB&J provider to their weirdo family. But he also brought Kevin prune juice as a far more loving gesture, you know? :P Until we have context on these things I hate to get invested in many forward spec things as Destiel related or feeding a larger narrative.

I also think there’s a big difference between meta and spec and I am much more comfortable offering analysis of what has already happened and maybe venturing an idea of how things will play out but not wedding myself to it, especially as that’s how I’ve seen people get fandom burn out, and also I hate looking wrong :P So for my own ego, again, it’s nice to sit and enjoy spec as entertainment but not get so involved I’m writing convoluted theories about it.

Tl;dr, I’m hopefully understandably wary about what canon positivity can do to a fandom, even just from second-hand tales and snooping old blogs back in season 9 when it was all a bit closer to the surface. I have a very comfortable place I’m sitting, which has been rocked about a bit by how on the nose season 12 was, but until I can be sure I really do not want to ever commit to a speculation about anything being set up for canon that we can see in the narrative. I think we’re at an AMAZING place with where we’ve progressed in canon but I’m trying so so hard to keep it contained as if season 12 is where it all ends for now, and I will try and take each episode as it comes when it’s what people might read about what happens next with Destiel, because none of us are qualified to answer it. And the meta community seems to be in a really weird place again with an up surge in positivity that’s making the gold standard of speculation rise, and I’d rather learn from the past and be OVER CAREFUL than get involved in a huge fandom fuck up about all this :P And I hope if I really am supposedly that influential, I can try and be an example of not counting chickens, even when I think I’m holding a very full basket.