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fozmeadows · 4 years

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race & culture in fandom

For the past decade, English language fanwriting culture post the days of LiveJournal and Strikethrough has been hugely shaped by a handful of megafandoms that exploded across AO3 and tumblr – I’m talking Supernatural, Teen Wolf, Dr Who, the MCU, Harry Potter, Star Wars, BBC Sherlock – which have all been overwhelmingly white. I don’t mean in terms of the fans themselves, although whiteness also figures prominently in said fandoms: I mean that the source materials themselves feature very few POC, and the ones who are there tended to be done dirty by the creators.

Periodically, this has led POC in fandom to point out, extremely reasonably, that even where non-white characters do get central roles in various media properties, they’re often overlooked by fandom at large, such that the popular focus stays primarily on the white characters. Sometimes this happened (it was argued) because the POC characters were secondary to begin with and as such attracted less fan devotion (although this has never stopped fandoms from picking a random white gremlin from the background cast and elevating them to the status of Fave); at other times, however, there has been a clear trend of sidelining POC leads in favour of white alternatives (as per Finn, Poe and Rose Tico being edged out in Star Wars shipping by Hux, Kylo and Rey). I mention this, not to demonize individuals whose preferred ships happen to involve white characters, but to point out the collective impact these trends can have on POC in fandom spaces: it’s not bad to ship what you ship, but that doesn’t mean there’s no utility in analysing what’s popular and why through a racial lens.

All this being so, it feels increasingly salient that fanwriting culture as exists right now developed under the influence and in the shadow of these white-dominated fandoms – specifically, the taboo against criticizing or critiquing fics for any reason. Certainly, there’s a hell of a lot of value to Don’t Like, Don’t Read as a general policy, especially when it comes to the darker, kinkier side of ficwriting, and whether the context is professional or recreational, offering someone direct, unsolicited feedback on their writing style is a dick move. But on the flipside, the anti-criticism culture in fanwriting has consistently worked against fans of colour who speak out about racist tropes, fan ignorance and hurtful portrayals of living cultures. Voicing anything negative about works created for free is seen as violating a core rule of ficwriting culture – but as that culture has been foundationally shaped by white fandoms, white characters and, overwhelmingly, white ideas about what’s allowed and what isn’t, we ought to consider that all critical contexts are not created equal.

Right now, the rise of C-drama (and K-drama, and J-drama) fandoms is seeing a surge of white creators – myself included – writing fics for fandoms in which no white people exist, and where the cultural context which informs the canon is different to western norms. Which isn’t to say that no popular fandoms focused on POC have existed before now – K-pop RPF and anime fandoms, for example, have been big for a while. But with the success of The Untamed, more western fans are investing in stories whose plots, references, characterization and settings are so fundamentally rooted in real Chinese history and living Chinese culture that it’s not really possible to write around it. And yet, inevitably, too many in fandom are trying to do just that, treating respect for Chinese culture or an attempt to understand it as optional extras – because surely, fandom shouldn’t feel like work. If you’re writing something for free, on your own time, for your own pleasure, why should anyone else get to demand that you research the subject matter first?

Because it matters, is the short answer. Because race and culture are not made-up things like lightsabers and werewolves that you can alter, mock or misunderstand without the risk of hurting or marginalizing actual real people – and because, quite frankly, we already know that fandom is capable of drawing lines in the sand where it chooses. When Brony culture first reared its head (hah), the online fandom for My Little Pony – which, like the other fandoms we’re discussing here, is overwhelmingly female – was initially welcoming. It felt like progress, that so many straight men could identify with such a feminine show; a potential sign that maybe, we were finally leaving the era of mainstream hypermasculine fandom bullshit behind, at least in this one arena. And then, in pretty much the blink of an eye, things got overwhelmingly bad. Artists drawing hardcorn porn didn’t tag their works as adult, leading to those images flooding the public search results for a children’s show. Women were edged out of their own spaces. Bronies got aggressive, posting harsh, ugly criticism of artists whose gijinka interpretations of the Mane Six as humans were deemed insufficiently fuckable.

The resulting fandom conflict was deeply unpleasant, but in the end, the verdict was laid down loud and clear: if you cannot comport yourself like a decent fucking person – if your base mode of engagement within a fandom is to coopt it from the original audience and declare it newly cool only because you’re into it now; if you do not, at the very least, attempt to understand and respect the original context so as to engage appropriately (in this case, by acknowledging that the media you’re consuming was foundational to many women who were there before you and is still consumed by minors, and tagging your goddamn porn) – then the rest of fandom will treat you like a social biohazard, and rightly so.

Here’s the thing, fellow white people: when it comes to C-drama fandoms and other non-white, non-western properties? We are the Bronies.

Not, I hasten to add, in terms of toxic fuckery – though if we don’t get our collective shit together, I’m not taking that darkest timeline off the table. What I mean is that, by virtue of the whiteminding which, both consciously and unconsciously, has shaped current fan culture, particularly in terms of ficwriting conventions, we’re collectively acting as though we’re the primary audience for narratives that weren’t actually made with us in mind, being hostile dicks to Chinese and Chinese diaspora fans when they take the time to point out what we’re getting wrong. We’re bristling because we’ve conceived of ficwriting as a place wherein No Criticism Occurs without questioning how this culture, while valuable in some respects, also serves to uphold, excuse and perpetuate microaggresions and other forms of racism, lashing out or falling back on passive aggression when POC, quite understandably, talk about how they’re sick and tired of our bullshit.

An analogy: one of the most helpful and important tags on AO3 is the one for homophobia, not just because it allows readers to brace for or opt out of reading content they might find distressing, but because it lets the reader know that the writer knows what homophobia is, and is employing it deliberately. When this concept is tagged, I – like many others – often feel more able to read about it than I do when it crops up in untagged works of commercial fiction, film or TV, because I don’t have to worry that the author thinks what they’re depicting is okay. I can say definitively, “yes, the author knows this is messed up, but has elected to tell a messed up story, a fact that will be obvious to anyone who reads this,” instead of worrying that someone will see a fucked up story blind and think “oh, I guess that’s fine.” The contextual framing matters, is the point – which is why it’s so jarring and unpleasant on those rare occasions when I do stumble on a fic whose author has legitimately mistaken homophobic microaggressions for cute banter. This is why, in a ficwriting culture that otherwise aggressively dislikes criticism, the request to tag for a certain thing – while still sometimes fraught – is generally permitted: it helps everyone to have a good time and to curate their fan experience appropriately.

But when white and/or western fans fail to educate ourselves about race, culture and the history of other countries and proceed to deploy that ignorance in our writing, we’re not tagging for racism as a thing we’ve explored deliberately; we’re just being ignorant at best and hateful at worst, which means fans of colour don’t know to avoid or brace for the content of those works until they get hit in the face with microaggresions and/or outright racism. Instead, the burden is placed on them to navigate a minefield not of their creation: which fans can be trusted to write respectfully? Who, if they make an error, will listen and apologise if the error is explained? Who, if lived experience, personal translations or cultural insights are shared, can be counted on to acknowledge those contributions rather than taking sole credit? Too often, fans of colour are being made to feel like guests in their own house, while white fans act like a tone-policing HOA.

Point being: fandom and ficwriting cultures as they currently exist badly need to confront the implicit acceptance of racism and cultural bias that underlies a lot of community rules about engagement and criticism, and that needs to start with white and western fans. We don’t want to be the new Bronies, guys. We need to do better.

#race #racism #c-drama #fandom #fan wank #fandom wank #microaggresions #culture #the untamed #bronies #whiteness #ficwriting #fanwriting #cultural bias #discourse

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lhaewiel · 3 years

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As mentioned, I am introducing my headcanons/heartcanons about the Yunmeng trio and sweets.

Thanks to @featherfur for the endless source of inspiration <3

So.

Let's start with our favourite gremlin Wei Wuxian. We know from canon as well that the way to Wei Ying's stomach heart is spices. And yeah, sometimes he exagerates, but in general spices are the bread of every Yunmeng resident, so yea. But will WWX eat sweets? Sure, he is not a picky eater, he knows starvation and he will not say no to some sweet pastries - I remember him recalling osmanthus cakes from Gusu at the Wen Indoctrination Camp, so yeah. Still, spices are at the top of his list, although I am 100% sure that it can be a tie with dishes that combine sweet and spicy together. In a modern AU I can totally see him go crazy over hot pepper dark chocolate - yes it exists and yes it is one of my favourite things in the whole world. Like, look at the below pic and tell me to my face that this would not be something modern!WWX would love

Then there is sweet Yanli. I seem to recall that she has some sort of chronical illness? Yes? No? Pls correct me. She has to be careful of what she eats. She says that she does not like sweets, she will decline offers, but will take teeny tiny bites from her brothers' sweet dishes, if she really does not have any choice she will take the smallest plate among the lot. Sometimes she really cannot finish the plate and her brothers offer to help her. But we know that shijie's heart is full of soup, so she will most likely make a sweet kind of soup,like squash and carrot - yes, her pork rib and lotus root soup is legendary, but I feel like she has specialized in making soups, much to the Meishan Yu Sect dismay who wanted to see in her a proper poisons master and instead they are stuck with a healing master.

But. But the sweetest tooth among them is our beloved Jiang Cheng. Like, let's face it. This man has had a bitter life ever since childhood, thus resulting him in being Exactly That Bitch and we all love him for that. You do you, king. He figured that at least one thing in his life had to be sweet, and he decided to just start devouring any sugary edible thing on his way. People think that "you are what you eat" and they see JC eat a pastry bigger than his head and think "aw, he must be the sweetest", just to be disappointed and shocked when JC bitches back at someone. The Jiang disciples know that and especially the elder women will bake him all sorts of sweet goods. JGY will have some pastries brought in whilst he discusses JL's custody with JC and the pastries disappear in the X dimension straight into JC's stomach. LXC will bring osmanthus cakes from Gusu and he will have to bring extra bc half batch will disappear with JC. Someone tries to point out that too many sweets are bad for his health and JC will give them the Blank Stare Of Doom and say: "my life is bitter enough, the sweets are the only thing keeping me from flipping my shit at you all, consider yourselves lucky enough." And no one questions his choices anymore bc they do not want to touch the trauma with a 10ft pole.

So. Thoughts? Comments? Additions?

#the untamed #jiang cheng #the untamed headcanons #headcanons #jc and sweets #yanli and sweets #wei wuxian and sweets #wei wuxian #jiang yanli #yunmeng trio #yunmeng siblings

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kkeidawrites · 4 years

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That Night

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Loki x African!goddess reader

I see that there is not a lot of Loki x reader stories which I think is weird, so I decided to write a couple of my own. And nobody is gone stop me either. So enjoy this first chapter to an upcoming mini series!

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A party was perhaps always being held in Asgard. Whether it was Thor returning home, another battle won, or Hell they had a party just because. It was quite a bore with the constant partying and the people that would attend made things even more boring.

The dancers would shake their hips the same way and the dishes the servants would serve were always be the same. Nothing was new. Nothing peaked my interest.

The whispers about me never ceased, being the adopted son of Odin, the infamous Loki, God of Mischief, still chasing his father’s tailcoats for the throne. Loki, the forgotten son. The son with no legacy. Bah, it was all the same. I should turn everyone here in the hall into gremlins.

I sat on a plush sofa, pretty much on my own, since nobody would want to sit by the trickster Loki. It’s fine, not like I had that many friends anyway.

A jester preformed a trick making the crowds express gasps of excitement and claps rang out in the hall. I rolled my eyes, I will never understand how people can be so interested in this.

I did not want to attend this worthless banquet in the first place, but my mother bless her soul, is a very persuasive woman and I unfortunately fall for it every time. Now, here I was, dressed in green almost black robes and armor that had some pieces of gold imbedded into it.

Swirling the wine in my cup, the familiar sound of heels clacking against the polished marbled floor made my eyes look up.

The black dress reminded me of the stars in the galaxy, it caressed her dark skin and hugged all the curves on her figure. Her hair coily and I bet if I had the chance to touch it it would be as soft as a lamb’s wool. It covered the side of her face and I didn’t have the chance to get a good look at her, but, just from how she carried herself, I knew she had to be beautiful. Probably for the best I didn’t see what she looked like, who would turn their interests on the God of Mischief? She held her head up high as if she were the queen of Asgard herself.

As she walked into the banquet hall, her pace was quick as she approached my mother who was standing with her normal group of nobles and who in turn brought the beauty in a warm embrace. She smiled in greeting to the woman as she spoke to my mother. The way they spoke made it seem like they have known each other for years.

Taking a swig of my wine, I averted my eyes elsewhere. She was probably another noble that was only here to attend the banquet then return to wherever she had came from to brag about her time on Asgard. There were many of Gods and Goddesses who took advantage of our kingdom to try and take over. I scoffed at the thought, every time that someone would try and take Asgard would only return to their realm in pieces, how others think so little of Asgard when we indeed are the best.

The clacking of heels broke me from my thoughts and my mother calling my name made me look up to see both my mother and the mysterious woman. Damnit, I hated being right, she wasn’t just beautiful, she was gorgeous. A vision. I gulped at how beautiful she was and I saw my mother flick her wrist up to tell me to stand up and present myself. I stood up from the couch fixing the front of my robes.

I looked her over, shamelessly and my eyes lingered on her chest until my mother cleared her throat to avert my eyes to hers. She tilted her head towards the woman and I cleared my throat, placing a hand on my chest to bow my head in greeting.

“Good evening mother, as always you are the most beautiful in all of Asgard.” I say. My mother waves away my compliment, bashful of my words and puts a hand on the woman’s arm.

“This is Mawu, she is the Goddess of the night, of joy, and of motherhood as well as the ruler of Midgard’s wisdom and knowledge. You have met her mother, Nana Buluku a couple of times.” Frigga says.

I roll my eyes at that. I had met that woman thousands of years ago, I cannot remember what she looked like. The beauty, Mawu, looks me over then raises an eyebrow at me.

“He is your son?” She turns to mother.

“Yes, my youngest,” Frigga says with pride in her voice and I can’t help but, give a small smile.

“Mm, he is tiny.” She looks me over one more time.

“Need to eat something, these fruits and cheeses are not enough to help him grow.” She states and I became baffled at her declaration making my mother laugh and I frowned in annoyance. What is it with women and wanting their men big and muscled? I am plenty strong with my lean figure.

“Allow me to take him back to my realm and he will return with a stronger body,” Mawu tells mother. Frigga waves her hand in my direction.

“I tell him to eat more but, he only nibbles on the food we offer him.” She sighs and I roll my eyes once more, taking a large sip of my wine then using my magic to make my cup disappear.

“Mother, did you bring your friend over here just to spite me?” I asked her, putting my hands behind my back and a clench in my jaw.

“No, of course not, my love,” she smiles and then moved Mawu closer to my person. The woman took a few steps away from me.

“I wanted you two,” Frigga points between us as she continues, “to get to know each other better.” She says making both of our heads turn to look at one another in shock then back to Frigga’s grinning face.

“You cannot be serious.” I say as Mawu crosses her arms.

“Quite serious my son, Mawu will be staying here for a couple of weeks as her mother has asked me to oh, how do the midgardians phrase it? Ah, yes “get her ass out of the house”. And so, she will be staying in the royal quarters for the time being and I want the two of you,” she points between us again. “To get to know each other better. Have a pleasant evening.” Frigga finishes and turns to return back to her group of allies. Mawu scoffs in disbelief and leaves my side to leave through where she came in.

Subconsciously, I followed after her, her heels clicking quickly against the floor, she was clearly upset. She wasn’t the only one upset. Get to know me better? Just what is mother planning? And why was I following her?

Mawu’s POV

I had stopped in the middle of the long hallways of Odin’s castle and turned my head to an open door where a balcony was located. I laid my hands on the balustrade and looked at the cotten candy skyline, as it slowly turned to night. Here on Asgard was hard to tell if it was night or not, they had no moon to go off of and the stars that were apparent determined different coordinates.

I sighed and leaned my arms against the balustrade leaning my head on my wrists. A couple weeks of being in this realm will be challenging. I’m not used to taking such long breaks like this, I just hoped that the Earth will still be there for me when I return.

I was set up. Mother told me that it had been a while since I last been to Asgard, to see Lady Frigga especially and she thought that a visit would be nice. How easily I was tricked by her and Lady Frigga. Don’t get me wrong I loved Lady Frigga as a second mother, but, the thought of having to trick me into staying here for a long duration of time really unsettled me.

Sighing once more, I closed my eyes as I felt the wind blow into my face. The breeze blowing against my hair that resembled a cloud. Using my powers, I conjured up a small ball of light that allowed me to see the children of Earth. It was a particular group of children that I had been watching over for a while. Perhaps from their great grandparents up until the new generation, I think I’ve lost count.

I watched as all the children played and the adults that I once looked after when they were children tended to their own brood. I smiled sadly. These children were my children. Even if I didn’t birth them, they were mine. A child, a little boy named Abioye, smiled and I felt my bottom lip quiver.

Swiping away the image, I felt a few tears rush down my cheeks. Quickly wiping them away, I took a deep breath and then looked down at my shoes. They were beautiful but, so constricting, I pulled them off my feet and stretched my toes, sighing in bliss.

“Lady Mawu,” I looked up to see a male guard bowing before me. I straightened my back to address him.

“Yes,”

“Your quarters are ready for you.” He says. Nodding, I allowed him to lead me to my room. Peaking a look over my shoulder, I noticed a familiar pair of green eyes watching me. With a ‘hmph’ I turned my eyes forward and continued to follow the guard.

With Loki

That insufferable woman dare turn her nose up at me?! I scoffed in disbelief and used my powers to return to my mother in the banquet hall. Kissing her goodnight, I walked out another exit to my chambers.

Once I arrived at my room, I noticed the guard that guided the Goddess to her quarters and stretched my neck to see that he was leaving from the room right next to mine.

“You there!” I halt the guard as he immediately stopped and bowed to me.

“Did you just lead that moon Goddess into the room next to mines?” I ask.

“Yes, your majesty, it was specific instructions that your mother gave.” He says and I groan out in annoyance.

“Your majesty?”

“Begone. I have no more use of you.” I spat and the guard bows again, quickly leaving my sight.

Looking towards the closed door, I put my hands on my hips and nodded my head then entered my room with a slam to the doors.

Plopping down onto my bed, I placed my hands behind my head and sighed deeply. Mother was making things so difficult. What purpose did she need to give me someone to...bond with? I have managed to be on my own before what’s different now?

Sniff, sniff

Sob, whimper

I heard soft crying from the wall behind me and I got up from my bed and moved to the nearest wall, placing an ear towards it, to hear indeed crying on the other side.

I don’t know what it was but, her crying made my heart break a bit. Sighing, I removed myself from the wall and plopped back down onto my bed. Her sobs were slowly growing louder and I gritted my teeth.

Waving my hand, I allowed a small bunny to appear in my palm and allowed it to phase through the wall, I waited in anticipation of the small...I guess I will call it a gift.

With Mawu

She had changed into her silk nightgown and immediately her tears returned.

The sobs continued to fall from her lips as she laid across the large bed. Why she was crying? Unfortunately, Mawu has separation anxiety and the thought that she can’t be close to her ‘children’ broke her heart. Sniffling, she raised her head from the cradle of her arms and jumped when she saw a black lump sitting in front of her.

The large floppy ears twitched slightly as the pink nose sniffed. Sitting up, she got a closer look at the small being and she realized that it was indeed a black rabbit.

“Hello, there,” she coos as she reached a hand out to the rabbit. The cotton tailed furry snuggled into her awaiting hand and Mawu giggled at the feel of it’s nose.

“Where did you come from?” She asks as she picks up the rabbit and holds it in her lap. She scratched under its chin and felt the thump of the rabbits right foot popping her thigh in delight.

“I think I’ll call you, Irawo.” She tells the rabbit who thumps its right foot again in delight.

Giggling again, Mawu allowed the rabbit to play around on her bed and then caressed its head, liking the soft fur.

With Loki

The God of Mischief allowed a small grin to appear on his lips as he listened to the Moon Goddess’s giggles.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

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End of Ch.1

Ch. 2⬅️

Ch. 3⬅️

What is up with tumblr and other places where Loki doesn’t have a lot of fanfics? I don’t understand he just as fine as Thor. But, anyway, I hope you guys like this first chapter to this mini story I’m hooking y’all up with! I love me some Loki so be sure to expect more of him and a black reader as well! Thank you all for reading and be sure to like, comment and reblog!

#loki laufeyson x reader #Loki x black!reader #black!reader #black reader #marvel x reader #marvel x black!reader #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #black oc #loki marvel #that night ch. 1

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vintagedolan · 4 years

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Please write something with the "I'm sorry I made you cry baby" line in it please IM BEGGING

could you write something about being on your period and leaking on grayson’s bed? everything in his room is white and I would be so nervous if I was on my period there haha love you and your writing xx

When you were on your period there were three things that made coming home from work blissful: undoing your pants, undoing your bra, and seeing Grayson.

In that order.

Usually if you came into his room having already started undressing, he’d be more than excited. But he knew you were on your period, and more importantly he knew it was your second day, your worst and heaviest day. So when you came trudging into his room, pants undone and unzipped, bra in hand, he pouted at you, hating to see you hurting.

“Hey angel,” he cooed, moving towards you.

You sidestepped, and elegantly flopped down onto the bed, groaning into the comforter.

“I hate having a uterus,” you grumbled, so muffled that even Grayson, who had plenty of experience listening to you, could barely understand.

“What do you need, hmmm? Ibuprofen? Ice cream? Hot pack? Cuddles?” His hand moved under your shirt to your back, warm and firm as he rubbed.

You grumbled in interest at the last one, making him chuckle to himself. He bit his tongue, not saying what you reminded him of when you got like this - turns out, you didn’t take well to being called gremlin, even if it was in the most loving of tones. He’d learned that lesson a few months back.

“I’m down for cuddles,” he offered, moving to lay next to you. He paused when you groaned again, worried that he’d done something that had hurt you.

“What’s wrong?”

“I gotta change my fucking tampon but I don’t wanna get up.”

He sighed, rubbing over your lower back, down over your ass a few times - it was more soothing than it was sexual.

“The one thing I can’t really help you with love. Go do it quick, and then we can cuddle.”

Begrudgingly, you peeled yourself up off the bed and headed to the bathroom, grabbing the little box that Grayson always kept stocked for you under the counter. It was quick work, but Grayson was quicker. When he heard the sink turn on he coaxed the door open, peeking in.

“Gray or white?” You turned to see, relieved to find two pairs of sweatpants in his hands.

“Gray,” you said, moving to dry your hands.

“Yes?” He gave you his cheekiest smile, proud of his joke. You didn’t have the energy to laugh, only give him a smile and a head shake, but he didn’t take it personally, passing you the sweatpants and one of his tshirts. You stripped down quickly, pulling on the clothes that smelled like a mixture of his wakeheart scent and his laundry detergent, just the fabric alone already relaxing you.

Grayson was waiting on the bed, already having your comfort show pulled up on his laptop, arm out ready to wrap around you. You crawled up the bed, nestling up as close as you could to him.

While you loved being in Grayson’s arms anytime, there was a specific way he held you while you were on your period that made you love it even more. He noticed once that when your cramps got bad, you’d hunch over and press against your abdomen. So, he’d mastered the ‘ovary hold’ as he called it, which involved him pulling you up against his chest and wrapping his arm around you tight enough for his torso to press against your tummy, just enough pressure for it to be relieving.

As soon as he had you wrapped up your whole body relaxed against him and you hummed, more than comfortable.

“You tired bubs?”

“Mhmmm,” you sighed, almost groaning as he rubbed his hand over your back and hips slow and deep, doing his best to get the knots out.

“Sleep then, maybe it’ll ease up the cramps.”

“Okay.” It didn’t take any convincing, your eyelids already heavy. “I love you.”

“Love you more.” His lips against your forehead were the last thing you felt before you drifted off.

The first thing you felt when you woke up almost two hours later?

100 times less pleasant.

It was the much too wet and warm feeling between your legs that you knew too well.

You’d bled through. And though you couldn’t see it, you could tell it was bad.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” you whispered to yourself, trying to move off of Grayson. His face scrunched up, arm only tightening against you.

“Mmmmm, I’ve got you baby, shhh,” he mumbled, eyes still closed and voice raspy with sleep.

“Grayson. Gray, wake up,” you pushed on his chest, making him open his eyes quickly in concern, though he had to blink a few times before he could see you clearly.

“You okay?”

“Uh... not really.”

Your words woke him up the rest of the way and he sat up, rubbing at his eyes and relaxing his arm. Just the shift of your weight was enough for you to feel that you’d definitely soaked through your panties and most likely the sweatpants.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” Grayson’s voice was deep with concern, one hand still resting on you protectively.

“I uh... um... I. I bled through my tampon.” You could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks as you looked down at his chest.

“Oh, are there not more in the bathroom? I thought that box was new,” he frowned, obviously a bit confused.

“No, like bled through to my underwear. And your pants. And probably your comforter. I’m sorry.” You were scared to move, scared to make it worse - and the thought of waddling to the bathroom in front of your boyfriend was humiliating.

“You don’t have to apologize baby, it’s not a big deal.”

You looked up at him then, searching his face for the disgust he was hiding. You didn’t find a trace of it anywhere.

“It’s embarrassing. And I probably ruined your pants.”

“Baby you can’t control it, it’s not your fault. And I have plenty of pants. Seriously, don’t worry about it. It’s okay, I promise. You wanna go get cleaned up?”

“Yeah, I think it’s a shower or nothing at this point.”

“Need me to do anything?”

You bit your lip, knowing he wasn’t going to like your answer. “Could you close your eyes? Just while I walk into the bathroom.”

He hesitated, looking directly at you.

“You have nothing to be ashamed about. But if it’ll make you feel better, then yeah, I’ll close my eyes.”

“Thank you,” you sighed, watching his eyelashes flutter down as he closed his eyes. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips, another thank you, before you crawled off the bed. Of course, with your luck, you’d bled through onto his white comforter too, just like you’d feared. You were determined to make it a quick shower so you could get to all the stains before anything got too dry or set in.

Grayson opened his eyes once he heard the bathroom door close with a sigh. He wasn’t the least bit worried about it - not even the red splotch on the comforter that he found. He pulled out his phone, opening safari, typing quickly.

best way to get period blood out of fabric

He read what google had to offer quickly, pleased to see that hydrogen peroxide was listed - he had plenty of that, considering it’s what he used to clean out his longboarding scrapes when he got them.

As quietly as he could, he pulled the comforter off the bed, waiting for the familiar sound of the shower to come on before he snuck into the bathroom. He sat the comforter down next to your pile of soiled clothes, heading back out to grab a pair of old black DT sweats, a new shirt and a pair of panties that you’d left once. He folded them neatly on the counter, reaching for your bloody clothes and moving them to the bathtub.

He followed the google instructions of flushing out as much of the blood as he could with cold water, starting with the comforter. It wasn’t much, so he just wet it and treated it with the peroxide before he moved on to the sweatpants, a larger, angry red stain spread across the crotch. They weren’t terrible either, and he did as the instructions said, washing them out and treating them. Finally, he got to your panties. His eyebrows shot up at the sheer amount of blood, water running red below his hands as he worked the fabric under the stream. He knew women bled a lot, but jesus he didn’t realize it could be that much, especially in such a short time. When the water ran clear he treated them as well, gathering up everything and heading for the washer, glad that your shower was still going.

Afterwards, as quickly as he could he snagged the coziest blankets from the living room, tossing them over his bed in case you wanted to sleep again. As a final touch he headed back into the bathroom and grabbed a tampon for you, placing it on top of your folded clothes before leaving the bathroom and closing the door.

He heard the water turn off a few minutes later, the familiar shuffle of you putting clothes on audible through the door.

But what he didn’t expect was for you to have tears running down your face when you opened that door, eyes searching for him. When they landed on the makeshift bedding arrangement, you broke down even more, realizing why your clothes were missing, what he’d done while you were showering.

“Hey, why are you crying, what’s wrong?” He was in front of you in an instant,

“You cleaned everything,” you blubbered into his chest, overwhelmed with his thoughtfulness and your hormones. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to angel, it’s okay, you don’t have to cry. C’mon, we’ll lay down and watch an episode.”

You only nodded, sniffling a bit as he wiped your tears, leading you over to the bed and assuming the same position you had been in, the ovary hold and all.

“I’m sorry I made you cry, baby,” he said after your sniffles finally subsided, pouting a bit when you looked up at him. You kissed it away, trying to reassure him that he didn’t do anything wrong.

“You’re an absolute dream Grayson Dolan, and I don’t tell you that enough,” you murmured into his neck once you got comfortable and settled. He just squeezed you tighter and left a kiss on your forehead before he hit play, content to hold you and do whatever he could for you.

#anon #ask #g:blurb #im CRYING IN THE CLUB #and its 2:23am lmao #GOODNIGHT #grayson dolan blurb #grayson dolan #blurb

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years

Text

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 41)

I typed this chapter on mobile so it might have more typos than usual and I, a responsible fic writer, do not proof read.

Warmth. There is a sense of community in warmth and trying to stay in a state of it during the colder months. Wujing makes a celebration of doing so. And that is how she finds herself seated around the largest fire she has seen in the Earth Kingdom. She is their go to women to keep it lit until the festivities are over.

They seem to rather adore her fire and on nights like these she yearns to display a vivid blue. Perhaps one day. One day after she tells Hajime who she is. Though she isn't sure when she would tell everyone else. She hopes that everyone will take just as well to her fire when it burns blue. Perhaps if she is lucky, they will enjoy it more.

Until then she adds more orange to the blaze while Atsu shifts his weight in her arms. "My turn, Atsu!" Caihong declares.

"No-o." Atsu shakes his head, "she's my mama, go by yer dad!"

Despite the boy's protests, Azula lifts the blanket and let's Caihong crawl under it and next to Atsu. Hajime steps away from the fire and returns to her side. "I'd say that this is a promising way to start the winter."

"We've had a productive year. We have more than enough to get the Wujing through the winter." Seukhyun notes.

"No thanks to you, boy." Ojihara jests.

"I did most of the work ol' man!"

Listening to the father and son go back and forth is one more constant in her life. A thing that wouldn't feel right if absent.

Azula, to the best of her ability with to little beasts in her lap, moves closer to the fire. "Hey!" Atsu shouts, "I was com-fera-table!"

"I wasn't." Azula shrugs. Truth be told her legs are tingling from having held the same position for so long. "I need to stand up."

Neither of the children takes the cue so she tells them both to stand. She doesn't know why she expected to be met with anything other that a, "no, Rikka! We're cozy!" And an agreeing not from Atsu.

"Hajime, hold these things." She sets Atsu and then Caihong in his lap.

"These things are called children, Rikka." He laughs while Atsu folds his arms and pouts.

"They're more like chittering toad-squirrels if you ask me." She stretches her arms and then her back with a contented sigh. She makes her way even closer to the fire.

"Cider?" A man offers. She recognizes him from the market square, a clothes salesman she thinks. She can't quite recall his name but it could be Poying or maybe Poyang. The man is quite fond of telling everyone that he has a tinge of Air Nomad blood. Azula isn't the only person to take this with several grains of salt. But he is an honest man otherwise do she takes the glass with a thank you.

"Gimme'a sip, gimme'a sip!" Caihong makes a jump or two for Azula's cider.

Poyang chuckles, "aye, lil' one we got plenty more, ya don't have to snatch Rikka's."

"You don't have to take me." She repeats smugly, holding her glass just out of Caihong's reach. The girl sticks out her lower lip, folds her arms across her chest, and gives her foot a stomp--making sure to rumble the ground for good measure.

Hajime gives her a little nudge. "Aww don't tease Cai."

"She's gonna get her drink anyways." Seukhyun dismisses just as Poyang comes back with more cider.

"Poyang has the best stuff!" Atsu declares after his first sip.

"Cause his brother's the apple man!" Caihong declares enthusiastically.

"One day we'll have to visit his orchard together." Hajime offers.

"We have a lot of one days to get to." Azula points out. But she supposes that they will have a lifetime to do them.

"It's nice to have a lot to look forward to, isn't it?" He slings an around her waist and pulls her closer. Hot cider splashes onto her shirt. She crinkles her nose, "thanks, Hajime."

"You said that you were getting cold. I thought that I'd help you warm up."

"Won't be so warm when this cider freezes…"

"That's what you get for not sharing it!" Caihong declares smugly. That impish little earth gremlin…

That day she learns that there is a special bond, a sense of community, that comes with the seeking of warmth.

.oOo.

She hadn’t expected to outlast him, but her demise comes as a surprise all the same. And maybe it is because she had wrapped her topmost parka around him. Maybe it is because she had stripped off her remaining glove to keep a fire going for him. For the both of them.

But she is weak and grows weaker as the cold burrows into her wound and seeps deeper into her bones. She looks at the teeth marks with much hatred. Could those have been prevented?

“Azula?” Sokka murmurs. It is the first sound that he has made in a while. And she could cry. Maybe both of them will die, but at least she won’t have to watch another lover do it before she succumbs for herself. She is so terribly cold, she can’t imagine that it will be much longer now.

"Yeah?" She answers.

"What happened?" He slurs.

"First we got caught in a blizzard and then we we got attacked by wolves…"

"Where's dad?"

Azula grits her teeth. "We couldn't find him, remember." They might have fared better against the wolves if they had. As things were they had taken a good chunk out of her arm before being struck down by Sokka's boomerang. The man best appreciate her taking those teeth for him instead of focusing on her own fight. On the grander scheme of things she supposes that it doesn't matter at all. They had done more damage than even that in shredding Sokka's parka and stealing one of her gloves. If they hadn't, she might not have had to spare one if her own.

Agni, she isn't built for this weather. She isn't adapted to withstand it. And it hurts so terribly. Everything stings and tingles. Her face and toes especially. Her fingers had tingled it that has subsided to a more than alarming nothingness. She sniffles, if only to remind herself that she still has a nose. Her cheeks are so red and she feels as though they have been slapped repeatedly. In a sense, they have. The winter slaps them with a force that a human hand couldn't possibly manage.

She had never realized just how much the cold could burn. Very resentfully, she thinks that the cold might just be higher than even her fire.

She huddles closer to Sokka, rather she tries to do so oh to find that they are as close as they can possibly be. And there is nowhere near enough warmth between the two of them.

"Take your parka back, Azula." Sokka says.

She shakes her head.

"Azula, you need it more, you're not…"

She shakes her head, "no." She won't be the weak one here. She can't allow it. She can't allow it especially if it means watching another lover die. "No."

At least now she can say with conviction that she does love him. Very much. Just as much as she loved Hajime. And more than enough to let herself succumb to the cold to give him a chance.

He tries to remove his parka anyhow so she rolls atop him, he is too weak to shove her off. Which is good because she would have been too weak to resist if he had.

The bite marks on her arm flare. She closes her eyes and shudders as another pang passes through her. How long have they been out here like this? Long enough for the blizzard to pass.it occurs to her that she and Sokka are half buried. The realization come with a jolt of panic--a queasiness in her belly and a spinning in her head. She doesn't want to be buried in a coffin of snow. She doesn't want to be buried at all. The panic is fleeting when she recalls that she has already unburied herself in putting her body atop Sokka's. Though that isn't to say that more snow won't come to cover them up, she hopes to be hours dead by then.

"You know, I always thought that I would die in combat." She mumbles, pressing her ear to his chest so that she can hear his heartbeat. So that she can be sure that she isn't alone. "That would have been more glorious than this."

"You're not…"

But she isn't done lamenting, "but I also always thought that I would be alone when I died. So I guess that this is better." It's certainly better than dying alone and dehydrated in a grassland.

"We're not going to die."

"We're in the middle of nowhere and the rest of the village didn't expect us to venture this far out to the glacier. We've been out here for hours, my arm won't stop bleeding…"

"Yeah." Sokka's expressions darkness. "Looks pretty grim doesn't it." He is so cold that his breath no longer comes out in puffs. He is quiet for a very long while. "Katara, Aang, Toph, and I were once lost in a desert with ver little water. You made it out of several situations like this…"

"Yes, Sokka and it was mostly luck. How many times can I keep getting lucky?" She doesn't have the energy for shouting. For changing her tone and diction at all really.

She feels Sokka's hands patting her hair. "Hopefully every time."

.oOo.

There is no worse feeling than watching Azula go limp and mostly quiet. For the last several minutes, the oh sign of life was an occasional wimper. Her body is still trembling but not as violently as it had been. She is shutting down. And she still won't take his parka.

"I'm so cold, Sokka." She whispers, her voice sounding so pathetically small. But she is afraid. He can tell, if only because he is terrified too.

"Yeah, me too, Azula."

She rubs her face against his chest. She gets no warmth out of it because there is none left in him. He looks to the sky. To the glimmering cosmos above. Maybe he'll be reborn as one of them…

Azula clings to him with what can oy be the last very last ounces of her strength.

"It's okay, Sokka." She tries to smile though her face is too stiff with the cold. "I told you on the first day that I came back that I had more waiting for me in the Spirit World…"

"Don't say that." He squeezes her tighter.

"It's okay." She says again. "I think I that he wanted me to do a bit more exploring but he'll be happy to know that I got this far."

He wonders if she is thinking of Caihong at all. He wonders if that will do her any good anyways. He doesn't want to say it, especially not to her. But she is right, she is dying. He doesn't think that she will last the night even of he does force her back into her parka.

He hugs her as tight as he can. And then he rolls her onto her back. She murmurs some sort of protest, some sort of distress. But there is something that he wants her to see. Something that he needs her to see.

"Look up, Azula. Open your eyes." He gently slaps her cheeks and her eyes flutter open. They are unfocused and mostly vacant. He slaps her cheeks again until he has her at least a little more alert. “Look at the lights, Azula.”

He thinks that she might have smiled. "That's nice, Sokka." But her eyes close again and the moment is good.

She doesn't cry. She doesn't bargain or beg. She simply squints and, to the best of her ability with blackened, numb fingers and clumsy daze, touches his cheek. And then her hand falls and her eyes close once more. No amount of slapping gets them to open again.

In the distance he hears barking. Sprits, he prays that the wolves aren't back. He squeezes her hand if only to feel her slowing pulse.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Fanfiction

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raysofcrosby · 4 years

Text

CHANCES – M. TKACHUK

requested: yes | no

warning(s): none that i can think of.

word count: 5,066

listened to: chances by the backstreet boys

inspiration: mixed luggage au [ i can’t find the og au-prompt masterlist, but if this is your au idea, lemme know and i’ll link you for credit (: ]

authors note: listen– i don’t know what it is, but i’ve literally been on a tkachuk thing lately. like, i used to despise this little curly-headed gremlin, but now??? it’s all hearteyes motherfucker. this is purely a writing to help me get back into the writing groove again after these last six months of nothing– so i might be a lil rusty. anyway, i hope you enjoy <3333

I’m sorry Y/N, but if you’re not here in the next 5 minutes I need to keep going.

That text haunted you– it was all you could think about the moment you got off of your flight. The uber your sister had ordered for you was close to canceling– all because there were too many planes taxiing on the airstrip and your stupid flight ended up circling in the air for thirty minutes. If this were any other airport, no doubt you’d be screwed. Luckily though, you knew good ole St. Louis Lambert International like the back of your hand. So getting from point A to point luggage claim would be no problem at all. The only delay would be the luggage getting put out onto the carousel.

Which of course, did prove to be the problem at hand.

You were the first one from your flight at the carousel and hoped to be gone before any disgruntled passengers you managed to bump into, could show up. Unfortunately for you, just as the bags were being loaded onto the carousel, your fellow passengers were arriving too– more than a few giving you a look that would normally result in you rolling your eyes in response. Yet, your focus wasn’t on them, it was glued to the small carousel door, keeping an eye out for your suitcase.

Teal bag with a grey handle. Teal bag with a grey handle. Teal bag with a grey handle. Teal bag with a grey hand–

“Ah-ha!” You smiled, catching eye of your suitcase and rushing to meet it instead of letting it eventually make its way to you. You grabbed the suitcase and extended the handle to drag it away, already walking towards the exit.

One minute.

You had one minute to catch your uber before they left you and you hoped and prayed that luck was on your side and the black Toyota Corolla just happened to be parked near the door you chose to exit from. The warm summer air of the Missouri summer weather practically smacked you in the face and it fit wasn’t for the awning covering the pick-up zone, you would have no doubt been blinded by the sun too.

“Oh, thank God,” you sighed, catching sight of a black Toyota Corolla that your sister said to find, parked just six cars down to your left. You sped walked to the uber, coming to a stop at the window and waving at the driver, catching her attention. “I’m so, so sorry I’m late.”

The woman, probably in her early 60’s gave you a friendly smile instead of the scowl you were expecting. “Are you Y/N?”

“Yes ma’am,” you replied, nodding.

“Go ahead and put your suitcase in the trunk, it’s opened for you.”

You walked to the trunk and lifted it open, placing your suitcase inside before closing it and walking to the back passenger door, getting into the backseat. “Again, I’m so sorry for making you wait. We had to circle in the air for 30 minutes because of the traffic on the airstrip and,” you exhaled, relaxing back into your seat. “I’m so sorry.”

She laughed, pulling away from the airport. “It’s no problem sweetheart. I saw your reply. I was going to give you a little extra time. I know how hectic airports could be. Especially this time of the year. Everyone’s traveling for vacation.”

“Yeah, I think I might have accidentally elbowed one too many people trying to get to luggage claim.”

“Are you visiting or coming home?”

“Coming home…kind of,” you laughed, staring out the window at your hometown. “I actually just graduated from college a few weeks ago, so my roommates and I rented a house on the Jersey Shore to celebrate. But, my sister is getting married tomorrow, so that’s why I’m back.” You looked back towards her, laughing softly to yourself. “But then come September, I’ll actually be moving to Calgary for a new job and to get my Masters.”

“So a lot of traveling, I see.”

You took a deep breath and sighed, nodding. “Yeah, but I’m glad to be able to spend all of this time with my friends and family before I start working. Especially since I’ll be moving so far away.”

“It sounds like a great time,” she smiled, looking at me through the rearview mirror. “I’m a sucker for weddings, why don’t you tell me about it?”

Normally, you weren’t one to talk a lot whenever you and your friends would take Ubers downtown on the weekends– but this driver was sweet and you found yourself talking nonstop as she drove you towards your final destination. After all, she didn’t abandon you at the airport like you thought she would.

The car ride to your parents' place went by a lot faster than you thought it would and it was all thanks to Mrs. Sheila, your lovely uber driver. Whom, you learned, started driving after she lost her husband late last year. Her kids lived out of state and once they went back home after those first few weeks, she wanted to find something to do to keep herself busy and get herself out of the house– so, she became an uber driver.

Walking into your parents' house, you were greeted with empty echos of your footsteps. Your parents were still at work and wouldn’t be home until just a little before the rehearsal dinner tonight. Your brother, well, as far as you knew, he had absolutely nothing going on, so you didn’t know why he wasn’t around. If anyone was guaranteed to be home, it was your sister. She was the one who ordered your uber and had them take you here, so she was more than well aware of what time you’d be arriving home.

“Hello?” You called out, leaving your suitcase by the door and making your way to the living room. “Char, are you here?”

“Is that my favorite sister?” You heard her voice call out from upstairs. Looking up, you could see her rounding the hallway corner, carrying a closed laundry basket full of, no doubt, stuff for tonight’s bridal party sleepover.

“I’m your only sister,” you laughed as she made her way down the staircase.

“Unless you count all of the times we got bored and turned Nick into Nikki,” she giggled, reaching the end of the staircase and putting the basket down before stepping forward and hugging you. “How was the flight?”

“It was great up until our 30 minutes of circling in the air,” you laughed, pulling away from the hug. “Where’s my dear brother?”

“Working out with some friends. We probably won’t see him until tonight.”

“Nothing says welcome home like being greeted to an empty house.”

“Excuse you, I was here to greet you.” She laughed, picking the basket back up. “But if you really want to be upset, you should see all of the packed boxes in your room.”

“I leave in three months! Why are they packing me up now?” You gasped, acting dramatically.

“Nick and dad are planning on transforming it into some kind of training room or something.”

“But they–“

“Already took over the garage? Yeah, I know and mom is pissed.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the handle of your suitcase again. “He literally told the Blues that he was going back to Michigan in the fall to try and win a championship. Why the hell are they even treating him like he’s already a hall of famer?”

“Perks of being the youngest, not to mention dad’s only son,” she laughed, looking at the door. “Ready to head to the Airbnb?”

“Can we get food first?” You asked, dragging your suitcase along. “I’m starving.”

She laughed as you held the door open for her. “Good, because we’re most definitely getting food before we go and take a nap.”

You laughed, walking out of the house with her and then closing and locking the door behind you. “I knew we were related.”

Lunch and a nap turned out to be exactly what you needed. The two of you had stopped at a subway to get some food before driving over to the Airbnb that you, your sister and the rest of the bridesmaids would be staying for the night.

It was a beautiful three-bedroom, modernized cottage that looked like it was stripped directly from the pages of a fairytale book. It was tucked away, just off to the side in the backyard of a beautiful colonial house, whose farm would tomorrow be transformed into a whimsical fairytale wedding location. The men would be getting ready in the house, while the women would be getting ready in the cute cottage. Sort of like a secret getaway paradise before the wedding.

When you got back with your food, your sister took you on a tour of the property while the wedding planners and staff were setting up all of the bigger decorations for tomorrow. You were off at school during the entire planning process, only ever seeing every one of her ideas in pictures. The only things you were able to take part in, were the dress shopping and her bachelorette party since they were both held at a time you were on a fall break from school. Besides being there for those two things, the only other thing you helped with– was the proposal.

Colton has been in your life for as long as you could remember. He and Charlotte have been best friends since Pre-K. It was the cliché friends to lovers kind of story that was told time after time– but in theirs, there were no other people in it. It was just them. There were no other boyfriends or girlfriends, no other crushes– from the very beginning, they were it for each other. They were each other's first everything– kiss, date, girlfriend/boyfriend, time– in their love story, they had found their one great love…all before they turned five.

Wherever Charlotte was, there was Colton– they were stuck like glue and your parents loved it. It was their friendship that brought both of your families together to the relationship that you all had now. Your families were best friends, all because of their relationship. You often took vacations together, spent holidays together, hell, you and Colton’s middle brother, Mason, even had joint birthday parties– as did your two younger siblings, Nick and Addie. Your families even try to go as far as to dropping hints that all three kids should date.

Colton and Charlotte. You and Mason. Nick and Addie– all the same age and practically family already.

It was perfect.

Until you and Mason tried to date in the tenth-grade and realized that kissing the person you’ve shared every birthday party with, used to take baths with and shared every key moment growing up– wasn’t all that great. In fact, it was weird. So the two of you remained as the almost black sheep of the families, especially since Nick and Addie were headed down the same path as Charlotte and Colton. They started dating in eighth-grade– like Colton and Charlotte– and have maintained a healthy and strong relationship to now, even long-distance, when they’ll both be sophomores in college in the fall, Addie at the University of Missouri and Nick playing hockey at the University of Michigan.

You and Mason were there, always making jokes about how it runs in the family but skipped a generation. Never letting your siblings live it down that the two of you will be the ones to break the cycle. Funny how you two were also the ones who played the biggest roles in Charlotte’s engagement.

Both of your dads are huge St. Louis Blues fans. So naturally, they tried to rub that off onto their children. And it worked, all except for you. You tolerated the blues, but never really adopted hockey as your favorite sport. You understood it, watched it whenever you never had a choice– but like your mom, you gravitated more towards football and adopted her hometown team as your own– the Pittsburgh Steelers.

Colton and Charlotte, however, were both diehard Blues fans from day one. There were even pictures to prove it. They even went to a game on both their first ‘supervised’ date and ‘unsupervised’ date. So, when the Blues were making a run for the Stanley Cup– it was imminent for your families to attend at least one game. You and Mason did everything in your power to get the Blues attention. You emailed anyone and everyone who worked in their front office, you spammed their social media accounts– anything and everything to get their attention so you could share their story and Colton’s plan.

And at game four it all came to life. Charlotte was ‘randomly’ selected to participate in an intermission event after the first period where she’d be blindfolded and needed to walk along the ice to find Louie after collecting ‘Blues momentos’ along the way. The Blues had played the short slideshow of Colton and Charlotte that you and Mason had sent them, as they introduced her to the crowd. Unbeknownst to her, both of our families were on the ice with her, standing behind her while she was blindfolded. You and the other three siblings were scattered in front of her, each holding a single rose.

The Blues staff member helped her walk along the ice and the moment that she took a flower from someone, they needed to go back to where she started, which was where Colton was standing with the ring in his pocket. The four of you each had a sign, that when held up together read ‘Will you marry me?’ Once Charlotte neared Louie, he cut the distance to just by center ice where all of you were waiting. And when she found Louie, the entire crowd had erupted into cheers as she took off her blindfold, all smiles until she turned around to see the signs and Colton on one knee.

She said yes. The Blues won. The proposal went viral and your families were given a box to game seven where the Blues won the Stanley Cup.

All in a day's work between the two middle siblings, and one that led you all to this moment– the wedding tomorrow. Where Colton, who was already like a big brother yo you, would officially, pretty much become your big brother.

“Y/N,” your sister said, shaking your arm. “Y/N, get up. We’ve got like 45 minutes to get ready for dinner before we have to leave and no offense, but you need to shower.”

“Your lucky that you’re getting married tomorrow or I’d kill you,” you mumbled into the pillow, taking a deep breath and exhaling before pushing yourself up. “Can you charge my phone for me? I won’t take too long, just need to rinse off and I’ll be back.”

“In your backpack?” She asked as you walked out of the room.

“Mhhm, small front pocket. The charger is with it.”

You walked out of the room and into the connected bathroom, closing the door behind you before walking towards the shower and turning on the water. Your nap was more than enough to help you make it through dinner. You hadn’t thought that you were even that tired, but the moment you laid down to relax after eating your sandwich– you were absolutely knocked out.

To be fair though, you had spent the last two weeks partying it up on the beach with your college roommates, trying to relive every moment from your last four years of partying, downing booze, and making out with any attractive guy who caught your eye. You know what they say, no rest for the wicked– and boy, oh boy, were the wicked actions of shotgunning beers with strangers in the hot summer jersey sun, coming back to haunt you.

At least you got one hell of a tan and more memories to last you a lifetime, out of it all.

You turned off the shower before you stepped out and wrapped a towel around your body, then wrapping your hair up in a second towel. You walked out of the bathroom and back to the bedroom, only to find it empty. "Hey, Char?"

"In the living room...er, kitchen, I guess!"

You walked out of the bedroom and into the living room to see Charlotte sitting at the kitchen counter, a make-up mirror propped up in front of her and hot curling iron in her hand. "Why are you doing your hair in the kitchen?"

"You were in the bathroom and the lighting is lacking in the bedroom." She let a curl, fall from the iron and turned to you. "What's up?"

"Well, for one, the bathroom is free," you laughed, looking around. "And two, I was wondering where you put my suitcase? It was in the room and now it's not."

"No," she dragged out her reply, focusing on wrapping another piece of hair around the iron before averting her eyes towards the door. "You left it by the front door. Never brought it in."

You turned towards the front door and sure enough, right there not even three feet away from the door...was your suitcase. "Awesome, thanks!" You said, walking over and tugging on the handle, extending it out before walking back to the room. "And my phone?"

"Charging in the kitchen. It was dead by the way."

"Great," you huffed, walking into the bedroom and over to the bed. You lifted up the suitcase, letting it plop down onto the bed and exhaled a deep breath. It was a lot heavier than you thought it was. But maybe your body was just tired from traveling and last night's final night out.

You caught a glimpse of the alarm clock that was set up on the bedside table and saw that your getting ready time was vastly starting to dwindle. So, not thinking anything more of the heavy suitcase, you unzipped the zipper and threw the cover back, ready to grab the romper you had placed directly on top, just so it wouldn't get wrinkled. You stared down at the contents of the suitcase, quickly grabbing the cover and shutting it again.

Okay, maybe you were imagining things.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling, and then opening your eyes and opening the suitcase again.

No, you definitely weren't imagining things.

The same spike ball netting was still staring you right in the face. Surrounding it, were three spike balls and a crumbled up bag that was supposed to house the set. Beneath it, a bunch of crumpled up clothes and other things.

"No," you shut the suitcase again, repeating the same steps: close your eyes, take a breath, hope you're dreaming, open your eyes and then the suitcase, only to be disappointed. "No, no– oh my God, this can't be happening. Charlotte!!"

You heard her footsteps echo off of the wooden floor as she made her way to the bedroom, half of her hair curled and set. "What?"

"This isn't my suitcase."

"Of course it is," she scoffed. "Colton and I got you that big traveling set for graduation, and that," she pointed at the suitcase, "is it."

"No, it's not," You opened the suitcase and reached in, grabbing the first thing you felt and holding it up to show her. "See? Not mine!"

"Y/N," her eyes widened before she started to laugh. "You might want to put those down."

"It's just the spike ball bag, it's not big–" you turned to see what you were holding and sure enough, it was not the spike ball bag you thought you had picked up. It was a pair of Ant-Man boxers, and it was unknown whether or not they were clean or not. "Ah, ew!" You tossed them back into the suitcase, wiping your hand on your towel. "Ew, ew, ew, I just touched a stranger's dirty underwear."

"You don't know if they were dirty."

"You don't know if they were clean!" You argued back, looking around the handle for an identification tag. "This definitely isn't mine. My travel tag isn't on the handle."

"Who uses a travel tag?" She laughed, shaking her head.

"Me," you turned towards the suitcase, slamming it shut and zipping it. "I use a travel tag, so if my luggage gets lost or switched, they can contact me. It's common travel knowledge."

She sighed, walking over towards the suitcase and unzipping the two pockets on top, looking in and shaking her head. "Nothing hidden in those pockets. Did you think to go through the rest of the suitcase? Maybe they have a tag in there."

"And risk touching another pair of possibly dirty boxers and God knows what else? No thanks," you zipped up the suitcase and picked it up, placing it back onto the ground. "I'm doomed. That suitcase had all of the clothes that I took to Jersey, in it. It had my outfit and makeup for tonight."

"I have something you can borrow," she walked over to the closet, opening it to reveal it was empty besides two dresses hanging up. "And I've got make-up and whatever your little heart desires for your hair."

"Your wedding present was in there too," you sighed, walking over to the closet. "Which one?"

"This." She held out the rose-colored dress, handing the hanger to you. "You can get away with no bra and I can give you a pair of underwear from the new pack I bought this morning–"

"Why would you buy new underwear?" You asked, taking the dress.

"In case of emergencies," she closed the closet and turned back to you, nodding. "Which, this is. Unopened pack in that laundry basket I was carrying, feel free to take a pair and keep them. As for shoes...you're kind of on your own on that one."

You sighed, defeated as she walked out of the bedroom, leaving you to get dressed. You unwrapped the towel around your hair, letting it drop onto the floor as the towel wrapped around your body went with it. You took the dress off of the hanger and untied the straps, lifting the dress over your head and tugging it down. Your mind was going over every detail of just how you picked up the wrong suitcase. Fair, it was a dead-ringer for the suitcase you took with you to Jersey, but even you should have known to realize that there was no bright red luggage tag hanging on the side handle. And it was all you could do but hope that whoever picked up your suitcase thinking it was theirs, would at least call or text.

"Oh shit," you said, holding onto the straps that hung down on the side, trying to tie them in the back. "Charlotte! My phone!"

You ran out into the living room to see her now finishing up her make-up at the counter, turning to you with wide eyes. "Okay one, sit down and let me brush your hair," she stood up and grabbed your wrist, bringing you over to counter and sitting you down. "And two, your phone is right there."

"If they figured out our luggage was switched, they'd call! My luggage tag!" You reached across the counter, grabbing your phone and turning it over to see that the screen was still black. "Oh come on, my phone wasn't that dead!"

Charlotte tugged you back and started to brush your hair, not bothering to go slow. "I plugged it in the moment you went to take a shower, just give it a few seconds."

If looks could kill, your phone would be nowhere ready to turn on. You were glaring at the screen as if pure intimidation would turn it on. This could go one of two ways:

1) This person left your suitcase in the dark abyss that is lost luggage at the airport.

2) Like you, they didn't realize that they had grabbed the wrong luggage until they went to open it and they'll find your luggage tag and call you.

"Ah!" You yelled, jumping out of the chair as your phone lit up. You leaned over the counter, your heart racing as Charlotte tried to keep brushing your hair. "Come on, come on, come on..."

"Right there," Charlotte said, pointing at your screen as a text message notification popped up on the screen from an unknown number. "That has to be them!"

"Oh thank God," you sighed, thumb ready to swipe the message open. "Oh...yikes."

"Uh," Charlotte laughed as the two of you continued to watch your messages pour in, at least 5 coming in from the unknown number, along with three phone calls. "Yikes indeed, I guess they're panicking just as much as you are."

You swiped on the notifications, unlocking your phone, and going to the message.

unknown: hi y/n i think you grabbed the wrong suitcase...

unknown: yeah, uh, you most definitely grabbed the wrong suitcase.

unknown: is there any way we can switch in the next 30 minutes before i reach my house?

unknown: ok, so i'm sorry for the spam texts and calls...but this is kind of urgent.

unknown: like life or death.

"Life or death?" Charlotte asked, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. "What the hell was in that suitcase?"

"Spike ball and dirty clothes," you replied, shrugging. Your eyes went wide before you turned back to her. "What if they're a drug smuggler and there are drugs in there?"

She opened her mouth to speak before looking down at your phone, nodding. "Now's your chance to find out. Look who's calling."

You looked back down at your phone to see the unknown number flash on your screen. You looked back at her, shaking your head. "You answer it."

"Your luggage, you answer it," she laughed, pulling back segments of your hair to tie back. "But put it on speaker, I'm curious what the drug dealer sounds like."

You shoved your elbow back, avoiding her as you nervously slid your thumb across the screen, answering the call and pressing the speaker button. "Hello?"

"Oh thank God," the unknown called sighed, clearing his throat. "Sorry for the spam calls, I've just been panicking."

"Yeah, I’m sorry...my phone died," you replied, looking at Charlotte as your voice dwindled off.

"The suitcase," she mouthed, nodding her head back towards the room.

"Oh, the suitcase!" You said, almost a little too excited. You cleared your throat, calming yourself down. "I most definitely have your suitcase...maybe."

"Well I have yours," you could hear rustling in the background. "Y/N L/N, right?"

"Yep, that's me," you looked at Charlotte again, shaking your head. "Sorry to kind of do this...but how do I know I have your suitcase? I mean, what if I grabbed someone else's and you grabbed mine and there's three of us in this and–"

Charlotte smacked your back lightly with the back of the brushed, shaking her head as the voice on the other side of the phone laughed. "Um, shit," he coughed, smacking his lips. "Uh well, there should be a spike ball set in there. If not, then I left it at Johnny's. Otherwise, it's just clothes."

"Congratulations," you laughed, leaning back into the chair. "I've got your suitcase."

"Oh thank God, I was really worried there for a second," they replied. "Is there any chance we can exchange them soon?"

"Okay, so about that," you sighed, biting the inside of your cheek. "I kind of have a wedding rehearsal and dinner to go to in 20 minutes...and I don't think that will be over with till about...two hours from now. Is that okay?"

There was silence on the other side and you couldn't help but feel horrible at the fact that you were keeping this stranger away from his luggage and that he had to keep yours until then. "My family and I are going to dinner in two hours, reservation and all."

"Where at?" You spoke before your brain could even catch up with what your mouth was doing. "I'm sorry that was creepy."

He laughed and you felt a little flutter feeling in your stomach. "No, it's fine. I think we're going to Maggiano's in–"

"In the Westfield town center?" Your eyes widened as Charlotte placed the brush down on the counter behind you, looking at you with a smile. "We're going to Pieology in the Westfield town center!"

"Pieology for a wedding rehearsal dinner? Sounds like my kind of party," he laughed. "So, do you just want to exchange then? When I get there and you're leaving?"

"Sounds perfect!"

"Great! So I'll just, text you when I get there and I promise I won't forget the suitcase."

"Okay, I'll see you then."

"All right, bye, Y/N!"

"Bye!" You hung up the call and Charlotte leaned against the counter a smile on her face. "What?"

"He sounded cute." She stuck placed the extra bobby pins she didn't need, onto the counter. "Maybe he can be your date for my wedding."

"Not this again," you groaned, getting out of the chair. "For the last time, I don't need a date. Besides, this guy is a total stranger– I don't even know his name!"

"You can learn it later," she laughed, wiggling her eyebrows. "Either way, do your makeup quickly because we need to leave in ten."

She walked off towards the bedroom the two of you had claimed and you sighed, sitting back down into your seat, grabbing her mascara, blush, and golden liquid shimmer eyeshadow. It was the best you could do for now, until you got all of your stuff back from this stranger. As you applied the eyeshadow, you couldn't get Charlotte's comment out of your head. She was right, he did sound cute. But who's to say that he's not a total creep? Or that he's even your age? He could be in his 40's or even barely cruising 18. And then stood the real issue, you didn't even know his name.

Your phone screen lit up once again and you looked away from the mirror, seeing that you had another text from the unknown number. You furrowed your eyebrows and unlocked your phone, opening his text.

unknown: my name is matt, by the way 😊

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk oneshot #nhl imagine #nhl one shot #hockey imagine #hockey oneshot #hockey writing #nhl writing #calgary flames oneshot #calgary flames imagine #calgary flames writing #matthew tkachuk writing #calgary flames #my writing

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elliethesuperfruitlover · 3 years

Text

its gonna be an oolong night

A/N: Yes, I’m still alive. This is for a character that literally nobody is familiar with, and I honestly don’t care at this point. He’s wonderful, attractive, and my god great character yes yes yes. Mat x reader.

Warnings: smut, oral sex (fem! receiving), major teasing, like more than usual for me, but somehow still soft like what the fuck

I also know that a lot is going on right now, fandom-wise, and here in the US.(i swear to god one of these days im just gonna start throwing hands at the police) (or just the world in general.) But here’s some smut to take your mind off that, at least for a few thousand words.

Tag List: @super-unpredictable98, @seanfalco, @seancekitsch, @bisexualnathanyoung, @neuroticpuppy, @misskittysmagicportal, @ghoulsbuddy, @magic-multicolored-miracle, @the-freckled-luba, @maerenee930

“Come on, it’s not that bad. It’s literally just a dosage cup full.” he said, leaning the small cup towards you. Mat was testing a new brew of coffee, one he made this time. Although you loved and trusted him, sometimes he didn’t have the best execution.

“Sir, you have no idea how much anxiety I’m gonna be having if I have like any of that.” you reply, slowly backing into the corner. You look around for any type of escape, and it seems as if the side door in the kitchen was the only option. As Mat dove forward, you spun to face the door, and placed a finger on the handle.

“One move and I’m gone sir. Not permanently of course, the dick’s too good, but you know I have places to be. Food to eat. Arson to commit.” you say, half-stern, foot inching towards the door.

“Ugh fine. At least I know that I’ve been fucking you right this entire time.” he replies, downing the coffee before throwing the small cup in the sink, walking towards you. The sun was out, and he was simply glowing in it. Especially after that work out with Craig, dear lord, that man was looking scrumdiddlyumptious.

“You always listen. I have no idea if it’s because of your anxiety, or that you drink your respect women juice every morning. But what can I say, you know your way around.” you mutter, letting him come from behind you in order to hug you.

“I don’t think I’d want it any other way. Finding the body’s secrets and enjoying them together. Are you purposely trying to get me to fuck you on the couch, because I will.” Mat whispered into your form. You could feel him press his hardness into you, and a few thoughts passed through your head.

Do I want this man to fuck my brains out? Yes/No

Am I going to have to clean the couch, bed, counter, and or kitchen table afterwards? Yes/No

Will he make/give me brownies afterwards? Yes/No

But I have work to do??? Do That First, And Let Him Tease You Through It/Ignore

“Okay, fine, I’ll let you fuck me afterwards. But you can tease me throughout, it’s always an option.” you mutter, turning around to see the half-smirk on his face.

“Oh, you’re going to struggle, mama.” he said, putting a record on, Keys of Life, as expected.

“We’ll see.”

And fucking see you did. You couldn’t get a fucking break from this man’s fucking hands. He was observing you while you folded laundry, and would purposely brush his hands with yours when you handed a new article of clothing to him. You were washing dishes practically attached at the hip. It took you a good hour to get all of the housework done. Of course, it would’ve gone much smoother if Mat wasn’t sitting on counters like a cat, mind, counters that you were trying to clean.

“Yay, you’re finally done!” Mat cheered, climbing towards you from the end of the bed, gently tugging your pants off. He kissed up your calves, and breathed in deeply once he got to your hips. He let the sigh out, and got to work on treasuring your legs and thighs.

You took a deep breath, and got distracted in thought for a moment. Mat always treated you like, well a queen. Waking up in the morning to cook before he goes down to the shop, and letting you try new recipes. He even let you go back into the kitchen to tour it once. Although, Pablo headbanging wasn’t what you intended on seeing. Nevertheless, you wouldn’t take it back for anything. Mat’s wonderful, and he made sure everything was as it should be. Well, most times at least. It gave you a warm, fuzzy feeling, and you came back to the realm of reality where Mat was finishing his rounds, fingers threading a trail to your underwear.

He also tugged those off, and without a second thought, your legs spread further, and Mat gently kissed along your slit, then using his fingers to separating your labia. Your head sat back on the pillow as his tongue made itself familiar with you once more. His hands came up to hold your hips to his face, and you had half a mind to squeeze his head with your thighs. Tiny, lewd noises filled the once-quiet space as Mat went to town on your pussy, like he hadn’t eaten in days (thats a lie, he ate you out during a work call the night before). His nose gently nudged your clit, and you gasped. He smiled against you as one of his fingers came to toy with it, rubbing gentle circles. You sighed at his touch, but then the fucker began teasing.

His tongue would get within centimeters of your clit before retreating back down. You were very tempted to reach down to hold his head where you wanted. You thought it out for 0.5 seconds before reaching down and gently pressing his head into your sex, adjusting your hips as to where they’re slightly off the bed. He looked up at you, glaring, as he let you have your way with his head...for the time being at least.

He lapped at your excretions, almost disgustingly so, but every noise that come from below further fueled the fire. The burning, aching fire in the pit of your gut that wanted nothing more than to absolutely be ruined by (or to ruin) your lover, as well as the bedsheets that you’d been occupying. For short moments of time, you focused on the feeling of his dreads on your thighs before another intrusion made you gasp out loud, making your hips stutter against Mat’s face, losing their up and down motion. Mat’s fingers were more than skilled at getting where they needed to be, and as you felt them (yes, them, he works quick) scissor into you. Your walls contracted when he moved his mouth over your clit, sucking roughly. Those fucking sounds drove you over multiple waves, but the big one was yet to arrive. You were getting extraordinarily close, and on extremely short notice. You couldn’t make head nor tail of Mat’s fingers or his tongue. All you knew was more and more pressure right where you wanted. The flat of his tongue just needed to move like an inch to the left-

oh jesus fucking christ~

Your legs squeezed around Mat’s face as you came, and you screamed to the heavens, head thrown back. Angelic, almost, except maybe God won’t let you in for this moment, right here in particular. Mat came back up with the bottom half of his face covered in slick, eyes blown with lust.

“Every time you properly give me an orgasm, I swear 5 extra years get added to my life.” you mumble, catching your breath.

“Mm, and well deserved. You taste so fucking good, I need even more time to cherish you.” he replied, shedding his shirt.

You admired him from your spot on the bed for a short moment before the sex gremlin in your brain leaned forward, urging you to kiss your partner. He reciprocated, and his arm found its way back around your body as the two of you made out. Mat’s hard-on pulsed against your thigh, even through those fucking boxers, you thought, as Mat detached from the kiss, moving his way to your neck. He nipped at a few spots, and kissed over your clavicle before finally taking off his last article of clothing, and you contracted once more upon realizing that this man, truly was yours. He wouldn’t be this tender and caring with anyone he found (on second thought, mans does have horrible anxiety, so-). But no, he usually wouldn’t eat out some stranger, then ask them what their favorite surprise flavors in cupcakes are. He wouldn’t carry them to bed after their day was too exhausting to even want to life another finger. He wouldn’t come over and smoke, and talk over records with just anyone.

“I know you’re thinking about something. Come on, my penis is a simple being, it’s not a deity.” Mat says, chuckling afterwards.

“Right... let me just call the pp doctor real quick. In reality, I was thinking about how good you are to me. But please, do feel free to stick it in, I’m waiting sir.” you reply, letting Mat line himself up before he gently sheathed himself in you, causing your head to tip back once more. Mat also let out a beautiful, guttural noise of his own, furthering your own want for him to fuck your brains out.

Mat gently pulled back before starting a decent pace, making sure to let you adjust where needed, and tucking his head into your neck. You looked over to his back, and stare at his ass before deciding to actually focus on the pleasure you were experiencing in that moment. Your hands rested on his back as you gently clenched and unclenched, thinking of nothing more than being absolutely wrecked and fucked out by Mat, letting your thoughts wander to the dirtiest, most filthy parts of your brain. Once you were done practically creaming at the thought of being ruined, Mat groaned against your neck. He was almost whimpering, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and his muscles gleamed in the sunlight, which peeked through the blinds.

You just so happened to look down at where Mat was slamming into you, and it was such a wonderful thing to see. There was cream practically streaming out of you, and the spot underneath you was soaked, a good sized puddle of release surrounding your bottom. Mat wasn’t even fully pulling out anymore. That didn’t even matter though, he just felt so good. Too fucking good. The sound of him fucking you into the mattress was so good. So much better than the toy in the bedside drawer. It worked wonders, true, but my god, Mat did you so well. Could never hold candle to him. Mat was getting louder, and the almost full-bladder feeling built inside of you, but that was for another time. Although, the sheets can’t possibly be ruined any further. Anyway, Mat was about to fucking mating press you into the goddamn mattress.

You clenched, and gasped loudly as Mat hit that one spot. The definite, all-in spot that made you see stars when tapped correctly. Your nails dug into Mat’s back, much to his liking, and he drilled you into the mattress, legs held by his hands, and all thoughts thrown out of the window. He was openly praising you, how good and tight you felt, and how he wanted to *shudders* fill you up while he gently, but somehow so roughly made love to you. A few more loud moments passed, and you ground your hips upwards, making sure that somehow, you remained dominant in your own sense. Mat sped up impossibly, hips moving like a blur into you. He reached his end, and cried out, hips pressed directly into yours as he came. His eyes were closed, but he looked so fucking good, head thrown back, chest glistening with sweat. He collapsed next to you, breathing heavily. You contemplated getting up, but Mat always got a smidge clingy after his orgasms, so you were you wrapped your arms around him, in an odd sideways hug. Minutes passed, and you were fighting sleep, and resisting the urge.

Once you were almost out, you heard a muffled noise from besides you.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that.” you muttered. Mat moved his head from the pillow and said something very honest.

“I want you to sit on my face. You didn’t get a chance to orgasm again, and I want you to have as lovely of a experience as I did.” he replied, and you were a deer in headlights for a moment. A very aware deer, but like sir, I need some reference. Don’t tell me to pop, lock, and drop it on your face right after I just held my legs in one spot for like 30 minutes.

“Fucking get to it then.” you purred, hips hovering above his face

He waited only seconds to begin absolutely devouring you, nose buried in your pussy. You barely even had to move your hips, as was getting into every spot you needed him to perfectly. His tongue seemed to move a mile a minute, getting all of the best places it could find. You were afraid of what was to happen if he was too quick. Poor thing would need a good five minutes of warning. You fully let go of the tension in your body, and let Mat work his magic, hands holding onto your ass extremely tight, sure to leave bruises.

You screamed when he landed a slap to your ass, harder than usual, and you were just moments away from another wonderful climax. At this moment in time, you wished that you had a mirror on the top of your bed, so that way, you could see everything. It would be so perfect for so many tender moments in time. Or less tender, more rough and “chile, we shoulda got the roast out at 4:45, but it’s 5:25 moments”

Your brain just go happened to think about looking down, and Mat’s blissed out face, mildly flushed in comparison to other moments. You moved your hips just one touch to the right, and it caused you to orgasm on his face. Quite messily for an observer’s eye. Yeahhh, you should’ve warned him about that. Mat wiped his face off, and smiled, kissing your thigh as you fell to the opposite side of the bed. You laughed it off, and almost immediately knocked out.

“You could’ve told me about that, y’know.” Mat said, the next morning. He was brushing his teeth, and preparing to open The Coffee Spoon up for the morning.

“It would’ve ruined the fun. Who doesn’t like a bit of spice added to their coffee, hmm?” you retorted, watching as his eyes drifted over to yours in a somewhat happy, somewhat “oh my god, the fucking nerves of that pun” way.

No matter, because there would be a lot more surprises where that came from.

Mat, for reference:

Masterlist

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densi-mber · 4 years

Text

Crush

A/N: This takes places in the semi-near future. For today’s prompt: Kensi or Deeks as a teacher. This fic represents what happens when my mind runs wild with an idea.

***

“Hey, can I call you back in about an hour and a half?” Deeks asked as he jogged down a flight of stairs to the third floor. “I have office hours starting in a few minutes.”

“Sure. Good luck with the gremlins,” Kensi answered. He rolled his eyes, nodding to a passing professor.

“Kens, they’re in they’re 20’s. You have to stop calling my students things like gremlins and children.”

He walked into the small office where he spent his time when he wasn’t teaching Contract Law to thirty or so L1 students. He dropped his bag by the desk, and slipped his jacket off, rolling his sleeves up a few times so he wouldn’t end up getting ink or chalk on the fabric. His dry cleaning bills had definitely increased since he started wearing dress shirts and ties again.

A little less than a year before, when he’d be aimlessly looking for a job, one of his former classmates had suggested teaching until he found something more permanent. Deeks had balked at the idea initially, but eventually given when it became clear that he needed to work and his other options were unavailable.

He’d never anticipated how much he would enjoy it. Now he taught three classes throughout the week at Loyola Law school as an adjunct professor. It was strangely satisfying to have a hand in teaching the next batch of lawyers.

“All I’m saying is that they look a lot younger that I did at that age.” Deeks snorted at Kensi’s completely inaccurate observation as he wrote a few notes on the blackboard that took up most of the back wall.

“You were just a baby when I met you,” he teased.

“Yet you still married me,” Kensi pointed out.

“Ooh, touché.” He heard a noise behind him and glanced over his shoulder. “Oops, gotta go. See you at dinner.” Deeks hung up, turning around completely to face one of his students, Mallory Baten.

She was lingering in the doorway and if Deeks didn’t know better, he would have thought she was hesitating. But that didn’t align with the young woman he knew. Mallory was one of the most outspoken and confident students in the class. She also had a biting sense of humor that Deeks found hilarious.

“Hey Mallory, what can I do for you?” he asked, gesturing for her to take a seat. Again she hesitated a little before pulling up one of the metal chairs situated opposite his desk.

“I had a few questions about Monday’s lecture, Mr. Deeks,” she said, pulling out a thick, color coded binder. The sight of it always reminded him of his own college experience and made him slightly nauseous. He did not miss the stress of studying and exams.

Deeks dragged his chair over with his foot and sat down with his forearms braced against the back, waiting for her to continue.

Brushing her light blond hair back from her neck, Mallory flipped to a page from the last class notes. Deeks instantly recognized her small, neat handwriting covering the majority of the paper.

“So, I was rereading the section on unjust enrichment and I wondered if you could clarify the concept. The text book had some examples, but I thought it was a little lacking,” she said, pointing to her notes.

Deeks tilted his head, quickly scanned her notes and nodded. It was a fairly simple concept, but Mallory tended to be exceedingly thorough. She was one of five or six students who regularly attended his office hours.

“Ok, so unjust enrichment essentially says that if I provide you with a service or product, I deserve compensation. Even if you end a contract early or have an issue with how I provided the service, you still need to provide compensation for those services or produces you received,” he explained.

“Even if the services or products weren’t satisfactory?” she asked, writing something in the corner of the page.

“Well, that would fall under a different part of contract law and would be considered a breach of contract. Assuming there was a legitimate contract to begin with. Does that answer your question?”

“Yes, it does, Mr. Deeks.”

“Awesome, I’ll see you on Wednesday,” Deeks said, grabbing a stack of homework assignments that needed grading from the end of his desk while Mallory packed up her binder.

“Actually, I have one more question,” Mallory said. He glanced up, mildly surprised to find her standing over her desk. “Do you want to have dinner with me tonight?”

Deeks froze, sure he’d heard her wrong.

“Do I-what are you asking me?”

“I’m asking you to go out to dinner. On a date.” Her cheeks were a little flushed, but her gaze didn’t waver.

“You know, I’m married, right?” he asked a little desperately. He saw Mallory’s eyes flick to his ring and then back to his face, and she nodded.

“I know.”

“And I’m your teacher.”

“You’re also really hot,” she said bluntly and he felt his cheeks fill with heat. “Plus you’re funny, caring, and my god, your muscles are incredible. Sometimes I come to office hours just to watch the you move.”

Mallory seemed past the point of embarrassment, but he wished a hole would open up in the floor. Or he could throw himself out a window. Unfortunately, his office didn’t have one so he’d have to actually face this. It didn’t help that Mallory was now openly checking him out.

Suppressing a groan, he turned in a half circle, pinching the bridge of his nose as tried to figure out what to say. The continuing ed classes he’d taken hadn’t prepared him for this possibility at all.

“Mart-Mr. Deeks, are you ok?” He almost laughed at the question.

He turned back around to face Mallory again, balancing a on hand on his hip. She looked a little more uncertain again and was watching him avidly.

“Well, this is, uh, wow.” He cleared his throat noisily and tried again. “While this is incredibly, um, flattering, I think we both know that nothing is going to happen between us. For a multitude of reasons,” he said as gently as he could.

“We could still just go out for dinner,” she suggested hopefully. “As friends.”

“No, we can’t,” Deeks said firmly. “Now we should go talk to the dean about getting you transferred to another class section for the remainder of the semester.”

***

“Hey baby,” Kensi greeted him at home later that day, punctuating it with a kiss. “How was work?”

“An unmitigated disaster,” he sighed. He dropped his bag by the door, and flopped onto the couch. Kensi sat next to him and grabbed his hand with a look of concern.

“What happened? Everything seemed fine when I talked to you earlier today.” Deeks groaned, silently reliving the last few hours.

“One of my students hit on me today.” If he’d expected Kensi to react with outrage, he was about to be disappointed. She visibly relaxed beside him, smacking his arm with the back of her hand.

“Why didn’t you lead with that? You had me really worried,” she said, shaking her head at his apparent lack of consideration.

“The fact that a 23 year old asked me out to dinner doesn’t bother you at all?” Deeks asked. Kensi shrugged.

“I figured it was only a matter of time.” Deeks gave her a look and she rolled her eyes at him. “For someone who claims to be a reformed lady’s man, you are ridiculously oblivious when someone is flirting with you. Half the women in your class have a crush on you.”

“No they don’t.” Kensi actually laughed at his protest, patting his arm with false sympathy.

“Uh, yeah they do, babe. Every time I’ve visited you at work, there are no less than three students staring at you at any time. Sometimes even a couple teachers,” she said, clearly enjoying this more than she had any right to.

“Ugh, now I’m going to be thinking about these kids checking me out during class,” he groaned. “This sucks.”

“You’re not even a little bit flattered?” she asked with mild surprised. He shrugged. Maybe he would have been at one time, but now it just seemed weird and a little creepy.

“I might be if I wasn’t old enough to be their father.” Kensi squinted at him and he clarified, “If I had them really young.”

“I’m sure they don’t think of you in a fatherly way.” Deeks made a face at that and gave a full-body shudder.

“Well, thanks for that horrible thought,” he said dryly. “And here I just thought they all loved my teaching.”

“Well, I’m sure they appreciate that too.” Kensi smirked at him as he pouted, running her fingers through his hair. “It’s all your own fault, you know.”

“How is this my fault? I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“You can’t walk around all day in tight shirts and pants with your sleeves rolled up and not expect to get noticed,” she said, leaning in and gliding her nose across his jaw. She inhaled deeply. “You look good enough to eat.” As she spoke, her hand drifted up his bare forearm to cup his bicep. It was a fairly innocent touch, but he still felt a shiver work its way up his spine.

“Is that an offer?” he asked, thoughts of Mallory quickly leaving his mind. Kensi walked her fingers up his arm and across his chest, pausing at his collar. She fiddled with the button on his collar and then slowly tugged his tie free.

“It’s a promise,” she said, the husky note in her voice incredibly sexy. Deeks settled his hands on her hips as she rose up on her knees and straddled his thighs. Smiling down at him, she brushed her hair back, the glossy strands dancing around her shoulder, and slipped the top button free on his shirt. Then she looked up, her expression playful, and added, “For later.”

“That’s cruel,” he complained. “Especially when I’ve had such a terrible day. It was mortifying.”

“So how much did you freak out when she asked you out?” she asked slyly.

“I handled it with all the finesse and professionalism that you would expect from a former criminal defendant, detective, and federal liaison,” Deeks said with mock solemnity and Kensi raised an eyebrow at him.

“Really?” Her voice was filled with disbelief.

“Yeah, no, I kept hoping a freak tornado or earthquake would come along and put me out of my misery.”

“So, I don’t have to worry about you running off with any promising young law students?” Deeks rolled his eyes at Kensi’s question. He thought she was mostly joking, but just in case, he cupped her jaw between his palms, cradling the back of her head and firmly kissed her. She made a noise of surprise in the back of her throat that quickly turned to satisfaction.

“Never. They’ll just have to find another incredibly attractive, middle aged teacher to chase after.” He kissed her again. When they pulled back, Kensi was smirking at him as she fiddled with his collar.

“You’re an idiot, but I love you anyway,” she said, pulling him back down to her.

***

A/N: I know nothing about law, other than what I googled.

#densimber 2020 #ncis la #densi #densimber day 5 #marty deeks #kensi blye #ncis la fanfiction #by ejzah #any excuse to talk about Deeks’ muscles

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fearfulkittenwrites · 4 years

Text

Gala and “I’m allergic to bullshit.”

Word count: 2244

Link for it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26180371

Notes: Hey! This was beta'd by @3ambird , who is an amazing sweetheart and improves evertything they touch. Thank you for the help!

Galas were never fun. Bruce had hated them as a kid, and hated them as teen, and he hates them as an adult. Still, he has to maintain appearances, so he always attends. And as his family grew, his kids were forced to attend as well.

Dick Grayson was particularly good at socializing. After he moved past his teenage rage, of course. He used to get in passive aggressive arguments with the rich CEOs and company owners all the time. He still does, but at least now he was good at it to the point where it almost couldn’t be recognized as an argument, instead of jumping on the necks of greedy millionaires that bought land out of poor people.

That was an interesting headline.

Jason sucked at galas. Soon enough, he figured out that if he started enough awkward conversations, people wouldn’t want to talk to him anymore. Especially the creepy single older women, pinching his cheeks and squeezing his biceps.

“Say, Claire, what’s your opinion on the alarming rate at which the bees are disappearing? They say that’s because of all the chemicals we put in our food.” He’d smile, carefully holding his glass. Bruce would struggle to hide his gasp, because Jason, that’s the owner of the highest earning pesticides company in the country.

“Well, Roger, I’m certain that the legalization of abortions would be a great thing, considering that now your mistresses won’t have to be sent overseas to terminate the unwanted preganancies you give them, right?” He’d say, and Bruce would nearly have a heart attack, because Jason, that’s the president of Gotham’s conservative party.

“Oh, you see, Sandra, I think that gay marriage should not only be legalized, but encouraged. If straight couples were to cease existing, then no more children would be born, and honestly, no one needs any more of those snotty gremlins running around, ruining perfectly good tapestry.” And Bruce would faint, because Jason, for God’s sake, that is the leader of the Gotham’s Motherhood Association.

Tim wasn’t all that bad. He could be social with a little effort, and he was far more used to galas than any of the other family members, having grown up attending them. Of course, all of that was only valid when he wasn’t sleep deprived, which, considering all he had on his plate, was roughly 32% of the time. When he was running on three hours of sleep and seven cups of caffeine a day, trying to finish a project, run his share of the Wayne Enterprises, and manage school work, he became a bit more irritable and impatient. And extremely impulsive. Which is mainly why Bruce asked Dick to stand by his brother through most of the night.

“We both know you’re his impulse control, Dick.” He said, adjusting his oldest son’s tie “Remember what happened the last time he was left unattended for fifteen minutes?”

“He got into an argument with a young Creationist and dunked his own head in an ice bowl after screaming ‘Fuck God! I can hear colors and dinosaurs rule!’” Dick sighed, “Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Cass despised them, but Bruce insisted she should attend anyway. More often than not, she’d just stay at the table, tasting as many appetizers as the waiters would bring her, and shooting murderous looks at anyone who sneered at her. Bruce was relieved that at least she wasn’t cracking any bones.

Damian was... Better than Jason and worse than Dick. He had an unamused expression through most of the event, and would unceremoniously swat away any hands that tried to pinch his cheeks. Other than that, he wasn’t much trouble. The real trouble were galas all Wayne kids attended. The five of them could cause enough trouble when they were apart, together they were the embodiment of chaos.

And this was supposed to be a calm, slightly boring family evening. It really was.

But Bruce just had to bring all five of them.

Everything had to go just right. As they walked in through the red carpet, the media was eating up the image of the six Waynes dressed formally; Each of them had a tie color matching their hero uniform (a cheeky thing they enjoyed doing to play with the theorists minds), Dick had a dark blue one, Tim and Jason slightly varying tones of red, Damian had a green one and Bruce had a black one. Cass wore a long black dress that sparkled when it was hit by the light in just the right way.

The first sign was the reporter, who, while aggressively pointing a microphone in their faces, asked pushy questions about relationships and the like, nothing out of the ordinary, until he shoved it in Cass’ face and asked her if she could even speak. Jason almost broke the man’s nose. Bruce silently thanked God for Dick, who stepped in front of the man before that happened.

“Try some shit like that again pal, you’ll hear from our lawyers.” He led his sister inside, a protective hand on her back.

They calmed down. And Bruce still had hopes that this would be a quiet evening.

Looking back at it, he doesn’t know why.

Because as Dick and Cass were at the bar, ordering drinks, a woman stood next to them, trying to make small talk. Neither of them seemed too interested in her; she is a hassle at every gala, making weird advances on all of the boys. Today, however, she was a little more tipsy, and Bruce couldn’t quite make out what exactly the conversation was about, but Dick was clearly uncomfortable and Cass was fuming. The woman kept grabbing at him, sliding her hands over his tie, squeezing his arms. And then she squeezed his ass, and it took Cass less than a second to break her nose.

If they were any other family, Cass would have been thrown out of the party, but they were the Waynes, and you do not throw a Wayne out of a party. If she punched a middle-aged woman, then she punched a middle-aged woman. Bring her a glass of water and some ice for her injured hand.

Of course, it didn’t end there.

Bruce was still surprised he didn’t have gray hairs yet.

Because Damian had discovered and made friends with a stray cat in the garden, and Jason had a laser pointer, because of course Jason had a laser pointer, and the cat ended up knocking down not one, not two, but three expensive pieces of pottery, shattering them on the gravel floor. And when the house owner saw the damage, he turned pale and had to hold back his tears. Jason laughed.

“-tt-.” Damian stated, adjusting his suit “You owe that cat a favour,those vases ruined the garden’s aesthetic. Regardless, I’m sure father will be more than happy to compensate you for the damages.”

He walked back to the party slowly, passing by the man who would need some time to make it back.

Once Jason broke him the news, Bruce thought (and hoped) that that would be it.

But no, the night was young, and there was so much time left and the batsibilings for sure wouldn’t waste it.

The previous statement about sleep deprived Tim?

Well.

Tonight, he had to pick a fight with an essential-oil-loving, antivax mother. Simply because he liked to torture himself. And because nobody realised he was alone until Bruce spotted him in the crowd, eye twitching as a woman rambled about all the heavy metals and chemicals that vaccines had in them. He thought about getting to him, but he knew it was too late. There was no going back now.

“Well, you see Karen,” He started.

“Uuum, my name’s Patricia.” She interrupted.

“I’m a billionaire’s heir, I don’t give a shit.” He said “Anyways. As I was saying, the thing is, I’d rather take the chance of being injecting myself with mercury than, oh, I don’t know, get meningitis and fucking die?”

The circle went quiet. Another woman, wanting to dissipate the tension, tried to restart the conversation.

“I-I mean, I don’t understand why can’t they make something safer, right? Like, when we used to throw those smallpox parties, why won’t they make something that works like that? So that we can build a natural immunity instead of all of those chemicals.” She laughed awkwardly.

Tim slapped his own face so hard that it attracted a lot of eyes.

“How. Do. You. Think. Vaccines. Work. Susan?”

“M-my name is Mary.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” He answered. And just in time, Dick swooped in.

“Hey, Timmy!” He greeted “Can I borrow this guy for a second?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he guided Tim out to the garden.

“Fucking idiots.” He muttered “I don’t know how they have so much money. They’re all fucking idiots, Dick. I’m surrounded by dumbasses.”

“There, there.” He said “Okay, we’re far enough.” He looked around “Go ahead.”

And Tim let out the most horrendous, rage filled scream any of those guests had ever heard. Because of course they heard it. Bruce sighed and shrunk on his chair.

“Better?” Dick asked as he finished, patting his back.

“So much.” Tim answered.

“You should’ve slept a little before this.”

“No way. I’m totally fine.” He answered “I had three cans of monster before we left, so I feel great.” Dick raised an eyebrow, worried.

“Whatever you say, buddy.” He led him back inside, tidying up his brother’s hair “Just... No more picking fights with moms tonight, okay?”

And Bruce thought that was enough. Bruce was certain that this would be the last incident.

But his kids just loved proving him wrong.

He thought that the best strategy would be to ask them to stick together, so that Dick’s responsibility and social skills would keep his feral siblings under control. He should’ve known it would backfire.

The last he checked, they were making small talk with some CEOs on the edge of the room, away from the dance floor. Jason, Cass and Damian seemed completely bored, Tim was clenching his jaw for some reason, and Dick tried his best to look polished and polite.

“So, I heard that Wayne Enterprises have a new project?” One of them asked, chest so projected forwards it looked like it was about to explode.

“Yes. Yes we do.” Dick said, smiling politely “We’re opening up a refugee housing program.”

“Oh, so that’s what those buildings are for?”

“Yes, exactly!” He exclaimed, opening his arms in a seemingly natural manner “We are building apartments to shelter them. It’s nothing fancy, but we can charge a cheaper rent than most, and not charge at all for the first six months, giving them a chance to properly establish themselves here.”

“Well, I must say,” Puffed up chest guy stated, “I can’t see why not to give them to good old Americans instead. There’s a lot of homeless people nowadays, you see.” He leaned forward as he talked.

Damian perked his head up, but didn’t say anything. Cass and Jason seemed to be listening. Tim’s left eye twitched.

“Actually,” Tim started “The company has very stable, successful projects to help the homeless.”

“I’m familiar with those, yes.” He arrogantly dismissed the teen “But, you see, I just can’t understand why not open the housing to tax paying Americans instead of some...”

“Potential terrorists?” Damian suggested, arms crossed, scowl on his face.

“...Foreigners.” He completed.

“Well, since you ask, we are currently planning on the possibility of eventually opening vague apartments to Americans too.” Dick answered, swirling the liquid in his glass around “But the priority now really are the refugees.”

“I don’t see why can’t we prioritize our own people.” He insisted “I’m simply concerned for the well being of our poorest patriots.”

Dick blinked.

And here’s why Bruce should have known it would backfire.

Because, yes, Dick was able to cool them down...

But they were able to fire him up.

And so, like the charismatic man he was, he covered his nose a little, rubbing at the end, and faked a loud sneeze.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” He started “You see, I have this strange condition.” Dick stared at the man in the eye, the guy who had bought an old building people were squatting at, just to demolish it and doom them to the streets with no care or compensation, and, knowing this and so much more, said “I’m allergic to bullshit.”

And his siblings went feral again.

Tim and Jason screamed an ‘Oooooooooh!’, Damian pointed at the man and laughed loudly, and Cass snorted, covering her mouth in surprise.

Dick didn’t break eye contact as he drank the last of his champagne.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” He said “I have to go look for better company.” Dick left the empty glass at the nearest table and adjusted his suit, smiling “Have a nice evening.”

As he walked away, the gang followed close behind, all of them very excited about how Dick, the composed, calm, cool, polite and polished Dick Grayson-Wayne, had just burned a millionaire in front of his economic allies. As the party reached Bruce, the man once again seemed to sink into his chair. Dick sat next to him, radiating confidence and charm.

“Do I wanna know?” The man asked.

“No,” Dick answered, grinning but not looking at the man “No you don’t.”

#Batfamily #BatFam #batbros #batsiblings #dick grayson #bruce wayne #jason todd #tim drake #Damian Wayne #cassandra cain #bruce wayne is a good parent #exasperated dad bruce wayne #batman bingo #batman bingo 2020 #fanfic #fanfition #writing #chaotic batfam

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queencamden · 4 years

Note

Do you think that the SIX fandom has become very toxic ????

That’s rather complicated. I’m not totally well-versed in fandom drama, as the major fandoms I’ve been in previously (School for Good and Evil, Six of Crows and Three Dark Crowns) are all fairly chill. However, I have noticed that it has gotten a lot less unified as time went on. I first joined around July (before I got my account, just looking at posts) and it seemed much more supportive then.

I think the fandom has just become very DIVIDED. I, like several others, have become more in the Tudorblr community than the Six fandom at this point, and because of this I’ve noticed a big divide in terms of views of historical accuracy. (That’s the lens I will be focusing on, as I don’t care much about other discourse)

The divide between history fans and Six fans (and the toxicity within fandom this leads to) can be summarized in three main points.

1. History blogs and history-loving fans don’t understand/ are weirded out by fandomey fans.

2. Fandomey fans do not bother to consider the history.

3. Both sides are very aggressive on what they think is right.

Let’s start with the history blogs

They don’t understand the fandom

I hate to say it, but we’ve become the next Hamilton fandom: most Six fans get their info only from the show, and from this have developed their own, fandomey versions of the characters. The Anne Boleyn that the Six fandom loves is not the real Anne Boleyn. The Katherine Howard the Six fandom loves is not the real Katheryn Howard. However, (I saw a post about this once) the fandom is quite good at separating the characters from the actual people. (Most of) us know that the Angry Bible Aunt, Chaotic Heely Gremlin, The Mom Friend, The Dog-Loving Badass, The Babey-Brat, and The Sleep-Deprived Academic are NOT the Six Wives of Henry VIII. Because that is how fandom works. You take the most exaggerated versions of the characters in question and work off of them. ESPECIALLY in theatre fandoms, where most fans can’t even see the whole show. I think that’s why Theatre fandoms have a reputation for being cringy. The exaggerated, fandom versions of the characters are all they know.

I think a lot of the time, more history-focused blogs don’t get that aspect of fandom. Yes, Tudorblr has its own memey versions of these people (Anne Boleyn being extra, Henry being Garfield) but the content that they make are not solely these characters- because in the end the meme versions are characters. It’s hard for history blogs to understand that the fandom versions of the characters, are NOT what the fans actually think these people were like. This can lead to mocking, and attacking Six fans for being “dumb” or “cringy”. Certain blogs that are within the fandom that like the historical figures hate on fan blogs and that is NOT OKAY. For example, I saw a post where someone was making fun of Six the Kids, because they “would never be friends in the modern day”. Yeah..... neither would the Queens. And this is explicitly set in the universe of Six. History blogs should stop being high and mighty over fandoms having fun. HOWEVER.....

Fans don’t understand the history.

This show IS about real people. Who actually existed. In real life. And Six fans who ONLY reduce them to these characters can be very frustrating for people who are interested in the real people. Because Six is so popular the ONLY versions of these people you can often find on Tumblr are the Six versions. And I get it. Really I do. I used to be one of those Six fans who called KH “Kitty” (only for clarification purposes between the Katherines but still) and made memes about Anne being a chaotic gremlin. And then I looked up the actual history and I STOPPED. Not everyone has to go that deep, of course, or stop making these memes (most of them are very funny) but it would be good to respect the historical figures. I understand that it’s hard to do that in an incorrect quote, but maybe do what @sabrianna said in an earlier post and tag the characters as, say Katharine of Aragon- Six, so as not to clog the tags of people searching for the actual historical figure.

Like I said, the problem is not with making exaggerated versions of the queens. That is part of BEING a fandom. It’s not even a problem of using the characterizations from the show (such as chaotic Boleyn) What is the problem, is that many fans DON’T care about the history, or think they know everything about it. They make roleplays, ship the queens, e.t.c. but it’s all very out of character to the real women. I said earlier that most people can differentiate between the fandom queens and the real queens and that’s true. But some fans don’t. Some fans only know the queens from the fanon and the musical and because of that we get stuff like UwU Babey Katheryn Howard or people shipping Boleyn and Aragon, which is actually kind of disrespectful to the historical figures. At best, this leads to ire and harassment from Tudorblr, at worst to actual misinformation about the queens being spread by the fandom.

Both are overly aggressive in what they think is right

This is the big one and the major component of the “toxicity” of the fandom. Six is a musical about raising your voice, so it makes sense that it’s fans would be very outspoken. But it falls into a problem when they refuse to see the queens any other way. When it gets to people harassing others for stating differing opinions just to defend YOUR interpretation of a real person who actually lived, that is wrong. Because often your interpretation is NOT right, or at least limited. For example people who view Elizabeth and Mary as a black-and-white ‘good sister, evil sister’ dichotomy, when in reality they were both just as grey and complex as anyone else. But people will straight-up harass and argue with others who are just trying to explain that Mary’s background caused a great deal of her problems, and that Elizabeth did bad things too.

There’s just a lack of LISTENING which is a problem for a fandom based on history. (I know Six isn’t historically accurate, but a lot of fans are interested in the real queens). History is subjective. In my time researching historical!Katheryn Howard my opinion on her has changed around three to four times and that’s good. You are allowed to have multiple views on a thing, and when someone is trying to explain something to you, you don’t have to dismiss it. This goes for the history fans to. When Six fans make a factually incorrect statement, many history fans tend to condescend or belittle them which, as a Six fan, does NOT make us want to learn more. Simply telling us the true, often much more interesting, situation, DOES. Also, friendly reminder, most of the Six fandom are teenagers, and from what I’ve seen of Tudorblr it’s more of a mix of teens and adults. IF YOU ARE AN ADULT, DO NOT BELITTLE TEENAGERS FOR BEING WRONG. WE ARE ALREADY INSECURE ENOUGH.

Tldr; History fans, treat Six fans with respect, and acknowledge that their fandomey queens are not the queens you know and love. Six fans, respect the queens (and the history fans), do some research, and put *Queen’s Name*- Six in the tags, so that history blogs don’t ALWAYS have to see Six content. Both groups, respect others opinions. Stop constantly trying to prove you’re right. In the case of Six fans, you’re probably not (sorry) and in the case of history fans, most of the Six fandom are new to this and still learning.

Sorry for the long post @thedeadqueensclub I meant to have this finished a while ago. I don’t really know of any other fandom drama aside from the Tudorblr Vs. Six thing, so this is all I got for fandom toxicity (though there is definitely a lot more I haven’t covered)

I really enjoyed answering this, and would love if I got more asks (though it might take some time to answer them) It’s really nice to talk to all of you!

#sixthemusical #tudorblr #asks #sixcourse #long post

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twentiethcenturymoviesandtv · 4 years

Text

The Princess Bride: A Product of the Times

The 1980s were an age of surplus in terms of just about everything. From the music and clothes to the explosions on screen, the 1980s were a clear example of excess, of wealth of ideas and resources, and nowhere was it more obvious than in the movie industry.

From teen films to comedies to blockbuster action extravaganzas, the 1980s movie industry, led by directors like Steven Spielberg, James Cameron, Richard Donner and more, brought a combination style of ‘throwback’ + innovation to many of their films. Movies like Star Wars and Indiana Jones directly imitated and updated sci-fi and adventure serials from Spielberg and George Lucas’s youth, whereas films like Joe Dante’s Gremlins poked fun at ‘50s B-Movie horror movies. John Carpenter’s The Thing provided an updated look at a classic monster flick, and his The Fog called back to plenty older ghost stories, while making something new of his own. Although the 1980s was a period of exploration in film, with new genres being pioneered and explored in different directions, part of that exploration included looking backward and experimenting with previously existing genres, with the up and coming generation of ‘Movie Brat’ directors choosing to play with elements they’d grown up knowing and loving themselves.

That extended to the fantasy genre.

From the pulpy style of the Low Fantasy Conan the Barbarian films to the magical feeling of movies like Labyrinth or Willow, the 1980s theaters experienced a major boom in terms of fantasy films, experiencing varying levels of success. From Excalibur to Legend, these new fantasy films took risks with special effects, methods of storytelling, and styles of characters (although lots of them became known as Cliche Storms). These movies utilized unique spins on fairy-tale stories and legends, updating and modernizing aspects of them and either making them darker, or finding new ways to acknowledge the fantastical elements of the story.

Most interesting is that, in the 1980s, the fantasy genre didn’t have a whole lot of history to draw from.

Unlike the B-Sci-Fi flicks from the ‘50s or the Creature Features, or even the adventure serials that would go on to spark Indiana Jones, there wasn’t a lot of previous canon in the fantasy genre. Films like The Wizard of Oz, which were landmarks in the genre, didn’t have a whole lot of obvious influence on the sword-and-sorcery films that came afterwards.

Now, you may be asking why all of this matters. Or why any of it matters, in fact.

Here’s the thing: no film is an island. Every movie, (some more than others) is directly influenced by the culture it exists in, and the pool of resources that have come before it, especially in the cases of the films directly designed to emulate genres or specific movies that have already been made.

And that certainly seems to have been the case, at least partially, as far as The Princess Bride is concerned.

Despite being released in the 1980s, with the original book by William Goldman written in 1973, The Princess Bride doesn’t wholly read like it’s contemporaries in the fantasy genre. If you watch it alongside the likes of Ladyhawke, Labyrinth, and Legend, you’ll find that more about the film stands out other than not following my alliterative pattern.

In many of the other fairy-tale-esque stories populating Hollywood during this decade, the characters talk and act very much like they are in a very grand story. There is gravity to the situation and most of the characters, (exception being some of the creatures in Labyrinth) and the story is typically an epic one.

The Princess Bride, on the other hand, manages to avoid this tone and story structure, by including a very traditional fairy-tale plot: save the princess from the evil prince, but by going about it using styles more typical of a different era entirely.

Rather than using the fantasy, action, or even adventure styles traditionally used by the 1980s, The Princess Bride utilized something a little earlier: the swashbuckling style of the 1930s.

Due to the way that the story and characters are written (with a sharp, sly, tongue-in-cheek edge), The Princess Bride cannot be played as a straight fantasy film (check out the Genre article to hear more), and while it does retain plenty of the 1980s charm about it, it also uses the fast-dialogue and witty humor found in stories like The Adventures of Robin Hood and other swashbuckler stories from that decade of adventure films. Watching the fencing match between Inigo Montoya and Westley is eerily similar to many such fight scenes in older action-adventure movies, and listening to the dialogue during this and other sequences, the humorous tone with dry, quick wit, is also an echo of older screwball-style dialogue.

Whether this was intentional or not, the fact is, this makes The Princess Bride’s style very fresh and new in the middle of the fantasy boom of the 1980s. It also had a very interesting side effect:

It made The Princess Bride ‘timeless’.

The idea of something being ‘timeless’ is an interesting topic in the film world.

The word ‘timeless’ is best defined as ‘not affected by the passage of time or changes in fashion’. It carries the implication that, applied to film, a ‘timeless’ movie would be one totally understandable and relatable years after the culture has changed. Carried further, the ideal ‘timeless’ movie would be one with no cultural identity of its own, completely orphaned from the original context that the story originated in. In other words, this is a story that can be enjoyed no matter how much time has passed. Typically, this word gets applied to period stories, sci-fi films, or fantasies: stories not set in the contemporary time period.

In direct contrast, of course, the word ‘dated’ is simply used to apply to anything created in a discernible time period. This word typically carries the connotation of ‘old-fashioned’. This word’s connotation is that, (applied to film) a ‘dated’ film is one that is less understandable by those looking from outside that particular culture or time period. This would be a film that hasn’t ‘aged well’, most often describing contemporary films of the day.

So, here’s the thing.

These definitions, while technically correct, are far more complex than this in the film world.

By the dictionary definition, no film is truly timeless. Every film is a product of the times they were created in, because people who lived in those times created them. Every movie, every piece of media are products of the times they are from, but they are not defined by them. A film is not ‘dated’ because it shows the culture, or the technology of its time, or uses that technology when trying to create the world of the movie itself. A movie is not dated because it uses puppets instead of CGI.

As I mentioned, a film is considered ‘dated’ in a true sense if it is less understandable or enjoyable in hindsight, from a place outside of that specific culture. Less easily overlooked are ideas, and here’s what truly does date a movie.

It really doesn’t matter if a film is made in the ‘70s and set in the far future, or made in the ‘50s and set in the distant past, because quite frankly, the movie is still being made in that decade. As a result, even period films end up carrying the thumbprint of the contemporary ideas of the people who made it. Indiana Jones is best remembered as an ‘80s style action hero because although his films are set in the 1930s and made in the style of adventure serials from that time period, the style of action and characterization was very current, in order to update the genre.

The ideas and thematic core of a film, how certain topics and characters are treated and viewed, both in universe and in the narrative, can be what truly dates a film, even if it has none of the recognizable trimmings like a tie-dye shirt, and here’s where we can tread into good vs. bad territory: because while in some cases, the ideas can be pleasantly positive, in others, the opinions presented by the filmmakers can be rather uncomfortable to modern audiences.

So, all of this is to lead us to an important question:

Is The Princess Bride timeless, or at least, as timeless as movies can get?

Well, some would argue no.

A glaring problem with modern movie-goers is the character of Buttercup, who, as I mentioned in the ‘Characters’ article, really doesn’t do much apart from getting passed-around, fought over and protected. Admittedly, especially to a generation used to Princess Leias, Marion Ravenwoods, and even Lilis, Buttercup seems largely useless, relegating the only woman of the film (aside from Valerie, Miracle Max’s wife) to a plot device, an object without much personality.

To a lot of moviegoers, this is pretty blatantly bad representation: there are two named women in the movie, and one of them has less than five minutes of screen time, and the other essentially exists as nothing other than the title of the film. The film also employs a distinctly monochrome cast, another element that can lead to people pointing to a different era of Hollywood, one that didn’t tend to focus on that kind of representation, or in the case of Buttercup, borderline problematic representation.

There are other moments of issues: Westley’s line about ‘there are penalties when a woman lies’ and his berating her for ‘moving on’ and getting married when she’d long thought him dead might rub modern moviegoers the wrong way.

In the end, though, is this…a problem? A detriment to enjoyment of the movie as a whole? Do these elements actively work against the movie in a modern environment?

Well…yes and no.

It is true that now, films are making an active step towards more diverse representation, and that is certainly a good thing. Many movies now are also including more female characters with stronger characters than the distressed plot-devices of old. Heck, even other movies of the 1980s were instituting more ethnic diversity and female characters with more agency in films like Aliens, Baby Boom, The Color Purple and Willow.

Looking back, it can be easy to wince at those moments in The Princess Bride and make the assumption that the film was just being outdated because of when it was made, or due to the ‘fantasy’ period, or even because it’s deliberately utilizing story elements from 1930s films, but in the end, those elements don’t actively hurt the narrative.

Female characters don’t have to be sword-wielders like Sorsha from Willow, or Silk-Hiding-Steel like Isabeau from Ladyhawke. Princesses don’t have to always take over their own rescues. In the end, there’s more support for female characters in the variety offered by the 1980s rather than the eradication of any weak female characters whatsoever, because as it turns out, some women are weak, just as some are strong. (It would have been nice if the weak character wasn’t the only female one, though.)

Is The Princess Bride progressive? Well, no, not really, but it’s not regressive, either. It doesn’t actively serve as detriment to the film to notice these things, not in the same way that other movies experience backlash for outright sexist and racist content. As it stands, The Princess Bride is an excellent movie that manages to stand the test of time because it is so ridiculously fairy-tale-esque. As I said before, the old-fashioned story and dialogue paired with the budget and technology of a 1980s film (except for the ROUS, which is charmingly unbelievable) manages to create something similar to George Lucas’s Star Wars trilogy: a film that is as removed from its cultural context as a piece of media can be (aside from the Grandson’s bedroom decor).

It is potentially largely this element, this aspect of borderline ‘timelessness’ that has allowed The Princess Bride to stand as a forgotten, overlooked classic for over thirty years. That, combined with the genuine warmth, humor, and passion of the film itself, will allow it to continue to stand for far longer, as long as we keep telling our children fairy-tales.

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