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cock-holliday · 8 months

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hey! genuine question, ive only seen the flag you have in your icon called the “butch lesbian flag” and i see that you say in your bio

do you also consider yourself lesbian? or are non-lesbians allowed to use the flag?

i ask because im butch but not lesbian and idk if i can use that flag

So, I for years would put the bi flag behind a character, as a headcanon or they WERE bi or because I just felt like it. I changed my icon to Van from Yellowjackets and, confident she would NOT ID as bi, it felt odd to put the flag behind her even if it was MY identity. So I put a shared one: butch.

Now, there’s lots of lesbian flags, trans inclusive or exclusive, there is the labrys, with all its complicated history and imagery. And there’s two butch flags. This one, which stresses butch lesbian:

And this one, which tends to either say butch lesbian or butch on its own:

I liked it, for its similarity to the Bear Flag, another group of shunned and complicated queer mascs.

Do I identify with the term lesbian?

Yes and no. I identify with it for the fact that many people have used it how I use bisexual throughout history, as for many it was more adjacent to “sapphic” or “likes women in a gay way.” There are male lesbians and bi lesbians and nb lesbians and lots of ways to be a lesbian. Some used the label AS a gender.

In many ways I identify with it, in others, the label makes me feel distant from another part of myself. My attraction to men would often be assumed absent if I used lesbian INSTEAD of bisexual, regardless of it I or others used it that way. So I hover on the cusp of the term lesbian and reach for bisexual first, sometimes only.

Now, words like dyke? I get told you cannot reclaim it if you aren’t a capital L Lesbian. But I’ve been called it. Plenty. I would attend dyke marches. The Boston Dyke March explicitly included bi dykes in their definition. Frankly, they said anyone who identifies with being a dyke is welcome to call themselves one.

So what about butch? I tell people to read it all the time but I went and copied the full opening essay of Butch Is A Noun titled “I Know What Butch Is” and will add it under the cut.

But long story (essay) short, if you identify with butchness, congrats, you’re a butch, and can use the butch flag.

I know what butch is. I know, and I’m going to tell you, so listen up and take notes. First of all, butch is a noun. And an adjective. And a verb.

Butches only ever wear jeans and boots, except if they’re wearing suits, and they keep their hair clipped down to a flattop you could putt off. Except if they have to for work. Or if they want to for sex. Or if they want to for some other reason. But otherwise it’s denim and leather and butch wax, kid, and don’t you forget it. Unless you’re vegan.

Toughness, even at the expense of gentleness, is a butch trait. Butches are outlaws. Also gentlemen. Gentlemen who open doors and pick up checks and say “after you” and hold your umbrella over you in the rain while the water drips down their sleeves. But butches not gentlemen if being a gentleman means imposing on the unsuspecting their sexist modes of acting out the cultural paradigm of the helplessness of women. Except if the unsuspecting are crying and need a handkerchief, or elderly and need a seat to sit down in, then it’s all right. Probably. But butches should never wait for a femme to tell them specifically that it is all right to behave in a gentlemanly fashion, they should just go ahead and do it because femmes like a butch with confidence, unless it turns out that she finds it offensive and feels as though you have imposed your gender fetish on her, you arrogant bastard.

And butches are monosyllabic, until you get to know them, which they will not allow but want, or will allow and want, or will allow but don’t want, or won’t allow and don’t want, so you may or may not get to know them, but you should try, or not. But butches are monosyllabic because all that talking is girl stuff, you know? Butches grunt in answer to questions; they speak sharply and emphatically. They do not share, process, or explain because these are activities that bring nothing but trouble, unless they are bringing relief to the troubled heart of a butch carrying around too much hurt or pain, though butches do not actually feel pain; they’re tough enough to either slough it off like dead skin or deal with all of that themselves. Unless someone wants for them to be emotionally available, in which case they can feel their feelings even though the presence of feelings is suspect in the first place, but they must stop immediately as soon as someone else is having a tough time so that all their resources can be directed to soothing that person.

I know what butch is. Butches are not beginner FTMs, except that sometimes they are, but it’s not a continuum except when it is. Butch is not a trans identity unless the butch in questions says it is, in which case it is, unless the tranny in question says it isn’t, in which case it’s not. There is no such thing as butch flight, no matter what the femmes or elders say, unless saying that invalidates the opinions of femmes in a sexist fashion or the opinions of elders in an ageist fashion. Or if they’re right. But they are not, because butch and transgender are the same thing with different names, except that butch is not a trans identity, unless it is; see above.

Butches are always tops. They always fuck the girls, and, for that matter, their partners are always girls; there is no such thing as a butch who is attracted to men. Well, transmen, but that’s just butch-on-butch repackaged as faggotry. But no non-trans-men. Unless the butch in question is a non-trans-man, then it’s okay. Except that non-trans-men cannot be butches, because butch is a queering of gender that assigned-male people cannot embody, unless they occasionally can, in which case they have to be gay men. Or the partners of femmes. Or not. But no one with an assigned-female body can be a butch and do it with assigned-male men. Unless they’re femmes. Or butches. I’m really putting my foot down on this one.

I know what butch is, and butches definitely, absolutely, do not get fucked, even if it feels so good to have someone slide in sweet and hard and rock them just right. They might eat pussy but they never suck cock, because licking pussy is chivalry without pants, and, of course, any butch would want to do anything to please the femme in hir life, if there is a femme. Which there has to be, in order to be a true butch, except if there does not have to be, but you cannot be a misogynist about it either, which a lack of interest in femmes and their attendant delights may be read as—if there is a lack, which there shouldn’t be. But anyway, cocksucking is about ownership and dominance, so butches must always be the ones having their cocks sucked, unless the owner of the cock being sucked by a butch is tied to something, but if a butch were tying down someone with a cock of some variety then the above rule would quite likely be violated, and I think I’ve been very clear about that, so never mind.

Butch has a lot of privilege because butches pass as men a lot, and butches also have a lot of privilege in the queer community because butch reads as queer and femme doesn’t always, and being able to pass to keep one’s self safe isn’t privilege if you’re a femme but it is if you’re a butch. Unless this is a butch who can pass as a heteronormative woman, in which case ze’s not really a butch anyway because no butch could do such a thing. Except that some of them can and also having kids really helps, even though no butch could have kids because of the rule about not getting fucked and also because that’s a femme’s job, but not everyone really understood their butchness all the way along and also sometimes there are fertility issues and also sometimes there’s not a femme so we’ll grandfather in some children but we’ll be suspicious of those butches. Unless they’re really great butch dads of whatever sex, in which case we’ll think it’s the damn cutest thing in the world and punch them on the arm, or if they’re awesome butch moms we’ll make approving comments about their ability to raise feminist men, but otherwise no children and no heteronormativity for sure, except for assigned male butches who do not exist.

Besides all of that, the butch pays. If there’s only one butch on the date. Unless the femme wants to. If there’s a femme present. If there’s a femme present, the butch pays unless hir paying would upset the femme or unless it creates class issues for the butch or patriarchy issues for the femme. Or if it’s two butches on a date, which they shouldn’t be. Or they should. In any case, they arm-wrestle for it. Except in such situations in which a public display of aggression on the part of butches, or an interaction which may be read as such, could potentially be detrimental to the community, to the mental health of those witnessing the act, to the butches themselves for feeling compelled to act out normative masculine-gendered conflict-resolution tactics, or to the glassware of the dining establishment, which so often gets broken. But otherwise, the butch always pays, and there’s just no getting around that.

I know what butch is. Butches are a brotherhood, or possibly a sisterhood, which would be a marvelous way to reclaim butch’s roots in the lesbian community except some butches were never part of the lesbian community and some were but aren’t any more, but placing masculine identities on butches is disrespectful, except when it’s desirable, but anyway, butches are a tribe, a tribe of people who have been maligned endlessly for, and in fact forged an identity in part out of, not fitting the gendered expectations of the culture in which they exist (until or unless they work to pass as men, which always or never or sometimes happens and is absolutely a great or problematic thing), so butches are very open to gendered variations in others and would never, ever try to make another butch feel like shit for having displayed a behavior which does not fit the microculture’s standard of what it means to be a butch, which is a useful or idealized or ridiculous or just plain complicated standard, so it should be adhered to, or critiqued, or aspired to, or not. Butches would also certainly never try to school younger butches in ways that are angry and dangerous because they feel like the process of toughening has disappeared from modern culture and butches need to be tough, dammit. Butches who do those sorts of things either are Real Butches or are Not Real Butches, depending who you ask.

There, that should be perfectly clear.

#ask #anon ask #butch #butch is a noun #I know what butch is

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vlovann · 9 months

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Sorry, not sorry, but if they were women, they would be butch/femme.

One or both of them would have short hair. It’s a stereotype for a reason. Women look better with “men’s” haircuts. Men look better with long hair. My gf and I bet on Aziraphale being butch BECAUSE:

Removing their final scene, her and I are literally them — personality-wise, so this is automatically canon.

My gf is a butch that likes light colors and girly stuff (except makeup) and her undercut hair is going white prematurely — which is awesome and hot. She often wears masculine outfits, including suits — which is ALSO awesome and hot. She LOVES books. She has to read to be able to sleep at night. She absolutely LOVES info-dumping about all of her interests. She’s pretty cool. I like her a lot. Don’t tell her I said that though, but she’s pretty cool (Markiplier @ Amy reference).

I am Punk/goth, strictly androgynous or fem, never completely masc. I considered dying my hair red BEFORE watching Gomens and AFTER, yeah. Definitely doing it when my hair fades from the denim color it currently is. I CANNOT take care of plants, however, put a raccoon in front of me and he’s instantly and mutually my buddy. Put any animal that’s injured or abandoned and I will save it. I am a goth Disney Princess. I have saved more animals than I have fingers and I have never been pecked or violently attacked by a wild bird. Animals are my plants. I also love space more than Markiplier. Fight me. If anybody hurts my girlfriend or makes her cry, they’re instantly dead to me. Even if it’s her own family. I have literally said if I see her father, it’s on sight.

We also both have religious trauma.

I will not be accepting questions at this time, thank you.

#ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #ineffable wives #butch/femme #Crowley #Aziraphale #David Tennant #Michael Sheen #Neil Gaiman #Fuck you Gaiman #Good Omens #Good Omens 2 #the ineffable wives are butch/femme #change my mind #spoiler alert you can’t actually #gomens

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derpinathebrave · 1 year

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Karaoke Night at the Pineapple - IceMav. Side: HollyWolf, SunChip (Slider is here too)

READ ON AO3

So I started a flashback for the ICE wip and this happened. Highlights include:

Off-duty drag queen Chipper.

A blatant Rock of Ages reference.

Slutty Slider.

Way too much 80s music and my algorithm hasn't been the same since.

SUMMARY: It had been three years.

Three years of watching the pair of them circle one another. Of watching them come so close and then back out at the last second.

Three years of listening to both of them, separate from one another, pine and thirst for each other. The 86ers have had it. It’s past time for something to be done. If they don’t smash Ice and Mav together and yell “Now kiss!” soon, they’re going to murder them both. It was sort of Chipper’s idea, mostly Sundown’s planning, and carried out through the intense peer-pressure only Wolfman and Hollywood could provide.

TAGS: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Charles "Chipper" Piper/Marcus "Sundown" Williams, Rick "Hollywood" Neven/Leonard "Wolfman" Wolfe, Ron "Slider" Kerner being a slut in a gay bar, Fluff, Drag Queens, Drag Queen Chipper, Period-Typical Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, Karaoke, Seduction via karaoke, lots of 80s music references

WORDS: 4251

New Year’s Eve of 1989 found the 86ers, Hollywood, Wolfman, Sundown, Chipper, Slider, Maverick and the Iceman, lined up outside a club that had no name and only a neon pineapple flashing over the door.

Ice hadn’t been to the Pineapple in years. Not since he had graduated from the academy. Not since he had missed two of his friends funerals due to deployments. The only thing that got him back was the charity fundraiser. The Pineapple was putting on karaoke and drag to raise money for Act Up. Hollywood had cornered him and pressed until he relented to come along for it.

The line was full of familiar characters. Ice could see several drag queens in their towering heels and hair. He could see leather boys tucked under their daddy’s arms. He saw the butches, more than one with a pretty girl on their arm.

“Is this a gay bar?” Maverick wondered aloud as they edged closer to the door.

“Yes, Mav,” Ice said with a chuckle.

“Oh, cool!” Mav was looking around as though his head was on a swivel. “Wow, look at those shoes!” He pointed to a queen in incredibly tall red sequined boots.

“You want to try it, Maverick?” Chipper asked, a secretive smile on his face.

“Yeah, you could be regular height for once,” Slider teased.

“Fuck you, Kerner,” Mav replied automatically, no bite in it at all. “No, but I can appreciate it probably takes skill to walk in them.”

Chipper shrugged a shoulder, raising a cigarette to his lips and lighting it. “It does take practice, but it’s easier than you might think,” he said, taking a long drag and then passing the cigarette to Sundown.

“And you know this, how?” Slider asked, eyes sweeping Chipper from head to toe.

“I’ll have you know that you’re speaking to an off-duty queen,” Sundown said. He passed the cigarette back to Chip. “Miss Layna Pipe is an exceptional talent. Ask me how I know.”

The rest of the group cackled but Charles didn’t seem phased. He took another slow drag of the cigarette and blew the smoke into the air delicately.

“Why aren’t you performing tonight?” Hollywood asked, his eyes taking in the soft way Chipper was holding the cigarette now.

“Because I’m here to watch you idiots sing for once,” Chipper grinned. Marcus slipped a hand around his waist and pulled Chip back, placing his lips on the cigarette still in Chip’s fingers.

Ice had to look away. The gesture was frighteningly intimate. Shame and yearning bloomed together in his abdomen as he found himself staring at Mav. He wished he could be that confident about it. He wished he could be as open and uncaring as Sundown and Chipper were. He might have been self-assured and calm in an F14 but on the ground, faced with his own homosexuality and what he could not ever possibly have, Ice was an anxious mess.

When he tore his eyes off Mav’s laughing face, he found Chipper watching him. Their eyes locked and Ice felt the blood drain from his cheeks. He scrambled to compose his expression into a look of polite deference. A corner of Chipper’s mouth curved but he looked away without saying anything.

At the door a queen was taking cover-charges and chatting to patrons. She wore heels tall enough that she could look Slider in the eye evenly. Fishnets, the smallest leather shorts Ice had seen in a long time, and a cropped leather jacket with spangly fringe on the shoulder-pads completed the look. Her lips were bright red and smiling.

“Evening, boys! Cover is 5 dollars and all proceeds go to Act Up!” She began collecting their money. “If you want to join the fun, it’s a dollar a song. Take your prophylactics,” she passed them a condom each. “And have the best time. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

The dim hallway was lit with yellow and green lights. Ice could already see clusters of people making-out against the walls. He watched as more than one head turned and watched them go by. He hadn’t seen that predatory look in such a long time it seemed to light a fire beneath his skin.

As much as he wanted to convince himself he didn’t need to do this anymore, it felt like coming home. Tom felt years of rigid defence folding away at last. He was among his people again.

“You good?” He asked Slider, suspecting this was his first time in a place like this.

“This is insane,” Ron said. Instead of reproach there was awe in his voice. He was smiling like a goofball and taking in as much of the room as he could see.

Ice warmed. Another line of unconscious defence folded down. He had been terrified his RIO would be disgusted by the open displays of queerness.

A loud voice was singing Like A Virgin and patrons were whistling and cheering at intervals. The room was dim except the bright area where the stage must be. The bar was lit with lanterns in the shape of pineapples. A skinny, short butch manned the bar with a willowy femme. The energy was electric, everyone laughing, smiling or dancing.

Maverick was just ahead, talking animatedly with Wolfman and laughing. Hollywood took Wolf’s hand and tugged him on through the crowd. Mav turned, finding Ice and smiling before carrying on through the crush of bodies with the others.

“We’re going to have a great time tonight,” Sli said, leaning down to say it into Ice’s ear.

Maverick couldn’t take it in fast enough. His eyes flickered around the room, drinking in the scene. Queens in their amazing costumes, he was a little obsessed with their heels. Men kissing fervently against the walls. A man dressed in little more than leather shorts and some sort of harness on his chest was seated in the lap of a far bigger man with a beard and a cigar.

Ice didn’t really have a response to that. He would be happy to make it out in one piece.

A foreign sense of rightness settled over Pete’s shoulders. He had been intensely aware of his same-sex tendencies through high-school but had pushed it to the bottom of his priority list in favour of the Navy. He never knew it could be like this.

He turned, making sure his wingman was still on his six as they wound through the crowd. Ice looked different somehow. Maybe it was his civilian clothes, maybe it was the lack of rigid tension in his jaw, but Mav ached a little for him. He wanted to make Ice look like that more often. He wanted to see him let go a little.

It had been like that in the beginning of their friendship. Tom had an astoundingly expressive face when he allowed himself to show it. Pete had made it his personal mission to see how many expressions he could put on Ice’s face in a given day. Sometimes it was exasperation, sometimes joyous laughter, and some days, when the memories of Goose were just too much to carry alone, it was deep empathy and sadness.

Somewhere in the last 6 months Ice’s face was beginning to close off to him again. It left Mav confused and irritated. He wanted more. He wanted Ice so bad he could have died. But the one time he had hinted for more, Tom had drawn away from him, pulled back and the icy persona had returned.

They broke through the crowd. Pete stopped a moment, causing Ice to bump into him from behind. He was transfixed by the queen on stage. She dropped down into the splits, body pulsing to the rhythm of the Madonna song. His brain lit with a wild impulse.

Ice pushed him forward, a warm hand in the hollow of his back. Mav resisted the urge to lean back into it the way he had seen Chipper lean into Sundown. Instead he turned, grabbing Ice’s forearm and beaming up at him.

“This place is awesome!” He said, pulling Ice along to where the rest of their group were snagging seats. “I want to do it!”

Ice laughed, shaking his head a little with one of Maverick’s favourite affectionately exasperated expressions on his face. His blue eyes were glittering from the stage lights, staring down at Mav.

“You’re never at a loss, are you?” Ice said over the noise.

Ice found himself sitting between Slider and Maverick along the wall of the club. Hollywood and Wolf were beside Mav; Leo reclined half off his own chair across Rick’s chest. Wood had his arm slung around his RIO, fingers slipped beneath the collar of his shirt and kerchief. To accommodate him, Wolf had passed his cowboy hat off to Hollywood and it was tilted back to avoid ruining the height of Wood’s hair. Every now and then, Leo would straighten a little and mumble something to Wood. Wood’s head would bend to him, his face intent and listening before a smile broke and he would laugh.

It only made him grin wider. His impulse was transforming into an idea. He needed to talk to Chipper.

Ice seethed with jealousy. How was it so goddamn easy for his friends? Until tonight he hadn’t even been sure what the nature of Wood and Wolf’s relationship was. He couldn’t tell if their constant horny banter was just banter or actual flirting. Now as he watched Hollywood laugh, eyes adoring as he looked down at Wolf before stealing a kiss, Ice had his answer. And it burned.

It was no safer looking at Chipper and Sundown. They had lit another cigarette and were sharing it again. This time practically sharing the smoke between their lungs as Chip held his lips an inch from Sundown’s. They were mumbling together about something, and from the almost wanton expression on Chipper’s face, Ice was glad he couldn’t hear them.

“I think we need more alcohol!” Slider announced before standing. “Help me out, Ice?”

“Sure,” Iceman said, glad for a reason to escape the affectionate displays of his friends. He loved them, he did, but they were poking hard at a wound Ice had never fully healed.

Slider led the way through the crowd, his height and bulk making it easy for him to cut a path. Ice almost rolled his eyes at the way eyes followed Slider. He was sure if the lighting was better he could see the drool on the chins of the men watching them go by.

They pressed into the crush at the bar, carving out a little space for themselves. Slider opened his mouth as though he was about to ask Ice something but was interrupted by a queen behind them.

“Well, hell, honey, aren’t you just a tall glass of water!”

As hard as he tried, Ice couldn’t contain his laughter. Slider on the other hand looked smug. He turned to face the queen with a look Ice knew very well.

“Thank you very much, ma’am,” Ron said. “I love that dress.”

She was slender with an impressive set of fake boobs tucked into a skin tight leopard print dress. Her hair was tall and blond, contrasting against her sepia skin. Tom couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised that Slider had complemented her, she was beautiful.

“Aren’t you a charmer,” she smirked. “Say, if your friend doesn’t mind too much, I’d love to borrow you for a little while, sugar.”

Ice’s eyebrows rose but he shook his head to show he wasn’t bothered in the slightest. Slider glanced at him from the corner of his eyes before giving a shrug.

“Sure,” he said.

“Perfection!” She grabbed his hand and towed him back into the crowd.

“What can I get you, honey?”

Ice turned to find he was finally being served. He shook off his amused shock and ordered a round of shots and chasers. With all the drinks stacked onto a tray for him and his wallet considerably lighter, Ice headed back to the group.

He set the tray down on the low table and looked around. Mav was missing from his seat. Chipper was no longer in Sundown’s lap and no where to be seen. Ice shook his head, collected his own drinks and sat back down beside Wolf.

“Where’d you leave the big man?” Marcus asked, looking around for Slider.

“He got picked up,” Tom grinned.

The other three looked surprised but impressed. Ice chuckled and turned his attention back to the current karaoke singers. A woman in a three piece suit and a man in double denim had their arms slung around each other’s shoulders as they belted out a Sam Cooke song. Ice winced, he had liked this song once but with they way they were butchering it, he wasn’t so sure now.

Ice was almost tempted to go and see if he could find Maverick. He told himself it was purely altruistic. He wanted to make sure his wingman wasn’t getting into trouble in some bathroom stall. He definitely wasn’t concerned or jealous over the idea that Maverick might enjoy a little trouble in the bathroom stall of the Pineapple with a random man. He was just being a good wingman.

The horrendous singing finally finished, the entire club applauding that it was over at last.

“That was shit,” Wolf said, straightening a little to get comfortable against Hollywood once more. “I could do better than that.”

“Oh, please do,” Hollywood smirked and tilted Wolfman’s head back. He kissed him deeply, tongue teasing at Wolf’s lips and the grip tight in the blond hair.

Ice looked away again. It was like they were torturing him on purpose.

“Alright you little freaks!” The MC yelled into the microphone and the crowd erupted into cheers. “It’s time for something very special indeed! Miss Kaya Cayenne has been prowling the crowd tonight, hunting up a fresh piece of meat!”

There were yowls like wolves from the far corner. Ice laughed, the jealousy fading once more as the fun of the performance caught him.

“So now, let’s give it up for Kaya and her chewtoy, performing Kiss!”

Enthusiastic applause broke out from the regulars.

“Holy fuck!” Hollywood cackled. Sundown began whistling and cheering. Ice could only stare, a delighted expression taking him over.

Miss Kaya Cayenne wore a skin tight leopard print dress and towed a tall, slightly blushing Slider behind her. The MC placed a chair in the middle of the stage and Kaya pushed Slider into it. He went very willingly.

“Ice you said he got picked up, I didn’t think you meant by Kaya Cayenne!” Sundown yelled over the opening strains of the Prince song.

“How was I supposed to know who she was?” Ice yelled back.

Sundown didn’t bother with a reply, only a dismayed look of disappointment before he turned back to watch the performance.

They watched with glee, hooting and hollering along with the rest of the bar, as Kaya gave Slider a lap-dance on stage, pausing with every chorus to lay a red lipstick kiss on a new part of his body. Ice looked around for Mav again, a little disappointed he was missing the fun.

When the song was over, Kaya laid a full, passionate kiss on Slider’s lips. The audience roared with delight as Slider’s hands appeared on the ass of the drag queen as she stood in front of him.

“Alright you two, take it somewhere else!” The MC hustled them off stage as the kiss didn’t show signs of slowing down any time soon.

Kaya turned, a theatrical expression of guilt on her face as her red lipstick was smeared. Ron wore a good amount of it himself, but he didn’t look guilty. He looked like the cat that got the cream and sauntered off stage still holding Kaya’s hand.

Ice gave a short sigh. At least someone was hooking up out of the two of them.

“Cheer up, Ice,” Hollywood said with a grin. “It’s supposed to be a party.”

He was in the middle of telling Hollywood to go fuck himself and his RIO, in that order, when the words of the MC cut across his brain like a whip. Ice snapped his head back to the stage and blinked.

There was Maverick.

Chipper slipped back over to their table and climbed back onto Sundown’s lap. If Ice could have torn his eyes away from Mav, he would have caught the incredibly smug expressions the other aviators were wearing. He would have noticed the way they all straightened in their seats and watched him closer as the opening guitar and drums of a Def Leppard song started.

But Ice only had eyes for Mav. His navy shirt had been unbuttoned to almost his bellybutton and his hair had been a little mussed since Ice had seen him last. Most of all, even as Mav lifted the microphone and started singing, his eyes never strayed far from Ice’s. He wore a feral grin as he punched out the lyrics to the opening verse of Pour Some Sugar On Me.

Ice felt himself warm. He couldn’t place if it was embarrassment or desire.

Mav began to dance, the crowd cheering as he dropped his shoulders to the beat and began a sultry strut across the stage. At the pre-chorus he stopped dead centre, eyes finding Ice again as he leaned back and dragged a hand down over his bare chest.

“Take the bottle, shake it up! Break the bubble! Break it up!”

Ice thought he might faint. He was definitely glowing red now.

“Pour some sugar on me!” The entire crowd sang along as Maverick ran a hand through his hair and tossed his head back. He shook his hips, alternating to gyrating at the crowd and then turning and dropping to a squat.

Thirsty, he needed beer. Ice took a long sip. He was bewitched by the way Maverick straightened and launched into the next verse.

He was really into it now, dancing, rolling his body along to the rhythm as he moved to the edge of the stage. When the second chorus hit, Mav stepped down and leaned in to the face of a few spectators, singing into the mic with them.

Ice laughed. He wished he could look away but every time he tried his eyes found Maverick again of their own accord. He was transfixed.

Through the instrumental of the bridge Mav started picking his way through the crowd until he was at their group. Ice shook his head at him in exasperated glee.

He laughed as Maverick shimmied down into Chipper and Sundown’s faces. Ice watched as Mav strutted to where Hollywood and Wolf were, stealing the hat from Hollywood’s head and cramming it onto his own.

Maverick dragged his finger’s over Ice’s shoulders before coming to a stop in front of him. His eyes flashed, cocky and mischievous, as he looked down at Ice and raised the Mic again.

“You got the peaches, I got the cream. Sweet to taste. Saccharine!”

Ice was stuck between mortified and turned-on. He had never wanted to disappear more. He had never wanted to throw himself on top of Pete and kiss him more. Especially as Mav cried “Do you take sugar? One lump or two!” And flung the hat back to Hollywood with flair.

He didn’t return to the stage but stayed right in front of Ice, singing the rest of the song to him as the crowd sang along with him.

Mav let the crowd carry the chorus as he ad-libbed, throwing his shoulders back rhythmically, swinging his hips, gyrating and running a hand over his own body as he did.

Ice didn’t know where to look. His eyes continually strayed to Mav’s hips as they rolled. Panicked, Ice would drag them back up to Mav’s face only to find him licking at his lips between ad-libs and staring into Ice’s eyes. So he would move his gaze to Mav’s chest but it was glistening with sweat and was practically begging to be licked. And the cycle would start again.

With the final words of the song, Mav threw himself down onto his knees at Ice’s feet, staring up at him and heaving for breath as he shouted “Sugar me!”

Their eyes were locked. The rest of the universe faded away as they stared at each other. Tom’s heart raced, his blood still hot in his veins. Pete was staring up at him, daring him and pleading him simultaneously.

Without even thinking about it, Ice threw himself forward. He wrapped his arms around Mav’s neck and pulled him into the most passionate kiss of both their lives.

He was wet with sweat and tasted of tequila and cigarettes. Ice licked at his lips, sliding his tongue into Maverick’s mouth with a groan. Their bodies were flush together, every point of contact like a brand on Ice’s skin.

Distantly, he could hear the noise of cheering and wolf-whistles. Someone might have been speaking as well. He didn’t fucking care, the only thing he cared about was sucking at Pete’s bottom lip and revelling in the small whine it caused.

Pete broke away, gasping for breath but holding Tom tight against him still. With a little effort, Ice scooped Mav up and resettled them in his chair with Maverick straddling his lap.

“God, you’re a fucking menace,” Ice mumbled against Mav’s lips between kisses.

“Uh-huh.” Maverick slid his fingers into Ice’s hair and held on. Any other thoughts fell out of Ice’s head again and he focused on sucking gently on Mav’s tongue.

“Fucking finally!” Slider’s voice was loud behind them and Ice deigned to release Pete’s mouth for a moment to look up at him. He was about to make a snarky comment when he caught sight of the state of his RIO and burst into laughter instead.

He was covered in lipstick kisses. Ron’s lips, jaw, neck, the opening of his shirt down his chest, were covered in lipstick. The longer Ice looked the more he realised the shades varied from pink to coral to red.

“Damn, Sli,” Leo said in his lilting accent. “Is there anywhere they didn’t get lipstick on you?”

“Nope.” Slider gave a suggestive wink. “Who’s turn is it to sing?”

“Mine!” Wolf dragged himself to his feet. Before he walked away he turned and leaned down to Rick’s face. He ducked his chin a little, smiling shyly at Hollywood. He seemed to be waiting for something.

“Off you go, baby,” Hollywood smirked and kissed him long and slow. “Go make me proud.”

Now that Ice had his hands on Mav’s ass, he found it much easier to watch the other pair. The shining happiness in Wolf’s eyes warmed Ice with happiness too. It was amazing what kissing Maverick could fix in his life. To that point, he turned back to Pete and stole another kiss.

As they waited for Leo’s song to come around, Mav ran his fingers through Ice’s hair again. He was smiling and watching Ice’s face intently.

“How long have you and Chip been planning that ambush?” Ice asked him, unable to keep his expression stern.

“I just decided tonight.” Mav shrugged. “I just wanted to make you melt a little. You’ve been cold lately.”

“That was so hot, I didn’t stand a chance,” Tom said. “I’m sorry for being cold,” He mumbled and kissed Pete slowly. “I didn’t think you’d want to risk it over me.”

“Because I never… ever… ever… take risks,” Pete said, punctuating each “ever” with a firm kiss.

Ice found he didn’t have a response to that. He simply continued kissing Maverick instead. They finally broke apart as Wolf was announced to sing next.

Mav shifted from straddling Ice to sitting side-saddle on his thighs an arm slung around Ice’s shoulders and his still-open shirt giving Ice a very distracting look at his sculpted and sweaty chest.

There was a hollered Yee-haw! From the back of the club as jaunty guitar started up and Wolf gave a slightly twangy performance of the first verse of Fishin’ In the Dark. He had a surprisingly lovely voice, a pure timbre as he sang the chorus staring lovingly at where Rick sat in the crowd. Hollywood was blushing bright red but never once looked away from his RIO.

The patrons joined in for the last chorus, ad-libbed yee-haws going up every other line and making Wolf stumble over the words as he laughed. The 86ers cheered and clapped as the song ended and Leo made his way back through the crowd to them. Rick stood to greet him, sweeping him up in his arms and holding him tight before letting go once more and cupping Wolf’s face.

Ice caught the “I love you” that passed between them. He smiled, leaning into Maverick’s chest and giving a sigh of contentment.

“What about you, Chip?” Maverick called over the crowd.

“You boys have to come back next week to see Layna in action,” Chipper grinned. “I think it’s about time we head back to the hotel.”

“It’s New Year’s eve!” Mav protested, “And it’s only half an hour from midnight!”

“Exactly.” Chipper’s smirk grew and he pulled Sundown to his feet. “We should start the new year off with a bang.”

The rest of the group groaned at his pun, but none of them argued.

===============

Tah-dah. Also as a final note:

Here are the songs in this fic:

Like a Virgin - Madonna

Bring it on Home to Me - Sam Cooke

Kiss - Prince

Pour Some Sugar on Me - Def Leppard <CLICKMEEEE>

Fishin in the Dark - Nitty Gritty Dirt Band

#icemav #fanfic #hollywolf #sunchip #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #top gun #rock of ages reference #fluff #pining #rick hollywood neven #leonard wolfman wolfe #marcus sundown williams #charles chipper piper #ron slider kerner

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 7 months

Text

In the last twelve months, I’ve been lucky enough to be able to see/hear a bunch of 2023 Edinburgh comedy hours. I’ve enjoyed following the process over a year, going from early WIPs, to previews, to stuff done in Edinburgh, to post-Edinburgh tours. A fascinating yearly cycle that we don’t have in North America, but I wish we did.

However, I see why it’s difficult to maintain. A lot of the shows I’ve seen/heard run together in my mind, so many variations on similar concepts, taken in so close together. It can be really hard for any one comedian to distinguish themself. I feel like I understand better than ever why people make such a big deal about USPs and stuff. They really are all just competing to find some tiny bit of ground that everyone else hasn’t covered a million times before. And if they do find any, they’re not allowed to stick with it for more than a year because that’s called recycling material, so they’ve got to walk across Scotland or some shit just to have something new to say. I think you get fewer comedians walking across a country for material in North America, where they don’t have to write a new hour every year and then have it directly compete against the new hours by every single other comedian in the country.

But I always enjoy a good competition, so I’ve liked getting to hear the different entries this year, compare them, root for them like sports teams. I already posted, at the end of August this year, that I felt like my favourite team had just won the championship when the 2023 Edinburgh award went to Ahir Shah’s show Ends, which was the one I’d rated the highest out of all the ones I’ve heard. I still think it’s the best 2023 stand-up show I’ve heard. Honourable mentions go to:

Adam Kay’s Undoctored, Andrew O’Neill’s Geburah, Paul Foot’s Dissolve, Ian Smith’s Crushing, Pierre Novellie’s Why Are You Laughing?, Laura Davis’ Well Don’t Just Stand There Dancing, Milo Edwards’ Sentimental, Robin Ince’s MELONs, Tom Ballard’s It Is I, Zoe Coombs Marr’s The Opener, and I’d probably have Mark Watson’s Search on this list if I weren’t currently mad at him. Daniel Kitson’s First Thing doesn’t count as stand-up, but obviously that too.

I made that list by going through my spreadsheet of stand-up shows I’ve seen/heard, sorting it by year, and picking out the ones I really really liked from the 2023 section. But that also showed me some 2022 shows that I have marked as 2023 on my spreadsheet, because I've heard a version of it from 2023. And I can’t end that list without giving honourable mentions to the best of those as well: Grace Petrie’s Butch Ado About Nothing, Josie Long’s Re-Enchantment, Hari Kondabolu’s Vacation Baby (I’m actually not sure when this one started, but it was released on YouTube in April 2023 so I’m guessing it was performed in 2022), Mae Martin’s SAP (see note about Hari Kondabolu), Paul Foot’s Swan Power, James Acaster’s Heckler’s Welcome, Huge Davies’ The Carpark, and Shelf’s Hair. Frankie Boyle’s Lap of Shame would probably be on this list, if I’d actually heard it during its first run, rather than hearing it after I saw the last New World Order season so I’d heard most of the jokes before.

Okay, now that I’ve done that, I can’t go on with this post without going through the 2022 section of my stand-up list and naming my favourites of the 2022 shows of which I actually heard a version from 2022: John-Luke Roberts’ A World Just Like Our Own But…, Rhod Gilbert’s The Book of John, Kiri Pritchard McLean’s Home Truths, Mark Watson’s This Can’t Be It (that one started in 2021, but it was performed at the 2022 Edinburgh Festival so counts as a 2022 show), Tim Key’s Mulberry (I think that may actually be a 2021 show as well, not sure when it started), Nick Helm’s What Have We Become, Sam Campbell’s Companion, Daniel Kitson’s Outside, Nish Kumar’s Your Power Your Control.

Also, I need to mention that Nish Kumar didn’t do a proper Edinburgh hour in 2023, just messed around with WIP stuff, but from having heard some of the stuff he’s messing around with at the moment, I can already say I think he’s building toward a good shot at my favourite show of 2024. Also, Andy Zaltzman has just announced that he’s preparing to soon do new stand-up for the first time in a bunch of years, and I think the last new show he did may have been his absolutely brilliant 2019 year in review, so I can’t wait to hear that (hopefully they’ll release some of it on The Bugle, they’ve done that before).

Stewart Lee’s Basic Lee needs to be on my list of favourite entries in the 2022/2023 season, even though I’m also a little bit mad at him these days.

Anyway, this post wasn’t even supposed to be about that. It was supposed to be about the show I’ve just heard, but then I got caught up in talking about how it fits into my hobby of following the competitions for the best Edinburgh hour like it’s a sports championship. Any time I have the chance to see or hear something that was nominated for the main Edinburgh award in any year, I like to do that. Because whether or not it ends up being good, I find it interesting to learn what gets considered good by those standards.

In 2023, I’ve heard a few of the shows that were nominated. Ahir Shah’s Ends was absolutely incredible and I thought entirely deserved to win. Ian Smith’s Crushing was streamed on NextUp, and I thought it was great. Really well written and well delivered, definitely deserved to be nominated even if I didn’t think it was better than the one that won (he was on The Bugle a few weeks ago, getting affectionately mocked by Andy Zaltzman for being the Edinburgh Comedy Award loser, though by the end even Andy had to drop that long enough to acknowledge that getting nominated is impressive and he did well).

NextUp also streamed Phil Ellis’ show, which… I don’t get it. I don’t mean I don’t get why it was nominated (though that’s also true), I mean I literally did not understand the show. Maybe it’s the sort of thing that’s only funny if you’re in the room. I kept wondering when it was going to start being funny. It is clearly a type of comedy that I do not get.

I’ve also heard Kieran Hodgson’s Big in Scotland, and I think I did get that one, but I also don’t see why it was on the nomination list. It was pretty good, I enjoyed it. But when listing the best stand-up shows I’ve heard from 2023, it wouldn’t occur to me to include that one. It was well written and well put together. It had a good underlying message about romanticization of Scotland, and an interesting take on the subject. It wasn’t all that funny. It just didn’t seem special, it’s one of those shows that gets lost in the blur of all the other hours like it in my mind.

Anyway, I’ve just heard another show that was nominated but did not win that award this year, currently on a post-Edinburgh tour, Ania Magliano’s I Can’t Believe You’ve Done This. And that is what this post is actually supposed to be about. I wrote all that other stuff because I was trying to say that this is another one that rises above the blur of hours with a theme, I think it’s going to stick in my mind and should be added the list of shows I liked best from 2023. I definitely see why this one got nominated.

I normally drop spoilers liberally on this blog, and only occasionally remember to add a “spoiler alert” a few words before the actual spoiler, as I operate under the assumption that if you want to avoid spoilers for a show, you shouldn’t read my post about it. But as this one is still touring, I’ll try to avoid going into too much detail about the actual content. Spoiler alert: it’s got more depth than it appears to at first. Surely that’s not too big a thing to reveal, as that’s the case with every Edinburgh show ever made (well, every Edinburgh show tries to do that, not all succeed).

I just thought it came together really really well. All these different stories and observations, connected fairly loosely but you can see the way they all relate to something central. There was a theme, a quite serious one but covered with the lightest possible touch, and it worked. A lot of the individual bits were funny, the way they connected was satisfying, the message was resonant and felt earned by the end.

What I’d meant to say at the beginning of this post was I’ve heard a lot of Edinburgh hours, and most of them have some theme or other, and it often feels like they started with a few stories, found some tenuous thing that links them, then made that their theme and contrived a few other stories that could possibly fit around it. That doesn’t always make for a bad show, but I find it often makes for an un-memorable one.

This rose above that so nicely. It felt like everything was in it because it was something she actually wanted to say, not just because she needed to fill an hour. And not every bit was of deep importance to the world (though a few were), but every bit was funny and/or well observed enough to be worth wanting to say anyway. Nothing felt tacked on.

People make jokes about an Edinburgh hour with a sad bit at the end, which this sort of had. But the sad bit was also sort of there underlying the whole thing, but also, it never took a break from the humour to cover that. I’m always impressed with a show that manages to blend the funny bits and the sad bits not by going back and forth between them, but by doing both at the same time. Ania Magliano managed to be funny about the serious stuff, nothing felt compartmentalized away from comedy.

Also, she seems to be 24 years old. What the fuck? No one should be allowed to be that good at anything when they’re 24 years old. No one should be able to craft things that well, to express themselves that clearly, to cover their topics with that much nuance.

I’m pleased to say she was a Footlights member, though. Normally I wouldn’t be glad add yet another person to my List of Footlights Comedians I Very Much Like, because there are too many people on that list already, given that I am supposed to be a socialist who does not glorify the elite classes of society. But I also dislike that my List of Footlights Comedians I Very Much Like is almost entirely a list of white guys (with some exceptions, all due respect to the reigning Edinburgh champ Ahir Shah, also Perkins and Toksvig, and I might have added Ayoade’s name here if I were not currently mad at him), so at least I’ve diversified now!

Anyway, add one to my list of things that are done well in this world. And this one is not by a man whom I have reason to be mad at. Hooray for diversity!

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euphoricfilter · 9 months

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I can't believe people don't understand this, but the problem isn't u writing jungkook with different pronouns or whtever, it's JK doing a gender fluid ad and suddenly everyone's debating his pronouns and gender identity. You're essentially pushing gender roles by saying that his pronouns might be they/them or smth different, just bcs feminine themes were included his modelling. Like do yall not understand how crazy that is? That suddenly his pronouns/gender is changed/debatable bcs he decided to wear a crop top and long hair??? Yall are doing nothing but pushing gender roles and it's speaking patriarchy. Why is that everytime, an east Asian man is both feminine and masculine, people suddenly start calling him gay or trans? Begging yall to stop fetishizing korean men, it's not cute.

This is directed at everyone.

as i’ve said, me writing jungkook as gender fluid and changing his pronouns is not me projecting onto real life jungkook. they’re 2 different entities

sure, fictional jungkook was inspired by the androgynous nature of recent photos. but that isn’t me transferring that ideology onto real life jungkook and how he wants to present himself, be it growing his hair out and wearing a crop top, i know what’s fictional and i know my boundaries as a fan

i totally agree with you though!! and as i said earlier, i don’t completely agree with what is said within communities like twitter. calling him a butch lesbian or over feminising him to point it overrides the reason behind the photo shoot to begin with.

again as i said before, im not coming on here saying that jungkook’s pronouns are they/them simply from a few photos or that his gender is miraculously different or that he isn’t jungkook at surface level as he has been since i’ve been an army

again, i agree with you. asian fetishisation is still such a huge problem, especially when we add femininity into the mix, pretty sure jimin’s been a victim of it for years as he figured out his own comfortability within his masculinity while accepting the more feminine traits he presents. just as bts wearing skirts isn’t a point to fetishise, or them being gay (if they are), or anything that doesn’t fit within a heteronormative definition

the human brain is simultaneously extremely complex but kinda simple. especially within our society and how we view people based off physical appearance. when we see someone who presents as femme, we’re all likely to have a schema that put that person within the stereotypical gender roles based on appearance even though we’re aware that it’s all stereotypes and not necessarily true, and therefore assume the gender roles that are surrounded with being femme. just like there are certain expectations being masculine. just like how it’s the assumption that more femme presenting asian men are all gay or trans, because of the stereotype and narrative that’s been weaved into society even though it’s not always true, and a lot of the time false. it’s all to do with people and how we group them within our brains, even as we programme ourselves to know that stereotypes aren’t always true

i think it stands for all asian people, not just korean men. asian women even which is a whole other topic we can talk about.

baseline is, don’t fetishise a culture or race, it’s gross and weird and not right and i’d imagine quite uncomfortable for those who are in the firing line of fetishisation

disclaimer again, fictional jungkook that i’ve written is not in any way how i view jungkook in the real world nor is it a way for me to push an agenda onto him or anyone else in bts. i’m aware of how he presents himself in real life, and one photo shoot isn’t gonna give me cavewomen brain where i can’t function and just spew a bunch of nonsense all of a sudden because a man decided to delve into a more femme concept

thank you for bringing this topic to light as well, i think it’s another one that’s important to talk about!!

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ursie · 2 years

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Tell me about your oc Finn 👀📝 (also see I can do that too ❤️)

Adsgsgffsf help I can’t believe I’m being 👀📝 on my own blog..the nerve (❤️)

Anyway Finn is from my brother and I making oc X-men teams because we were bored. Our minds so keep that in mind that they’re designed to exist with the X-men today

Sophie (Finn) Lewis/ aka Ground Zero

Comes from long lines of (very self hating tbh) mutants.

He/Him

Butch Lesbian

Absolute chad

Ran away from home. Lived in a very religious (pentecostal to be specific) mutant community. Lot of attempted “cures”

He was raised in a very conservative (and explicitly misogynistic) manner and has a lot of hang ups at doing anything traditionally feminine tbh. He can cook/sew/ect was taught all of that it just carries a lot of baggage too

Accidentally became leader of his group of new kids because he’s the only one with self preservation skills. And common sense.

Their team is called The Vagabonds due to everyone’s relationship to home, people, and the island itself (none of them think it’s gonna last-or that it’s a particularly good thing in the first place)-they’re put in their group due to their high level mutations + distinct lack of love for Prof X’s teachings. Teaching them now to keep them from being issues down the road.

Gambit is their main teacher as he’s stepped down from an active roll to be a house spouse tbh (and his prev injuries are giving him trouble). He didn’t want to but Jean pointed out that aside from the fact he’s actually one of the only good teachers they have-they are more likely to trust him due to his history.

Gambits actually a p good teacher tbh

He has multiple powers due to the nature of his mutation (and being a legacy at that). He can create simple energy constructs/barriers using his own strength/energy to do so-inside his barriers he can boost his teammates power/health/ect (using his own health. Aside from that he can fly + mild precognition (needs to focus on what he wants to know-and can only see ahead into the same day-needs to be at full strength to do so-can project visions on his barriers

Once he runs outa juice his hair/eyes turns white (it fading as he uses his strength)

Leader but is a support/first aide hero. Not a heavy hitter focuses more on evac/medical/boosting his teammates.

Jock just really likes sports-used to sneak out at night to play with their neighbors daughter (became his 1st gf-ran away when she outed him)

Very good at baseball. Plays on the Krakoa team.

Has a nursing degree

Is the mom friend is the dad friend. Hates it

Actually one of the better combatants on a technical level in the team he just doesn’t have super strength or anything helpful against most metas-and what he does have he tries not to use needlessly. Does use a Bo staff when necessary.

Has a crush on Eddie and Zoey but as they are both in very committed relationships (and Eddie is straight) stays silent-still jokingly flirts with them though

Really does look up to Eddie because he has such trauma associated with womanhood and seeing Eddie’s joy with it and owning it and making is her own (Eddie is a Trans girl) really does make him feel a certain way lotta solidarity between those two (they are bffs-and tbh the crush does eventually go away and it settles into something much more familial)

Just dates a lot of people like dating is normal not being exclusive is normal just. Doesn’t think much of it and wants to explore his options but does eventually settle into a relationship with Amahle and Ivanna (a Wakandan and Atlantian mutant respectively-Amahle is a technopath and Ivanna has super tracking so to speak)

Very protective of Rosie and whilst he 100% gets Lenny’s fear and reluctance to come out does not like him leading her on especially not just to make Micheal jealous

Thinks Leslie is a ditz. Loves xem. Genuinely treats xem like zey’re 12 half the time (in his defense ze acts like xer are 12 half the time)

Lost his one of his legs in a mission (it was a choice) has a cool red one now.

Terrible stutter. Drives all the girls crazy nonetheless. Chad king 😳🥵

Body ody ody built like a brick house

Part of Gambits book club really loves reading all the books he wasn’t allowed to read in his youth

Wears a lot of lesbian slogan tees. Borderline misandrist ❤️

Rare long haired butch (his hair grows comically fast)

Really annoyed by the fact he’s one of the only members who can drive. Not annoyed enough to give lessons though. Remy can do that

#I love him. chad king #ocs #asks #anon #long post

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mysterymeatmunchr · 47 minutes

Text

Barkback Mountain By The MeatMunchr

Authors notes:

3.3k words, one shot, FTM MLM

This is basically my “If Brokeback Mountain was two trans male cowboys fucking raw and nasty in the woods” fantasy. Oh, and also they’re both into pet play.

Content Warnings:

Consensual Fighting/Impact play, Struggling/Struggle Fucking, Blood, Spit, Knives, Cutting, Degradation, Pet Play, Brief light CNC

Character Descriptions:

I didn’t name the characters because I want readers to be able to think of whoever they want, BUT I did picture what they look like to me. You can picture them differently if you would like to.

The Narrator:

FTM, bear, butch, short and stout, broad shouldered, muscular but not toned, beer bellied, full dark thick and curly body hair, full trimmed beard, chest length loose dark curls, wide calloused hands, dark hooded eyes, broad browed, and strong featured.

He wears a black cattleman hat, a dark denim shirt, dark denim pants, brown boots, and a silver bolo tie.

The Lover:

FTM, otter/cub, butch, short, muscular and toned, broad shouldered, full thick dark curly body hair, full overgrown stubble, brow length loose brown curls, brown soft downturned eyes, and soft featured.

He wears a tan cattleman hat, a blue denim shirt, blue denim pants, and tan boots.

————

As I stand in the clearing waiting for him to arrive, I wonder if he’s gotten lost again. I was sure to give him plenty of markers to look out for on the way, and it isn’t all that hard once you reach the creek, but for a cowhand he sure is poor at finding his way. I’ve waited this long to see him again, I’m sure I can wait moments longer until he stumbles upon the clearing. I find a stump to rest on while I wait with my thoughts to keep me company. The excitement and nerves tangle up my insides, but I can manage a stoic front.

It isn’t too long before a rustling comes from the trees and a familiar form appears. A man close to my height, a little more on the slender side compared to my burly stout build and beer fattened stomach, but still stocky enough to keep up with the other cattlemen. Unlike the others, we both hold the same secret. We knew from the day we set eyes on each other we were different from the others. It was an unspoken kinship, something in our eyes that screamed out to each other, ‘I know what you are.’ It wasn’t long before we started having our little… meetings…

As the other man approaches I stand to greet him, “Took you long enough,” His dark unkempt curls are spilling out from under his hat and his blue denim fit him well, starched like a gentleman for a special occasion. “You know I’ve never met a cowhand as directionless as you. It’s damn near shameful.”

“It’s nice to see you too,” he says with a smile.

“I wasn’t lost this time, I saw something a ways back by the creek and stopped for it.”

The man sets down his pack next to mine, then lifts his tan hat up revealing a white handkerchief tied up into a sack, peppered with deep dark stains. He hands me the parcel from atop his head. I untie the knots revealing blackberries bursting with juice.

“Well, this is mighty kind of you, thank you. I apologize for my comments.” I bit into a berry and he did the same, the dark juice pooling between his teeth like a beautiful premonition of what’s to come. “It’s nice to see you too.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks me. His brown eyes glowing gold in the tree filtered sunlight.

“Of course I do, the hardest part is deciding whether or not I’m letting you throw the first punch,” I said, trying and failing to wipe a smirk off my face. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet.”

“I’m not,” his tone was serious. “I want this, and this time, I’m gonna win.”

“It’s cute that you think that pretty boy, we’ll see.” I take off my bolo tie and denim shirt, fold up the shirt and place it on top of my pack along with my black cattlemen hat. My partner does similarly and we head to the center of the clearing.

…

Blow after blow, noses and mouths bloodied, the metallic taste on our teeth fuels something deeply primal and terrifying within us as we spit and growl and scream at each other. The sweat, blood, and dirt on him fills my lungs. The smell is sickeningly sweet. He socks me square in my jaw. I roar before spitting out the blood. ‘Enough,’ I think to myself. I shove the smaller man to the ground, eyes aflame, no longer recognizing the beautiful boy I’ve bloodied, bruised, and beaten. My muscles ache, wrestling him into submission, our bodies woven together in a desperate battle for dominance. I finally pin him down on his back, straddling his hips, gripping both his wrists hard enough to bruise. He’s banging his head into the earth, thrashing his arms and legs, trying and failing to free himself from the heavy strength and weight of me. He howls out a deep, defeated, guttural scream. His teeth bared and snarling, with strings of bloody spit weaving through his hateful mouth.

I smile as he spits on my face. I look him in the eyes smug as I lick his spit off the side of my mouth.

“You’re disgusting,” he hisses through gritted teeth, knowing I’d won, knowing he wants me to dominate him and he hates me for it.

I hold him there still for a moment to take in my work. I need to see it, the hate and lust and defeat. Angry tears well up in his eyes as the blood rushes in and swells up my already leaky tcock.

I crash into his lips devouring him while he lets out little curses between each breath, he breaks my desperation with a bite to my lip. He gives me all the spite in his body until he draws blood. I smile, lip still caught between his teeth, as I grab his jaw digging my fingers into his bruised cheeks to release myself. I’m thankful for it, he just gave me a reason to pull away and strike his face hard with an open hand. I spit on his pitiful, beautiful, beaten face and strike him once more. I lap it up off his cheek along with the blood and dirt like a ravenous dog, unable to stop myself from grinding against his struggling hips. The degradation of him is burning up something hateful and angry and shameful inside me.

I move his wrists into one of my hands, keeping him pinned as I reach for my hunting knife. Savoring the fear in his eyes, I hold the blade to his throat.

“Don’t. Fucking. Move.” I whisper into his ear.

Keeping him at knife point I get up and hastily kick off my boots and tear off my jeans and drawers. I know I already have him, he’ll be good and stay put for me, but I’m just too impatient, I want to defile him so badly.

I crash back down to the earth to rip off his jeans. I can hear his ragged breaths through the leaves singing in the wind. I slash through his drawers with my knife, before tracing down his stomach with the blunt side of the blade. He knows what’s coming next. I press the tip of my knife into his thigh and drag slowly, his body tenses and he whimpers. The sound sends blood rushing to my pulsing heat. I’ve marked him with another tally, another loss, permanently scarred next to seven previous defeats. I don’t know when this part of the ritual began but I fell in love with how humiliating this is, especially for him, knowing my thigh bears only three marks and his now holds eight. A tear rolls down his soiled cheek as I force open his legs, pinning up one of his thighs before holding my knife back up at his throat. I look into his eyes hazed with fear and lust, without words, I’m commanding him, not asking, yet still he nods his head. It’s more permission than I needed to mount him. Dripping and hungry, I grind my boycunt against his. His defiance and anger is melting into submission, as he begins to match my movements. We rut into each other like dogs in heat.

One of his hands claws into my forearm just barely holding the knife at bay, and the other clutches the forest floor tight as we frot. Our cum soaks the earth beneath us. He desperately grinds his hips into mine, he can’t bite back his moans anymore.

“Please,” he whimpers like a dog, “Please, use your mouth, I need your tongue,” begging through gasps. He’s mine. He knows he’s mine. I dig my nails into the soft, hairy skin of his thighs, and he winces.

“How badly do you want me?” I challenge, my voice deep and rasped with breathlessness, “Show me,” I command.

Slowly his hand releases my forearm, leaving behind bloodied crescent moons and the beginnings of bruises where his nails were once buried. My nails embedded in his thigh follow suit, and I toss away my knife.

“Please,” he whispers, beginning to prop himself up. I nod and allow him to sit up, he brings his face close to mine and kisses me gently, then pulls away. “I want you so badly” he whines.

I feel the heat of his hand radiate down my big hairy stomach as he makes his way towards my swollen heat. He lays his head on my shoulder and I clutch his shaggy brown curls forcefully. A moan escapes his lips. His fingers begin to stroke my throbbing aching cock, and I can feel the cum dripping from my boycunt. I let a moan slip out, and he hesitates.

“Don’t stop, show me how badly you want me, how badly you want me to suck you off,” I say, my breath becoming uneven, “Show me you’re my pet now.”

He glides a finger against my messy hole, tracing back up to my cock rubbing against my throbbing heat in tight circles, pulling back and forth on my foreskin with each stroke. I buck against his fingers, and start to claw deeply into his back. His hand feels so good, I asked for this but I want to draw his blood for reminding me his touch can weaken me. He slides a finger down towards my cunt.

“Enough,” I release him, and pull his hand away from my crotch before he can enter me.

I push him to the forest floor and pry apart his legs, revealing his soaked pulsing tcock and cunt. I can’t hold back anymore. I’m starving for him. I look him in his eyes, and place my hand against his cheek streaked with dirt, blood, sweat, and spit. With lips barely parted, I kiss him, I drink deep the taste of his lips, his spit, his blood. I bite his lip before I move to his cheek, his jaw, his neck, biting, kissing, licking, I take in the soft sweet skin of his neck. I savor its flavor and scent as I leave behind a mark to tell him he’s mine, to tell the world he’s mine. I rip apart his undershirt so I can devour him in his entirety, as I make my way down towards his warm, throbbing boycunt. I want to consume him whole, and stain him with my hunger. My pet yelps and whines with each marking and cries out from each ravenous bite I inflict.

I pin down his thighs as I hover over his tcock. I can feel his heat on my face. I embed my nails into the tender skin of his thighs. My hot breath lands in his dark curly pubic hair. I press my lips against his inner thigh, nipping him lightly, a few warning shots, before biting down hard. He cries out to the treetops as he squirms underneath me, but I hold him down steady. I lick the bite mark and blow cool air over the tender spot, making him shiver. A hot insatiable feeling wells up from deep within my stomach and my cock aches and throbs. Finally, I envelop his cock in my mouth, sucking and stroking his pulsating bundle of nerves with my lips and tongue, drowning in the taste of him as he ruts into my face and clutches fistfuls of my long dark curls.

I release him from my mouth before sucking and teasing the swollen lips of his cunt. I want to taste all of him. My good boy grinds into me, begging for more with his puppy whimpers. I lap up his tcock with long broad strokes before quickening my pace, swirling my tongue around his raging growth. I dip my tongue down plunging into his cunt as he slams down his hips, fucking himself on my tongue. I switch between his cock and cunt, savoring both the taste of him, and the sound of his cries echoing through the forest.

I pull myself up to meet his face, and kiss him. I want him to taste himself on my lips. He looks up at me with his brown puppy eyes, and opens his mouth for me, tongue out, panting like a dog. I spit in his mouth and he takes it, swallowing and sticking his tongue out once more. I cup his face, letting him suck my thumb. I pull out and raise my hand to strike him, he flinches and I laugh. He wears such a sweet humiliated expression.

“How pitiful, be a good boy and wait here for me,” I say, petting his cheek before getting up, “and touch yourself while I’m gone mutt.”

I retrieve and don my prosthetic from my pack, as well as another piece of my leather work, a leather collar and lead. Making my way back to my pet, I take in the sight of him panting and arching his back as he strokes himself, and heat rushes through me. Filtered sunlight speckles his body. ‘My dog has spots,’ I think to myself, chuckling. His legs are open and ready for me. ‘What a pathetic mutt.’

I kneel between his legs, moving away his ‘paw’ and grind my prosthetic on his cock.

“Lift your head and stick out your tongue,” I order, buckling on his collar and lead. “You’re my dog now, my pet, my plaything. Never once were you anything but this.”

I place a finger on his tongue and pull his lead. He needn’t be told, he takes in my finger sucking and moaning, rutting himself on my prosthetic, and coating my finger with spit.

“Stroke yourself.”

I press my finger against the slick entrance of his cunt. I don’t even press in before he’s bucking his hips, fucking himself on my finger and panting. I curl my finger upwards and slowly fuck his hole, still pulling his lead. His hips are rustling the leaves beneath us, moving against my rhythm, trying to get more from me as he strokes himself faster.

“P-pl-please,” he stutters out, “another.” I cover his mouth with my hand, the lead worn around my wrist.

‘Dogs can’t speak.’

I thrust another finger in him, massaging the tender rippled flesh inside, rough and hard. I can feel his muffled moans vibrating under my rough palm. I want to hear him. I remove my hand and glide down his body until I grasp his hip. His cunt tightens on me, pulsating, milking my fingers for all the pleasure his greedy hole can get. He cries out, and I feel his warmth spray out from him onto my stomach and thighs.

“Don’t stop!” he begs, and I tug his lead sharply. He does not command me.

I pull out, spit into my hand, and coat my prosthetic with his cum and my spit. I plunge deep into him and he screams from the stretch. I slam into his cunt thrusting slow and hard, with no rest or reprieve for him to adjust to the size. His eyes roll back into his skull. He’s losing focus. ‘What a stupid dog,’ I think as I strike him with the back of my hand.

“Don’t stop touching yourself,” I growl. His hand speeds up again.

As I tug on his lead with every thrust, breathy moans escape him. I have him hold up one of his legs for me with his free hand, and the wetness spraying from his cunt soaks the harness of my prosthetic, and my stomach. I wipe it from my belly and slap him with it to punish my pet for the mess he’s made. He’s too fucked out to even wince. He moans for me at the impact. I’ve broken in my pet nicely.

The expression on his face, the sound of his cries, the sight of his throbbing swollen cock, the smell and taste of our blood staining my senses, and the base of the prosthetic grinding on my cock with each thrust lights a fire in me. I crash down on him, wrapping my arms under his shoulders and digging my nails into him. The weight of my body is pressed into his as I mercilessly fuck into him. He claws into my back and wraps his legs around my waist driving his hips into me as we howl like wild dogs.

I kiss and bite his neck as he gasps and pants in my ear. His nails in my back sting fiercely. He’s undoubtedly drawn blood. I cry out, but my pace is unwavering. My cock throbs and aches for release with every thrust. I can’t tell if the cum running down my thighs is his or mine. I use all the strength left in my body to lift him up off the forest floor. His legs still wrap around my waist and he clutches my shoulders. My ragged breaths and grunts pour from my mouth for the whole forest to hear. Hands gripping his ass, slamming him down on my prosthetic, I’m plowing up into him as he cries out. I feel his body tense and shake, his cries getting louder and louder, until he collapses onto me. I know he’s finished but I do not stop. My body aches, but I can’t stop. Pleading and sore he grasps me tightly once more.

“Please! Stop! I came! Please!” he begs, but dogs can’t speak.

I keep slamming my prosthetic into his cunt, grinding my cock against the prosthetic desperate to finish. My core tightens as I thrust into him faster, using his cunt as I please. My blood rushes to my head and cock, my heart pounds in my ears, my vision darkens, my body shakes, until suddenly, finally, I cum.

My legs buckle but I steady myself, laying my partner gently to the ground, and kissing his forehead before collapsing to the ground beside him. We’re breathless, sweat and cum soaked, and soiled with dirt and blood, but the breeze blowing through the trees cools us. I wince, noticing the sweat rolling down my face and soaking my back stinging all of my cuts and bruises. I turn to face my lover, and pull him to me. I cup his bruised face and wipe a tear stain with my thumb.

“Are you alright? Was it too much? How bad does it hurt?” The questions spill from me too quickly. How could I do all those awful things? How could I like all those awful things? He places a finger gently up to my lips silencing me.

“Yes. No. Could be worse.” He laughs, smiling at me, “It was good. You’re good.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?” I ask. My disregard for him from before is melting away into concern and shame.

“Just lay here a spell with me, then maybe you can roll me a smoke after we fix each other up.” He reassures me. He’s taken my shame and casted it away. I press him tighter to me.

“As you wish, you did so good for me. Thank you. Thank you.” I whisper to my lover. A tear stings my busted cheek.

I press my lips to his gently. We’re both bruised and aching with lips busted, but this gentleness and tenderness for each other overwhelms all else.

I hold him to my chest, petting and kissing his head, while he strokes my chest. We listen to the trees rustling, and a faint babbling whispering from the creek, and the steadily slowing beating in our chests. I don’t think of how long it will be before I can see him in this light, and in this clearing, or how long it will be before, in these secluded moments, I can scream to heaven he’s mine, the way I wish I could scream it to the world. In this moment time stands still, and we can stay here forever.

#mx meatmunchr #ftm cowboy #ftm pet #trans puppy #trans nsft #ftm t4t #ftm mlm #gay cowboy #struggle #ftm dom #ftm smut #t4t nsft #ftm puppy #nsft puppy #if i dont get to do this someday im gonna scream

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stillcrazyin2023 · 7 months

Text

supernatural was only good because I was queer ~ a timeline

2013 me:

*watches supernatural, seasons 1 and 2 at a friend’s house for the very first time*

*tries not to let friends see me blushing

*it finally happened, a boy I’m genuinely attracted to, I guess I won’t die alone, maybe?*

2015 me:

*huddled in a blanket burrito at 3 am, 20 episodes into a day-long binge, fully steeped in every available spn soundtrack on YouTube, probably wearing a flannel under my blanket, crying over young dean’s ~trauma~*

*i just feel so much sympathy for this character*

*I relate so much to this fucking fictional character* *why do I relate so much to this broken goddamn character?*

***

*spends entire summer obsessing over this absolute wreck of a show*

*searches angsty spn fan art on Pinterest*

later 2015 me:

*walks around my college campus in hiking boots and a flannel-hoody-canvas jacket combo with a scowl on my face and rock music blaring in my ears*

*I just think he’s a good older sibling and I just want to emulate him so I can be a better older sibling to my younger sisters*

*searches dean-inspired outfits on Pinterest*

*learns about “coding” and “kinning”*

*chuckles to no one in particular, I’m so Dean-coded*

*stumbles upon the hillywood show*

*stumbles*

***

2016 me

*continues to obsess daily over Dean posts on Pinterest*

*I wish I could cut my hair*

*doesn’t*

2017 me

*still wearing five layers of flannel and a hoody at 3am*

*searches adult tomboy on pinterest*

*searches not boy not girl gender on pinterest*

*learns about non-binary gender identity*

*panics about not feeling real*

*what person would ever be attracted to a person who’s not a person?* (obviously a naive and uninformed take on my part, but my immediate reaction nevertheless)

*hides hair under a hoody and goes to strike best “blue steel” in the mirror at 3 am*

*feels giddy*

*takes selfie*

*good thing that’s out of my system*

2018 me

*tries dating a guy friend*

*breaks up after a week*

*friendship goes up in flames*

*starts watching lesbian bloggers for relationship advice*

2019 me

*regularly researches gender and sexuality terms and flags to remain informed as an ally*

*reads about comphet master doc on Reddit to better understand why I felt pressured as a straight woman to date my male friend*

*nods along, yes, i understand, even straight women experience comphet*

*unironically reads the first 5 chapters of Stone Butch Blues in order to better understand the lesbian identity and history*

*as an ally*

*a really good ally*

*hypothetically imagines self as Jess*

*for educational purposes*

*and like, allyship*

*cries*

*wants to cut hair*

*doesn’t*

2020 me

*if only I knew how long we would be out of the office, then I could try cutting my hair and have time to grow it back before returning to the office*

*rewatches seasons 1-6*

*watches lesbian couples vlogs “because they’re entertaining and I’m an ally, and I just really appreciate their healthy relationship”*

*downloads tiktok*

*entrenches self in queer tiktok*

*ally*

*watches tiktok claiming all lesbians are Dean-coded*

*pauses*

*scrolls*

*does not cut hair*

2021 me

*I’ve been out of the office long enough. I think I can finally cut my hair*

*feels at home in body*

*that’s neat*

***

*I need to be sure about this before I comes out*

*revisits Stone Butch Blues to make sure I’m sure*

2022 me

*hears about trash spn ending*

*hmm, i wonder why I liked such an objectively trash show in the first place*

also 2022 me: *is a raging masculine-of-center non-binary genderqueer butch lesbian*

Dean Winchester: *is subtextually (canonically) an angry, repressed, oblivious bi person, whose every inexplicably cringe action as a straight man makes 5000% more sense for someone struggling to reconcile queer masculinity without a blueprint*

#denialisariverinegypt #allbutchesaredeancoded #tellmeimwrong #areallofusqueernow

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susiephone · 3 years

Note

Imagine thinking that wanting straight people to be accepting of gay people is a "trap" and not like, literally THE entire goal of the modern LGBT rights movement since its inception

okay. this is in response to me saying “respectability politics is a trap.” which it absolutely is.

but i’ll give you the benefit of the doubt here. let’s define respectability politics, shall we?

several people who are more well-spoken than me have talked about this. to quote this article on the subject:

Respectability politics is a school of thought that utilizes respectability narratives as the basis for enacting social, political, and legal change.

Respectability narratives are representations of marginalized individuals meant to construct an image of the marginalized group as people sharing similar traits, values, morals with the dominant group.

essentially, respectability politics is when people in a marginalized group (queer people, disabled people, people of color) wish to be accepted by the majority, and thus present themselves in a way and behave in a way that the majority deems acceptable - and pressure others in their marginalized group to do the same. for example:

“Not all bisexual people are sluts, I’m bi and I’ve been in a committed relationship for 20 years!”

“I’m gay, but I’m not one of THOSE gay guys, I hate shopping and I don’t like to flaunt my sexuality at all!”

“Lesbians aren’t really all masculine, I love makeup and having long hair.”

(I’m using examples I’ve seen in the queer community because I’m queer; I know this happens a lot in communities of color, but I am not qualified to speak on that at all.)

this stems from a desire to be accepted by the majority; for the purposes of this discussion, straight people. we hear straight people say things like “i could never date a bi person, they’re all cheaters” or “i don’t mind gay guys, don’t just shove it in my face” and “why don’t lesbians act like women if they love them?” and, in response, some people go, “i don’t act like that!! you can accept me! i fit in! i’m respectable, i’m not like those guys, they embarrass us!”

there’s also a lot of people saying, “don’t reinforce the stereotype.” as if it’s OUR fault straight people stereotype us.

so this leads to shaming within our own community:

“You’re bi and polyamorous? Wow, way to make people think we’re all two-timing whores.”

“Makeup? Jesus, we get it, you’re gay, you don’t have to make it a pride parade every time you go out.”

“You look like a teenage boy, this is why everyone lesbians aren’t real women.”

and that all boils down to:

“THIS is the example you’re setting? This is the face you show to the world? Don’t you know you’re representing us? No wonder they don’t respect us.”

and that’s the real problem: telling other queer people, “it is YOUR fault you’re not accepted, YOU aren’t acceptable, YOU reinforce these stereotypes, YOU should try and be more respectable, more normal.” and the thing is, “normal” is defined by the majority. THEY decide what is acceptable behavior for us. and guess what?

most of the time, that boils down to, “It’s fine if you’re different... as long as you’re as close to what I deem normal as possible. As long as I can’t tell you’re different.”

in the queer community, this sort of thinking has led to the exclusion of butch lesbians, femme gay men, nonbinary people, non-passing trans people, trans people in general, people who use any pronouns besides she/her and he/him, bisexual people, ace people, aro people, pan people, polyamorous bisexual people, people who have an active sex life, sex workers, people who have changed how they identify, and countless others. these people get shoved aside by the Good Respectable Gays, who are eager to say, “We’re not like them, we’re just like you!” in order to be accepted by the mainstream. and it still doesn’t work. even the most macho, would-never-guess-it gay guy is bound to face some level of oppression or otherness at some point in his life. it doesn’t matter how much he fits in, how much he distances himself from the Unacceptable Queers; it won’t work 100% of the time. how’s that for a punchline?

there is no point in trying to file off the “unacceptable” parts of our community just to please straight people.

if a person hates all queer people, no matter how they act or present, they’re a homophobe.

if a person doesn’t hate queer people, just the ones who shove it in your face and sleep around and won’t shut up about it and buck gender norms and use weird pronouns and expect people to learn their new name and change their identity every week... they’re still a fucking homophobe.

and why the fuck are we trying to please homophobes, again?

so when people say lil nas x is bad, actually, because he “reinforces the stereotype” of gay people going to hell and thinking a lot about sex or whatever, they’re playing right into respectability politics. why can’t he just talk about his sexuality in a normal way? why can’t he express himself in a nicer way? why does he have to use that imagery? why does he have to make straight people uncomfortable?

lis nas x is a gay black man who grew up being told he’d burn in hell for being gay. and he made an awesome song with a legendary music video saying, “fine. i’ll go to hell, just like you want, and it’ll be great. i’ll take the damn place over and make satan fall in love with me. and i’ll have a great time doing it, because i’m proud of who i am, and i won’t apologize for it or be ashamed of it anymore.”

to see that and wring your hands, worrying that a straight person will see it and decide to be homophobic about it, and pinning the blame for that on nas is missing the point.

every time we as a community make ourselves lesser or change the way we present just to be accepted by the majority, they move the goalposts, and someone else gets left behind. and the beautiful thing about the queer community is that there is a place for everyone who is left out in the cold by the straight, cis majority.

“We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it” was the rallying cry for a reason. we’re different, you think we’re weird, you think we’re deviant, you don’t get us, and that’s fine, you don’t have to get us. we’re not going anywhere. get used to it.

respectability politics is a game you cannot win. so stop playing.

#respectability politics #queer #queer pride #lgbtq #long post cw #Anonymous

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danses-with-dogmeat · 3 years

Note

could you do the “reaction to first time being shown affection” but with the new vegas/fo3 male companions as well?

Romanced! Male! FO3 Companions and the first time they’re shown soft forms of Affection

Here is some more fluff for all of you lovlies! Man, I love doing these sweet prompts so dang much 😅 Seriously, if there’s ANY characters you want to see for this that I haven’t done, please please please don’t hesitate to ask, cuz these reactions are just good for my soul (... or Sole, eh? Get it?).

Fallout New Vegas (M! Companions) reactions are also on the way for this prompt as well, and should be done soon!

Butch:

Lone's eyes fluttered open, taking in the sight of the darkened vault 101 bedroom as they stretched their legs from beneath the thin blanket with a small sigh. A blush spread to their face as they felt their partner stir beside them, repositioning himself onto his back, an arm thrown up over his head as a deep breath escaped his lips. They turned to get a better look at him, smiling slightly at how peaceful he looked. Eyes still closed, mouth dangling open slightly, hair tousled about every which way upon his head as it crushed into the pillow behind him. Lone just stared at him for a while, their heart beating insistently in their chest as they thought back on the events of their first night together… them and Butch… who would've thought?

They would have liked to pin it on the way he's changed over the years they've known him, because certainly ten-year-old Lone would have scrunched up their face in disgust at the idea of having a crush on the self-absorbed bully. But… truth is, Lone's always suspected that their feelings towards the fellow vault dweller had been more… complicated than simple hatred, or simple attraction. No, these feelings seemed to go deeper than that, even before, when they were kids and he would get on their nerves constantly, or in school when they were teens who frequently argued with each other, they knew there was something more at play between the pair, though they never would have admitted it at the time. Now though, they couldn't believe they had ever seen him any differently as they gazed tenderly at their partner through half-lidded eyes, filled to the brim with affection for the man that lay beside them.

Lone tentatively reached up a hand, not wanting to wake him, but needing to touch him. They brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, running their palm over the top of his head and smoothing down any stray strands that stuck out. Pausing their movements briefly, Lone brought themselves into a sitting position, keeping their side of the blankets up to cover their bare body as they scooted closer to him and reached their hands out towards his head again. Though his hair wasn't all that long, they rarely had the privilege of seeing it void of product, which often made it difficult to play with. Lone decided to take advantage of this instance. They took three separate strands between their fingers, crossing them over each other a few times before twisting the end, willing the little braid to hold its shape before moving to another section and doing the same. A smile spread on their lips as they carried on with their little movements, leaving a handful of tiny braids in the wake of their gentle hands as they continued listening to him snore softly below them.

As they grew less fond of the braided look, Lone smoothed each one out and began to thread their fingers upwards, giggling at their work as the entirety of his fawn-colored hair stood straight up over his slackened expression. Now if only I had dad's camera…

Their ability to stifle their laughter weakened, preventing them from suppressing the snort that escaped from them; the sound effectively jolting their companion awake.

"What the…?" He shook his head, attempting to expel his grogginess as he realized what had woken him.

"Why are you...? Wait, what happened? You laughin' at me?"

Lone nodded as another snort escaped them, Butch's confused expression now acting as the source of their second bout of giggling.

"Why? What happened?" He looked down quickly, trying to conceal any bare part of him that peeked through the thin Vault-Tec issued blanket. A panicked flush creeping up his cheeks as he tried to find the source of their amusement.

"No, no, it's nothing like that." They assured him, grabbing at his face with their hands to bring his attention back to their eyes, "Here."

Lone made a motion upwards, to try and smooth his hair down to a reasonable height, but Butch's own fingers followed, brushing the substantial mountain of silky locks that stood at attention atop his head before they could fix what they'd done. His eyes widened as he realized what Lone had been laughing at, shaking his head in an attempt to loosen the upright strands.

"Oh, you think that's funny, do ya?"

Lone smiled at him, shrugging as they prepared to answer him with some smart-ass remark, but he was upon them before they could utter a word. Their partner tackled them, pressing his lips to theirs as he forced them downwards against the mattress where he pinned their arms up over their head. When he had firmly secured their wrists in his grip, he released them from the kiss, now staring down at them smugly, a glint of triumph playing in his stormy blue eyes. Lone's heart beat raggedly in their chest as they breathlessly gazed up at their lover as he held them down. Though, to their surprise, he pulled further away from them and released his grip on their wrists, quickly bringing his hands down to their sensitive sides. He pinched his fingers slightly as he ran them over their ribcage, causing them to erupt into a fit of unbridled laughter, writhing underneath his cruel ministrations as he grinned wildly at them.

“How’s that for funny, huh, wise guy?”

Charon:

“Tell me something.” Lone stared up at the stars as they spoke, Charon’s stiff shoulder brushing their own as he lay beside them at the top of the parking structure, his shotgun still lying across his chest, held firmly in his grasp.

“What?” His gruff voice inquired. Lone couldn’t tell if he was being short with them because he was still unsure about spending the night at the top of the ruined concrete parking structure, or if it was because he genuinely didn’t understand their request, either way, they didn’t mind clarifying.

“Just, tell me something about yourself. You already know almost everything about me, and we’ve been together a few months now, and yet…” They trailed off, trying in vain to coax a proper response from their companion.

“What would you like to know?” Lone sighed softly, but smiled in spite of themself, shifting onto their side so they could look over at him. The ghoul was laying rigidly on his back, his eyes remained trained on the sky, as they had been since Lone suggested he quit keeping watch and just relax with them as they stargazed. Well, he stopped keeping watch, but I don’t think he ever got to the ‘relax’ part.

“Well… what do you want me to know about you?” They asked him, attempting to draw an answer from him without using a direct order. Ever since the two had become involved, Lone had felt uncomfortable with the idea of holding Charon's contract. Well, truth be told, they had always hated the idea of him being forced to obey their every whim and order because they held some torturous piece of paper, but now it felt especially immoral.

Silence fell over the pair as Charon struggled with Lone’s request, half of him wanting to abide by what they said and begin the process of opening up to the person he felt closest with, while the other half grappled with the phrasing of their question. The shadow of his officially void contract rendered his own preferences obsolete as the years of habit continued to keep him chained to the false comfort of his own complacency. He was never allowed to want before.

Lone gazed at him, noting the hard expression adorning his scarred face as the internal conflict raged between his temples. Charon’s pale blue eyes became obstructed as his brow furrowed, his jaw clenching as he ground his teeth in an effort to force his mouth to produce any words that could possibly provide an answer to Lone’s question.

The ghoul’s body shuddered as Lone extended their hand, sliding it over his chest before it came to rest atop one of his. They flexed their fingers, a suggestion to loosen his grip on the barrel of his shotgun, but he refused to budge. They kept the contact with him for a moment more, but as he showed no sign of yielding to their touch, they pulled away, rolling over onto their back once more.

Well, it was worth a try. Lone closed their eyes as their fatigue washed over them, remaining on the verge of consciousness as they awaited any response from their partner.

Instead of words, they felt a soft brush against their hand, and Lone peeked one eye open to witness the ghoul’s action as he pressed on, drawing his larger hand to rest over their own. Though the action was miniscule, Lone felt their breath catch in their throat as Charon slid his thumb over their skin soothingly. They hummed as a small grin graced their lips, shifting in his grasp so that they could entwine their fingers with his.

Lone’s expression dampened as they felt him pull away slightly, believing that perhaps they’d pushed their companion too far with their… official hand holding; but they were surprised as they felt his nails meet their wrist. He smoothed his fingertips up their arm slightly, before doubling back, capturing their hand fully in his own again. At that, Lone resumed their own comforting movements along his roughened skin. The ebb and flow of the pairs’ dancing hands seemed to coax something out of Charon, a sort of tenderness that Lone was otherwise unfamiliar with.

“I want… ” He started, and Lone held their breath, but continued running their fingers over his hand encouragingly.

“To tell you… it is no longer the contract that is binding me to you.” His movement against Lone ceased in his effort to continue speaking.

"At first, I did not think I would ever be able to separate myself from it. But now… the paper is obsolete. I'm loyal to you. I want you to know that."

Lone's heart leapt in their chest, as they felt tears of relief fill to the brims of their eyes. They couldn't say how long they'd been hoping to hear this from him, it was getting to the point that they thought they never would; that the dreadful scrap of parchment shackling Charon to his horrendous past would taint their relationship until the end of their days, but now…

A scarred finger brushed against Lone's cheek, capturing the tear that had escaped them in their moment of relieved contemplation. They turned their head, following his hand's retreat, and their eyes met his. A once stormy ocean now seemed to resemble a calm, pensive pool as he peered at them with a clarity he never thought he could have achieved.

Fawkes:

Lone’s eyebrows drew upwards as they gazed sympathetically at the mutant. Fawkes was hunched over, his head buried in his large hands as small grunts of frustration pushed their way through his overlapping fingers. He’d been having flashbacks all day long, the brief snippets of his time as a human tormenting him in their fragmented incompleteness.

“Fawkes?” They tested. Lone hadn’t been able to rouse him from his state of anguish since the pair had returned to their Megaton home. Three hours ago. They rose from their chair, moving to sit beside him on the couch. Thus far, they had let him be, believing that the memories he was struggling with would either come back to him fully, or slip away from his grasp altogether, as they usually did. But this time they appeared to be more insistent and less comprehensible, rendering their companion aggravated and exhausted, and leaving Lone feeling utterly useless.

As they settled beside him, they brought a hand up to rest on his broad shoulder, feeling the pulsing tenseness of his muscle as his heavy breathing forced his shoulders to rise and fall raggedly.

“Hey,” They said softly, “I know it’s hard, but you have to try and let it go.” Lone brought their hands up to grasp at his, gently pulling them away from his scrunched up face.

“That’s not you anymore. You’re Fawkes.” They told him, looking into his strained eyes, “You’re free now, free from the vault, free from who you used to be, and free to make your own choices. To be your own kind of person.” Slowly bringing their hands down towards his lap, they continued holding onto them tightly as they tried to bring him back to reality, tried to ground him back in the present.

“You’re my closest friend, Fawkes, no matter who you were, I love you now. For who you are.” Lone’s words seemed to finally draw his attention to them, his weary eyes softening at the sight of them, as the present world around him seemed to solidify. They felt his hands squeeze theirs to the brink of being too tight, holding firmly enough to keep him tethered to this reality, and when they flexed their fingers beneath the intense pressure, he became aware of his actions, and ceased them. The mutant’s grip softened as he exhaled, finally letting his taut muscles relax beneath his ravaged, olive skin.

“That’s it. Welcome back.” Lone smiled up at him, their own relief evident in their softened expression. Fawkes slumped a little lower, his fatigue forcing his shoulders to slouch and his head to bow forwards, as he blinked away the last shreds of the past that stubbornly tried to linger in his mind. Lone saw his shrunken frame as an opportunity, and withdrew their hands gently from his grasp, bringing their arms up to wrap around his shoulders. The hug was a little awkward, with his position facing straight ahead on the couch and Lone seated beside him, not to mention his much larger frame, which proved to be difficult to fully embrace; but, after a moment, he managed to bring an arm around Lone in an effort to return the gesture, allowing them to sink further into the security of his chest.

The pair remained this way for a few moments, both pressing the other firmly to them as they relaxed into the contact and grew more comfortable. Fawkes was certainly unused to the action, but his contentment was palpable in the way he slowly gave into Lone’s touch, leaning his head against theirs and clutching at them just a bit tighter before finally slackening and pulling away.

“Thank you, Lone. It is hard to feel… lost for such a long time.” His usually gruff voice came out like tattered silk as it was softened by the emotion accompanying it, and they couldn’t help but notice as Fawkes’s hand remained settled over their shoulder, still seeming to steady himself with the unwavering contact.

“Lone, how am I ever going to repay your kindness when you continue to assist me in so many ways each and every day? Your friendship is truly unparalleled.” Lone smiled at that, chuckling slightly at the sincerity of his words.

“Some people just… need more help than others.” They told him, “I’m happy to keep helping you every day, even if you can never repay me for it. That’s what people do when they care about each other, Fawkes. Love isn't a commodity to be bought and sold, at the expense of one and the gain of another; it’s something you reciprocate on your own terms, something you give to yourself and others without condition or expectation of gaining anything in return.”

Fawkes nodded his head slowly, eyes unfocused as he thought through Lone’s words.

“If that’s the case… Then, right now, I vow to love you as you say I should. Unconditionally. And hopefully that will be enough.”

Jericho:

The ex-raider collapsed with a groan, burying his head, face first, into the plush pillows atop their mattress. His rifle and bits of armor were strewn throughout the Tenpenny apartment, and Lone strolled behind him, trying to kick his things into a somewhat organized pile as they too tried to make themself more comfortable.

Bits of armor clattered to the floor as Lone made their way to their shared bed, smiling exasperatedly at their companion, stretched across the entirety of the mattress, preventing them from settling beside him.

I’m tired too, you know. They thought, releasing a puff of air as they considered how to go about solving this little problem of theirs. Lone tried dropping their bag beside the bed, the loud thud sounding as close to his ear as they could get it without physically hitting him with the sack, but Jericho didn’t even flinch. They clicked their tongue, peering around the room as they searched for a way to rouse him. As Lone started towards their shelves lining the wall of the hotel room, eyes set on the plethora of miscellaneous items they might be able to use to their advantage, a raucous snore erupted from within the plushness of their pillow-clad mattress. Lone groaned, turning about to face him before starting back towards the bed. Fine, you don’t want to make room for me? I’ll make it work anyways.

Lone approached the unconscious ex-raider, poking at the firmness of his back, testing, before hopping up in the air to land, stomach-first, on top of their companion.

“What the shit?! The fuck you think you’re doing?” He grumbled through the thick fabric.

“Just making myself comfortable.” Lone shifted their hips and shoulders, settling themself more firmly onto Jericho’s back.

“And you’re expectin’ me to put up with this shit?” He lifted his head, straining his neck to glare back at them questioningly.

“I really don’t see what you can do about it, old timer.” Lone leaned forward, digging an elbow into the back of his ribcage as they brought their mouth to his ear. They felt him tense at the pressure, bringing one of his arms back awkwardly as he tried to find a grip on them. Lone swatted his hand away with theirs, leaning onto their other side to avoid his flailing limb. As he felt their weight shift, Jericho twisted his body in an attempt to overturn them, but Lone instead decided to bring their arms around his shoulders, clinging to him so that their body shifted with his as he tried to roll them off.

“Mother fucker--” Lone began to giggle at his frustrated growls, as he rose, propping himself up on his elbows, with Lone still gripping him firmly, arms wrapped tight across his chest. He paused his thrashing, and Lone felt him shifting his head downwards, extending his neck to reach for something with his mouth…

“Ow-- Hey!” Jericho took a part of their wrist into his mouth, biting down hard, causing their grip to loosen, and at the opportunity, he decided to throw himself backwards onto the mattress, effectively crushing Lone beneath him. They felt the breath get knocked out of them as he landed, now settling himself on top of them, grinding the back of his head into their chest in an effort to make himself more comfortable in the most obnoxious way possible.

Well… that could have gone better, but hey, at least now I’m on the bed.

“Alright, you win.” They said, their voice coming out strained due to the pressure on their lungs.

“Damn right I do. Old timer… fuck you.” Lone laughed at that, reveling in the way he took their name calling so seriously.

“Alright, alright. I get the point, can you get off me now?”

“Nah. I think I like this. It’s real comfortable. Think I’ll just sleep this way.” Lone groaned at him, trying weakly to tousle him off their body before giving up with a loud sigh, being sure to blow their hot breath of frustration straight onto the top of his head. They felt his body shudder.

“Fuckin’ fine, little tike, I’ll get off.”

“Uck, don’t call me that.” Lone said as he rolled off of them, falling onto the mattress at their side. They peered over at him to see his reaction, pleased at the dark-eyed glare that bore into them, a glint of humor shining in their depths.

“Look, I’m allowed to complain,” They told him, shifting onto their side so they could see him better. “You friggin’ bit me.” The ex-raider smiled deviously at that.

“Hmm. Yeah, I did. And I’m about to do it again.” With that, he lunged at them, an arm wrapped around their waist to hold them in place as his teeth met their neck.

“Hey! What the--?” A moment later, the sharp pain dissolved away and was replaced by something soft as Jericho pressed his lips to the tender spot, soothing over the mark he had left. Lone’s eyes fell closed as his mouth moved up to their jaw, peppering kisses as it moved across their jawline to their chin, before finally drawing upwards to meet their lips.

“I hope you know.” Lone heard him say as he pulled away from them, “This ain’t over yet.” They felt the mattress shift as he collapsed back onto it, and they smiled at his words, scooting closer so they could throw an arm over his stomach as they pressed their head to the crook beneath his shoulder. Lone meant to say something cheeky in response, but before they could utter a word, they felt themself dissolve into sleep as the soft sound of Jericho’s snores filled their ears.

Here is the original post with the Fallout 4 M!Companions

Here is the post with Fallout New Vegas M!Companions

#fallout #fallout companions #fallout companions react #fallout companions reacts #fallout companions reactions #fallout 3 #fallout 3 companions #fo3 #fallout butch #butch deloria #fallout charon #charon fo3 #fallout fawkes #fawkes fo3 #jericho fo3 #fallout jericho #lone wanderer #butch fo3

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thesoulspulse · 2 years

Text

Regarding The Guys in White (Part 3)

I didn’t expect to go on a tirade about Elliot/Gregor in the previous part but I guess since he’s a big part of that episode “Double Cross My Heart” I guess there was no getting around it. It looks like there’s a lot more to unpack than I thought so I’m going to have to split this post as well, but hey, the more the merrier right?

Speaking of which, here are links to the first two!

Part 1: https://thesoulspulse.tumblr.com/post/675957179159871488/regarding-the-guys-in-white-part-1

Part 2: https://thesoulspulse.tumblr.com/post/676128138448748544/regarding-the-guys-in-white-part-2

Part 4: https://thesoulspulse.tumblr.com/post/676585479837302784/regarding-the-guys-in-white-part-4

Final Part: https://thesoulspulse.tumblr.com/post/677951564575588354/regarding-the-guys-in-white-final-part

Regarding the Guys in White...

I promise, this time I’m only bringing Gregor/Elliot up again to point out how the Guys in White have a bad habit -just like Valerie used to- of putting innocent civilians in danger. Aka as Danny said “right in the line of fire” because when they shot a missile at Elliot he clearly had two girls next to him so they should have made sure they had a clear shot before firing.

And let’s not forget them damaging public property just as badly if not worse than any ghost! Not to mention this building is on a freaking cliffside! The whole thing could come crashing down or worse, cause a landslide. Frankly they’re lucky it didn’t.

And ok, I know we don’t like Elliot for being such a huge liar, but you’d think the Guys in White would have scanners to tell if someone is human. I mean, plenty of people have white hair either due to a hereditary condition or old age and tell me more people didn’t start dying their hair white to look like their hero Danny Phantom besides him.

Also, given how much they know about ghosts, you’d think they’d line their jets, planes, hover boards, or what have you with anti-ghost shielding to prevent ghosts from phasing in or out of them as easily as this:

On a side note, maybe Danny should have forced them to land instead of phase them out of the cockpit, leaving the jet to veer out of control. But I digress since it at least crashed to the side of the observatory.

That brings us to our next point when Danny drops Agent’s K & O off at the Guys in White Headquarters in Amity Park which makes you wonder just how long its been there. This is the only time we actually see it and it doesn’t have much detail to it apart from having no windows and only one entrance we can see, although they probably have secret ones knowing them leading to other locations such as the other safe house we saw.

Now here’s where things get interesting!

Personally, I have this headcanon that Walker may have actually been an older agent of the Guys in White from another time period. Because for one thing, he knows how to create anti-ghost tech in order to contain other ghosts like himself which his obsession is to contain and control and to follow the rules. The Guys in White are serious about the rules too so again, I don’t think it’s too far of a stretch since contrary to what Butch has stated before there ARE documented existences of ghosts that were ones either human or animal. I’m sure you know who I mean so I won’t list them.

There’s also the similarities in their designs:

Both have Notch-Lapeled collars

A black tie

Black gloves

Black boots

And at least 2-4 buttons

So that said, again this is only my personal headcanon, Walker could be a former agent from another division that existed generations ago and since then their uniform design has been updated.

Oh right, speaking of anti-ghost devices. I totally forgot about this but in this same episode, the Guys in White have these jet packs with intangibly capabilities. Meaning, they can replicate a ghosts ability to phase through walls and objects! So my question is, why don’t they use this for all their devices? Like for example the plane they were in to avoid being hit by an attack? Is their version of this unstable or can’t be relied on? Sort of like how Maddie had a portable ghost-portal gun we saw in Wulf’s first episode that we saw did drain a lot of power which meant it could only be used maybe once or twice max.

To end things off since this post is getting too long, I also wanted to mention how the Amity Park Penitentiary now seems to have prison cells or containment at least for ghostly inmates so I wonder if the Guys in White funded that? This is where we see them holding Lydia hostage to get Freakshow to give them the information they want which I’d rather get into in the next part because this is why I really REALLY wish they had expanded on in the show.

I know there’s a lot we don’t know and things we wish we knew which is why I’m digging up what info I can and as for the rest, as you can see, I’m sharing my fan theories and headcanon’s. Feel free to borrow or expand on any of them if you want to, I’d love to see what you come up with!

A lot of this is going to be really important for what I have planned for my OC Iris Brooks since she and the Guys in White have a complicated history together which I’ll hopefully get to share through my rpg maker project “Psionic.”

Not to mention I always wondered why there were never any female agents in this agency which is why I made a division of my own in my fanfic “Turning Point” which I’d love to continue eventually with its leader I call Agent Omega to got along with the Guys in White’s leader Agent Alpha, I’ll show you her really quick before I conclude this post.

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy

Summary: Spencer's gay. He joins the BAU and befriends the team, but it is 2003. It's a secret he has to keep. He just didn't expect it to be this hard.

Tags: gay!spencer, coming out, hurt/comfort, insecure!spencer, misunderstandings, angst with a happy ending, dad hotch, protective!hotch, protective!derek, childhood trauma TW: one instance of explicit homophobia, but it is referenced a lot, as is Spencer's internalised homophobia at the start of this fic. A shit ton of heteronormativity but tbh that's just canon lol

Pairing: Spencer Reid/OMC, Spencer Reid & Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid & Aaron Hotchner, The BAU Team & Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Consider this my contribution to pride month 😌 I've waited so long to post it and I'm so glad I'm finally doing it because it's definitely one of my all time favourites <3 Gideon is here somewhere but just like with all my early season fics he's not really part of the plot I combined my moreid and gen taglists bc it was hard to know the audience for this, but just ignore it if you're not interested!

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut, which is what you didn’t do, because you are weak and hollow and it doesn’t matter anymore. — richard siken, a primer for the small weird loves

Spencer has only told one person in his whole life.

His mother guessed. For as long as he can remember, she’s used gender neutral pronouns when talking about his future partner, read him all the gay literature she could find, promised him that he’s perfect just the way he is.

The trouble is that Spencer only believes her until the first grade, when Ryan Sampson shoves him over in the playground and calls him gay. His mom had only ever used that term in a sweet, loving way, taking care to associate such words with positivity, as long as his dad wasn’t around to hear. When that word comes out of Ryan Sampson’s mouth, it is not said with sweetness and love; it is said with venom, and Spencer learns quickly that his mom is wrong. He is not perfect just the way he is.

And so, he keeps it a secret. When his mom notices him getting uncomfortable at the mention of future partners, she stops bringing it up, though she refuses to give up the diverse education she provides for him outside of school. His dad tells him that one day he’ll be a strapping young man and marry a nice girl in a church, and Spencer nods along. He ignores the way his stomach turns with anxiety at the thought. Ignores the screaming match his parents have that night. Ignores the fact that it started because Diana chipped in with ‘or boy’.

He’s in high school by the time he’s twelve, and the only part he’s grateful for is the absence of pressure to get a girlfriend. His dad’s out of the picture now, and Spencer tries not to let himself think that maybe if he wasn’t like this he might have stayed. Diana’s so out of it most days that she doesn’t remember what she noticed about him when he was a child, only recalling the last few years of shoving himself so far back in the closet he can hardly see the door anymore.

It feels like he’s lost his last ally.

(He hates that a small part of him feels relieved she doesn’t remember; that he almost feels assured by the fact that the last person to know who he really is has forgotten. There is only this version of Spencer Reid now. No other exists.)

He makes the mistake during his second undergraduate degree. He’s just turned eighteen but he is already a doctor and, fortunately, this alienates him from most of his peers, but someone manages to slide past his defences. Ethan Miller is twenty, in the second year of his (first) undergraduate degree in Chemical Engineering, and he’s nice. Spencer doesn’t have a lot of experience with friendship, but they get on well and Ethan makes him laugh. For the first time, he feels comfortable in the presence of anyone other than his mother.

They slip into an easy friendship: waiting for each other after class — Spencer back in the undergraduate buildings now he has his first PhD under his belt — and going out for ice cream and pizza and Thai food. Ethan goes to parties while Spencer studies, and then they reconvene to watch Doctor Who and play cards.

For almost a year, Spencer keeps his secret carefully locked up, hidden behind the mask he’s perfected after so many years. Even though he’s eighteen, nearly nineteen now, he doesn’t try and explore that side of himself. No, that’s far too risky. He doesn’t try and pretend any other way either, he just stays silent and lets people’s assumptions lie for him, but he can’t help the longing that claws up his throat when he locks eyes with a passing guy on campus. One time, he’d seen two men kiss on a bench in the city, and he’d run back to his dorm and had a panic attack. Why couldn’t he have that?

The feelings don’t stop, and he doesn’t know how to make them. He hates that he isn’t normal, but still longs for the touch of a man, the feeling of being wrapped up in strong arms, of being kissed by dry, chapped lips, and falling asleep to a heartbeat approximately 11% slower than that of a woman’s.

It’s a constant battle inside him, emotions raging, and he struggles to control it, suppress it, tame it.

He pays a sorry price.

Ethan makes him feel comfortable, and that turns out to be a detriment. He relaxes around the other boy: he tells him about growing up as a pre-teen in a high school, about how a child feels living 260 miles away from home, even about his mother’s illness.

And one day, it slips out. They’re on the beach, lying on towels as they look up at the blue sky, talking about what their futures will look like: Ethan will be a successful chemical engineer in Berlin, and Spencer will work for the FBI, profiling serial killers.

“You’ll have to marry a German girl,” he tells Ethan. “It’ll be tough to convince an American girl to move all the way to Germany as soon as you graduate.”

“Yeah, and what about you? You’ll be off fighting crime around the country, not much of a life for a family.”

“Oh, I imagine my husband will be the type to—”

“Husband?”

Spencer freezes. It shocks him as much as it shocks Ethan. He doesn’t even pay much attention to Ethan’s disgusted face and his outraged tirade. He hears slurs and insults, hears him say that he can’t believe Spencer tricked him like this, that he was probably waiting to make a move on him, that he was never to look in Ethan’s direction again, but Spencer is frozen in time.

He’s never allowed him to think much about what his personal life might look like in the future, but he’d said ‘husband’ on instinct, without thinking, and it’s clearly something he actually wants. Ethan’s words sting, but the moment brings about a realisation Spencer is thankful for; it instigates a journey of self-discovery and self-expression, of the joy of living as your true self.

He loses his first and only friend, but he gains something much more valuable. He visits gay bars — nervously sipping a non-alcoholic drink in the corner at first, before soon becoming confident enough to respond to the men who sidle up to him and ask for his name. He lets go and dances the night away, sometimes going home with one of the many dance partners he acquires during the night, sometimes heading back to his own dorm happily alone.

Makeup and dresses and skirts and heels make their way into his wardrobe, and he befriends girls and drag queens and other gay men who encourage him to be exactly the way he is. And the best part is, he never has to come out to any of them. All of them know, and that’s good enough for everyone.

The fun comes to a sad sort of slow, however, when he joins the BAU. Everyone knows law enforcement’s relationship with the LGBT community is less than adequate — Spencer’s seen it with his own eyes: butch lesbians and men in dresses getting roughed up by angry police officers for ‘lewd behaviour’ or ‘drunkenness’ when they’re just being themselves. It’s not safe for him to tell anyone, so he doesn’t.

He still goes out with his friends when he’s in town and wears makeup and dresses and crop tops when he’s at home, but presents as rigidly straight Dr Spencer Reid to his team at the BAU.

The hardest part about it is that he loves his team. He’s known Gideon for years — and he wouldn’t be surprised if he suspects something after coming over to his house unannounced one night, only to have a man other than Spencer open the door — but he settles into a comforting dynamic with Hotch. He can’t help but see him as something of a father figure, and he knows Hotch has a soft spot for him, always looking out for him and taking him under his wing without a moment’s hesitation.

Elle, JJ, and Penelope all take a shine to him, too, teasing him without a hint of malice in their tones, only the kind of playful kindness that reminds him of his mother. He forms a special bond with Penelope and they spend hours watching Doctor Who together and geeking out on all the areas their interests overlap, and the comfort he feels with her matches the comfort he’s found with his new group of queer friends.

(She doesn’t hold a candle to Ethan, he decides one night, after he’d cried at a movie she’d made him watch and she felt so bad she made him hot chocolate and jam toast and cuddled him until he felt better.)

Derek becomes a brother to him. He puts him in a headlock at least once a day — which Spencer has been reliably informed by multiple sources is a very brotherly thing to do — and teases him relentlessly, while simultaneously being fiercely protective of him. Enough so, that Spencer sometimes wonders if he even has Hotch beat in that department.

He loves his team and his team loves him. It should be simple. It is still 2003.

He comes in one morning late for a briefing, his shirt buttoned wrong and his hair is a mess, and he’s fairly sure that his attempt to cover the hickey at the base of his neck with concealer has been ultimately unsuccessful. It’s obvious why he’s late. Gideon is too engrossed in the case file to notice, but Hotch raises an eyebrow, an amused look on his face as everyone else immediately takes to teasing him.

“Who’s the lucky lady, pretty boy?”

Elle raises an eyebrow to match Derek’s shit-eating grin, “Someone definitely got some strange last night.”

“When do we get to meet her, Spence?” JJ asks, smirking as he takes a seat.

He’s bright red — as if he needed to look any more debauched — and Spencer tries to ignore the hurt that seizes his chest at the reminder of his need to stay quiet. This team respects him, and he can’t throw that away just because Spencer gets too comfortable.

God, he wishes Penelope was here.

“None of your business,” he mutters, trying to keep his tone light. He fails.

Naturally, Hotch notices and swiftly moves the briefing on, and Spencer keeps his gaze locked on the case file, not missing the absence of a reprimand from his superior. He’s constantly thankful for the older man, but in this moment, he wishes he could hug him.

(A voice that sounds dangerously close to Ethan’s rises up and taunts him in his ear: he wouldn’t want a dirty homo like you anywhere near him—)

Derek doesn’t let up on the case, continuing to bug him about the special lady in his life. He does concede that it could’ve been a one night stand, which is one front he’s right on, but a couple more concessions are necessary before Derek comes close to the truth of last night.

Eventually, Derek stops, and Spencer notes that the cessation of comments comes suspiciously close to the last time Derek and Hotch were alone together. He doesn’t have it in him to feel angry at Hotch for stepping in when he had it handled; doesn’t have the energy to act as though his pride is wounded, because really, neither of those things are true, and he doesn’t need to add another item to ‘Spencer Reid’s List of Things He Pretends to Be.’

The situation is forgotten, and time moves on.

Things change when he finds his first proper boyfriend. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the giddying rush of emotions it turns out to be, and Spencer spends his days smiling as he daydreams his time away.

His name is Oscar Wilkins, a History professor at Georgetown University, and Spencer falls quickly in love with him. Ever since their mutual friend had introduced them at a gay bar one evening, they’d spent all their free time together. He’s kind and gentle and understanding of Spencer’s hectic and unpredictable job, and he finally has the chance to experience everything he quietly and shamefully longed for as a teenager.

The only downside is the silent breaking of Spencer’s heart that the most important people in his life can’t meet his boyfriend. He longs to show Oscar off, to hold hands in front of his team, lean up to press a tender kiss to Oscar’s lips. He wants to put a framed picture of the two of them at the Washington Monument on his desk to remind him of why he needs to get through the hard days; he doesn’t want to have to sneak out of the hotel room he shares with Derek to whisper hushed, loving goodnights over the phone.

But he’s too scared. Too cowardly.

It’s different being who he is with his gay group of friends littered with wlws and drag queens and other gay and bisexual guys. They understand.

But Derek and Hotch are two extremely masculine, alpha men: Derek’s a ladies’ man and Hotch is married to a woman he met in college with a baby on the way and both have a strong and dominant energy that still sometimes manages to intimidate Spencer even after all these years. And Elle and JJ are lovely — some of his closest friends, really — but sometimes they remind him a little too much of the mean girls he went to high school with.

The hardest person to keep his secret from, though, is Penelope. She’s his best friend and he desperately wants to give her all of him, but he’s so scared. He’s lost a best friend to this secret before, and even though he’s certain she’d be fine with it, what if she accidentally let it slip to Derek? What if Hotch found out and didn’t see him in the same light anymore? What if the girls started teasing him? What if Gideon didn’t want to mentor him anymore?

The fear paralyses him. And it’s a cycle he doesn’t know how to break.

Fear, though, doesn't stop everyone from noticing his daydreaming, his dopey smile when he checks his messages, his urgency to get home where he would’ve stayed until the small hours of the morning before. As excellent as he is at hiding his sexuality, he’s fucking terrible at hiding the fact that he’s in love: it was easy enough to pretend he was straight, but hiding something this all-consuming is an impossible ask.

Derek comes over to perch on the edge of his desk one afternoon, sighing as he sits down. “Pretty boy, this is getting ridiculous,” he says, snatching Spencer’s attention away from his phone. “You’ve been grinning like an idiot for the last twenty minutes as you’ve texted Future Mrs Reid. When are we going to meet her?”

(He hates the new nickname the team has given his mystery significant other, although Oscar had found it hilarious. “It’s funny because when we get married, we’ll hardly be able to tell,” he’d argued through his laughter. “Neither of us will change our name because of our academic profiles, and we’ll both still be ‘Dr’. Our wedding rings will be the only indicator.”

Spencer hadn’t argued back, because he’d been too tongue-tied and flushed pink at Oscar’s use of ‘when’ in regards to their hypothetical nuptials. It was only made bearable by Oscar kissing him gently and tucking him under his arm, not embarrassing him any further as Spencer had sort of anticipated, warmth settling over his chest at the thought of their future together.)

“You won’t,” he replies, perhaps a little too curtly.

Derek starts at that, clearly not expecting it. He definitely should’ve tried to play it off as a joke. “What— should I be offended, pretty boy?”

You wouldn’t call me that if you knew who I really am.

“That’s up to you, Derek,” he says calmly, although he still can’t meet his eyes, “but you won’t meet the ‘Future Mrs Reid, so I think it would probably be best if you left it alone.”

“Damn,” Derek mutters under his breath, clearly pissed off and probably more hurt than Spencer ever intended. “Suit yourself.”

And with that, he gets up and leaves his desk. Spencer’s only solace is the text message he sees on his phone when he picks it back up: I love you so much. You know that, right?

The light-hearted ridicule comes to an abrupt halt after the incident with Derek, and it’s clear that he had been the biggest contributor to the teasing. He’s thankful that the jokes have stopped, but he wishes desperately that it didn’t come with the growing distance between him and his team. Loneliness takes the place of his previous irritated anxiety, and he isn’t sure what’s worse.

It all comes to a head at the end of a case in Michigan. They’re stuck in the lounge of the small inn they’d stayed in the last few days, a snowstorm having blocked them in and grounded the jet, although Gideon had long since retreated to his room. The fire’s going and they’re the only guests around, so it’s cosy enough, but Spencer can’t help but feel sick at the idea of another night away from home.

It’s only been two weeks since he’d snapped at Derek, but the chasm between him and the team is only widening with each passing day. He knows it’s not a case of ‘pick a side’, but the team’s morale relies on light-hearted banter and teasing, and him not being a part of that anymore has only brewed awkwardness. Everyone’s trying to give him space when space is the last thing he wants.

Oscar’s keeping him company over the phone at least, but it’s not quite enough to quell the loneliness swimming around his stomach, and the 'discrete' sideways looks he gets from the team only make him feel worse.

“At least it’s nice and toasty in here,” JJ sighs as she takes a sip of the hot chocolate the kindly inn owner had made for them all.

Elle hums in agreement. “There are worse places to be grounded.”

“I dunno, man, I just wanna get home,” Derek says, not taking his eyes off the fire. Spencer can’t help but agree.

“Oh, come on,” Hotch muses, considerably more jovial now the case is over, “we’re here, and that’s not going to change any time soon. We should make the most of it.”

“It’s at least nice to be somewhere sort-of Christmassy now it’s December,” Elle points out. “We could be stuck in a dingy police station like we probably will be next week.”

“Ooh, I noticed that Jemimah and Kiran started planning the Christmas party last week,” JJ says, smiling at them. “I offered my help, but they seem to have it covered.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow“That’s probably a good thing. You don’t need more work on your plate.”

“Not gonna argue with that,” she murmurs, smiling as she brings her mug to her lips again.

Spencer doesn’t miss that Derek is still stewing on the opposite side of the room.

“Are you looking forward to the Christmas party, Spencer? Will you come?” Hotch asks, clearly trying to rope him into the conversation, which he appreciates. He’s been making a lot of effort with him the past few weeks, and it’s just about the only thing that’s getting him through each day.

Before he can reply, though, Derek erupts from the other side of the room; an already pissed-off man being pushed over the edge. “He won’t even let us meet his fucking girlfriend, Hotch, he’s not gonna want to come to the Christmas party!” he yells, throwing his hands in the air as he glares at Spencer with a stormy expression raging across his face.

Suddenly, Spencer can’t stay silent anymore, and his retort shocks himself just as much as it does everyone else. “I don’t have a girlfriend!”

It might be the loudest he’s ever shouted in his whole life. He’s always been quiet and restrained, the type to state his feelings as calmly as possible no matter how he’s feeling on the inside. Even in the biggest fight he’s had with Oscar, his voice was barely loud enough to qualify as a shout.

There’s a brief stunned silence, but Derek quickly slices his way through it, voice raising to meet Spencer’s fiery emotion, fierce and loud. “Oh, don’t even go there, Reid, you’re really gonna try and argue that? You’re gonna lie about her as well as not let us meet her? What a boyfriend you are.”

“I don’t! I don’t have a girlfriend!” he repeats, voice catching this time as tears rise unbidden to the backs of his eyes and all the emotions of the journey he’s taken with his sexuality over the years flood him in a wave of intensity he’s not prepared for.

“You’re fucking lying—!”

“I have a boyfriend!” he yells. “Alright? I have a boyfriend. I’m gay.”

The anger and emotion quickly dissipates, and he’s left standing alone in front of the team he’s put so much effort into hiding this from, watching shock spell out across everyone’s expressions. He’s never felt smaller than he does in that moment, and he quickly grabs his phone before running upstairs to his room, locking the door behind him.

“Oh God, Oscar, I fucked up so bad,” he cries over the phone as soon as his boyfriend picks up.

“Hey, hey, breathe, baby,” Oscar says gently, but Spencer can hear the anxious concern in his voice, “it’s gonna be okay, I promise. I’m here. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I just— Oh God, I just told the team.” A new wave of horror rolls over him as he realises what he’s done. Times might be changing, but it’s still only 2006, and he doesn’t know each and every nuance of his team members’ political positions and, fuck, he hates that his existence is a fucking political position.

Oscar’s been so understanding of his reluctance to not tell the team, even though Spencer’s met pretty much everyone in his life. He isn’t sure what he’s done to earn such a gracious and understanding boyfriend, but he’s not about to question it.

“Baby, I know it’s scary, and I know you’re really worked up right now,” he counsels, voice soft and reassuring, using the nickname he knows Spencer loves the most to make him feel as safe as he can from 700 miles away, “but it’s probably not as bad as you think. From what you’ve told me about the team, they love you so much, and even in the case that in the past they've had some issue with gay people, I can't imagine they’d ever actually think of you any differently when it comes down to it, Spencer.”

He’s crying too hard to reply, and Oscar understands immediately, gently transitioning into a story about his day that slowly starts to calm him down, and by the time he’s wrapping it up, his tears are starting to subside.

“Thank you, Ozzy,” he whispers into the phone, lifting himself up off the floor and making his way to sit on the bed instead.

“You know I’d do anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmurs warmly. “Do you want me to stay on the phone for a bit?”

“Yes please,” he whispers again, holding it as close to himself as possible, drawing all the comfort he can from his boyfriend’s voice.

He lies there listening to Oscar’s voice and trying not to think about the disaster downstairs for a good ten minutes before there’s a tap at the door.

“Oz, there’s someone here,” he says, voice panicked.

“I think you should probably speak to them, baby,” he urges. “I’ll stay on the phone with you while you do, if you like?”

“Please.” He gets up from the bed gingerly, keeping his phone tightly gripped in his right hand as he slowly unlocks the door with his left, revealing Hotch on the other side.

“Hey, Spencer. Do you mind if I come in?”

He’s riddled with nerves, but Hotch is smiling warmly, and he’s never said a harsh word to Spencer, so he steps aside and lets him into his room.

Hotch quickly notices the phone in his hand, visibly still on a call. “Is that your boyfriend?”

Spencer nods.

“Do you mind if I talk to him?”

His brows knit in confusion and his lips part slightly in surprise, but it’s all he can do to hand the phone over, watching Hotch carefully.

“Hi, Spencer tells me this is his boyfriend?” Hotch inquires politely into the phone, his tone still warm. “I’m Hotch, Spencer’s boss.”

He can vaguely hear Oscar speaking on the other end of the line, and he worries slightly that Oscar will somehow give away the familial feelings he holds for Hotch, but the conversation doesn’t last long enough for the anxiety to really take over.

“Everything’s fine here, I just want to have a conversation with Spencer, so is it alright if we hang up and I talk to him alone for a minute? He can call you straight back afterwards.” After a brief pause in which Oscar says something, Hotch looks back up at him. “Are you okay with that, Spencer?”

He nods hesitantly, and Hotch says a quick goodbye to Oscar before surging forwards and wrapping Spencer in a hug. It catches him off guard, but he doesn’t waste any time in burying his face into Hotch’s neck and soaking in the comfort and warmth that always radiates from his father figure.

“Come on,” Hotch says softly as they pull away a good minute or so later, “let’s sit down, shall we?”

“You’re not mad?” Spencer can’t help but ask, the question burning his tongue as anxiety — however quietened from Hotch’s hug — still swims around in his stomach.

“There are many things that could make me mad, Spencer,” he says earnestly, “but this is not one of them. I would never be angry at you for being who you are, okay? I might… I might be overstepping here, and if I am, then tell me and I’ll back off, but I’ve always seen you as a mentee, and over the years that’s developed— well, I see you more as a son these days. And part of that is wanting to protect and support you no matter what you do or say or who you are.”

Spencer wastes no time in diving back in for a hug, clinging onto Hotch for dear life as he hugs back, rubbing his back gently.

“I’m so sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell us sooner, Spencer,” he says in a voice soft with affection and regret. “But I’m so glad you’ve told us now.”

He only presses closer at that, tears springing back to his eyes. “I didn’t want to lose you.” He knows what he’s implying, and even in a roundabout way, he’s glad he’s telling Hotch.

“Oh, Spence,” he sighs sadly, “you couldn’t do a single thing to lose me. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“Really?” he asks, hating how insecure he sounds.

“Really,” Hotch promises, pulling away as Spencer does. “Now, you have a whole team of agents downstairs who are feeling very sorry for themselves and really want to see you.”

Nausea rolls in his stomach and panic springs back up as he looks at Hotch, desperate for some sort of grounding. “Are they angry at me? Do they hate me now?”

“No one hates you, Spencer,” he says firmly. “I promise you that. Everyone just wishes that they’d made you feel more welcome and comfortable. We all hate that you felt you had to lock up something so integral to who you are, and we can’t help but feel we played a part in it.”

“No,” he protests — the last thing he wants is family blaming themselves when it has nothing to do with them, “it’s not your fault, it’s just…”

Hotch nods. “I understand, it’s okay. Now, do you want to go down and see them? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but it might help ease your mind to see that they really don’t hate you.”

Spencer pauses, taking a moment to think. “Can I see Derek first?”

“Of course,” Hotch says understandingly, and the comforting smile that crosses his face makes Spencer feel safe and taken care of. “I’ll send him up?”

Spencer nods and Hotch hugs him once more before leaving the room almost reluctantly. He wastes no time in picking up his phone and sending a text to Oscar. You were right. Hotch is fine. He’s just sending Derek up before I go and see the team but he says that no one’s angry and I think I believe him. Thank you, Oscar. I love you.

Not even half a minute goes past before his phone lights up with a text back. I’m so glad, baby. Call me later, okay? I want to make sure you’re okay before I go to bed. I love you more.

Before Spencer can argue that actually, he is the one more in love with the other, a hesitant knock sounds on his door. Nerves suddenly flip his stomach, and he clenches and unclenches his fists a couple of times before forcing himself to cross the room, revealing a very worried and regretful-looking Derek.

“Oh, pretty boy,” he says sadly, before crushing Spencer in a warm and tender hug. Immediately, he relaxes into the arms of one of his best friends, and relief courses through his blood at Derek’s reaction. “I am so sorry that I ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell me that you were gay or had a boyfriend. That’s completely on me. I don’t care who you love, Spencer, I just want you to be happy, okay? And if this guy makes you happy, then that’s fine by me. But if he ever lays a hand on you or—”

“Derek, Derek,” he laughs, “it’s fine I get it. Thank you, though, I’m… I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier and for snapping at you in the bullpen that time…”

“I understand, Spence,” he promises. “It’s in the past, okay? And I’m sorry for pushing so hard. I mean, I’d love to meet him but if you don’t feel comfortable or you don’t want to, that’s fine, too. It’s your life, man.”

“No, I… I think I want you guys to meet him. It’s been so hard to keep him away from the people I consider my family, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Maybe after Christmas, we can all have dinner or something.”

Spencer smiles shyly. “Well, Oscar’s a great cook, so I reckon we could work something out.”

Derek grins, throwing an arm around his shoulders as he immediately jumps back into teasing him as they make their way to the door to go downstairs and see the rest of the team. “Ooh, lover boy’s got him a chef, hey? What else does this Oscar have going for him?”

Spencer chatters eagerly about his boyfriend to Derek, barely skipping a beat when he joins everyone downstairs, his friends taking his cues and joining in with the conversation seamlessly. He’s had enough fuss for one night, and the warmth and understanding on everyone’s faces tells him everything he needs to know.

“Do you have any pictures of him?” JJ asks, raising an eyebrow with eager expectancy as they all settle back into their seats by the fire, a warm and unbelievably happy feeling settling in Spencer’s stomach.

He blushes, digging out his phone from his pocket and unlocking it. “More than a few, I think.”

He finds the most recent picture of his boyfriend — a candid shot of him cooking in the kitchen, spatula aloft, and a huge grin on his face — and hands the phone around.

“Oh wow, you like them buff, huh, pretty boy?” Derek teases as soon as he gets his hands on it, and Spencer’s stomach twists in a sudden bout of fear, expecting to see some hesitancy or even disgust on his friend’s face. What if he thinks that Spencer has a crush on him? What if he’s uncomfortable around him now?

But if Derek’s having any of those thoughts, they don’t show on his face. He’s smiling widely and openly, all the pent-up anxiety and frustration borne from hurt gone from his body language, and he looks completely comfortable sat next to Spencer, his arm stretched out behind him on the back of the sofa.

They sit happily around the fire for a couple of hours, settling into a happy, intimate familiarity Spencer hadn’t realised was missing when he was hiding something so integral to his being from his family, and he’s still smiling when they finally part ways to head to bed, the clock ticking closer and closer to 1 am.

He gets ready for bed quickly, brushing his teeth and throwing on the top he’d stolen from Oscar the first time he’d stayed at his place; a welcome change from his worn and wrinkled suit. As soon as his teeth are brushed and the lights are all off except for his bedside lamp, he pulls out his phone, knowing there’s one more thing he has to do before he goes to sleep.

“Spencer?” Penelope’s voice sounds down the line, clearly concerned. “It’s almost 2 am here, are you okay?”

“I’m gay,” he says, getting straight to the point. The main reason he ever kept it from her was because of his fear of it accidentally getting out to the team rather than fear over her reaction. After all, multiple of his drag queen friends are also hers.

“Oh my God,” she says in that small voice she uses when she’s not actually talking to you, before finally actually replying to me. “Spencer, I’m so happy you told me!”

He doesn’t miss her choice of words, or the way she says them and he tilts his head suspiciously. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

She sighs. “Yeah. I’m sorry, a couple of months ago I saw a text from Oscar on your phone when you went to the bathroom during one of our Doctor Who marathons, and it wasn’t hard to figure out the relationship.”

“And… wait, you’re not mad at me for not telling you sooner?”

“Spencer! Of course not. I was waiting for you to be comfortable enough to share it with me. I felt awful that I knew without your consent but I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to catch you off guard or make you feel uncomfortable. It’s fine that you waited, baby genius, I’m just so happy you told me now. What finally gave you the courage?”

“Well, it might have slipped out in front of the team this evening,” he admits sheepishly, “and the only reason I never told you was because I was scared that it would slip out somehow — accidentally, of course, I didn’t think you’d tell anyone on purpose — and now everyone knows. It’s been killing me not to tell you, Penelope, it really has because I love you so much and you’re my best friend and I trust you with my life, it’s just…”

“Whoa, slow down, Spence,” she laughs fondly, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me, I understand. But I’m glad you finally told everyone and you can be yourself completely with us, now. We all love you no matter what, you know that right?”

“I do now.”

“Good. You should get some sleep, baby boy, it’s late and you’ve had an emotional evening.”

Spencer smiles. “Yeah, I know. You should, too, Pen. I’ll see you when we can finally make it home, okay? Love you.”

“Love you, too, 187,” she says softly, and Spencer can hear the smile in her voice. “Goodnight.”

As soon as he hangs up, he settles down into the bed, turning off the light and pulling the duvet up over his shoulders before dialling one more number.

“Hey, baby,” Oscar says, voice as gentle and caring as it always is, although thicker with tiredness now. “I take it everything went okay?”

“Yeah,” Spencer murmurs, already feeling tired as the safety he always feels at the sound of Oscar’s voice settles into the fibres of his being. “It went so well. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone.”

“I can’t wait either, sweetheart. Are you in bed now?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Can you talk to me as I fall asleep?”

“Anything for you, Spence,” he says softly, before transitioning seamlessly into a story about the professors on campus, and his gentle comfort and the knowledge of the unconditional love his family has for him finally lulls Spencer into the best sleep he’s had in weeks.

taglist : @criminalmindsvibez @moreidstrobed @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @temily @enbyspencer @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids (add yourself to my taglist via this form!!)

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hayley566 · 3 years

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How I’d rewite the Powerpuff girls CW show

For starters, I'd ditch the whole abusive Utonium shit, Rowdyruff boys being a powerless "failed spin-off" and actually treat it as an actual continuation of the original show. The casting can stay the same since it's still an alternate universe situation. Also, this focuses on the Rowdyruffs as well and there will be shipping between the two groups because it's my script.

When we get to the girls as teens(In this case, they're around 13 or 14) they're having an intense battle with Him where they finally seem to have destroyed him for good and Mojo seems to have vanished not long after. As time went on, the crime in Townsville seemed to decrease to the point that the police could handle it just fine without the help of the girls.

After graduating high school, the girls separate and go on to save the world in different ways. Buttercup is still a firefighter(the only part of the script I liked), Blossom is a doctor and Bubbles works with animal rescues and volunteers at shelters.

Buttercup is bisexual and we see her relationships falling out with several partners, not because Buttercup is a cheater like in the original script but because they either don't accept her powers or her being bisexual. Maybe it's because I'm bi myself but I'd love to see a show tackle biphobia in and out of the LGBT community.

We also see that with both Him and Mojo gone, the Rowdyruff boys don't have a parental figure and are seemingly lost without them, still being very young. They still commit crimes but now it's more as a way to survive and just keep going. They also grow and mature a bit over the years but are still rowdy. Unlike the girls, they still live in Townsville. They live together above a local bar.

Tragedy strikes when the Professor dies and the girls are called to attend his funeral. When their back in town, they notice how suspicious Utonium's passing was and start to find clues that this wasn't an accident. As they investigate, they find signs that either Mojo or Him has returned. They girls are forced back into action and soon come by the Rowdyruff boys. Given that the boys would be the ones to know most about these two, they're forced to work together to find out what is going on. Especially as strange things begin happening after the girls arrive.

Extra notes:

- Sara Bellum is the Mayor of Townsville when they return

- Bubbles is still a bit innocently naive and is the first to suggest teaming up with the Rowdyruffs, believing the most that they have changed while Buttercup and Blossom are still apprehensious.

- Brick has some anger towards the girls because after Mojo and Him vanished, he was forced to spend his teen years looking after his brothers alone. However, he agrees to help when Boomer vouches for them and says that this could be the closure they need.

- Butch is definitely still bitter and actually starts a fight with Buttercup when they first meet again at the bar, only being stopped when his brothers come and hold him back.

Some extra scenes I’d like to see under the cut

Buttercup and Butch meet again.

Buttercup walks up to the bar and sits down. She is still wearing her funeral clothes and is staring at her phone. On the screen, we see that she has been dumped again. Butch, not recognizing her, walks up to her.

Butch: You look like you've had a rough day. How strong of a drink do you want?

Buttercup isn't looking up from her phone but replies.

Buttercup: I just got back from my dad's funeral and my girlfriend dumped me for "not picking a lane". In other words, I told her I'm bi and she doesn't like that.

Butch sets a glass down by Buttercup and pours in a drink for her.

Butch: I lost my dad too. Can't relate to the Bi thing but that still sucks.

Buttercup takes a swig of her drink, still not looking at her bartender.

Buttercup: Thanks. Well, at least it's not because I'm a powerpuff girl this time. Seriously, one guy found out my real name is Buttercup and he--

Buttercup is interrupted as the bottle her bartender is holding shatters in his hand. She looks up and is speechless.

Cut to outside the bar where Bubbles and Blossom are talking. Blossom is hugging Bubbles, still emotional from the funeral. They had gone outside because Bubbles began to cry and Blossom followed to see if she was okay.

Blossom: Shhh...it'll be okay, Bubbles.

Bubbles: We didn't even get to say goodbye to him...

Blossom: I know. But at least we're together again. You, me and--

Buttercup is tossed through the Bar's window, her clothes tattered and hair a mess. As she gets back up, we see an infuriated Butch standing in the shattered window, eyes glowing green with rage.

------

Blossom sees how the boys live

Blossom enters the messy apartment of the three brothers, nearly tripping over some trash on the floor.

Blossom: How can you live like this!? Did you come from a toilet?

Brick, completely serious and stone face: Yes.

Blossom realizes what she says and overs her mouth in shock, now embarrassed.

Blossom: I-I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-I wasn't...oh man...

Brick just takes a sip of his beer and shrugs, not bothered by the comment.

#cw powerpuff girls #cw ppg #ppg x rrb #powerpuff girls #rowdyruff boys #rowdyruff brick #rowdyruff butch #rowdyruff boomer #ppg blossom #ppg bubbles #ppg buttercup

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cherryblossomriot · 3 years

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i had a dream the other day that was basically a dinluke cowboy au and it has been HAUNTING me, so just allow me to deposit it upon you like my subconscious drop kicked it onto me:

Luke is a disabled veteran who has returned from war one hand lighter and several scars heavier. When he returns, his family, who are heavily involved in the politics/military of this fictional land, don’t understand his now jaded and melancholic view of both the world, but also the ideologies that they so strongly believe in, leading him to constantly feel like an outcast even among the people that he so dearly loves. They’re all passionate and strong-willed, but they still don’t understand, not his struggles with mental health or his new perspective, and it just makes things worse and worse and worse. Anakin is a general, and though he’s seen the gruesomeness of war firsthand, he’s also become desensitized to it and has anger-management issues, so he often almost finds a sort of refuge within the chaos of battle, so he clearly cannot even fathom the emotions and trauma that Luke is trying to sort through, much less know how to deal with them properly. Padme is a senator and cares deeply about the crimes and seemingly senseless violence occurring during the war, but she’s also a politician and knows how to play the long game, so when Luke comes to her, he leaves feeling misunderstood and pushed aside. Leia is the only one who seemingly understands, as the pair of them have a deep, intrinsic bond, but she doesn’t fully grasp Luke’s moods and doesn’t handle his breakdowns and flashbacks well. So everyone feels a little upset, a little unsettled, and a lot like they don’t understand why and how Luke has changed, which leads to Luke feeling more and more out of place within his own family. The war ends relatively soon after Luke’s return, which leads to parades which leads to awards which leads to balls and banquets, all of which Luke is forced to attend, his heart dragging but his head held high, because he’s an Amidala-Skywalker goddammit, and we have a certain responsibility and image to maintain to the public and everyone who endured so much. So Luke has to sit there through awards and boasts of glory and mentions of battle scars and it goes on and on and on, and he has to smile and bear it and accept the medal that they’re giving him because he did such a great service to his country and-he has a panic attack. A nasty one that leads to him having to flee from a ballroom, and outside to the gardens. Once he’s there, he realizes that he doesn’t want to go back in. At all. So he runs away. He just picks a direction and goes, stealing a car on the way (this is a modern au but also fictional countries because I don’t want to get into real politics, hooo boy no siree). In the middle of nowhere, he gets caught in a storm and basically crashes his car and passes out.

But when he wakes up! That’s when the fun begins.

He’s in this cozy sort of bedroom, and this hot guy is fast asleep in the chair beside his bed, and is that a little kid in his lap? Anyway, the hot guy wakes up, introduces himself as Din Djarin in the softest, most attractive voice Luke has ever heard with his own two ears, and doesn’t ask him where he’s from or what he was doing driving in the middle of bumfuck nowhere at 3 in the morning, so Luke is obligated to have a lil crush on him, even though he’s not sure about the kid. So he asks, and Din introduces him to his son Grogu, who waves at him and signs hello, because, as Din explains, he doesn’t speak much, and the foster system wasn’t too kind to him, so he’s got a little bit of trauma to work through. And Luke just, instantly falls in love with this soft dad and his cute little son who can shift his features from the biggest, most pleading puppy eyes ever to the face of a demented gremlin who will try to eat the frog he caught in the backyard, no matter how slimy it is, or how hard it tries to wriggle out of his hands. Din tells Luke that he can stay for however long he needs, because Luke’s kinda injured from his accident, and anyway, once he’s healed up, they always could use another hand on the farm. So Luke stays, and he meets all of Din’s other farm hands (and shitty friends). There’s Boba, who doesn’t talk much, but when he does it’s always something slightly ominous and menacing, and Luke thinks that his name sounds familiar...hey wasn’t he on the news for robbing a couple banks a few years back?...no, surely not..., Fennec, who speaks even less than Boba, and manages to be far, far more intimidating, but also helps Luke with his prosthetic and gives him fun little tips that always sound more like she’s cut off a lot more limbs than she’s lost. Cara Dune (who is not gina carano but i digress) is also there, and she’s just constantly a harbinger of chaos, but will babysit Grogu whenever Din wants to brood and stare longingly into the distance (or at Luke who’s also brooding as the sun sets but shhh). Bo-Katan and the gang are there, and while Bo-Katan grumbles about how the old ranch boss had different/better methods on how to run things, she still follows Din’s lead and helps him with the finances and taxes. They all take to Luke like a wildfire, because Luke is a sunshine boy who can make friends with literally anyone and somehow manages to make Din not only smile but laugh, but also because they can tell he’s got a lot of trauma and pain bubbling just under the surface, and they all silently but collectively agreed a long time ago that they are the patron saints of troubled and lost souls.

When Luke gets better and starts to help out, he’s constantly upset with himself because he used to help out at his aunt and uncle’s farm in the summers when he was a kid, and he knows how to do this stuff, but his prosthetic is really throwing him off and his body has sustained a lot of other injuries that make doing manual labor a much more different experience than it used to be, but everyone is really patient with him and helps him out, especially Din. At one point, Din is so nice that Luke just loses it, because he doesn’t understand how Din can be so kind and so patient, and care about him so much, and kind of calls himself broken and useless in front of Din, and Din gets super protective and grabs his hands (real and prosthetic) and tells him that he’s not broken or useless, and you’re so sweet and wonderful, and can’t you see? Ever since you’ve been here, everyone’s been so much happier, so much lighter. You’ve brought something precious to us, but most of all to me. And they’re standing really close and for a second Luke thinks Din is going to kiss him, but instead, Luke realizes that he’s crying, and Din just wraps his arms around him and holds him.

After that, time sort of blurs, marked by things like Grogu climbing into Luke’s bed because he sensed that he was having a nightmare, and Din waking up to find the pair of them coloring in a serene silence, Luke getting the hang of ranch life and his prosthetic and dealing with his panic attacks and flashbacks as they come, and Din enduring relentless badgering from his friends because hey, if you don’t marry Luke, I will and Fennec, you’re a lesbian and that doesn’t matter, it’ll be a marriage of twink and butch solidarity. And all the while, Din and Luke are spinning closer and closer towards each other, two suns hurtling in their orbit to the other with an inescapable certainty.

When it finally happens, they’ve just gotten back from one of those cowboy dances (idk what they’re called...hoedowns? yeah okay) (and yes, I wanted to hit all of the cliches in the book, thank you very much), and Grogu’s fallen fast asleep on Luke’s shoulder. After they tuck him up all snug in his bed, they head out to the porch, because it’s raining outside, and the steady thrum of water droplets splattering on the roof and on the grass is the most soothing sound Luke has ever heard (aside from Din’s voice), and he’s a little too afraid to go to sleep and ruin his perfect night with a nightmare. They stand there for a while, silence binding them together, shoulders brushing every now and then, hesitant and questioning. Luke thinks about how Din had asked him to dance earlier, his lips tilted in a teasing, but achingly soft smile, and how his heart had pounded a tattoo to the shape of his ribs when they’d pushed up so close together, the fast, rowdy dances of the beginning of the night having faded to something lasting, something meaningful. Luke remembers the ball he’d run away from, how the dancing had been cold, almost jeering in a way, and Luke realizes how far he’s come, how different it is here. And suddenly, there isn’t a question in his mind anymore. He turns toward Din, who turns toward him, and when he leans forward, Din breathes an uncertain “Luke-”, but he doesn’t get to finish the thought. Luke kisses him, and he kisses back, and it’s just them. There are hands in hair and noses nudged together, and at some point, they move, without either of them releasing the other, into the house and into Din’s bedroom. Buttons are unbuttoned, and whole stretches of skin are kissed, and when it’s over, they curl up together, Din tucking his head into the crook of Luke’s neck and falling asleep there.

When they wake up, Luke explains why he came here, why he ran away, all the while Din looks at him with his beautiful dark eyes and runs his hands through Luke’s hair, which is catching the sunlight filtering in through the window and making him look like he has a halo, all the while never once condemning him for keeping it a secret this whole time. After he’s finished, he expects some sort of shocked reaction-after all, his family’s pretty famous, but all Din does is kiss him and ask, “Wait, so you have a twin?”

It’s so unexpected that Luke throws his head back and bursts into uncontrollable, and very contagious peals of laughter, and when he’s finally able to breathe again, he kisses Din’s forehead and murmurs, “I love you.”

Din, who has been touch starved and lonely for years (no time for relationships when you’ve got a business to run and a toddler to raise), tears up and kisses him, too overwhelmed for words. But Luke understands.

And then Grogu pushes his way into the room holding up a box of Frosted Flakes above his head and shaking it, as if to say, I’d like to eat now, please.

Din and Luke stifle their smiles into the other’s shoulder, and when they get up, Luke can’t help but think that he’s finally where he belongs.

----

It takes approximately .5 seconds for all the others to figure out they’re together now, and Cara and Bo-Katan (of all people) start cheering immediately, to Din and Luke’s shock. Boba and Fennec grumble and begrudgingly hand over a huge wad of cash each to Cara and Bo-Katan because they thought it would take them at least another two weeks to get together. Din’s very done with his friends at this point, but he takes one look at Luke’s flustered but smiling face and decides he won’t kill them all this time.

And if everyone thought Luke was a lot of excitement for a humble ranch in the middle of nowhere, then they are in no way, shape, or form, prepared for when his very angry twin sister shows up with a himbo with a shit-eating grin and his 7 foot tall best friend she hired to track her brother down.

(needless to say, Boba punches Han within two minutes of interaction).

#dinluke #dinluke headcanon #dinluke fic #skydalorian #luke skywalker #din djaren #bo-katan kryze #fennec shand #leia organa #they just love each other a lot #and i am but a conduit of that love #Han takes one look at Boba and decides it's his life mission to just annoy the shit out of him #he stays away from fennec though #she's very scary #and she has no time for his dumbass #leia is even more angry and hard to deal with than she usually would be #because not only has her twin brother been missing for like four months #but she has had to deal with han thee peak dumbass solo for at least a week and its driving her insane #Chewwy fits right in #he hangs out with fennec and they go out and shoot cans together #leia hears that luke and din are together now #and she's like #you saw one (1) dilf and couldn't help yourself could you #and din's like #what's a dilf????#and luke is like #it means you're very hot #and leia rolls her eyes

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