on a more positive note, the trans subtext with gwen is definitely intentional.
not just because of the “protect trans kids” thing in her room btw. there’s a few other moments like that as well. apparently the dad has a trans badge, i didn’t even see that part and i still caught the subtext.
but also, that shot you probably saw on twitter, where the trans colors are everywhere and the trans flag colors overlays in her hair?
yeah that’s deliberate. i was skeptical but i’m convinced now. there’s no other shot like that in the movie. there’s no other time her hair is overlaid in an multicolored gradient like that. this movie plays with color a lot, but in every other shot, her hair looks normal and is just one color (plus the tips). this was very obviously deliberate as a shot to STAND OUT and display those colors. the dialogue in the moment is about her feeling like she has to hide who she is.
that’s beyond coding. that’s done with purpose. that’s done to be as obvious as they could get away with.
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Light On - single mom/neighbors fic
Simon Riley/female reader
“Are you sure it’s not too cold?”
“It’s fine.” You glance down at Emmaline in the stroller, wrapped up in a blanket over her little winter jacket, fuzzy wool hat pulled down around her ears. “It’s not nearly chilly enough to be concerned. She’s probably overdressed, to be honest. In Norway, they leave babies outside to sleep in much colder temperatures.”
“Why?” He keeps pace beside you, strolling along the park’s walking path leisurely, trying to keep his heart rate normal every time your hip bumps his thigh, or you nudge him with your elbow.
“It helps their immune system, I think. Exposes them to the germs in their environment, allows them to build resistance, or something. Plus, the climate there is naturally cold? So, I think it helps acclimatize them. Pretty sure some people say they sleep better.”
“That’s… brave of them.” He doesn’t know what else to say, he can’t imagine trusting the world enough to leave a baby, leave Emma, outside to sleep.
“It’s different, I guess, when you have a ‘village’,” you use air quotes around the word village, and regret flashes across your eyes. “when you trust your community. Rely on them.” He doesn’t expect the longing that rings in your voice, the doleful, twisted tone of loss, a mournful sentiment that has him nearly pulling up short, slowing to a stop to tilt his head in consideration, his eyes above the mask zeroed in on yours until you’re giving him a meek smile and shrug. “Anyway,”
“Sweet-“
“I feel like we’re always talking about me or Emma. How about you? How was your week?” You pause, something occurring to you, pushing your lips forward with curiosity. “I know you said you travel for work, but I don’t think you ever told me what you did?” Shit. He’s not ready for this. He tries to recall how he practiced it with Johnny, the words that they agreed upon, the approach he would take.
“Ye gotta make it sound at least somewhat normal, LT. Make her feel safe about it.”
“’m not goin’ lie to her.”
“It’s not lyin’. Just, use the official language. The propaganda stuff, y’know.”
He knows what he’s supposed to say, the lengthy spiel about ‘managing global conflict’ and ‘identifying and neutralizing domestic and global threats’, the words Johnny had suggested, but instead, what comes out is; “I’m uh, in the military. In a multi-national spec ops task force that focuses on counter terrorism. We operate from of a base just outside the city.” The park bustles around the three of you, runners and walkers circumventing where you’ve slowed to a crawl on the crushed gravel path, families tugging at one another, boys and girls hopping with excitement over promises from their parents.
“That’s… interesting.” You say the words slowly, like you’re mulling them over, considering them. “Is it dangerous?”
“Only sometimes.” You raise an eyebrow like you don’t believe him, skepticism plain as day, and he concedes. “It’s not a desk job, but I’m very good at it.” He wants to reassure you, desperate to keep the hope alive that’s been building in his heart for you, needs you to feel safe with him. The water is in sight now, ducks and swans floating on top of the glass like surface, waiting for their offerings that come from so many that frequent their little lake, every day. You motion to an empty bench, turning the stroller in it’s direction, his breath still caught in his chest, lack oxygen starting to make him feel woozy. Say something. Say anything.
“Emmaline’s dad had a dangerous job too.” You unbuckle her from the stroller, cradling her in your lap as you nestle into one end of the bench, eyes fixed on the group of ducks closest to the shore. “And he was good at it.”
“Is that how you lost him?” He concludes softly, the question as gentle as he can voice it. You don’t look at him, but he can see the change in your face, tears welling at the corners of your eyes, posture curling over your baby.
You only nod, but it’s enough. Enough for him to slide a little closer, pressing the outside of his leg to yours. Enough that your free hand wanders, fingers brushing against the fabric of his jeans, your face lifting from the water to his with a question.
“Can you hold her? While I get the biscuits?”
“Of course.” You shift her into his arms, and he straightens her so that she’s sitting up against his chest, crook of his arm supporting her head, other hand flush with her belly. You rummage inside the bag that’s shoved under the stroller, Emma’s backpack, and she coos at you from Simon’s arms. “Is that your mum?” He murmurs, and she gurgles something in response, a happy string of sounds that has his heart warming inside his chest. “Yeah, that’s her huh?” You straighten, bag in your hand, watching him and Emma, sad expression turning beatific, bittersweet smile pulling at your lips.
“Come on.” You don’t reach for the baby, instead motioning for Simon to follow you, trusting him to carry her down behind you, to hold her as you as break up the little pieces of biscuit. “I promised her some ducks.”
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