THAT’S NOT MY SPACE DAD (A conspiracy post to support that Shorty McTuft isn’t OUR Shiro)
If you haven’t watched Season 3 of voltron, I suggest you turn back unless you want spoilers.
ALRIGHT, LISTEN UP. Amidst all the conspiracy posts saying that the Shiro Keith found floating in the middle of fucking nowhere is a clone, it is possible with the signs through out S3E5 and onwards. The Black Lion rejecting him, his hair getting too long at a short amount of time, the flashbacks. The words are all there.
But with all the posts I’ve read about that, there’s something I noticed while writing this heartbreaking fanfic about fake Shiro that made me remember that scene where he cauterized his leg. Then I noticed something, a detail that I’ve never read on the conspiracy posts floating around.
It’s this motherfucker right here:
THAT’S RIGHT. HIS GALRA HAND/ARM. (PS: sorry for the toggles and shiz, I dont know how remove that. But that’s okay. Use it as ref to scan the eps.) As we all know, this sweet lil weapon of destruction Shiro’s #1 detail. And the Galra, being diabolically clever as they are, missed one little, itsy bitsy detail on the Shiro they decided to throw in a photocopying machine.
OUR Shiro’s Galra arm, when activated, looks like THIS:
EXHIBIT A: Shiro Vs. Sendak, Season 1
The hand glows, YES? What else do you notice? IT GLOWS RIGHT UNTIL THE BEND OF HIS ARM. In short, his whole FOREARM glows
EXHIBIT B: Pidge and Shiro, Season 1:
Here we see our Pidgeon using Shiro’s Galra arm to power up a dead Galra ship and download info about Matt and Sam. As you could see, even if it’s not destroying the shit out of something/someone, it still glows up until the forearm when activated.
EXHIBIT C: Shiro Vs. Ulaz, Season 2:
The glowy shit still covering the whole of his Shiro’s forearm, right until his elbow.
Readers: But Fairy, you’ve only shown Space Dad wearing his paladin armor!
Me: Yeah well, what about this?
STILL GLOWS UNTIL THE ELBOW (sorry, I couldnt get a good screenshot because these BAMFs move so fast)
SO MOVING ON. And How does Season 3 Shiro’s Galra hand look like? This:
EXHIBIT D: Shiro, escaping, Season 3:
If you would notice, his hand glows UNTIL THE WRIST only.There is no depiction of any light past that joint. At first I thought that this was an animation error like how how the animators sometimes forget to draw his scar. Then I scanned through the episode further.
EXHIBIT E: Shiro, cauterizing his leg wound, Season 3:
Whoops, forgot to let the title fade before i took the shot. BUT LOOK, it still until his writ. Scanned further to this scene.
EXHIBIT F: Shiro Vs. Freedom Fighters, Season 3:
This has got to be the best view we can have. Still, it only glows until his wrist.
ANYWAY. The last time I checked, that arm is connected to Shiro’s brain and as it is deemed to be advanced alien technology mixed with Druid magic, it is permanent on him. That little detail isn’t consistent between Shiro and and this hobo in a floating tin can that Keith picked up from God-knows-where.
With those being said, I would like to conclude my hypothesis that this mofo here ain’t Space Dad.
Top 10 reactions to Victor Nikiforov cutting his hair short.
Top 10 Reactions to Victor Nikiforov Cutting His Hair Short:
10) *Incoherent sobbing* from some of his fans
9) *Screams of joy* from some other of his fans
8) “LOOK AT MY BABY ALL GROWN UP” again from fans
7) “I LOVED HIS LONG HAIR WHYYYYYYYYYY” from, you guessed
6) Chris telling Viktor that he looked too pretty with his
long hair anyway and then getting a dyed undercut so that they matched in terms
of image change
5) “FINALLY I can walk around and not get recognised” – aka
Viktor when he discovered that all he new hair could fit easily under a hat. He
still got recognised 99% of the time because he’s not that subtle but
occasionally it came in handy
4) Multiple reactions from magazines who decided they loved
Viktor’s new look and demanded that he model for them or their brands (he took
a few of them up on this offer)
3) One crazy fan who claimed to be Viktor’s hairdresser and
was selling his hair on ebay for thousands (it wasn’t his real hair, Viktor
made sure of that)
2) Yuuri looking on a little mournfully at his poster of
Viktor and refusing to admit to himself that A) he really loved Viktor’s long
hair and missed it and B ) Viktor was super hot with short hair and it was
1) The single sigh of exasperation and resignation from
Yakov when Viktor walked into practice one day with all his hair cut off and
Yakov had to completely change Viktor’s image and placate the sponsors to deal
this is just…it’s porn. it’s angst and porn and feminization kink and poor coping mechanisms. also it’s written in like three different tenses. listen, I’m sorry. I hope you like it anyways, bc this is a concept I could write…more of. Also a few Dunkirk spoilers!
The train spewed steam, hot and compressed, behind him, and Alex still found the ability to push forward.
He hurt, and he couldn’t even identify where. His ears were ringing, and he’s only now noticing it. He thought his neck and his head might hurt, but then again, his wrist and his ankle might, too. It’s just everywhere. His eyes stung even though he was just asleep, his mouth tasted like warm beer and warmer water.
He blinked, and brought his hand up to his eyes, his other hand tightening on the strap of his pack. There’s no sunlight in the station, but he still feels like he should lift his hand, get a better view.
He’s standing there on the platform, three dimensions, full color. He’s wearing nearly the exact same thing he wore to the station the first time, the grey trousers and the brown braces and the big, open pale blue jumper that’s gotten paler, bordering on grey.
He’s the most beautiful thing Alex has ever seen. He’s the only beautiful thing he’s seen in a while.
How about some trans boy Lance who's dealing with gender dysphoria
Oh! Back Again With The Trans!Lance (My Favorite)
Lance had always attempted to love his body, despite it not being perfect. He tried to make sure that his fem body wouldn’t ruin his mood.
He never had to worry much, every time he started to doubt himself he would call his parents or siblings. They always made sure that he knew how masculine he was.
Lance hated to admit but he took those phone calls for granted. He didn’t realize how important the actually were, until he was in space with no one to help him.
Lance splashed more cold water on his face. He needed to feel something besides negativity about his body. Lance hesitantly look down at his chest, he knew he had to take off his binder soon, but he didn’t want to.
Lance had to shower, he knew he needed to. He couldn’t.
Lance slumped down on the edge of the tube. Everything he had worked for came crashing down in a matter of hours.
This is so stupid. Lance tugged at his hair. Hair that was getting too long for his liking.
Lance closed his eyes and forced himself into the shower, then into pajamas, then into bed.
Disgusting. Weirdo. Fake. Always has to be different. Lance folded the pillow over his ears, attempting to block out the voices that plagued his mind.
He almost didn’t register the knock on the door.
“Hey buddy you okay?” It was Hunk, and very concerned Hunk.
Lance couldn’t blame his team for being concerned, he hadn’t left his room for 6 days now. Every time one of his teammates threaten to open the door Lance would stop them by saying how sick he was.
“Yeah, I’m okay.” No I’m not
“Is everything okay? Do you feel any better?” Hunk shot questions at him and Lance could barely keep up. His ear’s were ringing and Lance’s head felt cloudy.
“Yeah, I should be better by tomorrow.” Highly doubt it.
“Well….we miss you man.”
“Miss all of you too.” Lance’s voice was hollow and lacked any emotion. Lance curled in on himself.
After a few moments Lance heard Hunk walk away.
Lance remain motionless on his bed. He wrapped himself up in 3 different blankets, in an attempt to hide his body. Out of sight, Out of mind.
Lance let his mind wondered until he remember something. He slowly stood up and went to his jacket that was draped on a chair. He pulled out a small piece of paper out of an inside pocket. It was a small letter that his younger brother wrote him.
Lance reread the letter a few times over. Every line talked about how he was the best brother ever.
Lance crawled back into bed with the letter, rereading and rereading it.
Sorry this took so long to write but I was talking to my friend to make sure it was as realistic as possible.
A/N: I had first expected this story to be a one shot, but it was meant to be much longer than that. Thank you to everyone who read, liked and commented on this story, I really appreciate it.
6 months later
Laying against the headboard of the hotel bed, you sighed in
contentment. Tossing the empty pie container on the night stand, you smiled
over at Dean who had blueberry filling on his face. “That was probably the best blueberry pie I’ve
ever had.” He muttered, rubbing his stomach.
“Isn’t that what you said about the last one?” You chuckled,
and he just shrugged his shoulders at you.
“What can I say? I love me some pie, and these last two
stops have been amazing.” He answered, before groaning.
That feel when you’re studying hyperpituitarism and suddenly get hit big time by the inspiration bug and something just spills out. Was going to be a quick text post and basically became a short fic on why Timkon is so fucking beautiful and I’m a bit emotional now. Time: 35 minutes done straight through, no edits.
Superboy fell in love with Timothy Drake piece by piece before he ever knew what love was. To him there was never really anyone else, Robin had simply been there, cared when no one else would and Conner’s entire concept of love was based solely around Tim.
It started with insecure, friendly smiles in Mount Justice, with the uncomfortable realization that he had more in common with Batman’s genius protégé than he’d initially thought. There were gentle words assuring Superboy of his humanity, of his worth and affectionate touches to the hands or shoulder. Long explanations on history or culture or personal events, lovingly explained to the new clone without a trace of superiority. Anger and frustration at Bart, Cassie, Batman, himself most of all, sometimes that anger was directed at the clone but it never hurt the way Superman did.
It continues with stupid fights, arguing over petty power struggles and places on the team. Robin nursing wounded flesh and broken bones but still taking the time to ask after the near invulnerable boy’s health. Tears and fears of death or life, after death was certain and was suddenly revoked leaving the boys stranded in a life they thought lost. But heartache made them stronger and somehow, in the middle of the collapse and implosion of Young Justice, Conner realizes that he cannot imagine life without that idiot Robin around. As friend or rival or teammate, he was always there and Superboy takes the moment to truly appreciate him.
It grows as Superboy himself does, becoming Conner Kent in addition to the Superboy. He lives on a farm and goes to school when he has to but he never forgets Robin. The slow growing love was found in exchanged texts half a continent away after Conner finally got a phone, hiding the exchanges behind the backs of their respective parents and mentors. It flourished during sunny San Francisco days spent kicking bad guy butt, his best friend at his back and was tempered by more pointless arguing, done because neither refuse to address the real problems in their lives. There are more gentle touches, innocent, well-meaning brushes of skin and gloves and clothes to convey something deeper than either understood.
It even develops as Conner kisses Cassie for the first, second, fiftieth, one hundredth time. He loves Cassie, he truly, truly does. He loves her hair and her smile and her strength and her brightness. But she is his sun, the one he wants to be with when he’s happy; he can never bring himself to tell her his troubles or thoughts or go beyond the picturesque daydream of their relationship. He smiles with Cassie and unloads on Tim, telling the human all his fears and wishes which are validated with a small, understanding smile. Cassie yells at him, why doesn’t he talk to her? He tells her he loves her but now Cassie is crying and saying it isn’t love if he only gives her a small portion of his heart. He tells her she’s wrong and then goes to talk to Tim.
Conner gets his first flush of realization on a mission, an ordinary one. There’s explosions and cursing villains and everything is loud and deafening in his ears. And then Robin is in his face, his mask all scrunched up in concern and everything fades. The whole world narrows in on Tim’s concern, his pounding heartrate, fast and fragile like a bird’s, and the gloved hand resting on Conner’s chest. The moment end and the sounds return but it sticks out in Conner’s mind as something special in a way he can’t describe. He can’t talk to Cassie. They are having troubles in their on-again, off-again relationship and he hates what that conflict has done to them. He misses being her friend. Conner settles on Bart and, completely out of character, the speedster smiles in a knowing way and runs off without a word.
It grows and grows without any further revelation until he reaches his last breath. As his life flashes before him following his battle with Superboy Prime, he is surprised by how Tim pervades every moment of his life and memories. Even during the times when the other boy wasn’t around, his words or his explanations or his stupid sense of caring hang over Conner's bitterly short life. He finds himself wishing suddenly and painfully to see Tim right then, more than Ma or Clark or Cassie. He loves them all and always will but none of them have ever been there for him like Tim was. Tim who showed him how to skateboard and sewed up his t-shirts on away missions and pushed Conner into a lake one time and cried for hours on his shoulder when his dad died. Robin entered his life uneventfully but, piece by piece, became Conner’s everything. Out of the corner of his hazy vision, he catches a glimpse of red, yellow and green. His last act is to reach for those achingly familiar colors that are always too far away.
Conner doesn’t remember coming back to life or breathing again after centuries of stillness and death. The first thing he properly remembers in the medical ward in the 31st century is an old, old memory of Tim sitting with Conner on the roof of Ma Kent’s barn. Tim is talking about his parents, the loneliness of his childhood, the guilt of being Robin behind their backs. He asked Conner if there was anything he’d go back and change, if he could. Conner had said something stupid, of course, but at the time he couldn’t think of one thing he’d like to fix. Now lying on a bed, a long ways away from his home, he cries silently and regrets never telling Tim that everything Conner was, wanted to be, was because of Tim. He’s given the opportunity to go back to his time and takes it without a second thought.
A thousand variations of their reunion fluttered through Conner’s head as he flew to Tim’s last reported sighting. He imagined Tim breaking face, being all gross and teary and blubbery as he breaks character and hugs him. He wonders if Tim will be angry for leaving everyone behind and refuse to speak to him. He briefly contemplates sweeping the bird off his feet and planting a big wet one on him, but decides that might be for later. He isn’t expecting what he finds: Tim slightly taller and definitely more muscular in a costume that reminds him of everything wrong about Batman. Even his heart sounds different, no longer the fluttery little birds heart, so strong and brave despite his fears but the steady, resolute beat of a man willing to do anything for his beliefs. He feels like a stranger and Tim’s weak attempts to pretend things are normal feel like such a betrayal to the friendship they once had, to the person Tim used to be.
As weeks and months pass, Conner learns the events that broke and reshaped his best friend into this cold, dark person. He feels anger like he’s never known to think of how unfairly Tim was treated in his absence. Tim, who gave more than anyone should be expected and who would light himself on fire to keep his friends warm, was let down by those he trusted. Pushed and pushed to be better despite the hurt only to be kicked to curb when Batman’s kid showed up and demanded the Robin costume. He’ll never forget the feeling when he saw Tim shirtless for the first time afterwards. His eyes darted from one new scar to another, each one bad enough to have taken Tim away for good. His fingers had reached out to the large one across Tim’s abdomen from his emergency splenectomy. Instead he turns around and goes to vomit in the nearest restroom. He asks Clark about why he, or any of the League, didn’t do anything to help. Conner hears weak excuses about Tim being strong enough to handle it. He slams the door to Clark’s apartment so hard it breaks when he storms out.
Despite the guilt, Conner still feels a sense of loss and betrayal over Tim’s transformation. He’d survived death and future only to come back and find his rock and his lifeline has been twisted beyond recognition. It’s rude and unfair but he feels it anyway. But then there’s a moment, they’re going over a case and Conner makes the obligatory stupid comment and Tim reciprocates and his mouth does this dumb thing that’s almost a smile and everything is good. Once he starts looking, he finds all sorts of Old Tim buried inside this New Tim that comes out at odds moments. There are even new habits there that are so endearingly Tim that he finds himself liking them anyway. Once upon a time, Tim had wormed his way into his clone heart and now, despite everything, he does it all over again one broken piece at a time
New Tim doesn’t smile much anymore, not counting those fakey smiles he gives on TV. Old Tim was always a little sleep deprived but New Tim takes it to an unhealthy extreme. New Tim is both stronger and scarier than ever before but it seems Conner is the only one who notices that Tim is like glass, right on the edge of shattering completely. Conner wants to help this Tim, this unhappy mix of New and Old, but he doesn’t know how. So he goes back to the start. Delicate touches, stupid jokes and stupider arguments, long, detailed explanations on his feelings of the Wendy reboot and how his History teacher is a crank. There are friendly smiles, understanding eyes and an open ear to all the burdens this new boy has to bear; offered freely just as Tim had done for him years ago. There are too many nights spent listening to Tim rant and rave about the injustices done to him; holding back his too long hair as he gets sick recalling painful memories and too many nights all of Conner’s efforts seem hopeless.
But then the smiles begin to come back, slowly but surely, those small, little Robin smiles that makes Conner’s heart leap. Friendly touches get returned, hesitantly at first but soon Tim’s hands on his back or shoulder becomes familiar. Tim lays out his troubles and listens as Conner absorbs and repeats back that those things shouldn’t have happened and by God does Tim look so relieved and vulnerable in that moment. Conner pulls his boy close, bringing his big arms around Tim’s tiny body and squeezes him as hard as he dares. The air is electric and this is the time in any normal movie the hero would say I love you and sexy shenanigans would ensue. But Tim turns to look up at him with big, watery eyes and it’s written all over his face, no words needed. Conner brings his head down until their foreheads are nearly touching. Piece by piece they fell in love, little things adding up into big things becoming something bigger than they’ll ever be able to describe. So they decide to leave all words behind and just appreciate how much bigger and better the world is to have the other in it.
- all of his clothes are covered in either charcoal or paint and mostly hand me downs from jonathan or bought from the thrift store
- has a red second hand pick up truck which he bought after working every possible shift at the local art supply store since he was fourteen
- has a habit of forging his mom’s signature on permission slips to get him out of class but he does all his work and is passing all his classes so no one really cares
- he just has trouble with large groups of people sometimes
- when he does skip class usually he drives to the nearby pond and sits in the back of his truck and listen to music
- this is also his favourite time to draw
- sometimes el joins him and he sketches her
- he chews gum all the time because it helps keep him focused on something that isnt his anxiety
- lets el practice hairstyles and makeup on him because she gets really into cosmo
- he also lets el cut his hair when it gets too long so he doesnt have to pay for a haircut
- favourite colour is yellow and wears. a lot of it.
- master at getting out of situations he doesnt wanna be in
- but will fight Anyone who says one bad thing about his friends
Nico dressed in mostly black as a way to blend in with the shadows easier, originally anyway. He discovered quickly that he liked the style and kept it even after the war with Gaea was over. However he also developed a strange habit.
Nico is a clothes theif. He will steal clothes from pretty much everyone he likes. If he has an article of your clothing in his possession you are officially his friend.
He stole Jason’s Camp Jupiter hoodie. It’s about two sizes too big but he loves it cause it’s warm and he can hit people with the overly large arms if they irritate him.
He stole one of Reyna’s Camp Jupiter t shirts. It’s a v neck and fits him pretty well. He works out in it most days. She’s never getting it back but she’s ok with that.
He stole one of Hazels hats. More accurately she stuck it on his head one winter when he didn’t have one. It’s bright blue with a big Pom Pom on the top but he still wears it.
He stole a jacket from Frank. It’s way too big on him but it’s comfy and again warm. Frank is too scared of Nico to ask for t back.
He stole a white button up from Leo. It’s was one of the only clean shirts the mechanic owned but Nico didn’t have a dress shirt to wear to Sally and Paul’s wedding. It hasn’t been seen since but Nico still has it.
He’s stolen many a tank top from Piper. He wears them to work out. She doesn’t mind and has caught several pictures of him in multicolored tank tops fighting the undead when he thinks no one is watching.
He steals hair ties from Annabeth because his hair is getting way too long and keeps getting in his way so he’ll put it up in a small ponytail with her hair ties.
He somehow managed to steal a Camp shirt from Cecil. It’s clear it’s Cecil’s because it has the number of the Hermes cabin on the sleeve.
He stole a pair of fingerless gloves from Lou Ellen. He wears them constantly claiming they help protect his hands from his sword.
He’s stolen so many articles of clothing from Will both of them have lost track. All they know is that half Nico’s wardrobe is too big and mostly yellow and Wills been wearing a lot of black too small shirts lately. His favorite thing of wills is his “Surf Cabo” shirt. Mostly cause it annoys Percy
happy (belated) valentine’s day, @autiacora. i hope this is canon fluffy enough for you (but you know, with a touch of ack flavored sadness™ snuck in there too). thank you for being here and contributing to such a great community. you’re a joy. <3
lemons and bellflowers
The Survey Corps had been traveling for several days. They were meant to subjugate an abandoned castle between Utopia and Karanes Districts, however it had fallen out of too much disrepair from wandering titans that they had to move onto one that sat on the outskirts of Utopia. It must have been over half a decade since it was last used, but its stone walls still held up strong against years of weathering. Some rotten doors had to be knocked down, and mounds of decaying leaves had to be shoveled out, but in the end they had all worked together to get it into good working order. And all up to Levi’s standards, nonetheless.
However, Levi wouldn’t let anybody, especially Erwin, enter the commanding office until every cobweb was cleaned from the corners of the room and every finger print washed away from the windows. It smelled like lemons and vinegar, both considered luxuries in the Corps, but ingredients that Erwin managed to sneak into the quarterly budgets. A happy Humanity’s Strongest brought along with it positive scout moral, after all. And keeping a clean working space for his commander was one thing that made him very happy.
Prompt: Jean's hair is yanked off his head, right? When he gets more comfortable he lets the Trojans give him a haircut and they just give him an undercut that perfectly masks the chunks that Riko yanked off
oh my god this prompt was so fucking fun to write i love the trojans so much they’re my children. also this takes place quite a while after he’s been with the trojans so he’s more comfortable with them, especially jeremy
It’d been years since Jean Moreau had had a proper haircut. The only way his hair was kept from getting too long was being pulled straight from his head. The last time someone had come at him with scissors, it wasn’t to cut his hair, but rather scar him. Someone as in Riko, and he’d only used scissors because that was what was readily available. Jean did not enjoy reliving this memory.
But he’d been with the USC Trojans for quite a while now, and Jeremy had spent the last week insinuating he’d like to see Jean with a haircut. (“It’s gotten so long, Jean!” “Have you ever had it shorter?” “True love is when you still like them after they get a haircut.”) Now, Jean stood in front of the dorm bathroom mirror examining his chunky, uneven hair. Jean didn’t understand how Jeremy even liked him with his hair like this.
“Jean?” Jeremy’s voice was muffled behind the closed door and dowsed with concern. Jean ran his hand through his hair again, letting the shorter pieces slip through between his fingers.
“Yeah?” Jean called back without taking his eyes off the mirror.
“Can I come in?”
“Yea.” Jean heard Jeremy fumbled with the doorknob for a minute before it swung open and hit Jean in the back.
“Fuck, Jer,”Jean hissed and rubbed his back. Jeremy bit back a laugh before apologizing and offering to rub Jean’s back. Jean shot Jeremy a look from in the mirror but didn’t pull away when Jeremy laid his hand on his back. Jeremy attempted to set his chin on Jean’s shoulder and wound up wobbling on his tiptoes to reach. Jeremy’s dimples showed when Jean snickered and kept him from falling over.
“What were you doing in here?” Jeremy turned his quizzical expression up at Jean.
“Nothing,” Jean answered, but it was too late. Jeremy had the look in his eyes he got when he was formulating a plan.
“Hey, Jean,” he began.
“You didn’t even let me finish!” Jeremy whined childishly, but he grinned at Jean in the cramped bathroom.
“I know you have an idea, Knox, and your ideas are almost never good,” Jean warned, folding his arms across his chest.
Jeremy Knox was a creature of art; he was both the product of art and the artist himself. His hands were almost always stained with colors of paints, and his tortoiseshell glasses seemed almost permanently smudged from how he never remembers to clean them. Every sweater he owned was a size too big, and he had almost as many sweaters as he did mugs for coffee, tea, paint water. Jeremy was quite possibly the most eccentric person Jean had ever met, and Jean loved every inch of him.
“Hear me out, Jean, okay?” Jeremy continued on when Jean didn’t say anything more. “How about we do your hair? Like give you a haircut. If you’re okay with it, of course.” Jean looked down at him, considering, and Jeremy’s palms began to sweat from the intent look on Jean’s face.
“Just don’t fuck it up worse than it is, okay?” Jean finally mumbled grumpily. Jeremy nearly jumped in delight.
“Yes! Okay, come on,” Jeremy took Jean by the hand and practically dragged him to Laila Dermott’s and Sara Alvarez’s dorm room. Jeremy knocked loudly and excitedly on their door.
“Password!” Laila’s singsong voice came through the door.
“Laila, this is important! Jean’s gonna let us cut his hair.” Jeremy and Jean stepped back as the door swing open immediately.
“Are you for real?” Laila gawked at the two of them, hand in hand. She turned her hopeful eyes up to Jean who turned away for a moment before looking back. His sigh was dramatic and long, but he finally nodded in confirmation. Laila had the same reaction as Jeremy before running off to scream at Sara about it.
She returned to the doorway with a grinning Alvarez in tow, and they followed Jeremy and Jean back to their dorm. Once in there, Alvarez sat a grumbling Jean down on one of the desk chairs while Laila and Jeremy found Jeremy’s electric clippers and some scissors.
“Why is everyone so excited about this?” Jean looked out the window, refusing to see the look Alvarez was giving him.
“Look, Jean. I’m really fucking gay, but if I wasn’t really fucking gay, you’re attractive enough to date.” This caught Jean’s interest enough to whip his head around and stare at her. “Now, be quiet, and let the masters work.”
Jeremy sat beside Jean on top of the desk that went with the desk chair Jean sat in, supposedly giving Jean emotional support. When Laila finished combing through Jean’s hair, she flicked on the electric clippers, making Jean flinch. Jeremy reached out and took Jean’s hand with a reassuring smile.
After nearly an hour of Alvarez and Laila working on his hair, they set down their supplies and declared they were done. Jean was more than a little nervous, but Jeremy immediately hopped off his perch to survey their work.
“Oh my god,” Jeremy gasped, completely not helping Jean’s nerves. Jean raised an eyebrow as Jeremy turned away for a moment to compose himself.
“You look so good, Jean! I’m gonna cry, I can’t handle this,” Jeremy went over to Laila who hugged him. “I need emotional support.” Jean couldn’t help but laugh, a noise that caught the other three Trojans by surprise but had them grinning nonetheless.
“Okay, I need to actually see this for myself,” Jean stood from the seat and brushed the loose hairs from his shoulders and chest. He went to the bathroom mirror again, brushing a hand through his hair before opening the door. It felt so much shorter, but Jean had to admit, it felt nice.
“Huh,” is all Jean said as he surveyed the undercut they’d given him. It completely covered the chunks of hair Riko had pulled out, and it actually did look good. Laila and Sara watched him with matching grins, waiting for his thumbs up. “Maybe you should quit exy and become hairdressers.”
“Was that a joke? Did Jean Moreau just crack a joke?” Alvarez gasped mockingly while Laila laughed hysterically at her girlfriend and Jean.
“Is Jeremy okay?”
“He’s crying because he thinks you look really hot,” Laila’s mouth twisted up into a teasing smirk, glancing over her shoulder at Jeremy.
“Fuck off,” Jeremy laughed from the pillow his face was stuck in.
“We’ll leave you to deal with Jeremy,” Alvarez winked at Jean before dragging Laila out of the room and shutting the door.
“Oh, c’mon, Jeremy, you’re being dramatic. I don’t look that good.” Jeremy finally sat up and gave Jean a wide-eyed look.
“Yes, you really do. You look very,” Jeremy paused without finishing, provoking a questioning look from Jean who’d come to sit on Jeremy’s bed.