can I request some Jean headcanons?? just lil facts abt my son pls ? thank u for ur time 💋
OKAY this got away from me bye
jean moreau is very tall and carries himself with put-on pride that bled over from his time with the ravens. if he ever hunched over in riko’s presence, well - riko is dead, and no one is around to bring it up anymore
despite popular belief, he wears black because it suits his image, not because it’s habit. it’s one thing he and andrew minyard share, not that either of them recognise that or would react well if someone pointed it out
his favourite colours are a deep forest green and silver-grey, which also sneak into his wardrobe in places (jumpers, shirts, ties, and the silver spinner ring renee gifts him halfway through his second month in california)
he’s utterly unselfconscious about his scars, and the trojans learn very fucking quickly to never bring them up because he’ll snarl at them for prying. if they happen to look pitying, he’ll break something of theirs. like their face
the first few months, he spends a lot of time thinking he’s dead because he can’t quite believe it, even having been to the funeral. riko’s a ghost he can’t shake, haunting him during the day out of the corner of his eye in every flash of black, sometimes seeping into his dreams at night to torture him all over again
coach rhemann picks him up from the airport when he first arrives, and they have a very quiet week together where jean reads so much rhemann makes a joke about him being an academic rather than an athlete. jean doesn’t laugh, but rhemann didn’t expect him to
(he and his new head coach end up having a good relationship, once they’re over the first rough patches. jean was worried he wouldn’t be able to respect a man who hadn’t produced a champs-winning team in his tenure, the same way he thought he’d feel about the team itself, but instead he ends up respecting rhemann for his brisk kindness and refusal to give in to jean’s initial attitude)
(rhemann, quietly, thinks the first month that he’ll have to make alternative arrangements for jean, that he’ll never be a good fit for the team. fortunately, the trojans step in to stop that from happening)
jean and jeremy met long before jeremy flew out with rhemann to Palmetto to sign their newest player, but when jeremy arrives back on campus it’s like they’re meeting for the first time all over again. jeremy is really excited to see him. jeremy is really excited about everything, apparently.
laila and alvarez are the next arrivals. laila is critical of jean from the get-go, and they’re a little similar in their seriousness, but alvarez is determined from the start to befried jean
(it works because part of it is that she thinks they’ll be unstoppable as defensive partners, and she tells jean this straight off of the bat. it’s the kind of reasoning jean can get behind)
the rest of the trojans are a blur of faces and names, too much enthusiasm for jean to really deal with. he hides the fact he’s overwhelmed with carelessness and a little bit of cruelty at first, feeling like a broken bird hunkered down amongst them as they chatter and jostle each other
none of the trojans are prepared for jean when he joins their practices at first - he’s silent amongst them, and so fucking fast their goalkeepers’ workloads are suddenly halved in scrimmage
it’s exciting but unnerving. jeremy is meant to be the one to take jean in hand and turn him into a team player, but he mostly leaves it to the girls because they’re better at it. it’s not like he doesn’t know jean had a complicated relationship with his last captain
they end up getting along anyway - jean likes jeremy’s stubborn determination and the ferocity that walks hand-in-hand with his bright good cheer. jeremy appreciates jean’s skill and honesty, even if he thinks jean could tone down the bad attitude at times. he also thinks jean has a nice ass, but that’s beside the point
their first game together, the trojans win. jeremy makes jean a deal as a joke that he’ll take him out for ice cream if he doesn’t earn a red card. jean raises an eyebrow and tells him that he hopes jeremy promises the entire team the same. jeremy says it’s only fair, and yells through the stadium lounge that it’s a deal
their first season, they steal the championship trophy from the foxes, and jean gets to look kevin day in the eye for the first time in a long while with the knowledge that this one thing, at least, he’s won
(jeremy buys him that ice cream. all the others, too. it’s only fair)
alvarez shows jean how to be a proper partner. laila and the others teach him what it means to be part of the team. all of them together watch him paste himself back together, come back stronger for it like he’s growing scar tissue on the inside too
(jeremy also manages to convince him he’s fucking beautiful - but that’s another post)
I’m a very lowkey fan irl so I’d be cool if d&p made merch that looks pretty much like regular designed clothing that people who know d&p will know what’s up but people who don’t know d&p won’t ask any questions.
also dan is into fashion so maybe he’d think of some cool ideas for shirt/jumper designs within the d&p aesthetic
Listen,,, Tony Stark is a clothes-thief okay,,, he steals away Steve’s baggy t-shirts and jumpers and just naps in them. Like a fucking puppy.
Usually happens in the mornings, and Steve gets to watch his stupid genius boyfriend flap around with his sleeves falling over his hands, the collar being baggy enough that the hickies Steve marked him with the previous night are visible.
He fucking loves Tony wearing his clothes.
(He loves taking Tony out of his clothes even more.)
Hi ! Can I please ask a request where Draco had a crush on a reader who didn’t even notice. Because she has an abusive relationship with her parents. They are terrible, she don’t trust anyone and feels so lonely. One night, Draco follows her to the edge of a lake and catch her crying. Then he decides to react. I guess i just need fluff and comfort.
ages about fifth or sixth year!
Warnings: abusive parents, sad reader.
Like always, you felt sad, but today, something made it worse. You were woken up at your house in London to find that your father standing at your door. He looked rough: he had a cigarette in on hand and a bottle of alcohol in another. He shot the bud of the cigarette on your floor, stamping on it, leaving a mucky grey residue. It was only 9:00am and yet he was found with his bad habits yet again. You began to wonder if you would ever get your father back.
The first time Oswald wears purple again after coming back from
the dead it isn’t his choice. He’s sitting upright in a hospital bed, the
bandages wrapped round his abdomen tight and restrictive to the point where he can
barely move. He’s been left a pile of clothes on the visitors chair; jumpers, shirts, slacks. All off
the rack and nothing at all like the tailored suits and dramatic coats hanging in his
wardrobe back at the Van Dahl estate. Cold in the thin hospital gown, he
reaches out to grab the nearest jumper, breath coming out in short huffs as his
stitches pull and scream out in protest. It’s only once he’s successfully got
it on, sweaty and red-faced with exhaustion, that he realises the colour: mauve. It’s
nothing like the deep, rich purples he used to wear yet he still hears the soft ‘I’m
partial to the purple’ and before he knows it he’s muffling sobs into the slightly too-long sleeves. He’s alone. He’s totally alone.
The second time is when he finally has access to his old
clothes. What with his power and influence having fizzled away into almost nothing the second his back hit that icy cold water, he’s had a lot of work to do. Planting seeds,
encouraging whispers. Penguin’s back, they say. Awed and nervous and baffled. A
steady stream of old but loyal informants and allies have been trickling back
to him and he’s thankful that even after everything he still has Gabe, still has Zsasz. And now he has his battle armour, too. Going through the clothes, he takes out a pinstripe suit followed by a purple
tie. He lets the silk glide through his fingers in consideration before eventually slipping it round his neck. Its weight is a comfort. As if Ed’s there with him, murmuring encouragements ‘you can do it, Oswald,
I believe in you’. He goes down stairs, by-passing his portrait with the
obnoxious question mark now blazoned across it and into the lounge to join the
gathered crowd all eager to hear what his next plans are. He touches the knot
of the tie gently with the tips of his fingers and straightens his back.
The third time he’s standing in front of the newly opened
Iceberg Lounge, press from every paper and news station in the city gathered
around him. Journalists call out questions to him; how he feels about his success being
dubbed the comeback story of the century, does he have anything to say to
those who said he couldn’t do it, what’s it like being more influential than ever before. He rearranges the purple pocket square so the
small flash of colour will show up clearly in every photo taken that night. Deliberate.
Mocking. He smirks into the cameras, chin cocked up in defiance. Look what I’ve
done, Eddie. And all without you.
The fourth time he has a gun pressed into the small of The
Riddler’s back. He forcefully walks Ed to a nearby chair and orders
him to sit down. He drops down into it, long legs awkwardly drawn towards him as Oswald crowds in close. Now facing him, Ed’s eyes flick down and away from Oswald’s face to
take in the colour of his waistcoat. Purple. Elegant and dark. They widen slightly in realisation and he
opens his mouth to say something when Oswald roughly grabs him by the jaw,
effectively interrupting him before he even can even begin. He presses his
fingers into Ed’s skin, his nails leaving little crescent moon indents, and rakes his gaze from the tips of Ed’s polished brogues up to the curve of his hat.
Dan and Phil had broken up over 6 years ago. There hadn’t been anything since then. No phone call, no text, just nothing. Until now, apparently. Because now Dan was in the bookshop with fairly lights adorning the walls and Phil was standing in front of him and everything had come crashing down once again.
word count: 4,282
triggers: drinking, mentions of self harm, mentions of mental illnesses such as depression and anxiety, mentions of rape, mentions of physical abuse, slight body dysphoria
@lears found this adorable fic by @drarrytrash and then we were discussing how much of a tragedy it is that there isn’t more lesbian drarry and so here is my starting point:
draco malfoy the queen lesbian of hogwarts: silver rings on her fingers and her hair cut short and blunt at her jawline; pointy-toed black polished boots that people whisper are dragonskin; looks bored and faintly offended every time a boy talks to her; clean bare nails that she files down short and square; a collection of high-waisted dark green trousers of expensive material that she wears with white silk shirts, folding open over her collarbone; everyone whispers about her buying fancy lingerie but when she stoops down one day in potions it’s just the clear dark line of a cotton sports bra; spends history of magic drumming her fingers on the table and slowly setting everyone on edge; comes back to eighth year hard and tired and unsmiling; has a bad tempered black cat and the slytherins say she talks to it, and the first year slytherins say it talks back; drinks mostly red wine, often cheap, often sour, usually to piss her dad off; taller than crabbe and goyle, now only taller than goyle; excellent eyebrows, thin mouth; looks like she could eat you alive and will.
harry potter bisexual hero: same unruly hair as ever except in fifth year when she buzzed it short (only she ended up missing the comparisons to her dad, let it grow out a bit again); oversized t-shirts, oversized jumpers, oversized flannel shirts, no bra; quidditch muscles in her thighs and arms; bitten nails that sometimes have half-flaked off polish that luna’s applied; lugs crates of beer with ron and ginny to drink down by the lake; wears a large oversized denim jacket and breaks sirius’s motorbike out of storage when she’s seventeen; tips back on her chair in class so far that people make bets if she’ll fall out; spends her summers from fifth year onwards going into london and catching the underground nowhere in particular, sitting in fluorescent chippies late at night and eating chips soaked in salt and vinegar; knuckle tattoos; has been known to haul crookshanks up by the scruff of his neck and hold him so his front paws are hanging over her shoulder, and he purrs like an engine; big hands, long fingers, and a hot look in her eyes like she wants to touch you.
together: draco straight-backed and mouth-pursed at hogsmeade, and harry ambling easily next to her; draco turns up to ancient runes late one morning in a faded pink sweatshirt that says WITCH LOVING WITCHES: FLORIDA KEYS CAMP 1986 that absolutely does not suit her and glares at anyone who looks at her; harry and draco’s cat in a silent possessive war; double dates with ginny and pansy to quidditch matches, where draco, harry, and ginny scream themselves hoarse and pansy reads her magazine; racing each other across the hogwarts lawn, tackling each other in the trees; apparating somewhere remote and wild and spending four days hiking mostly in silence, harry shouldering a heavy backpack with their tent in it, draco stopping every hour or so to check her map; when they start dating draco abruptly stops making fun of how dishevelled harry always is, and harry doesn’t get it until she notices how much longer draco looks at her now, the way draco skims her fingers along the strip of harry’s stomach where her sweater is riding up, the way draco watches her now like she wasn’t allowed before; much later, a flat with white walls and many plants; plus a huge golden bathtub they sit in together, draco propping her legs up on the rim to shave them (when she feels like shaving them), harry leaning down to kiss draco’s ankle, both of them eyeing each other, smirking, waiting, letting the room get hot and close and tense and waiting to see who’s going to give in and make the first move; and a large windowsill that they use to sit in and get stoned.