concept: i wake up early fully rested and excited to start the day, i go on a run, eat healthy meals, wear nice and comfortable clothes that i feel good in, i go to school to see my many kind friends who love me and would do anything to protect me. i take tests and ace them, i have perfect high A’s in all my classes. immediately when i get home i do my homework and finish it all before dinner. i understand everything i’ve learned. i read and write for a couple of hours before bed in my huge room, full of bookshelves and potted plants, while rain pounds on the window, and then i drift off to sleep….
I worry how permanent you’re going to be. You taught me how to put on pillowcases quickly, am I always going to think of you when I do that kind of thing? Already I remember you when I eat at what used to be my favorite bagel place but is now “our” cafe. Already I remember you in these silly nostalgic ways. What if whenever I go back to those places I still see you in them. Haunting. What if it’s been years and I’ve moved on and while I’m driving I realize I’m going to your house and it doesn’t even feel wrong. what if I never get rid of you. Like what if even if I cover up the marks you left they still show through.
I’m mean, the obvious reason is that I’m nonbinary. I don’t identify as either a man or a woman and so “sir” doesn’t apply to me. “Ma’am” doesn’t apply either, of course, and explaining nonbinary identity to a store clerk or server seems like too much effort most of the time. But my real aversion — the reason I really hate these gendered service words — is that they _are_ polite. I know it sounds crazy, and we aren’t used to thinking of it this way, but it is considered polite to affirm a person’s status in a gendered way. It’s polite to acknowledge another person’s place in the gender hierarchy.
Perhaps I’m just crazy. I know I’m sensitive. And, I know that being called ma’am or sir is normal for most folks. I know that it goes beyond normal. In most situations, people _expect_ it and take it as a clue that whoever is talking respects them. The customer, the Sir, feels heard and respected and seen. _Isn’t it funny that I feel the opposite?_ Isn’t it funny that, when someone “sirs” me, I get frustrated and feel like shouting “I’m not like every customer!” I want the salesperson to see me and understand me, and when they use the everyday expected words of commerce, I get antsy. I surely don’t want to stick around and eat and buy and shop.
Oh yes, I’m a snowflake. I’ll gladly admit it. But maybe all that “snowflake” connotes isn’t accurate. Snowflakes are supposed to be weak right? Maybe since I’ve survived years of being misunderstood and mischaracterized, I’m strong. Maybe since I’ve lived with a truth that, over the years, has had to be stuffed and sidelined and kept secret, I’m strong. Maybe since I’ve learned how to survive by hiding and cowering and swallowing shame, I’m strong. Shouldn’t our language show people like me the respect and specificity we deserve? Maybe we come up with new terms. Maybe we revamp some old ones. But something needs to change.
Hey I was wondering if you could analyze lucrezia and cesare relationship in the Borgia ??? Thank you!!
Ah, Cesare and Lucrezia. This will be so long.
I need to preface the analysis by saying I usually hate the inclusion of incest in anything that isn’t a Toni Morrison novel but The Borgias handled Lucrezia and Cesare’s situation with so much nuance and Holliday and Francois have outstanding chemistry that I got sucked in to that ship.
The progression of Cesare and Lucrezia is actually quite interesting because the underlying tension between the two of them is there from the pilot. The first time we’re introduced to their relationship, Lucrezia is spying on Cesare having sex:
and then he chases her around the courtyard but there is a balance between playful innocence:
and very potent sexual tension:
They spoke like lovers:
their gazes were always charged with this tension that clearly made the other feel something but I think that something remained unrealized between them:
and yet Cesare’s protectiveness of Lucrezia was very much a protection of her innocence:
He disagrees with the marriage to Giovanni Sforza and wordlessly warns him against consummating their marriage during the wedding ceremony because he doesn’t want Lucrezia to grow up too quickly, it’s a very brotherly concern.
Even when Juan has to kill Djem who Lucrezia was infatuated with
and Lucrezia is devastated, Cesare is devastated for her, there is no sense of jealousy, there is no sense of possessiveness, he’s just hurting because his sister who he loves dearly is hurting.
At the same time, as one of the aforementioned gifs suggest, there was always a sense of who would be a priority in their hearts, there was always this knowledge that no man or woman would ever be able to inspire in them such strong feelings even though at the time, Cesare had this dark infatuation with Ursula.
When I think things begin to turn for Cesare and Lucrezia is after Lucrezia has been repeatedly abused by Giovanni. Cesare is devastated by the loss of Lucrezia’s innocence (and previously stated he would cut out the heart of the man who dared hurt her)
But I think her loss of innocence:
(compared to pre-Sforza)
is what sort of catalyzes Cesare into starting to view Lucrezia as a woman to avenge and not a little sister to protect.
While with Cesare, well Lucrezia found a safe space with Paolo and she loved him dearly and she knew he loved her, but I don’t think she felt, like, wholly safe (which she says in season 3) or completely herself unless with Cesare no matter how much she loved Paolo. You see her relax with Cesare in a way she couldn’t even do with him:
Her entire body exhales. I think after the ordeal with Giovanni, she truly began recognizing that. So the end of season 1 is the beginning of realization for the both of them.
In season 2, Lucrezia has been hardened first by the rape and abuse she had to endure during her marriage to Giovanni and then by Paolo’s death at the hands of Juan.
In season 1 Cesare was concerned with preserving Lucrezia’s innocence but this season Cesare wanted to make Lucrezia happy and he wants to do so himself:
And the above moment between them is also a turning point for their relationship because Lucrezia asks Cesare if he can make her happy as they talk about Paolo, “Could he make you smile?” “Can you?” and he delivers her a moment of levity:
Which re-establishes this theme of Cesare and Lucrezia knowing each other’s hearts better than anyone, thy actually don’t spend much time together in season 2 but when they do, they’re knowing each other and seeing each other:
which is a mixture of ferocious vengeance, like when Cesare makes good on his promise to kill the man who harms her:
and then gives her the knife he killed him with:
as well as a mixture of peace and lightness and comfort, no longer playful innocence, but a breath of fresh air:
and the realization between them grows:
that by the end of the season, they joke about marrying one another
while Lucrezia’s betrothed, who she does care for, notices the tension when they dance:
And then season 3 happens and their relationship gets even more complex while at the same time simpler because the realization is, well, fully-realized, which I think is because of Alfonso. The way Lucrezia cares for Alfonso is almost piteous, like she finds him endearing, she finds him innocent, she finds him to be something to protect and cherish platonically while Cesare disdains Alfonso because he finds his love for Lucrezia weak, he isn’t fierce enough for her, he isn’t severe in his affection, which in a way creates a situation where Lucrezia has to ask this question again:
to which Cesare responds:
so they both know that only they can provide for each other what they need, they’ve experienced that repeatedly by this point:
and because they both aren’t running from that realization anymore, they’re getting bolder:
but of course there’s shame:
which only intensifies the knowledge that they both want something that they shouldn’t want and then they finally give in once Lucrezia discovers once again on her wedding night that she can’t get from Alfonso or from anyone else what she can get from Cesare:
But what I actually enjoy about The Borgias is that the torment between Cesare and Lucrezia doesn’t stop after they finally give in and have sex, it’s not like things get easier, in fact things get so much more difficult because there is such a profound embarrassment and shame that they both feel after what happened:
Lucrezia describes it as a cloud descended upon her and she can’t consummate with her actual husband after what happened:
But those feelings don’t disappear, they eat away at the both of them to the point that Lucrezia breaks down when Cesare tells her that Alfonso’s uncle wants to see them actually consummate their marriage and starts hitting him, saying she loves him:
they’re both tormented by this in a way that’s not just about familial protection, Lucrezia doesn’t want to sleep with her husband especially not in front of his uncle and Cesare doesn’t want her to and that’s why Lucrezia gets her revenge by saying that Cesare has to watch
And when he actually watches her and Alfonso consummate, that is one of the scenes that was hardest for me to watch because it was so layered and so uncomfortable in how layered it was because Cesare is experiencing both pleasure and self-disgust at the same time. Lucrezia and him stare at each other as she has sex with Alfonso, its in fact the only way Lucrezia can even experience pleasure and Cesare is clearly turned on but hes crying at the same time
which leads to more embarrassment and more shame and more running away
but the fact that they’re abstaining from something just further intensifies the attraction/chemistry/love that they make a point of not fully giving in to:
and then that spawns a resentment but also an acceptance that they cant run from but that they can’t do anything with:
Until, once again, Alfonso.
While Alfonso never actually sees them do anything, the tension between them literally drives him to drink and he’s maddened by it,
which essentially causes him to fall on Cesare’s sword. And it isn’t until a further step in Lucrezia’s loss of innocence in which she reveals to Cesare that she knows how to kill Alfonso to end his pain that Cesare stops running from her and embraces the depravity of their bond and Lucrezia accepts that embrace literally with Alfonso’s dead body next to them:
All in all, I find them a very fascinating dynamic. Hope this did what you wanted!
AU where Faramir went to Rivendell instead of Boromir?
Everything turns out okay.
That sounds flippant but imagine Denethor sending the right son to do the right job.
Faramir goes to the cool green glade of Elrond, where he speaks of dreams and waves, and the elves whisper that the blood of Numenor runs true in the House of Hurin; Boromir spends his time riding like hell between Ithilien and Osgiliath, speaking with men around smoky fires, embracing his captains and saying to them, take heart, gather your strength, these are the times which test a man’s soul and lift it to glory, but we will see dawn come, we will keep Gondor free.
Though they are cut from different cloth, this is something Boromir and Faramir have always shared–they are men deserving of leadership, they would be followed under the shadow of the East. Boromir aches for every one of his countrymen cut down, screams his defiance to the orc armies and rallies his arms; Faramir listens to the words of wisdom Aragorn offers, is gentle and kindly with the hobbits, greets Legolas in his mother tongue, offers Master Gimli praise.
Wandering with the Fellowship below the empty sky, Faramir looks up at Maethor, the Warrior constellation, and thinks of his brother, prays that he is well, that he is safe, that he is still a little pompous, stilted, honest.
Boromir spends another sleepless night playing with the chain at his neck, the small portraits of his mother and brother. (I cannot lose you too, I cannot–come back hale and whole, come back angry and proud and cunning and defiant of our father–)
Faramir has never known the weight of all Gondor on his shoulders, and so is not tempted by the power the Ring offers.
Boromir has always known the love of his father, and so never bears the scorn of Denethor when Osgiliath must be abandoned as too tenuous a position to hold.
The day that Faramir comes striding into the Citadel, a child and wizard at his heels, Boromir cries out with joy as he has not for more years than counting, and they nearly bruise one another with their embrace.
“You are almost skeletal, little brother,” Boromir laughs, though it is not true–Faramir looks touched with strangeness and greatness, as one whom the Witch-Queen of Lorien found favor in, whose nobility of form and face had ensnared the heart of the White Princess of Rohan.
“And you look at least two-stone heavier, elder brother,” Faramir says, though it is false, Boromir is hollowed out and worn thin, deep shadows beneath his eyes and hunger-starved cheeks; in a glance, Faramir knows he neither eats nor sleeps nor laughs, nor feels–and Faramir, wiser and older than when he left, can see the weight his brother has always carried, and how lightly–all the stone of Minas Tirith on his shoulders, and still–
or…lena doesn’t stop believing in the one person who believed in her
(or…the terrible thing i wrote to get rid of writer’s block and it’s long and sad but has a happy ending)
Supergirl dies on a Wednesday.
when she’s alone in her office in the wee hours of the morning, still in
yesterday’s clothing and unsure when she’d last eaten, she thinks about that,
the utter normalcy of losing National
City’s hero on a Wednesday. Somehow, the death on such a boring day of the week
provides a sort of stark contrast that Lena has trouble wrapping her head
around. After all, surely the hero and pride of National City would fall in a
blaze of glory on a Friday night, a Sunday afternoon, even a Monday morning
during rush hour.
a Wednesday? Some time between mid-morning and noon? When nothing was happening
except for the drudge of the week, the tireless churning of society?
doesn’t understand it—has tried to come to terms with it with very little
success. In her weakest moments, when she’s staring down the end of a bottle of
whiskey or wine (before Jess or Maggie or even James Olsen pry the bottle from
her fingertips and help her get home), she thinks the very banality of Supergirl’s death is evidence of its unnecessary
nature, its needless, pointless, meaningless, asinine—
dies on a Wednesday.
Friday, the President herself comes to National City to mourn the fallen hero.
She talks about the few short conversations she’s had with Supergirl, how
everyone should be inspired and follow Supergirl’s wonderful example. A true
hero, an exemplary citizen.
doesn’t go to the ceremony. She and Alex spend that afternoon in Kara’s
apartment, sitting on Kara’s couch, Alex stoically staring at the television
screen with silent tears running down her cheeks and Lena gripping her hand so
tightly she thinks she’ll break fingers.
that, Lena doesn’t see much of Alex at all.)
30 Tell-tale Signs that you are Hardcore Yoongi Biased with the Softest Core
1. You cried at least 5x while listening to “The Last”
2. You cried when Agust D was released
3. You cried when you finally understood “First Love”
4. You’re practically dehydrated every time Yoongi releases a personal track
5. You also cried when Yoongi cried. This lane cries a lot.
6. You’re Yoongi kink list includes (but is not limited to): Yoongi working in his Studio, Yoongi playing the piano, Yoongi eating, Yoongi talking about his music, members talking about how Yoongi takes care of them
7. You see his hands, your first thought, I want his fingers between mine
8. Seeing his gummy smile makes you feel like everything will be okay
9. You almost bought bubble wrap when he injured his ear… You also wanted to fight a door… At some point in 2014 you also wanted to fight an appendix… but shit was too complicated to comprehend… just how?
10 .He breathes… you praise his genius
11. You could listen to him singing… on loop
12. You believe he is shippable with any Bangtan member… coz come on! His relationship with everyone IS good! (don’t fight us on this… trigger warning)
13. Yoongi + Basketball… cannon
14. When Yoongi does aegyo... you cringe… then giggle… then die.
Do you have any advice for practicing kitchen witchcraft in a shared kitchen which can never really be "your space" (especially if you're not open about your practices to your roommates)?
I do! In my opinion, kitchen witches and hearth witches probably have it easiest when it comes to being in the closet. Decorating the home with seasonal decor just makes you look festive, and cooking all the time makes you look domestic :P Regardless of gender, these aren’t typically activities that raise an eyebrow with anyone, especially when they’re digging into a homecooked meal or snacking on freshly baked cookies!
Living Life as a Hearth or Kitchen Witch
I think the biggest this we can do as kitchen or hearth witches, when possible, is sourcing local foods. I feel like partaking in the local harvest strengthens my connection to the energies of the earth where I live. Developing relationships with the farmers too. I have, in the past, done CSA boxes which is a great way to support local agriculture. And when you visit the farmer’s market each week you can buy directly from the farmer’s themselves. They’re usually friendly, and can have a little chat about what you’re planning to make, what they’ll have in upcoming weeks, etc. It’s a community feel. Instead of a rushed trip around a fluorescent lit grocery store, it becomes a whole thing in and of itself.
Now, I totally get this isn’t always possible. It can sometimes cost more (although I could write an entirely different post on the cost breakdown of shopping at farmer’s markets vs the grocery store). But I will note here that veg purchased right from the farm vs the store tends to last longer and right there is big money savings if you’re like most people.
Then there’s the selection process, which I view as a key part of my practice. I try to put intent behind my food, when I can. It’s not a “Oh it’s 5 o'clock, should probably think about supper.” (although to be entirely honest it totally can be that too. Sometimes I just don’t “feel” it, lol). It starts with planning out the meals for the week. Thinking about recipes that are loved by the people I cook for, and trying to make a point of regularly rotating in favorites. Especially if I know someone’s having a hard time, or needs a pick me up.
It’s that feeling of having a roommate come home after a trying day or days of work, and their favorite meal is being made for dinner. You can see some of the weariness, and stress just melt off of them. There’s a reason we call it “comfort food”! Because it literally brings comfort
So, the intentional act, the effort expended in the planning of what I’m going to make lends it a magic. I get excited trying new recipes, and I cannot describe exactly that feeling of being able to make something for someone and have them just go to a whole other place when they’re eating it. I feel so… fulfilled? validated? I can’t make the words. Food yes, words no.
Now, you can lean to the herbal side of things and start selecting food not just for the comfort value (which should never be underestimated) but for their actual ingredients themselves.
Both are cookbooks, as opposed to purely herbal reference books. And address a number of common issues. And both include Materia Media (basically a reference sheet) for common herbs and spices.
The things is, kitchen magic doesn’t need to be practiced in your own space. None of the things I do which I consider the core of my practice require sole use of the kitchen. In fact, I have a shared kitchen with folks who don’t know about my practice! Unlike other forms of magic which have you laying out a circle, etc, kitchen witchery is very intent based (I mean other kinds are too, but there’s more of a focus on intent here).
Before you start cooking, set an intention. Is this to banish depression? A cold? Other illness? Or is to bring comfort? Happiness? Simple nourishment? As you’re cooking, as much as possible, keep focusing on these things.
Cooking for just yourself? No reason you still can’t plate/display food nicely. I’ve been known to go full on garnish, candles, music and a glass of wine for a mid-week dinner just for moi. There’s a magic of self-worth in there ;)
I hope that’s helped. If you have any more questions I’m always happy to answer <3
Loki tried to take over your city. Again. While you were patiently waiting for the Avengers to come and save the day, the worse happened. You, with a small group of people, were kidnapped. Kidnapped to Asgard. Now, you stand before his throne in a room that seems like a fairytale. It didn’t suppose to look like a fairytale when you’re standing before Loki, the god of Mischief and Lies.
“Is good to see humans surrendering so easily.” With a mean smile, Loki stands up, looking down at you and the others.
“On your knees.”
Immediately, everyone gets down on their knees, not daring to raise their eyes to the Asgardian god.
“You.” He points at you, his smile fading. “Why aren’t you worshipping me, mortal?”
Keeping your head up, you take a deep breath to gather courage.
“Not interested.” You say, eyes on him as he slowly walks up to you.
“You dare to…”
“Here, just between you and me. I’m not afraid of you. So let’s skip all this worship bullshit and you can take me back home.” You whisper, trying to confuse him. You’ve always been a talker, and you know how to use it in your favor. You just don’t know if it’ll work with a god.
“Are you mad, mortal?” Loki’s face is like ice, you can’t read it. “Take her to a special cell. Kill the others. ”
“What? No!” Before he could turn around, you hold his wrist. He stops anger and surprise in his eyes. “D-don’t do this.”
“Why should I even listen to you?”
“It’s better to be a merciful king than an evil king.”
“I rather be evil.” He whispers before letting the guards take you.
You yell and fight and try to run away, but those guards tell you to keep quiet and just follow the rules. So, when they lock you in this small cell, with a magic glass that can kill you instantly, you scream again. You scream until your throat hurts so bad you can’t find your voice anymore.
After endless hours, you hear footsteps but you don’t bother to stand up. The cold hard ground finally got a bit comfortable. You hope someone is bringing you food. But no. When you see him, the god of Lies again, you know he brought you no food.
“Are you stupidly brave or completely insane?” Somehow, he opens one of those magic glass and enters the cell. “I wish to know what’s on your mind when you stood up to confront me.”
“I’m not the kind of person who…”
“Who’s smart enough to obey your king?”
“You’re not my king.”
“Haven’t you noticed? You’re in Asgard. And this is a gift for you, mortals.” Loki looks around your empty cell, confusion on his handsome face. Wait. Did you just…? No. You can’t think about these things right now. “Were you sleeping on the ground?”
“Yes. Why? You killed the others, why do you care if I’m sleeping on the ground?”
“You talk too much.”
“I know.” You stand up with a sigh, rolling your eyes at the weird sensation that hits your head.
“What is it?” Running to hold you by the waist, Loki saves you from hitting the ground.
“Nothing. I’m just starving. ”
“I’ll command them to bring you something to eat.”
“If you’re going to kill me, you don’t have to feed me first.”
“I quite enjoy your talking. Maybe you can stay for a while to entertain me. ”
“How lucky I am…” You voice faints when the world spins around again, and suddenly, everything goes black.
A warm breeze caresses your cheek, and it feels good to be home. You open your eyes to see a blue sky and a sweet light comes to show you that you’re not at home. Is not that Asgard isn’t beautiful, but you don’t like to feel like a prisoner. Moving a bit to sit up, you notice that you’re laying on a very large bed with comfy pillows.
“A golden cage.” You murmur, smelling something that seems to taste like heaven. On a small table next to your bed, there’s a tray with human food.
You happily eat all the fruits, licking your fingers when you’re done with the strawberries. It’s surprising that they got you human food.
“I hope you feel better.” He declares from behind you.
“Yes. Now I can entertain you with my talking. ” You lay down again, fixing the blue dress you’re wearing. “May I ask who put me into this dress?”
You stare at him, wide-eyed, anger building up in your stomach. How could he do something like that?
“You’re a jerk!”
“What’s a jerk?” He looks at you confused, not sure if you insulted him. “It’s a lie, tough, you don’t need to worry.” You try to keep angry, but you burst into laugh suddenly. You cover your mouth with your hands, struggling to calm down again.
“Oh my God. You are so funny.”
“I really don’t know what just happened.” That’s when you notice it, the shadow of a smile on his lips. You keep staring at him until it’s gone.
“You should smile more often. It makes you even more handsome. ”
“Yes.” Cursing yourself for talking too much, you awkwardly look to your hands. “Sorry, I was just saying the truth.”
“I know. I’m the god of lies, I can tell when someone is honest. I miss honest people, there’s no one I can trust here.” Loki walks around the bed, eyes locked on you.
“You can talk to me if you want. As you say, I’m nothing but a human.”
“You say it like it’s a curse.”
“Would you stay if I promise not to kill those humans who came here with you?” He sits on the edge of the bed, uncertain of what to do. You feel his hesitation, even though you can’t understand it.
“I’ll stay. Well, if you don’t treat me like a prisoner. ”
“If that’s your wish, you’re not a prisoner.”
“Now, tell me all your sorrows.”
“We may take some hours.”
Sitting up straight, you smile at him. “Go on, I don’t mind.”
When I log into tumblr I see a variety of amazing people all trying to find their way to health. I see people who want to lose 200+ pounds and those who want to lose 15.
I see some people trying out intermittent fasting to keep their binge eating in check, while other people like to eat multiple small meals a day. I see people who feel ketosis helps keep them satisfied while burning their body’s fat and at the same time people who can’t feel full without some carbs. I see vegans, vegetarians, and omnivores. I see people eating clean and people just casually trying to cut calories. I see people trying to drink more water, simply move more, and eat out less. I see people wanting to run marathons and people who just want to walk a few more steps. I see people preparing for weight loss surgery. I see people using food to fight disease whether that be diabetes, auto-immune diseases, or PCOS. I see people trying to do their best in a world that wants to make being healthy complicated, monetized, and practically impossible.
Do I agree with everyone’s diet? No way! But most of the time I don’t even follow my own guidelines enough to feel comfortable policing anyone else. Everyday I try to be better. I allow myself to learn and I move forward so I can grow into better, stronger, and healthier person. I try to do what works for me and I respect that you know what works for you.
Every single person I follow is unique and different and I respect your journey to find what works for you.
We don’t need to tear down each other down when were all simply taking our own path to the same destination. There is no one size fits all answer to health and everyone’s experiences are valid.
I lost 55lbs and gained some of it back and got comfortable with being too busy as an excuse for everything and well, I simply grew tired of that lifestyle and decided to start my healthy Journey again. I’m not going to lie I’m really enjoying it and I’m loving how i feel.
I was in a store and saw these jeans, it was as if they were designed for me, I fell in love with them and not only were they amazing THEY WERE ON SALE! So I hurried to the fitting room to try them on because if they fit it would be the find of the year for me… well sadly, I struggled to get them up my legs and they wouldn’t even budge to do up. I was devastated but motivated at the same time. These jeans DID NOT FIT ME, but I was determined to change that. So I bought them and hung them outside my closet as a reminder to myself that I was no longer going to accept how unhealthy I have been, I snapped a photo of them the day I got them, a little over a month and I began to eat healthy foods and workout. WELL I woke up after feeling amazing of a month of clean eating and exercise and checked my monthly weigh in which I was so happy to see the number decrease and I tried on those jeans. Not only did they go up smoothly, they buttoned up…. I couldn’t even budge them a month ago and now it was like putting on a pair of pants made just for me.
So guys, make small goals for yourself, don’t just always go by weight, buy a dress or pants that you want to work towards, because it is possible to make this change.
P.S I ugly cried when I realized these fit.
P.S.S I DID NOT LOSE 55 LBS IN ONE MONTH! I WAS JUST EXPLAINING MY JOURNEY BEFORE THIS. IT IS NOT HEALTHY TO LOSE THAT MUCH WEIGHT IN A MONTH.
It didn’t mean anything, per se… Steve’s sweaters were just cozy, okay? And his sweatpants were soft and his tshirts were baggy and they all smelt like something undeniably Steve-
Yeah. Anyway. Like Tony said. It was a thing.
To be honest, he hadn’t even expected anyone to notice, really- they were just a few clothes, after all. Nothing special. The team used his stuff all the time- what made this different? Nothing, that was what. It wasn’t like Tony… hoarded it, or anything. And he certainly didn’t steal Steve’s jumpers after bad nights in order to calm him down. That would just be stupid.
Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid.
In fact, if he hadn’t come down one time, half asleep and wearing literally none of his own clothes, everyone probably would have just let it slide. Tony honestly hadn’t done it intentionally- he was just tired and a little shaken from the lovely morning nightmare that had served as his wakeup call, and Steve’s clothes were soft and big and smelt really nice.
It was calming. It was… home.
So Tony had slid them on without a second thought and then trundled downstairs, pretty much still asleep. Mornings, especially early ones like this one, were most definitely not his forte.
Except… turns out that superspies were observant. Who’d have thought?
Anyway, they noticed it immediately. Natasha just raised an eyebrow, but Clint was an asshole, so Clint wolf-whistled and jostled Steve’s shoulder, making him turn from where he was busily preparing his breakfast in order to look in their direction. Tony, still pretty much sleepwalking at that point, just tried to zoom in on the coffee and direct his body toward it. He doesn’t notice everyone staring, or Steve’s progressively reddening cheeks.
“Nice look, Tony,” Natasha says quietly, eyes still on the morning paper.
“Fuck yourself,” he says cheerily, and barely even winces when the spoon flies an inch away from his nose in response. He’s grown used to it.
Clint makes a move, ruffling his hair and then cooing, despite Tony’s grumble of protest. He would normally just punch him, but did he mention how tired he was? Really fucking tired.
“Don’t you just want to fucking bundle him up when he’s like this? How do you resist, Steve?” Clint asks, and Tony glares at him and turns to Steve, ready to hear a witty quip in reply, but the other man is just spluttering a little incoherently, eyes still fixed on the pale blue button-down that’s pretty much slipping right off Tony’s shoulders.
His face falls a little, because shit, Steve’s noticed. And now they’re probably going to have a long and awkward conversation about boundaries, where Steve tells him he needs to stop wearing his clothes, which will suck, because Tony loves Steve’s clothes-
He’s so caught up in his own head that he forgets to watch where his feet are going, and they catch on the overhanging material that hangs over his toes whenever he wears Steve’s sweatpants, and then he’s off, falling face first, destination: corner of the fucking tabletop.
Great way to start the day.
He braces for impact, a little yelp escaping his lips as he jerks his hands up on instinct- but impact doesn’t come. Instead, there’s a sudden tight pressure on his waist, and he realizes it’s an arm that’s just managed to snag him before he brains himself. Which is nice. Definitely helpful.
Steve is stood there, a little awkwardly, arm simply outstretched and holding Tony’s entire body-weight like it’s nothing, which is probably not something he needs to be thinking about when wearing thin sweatpants-
“Where are your glasses, Tony?” Steve says, fond exasperation evident in his voice as he pulls Tony upright again and then softly places a hand against his jaw, checking to see that all braining incidents had been 100% avoided.
Tony scowls, and shrugs. “Left them out somewhere- but I don’t need them to see my own two feet, Steve, only reason I fell was because your pants are-”
He’s about to say stupidly big, before realizing that, being the insanely clever person he is, he just managed to expose himself and his clothe-stealing ways right in front of the man himself.
Amazing. He was on a god damn roll this morning. God- he wished he’d just knocked himself out on the tabletop.
But rather than frowning and pulling him up on it, Steve just blushes a little bit deeper, and Tony watches his eyes flicker down very briefly, before dragging themselves back up immediately and only making the blush go even darker,
and at this rate Steve is going to be a motherfucking tomato, or his cheeks are going to burst open from too much blood rushing around in them.
“They suit you,” Steve says quietly,and Tony has to question whether or not he’s even conscious at this point, because that was definitely a lip bite, and Steve’s eyes keep flickering down toward Tony’s exposed collarbone like there’s a god damn magnet attached to the thing-
“Wait,” Tony blurted suddenly, squinting a little and hoping that his eyesight really isn’t failing him enough to imagine that, “do you…no way-do you like that?”
Steve laughed, and this time it was a lick of the lips, which was honestly just unfair at this time of day. “Uhhh-”
“he means he likes you wearing his clothes, but he’d prefer them back on his bedroom floor,” Bruce piped up, which was surprising, because everyone had assumed he’d just been napping on the tabletop.
Steve frowned. “Can you maybe let me flirt on my own, guys?”
“Hey, you chose to do this in the communal room, your fault,” Clint said, before waving them away, “now shoo- go have your way with him or whatever, Steve- I don’t want to see any more of this here, I’m eating my cereal.”
Tony looked at Steve, still trying to actually conceive what was happening here. Steve just looked at him, waiting for a sign of confirmation, and when Tony gave a confused nod of his head, Steve wasted absolutely no time in sweeping him directly off his feet and into an effortless bridal carry, beginning to maneuver them both out of the communal room at a brisk pace.
Tony blinked, hands wrapping around Steve’s neck instinctively, feeling more than a little blissed out when all Steve’s warmth and softness and smell that he usually leeched off his clothes was suddenly pressed up directly against him.
“Bye,” was all Steve called out, before sliding out into the corridor and immediately pressing Tony against the wall, mouth meeting Tony’s possessively, greedily.
“You really like the clothes, huh,” Tony whispered in amazement, in between kisses.
He was kissing Steve he was kissing Steve he was kissing Steve he was kissing St-
Steve smiled, hands wandering underneath the button down and slipping around his waist. “Every time, every damn time you’d come down wearing something of mine, I wanted to do this. I thought you were doing it on purpose- you had to be. There couldn’t have been any other reason you hadn’t noticed how I reacted to it.”
Tony opened his mouth to reply, biting down on a groan between breaths, but Steve kissed him again, picking him up once more, this time by the ass, and then waiting for Tony to wrap his legs around Steve’s waist before moving them forward. “I might make you keep the shirt on, though. It looks good. Real good.My clothes always look good on you”
Tony grinned, “possessive streak, have we, Rogers?”
“You have no idea,”
“I feel like I’m about to find out, though.”
Steve smiled, smug and dirty as he kissed Tony’s neck, whispering “damn fuckin’ straight.”
Okay. So maybe the morning was looking up, after all.
I felt like doing some translation for my own enjoyment so I grabbed my Naruhodo fanbook and picked this amazing scene out from the character blog section in the back. This was written by Takumi Shuu as promo material for the original trilogy back in 2005.
Mayoi: Hey, hey Naruhodo-kun! Did you hear?
Naruhodo: Hear what? You look awfully excited.
M: Apparently we’re finally gonna make our American debut!
N: Oh, you mean the English version, huh?
M: And apparently the setting is, get this, the crime capital, Los Angeles! Isn’t it exciting?!
N: …Don’t let anyone from Los Angeles hear you call their city that. They’ll get mad.
M: Well, they have a saying there: “If you toss a rock into a crowd, it’ll hit a criminal.”
N: You do realize that the second you throw a rock into a crowd, you yourself are a criminal, right?
M: You know, Naruhodo-kun. Something about you just doesn’t do it for me…
N: Wh-what do you mean?
M: It’s your face. It wouldn’t fit the image of “the crime capital.” You’ve gotta at least dye your hair blond.
M: Ah! Come to think of it, there’s an old saying in my village.
N: Oh, I can’t wait to hear this.
M: Let’s see, they say if you wash your hair with beer, it’ll turn blond!
M: It’s a saying that’s been passed down for years, but no one’s tried it out yet.
N: All you’d need is one person to try it to know whether it’s true… That’s not much of a mystery.
M: Just wait a sec, ok? I’m gonna go buy some beer.
N: ….Um, you know, Mayoi-chan, I feel like I should just give you a heads up.
M: Hmm? about what?
N: You know this doesn’t mean we’ll be going to America ourselves, right?
M: What?! No way! Seriously?!
N: The name of the main character in the English version isn’t even “Naruhodo Ryuuichi”.
M: Aw come on! What’s his name, then?!
N: Um, if I remember correctly, it’s Phoenix Wright.
M: …Your name got changed to “Feenicks”?
N: What’s that face for?
M: I mean, look at you! You don’t look like a “Phoenix” at all.
N: You don’t think so? Personally, I think I’ve got some birdlike qualities.
M: In that case, I think they should’ve gone with “chicken” for you. Chicken lawyer.
N: Mayoi-chan… You’re in a weirdly combative mood today.
M: And you’re not nearly bright enough to earn the name “Light”
N: I’m pretty sure “Wright” and “Light” are two different words. Probably.
M: What about “Rice” instead?
N: Um, what?
M: Forget Phoenix Wright. Go with Chicken Rice.
N: Who the heck would ever name their kid that?
M: Or maybe “Fried” would be good. Chicken Fried.
N: Well, what would your name be, Mayoi-chan?
M: Me? Let’s see… My name’s Mayoi, so how about “Mayonnaise”?
N: …That actually might suit you pretty well.
M: I’m a fan of mayonnaise.
N: Chicken Fried and Mayonnaise… We sound like a pretty high calorie pair.
M: More like a delicious pair.
N: Come to think of it, what do you think Mitsurugi’s name should be?
M: Let’s see… His name is Mitsurugi Reiji, so… How about “Ray G. Mituroogi”?
N: Huh. That’s unexpectedly straightforward.
M: But it gives you a sense of his pickiness, don’t you think? Especially the “Mituroogi” part.
N: Either way, I’m pretty sure they’ll make his name totally different.
N: ? What’s up? You’re weirdly quiet all of a sudden.
M: I might’ve just thought of something amazing.
N: What’s that?
M: The perfect crime… in Los Angeles.
N: Perfect crime… You?
M: So there’s a lawyer who looks exactly like you over there in the Crime Capital, right?
N: I guess. Mr. Phoenix.
M: So for example, you could go to a restaurant and eat a whole bunch of food, like chicken rice and fried chicken with mayonnaise on it.
N: Yes, I can see it now…
M: Then when the bill comes, you can tell them you forgot your wallet at home. When someone from the staff grabs you by the scruff of your neck, you shout “I AM PHOENIX!”
N: …When I picture that scene, it looks like some serious carnage took place there.M: And then they’ll send the bill to that Attorney Phoenix guy, see?
N: …I feel like attempting a crime like that would get you stoned by someone.
M: And I could eat all the miso ramen I wanted too!
N: Unfortunately, I don’t think they have miso ramen in America.
M: Really? You think? …I wonder what American me’s favorite food is, then.
N: Who knows?
Voice: Excuse meee!
M: Oh, there’s someone at the door. Comingggg!
Delivery man: Um, I have something here for the Naruhodo and Co. Law Offices… Ah, for a Miss Mayoi. Is that you?
M: Y-yes, that’s me. What is it?
D: I work at the restaurant Burger Land, and I have a bill here for you.
M: “15 Triple Burgers at 4,500 yen a piece”… Th-this wasn’t me!
D: Sorry, but it was definitely you. You came to our shop, stuffed your mouth with burgers, and shouted “I AM MAYOI,” spraying food everywhere!
M: They got us first, Naruhodo-kun.
N: Sounds like the American you likes burgers, huh?
Warning: Stalkerish (ish), Public sex, oral sex, cursing, filth, sin, NSFW, 18+, Smut
A/N: Absolutely nothing to do with All Time Low’s song, I was just listening to it so why not? Enjoy y’all! I spent so long deciding who to give this imagine to, Scott or Stiles and Ep12 just gave me the Scott feels so !
There he was again, sitting in the same seat that he occupied every day for the last week for over three hours; he’d order four cappuccinos and one latte throughout his time in the wooden seat, and his eyes would either be fixated on the moving cars out of the full length windows or on the staff bustling around behind the counter - his eyes always lingering on your figure longer than the others.
His shaggy brown hair was always in a mess, but he was still undeniably handsome. His deep chocolate orbs would light up when your eyes connected to his, and he’d send a shy, tight-lipped smile your way. You’d blush, looking away or divert your attention to another customer at the till waiting for their order to be taking.
They called it The Sight, in the whisper soft conversation outside the darkroom or in the iron-guarded walls of the metal shop. The ways to peel back the glamours that wind around them and see what should not be seen. But my senses have always been a bit crossed, and what maybe should have manifested in silver tracework and parted veils just… never did.
I’ve never seen the fae beneath their glamour. These eyes weren’t made for anything beyond the mundane.
But I’ve smelled them.
I’ve tasted the loam and pollen and salt in the way light glints off their smile.
I’ve felt, cold against my palms, their laughter and their mirth.
I’ve heard the electric crackle of their confusion, and the shattering glass dischord of their triumph.
On cold nights, buried in blankets and furs to fight off the last lingering remnants of winter chill, I’ve played guessing games with myself. Are the girls across the hall burning incense or did the changeling downstairs bring someone home? Are the songbirds who took up residence outside my window trilling a few late night messages or did someone’s eyes and eyes and eyes catch just right in the moonlight? Did my arm fall asleep from laying on it wrong, or are there eyes watching through the window again, and now I have to get up again and triple check that there’s still a few iron nails on my window sill and that my washer-strung necklace got left over the doorknob and that the ramen flavor packets I’ve saved up haven’t been knocked off the four posts of my bed…
It was curious, and then it was frightening, and then it was boring. I learned not to eat lunch on the front lawn, because the laughter of the boys playing ball out there made my teeth ache and my tongue flood with lemon. I learned how to identify them by sight, or smell, or at worst case touch, by the music that started echoing in my ears.
It was a good tool. Useful, beautiful more often than not.
And when I found them, the one with a voice like honey and gravel and a smell like the deepest safest forest, I couldn’t see but could feel the curve of great arching horns over their head and the curl of a tail against my leg. I traded a picture for a story, and drew them while they told it, and when the exchange was made they stared at the creature I’d drawn, curling fur and light hooves and goat-slit pupils curled up in delight, like they were seeing a ghost. “The colors are wrong,” they said at last. I didn’t respond, but I worried I’d stepped too far, shown too many of my cards. “I like them,” they murmured, and leaned forward to peck a kiss on my nose. “Don’t die, sweet thing.” They turned and left, the smell of honeydew and lavender still curling in my nose, and in that moment I would have given anything to see them true, the shift and curl of their too many limbs as they walked, the glint of light off smooth horns.
They gave me a ream of origami paper, I sang them the sounds of the texture of their skin.
They gave me a marble paper weight, I gave them a chunk of wood carved to the texture of their smile.
They gave me a flower that bloomed in starlight, I mixed soaps from a trip to Lush until I could mimic the smell of their embrace.
I gave them a kiss and they offered me sight, and they tasted like hope and home, and I couldn’t have said no if I’d wanted.
You shouldn’t let the fae see you have the sight or they’ll scratch your eyes out. When the perception’s not in your eyes they have to get more creative.