#‘…… so there’s this game called our life-’

[noegrets]

I agree with these points and I want to highlight them.

I thought my attention was failing because I wasn’t strong enough as an individual and because I had been taken over by my phone. I went into a spiral of negative thoughts, reproaching myself. I’d say – you’re weak, you’re lazy, you’re not disciplined enough. I thought the solution was obvious: be more disciplined, and banish your phone.

[...] At the moment it’s as though we are all having itching powder poured over us all day, and the people pouring the powder are saying: “You might want to learn to meditate. Then you wouldn’t scratch so much.” Meditation is a useful tool – but we actually need to stop the people who are pouring itching powder on us. We need to band together to take on the forces stealing our attention and take it back.

But I also want to critique something else going on in this article. It has plenty of shades of all this technology is making us antisocial, which is bullshit. It hinges on a trip the author took with his godson in an attempt to try to break him of his supposed phone addiction.

When the godson used his phone during the trip, the author freaked out. But never did the author ask his godson what he was doing with his phone, just rawr phone bad you're an addict rawr! What if the godson was taking photos of the trip to share with his friends later? As much as phones can ruin lives, a smartphone is also a tool that can be used to make life better.

It is true that we need to fight for a right to disconnect. It's unacceptable that your boss thinks you can be contacted at all hours for a not on-call job. And we need to fight the dark patterns in phone games and social media, etc.

But, geez, the author should be embarrassed by his behavior. He was chastising complete strangers for merely privately marveling at the cool tour guide tech at Graceland. Complete strangers who were having their own conversation! And he butts in!!! To whine about all this technology!!! And he retells it like some sort of heroic moment. The poor godson must have been so embarrassed.

And I dunno if I can emphasize this enough, but his godson had an interest in Elvis when he was nine, and he asked if they could go to Graceland together when he was nine. The author didn't decide to take his godson to Graceland until he was nineteen. And he was expecting the same amount of excitement and enthusiasm?? Maybe the godson doesn't actually care about Elvis anymore. Maybe you should have taken him on this trip when it was actually relevant. Maybe you missed your chance to have a fun vacation with your godson when it mattered, and now you're blaming phones.

Your attention didn’t collapse. It was stolen by Johann Hari

[saphiccarma]

profesor wandanat x reader is so yummy 18+ under cut

Professor!Wanda who makes you sit in the front row from the very start, ignoring the way you blush

Professor!Natasha who doesn't care where you sit, as long as she can see you and you can see her.

They're both fond of calling you to office hours, especially Natasha, who has thicker walls and an office that's more hidden.

If you ever fail a test, neither of them will hesitate to bend you over their desk and spank your ass so hard you can't sit for a week.

"If you needed help studying then you should've asked," Wanda hissed in your ear, her front pressed against your back, "I'm dissapointed, you're supposed to be our smart girl."

But the aftercare that followed was the most amazing ever, filled with soft kisses peppered all over your face and words of reasurance.

"There's always next time. And we'll help you study, with certain...motivations of course."

Late nights at their house on the weekend, curled up on the couch as you study.

It starts innocent, until the two enter with wine glasses in their hands and sandwich you on the couch.

Wanda plucks the book out of your hands, despite your soft, whiney protest.

"Let's play a game, hm?" She hums, voice deceptively kind.

Wanda flips through the pages of the textbook as Natasha pulls you into her lap and you gasp as you feel the buldge of a strap.

The older red head shushes you when you squirm and try to turn around so you're straddling her.

"That's the reward," Natasha whispers in your ear, "Now focus on your studies. Pretend I'm not even here."

That instruction became increasingly harder as her hands wander along your thighs and up your shirt.

Wanda asks you questions, giving you a firm look when you stammer through an answer.

Then Natasha's hands dip below the waistband of your sweatpants and trace over your wet panties.

A low laugh echoes in your ear, "Our sweet girl is getting off on this."

All Wanda does is scoff and roll her eyes like she already knew that, which she probably did

The questions continue and so do Natasha's wandering touches until she's slowly fingering you into a fuzzy headspace.

Stammering through another answer you whimper softly, grinding on Natasha's fingers.

"Five more questions baby," Wanda chides softly, tapping your cheek to get your focus.

Those are the five hardest questions of your life, all coherent thoughts leaving your brain when Natasha touches your clit.

And her touches only get more and more pleasurable the longer you take to answer.

"Need to come," you whine at some point, squirming.

"Not until you're done," Natasha murmurs, stilling her fingers inside you for a moment, "Finish up."

Somehow, honestly you have no idea with how hazy your brain was, you manage to finish.

Then you get fucked into the mattress hard before Wanda eats you out until you can't breath anymore.

[rd0265667]

Karina as your girlfriend

✰When you first met her, you were intimidated, and thought she was way out of your league. Tall, elegant, a being that seemed almost celestial, who just waltzed into your life.

✰You were wrong, on two counts. One, she was nervous too. Arguably more nervous than you were. She plays it cool at first, but inside? Total panic mode. You’d catch her sneaking glances when she thought you weren’t looking, lips twitching as she bit back a smile

✰Second, when you finally began dating her,  you realised she was also a sleep-deprived, clingy goofball who makes weird throat noises when she’s bored and eats snacks like a Victorian orphan

✰As your girlfriend, she pulls off a very magical blend of calm and “stupid cheese cat” ness, as Aeri called it

✰To the public, she’s the cool girlfriend, but the moment the door closes, and it’s just the two of you? It’s like her system reboots and gets the blue screen of death.

✰She’d trip over her own words, cuddle into you like a sleepy kitten, and get playfully dramatic about everything.

“You watched OUR show without me??? Traitor.”

✰When she’s feeling playful, she’ll roast you with a straight face, then give you a smirk. You know the one

✰Then when you roast her back, she either out sasses you, or plays the “sad puppy Rina” card(You were never winning)

✰She loves petnames, calling you “babe” or “honey” with zero hesitation, but if you call her “princess”?

✰She breaks down faster than a shitty car on life support. I’m talking blushing, pillow to face, legs kicking all over, the whole shebang

✰When she wants/needs to take care of you, she’s surprisingly responsible and mature. She keeps you on track, reminds you to hydrate, and organises the fridge by colour coded containers

✰But then she also baby-talks your pet and makes Dino chicken nuggets for dinner so…balance

✰When you’re upset, she doesn’t always know what to do, but she’ll wrap you in her arms, rest her chin on your shoulder, and just be there.

✰It’s heaven on earth

✰Very competitive. She got all pouty once because she claims you cheated in the game.(It was rock paper scissors.)

✰She loves compliments, but acts like she hates it. 

“You’re beautiful, Rina” “Pfft, you’re so cheesy, get away.” -Literally has not stopped smiling in days

✰Shes clingy even in the most casual ways, like her hand on your thigh when she’s near you, leaning onto your side on walks, or sleeping with her face buried into your neck

✰Cuddles are a non-negotiable, but it’s not like you were gong to disagree with her anyways

✰She sends you random “Thinking about you” texts, orders your favourite food and drinks without you needing to ask, and it’s almost like she knows what you’re going to do before you do it

✰Her lockscreen is a blurry selfie of you kissing her cheek while she’s half laughing, half hiding

“Yours is me too, right?” (You better say yes)

[screamingoutjoyfuriously]

"Dear, it is ever so reassuring to hear him crow about so", sighed the Queen. "And it isn't even as though it's a particularly nice name. Jeremy." The King nodded. "The fair folk keep raising the stake you know. Why, I heard Allistair say he could make his life miserable enough to keep him sobbing for a few millennia at least."

They both looked at each other. They, in their infinite wisdom knew that humans lived a few decades at most. And then they died the poor things. "He doesn't have the time to be sounding out that pretty neck, he should be out living life" said that king sagely.

"But darling, he was our anniversary present!", pouted the Queen. "It would be inauspicious for a rooster quite so good at its duties to be dismissed." The King coughed daintily. "Normally, I'd agree my dear. But I've heard that humans who are sad for too long retire themselves from society."

Those too large eyes widened in a queer manner. "You mean," she whispered, "permanently? Is that possible?" He nodded his well furnished head. In his youth he had, amongst his peers been the best at the Permanent Retirement game. That was before he discovered the new game though.

He stared at his too young, too old queen and wondered what she would do. Her 6th eye blinked lazily. it was a pretty grey. It reminded him of steel and barbed wire. "Maybe we should let him go?", she whispered.

Oh dear. And he thought he had gotten rid of such useless feelings a long time ago. It seemed she saw herself in that prettily morbid man. After all, there were worse things than Permanent Endings.

It was just as well. He was getting tired of this Queen with her too big eyes and unfocused gaze. The new one could have 3 shoulders. He didn't want three arms like this queen though. And wasn't that a nice problem to fixate over.

Yes. This was for the best. After all, Death sat up and watched when called desperately. And he was good at the calling bit.

You have had an absolutely terrible life and decided to go to the fae realm and start screaming your name, hoping to be forgotten or erased. But instead, the king and queen of the fae have gained an odd interest in your existence.

[aventurineswife]

Is it possible for you to make reader who is just like Viktor from Arcane? In terms of personality, past and goals. With Ratio, Aventurine, The Herta, Ruan Mei and Screwllum?

An Elegance of Flaws

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Ruan Mei x Reader, The Herta x Reader, Screwllum x Reader, Viktor (from Arcane) based Reader, Collaboration, Internal Struggle, Complex Characters, Mentorship, Betrayal, Flaws & Perfection, Anonymity, Ethics of Innovation.

Warnings: Dark themes, Mentions of physical disabilities/injuries, Mentions of obsession and isolation, Mentions of manipulation and exploitation, Emotional tension, Possible self-sacrifice.

A/N: first time writing Screwllum, I still haven't watched Arcane so sorry if it's ooc

The low hum of Penacony's industrial district echoed around you, the staccato rhythm of machines matching the pace of your thoughts. You leaned on the cane in your hand, its polished wood a stark contrast to the soot-covered metal around you. As much as you despised this city, its chaos offered one thing: anonymity. But as your magenta and cyan-eyed companion sauntered into your lab, grinning like a man who’d just rolled a winning hand, anonymity was no longer an option.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the Architect of Revolution,” Aventurine teased, leaning casually against your workbench. His glasses caught the dim light, making his smile even more maddening. “I heard rumors, but I didn’t think even you would risk your name for this. Creating miracles in the slums while dodging the IPC’s gaze? Bold.”

Your jaw tightened as you placed your notes down. "And yet here you are. What’s your game this time, Aventurine? Here to gloat? Or to use my work as another one of your high-stakes gambles?"

His grin faltered for the briefest moment. “Why not both?” He pulled a gold chip from his pocket, flipping it between his fingers. “I know what you’re trying to do, [Name]. Reinvent life, strip it of its flaws, make the world… fairer. It’s noble. Impossible, but noble.”

You turned sharply, the familiar ache in your leg forcing you to adjust your stance. “Impossible is your specialty, isn’t it? You wouldn’t be here unless you saw an angle to exploit.”

Aventurine’s expression softened, his usual flamboyance replaced by something quieter. “Exploiting you? No. I admire you, actually. You’ve taken the cards fate dealt you and reshuffled the deck. But… I’m worried you’ll bet everything and lose yourself in the process. Believe me, I know how that feels.”

You stared at him, searching for mockery but finding none. The mask he wore, the calculated charm, cracked just enough to reveal something raw underneath. Despite yourself, you laughed bitterly. “Coming from the man who’d gamble his soul on a coin toss?”

His grin returned, but it was tinged with regret. “Touché. But if you’re risking it all, maybe let me play too. Two minds like ours? We could rewrite the rules together.”

The vast dome of the Intelligentsia Guild library stretched above you, its vaulted ceiling painted with constellations of knowledge. Rows of books and holographic interfaces surrounded you, but your focus was on the intricate mechanism before you—a device meant to stabilize organic matter during transformation. It was your life's work, but even now, it felt incomplete.

“Your equations lack elegance,” a voice called from behind. You turned, finding Ratio standing there, arms crossed, his hair catching the soft glow of the library's lights. His eyes were sharp as ever.

You leaned on your cane, raising an eyebrow. “If you’re here to critique, Dr. Ratio, don’t bother. Elegance is secondary to functionality.”

He stepped closer, examining the device with a critical eye. “Functionality without elegance is like a star that doesn’t shine. It works, but it doesn’t inspire.” He glanced at you. “Your mind is exceptional. Why settle for mediocrity?”

You frowned, turning back to your notes. “Because inspiration doesn’t save lives. This will.”

Ratio’s gaze softened, though his tone remained precise. “And yet, your obsession with saving lives blinds you to the consequences. I’ve read your research, [Name]. You want to fix the flaws in humanity, but at what cost? How much of yourself will you sacrifice before you realize perfection doesn’t exist?”

You slammed your hand on the table, the frustration boiling over. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve lived my entire life shackled by imperfection—my body, my past, this broken world. I’m not chasing perfection. I’m chasing freedom.”

Silence fell between you, broken only by the faint hum of machinery. Ratio sighed, stepping closer. “Freedom is a worthy pursuit. But even the greatest minds need a foundation, someone to steady them when they falter.” He placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. “Let me be that for you.”

For a moment, you allowed yourself to believe him, to imagine a partnership that didn’t end in betrayal or loss. “If you’re offering your help,” you said quietly, “be prepared to see the worst of me.”

Ratio smiled faintly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

The lab was cold, the sterile white walls reflecting the icy demeanor of its sole occupant. Ruan Mei stood at the far end, her eyes fixed on a series of holographic projections detailing the evolution of a new species she’d been cultivating. She didn’t look up as you entered, though you knew she’d registered your presence.

“You’re late,” she said, her voice as cool as the lab’s atmosphere. “I thought precision was important to you.”

Leaning on your cane, you gave a faint smirk. “And I thought warmth was important to life, yet here we are.”

Her gaze flicked toward you, a faint twitch of her lips betraying amusement. “Touché. What brings you here, [Name]? Surely you have more pressing experiments than interrupting mine.”

You moved to the workstation beside hers, placing your prototype on the surface. “I need your insight. The molecular structure is stable, but the integration process fails every time. I thought… maybe you’d see something I don’t.”

She studied you for a long moment, her usually impassive face betraying a hint of curiosity. “You’re admitting you need help? That’s… unexpected.”

You chuckled, though the sound was bitter. “Even I have limits, Ruan Mei. I just hate that I’m reminded of them so often.”

She stepped closer, her hands brushing over the device. “Limits are what define us. They’re also what drive us to innovate.” Her eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw something other than cold intellect—a flicker of understanding, even kinship. “You remind me of myself, in a way. Always chasing something… unattainable.”

“Perfection?” you asked quietly.

“Meaning,” she corrected. Her voice softened, and she turned back to the device. “Let me help you, [Name]. Not because I think you’ll succeed, but because I want to see what happens when two flawed minds work together.”

You hesitated, the weight of her words settling over you. “Fair enough,” you said finally. “But don’t expect me to share credit.”

She smirked faintly. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The dim light of the mechanized workshop cast long shadows across the intricate gears and cogs spread across your desk. The soft, rhythmic tick of the clock overhead was your only companion as you tinkered with the device before you. The design was elegant but flawed, its energy distribution uneven, its purpose incomplete. You sighed, leaning heavily on your cane, the ache in your leg a familiar reminder of your own imperfections.

A voice interrupted the quiet. Smooth, refined, and tinged with amusement. “You’re going to wear yourself out, [Name]. Even the greatest minds require rest.”

You didn’t look up. “Rest doesn’t bring progress, Screwllum.”

He stepped into the light, his polished frame catching the glow of your desk lamp. His cape swayed as he moved, and his hat tilted slightly, casting a shadow over his glowing eyes. His presence was commanding yet unintrusive, like a puzzle piece slipping perfectly into place.

Screwllum examined your work with a calculating gaze. “You’ve overcompensated for the energy loss in the auxiliary channels. It’s elegant but redundant.” He paused, his head tilting slightly. “Much like your insistence on bearing every burden alone.”

You bristled, gripping your cane tighter. “And what would you know about burdens, Screwllum? You, with your perfectly crafted design and flawless movements.”

He knelt beside you, his mechanical hand tracing the device’s intricate patterns. “More than you might think. Perfection is an illusion, [Name]. One I’ve spent lifetimes chasing. But in my pursuit, I’ve come to realize something.” He glanced up at you, his cyan gaze piercing. “It’s the flaws that make the design meaningful.”

Your jaw tightened. “Meaning doesn’t solve problems. It doesn’t make the world better.”

“Perhaps not,” he admitted, standing gracefully. “But neither does burning yourself out in isolation. Let me help. Together, we might find a solution even you couldn’t imagine alone.”

For a moment, you hesitated. The pride that kept you locked in your solitude warred with the small, desperate part of you that longed for understanding. Finally, you stepped aside, gesturing to the device. “If you think you can improve it, be my guest.”

Screwllum smiled, a faint flicker of light in his expression. “Consider it a collaboration.”

And as his mechanical hands worked alongside yours, for the first time in a long while, the weight on your shoulders felt just a little lighter.

The faint light of the workshop filled the room, its ever-expanding landscapes swirling in holographic projections around you. You leaned on your cane, staring at the interface with a mixture of awe and frustration. The calculations refused to align, their inconsistencies gnawing at your mind like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

“Fascinating,” a voice drawled behind you. “Even someone as brilliant as you can stumble.”

You turned sharply, finding Herta lounging against the doorway, her arms crossed and a bemused smile playing on her lips. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and her hair framed a face that seemed untouched by the years. She looked entirely too amused by your struggle.

“I wasn’t aware I’d invited an audience,” you said dryly, adjusting your stance to ease the ache in your leg. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Madam Herta?”

She sauntered closer, her dress swishing around her ankles. “I heard rumors that the infamous [Name] was working on something groundbreaking. Naturally, I had to see if they were true.” Her gaze flicked to the calculations on your screen. “And I must say, I’m not disappointed.”

You frowned, turning back to the interface. “If you’re here to gloat, save it. I don’t have time for games.”

“Gloat?” she repeated, feigning offense. “I would never. I’m simply curious. You’re like a puzzle, [Name]. A broken masterpiece trying to make the world whole. It’s… endearing.”

Your grip on your cane tightened. “Spare me the poetry, Herta. If you have something useful to contribute, say it. Otherwise—”

“Otherwise what?” she interrupted, stepping closer. Her voice softened, losing its playful edge. “You’ll keep pushing yourself until there’s nothing left? Don’t pretend I don’t see the parallels, [Name]. You’re chasing perfection just like I did. And it will cost you.”

You glared at her, the anger bubbling up despite the quiet truth of her words. “What would you have me do, then? Abandon my work? Watch people suffer because I wasn’t strong enough to finish what I started?”

“No,” she said simply. “I’d have you remember that genius doesn’t mean isolation. Even the brightest stars shine brighter with others around them.” She placed a hand on your shoulder, her touch unexpectedly gentle. “Let me help you, [Name]. Not because I think you need it, but because I want to see what someone like you can achieve when they’re not carrying the weight of the world alone.”

You stared at her, searching for the mockery you’d expected but finding none. Slowly, you nodded. “Fine. But don’t get in my way.”

Herta smiled, a glimmer of triumph in her eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

[flowercrownsandherondales]

Against the Odds, Pt. 12

And welcome back to hell! This one should be fun. As always would love to hear everyone’s thoughts. Thanks for sticking around!

XII: You Do It To Yourself. 

Winter always brought an influx of peacekeepers. 

People were desperate. In the spring and summer the warmth and smell of wildflowers could distract people from the gnawing hunger in their stomachs. The games would put them on edge, worried about their children. In the fall we had the festival to look forward to, some kind of celebration after the pain of the games. 

But in the winter? Nothing. 

The chill of the wind made my bones ache as I pulled my coat tighter. Haymitch and I had been doing our gentle dance for 6 months now, and we’d fallen into an easy rhythm. Most of my nights were spent at his house rather than mine. I was perfectly fine with that, the memories of Wiley, ma and pa threatened to overtake me when I was there alone anyways. 

Still, I made sure I spent at least a night or two a week at the shack, waiting for Burdock or Katniss to show up and check if everything was alright. 

He hadn’t asked any other questions about Haymitch and I. Their friendship and the eventual dissolution of it was still a sore spot, one that probably would never be repaired. He acknowledged it in one small way, silently dropping off whatever he’d shot or plucked with a little muslin satchel. I’d furrowed my brows at first, little seeds falling into my palm with a note tucked into it. 

Take 1 carrot root seed for 7 days after intimacy. 

I exploded into a blushing mess, silently thanking Astrid the next time I saw her in the square. She’d waved me off when I tried to give her money for it, simply saying that it was good to see me with color in my cheeks again. 

Each day I was feeling just a smidge settled, but nowhere close to healed. I knew I probably would never feel good again, I’d spend the rest of my life similar to Haymitch, clinging to the past while it haunted my every move. 

Still, life with the alcoholic victor wasn’t the worst thing imaginable. If I was being honest with myself, it was the opposite. If only I was comfortable with the truth. 

I walked through the hob, picking up a new pack of cigarettes, a bottle of white liquor I shoved into my coat, and two hand pies Sae had made with a mystery meat I didn’t want to think about. I spent the walk through the seam trying to convince myself it was some kind of deer Burdock had shot and sold. 

The square was busy today, a crowd of people standing around as my boots led me through it to Victor’s Village. I was planning on ignoring it, focusing on getting back to Haymitch and out of the cold as quickly as possible. That was until I heard the ear piercing scream of a child. 

I shot around, pushing through the group of people surrounding the temporary whipping post that had been set up in the past few weeks with the new arrival of peacekeepers. They’d made a big show about it, calling us all down to the spot we stood now and lecturing on the punishment for stealing, distributing and hunting illegally, and a plethora of other made up charges. 

People around me parted slightly so I could get a good look at who was strung to the post today. 

A thin little girl cowered below the peacekeeper, her hands strung up in cuffs as he read the charges of petty theft to her, assigning 12 lashes for her crimes. A loaf of bread laid discarded near her feet, no doubt shoved in her coat pocket, which had been torn off her and thrown to the ground. The girl struggled in her cuffs as he reached for the buttons at the back of her dress, no doubt about to rip one of the only articles of clothing she owned so he could gain access to her skin for the whipping. 

Her gray eyes were wild, frantically trying to find anyone in the crowd to save her. She begged and pleaded, kicking her broken and barely patched boots on the gravel as she screamed. I looked around for a minute, giving the crowd of emotionless people a horrified look. 

All I could see was Wiley. She was about the same age as he was, shivering and terrified. I could imagine my boy, strung up on a pole and begging for someone to help him. My boy, laying in a pool of his own blood, light long gone from his gray eyes. 

Before the peacekeeper could get the last button undone I stepped in. 

“Let me take her punishment for her.” I begged, my face hardened at the older man in white. His brows furrowed, scoffing at my act of martyrdom. 

“Please. She’s a child.” His eyes narrowed at that. When has Panem ever cared about children?

The little girl sobbed while she watched the encounter from the corner of her eyes. The peacekeeper huffed, motioning for his partner to let her go. 

“Fine. It’s all the same. Strip off your coat.” He said, pointing the whip to the ground where the little girl scrambled to get her own coat, not bothering with the piece of bread. I gave her half a smile and mouthed “Go home now.” This was the last thing she needed to see. 

She didn’t get very far before the other peacekeeper snatched her arms, holding her still in front of me. 

“Your punishment is to watch. Every inch of her blood that spills is on your hands.” He whispered gruffly, ignoring the tears that streamed down her face. 

A boot landed on my back, shoving me to the ground as the cuffs locked around my wrists. He ripped my shirt with a knife, splaying the cotton open as he readied the whip. I closed my eyes, taking a shuddering breath as it sliced through the air and down onto my freezing skin. 

The first few were tough, but manageable. 

The blood hadn’t started until the fourth strike, flesh ripping open and starting to drip onto the pavement. 

I held strong onto the poll until he hit the seventh strike. The sounds of the little girl sobbing and screaming became background noise my ears could barely register. My body slumped forward, forehead thumping against the metal. 

More ripping, more blood carried out the last five hits. 

I was barely hanging on once it stopped. The peacekeeper folded the weapon, flicking off the blood before he shoved it in its holder and motioned for her partner to cut me free. The little girl was released, whimpering apologies before she took off in the direction of her home. 

I had no ability to support my body weight, crumpling forward and hitting the ground. The blood that pooled off of me coated my dress, seeping into the fabric. That’s going to be impossible to clean. 

The peacekeepers left after a warning to the crowd, people starting to clear off. The smell of herbs and coal hit my nose, soft hands tapping on my cheeks to try and wake me from my stupor. I moaned, full of agony. 

“Katniss, go tell your mother.” Burdock barked. I didn’t even see the little girl with him, half sobbing as I was rolled into his arms. 

“I know. It’s awful. Astrid has the morphling ready.” He cooed, trying his best not to jostle me while keeping a steady pace to his home. He didn’t say anything after that, or I didn’t hear it. My head lulled back and forth as he walked, pushing his door open with his boot as Astrid braced herself. 

“It’s bad.” She murmured, stroking my hair as he laid me down on my stomach. I wasn’t aware of the sounds I was making, but I could only imagine they were inhuman from the look on Burdock and Astrid’s faces. 

The blonde woman ordered her two daughters around, pointing out different disinfectants and bandages she needed. I felt pinpricks directly into the wounds, morphling flooding my system and taking the edge off the blinding pain. My head was coaxed up lovingly, Burdock grimacing while he placed his belt between my teeth. “Here we go.” He whispered, grabbing both of my hands to hold me to the table. 

The bliss of morphling only lasted a second before disinfectant was poured into the gaping slashes on my back. 

I clenched against the leather, screaming and thrashing in Burdock’s grip. Fire exploded through every nerve in my spine, every tendon and muscle soaking up the alcohol and lighting it up. 

Burdock turned his head to look at Katniss, who was shell shocked behind him, trembling hands nearly dropping the gauze and bandages. “Go to Victor’s Village, tell Haymitch what happened and that he needs to get down here.” 

She barely moved, eyes wide and threatening to cry. “Go.” He repeated, voice harsh and set. I’d never seen him talk to her like that. She snapped, nodding over and over again before setting the bandages beside her mother at my back and taking off in a sprint. 

Prim seemed to have a steadier stomach, carefully handing her mother a needle and thread as she asked for them. I was numb to the stitching, drifting in and out of consciousness as Burdock held my hands tight, letting his wife work in silence. 

I didn’t feel the belt slip from my mouth, my body going slack just as the door opened and Katniss led Haymitch in. He stopped abruptly, eyes landing on me in horror. 

“Sor-sorry” I mumbled, head hitting the table, my body finally giving out. 

I woke to the feeling of water dripping down my hips. 

Ice was packed on top of the bandages, cooling down the fire from earlier. My fingers hung limply off the table, tangled in my hair. 

I groaned, the noise alerting the figure in front of me. 

Haymitch looked wrecked, tracking me as I stretched out my arms. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees and clasping his hands together in front of his lips. 

“What possessed you to do something like that?” his voice was wicked, filled with a barely contained fury. I huffed, looking at the table below me as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. 

“She was just a kid. You saw what 12 lashes did to me, imagine what it would have done to her.” My voice could barely reach above a whisper, throat raw from screaming. 

He sighed at that, knowing as well as I did how disfigured it would have made a small body like that. She was so thin, the lacerations surely would have broken skin and bone. 

“Being a martyr will get you killed, Y/N.” His voice was full of fear, eyes shining with unshed tears. 

“Everything will get you killed.” I retorted, my eyes closing, the effort of staying awake hitting me all at once. 

He didn’t argue with that, only took my hand and squeezed as if I was his only lifeline. In a million ways, I was. 

Somewhere in the haze of sleep I was rebandaged, shot with more morphling, and was taken into Haymitch’s arms to be carried to his house. Astrid gave him instructions and another roll of gauze, stroking my hair again and placing a sweet kiss on my forehead. I was wrapped in blankets that smelled familiar, whiskey and musk that made me think of home. I faintly recognized them in my haze, the same soft yarn that held me after the autumn festival. 

I fully awoke in a bed I wasn’t familiar with. Light filtered through the drawn curtains, pillows stacked behind me and a chair pulled up beside me,  as if someone spent the night fretting at my bedside. 

The door creaked, heavy steps peering in to see if I was awake, and frantic once they realized I was. 

Haymitch held a bowl of soup in his hands, his eyes bloodshot and the smell of alcohol more prevalent than it had been for the last few weeks. He sat softly, as if he was trying his best not to disturb me. The bowl was set on the bedside table, his hand taking mine instead. He brought my knuckles to his lips, leaving gentle kisses littering my hand. 

“Didn’t know you knew how to cook.” I said, eyeing up the steaming broth and fighting off a stomach growl. He let out a watery chuckle, kissing my hand again before picking the bowl back up and picking up a bit on the spoon. He blew on it before pressing it to my lips, which I greedily accepted. 

“How do you think I fed myself over the years?” He muttered, all his focus on spoon feeding me the most basic broth I’d ever tasted. 

“Figured you used all those winnings and convinced some poor soul to cook for you.” My lips broke into a soft grin, accepting spoonful after spoonful. 

He ignored my jab, setting the bowl back down once I finished it off. His hands went to his trousers, wiping them and releasing a heavy sigh. His eyes just studied me for a moment, tracing the bandages wrapped around my chest like instead of a shirt. 

“Oh sweet pea…” he murmured, his voice cracking at the end. I reached for his shaking hand again, cradling it in mine, listening to his heavy breaths catch. 

“I’m okay. We’re okay. I’m here, safe in your bed.” I left a kiss on his palm after each affirmation, searching his eyes to see if my comfort was hitting home. 

He slumped forward, a contained sob slash wheeze leaving his lips. What it must have brought up for him, seeing me laying on that table unconscious. The one thing he’d allowed himself to have, nearly gone. 

It took Haymitch several minutes to soothe himself.

Once he did, I patted the side of the bed as I had a few months ago. 

“I shouldn’t. You’re still healing.” He muttered, his brain working overtime to stop himself. 

“You aren’t going to cause more damage by sleeping next to me.” I rationalized, still pleading with him. He shook his head, reigned to the fact that I wouldn’t give up until I won, and stripping himself down to lay beside me. 

There was no pulling me close, no heavy kisses to my neck. We both yearned for it, but the stitches in my back begged to differ. Instead we settled for holding each other's hands, letting the sweet feel of warmth travel from our palms to our chests, a lullaby of I’m here. I didn’t die like the rest rocking us both to sleep. 

In the morning Haymitch would find a single white rose left at his doorstep, a tag attached to the stem. Wishing her a speedy recovery. 

[waytootiredstudent]

I can explain this meme I made to you? It is not going where you think it is!

Sure drunkenness might have something to do with how our world is the way it is now BUT!

This is not about wine, this is about the way wine is made! Specifically that the first printing press was inspired/based on a winepress!

Being able to copy and share large quantities of information kick-started a lot of our modern world! Books being more available and later pamphlets and newspaper allowed information sharing in a way that has never been seen before.

Although, side note, it's not the invention of the printing press that made the impact, it's the invention of moveable letters for that press so you could easily and quickly set different texts. Before that you would've needed to have a whole block of for example wood, cut into the exact shape of the words that you wanted. Those prints would've only been useable for a couple of times, so it wasn't really worth the effort. Copying by hand was still faster and less expensive.

But the moveable letters ohoho yeah they changed the game. Suddenly you could not only afford to copy and distribute texts that were a sure thing like the Bible, you could afford to print anything that you could set in letters! The ability later with newspapers allowed the same information to be shared over a lot of people at the same time! It was huge.

You can see traces of this practice to this day in every day life. Look at upper case and lower case.

(Source)

Upper case because they were Up in the Case. There's a lot of language surrounding typesetting (see?) that is still actively used today!

Another funfact because I am already talking about it:

It was to be avoided to only have one line on either the end or the beginning of a page. In German these things are called Schusterjunge and Hurenkind. Lit translation: cobberlers apprentice and whore child(bastard).

(the English words for it are orphan and widow. I like the German ones better)

So in conclusion, fermented grape juice is the reason you can now go on Tumblr and have individual letters to go and be a clown!

hey say something nice to me

[madlori]

You guys, the end of this hockey season is taking months off my life.

So this is the final week of the NHL season. It's pretty common that by this point, all the playoff berths have been decided.

WELL NOT THIS FUCKING YEAR. This year we have a last minute contested spot - the second wild card spot in the Eastern Conference. And one of the teams vying for it is MY TEAM, the Columbus Blue Jackets.

Right now Ottawa and Montreal have the two wild card spots in the Eastern conference. Columbus is the next team in line. Note that both Montreal and Columbus have one game remaining. Columbus is two points back.

Two games ago? Columbus was FIVE points back and everyone assumed it was over even if they weren't mathematically eliminated.

Then they won two in a row, acquiring four points, and Montreal lost two, one in overtime, acquiring one point. That brings us to the 89-87 situation we have now.

You see the pickle we are in.

For Columbus to make the playoffs, Montreal must lose their final game, and Columbus must win theirs. In addition, Montreal must lose in regulation (as in, not in overtime) and Columbus must also win in regulation. See that column labeled RW? That's regulation wins, the first tiebreaker. Because if Montreal loses in regulation (for zero points) and Columbus wins (for two points), they'll be tied for points - but Columbus will have 30 RW to Montreal's 29 and they will get the playoff berth. If Columbus wins in overtime, they'll still only have 29 RW. The next tiebreaker is ROW, regulation-and-overtime wins (which excludes wins via shootout). Montreal wins in that case.

Montreal plays tomorrow, Wednesday the 16th. Columbus plays their final game on Thursday the 17th.

A game to which I have tickets.

If Montreal wins tomorrow, it's over, and our final game will just be for the vibes.

Here's the bad news.

Montreal's final game is against the Carolina Hurricanes. Now, the Canes are safely in the playoffs, and have no reason to exert themselves. They will probably sit some of their best players (so as not to risk any of them being injured right before the postseason) - I've heard they've called up 4 players from their minor league team. The game is also in Montreal at the Bell Centre, one of hockey's spiritual homes and one of the most intimidating arenas for visiting teams. On the other hand, in their last 15 meetings, Montreal is 2-10-3 against Carolina. And sometimes the minor league call-ups really step up when they get That Call to come play in the big show and really surprise everyone. It's a shot for them to distinguish themselves and maybe make the NHL roster next season.

Still, I don't feel super optimistic that the Canes will win. But Montreal is somewhat known for choking when the pressure's on. We'll see.

If they lose, hoo boy.

The entire league will be watching Thursday's Blue Jackets game. They are playing the New York Islanders, who were eliminated from the playoffs a few weeks ago and have nothing to play for - except maybe spite as spoiling CBJ's playoff hopes.

No matter what happens, CBJ has had a hell of a season, much better than anyone predicted, and the future's looking bright. TWO of our young players had 30 goal seasons (for hockey forwards, 20 goals in a season is a good, reliable goal scorer and very valuable; 30 goals is phenomenal, 40 is a superstar and 50 is a generational talent). And because of reasons they had to call up our minor league starter goalie last week -- and in three games he has allowed ONE goal and pitched two shut-outs. So, yeah.

If Thursday ends up being a "we win this and we're in the playoffs" game, I don't know if my body can handle the stress.

[nabi-unveiled]

Ten of My Favorite Ships

I was tagged by @delesaria-blog and @watchthisqqq which...yay! I love tag games. It's like a card in the mail. I'm always down for a reason to make a list.

The Real Rules: Without naming them, post a gif of ten of your favorite ships (any media). Tag as many people as possible to do the same!

The Ships: If it were yesterday or tomorrow, this list would probably look different.

He's a leaf on the wind that always supports his warrior woman.

The manga is extremely problematic. But I love the live action version featuring my Queen of Darkness and her Dazzling Light. (Note: I had to create my own gif for this one which is why it's terrible.)

Words may be optional, but they NEED each other.

I like to collect pretty things too.

Color-coded boys are great. But also - I've never related to a character so much as our man in black. We may be called robots, but we have feelings. We just struggle to understand them.

Their past life sucked, but this one is promising. Plus...desserts.

They find their way back to each other eventually. I don't accept other possibilities. I have a lot of head canon for this one.

They're a matching set. What one has in excess, the other desperately needs.

No words needed.

Weirdos the both of them. But they're my weirdos.

Just in case you wanted more information on how I made the decisions or wondered why the couples I obviously hyperfixated on were not on the list....

My Rules: I stuck to shows. I had to think of them without looking anything up. I had to love BOTH characters. I had to want them together and think that being together was the BEST possible outcome for them. It had to be more about the ship itself than the ocean. In other words, it had to be about the couple rather than the show. Additionally, I disqualified anything that was on the list of my two taggers found here and here even though I LOVE a lot of those ships, and that stupid rule made this much harder. But how could I know they weren't primarily in my brain from seeing those lists? I questioned that logic later, but I was already committed.

Note: Not naming/tagging the show is KILLING me. I want to know what these shows are that I see other people posting if I don't immediately recognize them. Give me the recs! 😂

Tagging: @dramalove247 @dribs-and-drabbles @iguessitsjustme Have you done this one yet? No pressure obviously. Also anyone who sees it and wants to play, consider yourself tagged 💖.

[ovrour]

SIX YEARS, ONE MOMENT. ─── Matt B. Sturniolo

#FEATURING… Matt sturniolo, and Y/n Alova

#SUMMARY . . . Matt has liked Y/N since sixth grade but never had the courage to tell her. Finally, he asks her out, nervous but sincere, and to his joy, she says yes, revealing she’d been waiting for him to ask all along

#CATEGORY . . . fluff!!!

#WC . . . 1.8k

#SONG OF CHOICE . . . Just the way you are by Bruno Mars.

I’ve known Matt Sturniolo for as long as I can remember. Our friendship started in the neighborhood park’s sandbox, where we spent endless afternoons building castles and laughing until we could barely breathe. As we grew older, our bond only deepened, but I always sensed something more in the way he looked at me—something he never said out loud. Matt was my best friend, my partner in crime, the person who could turn my worst day around with a single smile. Yet, a part of me wondered if he was afraid to say what I sometimes felt in the air between us.

High school was a blur of shared moments. We went to school dances together, cheered each other on at games and events, and had countless late-night talks that stretched into the early morning. But despite the closeness, Matt never crossed the invisible line of friendship. It was maddening at times, especially when I caught myself imagining what it would be like if he did. He was the person I turned to when life got overwhelming, yet he was also the one who unknowingly made my heart ache with hope.

Now, with senior prom just around the corner, something felt different. Matt had called me earlier, his voice unusually serious as he asked to meet at our favorite park bench. He sounded nervous, which only made my heart race in anticipation. Was this finally it?

When I arrived, Matt was already there, holding a small bouquet of daisies—my favorite. His face lit up when he saw me, but there was an undeniable tension in his posture.

“Hey, Matt,” I greeted, smiling as I approached. “You sounded so serious on the phone. What’s going on?”

He shifted on his feet, his hands gripping the flowers tightly. “Hey, Y/n. Thanks for coming.”

I sat down beside him, studying his expression. “Of course. Are you okay? You look nervous.”

He took a deep breath and turned to face me. “Y/n, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time.” He handed me the daisies, his hands trembling slightly. My heart skipped a beat.

“I like you,” he said, his voice steady despite the obvious effort it took. “I’ve liked you for as long as I can remember, and I’ve been too scared to say anything because I didn’t want to ruin what we have. But I can’t keep it to myself anymore. You’re my best friend, Y/n, but I want us to be more than that. If you feel the same way, I’d really like to take you to prom as more than just friends.”

For a moment, I was too stunned to speak. My mind raced, trying to process his words. Was this really happening? Then, a grin broke across my face, and I couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“Matt, you’re such an idiot,” I said, shaking my head. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that?”

His eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

“I like you too,” I admitted, feeling my cheeks heat up. “I’ve been too scared to say anything for the same reasons. But yes, I’d love to go to prom with you. And yes, I’d love to be your girlfriend.”

The relief and joy on his face were unmistakable. He let out a laugh, his smile brighter than I’d ever seen. “Really? You mean it?”

I nodded, stepping closer to him. “Really.”

Before I could say anything else, he leaned in, and our lips met in a gentle, hesitant kiss. My heart raced as I kissed him back, the world around us fading away. It was everything I’d hoped for and more, a moment that felt like it had been years in the making. When we finally pulled away, I couldn’t stop smiling, and neither could he.

We stayed at the park for hours that day, talking and laughing like we always did but with an added layer of vulnerability and joy. The sun set behind us, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange as we made our way home, hand in hand. Everything felt new and exciting, as if the world had shifted to make room for this new chapter in our lives.

The days that followed were nothing short of magical. Matt and I spent hours talking about everything—how long we’d kept our feelings hidden, the moments when we had almost said something, and the dreams we now shared. Prom night came, and it was like a scene from a fairytale. Matt showed up in a sharp suit, holding another bouquet of daisies, and the way he looked at me made my heart flutter. I wore a dress that I knew he’d love, and the look in his eyes when he saw me made every minute of preparation worth it.

At prom, we danced to every song, our laughter mingling with the music. There was something surreal about being there together, surrounded by our classmates but feeling like we were the only two people in the room. When the slow songs played, he held me close, his arms wrapped around me as if he never wanted to let go. In those moments, I felt like I was living a dream I never wanted to wake up from.

But it wasn’t just prom night that made everything special. It was the small, quiet moments—the way Matt would grab my hand when no one was looking, the way his eyes lit up when he saw me in the morning, and the way he made me feel like the most important person in the world. Being with Matt felt natural, like coming home after a long journey. It was as if everything in our lives had been leading up to this, to us.

As summer approached, we started making plans for the future. College, road trips, and all the adventures we wanted to have together. We talked about visiting our favorite places from childhood, like the park where it all started, and exploring new destinations we’d dreamed about. Each plan we made felt like a promise, a declaration of the life we wanted to build together.

One afternoon, as we sat beneath the old oak tree in the park, Matt took my hand and traced circles on my palm. “Do you ever think about where we’ll be in ten years?” he asked, his voice soft but full of hope.

I smiled, leaning my head on his shoulder. “All the time. I see us happy, wherever we are. Maybe with a little house, a dog, and too many pictures on the walls.”

“And daisies,” he added with a grin. “Lots of daisies.”

“Of course,” I laughed. “Always daisies.”

Those moments, simple yet profound, reminded me of why I fell for Matt in the first place. He wasn’t just my boyfriend; he was my best friend, my confidant, and the person who knew me better than anyone else. Every day with him felt like a gift, a new chapter in our story.

As the summer days turned into nights, we spent hours beneath the stars, talking about our dreams and fears. We made a pact to always communicate, to never let fear keep us from being honest with each other again. It felt like the start of something unbreakable, a love that would weather any storm.

By the time fall came and we prepared to head off to college, I knew that no matter where life took us, Matt and I would always find our way back to each other. We packed up our lives with the promise of weekly calls, visits during the holidays, and handwritten letters. As we stood on the threshold of a new adventure, we didn’t see it as a goodbye but as the beginning of something even greater.

The transition to college was daunting, but Matt and I tackled it with determination. We video-called each other almost every night, updating each other on classes, new friends, and life in general. On weekends when we could, we’d meet halfway between our campuses, spending hours exploring small towns or simply enjoying each other’s company. Those visits became my anchor in the whirlwind of college life.

On one of those weekends, we found a small coffee shop tucked away in a quiet corner of a bustling city. It became our secret spot, a place where we could escape the pressures of school and just be together. Over cups of coffee and shared pastries, we talked about everything—from our dreams for the future to silly memories from our childhood. It felt like time stood still in that little shop, the world outside fading into a blur.

As the years passed, Matt and I grew even closer. We faced challenges together, from difficult classes to the uncertainty of what lay beyond college. Yet, through it all, our love only deepened. We celebrated each other’s victories, no matter how small, and supported each other through setbacks. It was during those years that I realized just how much Matt meant to me—not just as a boyfriend, but as a partner in every sense of the word.

One summer evening, as we sat on the rooftop of my apartment building, watching the city lights twinkle below, Matt took my hand. “Y/n,” he began, his voice soft but steady. “I know we’re still figuring things out, but there’s one thing I’m absolutely sure of—I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at him, my heart swelling with love. “Matt,” I whispered, “I feel the same way. Always.”

From that moment on, our future felt even brighter. We began planning not just for the next few years, but for a lifetime together. The thought of building a life with Matt filled me with a sense of joy and contentment I’d never known before.

By the time we graduated, we knew we wanted to take the next step. We found a cozy apartment in the city, filling it with mismatched furniture, plants, and, of course, plenty of daisies. Our home became a reflection of us—imperfect but full of love and laughter.

Life wasn’t always easy. There were times when work got stressful, or when we disagreed about something trivial. But no matter what, we always found our way back to each other, holding onto the love that had brought us together in the first place. Each challenge we faced only made us stronger, reinforcing the bond we’d built over the years.

Looking back, it’s incredible to think about how far we’ve come—from two kids playing in a sandbox to partners building a life together. Matt is still my best friend, my confidant, and the person who makes me laugh when I need it most. And as I sit here, reflecting on our journey, I know that our story is far from over. With Matt by my side, I’m ready for whatever comes next.

© ovrour

taglist : @flouvela @sturniolosarethebest @stvrnmc @missmimii (comment if you wanna be added!!)

divider creds : @bernardsbendystraws

[nightbornfeyre]

Media literacy is so important when it comes to understanding books, characters, authorial intent, and the deeper themes behind a story.

Let me give you a perfect example. I was 16, sitting in literature class. I’ve always been a reader—books have been part of my life since forever. My aunt is an editor, so I grew up surrounded by Lord of the Rings, Game of Thrones, Harry Potter, The Divine Comedy—you name it. Reading wasn’t just a hobby, it was part of who I was.

It was the first day of class, and not everyone in that room was a reader. The teacher, trying to encourage reading, asked, “How many of you read regularly?” No one raised their hand. Then she gave us a book to read and told us to analyze it—write about the author’s message and intent. Later, she’d ask us questions based on our understanding.

When the day came, it was embarrassing. She made us stand in a circle and called each student to the center to read their interpretation. Almost everyone was just... making stuff up. You could tell they didn’t really get it. And I’m not trying to brag here, but I was the only one who actually understood the book and what the author was trying to say. The teacher was stunned. She asked, “Do you read a lot?” And I said, “Yeah, I do.” And she just nodded like, Yeah, that explains it.

That’s the thing—media literacy matters.

I see this all the time online—people making wild theories on TikTok, Instagram, Tumblr. And sure, interpretation can be subjective, but only up to a point. Once it strays too far from the text and the author's intent, once it becomes more about personal headcanons than the actual story, that’s not interpretation anymore. That’s projection. That’s not paying attention.

Especially with audiobooks—if you're multitasking while listening, half the time you're missing key details. And then people wonder why they didn’t get the plot or misunderstood the character.

We need to bring back critical thinking and slow, intentional reading. Reading isn’t just about consuming a story—it’s about understanding it.

there’s a reason why some people in this fandom (acotar) have outrageous and nonsensical theories, and that reason is that acotar is a lot of people’s first fantasy book or just their first book altogether.

you can clearly tell when someone doesn’t usually read / is just starting, by what they take away from what they have read. take my best friend as an example, he does not read at all, and back when we were in high school and had mandated reads, he would miss lots of subtext and implied things, just as the other people in class who also didn’t read.

this is especially true when you are reading fiction/fantasy. it tends to require more focus while reading because everything on the page is new. it’s a well-known fact that usually the first 100 pages of a fantasy book don’t make sense because you’re still learning about the world.

it’s still really concerning, tho, that a lot of people don’t have a single drop of media literacy in their bodies.

[realkeylogger]

revamped my smp character a bit euuuuh.yeah i #HATE him

[dao-the-starlight]

When the MC brainrot is so bad you start wondering if you should learn their native language

[whereyourtreasureis]

Fun, thanks for tagging me, @profwonderbearthementalista x

Top 10 Mentalist Episodes in no particular order except for 1-3 lol (sorry I clearly don't know what a Top 5 list is)

Blue Bird

White Orchids

Strawberries and Cream

Red John

Il Tavolo Biancho

Devil’s Cherry

Red Badge

The Crimson Hat

Fugue in Red

Little Yellow House

Top 5 Mentalist Quotes (obligatory Jisbon edition)

"You're right. I have forgotten how to act like a normal human being. And I play games and I lie and I trick people to avoid the truth of how I feel. And the idea of letting anyone close to me is terrifying for obvious reasons, but the truth, Teresa, is that I can't imagine waking up, knowing that I won't see you. The truth is... I love you."

"This ring has been with me for a very long time, and, uh... it has obvious significance with my past. But it also represents... meeting you. If I didn't have this ring, I would never have met you. So in a sense, it has the potential to represent my future as well. And I'm not expecting you would ever wear it, but I want to share it with you. And I want it to represent our future. Together. I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me?"

"I think you'd choose life."

"He does love you. How could he not?"

"Well plus I could see she liked him, she was meaner to him than the other kids. You know, like Lisbon is to me." - "Shut up!" - "See?"

Top 5 Mentalist Quotes (Fun edition)

Jane: "I'm still a little home. Would you take me drunk?"

Cho: "If dark forces did exist, stands to reason there could be people who control them for their own ends." Jane: "They're called investment bankers, and they don't live around here."

Jane: “If you don't get horny reading Fangoria, I'm Britney Spears.”

Jane: “Men are like toasters. Women... little more like accordions.”

"I can make one phone call and your career is toast." Cho: "That's impressive. The best I can get with one call is a pizza."

Top 5 Jane and Lisbon Headcanons

After Blue Bird, they’re both a bit nervous that shifting from friends to lovers might feel strange, so things start out shy and tentative. But soon they can’t keep their hands off each other when they’re alone and they're even flirtier than before. (Heller, I'm looking at you.)

After moving into their cabin, Jane hides little gifts for Lisbon around the house and in her pockets sometimes. He insists on celebrating their anniversary every single month with a date night.

They have a daughter first, who inherits some of Jane’s uncanny talents, and later a son, who takes a little more after Lisbon. They are both loving parents, but Lisbon has to keep Jane from spoiling their children too much.

When they’re much older, Jane asks Lisbon to get remarried in a church. He hasn’t become religious, but he’s grown a little more open-minded on the topic, and realizes how much it would mean to her.

Back in the CBI days, he shows up at her house over something trivial. She’s watching a movie and hesitantly invites him to join her. From then on, they occasionally hang out at her place, watching movies in quiet comfort. Lisbon hates how he guesses the ending every time, but she’s always a little sad when he leaves.

lets do this!! i'm so excited for your answers

top five mentalist episodes!

top five mentalist/elementary quotes!

top five headcanons about jane and lisbon!

Top Five Mentalist Episodes

I'm removing White Orchids and Blue Bird so I can choose other episodes:

Red Velvet Cupcakes 5x20

Devil's Cherry 5x02

Ruby Slippers 4x21

Code Red 2x16

Copper Bullet 7x09

Top Five Mentalist Quotes (Jisbon edition)

The truth is I love you. (6x22) The whole 6x22 love confession is perfect as we finally get to hear Jane be honest with Lisbon

When you're dead, you're dead. And until then, there's ice cream. (Patrick Jane in 4x09)

Patrick Jane: Ten years, huh? Teresa Lisbon: More, actually. Every year with you counts as two. (5x13)

Even after all these years, you're still a mystery to me. (7x13) Honestly the whole 7x13 proposal is perfectly written.

But first… sometimes you dance to that Spice Girls CD, don't you? (Patrick Jane in 2x03)

Patrick Jane: Eh, parents. It's funny, isn't it? The big regrets in life, people keep to themselves. Teresa Lisbon: I don't know. I tell people about you. Patrick Jane: Nice one. Zinger. High and tight. (2x10)

Top Five Headcanons about Jane and Lisbon

When Lisbon visits the school as Chief Lisbon in Canon River, she tells stories about her old CBI Team. The children always want to hear more of Jane's crazy antics. Meanwhile, Jane reminisces about his old team every time he writes a letter to Lisbon and talks aloud to himself, imagining that Lisbon is there with him.

There are many letters Jane wrote to Lisbon that he never sent, including ones where he confessed his love. We know that Jane wrote weekly to Lisbon. Lisbon eventually gives him the letters that she wrote to Jane when he was in the detention suite as he never got to read them.

Jisbon's daughter has either the middle name of Michelle or Charlotte to honour the important women in their life. Their daughter is very cute and very bright for her age.Jisbon adpoted the 3-legged dog that showed Jane the location of the cabin and their child loves this dog so much!

Due to his insomnia, Jane used to walk around Sacramento and then Texas and he would scout out the best restaurants and jazz clubs to take Lisbon to for their 'totally platonic best friend' dates.

Jisbon definitely either kissed or talked about their feelings sometime between 5x16-5x22 as they seem much closer in S6a. After 6x01, Jane hangs around Lisbon as much as he can as he's scared RJ will go after her again.

Tagging some Mentalistas to hear their answers to these questions:

@feministjane, @backgroundagent3, @adder24, @magicandmaybe, @gracevanpelt

@margaretintherain, @a-carnie-and-a-cop, @psychicpinenut, @stxrdust-widow, @autumn0689

@whereyourtreasureis, @reeselisbon, @someonesaidcake, @saturnzoned, @thatbitchmabel,

@cull3nblaze, @sylviedonnas, @middlingmay

[nikothebookdragon]

to anyone not feeling the "christmas spirit" or any kind of cheer in fact, I'm sending you much love. we may be strangers behind screens but in spirit we are holding hands and getting through this together <3

[themachinethatdoeseverything]

GUYS IN JAIL CELLS