#Shifting to 1950s

[kelpstheshifter]

Introducing My 1950s Housewife Life

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶

Abt me ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

˚୨୧⋆ 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆: Alice Lexington <33

˚୨୧⋆ 𝑨𝒈𝒆: 19 years old <33

˚୨୧⋆𝑯𝒐𝒃𝒃𝒊𝒆𝒔: Childcare, Ballroom dancing, Dancing, Crocheting, Cooking, Cleaning, Baking, Sewing, Fashion Designing, Horseback Riding, Snow Skiing, and Horse Dressage

˚୨୧⋆𝑵𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚: American

˚୨୧⋆𝑳𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔: English, Spanish, Italian, Patois, German, Chinese, Tagalog, French

˚୨୧⋆ 𝑵𝒆𝒕 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉: 3.5 Billion Dollars

Relationships (mostly family) ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

𝑴𝒚 𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅, 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝑬𝒅𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝑳𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒐𝒏

˚୨୧⋆ 𝑨𝒈𝒆: 42

We married 2 months ago, but we dated a year before that. I am this man's PRINCESS. He is the CEO of the biggest oil company in the world (It's generational) and he's an amazing man, whom I love dearly. This man basically created Princess Treatment. When he's not working on business deals and such he's at home being a great husband and father. He loves the piano, collecting vintage cars, and yachting. He's the whole package and I love him.

𝑴𝒚 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑𝒅𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝑫𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒉 𝑳𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒐𝒏

˚୨୧⋆ 𝑨𝒈𝒆: 15

Deborah and I are 4 years apart, we went to the same high school and we were friends, but not extradionarily close since I was a senior and she was a freshman when we met. We get along well and now that we're family we're the best of friends.

𝑴𝒚 𝑩𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅, 𝑭𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔𝒐𝒏

˚୨୧⋆ 𝑨𝒈𝒆: 22

Frances and I are best friends because of our husbands but that doesn't mean we love each other any less. Our husbands (Charles was my boyfriend at the time) introduced us to each other at a Charity Banquet and we hit it off immediately. When we're at our homes in the suburbs we talk shit about the other moms, bake, drink, and dance together. This woman is my other half.

𝑴𝒚 𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅'𝒔 𝑪𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅, 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔𝒐𝒏

˚୨୧⋆ 𝑨𝒈𝒆: 28

This is John, He's Frances' husband and a very close friend of Charles. Charles considers him as his little brother. He inherited his father's spot in the Lexington Oil Company so he's very wealthy and highly ranked amongst the families. This is man can DANCE. When we all go dancing if I'm not dancing with Frances or Charles I'm dancing with him. He's such a gentleman, he's into pottery and swimming. I actually scripted a scenario where he teaches me pottery. I love him. Frances bagged herself a GREAT man.

𝑴𝒚 𝑮𝒐𝒅𝒔𝒐𝒏, 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝑱𝒓.

˚୨୧⋆ 𝑨𝒈𝒆: 5 months

I LOVE MY GODSON! Me and Charles are the godparents of Frances and John's beautiful baby boy. Whenever me and Frances are hanging out in our houses in the suburbs we watch him while tidying up, baking, or watching movies. He's my pride and joy I love this kid.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒐𝒏 𝑫𝒐𝒈𝒔, 𝑺𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑷𝒆𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒓

˚୨୧⋆ 𝑨𝒈𝒆: 1 year old and 4 years old

Scruffy is Charles' German shepherd and Pepper is the poodle he surprised me with when we first started dating. They're best friends and you can NOT separate these two I swear. They have such different personalities, Scruffy being a rough-housing hooligan and Peppers being this proper and polite baby. I love them both dearly and they mean the world to me.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶

˖𓍢ִִ໋𓇼⋆𝑭𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒓˖𓍢ִִ໋𓇼⋆

ᡣ𐭩 Racism is not a problem in this reality

ᡣ𐭩 The Lexingtons are the richest family on earth while the Williamsons are the twenty-first richest

ᡣ𐭩 We own 3 houses the Lexington Villa, Mansion, Beach house, and then a whole bunch of miniature properties that I did not take the time to memorize

ᡣ𐭩 All the wealthy families get together for banquets, fundraisers and balls a few times a year

ᡣ𐭩 The world is always like the 1950s-60s even as time progresses

[solardrink]

The fact that mixed people really only commonly exist in the modern world and rarely in the past

[theamazingannie]

Plotlines about parents getting a divorce are so interesting to me because like. You think that’s bad? Try knowing that you’re parents WANT a divorce and the only reason they’re still together is because they can’t afford to be single in this economy

[darlingdawnvintage]

Hot Pink Dress & Matching Coat 💕

1950’s • Satin Brocade • size large

[rosesradio]

🧍

[ofyorkshire]

— BIRTHDAY

Barry James Anderson was born the 19th of November, 1958, a Wednesday, to a single mother in Yorkshire, England. His mother had been a factory worker for a while until mass layoffs forced her into unemployment. Like many other women in her position, she turned to sex work to make ends meet; Barry James' father was one of her clients, and never part of her or their son's life.

They didn't have much, but his mother always put a little money back to buy something for BJ's birthday. Usually it was sweets or rare day trips. One of his favorite memories being sharing a box of chocolate cordials and a bottle of ginger beer with her, tucked under a big blanket fort he'd made in their living room. Birthdays with his mother were simple, but well-cherished even long after becoming bitter toward her.

Later birthdays with Reverend Laws were also celebrated, usually with spendier gifts of toys, cake, and ice cream, but he holds very little fondness for them, sensing even at a young age that these were transactional. Laws' birthday presents always felt more like rewards for good behavior; they were conditional, transient things that could be easily ripped away, rather than something given out of real affection or celebration.

With Clare, birthdays were similar to birthdays with his mum, and something he always looked forward to. Often they celebrated at their favorite cafe, or quietly in BJ's flat, getting drunk and giggling over sweets.

Post-1983, BJ still prefers not to make a big to-do out of his birthday. He appreciates the recognition, but is uncomfortable with big parties or grand displays except one-on-one. It's really the attention of a crowd that bothers him rather than the celebration itself, and he prefers doing things in small groups, or with a singular friend. Anything greater makes him feel watched and stressed out. He'd like to outgrow this, though, and become more comfortable as he feels he's missing out on something by not enjoying big parties.

[yuujispinkhair]

Boyfie Sukuna picking you up from your late shift

A while ago, a sweet anon sent me an ask about protective boyfie Sukuna picking up reader from a late shift, and I loved it so much because I would have really needed him too when I was still doing late shifts. So here is a little drabble about Kuna picking us up from work. I hope you enjoy it 💗

Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female). Fluff. Word Count 900. Mentions of smoking. Minors don't interact. Dividers @/benkeibear

"Ok, let's do this," you mutter to yourself as you push open the heavy back door, trying to hype yourself up and steeling yourself for the darkness that will await you outside of your workplace at this time.

You hate your late shifts when you're the only one left in the building and have to use the exit in the back. Your pulse already speeds up at the thought of having to walk down the dimly lit back alley to reach the main street and the subway station.

But you have no other choice, and so you step out the door and into the dark alley. And immediately jump when a low voice drawls,

"Hey, princess."

You dart around with a hand clutched to your chest and your eyes wide, even as your brain begins to register that you know this voice. And, of course, your gaze lands on a very familiar tall, muscular figure with a beautiful, tattooed face and slicked-back pink hair.

Sukuna.

He is leaning casually against the brick wall, one hand shoved into the pocket of his black jeans, the other bringing a half-smoked cigarette to his lips. He smirks around the cigarette, maroon eyes looking amusedly at you.

"Did I scare you?"

You glare at him, even as you feel a huge relief wash over you. Relief and that all-too-familiar fluttery feeling in your stomach that you always get when you see your boyfriend.

"Kuna! What the... yes, you scared me! What are you doing here?"

Sukuna exhales slowly, watching you through the cigarette smoke with those beautiful cat-like eyes as he shrugs and smirks that devilishly attractive smirk,

"Making sure my girl gets home safely, of course."

You can't stop the big, happy smile from spreading over your face. This side of your boyfriend always makes you so weak for him. This sweet side of Sukuna that contradicts everything the people who told you he wouldn't be good for you said.

Yes, your boyfriend has a bad boy reputation. But yet, here he is, picking you up after your late shift without you having to ask for it. So protective and caring when it comes to you.

"I'm glad you are here, baby."

You smile and get on your tiptoes to kiss Sukuna's tattooed cheek, feeling the anxiety you felt earlier leave you completely. When Sukuna is with you, you know you are safe.

Sukuna grins as he flicks his cigarette away and wraps one strong arm around you to pull you against his tall body. His lips brush against your forehead in a quick but tender kiss.

"Let's go home, princess. Dinner is waiting for you."

"You already cooked too? Are you practicing to become a househusband, Kuna?"

You grin up at Sukuna playfully, and he laughs, but he sounds very pleased when he replies in that sexy, velvety voice,

"For you? Always."

He winks at you and offers you one of his muscular, tattooed arms as if he is a knight or an actor in a 1950s rom-com. And you take Sukuna's arm and hold on to him as you walk down the dimly lit alley together.

Usually, you are scared to walk down this narrow, dark street. But not tonight. Not when you are holding onto Sukuna's arm, your hand wrapped tightly around his bulging tattooed biceps, his tall, strong body so reassuringly brushing against your side.

The dark alley and the nightly city have lost their scariness now that Sukuna is with you and tells you about the dinner he cooked for you and how he beat his brother at a video game they were playing earlier.

You know you are safe when Sukuna is with you. Even the two sinister-looking guys loitering around at the end of the alley quickly leave after casting one look at Sukuna's tattooed face and his tall, muscular body.

You smile and snuggle against Sukuna's warm body, thinking that there are definitely certain benefits to dating a bad boy.

You reach Sukuna's car shortly after, and he holds open the passenger door for you while smirking that sexy, boyish smirk, always acting like an old-fashioned gentleman when it comes to you.

You watch him while he drives, one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on your thigh, interlacing his long tattooed fingers with your smaller ones.

And you can't stop smiling from ear to ear. Sukuna cooked dinner for you. He came here to pick you up. And you know that he's turning up the heating in his car just for you. He runs on the hot side and doesn't need it. But he's doing it for you, just like he is doing so many little and big things for you all the time. Anything for you, without you ever having to ask for it. Because he loves you.

It makes your heart feel so full.

You lean across the center console at the first red light, pressing another sweet kiss to Sukuna's cheek. But he turns his face so your lips end up on his. You feel his grin against your lips as his large hand captures your chin, cupping it firmly, holding you in place so he can deepen the kiss, licking into your mouth with a few playful flicks of his pierced tongue before he pulls away again.

You smile, your fingers tightening around Sukuna's hand, which is back in your lap,

"Thank you for picking me up, baby."

You see the corners of Sukuna's lips lift in a matching smile even while his gaze is fixed on the street before him, and his voice sounds playful but warm at the same time,

"You're welcome, princess. From now on, I'll pick you up every time you have a late shift. There's no way you're walking through dark alleys without me."

Protective boyfie Sukuna makes me SWOON aaaahhhh. Honestly, this gave me such a feeling of safety. In my old job, I had to do late shifts, too, and I was so scared walking down to the train station and waiting for my train because all those sinister-looking men were already starting to crawl out of their holes, and I felt very unsafe there. Protective boyfie Sukuna would have made me feel SO safe.

I hope this could give you comfort, too 💗💗 Thank you so much for reading!! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

[neonqueerautumn]

Thinking of getting a queer soapbox tattoo. So I remember that I am loud and proud for a reason. I fight for a reason.

Fuck you for taking one of the brightest things about me and using it as a weapon.

[lilliaace]

I'm going to put this as nicely as possible.

You're fifteen, according to your bio/pinned post. I'm 30. I have been alive literally twice the time you've been alive in this world. You are a baby queer. I don't mean that demeaningly. I mean this as to say this - you don't know smack about the LGBTQ world beyond the walls of the internet, maybe a queer club at your local school (high school if you're in the USA).

The online and club spaces for the LGBTQ world are so incredibly sanitized, period.

No, bi lesbians and their sister labels (pan lesbians, omni lesbians, polysexual lesbians, straightbians, fagdykes, lesboys, asexual lesbians, aromantic lesbians, etc.) ARE NOT putting their lesbian/dyke sisters in danger, period.

Pushing that the idea of "m spec lesbian" is somehow damaging...

victim blaming for ladies attempted to be 'forced converted' by straight men

Xenophobic towards MANY global gender IDs that are specific to certain cultures (2-spirit for indigenous USA tribes, Hijra in India, etc.)

Shifts the blame from the rapist to the victim, regardless of circumstances

Also minimizes the fact that asshole men are going to be asshole men, regardless of whoever they're being a jerk to. A jerk is going to be an asshole, regardless.

The idea of a "m spec lesbian" has been around FOR YEARS. Documented since at LEAST the 1950s.

I strongly recommend reading "Stone Butch Blues" and "The Stonewall Generation" as well as "PoMoSexuals: Challenging Assumptions About Gender and Sexuality"

You might get lucky and find them at your local library. There's a free PDF floating around of Stone Butch Blues. I got Stonewall Generation by going to a LIVE PRIDE event that was local. You should be able to find them on Google Shopping, Amazon, Ebay, and/or Mercari.

Human sexuality is complicated, period. Many women who were exclusively (or almost exclusively) attracted to other women often paired up with men for the sake of affection, protection, and companionship rather than genuine attraction (Elenor Roosevelt and Virginia Woolf are the first two famous people who come to mind). Also, Kristen Stewart recently came out as a bi lesbian in a recent interview.

We exist, period. NO ONE is helping by LGBTQ identity policing. Y'all are only hurting yourself. PLEASE talk to real life queer people face to face, beyond the safety net of social media and school clubs. You will learn so much.

[nikibogwater]

Actually while I'm thinking about it, I just wanna say that the more live-action remakes Disney shlups out like shoveled manure, the more amazed I am that Cinderella (2015) exists. It breaks literally every standard of Disney's LA remakes.

It's not a shot-for-shot remake of the original 1950 animated film, though it does include small references and homages to it, but only when such things can be incorporated organically into the story.

The creators understood and respected the cross-cultural significance of the Cinderella story. They didn't want to "fix" it, or add some wacky twist to it, they just wanted to make the best possible version of the Quintessential Cinderella that they could.

Everything that could be done practically was done practically. The carriage was a real, the horses pulling it were real, and all of the other animals (with the exception of the mice and lizards, since their performance was a lot more involved than the others') were real living animals, the lizard footman and goose carriage driver were wearing prosthetics instead of just having their animal features added in post, the Fairy Godmother's dress had little LED lights sewn into it so that it would actually glow for real, the ballroom set was built by hand and included real chandeliers with more than 2000 total candles that were all actually lit for the scene, and I could go on but you get the point.

There's a ton of attention paid to little details that make the world feel real and lived in. Ella's shoes are always a little scuffed and dirty. Her farm dress is faded and wrinkled. When she breaks down and runs away to the woods, she rides her horse bareback (which, once again, was a thing Lily James actually did, no stunt-double or editing in post), because not only is that something a country girl like her would know how to do, but it also makes sense that with as upset as she is, she wouldn't want to waste time with saddling the horse. When she's dancing with the prince, it's visually obvious that he is leading her and giving her cues because of course Ella wouldn't know the latest ballroom dances, and would need him to guide her through it.

Hey speaking of dancing, y'know what else this movie does that no other LA remake has been allowed to do (at least not to this extent)? ROMANCE. Land sakes alive, this is one of the most unabashedly and yet still tastefully romantic movies I've ever seen. Ella and Kit are just oozing romantic chemistry from the moment they lock eyes for the first time. It all comes down to the fact that these two characters both have the same core values of courage and kindness, which makes their admiration for each other feel grounded and believable. Richard Madden also really sells Kit's feelings for Ella with the way his eyes go all big and soft whenever he looks at her. And don't even get me started on Lily's performance as Ella. Her quiet awe that someone as powerful as the prince loves her. The timidity and fear that she's not really worthy of that. The selfless determination to protect him from her family's cruelty, even if it means she'll never see him again, I'm just-- *banging my fist against the table and screaming into a pillow*

Absolutely god-tier costume design. No notes, I think Sandy Powell's work speaks for itself. Btw, in case you were somehow still wondering, yes, Ella's ballgown is fully practical--those layers upon layers of dreamy silk skirts are real. CG was only used to brighten up the blue color to make her stand out from the crowd more.

Wicked stepmother was allowed to actually be wicked. The movie never tries to make you sympathize with Lady Tremaine, or shift the blame off to someone else. And her villainy is given an extra layer of depth with the reveal that she is a dark reflection of Ella. They've both lost people they loved, but where Ella refused to let her grief get in the way of kindness, Lady Tremaine became utterly consumed by it. She views the death of her first husband as a sort of twisted justification for pursuing all her worst impulses. She despises Ella for her ability to flourish even while enduring terrible suffering, for being everything Lady Tremaine was either unable or flat-out refused to be.

Also Cate Blanchet absolutely SLAYS in this role. Hands-down my favorite portrayal of the wicked stepmother character.

Anyways, TLDR: Cinderella (2015) is the only Disney live-action remake that can justify its own existence and that's because it actively defies everything the LA remakes are today.

[suugarbabe]

drunken daydreams | s.b. x reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: mentions of drinking, pining, fluff

a/n: little fun fact i found out, beer pong was invented in the 1950's?? also this is for week three of jinxed july for my wives <3

Hopeless. That is what it felt like to crush on Sirius Black. Hopeless because Sirius was, well…everything. He was charming beyond belief, even professors falling for his half turned smile and cheeky winks. He was absolutely gorgeous, unfairly so really, onyx hair that fell in messy tendrils no matter how many times he ran his ring glad fingers through it. His eyes were always playfully full of mischief, but if you truly paid attention to him (and you did) you could tell that they shifted just the slightest bit in shade depending on his mood. His mouth seemed to permanently be painted with a smirk unless someone was telling him ‘no’, then his powder pink lips would puff in a pout and who in their right mind could deny that look? (certainly not you). 

When Lily asked you to spend a week at James’s family cabin with her over summer holiday you had originally said no. James’s cabin meant Sirius’s cabin since the latter now lived with the former; that and they were attached at the hip with no hope of prying them apart. Lily had pouted, begging you to say yes, but going only seemed like torture. Torture because it’d be a week essentially alone with Sirius as Lily and James would likely frequently find couple things to do, Marlene and Dorcus would be hiking everyday and Remus would seclude himself with ‘peace and quite for once’. Alone time with Sirius made you nervous because you were nearly, practically, almost one hundred percent sure that your feelings toward Sirius were not reciprocated. 

But that did not stop Lily from employing the raven haired boy to get you to change your mind. Which is how you found yourself conveniently alone with Sirius in the train compartment on the ride back from Hogwarts. “Pretty please, you can’t not go, everyone’s going,” in classic fashion with his little pout and his eyes widened. You tried to avert your gaze from his, knowing if you looked too long you’d give in. But this tactic failed miserably as Sirius simply moved back into your view, “I’m literally begging here, love,” and oh how he looked so pretty begging. “Please say yes, I cannot hear James or Lils complain the whole week. I need you there.”

He needed you there. That’s what he had said. And that one phrase spun a slew of delusional scenarios in your mind that led you to agree to join the rest of the group for the week. 

It wasn’t as bad as you originally anticipated in the beginning. The lot of you gathered at the Potter’s manner, utilizing the floo system for their hike to the cabin, that experience going surprisingly swimmingly for it being your first time. The first night at the cabin you guys decided on a bonfire. “It’s like christening the place,” James had said, with much encouragement from Sirius and much to the eye roll of Remus. “We’ll go get drinks started!” Lily grabbed your arm, pulling you up from your chair and back towards the door of the cabin, “any requests or all we good with surprises?” 

James Dorcus and Remus laid out drink orders while Marlene said you could surprise her. You turned to Sirius as he spoke next, “You know my drink, don’t you love?” You bit the inside of your cheek, hoping the heat you felt wasn’t making itself prominent as a blush on your cheeks, “Firewhiskey with cola, right?” Sirius winked, nodding in confirmation and the swarm of butterflies in your stomach started humming. 

Back in the kitchen Lily was practically vibrating with excitement. You let out a long sigh, “Something got you worked up Lils? Wanna share with the class?” Lily wore a small grin as she filled all the glasses with ice, “I’m just thinking about what I saw and if you saw it too.” You halted in filling Sirius's glass, resting both hands on the counter in front of you, “What do you think you saw? Because James’s googly eyes over you is basically a daily occurrence, I didn’t think it’d have you this excited still.” Lily rolled her eyes at your statement, “I’m very clearly talking about Sirius and you.” 

You made a scrunched face at this, “There’s nothing between me and Sirius. Well, like we’re friends, obviously, but you know there’s nothing more.” Lily shrugged, a slight curl to her lips as she continued making drinks. “Lils, please. He doesn’t like me like that. It would never happen and honestly…” you grabbed a few glasses in your hands, “I’m coming to terms with that.” You were not coming to terms with it. But it would be far easier than having all your friends thinking you’re hopelessly pining after him. What doesn’t help is Lily’s next response, “I dunno, babes. I could see the two of you together.” She slid the back door open with her elbow before walking back onto the deck, calling out that drinks were ready.

That one comment had you reeling, overanalyzing every interaction and conversation you had ever had with Sirius. You barely even registered that he spoke to you when you handed him his drink before taking your seat in the lawn chair next to his. You glanced his way when you felt his stare after a moment, “Sorry, Siri, did you say something?” Sirius smiled sweetly at you, a hint of something you couldn’t read in his eyes, “Just a thanks for the drink, love.” The commonplace pet name had your cheeks aflame but you prayed to Merlin the light of the bonfire hid the evidence. 

As the night went on and the drinks flowed, everyone was eventually corralled inside for what James called a “mandatory game of beer pong” after Lily agreed to play (and be his partner) with the promise that everyone would play ‘the muggle way’, no use of magic for assistance. Everyone agreed and placed their wands on the counter and paired up, you finding yourself partnered with Sirius. Remus stated he would be the officiant to “help keep Sirius and James in line and following the rules” much to their promises to play cleanly. “Ready, partner?” Sirius called you up to the table, dropping the ping pong ball in one of the cups closest to him. You nodded, a tight lip smile on your lips to try and help hide the nerves that were brewing inside. 

You looked across the table at Lily and James, the red head trying to conceal her smirk as she looked from you to Sirius and back. You rolled your eyes with a slight smile before Sirius started smack talking James. “Oh you’re in for it now, Potter. You and your little Lilly flower are cute and all, but you’re no match for me and y/n/n here, isn’t that right, love?” Sirius held his hand out palm up, clearly waiting for you to slap it. You gave him a high five and a small nervous laugh, “Y-yeah, right.” 

To your surprise Sirius was actually correct; James and Lily were horrible at beer pong, but you and Sirius looked like seasoned champions. The game against them went rather quickly, James sulking against Lilly on the couch as Marlene and Dorcus re-racked the red cups. This game proved to be a little more difficult, the girls being able to really go toe to toe with you and Sirius, you were down to two cups left to sink, while Marlene and Dorcus only had three cups. Marlene stood tall at the end of the table, ping pong ball in hand. She closed one eye, Dorcus semi-slurring encouragements to her before Marlene gave the ball a light toss. 

You watched as the ball arched in the air coming down towards one of the last three cups. The ball began the swirl around the rim of the cup and your next actions were more on instinct than real knowledge or skill of the game. You bent down near the cup, giving a quick blow of air near the ball before watching the physics of the combination making the ball jump from the cup and land back onto the table. Sirius let out a gleeful noise of shock, whereas Marlene and Dorcas began protesting, “Hey! We said no magic! Remus, that’s a foul we get that cup right?!” Sirius, however, was quick to go to your defense, “Nuh-uh, there was no magic involved, that’s just how good y/n/n’s blowing abilities are!” 

Your eyes widened in shock at his words, Dorcas rattling off a teasing remark before Sirius could correct himself, “Oh? And how would you know about her blowing abilities, Black?” The drinks were getting to you slightly, a small giggle bubbling from your throat as Sirius tried his best to defend himself, “I, well…erm, that’s not what I meant…I-I mean,” he turned to face you, his eyes half lidded as they made contact with yours, “Don’t you look at me like that, love.” A lazy smile adorned your face, “I’m not looking at you any kind of way, Siri.” 

Sirius shook his head in disagreement, “You’re giving me those eyes.” You batted your eyelashes a few times, “I’m not giving you any special eyes. Besides, if you’re wanting to know about my abilities, you can just tell me.” Sirius’s eyes widened before he let out a huff of air through his nose, “No, I don’t, I want to- I mean, you did the, the thing- and then Dorcus said what she said and so I just - I, erm, n-no I’m good.” While you laughed a little at his stumbling, you couldn’t deny the pit growing in your stomach the longer he tried to find nice ways to essentially reject your playful advance. 

Luckily you didn’t have to hide your dejection for long as you and Sirius lost to the girls and now your solemn look could be explained by the loss of the game instead of the loss of any chance you had with Sirius. You gave him a half-hearted smile before going to find a seat on one of the couches as James and Lily went to play against the winners. You only half paid attention the game, every interaction with Sirius from the night playing back over and over in your mind. Why did he have to be so bloody hard to read? 

To even get you on this trip in the first place he said he needed you there. But you don’t speak two each other in any capacity until everyone arrived at James’s manor. Even there it was only long glances, which could have been strictly initiated by you. Although you could have sworn he was already looking your way one or two times when you made eye contact. Here at the cabin you knew his drink, because of course you did. Was he teasing you earlier when he asked?

But he also winked at you. And he’s been calling you love, and made that comment about your ‘blowing skills’. But he does make dirty jokes a lot. You really would be a perfect couple though, all of your friends told you so whenever you talked about him, sometimes even when you didn’t talk about him. People wouldn’t say that to you just to be mean to you, I mean, these were your best friends. But he also essentially rejected your flirtatious advances. Why was this so hard to- 

A ring clad hand was waving in front of your face causing you to blink several times before refocusing on the object of your delusional thoughts. Sirius had his ever present charming grin, a special glint in his hooded eyes, “Caught you daydreaming about me again, didn’t I, love?” Maybe it was the liquid courage, but the words came tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them, “Don’t be mean, Sirius.” 

Sirius quirked an eyebrow, “What do you-” Rather ungracefully, you cut him off, “Just because you know I have a crush on you doesn’t mean you can tease me like everyone else does. It’s honestly humiliating enough.” Sirius’s once smirking features changed to that of confusion, “It’s humiliating to have a crush on me?” You groaned in frustration, covering your face with your hands before looking down at your feet, “Yes, Sirius, it’s humiliating to have a raging crush on someone that clearly has no interest or feelings toward me beyond platonic friendship.” 

The cool metal of his rings felt like ice against your flamed skin as he forced you to look at him, “Who said my feelings were strictly platonic?” You opened your mouth to respond before quickly closing it again. You sat up straighter then, Sirius’s hand dropping from your chin, “Well, you did, you said that. Back during the game, when Dorcus was teasing us and I asked if that’s what you wanted. You basically stumbled over a way to tell me you were uninterested in my advances.” 

His melodic laugh filled your ears. You were ready to smack him for being so rude before he started giving you a viable response. “Sweetheart…I wasn’t trying to reject you,” you looked up to meet his eyes once more as he continued, “I responded that way because you had me flustered, you…kind of always make me feel that way.” He scratched the back of his head nervously, “I didn’t really know how to respond properly when Dorcus made that remark. And, erm, I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable by admitting I probably, erm, wouldn’t mind finding out how good your,” he gulped slightly, “abilities are.” 

Your gaze fell to his lips before meeting his eyes once more; Sirius bit his lip, trying to hold back what you were sure was a shit-eating smirk. His hand cupped your cheek gently, “Can I?” You gave a small nod as you leaned in, Sirius closing the remaining distance before capturing your lips with his. This was not a fiery, passionate, kiss. But soft, gentle and sweet. His lips slotted against yours as though they were always meant to be there. 

His fingers entangled slightly in your hair, pulling you closer to him. You braced yourself with a hand on his thigh. A small whimper drifted from Sirius’s throat at the extra physical contact, wanting to fuel you further. What felt like two small, solid objects pelted both you and Sirius, causing you both to pull away from each other in confusion. “Don’t partners usually only make out when they win a game, not when they lose?” Marlene teased lightly. You looked over at Lilly who gave you a wink. One thing was for sure, you were not going to doubt her again.

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

I meant to post about this back when TTPD was released and never got around to it, but it's so touching to me that Taylor has peppered so many British-isms into the album, and not just in a jokey kind of way like in "London Boy" back in the Lover days.

It's such a beautiful, subtle nod to how much that was her life for years, and to the marks the city and the muse(s) left on her. Because isn't that true of any of us when we've been around a person for so long, or live in a place we've made into our home? You start picking up their speech patterns until they become second nature. (For instance, one of my best friends moved abroad for university, and before long she started dropping in words like "fortnight," "lorry,""shops" (vs. stores) into conversation when we'd speak, which only got stronger along with her accent shifting as the years went by and she stayed there.) Kind of a love language code switching.

It’s sprinkled throughout the album. “For a fortnight” in “Fortnight,” “blokes” on “The Alchemy,” “the shops,”* in “How Did It End?” I think my favourite use of it is in “The Bolter,” because it’s such a classic twangy yeehaw Taylor song, but she’s got these tiny turns of phrase that point to where she spent a large portion of her adult life. (E.g. “best mates,” “out the drive,”* “wish he wouldn’t be sore,”*)(*yes I know these aren’t like, specifically not-American, but as someone who has grown up with North American English in the same generation as Taylor, these definitely feel anachronistic/foreign. Like if I hear someone say “the shops” instead of “the store,” “drive” instead of driveway or “sore” meaning upset, I’m thinking they either watch a lot of 1950s movies or they’re from the UK. And yes I know it’s to make everything rhyme BUT THAT’S THE POINT SHE IS MAKING THEM RHYME ON PURPOSE ok I’m stopping now before the linguistics nerd in me jumps out) It’s such a cool merging of influences, much like the album as a whole fuses together experiences and muses and sounds.

And that gets back to the “I love this place for so long,”of it all. The place is the city, the place is her home, the place is the person, and they are all part of her. To me, these are part of the subtext of the album, of the big love she once felt for all of it, and how it changed her. And, why it hurt so much to leave it all behind. So she’s starting over back home in America, but she’s taking a little bit of London with her for its curtain call on TTPD.

[toovaeloe]

bus stop 𝝑𝝔 “If I was your boyfriend, you sure as hell wouldn’t be waiting at a bus stop.”

suguru geto x genderneutral reader

no curse au

You’ve used the “I have a boyfriend” excuse and you may have just manifested one. Or a gorgeous man, at the very least

☁️🚏☁️

This was the worst, you think. Had to be punishment for something you did in a past life.

For starters, you were late for work. Was it your fault for staying up so late, giggling and doom-scrolling through mounds of mind numbing media? Yeah, maybe…

Let’s blame it on the weather. Your alarm didn’t wake you up after you silenced it. The neighbor’s dog wouldn’t stop barking through the night. But it’s not like you could tell your boss any off that.

So that’s why you raced out the door, haphazardly juggling your belongings in your arms. Wallet. Keys. Phone. Something else you couldn’t quite remember at the moment. Did you have everything? Probably; no time to check now. Only to find when you stomped on the brake and turned the key in the ignition…your car wouldn’t start.

Sputter…sputter…and then nothing.

Great.

There’s your late-to-work-excuse.

Maybe you shouldn’t have ignored the “maintenance needed” symbols that have been lighting up your dash like they want their own holiday. To be fair, time and money just weren’t things that came in abundance.

In any case, as you were sitting in that local garage enduring the mechanic babbling on about vehicle expertise junk you just couldn’t begin to understand, zoning out and nodding every few minutes with a halfhearted “hmm,” so it at least looked like you were absorbing information…you made note to at least revisit the idea of changing your smoke alarm’s batteries before it decided to turn on you, too.

But that was last week.

7-9 business days.

That’s how long until your car would be up and running again. Apparently, according to the mechanic, you were lucky it was even that. Apparently. Which meant you needed some other means of transportation to and from work and such.

Lucky you had the local bus service, right?

WRONG.

They were always late, but you still felt the need to get to the stops on time, lest you have a repeat of 5 days ago. (You showed up only 2 minutes late and were left behind at the store. Had to wait for an hour for your friend to get off her shift and come pick you up.) You highly doubted it, but what with the way the world was shitting on you right now, it wasn’t out of the question. And the city’s money obviously wasn’t going towards public transportation— they could qualify as garbage trucks if they really needed them with how trashed they were. Mystery sticky patches on the seat, gum underneath. The inconsolable children whining their heads off. That was kind of cute at first, but now it made you want to throw yourself out the window. The whole thing was just the experience that you could expect from a free public transportation system.

And why was it so rainy this month??? Ugh.

But what could you do but make do with what you had? Complaining definitely wasn’t making your shoes any less waterlogged. Be grateful, or some shit like that.

That evening, however, as you were waiting twenty minutes past the time the bus was supposed to arrive at the stop after an exhausting work day…you were just so fed up with everything. With the puddle water soaking through your shoes, with the way you had to stand because the benches were damp…with this rando-guy who had walked up next to you that you were half sure kept looking at you. To say the least, it only served to annoy you in your already sour mood.

You were willing to just ignore it. Until he stepped closer.

“Hey I’m uh…I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you around.”

Oooohh boy.

“Yeah, yeah, it is you. I’ been taking the bus sometimes. Usually I’m riding my motorcycle but uh, not today.”

Did you ask?

“Thought I’d drop by.”

The public bus stop. (???)

“What’s yer name, toots?”

Yeah no. Go back to the 1950’s and maybe that’d work there. You’d rather lick the mystery sticky shit off the bus seat. You could pick up a date 10x better without opposable thumbs.

All of the above is what you would’ve liked to say. Alas, you were tired. You didn’t want trouble that would take more energy than it was worth. So before he could go any further, you just coined the foolproof line.

“I have a boyfriend.”

Lie. You didn’t, but it was the first thing that came to mind. And if that didn’t make him lose interest, then he must really be a pathetic asswipe.

Sadly, he was. In terms of getting the hint to shut up, the guy looked barely deterred; offended even, as he prattled on.

“Well why were you acting so into me then, huh?” You definitely didn’t. You don’t even know this dude.

“I wasn’t even going for you.” He definitely was.

“You’re—“ X, Y, and Z. Just because his game is trifling?? You felt a headache coming on. And maybe a bout of anxiety. People are crazy, and the last thing you wanted was for this needless situation to escalate into something dangerous.

The entire mess was occurring just as Suguru was making the commute to work on the same street. But he found himself slowing nearly to a stop when he caught sight of you.

How could a person look so exhausted; hair extra frizzy, floccose from the humid rain, clothes soaked, droplets of the downpour dribbling onto your cheeks and blinked away from your lashes…and still so breathtaking? Or perhaps that was part of your beauty in this moment. You looked every bit done with the day, but who knew when- if— he’d ever see you again? He’d be stupid, a fool to not at least try to strike up a conversation with you. He’d be…

…Probably like that idiot.

A sulky moue twisted at his expression as he witnessed the disgraceful way this loser was fumbling. Oh dear. His approach lacked so much grace, so much respect…it was really just distasteful. You didn’t deserve that. And frankly, he didn’t think he deserved to watch you be treated like that when he knew he could do so much better.

“Sorry to keep you waiting!”

A merry sounding tone directed your way had your head sharply whipping to the source. A tall dark haired man you’ve never seen before; layered in a gray colored quarter zip and dark slacks, you think. His approach was casual and relaxed, a subtly jovial yet inherently guileful grin tugging at his lips. He even waved to you like an old friend. His entire facade was so convincing you considered for a moment if you had known him from somewhere and simply forgotten.

No, you really wouldn’t have forgotten a face like that. Eyes like those. A presence so contrasting of itself and yet so cohesive in its own way, if you had to try and describe it. Just a damn beautiful man. With eyebrows that were beginning to crease on his forehead.

Ooh, you were staring.

More than that, he was giving you a pointed look that you didn’t notice while drooling over the poor guy. Unfortunately for you, slo-mo’s only happened in movies, and in reality you just looked like an ogling dork. But you didn’t have time to dwell on your embarrassment when he was quite obviously urging you to play along with this illusion he was creating.

And so you did.

“Oh- hi! No worries,” You insisted in an awkward attempt to adapt to this new charade.

“‘Hasn’t been that long,” though your reaction to his presence wasn’t as well-articulated, it was convincing enough.

The other dude looked to be at least somewhat suspicious, and might’ve spoken on it if wasn’t for Geto’s scrutinizing gaze and a simple raise of his brow.

“Can I help you?” And just for good measure, he’d wrap his arm around you, sliding his hand into your coat pocket as if he’s done it a million times before to pull you closer against him. Whatever glare this ravenette man was glowering down the length of his nose at this guy with must’ve been scarring, because he murmured some half-assed excuse before scampering away.

You idly wondered how’d he get wherever he was going without the bus.

Or maybe you’d have more time to think about it if your brain wasn’t short-circuiting, acutely aware of the unworldly attractive man’s hand resting just over your hip.

“Sorry,” Geto spoke after a few beats, languidly retracting his arm from your coat and back to his side. “You looked like you were about to burst a blood vessel entertaining him. I hope I didn’t overstep. Y’know, with your boyfriend and all.” He had to have overheard you earlier.

But the way he spoke made it sound as if he doubted that fact, glancing to either side of you as if to say That is nowhere in sight..? without being so overtly rude. Or maybe he just wasn’t all that apologetic.

“That-! Yeah,” You pepped with a nervous pitter of laughter, “yeah…it’s not a problem, thanks.”

Your hand gravitated to the zipper of your jacket, absentmindedly fiddling with it as you frantically thought up an at least half decent explanation. One that wouldn’t make you sound more clumsy than you already felt.

“He’s not real, so he won’t mind.”

Yeah, real smooth. What was that you said; about being able to pick up a date without opposable thumbs? You’d need at least ten pairs of hands.

But Suguru didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his grin widened into something toothy and almost boyish, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that added an innocent charm to his otherwise elegant features. He found it endearing.

“Perfect,” His response was coupled with a discreet chuckle.

“Don’t feel obligated,” He’d continue as he reached to the side of you. So close to brushing your shoulder, it made your breath hitch. Though truly he was reaching around you, sharply tearing a flier from the side of the bus stop and pulling a pen from one of his pockets. If you were paying more attention you’d have noticed the glint of impish amusement in his umber eyes that led one to believe that action was more deliberate than he let on.

Still, he’d make quick work of jotting down a phone number and the address of a nice restaurant he’s been meaning to try with Satoru— but plans change. “but I’d like to take you out. I was on my way over to ask you, anyhow.”

He offered the page to you; his handwriting as sumptuous and calligraphic as you would’ve expected his penmanship to be; in the margins of some tacky ad for a lawn mowing service. As you went to accept the paper, however, he rescinded it from reach. All whilst drawing closer so that his piercing dark amber eyes held your gaze with an unwavering intensity. The kind that made your stomach do flips and stole your breath away.

“And for the record,” He spoke quietly but poised; a conspiratorial whisper for only you, him, and the rain to witness. “if I was your boyfriend, you sure as hell wouldn’t be waiting at a bus stop.”

There wasn’t time to react; he was already slipping the page into your pocket, withdrawing to a comfortable proximity all the while waving you off and wishing you well with a kind smile, disappearing someplace else.

You didn’t even catch his name.

At least your bus was here.

a/n: I had something to say but I totally forgot 😭

OH but I did add an upcoming section to my masterlist so you can see my works in the works if you’d like! 🤍 always open to ideas too

Dear god I crave geto with that loose low bun that’s barely a bun kind of hairstyle. Ykwim???

ty for reading 🤍🤍🤍 love you have a lovely lovely day or night

edit: OMG THATS WHAT I WAS GONNA SAY. I kept accidentally writing bust stop instead of bus stop as I wrote this. So, sorry if you bust

☁️☁️☁️

[firewasabeast]

prompt: those pictures of buck make me think he's going to be endlessly harassed by Gerrard. I'd like to see something where it builds up until he kinda has a breakdown. maybe at home, with tommy?

It'd been a bad month. Possibly the worst of his life, and that was saying a lot. Twenty-four hour shifts were usually simple for him, but nothing was simple when Gerrard was in charge.

He was two hours into his fourth shift with the new captain when Gerrard found out that Buck was dating a man. Not just any man. A man that Gerrard seemed to particularly despise.

And maybe he should have thought better before blurting out that Tommy was his boyfriend, but he hated Gerrard and a part of him thought it might be fun to play with the man's mind a little.

He was wrong.

Tommy had dropped him off for work after he and Buck had accidentally fallen asleep after a particularly eventful night. Thankfully, Buck kept a change of clothes in his locker, so it really hadn't been much of a problem. He had forgotten his house keys and wallet at Tommy's though, so he was pleasantly surprised to get a visit from him a couple hours later.

Tommy had approached cautiously, but once Eddie informed him that Gerrard left to run an errand, he relaxed and let Buck pull him in for a brief kiss.

Tommy talked to the team for a bit, getting filled in on the endless cleaning they now had to do. How they had to fake bathroom breaks to get a moment to text or make a phone call.

In less than ten minutes, Tommy was heading back out the door. “See you guys soon,” he said, giving them a wave before pointing to Buck and smiling, “and see you tomorrow night.”

Just as Tommy had rounded the corner out the side door, Gerrard was walking in the front. “Was that Kinard?” he asked, disgust evident in his voice.

“Yes, Sir,” Eddie replied.

“Hm. What was he doing here?”

“Had to drop off something,” Chimney answered before Buck could even open his mouth. “Had a delivery meant for here that got sent to Harbor instead.”

“Can't even trust the postal service to do their job right these days,” he grunted out.

The group started back on their cleaning, but Gerrard blocked Buck's way. “Thought I heard you got plans with Kinard tomorrow, Buckley. That right?”

“Y- Yeah, it is. I mean, I do... have plans.”

“Huh. You didn't strike me as the type to hang out with a guy like that.”

“What do you mean?” Buck asked, face scrunched up in confusion. “A guy like what?”

“You know,” Gerrard shrugged. “Soft. Weird. Sissy-like.”

Buck could feel his face heating up. “I'm not sure those are the words I'd use to describe him.”

“You gotta watch yourself around people like him, Buckley. Men like us,” he said, making his hands into fists to flex his muscles, “we've got a reputation to withhold. Show the world real, manly strength still exists.”

Buck wasn't exactly sure what to say. He had known Gerrard was a terrible captain, had heard the stories from Hen, Chim, and Tommy, but this was so far out there he briefly wondered if he'd been transported back to the 1950's.

“I- I'm still not following.”

Gerrard rolled his eyes. “You're not stupid, kid. Kinard is... I'd say it right out, but you can't say anything these days without offending someone.” He nudged his head in Hen's direction.

So Buck said the words for him. “He's gay?”

Looking back at this moment, maybe he should have paid attention when Eddie came up behind Gerrard and motioned for him to cut it out.

Gerrard raised his hands up in surrender. “You said it, not me.”

“Yeah, I did,” Buck replied with a nod. The rage building inside him made him feel like he was left with no choice but say the next words that fell out of his mouth. “He's also my boyfriend.”

He could see Eddie in his peripheral, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

Watched as Gerrard's face turned from pale white to tomato red. A rage coming over him like Buck had never seen on a human before.

And that's what started the shifts from hell.

Gerrard, in those first shifts before knowing Buck's sexuality, had been rough. He was a grumpy, old man who demanded respect and attention that he didn't deserve. But he didn't pick on any specific person. They were all equal targets.

Until they weren't.

It was almost as though Gerrard felt like he'd been betrayed by Buck. Like Buck was supposed to be the one person at the station that was on his side, and finding out this single piece of information destroyed any and all possibility of that happening.

He had an endless string of one liners at his disposal, specifically for Buck, to use at any given time. And he used them every opportunity he got.

Buck could never do anything right. Nothing was ever cleaned properly and the equipment wasn't put away the way it should be. Gerrard didn't hesitate to reprimand him during calls. In fact, that seemed to be what he enjoyed the most. Anytime Buck tried to speak up he'd be brushed off or told his ideas were ridiculous.

When they had to line up at the start of their shifts, there would always be something wrong with Buck's uniform, or his hair, or the way he was standing.

He'd been put on cooking duty too. But it wasn't fun the way it was when Bobby was in charge.

Being on cooking duty with Gerrard was it's own special punishment. He decided all the meals, regardless of what anyone else wanted. He expected a full breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and he wanted them all at very specific times.

It was all food that Buck knew how to cook, but to Gerrard it was never done right.

“Too salty.”

“Too sweet.”

“Why'd you cook the meat so long? It's like leather.”

“Why's the meat still red in the center? You trying to kill me?”

“I hate cilantro.”

“You cook like this for Kinard? Must not be many options left for him.”

That was another problem. Gerrard brought up Tommy every chance he got.

“You kids today are so sensitive. Kinard used to laugh at all my jokes.”

“You keep your home this messy? Huh. Can't believe your boy toy puts up with that. He really has gone soft.”

“Kinard used to be my right hand man. Hate to think of what he's doing with that hand now... You probably know all about that though, don't ya, Buckley?”

*****

Buck had just gotten off a twelve hour shift when he headed home to start dinner. It was six o'clock by the time he entered the loft and Tommy would be over in an hour.

He was still shaky from all the things Gerrard had said to him today. Comments about Tommy, comments about him. Buck had tried to not let his words get to him, but that was proving more and more difficult each day. There were only so many different ways you could hear how worthless you were before you started to believe it.

He took a shower to try and help calm himself down before heading into the kitchen to get started on dinner.

Seared lamb chops, mashed potatoes, and glazed carrots were on the menu for tonight. Then a pre-made sweet wine cake for dessert.

Things fell apart pretty quickly.

He was deep in an internal conversation (fight) with Gerrard as he peeled the potatoes, causing him to slice right across his finger. Once he'd cleaned up the blood and gotten a bandaid, he remembered that he hadn't turned the oven on to preheat for the carrots.

While the oven preheated, he got the potatoes boiling and got the carrots laid out on a pan.

Then he started looking around the counter for the lamb chops, which he was supposed to let sit out for twenty minutes before he started to cook them.

He could have sworn he took them out before he got his shower but, lo and behold, there they were in the fridge.

He shoved the carrots into the oven and got started on the lamb. He didn't have enough time to let them sit out now.

By the time Tommy knocked on the door twenty minutes later, Buck felt like a big ball of nervous and panicked energy.

“Come in!” he yelled, not bothering to turn away from the lamb.

“Hey you,” Tommy said casually as he entered the loft. The overall calmness of his voice somehow stressed Buck even more.

“Hey.”

“It smells amazing in here.” Tommy came up behind Buck, set a bottle of something down on the counter, then wrapped his arms around his waist. He pressed a kiss to Buck's neck. “Missed you.”

Usually, Buck wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up in Tommy's arms. Tonight, it just felt too hot.

“Yeah, y- you too,” Buck replied, trying to sound as normal as possible.

Either it didn't work, or Tommy could sense how tense he was, because the next words out of his mouth were, “You okay?”

Somehow, Buck managed to turn toward him and fake a smile. “Yeah, I'm good. Just don't want the lamb to burn.”

Tommy gave Buck a peck on the lips before letting him return his attention to the lamb. “I brought wine,” he said, picking up the bottle again.

“Oh, good. You can put it in the fridge, or leave it out on the table if you want, or-” he whipped around, “God, I forgot to set the table!”

“I can set it,” Tommy offered.

“I wanted to have it all done before you got here.” Buck moved toward the drawers that held his good napkins, pulling them out before slamming the drawer shut. The noise caused Tommy to jump a little. Buck headed for the silverware next, tossing each utensil on top of the napkins and once again slamming the drawer. “I don't even have the wine glasses out or anything.”

Before he could pick up the napkins and silverware, Tommy placed his hand over it. “Really, Evan. I've got it. Are you sure you're okay?”

Buck sighed, letting Tommy take control of setting the table. “Yes, I'm okay.”

There was a heavy silence in the air while Tommy got the table ready.

Finally, Buck broke it. “You like your meat medium, right?”

“Yeah, that'd be perfect.”

“Great.”

Tommy paused on his way to get the glasses. That great did not sound very good.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“Well, they're already passed medium. They're medium well.”

“That's fine. I'm not really picky.”

Buck huffed. “You just said medium was perfect for you.” The words came out harsher than he intended, but he couldn't find it in him to care. He'd ruined the most important part of the meal already, and the fact Tommy had been so nonchalant since he stepped into the apartment was only making things worse.

“Medium well is perfect too. I really don't care how my meat is cooked, Evan.”

Buck turned off the stove and moved the lamb to a different eye so they would stop cooking. He grabbed an oven mitt and pulled the carrots out of the oven.

The second he saw them, he felt enraged.

“Damn it!” he exclaimed, practically throwing the pan onto the counter. “I forgot to put the glaze on them.”

Tommy eyed him for a second before moving closer. “It's fine, Evan,” he said, placing a hand on Buck's arm. “They look really good.”

Buck shrugged him off. “No. They'd be really good if I put the glaze on them, but I forgot it. Damn it!”

“Babe-”

“Oh my God!” Buck hurried back to the stove and turned off the potatoes. “I overcooked them! They're gonna be too mushy now!” He wasn't sure what it was, but his eyes were now both blurring and burning.

Tommy was trying his best to keep up with each dilemma that was happening. “We're having mashed potatoes, honey, I don't think it matters how mushy they are.”

“Yes, it does, Tommy! God, you don't get it!” He dumped the entire pot of potatoes into the sink, making it the disposal's problem now.

“Okay, that's enough,” Tommy said, his voice soft yet commanding. “Come here.” He came up behind Buck, who had his hands gripped on the countertop and his head hanging low. Tommy placed an arm around Buck's waist and guided him around until he was wrapped in Tommy's arms. He buried his face into Tommy's neck as he started to sob. His whole body shook with the force of his cries, tears pouring out and running down onto Tommy's shirt.

Just something else to add to the list of things Buck had ruined tonight.

Tommy only held him tighter. One arm around his back, keeping Buck steady. The other on his head, rubbing gently against his scalp.

They stood there for a few minutes, until Buck calmed enough to speak. “I'm sorry,” he whimpered out against Tommy's neck.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Tommy assured him. He ran his hand up and down Buck's back. “Let's go sit down, okay?”

Tommy led them to the couch, cradling Buck in his arms as soon as they sat down. Buck closed his eyes as he rested against Tommy's chest, letting himself be soothed by the way Tommy's hand ran up and down his back. He provided just enough pressure to relieve the tension in his muscles.

They were quiet for a while. And although he'd calmed down quite a bit, tears still escaped out of his eyes and down his face. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried like this.

“It's Gerrard, isn't it?” Tommy asked.

He didn't need Buck to answer. The shaky intake of breath told him all he needed to know.

“This is so stupid,” Buck said, wiping tears from his cheeks. “I- I'm acting like a child.”

Tommy shook his head. “It's not stupid, Evan.” He tugged lightly on Buck until he was sitting up enough for them to look at one another. He brought his hand to Evan's, keeping them intertwined as they talked. “Talk to me. What's going on?”

And that's when the dam broke. Once Buck got started, he couldn't stop. He told Tommy about all the ways he'd been picked on, the comments Gerrard had made, the things he'd said about Tommy. He talked about the way Gerrard spoke of their relationship, and made it seem like Buck was one mistake away from Tommy walking out the door.

Buck told him that even though he knew it wasn't true, it still messed with his head to hear it during every shift, over and over again.

“So he's been harassing you for a while now. Does the rest of the team know about all of this?”

Buck sniffed. “Some of it. Not everything. They couldn't do anything about it anyway. Hen and Chimney have to walk the line right now, because of Mara.”

“And Eddie?”

“He's got his... own stuff going on.”

“Hm.” Tommy wasn't too impressed by that answer, but that was a problem for another time. “You know you could have told me, right? I don't want you to think you have to hide this stuff from me.”

“Didn't want you to h- have to relive it. You already dealt with him, and I felt kinda dumb for it bothering me so much.”

“Evan, it's different. Gerrard didn't do any of that stuff to me. I wasn't out then, and I told you he didn't make me a better person. You shouldn't be having to deal with this every time you go in for a shift. It's not dumb that this bothers you. I don't know anyone that it wouldn't bother.”

“I just... I thought about filing a complaint, ya know? But,” a stray tear fell down his cheek, “I don't think I'd have anyone to back me up,” he admitted. “And even though it's anonymous, he'd know it was me.”

Tommy nodded. He understood how tricky filing complaints could be. It was what started the rift between him and Gerrard. Wheels were already turning in his head on what he could possibly do. He'd need to speak with his own captain, maybe Bobby, definitely Eddie, and possibly get a word in with the chief. But, if something could be done, he would do it to make sure he never had to see Evan this upset ever again.

“We'll figure something out,” he said, determined.

“Yeah. Yeah, o- okay.”

“And Evan,” Tommy scooted even closer to him, gently cupping Evan's face in his hands. He wiped away the remaining wetness from Buck's cheeks, staring deeply into his eyes as he spoke. “You are the best thing that's ever happened to me. I'm not just saying that, I mean it. None of what that man said is true, but even if it was, I wouldn't care. I don't care if every meal you ever cooked was wrong, I don't care if your house wasn't perfectly clean, I don't care about any of it. Only you. Got it?”

Buck nodded, allowing himself to fall forward into Tommy's chest and be cradled by him again. “Yeah,” he replied, closing his eyes as Tommy comforted him. “Yeah, I got it.”

[subterraneanna]

I've been scanning and restoring some pieces of original Star Trek: TOS film and wanted to share this before and after from a deleted scene in the episode "Elaan of Troyius":

At nearly 60 years old, the film is in bad shape, exhibiting substantial scratches and color shifting. The magenta/red tint is a good example of dye fading, a sign of deterioration likely due to the film stock it was shot on.

Prior to 1950, color motion picture film was shot in Technicolor, which required a large, cumbersome camera to simultaneously expose 3 separate strips of negative film that then underwent a proprietary dye imbibition process to create a full color image. Though visually stunning and remarkably color-stable, it was a complicated, expensive process reserved only for high budget productions. In 1950, Eastman Kodak introduced Eastmancolor, the first 35 mm “single-strip” color motion picture negative -- in short, a film that was easy to shoot and process, and compared to Technicolor, only used a 1/3 of the film stock. Suddenly color film was an affordable option for studios and its popularity took off. Eastmancolor was composed of a single strip of negative film surfaced with 3 layers of light-sensitive gelatin emulsion. During development, a chemical reaction produced magenta, yellow, and cyan dyes on their corresponding layers, which were superimposed to create a full color image. Unfortunately, these dyes were unstable, something that wasn't apparent until aging films began to lose their color in the following years.

The Star Trek image above is pink because its yellow and cyan dyes have faded away, leaving just the magenta layer. The information may be lost, but digital restoration can improve what's left. But because the yellow and cyan greatly contributed to the overall density of the image, basic color balancing still produces a lower contrast version compared to what the original must have looked like. The missing richness and depth seems most apparent in the skin tones, but hand painting some of the color can bring a little life back to it, as I've done here. It's a challenge because, as far as I can tell, the only remaining footage or still shots of this scene show some level of dye fading. Fortunately, now that the film is digitized, restoration can be an ongoing project. If you own any color motion picture film negatives or prints, the sooner you get them scanned the better. In the meantime, helpful storage information can be found here.

It's been a while since I've shot any film (film major), so it's nice to see it again, even if it's chopped up into single frames. I have a small collection of them so I'll post more restored images as they're completed. BTW @cheer-deforest-kelley has a great post on how this film went from the editing room floor to the hands of fans.

[heliza24]

Thoughts about Domesticity, Carework, and the American Dream in episode 2.5 of Interview with the Vampire

I’ve been mulling over episode 2.5 a lot. There was so much to love in the episode (the incredible writing, the kitchen sink off Broadway play of it all, the chemistry between Luke, Jacob and Assad, the vulnerability in Eric’s performance). But my mind keeps circling a couple of themes, trying to piece them together. So as usual I’m here on tumblr to try to work it out. 

I keep coming back to the way that Armand was gendered in this episode. His big complaint to Louis was that he was “home picking lint off the sofa”. He arrives with “mop and misery” to clean up the mess. Louis insults him by calling him “the good nurse”. All those things are feminized. They’re also extremely of the era; these are Feminine Mystique, mid-century housewife type complaints. The wife’s job is to make the husband’s life smooth and never worry about her own happiness. Obviously in the 1970s we’re seeing this begin to change thanks to second wave feminism. We’re in the process of trying to ratify the ERA, Ms. magazine has just been founded, and things are shifting. The kind of cheery domestic American dream of the 1950s is definitely shifting, and we see this in the episode as well. Betty Hutton selling sewing machines competes with Spiro Agnew resigning on TV. The watergate scandal signified a loss of faith in American authority, a kind of parallel destruction of the country’s father figure (brought down by journalists, no less). The comfortable lie of domesticity, the “prison of empathy” that Armand has created around Louis is crumbling. Armand is boring but he’s also bored, like a housewife taking valium to get by. The whole episode is set in an apartment that reeks of divorce, according to Daniel, and we’re seeing it play out in real time. When Armand lashes out to hurt Louis, he does it not through direct violence, like Lestat, but by holding his failure as a father over him, telling him that Claudia  never loved him. That jab, in combination with the way he’s edited Louis’s memories (gaslighting, another time honored form of domestic abuse) is enough to get Louis to hurt himself. LIke a wife who is always outwardly obedient to her husband but spends her time exacting petty revenge against him for the way he takes her for granted, Armand’s methods are never violent. They are soft and subtle and targeted.

I have to thank @bluedalahorse for first alerting me to the way the crumbling domestic American dream is threaded through this episode. And after she mentioned it I saw it *everywhere*. 

Obviously there is a level of complexity here in the Loumand relationship that this metaphor cannot fully capture. For one thing, Armand is a man. He was turned in a time before modern understanding of gender and sexuality really solidified, so in some way it makes sense that he would be the most gender fluid of our main characters, but his position would be a lot different if he were a woman, even a woman vampire. And Armand is very powerful. His insecurities and crippling fear of being alone keep him from exercising this power and walking away in a way that would perhaps be healthier for both him and Louis. But he is not trapped economically or socially in the way a wife would have been in this era. (That being said, I get the sense that *something* about the way the fire happened in Paris has made Louis and Armand go to ground. Maybe there is an element of being “trapped together because of fear of exposure”. But even then, I think my point still stands.)

To drill down and become more specific, there’s an extra added layer to the way Armand is feminized in this episode. I’ve written a lot about disability in this show and also the way it approaches eugenics, and those things were very on my mind as I rewatched this episode. (To be fair, they are always on my mind when I watch anything. Being disabled will do that to you.) Anyway, the specific way that Armand casts himself in this episode is as a caregiver. He is a beleaguered, bitter caregiver to those weaker to him. I think you hear this especially when he describes to Louis what happened: “you said the worst things you ever said to me, and then you walked into the sun. And now you are a convalescent.” The absolute sneer on the word convalescent.  The absolute disdain for being put in this position again. The way he denies Louis the blood and keeps him out of his coffin for so long. The “final act of service” in calling Lestat. And then the tenderness laced with fear. Will he “be on suicide watch for the next 1000 years?”. 

Armand is fascinating to me because of the way he seems to instinctively reject people who remind him of his own past weaknesses. Those weaknesses are buried down deep in his characterization, but they’re there and they’re important. He was sick and wasting away when he was turned. And before that he was an abused sex worker. You can see the way he dismisses people in similar situations in the way he treats Daniel in this episode. He calls Daniel a “broken boy” when he’s talking to Louis. He casually rejects the idea that there might be any sort of truth captured in Daniel’s tapes. The interviews on those tapes are with a sex worker and gay veteran and his disabled refugee husband. All of these people are so close to Armand in so many ways. I even think this is why Armand comes down so hard on Claudia, and why he cannot abide the true empathy and love Louis has for her. Claudia was turned when her body was weak. Weaker and more disabled, so to speak, than Armand. But they are not dissimilar. But Louis loves Claudia anyway, and respects her strengths. No one ever shown the love Louis shows to Claudia to Armand. No one ever granted him true empathy. The only way he has been able to hold on to any love at all is to grovel, to manage, to care give. The only way he experiences care is to give it. Of course he’s broken, of course he’s bitter.

So now we come to Daniel. The broken boy who has suicidal ideation and a drug problem, things that make him imminently dismissable in Armand’s mind. But Daniel also has a drive, a passion for life, and a love for the people who slip through the cracks. Louis and Daniel definitely share this great affection for humanity, and it’s what allows them to connect in San Francisco and again in Dubai. And it’s what makes him inscrutable, and captivating, to Armand. Because there really is no greater act of service than telling somebody’s story. Daniel describes himself as a therapist ironically in Dubai, but what he’s doing is carework. It’s real empathy. And Armand doesn’t understand that. Armand doesn’t understand what someone is doing recording the stories of people who were just like him. A whole universe of possibilities opens in the moment when Armand almost starts telling Daniel his story. Out of all the ways Daniel tries to save himself, that little life line of empathy is what almost snags Armand. But then Armand clamps back down, realizes he’s staring into a “black hole”. He’s trying to insult Daniel when he says that, but to me it just sounds like he’s describing himself.

When Armand is lulling Daniel into death, the thing he chooses to describe to him is the American domestic fantasy. He describes it as a fate worse than death. He describes it as a boring trap. And he specifically casts Daniel in the masculine, straight role in that fantasy, with a wife “vacuuming on valium” who “counts down his thrusts”. In some ways Armand is painting his own relationship to Louis as the worst possible fate that Daniel could suffer. (And it makes me wonder– did Armand ever wonder if he would amount to anything? Does he think his life has any meaning at all, if you subtract the vampiric powers? Armand has never stopped to introspect like this, but I wonder what would happen if you forced him to.)

But Daniel is stubborn, and his desire to tell stories and empathize with people resists death. I love that he still defends himself, still claims that he’s “a bright young reporter with a point of view” and that that is worth something. Because it is.

When Louis asks Armand to save Daniel, Daniel unwittingly becomes a symbol of Louis and Armand’s continued marriage. He’s a wedding ring, a vows renewal. He’s emblematic of the continuation of failing vampiric domesticity. And when Louis tries to repair the damage Armand has wrought, he isn’t able to offer Daniel soothing words about his ability to find a spouse or raise children or understand love. Louis doesn’t understand those things, so how could he teach Daniel about them? But Louis has always understood stories and humanity, so he is able to gift Daniel his writing and his reporting back. 

I think you can interpret Daniel’s failed marriages and difficult relationship with his children in a lot of ways. We could say that he was always going to fail at these things, regardless of whether or not he met the vampires, because of the discontent that Armand sensed in him. Maybe the trauma that this aborted gay hookup with Louis created was enough to re-closet him, and send him down a dark road of unfulfilled straight relationships. Or maybe Armand’s words really did echo around in his head and pull him down as much as Louis’s lingered and sustained him over the years. Maybe we’ll get more answers about this as the show goes on, or maybe it will live in the ambiguous world of memory and manipulation the show so often plays in.

Regardless, I think this episode was a masterpiece, and the way it firmly established these themes about the failure of domesticity and the burden and joys of carework are going to really matter, I think, as we hit the brutal conclusion of the season. When emotions are at a breaking point, especially between Armand and Louis, they are going to resonate because they were grounded in this little claustrophobic wonder of an episode.

As a little postscript, I’m not quite sure where we’re going with Devil’s Minion after this episode, or if we’re even going there at all. If a DM timeline happened in the past, it would require additional editing of Daniel’s memory, and I’m not quite sure if that reveal would work structurally. (I would love to be proven wrong about this though, because I would love for young Daniel and Armand to have interacted more, for Assad and Luke’s chemistry if nothing else. They were so wonderful together.)  If it were to happen in Dubai, or to happen again Dubai, however… well that’s interesting. Because older Daniel is disabled. He’s even more firmly in this category of people that Armand is apt to dismiss. And if they were to get together, there would probably be some aspect of caregiving on Armand’s part. And there would also be some caregiving on Daniel’s part, in his ability to listen to Armand. So that has the potential to be really fascinating, and maybe mutually beneficial to both characters. But I think we have to cover a lot of ground before we would be able to get there.