#They’re on season six now… somehow.

[spikeisawesome456]

Oooh, I finally got contacted by the Avatar: the Last Airbender people about the figurine I won from the Braving the Elements podcast Live! panel I went to at Comic Con! Apparently, I won a Diamond Select Toys Uncle Iroh figurine that they’ll be shipping out to me soon! The whole panel was about Iroh, since his voice actor was one of the guests on the panel (as was Toph’s), so it makes sense.

Ha, I was so worried that I was going to be ghosted by these people, especially since my last name is commonly misspelled and my email address is just my first and last name, so it’s nice to have gotten contacted at least.

(Also, since I don’t know if I made a public post about this on this blog, when I was at Comic Con a couple weeks ago I attended a panel for the live recording of the Braving the Elements podcast that Janet Varney and Dante Basco (Korra and Zuko’s voice actors respectively) host. Since my mom is physically disabled, we were able to enter the room first and I got front row seats to the panel, and was able to book it to the line where they were doing trivia for ATLA. Now, I’m usually awful at trivia, but I am a fairly big ATLA fan, so I had some hope that I could get it. Luckily, the question I got was one I knew (at what stage of the siege on Ba Sing Se did Lu Ten die), and while I kinda didn’t get the question fully right, since I had no idea what they meant by stage, I answered that he died right as they broke through the wall and they were about to invade Ba Sing Se. Which Janet Varney accepted, ha. They told us to give our email addresses to a staff member to the side and they’d contact us about shipping out our prizes later, since they’re supposed to be a nice, more deluxe prize. After a week passed I was a bit skeptical about getting contacted, especially with the previously mentioned concern over my last name, but I finally got contacted which is a relief. ^-^)

(Oh! Also, I took video of them doing live script reads from the show, even though I don’t technically think I was supposed to?? No one has requested I take it down yet, though, so if you’re curious you can click on this link to see the YT video I made of it. They did three scenes, the one where Toph meets Iroh in season two, the scene where Iroh and Zuko reunite in the White Lotus Camp in season three, and the “father lord” scene also from season three. They also did a read of a comic book page with Iroh and June, but since I was on line for trivia at that point, the view is very obscured, and you can overhear the lady who was getting our signatures to acknowledge that we were going to be featured on a recording for a podcast. I also missed a bit of the beginning of the scene, but it was still cute, so I decided to add it to my video, ha. The actual podcast episode will be coming out at a later date?? From what I’ve seen of past live recordings, it can take months before they’re released, but if anyone does watch that podcast, you’ll hear/maybe see (if they post on YT) me answering trivia correctly for once, ha.)

[meazalykov]

cry for help

jana fernandez x emotionalsupport!reader

summary: sometimes the strong one needs help too

warnings: angst, mentions of injury

it’s almost a daily routine now, early mornings and late nights. 

whenever your phone rings, it’s hardly ever a surprise—you already know it’s going to be someone from the team. you’re a solid foundation, the person everyone knows will pick up no matter what time it is.

your teammates joke about it, calling you the “rock of our team,” and they’re not wrong. 

you’re the one they lean on, whether it’s for a ride to training, advice, or just an ear to listen.

like today, you’ve been up since six am, your phone vibrating beside you as you lace up your sneakers. vicky is texting, asking for a ride to training because her car’s in the shop. 

without hesitation, you reply, “on my way,” grabbing your keys and heading out the door. you pull up in front of vicky’s place a little while later, watching her jog out of her building, bag slung over her shoulder and water bottle in hand. 

she slides into the passenger seat, already mid-sentence about some random topic that has her laughing, and you can’t help but laugh along too. these car rides have become tradition, a time to catch up on everything, from gossip to game plans, and while they’re usually light-hearted, 

you know she appreciates it more than she lets on. she’s been through some tough moments recently for a teenager, and if a ride can make her day easier, then you’re all in.

you’ve always been this way. giving, helping, always ready to step up. the team is like family, and you’d do anything for them. so when lucia calls later that week, her voice shaky over the phone, you drop everything and go. 

she’s curled up on her couch when you arrive, looking small and fragile in a way that’s so unlike her usual confident self. it doesn’t take long for her to break down, admitting that her relationship has fallen apart. it’s raw and real, and she’s hurting. 

she says something about feeling lost, like she’s somehow failed, and you’re there, holding her hand, listening without judgment. 

hours go by, the sky darkening outside, but you don’t move until she finally nods off, exhausted but calmer. you leave a note, reminding her that she’s strong, that this pain will pass, and that she’s not alone.

that’s always been your role—to be the steady one, the one people call when things get tough. and yet, you realize, it’s been a while since anyone’s asked you how you’re doing. they wouldn’t know that lately, it feels like the weight of everything is pressing down on you. 

maybe it’s because you’ve always handled things on your own, always managed to keep it together even when the pressure builds up. you don’t even go to your girlfriend of two years, jana, whenever you need help. maybe it’s because they’re so used to you being the strong one that they forget you might need a little support, too.

christmas rolls around, and you’re spending it with esmee and her girlfriend, danielle, who flew in from the netherlands. you can feel the holiday spirit in the air, the warmth and laughter filling esmee’s place as the three of you decorate, wrapping garlands around door frames and untangling strings of lights. danielle is vibrant, animated, bringing a bit of her dutch charm into the mix, and for a few hours, you find yourself relaxing. 

there’s no expectation here, no one needing anything from you but your company. as the night goes on, you end up chatting on the couch, talking about everything from football to travel plans, and esmee’s laughter is contagious, filling the room with a joy that feels so comforting. 

it’s one of those rare moments where you feel lighter, like maybe you don’t have to carry everything on your shoulders all the time.

as the season kicks back in, the demands on you only grow. it’s almost amusing how quickly your phone fills up with requests—from organizing things for alexia and olga’s event to helping ingrid after she got injured on the pitch. 

you’re coordinating outfits, setting up rides, and giving pep talks before games. nobody else seems to notice how exhausted you are, and maybe that’s partly your own fault. you don’t let on. you smile, you reassure, you show up—every time, every day.

during el claisco– you take a hard tackle before halftime. it’s bad, but you grit your teeth and force yourself to get back up, brushing it off as if it’s nothing. the last thing you want is anyone worrying about you; it’s easier that way, to be the one who doesn’t need anything. 

even as your leg throbs, a hot wave of pain radiating from your hamstrings, you push forward. you tell yourself you’re fine, that you can handle it. you’ve been through worse. and there’s a part of you that’s desperate to keep playing, to prove something, maybe to yourself, maybe to everyone else. 

you’d scored last game, but in your mind, it’s not enough. it’s never enough.

in the locker room at halftime, you pull on a fresh shirt, forcing yourself to act like the throbbing in your knee is nothing but a minor ache. the team talks tactics, voices buzzing around you, but it’s hard to focus as you keep adjusting your weight off your right leg, gritting your teeth every time you have to stand. 

you feel jana’s eyes on you from across the room, catching every wince, every small shift.

she doesn’t say anything at first, just watches. as you make your way toward the door to head back out, she steps in front of you, blocking your path. 

“you’re not fine,” she says quietly, her eyes sharp. 

“i can see it every time you put pressure on your leg.”

“i’m fine,” you say, voice firm but maybe too quick. she knows you too well, sees through every front you’ve ever put up, and today is no different.

jana shakes her head, not buying it for a second. 

“no. you’re hurt, and if you’re not going to tell the coach, then i will.”

a jolt of panic runs through you. 

“jana, please,” you say, your voice dropping. there’s a sadness there, a desperation. you don’t want to leave the game. you don’t want everyone thinking you’re weak.

her expression softens, but her tone stays resolute. 

“then tell the coach yourself that you can’t keep going. go to the medic. please, for once, let yourself be honest.”

the look in her eyes is all it takes. you nod slowly, and with a heavy heart, you walk to the coach, explaining that you can’t play the rest of the match. you can’t even look at your teammates on the way out, avoiding every concerned glance as you head toward the medic room. 

each step feels like an admission of defeat, and the sting of it burns even more than the pain in your knee.

sitting alone in the small room, it’s quiet, unbearably so. for the first time in a long time, you feel the weight of it all pressing down on you, every bit of responsibility and expectation you’ve been carrying. you’ve always been strong for everyone else, but now, when it’s your turn to be looked after, all you feel is a raw, aching sense of failure. 

the tears come before you can stop them, silent and steady, until you’re caught in a wave of emotions you’ve been holding back for far too long.

the sound of the door opening breaks through your thoughts, and you look up, surprised to see both alexia and jana standing there. they’ve been taken off the pitch, and somehow got permission to come see you. 

alexia steps forward first, her hand gentle on your shoulder. 

“do you want to talk about it?” she asks softly.

jana, ever perceptive, doesn’t leave it as a question. she moves closer, searching your face, her expression filled with understanding and a quiet determination. she knows you don’t open up easily, knows you’d rather hide behind that strength everyone admires. 

“tell us what’s really going on,” she says gently but firmly.

you take a shaky breath, looking between them. 

“it’s el clasico… i wanted to score so badly. i needed to.” your voice cracks, the weight of the words catching you off guard. 

“i don’t know why i’m pushing myself like this. i just… i feel like i have to prove that i belong here.”

alexia squeezes your shoulder, and you can tell she understands. she’s had her own battles, her own struggles with injuries and expectations. 

“you don’t need to prove anything. you just signed a renewal. the team believes in you.”

jana’s hand finds yours, her fingers threading through, grounding you. 

alexia gives your shoulder a final reassuring squeeze before stepping back. 

“i’ll go back to the bench, but… take your time. we’re here when you need us.” she leaves quietly.

you let out a shaky breath, the last of your tears finally slowing. jana’s hand is steady on your back, her presence warm and grounding, and for the first time in a long while, you feel a sliver of relief breaking through the weight.

she pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, her gaze soft but unwavering. 

“you don’t have to do this alone, you know,” she whispers. her hand reaches up, brushing a tear from your cheek with a tenderness that nearly undoes you all over again. 

“let me be strong for you, too.”

the words sink in, deeper than you could have ever expected. this strength you’ve always tried to carry for everyone else—it’s okay to let go of it sometimes. 

maybe you don’t have to be the rock every day. not when your girlfriend is here, right beside you, who’s ready to share the weight.

“okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. it’s a start. you let yourself lean into her embrace once more, feeling the warmth and security of her arms, and for once, you let yourself just be held.

she doesn’t let go, and neither do you.

masterlist

[lordprettyflackotara]

summer of sam || sam golbach

SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+. wooo it’s getting hot in here. tw: subby sam, stripper/dom reader, humiliation, degrading, overstimulation, sub/dom dynamics in place, dry humping, choking, etc this is just complete and utter filth. ps: this is my first time writing the male to be submissive on this blog. W? L?

You were a professional at what you did.

Every summer in between college semesters you’d work the same strip club, earnings thousands of dollars all summer long. Ohio wasn’t known for its popularity in exotic dancers what so ever, your presence spicing up an otherwise dead club.

Over time you had grown a consistent fan base of men who awaited your return every summer. You were now on year five, your degree so close to being obtained you could practically taste it. It’s what kept you motivated to keep coming back. You had to pay for your degree somehow even if it was deemed shameful by your peers. Which is why you traveled to a town in Ohio far from your hometown, determined to make enough funds to scrape by the semester.

It was only week two of your return, word of your arrival spreading through the town. In an odd way it made you all jittery, feeling like a little celebrity. You were in your dressing room, pampering yourself with makeup before your set time on stage. Your eyes flickered to the door opening behind you, continuing to pat your brush across your cheek. Your body guard was the sweetest man alive, his chocolate eyes meeting yours.

“Hi Tommy, big crowd?” You asked. You had met Tom during year two of your ‘career’, the man fully dedicated to protecting you from creeps. “I’d say so, but I have an offer from a new comer. Wants a private dance,” He informed you. You set your brush aside on the vanity, grabbing a tube of lipstick. “As if, that crowd out there will provide me ten times whatever he could,” You replied. Tom cleared his throat, your gaze straying away from your plump lips to him. In his hand sat two wads of cash.

“This is fifteen thousand. He offered more if you come.”

You never did private dances. You had admittedly become egotistical over time, your time precious during the hotter season. The private dances were no where near as cash filled as public ones were. Undoubtedly you were the star of the show in this little town and you belonged in the spotlight. Your eyebrows had furrowed at the wads of cash, quickly sliding out of your chair. Your heels clicked as you grabbed one, running your thumb through it.

“They’re real?” You questioned. You already knew the answer, the tiny bumps across the blue band of the hundred dollar bills giving it away. “Every single one. He’s in room six,” Tom answered you. You nodded, handing him back the wad. “Stand outside of the room if you don’t mind. I want to see what this guy is all about,” You say.

You had almost forgotten what the hallway to the private rooms looked like, new purple led lights illuminating the dim hallway. Finding room six was a breeze, the numbers in bold letters hammered to the doors. You glanced over at Tom, nodding affirmatively for him to stand by its side. You shook off your nerves, remembering who you were. How many men would die to be in this one’s position. Your slender fingers gripped the doorknob, pushing it open.

The sight before you was not one you expected, a clean cut blonde sitting on the middle of a circular couch. His legs were spread, thin framed glasses sitting on his nose. His blue eyes met yours instantly, an undeniable intensity flooding the room. Tom closed the door behind you, giving you some privacy. The blonde awkwardly stood up, adjusting his tie. “Hi, i’m Sam,” He greeted. You watched as he held out his hand to you, waiting for you to shake it. You tried to conceal your confusion, shaking his hand. Your stage name fell off of your lips with ease,

“I’m Kailani.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Here um, sit sit,” He said, gesturing to the purple velvet couch. You followed his request, sitting down. “So Sam, what exactly did you request me here for?” You asked. Sam sat down as well, visibly nervous. He ran his fingers through his hair. “For a private dance..?” He replied, his tone sounding as if he was asking a question more than answering. You raised an eyebrow. “Sweetheart no one around here pays fifteen thousand just for my consideration. What do you actually want?” You asked. Sam gulped, his adams apple moving as he fidgeted with his hands.

“It’s kind of a long story,” He began. You could feel your patience thinning. “Time is money and unless you plan on beginning to pay me for this I will not-” You began. Your words were sharply cut off as Sam reached in his pocket, setting another wad of cash on the clear coffee table in front of you. “That cover it?” He asked you. Affirmatively you nodded.

“My name is Sam Golbach, i’m a famous youtuber with an obsessed fanbase. I’m from here and heard through the great vine about you. Might I just add you’re even hotter in person,” Sam began. His name didn’t ring a bell, but his face did look vaguely familiar. “I’m here because you’re just as discreet about your line of work as I am about what I do in my spare time in the bedroom,” He continued. You arched an eyebrow, questioning his words. “You’re very obviously not from here, only here during the summer. My guess is that you’re in college or something similar, probably in a different state,” He answered.

Your stone cold expression fell, your face visibly telling Sam everything he needed to know. You felt the urge to get up and leave, the blonde seemingly reading your mind. “No no listen I totally get it, i’m not here to judge you or anything,” He rambled. Your eyes shot daggers as they met his blue ones. “Get on with it. What do you want?” You questioned.

“It is extremely hard for me to get laid without the media making a big deal out of it, I have some things I want to uh, try in the bedroom that the media would have a field day with,” Sam told you. You audibly scoffed, rising to your feet. “I’m not a goddamn prostitute. So what was your big idea? To come here and have me call you daddy and beg for your cock? Fuck you,” You snapped. Hastily you turned towards the door, Sam’s large hand grabbing your waist. You began to protest, Sam’s meek words cutting you off.

“Quite the opposite,” He said. He was practically shaking with nerves, his cheeks flushed pink. You froze in your tracks, looking at the desperate blonde. “I-I want you to use me. To treat me like a slut or something. I don’t want to be in control,” Sam explained. His cheeks were turning a deeper shade of red, his hand dropping from your wrist. He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a black credit card. “If we make this arrangement for the entire summer, this is yours. It’ll pay off anything you need it to. Until next summer, where I’d like to do all of this again,” He offered.

You took the tiny piece of metal between your fingers. You had never held such a heavy credit card before. “What are your conditions?” You questioned. Sam lowered himself back onto the couch, rubbing the back of his neck. “No stripping while i’m around, which will be all summer. Obviously no telling anyone you ever saw me and um, I want it rough,” He answered. The offer was tempting, the boy in front of you practically a puppy dying to be played with. “Any hard limits I need to know about?” You asked.

“No anal, nothing too weird, I guess. I just want you to use me. I want to be your submissive who you use to get off.”

“And you want to start now?”

“Please.”

Fuck, his desperation was making your core throb. You slowly approached him, straddling him as you looked down at his flushed face. “Safe word is red if you want to stop for any reason,” You whispered, leaning close to his ear. Your breath was hot against his skin, a small groan escaping his lips. You rolled your hips against his, the blonde below you audibly whimpering. “There we go, keep making those pretty noises for me,” You cooed. You brought your index finger and middle to his lips, pulling them down teasingly.

“Open your mouth,” You purred. Sam opened his mouth, flattening his tongue out on display for you. You grinned devilishly as you shoved your fingers into your mouth. He groaned as you grinded down against him. “There we go, now the harder you suck them the faster I grind against that hard cock of yours, hmm?” You offered. Sam nodded profusely, groaning around your fingers as you rolled your hips against his. Your thin red panties bottoms creating the perfect amount of friction against your clit. You moaned as he swirled his tongue around your fingers, his hands placing themselves on your hips.

They slithered to your ass, massaging the mounds of flesh as you grinded against him. His whining noises were music to your ears. “Such a good boy for me, aren’t you?” You say. Sam’s eyes began to roll into the back of his head, bobbing profusely on your fingers. “I’m gonna cum,” He moaned around your fingers, his words muffled. You grinned, a sadistic idea coming into your mind. If he wanted to be treated like a fucktoy, you’d treat him like a filthy fucktoy. “Go on, cum for me you pathetic thing,” You ordered. His hips stuttered, loud groans muffled by your fingers as he came in his pants.

You took your fingers out of his mouth, bringing them to your own. You licked his saliva off, his blue eyes blown with lust. Sam swallowed as he admired you. “Let me taste you, please,” He whispered. You grabbed his face, teasingly dragging his bottom lip downwards. “Get on your knees and keep begging. I’ll think about it,” You ordered. Sam quickly slithered out from underneath you, dropping to his knees without a second thought. He looped his fingers around your panties, your hand stopping him.

“Oh baby boy I didn’t say you could use your hands,” You chuckled darkly. Sam was in a state of euphoric bliss, your degrading words making his cock grow harder in his cum soaked boxers. You spread your thighs, the blonde nuzzling in between them. He put his hands on your knees, his submissive mind trying to figure out how to obey you. You frowned at his hands on your knees. “You just can’t stop using those hands of yours,” You noted. You leaned forward, the blondes breath hitching as you undid his tie.

He could smell your perfume as you leaned over him, grabbing his hands and tying them behind his back with his own tie. Sam gulped nervously as you sat back, giving him a mischievous smile. “Go on baby boy, put that tongue of yours to good use,” You cooed mockingly. Sam brought his head in between your thighs, biting the hem of your panties with his teeth. You bit your bottom lip as he dragged them down your thighs, your core throbbing in anticipation. This is what you deserved, a rich submissive man who was willing to do whatever you wanted.

Sam dragged your panties down to your ankles, watching you slowly step out of them. He nuzzled himself back in between your thighs, flattening his tongue against your folds. He groaned at your taste, your cunts sweetness an addicting sensation. “You taste so sweet,” He mumbled into your slick, his eyes fluttering shut. Your hips had a mind of their own, grinding shamelessly against Sam’s eager tongue. He sucked and lapped at your clit, before teasingly sticking it inside of your entrance. Your fingers raked through the roots of his hair, tugging at the roots.

The pain only made Sam moan louder, his cock growing fully erect in his pants. You could feel the cord inside your stomach tighten. You’d never had a submissive partner before, your core on fire from the pleasure the eager blonde was giving you. You’d never felt more empowered. “You’re doing such a good job Sammy, just like that,” You moaned. Sam whined as he shifted awkwardly in his pants, seeking any sort of friction for his own throbbing needs. He latched his lips around your clit, sucking harshly as you finally came.

Once the blonde saw your legs tremble, he began lapping up the juices you had produced. It was like a reward. “Just like that. Lick me clean or I won’t touch you,” You threatened, swallowing to regain your authoritative tone. Once you were satisfied with Sam’s performance you grabbed him by his button up, switching places with him once more. Your fingers played with his belt, your doe eyes meeting his. “May I?” You asked. He nodded profusely, licking his lips.

“Please.”

He lifted his hips, the two of you managed to slide his pants and boxers down to his ankles. In front of you was his hard cock, his cum covering the sides. “Such a filthy little boy, making a mess like this,” You commented. You straddled his hips, lining yourself up with his cock. Your eyes met his blue ones, studying his face carefully. “This okay?” You whispered. You leaned closer to the trembling man, his face flushed pink from lust. “More than okay, please,” Sam whined. You smirked as you lowered yourself on his cock, biting your bottom lip to hold back your own moans.

His cock was stretching you much wider than you had taken before, your walls fluttering around his cock. “Oh my God,” Sam groaned, throwing his head back. Once you sank fully onto him you grabbed his throat, your slender fingers applying pressure to the sides. “Look at me while I fuck you slut,” You ordered sternly. Sam forced himself to look at you, his hips attempting to move upwards to fuck you. He needed you. He needed you now. “Awe are you really trying to fuck me? Like the filthy whore you are?” You asked mockingly. Sam groaned as you applied less pressure, your hand still settled on his throat.

“N-need it. Need you. So bad,” Sam whimpered. He wished he could touch you, his hands still bound behind his back with his own tie. It was so demeaning, so humiliating. Yet he adored every second of it. He knew from the moment he saw you that you were the one for him. The one he wanted to give control to. To dedicate his body to. As you rolled your hips against his you could feel the vibrations of Sam’s whimpers against your hand through his throat. Sam was a panting mess, your hips bouncing on his cock faster by the second.

“My fucking God- you are so tight,” Sam panted. You squeezed his neck tighter, his vision becoming hazy. “Yeah? Fuck you’re such a cute little thing,” You huffed, his cock abusing your g spot with each roll of your hips. Your hand released his throat, his lungs immediately gasping for air. You wouldn’t ever admit it, but he felt fucking amazing. Far better than any other man you’d ever had. You weren’t proud to admit your career didn’t start off on such a high note, your legs having been opened for one too many creeps.

You’d had all kinds of affairs and arrangements, ones that fizzled out immediately. But Sam? The whimpering mess beneath you? You wanted to ride him like this forever. You felt yourself getting close to the edge, taking his cock as you pleased. “Mmm i’m close,” You murmured, biting your bottom lip. Sam was convinced he hadn’t seen anything near as sexy as you cumming on his cock. Your walls spasming around him sent him into a frenzy, his dick twitching and cumming inside of you. His face was beet red, his mouth dry as he panted below you. You were a slice of heaven, one he wanted to experience every chance he could.

You grinned as you leaned back, before lifting yourself off of him. Sam had foolishly expected it to be over, before watching you drop to your knees. “W-what are you doing?” He questioned softly. He watched in fear and lust as you licked up the side of his shaft. “I’m cleaning you up silly, i’m not rude you know. I have manners,” You answered. You began bobbing your head up and down his cock, his shaft growing harder in your mouth with each passing second. He squirmed as you swirled your tongue around his shaft, sucking both of your juices off of him. His body trembled as you licked his slit.

“Holy fuck that’s t-too much I-” Sam babbled. You pulled off of his cock, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. You pumped him with your hand, giving him a devilish smirk. “You can handle it. Let me clean you up. Be a good boy for me and take it,” You told him. Sam threw his head back as you began to deep throat him, your gagging only turning him on more. “I didn’t say you could look away Sammy. Look at me. Watch as I suck out your soul,” You purred. The blonde forced himself to look down at you, his legs trembling as you resumed sucking his cock.

His moans were incoherent babbles. “Fuck fuck fuck i’m so close,” He whined. The pleasure was becoming painful, your devious tongue and sinful lips showing no signs of stopping. You wanted to milk him dry. Sam’s hips jerked upwards as he came, his cum painting the inside of your mouth. You swallowed it with ease, before teasingly licking his slit. “You taste good,” You praised. You pulled away from his cock, the blonde shaking from euphoria.

You could feel his cum leaking down your upper thighs, an unholy idea popping into your head. You stood up, grabbing him by his shirt and forcing him to lay back on the couch. You straddled yourself over his head, your cunt inches away from his face, his blue eyes meeting yours, awaiting instructions. “Go ahead, why don’t you find out how you taste Sammy?”

[pinazee]

Six Feet Under the Sea

I love how ridiculous this episode starts off as and then somehow circles back to an actual federal crime. They kind of stumble across it, but i like to think it’s karma for taking the sea lion murder seriously, like a 2 for 1.

This funeral must have smelled like a thousand fish farts

Burglary ring at gentlemans finishing school. Well, hello pre-determined reference ;)

Shawn says he doesn’t like funerals because people are sad but i think it just makes him uncomfortable when people are sad and he can’t do anything about it. I think it has more to do with his loss of control- but I’m no therapist.

This is just a shot i found interesting. Its like a 90’s zoom or something idk

She would actually be a great love interest for gus. For one, she is very passionate about her subject, much like how he gets, but shes also a risk taker so she’d push him out of his comfort zone like shawn does. She also said she likes how weird shawn is, but gus is too! And if he stopped trying to impress her by being someone hes not, she’d see that. Plus, she became fast friends with juliet which is a win (though their little interaction barely passes the bechdel test).

Gus, just no, don’t do that. My boy does this a lot, though. He comes on too strong, it’s off putting. Hes just so passionate about this too i guess :)

This really is the coolest office ever

Aquariums make me sad btw. Like those poor dolphins are used to swimming thousands of miles! Now they’re in a little enclosure 😭

Shawn and gus’ real enemy is security guards

Chief vick is phil collins biggest fan

Went on a bit of a deep dive to try to figure out the rocinante reference, and while i understand its the name of don quixote’s horse, i don’t get the reference gus and shawn make about it reminding them of a full body syrah (i assumed it was in reference to a wine brand) or a gay couple from lisbon (which is just unclear to me. Though, some believe don quixote to be a “good metaphor for queer identity” but i doubt thats what shawns referencing haha)

This is really james driving btw :)

Shawn must be real suave this season. This is his like 4th romantic interest? I never paid attention to it before, but this is a pretty big part of this season. Also does the end scene make her the original shules shipper???

P.S I LOVE THESE OWLS.

But why are they sharing this look??? Did their child do something endearing yet predictably wrong in their 90’s sitcom?

[supernovafics]

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄

"i'll be there for you" universe masterlist

pairing: bestfriend!roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k words

warnings: explicit language, some mentions of alcohol, parent drama (both reader’s and steve’s parents suck)

summary: in which your parents and steve’s come over for dinner 

author's note: this has absolutely nothing to do with the harry styles song but the title of it is just very fitting so yeah<33 i’ve been rewatching a lot of gilmore girls this fall season so i feel like that's helped me get the hang of writing awkward/tense dinners with family lol so this needed to be done

general note: everything in this universe/series can be read as standalone oneshots but to understand the full “lore” it would prob be best to read the other stuff too<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Fall 1985

When your and Steve’s parents first suggested this “early Thanksgiving dinner,” you thought that it wouldn’t actually happen. 

The initial idea sounded pretty funny to you— your parents and Steve’s parents would have a full on dinner at your apartment a week before the actual holiday. Yeah, right.

It sounded like the kind of idea that parents that really cared about spending time with their children would have, and that wasn’t how you’d necessarily describe yours or Steve’s. 

A month ago, when they told you about the ski trip the four of them were going on during the entire week of Thanksgiving, you expected to just not see them probably until Christmas— and that felt like a bit of relief to you because spending time with your parents wasn’t your favorite hobby.  

But then you remembered how, only during the holidays, your parents always had a need to show, or maybe more so “prove” to themselves, that they actually cared about you. So, of course, they wouldn’t let this stupid holiday go, and instead they thought that it would be best if you all did something early and together. 

And sadly, none of the immediate excuses that you and Steve came up with worked because your moms had solutions for everything.

When you told yours that the kitchen in the apartment was too small to cook for this kind of elaborate dinner, she simply told you that they’d buy and bring all of the food and you and Steve wouldn’t have to cook at all. She also not-so-jokingly mentioned that she would’ve never trusted either of you two cooking anyway.

And when Steve told his mom that the current dining table you two had was way too small to fit all six of you, she promptly had one ordered and delivered to your door in just a week. It was an expensive dark wood set that could comfortably fit six people, and you and Steve spent hours struggling to build it the day it showed up at your front door. It took up an obscene amount of space, but it did actually look kind of nice.

Now it was weeks later and the dreaded night was finally here, but you still tried to come up with any way to avoid it from happening. 

“And we’re sure that we really can’t get out of doing this tonight?” You asked Steve as you folded the blanket that was lying half-hazardly on the couch. “I could call my mom and say that we’ve somehow fallen tragically ill in the last hour?”

“I’m ninety-five percent sure that they’re all already on their way.”

“Shit.”

“It’ll be fine,” Steve said, and then he considered his words. “Actually, it will probably suck, but overall, we will be fine.” 

You let out a sigh and placed the now folded blanket back on the couch and then started cleaning off the coffee table, stacking the random magazines in a neat pile and then adjusting Harold’s cage so that it was nicely in the center. Your and Steve’s shared pet hamster was currently nibbling on the food that you had put in his bowl only moments ago. 

An abrupt feeling of worry shot through you as you looked around the apartment. The place was clean— probably the cleanest it had ever been��� since you and Steve had spent the day doing everything to avoid either of your parents saying anything bad about the place. However, in the grand scheme of things, you knew that it didn’t matter because they’d still hate the apartment. They would hate how you two decided to furnish and decorate it, and they would passive aggressively make fun of the place for however long this dinner would have to be.

“Let’s try not to think about how bad this night is gonna be and just be glad that we’re not gonna have to suffer alone, like usual,” Steve said, practically reading your mind and the look on your face, as he started setting plates out on the new table. 

He was completely right. This was the first time that a collective Thanksgiving was happening among all of you. Usually, it was just you alone with your parents in Chicago visiting family members that you never talked to, and Steve was doing the same exact thing except he was in Indianapolis. You’d always end up calling each other at the end of the night from the hotel or family house you were staying at, and you’d tell each other stories about whatever weird family members you encountered or how boring it all was. 

It did make things feel a bit better that, for once, you didn’t have to go through this alone and neither did Steve.

“You’re right,” You said with a nod and then smiled. “We’ll be going through this shitshow together.”

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door and since Steve was closer he went to answer it. You took one brief and final look around the apartment before heading toward the door too, so Steve didn’t have to be by himself in this greeting.

“Hi,” He said when he opened the door and saw all of your parents standing there. There was a bright smile on his face and he effortlessly turned on that “Steve Harrington charm” that people had adored in high school— you hadn’t even gone to the same high school as him, but you still heard so many of the stories.

A chorus of Hi’s and Hello’s were heard as your moms entered the apartment first since they were carrying all of the food and your dads followed in right behind them.

“I still hate that you moved into a place that doesn’t have a front doorman, or, at least, a buzzer system,” Were your dad’s first words to you; deciding against saying the simple “How are you?” that you had expected. “You two should get a better lock on your door.”

You laughed a bit. “We live in Hawkins, not New York, Dad. I don’t think anyone is really itching to rob us anytime soon.” 

“Anything can happen,” He responded, looking at you seriously. “I’ll bring you a new one when we get back from Colorado.”

You only nodded at his words instead of saying anything to rebut them; you knew that he overall meant well. “Okay.”

Your attention turned to your mom and she pulled you into a hug that felt way too forced before pulling away and giving you a quick onceover. “Oh… Is that what you’re wearing?”

You thought that your outfit was fine; a V-neck navy blue knit sweater that was a bit cropped and a simple pair of black jeans. But, your mom always managed to find something wrong with everything, so this reaction to your current outfit didn’t necessarily surprise you; it did still annoy you all the same, though.

“Oh, um, no I was just about to change,” You told her and forced a small smile.

She nodded at that. “Okay, that’s good, that’s good. You go change while Christine and I get the table set up.”

You started heading toward your room but looked back at Steve first. He was in a conversation with his parents that looked like they were doing much more of the talking than him. As if sensing your gaze on him, his eyes met yours and he gave you a hopeful look and that was enough to make you feel a little better.

It didn’t take long for you to change. You kept your sweater on but traded your jeans for the long black silk skirt that your mom had always liked on you. You hoped this slightly different outfit would be enough to satisfy her, and if not, you were willing to suffer through her inevitable look of disappointment. 

You lingered in your room, tidying up your desk for no particular reason and then deciding to remake your bed. It was clear that you were stalling, avoiding having to face your parents again, and as much as you wanted to continue doing that, you also didn’t want to leave Steve to fend for himself. You were supposed to be suffering together, after all. 

You immediately noticed the dining table when you walked out of your bedroom. The food was now nicely set out and there were even brown placemats sitting underneath the plates that Steve had already set out. It was all set up in a way that would’ve felt nice and wholesome if either of your families had ever remotely felt like the ones portrayed in most TV shows or movies. But, they weren’t anywhere close to being like that, so this all just felt weirdly forced.

Of course, you didn’t say that, though.

Instead, you sat down with everyone at the table and desperately hoped that the next few hours of your life would breeze by. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“From the brochure, the pictures of the cabin look really great. We hope it actually looks that way in person,” Steve’s mom, Christine, said. 

You took another bite of the mac and cheese on your plate as you continued to listen to your parents talk about their ski trip that was happening next week, which they had been doing for the last twenty minutes and you fully didn’t mind it. Since the conversation wasn’t centered on either you or Steve, things actually didn’t feel tense or nervewracking. If you could just make your parents talk about themselves during the entire dinner, you would probably end the night with a smile on your face. 

“Oh, and there are a lot of bedrooms too,” Your mom chimed in before taking another sip from the wine glass in her hand. “Maybe you two could take a trip up there soon and invite your friends to go too.” 

“Yeah, that would be nice,” You said with a small nod.

“Enough talking about the trip, though, that’s probably so boring for your kids to hear about,” Your dad said, and you internally sighed because you knew the exact direction the conversation was about to go in. You felt him look at you. “How’s school been going? The semester is almost over.”

“It’s been good,” You answered, keeping your response short and sweet. You decided not to mention that you really couldn’t care less about the majority of your classes because none of what you were doing in any of them felt like it really mattered. 

“Okay, and your grades and everything are fine, right?”

You only nodded in response to his question, hoping that your lack of actual words would signal to him that you wanted to bring an end to this topic of conversation. Of course, that was only wishful thinking.

“That’s good,” Your mom said. “You have to make sure your grades stay like how they were in high school, or even better, for when you transfer to the University of Chicago. We don’t want to have any reason for them not to accept you again.” 

You suddenly felt like you were right back in middle school and high school, where your conversations with your parents solely revolved around school; what your grades were, if you were doing your homework and completing assignments on time, and studying for tests. It always annoyed you that the only times they would bother to pay attention to you was when it came to that stuff. Other than that, you were always seemingly an afterthought, never a bigger priority than their jobs. 

In a way, this entire conversation should’ve been expected; it was always inevitable. Pretty much anytime you talked to your parents in recent months, the discussion always seemed to circle its way back to that school and you going there in two years instead of right now, like they had wanted you to.

“I’m still so surprised that you decided to not go to the University of Chicago now,” Christine said and you turned your attention to her. It was starting to feel a bit painful to you that the subject still hadn’t changed yet. “When Steve told me that you were going to go to the community college close by, I couldn’t believe it, honestly.”

You noticed your parents share a look upon hearing her words. The mix of disappointment and annoyance toward you that was shared between them in that moment felt palpable. 

“I didn’t think it was time to leave Indiana just yet. I’ll be going soon, though,” You said, keeping your voice light and plastering on a fake smile, even though all you wanted to do in that moment was leave the table and hideout in your bathroom for the rest of the night. 

You saw your dad smile a little and then you also noticed the look of relief wash over your mom’s face. For some stupid reason, you still felt the need to make them feel pleased with you. And somehow that made you feel even more upset with yourself than anything they had said to you so far tonight. 

The only thing that managed to make things feel remotely tolerable right then was Steve sitting across from you, giving you a look that said, “Everything will be okay.” For the time being, you chose to believe him and you simply took another bite of your food. 

You were about to say something about how good the turkey was so your moms would start talking about the restaurant they got all of the food from and why they chose it— you were sure that there was some story behind it all— and that would finally bring an end to the college conversation. But, before a word could leave your mouth, Steve’s dad began speaking. 

“Well, at least, you’re in college. We can’t say the same for Steve here.” He then looked at his son. “Do you really want to work at a video store for the rest of your life?”

 Christine let out a sigh. “Jeff.”

“What?” He shrugged as if his previous question wasn’t completely condescending. “I’m just asking a question.”

“I’m actually starting at the community college next semester,” Steve told his parents and you tried to hide your immediate confusion. “I found out I got in a few days ago.”

“Well, that’s great,” Christine said happily, and Jeff smiled approvingly as well. 

You had no idea Steve had gotten in or even applied, and you wondered if he was lying right then to just get his parents off his back, but you couldn’t tell. Something about the way he said it honestly felt pretty real. The only part that didn’t feel real was that you were finding out during this dumb dinner instead of at any other time. 

“So, I was wondering,” Your mom began and you braced yourself for the impact of whatever she was going to say. “Why did you two decide to get a hamster? I feel like it makes things smell a bit funny in here…”

A part of you was glad that the conversation finally shifted away from college. But you didn’t think that the passive aggressive comments toward the apartment would begin with Harold. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Well, this night was fucking brutal.”

You let out a sigh. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

Steve was doing the dishes as you put what was left of the food into tupperwares and then put them in the fridge. Surprisingly, it was a lot of stuff leftover; your moms definitely went overboard with the amount they had ordered. You and Steve already made plans to invite Robin and Eddie over tomorrow to have some of these leftovers.

“I’m actually glad that the dessert tasted bad since it made them want to leave early.”

“It was honestly a bit bittersweet because I was kind of excited for that pie,” You said as you placed the final tupperware of food into the fridge and then went over to Steve. “Oh, and also,” You punched his arm and ignored his immediate “ouch.” “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that the stars have finally managed to align and we’ll finally be going to the same school for the first time ever?”

He smiled a little at your dramatics. “I didn’t wanna make a big deal out of it just in case I somehow didn’t end up getting in. I swear I was gonna tell you tomorrow.”

“So, you did all of that annoying application stuff by yourself?”

“Robin helped me with it.”

“I would’ve been happy to help you,” You told him, and maybe you were being a bit overdramatic, but you actually felt slightly offended that he hadn’t wanted to come to you about this. 

The possibility of you two going to the same middle or high school was a far out idea that never happened because you lived in different towns. But, it was still something that was adamantly and wistfully talked about by you and him; how much more fun both of your school lives could be if they intersected in that way like the other parts of your lives did. 

Of course, going to the same college would’ve been the most obvious way for it to finally happen, but Steve never seemed that interested in going to college, and up until the last possible second you were being pushed toward Chicago by your parents. 

But now things were finally different.

“I know that you would’ve, but I didn’t want to talk about it to anyone, honestly. Robin saw me working on the application one day and decided to help,” He explained and you only gave him a small nod in response. “I didn’t even think I’d tell my parents about it, but when I heard my dad’s dumb comment about Family Video I felt like I had to say it so he wouldn’t keep looking at me like a disappointment.” He sighed. “And it’s kinda fucked up… I really don’t wanna care what my parents think about me and what I’m doing with my life, but I think there will always be a part of me that does.”

You thought back to your dad’s approving smile and your mom’s relieved look when you reassured them that you still planned to go to the University of Chicago; how much you still wanted to make them feel at least a little proud of you even though you knew you shouldn’t.

“Me too,” You said softly. 

“I’m glad we probably won’t have to see them again until Christmas.”

You sighed. “Apparently, my dad is gonna bring us a new lock for the door when they get back from their trip.”

“Oh,” Steve said and then smiled at you when it looked like he thought of something. “Okay, what are the odds that he’ll just send someone to put the new lock on the door instead of coming himself?”

You thought about it for a second. “Honestly, I’d say there’s a pretty good chance that would happen. He’ll probably be too busy with work after the trip to actually come and do it himself.”

“Okay, let’s hope for that,” He said as he finished washing the last plate and placed it on the drying rack. “So, since the dessert was a bust tonight, do you wanna go to the diner? I’m sure Mary would never fuck up her apple pie. And then when we get back, we can finish that bottle of wine that our moms left.”

You smiled at his suggestion. “You have a brilliant mind, Harrington.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

(requests are open for stuff you wanna see in the universe/series!🫶🏾)

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 16: Yes, no, maybe

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Reblog if you liked it!

Yes, no, maybe. I don't know. Can you repeat the question?

Spencer had gotten used to hearing that song as the opening theme every Friday, from your TV. One day at work, you referred to one of your favorite sitcoms, and you were quite surprised that the young man didn’t understand what you were talking about.

It turned out that the doctor had extensive knowledge in practically all areas, but entertainment was his weak point. So when you found out he had never seen Malcolm in the Middle, you basically forced him into having weekly meetings at your house to watch all the seasons.

At first, Spencer wasn’t too thrilled, as that genre of television wasn’t his favorite, but after the first season, it turned out that he was quite enjoying the show. The sharp humor, the cleverly written plots, the chaotic and dysfunctional family... all the elements seemed to have captivated his attention.

Many times, for both health and economic reasons, you prepared food at home for dinner. But that day, you decided to treat yourselves and ordered a large pizza with a six-pack of beer for you and lemonade for your friend.

You were both comfortably settled on your couch, ready to start the next episode, when you heard Spencer speak.

“I have a theory.”

“About what?”

“About Malcolm's family”

“Hmm,” you hummed, with your mouth full of pepperoni pizza. “I’m listening.”

“I’ve been thinking, and I believe Hal suffers from compulsive lying and gambling addiction, in addition to clearly seeking a mother figure in Lois. She has obsessive-compulsive disorder, needing to control everything to feel that things will go well; I’d say she’s a bit narcissistic as well, and she’s addicted to nicotine. Francis is completely impulsive, and I would even dare say he suffers from oppositional defiant disorder. Reese displays sociopathic and antisocial behaviors and has low self-esteem that he reflects through violence. Malcolm is gifted, of course, but also has antisocial and narcissistic behaviors, and is even a bit controlling and self-pitying, as if he had the worst of each of his parents. Dewey has musical genius; he’s somewhat introverted but quite sensible, and I want to think he’s the least toxic in the family. I mean, considering the family environment they’re in, they could be worse, but I couldn’t help but notice those psychological peculiarities in each character.”

Throughout the time Spencer had been speaking, you watched him attentively, and when he finished, you let out a loud laugh.

“Reid, when did you have time to think about all that?”

“This week! I started to remember, and somehow I needed to talk to you about the psychology of each family member. I think it’s very interesting; that’s why.”

“Only you could watch a show like this and come to those conclusions,” you laughed friendly.

In the background, the sound of the Wilkerson brothers fighting actively filled the room, and suddenly your friend became shy.

“But what do you think? Do you think I’m right?”

“On all points. It’s a very accurate analysis, yes,” you murmured playfully, taking a sip of your beer. “Who’s your favorite character so far?”

“I think Dewey. He seems very sweet and small… I don’t know, I think he’s a very noble and intelligent boy. Malcolm makes the mistake of letting his ego control him; otherwise, he would be my favorite.”

“Mine is Francis,” you confessed. “When I was a teenager, I was hopelessly in love with him.”

“That makes sense. I think because of your childhood experiences, you seek those chaotic situations in the opposite sex. In your partners, more specifically.”

“Oh, so now you’re psychoanalyzing me?”

“If we’re talking about psychoanalysis from a Freudian perspective, of course not. But Jung, on the other hand, had some contributions that I think are more suitable…”

“Reid,” you interrupted, placing one of your hands on his arm to get his attention. “You know I love hearing you ramble about all that, but do you really want to do such a deep analysis about this? About Malcolm in the Middle?”

It wasn’t a complaint, of course; you just sounded amused by the situation.

“You’re right; I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I’ve thought so much about it.”

“That’s how the minds of geniuses work, I guess,” you joked, giving him a playful shove with your shoulder. “But now I want you to relax; let your brain shut off a little so you can enjoy silly TV situations and eat pizza like any of us mortals.”

Your friend nodded, feeling strange about all the thoughts that had arisen from something as bland as a sitcom, and he settled back into the couch, asking you for another piece of pizza. You spent the entire time laughing, eating, and drinking beside him, chatting occasionally about the show or really anything else.

Suddenly, you started to find resemblances between the characters on your TV and your colleagues in the unit, and when you dared to compare Ida, Lois’s mother, with Chief Erin Strauss, he broke into loud laughter. You rarely heard him laugh so freely, and inevitably, you felt contagious with joy, even if your joke hadn’t been that funny.

“I think she does look a bit alike,” he finally said, practically sprawled on the couch from laughter. “Especially in… you know, her particular personality.”

“Do you think you would have been in the advanced class of brainiacs that Malcolm is in?”

“Of course.”

“Show-off!” you exclaimed, teasing him for the confidence with which he had spoken while playfully shoving him.

You settled in better and pulled a blanket that was nearby so that you two could cover yourselves at least from your legs to your laps. This involved shortening the distance between you, but it didn’t bother you at all.

“I like watching TV with you,” he suddenly murmured, finishing his last piece of dinner. Spencer didn’t like the crusts of the pizza, and you always offered to eat them for him, so that night was no exception.

“I like it a lot too. It’s like… we’re getting rid of a bit of all the stress from work, right?”

“Yeah, I believe so.”

“Especially if it’s with my best friend at work.”

“Am I your best friend at work?”

“Don’t get too excited. You are because I don’t have many options.”

The man let out a hearty laugh, but he took the compliment anyway. In silence, you continued watching the comedy until, at some point during the night, Spencer spoke:

“You’re also my best work friend. And that’s saying something, considering I do have more options.”

With a smile on your face, you leaned over to kiss him on the cheek soundly, like a little girl would do with her preschool friend. It was innocent and sincere.

In the presence of the cold creeping under your feet, you both cuddled closer to each other (in the most respectful and friendly way possible) and continued enjoying the marathon, quite happy to at least be able to steal a couple of hours from the busy life you led.

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 32/42? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN (interlude) ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FORTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY (interlude) TWENTYONE TWENTYTWO TWENTYTHREE TWENTYFOUR TWENTYFIVE TWENTYSIX TWENTYSEVEN TWENTYEIGHT TWENTYNINE THIRTY THIRTYONE

(And we have an estimated final chapter count!)

CHAPTER THIRTYTWO

                “Hey baby… how was work today?”

                “Busy busy, usual stuff. Lots of prep. Lots of high pressure so there was a bit of yelling,” Bradley admits, because Jake never believes him when he says he sometimes yells at people.

                “You were yelling at people? I can’t believe that…”

                Bradley laughs, because Jake hasn’t ever seen his infamous temper. Not that he really feels he has one anymore, capable of putting it when the cameras are rolling, but otherwise he’s pretty even keeled.

                “God I miss you.”

                “I’ll be back before you know it.”

…            …            …

                “Seresin’s Sauce. This why you always insist on having sauce with every meal you egotistical dick bag?”

                He ignores the insult. Gravel is, and always has been, incapable of handling Jake being better than him. The fact that there are so many aviators better than Gravel doesn’t seem to ping his radar, but Gravel is not Jake’s favorite person. However he is holding something that Jake’s recognizes.

                “Where did you get that?” Jake asks, reaching for the bottle. It’s plastic, not like the glass ones he gets with little love notes written on them from Leo. But the logo on the front is the same, and he knows Maria and the others have been doing something, and it’s involved making this sauce and blah blah blah. He really doesn’t care about the business side of the farm, just knows that they were making sauce now, and it had their name. He unscrews the lid.

                “Hey! Hands off! What the fuck do you think you’re doing! Don’t stick your finger in the bottle? Oh for fucks sake…”

                “Where did you get it?” Jake repeats, and he licks the sauce off his finger. It’s just the plain one, not one of the variations that Leo had made him try.

                “I bought it at the grocery store, like a normal human being you asshole.”

                “Huh. Like… This is my sauce though.”

                “Just because it’s got your name on it doesn’t make it yours.”

                Jake wants to argue, say that the tomatoes in it are grown on his family’s farm, that his boyfriend made the sauce but if it’s gotten to be a big enough operation that they’re somehow stocking grocery chains enough that his dickhead colleagues can just buy it then maybe they’re getting the tomatoes from somewhere else because this tastes different.

                Jesus.

                He can tell the difference.

                Leo will be so proud.

…            …            …

                Bradley reaches for his phone, sliding his thumb across to answer it when he sees Ice’s name pop up. They’re about due for a catchup.

                “Hey Ice.”

                “It’s not Ice. He’s sick again. Please don’t hang up.”

                He doesn’t hang up but he does suddenly sit down, his free hand scrambling for the nearest chair. Vi is looking at him with concern so he figures he’s probably gone pale. Again? What the fuck does Mav mean again?

                “I’m listening,” he croaks out.

                “The cancer is back…”

                Bradley closes his eyes, feels the world tilt and can’t believe that this is the first he’s hearing about it. Fucking Ice and Mav both. There’s Maverick living dangerously and dodging the grim reaper at every turn. And now here is Ice, who quit smoking years ago and yet somehow still inviting death in. He shakes his head, refuses to borrow trouble before he even knows the whole story. It might be different than it was with his mom.

                “How bad?”

                “He’s undergoing some scans right now. I needed to tell you, because… shit. I need to tell you something else as well.”

                “Okay?”

                “Your mom asked me to make sure you never flew.”

                It hits out of the blue.

                The air in his lungs punches out of him and he doesn’t know what to say at that declaration following on from finding out Ice has had cancer and didn’t tell him. He knew there was something that Ice knew, that he’d never felt like he could share with Bradley, and he has no idea what he’d been expecting but this had not been it. What is up with the two men and keeping everything locked down and secret? As the thought skitters through his brain he realizes that’s their entire lives, living under DADT, both of them career Navy. So is Jake of course, but he has five older sisters who have helped mold him into the man he is.

                Well shit.

                “Why now? Why are you telling me now? Why didn’t you tell me back then?”

                “I didn’t want you to resent her!”

                “It wouldn’t have mattered if I had resented a dead woman Mav, it was far worse to be betrayed by someone alive. Who I thought loved me.”

                “I do love you.”

                Bradley’s hands are shaking and he runs his knuckles over his forehead, not sure what he can say or do right now. He wants to go home, so have Silvia fuss over him, to have Leandro make him pasta and push a glass of wine toward him and ask him what he thinks. They’d both be urging him to calm down and he realizes with startingly clarity that if Maverick hadn’t done what he’d done, he’d have never met Silvia and Leandro.

                Oh shit.

                Would he have ever met Jake?

                Thousands of different lives flash through and he forces himself to refocus.

                “I was eighteen Mav…”

                “I know. I’m sorry. I just… I panicked and did the only thing I could think of. Ice was… well. He went after you. Made sure you were okay. Asked the Gallo’s to keep an eye on you. Refused me when I said I wanted you to come back to the States.”

                He had no idea that any of that was going on back then, not about Mav wanting things and Ice denying him, nice to know that that’s even possible. He can only imagine what Ice said, and he desperately wants to talk to him; figures he must be somewhere that he can’t take his phone, given that Mav is calling him using it. And it’s taken Ice getting sick for Mav to finally tell him.

                “You could have told me this years ago. Why didn’t you?”

                The silence at the other end is telling and he takes in several deep calming breaths, waves away Vi’s concerning look when she realized just who he was talking to.

                “I… I didn’t want to admit I was wrong.”

                And there it is. He feels like crying, so lets a few silent tears just slip down his face, which makes Vi flail angrily before she settles at his side awkwardly and wraps her arms around him and there’s another person he wouldn’t have in his life if it had been different.

                “So. I was wrong and I’ve felt that guilt for years and I’m very sorry but… Jesus Bradley. I’m so proud of you. What you’ve accomplished all on your own.”

                “I wasn’t… I wasn’t alone. I didn’t do it on my own,” Bradley says, looking to Vi but also biting back the fact that if he was alone it was because of Mav. He’s still a little angry and bitter, but he also wouldn’t change anything. He’s more than happy with his life.

                “I… I know,” Mav says, voice breaking and he’s pretty sure Mav is also crying. “I’m sorry.”

                He wonders if Ice already knew he was sick again the last time they spoke, when he said with certainty that Maverick would call him. He’s going to have words with him.

                “So. What does Ice need?”

                Then Mav is off, listing a whole range of things and Bradley realizes that Ice doesn’t talk very much anymore, his phone calls with Bradley one of the few times he solely talks. Fucking martyr. He’s definitely going to be having words with him.

                “I never blocked your number Mav. You can call me if you want. I won’t always be able to pick up, but I’ll try to.”

                “I… thank you.”

                “Hmm,” Bradley hums back, because it’s going to take a bit to completely let go of the anger. But he realizes he’s holding onto it out of habit now, rather than actually feeling angry. He doesn’t know if he’s ever going to utter I forgive you when he still really doesn’t understand why Mav did what he did. He guesses he was trying to do what his parents wanted but… well. He sort of has different parents now and they might have entered his life once he was officially an adult, but he feels like he got third time lucky.

THIRTY THREE

[spork-supremacy]

saw a post about how cliquey the fandom can be, can’t find it for the life of me to reblog but thought I’d share some observations I’ve had over the years of basically being a ghost on here. Granted this is less on behaviour and more on how we can section ourselves naturally.

I find that the bigger the fandom the easier it is for it to get divided into little subsections, especially if it has a lot of content in season variation, characters, and location. Ninjago is a very big prime example of this with around 17 seasons, 2 specials and the pilots, many with themes attached to them. there’s a lot that you could cling onto and make it your one big focus on the show.

It also has a giant cast especially when you include roles that are either small or season specific, once I just tried to see how many I could name alone from memory and I got a little over sixty and I’m sure there’s more. When it comes to location we don’t have too much in mainland Ninjago that begs to be further explored considering most people we actually take notice in live in the main city. But add in the 15 other realms and we have a whole host of interesting locations to explore.

To circle back to characters we also have a lot in our main cast, with a standard of six ninja, now three students, and if you still want to count Pixal, Misako and Wu because you are in denial, and Garmadon’s two season stint in the title sequence, we have 13 who’s been included in the main cast at some point , creating multiple dynamics we can work with and latch onto.for me personally I have always gravitated to the Jay focused side of the fandom because that was where I was most comfortable, looking over character studies, art, headcanons, general Jaya stuff because I have a favourite ship dammit, and skybound analysis because despite how strange of a season it was it was also somehow my comfort season, my favourite one I dare say. I admit it was mainly because I didn’t really think about themes and subtext back in the day and just always loved a romance heavy season of anything. I was simple sue me.

But now I love it because as much as I don’t wish to admit it I can see a lot of myself in early seasons Jay, not necessarily a good thing but watching him grow out of specific negative behaviours helped me to do so myself. With the season itself it’s just fun to pick it apart and notice what exactly was so off to me when I was younger.

And something like this can apply to everyone in the fandom, which is why they stick to their own corners, because that’s where they’re most comfortable. They may stick to a character like Lloyd because he has a lot of angst attached to him to play around with, or someone like dare that because he’s a completely comedic character and prime for crack scenarios, or Nya because of her journey of self discovery. There are definitely still people obsessing over SOG or TOE, or possession. And what I do see is people happy to share their thoughts on their own “fixation season” as I call it.

This is at least how I sort pretty much all media in my own brain and I think it’s kinda neat how the internet can work like it. With a whole branching system that if you take certain doors can have you starting off in the surface entirety of the show to looking over really obscure details like how much the word wish is used every season (great post if you can find it).

this definitely became way more in depth than expected but this is what I have noticed. I very much like how much the internet aligns with my thinking patterns and the imaginatory map of my brain.

Now I just need to figure out if this is neurotypical behaviour .

[luvrodite]

the road not taken looks real good now [669]

gn!reader, exes to ?, hopeful ending, light angst, a tribute to the piece i wrote in 2022 inspired by tis the damn season and hometown loves

He doesn’t ask you to stay, no matter how badly you wish he would. And no matter how bad the words linger on the tip of your tongue, you don’t ask him to wait.

The thought of him like that, wrapped up and in love with someone that isn’t you, makes your stomach turn cruelly, but still you say nothing. Bit by bit, you pack up the life you’ve always known – how do you manage to fit years into a single suitcase, you wonder bitterly. It seems like a condemnation – a sign that you were always meant for something else, something not Gotham and her grey, or the tourmaline eyed man who watches over her.

Jason sees you off – puts you on the train like it’s one of those old war movies and stays on the platform until you can no longer see him, the carriage pulling suddenly into the dark tunnel that’s meant to carry you to your great destiny. It sits in your stomach, bitter and mournful. 

He doesn’t kiss you goodbye. You don’t ask. Neither of you say a thing, but the seconds count down, closer and closer to your departure. The station is busy, thrumming with a restless energy that isn’t entirely your own. You watch over his shoulder as a woman rushes, laden with bags and clutching a small child’s hand, into the open doors of the same train you need to get on. Another man shoulders past a group of teenagers, a phone clattering to the ground and a chorus of yells going up.

Somewhere in the chaos, his hand finds yours. It’s a pitiful replacement for all the words that go unsaid, and you can feel – not for the first time since you’d decided to leave – your heart cleave painfully, another fragment falling to the greying tiles at your feet and shattering. At this rate, you’re unsure how much of it will be left by the time you get to where you’re going. 

The seconds flip closer, closer. A squeeze, and then your hand is falling away. Come home. I love you. I miss you already. Don’t go. 

He says nothing, and you wish he would. 

Jason watches you go.

You stay away for a year. A year turns into two and somehow, despite it all, the years continue to pass. You’re twenty six the next time you set foot in Gotham, bundling into the back of your dad’s car when he picks you up outside the airport. 

It feels strange, driving down these roads. The cold bites, even through the rolled up windows and blanket that’s been in the backseat since you were five. You clutch it closer, eyes gazing out. You think if you stare hard enough, you’ll see the ghosts of your youth.

At street corners, under awnings and under lamp posts flickering to life – they’re everywhere. You don’t dare to breathe old names, but you’re suddenly eighteen once more, tired old heart beating once more for the one that haunts every memory. In dreams, in constellations and first kisses – there he remains.

And then, when you walk into that damn dive bar, address flashing on your phone and confirming that yes, this is where your friends had wanted to meet –

All roads inevitably lead back to him. This is a truth he must have known, you think, when you lock eyes with the ones that have haunted you for more than half a decade and they crease at the corners in pleasure.

Jason rounds the counter. 

“You’re back,” he says. You, dazed, dizzy, anguished and lovesick, can only nod. Blue-green threatens to swallow you whole – to keep you, forever. Fingers you’ve not touched in an age tangle with your own and warmth blooms through your fingertips.

“Will you stay,” he asks, adding, belatedly, “for a drink?”

You squeeze his hand. The ache in your chest mellows – real, it whispers. Real, and here, and – yours? 

“I’ll stay,” you murmur and his mouth curls into a shadowed smile, quietly pleased. 

it always leads to you in my hometown is one of those fics i think about a lot for no damn reason. i don't particularly consider it one of my best works but it's so dear to me and i think the reunification of love, the return home and the bitterness of parting is just so….it does my head in (in the best way)

i got to see the song that inspired this fic (and others that provided the soundtrack to SO MANY of my fics) live a few weeks ago and it was such an incredible experience. i don't know, folklore and evermore are just so precious and dear to my heart. i love the stories in those albums and it made me so inexplicably happy being able to see the songs that inspired these fics live and thinking about jason and the memories i've made writing these silly little fics.

anyway i hope you enjoyed this little piece, i hope you're doing well and eating well. i love you

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Luke/Andreas; bugging out

For the prompt: Anything Luke related, preferably with Andreas Andreas loving on Luke! Just seeing that big sweet lug getting the love he deserves!

Relearning someone is different than learning them, different from knowing. Andreas doesn’t know if it’s better or worse — he’s never experienced it before, knowing someone so intimately, and at the same time, having to relearn the most basic things about them.

There are things that haven’t changed a bit in over a decade. Many of them: Luke’s always been set in his ways. He’s been wearing the same brand of underwear for as long as Andreas has known him. Some of the shirts he refuses to stop wearing were already ragged when Andreas met him. Back then, Andreas wondered aloud why he didn’t throw them out — now he’s just impressed they haven’t disintegrated in the wash.

But of course, things have changed. The obvious physical things; Luke’s career has caught up to him, and he’s got the aches and pains of someone decades older, especially his knee, which can keep him up at night on bad days. No gray in his hair yet, but there’s some in his stubble, which is probably one of the reasons he shaves every day now, though Andreas is sure he’d argue that. He’s mellowed out, the way Andreas finds most people do over time, when they don’t do the exact opposite. Andreas would probably fall into the latter category, but Luke doesn’t seem to mind.

Luke isn’t sporting mysterious cuts and bruises all the time, which Andreas thinks is an improvement, and suspects Luke does too. He’s happier, and some of that, Andreas is sure, is the so-called honeymoon phase, even the second time 'round, but he doesn’t think that's all of it.

Luke was happy at the beginning of their relationship, but there was always an edge to it, something he wasn’t saying, something Andreas knew was there, but didn’t know how to ask about, or, maybe more accurately, wasn’t sure he wanted whatever the answer was. Now it’s been said. Now they’re decades from it instead of years, and it’s still there, but Luke isn’t haunted by it anymore.

But there are less obvious changes. Sometimes they’re a nice little surprise, like finding out Luke’s culinary skills significantly improved since he was in his thirties. He’s not a gourmet chef or anything, but he’s not slapping something with a bit of table salt and calling it seasoned anymore.

Sometimes they’re utterly neutral, and the most surprising thing is that Andreas still remembers well enough to clock the difference, like how Luke was a casual Vikings fan, but now he’s an equally casual Packers fan — Andreas is pretty sure that's a felony in the midwest —or that he's mostly switched from lagers to reds.

And then there’s one that Andreas sticks on. Luke never eats shellfish. That wouldn’t be strange — plenty of people don’t, for various reasons. Except when they were dating, Luke would inevitably order any shellfish dish on the menu, regardless of where they were. It was helpful, honestly — Andreas just had to check the menu for shrimp, or scallops, or lobster, and if it was there, Luke would be happy. But he hasn’t any of the times they’ve gone out, and the one time Andreas ordered a shrimp dish, offered to share, he was vigorous in his denial.

“Sea bugs,” he said with a shudder when Andreas asked, something that struck a vague chord with Andreas, tugging until, halfway to sleep, Luke pinning him to the bed with an arm and a leg, somehow always twice as heavy when he’s asleep — Andreas doesn’t know how the physics of that work, and he’s frankly curious — he remembers Luke, years ago, making faces at Andreas over an ostensibly romantic dinner at a French bistro with a six month waitlist because Andreas ordered escargot.

*

The restaurant is beautiful, the sort of place that seems transported from France a century ago, waiters in black tie and dim lighting, candles playing off everyone’s faces. They’re surrounded by couples, mostly middle-aged or older, here for milestone birthdays or anniversaries. It’s a special occasion sort of place. A place that turns a date night into an occasion in itself.

It would be more romantic if Luke wasn’t constantly looking around, checking if anyone’s paying attention to them. He’s not sure if Luke simply worries he’s sticking out — admittedly, he’d fit in better if he wasn't sporting a shiner from the game against the Lightning last week — or if he’s expecting to be recognized.

They’re in New York City. He plays for the Devils. On the third line. Andreas thinks he’s likely safe.

He says that — more diplomatically, of course — and Luke mumbles, “It looks like we’re on a date.”

“It could just be a business dinner,” Andreas says, rather than pointing out that they are, in fact, on a date, so it’s not like anyone would be getting the wrong impression. It’s not like Andreas would like that known either — he can imagine Dave’s face if he found out he was at a Michelin star restaurant with a client off the clock.

“Really?” Luke asks. “Here?”

The ambiance is admittedly romantic. Andreas doesn’t know why Luke suggested it. Maybe he didn’t know what it was like. More likely he didn’t think it through, thought it’d be nice at the time, in a particular mood, and regrets it now. That whim that makes him occasionally ask Andreas to move in, but never bring it up again outside of bed.

The whim that means that he dropped the gloves against Hicks even though he promised Andreas he’d try to avoid fighting at least long enough to let his nose properly heal. The good news is Hicks somehow avoided his nose, which was either good luck or good sportsmanship. Andreas has decided on the latter — Hicks is signed to their agency, and Andreas would prefer not to hold an irrational grudge against him. Especially considering Luke was the one who started it in the first place.

Their appetizers arrive — escargot for Andreas, scallops for Luke — and Luke blanches at Andreas’ plate.

“I thought snails was just some shit people ordered in movies,” Luke says. “You’re really going to eat that?”

“They’re delicious,” Andreas says.

“They’re bugs,” Luke says, for a moment looking like the most oversized toddler of all time. Andreas wouldn’t be surprised to hear the word ‘yucky’ come out of his mouth next.

“Snails are actually in the same family as shellfish,” Andreas says. “And you don’t seem to mind them.”

Luke looks down at his own appetizer, blanching, and Andreas coughs a laugh into his napkin.

“Maybe I’ll wait for my steak,” Luke says.

“Suit yourself,” Andreas says. “I’ll just be here with my delicious bugs.”

“Dre,” Luke whines.

The escargot is superb. As are Luke’s scallops, which he no longer has the stomach for.

*

“Did I ruin shellfish for you?” Andreas asks.

“What?” Luke says. “Andreas, what time is it?”

“Late,” Andreas says. “Was it the escargot?”

Luke squints at him, then sits up, and Andreas no longer crushed under his weight. He misses it a little, but that’s his own fault.

“I don’t want to ruin things for you,” Andreas says.

“You don’t,” Luke says.

“So it wasn’t the snails?” Andreas asks.

Luke makes the exact same face he did years ago, the one Andreas can only describe as ‘yucky’. Andreas was annoyed with it then, but now all he feels is affection. That and guilt.

“It was the snails,” Andreas says.

“More me reading way too much about shit after,” Luke says.

That’s still the snails.

“I’m sorry,” Andreas says.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Luke yawns, lying back down. “I hadn’t thought of it in years.”

Perhaps he hasn’t, but Andreas still thinks ruining shellfish for a crustacean lover deserves some level of penance.

“Next time I’ll order the foie gras,” Andreas says.

Luke sits up again. “Did you know that foie gras—“

“Or not,” Andreas says, slinging his own leg over Luke’s, and Luke settles, enough that Andreas can wrap an arm around his chest, put his head on his shoulder. It’s comfortable. He can see why Luke likes it.

“You’re heavy,” Luke mumbles.

Andreas considers pointing out that Luke does this every night, and he’s a fair sight heavier than Andreas, but who knows what would happen? It might just make Luke stop doing it entirely, and Andreas would miss it.

“Do you want me to move?” Andreas asks.

“No,” Luke says, and Andreas presses a smile against his collarbone, closes his eyes.

[darkwing-katy]

I…can live with that, I guess? Thoughts on Evil’s final episode under the cut (aka SPOILERS)

-I’m sad in general that this show is ending and it will take me forever to recover from this show in the best way

-I guess my dream where I shoved Leland into a bathroom to keep him alive kinda worked???

-the main trio reliving their cases as they burn them was fucking adorable

-I’m gonna miss those girls so much

-the fuck are we gonna do about Lexis???? She seemed normal this season but, like, she had fangs and a tail and was born from a place tainted with demonic stuff. I wanna know how that resolves.

-okay so I guess since Timmy was baptized he can’t be the Antichrist? They were just gonna pivot and make another one? That’s fun.

-the sheer bureaucracy of the online meeting of the 60 had me cackling. “Norm. You’re muted.”

-NORM. IT’S THE BUTTON SHAPED LOKE A LOZENGE poor Leland has to deal with so much shit with these incompetent demons

-“you’ve protected Kristen for four years, Leland.” Uhm. What? He’s been protecting her? Why????? I NEED MORE OF THIS EXPLAINED TO ME????? It can’t just be the whole mother of the Antichrist thing, right???? THERE’S MORE TO IT.

-all things considered, I firmly believe Leland would not have actually killed Timothy. I dunno why; I can’t explain it. But I don’t think he’d do it. Not after that nice little drop of David’s goodness in him.

-Leland putting in earphones while creeping into the house to murder Kristen?? And singing and bopping along in the basement? Iconic. Iconic and adorable. I love him. I have a problem, I know.

-I WAS TRYING NOT TO FREAK OUT WHEN SHE CAME AT HIM WITH THE CORD (“oh shit, guess the bathroom didn’t work after all” was what I told my husband)

-but also the hilarious irony of Kristen strangling him with a red cord like that when that’s how Michael Emerson’s character kills John Locke in LOST???? Like I was stressing but also giggling like a psycho

-the reveal of the meaning behind the countdown was so on point for this show. This fucking show. (What about the bricks, though? Why did they want people to remove the bricks in Kristen’s basement?????)

-DAVID I DON’T THINK LOCKING HIM IN A CABINET IS ANY BETTER THAN STRANGULATION WITH A CORD???? IS HE JUST GONNA ROT IN THERE????

-(okay but all things aside, Leland technically didn’t die on screen and I love to imagine that he was released somehow) (o shit did I just come up with another fic idea????)

-FENNA!!!!!! FENNAAAAAAA!!!! THAT LIL SHOULDER BUMP!!!!!!!

-Kristen’s Dutch counterpart convincing her to move???? Wonderful

-Kristen and David in Rome??? With the girls and Timmy? And cool Italian sunglasses? Wonderful. 10/10. They get to be together but David doesn’t have to choose between her and God. Sure, there’s still sexual tension, but, they’re TOGETHER and not all meaningful relationships have sex as an active component

-BEN SHOULD HAVE GONE WITH THEM AND I STAND BY THIS

-THAT ENDING???? And the fact that Katja decided that was how Kristen should react on the fucking day of filming???? 10/10 no notes, only undeniable curiosity as to what would happen if we miraculously got a season 5

-that cliffhanger is satisfying but also I need a season five. And six. And seven eight nine.

Anywho. That’s, uh, about where I am right now. I’m extremely sad. I ate sushi and ice cream and it helped until it didn’t. I’m gonna continue rewatching the whole dang thing. I’m gonna finish rewriting my Leland fic. I might actually make the shirt I was joking about in an earlier post. Hell, I think the idea of a circle skirt with the map of the different demonic sigils would be amazing. And then I’m probably gonna wanna write more fanfic because I’m still in denial that it’s actually over.

But hey! In my head, Leland is not dead! That’s a win!!! Good job, Dream Kate! You sorta succeeded in protecting your favorite character!

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

Hi KDNFB!

Per chance, would Peeta from your WIR universe be into this stocking/stiletto combo?

https://poshmark.com/listing/Womens-NEW-Miss-Lola-Red-Striped-Pointed-Sock-Heels-Thigh-High-Boots-75-6421d11817fb4bc029bd2a7c?utm_source=pin_unpaid

Anon… I have but one question for you…

Rated M below the cut.

“But… how would you wash them?” I ask and point to the open tab on Peeta’s laptop. He’s still blushing furiously. Rather silly, given the way we fucked last night after all the children finally went to sleep. And also given that we’re now parents of six children in total -- five still underage and one an adult.

“Why would you need to wash them? The cloth wouldn’t be touching your feet.”

“No but those socks always wind up… filthy,” I say and shift on my feet before gathering myself back together. Ridiculous to be embarrassed by this. “I’ve had to wash sweat, semen, and my own sex mess off those socks. It drips down my thighs afterwards, you know,” I remind him. Not to mention the one very memorable time Peeta came just from sliding his dick through my squeezed together thighs in a pair of those stockings. Now that was an laundry adventure afterwards...

For a moment, Peeta seems torn between arousal at my dirty words, and embarrassment. Embarrassment wins out.

“I just thought… I don’t know, you refused to tell me where you got all your stockings from!” he hisses, motioning helplessly. “So I thought I’d try to find them online. You haven’t worn them since we found out we were having Daphne, and I know the red pair at least is worn out so… yeah. That,” he waves towards the screen, “happened.”

I raise one eyebrow at him and cross my arms. It’s clear he didn’t intend to be caught shopping for what amounts to lingerie in this marriage, but it’s his fault, really. We needed to print out the forms for Olive’s hockey season and he’d told me they were open on his laptop. Not my fault he shared his passwords with me. Not my fault he’d actually left this tab on top instead of the hockey forms.

I glance again at the picture of the red knit stockings that are somehow attached to and cover a pair of high heels.

“I rarely wear heels,” I remind Peeta and he heaves an exasperated sigh.

“I know that! I wouldn’t expect you to stand on them for long, but your ass looks amazing in heels,” he grumbles and I can’t help but laugh at how perturbed he seems. I didn’t think he cared that much about the fact that I haven’t worn the stockings in well over a year. And now it’s my turn to blush and look away.

“They don’t… fit anymore,” I mumble and tuck back some of my hair.

“What was that?”

“They don’t fit anymore!” I say a little louder and Peeta steps back slightly. I don’t apologize though.

“How could they not fit? They’re socks,” he says, incredulous. 

It annoys me that he’s fixated on this, but when I take a deep breath, I remind myself that sometimes, not often, but every now and then, the effects of Glimmer cheating on him all those years ago rears its head in the form of an insecurity. And maybe my not wearing the socks for a long time triggered one of those insecurities. Ridiculous, again, given how frantic we were in bed last night, trying to squeeze in at least one orgasm a piece before Daphne woke up and demanded to be cuddled. She’s teething right now and demands a lot of attention as a result.

I sigh and squeeze my eyes shut before I force out the words. “My thighs are too fat now.”

“Excuse me, they're what?” Peeta asks and I growl in my throat.

“Don’t make me say it again! The socks… they cut off my circulation and bunch up in weird, unflattering ways. My thighs are too fat for them.”

Peeta stares at me for a few breaths and then suddenly he’s right in front of me, picking me up and slamming my back into the nearest wall. I wrap my legs around him automatically and he grips my thighs as he kisses my throat and rocks his hips into me.

“Then fuck the socks. I love your thighs. I fucking love having them wrapped around me. My hips, my head. Sliding against mine. Tucked up against my torso while you ride me. That one time you made me come with just your thighs. Your naked thighs, stocking clad thighs, dripping with bathwater, soap, or chocolate, I don’t fucking care.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Dripping with chocolate?”

“Shut up. I love gripping them when we fuck or make love or make out like this. Kissing them on my way to your pussy. Your thighs are not the problem,” he says and my head spins with the immediate rush of desire dampening my panties. Which is rare. It’s another issue we’ve had to deal with since Daphne was born, my body’s seeming inability to match functions like producing arousal when I'm… aroused.

And I am aroused. Gripping his bulging arm muscles in my hands and holding on while he grinds up against me. His cock is hard and I push myself down onto him. His fingers dig into my thighs and he moans in my ear.

“Katniss, fuck. Can we lock the door?”

“Dad! Hockey forms?” Olive shouts from down the hallway and we both groan. But we manage to disentangle ourselves from our heated embrace just before she barges in. Peeta is thankfully swift enough to switch windows so Olive doesn’t see the socks/high heel combo, and prints out the hockey forms.

Before they leave the room to fill them out, Peeta gives me another heated look. And later, when I have a few minutes to myself, I look up the store where I used to buy all those colorful knit socks.

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

Hi! Can you please recommend some enemies to lovers to enemies trope / Friends to enemies to lovers?? Thanks!

Generally, the trope is usually enemies to lovers, or friends to lovers, so maybe you want fics with a different twist to them and it's all not just a happy ending? Here are some where they start as either friends, become lovers, but it's not so simple and they have to overcome obstacles to be together. Or they are enemies, become lovers and then have some sort of fall out, which may or may not be resolved. ~ Jen

Please suggest others!!

In Every Stitch verse by @quizasvivamos

24-year-old Blaine Anderson and 26-year-old Kurt Hummel are both breakout designers who had gained the attention of the public by competing on the reality television hit Project Runway in their respective seasons. When both are invited back to compete in the All Star challenge, the competition heats up, tension builds between the two, and what happens off camera changes everything.

and Part 2 emBarK and Part 3 Out with a Bang

~~~~~

Collide by @scatter-the-stars

Kurt Hummel is having a terrible week. On top of his car breaking down and his laptop dying at the worst time possible, finding his boyfriend cheating on him is the final straw against the camel’s back. A night of drinking is much deserved. But waking up in bed with star quarterback Blaine Anderson is something he doesn’t need. Determined to forget it and move on, he finds that hard when Blaine has other ideas. At first wanting nothing to do with the biggest playboy on campus, somehow Kurt finds himself agreeing to being friends with Blaine. It’s a friendship that opens his eyes to the guy he never really knew. And soon finds him wanting the one person he maybe shouldn’t want.

Note: Part 1 of Major and Minor

~~~~~

In My Place by @heartsmadeofbooks

Blaine has always been shy and introverted, so after his father dies, he looks for comfort into his childhood dream - owning a bookstore. But then Kurt Hummel walks into his life, turning his dream into a complicated affair.

~~~~~

The Seduction by @hkvoyage

Venetian Blaine arrives at Carnival’s masquerade ball, looking for his next conquest. His reputation as a lover is legendary, and no one can resist him. Virgin Kurt captures his attention, but seducing him will require careful planning. As they spend time together, will Blaine be able to carry out his plan successfully? A historical Klaine AU set in 18th-century Venice.

~~~~~

Someone Like You by iconicklaine

Kurt and Blaine keep up their very own version of “When Harry Met Sally” for years, a friendship fraught with sexual tension and longing, until the agendas of Adele (yes, THE Adele), a bored NY socialite and a super-sweet hetero couple bring our boys together. The only problem is… they’re both in committed relationships.

Note: This story is AU after “Sexy,” and assumes Kurt and Blaine graduate from Dalton in the same year. In this future fic, set in 2025, Blaine is based off of Season 2 Blaine.

~~~~~

100 Days by borogroves

Kurt and Blaine have been best friends (and nothing more) since the age of six. Now 22-year-old college graduates, they take a roadtrip around the USA, visiting every state in 100 days. Fifty states. Two boys. One love story.

~~~~~

Perfectly Imperfect by @catcat-85

Golden Globe winning actor, Blaine Anderson went to prison for a murder he did not commit. After 5 long years, he has escaped from prison, and in a desperate need to get to a safe house before he can leave the country; he kidnaps Kurt, and forced him to drive him to a secluded cabin nestled in between the snowy mountains in Vermont. For Blaine, it’s his last chance for freedom. Falling in love is the last thing on Blaine’s mind. It’s not part of the plan. And for Kurt, it’s a terrifying situation that disrupts the impeccably perfect life he has created for himself. He’s outraged and angry at Blaine, and yet; he can’t help but believe Blaine is innocent.

Will the truth finally come out and Blaine be exonerated? Will the FBI catch him and put him back in prison? Will he and Kurt fall in love even in the most hopeless situation? Will love truly prevail all at the end?

Based on the novel, Perfect, by Judith McNaught. This is a story about two men who are complete opposites from one another; and yet, they complete each other in a perfectly imperfect way.

~~~~~

Renegade verse by ali_llyon

The hardships of being in a relationship with a mob boss. Or, two people being in love while sometimes feeling they aren't worthy of it.

The title is from the song Renegade by Big Red Machine and Taylor Swift: Is it insensitive for me to say Get your shit together? So I can love you

The story is not in chronological order.

[jokeroutsubs]

[📝ENG translation] The Big Comeback - Joker Out about their new album, inspiration, and returning to Tvornica

Original article by Maria Tušek, published 19.11.2024, photos by Matej Grgić.

Translation by IG irenalemajic, review by IG marija_rocen, @moonlvster, IG mia_djordjevic_ig, proofread by @flowerlotus8

Joker Out, the Slovenian five-piece band, best known for their Eurovision performance that conquered our region, are returning to Zagreb with a new album and an even fresher sound.

After winning the hearts of the audience with their infectious hits and energy, they're ready to showcase the best they've created over the past months and also years. We spoke with Bojan, Jure, Kris, Jan, and Nace about their inspiration, creative process, and everything they have in store for us at their new concert.

It was one of those scenically beautiful, yet surprisingly sunny days. The so-called "toothy sun"¹, because no matter how beautiful it looked, it was just as cold. I dusted off my last season's coat, put it on, quickly got ready, and headed to Tvornica, where Joker Out were waiting for me, ready for their concert on the 3rd of December.

¹In Serbo-Croatian, the expression "zubato sunce" (literally translated as "toothy sun") is commonly used to describe the winter sun, whose coldness "bites" with its fictional "teeth".

I sit down at Tvornica Kulture's café and order a coffee by default, slowly preparing for the interview. As I take my third sip, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Bojan entering the café with the rest of the team. They're busy, as usual, they had to record a hundred other things even before my interview, so I tell them everything's okay and I have time (at least I managed to go through all the questions once more).

"We’re finally done, we can sit down," they said smiling. We arranged six chairs in Veliki Pogon and started the interview. Since they’re Slovenian, I was a bit nervous, because I have this theory that it’s all some kind of reverse Google Translate - they understand us, but we don’t understand them. Luckily, a good part of the band speaks Serbo-Croatian, so we managed to understand each other.

Joker Out have been around since 2016. Do you think you’ve evolved since then, or have you stayed true to your genre?

Bojan: When I listen to the first and the second album in retrospect, I can see there’s a lot more change than I would've thought while we were in the process of creating them. I think the second album already had quite a bit of divergence and growth from the first one, but I’d say the leap now is much bigger than it was before. On this third album, for the first time, we had, I'd say, a discovery of new worlds with different instruments and samples. So, yeah, it’s been a journey, but somehow we’ve still managed to maintain, at least I think, how could I say, we didn’t go to some other world, but we kept the foundation, the sail that makes sense, while things around it changed. Same shit, different packaging.

We all burst into laughter, breaking any awkwardness, if there was any. I decided to dance through the questions a bit, so I turned to their new latest single at the time, 'Bluza'.

You recently released the single 'Bluza' from your upcoming album 'Souvenir Pop'. What was the inspiration for the song?

Bojan: 'Bluza' is a love song, practically written as a story describing a night out of a man looking for, not necessarily looking for the love of his life, but he finds it accidentally at the opposite table and, of course, I think for most people, in most cases, such love doesn't exist or evolve into something more than that first moment when you dream about what could happen, and maybe in the end nothing would happen, maybe it would be a disaster, but in that perfect dream and perfect moment, it feels like when the café lights come on, you’ve lost everything in the world, but actually you had nothing, so that’s the feeling we wanted to convey.

At this point, Kris adds onto this: “That’s the story for the general public, but actually we had a concept for the music video involving a kafana fight², so we just needed to come up with a song for it,” he jokes.

²Kafana is a distinct type of local bistro, common in some former Yugoslav countries, which primarily serves alcoholic beverages and coffee, and often also light snacks.

Speaking of writing, who writes the lyrics and what does writing a song look like for you?

Bojan: I write all the lyrics, it's always been like that. Writing a song, hmm. Well, honestly, I started writing the lyrics for 'Bluza' in 2018 and then nothing happened with them. When we came to London for a concert, I played it to the boys on my acoustic guitar and it kind of clicked, so quite quickly the song developed into a story which now feels complete and that's it. Some lyrics are born in 15 minutes, others take a few years.

How come you write songs in multiple languages, do you think it makes it easier for you to reach your audience?

Bojan: I think I can get in touch with myself even more when I write in multiple languages, it turns out that I think differently in different languages, so some stories literally come out in English in a way I would never think in Slovenian or Serbo-Croatian, and vice versa. So, I really enjoy having a bigger palette to create with.

Bojan, how does it feel to write a song in English, Serbo-Croatian or Slovenian, is there any difference in the whole process?

Bojan: Well, each language is like a different instrument to me. I’d say that in my head it's like sitting down at different types of pianos - each one has its own specific sound and triggers different thoughts.

You’re returning to Tvornica soon, precisely on the 3rd of December. Last time you were here, you sold out two concerts at Tvornica, what does such support from the audience mean to you?

Bojan: I think the first time we played in Croatia, at Šalata as the opening act for Buč Kesidi, we were really surprised by the audience’s reaction and that really changed our perception of what we could try to achieve in Croatia, and that’s when we dared to play at Tvornica. Before that, it hadn't even crossed our minds. Both concerts were awesome, and the audience was phenomenal, really warm and "energetically right", it matches our energy on stage, so we love coming back here. I’m sure that this third time will be even better because we’re a little more rested. With this new album, we’ve mixed everything that happened before, because the first two concerts were still in that post-Eurovision cycle, when we were still kind of half-asleep, so now we’ll be able to experience everything better, at least that’s what I think.

And the others agreed with him.

What are you preparing for the upcoming concert, do you have any surprises?

Bojan: A lot.

Kris: At the concert, you can expect that we’ll play the whole album for the first and possibly the last time. After that, we’re not sure if we’ll have the chance to play the whole album again, so if people want to hear it, they’d better come.

Bojan: Our opening act is the second-best band in Slovenia - they say they’re not preparing any more surprises because, they jokingly add, they have too many members in the opening act as it is.

Let’s focus again on you and possible collaborations. You filmed the music video for 'Bluza' with Buč Kesidi, with whom you’ve also performed. Is there a possibility for a joint project?

Bojan: There’s definitely a possibility, but we haven’t talked or thought about anything yet - he paused and looked at the other band members - actually, maybe a collaboration is already happening, it’s just awful, but maybe one day it will see the light of day.

In one interview, you mentioned that Senidah, among others, was your role model. How come you haven’t collaborated with her yet, and can we expect such a project in the future?

Bojan: I think Senidah³ changed the perspective, let’s say. The Balkan audience didn’t really accept Slovenian artists, let's put it that way, at least not in the mainstream sense, and she changed that. It’s true that she performs in Serbian, but for a Slovenian artist to become mainstream, even one of the biggest, if not the biggest at one point, that hadn’t happened before, and it certainly opened a lot of doors for us, at least in terms of mentality.

³Senidah is a Slovenian singer-songwriter, often dubbed the "Balkan Trap Diva" by the media. She rose to popularity across the former Yugoslavia upon the release of her single "Slađana" in 2018 and she sings in Serbian.

Kris: It gave us hope.

Bojan: It absolutely gave us hope, and that’s a big deal for us. We’ve never really interacted with her because, honestly, I don't know if we've ever really met. I feel like it’s harder to get to her than it is to get to the president. But we’re definitely open to collaboration with her, Senidah is cool.

Do you think that you as a band have become a role model for other Slovenian performers and that you give them hope?

The mentality of young bands in Slovenia has certainly changed, they certainly think differently about where they can go and what they can try, we’ve received similar feedback from various artists. People from abroad contact me saying, “We discovered a new Slovenian band through you,” and that’s a very, very important and amazing thing.

Speaking of projects and collaborations, would you ever return to Eurovision?

Everyone at once: NO.

Me: Why not?

Kris: Go to Eurovision and you’ll find out.

We all laughed, and it became clear from their answer - Eurovision is something you do once, and there’s no real reason to go back. Unless you’re representing Sweden.

One basic question, what is your favorite song?

Many of them agreed with the song from the new album, 'Ako toga više neće biti', some were also in favour of 'Muzika za decu', while Kris added 'Sonce' as his favourite.

Do you listen to your songs, for example, in the car or at home?

Bojan: No! If it’s on the radio, I immediately switch it, because the most beautiful moment for me is when I haven’t heard the studio version of a song for a long time and by then, I’ve forgotten everything we wanted during the whole process and what bothered us, and when I hear the song after a year and a half, only then I can finally enjoy everything that song actually delivers, I’m not burdened by technical things, I don’t care, I just listen to the song.

When you look back, what is the most memorable moment in your career so far?

Kris: For me, it was our first concert abroad, after Eurovision, our first solo concert after Eurovision.

Bojan: For Jan and me, it was the presentation of our first album, somehow we had the highest level of euphoria and sincere childlike joy then.

Jan: The biggest adrenaline boost!

I looked at the paper and realised I didn’t have any more questions to ask, and we really went through all the topics. Joker Out are slowly releasing songs from their latest album, so be sure to follow them, and I definitely recommend the concert on the 3rd of December at Tvornica, where they’re announcing a huge spectacle!

[chernabogs]

Growing Season

Inc: Malleus x Reader (2nd person terms used for reader; can be taken as romantic, but nothing in stone :) ).

Warnings: None! Maybe a little bit of political drama, but I mean... that's being a Prince for you.

WC: 2k+

Summary: It's time to add new roses to his garden in Briar Valley, and he considers all of the things he'll write to you about in his next letter as he does so.

It’s a warm day in the Valley—unusually so. Malleus moves soundlessly through the gardens, a tray of small rose bushes in his hands as his gaze rakes over the patches of soil bare and open for new harvest. The sounds of insects buzzing, their gossamer wings caught in the rays of the sparse sunlight that trickles in, frequently diverts his gaze from his task. Those same sun rays cause the black clothing he wears to heat him up to a point that he feels sweat forming.

Black is inconvenient in the spring. He hears your voice vaguely in the back of his mind as he holds the tray, your silver-tongued rebuttal about how leather and latex are causing his illness when he complained of being too hot before. His fingers tighten around the tray, and he kneels, the scent of earth mixing with the myrrhic one of the trees nearby. He can tell the last frost has passed as his pale fingers sink into the soil and disturb it, upturning it like a grave for the seedlings he’s about to plant. Briar Valley’s frigid air left little time for the planting of roses—making today an especially important one.  

He's been writing you letters. Despite the distance between you both—he, in the Valley, and you, still on Sage’s Island—and the inhibition of Briar Valleys non-technological lifestyle, you two had managed to work things out. He told you he was going to plant these today many weeks ago. It was one of those sparse, passing comments you make to your loved ones without much thought. Then, your most recent letter had asked if he was planting them still. Somehow, throughout all the exchanges you’ve had since that comment, you remembered what he had said. 

When the hole is sufficiently deep, he carefully—surgically—removes one of the seedlings from the tray and sets it into the earth. He pushes the dirt back and pats it down, almost loving in his touch. 

One down, six to go.  

The letters you two exchange serve as something for him to look forward to. Because of the way Briar Valley’s postal service is, they only come once a week—sometimes only once every other—and yet they’re so detailed it’s like reading a small novel every time one arrives. He tries to match your level of excitement; you write of your classes and your friends; he writes of his duties and politics. You write of your eagerness for holidays, he bemoans how these holidays no longer exist for him. You ask if you can see him this summer, he tells you of a wonderful summer estate that the Draconia family possesses on the coast—one he has a key for.  

He kneels on the earth again and sets the tray aside. He would get some odd looks from his attendants when he returned with flushed cheeks and dirt on his hands, but he doesn’t let this bother him right now. He’s sequestered away in an idyllic world—one of sunlight, and flowers, and dragonflies with their gossamer wings—and he isn’t keen on letting the attendants break the illusion as he continues to think of you. His hands sink into the earth again and dig another fresh grave of flowers as he places the next seedling down.

Five more to go.  

The constant flow of mail is noticed by those around him, of course. Whereas Silver and Sebek who know you don’t care that you two talk (if anything, they’re glad their Prince has someone outside the Valley to speak to) the servants, the attendants, and those who keep the inner-mechanisms of the Palace running are curious—and curiosity has killed more than one cat in its lifetime. He wasn’t surprised when an inquiry came down from the Senate regarding an influx of letters from Night Raven College. They have no business asking, of course, but the Senate has authority and he, who is set to work with them for the rest of his life, has explanations he needs to give.  

His knees hit the earth again and he digs another hole. He’d have bruises tomorrow; gentle kisses from the soil, reminding him of the brief labor he embarked in. In another life he would have found himself toiling in the fields for a living rather than leisure. Harvest is a key part of Briar Valley life; many he knows work long hours in the sun. He plants another seedling, gives another life to the earth, and sighs.  

Four more to go.  

You’re something he wants to keep secret for now for one reason—forbidden. A Prince may have friends, but a Prince may not love freely. It’s a harsh reality a tutor had drilled into him when he had made an off-handed comment about wishing to marry the charming character from Briar Valley’s mythologies he had been reading. It was a comment that a child would make—and yet the tutor had acted like he committed a grave sin. It was one of the few times he cried before an adult. The tutor had been dismissed—no one touches the Prince—but the lesson long remains in Malleus’ mind. Whereas I love you holds weight to many already, to fall from his lips would be a commandment set in stone. He cannot just say it to anyone. 

It’s by the blue roses that he plants the next seedling. He wonders if you like blue as he sets it down gently into the soil. Or perhaps you like green? Maybe yellow? Maybe white? He looks up at the roses he had been planting for many springs so far, each a different yet vibrant color. He’ll find your favorite and enchant it so that he can send it to you with his next letter. That will brighten your day as you continue your studies at NRC. He remembers how stressful they were, after all. 

Three more to go. 

His Grandmother had asked him recently about his influx of letters as well. Queen Maleficia, despite what many people presume from their relationship at a glance, is quite caring for her last family member. Although she keeps a strict, professional front to all, Malleus has been privileged to see her softer, more compassionate side more than once—and always directed at him. He admits, he did ramble a bit about you. There was much to say, after all; you were his friend, his confidant, and the person who managed to brighten his week in your own unique way even an ocean apart. She had watched him talk, her green eyes shining with an emotion he couldn’t place as a smile played on her lips, before she had simply said that’s wonderful, dearest, and let him on his way. When she received a request from him to investigate old Briar Valley laws for review, she had not commented on it, nor questioned him on his reasoning—she had simply approved it and moved on. 

The sun is still rising in a slow, tedious climb in the sky, and Malleus is beginning to hear others waking up. Servants are speaking of the latest gossip in the kitchens—which, admittedly, he loves to listen in on—and a few guards are making their rounds through the gardens. Malleus crouches a bit lower to not be seen by them as he plants the next seedling. He’d rather not be roped into an uncomfortably polite conversation following the lines of ‘my Prince, why are you hiding in the bushes?’ any time soon. 

Two more to go.

He had considered sending you another letter when the Senate had requested a brief freeze in mail to the Palace. They wanted to readjust the way that it was sent in to enable a more thorough checking of contents before being delivered. Malleus isn’t stupid; he knew this was their method of nosing into his personal business under the guise of official legislature. He’d been moody about it for weeks until your most recent letter was finally approved to come in. The one he’s planning to send next will certainly be longer; along with the rose he’d selected, he’ll be happy to discuss this latest change with you as well, alongside the law reviews, and the planting of the seedlings. You’ll finally get the novel-length message he knows you deserve, and he dearly hopes the reviewers like reading it as well. 

Two more seedlings sit in his tray, He feels terrible separating them, setting only one in the hole, and taking the other away. They’d been planted and nurtured together for the laborious months he fussed over them in his greenhouse—and now, they’re a gardens width apart. A small, melancholic grimace plays on his lips. He’ll plant the last one directly across the plot; that way the two plants will still see each other every day. 

How funny, to treat plants like people, and to try to keep them together even when they cannot be.  

One more to go. 

There’s a passage written in a story he read once: The Fae and The Fallow. It’s a book that had been banned in the Valley until shortly after he was born due to the nature of its content. The tale follows a Fae Prince by the name of Ælfric, who lived long, long before the Draconia family did. Ælfric fell in love with a human, Auðr, and entered a forbidden affair with them; their love had been deep and true—enough to inspire a four-hundred page epic—and Ælfric had promised Auðr he’d find a way for them to be together. Unbeknownst to Ælfric, another Fae by the name of Goda saw the two lovers and—in jealousy over being denied Ælfric’s hand—poisoned Auðr when Ælfric had left on a hunt. 

The Prince had gone on an odyssey of sorts to save his lover’s life, even venturing into the Otherworld to find a way. There had been battles, and betrayal, and all the wonderful pieces that a child like Malleus loved to read. 

But he remembers hating the ending of The Fae and The Fallow.  

Ælfric, out of time and losing Auðr quickly, had begged an ancient spirit of the Otherworld to find a way for him and his love to be together. In return, the spirit had turned them into fallow deer; their lifespans were shortened, but Auðr was alive, and as the fallow deer, they were able to be together without judgment and fear. The story had claimed the fallow deer of the Valley were evidence of Ælfric and Auðr’s story; their love had, in a way, lasted forever. 

Malleus had burned his copy of the book after that. The entire thing incinerated, save for one page that he tore out and kept close. In this scene, Ælfric has just become lost after a battle with a great giant. He feels alone, torn from his friends and further from his lover than ever before. Malleus tore it out of the book because he, in some strange twist, felt like he could understand Ælfric in the moment. The passage simply said; 

I have been in the darkness without the light of your smile to guide me Without your beauty to inspire me, without your voice to unravel me Oh, my love, my life You are a forbidden Eden that I seek; One that I yearn for when without, and I mourn for when denied  My paradise, my fall  I will defy even the Gods to keep you by my side

He considered sending you a copy of the tale with his letter as well. You did say you liked reading but something about the story—about the passage he saved in his pocket which now reminded him always of you—felt too sacred, too personal to give away just yet. So, he tucks it away, with your letters signed ‘yours truly’ at the end, and he bides his time, bides on the Senate, bides on old laws that are now being considered in review. It takes three years for a rose bush to grow, but Malleus will wait a thousand if it means finally having you. 

Your story will not be Ælfric and Auðr—this, he swears. He will not let any Senate, any laws, or any intent poison you as Auðr had been. 

He sets the last seedling in the hole and sighs, patting it down before looking up and around at the garden once more. The morning sunlight is golden, the heat now more bearable, and the flowers sway gently in a spring breeze. It’s beautiful, it’s promising, and hidden within a paradise of his own, the Fae Prince wears a soft smile.

[stranger-theory]

Song & Scene Analysis: Lumax vs Byler

I've also posted this on the Byler Subreddit so if you see it there, hi, that's me!

I’m sure you’re aware of song importance in Stranger Things with the Duffer Brothers saying sometimes it takes weeks to pick a song that conveys the exact message they’re trying to portray. I’ve seen quite a bit of theories around what songs mean what, but there’s one specific song that caught my attention.

There’s a scene in season two, episode six where Lucas and Max speak on top of a bus in the junkyard. It’s a lovely scene in which Max explains her behavior to Lucas, and apologizes for some stuff she wasn’t proud of. She says she’s sorry for acting like a jerk, and doesn’t ever want to be like that, but she feels overwhelmed with her home life and takes it out on people she doesn’t mean to. She then expresses that she likes California, and sometimes wants to go home, but having Lucas there with her for comfort makes her feel better. Max makes a call back to their “Stalker” joke, with a shared laugh. This emotional scene is then cut off by the sighting of a demodog, and a tense scene plays.

Now you know the base of the conversation, let me tell you about a similar scene I see as a parallel. Season four, episode four bedroom talk. This scene is between Mike and Will, where Mike apologizes to Will. In his apology he says he’s sorry for acting like a jerk, but everything with El was just really overwhelming and he doesn’t want Will to feel like their argument was personal. Mike explains to Will that he really appreciates Hawkins, but, since Will moved to California, it feels different. He misses Will. They share a “Cool” with each other and sit in silence while smiling, but are cut off by the doorbell as Jack’s men come searching for El.

These scenes may not feel as similar as I'm insisting with just this information, but there’s a very key portion to this parallel: Music.

I’m going to go through these scenes at the same time to help you understand where I’m coming from. At the current moments in time for these scenes, Lucas/Will have a like Max/Mike, but don’t know how to confront them about it. Max/Mike both apologize to Lucas/Will for hurting them when they didn’t mean to. Max/Mike say the reason they acted like this was because they felt overwhelmed with their lives at the moment. Max/Mike say that they like California/Hawkins but without Lucas/Will, it wouldn’t be/isn't the same. Max/Mike make a callback to “Stalker/Cool”. Almost directly after these heartfelt talks, they’re interrupted with the intense Demodog/Goverment scenes. The same song plays in these scenes to further imply that we’re supposed to view them the same way. The camera slowly zooms closer on their reactions to help the audience grasp these scenes better, and help it feel more intimate.

These are things you basically can’t deny, as I’m just stating the facts of these scenes. From all of these similarities and comparisons, we can also further suspect other aspects of these scenes. Something we’re allowed to assume is that, like Max, Mike also has feelings for Will. If the original scene including this song is meant to be interpreted as romantic, then why would the second be any different? If the original scene is meant to be read as a “romantic” and “intimate” apology, then why would the second scene suddenly be a purely platonic interaction? If they’d wanted us as an audience to think otherwise, then they would have chosen a different way to portray this scene.

I thank you greatly for listening to me rant about why this scene drove me crazy. I’ve been looking forward to posting this for a while, but with my very on fire Spongebob looking brain, I never remembered. I’d love love looooove to hear your thoughts and add ons to this, ESPECIALLY corrections if i’ve somehow misinterpreted something. I wouldn't want to spread misinformation. Have a good morning, afternoon, or night, folks.