#canadian mafia

[melanie-moreland-author]

"I have never read mafia romance, but I am hooked now! Hooked, line and sinker!

[wheredidalltheusersgo]

Family Cosplay time

[coolbonnieart]

King was soppost to be revealed in tv head peppinos nightmare but again I wanted to show him of early cus...LOOK AT HIM!

About king: not much is know about this being, nor human or eney abstract being could tell you what king is, it is vary well know to the abstract people stay away from the king. Why you may as?

For he can see EVERYTHING! meaning every time line....and every single pizza tower au.

He watches each of them like a tv show...seeing the worlds throw bubbles. He cant go to the world but he knows what's going on.

That and also is the only abstract being to use abstract magic ( lore on that later ) and it can do some terrifying things.

But it's not just the aus he can see, He can even see..

You.

[msclaritea]

Yesterday, as Tesla Starlink PayPal and Twitter owner Elon Musk issued that threat, and Netflix announced Benedict and Sophie Season on Bridgerton, SLOAN the wide-eyed YouTuber who suddenly became a professional tabloid disher, made the video. It's a long, torturous and sad revisit of Princess Diana, her life and death. It's VERY unlike Sloan to do celebrities who have passed away and he doesn't even pronounce her name correctly, while exclaiming admiration.

The reason this matters? Diana was Benedict Cumberbatch's cousin. And before anyone pulls 'posh' out of of their ass, please remember how this woman was treated, when she was alive; how so many still wish they could get her back.

I should have known. Sloan keeps claiming that he can't say the word 'Scientology' on air, which is a bold-faced lie and he never refers to them as a Cult; always a Church. Oh yeah! His main sponsor? The Rightwing, anti-LGBTQ, German-Canadian company SHOPIFY. I guess the channel is just another way to control the artists in hollywood.

[agentfascinateur]

When you consider who recently ran Public Safety in Canada, Ben-Gvir's inclusion is no surprise...

A far-right Israeli minister openly encouraging the alleged torture, abuse, rape and killing of Palestinian detainees remains listed as a “key international contact” on Public Safety Canada’s (PSC) website.

...

But Ben-Gvir was well known as a convicted racist and supporter of far-right terrorism long before PSC prepared the transition document. He was found guilty by an Israeli court for both offences in 2007, and was also a youth activist in the far-right “Kach” party, which PSC lists as a proscribed terrorist organization. Ben-Gvir’s criminal record was widely publicized at the time of his ministerial appointment in Netanyahu’s extreme right-wing government in late 2022.

Nothing honourable about Mr Blair. Or liberal.

[queenvreads]

REVIEW: Heathens by Thea Lawrence

3/5 ⭐⭐⭐

This was okay. Its a world post-myaterious virus that wipes out many humans. Vampire control is on the rise, and humans are struggling to keep the power balanced.

Dom is the leader of the opposing vampire mob, fighting against the one that controls the city. Sofie is a human, who lost everything during the virus. She owns a blood bar that provides vampire / human safe space to interact. Dom sees her one night and wants her.

It was fast paced, and it didn't take me long to read. The insta-love was INSTANT for Dom. It wasn't even that he saw Sophie and was interested to get to know her. He saw her for a brief second and said MINE. Which is fine, I knew that trope was in here, but his actions in a few scenes didn't really go hand in hand with it. Like how Dom left Sofie to handle Rene on her own. She could have died, so that didn't make sense in the whole "she's mine" ordeal.

I didn't understand the blood weapon, it didn't make sense to me. I also didn't catch onto how Sophie as a past hematologist could help with said weapon. Thats on me I guess 😅

The spice was fun, the action provided good pacing. It was over the top but it was entertaining and did what it had to do. 💀

[rebornrosess]

the dad’s side of the family always has the most insane lore

[bunnys-kisses]

what is currently in my notebook? so many of my fics begin handwritten notebooks from the dollar store. i have been very unmotivated to type them out and add them to my queue. so i thought i'd tell ya'll what i've been writing up in my spare time! <3

"toto the terror" - toto wolff tags: smut/pwp, driver!reader, spanking/punishments, tp!toto, age gap (20/50), teasing, dirty talk/degrading language, rough sex, bruises, mean!toto

"me and my man" - max verstappen tags: smut/pwp, mafia au, mafia boss!reader, collars & leashes, dom/sub, clubs, semi-public sex, couch sex, dirty talk, french speaker!reader

"crisp mornings" - simon "ghost" riley tags: smut/pwp, morning sex, age gap (20/50), oral sex, cowgirl position, size kink/difference, reitred!simon, cup of tea

"business vacation" - toto wolff tags: smut/pwp, ceo!au, ceo!toto, assistant!reader, semi public, poolside sex, size difference/kink, cowgirl position, beach chair sex, alcohol, age gap (20/50)

"a pair of aces" - franco colapinto tags: smut/pwp, williams driver!reader, (somewhat) rivals, clothes sharing, banter, canadian!reader, semi public sex, getting caught, multiple sex scenes, fingering, cowgirl position, kissing

[cyarsk5230]

Amish mafia assemble

she is the one

[melanie-moreland-author]

Feeling a bit peckish? Here's your weekly Bite! Roman always satisfies 😉

[undergoing-mitosis]

i am going to ramble about my death note accent and language headcanons (wammy's boys + light) okay thanks

L is very British. This fits surprisingly easily with Alessandro Juliani's incredible dub performance, but just lose the Canadian(?)ness. He still has that slight drawl and softly pronounces every consonant, so it's less bo'o'wa'a bri'ish and more autistic every consonant is pronounced British. Every language he speaks is practically perfect accent wise, he tends to be a bit of a chameleon. You can only tell that he's not native Japanese when he speaks it by a few lilts on certain sounds which aren't quite right, but even then it's only noticeable if you're looking for it. Knows an ungodly amount of languages fluently: he had a period of hyperfixating on learning a bunch between cases, before he got bored and moved onto advanced Go strategy.

Light is Japanese. Mamoru Miyano's voice is canon. That is all I have to say on the matter. He also knows a few other languages from his studies, including English, but knows very little about using these languages in practice, making his speech sound very formal and textbook-y.

Mello is from somewhere in east Europe, but given he's lived at Wammy's since he was around 5-ish he had completely lost his accent. So his base accent is British like the rest of them. Whatever his native language may be, he can understand it but not speak it. Mello tended to err on the side of more rough British, dropping consonants no matter how much Roger tried to make him speak properly. He never devolved into full roadman though. When he ran away to the US, he taught himself how to speak with an American accent. (this idea is directly from Crush on ao3 haha) Over the years of the time skip he perfected his accent, now it is indistinguishable from a native LA resident. However, he is still having to actively put this accent on. Post-Mafia, Mello doesn't have to put up a front of being purely American any more: he still does it out of habit, especially in public, but in private his voice will become an odd mix of American, British and a few muscle memory sounds that come from his mother tongue, creating a unique sound. When Mello loses his composure (mainly, when he gets pissed at Matt) he devolves into full British expletives. He is known he mutter "bloody hell" under his breath frequently. He can also speak Japanese fluently, along with French and bits and pieces of a few other European languages.

Matt is Canadian. I don't know, I just think a Canadian accent suits him. Picked up a few British turn of phrases at Wammy's, but given that he moved there later than Mello he kept his accent. The only Japanese he knows is osmosised from anime. He also picked up wingdings from that period of time when every email he sent would be in it for funsies.

Near is also British. Very much has that autism British accent, without the added drawl in L's, making him sometimes sound quite posh even though he isn't. Nate River is the most British name I have ever seen I'm sorry I don't make the rules. He learnt Japanese for the Kira case, and can speak it pretty fluently and without a strong accent, but as a rule of thumb he has no interest in learning languages: he'd rather spend his time making paper cities or studying quantum physics. An exception to this is code languages: he knows morse code fluently.

[msclaritea]

Shelving Movies for Fun and Profit

Destroying Movies for Fun and Profit

If you ask any director, screenwriter, actor, stunt performer, gaffer, editor, cameraperson or other Hollywood worker, they’ll likely tell you a variation on the same story: “My dream, ever since I was a little kid making home movies, was to one day grant Warner Bros. a deduction for a loss sustained upon the abandonment of property (reported on Form 4797).” Yes, little is more exciting for an aspiring filmmaker than the idea that—with a lot of dedication and a pinch of luck—their years of driving Lyfts and waiting tables could pay off, resulting in a star-studded line item that will be shelved forever so that a major studio can claim a tax write-off. Ah, the magic of the movies!

This practice is back in the news because the powers that be at WB have gone back to their original decision regarding the hybrid live-action/animated Looney Tunes movie Coyote vs. Acme. Despite the film testing well and generating plenty of buyer interest, a team of execs who haven’t seen the finished movie look like they’re going to “unceremoniously delete it” for tax purposes. Sorry, filmmakers, but apparently it actually looks better to stockholders if WB doesn’t actually put movies out. “Hollywood accounting” has its reputation for a reason, but it’s never been so obviously broken.

It might seem like Warner Bros. Discovery CEO David Zaslav is a true innovator of idiocy, but the man behind the permanent shelving of movies like Batgirl and Scoob! Holiday Haunt is just ramping up a long tradition of burning art to save a quick buck.

After buying up DreamWorks, Universal decided to bury the musical-comedy Larrikins instead of selling it to Netflix. Universal president Jimmy Horowitz told Tim Minchin that “It’s schmuck insurance – if someone made a lot of money out of it, we’ll look like schmucks.” That mindset certainly applies here: Coyote vs. Acme is a creation from an earlier group of WB leaders, and would naturally be on the chopping block from a spiteful new C-suite who also happens to hate movies.

Even more relevant is a case from almost 100 years ago: Charlie Chaplin literally torched the film negatives of A Woman of the Sea back in 1933, in front of multiple witnesses, so that he could claim the movie as a loss for tax purposes.

The tax code may have changed since then, but the logic remains the same: Get rid of the movie so you can avoid all the final complications and lingering expenses associated with its “useful life.” If you cut that life short, pulling off an accounting assassination, you save a little immediate cash at the low, low cost of…art. It’s always been a crass practice, more often performed by resentful new regimes or moneygrubbers who’ve found themselves attracting the gaze of Sauron’s IRS. But now shelving movies, completed films that other companies want, is picking up steam as standard practice. Actually making things is such an outdated, small-time business model. It’s far more lucrative to remove things other people made.

For example, if Disney keeps all of its movies and TV shows on Disney+, it has to pay residuals to the people who made them. They’ve also spread out the costs of a movie like Crater (which was available to watch for a mere seven weeks during the summer of 2023) over the years that the movie will ostensibly be available to the public and, therefore, creating value for Disney. Remove these movies and shows from the streamer, or better yet, remove them permanently (like Disney did with Crater), and their value can be added to an impairment charge—basically, a claim to the tax man that something a company owns has become, suddenly, worthless.

Disney recorded a $1.5 billion impairment charge last year. As Julia Rock points out, this means that Disney is claiming something pretty odd: Both “that the assets were producing so little value that it’s cheaper to destroy them than to keep them and that the assets were worth $1.5 billion.” Huh. There’s no push for anyone to justify this contradiction. The IRS isn’t asking questions. It doesn’t matter if a movie is good, or bad, or somewhere in between. It doesn’t matter if it had the potential to one day be rediscovered as a cult classic. It certainly doesn’t matter that even the worst pieces of Z-grade trash are still worth preserving as cultural artifacts. As an aside, the HBO Original Fahrenheit 451 is still streaming on Max.

And sure, you can say that you didn’t want to watch those movies anyways. Kid movies! Superheroes! Cartoons, yuck. I get it, you’re tough and cool. But one day, this will happen to something that you were looking forward to. It will happen to something that would have moved you. Something you’d have remembered fondly, something that would’ve turned your day around. But even if you’re the most jaded, anti-art, movie-hating curmudgeon, you should remember that, released or not, you’re helping pay for this scheme anyways.

“When intertwined with public funding through state and federal tax incentives, the practice of movie and television write-downs represents a troubling exploitation of taxpayer funds,” writes tax attorney Andrew Leahey. “Coupled with rapidly expanding state tax incentives, it represents a multibillion-dollar Rube Goldberg machine that culminates in a nickel being pulled from your pocket, strapped to an Acme rocket, and fired directly into the bank accounts of movie studios.”

Every loophole taken by these studios doesn’t just rob us of art. It burns the work of countless artists. It steals from our quality of life by monkeying around with our broken tax system, allowing our most powerful corporations to skip out on their bills. It picks the remaining shreds of flesh off the bones of our culture, all to further fatten a few vultures at the top.

Politicians like Texas Representative Joaquin Castro are calling for the government to “review this conduct,” but the only people who seem to have the power here are those actually creating the movies. They can boycott the guilty studios, and we can support them, but there are so few left that aren’t exploiting this practice to its most predatory extremes. Cooking the books has always been a Hollywood practice. Burning them is new.

Jacob Oller is Movies Editor at Paste Magazine. You can follow him on Twitter at @jacoboller.

For all the latest movie news, reviews, lists and features, follow @PasteMovies.

It's too bad that this Paste article was written by a Leftist, who let their biases show, ie pushing Castro, and the 'Sauron's IRS'. But otherwise, it is spot on. What the studios are doing to Intellectual Properties is a SIN. It's cruel, it's greedy and so fucking unnecessary. Just how much money do these studios and their shareholders, NEED? I better not find out that the Supernatural Planet Series was destroyed.

[mikkomacko]

i’m loving the him and i series so much!! and i keep thinking about her first finding out about the devils and what the reaction would be (obviously happy in the end ik) would love maybe a blurb of that or just your thoughts on it :)

“When are you going to tell me what you actually do?”

He’s caught off guard by the question, you can tell by the way he looks up from the sink, his eyes like a deer in headlights when they meet yours through the bathroom mirror.

“What do you mean?” He mumbles around his toothbrush, foam dripping down his fingers.

You shrug, leaning against the doorway. “I know you own The Rock, but there’s no way a bar owner lives like this.” You motion to the elegant bathroom, the mirror with different lighting settings, the claw foot bathtub, the double shower. No one in Jersey just lives like this.

He spits into the sink, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s uh, it’s a popular bar.”

The excuse is lame. You know it, he knows it. Maybe you should be concerned, cautious about him. But you spent a couple months with him now and he’s given you no reason to ever be worried or anxious. Not when you’re with him and not toward him.

“Just…” you hesitate, watching him rinse off his toothbrush and place it in the holder. He won’t meet your eyes, instead busying himself with cleaning up the marble counter. “You don’t do anything illegal right? Like you’re not a drug dealer?”

That makes him stop, immediately turning to look at you with those doe eyes of his. Your heart jumps into your throat, mouth going dry.

“You sell drugs?!”

“No, no, no!” Nico rushes out, waving his hands. “I don’t sell drugs. I don’t take drugs. Do you take drugs?”

Scoffing, you shake your head. “No I don’t do drugs! Do you think I’d be put-off by a potential drug dealer if I did drugs?”

Nico shrugs, raking his hands through his hair. You watch the movement of his arm, the way his chest shifts against the tight wife-beater he’s wearing. A hint of the chain he always has on pokes through, the outline reminding you of the ones you see on all his friends.

“My friends said you’re in a gang,” you tell him.

“What do you think?”

You stand up straight, tilting your head to the side as you examine him. “They’re wrong,” you say matter-of-fact. “A gang leader doesn’t just own a business. They like push drugs on Coney Island and hang out with teenagers.

“You guys are like…like a family.”

Nico bites at his lip, smiling a bit at that. “Do you trust me?”

“Yeah.”

He nods towards his bedroom, and you move to sit on the edge of his bed. Nico follows, sighing heavily as he sinks to kneel in front of you.

“We are a family,” he tells you, taking your hands in his. “Me and Timo and the boys. We’re a family, just in a different way.”

Confused, you shake your head. “I don’t get it.”

Nervous, he licks his lips and lets out a breathy laugh. “We’re a family like in a God Father way, a”

“A mafia?!” You cut-off. “Like Italian mafia?”

“No, no, it’s like the mob. Different than the mafia and not Italian at all. Most of us are Swiss, Jesper you know is Swedish. And locals. American, Canadian, yeah.”

You’re quiet for a moment, head spinning with thoughts. It makes sense, the bar and the money and his apartment. The coded talk between him and his friends, the way they call him boss-

“Wait, you’re the boss?” You ask, “You’re in charge of them all.”

Sheepishly he nods, like he’s worried you’re gonna tell him they impolite or act up. But he’s proud, you can tell by the glimmer in his dark eyes. It’s like that cocky twinkle he usually has but softer, more personal.

“Should I be scared of you?” You whisper, afraid he’ll say yes, that he’ll give you a reason to run.

“Never,” Nico assures instantly. “You never have to be scared of me or the boys. You’re, you mean too much to me. If anything, Jersey should be scared of you.”

“What, why?”

He clears his throat, looking down at your hands as he squeezes them. “Because if anyone so much as said your name in the wrong way, they’ll be dealing with us.”

It sends shivers down your spine, warms your chest. He sounds so certain, so confident in the abilities of himself and the boys. Flattered, you lightly giggle and pry a hand out of his to stroke through his hair.

You find the gold chain on his neck, rest your palm over his chest. “Devils?” You ask, “is that why you all wear the horns?”

Proud and impressed, he nods. “Smart girl,” he murmurs sweetly. “Technically the Devils, but the others call us the Devs.”

“There’s more of you?”

He nods, placing his hand over yours. “Yeah a few. Biggest concerns are our closest guys in New York.”

You’re confused again, not really understanding how this works with different gangs - mob’s around. It makes your head hurt, a sharp pain right behind your left eye.

“I - I think I need to think about this Nico,” you murmur “not tonight. It’s too much tonight. I just needed to know that you’re not a drug dealer.”

He kisses your knuckles, rising to his feet as he nods. “Yeah yeah, whatever you want to know I’ll tell you.”

“Ok.”

“You still staying the night or should I drive you home?”

Scoffing, you shove at him and then flop back into the plush mattress. “Obviously I’m staying. Nothing beats this bed.”

Standing over you, he chuckles. You press your foot into his hip and he wraps those thick fingers around your ankle.

“You’re welcome to leave though.” You tease.

Releasing you, he jumps onto the bed next to you. Snuggling into his pillow, he smiles contently. “I don’t think so little miss, this bed is all mine.”

You crawl up to the pillows, laying on your side to face him. “Well that half is,” You quip back, smiling innocently “boss.”

[mole-nend]

Hesper foreign kids masterlist, closeups under cut. I'm hoping to get to draw these guys more often.

Gregory Snow- British/Russian. Catholic. Bisexual, GNC- he/him or she/her. Epileptic and autistic.. He likes fencing and considers himself and independent personality. He's the most likely to take a stand against bullies when it comes to others, but seems to fall short when it comes to defending his own honor.

Alejandro- Mexican. Catholic. Bisexual, Sometimes trans (either direction)- usually he/him. Chronic pain in his (camera) right shoulder after being shot as a child, C-PTSD. Alejandro likes boxing and metal music. He's more likely to defend the entire group, including himself. Prefers to follow and gently steer rather than take charge

Baahir Hakeem- Pakistani. Muslim. No labels, he/him. PTSD. He's a slight musical talent, he likes to discuss this with Alejandro and Gregory alike for their juxtaposing interests in the topic. He's a supportive individual and tends to get involved in trouble on accident rather than spearheading it like some of the others. He technically doesn't live in America anymore, but keeps in contact with the club and Butters.

Christophe (The Mole) Fontaine- Mexican/French. Misotheist. Gay Trans male, he/him. C-PTSD and autistic. Enjoys gardening and sewing. Mole is very grounded but has a major paranoia problem, which makes him a surefire director for smaller schemes and tends to be Gregory's right hand. Relatedly, he is a foster sibling to him, as well as Cosette.

Estella Havisham- Doesn't Exist.

Herbert Pocket- Doesn't Exist.

Philip Pirrup- British, Dead. He started the club, and they tend to honor him both on his birthday and the anniversary of his death. He'll always hold a place in their hearts.

Luigi Puzo(Loogie)- Italian(Sicilian). Cishet, he/him. Autistic. He likes geography and classical literature. Weirdly obsessed with teeth, having returned to the mafia business as an older kid but not continuing the teeth racket. He's the most likely to encite the group into trouble and to stir things within the group. He's sort of like their Cartman.

Cosette [ValJean]- French/British. Lesbian, she/them. She likes painting and acting, and is looking into a career in modeling. Like Baahir, she's a very supportive individual. Sometimes the boys are less likely to listen to her, but all around she's respected and treated kindly by them. She and Baahir are close.

Nadia- Romanian. she/her. She's interested in contortion and acrobatics still, but also is a well-spoken figure who likes to give speeches. She doesn't visit America often at all, but is close with Cosette and is on good terms with most of the others.

Charlotte [Maple]- Canadian. Pansexual, she/her. Likely autistic. She's also interested in acting, but is better off managing careers and events. Expert party planner and organizer. She has the sharpest personality out of the girls, demanding change often and being solid enough to sometimes divide the group- though, they often stand together as she can easily replace Gregory's assertive demeanor if she should choose. She finds these kids to be the only ones to take her seriously. Lives in Canada, but visits often.

[heliads]

Your other Strollonso fic was AWESOME so can I request a Strollonso mafia!AU maybe? Like maybe it’s an arranged marriage so mob boss Nando can keep his alliance with Larry Stroll and they’re super awkward around each other at first but get closer and then Lance gets kidnapped and hurt by a rival and Nando just flips his shit and tears apart the city to find him and they have a really nice lil kiss once Lance is safe and ok? Thanks so much 💕💕

'not just one of your many toys' - fernando x lance

masterlist

It is Fernando Alonso’s own wedding day, and he’s already half an hour late. It’s not a good look, certainly, but no one in their right minds would ever say that the head of the Spanish mob has ever been good, so, according to Fernando, this just fits right in with the rest of his grim reputation. It’s all about appearances, isn’t it?

Today, though, it’s not beyond Fernando to admit that he should have done better. Today matters. Fernando is not stupid enough to have actually fallen in love with someone, so he doesn’t have to worry about disappointing a heartsick fiancée. Besides, if he wanted someone like that, he would have managed to twist his way inside their mind enough that they would forgive him for this tardiness the second he asked.

No, today isn’t a matter of love. Rumor has it that the Spanish mob had their hearts cut out in an expensive procedure when they turned eighteen, and although that’s an obvious fabrication since they’re all still bleeding rich red, it’s true enough by emotional standards. If you love, you die. Fernando Alonso does not accept weakness. If he ever fell in love, he would kill the object of his desires first so they could never drag him down again.

This, then, is yet another business transaction. Fernando has been courting the Stroll family for years now, eyeing their billions ever since they made their first killing, but now, he’s finally managed to force his way in. A young man is waiting on an altar somewhere across the city; Lawrence Stroll’s only son, Lance. Fernando and Lawrence cut this deal a month ago, and it took far too many pulled strings for Fernando to fuck it up like this now. If he were smart, he would have been there early.

Instead, his knife is halfway inside another man’s chest cavity, and Fernando is no closer to wrapping this up than he had been fifteen minutes ago when he realized he was late in the first place. He can’t afford to rush this, though. Traitors never flourish in the mob, least of all with Fernando’s men. Fernando has a reputation to uphold, his marital status be damned. If he doesn’t make this guy a prime example of what happens when you cross Fernando Alonso, his whole business will be riddled with holes until it all comes crashing down.

Still, Fernando can’t afford to piss off the Strolls more than he has already. Jerking his knife out of a partially deflated lung with a hiss of annoyance, Fernando turns to his second in command, Carlos Sainz. The younger, that is. The father is somewhere getting rich off of his son’s bloodlust, as all dutiful parents should be. “You’ll have to carry on with the rest. I was needed thirty minutes ago.”

Carlos swears under his breath. “Shit, I forgot about the wedding. I can make Alguersuari take over if you want me there. It can’t hurt to have backup, I don’t trust the fucking Canadians not to pull some shit.”

Fernando shakes his head. “Stay, I need a guarantee this is handled properly. Besides, I’ll have others there. This isn’t the day that I die.”

Carlos doesn’t look convinced. “You’re going into their stronghold. All of their guys will be there.”

Fernando chuckles. “It’s not a death trap, Carlos, it’s a church. Even Lawrence isn’t bloodthirsty enough to off me en una iglesia.”

Carlos makes a snorting sound that lets Fernando know just what he thinks of that, but one sharp look from Fernando silences the last of his objections. Carlos is a good kid, and Fernando trusts him the most out of anyone here, but in the end, it’s Fernando’s show, and he’s got to make sure none of his men are bashing his soon-to-be husband’s father any more than absolutely necessary.

Fernando cleans off his hands with a rag, grimacing at the spots of purple and green already starting to flower over his knuckles. Bruises on his hands don’t exactly add to the wedding atmosphere, but everyone there already knows what he’s capable of, so this should be no surprise. He exits the building and directs his driver to the church. They get there as fast as they can, but, judging by the stony expression on Lawrence Stroll when Fernando arrives at last, it wasn’t fast enough. He’s only thirty-five minutes late, though. By all accounts, it’s not even that bad.

Lawrence takes him by the arm, leading him casually yet forcefully to one of the small rooms in the back of the church used for the wedding party to prepare themselves before the big event.

“Where have you been?” Lawrence glowers the second the door closes.

“Traffic,” Fernando muses. “It’s terrible in these parts.”

Lawrence arches a silver brow. “You have blood on your cuffs.”

Fernando glances down at his sleeves and fights a wince. It’s only a few drops, but the copper stains still manage to stand out against the fine material. “Really bad traffic. Tourists should have their licenses revoked if they go more than ten below the limit.”

Lawrence doesn’t seem to be in the mood for jokes, which is good, because neither is Fernando. None of them like this deal, but they have no better options, so here they are. “Do not forget what rests upon this agreement,” Lawrence intones. “This is not some pretty spring wedding. I must admit, I was relieved when I signed my son over to you because I thought you of all people would understand everything that depends on this. And then you showed up late.”

Fernando tilts his head to the side slightly. “I know exactly what this means. I signed the contract. Let me be the first to assure you that I have no second thoughts. I was merely handling business.”

The air in the prep room is damn near icy. Lawrence is good at the scary act, but Fernando has been inspiring fear in the hearts of better mob men for decades now, and he isn’t the type to back down. Fernando may have coveted the Stroll money, but Lawrence wanted something too, or he never would have agreed to this in the first place. Fernando has had a long and bloody climb to the top of the Spanish mob, and Lawrence wants the notoriety and security of being forever associated with that kind of success. What tie could be better than a marriage? Lawrence had already married off his daughter to a lesser gun of the Bulls, but, well, there was always the other heir.

The legalization of gay marriage did a lot for mob patriarchs. One piece of paper, one actual legal thing about their whole enterprise, could genuinely complete an union between two families. Now, when searching for tenuous threads on which to conduct alliances, wealthy fathers with bloody hands wouldn’t just have to pray for daughters, they could also marry off their useless sons. 

Fernando knows for a fact that there’s been talk of Charles Leclerc from the Chevaux Rouges getting married off to one of the other dime-a-dozen Frenchmen. Pierre Gasly’s father has been pushing that agenda since both young men were boys, but Fernando also knows the way that one of his own best men, Carlos, has been eyeing the Monegasque, so maybe the deal wasn’t yet set in stone after all. Fernando should get after Carlos for that. Pretty boys aren’t worth toppling alliances. He’ll get himself in trouble faster than a sports car can accelerate. 

After all, this was supposed to be about politics, not actual affection. Fernando is the perfect example of this. He could count the times he’s seen Lance Stroll on one hand. The boy lingers in the back of his father’s meetings, pulling exaggerated faces when he’s certain nobody can see him, but Fernando isn’t even sure he’s actually talked to him more than forced interactions conducted in an effort to make it seem like Fernando is a team player. Then again, he doesn’t actually have to enjoy Lance’s company. He just needs his hand in marriage.

One of Lawrence’s men hurries into the room, holding his phone aloft. “A body was just discovered across town. Strung up by the church spire.”

Lawrence eyes Fernando coolly. “Traffic?”

Fernando just sinks his teeth into a matching icy grin. “Traffic,” he agrees.

Lawrence reaches forward, taking hold of Fernando’s hands like he’s praying the rosary. “Do not put any further stains upon my family,” he intones. “Waste the money I give you, fine. Kill your enemies on my own dime. But do not misuse my son. And do not keep him waiting any longer.”

Lawrence squeezes abruptly, causing the rapidly forming bruises on Fernando’s knuckles to twinge with fresh pain, then pulls away. Fernando follows him into the sanctuary of the church. Men in varying shades of black suits watch him like hawks from both sides of the aisle, women most of them probably don’t know lingering on their arms. At the front, Lance’s best man eyes Fernando with particular hatred, but Esteban Ocon has despised Fernando ever since a certain deal went south last year, so Fernando doesn’t pay him much attention. It’s very easy to ignore the Frenchman, which makes Esteban even more irate.

Fernando studies his fiancé. He’s not even certain that Lance was in the room when Lawrence and Fernando agreed on the marriage union, but it’s not like it would have mattered anyway. Lawrence makes the decisions for the Strolls. In a way, Fernando feels like he’s been courting the Stroll patriarch more than his son, but it’s all in the interest of a pawn to move around. Both Lawrence and Fernando can agree on that, apparently.

Lance considers Fernando with vague interest, eyeing him up and down with a lifted brow. He’s not bad to look at, all things considered. He supposes it could have been worse; for a while, that Russian upstart, Mazepin, was thought to be someone to coerce into a marriage, but then his family was revealed to be a bunch of rats and were subsequently driven out of the business. Fernando feels he dodged a bullet there.

The ceremony is conducted without much difficulty. Lawrence insisted on an extravagant reception so they can at least pretend this is a wedding and not just a job reassignment, and Fernando has been dreading this part all day. Carlos turns up an hour into the reception, matching bruises dotting his knuckles. Fernando tells him to enjoy himself as a reward for his good work, but not to have too much fun. Drunkenness and debauchery on a night like this would condemn Fernando even more than showing up late to his own wedding.

Fernando completes circuit after circuit of the event hall, shaking hands with Stroll associates and hearing congratulations from his associates. Many mob men are here as a sign of respect; Esteban brought Pierre as well, so the French are adequately represented, plus young Mick from the Germans. 

Nico Rosberg usually turns up to these sorts of things, so Fernando is sort of surprised that he didn’t show, but then he notices Lewis Hamilton talking with his fellow Silver Arrow George Russell by the bar and the pieces click together again. Now that had been a split to remember. Lewis and Nico had run things together since they were kids, but when Lewis switched sides overnight, Nico had been left without a right hand man when he was about to consider a major deal. It was a stab in the back from the one person Rosberg had thought was his most loyal ally. All of the informants had been simmering for ages afterwards. Talk about a scandal.

After greeting both Arrows, Fernando has to steer Carlos away from the Chevaux Rouges again– he’ll have to have a conversation with the younger man about that later, it does no good to make it so easy to tell what you want– and spoken to Charles Leclerc once he was alone again. Lawrence Stroll has been satisfied by the turnout, so he’s actually in a good mood when he and Fernando talk lightly about business later on.

By the end of the reception, Fernando has managed to have a conversation with everyone but his new husband. When the lights are turned off at the end, they’re both in the same car heading to Fernando’s mansion, but Fernando has to take another half dozen quick calls from regretful allies who were otherwise occupied tonight, so they don’t say a word until they arrive at the door.

Fernando lets them in, muttering something under his breath about needing to get Lance a set of keys. He gives Lance a rough tour of the estate, essentially just enough to know where to sleep, work, and take meals, but when he’s done talking, Lance still stands there expectantly in front of the door to Fernando’s office.

At first, Fernando hardly even notices that he remains. He would have assumed the younger man would want to go to bed. It’s late, and although Fernando still has plenty of work to be done, Lance is likely used to a life of comfort, so he’d want to catch up on sleep. It isn’t until he starts grabbing files from a cabinet at the far side of the room that Lance coughs pointedly.

Fernando glances up as he stacks papers on his desk. Now that he’s got access to Lance’s funds, he’ll need to go over potential expenditures for the coming months. There are a couple of business ventures he’s been waiting to accelerate until this windfall, but now he can race towards whatever he pleases. So long as it turns a good profit, of course.

“Do you need something? There should be servants down the hall if you require anything.” He says, glancing back down at the files in his hands.

Lance shakes his head. “No, I was waiting for you.”

Fernando frowns. “Whatever for?”

It’s strange to see someone so high up in the mob who still hasn’t yet learned the value of a good poker face. Fernando can actually see the incredulity appear in Lance’s eyes and spread to his dropped-jaw stare. “It’s our wedding night, Fernando.”

“I am aware,” Fernando says. “I was there at the wedding.”

Lance scoffs. “Yes, but– come on, man, do I have to say it?”

Fernando looks Lance dead in the eyes for what might be the first night all evening. “You don’t have to say anything, Lance. I’m not oblivious, even if you seem to be. This is not a normal marriage. We are wed in name and fortune but nothing else. If your bed is cold, turn up the heat or imagine someone else is there. I have work to do.”

Lance’s brow furrows with indignation, but when he speaks again, his words are tight and controlled. So he can manage his anger, at least. That’s a start. “I see. Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” Fernando says, just barely managing to keep his mouth from twitching into a disbelieving smile when he says it. Are they children? Should he offer Lance a nightlight? Wishing him goodnight. Please. Fernando is a professional killer. They do not tell each other soft goodbyes when they wipe out entire bloodlines.

Fernando has no idea what his husband ends up doing, but he stays up late to sift through more ledgers. The second his mind begins to cloud from exhaustion, he goes straight to bed, and wakes respectably early into the morning. He works out with the same base routine he’s used since he first entered the business, of course adding a few repetitions or new drills here and there where he can sense the weakness in his muscles. 

By the time he’s showered, dressed, and entered the kitchen for some coffee and breakfast, Lance has just begun to stumble downstairs, hair flattened by his pillow and half sticking up. He’s still in his pajamas, which consist of sweats and a shirt for some tennis player Fernando doesn’t recognize.

Fernando arches a brow at him. “Sleep well?”

“Wonderfully,” Lance grumbles, the syllables turning into a yawn halfway through.

Again, Fernando feels the need to swallow a laugh. He doesn’t think anyone’s spoken to him without an undercurrent of fear in a very long time, yet here Lance Stroll is, oversleeping and walking around his mansion in leisure wear. Technically, it is Lance’s mansion as well now, but still. Fernando doesn’t even think his sister dared to wear anything other than business casual when she visited.

Fernando does need Lance to feel valued, though. The last thing he needs is Lance complaining to his father that Fernando keeps judging him or something, then this whole thing could go up in flames. Fernando can be a dutiful husband even if it kills him.

“Would you like something to eat?” Fernando asks politely. “We have fruit, eggs, anything. Our chef can make it.”

“A bagel, maybe?” Lance says, yawning again.

Fernando nods. “I’ll ask the chef to prepare some.”

Although Fernando does his best to keep his true emotions in check, Lance, apparently, is beyond the same need to not laugh at his spouse. “Dude, it’s a bagel. One ingredient. Surely you don’t need the chef.”

Fernando scowls. “I just wanted to ask him what types we had in stock. I am aware that bagels are a simple food to serve.”

Lance chuckles again. “You’re telling me the head of the Spanish mob knows every one of his enemies but not every one of his bagels? Terrible priorities, man.”

Fernando is starting to realize that marriage might be difficult. See, if Lance could just be properly nervous around him like every other son of a mob boss Fernando has met, they wouldn’t have to have this terrible interaction, but no, Lance seems immune to everything. Delightful.

He extends a hand towards the extensive pantry. “Feel free to check by yourself. I’m sure it’s incredibly important for the sons of mob bosses to be able to verify their own information. Even on bagels.”

Lance grins sarcastically. “Technically, I’m not just the son of a mob boss, but the husband of one, too. If you’re going to mock me like everyone else, at least do it well.”

Fernando frowns. “I’m not trying to mock you.”

Lance spares a disbelieving glance towards Fernando, then turns back to his search for breakfast. “Really? Is that why this is the longest you’ve ever spoken to me since you realized you could get my dad’s money by marriage?”

Fernando can’t entirely argue with that, so he doesn’t. “You don’t have to hate me, Lance.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Lance says cheerfully. “I’m just pointing out the obvious. Seeing as we’re going to be stuck together for the foreseeable future, I would advise you to do the same. And in case you were curious, you have both plain bagels and cinnamon raisin.”

With that, Lance breezes back out of the kitchen, carbohydrate prize secured. Seconds later, Carlos files into the kitchen, glancing curiously back in the direction Lance had gone. “Sorry to bother you, I just had the information on Verstappen that you wanted. What the hell happened there? And since when have you had bagels in the house?”

“No idea,” Fernando says tiredly. It answers both questions well enough.

Lance Stroll proves himself to be more and more of an enigma as the days go by. He joins Fernando for meals only when Fernando asks, but then he seems disappointed that they don’t do anything else together. He zones out when Fernando talks business, then always gets annoyed when Fernando so much as alludes to the conditions leading to their marriage. Fernando can’t decide if Lance is actually happy with the arrangement– or, as Fernando is beginning to suspect, if he had any say in the matter at all. Strange for the heir to the Stroll legacy to have grown up with so little sway over his father’s business. It is as if Lawrence expected to live forever, so he never bothered teaching Lance the ropes.

Fernando tries to make it work. A little. Not enough. He’s busy, that’s all, he doesn’t have time to babysit a husband who seems compelled to fuck with him on each and every turn. It’s like Lance gets joy from being a nuisance. And yeah, sometimes when Lance’s attitude is directed towards Carlos or anyone who isn’t Fernando, it is pretty funny, but Fernando has not made a career of getting laughed at and he doesn’t intend to start now. 

Once, Lance insists that his room is far too cold to be slept in, so he’ll just have to sleep in Fernando’s room instead. Fernando personally walks into Lance’s room to check it out himself, but it’s actually freezing in there despite adjusting the thermostat, and Lance refuses any other solution, so they spend a silent night on polar opposite sides of Fernando’s bed. The next day, Fernando is informed by the staff that a wrench was discovered in the heater that led to Lance’s room, jammed perfectly so that the temperature could not be changed. Neither of them mention it again, and Lance goes back to sleeping in his own room.

Carlos asked him once why he puts up with it– Lance’s teasing, his sarcasm, everything– but it’s not like he has any choice. If Fernando truly gets desperate, he goes to the printouts of his bank account and just stares at the numbers. Solace can be found in deposits of numbers followed by many, many zeroes.

Over time, the good moments start to crop up like a five o’clock shadow. Fernando takes Lance on a drive to visit some allies and they drive through glorious countryside in a sports car more expensive than any of the land as far as the eye can see. They play a couple of rounds of tennis in a court on Fernando’s estate. Lance’s sister visits and everyone’s in a good mood.

Somehow, though, something always happens to sour each and every small win. Lance squirms in the passenger seat of the car Fernando bought with his father’s money and picks a fight about missing Sebastian, who was the second best marriage candidate until Fernando put his name in the ring. When they’re out on the courts, Fernando asks why Lance seems far more passionate about tennis than business; Lance doesn’t realize it’s a joke and asks how long until Fernando gives up on him, just like Lawrence. Fernando is walking through his mansion late at night when he overhears Lance talking to Chloe in hushed voices about what she did to make Scotty like her, as if Lance needs coaching to even handle Fernando at all.

They fight and they make tentative peace. The ground gets shakier before it solidifies. Eventually, they manage to keep a respectable truce that varies throughout the week. They drink together, they talk together. Lance keeps lingering at the door of his room in a way that makes Fernando want to do something he regrets, but he never commits. Somehow, he knows that even one mistake is all it will take to destroy him forever.

Fernando is in between conference calls one day when Lance pops into his office. “I’m going to be back late tonight,” he announces. “Meeting Esteban.”

Fernando nods. “Want me to drive?”

“You’re in meetings,” Lance points out.

Fernando shrugs. “I can skip them.”

This makes Lance grin triumphantly, like he’s somehow proved himself far more valuable than even Fernando’s beloved ledgers and printouts. “That’s so unlike you, I’m charmed. I’ll be fine, we’re just grabbing drinks. See you later.”

Fernando lifts a hand in farewell when Lance does the same, and watches the man disappear back down the hall. Although it seems strange to say, Fernando swears the mansion seems emptier that evening. It’s just one person gone, he reminds himself, and besides, he and Lance don’t see each other all that often anyway. Too busy. Still, Fernando feels like his steps echo up and down the hallways in a way that they haven’t in a long time. Since before the wedding, perhaps. Since before he got used to having someone else around.

Fernando hadn’t intended to wait up for Lance, but he’d also assumed that the man would be back before too long. A few hours past midnight, Lance still hasn’t returned, but this probably doesn't mean anything. Maybe Lance is on a hell of a bender and he’ll find his way downstairs the next morning in even more disarray than usual. The thought makes Fernando smile.

Fernando wakes up the next day and decides to check that Lance had actually made it back, just in case. A bit of paranoia, but that’s how he’s made it this far, hasn’t he? Fernando drifts by Lance’s room, but the door is wide open, revealing– an empty bed, the sheets untouched. Wasn’t even slept in. Ignoring the skip in his heart rate, Fernando pokes his head inside, but he doesn’t see any evidence that Lance had been there.

Maybe he was drunk and passed out downstairs. Fernando can’t pretend like he hasn’t pulled that move before. However, after conducting an extensive sweep of the mansion, Fernando still can’t locate Lance. The questioning text sent to Lance’s phone goes unanswered. Fernando gives it five minutes before giving into his panic and calling him. Three times, it goes unanswered. By the final ring, Fernando is genuinely starting to panic.

Esteban does not sound happy to have Fernando calling him, even though it’s not even that early in the morning, all things considered. “What do you want?”

“Where’s Lance?” Fernando asks, abandoning all pretense.

Esteban sounds confused. “What do you mean?”

Fernando wants to throttle him. “He was out with you last night and he hasn’t come back. Is he with you or not?”

There’s a pause over the line, and when Esteban speaks again, his words are very deliberate. “What are you talking about? Lance was never with me.”

Fernando feels his heart drop. “That makes no sense. Lance told me he was meeting up with you for drinks. Did he never show up?”

“No,” Esteban says, and finally he sounds just as nervous as Fernando feels, “I never texted him at all. It must have been someone else impersonating me.”

Fernando swears. “Who? The Strolls have plenty of enemies, but who would go to the trouble of luring him out of my estate just to take him?”

Esteban is silent for a while, and then he speaks again in a rush of static. “Do you remember the BWT incident?”

Fernando lets out a low breath. “Of course I do. It’s half the reason I considered the Strolls in the first place.”

BWT was a sizable mob family of their own back in the day. Although they’d never been at the forefront like the Spanish, the Chevaux Rouges, or, hell, even the Bulls, they’d been there, and that’s more than most wannabes can say. Then Lawrence Stroll had gone and fucking bought them out. It’s unthinkable. Imagine having the money to purchase an entire black market ring. The Strolls were on the up-and-up, but after that, they solidified their place among the elite. That’s when Fernando had started looking at them in earnest.

“Nice one,” Esteban harrumphes. “Way to appreciate Lance.”

“I do,” Fernando insists, which feels strange. He’s never bothered to defend himself against Esteban’s feckless complaints, but he has the overwhelming need to exonerate himself from this one.

Esteban sighs. “I know Otmar Szafnauer signed the deal to give the Strolls control over BWT, but his right hand man, Sergio Pérez, was furious about it. He never forgave Otmar, and he’s had it out for Lawrence ever since. Everyone else in this goddamn city wouldn’t pick a fight with Lance, especially not so recently after they were all at the wedding, but Pérez wouldn’t care about something like that.”

“He’s probably been biding his time for a while now,” Fernando realizes. “Waiting until he could get back at Lawrence. This was his chance.” He stands up, signaling to one of his servants to rally his men. “Where is he? I need an address.”

Esteban tells him the location of his estate after some searching then hangs up, but not before reminding Fernando to get Lance as soon as possible, a sentiment that Fernando has no problem following. Carlos shows up just in time, the best killers under their employ with them. He starts to ask Fernando what the plan is, but Fernando silences him with a single glance. There is no plan. Fernando’s only want is to get Lance then burn the whole damn place to the ground.

Fernando Alonso is no stranger to killing. This is not the first time he’s gone after a rival. Still, he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted it like this in a very long while. Every bullet in the head of one of Pérez’s guards is one closer to getting Lance back. From the moment Fernando’s cars show up at Pérez’s property, he hopes the man is terrified.

They break down the gate, smash through the double doors, and everything goes to hell. The constant ricochet of bullets is like a drumbeat in Fernando’s ears. He is methodical, tactical, going from room to room. There will be no survivors. Blood starts to coat his shoes, his clothes, but Fernando does not care. 

He’s hardly aware of what he’s doing at all until he breaks into a locked room somewhere in the basement and he finds a figure tied to a chair.

Lance.

The guards don’t stand a chance; they fall before they even get a chance to fire their guns. Fernando races to Lance’s side, undoing the bonds. Lines of dried blood arc across Lance’s face, his arms, and Fernando feels a bout of rage descend upon him, even stronger than when he first found out that Lance had been kidnapped.

“I’ll kill him,” Fernando pledges, “I’ll kill him, and I’ll make it long. He’ll be begging for mercy at the end, but I won’t give it to him. Not when he did this to you.”

Lance reaches up a trembling hand. Fernando catches it at once, pressing it between his two palms. “Fernando?” He asks uncertainly.

“Yes,” he says. “It’s me. You’re alright, Lance. I’m so sorry.”

Lance shakes his head. “Not your fault. I should have seen through it.”

“No,” Fernando insists. “He tricked all of us. I’ll put a bullet in his mouth to stop his lies.”

Lance stands up slowly, unevenly. Fernando catches him, helping him to the door. “I just want to go home,” Lance tells him. “You got your revenge. Let’s just go.”

“Okay,” Fernando says. “Let’s go home.”

On the way out, he passes Carlos, who tells him in terse Spanish that they have Pérez waiting for him. Usually, Fernando would insist on handling the matter himself, but Lance looks up at him and Fernando knows he can’t put this off any longer. He tells Carlos to handle it quickly, then leaves without waiting for an answer.

They get into a car together, Fernando driving and Lance in the passenger seat. The low light from occasional street lights shines on Lance’s face, reflecting the dim planes of his countenance.

Lance catches him looking and smiles softly. “I’m alright, Fernando.”

Fernando still isn’t entirely convinced. “I’ll get a doctor to look at you. I wouldn’t put anything past that coward. And I’ll get more guards on the estate, just in case. Around the clock.”

Lance scoffs. “We don’t need that. He’ll never touch us again. And besides, I know you’ll handle him if he does.”

Fernando is well used to being a source of fear, a reason not to attack. Hearing Lance’s sincere trust in him, though, even after being kidnapped, makes his frantic nerves finally start to settle. “Why would you have such faith in me?” He asks quietly as he parks the car in his garage, sitting in the stillness of the car now that the engine is off.

Lance actually smiles. “Let me prove it to you,” he says, and leans forward to kiss Fernando.

It explains a lot.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[rupertgayes]

How would you pitch watching Due South to someone who doesn't know it?

THE PREMISE: mountie from the northern reaches of canada goes to chicago to avenge dead dad (also a mountie), gets into buddy-cop shenanigans with a detective. said detective leaves the show in season 3 and gets replaced by another detective, shenanigans continue to ensue. there's also a dog. he's very cute.

THE PITCH: honestly, after being in the spn fandom and having most of popular culture awash with prestige shows (that are not spn, but like spn are typically dark and gritty and like killing characters off too) and having most of the popular media landscape try to cover their collective asses by having an aloof, 'you-can't-make-fun-of-this-because-we're-not-taking-it-seriously-ourselves' air, it was truly refreshing to sit down with a close friend of mine and check out this show.

i'm being completely serious when i say there's a certain je ne sais quoi about this show. is it because it's from the 90s? perhaps. is it because it's canadian? maybe. i wasn't even alive when this show first started airing and i'm not a media analyst. it basically takes the premise of the dudeley do-right cartoon and asks 'okay, but what if that was like, a real guy?' and fucking runs with it to the wildest heights. it's a comedy, but it's also so bizarre in some ways that it makes it a truly unique treat to watch. i love psych and brooklyn 99 for having a comedic procedural aspect, and neither of them are comparable in whatever it is that due south is doing.

there's honestly a lot of heart and soul in the entire show, and it has the ability to shift from just being comedic to having drama, mystery, and moments that pull at your heartstrings. it's a show that you can enjoy on the surface as a fun episodic show with fun characters and fun moments, but it also lends itself quite well to extrapolating on the characters, their motivations, etc. (and by etc i'm also including any shipping you might want to do).

i won't say it's a paragon of DEI, but again, i think it has a level of earnestness which makes any slip-ups it does have something i can kinda view with indulgence, versus shows that are making the same (or worse) mistakes 20+ years after this show already ended. these characters are treated with a level of dignity and respect, and i think overall the characterization is pretty consistent - there are some shifts happening between seasons 1-2 and 3-4, but i feel like it has more to do with budgets, a change in creative team, etc., versus writers not 'getting' certain characters.

there's also a lot of memorable episodes, scenes, bits. i think the latter seasons are more campy (my favorite) and some eps from s1 and 2 make for legitimately some great television. even the more mid episodes have something worthwhile, too. some of my fave moments in no order:

fraser (the mountie) saving and talking to? a rat in a strip club

also him going to a leather club

twice

and meeting a mountie in a latex version of his red serge uniform

using a tarp as a parachute

mafia egg conspiracy

aliens??

due south but make it silence of the lambs a little bit

performance arsonist

lake pirates? ghost ship?

also why are most of the major bad guys here doing some form of environmental crime? get your captain planet on ig, i'm into it

also fellow cops can also be bad guys. acab ig??

sick muscle cars eric kripke himself would've enjoyed. sometimes they get set on fire tho

due south but make it to wong foo thanks for everything

fraser running away from women so he doesn't have to kiss or interact with them

way too much time in closets, in general.

fellas is it gay to ask your new partner of one week maybe to pretend he's a woman so he can decide if he finds you attractive

there are red ships and green ships but no ships like partnerships :)

and to reiterate about the dog: there's a dog who's half wolf and all deaf and fraser can talk to him 'because he (the dog) reads lips'

his dead dad shows up too sometimes

anyway, it was really nice to watch this show for the first time, there are still moment i scream-laugh at because they're just so ridiculous and i'd never catch any other moments like that in any other show. i definitely see why there's still active fans for it thirty years later. there's also some wild shipping fodder here, which is at least partially why there are still fics getting written for these guys today. destiel if the cw weren't cowards etc etc. when i watched the finale, i cried tears of joy because while i'd miss the characters, they got an ending that actually seemed to fit, instead of it being a rush job, which is not unique to spn but, you know.

also you can watch it for free on youtube rn.