#glue tv series

[k-wame]

BILLY HOWLE as James Warwick & TOMMY KNIGHT as Caleb "Cal" Bray ↳ We could've got away. GLUE (TV Mini-Series 2014) · S1·E5 · Crime/Mystery · dir. Olly Blackburn

[italianventi]

Bingo from bluey dying in a glue trap

shes so silly. just watched piggyback again and thought of this when she pretends to collapse from exhaustion. i love her so silly

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Four: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, one-sided relationship, sexual content, pervy behavior, male masturbation, panty kink, sex daydreams [eventual warning for smut; be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Anakin is doing his very best, he just loves you and wants you to be comfy around him. Just let him worm his way into your heart babe [diary entries from Ani] extremely not proofread. I’m illiterate so apologies in advance MDNI 18+

Diary Entry: July 8th

Mr. Nelson’s funeral was today, it really was a beautiful ceremony as I look back on it. Even more so when my inner self smears the background enough to bring you to the front of the mental image.

You’d spoken to the man a handful of times, but I didn’t expect you to come. When I saw you accept the invite to the event on Facebook I thought surely it was a mistake. That was until you messaged Luke and asked him to accompany you, funerals make you nervous, but feeling obligated to do something and avoiding it makes you more nervous.

So your moral support was happy to attend and fight off dear old Alan’s corpse should he rise from the casket and set his sights on you.

And I though I had irrational fears, geez babydoll, how old were you when you watched Night of The Living Dead for the first time? If I had to guess it was too young. It’s alright though I get it, you know what movie traumatized me? The Mummy. Heebied my fucking Jeebies so bad I avoided the beach on family vacations.

You’re telling me there’s not a sarcophagus under all that sand? There’s at least one under there and you can’t convince me otherwise.

Solid ground for me only, please and thank you.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

I had a thought that I initially considered to be a sweet reminder of my dear friend Alan. His obituary was in the newspaper and I happened to swipe one from the guest book table at the viewing as well. Have you ever scrapbooked before? I bet you’ve at least tried it.

Well I thought it would be nice to make him a page in my journal. A little celebration of life for the man who gave me an opportunity to grow and nurture my love for you.

Then I realized mid-glue stick on the newspaper clipping that the idea was something that a clinically insane person would do.

I’m not that guy. That guy’s not me.

But the glue was already on there and it felt wrong to toss Alan’s wrinkly old face into the trash so I pasted him into my journal anyway.

Crazy people don’t know that they’re crazy. I’m well aware that little idea was less than tasteful, just felt like I should mention that.

Date:

July 28th

Anakin Skywalker hadn’t been this happy since… ever. The previous record being his discovery of you, was now toppled into second place and overshadowed by ‘Move In Day’.

He could hardly contain himself. It was a dopamine high that he would ride out until he’d drained every last drop.

The movers lugged in box after box, furniture and books, until finally they dropped off the last load and thanked Anakin for the business. He eagerly shook their hand and shoved them out. He had preparations to make.

He set up his Tv, screen mirroring the live feed of the apartment building entrance to the big screen so that he could easily keep an eye out for you while he unpacked his kitchen.

He’d planned your ‘meet-cute’ meticulously, looking to your bookshelf and streaming services to gather intel on your ideal scenario. You were an odd bird, but he liked that about you. It’s part of your charm, it’s part of the challenge. You’re not as predictable in your tastes and interests as others can be.

Anakin formulated the interaction step by step, frame by frame in the storyboard of his imagination until he had the perfect scene. His box office hit that he’d replay over and over again until the next time he stood face to face with you.

It took quite some time and a load of practice. Discarded dialogue, awkward movements that made him feel stiff and less than human when he practiced them in the mirror. Endless options of clothes, shoes, and hair.

Should he get a new piercing? He wanted to. So he did, he knew you’d like it.

It’d match the one he already had on the opposite nostril. It made him feel more complete to add something so permanent to his body, he wished he could do something similar with you. He wanted you to be permanent, so maybe it’s his subconscious’s way of telling him that this was going in the right direction.

He was on the right path. His journey of life alone was coming to a close and a new trail would reveal itself. No more rocky, unsteady tread. No more sharp turns and blind spots, no more impossible inclines.

Scraped knees and bloodied hands would be distant memories. Maybe even distant enough that he could toss them into The Pit.

He would have no need for anger or sorrow anymore.

How could he feel anything but the warm embrace of love as he strolled down the flowered path ahead with you?

Who knew that you could position one box in 83 different ways and hate every single one of them? Anakin was so thankful there weren’t any actual surveillance cameras in the apartment building. It’d be really difficult to explain why he was in the hallway for an hour with his hands on his hips, scooting a box of books a centimeter or two at a time. Turning it sideways and then making sure the book on top was perfectly positioned and would effectively fall to the ground to catch your attention.

He checked his watch nonstop, stared at his Tv screen, willing you to just hurry the fuck up before he vomited from anxiety. He’d waited months for this. If he fucked it up now he’d… well he’d probably keel over on the spot.

Which would promptly traumatize you and not even his ghost would be able to peacefully haunt you. It’s hard to peacefully haunt someone if they watched you die, or at least Anakin assumed it would be difficult. He wasn’t willing to test that theory though.

So, he puffed up his chest and walked back into his apartment and rehearsed the upcoming conversation a few more times. He needed, desperately needed to ensure his facial expressions conveyed what he wanted.

Soft, trustworthy, dependable, safe, caring.

He practiced softening his eyes, knowing sometimes he stared alittle too hard. He worked on his facial fidget; chewing on the inside of his cheek was a quick tell of his nervousness. He didn’t want to be perceived as nervous, he wanted to be confident and sure of himself so that you would be confident in your soon to blossom affection for him.

His eyebrows, that’s a hard one, but he’d meticulously watched bar goers trying to flirt. The successful ones he learned, sometimes use their eyebrows in place of questions or words. A difficult concept, but one he studied until he mastered it.

Now, the other facial expressions and mannerisms… he gathered that information from your watch lists on your streaming services. For the visible examples at least, but your books were just as helpful in describing how he should approach you, speak to you, and simply exist near you.

He hadn’t realized these things were this important until now. Standing and posture was surprisingly very, very important to women. As well as hand movements and subtle glances and minuscule changes of expression.

You were worth the time and effort it took to learn all of it. He’d read and research and practice until he couldn’t stand to look at himself in the mirror any longer. He was determined to make sure you were happy with the results.

He was startled by a loud ping, someone had entered to building and holy shit it was you.

Anakin shook out his hands frantically, remembering the breathing techniques he’d learned as a child, he grounded himself quickly.

It’s okay.

‘She’s gonna love you. She’ll warm up to you quickly, you know everything you need to know about her to make her comfortable and loved.’

‘There’s no way she won’t fall head over heels.’

He smoothed out his band-tee and ran his hands through his hair quickly and headed to his door that was propped open slightly. A few boxes sat in the hall, including the most important one, the one instrumental to his plan.

The apartment hallway was ridiculously tiny, which worked in his favor in this situation.

He heard you come up the stairs, counted your steps until he knew you were almost at the door, 17 and a half steps. Then he swung open the door and bent down to grab one of the boxes.

As expected, he startled you and you dropped your keys. You always wore your backpack on one shoulder, one strap. So when you quickly went to scoop up your keys, your bag swung out of place and toppled a few books from one of the boxes.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Anakin could gloat to himself about his magnificent setup later, right now he needed to woo you with his sweet words.

“Oh, sweetheart I’m sorry.” He said softly, coming over to offer you a hand up.

“It’s okay, my bad.” You laughed, taking his hand.

He managed to keep calm and collected despite his insides boiling him alive at the willing skin contact.

“No, not at all. It’s my fault for startling you like that.” He chuckled, squeezing your upper arm and using his hand already in yours to give you a small handshake. Smooth.

“I’m Anakin.” He said with a bashful smile, dropping your hand and reveling in the lingering warmth your palm left on his.

You introduced yourself in return, gesturing to his apartment door.

“So I take it that you’re my new neighbor huh?” You said, making small talk as you crouched down to pick up the books you’d knocked over.

“No I’m just a one man moving crew.” He grinned.

“Very funny.” You laughed, standing up as you looked through the titles. “Hmm, you’ve got good taste.”

“You think so?” He asked, remembering to make his eyebrows swoop up toward the middle of his forehead to give a quizzical look.

“Oh yeah, this is one of my favorites.” You said, showing him the cover of The Silmarillion by Tolkien.

“Not many people actually read that one, I’m impressed.” He smiled.

“Impressed? Yeah well I’m jealous.” You laughed.

“What?” He chuckled, holding his hands out to take the other books from you.

“This is a really nice edition, it’s similar to mine. I recently lost it.” You sighed. “I think I must’ve left it the park or maybe it fell out of my bag or something.”

“Ah, that sucks… well, I mean I’ve read that one a few times now. It’s been well loved.” He said tipping the books in his arms toward the one you were holding. “Why don’t you keep it?”

He shrugged, acting nonchalant as though this didn’t mean the entire world to him and if you said no he’d sob about it later.

“You’re serious?” You asked in surprise, he was offering you a 50$ special edition book and you’d barely known him for a minute.

“Yeah, ‘course sweetheart.” He said with a cute, crooked smile. “Think of it as a… reverse house warming gift.” He chuckled.

“Thank you, I- this means a lot to me.” You said, grinning widely. “That’s real sweet of you Anakin. I owe you one.”

“No worries.” He chuckled, “I’m sure we’ll find a way to make it even sweetheart.” His gaze flickered quickly from your eyes to your lips, and he turned to go back into his apartment after giving you an almost-missed wink.

You stepped inside your home, and went straight to the bookshelf to put your new-to-you book where it belonged. After the fact you stood there and buffered, just staring at it.

‘There’s no way, this guy has to be too good to be true.’

But he seemed… so genuine. He didn’t ogle you, he didn’t make you feel weird or like he just felt obligated to speak to you.

He seemed to actually, really be a good guy.

Rare. Few and far of those exist in this day and age. It’s uncommon to meet someone who would do something, even as simple as giving you a used book, without expecting anything in return.

But he didn’t seem to expect anything. He didn’t seem to even expect a thank you, it was like he’d already decided he would give it to you before he even offered.

What are the odds that a hot, tattooed and pierced man moves in next door and gifts you an expensive book that just so happens to be an even better replacement for the one that you just lost? That couldn’t happen twice even if you tried to make it happen again.

What kind of second dimension did you step into? The land of dreamy men?

Diary Entry: July 28th

It’s late. But I have to write to you, it can’t wait til tomorrow.

Everything went more perfectly than I could’ve imagined. Thank you so much for being you sweet girl. It made my job of curating the scenery so much easier, you clumsy little thing. I am sorry for having to spook you though, but it worked didn’t it?

Research pays off. Always.

And of course there’s the issue of your book, I hated to see your frustration and your mad scowl when you realized it was missing from your backpack. I really did.

But I’d do it every goddamn day if I knew I’d get the same reaction out of you from giving you that new copy.

Oh god you’re… you’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful. You look angelic when you sleep but you look like competition for Aphrodite when you smile at me.

You smiled, grinned. You smiled all the way up to the corners of your bright and beautiful eyes. For me.

You even laughed for me.

It was so sweet I could taste it. The honey of your voice, I could fucking bathe in it. Just the sound of you speaking, knowing you were speaking to me. Really speaking to me.

In the flesh.

It’s intoxicating. It’s emboldening, it’s dangerous. I’ve never been more worked up in my life. I’m torn all to pieces from at two minute and 6 second conversation.

I think I’ll have to fucking recover from this like a damn hangover.

But what has me so drunk you might ask? Was it your laugh at my stupid jokes? Was it your perfect smile, your radiant glow, your soulful eyes? The softness of your skin or you willingness to let me touch you?

No baby. It’s how you said my name.

I wish I could’ve stayed longer, I wish I could’ve spoken to you more. But it’s so hard to concentrate when my dick is leaking precum down my leg at a rate that should probably be concerning.

The minute you closed that door I shoved those boxes into my apartment and locked the door. Took my elated ass straight to the couch and watched you in your living room, admiring your gift from me while I fucked my fist with a pair of your dirty panties in my mouth.

I couldn’t have your honeyed lips soothing my angry red cock just yet, but I sure as hell could imagine licking your gorgeous little cunt while I tasted you.

I tugged my balls and pumped my cock for over half an hour until I was a fucking mess for you in my new living room’s floor. The cool hardwood letting the heat from my flushed skin seep away from me as I came back down to earth.

I made myself dizzy. Didn’t give myself a break, didn’t slow down, just stroked my cock like the desperate little manwhore that I am for you. The only thing missing was you being there to watch me fall apart.

I think you’d like that wouldn’t you? Watching a man like me get on his knees and beg for you?

Diary Entry: July 29th

I’ve replayed that moment in my head for hours on end. The beginning always stays the same, but the ending… that’s been subject to many changes. It started off simple, we’d chat alittle longer, I’d ask you how your day was; you’d tell me it was ‘fine, thank you’.

Or you’d ask me why I decided to move in, why I chose this side of town, this side of town, this apartment building, across from you. That one always ended questionably and I’d rather not explore that one on paper.

My favorites however were the ones where you’d laugh at a stupid pick-up line and somehow we’d end up in your bed. The bed I’ve sat and watched you sleep in. Those were the best additions.

Now, I’ve been fortunate enough that you’ve been loyal, faithful and devoted to only me since the very beginning. So I don’t really have a clue what you’d actually be like in bed.

But god it’s so fun to imagine it.

You’ve got such pretty, soft skin. You let me mar it up with my teeth and soothe it with my tongue. You let me grip the pillowy flesh of your thighs to spread you open for me. You let me pinch and roll and pull your nipples until they were raw and begging for a break. You let me caress the sensitive slick covered folds between those beautiful pussy lips, plunge my fingers in as far as they’d go.

I took you from behind, watching your perky little ass bounce off my cock while I plowed into you. Your face smushed against the couch cushions and your body folded over the arm rest for me to fuck you like the good little girl that you are.

Against the wall with your arms around my neck while I’ve got my hands holding you spread open and in place by the crook of your knees. You promised you stay real still so that I could drill up into you like you deserved.

God damn. Do you know how good you look like that? Back arched against the wall, tits jiggling in my face with every thrust. Your legs pushed up and back to the sides of your torso, to pin you in place?

It was like a pretty pink flower had bloomed and spread its buttery smooth petals just for me.

Don’t even get me started on how good you suck cock. Have you ever been told you could be mistaken for a warm, wet Hoover? No? Didn’t think so cause that would be rude as hell, but I bet someone’s thought it before.

(Me. It’s me, I thought that.)

Fuck those soft lips. Fuck that smooth snake of a tongue. Fuck that tight, hot throat that just loves to take a beating from my dick.

Can’t wait to prove my imagination right.

Speaking of, my dick has been beat. Like actually. If one didn’t know any better they’d assume it’s on life support, but I’m a freak of nature. Cumming upwards of 16 times in the span of 40ish hours would probably put a weaker man in a hospital bed. Or maybe a psych ward.

But I am not a weak man even if my dick feels raw. I’d still fuck you if you asked.

I’d be curious to know if I’d be able to stave off cumming longer from all the abuse or if I’d be so fucking sensitive that I wouldn’t make it in half an inch.

Probably the latter.

Diary Entry: August 2nd

Being so close to you is killing me. Truly it is.

You’ve sunken your claws so deeply into my very soul and you don’t even realize it. It’s torture. To you, I’m just the new guy, nice dude who gave you a book. But to me? You’re my entire world.

I’ve been told I have the personality of a guard dog. Soft and squishy on the inside, dangerous and fierce on the outside. Which I suppose could be true, but really I think it’s for a different reason. For a human, a dog is one small but very impactful blip in your life. But for the dog? You are it’s life.

Am I comparing myself to a dog right now? Yes I am.

I’ll beg for you to throw me the scraps of your affections until you finally toss me a bone.

Bark.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

I’ve been trying my best to give you space. To plan accordingly and in advance. I have our next two interactions simmering on the back burner.

I know that if I go too hard, too fast, you’ll be overwhelmed. That’s the last thing I want. I never want to be the thing that causes you stress, I want to siphon it from you. So, in one week I will set out to help you with a few of your errands and plant a few seeds.

But until then, we have late night snacks and couch chats with Boogie.

I’ve also been doing- you guessed it- more research to do with helpful vitamins and medicines. You’ve responded so well to your SleepyTime tea and since I’ve started making sure your birth control packet is plainly visible in the countertop basket directly beneath that cabinet, you’ve been taking it so well.

I’m so proud of you sweetheart, that’s my girl, look at you taking care of yourself. You’ve done so well in fact, that it’s in my personal opinion that you have earned a very special reward.

Anakin sat on his couch, the live feed of your living room screen mirrored to his Tv. He was watching you cook dinner, he knew you’d be making a stir fry. He’d seen it in your planner, so he’d taken the liberty of ordering himself the same, it’d be here any minute. As would your good friend Sam.

Anakin had originally burned red hot with jealousy at the thought of you inviting a man over to your apartment, that he hadn’t vetted via social media and a quick drop-in. But he was relieved to discover that Sam was just a girl from your book club.

This wasn’t one of his well thought out plans, this was decided upon this morning after you’d returned from book club. So, he was anxious to see if his hunches served him well. Sam seemed like a punctual gal, at least from what he’d seen on social media and the text messages between the two of you from weeks/months before.

Anakin had the wonderful idea to log into your cell service providers website to pull your deleted messages from their data bank. You really should have better passwords.

The thing he was most worried about was his door dasher arriving on time. It was rare that one was too far off on arrival time, but it would be his shit luck and lack of planning that could ruin this little glimpse of you.

The minutes ticked by and he was alerted to the new motion sensors he’d placed near the LED pathway lights on the paved entrance to the apartment building. He quickly switched over to the hallway feed at the front door, seeing that it was his door dasher.

Damn you Trevor. How dare you get there before Sam.

Not to worry, he’d call for the door code and Anakin wouldn’t answer the first time. It wasn’t much but it would buy him a few seconds.

Though it seemed to be that luck was on his side as it often was when it came to you. Sam was so kind, kind enough to let the delivery guy into the building. Which is technically a security concern but Trevor didn’t seem like the type of guy who’d be able to remember a 6 digit door code.

He was too busy staring at your friends ass to pay attention to the numbers she entered anyway.

The footsteps approached your door and his, Anakin waited until he heard Sam knock on your door before he opened his. Trevor stood patiently as Anakin slowly counted out his tip in cash and thankfully you were quick to let your friend inside. After the exchange was complete Anakin gave you a smile and wave.

He could’ve had a heart attack at the response you gave him.

A flirty little finger waggle and smile.

He had to remind himself to breathe and keep his expression a happy-neutral. He’d hate for you to see his blushing cheeks this early on.

“Have a good night girls.” He said as he closed his door and to his surprise you actually answered.

“You too!”

If he weren’t confident that you were a sweet and loving soul, he’d think you were trying to kill him with the siren song of your voice.

Stir fry had never tasted so fucking good.

Diary Entry: July 8th

Grocery day baby, here I come.

I love that you’re so predictable. I love that you’re so fucking cute and always try to strong arm your groceries in one trip. I love that it takes at least two good whacks to the trunk of your shitty old Nissan to properly close it.

It’s cute to watch you struggle with it, the annoyed huffs and angry scowl.

I thought you’d combust on the spot once when your paper grocery bag of flour and sugar ripped open and sent a plume of flour up on your black jeans. The parking lot was very empty and I was very glad because I’d hate for someone to have seen the cursing contest you had with yourself as you picked up your spilled items. Very unladylike you know. But it’s you so I don’t mind, I just like to hear you talk.

It’s almost time. I’ve been sitting in my car for about 10 minutes. Gotta account for the traffic on highway 76. Do you really have to shop all the way out there just because of the Whole Foods? C’mon baby they have the same shit at Kroger.

I’ve been watching your little blue dot on my phone and you’re rounding the corner so I’ll write you later doll.

I love you.

You pulled into the parking lot and sat in your car for a moment. Giving yourself the much need quiet to decompress from your work day and the grocery trip. After you’d checked your messages and scrolled for a moment you decided it was time to head inside before your frozen foods got… not so frozen.

You popped the trunk and fumbled with the faulty latch, your fingers feeling blindly under the metal lip until it finally detached and you were able to open the trunk.

You took a deep breath and scolded yourself for buying the extra few things that could’ve waited till next time. Second trips are for wimps and you weren’t one. So you loaded up your left arm bag by bag until you heard a humored puff of air and the beep of a car locking behind you.

“Need a hand sweetheart?” Anakin grinned, shoving his keys into his front pocket.

He waltzed over and took a few bags off your hands without waiting for a response. It took you aback, not because he hadn’t waited for permission, but because of the way he exuded an odd charm that made you falter.

“Anakin, really it’s alright I can get it.” You said, eyebrows furrowed together in confusion by his kind gesture.

“Mmm no, this seems like a two man mission sweet girl.” He smiled, gathering up a few the last few bags from the trunk and shutting it with one solid push.

“You really don’t have to-“

“I know I don’t have to.” He said tilting his head toward the apartment building to encourage you to walk with him. “I want to.”

“Thank you, that’s… thanks.” You smiled, a light blush creeping across your cheeks.

“Atta girl.” He chuckled, tapping in the door code and holding it open for you despite holding many more bags than you.

Something about the low tone of voice or maybe just the way he looked at you with his icey blue eyes… just sent a chill down your spine. A quick one that was gone in an instant, replaced by a warm glow in the center of your chest.

“Guess chivalry’s not dead.” You joked.

“I’m no knight.” He laughed, “but you’re sure as hell a princess.”

‘Oh that was smooth.’ You thought, trying to ignore the heat at the bottom of your stomach.

What is happening? How on earth can one man be so… everything? Kind, caring, chivalrous and gorgeous to boot.

You felt a wave of embarrassment at the squeaky giggle you let out. He had you tore up from one little comment.

True to the gentleman he seemed to be, he chose not to push it and tease you about your beet red cheeks. He just waited patiently for you as you unlocked your door.

“Do you want me to bring these in for you?” He asked, watching your movements closely.

“Oh that would be great.” You said in relief, leading him into your kitchen.

“Cute little place.” He said, looking around the kitchenette and over to the living room.

He sat down your bags on the counter and started unloading them neatly into rows.

“Oh, you-“

“Mmm mmm.” He shook his head with a smirk, “Just let me help, it’s no big deal.”

You let out a puff of air in an amused sort of amazement and pulled out your little step stool to open up the cabinets. Anakin snickered from behind you as you stepped up and started putting things away.

You shot him a glare over your shoulder and almost said something snarky until you realized he was folding your paper grocery bags in the same way that you always do.

“Huh.” You laughed. “I thought I was the only one who did that.”

“Did what?” He asked, his head cocked to the side.

“Fold the bags.” You said, turning back around to continue placing your things where they belonged.

“Oh,” he chuckled, “I dunno it’s just a habit I guess. Fits better in that stupid slot on the recycling bin this way.”

“Yeah I never really understood why they made them that way? I guess so people don’t just shove other trash in there.” You mused.

“Mmhm probably.” He agreed, stacking them neatly and gathering it in his hands. “Do you want me to take these out back for you?”

“I can do-“ You stopped yourself when Anakin raised his eyebrow and cocked his head to the side with a crooked smirk.

You sighed and gave him a downturned smile. “Yes, I would love for you to take them out back for me.”

“Good girl.” He nodded, clicking his tongue and heading for the door. “See ya princess.”

After he shut the door you let yourself breathe alittle easier, blowing out the air in a short puff through your nose. Maybe even letting a little smile cross your lips before you finished up your task.

You’d be thinking about that low rumble of his voice later. Good girl? Shit.

PART FIVE

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate @burnthecheshirewitch @exquisitcorpse @arzua10 @bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay @aliciaasky @naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn @bunnylovesani @ausskywalker @angelsadmired @slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @lethargic @allhailbuckybarnes-blog @shadowhuntyi @mortalheartache @fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot @chaoticantihero @vadersslut @luvvfromme @anakinsbaee @doblasftcisco @sweetcheesecakesblog @luvskywxlker @angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled @graveyard-stray @styleslytherin @chiaraanatra @jediavengers @zapernz @lunalitva @salted-snailz @queenofchaos99 @ellie-luvsfics @dazednstars141 @nico-velvet @rorysbrainrot @hopesworlld @mawhOre @lonaah @t8Izw @guiltycherries

Let me know if you wanna be added/removed

[david-talks-sw]

The OTHER type of Star Wars fan

We've already covered (through this longer post and this addendum) that research shows George wasn't that involved or interested in the derivative material of the Star Wars franchise, also known as the Expanded Universe (EU). Aside from approving a few points, he let Howard Roffman and Lucasfilm Licensing handle it.

He is the first to say that he ain't as knowledgeable about Star Wars lore as we fans are.

Thing is... he's also not as passionate as we are.

Recently, I was watching some Q&A videos of George R.R. Martin, the author of Game of Thrones... and it occurred to me:

Martin is what most Star Wars fans wish Lucas was.

Think about it.

He's a talented writer who likes to focus on morally "gray" characters and complex political plotlines,

who created a series of novels for a mature audience in which his narrative merely asks questions and lets the reader draw their own conclusions,

knows and engages in the lore behind his creation and will often respond to those lore-heavy questions, and has gone on record stating that canon is the glue that holds a story together and keeps it coherent.

Contrast that with George "continuity is for wimps" Lucas, who:

Wrote a movie franchise which is also, partially, political... but he makes it for kids, and he's explicit about how this is thematically a clear-cut story about how the conflict of "good vs evil" is really about "compassion vs greed",

with flat dialogue, boring cinematography,

and whose approach to lore and canon can be summed up in his answer to how Anakin got his scar:

"I don't know. Ask Howard [Roffman]. That’s one of those things that happens in the novels between the movies. I just put it there. He has to explain how it got there. I think Anakin got it slipping in the bathtub, but of course, he's not going to tell anybody that." - Pablo Hidalgo’s set diary, August 2003

And as a Star Wars fan, I will admit that some of his casual retcons felt disrespectful, growing up.

"Boba Fett is NOT Mandalorian?!"

I had the same reaction when I saw an interview of Kathleen Kennedy stating she was a fan of Star Wars... from a filmmaking perspective. That seemed like such a finagling cop-out for me, at the time.

"Just say you're not a real fan, God!"

And it's easy to divide it in two camps, like that. You have 1) the real fans, who will delve into deep lore, and 2) the average moviegoer, also known as the "filthy casuals."

But looking back on it... holy shit, that is actually a completely valid way of being a Star Wars fan.

Yes, Star Wars is a transmedia franchise, it's books, it's video-games, it's deep lore, it's lightsabers and Jedi and Sith and bounty hunters and Ewoks and Jabba and High Republics and Tython and Revan etc.

But before it was that, Star Wars was a filmmaking revolution. A juggernaut of innovation for the silver screen that inspired most of today's filmmakers.

So, sure, George Lucas isn't an avid lore-loving Star Wars fan like you and me. But he is a movie fan.

"I'm not that passionate about this story. I like it, it's fun and I enjoy doing it. But it's definitely not my life. I'm a bigger movie fan than I am Star Wars fan. I like making movies. At the end of nine years of making Star Wars, I was not ready to continue it. I was completely burned out on it. I was more passionate about raising my kids than making movies and especially making Star Wars. So I made other kinds of movies and TV shows and advanced the technology I needed. It's not a matter of passion. My passion is for filmmaking. I'll go and do filmmaking that is easier to do, where you can realise your ideas better. And nine years is a big part of your life, and to commit to another nine years, I didn't wanna do that right away." - EMPIRE, 1999

And you can tell this, when you watch the Star Wars films.

There are honestly so many homages and interesting filmmaking techniques, peppered throughout the six films, which only a nerd for cinema history like George would know how to implement.

C3-PO being based on the droid from Metropolis (1927) is a perfect example of this.

And that's interesting.

Because there's essentially this entire other dimension to the films, where it's not just the story unfolding, but to filmmakers it's also a series of techniques that make them go "I wonder how they did that!" or homages that make them go "OH! I know where that's from!" like we do when an comics characters appears in live-action.

Here's other examples:

CINEMA HOMAGES

All of Star Wars is absolutely littered with homages to cinema history.

I mean, you may already know this, but Flash Gordon is what George originally wanted to shoot, but the copyright holders said they only wanted Fellini to direct it (ironically, George wasn't artsy-fart enough for them). So he decided to write Star Wars instead.

As such, the inspiration from Flash Gordon is also present visually and spiritually throughout the two trilogies.

"It was like a Republic serial, a 1930s-style matinee adventure. The idea was that you came in, saw Episode IV, had missed the first three episodes, and wouldn't get to see the rest of it." - Starlog Magazine #300, 2002

The dialogue that a lot of people refer to as "campy" and "flat" is actually a mix of George being an experimental filmmaker who doesn't give much of a fuck about dialogue (and is by his own admission, not the best at it)...

"I'd be the first person to say I can't write dialogue. My dialogue is very utilitarian and is designed to move things forward. I'm not Shakespeare. It's not designed to be poetic. It's not designed to have a clever turn of phrase. [...] I just wanted to get from point A to point B. This film doesn't lend itself to that sort of thing because it's not about snappy one-liners.  I think that Lethal Weapon-style dialogue is overused, it's a necessary aspect of high action films where you have to have the smart retort. You have to say "I'll be back baby" and stuff. It's not my style. It takes away from the integrity of the movie. [...] I'm aware that dialogue isn't my strength. I use it as a device. I don't particularly like dialogue which is part of the problem." - EMPIRE, 1999

... which is convenient, because it helped him simulate the dialogue of 1930s matinee serials, such as Flash Gordon.

"Let’s face it, their dialogue in that scene is pretty corny. It is presented very honestly, it isn’t tongue in cheek at all, and it’s played to the hilt. But it is consistent, not only with the rest of the movie, but with the overall Star Wars style. Most people don’t understand the style of Star Wars. They don’t get that there is an underlying motif that is very much like a 1930s Western or Saturday matinee serial. It’s in the more romantic period of making movies and adventure films. And this film is even more of a melodrama than the others." - Mythmaking: Behind the Scenes of Attack of the Clones, 2002

But beyond that, literally it's everywhere.

The scene where Palpatine ascends to being Emperor as Anakin slaughters his political rivals parallels the final scene in The Godfather, where Michael becomes the Don while his goons do the same thing.

This video compiles all the tributes beautifully. Check it out.

Even The Clone Wars has whole episodes that are direct homages to cult classics. The Zillo Beast episode is a clear reference to Godzilla, the episode The Wrong Jedi is inspired by The Wrong Man, etc.

"CINEMA VÉRITÉ" CINEMATOGRAPHY

I've already written a whole post (one of my favourites) showing how his fascination with cinéma vérité documentaries is reflected in the cinematography of all six Star Wars films, and it's part of what makes the entire franchise feel so immersive.

You can check it out here:

KUROSAWA

We've gone over how he's a big fan of Akira Kurosawa, and how big an influence Hidden Fortress was on both the Star Wars trilogies...

... but so is the mise-en-scène and the way George approaches production design. The reason Star Wars feels so "lived in" is also a lesson George learned from Kurosawa, which is that by making everything just a bit off-kilter, a bit dirtied-up and imperfect...

... and yet keeping it all consistent, in a way, you manage to make the film feel grounded and immersive, no matter how alien it is.

"[It] may sound odd in a movie like this, but credibility and realism, even in the most unrealistic situation… to sorta create that sense of realism is very important to making the story work and making you feel like you’re actually in the environment that transports you and gives you the suspension of disbelief that you need in order to enjoy a movie. [...] Kurosawa used to call it “immaculate realism” which is to make it slightly off-kilter, slightly eccentric, like things are in real life. Even if it’s a very predictable situation, give it that little funny edge that takes it away from that and makes it realistic. And I had to struggle very hard, in the Star Wars films, to make them appear to be realistic, even though they’re totally fantasy." - The Phantom Menace, Commentary Track #2, 1999

POST-PRODUCTION & VFX

Another one of the more impressive aspects of the first Star Wars was the dogfights and the trench raid of the Death Star. The camera pans with the spaceship, the dynamism of the cuts. The space battles is what made George creat ILM in the first place.

He was determined to do the opposite of what 2001: A Space Odyssey had done with that opening scene where the space ship moves into frame slooooowly...

... so he gave the team a collection of WWII dogfight footage to give them ideas.

(note: this was the same approach he would take years later with Dave Filoni, when teaching the latter how to edit and craft dogfights in The Clone Wars)

The attempt to film the trench run eventually led to the creation of the first motion control camera dolly.

Best analogy I can think of, when describing George's approach to Star Wars, is the following:

An avant-garde esoteric contemporary artist - y'know, the type who puts a blue dot on a white canvas and calls it art - creates a comic.

Why? Because he wants to make this one art installment for a gallery exhibition. After that, he intends to move on to other things.

But the comic is really good! And like, its audience quickly expands beyond just gallery visitors, no, everyone likes it.

Suddenly, the comic develops a cult following, and the entirety of comic book geek culture has zeroed-in on the artist and they're all asking him to make more art! And he makes more! And more!

Then he stops for two decades, moves on to other art projects, raises his kids. Years later, he discovers new ways of drawing, and he's like "I'm making a Prequel to the comic, y'all wanna see it?"

Everyone cries out gleefully: "Oh God, yes! Finally! Show us!"

But this motherfucker makes a manga.

Why? Because he feels like it.

And of course he does, he's just creating art, right? He discovered the graphic tablet, so he's having fun with it, because he's always innovating and pushing the envelope with his art.

And the books are fine, by manga standards. But by comic book standards, they obviously suck! The comic book audience is mad. They wanted another comic book, not a manga. Why is it in black and white? Why is read right-to-left? This comic is crap!

(And arguably, they have a point... as a savvy businessman, he's made a whole lot of money off this comic, he built a media empire out of it, and instead of giving them what they want, he made something else)

But again... this guy isn't a comic book illustrator, and has been very explicit about saying this.

He's an artist who - for a very specific project - drew a comic.

Many things can be true at once:

the fact that these creative decisions didn't always hit their mark for the average moviegoer, or fans of "Star Wars, the space fantasy movies and expanded universe" (usually the lore-loving geeks like myself)...

... and the fact that they were meticulously and carefully crafted in a way that fans of "Star Wars, the revolutionary film" (aka fans of cinema and filmmaking) can appreciate.

There's a spectrum of the fandom, and there is a spectrum in the way we can appreciate Star Wars. Which kinda reminds me of that scene in Chef (2014) where Carl goes on a rant explaining the intricacies of making his chocolate lava cake to a food critic.

It's not just undercooked chocolate. It's molten.

Conversely:

It's not just flat, campy dialogue. It's an homage to the 1930s matinee serials à la Flash Gordon.

It's not just boring cinematography. It's a reproduction of cinéma vérité documentary-style camera work which effectively grounds the film.

Having considered all this, when I hear that Tony Gilroy or Kathleen Kennedy were more fans of Star Wars from a "cinema studies" side rather than the typical pop culture one, I think it's fair enough.

First of all, because like it or not, so was George. He clearly didn't give a single crap about the offshoot comics and books and their lore, besides signing off on minor plot points. He's not a "sci-fi movie director", he's an experimental filmmaker who set some of his movies in space.

But secondly, because - aside from children - it's clear the audience he was targeting was not the fans or the critics... but these very same cinema-savvy people, who get his references and homages, and who were inspired by the new filmmaking techniques he introduced.

[f14fun]

lay all your love on me - op81 (C4)

synopsis: in which oscar piastri and a university student begging for her euro summer vacation collide in a steamy, abba-inspired romance

prose (9.4K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | series index ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────────── 04: Dinner Table Tango (Put Me On TV Netflix)

Our usual dinners were low-key affairs—think microwaved leftovers, a quick pasta dish, or maybe some takeout eaten in front of the TV while my mom narrated the latest drama from whichever reality show was her current obsession. Tonight, though, was a whole different beast. It was like we’d accidentally wandered into a chaotic crossover episode of MasterChef meets a reality TV reunion: there were kabobs piled high on platters, enough side dishes to feed an entire neighborhood, and a whirlwind of personalities that made it feel like every seat at the table came with its own subplot.

Oscar’s dad, Chris, had turned the backyard grill into his personal stage, flipping kabobs with the flair of a man who was auditioning for his own cooking show. Each turn of the skewer came with commentary, like, “See that sear? That’s what you call perfection,” and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was preparing a meal for a panel of judges instead of a casual dinner. Nicole, Oscar’s mom, hovered nearby, nodding along as if she hadn’t heard his grilling philosophy a thousand times before, while my mom, Belle, politely sipped her wine, pretending to be fascinated by every culinary revelation.

At the table, Hattie, Edie, and Mae were buzzing with their usual sibling energy—Hattie and Mae were whispering about something that kept making them burst into giggles, while Edie was eyeing the dessert like it was the final boss in a video game she was determined to conquer. Every few seconds, they’d shoot each other knowing looks, their inside jokes and side comments flying faster than I could keep up.

I picked up a plate and tried to navigate my way through the lively chaos, eyeing a seat at the far end of the table where I could blend into the background. But as soon as I moved, Oscar was there—close enough that I could practically feel the heat radiating off his skin from the sun and the pool. I placed my plate down, aiming for a spot near the drinks, but no sooner had I set my food down than Oscar plopped down next to me, grinning like this was all part of some game only he knew the rules to.

I moved again, feigning a casual stroll to the other end, but Oscar followed, a smug smile playing on his lips as he sat down beside me once more. I couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it, each move feeling like a dance where I kept trying to sidestep and he kept closing in.

I finally turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Are you planning to follow me all night, or are you just allergic to sitting anywhere else?”

Oscar leaned back in his chair, that infuriatingly confident grin never wavering. “What can I say? You’re the best seat in the house,” he said, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Besides, I promised you great dinner company, didn’t I?”

“You’re like a lost puppy,” I muttered, shaking my head but unable to keep the smile off my face. “Except more annoying.”

He just laughed, nudging my arm playfully. “I prefer ‘persistent’—sounds cuter. But if being annoying gets me the best view, then I’ll take it.”

Nicole glanced over from across the table, her mom radar obviously picking up on the exchange. “Oscar, sweetie, why don’t you give her a little space?” she teased, though the gleam in her eyes suggested she was enjoying this far too much.

Oscar shrugged, unbothered. “Why would I? I’m right where I want to be.”

Belle, my mom, was clearly entertained, watching us like she’d just tuned into her favorite show. “You know, if he keeps this up, you might need to get him his own seat belt,” she joked, topping off her wine as she watched Oscar stick to my side like glue.

I rolled my eyes, trying to act nonchalant, but the warmth of his presence was impossible to ignore. “Don’t encourage him,” I mumbled, but even as I said it, I couldn’t help but feel a strange thrill. Oscar’s persistence was absurdly charming, and no matter how much I tried to brush it off, his attention felt like its own kind of spotlight, casting everything in a new, exciting light.

The table was loud with laughter and overlapping conversations, skewers being passed around and plates filling up with everything from grilled corn to tangy salads. I tried to focus on my food, savoring the perfectly marinated kabobs and buttery potatoes, but Oscar’s constant presence kept pulling me back in, his playful nudges and whispered comments making it impossible to forget he was right there, next to me, watching every reaction.

“You really do have a knack for this,” I said, nudging him back just as he reached for another skewer.

Oscar flashed me a quick, sideways smile, his eyes twinkling. “For what, dinner? Or following you around like it’s my job?”

“Both,” I shot back, but the lightness in my voice betrayed how much I was enjoying the banter.

Oscar chuckled, spearing a piece of grilled zucchini with his fork. “Well, I’m nothing if not dedicated,” he said, popping it into his mouth with an exaggerated flourish. “And hey, if I’m going to be annoyingly persistent, I might as well be charming about it, right?”

I rolled my eyes, but there was no malice behind it, only a growing sense of ease that came from how effortlessly he slipped into conversation with me. “Is that what this is? Charm? I thought it was just a fancy word for stalking.”

He laughed, a low, easy sound that sent a shiver down my spine despite the warm evening air. “Stalking’s such a strong word. I prefer ‘being attentive.’ You know, keeping an eye on the competition.” He leaned closer, his shoulder brushing mine as he whispered, “Plus, it’s kind of fun to see you all flustered.”

I felt my cheeks warm instantly, and I shoved a forkful of salad into my mouth to cover up my embarrassment. “You’re the worst,” I mumbled around the bite, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably.

“Am I, though?” he teased, nudging my leg under the table with his foot. “Because it kind of seems like you like it.”

I swallowed, trying to ignore the way my heart was racing. “You wish,” I shot back, but even as the words left my mouth, I knew he could see right through me.

Nicole, who had been listening to our back-and-forth with thinly veiled amusement, finally chimed in. “Oscar, honey, you might want to ease up before she throws you in the pool,” she said, winking at me. “But if she does, don’t worry—I’m sure you can swim.”

Oscar didn’t miss a beat, turning to his mom with a cheeky grin. “Oh, I’m not worried. I think she’d just jump in after me.”

I tried to keep my composure, but it was impossible not to laugh at his relentless confidence. “Keep dreaming, hotshot,” I said, giving him a playful shove, but even as I said it, I couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of exasperation and excitement at his attention.

Belle leaned over, her eyes twinkling as she passed me the breadbasket. “You’re handling him well,” she whispered with a smirk. “Most girls would’ve dunked him by now.”

I shot her a look of mock horror. “Trust me, it’s tempting. But I think he likes the attention too much.”

Oscar, who apparently had supersonic hearing when it came to anything involving himself, leaned in again, this time closer than before, his voice low and teasing. “Oh, I definitely do. But between you and me, I think you like it too.” He raised his glass in a mock toast, his eyes never leaving mine. “To good company and making the most of dinner.”

I clinked my glass with his, trying to ignore the butterflies that fluttered in my stomach at the way he was looking at me—like I was the only person at the table worth paying attention to. “To you not annoying me for five minutes,” I countered, but my smile gave away how much I was actually enjoying every second of it.

Oscar’s grin only widened, his eyes never leaving mine as he took a slow sip of his drink, savoring the moment. There was a playful glint in his gaze, but something deeper too, something that made my chest tighten. It was as if this whole day—every flirtatious comment, every lingering look—had been building up to something unspoken, something that hovered just beneath the surface, waiting to be acknowledged.

“So, what happens after five minutes?” he asked, his voice low, almost teasing, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity that made my breath hitch. “Do I get to keep my seat, or are you kicking me to the curb?”

I laughed softly, but the question hung in the air, feeling heavier than it should. “Depends,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “Are you planning on behaving?”

“Not if I can help it,” Oscar replied, his voice warm and teasing, but his gaze was intense, like he was studying me, trying to figure out exactly what I was thinking.

I glanced away, suddenly overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention. There was something about the way he was looking at me that felt new, unexpected—like he was seeing me in a way no one else ever had. It was unnerving, thrilling, and terrifying all at once, and it made me feel like everything I thought I knew was suddenly up in the air.

The conversations around us continued, but they felt distant, muffled, as if the world had faded into the background. I could feel the weight of Oscar’s eyes still on me, searching, and for a moment, I found myself caught between the familiar and the unknown. Everything felt different, like the ground beneath me had shifted without warning, and all the little things I’d been so sure of were suddenly tangled up in emotions I hadn’t anticipated.

Oscar’s voice broke through my thoughts, quieter now, a touch more sincere. “You okay? You went quiet on me.”

I blinked, startled by how quickly my mind had wandered. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just… thinking.”

“About?” he pressed, his eyes soft but probing, clearly not satisfied with my evasive answer.

I hesitated, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. “About how you’re… different,” I said, the admission making my heart race. “Today, everything’s just… not what I expected.” I trailed off, unsure how to put into words the strange mix of excitement and uncertainty that was bubbling up inside me.

Oscar watched me for a moment, his expression shifting from playful to something gentler, more thoughtful. “I get it,” he said finally, his voice low and earnest. “It’s weird when things change on you, isn’t it? Like you’re used to one thing, and then suddenly it’s all flipped around.”

He leaned in a little closer, his tone softening as if he was letting me in on a secret. “But I don’t mind it,” he continued. “Everything today… it’s been new, yeah, but it’s good. You’re good.”

I swallowed, the honesty in his words catching me off guard. It was one thing to joke around, to let the banter cover up what was simmering underneath, but this felt different—like he was asking me to see him, really see him, and maybe let him see me in return.

For a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. There was a vulnerability in his gaze that mirrored the uncertainty I was feeling, a quiet plea hidden in his smile that made my heart skip. It wasn’t just a game anymore; it was something real, something that demanded a bit of courage I wasn’t sure I had.

Oscar’s usual cocky confidence had softened into something more tentative, almost as if he was waiting for me to say something that would make this strange, unexpected shift between us make sense. I could see it in the way his eyes flickered with unspoken questions, the way his hand hovered just a little closer to mine on the table, hesitant but hopeful.

He opened his mouth as if to say something but stopped, biting his lip in a rare moment of hesitation. I could feel the unsteady rhythm of my own breathing, matching the erratic beat of my heart. It was like standing on the edge of something, knowing that one step could change everything and still not being sure if I was ready to take it.

“I didn’t think… I mean, I didn’t expect this,” he finally said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. His fingers brushed mine, a barely-there touch that sent a shiver through me, and the simple contact felt more intimate than any of the flirting or banter we’d exchanged all day. “I’m not usually… like this.” He laughed, but it was shaky, almost self-conscious. “I’m just saying, you’re not the only one who’s kind of… thrown off.”

I glanced down at our almost-touching hands, the space between them feeling unbearably small and impossibly vast at the same time. The reality of what was happening—the shift from playful teasing to something deeper, more vulnerable—was terrifying and exhilarating. It was as if everything had turned upside down, leaving me with nothing to hold onto but the fragile, unspoken connection we’d built in the span of a few sun-soaked hours.

“I know what you mean,” I whispered, surprised at how raw my voice sounded. “I didn’t expect this either.” The words felt too small to capture the rush of emotions tangled inside me, but they were the most honest thing I could offer.

Oscar’s thumb grazed the back of my hand, a light, almost tentative touch, but it was enough to send a jolt of electricity straight through me. He smiled, a little lopsided and unsure, and it was so different from his usual bravado that it made my heart ache in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly, and there was something so genuine in his tone that it knocked the breath out of me. “I’m glad we’re… whatever this is.” He gestured vaguely between us, as if trying to name the unnameable, the strange and beautiful thing that had sprung up between the jokes and the splashes and the shared looks that felt like secrets.

I nodded, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak. “Me too,” I managed, and the simple admission felt like a leap off that precarious edge we’d been teetering on. “I’m glad it’s… us.”

Oscar’s gaze softened, and for a split second, the weight of the moment hung between us, thick with unspoken possibilities. It felt like we were on the cusp of something important, something that neither of us was quite ready to fully grasp, and the vulnerability of it all was terrifying and exhilarating.

But then, in true Oscar fashion, he broke the tension with a grin that was equal parts charming and infuriating. “You know,” he said, leaning back in his chair and tapping his chin thoughtfully, “I’ve gotta admit, this whole ‘us’ thing is pretty great. But if you’re planning on crying, can you just give me a heads-up? I’m not emotionally equipped to handle that.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift from heart-to-heart to heart-to-humor. “Excuse me?” I laughed, trying to hide the relief that came with his playful deflection. “I’m not crying! And for the record, you’re the one who looks like you’re about to get misty-eyed.”

Oscar held up his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. “Hey, no judgment. I just thought I’d bring tissues to our next deep and meaningful, you know? Maybe some popcorn, too. Really set the mood.”

I snorted, shoving his shoulder lightly, but the tension had eased, replaced by the familiar rhythm of our back-and-forth. “You’re impossible,” I said, shaking my head, but I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.

Oscar winked, clearly pleased with himself for lightening the mood. “Yeah, but I’m your kind of impossible, right?”

I rolled my eyes, but there was no denying the truth in his words. “Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head,” I shot back, but my heart felt lighter, the strange, heady mix of vulnerability and humor making the moment feel just right.

He laughed, clinking his glass against mine one more time. “Deal. But just so you know, this isn’t over,” he said, his voice dipping into that teasing but sincere tone that was quickly becoming his signature. “This ‘us’ thing… it’s still happening.”

I met his gaze, feeling a surge of warmth and maybe a little bit of hope. “Yeah,” I said, my smile softening. “It definitely is.” And with that, we let the conversation drift back to laughter and lightness, both of us content to leave the door wide open for whatever might come next.

Just as I started to relax into the ease of the moment, Mae’s voice cut through the noise like a dramatic trumpet blast. “Oh my god, did anyone else just see that?” she exclaimed, practically bouncing out of her chair. She was clutching her glass like it was some kind of award she was presenting to the whole table, eyes wide with exaggerated shock.

Oscar and I both froze, caught like deer in headlights as everyone else turned to look at us, half amused and half confused. Mae’s eyes were sparkling with delight, clearly enjoying her self-appointed role as the dinner’s designated narrator of drama.

“Seriously, did no one catch that?” Mae continued, pointing between Oscar and me like she was conducting an investigative report. “That was, like, a full-on rom-com moment! Staring, smiling, subtle hand-touching—am I the only one paying attention to this masterpiece unfolding?”

I could feel my face heating up as the entire table’s attention zeroed in on us. Hattie snorted, trying and failing to suppress a laugh, while Edie gave Mae a playful shove. “Stop being so dramatic, Mae,” Edie said, rolling her eyes but grinning all the same. “It’s not a soap opera.”

Mae, undeterred, waved her hands theatrically, clearly reveling in the spotlight. “No, no, you guys don’t get it. This is prime content! I’ve seen less chemistry on TV shows that have been running for five seasons!” She looked at us with mock seriousness, as if she was on the brink of tears. “Honestly, I’m emotional. I think I need a moment.”

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, half-embarrassed, half-amused by Mae’s antics. “Okay, Mae, take it down a notch,” he said, trying to sound exasperated, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

I tried to cover my face with my hands, laughing despite my mortification. “Oh my god, can we not make this a thing?”

Mae ignored me completely, turning to Nicole and Belle as if she were addressing a captivated audience. “Moms, did you see it? Do we need to start planning a wedding, or should I pace myself?”

Nicole chuckled, giving me a sympathetic smile as she sipped her wine. “Mae, sweetie, let them breathe. But I will say, I’m glad to see our Oscar isn’t just all talk.” She winked at me, clearly enjoying every second of this impromptu performance.

Belle, looking equally amused, raised her glass. “To young love… or whatever this is,” she teased, and the whole table erupted in laughter.

Oscar groaned, though he was clearly more entertained than annoyed. “Thanks, Mae. Really appreciate the live commentary,” he said, rolling his eyes but flashing me a quick, conspiratorial smile that sent a flutter through my chest.

He leaned closer, his voice low so only I could hear. “Don’t worry, I’ll get her back for that later,” he promised, his tone half-playful, half-serious, and I could feel the warmth of his breath on my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. I tried to play it cool, but the way he lingered, just a little closer than necessary, made my heart skip.

Meanwhile, Mae was still basking in the glow of her own theatrics, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied grin. “Honestly, you’re welcome. I’m just saying what we’re all thinking,” she quipped, flicking her hair over her shoulder like she was the star of the show.

“Can we get a replay, though?” Hattie chimed in, her voice dripping with mock seriousness. “Like, maybe a slow-mo version? I feel like I missed the pivotal moment.”

Edie, not one to be left out, waggled her eyebrows at me. “Yeah, can you guys just, like, do it again for the rest of us? We need to get the full experience.”

I buried my face in my hands, half laughing, half mortified. “You guys are the worst,” I muttered, but there was no real sting behind it. The entire scene was ridiculous, but it was the kind of ridiculousness that made me feel strangely at home, like I’d been dropped into the middle of this whirlwind of banter and suddenly found my place.

Oscar squeezed my shoulder lightly, his touch grounding me amidst the teasing chaos. “They’re just jealous,” he whispered, his voice edged with that same flirtatious charm that had been keeping me on my toes all day. “It’s not every day they get front-row seats to this level of entertainment.”

I shot him a look, trying to suppress a grin. “Oh, is that what this is? Entertainment?”

He shrugged, unabashed. “Well, it’s definitely not boring. And I think we’re pulling off the lead roles pretty well, don’t you?”

Mae pretended to dab at her eyes, clutching her napkin dramatically. “Look at them, already talking like a power couple. I can’t—my heart is too full.” She pointed a finger at us. “Y’all better invite me to the premiere of your inevitable Netflix series.”

“Mae, if you don’t dial it back, you’re getting written out in season two,” Oscar warned, his tone light but his eyes still fixed on me, a mix of amusement and something softer that made my pulse race.

Mae gasped, clutching her imaginary pearls like she’d just been gravely insulted. “You can’t cut out the comic relief! I’m the fan favorite. Besides, the show would be boring without me stirring the pot.” She leaned back with a smug smile, crossing her arms like she was daring anyone to challenge her.

Hattie snorted, jumping in without missing a beat. “Yeah, but we all know you’re the kind of character they kill off in a dramatic mid-season twist. Gotta keep the ratings up.”

Mae threw her head back, rolling her eyes with exaggerated flair. “Please, they wouldn’t dare. The viewers would riot.” She turned her attention back to us, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “And speaking of plot twists, when’s the big kiss scene? I mean, I’m just saying, it’s been teased for like, three episodes already.”

My jaw dropped, caught between mortification and laughter as Oscar choked on his drink, struggling to keep his composure. “Mae!” I squeaked, covering my face with my hands, feeling my cheeks burn hotter than the grill. “Can we not?”

Mae shrugged, completely unfazed. “I’m just being honest. The audience wants what it wants.” She glanced around the table, gesturing to everyone with an over-the-top flourish. “I mean, look at us. We’re all invested.”

Oscar rubbed his temples, but he was smiling, shaking his head at his sister’s relentless antics. “Mae, you’re officially banned from all future dinners. You’ve peaked as an agent of chaos.”

Mae shot him a smug look. “I’d like to see you try. I’m basically your PR manager at this point, and you should be grateful. I’m giving you the best subplot.”

Nicole chuckled, shaking her head at her kids. “Alright, enough, everyone. Let’s give them some peace. I think they’ve been roasted enough for one night.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, trying to regain some composure, but every time I glanced at Oscar, he was already looking at me, that easy, knowing smile still playing on his lips. Despite the theatrics, the jokes, and the lighthearted chaos of it all, there was an unmistakable comfort in being next to him, like we were in on some private joke the rest of the table was only half aware of.

As the conversation shifted back to other topics and plates clattered with second helpings, I found myself sneaking another glance at Oscar. He caught me looking and winked, leaning in just enough to whisper, “You good?”

I nodded, feeling that same flutter from earlier, the one that seemed to have settled somewhere deep in my chest. “Yeah,” I said, my voice light but sincere. “I think I’m better than good.”

But as the conversation around the table continued, the laughter and clinking of glasses filling the air, I couldn’t stop my mind from drifting back to Mae’s earlier comment—the one about the “big kiss scene” that had practically sent me into orbit. At the time, I’d brushed it off, laughing it away as another one of her over-the-top jokes. But now, with the evening winding down and Oscar still sitting close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off him, the idea lingered, stubbornly refusing to be dismissed.

I glanced at him, catching the way he was half-listening to whatever Chris was saying about the grill, but his focus kept sneaking back to me, a subtle sideways glance here, a quiet smile there. It was like we were stuck in this unspoken loop, constantly circling each other without ever quite landing. And suddenly, Mae’s words didn’t seem so ridiculous. The thought of kissing Oscar—of actually closing that gap between us—wasn’t just some wild, far-off fantasy. It felt… possible. Real. And that was what scared me the most.

Because Mae wasn’t wrong—there was a tension between us, a pull that had been there all day, simmering beneath the surface. Every time Oscar leaned in a little too close, every shared look that lingered just a second too long, it was there, buzzing quietly, daring us to acknowledge it. I could feel it now, that quiet hum in the air that made every casual touch and playful nudge feel loaded, like we were teetering on the edge of something that could change everything.

The thought of kissing him—of actually letting myself take that leap—sent a rush of nerves and excitement crashing over me. What would it feel like? Would it be like all the other moments today, funny and light but with that undeniable spark? Or would it be something else entirely, something that would make it impossible to go back to just playful banter and harmless flirting?

I stole another glance at Oscar, watching the way his lips curved into a smirk as he teased Mae about something I couldn’t quite catch. It was infuriating how easily he could shift from serious to silly, how he could make me feel so at ease one second and then completely unsteady the next. I wondered if he was thinking about it, too—if the idea of us had crossed his mind, lingering like it was now in mine.

My thoughts were interrupted as Mae, ever the observant troublemaker, caught me staring. She wiggled her eyebrows and shot me a knowing grin, clearly reveling in her role as the self-appointed matchmaker of the night. I quickly looked away, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks, but the question she’d planted was still there, stubborn and insistent.

What would it be like, kissing Oscar?

It was a question that hovered between us, unasked but undeniable, and as the evening wore on, it only seemed to grow louder. And while I wasn’t sure of the answer, one thing was becoming clear: the idea of it wasn’t just Mae’s dramatic imagination running wild. It was mine too. And maybe, just maybe, it was only a matter of time before we found out for ourselves.

As the sun dipped lower, casting the backyard in soft hues of orange and pink, the vibe around the table shifted. Plates were cleared, glasses refilled, and the conversation became a gentle hum, winding down into the comfortable lull of a summer evening. The air was warm, carrying the faint, salty scent of the ocean just beyond the house. I could feel the day transitioning into something quieter, softer, like a whispered promise of what was to come.

Oscar nudged my arm gently, his smile easy and inviting. “Want to get out of here for a bit?” he asked, his voice low enough that it felt like a secret. “I think I’ve had my fill of Mae’s commentary for the night.”

I laughed, grateful for the excuse to escape the watchful eyes of his sisters. “Yeah, before she starts live-tweeting this,” I joked, grabbing my sandals and following him away from the table. He led us down the path that cut through the backyard, winding toward the beach. The sound of laughter and chatter faded behind us, replaced by the rhythmic crash of waves and the soft crunch of sand beneath our feet.

The sky was a watercolor canvas of fading light, the last streaks of daylight blending into deep blues and purples as we reached the shore. It was quiet here, the kind of quiet that feels intentional, like the world had pressed pause just for us. Oscar slipped off his shoes, and I followed suit, the cool, damp sand squishing pleasantly between my toes. It felt cheesy and cliché, like something out of a movie, but I didn’t care. It was perfect.

We walked in silence for a bit, side by side, our footsteps falling in sync as the waves lapped at the shore. Every so often, Oscar would kick at the sand, sending little sprays of it up in front of us, and I’d laugh, nudging him back with my shoulder. There was no rush, no destination; it was just us, drifting along the edge of the water like we were caught in our own little bubble.

Oscar glanced at me, his face soft in the twilight. “You know, I think this is the part where we’re supposed to talk about something deep and meaningful,” he said, his voice teasing but light, the kind of tone that made everything feel a little less serious, a little easier to handle.

I smiled, rolling my eyes but playing along. “Oh, right. This is the part where we share our hopes, dreams, and darkest secrets, right? Because nothing says ‘deep conversation’ like walking barefoot on the beach.”

“Exactly,” Oscar said, grinning. “But seriously, I’m glad you’re here. Tonight’s been… fun. Weird and chaotic, but fun.”

I nodded, feeling the truth of his words settle over me. “Yeah, it’s been… something,” I admitted, letting out a small laugh. “Honestly, I didn’t know what to expect, but this wasn’t it. In a good way.”

We walked a little further, the quiet between us no longer uncomfortable but filled with the soft roar of the ocean and the distant calls of seagulls. It felt like the perfect cliché—sunset, ocean waves, and just enough awkwardness to keep it from feeling too polished. Oscar stopped suddenly, bending down to pick up a small, smooth shell and handing it to me with a mock-serious expression.

“A souvenir,” he said, his eyes twinkling in the fading light. “To remember this incredibly cheesy moment.”

I took the shell, laughing at how ridiculous and oddly sweet the gesture was. “I’ll treasure it forever,” I said, mimicking his serious tone, holding the shell up like it was a precious gem. “And when I tell people about this night, I’ll say, ‘There was this guy, and he gave me a shell on a beach at sunset. It was painfully corny, but somehow it worked.’”

Oscar chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Hey, corny works sometimes. Especially if the right person’s involved.” He looked at me then, his smile fading just enough that I could see the sincerity underneath all the jokes. “I like this,” he said, his voice softer. “I like… us.”

My heart did a little flip, caught off guard by the quiet honesty of his words. It wasn’t dramatic or grand, just simple and real, and that made it even better. “I like us too,” I admitted, feeling the last bit of sunlight brush against my skin as the horizon swallowed it whole.

Oscar stepped closer, his shoulder brushing mine as we stood there, toes in the sand, watching the sky darken. It felt like we’d crossed some invisible line, one that had been waiting for us all day, and now, with the ocean as our only witness, it didn’t feel scary anymore. It felt right.

The waves crashed softly in the background, a rhythmic soundtrack to the unspoken feelings that hung between us. I expected another joke, something light to keep the moment easy, but instead, Oscar’s expression shifted, his smile fading into something more serious, more introspective. He glanced at the horizon, the last slivers of light reflecting in his eyes, before turning back to me.

“You know,” he started, his voice a little lower, almost hesitant, “about that whole ‘sharing secrets’ thing…”

I raised an eyebrow, expecting another playful jab, but his tone had changed. There was a weight to his words that made my heart pick up pace, and I could tell he was wrestling with something. “Yeah?” I prompted gently, unsure where he was going with this but sensing it was important.

Oscar let out a long breath, his gaze dropping to the sand as if he was trying to gather his thoughts. “There’s something I haven’t told you,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous habit I hadn’t seen from him before. “It’s… kind of a big deal. And it’s something I don’t usually talk about when I first meet someone.”

I felt a flicker of concern, mixed with curiosity. “Okay,” I said softly, trying to encourage him without pushing too hard. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

He nodded, chewing on his lip for a moment before meeting my eyes. “So… I’m not just some random guy who likes to crash neighborhood dinners and play chicken in pools.” He paused, as if weighing his next words carefully. “I’m actually… a Formula One driver.”

I blinked, the words taking a moment to fully register. “Wait, what?” I said, half-laughing in disbelief, expecting him to crack a smile and tell me it was just another joke. But Oscar’s expression remained serious, his eyes searching mine for a reaction.

“I’m a Formula One driver,” he repeated, more firmly this time, his voice steady but laced with something vulnerable. “I race for a living. It’s my job, my whole life, really. I’ve been doing it for years, and it’s… well, it’s a lot. I didn’t want to bring it up right away because, honestly, it changes how people see me. And I like how things are right now. Just… you and me, without all that other stuff.”

My mind reeled, trying to connect the dots between the Oscar I’d spent the day with and the image of a high-speed, glamorous world I’d only ever seen on TV. I had a million questions, but the first one that slipped out was, “Are you serious?”

He nodded, his expression softening at my shock. “Yeah, I am. I travel all the time—races in different countries, press, sponsors, all of it. It’s not just a job; it’s this crazy, intense lifestyle, and it’s a lot to deal with. That’s why I didn’t want to bring it up. I wanted to just be… me. Not the guy on the track.”

I stared at him, the quiet, easy-going Oscar who had been joking and flirting with me all day, now suddenly framed in a completely different light. I tried to picture him in a racing suit, helmet on, speeding at breakneck pace in front of thousands of fans. The thought was surreal, but the sincerity in his eyes grounded me, reminding me that he was still the same guy who had been by my side all day.

“Wow,” I breathed, still trying to wrap my head around it. “I mean… that’s incredible. And intense. I can’t even imagine…”

Oscar shrugged, his expression a mix of pride and exhaustion. “It’s got its moments. The adrenaline, the rush, it’s amazing. But it’s also lonely sometimes. It’s hard to know who’s around for me and who’s around for what I do. That’s why it’s been so… nice today. Just hanging out, no expectations, no pressure.”

I nodded, my mind still racing to keep up, but my heart settled on one thing: the vulnerability in his voice. “I get why you didn’t say anything,” I said softly. “I’m glad you told me, though. And for what it’s worth, it doesn’t change anything for me. I still see you the same way.”

Oscar’s shoulders relaxed, a hint of relief passing over his face. “Thanks. That means a lot,” he said quietly. “I just wanted you to know who I really am. Not the headlines, not the highlight reels. Just… Oscar.”

I reached out, squeezing his hand lightly. “Well, Oscar, the Formula One driver,” I teased gently, “you’re kind of stuck with me now. So I hope you’re ready for that.”

He laughed, a sound filled with genuine warmth, and squeezed my hand back. “I think I can handle it,” he said, his smile returning. “But I promise, no pit stops on our beach walks.”

We kept walking, but now my mind was buzzing with questions I couldn’t quite hold back. The idea of Oscar—this funny, charming guy—also being a professional race car driver was a lot to process. My curiosity got the better of me, and I turned to him, trying to piece together this new version of him I was just starting to understand.

“So, what’s it like?” I asked, my voice tinged with excitement and genuine intrigue. “I mean, racing. The whole lifestyle… is it really as glamorous as it looks?”

Oscar smiled, his eyes distant for a moment as if recalling a million memories at once. “Sometimes it is. The travel, the fans, the adrenaline of the race—it’s all surreal. But it’s not always as glamorous as people think. There’s a lot of pressure, a lot of sleepless nights. You’re constantly on the move, training, dealing with the media, and sometimes you barely get a moment to yourself.”

I nodded, hanging onto every word. “Do you ever get scared? I mean, it’s not exactly a nine-to-five job.”

He glanced at me, his expression thoughtful. “Every time I get in the car, there’s this moment of fear, like a little voice in the back of my mind reminding me how dangerous it is. But once the lights go out and the race starts, it’s all instinct. You don’t really think—you just drive. It’s weird, but the fear kind of becomes part of the thrill.”

I could hear the passion in his voice, and it struck me how much more there was to him than I’d realized. “Do you ever… wish it was different? Like, that maybe you could slow down?”

Oscar chuckled softly, kicking at the sand as we walked. “Sometimes, yeah. It’s exhausting. But then there’s this moment when you’re flying down the track, everything’s a blur, and it’s just you and the car. Nothing else matters. It’s the most alive I’ve ever felt.” He paused, turning to me with a small, earnest smile. “And then there are nights like this, where I get to just be a normal guy hanging out on the beach. It’s a nice change of pace.”

I found myself smiling, charmed by his openness. “I can’t even imagine living like that—always on the go, never really having time to just… be. But it sounds incredible, in a crazy sort of way.”

“It is,” he agreed, looking out at the ocean, the moonlight catching the edges of his profile. “But it’s also hard to let people in. Everyone has expectations, and sometimes it’s hard to know who actually sees you and who just sees the guy in the helmet.”

I squeezed his hand, wanting to offer some kind of comfort. “Well, I see you, Oscar. And not just the driver. I see the guy who’s annoyingly persistent, who’s actually kind of sweet when he wants to be.” I nudged him playfully. “And the guy who’s really bad at keeping secrets, apparently.”

He laughed, a genuine, relieved sound that made my heart swell. “Yeah, I guess I’m not as mysterious as I thought.” He paused, then added, “But I’m glad you know. I wanted you to know.”

I studied him, feeling like I was seeing Oscar in an entirely new light—not just the charming guy who had been teasing me all day, but someone with layers, with dreams and fears that ran deeper than I’d ever guessed. “Thanks for telling me,” I said softly. “It means a lot that you’d share all this with me.”

Oscar smirked, but there was a hint of shyness behind it. “Yeah, well, you’ve got this way of making me spill my guts. You should be careful—I might start telling you my deepest, darkest secrets.”

I laughed, nudging him with my shoulder. “Oh, don’t tempt me. I’ve got a lot of questions, you know. Like, what’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done in front of a crowd? Or do you have a superstitious pre-race ritual? Maybe something involving, like, wearing your socks inside out for good luck?”

He groaned, but the playful gleam in his eyes told me he was enjoying this. “Socks inside out? That’s rookie level. I’m way more sophisticated—think lucky underwear, a very specific breakfast, and a pep talk to my car that would make me sound insane if anyone heard it.”

I snorted, covering my mouth to stifle the laugh. “You talk to your car? Please tell me you’ve named it.”

Oscar looked mock-offended, clutching his chest dramatically. “Of course I’ve named it! What kind of driver would I be if I didn’t? But that’s classified information—I can’t just give away my car’s name on the first beach walk.”

I rolled my eyes, still giggling at the idea of him having full-on conversations with his race car. “I think you’re just scared to admit you’ve named it something ridiculous like ‘Lightning McQueen’ or ‘Speedy McSpeedface.’”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll have you know my car’s name is very dignified and deeply meaningful,” he said, trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably. “And it definitely doesn’t sound like a character from a kids’ movie.”

I raised an eyebrow, teasing him back. “Uh-huh. Sure. And do you also tuck it in at night and read it bedtime stories?”

Oscar threw his head back in laughter, his hand squeezing mine. “You’re killing me here. But hey, maybe you can come see it sometime—if you’re good, I’ll even let you meet her.”

“Oh, meeting the car? Wow, that sounds serious,” I teased, pretending to be deeply flattered. “Next thing you know, you’ll be inviting me to the races, front-row seats and all.”

Oscar grinned, his eyes twinkling under the moonlight. “Keep playing your cards right, and you never know. I might just need a good luck charm in the stands. Besides,” he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a flirty whisper, “it’d be a shame not to have the prettiest girl at the track cheering me on.”

I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks again, the casual way he flirted throwing me off balance every time. “You’ve really perfected the smooth-talking driver act, haven’t you?” I teased, raising an eyebrow but unable to stop the grin tugging at my lips.

Oscar smirked, his confidence unwavering. “What can I say? When you’ve got someone worth impressing, you pull out all the stops.”

I rolled my eyes, but the butterflies in my stomach were in full flight. “Well, I’m not that easy to impress. You might need more than just a fancy car and smooth lines.”

He pretended to think it over, scratching his chin dramatically. “Hmm, okay. Let’s see… I’ve got fast cars, some world travel under my belt, and a pretty decent sense of humor, if I do say so myself. Oh, and I’m great at chicken fights in the pool.” He gave me a sideways glance, his smile playful but with a hint of sincerity beneath it. “But if that’s not enough, I guess I’ll just have to keep trying.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Yeah, keep working on it. I’m a tough crowd.”

Oscar slowed his steps, his voice turning softer as he leaned a little closer. “I like a challenge.”

His words hung in the air between us, and for a moment, the playful banter gave way to something a little deeper. There was that same flicker of vulnerability from earlier, like he was letting his guard down just a bit more, and it made my heart skip. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just met his gaze, feeling the intensity of the moment settle between us like a quiet hum.

“Careful,” I finally said, trying to keep the mood light even though my pulse was racing. “You might bite off more than you can chew.”

Oscar grinned, but his eyes were still locked on mine, the flirty bravado softening into something more genuine. “I think I can handle it,” he said quietly, and there was something in his tone that made my breath catch, like this wasn’t just another joke, another flirtation. It was a real promise.

Before I could respond, he reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. The touch was so casual, yet it sent a rush of warmth through me, leaving me a little breathless. “You’re making this easy,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing, but his gaze was steady, holding mine with a kind of quiet intensity that made my heart race.

“Easy?” I managed to say, trying to sound composed but failing miserably.

He nodded, his smile widening just a bit. “Yeah. You make it easy to want to keep trying.”

I swallowed, the weight of his words settling over me. It felt like we were on the verge of something bigger, something that went beyond the playful teasing and light-hearted flirting. And as cheesy as it sounded, standing there with the ocean breeze in my hair and the moonlight casting soft shadows around us, I couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the kind of moment where everything could change.

But instead of saying anything profound, I just smiled, feeling the warmth of his hand still lingering near my cheek. “Well, if you’re trying to win me over with flattery and moonlit walks on the beach, you’re off to a decent start.”

Oscar chuckled, dropping his hand but staying close. “Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” He paused, glancing at the ocean before looking back at me with that same mix of playfulness and sincerity. “You ready to head back?”

I nodded, feeling the tension in my chest ease as we started walking again, the easy rhythm between us falling back into place. “Yeah, but don’t think this lets you off the hook. You’ve still got some impressing to do.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Challenge accepted.”

And as we made our way back up the beach, the stars twinkling above and the sound of the waves following us, I couldn’t help but feel that this night—this cheesy, corny, perfect night—was only the beginning of something even better. There was an easy warmth between us now, a quiet understanding that whatever this was, we were both on board. As we reached the house, the familiar noise of chatter and laughter spilled out onto the patio, pulling us back into the lively fold of everyone gathered around.

The second we stepped onto the deck, Mae was the first to spot us, her eyes lighting up like she’d just won the gossip jackpot. “Well, well, well, look who decided to rejoin the party,” she called out, clapping her hands together in mock celebration. “Did you two lovebirds enjoy your romantic stroll under the moonlight?”

Oscar shot her a warning look, but it only made her grin wider. “Mae, do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?” he quipped, trying to sound exasperated but failing to hide his smile.

Hattie, never one to miss an opportunity, leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed with a knowing smirk. “Oh, come on, Oscar. We saw you guys sneaking off together. What was it? A deep, soul-searching chat? Confessions of undying love?”

Edie snorted, adding her two cents with a dramatic gasp. “Wait, did he finally break out the big romantic moves? Did he tell you about his tragic backstory and show you his sensitive side?”

I laughed, shaking my head but feeling my cheeks flush under the teasing. “Wow, you guys really have an active imagination,” I said, trying to play it off casually. “We were just… talking.”

“Talking,” Mae repeated, her tone dripping with mock suspicion. “Sure, sure. That’s what they all say before the dramatic kiss in the rain scene.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, but he was clearly more amused than annoyed. “For your information, Mae, we were just enjoying a peaceful walk without all the peanut gallery commentary,” he shot back, though his playful glare did little to stop the relentless teasing.

“Oh, right,” Hattie said, putting on an exaggerated, dreamy voice. “Staring into each other’s eyes, holding hands, whispering sweet nothings—totally normal, everyday stuff.”

Edie gave an exaggerated sigh, wiping a fake tear from her eye. “I swear, this is better than any rom-com. I feel blessed to witness it in real time.”

Oscar groaned, rubbing his temples but unable to keep the smile off his face. “You guys are the worst,” he said, shaking his head, but the laughter in his eyes was unmistakable.

Hattie leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she gave Oscar a nudge. “So, did you tell her your big secret yet?” she asked, her tone half-joking but laced with just enough seriousness to make it feel like there was more to it. “You know, the one where you’re not just some guy who likes moonlit walks and cheesy flirting?”

Oscar rolled his eyes, but his shoulders tensed slightly. “Yeah, Hattie. I told her.”

Hattie smirked, turning her attention to me with a knowing look. “Well, good. Now you’ve seen the full Oscar package: charming flirt, terrible dancer, and, oh yeah, a race car driver who’s apparently allergic to being straightforward about it.”

I laughed, catching the hint of truth beneath her teasing. “Yeah, he told me. It was quite the plot twist,” I said, shooting Oscar a playful glance. “I mean, I thought I was just hanging out with some guy who likes chicken fights in pools, and then bam! Turns out he’s a high-speed adrenaline junkie.”

Oscar let out a half-hearted groan, but I could see the smile tugging at his lips. “See? This is why I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Now I’m the guy who goes from chicken fights to explaining how I don’t die doing my job.”

Edie leaned forward, her grin wide. “Oh, come on. You love it. And honestly, I think it’s pretty cool she didn’t bolt when you told her. That’s a win in my book.”

I shrugged, feeling oddly proud of myself for rolling with the revelation. “I mean, you could’ve told me you were a secret agent or something, and I’d probably still be here. But don’t get any ideas—I’m not driving any getaway cars for you.”

Hattie raised her glass in mock solemnity. “To not scaring her off with the ‘I drive at 200 mph for a living’ thing. Honestly, it’s about time someone just saw you for, you know, you.”

Oscar smiled, his eyes flickering with gratitude. “Thanks, Hattie. And yeah,” he turned back to me, squeezing my shoulder lightly, “I’m glad you’re here. Even if my sisters are determined to embarrass me at every turn.”

I laughed, leaning into the warmth of his side hug. “Hey, I’m just glad I got to hear the big secret firsthand. And for the record, you’re a lot more than just the guy on the track.”

Mae pretended to wipe away a tear, her voice cracking with fake emotion. “Look at them, so supportive. I’m not crying, you’re crying.”

Oscar groaned again, but his eyes never left mine, filled with a quiet, earnest appreciation that made the teasing worth it. “You guys are relentless.”

Edie smirked, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “Hey, you can’t blame us. We’ve got a front-row seat to the Oscar Romance Special. We’re just waiting for the next episode, preferably with more kissing.”

I nearly choked on my drink, caught off guard by her bluntness, and Oscar’s face turned a shade of pink I’d never seen before. “Edie,” he said, trying to sound stern but failing as a laugh escaped him. “I think you’re confusing our lives with one of your trashy reality shows.”

Mae jumped in, wagging her finger dramatically. “Excuse me, but if you’re going to give us reality TV vibes, at least make it entertaining. We need more dramatic confessions and less awkward hovering. I mean, seriously, when’s the big kiss scene?”

I looked at Oscar, my face heating up at the thought, but I decided to play along. “Well, Oscar, if you’ve got any more romantic revelations planned, you’d better warn me so I can, you know, brace myself.”

Oscar leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper just for me. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m full of surprises. And if you think that was my best move, you’re in for a wild ride.”

I raised an eyebrow, trying to keep my cool but failing to hide my smile. “Wild ride? Wow, is that a racing pun or are you just that confident?”

He chuckled, giving me a quick wink. “Both. But you’ll have to stick around to find out which one’s more accurate.”

Mae let out a dramatic sigh, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Oh my god, just kiss already! You’re both practically oozing romantic tension. It’s painful to watch.”

Oscar’s grin turned devilish, and he leaned back, his eyes flicking to me with a playful glint. “See what I have to put up with? I swear, it’s like having a peanut gallery that’s also my personal cheer squad.”

I nudged him with my elbow, unable to keep from laughing. “You should be grateful. Not everyone gets this kind of enthusiastic support.”

He nodded, feigning deep thought. “You’re right. Maybe I should embrace it. I mean, it’s not every day you get heckled into flirting.”

Hattie jumped in, pointing her fork at us. “Yeah, and if you’re going to flirt, at least do it properly. We want fireworks, people.”

Oscar threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll work on my technique. But I can’t promise anything with all these eyes watching.”

I rolled my eyes, but the playful energy between us was impossible to ignore. “No pressure or anything,” I said, smirking at him. “But apparently, you’ve got a lot to live up to.”

Oscar leaned closer, his smile turning sly. “I thrive under pressure,” he said, his voice low and smooth, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. “Guess I’ll just have to make it memorable.”

His words hung in the air, flirtatious yet full of that quiet promise that left my heart racing. And as the night went on, filled with more teasing and playful banter, I realized that every joke, every look, was just another layer to the electric, unpredictable thing that was building between us.

Mae clinked her glass dramatically, interrupting my thoughts. “To Oscar, the wannabe Romeo, and to his leading lady, who’s clearly got the patience of a saint. Cheers to the saga we didn’t know we needed.”

I laughed, lifting my glass and meeting Oscar’s gaze. “Cheers,” I said, feeling the thrill of whatever this was settle comfortably around us. Because no matter how ridiculous or flirtatious it got, there was no denying that this was one ride I didn’t want to get off anytime soon.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

taglist! @mingyusbigrighttoe @theblueblub @demandealalune @linnygirl09 @fix5idiots

[silverpen-and-paper]

💚 2011-2013 loki ask game 💚

i haven’t seen a 2011-2013 loki ask game before (or any loki ask games, actually), so i decided i’d make one! there are thirty-one questions, so if you want, you could answer one for each day of this month (+1). or you could go by the normal ask game rules. or you could answer them all at once in a single post. up to you :D

(fans of ragnarok and the series can participate too if you’d like! the questions are aimed mostly at the 2011-2013 era fans, but i’m not gonna ban people from having fun)

post dividers by @/cafekitsune

pick a favorite movie: thor (2011), the avengers (2012), thor: the dark world (2013)

how did your interest in loki begin? (optional: how has it evolved over the years?)

what do you think happened in the time between loki’s fall from the bifrost and avengers 1?

how do you interpret loki’s “death” in thor: the dark world? (“it was an illusion,” “loki was actually wounded but it was part of the trick,” “loki didn’t intend to pretend to die at all,” etc)

do you have any headcanons/theories about loki’s biological mother?

have you watched any deleted scenes from thor 1, the avengers, or thor 2? if yes, choose one deleted scene that definitely deserved to have stayed in.

which do you prefer: jotun loki with horns (a popular fanon design), or jotun loki without horns?

pick one (or more) of loki’s powers and explain how you think it works.

favorite loki quote?

favorite tom hiddleston quote about loki?

how would you describe thor and loki’s dynamic to someone who has never seen the movies?

do you think laufey actually abandoned loki to die, as odin said, or do you prefer the theory that laufey put loki in the temple for their protection?

do you have any headcanons about asgard? (phsyics, culture, environment, history, etc?)

do you have any headcanons about jotunheim?

do you have a favorite loki fanfic? (if you’re a fic writer, you’re allowed to choose your own)

do you think loki would keep a journal? if yes, what kinds of things do you think they’d write/draw/glue/etc in it?

choose any ship involving loki and share your opinions of it, whether positive or negative.

what do you think loki’s biggest fear is? (if not *the* biggest, one of the biggest.)

find an insect/arthropod that reminds you of loki (aesthetically, behaviorally, etc).

what hobbies/interests do you think loki has, outside of magic and fighting?

headcanons about loki’s childhood?

what styles of midgardian outfits would loki be most comfortable in?

headcanons about loki’s jotun form?

what song lyrics remind you of loki?

loki’s worst moment?

loki’s best moment?

say you go back in time and get hired as the director of a mcu loki movie, series, or episode that you dislike. assuming you’re already changing the biggest stuff you criticize, what is the pettiest thing you’d change?

if you could have one of loki’s powers, which would you choose?

if you could watch one movie/tv show with loki (as in, you are both sitting on the couch together and watching it), what movie/show would you choose? what would loki think about it?

imagine you were in loki’s place — you’re the frost giant baby that odin took from jotunheim. what do you think your life would be like?

has loki ridden a bilgesnipe? (would you ride a bilgesnipe?)

[sst0rmm]

♡₊˚ a piece of you・₊✧

ft: isagi, rin.

notes: their habits and idiosyncrasies 🫧 𓇼 ೀ

part/series: 1.0 2.0

wc: 1809

yes i named this after the song u have to listen to it its utter perfection

makes me feel like the world is ENDING but you're in love, so it's okay ;)

taking a tiny baby little break from the in the mornings series to write this one (shameless plug, go check it out bcs rin and isagi r everything)

i have been gone for a while, SO SORRY life happened :(

god listening to the song makes me cry for a love (i never had)

okay isagi my lover's up first

isagi yoichi 💙🧿🫧

isagi will cook and clean and prep everything for your arrival back home. when he's not at a game, far, far away, with only the isolated moon as his company (he wonders how he ever slept alone in a bed before), he basically becomes a doting house-husband.

when you're about to come home, he'll have prepped everything and made everything as neat and perfect as he will. because in his heart, your happiness comes first.

if the sun didn't shine at your workplace, or wherever you were out, he'll bring the sun back home.

"you didn't need to do this- isagi-"

"i wanted to, baby." he holds a finger against your lips and gives you that soft, sweet, slow kiss that never hesitates to make your world spin and clouds disappear and a garden of love bloom in your heart.

"now, let's eat."

AGHAHAHGHAHGH house husband isagi is best isagi and i will not believe otherwise

this isn't the only thing he does...

isagi will also get in his little sentimental moods. he'll spend his days scouring images of you, walking around the house, and one time even smelling your shampoo.

it's a fondness that grows in the utter core of his being when he's with you, and without you, he feels a little alone. like a neglected plant in a vast, vast field, he'll grow again when he's with you.

and he's also a little frightened. you wouldn't believe that one of the best strikers in the world'd be frightened, but these inner voices that whisper in his mind, a hypnotizing siren's song, tell him "he's not good enough."

when you're not there, only the voices remain, eating at him from the inside.

after all, he's not the most athletic, the best technique. he just has his mind, and when that starts to fail, what else does he have?

you come home to no warm meal one night. rain plops steadily with a thunk-thunk noise on your roof, and you see isagi staring vacantly at an empty TV screen.

you call out his name, but he doesn't respond. keeps on staring at that TV, blank as can be. you feel a soft shiver down your spine, but you shake it off and creep on the couch next to him.

"isagi, are you-?"

you don't finish your sentence before he wraps you up in a hug. it's crushing, like if he lets go of you you'll leave, and he'll be surrounded by the torrent of his own emotions.

he'll drown in them.

blue eyes look down at you wide and you can see the tinge of anxiety.

"listen to me," because you've seen this mood many a time before, "you are good enough, isagi yoichi. the glue that holds the team together- it's you. you're perfect the way you are."

and the wan smile that he had on before explodes into a defeaning, perfect crescendo. isagi's real smile, reserved for truly joyous moments with his team or simply whenever he's with you, is blinding and beautiful to behold.

"thanks, y/n, i really needed that." now, he presses a soft kiss onto your lips, and you're met with the heady taste of chocolate (you glimpse discarded wrappers in the corner of your eye). his lips are so soft, so pillowy that you can feel your heart stop and your body become fully aware of him.

you melt against him, souls intertwined, then take him by the hand. "now, let's go make dinner."

oh my goodness okay okay isagi fever is real

next blue lock dream man is up!! (they're all dreamy perfect beautiful but still)

rin itoshi ˖𓍢ִ໋🍃✧°.💚

rin is caring, no doubt about that, but also a victim of his own genius. sometimes, he stays late at the field, practicing kicks and plays with undying fervor.

it's like a light has switched on his mind and it refuses to be switched off- it's hard to understand the inner workings of rin's mind, sometimes.

tonight is one of those days that he's just completely fired up. for whatever reason, he stays two hours after practice. no texts, no calls, and he leaves you staring at the clock anxiously. by now, dinner has gotten cold, and the only thing you can hear is the rhythmic tap of your fingers on the kitchen counter.

like, silence has never been so loud.

rin walks in around ten minutes later, face sweaty and hair a mess. he reaches out to hug you, but you decidedly step away and cross your arms.

you're a little bit more than mad. "where have you been?"

your boyfriend's brows furrow. "at the field, where else would i be?"

you scoff. it's not like you want to start an argument, but he needs to know where to draw the line. "well, i don't know. i called you like, three times but you didn't pick up."

"it's not the first time this happened," rin sighs, scratching the back of his neck, teal eyes downcast at the floor. normally, you would've left it at that, but you realize if you don't put your foot down now, this perpetual cycle of anxious worry will continue.

you gaze straight at his face pointedly. "yeah, it's not. which is why i'd like it to stop before it continues."

rin groans. "come on, y/n. i know i messed up, alright? i promise not to do it again."

"that's what you said the last time, and the time before that too." your voice is calm, measured, carefully controlled. then it breaks. "i'm just worried about you, rin."

he opens up his arms in search of another comforting embrace. you're not sure if it's more for you or for him. his teal eyes cloud over a little bit with sadness.

"i'm sorry, okay? i shouldn't have left you hanging like that."

"yeah, you shouldn't have."

"but-" rin's eyes alight with a determined fire, that very same fire he gets when he's on the field, that very same fire that can melt your heart into a puddle and make you weak in the knees, before he opens his mouth, "i'm done making excuses, y/n."

you don't even realize that you're crying until you look down and see the bottom of your, or rather rin's hoodie, slightly damp. rin's at your side in a flash, cupping your face with warm palms. the warmth of his skin on yours threatens to set your heart aflame.

"y/n, you're the end goal," he promises, while staring deep into your eyes. your vision is full of him- the slightly curved bow of his lips, hair pointing every which way, but most of all, his eyes, which seem to send an unspoken message to yours.

you can feel all your nerves sparking alight with the intensity of his gaze.

his lips press on yours decidedly, insistently, with no disguise of softness. you surrender immediately and throw your arms around him, and they nestle on the curve of his neck while he presses you flush against him.

it's electric, and you think you'll never quite have enough of rin itoshi. his tongue gently slides into your mouth, meeting yours, and you sigh.

"i love you. so much."

your head can barely come out of the kiss-induced daze. "i love you too," you respond, and the two of you melt against each other.

outside, the night is young, and the stars wink brightly down, as if to foreshadow a good omen. you smile against rin's lips and kiss him, this time is soft, sweet, and slow.

YESSS this made me rememberr how much i love writing on tumblr loll

you know what's coming next.. ;)

rin is also very possessive. maybe it's because he's used to getting what he wants, where he wants, when he wants it. especially in football, he basically always gets what he wants with how hard he works.

you were actually the exception to the rule- unlike the population of the rest of japan- you didn't fall for him at first sight. of course, that only made him love you more, and make the wait worth both your whiles.

anyways, if he sees another guy's hands on you, it's game over for the guy. in your case, your friend's slinging his arm around your shoulders while you two are walking down the street after getting coffee.

"and like, she totally cussed him out," your friend stage whispers, and you laugh.

"oh my god, really? but like-"

rin rounds the corner just then, smiling in a way that would be uncharacteristic to anybody else except for you. "hey, babe, i brought you some coffee-" then he sees your friend's arms around your shoulders, and his eyes darken.

your friend, however, doesn't seem to notice. "is that your boyfriend?"

before you can respond, rin interjects. "yeah. i'm her boyfriend." he says it so matter-of-factly, so aggressively, that you wonder how your friend doesn't realize rin's intentions.

because your friend probably doesn't have a death wish, and also because you don't want to see your boyfriend behind bars, you step out from underneath your friend's arm.

"hey, rin," you press your hands against his chest and peck him softly on the cheek. he relaxes, but instead winds an arm around your waist, pressing you close to his side. you almost blush in embarrassment at his clearly possessive behavior.

your friend seems to take the hint. "so, i'm just gonna go now..." you wave goodbye, while rin just looks at his retreating form with a glare.

secretly, you're kind of more amused than anything. also, it's kind of endearing to see how much he cares. you roll your eyes. "what was that all about?" knowing full well what it's about.

rin grumbles. "i didn't like his arm around your shoulders."

you bat his arm playfully. "so what? it's not like i'm dating him or anything..."

rin's eyes spark with that very same fire again. thankfully, you guys have moved past the stage of your relationship where rin would actually argue with you about this sort of thing. "that's right, cause you're dating me."

to prove his point, he presses his lips against yours and pulls you tight to him. he's only wearing a tank top, and you can feel the hard press of his muscles, warm through the thin fabric.

rin kisses like he plays football- all or nothing- and the heady, intoxicating sensation is enough to make you forget where you are, why you're there. a passerby wolf-whistles, but the two of you barely register it.

all you feel is the way your body slots perfectly against his, the sensation of his lips sending a wave of heat coursing through your body all the way down to your toes, and the soft press of his fingers, one on your cheek, the other rubbing soft circles on your hips.

then, he grins mischievously and pulls away, leaving you standing there for a second before clearing your thoughts and catching up to him.

"you did that on purpose," you complain. rin simply smirks as if to say i did, didn't i? and winds his arm around your shoulders this time, as the two of you walk forwards together into the sunlight.

YAYY THANKS SM for readingg

i lowkey forgot about this tumblr acc im not even gonna lie... life happens grrr but i'm back again!! divider creds today go to @attxnt tysmm 💖

(two more pics bcs y not lmaoo)

OK LOVE YOU ALL THANKS FOR READING! pls lmk who u might want me to write next in the comments :)

[leikeliscomet]

Who's Afraid of Tenmartha?

Chapter 3 & Conclusion - All’s Fair in Love and Shipping

So why do people actually like and ship Tenmartha? And what do I think about all of this? In Chapter 1, we covered the appeal of Martha as a desired Black woman and in Chapter 2, we went through the fandom craving for messy characters but there’s also a third answer that’s quite simple; people genuinely like Ten and Martha together.

Martha’s the smart medical student and Ten’s the charismatic Time Lord. They both look towards each other for an escape. Ten wants the joy and wonder of having a companion again and even admits to enjoying lying to Martha about Gallifrey still existing in Gridlock because he could be the wonderful mysterious traveller again. Martha’s the overachieving middle child, working as the glue to keep the Joneses + Annalise together. She wants a break and the chance to have something or someone to herself for a change. They’re both smart and quick-witted, but also push each other to be better. Their story isn’t just the tale of two characters who instantly agree on everything but one of two characters relying on each other to fill the voids they both possess, holding potential for interesting conflicts and great character moments. The two bounce off each other really well. Doctor and Doctor.

Tenmartha wasn’t born out of a dislike or hatred of Martha because the main part of anti-Martha Jones rhetoric is to keep her away from Ten. Martha antis hate Martha as the undesirable woman or the problematic woman, whilst Ten is the desirable man and morally grey bean, so in their eyes, they’re inherently wrong together. Instead, Tenmarthas seem to take the romantic subtext of series 3 put between them to have fun with it and create a healthier dynamic. One where Ten didn’t treat Martha as a rebound but instead acknowledged her greatness sooner rather than later. Creating an alternate series 3 where Martha was properly welcomed so the romantic, platonic and even sexual chemistries between them could actually be developed into a satisfying relationship for both parties. Sometimes this is with Ten specifically and other times it’s with other incarnations of the Doctor hence the births of ElevenMartha, TwelveMartha, NineMartha, ThirteenMartha and so on and so forth. And in all honestly, I don’t think any of this is that deep enough to go on hate campaigns against or go as so far to attack Tenmartha shippers. It’s especially not an excuse to engage in antiblackness and misogynoir toward Black Tenmarthas either.

Whilst I’m not a Tenmartha shipper, I see how unbalanced Martha Jones is treated in the Whovian marketplace of desire. I’ve written about compulsory sexuality before when specifically covering Thasmin and the double standards of attraction, romance and sex when it comes to gender and sexuality. I argue this applies to Tenmartha in terms of race just as it did for Thasmin, as compulsory sexuality affects race just as it affects gender and sexuality. The Doctor in the eyes of fans and showrunners must be a romantic and sexual being in order to be human, a lover, ‘really’ queer and palatable to a modern TV audience, yet they’re denied attraction to Martha out of every character in the universe. RTD Who’s explicitly romantic and reinforces these romantic and sexual standards for Ten, but sneakily draws the line at Martha Jones because she doesn’t fit the image of the desirable female companion and acceptable woman in what we consider ‘acceptable’ romance. And it’s because she’s a Black woman paired with a white male lead. Even in RTD2, we see a slight continuation of this depiction of not just in romance but also friendship. Martha, whether it’s romantic or platonic, is the only RTD companion who’s not allowed to participate fully with the Doctor. If she didn’t participate in these relationship dynamics by choice or had little to no attraction or just didn’t want to that’s one thing, but she was actively written as a character who did. And she was cut out. RTD stated Mickey deserved to lose Rose because of the sus emails on his computer but put that same cheating Mickey Smith with Martha. Mickey’s not good enough for Rose, but he’s good enough for Martha. If we saw Martha and Mickey interact and form a relationship on screen then maybe I’d get the appeal but essentially taking the two Black characters done dirty by Ten and Rose and making them a couple and telling your fans bon appetit feels shallow. Martha doesn’t even get to be with Tom Milligan either. Arguments about how Martha’s trauma would've ruined the relationship would've made sense if, again, we actually got this development on screen but it seems like a cop-out for what was supposed to be her happy ending in series 4. Rose and Donna had plenty of trauma of their own but they were still seen as worthy of romantic and platonic love. Donna’s got her endgame with Shaun and a lovely genius daughter, Rose Noble, broken bread with her mum and has Uncle Fourteen and Auntie Mel for company. In extended media Rose and Tentoo have a baby for crying out loud. But Martha can’t even be endgame with a side character? Ugh. In an interview, Freema Agyeman was asked about the handling of Martha’s character in series 3 and went on to state that whilst it was a relatable and important storyline to show about unrequited love, that Martha existed beyond that as character, stating ‘people also tune in for escapism and for romance and all of the magic and the, you know, the imagination so sometimes to be like grounded back down into hard truth isn’t very attractive’ I think that speaks for itself.

That being said romantic Tenmartha’s not for me. I’m not gonna be convinced Ten shouting at Martha for no reason was some edgy frenemies to lover concoction by RTD anytime soon, I’m one of those fans who likes the Doctor single and I very much enjoy my boring interracial pairings where the Black woman gets treated nicely by her non-Black partner. Vanilla’s a versatile flavour after all! But I can also admit it’s really not that serious when romantic Tenmartha appears on my TL. The constant gagging, hurling and digital vomit of the idea of the Doctor ever loving Martha will always feel more backhanded in comparison to a less than perfect ship. The repairing of Martha Jones and the idea Ten was the issue in isolation also feel a bit fake to me. Every doctor has done problematic things and that includes racially. Nine was weird to Mickey, Eleven was Churchill’s bestie, Twelve was rude to Danny and we all know what happened with Thirteen in Spyfall. So putting Martha with another Doctor isn’t inherently more ethical than Tenmartha either or the anti-racist serve fans think it is. Not to say fans can’t ship not-so-morally pure pairings ever but instead of the need to moralise and ‘purify’ the messiness of characters… maybe just embrace it? Accept that the Doctor is flawed and their relationships are too. Accept that Tenmartha is messy and problematic. But there’s not a lot of ships that aren’t in the Whoniverse anyway.

I will never though take complaints of racism in Doctor Who especially RTD1 seriously that begin and end with how it’s all Tenmartha’s fault. I will never take posts seriously about how the biggest and most worst form of racism that could ever happen in the Doctor Who fandom could be shipping Martha Jones with the Tenth Doctor. I will never accept anti-Tenmartha is done in the name of anti-racism or protecting Black women when to be Black and in this fandom and saying anything about the long antiblackness, misogynoir and colourism of Doctor Who and it’s stans is like pulling teeth. I will never take the idea that companions that look like me ever being romantically desired is some abomination and that its demonisation is a form of activism. Miss me with that shit. Ironically, the anti black racist attacks on Martha Jones and Freema Agyeman have been called out by Martha’s fans including ones who ship Tenmartha, but it’s not as prevalent for other shippers. The hard truth is that Tenmartha didn’t photoshop Freema Agyemen’s face onto the Aunt Jemima logo. Tenmarthas didn’t call Martha an affirmative action placement. Tenmarthas didn’t send threats to Black fans and call Black fans slurs. Tenmartha didn’t racially abuse Freema Agyeman to the point she was still hurt about it over 10 years later. Tenmartha didn’t play a key role in the Martha hate train. But Tenrose shippers did. To repeat from my first essay on Martha Jones, until the Tenrose-shaped elephant in the room is addressed, the fandom will never be a safe space for Black women or any Black person. Let’s rip that bandaid right off. If we’re gonna chat misogynoir let's chat properly, because the last thing we’re gonna do is reduce real life social issues to quote on quote, ‘ship wars’ in this house, okay?

Now, the purpose of this essay isn’t that Tenmartha is completely free from criticism but to share my personal feelings about it using some theory and maybe see if stans will self reflect into their bias against it. Me trying to get the fandom to be nicer to Tenmartha is the equivalent of trying to find a good Dalek. It's possible, but really hard and not something I expect to happen instantly or even at all. Either way, I know who’s afraid of Tenmartha and why and of course everyone’s entitled to their own opinions. But I don’t think there’s that much to be scared of at the end of the day. There are as many ships in the Doctor Who fandom as there are stars in the universe. There’s loads. Whatever your ideal romance looks like in Doctor Who,  it’s out there just for you. And if the romance’s not for you, you’ll find your space. And for some people, that space is for Smith and Jones.

<- Chapter 2

[braidlottie]

WRAPPED AROUND YOUR FINGER.

part 1

series masterlist | gif credit | next chapter

you were finally home from school, with the weekend ahead of you. you got an insane amount of work done last night, just so you could take the next few days to relax.

kicking off your shoes and putting your key on the hook, you called for your mother.

you walked through the hallway, entering the kitchen and seeing your mother and another lady across from her with a cup of tea.

“oh, hello,” you greeted shyly. the woman just smiled and waved. “sorry if i’m intruding-”

“no, it’s fine, honey. i wanted you to meet lottie. she’s one of my friends from high school.” the woman went to shake your hand, you shaking back politely. “i’m y/n.”

“your mother’s told me quite a lot about you, y/n.” lottie’s eyebrow raised, your smile fading. “oh god, she didn’t show my naked baby pictures, did she?” you asked in fear, making her laugh and your mother roll her eyes.

“very funny. now if you’ll excuse me, i’ll be in the bathroom.”

taissa leaves the room, also leaving silence between you and lottie. you went to the fridge to grab a drink, gulping deeply before speaking again.

“so how did you and my mom meet?”

“we were in a soccer team together in high school. we were so close, the team had a beautiful bond. it was almost like we were stuck together with glue because we would never leave each other’s side. but then, college came around.”

you frowned. “did you guys end up going to different schools?” lottie nodded, taking another sip of her tea. “we all made plans to meet up during break, but no one ever had any time. then one day i realized i haven’t spoken to my friend in months.”

“i’m sorry, that must’ve been hard.” you tried to say something sympathetic, nervously scratching the back of your head. “you’re a darling, you don’t have to apologize.” lottie shook her head and lightly patted your hand that was on the marbled kitchen island. you looked down at your feet, then back up at her. she was totally checking you out, but you didn’t want to think that! she was your mother’s friend!

but..

her touch was so gentle, and her voice, oh her voice was so raspy yet so soft and warm, it could send you to sleep. you were so bad at making eye contact and part of you felt like she knew.

“what were you two talking about?” you jumped, hearing your mother’s voice down the hall. lottie’s hand left yours, just before taissa turned the corner, the same peachy smile she had when you first saw her. “oh just telling him about us in high school. your mother was the most competitive person i know. and still is.” lottie turned to you mid sentence, her eyes dark with lust.

“uhh, it’s been fun you guys, but i really have to study-”

“on a friday?”

“yes, mom. on a friday.” you hurriedly walked up the stairs, seeing the two women watch you from below.

finally, walking up to your room, you closed the door. you straight up lied to your mother, turning on your tv instead of pulling out our workbook. you just wanted to get away from it all.

you couldn’t get the way lottie looked at you out of your head. her eyes were practically burned into your brain, you couldn’t even close your eyes. her big brown eyes were still there, staring you down.

you got broken out of your trance when you heard a knock on your door. “can i come in?”

“uhh- yeah, sure.”

your mother came through the door, leaning against its frame. “i just wanted to let you know that lottie was staying over tonight. are you okay with that?”

your heart sunk. you had thought you wouldn’t see this woman ever again after today, and now she’s staying at your house?!

“uhh, yeah, no, that’s totally fine. that’s awesome, actually.” you smiled awkwardly, trying to play off the fact that you wanted lottie to absolutely fu-

“are you sure? you seem a little-”

“tired. i’m really tired, i might actually take a nap.”

“alright, well, good night, honey.” your mother kissed your forehead, you mirroring her smile as she walked out your room, closing the door behind her.

you face planted onto your bed and sighed. you wanted to go back down there and talk to her, but there’s always tomorrow, right?

[thislovintime]

"The individual Monkees don’t necessarily agree about everything, but three of ’em are stuck glue-tight together on one subject — Peter Tork! Micky, Mike and Davy all rate him the outstanding musician of the outfit. They say he’s hardly ever without a guitar or banjo in his hands. If he is then it’s because he’s playing his Vox organ in his dressing room. And they all speak up as one about his acting ability. Davy says: 'Mostly, on the television shows, we three are just playing ourselves. But Peter really has to play a part. You see, he’s really very intelligent and he’s also the quietest one of us four. So when he plays that way-out character in the TV series… well, it’s just not him at all! Those double-takes and the way he looks kinda baffled… that’s not our off-stage Peter!'" - Jackie Richmond, Monkees Monthly, June 1967 “[Peter’s] really a genius, a prolific musician — he plays about seven instruments.” - Micky Dolenz, Record Mirror, February 11, 1967 “Peter is the best rock guitarist around today. He plays about ten instruments in all — just about everything with strings. Mike and I also play guitars, although we are not in Peter’s class.” - Davy Jones, Melody Maker, January 14, 1967 “Peter Tork has to be one of the best guitarists around — he can cut anybody on guitar. He plays about 10 instruments — banjo, uke, the lot.” - Davy Jones, The Ottawa Journal, January 20, 1967

Requested on Facebook: non-1967 quotes (by Michael)

“There are two common and, to me, repugnant notions about the Monkees. Number one, that I was the only one who had any talent, which is patently absurd. It’s as unfair and as unkind as it is stupid. The other one is that I was the only musician. I wasn’t the only musician and I wasn’t much of a musician. Peter was a much more skillful player than I was by some orders of magnitude. He wasn’t a singer nor was he a writer. What I was able to do was write tunes — I could sort of pull those out of a ht. But they weren’t very good, were they? I mean, they were the tunes that were on the show from time to time, so that’s what made them seem better than they were.” - Michael Nesmith, Monkees Tale (1985)

“Everyone was accomplished—the notion I was the only musician is one of those rumors that got started and won’t stop—but it was not true. Peter was a more accomplished player than I by an order of magnitude, Micky and Davy played and sang and danced and understood music.” - Michael Nesmith, Rolling Stone, March 8, 2012

[www-findringo-com]

I recently got back into Black Clover, and i miss my sweet princess yuno so much. So i'm making this series out of boredom.... enjoy!!!

Next

From Afar

A Yuno Grinberryall × Fem!reader written by Ringociocco.

Playlist

1. Somethin' stupid - Frank Sinatra, Nancy Sinatra

2. See you again - Tyler The Creator, Kali Uchis

3. Heart racing - Kanii, Riovazz, Nimstarr

4. I must apologise - Pinkpantheress

5. Pain - Pinkpantheress

6. Back to the old house - The Smiths

7. Hatachi no koi - Lamp

8. A night to remember - Beabadoobee, Laufey

9. Infrunami - Steve Lacy

10. Lovers rock - Tv Girl

11. Tek it - Cafunè

12. Something about you - Eyedress, Dent May

13. Notion - The Rare Occasions

14. Looking out for you - Joy Again

15. Show me how - Men I Trust

16. The perfect pair - Beabadoobee

17. Duvet - Bôa

18. The way things go - Beabadoobee

19. Lovesick - Laufey

20. Glue song - Beabadoobee, Clairo

21. Bad Habit - Steve Lacy

22. First love/ late spring - Mitski

CHARACTER LIST

not stealing Sawako from kimi ni todoke,

this is just the way i visualise the MC.

https://pin.it/5qqyzbuSk

(Hanabi Pinterest Board)

Name: Y/N Hanabi

Age: 6 (Prologue) 15 (meeting Julius) 16 (at the entrance exam)

Pronouns: She/Her

Magic: Firework Form

Mana: Royal level

Status: Commoner of the common realm

Squad: Blue Rose

Close friends: Asta, Noelle Silva, Mimosa Vermillion, Magna Swing, Luck Voltia, Leopold Vermillion, Sol Marron, Puli Angel, Charlotte Roselei, Wainsley, Yuno, Serene Kira .

Name: Yuno

Age: 16 (when he meets Y/N)

Pronouns: He/Him

Magic: Wind form

Mana: Royal level

Status: Paesant of the forsaken realm

Squad: Golden Dawn

Close friends: Asta, Mimosa Vermillion, Klaus Lunette, Y/N Hanabi, Bell .

Name: Asta

Age: 16 (when he meets Y/N)

Pronouns: He/Him

Magic: Anti-Magic

Mana: None

Status: Paesant of the forsaken realm

Squad: Black Bulls

Close friends: Yuno, Noelle Silva, Magna Swing, Luck Voltia, Finral Roulacase, Vanessa Enoteca, Charmy Pappitson, Gauche Adlai, Gordon Agrippa, Grey, Secre Swallowtail, Zora Ideale, Henry Legolant, Nacht Faust ,Yami Sukehiro, Mimosa Vermillion, Klaus Lunette, Leopold Vermillion, Rill Boismortier, Sally, Kahono, Kiato, Mars, Fana, Fanzell Kruger, Liebe, Rebecca Scarlet, Y/N Hanabi, Lolopechika .

Name: Sol Marron

Age: 19 (At Y/N's entrance exam)

Pronouns: She/Her

Magic: Earth Form

Mana: Commoner level

Status: Commoner rescued by Charlotte Roselei

Squad: Blue Rose

Close friends: Charlotte Roselei, Puli Angel, Y/N Hanabi, Wainsley, Borja, Risacca, Selena, Galgaria .

Name: Charlotte Roselei

Age: 27 (At Y/N's entrance exam)

Pronouns: She/Her

Magic: Briar form

Mana: Noble level

Status: Noble, Blue Rose brigade Captain

Squad: Blue rose

Close friends: Sol Marron, Puli Angel, Y/N Hanabi, Wainsley, Borja, Risacca, Selena, Galgaria, Dorothy Unsworth, Yami Sukehiro( kind of).

Name: Noelle Silva

Age: 16 (When she meets Y/N)

Pronouns: She/Her

Magic: Water form

Mana: Royal level

Status: Noble of the house of Silva

Squad: Black Bulls

Close friends: Asta, Magna Swing, Luck Voltia, Finral Roulacase, Vanessa Enoteca, Charmy Pappitson, Gauche Adlai, Gordon Agrippa, Grey, Secre Swallowtail, Zora Ideale, Henry Legolant, Nacht Faust ,Yami Sukehiro, Mimosa Vermillion, Kahono, Kiato, Y/N Hanabi, Lolopechika .

Name: Mimosa Vermillion

Age: 17 (When she meets Y/N)

Pronouns: She/Her

Magic: Plant form

Mana: Noble level

Status: Noble of the house of Vermillion

Squad: Golden Dawn

Close friends: Yuno, Klaus Lunette, Asta, Noelle Silva, Y/N Hanabi, Lolopechika, David, Letoile, Hamon, Dorothy Unsworth .

Name: Julius Novachrono

Age: 43 (When he meets Y/N)

Pronouns: He/Him

Magic: Time form

Mana: Royal level

Status: Wizard King

Ex-Squad: Grey Deer

Close Friends: Yami Sukehiro, William Vangeance, Marx, Damnatio Kira, Owen, Serene Kira.

PROLOGUE

Ever since i was a kid, I could remember the townsfolk around me praising me for my silly magic: " Wow, Y/N! you're really living up to the Hanabi name"

I never understood if they were making fun of me for my name and magic or if they were actually impressed by my childish magic, either way I played along: I acted nice and thankful to them, entertaining them with my fireworks and putting on a show for those who were so unfortunate to not own enough magic. As I grew up, I kept seeing my magic as stupid and useless, but everything changed when that woman from the land of the sun stumbled in our hostel.

"Uhm, excuse me, are there rooms available?"

That woman was beautiful, with long silky black hair, and her deep black eyes had a shape that could make the prettiest woman in the world jealous. She was so different, yet it was impossible not to find her beautiful. Even I ,a 6 year old, found her attractive.

Time passed by, and that woman never left, Mizuki was her name, and she said it meant hope. Hope is a concept that she embraced wholeheartedly. Being able to survive the trip from the land of the sun to the clover kingdom was a miracle, and thanks to it, she regained the strength to "hope." Mizuki taught me a lot about her homeland, and I was so fascinated by it. Not only that, but she also helped me work my magic with her knowledge and with her "hope."

"Your magic, it reminds me a lot of festivals back home," She spoke softly: "It's a very unique attribute. I think you'll become a great mage Y/N-chan!" .

I scoffed. Me? A great mage? As if, I'm a lowly commoner with the stupid magic of creating silly sparkles. Yet she was so convinced of herself that I almost believed it for a moment. Time passed, and I grew, and Mizuki never left. To be honest, I was glad. She was the first person who was true to me.

I was 14 now. One year left before i could get my grimoire. I was walking home when I saw Mizuki walking out of the town with her bags. I froze.

"Mizuki! Please, wait. "

She turned around, and in that moment, my memories of her arrival here came back in my mind.

Even if i didn't notice, she had changed so much. Her long silky black hair was now short and not as beautiful as it once was, her clothing from the traditional clothes of her land to the rowdy commoner clothes of the clover kingdom. The only things that didn't change were her piercing, unique black eyes that, to my surprise, were swelling in tears as she took in the vision of me.

My vision was blurry, my lips started to pout, and i could feel something ticklish and wet falling down my cheek. Mizuki dropped her bags, froze for a second, and then started sprinting towards me. I knew what was coming, so instinctively, I opened my arms, waiting for her embrace. One that had conforted me for 7 years, the same one that made me feel safe and happy.

" Y/N-chan, I am so sorry. I never meant to leave you like this, but my homeland has summoned me back, and I still have a duty to fulfil back there." She stopped for a second as she sobbed uncontrollably. "My dear, I'll miss you so much. These years have been the greatest of my life, and with you, I sealed a bond no magic will ever break. So please. Never forget me and know that I will be back!"

" I hope so, Mizuki!"

The feeling of her embrace was one I could not forget. She was gone, but her touch was still on my skin.

I walked back into my family's hostel, and I was met by my relatives wearing gloomy faces. They, too, had a bond with the foreigner. I went up to my room, reminiscing on everything I could have done with Mizuki or everything i should have told her. When I noticed a medium-sized box on my bed, next to it laid a letter titled : To my Dear Y/N. The letter was signed by Mizuki, so i took no second thoughts and immediately opened it.

Inside, the letter read:

Dear Y/N, I'm sorry for leaving so abruptly, but there are just many things in my country that I yet need to discover. Over the years, we have built an amazing bond, a string that no matter how strong the magic it will never break us apart. A string that will always lead us back to one another. That is my hope.

Even if it takes us a hundred years, we will meet again, and for me to recognise you From Afar i gift you this piece of clothing from my country. It is a modified piece to be more comfortable in battle because I know you will become the strongest mage in the whole kingdom of clover. In the occasion that it happens, I ask you not to forget your values nor me, the same way as I will never forget you, my darling.

As of now, there isn't much for me to say, I hope you don't despair for me because I don't want my beautiful sparkle to loose it's fire. Whatever happens, just know I will protect you From Afar Y/N-chan.

All my love. Mizuki.

I stared at the letter for a few minutes before little water droplets started to fall on the paper. I hated crying it was a way to express weakness, yet I couldn't stop my tears from overflowing in my eyes.

I sat there in silence a few second, the only thing you could hear were my short sobs and my breath hitches. Then, I decided to open the box.

Inside was a kimono, but it was different from the ones she wore: It didn't have a skirt and the ends of it were very loose; even the top was loose which was weird since she taught me that wearing the kimono incorrectly was just offensive and rude yet here it was an immodest kimono wow. Ironic Mizuki. The sleeves started very tight and after the elbow it got insanely large. Even if this was VERY modified, it still looked cool. The whole cloth was mainly a dark red adorned with traditional cloud motives and the bottom of the sleeves had red hibiscus flowers on them.

Next to the kimono sat many other things: An obi alongside an obi-age and an obi-shime, a big headpiece with a bow and somesort of upside down small fan? That's what it looked like. And huge wooden sandals, which I'm pretty sure the sole was a bit too big.

" Thank you, Mizuki "

Even when she was going to abandon me, she still thought of leaving something for me to wear in the future. That woman is full of kindness in her heart.

We'll meet again someday, I know it

Author's Note

Ermmmm, I have no idea if this will actually make it in my brain as a fanfiction, but i'll try to keep it updated! In the meantime, please enjoy this intro + short prologue!!!

The MC is kinda based off my Oc and you can kinda see that, I did also put in another Oc of mine who i didn't give info about if you want to know more about Serene Kira let me know!

[queenofmalkier]

The cosplay foam will be here tomorrow.

Day 133 where I am irrationally angry that Amazon isn't selling mock-ups of WOT props. I deserve the space-age bullshit horn of valere.

[waiting-makes-me-antsy]

updated about me :p

name: Antsy Whispers/ Antsy/ Whispers/ Parsley

NAMES IM THINKING ABOUT: Hero

pronouns: they/them and he/him [transmasc]

age: minor 👍👍

General Anxiety Disorder and ADHD 🤠🤠🤠

#antsys art for all my art

#antsys reblogs for all my reblogs

Musicals I Love:

Newsies, Falsettos, Dear Evan Hansen, Be More Chill, Sweeney Todd, Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief, Les Miserables, Legally Blonde, Something Rotten!, Wicked, Heathers, The Book of Mormon

Favorite Books/Book Series:

Perks of Being a Wallflower, The Song of Achilles, The Odyssey, The Iliad, Percy Jackson, The Great Gatsby, Animal Farm, Lord of the Flies, Warrior Cats, Wings of Fire, The Wingfeather Saga, The Art of War, Les Miserables, Watership Down, Dear Evan Hansen: The Novel, Foxheart, Lord of the rings

Videogames I Love:

FNAF, Animal Crossings, Pokemon, Cult of the Lamb, Stardew Valley, Minecraft, Omori, Don't Starve

other fandoms :p

Stranger Things, Gravity Falls, Smiling Friends, Moral Orel, South Park

I am in the KOSA newsies strike

Favorite Music Artists:

AJR, MARINA, Lemon Demon, Mitski, The Smiths, TV Girl, Mother Mother, Cavetown, Will Wood, The Crane Wives, Chappell Roan, CG5, Melanie Martinez, Los Campesinos!, Jack Stauber, Glass Animals, Girl in Red, The Front Bottoms, and more

SOCIALS:

Sandwich_isSand on Ao3

Sandwich_isSand / Antsy on YT antsywhispers on Discord

AMAZING AMIGOS AND MUTUALS YOU NEED TO FOLLOW IMMEDIANTLY: @erstersauce @ya-what--ya-erster @blinkinbrothershark @fell-outta-my-chair @stxrringsky

@getyourpaybackwithsomepayback @ivys-head-is-spinning @i-think-im-still-turning-out @talesaroundthefire @elmer-not-the-glue

@yetanotherkris @the-realest-spot-conlon @lemonlord14 @broareweabouttoviberightnow @ykthefancyclamwiththepearlinside

@newsieskid @talesaroundthefire @theres-no-escaping-us-pal @broadwaynewsie @marvinsbitch

@i-aint-got-santa-fe @theylovewinnie @carryingthebanner8

[ryeriy]

can I request either jack or trevor making their kids halloween costume and it being cute and fluffy?

Yes omg this is so cute I adore it smm

my fashionista

warnings: none

a/n: this is so cute this could low-key be a series with this I made with with different scenarios but idk if I will, let me know :)

navigation post

"Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" Alexis came running into my bedroom. She was all excited and climbed up into my bed. "Guess what mommy!" She exclaimed. She was sitting right in front of me. "What is it, sweetheart?" I asked her while rubbing my eyes.

It was late at night. She had woken me from my sleep, but I didn't know how much I was asleep. The last time I checked she was in her bed doing the same. I'm curious to as why she is running into my room. "Daddy is making my costume!" She bounced up and down and clapped her hands.

"He is? Wow Lex!" I sat up resting my back against the headboard. I could see a wide smile on her face. I couldn't help but smile to myself. But I was also confused to as why he would be making a costume at this time of night, considering he just got home from a game.

"He's doing it now too! Come look, Mommy!" Alexis pulled my arm lightly. I picked her up and I got out of my bed, placing her on the ground. She ran right to the living room. "Hurry!" She eagerly spoke.

For being five, she has a sassy side to her. She gets that from me though, so can I complain? I rubbed my eyes and yawned. I walked down the stairs to see Jack sitting on the floor with a hot glue gun in hand, all sorts of colored rhinestones, and an outfit. The TV was on to a hockey game that was on. "What's going on here?" I said while looking at him softly.

"I promised Lex I would make her costume this year and so I'm sitting here the day before Halloween making a butterfly costume," he looked at me and smiled. I laughed and smiled at him.

"You're not tired?" I asked him. He just got home from a game and probably the store to get all of these supplies.

"Oh no, I am, I just needed to get this done for her so I decided to go to the convince store and grab a few things. Care to sit out here with me?" Jack asked.

Alexis was excited to see Jack, she sat down next to him and smiled. He put the glue gun down and lifted her into his lap. I watched him as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the forehead. I walked over to them and sat down next to him watching him glue the rhinestones onto her costume. It was the cutest thing to watch. "I've been working on it for a few days now, but it's almost done, Lexi!" He said while glueing a few more on.

"I thought this was last minute?" I asked him while looking over at him. Alexis was starting to wind down and start to get a little tired. I could tell she was. "This part of the costume, the headband, tutu, and shies were already done," he replied.

"Lexi, baby, wanna see your costume?" Jack asked her. His head looked down to see her with her eyes closed. She had fallen asleep in his arms. "I guess she'll have to wait until tomorrow," he said while chucking a bit. "There's no point of me getting up now since she'll probably wake up if I decide to move," he jokingly said.

I got up before I grabbed Alexis off of his lap. "I've got her, go get some rest now. I don't care if it's in the bedroom or in here just sleep," I smiled as I walked upstairs slowly to her room.

I got to her room and slowly put her down on her bed. Pulled her blankets over her tucking her in. I bent down to stroke her before kissing her on the forehead slowly and quietly closing her door. I sighed in relief as I got her to her room without waking her. I made my way to my bedroom to see Jack lying down. I climbed into bed next to him. "Goodnight, babe," I leaned over and saw him sleeping and kissed him on the forehead before laying down and falling asleep myself.

31 days of Halloween

join my taglist

mentions: @hischierhaze @67-angelofthelordme-67 @jackhughes-86 @huggy-hischier94 @trevorzegrizz @cole-mcward48 @jackhughesswife

[episims]

Elise "Ew, Hunt. Your drool is like glue!" No matter what Daph says, Amy should've told me. But... ugh, it's so like Amy. She speaks when she's not supposed to and doesn't say a thing when she should...

Esther "-just checking in. Remember how I said you can call anytime?"

Elise "...Y-yes. Sorry."

Esther "But you must've been busy. I heard you have a TV blog, now!"

Elise "Um. You did..?"

Esther "The editor happens to be a close friend of mine. Mark my words, you will be a proper cultural correspondent in no time."

Elise "But... I-I like writing a TV blog."

Esther "That kind of attitude gets you nowhere, Elise. Never give up on pushing forward! You could be writing reviews of grand concerts instead of silly TV series."

Elise "I-I don't know anything about music..."

Esther "That's a shame. Tristan's always loved music."

Elise ". . ."

Lydia "Oh... hello, Esther."

Esther "Good day, Lydia. I just stopped by on my way to work."

Elise "...Hi, mommy."

Elise Should I write about music, then...? But they said at work that my blog has gotten a good start...

Uh, at least Amy's easier to understand than Tristan's mom. I think she tries to be nice, but... I'm glad Tristan isn't like her at all.

[misscammiedawn]

okay i need to ask cause im curious, what are your top 5 bruce banner/hulk stories? i have such a hole in my marvel knowledge about them aside from like. cartoons or w/e of him

Oh, this is a pleasant surprise. Thank you for asking.

We'll be quite happy to hear your favorite DC comics in return sometime, so do hit us up.

So, to answer the question. It's on a sliding scale. Hulk is an interesting character because he's the ultimate incarnation of a typical miscommunication fight-to-friends superhero scuffle. His one against Wolverine was the introduction of that character and both Avengers AND Defenders had elements of that in their origins.

Hulk makes for a glue to the Marvel universe because he is always a hero and yet he can always be fighting against other heroes. More often than not he is.

Assume you've checked out our Essay Posts but for us we want to see a story about Hulk explore different aspects of the character. Our favorite authors for him are Peter David, Greg Pak and Al Ewing. We also prefer stories that deal with Bruce's DID.

#1 is and always will be Immortal Hulk. This 50 issue run is so good it briefly outsold Batman. It's horror themed, references the entire lore of the character and is an anti-capitalism anthem. I once saw a shitpost that said that Immortal Hulk is what Mr. Robot would be if the Alderson System decided to just punch capitalism until it stopped. But sincerely it's introspective, it's respectful of DID in a way I've not really seen many other comics get right and Joe says "Trans Rights" (there's also a prominent trans character who resists propaganda/nostalgia based mind control because she's fucking sick of the world telling her what she is supposed to be and she does not look at her childhood as a safe place to retreat to).

#2 Ground Zero by Peter David. This was about the time that PAD was gearing Hulk from the Mantlo era into his soap opera era and in this era he's writing a Gray Hulk who speaks more than the green guy and isn't the hero that everyone would associate with the character. The best part of this arc by far is the depiction of Sam Sterns, The Leader, and why he is a fun and perfect foil for Hulk/Banner. Just a damn good comic. As its its spiritual follow-up a few years later, Countdown.

#3 Joe Fixit/Vegas Arc by Peter David. Right after Ground Zero. Pretty much anything between Joe's introduction in Vegas as an enforcer up until Samson forces the system to merge into a new alter called The Professor. It's soap opera action but it's fun seeing the Hulk/Banner divide from the perspective of Hulk. Usually Banner is the one trying to prevent the transformations and feeling Hulk is ruining his stability and life but here you have Joe living a happy life and Banner being the thing ruining it for him. Made for some interesting stories for a few years. The scene with Betty and Joe laughing together is one of my favorite moments in comic history.

#4 Planet Hulk. Honestly anything in Pak's run is good (I especially liked the Amadeus Cho stuff with Hercules) but Planet Hulk is rightfully held up as the best of the era and gets consistent adaptations (Thor Ragnarok is pretty much Planet Hulk). Hulk being imprisoned by a barbarian race is actually a fairly common story. I can think of 3 times it has happened off the top of my head. He even gets a love interest in 2 of them. But this one is the perfection of that oddly specific formula.

#5 Crossroads. The Bill Mantlo series which pretty much all modern Hulk takes inspiration from knowingly or otherwise. 80s Hulk was a weird time because of the TV show bringing a lot of interest to the character which couldn't translate into the Marvel universe as it stood at the time and that series was able to isolate him out into his little adventures which were fairly isolated and got to be experimental. Also includes the Banner family backstory as well as a symbiotic alien parasite a short while before Spidey had his black suit stuff happen. It's a classic.

Thank you for asking and sincerely ignore everything and just read Immortal Hulk because it's the correct answer.