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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 2 years ago

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(4) TENDER LIKE A BRUISE ─── ethan landry 𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “The heart is the toughest part of the body. Tenderness is in the hands." — ‘The Country Between Us’, Carolyn Forché

pairing. spiderman!ethan landry x reader

warnings. swearing, mention of blood, death, alcohol, and sex

summary. after that stint with the spidersuit on halloween, quinn’s getting suspicious… (1) (2) (3) (4)

a/n. sorry for the long wait everyone! also sorry that this is such a short chapter, i sprained my ankle the other day LOL

iiii.

The night after you save Ethan in the Spidersuit, you and your entire friend group are crowded in the apartment, ready to watch a shitty indie movie Mindy got from her uncle, who was as big a movie-geek as she was.

First, however, Quinn had flicked on the news. She coursed through every channel, until she stopped on an opinionated broadcast by the name of the Daily Bugle, some obscure network that Ethan had worked at for, like, a year while he was still in highschool.

“He’s kind of, like, the devil,” Ethan told you one time at a diner, a place you landed in since you two couldn’t choose which place you wanted to order at.

“J. Jonah Jameson seems like a very interesting creature. Devilish for sure, though,” You said, scrolling through the man’s miniscule Wikipedia page, alongside a handful of tweets using his biased shaming as reaction videos.

Ethan held the plastic-lined menu in his large hands, turning it over to see the other side. “He was big on work ethic, meeting your quota, having to show him every article before it was published, stuff like that. It was really efficient, actually, but he was just… insufferable.”

“Worst boss ever?”

“Worst boss ever,” Ethan said, shaking his head and taking a sip of his drink - a chocolate milkshake.

So, it really was a surprise that Quinn was itching to watch his news, practically vibrating out of her skin. Even in general it was uncharacteristic of her, as she always seemed bored to death by the news Sam watched in the morning.

“Quinn, I thought you hated the news.” Tara said, mild mannered and sitting down next to Mindy.

“Especially this bald head-ass,” Mindy said, scooching over to make room.

Quinn waved off everyones protests. “Someone I know is in this.” She then sat on the floor close to the television screen, “I just need to watch this one bit, ‘kay? Then we’ll get to whatever epistolary movie you want, Minds.”

“It’s not epistolary, it’s a mockumentary about—“

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, Uncle Randy’s got you all educated.” Chad walked in with a pillow, pushing his sister over and plopping down right in between her and Tara.

You were in the kitchen with Ethan, heating up bags of popcorn in the microwave, when Quinn cranked up the volume of the news way high. You could now hear it from there, and you both caught the segment's tagline.

“Spiderman’s New Sidekick: Menace, or Martyr? Just last night, the attention-seeking “hero” was seen causing more mayhem in the city of New York. The troublemaker was accompanied by a similar web slinging partner - though still suspiciously hiding their identity. The following clip has been sent anonymously to us.”

The tv network then played a clip of you, fidgeting with the web slingers, clumsily making your way through New York and hitting several garbage cans over in the process. Your suit, however, was encapsulated in darkness, and all anyone could see was that white hood and those big curved eyes the mask had — tell-tale spiderman features.

Your eyes darted to Ethan’s own, who was wide-eyed and pale.

Ethan had long grown inured to the media’s attention on him, seeing as he had been doing this spiel for two years now - but you being in the news was a whole other story.

The boy leaned over, presumably to whisper pretend sweet nothings in your ear (truthfully completely panicked thoughts about you in the suit) when Mindy interrupted your thoughts.

“Oh my god, Quinn, don’t tell me you’re watching Jameson bash Spiderman because you don’t like him?” Mindy groaned, sinking into the couch.

Quinn was quiet, which was really just an answer.

Mindy leaned over from her spot on the couch. “Give me —“ she and Quinn wrestled for the remote, “the remote, I can’t listen to this entitled senior citizen bash Spiderman any longer—“

“He’s informing the public about a troublemakers misdeeds—“

“He should be informing the public he’s getting admitted into a senile care home—“

Then the two of them landed on the floor with a thud, the microwave went off, and Chad took over Mindy’s space on the couch, artfully “yawning” and placing an arm on Taras shoulder, who gave him a look but didn’t shrug him off.

Well. So much for a peaceful night. You can see why Sam spent so much time at Danny’s place.

The majority of you were sporting hangovers, and had wished to experience a relaxing evening, falling asleep to the droning of a Meeks-Martin Movie Recommendation (a name Chad protested everytime you said it, saying, “it’s associating me with Mindy’s movie-geek bullshit”) whose philosophical points generally flew over your head.

(Hangovers excluding you and Ethan, who had spent the rest of the night patching eachother up, in which you were privy to Ethan’s nursing skills - or more accurately, the lack thereof.

You had found yourselves once more in the apartment's cramped bathroom, except this time you were getting bandaged up for the scrapes on your elbows.

You were squirming under Ethan’s touch, his hands in a heavy grip on your forearms. At some point, Ethan had enough of your movement, used his large hands to pull you close by the waist, and continued his idle work on your arms there.

The manhandling had you so flustered you dared not move for the rest of treatment, turning your head away from the mirror so as not to reveal the terrible blush on your face.

On the other hand, Ethan was completely oblivious of the nature of his actions, focused on bandaging your wound correctly.

In the end, despite all the fuss, he forgot to use rubbing alcohol, and didn't know how to tie the bandage, leaving an articulate bow to finish the wraps off instead. Still, you appreciated the effort.

He had done it in his awkward, stilted way, which was incredibly endearing in its own right.)

Silence flooded the room, until you pulled the popcorn out of the microwave, and you and Ethan poured the bags into their respective bowls for each person.

Mindy and Quinn then untangled themselves from each other, getting up and wiping the dust of their clothes like nothing had ever happened.

“So,” You said, trying to play it cool, “what’s the deal with Spidey, my boyfriend's boyfriend?”

Ethan followed from the kitchen, pushing you playfully (and hoping this fake nonchalance was convincing enough). “Turn that nonsense off, Q. Don’t you remember Jameson’s outburst when I quit?”

The man had had a tantrum when Ethan quit the poor summer job he was working in their offices.

Ethan got the job in the first place because his dad was part of the NYPD, and Jameson thought Ethan might be able to spill some incredibly confidential “juicy” details about ongoing cases. When Ethan failed to deliver, Jameson forgot about him, and he spent two months doing miniscule tasks, like sorting paperwork or going for coffee runs.

Suffice to say, it wasn’t the office experience Ethan was hoping for, so he promptly quit. There was also the awkward matter of Jameson’s increasing hatred of Spiderman, wherein Ethan was forced to regularly voice his “irritation” toward the hero.

(Which was kind of hard to put his heart into when, well, he was the hero.)

And although it was a proper quitting, too, with a two weeks notice and everything, Jameson didn’t care, and berated seventeen-year old Ethan in front of the twenty something workers he had under his feet. But Ethan hadn’t cared too much either, and went to the theater to watch a movie right after.

You and Ethan waited for Quinn’s familiar jabs at Ethan’s old job (in which Quinn had laughed for a solid ten minutes when he came home from quitting, in utter shock that her little brothers first job ended with a 60-year-olds toddler tantrum), his “love” of Spiderman, or even just Ethan in general - but nothing came. She merely shifted her gaze from you to him, before shrugging, and handing the remote back to Mindy.

So movie-night was back on, but a certain feeling was creeping up both your spines, twin looks being traded between you and Ethan.

What exactly had prompted Quinn to watch a broadcast about Spiderman? No matter how much she ranted about the hero, she equally hated Jameson and the news.

You wracked your brain for a single solution throughout the entire movie, and it had only clicked when Mindy began her routine film-analysis, bringing out the small, rollable white board you all had tried to hide from her, just so you wouldn’t need to listen to any more movie essays.

You got up, and pulled Ethan along with you, Mindy shooting you two a disgusted look, and Chad throwing you a thumbs up.

(You hadn’t noticed, but Quinn’s eyes trailed after you with a glint of suspicion.)

“She knows,” you said, hushed and ducking in the dimly lit apartment hallway near your bedroom.

“What?” Ehan said, brows furrowed.

“She knows. Quinn.”

“Quinn knows what?”

“Oh my god,” you refrained from hitting him, “Quinn knows you’re Spiderman.”

“What?”

“Quinn knows y—“

“No, I mean, what as in what the fuck?! Are you sure she knows?”

“I just - she was looking at us weirdly during the Spiderman broadcast, and through the entire movie, too—“

“That doesn’t mean she knows, right? She could be looking at us because we’re “dating”, or because — ‘cause I’m her stupid Spiderman geek brother, or—“

“Okay, but she could also be looking because she knows you’re Spiderman, knows I’m the weird sidekick on the news—“

“[Name]! Just,” Ethan pressed two fingers between his eyes, “can we let this go? Just for tonight?”

You sighed, leaning your head against the wall. “Fine! Let’s just… pretend none of this ever happened. That she, like, probably doesn’t know.”

“[Name].”

“Okay! Okay, you win. But just for tonight, because I swear, if I wake up tomorrow and my mom’s blasting my phone because Quinn told someone about it—“

“She doesn’t know!” Ethan repeated, before sticking his fingers in his ears and walking away like a little kid.

You shook your head at his immaturity, but stuck your tongue out at him when he wasn’t looking, anyway.

After that isolated incident of suspicion, you and Ethan kept a particularly close watch on his sister's actions, reactions, and movements.

How she reacted when Ethan raved about how much he “adored” Spiderman, the faces she made when Sam passed The Daily Bugle channel on TV, how guarded her body language was when you walked around Central Park and someone called out from afar that Spiderman had just swung by.

And she was so fucking suspicious.

Quinn’s eyes would thin, looking at Ethan and you when he talked about Spiderman, she’d watch intently when Sam passed Jamesons channel, if even for a second, and she’d look to the skies every time somebody shouted “Spiderman” in the park or the streets.

Ethan countered your every thought, however, constantly reminding you of her previously mentioned hatred for the hero, using that as an excuse for her every move.

You two find yourselves arguing over the matter again, this time while walking across campus to your next classes, having to hold hands as you did so just so people wouldn’t think your arguing was actually you two in the process of breaking up.

“E, she knows. I mean, for gods sakes, what person who doesn’t know sends their brother nasty looks when someone talks about Spiderman?”

“Well, maybe, I’m her little brother who she’s made fun of every moment for the last nineteen years?”

“Oh my god, Ethan, we can’t keep pretending she doesn’t know you’re Spiderman!” you whisper shouted in his ear, pretending to pick something out of his hair.

“Well, I was just suspicious, but you two have gone ahead and confirmed it for me.” Quinn suddenly appeared beside you, walking in tandem with your paces.

Then, you and Ethan both stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, shock still, jaws dropped, almost getting hit by a bike in the process.

“What?” She said, tilting her head to the side.

“What?” Ethan said back.

“What -“ You began, but the irony sunk in rather quickly. “No, fuck— Quinn, how the f— how did you find out?” you whispered low, pulling her by the sweater sleeve as you began walking again.

Quinn looked back to make sure nobody was listening secretly, like she had done just moments prior. “Again, I was just suspicious. Knowing was all you two. But… you guys are kind of, like, really obvious. Like, on movie night, you were fighting in the kitchen about the popcorn, and when I turned on the news you went quiet. When me and Mindy argue about the better heroes, you look at eachother like you’re about to burst out laughing every time I say I hate Spiderman. And your Halloween costume,” she pointed at you, “had a hood that looked a lot like the one on TV.”

You scratched your cheek sheepishly, considering the facts against you. “Okay, we are… more obvious than I thought.”

“We?” Ethan said, incredulous. “I’ve hid this for years.”

Quinn snorted, stifling a laugh. “Ethan, you’re fucking terrible,” she punched her brother, “at lying. I just never brought it up. Honestly, what the hell is “I’m going out for patrol — no, I meant I’m going on a date with [Name]” supposed to mean to me?” She mocked Ethan’s nervous stuttering.

Ethan went red. “I— well, — I mean, dad doesn’t even know, and he’s like a bloodhound.”

Quinn shrugged. “Sure, he doesn’t say anything, but he also never reports any unnatural cobwebs he finds on the criminals either.”

“I’ll be damned,” Ethan said, starstruck. You patted his shoulder pitifully.

“Does anyone else…?” You gestured lightly to the general population on campus.

Quinn shook her head. “Not that I know of. And I won't tell anyone, if that’s what you mean.”

The three of you stopped to sit at a water fountain, the conversation becoming much more serious by the look of Quinn’s face.

She had bit her lower lip, suddenly looking far off, a mix of melancholy and fury shining in her brown eyes. “As long as you don’t get yourself killed, Ethan, I won’t tell anyone.”

Ethan gulped, probably remembering all the times he did exactly that. “I promise, Quinn, I—“

“Because I know you will, Ethan. And I will fucking dig our brother out of the earth if you dare to—“

All of a sudden, this didn’t feel like a confrontation between friends — it felt like a heartfelt conversation between family, and you felt very out of place.

Just seeing how furious Quinn looked, but how her lip trembled, how fists clenched with the memories of their brother, how Ethan leaned away, trying to escape any confrontation in relation to their brother, how his expression tensed - it made you feel icky, like you were interrupting that which was none of your business.

As you were about to leave, step away from the incredibly private situation and duck into your school building, Quinn grabbed you by the hand. “[Name], promise me, please, keep my brother safe. You’re in this way deeper than I am, so…”

She waited for confirmation. When you didn’t respond, Quinn continued. “You love him, I can tell, so please, just… keep him alive, for me, okay?.”

Your mouth opened and closed. She still thought you two were—

You considered telling her the truth, but - but her gaze was so desperate, tone so heartfelt, the only thing you could do was nod.

From there, you could feel the guilt eat at you, simultaneous to the burning you felt in your heart. You wanted to protect Ethan, you wanted to keep him safe - you did not want to lose him, for that would be like losing a limb.

And then Quinn’s words echoed in your ears once more: you love him, I can tell—

You breathe, in and out, conscious coming back to the Earth, and you slip away from the pair of siblings, Quinn’s words ringing in your ears, Ethan’s gaze lingering on you as you stepped into Blackmore.

taglist: @iloveneilperry @backtotheshitshow @hazehepburn @powowowy @ifilwtmfc @oscarisdaddy69 @al1v3cvp1d2@bloodyeverything @diamondci1ty @l5bryinth @gojosbucket @volturi-girl-imagines @sflame15-blog @thatoneembarrasingmoment @bajadotcom @cerealzzz @elynk @theapulidooo @solaceinwritings @1horrormoviewhore1 @anthemabby @mia-luvs @dont-get-upset @knxv1lie @verveta345 @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @xyzstar @ihearttokissboys

strikethrough = wouldn’t allow me to tag, sorry!

#spiderman #spiderman!ethan landry #jack champion #ethan landry x reader #scream vi #mcu #scream 6 #jack champion x reader #spiderman!ethanlandry #spiderman ethan landry #ethan landry

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jamphibiann · 2 months ago

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in a hyperthetical modern au, what tv shows or music you think your characters would like?

ooooh fun question!

Tbh think Bruin would be really into really long drama shows. Like they’ve watched Grey’s anatomy in its entirety at least half a dozen times. Really long mindless shows they can just zone out and fly though. Not to be cliche but nature documentaries would also work if they needed background noise. Headcanon that Bruin listens exclusively to classical music or else audiobooks/podcasts.

I think Pietro would be a YouTube deep dive type of bird. Their YouTube recommendations are a menagerie of random informative or educational videos and they’ll hit one randomly when it catches their attention and then watch 20 other videos on the topic and then rinse and repeat the next day. Ironically I think Pietro would love pop music, some really mindless upbeat tunes they can hum and dance along to. It would calm them down and get them to relax a bit!

Ok speedrun

Alice (limb by limb): I believe in my soul that she was a silent fan of all the 2000s emo bands. In her feels gazing out the bus window listening to my chemical romance. Also I’m projecting SuperWhoLock onto her. She was there, in the trenches, writing johnlock and destiel fan-fiction with the rest of us.

Amanda (goode’s ((Cantripped)): only cadence knows this about her but she LOVES cheesy rom coms and hallmark movies but with anyone else she pretends to hate them. “Uh my last case was better than this! *continues watching*”

Corinthia (mythos) she would totally end up watching entirely like. The older Disney channel shows with her little sister and unironically enjoy them. She would sing along to the liv and Maddie theme song I just know it.

Sterling (umber ((also Cantripped)) (MY CURRENT EXTREME HYPERFIXATION) Sterling would have the most obscure indie rock music taste. They’re frequenting concerts in the tiniest venues you can dream of and they ARE moshing.

#i had fun with this one #cantripped #mythos and magic #boundsmp #skybound pietro #fablesmp #fablesmp bruin #limb by limb

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pullhisteeth · 2 months ago

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I saw Gladiator II this weekend (no spoilers!) and I know he's getting more and more attention and I know I (and many if not most of his fans) discovered him through Stranger Things which isn't exactly lowkey/indie/obscure but I felt such an intense parasocial pride watching Joe Quinn. putting my own feelings of affection aside (lol), he's a fucking staggering actor and 🥹 I am so glad he's getting big breaks like this. He has such an exciting couple of years ahead. I've watched him on the big screen THREE times this year! and two of those movies were big fucking deals! and I am very excited for him. He's really fucking good in Gladiator btw. Steals the show in every scene he's in. <3

#it's so silly I'm a grown woman feeling like this about a perfect stranger #but he really is very talented and I'm really excited to see what comes next for him #I love him!#joe quinn #joseph quinn #gladiator #gladiator ii #gladiator 2

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nickeverdeen · 4 months ago

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hi! can i request romantic matchups for arcane and tlou2? i’m lesbian so only women please :)

my pronouns are she/her. i have long black hair, dark brown eyes and warm olive skin, average height. i’m on the curvier side but still look quite lean, probably because i did dancing in the past. i don’t have any muscles tho lmaooo but at least my posture is good and i’m flexible. i have very feminine style but i prefer dark colours and more intense then cute looks. lovee jewellery

i’m an introvert and very protective about my personal space. i was told i look intimidating and give off cold first impression which i can see but honestly i just need time to warm up to people. was also told i have a black cat personality.

from how i see it i’m confident and have good leadership qualities but prefer work alone most of the time. bold and flirty especially when i like someone. i’m usually chill but at times can get annoyed easily, i’m also opinionated and stubborn. call people out on their bs very quickly, can be quiet straightforward, sometimes even bossy lol. my mbti is intj

for my interests, i’m really into social sciences, history and astronomy! love studying languages, arts, books and cinema, i’m a big horror fan. and listening to music of course, mostly rnb, punk, indie and hip hop

for my partners i prefer strong personalities so they can keep up and tone me down at times lmao. really appreciate initiative and protective traits in people, i like to be the one approached

thank you!!

Your Arcane match is…

Caitlyn Kiramman

Caitlyn would absolutely adore your dark, intense, yet feminine style

She’d appreciate your fashion sense, and you two would often share little accessories or jewelry pieces

She’d love buying you gifts, perhaps a vintage ring or an elegant necklace she found at some obscure shop

Caitlyn is sharp and well-educated, making her the perfect match for someone with a passion for social sciences, history, and astronomy

Your conversations would be deep and thought-provoking, often lasting late into the night as you explore each other’s minds

Caitlyn understands your need for personal space and would never pressure you to open up before you’re ready

She would admire your independence and give you the freedom you need, knowing that you’d come to her when you felt comfortable

With her background in law enforcement, Caitlyn is naturally protective

She would always be looking out for you, whether it’s making sure you’re safe on the streets of Piltover or emotionally supporting you when you’re feeling overwhelmed

Caitlyn is a take-charge kind of woman

She’d love surprising you with well-thought-out dates, like a private stargazing session or a visit to a historical site in Piltover, appealing to your love for astronomy and history

Caitlyn would never be put off by your cold or intimidating first impression

She’s seen plenty of people try to keep her at arm’s length, but she knows how to slowly break down those walls with kindness and understanding

Caitlyn would be thoroughly entertained by your bold and flirty nature. She might blush at your forwardness but would secretly enjoy every moment of it, finding your confidence refreshing

Your straightforwardness and Caitlyn’s strong sense of justice could lead to some intense debates

But these would only strengthen your relationship, as both of you would respect each other’s opinions and resolve any conflicts maturely

Despite her composed exterior, Caitlyn has a secret love for horror films

You’d have regular horror movie nights, where you’d get to cuddle up close, sharing reactions to every twist and scare

You both value your personal space, so you’d have no problem spending time together without the need to fill the silence

Whether you’re reading in the same room or simply sitting quietly, the presence of the other would be enough

Caitlyn’s strong and steady personality would be the perfect counterbalance to your sometimes stubborn and opinionated nature

She’d be the calm to your storm, helping you see different perspectives when you’re too set in your ways

Caitlyn would match your enthusiasm for learning new things, especially languages

You two might even take up a new language together, exchanging notes and practicing with each other

You both have strong leadership qualities, which would create an interesting dynamic

You’d challenge each other in different areas, always pushing one another to grow and improve

While you might be protective of your space initially, Caitlyn would gradually become the person you feel most comfortable being physically close to

She’d always make sure you felt safe and respected in her arms

You’d share your music tastes with each other, with Caitlyn introducing you to classical or jazz, and you showing her the best of RnB, punk, indie, and hip hop

These exchanges would often lead to impromptu dance sessions or relaxed listening evenings

Your The Last of Us Part II match is…

Abby Anderson

Abby’s strong, muscular build would contrast with your curvier, lean frame, making her a protective force in your life

She’d love pulling you close, her strength a comforting reminder that you’re safe with her

Abby is tough, resilient, and assertive—traits that would match your strong personality perfectly

She wouldn’t shy away from your confidence and would enjoy the challenge of keeping up with you

Even though you don’t have muscles, Abby would encourage you to work out with her, finding ways to make it fun and tailored to your interests, maybe incorporating dance moves or flexibility exercises into your routine

Despite her tough exterior, Abby has a soft side when it comes to those she cares about

She’d be subtly flirty with you, enjoying the way you tease her back, especially as she sees through your “black cat” personality

Abby’s protective nature would be a cornerstone of your relationship

Whether you’re out on a dangerous mission or just navigating life in a post-apocalyptic world, Abby would always be by your side, ready to defend you

Abby would be highly respectful of your need for personal space

She’d never push you to open up too quickly, understanding the importance of letting you come to her in your own time

Abby would show her affection through acts of service, like ensuring you have everything you need for a comfortable life or finding little things that remind her of you during her trips outside the compound

Abby’s seen enough horror in real life that fictional scares wouldn’t faze her

She’d indulge your love of horror movies, holding you close when the tension rises on screen, even though she’s barely flinching

Abby would love exploring with you, whether it’s finding old, abandoned places that speak to your love of history or discovering new areas that fuel your passion for astronomy

While Abby might not be as into music as you, she’d enjoy the playlists you make for her

She’d develop a fondness for the punk and indie tracks you love, especially when they remind her of you

Abby wouldn’t back down from your opinionated discussions, often matching your stubbornness with her own

These exchanges would be intense but ultimately strengthen your bond as you navigate conflicts together

Abby’s not the type to force conversation, so you’d have no problem sitting in silence together, enjoying each other’s company without the need for constant chatter

Abby would admire your leadership qualities, often turning to you for advice or relying on your decision-making skills when situations get tough

She respects your confidence and your ability to take charge

Despite her rough exterior, Abby would be incredibly gentle with you in private, showing you a softer side that few others get to see

She’d love running her hands through your long black hair, finding comfort in these small, intimate moments

Living in close quarters wouldn’t be easy for an introvert, but Abby would be attuned to your needs

She’d create a shared space that felt like a sanctuary, allowing you to recharge while still feeling connected to her

#matchups #request #arcane x reader #arcane #arcane caitlyn x reader #caitlyn kiramman #the last of us 2 #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader

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zot3-flopped · 8 months ago

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The fascinating emptiness of one Mr. Louis Tomlinson

Simone De Aurevoir

Feb 20, 2024

Four months ago I went to a concert. The exact city, venue and date doesn’t matter, and you will understand why it doesn’t matter in just a moment. The concert in question was given by Louis Tomlinson, a former member of One Direction, and what I experienced that night was so odd, so puzzling, so fascinating, that I couldn’t help but write it down. Allow me to explain.

The concert took place on a Tuesday evening. It is part of his Faith in the Future tour, and I was accompanying a close friend who is a huge “Louie”, as his fans are called. (Despite the difference in spelling, the man’s name and his fandom are actually pronounced the same way.) I joined her mostly out of solidarity and a little bit out of morbid curiosity. She had previously given me only small glimpses into the Louis Tomlinson fandom, and as a pop culture enthusiast, naturally I was intrigued by this window into an obscure cultural bubble. I remember thinking, “It might be interesting to see what she’s so obsessed with”.

Her first act of initiation had been to take me to see All of Those Voices, the documentary movie about Louis Tomlinson‘s life after One Direction, which depicted his chain smoking Northern English charm, his image of the humble underdog, and the unexpected upwards trajectory of his career over the last five years. It had also instilled in me a vague sense of fear of the fandom. Then again, the intensity of the Gospel is always off putting to atheists, so I thought nothing more of it.

Knowing that football/soccer games dictate which colors to wear and which to avoid, I had half-jokingly asked my friend about taboo colors the day before, not really expecting an answer. Immediately, she texts back — “Don’t wear green, and avoid any obvious combinations of blue and green.” If you’re feeling a sense of foreboding right now, that’s the right instinct.

On the night of the concert, we arrive at the 15,000 seat arena in the brisk evening air. To my surprise, the concrete vestibule is almost empty, save for the small crowd clustering around a merch stand. “They’re all already inside”, my friend explains confidently. We enter through the main entrance into the stuffy warmth of the lobby, through security, past another overcrowded merch stand, and through the soundproofed swinging doors into the main concert hall.

I suddenly feel very small as I enter this gigantic darkened arena space, where the air is even warmer, and buzzing with excitement. Indeed, everybody else is already here. The show won’t actually start for an hour, but the arena is already fully packed. We squeeze past a long row of excited faces to get to our seats, where the local chapter of Louis’s fan club has deposited some items for audience interaction: a blank white sheet of paper and a little snippet of red transparent tracing paper, both with instructions for how and when to hold them up.

While we’re settling in, the second of the two opening bands is already playing — a forgettable mess of clichés from Northern England. “As a white indie boy, Louis tours exclusively with other white indie boys”, my friend remarks with cheeky self awareness. While the clichés are playing, we look around the sold out arena. The two of us are only a little bit younger than Louis himself, which makes us some of the oldest people in the venue (not counting the occasional parental custodians who accompany their teen children).

Fans camping out for a spot in the first row for Louis’s show in Glasgow, 2022. Photograph by Steve Welsh

To me, it looks like we’re just two old pieces of driftwood in a sea of teeth in braces, puffy cheeks and pigtail buns, but my friend explains to me what I’m really seeing. “See that guy over there? That shirt is a Doncaster Jersey with Louis’s team number.” Or: “This girl in front of us? That’s a handmade replica of a t-shirt Louis wore on tour in 2016.” Already, I am amazed at the depth of not just her knowledge, but everybody’s knowledge of the history of this Louis Tomlinson. And then, to my delight, we actually see the forbidden combo: a girl wearing two glow-in-the-dark bracelets next to each other; one blue, one green.

It’s at this point that I finally get an explanation of the meaning behind the colors: Back when the band was still active, all five members of One Direction had a color assigned to them, based on their mic colors at live shows. Harry Styles was green, Zayn Malik was yellow, Liam Payne was red, Louis Tomlinson was blue, and Niall Horan was white. Therefore, wearing blue would symbolize fandom of Louis; wearing, say, red would be an indicator of favoring Liam, and green would symbolize fandom of Harry Styles. And wearing blue and green together would… well, we’ll get to that in a moment.

Since this is Louis’s concert, you might think that the audience would be a sea of exclusively blue clothing, but there is actually a notable amount of rainbow accessories — capes, earrings, fans, etc. — that make for an overall colorful impression.

I wonder out loud how it is possible that somebody who was big with teenagers in the early 2010s has so many teenage fans in 2023. After all, when I was a teenager myself in the late 2000s, it would have seemed unspeakably ridiculous if I had stanned, let’s say, the Spice Girls. (I’m not even sure I was aware of the Spice Girls back then.)

My friend, ever helpful, explains to me that most younger fans came across the fandom in 2020, facilitated by YouTube, Twitter, Tumblr, and pandemic-induced boredom.

Tumblr especially is infamous for its ability to grow and nurture expansive fandoms of pop culture items for years on end, even if the source material is long past its relevance peak (see Supernatural), its quality peak (see Doctor Who) or both (see Sherlock).

The momentum of Louis’ fandom on social media even led to the unusual phenomenon of venues getting bigger every time his concerts were rescheduled due to the pandemic. And this is when it starts to dawn on me. I am not attending a concert; I am witnessing a Tumblr dashboard come to life.

I’m just about to share this thought with my friend when the background music cuts off mid-song, the lights drop, and the sudden darkness comes with a piercing collective shriek that makes the earplugs flutter in my ear canal.

The band comes in first, taking their places. After barely a beat of pause, Louis walks onstage, with messy hair, wearing a tank top and designer sweatpants, walking at a matter-of-fact pace. I assume the shrieking got even louder, but at this noise level it was hard to tell.

Louis takes his place behind the mic stand in the middle and immediately launches into the first song, The Greatest — a stadium anthem basically written explicitly for this spot on the setlist. Not wasting any time on greetings or announcements, he immediately follows up with the other big hit, Kill My Mind. From there, directly onto Bigger Than Me, another stadium-ready rock pop number.

I’m alarmed as I suddenly realize that the only catchy, recognizable songs have come and gone, ushering in the phase of uninterrupted filler songs. (I had dutifully listened to the tour setlist multiple times in preparation for the concert, but my brain just wouldn’t latch on to anything beyond the first three songs.)

At this point, I’m worried this will be a repeat of that time when I went to see P!nk live in concert and noticed too late that I knew none of her songs from after 2005. However, P!nk is a charismatic person and a great live singer who was doing somersaults on a bungee rope as 10 dancers were trampolining and performing aerial acrobatics around her.

Louis is not on a bungee rope. There are no dancers, there is no set piece, there is no stage show, no performance, no outfit changes, no real interaction with the band, and no traditional crowd work. He simply stands behind the mic, singing his songs, the screens above him showing live closeups of his face in black and white, and I’m not sure he smiles even once. For a teen heartthrob, he’s… not very throbby.

(His outfit, by the way, will already have been documented and analyzed by a dedicated Instagram account, @fashionlouist, the owners of which can somehow identify the exact brand and name of each piece he’s wearing within the first 20 minutes of every show. His sweatpants today cost £380.)

Louis on the same tour, earlier in the year. Photograph by Amber Patrick

After the fourth song, Louis finally addresses the audience. “(City), make some noise!” He thanks the two opening acts, and points out that this is one of the loudest crowds he has ever had. That’s it. I’m amused at how his lines are almost comically generic, but my friend explains what I’m not getting: “He always thanks the band, and he always says this wouldn’t be possible without the fans. And he wouldn’t say that if he didn’t mean it. And he only says something about the venue when it’s a really special one.”

She doesn’t see his boilerplate statements as him being uninterested or uninteresting. She sees consistency and authenticity, and judging by the beaming smiles all around me, so does everybody else.

Similarly, his outfit may look to me like he tried to make the least amount of effort, but the fandom like that he is “finally getting more comfortable wearing what he wants”.

In case you’re wondering, Louis’s appeal doesn’t lie in his singing skills either — his pitch gets shaky when the melody dips below the falsetto range, but he is clearly making a great effort in this department. Live singing is hard, and for the most part he’s doing a good job at it.

The interchangeable songs go on for a while, and still the elated fans around me seem to know every syllable. It is very warm, very loud, and for an outsider like me, very boring.

I go outside multiple times to have water, to get another beer, to go to the bathroom. I can’t help but notice that I am the only one in my row leaving her seat during the show. Everybody smiles politely as they let me squeeze past, but every time I do it I’m keenly aware of how inappropriate my behavior is. No one else seems to need or want a break.

In the ghostly emptiness outside I overhear a member of the bar staff complaining about the awful evening. At first I don’t understand what they could possibly find offensive about this quintessentially inoffensive music, but it later dawns on me that they were probably referring to the complete lack of beer and concessions sales. Most attendees are either too young to drink legally or too young to want to spend 6,50€ on a beer. Most of them seem to be sharing one cup of water, and no one is leaving during the concert to go to the bar for a refill.

Down the hall, I hear yelling and commotion which turns out to be paramedics on their way outside, transporting a passed-out teenage fan on a stretcher, accompanied by their panicked friend.

When I return to my seat, everybody around me is still scream-singing along to every single word of every single song, including my friend. They are having a great time. It looks like I missed out on “She Is Beauty We Are World Class“, which, as I had learned earlier that evening, is the song his fans collectively take as an opportunity to show off their rainbow flags and create a queer-accepting atmosphere at the show. Though Louis is, by all accounts, a cishet man, the One Direction fandom has a very, let’s say, specific relationship to queerness and queer symbols. More on that in just a moment.

My ears perk up for a bit when Louis gets to Back to You, a label-mandated collab with Digital Farm Animals and Bebe Rexha from 2017. He plays an altered version of the song with more of a rock sound, but it still stands out to me simply for using different chord progressions than all his other songs.

Funnily enough, in the lyrics of another song (We Made It), he directly addresses this qualm of mine: “Singing something poppy on the same four chords, used to worry about it but I don‘t no more“. To his credit, he really doesn’t pretend to be more than he is — that’s all other people‘s doing. Let me explain.

Not counting parents or outsiders like myself, there are three groups of people in this room: former fans of One Direction, Underdog Cheerleaders, and Larry Stylinson conspiracy theorists.

The first group is easy to explain and even easier to relate to: they were big fans of One Direction (or “1D”), and since that band doesn’t exist anymore, the closest thing to it are the concerts by its former members, all of whom have embarked on solo careers. These fans are the ones who visibly come to life during the two 1D songs that Louis plays this evening; and the ones waving the huge rainbow flag with all five 1D members printed on it. (Again, more on that in a second.)

The second group, whom I call the Underdog Cheerleaders, are the group that my friend belongs to. These are the people who are convinced that there was a grand plan by 1D’s management to make Harry Styles the breakout star of the group, and to suppress the careers of all other members for that reason.

But because they, the true fans, appreciate Louis for exactly what he is, they will do anything they can to support this underdog millionaire, whether by making his songs chart by listening at the same time, buying tickets to his livestream performance during Covid, or writing to the BBC to beg them to stop blacklisting his music. (Whether that was ever actually the case is unconfirmed.)

For them, the appeal lies not in his singing, his performance, or songwriting skills. The qualities that are always repeated when people praise Louis Tomlinson are that he is humble and down to earth; a simple lad from a working class family in northern England.

This is pointed out in every single write up about this man. His humanity is further compounded by the untimely deaths of his mother and sister within a few years of each other while he was ascending to solo fame. For the Underdog Cheerleaders, it’s not about music so much as it is about identifying with, celebrating and uplifting the least memorable person in a lineup of five.

And the third group… they are the ones who would purposely pair blue with green. These are the so-called Larries, the people who ship Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson as a couple.

You can find a great deep dive on the topic here, but the long and short of it is this: While there were ships for almost all possible combinations between the five members of One Direction (resulting in droll ship names such as Nouis or Ziall), the Larry ship was by far the most popular.

The ideological overlap between the Underdog Cheerleaders and the Larries is not zero, but while the cheerleaders just want to see the nice guy win, the Larries also want the nice guy (and Harry Styles) to come out as gay.

They are willing to accept any explanation, however flawed or implausible, for why Louis and Harry have yet to come out as a couple even though they have definitely secretly been together for a decade now and their respective heterosexual partners are absolutely paid actors and they even totally have a secret baby together.

The lack of evidence, the repeated denials by the two men in question and their polite but increasingly desperate requests to stop the madness have only fueled the fire.

The one thing that all three groups share is that for all of them, Louis’s public perception is forever tied up with the existence of Harry Styles. Whether he wants to or not, Louis is forever defined against his more popular former band mate, whether as his colleague, competitor, villain, or lover.

It’s about an hour and a half into the show as I allow myself a peek at the set list on my phone. We’re finally nearing the end. Watching the unsmiling face of Louis Tomlinson, I’m wondering — is he enjoying himself? Who even is this person?

By seeing this image, you have experienced the complete stage show of the “Faith in the Future” tour. Photograph by Steve Jennings

The encore consists of three songs. When Louis gets to the last one, he descends into the pit. Still singing, he walks up to the first row who have been camping outside since the day before in order to get this spot. He touches a few of the outstretched hands, walks along the front row to the left, bends into the crowd for a few seconds, and when he reappears he no longer has his tank top on. His fans have ripped it off his body. He retreats back onto the stage, says a few polite words of thanks, and disappears.

And then, the magic is over as quickly as it began. The lights turn on, background music plays, and people immediately start filing out in an orderly manner. Some are clasping the red confetti bands that rained over the audience during the last song, and their faces look like they will treasure this souvenir forever. In the chilly darkness outside, a well-informed busker with a guitar sings songs by Louis and 1D, and a small crowd gathers around him to sing along while waiting for the shuttle bus back to the city.

At the end of the night, I’m left wondering what all these thousands of young fans really care about. Even though everybody knows all the music by heart, it doesn’t really seem to be about the music. And even though there’s a throng of fans crowded around the stage exit for a chance to wave at the tour bus with Louis in it, I don’t know whether this really has anything to do with him personally.

Because at its innermost core, this fandom is about itself. Not in the sense of its specific members — I didn’t see many fans interacting and making new friends — but rather, the fandom as an abstract entity.

It’s the joy of belonging to an in-group; of sending and receiving signals that only the initiated will understand. The firm belief that you’re backing the right horse, that you’re part of something “Bigger Than Me”, that there is a purpose to your music listening.

Who is Louis Tomlinson? I still have no idea, and neither does it really matter. Nobody else cares. They will make Louis Tomlinson into whatever they need him to be.

#louis tomlinson #harry styles #zayn #liam payne #larries #this is how people outside the fandom view Louis #1d reunion #brilliant analysis #louis review #louis tomlinson review #fitf tour #louis tomlinson tour review #louis tomlinson vocals

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angeliqueiguess · 1 month ago

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Hidden Notes (mk.l)

005. Open-Mic

The café buzzed with morning chatter, the clinking of cups, and the soothing hum of espresso machines. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries wrapped around Y/n like a comforting blanket, but it wasn’t enough to pull her out of her thoughts. Her spoon swirled lazily in her cappuccino for what must have been the fourth time, her eyes unfocused. Across from her, Winter sat with one leg crossed over the other, her head tilted, watching her friend with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

“Alright, enough,” Winter finally said, snapping Y/n out of her trance. “You’ve been in detective mode for weeks. Spill it. What’s going on?”

Y/n sighed and set her spoon down, glancing around the café as if someone might overhear their conversation. She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone.

“Do you remember the notes I told you about? The ones I found in my apartment?”

Winter’s brow furrowed before recognition lit up her face. “Oh, the wall notes... Yeah, I figured you were being haunted by some poetic ghost or something.”

Y/n let out a small laugh. “Not haunted. But I think I found the person who wrote them. His name is Mark. He lived in my apartment before me, and I can’t stop thinking about those notes. I need to know more.”

Winter’s eyebrows shot up. “How do you know it’s him?”

“It’s… complicated,” Y/n admitted, her voice dipping lower. “The barista at Dreamscape told me he used to play guitar there, but he disappeared about a year ago. No one seems to know why. I thought that was the end of it, but this morning, I found out there’s an open mic event tonight.”

Winter leaned in, intrigued. “Wait… does that mean he’s still in the city? Have you seen him?”

“Not yet,” Y/n said, biting her lip nervously. “But I have a gut feeling he’ll be there. It’s at this little café on the other side of town. His name isn’t on the flyer, but someone who goes there said he used to perform at that place a lot.”

Winter studied her friend for a moment before breaking into a sly smile. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you? God, this sounds like the start of some indie movie.”

Y/n shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. “I can’t explain it, but his words… they’re so raw, so personal. I feel like there’s a story here, and I can’t just ignore it.”

Winter leaned back with a dramatic sigh but nodded. “Alright, but you have to tell me everything after. And if he turns out to be some weirdo, call me. I have a taser, I’ll come rescue you.”

Y/n laughed, the tension in her chest loosening a bit. “Deal.”

That evening, Y/n stood outside a small café tucked away on a quiet street. A flickering neon sign above the door read, Open Mic Tonight! Her heart pounded as she hesitated on the sidewalk, staring at the warm glow spilling from the windows.

What if she was wrong? What if Mark didn’t show up? Or worse—what if he didn’t want to be found?

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open. The café was cozy and eclectic, with mismatched chairs and small tables clustered around a tiny stage draped in string lights. The air buzzed with quiet anticipation as patrons sipped their drinks, waiting for the next performer.

Y/n slipped into a seat at the back, her eyes scanning the room. One by one, local artists took the stage, sharing songs, poems, and even a few comedy routines. She clapped politely for each, but her focus never strayed far from the stage.

And then, he appeared.

He stepped onto the stage with a guitar slung over his shoulder. His quiet confidence immediately drew the room’s attention. He wasn’t exactly as Y/n had pictured—he was a bit taller, his dark hair slightly tousled, with a fringe that nearly obscured his eyes. There was an understated energy about him, like he didn’t quite belong yet commanded attention anyway.

“Hey,” he said, adjusting the mic. His voice was soft but steady. “I’m Mark, and… this... this is a song I wrote a while ago. I hope you like it.”

The room fell silent as he began to play. The melody was hauntingly beautiful, each note hanging in the air like a memory. When he started singing, his voice carried an ache that made Y/n’s breath catch.

"Run fast, breathe deep, The past can´t catch me, But every road I take Leads me back to the pain."

Y/n froze. She knew those words. They were from one of the notes she’d found in her apartment. Hearing them now, wrapped in his voice and melody, gave them a weight she hadn’t fully grasped before.

The audience was mesmerized, and Y/n was no exception. The vulnerability in his performance was palpable, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

When the song ended, the café erupted in applause. Mark offered a shy smile, murmured a quiet “Thank you,” and stepped off the stage.

He moved to a corner of the room, leaning against the wall and sipping from a water bottle, his eyes avoiding the crowd.

Y/n hesitated, her nerves bubbling to the surface. But she couldn’t back down now.

Summoning her courage, she approached him.

previous // next masterlist

angie's note: omg she actually found him!1! dw i wont leave you with a cliffhanger (i'm gonna do a double update hehe)

taglist open: @thegracerammy @kittydollzz @nmlee @haluenx

credits: @strangergraphics (dividers)

#mark imagines #lee mark #marklee #mark #mark lee #nct #nct127 #nctdream #nctimagines #nct mark #mark lee imagines #nct127 mark #nct dream mark #mark nct dream #7d #7dream #dreamscape

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cyrus-badman · 27 days ago

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I've got a little scene from my loft AU for you guys!!! Hope you like it!!

Game night

Over the last two months, Kurt, Rachel, Santana, Blaine, and Sam have fallen into an unintentional yet rigid routine of sorts.

Mondays are the quiet, stay-in nights. On these days, everyone is tired from the day, still decompressing after the hard shift from weekend to work or school.

On Tuesdays, the five of them all go out together, either to Callbacks―the karaoke bar Rachel was so eager to introduce them all to, frequented by all of her NYADA friends, Brody included (Sam likes Brody; he’s nice, he’s hot, and they both understand what it’s like to compromise yourself for money)―or just out to dinner for a nice evening. Typically, they opt for the former, though that inevitably morphs into Rachel Berry Diva Hour, wherein the diva competes with herself for Best Bar Performance of All Time™ and “allows” everyone else to participate by being her “adoring audience of loving fans”. One time, Rachel and Kurt dragged them all to yet another Broadway show, though Sam can’t remember its title. He was reluctant at first―he has this thing where he pretends to hate all musical theater, and he’s pretty sure Blaine has to resist the urge to throttle him every time he does it; Sam wouldn’t worry too much about that, though, as Blaine looks adorable when he’s pretending to be upset with him―but after the show, he was vibrating in place, and even engaged in an enthusiastic conversation with Rachel―Sam is still surprised that that ever happened anytime he thinks about it―wherein the two of them practically talked over each other in all their excitement.

Wednesdays are movie nights. It’s a little unconventional, but in their case, they have other plans for the last day of the work week. Every Wednesday, the five of them (sometimes six, if Sebastian is over) alternate between who gets to pick the film. Most often, this results in a rom-com from Kurt, a Broadway classic as Rachel’s choice (Funny Girl more times than not), a superhero movie for both Blaine and Sam and some obscure indie film about feminism and “hot bitches” as Santana’s pick.

On Thursdays, Blaine and Sam typically have the loft to themselves because Santana takes late shifts at the Spotlight Diner, Rachel’s Funny Girl rehearsals run until seven on those days, and Kurt goes out somewhere with Sebastian (now that Sam thinks about it, there’s probably a reason for that―one that starts with B and ends with lam). Sam loves Thursdays for that reason. His and Blaine’s constant presence at the Hummelpezberry loft is a nuisance to their three friends, a fact that encourages them to stop by more often than they normally would, which is already a lot.

That means that Fridays are reserved for game nights. It wasn't intentional at first, and it's not like they've always done it. In fact, Kurt once mentioned that he, Rachel, and Santana had never had game nights before Blaine and Sam’s arrival in New York.

But one Friday a couple of months ago, the five of them were in the parlor, watching yet another of Rachel’s guilty pleasure films, when the power suddenly flickered out. It was late August, the rain was raging outside, and the electricity in Bushwick really wasn't that reliable―it still isn't, one of the many reasons Blaine and Sam picked an apartment just outside of the neighborhood―so naturally, they were bathed in darkness for the unforeseeable future. Of course, that was, until Blaine pulled out flashlights and lanterns and Rachel lit candles. Sam always used to roll his eyes when people gave each other candles as gifts, but at that moment, his opinion shifted―man, those candles sure smelled good, almost as good as his boyfriend and his raspberry hair gel.

So, of course, someone―probably Blaine, because of course it was Blaine―busted out a stack of games that had no business being in an adult household (“Who even put these in here?!” Rachel had demanded, followed by the evil cackle of Santana). They started with Uno, but that soon morphed into Sorry! and then Monopoly. It had devolved quickly into Rachel accusing Santana of stacking the deck in Uno (“HOW?!” Santana had cackled, flinging cards like throwing stars). It was fun and allowed them to spend quality time together where they could talk and interact. The week after, they’d been debating their next movie choice when Sam suggested they play another game because it had been a fun, pleasant experience the week before. Santana griped and grumbled, but ultimately, she was out-voted as Rachel jumped in glee (heehee) at Sam’s request.

When Sebastian started becoming a regular face at the Hummelpezberrys (a term coined by Sam for Kurt, Rachel, and Santana’s apartment), he would join in on their group activities, and soon enough, it became a thing. And Sam loves game nights; he savors the moments when they can all just disconnect from the electronics and enjoy each other’s company.

In high school, his family couldn't afford luxuries like game consoles and cell phones, so they’d spent a lot of time making memories, telling jokes, and just generally having fun as a family. Game nights were a regular occurrence, too, and Sam thinks it’s nice to “go back to his roots,” in a way.

This week is different.

Normally, Blaine and Sam pair up for team games automatically, and Sebastian forces Kurt to be his partner, leaving Rachel and Santana as the third, reluctant duo. Game nights like these usually consist of Rachel and Santana bickering endlessly about the most mundane aspects of the game (because Rachel insists on following the rules and apparently, Santana doesn’t see the logic in that), Sebastian self-sabotaging his and Kurt’s team with the royal goal of annoying Kurt (an objective he reaches every time), and Blaine slipping into Sam’s lap, which leads them to make out indiscreetly and quite loudly. By the end of the evening, Blaine is always a giggling mess in Sam’s lap, Kurt’s glaring daggers in Sebastian’s direction, and Santana is making fun of everyone while tossing popcorn at her friends. This is all while Rachel paces in the corner because she’s an OCD subject, and not only is there popcorn scattered on the floor, but the pieces of what used to resemble a game of charades are strewn about on the couch, under the coffee table, and―somehow―in the doorway to the kitchen. The chaos is fun, Sam argues, and Rachel turns her murderous stare on him.

...

Tonight, the volume of the apartment hit a maximum before the games even began. The plan is to play charades, a setup that Blaine happily complies with, adjusting the game pieces on the coffee table with that cute, irresistible grin of his. Just like last week, and the week before that, Blaine is wearing another of Sam’s sweatshirts, the sleeves drowning him. The neckline of the sweatshirt hangs off Blaine’s smaller frame loosely, exposing his pale, olive-colored collarbone. Sam tries not to drool, pushing the fresh swarm of memories from the sight to the back of his mind. It’s game night. He’s gotta stay locked in.

Before Blaine and Sam can even exchange more than one glance―yes, they're always partners, it's an unspoken agreement―Kurt clinks his wine glass, drawing everyone’s attention. “Teams, everyone,” he announces, wine glass and hourglass in hand. He scans the group solemnly like he’s about to make a crucial battle strategy assessment. “This time, we’re being strategic.”

Already hyped up on her third glass of wine, Rachel whirls on the only couple in the room, exclaiming, “Yes! We have to be strategic. Samuel and Blaine can’t be on the same team again! We don’t need a repeat of last week.”

“Why not?” Blaine asks, bottom lip protruding in a dramatic pout. Sam leans back into the cushiony couch, urging Blaine to relax further into him. The brunette is leaning against Sam’s chest, his dark, curly hair tousled from where Sam’s fingers have been carding through it, Sam’s sweatshirt now hanging off one shoulder. Sam can’t help but soak up the warmth of his boyfriend against his body. Blaine’s head is tucked beneath the blonde’s chin, his dark curls tickling Sam’s jaw with their soft whispers. For a moment, it’s entirely too easy to forget the madness around them and slip into the bliss that wraps around him and Blaine.

Rachel narrows her eyes, glaring, a passionate fire burning in her gaze. The look is scathing on its own. “Because you never actually play, Blaine. You get distracted!” Her eyes pointedly flick to Sam at that.

“By what?” Blaine prods again, batting his lashes with faux innocence. His hand snakes up to rest a tad too high on Sam’s thigh.

“That.” She jabs a finger at the brunette, then at his blond boyfriend. “That’s what.”

Trying to suppress a laugh but failing miserably, Sam tucks Blaine further into his side. Blaine grins and tilts his head up to kiss Sam’s cheek. As he pulls back to rest his head on his boyfriend’s shoulders, his smile turns soft. “Can’t help it,” he explains, shrugging.

Properly ruining the moment, Rachel’s voice cuts through the romantic haze. “Well, you’re not on the same team tonight,” she declares, voice firm. “You’re with Kurt.”

The boy in question jerks his head around to gape at her, practically choking on his wine. “What?!” he shrieks. “Rachel, no! You know I can’t―”

“Too late,” the short girl interrupts, cutting off whatever inevitably rude and offensive comment Kurt was about to make. She herds Blaine over to Kurt’s side of the room. Blaine’s ex sighs exaggeratedly but protests no further, shooting Blaine a glare that clearly screams don’t ruin this for me. Blaine just shrugs and smiles innocently in response.

Turning back to Sam, Rachel grabs the blonde’s arm with surprising strength. “You’re with me. We’re going to win this.” And then all of a sudden, she’s pinching him―which really hurts, by the way―while Kurt whisks Blaine away. Sam’s not too sure how he feels about that; yes, he knows Blaine is completely, one hundred percent over Kurt and head-over-heels for him, but still, the insecurity lingers. Blaine and Kurt were together for a long time. Blaine used to insist that they were soulmates. The fear is justified in Sam’s mind.

Sam blinks at Rachel, who is still pinching Sam’s arm (This is abuse, Sam thinks distantly). She announces yet again that Sam is her partner, which he never agreed to, but oh, well. He can feel Blaine’s puppy-dog eyes burning a hole in his skin. But Sam can’t exactly do anything about it, so he merely shrugs helplessly. “Sorry, B. Rules are rules.”

A loud snort reminds them all that Santana is still here and banking on a win tonight. “Oh, this is gonna be good.” She turns to Sebastian, leaning against the kitchen counter and tossing back popcorn like he’s watching a soap opera: prime entertainment. “What do you say, Smythe? You and me?”

She doesn't even have to ask. The boy in question is already smirking as he replies, “Obviously. Let’s ruin their lives.”

Apparently, Kurt and Rachel didn't think this through all the way. Sam can see both of them pale instantly when they turn to the Latina and her counterpart. Santana and Sebastian are wearing matching evil grins, and Sam knows he should probably feel dread pooling in his gut right about now, but he really doesn’t. Tonight is guaranteed to be even more chaotic than last week, and that’s a plus in Sam’s book.

He can understand her concerns, though. With Tana and Seb working together, it’s surely possible that no one will win this game. Either that or one of them will end up rage-quitting and/or flipping the board game over. The mental image of Santana Lopez and Sebastian Smythe overturning a table is apparently so hilarious that it deserves an outward reaction; Sam barks out a laugh when he pictures it, and everyone turns to stare at him like he’s crazy―well, Rachel does. Santana appears unsurprised, Kurt just looks exasperated, Sebastian’s amused, and Blaine rolls his eyes fondly and curls into Sam’s chest. The blonde wraps an arm around his boyfriend’s waist and drops a kiss into his dark curls. He loves Blaine’s natural hair and spends every waking moment making sure Blaine knows it.

Sam supposes it wouldn't be the end of the world if they were on opposing teams for one game of charades. In fact, that might even make it easier to win; Blaine is terrible at this game, whereas Sam has been working on his impressions for years and finds it quite easy to translate voices into body language, hand gestures, and expressions.

Seemingly, Rachel has been trying to argue against the Sebtana duo for the last few minutes. It doesn’t seem like she’s had any success.

“I’m just saying,” Santana’s voice cuts through the comfortable atmosphere encasing Blane and Sam like a scalpel, “if I’m stuck with him―” she jerks a thumb towards the tall boy, whose smirk only widens, “―we’re guaranteed to win. Because, as much as I despise admitting this, Smythe’s clever stupidity might actually come in handy.” She pauses then, flashing a wicked grin at Rachel. “Unlike your usual partners, Berry. Dead weight is, unfortunately, not conducive to victory.”

Wide-eyed and gaping, Rachel splutters at the implications, hands flying to her hips in the universal gesture of I’m about to unleash the wrath of a thousand stage moms. In other words, Super-Saiyan, Sam thinks. “Excuse me? I am an excellent teammate.”

“Riiight,” the Latina drawls, drawing out the syllable as she tosses a kernel of popcorn down the hatch. “Just like you’re an excellent person to sit next to during a movie when your constant running commentary makes me want to toss myself off the fire escape.”

Rachel’s eyes widen further at that, mouth opening as if she’s about to fire something just as long and offensive back at her. Sam wouldn't doubt that she would if not for Kurt’s intervention.

The countertenor pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes rolling hard. “I thought this was supposed to be fun.”

Blaine, ever the optimist, takes the opening to chime in brightly, “It is!” Sam doesn't know if it’s because he's trying to diffuse the situation or because he’s just genuinely fucking oblivious. He’s willing to bet it’s the latter. His boyfriend claps his hands together as he beams at their friends. “And if we could all just channel our inner holiday spirits―”

Santana cuts him off, already shaking her head dismissively. “Unless the spirit is tequila, I don’t give a shit.”

Up until now, Sebastian has been twirling a pen in his fingers lazily, obviously having repeated the gesture enough times to be a pro at it. Now, he grins and pitches into the conversation. “What’s the matter, Lopez? Afraid I’ll upstage you in front of your little Broadway BFF?”

“Please,” the Latina scoffs. “You couldn’t upstage a rusty tambourine.” A laugh escapes Sam at the odd choice of words; sometimes Santana can be so random.

Blaine’s quiet chuckle vibrates in Sam’s chest. “Think we should referee?” he questions privately, craning his neck to look up at his boyfriend. Sam pats the brunet’s thigh and shakes his head.

“Nah, let them go at it. Adds flavor.”

Sam can tell that Santana’s preparing to interject once again, hands poised to gesticulate animatedly and eyes gleaming with fiery intent, but Kurt beats her to it, stepping between her and Sebastian. “Enough!” he demands, fixing them both with his best I’ve had it with your nonsense glare. “We’re here to have a civilized game night. Not to recreate an episode of Real Housewives of Bushwick.”

His comment may not land exactly the way it was intended, but it does ease some of the tension. Santana cackles, head thrown back as the evil gleam in her eye resurfaces. “I’m definitely Teresa,” she claims with a smirk. “Blaine can be Melissa.”

The boy in question nods as if accepting his fate, while Rachel, clearly grasping for some sense of order, inserts herself into the discussion. “Fine. If we’re all done now, can we just―”

“You never answered my question," Blaine points out. His tone is innocent, but there's an impish lilt to his voice that betrays his intentions. His hand, moments ago resting on Sam’s thigh, now inches upward marginally. “What distracts me during the game?”

Biting back a laugh, Sam watches as Rachel narrows her eyes at Blaine, her expression scandalized and accusatory in equal measure. She points at the two of them wildly, screeching, “That! That right there is exactly what I’m talking about!”

Blaine gasps dramatically in response. “Rachel Barbara Berry, I am appalled! Are you suggesting that I―”

“Stop it.” Sam thinks it was a pretty good Rachel impression and offers his boyfriend a thumbs up. Grin widening, Blaine latches onto Sam’s thumb and tugs it toward himself, hugging it to his chest in an adorable gesture. Sam knows he's smiling like a dope and he couldn't care less. Rachel goes on, unfazed by Blam’s display of affection. “You’re not charming your way out of this. We all know exactly what happens the second you and Sam end up on the same team.”

Sebastian, who has been reclining against the arm of the couch, perks up. “Oh, this is so much more entertaining than charades.”

“You,” Kurt says sharply, pointing at Sebastian, “zip it.” At that, Sebastian smirks but makes a show of miming zipping his lips, locking them, and throwing away the key.

Then Rachel stands and takes a deep breath, clearly summoning every ounce of patience in her body. She grabs Blaine by the wrist and tugs him toward the coffee table, where Kurt is already arranging the charade cards. “You’re on task tonight, Blaine Anderson,” she orders, leaving no room for discussion. “No distractions.”

As Blaine takes his place, dropping to the floor next to Kurt and crossing his legs, he turns to Sam. The brunette’s cheeky grin is already firmly in place like Sam knew it would be. The blonde wiggles his fingers in an exaggerated wave, mouthing, Behave. It’s wishful thinking, really, but the least Sam can do is try.

“Only if you promise to stop being so distracting,” the shorter boy retorts. They both laugh a little, just subtle enough to avoid prompting an icy glare from their respective teammates. Sam sighs as Blaine shifts across from him, trying to get comfy. It’s going to be a long night.

He rubs his hands together and leans forward on the couch, hanging off the edge of the cushion. “Alright, let’s get this game on then!”

...

Predictably, the game devolves almost immediately.

The room is an explosion of noise and motion. Rachel is too competitive for Sam to keep up with. She keeps barking guesses at Sam’s dramatized impressions like she’s auditioning for a role in a war film, and it’s confusing as hell. Meanwhile, Blaine and Kurt are bickering intently over whether Blaine’s charade for tap-dancing penguin is accurate (of course, Sam knows it’s not, but he values his sexytime and so he’s not going to say anything). In the background (or amidst the chaos, depending on your perspective), Santana and Sebastian are making the game into a gigantic gag, using every turn to act out increasingly suggestive gestures worthy enough to make Kurt turn red.

It all goes completely to hell when Santana grabs a stack of cards and decides to fling them about, tossing them at her partner like ninja stars. With dramatic grace and inelegant yelps, Seb manages to dodge most of the artillery, though Santana’s able to land the occasional hit square in his face. And where Blaine is terrible at guessing, Kurt is apparently shit at miming. Kurt’s pulled the Phantom of the Opera card from the deck and is nearly in tears desperately trying and failing to imitate it.

“You’re useless,” Blaine mutters under his breath, standing next to Kurt to offer his own interpretation. He proceeds then to deliver a melodramatic rendition of The Phantom Sam has ever seen (which isn’t really saying much, considering Sam hasn’t even seen it on Broadway, but still). Kurt scowls at him.

Sam turns back to his own task; he and Rachel are trying to decide whether Titanic counts as only one word or two. “I’m pretty sure it’s two,” Sam claims, scratching his head. “Like, there’s Titanic the movie, and then there’s the boat.”

Rachel narrows her eyes at him, and it sends a little chill down Sam’s spine. That girl can be really spooky when she wants to be. “Do I look like a dictionary to you, Samuel?” It’s supposed to be a rhetorical question, Sam knows, but he can’t resist.

“I dunno, you kinda look like you could fit in a dictionary,” the blonde quips with a grin. The girl’s icy glare is the last thing he sees before a book is flying at his face, whacking him in the arm when he uses his forearm as a shield. “Ow!” he whines, rubbing the injury with a wince. Rachel shoots him a prim, smug smile, clearly the victor. But only because she didn’t get thwacked in the arm with a book!

“B!” Sam calls, because throwing books at each other is fun and all, but they are playing a game, after all. His boyfriend turns to him, expectant smile on his lips, and Sam feels a grin forming when he sees the brunette. “What’s the ruling? Titanic, one word or two?”

He seems to consider the question for a moment, finger on his chin as he contemplates. After a few beats, the curly-haired boy smirks. “Whatever Rachel doesn’t want; we’ll do the opposite.” At this, Santana bursts into a fit of laughter while Rachel releases an indignant squawk.

After Rachel claims to disown the group, Sam lets himself grin, leaning back into the couch. He watches his boyfriend light up the room with his easy charm and disarming smiles that always steal Sam’s breath. Regardless of how unpredictable and utterly chaotic these game nights are, Blaine somehow always manages to make them perfect.

By the time Blaine’s next turn rolls around, he’s already a giggling mess, falling apart at the seams. Sam watches him try to mime “Superman” and it’s not even half-bad. Sam’s surprised, if not slightly impressed even. Of course, it was too good to be true because halfway through, the curly-haired boy slips on the carpet, landing sprawled out on the floor. The game cards flutter around him, one landing on his nose somehow. Blaine stares at it, going cross-eyed, and Sam wonders once again how the boy doesn’t get headaches from that. Crossing his eyes has always made Sam’s head hurt! It isn’t very fair, is all. His boyfriend blows at the piece of paper, trying to get it off him, but he only manages to launch it straight up in the air and back down on his face. The brunette huffs in mock-annoyance for a beat before bursting into laughter. His attempts to rise back to his feet are futile, as his shoulders are shaking so hard that he can’t keep his balance.

“You’re useless!” Kurt hisses, hands thrown up in indignance. His glare slides over to Rachel for a second before snapping back to Blaine. “I don’t know why I even―”

Yeah, like that is going to end well. Sam steps in, cutting Kurt off before he can go on a whole-ass tangent like he inevitably would if no one stopped him. “Alright,” the blonde says, stepping over to help Blaine to his feet. “Time out. Someone’s had too much wine.” Despite his words and the playful tinge of annoyance in his tone, Sam chuckles fondly as he scoops Blaine into his arms with minimal effort. The shorter boy reflexively wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s neck, still laughing as he buries his face in Sam’s shoulder.

Hands on her hips, Rachel stares at them expectantly. “Samuel. Put him down,” she says cooly. “We’re playing to win.”

From somewhere to his right, Sam hears a snort followed by, “Yeah, like that's gonna happen, Berry.” He tries to hide his smile by nuzzling into Blaine’s hair, pretending that he’s kissing Blaine’s head rather than secretly sniggering at Santana’s comment.

“I think Blaine needs a break,” Sam says once he’s regained his bearings. He does not put Blaine down. Take that, Rachel! He grins down at his boyfriend, who’s already gazing up at him, his wide, glossy amber eyes filled with affection and awe. It makes Sam’s heart skip a beat, being looked at like that. So tenderly, so lovingly. The blond clears his throat. “He’s, uh, clearly too drunk to keep up the game.”

Santana smirks, jabbing a finger at the pair. Her fiery eyes are dancing with knowing amusement. “Oh, that’s your excuse? What are you two sneaking off to do, huh?”

Kurt wrinkles his nose while Rachel scoffs indignantly. Sam can almost hear her squeaky upset voice, The audacity! Blaine just giggles, nuzzling Sam’s neck. “I don’t think you want me to answer that,” he responds, the mischief in his voice clear as day.

“Gross!” Kurt exclaims, throwing a pillow at them as Sam carries Blaine toward the hallway. He misses by a landslide as predicted, and when Sam passes by the weapon of choice, he kicks it back toward the living room, flashing Kurt a wink, his tongue poking out.

With a mock-salute, Sebastian shakes his head and says, heavy with amusement, “Godspeed, Evans. Don’t break anything.”

Sam grins at that. This is one of the main reasons he and Blaine love crashing here so much; the commentary is hilarious! Sebastian’s approval is always welcome and feeds Sam’s pride a bit, Santana’s sexual remarks are funny and somewhat accurate, and Kurt and Rachel’s indignant exasperation has the ability to bring Sam up from any bad moodswings he may have. Not that Blaine’s company alone wouldn’t fix that immediately.

As they disappear around the corner, Sam can hear the glare in her voice as Rachel addresses the remaining players. “That’s it. We’re locking them out next time.” Although her voice is resolute, Sam knows it’s not going to happen. Rachel and Kurt have been bullshitting about revoking his and Blaine’s loft privileges since the first time they'd been caught in action, but they’ve never actually followed through with the threats.

Santana’s cackle echoes through the corners of the apartment. “Oh sure, Berry. Like that’ll stop them.”

#blaine anderson #blaine x sam #blam #glee #glee blam #glee fic #glee s5 au #sam evans #sam x blaine #kurt x sebastian #kurt hummel #sebastian smythe #santana lopez #rachel berry #pezberry #kurtbastian #drunk!blaine is so cute

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