#she says its networking lol

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[dandyshucks]

me meeting someone new and Guz making a point to use my pronouns casually in the conversation so that we don't have to make a big deal of it, and he just gives me the proudest silliest thumbs-up after managing to introduce me using both they and it 😭😭💗💗💗

[bunabi]

More concepts and info:

There was a top-secret document on Bioware's network containing the objective historu of Thedas called the Black Codex. Um. The artbook lays all its information out. I will not be posting it lol.

There was an idea to find the last living descendant of Andraste?? She looks so fucking cool:

The first build — codenamed Joplin — would have had a fantasy spy theme, hunting 'the most dangerous man in the world'. The artists worked in the same room as the writers to work more dynamically! The book says this was the first time they tried this, to great success. And from the art thst really shows. 😭

The concept of Solas's ritual involves what seems to be mortal sacrifices arranged around an artifact.

I'm only 43 pages in out of 250 and there's SO much.

[sgiandubh]

The trouble with Stravaigin'

This pic is currently making the rounds on Tumblr and X, and for all the good reasons (thank you @mariaae, for bringing it here):

After a rather busy week and an even busier week-end, it's certainly nice to check in for this 👆.

Funny how the dunces across the street dub this a 'wrap party combo' of sorts. Oh, come on, are you that stupid, people?

Jamie Roy's OG post is absolutely clear with this regard:

'Thank you @thevinepr for having us at @stravaigin_g12's 30th Birthday.' An event that is directly linked to this very recent Stravaigin's announcement, that has to do exclusively with S's spirits' business:

'In an announcement that will delight the legions of whisky lovers who have been demanding its addition to Stravaigin’s renowned drinks menu, The Sassenach @sassenachspirits by @samheughan is today confirmed as joining the bar’s Scotch whisky offering as a permanent fixture 🥃. (...)

Stravaigin's Olivia Wong - Scotland's Bar Manager of the Year says: “We are thrilled to welcome The Sassenach to Stravaigin. We are all big fans of Sam and his Scotch whisky here at Stravaigin and know excitement levels will be running high with our patrons, as we announce it is becoming a permanent addition to our drinks menu.'

Note to self: this is something Marple 'forgot' to post about, despite her all-consuming obsession for S. Without this information, the rest was presented as just another heavy drinking sesh. Tss, shame on you, madam! Is this where you're at? Lying to your readers, in an attempt to demonstrate: a) S is a highly-functioning alcoholic (by your reasoning, half of the UK might be, ROFLMAO) and b) Ashley Hearn is a lazy, entitled idiot, who spends her time in bars chatting and drinking with her buddies?

Lying by omission is either a mortal sin (when made with the purpose of hurting someone's reputation) or a venial one (when 'in jest', like the Screeching Banshees pretend to do). But I have no idea if that woman is a Catholic, nor do I care. Either way, it's unsavory as fuck. So long for playing it Switzerland, in here.

All of the above to emphatically (LOL for ages) say that this event has nothing to do with Outlander. This has everything to do with Sam Roland Heughan and his own, local business network. This is exactly why Jamie Roy was thanking the organizing PR firm (more on this, a bit later in this post).There were zero reasons for C to be there that night, something that has been confirmed by fans on X:

Interesting: 'took a picture with them'. In the context, people were wondering if there were pics with the Two of Them, not the rest of the cast. But hey, didn't you know? THEY CAN'T STAND EACHOTHER, NEVER COULD!

And there we go, we have the arrival video (why does it always have to be Brazilian fans directly or indirectly involved? that is a mystery on par with who killed JFK, LOL):

And here we have it, courtesy of @maripimpao, the OG X poster (https://x.com/Mari_pimpao/status/1850588095046971487?t=p3_lv013WuINhA085ayr4A&s=19).

... S arriving separately, as predictible, probably on his own (fucking Tumblr doesn't let me upload more than one video, but you'll find everything on the X page above), then C and Skeleton (God, that girl must KNOW stuff!) together - not surprised at all, either:

A normal convo ensues, C stating that she feels 'both happy and sad' because Friday was their last day ever on set. I was very surprised by her genuine warmth, to be honest, as I wasn't expecting it, but it is in line with public lore on her being spotted before by fans.

A word on The Vine PR company. This is one of the biggest PR firms in Scotland and even the UK, with a very nice portfolio of clients, partners and events they manage on the regular:

Oh...

And re-oh...

So, there should come as no surprise to find, among The Vine's clients (for whom it managed flagship events), two of LVMH's portfolio companies/brands: Moët & Chandon and Glenmorangie. I also remember being ridiculed, as writing fanfic, by both Marple and her minions. Well, eat crow now, I have been announcing it for a year, already, for both of them. Not once, but three times in a row.

One...

Two...

Third time's a charm/Jamais deux sans trois:

Business-wise, this is about the amount of time it takes to make things of this amplitude happen. Wait, I forgot that business was bound to flounder, sweet Baby Jesus on a motorbike!

On top of it all, I have some very inconvenient, yet rhetorical questions (for the people across the street, a rhetorical question is supposed to make a point, not wait for an answer):

What about McTavish's spirits business? Still in promo mode, bought medals, and all the tralala? Hmmm.

What about Tony McGill? Why isn't he seen at any event at all, in the music business or otherwise, like ever? Isn't he supposed to manage (Media Manager, my 🦶) a Scottish band? Where was he, on Friday night? How does he even do business? Hmmm.

Oh, FFS.

[xxacademy]

BLOODIED HANDS OF A LOVER'S MISFORTUNE —THRONE OF HIS OWN PART II

Leon Kennedy x Agent!Reader (she/her)

-> READ PART ONE

Summary: Blood, wine, fangs, touch-- his touch. Leon Kennedy made you his princess. He put you in pretty dresses, and put is mark on every part of you. But, it's time to face the reality of your situation. You are not Leon's princess, you are his back up. Now you're forced to do your job, and come face to face with the chaos of the vampire court.

Word Count: 2.5k

Content warnings: blood/gore, reader gets drugged and restrained, weapons, vampires, typical violence and themes associated with resident evil, i shamefully reference one of Leon Kennedy's cringiest one-liner's.

a/n: i had so much fun writing this!! action & horror elements are the best. i think i could write descriptions about blood and wounds forever... it's so strangely fun (?) anwaysss im playing re4r again and i cannot get leon's kicks outta my brain, lol. i hope you enjoy, and as always thank you for your patience. i am a full-time student and i have a full-time job, so writing can take me foreverrrrr.

Leon sits among the vampiric overlords while you sit alone, drinking a cup of tea, wearing yet another tightly corseted Victorian monstrosity.

The servants were undoubtedly kind to offer you clean clothes and breakfast, but that didn't make you want to leave any less. The uneasiness lingers dense in your stomach.

Last night was... Indulgent, to say the least. But the welcome has been overstayed, and you're antsy to leave the vampire's den. Hopefully, Leon will be quick to end their little conclave.

── ･ ｡☆*☽*☆ﾟ.──

You awoke suddenly to a loud clank beside you. To your groggy surprise, your tea cup had fallen and shattered at your feet.

The idle warmth of the fireplace and the cozy living room must have lulled you to sleep. Despite your mind being deep in a heavy fog, you found the strength to look around the room and confirm that you were still, in fact, alone.

You meandered to the heavily draped window and peeked outside. You prepared yourself to be blinded by searing bright snow, but... Oh, dear god.

The sun was setting. You rubbed your eyes in harrowed disbelief. The sun was fucking setting.

How could it be? It was only just morning. You couldn't have possibly slept the entire day.

Your hands were trembling mess as you squatted down to analyze the shattered tea cup. You grabbed a piece of jagged porcelain and brought it to your nose, breathing deeply.

You caught an unmistakably bitter note buried underneath aromatic peppermint. A sedative herb most definitely was used to lace the tea. You felt ashamed; how could you be so naïve, falling for such a novice trick?

But, there was no time to dwell. You scoured the room for a weapon. The only object that stood out to you was a particularly pointy piece of metal off an ornate candelabra. You ripped out the half-melted candles and bent the metal into a makeshift weapon, poking it into your skin to test its sharpness.

This should work, and if it doesn't? Well, It will, you told yourself.

Jaunty candlestick weapon in hand, you headed for the door, which was, unsurprisingly, locked. You analyzed the clunky metalwork and quickly determined it was an old-fashioned skeleton lock. You pulled several pins from your hair, fashioned them into impromptu Allen wrenches, and began picking the lock.

After several attempts and numerous broken pins, you finally jimmied the door open.

You set out into the gothic night-veiled estate, creeping through the labyrinth of hallways. Your heeled shoes and sweeping gown made stealth damn near impossible, but you had no choice but to make it work.

You followed the networking corridors aimlessly, pressing your ear to closed doors in the hope of finding Leon.

You heard pattering footsteps coming towards you, and in a desperate attempt to hide, you angled yourself behind a column of an archway. But as the person passed, a white-gowned servant, she stopped dead in her tracks and turned on her heels to face you.

Glowing red eyes met yours, and a mindless, other-worldly voice flowed from her: "You made a very grave mistake, chérie." The servant lunged at you, unarmed, fangs bared.

The candlestick you weld plummeted to the ground, and you grabbed the servant by the wrists and held her firm, straining to keep her away as she thrashed with all her might.

You threw her down by twisting her arm to the ground and holding her in place by firmly pressing your heel into her sternum. She cried a blood-curdling howl in pain, thrashing under your foot.

"Where is he? Where is Leon?" You demanded, rage filling your wavering voice.

The servant snickered, flashing small, jagged fangs.

"Tell me!" You demanded for the last time.

She was hysterically laughing now-- It was useless to attempt to communicate with a mindless thrall.

You reached for the candlestick and quickly bent over the thrashing servant and slit her throat with the sharp metal edge.

Hot blood spilled down her virgin-white dress, but her glowing red eyes stayed fully conscious. "You're a fool," she mocked, her fingers laced around your wrist.

You sunk your heel back into her sternum, this time with much more force, causing her head to smack against the floor. She hissed in pain. Blood was still pouring from her neck as you forced her hand off of yours. You repositioned the candlestick in your hand, aiming it for her heart.

You held her still by wrapping your hand tightly around her neck and drove the weapon through her chest. Her head lulled to the side limply, and her glowing eyes dulled- she was dead, finally.

You took a moment to catch your breath, staring at the woman's lifeless body. You couldn't recall a single vampiric servant from the previous night, so why now?

As you began to regain your composure, you looked down at yourself, pretty dress all covered in blood. It was an honest reflection of how terrible the last twenty-four hours have gone.

Regardless, you grabbed your blood-drenched candlestick and began creeping through the hallways once more. No one else seemed to be coming for you now. You were utterly alone as you tip-toed through the darkened estate. Utterly alone-- besides the gut-wrenching feeling that you were being watched.

The oil-painted portraits that decorated the looming walls felt like they saw everything. They saw you massacre that servant, they saw you lie to their rulers, they saw you drunkenly court your colleague. Maybe it was your own internalization showing, but you couldn't shake the feeling.

But you felt relief when you spotted a warm candlelit gleam emanating from the crack of a closed door. It had been the first trace of light you'd seen in these gloomy halls.

As you approached the door, you heard overlapping voices talking and laughing. It sounded like a blend of English and French was being spoken, adding to the dissonance.

You ever so gently pressed your ear to the door, attempting to make out what was happening. You couldn't understand a lick of the French being spoken. But you overheard something in English: "When are you going to get the girl?" a mysterious voice asked.

Another more familiar voice replied. “Quand nous en aurons fini avec lui.”

The King.

They must have Leon here. Your stomach dropped.

What could they possibly be doing to him? And the girl, that has to be me, right?

You don't know how it happened or how your cover could have been blown. What if they killed Leon?

There's no way you'd be able to defeat them on your own. Your mind traces all the rational options to go about this, but you conclude there is none. There is only one way.

You draw a quivering breath and open the mysterious door.

To your surprise, you revealed a grand banquet hall swarmed with almost the same lineup from last night's soirée.

The creak of the door caused all of their necks to turn to you instantly. The first thing you noticed was a sea of glowing crimson eyes. All the Lords have been turned now.

The King's stark pale skin and deep blood-red eyes burrowed through your soul. The pointed corners of his mouth raised in an impish smile. At the King's side was Leon, his arms bound and his head hung limp.

He had been draped and displayed at the hands of the merciless creatures that stalked this land. A centerpiece to their dastardly festivities.

"The bunny makes its way to the wolf's den. It's almost commendable." The King squinted, his head reaching forward in his throne to get a better look at you. "It looks like you even found someone in my estate to prey on. How scary."

"How did you find out?" You kept your words steady and firm.

The King laughed, "Ah, this is a good story."

"Go on," you said, taking a step closer.

The King shifted in his chair and took a sip of what was presumably blood from a crystal glass. "I had one of my men doing perimeter control on the south end. He made it all the way to the road, where he saw a car a few meters away-- and chérie, cars do not drive on that road."

Your heart sunk.

"He found a car and stopped it. I could tell you who he found, but I think you might already know. But in case you need a refresher, it was a United States agent with a very detailed file about you and Mr. Kennedy in his car."

You tried to close the gap between you and the King, but two guards restrained you by your arms after throwing your makeshift weapon to the ground.

"You bastard! You bloody bastard! What did you do to him? And what have you done to Leon!?"

"You're going to love this ma chérie. Leon is on the path to grand ascension— he'll become one of us soon. As for the agent that brought you here, he was at lunch the following day. Not exactly my taste, as I prefer the sweet blood of a woman, but he sufficed."

The room erupted in laughter, and long fangs taunted you everywhere you looked. Even the men who held your arms laughed at you.

You tried to break free of their grip, but they outmatched you. The men lifted you by your arms and dropped you before the King's throne. They pushed you down by your shoulders so that your knees crashed to the ground.

You hoped Leon would look up or say something. But he just rested on his knees, head down, in unwavering silence.

Your voice cracked, "And what about me?"

The King clicked his tongue, scanning your blood-soaked figure with heavy lids and a cocky glint in his eye. "You're simply too... Beautiful to just let go."

You rolled your eyes, "Give me a break! You think I'll just go along with you, easy as that?"

His lips formed into a cruel smirk, "I do."

You noticed earlier that the men who restrain you have swords attached to their hips, which could quickly turn the tide of this unlucky evening. The answer is, how?

"Just you wait, little dear." The King arose from his seat and picked up Leon by the collar of his shirt.

The King was tall; he easily towered over everyone in the room. His raven black hair flowed long down his back, extenuating his gaunt appearance.

It appeared that Leon had also been drugged. His body was limp, and he barely resisted as the King pushed him up and threw him into the arms of guards.

The King cleared his throat, demanding the room's attention to himself. "Good evening, everyone. You all know Leon here; He was incredibly loyal and fearlessly dedicated to our cause. But it's recently come to light that he and his darling little girlfriend are federal agents for the United States military."

The crowd murmured their feelings in disgust. "I know, this is very disheartening. But, I have a fitting punishment for the traitors."

The King dragged on about how he planned on turning you both into vampiric slaves, doomed to a life of servitude. But you couldn't care less. He clearly underestimated you.

You notice Leon begin to come to consciousness. It started with his hands forming into fists and then him rolling his neck from side to side.

He lifted his head, sunken blue eyes meeting yours. You were kneeling on the ground, dress blood-soaked and arms forcefully restrained by guards, all before him, to save him.

Leon's eyes darted to the swords the men beside you adorned, and then they darted back to you. He raised an eyebrow as if asking if you saw what he saw.

Yes— you mouthed the words, and Leon nodded.

"Ahh, you're awake." The King forcefully grabbed Leon's neck, digging his talon-like nails into his skin. "Your time has come, Kennedy."

Leon remained silent in the wake of the King's cruelness.

The King yelled for more guards, and they arrived holding a small box upon a velvet pillow. The King opened the box, taking a sizeable, needled syringe between his fingers.

That's how they're doing it, and Umbrella parasite, of course, You thought to yourself.

The guards holding your arms tightened their grip as the King approached Leon, flicking the serum vial menacingly.

"Let the coronation commence!" The King exclaimed to exuberant cheers.

In a quiet voice, he said to Leon only, "I wasn't planning on the girl being here, but how sweet is it that your lover gets to witness your rebirth?"

Leon scoffed, staring at the King directly, sizing up his foe. "We'll see about that."

The King was unphased as he closed the gap, reaching the needle closer and closer to Leon's neck, and when he was in range, Leon charged his leg and landed a devastating kick to the King's chest.

He went flying back and fell to the ground with wind-knocking ferocity. The syringe skidded across the marble floor, far from the King's grasp.

Before anyone could react, Leon freed himself from the guard's grip, flipping one of them over his shoulder and slamming him to the ground. He kicked in the other guard's kneecap, sending him down instantly. Leon stole both swords from either injured guard and pointed them at the King.

Sweat dripped from Leon's brow, and his skin looked washed out and pale. But he stood tall in the wake of the tyrannical leader. The people around began to stir. Some remained frozen in shock, and some readied themselves for a fight.

This was about to get very ugly, and you needed to break free. With your knees pushed into the ground, it was difficult to maneuver against the guard's strength.

You hastily attempted to drive your elbow into the stomach of one of the guards. He deflected it. But you tried again, aiming for his knee. You landed it this time.

"You bitch," the guard grunted as he stumbled back. The other one grabbed you by your arms, lifting you to your feet and placing you into a headlock.

Leon reacted swiftly by throwing one of his swords in your direction. The guard flinched as the sword propelled through the air, seemingly aimed right at his head.

But, you caught the sword by its hilt and wasted no time driving the blade through the belly of the guard who restrained you. The other guard, who was still reeling from his punched-in knee, was next. It was light work for you as you twisted the blade through his chest.

Leon called for you, requesting your backup as he fought off the vampire spawns. They had Leon surrounded, protecting their King like devoted honey bees.

You axed through the crowd, driving your long sword through the hearts of fresh vamplings. Leon held his own impeccably well. He pushed away hungry fangs with ease, kicking and slicing the hoard.

You joined Leon and pressed your back against his as you fought against the opponents from behind.

Through ribbons of blood, chaos, and murder, you gritted through your teeth, "What's the plan?"

"Kill the King and run," Leon grunted.

"Where to?"

"The cabin."

"You got it; I'll follow your lead." You couldn't hide the smirk that formed across your lips. It felt good to finally be reunited and dishing out justice.

Leon chuckled exasperatedly, "Just stay alive, sweetheart, and we'll all be singing kumbaya later."

part three coming soon xx

!! tag list -> @g4ys0n @elijahsprincess

[irisintheafterglow]

HAND ONE - HIGH CARD

summary: in a season where you're determined to fly under the radar, newly-returned crown prince!touya todoroki has other ideas. in this hand, a duel is fought.

wc: 1.7k

cw/tags: royalty!au/regency!au, fem!reader, first meeting, touya's sass need its own warning

note: SURPRISE !! bet iris starting another series wasn't on your 2024 bingo (it wasn't on mine) but here we are! this whole series is based on this little idea from a few months back and will include swordfighting! fake dating! mutual pining! angst! balls! (the royal kind, not,,, yk) oh and many poker metaphors lol. hope you enjoy this first little exposition chapter :))

likes, reblogs, and replies are greatly appreciated <3

You would admire the spectacle of it all, had it not been for the aching pain in your feet. 

The hand-me-down heels from your estranged stepmother made it hard to focus on anything but your breathing as you tried to steady yourself against a nearby column in the palace garden. You could practically hear her shrill screaming in your ears for not doing enough to network among the other young nobles, for failing to present yourself as fit for bearing children you didn’t want. As the people you’d grown up with since birth milled about carefully-tended roses and large-bloomed peonies, you couldn’t imagine how they weren’t sweating all their caked-on makeup off in the stifling June heat. Fishing the lacy hand fan from your clutch, you relocate to a shadier side of the column under the stone walkway lining the garden. An aggressive snap echoes off nearby walls when you flick it open and sigh when the air hits your face. 

“You stole my spot,” comes a smooth male voice from the other side of the column. You don’t think the person is talking to you, but then you hear an amused snicker and a small thank you to who you assume is a passing servant. It’s awkwardly silent except for faraway conversations and the breeze blown from your fan until the man clears his throat. “I’m holding out a water to you, if you would kindly look over your shoulder.” Slightly irritated by the condescending tone in his voice, you look and, sure enough, there was a cold glass of water in the stranger’s white-gloved hand. You couldn’t see his face, nor the rest of his body, but something in your gut told you that it was safe. And, if it did happen to be poisoned, at least it got you out of another season. Carefully taking the glass from his long fingers, most of the tension in your body leaves after the first few sips slide down your throat. “Refreshing?”

“Very,” you answer cordially, in that airy tone your stepmother taught you. She said it was a fine way to attract suitors, which made you want to drop your voice several octaves whenever a potential husband drew near. “Thank you. That was very kind of you, Mister…?”

“My identity is irrelevant,” he says quickly and you turn your head in his direction, as if to hear him better. “Nor will I ask of yours, so consider this conversation akin to speaking to a wall.”

“From my perspective, I am speaking to a wall,” you point out and the stranger chuckles under his breath. “May I ask why you aren’t socializing with the others?”

“I could ask the same of you, considering that you’re cowering behind a column.” The jab was evident. Your mouth drops in indignancy and, had it not been for heat exhaustion and your nice spot in the shade, you would have decked whoever was on the other side of this conversation. 

“I am not cowering,” you huff, taking another sip and willing the temperature to decrease just a few degrees. “I am merely…taking a break.”

“Taking a break where no one else can find you? For ten minutes?”

“A woman values her privacy,” you argue. “And as far as I’m aware, you were able to find me quite easily. Perhaps you were the one trying to hide, and I was the one who stole your spot.”

“So, you do acknowledge that you are stealing from me.”

“Space in this garden is not something to be claimed unless you are of the royal family, dear stranger.” You hope he can hear the smirk in your tone. 

“And yet, here you are, stealing what is rightfully mine.” 

“And yet, here you are, stealing what is rightfully mine,” you echo in a nasally, mocking voice that would have placed you in major trouble if your parents knew how you were addressing others. “Cease your bratty ramblings as if you own this palace.” The man barks out a laugh, a reaction you didn’t anticipate. It makes your heart race a little faster, in spite of your will to stay casual. 

“Have suitors ever told you that you’re quite the firecracker?”

“Bold of you to assume they get as far as to speak with me,” you correct without hesitation. Presentations were one of the stupidest parts of your present society, along with those tiny sandwiches and that tea that tastes like boiled shoes. “If they decide to pursue me, that’s their first mistake.” The stranger hums in a low tone. 

“Maybe you haven’t found the right suitor, then,” he muses and, before you can answer, the royal bugles announce the beginning of the duels. Excited cheers and the clicking sound of heels on pavement take over any remaining conversations. You whirl around to the other side of the column, anxious to see the mysterious man you were conversing with, but find the other side as vacant as when you first passed it. Slightly disappointed, you find your place along the perimeter of the circular stone courtyard and wait for the king’s advisor to speak. 

“Today is a day of celebration,” he begins, and you mutter the rest of his speech that you’d heard for the past four years under your breath. The hair stands up on the back of your neck and instinct tells you that someone was watching you, but you can’t find who it is among the hundreds of people present. You think you’ve found the culprit when you lock your gaze with a pair of strikingly blue eyes, but they disappear before you can identify the rest of the person. “And, as you are most likely already aware, this year we welcome His Highness Prince Touya Todoroki to the presentation ceremonies. Though he is of a royal family, those that wish to court or be courted by His Highness may present themselves as suitors as they ordinarily would.”

“And will the Prince grace us with his esteemed presence, or is he preoccupied with his ordinarily outlandish activities?” Sneers and snide remarks ripple through the crowd and the advisor struggles to regain their attention. That is, until that same loud barking laugh that you heard from the other side of the column cuts through the murmurs and mutters.

The voice that follows makes your blood run cold in your veins. 

“How bold to assume any of you are worthy of breathing in my presence.” 

“Your Highness–” 

“Shut up,” he spits, shivers spreading over your skin as the crowd splits to reveal an unruly mass of spiked white hair. His eyes are paralyzingly bright, cold and narrow while they scan the vermin before him. The rumors that circulated of his intimidating nature paled in comparison to the man before you, tall and lean and radiating the most dangerous aura you’d ever come across. All the previously gloating eyes became that of rabbits hunted by a wolf when they came under his gaze…except for yours. By some odd stroke of Fate, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d seen the Prince before, even though that was physically impossible. Maybe you’d passed another white-haired asshole in the market. “Well? Are we starting or shall you keep gawking until I staple your jaw shut?” The advisor stumbles, shrinking away like a mouse in a lion’s den. 

“Yes, Your Highness. May the first Lady to be courted please step forward!”

As the gowns start to swoop and the swords begin to swing, you’re again reminded of just how unnecessary the spectacle of presentation season always was. One by one, daughters of nobility presented themselves to the suitors, who would then step forward and duel one another for the opportunity to court the Lady. The fights were never to the death, of course, but the shame that came with losing more than one duel was close to it; nothing was more embarrassing, however, than having no suitors step forward when a Lady presented herself. It was your worst fear every season, one that you seemingly didn’t need to worry about this time around.

Still, you were met with the same pasty-faced suitor that had been attempting to win your hand for the past several seasons. He’d accumulated significantly more muscle mass since the previous season, but his hot-headed temper and objectifying tendencies were enough of a turn off to send him packing by the end of the first meeting. 

“You have rejected me time and time again, but that only makes you more enticing,” he declares, offering his hand to you while you roll your eyes behind your fan. Ladies who already received their matches swoon at his show of masculinity, but it only makes your stomach turn. “I will win you. That is my promise. And, if not this season, then the next, and I will persevere until the only eyes you look for in a room are mine.” 

“The only thing I would be looking for in a room with you is an exit,” you mutter. He doesn’t answer, eyeing you like you were a wise investment. Gross. 

“You’d do well to accept me.” Your attention darts upward and you meet his stare, irritated at your lack of a response. The volume of his voice drops so that only you two can hear it as he comes to stand inches away from your face. “It’s not like you have the privilege of other options. Marry me or life as a spinster is your only future.” 

“I wouldn’t marry you if the entire kingdom was at stake,” you hiss and his mouth turns up in a snarl, ready to bite out a response when the shing! of a sword being pulled from its sheath echoes through the courtyard. A quiet verbal commotion sets into the crowd, but you’re unable to see anything beyond the asshole before you. 

"Your business is with me, not her," warns a dangerously familiar voice and the man in front of you stiffens. "Let's get this over with."

“The…ahem…duel will begin once both suitors are in first positions,” the advisor relays with great hesitation. You’d never experienced a duel for your hand, yet it seemed that another man had been dealt into the game. With his face drained of its remaining color, Pasty-face draws his blade like an inexperienced marionette, clunky and jagged, as he takes his place in the circle, allowing you to catch the eye of his opponent, molten blue eyes that make your knees turn gelatinous. The prince was dueling for your hand. 

Prince Touya of the Todoroki family was dueling for your hand. 

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[dallasgallant]

Time period post: Soc’s

I just did one of these recently going over greasers and so I thought I’d go over Soc’s! Something to keep in mind is they aren’t really a subculture(really neither are our greasers) but are a defined group, clique might be the best word.

Ponyboy explains soc himself in the book by explaining its short for ‘Socialite’

Socialite:

is a person from a wealthy background who is prominent in high society. Who generally spends a significant amount of time attending various fashionable social gatherings, instead of having traditional employment.

Rich > popular

Soc does not automatically mean popularity and shouldn’t be seen as a stand in for a “popular kids”, however there’s an overlap and high likelihood they are popular but it’s not a requirement or the only aspect. The Soc’s are the rich kids.

In the sixties that likely means a two story house, two car garage, full kitchen, finished basement, central air etc. Nice new clothes and a nice car, they’re able to keep up with modern trends in just about everything. They’ll get records and stuff they like with relative ease.

There’s also the social aspect to being a social!

Being social-

Their entire life is about knowing the right people and being in the proper circles, they’re being reared to be the next proper socialites. Typically the women, men too but they’ll get a marketing, sales or board job that’s also primarily knowing people and cutting deals.

They throw ragers now but it’ll soon turn into garden parties and charity luncheons or company picnics. Building relationships and passing money around to each other and to whatever cause of the week they’ll pretend to care for or perhaps genuinely do but are so separated from everyone else it’s still tone deaf. We’re talking that kind of rich here.

For now Soc’s are still young, they may attend family events when needed but are largely left on their own to throw their own things… beer blasts, ragers. Getting in the news for their insanity but being praised in it the next day like cherry says. It’s a weird duality.

Appearance

To be a soc one has to be hyper-vigilant. One has to be presentable. One can never really be themselves or even know themselves. It’s hard to turn it off even when they’re alone, is there anything beneath that smile? Has it ever got a chance to develop? Bringing up Cherry again because she describes it so perfectly in a book that they’d talk without listening to themselves, just to talk, don’t even really know any of their friends but they’re friends because well— no one remembers.

They keep ramping up their antics just to feel something, anything. So you’re jumping greasers. You’re getting wasted. Wreckless, violent etc. might as well get it all out of your system now, it’s harder to burry when you age. They’re losing their minds a little constantly before they learn to completely harden. This is something still prevalent today amongst upper class kids.

Which, again don’t misunderstand me. They do have feelings and they are people I’m just explains how the pressures and demands of who/what they are often leads to completely losing yourself to the collective (there’s so many movies on this lol). Or just simply are lead not to care, too busy either networking or having fun to have a chance to think. Cherry mentioned something on this too, I think if they ever had a moment to stop, for silence or a sunset they’d explode. Need to fill themselves with noise and action to feel.

A lot of their more general behavior, that’s not influenced by the pressures of being Uber rich, overlaps with just plain and regular ‘popular’ kids in school. Not really knowing your friends or what you’re doing but you’re young and hot and you have fun so who cares really?

Soc = prep

While a soc isn’t interchangeable with Popular, they do tend to be. A better synonym would be the Preps/Preppies of the 1980s

Prep:

an American subculture associated with the alumni of college-preparatory schools in the Northeastern United States.

A prep is essentially a soc, just with more focus on the style of clothing and less the social aspect. It’s sort of the overlap with Soc and popular, as if you’re middle/upper middle class but popular and dress in the style you’d be considered a prep.

In the end, Soc refers to the “rich bully” whereas a Greaser is the “working class bully” as specified in my post on them. This is speaking in the stereotypical sense as the entire point of the story is people are more than the surface or stereotypes.

[measuredingold]

slow burn

authors note: three posts in ONE month ? who am i ? 🫣 don’t get used to this lol i’m just working on wips i’ve had for months and finally got around to finishing them ! here’s a jolly piece i’ve been working on since… december i think ? lost inspo and then finished it earlier this week :) as always, enjoy and feedback is appreciated ! titled from slow burn by kacey musgraves

pairing: joakim karlsson x reader

cross-posted on ao3

word count: 4.1k

cw/tw: friends to lovers, feelings realization/confessions ( kind of ), jolly is sort of bad at feelings lol, pushy bartender makes reader uncomfy, drinking, ~kissing~, jolly is jealous lol, 18+ minors dni

"Your face is gonna get stuck like that if you don't stop."

Noah's words pull Jolly out of his thoughts, the older flickering his gaze towards his friend. Noah looks smug, lips curled slightly as his eyes glint playfully and all Jolly can do is scoff, rolling his own.

"Fuck off." The Swede mutters, gaze falling back onto you.

Noah hums, "Dude, seriously. You look like you're trying to blow that guy up with your mind."

"Maybe I am." Jolly's quick to respond, eyes cutting towards Noah again before going back to you.

He watches you laugh and he wishes he could hear it from where he's sitting, in the corner on the other side of the bar. He pretends that he does, that sweet little laugh you did when something's actually funny. He can even see the way your eyes crinkle at the sides, nose scrunching as your laughter fills the air. A scowl makes its way back to Jolly's face as he watches you and the bartender continue to chat it up.

"You know what would fix all of this?" Noah sounds closer and Jolly turns his head, seeing the boy had moved his chair closer to Jolly's, throwing his arm around the back of it. "If you just told her that you want to kiss her."

Jolly's eyes narrow. "Can you please shut the fuck up?"

"Dude." It's Noah's turn to roll his eyes. "If you just... I don't know," His arm that's not resting against Jolly's chair moves in front of him, "tell her how you feel, maybe she'd be laughing at your jokes like that."

"She laughs at my jokes." Jolly mutters, almost to himself, peeling his eyes away from his friend. He tries not to look your way, seriously, but he always seems to find you first in a crowd. You're finally walking away from the bar, carefully holding yours and Noah's drinks. "Why did you make her go up by herself? You should've gone."

"She offered!" Noah's quick to defend himself. "She literally got up before I could even stop her, I didn't make her do shit."

Jolly brings his beer up to his mouth to try and hide the smirk that's currently residing there, eyes on you as you finally make your way back to the table.

You had been one of the first people he met out in Los Angeles, through Noah of course because the guy just seemed to fucking know everyone. It's called networking, dude, he would say. Jolly scoffs at the memory before giving you a smile when you sit down, sliding Noah's drink towards him.

"There you are, my good sir." You say, putting on some kind of accent that Jolly thinks is supposed to be British, and he doesn't have the heart to tell you that it's nowhere close.

"Why thank you, m'lady." Noah responds in the same fashion, voice dipping deeper. Something inside Jolly turns when you laugh at the other boy. "Next rounds on me."

You open your mouth to argue, both of them are sure of that, and Noah holds a hand up towards you, eyes narrowing. "No arguing. Jolly just bit my fuckin' head off for making you go up there by yourself, when I didn't even do that."

Jolly groans. "I did not bite your head off."

"Don't listen to him. He was fucking vicious."

You laugh again, much louder this time, and Jolly swears his entire face flushes just from the sound alone.

"Now, why would you do that, Joakim?"

He's always loved the way his name rolled off your tongue, all sweet and soft. Almost like you were made to say it. He takes another sip of his beer, more so to try and hide the smile that's threatening to form and shrugs his shoulders.

"I didn't do anything. Noah's a fucking liar."

Another laugh pulls from you and Jolly lets himself smile now. He hears Noah scoff beside him and knows the younger boy is probably rolling his eyes, slumping back in his seat because he's too goddamn dramatic for his own good.

"Sounds like him." You say, finally picking your own drink up to take a sip. You fall back against your chair, eyes moving between both Jolly and Noah. "He's always been a liar."

"A shit one at that." Jolly remarks, and you laugh again. Pride fills his chest.

See. I make her laugh, Noah.

"I am literally still right here." Noah grumbles and Jolly finally looks at his friend and sees the small curl of his lips to indicate he wasn't actually mad about the teasing. "You're being assholes to the guy who said he'd buy your next drinks."

"My apologies, man." Jolly raises his glass in a cheer before bringing it back to his lips, taking another drink. "Remind me to be an asshole after you get us our drinks."

Noah rolls his eyes and throws up his middle finger, and Jolly tosses his head back in laughter.

The night goes off as it normally would, fucking around with each other, jamming along to whatever song is playing on the speakers around them. Every now and then Jolly would catch you looking at him, and he swore he noticed a slight twinge of color on your cheeks every time he caught you before you quickly looked away. It happens for the fourth time when Noah finally gets up to get you all another round of drinks, and this time Jolly decides to test the waters.

"What?"

Your eyes widen. "Huh?"

"You keep staring." He tries to act cool, passing it off as no big deal as his arms cross over his chest, and he tries to ignore his rapidly beating heart. "Is there something on my face?"

"No."

"Hm." He hums to himself, head tilting. "Just like looking at me?"

That catches you off guard and he grins to himself when he sees your cheeks flush, turning your head away from him to try and hide.

"You're so full of yourself, Joakim."

"Maybe... but you haven't denied it."

You face him again, the slight twinge of color still on your cheeks as your eyes meet. You smile, soft and small and it has Jolly's heart wanting to explode with... whatever it was he was feeling.

"And what if I do?"

That stuns him into silence but only for a moment, eyes never leaving yours. His lips twitch but he tries to suppress the smile that so desperately wants to stretch across his face, flicking his gaze off to the side.

"Well..." He clicks his tongue before gazing at you once again. "I don't blame you."

You raise a brow. "Hm?"

He shrugs then motions to himself. "I'm very handsome. I'm sure you're not the only one who likes to stare."

"Jesus," You roll your eyes but you're laughing, and he finally lets himself smile. "You really are full of yourself."

"Maybe I am." He reaches for his almost beer, taking one more swig of it before placing it back on the table. "But you like it."

The flush on your cheeks and the confused expression on Noah's face once he returned was very well worth it.

"What's going on here?" Noah questions, handing Jolly's beer to him.

"Nothing." You reply quickly, clearing your throat. You glance at him briefly before focusing your gaze on Noah. "Jolly being Jolly."

"That could mean many, many things." Noah sits back down, sliding your drink towards you before looking at Jolly. "What'd you do?"

Jolly shrugs but says nothing, bringing the new bottle of beer up to his lips, taking a long sip. Both you and Noah stare at him, Noah even more confused than before and your eyes narrowed playfully, causing Jolly to chuckle to himself.

"Ooo-kay." Noah drags out his words, not looking convinced one bit.

"Jesus." You sputter out after taking a sip of your drink, face scrunched up in disgust. "What the fuck did you get me, Noah?"

"A vodka redbull?"

"Are you sure?" You push your drink towards him and he takes it easily, bringing it to his lips and taking a sip.

"Holy shit." He coughs, pushing the drink away from him. "What the fuck is that?"

"That's why I'm asking you!"

"Listen. I ordered a vodka redbull. Your bartender boy is the one who made it so he's the one who fucked up. Take it up with him."

Jolly internally groans at the mention of the bartender from earlier, and rolls his eyes, bringing his beer back up to his lips and taking another long sip.

Of course he fucked it up. Not shocking at all.

"I'm going to." You grumble, staring down at the drink in front of you with extreme distaste. "I can't believe you paid for this."

"What was I supposed to do, drink it?”

"Yes." Both you and Jolly say in unison, casting each other amused glances.

"Unbelievable." Noah grumbles, slumping back against his chair. "Can’t believe you’re being mean to the guy who willingly bought you drinks.”

"You poor baby. How will you ever survive?" Noah grumbles something low under his breath, arms crossing over his chest. You snort before turning your focus on Jolly, eyes softening. "I'm gonna go get whatever the fuck this is fixed. I'll be back."

He nods, lips pressed into a straight line as he watches you walk back up to the bar. His eyes narrow when he notices the bartender find you immediately, a smug smirk sliding onto his lips. Jolly frowns as the realization dawns on him.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Jolly all but groans before throwing his drink back, taking another nice, long sip.

"What?" Noah's no longer pouting, looking between him and the bar. "What's going on?"

"He did this on purpose, dude." He grumbles, gaze planted on you and the overly flirty bartender. "Knew what she was drinking. Made it shitty so she'd have to come back up there and talk to him."

"Shit." Noah nods to himself, bringing his drink to his lips. “…That's kind of smart when you think about it."

Jolly shoots him a glare.

"What? I'm right!" Noah exclaims. "Fuck up a pretty girls drink so bad she has to come back up and get it fixed, meaning she has to talk to you again? That's smart!"

"And fucking weird." Jolly grumbles, moving his glare away from Noah and back up to the bar.

His fingers tighten around the glass bottle in his hands as you laugh again at something the bartender says, internally rolling his eyes. He's probably not even that funny, he thinks to himself.

He hated that he was jealous. He didn't really have any reason to be, or any right for that matter, because you were just friends. Sure, maybe Noah was right when saying he should just get over it and tell you how he felt, but he can't. Not yet, at least.

Or ever.

Pushing the thought to the back of his mind for the unforeseeable future, he watches you carefully. His fingers tighten around his bottle again when he notices the very second your body language changes at whatever bartender boy is saying to you. Your shoulders stiffen and he can see your brows furrowing, lips dipping into a frown. He definitely just said something you definitely didn't like.

"Uh oh." Noah seems to have noticed as well. "Someone is not happy."

"You think?" Jolly grumbles but his eyes never leave you, glaring at the bartender who leans over the table closer to you.

Everything inside him is telling him to get up and go to you but he keeps himself seated. You can take care of yourself, you don't need him to protect you. You've told him and the boys countless times that you can handle yourself - and you can. He can't help it, though, especially when you take a step back when the bartender tries to reach for your hand, your head shaking.

Fuck that.

He ignores Noah's warning, telling him to let you handle it because he knows you’re capable. He can already hear you calling the bartender out halfway to you but his feet move without much thought. You don't notice him at first, but the bartender does, and the way his eyes narrow at Jolly has him giving the guy a scowl right back, placing his hand on your lower back.

"Hey," He says softly, letting his presence be known. You jump but relax when you see that it's him, relief washing over your face. "Everything alright?"

"Just making her a drink, man."

"I wasn't talking to you." Jolly's response is quick and he doesn't care if he sounds rude, throwing the bartender the fakest smile he can muster before focusing back on you, arm coming up to wrap around your shoulder. "You good?"

Your eyes flick between Jolly and the bartender. "Yeah. I'm good."

"You sure?" He presses. "You didn't look too happy. Decided I should come up here and see what's up."

"Hey man-"

"I thought you were making her a drink?" Jolly tilts his head, feigning innocent curiosity. The others eyes widen, having been taken aback by his words before he frowns, reaching for your now forgotten drink. "Thanks."

"Jolly."

He thinks he's pissed you off, been a bit too rude to your bartender boy, but when he looks at you again you're fighting off a grin.

"What?"

"You're an asshole." You all but sigh out, losing the fight as your lips stretch into a grin.

He can't help but grin down at you, eyes scanning over your face to double check that you weren't upset with him before squeezing your shoulder.

"You love it."

You go to say something but stop when someone clears their throat, the bartender sliding your newly made drink towards you. Jolly lazily moves his gaze back to him, giving him the most unamused look, but his focus isn't on him.

"So, like I was saying before we got interrupted," Jolly doesn't miss the sideways glance the bartender gives him before eyes locking on you again, giving you the sleaziest grin that has Jolly cringing, "in exchange for fixing your drink, why don't you give me that number of yours?"

"Seriously?" Jolly's mouth was moving, but it was you who beat him to the punch. He looks down at you and he has to hold back a laugh as you glare at the bartender in front of you, brows furrowed in disgust. "You fucked with my drink on purpose, dude."

"Yeah, but it was to get you to talk to me again." The guy shrugs as if it's the most obvious thing and Jolly can't help but roll his eyes at him, internally groaning to himself. "Plus, I fixed the drink for free. I think I should be owed something since I didn't make you pay."

"That's fucking weird, man." Jolly finally speaks up, anger washing over him. This dude can't be fucking serious? "She doesn't owe you shit, especially because you fucked it up on purpose."

"This has nothing to do with you."

"I don't give a fuck if it has anything to do with me, you're a fucking creep-"

"Oh, fuck you, man-"

"Stop." Your voice pulls Jolly away from the bartender, casting you a glance. You give him a small, tight-lipped smile before cutting your gaze back to the other, eyes narrowing. "He's right. I don't owe you shit, and the fact that you think I do tells me everything I need to know. Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not interested.”

The guy's jaw twitches and Jolly thinks for a split second he's going to do something rash and he can't help himself from dropping his arm from your shoulder and gently pushing you back. He slips between you and the bar, two barriers to keep you away from this guy. Jolly doesn't avert his gaze from the man in front of him until the bartender sighs, eyes rolling.

"Not even worth it," Jolly swears he hears the bartender grumble under his breath before their eyes lock again. "If you're not going to take the drink, then it's probably time for you guys to leave."

Jolly's eyes narrow. "Are you seriously kicking us out because she doesn't want to give you her fucking number? That's path-"

The bartender looks like he's about to cut him off, and Jolly genuinely wishes he does because he's just dying to rip this guy a new one, but he feels your hand on his back and another presence beside him.

"Everything alright?"

Noah's presence pulls Jolly out of the angry fog that was clouding his mind, head turning to stare at his friend. His expression was hard as his eyes flicked between him, the bartender and you and the bartender's arms crossed over his chest, his angry expression faltering for just a moment.

"Nothing." You say quickly, hand reaching out to circle around Jolly's wrist now. "We were just leaving, actually."

Noah's hard expression was changed to one of confusion, looking down at you with a raised brow. "Really?"

"Yes. Let's go."

With one more glare casted towards the bartender, Jolly let you drag him out of the bar. He ignored the glances from the other people inside, not really caring that anyone saw that. He's actually glad people did and hoped someone recognized that bartender for the fucking creep he is and-

"Jolly."

Your voice catches him off guard and he blinks, staring down at you. You were outside now on the curb and he glanced to his side to find Noah tapping away on his phone, presumably ordering an uber for the three of you. He blinks again and stares down at you once more, a sigh slipping from his lips.

"What?"

"You didn't have to do that."

"Do what?"

"Don't piss me off." You gave him an unamused look, lips pressed in a straight line. "I could've handled it."

"I know." And he does. "I was just making sure you were alright. That’s what friends do.”

You pause, eyeing Jolly. He feels like his skin is on fucking fire under your gaze and does his best to look anywhere but you.

"Joakim," Your voice is soft as you step closer to him, arms crossing over your chest. "Why'd you really do that?"

“I already told you-“

“Were you jealous?”

Your question stuns him and he can only stare down at you. Of course he was jealous. What else would he be? He can’t admit that, though. He was also your friend above all else, though, and seeing that dude make you uncomfortable was the last straw for him.

“Why’d you-“

"Dude." He cuts you off, pinching the bridge of his nose. He doesn't know if it's the anger bubbling through his veins from that interaction, or maybe because Noah's words are still swirling around his mind, but his mouth moves before he thinks twice about it. "You fucking know why."

There's another long pause.

The air shifts between the two of you and Jolly can hear Noah off to the side, shuffling his feet, trying to act like he's not eavesdropping on this conversation when he so obviously is. Your eyes are still on him, he knows that much, and he spares a glance down at you. Your gaze is much softer than before, arms still crossed over your chest, and he swears he sees a hint of a smile on your lips.

"Actually, I don't fucking know why you were a dick to him. Please enlighten me."

Jolly groans. "Dude."

"Dude." You mimic his voice, the smile playing on your lips only growing more and Jolly can't stop his own from forming.

"You know why." His voice drops, much quieter than before, and he finds himself almost feeling... shy? "Don't make me say it, okay?"

Noah clears his throat from beside him, coughing out a quiet, "Say it."

Jolly shoots a glare towards his friend and Noah looks anywhere but him, turning his back to stare at the brick wall of the bar. He rolls his eyes before focusing back on you, your head tilting with a playful grin.

"I think you should take your friend's advice." You take another step closer to him, the tips of your shoes touching now. "Say it."

"I can't."

And it's true. He doesn't think he can. At least not here, with Noah beside him. He thinks it's because he doesn't want to prove the male right. He'll be damned if he boosts Noah's already inflated ego. Another part of him knows that he would rather do it with just the two of you. Privacy, not in the open on the curb of some fucking bar you got kicked out of because the bartender was a creep.

"Why not?"

"Because it's hard." He tilts his head to where Noah's standing, back still turned but most definitely listening in. "Plus, he's right there listening like a creep. Can't boost that ego of his for being right."

"And what is he right about?"

He lets out a soft sigh of your name before saying, "Don't make me say it."

"Okay." Disappointment flashes across your face and Jolly's heart drops for a split second before you speak again, "Show me, then."

"...Show you?"

"Yeah. Show me. Since you can't say it."

His eyes lock with yours, searching for some kind of answer. You can't be asking for that. If it's what Jolly's thinking. Another beat of silence passes and Jolly's eyes drop to your lips quickly before dragging back up your face, but you definitely caught him.

"Are you sure?"

It's probably a dumb thing to ask, he knows, but he can't help it. He needs to know you're sure, one hundred percent positive before he does something that will change the trajectory of your friendship forever. This time it's your eyes that drop to his lips and he definitely doesn't miss the way your tongue darts out, swiping across your bottom lip before your gaze locks with his again.

"Yes. I'm sure."

Jolly could do two things right about now. He could run, like his body is yelling at him to do. Go on like nothing happened and possibly ruin whatever it is the two of you have going on. Or he could just do it. Say fuck it, listen to his mind for once, and right now his mind is screaming about how bad he wants to fucking kiss you.

His eyes search yours one more time, and the way you're staring at him, eyes begging, has his hand reaching up to cup your cheek. Fuck it.

He hears you suck in a deep breath, hand reaching up to circle around his wrist to keep his hand there. He chuckles quietly at the feeling of your shaky fingers against his skin and he's glad to know he's not the only one nervous here before dipping his head, lips pressing to yours gently. He keeps it short and simple, not exactly wanting to kiss you the way he's been dreaming of out of this corner. He can tell you don't mind with the way your fingers tighten around his wrist, sighing softly against his lips.

He pulls back moments later and watches your eyes flutter open, a small, satisfied grin settling on your lips.

"Oh." You breathe out, biting down on your bottom lip to contain the smile beginning to form.

Jolly doesn't know what comes over him but the urge to kiss you soars, his chest warming at the thought and he finds himself leaning back in. Your lips don't connect, though, a loud honking from the street causing the two of you to jump apart.

"Ubers here." Noah's already making his way to the Uber and Jolly hears him asking for the driver's name before he finally glances his way. "Keep your hands to yourselves the entire ride, please. I don't want to be traumatized."

"Fuck you, Noah." Both you and Jolly say in unison.

You give each other a look before bursting out into laughter, especially at the not amused look Noah is giving you. He grumbles something before getting into the car and you tug at Jolly's wrist, your fingers still attached to him.

"Let's go."

The smile you give him almost knocks the breath right out of him. He lets you drag him to the car and the three of you cram into the backseat, Noah whining about how he's already squished and how unfair it is. Jolly only grins from beside you when you start to bicker with Noah, his hand coming down to rest on your thigh. You don't stop speaking but your hand does come down to his, fingers lacing with his own.

Jolly turns his head to look out the window, hiding his smile.

[thedarkmistress16]

A/N: Watched Deadpool 3 and Iron Man 1 (the latter for the first time, can you believe) with my boyfriend in the same day last week and my mind was fighting between finishing a Hugh Jackman wip or a Tony Stark one. My creative juices followed popular demand in a new wip until it didn't, lol.

So, here's a yan!series I started writing a long time ago that I feel I can finish if I put my mind to it. It just may take a while to do.

I would include all the tags I've listed like on my past works, but I'd rather y'all be surprised when the time comes for this one. 😏 I will tag them per chapter. In this case, chapter one has no warnings. Just expository/setting up/housekeeping. This time, Fem!reader is female and has female parts, but still feel free to switch it out if desired. Gif isn't mine.

——————————————————————————————————

Stalker!Yandere!Tony Stark x Fem!Reader- To Steal and Dote On

Chapter 2 |

Chapter 1: Two Worlds Collide

——————————————————————————————————

“(Name)!” You’re abruptly snapped out of your stupor as your friend comes barreling through the bustling cafe toward your comfy spot by the window. “I got invitations!” Your friend waves her phone around in the air, bumping into other disgruntled patrons along the way.

You sigh softly, closing your laptop. You had a feeling you wouldn’t be getting anything else done for the rest of your shared lunch break. This must’ve been what she had to “take care of” before meeting you in your usual spot today. She plops herself down right across from you with a beaming smile and seems to almost vibrate in place as her eyes excitedly pour into yours. “Invites for what?”

(Friend name) thrusts the device in your face and after blinking a few times, you find it’s opened to an email. “You’re looking at the next attendee to the hottest spot in New York City!” She announces as you skim it over, and while it reads like any generic acceptance letter, it seems legitimate.

Your friend usually works more in the spotlight than you even though you’re employed at the same company, networking whenever she could as you spent those hours pushing pencils. So it made sense that (Friend name) gathered some connections and got some strings pulled to get into an event like this. And judging by her barely-contained giddiness, a very anticipated one.

You don’t understand her excitement, but are happy for her nonetheless. You raise your head to look at her past the device. “Congratulations, (Friend name).”

Her eyebrows level and she just stares for a moment, like she’s analyzing you. “Girl, did you even read it?”

“Um,” Confusion fills your voice and then she’s glaring at you in irritation. It’s so unexpected that it makes your eyes dart around the table to avoid the stare.

“It says ‘all invited attendees are allowed an additional guest.’” She states matter-of-factly, reminiscent of a teacher explaining something one-too many times.

“Okay?”

“And,” she pauses for dramatic effect, “you’re my plus one!” Your friend's expression lightens again and your eyes widen in shock.

“Really?”

“Yes, silly!” She laughs as she pulls her device back from your face. “It’s over the weekend and I know you don’t have plans, so don’t even try to flake out on this.”

“But I-” you start, but (Friend name) pipes up again.

“Oh, and don’t worry if you don’t have anything to wear. You can always borrow something of mine.”

Despite your hesitance, you didn’t really have any reason to say no, and you didn’t want to leave your friend hanging when she asked you of all people to go with her.

You can feel her bubbliness make its way into the smile steadily growing on your lips.

“When are we leaving?”

——————————————————————————————————

It took you a while to find something suitable, but between the hangers cluttered in the section of your closet that you barely ever touched, you did discover a classy little black number that felt appropriate.

You wanted to fit in enough where you wouldn’t stand out like a sore thumb, while blending to avoid being the center of attention at the same time. It was more (Friend name)’s event than yours to try hard or impress anyone at, anyway.

That, and- well, you didn’t have anything else that was on the fancier side.

By combining different accessories, however, you were able to make the ensemble stand out a lot better than before. It still looked subtle and classy, too. Inspecting yourself over through the tall mirror fills you with a wave of confidence, and you mentally pat yourself on the back for your gifted ability to improvise what you had.

Your phone blared with a notification as you slipped the dress on, and you turned to pick it up from your bedside table.

‘(Friend name): Coming over in 10, (Nickname). Don’t be late!’

You smile to no one, tapping away at your reply before setting the device down and touching up the last of your look.

When you headed out of your apartment and climbed into the cab your friend was waving you from, she had given you a once-over.

“You look gorgeous, (Name).” A pleased laugh escaped you, and you complimented her in kind.

“And you look ready to devour the night, (Friend name).” She poses for you, winking with exaggeration, before falling into a fit of giggles alongside you.

After calming down, she relays the address to the driver and the vehicle lurches to life. You distract each other with some small talk, and by the time you get there, it feels as though not much time has passed.

(Friend name) steps out first, and you’re left to fumble with your purse to pay the fare before getting out yourself. You’re immediately greeted by hoards of flashing lights that discombobulate your vision. You swear you’re about to stumble before you feel an arm looping around yours.

“Sorry, I should’ve warned you,” your friend whispers as she guides you down the red carpet arm-in-arm.

You mildly shake your head, not wanting your unfamiliarity in this setting to put a damper on her night.

“Ah, I’m fine; just been a while since I wore heels this high.”

(Friend name) looks at you and smiles, but doesn’t say anything more as you both head toward the entrance of the high rise. She flashes her phone at the man clad in black who stands by the glass door like a sentry guard. He grunts, signaling a confirmation with his hand, and you both step inside.

Right away, the crowd is overwhelmingly large. The space is just as expansive, and your eyes can’t help but trail up toward the ginormous chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It’s so expansive and gaudy that you can’t help but think it has no business being here besides spectacle.

“Will you be okay?” She asks, concern bleeding through her eyes. You wave her off again.

“Oh- yeah. Go on and mingle. Just let me know when you want to leave. I'll be close by.” You give her a reassuring thumbs-up.

“Okay,” (Friend name) breathes, easiness and positivity morphing her mood quickly as she surveys the room. “I'll be rubbing elbows if you need me,” she winks, letting go of your arm to happily bound off in one direction, and your heart feels a bit heavy at the loss.

A part of you regrets even saying that, wanting her to selfishly be by your side in such a foreign place you would never step willingly into on your own accord. Another side of you spins the overwhelming assault on your senses as a good thing, telling you to suck it up and enjoy yourself for once. Ultimately, you decide to head over to the bar first, get something to loosen you up, and meet up with your plus one later. How you'll spend the time in between though, you're unsure.

——————————————————————————————————

A surveying sweep of the event room from your perch on the uncomfortable plastic of the bar stool turns fruitless almost immediately. The more you stare out into the sea of people, the less you see somehow.

It feels somewhat like a classy, high-end nightclub with art studio lights bearing down like a terrarium heat lamp; the kind of party that requires knowing someone just to get your foot in the door. Walking up to a stranger to strike up a conversation is possible, you muse to yourself, if you want to commit social suicide. Knowing nothing about the purpose of the party or who anyone is will sink any incoming credibility you could have going in. And although a part of you wanted to come out here for a new experience, you realize you aren't ready for what that entails just yet.

So, you planted your elbow down on the wooden grain-textured surface of the bar, resting your phone in front of you and scouring through apps to pass the time. You don’t know how many drinks you had; you do know that the more you sat there, the more tired you got.

Clusters of guests came and went, rattling off drink orders and chatting with their entourage. Some spoke many pleasantries while others sounded more serious. It was interesting to catch snippets of their lives, but none of it was interesting enough to pull you away from your distraction and jump into their conversation.

A few people shuffled around your spot at the bar, moving off to the side and away from you, as if making space. Then, you feel a presence beside you, accompanied by the shuffling sound of paper rifling through someone's hands. A whiff of cologne stings your nostrils, something reeking strongly of ethanol and new car smell, oddly enough.

“Hey, you. Gimme a martini, yeah? Dirty it up for me.” Your peripherals caught a black sleeve hovering over the bar on your left side, quite close to your person. “Actually,” the male voice chimed up once more, fingers snapping shortly afterward, “throw in a scotch, too. Rocks a-plenty.” The way he was talking to the bartender was starting to put you off, further worsening your mood and whatever intrigue he had.

Then your brain got to thinking about (Friend Name). Where did she walk off to? Was she enjoying herself? When will she be ready to leave? Tapping your phone, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, lightly biting it as your eyebrows furrowed. You start to wonder whether you should call a cab in advance.

“All by yourself, sweetheart?” The voice is too close to not be directed at you, you think, and you finally turn your head to look at the male.

He’s dressed in a crisp black and white tux, devoid of any wrinkles. A ring shines from the finger on his right hand as he moves his drink up, which draws your assessment to his face. You catch the hint of his dark stubble behind the glass as he sips, and the bright lights overhead tell you it’s a of deep brown color like his seemingly fluffed and gelled hair. Your gaze drops to his eyes, finding the same shade in them as his other features, but feel as though some kind of mirth is playing behind them. It seems he’s waiting for you to say something.

“Uh, who are you?”

“I’m Tony Stark.”

…Okay? Who the fuck was that?

Your brows scrunch together in confusion.

“You know, a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.”

No, you didn’t know.

“Oh, and part-time superhero. I’m sure you heard my name pop up in the news.” He waves his free hand in the air dismissively. “It’s made of different stuff, but iron is more digestible to say than Gold-Titanium Man.”

You wonder if you’re conversing with a crazy person or if you're really the crazy one.

And you really want to believe you’re in some sort of lucid dream right now, because there is no way this guy is actually for real. But he’s looking at you with such confidence, steadily maintaining eye contact. It’s as if he expects you to agree with him or go along with it even if you don’t know what he’s talking about. If the latter is true, then this man is offering that bridge between your world and this foreign one.

It's too bad that you're well out of whatever party mood you were in when you arrived. If you were more hopeful for such discussions going well, perhaps you would play along with his jest and cadence. But not tonight. The more you sat there, the stronger of an urge you had to retreat back to your apartment and relax.

Casting him a side-eye served with a raised brow, you wearily speak up. “I’ve never heard of you before in my entire life.” He, this... self-proclaimed Tony-GoldMan, opened his mouth to say something.

“Excuse me.”

Both of your attention turns to a woman who strides up with confidence in her sparkling heels and shimmery dress. She addresses you with a brief flick of her eyes before settling on Tony, silently telling you she only acknowledged you out of courtesy, and had only approached for him. You turn away unbothered, knowing your time in the conversation is up, and it will be a matter of time before they shimmy away from you, too.

“Are you Tony Stark?” Her inflection is high, almost pitchy-sounding, and asks it in a way that hints she does, in fact, know him.

“Well, that’s what my birth certificate says. So, probably.”

She laughs, and you weren't sure if it was the volume of her voice or the strain on your ears from the crowds up to that point, but it gave you a splitting headache.

Your phone pinged with a text suddenly, and while it startled you like a jumpscare would, you felt your mood brighten a bit as you open the message.

‘(Friend name): Got caught up with some cutie, lol. Don’t wait up! Be safe, okay?’

Good for her. And oh, fuck yes! Now you didn’t have to wait for your friend so you could leave together. You were so outta here.

You peeked a subtle glance towards Tony and the woman as you handed the bartender your payment, purely out of curiosity. Seeing them standing very close to each other, lost in their own world, you left the bar without parting ways and beelined for where you remembered the entrance to be.

“What’s the rush, gorgeous?”

While it was projected from somewhere behind you, you couldn't pinpoint if it was Tony's voice calling out to you or that your ears caught someone else’s exchange of words. Either way, you couldn’t care less who it was. It probably wasn’t even directed at you anyway.

——————————————————————————————————

You trekked your way into your silent apartment building and rifled through your purse until your fingers brushed over the familiar, jagged shape of your keys. Fiddling with the lock until it gave way, you pried open your unit’s door and stepped inside. The echoing slam the door made when you flung it backward made your hearing cringe, but you didn’t find it in yourself to care.

You slipped off your heels with a pained groan and carelessly threw them to the side as you walked further into your apartment. The living area was barely lit enough from the flimsy curtains that were drawn over the windows, and you had to squint your eyes to make out darkened outlines of your worn furnishings, but you still managed to not trip over anything. Your sluggish and bare feet made their way to your bed where you unceremoniously flopped down onto the covers and immediately passed out.

——————————————————————————————————

Tony regretted rousing the next morning, feeling the waves of his hangover relentlessly pounding into his brain. He groaned, pinching his eyes tighter despite not even opening them yet. Raising a palm to massage the ache behind his forehead only made it worse, and the brunette rolled over to smush his face into his pillow with more displeased noises.

The billionaire was intrigued enough to inspect the features of the woman he took to bed, but lost interest fairly quickly when he saw who she was.

It wasn’t who he was hoping to spend time with last night.

A part of him stopped to wonder why he became picky in his conquests all of a sudden, but shook it off as he begrudgingly got ready for the day.

——————————————————————————————————

[astrow0rldx]

Kamala Harris vs Donald Trump Astrology Reading (PART ONE)

Birth Charts, Synastry & The Astrology of the Election Day <33

Small notes: Humanitarian vs Money-Man?? 2 Clowns?? (not in a bad way. funny but could be 2 faced) Pretty Party Girl vs Popular Rich Man?? (THIS IS ALL FROM THE BIRTH CHART)

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· Experienced Astrologer for 7-8 years now. I'm new to networking, tumblr and having an astrology content account & paid readings so just follow my private Instagram account universalstarbaby00 for any inquiry ·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

PARTY GIRL. Kamala Harris Sun (Who she is/Self-Identity & ego) is in libra (love/romance/beauty/art/attraction) pretty girl! also an air sign so her personality & ego is just a loving, aesthetic, attractive, sensual girl who needs mental stimulation and is probably social & connecting. Moon (Inner self/what she does to feel comfortable & secure/Deal with her emotions) is in Aries. Adrenaline, Taking Initiative, Beginning/Starting, Daredevil, Doing, Risk-Taking. Also a fire sign. So to her inner soul, naturally acts as a fiery Aries for comfort & security within. Her Rising sign (outlook on this world, her perception & how others perceive her, her interactive body) is in Gemini clever, witty, funny. they can be either over thinkers, and cause a lot of anxiety & thoughts. or they can just be really quick, witty & clever because their mind is racing, & smart. likes to be mentally stimulated. Double Air & Ruled by Mercury she is definitely a great conversationist, writer, speaker, debater. That Aries Moon her natural self, and her mars planet being in the 3 house of where she has to communicate, process, think, speak. WHAT SHE SAY. if Donald trump has to say something SAY IT TO MY FACE. she wasn't playing, people tend to not take Gemini Risings serious sometimes & Look at them as clowns lol. (Donald Trump is a Gemini Sun also). they could have mask personalities, 2 faced, and their mind is crazy. but she is READY for a debate with Donald trump, that's just who she is. Her mars sign in that house, it's what she primally desires, and rules her chart so naturally comes to her.

Big 3 definitely makes her an exciting, stimulating, person to be around. that's her literal outlook on life as a Gemini rising. While her sun her core personality, will in this life, her sense of self & ego is placed in the area of life where her pleasures & joy is. sex, romance, creativity, partying, drinking, having fun, inner-child, getting loose. 5th house sun baby. Her literal chart ruler is in the 5th house (Mercury), and mercury is how you process, think, your mindset, how you talk & communicate, what stimulates your mind. Definitely seeing her in the spotlight more, we get a taste of how she campaigns. a dive into what makes her comfortable (her Aries moon behavior). but its expressed in the 11th house, of networking, Humanitarism. coming together as a group to revolutionize, invent, wishes. its the house of social media, politics. I SAY WE SHOULD TRUST HER. plus her libra sun she definitely makes it her motive to GET US. to come together, and she's very smart mercury ruled.

Her Chiron is placed in the 10th house. Your Chiron is your trauma & wounds that you become an expert to heal people on. In the 10th house of public image, reputation, social status, career, success, responsibility & place in this world. All while her North Node is your life purpose & who your here to become is in the 1st house of self & self discovery. FIRST BLACK WOMAN (POTIENTIAL) PRESIDENT!!! Saturn is your lessons, karma, responsibility, depression, authoritative, president. Placed in the 9th house of the god house, the house of faith & optimism, the house of mind expansion & learning, the house of traveling & experiencing. With her Lilith being placed in that house. Lilith brings destruction & trauma but it brings power, revenge & liberation!!

Okay Mr. Trump. Your birth chart comes with originally 12 placements (not including adding extra lots/parts, asteroids, etc) which is your planets, north node, & rising sign. WHY IS 6/12 OF THEM SITTING UP THERE, STELLIUMS IN HIS 10TH/11TH HOUSE. (His Sun, Mercury, Venus, Saturn, Uranus, & North Node) All while having his chart be ruled by his Leo Ascendant. MANS MEANT TO BE FAMOUS & KNOWN & SHINE. I mean the other placements like Jupiter, Neptune & Chiron is all in his 2nd house of receiving money, material possessions, value & worth. Jupiter is where your blessings & prosperities. Your luck, optimism, & faith. While Neptune is your fantasies, inspiration, dreams, subconscious, spirituality. But your Chiron is that wounded healer, the traumatized that becomes the expert to help people. (which I heard from a debate, and a trump supporter showed data of him putting JOBS IN THE COMMUNITIES. He was president during the STIMULUS CHECKS I believe. His 10th house of public image, & reputation. your place in this world, responsibility, career & success. Is in his sun WHAT RULES HIS CHART (who he is, his will, his personality, his ego & sense of identity/self.) DUHHHHH mr. cocky popular. and his uranus in the 10th, uranus is freak, weird, inventive, revolutionizing stuff. thats definitely his public image is weird & different. His mercury (communication, mindset, processing skills, writing, internet, local environment, social media/neighborhood.) in his 11th house LMFAOOO. Bruh that's why the network & broadcast EVERYTHING THIS MAN SAY. you cannot change a news channel MSNBC, FOX, always quoting something or just talking about him in general. and that's why he's so good with his words, and connecting his mindset, communication & stuff to groups of people. His Venus is also there so he gets love from groups, communities. Really good at making friends & fans. But his Saturn is also there where his lessons, karma, responsibility, CAREER, PUBLIC IMAGE, is.

[stele3]

Has anybody written the fic of Jason getting his throat cut by Bruce in “UtRH,” then having a moment of true clarity in his second(?) death(?) and deciding “fuck this”?

He tells Talia that Bruce isn’t the person they thought he was and if either of them are going to be saved, they have to do it for themselves. He takes off for the West Coast.

I’m gonna be selfish and say he settles in Portland with the intent of going back to school. This is the Batman-ified version of Portland, though, or maybe just the Portland envisioned in conservative media: lawless, violent, on fire all the time. (Reality check: lol.) The guy can’t help himself and pretty soon he’s beating the shit out of Proud Boys downtown. No reason he can’t smash some fash AND get his GED.

Flash forward a few years and by day he’s attending Reed College, with its rolling lawns, nature trails, and liberal arts; by night he’s gotten involved with the local mutual aid network. He’s got a ponytail and an undercut, one full sleeve tattoo and the start of another, multiple facial piercings, and a Subaru. He’s joined a polycule — nothing serious, just some people who are kind with their bodies and have taught him to be the same. He buys secondhand and recycles. He works in the community garden. And if a few Proud Boys have gone missing then no one misses them, right? Portland is small enough to be overlooked but big enough to disappear into. He’s in his lane, moisturized, thriving.

Then Talia shows up with Damian in tow. Because it makes absolutely no sense for her to send Damian to Bruce in the first place, unless she somehow didn’t know that Bruce slit Jason’s throat, OR she somehow didn’t give a shit. Why on Earth would she trust Bruce to care for Damian after he’s already killed one son? No. She gives Damian to Jason.

Has anyone written a fic like this very specific one? Lolol

[usmsgutterson]

We Could Leave The Christmas Lights Up Til January - S.R x reader

I am typing this authors note and feeling like the friend who's like "ITS CHRISTMAS" from the like. middle of the month forward when I'm actually the friend who reminds you how close it is to christmas or the new year bc I don't want to face that knowledge by myself and suffer well with others.

This was written as a through-the-years style fic. It'll have fifteen chapters which will correspond with the og fifteen seasons of criminal minds (I have not watched seasons sixteen or seventeen, please do not judge me lol) and three scenes per chapter, one set in November, one set on or around Christmas, and the last set at some point after it. The reader is also a fiber artist but if stuff relating to that comes up, I will make a note of whichever terms I need to.

Fic type - this is largely fluff!

Warnings - the reader in this has a slightly similar, but also somewhat dramatized version of my family dynamics bc I wrote this whenever the knit projects I was working on frustrated me and when writing the dynamics it just HAPPENED, but then I edited it so that the dynamics wouldn't hit SUPER HARD if I ever reread it. Otherwise, booze is mentioned a bit, and there is swearing present bc I apparently am incapable of writing a fic without dropping an f'bomb.

When you leave the office that night, it's half-past seven on a Friday in November. You and the rest of the team have the weekend off, and while Penelope and the others had gone out for drinks, you'd gotten back from a case in Miami that morning and had said no to the offer when she'd made it.

You had really just wanted to get home, if you were being honest. You told her you couldn't swing it because of plans already made with someone else, but Garcia didn't need to know that those plans were a glass of wine, Loops 'N Threads Classic Cotton and a crochet hook to work up some dishcloths in lieu of anything too expensive for your aunts christmas gift, or that the someone else you had plans with was your DVR so that you could catch up on the five episodes of Prison Break you'd missed because of the way that cases and work had been piling up.

She also didn't need to know that the wine your mother had given you would have a spot, or that after you were caught up with Prison Break you'd probably order and eat your way through an entire pizza from Antonios while watching a documentary about lemon sharks. Your Friday nights were your own, and even though you adored everyone on the team, you would seldom give up your Friday night ritual of doing a craft while watching whichever cable TV you needed to catch up on or whichever one the network of your choice had been running a marathon of, even if giving it up meant giving up dinner, drinks, and laughter amongst yourself and the rest of the team.

So, as you and Spencer are heading out—Spencer had declined Penelopes offer but hadn't specified his reasons as to why—he looks at you with a knowing sort of smile.

"Crocheting and Antonios?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

You nod once, lips pursing just a little while you mentally ready yourself for any oncoming judgement. "Mhm," you nod. "I have a bottle of red I wanna drink, so it'll be a tipsy crocheting night, I think."

"That sounds fun," he says. "Enjoy it."

"What're your plans for the night?" You ask. You've been with the team since six months after Spencer had joined up. You'd joined, under Hotch's wing, at the age of nineteen where Spencer had joined up under Gideons when he was twenty.

He shrugs. "I was thinking about calling my mom, seeing how she's doing," he says. "I try to call her at least once every so often and I do my best to write, but—it's just—"

"Maintaining those kinds of relationships isn't that easy," you nod. "I mean—my parents just live in my hometown so the circumstances are different, but I get it, even if it's to a lesser degree."

You don't really talk to your parents, and they don't really talk to you, and it's been that way since you went to the FBI Academy when you were eighteen. You came to DC after being hired by the BAU and they stayed in Maine, and things have been like that in the five years since you left the state.

"Your mom came around recently, right?"

You nod. "She was in town for a bit, but she came down while we were working on a case so I only got to see her a few times before she was heading back to Maine." She'd come up at the start of October, while you were working a case out of state, and she'd left six days after you'd returned from the case. In that time, you'd seen her at breakfast, lunch and dinner on three separate days. She'd left you the wine as a gift because she hated red and needed to pass it off, but you loved red wine so it was fine.

"Was it a good visit?"

"It was—well—it was fine," you laugh.

"That's the nicest way to put it?"

"Calling it fine is me being stellar," you laugh again. "Being kind, being gratiuitous, even. It was less than fine, but it could've been worse, and other visits of hers have been by miles."

Your relationship with your mother has been somewhat contentious since you were a teen, but she comes down once every few months and unless a case or something better comes up, you usually try to book Christmas off to spend it with your parents and sisters in Maine. This year, a bigger part of you than not is hoping that Christmas is disrupted by a case somewhere completely out of Maines reach, like Nevada or California or even the likes of Alaska, which has got to be some snowy hellstorm in the wintertime, though you can't say.

"You gonna go down for Christmas?" Spencer asks, laughing a little. He knows some of what your relationships with your family are like—knows that you and your mother have a difficult time finding common ground, knows that you and your father don't get along but have found some weird little middleground where you can exist without screaming at each other. He knows that you and your older sister are sort of friendly but only really mildly close, and that you and your other older sister don't talk often and see each other even less than the sparing conversations you have throughout the year—and he always looks at you kind of pitifully when your mother gets brought into the conversation, but there's been less and less pity as the years have passed, more sympathy.

"I don't want to," you laugh. "I really, really hope we get a case in Nevada or somewhere that even my mother wouldn't be able to justify asking me to drive down to Maine from. Like—I'd love it if we got a case in Alaska the day before Christmas Eve, honestly. I know it's not gonna happen, but—Christmas with them, my aunt, and my uncle? No. I can't subject myself to that without a whole lot of booze."

Spencer laughs, shakes his head a little bit. "You'll be fine," he says. "I won't hope that a case comes up at Christmas, but if one does, I'll buy you a victory tea."

"Why?"

"Because I know you love your family—you're hardwired to love them—but you hate Christmas with them, and I don't really like the thought of you being where you don't want to be because of family ties and guilt."

You laugh. "If it gets too dreary, promise you'll answer my call?"

"Yeah," Spencer nods. "Of course, but what if I call you first?"

"I will answer so quick," you laugh again, shrugging. "Seriously. Whether it's you or Hotch, I will take literally any excuse I can get to slip out from whichever room I'm in to the back porch just so I can talk to someone who isn't my aunt for a few minutes."

"Looking forward to that," Spencer says.

You smile, turning away as you do to hide it. It feels like an awesome ending to a mediocre day and you're grateful for that.

-

When your phone rings at five o'clock something along the lines of five weeks later, it's Christmas Eve. You've spent the last couple of hours alternating between cheap screw top rose and a jack and coke, occasionally swapping both options out for a hot chocolate that you spike with kahlua and a splash of baileys, and when your phone rings, the sound of it is a welcome reprieve.

You tuck a mug of boozed up hot cocoa into your right hand, answering the phone with your left as you dismiss yourself out to the back porch, standing amidst snow that's, by that point, a couple days old. A fresh coat is due to fall any day now, but by the time it does you'll probably already be back in DC.

"Hey," you greet. "How's Christmas on your end?"

"It's good," Spencer answers. "How is it on yours?"

"It's amazing."

"You've been drinking?"

"Jack Daniels, cheap rose, and the occasional spiked hot chocolate," you laugh a little. "It's making everyone more tolerable."

"Thats good," Spencer says. "Don't forget to drink water, though. It'll make you less hungover tomorrow morning."

"Yeah," you nod. "I've drank plenty of water—hangover headaches are fuckin' awful, and I don't feel like dealing with that tomorrow morning. A headache on top of dealing with my aunt? I couldn't put myself through that kind of torture."

"How've things been with you and your mom?"

"So far I haven't done anything to piss her off yet, which is surprising," you laugh. "Normally she's leaping down my throat the second I do something like use a tone that she thinks is amiss or defend my dad where she doesn't agree with him. I'll say something stupid and she'll yell at me before midnight though, I'm sure."

"Try to be a little optimistic," Spencer says. "I mean—just—take it easy. Don't do anything too nuts, okay? I know you well enough to know you have Prison Break on one of the DVRs in that house, and I also know that you know your own limits. Don't push yourself past them."

"I won't," you say. You know yourself well enough to know that you're probably lying, but you brought your needles and a skein of yarn so worst case you can just knit and keep your mouth shut, hopefully not miscounting any of your stitches in your drunken state. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay? I get in around ten on boxing day too, so—coffee?"

"Coffee," Spencer says. "Merry Christmas, Y/N."

"Merry Christmas, Spencer," you respond, hanging up the phone thereafter. You stay outside for another few minutes, drinking your hot chocolate, watching the sky and prolonging the time between then and your next interactions with your relatives.

Eventually, when you go back in, you're met with a sly look from your aunt and a suspicious look in your mothers eyes, while your father and uncle chat about current events and your sisters are busy in a game of Uno.

"You got a boyfriend?" Your aunt asks, her smile cheeky.

You grimace. "No!" You say, beelining for the kitchen and the bottle of Barefoot brand zinfandel. "No—it's—it isn't like that. A friend had planned to call and I didn't say no."

"Oooh, a friend," your mother teases. "That's quite vague, Y/N."

You nod, finishing the last sip of hot chocolate in your mug and rinsing it out, setting it in your favored corner of the kitchen counter and reaching for the wine glass you'd left in that same area.

"Intentionally so," you laugh. "You two are so nosy. I love you both to bits and pieces, but—it's not anything like what you're thinking. The friend is a coworker."

You reach for the bottle of zinfandel and pour an amount that just barely skirts the edge of avoiding being obscene, putting the cap back on and leaving it on the counter along with the rest of the alcoholic companions that will reside on the countertop until at some point tomorrow, when the drinks are switched out from booze and beer to soda and water.

"You two will be an item in five years, I guarantee it," your aunt says. "Seriously. You don't be vague about someone with your family unless there are feelings there, Y/N."

You laugh a little more, taking a sip of your wine and debating rummaging through the fridge to find the brownies that you'd hidden in the back of the fridge for when the drunken cravings kicked in.

"I've been vague with you people about women coworkers," you retort. "I've been vague about mentors who are older than Dad. I'm vague about lots of things."

"You should open up," your uncle says. "Nobody likes a closed off little snowflake who wants to appear mysterious."

"Trust is earned," the older of your two sisters retorts. "You have to trust people to want to open up to them."

"Do you not trust us?" Your mother asks, looking at you with pain in her eyes.

Not like I did when I was a kid, you think. "I do! I just—work life and family life are two separate things to me. If I were as open as you guys want me to be, telling you work stories and funny office anecdotes, you'd all want to hear less about my job."

"Being an FBI agent can't be that hard," your uncle retorts.

"You say that as a man who's never watched someone you love like a sibling get shot at," you retort. "You've never seen someones body missing parts, or seen someone who narrowly evaded a serial killer shaking with grief and with survivors guilt already starting to manifest. I love you all, but not one of you understands what it's like, and I wouldn't wish you did across a thousand lifetimes."

Nobody knows what to say, but the look in your eldest sisters eyes is clear—she's proud.

"Well maybe you should work in a different area," your aunt says.

"I wouldn't trade my job or my coworkers for anything," you respond. "The plus sides make up for the drawbacks tenfold."

Things go a little quiet after that, and you eventually grab the bottle of Zinfandel and retreat back out to the back porch, not caring how cold it is.

You stare at the sky for ages, drinking your way through the entire bottle of zinfandel as you do. You're half asleep when your phone rings again, and you pick it up as you make back inside, figuring the rest of your family had gone to bed as well.

"Hey," Spencer greets. "Just calling to check in again."

"Hi," you respond. "Everyone else has gone to sleep, I think—nobody is in the kitchen or the living room, and if I don't hit the hay I'll be dead on my feet tomorrow morning."

"Do you have any sports drinks around?" Spencer asks. "The elctrolytes in them will help replenish the potassium and the salt that you lose after a lot of drinking. Bouillion soup also serves the same purpose, and water is basically universally known as the one thing you should consistently drink between alcoholic beverages."

"My mother gets a twelve pack of the fruit punch Gatorade, puts it in the fridge and normally will make the drunkest of us chug a bottle before we conk out, so I'm gonna grab one and then chug it and head to bed. Thank you for calling to check in, Spencer. It means a lot."

You head for the fridge and keep to your word, opening it and grabbing one of the gatorades.

"It's no problem," Spencer says. "I've know you—how long now?"

"Four entire years," you laugh, closing the fridge and pressing your forehead against the metal door of the freezer on top of it. "Oh, God. Four years of working at the BAU. That is a surefire way to make me feel old."

"How old do you think you'll feel when you've been working there for a decade?"

"Absolutely, positively, ancient," you say. "Oh my God—thirty three? That is not an age I can picture. Asking me to picture that while I'm drunk feels like such a low blow, Reid."

"How about twenty-eight?"

"I'm starting to think you just like the sound of my voice," you retort, laughing a little as you compose yourself just enough to turn your phone onto speaker and set it on the counter. You lean against the counter and take the screw top off of your gatorade, sighing a little. "Are you asking me if I have a five year plan, Dr. Reid?"

"Yeah," he says. "Yes is the answer to both your statement and your question."

"Well, in five years, I'll be twenty-eight," you start. "I'd like it very much if I were still on the team, and if I am, that means nine years at the BAU. I'm going to get better at knitting and finally stop knitting things for people who don't offer to buy the yarn or otherwise compensate, I think. I make things free for ungrateful people too often. Maybe even adopt a kitten or take in a shelter dog. Fuck—Reid, I can't really even decide what I'm going to do in the next five minutes, let alone the next five years."

You chug the gatorade as you think about it—a bigger apartment would be nice, one that's closer to work would be nicer still. One with a good view of the city, maybe a library or a liquor store within walking distance, if not a Michaels or a Joanns.

You've always been more of a cat person but you have a ridiculously insurmountable softspot for greyhounds and pitbulls, so if you thought you could take in an animal in the coming years, you would have the knowledge and the background to give them a good home.

You'd maybe want to change up your hair color, if the drunken opportunity presented itself. A change in appearance feels like the sort of thing a person finds necessary at the age of twenty four, in the last year before the brain fully develops and stuff starts changing bit by bit.

"I think I'll still be on the team," Spencer says. "I know it. I love what we get to do everyday, Y/N. Helping people? Saving lives? We do good. We're good people."

"What else do you think about the next five years?" You ask, your voice quiet.

"I think I'll still be living in my same apartment, and that I'll still bicker and get into prank wars with Morgan," Spencer says. "I think I'll still play chess against Gideon on the jet home, and I'll still love to learn anything I can. I know for sure I'm still going to be trying to get you to watch Dr. Who with me, though I hope you agree to watch it after five years of attempts at cajoling you to."

You laugh, and the air takes on a somber kind of tone. "Maybe," you say. "Not likely, but maybe, Reid. Look—I'm going to go to bed so that I can just deal with tomorrows probable hangover head on, but thank you for calling me not once, but twice tonight. I really needed some company that wasn't a little bit of an asshole."

"Yeah, of course," Spencer says. "I—well—merry Christmas, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Spencer," is how you bid him adieu, hanging up the phone thereafter. You throw the gatorade bottle into the recycling and head off to the room you'd claimed, turning the tv onto a low volume and falling asleep with The Muppet Christmas Carol beginning to play in the background.

-

"How was everyones Christmas?" Garcia asks, practically buzzing with excitement as she comes out into the bullpen. Spencer is leaning against your desk, the two of you talking about nothing in particular when she comes around, and Garcia looks at you with a happy grin. "How was Maine?"

"It was Maine," you shrug. "Snowed. A lot. In turn, everyone in my family drank. A lot."

"Oh," Garcia shakes her head. "Too many people and too much booze is God awful."

You shrug. "My parents, my sisters, and my aunt and my uncle hardly felt like too many," you say. "And the amount of booze in which I indulged hardly felt like too much."

"You had a lot," Spencer retorts, looking at you skeptically. "I got a text Christmas morning, if memory serves—"

"A text to thank you for being so nice," You fire back, cutting him off. "Totally not asking you for hangover cures. I would never."

Spencer shakes his head, laughing slightly. You grin, taking a sip of the tea he'd brought you that morning.

"Yeah," he says. "I didn't get a text asking for the ultimate hangover cure-all. I guess I must've remembered it wrong."

Your grin widens, and you nod. "Guess so. How were things with your Mom?"

"They were great," Spencer says. "I had a good time."

"I'm glad," you respond. "Your mother sounds pleasant."

"She is," Spencer nods. "I'd hate to spend more than an hour with yours though."

"She's comin' here in June," you fire back, leaning back in your chair as your grin morphs from grin to smirk. "Be careful for the next six months, Reid, or I'll invite you to dinner with her, myself, and my father."

"That sounds like some form of mideval torture," Derek fires, laughing. Spencer shakes his head.

"Not if Y/Ns there," he murmurs. You take another sip of your tea to avoid seeming flustered to the rest of the team, and Spencer sighs when JJ comes around. You sit up in your chair, already anticipating her next words.

"We have a case," she says. "A series of deaths in Witchita. Briefing room in ten!"

You and Spencer exchange a look. There are only a few days left of it, but it looks like the last of 2005 is due to be a whirlwind.

[panelshowsource]

rather than who you would like to see on the next taskmaster series, who do you think will be on it? like just your predictions or any inklings you may have!

anon if you're still around then you'll know i really took my time with this hahaha so sorry! i hope anyone reading this takes it as just a bit of fun and nbd, who knows who we'll get or who alex & the network have in mind! i'm answering thoughtfully (bc i always feel guilty not to 😩 so sorry this is long lol) but it's really just fun!!

i will say, of the more recent-ish series, i did get a few right!!! krishnan guru-murthy, nicola coughlan, alan davies, judi love, sue perkins, john robins, and joanne mcnally were people i just knew would eventually be on if the show could get their schedules right, and i was also certain sarah millican and dara ó briain would be asked — though not necessarily that they'd actually agree. when you have a level of seniority and esteem, the "it's such a great opportunity" aspect of the show isn't such a draw 😅 for some reason i feel SO PROUD about guessing nicola! i was just WAITING and wish sooooo much she had done a full series 😭😭😭 (how fun would saoirse-monica jackson be too!)

anyways, as for people who haven't been on yet — and this isn't to say i want them all to be, just that i think it's likeliest they have been asked or will be asked; i talked about who i want to see a little while ago here — it's important to consider the casting 'roles' the network has in mind when working with the producers to form a series, so i will keep that in mind too!

established comedian, typically a straight white man over 40: bill bailey, vic reeves, harry hill, geoff norcott, kevin bridges, adam buxton, ade edmondson, paul whitehouse (tommy tiernan? god i feel bad for not saying ed byrne but why do i feel like he's not gonna make it in the next few series? i'm on the fence with nick helm — unless he's friends with alex, then his chances go up significantly imo — and tom allen for some reason, and i feel like john bishop is almost too much of an ask?)

fresh talent comedian, typically a man under 40: rhys james, huge davies, ahir shah, darren harriott would be my top guesses but tbh any of the semi-recent edinburgh comedy award finalists are good bets as a majority of the winners from the last ~10 years have been on the series + throwing out tom rosenthal (i know he's not fresh fresh and also mostly an actor)...and, like, jazz emu?...just because if taskmaster know how much its audience adores weird little white twinks then they'll cast them

female or non-binary comedian: 100% sarah keyworth + harriet kemsley, maisie adam, jess fostekew, suzi ruffell. i've shifted away from betting on cariad lloyd and catherine bohart for some reason... (joanne was my no.1 lady bet for the last like 4 series hahaha)

non-comedian: this is very, very hard to predict because between comedy actors, non-comedy actors, tv presenters, news people, reality & social media stars... the potential predictions are just so endless! logically, the most likely is an established actor with a lot of comedy connections (think sally phillips, lolly adefope, liza tarbuck, sian gibson, daisy may cooper, susan wokoma; this category is where tm gets quite a few of its female contestants): matt holness, kevin eldon, amanda abbington, tom davis, sharon horgan, kathy burke, georgia tennant (also friends w alex?), su pollard, tom basden, apparently anyone from the cast of ghosts, and so on and so on and so on... + i'll also throw out maggie aderin-pocock as a serious contender + i really feel like one of the spice girls will be on new years treat

friend of alex: john robins was the prediction for the past few series, so just worth keeping in mind other people in this circle include elis james, matthew crosby, tom neenan, and so on

freebie answers because alex/greg have mentioned them before: jack dee, lorraine kelly, joanna lumley (i want jennifer saunders SO BAD give us an epic series w both ade and jen pleaseeee tm gods!!!!)

complete wild card bets that are either my instincts kicking in or my bias taking over: limmy, adam buxton, paddy mcguinness, diane morgan, daniel sloss, joel dommett, jess hynes, spencer jones??, alasdair beckett-king or josh pugh + if suzy izzard wasn't doing a big nyc show i'd say that's a good guess if only bc you know greg & alex grew up big fans

did i mention too many people?? if i had to put my money behind a single person it would be either ahir shah or sarah keyworth

these are almost all of my fr big heavy hitters when it comes to placing bets! but there are of course so many people i didn't name who i could totally see on either a main series or the ny treat — so many people just make sense and that's the beauty of taskmaster!!

[sgiandubh]

Context, always the context

After we had gagging fun - and some, a small and unjustified heartbreak, too - with the newest 🎪 pic, let's put it a bit in context. I confess I am more and more immune to these: they are aimed at this fandom, of course - just to fuel further web wars and talks: never forget Xmas is round the corner, too. But they are also aimed at the Casuals, who still can't place McIdiot on her map and do not really care, to be honest.

So, what exactly do we have, here?

This:

After more than ten years in showbiz, our C still needs a pointer to tell ignoramuses like me where exactly she is, on that picture?

How odd. How unfair. But let's imagine I am from Mars. I have no idea who these people are, including to each other. The legend tells me nothing: just C and T and zero details. They could very well be co-workers, acquaintances, friends...? Oh, she's married to him. Oh. Ok. For sure, they ooze bliss and happiness. For sure. I've seen broomsticks act more convincingly than this.

Also, the photographer. As a very trusted friend pointed out (thank you, forever indebted to you), this Bennett guy was all over the place, yesterday. According to Getty Images (https://www.gettyimages.co.uk/search/photographer?photographer=Dave%20Benett&assettype=image&sort=best&license=rf%2Crm), he attended at least seven other high profile London events yesterday and was paid to cover them, too.

Their list immediately places this minor happening in its right context and at its right place:

"Leave The World Behind" - UK Special Screening and afterparty. The one she attended with McIdiot.

Hackett London x David Gandy Wellwear Launch Party - Savile Row tailors, established in 1983. Huge success story from a humble Portobello Road clothes stall to a 160 shops global network and a part of LVMH group (remember? LOL). The one she did not attend with McIdiot.

"Femme" - Gala Screening - After Party - UK thriller, premiered at the Berlinale last spring. Will be released tomorrow in the UK and IE. 95% approval rate on Rotten Tomatoes. The one she did not attend with McIdiot.

Skye McAlpine Celebrates The Opening Of Tavola's Christmas Pop-Up Shop, in Knightsbridge (along with Fitzrovia, my favorite London spot). Tavola is a high end tableware collection, carefully curated by Skye McAlpine - celebrated British cookbook author and an expert in Italian cuisine and fine dining. You should think two gin entrepreneurs would be thrilled to meet her, at another event she did not attend with McIdiot.

A Reception By The All Party Parliamentary Group Honouring Elton John For His Dedication To The Global Fight Against HIV AIDS. No further comments needed for this very, very posh event she did not attend with McIdiot. I doubt she has this type of connections.

The Anti Slavery Collective Inaugural Winter Gala at the Battersea Arts Center in London. Attended by royalty (yeah, ok: Fergie - but also, her two Princess daughters!), aristocrats (Count Nikolai von Bismarck comes to mind), showbiz people (Ed Sheeran - hello?) and of course, the press. But this is another very high profile event she did not attend with McIdiot.

Longines Dolce Vita Exhibition and after party - aimed at the high end luxury crowd. Another event she did not attend with McIdiot.

Smirnoff Celebrates New 'We Do Us' Initiative In Partnership With Tilting The Lens And Sink The Pink. Smirnoff, that legendary vodka which story started in Tsarist Moscow and now continues as part of the behemoth Diageo spirits group. Mhm. Now with an event tailored for the well-heeled LGBT+ and Generation Z crowds, organized in partnership with Tilting the Lens,  Sinéad Burke's consultancy firm with an absolutely spectacular client portfolio, featuring Gucci, Starbucks and -hey, nice to see you! - Soho House. LOL. You would think they could have grabbed a black cab and do anything to at least drop in and say hi. You would think they would be interested to meet with the other, less obvious, partner of this event, Stonegate, a major player on UK's hospitality scene. What a pity this was another event she did not attend with McIdiot!

Make no mistake. London is a real global metropolis. Une ville-monde (a World City), a notion coined by one of my masters, the wonderful French historian Fernand Braudel. As such, it currently stands at the epicenter of all that is trendy, new, exciting and expensive and it offers an endless array of opportunities for the brave and the bold. That was but a very incomplete sample of a Wednesday night on the London scene, busier than usually with all those end of year events. Out of the other seven of this sample, she had a profitable and realistic choice between at least two or three other events. She could have even coupled that after party with at least another one of those, if she had the right network to attract an invitation.

It is also plain to see, by now, TMcG is by no conceivable means the successful, multimillionaire businessman and entrepreneur. He is nowhere to be placed on this very rich, very diverse event scene. He does not attend any events by himself, whereas she carefully attends events all alone and does it very well - wouldn't that be because she has a name in her own right, too? He apparently does nothing, he apparently is Nobody. You should think a successful, multimillionaire, ambitious businessman would be proud to be seen just about everywhere with his up-and-coming actress wife, isn't it?

The sad truth is this clown only makes it to a cursory mention in a Daily Fail picture gallery when dragged along by C. At an event she most probably managed to get an invitation via Rami Malek, her co-star in The Amateur:

That, my friends, is not C playing her Greta Garbo. That is C squandering every shred of sympathy capital she ever managed to acquire, with absurd determination.

But sure, keep on screeching, Stans. Keep on screeching. All of the above are cold, hard FACTS your queens carefully keep out of your reach. God forbid you come to the realization.

[newts-frogs-toads]

Things I hate about my fandoms

(I will probably make posts about each of them later going more in depth)

⚠️These DO NOT apply to ALL members of these fandoms⚠️

Cartoons:

Miraculous: mischaracterisation of Kagami as a bad person who just want to ruin the love square. But at the same time they love luka because he's just a sweet little baby boy 🥺👉👈

The owl house: Hunter and Ed interacted once and people started shipping them while they complain about Hunter and Willow for having a 1 year age gap. Also people acting like everyone is siblings

Amphibia: they care about the main trio too much to care about any other character at all

Gravity falls: where do i even start

Steven universe: The Su!c!de incident (dont worry she survived)

The ghost and molly mcgee: they hate Ollie for no reason even after his redemption arc for getting in the way of Molly x Libby or Andrea. They say he and molly look like siblings but their eye colors, skin colors and hair colors are different. (Tbh they cant take it when both characters in a pairing are Asian).

Dwampyverse: Too many NSFW art of children

Ducktales: I like them. Nothing bad about them other than they just ignore canon sometimes but hey, so do I.

Hilda: same as the Dwampyverse

Tangled: pretty chill but please dont ship Varian who's 16 with Cass who's 25.

Infinity train: Saying Lake, Ryan and Min aren't queer coded. Like are you blind? Its fine if you don't ship Rymin or use She/her for Lake but remember cartoon network Stopped the creator from putting those in.

Lego monkie kid: pretty ok fandom. Nothing bad to say about them.

She ra: im pretty late to this fandom so I haven't seen anything bad but as a DT megafan the fandom doesn't give them enough attention to them lol

Dead end: too small

Kipo: WAY too small

Live action movies:

Heathers: (see Musicals)

Dead poets society: ITS DYING WE NEED MORE FANWORKS

Games:

Undertale: the needle cookie incident (they're ok now don't worry. Dont take food from strangers kids)

Stardew Valley: Toxic arguing over the Bachelors and Bachelorettes. Acting like Haley and Alex are some irredeemable monsters. like, have you tried befriending them?

Musicals:

Heathers: Acting like Heather McNamara is some sweet little angel. Like no. She is sad and deserves better but that doesn't mean shes nice. (In other words: she is damaged, far to damaged, but that does not make her wise)

Hamilton: the HIV incident (just search Hamilton HIV to know the context). Also harassing anyone who isn't the OG cast.

Ride the cyclone: Acting like the characters are so pure and innocent. Like, im against NSFW of the kids too, but the whole point of Ricky is that hes not so sweet and innocent as a disabled person. Or the whole point of Noel is that he wants to be "fucked up". The tiktok fandom is also super biased to the original cast (meanwhile tumblr loves it)

Six: Saying Jane isn't a powerful woman because she wants to get married and have kids

[bobbydagen24]

a few more possible episode ideas for another show.

its Floyd's Birthday and the brothers are all excited to plan a big surprise party for him JD Bruce and Clay all excitedly decorate the place with stuff they know Floyd likes and talk about their personalised gifts for him.

meanwhile Branch's excited smile slowly fades as he realises he doesn't actually remember anything that Floyd liked or any of the other bros due to being too young when they left.

anyway long story short at Floyd's party after he acts grateful to the others for their gifts and ideas Branch gets embarrassed since he didn't even know where to start and he leaves the party.

Floyd goes after Branch to talk on their own and when Branch tells him what's up and that he somewhat feels like a stranger in his own family due to how young he was when they left.

so he doesn't really remember anything specific about them but Floyd light-heartedly lets him in on a secret that he actually doesn't like any of that stuff anymore.

he just didn't say anything cause he didn't wanna hurt his brothers feelings and ruin the moment when really he's just happy that he's celebrating this birthday with them all back together.

but the simple fact is the things his brothers are all remembering are from over 20+ years ago when he was a young teenager he's changed almost completely since then.

and so have the rest of them except for JD lol but with all the others they've all been slowly realising that they aren't the same people who they last saw when they were teenagers.

and there's been plenty of trial and error Branch just hasn't noticed it so their all fairly new to each other due to their time apart.

but that isn't ever gonna change unless they take the time to get to know each other in the present.

so they both agree to go back to the party and make more of an effort.

2. another one is where Branch ends up hearing maybe from these bird creatures he talks to where he kinda has a long wide communication network set up all in the name of safety of course.

and one of his Bird contacts tells him that they talked to another creature that witnessed Chef's death at the end of the first film.

since ya know the last time our main characters saw her she was tumbling down the hill with her butt stuck in the cooker while on fire so they didn't actually see her get eaten like we the audience did.

so they assumed she was likely still alive all this time up until now anyway the news of her confirmed death makes Branch go around the village in a very joyous mood.

singing for no reason handing out snacks to random people and just being very cheery Poppy tries to ask him if he wants to talk about anything but Branch says what would he want to talk about?

he's happier than he's ever been anyway Poppy tells his brothers behind his back that she's worried about him but they don't really see it and think he's just reasonably happy over finding out a crappy person got their just desserts.

anyway Branch goes even more over the top in his happy shenanigans saying they should all throw a big party in the village to celebrate with a giant banner reading

"" ding dong the witch is dead ""

anyway despite poppy being even more worried and all of the brothers actually starting to feel a little worried as well except for JD who thinks the parties a great idea. 😂😂😂😂

the big party goes ahead and Branch gets pretty wasted ( on sugar ) and gets up onto stage to make a big speech with Poppy very nervously trying to talk him down since he's clearly crashing.

but Branch after saying a few things that makes everyone uncomfortable stops and thinks to himself and then kinda takes a deep breath and speaks more from the heart.

he says that he spent practically all of his life afraid and hurt and even as he got better he always thought that certain things would fix him or make him feel more whole.

but despite Chef being dead and even despite them all being at peace with the Bergens now he still feels just as afraid as he used to and he still feels the pain he's lived with his whole life.

he thought knowing she was gone would kinda close the book on that part of his life and wrap it all up in a neat little bow and allow him to finally move on completely.

but he just felt the exact same as he always has done and he kinda went into denial over it trying to convince himself everything was better for him now.

3. this one was inspired by an idea j-ad1 had in the comments section of one of my Gary posts anyway the plot is that.

the Bros get annoyed/kinda wierded out by how Branch takes Gary with him everywhere and is constantly smugly chattering on and on about the things Gary can do to the point the Bros find it very annoying and also kinda weird.

so they take Gary in the middle of the night and maybe try to play it off as some kinda animal that broke into the Bunker and dragged him away or something.

their hoping that even if Branch will be a little annoyed at first he'll quickly get over it and kinda cure him of his weird obsession with an inanimate object.

only for Branch to begin an obsessive search for Gary to the point he becomes even more unhinged and eventually even breaks down over it which his bros didn't expect they just sorta thought he'd be a little annoyed that he was lost but then he'd get over it and move on.

so it actually surprises them to see him so genuinely upset over Gary's absence and maybe his brothers even ask why it means so much to him and he finally tells them about how Gary was what comforted him during the years he spent hiding away.

when he had no one else and he made him feel safe whenever he was afraid which knowing Branch was nearly every single day given how paranoid he was over the Bergens finding them.

and it made him feel like he did have some sorta family around him back when he had no one and that yeah he knows some people think its kinda weird.

despite his rep as the village's crazy person he isn't actually entirely oblivious to how it looks.

anyway to end the episode I'd have Bro zone realise they were wrong and they go to retrieve Gary from the place they Dumped him only to realise he actually has been taken by a pack of animals this time.

and they actually have to go to a bit of effort retrieving him from the pack of animals getting themselves a bit torn up in the process and in the end they give Gary back to Branch and he's so grateful that they got him back which makes the bros feel pretty bad.

and they fess up to what they did and apologise with maybe the episode ending on a bit of a comedic note of them promising to do whatever it takes to make it up to Branch.

and it ends with him making them do really hard chores around his Bunker while Gary watches on in a chair with a nice little drink to his side. 😂😂😂😂