#twice broadcast card

[undeadstagg]

Twice signal broadcast cards pt 2

[ad1thi]

stevetony recs you won't see on other rec lists

I've (surprisingly) been reading a lot of stevetony lately, and have come across a couple of gems that i feel are vastly under-appreciated, and wanted to show them some love. Obviously, the title is a misnomer because maybe you have seen these on other rec lists, but it's clickbait okay !! Don't forget to leave kudos and comments, if you like what you've read !!

No Trait As Much As This : @kandisheek-art

Tony gets hit with truth serum. It's a terrible time for everyone.

the year you were mine : @areiton

The night that changes his life forever, Steve is on a date with another man. Or: Steve is a pricy escort and Tony buys him for a year. Neither of them are doing this for love.

Meant : @ardett

What Steve meant when he asked out Tony was very different than what Tony meant when he said yes.

One Last Second Chance : @/Muccamukk

Tony Stark, second newest engineer at Rhodes Labs International, is just trying to rebuild from the ruins of his failed company, vanished fortune, and struggles with alcoholism. His goals include keeping his head down, avoiding stress and convincing Dr. Rhodes to let him build a really cool robot, so why does the universe keep throwing Avengers in his path?

Not just a river in Egypt (Tony is most certainly not in denial) : @lilgideon

"You are most definitely not in love with me, Cap, what you are experiencing is called cabin pressure," Tony explains, because he has a rational train of thought and he's met enough shrinks to have figured out their tactics by now. "And possibly, you know, sexual frustration, because it doesn't matter at all that you're, like, America's national icon, Fury still won't let you out. I know that, I see that, I acknowledge your pain, I feel with you, Cap, believe me, I do. And I get it, because I am a very good-looking fellow and we spend a lot of time together, stuck in this tower, and it's easy to--" "I am," Steve cuts off, equal parts amused and frustrated and concerned. "In love. With you. Tony, I'm in love with you."

then sirens, then bells (the broadcast remix) : @isozyme

“I tire of this,” Amora says, and with a casual gesture the entire team is pinned in place, frozen in mid-air. Steve has the unsettling, half-familiar feeling of someone rifling through his head like it’s a card catalogue. A mind-reader as well as a witch, then. A female voice whispers into his mind’s ear. It’s very tragic in here, dearheart, but I think your armored friend is, somehow, more psychically toxic than even you. What’s wrong with Tony? Steve thinks, but the presence is gone, leaving his memories of war stirred up like flying insects rising off a lake in at dawn.

The Enchantress opens Tony's mind to anyone and everyone near him. Steve knows he should let Tony keep his secrets, but he's not noble enough to stay away

The Twice-Told Tale : @arysteia

For someone he'd hero-worshipped for so long, Steve Rogers in the flesh is a pretty big disappointment. For one thing, he keeps looking at Tony as though he reminds him of someone else, and even if he never says anything, Tony's pretty sure it's his father. A lifetime of not measuring up to Howard's expectations is more than enough, thank you very much, and he's certainly not going to make an effort to live up to any of Steve's. Steve's pretty clearly failed to live up to his expectations, in any case, and that's not hypocritical at all.

i'm going too far (just to have you near) : @/zaynerpaner

“Rhodey, why did you leave me here?” Tony demands. The voice on the other line doesn't sound exactly like Rhodey’s – in fact, it sounds like he’d woken somebody up, which couldn’t be right since Rhodey had been here with him earlier. “Who is this?” the voice speaks again, and – it’s too deep. Rhodey’s voice isn’t that deep. “Rhodey? It’s Tony, m’phone’s dead and I need you to pick me up,” he tries again, frowning as he leans against the bar. “Uh, I think you have the wrong number.” OR the one where Tony drunk calls the wrong number looking for a ride home from the bar, and Steve comes to pick him up.

Living In The Future : @/Closer

Eighteen-year-old Tony Stark is the boy genius who woke Captain America, and now he's stuck with him. That's not a bad thing, but between Steve's wide-eyed wonder at the new world and Tony's little fanboy crush, the awkwardness just keeps happening.

if we ever meet again : @/anonymous

"It’s been two months," Steve says, voice low. "Rhodey- Colonel. It’s been two months.”

[mechdyke-after-hours]

INSIDE THE TOWER OF GOLD

⚠️ WARNINGS!! ⚠️

mild transformers one spoilers, non-con, drugged sex, mild violence

THIS IS A NON-CON FIC. if you don't like any of the above tags PLEASE just scroll onwards.

once again another messy ficlet or whatever! but I want that mech's pussy destroyed... so... :)

Sentinel Prime had all he ever wanted. Power. Money. Respect. Fame. Everything he ever dreamed was in the palm of his servo. And he LOVED it. He loved broadcasting himself in front of Iacon and letting all of the other, less important, Cybertronians see his glorious frame. He preened and polished himself constantly, making sure his plating was shiny enough that it was practically a mirror. He was the picture perfect heroic prime, as far as the citizens of Iacon were concerned.

But of course, it wasn't enough for Sentinel. It could never be enough. Which is exactly why he held the most luxurious parties he could. Free from anyone he felt too far beneath him. The best energon money could buy, triple filtered high grade and a pack of Syk. The little patches were arranged delicately on a platter, a warning card placed at the front explaining the effects, HEAVILY encouraging mechs to not take more than one and explaining how to properly use them. Avoid applying patches to the helm or chassis... the usual scrap that was only there to avoid possible lawsuits. Not like anyone would ever dare to try, but better safe than sorry.

The party was going perfectly, as it always did. He already knew he wasn't going to take anything or drink too much, since he was required at the surface tomorrow morning. He mostly just stood around, a small glass of high grade balanced between his digits that he sipped at between conversations with mechs he didn't care to learn the names of.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't jump when a servo suddenly pressed against his back. He bristled, but kept his cool, his derma curled as he forced a smile onto his face. He stayed polite, keeping up the conversation with the mech. Sentinel felt a familiar helmache coming on. His legs started to feel weak, his vision going slightly blurry. He kept up the conversation as well as he could, but his speech was starting to get slurred, his voicebox glitching. Next thing he knew, his vision was spinning and he was collapsing to the floor, the glass in his servo shattering against the floor.

Sentinel's optics slowly started to flicker online, a strange ache and pressure blooming from his crotch. He tried to move his arms, he was completely paralysed. His vision was blurred, his hearing muffled. He reset his optics, and his audials. Once. Twice. The world around him slowly started to gain some clarity. He glanced down between his legs, only to be slightly horrified at what he saw. His interface panel had been forcefully pried off. Small glowing blue droplets of energon stained his plating, mixing with splatters of pink. His array was aching and burning, feeling impossibly stretched and loose. Sentinel Prime was never a mech to pray. But in that moment, he prayed.

He glanced down at his frame. Syk patches littered his arms and his chassis. Enough to have him completely paralysed, but not enough to cause his frame to go into full system reset. His arms and legs were useless, unable to kick or push, he had to just lay there uselessly as his valve was used and abused. The swirling mix of pain and pleasure swam through his systems. His comms had been disabled, his HUD blinking a warning about needing repairs. Someone was moaning and whining, and he became aware that it was his own voice. Mechs were lined up, servos running over his once untarnished and shiny plating, now defiled and sticky. He tried to protest, but his voicebox failed him.

Sentinel sobbed, or at least he thought he did. He was vaguely aware of another round of transfluids filling his valve, dripping down onto the luxurious padded sofa beneath, now stained and torn. The mech pulled out, only to reach down and scoop up the spilling transfluids, shoving them back into his valve. He could barely make out the words being said to him, his processor taking twice as long to work. "Hah! C'mon, Prime! Keep that load in ya pretty lil' valve. Why don't you open that gestation chamber for us and we'll spark ya up, huh? Maybe then you'll actually be useful for something!" Came a sneering voice from above him. He bit his derma hard enough that he tasted energon.

Another fat spike pressed against him, the golden folds of his valve parting and wrapping around the thick metal rod. He held back a noise as thick ridges stretched his calipers to the limit, and then some. His spike twitched, before he overloaded with a loud cry, shooting transfluid up across the shiny dark blue of his chassis. The mech above him laughed cruelly, forcing Sentinel's intake open before spitting directly onto his glossa. "Dirty mech. Cumming while being passed around like shareware. If only Iacon could see their beloved prime now, with a nobody's spike shoved up his pretty cunt." Sentinel overloaded again.

The mechs manhandled him. Positioning him in whatever way they wanted. He was on all fours presenging himself like some sort of mechanimal in heat, and with the way he was panting he may as well have been. He didn't remember offlining his optics, but they shot open when a spike started to press against his intake. A rough hand squeezed at his cheek plates, forcing his mouth open. A mech of his status shouldn't be doing something as lowly as sucking spike... but it seemed he didn't have a choice. His intake hung open, the blunt tip of a spike pressing against his glossa. It slipped in further, until his nose was pressed against plating. His throat cabling felt tight, his glossa pressed flat against the floor of his intake as he drooled oral lubricants onto the floor beneath him. His tanks lurched as the mech started thrusting brutally, surely bruising the sensitive rubber of his throat. A servo wrapped around his neck and squeezed, causing him to gag even harder, an obscene bulge visible through the soft plating. His optics rolled back as tears of coolant spilled down his cheeks.

Sentinel didn't remember passing out again. But next thing he knew, he had woken up. A datastick was next to him as well as a single printed photo, his abused and whored out frame covered in Syk patches. A threat of blackmail if he'd ever seen one. He fumbled as he plugged the datastick into one of the ports on the inside of his arm, quickly uploading the footage to an encrypted folder deep in his memory banks. He groaned, as he checked his internal chronometer. He was going to be late. He couldn't be late. The quintessons would kill him if he didn't get them their energon on time, or worse, expose his treachery to all of Iacon. He gritted his denta, standing up and peeling the used Syk patches off of his plating as he trudged to the washracks with a groan, and a massive helmache.

Solvent washed over his frame, feeling like fire against his still exposed tender valve and spike housing. He scrubbed quickly, removing most of the evidence. Buffing off paint transfers and scrubbing away as much dried transfluid that he could. He rushed, turning off the shower and drying off, being careful around his exposed delicate areas. He picked up his discarded modesty panel from the floor of the main room, retrieving a welding kit from his emergency kit and getting to work. His welding job was shoddy, much more used to having people fix him up, but it'd have to do. He needed to address the people of Iacon, before heading to the surface. He just hoped quintessons didn't have the ability to smell transfluids.

[pollymorgan]

Oh my God, how embarrassing... I did it and translated my German fanfiction into English... into bad English! Don't be too harsh on me, but rather make suggestions for improvement: So now a little phone sex with Coach Negan. 🙈😌

Warnings: arrogant Negan, frustrated woman, explicit phone sex

Today is one of those days again, where nothing seems to work as it should. Just like so often lately. Why couldn't I transfer those damn photos to the laptop? I've never been very tech-savvy, but the modern world practically forced me to. I'm actually a cookbook author and used to be quite successful with it. Some of my books were bestsellers and I even had my own cooking segment on a nationally broadcasted morning show. But then I was suddenly replaced by a younger, "cooler" colleague and ever since then, I've been struggling to keep afloat with social media, more or less. If only the technology would cooperate..

Even in my personal life, I have been replaced. Four months ago, my husband left us. By us, I mean my three children and me. After 19 years of marriage. But love goes where it goes, right? Nothing can be done against that. At least, those were his words when he got into his Porsche with a blonde woman who could be his daughter and disappeared.

Since then, he has managed to do something with his children exactly twice. But in exchange, he has already disappointed them seven times by canceling the meetings at short notice. Yes, I'm keeping count. At least for now.

My oldest daughter Penny is 15 years old and fully immersed in puberty, and it seems that this situation is hardest on her. She and her father were always a unit, his little princess. But there's no trace of that at the moment. Most of the time, he doesn't even bother to answer his damn phone when she tries to reach him.

I see her suffering. She's lost interest in school, and her circle of friends is dwindling visibly. I would love to help her, but how? At the moment, I just can't seem to reach her. Our communication mostly consists of doors slamming.

But back to my current problem. These damn pictures! The article is supposed to go online today. I cooked an Indian dish and had to drive halfway across town to get these damn spices. Thursdays always bring an international post, and now, of all times, nothing is working again. My laptop doesn't recognize the memory card, and the camera won't connect either. I keep plugging and unplugging the cable, hoping the error will magically resolve. Which of course it doesn't. Suddenly, I glance at the small display in the lower right-hand corner. Damn it! So late. I won't be picking up the kids on time again, the second time this cursed week. Annoyed, I close the screen. Grabbing my purse, I walk quickly to the garage. Where's the damn car key? Nervously, I rummage through my chaotic bag, spilling half of its contents on the floor. Finally finding it, I get into the car and speed out of the driveway.

The first stop is the kindergarten to pick up my youngest. She's a real bundle of nerves, but so sweet that you can forgive her anything. Of course, she throws a tantrum right at pickup. It's a real struggle to get her into the car. Like a madwoman, I drive on to the elementary school to pick up my 9-year-old son. He is the calm one in our family and thankfully waits with his best friend relaxed in front of the school. At least one who's not mad at me. Lucky me. And off we go, heading to my daughter's high school. From a distance, I can see her and immediately know that - once again - something is wrong. She stands all alone and pretty annoyed on the street, looking out for me. When I park the car right in front of her feet, she angrily drops onto the passenger seat.

"Penny, I can explain, you know what a loser I am when it comes to technology..." I try to justify myself.

My eldest rolls her eyes in annoyance. "Mum, this time, for once, it's not your fault..." I see tears forming in the corners of her eyes, and automatically, I feel a lump in my throat.

"Mister Smith... he..."

She doesn't need to continue speaking; just hearing that name fills me with such anger again. Right from the start, there have been issues with her physical education teacher, Negan Smith.

I've only seen him twice so far, at parent-teacher conferences, but Penny's stories are enough for me to know that he's an absolute failure as a teacher. He has his favorites whom he praises to the skies, while the less athletic students suffer under his authoritarian ways. My daughter already feels uncomfortable in her own skin, and that jerk doesn't even realize the impact his remarks have on the young girls.

A few years ago, his wife passed away from cancer. A terrible tragedy, but apparently that did not make him more empathetic; quite the opposite.

I'm currently looking in the rearview mirror to avoid hitting anyone in the chaos outside the school. That's all I need on this crappy day. Then I catch sight of none other than Penny's physical education teacher.

"Isn't that him?" I ask excitedly.

My daughter buries her face even further into the backpack in her lap. "Yes, Mom, it's okay, please just drive..."

The anger that had been building up recently had just found a good release.

With the words "Nothing is good...", I yank open my driver's door and head purposefully towards my daughter's physical education teacher, who is just stowing his bag in his car.

"Who do you think you are?" I stand behind him with arms crossed, eagerly awaiting his reaction.

Confused, he turns around to face me and suddenly a big grin spreads across his face. "Negan Smith, nice to meet you, and who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"

What a cocky jerk!

"The mother of a rather offended young girl, because of you..."

Can't he just drop his arrogant smile for once? Quite unimpressed, he closes the door of his car.

"Penny has so much potential and she's wasting it on the damn bench..."

Such an idiot, he clearly knows who I am.

"Maybe you should listen to the young students as well, instead of just spouting off random remarks at them?"

Amused, he shakes his head. "I did... her excuse for skipping today's P.E. class was menstrual cramps..."

"And in your opinion that's not a valid reason or what? How dare you even pass judgment on that? Your students' bodies are going through changes and such discomforts should be taken seriously..." I respond a bit too loudly, causing some students to turn towards us.

Resigned, he raises his hands. "Of course, but not every damn other week. Maybe you should give your daughter some biology lessons again and explain to her that her P.E. teacher isn't completely from another planet."

Oh God, what does this man think he is..

"And you should work on your teaching skills... Otherwise, maybe I should consider contacting the school board!"

„Oh wow, you're actually a bigger drama queen than your dear daughter!".

Did he really just say that? Did he just seriously insult me? My daughter's teacher. I look at him in disbelief, but he just grins.

"And now she's quiet... I really have to go now, but I'm pretty sure we'll meet again soon." With these words, he jumps into his car and drives off.

Completely perplexed, I walk back to my car and am greeted by my daughter with the words "That was soooo embarrassing.."

7 hours later

Finally peace! Why does it always have to be such a struggle to get the kids to bed? Isn't it unfair that you are a thousand times more tired than the dear little ones? What a crappy day! I'm glad to be freshly showered in my bed and finally have some time off. Just me and my phone, no one else. No more whining, arguing, and crying. As much as I sometimes curse technology, I also love being able to connect with people over the internet. It's fun to respond to comments, the direct exchange with like-minded people is the only positive thing about social media. As I scroll through Instagram, I suddenly see comments coming in at a rapid pace. Confused, I open them. From "Do you always look so good when you cook?" to "Can you cook that for me sometime?" to heart emojis, and they all come from the same account. As I read the name, a shock runs through me. Can this be for real? "Coach Negan" is he not only a tactless asshole, but also a real psychopath? Excited, I click on his account, but apart from a profile picture where he is clearly recognizable, there is no further information.

I quickly open the messaging function and type "What is this???" into my phone. It only takes a few seconds and I receive a response.

"I am a fan 😉"

For a while, I stare at the screen, unable to believe what is happening here.

Suddenly, he sends me a picture. I open it and see a photo of me from my highlights, showing me from my post "Valentine's Day." I had cooked a three-course meal and written a pretty cheesy text back then. It's one of my most liked posts.

"Red lipstick suits you. Matches your fiery nature.." he writes.

What does he want to achieve? Did the confrontation before school hurt him so much that he is trying to provoke me? But to be honest, it seems like he's the one giving me a warning. Well, but if there's one thing I've learned, it's that the best defense is a good offense.

"Oh, do you think so? Most men say I look better without wearing anything...I mean, without lipstick, of course.. 😉".

"Are you already in bed?" he asks next. What a bizarre situation? Why does my daughter's teacher want to know where I am? The same teacher who called me a ‚drama queen‘ just a few hours ago.

I keep trying to type a suitable response on my phone and then delete it again. Finally, I write briefly, "Yes, and you?"

"Yes, and I'm studying your profile. Do you realize how crazy you can drive a man with these pictures? Why am I even asking, of course you do. 😉"

The feeling of small electric shocks runs through my body. The whole thing feels strangely forbidden. Maybe what I'm doing here is damn wrong, but right now, the consequences seem pretty irrelevant to me.

"How mean, you can look at my pictures, but you don't have any online yourself."

"That's true, but how about you hear my voice instead?" Attached to this message was his phone number. Okay, this is all moving pretty quickly, in a pretty strange direction. I'm so excited that I can feel my heart pounding wildly in my chest. But what do I have to lose? I haven't felt like this in the last 20 years. Okay, it's a damn bizarre situation, but I'm an adult and single. So I can finally talk to whoever I want. Even with the biggest jerk I've come across lately.

Feeling totally tense, I dial the number and as it rings, it gets even worse. I take a few deep breaths, and suddenly the deep voice on the other end answers with a "What took you so long to decide?" and I can practically feel his grin.

"Well, I had to think for a moment about what would be so sensible about calling my daughter's narcissistic gym teacher in the middle of the night," I say calmly.

"And what would be sensible about that?" he asks with interest.

"I haven't really found a solid reason yet, but maybe you can tell me?"

He thinks for a moment, and I imagine him lying in his bed. A slight tingling sensation spreads in my stomach, which is intensified by his response.

"Well, I can make sure you feel a little better... forget all the everyday crap that's weighing on your pretty shoulders right now."

I briefly close my eyes to focus more on his voice, which really manages to relax me a bit with just that simple sentence.

"And how do you plan to do that?" I ask softly.

"When was the last time you were really well fucked?" As soon as he says it, my lower abdomen tightens, and I automatically press my legs together.

After I take a moment to collect myself, I honestly respond, "That was much too long ago..."

"Oh, poor girl," Negan provocatively replies, but instead of getting upset about it, it triggers completely different feelings in me. "Tell me about what you imagine when you stroke your lonely pussy at night."

I have to swallow briefly to get rid of the extremely dry feeling in my throat.

"I can tell you what I think about when I do it in a moment..." I say softly but firmly.

And his tone changes too. His breathing becomes heavier. "Then tell me, come on," he commands.

"I imagine it's your fingers running over my body and finally sliding my panties to the side and penetrating deep into me..." My cheeks feel like they're glowing. I've never talked like this with anyone before, and now I just did it with a man who is actually a stranger to me.

"Come on, sweetheart... touch yourself for me and tell me if you're wet," he interrupts.

Without thinking, I click on the speaker icon on my display and place the phone next to me on the pillow, then I slide my right hand under my nightgown into my panties and I'm surprised at how aroused I already am, how swollen my clit is, and how sensitive my whole intimate area has become. I sigh softly.

"Fuck, the sweet little sounds you're making... they make my damn cock twitch in my hand with joy..."

Just the thought that he's so aroused by me on the other end sends waves of pleasure through my body.

"I'm already so wet because of you, Negan..." I admit breathlessly.

"You dirty, pretty lady, if I were with you right now, I would slowly penetrate deep into you... you need that now, don't you?"

"Yes!" I can only whisper.

"Okay, now do everything exactly as I tell you, understood?" he demands.

"Yes, please tell me what to do.." I focus solely on his voice, completely tuning out everything else.

"Take off your panties. Use your index and middle fingers to gently stroke over your mons pubis and then slowly over your outer labia, but not more, just right there.."

Immediately, I follow his instructions. The air feels cool on my bare lower abdomen. I feel strangely exposed, even though I am alone in my bedroom, but it's not uncomfortable, quite the opposite. I begin to caress myself gently.

"How does that feel?" his voice breaks the silence again.

"Good, but I want more.." I plead.

"I already knew that.. Bend your legs and spread them wide.. as far as you can.." He gives me a brief moment to comply with his instructions. "Now push your pelvis even further forward.. Imagine I'm between your legs and you want to present me with your beautiful pussy, you would like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes.." I say and nod vigorously, even though no one can see me.

"Such a good girl.. and now run your index finger through your slit, spread your juices.."

I can't and don't want to hold back my moans now. There is silence for a while at the other end, then I speak heavily.

"Are you also pleasuring your cock for me?" I ask as I continue to touch myself.

"Oh, sweetheart, so your thoughts are currently only about that.." he says snappily. "Yes, I am, and if you keep moaning so sweetly into the phone, it won't be long, so it's time for you to start massaging your clit, but don't be too timid, circle it with two fingers and use some pressure, even if you're very sensitive now, you can take it.."

Oh God, that was exactly what I needed right now. My body felt like in ecstasy and I could feel the orgasm slowly building up.

"Don't come yet," he commanded, and on cue, I immediately removed my fingers from my most sensitive spot.

"Now, bring your knees close to your body!“

"Yes," I replied, completely exhausted. "You're doing it perfectly, how much I would love to see you in this position right now, just the damn thought!" I could clearly hear him softly moaning. This sound made my body twitch with excitement.

"Penetrate yourself with two fingers... nice and slow. Focus entirely on the feeling of stretching your pussy wide... Tell me when you're all the way in!"

"Now," I whispered, already quite spent.

"Then add your ring finger, once you've done that, you can come intensely as a reward, I promise."

Slowly, I press the third finger into me, which initially causes a bittersweet pull, but I'm so wet that it's not a problem.

Without me telling him, Negan knows that I fulfilled his request.

"So perfect, sweetheart! And now, pleasure your clit! Bring yourself to climax and don't hold back any sound, I want to hear every sweet noise from you."

With the first gentle touch, my body twitches like crazy.

"Negan, please come with me," I stammer into the phone.

"Yes, I promise, beautiful," he replies breathlessly.

And these words are enough for me to come as intensely as I haven't in the past years. My thighs tremble uncontrollably and my heart almost jumps out of my chest. My lower abdomen contracts in waves and I can barely breathe. It feels like I am weightless for a few seconds.

"Do you feel good?" he asks after a short pause.

"Perfect.." I reply and can't gather my thoughts yet.

"Okay, then I expect you tomorrow at 3:30 p.m. for a parent-teacher meeting at the school, and, by the way, without panties.. Good night!" After these words, I only hear a beep on the line.

[mcyt-transcribed]

video description for "Again." by Generation Loss

[video description: The video opens on five rows of CRT televisions in a haphazard stack, green on the left and red on the right and all with wires dangling over them. Each one shows a different scene from The Social Experiments with their audio overlapping. They flash twice into different scenes while the camera slowly zooms in on one staticky TV at the bottom center. It isn't until the TV screen takes up the entirety of the video that the cacophony ends, replaced by a second of static humming then "Spirit of the Slime" by Nathan Hanover. Text appearing on the screen reads:

One year ago, a show was broadcasted to your world. Using the likenesses of popular figures, a new story was created. The story was the first, a test of what is possible with infinity. The story of a hero, a spirit, a mastermind, an overseer, a friend, and the doomed. It was a beautiful story, but it was flawed. So I replayed it.

The music fades out, then is replaced by "Generation Loss 1 - Title Card" by Nathan Hanover. Text reads:

Again. And again.

Now, the words "and again and again and again" fill the screen, repeating so many times that they're cut off at the edges. Then they're replaced by text appearing on the screen once more.

And again. Until I created the perfect version. It is ready to be shown to you. The Social Experiments Founders Cut. June 15.

The music ends. All that's left is that white text in the middle of a black screen... until smaller red text appears in the bottom right corner, reading "Who are you?" End description.]

[strugglingfloralclerk]

Influence

Summary: (TodorokixOC) Sometimes it takes a little bit of blackmail and good old fashioned vandalism to get friends out of sour moods. TW: Implies domestic abuse/violence, implied self harm, and vandalism. Discretion advised.

🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚

Todoroki knew his family history was overwhelming and that was the polite way to describe it. He didn't like to broadcast that information if he didn't have to, but now...all of Japan knew.

Dabi was Touya and Touya was Dabi, and it made no sense that Endeavor tried to replicate his 'perfect heir' project not once but twice. The absolute nerve of that man.

For the past week, different members of Class 1-A tried to get Todoroki to talk about it. They wanted him to express some angry words about Endeavor and move on. 

Momo suggested he talk to the campus counselor. Toru suggested family therapy without Endeavor. Midoriya recommended Todoroki write a strongly worded letter to Endeavor about his shit parenting style. Bakugo told him to get over it.

Todoroki felt sick to his stomach. The trauma never ended, it only accelerated.

"Stop it." Taika's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Her pretty face marred by the mean expression that settled into her features. "Todoroki, this has gone on long enough."

He wanted to say something smart, something sharp at her command but he had nothing. 

"Get up." Taika ungracefully snatched Todoroki's wallet from his nightstand, and waved it front of him.

"No." Was the young man's reply as he settled further into the comfort of his bed.  What? Was she bribing him with his own money? Was she being funny?

Taika pulled out an extremely sharp pair of kitchen scissors from the pocket of her old highschool hoodie. 

Todoroki cocked his head at her, a frown cemented on his features as he felt both curious and uneasy at the sight of the scissors so close to his wallet.

"Do whatever." He replied lowly. 

Taika didn't miss a beat. "Alright, since you gave me permission." She opened the wallet and picked up Todoroki's shiny, provisional hero lisence and tapped the edge of the card with the scissors. It was easy and damn near painless to get new bank cards-getting a new hero license, not so much.

Not even rich kids could expedite that process. And Taika knew, that Todoroki knew that.

Todoroki's eyes finally sparked with an emotion that wasn't despair. "What are you doing?"

Taika flashed a playful grin at him and tapped the license with the kitchen scissors again. "Following instructions and doing whatever." She placed the card in between sharp, metal legs, and cleared her throat as she readied to give the license a eulogy before the first cut.  

"To Todoroki's hard work. It is a shame his daddy issues caused him to abandon his dreams of becoming a better hero."

Todoroki suddenly rushed toward Taika, his hand reached to yank the card out of her grip; Taika merely leaned away and held his provisional license behind her back. The scissors clattered to the floor of his dorm.

"Taika, I'm not playing." Todoroki warned, his voice a mixture of anger and determination 

She could work with that much better than despair. Taika matched his tone, "You think I'm playing?"

🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚

"This is stupid." Todoroki muttered under his breath as they exited from the train station. Taika forced him into one of Sero's black and yellow hoodies, Toru's costume glasses, and Midoriya's All Might beanie right before she forced him to go on a 'self-care' journey for the night. 

"Your attitude is stupid." Taika shot back with ease as they navigated through throngs of people. She gave him a half frown. "Look, just try to get out of your head?"

Todoroki blanked; his eyes narrowed as if he heard a bad joke. "You want me to get out of my head?" 

"Don't overthink it, Todoroki." Taika did not have time to explain expressions and figures of speech right now, nor did she want to. Her eyes scanned the busy streets of Nagoya until she saw a convenience store roughly a block down the street; she lowered the bill of her baseball cap.

Todoroki felt a nudge and when he looked over he was greeted by a neatly folded (and possibly ironed?) bills right in his face. There was either a deeply mischievious or menacing glint deep in Taika's eyes. His mind was both alarmed but also captivated. If Taika stayed quiet with that focused, intense look in her eyes, Todoroki may have figured the emotion out himself. 

Alas. Taika decided to boss the sullen boy around. "Go inside and buy two egg cartons."

"...Why?" Todoroki felt offended; who was this uppity girl who decided to disrupt his night and command him to do such a menial task?  It all felt like waste, Todoroki grumbled inwardly.

"Because if you don't I'm going to put your provisional license through a shredder then use those shredded bits to start up a barbeque." Taika smiled her best smile, the one she knew that especially pissed off people. "I hope you like defeat as a side dish."

He narrowed his heterochromatic eyes at her and she merely arched an eyebrow at him and waved the money in his face. Too much like an owner that taunted their dog to play fetch if you asked Todoroki!

A tense silence settled between the two friends. 

"You know what, make it three cartons." The purple haired beauty reiterated calmly. 

Todoroki snatched the folded money; a quiet pout of frustration accompanied him as he did the little errand. I could be doing anything else. His mind wandered a bit to the unread books he ordered, to the new training techniques he could have perfected  by now, he could have watched a few soapy dramadies with Fuyumi too. He hadn't thought about the little things in his life he actually enjoyed until now. 

As Todoroki gathered the eggs, he felt taken aback for a brief moment as he exited the store.  The way he exhaled was shakey and filled to the brim with anger. He felt betrayed, kind of. His eyes fixated on the giant billboard of Endeavor high above him.

"I thought we were friends, Taika." Todoroki's jaw tightened in what could only be described as pure and utter vexation. 

Taika moved toward him; her hands sternly held onto his forearms; her eyes fixated on some location beyond them; and Todoroki suddenly found himself on the rooftop opposite of his father's billboard.

Taika nudged at him, a softer expression allowed to him as she gestured to the bag with their supplies, the tips of the fingers brushed together for a moment.  "Let's egg his billboard."  

It was insanse how warm and sincere that sounded but also.. wasn't that illegal?

"Wait," Todoroki's eyes shifted around as he looked for Pro Heroes or sidekicks in the area. He didn't see any but that didn't mean they weren't around. "Won't we get in trouble, Taika?"

"We'll only get in trouble if we get caught and we're not going to get caught." Taika added, as she handed Todoroki one of the egg cartons. "Or if one of us is a narcs, and I am not a narc. Are you, Todoroki?"

Todoroki thoughtfully examined the eggs before his eyes cut back to the billboard of Endeavor. 

He didn't notice the small sigh of relief and the way Taika's shoulders relaxed once she saw the first egg crack right on the billboard. Nor did he notice the way she smiled softly at him once she saw a faint grin on Todoroki's features.  She couldn't recall any time recently he smiled. 

🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚

If someone told Todoroki Shoto that he and the teleporter were going to be close friends the first time he met her; he'd think that was a backhanded insult. Now, Todoroki would merely shrug and acknowledge the accuracy of that statement. Which was better than how Bakugo would've reacted truth be told.

Before tonight, he never vandalized anything. Now after tonight, not only did  Todoroki vandalize three different Endeavor billboards, but he evaded building security. Twice. Maybe he should have felt guilty, or rather in fact, Todoroki knew he should have felt guilty. For the first time since finding out, Todoroki felt like he could breathe. 

I think...I think it'll be hard for me to adjust to the changes I may face, Todoroki thought as the invisible weight burried deep in chest evaporated. His eyes casted over to Taika, a genuine smile bloomed on his handsome face as the purple haired girl deligently kept an eye out. But with friends like Taika, I think I'll be okay. 

The pair huddled close under the cover of a hearty bush until it was all clear to come out.

"Don't worry." She whispered in perhaps the softest tone Todoroki's ever heard from her. "They're not cops, they won't be as thorough trying to find us right now. They have to report back to the building. Most they'll maybe do is file a report that'll go nowhere because they didn't even get a good look at us."

Todoroki tilted his head at her . His smiled faltered. "How do you know that?" Concern and curiosity burned behind his eyes. 

Taika blinked at the supposed Prince of UA. Why was he so dense sometimes!?

"Todoroki, you should know that too. We have an exam for our 'Civil Procedures and Rights' class on Tuesday!"

Oh, shit. Todoroki rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I guess I was busy wallowing, huh?"

Taika rolled her eyes at him, "Yeah, but you're done now. Right, Todoroki?"

His body eased at those words. Todoroki expected some lengthy lecture from Taika, but the few words she used was more than enough.

"Hn." He nodded curtly at her. 

There were a small series of follow up questions for Todoroki after that 'Hn'.

Was he sleeping well, if at all? Was he only sustaining himself with instant ramen? When was the last time he spoke to Fuyumi and his mother? Was he drinking enough water? Her last question threw him for a loop.

"You're not...you're not a danger to yourself, right?" Taika's voice still a whisper as a they carefully exited their leafy fortress. 

Todoroki halted and his blood went cold. "What?"

Taika doubled down with an explanation. Well, a partial one anyways. Tonight wasn't really about her and her issues.

"I knew a few kids in a similar situation to you, Todoroki, when I was growing up." Taika left names out but she pictured a young face or three in her mind's eye. Her heart broke quietly for the friends she lost. "It's not pity or paranoia, Todoroki." She was covering all the bases; being thorough. 

Todoroki wondered if Taika knew he could see the way there was a small spark of fear in her eyes. He heard the slight way her voice tried to shake as she spoke.

He always admired Taika for being so resilient. Scared, nervous, or otherwise, Taika pushed through and here she was, trying to help him do the same as well. It humbled Todoroki.  

"No." Todoroki answered calmly as he fell into step with Taika's pace. "I promise."

Relief rolled through her neck and shoulders as the stress of her worry dissolved. She shifted to a different topic, happy and sure of Todoroki's reply.

"Now," Taika reached into her back jean pocket and pointed Todoroki's precious provisional license at his face. "The next time someone holds your license, ID, or any other important documents from you, you're suppose to report that to the police. Don't fall for something like that again, 'Roki. Imagine if someone with worse intentions tried to blackmail you?"

Todoroki's face wrinkled into a mix bewilderement and awe at the teleporter, a small amused grin tugged ever so slightly on the corners of his mouth.  He plucked his license away from the teleporter. "You do know that you are a bad influence, right?"

Taika pretended to take offense; she pointed at herself with a faux look of innocence. "Me? I'm a saint."

Todoroki knew damn good and well saints would not encourage him to pour sugar and salt into Endeavor's protein powder. 

[thenightfolknetwork]

So I know you don’t answer many questions from- across the pond, as it were, but I don’t need any legal advice, and I’m at my wit’s end. I’m hoping you can help.

So my genus is very small. In point of fact it’s just my family, as far as I know, and it’s only ever one creature active at a time- bunch of sapios doing sapio things, then the previous Creature dies or sees the Signs and boom! One of us Wakes and hey look at that, new Hierophant! And as the current Hierophant I Speak and Am Heard- part of the reason I’m writing to you.

A part of my genus is acting as the mouthpiece for a portent of the apocalypse. That's not a secret- hell, its why the town has the name it does and why the family name's on the radio station. Predictably, I am the foremost DJ on 226.5, the Voice of Birch.

It’s not a bad gig, per say. I go to work and between the traffic reports and the local top forty I give an update on the eventual Coming of The Burned Birch. It never lasts long and my local community really likes it. The Birch sort of became a touristy thing, you see- awesome in the autumn, all its leaves yellow and glowing with ghostfire.

Well, so they tell me. I can't actually LOOK at the Birch-if I do, I'll go by way of great uncle Milton and turn into salt. Thank goodness pictures and art don't count or we'd have to move the station and the whole family into the old mica mine.

The Birch likes being appreciated and turned into post cards and calanders, though. It’s a bit of a show off, really. I guess I’d be showing off if I were a tree that could move around at will.

The problem is that lately, the Birch has been sending me updates at the most inconvenient times. It's generally a twice a day thing, but now I’ll be brushing my teeth at five AM and the whole town hears me ominously spouting coordinates and warning of the cracking of the earth and rising of the dead. The Birch can’t even make the dead rise, there’s been wards on the local cemetery for a century!

Or I’ll be making an order at my coffee shop and suddenly I’m telling poor Taylor the barista that the trees come down the mountain to open their fiery branches to the burnished sky.  

The worst of it is at ten or eleven at night when I’m trying to settle into bed. My hometown is very small and quiet, so most folks are in bed early unless they’re nocturnal like the coven that runs the night shift at the bakery. I’ll be drowsing, mind floating off to dreamland, and all of a sudden I’m bolt upright in bed declaring that West Street’s pavement is going to shatter with the feet of elder gods, flee the Burned Birch, flee! People are losing sleep.

It's getting out of hand. I’m not in danger of losing my job or anything (not even sure I can be fired, to be honest) but when you live in a town with less than two thousand people and everyone knows you’re the Hierophant of the Burned Birch, well. That's me avoiding the next St. Mary's rummage sale.

I know you always say communication is key and I’ve tried, believe me. All the old methods- blood rituals under the full moon, a cracked labradorite under my pillow, whispering to the moths- it hasn’t worked.

There's nothing in the family archives about the Burned Birch acting like this and frankly, I’m worried. Is there something wrong? Some rot or fungus that infects only apocalyptic omen trees? Is it trying to reach out to me for help? I can't go look at it and my friends tell me it looks fine. They show me pictures and my omen looks fine! How do I tell if it’s being needy or if it’s being obnoxious? and how do I hang on to my declarations without a three hour nosebleed?

Literally anything you've got will help, at this point. Thanks in advance!

-Fat Ricki, The Voice Of Birch

First of all, may I say how lovely it is to hear from another radio professional? Liminal broadcasting is a topic close to my heart, and it's always nice to hear from others in the field.

To your question, I think your first job is to absolutely rule out the possibility of any physical or magical ailment your tree might be suffering.

You said you've had friends inspect the tree, and have looked at photos to assess the situation yourself. But tree diseases are not always easy to spot with the naked eye, especially to the untrained. This is doubly true for thaumaturgically active trees, which may be susceptible to infections, infestations and diseases on several planes of reality.

I recommend investing in the services of a trained arboreal arcanist. In the United Kingdom, customers can find specialists through the Arcane Arboricultural Society, whose members must meet the societies standards of professionalism and training. If such an organisation exists in your area, all to the good.

If not, take some time to read up on professional qualifications available to tradespeople in your state. You want someone qualified in thaumaturgic horticulture, and preferably with the ability to perceive reality on at least three additional planes, if not more.

There are several pests and diseases that might be causing your tree's distress, from spectral bacteria to ether flux. Better to invest a little time and money in ruling those out than risk leaving them untreated.

I think it's safe to say your tree is trying to get your attention for some reason. Once you've ruled out disease or discomfort as the possible reason, consider what else might have changed since this behaviour began. Has it been receiving fewer visitors than usual, or perhaps been the subject of a less-than-flattering news article?

Many apocalyptic trees, shrubs and bushes have a tendency to fussiness and egotism. It's very possible that your tree wants nothing more than to be the subject of a bit of ego-stroking fuss. You might try drumming up a few more visitors and acolytes, or performing a ritual of appeasement that recognises its great and terrible power.

The phrase “attention-seeking” carries with it a host of negative connotations. Instead, think of this as “support-seeking” behaviour. There is a need your tree feels is unmet, and as its Hierophant, it's up to you to meet it. With a bit of reassurance and attention, I think your tree should settle down into its usual ways in no time.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[billpottsismygf]

I've been stewing a little over the last few days about the news regarding the Doctor Who airing times and, although there's been a lot of discourse and probably everything has been said already, I just need to get my rant out there anyway.

For the uninitiated or the unsure, the brief rundown is that new episodes will drop online at the same time worldwide before the BBC 1 broadcast. This will be Fridays 7pm US time (EST I think) and Saturdays midnight in the UK. There will also be the usual Saturday evening broadcast on BBC 1, 18 or 19 hours later. Also, the premiere (10th/11th May) will drop the first two episodes of the series at once.

Simultaneous broadcast is pretty cool, and I believe the 60th specials dropped at the same time as the UK evening broadcast, giving an afternoon time for the US. That's great, but it's really messing with me that this new system completely shafts the UK in terms of viewing times. I'm not saying that only the UK has passionate fans, but I am saying that the UK is where Doctor Who is a cultural institution more so than anywhere else in the world, and seeing it prioritise the US is incredibly frustrating.

Moving to the specific fallout, there's the part of me that is upset on my own behalf, as my autistic self is really struggling with the notion that to watch the show ASAP I will now have to do so at midnight (on a Friday night too!). Since I was 9 in 2005, I have only twice gone to bed with a new episode unwatched. Occasionally that has been at stupid times in the early morning because I've been doing things for Saturday night, but generally I have watched the broadcast as much as possible, and often with other people as a community event. As a child it was always with my dad; as an adult it's often with friends!

Ultimately, though, I'll be fine. I'll watch by myself on iplayer at midnight because I am an adult who can make these choices, even if I'm sad that I probably won't get to have the viewing parties I had started to have with friends in recent years. (Though, who knows, we all have weird sleep schedules. Maybe midnight viewing parties are still on the cards.)

However, for all the kids out there I am so incredibly annoyed. I can't imagine if any of the iconic episodes from my childhood had aired the night before and I'd been unable to stay up for them. Blink? The Stolen Earth? Doomsday? I don't wish to overstate the matter, but I truly believe Doctor Who has remained such a cultural institution precisely because of its status as a family show. People are raised on it and then raise their kids on it and so on.

What are kids going to do now? Some might be allowed to stay up for the midnight release, though not many, especially for that double release which will end at like 1:30am. Others might watch it when they get up, but likely without the community aspect of the whole family sitting down for it. Still others might wait for the Saturday evening broadcast, having to dodge spoilers from other kids and adults as they go about whatever Saturday activities they have.

Regarding spoilers, I've seen some snarky comments saying 'just avoid social media lol', but firstly that's quite difficult in this day and age, and secondly it's not just social media. For one, there are all the tabloids that will plaster any new details across the front page, but also I can vividly remember talking about the brand new Doctor Who episodes at school, and how big an aspect that was of the community excitement. My teacher even did an impression of a weeping angel the week Blink aired, moving closer with a scary face when I looked away for a moment. Sure, there won't be school on a Saturday, but plenty of kids will be doing activities with other kids (dance classes, football, drama clubs etc.). What will happen when some kids have been allowed to watch the new episode and others haven't?

It may seem trivial to some, but I don't think it is. Where's the event aspect of it? Where's the community? Sure, I'm biased as an autistic Brit who grew up with the show and doesn't like change, but this new model seems designed to dilute both the excitement and importance of a new Doctor Who episode on a cultural level.

[amplifyme]

MN 1068 - 06

The X-Files. MSR. Season 5. Rated: Teen and up. WC: 1387. Read on AO3.

Tagging @today-in-fic​

He’d said as he dropped a kiss on her brow: “I’m gonna grab a shower. My wallet’s on the coffee table if I’m not out before the food gets here.”

He wasn’t. So she answered the door and paid the kid, tipping him more generously than she knew Mulder would’ve. She gathered forks and paper towels and made it through the doorway into the living room before she lost her grip on his wallet. It fell open at her feet, spilling out the bills she’d haphazardly stuffed back into it. She emptied her hands and squatted to retrieve it.

It was the sharp corner, shoved into the folds of money and poking under her fingernail, that drew her attention. "Ouch!" Without thought she pulled the culprit free and held up a piece of yellow legal pad, a little more than two-thirds the size of a business card, and thickly laminated. She flipped it over and read what was there, scrawled diagonally across the printed lines of the paper in what she recognized was Mulder’s hand.

MN 1068 - 06

She was still frowning at it when he stepped out of the bedroom. He was in his usual post-shower state: almost dry and almost dressed. Loose running shorts, a sleeveless tee, and damp porcupine hair; his normal attire for a night in. He noticed the food first, rubbing his hands together in pleasure.

“Excellent. I’m starving! What’ve you got there, Sc -?” His lips clamped shut when he saw what she held, and his eyes darted to hers.

She experienced the briefest moment of embarrassment. But she hadn’t done anything wrong, not really. Besides, there were far fewer secrets between them these days. And if he trusted her enough with his wallet – which he’d done countless times before – then he also trusted her with whatever it contained.

Scully stood and offered him the stiff scrap of paper. “What’s this?” she chirped.

He had to open his mouth twice before he could get a word out. A tiny alarm chimed quietly in a corner of her brain. “It’s… it’s nothing. A keepsake. Nothing.” He took the preserved scrap of paper and his wallet from her and settled into his corner of the couch. He quickly tucked everything back in and laid it in the center of the coffee table. “Let’s eat.”

He would never be a completely open book. She would never be able to adequately plumb the depths of his unending mysteries. And she kind of liked it that way. But Scully knew avoidance when she saw it. Hunger won out over curiosity, though, and she took the offered food from his hand without saying anything. Soon the living room was scented with Garlic Chicken and Moo Shu pork as they ate in comfortable silence. The tank in the corner gurgled away and Mulder’s thumb pulsed on the remote until he settled on a nature documentary. The volume went up a little. They traded containers for a while and then switched back to their originals.

She waited until the smiling, happy, slightly desperate on-air staff of the local public broadcasting station launched into their spiel for funding before she turned to him.

“You don’t want to tell me?”

He looked over at her, scratching behind his ear with one hand, the other with a fork stuck out like a weapon between his fingers. “I did tell you, it’s nothing.” A smile that verged on bashful crossed his face and then was gone in an instant. “It’s stupid. You’ll laugh at me.”

“Mulder, I do that all the time anyway. Sometimes I think you encourage it. You get off on finding new ways to make me break out in incredulous laughter.”

His head bobbed. “True enough,” he conceded. “You know me well, Scully.”

“Maybe not.”

They traded a long look, and she tried not to seem too nosy. The recent addition of sexual intimacy to their relationship didn’t mean they had to share everything, did it? After all, they were still allowed some privacy.

“It’s gonna make you nuts if I don’t tell you, isn’t it?”

“No, not at all.” She shifted her attention back to the TV. “Okay, yes, it is,” she conceded after a minute, chin lifted proudly in defiance. “But then making me nuts is also something you delight in doing.”

“It’s… stupid,” he repeated after a minute, jamming his fork into the Moo Shu Pork and transferring the contents onto a thin pancake. He folded it closed and shoved most of it in his mouth.

She spent another minute trying to look engrossed in the episode of Masterpiece Theater that’d just started. “It’s fine, Mulder” she said. “You don’t have to tell me.”

He swallowed a bite just in time to bark a laugh and tossed the empty tail end of his pancake into the container of pork. “Of course I do. If I hope to have a moment of peace tonight. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Well, I could just go home, if that’s the way you feel about it,” she teased.

Not surprisingly, he chose that moment to tackle her and push her flat on the couch. He loomed over her, wearing the shit-eating grin she treasured but would never dare admit to. He levered down enough to give her a long, hoisin flavored kiss and then tucked his nose into the notch of her jaw. “You promise not to laugh?”

There he was, being bashful again. And it was so not like him. Mulder was brash, confident, practically impossible to embarrass. Hesitant occasionally. Even vulnerable sometimes. But he sounded just like a shy twelve-year-old boy. Remember, she admonished herself, that’s who he is, too. Whatever this was, it mattered to him.

She wove her fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck. “I promise.”

“It was on the card I found in the filing system at the DOD.” He lifted his head and looked at her with soft, mossy eyes. “Your card, and it was printed in red in the upper right corner. MN 1068 - 06. It corresponded with the vial I found in the basement of the Pentagon. The one containing the chip that saved your life.”

“Mulder, we don’t know that for a fact.”

“I do. You believe in your brand of miracle, and I’ll believe in mine.” He cocked his head and offered a lop-sided smile. “All that matters is that we got one.”

She sat up, pushing back to gain a little bit of distance so she wouldn’t be distracted and miss the rest of his story. Mulder hovered close, his hand sweeping up and down her arm, cupping the curve of her jaw before sliding away.

“I jotted it down as soon as I got back to the Gunmen’s. I didn’t want to take the chance I’d forget. That ID number? It saved your life. So I carry it with me. As a reminder.” He scrubbed his face with both hands before turning back to her. “I wanted to keep the vial,” he chuckled under his breath. “I was going to do something with it, I don’t know. But I never got it back and didn’t think to ask until it was too late. Too much going on at the time. So… now you know.”

He gave her a long look from the corner of his eye and then slowly sank back against her, like a felled tree. She squirmed and shifted until she was on her back again, and gathered him in her arms, nuzzled him like the overgrown puppy he sometimes resembled.

He said, a few tranquil moments later, “Thanks for not laughing at me, Scully.”

“You’re welcome.” She dropped a kiss on the crown of his head and told him matter-of-factly, “I love you, Mulder.”

He wriggled against her and unhurriedly began rooting at her breasts with his glorious nose. His warm, humid breath played against nipples grown suddenly hard with a rush of anticipation and desire.

“Prove it,” he murmured, and gently closed his teeth on the peak of her left breast, dampening the fabric of her shirt and the bra beneath.

She shoved him away and took to her feet, holding out a hand in invitation. Then she led him to his bed and gave him all the proof he’d ever need.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Notes:

I want more than anything to write something angsty enough to rip your heart out. But the muse is demanding fluff lately, something she used to avoid at all costs. Despite any protests I might make, she usually gets her way.

Until next time…

[andiatas]

"Miss" on "miss" on "miss": -One time is an accident

At least three yellow cards. When do they get red?

Photo: Helge Mikalsen / VG

Princess title on specially made gin bottles. This is not the first time that Märtha Louise (52) and her fiance, Durek Verrett (49), have broken the agreement with the Royal House on the use of titles in a commercial context.

Here is the whole story shortly summarised.

May 2019: There is a storm around Princess Märtha Louise and the shaman Durek Verrett when they embark on a joint workshop and lecture tour in Copenhagen and several places in Norway under the name "The Princess and the Shaman". The marketing received criticism from several quarters.

August 2019: The Palace engages in dialogue with Märtha Louise regarding the use of her title and her business activities. Märtha Louise informs the press that she does not want to use the princess title in a commercial context.

November 2022: The Royal House develops new rules for how Princess Märtha Louise and her fiancé can interact on social media. The princess's title must not be used in connection with their business activities, but Märtha Louise retains the title of princess.

The rules mean in practice that the princess and Verrett must refrain from:

Mentioning this association through, for example, @/tagging

Use of the princess title

Or use of images or mention of other members of the Royal Household in channels where commercial activity also occurs.

This includes interviews whose primary purpose is to draw attention to commercial activity, it says on the Royal House's website.

Nevertheless, the couple has broken these rules several times.

January 2023: Only two months after the new arrangement, Durek Verrett talks about the King, Queen, and Crown Prince Haakon in live broadcasts on Instagram and TikTok. At the time, the communications manager at the Royal Court, Guri Varpe, said that the royal family continued to talk to each other while the arrangement was being worked out.

May 2023: Durek Verrett reposts an Instagram video joking about his new song and King Harald. In a message to VG, he admits the mistake and lies flat. Verrett himself points out that he has now broken the agreement twice: once in a live video and now in this episode.

But all good things come in three?

Wednesday, June 26, 2024: The couple presents a specially made gin from Oslo Håndverksdistilleri and drinks they will serve at their wedding in August. They have invited the press themselves. The princess title is used to market the gin.

"The gin was made for the wedding of Princess Märtha Louise and Durek Verrett," they write on their website. They break the agreement with the royal house for at least the third time. The exact text can be found on the bottle VG obtained Thursday morning.

Märtha Louise's manager, Carina Scheele Carlsen, calls the princess's marketing "a miss".

- Therefore, the title has now been removed from the website and will also be removed from the next batch of bottles, she wrote in an SMS to VG on Thursday.

The bride and groom stated that they would receive no profit from selling the drink. But how many "misses" can the couple have before there are consequences?

Royal house expert Ole-Jørgen Schulsrud-Hansen believes Märtha Louise and Durek should "watch out for these misses".

- Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, and three times a pattern.

When asked how rules can be broken without having consequences, Schulsrud-Hansen replies that it is "very difficult".

- The agreement with the Royal Family is not bound by any law. It's just an agreement that needs to be upheld.

The Royal Palace has not responded to VG's inquiries about the gin or breach of the agreement but refers to the Princess's manager.

She has not responded to VG's inquiries, specifically concerning repeated breaches of the agreement with the Royal Family.

Translation and editing for clarity by me of an article by Filippa Vale Frogner for VG (Verdens Gang), published on June 27, 2024, at 18:54.

[yzeltia]

Closer to You

Chapter 16 Characters: Natsu Obinata, Fuyu'li cen Zwhan, Jannie Eyradoux, Urianger Augrulet, Thancred Waters, Patient Heaven, Keith Summers, Carter Summers, Claudien @mintibunny 's Minti Chocolate , Mikoto Jinban, Violet Fisher, Hayzel Summers Rating: T for Teen Notes: Thank you @driftward for the mechanics pass and @mintibunny for blorbo sharing and line edits

“The Echo was the only way I could see them…and I suppose chasing that feeling I found myself as Leto, who had devoted herself to helping mothers of the Ancient world. When she met Castor and Pollux…their mother had been killed by some sort of swan creation and had grown up relying on only one another in a world that was not kind to orphans. She gave up her seat of power to a young protege so that she could raise them. To her, they were her star. I will not say I was possessed. My actions were also my own. This world…this world deserved their light.”

Patient rested against a stone as she rubbed her eyes while Natsu sat on her knees in front of her. She pressed her hand to heart, “I cannot deny that they were not special. They took me, a stranger that sounded mad and made sure I had a home and family. It made me realize how much I took for granted…I’d searched so long to find what it was like to be loved by family, I hadn’t seen that family is what you make of it. A friend you travel the world with, a stranger who opens his home to you,  people you work beside every day, a friend that doesn’t mince her words with you…those people can care about you just as much as and sometimes more than someone with blood or familial ties written on paper. I was so blind to those who cared for me before…but Drowning…”

“I know, I could not be with them but I could sense it all,” Patient agreed, reaching out to take Natsu’s hand, “You would have been a wonderful daughter-in-law…”

“I still can be,” Natsu said with a smile.

“As lovely as all this sentiment is, mayhaps we address the kidnapping, impersonation, and I don’t know, the murder,” Thancred said flippantly, gesturing broadly to the trio of kidnappees.

Carter shrugged his shoulders, holding Hayzel asleep in his arms, the latter having lost their Ascian mask. “Hayzel is safe and no one I care about got hurt. Minti, you ready?” he asked before starting to walk away with the Viera in tow.

Keith balked, hurrying after his brother. “What do you mean no one you care about got hurt!? I was hit by a train! Twice,” he yelled, trying to squabble with his brother while Minti shook their head and sighed. 

“In light of what brought me here, I rather not have to broadcast who I saw,” Violet chimed in, holding herself as she blushed.

“Riol,” Jannie hummed with amusement.

“It wouldn't have been weird for him to visit U’odh,” Violet hissed at her fellow warrior or light. 

“I too, find myself embarrassed by the situation that led to my capture. While it was a distressing ordeal, she did see we were well cared for,” Mikoto added.

“Garlond,” Urianger mused, hiding a smile with a spread of cards as Mikoto shot him a cross look.

“Good, great. That's settled. Still murdered someone though,” Thancred pointed out.

“That, I must face my punishment for,” Patient said, rising to her feet. “There is no excuse for what I have done. Even spurred on by my Ancient persona, I could have very well stayed my hand and not let her take control.”

Patient looked at her hand, shaking a bit before looking up at Thancred to respond. “If you must strike me down, you may do so.”

“I will not be the arbiter of your fate. We'll turn you over to Gage and his cohorts for them to decide,” Thancred said before rubbing the back of his head.

“Leon…he's the one who got through to me and woke me up,” Natsu said softly, putting her hand over her heart, the memory feeling like it was a lifetime ago. “For…For Y'zel's sake…Where is my brother? Didn't he assist you?”

Patient shook her head. “Not beyond his writings. I haven't had the occasion to meet him. He eluded me when I sought him out.”

“As with us all,” Thancred.

Natsu looked around concerned then closed her eyes, trying to capture a memory, “Leonnioux woke me up specifically for Y’zel. And then…And then Hypnos, rather Hayzel, said that he did so because of the way Y’zel would react! They said Mikoto had foreseen it.”

Mikoto stepped forward. “This is sounding familiar now, though it sounds like they knew more than I about what I’d seen. A Miqo’te standing in a field of blue.”

Claudien dropped his bow, eyes wide as he turned to Patient. “Do you not have the Heart of Sabik?”

[omegaremix]

Hauppauge, Winter 2015.

The new year was two weeks in when Yenny called. She’s leaving for Lima in February to see her family. Once again, she’s enlisted me to house sit. Unlike the other times I traveled back and forth to Huntington to stay for the night after work, she’s asked for me to stay for two weeks. I heartily obliged. Two weeks away from the daily drama, intrusion, and toxicity at home? “Yes” all across the board, five-in-a-row. The day before arrival, she called again to put me to it. I packed up my clothes and Gateway laptop for a rare getaway at Yenny’s new apartment residency of peace and zen. I don’t take vacations or time off of any kind, but when someone asks you to take time away from your normal residency for you to do you, you better fucking do it.

And fucking do it, I did. For two weeks in February I had total serenity. Living in Lindenhurst for the year meant having a second-floor bedroom above the neighborhood and the golden summer sun shining through an adjacent window - at the cost of living with a agitated father who’d yell personal complaints at you every time something went wrong. Yenny’s apartment was also on the second floor, overlooking the school district across the street. No summer, but heavy slurring snowstorms with single-digit temperatures and stinging cold air battered the island.

It’s 3PM Sunday and I arrive at her place. Yenny and her ma’ have their luggage ready and are scrambling to see what else they’ve needed to pack. Their Spanish was running just as fast. She’s a little frazzled to beat the last-minute notions of packing up but had a few to show me wherever everything was and go over the daily itinerary. All I had to do was keep everything clean.

“Wipe up after yourself each and every time. Take care of Bella. Let her out to roam free in the living room, clean her cage, replace her litter, fill her water bottle, add her food pellets, handle her and take her back in her cage. Lock her up and feed her the tangy vitamin paste. And do it twice a day. There’s food, cookies, and candy in the cabinets, juice and soda in the fridge, and meat in the freezer. I also have a calling card. Call me at Lima if anything.” Yenny was stern and on point; sharp as an arrow tearing into its’ destination at the center. Her finger-waving game never left my direction and she had the right. She was a neatness freak with O.C.D. who made sure everything was perfect and to a double-tee. Now that the final toothbrush was packed up, they were ready to catch the 5PM flight to the capital. Yenny and her ma’ quickly said their goodbyes to me and walk out the front door. Hauppauge starts now.

The next two weeks of life was bliss. I was out of my dad’s crosshairs. There was no labyrinth of verbal abuse, blames games, complaining, or dealing with his laziness. The aggravating interactions of yelling, screaming, or wasting my time and energy trying to reason with an old-world Brookynite Italian whose mind is far beyond any attempt at learning? Nil. It was a rarity to have any sanity away from home and outside of work. I felt I had all the time in the world to catch up on posting and piece together the next Omega WUSB broadcast. Every day I hammered a few out of the park. Then I had this idea as the gears were going full steam; an idea that would add more work and keep me busy. I decided to open up an Omega WUSB Mixcloud. I rifled through all of my playlists, re-organized my seasonal finds, edited them through Audacity, made the artwork, and viola! The first few uploads went up. It was a fun project to start on and was curious to see if it would take off. I had nothing to lose.

My Mitsubishi back home was in disrepair at the moment, but Yenny thought I was responsible enough to let me borrow her white Honda to-and-from work. To drive out to Stony Brook to do my radio show? During a heavy blizzard? Nada. Work was a necessity but leisure wasn’t. I had no outs in leaving her apartment for any other reason except for my shifts and food shopping. Valentine’s Day fell on a Saturday but I wasn’t planning on having some sappy, gooey theme for my show. Just a God-honest broadcast of distorted Los Angeles dissonance, indie city sounds, obscure British prog-, noise rock, Japanese tape-recorder acts, blast-off garage and hard-to-find noise that I’ll never forget for as long as I breathe. I pieced it altogether, edited down, converted it, and loaded it into the cloud. Aphrodite, then WUSB program-director, was snowed in at the station and had her show before mine. I dialed the studio and she picked up so I could hear her stuffy mellowed-out voice. I told her I wasn’t going to make it in as my ex- tied my hands up with her car and a blustery snowstorm with 30 miles-an-hour winds. “Sure! Send it in” said Aphrodite. By 10PM, Omega WUSB’s non-Valentine’s Day broadcast went live.

Nights felt forever if I didn’t have work the next day. If I wasn’t posting or editing, I was spending it watching concert footage and the Rangers with Cam Talbot goaltending because Henrik Lundqvist was out with a life-threatening neck injury. If I wasn’t doing either, I’d walk to the supermarket and Chinese restaurant which was only down the street. At times I didn’t want to risk denting Yenny’s Honda, so I walked a half-mile trek from her residence to Shop-Rite where one of my better food-service customers recognized me shopping for produce. We spoke for a good ten minutes when, during that time, his jolly self offered me a position in his department. It was nice of him to do so though he was unaware that I was let go from his competitor, and I had more than enough trouble living a day-to-day life of being a former shell of myself in a post-university world.

It’s the Saturday before Yenny and her ma’ comes home. Look who’s knocking on the door? It’s Dad showing up uninvited. Somehow he remembered the directions from our house in Lindenhurst to Yenny’s apartment. Was he here to fight or argue with me again about trivial matters? No. He hasn’t seen or spoken to me in almost two weeks. He missed me, so he wanted to sweeten the deal and take me to the closest buffet we could find. The one thing with Italians, and especially him, is that they’re very passionate with food. Dad woud pump me with everything he could think of with late-night half-eaten steak, burgers, soggy fries, greasy egg rolls, and sushi platters. “O.K., sure” I said. We sat silently from opposite sides of the table as we both slowly gorged on tuna rolls, greasy beef with vegetables, chow mein, pork tips, three types of chicken, green beans, and stir-fry until we passed out in exhaustion. And I say ‘silently’ because I want absolutely no one speaking to me as I’m eating. Our discounted afternoon meal-time was over and he drove me back to Yenny’s where I would spend my final whole day there.

I’d have one more Sunday afternoon to do the good gesture and fill up the tank on Yenny’s Honda. It wouldn’t be right to use her ride and have her come home to an empty tank like some careless despicable animal. The weather was a chilly greyscale and rainy, head barely above freezing. I gather all of my clothes and haul it to the complex’s basement laundry room to spend two hours staring at the wall’s grey-peeled paint ripped open to reveal sandy cinder blocks. The second and final load was hot to a warm crisp to be thrown into a tattered laundry bag with the rest of them. I hauled it over my shoulder, up the stairs, and another 100 feet back to her residence to get one more cleaning of the cage and one final feeding of her pet weasel.

I hear the engine humming outside. Yenny and her ma’ have arrived each in one piece and happy to be finally home. I run out to greet them and offer to unload their luggage from Yenny’s fiancee’s car. All that’s done. Yenny, her ma’ and I all sit around about their Lima visit until my dad finally arrived to pick me up. We all say good-bye for now with Yenny promising to reward me for keeping everything up as they left it. I take my backpack, my laundry haul, and my laptop and loaded it in my dad’s Chrysler. I knew he would ask me twenty questions about everything that could easily be figured out with little imagination but I was in no mood to explain anything to anyone. I just wanted to enjoy the ride back to Lindenhurst where domestic tension and aggression would resume once again.

Dum Dum Girls “Bhang Bhang, I’m A Burnout”

Pop. 1280 “Do The Angelfish”

Eric Copeland “Grapes”

Courtney Barnett ”Pedestrian At Best”

Diet Cig “Harvard”

Former Ghosts “The Days Will Get Long Again”

James Clarke “Waiting Game”

Sex Worker “Tough Love”

Anthroprophh & Big Naturals “Establishment In Decline”

Nisennenmondai “Souzousuru”

Sleaford Mods “Donkey”

Beech Creeps “Sun Of Sud”

Blossom Dearie “Sunday Afternoon”

Cribs, The “We Were Aborted”

OG Maco & Key! “U Guessed It”

Sleaford Mods “Tied Up In Knotts”

Black Madonna, The “Stay”

Alessandro Cortini “Dell’ Influenza”

Flying Lotus & MF Doom “Masquatch”

XXYYXX “Witching Hour”

Soft Moon, The “Black”

Chromatics “Candy” (eight-track)

Burial “Wounder”

Black EL “’95 White Maxima”

Excepter “Forget Me”

Chromatics “Blue Moon”

Burial “Come Down To Us”

Shonen Knife “Twist Barbie”

Alan Vega “No More Christmas Blues”

Suicide “Hey Lord”

Arca “Sisters”

Consumer Electronics “Murder Your Masters”

Your Old Droog “Porno For Pyros”

Women In Prison “Suicidal Exit”

Ho99or “Da Blue Nigga From Hell Boy”

Soft Moon, The “Want”

Flucts, The “2 Gtr. Practice”

Flying Lotus & MF Doom “My Favorite Ladies / Litemeter”

Shiny Two Shiny “Through The Glass”

Antonio Adolfo “Venice”

Dual Action “NC-17 Drive In”

XXYYXX “Fields”

AIDS Wolf “Nothing But A Tape Recorder”

[sweetdreamsjeff]

Jeff Buckley 1994-10-28 Trinity Center Toronto Canada

May 17, 2022

Well, I'm finally getting around to digitizing my 700+ cassettes (at my wife's insistence--she wants them out of the house), so I'm going to start posting some goodies here. I taped many a show in the Toronto area from the late '80's to the late '90's, and also recorded a lot of radio broadcasts, mostly from CFNY, 102.1 in Toronto. Hope you stumble across something you like, or even a show you were at!

Jeff Buckley--Trinity Centre, Toronto, Canada, Oct. 28, 1994.

If you never got to see Jeff Buckley live, I'm sorry. You missed out. I was lucky enough to catch him twice, but the second time my tape deck was confiscated at the door. If anyone has his show at the Danforth where he played with Juliana Hatfield, I would be extremely greatful.

This night was amazing. The Trinity Centre is actually a church, the same one where the Cowboy Junkies recorded the Trinity Sessions. Unfortunately, we arrived a bit late, and ended up sitting near the back of the balcony, which didn't make for the best recording position. This is not the best tape in the world, but it was more listenable than I remembered it being. There is just a lot of hiss during the quiet bits. If hiss drives you batty, you may want to skip this, but if you can live with it, it's a very fine show. I was lucky enough to chat with Jeff briefly after the show, and he signed my copy of "Grace". I have included a scan of that in the torrent, as it is one of my prized possessions.

Lineage: Master>M Audio sound card>wav>flac. Song separation and gap editing with CDWave.

Set List:

01. Mojo Pin 02. So Real 03. Last Goodbye 04. What Will You Say 05. Dream Brother 06. Grace 07. Eternal Life 08. Lover, You Should Have Come Over 09. encore break 10. stage patter 11. Kangaroo

I just about died when he broke into the last song. Totally unexpected.

by Plumdusty

This is a video excerpt from the documentary, Amazing Grace: Jeff Buckley (2004): https://youtu.be/cTEpntWmg_o?t

The footage is taken from a concert at Trinity Church in Toronto, Ontario, Canada on 28 October 1994.

Thanks Steven!

[muchadorks]

M*A*S*H 4077 During Covid

Hawkeye is going stir-crazy being stuck and isolated. His contributions to the “socially distanced” movement include a long-range alcohol distiller that can dispense two drinks six feet apart, a card-dealing machine that can deal the cards from a safe distance (while also giving him an upper hand in what cards he wants, shh), and socially distanced pranks (sorry Frank)

Trapper gets so desperate that he makes a full-body condom complete with a filtered breathing hole to ensure no sickness. Nothing stands between this man and his favourite activity. Nothing.

BJ is writing home all the time to check how Peg and the kids are doing – he’s so concerned whenever one of them gets sick that Hawkeye has had to physically tied him to his bed to stop him from pacing around the Swamp

Frank is absolutely an antivaxxer and conspiracy theorist. Seriously, you can trick him into believing anything. He does, however, loves the new rules and regulations and enforces them whenever possible (though Hawkeye always gets under his skin enough to get Frank in trouble of almost breaking social distancing). When he gets the weakest possible case of Covid, he absolutely believes he is dying and begs Margaret to nurse him back to health

Margaret is stressed to the max – she is overworked, overtired, and somehow has decided that she needs to master 16 different lockdown hobbies before the new normal despite having even less time than before

Donald Penobscot claims to have gotten vaccinated before he comes to visit Margaret, but he’s deathly afraid of needles. When Margaret finds out about his lie, she finally has an excuse to stab him (for medical reasons only of course – not like she is taking out any emotional frustration…)

Winchester has read every single research paper on Covid and is quick to correct anyone who states a fact possible wrong. Seriously, this man insists on rewriting all of the rules every time a new research paper comes out. Hawkeye and BJ pretend to be conspiracy theorist for a while just to drive him mental

Colonel Potter believes that perhaps this lockdown and social distancing will finally allow him to get some peace and quiet. And then he remembers that he is a doctor. And now he apparently has to start locking the Ivermectin for his horse because some idiot is trying to steal it (or whatever the 1950 equivalent is since it was only invented in 1975)... He is currently considering telling Mildred that he will be retiring early

Henry Blake freaks out the moment he hears about the pandemic. He can’t even imagine all the paperwork that will need to be created (Radar’s already made copies and labelled them), the protocols that need to be put in place (Radar’s drafts are simply pending approval via Henry’s signature), and not to mention that his alcohol supply is already running terribly low (Radar has been hiding away some to ration Henry’s drinking, but thankfully he thought ahead to order more before the supply chain completely gave out)

Father Mulcahy is currently broadcasting Sunday mass over the PA system. It’s not his favourite medium for liturgy but at least it’s something. He is getting concerned about how he suddenly needs between locks for the ceremonial wine compared to usual though…

Klinger pulls schemes twice a day insisting that he has Covid – but not just any Covid! This strain is deadly, so deadly that the only cure can be found in Toledo, Ohio. When he does get Covid, he is asymptomatic and just stuck in insolation for two weeks (at least he has more time to work on his dresses…)

Radar is definitely freaking out. He’s not sure whether he should wear a hazmat suit or if his bear needs to be the one wearing it. He’s trying to keep the camp in order, but this is definitely not making things easier

Zale suggests every type of “Covid prevention” practice you can think of (he definitely tried to steal Colonel Potter’s Ivermectin). As for them working though, well… the doctors have requested someone watch his actions 24/7 because they are sick of seeing him and his new medical emergency

Colonel Flag is an antivaxxer. Actually, no, that’s just a cover for him to infiltrate the antivaxxer society and learn what their motives are (for what is anyone’s game, really). Except, no, he’s just trying to get chummy with the doctors and trick them into revealing what they are really putting the vaccines. Only, no, he’s actually…

Sidney is observing the madness from a distance, sighing, and stating that this is seems like a normal reaction for the M*A*S*H 4077 to be having

[parfumieren]

Lonestar Memories (Tauer Perfumes)

Recently (and for the fourth or fifth time, I admit) I watched Catherine Breillat's breathtaking film Une Vieille Maîtresse (An Aging Mistress, misleadingly translated as The Last Mistress for American audiences who find finality more palatable than age). Based on Barbey d'Aurevilly's scandalous 1851 romance, Une Vieille Maîtresse concerns a ten-year liaison between a young Parisian rake and a Spanish divorcee some years his senior. If you suspect that this is Chéri all over again, think twice. The love (if you can call it that) between Ryno de Marigny and La Vellini is, as she herself puts it, une liaison singulaire.

Described by one lover as "a capricious flamenca who can outstare the sun", Vellini is neither young, beautiful, nor especially personable-- but she certainly is singular. When Ryno is first introduced to her at a masquerade party, she is dressed in a frivolous costume at odds with her sober expression. When asked, "Are you dressed as a she-devil?" the artless Vellini doesn't miss a beat. "No," she replies. "THE Devil."

The cinematic convention of the meet cute -- in which future lovers start out on the wrong foot with one another but slowly fall into step -- has no place in Une Vieille Maîtresse. Ryno dismisses Vellini as an "ugly mutt", then falls hopelessly in love with her. She instigates a duel between her husband and Ryno, then realizes that her spouse is superfluous, since she and Ryno can easily carry out their feud without a middleman. For ten years, the pair remain steadfastly by each other's sides and at each other's throats. Not even Ryno's betrothal to a fresh young heiress can put them asunder. Betrayal just adds an extra soupçon of pathos to their frequent, erotic "final" goodbyes. Theirs is an eternal combat without a clear winner, and no truce in sight.

Vellini may pretend to roll with the changes, but her easy arrogance conceals a deep, melancholy, and self-sacrificial fatalism. True, she despises Ryno before, during, and after their affair (with good reason, as he appears to confuse making love with making her miserable). But as he is her fate, she refuses to abandon him. He can come and go as he pleases; she'll always be his-- for worse if not for better.

The bond between Ryno and La Vellini is a strange one, based more on mutual anguish than delight. Yet every so often, Ryno manages to bring a smile to the edges of Vellini's mouth, transforming her eyes into supernovas of celestial light and her storm clouds into very heaven. In these moments, there is no doubt in my mind which perfume La Vellini personifies.

How do I know? Perhaps it's that succession of gigantic rose peonies with which Vellini adorns her jet-black hair-- neon pinks and reds radiating the intensity of a desert sunset. Or the combination of vulnerability and bravado that broadcasts itself through the eccentricity of her dress (Vellini switches from jaunty men's breeches to Levantine harem-wear to black lace mantillas faster than her mood can swing, which is pretty bloody fast). She smokes cigars, plays cards, and rides horses like a man… but she breaks, as the song goes, just like a little girl.

That's why I believe that Andy Tauer's Lonestar Memories is right on Vellini's wavelength. Take L'Air du Désert Marocain and whittle it down to its base of labdanum, jasmine, cedar, and vetiver. (Works best if you're chewing on a stalk of sweetgrass.) Swap out its coriander and cumin for sagebrush and carrotseed; then substitute geranium and birch tar for its petitgrain and ambergris. Bookend it on one side with smoky phenols, and on the other with a dusky carnation of deepest cerise. Now beam the whole thing right smack into the middle of the pampas, where it will lounge by the campfire with a flower between its teeth beneath the starry night sky. Cue Pete Seeger yodeling "Way Out There"-- and you realize that never did a human voice sound so plaintive, so lonesome, echoing in all that endless space.

Petulant, tender, melancholy, fearless, the Señora and this scent both get me right in the throat. And they can make bold with my heart all they want to: I'll stay faithful to the bitter end.

Scent Elements: Geranium, carrotseed, clary sage, birch tar, labdanum, jasmine, cedarwood, myrrh, tonka bean, vetiver, sandalwood

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Lashton Living Together Masterlist

burnt eggs & broken promises (ao3) - kingscrossinseptember G, 4k

Summary: "...So after a month or two of getting hounded by people, I may or may not have invented a fictional boyfriend.”

Luke glanced up at Ashton with worried blue eyes, as if he was expecting to be berated for lying. Instead, Ashton shrugged. “I can see why.”

or,

Ashton's always found his roommate, Luke, nothing but aggravating, but when they make a deal where Ashton has to pretend to be Luke's boyfriend for a night, his opinion starts to shift slightly...

can't find the sound under my tongue (ao3) - lifewasradical M, 13k

Summary: One year, nine months, eighteen days. Luke and Ashton have been attached at the hip for one year, nine months, and eighteen days. Six hundred, fifty six days. Almost twenty two months. One could argue that no, it’s actually been months and years longer than that; but officially, their time together is bound by a date, one solid time where they said yeah, this is it. Despite being this far into a relationship, one punctuated by extended time on the road, living so intertwined, they still don’t live together.

Or, Ashton refuses to move in with Luke. Alternately, a fic inspired by black butterflies and deja vu

Eighteen (ao3) - boomercal E, 56k

Summary: Eighteen-year-old Luke is done putting up with his father and brothers so he takes his father's Corvette and credit card to track down Ashton Irwin. Who graduated a few years ahead of him and has a reputation for smoking, drinking and sleeping around; surely he'll be enough to make his dad meet his demands... right?

Frostbite (ao3) - galacticsugar T, 4k

Summary: He figures it out by accident.

It’s a cold, rainy morning and Luke just does not feel like dragging the trash out to the apartment dumpster. He knows he should take it out, because Ashton’s coming back today and Luke made chicken tikka masala for dinner the night before and he can smell the remnants in the trash from 50 feet away. Ashton hates the smell of chicken tikka masala.

Luke and Ashton are roommates, and Luke discovers a creative way to smooth over arguments with Ashton.

Gay For Pay (ao3) - Bibsibi M, 10k

Summary: “You're not gonna prostitute yourself to me, Ashton.”

“Have you never heard of gay for pay?”

Or

Luke and Ashton are roomates and broke.

holding onto you (ao3) - toopunkforyou N/R, 3k

Summary: He met Ashton - his roommate slash boyfriend on the first day of college, when Luke was just a freshman and Ashton was a sophomore incapable of manoeuvring a large mattress. In other words Ashton had sent Luke and his beloved laptop, tumbling to the floor. Ashton apologised profusely in what Luke guessed to be French, promising to pay for the repairs.

if these walls could talk (they've seen way too many things) (ao3) - softirwin T, 26k

Summary: The announcement comes late, at eight p.m., interrupting radio and TV broadcasts and flashing up on phone screens.

Due to the current pandemic, the state is now on mandatory lockdown for three weeks. All citizens have until midnight to return to their places of residence. Those outside after midnight will be subject to severe penalties. Further information to follow.

“You have to leave,” Ashton says. “You have to go.” Luke blinks. “They’re locking down the state.”

-

luke gets stuck at ashton's during lockdown

i would whisper you a riot if you'd listen (ao3) - lucasfletcher G, 1k

Summary: The asshole taxi driver dumped him just outside the uni gates and he had to ask for directions twice, while carrying his backpack and a duffle bag and his suitcase. Of course, some idiot had to bump into him and sent him sprawling across the ground, not even bothering to check if Ashton’s okay. His elbows are still bleeding from the impact.

And then he meets his roommate.

Off-Screen (ao3) - allsassnoclass (brightblackholes) G, 3k

Summary: Now that classes are being taught from home due to the pandemic, students are getting a glimpse into Professor Irwin's home life, especially when his mysterious husband keeps interrupting class.

though you make me balanced (you can't make me whole) (ao3) - bellawritess T, 2k

Summary: tell me it won't hurt; now i, i'm your passenger.

Abruptly, Luke shoulders Ashton’s hand off, and immediately he regrets it, wants to take it back, to grab Ashton’s hand and replace it where it had been. Ashton pulls his hand away, and Luke starts to cry. (Luke is not okay.)

Tidal Wave - @ashtcnirwin (elivigar) E, 127k

Summary: “We talked about it before we went over to fetch you,” Ashton starts, “and Michael talked it over with Liz, and we decided that you shouldn’t live on your own for the time being.”

“You decided that I shouldn’t live on my own,” Luke repeats. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m an adult who can make his own decisions.”

Ashton smiles, but it’s thin and void of humour. “You’re staying with me for a while, Luke.”

A story about figuring out how to handle the difficulties life throws at you, on your own and with the help of loved ones.

you can see it with the lights out (ao3) - bellawritess T, 7k

Summary: “No, Luke,” Michael interrupts. “Calum’s not my boyfriend.”

It shouldn’t come as a surprise, but from Luke’s face Michael can see clearly that it has. “What? Since when?”