#unbearable sweet

[frownyalfred]

"Batman & Superman friendship" you mean the thing they do while waiting on a mission where Bruce purposefully pops his shoulder a little too hard just to watch Clark's expression twist up in horror? you mean the two adults who play the "guess how long I've been holding my breath" game together during boring JL meetings via enhanced hearing + insane breath control? the two men who hold the Earth's security between them and maybe three other people, who win points over the other by dating the same people and either 1) making the news just so the other has to write a headline about it OR 2) writing the most whackadoodle version of that headline that can still be considered "truth" just for shits and giggles? THOSE guys??

[inkskinned]

you know, you know. no gods, no masters, no kings on pedestals. everyone is fallible. death of the author. you know! you are balanced about your intake of media - you allow the wiggle room, the grace, the gratitude, the skepticism. nobody above criticism.

but still. a weird gut-punch feeling, something akin to betrayal. you read the article. surprise! an author you love is actually: a serial fucking predator.

well, shit. what now. no, you knew he was a person (all people are), but now you're wondering - what have i overlooked by accident? what messages have i internalized that are strange and cruel? and also, like, what the fuck?

his actions lay a thick glaze on top of everything. like each place is now ruined, opaque in a new way. but okay, fine, you've done this before. you knew better, right? you've been betrayed by many a cherished childhood author.

still, this stickiness. fuck. can you pick up that book again. will you read it to your children. you've recommended it to others - will you ever do that again? and of course, of course, no parasocial relationships. you were theoretically above this kind of sentiment. but the artist informs the art, right.

so it's not something as clear-cut as feeling he owed you, specifically (a stranger) better behavior - just that you kind of, in a distant and odd way... sort of trusted him to do better. it's not like a real trust or something speakable, just the faint hope that the product (good books) was a thin representation of the soul. now it feels like the product (good? books?) was a mask. in some small or insignificant way, your previous support of this person lent them power. your money and your time and your laughter.

and the thing is - you have this terrible, echoing sensation. how many times will this happen? over and over. you find out that the singer you love is actually a predator. you learn over drinks that your favorite high school english teacher is in jail for what he did to her. you listen to the news idly and suddenly discover that a woman you used to idolize has been abusing her kids for an actual eon.

what can you touch without the static melting off. you can't even really complain about it too much (you were supposed to know better, and besides, you don't want the same re-split "it's not your fault, love what you love" basic advice), but now it's here. somehow, it feels like - you let him into your life.

it's not that things need to be pure or an artist has to be like, endlessly perfect, mindful. demure. it's more just this terrible truth that has been replayed through your veins so often it feels criminally vain. power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. did you want any one person to be worth that power?

it's just that he wrote books where he seemed to understand that. he seemed to know about hierarchies and unfair systems and bigotry and privilege. you thought they were books about what it means to struggle. you thought they were about having power and still using it for good rather than for control. he spooned you a narrative of being a good guy, a kind soul. you fucking bought what that fucking monster sold.

maybe that's why they were fantasies, after all.

[radiosmile]

Emily from Hazbin Hotel

[pseudophan]

do you think philslion was Dan?

ok so i've always gone very back and forth on this, like any time i've read through the account i've been convinced it's dan but then as time passes i'm like ehh. probably not. and then i read the tweets again and am like hm.. no it is though...

@dnpbeats' masterdoc is a great read, if anyone's missed that somehow i recommend it, but i think for me there's only really one piece of evidence that usually has me leaning towards yes it was dan

without this one tweet, there's still a lot of interesting tidbits that suggest it could be, and all grouped together you get a picture that's like... well it would make sense! but it's kinda 50/50 cause i can pretty easily explain away most of it. some of it would be pretty big coincidences but not at all unheard of.

but obviously the kicker is

like, literally just disregard everything else actually. this is the one i can never get past because i just can't wrap my head around any explanation that would make sense because? lol? i month you? on nov 19th? come on.

also one thing i actually never realised until i read emma's doc is that phil retweeted that as well. which.... yeah.....

so i guess ultimately i do think it was dan. but i also think he's more likely to show full hole on the internet than he is to admit to this because that is so embarrassing LMAO. he can have his jokes about how he's a phil stan account but i just can't see him actually admit he ran a genuine honest to god amazingphil lion roleplay twitter, before they even talked to each other once. like he will take that to the grave. this is a challenge howell i dare you to admit it you loser

[kaysfanficcorner]

Movie Dates with a Stranger

Author's note: Just a quick little one shot about sweet Javi after a discussion with my best friend. She and Pedro are truly my two muses. If you dig this, please check out my other fics, Celebrity Crush (Dieter Bravo) and Out of This World (Din Djarin). More chapters of Out of this World are on *the way* soon!

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x reader

Summary: You go the movies every Saturday morning, and the same man is there every single time.

Warnings: none that I can think of other than how stinking cute this film nerd really is.

AO3

*****

When the company you work for announced that they were opening an office in Spain, you jumped at the chance to take a position there. Having always wanted an excuse to leave the country and coming off of a bad break up, it was as if the universe was giving you exactly what you needed exactly when you needed it.

You're finally feeling settled in your new city. You've even managed to find yourself a gorgeous little vintage movie theater so you can get back into your favorite hobby from back in the states. Going to the movies is your favorite pastime in the whole world, and it has been since before you can remember. In America, you would attend the movies at least once a week if not two or three depending on how many good releases were out in one weekend. You hadn't realized how much you missed it until the morning stroll when you managed to stumble upon the one-screen theater playing a new film you'd been dying to see.

Without further consideration you'd purchased a ticket and the rest was history. Every Saturday morning since you've gone to see whatever movie was out regardless of what it was. Some in Spanish, some in English, but none of that matters. You're in your happy place.

The fact that you always go to the first screening of the day means that there are usually very few people in the theater.

So you notice when the same man has been there with you for the last five films.

He's gorgeous in every sense of the word, which you really got to see up close the third time you came and he was in front of you in the line for the snack bar. Well dressed, his casual attire was certainly expensive looking so you assume he must have money. He's got the most adorable smile, his dark eyes wrinkling at the corners as his mouth forms a grin at the huge bucket of popcorn the worker handed him. He always gets popcorn, a cherry coke, and a box of peanut m&ms. He's had the same snack every time you've seen him.

His burnt caramel hair is curly and always well managed, definitely with some sort of boujee product. His cologne smells like heaven when you catch a good whiff of it. He'd turned with all of his treats in hand, smiling down at you and telling you to enjoy the film with such genuine enthusiasm you hadn't been able to hold back your own wide grin at him. As he moved past you to allow you your turn in line, the scent of him nearly made you moan out loud. His voice had also been one of the loveliest sounds you'd ever heard.

In other circumstances, the thought of a strange man appearing at the movie theater five weeks in a row would freak you out. Are you being stalked? A naive American being scoped out for kidnapping or murder?

No, that's not the vibe you get from him at all. If you had to pinpoint the vibe you do get, it's that he's a fucking nerd. This guy adores film, just like you do. He'll obviously see everything. In the last five weeks the two of you have watched two action movies, one drama, one boner-comedy, and one romantic comedy. Not all of them were good, but your movie theater buddy seemed to watch all of them with the same level of reverence. He even turned around after the second action film, the fourth time you'd been in the theater with this stranger, and gave you an enthusiastic little grin and a thumbs up.

“That was fucking awesome, wasn't it?!” he'd whisper yelled to you.

That had made your heart skip a beat, whisper-yelling back in the affirmative.

The fifth movie was when you realized how much you were looking forward to seeing your stranger. That entire morning you'd had a giddy little smile on your face, picking out one of your cutest and most flattering casual dresses with a pair of heeled boots to match. You'd even gone so far as to do your hair and make up, when the first couple of weeks you'd gone for a more bum-chic look with sweatpants and a hoodie.

It was halfway through applying your mascara when it hit you that you like your film-nerd stranger. Seeing him every Saturday has been the highlight of your free time in Spain so far. Living so far away from everyone you've ever known has been lonely, and this handsome fellow at the movies has been the closest thing to a real social interaction outside of work since you moved here.

You're certain that you'd noticed his reaction to a more dressed up version of yourself, purposefully sitting one row in front of him so that he had no choice but to see you. His eyes had widened before a little shy smile crept up his lips, you'd seen it out of the corner of your eye before sitting down with a little smile of your own.

Now it's the sixth week, and the first horror movie. Horror is one of your favorite genres, and this one has been getting rave reviews for the last couple of weeks. Critics are calling it the horror film of the year and audiences are calling it the most frightening movie of the decade. Needless to say you are chomping at the bit for this one.

With an appropriately spooky and equally flattering outfit, and a makeup look complimenting the vibe of the film you're about to see, you feel like you truly look your best upon entering the theater lobby on that Saturday morning. On instinct your eyes flick around the large room, on the lookout for your stranger among the movie posters and popcorn.

You don't see him anywhere and your heart sinks a little, but you try not to lose hope. You're aware that it's quite possible that he's going to eventually skip a Saturday or there may be a movie that doesn't interest him after all.

Making your way over to the snack bar, you grin and wave at the same teenage girl who has greeted you from behind the counter every weekend. The same crew works the same shift each time you're there so you've become a little friendly in your snack bar encounters.

Knowing your Spanish isn't perfect, you try your best to order a soda and nachos in the language of the country you're in, and a cheerful voice from behind you makes you jump when you're finished.

“Your accent is getting much better.”

You spin around to find him standing behind you, that kind smile of his reaching all the way up to his eyes. He's dressed in a dark brown pair of slacks with a tan t-shirt and a dark purple corduroy jacket. His hair is perfect and he looks almost as if he's the one who was trying to dress his best this week.

You can feel a blush rush to your cheeks, avoiding his gaze as you give an awkward little, “Gracias.”

So he'd been paying attention to you just as much as you'd been paying attention to him? Lord have mercy.

He doesn't say more, just smiles that adorable smile of his as you grab your snacks and leave him to order his usual. You quickly make your way to your seat then, opting for the one you usually take that sits two rows behind the handsome stranger. He takes the same exact seat every week and you'd certainly noticed that as well.

Right on time he comes in and takes his seat, eyes flicking to you for a moment before he sits down. You smile broadly at him, and a shy little look takes over his features as he turns to face the screen. No one else shows up to this screening. The trailers run and your stomach flutters when you realize that the two of you will be here alone for the very first time.

You try not to pay attention to him when the lights begin to dim and the title card of the movie appears on the screen. You try not to watch the back of his head as he happily shoves popcorn into his mouth, attempting to focus on the movie you've been dying to see since they first announced its conception on some movie news site years ago.

Eventually the eerie tension of the film and the characters start to draw you in, your attention finally in the right place. And then a brilliantly laid out jump scare actually manages to get you, and you notice a bit of popcorn flying into the air over at your stranger's seat. Another comes shortly after that, and the stranger gets up from his seat completely. Your eyebrows raise, trying to keep your eyeballs glued to the screen. But then you feel a presence come right up beside you, and you turn to see your stranger standing right there. Your heart leaps in your chest as he slips into the seat right beside you and sends an apologetic look your way.

“I am so sorry to intrude, and I hate to look like a total pussy in front of a beautiful woman, but I am so fucking scared of this movie. Is it alright if I sit with you?” he whispers over, despite the fact that no one else is in the room but you. His accent is so cute that it's killing you not to giggle.

“Sure, I was honestly getting a little scared of it myself,” you whisper back, hoping to reassure him a little.

“Gracias,” he says with a bow of the head before turning his attention back to the film.

The presence of him next to you is driving you mad throughout the next few scenes, but you're completely elated by the fact that he's so close now. Close enough to smell that cologne again, for your forearm to brush his on the armrest.

Another scare comes, and the stranger's little yelp of surprise beside you causes the giddiest of grins to tug at your lips. When another comes again shortly after, his hand grabs for yours.

“Sorry!” he whisper-yells, letting you go just as quickly as he'd grabbed you. He looks so embarrassed.

Feeling brave, you reach over and take his hand in yours. He lets you touch him with ease, fingers of both hands intertwining with each other. His hand is so much bigger than yours.

“If this helps you feel less scared I really don't mind,” you whisper back, eyes on the screen once again. He doesn't say anything else.

Each time the movie scares your stranger, his fingers dig into your hand with varying levels of pressure. At one point you catch yourself tracing little circles into his skin with your thumb, and he's actually doing it back. That makes you melt into the seat a little.

Sooner than you'd like it feels like the climax of the film is wrapping up in a mess of blood and guts, and shortly after that the film is over all together. The credits start rolling and the house lights come back on. You're expecting your stranger to let go of you, but to your shock he lifts your connected hands and places a chaste kiss on the back of your hand. Then he lets go.

“Thank you for keeping me company during that. I am forever in your debt,” he says, adding shyly, “Horror movies always scare the shit out of me. Even the bad ones.”

“Well they weren't kidding when they said that was the scariest movie of the decade online. I was just as scared as you! And usually I can handle things like that. Proud of you for making it through that with me,” you say, adding an introduction as you give him your name.

“I am Javi,” he says with a grin, “I'm glad to finally meet you after all these weeks.”

“Likewise. It's nice to know another movie enthusiast,” you agree.

The two of you gather your things, heading back out to the lobby while discussing the finer points of the film you both just saw. When you part ways to both use the restroom, you're thrilled to find him waiting for you just outside as you reemerge.

Javi extends an elbow towards you. “Would you like to go get a cup of coffee? I have so much more to say about that movie, I probably need at least another hour to get it all out!”

A giggle finds your voice, a hand coming to your lips for a second before you're looping your arm through his and he's leading you out of the theater and down the street.

You start the conversation back up, leaning into him a little as you walk. “I cannot believe that the lead actress did such a good job! I honestly wasn't expecting such a performance from her based on the other movies of hers that I've seen.”

“Oh my God, I know! I was really shocked by how good she was, and the things that poor girl had to do! It must have been so fun to shoot that stuff.”

When the following Saturday morning rolls around, you cannot wait to jump out of bed to start your day. It will be the seventh straight week of going to the movies with Javi Gutierrez, but it's going to be your first real date.

*****

Masterlist

[clanborn]

cracked open the apprentice’s quest and these lines are already making me sad. fuck you jayfeather why did you take shots at her during her funeral

[emil1863]

[wildsaltair]

you can’t show me this picture at 10:39 in the morning and expect me to act normal in any way, shape, or form

[howifeltabouthim]

'He's looking for her . . . Not just looking . . . he's dying without her.'

Chris Whitaker, from All the Colors of the Dark

[loveholicc]

Like, I adore the fact that the utapri VAs at one of the Maji Love Lives, looked out into the audience and went "wow! There's a lot of guys here!" And some reactions, initially were "wait, you guys wanna be here, right?" Which was instantly met with, "of course they do! Hi guys! Can we hear from you?" So the crowd cheers.

Then blessed Morikubo pulls up with "welcome, my girls! Welcome, my boys!" and has just NEVER stopped. There were a few other greetings in character but those haven't stuck. But my girl and my boy. My girl and my boy are forever.

[br1ghtestlight]

hilarious that mephone4s was in the inanimate insanity finale only bcuz there's a super big fan of him on twitter who brian knew and he essentially Wrote him into the episode and voiced him for them as a lil surprise. this is why indie animation is so great. can you imagine if the bob's burgers writers were like hmmmm we gotta add ambrose to this episode. I know a guy on tumblr who really likes him. and then they just did

[girlivealwaysbean]

mann im going to get my blood reports tomorrow and im lwk scared

[andypantsx3]

shouto is the type of boyfriend who stays superglued to you as you make breakfast in the morning

[not-glorfindel-stop-asking]

Lindir, you’ve gotta have some sweet Eredin stories! What’s the most heart-melting thing he’s done for you?

Ah. Ah.

You ask for one story, but do you realize what you request?

How does one select a single moment when Eredin exists in a constant state of being utterly, unbearably sweet? It is an impossible task. I might as well be asked to count the stars or catalog every leaf in the valley.

But fine. Since you insist-

There was a day—years ago now, when Eredin was still new to the archives, still skittish as a fawn, still prone to clutching his quill like a lifeline whenever spoken to directly. I had been ill—nothing dramatic, nothing worthy of great concern, but enough to make my head foggy and my limbs sluggish. Enough that Elrond, in all his wisdom, had exiled me from my own duties and ordered me to rest. (A ridiculous command, truly. I was perfectly capable of continuing my work, and I told him as much. He responded by confiscating my writing implements and setting Glorfindel to watch me, which was an insult I shall never forget.)

Eredin, of course, took this matter with the utmost gravity.

It was as if my mild cold were a grave diplomatic incident requiring delicate maneuvering and constant vigilance. He did not say he was checking in on me—no, he simply appeared.

At first, it was small things: a cup of warm cocoa left within reach when I woke, an extra pillow subtly tucked behind my back, a thick woolen blanket I do not own but somehow acquired draped over my shoulders. I was suspicious.

Rightfully so.

And then—oh. Then.

The moment I will never forget.

One evening, as I pretended to be sleeping (so that Glorfindel would leave), I heard rustling near my bedside. A soft clink. The faintest murmur of words, barely audible. I cracked one eye open.

There was Eredin. My absurd, absurd assistant, kneeling beside my bed, arranging—arranging, with the most careful, studious expression—an assortment of small trinkets beside me. A smooth river stone. A tiny carved owl. A pressed leaf, golden with autumn. A minuscule, perfect pinecone.

I stared. He froze.

"Lindir!" he squeaked, voice pitching high enough to make the Valar wince. "You—oh, you’re awake, I didn’t—um, I was only—this is not what it looks like!"

"...What," I croaked, "does it look like?"

He turned a color so vivid I feared he might combust on the spot.

"You were unwell," he blurted. "And when someone is unwell, you bring them things! That’s what you do!"

"Things," I repeated.

He nodded frantically, hands flapping like a startled bird. "Yes! Things! Small things! Comforting things! I—I read about it once, somewhere, I think it was a book about warg behavior—but that is not important!"

And so I learned that in his worry, in his fervent desire to do something, my dear, ridiculous Eredin had apparently researched creatures in the wild and decided that surely the best course of action was to mimic them. Because if wolves and crows and all manner of beasts brought gifts to those they cared for, why should he not do the same?

I was stunned. I was speechless. I wanted to scream.

Instead, I picked up the small carved owl, turned it over in my palm, and said, very carefully, very softly, "Thank you, Eredin. I will treasure it."

And oh. Oh. You should have seen him.

His breath hitched. His eyes went impossibly wide. And then—oh, then—the most radiant, disastrously lovely smile broke across his face. A smile so full of pure, unguarded joy that I almost had to look away.

He fled before I could say anything else.

(And yes. Yes, I still have the owl. And the stone. And the leaf. And the pinecone. I keep them in a small wooden box, tucked safely away. Not that it is important. Not that it means anything.)

[vvkamescaps]

[parcfermekisses]

George and Lando and the idea of forever

One day Lando would love to be able to say, "This is my husband, George".

He'd introduce him as his husband incessantly.

To everyone.

Including their friends.

Every time.

Whenever they meet up with Alex, it's "You remember my husband, George." Even though Alex has known George longer. Even though George has broken Alex's collar bone and he's got the scar to prove it. Alex teases them about it mercilessly, but it doesn't deter Lando. George glows every time, because Lando's so very obviously proud of them being married, it has been a long time coming, and anyway, the novelty hasn't worn off for George either, he's just not as public about it.

Lando imagines wandering into the Mercedes garage just so he can say he's looking for his husband – he's not sure they'll still be racing in Formula 1 when they get married, but he likes that fantasy all the same. Maybe they've moved on to a bit of endurance racing in their retirement, but he'd still go around the garage asking if anyone's seen his husband. Because he can.

(George goes a bit pink when the mechanics rag him about it, but it doesn't stop him sweeping Lando up when they finally find each other and making a show of kissing him. Because that's his husband.)