#I love my dear american idiots

[fritzes]

frances, ben, and tommy: *ranked consecutively, each one desperately trying to get ahead of the other two, actually playing tennis*

taylor: *golfing in the rain*

#he's in his casper ruud era #he had one good grand slam result and just noped out for a few weeks #I love my dear american idiots #taylor fritz #frances tiafoe #tommy paul #ben shelton

[theemissuniverse]

DEAF! LESBIANFEM!READER WITH MK 11 CHARACTER INTROS

SUMMARY : You’re a deaf kombatant that can read lips extremely well. Your power is all knowing. You are half Earthrealmer and half Outworlder. (You mainly grew up in Earthrealm though) Everyone in Outworld knows sign language. Some Earthrealmers also know sign language or at least a little bit.

This is more an x reader with Cassie Cage, Kitana, Jacqui Briggs, Mileena, and Skarlet but with funny intros with other characters

Also love friendship between Kano and (Y/N) in this

WARNINGS : suggestive

MASTERLIST 1 , MASTERLIST 2

Italics mean the reader is signing. Not speaking

Cassie Cage : You know, I just got the perfect man for you

(Y/N) : If you say Kenshi I will strangle you

Cassie Cage : Sheesh. Nevermind

Cassie Cage : So tell me why you and Kenshi won’t work again?

(Y/N) : I am deaf…he is blind…how will he be able to see me sign to him?

Cassie Cage : Well now that you mention it…

(Y/N) : Why are you so persistent to set me up with someone?

Cassie Cage : Okay, I know the Kenshi thing was stupid but Takeda? He’s right for you

(Y/N) : His son?!

Cassie Cage : Um, why didn’t you tell me you liked girls?!

(Y/N) : You didn’t ask me

Cassie Cage : We’ll, guess I gotta call off the date I set up with you and Takeda

Cassie Cage : Wait. If you’re all knowing then does that mean you know-

(Y/N) : That you have a crush on me? Yes. Very much so

Cassie Cage : Goddamn it!

Cassie Cage : If you’re all knowing then does that mean you’ve seen me naked?

(Y/N) : It does not work like that but you can give me a demo if you want

Cassie Cage : *nervous laugh* Is it getting hot in here?

(Y/N) : I’ll whip you with your own pistol

Erron Black : If you’re doing it then I’m into it

(Y/N) : I gotta start off conversation saying ‘I like girls’ when I battle you people

Jacqui Briggs : If you’re all knowing then who’s gonna win the fight?

(Y/N) : Me. Obviously

Jacqui Briggs : Are you just saying that because you’re a bitch or are you serious?

Jacqui Briggs : Takeda is mine, (Y/N)

(Y/N) : I’m more interested in you

Jacqui Briggs : Oh shit-

Jacqui Briggs : I’m taking you out, (Y/N)

(Y/N) : I’m flattered but Cassie will be crushed

Jacqui Briggs : What? That’s not what I meant -

Jax : If you knew about other timelines, why didn’t you say anything?

(Y/N) : Nobody asked me

Jax : That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard

Johnny Cage : So why do you gotta be mute and deaf?

(Y/N) : You are a fucking idiot

Johnny Cage : I’m a fucking idiot? Well-can’t argue with you there

Johnny Cage : If you’re deaf then how come you can read my lips?

(Y/N) : I’m deaf. Not blind you idiot.

Johnny Cage : All I got from that is you calling me an idiot.

Johnny Cage : Okay, this sign language thing is hard

(Y/N) : How did your daughter pick up on it and you didn’t?

Johnny Cage : Yeah. I didn’t understand a word you just signed

Johnny Cage : Stop flirting with my daughter

(Y/N) : Trust me, a Cage is not my type

Johnny Cage : I don’t know if I should be offended by that

Kabal : Kano’s gotta soft spot for you

(Y/N) : Of course he does. Have you seen me?

Kabal : I don’t see the hype

(Y/N) : I am surprised you of all people know sign language.

Kano : You think I don’t do my work with deaf people? I’m not an ableist. Murderer yes but not that

(Y/N) : Dear God…

Kano : How can you tell I have an accent?

(Y/N) : Your mouth moves different than an American

Kano : That’s fucking cool

Kano : Come join the Black Dragaon, love

(Y/N) : So I can run from an ugly blonde with a gun? No thanks

Kano : She is ugly isn’t she?

Kitana : You know that I’m with Liu Kang, (Y/N)

(Y/N) : Ugh. Mr. Chosen one. Come be with a real woman

Kitana : Find her and I’ll be with her

(Y/N) : Liu Kang can’t handle all of that.

Kitana : *laughs* And you can?

(Y/N) : Very simple. Yes.

(Y/N) : I’m standing in front of the embodiment of beauty

Kitana : Flattery will not save you in this fight

(Y/N) : Well I tried

(Y/N) : He can’t give you what I can give you

Kitana : You know if you’d just asked me out before him then I would’ve been with you

(Y/N) : Wait…I actually had a chance??

Kitana : Skarlet is bad news, (Y/N)

(Y/N) : At least she actually likes me

Kitana : I did like you

(Y/N) : Your sister is obsessed with me

Kitana : She is hardly my sister

(Y/N) : Mileena was right. You are annoying

Kung Lao : You know you like me

(Y/N) : I tolerate you

Kung Lao : In my world, that’s the same thing

(Y/N) : I’m not interested, Kung Lao

Kung Lao : Kitana will never go for you

(Y/N) : I don’t need second rate monk to tell me that

Kung Lao : Why didn’t you just say you liked girls?!

(Y/N) : Even if I did like men-you would not be my type

Kung Lao : I’m everyone’s type

Kung Lao : So say if you did like men…who are you picking? Me or Liu Kang?

(Y/N) : You really want me to answer that?

Kung Lao : *sighs*

(Y/N) : Your friend may not pick up on my signing but tell him I am not interested

Liu Kang : Oh he knows but that won’t stop him

(Y/N) : Let’s see if a grave does

Liu Kang : I heard you have affections for Kitana

(Y/N) : Does that bother you, monk?

Liu Kang : I mean this in the humblest way possible, I am not threatened by you

(Y/N) : Mr. Chosen One

Liu Kang : You were always jealous of me, (Y/N)

(Y/N) : I wouldn’t be jealous of you if it bit me on the ass

Mileena : I can treat you better than my sister

(Y/N) : What are you gonna do? Eat me?

Mileena : Isn’t that what you’re interested in?

(Y/N) : Tell your father that I’m not joining his concubines

Mileena : None sense. You will be mine

(Y/N) : Holy shit

Mileena : My sister is missing out on you

(Y/N) : You’re implying that you have me

Mileena : Soon I will

Mileena : If I were Kitana, I would’ve picked you

(Y/N) : Smart and…a little freaky looking. I like it

Mileena : You will like more

Noob Saibot : We admire your skills in kombat

(Y/N) : Thanks dark shadow thing

Noob Saibot : But they will not save you from me

(Y/N) : People doubt me because I am deaf

Raiden : That is the advantage you have

(Y/N) : They won’t ever see me coming

(Y/N) : How come I wasn’t the chosen one?

Raiden : Are you prepared for-

(Y/N) : That sounds like too much work

Shao Kahn : You will join my concubines

(Y/N) : Read my hands. Hell no.

Shao Kahn : I wouldn’t be so convinced

Skarlet : You have infinite knowledge

(Y/N) : A blessing and a curse

Skarlet : Feed it to me

Skarlet : Your affections for Kitana are ridiculous

(Y/N) : Enlighten me

Skarlet : There are far better women in front of you

Skarlet : Your skills are far greater than a regular warrior

(Y/N) : Aw. You flirting with me, Skarlet?

Skarlet : I cannot resist

(Y/N) : Not gonna lie, you do look good in red

Skarlet : I am flattered, Psychic

(Y/N) : Baby, I can give you more than flattery

(Y/N) : Keep your boyfriend in check, Blade

Sonya : Keep your ego in check, deafie

(Y/N) : You did not just call me that

Sonya : Stay away from my daughter, (Y/N)

(Y/N) : She’s the one glued to me, moron

Sonya : I don’t know what you just said but I’m gonna kick your ass anyway

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mk #mk x reader #mk11 #mk 11 #cassie cage #cassie cage x reader #kitana #kitana x reader #Mileena #Mileena x reader #jacqui briggs #Jacqui Briggs x reader #mk skarlet #mk Skarlet x reader #skarlet x reader #johnny cage #liu kang #kung lao #raiden #Shao Kahn #sonya blade #mortal kombat 1 #mk intros #mk jax #mk kano #erron black #mk kabal #noob saibot

[pearlprincess02]

playlist for: ARIES EDITION

part 1 for more artist

BY ARIES MOONS

"ambitionz az a ridah" - tupac / "scream & shout" - will.i.am (feat. britney spears) / "bitch better have my money" - rihanna / "see you again" - wiz khalifa feat. charlie puth / "queen of the night" - whitney houston / "dear mama" - tupac / "drip" - cardi b (feat. migos) / "work" - rihanna (feat. drake) / "so emotional" - whitney houston / "money" - cardi b / "just like a pill" - pink / "come & get it" - selena gomez / "ring" - cardi b (feat. kehlani) / "i needed you" - blackbear / "where have you been" - rihanna / "young, wild & free" - snoop dogg & wiz khalifa (feat. bruno mars) / "bodak yellow" - cardi b / "on my own" - ross lynch / "raise your glass" - p!nk / "exchange" - bryson tiller / "love you like a love song" - selena gomez / "california love" - tupac / "hot girl bummer" - blackbear / "diamonds" - rihanna / blow me (one last kiss) - p!nk / "don't" - bryson tiller / "idfc" - blackbear / "feelin' myself" - will.i.am (feat. miley cyrus, wiz khalifa, french montana)

MORE SONGS (JUST VIBES)

"roar" - katy perry /"run the world (girls)" - beyoncé / "uptown funk" - mark ronson (feat. bruno mars) / "stronger" - kanye west / "don't stop believin'" by journey / "fighter" - christina aguilera / "eye of the tiger" - survivor / "i will survive" - gloria gaynor / "can't hold us" - macklemore & ryan lewis (feat. ray dalton)

BY 1ST HOUSE MOONS

"i wanna dance with somebody (who loves me)" - whitney houston / "thriller" - michael jackson / "kill bill" - sza / "chained to the rhythm" - katy perry (feat. skip marley) / "big pimpin'" - jay-z (feat. UGK) / "i like it" - cardi b (feat. bad bunny, j balvin) / "breaking the habit" - linkin park / "sex" - the 1975 / "greatest love of all" - whitney houston / "firework" - katy perry / "black or white" - michael jackson / "robbers" - the 1975 / "broken clocks" - sza / "bartier cardi" - cardi b (feat. 21 savage) / "i will always love you" - whitney houston / "unconditionally" - katy perry "run this town" - jay-z (feat. rihanna & kanye west) / "i'm every woman" - whitney houston /"don't stop 'til you get enough" - michael jackson / "the weekend" - sza / "numb" - linkin park / "WAP" - cardi b (feat. megan thee stallion) / "california gurls"- katy perry (feat. snoop dogg) / "empire state of mind" - jay-z (feat. alicia keys) / "good days" - sza / "material girl" - madonna

MORE SONGS (JUST VIBES)

"stronger (what doesn't kill you)" - kelly clarkson / "unwritten" - natasha bedingfield / "titanium" - david guetta feat. sia / "eye of the tiger" - survivor / "brave" - sara bareilles / "shake it out" - florence + the machine / "the middle" - jimmy eat world

aries moon playlist (honorable mention : moon - mars aspects)

BY ARIES VENUSES

"home with you" - madison beer / "alejandro" - lady gaga / "american idiot" - green day / "consideration" - rihanna (feat. sza) / "fantasy" - mariah carey / "pretty savage"- blackpink / "born this way" - lady gaga / "BOYSHIT" - madison beer / "EARFQUAKE" - tyler, the creator / "feel special" - twice / "obsessed" - mariah carey / "judas" - lady gaga / "hips don't lie" - shakira (feat. wyclef jean) / "needed me" - rihanna / "911 / mr. lonely" - tyler, the creator (feat. frank ocean and steve lacy) / "FANCY" - twice "baby" - madison beer / "it's not living (if it's not with you)" - the 1975 / "DDU-DU DDU-DU" - blackpink / "bad romance" - lady gaga / "when i come around" - green day / "rude boy" - rihanna / "see you again"- tyler, the creator (feat. kali uchis) / "selfish" - madison beer / "what is love?" - twice / "robbers" - the 1975 / "holiday" - green day / "is this love" - bob marley & the wailers / "IFHY" - tyler, the creator (feat. pharrell williams) / "I CAN'T STOP ME" - twice / "reckless" - madison beer / "girls" - the 1975 /

MORE SONGS (JUST VIBES)

"can't be tamed" - miley cyrus / "S&M" - rihanna / "womanizer" - britney spears / "i will always love you" - whitney houston / "love me harder" - ariana grande (feat. the weeknd) / "break free" - ariana grande (feat. zedd) / "we found love" - rihanna (feat. calvin harris) / "heart attack" - demi lovato

BY 1ST HOUSE VENUSES

"hot n cold" - katy perry / "pillowtalk" - zayn / "girlfriend" - avril lavigne / "formation" - beyoncé / "boss bitch" - doja cat / "good 4 u" - olivia rodrigo / "last friday night (T.G.I.F.)" - katy perry / "entertainer" - zayn / "déjà vu" - beyoncé (feat. jay-z) / "hurricane" - halsey / "favorite crime" - olivia rodrigo / "dark horse" - katy perry (feat. juicy j) / "dusk till dawn" - zayn (feat. sia) / "irreplaceable" - beyoncé / "now or never" - halsey / "complicated" - avril lavigne / "best friend" - saweetie (feat. doja cat) / "teenage dream" - katy perry / "drunk in love" - beyoncé (feat. jay-z) / "without me" - halsey / "chanel" - frank ocean / "juicy" - doja cat / "flawless" - beyoncé (remix feat. nicki minaj) / "my type" - saweetie / traitor"- olivia rodrigo / "self control" - frank ocean / "streets" - doja cat / "good years" - zayn / "partition" - beyoncé / "control" - halsey / "sk8er boi" - avril lavigne / "rare" - selena gomez / "pyramids" - frank ocean / "graveyard" - halsey / "single ladies (put a ring on it)" - beyoncé / "hands to myself" - selena gomez / "tap in" - saweetie / "woman" - doja cat / "bad idea right?" - olivia rodrigo / "my happy ending" - avril lavigne / "nights" - frank ocean / "who says" - selena gomez / "better" - zayn / "ghost" - halsey / "say so" - doja cat / "moon river" - frank ocean / "obsessed" - olivia rodrigo / "when you're gone" - avril lavigne / "love you like a love song" - selena gomez / "gasoline" - halsey

MORE SONGS (JUST VIBES)

"feelin' myself" - nicki minaj (feat. beyoncé) / "fancy" - iggy azalea (feat. charli xcx) / "confident" - demi lovato / "glamorous" - fergie ft. ludacris / "love myself" - hailee steinfeld / "me too" - meghan trainor / "beautiful" - christina aguilera / "pretty hurts" - beyoncé /

aries venus playlist (honorable mention : venus - mars aspects)

OTHER ARIES PLAYLIST

aries sun playlist (honorable mention : sun in 1st house, sun - mars aspects)

aries rising playlist (honorable mention : mars in 1st house, mars - asc aspects , mars dominants)

main masterlist

©pearlprincess0

#aries moon #aries venus #astrology #astro notes #astro community #astro observations #astrology observations #astro placements #astro tumblr #astroblr #astrology notes #playlist #spotify playlist #venus in 1st house #moon in 1st house #aries sun #aries rising #aries

[itripandfallalot]

I'm sure I'll post more TSS, but for now, have some Shel thoughts on TWS (featuring the British editions, because why deal with the silly American ones, when you can have 3 versions of the books - digital, US paperbacks and English paperbacks? Stroud, you're welcome ◡̈ )

(Clearly, I had trouble prioritizing what passages to pick, and the last one is prime example of how not to highlight, since I underlined the entire page.)

I love these scenes though, because as I've mentioned before, we know that Lockwood and Lucy liked each other very early on, but I think this is one of the first instances we see Lockwood wrestling with his feelings and backing down from them as a result. @dangerously-human posted a brilliant analysis on Lucy's denial of her feelings for Lockwood, and here we see Lockwood grappling with the same denial and ultimately forcing himself to refocus on the mission, as a result. (Side note: When Lucy tells Lockwood they're so similar in the beginning of TEG, it's like yeah, you two are both idiots.)

I get it—Lockwood has lost everyone he's loved, so any feeling close to that, he's going to push back on, because to love someone might mean he'll lose that someone. Isn't that what life has taught him (and yet!! the wonderful miracle of Lockwood is that he just keeps on loving... kind of like my dear ol' boy Harry Potter)?

He legit knows Lucy is watching here, and he's totally showing off for her. When has he ever demonstrated a move like this to George? No, Lockwood is totally flirting with Lucy during this scene.

But then, Fittes comes up. We get a reminder that this isn't any world, despite how immune our heroes seem to be to its horrors sometimes. Lockwood recognizes that ultimately every agent is just a kid risking their life. This is important, because while Lockwood is certainly starting to blur the lines with Lucy, at the end of the photos I've taken, he pulls back. Why? The mission.

He's a kid with a horrible past. In TEG, he mentions that it seemed random—his parents, Jessica— but it wasn't. Up until now, it almost borders on revenge. Obsession. He doesn't have hobbies. He refuses to dwell on the past. He spins and thinks and strategizes about the next case, and then the one after that. He has no sympathy for ghosts. He wants to end them—all that matters is the mission, for the pain it's caused him, for some of the emptiness it's left him.

But then there's Lucy. He gets sidetracked. We even have George noting here that he's surprised that Lockwood has already told Lucy this much. And yet, he still holds back. We don't know who beat him at the Fittes tournament, and he doesn't tell Lucy until TEG.

He's completely in denial here, and even though we see him open up slowly, he still always orients back to the goal at hand, as he continues to struggle with his feelings for Lucy. And so consistently, he refocuses and pushes them aside.

Until we see that he can't after Lucy leaves—how wrecked he was without her. And it isn't really until this point that he truly, really starts to open himself up to her—not his past, not his thoughts as a leader, but himself and how he feels about her.

He takes her to his families graves in TEG, and if that's not a sign of vulnerability, trust, and faith, then I don't what is.

But what I find the most interesting? We don't get that Flo backstory from Lockwood until much later, after the graveyard. Huh. And it comes after Lockwood realizes that his parents didn't die in a random car crash—almost like his life wasn't random at all.

I actually think it's kind of huge that Lockwood saves this last piece of information for last. Because it's a funny story that's meant to cheer Lucy up. Defeating Marissa is important, but it's no longer about the mission at this point. Not really, not anymore. He's found peace with that. It's about Lucy, and I think, in this moment, he fully and 100% accepts his feelings towards her.

Yes, you can argue it happened when he tried to give her the necklace the first time, and it was Kipps who interrupted them, and blah blah blah. But Lockwood could have found a way to give Lucy the necklace again before the attack on PR. But he didn't.

And isn't it interesting that the undying devotion necklace is something still tied to his family? But the Flo story and how she beat Lockwood? Nah, that's all Lockwood, and it's something of him—without the weighty ties to his family, still somehow so wrapped up in the Problem—that he shares with Lucy. And it's this innocent moment, this moment of joy, that's so inherently pure and lovely, and largely unrelated to the bigger threat, that sigh, my heart. This to me, this is the moment. And all these other moments, I've highlighted above set us up for this.

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #l&co book spoilers #anthony lockwood #locklyle #lucy carlyle #tws #teg #thb

[waitmyturtles]

THE MORNING AFTER: ONLY FRIENDS, EPISODE 5 ("CH-CH-CH-CHANGES / TURN AND FACE THE STRANGE") EDITION

Well, well, FUCKING well. Man, I am REELING. THAT. Was a HELL of an episode of a drama. Jojo and his team need to applaud themselves.

Let me set this up by sharing with y’all a tweet that really stuck with me after episode 4, but I think it’s pertinent to episode 5:

Now, yes -- this is a touch of a generalization (many of my queer friends are straight-edge-and-or-early-to-bed-while-living-in-cities folx), but I want to note something important in this tweet.

Before I got started on episode 5 last night, after having seen a lot of the meta and reactions on my dash throughout the day, I shot a note to dear @ranchthoughts that I thought I'd have to get a little #oldmom on this episode. Speaking to chibi's note above: toxicity happens to be a common human trait. Seeing that there was QUITE a bit of surprise for Boston's "outing" of Ray to Sand on my dash actually surprised me.

From my lawyer friends, I learned about the following concept, and I just cracked the fuck up the first time I heard it, because it rang really true once I got my head around it: a lawyer friend once told me that when he started out at a typical major American law firm, his orientation included hearing a presentation from an older managing partner about the idea of the "equal opportunity asshole." Meaning: there's workplace harassment against protected classes, like race-based or sex-based harassment. But: can you get sued if you treat EVERYONE AROUND YOU like shit? And, he didn't mean on a personal level, not on an attacking level. Just on an abrupt, aggressive level. A bossy level. A very direct-toned level.

That kind of interaction -- an interaction with an equal opportunity asshole -- we know those kinds of people, right? These kinds of folks are...titchy. They might jump to conclusions. They're rooted in their worldview ONE HUNDRED PERCENT. They lack empathy. They make you feel unsettled. They are emotionally disconnected from you. They have NO interest in being emotionally connected WITH YOU.

When I dove into episode 5, I really thought I'd be writing about Boston as the equal opportunity asshole, and I think that this theory still holds to a great extent, but -- there's a but, a slight and fascinating-to-me but, that I'll get to in a second.

@ranchthoughts did the thing once more of covering EVERYTHING in her episode 5 ephemerality breakdown, so dear Ranch, I'm just gonna repeat some stuff you said in my own words, if you don't mind. First off, a couple of gushes:

1) That blind dining scene had me swooning. "Life is like a box of chocolates: you never know what you're gonna get," was what I was hearing when I was watching that. These lovely idiots are blind to what's happening in front of them, and what that means to them -- BUT THAT'S OKAY, BECAUSE THEY ARE YOUNG. YOUNG AND INEXPERIENCED. The blind dining metaphor, oh gawd -- using your senses to come to realizations about how you're truly feeling, and how to connect better with WHAT you're feeling? Slamming my hands on the table! BRILLIANT. Mew is SO clueless (OR IS HE?!?!??!).

1.5) And -- remember (all you young folks out there!). Youth is fleeting (cc the Ephemerality Squad). What we're watching of this cohort of "friends" is their building their bases of life experiences NOW, that will TEACH them how they will live more EXPERIENCED lives in their futures. Will their lives be better? Who the fuck knows. But their FUTURE LIVES will be shaped by what they're experiencing NOW.

2) Ranch nailed this already, but Sand is just as bad as Ray in living in the annals of time. (He's also naughty for another reason, which I'll get into in a postscript.) He's got the vintage tees, he wants to rewind to Woodstock, he's a fan of mostly classic Brit rock (....I will not call the Arctic Monkeys classic Brit rock, I will not, thus, "mostly," lol.) Dear friend @neuroticbookworm described this phenomenon of Sand's in the frame of Ray dabbling in a day of poverty tourism, as essentially what his day and night with Sand constituted. But I'd also add that Sand's living in a fantasy world of a couple levels to break the monotony of his everyday life. Those flashes of hope that he'll travel to world to festivals one day -- as he clocks 450 baht (around $12 USD) per bottle, as he sings, as he gets up and gets down -- yes, Ray is his fantasy, his non-existent 25th hour, Ray is the break from monotony that Sand needs as a thing to look forward too. Of course it comes crashing down.

3) But it'll come crashing down anyway, because I will posit the following: Sand's survival fantasies are necessary to keep him going by way of motivation, because Sand is going to be held back by others, and not just Ray. Sand is caught in a trap of filial piety. (OH SHIT! GIMME!) He's paying off his mom's debts.

We don't know how much the debts are. [We're seeing in Dangerous Romance that Sailom is getting his ass beat if he and his brother don't pay the debt collectors on time every month. Shit, the debt collectors are even trying to make Sailom an escort (which then turns into Kanghan buying off Sailom himself, but lemme leave that alone, WRONG SHOW)]. But even Sand's mom admits: Sand is solving a problem of MY OWN CREATION. How good is my son? He's a very good son. Drink up, honey.

Sand thought of Ray: wow, this guy might be into me, and shit, I'm into him. And I could use this right now! I could use this break. And that illusion came crashing down when Sand -- an intelligent dude! -- put two and two together real fast. And Sand, very rightly -- because he is FAST learning independence, in a totally different way than the main OF quartet -- pulls the hell away, and puts away the fantasy of Ray at Alone O'Clock.

3.5) I just want to note, real quick, that we now have TWO of my favorite-ist themes in this show: we have intergenerational trauma by way of Ray, and filial piety by way of Sand. THANK YOU, JOJO AND TEAM! *This* bitch is TRACKIN'.

4) Big ephemerality note here: I just, I SWOONED, GOD, I LOVED IT, WHEN RAY REVEALED HIS MOTHER WAS AN ACTRESS. And that she was bitter about getting pregnant and how that affected her career. Are you kidding me? JOJO. NINEW. ALL OF YOU. BRILLIANT. The ephemerality OF SHOWBIZ ITSELF.

Aren't all these actors risking their damn careers by potentially BLOWING UP THEIR SHIPS for the sake of this show? (I mean, that's actually a little far-fetched, as FirstKhao will be the first GMMTV pair to have an intercontinental fanmeet, BUT STILL.) God, the commentary on the FICKLENESS of showbiz was just CHEF'S KISS.

5) As Ranch noted, this was the episode where CHANNNNNGGGGEEEEE was the big bell ringing. Top needed something different than his sexual monotony -- so he goes after Mew, and shit, homes is bored AF. (@lurkingshan covered this perfectly here.) Mew contemplates changing for Top, the LASIK, the sex, all of it. Top seems to try a different kind of sex with Mew -- soft and romantic sex that ends with "I love you." Nick (oh, my bubby Nick), changes for Boston, becomes ripped, finds buttons and slacks. Boston contemplates whittling his list down. Ray wears secondhand (lol, it's called "vintage," asshole). Sand changes his routine to accommodate Ray.

And yet. I very, very often say in my posts that the process of behavioral change is INCREDIBLY difficult.

The five stages of behavioral change are: pre-contemplation, contemplation (Nick and the podcast), preparation, action (Nick at the gym), and maintenance.

The risk to this process, at any point in time, is: RELAPSE.

Think of how difficult it is to quit smoking. To go on a diet. To start an exercise routine. To stop biting your nails.

What is the thing that marks these processes more than anything else?

It's the RELAPSE into the old behavior, the old habits.

We really saw Boston trying to change...something. Trying to stick out...something with Nick. Trying on something new. Kinda like the way Ray tried on his secondhand shirt.

And then Boston experiences a familiar trigger: a trigger of jealousy when Mew calls him, innocently, to give Boston the heads-up that he's about ready to experience some cherry magic.

And that trigger, like all of our own triggers -- stress, a change of environment, a change of the people around you -- sent Boston back to a place.

Listen, I will, in no way, ever defend Boston's behavior. He was drunk and high AF, and he's generally toxic. Jojo is totally egging this on.

I would absolutely call Boston an equal opportunity asshole. He's only seeing the world from his own worldview, his own desires, his own desire to control whatever he can control around him.

But like I said before: toxicity is FAR more common that we'd like to believe. And toxicity within someone doesn't disappear very easily -- just like any of our habits, be they good or bad habits.

Boston was trying out a new life, for a few minutes (lol), of being a LITTLE LESS EPHEMERAL, a little less aloof -- a little less toxic. And a trigger brought him back to his bad place, and I think what we saw in that damn outburst was a relapse of the highest order.

Ray repeats to Nick what Top and Cheum have already said. This guy, Boston? He's nasty. Stay away. Boston's an asshole. Boston's still being stigmatized, and still living up to his label.

How would I summarize all of this? Throughout this ENTIRE episode, what was screaming within my head, as I said above, was: youth is fleeting. Youth itself is ephemeral. The experiences these young folks are going through at this moment in this show will build their experiences for how they will survive (or not) in their futures.

We may think that Boston, and Ray, and Mew, will not learn from their dumbass behavior, but -- they will. They will have no choice. Because their time being this young, and inexperienced, and idiotic, will flee. They'll graduate, and they will have to learn how to survive in a "real" world that may very well be far more brutal to them than their proximate friendships are to them right now. And man, if they have to experience lives that are MORE brutal than these proximate friendships they have, then good LUCK to them, because, well -- shit. It ain't pretty the way it is right now.

...

P.S. I just thought this whole scene was brilliant. Sand, honey, you're not as innocent as your meow feelings are letting on. I'm holding you accountable for what you're saying to Ray, too.

P.P.S. JENNIE.

(HAPPY SUNDAY, EPHEMERALITY SQUAD! @ranchthoughts @lurkingshan @neuroticbookworm @distant-screaming @slayerkitty @clara-maybe-ontheroad @twig-tea)

(HEY, SQUAD: if you tag me in things, and I forget to reblog, send me a DM! I'm on the last stages of this moving chapter of my life, and I don't wanna miss your meta!)

#only friends #only friends meta #only friends the series #only friends the series meta #firstkhao #first kanaphan #khaotung thanawat #sand x ray #ray x sand #forcebook #force jiratchapong #book kasidet #mew x top #top x mew #neomark #neo trai #mark pakin #nick x boston #boston x nick #jennie panhan #tee teeradej #i need more tee teeradej y'all #he fine #only friends the morning after

[youcouldmakealife]

pls drop the playlist

Alright fam, I am at war with Spotify and Rainbow Kitten Surprise is at war with YT Music, it feels like (on two of their albums songs are secretly ~other songs), and boy is this an RKS heavy playlist because a) I listened to a whole bunch of them last year and b) they were perfect for it. Like a good quarter of their songs worked for them (and a quarter of the ones that don't work for Robbie/Georgie. It's been a thing)

So these links are just to Youtube, with lyrics if possible.

The Holden/James soundtrack that isn't canon anymore because these boys are fucking goobers:

Okkervil River - Our Life is Not a Movie But Maybe

RKS - Cold Love

boygenius - Stay Down

SMYL - The War

Mt. Joy - Dirty Love

Sunset Rubdown - Idiot Heart

RKS - American Hero

Julien Baker - Even

Matthew Good Band - Hello Time Bomb

SMYL - BLACK TEETH

RKS - Shameful Company

Wolf Parade - Dear Sons and Daughters of Hungry Ghosts

Yeasayer - O.N.E

And then, my song for the series after I chose the title:

RKS - Counting Cards

A couple of these probably still work (American Hero definitely still suits Holden, and I'm reluctant to give up Counting Cards), but yes. A great soundtrack I got a lot of enjoyment out of while I still had delusions of this hate sex thing working out.

#taylor recs

[harrisongslimited]

George Chapter of the Day. March 13, 2024

Greetings my dear tumblr and Beatles' families! Happy to announce I'm popping a foot into the fanfiction pool and seeing 👀 what happens. Your comments are more than welcome!!

All the important stuff:

Title: I Saw Her Standing There

Story Description: John, Paul, George and Ringo meet Joie Armagh, a strong willed American girl, who influences their lives more than they wanted.

Trigger Warnings: swearing, drinking, smoking, drug references, adult situations and behavior, M/F smut, fluff, falling in love, tense arguments, angst.

**18 only please***

**This is a work of fiction. As such, it should not be read as a factual account of events or as biography. While many characters of the story bear the names of actual people, they and their actions have been imagined by the author and should be considered products of the imagination. This story is fictional and the events did not happen. It is written and re-produced here online for the purposes of entertainment only.**

Author's Note: I've noticed many fanfics have a Starrison or a McLennon flair, but this story will be M/F interactions including smut. It's just how I see them! Now if you're under 18, just move yourself right along. As I'm not there to patrol over you, just be strong and pass this up. I had to wait to read adult material and so do you!

Thank you to gif artists and photo owners.

Phew! That's over....

She was across the room from him; he could barely see her without his thick, black rimmed glasses. He felt her. Felt her as if she were standing within inches of him. His skin was hot. The light brown hair on his arms came alive – his stomach grumbled with a feral intensity.

Chapter 1

There was something about her. Something, he figured, she didn't know about yet, something she didn't know how to use – yet – but it made John Winston Lennon rearrange his slumped body to a nearly half-attentive position.

John watched her as best he could without his glasses. He was nearly blind without them, but acknowledged only to himself that he was far too vain to wear them in public. Besides, if he had to see something that important, Paul, George or Ringo would alert him. But at this moment, they were too interested in their own orbits to notice much.

She was talking to someone. Someone he didn't know – which he didn't care much about. From her body language, he could tell it was tense. She ran a hand through her short, auburn hair, and he continued to watch as she pointedly aggravated the man she was talking to.

This, to John, was great entertainment.

She turned in John's direction, although he couldn't tell if she saw him or not. It was nice she wasn't straining to scope out a look at the four of them , like they were the side-show freaks they felt like – or make a mad dash for the table to try to touch him like he was some bloody good luck charm. He liked that. Maybe she didn't give a shit who they were. THAT, he nodded to himself, would be refreshing for a fucking change.

She was, however, very pissed off at the little runt who was running the audition and had he been asked, John would have agreed with her. The whole scene was outrageously idiotic, as were their whole lives now, but he had danced with the devil and this was payback time.

The little moron in charge, whom John was introduced to but couldn't have cared less about, was a highly paid ass-kisser with a slimy handshake and badly manipulated crew cut. John might have the appearance of someone who didn't give a shit, but he took in everything. Every person, every nuance, every sight and smell and sound. Nothing got past him, unless he wanted it to. And the little California-tanned wild bird was giving it to the little pisser and John couldn't take his eyes away from her. It made him jealous and angry and aroused that she could do what he wasn't allowed to.

Brian was about to intervene, as the pisser/wild bird barney was holding up the whole show. He wanted to tell Brian to leave her alone, that she was practically giving him a hand job from across the room, but he also had an immediate urge to get the hell out of this place. He didn't like the United States. Too much fucking sunshine and not a decent cup of tea within 10,000 miles. But, as was his current circumstance, money, the promise of women and fame had too much a hold on all four of them for anyone to say "piss off" and head back home to England. Because as sure as the sun rose in the east, if one went home, they'd ALL go home.

John watched as Brian interrupted the moron and the woman of his dreams. He threw an elbow into Paul's side to wordlessly alert him to the situation. Paul lifted up his brown eyes and tried to force a smile.

"Another one?"

"No man. Totally different. She's cutting that audition manager a new asshole."

"Good. Maybe we can get the fuck out of here. I'm beginning to think I made a wrong move when I chose a band over plumber's apprentice."

John looked at Paul. "You? A plumber? I'd pay to see your ass rooting out some loo in the low rent district."

"Piss off....," he answered. "So what's going on?"

John filled him in. Ringo and George were both still half asleep, cigarettes hanging off their lower lips. No one made any attempt to pay attention when their manager approached them.

"Get those bloody fags out of your mouths," Brian said to them. "You are all clean cut, working class boys from across the pond – and well paid to act your parts. So sit up and pay attention."

John made an obscene gesture. Ringo turned his back to him continuing to smoke and George leaned forward and gazed at Brian with his middle finger slowly working its way up to his temple.

Paul, ever the diplomat, made a valiant attempt to appear slightly more involved. "Look Brian, we aren't trying to make your life hell, but this is getting out of hand. We've spent 2 hours evaluating 200 girls who want to have a role in this movie. Really, it doesn't matter. We don't even know what the movie is about. Just have that little audition manager pick out the best of the bunch and send everyone on their way."

Brian sighed and pulled up a chair. John knew they were about to be lectured from the Brian Epstein Guide to Managing a Famous British Band. John wished he could order about a dozen Scotch and Cokes and call it a day.

"Boys," he started.

Ringo, George and John turned the switches off and began cruising down the avenues of their brains. Paul pretended to listen and caught the gist of the whole thing.

They were famous. Yes, he remembered that. There were politics involved in being famous. Yes, he remembered that. It was sometimes necessary to go through these things for the publicity. Yes, he remembered that.

"Just like a politician. You have to, figuratively speaking, kiss the babies and hug the old ladies. Half these girls are daughters of Hollywood big-wigs. We can't piss them off. We must pretend we are gentlemen."

"Thank God we've had lessons...." John piped in. "Now shut the hell up and tell me who that bird is."

"Who?"

"The one who is still going off on the audition manager."

Brian turned and jumped up. "Oh shit."

John sat totally upright for the first time all day as he saw her coming towards them at a determined gait. The audition manager followed her, mumbling.

Brian was about to intercept her when John looked at him sternly. "Back off, big man. Let her have her say."

If there was one thing Brian knew, it was when to absolutely listen to John. He could manipulate the other three on an individual basis, but John alone or the 4 of them enmasse, well, that was the ballgame. He let out a heavy breath.

John stood to watch her walk towards them. He had seen plenty of pretty girls since becoming famous. He had HAD plenty of pretty girls since becoming famous, but this pissed off bird was in a class by herself. She was nothing like the girls he normally went after – nothing like the birds of his own turf. He was, at this stage of his life, attracted to "bee-bees", Beautiful, Brainless and Sexy chicks who knew better than to open their mouths for anything except a blow-job. After a brief affair consisting of plenty of sex and perhaps a late night supper or two, maybe an autograph or an album, it was less of a problem to diplomatically dump a BB than it was a hometown girl or some mate's sister.

John had his exit line and delivered it with the precision of Olivier playing Hamlet. He could conjure up this little boy lost persona, with a pained "this is going to hurt me more than it is you" look and begin his speech. "I'm SOOO sorry, but I've realized that I really DO love my wife and I don't know how to thank you for helping me see the honest truth. I have to go back to her. Your unselfishness and honesty showed me what I must do. I know you'll understand. I can't tell you what you have done for me. I will never forget you (insert name or not). "

And it worked. 99% of the time. The other 1%, Brian took care of.

All at once, she was in front of them. Directly in between Paul and George. John shifted in his chair to look at her.

"Look, I know this is all fun and games, but it's 95 degrees out there in the hallway and girls are dropping like flies. There's no water, no air. C'mon---hasn't everyone had enough?"

Brian walked over to her and extended a courtly British hand. "I'm sorry Ms. but you will have to get back into line or leave the audition. You are causing a disruption."

The young woman looked at Brian then beseechingly at the four English lads that were sitting before her. John, for once in his life, was speechless.

Paul stood and faced her. "We didn't know..." was all he could muster. She was not amused. Not amused at all with any of them. George turned his eyes toward her and remained quiet.

"Well, now you do," she said without emotion, then sighed. "Look, I know you are the biggest things to come out of England since Earl Grey, but it's really hot out there. Can you put an end to this?"

George finally spoke. "What are you doing here?"

Her brown eyes flashed at him. "Does it matter? I'm just trying to get those other girls out of the heat."

"Why do you care?" John blurted out, his cigarette smoke exiting his mouth.

She sighed and was going to speak when Brian returned with a police officer and the audition manager.

"Hold off...." John eyed him.

The police officer stared at the woman for a minute before saying, "Joie?"

She looked at him and smiled. "Yes. It's me. I'm just trying to get those girls out of the heat, Mr. Watson. Or get them some water or something. I know they are all probably daughters of movie studios, but they are melting just the same."

Officer Watson turned to Brian. "I know this girl. She doesn't mean any harm. And after all, she has a point...."

John and Brian exchanged looks. Brian knew it well.

"We will get the girls out of the heat and move this along...." He answered properly.

"Thank you." Was all she said. And she turned to leave.

She didn't give a shit that they were the Beatles. She didn't give a shit if she got a bit part in their first movie. She just didn't give a shit about them. What she cared about was 90 remaining strangers, struggling in the heat.

John was enamored.

The audition manager was sweating profusely. He was too old for this shit. He had been around the greats---Barrymore, Hepburn, Gable. These punks from somewhere in England might make every girl wet her pants, but all they were was trouble to him.

Brian pulled him aside and a plan was made to move the line of girls along so they could get a look at the Lads from Liverpool and Brian would pick the 15 or so they needed in bit parts. The others would be given a ticket to the final concert in the film. All Brian knew for sure is that there was going to be a concert at the end. And 100 seats were to be occupied by the offspring of Hollywood elites. The other seats were to be auctioned off to fans through the fan club.

This is what he knew....as the screenwriter typed away, tucked safely back in London.

"Mal...." John groused at their assistant. "get her number....."

#the beatles #george harrison #john lennon #paul mccartney #ringo starr #beatlemania #Beatles fanfic #george harrison fanfic #i saw her standing there

[red-bat-arse]

Get High, Get Down

Eddie Munson was a year and a half out from surviving his trip into the Upside Down, and overall things couldn't be better. He'd been taking testosterone, loving up on Steve Harrington, and getting orgasms on the regular. So what's the problem?

Was it that he had a harder time crying, that he needed to eat twice as much as he used to, or that he was horny as often as he had his eyes open? No, surprisingly, and all of those things had cooled off a little in time. Was it that even looking at Steve got him hotter than the hood of the Beemer on a summer day? No, what are you crazy?

Actually, if you must know, it was that he couldn't fucking chill out long enough to take dick and that was pretty much the only thing he wanted to do at the moment.

*I wrote an incredibly horny homage to my own hangups being a transsexual man on T navigating sex -and using grass to do it. Pass by if that's not for you! Here's the first third, the full spicy thing is on AO3*

Link

Listen, the thing about being on testosterone, right, is that for the first couple years you're basically re-doing puberty all over again.

This was something Eddie'd been prepared for ever since he first got to talking to the guys in Indianapolis who'd been on hormones one way or another since the sixties and seventies. It had been a bit of a pipe dream for him given he couldn't see a way out of Hawkins long term, but he still wanted to learn what to expect and what to say to his doctor if he ever got that far.

Eddie knew he'd already got a bit of a boon, since Wayne let him shave his head and change his name after dear old dad got locked up when he was eleven. If it'd been anyone else, Eddie likely would've spent the seven years until he hit eighteen miserable and forced into a pretty pink box, whatever he had to say about it be damned. Certainly his mum's side didn't appreciate having a tranny in the family, but they were all assholes anyway and Eddie was happy to wreck any family gathering where his cousins 'she'd' him -and getting banned when he was fifteen was just a bonus. It's not as if Wayne cared.

But yeah, he moved to Hawkins and became Eddie Munson, and he grew into the freak the town knew him as partly because, well, that's who he was, but also to keep any rumours manageable. Who was going to care about him skipping out on gym when all the jocks spread around that he sucked dick behind the bleachers anyway? Who would notice his voice sometimes going high pitched when he was tired when he'd just finished ranting on a lunch table about forced conformity and bullshit American values? Not the idiots at Hawkins High, anyway.

And everyone was too busy trying to hunt him down and kill him to look into his records before moving in with Wayne -not that any survived the jumping around Al Munson did for the three years he went off the rails once mum died.

So it was a scare, really, when one Sam Owens shuffled into his hospital room a few weeks after everything went down with enough paperwork to put a cramp in Eddie's wrist and a quiet question about the reason his records didn't match his body. The guy pretty quickly backtracked when Eddie's heart monitor spiked through the roof, and reassured him he didn't mean any harm -far from it. He rambled on about proper treatment and government doctors and medical records for a bit, before Eddie cut him off and asked him to spell it out for him before he yelled for one of those said doctors to come and escort him out.

Well, turns out in the matter of replacing the few IDs him and Wayne had that were lost with half the trailer, it came up that the doctors who were overseeing him noticed he didn't exactly have a dick as claimed. Ok, Owens didn't say it like that, but you get the idea. So he was here to figure out what was going on, whether someone was massively messing up on their examination logs, and how to fix it in the quietest, smoothest way possible.

"Well I'm a guy, so jot that down," Eddie said, frankly exhausted, and luckily Owens seemed able to read the room.

Owens talked more about what he'd researched after speaking with Wayne and jumping to some conclusions, a group he'd called out of SanFran that had information on FTM experiences and the few medical advances for them in recent years, and it was all very interesting, really. Eddie didn't even feel weird about confirming it, though he'd never actually called himself transsexual out loud to anyone, and it was a little annoying how Owens nodded along as if he hadn't said anything noteworthy. He was wondering again what the point of it all was when Owens brought out a new folder, much slimmer, and pushed it towards Eddie with a funny little smile on his face.

And just like that, all Eddie's IDs said male on them, and he was set up on a testosterone prescription from an actual real life doctor and pharmacy -apparently natural guys got prescribed shots like that on the regular, who knew? Eddie hadn't ever thought he'd be able to get a doctor to sign off on it, let alone afford it, but all of The Party were being taken care of for the next five years at least, and got handouts besides, so he had time to figure it out.

As mentioned, this all meant that from the summer of 1986 through to New Year's Eve 1987, Eddie'd basically been putting himself through a second, much more wonky and unpredictable puberty. It had it's upsides. He didn't have to pay attention to keeping his voice low, he got a bit of bristly scruff as opposed to faking it with mascara, and even his muscles seemed to shift and sit differently. It was great and if Owens hadn't been part of such a shitty operation Eddie might've sent him a Christmas card over it, he was so thankful.

Of course, there were some drawbacks. He didn't cry as often, needed to eat twice as much, had to buy better deodorant and body wash, to name a few. Oh, and also, he was out of his mind horny with alarming consistency.

Eddie definitely didn't remember Jeff, Toby or Gareth complaining about this shit, although to be fair as a friend group they hadn't ever really talked crushes or embarrassing bodily functions much. He supposed he expected it to some degree, but it was kind of a lot and he didn't exactly have a threshold for normal FTM second puberty milestones here. He wasn't exactly complaining, mind you, because by virtue of gaining his little clit-dick, he was experiencing more orgasms in the average week than he used to give himself in a couple months. It was hard to complain about anything that made him feel that good with little to no drawbacks.

Well, no drawbacks now that he was approaching the two year mark and his libido was cooling off a smidge. No longer was he in danger of an ill-advisedly tight pair of jeans leading him to lock himself in the employee bathroom while on the clock so he could get himself off at lightning speed to work without being distracted -hypothetically, right, that was definitely just a completely made up scenario, one he for sure didn't have to worry about anymore. Again, having a dick was awesome.

So yes, he was horny on the regular. It had cooled off a bit, but he still comfortably got himself off around once a day, more if something set him off thinking dirty thoughts and he had the time to spare. That was preferable to any imagined, totally not even plausible bathroom incidents he definitely didn't need to think about. It would've even been manageable, truly, if not for one small, teeny, tiny, extra little facet of Eddie's journey going through all this after the shitshow that was March '86.

That being that he and one Steve Harrington -of the Loch Nora Harringtons, lately lapsed in residence to the house where Eddie had once sold his wares of grass and grog -were, as of late October, an item. Attached. Going steady. Courting one another in a manner of chaste companionship, if you will.

Was this what Eddie was complaining about? Absolutely not and if anyone implied such a thing Eddie had words prepared for them detailing just how abysmally wrong they were about it. He could barely believe it himself, but he knew a good thing when he saw one and wasn't about to let it go easily. Ever since the anniversary of Vecna's defeat when Hopper hosted The Party out at his cabin and Eddie and Steve ended up pressed together by the fire, the last two awake, too drunk by far, but not drunk enough to stop Eddie from crying into Steve's shoulder, they'd been circling each other. It took a bit, granted, since Eddie was nothing if not self-sabotaging when it came to crushes, but Steve had been braver than him and ended an elaborate series of near kisses that drove Eddie up a wall with a perfect one planted on him in the front room of the trailer after dinner.

It was bliss, a small town gay like Eddie landing a guy as sweet and protective and bitchy as Steve. And even more than that, Steve seemed to be just as infatuated as Eddie was; he'd liked to touch and be nearby when they were friends, but adding romance dialed it up to another level. An arm around his waist, a leg over his thighs, fingers on his wrist or bumping hips, Steve loved being close and Eddie wasn't used to it, but it was fast becoming his favourite thing. Figuring out that Steve loved getting pet-named and blushed to high heaven whenever Eddie complimented him was icing on the cake. Give him the whole box, really.

So what was the problem?

#stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #trans stuff #trans eddie munson #spicy scenes #fanfic #ao3 link #ao3 fanfic

[maesterchill]

first sentence patterns 🏳️‍🌈

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

Thanks to @thecouchsofa @tackytigerfic @ghaniblue and @peachydreamxx for the tags! I loved reading yours! Been ages since i did this game - here is the previous one in Oct 2022.

Analysis: there's a mix of long and short sentences here. i can't really see a pattern except for #5 and #6 which are both "X person is doing Y thing when Z happens." Or maybe a pattern with #3, #9 and #10. (According to... / When it comes to.../The trouble with...)

“The green shirt?” Angelina asked, “or the daft purple one with the rainbow poo emojis?” - Bad omen, right? (Fred/George, dead dove fic)

Dear Deirdre, following a most unfortunate accident rendering my flat unliveable (don’t ask), an acquaintance suggested I lodge with him while Accidental Magic Reversal investigate. - Idiots, of Islington (Drarry, epistolary drabble)

According to Rose Weasley, when it comes to hitting it off with a date, there are a few questions a girl can ask that will save a lot of wasted time and energy. - Girls Just Wanna (Rose/Lavender)

It’s weird, the way it happens. - More than anything (Drarry microfic)

Draco's eyes have only just fluttered closed in that tenuous bliss seconds before orgasm when he hears the shout. - In the lining of your skin (Drarry, Sudsfest)

Malfoy is two knuckles deep inside Harry when he mentions her name. - Call if you ever get desperate (Drarry microfic)

In that moment, everything is solved. - try to fix you (Harry/Ron/Hermione, HP Snooze fest)

“So… should we talk about it?” - heaven to gaudy day (Drarry microfic)

When it comes to what the Employee Code of Conduct evasively describes as ‘personal relationships’, the Ministry of Magic adopts an antiquated policy not too dissimilar to what the Muggle Americans used to call 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell'. - with your mermaid hair and your teeth so sharp (Drarry microfic)

The trouble with Harry having a genius idea about how to fix things with his high-maintenance husband was that it invariably involved Ron having to do something he really didn't want to do. - Fantasy Fulfilled (Drarry collab, this is the first line of my section, Elise wrote the actual first line!)

Who hasn't done this yet? I've seen a few but how about @skeptiquewrites @lqtraintracks @kbrick @aibidil @lettersbyelise @apricitydays-lazynights @moonflower-rose @squintclover @saxamophone @mintawasalreadytaken

#first lines #tag game #maester blethers #drarry #mostly

[misslavenderlady]

Could you do more Marko X Reader fics? You can make it as filthy as possible. I live reading your work <3

Teacher's Pet 📏

Marko/GN!Reader

Summary: Marko has a new, fun game in mind for you. One that will test your vampire knowledge and your tolerance for pain. You show him all the hard things you can take~

Thank you @american-idiot-jpg for the request! I appreciate your patience and I hope you enjoy this! Also big thank you to @ghoulgeousimmaculate for helping pull me out of my writing funk and put this together!!

WARNINGS: Nsfw/Smut/18+ Readers Only, Professor/Student Roleplay, Costumes, Teasing, Flirting, Dom/Sub, Spanking, Fingering, Punishment/Reward, Sex on a desk, Bent over, Rough Sex, Praise, Affection, Blood Drinking, No specific genitalia/pronouns used

Marko was a sneaky little thing. Though he had a very chaotic energy to him, he was actually quite methodical. Whenever he was in the mood to play one of his devious little games, he was sure to set up everything exactly how he wanted it. 

So when you found a particularly lewd costume laid across your bed, you knew he was ready to play with you. 

It wasn't much material to wear. A small, white crop top that tied in the front, a red, plaid-patterned tie, some matching shorts, and a pair of black knee-high socks to go with some plain loafers. Before you even put it on you knew that the outfit wasn't going to leave much to the imagination. 

You knew better than to complain though. Marko always got what he wanted, and if he desired to see you dressed like his own personal plaything, then so be it. With your body barely covered, you wandered through the cave taverns to find the play area Marko loved so much. You only hoped none of the other vampires would see you and make vulgar comments on your appearance. 

Marko's special room was blocked off by a thick, red, velvet curtain. This time around there was a unique addition. A small sign pinned to one of the sides.

Professor Marko

Subtle as a flying mallet, that one. At least you had all the clues you needed to play along with his game. As you pushed the curtain aside, you only hoped he'd play nice with you. 

"Come in."

Marko's voice was surprisingly serious in tone. You thought about how unlike him it was until you got a look at what he was wearing. 

His usual leather chaps and elaborate jacket had been traded for a button-down shirt and khakis. His hair was tied back and on the bridge of his nose sat a pair of reading glasses. While he leaned up against an antique writing desk he glanced down at a book in his hand. It was almost like looking at a version of Marko from an alternate universe. One where he was a strict, studious guy and not a vampire hoodlum. 

Still, even with his getup, a familiar, wild look was burning in his eyes when he caught sight of you. 

“Have a seat, dear,” Marko ordered. “We don’t have time to dawdle. Your exam is in a week, and we don’t want to fail, do we?”

You gulped audibly as he pulled up a plain, wooden chair for you to sit in. He really did have the stage set for this little performance you two were going to put on. It made your heart race with fear and anticipation. Not wanting to keep him waiting, you nodded and made your way over to him, sitting down immediately. 

Now you felt even more vulnerable. Your shorts were riding up a bit, showing off the length of your legs and thighs. Sitting down allowed Marko to drink in more of you, gazing with pure authority and power in his eyes. He truly was in control.

Marko enjoyed watching you squirm. The rapid thrum of your heart sounded so lovely in his ears. He kept his gaze trained on you as he strolled over to the antique black chalkboard and picked up the dusty white stalk. 

“Our subject matter is lore,” he informed as he began scrawling on the panel, “in relation to vampirism…so tell me, how does one become a vampire?” He asked with his hands clasped behind his back. He stared at you, patiently awaiting your answer.

You had to admit, you were impressed. He really did think of everything. Probably went by the local thrift shop for his props. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. You knew everything about vampires considering you had been the mate of one for so long now. With your posture straightening up a bit, you confidently answered his question.

“There are two different ways to become a vampire, Sir,” you explained. “The first is by drinking a vampire's blood and completing a first feed and kill of a human. The second is by getting a direct bite and having your bloodstream corrupted.”

Marko jotted your answer on the board, smirking at the inflection of confidence that appeared in your voice. He could tell you thought you had this in the bag, being his mate for years now, but he had a few tricks up his sleeve. He wanted you to get cocky so that he could cut you down at just the right time. 

“Very good! I’m pleased you remember that core piece of information, but tell me, what’s the relevance of religious objects to a vampire?”

“Religious objects are dangerous to vampires. Holy water burns the skin in small doses and melts it in large ones. The sign of the cross does nothing, but an actual cross will hurt a vampire. If you’re invited in somewhere, then they do no damage, but otherwise, they’re deadly.”

You wondered what other questions Marko had in store. Maybe this whole teacher scenario was a way to praise you and make you feel extra good. Perhaps the sadistic vampire was feeling a little generous this time around. Of course, that was an incredibly naive thought to have. You had no idea what deviant thoughts were circling around in that head of his. 

Marko stifled a chuckle, jotting down the answer to your second question. He turned to face you, leaning against his desk once more as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Excellent work!” He praised. “You appear to be an expert. Perhaps you can answer this question for me—true or false, according to the Ancient Greeks, vampires can cross salt water.”

In a mere moment, your confidence was drained. Your smile fell and your eyes widened as panic overtook your brain. Marko and the boys hadn’t ever mentioned anything about salt water. This had to be a trick question. 

All five of you lived by the ocean, meaning they were around salt water all the time. Surely they wouldn’t live in a seaside city if they were at risk of not getting around properly. The power of flight wouldn’t be stopped by a mere body of water….right?

“Um….it’s….true?”

Marko smirked, his Cheshire grin widening as his stern expression cracked. 

“It’s false.” Marko tutted as he strolled towards you. “Water is an interesting topic in vampire lore. The Ancient Greeks believed vampires couldn’t cross running water. In a legend, all vampires were banished to an island, to be trapped for eternity. The Romani believed vampires couldn’t pass over water in general. In Transylvania, a common funeral practice was to walk the deceased through a river or stream to prevent the soul from following living so reanimation could not occur.”

You had no idea Marko was so versatile in different vampire lore from all over the world. From the moment you stepped into the ‘classroom’ you assumed it would all be a test on actual vampire facts. There was so much you didn’t know about cultural beliefs on the monsters you had gotten to know personally. 

“I didn’t know. I….I’m sorry…” you said, feeling somewhat dumb now. What would your mate do since you got the answer wrong? You were already trembling in your skimpy little uniform.

“Let’s play a game, dear,” Marko proposed. “Studies say that learning through play is a highly effective strategy. I will continue to quiz you on your knowledge of vampirism and lore, and for every question that’s correct, you’ll receive a reward. But—” He paused for dramatic effect. “For every question that’s incorrect, you’ll receive a spanking. So if you’ll please, assume the position,” he ordered, gesturing to his desk. 

If your heart wasn’t racing before, it certainly was now. Marko was acting like the sneaky little thing you knew and loved. You squeezed your thighs together, rubbing them as you felt the beginning hints of arousal rush through your body. The idea of being bent over and punished by his hand was as exciting as it was scary. 

You would play along with this game, and do your best with each question. Whatever he wanted to do with your body depended on how well you did. With a needy, innocent look in your eyes, you nodded in acceptance. 

“Y-Yes…Sir…”

Marko hummed as he watched you cross the room and lean over his desk, his eyes on your ass and thighs. The pants he had worn for his costume were already feeling quite tight in the front.

“That’s it, little one,” he cooed. “I’ll make a model student out of you, yet…bend over and spread ‘em wide…” He glided to his desk, grabbing a 36-inch long wooden yardstick along the way. He stood behind you, slapping the yardstick over his palm to get a reaction. He chuckled heartily when he saw you flinch. 

“Now, next question,” Marko purred as he ran the wooden tool up the inside of your leg, enjoying the sight of you shivering in fear. “True or False, decapitation is an effective way of slaying a vampire.”

It was incredibly difficult to think straight when the massive stick was running along your bare skin. Corporal punishment was most certainly not in schools anymore, but Marko didn’t seem to care. If he had the opportunity to mix pain and pleasure with you, he would take the chance without a second thought. 

You took a shaky breath as you tried your best to focus. This was a more of something you knew. The boys told stories about vampires they knew that had met an unfortunate demise. If there was no head, that meant the body was no longer any danger. Surely this question was straightforward with the answer.

“T-True!”

Marko chuckled, leaning forward to whisper into your ear. “Neither.” 

“What?” 

“It is neither true nor false. In fiction, decapitation is a suitable method for dispatching a vampire. In life, a few of our friends had died in the very same way, but in folklore, decapitation is merely a part of the process. An additional precaution after staking or other methods of dispatch. Take Lucy Westerna in Dracula, for example. The poor maiden was killed after being staked in the heart, but Van Helsing removed her head to be safe.” 

“Another example,” Marko continued, “is a shoemaker in sixteen century Poland, formerly known as Breslau. The man committed suicide, but after burial, the townspeople were plagued by his presence. He appeared to them at night, assaulting them in their beds. When his body was exhumed, they saw that after having been buried for over seven months, his body had not decayed. They reburied him, thinking that would resolve the issue, but he still appeared to them at night. He stopped haunting his hometown only after his head and limbs were removed.” 

“So…that means you’re wrong, little one.” Marko giggled, jutting his arm back to strike you on your bottom. He lingered in the air a few moments to watch your squirm before bringing the wood down with a thwack!

Your body jolted when the stick hit your skin. The flimsy pair of shorts were not protecting you from any pain at all, meaning you felt the full force of the impact. The flesh of your ass jiggled from the hit, giving Marko a very pleasant sight while you were dealing with the pain. It was so sharp and rough. If this was awaited you with every wrong question, you were going to have to step up your game. 

“I-I’m sorry, Sir!” you whimpered. “I’ll do better, I promise!” 

Sadistic chuckling greeted your ears. Even with the pain, you felt yourself rubbing your thighs together again. Marko really knew how to put your body through intense sensations. 

“I forgive you,” Marko crooned as he rubbed your bottom with his palm. “But if you want to pass this exam, you must focus.” 

You nodded, quietly muttering your agreement. Marko stepped back, perching himself in your chair. He crossed his legs, taking in the glorious view of your ass hiked in the air over his desk. He would love to fuck you over the antique cherrywood. But he’d save that for later.

“Next question,” Marko cooed as he tapped the yardstick against the leg of his chair. “True or False, vampires must sleep in coffins.”

Relief washed over you with that question. You watched the boys sleep every day. You KNEW this one, and you weren’t going to let Marko punish you again for something so obvious. 

“False! They can hang from the ceiling much like bats,” you answered, trying your best to sound confident. “So long as it’s somewhere dark where the sunlight won’t harm them during the day.”

Your body was trembling terribly as Marko taunted you with the tapping of his stick. Even if you knew the answer was correct, you still mentally prepared for the slap against your ass again if this was another trick question.

The tapping ceased and you froze, keening your head to the side to listen for his movements. But you heard nothing, the vampire moving with a speed and grace left you terrified and confused. You didn’t know where he was or whether you were right or wrong until you felt his hands on your body. 

You yelped, nearly jumping out of your skin when you felt his hands on legs. He gave your ass a slap, but it was playful not punitive. You jiggled and Marko snickered. His titter was light hearted and free from sadism. You had a feeling that you were in the clear, but with Marko’s unpredictability, you weren’t sure. 

“Good job, little one,” Marko praised as his fingers grabbed the hem of your shorts. “You are correct…looks like you earned a treat.” 

He pulled your pants down, exposing your bottom to the crisp air of the cave’s alcove. Prodding at your cheeks, Marko explored your body until he found your orifice. His fingers were slick with something warm and wet, no doubt his favorite brand of lube being used. That warmth teased you more as he began to slip a finger inside of you. 

"O-Oh!" you gasped. Marko softly chuckled at your reaction. He knew your body better than anybody in the world, and he proved it as such when he crooked his finger to massage your insides. Your muscles relaxed and your voice let out a sigh as he touched you. He practically had you purring like a kitten.

“There’s my good baby~” he praised you. “My devoted little pupil. If you keep it up with the next question, I’ll be more than happy to give you more of this good touch.”

This time you didn’t answer him with your voice. You simply nodded, ready for more of what he had to offer. Whether the test would be hard or easy, you didn’t care in the slightest. You were just going to give it your all and chase that sweet high of pleasure some more.

Marko smiled as you cooed and sighed from his ministrations. He enjoyed toying with your body, feeling you pulse around him. The only thing that delighted him more was tearing into a throbbing vein or artery. 

“Next question,” Marko continued with your quiz. “True or False, vampires are compelled to count millet when spilled?”

Another easy one. You thought such an idea was laughable. Getting vampires to start counting as a way to stop an attack. But you bit back your giggle in favor of another moan. The power of his fingers was just too strong.

"Mmmn…false, Sir~" 

You arched your back as you pressed your hips closer to your 'professor'. If he kept this up you were going to be a happy little teacher's pet. 

“Very good, my dear,” Marko praised. “You’re on your way to an A plus. Now, let’s see if you can answer this one,” he questioned as he pumped his fingers. “Is Count Von Count from Sesame Street based on the the piece of folklore we just discussed?”

You paused, thinking deeply about the question. You weren’t too sure about this one, but if you used context clues in relation to the name and the concept, it seemed obvious that is was. 

“Y-yes?” You replied hesitantly. 

Marko tutted, ceasing his movements and removing his hand. You whined audibly. Your insides feeling empty and neglect from his retreat. 

“Sadly, the answer is ‘No,’” Marko replied with a sigh before stuffing his fingers in his mouth. He lapped away the edible lube, savoring the strawberry taste mixed with your signature flavor before carelessly wiping his hand on his khakis. Leaning forward, he retrieved the yardstick from his desk and raised it into the air. 

“The Count is based on Bela Lugosi’s design and performance, but it’s never been explicitly said on screen that he was a vampire. The Count’s compulsion with counting and numbers is also purely coincidence.” 

Your body tensed in preparation for impact. Of course Marko would pull the rug under you with that obvious trap or a question. You would hit yourself in frustration if your mate wasn't about to do it for you. 

"And speaking of counting," Marko remarked, still holding the stick to keep your anticipation high. "If you count these next spanks out for me like a good little student, I'll skip ahead to the bonus question."

Knowing Marko, that could mean DOZENS of spanks. You were shaking terribly on top of the desk, wanting nothing more than to get this torture over with. 

"B-Bonus question?"

"Yes, darling. It determines how I'm gonna fuck you. Sweet and giving or…"

Smack!

The yardstick hit your ass with a mighty strike. A yipe fell from your mouth from the fright of both the sound and sensation. 

"Hard and rough," Marko finished his sentence, voice dripping with wickedness. "So get to counting, my little pupil~"

“Y-yes, Sir!” You muttered into the wood, eager and prepared to please despite your fear. 

Marko raised the yardstick again and swiftly brought the thick piece of wood down with a hefty Smack! 

“Aah! One!” You replied immediately, grunting your answer through the stinging pain. 

He raised his arm one more and delivered another blow, forcing another moan from your lips. “Ugh! Two!”

Marko worked you over, punishing you with a twinkle of sadistic glee in his eyes. You counted, crying out in pain in between each delivery. But like a good student, you completed your task, the experience ending with you panting into the wood. Your bottom was tender and flushed, with thick welts forming on the surface. 

You were in great pain, but as you rubbed your thighs together, you felt pleasure. A lust for him to take you. You couldn’t go on like this. Whether he fucked you or made love to you, you needed him inside you. 

“Final question. Where did the idea that vampires did not hold a reflection first come from?

It was hard enough catching your breath after crying out for Marko with each spank. Now you had to get your brain to cooperate with you so that this final question could be answered. You forced yourself to relax. Focus. Really think about this. 

Reflections. The boys didn’t have reflections in places they weren’t invited. When they were invited and they could blend in as humans, then the reflections appeared. That was a fact, but Marko wanted to test you on the lore of it. God, you wished you had done more reading in your freetime. 

Thinking back to when you and the boys watched the iconic Bela Lugosi film for movie night, you thought about Dracula’s powers and weaknesses. In one scene, he slapped a box out of Van Helsing’s hand because it contained a mirror that showed no reflection. If that happened in the book it was based on, then that meant Bram Stoker originally created the idea. 

It was a total shot in the dark. You had no idea if other writers or cultures had proposed such an idea earlier in history. Better give it the old college try. 

“B-Bram Stoker…” you whimpered, shutting your eyes tight and waiting for Marko to tell you whether you passed or failed.

Marko pursed his lips as he eyed your trembling form. He was a little salty that you were holding your own. He was hoping you’d bomb miserably so he could have his way with you. He wasn’t in the mood for tenderness even though that was one of your options. So he decided to exploit a little loophole… 

“Mirrors are an interesting thing in vampire lore,” Marko mused. “The first documented instance of vampires not casting a reflection does in fact appear in Dracula. But there are some folk tales that predate Bram Stoker that relate vampires to mirrors.” 

“Mirrors don’t just reflect our physical visage, little one,” Marko continued. “Many cultures relate the mirror to superstition and the human soul—which is why it is common for the mirror to be covered after a loved one passes. In Romani culture, it’s believed that a corpse could turn into a vampire if a mirror is present. But nothing is explicitly said about the reflection. So, the mirror appears in lore before Dracula was published, but Draculal solidified it as a rule.” 

“You’re both correct and incorrect.” 

“What does that even mean?!” You gasped in confusion. 

“That means we both get what we want~”

Before you even had a moment to process his answer, Marko had his hands on you. His fingers grabbed at your hips, pulling you backward so you were pressed up against his body. Long, thick claws sliced into your shorts, tearing away the fabric so that you were completely exposed to him. 

Marko was positively insatiable. His long tongue licked across his lips in hunger while his eyes drank in your delicious-looking ass. He couldn’t stop himself from kneading the flesh. You whimpered softly when you felt his erection rub up against your body. 

“You seem to do well with praise, my little one. But you need discipline to become the star pupil I know you can be~” 

The vampire unzipped his pants with one hand while squeezing at your ass with the other. A lustful moan fell from his lips as his hard, aching cock was freed. He had been aching to take you all night, and now he was going to get what he desired most. Though he was gentle slipping himself inside your lubed hole, that was the extent to the tenderness of his physical actions.

“If you can take this, then I know you can take on anything~” he purred before slamming his hips into you. You let out a yipe, not prepared to go so fast so soon. Without thinking, you grabbed hold onto the sides of the desk, and gripped as hard as you could.

Marko ruthlessly pistoned his hips into you, demonic growls of pleasure falling from his fanged lips. If you could see his face, you would tremble. The vampire’s visage was nightmarish. Marko’s mouth was contorted into a wicked smile while his eyes blazed brighter than any jack-o-lantern. 

He wasn’t Marko, your boyfriend, or even Marko the sadist. He was Marko, the monster and you were his plaything for the evening. 

But despite channeling his inner beast, he cooed the sweetest words as he ravaged you. Things romantics would whisper to their lovers in the throes of passion. It wasn’t completely odd to you though. Marko found beauty and passion in things that people would label barbaric.

“That’s it, love,” Marko crooned. “You look so beautiful like this…my perfect human~”

“Oh!! Ooooh!!” you cried out for him. 

Marko was a tough lover in every way imaginable. You would never fully get used to all the toys, roleplay and domination he loved to use on you. He was a viscious creature with decades of experience. It would take quite some time before you were caught up to even half his level.

And even so, you took it all eagerly. You let him do to your body as he wished. Whatever games he wanted to play would be taken on. He could control you from the inside out and always crave more. As long as you had his heart in return, you accepted him for who he was.

“My darling little one….fuck…my precious love…soooo perfect~” he purred. 

His sweet nothings didn’t match his movements though. Certainly not when he grabbed a fistfull of your hair and pulled it hard. You cried out as he forced you upward more, wanting you nice and close as he fucked your brains out.  

”I adore every little thought in that head, amore mio~”

Another yank to your hair was given, tugging sideways so your bare neck was exposed for the vampire. An eerie chuckle greeted your ears as he ran his inhuman tongue over your flesh, teasing the veins underneath. 

“Let me cherish you. WORSHIP you. I’d perish without you~”

Marko sank fangs into your throat. His pearly white sharpened canines punctured your tender flesh, freeing thick rivulets of crimson that ran down your shoulder. You mewled in pain, but your whine quickly shifted into a sultry moan as Marko snapped his hips. He massaged a tender spot deep inside you. One engorged ridge that made you see stars. 

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and your mouth hung slack. Marko fed from you, pulling your life’s nectar from your body. You swayed on your feet as a high hit you. The sense that you were floating set in. That sensation coupled with the ministrations of Marko’s brutal pace nudged you closer to the edge. That peak where you’d tip over into the abyss. 

“F-FUCK! Master…~” You whined as you sucked your bottom lip into your mouth, holding the pouty flesh hostage in between your teeth. 

Feeling your body get closer and closer to the release was enough to push Marko towards his own. He unlatched himself from your neck and lapped at the last drops of blood as he kept railing you into the desk. 

"Gonna cum for me, little one? Cum for your teacher and show me what devoted student you are?" he cooed. You nodded feverishly, causing him to smile so wickedly. 

"I knew you were a good pupil. Come on, little love. Cum with me! Do it!!" 

His command hit you like a goddamn truck. Your back arched against his chest and your head fell backwards. All of your limbs tensed up and your stomach contracted as the rush of orgasm consumed you. Pathetic cries mixed with his low moans. It was a truly beautiful sight. 

"M-Marko!! Ooh my god~!!" you whimpered. The sweetness of your orgasm was already making quite the mess on the desk below you. It only turned Marko on more. 

“If I could stay inside you for eternity, I would,” Marko cooed as he eyed the mess. “I love the masterpieces you make….” 

Marko bucked into you one last time. He exploded inside you, his release bathing your insides with a flood of warmth in your lower belly. You whined as he twitched inside you, the writhing of both of your bodies making beautiful art together. 

When the high of your pleasure finally subsided, you slumped over the desk again. You were completely spent, both from blood loss and Marko’s perfect cock. Either way, he was more than satisfied with how you looked underneath him. He was careful slipping out of you, knowing you had enough roughness for one day. 

“There’s a good mate~” he cooed as he helped turn you over onto your back. You smiled sheepishly from how he stared at you with such intensitiy. “God, I’m a fuckin’ genius for getting you this costume.”

“You look pretty sexy yourself in that getup~”

Marko raised an eyebrow, amused by that statement. He slipping off the glasses with one hand and toyed with the buttons on his shirt with the other. 

“What about what’s underneath this?”

Your shy smile morphed into a sly smirk at that question. The two of you kept the sultry gaze going while you wrapped your legs around his hips and tugged him closer again. 

“Why don’t you show me, Sir?”

Marko liked that answer quite a bit. After all, as your teacher, he still had plenty of fun lessons to go over with you. He would be incredibly diligent with such an eager learner~

Tag List: @britany1997 @6lostgirl6 @legal-lost-boy @michael-after-hours @bloodywickedvamp @oceansrose2002

#The lost boys #tlb #marko the lost boys #writing request #smut #nsft #gn reader

[ladamedusoif]

Visiting - Chapter 6: If You'd Accept Surrender

(Moodboard by the wonderful @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter summary: It's Thanksgiving in Barrow, and Lydia and Ben try to work out each other's feelings - and (kind of!) give in...

Word Count: 7.6k

Rating: Explicit (MDNI; 18+)

Content (chapter specific): Professor Ben College AU; smaller-than-usual-for-this-fandom age gap (Lydia turns 42, and Ben is 47); canon is not a thing here; slow burn; masturbation (F; implied M); descriptions of PiV sex; strong language; alcohol consumption; weight and body insecurity; descriptions of emotionally-abusive past relationship; liberal arts profs feeling weird about Thanksgiving, kind of; emotional insecurity; self-confidence issues; a bit of angst; a lot of yearn.

A/N: With HUGE thanks to @lunapascal for triggering a wave of late 90s nostalgia, the title of this chapter is taken from 'Walking After You' by the Foo Fighters. (I wish they would accept surrender too, dear readers.)

I don't quite know how, but this chapter just got together (ironically, given who we're writing about here) and, well, here it is. Aside from these two bouncing around not quite making contact, metaphorically speaking, Lydia learns more about Ben's family and finally visits his (very nice) home.

I had a bit of a wobble about the story after Chapter 5, and then got a wave of beautiful comments and responses to the story that made my heart sing for joy. Readers, you're all bloody wonderful and I love each and every comment and thought you've shared about these two and their story. In the words of a post I reblogged earlier this week: the love is requited. They're just idiots.

Further A/N after the chapter to avoid spoilers.

See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background.

Thanks, as ever, to @lunapascal and @julesonrecord for loving Bendie as much as I do.

Taglist: @lunapascal, @julesonrecord, @cutesyscreenname, @tessa-quayle, @vermillionwinter, @iamskyereads, @tieronecrush, @perennialdoll247, @love-the-abyss, @imaswellkid, @intheorangebedroom, @javierisms, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @littlemisspascal, @khindahra, @pedrostories, @readingiskeepingmegoing, @ruebyretro

It’s just over a week to go before the short vacation around Thanksgiving. The four of you - Ani, Evan, you, and Ben - are eating lunch in the main campus restaurant. The seasonal decor - Halloween ghosts and smiling pumpkins now replaced by cartoonish turkeys and cornucopia displays - has triggered a conversation about plans for the holiday. In turn, because this is a gathering of liberal arts academics and you never miss an opportunity to overthink something, the conversation has also involved grappling with the more problematic aspects of Thanksgiving.

Ani is working through their complex feelings regarding the holiday. “As a queer person of colour, the annual celebration of coloniser assholes is my kryptonite,” they mutter. “But my mom loves this shit, and I love my mom.” Ani forlornly sips their water and looks at you. “I think you might be the only one here who can mark this thing without being a hypocrite, Lyd.”

You huff a laugh. “And that’s mostly because I don’t actually mark it, right?” The holiday is not and has never been a ‘thing’ in your neck of the woods, though you were very familiar with it through popular culture, access to American children’s magazines, and clickbaity BuzzFeed articles on “The 25 Weirdest Thanksgiving Dishes EVER”. 

“So what are you planning on doing while everyone else is refusing yet more turkey leftovers, Lydia? You staying put or taking a little trip somewhere else?” Evan asks, swigging from his can of La Croix. He and David are bringing Evan’s mother to a fancy hotel in Boston for a spa retreat. Ben, meanwhile, is going to spend Thanksgiving at home on the west coast with his mom and extended family for the first time in several years. He’s incredibly excited about it, even if he needs to write a conference paper while he’s away.

You put down your fork and spread your hands ahead of you, preparing to wax lyrical about your Thanksgiving plans while everyone else is out of town. 

“Dude, I’m going to live my best life. I also have to write my paper for that visual arts conference in New York in a couple of weeks, but only after living my best life.” 

Ben watches you affectionately as you prepare to set out the details of your plans. He hasn’t told you this, not yet, but your ability to describe the most ordinary-seeming things in just the right way, with loving care and attention, is one of the (many) things he likes about you.

“We start the day with homemade blueberry pancakes,” you begin, eliciting exaggerated oohs and aahs from your friends. “Served with a scoop of crème fraîche and drizzle of maple syrup, with a giant pot of good filter coffee on the go. Then, we move on to the Macy’s parade. I’m mostly hoping for an inflatable going rogue.”

Ani laughs. “I’m going to open a book on that. A wager on whether there’s a rogue inflatable, and a sub-wager on which inflatable??”

“I will not be watching football,” you continue. “I have a better place to be. For reasons known only to themselves, the college film society has decided to take over the little film theatre downtown for a season of European classics over the vacation. I will therefore be giving thanks for Francois Truffaut and The 400 Blows, which is their Thanksgiving afternoon screening.”

Ben closes his eyes and hums appreciatively, nodding. 

“I then intend to round off the day with takeout and a whiskey sour made at home,” you conclude. “But,” and you look down at the table and bite your lip, “and not to get sentimental on main, I’ll drink it and be quietly thankful for all the good things I’ve got to experience here so far. You three, most of all.”

You lift your eyes and realise that Ben is looking right at you, eyes and expression softer than ever. 

It is just over a fortnight since your birthday. Two weeks, more or less, since he’d held your hand and spun you around on the dancefloor, making you laugh and smile more than you’d done in a very long time. No time at all, and forever ago. The ghostly trace of his touch on your waist, on your back, on your hip still haunts you. His card is still on your nightstand. 

At night, you fall asleep trying - and failing - to resist conjuring up the image of his smiling face. Your dreams about him are erratic. Some are pure fantasy, some sexual, others decidedly unromantic. In some, he evades your grasp, slipping away just as you get close. In others, he ignores you completely. Worst of all are the ones where he ventriloquises the bullying you dole out to yourself, reminding you that you are too plain, too old, too big, too much.

You get used to spending the first few minutes after waking reassuring yourself that they were just dreams. Nothing serious. Nothing real, even though you know you’re lying to yourself. After all, it was your subconscious inventing the scenarios that crept into your sleeping brain.

For all that, things have continued much as they’d always done between the two of you. Lunch. Coffee. Sometimes drinks with others after work. Silly conversations in the staff lounge that make the two of you crease and wipe tears from your eyes with laughter. He never sees the sad expression that sometimes creeps over your face after he leaves your office or disappears to a class. Never catches you tracing your fingers over the memory of his touch on your hand or arm. He never hears you crying in the night when you jolt awake after another bad dream.

You don’t bother trying to talk yourself out of your feelings. What would be the point in denial? Far better to remind yourself that you can’t - indeed, rarely - get what you want, because he doesn’t want you. Couldn’t want you. He’d had opportunities. He didn’t do anything about it. The proof of his feelings - or lack thereof - was staring you in the face.

And besides: you were only visiting. 

So settle for friendship. Settle for the warmth of a friendly glance from his chocolate eyes. Settle for a flash of that smile, for the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, for the sight of his broad outline at your office door, coffee mugs in hand. 

It would have to be enough.

The grocery store is busy with last-minute Thanksgiving shoppers, picking up essentials for the next day’s family feast. You stare at your phone, brain whirring as you try to scale down a pumpkin pie recipe and convert the frankly bonkers system of US weights and measurements and then work out exactly how much butter you need to buy.

“They bang on about having had a revolution and yet they kept this system? The metric system is right there, fuck’s sake…”

Your screen flashes suddenly with an incoming call:

Ben Morales

An involuntary flip of your stomach. You tap the button on your earbuds to accept the call, forcing a casual tone.

“Hey, Ben. How’s the Bay Area? Everything okay?”

“Hi, Lydia. Uh, can’t answer to the Bay Area. Still here.”

“Still here? Oh - oh no. Is everything okay? Has something happened? What can I do - I’ll do whatever you need, no mat-”

He inhales and exhales. “It’s fine, I’m fine, everyone at home is mostly fine. My mom’s just called me in a fury. One of TJ’s boys got a vomiting bug and, well…”

Your face falls, devastated on his behalf. He’d been so looking forward to this. “I can guess. Everyone’s got it.”

“Everyone’s got it,” he echoes. “My mom is fine - fine enough to be really angry at Dylan, that’s my nephew - but it still sounds a bit like…” he trails off, and giggles despite himself. “Like a puke-pocalypse.”

You bite the inside of your cheek but can’t stop yourself from laughing. “Shit, I’m sorry, Ben. Just ‘puke-pocalypse’ is such a fucking funny term.”

He’s laughing now, too, and you feel your heart swelling at the sound of his voice, giggling away like a badly-behaved kid.

“Long story short, I am not going to California. They don’t want me getting sick, either. Not with that big conference in Louisiana the week after.”

“I’m sorry, truly. I know you were looking forward to this.”

He sighs. “I was. But what can you do? Anyway, the longer holidays are coming up. I’ll see them then and we’ll do a video call tomorrow. And I can really focus on getting my conference paper written. It’ll be okay.” He seems to be reassuring himself more than you.

“I’m calling because I was wondering if you’d…if you would want…” He pauses again. “If you’d like to come over and watch the parade tomorrow morning? If you’d like the company of a seasoned giver of thanks.”

You smile in the dairy aisle, even though you feel a flutter of nerves run through your body. “I would really like that. I can bring over the stuff I’ve bought for breakfast and make it at your place? I’ve got enough to feed the five thousand, honestly.”

Note to self: buy more blueberries before you leave the store.

He chuckles. “I wasn’t going to mention it, but I was only after the food you described the other day. This is all a convenient ruse.”

You hum, as if trying to deduce whether this is a ploy. “I should have known. You only want me for my pancakes!”

The words are out before you realise what you’ve said. You hope to fuck he hasn’t noticed. Deflect, change the subject?

“Actually, Ben, do you want to come to see 400 Blows tomorrow, too? Or are you otherwise occupied with blueberries and batter?”

You swear you hear him sigh happily. You push it aside as a kind of aural illusion, putting it down to your overactive imagination, caught up in trying to distract from your stupid slip of the tongue. 

He doesn’t want you. He’s just being nice. That’s all. He’s just really nice. He doesn’t want you to be on your own. He’d do that for anyone. 

“I would really like that.” 

He takes a breath and continues. “It’s a d- I mean, it’s a deal. So, uh, what time works for you to come over?”

Ben being Ben, he has insisted on picking you up, to save you having to walk over while carrying the supplies for the blueberry pancakes. You aren’t entirely sure how he manages to be as attractive (if not more so) in a grey sweatshirt, faded jeans, and a cosy navy pea coat as he is when he wears a shirt and tie, but somehow he just is.

“Let me bring these through to the kitchen, and I’ll dig out the utensils and pans. Have a look around - you can judge me on my DVD selection if you want.” He winks as he totes the bag of groceries towards the kitchen. 

His house is nice. To your eyes, it’s like something from a picture book or an old movie: two stories, painted a sort of primrose yellow with white accents and sash windows. Steps up to a porch and the front door, a small but neatly trimmed lawn in front, a garage built in the same style as the house to one side. At a guess, you’d place it as dating from the first decades of the twentieth century. 

Inside, a parquet hallway, walls lined with framed posters and prints, leads towards the staircase. Two doors open up off the hall: one to a spacious living room at the front of the house, and one to a dining room at the back, which is connected to the living room by glass-panelled doors. The kitchen, adjoining the dining room, wraps around the back of the house. A small deck accessible from the kitchen leads down to the back yard. The rooms are bright and inviting. You think there might be a basement, judging by the windows you could see under the front steps. Possibly even an attic, if the small round window in the gable at the front was anything to go by.

Fuck, this is really nice. 

It’s also very him. There are little piles of books where you’d least expect them: on one of the lower stairs, on his hall table, on the floor beside the armchair in the corner of the dining room. The framed prints in the hall are clearly all meaningful to him: prints of various paintings, posters from gigs, theatre productions, art exhibitions, some vintage postcards. This is, without doubt, a lived-in home, and it’s clear that - as with his office at work - Ben is not terribly precious about everything being absolutely pristine or neat at all times. But even a cursory glance reveals something of his taste and sensibilities, and suggests the care he must have taken in picking out furniture, or even refurbishing pieces (the man clearly likes the period from the 1920s to the 1960s, you think), and making his house a home. 

You try very hard not to fall for the house, too. Bad enough whatever you’ve got going on for the man who lives there. But - like him - it’s so charming and appealing that you’re fighting a losing battle.

You decide to take a closer look at the living room, admiring the fitted shelving in the alcoves on either side of the large, cosy fireplace. A small, wood-burning stove nestles in the hearth. Family photos line the mantel, with vintage railway posters advertising the Union Pacific Railroad’s Californian routes framed on one wall. The room is bright and high-ceilinged, TV in one corner, shelves of DVDs underneath. Through the glass doors into the dining room you spy a record player, speakers, and shelving holding an extremely impressive collection of vinyl records. 

Best of all, though, is the Lego model of a Saturn V rocket that you spy on top of the shelving in the dining room. You idly wonder if he’s got the lunar lander set as well.

More family photos pepper the bookshelves in the living room, alongside the occasional trinket or tchotchke. A black and white photograph of a man who is Ben’s double in almost every way, save for having straighter hair and different eyes. You guess this must be his dad, captured in his twenties or so, wearing a beautiful light-coloured short-sleeved shirt decorated with abstract embroidery. 

A small figurine catches your eye: a woman in a green mantle, with a pinkish red robe, covered in the unmistakable patina of age. You instantly recognise it as a miniature statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe, standing on a little wooden base. Its presence here feels surprising, somehow. Nothing had ever given you the impression that Ben was remotely religious, but then again - had you even discussed it?

The doors from the dining room into the living room open and Ben comes in as you look intently at the little figure. “You know who she is?”

You nod. “Apart from my professional expertise including religious art, you’re looking at the product of a Catholic education. I may not be much of a believer, but I learned a lot about iconography. And, full disclosure, I still love a holy statue.” You hold your hands up. “It’s the kitsch, I can’t deny it.”

He smiles and moves towards you. “I’m not much of a believer, either,” he says, smiling. “But she belonged to my abuela - I mean, my grandmother.” 

You nod, and a framed photo beside the statue catches your eye. In it, a woman - her long greying hair pinned up - is sitting on an armchair, holding a tiny infant and beaming. Standing beside her, a toddler - no more than two, you reckon - is scowling at the camera. He’s wearing a pair of denim dungarees and a stripy, long-sleeved t-shirt.

“Wait - is that - that’s you? That’s you, oh my god!” You look more closely at the picture and Ben puts a palm to his face. 

“Dammit, you’re too quick. That’s my abuela holding TJ, just a few days old - that’s when he’d come home from the hospital with my mom. And yes, that’s me. I was thrilled to become a big brother, as you can see.” He rolls his eyes and chuckles. 

You look carefully at the furious face of the little boy, his hair maybe a shade lighter than Ben’s dark brown locks now, but his eyes are unmistakably the same. Even the toddler’s pout is familiar. You’ve seen it in action, when the copier refuses to cooperate with him.

“You might have been pissed off, but you were still pretty cute,” you say softly, smiling at him with perhaps more affection than you might otherwise have deemed wise. 

“Cute, huh? You must be wondering what went wrong.”

You good-naturedly roll your eyes and shake your head. “Far from it. I’m sure that kid would be thrilled to know who he’d grow up to be.”

He smiles a tiny smile and blushes slightly, casting his eyes downwards. Silence, for a moment. 

“So you were close to your grandmother?”

He nods, smiling at the photograph. “She was really great. My dad’s mother.” He points to the photograph of the handsome young man in the formal shirt. “That’s him. Diego. He’s just a kid there.” He smiles at the picture, mirroring his father’s expression. It only serves to highlight the resemblance even further. 

“Dad worked long, hard hours, and my abuela took care of us when my mom had to get a part-time job to help make ends meet - used to read to us, bring me to the library, tell anyone who’d listen that I was the smartest kid in the world.” He chuckles. “Not the easiest thing being a little boy who loved books and making up stories when everyone else was sports-mad or running around in a cut-up tshirt pretending to be Rambo. But she never stopped encouraging me. She encouraged all of us.”

He picks up the little figurine. It looks even tinier in his broad hand. 

“She swore blind that nuestra señora here helped with my SATs. Or rather, her prayers to nuestra señora helped me get the grades I needed for college. Never mind all my hard work! So when I left for school, she gave me this. Said it would keep me safe.” He places it gently back on the shelf beside the picture. 

“Like I said, I’m not a believer. But the statue is a little bit of her, and how much she loved me, and I liked having that with me. You know what I mean?” He looks at you, big brown eyes soft and searching.

You feel your heart swell. Shit, Lyd. You’ve got to get over this. You have got to get over him.

“Yeah, I do,” you nod. “I have a couple of things like that - little tokens that mean so much. She must have been so proud of you when you did so well at college, got into grad school...”

He exhales. “Oh, man. She was obsessed with everything I did in college. I had to update her on my classes every semester so she could brag to the ladies at the hair salon about how smart I was.” He laughs briefly, then his face falls a little. “I just wish she’d seen me graduate. She, uh, passed a month or so before we got our final degree results.” 

He looks so sad all of a sudden. Spontaneously, unthinking, you reach out and gently touch his bicep in a gesture of comfort. 

He turns to face you, eyes widened a little in surprise, and lightly pats your hand. “It’s okay, really. Sorry. Just got a bit…melancholy there. Anyway, I’m thankful I had her when I did.”

“Ah, bringing it back to today’s theme. Nice segue, very impressive, no notes.” 

He grins. “She’d have liked you.” He’s rubbing his hands together and making a beeline back towards the kitchen.

“Okay - I can’t wait any longer. Pancakes and parade time, I think?”

You eat more blueberry pancakes than you thought humanly possible while you take in the spectacle of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade: three hours of inflatables, floats, and marching bands with special guests. Ben is surprisingly knowledgeable about the various character balloons and seems genuinely impressed when you recognise Thing 1 and Thing 2 from Dr Seuss, laughing as you point excitedly at the TV. 

“Sorry! It’s just totally new to me, and I’m basically an overgrown child.”

He shakes his head. “It’s great. Next year they need to get you on board as an international commentator.”

Next year. Fuck. There is no next year, at least not so far as this is concerned. Next Thanksgiving you’ll be an ocean away, not tucking into fluffy pancakes on Ben’s comfy sofa and picking out your favourite floats. 

“They’ll have to fly me back, I guess.”

The realisation reminds you how temporary all of this is. The fellowship. Your presence in this place. Your easy closeness to a man who, unbeknownst to himself, had stirred up feelings of affection, need, and desire in you, just when you thought they were gone forever.

The look on Ben’s face suggests that he’d forgotten this was temporary, too. You feel a surge of affection in your chest as you look at his face, a little crestfallen. 

Push it down. Push it away. 

While you’re clearing up, Ben’s phone buzzes with a message from his mom. 

“Shit, she wants to do a video call now. Is that okay?”

“Of course! God, don’t mind me. I can leave if it’s easier, let you have your time talking to your family.”

He turns, shaking his head. “I’m not kicking you out, you’re my guest.”

“Okay, but let me keep clearing up in here and you go and talk to her. That way you get privacy and it means the clean-up is done and dusted when you’re finished.”

He grabs his iPad and heads back into the living room, closing the doors into the dining area and kitchen. You continue with the washing up as Ben speaks with his family on the other side of the country, popping back to the dining table every so often to gather other dirty dishes and plop them in the sink.

Then, you hear Ben’s mom’s voice clearer and louder than before. It’s enough to stop you dead.

“Who’s the pretty woman in your dining room, Benjamin?”

What the fuck? How did she…

The doors have glass panels. Which you forgot about. You are an idiot.

She could see you popping in and out. You’re not hiding, as such. But you don’t want to provoke any awkward questions for Ben. 

“It’s my friend Lydia, mom. She’s the visiting professor this year, she’s on her own for the holiday too, so…we’re keeping each other company. I told you about her.”

He did? 

You try not to think too much about his use of ‘we’, or exactly how you would like to ‘keep him company’. 

“Well, does your” - Mrs Morales pauses for emphasis - “friend Lydia, the visiting professor, want to come say hi? Or have you confined her to the dining room and kitchen?”

Oh, shit. Shit. Could the ground just open up and swallow you, please? Come, friendly sinkhole, come.

Ben turns and looks at you over the back of the armchair, through the glass panelled doors. He raises his eyebrows, leaving it up to you to decide. 

What can you do, but say hi? 

You smile weakly as you come into the living room and settle on the arm of the chair, hoping you’re not at a terrible angle for the front-facing camera while repressing the screaming panic inside you. 

It’s your friend’s mom. It doesn’t mean anything because you aren’t anything. 

“Hello, Mrs Morales. It’s very nice to meet you. Happy Thanksgiving!”

You estimate that Mrs Morales is a little older than your own parents, though not by much. Her white hair is cut short and curls softly around her expressive face. He might be the image of his father, but he shares the same wavy curls, penetrating dark eyes, and kind smile as his mother. 

“Please, call me Ana. Are you enjoying your first Thanksgiving?” She arches an eyebrow and nods towards her son, expression deadly serious all of a sudden. “I hope he’s being a good host.”

You exchange a glance with Ben, who looks affronted, and laugh. “He’s a very good host. He’s made me feel so welcome since I came to Barrow in August.” You feel heat rising in your neck. “There’s just a really nice group of people here. Ben mentioned that you were unwell - I hope you are doing better now?”

Ana Morales smiles and brings a hand to her chest. “Thank you, my dear. It has been unpleasant, as you can imagine. Difficult when you live so far from your family, too.”

Ben huffs quietly. “Mom, TJ and Teresa and their families are like, five minutes away from you.”

His mom turns her attention back to you. “I’m sure you must miss your family too, Lydia. You’re here on your own, hmm? Sometimes the visiting professor travels over with their partner and children…”

Is she trying to suss you out? 

Ben looks slightly horrified at her line of questioning, but you nod and explain. “Nope, I’m on my own - no partner, no kids, unless I have really forgotten something at home!” Your joke doesn’t seem to land, and you try to deflect. “But I’m happy and I’m really enjoying myself here. It’s a wonderful experience and I’m very lucky. I guess that’s what I’m thankful for today.”

Oh, and I’m thankful for you and your husband because you created this specimen, congrats on the good genes guys.

She seems satisfied with your answer. This feels like a natural break in the conversation, and you stand up and start to make your excuses.

“I will leave you two, if that’s okay - I don’t want to keep you from catching up. It was lovely to meet you, Mrs Morales, truly.”

Ana tilts her head and smiles a genuine, warm smile. You notice how her eyes smile too, crinkling just like his do.

“And lovely to meet you, Lydia. Let’s hope we will meet in person someday.”

Smile, nod, wave, retreat. Wait - in person?

You gently close the door into the dining room and return to the kitchen, out of sight of the iPad’s camera, before exhaling, long and slow. 

The conversation continues in the living room, and you notice that Ben’s mother has switched into Spanish. In turn, you note that the timbre of his voice has dropped slightly as he switches into the other language.

It’s probably a good thing that your command of Spanish barely stretches to the basics - no fear of understanding what they’re saying. The most you actually overhear in spite of yourself is an exasperated “Mom!” from Ben, and his mother’s repeated use of a word that sounds like nobya or novya. Or was it nobeea? 

You focus on putting away the clean dishes and cooking utensils, avoiding the temptation to ruminate on what his mother must have thought of you.

A round of goodbyes and you hear the door to the dining room opening again, turning to see Ben standing by the table. He looks a little awkward, running his hand through his hair to the back of his neck. You can guess what’s on his mind. 

“It was lovely to be able to say hello to your mom. Really.”

“I’m sorry you got the third degree, though.” He extends his hands in front of him, as if showing two polar opposites. “This is mom and this -” he stretches his long arms further apart “- is normal personal boundaries, I’m afraid.”

You grin, relaxing a little more. “Man, if the roles were reversed, my family would have extracted full details of your blood type, social security number, and the name you chose at your Confirmation. And all in less time than I was talking to your mom.”

You can see the laughter rising from his chest through his neck to his face, and it is a comfort when you eventually hear it. 

“Are you part of a family of superspies, Lydia?” 

You pretend to think. “Hmmm. I don’t think so. But my mom would have been amazing at it. I mean, maybe she’s just in deep cover.” 

“I don’t think my mom could do deep cover,” he muses, looking up at the kitchen clock to check the time. “She’d end up telling someone before the first hour was out. Probably call her friend Julia, tell her not to tell a soul, and the entire neighbourhood would know immediately. Hey - we should probably get going if we want to make the screening.”

You nod and grab your coat and purse, tugging a soft pink knitted hat over your head as you lead the way to the front door. You wait on the stone steps outside as he locks up. 

“She really liked you, by the way,” he says quietly as he checks he’s properly locked the front door. You look at him, somewhat quizzical.

“My mom. Said you were clearly very sweet and told me I had to keep looking after you, or..”

“Or?” you offer the prompt.

“Or she’d fly over here and I would - and I quote - ‘know all about it.’” He grins. “Please use your new power for good, Lyd.”

The short winter days mean it’s dark by the time the film’s over and you leave the movie theatre, chattering enthusiastically about French cinema, the New Wave, Francois Truffaut, and the charisma of a young Jean-Pierre Léaud. You talk all the way to the Brunswick Café, a diner on Main Street that looked untouched since the 1960s - in a good way. Ben had insisted on going - best pumpkin pie in the world, apparently, and they had a tradition of opening for the afternoon and evening on Thanksgiving to cater to left-behind students and college staff. You were only too glad to continue the conversation over big plates of delicious grilled cheese sandwiches and golden, crispy french fries. 

You’re waving your hands around as you describe a day you spent in Paris as a doctoral student, tracing various locations from the film and ending with a visit to Truffaut’s grave in the Montmartre cemetery. You have completely forgotten about the french fry you’re holding between your left thumb and index finger, now serving as a kind of pointer as you detail the excitement of tracking down the locations and planning your itinerary. 

He’s listening intently with a smile on his face. 

And that’s when the bullying voice inside you decides to pipe up, speaking the kind of words you’d had thrown at you by your ex.

You’ve been talking for ages. You must be boring him by now. All you ever do is talk. All I ever do is listen to you. You’re just too much, Lydia. It’s…a lot.

You rein yourself in quickly. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been rambling away here and taking up all the space. Sorry, I just get carried away sometimes, I forget -”

Ben furrows his brow behind his glasses and looks at you, smile wiped and replaced by a serious expression. “Why did you stop talking? What do you mean, taking up all the space?”

You wave his words away, as if it was all self-explanatory. “You know what I mean, me going on and on and on. I know I’m a lot. I don’t mean to be. Just that when I get onto something I really care about I can’t stop sometimes and I’m too much. I’m sorry.”

His expression has shifted to one of confusion, brow still furrowed. He rests his palms on the table.

“Lydia, why are you apologising for being so passionate about stuff? I like hearing you talk. You know so much cool shit! You’ve done so much cool shit! Why wouldn’t I want to hear that? You hear enough from me when I get to talking about one of my ‘things’.” He’s shaking his head, an expression of his disbelief.

He pushes himself back from the table, leaning on the dark red banquette behind. 

“Lyd, I don’t want to pry but - have people told you you’re a lot or too much, or whatever, and that you need to talk less? Is that where this comes from?”

You avert his gaze. “It…it was said to me. And because the person who used to remind me isn’t, um, in my life now, I forget sometimes and get over excited and talky.”

He looks down. “Your ex?”

You nod, still unable to meet his eye. 

Very gently, he reaches over and pats the back of your hand. A tiny electrical charge shoots through you. His words are shot through with a quiet fury. “A fucking idiot, then. And don’t ever listen to a fucking idiot like that. You’re not ‘a lot’, or whatever they told you. You’re not ‘too much’. You’re - you’re exactly right just as you are.”

He moves his hand away. Now it’s his turn to avert your gaze, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. You look up and try to meet his eyes.

“Hey, Ben - hey, look at me. Thank you. That’s really nice, you know? I’m still working on believing that for myself, but it helps when you have such good -” you pause, unsure what to say in this moment of quiet intimacy, “-such good, um, friends to help you remember.”

He lifts his eyebrows and for the briefest instant you think you see a flash of sadness in his dark eyes. 

“Never say you’re ‘too much’ again.” His face is soft, and his voice reassures you in the same way as the touch of his hand. 

The urge to lean over, hold his gorgeous face in your hands, and kiss Ben Morales there and then surges in you like mercury climbing on a hot summer’s day. 

You take a deep breath and steady yourself, forcing the thought out of your mind before you do something stupid and make a show of yourself. And in public.

You’re interrupted by the server appearing at your table, her tray laden with enormous slices of pumpkin pie and a fresh pot of coffee. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Professor Ben! Long time, no see.” She beams at him. She must be in her mid-sixties, you reckon, short dark hair shot through with greys and the air of someone who has seen it all around here. 

Ben returns her smile. “Hey, Emma! I’m sorry I haven’t really been in a lot this semester. We’ve got some new courses on, and -”

Emma raises her hand to stop him. “I know, sweetheart, I know. And I guess you’ve been busy in other ways, too, huh?” She turns and looks at you, eyebrows waggling and a huge smile on her face. “It’s so good to see good people in love.”

I’m sorry - the what in holy fuck now?

Ben looks as flustered as you feel. His eyes dart over and back as he looks from you to Emma and back again. 

You try to help clarify things, words tumbling out in a rush. “Uh well no we’re not - I mean, I’m not - uh - I’m a visiting professor, Lydia. I’m Lydia. I’m a visiting professor. We -”

Ben finds his words. “We’re n-not a couple, Emma.” He shrugs gently. “I’m sorry, I know what you always say.”

Emma pulls herself up to her full height, coffee pot in hand. She looks at him sceptically, cocking her hip and raising an eyebrow. “Well, I’m sorry too. Just thought I saw what I saw from over at the counter. Didn’t say you were a couple, but…I got it wrong.” She offers a smile that seems more like a grimace. “Enjoy the pie, kids.”

You get the distinct feeling that Emma a) doesn’t believe you and b) feels personally attacked by the fact that you aren’t together.

Fucking tell me about it, lady. 

Ben sips on his coffee and picks up a fork to start on the pie. He pauses just before digging in.

“Hey, Lyd?” You meet his eyes. “Sorry about that. I didn’t intend to give any impression to her that we were…y’know. I’m sorry if it upset you.”

You wish you were brave enough to tell him that the only reason you might be upset over this is because you aren’t actually involved. But everything today feels like more proof that he just sees you as a good friend - including his response to Emma. 

You smile and shake your head furiously. “I’m not upset, I was just worried that you’d be upset!”

He looks up, a piece of pumpkin pie speared on his fork. “I’m not upset, Lyd.”

“Good. So no harm done. She was just eager to get you all coupled up.” You start into your own slice of pie, marvelling at the texture of the filling and the spices tingling on your tongue.

He laughs lightly. “True that. I’ve come here for years and she keeps saying it’s a crime I’m not with anyone.” 

She’s not wrong there. But only because you should be with me.

You sip your coffee. “In that case, you’ve been joined by a fellow hardened singleton criminal. Cheers.” You reach over with your mug and clink it off his. “Here’s to pumpkin pie, the French New Wave, and good people.”

He mulls it over as you walk from Main Street back towards the residential areas around campus. The same questions he’s been pondering since the night of your birthday.

What if he just said something to you? Told you how he felt?

What would you do? Would you be happy about it? Would you feel the same?

Would it ruin everything? Ruin the friendship he loved so much?

He tries to keep up the conversation but is happy to let you chat away, too distracted by the questions in his mind. He’s replaying the things you said today, looking for crumbs as to how you saw him, or saw your relationship, or hints that you might want more. 

You’d mentioned ‘friends’ a couple of times, hadn’t you? ‘Good people’. 

Maybe that’s how you see him. Just a friend. Someone you really like but - not like that.

Better not to do something stupid and get hurt. Better to insulate yourself from the possible blows.

That, after all, is why Ben Morales’ dating history seems so empty to those who work alongside him. He’s no monk - far from it, as the occasional hook-ups and one night stands (at conferences, or trips out of town, of course, because everyone knows everyone around here) prove. But better to do that than go all in, and risk his heart and his self-esteem being crushed. 

Again.

At least, that’s what he’d felt until you came along. He was happy, content with his life. He wasn’t lonely or looking for anyone.

Now, he’s not so sure if his self-preservationist approach is really the right course of action any more. Because of you, and because of what he feels for you.

He looks at you, profile peeking out from underneath your soft knitted hat and hands gesturing as you talk. 

You just need to tell her. Say it. Say the words. 

He steels himself. She’d have come on to him before now if she felt anything. Right?

He reminds himself of all the times you mentioned being ‘friends’. He pushes the feelings that swell his heart down, down deep, so that he can keep putting one foot in front of the other.

You part halfway between your place and his. It’s not very late, and you refuse to have him go out of his way just to walk you to your building.

“I know it’s the theme of the day, but - thank you. Best Thanksgiving ever.” 

He raises an eyebrow when you’ve separated, one corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. “Isn’t this your only Thanksgiving ever, Lydia?”

“And nothing else will ever compete. Pie, movies, parades, your mom saying I was sweet and pretty - what more could anyone want?”

He groans at the memory of his mother’s questions to you - and to him, though he hopes you didn’t hear and understand those. “I’m sorry. But it did capture some of the familial tensions of a traditional Thanksgiving.”

You wave away his apology. “Seriously, I’m so grateful. I hope you know.”

You move a step closer and reach out to hug him to say thanks. You can’t help but close your eyes for a moment, trying to memorise the feeling of safety and warmth that comes with embracing Ben, however briefly.

He smiles. “I know.” He turns his head to one side, as if he’s mulling something over in his mind.

“Okay, well…good night.” You lean in to give him a kiss on the cheek that’s facing you, remembering his gesture the night of your birthday.

Maybe it’s your timing. Maybe it’s the angle. Maybe you startled him. 

In the split second it takes you to move towards him, Ben turns his head. Instead of the softness and bristle of his cheek, your lips meet his.

The kiss, if you can call it that, can’t have lasted more than a couple of seconds before you break apart, startled and apologetic. 

“Oh fuck Ben I’m - I’m so sorry, I was going for your cheek and then you turned and -”

He’s blushing, eyes darting around and fingers flexing as they tend to do when he’s nervous or panicking. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, Lyd, I didn’t - didn’t mean…shit, I’m sorry. I turned and you were there and your mouth was - sorry.”

You pat him gingerly on the arm, trying to offer reassurance but terrified that if you feel too much of him, so solid and warm, you won’t be able to stop yourself going further.

“Ben, it’s fine. It’s fine.” Your tone is meant as ‘casual and nonchalant’ but is, in truth, very chalant indeed. “At least we got a kiss out of it instead of bonking our heads together and ending up with lovely Thanksgiving nosebleeds, hmm?”

He looks at you from under his lashes and does that half-smile that devastates you. “That’s something to be thankful for.” A pause. “I’d try to kiss you on the cheek again but, y’know, nosebleed risk. Need to keep at a safe distance.” 

You smile softly and start to turn for home. “Good night, Ben. Happy Thanksgiving. And good luck with the conference paper!” He grimaces, remembering that he has to write his paper, then breaks into a grin, salutes, and walks away.

Lying in bed, trying to sleep, your brain returns over and over to the moment your lips met his. Accidental and over in a flash though the kiss might have been, there was no mistaking how his mouth felt - masculine and soft, warm and inviting, still tasting of pumpkin pie and coffee. 

It was an accident. It had to be. But you knew, deep down, that when your lips made contact you’d both lingered just a second too long. You’d pressed your lips to his, and he’d returned the gesture, almost imperceptibly. You definitely weren’t imagining this. Or were you?

Should you have kept kissing him? What would he have done?

The more you thought about it, the more you reviewed every movement and gesture and moment of contact, the more your body began to ache for him. The gnawing pain between your legs demands to be relieved. You slip down your cotton pajama pants, and pass one finger over your slit experimentally. You gasp as you realise how wet and how swollen you already are, just from the memory of his mouth. His touch. His scent. The warmth of his body.

You begin to move your middle finger up and down, up and down, increasing the pressure on your clit, and he appears unbidden and unceasingly in your mind as you close your eyes, almost as real as if he was there in bed with you.

It’s him slipping a hand between your legs, splaying his fingers to create a bit more space as he strokes you. It’s his long, strong finger that’s dragging through the slippery wetness dripping from you. The pad of his thumb that begins to rub at your swollen nub in tight circles while he starts finding your entrance with the tips of his fingers.

You let yourself imagine what he would say to you, conjuring up the aural memory of his voice. 

“You’re this wet for me already, baby? Is that what I do to you?”

You can’t even form the word, so you whimper and nod.

“I think you like this, don’t you? What about having my fingers inside you?”

Your hips buck upwards slightly as you pick up the pace and try to slip a finger inside yourself. It could never be a match for those hands: so strong and broad but so gentle and kind.

You can feel the coil tightening within you as you get closer and closer to coming.

“Or would you prefer my cock inside you, my love?” 

Such is the wetness between your legs that the sound of your fingers working yourself to climax is loud and obscene. You’re so close now, getting nearer and nearer the edge as you imagine what it would be like to feel him bury himself in you, covering you with his broad body as he fucks you senseless.

The man in your head offers one final instruction to get you there and send you crashing over the edge: “Come for me, Lyddie.”

Across town, around the same time, the memory of your voice is issuing the same instruction to him as he seeks his own relief, unable to shake the lingering trace of your lips on his and frustrated at himself for not being brave enough to show you how he ought to kiss you. How you deserved to be kissed.

“Come for me, Ben.”

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more; other dividers by @cafekitsune)

Further A/N: They're getting there. Slowly. But they're getting there. All that frustration has to work itself out before the end of the semester, right? And the next chapter sees them about to head into the longer break for the holidays... ahem.

If you haven't seen Truffaut's The 400 Blows (Les 400 coups), then please track it down if you love movies. It's wonderful. If only I could go and watch it in a small college town movie theatre with Ben Morales, sigh...

#visiting fic #visiting masterlist #mr ben snl #professor ben x ofc #mr ben #professor!ben x ofc #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #mr ben x ofc #professor!ben #Spotify #Youtube

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 8: Money Buys Power

“Knock knock.”

The voice stirs me awake, having fallen asleep while doing embroidery before bedtime. In the blurry light I see Thomas standing in the doorway. Is it a trick of the light, or is…?

My eyes widen. “Oh my God! Tommy, your face- you’re covered in blood!” I bolt upright and rush over to get a better look. Strangely the gangster does not seem disturbed.

“It’s not mine,” he replies as he takes my hands to calm me down.

“Dear Lord… Danny?”

He nods.

My head starts spinning. “Oh God… Will he have a funeral?”

Thomas squints. “Not exactly. But I’m not worried about that now. What matters now is the supply of guns. Actually, I’m- What is it you call it? A ‘bit of a pickle’ myself. You know those guns I told you about?”

“Yes.”

He gets a sly grin. “They’re not mine. They were sent by mistake on account of a few drunk idiots. Now the Crown’s looking for ‘em, which poses a threat to us. But I won’t give them back without something in it for the Peaky Blinders.”

That’s it. That’s why everyone’s been so on edge! Thomas, Campbell… It’s all a power scheme. A challenge for one to outwit the other.

“Oh, I get it. The whole ‘I’ll never reach Heaven, why not raise a little Hell’ bit?”

Thomas rubs some caked blood off his coat. “Something like that.”

“Here. Allow me.” I take out my handkerchief and start to dab the red smears off his face. “I thought you were supposed to dispose of the guns?”

“I changed my mind.”

By God I want to slap him. “Are you crazy? You must be crazy, ‘cause that’s one-a the craziest things I’ve ever heard in my life!”

Thomas laughs and pats my shoulder. “I love it when you get animated. Your accent gets thicker.”

I gawk at his laid-back mannerism. “Since when does my accent have anything to do with the fact that you’re stubborn enough to keep stolen artillery?!” I hiss.

“If they want it they’ll have to pay," Thomas replies coolly.

I was wrong. It’s not just about power. Money buys power. Money. It's a crime. Share it fairly, but don't take a slice of my pie. Money, so they say, is the root of all evil today. (Pink Floyd)

I lightly smack Thomas with the handkerchief and put my hands on my hips. “Money? This whole plot is about money? When will enough be enough for you Shelbys?” I point a warning finger. “You’re stubborn. And your arrogance is going to bring you, your family, and everything you care about crashing down on your head.”

“Are Americans always this cocky with their employers?” Thomas asks in a mysterious tone. “It’s a rich man’s world, love. You can’t help it as much as I can.”

There’s no use trying to change his mind. So instead I finish cleaning up what blood I can and pivot to walk back to bed.

“If you woke me up only to scare me with blood and murder then please leave.”

“Well, there’s some good news. Monaghan Boy won.”

The new subject of the gorgeous horse lifts my spirits. “He did? Congratulations!”

Thomas scoffs. “Arthur didn’t seem too happy. Just had to shoot my dear friend and he comes up raging about a bloody horse.”

Something’s up. Thomas speaks of killing a friend but he doesn’t look sad in the slightest. Instead he’s looking around the room at my few belongings; probably trying to determine my social status in America.

“Then why do you look happy instead of someone who’s supposed to be grieving?”

Thomas turns around wearing a devilish smirk. This intrigues me. It’s as if he expects me to decipher a clue-

“You didn’t kill him, did you?” He shakes his head. “Why? How?”

Thomas points to his head. “Sheep brains, darling. Made it look real convincing. Another magic trick, if you will.”

Even under that cold shell there is a sliver of compassion in Thomas Shelby. 

A smile finds its way to my face and I walk over to pat his shoulder in respect. “I knew there’s still good in you, Thomas. Someday you will too.”

For some reason Thomas is confused by this but doesn’t question further. Instead he gets a certain look in his eye that tells me he’s thinking up a new idea. A few seconds of silence go by but I don’t mind. A quiet conversation of eye contact tells me twice as much as a whole hour of useless dialogue. I must say that I’ve started growing a tolerance to his icy gaze.

“If you’re up for it, we’re going out for a drive to the country tomorrow,” Thomas finally speaks.

“Is this for Peaky Blinders only? Why ask me?” 

The gangster simply shrugs. “I thought you could do with some time away from this dusty place. Just a suggestion, so if you don’t wanna-”

“Are you bonkers?” I grin. “That sounds perfect. When do we leave?”

Thomas is intrigued by my interest. “7 am, bright and early. So it’s best to get some shut eye.” He wants to say more but stops. I shouldn’t push it, especially if he’s starting to warm up to me. Thomas may be a kind person when he wants to be but he’s still my boss. And now-

Now he takes my hand and presses a quick kiss to my wrist before tipping his hat in parting.

“Good evening, Ms. Steenstra,” Thomas mutters as he exits the room.

“Sleep well, Mr. Shelby,” I reply as I shut the door.

That man is a complicated puzzle if I ever saw one. One minute he speaks of murder and money, the next he’s discussing a drive in the country. And to say that I wasn’t touched by his goodnight kiss would be a serious understatement. It’s not every day that a fella takes the effort to pull off a charm like that, especially for a background nobody like me. Granted, father’s tried to set me up for courting with a few associates of the family but I never wanted to settle down. I still don’t. Do I? I- No. No I do not. I’m here to teach Finn, and that’s what I am going to do. 

Before my mind can spin anymore outlandish ideas I climb under the covers.

“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord, my soul to keep; If I should die before I wake. I pray the Lord, my soul to take.”

If only Thomas could see there’s more to life than a mad scramble for power.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fucking blinders #peaky fookin blinders #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #arthur shelby #john shelby #finn shelby #polly gray #grace burgess #pink floyd

[bowtiepastabitch]

Here have a ficlet

Aziraphale is at his desk with one of his beloved books downstairs, and Crowley is standing awkwardly in the shop’s little kitchen debating the merits of using the well-loved vintage kettle on the stove and simply miracling it himself. Aziraphale would probably be horrified at the prospect, perhaps even as scandalized as when he learned Americans heat their water in the microwave, but what he doesn’t know surely can’t hurt him. With a sigh, the demon fills the kettle and lights the stove, but under his glare the water knows better than to dilly dally and boils in seconds. He can practically feel the angel perking up from across the building at the whistle of the kettle, and he’s rewarded with a glowing smile as he descends the steps carefully balancing the tray.

“Doin’ alright, angel?”

“Oh, just splendid my dear. Is that my Paris blend?”

“Err, I just grabbed something out of the cabinet.”

The angel closes his eyes contentedly and breathes in the fragrant steam, scented with vanilla and currant and of course good, strong tea. There’s no need for him to know how long Crowley spent smelling different blends agonizing over what he might find the most soothing, carefully rearranging them back exactly how he found them in the cupboard, measuring it out in little scoops, counting sugar cubes.

“It smells wonderful, may I?”

“Thassss what it’s here for.”

He gently lifts the delicate teacup from the tray with a grateful glance up and takes a long, slow sip. The angel’s eyes flutter closed with a soft moan of pleasure that makes the surface of the tea ripple lazily. It’s unfair how gorgeous he is, Crowley thinks, fighting the urge to lean down and kiss him.

“Thank you, Crowley. That was very kind of you.”

Oh, this is entirely selfish, angel.

“Ngh, just thought you might appreciate… a drink.”

Real smooth.

“I do, I really do.”

The angel’s smile is infectious, and Crowley fights not to grin idiotically. He quickly loses the battle, going weak at the knees as Aziraphale licks his bottom lip contentedly before taking another sip.

#the tea I'm drinking rn is 'paris' from Harney & Sons and it's so good #this is a fluffy bit from a larger WIP #good omens fanfiction #good omens ficlet #good omens #ficlet #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable spouses #aziracrow #sad_dyke writes

[chiropteracupola]

The Great Meme Harvest of 2022

so in january I decided to make a list of them, and now it's time to share out the bounty. here you go, in chronological order with some attempt at indication of influence.

it’s [slay]ing absolute [penis]

robert downey jr [there are federal agents outside my house]

horse plinko

blorbo from my shows

submeme: blorbus and tumblrinus

submeme: [variation on blorbo] from my [genre of media]

eeby deeby

[x] dead [y] injured in [commonplace but annoying household occurrence] incident

seinfeld ‘kramer, what’s going on in there?’ [alternating panel] ‘it’s a [x], Jerry’

tbh/yippee

variations on ‘short people will be carried off by birds of prey’

sickos: ‘yes… ha ha ha… yes!”

submeme: sickos variations (ancestral sickos &c.)

megamind no bitches

the queen of england is dead (resurgence from late 2021)

L + ratio + [x] and so on and so forth

dear god the [x] you put on earth to be [variation on] sleepy cosy is being made to [do a thing]

it’s me boy i’m the ps5, speaking to you inside your brain

quirked up white boy with a little bit of swag busts it down sexual style

live slug reaction

[x] would be a beautiful name for a baby girl

my son he has every disease

[x] be like [complaint] my brother in christ [you were responsible for the source of the complaint]

submeme: my brother in christ in general

eight hour victorious video

submeme: car battery

advice for new tumblr users

get drinked / I drinked you

[x] is such a raw line you’d think it was from [shakespeare]

something very lgbt is happening here

tumblr blaze (emergence of, subsequent misuses)

microplastics

she [x] on my [y] til i [z]

bisexual misha collins

submeme: NOT BISEXUAL misha collins

dracula daily

submeme: paprika discourse

morbius

submeme: it’s morbin time / morbius memes by people who have not watched morbius and are not planning to do so

submeme: morbius fails again!

carnotaurus mating dance

will they give you food if you visit them

submeme: we collectively cancel the nation of sweden

there should be kink at [pretty much any darn location the meme-maker can think of]

we need an american girl doll who [ate someone on the donner party]

mousegirl bartender

the man in the pikachu mask

a bad day to be the prime minister of a small island nation with a constitutional monarchy / &c.

[he]’s a 10 but [utterly nonsensical explanation why this individual is not worth it]

new db cooper theory he went up

smooth sharks

I wonder how I taste (one partner expects kissing, one partner expects Bite Bite Chomp Chomp)

would you still love me if I were a worm

hair clips and other things that are animals

gandalf big naturals

it was a gougar (possibly a resurgence from previous memes)

image of infodumping girl in pink shirt

sans undertale and the tumblr sexyman awards / QUEEN OF ENGLAND DEAD FOR REAL

the tumpet. bwaaaaa

i’m on my puter

lost focus and had a consensual workplace relationship

post stock market

[words in webpage somewhat similar to the name of a character or person indicated with circle and image]

a secret third thing

goncharov

submeme: this idiot hasn’t even seen goncharov

elon musk and his foolish antics

submeme: tumblr and twitter warrior cats

[lestat explains a piece of a media in a very strong phonetic french accent] / lestatspeak

hey. don’t cry. [very large number] of [thing] in the [world].

sorry [event which typically does not happen to human men happened to] your boyfriend [in exhaustive detail]

[number] ticket[s] to the barbie movie please

I went to [Mad At You] island and [none] of your friends were there

#The Great Meme Harvest of 2022 #yes I will do this again next year #long post

[u3pxx]

tell me your klapollo headcanons

ok uhhh *flips through my notes, they fall on the floor* whoo, let's hope i can remember some WHEEZES

apollo is the son of a filipino-american mother and a japanese father (also he is trans thanks). klavier is the son of a german mother and a japanese-german father.

apollo gets incredibly cold easily, he has sweaty palms even if it's freezing and he HATES it, man named apollo runs cold. cue irony. klavier, on the other hand, is hot. no no not like PHYSICALLY (i mean... he is) but klavier is warm! he hates hotter days because he's a puddle on the floor! he's a human heater!

when klavier starts to notice that apollo is shivering, he pulls him into a hug under his big-ass poofy jacket. much to apollo's embarrassment. (he finds it very sweet but also DUDE [ROMANTIC] WE ARE IN PUBLIC!!!)

continuing on that, klavier adores pda but he understands that apollo isn't really one for that. although the one time apollo pulled klavier to a kiss in front of the prosecutor's office building, klavier swore he was seeing stars. he was unbearable the week after according to one ema skye.

BIG SPOON APOLLO I CAN NOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH. THE BITCH IS CLINGY!!!!!! (in private). klavier is doing the dishes? there's apollo with his hands around his waist. klavier is just sitting down on the couch? apollo is sprawled on top of him doing paperwork. klavier going to sleep? apollo's holding on for dear life he's squishing him hase please i cannot breathe!!

i like to think klavier is also pretty clingy but like. not in the bear hug kinda way but in the holding hands with fingers intertwined, hand on waist, arms around shoulder, head resting against shoulder kind of clingy. klavier loves contact and it just so happens that this deals great damage (affectionate) to apollo. poor guy

when klavier is in the room with apollo, he somehow both lowers and heightens apollo's blood pressure.

while i love the idea that klapollo gets together around aa5, i also think they are stupid. they get together at around their mid-30's probably after like SOOOO much romantic tension. they're friends, they're worsties, they make each other feel more whole, they are idiots. they just. they're like ok we're acknowledging this now i guess. oh my god we are acknowledging this now.

your honor they are messes!!!!!!!

oh and one last headcanon for the crowd, apollo ropes klavier into the manga he's reading.

and that's all she wrote, babe!

#sunnysideanswers #klapollo #apollo justice #klavier gavin #apollo x klavier #klavier x apollo #headcanon #snowkit-and-blackquill

[bestmusicalworldcup]

2023 League of Musicals Alphabetized List of Musicals

Below is the full list of musicals in the League of Musicals sorted by Division.

Division A

Alice By Heart Annie Assassins Avenue Q The Band's Visit The Book of Mormon Cabaret Cats Chess Chicago A Chorus Line Come From Away Company Falsettos Fiddler on the Roof Firebringer Fun Home A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder Ghost Quartet Guys and Dolls Hadestown Hair Hairspray Hamilton Hello, Dolly! The Hunchback of Notre Dame In The Heights Into the Woods Jekyll and Hyde The King and I Kinky Boots Legally Blonde Les Misérables The Lion King Little Shop of Horrors Matilda Moulin Rouge Mozart, l'opéra rock The Music Man My Fair Lady Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812 Newsies Next to Normal Octet Once Once on this Island The Phantom of the Opera Pippin The Producers Ragtime Rent Ride the Cyclone The Rocky Horror Show Something Rotten The Sound of Music Spies Are Forever SpongeBob SquarePants: The Broadway Musical Spring Awakening Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street Twisted: The Untold Story of A Royal Vizier Waitress West Side Story Wicked The Wiz

Division B

25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee 42nd Street 1776 Adamandi American Idiot American Psycho Anastasia Applause Bare: A Pop Opera Beetlejuice Be More Chill Billy Elliot the Musical Bonnie and Clyde Bye Bye Birdie Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Cinderella (Rodgers and Hammerstein) City of Angels Damn Yankees Dear Evan Hansen Death Note: The Musical Evita Fosse A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum Grease The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals Hallelujah, Baby! Heathers Holy Musical B@man! How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying Jersey Boys Jesus Christ Superstar Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat Kiss Me, Kate Kiss of the Spider Woman La Cage aux Folles The Lightning Thief A Little Night Music Man of La Mancha Memphis Monty Python's Spamalot The Mystery of Edwin Drood A New Brain Nine The Pajama Game Passion The Prom The Scarlet Pimpernel Singin' in the Rain Six South Pacific Starship A Strange Loop Sunday in the Park with George Sunset Boulevard Tanz der Vampire / Dance of the Vampires Thoroughly Modern Millie Tick Tick Boom Titanic The Trail to Oregon! Tuck Everlasting Two Gentlemen of Verona Urinetown The Will Rogers Follies The Wizard of Oz (1987)

Division C

& Juliet 21 Chump Street 35MM: A Musical Exhibition 1789: Les Amants de la Bastille Aida Allegiance Amélie Annie Get Your Gun Anything Goes The Art of Pleasing Princes Bandstand Beauty and the Beast Big Fish Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson Carousel Carrie The Color Purple Contact The Count of Monte Cristo Dogfight Dracula, the Musical Dreamgirls Elisabeth Evil Dead: The Musical Finding Neverland Frankenstein: A New Musical The Frogs Funny Girl Godspell Groundhog Day Gypsy Hedwig and the Angry Inch Jane Eyre The Last Five Years Lizzie The Lord of the Rings Love in Hate Nation Love Never Dies The Mad Ones The Magic Show Mary Poppins Mean Girls Merrily We Roll Along Miss Saigon Mozart! Oklahoma! Oliver On the Town Ordinary Days Parade The Pirate Queen Preludes Pretty Woman The Prince of Egypt Priscilla, Queen of the Desert Rebecca Roméo et Juliette: de la Haine à l'Amour The Secret Garden Seussical She Loves Me Shrek the Musical Starry Wonderland You're A Good Man Charlie Brown

Division D

13: The Musical Ablaze The Act Ain't Misbehavin An American in Paris Anne & Gilbert Anyone Can Whistle Av. Larco Back to the Future the Musical The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas Big River Bran Nue Dae Bright Star Bring It On Calvin Berger Caroline, or Change Clown Bible Crazy for You De 3 Biggetjes The Dolls of New Albion Dorian Gray The Drowsy Chaperone The Fantasticks Fiorello! Fly by Night Follies Frankenstein (Wang Yeon Beom + Brandon Lee) Hans Christian Andersen Hoy no me puedo levantar In Transit Jagged Little Pill Jerome Robbins' Broadway Kimberly Akimbo King's Table Kismet Lady Bess La Légende du roi Arthur Le Passe-Muraille / Amour Le Roi Soleil Les Parapluies de Cherbourg The Light in the Piazza Made in Dagenham Magic Tree House: The Musical Mentiras el musical Notre-Dame de Paris Once Upon A Mattress On Your Feet! The Story of Emilio & Gloria Estefan Phantom (Yeston & Kopit) Raisin Redhead Sarafina! School of Rock The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (1964) Seven Brides for Seven Brothers Show Boat Sidd Siete veces adios Soldaat van Oranje The Spitfire Grill Starlight Express Starmania / Tycoon Tarrytown The Threepenny Opera / Die Dreigroschenoper Timéo Wiedzmin The Wild Party (Lippa) The Woman in White Wonderful Town [title of show] Émilie Jolie

#league of musicals