#(there’s probably a better label for this but I’m struggling for words)

[bluedalahorse]

As my identified reference about Sara and August, I have a question for you about the end of s1.

When Sara goes to August's room to confront him, they end up kissing. Before I saw S2, I thought Sara was not really consenting, giving the way she looks away. I thought August was taking avantage of her.

Do you think she was "enjoying it" at that time, but maybe was wondering what was happening ?

Thanks for your ask! I’m happy to be your sargust expert.

And now to address your question. It’s an uncomfortable question to answer, but I’ll do my best to answer it all the same. Content note that we’re about to get into discussing consent and other difficult topics related to sexuality.

Generally my read on the situation is: yes, Sara consented. At the same time, she’s conflicted about her feelings for August in that scene, so I think what we’re seeing when she looks away is her struggling with her feelings about her desires.

While we talk a lot about the more positive depictions of sexual behavior in Young Royals, one thing that’s true about the show is that it actually depicts a range of sexual behaviors. Earlier in season 1, we have Simon nervously but happily kissing Wilhelm on movie night, but we also have Felice showing up at August’s room and initiating a hookup not out of desire but out of feelings of anger and insecurity. Felice and August both consent to the latter encounter, but both of them do so while in a negative headspace. Sara’s encounter with August in 1.6 occupies a sort of middle space between these two extremes. This is even evident by how the scene is blocked and directed. Sara showing up at August’s door reminds us of the way Felice shows up, but her first tentative kisses remind us of Simon on movie night. Sara does feel genuine desire—she’s the one who initiates the kissing, at first—but she’s also struggling with that desire and what it means for her understanding of herself, her relationship with her family, etc.

Another piece of important context for the confrontation scene is that both Sara and August are in not the best headspace. August has been grappling with the fact that he betrayed his core value of discretion released the video, and a lot of the buried resentment he feels toward Wilhelm has come to the surface. This is coming on the heels of August barely avoiding being kicked out of Hillerska after not being able to pay his boarding feels. Sara encountered her father in person on Lucia night—something caused by Simon going behind her back—and her house is now being hounded by journalists and her mom is threatening to pull her out of a school where she’s finally made friends. While neither of them is in as awful or traumatic a place as Wilhelm or Simon, for obvious reasons, I don’t imagine either of them has been sleeping well or taking care of themselves. This is likely something that’s cutting down on their usual inhibitions, and their decisions are driven partially by bad mental health/a stress response.

Regardless of the fact that Sara consents, I also think we’re meant to feel uncomfortable in that scene because we know how quickly things could go in a negative direction where Sara’s consent is disregarded. We know August’s views of women are crap. He has a lot more privilege, between the two of them, and he’s physically taller and stronger than Sara. If I recall (I’m trying not to rewatch the scene right now so I don’t accidentally rewatch Young Royals when I need to get work done) we even see him lift Sara up and put her on his desk. In a more idealized/less realistic teen drama, the directors might have tried to turn this into a ~sexy move~ via camera work, lighting, and sound mixing. But here it’s merely a demonstration of physical strength, and one that Sara’s not initially expecting. I don’t think Sara’s feeling threatened or coerced, in that moment, even if she’s surprised and even if all of this physical contact is new to her—I imagine season 2 would have played out very differently if she had felt that way—but I do think that we, as audience members, are supposed to feel the possibility of that threat, and worry for her.

(Something I also have considered in season 2 is the way that Sara is initiating a lot of the physical contact at the beginning of season 2, while also knowing August’s secret. Theoretically she could have blackmailed him into hooking up with her by threatening to go to the police with information. She doesn’t attempt to blackmail him, and August consents to physical contact with her even when he’s surprised by it. But the context in which Sara kisses August in 2.2 is supposed to bring this idea into our head, I think. Maybe. I go back and forth on what the writers want us to think there.)

Another way to think about these scenes, also, is that some sex educators recognize multiple categories of consent. For instance, Angela Chen recognizes four in her book on asexuality. Chen would probably label Sara’s consent in 1.6 as willing, but not enthusiastic. Likewise with August’s consent in 2.2.

Tl;dr consent is a complex topic and different sex educators have different paradigms about consent. Young Royals wholly acknowledges the importance of consent in sexual situations, while also acknowledging that not everyone who consents does so at perfect times, or with pure, uninterrupted feelings of love and desire in their heart. And I think being aware of that makes it easier to interpret scenes like the one above.

Hope this answers your question! There really are a lot of emotional layers to this show.

#young royals #sara eriksson #august young royals #sargust #consent talk #asks #cw consent violations #(there’s probably a better label for this but I’m struggling for words)

[gyllenhaalstories]

SOMETHING TO RELY ON — DETECTIVE LOKI 🖤

summary: detective loki comes home after a long investigation, needing nothing more than something, or someone, to rely on.

warnings: i can’t write canon and accurate portrayals to save my life, mentions of loki’s work, fluff & comfort. 18+ NO MINORS. yes, even if this fic has no smut, i don’t want minors interacting with my content.

word count: 1700

gifs credits: @/magnusedom (cropped) / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: i have the selfish need to take care of this man and protect him from all the bad things in this world so this is exactly what i’m doing with this fic. no plot, only rambling. 🖤 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

“Oh, David.”

He grunted, rejecting what sounded like pity in your voice. It was a reflex, despite you telling him over and over again that you empathized with his hard work. He simply refused to let you feel bad for him.

And you refused for him to not let you do that. How could you not feel bad for your man? He looked dishevelled at best. His clothes were wrinkly, his coat was wet from the rain outside. His beard was unusually long. He smelled of cheap body soap, one labelled a manly tornado of masculine jungle and virile storm clouds.

David started to explain, calculating his words so that he would not speak in vain. He told you that he found a truck stop and used their showers before driving back home. His presence for the investigation was supposed to last a day or two, but he was required to stay on the field for about a week. Unlike his colleagues, he turned his back to the offer of a comfortable bed at the motel and a warm breakfast every morning. He stayed ready and awake for as long and as much as he could, in case of something happening.

You helped him out in silence as he spoke. How you had missed the sound of his voice without the bad network of the phone service struggling to pick up from the place he stayed for the past week. It could have been in the middle of the Bermuda triangle for all you knew, it cut you off too many times and prevented you from falling asleep to the gentle humming of David as he played in his mind songs that looped on the radio during patrol.

He let you remove his drenched coat. He watched you until you disappeared into the bathroom, he assumed you were hanging the coat in the shower where it could drip and dry without making a mess. He loved your attention to details, and how it mirrored his very own. He let you untie his boots so that he could step out of them. He let you do every small and big gestures to get him comfortable.

You offered him a fresh set of clothes, soft worn-out sweatpants and an old t-shirt that had been waiting for his arrival since the moment he walked out of the door. While he changed, you discarded of the dirty work clothes that he wore. You did not comment on how difficult it would be to wash away the dried stains of mud. He was probably kneeling outside in the rain, searching for a piece of information regarding the investigation. Day and night, you knew he devoted himself to his case.

“Love?” He called out for you. He blinked as he caught sight of you, being a busy bee from one room to the other around the house. You hands were full one second, empty the next one. Loki both loved and hated how this all came naturally to you. He loved the ways with which you both took care of each other. You handled the seemingly mindless tasks that weighted heavy on his shoulders while he provided you with a safe, strong presence and with arms to fall into when you needed. When he was actually there.

You finally reappeared in the living room. Your face lit up with a smile at the sight of him. He already looked better in the clean clothes. The shirt stretched over his broad chest, over his soft tummy. “Tell me the story of when you got this t-shirt.”

Loki grinned and looked down at the World’s best fisherman shirt. He explained how he picked it up from the lost and found box at the police station he worked prior to the current one. A cliché altercation between him and a box of donuts had led to him interrogate his first potential criminal with a prideful fisherman shirt. His retelling of the story always made the two of you smile.

It worked as a way to bring his feet down on the ground, to focus on what was important. As a bonus, it was simply entertaining to imagine Loki walking around with that shirt while trying to appear as almighty and professional. “Do you want something to eat?”

The corners of his lips curled into a smile and he followed you to the dimly lit kitchen. In a few swift movements, you had bread, peanut butter, jelly as well as a couple of utensils pulled out on the counter. The final touch was added by David’s arms wrapping around your waist from behind as you assembled his sandwich.

You spread the peanut butter all the way to the crust of the bread and on the other slice, you scooped strawberry jelly and made sure to get chunks of fruit too. Just how he liked it, just how you made it when you packed his lunch for mornings where he was too busy and tired to remember to take care of himself. You pressed the layers together gently and cut it in two triangles, handing him the bigger half.

He thanked you with a kiss on your cheek as he grabbed one of the triangles, taking a big bite out of it. He could easily guess you would have preferred to welcome him home with a big, warm meal. Although, in his mind at this very moment, he saw no difference between that sandwich and something that would have taken hours to make and double the amount of time to bake. And besides, he thought a lot about what he wanted to do during this break from the investigation. He needed to keep his mind and hands busy. This sounded like the right opportunity to invest crazy amounts of time into food you could cook together. Or you’d settle from ordering takeout from the Chinese food restaurant.

You cleaned up once you were both done eating, still with David holding you tight like a safety belt. “Want me to tell you about my day?” He hummed, agreeing. So you did just that, you shared the silly details with him as a way to make him feel included despite his long absence. Sometimes, you disliked sharing stories of your life with him. He was a creature of habit, it was hard to remind David that you were just telling about your encounter with a rude person at the grocery store and it was not an investigation. He would analyze your words, scrutinize your reactions, until you told him to relax.

He did not need such a reminder, at that very moment. Loki leaned his head on your shoulder, not minding how contorted his spine was to maintain him in that position. His eyelids were getting heavy, and so was he. He was half listening and half falling asleep on you.

For every night of the past week, you would have traded anything just to be crushed by his sleeping body and keep him safe and warm. However, you imagined it would be in bed and not laying flat in the middle of the kitchen if you even found the space for that anyway. “Come on, big boy. It’s time for your nap.” You turned gently in Loki’s arms, causing him to gain just enough consciousness to grunt in dissatisfaction. You draped his left arm over your shoulders and held him tightly as you both limped your way to the living room.

Any further, and David would have fallen down on the floor. You helped him to the couch so he could lay down. He shook his head slowly when you presented him with one of the throw pillows. He opened his eyes just long enough to lock his gaze with yours and he grinned when you understood his silent request. He sat up, struggling to stay still, until you joined him on the couch.

You stretched your legs up on the coffee table and you let Loki slowly rest his head on your lap. The sigh he let out made your heart clench inside your chest. He was killing himself trying to save people from dying. All you could do was stand by his side and help keep his head above water for as long as he would let you.

Loki saw it differently. He saw all of the love-filled gestures as a sacrifice as big as his. He appreciated each and every single one of them, and tonight was just the same. He appreciated how you peeled away the layers of stress, of turmoil and of fear. You did that by helping him with his clothes and also by keeping safe physically and at peace mentally.

“It’s okay, now.” You whispered as you placed your right hand on his stubbly cheek, your left one played with his hair. You were soothing both of your souls while trying to make up for all the time he spent away.

You repeated that it was okay over and over again until he, too, said the words to himself. He was okay. For now. And, for now, it was all that mattered. There would never be enough words and actions that could show you how thankful he was to have someone to rely on.

“You’re home.” You smiled down at him and watched him closely as he relaxed under your touch. You stroked your thumb over his lips, tickling his sensitive and chapped skin until his mouth parted open and his breathing slowed down.

He was seconds away from drifting into sleep. His eyelids were heavy. On your thigh, his head was heavy too with all its of horrors and sorrow. His voice sounded gentle and calm. “My love.”

A single tear fell from your cheek and down on the hand that was caressing his. Hearing the words in person rather than on the phone healed the pain that Loki’s absence had put you through once more. You leaned your head back to rest it on the couch and you closed your eyes too. Though it came with all sorts of tribulations, you were just as thankful as him to have someone to rely on.

#detective loki x reader #detective loki #detective loki imagine #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal fluff #jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal x you #jake gyllenhaal

[drdemonprince]

Have you ever found it worth floating the possibility to probably autistic people and maskers (close friends, family, etc) that they might be autistic?

I have tried it a couple times and it seems to just make people get really defensive and upset with me (which I can handle), but then also people start to hold me at arms length. My intention is to bring us closer together by talking about our shared struggles and how to improve our lives (which was totally fine in the past talking about our shared traits without the autism label), but attaching the possibility of autism to it has the opposite effect. The people I’m around are VERY adhd-affirming, and I see how having that connection over the mutual struggle brings my adhder loved-ones together, and I really crave that type of connection with the people I already love and have so much in common with.

You shouldn't tell someone what you think their identity ought to be, no matter your intentions.

For one, many people who are masking or undiagosed harbor deeply stigmatized views about what Autism even is, and so they will not take the statement as a positive declaration of belonging, but rather an accusation that they have failed to conceal what is most frightening or vulnerable about themselves. Exposing their most hidden side will make them feel very unsafe and judged, even if your intention is the opposite.

Telling someone that you think they might be neurodivergent also suggests that you know them better than they know themselves, which is untrue, and may feel invasive and unwelcome to hear.

Your friend could be the most obviously Autistic to ever Autistic from your point of view, but the choice of how to self-define still falls solely on them. There are many different ways for a person to interpret their experience, and they might arrive at some other word or concept that better does their experience justice from their perspective.

our identities exist to help us make sense of our lives and express who we are to people, on our terms. Most neurodivergent people are absolutely sick of always getting defined from an external point of view. We don't need member of our own community doing that to us further.

If you have benefitted from coming to understand yourself as Autistic, you can and should speak about that openly and positively. That will be enough incentive for anyone else in your life who is neurodivergent to explore the possibility for themselves. If you vibe easily with someone because you share traits in common or seem to naturally understand one another, let that be enough. Tell the person you feel comfortable around them and that spending time with them helps you to accept yourself. That is a much greater compliment than telling someone who they must be.

[wovenintosilk]

Ok ok hear me out- Hobie with a gn!reader that's trying to get into the punk scene but it's difficult because their parents are quite conservative?

I did end up making it so that the reader is just starting to be interested in the punk aesthetic which is leading into the lifestyle but it's not fully explored so I hope you still enjoy it regardless!

No Content Warnings

GN!Reader

Word Count: 1000

━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━

The leather hung heavily over your shoulders; the jacket enveloping your form in a sweet warmth. You twisted in every direction and tried to ignore the distaste in your reflection’s expression as you considered how it looked.

With a sigh, you shrugged it off and cast it back over to the chair with a small curse. It never suited you, no matter which outfit you tried it with.

And worse, it’d started losing the comforting scent of your boyfriend.

You pulled off the few pieces of jewelry chosen for your late-night fashion attempt. They’d done nothing to help you feel more comfortable in the look you’d tried.

“What’s with the hate for my jacket? It’s hardly done anything to you.”

You jumped and hit your knee on the desk. The stinging pain didn’t fade as you twisted around to find him lounging across your bed, long limbs draped over his guitar as he watched you.

“Hobie? When did you get here?”

He put the guitar aside and stood, picked up the jacket from where it’d fallen on the chair and brushed it off. “Got ‘ere not to long ago,” he said. “Just didn’t want to interrupt.” He stepped behind you and draped the jacket over your shoulders, palms trailing down your arms to wrap around your waist and pull you into him.

“Interrupt what?” you laughed. “I was just messing around. I steal your clothes all the time.”

Having him so close relaxed any doubts you’d had. You closed your eyes and leaned into him, adored the way he cradled you.

He hummed in agreement. “It suits you.”

“Maybe.”

It was hard to force your brain to agree with him. You desperately wanted it to be true and for so long, you’d been stealing little pieces of his style. Maybe one day, you could unwrite the part of your brain that struggled to accept it.

He picked up the choker you’d been packing away, turned it around in his fingers. “I grabbed this one for you, didn’t I?”

“I wouldn’t have the guts to buy it for myself,” you admitted.

He huffed, breath tickling your ear as he did so. “What makes you think I bought it?”

You laughed a little. You should have known better indeed. In the very early days of your relationship, Hobie warned you that he wasn’t a fan of attachments. He didn’t do gifts or labels or anything like that.

The first time he showed up with small items, you’d been surprised with how quickly he went back on his claims. But he’d never liked consistency much either.

“You always put this stuff on late at night when nobody can see it. It’s a downright shame.”

“It doesn’t suit me.”

“Nonsense.”

“It doesn’t though,” you argued though you couldn’t help but relax into the warmth wrapped around your back. “It’s probably because I’m not used to seeing myself in that way. I wasn’t really raised to think it’s the best style ever.”

“Doesn’t matter if it looks good or not anyway,” he said. “That’s not the point of it. ‘sides, I know you like it on me.”

You laughed. “Hobie, you’ve been a model before. I think anything looks good on you.”

You twisted a little, hoping to get a look at his face though he seemed insistent on keeping his chin resting on the top of your head.

“So? Doesn’t change that if you like how I look with it, you’ll wear it even better.”

You looked down at the jacket wrapped around your body. The leather and chains, the spikes on your shoulders and the patches at random points. Everything about the aesthetic spoke to you but still…

“My parents would kill me if they saw me wearing this,” you teased.

“Who cares what they think?”

You sighed. “I know I shouldn’t but I can hear their voices in my head so often.”

He moved away from you by a small step and brought the choker up to attach it around your neck. You tilted your jaw up to help him. His fingers brushed across sensitive skin, sent small sparks of heat pooling into your stomach as he attached the tiny chain.

He met your eyes and smirked. Your heart fluttered a little and you reached up to touch the choker.

“Looks amazing,” he said and ran his thumb over the point of the spike. “Suits the jacket too. We’ll find you a pair of boots while we’re out.”

“Out?” you repeated.

He shrugged. “We have to make sure you fit in with the scene tonight.”

You frowned at him, finally turning around fully so you could face him. It really wasn’t fair for him to look so attractive when you were trying to focus. “Go out? It’s almost one in the morning.”

He shoved his hands in his vest. “Time is a construct. Who says we can’t go and find something fun to do now?”

“Where would we even go?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said. “But there’s a dress code.”

“Doesn’t sound like your kind of place.”

“Sometimes I can make a sacrifice or two.”

His eyes always burned with a fierce flame behind them, filled you with confidence even when you found yourself lacking in it. He’d always have your back even if you worried too much about what others might think.

“I don’t really have anything that suits this jacket.”

“You don’t need to. Wear whatever you want.”

You wished it was as easy as he made it out to be. Sometimes you thought you could entirely stop caring but it wasn’t as straightforward as you’d hoped.

He caught you off guard with a quick kiss to snap you from your concerns. “You’re going to look stunning in whatever you wear. Who cares what anybody else is thinking if that’s the truth.”

You couldn’t stop the smile on your face at that. “You’re far too sweet, you know that, right?”

He chuckled. “Don’t think many people would agree with you on that one. Just the opposite really but let’s get you ready. We’re going to find somewhere fun tonight.”

#across the spider verse x reader #atsv x reader #hobie brown x reader #spiderpunk x reader #hobie x you #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x y/n

[knoxvillesjackass]

hello! I had an idea of No Nut November with Johnny x female reader. The jackass guys all dare each other to do it and the winner couple is who lasts the longest. When his girlfriend finds out, she keeps teasing him and it all ends in smut!! Love your stories!! ❤️

𝐧𝐨 𝐧𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 - 𝐣.𝐤

im so happy to finally see a smut request!! pls, send some more, because i want to get better at writing it! also, do you guys enjoy reading it or do you like fluff and/or angst better?

warnings! edging, oral sex dom!johnny x sub!reader? ( reader receiving and giving), dirty talk, very dirty hihi

words; 3.375

It was bizarre. Annoying, really. You’d given him every opportunity in the world to rail you, blow your back out and make you incapable of walking for the day…All of your attempts were shut down, which was new for you.

Usually, all you had to do was send the smallest signal to Johnny, and he would be ready at any time, but the past two weeks had been different.

He’d been avoiding you, it seemed. He only kissed you when he left for work, and he’d even slept on the couch for some nights.

You’d been left confused and a little hurt by it all. Had you done something wrong, or was he perhaps just not attracted to you anymore?

The thoughts killed you, but it killed him even more. If it hadn’t been for that stupid bet….

“A month without sex? You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Johnny shook his head as the room erupted in laughter, but he was totally serious.

He couldn’t believe that he was the only one objecting to this nonsense. The concept was idiotic and frankly childish.

Steve-O had been the one to bring it up during lunch break. Everyone had shrugged it off, but as the tension grew thicker throughout the day, everyone suddenly began to take it very seriously, Johnny included.

So, as stupid as he thought it was, Johnny was knee-deep in the ‘No Nut November’ phenomenon, even though he hated the idea.

You and Johnny had sex a lot. No shame in that. Just two adults, who loved each other very much. What Johnny did feel off about, was that all of his friends knew just how much sex you had. How? Well, at every given chance to escape the craziness of the crew, the two of you did. And you didn’t do it to have conversations and drink tea. No, you did it to fuck.

Johnny had been labelled as the guy to fail the quickest, and it didn’t sit right with him one bit.

Luckily for him, his self-control was a different ball game. He had more control than all of the jackass guys combined. If there was a will, there was a way, and Johnny never let himself down once he had a goal.

“Oh, y-you’re participating?” Steve-O asked Johnny, who shrugged and nodded. “Yeah,” he huffed, and the room once again erupted in laughter, this time, it sounded more ridiculing than anything.

“What?” He asked confused and scoffed as he stared back at his wide-eyed friends. “Dude, you’re not going to last for two days,” Pontius grinned, Johnny returning a simple growl. “Let’s just fucking see, shall we?”

-

“Hi, baby!”

You grinned excitedly as Johnny entered your shared apartment. You wrapped your arms around him tightly, furrowing your eyebrows at once when you didn’t feel him embracing you.

“Are you okay?” You asked and unwrapped your arms around his waist, looking up at him innocently. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine, Y/N, I’m just tired. Think I’m gonna go take a shower,” he commented, his eyes focused straight ahead and not down at you.

“Oh, okay. Well, I could join,” you smirked and winked at him, but he merely shook his head and smiled politely before disappearing to the bathroom.

Well, that sucked, you thought.

He was probably just tired. He’d been working long hours, and maybe all the man needed was some space.

You’d attempted to be the understanding girlfriend, even when you felt ignored by Johnny.

The first few days went by okay, although the hours seemed to get longer as the days went by. The week overall was manageable but when the second week struck, Johnny was beginning to struggle.

The day of your anniversary, you'd made everything really special for Johnny. Dressed up nice, cooked some good food, and made the bathtub the perfect place to end the night, together.

When he'd come home, he'd acted just as you'd feared.

Distant and seemingly blind to the effort you'd put into making your fourth anniversary a special one.

The dinner was awkward and you hated the tension. You broke the silence every minute, asking him questions to which he answered with simple and short sentences.

"I have a surprise for you," you smirked. Maybe what he needed was some extra spice, and that was what you were going to give him.

"A surprise?" He asked as he was washing the dishes. He jumped when he felt your arms snake around his waist. Johnny moved away and coughed. His boxers were starting to feel tight, uncomfortably tight.

You grabbed his hand and dragged him to the bathroom. You'd scattered rose petals on the floor and lit some candles. It was the most romantic bathroom you'd ever seen, but Johnny didn't seem to agree.

"O-Oh, Y/N," Johnny coughed nervously and slowly backed out of the bathroom.

"Did I do something wrong? Are you trying to punish me or something? Please, tell me what's going on!"

"No, Y/N-"

"Then why won't you FUCK ME?" You shouted and sniffled. Johnny's heart tore a bit. He wanted to tell you, he really did, but with the mood and how you were feeling, it didn't seem as if it would've been a massive help in his eyes.

The next days were rough. You were upset, understandably. Johnny continued his odd behaviour and you were just about done with it all.

“Just tell me now; when did you give in and how was it?”

Bam stood like a little child next to Johnny and giggled, but Johnny rolled his eyes underneath his sunglasses and sighed.

“I haven’t given in yet, and I’m not going to, so you might as well quit bothering me.”

Bam scoffed at the answer he got from Johnny, but he hadn’t expected much else, considering Johnny’s recent behaviour.

He was in a pissy mood. He was at conflict with himself at all times. The whole dare had transformed into something beyond his control. He was so competitive, sometimes it scared people.

Johnny sat down in the conference room, where the crew held their weekly meetings. He cursed to himself and looked around. Pontius, Steve-O and Jeff sat and looked at him with smug grins.

“How’re you holding up over there, Knoxville?” Jeff asked, to which he received a middle finger from Knoxville.

“It’s been a long time since I've seen Y/N around? When is she coming by again?" Pontius pouted. Just the thought of your name at this point, could get Johnny hot and bothered.

"I-She's not," Johnny mumbled and rubbed his sweaty forehead. Was it just him, or was it starting to get super hot?

"That's weird. I talked to her this morning. She said, she's dropping by to say hello," Jeff said and immediately, Johnny tensed up.

"What?" He asked. He hated to even think it, but you were the last person he needed to see now.

"Y/N!" Wee-man yelled as soon as he saw your figure in the doorway.

Johnny hid his face in his hands as soon as he heard your voice. He imagined you saying his name, moaning it, screaming it.

"Hi, guys," you smiled and entered the conference room, greeting all of the guys with a hug, moving your way around the table until you reached Johnny. "Hi, babe," you smiled and leaned down to plant a kiss on his lips, although he moved away almost immediately.

You scoffed and stood up. What had you expected? He'd only been treating you like that for the last two weeks.

"Well, I can see that I'm not wanted here," you mumbled but were quickly met with reassurance from everyone but Johnny.

"Why would you think that?" Jeff asked, "we love having you here, Y/N."

"You might, but I think Johnny feels a bit different," you hissed and glared at Johnny, who slapped his forehead.

Suddenly, Ehren began laughing hysterically, to everyone's surprise. "Wait, you haven't told her yet?" He grinned and the boys slowly caught on and joined Ehren's laughing fit.

Johnny was so not having it. His fists were curled and his jaw was clenched. And you, you were utterly confused as to what was going on.

"Told me what?"

You raised your eyebrow and looked down at Johnny, who refused eye contact at all costs, the guilt weighing him down like uranium.

"We dared each other do the no nut Novem-"

"Don't even finish that sentence," you said and cut Ehren off. You were quiet for a few moments, trying to assemble yourself before speaking up.

"You wanna explain yourself, asshole?" You spat and looked down at Johnny, who sighed and looked up at you.

"Y/N, I'm so so-"

"Do you guys know how long it's been since I've had sex with my boyfriend?" I asked into the room and the guys all chuckled.

Of course, they knew. They were a part of it too, after all.

"Two weeks!"

It didn't sound like a lot, but anyone who knew you and Johnny understood that this was totally out of the ordinary.

"You're telling me I have to wait two weeks before he can bang me? How many of you guys are still in this bullshit?" You asked loudly to which Pontius, Jeff, Ehren and Wee-Man's hands went up.

"Fuck this," you sighed. You knew just how competitive Johnny was. Nothing could get in his way. Literally nothing, but then again, if anyone had the slightest chance, it was most definitely you.

-

"Y/N?"

You sighed at the sound of Johnny's voice.

Your fingers were curled inside of yourself as you lay spread across the bed.

You continued, although the sound of Johnny's footsteps came closer and closer.

You closed your eyes and began rubbing your clit, letting out a quiet moan.

"Y/N-fuck," Johnny breathed out when he walked in on you pleasuring yourself. His cock was throbbing at the sight of your naked body, but he denied all of those feelings and shuffled out of the room. The sight had made him hard as a rock.

"Johnny!" You called out. An idea had popped into your head.

He opened the door and peeked in. Your legs were spread open and they were trembling with anticipation.

"Huh?" He asked you. His eyes were almost closed. He couldn't bare to see more.

"Look, I know you're not allowed to cum or whatever, but I'm horny and I need your help," you stated and Johnny's eyes opened wide. You might be on to something, he thought.

Pleasuring you always brought Johnny pleasure, he didn't even have to pull his dick out for this one.

He smiled and rushed over to you.

He wasted no time digging his two fingers into your cunt, plunging them in and out of your wet entrance. His head rested between your legs as his tongue made contact with your clit. You reached down and grabbed a handful of his hair. God, he loved it when you did that.

What he loved, even more, was the way his name sounded when you screamed it out of pure pleasure. "Fuck, Johnny!" You cried and grabbed his one hand that wasn't fucking your cunt and pulling it up to your breast, signalling for him to massage it, which he did, gladly.

Johnny smiled against your folds and licked them up and down, ever so often pinching your sensitive clit between his lips, which drove you crazy.

"I-I think I'm g-"

"Look at me, babydoll," he ordered and you followed, looking directly into his dark brown eyes. You couldn't contain the eye contact for long though, because your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you let out a loud cry as you reached your awaited orgasm.

You tugged at Johnny's hair and breathed in loudly, trying to gather yourself.

"J-Johnny, just fuck me already, please," you sobbed and looked at Johnny.

The offer was so tempting, but he just couldn't. He snapped out of his thoughts when he felt his jeans tightening to the point of it being uncomfortable.

"O-Oh, shi-" he hissed and suddenly flew away from his position. You looked him up and down, eyes landing on the massive boner, he had packed. You held back an evil laugh as Johnny stormed out of the room. "Where are you going?" You yelled as you stood up from the bed.

"I-I'm just gonna go for a drive!" he yelled back and slammed the door. He wasn't angry with you, and you knew that. He was angry with himself. This bet was starting to get really fucking old.

The next days were seriously awful for Johnny. After helping you out, he realised that it might've been a bad idea.

The only thing on his mind was the feeling of your pretty cunt against his fingers and the sound of your screams still rang in his ears every now and then.

And you'd, of course, been making his life a living hell. Walking around naked in the apartment or dressing up in your sexiest lingerie.

Johnny kept himself together, though, and you had to give him credit. He'd handled it all very well, better than you ever could.

(random a/n; this same-ish story, but where the reader is dared?)

The end of November was just around the corner, thankfully. Sure, Johnny's hands were equivalent to magic, but nothing beat the feeling of his cock ramming into you.

You couldn't wait, quite literally. Johnny was so much better at staying committed to a dare than you. You needed him. Like, really needed him.

"Johnnyyyy," you whined and threw yourself at him like a little toddler,

He wasn't as sensitive as before. It seemed that the roles had taken a 180 because you were hornier than ever.

Johnny was sitting with his computer when you suddenly planted yourself in his lap and hugged him tightly.

"What's going on?" He asked and rubbed your back.

"I want it so badly," you whispered and bit your lip. Johnny stiffened up and shifted uncomfortably around on the couch. "Three days to go, Y/N," he comforted you, but that wasn't good enough. "No, but like, now," you said and reached down to straddle his cock. He let out a yelp and lifted you from his lap to the seat beside him as he stood up and paced around.

He was frustrated. It was really not fun anymore. Actually, it never was.

Johnny hurried to his phone and put the phone to his ear.

"Chris, you tell me now and be honest; who's still a part of this November bullshit?" Johnny asked. You smiled to yourself and crossed your fingers.

No one, please say no one.

You couldn't quite hear the rest of the conversation. You didn't really care either, because when Johnny came out, he had darker eyes and a wicked smirk on his lips.

"Go to the bedroom and take your clothes off. I'll be up in two minutes."

You squealed with excitement and ran up the stairs faster than ever.

You stripped out of your clothes and threw them to the side, feeling a knot in your stomach, waiting to be untied.

Johnny entered the room. He'd taken his shirt off on the way up the stairs.

"Get on your knees," Johnny ordered and you did so immediately and without protest of any sort.

The room was pretty dark, but you could still see Johnny's crooked smirk.

He approached you, stopping when he stood right in front of your kneeled figure.

He brushed some hair out of your face and cupped your cheeks as you stared up at him, batting your eyelashes.

He gathered your hair into a ponytail at the back of your head and tied it with the hair tie he had around his wrist.

"Fuck, I've missed your mouth," he moaned and unbuttoned his pants, not even bothering to pull them all the way down. And you were just as desperate to please him again, so without waiting any longer, you took a hold of his rock-hard length and gave it a few pumps. Johnny threw his head back when you put just the tip into your mouth. Impatient and understandably needy, Johnny skipped your slow tempo and grabbed the back of your head, pushing his cock into your mouth fully.

After four years of dating Johnny, your gag reflex was pretty much non-existent.

He began gently thrusting himself into your mouth and then sped up until you eventually could feel his tip at the end of your throat.

You watched with tears in your ears as your boyfriend had lost himself in you, thrusting himself into your mouth again and again until he was a mumbling, moaning mess, cumming down your throat.

You swallowed and Johnny watched you in admiration as he offered you his hand to help you stand up.

Your lips crashed together for the first time in weeks, and you moaned into the kiss when you reached the bed. Johnny put a hand behind your head and the other one on your back, slowly lowering you on the bed as he hovered over you with a hungry, lust-filled gaze.

You were merely wearing his t-shirt and a pair of old shorts, which Johnny quickly tore away, your underwear following. He pulled the shirt from over your head and admired your naked body for a while, before snapping out of his trance to return to his duty.

He began placing kisses down your chest but you pulled him up when you saw where he was going. You grabbed his hand and forced it down to your dripping cunt. "I don't need anything, I just want you to fuck me," you nodded and Johnny smiled. Foreplay was always a big thing in your relationship. It was a way to ensure that both parts were 100% ready, but there was no doubt in your mind; you were ready.

"You're still on the pill despite this stupid bet, right?" He asked and you nodded. He knew how bad you were at forgetting it, and he often scolded you for it.

"Good girl," he whispered raspily. That made your heart melt.

His tip was at your entrance, and you wondered if the three weeks had changed something within you. Was it going to hurt after that long with no sex?

You shook every thought off when Johnny placed a kiss on your forehead and slowly pushed into you.

"Ah-!"

Johnny looked at you with wide eyes. You apologised quietly.

"It must be because it's been a while," you said and Johnny nodded, understanding what you were feeling.

He continued pushing his member into you and watched you closely as you clenched your eyes shut and dug your nails into his wide shoulders.

He rested for a while, waiting for your sign to move, and when that sign came, he began pumping in and out of you slowly but deeply.

You grasped onto him and pulled him as close as possible while also wrapping your legs around his waist. "F-Faster," you moaned with closed eyes and Johnny grunted as he sped up, fucking you at an impossibly fast pace.

Everything seemed to go dull for a short moment. Your pussy clenched and your belly contracted tightly when a wave of pleasure hit you like a thousand bricks.

"I-Oh, my God!"

Your nails dug deeply into Johnny's back and you scratched them up towards his neck, where they rested, fiddling with the ends of his brown hair.

"Look at me, baby," Johnny ordered and continued his thrusts. You had to collect yourself before even listening to his orders, but Johnny was impatient and close to an orgasm, so he didn't have much time.

"Y/N, I said look at me," he repeated. The tone made you look at him immediately and you bit your lip and moaned loudly as you watched him orgasm for the second time that night.

"Fuuuck-urgh, baby!"

He trembled and with one last thrust, he pulled out of you and fell down beside you with a heavy but satisfied sigh.

"This November has been the best and worst of my life," you sighed and Johnny laughed in agreement as he kissed your forehead and snuggled you closer.

-

probably my favourite smut i've ever written, but what do you think?

#johnny knoxville fanfic #johnny knoxville jackass #jackass #jackass x reader #johnny knoxville #jackass imagine #chris pontius #dave england #ehren danger #preston lacy #ryan dunn #wee man #johnny knoxville fluff #johnny knoxville smut #johnny knoxville imagine

[snowdice]

Unplanned Consequences (Part 5: Patton) [Sometimes Labels Shift Series-The End]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Patton/Logan

Characters: Patton, Logan, Virgil (mentioned), Roman (mentioned)

Summary: Sometimes... things change.

Notes: This takes place after Best Laid Plans

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

“Hey Lo,” Patton said as he walked into the living room. Virgil had officially moved into an apartment with Roman a few days ago as the spring semester was starting tomorrow. This left Patton and Logan living alone together in the house for the first time since… The Incident.

Patton had just finished cleaning up dinner after getting Logan settled on the couch. The TV was on, but Logan was currently staring past it into space, something he never used to do, but had become a frequent occurrence since getting injured. It worried Patton a bit, but he tried not to think about it.

Logan looked up at him as Patton said his name. He didn’t smile softly at Patton like he usually would have. It made something clog in Patton’s throat.

“Hello,” Logan said.

“I… made us both some tea,” Patton said, holding out the tea mugs as though for his approval.

“Thank you, love.” He still seemed distracted and distant. He turned back towards the television.

Patton nodded and then walked over to set the mugs on the coffee table. Then, he sat down on the couch next to Logan. Years of instinct told him to scootch over closer until their arms and legs intermingled, but he hesitated.

Logan either noticed his hesitation, or noticed his deviation from the norm, because he glanced over at Patton. He lifted the arm closest to Patton and Patton instantly took the invitation, moving closer to curl up under his arm.

Logan pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

It was silent between them for a long moment, only the sound of the television droning on breaking the quiet. The news was on, Patton noted. There was coverage on a supervillain attack Prince had stopped the night before.

“I think I need to retire,” Logan said out of the blue.

Patton drew back to look at him in surprise. “What?” he asked. “You’ve been given medical leave until next fall. You’ll be more than recovered enough to go back to teaching by then.”

Logan looked at him for a moment and then gave him a wry smile. “I wasn’t talking about teaching, my dear.”

“Oh,” Patton said blinking at him. “Oh.” He took a moment to process that statement. “But you… you want to retire?”

“I wouldn’t say want,” Logan said, “but I think it may be the most responsible course of action.”

“You… I know you’re struggling with the leg and everything right now, but you’ll get better.”

“Patton,” Logan said, “you’re a doctor.”

“Exactly!” Patton said, feeling oddly defensive for a reason he couldn’t place. “So, I know exactly how people heal from injuries like yours. You’ll need time, but with physical therapy and…”

Logan cut him off. “With physical therapy,” he said, “I will get much better. I will perhaps walk again, maybe even without a mobility aid eventually, but Patton, I’m 57-years-old. This severe of an injury is not going to heal quickly or completely.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m getting old,” Logan said. “I’ve been slowing down, and this will not help me speed up. Being Bluebird is physically… and mentally demanding. I won’t be able fully meet those demands again after what happened.”

“That’s not true,” Patton said even though he wasn’t sure of that himself.

“It is,” said Logan. “It’s always something that would happen eventually. This has just… sped up the process.”

“You’re catastrophizing,” Patton said. It was probably an ironic statement to make when Patton’s words sounded so much more upset than his husband’s. “You’re making a rash decision because you feel bad now, but…”

“This isn’t rash,” Logan said, evenly. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot in the last months.”

Patton didn’t know what to say to that.

“Besides,” he said, nodding at the TV. The news had cycled around again while they talked, back to Prince, back to Roman. “I’m not the city’s only long-term hero anymore. Roman had been doing well before and is doing even better now. I will continue to help him on his journey, and it won’t be an immediate transition. Bluebird will still make a few appearances, but I do think it’s time. For my own sake and ultimately for this city’s too.”

Patton hesitated. Logan was right, of course, that this was inevitable. It’s just that Patton had never really thought about it. He didn’t want to think about it, especially now when Logan was still so hurt in multiple ways. He’d been telling himself that eventually things would go back to normal, but Logan had just confirmed Patton’s greatest fear: they wouldn’t.

It felt selfish to be upset, but Patton really couldn’t help it. Patton felt himself gripping onto Logan’s sleeve for support even though support was Patton’s job right now. He felt tears in his eyes, but he resisted letting them fall.

“Are you okay?” Logan asked.

“I…” Patton said. A couple of the tears escaped. “It’s just… I’ve never known a Logan that wasn’t also Bluebird.”

Logan sighed softly. He gently removed Patton’s grasping hand from his shirt sleeve to hold it in his own. “Things change,” he said, doing that thing where he stared into the distance again, “labels shift.”

A/N:

And that my friends, is the end of Sometimes Labels Shift.

It's been a long time coming and I'm feeling a bit emotional even though it's not the end of the Labeled Universe. We're just moving on to the next chapter.

All of our favorite Labeled characters will return in the new sub-series named Envisage. I hope to see you there.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #logicality #labeled universe #sometimes labels shift #last fic that will be tagged with that #sadge #adriana writes #not pieces fic

[yellowkitkieran]

To Have and To Heal (Part 4)

Masterlist

Read part 1 here

Word Count: 2.9k

Summary: Single working dad Martin Odegaard is navigating the ups and downs of parenthood all on his own, and he’s struggling. That’s not to mention football, life and... love?

The flowers on your desk distract you during your prep hour. The unexpected gift caught you off guard and as such, an old mug serves as a temporary vase until you can get them into a proper one. Since the moment they were handed to you, you've barely stopped smiling. 

You can't stop thinking about the man that handed you the dozen blossoms with a wary smile. You can't erase his relieved sigh when you accepted them, like in doing so you lifted a weight off his shoulders. Martin Ødegaard's murmured 'happy teacher appreciation week' replays on an endless loop in your head. 

You stare at the red petals while you should be getting ready for a math lesson. Your kids will be back from lunch in twenty minutes and you haven't moved from your chair, your sandwich half eaten. Despite your rumbling stomach, you can't force yourself to eat, instead allowing your mind to be consumed by thoughts of Martin. 

How often does he smile? Probably not enough unless he's around his daughter. When was the last time he had a home cooked meal? You'd bet not since he'd visited his home country and spent time with his family. Does he have someone to look after him the way he looks after everyone else in his life? Doubtful, and that realization hurts your heart. 

Standing abruptly, you decide you cannot dwell on this by yourself any longer. You need someone to vent to. Your feet carry you out of your room and down the hall, past decorative banners advertising the upcoming choir concert and past the science posters to your favorite room in the building aside from your own. 

You don't bother knocking, instead opting to pop open the door rather unceremoniously to proclaim, "I've committed a teaching sin." 

"Shh, not so loud!" Your closest teacher friend, Jen, motions for you to come into her classroom and shut the door. "You know better than to burst out with something like that- come in, sit down, have a chocolate and then we can talk." 

Your hand shakes as you reach across her desk to the bowl of candies and grab your favorite. Sinking into a yellow beanbag, you rip into it and pop the bite size piece into your mouth, sighing as bursts of flavor coat your tongue and somehow calm your fraying nerves. Chocolate solves all problems, no matter how pressing. Jen waits patiently whilst your initial panic subsides, allowing you space to wind down. 

"Okay, I think I can breathe now."

Jen smiles, pushing her square frame glasses up her nose. Your best friend is a classically styled teacher, often opting to tie her long blonde hair back in a ponytail or bun so it doesn't get in her way. Nine times out of ten, she wears a smart, matching pantsuit that gives you style envy. Today's fit is a deep blue with a white blouse, completed with a long golden necklace thrifted from her favorite secondhand store. 

"Alright then," Jen says and folds her hand atop the papers she had been grading, "what's the sin? It can't be too terrible or you wouldn't be sitting here talking to me, you'd be packing your things in a cardboard box. Come on then, out with it!" She slaps a poster on the edge of her desk, one with a bright, bubbly font that proudly labels her room as a judgment free zone. "You know I won't tell a soul."

You take a deep breath to center your thoughts. It's taken you what feels like ages to come to terms with how you feel, but you're at the point where you can't deny it any longer. And if there is one person you can count on to talk sense into you, it's Jen. 

"I think I've fallen for a parent- I know!" You splay your hands flat on her desk when her jaw drops. "I know it's bad! God I'm gonna get terminated- I can't believe myself! But it's to the point that I find myself waiting for him to show up at drop offs and pick ups, and when he sends someone else it wrecks my whole day. I've tried ignoring him too, but that only makes him become more charming!"

Jen relaxes into her chair with a smirk. "It's Atla's dad, isn't it? Ødegaard, the footie player?" You nod, half relieved you don't have to say his name yourself. If you did, you fear you'll fall even harder. Thankfully, Jen has a knack for reading your mind. "Mmhhm, thought so. But honestly it's not a big deal, everyone has their parent crushes. Hell, I've had my fair share- Jeremy's mum? Oh my god!" She shakes her head, "that's for another time though. Just don't act on it and you'll be fine."

"See… that's where the issue lies." 

"Oh?"

Now you've piqued her interest. Jen adjusts her glasses, inching her chair forward. Your stomach churns. Thinking these things about Martin and actually telling someone are two different things. Voicing your thoughts makes your attraction real and concrete. Once you've put it into the universe, there's no taking it back. But it's time; if you hold it in any longer, you may well burst. 

"So you know those tulips on my desk? The red ones you asked about." The same adorable, pinkish shade of red Martin had turned when he'd handed them to you this morning.

Stop it, you tell yourself, don't think about that. Definitely don't think about how he was so nervous and fidgety and it was all perfectly endearing… well, fuck. 

"Mhm, I do recall flowers…" Jen flourishes a hand to encourage you to continue, not letting you off the hook with such a simple explanation. She wants details and she expects to get them. You swallow the lump in your throat and push back the unease bubbling in your gut. 

"Those were from Martin. He handed them to me and his cheeks were bright red, almost like he was sunburnt- god, it was adorable Jen, you should've seen him!" You cover your face with a hand, trying and failing to hide your growing smile. "I'm in trouble, quit smirking at me!"

"Smirking? Me? Never!"

You glare at your friend and sigh, "He kept touching his hair and he spoke so softly… yes I know I'm in too bloody deep!"

Biting at your nails is a bad habit you haven't kicked. You do so now, at least until Jen yanks your hand away from your mouth. You smile and tuck your hands under your thighs. Why does Martin have to be so damn charming? If he was a touch less perfect, maybe you wouldn't have such a terrible crush on him. 

"I'd say you need a stern talking to," Jen starts, patting your arm, "but I think you're doing that to yourself. Look, don't get too hung up on it, okay? As long as you keep it to yourself, you'll be fine." 

Question is… how long can you keep this entire thing to yourself?

********** 

For once, the end of your day cannot come fast enough. When the final bell rings and your students disperse to head home for the day, you gather up your things and head to the gymnasium. Once there you pull out the bin of balls designated for after school use and scatter your coloring pages and books on the two picnic tables in the corner. Laughter echoes through the entry as the children start to arrive, most of them shouting greetings your way as they fall into their usual groups to await their parents to pick them up. 

You pretend you aren't waiting for your favorite student, even though you smile when you hear her little voice. Atla comes running over, golden pigtails bouncing behind her. She wraps her arms around your legs and squeezes with all her might, "Hello Miss. Sunshine! I learned about animals today!" 

"Oh did you really? Tell me all about it Attie." You stoop to return her hug with equal fervor, then take her backpack and coat to hang them up. 

"Well elephants are the biggest animals on land- did you know that? And there's so many kinds of frogs in the Amazon rainforest, but they're dying because mean people keep cutting down their habi- habib-" 

Atla frowns, struggling to say the word correctly. You tip your head, giving her one more shot to get it right before you gently correct, "habitat, yeah? Where they live?" When Atla nods, you smile, glad to have helped her. "That's right, mean people are cutting down lots of habitats of different animals, which is why it's so important that we learn about them, so we can grow up and help the little guys defend their homes!"

"Do you have any animal coloring books? I want to color animals today!" Without waiting for your reply, Atla runs over to the picnic table and surveys the selection before digging through the sheets you have printed. She pulls out one of some sort of big cat and gets right to work, her tongue poking out in concentration as she does her best to stay in the lines. 

They say time flies when you're having fun, and today certainly proves that. One minute you're kicking a ball about with some of the older kids and the next, parents are arriving and scooping up their children. Atla is the last one left, which isn't a rare occurrence in itself, but when the clock strikes five thirty you begin to worry. Atla doesn't realize her father's absence, as absorbed as she is in her coloring, which has resulted in a small stack of finished sheets that you carefully tuck in a folder to send home. 

"Attie, did your dad say anything about him being late today?" You crouch next to her, keeping your voice soft. "Normally he's here by now to pick you up."

"He said he had training," Atla says, totally nonplussed. "He's always late when he has training."

You frown to yourself, glancing at the clock again. It's true, he's normally later when he has training, but not this late. You decide to give him ten minutes before you call him to check in. 

Keeping one eye on Atla, you start cleaning up the gym. You find yourself glancing at the double doors leading to the hallway every few seconds, waiting for a handsome blonde Norwegian to walk through with an apology on his lips. It isn't like Martin to be so late, especially without sending a note…

What if something happened to him? London roads can be quite treacherous, especially if someone is in a rush. He could've gotten into an accident, or been mobbed by fans. Who knows? Why is your heart pounding so hard at the thought of him being hurt?

"I'm here!" The gym door bangs open so loud that Atla squeaks, dropping her pencil. "I'm sorry- I'm here! Hey søta, I'm sorry I'm late." 

The words are clearly meant for Atla, though Martin looks directly at you when he speaks. You've never bothered to Google what 'søta' means but now you may have to thanks to the way he seemingly addresses you as such makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. 

"Hi papa! Look what I did!" 

Martin's eyes linger on you for a moment before he leans over to observe her work. He murmurs compliments and offers small, meaningful critiques which Atla seems to take to heart, eating up his words with wide, trusting eyes. You can almost see her compartmentalize his advice to use later, the innocence in her gaze bringing a smile to your face.

When Martin turns to you, he offers an apologetic wince. "Sorry for making you stay so late. The market was hectic."

You wave him off, "Oh no worries. Though in the future I'd recommend doing a food shop during the day if you can. It's much less busy than after work! Everyone is trying to rush and grab ingredients for dinner and it quickly becomes chaos…" You trail off when you realize you're rambling, cheeks hot with embarrassment. "Sorry, I suppose you already know all of that. I guess that's the teacher in me coming out, trying to solve every little issue I see."

"No it's alright, I don't mind. I usually shop during the day, when it's less crowded, but I had to stop and pick something up for you." Martin smiles, his head tilted slightly. 

You blink thrice, not sure you heard him right. Buy when he holds out a small hamper filled with different types of chocolates your mouth falls open. "This- this is for me?"

Martin nods, his face flushed. "Yes, I figured a lousy bouquet of tulips wasn't enough to show my appreciation for everything you do for Atla and all of your students." Martin shifts on his feet, reminiscent of a child caught in an awkward situation. You clamp down on your instinct to reach out and put your hands on his shoulders to hold him still. "You only see Attie for a few hours each day, but she always has the most things to say about you versus her other teachers."

"All good things I hope." You laugh to try and diffuse the situation, though your palms are sweaty from the compliment. The hamper is heavy, so you set it on the ground at your feet. Before you offer Martin your hand to shake, you subtly wipe it on your jeans. You'd rather a hug, but considering the thoughts swirling in your head, that's definitely not a good option. "Thank you for the treats, Mr. Ødegaard. I really appreciate it."

"Please call me Martin," he murmurs, nearly begging. His eyes soften before he finally releases your hand, tucking his own back into the pocket of his track pants. "I thought we were friends."

Martin drags a hand through his hair when you don't say anything. Atla hums while she colors, her little feet swinging in the air. She reminds you of your nephew. He also loves anything creative, preferring things that get his hands dirty, but he'd settle for drawing too. In a different world, the two children could probably be good friends. 

"You haven't come back to the park," Martin murmurs, a touch of mourning in his voice. Martin's offer from a few days prior springs to mind and you mentally kick yourself. You're meant to be an adult! You should be able to put your feelings aside for the sake of the kids. 

"Erm, yeah, I haven't. I've had things planned for my nights, like museums and such. And his parents will be home tomorrow so…" 

Martin's head bobs. "Right, of course. Look, if I overstepped please let me know, but I would prefer you to not be so formal and stiff with me."

"Well I- I mean it's not appropriate for me to call parents by their first names. Or to see them outside of school, for that matter." It's a lame excuse and you both know it. Martin ducks his head, trying to hide his smile. God damn him and that stupid, gorgeous smile. You lock your knees to keep them from wobbling when his eyes eventually find yours again, a smile still on his lips. 

"Please, just call me Martin. You've done it before, and I preferred it that way… I'm making an exception for you, couldn't you make one for me?"

You're so confused by his admission that you nod. Martin's smile morphs into something that lights up the entire room and you're well and truly fucked then. You feel yourself tipping off the deep end, immediately longing to see that smile as often as you possibly can. You'll do or say anything to see Martin beam like that. 

"Okay Martin, I'll use your first name." 

"Perfect, thank you! Okay Attie, time to go home, what do you say to Miss. Sunshine?" Martin crouches to Atla's level, but his eyes remain trained on you. They dance with a mysterious light, something you can't quite put your finger on… but you'd like to find out. 

"Thank you for staying late to keep me company, Miss. Sunshine! I can't wait to have more fun tomorrow morning!"

You wave as the duo head for the exit, Martin's large hand nearly dwarfing Atla's toddler sized one. For a split second you imagine yourself at Martin's other side, sliding your soft hand into his calloused one. You bring a hand up to your mouth to conceal your smile, not wanting him to notice if he turns around. 

Martin does, pausing at the threshold to wave. The fluorescent lights dance in his baby blues, nearly stopping your heart with their beauty. His hair sticks up like chicken feathers in the front, but somehow it fits him. If you weren't fixated on him, you'd miss the way he murmurs 'see you tomorrow Miss. Sunshine'. Suddenly you can't wait to wake up to the shrill ring of your morning alarm at the crack of dawn. For once, you have something to truly look forward to. 

#martin odegaard #martin odegaard fic #martin odegaard fanfic #martin odegaard imagine #martin odegaard fantasy #arsenal fc #footballer fic #footballer fanfiction #footballer fluff #footballer imagine #jac writes #alt timeline lover

[tatertotsafterdark]

Marking - Scott Howl x Reader

18+ MDNI. READ “CONTAINS” SECTION BEFORE READING.

|| Being a struggling college student sucks. Luckily, your werewolf boyfriend doesn't mind helping you de-stress - even if he gets a little too into it.

CONTAINS: AFAB READER, GIVING!SCOTT, RECEIVING!READER, BITING, MARKING, HICKEYS, OVER THE CLOTHES, NO AFTERCARE, MENTIONS OF MIDTERMS

Word count: 1k

Author’s note: IK I switched this fic from what was planned at the last minute but shhhhh... tried to put some characteristics of the Monster Prom writing style but I don't know how successful that was. Based mainly off the first Monster Prom game. (Ignore how the gif is monster roadtrip okay byeeee have fun reading or don't)

Midterms, midterms, midterms. Jesus fucking Christ. That’s all your life has been for the last few weeks, working on gradually revising your notes and studying for those God forsaken tests, worth a part of your grade that’s way too big. You slam your flat palms onto the desk in your small apartment, giving it a good couple of smacks. You’re frustrated, unable to grasp the topic you’re reading through. Why the hell did you have to take a math class? You hated math. Your major didn’t really use math, either. 

You groan as you hear a knock at the door, lifting yourself on to tired legs. Who visits this late at night, especially when you have a giant sign on your apartment door labeled “DON’T DEAD OPEN INSIDE?” You’d think by now people would catch on to your witty ideas of decoration and lack of availability. Maybe studying for midterms wouldn’t be so hard if you’d stop making interior design into your impromptu passion. 

Your hand quickly twists the knob, without giving much thought to check if there was some kind of evil monster or a serial killer or a Jehovah Witness outside of your door. Luckily, it’s none of those - it’s Scott! You manage a smile as his tail wags, and step aside, nonverbally inviting him inside. You can do that since he’s not a vampire. He quickly enters, wrapping his muscular arms around you.

“Dude, where have you been?!” He yells out, a large and toothy smile plastered on his face. You can practically hear his tail wagging, and you can definitely hear it hitting into his backside as it wags. 

“Studying.” You reply, returning the hug weakly and shuffling back over to the living room, lit only by a singular lamp (setting the aesthetic is an important part of studying, after all). You didn’t realize it until now, but your desk was piled with sticky notes, flashcards, notebooks, highlighters, pens in every color under the sun, and empty energy drink cans.

“Studying? Who even studies anymore?” Scott cocks his head, making that stupid-yet-so-damn-cute face at you like he always did when he was questioning your totally normal decisions. 

“I mean, c’mon, when was the last time you got some sun, bro? Your curtains are never open.” Scott says, a small pout on his lips as he looks down at you. You opt to ignore the comment about your currents, and instead huff and walk over to your desk.

“It doesn’t matter when I last left my apartment or opened the windows or anything like that. What’s important right now is that I teach myself everything my professor has been trying to teach us for the past few weeks.” Your ass hits the office chair a bit hard, which sends it backwards. The back of your chair hits Scott’s front, stopping it in its place. 

“You haven’t even showed up to the gym recently! You’re not getting any exercise.”

“I’m not interested in exercising. I want to pass these dumbass exams, Scott. Plus, there isn’t an exercise in the world that I actually like.” 

“Yes there is, bro, you know that.” 

“Great, Scott, then go ahead and tell me because you definitely know me better than I know myself.” You roll your eyes, and the action could probably be heard just off of the nasty tone you dip down into using. Swapping sleep for caffeine isn’t good for your mood, note to self. 

“Well, Polly says that sex burns calories, so therefore, it’s exercise.” 

You freeze up for a moment, thinking about the implications of the sentence that just slipped out of Scott’s lips. Was he implying that you two-? 

Before you can think much longer, one of Scott’s large hands is slowly massaging your chest, and the other is in between your thighs. He may be a bit academically challenged, but at least he wouldn’t be totally lost in an anatomy class. You can’t help but lean into the touch. It’d been ages since you’d gotten any action, even before you started obsessing over getting good grades on your midterms. Scott’s large fingers rubbing slow circles over your clit is enough to melt your brain, getting it off of finding derivatives, even if it was only for a temporary amount of time. 

“Shit- don’t stop- please.” You manage to get your voice to work in between pathetic squeaks and whimpers, and Scott simply speeds up in response to your words. You close your eyes, soaking in the much needed feeling of human contact. Two of Scott’s fingers find their way to the hard bud that’s developed under your shirt, gently twisting and pinching it as your moans get louder.

He buries his head into the crook of your neck, and before long, you feel fangs on the tender flesh. Love bites are completely welcome, of course, so you don’t complain. You run your fingers through his hair as he finishes you off, giving you much needed release without so much as undressing you.

“There, bro! Now you’ve got your daily workout in. Your studying is going to be way easier now.” Scott says with a proud smile, turning your office chair around to face him. The way his face drops, you can tell he’s totally marked up your entire neck to the point even a turtleneck wouldn’t be enough to hide it. Oh, shit. 

“Well… a workout is exactly what I needed. Thanks, bro.”

“Anytime, dude! Just, uh, make sure you have that color corrector stuff you were talking about the one time.” Scott laughs, turning on his heel and walking to your kitchen. You rub your fingers over the bite marks, and the fact that they’re indented into your skin is enough to tell you that any amount of color corrector wouldn’t be enough anyway. They trail up to just below your ear, so you’ll just have to hide away in your room and study for a few more days until they fade. 

You take a deep breath, turning away from Scott as he opens your fridge, and picking up one of your colorful pens for the umpteenth time that evening. 

#fanfic #fanfiction #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kinktober2023 #x reader #mdni #Scott howl #monster prom #stressed student trope

[cringefaildiaz]

oops, thought too hard about "I don't believe in magic, I believe in chemistry" "oh, it's science, I see" and "works like magic" and Buck's experience working in construction and I accidentally wrote a 6x17 coda

On the difference between magic and chemistry, and their relationship to thermoset adhesives

6x17 coda, ~860 words

“I have never been so excited to get a call from you,” Buck says, barging into the house with a plastic bag bearing the name of a local craft store on his arm.

“Glad my deficiencies are so thrilling,” Eddie breathes out. He’s trying to focus on the pieces of the model in front of him–Chris’ drafts are irritatingly well-labeled, which makes how much he’s struggling to piece them together that much more embarrassing. 

“Ah,” Buck grins, quirking an eyebrow as he settles down next to Eddie, drawing the model pieces away from Eddie to sit in front of him instead, “but it takes real wisdom to know when to call in the experts.”

He plucks the wall Eddie’s attempting to position from his fingertips, flipping it around and slotting it in place, right where it belongs. Eddie has the passing thought that maybe he should feel a little bit like he’s failing, needing Buck to come help him assemble his own kid’s design; he doesn’t, though. There was a twinge of it–when he was sitting here alone, staring at the pieces laid out on the coffee table, trying to make sense of it all–but calling Buck never feels like admitting defeat. It hasn't for a long, long time. 

“Sorry to drag you over here. I’m sure you have better things to do on your 48 off,” Eddie says, not really meaning a word of it until–“Shit, you didn’t have plans with Natalia, did you?”

Buck looks away from the model pieces for the first time since he sat down, his gaze dropping into his lap. On his next inhale, his face cracks into a rueful smile Eddie’s seen too many times before. Maybe it's a little presumptuous to think he can read Buck’s insecurities in the tilt of his mouth, but Eddie’s pretty sure Buck can read him the same way.

“No, I, uh–” he stutters out, and Eddie wants to scream at the world for putting him through this, whatever it turns out to be this time, on top of everything else. “I think that’s probably over. Kameron showed up at my place while we were having dinner, and I had just had to tell her about Taylor, and we had run into Lucy the other night, and–I don’t know. Seemed like maybe it was too much for her.”

Seems like I was too much for her, Buck doesn’t say, but Eddie reads it in the wobble of his not-quite-right smile and the sadness behind his eyes.

“Anyways,” Buck says with a grin, a real one this time, “that’s why I was so glad you called.” 

Eddie’s heart doesn’t skip in his chest, because what the hell would that say about him? Buck barrels on, “Kameron showed up at the loft looking for a place to stay–don’t ask, she was freaking out so much she wasn’t speaking in full sentences; except, conveniently, to tell me she really needed pickles; but I don’t know what’s happening with her and Connor–and then passes out in my bed, so I was stuck on the couch, and it sucks, Eddie, it’s so uncomfortable.”

“Well,” Eddie replies smoothly, somehow–despite the fact that he’d barely registered the majority of Buck’s run-on sentence, still stuck on the way his own breath hitched when he thought Buck had meant he was glad Eddie asked him to come over because–not important. There’s a bigger task at hand. “Glad I can offer you mine, at least,” Eddie says, gesturing at the couch, “for the small price of helping me put my kid’s genius plans together.”

“Like I wouldn’t do that anyway,” and Buck’s smiling so wide as he props the last wall up, it makes Eddie’s chest ache. Why is his chest aching? 

“Task at hand,” Buck says, nodding down at the level’s four walls he’s holding in place, “where’s the glue?”

“Epoxy,” Eddie says, grabbing it off the table and uncapping it, bringing it down to the point where the balsa walls meet the plastic base they’re building on, “I ran into Marisol, that woman whose house we helped fix up last fall, at the hardware store. She said this one ‘works like magic.’” 

As Eddie draws the little tube around the base of the four walls, hands slipping under and around Buck’s while they hold them steady, Buck goes suspiciously silent. Eddie glances up at Buck hovering over him, where he's now leaning awkwardly over the table to reach the model where Buck had pulled it in front of himself. There’s a funny look on Buck’s face where it looks down at Eddie, and this time he can't quite interpret the emotion behind it.

“It’s not magic,” Buck says, a little more pointedly than Eddie would expect for his usually whimsical nature, “It’s chemistry. I read about it a few weeks ago, when Chris was building that model water molecule for his science class out of styrofoam–we didn’t know why super glue wasn’t working and I went down a rabbit hole–anyways, its,” and he inhales, for the first time since he started talking, “it thermosets, that’s why it’s so strong. It’s chemistry.”

Forged in fire, Eddie thinks, and he doesn’t know what to do with that.

#featuring extensive run on sentences as I grapple with trying to capture their voices #I havent written in a long long LONG time and never fic so #idk! hope its good! #PSA: this is not the correct order of operations when assembling a scale model #and also I don’t actually know the science of epoxy and I wasn't gonna try to figure it out #911 fox #911 spoilers #buddie #buddie fic #bean writes

[noriaki-kak]

Ooh actually I’m wondering now, are or were PeneLeo ever a thing? 🤔 Or was it more akin to a political marriage? :0

A little bit of both, but they were definitely a thing! The entire dynamic between all the Braithen kids is complicated but can be boiled down to “In a better world, in a better time, y’all would probably be one big happy polycule.” sdfgh

Penelope and Leo have known each other for as long as they can remember. Leo's parents were the rulers of Braithen and Penelope's parents were from a set of noble families in the kingdom second only to the crown. Her noble house had historically close ties to the church and her father was especially devout.

There were already talks of arranging a married between them, and thanks to them actually getting along really well growing up, their parents betrothed them to one another at a pretty young age.

There was real love between them, but the pressure of their marriage being arranged caused strife and tension between them as they got older. Penelope especially, she always loved Leo but the lack of choice caused a lot of unresolved pain.

All the Braithen kids ride the line between platonic and romantic love and those feelings shift and change with time. It's hard to put a definitive label on any of it! Especially considering the environment they grew up in made it hard to even recognize the budding feelings Penelope might've also had for Giselle or Leo might've had for Caspian as well.

Leo was a bit more oblivious, and even though he struggled with feeling controlled, he never fully saw the extent to which Penelope struggled. Penelope's father was deeply authoritarian, religious, obsessed with tradition, and ambitious. He treated her like a tool for his goals and didn't tolerate anything he viewed as disobedience.

His misogyny was rampant. Penelope's mother had always been extremely passive and deferential to him. Her own parents marriage along with her father's constant insistence she learn nothing more than how to be a good wife to the future king made it difficult for Penelope accept her betrothal to Leo, afraid she'd become like her mother.

It was always tough because of course they snuck out, of course they had moments to themselves where she felt free, they loved each other immensely. But at the end of the day they'd have to return to answer to their families, they'd have to go back home, and she feared a future where she was stifled even if Leo protested on her behalf.

Him not noticing her feelings didn't help, but she certainly wasn't a slouch when it came to hiding them. On top of that, Leo was preoccupied with his own internal struggles.

His dad was kind of an inadequate king. He wasn't malicious or awful, but he was a little incompetent. His father (so Leo's grandfather) died when Leo was young and he became almost mythologized as this legendary figure, lauded as an excellent king. Leo's father flounders as ruler trying to follow him up.

He raises Leo with a lot of words about the kind of man he should be without offering much in the way of actionable advice. In his naivety, Leo finds himself always striving to impress a man who isn't even sure what he's doing.

All of this culminates in Penelope rejecting him when he shows up in his demonic form. I've been a bit vague but when he's first cursed it's not quite just "imagine a tiefling" sdfghj and more like "eight feet tall, two large sets of curling horns, half formed leathery wings, imposing silhouette." the only thing that stays the same about him are his eyes.

And when he first transforms it is painful. So he immediately rushes to Penelope deliriously seeking help, and when he crawls through a window of the castle at night, he terrifies her. He's incoherent and desperate and before Penelope recognizes him, she takes a nearby fire poker in hand to defend herself.

It's really frantic, neither having much time to really think things through. Her deeply religious upbringing makes her doubly frightened. She sees his eyes, finally does recognize that it is Leo, and in his desperation to make sure she knows it's him he approaches her too quickly.

She knows it's him, but in her fear, she lashes out with the fire poker. She's not aiming for anywhere in particular but she ends up taking out one of his eyes and when he crumples in pain, she flees the room, sealing his curse.

In his pain and anguish Leo, runs through the castle trying to find his parents. Unfortunately uh, his dad sees him, has a heart attack and dies from the shock. After this Leo runs from the castle entirely, fleeing into the night. Leo's no good very bad day.

There's a lot simmering under the surface before this point but this night is the first event that marks the true end of their carefree days as friends.

#SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO ANSWER! #these guys have so much goin on one explanation kept leading into another and i was trying to make sure i didnt miss anything sdfghj #the actual tldr here is facebook status: its complicated... #oc tag #theres a LOT that happens after this but i didnt wanna get too off topic or write like a whole novel sdfgh

[dannystheone]

Obey Me! Tickle Drabble Last Pudding Cup (Mammon Lee/Beel Ler)

Hey guys! I’ve had this idea in my head for a hot minute, I thought it would be cute as a little introduction to me being new to the fandom. I hope you all enjoy :D 

No warnings, no 18+ 

Beel’s food has gone missing and there’s only one other person around...

                                     ```````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` 

 “Mammoooonnnn-” A voice drawled from the kitchen. A tanned-skinned demon was playing fake gambling on his phone as the voice grew louder. Mammon rolled his eyes and continued playing. 

 “Mammooooonnnn...where’s any fooooood...” The tanned demon flit his eyes over to see his orange-haired brother slumped against the communal refrigerator. Of course it was empty, Beel was always cleaning it out. Mammon rolled his eyes once again and raked his snowy hair back. 

 “Where do you think it is? It’s probably sitting in your gut as we speak.” Mammon’s eyes furrowed as he bet his fake money all on black. He lost the game. 

 “But I’m hungryyyy, and there’s nothing to eeeeaaatt...” Beel unhitched himself off the fridge as his stomach growled in hunger. Mammon was sitting at the island in the middle of the kitchen, watching Beel out of the corner of his eye drape himself over Mammon’s shoulders. 

 “Oi, paws off me! I can’t help you get food!” Mammon was betting on red on his fake roulette while trying to unhand Beel. Beel just made himself heavier.  

 “Mammon help me pleeeeaaaase. I’m hungryyyy...” Beel buried his face in the crook of Mammon’s neck and continued mumbling about how hungry he was. Mammon’s mouth quirked into a smile as he sputtered and pushed on Beel’s head. 

 “Pffmmt- Beheheel! Get off, you’re tickling me!” Mammon started struggling underneath Beel’s weight as Beel’s words were vibrating in his neck.  

 “But I’m hungryyyy! I have to eeeeeaaatt! And you took my last pudding cup!” Beel whined further. Without picking up his head from Mammon’s neck, he took his hands and started scribbling his fingers in Mammon’s sides. 

 A shriek tore from Mammon as he wriggled underneath his brother. “EEK! Beheheel get ohohohoff! I don’t hahahave anything! Ahahand nohoho I didn’t!” Mammon dropped his phone to use his other hand to try and brace Beel’s hands off of his sides. 

 Beel allowed Mammon to drag his hands down from his sides, just to latch his hands onto Mammon’s hips and squeezed his fingertips in. Mammon squealed and bucked in his seat. 

 “Get me some food to make up for taking my pudding and I’ll stop.” Beel shrugged off the cute routine and dug into Mammon’s hips.

 “Beheheheel plehehehease!! I-I’m brohohohoke I cahahahahan’t!” Mammon pleaded and wriggled himself out of his chair and fell on the floor in giggles. Beel rolled his eyes from Mammon’s theatrics and extended a hand out to help his brother. 

 Mammon gave Beel a sideways glance and stood up himself. “Why the sudden attack on me? Is that any way to treat your older brother?” Beel rose an eyebrow when he revealed something from behind his back. The empty pudding cup.

 “It is when you’ve ate something that was specifically labeled under my name.” Mammon opened his mouth to say something, but closed it for the better. “Now are you gonna take me out to eat, or should I finish what I started?” 

 Mammon huffed an angry breath and threw up his hands. “Fine, I guess there’s no other solution. You know you’re a surprisingly good negotiator. I seriously don’t remember eating it-” 

 An avatar with blonde hair entered the kitchen. Satan looked at his two brothers with a quirked eyebrow. Beel smiled at his presence. 

 “Oh, hi Satan. Wanna join us for lunch?” Satan held up a hand to Beel’s offer. 

 “Thanks Beel, but I’m full. I had a pudding cup from the fridge not too long ago.” 

 Mammon looked to Beel with an accusatory agape jaw. Beel set his jaw and cracked his knuckles towards Satan. 

 “You had a what from the fridge?” 

#obey me #obey me tickles #mammon lee #beel ler #danny writes #danny fic

[lesbianlov3rs]

let’s talk about jojo siwa.

I’ve already said this but it is entirely unacceptable for her to show disgust and revulsion at the word lesbian.

let me clarify bc some of you have very few brain cells. no one cares if she doesn’t like using the term lesbian for herself. I would urge someone like her to ask themselves this:

why? why does the word lesbian make you feel gross?

(answer: fetishization of lesbians in the media and outside)

does this mean I think every nmlnm should start using the word lesbian? no, not if they don’t like it. but I think it’s important we ask ourselves “WHY?”

what’s more important is that jojo is not some random person on Instagram or tiktok with 200 followers. she is basically a public figure—and not just any public figure, one for children.

what would a child think about the word lesbian if they saw their idol act like they just stepped in shit when they had to even acknowledge or say the word? what would they think about lesbians? they would probably think “oh, lesbians must be gross! they must be icky because jojo doesn’t like that word!”

so when we take into context her huge ass platform we get to the conclusion that not only is showing actual revulsion for the word just lesbophobic but she’s being incredibly irresponsible with her platform for not keeping this opinion of hers to herself.

even more disappointing is her lack of remorse. she’s just doubling down because she doesn’t want to address the clear internalized lesbophobia she’s struggling with.

and I KNOW I’m going to have people coming to me saying

“it’s not that big of a deal!”

“she didn’t mean it like that!”

“you’re reaching!”

it IS a big deal because of jojo’s large platform of mostly children.

it doesn’t matter WHAT she meant because it came across as being incredibly lesbiphobic.

would you be trying to argue if someone showed clear revulsion for the word “bisexual” and preferred a different term, or would you agree that that is inherently biphobic? (if you would agree then you should have no problems acknowledging that this is lesbophobic considering it’s the exact same situation so I wouldn’t say I’m “reaching” for anything)

I think people are REALLY struggling here to discern between what a lack of connection to a word is (such as going “a lot of people like me like to use the label “lesbian” but I don’t really connect to that) vs ACTUAL FUCKING DISGUST (“it’s like the word ‘moist’! it’s just—UGH!”)

if you try to tell me jojo wasn’t disgusted I’m gonna laugh at you.

is that the face of someone who isn’t disgusted by something? i don’t think so.

anyway, jojo, do better.

#lgbtqia #nblnb #nblw #sapphic #sappho #wlw #nonbinary #transgender #lgbtq community #queer community #gender identity #queer pride #trans lesbian #queer love #women loving women #jojo siwa

[ichayalovesyou]

I’m asking. Which Pike trait draws you in the most and why? Feel free to talk about more than one.

I think the biggest things are that he wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s vulnerable without sacrificing his professionalism or command of his crew. He’s humble and nurturing, and has an overactive sense of self sacrifice.

There are captains who bottle things up and act as though they have sacrifice making personal connections (beyond what they already have) as the burden of being captain (Picard, Janeway and Burnham come to mind). While other captains are more emotional and friendly but still struggle being honest with themselves (Kirk and Sisko come to mind). He’s the first captain that feels, if not we’ll adjusted, more in tune with taking responsibility for his emotions.

The primary example that I feel sets him apart from the others being that he doesn’t just sit on the fact he saw his own death and let it fester, at least not once he’s back on duty. He tells both people cares about what he thinks will happen that he’s legally allowed to disclose it to. He didn’t have to do that technically because he outranks them, he also goes beyond even that and voiced his concerns in respect to his own command. A lot of other captains would have waited until they made a poor command decision before feeling compelled to talk about that. Somewhat grim “no one dies” speech aside. He’s an open book beyond the call of duty.

Generally, he’s principled but not so stubborn as to ignore his prejudices and shortcomings (see, learning to trust Ash), he’s open minded and uncritical so long as he’s not given reason to not be.

But it’s not just that, another trait I find extremely refreshing that I don’t think any other captain possesses paired with that self awareness that I don’t think even Sisko (the most paternal of captains aside from him) possesses. He has this sort of, aura of nurturing others that transcends familiar labels like father or older brother or teacher.

He doesn’t just deliver the moral of the episode verbally or tell his subordinates what he thinks they should do, he lives and leads by example. He nudges his crew to reach their own conclusions, not his conclusions, and he’s not afraid to tell people when he’s proud or impressed. He makes people around him want to be better because he’s a good guy, not out of exclusively respect or intimidation, he’s inspiring. He’s a captain with the soul of a teacher, no wonder he ends up instructing cadets once he’s promoted to Fleet Captain.

Which leads me to the third thing, he’s got an enthusiasm for his job and for life that is hard earned and proves resilient even after he comes to terms with a future of extreme disability that he will have to learn to adapt to.The final step that he’s already started to inch toward recognizing it not as a death, but a another, more difficult and unprecedented chapter in his life.

He is selfless and principled where other people may have fled. “You’re a Starfleet Captain, you believe in service, sacrifice, compassion, and love.” “I give my life for you you give your life for me, nobody gets left behind.” He even goes so far as to almost refuse to believe there’s another way. Memorizing the names of the kids he saves. He’s almost overly self sacrificing which is genuinely probably one of my favorite character flaws because I relate to it and produces excellent angst (and also whump low key but I’m not gonna get into that *cough cough*).

These are the biggest reasons why I love this guy and I can’t wait to see how Strange New Worlds continues to evolve him and his dynamics with other characters. It could be boiled down to the word humility but there’s so many facets to it that I couldn’t just say only that. Part of me also wants them to pull out the “evil double/possessed by malevolent space entity” stock episode and see his nature inverted and see him be scary kinda like that one Short Treks but worse, I’d eat that up.

#thank you for the ask #I have Pike brainrot always #star trek #star trek discovery #star trek strange new worlds #discovery #strange new worlds #Captain pike #Christopher Pike #Chris Pike #meta #Star Trek meta #character meta #answering asks #lar trek #ichayalovescaptainpike

[ladydorian05]

A Home For Broken Hearts ~ Chapter 1

Co-written with @made-ofmemories

Big shout out to @firefly-party for the amazing art, Check her stuff out She has a lot of amazing Steddie fanart!

We finally get to share our Steddie Bigbang 2023 entry!!!

When we first started to throw ideas at each other on what to write for the Bigbang we thought we'd be writing a 10k, 15k max fanfic. Oh boy. This thing is a monster. You'll see.

Anyways, this is based on the movie The Broken Hearts Gallery starring Geraldine Viswanathan and Dacre Montgomery. It's such a fun Romcom that we both like and that we both recommend. Like the summary says, you do not need to watch the movie to understand the fic.

Last but not least, we hope you have as fun reading this fic as we had writing it! ❤️❤️

Sumary:

Steve has never been the best at letting go, ever since he was a child with absent parents and a house void of any kind of personality he learned to hold onto any kind of memento he got his hands on. Reaching his twenties, a move to Chicago with his best friend Robin, a struggling career, and a string of failed relationships later and he still finds himself clinging to souvenirs from the past.

Things start to change when a drunken encounter leads to a chance meeting with Eddie, a bartender with dreams of opening his own bar. Together (with some assistance from Robin) they open the broken hearts gallery, a place for the broken-hearted citizens of Chicago to leave behind their baggage.

Inspired by ‘The Broken Hearts Gallery’ (knowledge of the movie not essential).

Chapter warnings: Alcohol consumption, Following a stranger instead of your stranger danger knowledge.

Word count: 3,167

Master Post

AO3

Chapter 1: A not so miserable night

This isn’t how Steve saw his night going, hell this isn’t how he saw his life going. Mid-twenties, recently unemployed, single, cut off from his parents and drinking alone in some dingy bar. He looks down at the purple scrunchie wrapped around his wrist, another memento for another failed relationship.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, drinking cheap beer and wallowing in his own self pity. Jesus Harrington, get it together. He picks at the fraying label of his beer bottle, contemplating flagging down the bartender for another even though he really shouldn’t. He’s buzzed for sure, dancing on that line between tipsy and ‘I’m waking up with a headache tomorrow’.

A hand waves in front of him, a few inches from his face and he looks up to see who it belongs to. The bartender, the same one who’s been serving him all night.

He’s about Steve’s age with long brunette curls so dark they look almost black in the dimly lit bar tied into a messy ponytail at the back of his head. His t-shirt has the sleeves cut off and the makeshift tank top reveals thin but toned arms scattered with tattoos. There’s a logo printed across the front of the shirt, probably a band Steve thinks, but it’s not one he recognizes.

“You alright, man?” The bartender asks, “You were pretty zoned out just there.”

“Huh? Oh, uh yeah, yeah, I’m good.” He cringes a little when he hears his words slurring,  “Can I get ‘nother one?” He asks against his better judgment.

“I think you’ve had enough.” Tank Top guy informs him, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he plucks the empty bottle from Steve’s hand, “But, even if I wanted to, we closed about 15 minutes ago.”

Steve’s hazy mind all of a sudden becomes a little clearer as he whips around to see the rest of the bar is, in fact, empty, “Are we the last one’s here?”

“Yup, I’m meant to be closing so,” He drags out the last syllable and Steve gets the hint, sliding off the bar stool and onto unsteady feet. The alcohol hits him with a rush and yep, definitely waking up with a headache in the morning. Damn when did he become such a lightweight?

“I’m sorry, you should have just told me to leave and I would’ve gotten out of your hair.”

“Like I said, you were pretty out of it. I tried to get your attention like 5 times.”

Steve groans, dragging a hand over his face and pinching the bridge of his nose, “Well, this is embarrassing."

The bartender chuckles, it’s barely more than a few puffs of air forced out through his nose, but Steve likes the sound of it, “Rough day?”

“Something like that.” More like a rough month, “I really am sorry for keeping you.”

“Don’t be.”

Steve nods his head and then takes a wobbly step back, attempting to head for the door, “I’ll see you around.” He says though he doubts it’s true. This particular establishment is not one he plans on frequenting and this guy doesn’t look like one who would share any social circles with Steve.

“Wait, do you have someone to pick you up? I can’t just let you wander the streets out there.”

He definitely could, Steve isn’t this guy's responsibility, they don’t know a single thing about each other. He appreciates the concern though, truthfully he doesn’t really have a plan. He drove here, but that’s no longer an option given he can barely walk in a straight line, Robin will be asleep by now and he doesn’t want to wake her to ask her to pick him up.

“I’ll just grab a cab,” Getting a cab on short notice on a Friday night? Easier said than done, “or I can walk.” It’s an hour's walk on a good day, in his current state? He doesn’t want to think about it. 

“Where you headed?”

“23rd street.”

The bartender hums, a low and noncommittal sound, as if he’s thinking about it before he replies, “I know it. I’m headed that way, I can drop you off if you can wait a couple minutes?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, like I said, I’m going that way anyway.”

Steve admittedly had not thought this through, accepting a ride from someone who was essentially a stranger, a very charming and admittedly… attractive… stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. The error of this decision only becomes evident to his alcohol infused brain when the bartender, who’s name he has still yet to learn, leads him into the parking lot towards a somewhat questionable looking van that screams serial killer the moment he sets eyes on it.

“Hey, uh, you know what I appreciate the offer but it’s a nice night,” - It’s not, it’s freezing despite being late spring, and the ground is still saturated from the rainfall they’ve had on and off for most of the day- “And I think the walk might sober me up some.”

“It’s the van isn’t it?” The bartender asks, sounding resigned, as if this is a common problem for him. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if it was. The van is old, like really old, older than Steve atleast and painted unflattering shades of brown and beige. It has definitely seen better days, Steve would be surprised if the thing still ran.

“Just a little bit.” 

“I get it.” The bartender raises both hands in a gesture of surrender, “No hard feelings, don’t think I’d be too excited to accept a lift from a stranger driving around in this thing either.” He jokes and pats the side of the van for emphasis, “Can I atleast call you a cab? It might be a bit of a wait, but you really shouldn’t be walking around on your own right now and 23rd isn’t exactly close.”

“No, no it’s ok.” Steve assures him and that should be it he should turn around and be on his way, but for reasons Steve doesn’t fully understand he’s not ready to leave just yet, “It’s just- I don’t even know your name.”

“Eddie.”

“Nice to meet you Eddie, I’m Steve.”

“So, Steve,” He says, as if he’s testing out how the name sounds rolling off his tongue, “What’s it gonna be?”

Ah screw it, maybe it’s just the alcohol or maybe he just really really doesn’t want to take that walk after all.

“Promise me you’re not some kind of axe murderer.” 

“Scouts honor.” Eddie replies, straight faced and deadly serious as he holds up one hand in a 3 fingered salute. 

“Alright, let’s go.”

Eddie’s bright smile returns as he rushes to grab the door handle before Steve can get to it, holding it open and stooping low into a bow with an over the top flourish of his hand, “Your chariot awaits.” He says in a deep and very put upon British accent as if Steve is some kind of prince stepping into his carriage and not just a drunk guy in a downtown Chicago parking lot climbing into a stranger’s rusty old van. If he survives this Robin is never going to let him live it down. Hell, even if he doesn’t survive, he’s sure she’ll find a way to nag him about it in the afterlife.

Surprisingly the van does start, Eddie seems just as shocked about this as Steve does when the engine sputters to life on first try. The sound is quickly drowned out by the music blasting from the stereo. Heavy metal, not exactly Steve’s first choice of music, but it’s better than traveling in awkward silence.

“Sorry,” Eddie apologizes, reaching over to turn the volume down from ear splitting to something a little more tolerable, “I don’t usually have passengers.”

Eddie drives like a maniac. Steve’s grip on the arm rest tightens when they blow through yet another stop sign. Turns out it wasn’t potential axe murderers he should have been worried about, Eddie was going to kill them both with his erratic driving instead. 

“How long have you worked at the bar?” Steve asks, trying his best to hide the hitch in his breath when Eddie takes a turn just a little too fast for Steve’s comfort. 

“About a year. My band plays there sometimes, then they were hiring and I needed the extra cash, just made sense. It was only ever meant to be temporary, but things didn’t exactly go to plan.” 

“Yeah, I know that feeling.” Steve chuckles dryly. 

“What do you do for a living?” Eddie returns the question and Steve suddenly finds himself regretting the small talk.

“Um- well I’m a teacher usually. Just qualified a couple years ago but I haven’t exactly had much luck with it so far. I was a teaching aide for a while, few jobs as a substitute, but I’m actually unemployed right now.” 

He tries to be nonchalant about it despite the fact he can hear his fathers disappointed voice echoing in his head reminding him of what a failure he’s turned out to be. His parents cut him off a few months after he turned 18, but the lingering effects of their shitty parenting still creep up on him even now.

Teaching was never a path they wanted him to take and there’s a niggling part of him that’s starting to think they were right. He starts at a new school, they keep him on for a month or two as a temp until a position comes available and then they find someone more experienced, with more qualifications and he’s left to start the cycle all over again. He really thought his last school was going to keep him around which had only made it hurt more than usual when they hadn’t called back.

“Lost my job a couple weeks back and I’m still just figuring stuff out I guess.” He explains.

“Shit, that sucks, I’m sorry.” Eddie says, no judgment in his voice, just a warm sincerity that Steve wouldn’t have expected from a near stranger.

“Yeah,” He lets his gaze fall to the window by his side. He hadn’t been paying much attention to the road whilst they were talking and he finds himself in a neighborhood he doesn’t recognize. The van rolls to a stop at the side of the street, “Uh- this isn’t 23rd street.”

“I know, but it was on the way and I gotta drop something off real quick.”

“Oh.” His heart rate picks up a little as he looks at the boarded up building they’ve stopped in front of. There’s nothing else around, and Steve’s mind wanders when he thinks about what business someone could possibly have with what looks like an abandoned building in the middle of the night. 

“Just wait there, I won’t be long.” 

Steve doesn’t listen. 

“I thought I told you to wait in the van?” Eddie asks, startling a little when Steve appears by his side. He doesn’t sound mad, more surprised at Steve’s defiance than anything.

“Figured you might need some help.” He lies.

“Alright, whatever, man,” Eddie concedes, “Here,” He deposits two sealed tins of paint into Steve’s arms, further adding to his confusion. It’s a rather unusual time for interior design. 

The place looks like a construction site, or more accurately it is a construction site. The overhead lights aren’t working, but there’s a selection of portable construction lighting scattered around that flickers to life once Eddie flips a switch on the wall using his elbow. 

Most of the furniture is covered by dust sheets, including what looks to be a long bar at the back of the room, a little bit of it is poking out from beneath the sheet revealing shiny polished wood. There’s tools scattered everywhere and Steve nearly trips over a stack of lumber as he follows Eddie deeper into the building. 

“Ok,” Steve says, head tilted upwards as he takes in everything from the high ceilings to the dusty floor boards which look like they’ve seen better days, “So the van was just pre-game, this is where you actually murder me.”

“You decided to follow me, I told you to stay in the van.” 

“What is this place?”

“Welcome to Hellfire,” Eddie sets down the armful of supplies he’d been carrying and turns to face Steve, offering a sweeping gesture towards the space around them, “It’s a bar, or atleast, it will be.” 

“Do you work here too or something?” Steve asks, placing down the tins of paint with the rest of the supplies that Eddie has set down.

“Or something.” He perches himself atop the bar, leaving Steve waiting eagerly for a further explanation, “It’s mine. We’re turning it into a music venue. Doesn’t look like much right now, but once the stage is done, lighting is rigged up and the sound system installed. It’s going to be pretty metal.” 

Steve looks at him, legs dangling over the edge of the bar not quite reaching the floor, big brown eyes sparkling with excitement and hands gesturing wildly as he explains his plans for the place. A few stray strands of hair have fallen down to frame his face. He doesn’t know how he thought for even a moment that this man could be scary. 

“Damn.” He moves over to the bar and hops up to take a seat beside Eddie, maybe a little closer than he should but there’s still too much alcohol running through his system and his spacial awareness isn’t exactly what it should be at the moment, “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“I wish. I’ve been sinking every dime that I earn into this place for the past 3 years and it still looks like this.” He’s got a point, an up and coming new music venue was not Steve’s first thought when they walked through the door, “But, enough of that.” Eddie says, slapping his hands down onto both of his thighs and cutting the conversation much shorter than Steve would like it to be, “You know my story, I want to know yours. Specifically what led you to drinking the night away all alone in a bar at 2am.” 

Steve does not feel like this is exactly a fair trade off, but he indulges anyway, deciding to blame the alcohol. It’s a technique which has been working for him so far tonight so why stop now?

“Breakup.” It feels like explanation enough and he doesn’t really feel like trauma dumping all of the reasons leading up to that moment on a stranger tonight.

“Figured,” Eddie replies, then points to the scrunchy wrapped around Steve’s wrist, “Purple isn’t really your color.”

“3 months of my life and this is all I’ve got left to show for it.” He takes it off his wrist and holds it up to the light to inspect it closer. It’s a light purple, more of a lilac really, printed with little white and yellow daisies. 

“What’re you going to do with it?” Eddie asks, his head tilting in Steve’s direction as he joins him in inspecting the object in question.

“Keep it.” Steve states as if it’s obvious.

“Do you keep things from all of your relationships?”

“Every single one.” There’s no verbal response, but he feels the pair of eyes boring into his skull, a sensation he’s become all too familiar with ever since he met Robin and her scathing glares, “What? You’ve never kept something from a past relationship?”

“No. Maybe, a little thing or two, but not from every single relationship I’ve ever had.” 

There’s an assortment of heavy looking silver rings adorning the hand Eddie uses to take the hair tie. His grip is gentle and Steve is sure he could stop him if he wanted to, snatch it back and stuff it into his pocket, he doesn’t think Eddie would put up a fight. Instead he sits there and lets him take it. Once he’s claimed his prize Eddie is on his feet, moving through the cluttered space, for what reason Steve can’t quite figure out. 

“What’re you doing?”

“Looking.”

“For what?”

“The perfect spot,” Says Eddie, right as his eyes lock onto a section of wall right behind what looks to be the beginnings of the stage and hangs the scrunchie from a loose nail, “There, perfect!”

“What do you mean perfect?”

“The perfect spot for it.” Eddie says, shrugging his shoulders, “Don’t you like it? Don’t you feel lighter?”

“I- I kind of…do. I like it.” 

“Wait! Hang on, I’ve got an idea.” 

Eddie disappears for a second, digging through some of the mess until he returns with a marker and hands it to Steve who looks between it and Eddie with a furrowed brow.

“What am I meant to do with this?” Steve asks.

“Write something, vent, get it out of your system.” Eddie encourages, gesturing animatedly towards the wall with both hands, “What’s her name?”

“Heidi,” Steve says, uncapping the pen and beginning to scribble on the wall next to the scrunchie.

‘Heidi,

She left me for her ex 

3 months, Chicago’

It feels good, in a cathartic kind of way.

“Why don’t you leave it here?” 

Steve contemplates it for a moment, uncertainty creeping up his spine, “I don’t know.”

“It’ll be fine, I promise. I’ll take good care of it,” Eddie assures him, “Learn to let go.”

“Alright, fine, you win.” He cracks just the hint of a smile and Eddie gives him a firm pat on the shoulder, steering him towards the exit likely so he doesn’t have time to change his mind. 

It’s only a short drive from Eddie’s bar to Steve’s apartment building, they don’t talk much for most of it beyond Steve offering directions once they get closer. 

“Here we are, your castle awaits.” Eddie announces as he puts the van into park. He’s a dork, but that only piques Steve’s curiosity more. Eddie might be the most interesting person he’s met in years.

“Thank you, for everything,” Steve says, not sure how to properly express his gratitude he grabs his wallet from his back pocket, “Here let me give you something for the trouble. I know gas isn’t cheap.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Eddie refuses, pushing away the 10 dollars Steve is trying to hand to him, “The scrunchie was payment enough.”

“Alright,” Steve gives in, struggling to tuck his wallet away. He hesitates at the open door, looking over his shoulder at Eddie before he leaves, “For what it’s worth, I’m really glad you didn’t turn out to be a murderer.”

Eddie laughs, a full bellied peel of laughter, “Go home, Steve.”

Steve pauses at the apartment door, Eddie is still in the van and he offers him a wiggle of his fingers as a goodbye then immediately regrets it when a wave of embarrassment washes over him. Eddie seems to get a kick out of it though judging by the smile on his face.

Master Post ~ Chapter 2>

#steddiebigbang23 #a home for broken hearts #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #teacher!steve harrington #bartender!eddie munson #broken hearts gallery au #stranger things

[sandshadow9]

Don’t apologize for the long post! It was interesting seeing your perspective on both Moonbli and Qinter, but to me I feel like Moonbli was cliche and just… a little bit rushed. Throughout the second arc they had moments of attraction but it was the romantic developing that was lacking. Qinter HAD THOSE ASPECTS THAT WOULDVE MADE THEM SUCH A COMPELLING AND REALISTIC COUPLE, there were flaws in both of them, yet I feel like they balance each other out in a way Moonbli couldn’t. I totally see them helping each other grow into better dragons.

Just my thoughts

Yes you’re so right. I’m doing my best here to be diplomatic about Moonbli but it is certainly not pushing any boundaries.

I really want to try and put into words what I like about Qinter and why I think it would work. Recently though, I have not been going as hard on the Qinter train as I used to. Mostly I feel Qibli needs to be knocked down a few pegs lol. I’ve alluded to this in other posts but Qibli is like the “morally grey but not really” character that Tui put so much effort into making three dimensional but still missed the point of what that means and went ahead and labelled him as the “good guy” both in the conflict of the book and the love triangle. I suppose I just don’t like how Tui put them on unequal footing in terms of “goodness”, like sometimes I get the feeling Qibli visiting Winter is kind of framed like “wow look at Qibli being one of the few dragons to visit the mean Winter, isn’t he such a nice guy!” which annoys me but maybe I’m just interpreting it weirdly. Qibli needs to be humbled.

HOWEVER

Qinter still very good and their personalities and goals parallel each other so well.

At their cores, Qibli and Winter have the same soft hearted kindness to them, and they both try to hide and protect this vulnerability fiercely using different methods. Obviously a lot of the main characters of the WOF books are generally kind at heart, but considering the environment the Qibli and Winter grew up in (both abusive with siblings/family members that did not struggle to meet the toxic expectations) it really shows that they are the kind of dragons that have remained soft hearted, even if they didn’t want to, despite everything, and the way they hide this is different between them.

Winter has been taught how to hide his “weakness”, he has been given basically the ten commandments of how to be a perfect IceWing and clings to those teachings like a religion. Despite all this he can’t help but love and trust others. He’s like a kicked puppy in that way, no matter how many times those he loves tare him down he would still sacrifice everything for them. We see him do this for his brother and sister, and his tribe in the battle with the NightWings. There is no mistake too great that he won’t forgive someone. It will probably be the death of him one day but it’s just who he is.

As for Qibli, he had to learn for himself how to hide his soft heart through manipulation and observation and mistrustfulness. Unlike Winter, Qibli was able to get away from his abusive home and find a community that made him better and more open, but he is still plagued by his insecurities. 

While Winter still has a long way to go, he has an earnestness that I think would lower Qibli’s defenses. Winter wears his heart on his sleeve, despite having every reason not to (to be fair I don’t think he realizes he does), and in a lot of ways so does Qibli. I don’t think Qibli ever really was able to lock his heart away, only cover up the fact that it’s so exposed. 

I literally have no nice finishing sentence here and this is a mess but yeah I love those boys 

#winter wof #qibli wof #wings of fire #wingsoffire #wof #other people have said smarter things about this topic than me #but I am throwing mine out there as well #qinter wof

[catb-fics]

Honestly it could have been just Van and Benji in the studio at first while they figured out drums and potentially lead guitar (if they don’t plan on making Van the sole guitarist). Considering it’s essentially Van writing all the music, all that’s really needed to start recording is him. I’m sure they had something in place for drums. I don’t know who but it’s LA. Anything is possible.

Record labels will tell their artists not to work with producers who are lie to fans about music coming. It becomes a liability issue and looks bad for the band and label being associated with liars. So bullshitting is really a no-go for producers cause they need clients so they can get paid to do what they love. Producers need to keep a positive history with labels.

As upsetting as it is, sometimes silence is better when it comes to situations like this in the long run. Ambiguity gives them freedom to do what they need to do. Sometimes waiting for the last minute to say anything is the way to go cause if the band won’t announce anything, someone else will. Giving the band more control over the things they want to put out when they’re ready. Seems backwards but it’s really not. It’s the same concept as throwing someone under the bus lol. There’s much more business than most people realize. Sardy started teasing right after they missed Cardiff and Bondy’s statement. I fully see it as him saying “they’re busy in the studio which is why they’re not playing Cardiff, don’t worry and surprise!” very subtly. Makes e fully convinced their silence is a form of marketing. Sardy’s not a part of the band he can be trusted to some degree because he’s worked with the band before.

You can spend years asking “why can’t Catfish just say something?” or try to understand that silence drives us to want more and that translates to immense hype, sales, attention and much more when they return. I mean seriously, if Catfish came back today, you all would be in tears and throwing your money at them. Not “oh that’s cool they’re back. I love them”. There’s a lot of psychology that goes into the music business and industry as a whole. Hope this makes sense. Trying to condense this whole thing coherently is very difficult. - 🌴

No offence to Van but I don’t think he could be the lead guitarist (he would say so himself too!)

I can see all this but surely if they’re jetting off to LA weeks after cancelling a huge gig there must be someone driving it (management/record label) and if this was the case then why didn’t they utter a word about pulling out? Fans paid out literally thousands to see them, to cancel with no word and jet off to record an album seems very off. I know I probably don’t ‘get’ these shitty marketing tactics and I’m probably just still miffed on behalf of fans I’ve personally spoke to who were beyond gutted about wasting all their hard earned cash, but I struggle to get my head around it. I mean if this was true you don’t just decide to fly off to record across the world last minute - this would mean they knew they weren’t going to perform way before they pulled out.

The deathly silence surrounding the last minute cancellation felt to me personally like Van (and possibly Benji - who knows) were the sole survivors at the helm of a sinking ship 😢

I do totally get the anticipation thing and agree with this to an extent but I do wonder if leaving things too long would have a detrimental effect? Catb were and are big in the UK and have solid fanbases overseas but they aren’t AM level (who could dip out for years and come back as big and bold as ever.)

Aghhh I really don’t know, I would love to totally get behind this theory but I just feel kinda cautious to get too excited ya know? 😭

And thanks for coming to chat - I know we don’t all agree on some stuff but it’s nice to have a friendly and civil discussion about it! I see another long ask in my inbox so I’m gonna answer that one in a mo!

And I’m gonna give you your own tag if you don’t mind as all this is interesting and people might wanna refer back…

#catb asks #🌴 anon