#I love how I planned that I’d be a machine now this week so could actually not stress during christmas but it’s looking out to be like one

[why-the-heck-not]

19.12.23, tuesday

0.5h of coding lol

wasn’t having the best day so decided to finally watch the barbie-movie (it’s on hbo rn) bc figured that could cheer me up

but bc the universe loves a good timing, on the grocery store trip after, some dudes came to me like ”which one of us would u fuck?” and that annoyed me way more than it should’ve. Like cmon, it’s 10pm at a grocery store; if you’re not cottage cheese or olive oil get tf out of my face

just a short evening walk bc it was windy and I was annoyed

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

Ghoulette Appreciation Week 3

Week 3: First Ritual & Lazy Sunday

Crashing in last minute and more unedited than ever with this (I mean it's week 4 where I am, but it's still the 20th somewhere lol) after a hectic week!

Aurora's first Ritual, and the last lazy Sunday at the Abbey before it. “Break a leg!” Cumulus whispered in Aurora’s ear, as the pair walked on-stage. Aurora caught Cirrus giving her an exaggerated thumbs-up from the opposite side of the stage. She took a deep, breath from her podium. She loved music, she loved singing, the congregation were going to love her.

Yes I googled the first day of reimperatour to make this accurate, what about it?

Rating: General Content: literally just pack-bonding fluff Words: 1004

Read below now! AO3 link to follow tomorrow, I'm not fighting with their upload page at 2am!

“Break a leg!” Cumulus whispered in Aurora’s ear, as the pair walked on-stage. Aurora caught Cirrus giving her an exaggerated thumbs-up from the opposite side of the stage. She took a deep breath as she stepped up to her podium, and grinned widely behind her mask. I deserve to be here. Let’s do this!

The sun rose and gradually peered into the windows of the Abbey, illuminating everything it touched with a golden glow. Few were actually awake to see this, the ghouls all curled up in their nests and enjoying their last few hours of peace. A week from now, they would be preparing for their first ritual of the new tour and sleep would be a luxury, a lie-in a miracle.

Aurora was an exception. Not normally an early-riser, by anyone’s definition, she’d awoken long before the other ghoulettes curled around her. She was nervous: worried about being away from the place she now called home, anxious about giving a good performance, scared of the congregation’s reaction to her. She knew how loved Sunshine was, and was desperate to live up to her reputation.  The ghoulettes, Sunshine included, had all told her how she needn’t worry, she was going to be perfect, but all the same she was nervous. She knew Phantom felt the same way too, stepping into Aether’s shoes.

And so, she lay awake. Trying to follow the steady breathing of the ghoulettes around her, despite her pounding heart, and Cumulus’ hair that was tickling her nose and threatening to make her sneeze.

Eventually, the others began to stir. No one had any plans for the day, it was to be their last officially sanctioned day off in many months. As the tangle of limbs moved around Aurora, she extricated herself from the pile, and made her escape. She trudged down the hall to the kitchen, deciding to bring coffee back to her packmates.

Entering the kitchen, she discovered she was not the only ghoul awake. Perched on the island counter was Phantom, a small frown creasing between their eyebrows. Swiss stood nearby, already coaxing the ancient coffee machine into life.

“Morning Ror.” Phantom smiled at her, but it didn’t reach their eyes.

“Hey Ant.” Aurora hopped up next to them, shuffling close enough to bump shoulders. “You got the jitters too?”

Phantom sighed slightly, before leaning into her side.

“A bit. Big shoes to fill, y’know?”

“Yeah!” Swiss chirped as he turned around with Phantom’s coffee “Aeth’s giant clown feet!”

Both the smaller ghouls giggled slightly, and Swiss beamed at the admittedly mediocre response.

“What’s your plan for today then, Rory? Last lazy day we’ll get in a while.” asked Swiss.

“I hadn’t really thought of anything, besides bringing the girls coffee in bed.” Aurora hummed thoughtfully.

“I promised Ant a picnic by the lake, you could join us? ‘M gonna bring the guitar, thought we could make some music without the pressure of rituals and rehearsals before that becomes our lives. With the touring I need to remind myself it’s fun sometimes, y’know?”

“That sounds really nice actually, I’d love to!” Aurora loved spending time by the lake, her water element calling to it. Phantom trilled happily next to her.

“I’ll let the others know where I’ll be, it’ll be good for Sunny to have Lus and Riri to herself for the day.” Aurora knew how much Sunshine would appreciate that, she was definitely more anxious about her closest packmates going away for so long than she was letting on.

A short while later, the three ghouls sat soaking in the springtime sun, keeping the worse of the damp from the grass at bay with a blanket. The gentle sounds of water lapping at the edge of the lake accompanied the soft music from the guitar Phantom was now playing. Aurora and Swiss hummed along, singing songs from their family groups in the pit, songs they’d heard on the radio topside, just harmonising together.

The sun moved overhead, gently warming them until their shadows grew long, and it could no longer compete with the late-afternoon chill. Rory headed back inside to find the rest of the ghoulettes. She found them where she left them, curled up in the nest and apparently asleep. It had been tidied, so they had clearly moved at some point.

Aurora moved to join them, kicking off her shoes and clambering into the pile of limbs.

“Hello little songbird, have a good day?” murmured Cirrus, twining her tail around Aurora’s calf.

“Yes, really nice.” Aurora sunk deeper into the purrs of her packmates, joining in with a high rumbling noise of her own. “Was good to relax a bit before we leave.”

“How are you feeling about tour?”

“Alright, I think. It’ll be great to see the world, meet our congregation…”

“…but?”

“I’m a little anxious about living up to Sunny, I guess.”

Cirrus puller her closely to her chest “I don’t think you have to worry, sweetie, you’re going to be fantastic I just know it!”

A week later, Aurora remembered her words as she took a deep, calming breath from her podium. She loved music, she loved singing, the congregation were going to love her.

The lights went up, the music blared, and Aurora sang and danced like everyone’s eyes were on her. Twirling her cape, stomping her feet, she felt every beat of the music resonate with her heartbeat, and fed off the infectious energy of the crowd.

All too soon the ritual was over. Moving to the front of the stage, she almost list her footing as Cirrus and Cumulus crushed her in a hug.

“You did so well!” Cumulus squealed, also riding high off a good performance. Across the stage, Aurora could see a similar interaction happening between Swiss and Phantom, both of the new ghouls vibrating with excitement and adrenaline.

She moved forward with Cirrus and Cumulus to interact with the audience, all of them waving at her and cheering. Maybe she didn’t need to worry after all.

[can-youimagine]

Mended Hearts (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Spencer is in need of a date, and you are madly in love with him

TW: fake relationship, angsty with a happy ending, self-loathing for a quick moment, brief gambling mention, awkward

Word Count: 30,733 (she's a long one)

A/N: This is poorly proofread. I've had a shitty couple of weeks, so let's just be happy to have a fic out rn

Masterlist

You walk into the office, making a b-line for the coffee machine, just like every morning. And, just like every morning, Spencer has already started the pot. However, unlike every morning, when you greet him, he leans close to you, acting like he is just grabbing a mug, and says, “I need to talk to you.”

You glance up at him. “About?”

He hands the mug to you before reaching over and grabbing his own. “I can’t explain it all right now, but I need a huge favor.”

“Okay?”

He nods and pours the two cups before returning to his desk, leaving you incredibly confused in the kitchenette. When you have finally regained enough awareness to return to your desk, you can’t stop yourself from glancing up at Spencer every couple of minutes. 

What on earth could he be asking you?

Your questions are answered when you leave. You hand your last file over to Hotch at 6:48. Spencer, who you suspect has been done since noon, hands his in at 6:51. And, at 7:02, the two of you are standing in the elevator together.

“So, what’s this favor?”

“We’ve got that mandatory leave coming up at the end of the month, so I’m going back to Vegas,” he says as if that answers your question.

“What? Did you get a secret cat that you want me to feed?”

“No, I-um-I know that this is silly, and you can totally say no if you are uncomfortable at all, and we can forget this ever happened. Well, not forget, but we can pretend it never happened-”

“What do you need me to do?”

He takes a deep breath. “When I told my mom I was coming to see her, she asked if I had a girlfriend, but I wasn’t paying attention to her question and said I did, so now she’s expecting me to bring her, but there’s no her to bring, so I was hoping-wondering!- I was wondering if you would come with me and pretend to be my girlfriend? I’ll pay for everything, and we’ll only have to do this for a few days at most, but for the rest of the trip you can pretend you don’t know me. I totally get it if you-”

“I believe there was a question in there. Am I allowed to answer it?” you tease, causing him to blush. “I’d be honored to be your fake girlfriend.”

“Really?”

“Were you really expecting me to say no?”

“I thought you might have better plans,” he answers.

You laugh. “No plans at all. Besides, you know I’d cancel them to spend time with you.”

He blushes again, watching the floor number change. “I wanted to ask you now so that we have enough time to get our story straight. My mom will see through it if we half-ass this.”

“What’s there to get straight? We met at work. We’d been friends for a while before you asked me out in the elevator?”

The doors open at the parking garage. “First date? How long have we been together? What’re our plans for the future? What-”

“Okay,” you cut him out, stepping out. “I get it. I’ll write down my answers; you write down yours, and we’ll compare notes in the morning. We’ll keep whatever overlaps, and figure out the rest then. Sound good?”

“You sound like you’ve done this before.”

You shrug. “Just want this to go well.”

He nods, watching you get into your car. “See you in the morning.”

“See you in the morning, babe.”

He grimaces at the nickname, and you make a mental note to add pet names to your list. When you get home, you immediately pull out a notepad.

First Date: He must’ve gotten up before the sun and showed up at my apartment after a particularly rough case with coffee and donuts for me. We sat on my balcony and watched the sunrise.

How long have we been together? 

You leave that one blank, figuring that Spencer has an opinion.

Future? We plan on getting married in the relatively near future. I can’t picture my life without him. Not a lie. Hopefully, we’ll be able to have kids soon. Once we get a little more settled, I’ll leave the BAU, and focus on our family.

You take a sip from your mug, letting the reality of the situation sink in. Are you really prepared to pretend to be dating Spencer? The answer, you realize after rereading that answer, is no. You most definitely are not prepared to pretend that you don’t actually want all of that, even though you desperately do. 

You shake your head, trying to get the thoughts out. You reread the answers you have already. Hopefully, that will be enough for Spencer to go off of. 

You rise out the mug. You are going to go to sleep. You are not going to dream of Spencer. You are going to pretend to be his girlfriend, and you are absolutely not going to let him know how much you want to stop pretending.

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer is going through a very similar thought process across town. Everything he told you was true. He did tell his mom he had a girlfriend without thinking about it, and he was more than willing to take you to Vegas with him as his girlfriend. However, he hated that it had to be pretend. 

He sticks to the truth when he writes down how he asked you out. Anxious question in the elevator. With the first date, he wants to do something a bit more meaningful. He stares at the paper for a moment, before realizing that the best he can think of is

After we got back from a rough case, I couldn’t sleep, especially without showing (Y/N) how much I care about her, so I made coffee for the two of us. It was right before the donut shop next to her apartment opened, so I grabbed some for the two of us and went to see her. I honestly didn’t think she would be up, but she answered the door and pulled me onto her balcony. She had been reading out there like she always does when she can’t sleep and invited me to join. 

Spencer loses himself in the daydream. It doesn’t end at the first date or the second. He plans his entire future with you. Your wedding, your first kid, their subsequent graduation, everything until he falls asleep. 

He wakes up, not in your arms like he wants to be, but instead in a rather uncomfortable position on the couch to his alarm blaring throughout the apartment. Groaning, he gets ready for the day. He doesn’t have much written on his list, but he has everything planned. 

By some stroke of luck, you manage to get in the elevator at the same time as Spencer again. “Do you want to go over the lists at lunch?”

He nods. “I didn’t have much time to actually write mine down, but-”

���No worries. I didn’t either,” you respond. “Long night.”

He nods again, staring at the numbers. “You sure you still want to do this?”

“Of course, Spence,” you answer as the doors open. “Anything you need.”

He lets you step out first, hoping that the few seconds of distance from you will give him some relief.

It does not, but he guesses it’s okay. After all, it’s how he’ll have to live at the end of the month.

That’s what he has to remind himself during lunch. The two of you decided on a diner just outside of Quantico to discuss your plan. 

“So,” you start, “I figured you should probably figure out the timeline, since you know what’ll be most believable to her.”

“Yeah. I told her I was bringing someone two months ago, so we should have been dating by then. Actually, it should have been pretty serious before that, so that she would believe that I was actually taking you to meet her, so we should be at seven months? Most people meet each other’s families around four or five months, but with our jobs and my mom, I think we should push that back a bit. It should’ve been about five months when I told her.”

“Sounds good,” you answer, taking a bit of your sandwich. “What about our first date?”

He blushes, not wanting to tell you how long he spent thinking about every moment of your hypothetical first date. “I was thinking maybe I brought coffee to your apartment after a rough case, and we watched the sunrise on your balcony?”

“That sounds perfect,” you respond, not wanting to tell him that you were thinking the exact same thing. “I saw that you didn’t like ‘babe’ last night. What do you want me to call you?”

He shrugs. “Whatever feels right, I guess.”

“Well, I thought ‘babe’ felt right, but obviously you don’t, so what do you want?”

“I’m not sure that I’m supposed to come up with my own pet name.”

You roll your eyes. “C’mon, Spence. What’ve you been called?”

“I’ve never had a pet name,” he admits into his meal, taking a rather large bite to avoid whatever conversation will follow.

You surprise him. “Alright, sunshine, I’ll keep trying until you find something you like.”

He nods.

“Sunshine?”

“It’s alright,” he answers.

You laugh. “I’ll try to do better next time, love.”

He stills. 

“Alright, not that one either.”

“What should I call you?” he asks, desperately trying to get the focus off him.

“You’ll have to find out, baby.”

“Alright, princess.”

You groan. “Don’t use Morgan’s. If I’m going to be your girlfriend, you can’t steal a pet name from our coworker.”

He smiles. “Sorry, doll.”

“Better.” 

“Well, I guess we have two weeks to get that settled.” He stares at his meal, hoping that will keep this from being so awkward.

It seems as if you read his mind. “And for you to get more comfortable with this.”

He gives you a small smile.

“C’mon, Spence. Why don’t we start ‘dating’ now? That way, when we actually see your mom it won’t be the first time we’ve done this.”

In some strange way, it feels like you’re truly asking him out.

“That makes sense,” he answers. 

For the rest of the day, Spencer repeats that phrase, because, after all, that’s the only reason you asked, is because it made sense. This is all just a way for you to help your friend. It’s not because you’re in love with him. It’s because this is the best chance the two of you have at making this thing work.

Unfortunately, that thought does not help Spencer go to sleep. In fact, it leads him to your imagined first date, and he develops an idea. 

The best lies are rooted in truth, so your first date should be, too. 

He prays that you’re up as he gets everything ready, even more so as he stands outside your door. 

You open it, looking like you haven’t slept at all. “Spencer?”

“Hi, babe,” he greets, grimacing as the words leave his mouth. “Ready for our first date?”

You smile, letting him in. “Spencer Reid, you truly are something.”

He beams with pride, making his way onto your balcony. While he sets the drinks and donuts on the table, you grab a throw blanket from the back of the couch. He’s already sitting on your chair. “I know we hadn’t discussed it, but I thought that the donuts would be a nice touch.”

You lean into him, wrapping the blanket around the two of you. “They’re perfect, baby.”

He blushes, stiffly wrapping his arm around you.

“C’mon, Spence, you’ve got to get more comfortable with this.”

He tries to relax a bit, which if he lets himself forget that this isn’t real, is quite easy. As the sun rises, Spencer even manages to kiss the top of your head. 

You smile, letting yourself indulge yourself in this little fantasy. “Thank you.”

“What’re boyfriends for?”

“Of course,” you giggle.

Spencer heads back to his own apartment not long after to get ready for the day. The challenge, the two of you realize, is not keeping up the game of pretend. It’s keeping the secret from your coworkers. You have to balance between “dating” the person you secretly have a crush on while not letting a group of profilers know that you are “dating” or that you have a crush. 

As exhausting as it is, the two of you manage to do it. And, as you board the plane to Vegas, you hope that you both continue to.

Spencer looks up from his book, suddenly feeling a weight on his shoulder. When he looks over at you, he can’t bring himself to push you off. You look so serene as you sleep. He pulls your cardigan over you before turning back to his book. Though, he can’t focus on it. Gently, he presses a kiss to your forehead.

When the plane lands, he’s barely managed to finish four books, and he forces himself to wake you up. Your slightly dazed state is more charming than he ever could have imagined, and he wants nothing more than to make that sight a permanent part of his day. Instead, he lets you get your own bag and treats you like a friend throughout the journey to the hotel. 

The receptionist gives you a smile as she hands over the room keys, and after an incredibly awkward elevator ride, the two of you make it to your room. 

“Which bed do you want?” he asks.

You shrug. “I’ll take the one closer to the door if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” he nods like he hadn’t actually wanted that bed. “No problem.”

You toss your bags onto the bed before falling onto it. “So, what’s the plan?”

He walks over to his bed before beginning to unpack. “I thought we could get dinner tonight. We should probably do something couple-y before seeing my mom, so I’ll let you take the lead on that. Tuesday we’ll see her and again on Thursday. We leave on Saturday, so Wednesday, my mom will probably have told us to do something then, so we should do that, but you can do whatever you want on Friday.”

“Well,” you start, not wanting to meet his eyes, “What if you just showed me around where you grew up?”

“You’d really want to see that?”

“It’s part of who you are.”

“Then, it’s settled. We’ll leave whenever we get ready.”

You smile. “Sounds good.” 

“Morning or night shower?”

“I can do whatever,” you answer. “Right now, I just want to go to sleep.”

He chuckles. “Alright, I’ll take a shower now. Good night.”

“Good night.” 

When you wake up, Spencer is already up and walking around the room. 

“Good morning,” you say, voice still scratchy. “Didn’t realize we were getting up for work.”

He chuckles. “No, sorry. I just have to get up at the same time every day.”

“No, I get it. Isn’t it supposed to be healthier or something?” you ask, getting out of bed. “I know I should, but I just love to sleep.”

“It is,” he answers simply. “While you get ready, I can go get breakfast, if you want.”

Through a yawn, you agree and send him down to the lobby. You hop in the shower, suddenly feeling the reality of this trip set in. You, for all intents and purposes, are dating Spencer Reid for the entire week. 

“Don’t fuck this up” is all you can think. Stepping out of the shower, you sigh. Today is the start of the hardest week of your life, but for now, you have a few moments to yourself before this relationship suffocates you.

When you walk out of the bathroom, you are a bit surprised to see Spencer already sitting on the bed, an array of breakfast pastries around him. “I know you have a sweet tooth,” he answers plainly.

You giggle before falling onto the bed next to him. “So do you.”

He blushes before taking a bit out of a chocolate muffin. 

“So, what’s the plan for today?” You grab a danish from the pile. “I mean, I know that you’re showing me around, but like, I didn’t know if you had thought much about it.”

Oh, he had thought about it. More than he was willing to let on. Much, much more. “I mean, I can take you past the schools and stuff. The first casino I got banned from,” he suggests with a smirk.

“I’d love that.” You lean against the pillows behind you. “Do you think you could teach me how to get banned from a casino?”

He pretends to think about it for a minute. “I’ve seen you play poker.”

You give him a playful shove, and you let yourself indulge in the moment. For that moment, you aren’t pretending to date him. You are having a conversation with your boyfriend. 

A few more shared giggles and an extra pastry later, the two of you are ready to go. You toss Spencer the keys to the rental. When he raises his eyebrows, you shrug. “You’re my boyfriend,” you answer.

Spencer doesn’t argue with you. In all honesty, he’s quite certain that his brain stopped functioning as soon as you called him your boyfriend. With shaking hands, he starts the car. He’s not exactly eager to show you where he grew up. He understands that this is a normal couple activity. But, this is not a normal couple, and Spencer certainly did not have a normal childhood. All he can think about is how poorly this could go. Then, he starts thinking about why he doesn’t go by these places anymore, how many bad memories he has here.

“So,” you start, pulling him out of his thoughts, “I totally get it if this is too invasive or something, but how did you get from elementary school to high school?”

He wants to dismiss the question. Afterall, you gave him an out. “The teachers thought that it would be best for me to skip as many grades as possible. My mom was having a hard enough time raising me on her own. When the teachers said it would be best, she believed them.”

You place your hand over his on the center console, sensing his discomfort. “I mean, I know it wasn’t the most pleasant experience, but I’m glad you did it. I’m glad you’re here.”

He blushes and tries to deflect. “I think my kindergarten teacher just didn’t want to deal with me. On the first day of school, she read Love You Forever to us and got annoyed when I read the book out loud with her.” 

You rarely got the chance to think of Spencer as a kid. A real kid, who wanted to share his knowledge with his class, completely uninhibited by the context of the situation. “I never cared for that book. It gives off weird mother energy.”

He laughs at your admission. “I loved everything Babar,” he states, noticing how your eyes light up. “On our first day of school, we got to go the library. It was the first time I was surrounded by books for my age. I checked out every single Babar book.” He smiles at the memory. He hadn’t thought about it in a while. “When I came back the next day, the librarian told me they had some Richard Scarry books that I might like.”

“Was he the Pie Rats guy?” you interject.

“Pirates?”

“No. Pie Rats. Like, the dessert and rats. I don’t remember much but there were these pirates, rats, rat pirates, who stole a pie. Anyway, it was my sister’s favorite book. I can’t tell you how many times I read it to her before bed.”

“My mom used to read sonnets before I went to bed.”

“Maybe not the most developmentally appropriate,” you comment, “but very sweet.”

He blushes again, and directs your attention out the window. “There’s the elementary school.” It’s the middle of the day, and there are kids on the playground, so he doesn’t linger. “They’ve upgraded the playground since I’ve been here.”

“What was your favorite thing on the playground?” you ask, before guessing, “You strike me as a swings kid. Like, you definitely ran onto the playground so that you could stay on them all recess.”

“You’re a pretty good profiler,” he answers. He doesn’t want to tell you that even for his brief time in elementary school, he was picked on and found it easier to stay with the librarian during recess than go outside and play, but whenever he was on a playground, he always ran to the swings. To this day, when he takes Henry to the park, he swings next to him. “Was your favorite the slide?”

“It would have been if Tyler hadn’t started charging for it. A piece of mulch for one slide,” you explain with a scoff. “If he was on the playground, I hung out on one of the jungle gyms. In fifth grade, they added a merry-go-round, which was a huge hit.”

“Good choice,” he comments, driving past the middle school without acknowledging it.

“Yeah, if I were showing you around my hometown, I would skip the middle school, too.” 

“I didn’t spend much time there.”

“Alright, smartypants,” you mutter with a playful glint in your eyes. 

It’s a bit of a drive from the middle school to the high school, so he turns his attention back to the charade. “So, we went over our first date and how we started dating, what else do we need?”

“She’s your mom, so what do you think she’s going to ask?”

“She’ll want to know what we plan for the future.” He anxiously drums a pattern onto the steering wheel. 

“Well,” you start, unsure how much you want to admit, “if I’m meeting your mom, we have to be pretty serious, right?”

He nods, not trusting his voice.

“So, we would be planning on getting married at some point, right? Having kids?” When he doesn’t react, you try to backtrack on your statement. “I mean, we haven’t been dating for a year, so we don’t have to have all the details ironed out yet, but yeah, I’m good with that if you are.”

“Sounds good,” he squeaks. 

“Do you want to have kids?”

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “Do you?”

“Yeah, I do,” you answer, looking directly at him.

Spencer has never been more grateful to pull up to the high school. “This is the high school.”

“You don’t seem real happy to be here.”

“I never was.”

You squeeze his hand, which he almost forgot you were holding. “Can we stop by your house?”

“Yeah,” he responds, eagerly driving away. “Of course.” While passes the school, he can’t help but ask the question he’s not sure he wants an answer to. “Were you one of the mean girls?”

“No,” you answer. “I mean, yeah, I was sixteen and probably a bitch, but I never intentionally made someone feel bad.” You rub your thumb over his knuckles. “I mean, and I know this isn’t the answer you want, but I probably wouldn’t have been your friend in high school. I would have largely ignored you, or cheated off your homework when I forgot to do mine.” 

You expect him to pull his hand away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he laughs. A genuine, Spencer laugh. “That is the most honest answer I’ve ever heard.” When he calms down, he whispers, “Thank you.”

“I’m not going to lie to you, Spencer.” The sincerity in your voice makes Spencer forget that the entire reason you are here is to help him lie and that, when his mother asks you anything, you will have to lie to her and that that means you will have to lie to him.

“I’m not going to lie to you either,” he says, and he means it.

With a weird, heavy atmosphere hanging over a trip that was supposed to end with you getting banned from a casino, you quickly change the topic. “We still haven’t found a pet name for you.”

“Or you,” he counters.

“Alright, sweetheart, whatcha got?”

“Baby doll?”

“Ooh, old timey.”

“I hope that wasn’t your offer,” he jokes.

You laugh. “Well, I guess I’ve got to cross ‘grandpa’ off my list too.”

On the drive to the house, you settle on ‘sunshine’ for him and ‘doll’ for you. He drives by the house, making sure to only share good memories with you before taking you back to the hotel. 

“I know that today wasn’t the easiest thing for you, but I truly appreciate you sharing this with me,” you say as he parks the car.

“Honestly, today was fun. I wouldn’t have thought of most of that until today.”

It takes everything in you not to lean in and kiss him right then. Instead, you push open the car door, separating yourself from him for just a moment.

“It’s only noon,” he states. “Is there anything else you want to do?”

You pause for a moment, leaning against the car. “I really just want to talk to you.”

Spencer wants to believe that you are saying that because you want to spend more time with him, because you truly want to get to know him, but he knows better. This is just until Thursday. After that, the two of you will go back to being nothing more than friends. “Makes sense. It would make tomorrow better.”

Right, tomorrow. Your heart sinks. Tomorrow and Thursday are the only times you get to be a couple. After that, you’ll be (Y/N) again. Not doll. Just (Y/N). You make a small hum of approval before following him up to your room.

He sits on the desk chair. “So, what do you want to know?”

Falling onto your bed, you answer, “I wouldn’t have even thought to ask you about most of the stuff you told me. Should we just-” you cringe as you finish the sentence “-look up some questions?”

“There was a study that determined the 36 questions you should ask your partner that supposedly lead to love,” he explains. “It comes from the idea that you should be able to be vulnerable with a person if you are going to spend the rest of your life together. Do you want to give those a shot?”

With the idea that these questions could somehow make Spencer love you, you agree.

“The first is if you could have dinner with anyone, living or dead, who would it be?”

You pause for a moment, really considering the question. “I mean, part of me wants to say a saint or a scholar or someone I could really learn from, y’know, but I also think I want to say that to impress you,” you laugh. “I think dinner with Billy Crystal would be fun.”

He chuckles, not expecting your answer. “I’d have dinner with Gideon. I’m not sure if I would say anything or expect him to, but I just want to see him again, just in case I needed something.”

Smiling, you prompt him for the next question. The two of you spend a few hours laughing and grimacing and just talking. You abandoned the list around question eleven, but that hasn’t slowed the two of you down any. It isn’t until you hear your phone chime that you notice the time.

“We should probably get dinner.”

He glances at the alarm clock, before laughing, “Yeah, probably. Do you want to go out?”

You agree, telling him to pick whatever he wants. He settles a mediocre diner that he remembers, but you honestly couldn’t care less about the food. You are, essentially, on a date with Spencer.

When he pays the bill without even letting you offer to split it, you lose yourself in the fantasy. It all becomes too real, and you’re having trouble determining where this ends.

Spencer tries to convince himself that you’re quiet because you simply have nothing more to say. However, he has spent too many years as a profiler to not notice how on edge you are. But, if you aren’t going to tell him what’s bothering you, he certainly isn’t going to push you.

As you walk back into the hotel, you feel like you’re suffocating. How could you agree to this? Why would you agree to torture yourself like this? You had thought you could handle this. Obviously, you were wrong. 

Surely, if you just tell Spencer, you’ll feel better. No, you should wait until tomorrow. Meet his mom, and tell him after, that way, if he doesn’t want to be seen with you after (not that you could blame him), he can tell his mom that you got sick and had to stay back while you’re well on your way to Virginia.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he announces, leaving you alone. 

You try to settle yourself. You need to sleep tonight. If you don’t, you’ll be too stressed to get through the day, and you will ruin this whole thing. You make a cup of tea, hoping it will calm you enough to make it through the night.

Spencer steps into the water, letting the wash over him. This trip has been tougher than he thought it would be. He had planned on telling you the truth, that he actually just wanted to ask you on a date but couldn’t muster up the courage to actually ask you. But, things, as they tend to go for Spencer, got very complicated very quickly. 

Now, it’s too late for you to back out if you want to. He just has to get through tomorrow. Then, if you want, you can spend the rest of the week pretending you don’t know him, and he will have just enough time to pretend like his heart wasn’t broken before returning to work.

As he gets dressed, he glances at his watch. He only has to live like this for roughly thirteen hours. Ever unlucky thirteen. He tugs at the sleeve of his sweatshirt, pulling it so that it covers his hand, his fingers rubbing the fraying edge. Thirteen hours. 

He climbs into the bed next to yours, willing himself to stop thinking about how much he wants it to be yours. “Good night.”

You smile at him, rolling over to turn off your light. “Good night, Spence.”

You’re not sure that you sleep more than an hour the entire night. If you weren’t so caught up in yourself, you would have noticed that Spencer maybe slept and hour and a half. 

Finally deciding that you are not getting any more sleep, you pull yourself out of the bed, ready to just get today over with. You hide out in the bathroom, hoping that the shower drain will swallow you and you won’t actually have to convince Spencer’s mom that you are head-over-heels in love with him, while pretending that you aren’t actually in love with him, before you tell him that you are an appropriate amount of in love with.

Easy as pie.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, hoping that you look believable, before pushing open the door. 

The two of you spend the morning dancing around each other, keeping conversation to a minimum and praying that neither of you blows this. Spencer convinces himself that you are just nervous to meet his mom, and you convince yourself that your nervousness is making you think he is nervous. 

As he leads you into the building, he tries to steady his nerves, knowing that his mom will not hesitate to point out how uncomfortable he is. He can do this.

“Diana, you have some visitors,” the nurse says, leaving the three of you alone. 

“Hi, mom.”

Her face lights up, and you start to second guess this whole thing. “Spencer! Is this (Y/N)?”

“Hi, Mrs. Reid, it’s great to finally meet you.”

She gives you a soft smile as you sit down. “Spencer absolutely adores you,” she states, causing Spencer to blush. “He’s been telling me about you for years. I was incredibly excited to meet you.”

You giggle, not quite sure how to handle this. As he tries to take control of the conversation, you can’t stop thinking of her comment. Years? You had agreed to do this only a few weeks ago. 

Luckily for you, the two of them fall into a conversation that doesn’t involve you. Occasionally, you chime in to back up the lie that the two of you have constructed or to gush over him, but you try to step back and let the two of them enjoy their time together. Finally having your chance to play the role of Spencer Reid’s girlfriend, you lean into him, letting yourself go for a moment before that all comes crashing down. 

Spencer feels you squeeze his hand as you excuse yourself to the restroom. As soon as you’re gone, his mother asks, “You are getting married soon, right?”

He flounders for an answer. Starting about four different sentences before she continues, “You obviously love the girl. She loves you, too.”

He settles on a tight-lipped smile as a response.

By the time you come back, Spencer has been thoroughly embarrassed and feels absolutely horrible for lying to his mom. As he sees her start to drift off, he makes an excuse to leave. Despite your surprise, you don’t protest. 

Once the car door shuts, he turns to you. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have done that.”

“Spence?”

“We shouldn’t have done. I especially shouldn’t have asked you to do that.”

You have to stop yourself from physically grimacing at his words. So much for telling him how you feel. “I’m sorry.”

The dejection in your voice makes Spencer’s heart break. He drums his fingers on the wheel, trying to think of a way out of this. He sighs, knowing that there is only one way to even try to fix this. “I just really really wanted you to meet my mom as my girlfriend. My real girlfriend. I got so overwhelmed trying to keep up the lie. You didn’t deserve that. You sure as hell don’t deserve me, but I just need you to know where I’m coming from.”

You place your hand over his on the steering wheel with a smile. Suddenly, Spencer feels that everything will be okay.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

the fact that gojo genuinely wanted to teach him about love…… that he wanted to reach out to him and save him from his isolation.

YES!! the whole "i will remember you.." HAS ME FUCKED UP like. there's a few ways it could be interpreted but it gives me the same feeling as when you 'love' someone so much, you honour or cherish the memory of them forever.. AHHHHHH I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

thank you ari for the link <33 when i read the chapter I will be back to let you know my thoughts and feelings :3 I have so many photos in my camera roll of just me sobbing after jjk so :3 definitely scared :3 With 252.. you're very right it's really sad that it's actually quite far from how detailed Gege likes his fights to be. Art style and breaks are on two different spectrums. Complaining about him taking breaks is the biggest NO from me. like PLEASE let Gege release a chapter a month. Every single week is WAY too much for a mangaka - there's only so much a person can do within 6 days :// From a pure quality and marketing standpoint it'll allow him to : process his OWN thoughts, more detailed drawings and (longer) chapters, perhaps even formulate a proper plan for the manga, and the hype will be bigger as well. Especially right now where it is getting criticism and being called repetitive - there is less hype because everyone knows they'll get answers in the next week. But most importantly REST. he is not a machine and you are very right about that!!

something to look forward to :3 (tbf i was especially into it bc i love takaba and kenny lmao but i still think you’ll find it fun!! you can tell akutami was having a blast)

also!! i just thought I'd let you know.. i never really got kenny (kenny is so messed up and i dislike(d) them) but you're the blog that made me understand the lore!! and I even started reading some kenny fics.. Anyways, i think that's enough for today and I'll shut up now haha!! <33

OHHHHH ANON WE’RE HOLDING HANDS OUR BRAINS ARE SMOOCHING

i agree completely 🫂 when i saw that line i kept thinking of sukuna like. centuries into the future…. in a completely different world ….. STILL remembering gojo and no one else. it’s such a wonderful fucking line not only because sukuna looks so sincerely pleased saying it but because it’s proof that gojo DID reach him!!!! gojo wanted to prevent sukuna from feeling alone and he succeeded because sukuna will never truly be alone as long as he’s carrying gojo’s memory with him. they make me insane

PLS DO SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON THE CHAPTER ONCE YOU READ IT …. i’d love love love to hear!!!! :3 take your time though… get your tissues ready……. aaa and !!! 100% agree on the monthly chapters. that should just be a standard atp but sadly it isn’t…. :ccc i rlly do think gege deserves one long longgggg break to rest up properly.

also!! i just thought I'd let you know.. i never really got kenny (kenny is so messed up and i dislike(d) them) but you're the blog that made me understand the lore!! and I even started reading some kenny fics..

ALSO THIS !!!!!!!! ANON…….. T_T this made me so happy you have NO idea. i’m so glad i could turn you around on him!!! he’s such a silly, interesting, fun little guy :’3 (very fucked up too but that’s just another charm point imo) and aaa the kenny fics !! the world needs sm more of those … i’m working on a no curses au fic for him but i have no idea when it’s getting out …… </3 hopefully soon!!!! anyway pdhdjdj i’m just so happy that you’re a kenny enjoyer now!! welcome to the cult club !!!! 🫂🫂

[blossomingframe]

T-shirt

This is inspired by a real conversation me and my girlfriend had. First person POV.

It had been a long three hours. Dance class all day tends to lead to three things; a ravenous appetite, being drenched in sweat and being weirdly horny. Luckily unlike most days my girlfriend was waiting for me when I got home. One week of a parent-free house too. As I stretched and massaged my rubber legs I thought about how I’d be twice as exhausted once the day was over- but plenty energised for antics. I suddenly came up with a bright idea. I whipped out my phone to text her immediately;

“Hey babe. My shirt probably already stinks. If I make it worse on purpose would you wear it tonight?😈”

“Oh my God yes I would love to. Mark me with your scent. I want to be second grossest person in the supermarket tonight.🥰”

Perfect. Four more hours of dance. Now the shirt is sticking to skin all over. But the sweating time wasn’t over. I head to the student gym and hit arm day a little hard than usual. Arousal is the best motivator. Then I have a little pre-dinner at a coffee shop; broccoli Mac and cheese, an americano and a slice of chocolate cake. I love any excuse to eat but this time I’m on a mission. Make myself fart.

Once I’m off the bus I walk home in a cloud of joy. I’m a simple,slobby dude; I like food, sex, being gross and gross people. As I get to the door I grin wildly. My sweet girlfriend answers the door. As per usual she looks stunning. I kiss her on the cheek and say; “ it’s been a long day but I’m willing to make it twice as long for you.”She frets over me and compliments me, as I babble on about all the dumb shit I thought about to pass the time. Mid sentence a small burp falls out of her lips. It sounds so normal these days. I can’t help but shower her with compliments though. Especially with the snack packages I can see on the table. My plan needs to be executed though. I excuse myself to upstairs.

Perfect. I can hear my stomach gurgle. I always have a fart brewing but these will reek. I pull my sweaty t-shirt off, screw it up and shove it in my trousers. Then I push down with my hands clasped on my belly. Sure enough I release four massive farts in a row. Deep, bubbly and long directly into the already smelly shirt. I put on a shirt from my “worn once but not too bad” pile then go downstairs to see her stratching her ear while watching TV. Cutie. I say “hey babe you know what I said earlier about my shirt. Well I’ve stunk out this one for you. I hope you enjoy it.” She buries her nose in and stim-whistles a couple of times then puts on the shirt. “Thank you . This feels so cozy.”

“You look cute babe. Walk to the supermarket , wander around to get dinner, get the bus back then eat and fool around with a space documentary on?” “Could we get the bus both ways? I don’t like crossing the big main road.” “Okay country bumpkin we can avoid the horse machines.” “Says the city boy who gets excited every time he sees a cow”

We stand at the bus stop with my arm around her waist and her arm around my shoulders. I am definitely smirking. Sometimes I cannot control the smirk. She looks at me and blushes. Every time she blushes my heart lights up. As we get on the bus a couple of people turn to look. I pull her to the back and we lean on each other as we sit down. No traffic today so it’s only 12 minutes to the bus station. Before I know it we’re picking out discounted fancy pizzas while she talks about peaky blinders. “Can we get some garlic bread as well? And some sour candy?” “It’s your money” “I know but it has to feed us for four more days” “Can we get hummus” “Of course” she gives me a look. I know what that means. That look means I should apply my empathy to myself.

When we get to the frozen aisle an older man is looking at the frozen vegetables. He stares us down, looking for something to comment on. Then his nostrils flare. As I open the door the freezer with the Ben and Jerry’s he spits out “you gen zeds never bathe. Both of you smell awful. It’s anti social. Get your acts together” at my sweet girlfriend. She starts giggling and I start laughing as well. He picks up his bags and walks away. I keep laughing as I pull her in by the waist. “You smell terrible” I kiss her on the mouth. My stomach burbles and feel a bubble shoot up my throat. I turn my head and let out a medium sized burp. I pull back in give her a huge hug. I can feel that she’s nervous but happy I’m happy.

We both go straight to the kitchen when we get home. I open a bag of rainbow belts and place our pizza and garlic bread in oven while she gets a couple of paper plates out of the packet for us. Then she opens her hummus and starts slicing vegetables. I let out another fart as I retrieve the garlic bread and joke “I need to be re-inflated”. I place cheese on and put it back in the oven then hug her from behind and tie her/my shirt so her belly can be seen. I then kiss her on the forehead and start doing a silly dance to pass the time. When we dish up I’m more generous for myself than usual. Then we set ourselves up in the living and I turn on the TV. Then I ask “can I put my hand down your pants while we eat” “yes but let me get comfy” “ok” she pushes her self into the couch corner then places her food in the gap between her legs. I then fumble with her button and zip and push my hand into underwear and pick up a slice of garlic bread. She’s already hard. I look at her quizzically “you were really confident with that old man and I really like wearing your shirt”. We watch the screen as we eat and I touch various parts of her body.

As a supernova fills the screen I polish off my plate and tap her shoulder. She nods then pulls down her jeans and panties. I sit on her lap and put one hand on her clit and the fingers of the other hand in her mouth. Then I get into a rhythm. Mouth-clit-mouth-clit. She makes such fun faces. Eventually I feel a push and release and she moans directly in my ear. I move my two hands towards her belly. It looks cute, round and gassy. I rub gently below her belly button and she lets out her own loud fart. I kiss her face all over and exclaim “such a good gross girl! I love you!” She’s so cute. I collapse into her and we fall asleep on the couch. She’s mine. She smells like me.

[dragonmuse]

I'd love to see some wmits Izzy and Alma interactions.

(you've got it!!)

“Charlie!” Alma called as soon as she walked in the door.  “I need to borrow your husband!” 

“How did you get in here?” He called back, coming out of the office with a frown. 

“I made a copy of your key, obviously,” she tossed her braid over her shoulder. Dressed down today, just a little black dress, acid green tights and her lowest heeled boots. “What if you had an emergency and I needed to get in?” 

“I’d call Read,” he said dryly. “What do you need Iz for?” 

“Ugh, you know Mom’s whole charity thing?” She perched on their couch, reaching down to untie her laces. Apparently she was staying a while. Charlie headed for the kitchen, turning on the coffee pot.  

“Which one?” He asked wryly. 

“The warming centers thing, you know? Help the homeless?” 

“She’s got the arts education thing too,” he reminded her. “But okay, warming centers. What about them?” 

“She’s doing a big fundraiser and asked if I would help her out with some of the admin. It’s been fine. You know how much I love to part stupid old men from their money.” 

“It’s one of your best hobbies,” Charlie agreed. “Mocha or caramel?” 

“Mocha,” she kicked off her boots. “Anyway, the actual event is in two weeks and I cut Kyle loose yesterday.” 

“Oh ouch, I thought that was going well.” 

“Turns out, he’s a dick and a half,,” Alma sighed. “People are such fucking liars, it’s exhausting. But he would’ve made a bad date to this anyway. All those old men are going to be all over me.” 

“So you want Izzy to growl at them?” 

“It would make my night,” she beamed at him. The machine started to grind beans, filling the air with the sharp bitter smell.  

“He’s at work for another hour. Stick around for dinner and you can ask him yourself.” 

“That was the plan. I’m not in the mood to figure out food anyway. What’re you up to?” 

“Addressing my advisor’s latest round of critiques,” Charlie sighed. “I think I’m almost done. We’ll see. I don’t know how you survived this.” 

“Who says I did? I’m a shell of my former self. And what was left has been devoured by adjuncting. But I got an interview for a tenure position. Came in this morning.” 

“Holy shit, where?”  He poured the coffee slowly. “What exciting flyover state can we plan on visiting?” 

“Oh, I think you’ll find I might be quite close to home.” 

“...no fucking way.” 

“Way,” she laughed. “I’ve got to get it first, but can you imagine?” 

“You’ll move here!” Charlie beamed at her. “Really?” 

“Really really, if I get it. Can you imagine? You’ll probably get a gig on the oppisote side of the planet as soon as I do though.” 

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “I’m thinking of looking for virtual teaching positions, honestly. Something that leaves me enough time to research.” 

“Ah, ‘the book’,” Alma nodded. “Sure, why not?” 

He stirred in the chocolate syrup and brought her the mug, settling beside her with his own. Within a few minutes, they were both on their phones, doing their own thing, but Alma turned around, resting against the arm of the couch, her legs draped over Charlie’s lap. That was the scene Izzy came home to.  

“Am I cooking for one more?” He asked wryly. 

“Yep,” Charlie looked up, beamed at him. “How was work?” 

“Fine,” Izzy set his shoes next to the door then crossed to kiss him. “Can still keep you in style.” 

“Oh, you’re keeping me now?” Charlie ran a hand down Izzy’s arm slowly. “How novel.” 

Alma’s toes poked into Izzy’s stomach and he caught her foot, “What, princess?” 

“Charlie said I could borrow you.” 

“I said ask him,” Charlie corrected. “He’s not a library book.” 

Izzy dropped her foot, “What for?” 

“I’ve got this fundraiser thing I have to go to for mom and you would be an excellent shield against gross old men.” 

“I am a gross old man,” Izzy pointed out. 

“You’re not that old and you’re definitely not gross,” Charlie squeezed his hand. 

“Anyway, blending in can only help,” Alma sniffed. “Be my date?” 

“Do I have to be diplomatic about it?” 

“Not on my account,” she shrugged. “I’ll do the schmoozing, you bring the glaring.” 

“Send me the date then.” 

A month later, Izzy picked her up at the Bonnet family home in a black on black suit, no tie,  silver embroidered black vest in a pattern of roses, one button undone at his throat, the silver chain he always wore catching the light. He looked like a very classy mobster. 

“Did you dress to match me?” Alma asked, clearly delighted. She was in a silver dress, hugging her slight frame with shining jet black accessories. 

“Charlie bought it,” he shrugged. “So probably.” 

“Amazing.” 

When they reached the venue, he opened her door and offered her his arm. 

“Oooh giving me the full treatment,” she said happily, taking it, resting her hand butterfly light on his forearm. 

“What’s the use unless you sell it?” he acknowledged. “Your mother know I’m coming?” 

“I had to tell her,” Alma sighed. “Can you imagine how funny it would’ve been if I didn’t? But alas. Sitting arrangements etc.” 

“She must’ve been thrilled.” 

“There was a lot of deep breathing,” Alma agreed. “Too bad for her. I reserve the right to make this bearable for myself.” 

It was stuffy inside which felt a little on those nose symbolically. Most of the attendees skewed closer to Izzy’s age than Alma’s, affluent and boring as hell. There was a ten-piece band and a lovely woman singing ballads. 

“They’ll have to stop when they give out all the ridiculous awards, patting people on the back for making tax shelters for themselves,” Alma murmured. “I need to talk to the man in the hideous blue number first.” 

“Sure,” they approached and it was actually easier to keep pace with her. They were of a height and Alma wasn’t the kind to dash ahead. 

“Miss Bonnet!” the man exclaimed. 

“Mr. Landon,” she acknowledged. “Thank you so much for coming tonight.” 

“I would never miss an invitation from a lovely young lady to such a well put together event. I haven’t spotted your mother yet, but you’ll have to give her my compliments. Truly an outstanding showing,” he plowed on before Alma could say a word, “there used to be a time every night out was quite like this. When I was a young man, there used to be a dozen events like this a month. You were spoiled for choice, now you’re lucky to get a ‘thank you for your donation’ letter. Just leaving money on the table for good causes.” 

“I hope you got my thank you note,” Alma said lightly. “Parties are good, but I do like a personal touch.” 

“I did,”  Mr. Landon realized they weren’t alone at last. “And this is your-” 

“Date,” Alma supplied brightly. “Izzy, this is T. Landon, CEO of Metro Formation Banking.” 

“I’m familiar with them,” Izzy held out his hand. Mr. Landon glanced down, taking in the tattoo, and shook once very lightly.  

“A pleasure,” Mr. Landon glanced between them. “How did you two meet?” 

“My brother introduced us,” Alma said merrily. 

“Oh,” Landon’s face closed down. “I see. Give my best to your brother. If you’ll excuse me, I see Amanda and I’ve been trying to catch her for weeks.” 

“Of course.” 

Izzy watched him go, amused. “What did Charlie do to him?” 

“His son was selling steroids to the jocks at the high school. Charlie called the cops on them,” Alma smiled faintly. “No idea if he actually was or not. Charlie always hated him. There’s Mrs. Donogue. Try to look extra disreputable. She’s a beast.” 

Izzy went around the room with her. He stayed at her side, except to fetch her a glass of champagne that she used to punctuate statements rather than drink and nursed his own along. Each time she introduced him as her date, there were crestfallen looks from the men, followed by a sizing up. He’d meet their assessment with his toothiest smile. Go ahead and ask. I dare you.  

The women kept their council better, but he heard the flurry of whispers as they moved around the room. 

“Evelyn!” Alma said brightly as they neared the end of her circuit. She sounded genuinely thrilled. “Have you met her before?” 

“Charlie has mentioned her, but no.” 

“You’ll love her. Aunt E!” 

“Don’t call me that in public.” Evelyn was in a billowy deep purple dress that set her breasts on display and hid most of the rest of her. Her eye patch was in the same fabric. She wore no jewelry except for a single ring on her middle finger, an aggressively large diamond. “People will think I’m old enough to be your aunt.” 

“You are,” Alma laughed. 

“Stop that,” Evelyn groaned. “Or at least stop sounding so happy about it.” 

“You have to meet Izzy,” Alma told her. “Izzy, this is Evelyn, Evelyn, this is Izzy.” 

“Izzy,” Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “As in, Charlie’s husband.” 

“That’s right,” Izzy held out his hand. She shook it, strong and even.  

“And where is the problem child?” Evelyn asked Alma though her eye stayed on Izzy’s face. 

“Probably reading past my bookmark so he can spoil the ending,” Izzy smiled faintly. 

He’d solemnly promised he wasn’t going out alone. Izzy gave it a 50-50 chance of being true. Charlie did not do well in an empty apartment. 

“That sounds about right. Tell him that I missed him at the birthday bash this year.” 

“I will,” Izzy agreed. 

“I’m going to get another drink,” Alma declared, holding her still mostly full glass. “Anyone want anything?” 

“A negroni,” Evelyn said evenly. 

“No,” Izzy held up his own champagne, still half-full. Alma moved with purpose across the room. 

“Not content with just one of them?” Evelyn asked coolly.  

Izzy snorted, “I’m here as a distraction, not a real date. Alma can do better than me.” 

“So can Charlie,” Evelyn shrugged. “And yet. Here we are with my best friend trying to figure out just where she went wrong.” 

“He’s in a long term stable relationship,” Izzy said mildly. It was nice, actually. To have someone be honest about their distaste instead of hiding it in pointed questions. “About to get a doctorate. Most people would consider that a very successful turn out.” 

“It has lasted longer than I predicted,” Evelyn admitted. “I kept telling Mary ‘oh, just wait it out’. And then you got engaged and I told her it was a stunt. And now here we are. You’re very serious about him.” 

“Yes,” Izzy snorted. “That’s why I married him.” 

“People get married for many reasons, Mr. Hands,” Evelyn gestured at the floor. “It’s a lucky few that do it for love.” 

“I consider myself lucky,” he agreed. “What about you?” 

“Oh, I’m very unlucky,” she said without any change in her tone. “I’ve lost two husbands.” 

Izzy nodded slowly, “Charlie mentioned.” 

“I’m not a very maternal person. Never grieved not having children, but I’ve enjoyed being something like an Aunt to those two. Alma always had a million questions and Charlie took an interest in the business.” 

“I’ve heard. He talks about that autopsy a lot.” 

“He snuck in,” Evelyn said, a hint of fondness creeping in. “In any case, I take an interest, you understand?” 

“I’m glad someone does,” Izzy said dryly.  

“I didn’t come to the wedding because frankly, I hate weddings. I hated my own, hated every one I’ve ever been too. So I didn’t get a chance to say this then, but I think it still applies.” 

“I’m listening.” 

Evelyn shifted her weight, coming inches closer to him. “I have no issue with dead bodies, Mr. Hands. Least of all the ones that deserve to be dead, yet insist on drawing breath. Do you understand me?” 

“Yes,” Izzy smiled at her, pleased as anything. 

“I’m...not sure you do?” She straightened. 

“No one has threatened me over him yet. It’s fucking great,” Izzy sipped his champagne. 

“You...I’m lost,” Evelyn decided. 

“Your Mary was furious. Stede-” 

“Oh, don’t even mention him. We’ve had words,” Evelyn spat. 

“He’s an asshole,” Izzy agreed merrily. “Who blustered at me. No one else has had the guts to do more than that. Even Alma just rolled over to it and she’s the kind of girl that brings an automatic weapon to a knife fight. No one else seemed to give a shit.” 

“Guess that makes me special.” 

Izzy saluted her with his glass, “Very. A fucking pleasure to meet you, honestly.” 

“Here, Auntie,” Alma returned, holding out a glass for Evelyn. “Have fun?” 

“You know what,” Evelyn tipped her fresh glass at Izzy. “I think I did.” 

They had to sit to eat dinner after that. Izzy ignored his plate, in favor of listening to Alma schmooze her way around the table. Mary was sitting one over, apparently listening intently to some blowhard though Doug kept interrupting with guileless jokes that she laughed over and the blowhard winced at.  

There were speeches and awards as dessert came around, then at last the band started up again. 

“Dance with me,” Alma demanded. 

“Yeah, fine.” Izzy got to his feet. 

“We can just do a stomp and sway,” she offered as they got to the floor. 

“Fuck that,” Izzy decided. “You know how to foxtrot?” 

“No?” 

“I’ll teach you.” 

“How do you know?” She asked amused as she settled her hand at his waist. 

“Long story. But it serves you, so don’t ask questions.” 

Alma was a good partner. She moved gracefully, picking up the steps. Charlie liked his dancing dirty and had little interest in the formal. Would he if they came to an event like this? Maybe they’d have to crash a party one day and find out.  For now, Alma flew lightly on her feet. 

“We make a good couple,” she said impishly to him as they swirled around the floor. 

“I look even more like a predator with you then I do with him,” Izzy countered. 

“Because I’m a woman?” She asked tartly. 

“Because idiots think I could convince you of something. Or force you,” he spun her out, then reeled him back in “If they haven’t met you. They see a guy like Charlie, think he can fend for himself.”  

“If only they knew the terrible truth,” Alma snorted. 

“Which is?”  

“That without Charlie, you’d be lost at sea. And without you, Charlie would be dead.” 

“I don’t-” 

“Please,” Alma rolled her eyes. “I know my brother. I know what he was like when you met him. I like you a lot. Probably would’ve anyway. But I only love you because you keep him on his feet.” 

“Does the same for me,” Izzy offered helplessly. Hurricane Alma. What a force. 

“Can’t get divorced then. Mutually assured destruction. Anyway, no one thinks you're a predator tonight. Just a guy with enough cash to turn my head.”

“I’ve got fifty bucks and a triple AAA card.” 

“Great, we can have a breakdown and get fast food.” 

“It’s a date.” 

They left not long after. The Bonnet house was dark. He turned off the car, but she made no move to get out. 

“What is it?” 

“If I get the job...Charlie says he doesn’t want to leave the area. You think that’s true?” 

“We like it,” Izzy considered. “The apartment is a good deal. Know all the decent spots. I’ve got a good amount of clients. Could move, but not a lot of incentive just yet.” 

“I want you both to stay,” she kept her eyes on the house. “I might need you.” 

“What for?” Izzy frowned. “You don’t need anyone.” 

“That’s not the same as wanting to need someone. I don’t....I don’t know what I’m going to do yet.” 

“About the job?” 

“And my entire fucking life,” she snorted. “Ingrid is barely talking to me. Owen is never going to move back to the area. Shawna travels so much, it’s impossible to pin her down. I was counting on that. On them. And now it’s just...gone. So I need to know you’ll be around.” 

“I’m not making promises,” Izzy sighed. “But I can’t see where we’d go.” 

“Good,” she looked up at last with a half-smile. “If I need a ride in a few days, would you take me somewhere and not ask any questions?” 

“Any day,” he said carefully. “Are you all right?” 

“Not sure yet.” She leaned over the console, suddenly in his space. She kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Iz. For tonight. And the maybe ride. You headed home?” 

It would be a long drive. He could get a hotel room or at least, catch a nap here before going. 

“Yeah,” it wasn’t even a question, really. 

“I figured,” she grinned. “You’re both so predictable. Don’t fall asleep behind the wheel. It’d be a loss to the accounting community.” 

“Fuck off, princess,” he said fondly.  

“Night!” 

He waited until she was safely in the house, lights flickering on one by one, before turning the car around and headed back home.

[timidloner]

Hey! It’s fangirl back again, not dead from work yet. And I hope you’ve been getting some rest and staying hydrated! So, the whole thing going on between Moon and Sun keeps playing in my mind. I know we’ll get answers throughout the story. And it would be an endless cycle of Sun taking Moon’s creations for their own and Moon destroying Sun’s creation or converting them, if Moon didn’t already do something about Sun seeing that he’s missing in action. It’s like a constant conflict of choice between the two. I doubt that they will ever reach a compromise or anything. And I think in an old post, you mentioned something about that hinting at Sun’s chance to even try to do it again. And I got the magic and souls thing, which makes sense now, never really thought of a context like that.

Now that that thought is out, I love the other options rambling gave for MC planning to kill Joren. I’d love to see a good mindbreak option as a result for trying to kill him (both the “happy” and “blank-eyed”). Ahem, now as my hidden demons have awakened, I remembered about being able to fuck Joren in his *cough* monster form *cough*. How would one persuade him to do that? Considering he’s a towering murdering machine in that form. And I remember something about MC being able to change physically too 👀.

Hey!! Nice to see you again! I think it's time for me to give you a special tag!!

I've been well, today I had a particularly nice breakfast. And I hope work treats you better this week!

You've been solving the puzzle very well. These siblings will never reach a compromise, they're too far gone for that. Someone has to win this conflict or they'll be forever stuck on a cycle of destruction, that's Moon final goal, not winning a battle, but the war.

And Sun is alive, but things are complicated for him!!

Did you translate my post? Aww, I'm actually super happy that you like my story enough to do that :((!!! And if you didn't, that line I just wrote will be a bit embarrassing, haha!

Sometimes crazy ideas come to me, I just mix them together and I get my lore! I left that post in Spanish since I wanted to keep it a secret from the majority of my followers, kinda like an open secret.

And yes! MC will change but only on certain endings.

Also...

Haha! Sorry! And yes, Ram writes great ideas, the mindbreak ending wasn't something I'd have thought about, even if I'm into it!

And about your inner demons (hehe)...

Joren expects MC to freak out when they see him in his monster form for the first time, he considers that moment like a trial of fire. If MC can accept him after that, then he has won.

I don't think anyone in their right mind could act nonchalant after seeing something like that, and while you'll choose how MC feels about it, I plan to make it a bit realistic. It will take MC three or four interactions (more off screen) with Joren in his monster form (cuddle scenes, scratching his belly/ears, maybe even riding him??) before they become used to it.

After that, you'll get the option to push it further.

It's not like Joren will be against it, he simply would never have thought about it! This is because:

The last time he had sex was when he still "worked" for that noble family, and he was fully human at that time.

He just wants MC to accept that side of him, desiring him while in that form seems to be asking too much.

If MC expresses any interest in that, he's going to be really pleasantly surprised! And I have various ways planned on how this can happen:

MC asks directly to do it.

MC just... starts touching him (monster) without even talking about it beforehand (lmao, now the victim of dubcon is Joren).

MC asks him if he has ever done it while in his monster form, they can be direct or shy.

During one of those cuddle scenes, MC starts getting horny, and since Joren (monster) already knows when they are turned on by now, he'll test the water.

The first scene won't have penetration, though. That's something will have to train themselves for with the help of Joren (human), and with a lot of phallic objects, haha

I realized too late that we can't have Joren fucking MC with his monster tongue, that would be torture since we're talking about a rough cat tongue!! And I'm too attached to the werejaguar concept to change it.

I'm also giving him a weird monster cock (only in his monster form, the man has a normal dick) since felines don't have knots and I'm not into barbed dicks. I haven't decided yet how it will look, though.

[sylvandalism]

random musings from my drafts on style:

I take a certain amount of joy in arranging my outfits and cross referencing and matching shades so that they all comes together in one lovely visage. one of my favorite parts of planning for any event has always been deciding the outfit- how to select and style it appropriately. at one point I got really into the YouTube/fashion blogs/reddit side of it all which I still find somewhat interesting but I realized it’s not so much trends that I care about but the process behind what we wear. style can both complement and extend your sense of self. I still thinks trends can be fascinating to observe over time and what they transmit about the State of Things (hemlines relating to impending recessions, the popularity of androgynous styles speaking to a more nuanced understanding of gender, the commodification of the working man’s tools a la carhartt, etc.), but I’m not rushing to change my wardrobe every couple of months because some influencer said Chelsea boots aren’t in anymore. that’s the lovely aspect of fashion and what you come to realize as you get older: you dress best when you dress for yourself. it can seem like a silly little adage but it is a nice one to have in your pocket. for example, I’ve learned that I really value structure in my outfits, so no matter how hard I try to pull off the oversized and amorphous shearling coat look, it just doesn’t do it for me. and that’s fine because I can use the principle of the trend and apply it elsewhere in a way that does make me feel comfortable and good.

there are of course valuable rules of thumb which I find helpful when it comes to looking more deliberately polished. people ask me what I use and where I get things from to which I usually want to respond that it’s not the source that matters (barring of course the ethical fashion debate which is a whole other can of worms) but what it is. you’re looking for excellent construction and attention to details (reinforced seams, no loose threads, padding, etc), coordination with the rest of your color palette and closet, and complementing the setting (seasonally appropriate, formal vs informal etc). for example if you’d like a wide leg trouser silhouette, in the summer you’d opt for a light colored lined linen pant with brighter colors and in the winter you’d go for a wool blend with appropriate footwear and outerwear. perhaps that’s where the more conservative side of style comes into play but I do think some of the rules have stuck around because there’s some merit to it. at the very least I derive a measure of comfort from looking more polished and deliberate in a society that’s endlessly critical of appearances.

and then there’s the issue of branding and quality which is a slippery slope because the whole concept of quality is now mired in conversations about over consumption, terrible labor practices, ethically dubious marketing policies, greenwashing and so on. it got really overwhelming at some point so I withdrew from it for a while and now I find myself returning to the methodology behind our clothes: why we love certain colors during the seasons, the elegance of the way raw silk drapes, the cut of a coat and how it rests on your shoulders. i am privileged to be able to deliberate over my clothes- I can choose them and arrange them as needed.

growing up my aunt loved to make our formal clothes: she would take our measurements, source the proper fabric, find matching accessories, and take them to the tailor to get sewn. and then we would have fitting sessions in the living room and she would walk around scrutinizing the dress, pinching and pulling on the fabric and hem. If the sleeves were too itchy or the length too long, it would go back to the tailor or she might whip out her sewing machine and adjust it right there. it could take weeks to months for an outfit to materialize to her perfection, but it usually ended up being the nicest dress I’d ever worn.

[greatbigbellies]

2023 PREGNANCY KINK ADVENT CALENDAR (DAY 2)

Secret Surrogate: 1st Trimester.

So, my counselor advised I take up journaling, so I’m giving it a shot here. She says it’ll help me get my thoughts and experiences down so I don’t linger on them so much. She’s the expert so, here we go I guess.

I suppose I’ll just get into it, since I have something really exciting but also really stressful going on. I’m surrogating for my best friend! She and her husband (lovely guy!) have wanted kids for a while now, but unfortunately my friend has some health issues that make carrying a pregnancy very unsafe for her. We talked, and made a lot of plans, and contacted the appropriate agencies and everything is above board and got greenlit!

The fertilized egg took without an issue, and now I’m proudly 11 weeks pregnant as of this writing! I’m really excited just thinking about it, helping my friend with the family she’s wanted since we met, and of course I get the proud title of god parent after the baby is born!

That also, though, kind of brings me to my trouble and stress surrounding the situation. I work a good job, part of a huge office complex, many coworkers, most of whom I am neutral toward, if I don’t like them outright. That said… there is a penchant for gossip to spread quickly, and some of the folks vying for promotions can be… very judgy.

Why am I beating around the bush? This is a journal for crying out loud. I have a coworker who recently had a baby, she’s the sweetest woman, slightly younger then me. Unfortunately, it was pretty common knowledge that she was, and still is, single. And so, when she started showing, some pretty negative opinions of her started circulating. A lot of water cooler chat about how she was “easy” and “must have gotten around a lot”, really hurtful stuff. What was really insidious was how no one actually told her that these rumors were going around until I said something, and by then it has been months, and I assumed she already knew… I felt really bad (that was a very awkward brunch…), and if I’d known I would have told her much sooner. 

The problem was so widespread that if HR were to have reprimanded the people who engaged with it, they would have been dolling out punishments for nearly two whole departments. Frankly I think they should have, but I’m all too aware that the bureaucracy machines moves too slowly to catch them all. My coworker is on maternity leave now, seems to be doing well, I check up on her when I can. With everything that happened, I’m not sure if she truly intends to come back, or if she’s just juicing them for that leave PTO. I’d miss her if she left but wouldn’t blame her in the slightest.

But now, here I am, surrogating for my friend, and I know I’ve told a few coworkers that I’m not seeing anyone… I’m worried it’ll hit me too. I could obviously just tell them the truth but I’m not sure if they would believe me. Some of them are so eager to judge… I’m not very tall either, 5’2”, so I’m going to show and probably get pretty big. Thankfully, I have one hail mary pass.

The company has been talking about renovating the office building we work out of for years now. We’re talking big, sweeping overhauls to almost every floor. Obviously they can’t just have people NOT work and they’re trying to avoid layoffs as much as possible, so the plan for when that hits is to have everyone work form home! By some miracle, the renovations start right as I’m about to hit 20 weeks, and are so massive that they plan to take almost 5 months! So my plan is to basically dress loosely to hide… well, everything, and use my backlog of paid time off as a form of parental leave to recover after giving birth. I can frame the PTO use as a vacation, bounce back, and return to work slim, trim, and NOT pregnant, my best friend gets her baby, and no one is the wiser!

The big reason I’m bending over so far backwards for this is, one of the most vocally judgy people from the incident with my coworker also happens to be the one who works the position above mine that I really, really want. Apparently they intend to work through the holidays next year to reap the christmas bonus and then retire, and they get to name their successor. They aren’t the most kind, and I wouldn’t put it past them to cast aspersions on my character and select someone else for that job based on my perceived “bastard pregnancy”. They’re a jerk, but they’d get away with it. If I want that position, I need to keep it under wraps.

It sucks too, I like the attention pregnant people get. It’s supposed to be a special, positive thing, and it should be for me too. All my family and friends are very excited and proud, but it sucks my work life has to be so isolated from it. I’ll live, but as my pregnancy progresses, I suspect I’ll be venting a lot here.

I admittedly have some things to vent about it already. The morning sickness has been very unpleasant, and I’m experiencing a noticeable amount of bloating. You’re not supposed to need bigger clothes until later, right? My usual pants already feel tight. I’ve also been getting cravings, pretty intense ones. If things persist like this through the next 29 weeks, those poor guys down at the taco bell are going to get really sick of seeing me. But baby gets what baby wants… I just wish baby didn’t want dirt quality burritos.

Aside from that, I’m just attending regular doctor visits. Everything looks healthy, and I hope it stays that way! Fingers crossed I can hit full term and be induced before they call me back in for a meeting…

[fuckyeah-jessicabiel]

Jessica Biel & Jennifer Garner for Marie Claire, March 2010

"She's not that tall, but you can tell she's strong," says Jessica Biel, talking about her 55-pound pit bull mix — but she could just as well be talking about herself. Biel and I are discussing our love for our dogs (she sleeps with hers as I do with mine) as we wait for her new best friend, Jennifer Garner, to join us for dinner at Madeo, a legendary Italian restaurant in Beverly Hills where Al Pacino is said to keep a standing reservation. The hostess has seated us in a booth in the farthest corner from the door in an attempt to offer some privacy, but Biel's beauty can't go unnoticed. Fresh from a taping of The Tonight Show with Conan O'Brien, Biel has her hair perfectly styled, her makeup perfectly applied. There are sequins sparkling on the T-shirt under her open cardigan sweater. And just moments ago, the whole restaurant watched as she gracefully strode toward this back booth.

Underneath the glitter and gloss, Biel is the real thing. At 27, she has been able to figure out how to take life seriously without taking herself so. I become aware of this when we continue our bonding over the climb she has planned up Mount Kilimanjaro. (I climbed the same mountain a few years back.) One of a group of environmental activists and artistic types who have named their trek Summit on the Summit, Biel is climbing the mountain to call attention to the world's clean-water problem. More children, she informs me, die from polluted drinking water than from AIDS and malaria combined — one child every 15 seconds.

A murmur sweeps through the room, a sound not unlike the low roll of wind along the high heathered regions of Mount Kilimanjaro, as a slightly harried Jennifer Garner rushes through the restaurant and slips into our booth.

"Sorry I'm late, but I got lost and—" Garner stops herself upon seeing the gussied-up Biel. "You look gorgeous!" she exclaims. "And look at me. I didn't even change my clothes to come here," she says in the exhausted-but-happily-so tone of a mother with two young children. Garner, 37, is dressed in a black cotton turtleneck and black jeans. She wears no makeup at all, and her hair is pulled back in a ponytail. She possesses an incongruous combination of sexual charisma and girl-next-door normalcy. There is no artifice about her — it is the essence of her appeal. She is Sandra Dee—nuded.

The two stars became fast friends on the set of the film Valentine's Day, a kind of American version of Love Actually with a roster of stars that includes Julia Roberts, Anne Hathaway, Patrick Dempsey, Bradley Cooper, Ashton Kutcher, Jamie Foxx, Jessica Alba, and Shirley MacLaine. Biel plays a single sports publicist who hates the holiday; Garner's character has an affair with an obstetrician played by Dempsey and discovers late in the movie that he's not what he appears to be.

"We don't work with a lot of women on our films," says Garner, explaining why she and Biel connected during the shoot. "And I haven't worked much at all lately, to tell you the truth. The two weeks I worked on this movie were the only two weeks I've worked in about a year-and-a-half because of being pregnant and now having a 1-year-old. But when I do work, it's always one woman and a bunch of men in my casts — maybe my character has a friend in the script, but not always. It's odd. So on this film, it was great to have someone like Jessica around, even though most of our scenes as best friends were over the phone."

"And do you find this true, Jennifer?" Biel asks. "I know I do: You never really bond with all the guys in your cast like they do with each other." Biel is nevertheless excited to tell Garner about her work "shooting N4 machine guns and 9-millimeter Berettas" on the A-Team movie she's making with Cooper, Liam Neeson, and Patrick Wilson.

The waiter approaches our table. "I'd like some wine," says Garner. "I never go out much anymore, so I'm going to have a glass of wine. This is living it up to me now." The women each order an appetizer, a main course, and an order of pasta Bolognese to be shared by the three of us.

"Oh, I heard the sweetest story about Violet the other day," says Biel, mentioning Garner's 4-year-old daughter (older sister of 1-year-old Seraphina). "One of Violet's classmates came up to her and said, 'I heard Jennifer Garner lives in your house.' And Violet said, 'No, she doesn't.' The other kid kept insisting, so Violet came home and asked you, 'Mom, who is Jennifer Garner and why are people saying she lives with us?'"

Garner downs almost half her glass of wine at hearing the story. "Wow. That's true," she says, then pauses, considering whether to give more credence to it. "She just knows me as Mom, so I did have to explain to her for the first time about the difference." She takes another sip. "I'm just holding down the fort while Ben works right now," she says, mentioning her famous husband, Ben Affleck, who has 10 more days of filming The Town, a movie he wrote, is directing, and stars in. "I'm so impressed by his discipline. He gets up and works out every day at 4 a.m. before heading off to work. Every day. I used to do that sometimes for Alias," Garner says of the television show that made her a star (and won her a Golden Globe for Best Actress in a Drama Series as well as a SAG Award and four Emmy nominations). "But not every day. And I'd do it for 30 minutes, maybe 45. He does it for an hour-and-a-half. He comes home and collapses, and then rewrites scenes for the next day, then crashes and does it all over again. He's worn out. Jon Hamm is in it, too. It's kind of a heist movie, and Hamm plays the FBI guy."

"Mmmm ... Don Draper," says Biel, invoking the name of Hamm's character on Mad Men. "I'm fascinated by Don Draper. But I hate him."

"Like every other woman, do you want to sleep with him?" I ask.

"No!" she says emphatically. "No, I don't. Not at all."

Garner giggles and orders another glass of wine.

"Both of you have very famous men whom you really do sleep with," I venture. They are reluctant to talk about their famous significant others (Biel has been dating Justin Timberlake since 2007, and Garner married Affleck in 2005), but I have to ask. "Does that double your own fame? Does it become part of your girl talk?"

"Well, we don't need them to be famous ourselves," says Garner. "It's not like I go to Jessica, 'Oh, how's your famous boyfriend?'"

"But come on," I prod. "You have to be aware you have really cool partners."

"Yeah, from time to time we talk about swapping," Garner deadpans.

It's Biel's turn to giggle now, but then she turns serious. "It does help to have a partner who understands what fame is about and can share that with you. It's a hurdle you don't have to get over."

And how do the women cope with fame? "I think I have it all in perspective," says Garner. "If you're healthy and happy and you have a roof over your head, then that's what's important."

Her own roof, however, is pretty impressive, she and Aftleck recently purechased producerr Brian Gower's palatial Pacific Palisades estate for a $17 million. And yet such luxury doesn't seem to have gone to her head. Instead, it has made her realize, yes, how blessed her life is. "Sometimes I think my brain is going to melt away into a pool of butter. So, I have The New York Times Nicolas Kristof’s blog on my Google reader. Gail Collins is another New York Times Op-ed writer I love. I'm reading Kristof’s book Half the Sky right now. He wrote it with his wife. Sheryl WuDunn. It’s about the oppression of women and girls in the developing world and what we can do to help." "Oh my God"' says Biel. "I'm reading that book right now. too! it’s on my bedside table." "No way!" says Gamer. "No way!" "Yes! They're thinking of making a documentary-like movie based on the book and taking differents actresses to meets the girls Kristof and his wife write about. You and I have to get involved in this project. Jennifer. We have to."

Garner interest in social issues is not unrelated to her husband love of politics. If he evr runn for public office, would she support his choice? -Isn't that what the whole deal is about —supporting each other? I mean, I'm not that hungry for him to run for office, but if he did, I don't have any illusions about what the last few years must have been like for Michelle Obama." “Is he really thinking about running for office?" asks Biel. "No --but it’s almost impossible for it not to be talked about, because he in smart and articulate and politically active. So you can't help but feel it's lurking out there somewhere." says Garner. "But the kids have to grow up a bit." I tell her. "And you have to grow out of your ponytail stage and into your chignon one." Garner smiles and flicks her ponytail at me in flirty defiance. "People do tell me I'd be a good politician’s wife I’m such a Pollyanna and a Goody Two-shoes,' she says. Honey I never thought of you that way" I say "I've always thought of you as a kickass broad? "Well, thank you. I like that better." She admits, then goes back into mommy mode. "I just have to check my text message and see if the nanny and kids are all right." Seeing, Jennifer with her husband and children, does it make you long for that in your life also, Jessica'?" I ask. Garner deeply sighs at such a question. "Sorry.," she says to her friend. 'It always goes that way, doesn't it? As a single woman, you're always asked that, aren't you'?" Biel herself now sighs. "I'm just happy with my life right now' she finally says. "I don't know the answer to that. I mean.,I look at you, Jennifer, and I am a bit in awe. I feel like all my seconds are full all day long, and then I look at your life. and I wonder how you do it. How do you have it all?" Garner laughs at such a thought. “Well, I haven't showered today," she says. I just want to throw that into the conversation. So I'm not sure I do have it all." 

[writingbyclem]

Mistledrone - ISWM

Concept from: @ask-the-invincible-crew & @starry-nightengale

Cei Meaner enjoyed their position as Secretary aboard the Invincible II. Sure, sometimes the days were long, especially with the light reactor work they did on the side on the odd day. But the coworkers they had were nice, Burt and Captain were lovely bosses and their positions gave them their own room and a seat in the crew lead common room. The crew-leads needed a lot of paperwork help.

A particularly nice coworker of theirs went by the name of Tyler. He was the first mate, and also took some odd cryo and engineering jobs. That meant his bosses were Mark, Celci and Captain, which they knew was certainly an ongoing headache for the man.

Yet, even with all that he still found the time to talk with Cei. They knew it was guaranteed, considering he was the Captain’s first mate and they were the Captain’s secretary, but god they really appreciated it.

Whenever Captain let them know they had a task for them to complete with Tyler, their heart always jumped and stomach seemed to flutter, which wasn’t that obvious. Probably.

They’d fallen for the idiot properly around week seven of the ship’s stationary plan.

The pair needed to go and get a cart from storage, so Mark could shuffle some stuff around safely in his division’s work place. Captain knew the dumbass wouldn’t go and get one himself.

“Are we certain this’ll hold?” Hummed Cei.

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t.” Shrugged Tyler, dragging out a trolley from the stack and wheeling it side to side. “We could always test it.”

“How would we test it?”

Cei watched as Tyler stepped onto the trolley and pushed off, gliding down the rows of storage shelves.

“Wait- Tyler- That can’t be safe-“

CRASH

“Tyler! Are you alright?!”

“Yeah! I’m good, don’t worry! I rolled off at the last second, spy style!”

Cei snickered.

“Heh, right.”

Now, you're probably wondering how Cei ended up admitting these feelings. It’s approaching christmas time and that only means one thing.

Mistletoe.

Well, not on the Invincible II. Here it means:

Mistledrone.

A fancy little machine commissioned by Danny from Brian to get some Christmas kiss action on board the ship.

The general idea of the contraption was it would fly around the ship on a loop, finding two unsuspecting crew to catch under the mistletoe, which wouldn’t part from the pair unless a kiss/ a hug/ or tap out was demonstrated. It had led to some sweet moments and some funny ones too. As long as the drone was on and flying, if you got under it, you played it’s game.

Cei had stepped out of their office to the sound of banging, which was odd, considering it was coming from the corridor, not one of the divisions. They found Tyler with a broom, hitting one of the roof panels. Upon closer inspection they spotted the Mistledrone turned off and stuck to it.

“Oh dear, it’s trapped!” They frowned.

Tyler looked up at the sound of their voice.

“Yeah, I'm trying to get it out without breaking it.” He explained.

“Do you want me to stand under it, so I can catch it when it falls?” Offered Cei.

“Oh yeah, that’s a smart idea.”

They stood in front of Tyler, who continued to free the drone with his broom. They held their hands out ready to catch it. A few minutes of whacking went by when the drone began to wire to life again, the lights and mistletoe back on view. Tyler paused his whacking. It managed to unstuck itself and hovered above Tyler and Cei whilst it rebooted.

“Well! There we go-“

Bing Bong!

The pair looked up at the drone.

“Of course.” Said Tyler, glaring at the flying machine.

“You uh can tap out you know?” Reminded Cei, flushing and pushing down the disappointment.

“Oh, well I would, but I don’t really want to. Unless, of course, you want to tap out.” Replied Tyler, with an assuring smile. “You're probably the only person on board I want to kiss, if I’m being honest.”

Cei stayed at him, flustering.

Oh

Oh.

“You’re uh the only person I’d want to kiss too.” Cei admitted, bashfully.

“Well, if we’re both in agreement then.” Hummed Tyler, teasingly towards them.

“Oh shut up.” They mumbled.

Tyler laughed gently, taking their hands in his own.

“May I then?”

“Yes, you may.”

He gently leaned towards them and kissed Cei lightly on the lips, which they reciprocated.

“Goddamn, this mistledrone really works Huh?”

“Yup.”

“What should their ship name be?”

“Not every couple needs to have a ship name, Mark.”

“And why not, asshat?”

“Alright, quiet you two, they might hear you.”

“Sorry Captain-“

[leorawright]

Hello helloo :) I’d like to request a TF2 matchup!

I’m 5’8, AFAB, middle eastern, and bisexual. I have a curvy bod, with a bit of chub here and there. I currently have a black layered wolfcut with bangs, but I’m planning to get my hair cut to a shaggy bob soon. I like to dress like I’m the protagonist of an early 2000s horror video game ( look that up on Pinterest to see what I mean lol ). I wear makeup pretty much everyday, just my regular base and black eyeliner + mascara, sometimes I’ll wear faux lashes. I also often wear rectangular reading glasses, I’ve been told I look like bayonetta with them on (biggest compliments I’ve ever received tbh). That’s pretty much it regarding my looks.

My personality,, I’m a pretty dominant person with my mannerisms, I like to take the lead in group settings, but it honestly depends on its subject, sometimes I’d like to just follow directions instead. I’d like to think of myself as compassionate and courteous, I always do my best to treat others how I’d like to be treated. But I’ll admit, I do struggle with BPD and one of my symptoms is having a short temper, though throughout middle and high school I’ve learned how to manage it, publicly, atleast. I always do my best to avoid confrontations. Another symptom of my BPD, I’m consistently inconsistent, with pretty much everything, my looks, personality, aesthetics..

My likes! I really love animals! Including bugs and insects, but I choose to just admire most from afar, if any get into my home, I’ll try my best to just get them out safely. My favorite animals are owls, seals, snow leapords, and pigeons/doves ( I’m actually getting one soon! ) , though these fluctuate a lot, so these are just my current favorites for now. I think my ideal life would be living in a small town, connected with the wilderness, atleast a little more than I am now, and just out of america lol, possibly somewhere in Europe.. I don’t really have an aesthetic I’ve stuck with, its constantly changing, I can’t really even explain it now,, you’d kinda just have to look at my Pinterest board to understand ig? But a bit of it is just vintage medical equipment and art dolls. I also really love music! All types! I literally listen to anything and everything, except for maybe opera lol. My current top artists (according to stats for Spotify) are the smiths, boa, the cure, machine girl, Miranda lambert, sir mix a lot, and lemon demon. So you could definitely say there’s a range lolz

Relationships hm.. romantically I’m more into women, but I’m slightly more sexually attracted to men. I don’t see the appeal in dating “just for fun” , that’s definitely not for me. I have basically 0 experience in relationships, my last relationship was in middle school that lasted for barely 2 weeks. Honestly sometimes I used to think I was aromantic, but I think cupioromantic may be a better term, but idk, I’m still figuring myself out. My ideal partner would be someone who’s in touch with their emotions, an empath, just overall a nice person, yknow? My love languages are gift giving, and quality time.

I could go on, but I’m gonna end it here because I’ve probably written too much,, so sorry about that😭

Hmm for Tf2 I'd have to pick...

Engineer!

(I know I don't write for him but he was the only one I could think of)

He's very in touch with his emotions and a pretty calm person in general.

He enjoys making you small gifts just because he can

He'd also be very happy if you just hung out with him in his workshop

Very intrigued with your music and probably starts to enjoy the same artists as you

And he's very good at understanding how you're feeling and adapting to your different daily aesthetics

[lemonluvgirl]

Are You Happy Now?

**opens trench coat** “hey kids, want to read some angst?” 

A canon divergent AU where Katniss wasn’t the one saved from the Arena at the end of Catching Fire. **warning: this is not a happy drabble**

Katniss requests to speak to Peeta, a couple weeks after she is rescued. 

(Peeta POV)

“I remember the bread.” Katniss says simply. Her face is an unreadable mask. Her voice is equally monotone. And yet her words capture my attention so quickly. 

“You remember that?” I ask, my voice still hoarse from the violence her hijacked hands had wrought, but there was something else in it. It was the sound of me, perhaps foolishly, hoping against all odds that there is something the Capitol left unspoiled. 

“Yes. I was starving. We all were. Me, my mother, and my sister. I was looking for food in the trash cans behind the bakery. Your mother chased me off. I slipped in the mud under the apple tree. I was too tired to get back up. I made up my mind to sit there and die. But then I heard noise from inside. There was a big racket, your mother was yelling something about burned bread. You came outside. You had two loaves  in your hands. You were supposed to throw them to the pig. You threw it to me instead. Is that true?” 

“Yes. That’s what happened.” 

“You had a welt on your face.” 

I wince, remembering the stinging smack of pain like it was yesterday. 

 “She hit you, because you burned the bread.” She goes on, it's not really a question but I answer anyway. 

“Yes.” 

“Did you do it on purpose?” Her gaze is sharp, she’s examining me skeptically. 

I let out a stuttering breath before I answer. 

“Yes.” I say. 

“Why?” She prods, shrugging off my pain, the sacrifice I made for her. It was just the first of many.  Her steely gaze pierces through the objectivity I’m trying to maintain. But of course it falls away like nothing. How could I ever remain objective when it comes to her?

“You know why.” I reply finally, the words coming out unwillingly through gritted teeth. 

“Your silly infatuation I presume.” She says, her face twisting in disgust. I feel my cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. I look towards the two way glass where a crowd of observers is eavesdropping on us. 

“You know other people can hear us right now don’t you?” I ask. She just gives me a bored, unconcerned look. 

“The same disturbing infatuation that became an obsession and led you to proclaim your ‘love’ for me on national television the night before the Hunger Games.” She says without missing a beat. 

“That was part of a strategy-” I begin to explain but she interrupts me. 

“A plan you worked out with our mentor behind my back, without asking me if I wanted to be involved in a crazy scheme pretending to be a star crossed lover to a boy who I’d never said one word to until we both had to go into the Hunger Games!” 

“Yes, but-” 

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that? Do you often gamble with other people’s lives? Other people’s futures without their permission or knowledge? Are you just that goddamn superior to us all? You want everyone to think you’re so noble, but I remember the truth. You betrayed me! To join the careers!” She exclaims, with rising anger and volume and the machines begin to beep. I shake my head emphatically, denying her conclusions. I look over the glass and shoot Haymitch a pleading look. 

Just let me explain, I say with my eyes. I don’t want them to sedate her before I get the chance to tell her the truth. When she doesn’t automatically pass out I continue. 

“No. That was part of my secret plan. I only joined them to protect you.” I tell her. 

Her eyes leave my face and flick over to the blinking lights of the monitors. She seems to remember about the machines and the doctors and the medicine that will cut the conversation short. She leans back in bed, but her angry glare never leaves my face. 

“Some protector. If that’s even true. You let them trap me in a tree.”

“I was working on a way to get you down safely, but you dropped the nest on us! I fought off Cato to save your life!” I practically shout, anger getting the better of me now. The battle I fought that day to protect her ended up contributing to why I lost my leg. And here she was, practically laughing at me for it. 

“Yes and almost got yourself killed in the process.” She says as she levels an unimpressed gaze at me. I breathe and count to five before I answer. 

“Well, if I was such a burden why’d you come back for me?” I counter. 

“You know why.” She throws the words back at me, but there is such a feral look in her eyes I know her answer is merely a mockery of what I meant earlier. 

“No, Katniss. I really don’t. You never explained that part. We never discussed it privately, away from the cameras.” 

“Oh that’s right, the cameras. I may not be able to see them now, but do you honestly expect me to believe this conversation isn’t being recorded?” 

“No. I think the doctors have to record it, as part of your treatment. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be honest with each other.” 

“Fine. You want honesty. Let’s lay it out then. Do you know why I went to find you down by the river? I owed you. For the bread. And for fighting Cato. That’s why I came back. That’s why I went to the Feast to get the medicine.” 

“You owed me.” I say dumbfounded. 

“Yes. That’s the only reason it could be.” She says the last part more quietly, almost to herself. “Why else would I save the life of a person who caused me so much inconvenience?” She mumbles, but she doesn’t sound sure. 

“Oh.” I say stupidly, pathetically, because I am still whirling from her confession. I knew from what she told me after the games on the train tracks that day going back to district 12 that she was confused. That there were some things that weren’t real, that she had played up for the audience and the sponsors. I just never imagined the only reason she saved my life was out of some twisted sense of obligation. 

“The only thing I haven’t figured out yet….is the berries.” She continues, unaware of the effect her words had on me. Unaware that she’s breaking me down little by little. 

I look at her then and she’s watching me. There’s a predatory glint in her eyes. I wonder if she’s enjoying this. Some part of me thinks maybe she knows exactly what she’s doing. 

“The berries?” I say, unable to stop from digging myself in further. 

“At the end, when they revoked the rule change and said there could only be one victor. Was that another brilliant strategy of yours? No one could show me any footage that looked like we planned it beforehand,” She continues, curiously. 

“No. That one was all you.” I say confidently. Yes, the berries. Such a pivotal point in both our lives. I can still remember it like it happened yesterday. I can feel the artificial sunlight on my face, smell the blood that seeped through my clothes. I remember the burning fireceness in her eyes, willing me to trust her. 

Together? 

I had asked. And she had answered. 

Together.

That still meant something. The berries, that was ours. It was at the heart of who we were to each other. I look back at her, ready to tell her about the river, ready to explain about the bond we formed that day, so long ago it seems like another lifetime. When we were just two terrified kids who wanted to go home, but refused to do so without the other. But she cuts me off before I can begin. 

“I just can’t understand it. I’ve tried and tried to figure it out. I’ve asked myself. I’ve asked others. I keep getting different answers. An act of rebellion some people say. An act of loyalty. An act of love. No one seems to know the truth.” She says each word like she would like to spit them out of her mouth as quickly as possible. Like they unsavory bites of rancid food, that make her want to gag. 

“What is the truth?” I ask, looking at her then. She’s such a small thing, pale and haunted looking. She stares back at me, blankly. I think I dislike this more than when she looks at me like she wants to kill me. There’s such an emptiness in her eyes. I feel like I could drown in it. 

“The truth? I still have no idea. They must have scrambled my brains so thoroughly that every memory associated with you is almost beyond comprehension. Every part of my life you touched you ruined. You’re like a plague Peeta, infecting everything. ” 

The words leave me speechless for a moment. Reeling. I have no rebuttal for this accusation. Indeed, it seems almost fitting. Looking back from her perspective I can understand how it must look like no matter how hard I tried, I ended up making things worse for her. First with my confession, then with the act we were forced to maintain. Then the Capitol took whatever complicated bond we had and turned it against her. They used every public moment, and every memory of me to torture and crush her. I am the reason for her suffering. I am at the center of her pain. I hate myself for it. 

 But she has to know that at least I didn’t do those things out of malice. She has to know they were born of a desire to protect, a desire to save, and to love. I had no idea how the Capitol would twist my actions to break her so completely. 

“Katniss, you have to know I went into our Games not expecting to make it out. I never could have planned for the rule change. I never could have anticipated your idea with the berries. All I ever wanted was to help. Everything I did, I did to ensure you lived.” I plead. 

She looks around her, at her arms strapped down to the hospital bed, the machines whirring away monitoring her vitals, ready to dispense an injection at the first sign of trouble. She looks at the plate glass wall, where an army of doctors are watching, recording every word. She looks to the door where a number of guards wait outside, not to keep her safe, but to keep her contained. 

I can read every accusation she makes with the simple flick of her eyes. It’s exactly what she told Haymitch when he first visited her. She thinks she’d be better off dead. My heart sinks. 

“Well, looks like you got your wish. Here I am alive. Never mind the fucking consequences. Are you happy now, hero?” She hisses at me. 

I can’t answer her. I can’t even look at her. 

I turn to walk away, not saying a word. 

I don’t need to. 

She knows the truth. 

I don’t think either of us will ever be happy again. 

[reasoningdaily]

Like most Americans, I spent the 60s, 70s, and part of the 80s in awe of Bill Cosby and his total domination of popular culture. He was the first African American to star in a dramatic television series, I Spy, a show my family in Buffalo, New York, always watched. Cosby cut a striking figure on-screen then. He was funny, smart, and even elegant—all those wonderful things many white Americans didn’t associate with people of color. In fact, as I thought of going public with what follows, a voice in my head kept whispering, “Black men have enough enemies out there already, they certainly don’t need someone like you, an African American with a familiar face and a famous name, fanning the flames.”

Imagine my joy in the mid-80s when an agent called to say Bill Cosby wanted me to audition for a role on the The Cosby Show. Cosby played an obstetrician, and he sometimes used models to portray pregnant women sitting in his office waiting room. It was a small part with one or two speaking lines at most, but I wanted in.

I was in the midst of an ugly custody battle for my only child. I needed a big break badly and appearing on The Cosby Show seemed like an excellent way of getting Hollywood’s attention. I’d appeared in one or two movies already, but my phone wasn’t exactly ringing off the hook with acting jobs.

Cosby’s handlers invited me to a taping of the show so I could get the lay of the land and an idea of what my role required. After the taping I met all the cast and then met with Cosby in his office to talk a bit about the hell I’d been through in my marriage. He appeared concerned and then asked what I wanted from my career going forward. He seemed genuinely interested in guiding me to the next level. I was on cloud nine.

I brought my daughter to the next taping I attended. Afterward, Cosby asked if I could meet him at his home that weekend to read for the part. My ex-husband had primary custody of my daughter at the time, and I usually spent my weekends with her. Cosby suggested I bring her along, which really reeled me in. He was the Jell-O Pudding man; like most kids, my daughter loved him. When my daughter and I visited Cosby’s New York brownstone, his staff served us a delicious brunch. Then he gave us a tour of the exceptional multi-level home.

Looking back, that first invite from Cosby to his home seems like part of a perfectly laid out plan, a way to make me feel secure with him at all times. It worked like a charm. Cosby suggested I come back to his house a few days later to read for the part. I agreed, and one late afternoon the following week I returned. His staff served a light dinner and Bill and I talked more about my plans for the future.

After the meal, we walked upstairs to a huge living area of his home that featured a massive bar. A huge brass espresso contraption took up half the counter. At the time, it seemed rare for someone to have such a machine in his home for personal use.

Cosby said he wanted to see how I handled various scenes, so he suggested that I pretend to be drunk. (When did a pregnant woman ever appear drunk on The Cosby Show? Probably never, but I went with it.)

As I readied myself to be the best drunk I could be, he offered me a cappuccino from the espresso machine. I told him I didn’t drink coffee that late in the afternoon because it made getting to sleep at night more difficult. He wouldn’t let it go. He insisted that his espresso machine was the best model on the market and promised I’d never tasted a cappuccino quite like this one.

It’s nuts, I know, but it felt oddly inappropriate arguing with Bill Cosby so I took a few sips of the coffee just to appease him.

Now let me explain this: I was a top model during the 70s, a period when drugs flowed at parties and photo shoots like bottled water at a health spa. I’d had my fun and experimented with my fair share of mood enhancers. I knew by the second sip of the drink Cosby had given me that I’d been drugged—and drugged good.

My head became woozy, my speech became slurred, and the room began to spin nonstop. Cosby motioned for me to come over to him as though we were really about to act out the scene. He put his hands around my waist, and I managed to put my hand on his shoulder in order to steady myself.

As I felt my body go completely limp, my brain switched into automatic-survival mode. That meant making sure Cosby understood that I knew exactly what was happening at that very moment.

“You are a motherfucker aren’t you?”

That’s the exact question I yelled at him as he stood there holding me, expecting me to bend to his will. I rapidly called him several more “motherfuckers.” By the fifth, I could tell that I was really pissing him off. At one point he dropped his hands from my waist and just stood there looking at me like I’d lost my mind.

[thegettingbyp2]

Live

Brandon Flowers x reader Buy me a coffee :)

For weeks Brandon had been getting excited about the upcoming release of the new Killers single and tonight they were performing it for the first time in front of an audience before it was released on Spotify. The only downside about choosing this particular gig to premiere the new song was that you couldn’t be there. You had yet to go to a gig on the Imploding the Mirage tour because you couldn’t get the time off of work to travel to Europe with him so, to make up for it, you were going to go to as many dates in the US leg of the tour as you could.

For now, you were curled up in bed, coffee in hand and balancing your laptop on the duvet with Instagram loaded onto The Killers page, ready for the live stream to start. You had no idea what the live stream was about because Brandon wanted to keep it a secret so you were just as in the dark as everybody else. A couple of minutes before they were due to go live, they posted a video of Ronnie telling everyone that they would have to start a bit later. Later came and went and in the end the live stream didn’t happen, the band losing signal. Shortly after you closed your laptop and set it to the side, sinking down in bed, your phone lit up with a text from Brandon.

Brandon: Hey! So the live stream didn’t really go to plan and you’re probably asleep now so when you wake up, look at the video on our Instagram story! Love and miss you, not long now!! Xxx

Instead of picking your laptop back up, you used your phone to find the video he was talking about, smiling when you saw Brandon’s smile on your screen. The video was of Brandon and Ronnie being interviewed by a Spanish media team.

‘So we’re here with Brandon Flowers and Ronnie Vannucci from The Killers after their first performance of their brand new single “boy”! How long have you had this song in the works?’

‘We wrote it when we were still writing for Pressure Machine and I’d gotten so excited about releasing this song out into the world.’ Brandon said, smiling as he spoke before looking over at Ronnie.

‘Yeah but then when we were coming up with the track list for Pressure Machine, we just felt that it didn’t keep in with the overall theme of the album so we’ve had it locked away until tonight.’

‘You were meant to be doing a live stream while you were onstage so anyone could hear it at the same time but unfortunately it didn’t work out, was there anyone in particular you were excited about hearing the song?’

‘Yeah actually,’ Brandon said, a chuckle colouring his voice as he spoke, ‘my girlfriend (Y/N) was going to be hearing it for the first time. I’ve not let her hear any of it so far because I wanted it to be a surprise so it kinda backfired.’

‘So she hasn’t heard it at all?’

‘Nope. It’s actually been really hard trying to keep it a secret because I usually run all the songs by her when we’re in the early stages of writing.’

‘And how has the tour been, has she been to any gigs yet?’

‘No, not yet. She hasn’t been able to get the time off of work so she’s going to come for a week or so when we’re touring back home.’

‘They’ll be on the phone before a gig and she’ll literally tell him to hang up so he can get back to the tour, she’s ridiculously supportive of us all, I don’t know how she does it,’ Ronnie joked.

‘Yeah, she’s amazing,’ Brandon said, smiling down at the floor.

The interview wrapped up quite quicky after that, the guys having to leave to travel to the next venue ready for tomorrows gig. You closed Instagram on your phone and sent a quick text to Brandon before putting your phone on charge and went to sleep.

You: I love you so so much! Can’t wait to hear the new song, I already know it’s going to be amazing! Miss you too, see you in three weeks!! XXX

[princesswithabraidedcrown]

I have watched episode 13. Finally. After pausing in the middle for like a week and a half or more. So…I don’t really remember the first half too well.

Still love Vegas. Pete needs an actual vacation. Porsche…had the glimmerings of his heart being in the right place right up until he needed something from Vegas and then…kablooey. At least he punched Vegas in the mouth before he left Pete for the shark.

Vegas is still the compelling character out of VegasPete for me…but who knows, that may change in 14. But I’m pretty sure Porsche is gonna kick himself for telling Vegas where Chay is when [redacted] happens. Thank goodness, Kim is a poorly socialized mafia prince death machine wearing the meatsuit of a regular famous human that’s imprinted on Chay because otherwise…that’d be bad.

Tankhun my beloved, you have the braincell most of the time. Usually only directed towards people you like, but you do indeed have the braincell. Mildly impressed that he was planning to rush into the great unknown after his pals/pseudo little brothers without even a lick of a plan. Very fair, high emotions turn my braincells off too. The funeral for Pete was nice…although the singing was…merely spirited. I wonder if Tong himself can carry a tune? Granted, his performances for the wt seemed to be more flash than singing…so maybe not? Anyway…hurt Tankhun’s loved ones and feel his wrath.

The pool scene. The scene that gifs don’t do enough justice. I think I had watched a brief clip of the beginning before this, so I’d been aware that at least Apo,and probably Mile, was starkers so I applaud the blocking and editing to not have a full-frontal moment. Kinda impressed actually. I liked the little bit where the camera is behind them, before they head to the far side of the pool when Kinn has his hands around Porsche’s ribs and is thumbing his nipples. Excellent character moment there. I’m ace as all get out so I have no idea if the whole thing was titillating or anything, but I didn’t hunker down in my collar while watching it *cough cough* bathroom scene, so…at least it wasn’t embarrassing for me to watch?

The ending of the episode was entertaining because I’d forgotten/never read that Porsche held Korn at gunpoint, so that was fun. I’m trying to stop myself from noodling on a timeline of if Chan did shoot Arthee…how did Porsche get to Korn so fast if Chan was just now calling about the wrapup…but I guess I’ll see if that question is answered in the next episode.

One final comment about the MileApo reaction video. I love how Mile was basically non-verbally screaming awkwardness and self-consciousness and if he could have covered his eyes, he would have and Apo was doing that probably ADHD thing of chatterboxing through the uncomfortable. I had that instinct suppressed by a nursing instructor, but it still comes out every now and again. I definitely only notice after people’s faces have changed…but anyway, Apo was gonna get through this come hell or high water and he did. Also…Apo looked very lovely in this reaction video. Anyway…onto what the show tells me is the longest episode.