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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 months

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Precaratize bosses

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me SUNDAY (Apr 21) in TORINO, then Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

Combine Angelou's "When someone shows you who they are, believe them" with the truism that in politics, "every accusation is a confession" and you get: "Every time someone accuses you of a vice, they're showing you who they are and you should believe them."

Let's talk about some of those accusations. Remember the moral panic over the CARES Act covid stimulus checks? Hyperventilating mouthpieces for the ruling class were on every cable network, complaining that "no one wants to work anymore." The barely-submerged subtext was their belief that the only reason people show up for work is that they're afraid of losing everything – their homes, their kids, the groceries in their fridge.

This isn't a new development. Back when Clinton destroyed welfare, his justification was that "handouts" make workers lazy. The way to goad workers off their sofas (and the welfare rolls) and into jobs was to instill fear in them:

https://www.theatlantic.com/business/archive/2018/03/welfare-childhood/555119/

This is also the firm belief of tech bosses: for them, mass tech layoffs are great news, because they terrorize the workers you don't fire, so that they'll be "extremely hardcore" and put in as many extra hours as the company demands, without even requiring any extra pay in return:

https://fortune.com/2022/10/06/elon-musk-jason-calacanis-return-to-office-gentlemens-layoffs-twitter/

Now, there's an obvious answer to the problem of no one taking a job at the wage being offered: just increase the offer. Capitalists claim to understand this. Uber will tell you that surge pricing "incentivizes drivers" to take to the streets by offering them more money to drive during busy times:

https://www.uber.com/blog/austin/providing-rides-when-they-are-most-needed/

(Note that while Uber once handed the lion's share of surge price premiums to drivers, these days, Uber just keeps the money, because they've entered the enshittification stage where drivers are so scared of being blacklisted that Uber can push them around instead of dangling carrots.)

(Also note that this logic completely fails when it comes to other businesses, like Wendy's, who briefly promised surge-priced hamburgers during busy times, but without even the pretense that the surge premium would be used to pay additional workers to rush to the restaurant and increase the capacity:)

https://www.theguardian.com/food/2024/feb/27/wendys-dynamic-surge-pricing

So bosses knew how to address their worker shortage: higher wages. You know: supply and demand. For bosses, the issue wasn't supply, it was price. A worker who earns $10/hour but makes the company $20 profit every hour is splitting the surplus 50:50 with their employer. The employer has overheads (rent on the shop, inventory, advertising and administration) that they have to pay out of their end of that surplus. But workers also have overheads: commuting costs, child-care, a professional wardrobe, and other expenses the worker incurs just so they can make money for their boss.

There's no iron law of economics that says the worker/boss split should be 50/50. Depending on the bargaining power of workers and their bosses, that split can move around a lot. Think of McDonald's and Walmart workers who work for wildly profitable corporate empires, but are so badly paid that they have to rely on food stamps. The split there is more like 10/90, in the boss's favor.

The pandemic changed the bargaining power. Sure, workers got a small cushion from stimulus checks, but they also benefited from changes in the fundamentals of the labor market. For example, millions of boomers just noped out of their jobs, forever, unwilling to risk catching a fatal illness and furious to realize that their bosses viewed that as an acceptable risk.

Bosses' willingness to risk their workers' lives backfired in another way: killing hundreds of thousands of workers and permanently disabling millions more. Combine the boomer exodus with the workers who sickened or died, and there's just fewer workers to go around, and so now those workers enjoy more bargaining power. They can demand a better split: say, 75/25, in their favor.

Remember the 2015 American Airlines strike, where pilots and flight attendants got a raise? The eminently guillotineable Citibank analyst Kevin Crissey declared: "This is frustrating. Labor is being paid first again. Shareholders get leftovers":

https://www.thestreet.com/investing/american-airlines-flight-attendants-bash-citi-analyst-who-put-shareholders-before-workers-14134309

Now, obviously, the corporation doesn't want to offer a greater share of its surplus to its workforce, but it certainly can do so. The more it pays its workers, the less profitable it will be, but that's capitalism, right? Corporations try to become as profitable as they can be, but they can't just decree that their workers must work for whatever pay they want to offer (that's serfdom).

Companies also don't get to dictate that we must buy their goods at whatever price they set (the would be a planned economy, not a market economy). There's no law that says that when the cost of making something goes up, its price should go up, too. A business that spends $10 to make a widget you pay $15 for has a $5 margin to play with. If the business's costs go up to $11, they can still charge $15 and take $1 less in profits. Or they can raise the price to $15.50 and split the difference.

But when businesses don't face competition, they can make you eat their increased costs. Take Verizon. They made $79b in profit last year, and also just imposed a $4/month service charge on their mobile customers due to "rising operational costs":

https://www.reddit.com/r/LateStageCapitalism/comments/1c53c4p/79bn_in_profits_last_year_but_you_need_an_extra/

Now, Verizon is very possibly lying about these rising costs. Excuseflation is rampant and rising, as one CEO told his investors, when the news is full of inflation-talk, "it’s an opportunity to increase the prices without getting a whole bunch of complaining from the customers":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/11/price-over-volume/#pepsi-pricing-power

But even stipulating that Verizon is telling the truth about these "rising costs," why should we eat those costs? There's $79b worth of surplus between Verizon's operating costs and its gross revenue. Why not take it out of Verizon's bottom line?

For 40 years, neoliberal economists have emphasized our role as "consumers" (as though consumers weren't also workers!). This let them play us off against one-another: "Sure, you don't want the person who rings up your groceries to get evicted because they can't pay their rent, but do you care about it enough to pay an extra nickel for these eggs?"

But again, there's no obvious reason why you should pay that extra nickel. If you have the buying power to hold prices down, and workers have the labor power to keep wages up, then the business has to absorb that nickel. We can have a world where workers can pay their rent and you can afford your groceries.

So how do we get bosses to agree to take less so we can have more? They've told us how: for bosses, the thing that motivates workers to show up for shitty jobs is fear – fear of losing their homes, fear of going hungry.

When your boss says, "If you don't want to do this job for minimum wage, there's someone else who will," they're telling you that the way to get a raise out of them is to engineer things so that you can say, "If you don't want to pay me a living wage for this job, there's someone else who will."

Their accusation – that you only give someone else a fair shake when you're afraid of losing out – is a confession: to get them to give you a fair shake, we have to make them afraid. They're showing us who they are, and we should believe them.

In her Daily Show appearance, FTC chair Lina Khan quipped that monopolies are too big to care:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaDTiWaYfcM

Philosophers of capitalism are forever praising its ability to transform greed into public benefit. As Adam Smith put it, "It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker, that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own interest." The desire to make as much money as possible, on its own, doesn't produce our dinner, but when the butcher, the brewer and the baker are afraid that you will take your labor or your wallet elsewhere, they pay more and charge less.

Capitalists don't want market economies, where they have to compete with one another, eroding their margins and profits – they want a planned economy, like Amazon, where Party Secretary Bezos and his commissars tell merchants what they can sell and tell us what we must pay:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/01/managerial-discretion/#junk-fees

Capitalists don't want free labor, where they have to compete with rival capitalists to bid on their workers' labor – they want noncompetes, bondage fees, and "training repayment agreement provisions" (TRAPs) that force their workers to stay in dead-end jobs rather than shopping for a better wage:

\https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/04/its-a-trap/#a-little-on-the-nose

Capitalists hate capitalism, because capitalism only works if the capitalists are in a constant state of terror inspired by the knowledge that tomorrow, someone smarter could come along and open a better business, poaching their customers and workers, and putting the capitalist on the breadline.

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/18/in-extremis-veritas/#the-winnah

Being in a constant precarious state makes people lose their minds, and capitalists know it. That's why they work so hard to precaratize the rest of us, saddling us with health debt, education debt, housing debt, stagnating wages and rising prices. It's not just because that makes them more money in the short term from our interest payments and penalties. It's because it de-risks their lives: monopolies and cartels can pass on any extra costs to consumers, who'll eat shit and take it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/02/its-the-economy-stupid/#overinflated

A workforce that goes to bed every night worrying about making the rent is a workforce that put in unpaid overtime and thank you for it.

Capitalists hate capitalism. You know who didn't hate capitalism? Karl Marx and Freidrich Engels. The first chapter of The Communist Manifesto is just these two guys totally geeking out about how much cool stuff we get when capitalists are afraid and therefore productive:

https://pluralistic.net/SpectreHaunting

But when capitalists escape their fears, the alchemical reaction that converts greed to prosperity fizzles, leaving nothing behind but greed and its handmaiden, enshittification. Google search is in the toilet, getting worse every year, but rather than taking reduced margins and spending more fighting spam, the company did a $80b stock-buyback and fired 12,000 skilled technologists, rather than using that 80 bil to pay their wages for the next twenty-seven years:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Monopoly apologists like to argue that monopolists can rake in the giant profits necessary to fund big, ambitious projects the produce better products at lower prices and make us all better off. But even if monopolists can spend their monopoly windfalls on big, ambitious projects, they don't. Why would they?

If you're Google, you can either spend tens of billions on R&D to keep up with spam and SEO scumbags, or you can spend less money buying the default search spot on every platform, so no one ever tries another search engine and switches:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

Compared to its monopoly earnings, the tech sector's R&D spending is infinitesimal:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/08/11/nor-glom-of-nit/#capitalists-hate-competition

How do we get capitalists to work harder to make their workers and customers better off? Capitalists tell us how, every day. We need to make them afraid.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/19/make-them-afraid/#fear-is-their-mind-killer

Image: Vlad Lazarenko (modified) https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Wall_Street_Sign_%281-9%29.jpg CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #petard #precarity #cares act #stimulus #market discipline #competition #too big to care #antitrust #labor #trustbusting #consumer welfare #every accusation is a confession

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netherfeildren · 1 year

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Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .1

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Summary: What do you do when you meet a woman, have a child, get married, and then find the love of your life?

-OR-

A Joel infidelity AU

Content Warnings: Discussions of alcoholism and parent death.

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Hi, everyone. Welcome to the new story.

Disclaimer to begin with. Joel is married in this, but it is, and always has been, a marriage of convenience. There has never been any sort of emotional or physical intimacy between him and his wife apart from when Sarah was conceived.

Like always, I promise there will be a happy ending, and that there will be lots of other fun :) stuff to make up for the occasional tears.

I appreciate you all so much. Happy (lol I guess) reading. xx

Art is The pain that keeps on giving, Noelia Towers, (2018-2019). Title of the story comes from this film.

Word Count: 6.8K

Read on AO3

Life changes in the instant. The ordinary instant.

Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

The first time you’d fucked, it was like you’d never been touched by a man before. The first time he’d looked at you, like you’d never been seen, in the entirety of your existence, prior to that moment. Every other time after that, every touch, every look, was the same – a rebirth of sorts. And a devastation. Something not to be understood or conceptualized, only experienced.

Taking that into account, it’s no surprise that things unfolded as they did – ended as they did.

“Please, please, come with us,” Gerri drags the vowels out and hits you with the puppy dog eyes. You shake your head at her, smiling, packing up your supplies from tonight’s lesson. “It’s going to be so fun, I promise. Tommy’s sister-in-law hates my guts, I know, what-fucking-ever, but my sister and her girlfriend will be there, and my best friend’s planning on coming too. And there’s an extra bedroom, it’ll be perfect, I swear.”

“Yeah, I remember the sister-in-law from Easter.” Of course you remember her from that day. Gerri had invited you to their family barbecue, and the woman had pitched a fit that Tommy’s girlfriend, somehow posed as an insult, had dared invite someone without asking her permission first. It was also the first time you’d met him. And he was, by far and large, the reason you’d stayed away and evaded all subsequent invitations since then. Even if his wife had unapologetically said to your face that she found it crazy that people still party crashed, no matter that that hadn’t been what you’d meant to do, hadn’t known you were party crashing. She’d also thrown away the bunny cake you’d stayed up the entire night before making. No gluten in the house or something, even though the hamburger and hot dog buns had all been regular.

“Oh my fucking God, Easter. Don’t even remind me. I know, I know.” She gives you a pointed look and you huff a laugh at her. “But that was months ago. Her and Joel were on the outs then, or… had just gotten back together… I can’t ever keep up. And well… they’re still on the outs now–” She scrunches up her face into the cutest little frown. You love Gerri so much. From the first moment she’d shown up for your Tuesday night ceramics class at the community college, she’d immediately decided that not only were you going to propel her into the upper echelons of the great sculptors of the world, the greater Austin area – her words, not yours, but she’d also immediately decided that you were going to be friends, and no, you did not have a choice in the matter.

“But they’re always on the outs. And things haven’t been as bad recently – according to Tommy. But honestly the fuck does he know about all that anyways. My poor baby is so clueless – but still, please, please please,” she begs, pouts your name over and over again. “Please, come with us?” She brings her clasped hands up under her chin in a pleading gesture, hits you with the puppy dog eyes again.

You were so grateful for her. Despite your recalcitrance, it’d always been hard for you to make friends. A byproduct of who your mother was, being an only child, a largely solitary upbringing, et cetera, et cetera. You’d needed Gerri’s tenacious spark and kindness to pull you out of your shell. She wanted you to join her, her boyfriend Tommy, and their friends and family at a house they’d rented on Lake Austin for the weekend as a sort of end of summer farewell. And you did – you wanted to go, bunny cake murdering sister-in-law and all, but there was the issue of him.

You were… there was not a single phrase for what it was your mind turned into when that man and his name and his face invaded your psyche. So you’d done your best to avoid him in your mind and in real life, at all costs. He was – he was not something you were capable of considering.

“I’m not sure if I can, Ger–” you say slowly, wracking your brain for an excuse. “There was– one of the other teachers at the elementary school–” Your day job, when you weren’t teaching night class ceramics, was as an elementary school art teacher, “Asked if I’d cover for them on Friday – summer school.” Stupid excuse, you roll your eyes at yourself.

“Oh, shut up. The summer camp classes end early – you told me that last time! You could drive up after.” She sidles up to you now, rests her curly haired head on your shoulder. “Please, you’ve said no to everything I’ve invited you to since Easter. You aren’t avoiding me because of the shitshow that was, are you?”

“No, of course not.” Yes, yes you were. Just not for the reason she thought. “I would just hate to impose–”

“You wouldn’t! I swear you wouldn’t be!”

“You all already have your plan, and I–”

“No! No. My sister’s the one renting the house, and she said I could invite whoever I wanted. So, no one can say anything,” she sticks her tongue out, rolling her eyes. “And Joel said I should invite you too. I’m pretty sure he still feels badly about last time also.” Fucking hell, you did not want him feeling bad for you. At all. Ever. You did not want him ever thinking about you ever, ever, ever.

You stand over the kitchen trash bin, staring at your destroyed cake. Your grandmother used to make it every Easter. Four separate cake loaves all cut into the shapes for a face, two big pointy ears, and a cute little bow tie, with a pineapple filling, and all covered in little flakes of coconut and your homemade vanilla frosting. You used jelly beans to make the eyes and nose and dark frosting out of a piping bag for the whiskers and mouth. It was your favorite cake, one of your favorite memories, one of the only good ones.

“Fucking Christ, she did not throw it away. Please, don’t tell me that’s the cake you brought.” Large hand gently placed between the wings of your shoulder blades to peer around you, not touching, but still there, still very close, and yes, that’s it, you’ve gotta get the fuck out of there now, away from this man.

“Oh, no. It’s okay – I– I mean– I should’ve asked before. I didn’t know you all were gluten free. I should’ve asked…”

“What? Glu–” he frowns. You knew his wife, Eva, had made that up. You step away from him, from his large warm palm that feels like it’s burning through your clothes and skin. He was really, really and truly the most unfairly gorgeous man you’d ever seen. He fucking terrified you. “Oh, yeah. The gluten.” He went along with the lie, passing the offending palm over his mouth, the wiry scruff of his beard rasping softly against what you imagined to be work roughened skin. He’d said he was a contractor.

Gerri had invited you to her boyfriend's brother’s house for the Easter holiday. It was the first invitation to something you’d gotten since you’d moved to Austin six months ago, and you’d been so, so happy that she’d asked, had felt so sad you’d not have anyone to share your cake with. You’d planned to take it to work with you to leave in the teacher’s lounge for everyone to share. The thought had made the back of your eyes pinch, for some reason.

“It’s alright. I actually need to head out. Could you let Gerri know? I– I’m–” you couldn’t think of a lie, and he was staring at you like he knew you had no real excuse – like he knew you were uncomfortable and out of place and were just looking for an excuse to leave. Embarrassment burned in your cheeks.

“Don’t go, please. Stay for a while longer. I’m – fuck– I apologize about the cake–”

“No, no– really it’s–” you held out a staying hand, but he’d cut off your false appeasement.

“Please, stay.” He’d taken a step forward, closer to your retreating form, and you’d felt almost faint, dizzy at the image of him stepping closer to you. He was so tall, huge really, broad chest, thick arms, dark, lush curls and a scruffy jaw, a peek of chest hair covering the tantalizing golden skin at the opened button of his shirt. Sexy, deep Southern twang. The loveliest, warmest eyes you think you’d ever probably seen. You were going to try and mix the exact color of them when you got home, even though you knew you shouldn’t. You hadn’t been interested in a man in months, maybe longer, couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a crush, an anything on anyone, and now this man. Suddenly, blindingly, out of fucking nowhere – so damn attractive. Your eyes had fluttered shut for a second and you’d swallowed, trying to regain your balance – you’d known him for all of two hours and he already made you feel unbalanced. You needed to leave.

“Really, Joel,” his name on your tongue almost had a taste, “It’s okay.”

“He– He did?” you stutter. “He shouldn’t feel bad – he has nothing to feel bad about, it was nothing.” Lie – lie, lie, lie. Meeting him that day had been – it had been everything. You’d thought about it, him, for months afterwards. The sight of him with his three year old daughter, Sarah, the sweetest little thing you’d ever seen. Helping her hunt for the Easter eggs he’d hidden around their backyard, letting her crack the bright confetti filled shells over his head. His excitement for her when she’d finally found the basket he’d made up for her. He was a good father.

“Yeah, and Tommy said he’d like to see you again too. And I told my sister about you, and she thinks all my pottery’s fucking amazing, by the way, and she wants to meet you too, and she’s even thinking of enrolling in the class next semester so really, really you’re obligated to come.” Fucking menace – she smiles sweetly.

“Oh, fine. Fine, fine. I’ll come.” You’re putting away the last of your tools. “I’ll drive up Friday afternoon when I’m done at the school.”

Immediate hopping squeals, and this is why you love her. She’s so happy, so open and silly, friendly and funny. All the things opposite to your restrained quiet, shy to the point of aggravation, sometimes. You didn’t want your constant refusals to alienate her. You could see him again, it would be fine. You’d met him once for Christ’s sake. It meant nothing. It had probably been nothing that day, heat exhaustion or a stomach ache or something. Nothing to fawn and stress over. You’d just be polite, cordial, keep your distance – especially from his wife. You did not, did not want to provoke her greater dislike. You’d keep your unwanted baking to yourself this time. It would all be fine. You wanted these people to like you, if you were being honest. A little desperately. Gerri and Tommy, her sister you hadn’t yet met – you wanted to be part of their group, one of their friends. They were all so kind, welcoming and fun, you couldn’t ruin this for yourself.

Gerri had spilled the beans on the marriage over one afternoon of too many Mexican martini’s, an Austin specialty, and chips and salsa. They’d gotten married three years ago after Eva had gotten unexpectedly pregnant. Joel was traditional, he’d asked and eventually she’d agreed. They were both older than you, he’d just turned forty recently, and you guessed it’d made sense for them, at the time, but she’d left them soon after Sarah had been born. The marriage, the baby, hadn’t been in her plans, too much for her, Gerri said. They’d been separated for about a year and a half until she’d come back. They seemed to be trying to work it out now. Gerri claimed they were both miserable. You’d only met them the once – well, you’d seen Joel a few weeks ago, from a distance, when Tommy’d come to drop something off for Gerri before class, sitting in their truck. You don’t think he’d seen you – but you thought that their misery was very obviously apparent in that way that was easily recognizable to someone who, at one point, had existed in a house made only of misery. It breaks your heart for them all, in different ways, to recognize that singular brand of dissatisfaction that comes with living in a home where no happiness resided with you.

But the reality of his marriage made you all the more terrified of him. To ever see him again. You wanted no part of that. Didn’t even want to exist in the same vicinity as someone who was experiencing something of that nature. You’d had enough of unhappy marriages and painful households in your own childhood. You never wanted to deal with that again.

You’d read once that infidelity was a hereditary trait. Studies had shown that if you’d had a parent or even a sibling, someone in your household during your development, who’d been unfaithful, you were then more likely to also be unfaithful yourself. Something about that sort of childhood trauma inciting a propensity in the offspring to find it difficult to later on trust romantic partners, to incite trust themselves. Trust issues, emotional unavailability, baggage, blah, blah. Sometimes nature versus nurture was a real bitch, in your opinion.

But as much as you wanted to call bullshit, the thought, the possibility of that being true, filled you with such an intense fear — debilitating, paralyzing, life altering. You found yourself with an immense inability to trust yourself, more than anything. Your greatest fear, the thing that scared you the most in all the world, was that you would be the perpetrator, that you would be the one to commit that sin. That you’d lose control, self awareness, morality, yourself. It wasn’t something your mind could even come to terms with, the possibility of hurting another person that way, betraying them in that manner. It seemed like the worst possible thing in the entire world that you could ever do to someone. After all, you’d watched your mother do it to your father, over and over again, your entire life, up until the point that she’d up and left the both of you. For many years, after her fateful abandoning, you’d watched him drink himself into a stupor and then into a grave. Years of waiting for her to come back, in love with a ghost or a figment of his imagination, for the woman he’d made her out to be, within the ever forgiving and naive confines of his love, had never existed. Something you could see, even through the lenses of your child eyes.

She was an eternally flawed woman. Selfish, vain, manipulative, deceitful, but there was good in her too. She was eccentric and beautiful, and she could be kind, so funny, and immensely intelligent, her mind and wit, always sharp as a whip. It was, you thought, what made her so talented at deceiving others, at getting her way. She outsmarted everyone she came into contact with. But she was also weak and self serving, had never met anyone, in all her life, who she loved more than she loved herself. Not even you. Sometimes, you thought, especially not you. For you were the living reminder of all she’d lost and been forced to give up. It was a difficult, complicated, painful relationship you had with her, even now, all these years later.

After she’d left, she’d kept in contact with you sparingly. The occasional call or birthday card. It had taken her three years to feel like seeing you again after she’d left when you were ten. The pains and awkwardness of puberty long started, endured on your own, before she’d even had the foresight to remember she had a daughter who might need her. It was an exceedingly painful and lonely time for a young girl to survive on her own, but you bore it, as you did the entirety of the fallout that came with her leaving.

Your father was another story entirely. He’d fallen to pieces, completely, the day she’d left and had never had the strength of will to ever pull himself together again. It was a strange sort of existence the two of you had lived in those years, keeping each other company. Physically, he was there, but he was never present, never sentient. He drowned, for years and years, in a sea of pain and liquor, and he never resurfaced. You watched him sink, a young girl incapable of comprehending or acting in a way that could’ve helped him, as much as you wanted to or even tried, all of it was futile. Eventually he hit the bottom of the ocean and died there, and you were left more alone than ever.

You remember there’d only been four people, in total, at his funeral. You and two men from the shithole bar he liked to lose himself at every week and the priest. It was a terribly painful thing to live through on your own. Humiliating in a very specific and acute way, for some reason. To know that this sad, pathetic specimen of a human being had had a hand in creating you, to know that he was your father and that you loved him, despite his weakness, his vices, his lack of care for you, you loved him. And you felt interminably sorry for the creature he’d been turned into at the hands of an uncaring and poisonous love. You hadn’t been able to tell her for ten months, after he’d been dead in the ground, that he’d passed. She’d not called, didn’t like giving you her number, said she was too busy to have to worry about you calling her at all hours of the day, as if you’d asked her for a single thing in the decade since she’d left.

And you loved your mother, even after it all, you did, but it was a poignantly devastating moment, the day you realized she was not just your mother, but her own person, as well. The day that childlike naivety, unconscious self centeredness, was cast away to realize that she was savagely flawed and human, and that she did bad things that hurt good people. And still, and still she was your mother and you loved her. Your greatest influence, the hand that shaped you, and you loved her despite everything. It was only that, after the rose tinted glasses had been ripped away, and she was only then herself, nothing more – pedestal forsaken – she was just a flawed woman who sometimes made mistakes, made the wrong choices, hurt you and your father and fractured your family. That was a hard thing to come to terms with as a young girl.

You realized now, with the lifetime of experience she’d inherited to you, that motherhood built a pedestal and a grave, all at once, over and over again. A woman could vacillate between being the Madonna and the whore, and the cycle was inescapable and destructive and enticing, all at the same time. It was something that one could try to avoid or run away from, but many times, it caught up to most, hooked its claws in you and dragged you away from the things you would’ve wanted or done otherwise. You realized this was what had happened to her. She’d never been built for motherhood, for the responsibility of raising a child, so she’d desecrated the altar of it, taken a sledgehammer to it and freed herself in the only way she saw she could, collateral damage be damned.

And so you’d isolated yourself, for the thought of doing the same thing to someone that you might have loved or someone that loved you, was soul destroying. And that was the saddest part of this whole overly cliché tragedy – that you were sure that, at a certain point in her life, she’d loved your father, as well. Perhaps not enough, not enough to change who she was, what she really wanted, but she had loved him in her own way, nevertheless.

Parallel to the tragedy was the ironic reality that in some very safely guarded part of you, you longed so, so desperately for your own chance at a happy family, love, children. How could you not? When you’d never experienced it for yourself during your own childhood. Always having to make your own meals, get yourself ready for school, alone at ten years old, walking to the bus unaccompanied, no one ever waiting for you, expecting you, watching over you. Alone, alone, always alone. How could you not want to build your own normal, loving, happy family for yourself? You wanted it very badly.

But there was also no part of you that felt, in the most vital ways, capable of showing your underbelly in such a vulnerable way. You had always been too sensitive, a weeper from a long line of weepers, and the second thing you were most terrified of, after turning into your own mother, was being left again, abandoned to another derelict and lonely childhood. So your aloneness suited you, for now. At least, in terms of your romantic life. Your isolation kept you safe, guarded from those that would savage the sensitive and salted battleground that was your heart.

That, however, did not mean that you were immune to wanting, to the disease of yearning, of desire, and so you found it most unfortunate, cosmically laughable and cruel, that it would be this man, this married, beautiful, entirely unattainable man, that would have reminded you of that desire again, after it had lain dormant for so long: Joel.

Joel tried to think of you only in the moments when he was feeling particularly strong. It was a challenge he’d set for himself from that day, all those months ago, when you’d appeared at his house on Easter. Like a fucking angel or a creature out of a fairy book. Soft and luminous and so fucking pretty. No, Joel tried very, very hard not to think of you.

He failed often, though. He’d not forgotten you since that day. Had tried to fish, as subtly as possible, through Tommy, for information. See if he’d heard anything about you from Gerri. Any new details or gossip about the pretty little art teacher. Tommy was a terrible goddamn gossip, like a clucking hen. And Joel knew, he knew empirically, that thinking of you was wrong. That he had a wife that he needed to be respectful of, even if she was never respectful of him, fucking her coworker – or had been… still was — he couldn’t keep track anymore – didn’t really care, if he was being honest. But you, you were the one small, private thing he kept for himself. The thought of you, the image of you in his mind, you were only for his moments of great necessity. You’d been so sweet that afternoon, walking into his home with your bunny cake. That fucking cake haunted him – the look in your eyes as he watched you stand over the trashcan staring at it. He’d been so scared you’d start crying, that he’d have to comfort you, that he’d be able to take you into his arms. He’d been terrified of what would become of him if he’d gotten the opportunity to feel you like that. But no, you’d left. Made up some weak excuse he knew you could see he didn’t buy, and had quietly left, not even saying goodbye to the others. He’d had a terrible one-sided argument with Eva that night. Told her she’d been unnecessarily rude and cruel, doing that to a complete stranger who was just trying to be nice. She hadn’t batted a single eyelash, all his frustration going in one ear and out the other.

He could, to a certain degree, understand where her behavior came from. He knew she was unhappy, he knew she hated their life together. That it was nothing like what she’d ever envisioned for herself, and so she acted out sometimes. At his age, he found now, that you couldn’t ever really fault a person for not being what they’d never been meant to be. He understood this, had accepted that his marriage would never be of the happy or intimate sort. That Eva had never wanted to be a mother, but had felt trapped by circumstance. He dealt with it. Or ignored it. Avoided looking directly at the ugly reality of it, more like. He had Sarah and work and Tommy, and now that his brother was with Gerri things had gotten a little better, happier for the family. She was a good addition – kind and spunky. She was good for his brother, and he was happy for them.

But the day he’d met you – it had made a savage claw of want gouge through his entrails. He’d not remembered the last time he’d wanted something the way he did when he watched you walk out into the backyard long hair shimmering in the sun, and a nervous flush sweeping over the apples of your cheeks. And even if he’d been unattached, free to pursue you like he liked to dream about sometimes, you were so young – much too young and pretty for an old, washed up, has-been like him. But he could imagine it, like he’d said, only when he was feeling particularly strong. Or maybe particularly weak. He couldn’t keep track of which was safer anymore. When the years and work and responsibilities and grief and loneliness surged up too high and overwhelming for him to bear, he liked to think of you in that little yellow sundress. Wonder what it’d be like to be a younger man, to have met you first. A bad, selfish, terrible thought to have. But just in the quiet privacy of his mind, when he needed a small something to make him feel just a little better – he liked to think of you.

The only other time he’d seen you, once when Tommy’d had to drop something for Gerri at the college, he’d insisted on tagging along. Hoping he’d maybe be lucky enough to get a glimpse of you, and oh, he’d been so, so rewarded. You’d been carrying a stack of supplies from your car into the building, one of those spiky things women wore twisted in your hair to keep it up, wisps of your long, heavy locks escaping the knot, and a little, red, spaghetti strapped top. The thin of it on your shoulder had slipped off the delicate wing of your clavicle as you balanced everything you’d carried in your arms and tried to kick your car door closed at the same time. It’d taken everything in him, all the self control he possessed, not to sprint over to you and offer to help you, to fall to his knees at your feet. You’d blown a strand of your hair out of your face, the cutest expression of frustration scrunching your brow. His gut had twisted almost painfully with yearning. He hadn’t even known he was capable of fucking yearning, but he sure as hell did now. He felt it sharply, piercingly, like a knife to the gut. He’d met you once for Christ’s sake, seen you in person only twice, but you plagued him, you plagued him.

He knew it was probably partially a symptom of how alone he was. Lonely to his very core. His marriage had never been a real one, no closeness, no intimacy. A byproduct born of one drunken night, and Joel’s need to do the right thing, give his child a stable home with two parents and all the love he could give her. And Sarah, Sarah was the greatest gift that he’d ever been given. This perfect little person that he still, three years later, could not believe had come from a piece of him.

He’d told Eva that he’d do whatever she wanted, would accept whatever she’d chosen when she’d first realized she was pregnant. She’d refused the alternative route vehemently, and so he’d never suggested it again. If he was being honest, he’d been happy when he’d found out, in some small way. The situation wasn’t ideal, of course, they’d been veritable strangers at that point, but he’d been thirty seven, at the time, and he liked the idea of children. Eva was attractive and intelligent. He’d proposed immediately, gone out and gotten a ring and gotten down on one knee. He’d naively thought that perhaps, eventually, with time, they might grow closer. That idea was squashed quickly. She’d made it clear that she’d never wanted to marry him, but she also didn’t want to go at it alone, knew he was responsible and reliable, and so she’d accepted. And perhaps, he should have tried harder to win her over afterwards, but if he was being as honest as he could be, he wasn’t very interested either, didn’t really mind the lack of intimacy with her. They just weren’t a good match.

She’d left a few months after she’d given birth. Ran off with some guy she’d met – only a note left saying she couldn’t do it anymore. He hadn’t tried to go after her, hadn’t tried to bring her back or look for her. A better man probably would have, would have fought for his wife, for the mother of his child. But he’d never loved her, not even close, and so he’d taken care of his baby girl, had tried to be everything she needed and worked as hard as he could so that she’d never want for anything. Eva had come back after about a year and a half – her affair had run its course, and she’d said she wanted to try again with Sarah, that she’d made a mistake, wanted to be part of her daughter’s life. Of course he’d let her come back. He wanted Sarah to have a mother that was present, to have everything a child should have. And afterall, it was no hardship for him personally. She didn’t want a relationship with him, only Sarah. And so they’d settled into this strange agreement of co-parents slash roommates who just happened to be married. Eva liked to keep pretenses up, so they did the occasional family thing together. Especially now that Tommy was with Gerri, she liked to pretend at the double date thing, occasionally. Even though Eva couldn’t stand the poor girl. It was a pieced together sort of life, but it was better than what some had, and Sarah had her mother. He couldn’t complain.

But he did like to imagine a sort of alternative sometimes – something different, less lonely. He could tell she was going to leave again soon, more unsatisfied and frustrated and restless than ever. He couldn’t even find it in himself to resent her for it, it only hurt him for Sarah’s sake, for he didn’t think she’d be coming back this time.

It hadn’t been such a bad idea to come after all, you think, as you lounge on the dock by the lake. The sun is strong but not burning – warm and soothing. It feels like there are ghost fingers stroking all along the bare skin of your arms and legs. Gerri had made a pitcher of sangria and you were slightly tipsy off it now. A light weight, through and through.

The house they’d rented was gorgeous. All exposed wood and big glass windows right on the lakefront. Gerri’s sister was a doctor – a spine surgeon or something really fancy. She’d rented the house and invited all of you – no chance for Joel’s wife to be pissed off that you’d tagged along.

There were large boxes of the loveliest white hydrangeas along one side of the dock. The sweet scent of them drifting around you as you lounged on the chair you’d planted yourself in with your sangria. Yes, this was a good idea. You’d managed to evade Joel and his wife in the hours you’d been here. Gerri and Tommy were great as always and her sister and her partner were so nice. You’d talked about the pottery class, she wanted to pick up a new hobby, trying out the whole work-life-balance thing, and she’d thought pottery’d be a good fit for her. She was planning on signing up for the next semester.

You’re slightly dozing now. The warm sun and sweet alcohol making you languorous and drowsy and all fizzy on the inside. You think you might be able to hear the breeze sliding through each individual blade of grass on the bank, whistling over the surface of the water, and you can’t stop picturing his arms in your mind, but you’re pretending to ignore that, or pretending the bulging, mouth-watering muscles, prominent veins running under the surface of his tan skin, dusted with a light coating of golden brown hair belonged to someone who was not him. He has the largest hands you’ve ever seen, and you wonder what one of them wrapped around your throat would feel like. Bad, inappropriate thoughts.

You have one arm slung above your head, resting at the crown of your scalp to partially shield the sensitive skin there from the strong sun when you feel a sudden piercing pain, right to the center of your palm. You shriek, jolting violently, glass of sangria falling and shattering on the deck and stumbling up out of your chair, sending it flying back topside. A wasp buzzes menacingly around you, and you shriek again, cracked and painful. The thing had stung you right in the center of your tender palm. You hear the quick paced steps of someone approaching, too distracted trying to evade the horrible thing when you hear Joel’s voice. “Stay still, it’s okay. I’ll get it.”

Your hand really, really hurts. You stop your swatting and feel the back of your eyes pinch, hot tears pooling in the corners. Not only is the sting incredibly painful, but you really hate bees, wasps, all the ugly mean things that buzz and sting. You can feel the slight tremble of your frame begin to take over as you try to patiently wait for him to get rid of it.

He comes closer, “It’s okay, he’s gone. Did it get you? C’mere, lemme see.”

You clutch the injured hand to your chest, try and scoot away from him shaking your head, but you get too near to the edge, and his hand shoots out to cup your elbow, other hand coming to circle your waist and turn you so you’re standing in the center, and he’s closer to the edge.

“No, no, it’s okay. It got you, lemme see it–” he gently circles his big rough palm on the thin of your wrist, and now you’re really shaking.

“It’s o–okay,” you hitch, you feel a tear slide down your cheek. Fucking embarrassing. “I’m okay, really. It’s nothing.” You try and pull your limb out of his grasp, but he pulls you closer. He says your name then, not necessarily sharply, but in the way of a rubber band snapping against your skin, a slightly jarring crack followed by a tingle, something that reverberates through your entire body.

Then gentle: “Just come here,” and coaxing. How could anyone ever say no to a voice like that. So deep, so patient. “Lemme see, it’s okay. No, don’t be scared. Lemme see, open your hand for me, sweetheart. I’ll be gentle, it’s okay,” his soothing voice over and over. Coaxing you into capitulation, into following his orders. He smooths his rough thumb gently, gently over the sides of your palm, coaxing your fingers to uncurl and let him see the hurt. “Oh, it’s alright. None of that trembling, sweet girl.” And then he brings your hand up to his hot, wet mouth and presses his lips to the wound, gently sucking. You can feel the wet of his tongue pass over it once, slowly sucking the venom out of your palm. You feel everything below your belly button go hot and liquid at the feel of his tongue on your skin. Oh, God, you want to feel that mouth everywhere, between your legs.

You think you let a jagged whimper claw its way out your throat, for his eyes flit to yours, a flash of heat igniting them. He pulls his mouth away, turns to spit, thumb gently brushing over the tender inside of your wrist. He says your name so softly. “That’s better. You’re okay. No tears.”

His large hands completely engulf yours. His fingers are thick and long, his nails clipped short and neat. Beautiful, masculine hands. Working hands. He doesn’t wear a ring. “We can get a clove of garlic on this,” he’s still cradling your limb, “Heard that’s good for stings.”

This is bad, bad, bad, bad. Not part of your plan to stay away from him at all. He’s staring at your cradled hand, his gaze trained on the way his own palm dwarfs yours. You feel his touch tighten for just a second, he brings his eyes back to yours, and you watch as a swallow passes through the strong column of his throat.

He called you sweetheart.

There are so many reasons why you know he’s dangerous to you, why you should stay away from him: his kindness, how competent he is — the way it seems like, no matter what in life could ever present itself to him, he’d be able to take it in, take care of it, fix it. He could handle anything. How fucking gorgeous he is, his hands, his face, his body, the dark curls, the slightest hint of silver threads beginning to appear through them, the deep dark eyes, but most of all, more than any other reason, the way he says your name — like the worst thing you’ve ever heard in your entire life, and also the loveliest. So soft and deep and soothing. A voice that could get a person to do anything, capitulate to anything, commit any crime.

And what was it about wanting something you should not want, could never have, that made you want it all the more? Rebellion of the highest order calls your name.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. He still has you clutched in his grasp, is staring at you almost in shock. You try to pull away and his grip tightens for one second, like he can’t bear the thought of letting you go, and then releases you, lets you pull your injured hand back into your chest.

“Alright?”

And you’re so disoriented by him, by his touch that you instinctively reply: “Yes. Are you?”

He looks confused for a second, shakes his head a little and then laughs, “Yeah – yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart.” He shouldn’t be calling you that, but it sounds so lovely coming out of his mouth. You’ll tell him to stop next time. It’s okay. Next time he says it you’ll tell him not to call you that anymore. Embarrassment burns your cheeks.

You shake your head, “Sorry, I–”

“It’s alright. No need to apologize. Let’s get you inside. Get somethin’ on that hand.”

You take a step back from him, and he matches it with one step of his own forward, like he isn’t planning on letting you run away. It makes the speed of your heart kick up a notch, a hummingbird fluttering within the confines of your chest. “No, really, it’s okay. I’ll ice it or something. I’m fine, honestly. Thank you for– for your help.” You feel like you’re blinking a hundred times a minute, the sun suddenly scorching, when just a moment ago it had been soft and warm.

You need to get away from him.

“Rubbin’ a garlic clove on it’s good for stings. There’s some in the kitchen, I’ll get it for you.” He reaches a hand out as if to take hold of you again, and you take two more steps away. This time he does not follow, you see the muscle of his jaw flutter.

“Really, Joel. It’s okay.” You feel like you’ve said these words to him before, like all your short acquaintanceship has consisted of, is you apologizing and running away, bowing out before it gets too scary or complicated or threatening. He probably thinks you’re an idiot. “Th– thank you for your help. I’m just gonna –” you hitch your thumb back towards the house, “I’m just going to go back inside. Sorry.”

He only nods, frozen on the dock as you walk away from him.

Chapter .2

Netherfeildren Masterlist

#someone's fic #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

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jokeroutsubs · 1 month

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📝[ENG Translation] Joker Out exclusively for Style.

Before their performance at Sziget, Joker Out spoke exclusively to Style.Over.Net about what this means to them and when we can expect new music.

Article written by Meta Vrazic, published on 22.08.2024 on the Style.Over. Net website.

Translation by @kurooscoffee, review by a member of JokerOutSubs, proofread by @flowerlotus8

What do Tom Odell, Sam Smith, Bebe Rexha, and Kylie Minogue have in common?

All of these music giants shared the stage last week with the Slovenian band Joker Out at one of the biggest European festivals, Sziget.

Before their performance, they spoke exclusively to Style.Over.Net about what this means to them and when we can expect new music.

Photo: Vita Orehek

You're performing at Sziget, which means you're sharing the stage with some of the biggest names in the music industry. What does this mean for you?

Bojan: For us, this is a dream come true. Today (editor's note: on the day of the concert), we'll reach or even surpass our hidden hopes and dreams that every band starting out at 15 years old has.

Kris: I'd like to add that, in my opinion, it doesn't matter that much who is on stage before or after me. I focus more on which other performers have played on this stage at this time. In 2018, I listened to one of my favourite bands, The Kooks, at this exact time at Sziget. Lewis Capaldi also had his first performance at this time, and yesterday, Tom Odell got this slot. To me, it's an incredible achievement that we can compare ourselves with such names, especially in our region.

So you would equate yourselves with these artists? Do you see yourselves as equals?

Bojan: Yes, we're on par with Lewis Capaldi (laughs). No, we don't see ourselves as equals, but I would emphasise that this festival has 60 stages and over a thousand performers. So, being on the main stage at such a time is quite an amazing feeling.

Photo: Vita Orehek

In a recent interview, you mentioned differences between Slovenian and European stages. So, I have to ask – do you have a shower here?

Jure: Yes, I saw a shower. We'll definitely shower after the show since we're heading straight into a van and back to the studio.

So, you won't have a chance to walk around Sziget? When did you even arrive?

Jure: We left Hamburg at 7 AM, arrived at 11 AM, had a coffee, did a soundcheck, now we're talking to the media, then it's the concert, and back. It's pretty packed.

Photo: Vita Orehek

You've already performed for various audiences in many countries. Which audience is more demanding, Slovenian or international?

Bojan: Slovenian, for sure, because it's our home crowd. Other artists we've talked to also say that the home audience is always more demanding.

In Slovenia, we're omnipresent, both musically and in the media, so there are certain expectations. Some might even come to our shows hoping our performace would suck, so they can justify not liking us. Meanwhile, in other countries, they don't understand what we're saying, so they come just to let loose, dance, and have a good time.

International audiences sing incredibly well. If you closed your eyes during the concert and just listened, you'd think you were in Slovenia.

Kris: I'd add that someone willing to listen to music in another language is by default more open-minded and less demanding.

What's tougher: Sziget or Eurovision?

Jure: Eurovision, because we had no experience, and the pressure was much greater. We prepared for it for six months, whereas for a concert, you have a day or maybe even just a few hours.

Bojan: At Eurovision, it doesn't matter how good you are or what kind of performance you have. If you mess up in those three minutes, you're done. There are so many people there who don't care about your story or how precise you are—if you make a mistake, it's over. Whereas at a concert, you're there to have fun, and even mistakes are welcome as they make the experience more enjoyable.

Photo: Vita Orehek

How do you prepare for concerts? Do you have any special rituals?

Bojan: Not really. About 30 minutes before the concert, we completely calm down, practice a little, and then we all shout our motto together.

We've all heard stories about stars with very specific backstage food and drink requests. Do you have any special requests? What must be there for you?

Jure: Ginger shots, sour candies, vitamin water, towels...

Bojan: A mirror! It sounds bizarre, but there's often no mirror backstage, and before you go on stage, you can't check that everything's in place. So now we've specifically added a mirror to our list.

Is there even any stage fright still present before the concerts?

All: Yes, definitely.

Kris: Sometimes it happens about 20 minutes before the performance, depending on the day you're having.

Photo: Vita Orehek

And who's the most nervous?

Jure: Lately, it's been Bojan.

You now have songs in three different languages. What does this mean for your target audience? What is your target audience like, actually?

Bojan: We aim to have a good time. To play and enjoy ourselves, this music comes from us – and we haven't changed much during this time. Of course, we always try to find something new and different, depending on where the wind takes us.

I mainly think that you don't need to take this too seriously. If everyone checks their playlist and looks at the music they listen to, it's probably not all the same and monotonous. Why shouldn't it be the same for performers?

Have you ever felt that you aren't taken seriously because of the “boyband” label?

Bojan: We get this most often precisely in Slovenia. When we did interviews abroad, serious journalists approached us with a great deal of respect. They often even came to our concerts before the interview and expressed their enthusiasm and respect—you can feel that they take you seriously. Still, this doesn't bother us in Slovenia either, because, in reality, we are a “boyband.”

Photo: Vita Orehek

Do you ever get tired of any of your songs?

Kris: I always enjoy all our songs, but during a one-month tour in Europe, we involved the audience during the song 'Umazane misli'. And sometimes, while waiting for the audience, it drags on and gets a bit boring.

Bojan: Well, I had a great time even during those moments.

Of course, we need to check in on how the new album is coming along. When will it see the light of day?

Bojan: The album is expected to be “on time,” and you can expect it at the end of October. So far, things are moving well; we occasionally hit a “bump” that throws us off rhythm, but we're satisfied. We're doing well and holding up great.

#joker out #jokeroutsubs #bojan cvjetićanin #bojan cvjeticanin #jan peteh #nace jordan #kris guštin #kris gustin #jure macek #year: 2024 #type: article #og language: slovenian #jo: all members #source: style over net

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blueiscoool · 2 days

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200-Year-Old Message in a Bottle Found on a French Clifftop

Volunteers on an archaeological dig in the ruins of an ancient Gaulish village high above the cliffs in northern France this week uncovered a small glass vial —and within it a neatly rolled, 200-year-old message from a colleague from another era.

The note was written by archaeologist P.J Féret, who conducted a dig at the Cité de Limes site in January 1825, the town supporting the dig, Eu, said in a Facebook post.

Féret wrote —perhaps as inspiration to the nascent archaeologists standing in his footsteps nearly two centuries later— that he was a member of several scientific societies and he "continues his research in this entire vast compound."

"It was an absolutely magic moment," Guillaume Blondel, who heads the archaeological service for the town of Eu, told the BBC. "We knew there had been excavations here in the past, but to find this message from 200 years ago… it was a total surprise."

"Sometimes you see these time capsules left behind by carpenters when they build houses. But it's very rare in archaeology," Blondel said. "Most archaeologists prefer to think that there won't be anyone coming after them because they've done all the work!"

Municipal records confirmed that Féret conducted a first dig at the site 200 years ago.

The oldest message in a bottle ever found was 131 years and 223 days old when it was discovered, Guinness World Records said in a statement. Australians Tonya and Kym Illman found the message on Jan. 21, 2018, at Wedge Island, Australia.

A German ship captain threw a gin bottle overboard on June 12, 1886, Guinness World Records said, with a message written in ink, that contained the ship's coordinates and details, including departure and arrival times. The note, from the Deutsche Seewarte in Hamburg, requested the finder deliver the note to the nearest German Embassy.

If authenticated, Féret's 200-year-old message in a bottle will be the oldest ever found.

By Cara Tabachnick.

#200-Year-Old Message in a Bottle Found on a French Clifftop #P.J Féret #Cité de Limes #Eu #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news

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equalv · 2 years

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German tv shows with lgbt* characters

I think it can be quite hard to find queer german tv shows, so I thought I‘d compile a list with the ones that I have watched so far.

✪ = queerness is centered in this show

A-Z

1899 (2022) (mlm) | Netflix | international

Ángel (Miguel Bernardeau)

Ramiro (José Pimentão)

Krester (Lucas Lynggaard Tønnesen)

All you need (2021-) (mlm) | ZDF | ✪

Vince (Benito Bause)

Robbie (Frédéric Brossier)

Levo (Arash Marandi)

Tom (Mads Hjulmand)

Andreas (Tom Keune)

Barbaren (2020-) (mlm) | Netflix

Marbod (Murathan Muslu)

Flavus (Daniel Donsky)

Beat (2018) (mlm) | Prime Video

Beat (Jannis Niewöhner)

Becoming Charlie (2022-) (trans, mlm, wlw) | ZDF | ✪

Charlie (Lea Drinde)

Ronja (Sira-Anna Faal)

Mirko (Antonije Stankovic)

Blutige Anfänger (2020-) (mlm) | ZDF, YT

Michael Kelting (Werner Daehn)

Dr. Claas Steinebach (Martin Bretschneider)

Bruno Pérez (Martin Peñaloza Cecconi)

Phillip Schneider (Eric Cordes)

Charité (2017-) (wlw, mlm) | Netflix

Schwester Therese (Klara Deutschmann)

Otto Marquardt (Jannik Schümann)

Martin Schelling (Jacob Matschenz)

Dark (2017-2020) (wlw, mlm, trans) | Netflix

Peter Doppler (Stephan Kampwirth)

Bennie Wöller (Anton Rubtsov)

Doris Tiedemann (Tamar Pelzig/Luise Heyer)

Agnes Nielsen (Helena Pieske/Antje Trauer)

Deutschland 83/86/89 (2015-2020) (wlw, mlm) | Prime Video

Alex Edel (Ludwig Trepte)

Prof. Tobias Tischbier (Alexander Beyer)

Lenora Rauch (Maria Schrader)

Rose Seithathi (Florence Kasumba)

Dogs of Berlin (2018) (mlm) | Netflix

Erol Birkan (Fahri Yardim)

Guido Mack (Sebastian Achilles)

Dr. Klein (2014-2019) (mlm) | Netflix

Patrick Keller (Leander Lichti)

Kaan Gül (Karim Günes)

DRUCK (2018-) (wlw, mlm, trans) | YT | ✪

Fatou Jallow (Sira-Anna Faal)

Matteo Florenzi (Michelangelo Fortuzzi)

Zoe Machwitz (Madeleine Wagenitz)

Kieu My Vu (Nhung Hong)

Isi Inci (Eren M. Güvercin)

David Schreibner (Lukas von Horbatschewsky)

Yara Aimsakul (Elena Plyphalin Siepe)

Hans Brecht (Florian Appelius)

Eldorado KaDeWe – Jetzt ist unsere Zeit (2021-) (wlw) | ARD

Heidi Kron (Valerie Stoll)

Fritzi Jandorf (Lia von Blarer)

How to Sell Drugs Online (Fast) (2019-) (wlw) | Netflix

Fritzi (Leonie Wesselow)

Gerda (Luna Baptiste Schaller)

Kitz (2021) (mlm) | Netflix

Kosh Ziervogel (Zoran Pingel)

Hans Gassner (Ben Felipe)

Ku‘damm 56/59/63 (2016-2021) (mlm) | ZDF

Wolfgang von Boost (August Wittgenstein)

Hans Liebknecht (Andreas Pietschmann)

Der Kroatien Krimi/Split Homicide (2016-) (wlw) | ARD

Stascha Novak (Jasmin Gerat)

Loving Her (2021) (wlw) | ZDF | ✪

Hanna (Banafshe Hourmazdi)

Holly (Bineta Hansen)

Franzi (Lena Klenke)

Lara (Emma Drogunova)

Josephine (Karin Hanczewski)

Anouk (Larissa Sirah Herden)

Sarah (Soma Pysall)

Mord mit Aussicht (2018-2022) (wlw) | Netflix

Bärbel Schmied (Meike Droste)

Neumatt (2021-) (mlm) - Switzerland | Netflix

Michi Wyss (Julian Koechlin)

Joel Bachmann (Benito Bause)

Polizeiruf 110 (1971-) (queer/gnc) | ARD

Frankfurt/Świecko

Vincent Ross (Andre Kaczmarczyk)

SOKO Leipzig (2001-) (mlm) | ZDF

Moritz Brenner ( Johannes Hendrik Langer )

Tatort (1970-) (mlm, wlw) | ARD

Berlin

Robert Karow (Mark Waschke)

Hamburg

Julia Grosz (Franziska Weisz)

Saarbrücken

Esther Baumann (Brigitte Urhausen)

Wien

Meret Schande (Christina Scherrer)

Vorstadtweiber (2015-) (mlm) – Austria

Georg Schneider (Jürgen Maurer)

Joachim Schnitzler (Phillip Hochmair)

WIR (2021-) (wlw) | ZDF

Annika Baer (Eva Maria Jost)

Helena Kwiatkowski (Katharina Nesytowa)

Wendland (2023-) (wlw) | ZDF

Kira Engelmann (Paula Kalenberg)

Birthe (?)

Queer Eye Germany (2022) (mlm, nblm, trans) | Netflix

Avi Jakobs

Leni Bolt

Ayan Yuruk

Jan-Henrik Scheper-Stutke

Aljosha Muttardi

Notes: I may have forgotten to add some characters, because for most of the shows it has been some time since I last watched them. Please let me know if you want me to add a character or even show:)

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rowdyhughesy · 2 years

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Back to you - Jack Hughes

Summary: Y/N moves away, thinking that she will never see Jack Hughes again but Ellen Hughes has other ideas.

“I need you to know. That I'd come back to you, I'd come back to you. If you were a thousand miles away. With your new friends in a new place, I'd still come back to you. “

- Back to You, Jake Cornell

May 2018

Making the decision to break up after Y/N’s exchange year was over and it was time for her to fly home was hard. Neither of them wanting to make it but what choice did two 17 year olds have? Jack was staying in Michigan and Y/N was flying back to Germany. Tears rolling down their pink cheeks as Jack hugged the girl tighter against him. The Hughes family and Y/N’s host family behind them, looking on with sad eyes at two kids in love. No pain is greater then being in love with someone you know you can’t be with in this moment of time. This was a perfect example of right person wrong time. “Flight 195 gate 2A to Hamburg Germany from Detroit Michigan is now boarding.” The announcement feels like it echoes inside their heads, leaving nothing but more sadness and heartbreak behind. “You have to go.” Jacks voice cracks at the end, it’s small barely above a whisper and if Y/N wasn’t currently standing with her face buried in his neck she wouldn’t have heard him. Pulling away but only so that she could look into his eyes they force out teary smiles. Standing on her toes Y/N rests her forehead against Jacks. His breath fanning her face is shaky, like he’s forcing everything in his power to not break down. “Das ist kein Abschied. ich liebe dich Jack Hughes.” And with that she was boarding the flight and leaving Michigan, Jack, behind.

June 2019

She should probably be nervous, scared. This is crazy even for her but she can feel it in her bones that she has to be here. This is Jacks draft, she knows how much this means and even if they’re no longer together and haven’t been for over a year she needs to be in the same building even if it’s for a night. He doesn’t know that she’s in Vancouver, they haven’t spoken since last summer. The pain of timezones and distance became to much. Ellen and Jim knows though, Luke too. Y/N has talked to the youngest Hughes a couple of times since she went back home and Ellen constantly keeps in touch with the girl since she became Jacks ‘other half’ as they call her during that year. She didn’t want her to disappear just because life got in the way so she kept on calling and texting when she had the chance. That is how Y/N ended up in Canada. After much debating with the mother she decided. She was going.

Thumbnail between her teeth she paces back and forth on the sidewalk. Is this a good idea? What if Jack doesn’t love her anymore and doesn’t want her here? What if... A hand on her shoulder makes the anxious girl jump, startled she spins around coming face to face with Jim Hughes. “Jimmy!” Wide smiles are exchanged as they wrap each other in a hug. “Come on we gotta hurry before Rowdy notices I’ve wandered off and starts freaking out.” Jack. Ever the one to act like he isn’t freaking out on the inside because he knows that there is a chance for him to be picked number one when in reality he’s probably going crazy inside his mind. Following Jim like a lost puppy she can feel bile rising up her throat from the nervousness. That all goes away when she sees him, or rather his back as he’s talking to Ellen and some others from the Hughes-Weinberg fam. She can see Ellen mumble something to Jack that makes him freeze mid-sentence, body going rigid before slowly turning around. Eyes glossy, expression shifting between confused, sad and happy as they meet Y/N’s equally tear filled eyes. “I told you it wasn’t goodbye.”

Those few words seem to make Jack get in touch with reality as he takes off sprinting towards the girl standing beside his dad. Cradling her face in his hands he lets the tears fall. “Baby what are you doing here? I can’t believe you’re here. I’ve missed you so much.” His words jumble together as they fall past his lips getting a laugh out of Y/N. “I wasn’t going to miss your draft Jack. Besides, I will always find my way back to you. I’m not leaving this time. I’ll follow you to the end of the world if that’s what it takes.” Standing there with giddy smiles on their faces Jack finally leans in capturing Y/N’s lips in a kiss for the first time in a year.

They kept their promise, it wasn’t a goodbye just an I’ll see you later when the timing is right again.

#jack hughes x reader #new jersey devils #nhl imagine #jack hughes imagine #hockey blurb

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thelastaerie · 6 months

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Post-canon multi-chapter FF fics:

The Berlin Chapter - Takes place two years after Free Fall. A special work assignment sends Marc to Berlin, after he finds out Kay has been living there. Kay enjoys his new life in Berlin and is in a budding relationship with a prominent politician, while Marc is determined to convince Kay to give him a second chance, he still has his whole life back in Ludwigsburg.

A Spotless Mind - This takes place about a year after the original film. Separated from Bettina and feeling alienated in his unit, Marc asks for a transfer to Stuttgart, he is still battling the depression caused by Kay's departure and a drinking problem... one day, he finds Kay working in a bar near where he lives... Though this is another "Fix it" fanfic, it has a twist which some may find implausible, but I have this idea that wouldn't go away, so I thought I'll try to reunite Kay and Marc under different circumstances.

Parting Words - This is a post Canon fic set 10 years after the movie. Marc is now a Sergeant in Berlin’s criminal investigation police department (KriPo), balancing a promising career and a busy dating life. Even though the one regret in his life remains, Marc believes he has moved on - or so he thought until he sees Kay again by chance on the train one morning. Just like before, seeing Kay unravels Marc’s life. It doesn’t help that Kay seems to be doing a disappearing act. Their paths cross when a work-related opportunity presents itself, they soon find out how much has changed and how much has remained the same between them.

Winter Bird - A post-canon short story set between 2-3 years after the original movie ending. Marc tries to move on; he thinks Kay has moved on, so it shouldn’t matter when Frank tells him where Kay is, should it? But soon regrets and memories keep calling, Marc decides to go looking - a trip which could turn out to be a fateful one - for the road to redemption is paved with perils.

The Confessional - This is a post-canon short story.

Leaving Ludwigsburg, his police career and Marc Borgmann behind, Kay Engel decides to have a new career and a new life. His phone number isn’t new but at least he has the sense to block Marc’s number. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Except Marc doesn’t seem to care that Kay isn’t listening. He has made a habit of leaving one-sided messages, treating Kay’s phone like a confessional…

Alternate Universe (AU) multi-chapter FF fics:

Doppelpass - AU story based on Free Fall characters, set in the world of professional football/soccer league in Germany (Bundesliga). Star attacking midfielder Marc Borgmann has two goals this year: winning the league title and Player of the Year award, until Kay Engel enters his life and makes him questioning everything in his life. A rising star in League 2, Kay Engel has a secret he has to keep and falling in love with his new team captain is not his idea of a career move.

Doppelpass: How to Solve a Problem Like Mario - Marc and Kay are living their new life in Hamburg. Marc is the manager of St. Pauli football team who has just been promoted to Bundesliga top league. He begins to notice that one of his players, Mario Lüthi, seems to be harbouring a secret; and has taken an interest in meeting Kay. Set in the “Doppelpass” serie universe, this is a slight crossover with the characters from the movie “Mario” (2018), although you do not need to watch “Mario” to follow this story.

Doppelpass: Christmas coda - Doppelgänger - This little Christmas chapter takes place after Doppelpass’s last Chapter but before the Epilogue. This is soon after they have moved to Hamburg, when Marc is getting his football management pro licence and Kay is attending university. In Kay’s POV - Marc and Kay discuss how to spend their Christmas.

Running on Empty - This is a AU story based on Freier Fall/Free Fall characters. Plus a few original characters. For Marc Borgmann, life is good. He’s about to get married, the security company he co-owns finally hits the big league, landing a lucrative contract to protect prominent businessman, Wenzel Wolff. What he isn't expecting is Wenzel's aloof and ambitious executive assistant, Kay Klossner, who seems to be hiding a secret or two, of who he really is - someone from Marc’s past. Kay Engel thinks he has the best-laid plans. He is so close to the truth now, all he needs is a bit more time. What he isn't expecting is his first crush, Marc Borgmann, reappearing in his life again, stirring up feelings Kay thought he has long given up. Marc sees himself as a protector, but he has no idea who he might end up protecting.

Wanderlust - “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” - Marc meets Kay, a charming stranger, during a holiday in a Far East city. And allows himself to break a few rules along the way. It’s okay, Marc thinks. Because they will never see each other again. Right? Until one day Kay turns up in Marc’s place of business... This is an AU story with Free Fall characters. A semi holiday romance with a closeted bisexual man who is good with his hands, a photographer who is often prettier than the subjects he photographs. And a chocolate Labrador with separation anxiety.

Take Me Home - An AU story based on Free Fall characters.

Sole heir of a large family business empire, Marc Borgmann is used to his jet-set high life. He has deals to make, plans to execute and goals to achieve. He also has a secret. But don’t worry, he already has a solution for it. It’s all under control - he has an agreement with his ambitious girlfriend. Marc likes rules and he follows them. Until he meets Kay Engel on a flight from Berlin to New York, who breaks rules for fun, leaves napkins with cute cartoons everywhere he goes and Marc can’t seem to get rid of him. Or does he really want to? This is more than opposite attracts, this is Kay turning Marc’s world upside down.

The Wayward Son - An AU story based on Freier Fall characters.

Marc has just joined the famous Berlin LKA, his police career is looking up. All he needs now is to meet the right woman, get married, have 2.3 children and a house of their own. The night he meets Bettina, he thinks he has hit the jackpot, she’s perfect. But Bettina isn’t the only one Marc meets that night. There is also this mysterious stranger named Kay Engel who says weird things to Marc and two hours later, he’s working with Marc and his colleagues on a big kidnapping case. Marc befriends Kay over the course of the investigation, soon he finds out the life he planned for himself might not be what his heart really wants…

Canon-Divergence multi-chapter FF fics:

Say Something - This is a canon-divergence fic that starts from and diverts from the original film after the scene when Marc hits Kay. With additional characters. It is still a “fix-it” story. I’m just trying to explore some “what if” scenarios where the trajectory of the story changes, Kay and Marc make different decisions etc.

Day Zero - This is a canon-divergence story with the assumption that Bettina hasn’t found out about the fake night shifts - so Marc’s affair with Kay remains a secret, even though he has broken up with Kay. The story starts from Marc returning home after giving the key back to Kay.

Nightswimmers - This is a canon-divergence story. It follows the original film version right up to the forest scene where Marc flees after his first sexual encounter with Kay.

What if Kay never got transferred to Marc’s unit? In this story, they meet five years later in another city. Marc is still with Bettina and their son is five years old. Kay has left the police force and now working as a paramedic. Marc never forgets Kay and what happened between them has stirred up something in him, although he is still repressing his feelings, he finds ways to cope with it. But seeing Kay again changes everything again.

Once upon a time, chasing after Marc was Kay’s number one goal. But a shattering experience one night has changed his life forever. He thought the chance is lost before it can begin. But seeing Marc again… could this be his second chance?

Canon-Divergence one-shot FF fics:

Someplace New - A one-shot canon divergence. Part of the writing challenge on scenario: Marc returns to Kay’s apartment and Kay is still there. This is written in both Frank and Marc’s POV

The Key on the Ledge - This is a one-shot Canon-Divergence. Marc goes back to Kay's apartment as Kay is just leaving.

Extended scene/missing scene one-shot FF fics:

Ambush - Extended scene and my take on the “Don’t you get it? I love you” scene from the original film.

The Day He Gave Me His Key - Just my musings on the scene when Kay gave the key to Marc. Marc’s POV

A One-off / Ein Ausrutscher - Mostly canon but with added missing scenes. It is the period soon after Marc’s son was born but before Kay got caught during a police raid.

The Offer - My take on the scenes when Kay offers to go *jogging* with Marc and their encounter in the woods, with additional made up scenes.

*Updated summary of my marc x kay fanfics ❤️

#freier fall #free fall #marc x kay #free free fanfics #999 ways to reunite them #hope dies last

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