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Klance in S2 and Implicit Meanings

When you look back at S2 there are so many scenes where they had Lance and Keith interact that technically weren’t needed. Keith asking about the Galra on earth and then Lance asking about Blue and saying he’s happy with her? Not needed for the explicit point of the scene. Lance randomly getting angry about Shiro taking Keith on a mission? Why now? Lance hasn’t said too much about who Shiro chooses for missions in a while. THE ELEVATOR/POOL SCENE WTF WAS THAT. ABSOLUTELY POINTLESS EXPLICITLY. WHEN IT PLAYED I WAS SO CONFUSED. Until I thought more about it.

What I’ve learned through my classes and just watching shows and movies, in general, is that there’s an explicit and an implicit meaning to what we’re shown. I think the S2 Klance scenes have a ton of implicit meanings that will be relevant for S3. Lance and Keith are constantly in each other’s scenes and their interactions seemingly aren’t necessary. However, what they do point to is their storylines intertwining in a way for the future. I’m just going to go through a few of them for this post. I might go way more in depth later.

Lance talking about his insecurity about being a part of the team? That’s linked to the scene talking about how happy he is with Blue, not to mention the fact that he gushes (seriously look at his face) about Keith the most in the scene. Why Keith? Why not Hunk or Pidge who he seems to be closer to? So he doesn’t just feel jealous of Keith and how he’s constantly chosen to go with Shiro on missions, but he respects his abilities even though on the outside he’s defensive around Keith.

The scene where Lance takes on Shiro about Keith’s ability to be a leader? Insecurity and also the future of the Black Lion. He’s criticized Keith and praised him so far in the series. It sets up a new sort of ‘rivalry’ between the two. But what’s weird is that Keith doesn’t fight him on it. You could say he was just annoyed and wanted to let it go but, come on, he fought about the ‘bravest warrior’ thing, he would fight Lance on the idea of Keith basically killing everyone. Keith has something literally and metaphorically left unsaid, in my opinion.

The elevator scene shows how they can work together but adds a sense of ‘I’m nervous to be around this person in an intimate situation’, which, in my opinion, ties into Lance’s insecurity storyline not only as a part of the team but with his sexuality. I would even add the ‘snowball’ fight, because Lance starts it all by trying to hit Keith and, for some reason, they include Keith responding in the most flirtatious way possible. Why have that in there? I think it’s about their professional and personal dynamic.

I’ve been saying for a while that I think Lance’s insecurity about being a part of the team will be tied in with his sexuality, and the fact that the entire elevator scene was even put in S2 tells me that they’re going to be pushing interactions between Lance and Keith in the future (unlike most of S2). This will especially happen with the Black Lion being short a pilot (assuming it isn’t Allura), a storyline that is confirmed- the more explicit problem- but a more implicit problem, I believe, with be Lance’s sexuality. With the way I’ve observed the writers in Voltron and in their other shows, they love tying personal and ‘professional’ things together for a character, so I think it’s actually a good possibility if DreamWorks actually wants to include representation and just quality storylines in their shows.

So yeah this mini shitpost turned kind of meta and probably doesn’t make any sense, but those are my cluttered thoughts.

highlights of nxt albany include:

  • some asshole behind me chanting “prince is dead” at patrick clarke, who responds by making sure no one is looking before giving him the finger
  • oney lorcan accepting a rose from an old lady in the front row
  • mandy rose cutting a promo!!!! and having a match!!!!! and winning!!!!!
  • angelo dawkins and montez ford are a tag team and their gear is literally matching black sweatpants and white and red sneakers respectively
  • the crowd chanting “lets go redshoes!!!” at ford
  • tye spit water in eric young’s face lmao
  • the aop and bobby roode vs diy and shinsuke nakamura
  • nakamura’s entrance is 1000 times better in person tbh!!!
  • diy did the rope thing with shinsuke!!! u know the Thing!!!!!

~12x02 codas keep making me cry, so I’m offering up a happy one lmao here goes~

“What are you doing?”

“Ordering dinner.” Mary looks up from the takeout menu with bright eyes. “You can do that over the phone, can’t you?”

Dean knocks his hip against the counter and squints at his mom. “Yeah. You planning on picking it up yourself?”

“Why is it that I feel like I’m the child here and you’re my mom?” She playfully raises her eyebrows at him to punctuate the question.

Dean smiles down at the floor. “Uh, overprotective I guess. I’d, uh, love it if you went and got us some grub. Let me just get the keys and–”

“I’ll need 10 dollars. I wasn’t resurrected with any cash.”

Dean doesn’t hold back his laugh as he pulls a wad of cash out of his back pocket. “You’ll need more than that, Mom. Wait ‘til you see gas prices.”

She frowns down at the bills in her hands, but she doesn’t say anything else. As she makes her way toward the garage, she pats his cheek.

When she’s almost out of the room, he calls after her and reminds her that she hasn’t placed the order yet. She laughs and hits her forehead. He shows her how to use an iPhone. She calls it ridiculous and asks why they even say it’s a phone when in reality its other uses far outweigh its ability to make calls. He blinks at her.

Some stress drops from Dean’s shoulders once his mom is out of the bunker. He grabs a beer out of the fridge and downs half of it before joining Sam and Cas in the war room. Sam is staring intently at his laptop while Cas reads an old Men of Letters journal to see if there’s anything about the British chapter.

As Dean walks around Cas’ chair, Cas reaches his hand up without taking his eyes away from the book. Dean hands over his beer, Cas takes a drink, hands it back, and Dean pulls a chair out and sits close enough to Cas that their legs are knocking under the table.

Dean sighs heavily and leans back in his chair, reaching his arm toward Cas so he can give him a neck massage. Cas very briefly closes his eyes before resuming his research.

“How you doing, Sammy?”

From the opposite end of the table, Sam offers a tightlipped smile and trains his eyes back to the screen. “Still think I’m hallucinating, but at least it’s pleasant for the time being.”

“Did you try–”

Sam lifts his hands and presses his thumb to the old scar in his palm.

Dean smiles and drinks his beer.

“You trusted your mother to take the car?”

“You eavesdropped?”

“It’s easier than actively blocking you out,” Cas deadpans.

Dean stops rubbing his neck but keeps resting his hand on the back of his chair. “Should I have stopped her? I mean, she’s getting us dinner when she’s a guest in our home. Doesn’t that make us bad hosts?”

Cas just barely rolls his eyes as he closes the journal. “When I was sick, you let me watch Netflix and eat all of your Lucky Charms. I think you’re a fine host.”

Dean smirks at him and squeezes his shoulder. “That’s when you started sleeping in my bed, too. I think I went above and beyond as a host.”

“I don’t think that would be appropriate with your mother.”

“OK, the hallucination is once again a nightmare,” Sam says seriously. He closes his laptop and heads toward the kitchen.

Dean scoots his chair closer to Cas so he can nose at his jaw.

“You don’t seem too concerned about the British Men of Letters.” Cas’ neck betrays his words by tilting to the side and angling toward Dean’s mouth.

“Too hungry to care right now.”

“You could’ve offered to cook. That probably would’ve taken less time than Mary picking something up.”

Dean stops kissing Cas’ neck. “Honestly, I thought she might offer to cook. I was about to ask her what she wanted to do for dinner when I found her hovering over a menu.”

“Did you even check to see what she ordered?”

Before Dean can answer, Mary walks in empty-handed. She stops in the middle of the room and plants her hands on her hips.

“They were backed up. Said it would take an hour to fill our order! I’m starving.”

After a pause, Cas says, “I see where Dean gets his impatience.”

“And my appetite apparently,” Dean adds as he stands. “Don’t worry, Mom, we have steaks in the freezer. I got it.”

They’ve got some onions and peppers and a freaking eggplant in the fridge, so Dean quickly throws together an orzo salad with macaroni noodles since they don’t have orzo. Once the steaks are thawed (in the microwave, but nobody needs to know that), he throws them on the grill, heads back inside and tells Cas to keep an eye on them. He definitely doesn’t waste five minutes passionately explaining to Cas how to make sure all the steaks turn out perfectly medium rare.

While he’s roasting some broccoli, carrots and zucchini, Mary comes up behind him and asks what he’s doing.

“Uh, just roasting some vegetables. We went to the farmer’s market right before…well, a few days ago. Everything’s still good. You good?”

“You’re roasting the vegetables?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“And they taste good that way?”

“You kidding me? They’re amazing. I didn’t know I liked broccoli until I tried roasting it.”


Dean mixes the not-orzo salad and lets the silence sit between them for a second.

“Oh! I gotta ask you. Um. That meatloaf you used to make when I was a kid. You still know the recipe?”

Mary laughs and takes a seat at the kitchen table. “Piggly Wiggly, sweetheart.”


“I hated cooking. Why do you think I gave you PB&J for lunch every day?”

Dean huffs a laugh and scratches the back of his neck. “That’s, uh–I gotta be honest, one of the main things I’ve thought about you over the past three decades is that you’re a good cook.”

She immediately gets up and walks over to him. “Well, we’re getting to know each other now.” She pats his back a few times. “So, show me how you roast these vegetables.”

By the time Cas comes in with the steaks, Mary is cutting up some feta and laughing as Dean goes through the list of all the different kinds of mac and cheese he made for Sam when they were kids.

“He’s gonna be pissed when he sees the macaroni noodles in the salad,” Dean says with a wink to Cas and a nod toward the table.

Cas sets the plate of steaks down and stands with his hands by his sides, waiting.

“Macaroni and feta,” Mary says.

“Babe, go get Sammy, would you?”

Once Cas leaves, the conversation dies.

Dean and Mary laugh some more as they navigate around each other to set the table. When Sam comes in and asks what’s funny, they shrug him off.

Dean takes his usual seat next to Cas and squeezes his hand before they start eating. It’s his way of saying grace, which Cas finds sacrilegious. And hilarious.

Mary immediately stuffs her face and sings Dean’s praises with her mouth full. Sam looks at her, slack-jawed, but doesn’t say anything.

Dean loves cooking. He’s good at it. Not because he was trying to imitate his mom or take care of his little brother–even though those things are true–but because he just loves cooking. And that’s something he can share with his mom, show his mom, because they don’t have it in common.

After dinner, they all sit around the table and talk for a long time. Dean rubs Cas between the shoulder blades like he always does and then he scoots himself closer to Cas like he always does and then he wraps his arm tightly around Cas like he always does and then Cas leans up against his chest practically in his chair like he always does.

It’s not until Cas lazily turns and presses a kiss to Dean’s cheek that Dean registers something.

“Uh, Mom?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“You know Cas and I are–we’re–we have a, uh–I should’ve said–mentioned–”

Mary downs the rest of her beer. “You had a crush on John Travolta when you were 4, Dean.” She winks at Cas. “If you want my approval, you’ve got it.”

Kagami-sensei was so kind, even when signing for #29 of a line surpassing 120. Everyone was given the same large card/poster to get signed and yes, that is my name in the top right. My translation of our conversation is as follows:
KS: So are you Japanese?
Me: No, I’m American. Though right now, I live in Japan.
KS: wow! Your Japanese is great.
Me: Oh not really, but thank you very much.
KS: So who is your favorite character?
Me: Definitely Guren.
KS: Ah, I agree. He’s a strong man, ne? A very cool guy for sure (^-^)
Me: Yes. That is why I also like the light novels you write about him.
KS: Really? You read them?!
Me: Of course : )
KS: *handing me my signed card and shakes my hand* How amazing. Thank you so much for your support!
Me: Ah, thank you very much! Take care, sensei.

So ya. The first girl was practically crying while getting it signed, it was precious haha. He had a great sense of humor and took his time for each person, conversing with them while he signed. He also took a picture with a pair of Guren and Goshi cosplayers and posted it on his Twitter, the guy was just as thrilled as everybody else there.

I’m so fucking bored and exhausted.
none of the groups I’m in talk about the things I actually like.
and nobody I know talks about H/L/M or likes it as much as I do (except maybe one person but idk if they want to talk).
I only talk to my bf about this but lately he’s been too busy.

It’s all just U/T or L/ea/gue, two things I seriously dislike.
And every U/T group I’ve known has been utter garbage.

Holy fuck, I didn’t think I needed much friends back then, but I really need to approach people who share my interests more or I will fucking lose it. I’ve been so dependent on my bf but now that he can’t even talk to me much, who do I turn to??

Arranged-Marriage-Fic-That-Still-Needs-A-Name Excerpt

A Gadge Fairy Submission

Three days later Madge paced in her library.  Crane’s imminent arrival had her twitchy and staying inside as she normally did just didn’t seem appealing.  So she grabbed a light shawl and headed out into the forest, hoping she’d find Gale near where he’d been last time.

She was in luck and stumbled upon him not too far from the tree he’d fallen from, sighting down an arrow.  He turned as she drew close, relaxing his stance.  “Sorry,” she whispered, “I hope I didn’t scare something away.”

He shook his head.  “I was just doing some target practice.  Want to try?”  He held the bow out, a ghost of a smile on his lips.  She still hadn’t seen him smile the way he had at Rooba’s daughter again, a fact she privately lamented, so Madge stepped forward and accepted the bow.  She stood awkwardly, unsure of where to begin.  “Here, like this.”  Gale took the bow back, holding it out and drawing it back.  He handed it to her again and she tried to replicate his stance.  He chuckled. “Almost.”  Gale took a step closer and lifted a hand.  “Is it..is it all right if I touch you?”  She nodded, unable to look at him.  He took another step toward her and gently raised her elbow.  “Here.  More like this.  And relax your grip up here.”  He reached out to her hand holding the bow and wrapped his fingers around hers, his body now entirely encasing her.  His breath was tickling the back of her neck and her heart was pounding so loudly she thought he might be able to hear it.  Gale pulled an arrow out of the quiver strapped to his back and helped her align it properly in the bow.  “All right, now pull back with your right hand,” he breathed, his lips brushing against her ear and sending a pleasant shiver down her spine, “and let go…now.”  On his command she loosed the arrow, watching anxiously until it hit the tree in front of her.  It was off center—she had almost missed, actually—but she hadn’t expected to hit anything her first try.  She turned, a wide grin spreading across her face, and there it was.  That blinding smile, directed at her.  Only inches from her, actually, as he hadn’t stepped back when she released the arrow.  She froze, suddenly all too aware of their closeness, of the heat coming off his body, of the way the places he’d touched her burned as if his hands were still there.

Gale seemed to realize something as well and took a large stride backwards.  “That—that was great, Madge,” he said, clearing his throat again. “I, uh, I think you’ve got the basics.”  He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away from her. 

She forced herself back to the present, away from thoughts of how solid his chest felt against her back.  “Thank you.  I think I should go back to the manor, though.  There’s a lot to do before Crane arrives.”  That was a lie, however.  She had most everything prepared, but she wasn’t sure she trusted herself to be this near Gale anymore and she needed an escape.  Madge tried to bring to mind the crown prince, but his image kept fading.  She turned on her heel and hurried back to the house and for the rest of the week she carefully avoided touching Gale, even accidentally.

As I told swishy earlier this week, no matter the universe, Gale Hawthorne has got game.

( Rooba’s daughter is a little kid.  It’s more clear in the full story.  And I know literally nothing about archery.)

Today I told my mum I was stressed and she just said “what do YOU have to be stressed about?” and I’m really struggling to disagree with her because my problems are stupid and all in my head right??? I’ve felt low enough that I want to die but why is that, what is there to make me feel this? Of course my parents don’t believe me, I don’t have evidence and I don’t know what to do

I love my job at Shingle Inn a thousand times more than I ever liked working at Woolworths. Just thinking back on when I left Woolworths, I had been working there for 2 years, when I finished a shift I never checked with any of my coworkers to see when they were working next, where I do that every single shift at Shingle Inn. We always want to know when we’ll see each other next. And on my last shift only one person (who wasn’t even in my department) realised it was my last shift, my department manager didn’t even know. I’ve been working at Shingle Inn for 5 months and you can bet I’d be hugging almost every person goodbye and there would possibly be tears.

Not only that, but I don’t dread going to work unless it’s a 9 hour shift or something, I love making coffee and being around people who I can actually get to know. Just thinking back on working at Woolworths has made me realise how lucky I am to have this job because I know most people hate their jobs and I’m definitely not one of them.


July 8 | so as you may or may not know, I’ve been going through a lot recently and had to take a semi hiatus from here. Two nights ago, I hit rock bottom and reached a point where I just couldn’t function emotionally or mentally.

I hate calling out. The last time I called out was when I had laryngitis, sinusitis, and conjunctivitis all at once, and even then I kept trying to go into work. I hate the thought of not being able to do my job for a reason as seemingly trivial as “because I’m stressed” and I hate the idea of inconveniencing people.

My coworker talked me into calling out for Thursday. It took me hours to get up the nerve to text my boss. When I was dealing with depression after a car accident in January, I also suffered in silence until one day I broke down at work (I work full time), and that same coworker went with me to talk to my boss. I let her know my situation, and it paid off, because when I told her I needed a mental health day she wasn’t caught off guard. And as you can see, she was totally alright with it. No asking me to come in, no saying she couldn’t spare a worker seeing as my other coworker is out of commission right now as well.

I also texted my coworker who I suspected might need to stay later to cover for me (I really don’t like inconveniencing people) and her reply, in my emotional state, actually made me cry.

Granted, I’m blessed with a fabulous understanding boss and wonderful coworkers who genuinely care about me. But many people understand, and will tell you to take care of yourself if you do tell them that you’re coping with mental health issues and you can’t be 100%.

Sometimes it all gets a bit much. We are only human, and we can only juggle so many balls and spread ourselves so thin before we need a break. Whether this is a personal day from school, work, or life in general, be patient and kind with yourself. Know your limits.

I took a personal day and I feel much better, even though I lost a day of pay. I studied, I journaled, I relaxed, I slept, I forced myself out to dinner with Alec, and I started over. That’s all I needed: one day without immediate obligations (like being responsible for nine screaming toddlers) and some time to reflect on myself and pull it together.

My stress isn’t over, but I cannot imagine how I would feel right now if I hadn’t taken that day. I don’t know if I would have gotten through another day of work. I sure as hell would be in a horrible position to take my driving test tomorrow (although I’m pretty freaking anxious about that too).

Take care of yourselves, please. Grades and school and money and jobs and friends and significant others and obligations are all important, but sometimes you really just need a breather. Take it.

Based on this post

So, maybe they’d overdone it, but it was the first day of summer after all, the first day Cas had been free of kindergarteners in a while.

Anyway, Dean wasn’t going to complain when it had lead to this. This being the pair of them in the hammock in the backyard, the gradually deepening twilight casting shadows across Cas’ face where he lay on Dean’s chest, his expression soft in sleep and his hair tousled even more than usual from where Dean’s hands had been carding through it. Some time earlier, when Cas had stirred as if he was about to wake, Dean’s foot had shifted so he could use it to rock the hammock gently back and forth, something he was still doing absentmindedly even now as Cas slowly opened his eyes and peered up at Dean in the dimness.

“Wha’ times it?” comes the mumble from Cas and Dean just barely holds back the laugh that threatens to escape at the put open look on Cas’ face as his eyes adjust to the dark.

“Time to go inside,” is the quiet reply from Dean. “I mean I have a Cas shaped blanket, but you’re probably gettin’ cold.”

A squint then, as if Cas is thinking about it.

“Maybe..” is the next thing to come out of Cas’ mouth, and Dean knows that means yes.

As they slide off the hammock and head back into the house, Cas leaning heavily on Dean, still half asleep, Dean stores the warmth growing in his chest away for later examination and looks down at the ruffled head leaning onto his shoulder, fitting perfectly into the crook of his neck as if it was meant to be there. He adamantly ignores the thought about his mother’s engagement ring, buried deep in his underwear drawer just waiting for the right time and the thought slips away as they head up the stairs to bed.