#I know it’s hard but maybe try learning about things beyond your middle school sex ed class??? you’re an adult. learn. grown. be better.

[badolmen]

“I wasn’t assigned female at birth; I was female at birth! A doctor didn’t look at me and decide I was female enough at birth, I’ve been female since the moment of conception.”

*loud buzzer sound*

Given how common the intersex condition is (~2% of the population - how many redheads have you seen?) and the fact that genitalia is not the only physical manifestation of an intersex condition, yes the doctor very much did look at you and decide you looked ‘female enough.’ Indeed your genetic makeup is determined at conception, and your genetic makeup could very well result in the development of an intersex body that may not be externally evident at birth.

Don’t get me wrong, there are issues with the afab/amab dichotomy both colloquially and medically speaking (some people are marked intersex at birth, the dichotomy just reinforces the gender binary with different language, etc.) but it is true that medical assumptions are made at birth based on your external physiology, regardless of genetic or hormonal profile. ‘Biological sex’ is far from binary and pretending otherwise is ignorant at best and dangerously intersexist at worst.

[burnedbyshoto]

sleeping beauty

— You struggle to find a time to have sex with your beloved Aizawa. Unfortunately or fortunately, the only time you can fuck him is when he’s deep asleep.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

pairing: aizawa shouta x yandere fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, pwp, yandere!reader, non-con somnophilia, hairy aizawa rights, recording

word count: 4,201

a/n: mark ur calendar, im getting my nipples pierced nov 8. you bet ur ass imma write a bunch of nipple pierced readers from there on out. pray that my family never finds out about my nipples tho LMAO if they do,,, it;ll be ripped out of my boobies without a seconds hesitation

kinktober day 19 main kink: somnophilia | kinktober masterlist

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Aizawa was always busy.

Over the past ten years of knowing him, the two of you had been close. You were a good friend to him, someone he wouldn’t absolutely avoid at all costs when you walked through the hallways of UA, someone he wouldn’t mind rambling to him about their long day. Of course, you knew that you weren’t his closest friend, and to a certain degree, that upset you.

You had met Aizawa when you had first been a high school student; at the time, you were merely fifteen years old. He was twenty, only five years older than you, but he took your breath away from the first team-up. He had been tall, dark, and brooding, and your little coming out of an emo phase heart stood no chance. But, due to the age discrepancy, he was never anything more than a team member. Still, you held on.

You graduated from high school, made your impact as a sidekick, graduated to a Pro Hero, and offered a job at UA by the time you were twenty! So, for the past five years, you and Aizawa had been actual co-workers, and better yet, friends.

Aizawa indeed was one of a kind.

He still held the key to your emo school girl fantasy daydream, but you also discovered new sides and angles of him. You learned he was incredibly kind, thoughtful, and looked out for everyone, even if his gruff and sometimes rude mannerisms spoke otherwise. Although he tried to avoid any type of nonsensical drama like the plague, he was always caught up in it, which often amused you.

There was so much about Aizawa that you loved, so much that you adored and looked up to that it was no surprise that you figured your feelings of respect and admiration became love. 

True, deep love.

As a third-year teacher at UA, you found that your interactions with Aizawa were quite limited. Not only because he was always being placed with a first-year class and said class moving on without him — something that only happened because he kept expelling the damn students — but because he was incredibly close with the first-year teachers.

You loved Present Mic and Midnight and All Might, don’t get it wrong! Your admiration, love, and respect for them were unprecedented, but you hated how much of Aizawa’s time they took.

“Sorry, Mic needs help with lesson plans for my class,” Aizawa apologized for postponing your lunch date, not a date.

“Sorry, Midnight needs help separating the problem children. Apparently, they’re growing an immunity to her quirk,” Aizawa grumbled, shoving his phone into his pocket before leaving your office where you both had been talking and drinking tea.

“Sorry, All Might—”

“It the class, your problem children, I get it,” you force a smile onto your face, trying not to show just how irritated and disappointed you were on how these days were going. Aizawa pauses for a second, his tired, dried out eyes trying to read and uncover the depths of emotions swimming in your eyes before he sighs and runs off. 

But it went without saying that the people you hated most were Class 1-A.

The damn stupid, fucking, ungrateful class had already caused your beloved Aizawa to be hospitalized. The scar under his eye, a numbing reminder that you had nearly lost him, almost had to cry at his coffin with your feelings never once being uttered. They, without a doubt, took up his time the most.

He saw potential in all of them, none of them being failed or expelled by him thus far.

He spent countless hours up in the dead of night tracking each and every one of his student’s potential. Slaving away at his tablets to make sure that they all were feeling safe, heroic, and above all, they were headed to their individual greatness. So, although it would be two more years before you would have the opportunity to teach this class, you already had a vendetta against Midoriya Izuku and Bakugou Katsuki. Those little shits always taking up your precious Aizawa’s time! He had never been this tired prior to them showing up!

But you never tried to think about it when you were with him.

You tried to openly accept your Aizawa’s new, incredibly busy schedule, and the moment the dorms appeared within UA, you found yourself more at ease.

To be frank, since you acknowledged your love for Aizawa at the mere age of twenty, and now at twenty-five, you had never taken on a lover or a one night stand. For years you had not allowed a person to grace you in bed or in their arms. It felt like you were betraying your love, and you would rather die than let that happen. 

But the thing is, you are human, entirely susceptible to waves of uncontrolled horniness and lust.

In the beginning, sex toys worked.

You would press a vibrator to your clit, your toes digging into the mattress as your other hand shoved a silicone dildo into your aching, needy cunt. At first, it worked! You would cum with the thoughts of Aizawa being the dildo buried deep within you. 

But eventually, you would find yourself at the peak of that orgasm, you knew the orgasm was right beyond the bend, just a step more, but you couldn’t get there. For weeks you realized that the vibrator, the dildo, and your fantasy thoughts weren’t enough. So, in your frustration, you began to search up audio plays of his narration at UA Sports Festival. Listening to his voice, ignoring Mics’ voice, to help coax you over that bend.

For a while, you were back to normal. Your highs and juices splattering all over your bed, a symbol of your lust and love for Aizawa as you gasped his name, wishing that the audio was real. But eventually, even the audios weren’t enough.

You craved Aizawa’s warmth, the feeling of his rough stubble against your sensitive skin, the throbbing of his cock buried deep within your womb, undoubtedly kissing your cervix. You wanted him; you needed your beloved.

As if by the grace of God, the moment you could no longer bring yourself to cum through that alone, the dorm system was put into place. And you, a teacher, were required to live on campus too. You tried not to think of Aizawa being a dorm away, tried not to feel the warmth fluttering under your skin when the two of you bid goodnight for the day.

You definitely tried to stay out of his room in the middle of the night.

God, you wish you could say that you stayed out of his room, but that would be a lie.

A big fat fucking lie.

It had started out innocently enough, you will claim.

You would see the exhausted man wave goodnight, grumbling that he needed to sleep now or else he would not wake up on time for homeroom tomorrow morning. You waved goodnight to him, trying to stay engrossed in a conversation you were having with Hound Dog. But an hour after Aizawa had gone to bed, you found yourself rushing away from the common room, explaining you had something to grade as you bid everyone goodnight.

Without a doubt, you ended up in Aizawa’s room that night.

In the darkness of the night, you watched the moonlight barely breach the thickness of his curtains to fall onto his face. You felt so warm as you stared at his slumbered face, your cheeks flushed as you watched his parted, chapped lips. You felt so light watching his chest rise and fall in a hypnotizing rhythm, reminding you that he is real, so very, very real. A part of you aching, knowing that he was entirely real and yet not yours. But still, you admired the way he looked so young, so intense, so ethereal as he dreamed.

You loved him.

Eventually, when you decided to leave, you pressed a kiss to his lips, smiling at the way his lips were exactly as you had imagined:

Supple, warm, and tasting of his mint toothpaste.

But the nightly visits didn’t stop there.

Most nights, you found yourself in his room, laying by his side, merely watching as he slept. No orgasm in the world felt quite as fulfilling as the quiet that came with just watching the over-exhausted Aizawa sleep. 

But this is not a story of simple love, no, not at all.

Eventually, you began to grow bold. Your fingers sinking into your wet cunt, playing with your sensitive clit as you watched him sleep. You bit your lip to keep yourself from moaning as a rasped breath expelled from his mouth. You nuzzled into the warmth of his body heat through at you and only prayed he would one day acknowledge and return your affections.

To be quite honest, you’re not sure when you began to suck him off too.

Maybe it was the first time his cock grew long and hard in the middle of the night, his mind undoubtedly having a wet dream. So, as his beloved, you only thought it was appropriate to give his body what he wanted. With the skills and intentions that could only arise from being a gifted Pro Hero, you pulled the blankets from his body and pushed his cock through the slit in his boxers, and took him all in your mouth.

His cock was absolutely mouthwatering too.

So big, so thick, so incredibly veiny that you nearly lost all control the first time you saw it in all its glory. He was better than any dildo you owned, his scent alone driving you crazy. And so, as you should, you began to fuck him, completely addicted to his aroma, taste, and touch.

After the first night, you continued to blow him. Continued to suck him off as Aizawa let out sleepy moans, grunts that were strained, his body shifting unknowingly as you continued to go up and down his length, continuing to relieve him of his stress. 

But you were human.

A human with needs and desires, and eventually, his cum coating your throat and filling your stomach wasn’t enough anymore. Which is where we find ourselves now, unashamedly fucking Aizawa each and every night, your cunt swallowing him whole, without a single shred of doubt of what was wrong with this.

There wasn’t anything wrong with this, and you knew that even if he was asleep the entire time you fucked him, it was for the better.

“Wow, Eraser!” Mic yelled from your side as you sat on the couch next to your beloved best friend. “You look like you’re glowing!”

Looking up from your phone, attempting to portray yourself as curious and unknowing, you found your gaze falling onto Aizawa, who had returned from an early evening training session with his class. As a matter of fact, Aizawa’s face was glowing; he looked incredibly much more relaxed, much more than he has been since the beginning of this semester.

“What do you mean?” Aizawa asked, evidently unimpressed as a lone eyebrow raised.

You watched on quietly, lips pressing to your cup as you took a drink of your tea as he sank onto a seat in front of you. 

“Wait, don’t tell me, listeners!” Mic gasped dramatically, his hands pressing to his cheeks as he stood up. His expression of shock and disbelief curling and becoming one of knowing and understanding. “Does our grouchy, one and only, Aizawa Shouta, a.k.a. Eraserhead, have a special someone?!”

“Mic—” Aizawa snapped, his eyebrows furrowing.

“There definitely has been an after-sex glow that Eraser has had for the past few weeks. He did say that he’s been feeling more… ahem, relaxed,” Midnight gasped, seemingly appearing from nowhere, incredibly interested in the rumor of Aizawa having sex. 

“Just because I’ve been feeling less tense doesn’t mean that I’m having sex.”

You giggled into your cup as the three of them began arguing, Mic and Midnights naturally loud noise quickly drowning out Aizawa’s fruitless attempts to shut down any sexscapades they were coming up with. 

“Y/h/n, what do you think?!” Mic yelled, his hand pointed at you as if holding a microphone as Aizawa had him pressed and tangled within his capturing weapon. “Is Shouta-chan having sex?!”

Yes, your mind begs to say, but your mouth curls into a teasing smile, eyes locking onto Aizawa’s annoyed golden ones. 

“I don’t think there’s anyone on this earth that Aizawa currently wants to fuck six feet into the mattress when he’s so busy,” you chide, your smile never entirely disappearing. At the same time, you take a long slow drink from your cup while everyone else (Mic only, really) continued to scream.

But you stayed there for the rest of the evening, working in silence with the rest of the group as next week’s lessons were laid out. Through a persistent, entirely stubborn will, Mic managed to get Aizawa to admit that he hasn’t had sex since the time he lost his virginity, to which Mic admitted to having had sex via orgies only. Midnight proudly announcing that she had a side piece at her disposal. 

So as you checked through your lesson plans for the ethics book your students would be reading next week, you shouldn’t have been surprised to see their expectant gazes on you.

“I had sex last night,” you admit, unable to lie under their amused gazes.

“WITH WHO?! ARE YOU SNEAKING SOMEONE ON CAMPUS?!”

For the rest of the night, you smiled brightly, laughing with the rest of them all as talks and stories revolving around sex filled the air. It lasted until past midnight, and with a heavy sigh, Aizawa excused himself first. You waved goodnight, and soon Midnight left, followed by Mic.

You stayed on the couch, your own attention focused heavily on the time and not what you were supposed to be doing. It didn’t take much before the time faded from 00:00 to 01:45, and with a brush of your skirt, you headed precisely where you wanted and needed to be.

The walk to his second-floor room filled you with lust. Your body, like some Pavlovian dog, trained and knowing that you were about to fuck the love of your life while he slept. He was so beautiful while he slept, a true sleeping beauty. You especially thought he was stunning when he bit his lower lip, stifling a moan despite his heavy slumber.

Without so much as a second thought, you apparated into his room, your feet cushioned by the soft carpet of his room. And with a smile that was dripping with your love, you stared at Aizawa’s sleeping form. He was already deep in sleep, his body positioned on his back as if he knew what you were doing, accepting the inevitable actions you would take tonight as you did every night. He just looked so calm, so beautiful, so youthful when asleep. The scar under his eye almost invisible 

But unlike most nights where he slept in a soft cotton long-sleeved shirt and sweats, you froze at the sight of the tight black t-shirt on his sleeping form, the shorts that were riding just the slightest bit too low on his sturdy, muscled hips. Your bit your fist, a bubbling heat of lust, and a whine tickling the back of your throat as you take in his sleeping form.

He was doing this on purpose.

Teasing you with this outfit on his sleeping body.

You huffed, inexplicably turned on as the small puffs of air past his lips seemed to thunder around the room.

You were wet already, so very wet.

“You’re so mean, Shouta-kun,” you whimper softly, your voice silent and unheard by his sleeping form. You walk closer to the bed, lips pulled into a pout as you sit on the soft mattress.  “Dressing up like that, I know you did that to tease me!”

Aizawa doesn’t respond because, of course, he’s asleep. But you smile regardless, imagining a million and three things he would say in response, each leading to what you wanted to do so desperately.

“I hope you know you were lying when you said you haven’t had sex since you were twenty,” you sigh, your fingers expertly removing his shorts and boxers from around his waist, using your quirk to make them reappear to the side of him. “We have sex practically every night; you’re so horny, my angel.”

You watch with a curling smile as his cock immediately begins to stiffen against your warm breaths, his face scrunching in his slight discomfort as his cock grows and grows. His cock is undeniably one of your favorite parts of his body. It’s pale in color, paler than the rest of his body, but as it extended to the swollen thickness of his head, it grew darker, the flushed brown pinkness of his head making you salivate at the memory of the first time you ever saw it. His cock, unlike the rest of his scarred body, was unharmed, unmarred by the horrors of the job the two of you held. The thick, beautiful smoothness of his skin, making your eyes flutter in unadulterated lust, his cock a symbol of your pure, unmarked love for him. You hum, hand grasping his length and lazily stroking him as your head tilts, reading his sleeping features for any sign of him enjoying this as much as you do.

“Aww, Shouta-kun, I wish you knew I fuck you. I bet you would turn bright red, knowing that I ride you every night. Maybe you’d use that weapon of yours to teach me a lesson or two,” you mumble, your hand gripping his cock harder as you stroke him.

A small glistening drop appears at the slit of his dick, and you shiver in excitement; he was already leaking pre-cum. 

“Look at you, already ready to have my cunt wrapped around that big cock of yours,” you mewl, absolutely ready to mount him, prepared to have his sleeping form cum deep within you. You stand up, removing your shorts and panties, and climbing onto the bed.

With the balance of a pro, you get yourself hovering over him, your already wet cunt shivering with the expectance of having him deep within you. Your hand on his cock never once stopping as you tease yourself against his swollen head, your voice a pathetic whimper as your slick mixes with his clear pre-cum.

“S-See how embarrassing you are!” you huff, rutting his length between his folds, lubing him up for the initial entrance because, by god, it still hurt. “Making my pussy so wet! I’m practically dripping all over you!”

There’s only a soft breath from his lips, but you grin as if he was speaking to you.

“You want me too, huh?” you giggle, and without further adieu, you sink against him.

His cock entering your tight cunt was still as mind-numbing as the first time. His cock easily buries into the small, thin wall of your cervix, and you tremble as his length stretches and pulls at your throbbing core. You can feel every curve in his cock, every vein, every gentle throb.

“Glad t-to know you find me… nnghh… find me i-irresistible,” you pant, face flushed with your desire to adjust quickly around him.

The conversation from tonight had made you entirely weak in the knees and hot at your core, knowing that you were the only one to really have claimed Aizawa, the only one who would ever know how his sleeping body craved you as much as you desired him.

You give a tentative swirl of your hips, your eyes trained on Aizawa’s relaxed ones, testing to see how tired and sleepy he was. There was no reaction, no movement outside of the typical grunt at the back of his throat. It was a noise he always made when you first moved with him, a noise that quickly seared in the back of your memory forever.

Shifting your weight to be more comfortable on your knees, your hot hands fall onto his tight chest, and with a sigh of pure relief, you begin to fuck him.

Your straddling aided the deep penetration, allowing for the gentle kiss of the tip of his leaking cock to your thin cervix wall. You clenched tightly around him, unable to keep yourself from doing so as you rode him, the feeling of his throbbing member within you absolutely breathing taking as you placed your claim on him again, again, and again.

Aizawa was fully sheathed within you, and your fingers twisted and pulled at the tight fabric of his shirt, raising it up so that you could admire his taut, tense abdomen, mewling at the way he’s happy trail was thick and bushy. You wondered how he would react to your fingers threading through his body hair, if he would love it; if he would hate it. 

“I want you to know how much I love you, how much I would give everything to you!” you whimper, your head fighting the instinct to throw itself back as you begin to drop onto his still cock faster and faster. “I wish you knew that you fuck me so good, Shouta-kun; I need you to know that! But you won’t even look at me! You won’t spare me a single second of your busy day, so that’s why I have to fuck you at night!”

Tears of both pleasure and hurt well into your eyes; you sniffle as you fuck him faster, dropping onto his awaiting cock with more significant, more aggressive slaps. The sounds echo throughout the room, the musky, sweet smell of your sexes is the only thing keeping you sane — that and the grunting noises that Aizawa keeps emitting, it makes your toes curl and belly flutter in a funny way.

“I bet you’ll fuck me so good once I get you to love me! You’ll never stop fucking me, you’ll never want to leave me because only I know how to fuck you correctly!” you snap, anger and lust licking through your tone, making your eyebrows furrow and your walls to clench even tighter around him. The building tension in your stomach is like a fire, and you can feel your high coming. “But you fuck me so good, baby, so good and you’re not even awake!”

And for the first time, you watch in electrifying pleasure as a low, husky, raspy moan leaves his throat as you fucked him. The sound alone was something downright pornographic to you, and the whine that spills from your mouth is nearly inaudible with the pitch it vibrates at. So without so much as a second thought, a bubbling smile spreads on your face, and you continue on, energy and excitement doubled in your joy.

Your hips roll, rise, and fall against his with growing force and speed. The small creaks of the mattress completely ignored by you as the throbbing and twitching of his cock buried deep within you keeps you pushing for more. The heat and pressure in your belly grow exponentially, festering and burning until you can feel yourself at the tipping point until you can’t do anything but focus on Aizawa and only Aizawa, or else you would scream his name in your euphoria.

The veins on his cock and the overall girth of his length send your mind spinning, not at all helping your predicament, and in a last-ditch effort to keep yourself from crying so loudly you would wake up even the dead, you lean forward. Your sweaty body leaning down to his parted chapped lips as you kiss him to keep yourself silent as your orgasm crashes through you in a blissful wave. Your body spasms almost uncontrollably, the nerves and firing axons through your body uncontrollable as you lay there, allowing for Aizawa to cum before you leave. You shudder at the feeling of his cum emptying out within you, his cock immediately softening as you lay there on top of him. His heart racing with his orgasm, and you sigh contentedly.

“God, I love you so much, Aizawa Shouta; I’ll make you mine one day,” you swear, your nose nuzzling his stubbled cheek.

You lay there for some time, enjoying the way he feels in you, content with the pooling cum from your still spasming cunt. But eventually, you pull away. You pull on your panties and shorts quickly, not wanting a single drop more of his cum to seep out of you. Unable to help yourself, you lick the leftover cum on his cock clean with your tongue before wiping him down with a towel to prevent the smell from clinging.

Your eyes study Aizawa’s face just before you leave, and your smile.

He really does look less tired after orgasming.

But the entire time you were there — the whole night you fucked him and spoke to him — you missed the red blinking light of the camera recording in the corner of the room.

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @doilycoffin donated $100, and requested Liam & Cordell Walker. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

(read on AO3)

One of Liam's earliest memories is the time Cordell dropped him on his head. Not actually accurate at all to the way it went but that's how it's told in the family mythology. He was really little, three maybe or four—for some reason that part's indeterminate—and Cordell was climbing the stable and playing adventurer, or maybe just showing off and the adventurer part was a good excuse. Liam was following Cordell around like he always did and he tried to climb up, too, on the fence that kept in the horses when they were let out for their run, and Cordell told him no and that he was too little but Liam was determined to try. Cordell climbed back down and tried to steady him where he'd made it up to the top rung of the fence, and Liam lost his balance anyway, and fell straight backwards and landed headfirst on the dirt. There was a little rock and then a lot of blood, and then stitches, and Mama fussing and their dad ripping Cordi a new one—Liam doesn't even remember that it hurt—but the part that sticks it as a memory is how they all rode together in the truck back and forth from the doctor and Cordell held his hand in the backseat and he was crying, the whole way home, a silent seeping kind of crying that made his face a shiny mess. Liam thinks about that weirdly often. Cordi looking out the window and crying.

When the story gets retold for new friends, or the kids, or Cordell's buddies from the Rangers come around for coffee and Mama's pecan pie, they tell it that Cordell's so clumsy he dropped his baby brother on his head. Liam sort of hates it, every time. Cordell laughs and does the aw shucks routine he's so good at, relaxed with his beer and shrugging embarrassed apology. When Liam was about to head off to college, his eighteenth birthday dinner, Daddy told the story again as a kind of miracle survival, and Liam got up from the table real fast and went out onto the porch, annoyed for some reason beyond measure. It was Cordi who got up and came after him and said, a little cautious, "What's up, Stinker?" and Liam said to him, mad, "Why don't you ever tell people it was me? I was the one climbing up after you. It's not like you did it on purpose."

Cordell just blinked at him. "What does it matter?" he said. "You were the baby and I was a dumbass kid. So what?" He hooked his arm around Liam's neck and he smelled like sweat and Old Spice and that laundry detergent Emily bought that wasn't anything like the one they used at home. Liam pushed at his side but didn't try hard to get away. Not that it would've worked. "It's how we figured out how hard that head was, right? Come on. Mama's gonna wonder if you didn't like the brisket."

Liam let himself be dragged back into the house, and Cordi pushed him down into his chair right between him and Emily, and Emily smiled at him easy, and passed him the potatoes. "One month 'til the dorms," she said, very quiet so no one else could hear under Cordell telling some awful lie about Liam having gas, and Liam laughed, surprised, and it just happened that it was the same time everyone else laughed so that was okay. He always liked Emily. Cordell punched his thigh lightly on his other side, and gave him a warmer more real smile, and Liam dropped it, and he didn't complain about the story again.

*

Seven years between them. Liam always wondered if he was an accident, even if Mama said that with Cordell going to school she was ready to have another baby around the house. Cordell was always the one who was getting into trouble. Rambunctious, loud, falling headfirst into things and getting dragged out covered in mud. Liam learned from his example what not to do. Do not: run along the bleachers at the football stadium and vault the handrails until your foot gets caught and you fall and snap your wrist clean in two. Do not: get caught drinking beer with your high school girlfriend behind the horsebarn, and make Daddy give the most mortifying sex talk in the world afterward. Do not: make friends with the most delinquent-ass kid in the whole hill country and wind up explaining every other week why, really, he wasn't that bad, give him a chance—

Somehow even then he was the golden child. Not the best grades, not the most obedient. That wasn't what their dad cared about. Cordell was good on a horse, good on his feet. Respectful when it mattered and devil-may-care when it didn't. In high school he was the quarterback, of course he was, and Liam was right there in the stands with their parents every Friday night, cheering his lungs out. Weirdly boastful with his fourth-grade friends: his older brother was the star of the football team. His older brother could ride a bull for ten seconds and get off hardly winded. Bookish, kind of short, he needed the borrowed glory of Cordell's success to be proud of. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it got him pushed over on the soccer field while some bigger boy went, gawd, William, who cares?

Liam never got in trouble. Never broke a bone. After bringing Cordell back from the hospital with a fresh new cast on his ankle and a dopey slightly-drugged smile on his face, Mama settled him in bed with Liam's help and turned off the light and then, in the kitchen, sighed and said, "Liam, you are a real relief to the mind, do you know that?" He was proud of that, too, in that moment. It wasn't until later that it nagged at him. A therapist asked him, much later in a sleek Manhattan office that smelled faintly of sage, "Do you think your predilection for being contrarian results from that time?" He went home annoyed with her, and was more annoyed when he told Bret the story and Bret didn't even turn around from the carbonara he was making and said, "Babe, you're the most contrary person I know."

He wasn't. He didn't—think he was. He… was, he realized, after a week of sitting with it, and a week after that it made sense. He didn't pick fights, and he didn't make waves. His rebellion was quiet. His hard head, forcing him to make his own space in the world. Not able to live up to Cordell and knowing instinctively that it would be awful even to try—and so taking the opposite turn, every time. It was better than being compared, even if he knew there was no chance but to be compared.

He studied hard. He read, all the time. He liked math and literature equally and did equally well in both. He hated P.E. but he did what he could there, too, and he learned to ride even if he didn't actually love horses the way the rest of the family did, and when Daddy asked if he wanted to join up with the little league baseball Liam asked to play soccer, instead, and Daddy frowned but Mama said, "Why not, I've seen enough boys drop foul balls for a lifetime." So, soccer, and most of his games were during the day or on Saturday mornings, but Cordi came to a lot of them anyway, and when Liam's team won Cordi would jump down onto the field and grab him up by the waist and crow David Beckham, right here! Little David Beckham for sale! Liam would struggle and then he'd be slung headfirst over Cordell's shoulder like a potato sack and his face would get so red from laughing that it hurt.

*

On September 12, 2001, Mama and Daddy were gone from the house when Liam got home from school and he was glad for it. That was a Wednesday. He was in sixth grade. The teachers weren't even trying to hold normal lessons and everyone was talking about what had happened the day before. Melissa Kettering was out that day and the rumor was that her dad had been on a business trip in New York. Liam had raised his hand and asked the social studies teacher if there was going to be a war, like there was after Pearl Harbor, and she sat down on her desk and shook her head and didn't answer.

He was trying to read his book for English when the phone rang. Cordell, calling from his apartment in town. Hey, buddy, he said, over the line, and Liam sat down on the floor by the phone table and closed his eyes, unaccountably almost about to cry. Is Daddy there? Liam told him he was home alone. Lucky, Cordi said, you can totally throw a rager, and Liam didn't laugh, and neither did Cordell, even though he always laughed at his own stupid jokes. Hey, um. I shouldn't—I don't know if I should tell you this but I've gotta tell someone, and Em's in class, and I just have to—I did something, and I need to—

He interrupted himself and Liam could hear him breathing over the line. He didn't want Cordell to say anything. If he didn't say anything then Liam could pretend that he was going to tell a story about some party they'd gone to at Emily's sorority, or that Hoyt had come back into town and they'd seen a show at ACL, or that he was gonna come stay that weekend, and maybe he and Liam would go riding. Anything but what he was about to say. Liam could hear it, in his head. He could hear it like it had already been said and it was echoing, now, inside, like a verse from a song he'd always, always remember.

Cordell graduated from the Marine boot camp on a Saturday in the middle of December. Liam went along even if he wasn't allowed to attend the actual ceremony and Daddy complained about the cost of the plane tickets until Mama told him to shut up. Liam sat between them on the flight and it was the first time he was ever in the air. Over the top of Mama's crossword book he watched the clouds go by over New Mexico, Arizona, with complete wonder. San Diego, then, different to Austin—palm trees, and the air so wet, and even the parking lot at their hotel smelling like warm flowers.

Mama gave him fifty dollars before they left for the graduation. They were bringing Cordell back, after, because they got one night with him before they had to give him back to the military. "Order a pizza," she said, "at 4:30 exactly, and we should get back at the same time the pizza comes so we can all eat together." Liam watched American Pie on the hotel tv while he waited, something he would never have been allowed at home. He made the call when he was supposed to, and when the girl on the phone asked him what toppings his mind went completely blank because he was never allowed to make that decision. Cordi liked ham and pineapple and none of the rest of them did. Liam ordered it with extra pineapple.

When a knock came on the hotel room door Liam jumped up to open it, cash in hand. The one holding the pizzas was Cordell, grinning at him with Mama and Daddy standing behind. "Pizza delivery," Cordell said, and Liam crashed into him for a hug so hard that Cordi almost dropped the boxes and said whoa, Stinker, soft and laughing.

His hair was cut off, an inch on top and shorter on the sides, so he looked like those pictures of their grandpa when he was in Korea. He was skinny, too, which Liam didn't get, because he thought boot camp was all about building up muscles. "Mostly running," Cordi said. He was tired, dark circles under his eyes. He was stretched out on one bed with his strange starched blue pants and the awful khaki shirt that made him look washed-out pale even if he'd been running around San Diego for thirteen weeks, and Mama was sat next to him squeezing his arm like he'd evaporate if she looked away for a minute, and even Daddy was hovering. Proud but worried. Liam sat by Cordell's boots and tugged on the laces, wanting to ask more questions but not daring to.

Cordi fell asleep before six o'clock. Daddy turned on the television real quiet to the news. More stuff about the invasion. Liam hoped it'd be all over by the time Cordi got there. Mama boxed up the remaining pizza, shaking her head. "Don't know why you picked pineapple, kiddo," she said, and Liam shrugged, sitting at the table, watching Cordell's face, turned away a little on the pillow. Liam wanted to shake him awake but of course he didn't. For his whole life, after, he gets a little sick to his stomach when he smells pineapple.

While Cordell was in Afghanistan Mama and Daddy had Emily over to the house a lot. She was sweet. Respectful of Mama, calling her ma'am half the time, and charming to their dad even though Liam knew that she and Daddy probably disagreed on more than things than not. She liked that Liam played soccer and asked if he ever watched the Premiere League. Liam didn't even know what that was. She helped Mama cook supper and went out and took pictures of the horses which made Daddy smile, and one time when Liam went outside after dinner to read she was there crying, on the porch, quiet with her hand over her mouth, and Liam hung back and didn't know what to say. "Sorry," she said, dashing at her cheeks with the heel of her hand. She licked her lips and nodded at his book, sniffing. "That's a good one. You should read the sequel, too." He did, and told her about it, and she smiled like a sunrise, the way she always did, and he felt like—he didn't even know, what he felt like.

Liam was the best man at their wedding. He felt and looked ridiculous. Fifteen in a tux and he didn't know how to tie a bow-tie, but Cordi didn't either, so Daddy had to do it for both of them, grumbling the whole time that they should've learned this by now. "Not a lot of bowties in Kandahar, Daddy," Cordell said, winking at Liam, and Liam—blushed. Ridiculous, and embarrassing, the way the whole affair and the lead-up had felt, but Cordell didn't seem to care or notice, so—there was Liam, blushing in a bowtie.

Cordell had only been back for a year and somehow things were off. He was serving the rest of his contract out in the reserves but he wasn't finishing up his degree like he'd told Mama he would. He'd entered the training program for the state troopers and was set up to be a highway cop, of all things. He'd rented a house in Austin with Emily and they lived together the whole year before the wedding—an argument with Daddy about that one, which Liam listened to from the hallway with his heart pounding—and they weren't even going to be married in the church because Emily didn't want a wedding mass and, Liam suspected, Cordell didn't either. Daddy lost that argument, too.

The wedding was tiny. Liam the best man, Geri the maid of honor. Emily's aunt that raised her on one side and Daddy and Mama on the other, and a handful of Cordell and Emily's friends making up the numbers in the little rented hall. Afterward they had a bigger barbecue out at the ranch and in front of the crowd Emily fed Cordell a dainty forkful of the lemon cake and Cordell responded by dotting a tiny bit of frosting on her nose and kissing it off, and Mama's best friend Sue-Ellen sighed and said to Mama, where Liam could hear, "Well, Abilene, maybe they're atheists but I daresay you raised that boy right every other way," and Mama said something dry back but Liam was watching how Cordell cupped Emily's cheek in his hand, smiling down at her like she hung the moon, and he thought, yeah. Yeah, Cordell was just about perfect, wasn't he.

"High school in the fall, right?" Emily's aunt said, later. "Emily says you play soccer. Going to try out for the team?"

Cordell and Emily were dancing, swaying in the grass, the bonfire leaping up behind them. His hand still on her cheek. "I'm quitting soccer," Liam said, without even realizing he was going to. "I'm going to try out for wrestling, instead."

*

He figured out he was gay relatively early. His friends at school got hold of a Playboy in fifth grade and didn't really know what to do with it beyond blustering. This was before anyone but nerds was on the internet, and Liam was a nerd but did a decent job of hiding it. Scott beckoned Liam over while they were waiting for the buses and showed him the top of the magazine, the bold logo and the girl with her boobs pushing up out of her bra—the group of them snickering, saying how hot she was—and that they were going to look at it at Scott's house later if Liam wanted to come over—and Liam said, "No, my mom's making me go to the store with her." The lie came out effortlessly.

They did have a computer at home, and dial-up internet it had been very, very hard to argue Daddy into. He hardly knew how to find anything but he did some careful searches while Daddy was out with the horses and Mama was cooking, singing bad over the stove like she tended to. Made Liam's face hot to see some of what he was seeing. Hoyt came over, once, while Cordi was away in the war, and he helped Liam and Mama dig out a bunch of tomatoes that hadn't grown in right, and afterward they sat on the porch drinking lemonade while Mama asked Hoyt all about the oil field he said he'd been working in and Liam watched how Hoyt's legs sprawled out on the porch, how his jeans hugged up against his calf muscle and how the sweat had made his white shirt nearly transparent, and he had to sit very careful on the bench with his knees drawn up to hide the effect it had on him.

When Cordell came home from Afghanistan they threw a huge party. Everyone came, Daddy's friends and Mama's, and Emily and their friends from college, and even Hoyt, magicked up out of somewhere (for the promise of free beer, Daddy said), and then Liam, the youngest person there, watching from the corner of the porch as always. Cordi was very tan and finally bulky with muscle and his hair had grown out, just a little, from that military buzz, and he barely detached himself from Emily the whole time, his arm always around her shoulders or hers around his waist, and when they did step apart his eyes followed her and she watched him right back, smiling at the most random times. Liam was fourteen and a little more aware of the world and he wondered abruptly if they'd had sex yet. Cordi had only been home one day and he'd slept at the ranch and not at Emily's apartment. How would they have found the time?

He was chewing his thumbnail over it when a sweaty weight crashed down on his shoulders, arms trapping his in. Hoyt. "Hey there, Stinker," Hoyt said, and Liam shrugged fretfully and said, "Don't call me that," and Hoyt laughed at him but stood up and ruffled Liam's hair completely backwards instead.

"Still pretty shrimpy," he said. He was grinning, like he had some big secret. "You planning on growing up anytime soon, champ?"

"Don't you have a sketchy job to get to?" Liam said, annoyed. He tried to fix his hair and gave it up as a lost cause the second Hoyt's grin got bigger. Asshole.

Hoyt sipped his beer. Twenty-one—he was allowed, although Liam had noticed that Mama was being a little free with handing out drinks to Emily's college friends. "Glad big bro's home, I bet," Hoyt said.

Liam didn't dignify that with a response. Hoyt laughed, under his breath, and held out the beer for Liam to take, which he did because he didn't know what else to do. "Go on," Hoyt said, nodding at it. "I won't tell your mama. Not fair that everyone else gets to celebrate while little Liam's sober. And boring."

"I'm not boring," Liam said, although he knew he was because half the kids at school clearly thought so. He took a sip of the beer, anyway, not knowing if Hoyt would snatch it away. Nasty, and he made a face that made Hoyt hoot, and then he took a bigger gulp, determined at least to get something out of it.

"There he goes," Hoyt said, weirdly delighted, and he clapped Liam on the shoulder the same way he would Cordi when they were in high school, and the bit of warm in Liam's belly went lower. "That's a welcome home."

Liam kept the beer, curled against his chest. He felt dumb holding it and also weirdly adult. "He's not even here," he said. Sort of scoffing. "Doesn't matter."

Hoyt curled his arm around Liam's shoulders again and ignored how he went stiff, and nodded out at the party. Music playing from a radio Daddy had set up on a truck-bed. Emily and Cordell, dancing in the firelight. Same as it would be for the wedding reception a year from then, although of course Liam didn't know that at the time. "Aw, he's here," Hoyt said. He squeezed Liam's shoulders. He smelled strange, like—skunk, and Mama's compost bin. It was gross but also kind of appealing and Liam shifted, hoping his dumb body wouldn't react. "He's just with his girl, and who could blame him. No call for getting jealous."

He wasn't jealous. Not—exactly. That night after Mama and Daddy went to bed the party kept on, and Liam went to his room and watched from the dark window, the bonfire still going and all the college kids still going, too. When he finally fell asleep he had a strange, blurry dream about Hoyt—building a bonfire together, and Hoyt smiling at him and being a jackass and then touching his face, the same way Cordell touched Emily's face, and then Hoyt touching his stomach, low—and then the dream shifted, the weird way dreams shift, and it was Cordell, touching his stomach, and smiling at him, and leaning in close—with his hair longer like it was before he enlisted—but wearing for some reason the dumb khaki shirt of his uniform—and then Cordell's hand—

When he woke up he was soaked and it was bright morning. He washed his underwear out in the sink, feeling like his head was screwed on to someone else's body, and then he hid the underwear in the hamper, and showered, and tried not to think about it. He had that dream or one like it on and off for years, until he finally lost his virginity to Michael in college and it went away. He never told his therapist about it, or Bret, or anyone. He could rationalize it but he couldn't ever acknowledge it out loud because of what it—felt like, to think about it. To make it real in a place that wasn't just his stupid, crazy, dreaming head.

He had the dream again the night before he came out to his parents. January 2nd, trying out his new year's resolution of honesty. He figured in a ruthless sort of way that if his parents kicked him out or hated him or tried to change him then at least he had early acceptance at UT for the fall and a full scholarship and it was just eight months where his life would be completely over.

Cordell was at home on the ranch and Liam figured that's what triggered it. A couple days of vacation, since he'd worked over Christmas, and he and Emily and baby Stella had stayed up for ringing in the new year, and everyone had taken turns kissing Stella's forehead when midnight struck. Liam had been allowed a glass of champagne, Mama not even fussing about it since it was a holiday and the house was full—so he had two glasses—and when he went to bed he could still hear Cordell laughing from the front room, telling Daddy some story about a bust on the highway, something about stolen Santa suits, something light.

He dreamed they were swimming, up at the lake, and Cordell was naked. Laughing, that same too-loud booming laugh, but just because he was happy and not like he was making fun. Being kind to Liam. Holding him from behind with his arms around Liam's chest, their legs slipping together in the water. Liam could imagine what it would be like for a man to do something to him, he'd seen porn by that point, and he'd seen Cordell naked too because of the vagaries of living in an old house without a lock on the bathroom door, but somehow there was still a disconnect in his head. He was turned on beyond belief but nothing—happened, just the vagueness of Cordell behind him. His big hands.

Mama took Emily and the baby in to town, that day, for shopping. Daddy said they'd just bought half of Macy's and Mama shushed him so Daddy was up at the barn, checking over the new foal. Liam sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched birds come to the new feeder Mama had got from Emily and he tried to rehearse it, in his head. What to say. He'd seen it in movies but it didn't feel possible to come out of his mouth.

Cordell sat by him, on the bench swing. "Since when do you drink coffee?" he said. Then, less casual: "Is that my mug?"

"Yes," Liam said, and didn't protest when Cordell took it out of his hands. He rubbed his palms on his jeans. He had a hard time talking to Cordi after he had one of those dreams and so it was a relief that most of the time Cordell wasn't around, that he was in town at the house he shared with his wife. With his wife, Liam reminded himself, as though that could help. Another thing to make Liam different. Wrestling instead of football, reading books instead of riding, and now—this, on top of everything.

"Whatever's going on," Cordell said. Liam blinked, came back to the world. The cold, and the swing barely rocking from how Cordi had set his boot on the porch and pushed, and Cordell looking at him very steadily. "You know you can tell me, right?"

Liam swallowed. "Even if it's—" Bad is what came to his mouth and he shook his head. He prayed about this, he resolved. It's not bad. "Weird?"

"If it weren't weird you probably wouldn't be being so weird about it," Cordi said, frank, and Liam shoved his shoulder. The dream dissipated just like that. How could he possibly be crushing on his brother when his brother is this much of a jerk. Cordell swayed, grinning, letting Liam push him even if Cordell outweighed him then by fifty pounds, but then he set his hand on the back of Liam's neck, more serious. "Whatever it is. We can figure it out."

Liam licked his lips, and nodded. He knew then that was going to tell Cordell the one secret, if not the whole of it, before they left the porch that morning, and Cordi would—back him up, with Mama and Daddy, even if he didn't get it. "Give me back the coffee," he said, and Cordell raised his eyebrows but passed it back, so Liam could take a gulp. The caffeine probably wouldn't help but maybe it wouldn't hurt, and it felt nice to hold the mug. "Promise you won't freak," Liam said then, even if he was—mostly, ninety percent, pretty sure—and Cordell said, immediately, "I promise," and Liam believed him. That was the thing, with Cordell, in those days. It was easy to believe him.

*

It's Mama who calls, when Emily dies. Liam's already in bed because he's got court in the morning and Bret shoves at his shoulder, says, "Oh my god answer it and then change your ringtone, I hate that song," and Liam's still fuzzy from sleep and doesn't quite process that there's no good reason Mama would be calling him after nine o'clock in Texas because she always thought that was bad manners, it had been drilled into him all his life, and he says, mumbly, still waking up, "Hey, Mama," and there's a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the line before she says, Honey, I'm sorry, but I have real bad news.

He flies out the next day. Bret tries to dissuade him. "There's nothing you can do right now," he says, as though that's the point. JFK to Austin-Bergstrom is four and a half hours and he spends the whole time with his chest this weird achy knot. It doesn't feel real but it is. He texted Mama his flight plan and she says that Daddy will pick him up at the airport, and when he gets into the truck Daddy shakes his head and says, "Good to see you, son," but without any truth to it. Liam doesn't take it personally.

Cordell's not at the ranch when they get there but the kids are. "Hi, Uncle Liam," Stella says, remarkably clear, until he hugs her, and then she curls his hands into his shirt and cries silently, her shoulders shaking. August doesn't get up from the couch, sitting there with one arm crossed over his chest and the other over his mouth, and he looks—Liam's always shocked by it—so exactly like his mother. Stella's a copy of her grandmother, to the point that Mama set her prom picture side by side with Stella's first dance photo and the only real difference was the dress—but Auggie always took after Emily, from coloring to temperament to those long straight eyebrows, that mouth that curves up into a wide, easy smile. Not smiling now, and not for a while, and when Stella pulls away and wipes her eyes Liam sits down next to Auggie and sets his hand on the back of his neck and Auggie just folds over, quiet, like whatever was holding him up just isn't there anymore.

"Where is he?" Liam asks Mama, in the kitchen later. The sun's going down. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours.

Mama's eyes are red-rimmed. "Where do you think?" she says.

Liam takes the truck. Lady Bird Lake is officially closed at night but of course that makes no difference. He parks and walks, up to the lookout, and Cordell doesn't hear him coming. He's sitting on the steps to the gazebo, his elbows braced on his knees. The light hitting his hair. Long again. Liam doesn't know how he's always skirting regs and getting away with it, except of course Cordi gets away with everything. Golden child.

He regrets the thought as soon as he has it. "Cordi," he says, and Cordell looks up in complete surprise. Liam smiles at him, as much as he can, and comes and sits on the step. He tries to think of what to say and can't come up with anything.

"Aren't you in court tomorrow?" Cordell says, after they sit there for thirty seconds. His voice sounds thick and distant.

Liam shakes his head. "Today," he says, and Cordell nods and huffs and says, "Right," and then looks down at his hands again. They're twisted together, his thumb rubbing hard and repeatedly at the mount of his other palm. Liam reaches over and puts his hand over the knot of Cordell's fingers and Cordell's jaw flexes but he lets Liam do it. "I'm sorry," Liam says.

"Everyone is," Cordell says, halfway bitter. Liam squeezes his hands and Cordell makes a rough low noise, some sound Liam has never heard him make. "Jesus. They won't let me go in to work."

"Of course they won't," Liam says, and Cordell pulls his hands away, pushes them into his hair. "Cordi, they have to—they're going to be looking for who did it and it has to be by the books so it'll stick. They're not going to risk screwing it up."

"I just want to—" Cordell cuts himself off but Liam can imagine what goes there. He touches Cordell's back instead and the muscle flinches. Set to fly off the handle any second. Fight or flight, but Cordell never used to run from anything and Liam can't imagine he's going to start now.

He stands up. "Wrestle me," he says.

Cordell looks up. "What?"

Genuine surprise. At least it's not misery. "Come on," Liam says. "See if you can pin me." These jeans are nice, were a gift from Bret, but he'll sacrifice them. He holds out a hand and Cordell lets himself be pulled upright, and it's a shock like it always is when Liam's been too long away, how much taller Cordi still is. Liam always was the shrimp. He pushes Cordell's chest, lightly, and Cordell slaps his hands away. "Cordi," Liam says, coaxing, and pulls at Cordell's wrist. "Let me take your mind off it."

Stupid thing to say and he knows it as soon as he says it. Cordell gives him an ugly look and shoves him for real. "Take my mind off it?" he says, while Liam's staggering backwards. Liam sets his boots in the dirt and braces, and when Cordell pushes him again Liam grapples, and they are wrestling, then. It's sloppy, bad holds, both of them in too-slick boots for this ground. Liam manages to swing Cordell around and get his back on the ground but Cordi's always been stronger and shoves him off, and then they're just—flat-out scrambling, Liam's hand sinking into a patch of mud and both of them breathing hard, Cordell twisting out of his grip and getting an arm over his chest, tight, before Liam eels over and flips them—gets Cordell on his back on the dirt—his leg over Cordell's—and then Cordi drops his head back against the ground and taps out, panting.

"You been practicing?" Cordell says. His eyes are closed.

Liam sits up, says, "Class at my gym." Cordi nods and Liam gets off him, kneels next to him in the dirt. The gazebo's bright and the skyline's pretty, on the other side of the lake. Liam looks at that instead of at his brother, so he won't have to see the tears seeping down Cordell's temples, wetting his hair.

"It's not okay," Liam says. He sets a hand on Cordell's chest. At the DA's office in Manhattan he's comforted widows, widowers, orphans. Some of them seeking justice but most of them knowing it won't really be found. Cordell, he thinks, is one of the latter type, but Liam tries out the lines he's learned anyway. "It's not okay and it's not fair. I can't pretend I know what you're going through but I'm sorry." He swallows, his throat trying to close without his say-so. "Jesus. I'm so sorry, Cordi."

"Yeah," Cordell says, rough, and grips Liam's wrist. When Liam looks down Cordell's eyes are still closed. They stay there for a while, by the lake, long past when it's uncomfortable.

When they finally get up, Liam's knees creak like an old man's but Cordell doesn't make the joke he should. He leaves Cordell's truck and drives them both back into town, and gets drive-through Whataburger that Cordell picks at instead of eating, and says, "Do you want to go back to the ranch?" and isn't surprised when Cordell shakes his head, no. They get a hotel instead, two queens and a respectable mini-bar, and Liam calls Mama from next to the ice machine in the hall and says that he's got Cordell, and they're fine, and they'll be back in the morning. She clearly wants to object but doesn't know how and Liam hangs up before she can figure it out.

He gets back, with the ice. Cordell's sitting on the end of the bed watching the news like it's the Superbowl. "I was thinking about the funeral," Cordell says, when the door closes behind Liam. "I have to plan the funeral and I don't even have her body."

Liam sets the bucket on the bar and sits on the other bed. "We'll help," Liam says. Cordell's cheek sucks in on one side. "You don't have to do any of this alone."

"Yeah," Cordell says, remote, and Liam looks at him. Weird hollowness in his stomach and he realizes only after a second why: it's the first time, all his life, that he can remember Cordell lying to him.

*

The Rodeo Kings operation is supposed to be quick. Three months, is the estimate: to get in, to learn the operation, to get out. They need an agent who can be convincingly skilled as a traveling rider, who knows a ranch operation, who can act. There's a depressingly short list and one name at the top of it. Everyone thinks it's a bad idea except for Graves, and Cordell.

"It'll give me something to think about that's not this," Cordell says, when Liam's trying to talk him out of it. They're on the back patio of his and Emily's house in town. The kids are still staying out at the ranch. It's two weeks after the funeral and they haven't gone back to school. Cordell hasn't shaved in a few days and the sound as he scratches his jaw is loud. There's no music playing from the kitchen window, like there used to be. The plants out here are already dying. Liam wants to grip Cordell's shoulders, get in his face and yell, but doesn't dare to. He gets a deep sigh, instead, and Cordell flipping a poker chip between his fingers like a restless card shark, and then a smile, fake as fake. "Anyway, who do you know who can ride a bull better than me?"

"No one," Liam says, and Cordell nods, like damn straight, and in the morning Liam goes in to the Travis County DA and announces he'd like to transfer offices, due to a family emergency that's going to keep him here in Texas, and it's only afterward when some calls are made and the paperwork's signed that he calls Bret, back in Manhattan, and leaves a voicemail that he's going to be staying a lot longer than he thought.

It isn't three months. As the operation drags on, Liam sweet-talks his way into being one of the assistant attorneys on the case and he tries to alleviate how Graves is getting more and more suspicious. Cordell's old partner James gets promoted to captain, six months in, and he vouches for Cordell, too, not that it seems to matter either way. Cordell's the one who's embedded with the rodeo and he'll either finish the job or he won't. They don't have another agent to send in, not without compromising the work that's been done so far, and nothing else will do but to wait.

The kids ask Liam for updates every week when he comes for dinner at the ranch. "I can't tell you everything," he says, like he does every time, and Daddy's quiet at the head of the table, and Mama quieter on the opposite side. Cordell has a rendezvous every Monday when the rodeo takes the day off with a burner cell phone and an agent waiting impatiently for his call, and his reports are terse: still trying to get them to trust me. They're suspicious of newcomers. The ring seems really tight and I can't figure out an opening. Give me time. He's allowed to call Liam the same day and Liam answers every unknown number on Mondays, giving hope to spam callers nationwide. Cordell usually sounds tired but he still calls and they have a dumb, simple conversation—about how the Rangers beat the Angels, how he's breaking in some new boots and has a blister the size of Indiana, how he's craving, inexplicably, sushi. "Sushi?" Liam asks, trying to imagine when Cordell ever tried it, and Cordi says, with rare humor, "Hey, I'm not a big fancy New York lawyer but I've had my share of raw fish," and when Liam hands the phone over to the kids they lean over the speakerphone and talk over the top of each other about a class project Stella did, and a history paper Auggie got an A+ on, and Liam watches with his hand over his mouth for the moment when Cordell has to interrupt and say, tired-sounding still, "Sorry, guys, I have to go," and the goodbyes have to be quick, and then that's it, for another week.

The first time Liam sees him when he's Duke it's a shock to the system. Seven months in and the reporting agent says that Walker missed his check-in. Walker—that's what they all call him, even when Liam's in the room with them. There's a small frenzy in the operation office. Graves calls for Cordell's head, predictably at this point. James, trying again to calm her down, but looking a little like he agrees. Liam leaves the office unnoticed and walks outside to feel cold air on his face and feel less—how he feels—and there's a text, on his phone, from an unknown number. The Alibi, Driskill ST, thirty minutes. Come alone.

Ridiculously illicit. Liam takes off his suit-jacket and tie and ruffles his hair into something unprofessional and goes. It's hard to park—Monday night football—and inside is the opposite of his scene but he finds a seat at the bar. A girl in a too-tight orange t-shirt gives him a once-over and he smiles tightly, ignores her, drinks a watery beer, and almost exactly on the thirty-minute mark someone sits down next to him and it's—not his brother.

Duke Culpepper was the fake name they picked. Originally from Texas but had some misdemeanors that made Texas unfriendly so he'd been hiding out in Tucson for a few years, working the rodeo there. Not dangerous but willing to get up to something that was, and he looks the part. He smells like sweat and horse manure and hay and some shitty, awful aftershave, and there's a bruise on his jaw like someone suckerpunched him, and he doesn't look at Liam but smiles sweet at the bartender and says, with a fake low drawl, "Darlin', I wouldn't mind a shot of bourbon, when you have a chance."

Jesus, Liam thinks. The bartender has an expression like Cordell slid a hand down the front of her jeans and made her the happiest woman alive—the shot takes about ten seconds to arrive, when Liam's been waiting for a second beer for five minutes. Cordell knocks it back in one motion and says, "Again, and—" and he turns, like he noticed Liam for the first time, "another round for my friend, here. We're celebratin'."

She blinks, notices Liam's empty glass. While the next round's being prepared Liam raises his eyebrows and plays his part. "What are we celebrating?"

"Got a new job," Cordell says—but no—it's Duke, who's saying it, Duke who's drawling lazy and has his hat cocked at an off-angle and who's got a bandana tied around his wrist which for some goddamn reason is working the whole, hot-ass look.

"Congrats," the bartender says, and Duke grins wide and winks at her and downs the second shot, letting out a little whoop. "Another?"

"Better make it a double this time, sweetheart," Duke says, and Liam puts his hand on the warm lean stretch of thigh knocking against his under the bar and squeezes, very lightly, a warning, and sees Cordell's eyes tighten just slightly, and sees how his shoulders round out, like he's ready to get in a fight. Cordell takes a deep breath and toasts the bartender, but turns to look at Liam, face a grinning glad mask. "Got a new girl, too. Real pretty."

The bartender's disappointment would be funny, any other time. "Your lucky day, then, huh?" Liam says. Cordell's knee presses hard into his under the bar. "Girl got a name?"

"Miss Twyla Jean," Cordell says, almost crooning it, and Liam raises his eyebrows—he thought they had embarrassing Texas names—and then Cordell downs the double-shot, grimacing at the sting, and then says, much quieter so that only Liam can hear: "All it took was me making it eleven seconds on a bull and she took me straight to bed."

Liam takes a deep breath. Cordell's jaw flexes, in the silence, and he puts the empty shot glass on the bar. "Thanks for celebrating with me," he says, and slides off the barstool, backwards. He grips Liam's shoulder so hard that it actually hurts. "Gotta get back. Job won't do itself."

"Godspeed," Liam says, toasting with his beer, and Cordell gives him a tight smile and tugs his cap and walks out of the bar, taking with him the smell of the stables and his too-tight jeans and this sensation under Liam's gut that's murky and dangerous, unsettled. His shoulder hurts. It's only after he's written down Twyla Jean's name and texted it to James, and gone home to the apartment where Bret's still bitching about the décor, and taken a shower, and pressed his forehead against the cold tile, that he realizes that Cordell was wearing a fucking Texas Rangers cap. The absolute bastard.

*

The night he hears from Cordell again he has a fight with Bret. The same fight, worked over the same way. Bret hates Texas. He hates being away from his friends. He hates the politics and the food and how Liam's always with his family. He doesn't want to go to family dinner at the ranch because he's sure Liam's dad hates him. "He doesn't hate you," Liam says, for the fifth time, but to be honest he's not sure. Daddy never seems to like Bret that much, either. Cordi's never met him and Liam wonders, like he's wondered many times, if they'd get along, at all. Wonders if that'd be a dealbreaker and then wonders, washing dishes while Bret watches MSNBC in chilly silence, if the fact that he's wondering if it would be a dealbreaker makes it a dealbreaker, after all.

The text comes as a relief. Annunziata's. He dresses down more carefully than the first time. It's a weird spot, on the outskirts of town where it feels less like Austin than like a suburb. Karaoke and Italian food and mostly-fake cowboys slapping their knees to the absolutely horrific song being sung—very suburb. And there, at a table right by what passes for a stage: Cordell. But, no: Duke, Duke Culpepper, with his arm slung around the shoulders of Twyla Jean and his lips on her ear, grinning, wild. It catches Liam's breath like it did the first time. Duke, confident in his body and happy and having a good time, easy. Hot. Jesus, Liam doesn't get how it's so hot.

He waits in the backroom and watches Cordell shoves his face into the water. It's disturbing how panicked he is, once he's Cordell again and not Duke. "You have to," he's saying—babbling—"You have to tell them, they're going to kill people, you can't let them go through with it—" but of course that's not either of their decision and Liam can't help. It's awful, an awful awful feeling. His big brother looking to him for an answer he can't give. Cordell pushes his hair back from his face and puts his hat back on and looks miserable but he goes back, he sits right back down with that girl and lets her slide her hand down his thigh up the inseam of his jeans and Liam watches from the corner of the bar, where he won't be seen, drinking a beer he doesn't want, seeing his brother be someone who's not his brother. Maybe someone his brother could have been. They're going to sleep together, tonight. Liam knows it. They've been fucking for three months. Is it easy, he wonders. It shouldn't be, for Cordell, but maybe for Duke it is.

He goes home to Bret and wakes him up, and apologizes for the earlier fight, and kisses him, and gets Bret on his belly, and fucks him that way, a little hard, kissing the back of his neck, making Bret gasp and flinch and groan, delighted. "Where did that come from," Bret says, lazy and satisfied, and when he falls asleep Liam takes a shower and then only then calls James, from the hall outside their apartment door, leaning with his forehead against the wall. The bank location has been obvious since Cordell reported about Twyla Jean; the only thing that wasn't certain was the time. It'll be fine, James says, firm, and hangs up on Liam to coordinate with the rest of the team now that Agent Walker has finally come back in from the cold, and Liam stands there with his eyes closed in the hall and thinks, yes. Yes, it'll be fine.

After the bank—after the clean-up—Graves debriefs Cordell for a long time. It borders on unlawful interrogation at a certain point but Liam doesn't dare intervene when she's this furious—he can't risk being taken off the case. It takes James making a call to her supervisor at the field office, who then calls her and pulls her out of the room, for Cordell to be given a reprieve, and Liam goes in to the conference room and finds Cordell still in the stupid black hoodie stained with Crystal West's blood, his head in his hands, breathing with his mouth open like he can't get enough air.

"Cordi," Liam says, and Cordell shakes his head. Liam licks his lips and checks the hall. No one's guarding them—they wouldn't, because Walker's one of their own—and he says, "Get up." Cordell looks up at him, finally. "Come on, quick before she gets back. Come with me."

Cordell follows him. Down the hall, left to go through the atrium instead of the bullpen, then through the glass doors to the hall to, at last, the men's room, and Cordell stands in the middle of the tile blinking until Liam nods at the sinks and says, "Do it."

He's sloppier about it, this time. His hair hangs dripping in front of his face. He pushes it off his forehead and looks up at himself, in the mirror, panting a little. Water drips off his nose.

Liam brings him paper towels and he dries his face. "You should take that off," Liam says, and Cordell looks down at his clothes like he has no idea what he's wearing and only just realized, and tears off the hoodie in an awkward tangle. Underneath his t-shirt is black so Liam can't tell if it's stained. The big silver cross swings from his neck.

"What happened," Cordell says. A croak.

"Graves didn't tell you?" Liam says, and then bites his tongue. Obviously not. "Clint and Crystal are both dead. Clint at the bank. Crystal crashed the car. They think she passed out. Blood loss." Cordell nods, tight, looking away. These are his friends, Liam reminds himself. These are the people he knew, the only people he really talked to, for almost a year. "Two more people died at the bank. Twyla wasn't there and we don't have information to tie her to the job. I don't know where Jaxon is but we have people looking. They're still trying to recover the stolen money."

"Graves did tell me that much," Cordell says, and turns around, leaning his ass against the sink. It's slowly draining, behind him. "I think she wants to arrest me since she can't arrest them."

"I think so, too," Liam says, and Cordell smiles a little. He looks like he hasn't slept all year. "You did your job. It's over."

"It's not over," Cordell says, immediately. He drags his hand through his hair. "Graves made that clear. The money's still missing and Twyla and Jax are in the wind."

"And Duke's being sent to jail," Liam says. "So his part in the Rodeo Kings gang is over."

Cordell wipes his fingers over his mouth. He's still wearing that bandana around his wrist. Liam wants to take it off of him. Throw it away, burn it. "Duke Culpepper, common criminal," Cordell says, drawling it a little.

"Never liked him anyway," Liam says, and Cordell smiles, dropping his head. Liam touches his shoulder, grips his neck. "Hey. Means you get to come home. The kids will be over the moon."

"Yeah," Cordell says. He brackets a loose hand around Liam's wrist and nods. "Yeah. Can't wait."

His smile faded, as soon as Liam said it. Liam thinks about that, for that whole night, and for the whole next day, after, when James tells him that Cordell put in for one week's leave. "You talked to him?" Liam says, and James shakes his head, says, "He called Connie. I think he still doesn't even know I'm the captain."

He tells Mama and Daddy that Cordell will be home next Wednesday. Stella's frowning, not eating her dinner. "I saw that bank robbery on the news," she says. Auggie's big-eyed, watching, next to her. "Was that Dad's big case?"

"It was," Liam says, and Auggie's eyes get bigger. "But there's a debriefing period. We need to make sure his undercover identity doesn't have any loose ends that'll tie him back to his real one."

Daddy's eyes narrow and Mama's quiet. Liam got pretty good at lying, over the years, but he never was quite able to fool them.

He calls Cordell the next day. "Tell me where you are," he says, and Cordell doesn't answer for a long moment, letting the silence stretch out over the cell line. Liam considers it a victory that he even answered the phone.

He has a room at the Fairmont, on the fifteenth floor. Liam knocks and it's a minute before the door opens. Cordell's in bare feet, jeans, an ACL t-shirt. Liam follows him in and the room is—nicer than Liam's current apartment, that's for sure. King bed, outstanding view. "Wow," Liam says, and Cordell says, "Better than the Super 8 in Kermit," sort of sarcastic, and then sits down on the bed like he can't stand up anymore.

Liam doesn't sit. He doesn't think he's really invited, even if Cordell let him in the door. "I told them next Wednesday," he said. "Mom and Dad, and the kids. A week. Do you think that'll be enough time?"

"Honestly?" Cordell says, and doesn't elaborate.

There's a table, with four chairs, like a dining area. On it a box, like one of the evidence boxes from the office. Liam walks over and tips back the lid and: there's Duke Culpepper. The striped shirt he wore when Liam met him at Annunziata's. That was—god, only three days ago. A plastic bottle of aftershave. The cross necklace. The gun. Liam picks it up and checks the revolving chamber—that one bullet, still ready. It makes him nauseous just like it did the first time.

"I know you're probably not okay," Liam says. Understatement, he thinks, of the century. He closes the box and pushes it away, toward the center of the table. When he turns around Cordell's holding the beer in one hand and playing with a poker chip, in the other. "I know you're going to need some time. But when you're done, we need you back. The kids, and Mom and Dad. And me."

"C'mon, you don't need anybody, Stinker," Cordell says, with the barest thread of levity. "You climb right up to the top of the barn all by yourself, when no one's around to stop you."

Liam pauses, confused by the subject change. Surprised, then. "You were there for that?" he says, and Cordell shrugs, one corner of his mouth lifting.

When Liam was eleven, and Cordell was at college, and the world hadn't yet turned over on its head. It was early August and his school hadn't started, and Daddy and Mama had gone over to the feed store to pick up a truckload for the horses. He was bored, and tired of reading, and he'd gone out to the barn and looked up at it and thought about how Cordell had done it, at his age or maybe even younger, and if Cordell could then Liam could, too, if he set his mind to it. It wasn't even all that hard, once he was looking careful for the places to set his feet. He sat down on the top of the barn and looked out over the ranch—and further, over the where the road into the ranch pushed out into the hills, down toward the town. He wondered how far he could really see, to the horizon.

"Swung by to pick up my football stuff," Cordell says, now. "Em parked on the other side of the house and I didn't think anyone was home, until I looked out the back. You were up there just—taller than anything." He shrugs. "See? Didn't need my help after all."

"I wouldn't have climbed it if you hadn't dropped me on my head," Liam says, and Cordell snorts, shakes his head. Liam bites the inside of his cheek and crouches, and Cordell's forced to look at him or be ridiculous and so Cordell looks at him. Liam reaches out and gets his hand, the hand with the poker chip, and squeezes it, and Cordell swallows and squeezes back. The edges of the plastic bite into Liam's hand. "Come back," he says.

Cordell takes a deep breath. "I will," he says. "I promise, Liam."

Liam stands up and hugs him, around the shoulders, and walks out of the room. He takes the elevator back to the lobby and steps out into the sunshine, and takes a deep breath, and calls Bret to arrange lunch. Cordell's promises.  Fifty-fifty, anymore, that it ends up being true. Liam decides to believe him. He's hardheaded. He might as well be hardheaded and optimistic about it.

[lesbian-deadpool]

New Surroundings

Part Two Of Two: “Glad To Be Home.”

Part One

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 1,975

Warnings: Lil bit of sadness + grief, talks of brainwashing, flashbacks. It’s pretty much just fluff.

Request: Yes! For anon for donating to BLM!! Thank you so much!

Summary: Maybe you can restart.

A/N: Idk. I thought this was p good.

Ko-Fi

(Not My GIF)

***

Booming laughter surrounded the space around you.

Peter had run up to where you "fell", asking worryingly, if you were okay. Along with Natasha. As you slowly sat up.

The spider's panic soon turned into relived chuckles, joining you in laughing at the situation.

With a few deep breaths, your laughter died down, allowing you to gaze up at the joyous red-head above you.

***

Natasha hovered over you, her cheeks visibly hurting, thanks to the smile you had put on her face. Her eyes closed with how hard she was laughing.

She had to be the most beautiful person you had ever seen.

She was.

She was swaying side to side, arms struggling to hold her weight, while those beautiful sounds flowed from her mouth.

Unable to handle it anymore, Natasha flopped down beside you on the cushiony bed. Covering her face with her hands, as the giggles still poured out of her.

"Are you-?"

"We were supposed to be having sex!" she managed to get out, making you laugh yourself. "But you had to go and say that!"

Chuckling harder still, you reached over and grabbed Natasha's hand. The Russian taking initiative and threading your fingers together.

You turned your head to the side, watching your girlfriend pant away.

The only things going through your mind at that moment being:

You were gonna marry that woman one day.

You couldn't wait to laugh with her for the rest of your lives.

***

The sun shone in her bright auburn hair, green eyes twinkling in happiness.

She had your entire attention.

Natasha saw the way you were looking at her, with a smile on her face, she cocked her head and softly asked, "What?"

You shrugged.

"You're stunning."

And she only got mere beautiful, if that was even possible, with the light blush dusting her cheeks.

"Thank you. You're not so bad yourself."

"Really? Well-"

"Uh, guys?" Peter waved. "I'm still here."

You chuckled at the teenage boy's words, turning to face him, as you pushed yourself up from the ground.

"Yeah, yeah, we know," you said, ruffling his hair, "Don't worry. You're pretty, too."

"Really?" Peter asked hopeful, while you and Natasha laughed softly.

"Yes, Peter," She nodded, patting his shoulder in assurance. "You're very pretty."

The smile that took over the boys face was full of joy and stayed that way as you lead the way back into the compound.

***

It was a few months later when the next memory like that rocketed into your mind.

You were busy cooking in the compound kitchen. Just some simple burgers for you and Peter.

The others could feed themselves.

You would have made Natasha one if she hadn't been out on a mission for the past month.

Peter was drolling on about his homework, it boring him beyond belief. Nodding along to his words, hoping to find something that could help him.

Then it hit you.

***

The streets of New York were relatively calm, considering the time of day. And you were enjoying your quiet stroll, with Natasha by your side.

The red-head was talking animatedly about a story of Clint accidentally rolling off of the roof of his farmhouse, and almost giving Laura a heart attack.

You couldn't take your eyes off of her lips.

The way she smiled as she spoke about her best friend.

You swooned at every little giggle she made. You couldn't believe how much you were acting like a schoolchild, with a silly crush.

But you just couldn't help it.

Natasha had some sort of spell over you.

And here you thought that Wanda was the witch of the team.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah?" you asked, shaking yourself out of the daze she had you in. "What's up?"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Uhh... yeah! Clint thought Laura had gone into labour, with how much she was screaming."

"Y/N," she said blankly, "I said that five minutes ago."

"Oh..."

"What were you thinking about?" Natasha asked with a smile.

"Um. Nothing."

"What were you thinking about?" she repeated, pushing your shoulder gently, still making you momentarily step to the side though.

"Nothing," you insisted.

"That's bullshit, and you know it. C'mon! Just tell me! I won't say anything to anyone, you have my word."

You said nothing, only shaking your head with a smile, and moving your eyes to look up at the sky. To avoid looking at the persistent Russian, now walking backwards in front of you. As she held onto your arms.

"Y/N, please!"

"Oh my, God. Are you begging? Do you really hate being out of the loop that much?"

"There's a loop? Who else knows?"

"No one, Natasha!" you laughed.

"Then what is it?!" she exclaimed happily, "Just tell me. I'll get it out of you, and you know I will. So, you might as well just tell me now."

Natasha stopped you in your place, right in the middle of the sidewalk.

You sighed, knowing what she said to be true.

So, you told her.

"I was thinking about you."

"Me?" she wondered, "What about me?"

Shrugging, you continued, "I was thinking about how cute you were, and how much I loved seeing you smile. I was thinking about how you have reduced me into a school kid with this overwhelming crush I have on you. Literally, everything you do or say makes me swoon, and think "how can someone be so perfect?", Natasha."

Natasha gasped as you spoke, looking into your eyes with this soft wondrous look, that you hoped you were reading right.

"I was thinking how much I wanted to kiss you. And maybe one day be lucky enough to love yo-"

You were cut off by Natasha grabbing onto your shirt with one hand, and bulling you down into a bruising kiss. Her other hand finding its way in between the strands of your hair. As yours flew down to her waist, pulling her in closer.

Yeah...

That was a pretty amazing first kiss.

***

"Why is Spanish so hard?"

You were brought back into the present by Peter's words. Looking down, no longer cooking the burgers, now in the middle of assembling the burgers.

Well, at least you were still productive as you had a flashback.

You just hoped you hadn't missed much that the kid had said.

"I don't know, kid," you said, glancing over your shoulder, "Maybe it's because you're trying to learn a whole other language."

"Yeah..." he said, almost bashfully.

"Hey, don't worry about it." Placing his meal in front of him, you placed your hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Pushing him gently. "These things take time. I just wish I could be more help."

"It's not your fault," he said through a mouth full of food. "I'm glad you're here to help me. I just wish that Miss Romanoff was here, she's really good at languages."

And it was then that you were harshly reminded.

Natasha wouldn't be back for another five months.

"Yeah. So do I."

***

Raindrops splatted down upon your leather-clad shoulders. The weather wasn't so bad, just gloomy and drizzling, the perfect setting for your current situation.

Staring at your old friend's gravestone.

Daniel Petersburg.

"I'm so sorry, Dan. I'm sorry that I wasn't there. I'm sorry I wasn't at your funeral."

I'm sorry that I can't remember you since the army.

You knew that it wasn't your fault. Not really. It wasn't your choice to get captured and tortured so much that you couldn't remember the last eleven years. Your mind was a dark cavern when you thought about those years.

"And I'm so fucking sorry that I haven't come to see you sooner."

"He forgives you." You looked over your shoulder, to see the person who spoke softly to you. Smiling easily at the red-head. "He was like your brother, of course, he forgives you. He wouldn't even want your apology."

"I know," you said, taking one last glance at his grave. Before you turned to face Natasha, "So, you're finally back then."

"Why? You miss me Y/L/N?" she asked, with a teasing smirk.

"Of course I did," you said sincerely, "I... I've remembered some things since you've been gone."

"Really? Like what?"

"Many things." You took a step closer to her. Gazing into her emerald green eyes, feeling like your soul was pouring into those iris'. And you couldn't find it in you to care. If, that be the case. She could have your soul. It was hers. It always has been, always will be. Just like your heart. "I remembered the team, how I did basically adopt Peter."

Natasha laughed shortly at that.

"But mostly. Mostly I remembered you."

"Me?" she asked, hopefully.

"Of course you. I remember our first kiss. The time we almost froze our asses off, when Tony accidentally locked us out of the tower. Almost all of our anniversaries. Our first Christmas, together. The dreaded fight of '15 that made us break up, for a few months. I remember how much I missed you during them... but none of that compares to how much I missed you when I was on that mission," you list off, enjoying Natasha's reactions as you did.

"You remember the mission?"

"Yes- Well, some of it. There's still so much of my life that I need to remember." You looked up into the dull sky, watching as the gloomy clouds slowly made their way from above you, revealing the calm blue sky in its wake. "There were maybe two years, where I remembered everything. Or almost everything."

You took a deep, calming breath, before continuing, "During those two years, they tried to brainwash me, but it didn't stick. They're persistent bastards I'll give you that. Throughout those two years, I remembered every day. The pain. The way that my mind felt like it was slowly melting. Like fucking ice cream. But the thing that made me hold on as long as I did- That made my mind hold on," you corrected, "Was you."

Natasha's eyes were swimming with tears as you spoke. A few threatening to spill overboard, with your last statement.

"Every day- Every fucking second, I thought of you. You were like my lifeline. I lived through every moment of our lives together. The good. The bad. All of it. Over and over again."

The grass underfoot squelched lightly as you took another step towards her. Now close enough that you could reach out slightly and take her hand in yours.

Which is exactly what you did.

"You kept me alive."

Your heart broke when Natasha sobbed out softly. Squeezing her hand in yours, as she wiped away her falling tears.

But still, she let you carry on. Sensing that you weren't finished yet.

"Now, as I said before, I don't remember everything. Hell, most of it's still dark. But, I do remember how you made me feel. How much I loved you." You took her other hand, and pulled her even closer to your body, barely a few inches between the two of you now. "I can't promise you that I'll remember everything any time soon. I can't promise that I'll ever remember everything. But if you'll have me. I'd like to be in love with you again. Like basically hitting the restart button, while I watch the memories of my life play along with it."

You both got a little chuckle out of your analogy.

"So, what do you say?"

"I think you're delusional if you thought I would ever say no," Natasha replied, wrapping her arms around your neck, and pulling you into your first kiss, for almost seven years.

Love flowed through your heart and soul, spreading into every crevice of your being.

With that kiss, you thought only one thing.

You were gonna marry that woman one day.

***

Permanent Tag List:

@imnotasuperhero, @veteranwerewolf95, @natasha-danvers, @marvelfansince08love, @higherfurther-romanova, @lesbian-x-blackwidow, @sestra-inestro

[1994sunflower]

really want to know the story of y/n and michael’s first “i love you” been thinking about it since the defending y/n blurb

this was such a cute request, thank you!

in which you say i love you for the first time

You thought you felt it first, the love. It would make sense, you were the type to get overly attached to someone overly quickly. And how could you not with Michael being the perfect gentleman with you. From the moment he’d made his interest in you clear, he was respectful, supportive and there for you. He made you feel comfortable even in situations that were so commonplace to him but foreign to you.

But you didn’t know what went through his mind when he met you. You didn’t understand that for him to even make you his girlfriend required a level of adoration and love that you hadn’t even considered.

The moment he looked at the small girl who didn’t flinch at the sight of him and didn’t seem to want him for anything but just a person to help and be right there alongside her, he felt different emotions swirling within him he didn’t full understand. Or know if he wanted to understand.

But he knew he didn’t want to let her go. He wasn’t really sure when the fascination he felt towards you when you patched him up on the first day you met turned into the tugging of his heart and stopping of his breath whenever he laid eyes on you. It was definitely before he asked you to be his girlfriend, something he never really expected to ever be doing. But your very being made his usual rules seem to bend and be made useless. Because how could he go about his regular life when you, sticking out so obviously from his usual crowd, were pulling him towards you like a magnet. It was like nothing he had ever felt before.

He kept wanting to see you again, to lay his hands on you, to see what it would be like to hold your small and shy body to his big and angry one. Because he didn’t feel angry when he was with you. He couldn’t be when the gentle smile you always gave him was like a ray of sunshine parting the dark clouds in his days. 

Your friendship wasn’t even enough. He wanted more. And he got that when you agreed to be his girlfriend. It was a moment Michael couldn’t forget and it was likely because he never thought it would happen. Because why would someone like you who had the world of possibilities in front of you choose him?

You were everything he wasn’t. Good, patient, kind, gentle, intelligent beyond your years. And he knew he would be taking something that was too good for him, that the universe likely never meant to be his for the taking. But he couldn’t imagine giving you up for someone else to swoop up. You were his.

He imagined it was something like love after having you for nearly half a year. All at once he felt happier, content, with you at his side. He felt his entire person becoming devoted to the little bubbly girl at his side and he couldn’t imagine doing anything but giving her all he could and being the best version of himself for her. He wanted to protect her from the world but taint her for himself.

It was almost wrong how erotic his thoughts of her were. How much he wanted to corrupt any trace of pureness and innocence that she seemed to exude from her very core until the world itself would be forced to accept that he had claimed her. And now no one else could have her.

Love wasn’t something he experienced much in his life. And maybe that was why he pushed thoughts of love out of his mind. Even when it was so obviously what it was. He was afraid of the weakness that came with it or maybe it was the fear that was buried in him that you didn’t feel the same way. He wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. But that fear itself was a weakness he wasn’t used to feeling. Michael didn’t feel worried about a girl’s emotions, at least he never had before you.

But everyday he tried to fight it, the more ridiculous it was to try to deny. And the worse he felt for it because you were the type of girl who deserved to be pampered with love everyday of her life, the kind that was likely used to it. But you weren’t getting that from him because of his own stupid insecurities.

He hoped his actions would be enough to show you how he felt, the love he refused to say out loud. He’d never said it before, even the thought of the words felt foreign on his tongue. Even though whenever you were beside him and looked at him with those beautiful brown eyes, he swore he felt them fighting against his lips. He knew he must look stoic next to your vibrancy and he hoped you didn’t feel discouraged by his hard shell that you had mostly already cracked - more than most people anyway. He didn’t want you to give up on him even though he was sure it felt as if he wasn’t as interested in you as you were in him due to his inability to say his feelings. Little by little, you’d learn to better read his real emotions. On the inside, he felt electrified, with every look, every touch, every word. If he could only let go of his comfort and tell you.

You might’ve felt the thumping of your heart, the butterflies in your tummy first. But he fell in love much quicker and harder than you ever suspected. More than anyone can suspect from a man as apathetic and cold as Michael.

But how could you tell your boyfriend how you felt about him when he was so intimidating? How could you begin to explain the strong sense of comfort he gave you that so few had been able to make you feel in your life. How could you tell him that you’d never quite felt so accepted and as if you belonged like you did in his presence and in his arms? When you had lived your life feeling as if you weren’t smart enough, weren’t working hard enough, he made you feel like you were the world. 

You were shy, so shy many boys in your life had wasted much of their time trying to get you to open up or because they knew you wouldn’t put out. But Michael, the man with a reputation that could only lead you to believe he would be worse, turned out to be the only one who cared enough about you to not pressure you or ask you to change for him to be the kind of girl he was used to. He appreciated you and loved how smart you were, how shy and innocent you were. And he took his time to get you to feel comfortable with him. He didn’t pressure you into anything, even respected when you told him you weren’t ready for sex when it was the one thing he seemed to be known for.

Too bad that shyness was the very thing that prevented you from telling him those three little words that echoed with each heart beat. You loved him. You were sure of it. And you’ve almost told it to him, too. But they were such heavy words. Especially to a man that was so much more experienced and didn’t seem the type to want such a serious relationship yet. Maybe he wasn’t ready yet, maybe he would laugh at you.

Your cheeks burned at the thought, you weren’t sure you would be able to take the embarrassment or hurt of it. He had already found a way into your heart and that left you in a position where you could very much get hurt if he rejected you. Even if your mind screamed at you that he wouldn’t be in a relationship with you, his only relationship anyone in college was concerned about you had heard, if he didn’t like you in the first place. That he had shown you in more ways than one his devotion to you and your relationship. But your heart still constricted at the thought of his cold eyes on you while you bared out your heart. It was too scary.

It was the words that were left unspoken between you but were so very loud that followed in your minds for weeks. They were still there when Michael stood waiting outside of your professors office for you to finish your office hours. It was all he was thinking, to just tell you. Tell you tonight. But how could he find the right time to say the words he had never even wanted to say to a girl before in his life?

When you opened the door, he extended his tattooed arm and hand out to you and felt an enthusiasm when you placed your small hand in his with a big smile on your face. He had a cold look on his face but his eyes held a look that showed the love he had for you, which he meant to still keep secret.

He noticed the way your professor looked at your small figure next to his with a worried expression. Michael couldn’t exactly blame him. His best student, in the arms of the man who held campus’ worse reputation with a body full of tattoos and outfit full of chains to prove it. But that didn’t stop him from glaring angrily at him before leading you away. It wasn’t the first time you had received those looks, it was hard not to with your differences, but the last thing he needed was for a nosy teacher trying to take you away, convince you to leave him, when he had just gotten you. He loved you too much for that.

You hadn’t even noticed.

With one of your hands enveloped in his, your brought your other to rest on his arm. “Mikey,” You said with a cute voice, stopping him before he took you off campus. “Do you want to go to the lighting of the lake?”

Each year for the winter months, the lake in the middle of your school would be decorated with Christmas lights all around its exterior and at night, it would light up and the lights, reflected on the lake’s surface, were said to be beautiful. You’d never experienced it first hand. You never had a reason to and used that time to catch up on studying. But now you had Michael and you felt a need to see something so pretty with the man that held your heart. And it was going to happen in just less than an hour.

Michael glanced down at you, “Not that many people go.”

You giggled nervously. You’d been dating for a while but still he intimidated you just slightly. “I know, but I thought it’d be nice to go with you.”

He’d gone one or twice and found himself being bored and leaving early. Granted, his missions on going very much centered on finding someone to leave with. But as he stared down at your excited face, he couldn’t deny you even if he wanted to. His heart thumped at the sight of you. He wanted to make you as happy as possible and if that meant going to the lake, he’d do it without question.

So he turned right back around and took you to the lake. There was already a large group of people there. Enough to have taken up all the seats. The lights hadn’t come on yet and so all you could see was the setting sun and the fact that you would have to stand near the trees. Which, with your short stature, guaranteed that it was not the prime place for your first lighting of the lake.

“Oh.” The disappointed sound left your lips without you thinking much of it. You were excited for the event but that dampened when you saw your options. But you didn’t say anything else, you were still happy enough just to be there with Michael.

But still that sound was enough for Michael’s heart to constrict, knowing you weren’t completely satisfied and he’d be damned before he let you have anything less than what you deserved. So he headed right into the concrete stairs where most people were seated. It was tightly packed except for the top stairs at the very corner where only a group of frat boys lounged around. But the size of the group was enough to block anyone else from sitting near them.

That didn’t stop Michael, though, who wrapped his arm around your shoulder and led you directly to them. It might’ve been confusion that prevented you from asking what he was doing. From telling him there was no room for you.

Michael remained silent until he reached them. Until the both of you stood right next to their group and they looked up at him. Even in the dimming light they could see who he was and exactly how icy his gaze was.

“Hey Michael!” They said, staring up at him nervously. Michael nodded in acknowledgement.

“Move.” You didn’t really think of Michael’s reputation much. Why would you when he was so different with you? But it was hard not to be reminded of it by the quickness all of them stood and willingly gave you their seats.

And so you were alone with Michael. Haven been given the best seats in the house it seemed because you had prime view of all of what would be, in a few minutes, illuminated. While a big part of you felt bad the boys had felt the need to give up their seats, the fact that you were now in a comfortable place with Michael and a place that gave you enough privacy, you couldn’t really feel much of anything except content.

With Michael’s protective arm around you, you rested your head against his shoulder as you stared waiting for the lights to come on. It was cold and part of you was tired from a hard day of classes but as you felt yourself in Michael’s embrace, you only felt the now familiar constriction of your heart and hitching of your breath. You loved him.

You felt it even as the lights finally turned on and shone brightly in the darkness of the night. And it was beautiful. Even Michael could admit that. The way the strings of fairy lights reflected on the lake’s surface made it almost seem like a scene from a movie. But he wasn’t watching the show; it definitely felt like a movie, with you in his arms staring in awe with wide eyes, the lights reflected in your eyes and against your face. Somehow, it made you seem even prettier. And he loved you.

And maybe it was the way the dim lights gave him just a bit more courage than before, he was always best in the dark. Or maybe it was the way even surrounded by so many people, it still felt like you two were in your own little world, separated from the rest at the very top of the stone steps. But his hands clenched and he sat just a bit straighter.

He wasn’t a romantic guy. It wasn’t in his blood and he had always been fine with it. But you deserved the dopey romantic mush he had always scorned. Even if you never asked for it, he resented himself just slightly for not being able to give that to you.

But here was his chance. This was the most romantic event he would ever be a part of and he could finally tell you in a way you would never forget, a way that would definitely leave you entranced and feeling all the bit loved that you were. Maybe he couldn’t give you much, but he could give you this. He could sacrifice his pride and comfort for this.

His forehead moved to your temple, pulling your attention back to him. “Baby.” He murmured softly just for you to hear. Even if others were close enough to hear, or cared enough to listen, he wouldn’t hesitate to let you and everyone else who cared know who had his heart.

You hummed and turned to him. Your faces were so close, noses just barely touching, letting him see just how deep your blush ran even in the dark, how sparkling your brown eyes were in the light. How beautiful you were and how much he loved you. It was stupid of him to ever try to deny it.

“I love you.” Even with all the confidence he usually had, his words were just barely above a whisper. It was the first time he had said it to a girl and while he decided a long time ago he had no doubts about how he felt about you, it was still a moment of vulnerability and a sense of power over him that he wasn’t used to giving to someone. Especially in a public place.

He heard your breath hitch, the way your eyes widened just a fraction as you stared at him. You weren’t expecting that. How could you when your boyfriend was very clearly not the type of man who anyone would expect to be so candid about his feelings? You were the one who would be expected to say their feelings first. You were the one who was planning on saying it first, eventually. The one who had been worrying about whether or not he would feel the same way.

But you had nothing to worry about. It was clear now as you searched his expression and found nothing but genuine love and just a hint of nervousness. He was nervous to tell you. You felt as if you could melt.

He was your first boyfriend, you first love and you couldn’t possibly feel more loved than you did in that moment. Better yet in that place that was filled with so much beauty of the lights and excitement for the season. Knowing that he was not the type of guy to usually be in that situation but he had done so for you, he had done something just cheesy enough to be out of his usual comfort zone, for you. He was ready and wanted a serious relationship - with you. It was perfect. He was perfect.

How had you gotten so lucky? How had you gotten a man who not only loved you, but made you feel as if all your previous worries had been so silly because it was so obvious you had nothing to worry about with him. A man who chose the perfect time and place to let himself be vulnerable with you and only you. You felt special. You felt wanted.

Maybe that was why you were speechless and resorted just in leaning in and placing a soft, happy kiss on his soft lips. It was short, just enough to give you time for your brain to begin fully functioning again.

It was just enough for, when you pulled away for you to smile that bubbly smile you couldn’t help but have on your face. It was hard to control the happiness you felt in that moment. “I-I love you, too.”

Your words were soft spoken and your tone was cutely high. It was all you could do not to throw your arms around him and cry from all the endless nights of yearning to confess your love but being uselessly too shy and intimidated to do so.

Michael, too, almost sighed out loud in his relief. It wasn’t that he was nervous you would reject him but his leap of faith had landed perfectly. And best of all, he felt like he had you now more than every. You loved him despite every prediction otherwise. This sweet girl in his arms loved him despite his hard shell, despite the warnings against him. And he never felt luckier. He definitely didn’t feel like he deserved it. But the universe itself couldn’t take you from him now.

He wanted to say it again, repeat it until everyone could hear and revel in the way you said it back to him. So he did.

“I love you so much, baby girl.” His hand found the back of your neck and brought your lips back to his in a heated kiss.

[ghostgothgeek]

Blush. Chapter 7

Hello! Finally another update!

Rated M for language and actual sex ed talk.

FFN || AO3

---

“Hey guys,” Sam smiled warmly at her two friends as she shut her locker. “How’s it going on your end?” 

Danny didn’t look directly at her, but muttered a “hey”. 

Tucker snickered next to him. “Oh, I think Danny is having the time of his life!” Danny elbowed him in the ribs, “Ow! Hey, I even used a life or death pun for you!” 

“That bad, huh?” Sam laughed. “Can’t say I’m doing any better though. By the way, Danny, I’m going to have to...warn you about a few things. Your secret is still safe, but there’s still going to be gossip about you. Both of your halves.” Sam shut her brain down before she went back to that fantasy. “Sorry, I really tried. The girls at this school are indubitably so fucking stupid, they wouldn’t know what the actual truth is, even if it bit them on the nose. Honestly, how they even made it to twelfth grade is beyond me.” 

Tucker noticed Sam getting all worked up and frowned. “Hey, the day’s almost over though!”

“Huh? Wait, what do you mean gossip?” Danny finally looked up at her. 

“Ugh, Paulina has some twisted thoughts.” Sam rubbed the sides of her head as she tried to calm down. “She’s been the biggest pain in the ass all day. Just be prepared for any gossip that Phantom flies commando, and know that I tried to stop it.” 

Danny’s eyes went wide, “why would they-?” 

Tucker busted out laughing, “You HAVE to tell me how that happened!” 

“Ugh guys, please not now.” She grabbed each of their shirts and pulled them towards the cafeteria. 

“Man, I wish I had my PDA! I hate being out of the loop!” Tucker complained. 

Sam unpeeled her banana, trying to ignore any innuendos and return to normalcy, as she listened to Tucker’s bellyaching. She took a large bite as her stomach growled. If Skulker hadn’t shown up on the way to school, she probably would have been able to actually grab some breakfast before this whole ordeal. Sure, she had a salad waiting for her, but that wasn’t going to cut it today. 

“Damn, look at Manson deep throating that banana like a pro!” Dash quirked. Danny snapped his head to look over at Sam. Oh god. Woah...wait NO!

Without missing a beat, Sam chucked her half eaten banana at Dash, hitting him directly in the face. She smiled proudly as Tucker chuckled next to her. 

“Nice shot, Sam!” Tucker held his hand out for a high five, which Sam returned. Dash made an attempt to take a jab at her, but Kwan stopped him. Kwan had to protect both of his “best friends”, after all. 

Danny was silent, unable to comprehend his enjoyment of Dash’s misery at Sam’s behalf. That’s my girl, he had thought. Ugh, why? Why did he keep coming back to this? Sam is just a friend. Dash’s dumbass comment just stirred the pot even more. Now Danny had a new fantasy about his best friend to worry about. He looked over at Sam again and blushed before quickly looking away. With the amount of times he’s blushed today, he didn’t think it was possible anymore. And what is she talking about with all these rumors?

Tucker nudged Danny with his elbow and raised an eyebrow at him as Sam caught up with Valerie and raced for the salad bar. “You okay? I thought you’d always dreamt of Sam hitting Dash in the face.” Tucker laughed to himself. “I know I certainly have.” 

“Not the only dream of Sam I have…” Danny muttered to himself. 

“What?” Tucker looked at his friend again.

“What?” Danny looked back at him confused, grabbing a tray after Tucker. 

“What was that now?” Tucker smirked as he grabbed two burgers. Terrific, Tucker had heard him after all. 

“Nothing,” Danny said sternly before grabbing some mac n cheese. 

“Uh huh.” Tucker’s smirk grew as he piled more food onto his plate. 

“It’s nothing!” Danny insisted as he grabbed the rest of his food and followed Tucker to their table.

“Alright, alright. Calm down dude.” Tucker sat down and immediately took a bite of one of his burgers. 

“Sorry,” Danny sighed. “Between dumbass number one and dumbass number two over there,” he pointed towards Elliot and Dash, “I’m not thinking straight.” 

Tucker nodded and swallowed as Danny took a sip of his drink. Tucker looked over at Sam, pursed his lips, then paused for a moment before saying, “you know, Sam is actually pretty hot, now that I think about it.” 

Danny spit his drink out across the table and started coughing. “What?!” 

“Oh relax, I’m not gonna steal your girlfriend or anything,” Tucker rolled his eyes as Danny muttered some “she’s not my girlfriend” line. “I’m just saying. I mean, she’s super cool and fun to hang with, she looked great at the freshman dance, and she already has made mini skirt Friday an everyday kind of deal! Like if she just lost the tights or whatever, holy smokes. And like, dude, she has boobs. BOOBS. We’ve been so close this entire time!”

Danny caught his breath and scoffed at Tucker before realizing he kind of had a point. If Danny had learned anything that day, it was that he definitely had conflicting feelings about Sam. It wouldn’t surprise him if other guys started noticing her more as well. Actually, they had, if you counted dumbass number one and dumbass number two.

Danny forced out a small laugh, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I mean, I kinda…” He trailed off before getting a nod of encouragement from Tucker, silently letting it be known that this conversation was strictly between them and would most likely never be repeated again. “I mean, she’s Sam and she’s so pretty and smart and cool and she hangs out with us, like what the hell? And I ran into her in the hallway earlier after dealing with Johnny 13, and I was bleeding and stuff and her boobs were like, right there in my face while she was trying to help me and with all this dumb sex talk, I had to run to the bathroom before anything happened or became noticeable. I’ve been embarrassed more than enough for one day.” 

Tucker let out a loud laugh and slapped Danny on the back. “Damn, dude. I didn’t think you’d ever admit anything.” Danny’s hand immediately went to rub the back of his neck and his face turned crimson for the millionth time that day. “So you ran into Sam, huh?” Tucker wagged his eyebrows suggestively and laughed again when Danny threw a fry at his face. “Don’t worry, dude. I still respect the bro code. I won’t say a word. But like, excusing the fact that she’s like a sister to me for a second, what were they like?” 

Danny opened his mouth as he thought of something to say, before jerking forward after Dash slapped him on the back (hard) and took a seat next to him. “You’re talking about Manson, right? She is pretty hot. You’re a lucky man, Fenton.” 

Was Dash actually...being nice to him? Because he thought that he and Sam were actually...doing things together. What the fuck was happening today? 

“What’s she like? Really?” Dash stole one of Danny’s fries. 

“She’s definitely feisty, that’s for sure.” Elliot smirked as he sat across from Danny. This asshole again?! 

Danny made tight fists under the table. “Shut the fuck up and leave Sam alone! You guys dated for like a week! That’s nothing!” 

“It was enough to cover all of the bases, if you know what I mean. And I’m pretty sure you know what I mean.” Elliot smirked while holding up his phone with the picture on it and leaned back in the chair, nearly falling over as Danny stood quickly from the table, shaking it in the process. He was ready to pounce. 

“Shut. The fuck. Up,” Danny growled as he got all up in Elliot’s face. Elliot accepted the challenge. 

“No, I don’t think I will. But what I do think will happen is me and Sam again.” 

Dash raised an eyebrow at the two boys arguing, “What’s with this? Is Manson like, secretly a sex goddess or something? Maybe I’ll hop on that too.” 

Danny’s eyes flashed green for a brief second before almost being knocked over by Tucker, who shoved him out of the way.

“You have a phone?! How did you sneak that in? Can I please have it for five minutes? Please?!” Tucker made a grab for the phone as Elliot held it behind him. 

“Depends. What kind of dirt do you have on Danny and Sam?”

“Oh man, where do I start?”

“TUCKER!” Danny glared at his friend, not believing he was actually considering this. 

“Oh man, this I gotta hear.” Dash leaned in for a better listen. 

“Okay, one timeback in middle school, Danny-” Tucker’s sentence was muffled as Danny slapped his hand over Tucker’s mouth.

“Shut the fuck up!” Danny hissed. 

“Oh no, please go on,” Elliot smirked as he waved his phone in the air, “You may just buy yourself 2 minutes.” He tried removing Danny’s hand from Tucker’s mouth.

“Get lost, Elliot.” Danny stood from the table and stared him down again. “Tucker isn’t that desperate.” 

“Eh, I think he is,” Dash chimed in. “Foley looks like he’s about to shit a brick.” All three boys looked at Dash, just now remembering he was there. 

Across the cafeteria, Sam raised an eyebrow at the crowd around their usual table and looked back at Valerie. “Thanks again for having my back in there. I really owe you one.” 

“Nonsense. If anything, take it as repayment for how much you guys have saved my ass from ghosts. And for me trying to kill your boyfriend.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend, but thanks.” Sam grabbed a tomato from her salad bowl and popped it in her mouth. “Hey Val, do you want to sit with us?” 

Valerie grinned, “Love to, thanks. And he’s not your boyfriend yet. I’ll help get you there.” 

Sam laughed. “Okay, sure. We really should hang out more, you know. I need a boost of estrogen every once in a while.” 

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Valerie stopped in place for a moment, staring at the guys at their table. Sam followed where Valerie was looking and ran closer to her friends. 

“What the fuck is going on?!” Sam yelled as they approached the group of guys who were trying to tackle each other across the table. Danny and Elliot were staring each other down as Elliot held his phone as far back behind him as he could while Tucker, half on top of the table, reached for it. Dash was actually the most civil at the table. They all paused and fell silent as she spoke up. All four of them were staring at her with a weird expression on their faces. “What?” She questioned cautiously, suddenly feeling a bit self conscious. Valerie snickered to herself, taking a wild guess as to what (or who) the boys had been arguing about.

“Uh, nothing.” Danny forced Tucker back into his chair and sat back down next to him. “They were just leaving.” He glared at Elliot.

When the faux goth and the jock refused to move, Sam slammed her tray down on the table. “Get the fuck out of here before I start kicking people. I have my good boots on today.” 

Elliot was the first to make a move to leave. “Told ya, feisty.” 

Dash stood as well as he looked Sam up and down. Actually not that bad. Fortunately, Sam missed that, but Danny hadn’t. He was practically seeing red as Dash returned to his own table. 

“We’ll talk after lunch!” Tucker whispered to Elliot as he passed by on the way back to the other end of the cafeteria. 

“What was that all about?” Sam sat down and stabbed her salad with her fork before taking a bite. 

“Elliot and Dash are being shitheads and pushing all of Danny’s buttons today,” Tucker announced as he started his second burger.

“Do I wanna know?” 

“No.” Danny picked at his food, shutting down that conversation.

Valerie sat down next to Sam and across from Tucker. Noticing his fidgeting, she smirked, “Must be a tough day for you, huh? No technology of any sort?” 

Tucker groaned, “It’s killing me! It may actually kill me!” 

“Stop being so dramatic, it’s only been a few hours and we’re almost done,” Sam pointed her fork towards Tucker, “You wouldn’t believe all the shit I’ve had to go through today.” 

Danny looked up at her, “What happened? Are you okay? Did anyone say anything to you?” He glanced over towards the A Listers’ table, where everyone was passing around Elliot’s stupid phone and making crude noises and gestures towards Danny when they noticed him staring. He flushed again. 

“Chill, I’m fine. I’m just apparently the school’s gossip victim for the day.” 

“Yeah, Paulina has been pretty ruthless today,” Valerie pointed out as she started her lunch. 

“Fuck!” Sam groaned, which gave a certain part of Danny’s anatomy some life again. “I got salad dressing all over my leggings.” She started unlacing her boots. 

“W-what are you doing?” Danny squeaked.

“Taking them off. I don’t want to smell like vinaigrette for the rest of the day,” she started peeling off her leggings and with a brief hand from Valerie, she crumbled them into a ball and tossed them into her backpack before she started lacing up her boots again, careful not to lift her legs too high for anyone to accidentally see anything. 

Tucker’s eyes widened slightly, as if his conversation with Danny earlier had somehow summoned this to occur. He looked at Danny and raised an eyebrow as if proving his point. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Danny warned lowly. 

Valerie hid her smirk behind her hand as Danny gripped the table. Danny and Sam were both smitten with each other and both so, so oblivious to the other person’s feelings. 

“Anyway, uh...yeah, you’re probably going to hear some gossip, just please know it’s not my fault.” Sam sighed and took another bite of her salad. “Honestly, how I have gone almost 4 years without seriously injuring Paulina is beyond me.” 

“I’ll admit, I’m a little shocked too. But you definitely wanted to deck her after she said you were cheating on Fenton with Phantom,” Valerie chuckled as Sam whipped her head towards her and sent her a menacing glare. Valerie just shrugged, knowing damn well what she was doing. Danny and Sam just needed a little nudge, and she was gonna give it to them.  

“Oh my god, WHAT?!” Tucker burst out laughing, some of his soda coming out of his nose in the process. Gross. 

Danny’s head snapped up as a light pink blush dusted his cheeks. “Uh, w-what? Paulina thinks...you and I...and you and Phantom?” 

Sam groaned as she set her empty tupperware container back into her backpack. “Yes, Princess Shit-For-Brains thinks I’m intimate with both sides of you.” 

“At the same time?” Danny asked.

“Oh I don’t need to hear this!” Tucker covered his ears.

Sam kept her head down, hair covering her face, as she blushed a deep dark red. “I tried to stop it, I swear.” 

“Suuuureeee you did. I bet you hated that implication,” Tucker smirked. 

Sam managed to whack him in the back of the head from across the table, nearly giving Danny another pleasantly unfortunate view once again. 

“Hey! When I said I wished girls would hit on me, this is not what I meant!” Tucker rubbed the back of his head and readjusted his beret. 

Sam smirked. “Be careful what you wish for. Desiree can pop up at any moment.” Tucker’s eyes widened.

“Desiree?” Valerie whispered. 

“Genie ghost. Gotta be super careful around her,” Sam replied. Valerie nodded. 

“I...uh, okay...well, thanks? For...trying to stop it?” Danny said uncertainly. He had noticed in the past that when he was Phantom, his emotions definitely were stronger and he had always felt more overprotective of Sam. As Phantom, he almost seemed to have less control over his emotions. 

“No problem,” Sam muttered quietly.

“Okay, but can you please explain the “Phantom goes commando” thing?” Tucker leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table.

Danny hiccuped, and to his relief, it was his ghost sense. Oh thank god. He stood up, receiving a few looks from the other tables.

“I gotta run, I need to...basically die of embarrassment elsewhere,” Danny said slowly. Nobody seemed to think much of the phrasing. Though Tucker and Sam both immediately caught on.

“I’ll come help you not die,” Sam replied. Anything to get out of this situation. She elbowed Tucker before standing as well. “Come on, we need to help Danny not die.” Tucker waved her off, as Valerie finally understood what was happening. 

“You two lovebirds go on ahead,” he told them, “they’ve got this,” he whispered to Valerie. Danny narrowed his eyes at him.

“Don’t go around telling a bunch of our secrets,” Danny spoke with an underlying threatening tone. Tucker nodded.

“Of course. But you are losing your fries,” he informed him, and the teen helped himself to the remaining fries on Danny’s plate. Danny accepted this, and he motioned for Sam to follow him. “Also…” Tucker threw a condom at Danny. Danny shot him a look and let the condom bounce off of his chest and land on the floor. Sam hastily grabbed her backpack, and they both fast-walked out of the cafeteria, earning several stares and eyebrow wags. 

Danny groaned, “Ugh, fuck me!” He was sick of this.

“Damn, well now we know who initiates it. Never pictured Fenton to be the dominant one,” Dash laughed. Danny growled and began to turn around before Sam pushed him forward and out of the cafeteria. 

“Not now. We probably have Kitty and I assume Johnny to worry about right now.” Once out of the cafeteria, Sam pulled out her wrist ray and put it on. She searched for her pocket knife in her boot, pulling out the Ecto Lipstick Laser by accident. “Ahh!” She dropped it as if it had been on fire and watched it roll down the hallway. Danny raised an eyebrow at her. “Nothing!” She quickly replied as she ran forward to grab the weapon and put it back in her boot. “It’s just the Ecto Lipstick! I swear!” She said a little too loudly. God damn the Fentons for making their inventions look like vibrators. God damn Planned Parenthood for pointing that out in the first place.

“I know?” Danny raised an eyebrow at her as they rounded a corner. “Let’s just get rid of Johnny and Kitty and hope that takes up the rest of the day.” 

“Oh, there you two are!” Speak of the fucking devils.

Danny flinched as he turned to see the ghostly pair that had been harassing them both all day. Kitty and Johnny stood together, both grinning excitedly.

“Can’t you guys just go fuck around with each other and stop fucking around with us?” Danny complained. Kitty gave a small scowl.

“We’re trying to help,” Kitty insisted. “I know Johnny already talked to you, but I’m pretty sure he left out some important stuff, like make sure you wash your hands. Clip and file your nails so that they’re not sharp or super long, make sure your hands aren’t freezing. Foreplay is very important.”

Danny wanted to die. He glanced at Sam, who seemed to mirror his emotions. Her face was red, and she wasn’t even looking at the pair, instead digging through her backpack. Likely in search of the Fenton Thermos. 

Johnny gave an amused scoff, and he waved his hand. “Nah, it’s not that important,” he replied. Kitty shot him a look that could re-kill Pariah Dark himself. Johnny instantly seemed to realize his mistake.

“Yes. It. Is,” she spoke through gritted teeth.

“I mean, we could overshadow you to show you how it’s done if you want,” Johnny suggested. 

Danny and Sam both froze, eyes wide, and turned a brilliant shade of red before spitting out objections.

“NO! Nope! Not necessary!” Danny yelled as he covered his eyes, thinking that would somehow block the mental images in his head. “I can’t...Sam...ughhh. No, gross.”

“Well don’t seem too excited now,” Sam spat sarcastically, rolling her eyes in the process.

“N-no! It’s not that I wouldn’t want...I mean you’re pretty and...I like...I mean, you...what do I mean?” Danny groaned and dragged his hands down his face.

“Oh, dude,” Johnny shook his head, “don’t go there unless you want to be sleeping on the couch.” 

“But I-” Danny started until Sam slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Chill out, Romeo. Now is not the time to remove your foot from your mouth.” She removed her hand before Danny licked it. That was something Danny and Tucker did. Ugh, boys.

“Nice touch ditching the tights though. You definitely had boys’ heads turning...even a few girls’.” Kitty tried to get them back on track.

“Uh, what?” Sam looked down at her legs. 

“Yeah, even that big blonde sporty kid was saying some pretty graphic things about you,” Johnny added.

“WHAT?!” Danny snapped his head back towards the cafeteria. 

“Oh that hit a nerve! Jealousy works, you know. That’s how I keep bringing Kitten back to me,” Johnny grinned.

Kitty rolled her eyes, “Yes, that is exactly what happens.” Her sarcasm was almost as good as Sam’s.

Danny completely ignored the ghosts bickering, focusing his attention on Sam. “Did you hear that? DASH was talking about you like that! I’m gonna kill him…” He trailed off as he made a fist and looked back towards the cafeteria. 

“Danny, chill. It’s not a big deal. Dash isn’t into me because I spilled salad dressing on my tights,” Sam rolled her eyes and set her hand on Danny’s shoulder to bring him back down to Earth. 

Danny swapped his attention back to her. “Uh, no...look, I mean, you’re very attractive and you’re only wearing a crop top and a mini skirt, it’s an easy step away from imagining you naked.” Sam raised an eyebrow as she put a hand on her hip. “N-not that I am imagining that, and not that I wouldn’t want to! I mean of course I’d want to, it’s just - you’re just….I’m going to stop talking now.” He glanced down at the floor and hoped he could somehow dig himself out of this pit that he just kept digging deeper for himself.

Sam pressed her lips together, both amused and flattered with only a hint of embarrassment, “You think I’m very attractive?” 

“And he wants to see you naked,” Johnny added. 

Danny’s eyes widened before he snatched the thermos from Sam’s hand, his face burning. “Alright that’s enough of you two!” He promptly sucked them into the thermos, spitefully shaking it a bit before putting it into his locker. “They can sit there the whole weekend for all I care.” 

“Do you though? Think I’m attractive?” Sam asked shyly. “I feel like you and Tucker just see me as one of the boys and that’s how everyone sees me. I’m not cute like Paulina and Star.” She saw the panicky look on his face and smiled a bit, “I’m not going to hurt you if you answer this one. You have a free pass.” 

Danny looked like he was having an internal debate in his head about whether or not she was telling the truth about letting him off the hook, but when he looked into her eyes, he knew she really wanted an answer. He never would have guessed that Sam was a bit insecure. He gulped before rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh…” Was he really about to admit this? Out loud? To himself? To her?! He couldn’t help it, she was giving him a free pass. He started at her pale legs and trailed his eyes up her body to her perfect hips, pausing at her breasts for a few half seconds longer than he probably should have, and finally setting on her face. “Yes,” he choked out, his voice husky, “very much so.” 

Sam relaxed a bit at his answer, feeling relieved. She smiled softly as she approved of his answer, and then that smile became quite sinister. “And you want to see me naked?” 

Danny was a deer in the headlights, opening his mouth to speak before deciding against it. He couldn’t tell if this was still part of the free pass or if she was just fucking with him now. He was mostly sure it was the latter. He grabbed her hand and yanked her down the hallway towards the classroom. “Yeah okay, don’t wanna be late for that sex ed class!” 

Sam laughed heartily as he hastily fast walked them from one personal hell to another. 

[turbulentt]

Obey, Princess

genre: smut | minghao!werewolf x fem!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: explicit content, dominance, rough sex, unprotected sex

summary:  worriedly, you decide to look for your brother’s best friend. only to find him lost in the middle of his whines fighting a heat.

It was a gloomy Friday and the class never seemed so boring. Maybe it was because the art teacher decided to wear its not-so-friendly face, or due to the fact that Minghao wasn't there to make fun of it.

Never in your school nor university life, you witnessed Minghao miss class. Everyone found his love for learning obsessive, but you thought there was a great charm to it. Not even sick the boy missed one day of school. Only when he was so bad he had to go to the hospital, but even like that he would always tell Mingyu so he could warn the teachers. 

"Gyu," you called your brother gently "did Hao say something?"

"He... hm..." you saw your brother tense up at your sudden question and you could sense that he knew what was happening but he didn't want to tell you. "Well, I think he got a cold and can't really leave the apartment." you just hummed at his response, fully aware that it was a lie.

You just kept quiet the rest of the classes. You knew Minghao wouldn't just miss university because of some cold. Something was wrong and you were going to check it yourself.

All morning classes had ended and quickly you made your way over to Minghao's apartment. As you arrived there you could see that his bedroom blinds were partly closed. Another odd thing. Minghao loves to let his blinds fully open so the sun can roam through his place.

"'Morning miss, may I help you?" an old lady approaches you and you recognize her to be one of Minghao's neighbors. "Good morning ma'am." you smiled kindly "I'm a friend of one of your neighbors, Xu Minghao. He didn't appear in class today so I'm here to check on him."

"Oh, of course! Come with me." the old lady entered the building with you following right behind "Thank God you're here. I've been hearing screams coming from his apartment all morning." your concern grew bigger hearing that sentence "When I went to check on him he was really brief, telling it was only a really bad back pain.".

The old lady opened the door for you and you quietly thanked her. The apartment had a strong scent, like... dog? Since when did Minghao have a dog? And why was everything so quiet? 

"Minghao," you called his name hoping for a response, but nothing. "Minghao, where ar-" you were cut of by a loud groan coming from the boy’s room. It seemed like a painful groan, mixed with anger.

Similar to a hurricane, you burst into his room only to stay petrified by the door. What kind of kinky situation did you get yourself into? There he was: sitting on the ground, sweating as if he had been running for hours non stop, loud groans and whimpers coming out of his mouth and hands cuffed to his bed with chains. "What the fuck is going on?" was the only thing you could say at that moment. "Y/N.. Get out." he hissed without even looking at you. 

Finally moving, you headed to him to uncuff his hands. "I don't know what kind of sick prank is this, but you and Mingyu can stop now," you said and Minghao tried his best to keep you away. "Don't you dare uncuff me." he gazed at you with angry eyes right before letting out a whimper. "Or what?" you dared to free his hands fully from the chains. 

"Or I will rip you apart with my cock." 

He roughly pushed you to the floor and you hit your back on the hardwood, letting out a low painful moan. His glowing eyes looking straight into yours, making you tremble with fear. Minghao is a werewolf? How was he able to keep that hidden from everyone? Your head was spinning fast and having your brother's hot best friend whimpering on top of you wasn't helping. "Please," this wasn't a plea, it was an order "Tie me up again before I do something you'll regret." 

You nodded fearfully and chained him up to the bed again. A sigh of relief came out of you and you glanced at the boy before you. "I'm gonna get some wet towels." he completely ignored you and kept on his quest of trying to stay calm and don't respond to his needs. 

You came back to the room with some wet towels and a bottle of water. "Here." you lightly touched his neck with the towel making him moan at the feeling. You were too embarrassed to even look at him if you did he would know how turned on you are by that scenario.

"You're on a heat?" you asked, but the answer was quite obvious. He nodded in response and groaned "It hurts so fucking much, and you're making things even worse."

"Me? Why?" you were confused by his accusation. "Because your smell is fucking delicious and it makes me wanna fuck you really badly." you've never seen Minghao like that, so direct and harsh. Normally he would just joke around, but still, be a gentleman most of the time. Now you were seeing a side of him that made you wet your own underwear. 

"I'm not going to leave you alone," you stated while giving him some water to drink "I'll be in the living room.". Not waiting for a response you just left his room heading towards the living room and sitting on the sofa. 

"What am I going to do?" you whispered to yourself resting your forehead on your hand. The whole wolf situation wasn't that shooking, you knew many of them. The real problem was that heat and how fucking hot Minghao's angry groans sounded. 

Not even ten minutes after, you heard a loud metallic sound followed by a scream of pain. You rushed to the room again only to find Minghao tangled on the chains. "Fuck," he moaned "the.. the chain fell.. on my dick, take... take it off." he managed to say between groans and you did as asked. 

"Do you need me to take your pants off?" 

Your sentence made him turn his head to you almost instantaneously and a quick smirk could be seen on his lips. "Yes, please.", different from before he now seemed inoffensive almost like a little child asking for candy, obviously he had something in mind. 

You slowly opened his zipper, trying hard not to notice his hard bulge marked by the boxers' fabric. "Quicker, princess.." the nickname flew naturally out of his mouth and you blushed aggressively while quickly undressing him.

"Now I'll go back-" 

"No," he said firmly "Stay here with me.". You were reluctant "Didn't you just say that my smell makes you wanna fuck me?" he chuckled at your response but quickly changed his expression to a more serious one. "Don't talk back at me. Just do as I say, Y/N." 

His dominance made you shiver and you just sat by his side not too far but also not to close. The werewolf smiled cocky and leaned into your neck "Your smell is really good.." his nose tickled your neck and you let out a small sigh "and you're so warm." 

When you noticed, Minghao was grinding on the air in search of some contact and planting wet kisses on your neck which made you have a hard time hiding your sexual desires. "You love... my touches don't you?" you could feel his cocky smile on your neck "Answer me, princess." 

You loved how only the things he said made you feel, and that fucking nickname, it made you lose your mind. "Yes, I do." you managed to say while he left small bites across your neck. 

"Then untie me," Minghao ordered huskily and you almost answer to his command but retracted before getting to his hands. "I know you want this as much as I do. Untie me, Y/N. Let me fuck you. I've been waiting for so long." his words caused your whole body to heat up and you felt like you were about to cum just by listening to his harsh and low voice. 

Feeling defeated and extra horny you unchained the boy next to you, who didn't even waste a minute. The werewolf picked you up roughly and slammed you to the wall "I want to hear you begging.". His hands held you by your ass gripping it tightly just how you liked it and it only took one loud moan of yours to throw Minghao over the edge. 

"Please, Hao." you closed your eyes tightly feeling his hard cock rubbing against your pussy. "Please what?" he teased, grinding on you as much as he could. "Fuck me, oh God. Fuck me hard, Minghao."

"I'm going to do it far beyond hard and you’re going to take it," he stated panting "like the slut you are."

Oh and how it felt good to be called a slut by Minghao, to be thrown to the bed and undressed by his desperate hands. Everything was so erotic and arousing it made you moan just by feeling a simple touch. "You're so sensitive." he held himself on top of you with both hands on the sides of your head "That makes me want to fuck you even harder."

You moaned loudly at the feeling of his wet lips on your breasts while rubbing his needy clothed cock on your pussy. He could feel how wet you were and it wrecked his mind. "Suck me, princess." he whispered on your hear "Then i get to tear you apart, as I promised." 

Still laying on the bed you opened your mouth and welcomed his hard dick inside your warm mouth. "Oh fuck... fuck... fuck, Y/N..." he groans as his tip touches your throat, not giving you the chance to move he did all the movements, hungrily fucking your mouth. 

"You take it so well, princess..." 

As Minghao left your mouth you took the chance to suck only his tip, making his legs weaken and low moans escape his mouth. "I want to cum inside you." he breathes heavily moving his shaft away from you and kissing you passionately for the first time since you arrived. And, even though being a rough, needy, and desperate kiss, it was the best one you've ever had. 

Minghao took all the dominance and quickly deepened the kiss making you whimper. His lips tasted like wine, so addictive and seductive, and his warm tongue made you want to cum just by touching yours. 

"On all fours." he commanded and you took a minute to steady your breaths "Now!". Like a tamed kitten you did as told and before looking back at the chinese boy you felt a hard slap on one of your ass cheeks "Good girl." 

From one of his drawers, he took a condom and some lube. Just with the vision of your body displayed only for him he felt his cock harden even more, making his heat pain return and his urge to fuck something get bigger and bigger by the second. 

Quickly placing the condom and pumping his own dick with the lube, Minghao made his way closer to you and grabbed your waist viciously most probably bruising it. "Hao... please," you whined rubbing yourself on his dick indicating how much you needed it. 

"Scream loudly for me, princess. Will you?" he whispers while sliding into you, in the most torturous way possible. Your moans felt like knives tearing up your throat. When fully inside you Minghao tried pushing himself even further groaning like a wild animal at the feel of your walls clenching around him.

"So tight.." he starts moving slowly and as you thought he lost all his strengths, Minghao slides off of you only to slam in hard and aggressively into you again. And there it was, the power that made you scream. Between his low groans, you could hear a few chuckles, he loved how you screamed for him.

Hungrily he rammed into you making the sound of his balls hitting your core fill the room. It was like being eaten by a lion, a powerful and sexually frustrated one. "You feel so good, princess." he pulled your hair making your back hit his chest "Such a good little slut."

You pushed yourself into his cock eagerly, urging to feel him more and more. "I'm... I'm going to-" you were interrupted by the sudden emptiness inside you. "You only cum when I tell you to." he spins you around making you lay down again and hops on top of you "Understood?"

You nodded repeatedly and he only let out a low tsc. Longing to fill you up again, Minghao slammed himself inside of you again and didn't wait to start his hard movements. The way only he knew how to. "Don't be disrespectful," he wrapped his hand around your neck, not griping hard nor letting it too loose "use words."

"Understood," you answer in a moan. Minghao was actually ripping you apart and you somehow felt like his roughness would end up breaking you. It sounded like a good plan, honestly. "Good girl." he praised before kissing your lips muffling your loud moans.

His kisses seemed to last eternities. Making you see stars with that many pleasure being transferred through your bodies. You break apart from the kiss to scream as Minghao hits your sweet spot. "Oh God... please let me cum, Hao," you whined making him chuckle.

"You can cum, princess," he says sweetly countering his aggressive hip movements. With his words it only took you a few moments to release, clenching your walls tightly around his cock stimulating him to cum inside the condom too. "Fucking hell." he groaned as he was exiting you "Look what you've done to me, Y/N." 

You couldn't even look at his eyes without blushing. Noticing your shyness Minghao chuckled and cuddled your hair "You're shy now? You didn't seem too shy when you were moaning my name like crazy and enjoying when I called you slut." 

"Shut up, Minghao." you smiled getting up from the bed but his strong arms threw you back to it. "Do you think I'm done? Not even close to it, princess. You're 'gonna regret telling me to shut up."

[forgive-the-sea]

bloom and wilt

Summary: You and Oikawa have been best friends since kindergarten, but what happens when he kisses you at a bar on the night of your 21st birthday?

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x Reader

Rating: M for Mature

Warnings: angst, implied sex but no actual smut, mentions of anxiety and alcohol use 

WC: ~2.5k

A/N: Hi again! This is the longest piece I’ve written so far and I honestly dk how to feel about it. It just sorta poured outta me. Kinda ooc. Doesn’t follow the hq timeline after Oikawa graduates. I apologize in advance!

You hadn’t always been in love with your best friend. Falling in love with Tooru was a gradual process—like a flower about to bloom, nurtured by the care he showed you. The reassurance he provided and the safety you felt with him. How he made you feel like you could truly be yourself around him. How he seemed to know just how to comfort you. When you finally realized you were in love with him, it was like a flower in bloom—beautiful and hard to ignore.

How did we get here? You think to yourself as you lay together in bed, naked bodies tangled in each other’s embrace while you both come down from your high. You reminisce on your relationship with Tooru, slowly tracing shapes on his bare chest. 

♥*♡∞:｡.｡

You met Tooru on the first day of kindergarten—both teary eyed and clinging on to your mothers by the school gate. When you caught sight of him you noticed that his backpack had a space ship on it and stopped your sniffling to offer a compliment. You’ve been close friends since.

Your elementary school days were spent obsessing over aliens and the stars together—shouting for joy when you found a toy capsule vending machine with alien figurines or glow in the dark star stickers and trading your best finds. 

In middle school, Tooru began to focus on volleyball, so your time was often spent either helping him practice, watching him practice, or cheering him on at his games. You were so proud of him when he won the best setter award in your third year. 

High school was the first time you two separated since kindergarten. You went to different schools, but your friendship was as strong as ever, if not stronger. 

In your third year of high school, you were there to comfort him after Aoba Josai lost to Karasuno. You quietly listened to your best friend as he cried into your chest and explained how he felt like a failure for not being able to take his team to nationals. You reassured him that he had done his best. That his teammates admired him and believed in his leadership, regardless of the outcome of the match. That you admired his passion, dedication, and tenacity in pursuing his dream. You encouraged him to keep moving forward while rubbing his back and petting his hair as he held onto you tightly.   

You loved Tooru, of course you did. He was your best friend, but around halfway through college your love for him began to take on a different shape—although back then you weren’t aware of it. 

Around this time was when Tooru and his ex-girlfriend got together. He had even asked you for advice on how to confess to her. You thought it was funny that THE Tooru Oikawa, Miyagi’s resident heartthrob, was asking you for dating advice.

“Come on! I really like her! I want to do this right. I need help.” 

You laughed and agreed to help, but you couldn’t escape the bitter feeling that settled in the pit of your stomach as you listened to Tooru talk about his crush. At the time, you chalked it up to jealousy. Yeah, that was it. You were a little bit jealous that this girl might take your best friend away from you. You didn’t have any feelings for Tooru yourself. No way.

After they broke up about a year later, Tooru was distraught. He wouldn’t tell you any details about the breakup, but you had a feeling it was bad. He wore the same fake smile you knew from your middle school days and he started to stay late at the gym after practice again.

Another year passed by and it seemed like Tooru had recovered from his breakup. He started seeing some girls casually, which alarmed you. You knew Tooru was a romantic at heart and you worried about him getting hurt while dating casually. He told you about how some girls were quick to invite him over to their dorms. About waking up naked in a stranger’s bed after blacking out at a party. And a bunch of other stories you would rather forget. Yes, Tooru always had girls falling at his feet, but he was never the type to overdo it on the alcohol or have casual sex.

When you expressed concern, he shrugged it off saying that he was being safe and that you should try to have a little more fun sometimes.

This was also around the time that you were trying to decide on plans for after graduation. Your anxiety was through the roof as you tried to complete an academic program that your heart wasn’t really invested in and as you struggled to decide on a career path to take. Tooru was there for you through it all and you couldn’t be more grateful to him for it. He was there to talk you through your late night panic attacks, offering words of encouragement. There to distract you from your thoughts by taking you for late night walks. He was there to bring you your favorite treats when he knew you’d had a particularly tough week. But it wasn’t until after he kissed you at the bar on your 21st birthday that you realized you had romantic feelings for him.

The kiss was something unexpected yet somehow expected. Unexpected because you never thought you would be kissing your childhood best friend. After all, you had done your best to suppress any hint of romantic feelings you might’ve felt for him and Tooru had never given you any indication that his feelings for you were anything more than platonic. On the other hand, the kiss was kind of expected because Tooru hadn’t been subtle in his advances that night. He used whatever excuse to touch you. Warming your hands in his when you began to shiver from the cold winter air entering the bar. Playing the hand slap game and letting his palms linger under yours for longer than needed.

His eyes were filled with a playful flirty tenderness that had you bashfully looking away whenever your gaze met his. Maybe it was the alcohol but you wanted him closer. As if reading your mind, he got up from his seat across from you at the booth and slid in next to you, putting his arm around you.

“You’re shivering. Are you still cold?”

“No, I’m fine,” you say while your mind races trying to process what was happening between you two.

You look up at him and he’s looking at you with half lidded eyes, a clear want written on his face. You’re taken aback, never did you think that you’d be on the receiving end of Tooru’s romantic desires. Before you know it his lips are on yours and your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets in realization that this is really happening right now. No, no, no. Tooru is your best friend. This is going to make things weird. But to your and Tooru’s surprise you soon melt into the kiss. Tooru is the first to pull away, breathless.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he says while smiling and caressing your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.  

You see, Tooru had been in love with you since he met you on the first day of kindergarten. He thought you were beautiful the moment he saw you and only fell more in love with you as time went by. He learned that you were bold, funny, smart, and one of the most caring people he knew. He loved that he could be vulnerable with you and show you a side of himself that he rarely showed others. But Tooru was too scared to do anything about his feelings for you. Too scared to ruin your friendship if he were to confess. So he kept his feelings to himself and vowed to care for you as your friend.

♥*♡∞:｡.｡

That first kiss lead you to where you are now. It was like opening the proverbial flood gates. Since then neither of you were able to keep your hands off the other.

You had never felt like this about anyone. Being with Tooru was electrifying. Like a small spark had turned into a raging fire within you with just a kiss.

While you both had definitely crossed the line beyond a platonic relationship, neither you nor Tooru had initiated a conversation about what the change meant. So you decide to take the plunge.

“Tooru?” You look up at him from where your hands played with his chest.

“Hmm?” He responds, his eyes still closed, basking in the afterglow of your earlier activities. 

“What does this mean for us?” Your voice is quiet but firm as you try to control it from giving away how nervous you are.

“What do you want it to mean?” Tooru asks, now titling his face down to look at you. He seems calm, you note, as you take in the warm brown of his eyes. Had they always been this enchanting?

“Tooru, I love you. I think I have for a while, but was too scared to admit it to myself. I want to be with you. As more than just friends.”

A look of surprise takes over his face for a moment before he breaks out into a mischievous grin. 

“You mean like best friends?” He can’t stop himself from being a little shit even when the girl he’s loved since kindergarten was finally reciprocating his feelings.

“No!” You exclaim as you lightly smack his arm. I can’t believe this is happening, you think to yourself as you shake your head. “I want you to be my boyfriend.”

He lets out a breathy laugh and butterflies flutter in your stomach for the umpteenth time that day. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He takes your face in his hands and kisses your forehead before pulling away to look at you.

“I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.”

Your eyes widen at his confession.

“But I’m scared. I don’t want our friendship to be ruined and I don’t want to ever lose you. You mean so much to me and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“W-what do you mean?” You manage to ask in a soft voice as you sit up, using his bedsheet to cover up, hoping it’ll make you feel less exposed, less vulnerable.

“I don’t think I’m ready to be in a relationship,” he answers while sitting up to face you. 

You can feel your heart break.

“I’m immature and selfish. And all of my relationships have ended badly. I don’t want that to happen to us. You deserve someone better. And I would rather you be happy, even if it isn’t with me. I’m sorry.”

You struggle to take in what Tooru was saying. So what if his previous relationships ended badly? With you it’d be different, right? You’ve known each other for so long that you could surely deal with things in a mature way.

“I’m not perfect either. But we can work through problems as they come up, right? I want to make things work with you.” You hate how your voice cracks with that last sentence. You hate how it sounds like you’re begging.

“I’m really sorry. There’s nothing I want more than to be with you but I just...can’t. He pauses for a moment and looks away before looking at you again with a determined look on his face. “I won’t risk our friendship.”

Tooru’s not making any sense and you can feel your sadness turn into anger.

“You won’t risk our friendship?” You scoff. “You should’ve thought about that before kissing me at the bar!” 

“I-it’s just easier if there are no feelings involved,” he says looking down at his hands, growing uncomfortable at your display of emotions. 

“I can’t believe this,” you say as you get up to get dressed.

Tooru watches you dress with worry. “So what now?”

You sigh, “Well, no more sex. I don’t want to be in a friends with benefits situation. That never ends well.”

“I guess that’s for the best. I’ll miss it though,” he says with a dreamy look that you catch out of the corner of your eye. 

You contain the bitter laugh that threatens to escape you. As much as you want to cry and scream, you can’t bring yourself to let Tooru see you like that. So instead you turn to give him a soft, but sad smile. “Me, too.”

You walk out into his living room to collect your bag before leaving and Tooru follows after you. “Are we still friends?”

You’re silent as you walk to the door and put on your shoes. “I’d like to still be friends. But I don’t know. I guess I’ll need some space.”

He nods in understanding, a somber look on his face.

You turn away from him to open the door but you stop when your hand lands on the doorknob. You slowly turn back around to face him again and shut your eyes, your hands balled into fists at your side.

“One last one,” you whisper and Tooru knows exactly what you mean. 

He walks over to you and pulls you to him by your waist. You take his face in your hands and crash your lips together. Your lips feel feverish against his; heat running through your body as you try to pour all your love for Tooru into this last kiss.  

Tooru's lips are soft and move slowly against yours. His kiss feels so tender, so caring and it effectively calms your initial desperation. Your movements now mirror his, lips and tongues expressing what your words failed to. I love you. I care for you. I always will.  

You break from the kiss but keep your face close to Tooru’s, your nose pressed against his and your eyes closed, trying to etch the feeling of him into your memory. Tooru pulls away slightly when he feels your tears on his face. You use your thumbs to wipe your tears off his face and give him a smile as you attempt to compose yourself. “Bye, Tooru.” 

You close the door behind you and make your way home, navigating the familiar streets of your neighborhood on autopilot as the tears you were trying to hold back now flow freely down your face. How were you even going to begin to get over Tooru? All the love you carried for him now weighed you down and your heavy heart felt like the wilted petals of a flower that was once in bloom.   

[watusichris]

Betty Davis: They Say She’s Different

It appears that everything anyone has written for the old Music Aficionado site has now disappeared from the web. A random Facebook post has prompted me to re-purpose this story, written in 2016, about my favorite funketress. **********

To this day, the name Betty Davis – Betty with a “y,” that is – remains best known to connoisseurs of Miles Davis minutiae and ‘70s funk obsessives. While it’s true that Betty played an important off-stage role in the career of the jazz trumpeter, to whom she was married for just a year, and she undoubtedly made some of the best hardcore funk records of her era, she deserves to be recognized beyond the relatively narrow provinces of the jazzbo and the crate-digger.

Uncompromising, intelligent, brazen, aggressive, and not incidentally gorgeous, sexually provocative, and a fashion plate always ahead of the curve, Betty was a prophetic figure. Spawned by the explosion of music, fashion, and alternative culture of the late ‘60s, and by concurrent leaps in black consciousness and feminism, she was a take-no-prisoners singer and writer who presented herself as something new, rich, and strange with her self-titled debut album in 1973.

There were some badass contemporaries working the soul and funk trenches– gutter-tongued diva Millie Jackson and one-time James Brown paramour Yvonne Fair leap to mind immediately – but they seemed to be adapting tropes previously worked by male singers in the genres. Betty still sounds like something new: a tough, smart, demanding woman who reveled in pleasure and insisted on satisfaction, unafraid to claim what she wanted.

Despite the fact that she was associated with some high-profile male musician friends and lovers – beyond Davis, the roll call included Hugh Masekela, Jimi Hendrix, Sly Stone, Mike Carabello, Eric Clapton, and Robert Palmer – she was no groupie or bed-hopping climber. Possessed of her own self-defining vision, she was producing her own records and leading a tight, flexible little band by the end of her brief run.

In 1976, after completing four splendid albums (only three of which were released at the time), she disappeared, not only from the music business but from the public eye entirely. What happened? It’s an old story that many women in the industry will recognize: Her record company didn’t know what to do with her, and wanted her to tone down her act. Betty Davis wasn’t having any of that, thank you, and she hit the damn road.

She was born Betty Mabry in Durham, NC, in 1945. She grew up country, and was exposed to down-home, get-down music early. On the title track of her second album, They Say I’m Different, she runs down the artists who served as inspirations: Big Mama Thornton, John Lee Hooker, Lightnin’ Hopkins, Howlin’ Wolf, Albert King, Chuck Berry. The blues, in one form or another, is the backbone of her style.

Her family relocated to Pittsburgh when she was young, but at 16 she left home for the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York. There she was hurtled into the roiling cultural vortex of the Village. She took up modeling, working for the toney Wilhelmina agency, and began running with a posse of similarly disposed, equally beautiful women who called themselves the “Electric Ladies.” Sound familiar? One of her closest cohorts was Devon Wilson, for many years a notorious consort of Jimi Hendrix known for her freewheeling, outré sex- and drug-saturated lifestyle.

Mabry began to try her hand at singing, and cut a few self-penned singles. They were in an old-school mold in terms of structure, but her very first 45 hints at things to come. “Get Ready For Betty,” a 1964 track released by Don Costa (discoverer of Paul Anka and Trini Lopez and a key arranger for Frank Sinatra), is stodgy early-‘60s NYC R&B to its core, but its message is pointed: “Get out my way, girl, ‘cause I’m comin’ to take your man.”

She also made a stolid romantic duet ballad with singer Roy Arlington and, produced by cult soul man Lou Courtney, a homage to the Cellar, the New York club where she DJed. But she didn’t start reaching the upper echelon of the music biz until one of her songs, a hymn to Harlem called “Uptown,” was cut by the Chambers Brothers for their smash 1968 album The Time Has Come, which also included the psychedelic soul workout “Time Has Come Today.”

The Chambers association probably secured a singles deal for her at Columbia Records, and her first session for the major label was produced by her former live-in boyfriend, South African trumpeter Masekela, in October 1968. By that time, she had split with him: A month earlier, she had married a far more famous horn player, Miles Davis, whom she had met in 1967. Davis and his regular producer Teo Macero would head her second session for Columbia in May 1969.

Those two dates were released for the first time as The Columbia Years 1968-1969 earlier this month by Light in the Attic, the independent label that has restored Betty’s entire catalog to print over the last decade. While devoted fans can be grateful that the work is finally seeing the light of day, it does not make for easy listening, for it was clearly made by people groping in the dark.

Betty’s artistic persona was at that point completely unformed, and so her male Svengalis did their best to mold the clay in their hands, with feeble results. Masekela evidently completed just three tracks, two of which, “It’s My Life” and “Live, Love, Learn,” were issued as a flop single. The homiletic song titles give the game away; the music, straight-up commercial soul backed by a large group (which included Wilton Felder and Wayne Henderson of the Jazz Crusaders and Masekela), has nothing original to say.

The date with Miles is a bigger waste, if a more spectacular one. The personnel couldn’t have been more glittering: Hendrix sidemen Billy Cox and Mitch Mitchell; ex-Detroit Wheels guitarist Jim McCarty; bassist Harvey Brooks, studio familiar of Bob Dylan and former member of the Electric Flag; and Davis’ then-current or future band mates Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter, John McLaughlin, and Larry Young.

But nothing jells. The material is either weak (Betty’s directionless original “Hangin’ Out” is the best of a bad lot) or incongruous (lumbering covers of Cream’s “Politician” and Creedence’s “Born On the Bayou”). Worse, the jazzers are unable to lay down anything resembling a solid soul-rock foundation, and even reliable timekeeper Mitchell blows the groove on more than one occasion. Miles gets impatient with his spouse at one point, rasping over the talk-back, “Sing it just like that, with the gum in your mouth and all, bitch.”

Apparently intended as demos, the failed tracks were consigned to the tape library. By late ’69, Miles and Betty’s marriage was history. She left her mark on his music: She appeared on the cover of his cover of his 1968 album Filles de Kilimanjaro and inspired its extended track “Mademoiselle Mabry” (based on the chords that opens Hendrix’s “The Wind Cries Mary”) and “Back Seat Betty” from his 1981 comeback album The Man With the Horn.

Moreover, she moved him toward the flash style that would dominate his music through the mid-‘70s, by exposing him to the slamming music of Hendrix and Sly and exchanging his continental suits for psychedelic pimp togs. Would we know Bitches Brew, On the Corner, and Agharta without Betty Davis? Maybe, maybe not.

For her part, Betty remained in the wings for a while. She collaborated on demos for the Commodores; in London, she modeled, worked on songs for Marc Bolan of T. Rex, and declined a production offer from her then-paramour Clapton. Drifting back to New York, she met Santana percussionist Carabello. They became involved romantically, and in 1972 she relocated to the San Francisco Bay area, where Carabello’s local connections led to the formation of a stellar band to back her on a debut album.

One reads the credits for Betty Davis in awe. The rhythm section was the Family Stone’s dissident, puissant rhythm section, bassist Larry Graham and drummer Greg Errico (who also produced). Original Santana guitarist Neal Schon, future Mandrill axe man Doug Rodrigues, founding Graham Central Station organist Hershall Kennedy, and keyboardist and ace Jerry Garcia collaborator Merl Saunders filled out the instrumentation. The Pointer Sisters, Sylvester, and Kathi McDonald were among a large platoon of backup vocalists.

Issued in 1973 by Just Sunshine Records, an independent label owned by Woodstock Festival promoter Michael Lang (who also released a set by another unique woman, folk singer-guitarist Karen Dalton), Betty Davis was one hell of a coming-out party. Since her abortive Columbia dates, she had developed a unique vocal attack that could leap from a velvety croon to a Tina Turner-like shriek in a nanosecond. The stomping funk of the studio band backed her up to the hilt.

Like Turner, she was one Bold Soul Sister. The lust-filled opening invitation “If I’m in Luck I Might Get Picked Up” announces that a new game was afoot. The statement of romantic/sexual independence “Anti Love Song,” the lovers’ chess match “Your Man My Man,” and the self-explanatory “Game is My Middle Name” offer up a startling, hard-edged new model of a hard-funking female vocalist.

The album’s most affecting track may be “Steppin in Her I. Miller Shoes,” Davis’ level-headed elegy for her sybaritic friend Devon Wilson, who sailed out a window at the Chelsea Hotel in 1971. “She coulda been anything that she wanted…Instead she chose to be nothing,” Davis sings, implying that route wouldn’t be one she would take herself.

“If I’m in Luck” grazed the lower reaches of the R&B singles chart and the album failed to reach the LP rolls at all, but Davis was undaunted. For 1974’s They Say I’m Different, she took the producer’s reins, which she would hold for the rest of her career. While the backup lineup is less glitzy (though Saunders, Pete Escovedo, and Buddy Miles, on guitar no less, appear), the support is still sizzling; crackling drums and burbling clavinet put over a set of songs that may have been even stronger than those heard on her debut.

No one who hears “He Was a Big Freak” is likely to ever forget it; it’s a startling dissection of a masochistic relationship -- inspired by Jimi Hendrix, and not, as many have assumed, by Miles Davis (“Everyone knows that Miles is a sadist,” Betty remarked later). Almost as notable are “Don’t Call Her No Tramp,” a prescient condemnation of what we now call slut-shaming, and the autobiographical title track, with slicing slide guitar work by Cordell Dudley.

Different and its attendant singles tanked, but Betty managed to maintain her profile with live gigs noteworthy for their uninhibited bawdiness, on-stage abandon, and the star’s Egyptian-princess-from-outer-space wardrobe sense. By early 1974 she had assembled a hot, lean road band that included her cousins Nickey Neal and Larry Johnson on drums and bass, respectively, plus keyboardist Fred Mills and guitarist Carlos Morales. This lineup would back her on her last two albums.

The end of Just Sunshine’s distribution deal liberated Davis, who, at the suggestion of then-boyfriend Robert Palmer, inked with Palmer’s label Island Records. The company released Nasty Gal in 1975, and it may be Davis’ best-executed work. The pared-down backing lets the songs shine, and there are good ones here: The shameless title song, the vituperative blast at the critics “Dedicated to the Press,” and the out-front ultimatum for sexual satisfaction “Feelins” get right up in the listener’s face. The most surprising track is the ballad “You and I,” an unexpected songwriting reunion with Miles, orchestrated by the trumpeter’s famed arranger Gil Evans.

It’s a tremendous album, and Betty supported it with live shows that ate the funk competition alive. A bootleg of an especially out-there set recorded at a festival on the French Riviera in 1976 literally climaxes with Nasty Gal’s “The Lone Ranger,” an in-the-saddle heavy breather that Davis wraps up by feigning a loud orgasm.

One should remember that at this particular juncture, Madonna was studying dance at the University of Michigan.

But Nasty Gal faded with hardly a trace, and Davis’ relationship with Island swiftly became fractious. It’s easy to see why the label declined to issue her final album, originally called Crashin’ From Passion and ultimately released, after years as a bootleg, by Light in the Attic in 2009 as Is It Love or Desire. The collection, which leans heavily on songs about sex, doping, and heavy drinking, includes “Stars Starve, You Know,” an outright condemnation of the games record companies play:

They said if I wanted to make some money

I’d have to change my style

Put a paper bag over my face

Sing soft and wear tight fitting gowns

 They don’t like the way I’m lookin’

So it’s hard for my agent to get me bookin’s

Unless I cover up my legs and drop my pen

And commit one of those commercial sins…

 Oh hey hey Island

And that was all she wrote. Until writers began to seek her out in the new millennium as her records became available again, Betty Davis was an invisible woman, one who had blazed a trail that other talents, such as Prince and Madonna, would blaze more profitably after her. She was definitively ahead of her time.

Asked by one writer what she had done since leaving music, Davis, who turns 71 on July 26, responded with the most tragic thing one can imagine any artist saying: “Nothing really.”

[cupcakesandtv]

I absolutely ADORE your never have I ever fanfiction!! It's so amazing and the characters are really well-written just like in the show! What are some of the things you hope to see in the second season of Never Have I Ever?

Thank you! I’m so glad you love it and this is such a generous compliment! I appreciate it so much. I’m working on a big moment in the fic right now so this is nice encouragement for me! <3 

For season 2, I try to keep my expectations low. TV writers have let me down often and I don’t trust them in general lol especially when I start thinking what *I* want. Also the last few shows I’ve gotten into really go down in quality after a season 1. But I’ll give you a short list of things I’d like in season 2 in no particular order.

Devi becoming more comfortable with her heritage

Nalini and Devi continuing to have a hard time relating to each other but still trying to have a relationship. 

Devi continuing to process her grief. Grieving is different for everyone and one thing I know from experience is that people around forget you’re grieving and then are often confused when you openly grieve. So I’d like to see the show deal with that with both Devi and Nalini. There’s not a shelf life on grieving and the show is in the perfect spot to explore that.

Paxton pining 

a Paxton POV ep 

These are my like MUST HAVES. I will probably not get them but I really want them. The next list is stuff i’d love to see and if mindy and lang would like to call me i’m free on thursday. call me. on thursday. i’m free. 

I’d love to see Kamala integrating more into the family. I think a conflict of her feeling like Nalini and Devi need her and so she isn’t sure if she’s ready to get married or take a job away from them would be really interesting! 

I wanna see Eleanor date Trent out there doing wacky dramatic things like idk taking over the cafeteria with a flash mob or something. But also being so deeply existential that it fucks with her friends in a fun way. You know, real artist nonsense.

I’ve been thinking about Fab a lot and I think something about college and separating from her very comfortable support system. Maybe she’s worried she won’t instantly make friends when she goes away and so she’s clinging to her life the way it is in this exact moment. 

Trent doing literally anything. He’s a goddamn delight.

Devi attempting to move beyond being boy crazy (I was deeply boy crazy from middle school all the way into college and I know I tried so many times to NOT be and I think seeing that conflict would be really fun to watch!) 

one of the things the show did really well in season 1 was not shaming devi for wanting to have sex and i really hope they continue to be sex positive and god please no one mention anything about virginity because i’m very over that in teen drama. 

I wanna see paxton’s parents! I know Darren Barnet has said that he thinks his parents aren’t around much but sorry bud, I’m not interested in that. I wanna see them and learn more about Becca and hopefully see her succeed, getting into that fashion school. 

I’d like to see ben and devi be friends. she’s literally his only friend so i think dating is a dumb idea for the two of them but whatever mindy has terrible taste in men so we’re all just at her mercy i guess

Finally I’d like the season to end with Paxton absolutely unable to contain his YEARNING any longer and he has to stop her in the middle of the hallway at school, in between classes, people all around them and HAS to tell her how he feels. But he keeps trying to tell her and she’s not getting it because she is tragically dense on occasion for such a genius. So he drops his books on the ground and leans in, cupping her cheek and kisses her right there in the middle of the hallway. Everybody passing by. It’s just small. Soft. Quick. Because she’s not listening and he clearly isn’t getting his point across but this will get his point across. (and people ooh and aw) And Devi does that shocked face but she finally gets it so instead of letting him pull away further because the warning bell just rang and people have to get to class, she puts her arm around his neck and she kisses him back. Deep, long, willing to get detention for the amount of PDA that’s coming out of this kiss. Now people are clapping and hooting and hollering and Devi and Paxton do NOT care because FUCKING FINALLY. 

[puttingherinhistory]

December 27, 2015 by Suzannah Weiss

I was young when I came to discover masturbation, and I had orgasms long before I knew what they were.

Nothing about it seemed complicated. I just rubbed “down there” for a few minutes, and it happened. But later, magazines, comedy routines, and sitcoms taught me that my body – and vaginas in general – were mysterious and complex, often too complex for those without them to figure out.

Confirming what I’d been taught, orgasms weren’t as simple with partners as they were by myself. This is to be expected to some extent. There’s a learning curve when you’re getting to know someone new. But what confused me was that not everyone seemed eager to learn.

“Sorry,” I (unnecessarily) apologized to a partner for taking what I thought was too long.

“It’s okay. I know it’s harder for girls,” he said – and then stopped.

Compounding the lack of effort I encountered from some (though not all) partners, it became harder for me to orgasm when I started SSRI antidepressants. When I told my doctor, she said, “Oh, that’s hard for a lot of women anyway.”

I knew my body long and well enough to know being a woman wasn’t to blame, but others didn’t share my view that the problem was fixable. I grew hesitant to bring it up with partners out of fear that asking them to perform the supposedly impossible feat of getting a woman off was too demanding.

Orgasm doesn’t have to be the focus of sex, but if a woman wants one, she should have as much of a right to request it as anyone else does.

When people say that women’s bodies are more difficult – and these generalizations typically refer to cis women and are accompanied by rants about how complicated vaginas are – they teach cis women that an orgasm is too tall an order.

Trans women also have a slew of sexual stigmas attached to them, which Kai Cheng Thom describes here, though they’re beyond the scope of this article. In addition, though most research on orgasm inequity has studied cis women, trans and non-binary people with vaginas may relate to the frustrations of being taught their genitals are impossible to decode, too.

The view that cis women are hard to please maintains what sociologists call the orgasm gap, in which men have three orgasms for every one a woman enjoys, and 57% of women orgasm during all or most of their sexual encounters, but 95% say their partners do.

These statistics may appear to confirm the stereotype that women’s bodies are more complicated, but there are other forces at work.

As sociologist Lisa Wade points out, the orgasm gap is conditional. Lesbians report orgasming 74.7% of the time, only 10 percentage points lower than gay men. In addition, women take under four minutes on average to masturbate to orgasm.

If these statistics don’t convince you that there’s more to the orgasm gap than biology, here are twelve cultural factors that contribute to it.

1. People Believe Women Are Less Sexual

Women, the story goes, aren’t that into sex.

They may enjoy it, but they do it partially in exchange for validation, commitment, or financial support, popular wisdom says. As long as a woman is getting one of those things, she doesn’t need much out of the sex itself.

To the contrary, a lot of research and lived experiences indicate that women are as capable of wanting and enjoying sex as men.

Until we acknowledge this, we won’t prioritize making sex as enjoyable as possible for women because we’ll believe sexual pleasure isn’t as important to them.

It may not be because women themselves may buy into myths about their gender, neglecting their desires because they’re not supposed to have them. If they do, they and their partners miss out on balanced sexual interactions, not to mention fun.

2. Pornography Privileges Male Pleasure

Most people who have watched porn videos know they typically culminate with a “money shot” in which the man comes, and then the scene ends. Most woman-focused orgasms depicted in porn are merely incidental events on the path to a man’s pleasure.

Additionally, most mainstream porn scenes feel incomplete without blow jobs, while cunnilingus is less common.

All in all, the message is clear: It’s imperative that a man gets off, and if a woman manages to in the process, props to him, but it’s just an added bonus.

3. The Myth of ‘Blue Balls’ Persists

Blue balls, according to Urban Dictionary, is “the excrutiating [sic] pain a man receives when his balls swell to the size of coconuts because of lack of sex, unfinished bjs, and just not cummin when he knows he should.”

The entitlement reflected in this description is characteristic of most uses of the term “blue balls.” While vasocongestion, the accumulation of blood flow to the genitals, can occasionally cause mild pain in people with any genitals, this is not what men are usually referring to when they complain about blue balls. And whether they’re experiencing this or just sexual frustration, it’s never anyone else’s duty to relieve it.

Even though most women know no medical condition results from an erection that doesn’t lead to an orgasm, many of us feel guilty for not providing one. So, in addition to some men’s lack of effort to pleasure women, the pressure many women feel to pleasure men maintains the orgasm gap.

4. There’s More Information in the Media About Pleasing Cis Men Than Women

As a teenager, my secret guilty pleasure was buying copies of Cosmo from the drugstore and hiding them under my pillow to read at night.

I read all their sex articles just because I found anything sex-related titillating, but along the way, I learned all about different tricks to please men – and cis men, specifically. By the time I encountered a real-life penis, I already knew all the basic tricks in the book, plus some out-there ones my dude friends urged me not to try.

I don’t know what most teenage boys’ secret reading material was, but there aren’t many mainstream men’s magazines as obsessed with pleasing women as women’s are with pleasing men. If anything, I’ve heard it’s common for boys to sneak glimpses of Playboy, which is also geared toward pleasing men.

Maybe this explains why 25% of men and 30% of women can’t locate the clitoris on a diagram.

Amid all the advice we read about different ways to hold and touch a penis, many remain in the dark about vulvas and vaginas.

5. Hookup Culture Privileges Male Pleasure

“I will do everything in my power to, like whoever I’m with, to get [him] off,” one woman said in a study by Elizabeth Armstrong on college hookups. But when it came to their own pleasure, women held different expectations.

“The guy kind of expects to get off, while the girl doesn’t expect anything,” a woman in another study by Lisa Wade said.

Accordingly, one man in Armstrong’s study boasted, “I’m all about making her orgasm,” but when asked to clarify the word “her,” he added, “Girlfriend her. In a hookup her, I don’t give a shit.” Perhaps he sensed that women don’t expect much from their hookups.

Statistics about women’s orgasms reflect these attitudes.

The ratio of men’s and women’s orgasms is 3.1:1 for first-time hookups, but only 1.25:1 for relationships.

For whatever reason, hookup culture appears to have embraced the message espoused by the media that women’s orgasms are optional, while men’s are obligatory.

6. Sex Education Doesn’t Teach Us About Pleasure, Especially Female Pleasure

Like many schools in the US, mine only had a couple of days a year dedicated to sex education in middle and high school. During the initial classes on puberty, the portion about women was on periods and the portion about men was on erections, ejaculation, and wet dreams.

Already, our bodies were associated with making babies, while boys’ were associated with sexual arousal and pleasure.

Later on, we learned how to use a condom – along with how to complete a very normative sequence of events. You put it on, we were told, and then you have intercourse, and then someone ejaculates, and then you pull out and take it off. Men’s orgasms, but not women’s, were built into our safer sex lesson.

Nobody said “then you stop whenever you feel like it” or “your partner may need you to pull out” (because, contrary to what we see in porn, not every woman is multi-orgasmic and many have a refractory period, so we can’t all comfortably keep going until our partner wants to stop).

This is one sneaky way we learn to prioritize men’s pleasure without ever really learning about pleasure at all.

7. Self-Evaluative Thoughts Can Disrupt Women’s Arousal Process

Due to the emphasis on women’s appearances in mainstream porn and throughout the media, women learn to picture themselves during sex.

“How does my stomach look from this angle,” “Does my face look sexy or silly in this expression,” and “Would it be sexier if I made more noise?” are a few thoughts that have distracted me in the bedroom.

And I don’t think I’m alone: 32% of women say that when they don’t orgasm, it’s often because they’re stuck in their heads or focused on their looks.

Orgasm itself can become a source of performance anxiety.

Because the women’s orgasms are dramatized in porn and the media, with exaggerated moans and calculated facial expressions, some women feel so much pressure that fear of not coming keeps them from coming. This pressure can also lead women to fake orgasms instead of sticking it out for a real one.

Once again, women’s magazines don’t help.

Cosmo even provides a guide on “how to look even hotter naked.” Though “even” implies the reader looks hot already, the pre-bedroom workout routine and self-tanner application tips make it clear we don’t look as hot as we could – and even if we do, the focus is still on our partner’s pleasure, not what we see or feel.

Thoughts about partners’ perceptions place women outside their bodies, looking in, rather than inside them, feeling the sensations the sexual activity is causing. It’s hard to have an orgasm when you’re not even thinking sexual thoughts.

8. Sexual Trauma Can Impede Arousal and Orgasm

It’s extremely common for women to experience sexual trauma within their lifetimes. One out of six women has been the victim of attempted or completed rape.

According to sex therapist Vanessa Marin, this trauma can have lasting effects on one’s sex life.

“Sexual assault can rob your enjoyment of sex and can make any type of intimacy feel scary,” she said. “Some survivors experience feelings of disconnect or dissociation when they’re having sex. Others can easily get triggered by being touched in certain places or in specific ways.”

Marin recommends that survivors seek out therapy or a support group so they don’t have to deal with the effects of their pasts alone.

In the short-term, Marin has written that reminding yourself you’re with your partner, not the person who assaulted you, can quell trauma-related sexual problems. “Of course your brain knows that it’s [them], but this exercise can help the more subconscious parts of your psyche start to relax,” she writes.

Other emotions women disproportionately experience around sex, such as guilt and shame, may also lead to anorgasmia.

9. More Women Than Men Are on Antidepressants

SSRI antidepressants, like Prozac and Zoloft, can cause anorgasmia. This side effect isn’t gender-specific, but antidepressants themselves are.

Between 2001 and 2010, 25% of American women (but only 15% of men) had been prescribed medication for mental health conditions.

This may occur because women are more likely to suffer from anxiety and depression, both frequently treated with SSRIs, the medication class most commonly known to cause anorgasmia. There are many theories as to why, but one possible source of this difference is societal misogyny.

As Ally Boghun writes of her anxiety, “A lot of the stressors that impact me the most are actually stressors put upon women by society to look and act in certain ways.” In addition, women are more likely to seek therapy, since toxic standards of masculinity deter men from discussing their emotions.

This is one case where the orgasm gap may be related to biological differences, but the sources of these differences are still societal.

10. Women Are Discouraged from Asking for What They Want

Women are taught to accommodate others’ wishes and put their own on the back burner, to be pleasant and polite and grateful and not ask for more, whether that’s food, payment, or sexual pleasure.

To bring back Armstrong’s research, one woman said she didn’t have the “right” to request an orgasm and “felt kind of guilty almost, like I felt like I was kind of subjecting [guys] to something they didn’t want to do and I felt bad about it.”

I can relate: I’ve said “sorry” many times for requesting or giving myself the stimulation I wanted, for taking what I thought was too much time, and for receiving pleasure without immediately returning it.

The same fear that keeps women from voicing their opinions in work meetings or negotiating salaries also keeps us from speaking up in bed.

But until we can “lean in” without bumping into hostility, women can’t singlehandedly solve this problem in any domain. It’s also up to our partners, coworkers, and others to make it clear they want to hear and accommodate our wishes.

11. The Normative Definition of Sex Isn’t Optimal for Many Women’s Orgasms

When someone says “sex,” most people think of penis-in-vagina intercourse, even though it means many different things to different people.

For example, some couples may see oral sex as sex. Some may also put oral or manual sex on the same level as penetrative sex, but this is still not the norm.

When someone talks about losing their virginity, for instance, we usually assume they’re talking about the first time they had penis-in-vagina intercourse.

This assumption can be problematic for women who get off more easily through other activities.

In one survey, 20% of women said they seldom or never had orgasms during intercourse. Only 25% said they consistently do. In another, 38% said that when they don’t orgasm, a common obstacle is “not enough clitoral stimulation.”

Since penetrative sex often doesn’t directly stimulate the clitoris, this could explain why other types of sex – or clitoral stimulation during intercourse, which women considered the most common way they got off with a partner – may be more optimal.

When we consider the activities that often help women reach orgasm as warmup or extra, we deprioritize women’s pleasure.

12. People Think the Orgasm Gap Is Biological

Orgasm inequity is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

When men believe women’s bodies are an impossible puzzle, they don’t try to solve it. Neither do women who are taught their own pleasure is inaccessible.

That’s why it’s important we acknowledge all the societal factors that contribute to this discrepancy. Genetics can’t be fixed, but a lot of these problems can, which means that closing the orgasm gap is possible.

***

If you’re a woman having trouble orgasming, it’s likely not you. It may not be the result of any carelessness on your partner’s part either. You may just need to talk about it, challenge the myths you’ve learned about sexuality, and, if necessary, seek help for any psychological or medical conditions that could be contributing to the problem.

Or maybe it’s not a problem at all. Maybe orgasming isn’t important to you, and that’s your choice as well. But if it is something you would like, you have the same right to ask for it as your partner. If he expects orgasms from you, he shouldn’t mind you wanting one.

It’s not too much to ask, and your anatomy isn’t too complicated. The only thing that’s complicated is the toxic set of messages we’re taught about sexuality. But that’s not on you or your body.

[himbowelsh]

Valentines alphabet with Talbert or Nixon please!

valentines day alphabet  ( accepting! )

A   :   AFFECTION.   how does your muse show affection?

Tab is a cuddler. He likes to be close to people, to by physically intimate with them in a way that goes beyond sharing a space  ---  this boy runs on touch, and isn’t shy about it. He enjoys being touched, having his back clapped or his arm squeezed, as much as he enjoys giving it. In a romantic relationship, this goes beyond casual touches; Tab just likes having his partner near him, being able to pull them close and simply hold them, his chin on the crown of their head while they shift and breathe against him. He’s not very tactile with casual acquaintances, so if Tab touches someone frequently, it means he cares for them.

B   :   BOUQUET.   does your muse like flowers? which ones are their favourite?

He has a special fondness for wildflowers, but you’re not gonna find those in any florist’s shop. When he’s in a sentimental mood, he might go out and pick a few to put into a bouquet...  but Tab’s favorite way of appreciating the flowers is to bring his partner out to a field, where they can soak in their natural beauty.

C   :   CHOCOLATE.   does your muse like chocolate? which one is their favourite?

He’s not a big fan. Anything with nuts in it, he’ll eat gladly. Nutella is one of his favorite things in the world.

D   :   DATE.   what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

Let’s go on a hike! Tab feels most at ease in nature, so he’d love to go on an afternoon hike up a familiar trail with a partner, chatting quietly until they reach his favorite ridge  ---  where they can watch the sun set over the horizon. He’s not unfamiliar with hiking in the dark, so he’d be comfortable heading back down...  but if his partner prefers it, they can camp out for the night. Huddling in a tent with them in his arms, just talking softly and enjoying the quiet...  hell, he’d love that.

E   :   EMBRACE.   does your muse like hugs? what are their hugs like?

Once again  ---  he thrives on touch! He loves touch! His hugs are warm and affectionate, like a warm drink on a rainy day. Usually he’s on his best behavior, too...  usually.

F   :   FLIRT.   is your muse good at flirting? how do they flirt?

Oh, he’s an inconsummate flirt, and doesn’t even try to hide it. It’s like a reflex at this point. He’s drawn to pretty ladies like magnets, and they’re drawn to him right back. He’ll wink, he’ll tease, he’ll find excuses to get closer...  usually, girls eat out of the palm of his hand. He’s not used to being rejected  ---  on the rare occasions it does happen, he goes a little shell-shocked, and has to sit in a corner to recoup for a few minutes.

G   :   GIFT.   is your muse good at gift - giving or do they struggle to get it right?

Well, he definitely tries! Points for effort, at least, but Tab is a notorious regifter. If he doesn’t like something, he’ll store it away for a rainy day, and rocks up to Popeye’s birthday party with the poncho Auntie Marge gave him last Christmas. He tries to be smooth, but, like...  buddy, everybody knows.

H   :   HEART.   is your muse quick or slow to give their heart away?

He’ll give the rest of him way quicker; Tab’s had plenty of affairs without much emotional intimacy involved, and frankly, he prefers it that way. Real relationships are daunting. Much as he wants one, the idea still scares him a bit. Tab has to be sure of himself before trusting his heart to someone else...  and equally sure that they won’t break it.

I    :   I LOVE YOU.   does your muse find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

Tab has a dozen ways to say ‘I love you’ that don’t involve words at all. He’ll kiss, he’ll caress, he’ll tease, he’ll do the dishes and put them away without a second thought...  honestly, actions speak louder than words with him. While he’ll say it after a while, his partner won’t be surprised  ---   because he’s already told them a hundred times before.

J   :   JEALOUSY.   does your muse get jealous in a relationship?

It depends on how serious the relationship is, and how serious the situation. Tab’s not an overly-suspicious guy, and he’s not about to make something over nothing...  but if his partner’s suddenly spending all their time with someone else, talking about them constantly, or if another person seems to be moving in on them, Tab won’t be pleased. He’s the sort of person to say so outright, believing the situation can best be resolved if everyone’s on the same page.

K   :   KISS.   is your muse a good kisser? why / why not?

Do you even have to ask? He’s an astoundingly good kisser; not only does he know how to use his tongue, he recognizes the tentative dynamics of kissing, like a balanced scale which so easily tips one way or the other, and has learned to manipulate it. Not too much touch, just enough to leave his partner hungry for more...  not too much tongue, otherwise it gets gross...  let his teeth graze their lower lip just enough to make them moan, run a hand along the back of their neck just lightly enough so they shiver. Kissing’s a skill, just like playing the piano or learning to cook. Tab’s...  had a lot of practice.

L   :   LOVE.   who does your muse love?

Tab’s a funny sort of extrovert:  he can thrive in a room full of people easily, enjoying the company of his friends and the opportunities to make new ones...  but he never feels more at peace than when he’s outside, in nature and quiet. Honestly, Tab adores his family, adores his friends, adores animals, and would adore any partner he had...  but nature will always have a special place in his heart. (Nature, and Captain Winters. Always.)

M   :   MOONLIGHT.   is morning or night a more romantic setting?

Look, Tab can work with any hour of the day. He’s not picky. 3pm? 3am? He’s ready to go. Maybe he’s half-asleep, but he’s ready.

N   :   NAUGHTY.   what is your muse like in bed?

If the human body were a piano, Tab’s Ludwig von Freakin’ Beethoven. Knows exactly what he’s doing with his hands at all times. Tab can work wonders with those hands; it’s hard for his partner to keep track of exactly where they are or what they’re doing, only that they need to be doing more of it. He can be quite sparing with touch during the act, preferring to make his embraces count. Knows all the best places to stimulate; the gasps and moans of his partner only urge him on, encouraging him to work harder at pleasing them. Can grind like nobody’s business, and is shockingly flexible; has tried most positions at least once, and will try them again. When it comes to kinks, he’s actually a bit shy about trying anything too extreme... but if his partner pitches it right, he’ll usually be willing to try. Not to mention the mouth  ---  Tab has a magic mouth, and puts it to work exactly as God intended.

O   :   ODE.   does your muse have a way with words?

Not really. He tries, god help him  ---  he’s even tried his hand at writing poetry, not that he’s ever let anyone read it, because he knows how bad it is...  but Tab is quite plainspoken. He says what he’s thinking. That said, he’s got a talent for making the bluntest compliments sound romantic when he tries.

P   :   PARTNER.   what does your muse look for in a partner? looks / personality?

Someone adventurous. Tab needs someone who’s willing to try new things, who can keep him on his toes at times. He wants someone he can laugh with, someone he can dance around the kitchen with...  but also someone who appreciates the quiet beauty life has to offer. If they like being outside? All the better. They have to love animals, that’s non-negotiable. (Hopefully a dog person?) A great laugh, self-confidence...  and a bit of passion.

Q   :   QUESTION.   would your muse ask the big question or expect their partner to?

Look, he’ll absolutely do it. If he gets to the point where they’re both ready  ---  preferably after they’ve had a long conversation about it beforehand  ---  Tab will plan a cozy proposal outside, pick out a ring, find a serene spot and...  go for it. But if his partner did it first, it would be a massive weight off his shoulders, and he’d honestly be relieved.

R   :   ROMANCE.   is your muse a romantic or a cynic?

He’s got a romantic streak so big that it chokes him sometimes. Really, he just wants to share all the things he loves with someone who can find as much joy in it as him...  and he wants to get to know their world and everything they care about. He craves a deep connection with someone, beyond the physical intimacy of sex, but the idea intimidates him at the same time. Tab would absolutely spoil his partner with romantic surprises and gifts, just because he wants to make them feel appreciated and get to know them better. He wants to understand what kind of romance they want.

S   :   SWEETHEART.   did your muse have a childhood sweetheart?

He had his first kiss under a jungle gym when he was four. You do the math.

T   :   TRUE LOVE.   does your muse believe in true love?

He...  wants to. Very much. Isn’t sure he’s ever seen it before, and doubts it’s for everyone  ---  he’s kind of convinced it’ll never happen to him  ---  but it’s got to be real for some people.

U   :   UNREQUITED.   has your muse had their heart broken?

He had a girlfriend in high school that he was crazy for, even hoped to marry one day. Little Floyd was popular with the girls, but he grew into an awkward phase that lasted throughout middle and most of high school; but Maryetta Stevens was the sweetest gal he’d ever known, and never judged him for his acne or his bitten nails. He was genuinely head-over-heels for her...  but she was stolen away by the marching band captain, and that was the end of that. It took him months to recover.

V   :   VALENTINE.   how does your muse feel about valentine’s day?

He’s got a dozen things he’d prefer to be doing, but everybody wants to go on a date on Valentine’s day. If fighting their way through a crowded restaurant just to get a cozy table by the window is what his partner wants to do, Tab’s game for it.

W  :   WEDDING.   would your muse get married? why / why not?

It’s something he’s given a lot of thought to  ---  and, while he’s not against it, it would definitely have to be with the right person. Tab’s not going to make that commitment until he knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with someone; it’s not something he takes lightly.

X   :   XOXO.   does your muse use / like pet names?

Not for his friends in general, but he’s got nicknames for all his siblings, would come up with great ones for his own kids...  and a few sweet, intimate ones he uses exclusively for his partner. Those only come out when he’s in a gushy mood.

Y   :   YOURS.   does your muse get protective easily?

...  yeah. Abso-freaking-lutely. And he’s not gonna apologize for it either. If someone’s threatening someone he cares about, Tab’s not gonna hesitate to step in, and he’ll take whatever approach is necessary  ---  a suggestive word, or a firm fist. Tab doesn’t mess around when it comes to protecting the people he loves.

Z   :   ZZZ.   how many people has your muse slept with?

He’s...  he’s...  he’s Tab, is the thing. He’s just...  talented. A gift like that doesn’t come without a lot of people eager to unwrap the package. The boy... definitely gets around.

[jawnjendes]

bonus: why is their luck in a deeply sad moment? | shawn mendes

some type of au idk man, shawn x goth ex gf

WARNING: there is talk of death and suicide in this chapter. read at your own risk.

AN: i cant squeeze this into the next big fic nor can i fit it into shawn meets bc everyone hated it so its a bonus in the gg story lmao also im starying the Next Big Fic in a few days :)

masterlist | annalise’s playlist

2026.

"Sometimes I think about the what ifs,"  Ann said, “but I like where I am. I like what I’ve made for myself.”

Shawn had to invite her over to his house a second time, because the first time left him with many questions unanswered. He couldn’t be mad at what she said, though. He was in the same boat; he liked the life he made. You know, without the crushing loss and run in with the supernatural.

“Well, I’m happy for you,” he told her, and he really meant it. “I’m glad we were able to successfully do our own things straight after breaking up.”

“Nothing like filling the void in your heart with work!” Ann replied with a giggle. She moved a strand of hair behind her ear, and that’s when Shawn noticed something.

He took her hand and noticed a tattoo on the side of her middle finger: The Triforce.

“You got inked?” he asked, impressed.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” she replied, grabbing her sleeve to roll it up.

There was a sword on her inner arm. It was varying in shades of blue, and it also had the Triforce on it. Shawn recognized it as the Master Sword from the Legend of Zelda games.

“All this is is proof that I’m a nerd,” Ann said as she rolled her sleeve back down. “I notice you have some more ink also… and that you still wear shirts half buttoned.” She pointed to his chest.

Her finger poked the exposed skin. It shouldn’t have been as tingly as it was. Shawn smiled and placed his hand over his chest.

“More than just that,” he told her. “But I can’t show you all of them.”

Maybe it was a little risky to say that. Shawn would have taken it back if Ann’s cheeks hadn’t gone a shade of pink.

“I could say the same thing…”

Shawn quickly came to learn just how many tattoos Ann had gotten over the years. A snake and tombstones on her other arm. Feather on her collarbone, roses on her shoulder. A quote reading, “...but I’m not anymore” with stars around it on her ribcage. Something on her wrist that Shawn didn’t catch because he was busy pressing his lips to her hips and taking off her pants, where he found another tattoo. “Lucky you.” He certainly felt it.

Everything about their time together was so familiar, so easy and almost home-like. Ann’s skin touching his. Her lips perfectly molding over his. The quiet, needy gasps they both released into the bedroom. It was like going back in time, and they were in Shawn’s Toronto apartment instead of his multimillion dollar condo in LA. It was soft and slow, despite Shawn pinning Ann’s arms above her head. He didn’t outgrow that particular move, and she still seemed to like it.

Shawn had never been happier to have been on a break more than now. Most one night stands in the past began and ended very quickly, because he was on tour or in between interviews or on a break for one day. This was one person that he didn’t want to leave behind. They lied down, sweaty and dazed, facing each other. It was silent, but not awkward. Everything had a nice haze around it.

That was also when Shawn finally made out what the tattoo on Ann’s wrist was. He picked his head up in confusion.

“Is… are those torches?” he asked. “Upside down? Just like mine… and are those my initials?”

It was simple line art, less intricate than his own. Torches in an X, with “SM” right below them. Shawn has been floored many times, and this was no exception.

Ann picked her head up as well. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Shawn looked down at his chest, his torches were exactly the same, sans the initials. He wanted to give Ann the benefit of the doubt, that this wasn’t some creepy fangirl thing. Some of his one night stands ended up like that, and it wasn’t exactly easy to forget.

“It’s for a friend of mine,” Ann explained, sitting up and covering her front with the blanket. She took note of the look on Shawn’s face. “Keeping someone’s light on beyond death, remember? I assume yours is for someone too.”

They were both sitting up now, and Shawn relaxed. However, he only relaxed a little bit because now it was time to get deep.

“Mine’s for Brian. He died last year.”

Ann’s face fell. “No. Brian, your best friend? Brian, the one who constantly took the piss outta me?”

He nodded. “He was… there was an accident. Flight of stairs. Instantly killed.” It was all lies, but no human would understand.

A hand went over his, squeezing. “I’m so sorry. He just, he just fell down some stairs?”

“A lot of stairs. I don’t know I guess he was running or something. There was no way to save him. People in the house heard the crash, but by the time they found him - when I found him - it was too late.” He had told this version many times, enough times to where he could almost believe it himself.

“Fuck, man. That’s… that’s fucking terrible,” Ann said sympathetically. “But I seriously can’t believe you just told me that.”

“Why?”

“Because now I have to tell you that mine is for Stella. Those are her initials.”

Stella Martinez. Now Shawn felt a little stupid… but surprised, and he was met with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He couldn’t believe it for a second, but it fully processed in his head, and his heart began to break.

“Stella from college? Stella, who was your literal opposite and also your best friend?”

Ann solemnly nodded. Then she looked down. “She… she killed herself.”

Shawn was stunned into silence, the tightness in his chest only intensifying. The entire time he knew Stella, she was always so positive and bubbly. She was the opposite of suicidal. That’s why it was such a shock… and so sad. Oh god, who was going to tell Camila?

“When did Brian go to the other side?” Ann asked after a moment.

“A year ago last month,” Shawn replied. “And Stella?”

Ann raised an eyebrow. “Two years ago last month...”

It was a strange coincidence, but still upsetting. Both Shawn and Ann lost their best friends at the same time of the year. The urge to spill everything was thick in the air. Still, neither of them said anything for a while.

Instead, Ann reached down to the floor to pick up her clothes. Shawn’s eyes were stuck on her and that was when he spotted another word on her back. Nightmare. Small font, right shoulder blade, surrounded by a cluster of skulls. Then, he realized what she was doing.

“Are you leaving?”

She looked up, bra in hand. She was quiet as she put it back on.

“No. No, I’m not going anywhere.”

And she crawled back into bed. She made the point to keep a distance from Shawn, who was still naked. He was on his side, looking at the woman before him. Only Ann could have sex with him and bring up the subject of death. That brought a new point to mind.

“How do you enjoy death?” he asked. “I think I’ve asked you this before, but after losing someone and attending their funeral, I’m having a hard time understanding your perspective.”

Ann took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t enjoy the act of dying. People die every day in horrible ways. People mourn and fall into depression because of death. That’s not something to enjoy.”

“So what’s your deal with it?”

“I’m just embracing the face that it’s inevitable. I do that for myself. I will die eventually, or tomorrow-”

Shawn made a face; he didn’t like that thought.

“It doesn’t make it any easier when someone I know goes,” Ann continued. “You’d think with all the research I’ve done it would be. The ones we love leave this mortal plane, and all they leave is their absence. And that alone is a lot to process.”

“What’s the hardest part?”

“The what if’s.”

Shawn asked because he really wanted to know more about what happened to Stella. He had to know the things that led up to the tragedy, mostly because he knew Camila would ask for details, even if they were hard to hear.

He figured he should spill his side first.

“The last thing I said to Brian was to get the hell out of my room,” he began. “We were fighting, fighting over something so fucking stupid, and I was so pissed at him. That was our last interaction. He fell down the stairs because he was trying to find me in this big huge mansion…”

Ann sat up a little bit, hand over her chest. “Here?”

“Oh no, not here. I was staying at a friend’s house in London for a work thing. Place was huge, easy to get lost in,” Shawn clarified. “Brian, Andrew, all of them were leaving back to Toronto and I didn’t want to go just yet. Part of it was because I was still pissed. Maybe if I had run into him first before he fell… If I hadn’t kicked him out of my room a few nights prior… If I was less of an asshole…”

“Maybe you would have slipped on the stairs,” Ann told him. “Maybe you guys would have had an even bigger argument later that would have ended your friendship. There’s no way to tell, and sometimes that’s what sucks the most.”

Huh. Most people tell him not to dwell on it. No wonder Ann was a shrink now.

“Losing someone is one of the hardest things we, as humans, have to face,” she said. “It’s not easy in the slightest. Besides, the grieving period takes about three to five years, so you - we - are still in the beginning stages of it. Thinking about the what ifs, what you want to change, what you wish you could say to Brian - all of that is normal.”

The two of them let those words settle for a moment. Shawn’s eyes were a little misty, and redirecting the topic was probably not going to help. But he laid his stuff out on the table.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Me?”

“Your what ifs?”

Ann paused, looking around the room. “What if I had put my Master’s to use and noticed the goddamn signs?”

Shawn watched her, hoping she would at least return the eye contact.

“I’m an expert in this shit,” she said. “I have the years of school, the degrees, and the licenses for detecting things like this. I only figured it out the moment her dad called me.”

“How do you detect when someone is suicidal?”

“In her case, she was elated. When someone makes that decision, they reach a state of euphoria because they know their pain is about to end.”

“But Stella was always-”

“Believe me, I know. I hadn’t talked to her since graduating in Toronto, so I thought she hadn’t changed at all. But I would see on her social media, she just moved back to her parents’ house in Florida, and she hinted that she wasn’t happy about it.”

As if Shawn couldn’t take another blow. Come to think of it, he never heard much about Stella’s home life. He didn’t even think that it could be a negative place for her.

“I was in Jacksonville for work,” Ann continued, “so I hit her up, and we met up for lunch. We talked for about an hour, and she said that I was always a good friend and college wife and that she’ll always love me. And my stone hearted ass just said ‘cool, you don’t suck’ and that was that. A month later, she’s as blue as the pills she took.”

“Ooo…” Shawn sighed, cringing at that mental image. Sweet, warm hearted Stella cold and lifeless. Call it morbid, awful thinking, but Shawn wished Brian looked like that in death instead of the bloody mess he turned out to be.

“Yeah. And her parents had her embalmed and put in an airtight casket, but that’s a whole other rant.” Ann waved it off and lied back down.

Shawn didn’t know what else to do except lie down as well. While sharing the stories of how their friends died, he couldn’t help but feel just a little bit closer to Ann. The first time they met, it took fighting tooth and nail to get her to open up. Now, Shawn felt okay silently reached for her hand, and tenderly holding it in his.

Both of them winded up at the same awards show. Both lost their best friends. Both got the same type of tattoo to honor them. Neither of them anticipated meeting again. This couldn’t be a coincidence.

_______

goth gf taglist: @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @ilsolee @mendesromano @kitykatnumber @strangerliaa @iloveshawnieboi @someoneunimportantxx @goldenmndes @calyumthomas @shawnsunflower @shawnvvmendes @parkeraul @havethetimeeofyourlifee @chillingbythesea @wronglanemendes @softmendesss @peruvian-bae @theprivatewritings

[weroyals]

𝟏𝐎𝐎 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 / 𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒

What is your full name?    Mitchell Alexander Shephard

Where and when were you born?  Before the invasion,  hospital near where my parents lived.  I don’t really remember where that was.  Probably doesn’t exist anymore.

Who are/were your parents? (Know their names, occupations, personalities, etc.) A sweet woman who just wanted to be a good mother,  &  a guy that skipped out on her.  That’s why she ended up murdered.  I hope he ended up a Stalker.

Do you have any siblings? What are/were they like?  A little brother named Adrian. We were separated at a young age.  He went missing during the Black Mesa incident,  but  .  .  .  so did I.

Where do you live now, and with whom? Describe the place and the person/people. I live on an aircraft carrier with my surviving comrades  &  the kids I took from the Combine back in Alaska.  They’re grown now,  but just barely.  I’m responsible for every soul aboard,  regardless of age.

What is your occupation?    Career military man.

Write a full physical description of yourself. You might want to consider factors such as: height, weight, race, hair and eye color, style of dress, and any tattoos, scars, or distinguishing marks.    I’m not much for novel descriptions,  but,  uh  .  .  .  I’m tall,  white,  toned.  Shaved dark hair.  Grey eyes.. Ill advised tattoos,  you’re not going to see them unless we’re sleeping together.  Dark clothes,  warm enough to wear on the sea.  The scars are the first thing you’re going to notice if we’re first meeting.  Not that I’m holding it against you.

To which social class do you belong?    Those really don’t exist anymore.

Do you have any allergies, diseases, or other physical weaknesses? Hah !!  Not that I’m telling you.

Are you right- or left-handed?    Right.

What does your voice sound like? I imagine that if sharks had voices,  we would have something in common.

What words and/or phrases do you use very frequently? Command phrases,  naval terms.

What do you have in your pockets? A compass,  a lighter,  a knife,

Do you have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics? Hmm.  Monologuing,  maybe.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐: 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐔𝐏

How would you describe your childhood in general? It was relatively peaceful,   &  then my mother got remarried,  &  then it was hell.  At least I got Adrian out of the deal.  

What is your earliest memory? Being introduced to Adrian.

How much schooling have you had? High school dropout.  Joined the Marines instead of going to college.

Did you enjoy school? Not really.  I was a smart but unfocused student,  with a lot on my mind.

Where did you learn most of your skills and other abilities? Military training  &  real life experience.

While growing up, did you have any role models? If so, describe them. I don’t think I ever really did.  

While growing up, how did you get along with the other members of your family? I adored my mother,  I was inseparably close with Adrian,  protective over him.  Not that it kept us from getting separated after our mother died.  But I tried.

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up? A semitruck driver.  You know,  drive all over the country,  listen to music,  get paid to do it.  Childish dream.

As a child, what were your favorite activities? Climbing,  running,  seeing how high in trees I could get.  Sneaking through fences to get into places I wasn’t supposed to be.

As a child, what kinds of personality traits did you display? Mmm,  brashness,  protectiveness.  Zeal for life. 

As a child, were you popular? Who were your friends, and what were they like? I’d say I was about average.  I had a small friend group in elementary  &  middle school.  Stopped seeing them after everything went to shit.

When and with whom was your first kiss? A girl in high school,  in my first year,  before I dropped out.  Sweet girl.  I kissed her without asking,  thought that was the right thing to do,  like in movies ?  Stupid.  She told me never to do that again.  I didn’t.

Are you a virgin? If not, when and with whom did you lose your virginity? No,  no.  My first was the class whore that same year I had my first kiss.  Looking back I think I was a little young to be dipping my toes into that particular water,  especially since I proceeded to do an awful lot of swimming in it that same year.  I’m lucky things didn’t turn bad for me.

If you are a supernatural being (i.e. mage, werewolf, vampire), tell the story of how you became what you are or first learned of your own abilities. If you are just a normal human, describe any influences in your past that led you to do the things you do today. Despite what you may have heard,  I am just a normal human being.  I think my influences are pretty obvious.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑: 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒

What do you consider the most important event of your life so far? That’s a toss up.  Joining the Marines,  end of the world,  getting the Avalon Veil.  Meeting  .  .  .  well.  Maybe not.

Who has had the most influence on you? Hm.

What do you consider your greatest achievement? In spite of myself ?  Getting those kids out of the factory.

What is your greatest regret? .  .  .  I couldn’t keep us from being separated.

What is the most evil thing you have ever done? Where do I even begin ?

Do you have a criminal record of any kind? I did back when it mattered. 

When was the time you were the most frightened? When I woke up  &  found the sky black with Combine aircraft.

What is the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you? I’m not really sure.  I don’t care much about being embarrassed unless it’s in front of my troops,   &  things before that kind of blend together.  

If you could change one thing from your past, what would it be, and why? Does it have to be something it’s in my power to change ?  There’s not a lot I would change about my own actions at this point,  but there’s things I wish I could have influenced beyond my control.

What is your best memory? Some blurry summer afternoon when we were kids,  sitting outside eating popsicles with the sprinkler turned on us.

What is your worst memory? The murder of my mother.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟒: 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐅𝐒 & 𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

Are you basically optimistic or pessimistic?    Pessimistic.  I find it hard to believe that things are going to just turn out OK,  even if we try hard to change the course we find ourselves on.

What is your greatest fear?    Being completely  &  totally without options,  without freedom ;   finally being killed.

What are your religious views?    If there is a god,  I hope he at least finds all this entertaining.

What are your political views?    I was largely indifferent towards politics back when it mattered.  I always felt like whoever’s in charge makes the rules  &  it rarely varies from one leader to another.  Looks like I was more right than I knew.

What are your views on sex?    It’s a commodity,  it’s a weapon.  It’s whatever we want it to be.  I enjoy it when I have it.  I don’t have it with anyone on the Avalon Veil,  of course.  Makes it harder to come by,  but that just makes it more enjoyable.

Are you able to kill? Under what circumstances do you find killing to be acceptable or unacceptable?    Wouldn’t be much of a military man if I couldn’t.  Besides,  if you can’t kill these days,  your only future is gonna be as a Combine citizen keeping your head down  &  hoping Civil Protection doesn’t decide to knock it off for you.

In your opinion, what is the most evil thing any human being could do? It’s already been done,  whatever it is.  A thousand thousand times over.

Do you believe in the existence of soul mates and/or true love? No.

What do you believe makes a successful life? If you’re alive,  you’re succeeding.

How honest are you about your thoughts and feelings (i.e. do you hide your true self from others, and in what way)? I keep myself to myself for the most part,  because I can’t afford to be venting everything I feel out to my crew.  But I am mostly honest in what I do say about what I think.

Do you have any biases or prejudices?    Everyone does.  I can’t honestly believe I’m any different.

Is there anything you absolutely refuse to do under any circumstances? Why do you refuse to do it? Not that I can think of.

Who or what, if anything, would you die for (or otherwise go to extremes for)? I would go to extremes for my crew.  Die for them,  though ?   Hm.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟓: 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒 𝐖/𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒

In general, how do you treat others (politely, rudely, by keeping them at a distance, etc.)? Does your treatment of them change depending on how well you know them, and if so, how? Professionally,  mostly with military decorum.  I’m not rude to people for no reason,  but I can be abrasive at times.  Not intentionally.

Who is the most important person in your life, and why? Myself.

Who is the person you respect the most, and why? Probably Nick,  because he’s stuck with me this long,   &  risen to the occasion despite clearly not being happy with my position or how I obtained it.

Who are your friends? Do you have a best friend? Describe these people. I have comrades  &  subordinates.  That is all.

Do you have a spouse or significant other? If so, describe this person. No.

Have you ever been in love? If so, describe what happened. I can’t say I ever have.

What do you look for in a potential lover? I doubt I’ll ever have one.

How close are you to your family? I’ve already answered that.

Have you started your own family? If so, describe them. If not, do you want to? Why or why not? I haven’t.  It’s not in the cards for me.  I’m too far gone  &  so’s the world. 

Who would you turn to if you were in desperate need of help? If not my crew,  there isn’t anyone else.

Do you trust anyone to protect you? Who, and why? My crew,  because they’ve been trained their whole lives for this  &  I have no doubt of their loyalty.

If you died or went missing, who would miss you?    Good question.

Who is the person you despise the most, and why? Freeman.  Because he’s the one that tore me apart  &  it’s his fault things have gotten this bad.  

Do you tend to argue with people, or avoid conflict? I’ll argue whatever I feel needs to be argued.

Do you tend to take on leadership roles in social situations? I tend to take on leadership roles in all situations.

Do you like interacting with large groups of people? Why or why not? I don’t mind it.  I’m very much accustomed to it at this point.

Do you care what others think of you? Only my crew.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟔: 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 & 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒

What is/are your favorite hobbies and pastimes? Reading,  cleaning  &  firing weapons,  parkour.

What is your most treasured possession? The Avalon Veil herself,  I think.

What is your favorite color? If I had to choose,  probably green.

What is your favorite food? I used to like anything that had tomatoes in it.  Weird,  I know.  These days,  I’ll take what I can get.  The leeches aren’t bad if you grill them.

What, if anything, do you like to read? Whatever material still exists.  I like old contemporary novels.  They give you a glimpse into a world that doesn't exist anymore.

What is your idea of good entertainment (consider music, movies, art, etc.)? We play music on the Avalon Veil sometimes.  Haven’t got any movies or anything like that.  I like to watch the crew enjoy themselves dancing in their downtime.

Do you smoke, drink, or use drugs? If so, why? Do you want to quit? I’ll smoke or drink when I’m able to get my hands on either.  It’s a good release,  of course I don’t want to stop.  Drugs,  though,  that’d impair me too much.

How do you spend a typical Saturday night? With my crew aboard the Avalon Veil.  

What makes you laugh? Not a whole lot.

What, if anything, shocks or offends you? Nothing,  anymore.  What should ?

What would you do if you had insomnia and had to find something to do to amuse yourself? Probably look out over the water,  read,  take a walk about the decks.

How do you deal with stress? Usually by shooting things.

Are you spontaneous, or do you always need to have a plan? If you don’t have a plan out there,  you’re as good as dead.  

What are your pet peeves? Nervous movements,  messianic babble about the Freeman.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟕: 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐄 & 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

Describe the routine of a normal day for you. How do you feel when this routine is disrupted? A typical day,  not going ashore,  involves running through training exercises,  overseeing daily chores,  holding meetings with my higher officers,  so on.  If it’s interrupted,  then that’s cause to be upset because that means we have a  really  big  problem.

What is your greatest strength as a person? Willingness to do what needs to be done.

What is your greatest weakness? I’m necessarily self — involved.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? There’s nothing I can think of right off.

Are you generally introverted or extroverted? Extroverted,  as I have to be.

Are you generally organized or messy? Organized to the letter.  I punish disorganization.

Name three things you consider yourself to be very good at, and three things you consider yourself to be very bad at. Very good at killing,  leading,   &  climbing. Very bad at empathizing,  small talk,  &  working with the machinery of the Avalon Veil.

Do you like yourself? I’m neutral towards myself.

What are your reasons for being an adventurer (or doing the strange and heroic things that RPG characters do)? Are your real reasons for doing this different than the ones you tell people in public? (If so, detail both sets of reasons…) What the fuck ?

What goal do you most want to accomplish in your lifetime? Grow my little private nation into something worthwhile.

Where do you see yourself in 5 years? In the same place,  at best.

If you could choose, how would you want to die? Quickly.

If you knew you were going to die in 24 hours, name three things you would do in the time you had left. Have sex,  deface an image of Freeman,  jump off the upper deck of the Avalon Veil  &  swim in the ocean.

What is the one thing for which you would most like to be remembered after your death? Is it too much to ask to be remembered for raising these soldiers.

What three words best describe your personality? Stern,  cold,  vindictive

What three words would others probably use to describe you? Strong,  driven,  pragmatic

If you could, what advice would you, the player, give to your character? (You might even want to speak as if he or she were sitting right here in front of you, and use proper tone so he or she might heed your advice…) Cecil tells me to    ❝ Get over yourself  &  appreciate the family you have. ❞    Would that it were so easy.

[amplesalty]

A Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy’s Revenge (1985) & Scream, Queen! My Nightmare on Elm Street (2019)

One, two, Freddy’s coming for you...

I feel like I’ve mentioned Nightmare 2 a few times on here but it never had it’s own dedicated entry so I’ve had a rewatch of it on my mind for a while now. That was only hastened when I recently learned of ‘Scream, Queen!’, a documentary cantered around Mark Patton who plays the lead character Jesse in 2.

Amongst the less than favourable reviews Nightmare 2 has, it also has the reputation of the ‘gayest horror movie ever’ which lead to the typecasting of Patton and him walking away from his acting career. It’s not something I was immediately aware of on my initial viewing of it, certainly there are a lot of moments that with that in mind stand out upon rewatching and a few that are less than subtle, such as Jesse going to a gay bar in the middle of the night only to run into his gym teacher. Some of it seems a little too much like people trying to read into things that aren’t there, like it seems people point out an early scene where Jesse gets into a tussle with one of his classmates Grady during a softball game. Grady rips Jesse’s trousers and they have a bit of a roll around on the grass before being separated. There are doubtless hundreds of examples of kids getting into fights like that across TV and cinematic history that people wouldn’t point out as examples of homoeroticism. But when you couple that with moments like a later scene where Jesse runs away from his girlfriend as they’re about to have sex, only to seek solitude with Grady and they have this exchange:

“There’s something inside of me. And last night it made me go into my sister’s room. And tonight with Lisa in the cabana, it started happening again.” “I think you are seriously losing it, bro.” “I’m scared, Grady. Something is trying to get inside my body.” “Yeah, and she’s female, and she’s waiting for you in the cabana. And you wanna sleep with me.”

You can perhaps see why people might start drawing conclusions from other scenes.

That ‘something’ is Freddy who is seemingly manifesting himself through Jesse into the real world. Up until that point though, the lines have been very blurry as to whether or not Freddy is actually back or whether Jesse is just going crazy, caught up in the wild stories of this vengeful killer from beyond the grave and becoming some sort of copycat.

It’s that part of the movie that I really like, this gray area where you’re not sure exactly what’s happening. It’s something the Nightmare series is able to explore with its switching between the normal and dream worlds but it’s taken to another level here, rather than just use that to build suspense as to whether a character is in danger due to Freddy being present in the dream world, you can see Jesse descending into this madness and are left to wonder whether or not he’s the one actually the one committing these murders.

Things can be a little disorientating at times due to the editing which I’m not sure is intentional or due to them making cuts. I think there’s a couple of occasions where things will pick up in the morning with Jesse wearing one set of clothes, then jumping to lunch time at school or in the evening back home where he’s wearing different clothes, inplying a day or more has passed. I suppose it does add to the atmosphere in a way but it also comes off a bit weird to me.

The movie is pretty much entirely in the real world so it lacks the creative and unique kills that often arise when people slip into slumber and into Freddy’s realm. But it does feature a scene where Freddy finally emerges into the real world and terrorises a high school party. You don’t really get that widespread sense of panic elsewhere in the series, there’s often that sort of low level of ongoing dread once the group of kids realise what’s happening and fear the next time they fall asleep but Freddy often kills people when they’re alone so it’s a change to see dozens of kids trying to escape, trampiling each other as they try and break through a gate or climb a wall. Apparently Wes Craven didn’t like this scene as it made Freddy look silly by having him surrounded by a bunch of muscular jocks. I find that a little strange though since, yeah Freddy might not be the most imposing figure size wise but his body is pretty much one giant, oozing sore complete with knives for fingers so I’m pretty sure he’s going to come out on top in terms of intimidation. Not to mention all the supernatural shit he’s seemingly conjuring like turning the pool into a boiling pot and summoning up pillars of fire.

I feel like this is where things take a sharp downturn, having the manifestation of Freddy emerge kinda removes all doubt and also takes Jesse out of the movie until the very end. It just feels a little anti climatic to have this big final battle suddenly fought by Jesse’s girlfriend who falls back on the trope of ‘I know you’re still in there, I love you!’ as she implores Jesse to fight back and finally overcome Freddy. So much for that gay subtext if it’s hetro love that finally saves the day.

Going into this rewatch, I had this built up very highly in my head which I don’t think it was able to live up to. Possibly because this years Invisible Man has surpassed it in my head as the really good example of that ambigious horror I like so much. Like Elisabeth Moss in that film, Patton has a real good look to him here in getting across the anxiety that Jesse is going through.

And to draw comparison to another Universal horror, there’s something of a Jekyll and Hyde or Wolfman to Jesse, the way he worries about this transformation that he’s going through and about the thing inside him coming out. During that scene at Grady’s place, Freddy emerges from Jesse’s body almost like a butterfly breaking free of it’s cacoon. Maybe that’s what everyone is talking about when it comes to the gay themes, that sense of discovery taking place amongst young adults and the angst surrounding whether or not they really want to reveal their true selves to a world that, as we’re unfortunately discovering more and more these days, still isn’t ready to accept everyone even nearly 40 years after this movie came out.

So for the documentary – Scream, Queen is an appropriate name for more than just the play on the ‘scream queen’ moniker given to notable horror movie actresses like Jamie Lee Curtis, and the obvious double meaning with it being focused around Patton’s sexuality. There’s quite a few instances of him delivering screams during Nightmare 2 which is a little unusual for a male character in a horror movie, not least a lead like he was. Plus it’s a little unusual for a male to be the lead at all, ‘last girl’ and all that, especially in the Nightmare franchise, all the other ones I’ve seen so far are female led.

They talk about the negative reputation the movie has and highlight a lot of internet comments about the sexual themes, a lot of slurs in there and comments like ‘Jesse screams like a girl’. Well wouldn’t you if some burn victim grabbed you in your house, ran knived fingers across your face and then ripped the top of his head off to expose his brain? I don’t doubt for a second that there are scores of people out there who would write this off due to this, I would hope that those are just a minority and if people don’t like it that they have legitimate reasons for that.

It’s a very eye opening story because even after learning about all this ‘gay subtext’ surrounding the movie and Patton’s departure from acting, I hadn’t really thought about the wider reasons behind that. Like, you hear about him being typecast and you just think that he doesn’t want to be pigeon holed into just playing one type of character or that it was hard to find work in those roles because not many of them existed. But it’s much deeper and more disturbing than that, delving into the emergence of the disease into the wider public knowledge during the 1980’s and the panic surrounding that. They show archived headlines and TV clips, with one member of the public being interviewed on the news saying “what they’re doing is abnormal...they’re not fit, they’re not human beings”. It’s painted as a bit of a witchhunt, with tabloids trying to out any closeted Hollywood stars and Patton tells a story of being duped into divulging information on his own boyfriends illness. With blood tests implemented for any prospective actors and him being advised to look and act a certain way to be more palatable to casters, he’s being asked to deny who he truly is.

For as much as the movie looks at the darker period of his formative years and him walking away from Hollywood, it’s encouraging to see his re-emergence into the public eye and embracing the fandom surrounding the movie, taking part in conventions and screenings that shun the negativity and instead see the role as empowering, encouraging people going through similar situations and being something of a role model.

The film culminates in a sit down talk between Patton and Nightmare 2’s writer David Chaskin who he feels has thrown him under the bus whenever talk of the ‘gay subtext’ has come up, having long denied any such thing before slowly changing his story and claiming that it was the casting that ruined the movie. Just before this there is footage of Patton and Jack Sholder at a convention where Sholder comes across as a little condescending. He’s basically telling Patton that directing his ire at Chaskin is misplaced and that he should drop the whole thing given it’s been 30 years. There’s an element of truth to that but I think it’s understandable that Patton would feel that way, especially when he points out that it’s only recently that Chaskin has taken ownership of the subtext now that we’re living in a more understanding time where it’s perhaps viewed as a brave move to introduce this kind of element. It’s going to be hard to look past someone enabling more vitriol by pinning problems on you.

The talk between Chaskin and Patton is a little awkward and it comes across like they’re there for different purposes, Chaskin trying to lighten the mood periodically where Patton keeps a serious tone, challenging Chaskin on some of the comments he’s made.

There’s one in particular where Chaskin suggests that the movie could be played at conversion camps....yikes.

Patton openly saying beforehand that he’s looking for an apology but I don’t know if he exactly got that. Chaskin says he hopes Patton can forgive him and that there are previous comments he made that he regrets but it comes across a little laboured. Maybe there was more said whilst the cameras weren’t rolling or maybe Patton is just accepting what little he can get from the experience in order to bring some closure to the whole thing.

[creative-type]

I recently read Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn on recommendation from a friend. Finished it in about a day, and have had it stuck in my head ever since. Not because I liked it -- quite the opposite, in fact -- but after finishing the last pages of the epilogue and setting the book down never to be revisited again, I had to ask myself a question:

Is it possible to read a book incorrectly? And if so, did I?

Spoilers and musings beyond the cut. Fair warning, Sharp Objects is a fairly dark book that covers some pretty heavy issues including cutting and abuse. Consider yourself warned

To start out with, I’m not a huge fan of death of the author. I do think the reader of a text has to take the effort to try and figure out what the author is trying to tell them. Consideration should be made for the time and place the work was written, the prevailing culture, and so on and so forth. A historical romance written today isn’t going to ever replicate completely the style of Jane Austin because the authors are drawing from two completely different frames of reference. Culture changes. Languages changes. How we tell stories changes. 

(Note: Not saying death of the author is inherently bad. It is just one of many systems of interpretation, and like every other system has its benefits and limitations. My hackles only raise when it becomes the only system of interpretation, as if it were intrinsically more valuable and valid than the rest /rant)

That being said, I think an author can be very subtle with the message they’re trying to send, or purposefully leave that message open to interpretation. And sometimes...sometimes sometimes the signals get crossed along the way, and the message that was intended never reaches the reader.

Which brings me to the point of this rambling mess of an analysis. I found Sharp Objects to be a dreary slog of a book. I knew it was dark going into the story, but there’s no levity inter-spaced between the overwhelming negativity to act as a reprieve between the elements of horror and tragedy. It has a very bleak opinion on the human condition in general and the small town the story takes place in particular. The ‘small town with a dark secret’ and the ‘family with a dark secret’ tropes are well-worn and familiar fodder for stories like these, but if I hadn’t read the author’s note at the end I would have thought that Flynn had never actually spent time in small-town America because it clashed so hard with my experience growing up in rural Iowa, the disconnect taking me out of the setting pretty early on. 

I’m sure some people enjoy this kind of storytelling -- and apparently enough did that they turned it into an HBO mini series -- but it’s not my cup of tea. Maybe it’s my small-town roots showing, but I was almost offended by the picture Flynn painted of the fictional town of Wind Gap. I can handle darkness, but not page after page, after stinking page of unlikable, mean-spirited bickering and backbiting. 

The mystery itself sparked enough curiosity to keep me engaged, but I’d pretty much figured out whodunit midway through the book on genre conventions alone. I figured about the fifth time someone remarked that the killer had to have been a man that it was probably going to be a woman, and was instantly suspicious that the main character’s sister’s illness was never named. 

About the same time I more or less knew who the killers likely were, I began to wonder if I was reading the book wrong. I was struck by how well-written the prose was, with several vivid descriptions helping carry me along even if I didn’t particularly like what was being described. The main character, a middling journalist named Camille, starts the book as a former cutter and current alcoholic, and her mental state goes downhill from there. At one point she takes Ecstasy with her (I think?) thirteen year old half-sister (who, along with their mother, never felt like an actually character to me and more like a collection of bizarre traits and behaviors smooshed together in the semblance of a human being. Like I said, there’s never really any doubt who the killers are) and later on has sex with a barely eighteen year old boy who happens to be the prime murder suspect. She’s in such a messed up state that she thinks the best way to make up for this lapse of judgement is to try and give a blow job to the lead detective of the case while they’re sitting in the police station. 

You know, as you do.

What made me think this way was the fact that the book’s written in the first person. I thought, if only for a moment, that perhaps we the reader was being led on by Camille’s own prejudice. It’s no secret that she hateed her hometown and the people she grew up with, and would rather leave her past behind than face the trauma she endured head on. No wonder she’s describing the sky before a rainstorm as the color of piss, or that she takes the time to mention a floating pube in the bath of a hotel on the way to Wind Gap. Of course all of her mother’s friend’s are equally as horrible as her mother, or that the girls she knew in high school would grow up to be just as shallow and vain. It made sense that she would describe the siblings of one of the victims as a fat, tantrum throwing girl and another as a dullard of a boy who would never amount to anything. A stubbornly pessimistic, barely functioning, disaster of a human being would see the negative in everything everywhere she went. 

All at once everything clicked into place, and I felt like the author and I were on the same wavelength. By the time I got three-quarters of the way through the book I could see it going one of two ways: 1) Camille would somehow be proven wrong about her assumptions and prejudices, which would in turn kick start some character development or 2) Camille would be right, and Wind Gap would be proven to be just as horrible as she already thought it was. I figured if that second option was taken it was likely for the story to have a somber, even tragic ending, as the weight of all these terrible secrets and pain broke our lead character completely. 

That’s...not what happened, and in strange display of pacing the true killer is only revealed during the epilogue (side note, I thought the reveal of where all the teeth were hidden was one of the best twists in the whole story). To be honest, it felt like the author tried to cram an entire sequel into the last 10 pages of the story, but long story short, Mama killed Camille’s sister during their childhood, but it was Baby Half Sister who did the present-day murders. After this stunning turn of events, Camille finds a knife and gives into the temptation she’d been fighting for the whole damn book, mutilating the one bit of unmarred skin she has left and the implication that she would have killed herself had someone not stopped her in time.

Ah, I thought to myself, tragedy it is. Not my favorite, but I could see how the author got from Point A to Point B and you could take a somber message about how the effect the environment a person is raised in affects them for the rest of their lives. 

If the book ended there I would have been fine with it. I still wouldn’t have liked it, but it would have made perfect sense. Instead we get this last little bit to tie all the loose ends neatly in a bow. Note this ending comes immediately after the relapse into self-mutilation, which itself burst onto the scene with very little warning and was over after one paragraph:

Curry and Eileen packed my things and took me into their home, where I have a bed and some space in what was once a basement rec room. All sharp objects have been locked up, but I haven’t tried too hard to get at them,

I am learning to be cared for. I am learning to be parented. I’ve returned to my childhood, the scene of the crime. Eileen and Curry wake me in the mornings and put me to bed with kisses (or in Curry’s case, a gentle chuck under the chin). I drink nothing stronger than the grap soda Curry favors. Eileen runs my bath and sometimes brushes my hair. It doesn’t give me chills, and we consider this a good sign. 

It is almost May 12, one year exactly from my return to Wind Gap. The date also happens to be Mother’s Day this year. Clever. Sometimes I think about that night caring for Amma, and how good I was at soothing her and calming her. I have dreams of washing Amma and drying her brow. I wake with my stomach turning and a sweaty upper lip. Was I good at caring for Amma because of kindness? Or did I like caring for Amma because I have Adora’s sickness? I waver between the two, especially at night, when my skin begins to pulse. 

Lately, I’ve been leaning toward kindness.

When I read that last sentence, the gears in head ground to an abrupt halt, and I immediately disconnected entirely from the story. Camille had spent the majority of this book being anything but kind. The only instance I can see that might fit into this characterization is an off-hand reference in the first chapter that her boss (the Curry mentioned here) thinks she’s too soft in her writing. 

I don’t know why these last paragraphs exist in this story. For all I know, the author couldn’t think of a way to finish the book and defaulted to a last-minute happy-ish ending. It is, after all, her debut novel. Hell, maybe it had been added at the insistence of her editor, or some other outside influence. 

Or maybe I’m just missing something. 

Death of the author demands that I, the reader, create my own meaning, but I simply can’t. Neither of the two readings I saw the potential for are supported by the text, and I find myself wandering back again and again to the matter of authorial intent. But for the life of me, I can’t figure out what the author’s trying to say. Either the story is too bleak to justify this...if not redemption, then healing for the main character, or the ending is too positive for the harsh and terrible world the author has gone through such pains to describe. You can’t have your cake and eat it too.

There is a third option: That even though the world is just as terrible and awful as you thought it was, recovery is still possible. It seems to be what that last page implies, but this is the weakest reading of all, if only because it doesn’t have time to develop. Three paragraphs does not a character arc make, and Camille spent too much time moping around being miserable to even consider the possibility of closure.

I think this might have been what the author was going for. It fits well with the metanarriative of the mystery itself. But if so, it’s a message poorly communicated, and even now I’m not sure what I’m supposed to take from the book.  

Again, on a technical level it’s very well-written, and undoubtedly I’m putting too much thought into what’s otherwise a generic murder mystery.  But I also think it’s important for the author’s voice to be heard in their work, even if that message gets a little muddled along the way.