#I’m just excited about the brand deal okay??? a FREE fuck machine??? I still can’t believe this is happening to me 🥹😭

[bondagebimbo]

not me excitedly calling my mother the second I knew she was off work so I could tell her about the fuck machine I’m getting sent to me from that brand and her immediately being like ‘wtf I didn’t even know those were a thing but that’s so cool!!! I’m so happy for you!!!’ LMAOOO 😂🥹

✨ we love a mother who unabashedly supports her SWer daughter and all her whore-ish goals ✨

[erodasfishtacos]

HSLOT PHILLY

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-

Harry is predictable.

He falls into the same patterns during every tour since he was on the Up All Night with One Direction.

The excitement that comes with the first couple of shows begins to fade as he starts his world wide tour that doesn’t end for nearly eight months.

His constant adrenaline wears off and his exhaustion from not having toured in two years settles deep in his bones.

YN senses it from a mile away, has nearly eleven years experience dealing with her jet-lagged, exhausted, and stubborn husband.

It hits the day of the Philadelphia show, they got in late the night before, and YN always set her alarm for seven thirty in the morning to workout.

Ninety-five percent of the time, Harry got up with her and they either did a jog around the new city or they took advantage of the in-hotel gym.

Four percent of the time, he would whine and tug the comforter over his head, whimpering, “M’too tired, baby. Stay in bed w’me.”

And then the one percent, which was today.

The alarm emits a low, constant beep that rouses YN, in the time she takes to rub her eye and come back into reality - Harry hisses with a sharp edge, “Turn tha’ fuckin’ thing off.”

She bites her tongue at his tone, reaching to turn it off but she can already tell what day they’re going to have.

YN slips out from under the covers and automatically gets a comment from her husband, it another whiney demand, “Cover m’feet, y’too the blanket off them.”

“Yes, your majesty,” YN replies reproachfully, rearranging the blankets before quietly moving around the room to change.

“Stop makin’ so much noise.”

“Turn off tha’ light.”

“S’too early f’this, d’you not care that m’tired?”

She chooses to ignore the remarks, hoping that he can sleep off the attitude.

When YN is about to leave, he grumbles, “Y’need to kiss me goodbye.”

Harry purses his lips for a soft kiss, not moving a muscle, and after that - she leaves to head down to the gym.

YN is required a body guard, definitely when she isn’t with Harry or a group of people, and she decided not to follow those rules today.

She had her TPWK water bottle in hand, a cute workout set on ***, and her AirPods tucked in her ear with some Spice Girls playing.

It’s only about twenty minutes into her exercise, a light jog on the treadmill, that a young girl slips up beside the machine.

YN is kind, stopping the belt to smile for a selfie before the girl scampers off and she resumes her run - music blasting.

However, what YN didn’t know, is that fans had found out early in the morning which hotel they where at and a hoard was rushing towards the small gym.

It’s not even ten minutes later when a swarm of fans in rushing into the work area, lining up around her machine with their phones flashing and recording.

She tries to be nice, “Hey! Uh, I’m just trying to workout. I’m sorry, but no pictures please.”

Then there is loud protest and people shoving each other, begging and pleading for a selfie or for her to sign something - all because she was Harry’s wife.

There is literally no exit to escape to, so she relents and anxiously calls Frank - one of the body guards - to come retrieve her.

-

The whole way back up to her hotel room, Frank is lecturing her about safety and how she could have gotten hurt.

And when he scans the keycard for her hotel room, she feels her stomach drop because Harry is sat against the kitchen counter.

His brown locks are rumpled and going every which way, just in his briefs that are low on his narrow hips, and absolutely irate expression on his face.

“Are y’fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Harry snaps, brow furrowed and jaw clenched - his arms were crossed tightly against his chest.

“Good morning to you, sunshine,” YN mutters, shutting the door and kicking off her tennis shoes to the side.

“Don’t,” Harry replies sourly, “Please explain t’me why I get woken up by Frank to be told y’getting mobbed in the gym? And y’didn’t to call him.”

YN bristles at his tone, giving him a pointed look as she steps further into the room, “It’s not a big deal. I just wasn’t thinking.”

“Y’right about that, y’weren’t thinkin’. It is a big deal, y’could have gotten hurt - shouldn’t have t’babysit m’own wife,” Harry huffs, stomping back over to the bed and sliding back under the covers.

“You better watch your tone-“

They’re interrupted with a knock to their door, Harry throws the covers over his head and leaves YN to open the door.

It’s Jeff, who barges in with a coffee in one hand, “Come on, H. Did you forget? You have soundcheck early today and then you have to meet with FullStop to review the details of that new merchandise contract.”

“No, move it,” The popstar groans, muffled from the heavy blankets over him, and his manager and wife give each other a knowing look.

“We can’t. Get up, we need to leave in fifteen,” Jeff replies casually, unbothered as he sips from his to-go mug.

It has Harry dramatically ripping off the covers and getting out of bed, as he charges off towards the bathroom, he shouts backwards, “Wish someone would have fuckin’ told me! Like m’manager or m’wife!”

“Oh my god, here we go,” YN groans quietly to Jeff, snatching up the few things she needs for the venue as well as Harry’s and shoving them in his duffle.

He comes out a few moments later, dressed in running shorts and a vintage Queen shirt - going to tug on his Nikes without a word to either.

But in true Harry fashion, even when he’s mad, he’s still a gentleman. He slips the duffle off his wife’s shoulder so she doesn’t have to carry it.

“Thank you,” She murmurs but he avoids eye contact, being the first to open the hotel room and trudge towards the awaiting car.

It’s a quiet ride, Harry looks out the window with a deep frown and puffy eyes - eyes heavy from the lack of sleep.

Usually, he’d be curled into YN - snuggling as close as possible and asking for her to pet his hair to soothe him.

Not today. But he does have his hand on her thigh.

There’s already fans at the arena and Harry doesn’t acknowledge them - keeps his head down and walks quickly into the private entrance past the barricades.

When a irritated fan screams, “Asshole! We waited all night here for you!”

YN watches as Harry goes to turn, to say something but she pushes him forward through the door to prevent him from doing something he’d regret when wasn’t in a foul mood.

They manage through the long hallways, filled with bustling tour crew, and everybody there to make the show happen.

Sound check isn’t as fun as it usually is, the band stays low-key when Harry does exactly what he needs to do and nothing more.

And after the merch meeting, Harry has reached his limit apparently.

He was so tired, so fucking moody that he couldn’t deal with anymore human interaction.

YN has to step in when she gets a text from Harry Lambert.

Come get your husband. Sarah’s Kitchen.

She sighs, excusing herself from hanging out with Jeff and Glenne - she can hear him from the hallway and now she’s finally get irritated.

“I asked for that specific brand. It’s literally one of the only things I’ve asked for on this tour.”

YN takes a deep breathe before stepping in, there are crew trying not to stare as Harry complains to Sarah about something unimportant.

“Harry,” She says flatly, “Come on.”

He snatches his water bottle and follows his wife out without another word, trailing behind until they end up in his dressing room.

“You need to stop. You’re being a literal nightmare today,” YN tells him, watching him as he digs in the duffle.

“Where is m’charger? Did y’not pack it?” He ignores her words.

“I must have forgot. Harry, I know you’re tired but you can’t be treating everyone like-“

Harry pushes back the bag, seething for no reason, “I’ll treat people however the fuck I want!”

“You’re acting like a spoiled popstar right now,” YN replies, attempting to stay level-headed and calm with him.

“S’my show! M’tour!”

“Yes and everyone is here to support you and you’re treating them like shit. Including me, I’m your wife - the one person in the world that’s here for you no matter what and you’re being downright mean.”

“Y’so fuckin’ sensitive,” Harry mutters angrily, digging around to try to find a charger in a different bag.

And…that stung a bit.

When he doesn’t get a response, he looks up and notices how her demeanor had changed - it brings him back to reality for a little bit.

“I’m not going to stay here and be talked to like that because you don’t feel good. I’ll leave you alone because you are being insufferable.”

“Bab-“

YN is already out the door, storming back to Sarah’s kitchen to apologize for her husband’s diva behavior and everyone shrugs her off - knowing it’s not her fault.

She is sat down with the band and a few others when her husband saunters in, he doesn’t look at anyone else as he walks up to his wife.

“Baby, can I talk to you?” He mumbles, his warm hand coming to cup her shoulder.

“Harry,” YN says back, they’ve been together for so long that those words are all she needs to say for him to formulate a response.

“Come nap w’me please, need you. I’ll apologize t’you,” Harry says, his palm encompassing and big on her.

“Harry,” She repeats.

The crew looks on in amusement as Harry huffs, he lifts his head and speaks loudly to the room at once, “I apologize for my behavior. I have no excuse for getting upset like I have been today. I hope you guys can forgive me.”

Everyone assures him that they forgive him, most of them have dealt with actual spoiled celebrities and Harry was just having a bad day (which still really wasn’t that bad.)

“Okay, come on, bunny,” YN agrees, satisfied and can’t help but smile a bit when she stands up and Harry automatically intertwines their fingers to hold her hand.

The sofa in his dressing room folds out to be a bed and they still had hours before the show.

Once they’ve locked the doo and settled down on the mattress - they’re both laying on their sides, facing each other.

“M’sorry, darlin’,” Harry whispers, “I haven’t been very nice t’you today. I was just upset about the gym thing and just being so tired.”

YN hums, combing throwing his fluffy curls with her fingers as his hands explore over her hips and belly like always.

“You always get like this every once in a while on tour, like a little spoiled popstar,” YN says softly, no sharpness in her tone, “You also need to be nice to your wife.”

“M’always nice t’my wife,” He mumbles childishly, leaning forward to nip at her chin, “I am sorry, know tha’ when I act like that it embarrasses you.”

“You’re better than acting like that,” YN reminds him, allowing him to tug her into his warm, now bare chest, “I’m never gonna let you turn into some fame monster. You’re gonna stay the kind, funny, compassionate person I met when I was young.”

And when YN doesn’t get a reply, she glances to see Harry’s eyes shut, mouth slightly parted as he breathes rhythmically and his entire face relaxes as he sleeps.

“Still my boy,” YN murmurs lovingly, nuzzling before letting sleep overtake her.

-

[foqne]

Adaptation of my favorite scene from Snow Crash

EXT. THE PACIFIC OCEAN-DAY.

The last surviving life-raft of the Kowloon bobs meekly along unsteady waters. From up here it looks like the ocean could swallow it whole. Bigger ships are circling near by. Closer in to the raft we see four men:

HIRO Protagonist, last of the freelance hackers, looks a lot smaller in his oversized, bright-orange, life-preserver jumpsuit. He is, predictably, on his laptop.

ELIOT Chung,former skipper of the now defunct Kowloon, is looking through his binoculars at something we can't see.

FISHEYE is wrapped up in a space-blanket and partially snuggled underneath the raft's waterproof canopy. He's looking in the same direction with half the functioning organs for the task and consequently much less luck.

VIC, the most imposing looking of all of them, can't even be bothered. He's sitting in the corner reading an old, battered paperback. Probably Tom Clancy.

A BIG TRAWLER is getting closer and closer to them, materializing out of the fog.

FISHEYE squints.

ELIOT

That's Bruce Lee.

FISHEYE

How is that significant?

ELIOT

Well, check out the colors.

The ship is close enough that everyone can see the flag pretty clearly. It's a red banner with a silver fist in the middle, a pair of nunchucks crossed beneath it, the initials B and L on either side.

FISHEYE

What about 'em?

ELIOT

Well, the guy who calls himself Bruce Lee, who's like the leader? He got a vest with those colors on the back.

FISHEYE

So?

ELIOT

So, it's not just embroidered or painted, it's actually done in scalps. Patchwork, like.

HIRO

(looking up from his screen)

Say what?

ELIOT

There's a rumor, just a rumor, man, that he went through the Refu ships looking for people with red or silver hair so he could collect the scalps he needed.

FISHEYE

I want to talk to this Bruce Lee character. He interests me.

ELIOT

Why the hell do you want to talk to that fucking psycho?

HIRO

Yeah, didn't you see that series on Eye Spy? He's a maniac.

FISHEYE

This is my decision.

ELIOT

Who the fuck are you?!

FISHEYE

President of the fucking boat! I nearby nominate myself. Is there a second?

VIC

Aye.

FISHEYE

I win. So how do we get these Bruce Lee guys to come over here and talk to us?

ELIOT

Why should they want to? We got nothing they want except for poontang.

FISHEYE

(cringing)

You 'saying these guys are homos?

ELIOT

Shit, man, you didn't even blink when I told you about the scalps!

FISHEYE

I knew I didn't like any of this boat shit.

ELIOT

If this makes any difference to you, they're not gay in the sense we usually think of it.

HIRO

They're men. They wanna fuck us in the ass. What are we missing?

ELIOT

They're het, but they're pirates.

HIRO

It's not gay if you're a pirate?

ELIOT

It means they'll fuck anything that's warm and-uh-convex.

HIRO

That's actually worse.

FISHEYE

Okay! You two guys, Hiro and Eliot, you're Chinese. Take off your clothes.

HIRO

What?

FISHEYE

I'm the boat president, remember?

Hiro and Eliot exchange a glance.

HIRO

That's not happening.

FISHEYE(CONTD)

You want Vic to do it for you?

Vic sits up a little.

HIRO

No.

Vic starts to move to his feet.

HIRO

No, no!

CUT TO

Hiro and Eliot stand completely nude in the center of the craft.

HIRO  

Shit.

They shiver in the wind as the the HUGE TRAWLER looms over them, sailing right alongside the raft. Whooping and hollering from the deck of the ship are 25 PIRATES, waving unrolled trojans like flags.

FISHEYE

Don't worry, man, I'm not gonna let 'em fuck you!

ELIOT

What are you gonna do? Hand them a papal encyclical?

FISHEYE

I'm sure they'll listen to reason.

ELIOT

These guys aren't scared of the Mafia, if that's what you have in mind.

FISHEYE

That's just because they don't know us very well.

EXT. TRAWLER

We register darkness half a second before a pair of doors burst open and BRUCE LEE himself, a fortyish guy in a Kevlar vest, ammo bandolier, and samurai sword strides onto the deck.

He grins and gestures like a rock star, looking over Hiro and Eliot before giving a pelvic thrust of approval to the cheers of his men.

BRUCE LEE

(shouting over to them)

Jamie' boat! Maybe you, me swap, huh? Hahaha!

The rest of the crew laughs with him. Hiro and Eliot smile through gritted teeth.

BRUCE LEE(CONTD)

Where you goin'? Key West?

His crew erupt into laughter again. Bruce paces the deck a bit before stopping, facing them and twirling his finger.

It takes Hiro and Eliot a second to get the message. They spin around to another volley of howls and whistles as they flash their asses to the trawler.

BRUCE LEE

Quanto?

The men on his deck are in stitches.

EXT. RAFT

FISHEYE

What's he saying?

ELIOT

He's asking how much we cost. It's a joke, see, because they know they can come over and have our asses for free.

FISHEYE

Oh, hilarious!

Hiro glares at him.

BRUCE LEE

(pointing to anti-ship missile)

Poonmissle, like? Bugs? Motorolas?

ELIOT

Poonmissile is a Harpoon antiship missile, real expensive. A bug is a microchip. Motorola would be one brand, like Ford or Chevy. Bruce Lee deals in a lot of electronics, you know, typical Asian pirate dude.

FISHEYE

He'd give us a Harpoon missile for you guys?

ELIOT

He's being sarcastic, shithead!

FISHEYE

Tell him we want a boat with an outboard motor.

ELIOT

(to Bruce Lee)

Want one zone, one kicker, fillerup!

BRUCE LEE

Scope clause, chomsayen? Gauge and gag.

ELIOT

He'll consider it if they can come and check out the merchandise first. They want to check how tight we are, and whether we're capable of suppressing our gag reflex. These are all the terms from the Raft brothel industry.

BRUCE LEE

Ombwas scope like twelves to me, hahaha!

ELIOT

Us homeboys look like we have twelve-gauge assholes. I.e. all stretched out and worthless.

FISHEYE

(to Bruce Lee)

No, no, four-tens, totally!

The entire deck of Pirates titters with excitement.

BRUCE LEE

No way.

FISHEYE

(gesticulating at Hiro and Eliot)

These ombwas still got cherries up in there!

The deck is in uproar. Several Pirates are balancing on the railing of the trawler. What starts out as screaming laughter gradually transforms into bellowing incomprehensible ululations aimed at the raft below.

Suddenly there is a deafening whirr as Hiro and Eliot are knocked off their feet by the raft being pushed away by THE VIGOROUS FIRING OF A GATLING GUN revealed from under Fisheye's torn canopy firing so quickly it's almost translucent.

Up close on the trawler we watch as Bruce Lee and his crew are utterly obliterated by the barrage of pencil-length, bullets. Their blood pooling on the deck like a giant severed aorta.

Hiro watches aghast before all the ammunition aboard the trawler begins to explode.

Fisheye stop firing and the gun begins to slow to a halt.

FISHEYE

See? I told you they'd listen to reason.

As the mini gatling gun cools, we see the name plate tacked to its control panel:

REASON version 1.0B7 Gatling-type 3-mm hypervelocity railgun system Ng Security Industries, Inc. PRERELEASE VERSION- NOT FOR FIELD USE DO NOT TEST IN A POPULATED AREA -ULTIMA RATIO REGUM-

FISHEYE(CONTD)

Fucking recoil pushed us halfway to China.

ELIOT

Did you do that? What just happened?

FISHEYE

I didi it. With reason. See, it fires these teeny little metal splinters. They go real fast- more energy than a rifle bullet. Depleted uranium.

HIRO

I thought you hated machine guns.

FISHEYE

I hate this fucking raft even more. Let's go get ourselves something that goes, you know. Something with a motor on it.

Suddenly some shots whizz by Fisheye's head. He opens fire again, aiming at any Pirates left alive. Bruce Lee's ship is steadily collapsing.

VIC

Cut it out, boss.

FISHEYE

I'm melting!

ELIOT

(getting his pants back on)

We could've used that trawler, asshole!

FISHEYE

I didn't mean to blow it all up. I guess the little bullets just go through everything.

HIRO

Smart.

FISHEYE

Well, sorry I took a little action to save our asses. Come on, let's go get one of them little boats before they all burn.

Eliot turns from the trawler to see a yacht floating next to it, the Pirates on board caught in the crossfire.

ELIOT

Hey!

CUT TO

EXT. YACHT-DUSK.

Hiro kicks the last chunks of a dismembered Pirate into the water, wincing. He's dressed now, as is Eliot who stands beside him, finishing up the last of his work patching the yacht.

HIRO

Did you hear the way the pirates were talking, before Fisheye opened up on them?

ELIOT

You mean in pidgin?

HIRO  

No. At the very end. The babbling.

ELIOT

Yeah. That's a raft thing.

HIRO

It is?

ELIOT

Yeah. One guy will start in and the rest will follow. I think it's just a fad.

HIRO

But it was common on the Raft

ELIOT

Yeah. They all speak different languages, you know, all those different ethnic groups. It's like the fucking Tower of Babel. I think when they make that sound- when they babble at each other- they're just imitating what all the other groups sound like.

EXT. YACHT-NIGHT.

Beyond the yacht in the distance, a fluctuating column of light is playing back and forth against the low overhanging cloud layer. The four of them look out at it from the deck.

FISHEYE

That the raft over there?

ELIOT

It is.

FISHEYE

How far way do you think it is?

Eliot shrugs.

ELIOT

Twenty miles?

FISHEYE

And to land?

ELIOT

I have no idea. Bruce Lee's skipper probably knew, but he's been pureed along with everyone else.

FISHEYE

You're right. I should have set it on 'whip' or 'chop'.

HIRO

The Raft usually stays at least a hundred miles offshore to reduce the danger of snags.

FISHEYE

How we doing on gas?

ELIOT

Not so well. We might not make it back.

FISHEYE

So we go to the Raft, we get some fuel, we get YT and we go home.

HIRO  

I thought this was a hostage negotiation.

FISHEYE

Well now it's an extraction.

HIRO

Works for me. Mind if I extract someone else too?

FISHEYE

Who?

HIRO

Janita.

Fisheye looks him over warily.

HIRO

C'mon, you said yourself she was a nice girl.

FISHEYE

If she's on the Raft, maybe she's not so nice.

HIRO

I want to extract her anyway. We're all in this together, right? All part of Lagos'-his-

He gestures vaguely at the four of them. Whatever they are.

ELIOT

Bruce Lee has some people there.

HIRO

Had.

ELIOT

Had. What I'm saying is, they're gonna be pissed.

FISHEYE

You think they're gonna be pissed? I think they're gonna be scared shitless.

Eliot looks out at the ruined trawler, still sinking into the ocean. They all look with him.

FISHEYE(CONTD)

Now, drive the boat, Eliot. Come on, I'm sick of all this fucking water.