#Not endorsing people burning his fucking picture though

[based-bobcat]

i'm feeling salty this week

[allwormdiet]

Extermination 8.8

Oh thank god this absolutely ass day can reach a conclusion

This is one of the more grimly realistic parts of the worldbuilding in this story tbh. People gonna people, every disaster that comes along someone sees the whole things the chance to springboard into something bigger

Five bucks says these memorials are mass produced or something, they have a guy who cranks out however many of them are projected to be needed a year in advance and they put the names in once the tally's made

Even with Leviathan driven off, it still left the city utterly fucked. Whole place is cooked, status quo obliterated.

I don't know if we caught the notification that Gallant bit it in the story, might have been in the same crush that took out Tattletale or might have been after Skitter's armband got fried

Shame, though. Seemed nice, for a rich boy training to be a supercop.

Taylor, honey, that guy took massive damage to a limb that probably included fucking up a major artery or vein, never mind shock or infection. Not everybody is as ludicrously resistant to damage as you are

Yeah, that's eight dogs dead. Two of Rachel's best, too. Almost half of her family slaughtered to bring down Leviathan even temporarily. Also, seeing that Rachel knows her letters but not spelling is. Sad.

Feel like that comes up a lot when talking to Taylor. "Hey are you cool?" "I'm meeting the absolute basics of survival" "That's not what I asked"

And here we are: Lisa's reveal

Brief pause to be thankful that the damage to the loft didn't kill anyone, and that the Hebert house is still intact. I hope Taylor at least left a note telling Danny she's alive though, like fuck

I like how Coil explained his power as the manipulation of destinies when it's literally just getting a one-time reset when choosing between A or B. Dramatic ass.

Is this a nod to the retconned Empire fight? I'd heard about that somewhere, that the first version of the chapter or chapters got scrubbed in favor of revisions.

So Taylor straight up got them all taken down in the B version of the Lung fight. Goddamn.

...Also, this means that Tattletale straight up saved Skitter from the ABB. "Bug girl" would've been found out as the one who took down Lung no matter what, but if she hadn't joined the Undersiders then Bakuda would've had people hunting for a solo target, and she'd be fucking dead. They barely survived Bakuda's attack with their total strength, God only knows how bad it'd be otherwise.

It's interesting that Lisa considers all the struggle her own fault, and that Taylor is immediately like "nah I'd do it again, mostly"

Oh I hadn't even thought about that part, the Undersiders know where she lives and they could've been fully willing to jump her for the offense. Fucking thanks, Colin

And we're back again

I wonder if Lisa thinks she can actually get Taylor to budge on the Dinah issue. I wonder if she even wants Taylor to budge on the Dinah issue. Knowing her circumstances I can only imagine that her loyalty to Coil will only last for as long as he's got a hand around her throat, the second she's clear there's no way she doesn't burn him.

And it'd probably be a lot easier to burn him if he's deprived of his pet precog.

I think circumstances aligned to make Taylor a lot more down on heroes in general and the Protectorate/Wards in particular than is necessarily accurate. We know that Shadow Stalker is considered a problem child internally, she's hardly a ringing endorsement of how they run things but she's not supposed to be.

Armsmaster... I think the thing with Armsmaster is that the system straight up facilitated his worst impulses. He's ambitious, he's hungry, he's focused, and those aren't negative qualities to have, but they're not qualities you want for the leader of a team. He clearly struggles with big-picture thinking and gets wrapped up in his own head and his own projects; that's not someone you can just give a leadership position to. The fact that being the Big Hero of a city means you're also in charge of the Hero Team in that city is a massive oversight, it means he's put in a position where nobody can check him on his bullshit and force him to come up for air. Nobody could tell Armsmaster "no" when he came up with a plan to secure his legacy, at the small small price of threatening the entire goddamn Endbringer truce in the event his plan ever sees the light of day, and that's a failure of the system as well.

But these are the examples that Taylor has been forced to work with, and it's not like her other encounters have made her feel any better. Looking at you, Panacea. The culture of heroes seems to be borderline radioactive with everything that Taylor hates and fears and suffers under; cruelty, petty politics, arrogance, self-righteousness, jockeying for attention.

Is it any wonder she's drawn towards the opposition of that culture? Aligning herself with the opposing force and against everything that makes her suffer, still fighting the bad guys but not taking shit from the good guys? How is the conclusion anything other than foregone?

Cliffhanger, though an obvious one imo, considering the fact we've got 20+ arcs left

Current Thoughts

Honestly this chapter was so welcome just for giving a reprieve from all the tension during and after the Leviathan battle. What a fucking ride. Kudos to Lisa for being the only person who has managed to even kind of figure out how to talk to Taylor, even if it involves manipulating her I maintain that this has been way way healthier than if she was allowed to rock on as an independent hero. Because she'd be fucking dead.

But of course even this reprieve has to be interrupted by fucking Coil. I hope they kick his teeth in.

[kingkatsuki]

Warnings: 18+, manipulation, coercion, cheating, mean toxic Kirishima.

You know Kirishima is always the nice guy. The friendly Red Riot that is a great friend, and an amazing Hero but nothing more than that. Every time he thinks he’s getting close to happiness and success it’s quickly quashed when they see Bakugou. Everyone always wants the Number Two Hero Dynamight, they never want him. Kirishima is sick and tired of always disappearing in Bakugou’s shadow. He could save a hundred people from a burning building and the camera would always pan to Dynamight, the interviewers always shoving the microphone into Bakugou’s face as they hang off his every word. Magazines, tabloids always fishing for the scoop from Dynamight. His latest photoshoot plastered all over the front pages while Red Riot is left with a tiny column on page 30. Even wandering around the city he sees Bakugou’s face on every billboard, product endorsement and kids t-shirt within a 20 mile radius. How was it fair? He saved just as many lives as Dynamight, and with far less destruction of public property and yet it was as though Red Riot was nothing.

So imagine Kirishima not even really wanting you, but you’re Bakugou’s sweet little girlfriend and you look so happy. And he’s alone, with no one. He convinces you to fall for him instead, and it works. Bakugou is striving to be the number two Hero so it’s no surprise he’s not always around. Those long, arduous shifts keeping him away from you while he thinks you’re safe at home waiting for him. But you’re not. Kirishima fucks you and sends a picture of you covered in his cum to Bakugou and then just dumps you, because it was never about you. It was always about Bakugou.

[peridot-dreams]

beautiful people | shawn mendes

Shawn sees a familiar face at the awards show, and learns the value of realness.

The setting sun leaves the Hollywood sky pink and full of possibilities. Shawn finds himself looking out the window at it, still in a daze after the events that had unfolded that day. He’d won several awards for a song he was proud of. He thinks of the look on his parents’ faces in the audience when his name was announced and smiles. That’s who I do this all for, he thinks to himself.

His limousine rolls up the venue. It’s already teeming with people, Lamborghinis, and cameras. Shawn is used to such commotion, but the second he opens the car door, he’s bombarded with excessive noise - noise so loud that he can barely hear himself think.

He’s still riding his post-awards high when he walks in, still dressed in the same red carpet outfit as before. He has a girl on his arm, but not by choice - rather, an unfortunate PR stunt planned terribly and executed even worse. He greets his celebrity friends as he passes by, offering a small smile and a thank you when they congratulate him on his win.

He’s just about to ask the girl on his arm if she’d like to come with him to the drink bar when he sees a flash of silver in the corner of his eye. Shawn realizes who had just walked past him; he feels his heart began to pound in his chest and his breathing gets shallow. “Sorry, can I go to the bathroom?” he tells the girl on his arm, not bothering to wait for a response. He detaches himself and follows the silver blur, around a corner and into a dark hallway.

The silver blur is standing in the dark, scrolling aimlessly on her phone. Shawn sighs and takes in the sight: the silver dress on her is absolutely stunning. Her hair and her makeup is perfect; he feels lost in her presence, stunned by her beauty. He’s never seen her like this, and it only adds to the pain of it all. His mother had once said that losing a best friend is worse than a break up and right now he completely understands what his mother meant.

“Y/N,” he breathes. When she looks up, he feels like running away - she’s looking at him as if he’s the dirt under her silver heels. He wishes she would stop, that she would run to him and hug him and make everything alright between them again. She’s standing right in front of him but he misses her, misses everything about their friendship and support for each other.

“What do you want, Mendes?” she mutters under her breath. She turns her attention back to her phone, tapping her toe incessantly. Shawn can’t stand the sound of her heel hitting the ground because he remembers that she tends to fidget when she’s upset; the clacking sound is only a reminder of their friendship that had crashed and burned for reasons Shawn still fails to understand.

“Why do you hate me so much?” Shawn blurts out. “I don’t get it, Y/N. We used to be best friends, and one day you just started hating me and I still don’t understand why.”

“Because,” Y/N spits, shoving her phone into her bag. “Because you’re like them now.”

“Who’s ‘them’?”

“All those fake people out there!” Y/N exclaims, her eyes glancing over to the party-goers with a disgusted look plastered on her face. Shawn feels her gaze coming back to him, judging and critical. He feels like he could wither under her stare like a plant in a drought. “Shawn, you’ve changed. You used to be so down to earth, so genuine, but now you’re caught up in the money and fame and corporate bullshit.”

“Am not!” Shawn crosses his arms as he unconsciously clenches his teeth. “That’s such bull-”

“Shawn, you’re the epitome of fake. You’re in a fucking PR relationship.”

“W-What-”

“Don’t even try to argue. It’s so obvious and even your fans know what’s going on.”

Shawn closes his eyes. He wishes that he could argue with her, but arguing in the dark hallway outside of an after party wasn’t the ideal setting to do so. From the outside looking in, he knows it looks like he’s changed but he needs her to know that it’s not true. He needs his best friend back in his life again.

“Look,” Shawn speaks, taking a deep breath. “Let’s ditch this party. I know you don’t like these kinds of events anyway, so I don’t even know why you’re here…”

“My manager made me come.”

“Right. Whatever, let’s just sneak out. Let’s hang out like we used to, okay? I’ve missed you.”

“Don’t you need to get back to fake-dating your ‘girlfriend’?” Y/N snaps, giving Shawn the most sarcastic air quotes she can muster.

“No, fuck that,” he says. Against his better judgment, he takes her hand in his. He’s relieved when she doesn’t try to yank her hand back. “Let’s just go.”

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Thirty minutes later, Shawn finds himself sitting across from Y/N at a dingy old diner on the other side of Hollywood. He watches as she twirls the straw in her chocolate milkshake. She hasn’t said more than three words to him since they left the party, and Shawn feels like trying to salvage their friendship is pointless at this point. Shawn knew from their now-dead friendship that Y/N was a champion at holding grudges - he just never expected to find himself at the other end of one.

“So how’ve you been?” Shawn asks softly. He wants to kick himself for how awkward and nervous he sounds, but he hopes that Y/N will take his nerves as a sign of his genuine interest in rekindling their friendship.

“Fine,” she mumbles. She takes a tiny sip of her chocolate shake. “Slow year.”

Shawn knows that isn’t true. He Googles her name every few weeks and watches every single interview she appears in on YouTube. Y/N’s acting career had taken off in the past few years, and she’d been getting tons of lead roles in TV shows and movies lately. He always gets a pang of jealousy in the pit of his stomach when he sees pictures of her with friends on Instagram, because he knows full well that it could have been him travelling the world with her, experiencing new things with her.

He doesn’t tell her that he’s been keeping tabs on her. “Yeah,” Shawn mutters. “Okay.”

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife. It doesn’t help that the diner is completely empty, save for the old man who owns it and is busy complaining about how “millenials are killing the restaurant business” under his breath. Shawn tries to focus on the owner’s mutterings, desperately wanting to think about something other than the fact that Y/N is totally not into him or the conversation that he’s been trying to keep going.

“I don’t hate you, by the way.”

Shawn’s head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide with shock. “Well, you stopped talking to me out of the blue, so I just assumed you did.”

“Well, I don’t.” She stops twirling her milkshake straw and drops her hands into her lap. She meets his gaze, eyes still hard and lips pressed together in a straight line. “You’ve just...changed.”

“I think we’ve both changed.”

“No.” She shakes her head, letting out an indignant laugh. Shawn winces at the sharpness of her tone. “You’re the one who started doing brand deals, ripping off fans with overpriced tickets and merch, signing PR contracts and betraying your fans…”

“Y/N.” Shawn’s hands are starting to shake; he rubs his thighs over his jeans in an attempt to calm himself down. Her words are cutting deeper than a knife; he can barely stand it.

“You’ve completely betrayed your fans, Shawn. You’ve sold them out to every company that has approached you, taken advantage of their trust. Damn it Shawn, you’re even endorsing overpriced water now, like how stupid is-”

“That wasn’t fucking me!” Shawn slams his hand on the table. The old man stops mumbling about millenials and looks in fear at the angry boy. Y/N is barely fazed, her hard glare still targeting Shawn.

“Oh really?” She narrows her eyes at him. “‘Cause your ass is everywhere these days, every time I turn on the TV-”

“Do you remember how my career started?”

Y/N stops for a second, but rolls her eyes immediately after. “Yeah, at some overpriced convention marketed towards prepubescent teenagers.”

“Before MAGCON,” Shawn interrupts. His eyes plead with her to understand, to see where he’s coming from. “I was just a kid, sitting in my room with a guitar. Singing cover songs and making six second videos even though no one was listening. Because I felt like it. Because it made me happy.”

“Yeah. I remember.”

“Yeah. That’s the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.” A sigh leaves Shawn’s mouth; his eyes drop to his lap as he tries to calm his shaking hands and voice. He’s never felt so heated in his life, like every emotion is about to burst out of his chest. “And then everything just took off and suddenly I was signing with a record label and being thrust into the public eye. I was just a small town kid from Canada, but suddenly people were starting to expect things from me.”

“Shawn-”

“No, please. Hear me out.” The suit on his body was tailored to be comfortable, but in the heat of his rant it feels like it’s suffocating him. “It all went so fast. It was just one song after another and interviews and TV shows and concerts and tours. Everything was just going by so fast and every day, I lost a piece of myself. I was on autopilot, and my team was just signing me up for everything and I would let myself be led by them. Even now, I just sign contracts without thinking and allow myself to be molded by people who only care about money.”

“Shawn, why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” Y/N’s eyes are soft now. She suddenly notices how tired he looks under the makeup that he was forced to wear to the awards event: his sunken eyes, the dark bags under them, the lines that furrowed into his skin between his eyebrows. He looks like he’s barely hanging on to life, like the walls are caving in and he’s been trying to hold them up. She wishes she would have noticed earlier how lifeless he looks. “We were best friends, you could have told me about this.”

“Because,” Shawn starts, holding back the sob forcing itself up his throat. “I can’t ever tell anyone because I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I’m grateful, I really am...I’m lucky to have my passion be my career. But I’m so tired, Y/N. I just want to go back to being that kid in his bedroom, playing guitar because he feels like it, not because he signed a contract or because someone else wants him to.” He closes his eyes, sighing, letting his head fall back slightly. He reminds himself to relax his shoulders and take deep breaths. “When I’m on stage, I get to go back to being happy for just a moment. I get to forget about everyone’s expectations, about contracts and brand deals and PR and all the bullshit. I get to be me. Completely free.”

She’s stunned and he knows it. He’s just unloaded all of the burdens he’s been carrying; Shawn doesn’t know how Y/N is going to react, but he feels lighter, he feels better. He just hopes, so desperately, that she’ll understand his brokenness and the wreckage that has been left in his mind as a result of the stress and anxiety of the last few years. He hopes that she’ll understand him for what he is, not what he appears to be.

“So I haven’t changed, Y/N. I’m not like them; I’m like you. Money and fame, it’s just not who we are.”

“Shawn, I’m so sorry.” Her tear-filled eyes move in a frenzy as she realizes the falsity of her words and accusations. “I should have realized that you felt this way and that you were struggling. I’m so sorry for severing our friendship and for not knowing what was going on.”

“No, it’s not your fault. I just…”

Shawn groans as he sees the group of people that have congregated outside the windows of the diner. They both gaze into the parking lot, bombarded by bright flashes and deafened by the sound of cameras shuttering.

“Fuck. It’s the paps.” Shawn groans again, head rolling back in frustration. “How did they find us?”

“They were following your famous ass,” Y/N says, laughing. Shawn smiles; he resists the urge to point out that she’s famous too, and has more followers than him on Instagram.

“Should we leave?” Shawn asks.

“Hell no. They want pics, let’s give them pics.” Shawn watches in awe as Y/N stands up on her seat despite the loud protesting of the owner. She starts waving at them crazily, her peace signs occasionally replaced by a middle finger.

“Fuck you!” she yells in between her laughs. Shawn grins; he finds himself copying her and standing on his own seat. He starts waving at the cameras, reveling in the flashes and dancing like an idiot to the music inside his head.

“Fuck you!” he yells. He’s never felt so liberated in his entire life. He starts posing with her, each pose more ridiculous than the prior. They pretend to tango on the table, screaming when they nearly topple over the edges. He twirls her around, smile growing bigger and bigger with each giggle that leaves her mouth. “It’s been two years and you still suck at dancing,” he cackles. She pretends to gasp, then sticks her tongue out at him and at the paps outside.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, his lips are on hers. She doesn’t kiss back at first, shocked, but when Shawn is about to pull away he feels her hands on the back of his head pulling him closer. Suddenly, there’s nothing else in the entire world besides her; they’re not standing on top of a diner table anymore. It’s like they’re floating and Shawn’s body is leaning into hers and he’s never felt so complete before. The smell of her conditioner makes him forget his own name and he realizes that her lips taste like chocolate and friends aren’t supposed to know how each other taste but he doesn’t care because it’s her and it’s always been her.

When they finally pull away, Shawn’s gasping for breath and Y/N’s eyes are as wide as saucers as she realizes what has just happened. “S-Shawn. Your PR contract…”

“Fuck the PR contract. Let’s give the world something real.” And their lips connect again, for the paparazzi cameras and the whole world to see.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Hiya when u gave the time can you please a continuation of the luke from skins one where they were in Morocco and they are both back from Bristol now and they see eachother again and it’s a smut where they r high and kinda intense if that makes sense 😂 ❤️

What Happens in Morocco, Stays in Morocco

This is part two to this imagine, find it here

Pairing | Luke x reader

Summary | perhaps, you were wrong. Not everything stays in Morocco. It is a tradition for things to come back to bite you in the ass, more so when you have been forced to be clean, and kept away from any kind of drugs.

Warnings | use of drugs, addiction, smut, it’s bit dark so read at your own risk, this is a warning so please keep that in mind,

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

An insatiable stirred within your gut, pelting you with reminders of what you had lost after Morocco. The love of your life had been departed from your shaking grip, the people that claimed to care about you forcing you to be sober off the high that it gave you. Drugs. It was your only desire, but you stayed strong as you walked back from college, even as you saw a dealer out of the corner of your eye, trading his special product with someone in your English class, that sat two seats to the right of you.

Licking your lips, you held onto the straps of your rucksack tighter, hoping that the weight of all the items within it would succumb you under the lenient pressure that it composed against your spine, pushing you into a lower station of dwelling, so that you would feel nothing, and the emptiness sure as hell would not be burdening you with satisfactory mockery.

At such a young age, you had found a friend, even if it be absorbed into a conversation through digestion or clouded fumes. And without its presence you were someone else, a stranger trudging hopelessly through the ambient streets of Bristol, lost and in need for a high. That holiday had been the end of you, your friends didn’t say it, but you were more than certain that they were thinking such a spectacle.

Whilst you were amped up on various chemicals that engorged your veins with images of new possibilities, you were far from a sullen composure; you were happy. You had no problem speaking to Nick’s brother, though everyone seemed to be wary of him, and listening to Grace talk about her various recitals, and the strictness that her father intended upon her. To everyone you had been a breath of fresh air, until that place that they called rehab.

In there they had starved you from the one thing that you had truly craved. Even the security guy wouldn’t trade a blowjob for a little picking of white powder, and it showed you how messed up their priorities were. Morocco, it had been an escape, something you were sure it never feel again, but you wanted to, so desperately.

“If it isn’t the wisp of the waters, in the flesh, and looking like she could use a pick me up.” A blonde male asked, he couldn’t have been much older than yourself. There were scrapes adorning his pale complexion, brandishing his cheek with what could only be seen as battle scars from a testosterone endorsed fight.

“I’m sorry, but who the fuck are you?” You roughly spoke, having no recollection of ever meeting this man in your life, though, half of your memory was boggled. Going cold turkey appeared to have had that affect on you, but a deep internal part of you was warning you to leave now, and conserve your own safety from whatever offer he was about to propose.

Sure, you’d have once done anything, but the possibility of danger preached louder when there was nothing numbing your blood stream, and dirtying the contents that ran through it. A small snicker fled from the boy’s mouth, revealing that he was much amused by your naivety. He tilted his head, observing you with a lick of his lips, plodding closer as you froze.

“We’ve met before.” He toyed inside his pockets, extracting a clear bag that contained a couple of vibrant yellow pills that had your heart beating promiscuously against the captivity of your ribcage. “In fact, we got to know each other very well darling, your manners weren’t so spectacular then either, though they sure were better. It appeared as though you rather enjoyed the attention and now you’re here, looking like an innocent doe under the flare of headlights.”

“I don’t do that kinda stuff any more.” But you wanted to. It didn’t matter what prospects spewed out of your mouth in the form of conjunctive excuses, it was more than clear that you were aggressively attracted to the small spheres that had caught your attention fast. “I’d find the next girl to corrupt, because I’m clean and intend to stay that way.” Did you?

“You’re already corrupted, there’s no point in dismissing this, because it is what you want. But you’re denying urself from the simple luxuries of life, all because ripple; family, friends, think its better for you. They want you to be healthy, though that entails you perceiving though life as someone that you aren’t.” He sighed, rolling his shoulders slightly as his eyes bore around your sullen demeanour, recognising every trace that your body showed of restraining itself. “I’m Luke. And you, you are y/n, aren’t you? I’m sure I heard your friends call you that on holiday.”

Gulping, you realised that this must have been the boy that fucked with Frankie’s head, and made one of your group disappear, all whilst Grace was away, and in intensive care. As soon as it all clicked, you felt overwhelmed. There was nothing that you could do against him, he had already broken everything around you, whether that was his intent or not. Without thinking at all, you snatched the self made packet out of the clasp of his fingers, emptying the contents into your palm, throwing them into your mouth.

“Good girl.” It felt like a taunt, he was messing with you, you knew that. But it wasn’t his fault that you were messed up; all that was on you. “Don’t you want some water with that, it might make it wash down easier?” To answer him, you swallowed the pills dry cocking a brow at him as he pulled out another clear sachet of impulsive medications, taking it himself before you could whisk it away and endure further affects yourself.

Luke, feeling the tingle himself, pulled you down the alley that he was occupying, pressing your numbed back against the wall, his mouth running along your cheek as you felt swarmed with various desires. A part of you wanted to push him away, and beat him until he could no longer walk, but the other wanted nothing more than to feel his toxic skin dragging along yours, increasing the high that was spurring around your lungs until you felt like you could no longer breathe.

Your hands were uncertain of where they were supposed to be, and thus they roamed around his thin arms, grasping at his shoulders as his face sunk into the crook of your neck, his hands daring below your skirt, and feeling you up over your panties. Every touch he presented upon your burning flesh induced sparks to collapse in your mind, displaying through each of your appendages. “Fuck me, or I’ll find someone else to a better job.” You snarled at him, growling as he chuckled at your desperation.

“Now I recognise you, instead of that good girl facade.” He nipped at your neck, dropping his preppy slacks as he grasped his cock, thrusting your panties to the side so that he could penetrate your cunt, a cry abandoned your throat, echoing around the nearby streets. Your walls convulsed around him as you felt full and completely satisfied with the sensation. The memories of him flooded back into your mind as you pictured Morocco. He had stalked over towards you as though you were his prey, and it seemed that he had continued to hunt you down.

The thought was kinda hot, and thus you clenched your teeth, succumbing to an orgasm around him, whimpering as he slipped himself out, jerking his length so that he spilled his seed over your legs. “I have more of the good stuff back home, you fancy coming over?” Hazily you nodded, as his wobbling hand grasped your face, smashing his poisonous lips upon yours, suffocating all the good that you had been laboured into, making you swim in the darkness of his pupils as the two of you wobbled away from the scene, his cum still painted upon your legs as the two of you slowly headed towards his flat.

[peggingtaron]

Spectacle

‘Mad’ Teddy Smith x Reader

The Krays need publicity for the reopening of Esmeralda's Barn. As a famous heiress, it’s important that you’re seen enjoying yourself there; so the Krays assign ‘Mad’ Teddy to make a spectacle out of you.

Contains: Smut, with a capital S

Words: 4.7K

Masterlist

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Echoes of incessant whispers. Stares burning over your every move. These things were only to be expected everywhere you went. You were (Y/N, L/N), the ‘Duchess’ of Haggerston, informally dubbed by South London’s most prominent gangsters. 

Sure, you weren’t out there arbitrating criminal activity or enforcing illegal transactions as the men were. You worked for the mob in your own way. Your value to them was your mere presence and approval. Being the heiress of South London’s most influential mobster, you were an asset to both friends and foes. Allowing yourself to be seen enjoying yourself or purchasing goods and services at certain business establishments was considered an endorsement.

The recent buzz surrounding Esmerelda’s Barn since the Kray twins had taken over, had caught your eye. No doubt, the Krays were waiting for you to make an appearance to attract more attention. To you, they were doing just fine on their own. The casino had been the talk of London’s West End thanks to Reggie and Ronnie Kray’s dealings. Nonetheless, you walked alone into that casino with confidence and that signature enigmatic demeanour that never failed to turn heads. No matter how successful and popular a place was, you carried yourself there as if you were the very foundation holding the establishment together. It was all in the attitude; you could fool anyone into thinking they needed you.

You knew it was working by the way the Krays observed you from their table, glancing at you while talking amongst themselves. Every time you saw them look your way from the corner of your eye, you’d feign boredom just to get a kick out of how it would cue them to engage in a discussion of how to keep you entertained. 

The gentle vibrato of the star of Esmeralda’s Barn had been lulling over the casino. At this point in the night, most people had retreated to a table or a seat by the bar to watch the songstress. She was enchanting enough that you were willing to forfeit the act of seeming bored, to engage in the show. This was not lost on the Krays.

You finally allowed yourself to look their way from across the room. You met eyes with Ron, who greeted your gaze with a slight grimace, stiffening up his posture and turning over to Reggie, a silent yet gruff request for you to carry your eye contact to him instead. You did as he wanted, meeting eyes with Reggie who happily took the responsibility of greeting you. He etched his signature smooth smirk, giving a gentlemanly bow of his head. Reggie turned his head to Ron, whispering something in his ear, and while the two were engaged in conversation, your eyes wandered to where Ron’s arm reached round.

You were careful not to meet eyes with the man by Ron’s side. At least not right away. Looking at someone so intoxicatingly striking as ‘Mad’ Teddy was something you needed to do in doses. Your eyes started at his elbow that rested atop the table, slowly trailing up to peer at his hands, his fingertips lightly tracing the rim of his glass, stroking slowly to the rhythm of the music. The dose from that was intoxicating enough already, observing the delicacy yet precision of how his fingers curled around the glass edge. You lingered your gaze there a little longer before you began eyeing his suit, up his torso and finally resting your eyes on his shoulder where Ron’s arm was wrapped around. 

A cigar hung in between Ron’s fingers, his hand perched on Teddy’s shoulder. Teddy’s lips came into your focus as he turned his head, leaning in towards the cigar Ron was holding and taking a drag from it. Your eyes followed his lips as they pursed around the cigar ever so slightly grazing against Ron’s fingers. He turned his head, leaning back as the smoke escaped his mouth, misting around his face to frame a pair of roguish green eyes that were burning right into yours. You were finally looking at him. All the features you took your time observing individually now came all together in a complete picture.

As you finally let your gaze settle in his eyes, a smirk plastered across his face, one that started off coquettish. Subtle, yet alluring enough to lure the weakness in your centre. Though as Teddy’s ego became aroused by your stare, his grin grew wide and smug, a grin that made you surrender your eyes from him, making sure to roll them before returning your attention to the enchanting songstress on stage.

You and Teddy weren’t unfamiliar with these types of exchanges. This was one of many times you’ve met eyes, many of which ended with you rolling your eyes to assure him of a disinterest — which was ultimately a lie. You engaged in conversation a few times, mere small talk with the occasional flirtatious nickname on his part. Each conversation brief, yet tantalising enough for him to remain on your mind, the lingering image of him keeping you company on the ride home alone, and keeping you warm in the comfort of a lonely bed. 

Pretending your own fingers were Teddy’s each night was a task that grew difficult the more you bumped into him. Your imagination couldn’t do him justice and your own touch was not nearly enough to satiate your need. However, it was all you could content yourself with, as no scenario that you could think of would prompt Teddy to so much as caress you. Entertaining your yearning gazes at him were merely a means to crow in cockiness that he had such an effect on you. 

As these thoughts returned to your mind, you accompanied it by soaking in the image of Teddy’s fingers from across the room, rhythmically tapping along the side of his glass. You knew he was watching the way your eyes scanned him feverishly. Adding fuel to the heat that you felt rising within yourself, he clasped his fingers around his glass, lifting it up to take a sip, guiding your gaze to his lips once more.

As he took one faint sip, you watched as he removed the glass from his lips, giving you a clear view of his tongue teasing its way out of his parted lips to savour the taste of his drink. You found yourself mimicking his actions, your lips parting in a daze. You were so enchanted by every faint move of his, that you failed to notice that Ron’s arm hadn’t been around Teddy’s shoulder anymore, but waving beside you to get your attention.

Your breath hitched in your throat, ripping your attention away from Teddy to see the Kray twins standing beside your table. Ron stared down at you, the light glaring off his glasses, adding a complimentary intimidating tone to the gravelly way he greeted you. 

“Why don’t you crack a fuckin’ smile, eh? Wouldn’ fuckin’ ‘urt, now would it?”

A light chuckle escaped you, his tone barely hindering your composure. “Alright, Ron?” You greeted him sweetly. 

“Either flash a big smile, flash some quid at the roulette table, or fuck off.”

“Allow me to translate, love.” Reggie interjected, placing an affection pat on his brother’s shoulder, before stepping forward to lead the conversation. He helped himself to the seat next to you, turning to face you with a beguiling smile. “Forgive me brother, he’s been down on his luck lately. You on the other hand, seem to have a natural attraction with luck. Considered having a crack at the roulette table yet, Duchess?”

The roulette table was the centre of the casino, and you, the Duchess of Haggerston, were bound to be seen having a good time there. You planned on going there either way, but having that slight bit of attention paid to you by the debonair brothers themselves was the minute of entertainment you needed before you obliged with their wishes. You allowed yourself to show how charmed you were by Reggie, though your eyes shot back at Ron, amused by how he was staring you down. “I quite prefer Ronnie’s approach.”

“Good, cause I ain’t fannin’ up your dress and kissin’ your arse.” Ron’s eyes wandered, not caring to hide how disinterested he was with talking to you. “Speaking of kissin’ arse… where is that Barney Rubble?” He muttered to himself, turning his head round back at their table, snapping his fingers at an amused Teddy who was watching them from afar. “Oi, Teddy!” Ron nudged his head as an order for him to come over, a gesture that had Teddy on his feet in a heartbeat, making his way to your table and gussying himself up. 

“You see, ‘ere, dear Duchess, I’m not your fuckin’ babysitter. Got better things to do, so this…” Ron gave a firm slap on Teddy’s backside, cueing a child-like giggle from Teddy, “...is my gift to you.” 

“You like ‘im, don’t you?” Ron frowned slightly at your scoff of a response which was prompted upon seeing the pompous grin Teddy had plastered across his face. Waving his hand dismissively, Ron scoffed in return, “Nah, ‘course you do. Can’t blame you — look at ‘im, he’s like a vanilla wafer, you just wanna dip in your tea, doncha?” Teddy was beaming at the compliments Ron showered him in. 

“I don’t mind, be good to get ‘im off me ‘ands for a while anyway.” Ron gave one last squeeze on Teddy’s behind before stiffly walking off, past Reggie. “I’m gonna go find me a cupcake.”

Reggie patted his brother on the shoulder as he passed. “Yeah a’right, Ron, go find yourself a cupcake.” Reggie shook his head and chuckled under his breath, “Tosser. Can’t get ‘im to pay attention to one thing for more than a minute.” 

“Alright, then.” You piped up.

“Alright, what?” Reggie looked at you.

“I’ll give a crack at it, shall I? The roulette wheel.” 

Reggie smiled, holding out his hand for you. You took it and got up from your seat, hooking arms with him as he guided you to the heart of the casino, Teddy following not far behind.

“I think you’ll find you won’t be disappointed.” Reggie let go of you, smoothing his hand around your shoulder. “Listen, love, I’d love to stay and keep you happy, but I’ve got some business to take care of. You be ‘right if Teddy kept you company?”

You bit your lip slightly, avoiding eye contact with Teddy, who peered over Reggie’s shoulder. “I suppose.”

“There’s a doll.” Reggie winked at you, nudging your chin affectionately.

Before Reggie walked off, he made sure to pass on a few words to Teddy on his way. “Ay, Teddy, listen, ‘right? You stay ‘ere. If she ain’t tipping her head back with joy within the ‘our…”, was all you could manage to hear. You let yourself look at the two men. Teddy nodded along to the stream of instructions Reggie whispered in his ear, his smirk etching wider, his eyes dancing up and down at you.

“I’ve got it, Reg. Don’t worry.” Teddy nodded, his eyes trained on you. Reggie excused himself once more before disappearing.

You turned your head back to the roulette table, occupying yourself with watching the wheel spin. “Don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself there, Duchess.” Teddy’s voice piped up, as he stood beside you.

“‘fraid I’m not.” You responded dryly. 

“You could do us a favour and fake it, eh?”

“Never been quite good at fakin’ it.”

“What you doin’ in a bloody casino, then?”

Teddy scoffed when you didn’t counter a response. He turned, leaning his face near yours, beckoning you to look at him. “Come on, how ‘bout a smile for ol’ Teddy Bear, eh?”

“Fuck off.” You didn’t budge. 

“Don’t act all coy, now, babes.” He kept leaning in and arching his head in attempts to make you face him. He was determined to break through that stoicism with an agitating persistence. “What was you thinking about before, looking a’ me like that? Back at the table.” It was already working.

You paused for a moment before countering, “What does Reg want you to do with me?”

“I asked first.” Teddy responded abruptly. “Oh sod it. I suspect both our answers are the same.”

You finally looked his way, furrowing your brows in bewilderment. What you were thinking while looking at Teddy was obvious, so Teddy implying that Reggie had asked him to do something similar was something you couldn’t understand.

Teddy shifted himself closer to you, his shoulder brushing yours as he brought his hand to the small of your back. “To put it vaguely, I’ve been told to make a spectacle ou’ of you. I think I’ve something in mind that’’ll suit all our interests, including yours.” He drew out the last word into a whisper, his breath tickling at your ear.

You stiffened at his touch in an eagerness to veil how flustered you were. “Make a spectacle, how?” 

You could feel him smirking as his lips brushed at your ear. “Could spin my fingers round your cunt like a roulette wheel.”  Teddy’s hand inched lower, smoothing around the curve of your backside, giving it a firm squeeze. You sucked in a breath as his hands dropped lower, fingertips dangling across the back of your thigh and curling around the bottom of your dress. He turned his head in a way that guided you to face the roulette wheel. You felt as Teddy began circling his fingers at the back of your thigh in perfect unison to the spinning of the roulette wheel your eyes were fixated on. 

You bit your lip trying to steady your breaths. You ripped your eyes from the wheel, the sight of its speed accompanying the growing speed of Teddy’s circling becoming unbearable. You subtly looked around behind you, surprised to see that Teddy’s overt groping hadn’t caught anyone’s attention.

“You’ve done most of the work for me, so thanks for that.” His voice beckoned you to face him, and you finally did.

You frowned at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“No need for me to warm you up. Seems like you’ve been doing that for yourself ever since you set those pretty little eyes on my fingers.” You knew exactly what he meant, though you preferred to feign oblivion, staring at him blankly. Half in a desire to continue the nonchalant act, the other half in a desire for him to seek proof. It didn’t take long until his fingers began rising up your legs from behind you, inching up your inner thigh, delicately gracing over your panties. His tongue spilled slightly from his mouth as he looked at you, coating his bottom lip in a sheen of wetness mirroring the dampness he felt through your panties. “This for me, innit?”

Your shuddering breath, coupled with you closing your eyes in bliss, was a sufficient enough response. Teddy stepped behind you, allowing more access to you while also shielding his action from that much view from others. He began stroking you through your panties, and you couldn’t help but tip your head back against his shoulder as you tried to stifle a moan.

Teddy began smoothing his other hand around your waist to your front, curling his fingers to bunch up your dress. “Let’s show everyone that dripping cunt, shall we?”

You lifted your head, grabbing Teddy’s wrists and prying his grip off you. You didn’t allow yourself a second to reconsider, as you walked up to the roulette table, helping yourself to a seat. The dealer asked if you’d be joining for this round and you nodded eagerly, trying to compose yourself and recover from Teddy’s touch.

Teddy chuckled as he took the seat beside you, turning his whole body to face you. “Hm… ‘spose I’ve gotta find another way to make a show outta you...”

As you placed your bet and waited patiently, Teddy’s hand rested on your thigh. You didn’t make an effort to remove it. It was under the tablecloth away from everyone’s view. Teddy beamed upon seeing that you didn’t even pretend to object to his advances this time. “See, now was that so ‘ard?” He chuckled. “This time, Duchess, no need to bite back them moans. Let everyone hear what a dirty littl—”

“I wasn’t moaning.” Your responses were becoming weaker and less effective after every advance he made, your tone withering in its assertiveness. 

“Oh I beg to differ. Plus, you said yourself you wasn’t that good at fakin’ it, innit?” Teddy chuckled as nothing but silence came from you, your mind too occupied trying to formulate a response while attempting to ignore Teddy’s fingers that were inching closer. Swiftly prying his way under your panties, the heat of your clit was washed by the cold of his fingertips. You breathed in a sharp gasp, gripping onto the edge of the table, trying to quiet the moan that shuddered its way out of you. Luckily, those around the roulette table and those passing, misconstrued your moans as an exclamation of anticipation as the roulette wheel spun. 

“This is in the best interest of us all.” Teddy’s voice dropped lower, and his mischievous smirk was replaced with a stormy eagerness in his eyes. His fingers were moving at an excruciatingly slow pace.

“How exactly is this in the Krays’ best interest?” You were surprised you were composed enough to speak again.

Teddy circled your clit, resting his chin on the palm of his other hand as his elbow propped up on the table. That cocky grin returned. “You can pawn off those pathetic moans as excitement for the game.”

“That’s…” 

“Clever, eh?” He let out a light giggle.

You wanted to frown, but your mouth hung open at the feel of his fingers working at your core. “Allow me to offer an example.” Teddy began delving his fingers inside you, your arousal that pooled a while ago allowed seamless access, as he abruptly curled his fingers harshly without warning. You yelped loudly, coincidentally in unison to the cheers coming from the aristocrats surrounding the roulette table, who watched as the dolly was placed on their winning numbers. Teddy spat out an obnoxious chuckle amused at the timing. “Ha! That was too good!”

You scowled at him. “You’re a little shit.”

Teddy quirked an eyebrow at you. “Sorry, what was that, darling?”

“I said— ah!” You moaned loudly, as Teddy picked up his pace, massaging deep inside your walls thoroughly. No doubt, the attention of everyone round the table was caught, so you disguised the moan as a triumphant cheer, smiling through it. The dealer made a humorous comment on your cheer of victory as he swept away the losing bets and made payouts to the winners including you.

The dealer asked if you were up to make new bets, though too distracted by Teddy who had kept his pace steady, you hummed. 

“Is that a yes, miss?” The dealer frowned at you confused.

“Y-Yes…” You found yourself gasping as Teddy picked up his speed. “God, yes!”

Everyone chuckled at your enthusiasm, interpreting it as anticipation towards a winning streak. To your mercy, Teddy stopped. Though to your disappointment, he drew his fingers back from you, adjusting your panties back on and removing his hand from you. You hated the whine that escaped you from the absence of his touch. 

You steadied your breaths. You didn’t have time to process what had happened, as everyone was waiting for you to place your bet. Doing so in a hurry, you had knocked some of your own table chips off the table. You cursed under your breath, urging yourself to calm down. Before you could reach down to grab the table chips, Teddy stopped you.

“Allow me.” Teddy smirked and waggled his eyebrows at you.

Your eyes widened, but before you could object, Teddy was already diving underneath tablecloth under the guise of collecting the chips. Somehow without arousing any attention from anyone else, he didn’t return back out from under there.

The roulette wheel was spinning again, and you bit your lip at what was to follow. Keeping your eyes trained on the wheel, you felt Teddy’s fingers begin smoothing up your legs again. He gripped each one hard, lifting them over each of his shoulders. In a swift motion, he grabbed the legs of your chair, pulling you in hastily towards him, your stomach pressed against the edge of the table. Your body jerked forward, your core meeting with his mouth forcefully. Your fingers were gripping hard onto your table chips, the feel of Teddy’s tongue through your panties driving you insane. 

It was as if Teddy read your mind when his fingers dug underneath the elastic of your panties, pulling harshly until they tore off, the cold air of the casino greeting your bare center. Teddy’s tongue ran the length of you, his voice humming, a rush of vibration running through you. A few thorough sucks of your clit made you bang your fist against the table. “Fuck!”, you exclaimed. As luck would have it, you were losing your bet in the game and your exclamation was interpreted as one of disappointment. 

Your body stiffened. You had to be more cautious. Those first few times were just luck, your next rush of pleasure may not coincide with a moment to cheer or exclaim in frustration about, in the game. Teddy could sense this hesitance from under the table and gave a harsh playful bite at your inner thigh.

You bit your lip to stifle a gasp, and instead clenched your thighs around his head and squeezed as a means to chide him. Though he groaned in slight pain, it only cued another vibration from his voice to surge through you. Feeling a dose of impulsiveness, you wrapped your legs tighter around his neck pulling him back to your core.

Taken aback, Teddy nuzzled against your clit again. You could feel a smirk begin to etch across his face again and you raised an eyebrow curious what was to follow. Teddy delved his tongue deep inside you, turning his head in a way that buried his nose against your clit while his tongue made work against your walls. Your breaths became out of sync with his, as you began bucking your hips around for deeper contact. Your movements were thankfully disguised as a bouncing of impatience by the surrounding people.  

You tipped your head back in pleasure, though as you looked up, you saw Reggie. He took one look at you and fluttered his eyes down, grinning to himself. Teddy must’ve done exactly as he was instructed. You furrowed your brows at Reggie, who greeted your stare with a mockingly innocent raise of his eyebrows, before moving along and disappearing into the crowd. You chided yourself for thinking you had the Krays wrapped around your finger. You had your fun thinking they were worrying over your enjoyment at the casino, all the while they were certain that they could ensure you were having a great time, and profiting off your endorsement while making a fool out of you.

The roulette wheel took its last spin, when you found yourself on the brink of release. Teddy was merciless, not allowing your growing sensitivity to hinder his speed. “Oh… oh… oh…” Your gasps and moans grew louder, coinciding with the slowing speed of the wheel as everyone looked to see where the ball would land.

A loud wave of cheers from everyone took over, as you let out a long moan, Teddy removing his face just in time for your release to drip down your legs. Your breaths grew heavy and quick, your core sore and your head weak from a violent rush of pleasure. You didn’t care that you had won yet another bet. All you wanted was Teddy to lick you clean of the mess he caused between your thighs, before you’d pull him back up from under the table forcing him in a heated kiss. Despite your hunger for him being satiated, you still wanted more. And you hated it. He made a spectacle out of you, and not only did you oblige, but you couldn’t get enough of it.

Before you could allow Teddy to coax anything more from you, you got up from the table, retreating quickly. Paying no mind to the cold rush between your legs, your release dripping down you, you briskly made your way to the stairs leading out the casino. You picked up your pace upon hearing a set of footsteps catching up behind you, but you were too late.

“Not so fast, love.” You gasped as a pair of arms reached around you aggressively. Teddy pulled you flush against him, his teeth grazing against your ear as he whispered, “I’m not finished with you.”

You turned your head slightly to face him, almost moaning at the sight of your juices lingering on his lips. “I’m to make spectacle outta you, ‘member?”

Still weak and disoriented, you muttered. “Reggie seemed pleased with you. Your job is done.”

“Oh, I’ve done that first part for the Krays, sure. This is for me.” He grinned. 

You greeted this with a confused frown. “You’ve no interest in me. I was just a job for you and when I’m not that, I’m just something you love goading to arouse your damn ego.”

“You’re exactly right, darling.” That stupid hope you felt that he would argue against the notion of you meaning nothing to him, was shot down in a heartbeat. His apathetic, blunt tone nearly sparking a rise out of you. “Nothing gets my cock harder than being revered. Being in dear Ronnie’s shadow all the time, I don’t get revered often, y’see...” Teddy grinned against the back of your neck, his breath steaming your tender spot. It took everything in your strength to refrain from shivering at the sensation. 

“Now, you… You are no stranger to it…” Teddy’s hands ran its way up your body, feeling up your curves before pulling you even closer against him, his fingers grasping around your breasts. “If people saw me parading the Duchess of Haggerston around the casino... her letting out those pitiful moans ‘cause of me, cum dripping out her cunt and down her legs ‘cause of me… the stares I’d get… I could wank to that prestige for a whole bloody year.”

You pulled Teddy’s arms off you, turning around to face him and shooting him a brutal glare. Your eyes flickered down, spotting your panties blatantly hanging out the breast pocket of his blazer. He followed your eyes, grinning smugly at the panties, as if it was a medal of honour he wanted to flash proudly. “You’re psychotic, Teddy.”

“Do you object, Duchess?” He flashed a smile. You hated how confident he was, how sure he was that he had you wrapped around his finger. 

You felt a heat rising within you. Whether it was in a rage at Teddy’s intentions to humiliate you to arouse his ego, or in a reluctance to acknowledge the desire for him that still remained, it grew unbearable. You could feel everyone’s eyes on both of you. Your eyes glanced down at Teddy’s lips, and he lifted his head daring you to proceed with what you’ve been pining for since the moment you set eyes on him. 

With everyone looking, it would earn him the kind of attention that could supposedly make his cock hard, but for you, it was a mere case of quenching the mad desire to taste as much of him as you could. You knew by kissing him, he’d of won, and you would’ve surrendered your dignity all for a mobster’s boy toy.

“Fuck it.” You hissed sharply before tugging Teddy’s tie, forcing his lips against yours. You kissed him feverishly, desperate to savour the taste of him and the taste of yourself that still remained on his lips, paying no mind to the stares that burned your way. 

After all those times you would bear witness to ‘Mad’ Teddy Smith being nothing more than Ronald Kray’s toy, it seemed it was time Teddy was granted a toy of his own. 

[angryhausfrau-writes]

I’ve Traveled Troubled Oceans - Chapter One: The Plot

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this painting?” Jack asks the room at large.

Anne shrugs.

Charles grunts.

“Maybe Max would want it?”

That's the most sensible suggestion Jack's probably going to get out of the lot of them – and it's coming from the new guy. So that bodes well for this whole fucking venture now doesn't it.

“Wait,” Charles says, finally deigning to actually look at what the fuck Jack's talking about. “Flint didn't want it?”

It is, technically, Flint's painting. Traded to Jack for hash by some street kids and paid to Flint in recompense for connecting him with that party full of poncy coke fiends with more money than burst capillaries.

Anne gives a derisive snort.  “Nah, he fucked off to America to live in romantic poverty with his boy toy.”

Though given that said boy toy is heir to the Hamilton fortune, their romantic poverty is more likely to involve a stately home in Greenville or Chapel Hill or something than actual poverty of the variety he or Anne or Chaz are familiar with.

“Well I don't give a fuck what you do with it, Jack. Just get it out of here. I don't want any more Spaniards poking around. Or Russians. Or whoever the fuck they were. They fucking trashed the place.”

“Yes, of course, Charles. You're absolutely right. They simply ruined the whole crack den vibe we've got going on here. I'll make certain we get our interior decorating straightened out first priority.”

“Fuck you, Jack.”

Charles wishes.

“Well, if I'm actually giving it to Max, Anne had better be the one to deliver it.” Since Max doesn't like Jack, for some reason. And really, really likes Anne for completely obvious reasons.

“Fine,” Anne grits out. As if getting eaten out in the back of a Range Rover is really fucking up her social calendar. “But you're helping me carry it all the way to the fucking West End.”

Wonderful. Now Jack gets to stand outside in the cold while Anne gets eaten out in the back of a Range Rover.

“Fine.”

Jack shrugs on his warmest coat. Maybe he can make a little dosh off the snobby theater patrons. The rich artsy fucks – or those who style themselves that way, anyway – always have a habit or two to indulge.

But surprisingly, Jack gets pulled into the back of Max's car right along with Anne and the painting. And he doubts it's for another ill-considered threesome. Not with the way Max actually deigned to pause whatever boring regency-era drama she's got on. No, she wants to talk business.

Exactly what business that is becomes apparent when Mr. Scott joins them.

“You want the money,” Jack blurts out.

Max nods.

“And you want to use my crew to get it.”

Another nod.

“Fuck no. I'm not going against Eleanor and Woodes Rogers. Not for love or money.” He gets up to leave, gesturing Anne to follow. She's the love, he's the money.

Mr. Scott speaks up. “He owes me.” His tone is level, but Jack can read the vehemence behind it. “They all owe me.”

And Jack doesn't have to be a genius to guess what he means.

“He sent you away for that four stretch. Just like he sent Flint and Silver and who knows how many others.”

Like Charles. Oh, fuck, Charles. Who'd gone away on a two stretch on a job that shouldn't have been anything but a quick in and out. But somehow London's finest had been there, waiting, handcuffs just ready to snap around his wrists.

“That man owned me, body and soul.” And Mr. Scott's anger has gone beyond vehement to downright poisonous, though he's still speaking in that same even tone. “But he thought I was getting greedy. Getting uppity. So he sent me away, to teach me a lesson.”

Like he was some errant school boy and Lord Hamilton his headmaster. Oh, he'd always styled himself as such, the pompous prick. Mr. Scott takes a breath.

“So yes, I want the fucking money.”

Fair enough, in Jack's estimation. But that still doesn't explain why he's the one who has to go get it.

“Surely there are enough remnants of Flint's old crew to con into this suicide mission.” Billy Bones comes to mind. He's pretty sure either Eleanor or Woodes Rogers would be susceptible.

“Flint's gone,” Max supplies. “Bones turned traitor. And Silver paid me out the ass to help him disappear. Last I'd heard, he ran away up North to open a pub with Madi.”

So that's his share disappeared, then. No wonder Max is going straight to the source.

Anne snorts. “Wonder how long that honeymoon's going to last.”

Max smiles, and it's not a very nice expression. “Well, either they'll reconcile or Madi will be back here in a week with a big fat insurance payment on the pub that mysteriously burned down – and Silver will be nowhere to be found.”

Mr. Scott smiles proudly. Madi truly is her mother's daughter.

“Ok, ok. You're short on options. But that still doesn't explain why you'd come to me.” Jacks been out of that particular game since Charles went away. And sure, he's built himself a tidy little empire here, dealing drugs to the rich idiots who want them. But that doesn't mean he's ready to get back in the saddle – and certainly not with anything on the scale Max is talking about.

Max looks uncomfortable, which isn't an expression Jack's used to seeing on her. “It needs to happen quickly and with discretion.”

And there isn't anyone else she trusts with this, Jack realizes. Well, damn. Now he's got to do it – Max owing him a favor is worth thrice his weight in cold hard cash.

“Why the time limit?” Anne asks.

An excellent question. “The Eleanor I know doesn't need the money. She probably just took it because she got bored of her gilded little cage.” She'll want to keep it around for a while, as a trophy if nothing else.

“Eleanor doesn't need the money,” Max says with a grin that spells nothing but misfortune for her victims, “but Woodes Rogers is another story entirely.”

“I thought he was loaded,” Jack interjects. “Surely blow and rent boys can't run him that much.” Though if he holds parties like the one Jack had attended on a regular basis – that might actually start draining the old trust fund. But even so, he and Eleanor both work the kind of rich people jobs that amount to doing fuck all and being paid out the ass for it. So he doesn't think that's quite it.

Mr. Scott smiles, and it's not a very warm expression. “Apparently Mr. Rogers has something of a gambling problem. He's run up significant debts with some international syndicates – including our friends the Spanish.”

“And now that his patron Lord Hamilton is out of the picture,” Max continues, “he's left with wolves at the door. The cash is as good as gone by the end of the week.”

“Well shit,” Anne says.

A sentiment Jack wholeheartedly endorses.

“Even if I had an entire week to plan this venture, I couldn't guarantee success. And all you're giving me is three days! How the hell am I supposed to pull this off, Max?”

Max smiles. “Charles is back in town, isn't he?”

“Yes,” Jack says tightly.

“That's your way in.”

“Now I know you're joking.”

Max raises one delicate eyebrow in question.

“Charles and Eleanor had a rather... explosive falling out right before he went away. Surely you heard about it. There's no way in hell he's our way in – she'll slam the door right in his face.”

“The thing about Eleanor, Jack, is that she loves to burn bridges. But once she's burned them, she inevitably finds herself looking back across the water to the other side. And finds she rather misses what she had when she was there.”

And isn't that just a terrible insight into Max and Eleanor's former relationship. Jack shudders. He's never going to bitch about Max being with Anne again.

Probably.

“Ok,” Anne says. “So Eleanor still has the hots for Chuck and she'll fuck him just cuz of that.”

“Well, not just because of that,” Max interjects. “She'll fuck him because she likes to have her cake and eat it too.”

Max waves an airy hand around the group assembled.

“We are all well aware of how things ended between her and Charles. And she hates to lose face above all else. Her fucking Charles and then throwing him over is her rewriting the breakup – getting to play the all powerful king and him the pitiful subject, to be used and thrown away on a whim.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Fine,” Anne interrupts, annoyed. “Eleanor's going to play weird sex mind-games with him instead. How does this help us get the money?”

“Eleanor's the one who'd smell a rat,” Jack says. “Woodes Rogers isn't exactly the sharpest or most conniving knife in the drawer. He'd let us right in on, on the pretense of another party. We sell to him and his friends again and they're all too off their heads and sex crazy to bother wondering where we've run off to after.”

“The rich have an amazing ability to overlook the “help” once they've stopped making themselves useful,” Mr. Scott adds.

“Right, yes.” Jack nods decisively as a plan forms. “And with Eleanor otherwise occupied, we'd have run of the whole house. Plenty of time to snoop around and find the money. And if we bring a travel case for the drugs – we load up the cash and just walk out as if nothing ever happened.”

“And as luck would have it,” Mr. Scott interjects, “they plan on throwing a party this very Wednesday evening – in celebration of Miss Guthrie's birthday.”

A plan formed, Jack and the others all nod in unison. They're going to get that fucking cash.

Although convincing Charles to go along with it might be a little difficult.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

On the Subject of Your Subject Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E/NSFW Word count: 5717

Spideychelle Week Day 6: College AU

Summary: MJ's spending her summer taking yet another art class, but it's not about the college credit, it's about the practice. She's considering how to fix a sketch when she overhears some classmates discussing their work. While the work might be their own, MJ hears enough to know that the subject most certainly is not. It's time for this art studio wallflower to stake a claim on Spider-Man.

MJ was very observant. It was one of the two things that had remained constant as time went by (faster all the time, she swore)―the other being the boyfriend she’d had since her junior year of high school. Right now, she was hoping it was the observing thing that was going to eventually get her a job. Oh, she was sure that the boyfriend could get her a job if she asked, but it would almost definitely require crippling overtime, a wardrobe full of metal, and a readiness to go starry-eyed with hero-worship at the mention of the name ‘Tony Stark.’ Or at least that was the cue she was getting from him. The boyfriend. Peter.

But the job, yeah. So, what she was doing didn’t exactly look like laying the foundation for steady employment right now, like, per say, but between the three years of college still ahead of her, bursaries, and some additional bankrolling from her mother the doctor, MJ was going to use art school to turn her detention caricatures into a career.

Something she’d observed since starting college was that not everybody wanted to be there. MJ found it totally disturbing (if not occasionally warranting a pity laugh) that so many people either barely showed up for classes or only showed up; in her opinion, the former were fledgling adults still acting like children and the latter were today’s youth already clocking in and out like weary middle-aged suits.

Meanwhile, she couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t get enough studio time. Couldn’t get enough of her ideas on paper. Enough charcoal under her fingernails. Enough standing behind a canvas until her feet ached, or curved with feral possessiveness around a drawing pad on her lap. Enough lines drawn and redrawn and redrawn and redrawn and redrawn.

So MJ had completed year one (her mom bought a very fancy cake that they ate with their feet up on the coffee table at home, using forks which neither of them could absolutely confirm were clean, since between an on-call doctor’s schedule and a student’s, nobody had exactly been on top of loading and emptying the dishwasher) and enrolled in a summer class. It was figure drawing, which, yes, she’d already taken as it was a mandatory class―arguably the class upon which all other art classes depended―but while figure drawing had finished with MJ, MJ had not finished with figure drawing. She felt that it was impossible to overlearn the basics, plus the professor she’d had the first time around had been a dick. In fact, MJ believed that there had not been a bigger dick known to humankind since Michelangelo got up close and personal with David.

The summer prof was a marked improvement. Less ego, more encouragement. More understanding, less likely to make MJ want to flip her easel and ram one of its legs up their… Warhol. And with fewer students enrolled during the warmer months, there were fewer classes running, and therefore more studio time, which she took gleeful advantage of, with a territorial staking-out of the best spot in the room and the nasty glare she sent towards people who were too friendly. She was gleeful on the inside.

Was that boyfriend mopey about her choosing the art life instead of spending her summer with him? Absolutely not. Peter had his own thing going on (this was how MJ downplayed the daily saving of lives). Besides, they found ways to see each other. Like how she bought the famous Spider-Man a hot dog in Central Park after he turned one end of the skipping ropes for a couple of kids playing Double Dutch. Or how he scared the bejesus out of her while she was painting alone in the studio and glanced around to see what was throwing a shadow on her canvas (just a dork waving at her through the window―a window on the fourth floor).

They had to be careful when Peter was in the suit; it wasn’t really safe for any of those freaks (‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes,’ or whatever) to make potentially skulking bad guys aware that they had less-than-super friends, kids, girlfriends, etc. Lucky for Peter, MJ was incredibly good at careful. It was worth it for the rest of the time that they got to be together without the suit.

The suit wasn’t her problem at the moment though. There was no article of clothing (pioneered by Tony Stark or otherwise) that was her problem. Actually, the lack of clothes was the problem, because she was hesitating, hand hovering over a nude sketch that she wanted to fix. MJ squinted. She just couldn’t see how. A trio of bohemians across the room sent up giggles like scattered pigeons and MJ closed her eyes in irritation. She opened them and stared at the sketch. Yeah, maybe she could stand to watch something else for a while.

With a little subtle angling, she created a line of sight to the other girls. Looked like two of them were clustered around the easel of the third. They were teasing her. Ah, but this particular student―MJ had observed―liked to be teased. It wasn’t the common mocking of the scholarship kid or the uninventive, elementary school, lunch money shakedown. It was that sunny, sticky teasing that left extroverts flushed from all the attention. Yuck.

MJ watched the three friends, studied their postures and dynamic. Everything was food for art. Reading their body language might help her sort out her difficulties with this sketch. She assessed them with her ears as well as her eyes; art might have been a largely visual experience for the viewer, but for her, shaping a piece in ways that could never be understood in the passing sweep of a gaze, it was multisensory. Peter might have taught her a little something about that. He claimed that she had her own enhancements, even without the super-biology.

From their words and the giddy pitch, it was obvious that they were tackling the same type of project that MJ was: a nude. She directed her face downward, towards her page, as she rolled her eyes. Art models were just people, not porn stars. Students at this level should really understand that, MJ felt. Giggling over a bared breast or the muscular indent of a man’s ass was amateurish.

She rolled her shoulders, trying to shrug off the judgement. Ok, maybe these three were inelegant twerps, but who said twerps couldn’t be art? If Dalí could find inspiration in a loaf of bread, then MJ could see how she progressed with a vapid, unoriginal muse. As long as her own work didn’t turn out derivative, the girls could present as clichéd a scene of immaturity as they pleased. MJ listened harder and let her grip loosen on her pencil. The lines would come when she was ready.

“You didn’t,” Girl One insisted.

“Of course she didn’t.” Ooh, bit more of a petty tone from Girl Two. “She just wants the attention. She can’t get the grades, so she’s hoping to cause enough of a scandal that her work is noticed and somebody pays big bucks for it. Who gives a fuck about a degree when some dude drops a million and puts you on the map?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not that big of a deal,” said The Artist Herself. MJ blinked a few times in case any of that false modesty was airborne, keeping her eyes free of the irritants her ears couldn’t help but admit.

“Everyone’s going to freak,” Girl One squealed effervescently.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t stay quiet instead? Just keep this piece for myself or… maybe give it to him?”

“You can’t! This would be, like, a cultural phenomenon.”

Don’t get ahead of yourselves, MJ thought wryly.

Girl Two snorted, earning her a moment of approval from the observer.

“But no one’s even going to know it’s him,” the skeptic argued.

MJ frowned. All of their models this term had been female. Sure, it was reasonable that the artist could’ve had someone else pose for her―either professionally or casually (though MJ didn’t have that kind of relationship with any of her friends)―but it sounded like the girl’s plan A was to submit her piece as part of her coursework. That didn’t add up. Their instructor preferred that the students work from the same subject, one that the professor themselves was familiar with so that they could properly assess the fidelity of the rendering.

“They’ll know by the title,” The Artist Herself asserted.

“You’ll still have to give him a face, Mel.”

“It’s kind of avant-garde this way though, right?” Girl One’s comment was plenty chipper.

“It’s a copout,” Girl Two stated. “If you really slept with him and you’re prepared to tell the tale, you can’t just call the thing ‘Spider-Man in Repose’ and leave it at that.”

They carried on with their playful chatter, but MJ’s hearing had fuzzed out. What they were saying―that this art bitch had nailed her dork of a boyfriend―was impossible. She didn’t need to endorse the ridiculous claim by actually asking Peter if it was true. No, MJ wasn’t heartbroken or confused, she was angry. Didn’t they, any one of them, consider Spider-Man’s privacy? The respect he had earned as a public figure? He wasn’t just a mask, or a picture of that mask on a souvenir t-shirt. This would be libel if Spider-Man’s real identity was known to the general public. Little kids needed to see their hero on the morning news helping old ladies across the street and rescuing animals from burning buildings, not as the subject in some horny coed’s mediocrity.

“―it seriously. This is probably the only case where people are more interested in seeing a celebrity’s face than his dick.”

The pencil fell from MJ’s fingers and she didn’t pick it up, more focused on controlling her expression so she’d look unaffected if any of them glanced over.

“Sandra, stop,” Girl One twittered.

MJ supported the sentiment, if not the tone of voice. She lifted her foot and deliberately stomped on the end of her pencil, snapping the point. Uh oh, it looked like she’d have to go to the supply room to find a sharpener. It was located through a door half a dozen feet behind the other girls. Convenient for sneaking a look at whatever was on that canvas, which would enable her to come up with a tailored plan to fix this.

She began with a loud sigh and a forlorn look at her broken pencil. Again, not trying to be quiet, she pushed her sketch aside and crossed the room. The girls were still talking. Maybe they hadn’t forgotten MJ was there. Maybe they were crossing their fingers that she was a shit-stirrer. A patient zero for the gossip they were hoping to benefit from spreading. She circled around them and darted into the supply room, swinging the door only partially shut while she rattled a box of pencils before coaxing as much noise as possible out of the most ancient-looking sharpener she could find.

“Would you do him again?” Girl One asked.

“If she says no,” Girl Two cut in, “then she’s definitely making it up. Who the hell would hit-it-and-quit-it with Spider-Man? Especially if he’s that ripped under the suit.”

MJ crept to the threshold and looked in their direction. The Artist Herself shifted from one foot to the other, contemplating her own work, and MJ finally got a look at the unfinished painting. In its technical aspects, it was fine. Not accomplished, not garbage. So, better than she’d been expecting. It just wasn’t Peter. Even without a face, it wasn’t Peter. Peter was ripped―not that these people knew that, or ever would―but this wasn’t his body as she’d come to know it. Which was extremely well.

Grinning, MJ hurried back to her sketchbook and flipped it shut. Watching the girls from a different angle had made her consider a new approach to her block with her work in progress, but that wasn’t what propelled her out of the studio. She had an amazing idea.

\\\

“I don’t see how this solves the problem,” Peter said. “It still generates Spider-Man gossip.”

“But if it involves me, no one will believe it,” MJ emphasized, grabbing his shoulder. “I’m background noise in that studio. I’m furniture, Peter. I’ve never tried to be the center of attention and we can use that.”

He narrowed his eyes, but she could see the trust in them, like always.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. You’re just confused because this is a plan and those are foreign to you.” She gave him a sad smile and released his shoulder with a consoling squeeze.

“Hey―what? I-I plan,” he said defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. Yep, this was the body of her Spider-Man, not that generic canvas Adonis.

“You’re impulsive and adaptable. You can think on your feet in the middle of a fight, but, babe, you don’t plan.”

“But what about―”

“Peter.”

“There was that time I―”

“Peter.”

He sighed.

“Ok, when are we gonna do this?”

\\\

The research was really only two steps: showing up on campus at different times to learn when The Artist Herself (and co.) normally arrived, and figuring out how to unlatch one of the large studio windows. Both of these elements fit extremely easily into MJ’s schedule.

The friends’ interest in the Spider-Man portrait seemed to rise and fall and rise again; frequently, they actually worked on their own pieces instead of gossiping. Ok, instead of only gossiping. They still gossiped. Whenever it wasn’t about the unfathomably unrealistic Spider-Man affair, MJ drowned them out with headphones and made progress on her sketch.

She gave it a week―the recon―because that was a standard length of time and the mission felt more scientific that way. Ugh, these were Peter’s words. Her head was full of Avengers vernacular these days, all mixed up with a spectrum of graphite hardnesses and the names of a couple dozen French landscape painters. That was how MJ really knew her body wasn’t going to one day reject Peter like a mismatched blood donation. He’d become part of her mental vocabulary, and that was her sanctuary.

She hustled him through the propped-open window and into her physical sanctuary, the studio, on a Friday. Midmorning and the light was clear and white. The room would transform around 4:30pm when a hot afternoon glow inflamed the space through westward-facing glass, but this earlier, crisper light was good for a lot of things. Uniform illumination across textured sheets of watercolour paper. Fidelity of oil paint colours roughly blended and scraped with a palette knife. Minimal shadows cast as Peter’s feet, saran-wrapped into his Spidey suit, landed on the wood floor. With heavier footfalls, thanks to her black combat boots, MJ led him to the supply room and shut them in.

“Cutting it a little close,” she complained, glancing at her watch.

“I was on my way,” Peter said, gesturing widely (what kept MJ calm was the knowledge that his superhuman agility would make sure he caught anything he knocked over before it hit the ground), “and then there was this guy trying to grand theft auto a flour truck out in front of this bakery.” He pointed like the bakery was hiding just across the room behind the industrial-sized jugs of linseed oil. Peter deflated, mind snapped swiftly into the present. “Long story short, the bakery owner promised me free bagels if you wanna go after.”

MJ nodded, trying to tame her fond smirk. She would’ve loved him just as much if his biology had been totally garden-variety, but Peter in the suit―eyes of his mask widening as he relayed his latest crime bust―was adorable.

“After.”

“Ok… ok, great.”

Peter attempted to lean casually into a stack of collapsed easels, which squeaked loudly across the floor, threatening a noisy topple, before he jerked upright and steadied them. The way he’d never gotten calmer about her saying yes to a date was pretty adorable too.

“So, when are they―”

MJ heard the door to the studio bang open and slapped a hand across the mouth area of her boyfriend’s mask. Her palm didn’t actually obstruct his words, but the action silenced him. He tensed at her side as they tilted their heads, listening. A more minor part of the mission―dammit, plan―had been for MJ to make sure there were enough easels, brushes, and various other tools of the trade out on and around the counter that spanned one wall of the studio; the last thing she and Peter needed was an unsuspecting audience member striding into the supply room. Oh, those girls would know they were in here, but it wasn’t going to be by accident.

“You don’t think they’ll leave when they hear us?”

MJ shivered―Peter’s lips were right against her ear. She hadn’t heard him peel up his mask and lean in. Turning her head slightly, she tried to respond just as softly.

“Not these three. They’re shamelessly curious.”

“You’re sure?”

God, her face was getting hot. He was just talking to her. Talking at a whisper. Fine, it was kinda sexy, though there were things besides his last-second questioning of her brilliant plan that she’d rather have heard in that voice.

“You didn’t see the painting,” MJ reminded him.

“Yeah, there’s that,” Peter allowed.

They waited a few minutes longer, enduring the insignificant chatter and grating laughter coming from the studio. MJ tried to keep as still as Peter. Gradually, the human sounds lessened and were replaced by the glop of a brush through too much paint, the hiss of that same brush across a taut canvas. She looked at him and nodded.

“We’re starting?” he murmured.

MJ turn away from the door and smacked the center of his chest, turning the Spidey suit into a slack mass that Peter reflexively caught in his elbows before it could fall all the way down. She raised her eyebrows. Peter let the suit drop.

“This isn’t very romantic,” he complained quietly, yanking his feet free and piling the suit on the lid of a large tub of gesso.

“Yeah, well, we can’t exactly do this with the suit on.”

“The mask?”

MJ assessed his face, everything below his nose uncovered.

“I think half-off is fine, in case they barge in. The lower part of your face isn’t very distinctive.”

She twisted towards the door once more. At this point, they were supposed to be past discussion. Peter really didn’t understand the concept of planning something in advance, even when they had planned this in advance.

“Again with the lack of romance,” he griped, suddenly pressed up right behind her. Immediately, MJ’s heart was pounding more fiercely.

“Trying to be practical, nerd.”

Her voice didn’t come out overly stern, not with Peter’s hands touching down very lightly on her hips.

“But what do I always say when we order pizza and you try to get me to choose between bacon and ham?”

“You don’t need that much meat on a pizza. It’s high in sodium.”

His sigh ruffled the hair hanging in a loose ponytail against the back of her neck.

“No, that’s what you always say. What do I say?”

Pressing her palm to the door, MJ let her eyes slide closed. One of Peter’s hands had ducked under the hem of her shirt. She felt the side of his thumb skim her abdomen.

“That you prefer both,” she replied.

He made a low agreeing noise, flattened his palm against her for a second, then rotated his hand to unbutton her jeans. There was a surge within her. Peter always turned her on, but this was a fresh excitement. Subtly, MJ pressed her hips forward. She heard him breathe harder. His other hand moved from her hip to grasp the waist of her jeans while he unzipped them. She could feel it. She could feel him behind her, rising and thickening. Dipping his hands into her undone jeans, Peter nosed her hair out of the way to kiss her for the first time since they’d entered the room, on the side of her neck.

“I think I prefer both too,” she said.

She felt his teeth as he smiled and pushed against his crotch in response. His groan was abbreviated to a grunt when he clamped his mouth shut; the clench of Peter’s jaw bumped her throat. MJ grinned to herself and rolled into him again. There wasn’t any hesitancy as his fingers pried the thin elastic edge of her underwear away from her skin and plunged one hand beneath it. She gasped aloud and the fact that they were doing this for a reason came back to her. That didn’t mean being overheard had to be the only reason.

Because MJ knew it was one of Peter’s weaknesses, she grasped his wrist, slowly smoothing her hand down to lay flat on the back of his, and urged it further. He panted, kissing her neck, more loosely this time. Reaching up and back with her other hand, she toyed with the little flick of hair at back of his neck, right where it started to curl if he went too long between haircuts―exposed below the peeled up mask. With a shudder, Peter stroked a finger through her increasing arousal. Her hand tensed on his. A subtle widening of her stance wouldn’t be quite so subtle to the guy whose super-senses allowed him to notice the tiniest details even when distracted, but so be it. It wasn’t like he didn’t already know how she wanted him to touch her.

She turned her head, disengaging Peter’s before bringing him back just as quickly with a thorough kiss. Continuously, MJ’s fingers stroked his hairline. Goosebumps spread across the back of his neck.

“Let me know,” she said in a teasing voice, pausing to lick his lower lip, “if I’m being too romantic.”

Peter’s lips smiled against hers.

“And you tell me…” His mouth remained open, questioning almost, as he traced her opening with the tip of his finger. MJ exhaled roughly. “…if I get too practical.”

With that, Peter withdrew his hand (she would not admit to actually fucking whimpering in disappointment), grabbed her hips, and spun her, forcing her back against the door. The resultant thud was followed by confused-sounding voices from their prey in the studio. Exhilarated more than panicked, MJ looked her boyfriend sternly in the eyes of his mask.

“We need to make more noise, now, before they come to investigate,” she murmured.

Appearing to barely make contact with his fist, Peter forced another thump out of the door. MJ rolled her eyes, heartrate dropping.

“Not like that. They’ll just think somebody’s locked in here.”

“Like what then?”

“Like… sex-type noises,” she said, gesturing vaguely before folding her arms around his neck, fingers back to playing with his hair.

The only problem with Peter’s improvising was that he didn’t give her enough time to check him out―wearing nothing but his boxers and folded-up mask―before he did it. He just stepped close and snatched the jeans and underwear down her legs, then cupped his hand between them. MJ panted in surprise and reawakened desire. It wasn’t loud enough. They both knew it.

Necessity was supposed to be the mother of invention, but she figured the smirk on Peter’s face right before he stroked his finger inside her was necessity’s other child. MJ sighed in pleasure and paired it with a look that said, about time, nerd. Though he dug in deeper, he would only curl his finger slightly, making her hips wriggle and, consequently, bump against the door.

Shit, there were footsteps heading their way. Peter had it handled―MJ flushed retroactively at her mental double-entendre―pressing another finger into her and hooking both firmly. She let out a genuine wail.

From the other side of the door, a hysterical giggle.

MJ didn’t care what they said, just that the girls stayed in the studio―that was vital. Rather than straining to hear the specific words constructing the scandalized tone, she pulled Peter closer. Running a palm down his chest, she had him faintly trembling before she suddenly grasped his erection through his boxers. He groaned loudly enough to send a prickle down MJ’s spine. Now the listeners would know there were two people in here, instead of a lone pervert masturbating to the sight of uniformly sharpened coloured pencils. (She did enjoy being surrounded by beautiful new art supplies, just not in a way that made her want to go American Pie on them.)

Biting lightly along Peter’s jaw (so maybe she thought the lower part of his face was more special and alluring than she’d implied), MJ released her hold on him, only to sneak her hand inside his boxers and grasp him properly. He was hot and pulsing in her palm, breath muggy on the side of her face. It intensified her pleasure. She stroked him, steady and torturous, and eased down on his fingers as Peter continued his own motions.

“You’re getting me so wet, Spider-Man,” MJ breathed.

Peter tilted his head away.

“Louder,” he said.

She kissed him before taking a good look at his parted lips and the pink of his cheeks, delicate as a watercolour wash. Peter interrupted her study.

“They should hear you say it,” he prompted, glancing down to where he fingered her. “So they know you’re in here with him. Me.”

Gradually, still grinding down on his hand as he kept a fixed momentum, MJ grinned.

“Would it really be for their benefit, or yours?”

Peter looked up immediately. His gaze slid from one of her eyes to the other. Suddenly, he jabbed his fingers more insistently. MJ gasped and automatically squeezed her fist, making her boyfriend lurch closer.

“Let me see you for a minute,” she said. It stopped being a request as she pushed his mask up herself.

He raised his free hand, trailing the backs of his fingers across her cheek, then slapped his palm to the door, making it (and her heart) jump. Biting down on her lip, she tempered and tenderized her excited smile.

“Just say it,” Peter demanded, brown eyes molten.

Letting her head tip back and hit the door, MJ repeated herself at a much higher volume. That got the girls in the studio talking again.

“Better?” she asked Peter, looking him square in the eye. He shook his head.

“I didn’t like that one either.”

His thumb went to her clit and she rubbed while he held still, fingers unmoving inside her.

“Suggestions?”

MJ was trying for nonchalant. The truth was that she couldn’t manage a full sentence, not at the moment, not while a tingle like static charge was building, climbing her body from the location of Peter’s thumb. He gave her a kind, very normal, Peter sort of smile.

“Say it to me.”

Locking eyes with him, MJ rotated her wrist, caressing up and down his length. She saw his jaw clench.

“You’re getting me so wet, Spider-Man.”

Peter exhaled evenly.

“Condom?”

“Front pocket.”

First, his hand went from the door into his boxers, gently unwrapping her fingers from his dick with an expression of great sacrifice on his face. Continuing to gaze back at her, Peter pushed his boxers off and nudged them away with the side of his foot. MJ lowered her eyes to sweep his body, but when they came back up, she discovered he hadn’t quit looking at her. With another trust-inspiring smile, he knelt. Dextrous fingers retrieved the condom from her jeans. Peter kissed her hip, her inner thigh, before helping her out of her boots and clothing the rest of the way. Only her thin t-shirt stayed on, and he could probably feel her nipples through that, especially when he straightened up and lifted her by the backs of her thighs. MJ’s hand met his against her leg and she took charge of the condom, opening it and then unrolling it on him.

“Already feels good,” Peter told her. She kissed him for a lengthy minute in exchange for his honesty. And for his desire for her, currently standing rigid between them. “M,” he whispered fervently as their mouths parted.

Her inner thighs clamped to his hips as she shifted, angling herself. Ready. He was careful not to hide his grin as he tugged the mask back down over his eyes and nose. Peter’s expression became focused as he followed her guiding hand, delving into her. Already too worked up to receive him slowly, MJ used her legs to draw him all the way in, although it stopped her breath. When she inhaled, the sound in her ears was of someone surfacing from a deep dive.

“Spider-Man,” MJ said, loud, clear, hungry.

Peter thrust.

“Oh, Jesus,” she gasped, though she’d only ever found religion in paintings; angels―good and terrible―in unearthly detail, or obscured by heavenly backlighting.

Her boyfriend spoke to her like mindreading was part of his lunchbox assortment of superpowers.

“How would you paint me,” Peter asked, begging while he commanded. Another thrust, deeper. She clung to his shoulders.

“Haloed,” MJ panted.

Surging forward, he kissed her messily. She did nothing to bring order to the kiss, tongue twisting and tumbling with Peter’s, moaning lustfully into his mouth. He rocked his hips even harder when MJ clawed her fingers into his hair beneath the mask and took a good grip. She didn’t know anymore if they were noisy, couldn’t count how many times his driving thrusts tested the strength of the door. Every breath shaky, MJ rolled what felt like her entire body. She sweat―the room’s circulation was poor and the day must have been getting hotter―and Peter’s hand smoothed greedily over her hip and up to her waist, under her t-shirt.

His other hand supported her, the grip on her leg soft yet strong, and MJ was confident, throwing her hips down onto his, caught by a solid prod and the best feeling in the world. Peter bucked faster and her hand clamped to the back of his neck, the other sticky on his shoulder. Formless, desperate sounds left her mouth, giving up on the kiss, and convinced her boyfriend to reach between her legs and manipulate her clit in tight circles.

“Spide… Spi… Sp…”

MJ climaxed, yanking Peter’s torso to hers, and squeezing her eyes shut. Things were blurry, even inside her head. Holding tight to thighs that felt only distantly like her own, Peter strove through a final handful of thrusts, ending in a completion that heaved MJ’s limp body into the door one last time. They waited it out, the calming. She wanted to tell him that he was her hero for not having weak human arms, which might have been worn out by the sex and set her bare ass down on the supply room floor (ew), but she prioritized breathing. There would be other opportunities to make the nerd blush.

Peter exhaled forcefully after a little bit.

“Are you good? Do you wanna stand?” He pulled back, swiping hair away from her face. Damn ponytail had been too loose.

“Yeah.”

MJ’s feet touched the floor and she stepped around Peter. That was when her legs forgot how to be legs and she tripped over a massive roll of bubble wrap. The jolt woke her up, but it was Peter’s quick hands that caught her.

“Now I’m good,” she said, a little giddy.

“Ok.”

Peter’s hands backed off, but his arms stayed extended towards her.

“Relax.” Her voice probably wasn’t sarcastic enough to hide how sweet she thought he was being. “If I need rescuing while I put my pants on, you’ll be the first to know.”

They dressed quickly―meaning MJ did her best, skipping her socks (they went into her pocket), while Peter stood there, already in his full Spider-Man suit. Yeah, if her outfit was a single sausage casing, she’d be fast too. She assumed the condom had made it into the large trash can, alongside pencil shavings and her classmates’ scrapped ideas.

“Show off,” she mumbled.

“Hey, I don’t want to keep the bakery guy waiting. I have a lot of respect for the schedule of a man who wants to give me free bagels.”

MJ couldn’t see the smirk on his face since he’d pulled the mask down, but she could hear it.

“Yeah, yeah. Go out the window and I’ll meet you two blocks down, like we planned.”

Peter nodded and she let him hold the door for her as they stepped out into the studio. Looked like the audience had hung around. Applause would’ve been nice, MJ couldn’t lie.

“Until next time,” she told Spider-Man, ignoring the others for a moment.

He did a lame little salute that she was definitely never going to let him do again before bounding to the window and scrambling out. Maybe it was smoother than a scramble, but she was suffering from the lameness of the salute.

“How’s the painting going?” she asked The Artist in a tone of colossal disinterest once Spider-Man was out of sight.

Before the girl could answer―or maybe she couldn’t, all three of them did look pretty stunned―MJ strolled to the far end of the studio and collected her sketchbook and pencils, tucking them into her bag. The trio continued to stare at her as she leisurely returned and circled behind them to scrutinize the artwork for herself.

“Huh,” she said, and headed for the door.

One of them―Girl Two, if her memory served―managed a few words.

“Was that…?”

MJ turned back to them, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.

“Yeah.”

With a ridiculous feeling of power, she approached them again and pointed at the painting of so-called ‘Spider-Man.’ Her finger made a circle in the air in front of not-Peter’s crotch.

“You haven’t been generous enough here,” she critiqued. “I’d drop his name from the title, if I were you. The inaccuracy gives the whole thing away. Not that any of you will ever get the chance to see for yourselves.”

This time MJ didn’t pause on her way out, just called back, “Have a super weekend,” and let the door bang behind her.

[someone-elses-star]

Episode 6x07: Nevermind Personal Narration

You guys seemed to like my personal narrative last week, so I decided to do one again! I’m super excited for this episode, and I’m really wondering if we will get Clarke back this week, or if the crew will somehow find out she is still alive.

IT”S STARTING!!!!!

Love hearing Eliza’s accent when she introduces the show!

Okay...give me some Clarke goodness!

Love hearing the voices of her memories! 

Lexa! Still ship bellarke but......LEXA!

Door is opening......

And back to older Clarke!

Is this the Jake Griffin scene?!?!!?

YAYAYAYA JAKE!

Is he still hot? I think he’s still pretty hot! Lol

No Clarke. You didn’t die. YOU FIGHT GIRL!

Awww poor Clarke thinks she’s dead. 

YES girl! You still alive!

Yes, baby girl. Daddy is in your head. But why should it mean it isn’t real? (Harry Potter references! lol)

Are we already leaving Jake? Is he coming back?! I want him back! Maybe he’ll lead her back after she beats Jo? She better beat JO!!!

I do love Jo, though. Very good evil girl! I just want Clarke back, too!

Ohh! ALLIE! and old Clarke grounder outfit!

Ohhhh....Allie saved Clarke! Coolll!!!!

Yes, save that memory! Use it to beat Jo! Use it to come back!

Face your demons, Clarke! Fight! Live!

Ohhh. Is the red door a Jo memory?

HI JOSEPHINE!

Damn right it’s not! Kick her butt, Clarke!

COMMERCIAL BREAK #1 Thoughts: If Clarke really dies is this show even worth watching anymore? If they save her through Madi’s chip instead, will she have to relearn all her new memories. That makes the most sense. I really don’t want her to forget Madi though! Also, random, but what do you guys think about the theory that this season will end with time travel to a past Earth before the nukes? I feel that that may take it a little too far, but I honestly just want Clarke back now, so that is my main focus. NANCY FUCKING DREW! Is anyone else excited?

Yes, Clarke. He did. Does anyone else want to punch Jo? She kinda has that kinda punchable expression constantly on her face. 

If anyone can fight brain deterioration it is Clarke!

It better hurt you psychopath!

I also don’t want Clarke to survive only to have to take a new body because I don’t want to lose Eliza either!

Ahh there is Jo’s little hair twirl.

Yeah, you fight Clarke!

Ohhh, love Clarke’s change in every room! 

Ohhhhh....memories are already fading off the walls!

Damn, Jo is quick. Guess she’s gotta be after all these years.

Clarke is a badass! Shut your bitch mouth!

Damn.....Jo is smart though!

Yes, Clarke beat her ass into the ground!

Damn......slamming her head with the door. Inspired!

Doubt this means Jo is dead though.

Yup....there she is again.

Ahhh, backup. LIke a computer. 

Ah so that is what the pill was. A sedative. Makes sense.

Don’t be so sure Jo! Clarke is a cockroach!

COMMERCIAL BREAK #2 Thoughts: Trying not to be worried about Clarke’s survival. I feel the writers know that a dead Clarke means the end of the show. Also, Eliza is a queen. Losing her would also mean the end of the show I think. Still....very nervous like last episode. Wondering if this episode was the writers trying to give us a final goodbye to Clarke. But I can’t let those thoughts win or I’m going to start having a panic attack. Not good. Need happy thoughts. Clarke surviving. Bellarke reunion. Madi burning these bastards to the ground. I wonder when we are going to get the Bellamy scenes from the episode photos. I want those scenes, but I also want to give Clarke plenty of time to beat Jo. But how will she do that when Jo is backed up? Kinda feel like she will need a window to take over her body and let the others know she is still there so they can do something on the outside that she can’t do from the inside. Then all she has to do is stay alive on the inside. Easy, right? lol

RUN CLARKE RUN!

Ohhh....bloodreina! 

That’s bull! She fought a lot of battles. Don’t let your demons kill you Clarke!

OHHHH she brought up Bellamy!!!

Love the collision alerts every time Jo is coming on screen!

AH MOUNT WEATHER! 

Will a projection of Bellamy help save her?

Oh, no! Maya! Damn!!!

Because she has people to live for! People who love her!

Awww honey. Gotta stop letting your demons break you down! 

This is worse than the eclipse psychosis! Poor Clarke!

YES! You’re in control Clarke!

She has an idea?!?! What did she do with the chip!? Ohhh I bet she controlled Maya to lie for her! 

YES I was right!

Cute....lmao....

Jo reminds me a lot of a girl who used to bully me in school. Is that why I hate her so much? Probably.

Yes, shock her to death....until she reboots. Damn. She brought in an eviler Russell? Note that I said eviler because no matter how nice he’s trying to play he still killed Clarke and has killed many before her so the Primes could live. 

COMMERCIAL BREAK #3 Thoughts: Not many, honestly, I just want Clarke to live. It’s fun seeing her projections come to life in the form of old characters. That’s fun! Already half over? This show always goes by so quickly when I’m narrating it! Anyone else get these Liberty Mutual commericals with the emu? Do we like? I don’t know! OHHHH LOVE RUBY ROSE as the new batwoman! What a great casting call!

RUN CLARKE RUN! AGAIN!

Oh no! Don’t watch daddy get floated again!

Uhh oohhhh....Jo is going to play mean with the floating memory!

Did they actually have Yatzee? That could be the only reason she knows that saying, right?

Oh....a little scary! Poor Clarke traumas! Isn’t that like....her whole life?

“A ringing endorsement.” Lmao. Sassy Clarke!

Damn, Jo is great at manipulation. 

Ohhhh bringing up Bellamy again!

“You have drawings, I have books. Don’t judge!” Lmao

Ohhhh....Clarke seeing Jo’s memories of Bellamy.

Damn....please don’t stop fighting!

Oh God.....she’s considering this! She’s going to sacrifice herself again!?!?!

Do you actually trust her, Clarke?!?!

What.....my heart is breaking. Are we actually losing Clarke? NOT MY Daughter you bitch! (Yes, another HP reference. I can’t help myself!) 

COMMERCIAL BREAK #4 Thoughts: I think I’m dying. I feel like this was to be expected because Clarke is a self-sacrificing angel, but oh my gods please let this be fixed somehow! In a way that does not have Clarke dying...and preferably with her memories of Madi still intact. But that last part can be negotiable in lieu of new memories. There is NO replacing Clarke! I will RIOT if they actually kill Clarke off. Who’s with me? We still have twenty minutes. Miracles happen in this show all the time! Especially in the last couple of minutes! KEEP THE HOPE ALIVE! I’m wondering if we are going to get a, “I bear it so they don’t have to” from Clarke anytime soon. That would fit well in this episode. 

Okay. Now she is in her old hut. With....MONTY?!?!?!?! Oh my fucking GOD! MONTY!!!!!

Yes, Monty! You tell her! Tell her not to give up! Save her Monty! This is so much better than a memory of Bellamy saving her! 

AHHH THE QUOTE! I’m so good! Yes, bring up Madi! Don’t leave Madi! 

They wouldn’t bring back Monty if she was going to actually die, right?!!?

It’s never over, Clarke! Yes, Monty! Lead her to freedom!

I’m crying over Monty. Are you? 

Yes, going in to Josephine’s mind! You can do this! You have Monty! Everything is better with Monty!

Damn.....that is a lot of books.

Ohhh....she knows you are there!

“I like your drawings better.” I love you Monty! We never deserved you!

Yes, control your body! Our predictions are coming true!

Oh. The scene of Jo being murdered in her last body! 

Ohhh. How is Clarke going to use this memory? Or any of the memories she sees?

Baby! 

Nulls? That’s what they call those who can’t bear a host? Damn....

COMMERCIAL BREAK #5 Thoughts: So, Clarke is fighting again with the help of Monty. They are discussing her controlling her body through Jo’s memories. GOOD! BUTTTT....we have less than ten minutes. What’s going to happen? Could Clarke take control of her body and interrupt Bellamy’s meeting with Russell that we saw pictured? Will Jo take over at the last minute and try to convince them that she was just joking...and that Clarke is really dead? Could that send Bellamy into exploring Clarke being alive? If Clarke stays inside her head for more than this episode do we get to see more Monty?

He got it! Go Monty! 

And we’re....in a cafe. With XMAS decor. OHHHH Earth before the bombs?!?!!

Yes, why would she lock this memory away?

Oh are the bombs about to go off?

Water rationing protest? Is this our future? Probably. 

Oh......what is this guy to her? Damn...a gun?!?!

Oh MY GOD! I would want to hide this memory too! 

Ohh more fighting! 

Oh no! She’s awake! 

No! She can’t win! Clarke can still be alive!

Oh....he’s using Morse code! Is that Morse code?

Bellamy knows!!! He can see it! He knows! Clarke is still in there! 

It is Morse code! 

“I slept through most of Earth skills so....” Lmao! I love Miller! We never get enough Miller!

Yes, go last five seconds of Bellamy finding out about Clarke still being in there!

[emergentanimism]

Deadwater

In my last post, I said something that should have given you pause. When describing spirits of the dead, I said, “They can even be exploited if a magus is so inclined. If they can't learn to chill even after they're dead, fuck 'em.”

No one told you that being a magus makes you a nice person, right? There are reasons why necromancy is reviled by many cultures. Most of those reasons are bullshit based on fear and control. But being a necromancer does sometimes mean blurring some lines. If you as a magus decide you may need a weapon at your disposal, even just for self-defense… well weapons come at a price. A weapon is not an innocent thing, despite what the NRA wants you to believe. A weapon always requires you to compromise your innocence. A weapon symbolizes you are willing to do harm. A spiritual weapon can be a costly thing indeed.

The most powerful weapon in my spiritual arsenal? Without a doubt – Deadwater. What is Deadwater you ask? Lucky for you folks I know the leading expert. The number one source. I turn you over to the words of my beloved brother, Frater Yaramarud, the man who provided me with this amazing substance.

“My first encounter with Deadwater came nearly a decade ago. At the time, I saw it purely as a novelty and not something with the nearly boundless potential that I know today. Traveling down the road with my good friend Frater Dreadnaught, and an ex-partner of mine, the three of us had made a late night decision to stop at the next cemetery we found in order to waste time in a way that people in their early twenties are wont to do. When we finally found one and had parked the car, a light in the center of the cemetery had drawn our attention to a pump well gently illuminated beneath it. My initial thought was one of curiosity and bewilderment. What reason could there possibly be for there to be a well here? With this question unanswered, it dawned on me that the corpses surrounding us had, beyond any doubt, decayed and seeped into the table from which this well drew.

After jokes and general fucking around, we left the cemetery without even noting its general location. Though I had lost contact with my ex-partner, Fr. Dreadnaught and I remained close friends. During this time, he had enlisted in the military and left our home state for roughly 7-8 years. Though we often discussed the possible location of the Deadwater, the only thing that either of us could remember was the highway that it was most likely located on. With him gone for years and me being the only person that could feasibly find this place, I did all I could do in order to locate it. Driving up and down the highway proved fruitless, as did looking at maps of cemeteries along the route and cross-referencing them with Google. My last effort was to post an inquiry on a local genealogy group under the guise of searching for the grave of a relative. This too led to nothing. I was forced to give up, and so it was for about six years.

Last year, however, things changed. Fr. D had moved back from California and had spent some time living with my wife and I. It was during this time that we had become determined to find this Deadwater once again. As we had both evolved in our magickal practice, it had become less of a curiosity and more of a holy grail; here was a tool that had so much latent potential, and yet it was completely out of my reach. One night in September of 2017, we had decided that, since it was once again physically possible for us to find it together, we would do exactly that.

I'll spare you the details of the ritual itself suffice to say that Fr. D and myself had performed a Goetic invocation for executing our will. In hindsight, we had made a mistake. For our statement of intent, I had simply said, “It is our will to invoke XX to lead us to the Deadwater located along Highway XX.” It was during the ritual that I was mentally given a map of the county through which the highway ran, with a marker placed by the demon. With the image still firmly visualized, we pulled up a map of cemeteries in the county that this marker could possibly represent. After making a list with their corresponding addresses, we left in search of the Deadwater.

It was the middle of nowhere; we were surrounded by corn fields in every direction. After taking the final turn, still flanked by corn on either side, the GPS indicated that we had arrived at our destination: the first cemetery on the list. There was nothing. Just corn. As Fr. D was rechecking the address, I slowed the truck to a stop. Just before we had become entirely motionless, the field opened up to reveal the stones we were looking for, but they weren't familiar at all. There was no light in the center. It was just darkness. Despite this, we decided to look around anyway. After all, we had the entire night to look, and maybe the light had burned out, or our memory of the place was faulty.

We spent roughly 30 minutes wandering between the gravestones, splitting up to cover more ground. As we both began to lose hope and had called out that we should go to the next address on the list, I noticed a dim light in the distance. I called to Fr. D to meet me and we could explore this light together. Once we had reconvened, we started walking together towards the light. Not even ten steps from when we started, our headlamps simultaneously crossed, revealing before us a pump well.

This was not the same well. We both knew that, and yet a shiver ran down both of our spines. We tested it. It worked. The demon had shown us the way, though due to our lack of precise wording, it was not the same well we had seen all those years ago. We had prepared for this moment and filled several bottles with the water, water that contained the decayed remains of hundreds of bodies, water that was the distilled essence of the dead.

Since that night, I have utilized the Deadwater in multiple ways. The first ritual that we had done with it was a joint effort between Fr. D and myself. He had volunteered to drink a small portion of the water, and a ritual was formed around this primary action. Performed twice, we discovered through Fr. D's gnosis that he was able to visualize and speak to his own ancestors. Thus, not only did this water stand as an essence of the dead that I had discovered through my own later experimentation, it was able to form a link between their realm and our own.

Its apparent linkage to death and focal point of death have proven invaluable. Apart from the aforementioned use of contacting one's ancestors, I have used it as a method of simplifying my altar. Rather than having dozens of pictures of my ancestors for veneration, I find it just as effective to place a bottle of the water with an image of my family crest as a sort of condensed fetish. Another similar use I have found is mixing the water with the gravedirt of my grandmother in order to form an anointing solution that has a direct link to my lineage and those that came before. In using it as a kind of “essential oil of death”, I have found that it works with great success in ��jinx” or “hex” work as a medium for freezer spells and the like. It has also worked equally well as an intensifier for other gravedirt workings and as a component for spirit work. Though these cover only my own current experiments with the Deadwater, I know that its potential has exceeded every expectation that I have had for it. As I continue to find new uses, it continually astounds and amazes me.”

 What’s the first lesson to be learned from this amazing story? Have a tribe! There are other awesome magi out there. You can find them. It will take hard work and dedication to actually work together. I travel thousands of miles a year just to be with my tribe. But it’s so damn worth it when you experience that love and are gifted with magical knowledge, and receive gifts like 750 ml of Deadwater.

Lucky you, you can buy it online from Frater Yaramarud at his most excellent store, Welcome to Tarotdise, where he and his wife sell some amazing hand-crafted occult products.

Back to the original point and my experiences with Deadwater. As far as I know I am only the second person dumb enough to drink some of it. I immediately tasted the earth and rot of the grave. My vision dimmed, and I felt myself slipping between the land of the living and the realm of the dead. All from one sip. BTW, I in NO WAY endorse drinking the Deadwater. It is not sold for consumption. If you get intestinal parasites or a fungal infection, that’s your problem.

Meditating on the bottle sitting on my altar has produced some interesting visions. You can literally see the angry spirits swirling around in the bottle. No, they are not happy to be there. And I get the feeling the Deadwater captured some of the most malicious spirits of that particular cemetery. Is it wrong to use them for my own devices? Probably. But a magus gotta do what a magus gotta do. I’ll talk some more about the nuances of such necromantic work in a later post.

In my opinion, Deadwater is essentially spiritual toxic waste. No other spirit I know likes to go near the stuff. I really don’t want to meet the spirits that would enjoy it. For example, I recently had an altercation with a certain Red Goddess who has been fucking with my love life hard. Of course, she laughed at my admonitions of her cruel little games. Until I threatened to pour some Deadwater over her statue. She shut the fuck up real quick after that. Is it truly a threat to a goddess? I don’t know, but I certainly got the impression she wouldn’t enjoy the experience.

As noted, Frater Yaramarud had somewhat different experiences. Maybe it’s the batch I got. Maybe it’s his intent when using it, or how he mixes it with other substances. Maybe those spirits just don’t like me for whatever reason. You don’t have to use it as a weapon.

Yeah, I know a lot of this sounds a bit crazy. But part of being a magus is learning to frame your experiences in a mythic context. As my hero Miguel says, “Write your own story. Live your own myth.” Be hardcore. Get yourself some Deadwater. Better yet, harvest some of your own. Be prepared to do a lot of banishing before and after you do something like that.

[sassysweetstories]

All The Stars

Request: “Can you do a Daniel Sharman imagine based on the song ‘all the stars’ by SZA and Kendrick Lamar ?! Xxx”

Ship: Daniel Sharman x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, fighting, mentions of cheating, fluff, swearing, kissing, self-doubt, etc. 

Notes: none of these gifs are mine, credit to owners. 

Tagged: @bailey-hoover @kiralivelove @thalia-prior-of-ravenclaw @anamcg317 @bellasett @queentiffanyyy @archer-whovian-violinist @beingmadinwonderland @princessisabelle19@violence-and-velvet @lachicadelamanzana

Third P.O.V

Love, let’s talk about love. 

Is it anything and everything you hoped for?

I get a feeling on you. 

I get a feeling on you. 

This may be the night 

That my dreams might let me know 

All the starts are closer, all the stars are closer

All the stars are closer. 

(Y/n) leaned against the bathroom wall, holding the bottle of whiskey in one hand while the other ran through her knotted hair. How could this have happened? How could she have let the fighting get so far? But the better question was how could she fall for him? Trust him so easily and breathlessly? She wasn’t really surprised to catch him locking lips with another, a model. (Y/n) watched as the man she loved, adored, kissed someone else and her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. How could another human being doing something so cruel? She took another shot of her whiskey, cussing at the burning sensation as (Y/n) remembered the pained look on Daniel’s face. 

Tell me what you gon’ do to me.

Confrontation ain’t nothing new to me. 

You can bring a bullet, bring a sword.

Bring a morgue, but you can’t bring the truth to me. 

Fuck you and all your expectations. 

I don’t even want you congratulations. 

I don’t recognize your false confidence and calculated promises all in your conversation. 

I hate people that feel entitled. 

Fuck, if she could take a picture and frame it on her wall, she so would. But seeing him again at the party shook her core. Of course (Y/n) knew he would be there but she hadn’t expected him to look that good. But she was strong, strong enough to stray from her broken-heart-ted temptations. The only thing keeping her in-check was her morals and the hurt, puppy dog expression he sported upon her walking in. Even though he had ten girls trailing after him, his eyes never left (Y/n)’s beautiful form and the man attached at her hip. God, she looked absolutely breathtaking and ethereal. He was such a fucking idiot for her hurting her the way he had. 

Look at me crazy ‘cause I ain’t invited you. 

Oh, you important? 

You the moral of the story, you endorsing? 

Motherfucker, I don’t even like you. 

Corrupts a man’s heart with a gift. 

That’s how you find who you dealin’ with. 

A small percentage, who I’m dealing with. 

I want the credit if I’m losing or winning. 

On my mamma that’s the realest shit. 

Apart of her wants to storm out and never see that bastard again. But the longer she stays, the more power she seems to hold over him. And even though she had previously been sobbing her eyes, lips made accompanied to a bottle of whiskey, she stood with her head held up high. Taking in the scene that laid before her, (Y/n) couldn’t help but smile at her suitor that’s decided to accompany her to this formal event. He’s dressed wonderfully with a gorgeous smile that flatters the rest of his attire. From the outside perspective, they looked like the perfect couple, a relationship kids only dreamed of even though they had only been talking for about two months. He knew being here was hard for her, that there might be some underlying emotions for her previous lover but none of that mattered as long as he would be the one to take her home, to hold her in his arms. 

Girl, let's talk about love

Is it anything and everything you hoped for?

Or do the feeling haunt you?

I know the feeling haunt youThis maybe the night that my dreams might let me know

All the stars are closer, all the stars are closer, all the stars are closer

This maybe the night that my dreams might let me know

All the stars are closer, all the stars are closer, all the stars are closer. 

Not long into the night, Daniel begun to smell dreadfully of alcohol. So strong and pungent, when he walked by, noses curled up and away with disgust. Daniel hadn’t cared though, too drunk and angry as he watched the woman he loved dance with another. How could he have been so stupid, so heartless to her? There isn’t any right to cheat and yet, he had done. Looked at another and done something so awful that he was guaranteed to go to hell. She looked so strong and confident in that lacy, black dress it made his heart break and shatter. (Y/n) had been reborn from the ashes of her torment, like a phoenix, ready to concur. And nothing would stop her, not even what he had done to her. 

Skin covered in ego

Get to talkin', I get involved, like a rebound

No control, no off switch in the way that you bringing me down

It's a turn on, get it away from me

Know you mean wrong, keep away from me

And it's all wrong, get it away from me, yeah

I just cry for no reason, I just pray for no reason

I just thank for the life, for the day, for the hours and another life breathin'

I did it all 'cause it feel good

You could live it all if you feel bad

Better live your life

We are running out of time

(I hope you guys liked it! PLEASE. FUCKING. COMMENT)

[patriotsnet]

How Many Log Cabin Republicans Are There

New Post has been published on https://www.patriotsnet.com/how-many-log-cabin-republicans-are-there/

How Many Log Cabin Republicans Are There

Nbc Outtrump Supporters In Battleground States Largely Favor Lgbtq Rights Poll Finds

Asked about Trump’s attitude toward the LGBTQ community, Kabel offered a series of well-rehearsed talking points: Trump is “the most gay-friendly president,” same-sex marriage is settled law, Trump-nominated Supreme Court Justice Neil Gorsuch wrote the pro-LGBTQ decision in Bostock v. Clayton County, Georgia, and the administration is doing great work on HIV/AIDS.

As an example of how “the press doesn’t give him a break,” Kabel cited the administration’s partnership with Gilead Sciences Inc. and pharmacies, including CVS and Walgreens, to provide and distribute HIV-prevention medication to targeted communities.

“He never got credit for it,” Kabel said. “The LGBT organizations thank Walgreens and CVS and, of course, intentionally forgot to mention Trump actually made this happen.”

In June, Trump declared that the same scientific know-how that produced an AIDS vaccine would deliver one soon for Covid-19, even though there is no AIDS vaccine.

Kabel said he wishes the Republican National Committee would have met this year to update the party’s official platform, which still states at least five times that marriage should exclusively be a union of “one man and one woman.” But he said he’s not worried about a backslide on LGBTQ rights.

“The social conservatives understand that we’ve won on marriage,” he said. “They’ve lost, we’ve won, and I think they really play it down now.”

Back Into The Wider World

After Bakers speech, the groups first female chairman, Sarah Longwell, announced the afterparty was at Nellies, a popular gay/sports bar with a weekend drag-queen brunch. You boys enjoy yourselves, she said, Ive got kids at home. Someone appeared in a skin-tight Make America Great Again dress and posed for photos in front of the Log Cabin logo with the dress designer; they were the most exotically outfitted attendees:

Online, Democratic critics unsheathed their knives. Your org has accomplished nothing in 40 fucking years as the GOP has gone from bad to worse to Trump on your watch, the activist and advice columnist Dan Savage wrote in response to a cheery tweet from Angelo celebrating the night. Go fuck yourselves Log Cabin Republicans, Savage wrote.

At the Mayflower, after a few minutes of post-speech networking chatter, much of the room cleared out.

Outside the grand ballroom two women in pantsuits walked down the wide marble hallway from the party. They casually held hands for a moment, then unclasped as they approached the crowded lobby.

Next to the front door stood a group of men in well-cut suits in shades of charcoal. It was impossible to tell if they were they from the Log Cabin event or part of the Mayflowers regular carousel of business guests.

And that, the Log Cabin Republicans would tell you, is exactly the point.

Sarah Longwell: Donald Trump Is Not A Republican Or A Conservative

Longwell insisted that she still holds traditional Republican beliefs, including “restraint from the executive branch fiscal responsibility and American leadership in the world where we treat our allies with respect.”

The problem with Trump isn’t a gay issue, she said; rather, it’s an American issue.

I think Donald Trump is an existential threat to democracy and the country, because the rules dont apply to him, said Longwell, 40. He thinks hes above the law.

She blames the president for disregarding the Constitution, cozying up to dictators and putting his own interests first, and said she is frustrated that the GOP has stood by him.

“Republicans should be a party that cares about principles and ideas, not its loyalty to one man,” she said.

She said she’ll be voting for Biden, whom she calls a centrist. “He has a message of unity, not division.”

Other LGBTQ Republicans, like Williams, straddle the line. Asked whether she’ll be voting for Trump, she tactfully replied, “The jury is still out.”

“Since New Jersey is not in play, I’ve been trying to focus on more of our down-ballot candidates who’ve sought my support and my counsel on reaching voters,” she said.

Log Cabin Republicans And Goproud Struggle For Future Of Lgbt People In The Gop Party

The night before the Republican National Convention began in Tampa last month, a group of gay Republicans sipped wine and ate crab cakes at the Rusty Pelican, a white-tablecloth establishment with massive fireplaces and sweeping bay views. Defying the widespread perception that the Republican party is more actively opposed to gay rights than ever, R. Clarke Cooper, the 41-year-old director of the Log Cabin Republicans, told the gathering that gays are not just an insular group in the party, were an integral part of the party. Like other fetes around town that week, the reception was dominated by clean-cut white men who looked like consultants with practiced golf swings. Women and minorities were as rare a sight as unpleated pants.

Log Cabin, a Republican fixture since the late 70s, defines its mission as building a stronger, more inclusive Republican Party by lobbying for same-sex marriage, anti-discrimination laws, and other gay causes. With 44 chapters and more than 45,000 members, it has become the closest thing there is in the gay Republican scene to the establishment. Its nemesis and counterpart is the three-year-old GOProud, the only other national organization for gay Republicans. While Log Cabins white-wine affair at the Rusty Pelican was designed to appeal to the old-school Republican country-club set, GOProuds event, dubbed Homocon, featured male go-go dancers in skin-tight Freedom is Fabulous belly-tees.

REPUBLICANS FROM THE GET-GO

Jonathan Hoffman: Log Cabin Republicans A Model For Politics

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The following column is the opinion and analysis of the writer.

It seems as if our political contests have become more like warfare than debates these days. The increase in identity politics has lead to some political parties becoming more like tribes defined by ethnicity, race or sexual orientation, rather than parties defined by philosophy or principles. As such, there is no place for cooperation or compromise, just a question of who will prevail.

The other day I was wondering if there was some group that, by example, demonstrates that it need not be that way. I then heard someone mention the Log Cabin Republicans, and I thought, Yeah, those guys.

Who are the LCR people?

Let us begin with a little history. In the late 1970s, gay Americans were becoming more accepted in the broader culture. This prompted a backlash. States began banning gay people from teaching in public schools. The California version of this was a ballot initiative championed by a state legislator named John Briggs. The Briggs Initiative, as it was called, had overwhelming support and looked like a done deal.

I spoke with my friend Bill Beard, a gay Republican who served as chairman of the Pima County Republican Party and is active in LCR. I asked him about endorsements. He told me that the local chapter endorsed all three Republicans for Tucson City Council, and made no formal endorsement for mayor.

Thats why I thought, Yeah, those guys.

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Trans Rights: A Perplexing Issue

Like many other gay conservatives, however, he seems to disconnect gay rights and transgender rights. Kabel recalled a recent article with a quotation from the conservative activist Tony Perkins that contrasted the Democratic and Republican platforms in 2016.

“The only issue Perkins raised was the transgender bathroom issue,” Kabel said. “And I thought, ‘That means we won.'”

Kabel called transgender equality “one of the most perplexing issues going.”

“Transgender people deserve support and protection just like anybody else, but it’s a very complex issue,” he said. “It’s remarkable when you hear their stories, but it’s just a very perplexing issue about how to really address it and do it so that they’re protected but other people aren’t hurt, so that people’s religious views are actually taken into consideration.”

Transgender visibility is all but absent in the Log Cabin Republicans, from their leadership to their messaging.

An OUTSpoken Instagram post compares the LGBT left to the LGBT right by putting an image of a person who appears to be transgender or gender-nonconforming next to a shirtless picture of former U.S. Rep. Aaron Schock, while the campaigns store sells T-shirts bearing slogans like “gay for Tucker” “gay for Melania” and “gay not stupid.

OUTspoken sent Brokeback Patriot, who has stated trans women are not women, to New Orleans Southern Decadence party to ask passersby if they think Trump is pro-gay.

Burning During The War Of 1812

On August 2425, 1814, in a raid known as the , British forces invaded the capital during the . The , , and were burned and gutted during the attack. Most government buildings were repaired quickly; however, the Capitol was largely under construction at the time and was not completed in its current form until 1868.

Citing Resources In The Web Archive

Citations should indicate: Archived in the Library of Congress Web Archives at www.loc.gov. When citing a particular website include the archived website’s Citation ID . Researchers are advised to follow standard citation guidelines for websites, pages, and articles. Researchers are reminded that many of the materials in this web archive are copyrighted and that citations must credit the authors/creators and publishers of the works. For guidance about compiling full citations consult Citing Primary Sources.

Nbc Outcourt Orders Idaho To Provide Gender Surgery For Trans Inmate

Despite the backlash to the Trump endorsement, Charles Moran, the groups national spokesperson, told NBC News the group has no plans to rescind its support for the president as it was a universal decision determined by the board of directors and chapters.

When asked whether Henry was involved in the endorsement decision, Moran said he could not speak to that as he was not on the phone call during her resignation but that he and the board thank her for her service to the Log Cabin Republicans.

Henrys departure comes just weeks before the groups Sept. 17 Spirit of Lincoln reception in D.C. The annual event has typically included a dinner and reception featuring high-profile Republican attendees, but this year there will only be a reception.

Were seeing a lot of what I thought would happen: A lot of prominent leaders are leaving the group, Evans told NBC News. We need a Republican group that advocates for LGBTQ issues, but the Log Cabin Republicans have sent the message that this is not their priority.

Log Cabin Republicans Endorse Trump

The Log Cabin Republicans endorsed President Trump

The group said its national board of directors voted to endorse Trump after consulting with its chapters across the country. 

Log Cabin Republicans Chairman Robert Kabel and Vice Chairwoman Jill Homan argued in a Washington Post op-ed on Friday that Trump has helped remove LGBTQ rights as a wedge issue in the GOP, citing his administration’s policies on ending the spread of HIV/AIDS as well as his push to get other countries to conform to modern human rights standards.

The leaders also cited Trump’s appointment of Richard Grenell, who is openly gay, as U.S. ambassador to Germany. 

“While we do not agree with every policy or platform position presented by the White House or the Republican Party, we share a commitment to individual responsibility, personal freedom and a strong national defense,” Kabel and Homan wrote. 

The move marks a reversal after the group refused to endorse Trump in 2016, citing him surrounding himself with advisers “with a record of opposing LGBT equality,” as well as his support of the First Amendment Defense Act, which would block the federal government from taking adverse action against people based on their beliefs about marriage.

The group said in 2016 that they would welcome the opportunity to work with him on LGBTQ issues. 

The president has also come under fire for the views of Vice President Pence, who has opposed legalizing same-sex marriage, citing his Christian faith.

Log Cabin Republican Quits After The Group Endorses Trump’s Re

Prior to Henry’s resignation, Casey Pick, who served as the programs director for the Log Cabin Republicans from 2010 to 2013, wrote in a Facebook post that even though she began distancing herself from the group after the 2012 election, she decided to give it another chance after Henry was brought on board as executive director.

I was hopeful that despite watching the organizations slide toward Trump apologism under Gregory T. Angelo , their hiring a skilled and principled operative like Henry meant the organization would finally be able to again be a conscience this party needs, Pick wrote on Aug. 15, the same day the group endorsed Trump. I publicly celebrated her hiring, and encouraged my peers in the LGBT advocacy community to give LCR another shot, knowing that a vibrant and effective Log Cabin could be a godsend during a Trump/Pence administration.

Yet, Pick said, Henrys hands have been tied and instead of espousing a progressive mission, the group increasingly fulfills the stereotypes that used to be hurled at Log Cabin Republicans: overwhelmingly gay men who are indifferent to the experiences of women, transgender Americans or LGBT people who lack the financial or social resources to protect them from the discrimination that they so often deny even exists.

“Don’t call me a Log Cabin Republican,” she wrote at the conclusion of her post.

Civil Rights And Home Rule Era

1960s Washington DC, 4K from 35mm Kinolibrary

The was ratified in 1961, granting the district three votes in the for the election of president and vice president, but still no voting representation in Congress.

After the , on April 4, 1968, , primarily in the U Street, 14th Street, 7th Street, and H Street corridors, centers of black residential and commercial areas. The riots raged for three days until more than 13,600 federal troops and D.C. Army National Guardsmen stopped the violence. Many stores and other buildings were burned; rebuilding was not completed until the late 1990s.

In 1973, Congress enacted the , providing for an elected mayor and thirteen-member council for the district. In 1975, became the first elected and first black mayor of the district.

How Groups Get Approved By Cpac Including Massresistance

MassResistance registered for a table at CPAC on January 8, six weeks before the conference. We were told that the approval process could take 5-7 working days, but to go ahead and make airline and hotel reservations, etc. anyway.

We waited two weeks with no answer. Then on Jan. 24 a conference call was set up to discuss your organization and your plans for CPAC. It was with CPACs events coordinator and Dan Schneider, the Executive Director. He said he had never heard of MassResistance.

We described the history of MassResistance and the kind of activism we do. We were very up-front about our plans for CPAC. We were going to promote our book, The Health Hazards of Homosexuality, and similar materials. We told Schneider we believe that CPACs large constituency of younger people had not been sufficiently exposed to the pro-family message, and he agreed. He said he would like pro-family groups to come to CPAC.

Schneider said that there are four criteria for a group to be approved:

The applicant organization must stand for at least one conservative/right-of-center proposition

The applicant organization must not exist primarily for a liberal purpose

The applicant organization must be legitimate

The applicant organization cannot be disrespectful of either ACU or CPAC

We told him that it was hard to believe that the Log Cabin Republicans would pass this since they clearly exist to homosexualize the Republican Party and push the LGBT agenda in government and society.

Working For Lgbt Americans

In 2019, Department of Health and Human Services Secretary Alex Azar announced that pharmaceutical company Gilead Sciences Inc., would donate pre-exposure prophylaxis medication for uninsured, high-risk HIV individuals.

As part of the president’s Ending the HIV Epidemic: A Plan for America initiative, this medication, which could run up to as much as $20,000 per patient, per year, would be distributed to up to 200,000 individuals each year through at least Dec. 31, 2025. 

The Trump plan is focused on communities most in need and has received support from those who have been involved in the fight against HIV/AIDS.

In similar fashion, Trump announced during Pride Month in 2019 that his administration was launching a global campaign to end the criminalization of homosexuality. His leadership on this issue couldnt be more necessary  even in 2020, 72 countries still identify same-sexual orientation as criminal, including eight where it is punishable by death. 

This campaign was spearheaded by former U.S. Ambassador to Germany Richard Grenell, an openly gay member of the administration who subsequently served as acting director of U.S. national intelligence, becoming the first openly gay Cabinet member in our history. In coordination with the United Nations, the European Union and other human rights organizations, the campaigns goal is to pressure nations into ending homophobic laws, securing the safety and freedom of all LGBT individuals throughout the world.

Who Are The Log Cabin Republicans

The Log Cabin Republicans are a political organization founded in the 1970s that identifies themselves as staunchly Republican, with a twist. Members of the Log Cabin Republicans are strong activists for many Republican values, the idea of free markets, limited government and lower taxation, especially of high earners and corporations. They especially support privacy, and identify most with President Lincoln, one of the most identifiable presidents, who was born in a log cabin. They identify with Lincolns Republican party at that time, which could definitely be considered the more liberal of the two parties, especially in Lincolns signing of the emancipation proclamation and his promotion of civil rights for all.

This issue is extremely important to Log Cabin Republicans because most members identify themselves as gay or lesbian, or in support of equal rights for gays or lesbians. While a number of lesbians, gays, bisexual and transgender folks identify more strongly with the Democratic party, many members of the Log Cabin Republicans find themselves out of step with the Democrats on many issues. Their political ideas are more aligned with those of the Republican party, and thus since the 1970s the LCRs have become an important part of the political process in avidly supporting non-discrimination of the LGBT community, promoting greater funds for AIDs research, and supporting measures like the right for individuals to marry others of their choosing.

Nbc Outover 500 Lgbtq Candidates To Appear On November Ballots Shattering Records

Williams, chair of the Republican Committee in Trenton, New Jersey, agrees that some LGBTQ Republicans choose to look past certain statements or policies especially cisgender members.

LGBTQ “people who are voting for the president are most likely not going to be transgender, because we’ve been the target and the butt of most of the administration’s actions,” she said.

According to the GLAAD poll, however, 19 percent of trans and nonbinary registered voters were supporting Trump more than either gay men or lesbians .

This Former Log Cabin Republican Is On A Mission To Stop Trump

Sarah Longwell says Trump threatens the GOP but, more importantly, democracy itself.

Back in the day , when I worked on Capitol Hill, I met my very first boyfriend. Kurt was from Paducah, Ky., and worked for a fairly moderate Republican at the time, a senator named Mitch McConnell. 

We were both in the closet, and I would pick Kurt up in my car at discrete locations. We never really spoke about politics, because it really didnt matter. The only thing I vaguely recall him telling me about McConnell was that they put lipstick on him for TV appearances since his mouth is like a knife slash.

And, one of my best drinking buddies during that period, worked um, lets say toiled for then-Rep. Rick Santorum. I only knew that Santorum was an absolute jerk because I sat next to him at a dinner on the Hill one night and witnessed his rude and obnoxious behavior. He was childishly upset about getting the right dinner rolls. But again, with Will, there was never any talk about politics. We just had a good time over lots and lots of beers.

Thats the way it was then in Congress. You had friends across party lines, and anyone who was virulently political was usually also friendless.

Sarah Longwell also worked for Rick Santorum back in the in mid 1990s, going on a tour with Senator Santorum to help promote his book, It Takes a Family. She was coming out as a lesbian at the time and eventually quit Santorum, who she considered the most visibly antigay politician in the country. 

Nbc Outtrump Applauds Poll Showing 45 Percent Support Among Gay Men

Kazmierczak called Trump a staunch supporter of gay people and their rights, but he said he makes a distinction when it comes to religious groups.

“He doesn’t want gay rights forced on religious institutions,” Kazmierczak said. “It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t support gay people. It means that to him, religious freedom is more important than social issues.”

Trump made a halfhearted effort to court the LGBTQ community in the run-up to the 2016 presidential election. He called the massacre of 49 mostly LGBTQ people at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando, Florida, that year an “assault on the ability of free people to live their lives, love who they want and express their identity.”

At the 2016 Republican National Convention in Cleveland, Trump swore “to protect our LGBTQ citizens from the violence and oppression of a hateful foreign ideology.”

And two days before Election Day, he grabbed an upside-down Pride flag inscribed with “LGBT for Trump” at a rally in Colorado and waved it around.

Once in office, however, Trump has consistently opposed LGBTQ rights from rolling back Obama-era nondiscrimination protections to banning openly transgender service members in the military. The national LGBTQ rights group GLAAD has accused the Trump administration of 181 separate attacks on the community since his inauguration.

For Rogers, Trumps bona fides with the community arent so important.

Many gay Trump supporters say they’re tired of being told what political views are acceptable.

While Democrats Take The Lesbian And Gay Community For Granted Donald Trump’s Republican Party Is Delivering Real Results

Democrats are using their convention this week to tout their agenda for the next four years, including their promise to stand up for the lesbian and gay community. For years, Democratic Party leaders have taken for granted the lesbian and gay community along with other minority communities thinking they had no where else to turn. Those days are over. 

I’ve fought for civil rights for gay Americans for the past four decades. Today, the Republican Party is delivering real results and leadership for our community:

It hasnt always been this way. For years, the GOP generally stood against the inclusion of gay and lesbian conservatives. As one of the Republican National Committee’s first openly gay members, and a longtime leader of Log Cabin Republicans, I’ve worked tirelessly alongside many friends and colleagues to pull the party into the future. Today, thanks in large part to the leadership of President Donald Trump, the party has delivered meaningful policy victories for gays and lesbians. 

He didnt abandon these principles when he assumed his position behind the Resolute Desk. 

Nbc Outsan Francisco Police Chief Apologizes To Lgbtq Community

Evans announced her own departure from the Log Cabin Republicans last Monday in a scathing op-ed for LGBTQ magazine The Advocate. Jennifer Horn, a former board member, and Robert Turner, the former president of the group’s Washington, D.C., chapter, also denounced the Trump endorsement and left the group last week.

Notably, Henrys name did not appear alongside those of board members Robert Kabel and Jill Homan in a Washington Post Op-Ed this month announcing the group’s endorsement of Trump. The Log Cabin Republicans declined to endorse Trump in 2016.

In the endorsement, Kabel and Homan cited Trumps commitment to end HIV/AIDS in 10 years, which was met both with cautious optimism and flat-out skepticism, and his work with Richard Grenell, the openly gay U.S. ambassador to Germany, to encourage other nations to end the criminalization of homosexuality, as examples of his dedication to the LGBTQ community.

[theheavymetalmama]

The point I am trying to make is that Captain America is not the "Kill and punch all alt right nazis" hero you are thinking of. He punches Nazi in WWII because it is a WAR. In peacetime, you don't punch Neo Nazis unprovoked unless in self-defense or in defense of a person under attack otherwise more people will think Neo Nazi are victims. Neo Nazi have gotten stronger today BECAUSE people kept on feeding their victim complexes by attacking anyone they THINK are Nazis.

Selective memory much? I never said he would attack them unprovoked. I said that he’d beat the shit out of them. Yes, Cap’s a stand-up guy and would seek a peaceful resolution. The thing is though, Nazis don’t want peace. They don’t want to cooperate, they don’t want to get along, and they don’t want to share. They’re fucking Nazis. They don’t want to debate their opponents, they want anybody who isn’t white and any culture that isn’t theirs wiped off the face of the fucking Earth. So if you think “unite the right” wouldn’t have thrown the first punch at someone trying to stop them from being Nazis, you’re naive.

That goes double for neo-Nazis. The only people who would sympathize with somebody hailing Hitler getting punched in the face are racists and idiots, so what’s that say about the people going “Hey, you shouldn’t punch Nazis”?

Now to answer the rest of the questions you just bombed my inbox with. I’m heading to a conference first thing tomorrow morning and will be gone for a couple of days, so I may as well knock ‘em out.

"So go ahead. Tell me more about how he wouldn’t fight people who straight-up murdered innocent people." He would, but only if they attack first. The whole "This isn't freedom, this is fear" talk happened because Captain America doesn't believe in punishing people before the crime (unless he sees them attempting to kill people).

Being a Nazi is a crime; a crime against humanity and basic human fucking decency. They deserve the spite and ire that comes their way and then some. Bottom line, Nazis are shit and anybody who defends Nazis are shit too.

"The president is a Nazi apologist (among other horrid, vile things,)" How sad you listen to the news (how have a history of lying since the new tens started) about Trump. In really, he condemns the Nazis as well as Antifa. But you wouldn't know that by listening to mass media. He is awful, but not as awful as the media falsely claims.

I don’t watch ‘the mass media’ and I’d appreciate it if you would NOT act like a presumptuous pest. The last time I watched CNN was years ago at the dentist and that’s what was playing in the waiting room. Thing is though, I don’t need the news to know Trump is a vile, lying, homophobic, racist, misogynist, Nazi apologist bigot. His abhorrent behavior speaks for itself. If he wasn’t, it wouldn’t have taken him four fucking days to condemn white supremacists and he would have said some form of “Fuck that guy” when the leader of the KKK endorsed him. And don’t get me started on him breaking bread with Holocaust deniers, racists, and other such forms of human pollution.

Ever heard of victimhood mentality? Because that is you in a nutshell. After searching your blog, I realized why you leave your Anon on, because you secretly WANT Anons to bother you so you can enforce your victimhood mentality. You WANT to be full of rage and hate, you want to stay a victim, you want people to attack you so you have someone to blame for bad events so you won't have to look in the mirror. So here is some advice, turn off Anon and you will be surprised how happier you get.

Don’t patronize me, Anon. Your armchair psychology would be funny if it wasn’t so damn insulting.

I may have as many issues as a yearly subscription, but at least I wear them on my sleeve. Yes, I have an anger problem. I’ve been in and out of anger management throughout my youth and keeping my temper in check is something I still struggle with to this day. Yes, I’m a stress drinker and over the last couple of years I’ve been drinking more than I should, especially after my father passed away shortly after losing his battle with dementia. But I’ve given up drinking and haven’t had a drink since last April, despite having plenty of opportunities like the house being stocked and my husband and I going out on a fairly routine basis. Yes, I’m jaded as fuck and have little sympathy for people who fall victim to their own stupidity. I can be crass and insensitive, but I know when I’ve gone overboard will happily apologize and admit that I fucked up.

Having said that, your assertion that I have a victim complex can be politely summed up as such. Oh, I had something much more explosive and mean-spirited in mind, but I’ll save that for someone who genuinely deserves it.

If I wanted to be victimized, I’d walk into a country/western music convention wearing a T-shirt that reads “Metal Tops Country” over a picture of Lita Ford ramming Johnny Cash in the ass with a strap-on. I leave Anon asks on because I want to; that’s it. Do I get plenty of shitty people saying shitty things? Hell yes, but I also get a lot of good stuff, asking everything from medical advice to what beer best goes with grilled fish (the answer is IPA.) Besides, said shitty people who say shitty things are mostly idiots, so why should I even care?

"What you’re missing is that it was written during a time when Neo-Nazis were looked upon as either funny or pathetic. In short, not a threat. Not anymore" and who's fault is that? Easy, it's the media's and SJWs' fault. If the Media hadn't made all the claims that "Trump is the second raise of Hilter" and if SJWs hadn't screech "whites suck", the Neo-Nazis would have STAYED a joke. Instead, the Media and the SJWs feeds the Neo Nazi's victim complex and got more people to side with them.

That’s stupid.

These posts sum up everything how Neo Nazis and White Supermasicts got so much bigger in modern times.

It didn’t get bigger in modern times; just louder. This Virginia Peach here explains it better than I care to at the moment.

What you want is heroes to punch every Neo Nazi and Alt Righters UNPROVOKED. The thing is that the only reasons the heroes punch Nazi was because they are in a WAR. The problem with with punching Nazi unprovoked in modern/peace times is that all it will do is make martyrs out of them and get more people to side with them. The ONLY times you should punch a Nazi is in self-defense and in defense of others (or in a war). Otherwise the Neo Nazis and Alt Right will get more powerful.

That’s bullshit. Remember when Richard Spencer went on this big country-wide trip to hold rallies and recruit more people to his cause shortly after Trump was inaugurated? Of course you don’t, because he cancelled all of that and slunked back to his Nazi safe space because he got decked in the mouth; twice. Or remember when ‘Unite the Right’ marched through the city of Boston? Oh right, that didn’t happen either because the people of Boston made it loud and clear that any Nazi who set one foot in town would be signing their own death warrant.

There’s a reason people respond to Nazis with violence; because violence is all they understand. It’s what their whole fucking outlook is based on; kill everyone that isn’t them. Nazis don’t care about diplomacy, they don’t care about peace, and they sure as fuck don’t care about getting along. So what do you suggest people do? Invite them for tea and biscuits and try and sort everything out? Joseph Stalin tried that once, then he lost half his shit.

There’s no debating Nazis. “We should clone extinct animals” is grounds for debate. “We should gas the Jews and enslave the blacks” is grounds for an asswhoopping.

"Now, are we done here Anon, or do you want to hit me with some more Nazi-apologist bullshit?" So you are using the old "They are against punching Nazis so clearly they are Nazi apologists!" and "Anyone who disagrees with me is a Nazi" attack, how typical. The point I am trying to make is that if you attack Nazis unprovoked, they will be Martyred and get more followers and you LOSE followers and supporters. In times like this, you need to take the high ground and avoid striking first.

The only people that would make martyrs out of Nazis are the same people who burn crosses and think soy beans feminize men, and they’d be doing plenty of stupid shit without Nazis getting punched. Fuck them.

Besides, what the fuck else am I supposed to call somebody getting butthurt over me saying that Captain “I was invented for the sole purpose of beating the shit out of Nazis” America would beat the shit out of Nazis? Also, those chucklefucks were brandishing torches and decking themselves out in homemade riot gear. They were LOOKING for a fight, so drop this “unprovoked” shit like a hot rock. Besides, you’re the one who’s suggesting that me saying that the fictional superhero Captain America would beat the shit out of the alt-right means that I advocate hunting down and beating the shit out of them.

Now I won’t lie. The last time a Nazi came within swinging distance of me, he spent four days eating through a rubber tube. He retaliated by pulling a knife on my husband. The result? My husband got a little scar on his arm and said Nazi now has more metal in his mouth than Jaws.

The other Jaws.

Point is, I’m not saying you should throw the first punch, though I certainly won’t lose any sleep if you do. I’m saying that if you encounter a Nazi, get ready for a fight, because I promise you they’re looking for one. Running or fighting is up to you, but if you try waving the white flag they’ll just wrap it around your neck. Sometimes taking the high road simply isn’t an option. When it comes to Nazis, it’s almost never an option. Remember; talk shit, get hit.

[taeguboi]

BTS as a family

Request: ‘ bts as 1 big family? I know u get the stuff w/ jin as the mom all the time but I wanna c what u think their roles are’

Headcanon Masterlist

Thanks for requesting! Check out my other HCs in the link above!

Rap Monster / Namjoon

The Older Brother 

Joon

who thinks he can act like the father figure when dad is away, 

but really, it’s them who need to protect him

Somehow has more accidents than his dongsaengs

But he’s a really good tutor

So dad doesn’t have to always help with the kids’ homework

encourages Taehyung 

every time he thinks he’s found his dream occupation

even though it changes like 8473299 times a week

has a soft spot for the mysterious child that is Jeongguk

House is getting cramped

but they can share a room

Lets anyone share a bed with him if they’ve had a nightmare

cuddle monster

baby sits occasionally

plays peekaboo with the tots

and it’s all nice and fun

until he covers his eyes one minute

and then HOLY CRAP WHERE HAS THE CHILD GONE

has to fish Taehyung down from a shelf

and pull Jimin out of the fridge

then Jeongguk’s crying because he’s due a nappy change

and then holy fuck why do safety pins exist when they make your finger bleed?

thinks his brothers are some sort of curse on him for a solid year

because the accidents only happen when they’re around

but then catches dad burning his hand on the stove like

oh

probably shouldn’t have held those rituals to rid the curse

has to study at friend’s houses a lot though

so he’s not always at home

very independent as a result

because as much as he loves his brothers

they get so goddamn noisy

I guess that’s why they can come sleep in his room

because many study nights turn into sleep overs

probably only sleeps in his own bed about 3 days a week during high school years

the most trustworthy child

Jin /Seokjin

The single parent

with A LOT on his hands!

Don’t ask how he acquired so many children

He just did

“You’re adopted!”

when one of his kids just won’t shut the f*ck up!

But then goes soft when they cry

Even though it was their own stupid fault

“Goddammit, I suppose I should take you out shopping or something then”

Still puts notes in the kids packed lunches

he has to be both parents 

but somehow to the kids, it feels like he’s three or four parents 

because he puts in 150-200% effort in everyday

Gets distressed at every milestone

he doesn’t want them to grow up

Starts crying in the middle of the clothes store

because he was only here last week

for the same child

how tf did Tae go up 2 shoe sizes this week?

why do Jeongguk’s shirts keep tearing so easily?

when did Jimin’s voice break?!

no recollection of Namjoon being a child, help

Slipping Through My Fingers by ABBA on repeat

He does have a tendency to over do the whole protective thing

there’s going to be a lesson to be learned from this

but I’m just going to tell it to you now 

so you don’t have to go through all that upset and heart-break

but he gets some help along the way to let go a little

“Seokjin, why does Taehyung’s wallpaper now have a... rubbery theme to it?”

“Harry Potter is a bad influence and I will not have my baby having five thousand head injuries!”

“Jin, I know the kid can do some dumb things, but do you honestly think he’s going to try that many times?”

Makes the other parents jealous 

he doesn’t mean to though

he can’t help if he invites the kids’ friends round for tea, that his cooking happens to be better....

the other half of the parents of the kids at school however are single and all have a thing for him

Will buy everything his child needs for a project

perhaps a bit gullible at times

“a skateboard?”

“for science. gravity.”

“oh, okay”

Waves with a little hanky when the kids go on school trips

“have you got your bag?”

“have you got the lunch I packed you?”

“Yes dad, all 6 boxes of it”

Has some quirks that he won’t admit he has

or that the kids have picked up from him

“Why does Jeongguk make racing car sounds when he runs still?”

*shrugs*

“I have no idea”

*goes to put something on the shelf making a swanee whistle sound*

“Why does Taehyung still believe in unicorns?”

“Shut up! They’re totally real!”

Cliches

eat your crusts to get stronger

carrots to see in the dark

beauty sleep

the early bird gets the worm

*goddammit now the kids are waking up at 5am to take all the contents of the fridge*

err, too much chocolate milk makes you sad

“but it tastes so good Dad!”

“Goddammit children we should be endorsed for chocolate milk!!!”

Wants to hear all about your day

“Dad, I’m 27 now”

“I don’t care Namjoon. Tell me about your day.”

“Daaaad”

“and I made you hot chocolate and cookie, come snuggle on the couch with me”

Family photos at xmas with matching sweaters

From the

“Look at this piece of art that Jeonggukkie made for me today!”

*sticks it on the fridge but it’s made of pasta and lolly sticks so it keeps sliding down*

to the

“Oh my life my ChimChim has graduated uni!”

even the

“You just burped the alphabet? My son is so talented!”

“You made a rap about breakfast? Genius!”

Everything the kids do is amazing and a big achievement

Suga / Yoongi

Grandad by blood to one of the kids

Pop-pops to all the kids anyways

No one is quite sure which kid is his grandchild though

Tbh he's just here for some peace and quiet

(Chance would be a fine thing though...)

Owns that one chair in the living area

over the years, the general room design and furniture cahnges

but that chair stays

Just watches the kids do stupid shit

Guk’s about to put a crayon up his nose

and Tae is about to walk through a wall

but he ain’t gonna stop them

“Let the idiots learn from their own mistakes”

*crash!* *bang!* 

*crying*

“You raised morons.”

Makes less gestures 

but when he does, they’re huge

kinda like how some people pay for things weekly, and some monthly

One of the few grandparents that doesn’t constantly share their war stories

he just shares his own experiences when relevant

Though Taehyung is always asking for him to tell another story

“Tae, it’s 10pm”

“Just one more story pop-pops, please?”

He has more impact on the kids than he realizes

they adore him so much

and he wonders why the parents that helped create these kids don’t want to be around to raise them with Jin

but he wouldn’t have this family any other way

Gives the most heart-warming, tear-jerking toasts

everyone thought they were gonna cry at Jimin’s wedding because of the vows and love is beautiful and all the rest

but instead, everyone ends up being lame for the story of how pop-pops met his one true love

and the ending makes you emo for weeks

No one quite knows why he acts so indifferent

because he has such soft stories

Namjoon wonders for a while in his childhood

and then when he’s grown up

one day when he’s no longer living at home and drops in to say hello

Pop-pops is in his chair

watching the kids shooting each other with nerf guns

whites socks sliding on the kitchen lino

and sound effects

and then Namjoon sees it;

Pop-pops likes to just watch the kids progress day by day

watching them learn from their mistakes

watching them develop as people

that’s why he’d never step in when there was a recipe for disaster about to happen

He encourages Jin 

to make sure they grow up into well-rounded people

rather than put them in bubblewrap

and he couldn’t have done a better job.

J-Hope / Hoseok

That cool uncle

Uncle Hobi

That everyone adores, especially the youngest 

because he comes back with a gift every visit

Puts up with a lot of shit from the younger kids

because he can go home at the end of the day

Proudest uncle in the world

goes to all the kids events with Jin

although it’s a problem when he’s watching a match and two of the kids are on opposite teams like

“go on you reds! you can do i---”

“oh nice tackle blues! sock it to them!”

“I love both teams!”

all the other adults are confused

“Everyone’s a winner; go purple!!!”

Owns so much cool stuff

sometimes the kids sleep round at his

they’re fighting over the arcade machine

challenging each other to snooker or darts matches

arguing about the artwork on the wall

uncle hobi just smiles

Takes them out every weekend

so many fond memories

Spends all his money on the kids

there’s that one game Jeongguk’s not so good at at the arcade

but he’s addicted to it

so cool uncle hobi keeps giving him quarters

*2 days later”

“Look! Uncle Hobi! I finally won!”

“Well done, champ!”

Yeah, and it only cost him 200 dollars...

and guess who feeds Taehyung’s taste for Gucci?

or rather, guess who started it?

Jimin doesn’t ask for much

but uncle Hobi is always showering him with gift baskets when the others aren’t around

Namjoon sometimes joins them on their little outings

and he tells uncle Hobi all about the the new things he’s learned in school

and then Hobi find himself writing a cheque mid conversation

“Uh, Uncle Hobi, what are you doing?”

“Just take my money and go change the world!!”

It’s impossible to be prouder than Jin

but he’s pretty close

Jimin 

The middle brother

Chim

Who gets to order Tae and Guk around

as they get older, he’ll double dare them to some stupid shit

and they’ll do it

Younger brothers are just there for his amusement.

It’s the only reason they were born 

Like remember that one time it was snowing and he triple dared them to lick that frozen pole...?...

Takes more influence from pop-pops than he realizes

“It’s not my fault they were stupid enough to do it”

Doesn’t like it when Jungkook grows up

Yesterday, he was at Jimin’s shoulder level

but today, Jungkook is patting his head 

Probably because of all those times Jungkook took the last of the chocolate milk

“JEON JUNGKOOK!!!”

and

“Stop copying me Jeongguk; I did it first!”

but nawh, he does adore the youngest bro

back up older brother

you know that mem

the one where it’s like

*someone is sad*

and then

Jimin: [that picture of him peaking round the corner being a cute lil mochi]

He’s mostly like that for Tae

but when Joon leaves home

he’s there for Guk too in this way

He’s a good listener

which he gets from Dad Jin and brother Joon

bonds more with Tae as time goes by

mainly because the other brothers move out first

Falls for the best friend of the girl Taehyung is dating

oh look at that, it turns out she’s his soulmate

double dates with his bro

embarrassing childhood stories

but the girls just find it charming, really

so many family get together events because of these two brothers alone

21st birthday parties

they could have had a combined celebration

but why do that when you can have twice the fun?

Taehyung’s friends are Jimin’s friends

and vice versa

Jin watches them on movie night from the kitchen for a moment being proud

and then makes them extra popcorn

“Dad, we’ll get fat!”

“Good; I like my children to have chubby cheeks”

what other life events? oh yeah

engagement parties

weddings

emotional toasts 

about how they’ve gotten closer these recent years

followed by a baby story

“Tae, I can’t believe you told them that!”

“What? You showed everyone my baby pictures at my last birthday party!”

It’s kinda weird when Jimin and Taehyung fall out

because when they fall out

it’s not even a proper argument

like they don’t even know how to argue

“Dammit Jimin! Did you have to dress better than me tonight?!... Like seriously, where did you get that sweater?”

“Kim Taehyung! Did you steal that hair dye I bought?!... Oh wait never mind, that really suits you”

Secrets that make them even closer

they don’t always like to burden Dad

so they tell each other instead

Tae helps Jimin come out of his shell

and in return, Jimin helps Taehyung understand people better

Very capable of living independent lives

but feel empty without one another for too long

V / Taehyung

That child you cannot leave alone for 2 seconds

Bwi / TaeTae as a child, then

Tae as he gets older

“Okay, Tae Tae, I’m just going upstairs for something, so don’t touch anything”

“WTF KIM TAEHYUNG WHY AND HOW IS THE FRIDGE ON FIRE!?!”

Gets ice cream all over his face after one lick

Takes ‘the floor is lava’ game very seriously

creates the most laundry for Jin to do

because he’s always climbing and skidding 

and just being a boy really

Wants to pet everything, and

Wants a pet everything

“Dad! Can we get a dog?”

“How about a bunny?”

“How about a unicorn?”

“...Unicorns don’t exist Tae; they’re made up”

“Shut up! They’re totally real!”

(Like father, like son...)

Usually a carrier when there’s illness going round at school

“Look TaeTae, I know you don’t feel ill, but just be careful not to...”

*Tae sneezes really loudly without covering his face*

...

Lives for bedtime stories

loves fairytales

but comes to love underrated literature even more

so he really appreciates where those tales derived from

like old folklores and myths, etc

but also the more modern pieces that follow

and he knows all the pre-Brothers Grimm versions

but still somehow remains pure

santa is always real, no matter what you tell him

and the tooth fairy

and the easter bunny

Everyone knows Taehyung is a unique child

he just has a different perspective to most of the children

no one knows where it came from 

and not even Jin can credit himself for that

and he’s either going to grow up to be really smart

or a solitary eccentric

Has like a million teddy bears

they all get equal cuddles

one for each day of the week month year

Wants to try everything when he grows up

“Daddy, I want to be a surgeon!”

and it’s like a new occupation each day

“Lawyer!”

“Archaeologist!”

“Dentist!”

you never knew there were so many jobs in the world

“Shoplifter!”

“Shoplifter? What? Tae, you can’t steal things!”

Looking back, you wouldn’t believe that stupid shit came out of his mouth

he grows up so intelligent

and becomes a writer for children’s books

Defends any family member no matter what

even if there’s a chance they’re in the wrong

but that don’t matter because they’ve raised him so right

Jin cries when he leaves home because he’s raised

husband material

Ends up extending the family by 60%

adorable little puppies for children

and then adorable children as cute as puppies

and because he’s forever a child by spirit

he raises them to believe and be happy and have a little faith

It’s so hard to pick godparents

but he picks Jimin eventually

Fathers of a new generation of kids

Wow, they grow up so fast

Jungkook

Another child that needs constant supervision

‘Guk / Jeonggukie / Gukkie

Puts everything in his mouth

“No Jeonggukie! You can’t eat uncle Hobi!”

With baby Bwi he’s a 

LITTLE MONSTER

Not even sure he’s Jin’s kid

or just a friend Bwi brought into the house one day

No one realizes until he’s like 11 years old

that he’s one of Pop-pops’ grandkids

"How could you not tell us something like that Yoongs?”

“What? You never asked...

“...also, he’s a moron”

but pop-pop Yoongs doesn’t mean it

He just doesn’t want to give Jungkook special treatment

back to Guk

Gets way too hyper before his teens 

then one day Jin is the garage trying to fix the car and Jeongguk won’t leave him alone

and in a panic he sees some weights like

“Here have a go on these”

and that’s why Jeongguk grows up to be a 

muscle pig

becomes stronger than all his older siblings 

they actually get low key scared of him in adulthood

also becomes like really good at fixing stuff

so when Namjoon moves out

Guk follows not long after to share an apartment with him

and it saves a bit of money on repairs

so it’s kinda cute

because in childhood, Namjoon would fix Gukkie’s broken heart with his wisdom and wise advice

and in adulthood, Jeongguk fixes Namjoon’s broken furniture with his more practical skills

Won’t admit it but

copies Jimin

on purpose

but like I say, he won’t admit it

“Jeongguk!! I had muscles first!”

“Whaaat?” 

*crushes a walnut with his bare fist*

he just smiles

because he’s finally as strong as his great older bro

Gathers a lot of hobbies and interests

he has something he can share with each family member

If he wants to talk about something, all he has to do is

ask Jimin if he wants a video game night or

ask Dad to bake Gukkie Cookies with him or

-- sorry --

ask Tae to meet at the book store or

ask Joon for an anime marathon or

ask uncle Hobi to come bowling or

ask pop-pops if he’s interested in a spot of golf

fortunately, he doesn’t even have to say something’s up

everyone knows that’s his go to move if he needs advice

Some people would say that all the things he has are down to luck

but he knows he wouldn’t be where he is without his family

and that’s the lucky part

[starshipsofstarlord]

Vaping - Elizabeth Olsen x reader x JJ Maybank

Masterlist Link

Summary; introducing your girlfriend to your best friend takes an interesting turn. Much evolves from a couple beers and a vape, JJ finally lets go

Warnings; mentions of nudes, vaping, underaged drinking, mentions of sex, some angst, swearing, mentions of cheating, angst, rejection, unreciprocated feelings

As the two of you kissed, a strong scent hit you, like a ton of breaks causing collateral as it fell from a building, though it smelled specifically of a pungent lemon scent. The pair of you pulled away, and there was a vaping blond stood above you, quirking his brow at the sight. It was no surprise that he had chosen to intervene with your casual date, you knew how he felt about your new relationship.

As the two of you kissed, a strong scent hit you, like a ton of breaks causing collateral as it fell from a building, though it smelled specifically of a pungent lemon scent. The pair of you pulled away, and there was a vaping blond stood above you, quirking his brow at the sight. It was no surprise that he had chosen to intervene with your casual date, you knew how he felt about your new relationship.

He was appalled to hear that you were committed to another, angry, jealous, he could go on about the emotions that were raging on inside of him. Time before you had even knew of Lizzie’s existence, you and JJ had a thing, more specifically, you had broken the pogue on pogue rule. The two of you would go at it with ample lust fuelling your every action, but the stick in the mud was, JJ had actually caught feelings.

When you had cut things off with him, claiming that you wanted to see other people, he was outraged, though he played it off as though it were no big deal. You remained close friends, and hardly noticed how he had been reading your messages to Elizabeth over your shoulder, nor how he frowned every time he heard of someone by that name. It pissed him off, she had his prized jewel, she didn’t have to fight for you like he had tried.

She was gifted your affection on a silver and clean platter, there was no dirty or guilt ridden scrubs that endured the profanity in your relationships, the two of you could be open with your turn of adoration for one another, but when JJ thought that he had you, it had to all be a secret. Even the pogues weren’t permitted an insight of your transactions, even if they had a keen eye for how the pair of you mysteriously tended to wander off together.

Kie, Pope and John B had been supportive when you told them that you had began to like someone, at first they thought it was JJ, which had gotten his hopes substantially up, but then it was revealed there was a girl in the picture. It didn’t matter if she was pretty, or kind, or out of the class laws of OBX, JJ resented her, even though he was a stranger to her and vice versa. But the one thing he liked about this unknown lover of yours had been how she made you happy, that was always his goal.

Without it being the matter that he was supposed to be concerned about, JJ thought hard about his own feelings. Yes, he tended to be a screw up, but he had an inkling that he was more than smitten with you. He was in love with you, and staring down at you with this new partner of yours, gave him great staking pain in his chest. “Why are you here Maybank?” In defends, JJ raised a cartridge of four beers to your view, the cock of your head being an invitation for him to take a seat.

He cleared his throat, as though that would be a primal factor in establishing his dominance, as he turned to your girlfriend. “How are you liking Outer Banks so far?” He handed her a beer, to which Lizzie willingly accepted with a thank you and a too kind to hate smile. “Most tourists think the views are nice.” He prompted to the conversation, watching a riddle spur in the brunette’s eyes.

“Oh, the views are more than fine.” She looked at you, running her green orbs down your form as she shamelessly checked you out in front of the boy. Lizzie cracked the lid from the bottle, weaving it off as she took a gulp from the liquor, draining her extraction of it like a champ. “I’m Elizabeth by the way.” Oh, he knew. A part of him wished that he in fact did not, the impartial knowledge of being aware of your exclusivity status had him crumbling from the inside out.

He had been getting into more fights with the kooks lately, taking his anger out on the prissy teens to establish some kind of reputation, even if that not carry the title of your boyfriend. “We get quite a few storms, like Agatha, she was a right bitch, didn’t hear from y/n for like a week. She was getting it on with Kelce, he’s from the other side of the island.”

“Figure Eight.” She noted, having recalled you mention it before. Your eyes widened, kicking him in the shin as you realised what he was doing. “How long ago was that, I know you said the power went out.” JJ realised what she was trying to do, it was her attempt at creating a time line of actions. She was building up a map of your entanglements with actions, and seeing if you could be held accountable for cheating.

“Just before the two of got together, which links to this funny story....” Oh no, no he wasn’t, was he? “We’d had our fun in the past, me and your girlfriend, and turns out when I heard about you two, we were still fucking.” Snatching the vape from him, you breathed it in, as though you were preparing for Lizzie’s reaction. She simply shrugged, taking the item from you and lulling in the acidic smoke that filled her lungs.

“That’s okay, we didn’t know each other too well then, and it seems there is quite the tight knit on the island.” God were you relieved, and endorsed in the sight of smoke blowing out of her nostrils as she took another swig of the liquidised joint. “I don’t have a problem with it as long as you don’t. What was your name again, I seem to have forgotten.” Forgotten on purpose it was more like, she wanted him out of the picture, he was simply a blockade in his way.

“Me?” He laughed lightly whilst pointing at himself. Yes him, the guy that was being an absolute dick and disrupting your supposed to be peaceful evening. “Oh, I’m JJ. I have no problem with you being here, in fact, I think it’s great. You’re just another hot chick that has caught y/n’s eye, when you go back to wherever the hell you came from, she’ll probably start hooking up with some random; wouldn’t be the first time, doubt it’d be the last.”

“I’m from California.” She stated unimpressed by JJ’s behaviour. You had mentioned him to her, filled her in on all valid details, but you didn’t say that he was this much of a dick. “And I don’t have to worry about that, I have my reasons.”

“Oh, because you trust her so much?” He laughed, taking a heavy slog of beer, hurriedly gulping it down as though it were some kind of coping mechanism. “She’s not trustworthy, she doesn’t give a fuck about any one’s feelings, she uses them for her own pleasure, and then makes things neutral between them.” Was he being over the top? Definitely. Were you astounded by the scene that he was causing? Sure as hell.

“J settle down.” You tried to coax him, but he swiftly stood, tears rimming the inclination of bud pain staked eyes. It was clear that he was not settling down; not in the slightest. He breathed in the vape once more, the lemony scent burning down through his chest for a moment, before he released the cloud out into the air, it swimming above like a wave out of the ocean.

“Don’t J me.” He mimicked you, rifling his destructive hands through his blond locks. “I don’t even know who you are, yet you took everything from me.” Lizzie felt a little bad for your friend, he was clearly experiencing symptoms of emotions towards you, it made her feel guilty for your shared secret.

“I’m moving JJ.” You revealed, his face becoming stoic with wide eyes. Lizzie squeezed your hand as you physically and mentally stood up to your best friend and past friend with benefits, causing him brash surprise that burned through his lungs. “To California.” You finished.

“With her?” He asked astounded, taking a step back as he dropped the glass bottle, allowing it to drop upon the dock, causing both you and Lizzie to jump from the smash. “I can’t believe you.” He breathed from his vape, turning away with a shake of his head.

“J.” You tried to call out for him, but he nevertheless continued on his path away. “Come on, don’t be ridiculous.” Him, being ridiculous? What a stupid annotation, he was allowed to be hurt. Yet it seemed that you wanted him to feel nothing, be a mute to emotions.

“I’m ridiculous?” He huffed, spinning around so that your noses touched, forcing you to throw your head back in shock. “You’re the one that ditched me, for some girl, that doesn’t know that you have a peeve of people not putting their ankle through the loop when they surf because otherwise it just hangs there, and how it makes you absolutely crazy when Kie dresses like a kook. Wait a moment, did you tell her that you were a kook?”

He laughed, noticing how a frown formed upon Lizzie’s face. “That’s truly amusing, lying about your wealth to attract the attention of a pretty girl, when you have a guy that absolutely adores you for who and what you are. He’s pogue and proud, and currently speaking in third person because he’s scared to openly admit that he’s in love with you.”

It was an unexpected reveal, that statement of how he truly felt, it unfortunately was not just a crush. “She didn’t tell me that she was a kook, you just want there to be issues between me and y/n, which there isn’t. So I suggest you continue walking, she is not interested in you, or your fucking feelings. We are dating, and she is moving with me, so grow up and deal with it.”

“Wait-“ your words ended as he continued walking. You knew he would take the news terribly, but you never guessed it would be him walking away, rather than the other way around. You were going to be 43 hours away from your home to spend time with the one that you were coiled in a relationship with. It was not how you wanted things to end, instead you wanted him to breathe his vape into your face and be like normal.

[whydidyoutakemeaway]

Through The Years…

Oliver was dead set on becoming a lawyer and he thought he had his whole life planned out.  At least he did until an illegal hit left him with a broken back in the middle of the football field in front of the entire Stanford student body.  Oliver truly thought his life was over in that moment.  But a year later he was good as new, just a bit more fragile and a lot less fun since he couldn’t pick up his husband and throw him over his shoulder anymore.  And it would be years before he could be a jungle gym for the kids again.

A year after he got hurt, Oliver decided to try to go back to school so he could graduate; it would’ve been his senior year after all, he didn’t want to have three years of his life go to waste.  But when he returned, he realized he was now infamous throughout campus for what happened to him, and he couldn’t walk across campus or sit in class without someone, whether it be a student or a professor, talking to him about what happened, and he didn’t even last the first week back before he withdrew and had to find something else to do with his life.

So Oliver decided to get a job as a photographer at a local studio.  It was mostly weddings and senior pictures, but hey, it was actually something he enjoyed; which was a lot more than he could say about his time waiting tables.  During this time, Oliver also followed up with the music producer who he had kept in contact with over the years, figuring that maybe he’d finally have the opportunity to do something with all the songs he had written.�� So he recorded a few that he had written for and about Wally, and left the rest to chance.  And a few months later, the producer called back and said they wanted him to record the rest for an entire album, and Oliver’s life changed forever and in a way he never thought would ever be possible.

It started off slowly, but before he knew it, Oliver’s life was more of a dream than the reality he had come to know.  It seemed like overnight he became a different person; he wasn’t the New York City street rat anymore, he was somebody in the world, and damn, was it nice.  Granted, it was a little weird for Oliver since he was used to being invisible, but he got over his social anxiety and embraced being himself, and it turned out, people really did like him for him.  So the glory days were good for both Oliver’s wallet and his self esteem.  He wasn’t a worrywart anymore and he was able to take life at his own pace and not overwhelm himself.

However, Oliver’s biggest regret in life was not graduating from Stanford, so a few years into his glory days, he cut off all his hair, yet again, and went back to school during a break.  The students who were there when he hurt himself were gone, and he hoped having his short hair back would allow him to go back a bit more invisible than he could’ve with his long hair, and he actually enjoyed his senior year of college because there was zero stress.  He could go straight home every day to his husband and kids and he was just 100% genuinely happy, and his senior year was probably the quickest year of his life, but he accomplished his ultimate goal of graduating, and he was proud of himself.

After graduating, Oliver hopped right back into show business and was actually offered a role in a musical, which he, of course, took.  He would’ve never forgiven himself if he turned down the opportunity to live in a musical for a little while.  And to his surprise, well not really, since he was the one to pull some strings to get him an audition, Wally joined him on that movie set and it was one of the proudest moments of Oliver’s life, because even though he got his husband the audition, Wally got the part on his own with zero endorsement from Oliver.  Wally even auditioned under the name Wally Axiom, and Oliver somehow managed to not let it slip that they were in fact married for about a week and a half.  But that all ended after filming a song together, Oliver’s biggest dream come true, and he just couldn’t stop himself anymore and he pretty much made out with Wally for a good five minutes before informing everyone that Wally was his husband and there was no scandal starting.

After many years and few albums and a successful show, Oliver left the entertainment world behind because him and Wally decided to keep expanding the family, and he decided he wanted to become the stay at home dad and be more hands on with the youngest ones than he was ever allowed to be with the older ones due to having to spread himself way too thin.  And honestly, being a stay at home dad was the best thing Oliver could’ve ever done.  He was the happiest he had ever been in his life, and he was relaxed; which if you know him, is a pretty big fucking deal.  It was his true calling and god did he enjoy every second of it.  He actually made Wally keep working for another year after he wanted to stop because he enjoyed the time with their girls so much.

However, it wasn’t long before a bump in the road came along.  A few years ago, right after Celeste turned 15, Oliver found out about his Alzheimer’s.  The news hit him hard because he lived a life full of so many amazing memories he didn’t want to forget, but he decided this wasn’t going to break him and he was going to live in the present, and not fear the future.  And really, life was still pretty good for him, he just felt bad for Wally and the girls for having to deal with him forgetting dates and constantly having to tell him where his keys were and having to ask about ten times for permission to do something if they needed to.  

Currently, Oliver’s trying to figure out if his two youngest are messing with him and taking advantage of his forgetfulness (he’s had to ask Wally many times if they had actually given Celeste permission to go somewhere with her friends, or if she simply said they did), and he’s having to deal with being banned from their kitchen after nearly burning their house down when he forgot to turn off the oven one day.  He personally thinks a sign on the fridge saying, “Everything but the fridge is off limits to Oliver Spade during the day unless someone else is home with him” is a bit much and is rebelling by posting pictures of it and him all over the kitchen on instagram because he’s lame like that.