#and he's sick of John's blog getting so much attention

[barachiki]

Just posing with some flowers, being Instagrammable.

[foreveric]

"𝓘 𝓓𝓞."

pairing — john wick x f!reader content — 70% FLUFF 20% ANGST 5% SMUT words — 2,284 dividers — @saradika-graphics tagging — @feinv and @iovesia (srsly their blogs r what kept us inspired to finish this while sick, lol)

This is it.

The day hundreds of lives were ended so that John would be able to settle down in his life with you, the most precious thing that he’s ever had in his life. You’re like his rock that he’s never had growing up, and he wouldn’t dare risk allowing his bloody career to get in the way of the life that he could have with you. And now, everything that he had planned and gone through that day for this very ceremony was coming into fruition.

Today made it feel like everything he did that night was worth it: all of the lives he took, and the blood he had to so violently spill. Watching you walk down the aisle in the dream wedding dress he’d always imagined on you, kissing you slowly at the altar after you’ve shared your vows to seal your commitment after years of dating each other. 

Hearing the marching music begin to fade in, John’s gaze flickered up to meet your own, even if it was covered slightly by the mesh of the white veil you were wearing. Lifting the veil up, John would flash you a smile full of warmth and affection; the most emotional smile the man was ever able to muster in his entire life — you could just see it behind his eyes.

“Do you, Mr. Jardani Jovonovich, take Ms. (Y/N) to be your lawfully wedded wife…” The Officiant asked, his attention focusing on John as he stood at the altar, holding onto your hands.

A few months earlier, John was in a much different place mentally. Instead of getting prepared for his wedding with you, he was preparing for his final assassination, the “impossible task”, as Viggo called it. Of course, John was more than willing to perform such a task, if it meant getting to settle down with the love of his life.

“You did well, Jonathan.” Viggo commented to John with his hands held behind his back.

“Thanks,” John replied with a small nod of his head, silently expecting Viggo to add onto his statement.

“I suppose you still want to be released from our organization?”

“Yeah.” He answered firmly, yet he still tried to keep himself level-headed after the adrenaline rush of the mission.

“Well, I wish you and your lover the best life.” Viggo replied to John before turning his back to him, holding his hands behind his own back while he stared out the large window that was just placed just behind the desk. “Be seeing you, Mr. Wick.” He added in a colder voice than before. It was a tone that didn’t go unnoticed by John, but he didn’t care then. At least, not about this “family” he’d been stuck in since his childhood. No, now all that he cared about was the future he was about to lead with you.

In the shower at home, you were luckily not home that day, giving John the perfect chance to wash the blood away from his body. None of it was his blood, though. No, he was washing off the lives he’d ended a mere few hours ago. But, he was used to this feeling — he was used to killing, to seeing the red on his hands and chest after an exhausting mission. 

And now, John tried to make himself focus on the plans he had made for today many months ago — to propose to (y/n), and make you his officially. That ring he got a few weeks ago? It was going to be used for this special day. His heart leaped when he opened up the box to check on the ring, the diamond shimmering brightly in the sunlight that seeped in through the nearby glass windows of the mansion he was now sharing with you. A smile painted itself across John’s lips as a reaction to the thoughts he began to have flooding through his mind of the day that would soon be in his future.

Then, just as he’s lost in thought, John’s head whipped up to the sound of the doorbell ringing, announcing your presence at the front door. Quickly hiding the box away from view, underneath the bed, John sprinted out of the bedroom to greet you at the door. There’s a smile still present on his face as you open the door, immediately welcomed by him wrapping his arms around you to pull you into his embrace and kiss the top of your head.

“Hey, hon.” John greeted you, his voice more cheerful than it normally is.

“Hey…how was your day?” You ask, your voice sounding groggy from working long hours throughout the day.

Catching on to your exhaustion, John gave you a light nod of his head before taking his right hand and gently placing it on the back of your neck, his thumb resting on the side of your jawline. 

"I've been thinking about you," he says with a tone of sincerity laced through his voice while his deep brown eyes were locked onto your own.

"Yeah?" You reply with a hint of playfulness that John quickly caught onto, making him smirk down at you.

"Mm-hmm." John murmurs affirmatively right before leaning in to lock his lips onto yours; they always surprise you with how soft they are every time you feel them. After breaking the kiss, he brought his lips up to brush them against your ear, sending shivers down your entire back. "You go take a shower while I cook you some food, alright?" He offers, yet there was a silent hint that he wasn't going to budge on this.

"Okay." You agree, nodding your head lightly in response to the offer John had just made you.

Lying wounded on the cold ground of the warehouse in which Viggo's enemies operated in, John gasped for breath as he locked eyes with the sky, which was pouring down the same tears he nearly shed at the idea of not standing at the altar with you, not putting that ring on your finger, not marrying YOU. He couldn't bear himself if this is how it all ended. When he noticed he was unable to get up, however, you seemed to have a spiritual hold on him — or, maybe even...a connection? John began to hear his phone ring, prompting him to glance down and take a look until he saw that it was your contact displaying as the number that was calling. At first, John was hesitant to answer. Not because he didn't want to answer your call, it would be far from that. No. Instead, it would be because...he was terrified of what you'd think of him if you were to find out about the truth of his past and what he used to do for his life. But, something clicked inside of John for him to press the green button on the keypad of the cell phone, lifting it up to his ear to hear your voice speaking to him once again.

"Hey, babe. I got dinner ready a few hours ago and you didn't come home, are you okay?" You ask as the line connected, the concern evident in the tone of your voice.

"Long story..." John answered in his own weakened and strained voice. You could immediately discern that something was horrifically wrong.

"Where are you?"

Not a beat was skipped between either of you before you swung your purse over and around your shoulder, jingling your car keys in between the crooks of your fingers. John gives you the address to the warehouse he was in. Of course, the sketch location raised questions in your head, but you knew you couldn't probe him for answers now; not when he's in such a risky position.

"I'll be right there." You say as you swing the front door open and begin to rush out to the driveway until you reach the car that was left.

In a matter of no time, John would soon begin to hear the engine of your car rumbling in the near distance until it was parked a mere few yards away from his limp body. "Oh, John!" You exclaim in concern right before rushing over to where John was leaning against the warehouse wall, the adrenaline immediately beginning to course through your entire being.

"I'm alright, honey." John replied in a soft-toned voice that was only meant to comfort you through the distress he knew he must be putting you through.

"I'm going to get you in the car," you declare in a tone that leaves no room for him to argue with you. But, in that moment, it really seemed as though John had no thoughts of even attempting as such. Taking his arm over your shoulder, (y/n) used your strength to walk John back over to your car to the passenger side. Once he was seated, you quickly pulled the seatbelt over John’s chest and buckled him in right before shutting his side’s door and darting around the car until you were able to get into the driver’s side.

Back at home, you gave John the stitches he needed for the deep gunshot wounds he had when you first got to him. There was a surge of emotions flooding throughout your entire mind, mostly being that of fear and concern for John’s well-being. You couldn’t lose him, not when you still have the chance to save him. Shoving away the questions you may have wanted to ask him, you focus on the task at hand of saving his life.

After you took John’s black tuxedo and white dress-shirt off by sliding them up his arms and chest, revealing two gunshot wounds to his right shoulder and chest, eliciting a gasp out of you.

“Jesus Christ, John.”

“I know, I know…” he attempted to speak up while keeping his voice low and soft-spoken, but you were too panicked to even hear him as you prioritized making every last move count.

“This is the worst I’ve ever seen you.” You continue to mumble to yourself as you attempt to concentrate on the bloody wounds that were penetrated straight through John’s skin.

“(Y/N)—”

“Where the Hell even were you?” You question, quickly followed up by an exasperated sigh with your eyebrows furrowing deeply in frustration. The thought of someone hurting John made your blood boil into pure rage.

“(Y/N), relax.” He finally spoke up, this time at a much louder volume than before to ensure that he got your attention. John would then notice you flinch back slightly, prompting him to reassuringly reach both of his hands up to lightly yet firmly place them on the top of either of your shoulders, his thumb slowly rubbing the exposed skin underneath your crewneck top. “I promise, I’m okay.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that.” You sigh before reaching your hands back down towards the one gunshot wound you were giving stitches to. John appeared to hardly even flinch the entire time, only raising more questions in your head. But you knew that now was not the time to probe for anything. After you have finished stitching up John’s wounds, you exhale out a deep sigh and rub your forehead with the back of your hand. He could see how exhausted you were after a long day, making him reach his hands out to hold onto your shoulders. Your eyes lock onto each other’s.

“Thank you,” John said. A soft smile curls up across the corners of his lips and he trails one of his hands up from your shoulder to the nape of your neck, prompting you to lean in closer to him. Locking your lips, you and John began to share a searing kiss. It was one of those that made your heartbeat start to speed up against the walls of your chest, one that you would never forget for as long as you shall live 

That’s the moment that John recalled when he snapped back into reality to see you standing in front of him, looking like the most gorgeous bride ever. His eyes sparkled with love and affection, his smile growing warmer right as the Officiant continued on with his speech. The music already faded out and it was all silent on the Western front – only the Officiant spoke, and the audience was also silent, even the babies. “— in sickness and in health, until death do you part?” The Officiant asked while his head was turned in John’s direction, who answered with a light nod of his head in confirmation.

“I do.” John responded to the Officiant, his eyes never once straying away from yours.

“And do you, Ms. (Y/N), take Mr. Jardani Jovonovich to be your lawfully wedded husband in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

“I do.”

The ring bearers then handed the proper ring to the bride and groom, which was then followed by you and John sliding either ring on each other’s ring finger. You both were smiling gleefully at each other while the trade was made between you. “In the power vested in me, I hereby declare you husband and wife.” The Officiant announced with joy radiating through his tone of voice as he took a small step back, allowing you and John to close the distance between the both of you. “You may now kiss the bride.” He said to John, who didn’t waste a second in making your marriage official.

That kiss, it’s like one that you could only ever dream of. It was one that would change either of your lives forever; not like how your first kiss did, no. This kiss was one that would change the course of your relationship for the rest of your lives, officially making the both of you legally married. He was your husband, and you were his wife. And now, you could live happily ever after.

[doakarma]

OOC :

HEADCANONS

(that I will be using on this blog and that I have in general. I’ve already been using them but I wanted to make a list. A lot of projecting is involved but I won’t tell you which is which)

• Calls everyone Mister until he knows them and then quickly moves to Nicknames.

• gets attached to people/things he cares about

• will eat anything he can vaguely perceive as food.

• doesn’t like talking about his past

• very fidgety.

• Doesn’t speak very much when he’s nervous

• Likes : Cats (and animals in general), learning new things and being outside.

• Dislikes : Being inside too long, isolation, being the centre of attention and loud/crowded spaces.

• has nightmares sometimes (typically for a week or so at a time then they go away for a bit)

• Likes being useful and tries to help out when he can.

• Acts like a kid when excited / has a childlike wonder about new things.

• doesn’t know many normal world things and can get confused but he knows far too much stuff from the underground (like mafia stuff yk)

• Transmasc (in @oscarsgallery’s words “you removed one of his eyes might as well remove his balls”) they/he

Specific to Doa Karma BLOG: (here)

- thinks of ( @shopping-for-a-russian-rat and @fedya-the-rat-god ) Nikolai and Fyodor as his dads. @the-grey-wolf-of-the-doa as his sister.

- Has absolutely no issues being Sarcastic and annoying to Oscar and basically only him ( @oscarsgallery )

- he has a pet duck John.

- has Nicknames for everyone ( @shopping-for-a-russian-rat Nik. @fedya-the-rat-god Fyo. @the-caged-jester Niko and others I can’t remember rn)

Specific to ADA karma BLOG @currentlyeatingrocks

- Does not trust how often Fukuzawa ( @fukuzawa-armeddaddyagency ) gives him food. He happy about it but finds it strange.

- keeps eating things out the garden and getting sick

- very prone to random pains (after his encounter with fyodors ability)

——————-

(Sorry to everyone who got tagged)

- a lot/most of these were inspired by @karma-brainrot (sorry for the tag- just wanted to give u credit) and I will maybe add more later we’ll see.

[bee-and-the-slimes]

2024! (owo)/

First of all, Happy New Year. 🎉 *pfooot*

Second of all, thank you for still flooding my inbox with questions, lol, I'm glad I'm still on your mind, despite having slowed down considerably over the last year. I'm trying to pick and choose the best of them to continue and my "I need to park my butt and work on X" list keeps getting bigger, so thank you to those who have been patient. It's hard to keep up when you have so many ideas percolating and have to juggle a job, a house, hobbies (soooo many hobbies), and friends and family. Here's hoping 2024 can keep me going. Trust me, Bee loves your attention.

Thirdly, I know I've not been very big on talking about the Me behind the slimes, but I originally set out to keep Bee and co as a separate entity from what I normally do. Partially because I have a terrible potty mouth and a lot of my other works aren't really set up for a PG-13 rating, so I kind of wanted to keep that separate for a bit.

That being said, my New Year's goal basically boils down to "Read more, Write more, Draw more" -- one I hit the ground running toward this week. It may be more Bee, it may be more of my other comics, but if I'm silent here, maybe you might be interested in some of the other stuff I do? I haven't stopped doing, I just haven't been doing it here.

Maverick Hunter: Special Forces - Do you like Reploids? I like Reploids. Like, way too much to be considered normal.

SYSTEM.Reload is an attempt to adapt 20 years of RPs and lore building around my and my friend's characters after events of the Megaman X video games. It's a sequel of sorts to an earlier comic RIPtheSYSTEM, which was a collaboration between me and a friend that we started in 2003 and let fizzle out in 2007. .Reload started out as an Ask Blog that never went anywhere, and I just shrugged and drew 250+ pages of characters doing things under the guise of a plot. I don't pretend to know what I'm doing, I'm just kind of enjoying the ride. It's a lot more rudimentary than my actual ART because comics take time and I'm an impatient woman who will physically explode if I don't get my ideas on paper.

My biggest goal is hoping to finish out Part 2 this year. I have the majority of Part 3 written and Part 4 laid out, but I promised myself I'd hit a 2022 goal to complete Part 2 and failed that pretty miserably.... mostly because I keep going back to smooth out wrinkles instead of just finishing the thing.

I genuinely try to keep it censored for Tumblr, but Delta has the temper of a gangster with the mouth of a drug problem.

My DeviantArt - BUT WAIT, there's more! If you aren't sick of OCs or Reploids or OC Reploids you might like my page of art dump. It's where the rest of my stuff gets tossed that isn't Slimes. I don't really draw fanart that much, so mostly my work of upcoming comic panels and ideas that I haven't gotten to work in SYSTEM.Reload yet, commission work, short stories, plushies, or just RP related stuff that I felt like drawing out.

And everything is related.

Everything.

Right now I'm obsessed with working on a short story novella about a vampire named Alecscander St. John, who sucks (hurr) at being a vampire. Born in 1842, he left Texas in 1864, watched his uncle hang for a murder he didn't commit, and 'died' in 1876. I plan to be very mean to him as he tries to build a life for himself while his ex-wife holds a grudge and his adopted sire makes his life miserable. :3c Because I'm a writer. I write. And I've read too much Dresden Files to see everyone get a happy, boring existence...

So... yeah. Here goes... It's 2024.

Wish me luck.

[theprophetsaid]

Alright, an actual hot take, and please forgive me in advance, I don't dislike Brian quite as much as this post makes it seem.

Brian was always resentful of Freddie and the attention he received as the lead singer in what was originally 'Brian's' band, and now likes to, let's say, 'embellish' stories about them being close as yet another way of riding on Freddie's coat tails all the way to the bank.

Do we have any third party sources stating that Freddie and Brian were close? Because plenty of the books state that Freddie was close with Roger and John (John more in the early days), but I've never read anything about Brian and Freddie's apparant 'best friend' status, except from Dr May himself. Weird that.

Hey. Hey, you little gray-faced weenie. I dare you to say this off anon. I can't believe you've chosen to come into my ask box on what is probably the worst fucking day I've had in years and spew this bullshit. No, really. I'm so serious. Who do you think you are? Who do you think I am?

You really think you're so clever, huh? Going, "I don't actually hate him," before spewing all of the driest, most overused, most pathetic insults against Brian. People all over the Internet say this every day. You're not special.

Imagine being the type of person who thinks Brian's friendship with Freddie needs to be "proven". Imagine taking an old man's trauma and grief and twisting it into a screwed-up clown narrative because your weird hate-boner for him grows harder by the day. I'm fucking sick of you lot. I really am.

Go touch some grass. Get the hell away from my blog.

You make me sick.

[marlowe1-blog]

"The Sorrows of Gin" (The Stories of John Cheever)

Ok. We are getting to a point where I take a break from these blog posts due to the fact that the book is in my bag and I need to go out a couple more times before it ends up next to my nightstand. I was thinking of posting other books I'm reading like Tale of the Genji and the Bible (YCT translation) but I think I'll hold off on those. First, Tale of the Genji is a book that I put next to my bed as something to read when I get to it in the pile of graphic novels. I didn't mind the book but it's a slow read and over 1000 pages, so I didn't want to spend over a year reading the thing when there are books waiting on my bookshelf. So I took it off the regular reading rotation and put it in the fast reading rotation of graphic novels (as well as the Bible and the Legend of the Jews). And everyone does the Bible. But maybe when I get through Proverbs and start reading the Book of Job I'll have more to say.

Or maybe I should just stick to Cheever. And then when I'm done with Cheever, go to Les Miserables as I planned. (of course, if I get sick of Les Miserables a third of the way through like in high school, that will make for a weird blog).

Where were we? Oh yeah, drunk writers and their drunk sad characters.

Amy Lawton is a child who gets left alone with the melancholy cook (John Cheever characters are the kind of rich people who can afford to have live-in servants like cooks and still think themselves middle class) who tells her about her alcoholic sister. The cook not only encourages Amy to pour the gin down the sink but also to pay attention whenever there is drinking around her.

Also the cook is a drunk herself and five pages in, she's being shuffled away from the family stinking of the same gin.

The rest of the story is Amy observing her parents and their friends. This is one of the stories where Cheever started recycling names like the Farquarsons or Mrs. Heinlein, but he doesn't do much with the names except use them. The Farquarsons hold parties. Mrs. Heinlein is a babysitter, a very nosy babysitter who asks so many questions that even Amy notices that she's being intrusive.

Also Amy gets her fired by pouring out the gin. Heinlein takes umbrage at being accused of drinking the family alcohol and that's an ugly scene that then leads to Amy trying to run off to New York. But as far as Amy's parents are concerned, there really is no escape.

Growing up in the suburbs sucks. Even when your parents are popular enough to have friends and parties. Especially if your parents are drunks.

timlieder.com

patreon.com/timlieder

[a-froger-epic]

Interview with a Queen “groupie”

Cross-posted to AO3. I encourage you to leave any comments you have there.

---

I compiled this interview following a long email exchange with J, a very sweet lady who went to Ealing Art School between 1972 and 1974. She knew all four members of Queen personally and was part of their larger circle of friends.

First off, you may find this hard to believe. I don’t blame you. But I assure you I’m not pulling your leg. As well as the pictures I share in this post, I have seen current pictures of J (which I will not share to protect her privacy). There is no indication as far as I am aware that she isn’t who she says she is.

Nastally, hold up. How exactly did you find this lady?

She found me. It turns out that she has been following my story Dawn of Aquarius for quite some time. The story is set in 1969. A lot of research about the era went into it, because I wanted to portray that time period - and Freddie’s and Roger’s surroundings - as accurately and realistically as I possibly could. That was what drew J in. She tells me it brought back a lot of memories for her. One of the reasons I love DoA so much is the nostalgia, she says, which genuinely means the world to me. Eventually, she talked to me in the comment section. Of course, I freaked out!

And then, I asked her for an interview, to which she replied: I will give it a go, but you must remember that I am 65 and there were great drugs in the 70s, and at 16, away from home, I had a lot!

And so...

Here’s what is IMPORTANT TO KEEP IN MIND when you read this interview.

These are one woman’s 50-year-old memories and subjective impressions. J has been incredibly kind to let me pick her brain, trying to recall everything as best as she can. In her own words:

Just remember that when I answer the questions, it is from a 16-year-old who is 9 years younger than Freddie and a little girl with no family and friends in a strange country trying to fit in. The only reason I was there, was because some hippie thought I had a unique art style.

---

J as a teenager.

[I have edited the interview together from our long, and somewhat messy at times, email exchange. Typos have been fixed and some punctuation added for clarity, but I have not changed anything J has written to me. Again, bear in mind these are personal opinions and impressions.]

So, J, how did you end up at Ealing Art School in 1972 and what was it like?

This was the painting done for the Australian school-leaving certificate.

It placed first and gave me a scholarship. I could pick France, the USA or England. As a dual citizen of the UK, the choice was easy. The scholarship paid for board and fees, so had to be and sell whatever for spending money.

This picture is from the dorm. We all had a 10pm curfew and a very thick rule book that, I am proud to say, I broke every one of them, one by one. The rooms were on the 1st and 2nd floor. We were on the first floor, rooms one side and admin staff the other end. We had two bathrooms for 18 girls. One of them had two baths. The walls were your standard half wall, so it was a given that if you had a bath you run the risk of having a bucket of cold water dropped on you. Downstairs was the kitchen and lounge room.

I want to ask you a few things about life in London in the early 70s, to get a picture of what it was really like. For example, was there alcohol at the music gigs you went to?

If it was a school, church or community hall, no. If it was a pub, yes.

Did you and your friends drink as much then as young people tend to drink now when you all went out?

No, we didn't. I think it had a lot to do with money. We didn't have the disposable income, and it was unheard of to still be living at home with the parents after the age of 20.

Was weed and LSD as big and easily accessible as depictions of the 60s and 70s would have us believe?

The drugs! Got to have drugs. Pot (weed) was easy to grow, very cheap. Used to smoke it in bongs rather than joints, more bang for your buck. Trips [LSD] were cheap, I think. About 2 pounds and you were on the high for over 24 hours with no sleep. My drug of choice was hash. Either the oil or the block. It was a nice high, but you could not function well. But if you listen to the music of the time it really does reflect what it was like, to have a group of friends over for a session. Having said all that the most outlandish and shocking drug I ever saw anyone use was the birth control pill. Didn't you have to hide that stuff away?!

Can you tell us some 70s slang that isn’t really in use anymore? What in the world does “ultra-blagging” mean? (As written in a letter penned by Freddie to his friend Celine in 1969.)

Abso-bloody-lootely!

Man, I thought I was the bees knees to be on a scholarship in London. But that didn't stop me from jigging or having a skive day. They were the days that I blagged my way into a pub, had too many lagers and ended up chundering in the gutter. That was how you knew your night was ace. I would get a right bollocking if anyone found out. It would be a bugger when all that you could find at a car boot sale was chavtastic, but sometimes you could be Jammy Dodger and tickety-boo you find something brilliant. Bob's your uncle. Anyways, I need to see a man about a dog.

[It seems to me that J uses a bit of Australian slang here, like chundering, which makes sense because she is, after all, Australian. She also provided the translation:]

Cheers

J

It would be my honour.

I felt very privileged to be given a scholarship that let me study in England. But being so young and having no family to guide me, it was often tempting to not turn up or give a false excuse for being sick. (I had a lot of food poisoning). These would often happen if the night before I had been drinking beer and ended up vomiting outside the pub. But in my young mind that was a good night. If any of the teachers found me drinking I would be in a lot of trouble. Often I would have to say I was holding it for someone else. Not having much clothes with me, I would buy them second hand from church jumble sales or other students and, yes, Kensington market (the market). Some of the stuff would not be very tasteful or in good condition. But sometimes you would find something that was cheap and in good condition. I will stop this text now as I must go to the toilet.

PS: Ultrablagging sounds very Freddie. Blagging was used, but not ultra, meaning to persuade someone to do something or act better than you are. They were always rock stars.

Sincerely

J

[It was at this point that I realised I was talking to an absolute legend. She also told me then that the majority of her old photographs had sadly been lost when her house was flooded in 1988, including most of the photographs from her stay in London. Noooo! :(]

When you went out to dance, did you have only live music? Were there DJs yet?

You know, that is hard. We did not have a DJ. Sometimes there would be a band. Often we looked for places with a band or the jukebox. I think pubs closed at 10pm and some stayed open to 12 or 1, but public transport stopped at 9. So if you had not arranged a lift then you had to make the last bus. Most of the time we would be heading back to someone's place to get stoned and then crash there. In the morning you would have to work out where you were. When I got back to Australia, the discos were all the rage. They could have been in London too but it was not cool to like disco.

How many people would show up to Queen’s gigs when they played in pubs or at, for example, the Imperial College?

Depending on the location and the night: 10 to 1000!

So how did you first meet the Queen boys?

I was at the pub talking about a band we saw last week when Brian stuck his head into our booth telling us he knew a better one. Thinking about seeing them at the stall... Roger not often, Freddie quite a lot. Often on different stalls, I think that is why I can't remember the name. [The name of the stall. Other sources confirm that Freddie also worked at Alan Muir’s stall, for example, selling shoes.]

How well did you know them?

Just looking at your tumblr account. [she has had a look at my blog, where somebody asked if ‘groupie’ meant she had slept with the band] No, I never slept with the boys. I would not say I was a close friend, but I started at Ealing Art College in ‘72 and moved in the same circles. I loved the music and could be called one of the first groupies. I had to sneak into the pubs because I was 16. Roger always teased me for being so young. They all did seem to be one very large family, not just the band. It was a group of about twenty regulars, both male and female. Everyone knew that Fred was too gay to function. We were all at the gay rights march in London in 1972, had to run after the march. Lots of sharpies [Australian slang: youth gang, thugs] wanting to bash us. Back then I was in every protest that was going, student union rights, even the secretary protest. Just part of the times, stick it to Man or Woman. I left London in ‘74 for Australia, been here ever since and lost track of the boys but have never stopped being a fan.

What do you remember about them? How would you describe their personalities?

Don’t let the trolls hate me, but I did not like Brian. I found him to be rather full of himself. Space was a subject you never brought up around Brian or you would die of old age before he stopped talking. He was always the first to speak and start a conversation and then quickly passed you off to John, who was always tired and shy. Roger was also quite shy at times. He was very self-conscious of his looks, as he felt being pretty, nobody would take him seriously. Fred, well, he was not yet the big star, so I think he was working on his stage persona. When talking to groups at parties, he had the best stories of things that had happened to him or close friends. They were very funny and very descriptive. He was the life of the party. When he had a few to drink or was the centre of attention, he would take a cigarette out of the closest person’s hand and start smoking. Now remember this is the point of view of a 16-year-old girl that was a fish out of water, trying to fit in and not having much worldly experience.

It is said that Freddie and Roger were very stylish. How did they dress in everyday life?

Fred would do his hair and makeup to check the mail. Yes, he was always turned out, but so were a lot of people. Freddie did go over the top with hats, scarfs and jewellery. With Roger, it is a surprise he was able to have kids his jeans were that tight. And his shirts were always open unless he was in a jumper. I think it could have been so that you knew he was male, as it was the start of the unisex clothing. When I travelled out of London I realised it was a London thing. When I got back to Australia everyone thought I was a show-off.

There are some disagreements about how tall especially Freddie was. I know this is a difficult thing to try and remember accurately. But do you remember?

Freddie was taller than me but everyone was. Roger was shorter than Fred, but I never saw Roger in platform shoes. I did meet up with the band by chance at Sydney airport in 1984, said ‘hello’ but they did not remember me, or if they did then they did not say anything and I did not want to be a dork. At that time Fred was the same height as me (5ft 8in/1.72m), Roger was taller than me. It made me think at the time that he had a growth spurt! John was shorter than me and Brian has always been tall. [I have a feeling the platform shoes - or lack thereof - played a vital role here! Although 172cm for Freddie seems likely.]

You said everyone knew Freddie was “too gay to function”. Attitudes towards homosexuality have changed so much that it can be hard for us, now, to fathom what exactly people must have thought of him. Was it more of a joke that he was so camp? Was it something he would have been teased for? Also, he had a girlfriend. Did you ever meet Mary or the other girlfriends?

In 1972 a whole group of us - and I am pretty sure that Fred, Roger, Brian and Tim were there - were in a gay pride march. [Since then, J has found and showed me a picture of a boy she thought was Tim Staffel, and it wasn't, so Tim was most definitely not there. Whether Freddie, Roger and Brian really were there or if J is misremembering, who knows?] Us youth believed you could not choose who you fell in love with and if it was same sex, so what? However, if it was two girls then it was every guy’s duty to change her!

It was also a time that the gayer the guy was, the more the girls were interested. Also, if a guy was gay then you did not have to worry about him and he was a good person to take with you if you were going out drinking. However, the police, parents, teachers and anyone of authority were horrified and treated them badly. I did meet Mary a couple of times at pubs and once after a gig. This is just my opinion, but I found her a bitch. It could be that I was so young. It could be that I was very Australian. It could be that she felt threatened as my accent was a magnet to people around. And the boys (Queen) were no exception. Brian had a cousin in OZ and was always asking questions. I remember that my close group of friends thought that Mary made the perfect girlfriend for Fred as they were as fake as each other. Having said that about them, I often wonder if I would think the same now and if my perceptions were just because she would not give me the time of Day. Chrissy and Jo were a lot of fun.

This was before your time, but I read that Freddie's nickname at Ealing Art School was ‘Freddie Baby’. Any ideas how this came about? His showmanship or maybe personality traits?

I don't think so. There were an older crowd that would talk like that. I think the slang ‘baby’ was a 60’s thing, like groovy baby.

How long, roughly, did Roger and Freddie have their stall? I can't find anywhere when it closed down. What did it actually look like? Was it a sort of wooden stall type of thing? Or an actual room? What were some of the other things people sold at Kensington Market? Mostly clothes or all sorts?

The markets were little divided shops. The back was brick and the walls wood. I have been trying all day to remember the name. [Of the stall.] I think it was something hard to say. More often than not it would be Freddie's dad in the store. It was still open when I left. Roger and Freddie were both in the store on Saturdays and some Sundays. There was a girl, I think Jill, who was in the store more. And during the week it could be anyone. You name it and you could get it at the markets. Second hand or designer clothes, shoes, jewellery, pot and assortments. Hair cuts, food, bric-a-brac.

Wait, wait. What? Freddie’s dad? Really now?

Yeah, it was an older Indian man. so we just assumed it was his father. It was my understanding that he started the stall then the boys would work it as the whole markets were set up for younger people, but if needed he would work there. I don't think the boys would be able to pay the rent on their own. [I have since found out that the stall closed in late 1971, and Freddie continued to work at the Market until '74, for Alan Mair and possibly others. So the stall J witnessed wasn't their original stall - explaining all the different people she saw there - but she had no way of knowing that it wasn't.] They always had incense burning that was very big in the 70s. I still occasionally bring out the sticks, but it does not last like the candles and diffusers of today. If you could get in touch with Robert Daniels, he ran ChaChaDumDum it was the stall across from Freddie. He would know the dates.

[J says it’s this look, in a picture she happened across while looking at my tumblr] Yep, that is the one. It usually means that he does not believe or agree with something that was said and is working out how to respond, or he has lost the plot.

You mentioned Roger seemed shy to you at times. Was he also quite charming? We read a lot about what a chick magnet he was. Was this the impression you had?

My favorite subject! I had a thing for Roger. Everyone has a type and mine is the blue-eyed blond. Now, before you ask, was he brunet? No, he was a mouse/dirty blond. If it was summer he would have blond streaks mostly at the ends. He knew he was pretty and was always dressed in the latest fashion and had the current hairstyle. So, being my type I was constantly watching him. Everyone slept around during that time. I did not notice Roger doing it more or less. 80% of the time he was with Jo. Yes, he was a chick magnet, but he did not do the chasing. He was always very polite to everyone. If it ever looked like there would be any conflict he would be the first to leave it. It was not that he was a coward, just not into conflict. If he saw anyone that needed help he was right there, and often had to have Freddie's back. I never saw him in a fight. He could always talk his way out of things. He was also very patient and would listen for hours to other people talk. However, he would get this vacant look in his eyes at times.

And Freddie would either click his fingers, change the subject or just give up. I don’t think that Brian noticed, and it would be fair game for John, he would see how far he could push it. Roger liked to drink a fair bit and when drunk he would be hanging all over Jo. If she was not there then he missed Jo. If, however, he thought that he or his friends were not being respected, then look out! It was a verbal volcano heading your way. That is what happened to me one time. I was trying to talk with my friends close to where a drunken Roger was and I yelled at him to shut the hell up, you wannabe blond. We/I coped a mouthful back, all in the same sentence, that finished with: Sorry, I didn't realise you were on your rags (period)! I have to have the last word, so I told him the truth: I don’t get them yet! (I was a late starter.) He went so red in the face and called me JB [jail bait] from then.

You also mentioned Roger’s cat Ziggy having kittens. I read about this but never when exactly it was. Do you remember?

I think it was winter ‘73. I remember being cold when he was asking around the pub. [To find homes for the kittens, I gather.]

Is it quite strange reading fictional interpretations of real people you knew? When did you first find out there was Queen fanfic?

No, we used to make up stories about people all the time, a verbal fanfic. Was looking up Adam Lambert and came across the fanfics. Some had me in stitches! Others, like DoA, had me hooked.

Please, allow me to be a little self-indulgent at the end. What's one thing I got totally RIGHT in DoA?

All the Ibex stuff.

What's one thing I got totally WRONG in DoA?

Roger did not have a temper, and I don’t know what the go with his father was, but he would talk about him quite a bit and was always visiting his mum. [Absolutely fair, not only did I change the timeline of Roger’s parents divorce in DoA - for lack of information at the time - but also created a completely fictional narrative around it for the sake of storytelling.]

J, thank you so much for all this, sincerely. Can you tell me a little more about yourself? Are you still an artist?

I don't paint or draw any more. At the age of a 50 the doctors operated on an aneurysm or three, and now my eyesight is very bad, I have no fine motor skills and a tremor. I was married in January 1984 and have just celebrated our 37 year anniversary. I have one daughter who is 30 and two great, although tiring grandkids. A girl, 11, and one boy, 5. I have lived my life as the average middle class Australian with great memories. Talking with you has helped me a lot to remember a time when the world was mine for the taking. When I returned to OZ I started nursing, met my best friend, and we planned that once we graduated we would go back to London to study midwifery. But I fell in love instead.

J's wedding in 1984. As you can see, she found her own blue-eyed blond.

---

Upon request, J has shared some of her past and present artwork with me.

These are from her time at Ealing Art School:

These were done later, back in Australia:

J: Did this just before Christmas as you had inspired me. It did not require fine motor skills!

So there you have it! I hope you found this little glimpse through a 16-year-old girl’s eyes as much of a fascinating read as I did. I urge everybody one more time to remember that J did not have to share any of this, and I think we all owe her a big thank you for delving into her memories. She is likely to see the responses on AO3, so I have comment moderation enabled there as I will not let anybody harass this lovely lady. The tumblr she created is @since72, but she isn’t really an active user and also very new to it all. Again, I can only urge everybody to be respectful.

If you have other burning question for J, feel free to leave them in the comments on AO3. I will either pass them on, or she may want to reply to them herself directly.

[batarangsoundsdumb]

yet another ask dump yeehaw!

do you ever think that jay's mother was one of those bitch who believes in horoscope and tarots and things like that and so he believes in these things too, or it is just me projecting?

sheila haywood took one look at jason's birthchart said 'nah this won't do' and left.

Wait, but what happens when the justice league does find out that Bruce and John fucked? Lmao it sounds like it would be hilarious, really, I don’t want a justice league that doesn’t make fun of Bruce for like his entire life.

barry runs out of the meeting immediately and comes back with an entire sti testing kit. diana fully seriously wants bruce to get tested while bruce is sitting there like 'come on guys, you're being ridiculous, i already checked twice'

john is standing in the corner clearly offended while bruce is just like 'don't even say anything, constantine, you fucked a shark'

tim was like "i'm drake now" and everyone was like ahh so your fursona is a dragon and tim was like pffffft no. ducks.

on the one hand, good for him, on the other hand, bro, how do you still have a secret identity when your superhero name is just your last name,,,,

Your fic on ao3 was GOLD PLEASE CONTINUE I loved Dinah's cameo btw ( @purple-vixen

thanks so much! i already continued but this ask is like 10 years old because i'm a notorious procrastinator (also yes! i love dinah so much aahhhhhhhhhhhh)

I've FINALLY been watching the Batman animated series and I gotta say, after watching "the gray ghost" I am CONVINCED that Batman is a closeted super hero geek who was 100% freaking out the first time he met Superman and is just REALLY good at hiding it.

bruce internally: holy fuck holy shit holy fuck holy shit holy fuck holy shit holy fuck holy shit holy fuck holy shit bruce externally: get out of my city, alien

AHHH ur multimedia fic is the only thing that brings me happiness anymore continue it forever pls

uhh thanks, but can't continue it forever because my attention span is that of a toddler on crack on a good day and i can't function without at least 10 things going on at the same time and music in the background

Oi, so I'm getting into dc and watching batman the animated series, and they use fruitcake a lot. Which I thought was very funny and wanted to share w you - Denilla

wait like fruitcake (food) or fruitcake (derogatory) ?

young justice 🤝 teen titans slut shaming batman

tim drake and dick grayson to their respective teams 'you guys stop it, that's my dad'

Happyhoganon: If an eighty year old Batman had fought crime in Gotham City for decades and the only threats to him and the city lately are a wheel chair bounded Penguin, your usual purse snatchers and a few con artists popping up every now and then, how well could the Dark Knight do in maintaining the peace in Gotham despite him being just somewhat fit to do that as an elderly man (which says A LOT given how old he is)

uhh he'll probably do what my grandpa does and that is ruthlessly prank them until they die of shame.

in the death in the family interactive movie there's an ending where Jason is tasked with raising Damian and he decides he's gonna raise Damian to take down the waynes and al ghuls which uh maybe isn't great BUT the idea of Jason raising Damian... PRICELESS. CHAOTIC. I just need more people to know about this :)

yes i saw that wow holy shit but jason would accidentally drop damian on his head one (1) hour in and jason just yeets him into the lazarus pit.

Headcanon: The Penguin has a really hard time fighting any of the Robins because of his avian obsession means there's always a small part of his mind that's like "Birb. Child. Protect" ( @subspacecadet )

as soon as dick becomes nightwing the penguin is like 'you know what, fuck this dude' and shoots at him.

Y'all talking about King Shark dating Constantine, let's not forget about John literally hooking up with Satan

listen there's a clear difference between monsterfucker and satanfucker in that king shark is literally a shark and satan still looks like a normal dude

Does everyone in Gotham think Batman is a teen dad?

everyone in gotham thinks batman has been around since gotham was founded, but they do think that bruce wayne is actually a teen father and dick grayson's biological dad.

why. why would you do that fancast when you know it will only hurt people

what? i loved my fancast it was really well done. i did it with good representation in mind and i really managed that with alfred pennyworth being ✨italian✨

Seeing james charles a jason gave me psychic damage how dare you i need to wash my eyes

well that's a you problem isn't it?

do you think dick grayson thirst tweets about nightwing just to annoy his family/cause problems on purpose in general?

he thinks nightwing is hot, next question.

holy jiminy cricket batman, its as cold as the good lords ass crack in here!!

i- what? this is why i don't fuck with english expressions it's way too goddamn weird

Brooooooo, your teen dad!Bruce au is soooo good. I've got brainrot.

Honestly if you ever write anymore, I'd read that shit twice. Sign me the fuck up. Good stuff, Good Stuff.

uh yeah i'm thinking about writing a fic, but i have exams coming up and i don't wanna fail because that would suck. but after i'll certainly be writing more tho

your teen dad AU is so great! bruce acting like a big brother for all of like a week before he's telling everyone about his son. what if in the AU dick meets the JL because they need to rescue him? maybe he's in trouble/kidnapped at a gala and bruce starts calling for JL. clark finds him and has to fly with dick to bring him home - that's how dick and clark meet and superman becomes dick's fave hero. he goes around the manor thinking he can fly with a red blanket draped around him like a cape.

actually- if you want a young dad! bruce fic with like that kinda stuff(just with damian) go check uhh- in for a penny by cdelphiki. it's really good and bruce is like 24/25-ish. (and dick's there!!!)

This account has solely convinced me that Tim is a trash goblin ( @hamilcat-and-magic-turtle )

because he is. that boy has slept in dumpsters on multiple occasions even if he is the son of a billionaire.

Okay but when you said victory dance I did think of the whole justice league defeating the big bad and then they all start flossing

well that's exactly what hal jordan does and that's why batman uses a gun now. no but the victory dance in my opinion is like the 'we're all in this together' dance from high school musical.

The horrors in Invincible s1 was nothing compared to the comics, I cant wait for s2

oh well okay, i mean i personally react to horror and violence by laughing awkwardly so i can't wait to be called a monster for accidentally laughing at a mass murder.

I'm currently watching Batman: The Brave and The Bold and- Bruce is just talking about Oliver like he's an old love (@nightwings-kid)

okay im going to watch that lmao that's totally and completely in character for him tho.

The invincible comic is like super gratuitous with its violence so much so I'm shocked the show was able to adapt it in a faithful way! Anyway had the show been live action it absolutely wouldn't have the same impact as it does as an animated show and I'm so glad so many people agree with me on that

also because a live action casting would've been like uhh amanda stenberg for amber, the dude- the guy from the supernatural but with a mustache for omni-man, and scarlet johanssen for debbie grayson

Debbie grayson is a milf, yes. You're welcome for the invincible propoganda, now you can questions your life. Bruce def seems like the perfect father next to Omni-man. Like they really took a rip off justice league and I was like well, now I'm attached even tho I was like hah I know who they're supposed to be. And then bam- death gore death gore gore gore sad Mark grayson just had to have daddy issues. Why does every character have daddy issues. I'm sick of the attacks

because daddy issues make a person arguably funnier, that's why i'm not even remotely funny (haha good dad flex). i liked that it was dark contextually, but not in the colouring, bc i hate when it's like 'uh yeah graphic murder and now a shot so dark you have to sit in a dark room and squint at the screen to faintly see the characters. (like dcau ugh)

About the Wayne insurance, for a moment I thought you would put the video with moans over the waves.

i mean- i could've done that, but rick rolling seemed more family friendly.

Its the first time in forever that im surpise rickrolled, i usually expect it. Congratulations (i really should know better this is tumblr)

i get rickrolled so often but i actually like the song so i dont really give a fuck

Actually, my information about Damian and John's kids is outdated because it was revealed that the old men telling the kids stories about the Supersons were actually Jon and Damian the whole time. I was blinded by my thirst for Grandpa!Bruce Wayne but I was wrong... I liked my version better, tbh (@artemisa97)

fair enough. but i'd honestly like to see damian and jon getting together, just because it's a really fun dynamic and their friendship was really cute when they were kids. (also idk maybe it would be nice to have one (1) main batfam/superfam character that's not cishet)

How am i JUST finding your blog skdskfkd you're so fucking funny and ur takes are hot

i thought u were calling me hot :( but youre not :( crime detected (but lmao thanks)

So I have depression and I swear that your memes are one of the few things that have made me laugh so thank you 💛🥺 (@katekanebadass)

aw you're welcome, and i hope you're doing okay!

The metropolis memes are so funny, I love them 💀😌

i think metropolis is also so fucking funny it deserves more attention imagine having your entire police force being upstaged by an alien from kansas and his kids

as an american i feel your complete lack of knowledge of us geography is just so sexy (platonic) ❤️

thanks so much (i also don't know any other geography, i'm not kidding, like you can tell me you're from hungary and it will just blank, there will be nothing that comes to mind)

In the DC universe they don't say "Can't have shit in Detroit" they say "Can't have shit in Gotham"

this just reminds me of that guy whose porch got stolen like the steps to his door, and i'm thinking of people living in gotham and waking up without a front door and going "can't have shit in gotham"

honestly all i know about chicago is the bean, so. what would gotham's famous sculpture be?

gigantic gargoyle statue in front of one of the police precincts because a villain thought it was a smart way to keep the police inside, but it's too heavy to move.

why tf do people go on about how batman "works alone" or how he's the "lone wolf" when he like 38290202 members in his family

bc people think it's cool that a grown man in his 30s has no friends or family instead of calling it what it is (sad)

Bruce is gotham's sugar daddy

why would say something so controversial yet so brave.

my favorite batfamily fanfictions are the ones where they use their shitty codenames, unironically, in any context

dick: gerard way are you in position, gerard way are you in position

tim: for the last fucking time, my codename is 'totally not count olaf' this week, abbafan 3000

dick: shut up my codename isn't 'abbafan 3000'

dick: it's 'abbafan number 1' and you know it

I have a feeling Tim drake is ur favourite batfamily member but okay u don't have favs if u say so ok

i mean he is, i won't deny it. but i love each and every one of the batfam just the same, i just have a weak spot for short dumbass nerds, because i'm a short dumbass nerd.

Omg i fuckin love boy meets world too fam shsjkfk

bro boy meets world was the shit!!! it was just fire and awesome and so fucking great like bro. it was so good im not even going to be accepting criticism

you know I find the whole "joker completes batman" thing a bit disgusting considering the horrendous stuff the batfamily went through because of the joker and let's not get started on the "joker has a point" thing like yeah he's this cool complex villain but he's absolutely batshit crazy

like yes! i get what you mean the joker just fucking sucks man he doesn't do shit for batman's character or the batfam he's literally just annoying as fuck. like the joker has a point' shit is so stupid. i will accept 'magneto was right' because he fucking was and i think he didn't do anything wrong, but joker? he's just like that. he's not even cool and complex he's just a weirdo with a bleach kink at this point.

ALSO YOUR RACISM POST- SO TRUE BESTIE

thanks bestie, i'm glad you agree.

in today's essay of why I think cass should become batman- I was thinking Tim would probably be the most efficient batman in many ways but I also think he wouldn't want to be batman tbh none of the batfamily members would want to be batman because they're trying to outgrow him but cass is the one who wants to represent the symbol that is batman

absofuckinglutely i will say it again and again that cass represents the batsymbol more than anyone in the batfam, in batgirl (2000) she literally didn't care about anything else than bruce's oath to not kill, she thought the batsymbol was more important than anything in gotham. she's just an excellent character because her motivation to not kill is not 'i'm scared i can't come back from it' or 'well my dad says no murder so i'll go along with it' but that she's killed somebody as a young child and she never wants to kill a human ever again and that's so fucking beautiful for a new batman like yes.

need more cass, duke and tim inclusion in gothamite memes

yes yes, a tall order of cass, duke and tim coming up in 1-14 business days

oldest to youngest batfam members cus I'm confused as shit

okay order of being taken in: dick, jason, tim, cass, damian, duke order of age: alfred, bruce, dick, cass, jason, tim, duke, damian (though cass and jason are around the same age general consensus is that cass is a little older)

I'm so confused Steph is a redhead?? like how was it that hard to get this right? the source material is literally right there and free

cw is jared, 19

do you receive anon hate? if so, how do you deal with it

uh no, i'm not remotely popular enough to get anon hate and i also don't say a lot of things that would attract anon hate, but i do send anon hate to @the-real-peter-parker because he forgot about the specialists from winx club

Wait how many languages do you speak??

uhh- 5 if you include latin, but that's a dead language and i'm really bad at it. but english, my native language, german, and french also, tho german and french not fluently.

You can mix aguaepanela with aguardiente 😈 and is tasty

okay but now i'm curious if the liquor deserves the 😈 emoji or if that's a you problem. but i googled it and it looks like something you'd take one sip of and then not remember the rest of your evening.

[aurora-the-kunoichi]

For the Love of Shell - Chapter Forty Six - Halloween Festivities

Another chapter for you to snack on!

Here it is in its entirety. 

HALLOWEEN FESTIVITES

It had taken Donnie close to two weeks of hacking and snooping the government database to find out who and what that strange man was about. He was the head of a secret agency funded by the US Government called The Earth Protection Force or E.P.F for short and went by the name John Bishop.

 Unfortunately there wasn’t much on Bishop’s past but from the looks of his training and connections he wasn’t someone to cross.

Leo leaned against Donatello’s desk, his arms crossed over his chest deep in thought. He had been watching his genius brother search through pages upon pages of tedious government documents trying to learn more about this new threat. They were aware of their existence even before they saw them. Bishop said something about a little birdie chirping in his ear about them, who could that be? Was it possible one of the police officers that had assisted them with taking down Krang informed the government about them? Rebecca had assured them their secret was safe.

 His name being called broke him from his thoughts and Leo looked down at Donnie still parked in his chair. “What is it Don?”

 “Do you think if they got a hold of us they would really dissect us?” his younger brother’s voice wavered with  the horrid thought of being strapped down to a metal table cut and apart like a lab rat.

 Leo’s large hand rested gently on his younger brother’s shoulder giving it a quick reassuring squeeze, “I would never let anyone dissect any of you. I would die before I would let that happen.” The vile images that raced through Leo’s mind of his dead brothers in pieces made his stomach churn making him feel sick to his stomach. It was true though, he would lay down his life in a second to save his brothers and die defending them to his very last breath.

 Looking up from Donnie’s brown eyes Leo saw Mikey and Raph saunter in towards the Leader and the genius. The sly smile on Michelangelo’s face put Leo on edge, the youngest had something up his sleeve and was ready to test is sway with his eldest brother.

 Reaching Leo, Mikey swung his arm up and over his shoulder pulling the blue leader to his side.

 “What do you want Mikey?” Leo sighed allowing the brotherly embrace.

 “Do you know what today is oh brother of mine?” Mikey cooed playfully slapping his palm against the hard plates of Leonardo’s plastron.  

 “It’s October 31st Mike.”

 “Yeah Brah, its Halloween and we wanna go out and enjoy the parade. We never get to go out and do anything fun.”

 Leo let out a heavy sigh shaking his head, “Mikey, I told you before, we’re ninja and we stay in the shadows. Going topside isn’t a smart idea.”

Raphael moved next to his younger brother and tilted his head eyeing Leo, “We know what we are fearless and we know we don’t belong on the streets. But today is the only day in the year we get to experience walking around with the humans unnoticed and safe. I think after all we’ve dealt with lately I think we deserve to go have a little fun topside.”

 Before Leo could reply the voice of their Sensei interjected stopping the conversation. “My sons, you are right, you have been so dedicated to the safety of this city that you have not been able to enjoy the spoils of your hard work. Halloween is the only day you can go up into the streets with no fear of hatred for your appearance or fear of scrutiny of your mutation. Please take this day to enjoy yourselves and unwind. Interact with the outside world but please be careful.”

 Leo and his brothers stared wide eyed at their aging father. He had just given them permission to go topside and enjoy Halloween. For the first time ever!

 “Besides.” The old rat continued. “You are old enough to make your own decisions and able to care for your own safety. Who am I to keep you from your destiny?”

 The atmosphere in the lair exploded as Raph and Mikey jumped into the air in excitement high threeing each other. Mikey turned to his genius brother beaming from his large skateboard chair and slide to his side smacking him on the back of his shell.

 “Tell them about that party you heard about Donnie. Maybe we could go there for a bit. Didn’t it say there would be food?” Mikey turned Donnie’s chair to face his other brothers who were now looking at him awaiting a response.

 “What’s he talkin about Donnie?” Raph quipped picking up a small trinket from Donnie’s desk flipping it over and over in his oversized palm.

 “I follow a local neighborhood watch blog and I guess someone bought that old church on the edge of town that’s been abandoned for years for a dollar. You know the one, the one built in the early 1800’s with all the missing windows? It’s been in shambles from all the vandalism over the years.  They have been remodeling it for the past year and finally finished a few weeks ago. They’re holding a neighborhood Halloween party for all the people in the neighborhood. There had been so many people stopping by during the construction to see what was going on, the owner thought it would be nice to let everyone see the work done to restore the old church. Supposedly there will be food too, which is what caught Mikey’s attention a week ago.”

 Mikey took out a lone nunchaku and spun it in his wrist circling Leonardo; he could tell by the confused look on his brother’s face he couldn’t remember the place. “You know that old church we used to play in when Master Splinter went to bed, we’d sneak out and play around swinging in the open rafters and hurtling the old pews.”

 Suddenly Mikey stopped in his tracks the blood in his veins running cold, he realized what he had just confessed in front of their father. Something he did not know about their past.

 “Mikey.” Raph growled in frustration resting his large head in his hands.

 With a grimace across his face Mikey slowly turned his head to face his father, dreading the death glare from the feisty old rat. The amused look on the rat took him by surprise, he wasn’t angry?

 Splinter watched his sons faces as they glared at their youngest brother then trained their gaze to their father to see how upset he was. When all their attention was on him he began to laugh, a good belly laugh he hadn’t managed to have in quite some time. “My sons you were only 6 years old when you started to venture out on your own. Your ninja skills were barely even tapped yet, so I heard you four leave each time. Instead of punishing your natural inquisitiveness for the outside world I just followed close behind to make sure you were safe. You boys will have hardships around every corner as you continue to age, who was I to stop you exploring your city. The more you got comfortable with your surroundings the more you could protect yourself; learn faster ways to get home. It was a very tiring time though, making sure I heard you each time, so I could supervise. Not a lot sleep when you were curious toddlers. But it did help your confidence and your bond with each other. You knew you had to rely on each other to get back home safely.”

 Their tense bodies relaxed as their father confessed he knew they had gone topside when they were younger. It was a secret they had promised not to tell anyone just in case it would get back to their father. As it turned out he knew the entire time and had followed them on each adventure.

 Leo let out a shaky breath realizing the wrath of his father would not come. A large bullet had been dodged and a small weight of the lie was lifted. “Yes, I know which church you’re talking about now. Yeah, I wouldn’t see why not, could be fun seeing the old place redone.” Leo scratched his chin contemplating their route; if they were going up to the streets they needed some sort of plan before they headed out just in case they got lost in the crowd. They still needed to be careful even though this was a leisurely outing. There was always a chance of running into some Purple Dragons at Halloween.

 To their surprise and delight it wasn’t difficult to get into the parade. With their great “costumes” they were pulled into the sea of people by several hands congratulating them on the detail of their work. At one point people on a parade float had tried to coax them up and onto the decorated trailer. Politely declining they moved back away from the reaching hands. That would expose them more than they already were. Thankfully their ninja skills had helped them mange to avoid any cameras as well.

 It was nice getting to know people, conversating and mingling with their fellow New Yorkers. There were no screams or flying insults, just random high fives and praises.

 “So life like!” One woman squealed running her hands over Raphael’s forearm excitedly and pressing down on his skin to feel the dense muscles beneath. “It feels like real scales; how did you do that?!”

 The red brute smirked when her wandering hands tried to encircle the impossible mass of his biceps. He allowed her hands to travel farther up to his neck, her touches giving his green skin a rush of goose bumps. “These hands are pure talent sweetheart in more ways than one.” He cooed seductively stepping into her personal space getting lost in the attention.

 Leo watched the exchange and figured it was a good time to pry the beast away from his prey before he sunk his teeth in too far. “Come on lover boy, let’s get moving before you bite off more than you can chew.” His hand hooked around the back of the brutes harness and started to pull him away from the unsuspecting female.

 The woman grew disappointed when Raphael was pulled from her groping fingers, “Come back! He’s fine, I like it rough!” She called after the retreating terrapins.

“Damn Raph, you attracted the girls real quick.” Mikey laughed giving a quick glance over his shoulder at the sad woman they had just left behind.

 Raphael turned abruptly ripping his harness from his older brother’s tight grasp and hissed in frustration. “Damn fearless, why you gotta cock block a brother.”

 “What were you gonna do Raph when she found that ‘costume’ doesn’t come off? When you got back to her apartment for a few fun evening activities?” Leo laughed as he moved around a poorly designed SpongeBob costume.

 “You never know Leo; she could have been cool with fucking a mutant turtle? Aurora can’t be the only woman who’s willing to spread her legs for mutant dick?”

 The comment made the leader stop in his tracks and the dense muscles in his neck bunch painfully. Slowly he turned to face his brother and the expression Raph was expecting was nowhere close to the look on the leader’s face. Pain swirled in the blue orbs of his eldest brother making Raph instantly regret the remark.

 “I-I’m sorry Leo, that was disrespectful to Aurora.”

 Leos’ eyes lowered to the city streets contemplating something and gave his muscled brother one final glare before returning his attention back to the mass of people in the parade.

 Donnie came up to the ashamed brother and nudged his shoulder gaining his interest, “You know you’re not wrong Raph. Statistically speaking there are plenty of woman out there who would be willing to bed us. There is a huge following of people online calling themselves ‘Furries’ and ‘Scalies’ that would prefer our unusual body types and larger…….physiques to normal human beings.”

 With a deep rolling laughter Raphael patted his genius brothers shell, “Thanks Don, I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m on the net.”

 As the parade came to a close they parted from the bustling crowd and headed towards the remodeled church that was holding the public house warming party. The walk was short but the anticipation for their first real party was staggering.

 Just as they remembered, the old church was surrounded by a large brick wall that towered even over them, perhaps 15 feet tall. It would require scaling it they needed to get over its walls. The old cast iron door they was barely holding onto its hinges was replaced by a massive wood and iron door. Its structure looked sound and secure not like the rickety old gates. This was built to withstand some heavy pounding and privacy.

  As they passed through the new protective doors they gazed up at the newly restored stained glass windows, marveling at the colors. When they were kids they remembered several kids throwing rocks at the beautiful glass shattering the window to smithereens. It was good to see them intact and cleaned for once; they seemed to sparkle in the moonlight.

 The once broken and uneven stairway up to the main door had been removed and replaced by fresh concrete and a new wood and iron hand rail. Gone were the tags from gang members and inconsiderate kids who defiled the old brick work on the outside of the ancient building. Someone had spent hours power washing the outside to rid the grey stone of the canned paint.

 Reaching the top of the stairs the old wooden doors that had been long torn from their hinges had been replaced by new metal doors. About half way up the thick doors were matching stained glass windows just above their eye line to complete the look of the exterior.

Donnie pointed to the almost invisible camera just to the left of the large front door, noting the advanced security system that protected the property. “So far I’m impressed, the tech is high end, like nearly impossible to hack and the outside is wonderfully redone. Even the shrubbery is trimmed and lush.”

 Raph’s large thick fingers wrapped around the elaborate handle and opened the door revealing the newly converted sanctuary. After all the years of abuse most of the pews had been burned or stolen so it wasn’t too much of a shock seeing the rows of benches gone. All of the religious relics were long gone as well; even the large wooden statue of Jesus that had hung above the pulpit had been taken years ago.

 The large spacious vaulted ceilings were repaired and refinished leaving no trace of the old roof’s leaks to see. At the back of the sanctuary was a huge circle stained glass window that sat high above the pulpit. It had been shattered long before they found the old building when they were tots so they never saw the vibrant colors inside the window. Now inside the round window sat a beautifully crafted piece of art, each little different colored piece of glass formed a dahlia flower. The large center piece was outlined with more flowers and stars with a background that transitioned from light blue to dark.

 Below the circle stained glass window was a large flat screen TV hanging from the wall with an oversized u-shaped couch just before it. Already people were sitting on it mingling and having conversations while snacking on plates of food.  

 The atmosphere was friendly and inviting and almost immediately people began to introduce themselves commenting on their ‘costumes’. That was when the aroma of delicious smelling food invaded their senses. Mikey was the first to grumble and turned towards the large kitchen sitting to the left, open to the expansive room of the old sanctuary. Atop the counters along with another large island covered in white quarts sat a plethora of foods and desserts.

 Mikey wasted no time and made a beeline for the kitchen and the foods followed by Raph and Donnie. Leo kept his attention on the transformation of the old church. They had never seen the space so lit up besides the beams from their flashlights. It was nice to see the old church fixed up and ready for its new life.

 Leo left his brothers to pillage the refreshments and continued down a wide hallway to look at more of the house. A bright sign with bold lettering was sitting on a stand just at the opening.

 “Please feel free to roam about the house. If the door is open you are welcome inside, but if the door is closed please respect the privacy of the home owner and remain outside.”

 Continuing down the wide hallway he peaked through each room that was open. The first room on the right was the old Library, it looked like it had been restored to its former glory. All of the busted shelves were whole and matching the rest of the wood perfectly. You wouldn’t have been able to tell of the previous vandalism which was nice, there had been too many swastikas lining the floor.

 Shelves took up every inch of space on the walls, from floor to ceiling it towered. Almost every inch of space was lined with books ranging from what looked like ancient to new. Colors splashed the shelves from their spines like an abstract painting making his fingers inch to pull a book from its home to read. They had their own library but nothing this expansive. His eyes and finger tips roamed over some of the spines and grew a bit envious at the rare books he only dreamed of reading. Some of them were ancient books from Japan dating back almost 200 years, he wondered if they should be in a museum not sitting freely on someone’s bookcase.

 Resisting the rising urge to pull a book from the shelve and take a spot on one of the lush chairs Leonardo took his leave and headed back out into the hallway. With a quick look the blue banded terrapin found his brothers hovering over the food thoroughly stuffing their faces. With a crooked grin he turned back and continued his tour of the renovated church.

 As Donnie and Raphael moved away from the refreshments Mikey stayed behind sampling a tray of fancy cheeses. This was a great opportunity to try different cheeses together to better his pizza making skills. Where else would be get chance to sample so many cheeses at once…for free?

 Putting a slice of munster and gouda on top of each other Mikey slid the concoction between his lips and found very unpleasantly the two did not mix. While his face was scrunched up from the awful taste the person behind the counter who had been diligently working to prepare a new snack turned around and nearly dropped the tray in their hands.

 Mikey’s hand moved over his mouth as he hurriedly tried to finish off the taste on his tongue, “I’m sorry.” He mumbled quietly before popping a strawberry in his mouth to mask the flavor. “Munster and gouda do not mix. Mistakes were made. Blerg….”

 The woman in what was a phantom of the opera costume set the plate of what looked like pizza pinwheels down next to the veggie tray and stepped back. She smelled of freshly baked breads and sweets, it was comforting and made his stomach grumble for more. Mikey ignored her unsure gaze and swiped up a pinwheel to pop it in his mouth.

 “Wait!” she cried out reaching for him as the pastry disappeared behind his teeth. “It’s still hot!”

 She was undoubtedly right; he could have sworn he heard the flesh on his tongue sizzle at the treat settled on the wiggling appendage. But instead of spitting it out Mikey huffed around the burning deliciousness trying his best to cool the food down and not drool all over himself. In and out he sucked in air desperately trying to bring the temp down. After a few minutes of rolling the burning dough around on his tongue it was finally cool enough to swallow. Mikey took a swig of his punch to sooth his throbbing tongue and eyed the now giggling woman.

 “Are you alright?”

 Sticking the tip of his tongue out he nodded, “I no longer have skin on my tongue but you know I’ll live drinking the rest of my meals through a straw.”

 She mumbled something under her breath but Mikey couldn’t make it out.

 “What was that?”

 “Ohh oh nothing, just talking to myself really.” The woman stepped back and leaned up against the counter, “So that’s a pretty elaborate costume you got there.” Her finger waged up and down alluding to his massive shell and green skin. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were a living breathing turtle man.”

 “Nope.” Mikey coughed popping a piece of cool broccoli in his mouth. “All foam and plastic. Can you imagine a giant turtle living in New York. Where would something like that live?”

 “The sewer?” she calmly remarked. “I can imagine there are a never ending slew of tunnels under us with abandoned train stations perfect for subterranean housing?”

 Mikey reached for a chicken salad sandwich and paused. “Don’t you think it would smell down there?”

 “Nah, it’s not that bad down there.”

 “How would you know?” His baby blues rose in surprise but found the woman gone and another plate of pizza pin wheels in front of him. “Hmmmm.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Leonardo made his way down the hallway and found a bathroom, two extraordinarily large empty rooms but only encountered two closed doors.  At the end of the hallway there were two large French doors open wide to a giant roaring fire. Taking his time to reach the large room he noticed an open set of stairs leading to the second floor to the old structure. Making a detour he began scaling the old wooden stair case noting the restored finish and carpentry work.

 His hefty green hand ran over the handy work with each unhurried step taking in the detailed craftsmanship. At the first landing there was another partial stained glass window that had been restored like the others along with a built in bench. Stopping to peer out Leonardo found a beautiful fresh garden with a massive water feature just below. The water poured out freely from a fountain that contained four large turtles perched on top of each other playfully. What a usual choice of animal for a fountain he thought in the back of his mind making his way up the last flight of stairs to the second floor.  

 At the landing Leo found the master bedroom just to the right. Like the large room below it had two ornate doors leading into a massive room and a large fireplace in the same spot as the first floor. Looking up he saw the only original stained glass window left sitting high on the wall. A massive circle with the virgin Mary holding a baby Jesus, the array of colors was stunning and as the moonlight filtered through the colored glass it left beautiful streaks of color on the white linen of the king size bed just below.

 A flair of jealously sparked through the leaders mind, to be human to be able to live above ground with such luxuries like windows and clean linen that didn’t smell like the dank sewer systems. To finally be able to sun themselves in the sunlight, would be a treat in itself. His fingers ran over the soft fabric and pressed down on the mattress enjoying the textures against his skin.

 He wandered around the room for a bit and ventured into the bathroom, his blue eyes wandered to the very large tiled shower and massive soaking tub. The tub alone looked like it could fit him and his shell plus another person comfortably inside. Taking his phone out Leo took a quick picture to show Donnie. What an improvement to the lair it would be to be able to actually have a tub large enough for them to immerse completely in, shell in all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Raphael made his way through the open doors of the first floor, until he found the giant study in the back with a massive warm crackling fire in the gigantic hollow of the room’s main focal point. It radiated a welcoming heat helping the chill from the night’s air melt from his scaled skin. Looking around Raphael remembered most of the walls in this church had been crumbling stone. There had been small holes in the structure as time ate away at the history of the building. Now all the walls had been repaired and covered with sheet rock and no doubt insulated property for New York’s winters.

 He walked around the room running his finger tips over the antique wooden desk when a voice came from  behind him.

 “And there was two.”

 Spinning around her found a woman leaning up against the thick trim of the open doorway dressed as a female phantom of the opera. She was dressed in a nice fitting tux with a large flowing red cap, a black brimmed hat covered her hair and a white mask that covered more than half of her face. He vaguely remembered seeing the woman working in the kitchen putting out fresh food for the guests. Maybe she was the host?

 Resting his backside on the edge of the desk Raphael kept his sights on the woman as she moved forward into the room, “Yeah I’m here with my brothers. If you see two more less attractive pretend turtles they be them.”

 “Brothers?” She cooed. “Are you all as handsome? And who is the talent behind these amazing costumes?”

 He watched her shift close fingers trailing along the crevasses of Raph’s muscled bicep. As she passed by he could smell bread and sugar, the woman had been baking all day for the scent to cling her to her like that. A hint of pizza accompanied the delicious smell as well making him suddenly hungry.  

 Raph was ecstatic Fearless wasn’t there, he may not get to take anyone home but by the way the woman was circling him like a vulture he was more than happy to offer up a small meal to the woman. He deserved a little action. Besides it had been a while since he had kissed a woman and Raph very much missed the taste of her even if it was brief. “Yeah we’re blessed, but you’re lookin at the cream of this crop lady. It don’t get any better than this.” His arms opened flexing his muscles putting on a show for the enthralled female.

 The woman stopped a few feet in front of him and smiled, “Impressive. What brings you guys to the open house and not out winning some costume contest? You could win top dollar looking like that. Not that I’m complaining about the position I’m in.” closer she moved resting her hands on his thighs.  

 The lowered lights and flickering flames from the fire crackling in the background made it difficult to see her eyes but one thing was for sure, she was definitely eye fucking him. The signal couldn’t have been clearer. Raphael leaned back spreading his legs which shifted her fingers higher on his thick thighs, “You’re just lucky I guess.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As he finished his solo tour on the second floor Leonardo found three more empty bedrooms along with their own en suites with equally large shower stalls and soaking tubs. Each room even had their own fireplaces, most likely for heating the rooms back in the day when electricity wasn’t widely available. Exiting from the last room he saw Mikey and Donnie leaving the master bedroom still munching on hors d’oeuvres.

 “I can’t believe you did that Mike!” Don growled giving his younger brother a smack on the back of his carapace.

 Mikey gave an indignant huff and shrugged his broad shoulders, “What? I wanted to see if I could get in the tub. Don we need one of those in the lair, I think Leo would love to take baths in the winter.”

 “Please tell me you didn’t let him get in the tub.”

 Both stopped in their tracks and found Leonardo standing just down the hall from them, his thick arms folded over his chest in frustration.

 Mikey popped the last of his mini slider into his mouth and smiled sticky sweet to his older brother. “Omf corsh nomf ((swallows)) why would I crawl into a complete strangers tub to see if our shells would fit inside? I mean who would be that crazy and rude? You have such little faith in me brah.”

 “Of course he did,” Donnie cut in dryly. “Had to swat his hands away from the faucet to keep him from filling it up for a ‘test run’.”

 “Mikey.” Leo’s voice was low and threatening in its authority wiping the smirk right from the younger turtle’s face instantly.

 With one stern gesture from their fearless leader all three mutants headed back down to the main floor. Without a word Leonardo felt himself pulled subconsciously into the large room with the fireplace just to the right of the staircase, as if it called to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With delight Raphael allowed the enthusiastic woman to crawl into his lap straddling his powerful legs. Now with her so close the bread smell gave way to a familiar smell, the smell of a woman and her arousal. It was thick and clouded his senses as she leaned in, mask still covering her face. His large hands found her waist but didn’t stop her from advancing further.

 “God you smell amazing, it’s been too long Red.” And with that she leaned forward slanting her mouth over the brute’s beak claiming a kiss.

 The familiar taste flooded his senses and Raphael reacted gripping her tighter. His tongue pressed into her mouth plundering the warmth groaning as she whimpered softly grabbing his cheeks with her hands.

 “Fuck.” He moaned breathlessly between each engage of their lips.

 As their mouths connected Leo, Donnie and Mikey walked in on the pair stopping in their tracks. They watched Raphael’s enthusiasm skyrocket as the kissed deepened. Both large arms wrapped around the woman pulling her impossibly close returning the kiss with everything he was.

 Raphael’s large mitt ran up the back of her neck and ripped the black hat from her head and locks of blonde were wound up in his green fingers. Mouth open and dumbfounded the three brothers could hear his rumblings over the fire. Raphael was clinging to the mysterious woman like she was a life line.

 “Hey it’s the snack lady!” Mikey pointed out breaking the spell around the two entangled on the desk.

 The woman slowed their kiss and disengaged from the brute and the massive turtle slumped down on the desk panting with a punch drunk look on his face; lips still glistening from their activities. One hand reached to her cheek under the mask cupping the right side of her face lovingly.

 Slowly she reached for the mask covering her face and slipped it free. There perched above the content brute was Aurora. Her violet eyes met with all three brothers and grinned. “Welcome to my home boys.”

 @imthegreenfairy88​ @tmntspidergirl​ @ravn-87​ @alonia143​ @blossom-skies​ @tmnt-bucklover​

[illfoandillfie]

Easy As A-B-C

Pairing: Professor!Gwilym Lee x Reader

Summery:  Professor Lee is getting sick of marking papers, you offer an alternative. One where he doesn't need to think at all.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected sex, bimbofication (without hypnosis), oral sex (m and f receiving), hand job, light dom/sub dynamic, dom!reader, sub!Gwil, overstimulation, maybe a little bit of hair pulling

Words: 4,537

A/N: This was massively massively inspired by my love @dracoladon​ and her Drarry fic Lucid (seriously, go read it because she’s a much better writer than me and also sex dumb Draco is hhhhhhh). Reading it made me want to write more himbo fics but without all the hypnosis stuff thats in my Future Management series. Then I got talking to @peachydeacon​ about himbo!Rog which led to talking about himbo!Gwil and this fic is the result of our discussion lmao. It was also partly inspired by a post on a porn blog that popped up on my dash but I can’t link to that because tumblrs dumb. 

Also, it is a professor gwil fic but set after reader has graduated so it’s all above board lmao

Blurb Advent: Day 24

Taglist:  @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama​ @deakyclicks​ @jennyggggrrr​ @drowseoftaylor​ @hannafuckingsucks​ @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming​ @queenmylovely​ @ilovequeenmorethanyou​ @johndeaconshands​ @borhapbois​ @stardust-galaxies​ @cherries-n-rocknroll​ @rogersslave​ @scorpiogemini 

Gwilym looked unreasonably hot while he was grading papers, his brow knitted, wearing a look of serious concentration made all the more noticeable by the reading glasses sliding down his nose. His loose tie and the undone top buttons of his business shirt lent him a casually dishevelled air, and that wasn’t even mentioning the way he absentmindedly twisted his pen between his fingers as he read and reread sentences he was struggling to understand, occasionally pausing to underline something or write a note in the margins. It all painted a very sexy image, the kind of serious sexy only a professor could achieve, though this sexiness was nowhere near new. You’d found his manner oddly arousing even when he’d been your professor. Of course, that had been a few years ago and well before you’d had your chance encounter in the local second hand bookstore that led you to ask him out. He’d stuttered out something about never having even thought of you as more than his student and “really I feel almost as if I’ll get in trouble for the conversation as soon as I get back to campus.” But the awkwardness soon changed when you confessed to having had a minor crush on him back in the day and having since hoped to run into him. He seemed more open to the idea of dinner with you after that and, if you were being honest, more cocky too, but cocky in a decidedly dignified and charming way. Anyway, one thing led to another and now here you were somewhere close to a year and half later and you were struggling not to stare at Gwil as he graded papers and looked professor-ally disarrayed and hot.

You knew it was something to do with the Romantic era poets that the students had to write about because he’d read a question out to you earlier to get your opinion of if it was confusingly worded. “No, I don’t think so,” “Then why in god’s name do none of my students get it?” he looked about ready to hit his head against the desk until he passed out but he returned to the topmost paper with a sigh and ruffled hair from where he’d run his hand through it. That’s when you’d started trying not to stare. A tall order when all you could think about was dragging Gwil to the bedroom and ravishing him enough to make him forget all about John Keats and poetry and the English language itself. Not that that was exactly hard. No, Gwilym had a tendency to get a little dazed and confused when you really gave it to him. Sex drunk you’d decided to call it. A transformation that you quite delighted in witnessing and causing. Gwil was sharp as a tack usually, always ready with some obscure fact or quote from literature. It was part of what made him such a good teacher, his memory for all things bookish, as well as his approachable (if a little stern) demeanour and his determination to get the best from his students. But it wasn’t hard to shut down his brain, cloud his memory and entirely befuddle him. One time you’d snuck into the bathroom at the restaurant you’d gone to for dinner and poor Gwilym had become so spaced out he’d spilt half a glass of wine in his lap and then walked into the glass door as you left, even with you leading him by the hand. You supposed that what they said about great power and responsibility was true. All the same, it was a fun power to wield and you knew that, with the right sort of attention, you could have Gwilym babbling incomprehensible gibberish with no memory of what a poem even was, which was surely something he’d appreciate right about now.

You blinked yourself from your reverie as, finally, Gwil set his glasses aside and rose from his seat, groaning as he stretched out the stiffness in his back. He rolled his neck back and forth, your eyes following, before letting his shoulders drop and moving to sit next to you on the couch. “I can’t do it anymore, I can’t read another word about Byron or I’ll loose it.” He sighed, draping an arm around your shoulders and leaning into your neck. “Byron? I remember that assignment. Everyone hated you for it,” His breath was warm against your skin as he spoke, sending a tingle down your spine, “Well if this year’s lot is anything to go by, the feeling was probably mutual,” “Mmm, I remember one girl saying she was going to shove her copy of Don Juan up your arse if she didn’t pass,” He lifted his head again and laughed, “And yet my rectum remains Byron fee and no other injuries befell me, so either I taught you enough to get by or you were all a bunch of cowards,” “Bit of both probably. And why would this year’s be any different, huh?” “I don’t know, you haven’t read any of their attempts at cohesive analysis. Some of them are just throwing out terms like allusion and anapestic and personification all willy-nilly, clearly without properly understanding them. ” “I think you’re being too harsh on them. They’re first years after all and it’s not always easy to understand all that poncy poetical bullshit. Plus, you know it all already so of course everyone else seems stupid to you,” “Maybe,” he conceded, though it seemed to take some effort. “Honestly, someone should put you in their position, see how well you go with it,” “Yeah? And who would do something like that?” Gwilym laughed as you shifted to straddle his lap, accepting the kiss you offered, “You?” “Maybe I will. Spell personification for me,” “You know it’s not high school English, right. We don’t do pop quizzes on spelling and grammar.” “I know you don’t, but this is my subject and I’m testing spelling. Besides,” you let your hand drop between you, brushing lightly over the front of his pants, “I promise it’ll be fun.” Gwil gave a half-hearted eye roll, “P-E-R-S-O-N-I-F-I-C-A-T-I-O-N, personification. D’you want me to use it in a sentence too?” You knew he’d get it right. Gwil always had been good at spelling off the top of his head which you supposed was a side effect of all his reading and the years devoted to the written word. But it was still a little annoying. Mostly because he was being a bit of a tool about the whole thing, but it didn’t help that you’d grown quite wet thinking about how you’d like to have him, like to turn him into the fucked out airhead you’d seen before. You shook your head and tutted at him as if he got it wrong. “No, that’s definitely it. I’ve just read it about a hundred times, I know I’m right. P-E-R-S-O-N-I-F-I-C-A-T-I-O-N,” he spelt it faster that time, trying to prove that you were wrong. “Try allusion for me,” “A-L-L-U-S-I-O-N,” Right again. You sighed as if you were disappointed. Gwilym raised his eyebrows but said nothing. “What about caesura?” “C-E-A-S-U-R-A,” The mistake was an easy one to make, two letters flipped around the wrong way, and you could tell he knew it was wrong as soon as he’d said it. He was surprised when you leant forward to kiss him again, cupping his jaw with one hand as you dropped the other and slowly pulled down the zip on his work pants. “But I fucked up,” he said softly, eyes still closed as you pulled away a few centimetres. You just smiled as you thought of a new word, “Anapestic,” It was another word Gwil had mentioned as seeing in his student’s essays so you knew it would be fresh in his mind and he proved as much when he spelt it, “A-N-A-P-E-S-T-I-C,” He was right of course, so you tutted and pulled your hand away from his crotch, grabbing his chin with your other and forcing him to look at you, “You can do better than that.” His features shifted at the sudden loss of contact, the look of concentration returned once more. If anything, your much closer proximity to the expression made him seem all the more hot but you resisted the urge to give in and drag him to the bedroom, curious if he’d catch onto your little game now and, equally so, to see if he’d play along, “Try Onomatopoeia.” A longer word gave him more chances to get things wrong but would his pride and his brain allow that? Apparently so. “O-N-O-M-” Gwil paused and thought for a second, his eyes narrowed as his looked at you, “O-N-O-M-A-T-O-P-I-A,” the last three letters were said with such deliberate diction that you knew he’d figured it out. “Good boy,” you said, letting your hands slip inside his undone pants to massage his dick. His hips jolted at the contact and he let his hands fall to your arse, squeezing. “What about, dactyl?” His reply was instant, unthinking, and totally correct, “D-A-C-T-Y-L,” You clicked your tongue condescendingly as you once again removed your hands from him. “Fuck,” “Well that’s what happens when you get things wrong, honey, and such an easy one too,” “I didn’t get it wro- fine, give me another,” You smiled, unable to hide how delighted you were that he was interested in following your rules, even if it was just his competitive streak rearing its head to show that he could out smart you, “Assonance,” Gwilym spelt the word slowly and carefully, making sure to only say one ‘s’ and to leave off the ‘e’. And you made sure to reward him for it, shuffling backwards on his lap so you could shimmy his pants down his thighs and wrap your hand around his cock. He raised an eyebrow at you but otherwise made no comment as he leant back in his seat to enjoy the attention. “Romanticism,” Once again Gwilym was careful with his spelling, intentionally replacing the ‘c’ with a double ‘s’ but that was the kind of behaviour you wanted to encourage so you kept stroking him off, twisting your wrist, dragging your thumb over his flushed tip. It must have felt good with the way he was sighing, shifting his shoulders as if to move his whole body closer to yours. “So clever baby, what about,” you paused, dredging up memories of poetry analysis and the words you used to have burned into your brain but which you’d not had much use for recently, “Enjambment” “Ummm, E-N,” Gwil hummed as you leant over him and let a trail of spit drip onto his cock, using your hand to spread it over his length, “Enjamb-ment, uh, E-N-J-A- no E, no A, M-E-N-T,” You leant into his ear and spoke softly, “That’s right, being so good for me, so clever. What should I do next though? Ride you? Or maybe suck you off? Or just keep doing this?” “Uh,” Gwilym shook his head a little as if to clear it, “mouth? Please?” “Of course, baby. If you can spell dissonance for me.” You were quietly confident that he’d get the spelling wrong, already noticing the first sign of his impending brainlessness, extra filler words where he’d normally not need them. It was funny though, usually he wouldn’t reach that stage until he was much closer to nutting. “D-I-S” he rushed through the first three letters and then stopped, biting his lip, “T-um, A-N-E-N-C-E.” You were sure the errors in that word were less intentional than the previous few and, as promised, slipped off his lap and settled yourself between his legs, pulling his pants off so he could spread them wider for you. You held eye contact as you let your tongue trail along the underside of his cock, tracing along a vein, though you couldn’t help but smile as he groaned above you. “Can you spell Decasyllable for me?” you asked before closing your lips around the head of his cock. “What? Oh, um, D-E-C-K- fuck,” he broke off as you swirled your tongue around his tip. “Fuck’s not a letter, baby,” you sank down on him again, bobbing a little lower. “I know, um, Deck-syllable, D-E-C-K-A-S-Y-B-L-E, I think. Is that right?” In answer you hummed and took him a little deeper, pushing his shirt up towards his chest. Gwilym took the hint and pulled it off before he grabbed your hair, leaning his head against the back of the couch. For a moment you just focused on sucking him off, listening to his shallow breathing and whiny groans. But you weren’t finished with your game yet.

“Epigraph?” you asked before bobbing down on him again, pushing yourself to take him deeper still. Gwilym remained silent as you gagged and pulled back from him again to breath freely. “Well?” “What did you say?” “Epigraph. Can you spell that?” He nodded as you resumed your bobbing, his hand grabbing at your hair, “E-P-P-E-G-R-A-F-F.” You hummed around him and his hips bucked up, pushing him further down your throat for a second. “No, don’t stop,” he whined under his breath as once again you let him fall from between your lips. “Sorry baby,” you wrapped your hand around his base and switched back to jerking him off, “you’re so hard though and I know you want to earn your orgasm like a good boy,” Gwilym nodded. “Okay, so spell meter,” “M- oh, I don’t know,” “You do know, baby, you just gotta try. Meter,” He scrunched his face up in thought, “M-E-E-T-R,” “See, I said you knew it, and you did it so well!” Gwilym gave you a dopey smile, looking proud at your praise, “I did?” His mouth dropped open with the movement of your hand. “Of course baby! You got it completely right because you’re so clever. What about sonnet, do you think you can do that one for me?” He nodded enthusiastically, “S-N-E-T,” “Very good! Okay, three more and I’ll let you cum,” “Okay!” “Okay, what about,” you thought for a moment, watching your hand pumping over his shaft as you trailed your fingernails lightly over his thigh, “Spell rhyme,” “Ummm,” Gwilym bit his lip in thought, soft grunting noises rising in his throat in time with your strokes. “It’s a bit of a tricky one,” “Yeah.” “And it’s hard to concentrate isn’t it?” “Mmhmm, so hard to con-ten-tate,” he thought for a little longer as you slowed your hand, “rrr- R-I-M,” “So clever baby! Okay canto,” “Oh! Ummm,” Gwilym pouted and whined as you unexpectedly drew the tip of your tongue around his head, “I don’ know,” “No?” He shook his head, eyebrows furrowed. “Okay what about, poem?” Gwilym seemed to have reached the last dregs of his knowledge, grunting in frustration as he shook his head again.” “You sure you don’t know?” He bucked his hips up into your hand as he shook his head again. “Alright, I’ll give you an easy one then. Spell your name for me, spell Gwilym,” Gwil’s eyes lit up at the suggestion but his face quickly slipped into a frown again, the expression getting more pronounced with every passing second he didn’t say anything. He sought out your face, his eyes brimming with frustrated tears, “I don’t…” his fists balled up as he looked to you for help. “You don’t remember?” He shook his head once more, a tear shaking loose and rolling down his cheek, “you said it was easy.” “It’s okay if you don’t know,” “Really?” he sniffled. “Of course it’s okay. You’re not supposed to know things.” “I’m not?” “Awww, of course not baby. That’s why I’m here, to know things, and you’re just here to make me happy.” Gwilym sighed and leaned back against the couch, smiling again. “Do you want to give it a try for me?” “Umm,” he whined as you slowed your strokes “It would make me very happy,” “Okay, umm…G? L? ummmm, M?” “You’re so clever, baby!” Gwilym giggled proudly and grinned at you as you adjusted your grip on his cock. “You’re my good, smart boy, aren’t you baby?” “Mmhmm,” he bucked his hips towards you as you took him into your mouth again. “Feels go-od,” he mumbled, almost panting with how close he was. You dragged the hand that rested on his thigh up to cup his balls as you sucked on his tip until he moaned and came, spilling his seed over your tongue.

You kept working your hand along his length, even after you’d pulled your mouth from him. “Was that a good orgasm baby? Did it make you feel good?” He nodded, pouting a little as you kept wanking him, “good oggsam,” It took all your effort not to laugh at that, biting on the inside of your cheek to keep from letting so much as a chuckle slip. Very few things delighted you as much as when Gwil forgot how to talk properly. “You know,” you said as you finally let his cock free, “sometimes when people have orgasms they feel euphoric. Do you feel euphoric?” “Mmhmm, you-porik.” “Clever boy. Do you want to help me feel euphoric?” “How?” “With your mouth,” “Oh! Okay!” You braced yourself against his knees as you stood, leaning forward to give Gwil a small kiss on the lips. He closed his eyes and smiled up at you contentedly as you shimmied out of your own clothes, dropping them all to the floor. “You going to let me lie down?” you asked, tapping Gwil on the shoulder. He looked around confusedly for a moment before his eyes settled on you, growing wider as he realised how naked you were. Without warning he surged forward, his hands grabbing your arse as he nuzzled his face in the valley between your breasts. If it were up to Gwil he would have stayed there all day but you had need for him elsewhere so you yanked his head back by his hair, earning a small noise of displeasure. “Don’t complain, baby. You want to make me feel euphoric, right?” “Mmhmm,” he hummed earnestly. “And how do you think you could do that?” “I don’t know,” “Maybe, cunnilingus?” “cun-un-un-un-gus,” “Exactly,” you directed his gaze down to your pussy, failing to hide your amused grin. But he was too far gone to notice, happily slipping to his knees in front of you. Telling him to wait for a second, you climbed onto the couch and spread your legs, beckoning him between them once you were comfortable.

He hadn’t been able to say the word but that didn’t mean he wasn’t skilled at the act. A string of soft hums and throaty sounds rose to your lips as he licked your cunt, the scratchy sensation of his beard only amplifying the soft, wet, warmth of his tongue.   “Can you, oh, can you spell poem for me baby?” Gwilym hummed and then started naming letters, his mouth still pressed against your cunt as if he didn’t realise he couldn’t talk and suck at the same time. You didn’t bother to stop him when he said too many letters or correct him when all of them were wrong. You just let his breath wash over you, his tongue flicking against your clit with each new letter, eliciting longer moans and sighs from you. “Fuck Gwil,” you panted, “keep going,” “Keep going,” he repeated, his voice muffled as he dragged his tongue all the way down your slit and then back up again, making you whine. You jolted when he reached your clit again and pressed against his head, keeping him close to you, your other hand trailing up your chest to tweak your nipples and knead your breasts. Occasionally you’d give him an instruction – “faster please,” or “do that again,” or “fuck Gwil, right there,” – and he’d repeat the words back to you, softened and often a little slurred together or mispronounced, before doing as he was asked, drawing you closer to release. He was pleased whenever another groan or mewl slipped from your lips, responding to them with sounds of his own as if he were savouring a particularly delicious meal. It seemed he’d taken what you’d said about making you happy to heart, though some of his whines might have had more to do with his cock, hard again and straining to be touched as his attention remained focused on you. “I’m c-lose ba-by,” you grunted as Gwilym pressed his mouth to your lower lips, as if to give you a soft chaste kiss, only to begin shaking his head side to side, rubbing his face against your cunt. “loase,” he muttered to himself, trailing his tongue back up to your clit, making you grind your hips up into him. It was impossible to keep your mouth shut in the face of such a feeling, wantonly moaning as you felt your orgasm bubbling to the surface. Gwilym hummed against you in response to a particularly loud moan which managed to be your undoing, your knees trying to clamp shut around his head as he continued to suck at your clit.

When you calmed enough to let go of his hair and loosen your thighs from around his ears, Gwilym looked up at you. His face was shiny and wet but he seemed to have regained some of his usual awareness. His eyes weren’t quite as vacant and his smile less dopey than it had been. “Feel good?” he asked, sounding almost normal except for a slight lightness in his tone. “Very good baby,” you leaned forward and kissed him full on the lips, tasting yourself as he opened his mouth and accepted your tongue. Slowly you dropped your hand between you, finding his cock again, not quite done with your brainless toy. He grunted against your lips and bucked into your hand as you stopped his return to sense. “Isn’t this fun?” you said softly as you pulled back, holding Gwil by the chin to stop him from trying to follow. “Yeah, fun,” a smile slowly tugging at his lips, “what is?” “Not needing to think, baby,” “Oh! Yes,” he laughed. “You’re too pretty to have a brain anyway, aren’t you? Much better off letting it leak out of your head,” “Mmhmm, much,” “And do you know what good, dumb boys get?” “No?” “They get fucked. Would you like that?” “Yes yes yes,” “Alright, lie back for me,” you chuckled, giving his cock a final stroke. Gwilym settled on the carpet on his back, grinning as you straddled his lap. Silently he held out his hand, all but two of his fingers folded against his palm. “No, I don’t need your fingers sweetie,” you said, giving the tips of his two fingers a light kiss, “as dextrous as they are and as much as I enjoy them, I think I’m okay skipping straight to your cock,” He nodded, letting you place his hand down on the floor again. You watched his face as you slowly sank down onto him, once again the picture of cunt drunk bliss with glazed eyes and his lip between his teeth. He smiled as you leaned down to kiss him, rolling your hips against his slowly. As you tongues entwined again, Gwilym framed your waist with his hands, slowly dragging them up your sides and onto your chest. He cupped each of your breasts in one of his palms, squeezing softly as you rocked forward and back. “Better than Byron isn’t this?” you asked, pushing yourself up a bit, but not so far you couldn’t kiss him again. “Wha’s Byron?” You laughed, “Y’know I think this might be the dumbest I’ve seen you. Can’t believe all it took was a rigged spelling test. He obviously didn’t understand, staring blankly back at you.

What he did understand was that you were moving further away from him and he whined as you pushed yourself to sit higher again, bracing your hands on his chest as you used your knees to raise and lower yourself. It still wasn’t enough though so you shifted again before too long, placing a hand behind you to grab Gwil’s leg. You leant back on it changing the angle of Gwilym’s cock, and felt his hands drop from your chest, no longer able to reach as easily. They came to rest on your leg, his fingertips digging into your skin as you rode him, keening as you felt the start of your orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. “Fuck Gwil, fill me so well, feels so good,” “My dex-ik-tus cock?” You couldn’t help but laugh, taken by surprise at his misunderstanding and mispronunciation of dextrous, but you nodded in agreement too, repeating your sentiments about how good it felt. “Wanna make me feel even better?” “How?” You sat forward again and reached for his hand, pulling it to your clit. Gwilym took the hint, messily rubbing as you bounced on his cock, but his whines and moans only grew as you rode him. “You’re close?” “Mmhmm,” You were on the verge of asking if he could hold it when he came with a groan, pulsing inside you. But you didn’t stop. “I’m close too, baby, so I’m gonna keep fucking you, okay?” He nodded, eyes fixed on you. “Good boy.” You panted, grabbing his wrist to hold his hand at your clit and adjusting your rhythm. Each time you sank back down onto him you did it harder, slamming his cock into you as deep as you could manage, groaning with each one. Your orgasm was frustratingly close but Gwilym was becoming steadily more sensitive as his subsided, wincing more with each of your thrusts. The winces turned to whimpers which turned to whines as you whispered that you were so close. “Almost baby, almost,” “Please. Hur’s,” “Nearly, just. One. More,” you threw your head back with a moan as you finally found your release, Gwil whining when you pulsed around him, a fresh tear running from the corner of his eye onto the carpet as he squirmed under you.

“Sorry, baby,” you said softly as you carefully dismounted him. He hummed as you kissed him again, leaving an extra kiss against the tip of his nose. “Did so well, such a good boy for me,” “Yeah?” “Mmhmm, so good,” He gave you a slightly watery smile and let you pull him into a cuddle, sighing contentedly when you brushed your fingers through his hair. You stayed like that for a while, knowing that later you’d regret lying on the floor for so long but unable to find the energy to move or the willpower to tell Gwilym you had to let him go. He gradually lost the fucked out expression, becoming more aware of his surroundings and more capable of clear speech. “How are you feeling?” you asked when you realised he’d blinked away the last of his sex drunk vacancy. “Better than before. Little tired but much more relaxed and very satisfied. And, before you ask, yes that’s satisfied and yes I can spell it if you want,” “I believe you.”

[nostuntmanneeded]

I'm confused, is the attention seeking simpleton claiming she works at the P&T set back again? She decides to pop out again when there are possible pictures roaming around that can prove her previous claim? Lmao, AO isn't just spreading COVID, she's also spreading a shit ton of stuff like desperation, ignorance, insolence and thirst for attention. I'm not being harsh for the heck of it, but if that idiot truly even works for the set, they need to fire that clown's ass, I've worked for several sets myself and I have lots of friends who works for film and TV productions as well and I cannot emphasized enough how badly production assistants are are treated on a set, they see you as the bottom of the food chain despite being practically the backbone of the set, you are expected to be constantly on your foot doing everyone's errands and one minor mistake could get you in deep trouble. A PA job is not for the faint-hearted and most especially a stupid fucking dumbass who sits on their ass and phone and doesn't know how to follow the fucking rules. She is openly breaching NDA conditions and you don't even have to work on a set, I'm pretty sure it's almost common knowledge that people on set are not allowed to share the littlest of details about filming, the location, the people on set and the damn call sheet. No one is excused from that, even celebrities themselves, keep in mind that despite breaking the no phones rule, celebrities who took videos and photos on the set of Endgame didn't post them until months after the release, that's how serious these things are but she's just out here blatantly sharing --unreliable-- information for the sake of attention. Aside from this, she's obviously slacking as she seems to have way too much time to interact with people on her blog, post a lot of ridiculous things and push the narrative she's so desperately claiming despite all the loopholes. An actual PA doesn't have that kind of time, the things you see in movies and TV with PAs running around set carrying a bunch of random shit, looking like Elton John on one of his costumes is not an exaggeration, that's how hectic a PA job is, that alone could get her fired, I have friends who got fired for reasons that are more trivial than this and they were absolute honest mistakes. On top of this, if I remember correctly, she claims to be a COVID PA or a CCO and if I'm not mistaken, it means her job is to see it that the protocols are being followed and that safety measures are being implemented properly, yet how is it that AO was allowed in set in the first place the very first she made these claims? She's an outsider, and is absolutely not needed on set, you don't know where she'd been, who'd she'd been with and if she's sick or if she just got COVID and is still recovering. She didn't undergo the same screening and safety measures the cast and crew did, you don't know anything about her background, you should not have allowed her on set. You're the compliance officer, it's your job to maintain the safety on set, not to keep the internet updated about some publicity stunt. You also claimed that there was a situation where you had to give her a mask because she was not wearing a mask and that alone was more than enough reason for you to kick her out on set, it doesn't matter if he's the star's girlfriend, grandmother, or uncle whatsoever, you are the compliance officer, I bet producers would be more than happy to assist you escorting a possible threat on set who could risk the crew and production. This is not just about the celebrities and she is not just some random girl. All throughout the pandemic and up until now, she's been known to making unecessary travels all around the world, constantly gathering with different people, and is always either not wearing a mask or not wearing it properly, she is definitely a threat. Furthermore, celebrities aren't going to be the only ones that can be put at risk with a COVID spreader going around on set, you could also be putting the health of other crew members at risk because of your failure to do

your job and because for some reason, you were so convinced that blogging was way more important than the safety of the crew. Mind you, this was the time when they were still a lot of people who weren't vaccinated yet and protocols were still pretty tight. I'm sorry but I would not feel bad at all if she really works on the set and ends up getting fired, I know people who got fired for being 11 minutes late ---because of all the errands they were asked to do--- and not getting enough coffee for people.

I definitely agree.

This whole production assistant narrative is fishy to me because it seems unprofessional. Why would a production assistant leak this information on a Tumblr blog of all things, knowing it's probably against the rules?

The only thing Alejandra could do to pass the protocols is if she signed up to be an extra in the film. Other than that, I don't know how she could just freely visit the set even if restrictions have been lifted.

[starman-john-tracy]

mmmmSKSKSKSKSK I sent this to the wrong blog but,,,for the prompt list thingy you reblogged, misc 13 with 2 characters you want

(I HOPE TO JESUS IT'S YOU WHO REBLOGGED IT THIS TIME)

“I’m worried about you.” [From this Ask meme]

The best response John can manage, at that precise moment, is a vague, dismissive flick of his fingers as he swipes his older brother’s hologram off of his screens, ending the call.

He’s busy, damn it, Scott.

Alan and Kayo have taken Thunderbird Three out to an asteroid between Mars and Jupiter to help a returning deep-space shuttle with engine failure and Alan’s got twelve minutes of air left in his tank, blood-red holograms ticking the numbers down at the corner of John’s vision. Thunderbird One’s been deployed to the Alps in the sub-zero temperatures of a snowstorm following reports from the family of a missing skier, and John could really have done with all the little comments about their Mom that Scott had decided it was a good time to slip in amongst receiving his instructions, probably in an attempt to keep it together himself. To crown it all, Gordon’s in the middle of a risky deep dive with Thunderbird Four in one of the darkest parts of the Atlantic Ocean, trying to find a missing ocean surveyor, with Two coasting overhead despite the fact there’s not much Virgil can do but clutter John’s airways with his worries. Penny’s apparently in the middle of some kind of bank heist in England, and so can’t take FAB1 to help. John, in an almost Scott-like fit of insanity, is almost itching for The Hood to turn up, just because he wouldn’t mind the opportunity to hit something very hard with the mooring claw…

It’s been like this for a week solid. John’s not slept in thirty-two hours and colours are desperately trying their best to become audible. His mouth tastes stale with jumbled numerical readings and directions and what-his-brothers-need-to-do-nexts. 

The astronaut takes a deep, ragged breath and rips his hands from the blue glow of his holographic array. He rubs the textured blue fabric of his fingertips hard against gritty eyes, trying to force away the tired moisture that’s gathering determinedly there from trying not to yawn.

This should all be routine by now. He’s got a schedule. A delicate balance of exhaustion and focus. John knows his body’s limits and how to push himself past them - swaddling himself in a cocoon woven of holograms and the loud, urgent voices of people who need his help until he’s lightheaded from the brightness and downing enough caffeine to make his hands shake is the only thing keeping him going.

It’s not a good system, but it works.

Well, sort of works.

John scrubs at his eyes harder, pushing against his closed lids until phosphenes bloom fractal galaxies across the darkness from the pressure. He’s so tired but there’s no way he's gonna be able to sleep this one off. Not with everything going on all around him right now. 

Not until these people are sa…

“John.” Fantastic. Scott’s back. Calling on his wrist Comm this time, and big brother doesn’t exactly sound pleased about being hung up on. John thinks better of ignoring him twice, though he rolls his eyes about it. “You’ve been running Comms for three days straight now, you need to take a break.”

“I’m fine, Scott.” John’s mouth shapes the words even though he feels anything but. He has to be fine. “I’m just doing my job. Go get on with yours. And fly a little lower, the wind speed’s up.” The holograms had started swimming alarmingly over two hours ago, most of their words blurring beyond legibility, but John knows what the warning orange blob and its proximity to the logo of Thunderbird One means regardless. Focusing is getting harder and harder and that’s probably dangerous because what if he slips up, what if he gives one of his brothers the wrong instructions and something bad happens, what if...

John really wants a coffee. Another coffee. That’s probably a bad sign in itself because John, ninety-nine per cent of the time, doesn’t drink coffee. Certainly not like his brother’s do. Thunderbird Five’s got a massive range of teas vacuum packed in little silver packets, mostly courtesy of the Lady Penelope, because John far prefers it, but there is a sturdy metal tin of strong, Indian coffee in the galley, waiting ominously for him like a red break glass in case of emergency box.

John’s been choking down up to three mugs of the stuff, black and thick as tar, spiked with crushed caffeine pills, every other hour, in an attempt to keep himself with it enough to do his damn job.

The system works.

He grinds the heel of his palm against his forehead, trying futilely to prevent his pounding headache from getting any worse. He thinks there’s a bottle of painkillers in the first aid kit, Brains’ good ones, and mixed with another mug of caffeine John reckons that should get him through the rest of today even though he’s hungry and exhausted, and all his muscles have a dangerous, creeping ache that warns of atrophy, of too much time spent in Zero G. John just knows his whole body is going to kill the minute he relaxes, and that, if the constant chatter of the globe weren’t enough, makes taking even a little break just not an option. He ignores it all like a pro, slipping out of the segment of Five’s ring with the globe in, and drifting toward the galley, his fingers uncoordinated and clumsy on the handrails.

Coffee. Black. Two capsules of painkiller and another of caffeine, crushed into a powder with his fingers and dumped in.

He snatches up the plastic cup of coffee and heads back toward his globe, lifting the cup to his lips.

“John,” Scott says in his ear. “You can’t seriously be going to drink that…?”

John does, in fact, drink that. He knocks back the boiling beverage so quickly he doesn’t even need to swallow and chases the scald down with another cold cup of coffee that’s been left on his countertop from who-knows-when in the past three days. It’s gritty in the bottom from the drugs. John swallows hard at the acrid taste, coughs, and shakes out his shoulders.

“Alright,” John manages, suppressing the urge to throw it back up. “I’m good.”

Scott just blinks at him like he’s clearly a moron. Which, John thinks, is a bit rude when he’s the one with two PHDs.

“How long has that mug been there?” Scott asks, gaping slightly. It’s not at all like John to leave liquids out in the open, and especially not in space. “John, it had a layer of mould floating on it.” Not like him at all.

“Yeah,” John offers him, with a weak, crooked smile that doesn’t make sense on his face. “Penicillin. Adjust your tail flaps thirty degrees, you’re coasting too low. You need to compensate for the way the wind’s being channelled between the rocks.”

“John,” Scott’s voice comes back dangerously low, “John, when did you last have a proper break?” John’s head throbs and he’s saved from trying to work out any kind of reply to that because Gordon takes the opportunity to check-in. It doesn’t matter that John’s vision is blurring, as long as he can hear his little brother just fine. 

Crackling static buzzes in the spaceman’s ears long after Gordon clicks off again.

The newest shot of caffeine is slowly starting to soothe his frayed nerves, though everything’s a bit… hazy, if he’s honest.

“John!” Oh, Scott’s still here, huh. “Ok, little brother,” The elder of them puffs his chest out and folds his arms, but John’s not paying enough attention to his hologram to notice. “If you string yourself out much longer, I’m going to put you on medical leave until you die, alright? Nothing can stop me.”

“I don’t need med leave!” John exhales all of the air in his paper-bag lungs at once. “I’m fine and I’m doing a damn good job monitoring everything! I never take sick days…”

“You never take vacation days, either.” Scott cuts pointedly across him.

“Irrelevant.” John dismisses him again, flicking the point away like it’s a hologram he’s done with, “I’m just doing my job. If you want to come down on me for working hard, then you’re the one with the issue here.”

“You’re going to kill yourself,” Scott growls. “Your exhaustion and carelessness puts everyone who works under you at risk and I don’t know what the answer to your workload without Dad around is, but it sure. isn’t. this.” A sweeping hand encompasses his brother head to toe - taking in the coffee stains on John’s blue fingertips and the darkness smudged under his eyes. “We’ve got to, I don’t know, there must be something that can take some of the pressure off. Alan was talking about wanting to try a rotation.”

“Alan’ll be bored to death within five minutes alone up here,” John points out, “he’s still too young.”

“Gordon then, or Virgil, hell I’ll do it. I’m sure we can scrape together something.”

“Scott.” John’s voice comes out much softer this time, certainly softer than intended. “We’ll work something out but… just… not right now, ok?” It sounds almost pleading. A little broken. Perhaps Scott shouldn’t have brought up their Father, or perhaps there’s already too much for John to focus on without throwing himself into the mix. “We can pick this up later if you want, when we’re finished,” He goes on to offer, hollowly, “but right now you need to check your heat scanner and find that missing skier before those kids who called lose a parent.”

There’s a harsh intake of breath from Scott at that. He knows as well as any of them why they, why John, does all this. If they can keep together just one family, compared to their own loss, anything seems worth it.

Doesn’t mean Scott’s got to like it though.

He clicks off and John closes his eyes for one, very long moment - the residual Comm chatter swirling in his ears. It’s tempting to just press his forehead against the cold glass beneath his feet and just not exist for a few hours... But Alan needs to get back aboard his Thunderbird with the crew members, and Gordon’s discussing going EVA with Virgil in the background and Scott’s thermal scanner has just picked up an orange blip amongst all the blue.

There’s always a later. When everyone’s safe. John can rest later.

[sophiamcdougall]

EXPLAINING SANREMO

(PART 1) Last week I was swept away, helpless, by the avalanche that is the Sanremo Song Festival and I am still recovering. For your safety, I’ve tried to keep the insanity contained on my Italian side blog. But I want to try to offer you a rough summary of what I’ve learned. Sanremo inspired the Eurovision Song Contest. Over five nights, 24 acts, each with a brand new song, compete at the Ariston theatre in Sanremo for a tacky little golden lion, and the glory of being the year’s Song for Italy. 2020 marked the 70th Sanremo, so depending on who you ask, it’s a venerable national treasure or it’s stale and embarrassing (Many Italians are sick of it. Or say they are, but see below.) It is also an EPIC STRUGGLE between THE FORCES OF GOOD AND EVIL FOR THE SOUL OF HUMANITY Let’s meet some of the protagonists: 

AKA: host Amadeus, entertainer and comedian Rosario Fiorello, il Bel Paese, and competitor Achille Lauro.

Amadeus got things off to a bad start before the show even began by praising his various female co-hosts - all seasoned TV professionals - for their beauty and their ability to stay “a step behind a man.” Outrage ensues, Amadeus claims he did not mean it like that, but keep this in mind for later. Also competing are Morgan (below, left) and Bugo (below, right.), who are performing a duet.

Going in, the one thing I know about Morgan is that on more than one occasion, he trashtalked my beloved and blameless Fabrizio Moro. So I hate him and want him to suffer. And apparently he has quite the reputation for throwing tantrums, picking on fellow-artists and sabotaging events he’s part of. But hey. He’s supposedly talented and Bugo clearly thinks he deserves another chance.  And we’re off!

Irene Grandi kicks things off with  “Finalmente Io” (“Finally Me”). But I’m starting with her not so much because she’s the first to sing as because I don’t think the song’s  got enough attention -- either for the fact that it bangs or for what it represents in the drama that’s about to unfold.

Finalmente Io is what, in the business, we call foreshadowing.

There’s a magical thing that happens to women with when they turn 40. The  develop Not-Giving-A-Fuck superpowers. The song is basically about that. It’s about freedom, and self-acceptance, and being 100% done with male bullshit. (It's also a bit of an ADHD anthem but let’s leave that aside for now.)  “I’ve lost all my patience, and all my fragility,” she sings. 

And, “If you want sex, let’s do it now. Heeeeeeere.”

Irene is the portent everyone misses, a harbinger of what is to come. 

Think of her as John the Baptist.  Onwards. So the first thing one discovers about the Sanremo Festival is that just because we have to get through 24 “big” acts AND 6 (?) new/junior artists, and they all have to perform multiple times, that doesn’t mean there’s any RUSH. Guest singers wander on and perform a song or ten. There’s comedy. We can stop everything to talk about football.  A lady comes on and talks for a million years about how her granny taught her that True Beauty is Found Within. There are also speeches about important subjects like violence against women. In fact, we are going to talk about that a lot, but also a bunch of competent and experienced female TV personalities are stuck taking turns at playing Amadeus’s Glamorous Assistant of the evening and he can’t shut up about how beautiful they all are while they cringe and lean subtly away from him. So it’s ... slow, and awkward, but within its own cheesy terms, things are normal. Too normal. Enter Achille Lauro. 

Softly, almost whispering, he begins to sing a song called  “Me ne frego”  (”I don’t care” - but with an edge of “fuck you”). This is both an everyday Italian expression and a fascist motto. Well, it was till now. 

A nation is convulsed. Right-wing Italian boomers are screaming because YOU! CAN’T! DO! THAT! AT! SANREMO! THERE! ARE! CHILDREN! WATCHING! Italian Tumblr, which like the rest of Tumblr is feral, thirsty and gay, is screaming for different reasons entirely. 

Achille, you scandalous creature, what have you done? What have you got to say for yourself?

Something strange and magical  has released and it cannot be contained. On with the songs. Good songs, bad songs, blah songs. I like “Tikibombom” by Levante - a love letter to weirdos and rebels, “Rosso di Rabbia” (Rage Red) by Anastasio about being, well, angry but scared you can’t do anything useful with it, and “Eden” by  Rancore, about... the nature of sin?? touching on everything from September 11 to the mafia to Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.   However, this contest is being judged (mostly - it’s complicated) by an industry jury of FOOLS, COWARDS, and TRAITORS who KNOW NOT WHAT THEY DO, so virtually all of the above artists are so far languishing towards the bottom of the provisional rankings. Achille ends up in 17th place and  Rancore at 22.

Truly, the light hath shone in the darkness and the darkness knoweth it not.

LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO RANCORE. 

Rapper down, repeat RAPPER DOWN. SEND HELP.

However, for people who went in implacably biased against Morgan, it’s not all bad news. "Sincero” (Sincere) by Morgan and Bugo is in last place. Whether this is anything to do with the song or because Morgan is a nightmare of a person who has systematically alienated everyone in the Italian music industry except the trusting Bugo ... we can but ponder.  Sanremo grinds on. Days blur into each other and I’m not even going to try to cover events in exact order. Sanremo knows no order. Sanremo is like the universe, linear time is a construct that doesn’t really exist, and chaos happens very, very slowly.  But meanwhile, somewhere on the astral plane:

At least that is what I deduce must have happened.

The competitors and guests look deep within themselves. Do they have what it takes? Are they ready to answer the call? 

Let’s see! It’s Covers Night! Which is also Duets Night!

That’s Elettra Lamborghini (yes, that Lamborghini) and Myss Keta.

 Are they in tune? No. Does it matter? ALSO NO.

Meanwhile ... something strange is brewing between Amadeus and Fiorello...

 But wait, PLOT TWIST.

Enter Roberto Benigni.

The beloved actor and director is the latest avatar of the Dionysian frenzy that has chosen Sanremo 2020 for the place of its birth. He is the One who will unite the electric queer mayhem and the impossible grinding tedium  of Sanremo. In him, the two strains will fuse and become unstoppable. He is going to talk about sex for twenty-six minutes

He reads from the Song of Songs, which ... I knew it was sexy, and all, but is it really like that? Do you ever think about NAKED BODIES? Roberto does. Do you believe in PHYSICAL LOVE? Roberto wishes you would. Anyway, just think of all the sex we could all be having, literally right now, right heeeeere, whether we are  “a woman, and her man. Or a man and his man. Or a woman, and her woman!” He is awful. He is magnificent. He is excruciating. He is spellbinding. We are hanging on his every word and we are considering chewing our own arms off to escape. He proposes an orgy in the orchestra pit. 

Hand on heart, all of that happened. Italian Tumblr, bear witness.

And what of Achille Lauro? He unleashed this madness upon us all,  is he just going to sit back and let everyone else do all the work? Of course not. Achille Lauro came to bring not peace, but a sword, to the world of toxic masculinity and gender in general and his work is not yet done.

”I too was once a little girl,” Achille sings.

Dressed as Bowie-as-Ziggy, Achille duets with Annalisa on “Gli Uomini Non Cambiano” - “Men Don’t Change”. It’s a heartbreaking song by Mia Martini from 1992 about male abuse of women, and not a single word, or a single pronoun has been changed.

However, although he’s the one in the competition, and the one dressed to dazzle, he leaves Annalisa the spotlight. It’s like she’s the tortured protagonist of the song and he’s a voice in her head, a sympathetic spirit who can’t swoop in to rescue her but can quietly affirm that she deserves better than the the hellish treatment she’s singing about. in fact, he pointedly stays a step behind her at all times. And she’s majestic. 

Of course, he’s not fucking DONE

He’s still got to sing “Me Ne Frego” again. Can he top the cape-drop? You be the judge.

So Italian Tumblr,  is now writhing on the carpet,  making a sound only bats can hear, and shitposting itself into delirium, but has it all been ENOUGH?

NO.

Poor Rancore has died again. Toxic masculinity still exists. Amadeus is still pretty gross. Everyone is going to have to GAY HARDER. CAN THEY DO IT? This post is, like Sanremo itself, getting insanely long, so ... STAY TUNED FOR PART TWO, in which Fiorello’s true nature as a chaos being is revealed, Amadeus faces his Calvary, and the gun on the stage goes off.  ----- UPDATE: Part 2 is here

[watchingspnagain]

Rewatching Something Wicked

Welcome to “Oh, DEEEEAAAN: A Supernatural Rewatch Blog” with Lor and Mace!

Up today, s1e18: Something Wicked

Something is causing kids to fall into comas and wither away. And John has sent the boys (cryptically, of course) to check it out. Through their investigation, and with the help of some flashbacks to the boys’ childhood, we learn that the something is a striga and that it attacked Sammy on nine-year-old Dean’s watch. John blamed Dean. Dean blames Dean. And now John has sent Dean to take care of his “unfinished business.” Which he does, with the help of another young boy who cares deeply for a little brother. But before the striga is completely dead, it goes after Sam. Big brother Dean is not okay with that. The boys have a moment. Also, Sam wears The Best Shirt Ever Made.

 Below is a log of our real-time reactions as we watched. Remember that there may be spoilers for any part of SPN’s 15-season run here.  Note also that the nature of our conversation is adult and thus it may contain adult language and themes.

 [and we begin:]

 Lor:

 oooo, I love this one

 Mace:

 this is the doc who's actually a strega or something right?

 Lor:

 yep

 Mace:

 yeah this is a cool one

Lor:

the bony hand shadow separating out from the branch shadow!

 such a cool shot

 Mace:

 YEP. V. creepy

 Lor:

"because I'm the oldest, which means I'm always right"

 Mace:

 omg the little smile

 Lor:

 and then his little smirk

 Lor:

YAAAAS

 SMARTY SAMMY

 Mace:

 YAS

 I mean, I'd never have thought of that

 Lor:

 and then Dean picks up on it without any more prompting

 RIGHT?

me either

 HANNAAAAAH

 Mace:

 Is this the second time we've seen her?

 Lor:

 yep

 Mace:

 cool

 Mace:

 bikini inspector HAHAHAHA

 Lor:

 wait, hang on, kids are getting sick, so the parents are keeping them away from each other? sounds unlikely

 Mace:

 snork! RIGHT?!

 OMG THE SNICKER

 Lor:

 LOLOLOLOL YES

 Lor:

 lolololol I love how freaked out he is

 Mace:

 Yes! And I love that the creepy old lady turns out just to be a creepy old red herring

 Lor:

 YES

 Mace:

 I feel like this episode may mark the start of the shift of the show toward Dean-centric...

 Lor:

 ooooo interesting

 Mace:

 the flashbacks, if I remember right, are about him being Sam's caretaker, right?

 and his relationship with the motel kiddo

 Lor:

 yeah

 Mace:

 this one is certainly more about Dean's background than Sam's

 Lor:

 definitely

 is Dean's hair darker than usual in this one?

 Mace:

 and it sets the stage for moving Sam into more of a supportive little brother role

 Mace:

 hm, dunno

  Sam's looks dark too

 Lor:

 maybe it's just the lighting

 Mace:

 yeah

 "you know I'm not stupid"

 Lor:

 "you know I'm not stupid" ooof

 Mace:

 oh DEAN

 Lor:

 HA!

 Mace:

 also, FUCK YOU JOHN

 Lor:

 YES

 Mace:

 most important = watch out for Sammy FUUUUCK YOU JOHN

 Lor:

 "it only takes one mistake" FUCK YOU JOHN JUST FUCK YOU SIDEWAYS

 Mace:

 HE IS YOUR CHILD NOT YOUR CO PARENT

 Lor:

 no wonder he holds himself accountable for everything and abuses substances JEEEBBBUSSS

 gaaaawd the creaking of Baby's doors

swoons

 Mace:

 yes!

 Lor:

 lolol this little shit of a kid

 Mace:

 YAS

 oh DEAN

 Lor:

 oh, Dean

 and Sammy offering him the prize

 I CANNOT

 Mace:

 RIGHT?!

 UGH

 Lor:

 PURPLE DOG SHIRT

 Mace:

 YAS

 well, you'd *think* it's Latin but not the way you're pronouncing it, Sammy, honey

 Lor:

 HAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA

 what did Dean just take out of his bag? is that his OWN JOURNAL?

 Mace:

Oooh, I don't know! I wasn't paying attention

 the fact that Dean didn't grow up to resent Sammy so much that he couldn't stand to be in the same room with him, but instead loves him with the fiercest brotherly love ever witnessed by man is just...amazing

 Lor:

 RIGHT?

the LOVE on that boy

no wonder Cas falls for him the second he touches him

 Mace:

 RIGHT?!?!

 Lor:

  "an old person, huh? in a hospital? better call the coast guard"

 lolololololol DEAN

 Mace:

 OMG HAHAHAHA the old lady jump scare

 Lor:

 the hand over his face

 YAAAAAAAS

 Mace:

 YES

 adorable, these two

 Lor:

 the LOOKS over the crucifix I LOVE THEM

 Mace:

 YAS

 Lor:

 SAMMY GIGGLING

 Mace:

 omg SAMMY'S LAUGH

 YAS

 Lor:

 YAAAAS

 A CHILD LOOKS SAD DEAN MUST FIX

 Mace:

 YAS

 oh DEAN

he KNOWS exactly what this kid is feeling

Listen to yourself, Dean

 Lor:

 the way he works SO HARD to make sure no other kid has the childhood trauma he does

 Mace:

 TAKE YOUR OWN COMFORT

 Lor:

 RIGHT?

 Mace:

 YES

 nothing hurts Sammy and nothing hurts kids

the Dean Rule Book

 Lor:

 YES

and nothing can be any kid's fault because everything is Dean's fault

 Mace:

 YUP

 just another way in which Dean is SPN's Jesus - he takes the faults of the kiddos onto himself

 Lor:

 YES

 oooof Dean. that is what it looks like when a man is using his all not to punch you

 Mace:

 YES

 Dean, I love you, but don't use the phrase "burned a clip in him"

 Lor:

 yeeeeeah

 Mace:

 "he sent us here"

oooooo

 this is a really interesting take on protecting the kids - Dean's version vs Sam's

 Lor:

 yeah

 so John was hunting a thing that goes after kids and he left his two kids alone right in its path?

 god I hate him

 Mace:

 RIGHT?!

 And poor Dean. The one time he takes a minute just to be a flipping KID...

 Lor:

 RIGHT

 Mace:

 FUUUUCK YOUUU JOOOOHN

 Lor:

 and what TF was Dean gonna do about it if he had been there?

 Mace:

 RIGHT?!

 Lor:

 "he looked at me different. which was worse. not that I blame him" DEEEEEEAN

 Mace:

 "he gave me an order and I didn't listen"

 parents doN'T GIVE ORDERS

 Lor:

 and then he passive-aggressively sends Dean to go clean it up now

 WHAT A DICK

 Mace:

 YEP

 "i'd give anything not to tell you this"

DEEEEAAAN

 Lor:

 I do love that Dean asks the kid for help and when he says no he drops the idea

 Mace:

 YES

 Sammy having healthy expectations about kids and Dean knowing kids are actually capable of more I LOVE THEM BOTH

 Lor:

 YES

 he prepares him for what's gonna happen I love him so much

 Mace:

 Dean prepping him for the gunshot is so sweet

 YES

 Lor:

 YES

 the fact he even THINKS OF THAT

 Mace:

 "it's okay I won't be mad" Oh DEAN

 Lor:

 RIGHT?

 Mace:

 so much better with this kid than John ever was

 Lor:

 YES

 awwww, Sammy

 and Dean appreciates it but they are NOT gonna talk about it

 Mace:

 and again the fact that he came out of that childhood better than John because John was awful and not as a John himself is so flipping impressive

 YES

 Lor:

 YES

 first thing he does is check on the kid

 Mace:

 yep

 ooof and it goes for Sam again

 Mace:

 "little brother"

 Lor:

 "okay, little brother?"

 YES

 oooof Dean shooting it more

 Mace:

 yeah

 Lor:

 how many kids are there in the country who grow up with Dean Winchester as their hero because he saved them once and was nice to them?

 Mace:

 aw, yeah

 and Sammy worried about Michael knowing about all the bad things now

 Lor:

 "sometimes I wish you could too"

 he doesn't want the innocence for himself, he wants it for Sammy

 Mace:

 yeah

[thewebcomicsreview]

Homestuck 2 has updated! Christmas is ruined!

Previously, on Homestuck 2: Literally nothing happened, and a non-trivial portion of the patreon supporters gave up and quit. Can this update pull a Christmas miracle and right the sinking ship of Homestuck 2? Probably not, but let’s find out! 

We’re back in Candyland, having completely skipped over Karkat and John talking about Dave’s apparent death, because this comic is only interested in long conversations when they’re boring and not about anything at all. That’s alright, I got the gist of it.

When Karkat is finally gone, John still doesn’t move. It isn’t as though he has nowhere else to go, since there are quite a few places he might attempt to make himself useful, for better or for worse.

So, it appears to be morning now, meaning that John’s son has been missing in a war zone for almost 24 hours and I guess John literally forgot Harry existed?

Prediction: This conversation is going to end in some variant of “Where is our son?” “Oh shit!”

ROXY: hey john can u do me a quick solid

ROXY: actly idk how quick itll be but its definitely solid

ROXY: harry anderson says i just missed u being here but could u skip back on over?

What.

So, I went back and checked, and apparently nowhere is it explicitly said that Harry Anderson was also looking for the Vriskas, so I guess he....stayed home? Which makes sense, I suppose, but maybe a “Stay here I’ll go look for them” would’ve helped. I wasn’t the only one who thought Harry was out looking for Vriska too. 

ROXY: sup

ROXY: follow me

ROXY: well were just going to my room so i guess technically u know the way

JOHN: haha ok.

John follows, trying to shake the ominous feeling he got from what she’d just said. He’d been in and out of this house a lot in the past few days. Why should this be any different?

Is Roxy....horny? Is the solid she’s looking for John’s dick? I mean, that’d make her saying Harry wasn’t available kind of weird, but I think this framing is a fake-out.

...

What the fuck is that lamp, Jesus Christ it’s awful. Just a cat’s asshole, facing the door.

ROXY: r u kiddin me rn egbert

JOHN: i’m not? unless you were, in which case yeah lets say i was also kidding.

JOHN: oh my god, i’m sorry, i don’t know why this making me freak out.

ROXY: i remember our past boot knockin with fondness but that is a situation im not interested in revisiting

Oh hey, it was a fakeout. Good job, Homestuck 2. You successfully implied something just through the art. Art which, by the way, looks a lot better than the last chapter. There are backgrounds and everything. I wonder if Chapter 15 was rushed out due to Hiveswap and that’s why it was so weak?

He’s almost embarrassed by how relieved he feels. So what if his ex wife wanted to hook up? Shouldn’t that be a situation he could navigate? Don’t people like to find solace in human physical connection during dire times? Why did the idea of it make his mind white out in panic more than, say, any number of the traumas he just experienced?

I’m not the biggest fan of the way the narration is going JOHN IS AFRAID OF SEX WITH ROXY LIKE HE’S A TEENAGE VIRGIN AGAIN (LIKE IN HS1!) AND IT DOESN’T REALLY MAKE SENSE PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IT’LL BE IMPORTANT LATER, but okay, noted.

ROXY: u said ur house is gone??

JOHN: yep.

JOHN: completely.

ROXY: jeez

Heh. I like Roxy, still. 

JOHN: so i just sat there, watching, trying to figure out why watching my house burn down felt like i was being released from prison.

If this comic actually uses the phrase “home” and “stuck” in the same sentence I’m turning this blog around and we’ll go right back to Winnipeg.

ROXY: aight then no wind bending just use your mangrit

Roxy flexes, the corner of her mouth pulled up into a familiar grin. John feels his guts, so recently calmed, twist up into knots again. Her eyebrows shoot up and the smile loosens. He must have shown something on his face.

ROXY: ok or just like push when i push

ROXY: we both got sick muscles

ROXY: no other adjectives necessary

I feel unqualified to talk about how hard Roxy is pushing the June Egbert thing.

....Is that the fucking portal from Hiveswap under a tarp? Also hi Candy Callie, appearing in HS2 for the first time. One of the Calliope’s is nonbinary, I think, but I honestly can’t remember and I think it’s Meat Calliope? 

JOHN: do i get to know what that big thing under the sheet is?

ROXY: hmmmmmm no

JOHN: oh ok.

JOHN: are you sure? i mean, it seems like a pretty prominent feature of the room.

JOHN: space.

JOHN: wherever we are.

ROXY: and a totally mysterious n COMPLETELY inconspicuous feature it will have to remain for now

ROXY: we r kinda in a hurry here fyi

ROXY: and by that i mean

ROXY: we are in precisely the amount of hurry that means im excused from having to a that specific q rn

JOHN: right, sorry.

JOHN: i will pay no attention to the object behind the curtain.

ROXY: u catch on fast egbert

Oh thing HS2 has not been great at is that it has a lot of plot mysteries that are supposed to keep us enticed but they don’t really get implanted into the audience’s head (Remember Vrissy mysteriously collapsing that one time? Probably not, she did it off screen and the boys kind of laughed it off). This one’s hard to miss.

JOHN: so... this is all downstairs?

JOHN: it seems like you had a lot of work done.

ROXY: well no not x actly

ROXY: were in the old meteor

It’s kind of weird how this meteor keeps popping up like this. 

CALLIOPE: besides, hUman divorces are even more fascinating than i had ever imagined, and being able to witness yoUrs in motion was an honoUr.

This is an unexpected but not unwelcome direction for Callie to have gone.

CALLIOPE: ah right, right. yoU're probably a little cUrioUs as to where the dickens we are.

CALLIOPE: how much do yoU know aboUt black holes?

Oh, wow, we’re going right there, then. This does seem like a bit of a reaction to complaints HS2 wasn’t shmoovin’ enough, but maybe I’m reading too much into it.

CALLIOPE: no, i mean, what if oUr whole WORLD was inside a black hole.

JOHN: ok.

A’ight, that got a laugh out of me

JOHN: ugh, i fucking KNEW it!

JOHN: i'm so sorry.

JOHN: i'm so sorry that i put the earth inside a black hole everyone. ):

I like this conversation a lot. 

ROXY: iirc at least part of y u got so weepy was the fact that u couldnt believe a version of earth existed where ppl got 2 watch more mcconaughey films than you

JOHN: listen.

JOHN: i simply don't think you all appreciated the gift you were given.

Quite a bit, in fact.

ROXY: ur not gonna enter a weird time vortex and change the trajectory of a little girls life with the power of love

JOHN: aw.

Roxy and John have a good dynamic. 

CALLIOPE: bUt Upon her departUre, the rift closed for good. as far as i can see, there's simply no way for Us to commUnicate with the world oUtside the black hole.

CALLIOPE: i woUld certainly be very sUrprised to find oUt that anyone had managed sUch a thing!

JOHN: ...right.

John’s phone has very good coverage, since he was able to talk to Terezi in the epilogues, as we’re being subtly reminded of here with that ... before the “right”. I wonder if it still works after alt-Calliope left.

CALLIOPE: oUr exclUsion from the overarching coUrse of events which governs all reality means that oUr existence here is liable to dramatic and violent Upheaval.

CALLIOPE: to pUt it another way, becaUse nothing in here "matters", we are likely to be sUbjected to things which are a bit bats in the belfry, for no reason other than it's totally insignificant to the wider canon of reality.

CALLIOPE: and mUch thoUgh i am personally titillated by some of the conseqUences of this predicament, it is a degrading way for Us to live. u_u

Okay, so we are now being explicitly told that living in the black hole is fucking with the characters and is part of the reason they make such baffling decisions, like Rose not telling Kanaya about Yiffy, or naming her daughter “Yiffy” in the first place.

CALLIOPE: we need yoU to free vriska from the clUtches of oUr misgUided friend jane, and bring her here, to the singUlarity.

ROXY: weve been calling it the plot point

CALLIOPE: yes, the plot point is a key part of oUr plan

CALLIOPE: as far as we have been able to sUrmise, the only remaining method for escaping oUr grim confinement depends on leveraging the UniqUe properties of this location to create an event of sUch catalcysmic proportions that it simply cannot be contained within the black hole any more.

CALLIOPE: something SO dramatic, so hyper-relevant, that it becomes ontologically impossible for anyone to ignore it.

CALLIOPE: for that, we need an individUal of sUfficient narrative cloUt, so to speak.

CALLIOPE: and to liberate her, who better than the embodiment of the aspect of freedom itself?

So, the plan is literally for Vriska to be such a Huge 8itch that the black hole itself gets sick of her and yeets Earth C out of its own event horizon to freedom.

This is actually a great plan. 

And that’s Hamsteak. This definitely feels like a bit of a reaction to complaints about HS2, but hey, I dig it, I guess? Definite improvement over the last chapter.

[whumpywhumper]

Realization

TW: Medical Whump, Depiction of Hospitalized Whumpee, Aftermath of Captivity, Grief/Mourning

Tagging: @misspelledwitch @insanitywishes @imagination1reality0 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @voidwhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi  @captivity-whump @liliability @muumimafia @fanastywhump @elisabethrosewrites @unsure-but-alive-752 @jeverest00 @texdoeshalo @fanmanga1357-blog

@0idril0​ @rosesareviolentlyread​ @walkingchemicalfire​ I’m not lying when I say I wouldn’t write without these three, thank you for all your support and enthusiasm. 

Follows directly after: Consequences    Masterpost

V***V 

“What?”

Clint felt an unhealthy sinking sensation in his gut at Kincaid’s stricken expression. A wild, cold fear burst to life as the two law enforcement officers raised placating hands toward him. His wolf stood to attention, instincts cataloguing each and every micro expression, the shifting of their scents to nervous and sorrowful.

They know something about Markus.

“Clint, I need you to stay calm, okay? We don’t know anything for sure yet.” Ben’s placating tone did very little to soothe him or his increasingly restless wolf.

He could feel the growl building in his chest, the subvocal rumble trapped against the increasing beat of his heart. Placing his hands flat on the table, Clint suppressed the urge to stand and loom over the two other men, not wanting to ruin the relationship he’d been building over the last day.

“What don’t you know for sure yet?” The question came out dangerous and cutting, the wolf unable to completely mask the fear fueled rage that was brewing.

Kincaid swallowed heavily, easing himself away from the table and the predator on the other side. In a move too natural to be anything other than habit, his hand went to his waist where his side arm was located. “Clint, I need you to take a breath before we discuss this, okay? We’ll give you all the information you want, but none of us want an uncontrolled were’ in the hospital, right?”

Belatedly, Clint realized his eyes had flashed to his wolf’s golden yellow, the unnatural color sending primal signals of danger to the two officers. Licking his lips, Clint also felt the sharp points of his incisors, the lengthening bone telling him he was much closer to shifting than he wanted to be.

Hissing air through his teeth, Clint closed his eyes and wrestled back control. “You’re right, you’re right,” he said, letting the air out in a controlled exhale. He forced himself to lean back into his chair, trying to trick his body into relaxing with the casual posture.

Ben let out a shaky breath of his own at the gesture. “Thank you, Clint.”  He exchanged a look with Kincaid, the witch taking his hand off of his weapon and nodding slightly for the other man to explain. “I told you earlier about the John Doe, right?”

Nodding stiffly in acknowledgement, Clint felt a black bauble of refusal form in the back of his mind. No, no, don’t say—

“Clint, he looks an awful lot like the guy in your photo.”

Denial rested heavily on his tongue, and Clint’s head twitched on a negative shake. His mouth moved without input from him, a tinny echo reverberating in his ears. “Which guy?”

Clarification. One of the first rules of investigation. Make sure you’re talking about the same thing.

Ben took a deep breath as he slid the phone over, tapping the screen to make the photo appear again. His finger pointed directly at Markus’s face.

Clint’s sharp exhale sounded like he’d been punched. His eyes tripped over to Kincaid, question clear.

Corroboration. Don’t take one person’s word as fact.

The witch nodded, mouth tight with sympathy. “He’s pretty beat up right now, Clint, but I’ve spent some time with him the last few days. I would bet money that it’s the same guy.”

Correlation and Instinct. Don’t ignore your fucking gut.

The smell of magic, Kincaid’s hoodie reminding him of Markus. His gut telling him that the John Doe was important. His wolf howling as he left the nest behind.

It all added up to one thing.

Clint couldn’t suppress his savage snarl as he stood, chair skidding back into the wall with force as that black bauble burst into sharp shards of rage. He barely held back his shift as he demanded,  “Where is he?!”

Kincaid and Ben met his challenge, standing their ground as they stood to match his stance, hands going to their weapons.

“Clint, you need to calm down.”

“We’re not going to keep you from him, Clint: take a breath!”

He didn’t stick around for any more words, long strides taking him into the hallway and quickly outpacing the cursing police officers. He inhaled, nostrils flaring as he scented the air. Bleach and the overwhelming odor of sickness assaulted his nose, any recognizable scents so tangled that it was dizzying to try and parse through. Growling in frustration, Clint pulled around the corner and into the open hospital ward.

He didn’t even notice several of the nurses and visitors freezing as they caught sight of him. Instinctively, he took note of one of the uniformed police officers Holland had put on guard placing a hand on his weapon, posture settling in to move quickly if he proved violent. Clint’s wolf howled at the challenge, daring someone to get in between him and Markus.

Gaze flicking over the details, Clint catalogued that most of the rooms were open for observation, curtains drawn back and glass doors slid open so that the nurses had open access to go in and out. Only one of them was closed off, the curtains pulled to afford privacy.

Holland words floated in. The John Doe was the only ICU patient on this floor.

Still barely a moment, Clint surged forward, stalking toward his intended target. Kincaid’s shout to the uniformed officer to stand down from down the hallway was the buzz of a gnat, Ben’s yelling for Clint to calm down and wait for a minute not even registering to the pissed off wolf. He had to get to his friend.

The only thing that pulled him up short from forcing his way into the closed off room was the tiny nurse that barreled in front of him, arms spread wide as she faced him down.

“Just where the fuck do you think you’re going?!”

“Get out of my way!” Clint snarled at her, pretty sure his face wasn’t entirely human. The only thing holding him back from going through her was the fact that she was tiny and, enraged or not, he didn’t want to hurt her.  The woman barely flinched.

“No! Do you not see the signs on the door? This is a sterile room, and I’m not going to just let you waltz in there like this.” Her eyes blazed, furious and protective as a bear in front of her cub. “What business do you have in this room? Explain yourself!”

Kincaid and Ben finally caught up, almost tripping over themselves as they skidded up the fray.  

“Woah woah woah! Everybody calm down!” Kincaid grabbed onto his shoulders, pushing him out of the nurse’s face, using his own bulk to force distance between the near feral were and the breakable nurse.  

Clint transferred his snarl to Kincaid, the witch not backing down even as the wolf shrugged off his restraining hands. He knew he was being unreasonable, but god, if Markus was in there then he couldn’t stand the thought of being kept from him.

He started to pace, anxious energy burning him up inside. He kept one hand balled into a fist, the other buried in his hair as he fixed his gaze on the people between him and his goal. “I have to see if it’s him, I have to. You can’t keep me away from him.”

Ben held up his hands, trying to regain control of the situation, his affable demeanor imbuing the air with calm. “Nobody is keeping you from him, Clint, let’s just all take a deep breath.”

Clint tried to take a deep breath, but it came in as a barbed gasp for air, his wolf absolutely frothing with the desire to break the door down and get to his friend. He could feel his incisors elongating and subtracting with the internal struggle of keeping even a modicum of control.

The nurse sent a cautious look between him and Ben, her stance never shifting from being firmly in front of the door. “I’m not letting you in this room until I know what’s going on and your relationship to my patient. He’s not going to be hurt or infected just because you’re pissed off.”

“He’s my friend,” Clint howled, the implication that he would hurt Markus making his heart splinter. “His name is Markus, he loves his friends, and he’s terrified of heights. He’s been missing for months, and he’s been alone, hurt, and scared, and I didn’t find him! Please, fuck, just let me see him.”

The words tumbled out of him in a mad rush, anguished and visceral, Clint practically sobbing out the last plea as he faced the nurse.  Her eyes had widened at his tirade, stance softening as his distress became evident. Both Ben and Kincaid came closer to him, preparing to catch or support him if he needed it.

“Okay, okay, Clint,” she said, nodding her head and approaching him with open hands. “You’re gonna get to see him, okay? Let’s just take a minute and calm down, alright?” She motioned at one of the orderlies who’d snuck up, prepared to restrain him if necessary, and he grabbed a chair so that they could force him to sit down.

Clint shuddered but didn’t fight, breaths coming in staccato bursts as he tried to get back his equilibrium. “Please just let me see him,” he repeated, eyes blinking rapidly to force away the yellow.

The nurse squatted in front of him, grabbing a hold of his forearms and catching his eye. “I’m going to let you see him, okay, Clint? You just need to calm down first. Take a deep breath and let it out.” She pulled in a breath, and he matched it, following her instructions as he calmed down. “Good, good job.”

It took him a few minutes longer than he would have liked to regain all of his calm, his hands coming up to cover his face as he finally let out all of the frenzy that had overcome him. “Fuck,” he cursed, “Fucking hell.”

“You can say that again, buddy,” Kincaid huffed, patting him on the shoulder.

“You ready to continue the conversation now, Clint?” Ben asked. Clint nodded, rubbing his hand over his beard before meeting Ben’s kind gaze. “Okay, like I was saying before, we don’t know for sure that it’s him, right? But for you to go in and check, you’re gonna have to get decked out in a mask and gown. You remember what David said, right? He’s not doing well so even if it’s him or isn’t him, you’re gonna have to control yourself and be calm.”

Clint swallowed heavily, taking another deep breath as he climbed to his feet. “Yeah, yeah I got it, Ben. I can do this.”

The nurse, Catrina from her name tag, stepped in front of him, hand resting firmly on his bicep. “Clint, I need you to look at me and listen, okay?” She didn’t continue until his gaze locked with hers. “I need you to be prepared for what you’re going to see in there. From what it sounds like, you’ve already talked to Dr. Decker, right?”

Clint nodded, hands clenching and unclenching rhythmically as he shifted from foot to foot. “I didn’t know it was Markus, would’ve asked more questions if I’d known. Fuck.”

Catrina took his cursing in stride, pulling his attention back to her. “I’m gonna take that to mean that you don’t really know what you’re gonna find when you go in there alright?” She paused to let his brain catch up, looking for the understanding in his eyes. “Clint, he is not going to look like himself at the moment, okay? His face is pretty bruised, and he’s heavily sedated so he’s not going to be responsive at all.

“I need you to understand this next part crystal clear, okay? You can’t touch anything. He’s got a tube down his throat, and a machine is breathing for him. He’s got several other drains and tubes that are under the blankets, but they’re all doing important jobs. I don’t care if they look painful or uncomfortable, don’t mess with them. If you have a concern about the equipment, come to me first. Do you understand?”

Clint nodded, hands raising in surrender. “Hands to myself, I got it.”

“Okay, I’m here if you need anything or need to ask any questions.” She handed him gloves, mask and a gown with a tight but sympathetic smile. She was donning her own gear with him, clearly not going to let him be alone with her patient until he could prove himself. He took a settling breath and struggled into the equipment with unsteady hands.

Catrina opened the room up for him, and Clint’s senses were immediately assaulted on all sides. His nose was struck by the sour, muggy odor of iodine, stress, and pain. The beep, hiss, and whirr of multiple pumps drilling into his ears alongside the obnoxious hiss of a suction mechanism and oxygen through a hose that only his sensitive ears ever seemed bothered by.

He stumbled forward as Catrina pulled the curtain back slightly to allow him fully into the room, drawn forward by the inescapable need to see if this was his friend or not. Almost immediately, Clint’s wolf started howling in his head, knowing even before he did that he’d found his lost packmate.

It took him a moment for Clint himself to catch up, to realize what he was staring at as he came to a halt at the foot of the bed, claws digging into the meat of his hands.

Markus.

Tubes and wires snaked across the bed. Hesitating, swallowing back the animal whine in the back of his throat, Clint put a hand on the lump he assumed was a foot. The blanket dimpled under his hand from where warm air was being pumped under the blankets, and he felt the rhythmic hiss thunk of compression devices around Markus’s lower legs.

He took a steadying breath through his nose, eyes burning as he catalogued the machines and devices he saw. He finally came to the head of the bed and flinched.

The bed was half sat up, his friend swathed in blankets, a folded towel protecting his eyes from the light. But there was a familiar black tuft of hair, and pale skin under a mask of multicolored bruises. It was all there, barely visible under a plastic contraption holding a tube in place.

He could hear bubbling over the sound of the machines and braced himself. He knew that sound, it wasn’t a good sound. Swallowing hard, Clint shuffled around the bed, careful of his feet. Fuck, chest tube.

He’d listened when David had outlined the John Doe’s condition, the impersonal words laying out all of the harsh, gritty details necessary for law enforcement and other medical personnel to get a complete picture of what was going on with a victim. He’d pictured in his mind the reactions of friends and family once they’d found out what their loved one had been subjected to. Had even pitied the poor fucker who’d gone through so much only to be faced with the potential of never living free again.

He’d never imagined this.

Inching up the side of the bed, he gently pulled the towel away from the other man’s eyes, taking a closer look at the face hidden under all of the medical equipment.

A wounded noise broke free of his chest when he compared everything he knew about his friend with the face on the bed.

“Fuck.”

Clint heard his voice like it was someone else’s, a pitiful broken syllable that held every tear he’d wanted to shed since Markus had gone missing.  

“God. Fuck.” His eyes were burning, and he couldn’t look away from his friend.

He wanted to throw his head back and release the mournful howl that was building up in his throat, give a voice to the agony churning in his chest, the horror of the fact that this. . . this was the result of his failure. Instead, he bent his head and put his forehead against his friend’s, blinking away the tears as they filled his eyes.

“Markus,” he sobbed, “Oh my god, Markus, no . . . “

~

Holland was the one that came to collect him.

Clint didn’t know how long it’d been since he’d come in to see Markus, he hadn't been paying attention to Catrina moving around the room, his sensitive ears dismissing the shared whispers outside the door. All of his attention had been on Markus. He knew it hadn’t been long enough since he stopped crying for his eyes to be anything but bloodshot as he met Holland’s sympathetic gaze.

The older man looked ridiculous in the yellow gown and blue face mask, the worry lines in his forehead thrown into harsh relief in the fluorescent lighting. His hands were gentle though as he threw his arm around Clint’s shoulders, other hand taking a hold of his forearm to pull him carefully away from his friend.

“C’mon, Clint,” he murmured, normally gruff voice so soft with understanding that it almost set him off again.

Clint stumbled after Holland like a newborn colt, legs uncoordinated jelly as followed the other man’s guidance. He was barely aware of the door sliding closed behind him before he was ripping away the gloves, mask, and gown, needing the scent of his friend’s pain off.

Distantly, he registered that he was shaking, and pressed his palms together, bringing his joined hands to his face.

He couldn’t even think. His mind was blank. Heart numb.

He jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder, whirling around with a yellow eyed snarl. Holland was there, his pressed lips together, Ben and Kincaid flanking him, all three of their concern clear. Clint opened his mouth, only to find that his words had deserted him.

He wasn’t the silent type. But this? It was beyond him. They had to see the truth in his red rimmed eyes, but they had a job to do now. They were no longer new colleagues working a case with a consultant. They were cops speaking with a victim’s family member, and they had to be certain.

“Clint, is that Markus?”

He nodded, breath leaving him in a harsh expiration, feeling suddenly dizzy. “Shit,” he gasped, grabbing a hold of his knees.

“Okay, c’mon, let’s get you sitting down somewhere. Kincaid, can you ask David to meet us in the conference room?” Holland gathered Clint up by the shoulders, trying to steer him down the hallway.

“No-wait—I can’t,” Clint’s words went in one ear and out the other, the older man bulldozing over his objections.

“He’s not going anywhere, Clint. He’s in the best hands he can be in now, right?”

Numbly, Clint nodded, running a hand through his hair. When they got to the conference room, he collapsed into the chair he had vacated earlier and looked at the mountain of evidence and paperwork that they’d collected, swallowing back bile when he realized the horrible things he’s been evaluating for the case had probably been done to his friend. It made it real in a way that cases usually weren’t for him.

Holland leaned on the desk beside him, reminiscent of their talk the other night, placing his hand on his shoulder. “Think you can answer some questions for me?”

Not trusting his voice, he nodded again.  “Yeah. . . “ he breathed.

“He’s your friend, and we’re going to give you any information that you want, but does he have any next of kin? Someone with the authority to make medical decisions?”

“He doesn’t talk to his family, closest he has to a sister is Illyn, but, uh,” he rubbed under his eye, “they never changed their medical proxies from Evan when they moved.”

Ben sat down across from him, faint lines standing out at the corners of his concerned eyes. “Is this the same guy from the phone earlier?”

Clint nodded, his stomach sinking. “I gotta call him again. Fuck. . . I gotta call Illyn.”

Holland squeezed his shoulder, exchanging a look with Ben, who nodded. “Kincaid should be here with David soon. Why don’t you get Evan on the phone first? David can answer your questions and you two can make a plan.”  

Clint reached for his pocket and froze when it was empty, looking around at the table.

“Oh, sorry,” Ben murmured, pulling Clint’s phone out and sliding it over. The corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile, “I still had it from earlier.”

His hands shook as he took the phone back, and he swallowed heavily as the screen lit up. The picture from earlier stared up at him. Markus was smiling and happy. Completely different from the still, almost lifeless, figure he’d just left.

“We’ll give you a minute,” Holland said, giving him a firm pat as he motioned Ben to the door.

“Thanks guys.” He sucked in a deep breath and clicked on his contacts. Rubbing a hand over his face, he waited for the call to connect.

How the fuck do I break this to him? What do I even tell him?

“Hello?” The sound of barking accompanied his friend’s voice, and it was such a jolt of normalcy that it took his breath away.

“Ev’. . .”

“Clint? I haven’t heard anything from Deanna yet, it’s only been like an hour, right?”

“Yeah, well, it’s been a hell of an hour.” His chuckle was almost hysterical, and he could hear Evan pause. Could practically see the concerned look on his face.

Carefully, his friend responded. “Clint, if this guy already passed then there was nothing you could have done.”

“No, no,” he said, a little too firmly, “he hasn’t passed. Um . . . “ his voice trembled, and he took a small breath, trying to brace himself.

“Clint?” Evan’s voice was filled with apprehension, “What’s going on?”

“It’s Markus.”

“What? You mean you found what happened to him?”

Clint balked at answering, looking up at the ceiling with burning eyes.

“Clint,” Evan’s voice was hard as diamonds, “did you find the bastard that killed our friend?”

“He’s not dead, Ev’,” he answered, words slipping free like a clot, “He’s the John Doe.”