#and historically burning buildings down and everything in them never fucking works anyway

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Once again thinking about a plot in which Roxy discovers through spooky encounters that the Staffbots are all forcibly possessed by employees Fazbear killed in that staff party. I was thinking in order to free them, there should be a device that's actively forcing these ghosts to stay and inhabit these bodies and I've had an idea

Is there a gold statue in almost every attraction? I know there's a few in the Raceway, Rockstar Row, Fazcade, Daycare, one big Freddy one in the lobby, and possibly one in Gator Golf? There's a regular statue of Foxy in Kids Cove too I guess, but am I missing any?

Cause what if some of these statues are like transmitters for this device that keeps all the Staffbots possessed?

[horansqueen]

Stuck With You - Chapter 14

Chapter 14: I Really Like You

🡪chapter 1  🡪chapter 2  🡪chapter 3  🡪chapter 4  🡪chapter 5  🡪chapter 6   🡪chapter 7  🡪chapter 8  🡪chapter 9  🡪chapter 10  🡪chapter 11 🡪chapter 12 🡪chapter 13

College Enemies To Lovers AU

characters // masterlist // instagrams // mood board

I really wanna stop, but I just got the taste for it I feel like I could fly with the boy on the moon So, honey, hold my hand, you like making me wait for it I feel like I could die walking up to the room, oh yeah

It's way too soon, I know this isn't love

I really, really, really, really, really, really like you And I want you, do you want me, do you want me, too? I really, really, really, really, really, really like you And I want you, do you want me, do you want me, too?

It's like everything you say is a sweet revelation All I wanna do is get into your head Yeah, we could stay alone, you and me in this temptation Sipping on your lips, hanging on by thread, baby

Who gave you eyes like that? Said you could keep them I don't know how to act Or if I should be leaving I'm running out of time Going out of my mind I need to tell you something 

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                                              The text message I got of Niall telling me to join him to his car made something stir in my stomach. I rushed to the bathroom to look at myself one last time in the mirror, getting on my tiptoe and pulling on my shirt slightly before quickly running out of the building. I heard the honk of a car and it made my heart jump so high in my chest that I thought I was about to throw it up. It's only when I got closer that I noticed he was not alone. There was a guy in the backseat, and the girl sitting nesxt to Niall was the same girl I found laying beneath him the other day. My smile faltered and I suddenly felt nervous but Niall moved his upper body closer to the wheel to look at me by the window.

"Hey Devie, you ready?"

I glanced at Mandy before looking back at him, sending him a shy smile. I hadn't expected to be stuck in Niall's car with two strangers but I was new to this school and if I wanted to get to know people, I knew I had to make efforts.

"Mmhm." I replied, taking a seat next to the guy who sent me a short nod.

"Okay, so. Devon, this is Mandy and her brother, Noah."

Mandy quickly turned around to take a look at me and sent me a smile. "We've met." she pointed out with a chuckle. "Sorry for the other day, I was a bit embarrassed to be caught naked."

My lips parted slightly and my breath caught in my throat. I sort of expected her to be an ass with me but the sincere smile she was sending me made me feel slightly guilty for thinking wrong of her just because she slept with Niall.

"No, it's cool, I should have knocked."

She laughed again, turning to look at Niall. "No, it's your room too." she corrected me. "It's Niall's fault, he should have told you."

"Sure, go ahead, pin it on me, i've got broad shoulders." he chuckled, glancing at her and making my heart drop in my chest.

Did he ever look at me like that? Was that feelings I saw in his eyes? And why did it even matter if he had feelings for her? I looked down and licked my lips, coming to the realization that it mattered because I liked Niall. I really really really liked Niall. Fuck.

"Everyone makes mistakes, Niall." Mandy joked, tapping his thigh gently. "You're forgiven, right Dev?"

I looked up and blinked a few times when she said my name and pressed my lips together. She was sending me an amused smile and I tried to smile back at her.

"O-Of course."

I felt something stir in my stomach and my eyes met Niall's in his rearview mirror. His gaze changed slowly into a fond look and my lips curled slightly more until he blinked a few times and glanced down. I looked down too only to see Mandy's hand gripping his thigh a bit harder. She moved one of her legs up, putting her foot on the bench before leaning her head against the bench, still looking at him.

She was pretty. She was much prettier than I always would be and I was well aware of that, and I just closed my eyes, trying to think about something else.

"So Devon. " I heard, making my eyes flutter open again. "What are you studying in?"

I turned to look at Noah and sent him a small smile. "Oh, art." I replied in a low tone. "Mostly painting and drawing."

"So, you want to be a painter? That's bold." Noah replied, running his hand in his blonde hair. "I'm all for following your dreams but do you have a plan B?"

"Yea, I'd like to work in a museum, maybe. Restoring historical works of art seems... very amazing." I explain, a bigger smile appearing on my lips.

"Devon doesn't need a plan B." Niall quickly replied, glancing again in his mirror. "She's super talented, she'll be a famous painter someday."

I felt my heart jump again in my chest and pressed my lips together as I tried not to smile too much. It was a bit funny since I was pretty sure Niall had never seen anything I had painted before, but I still appreciated the comment for a reason I ignored. Perhaps because it showed that he was not totally indifferent to me and knowing that he was ready to defend me on something like that made me feel special.

Of course, I knew that concretely, Noah was right : I would probably not end up being a famous painter and certainly wouldn't be able to live a decent life with the money of a few (if even) paintings sold, but it was okay, because I didn't want my biggest passion to turn into a job. I wanted it to remain a passion and a hobby, something I could do to let out all my feelings, something that would make me feel better after a long day or after a heartbreak. I needed painting like I needed to breathe and I didn't want to end up hating it. Obviously, sometimes it was frustrating when I wanted to pain something and it didn't turn out exactly how I had imagined, but It was different than making a job out of it and disliking it to the point of not wanting to do it anymore. If I lost my passion for painting, I knew I would lose a part of me.

It only took a minute of two before Niall parked his car and we quickly got out. I followed them to the entrance and we hopped in an elevator to reach the fourth floor. We could hear the music from the hall and I started feeling so nervous I had to wipe my hands on the back of my jeans. When I looked up, I met Niall's gaze who frowned as he mouthed 'are you okay?' and I just nodded, sending him a small smile.

I was not really okay but at the same time, i didn't want him to feel like he had to take care of me, scared that he'd never invite me again. The only thing that made me feel better was to notice that Mandy and Niall were not holding hands, or even remotely close to each other. I sort of had expected it but realizing I was wrong made me feel less stupid for accepting to go to this party.

The door opened and a whiff of cigarette and weed smell reached us. I was too busy staring at the guy in front of us, a large smile on his lips, as he greeted us with open arms.

"Niall!"

"Hey, Lewis."

They hugged and when Niall pulled away, Lewis turned to me. I didn't know why but I sent him a smile as his lips curled slightly into a smirk. "Devon, it's nice to meet you."

I frowned, a bit surprised that he knew my name, but kept a smile on my lips. Niall probably had talked about me before and since I was most likely the only one he didn't know, he probably guessed it was me, but it was still a bit intriguing.

"Oh, uhm, you too."

I was about to hold out my hand but he took a step closer and pulled me into a hug. His hoodie smelled nice and I chuckled, hugging him back.

"Okay, free drinks in the kitchen." Lewis let out when he pulled away. "You smoke your own shit though I don't pay for that."

Niall walked past him, putting his hand on Lewis' cheek and tapping it gently. "How nice of you mate."

I followed Niall to the kitchen and realized Noah and Mandy had left. I stood behind him as he searched for something specific (or it seemed) and when he turned around to me again, his gaze met mine immediately.

"No best way to get drunk than with vodka."

I chuckled and frowned, finding some space on the counter and pushing myself up to sit on it. Niall's smile faltered a bit and his eyes roamed on me before turning around to grab glasses and filled them. He walked closer to me and I looked slightly down at him, taking the cup he was handing me. He clinked his glass against mine, the plastic of his barely making any sound as it hit mine, and took a long sip. I watched him and did the same, grimacing as the liquor left a burning sensation down my throat.

"So. uhm, are you moving out?" he asked casually before drinking more from his glass.

"I tried but I'm on a waiting list, sorry."

"No, no I think you should stay."

I waited until his eyes met mine and quickly, he shrugged and looked away. "I mean, we can just text each other when we have someone over. I'm sure it can work."

I felt my heart ache suddenly and lost my smile, looking down in my glass and shrugging a shoulder. What did I expect? Niall was clearly not going to admit he was in love with me and then tell me he'd never have sex with any other girl because he loved me too much! Then why did this scenario made my heart thump in my chest?

"Maybe. I don't know."

We remained silent for a few seconds and I felt him move closer to me, his lower stomach brushing slightly against my knees as a wave of warmth invaded me.

"Come on, I'll present you some people if you want."

"Mmhm."

He moved away and I jumped off the counter as an idea popped into my head. It was stupid and probably impossible but It was worth a try.

"Niall?" I asked, making him turn around and raise his eyebrows. "Maybe... your friend Lewis would need a roommate?"

His facial expression changed from confused to surprised but when his lips opened again, I couldn't really tell how he felt about my idea. It was probably a bad one anyway. I didn't know Lewis much and I was not even sure I could afford half of the rent, but if Niall wanted to get rid of me, maybe he could help me see if it was even remotely possible.

"Y-You want to live here? With Lewis?"

I shrugged as he took a step closer to me and I tilted my head. "I mean, maybe? It would be a solution. Just until they find a room for me in the girls' building. That way you can get your room back."

"But I don't-" he replied quickly, cutting himself and letting out a sigh as he closed his eyes. "I think it's a bad idea, Dev."

It took a few seconds but he opened his eyes back. They met mine and I sent him a sad smile, shrugging a shoulder. "Alright."

It was true, I didn't know much about his friend, but he gave me a good first impression and I thought Niall would jump on the occasion to get his room back if only to be able to invite Mandy (or any other girl) whenever he wanted to.

I followed him to the living room as someone handed me a beer and everyone started talking. After a while, I got up and left to go to the bathroom and when I got out, I walked past Lewis, sending him a small smile.

"Thanks for inviting me, by the way." I let out politely as I kept walking.

"Hey Devon!"

I turned around and he sent me a bigger smile. "You having fun?" he asked, his accent thicker than I expected.

"Oh, yes." I let out with a smile. "I'm surprised Niall invited me."

This time, Lewis laughed a bit. "I'm not."

I frowned for half a second and finally licked my lips, walking back slowly to him and shaking my head. "Look, this is going to sound so weird and, don't feel bad to say no but, wouldn't you be looking for a roommate?"

His smile fell slightly and his eyes roamed on my face, and it made me realize that he was quite pretty and I was not sure how I felt about it. He seemed a bit speechless though and I realized that I probably made him uncomfortable.

"Forget it," I added, shaking my head, taking a step back. "It was just something that crossed my mind."

"No, Devon, it's just..." he replied with a sigh as I was leaving. "Let's just say if I said yes, Niall would kill me."

I chuckled and rolled my eyes, shaking my head a bit. "I highly doubt that."

"Dev, trust me. I know what I'm talking about."

I frowned and it only made his lips curl as he raised his eyebrows before turning around and locking himself in the bathroom. I remained there, motionless and lost in my thoughts for a few seconds, and finally breathed in deeply and walked back to the living room. This time, I stopped completely breathing when I noticed Mandy was sitting next to Niall, her legs placed on his lap and one of her arms wrapped around one of his.

I felt a wave of nausea wash over me but swallowed hard. I knew it was only jealousy but it was enough to make me want to leave immediately. I licked my lips and took big breath, trying to get back to my senses. I couldn't just rush out and leave without an explanation and I couldn't tell Niall I left because the girl he has sex with was all over him. Just thinking about it sounded ridiculous and I walked back to them, taking a seat on the floor, in front of the coffee table. Niall glanced at me and his lips curled slightly on the left. Could he tell it was bothering me?

Everyone started playing beer pong but with vodka and I watched them swallow the content of their glasses with a smile. I was not very good with drinking and could easily get drunk but I still enjoyed looking at them. Lewis came back after a while and handed me a beer. I thanked him as he sat next to me and when I turned back to Niall, he was looking at his friend with a frown. My eyes dropped to Mandy's legs still placed on his lap and I just pressed my lips together, trying to ignore it.

About half an hour later, I was leaning on the table, trying not to let my thoughts wonder too much. I looked at Niall who was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes and watching him being so drunk reminded me of one of the first days we met. He was drunk and had tried to show me his cock. Now, I was a bit scared he was going to show it to someone else. The thought of his half-hard dick pressed against me as he kissed me made my inner thighs throb again and I held my breath. I would never get over that.

"Mandy, you're definitely cheating!" Noah let out a bit too loud, moving his chin in his sister's direction. "That's fucking water, innit?"

"You're just pissed because I can hold my drink better than you!"

"Don't even try, you've cheated before!" Noah insisted.

I stared at the scene with my eyebrows raised, noticing that I was myself getting a bit too tipsy but it was clearly nothing compared to them.

"Want a proof that this isn't water?" Mandy asked, getting a bit mad.

"Yes!"

I didn't expect it at all when she turned around quickly and crashed her mouth against Niall's, quickly deepening the kiss as she held the back of his head to make sure he wouldn't move. I felt my heart shatter in my chest as an image of them having sex on his bed crawled back in my thoughts.

Everyone started yelling and laughing except me. I was not tipsy. I was drunk off my ass. How many drinks did I have? I couldn't count, but I knew it was partially why my eyes were filling up with tears at that exact moment. I was not dating Niall and I was well aware that he and Mandy were fuck buddies, so why did I become so emotional from them kissing? I was pissed but most of all, I was pissed at myself for letting something like that get to me again.

I had admitted to myself that I liked Niall and even if I knew it was unrequited, I was clearly not okay with watching him kiss someone else. Where did my resolution to do anything I could to hate him go? What the fuck was I doing?

I held my breath as they kissed, not able to let air fill my lungs, but it seemed like that kiss would never end and after a while, I put my beer on the table and got up. It was only when I reached for the elevator that I allowed tears to fall down my cheeks.

"Fuck off." I whispered to no one as the doors opened and I walked in, turning around to lean against the wall.

And I saw him. I saw Niall, getting out of the apartment and looking around himself until he saw me, and my lips parted.

"DEVON!"

The doors started closing just as he started running but I remained motionless, wondering if the doors would close before he could reach the elevator.

"Devon wait!" he let out, sliding his arm between the doors and making them open again. "Devie."

I let my eyes roam up and down on him, my mouth still half opened. He finally stepped foot in the elevator but remained standing up in front of me as the doors finally closed behind him. We started going down and he shook his head slightly.

"Devie, why are you leaving?"

I frowned, ready to throw at him everything that was actually wrong with him and not even feeling bad about it because of how intoxicated I was but I didn't have time: the power seemed to go off, the lights flickered and the elevator stopped.

[deputytrash]

Shotgunning

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)

Relationship: Javier Escuella/Female Reader

Words: 3898

Summary: Javier teaches you about how good smoking marijuana feels, among other things

Featuring period accurate underwear, the historically accurate spelling of marijuana and some inclusions of how I felt the first time I smoked weed (which was 100% less saucy than this reader's first time smoking).

Read on AO3

It was quiet around the camp. Darkness had long since rolled in as everyone settled in for the night, finished with their drinking and chatting. You'd drawn the short end of the stick on chores earlier in the day so you were just finally wrapping up. When you'd gone to Miss Grimshaw to bring her the mended and washed clothes, she had taken them and told you to "go on and do as you please then." You fully intended to do just that.

You stopped by your bedroll, stripping off your day clothes down to your underthings, a simple off-white slip of fabric over your bloomers, and made your way to Pearson's wagon. You were determined to spend what little was left of the night relaxing with a bottle and a book. You'd more than earned the lazy time, after all. You managed to find a bottle of whiskey in acceptable condition and made your way to the scout campfire. It was always quieter just a bit outside of camp, and you were eager to get away from the bustle of it all for a moment.

You started that way, noticed Javier lounging in the area. Nervous butterflies fluttered in your gut and you paused, considering turning back, if only for the sake of your nerves. You certainly weren't unhappy to see him. Honestly, you quite liked the man. Your instantaneous friendly affections had quickly developed into a pesky crush that had been frustratingly unyielding in your attempts to suppress it. His smooth words and warm smiles always managed to pull you back and get you terribly flustered.

Javier was settled with his back against one of the logs circling the fire. He'd slipped down to his union suit and pants, suspenders hanging off his hips and falling in the dirt. His long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle as he smoked. His movements were slow and languid as he glanced over at your approaching figure and gave you a lazy little smile. You smiled back.

Your grin faltered as you came closer, though, your nose picking up a strong, unfamiliar scent. You looked around searching for the source. "Javier, what the fuck is that smell?" Your eyes settled on the twisted cigarette between his fingers. It looked hand-rolled. Had he run out of regular cigarettes? "Are you sure that tobacco's still good? It seriously smells like rotten shit."

"Hey, that's not nice," Javier laughed, eyes red-tinged and mirthful. "And that's 'cause it's not tobacco," he said, cryptically.

"What the fuck is it then?" You wrinkled your nose, but you were already noticing the smell less as the smoke drifted off with the wind. He laughed again, shaking his head.

"Hosea is gonna give you a lecture on bad language if you keep that up," He teased. You blushed and rolled your eyes, but he wasn't wrong. "It's marihuana. I used to smoke it all the time back in Mexico. You want to try it?" He raised his eyebrows, offering you the twisted up cigarette with one blackened end.

"Marihuana?" You tested the word in your mouth. It sounded a lot weirder without Javier's smooth accent. "I've never heard of it." When you don't take the cigarette from him, Javier shrugs, bringing his arm back down to rest on his lap.

"Same thing as cannabis. It's in some medicines around here," he explained.

You shifted on your feet, embarrassed at your sheer ignorance on the topic at hand. "Sorry, I don't really know medicine stuff." You sat down on the other half of the log he was leaned against, movements somewhat stiff and awkward. "Been meaning to learn, but it's hard to know what's real and what's snake oil these days…Anyway, if it's medicine why are you smokin' it?" You hoped Javier wasn't sick or something.

"Well, It's not always medicine. It also just…feels good. Kinda like when you smoke too much tobacco, but a lot better and without the sick feeling," he said with a pointed smirk. You let out an embarrassed laugh, knowing he was thinking of the first time you'd smoked tobacco. It was a few years ago when you had, foolishly, tried to keep pace with Dutch's smoking and had ended up dizzy and green. You'd tried to play it off, making some excuse to shuffle away, but Javier had caught on. He'd stepped away from the group, making you promise not to throw up on him as he led you to your bedroll. Once there, Mary Beth had promptly shooed him away and insisted on taking care of you, herself; God bless the woman.

Javier brought a swiftly lit match back up to the cigarette at his lips. He inhaled, pausing and coughing on the exhale as he shook out the match, throwing the little wooden stick into the sandy dirt.

"Are you okay?" His cough worried you. "Does it hurt?"

"No, no." He coughed again, tried and failed to pass it off as clearing his throat. "Just…been a while since I've done this." He gave you a goofy grin that you couldn't help but return.

You looked down to take a drink of your whiskey. Was that too long of eye contact just then? You hoped you hadn't weirded him out. God, was a quick smile really all it took to muss up the entirety of your composure?

Javier called your name, breaking you from your thoughts. You looked over to find him with a curious smile on his face. "I've got an idea if you want to try this." He waved the cigarette in his hand. "Just to ease you into it. Don't have to, but I think you'd like it."

You thought for a moment, some nervousness building again before saying fuck it and nodding. You knew Javier would never rope you into something that might hurt you. "Yeah, alright. I'll give it a try."

"Come over here and sit next to me, then." You hesitated before gathering your bravery to settle down beside him. He smiled at you, noticing your tenseness. "Don't have to be nervous, I promise. It'll be fun."

You nodded, but you were more nervous about the proximity than the drug.

"Okay, so, what I'm going to do is get some smoke and breathe it out to you. You just breathe in, hold it for a little, and let it out, okay? And if you want to stop, just tell me." You nodded again, dizzy at the inherent intimacy of the proposal.

Javier took a deep breath off of the cigarette. He held the smoke in his lungs for a moment and motioned for you to move in closer to him. He managed to maintain a just on this side of platonic distance from you as he gently blew smoke to your lips. You breathed in as deeply as you could before, twisting away to hack out the smoke, forgetting about the holding it in part entirely. He laughed, patting your back as you relearned how to breathe.

"Sorry," you muttered, coughing, feeling embarrassed.

Javier was nonplussed. "'S no problem. You want to try again?"

"Gimme a minute," you replied. He nodded.

Your mouth was bone-dry and desperate for liquid. "Fuck, where's my whiskey?" Javier grabbed it, taking a swig for himself before moving to hand it to you.

"Here," he said, handing it to you. "Don't drink too much. I know you've got a good tolerance, but marihuana makes alcohol a lot stronger." You coughed again, taking a drink. You were really wishing that you'd brought some water up here.

It took a moment before your breathing settled down, lungs thankful for the return of regular old oxygen. You took another moment, preparing yourself. "Okay, I'm ready."

He followed the same series of steps as before, but this time you managed to hold it for a few seconds before hacking it back out. He patted your back again, settling his arm to stretch out on the log behind you afterward.

You felt yourself relax. Something distinctly not alcohol was working through your blood, plying your muscles and calming your mind. You blinked. Your eyes felt swollen and heavy. Everything felt like it was moving just a bit more slowly.

You looked over at Javier and he gave you a conspiratorial smile. "You starting to feel it? You look like you are."

You nodded, the simple movement spurring a heady, dizzy feeling. "Shit, I think so."

"Good. Let it settle in for a minute and I can give you some more." You nodded, again, eyes settling on the fire. It was beautiful. The chaotic pattern of the flames shifting and licking at the sky entranced you and, as you glanced at Javier again, you felt how absolutely beautiful he was as well.

He smiled lazily as he met your gaze. "You having fun? Feel good?"

"Y-yeah," You breathed, suddenly recognizing your staring for what it was and looking down at your hands wringing them together, embarrassed.

"Do you want some more?" He asked.

Did you? You felt good, better than you had felt in a while, despite the nervous thrumming of your heart in your rib cage. You nodded and watched him as he effortlessly worked through the same routine again.

He inhaled the smoke into his lungs and leaned in to breathe it out to you again. His eyes were heavy as he watched your lips drink it in. Fuck, was he closer? Your tongue was dry and sticky in your mouth as you tried to lick your lips, holding the smoke in your lungs. Your eyes fell closed on the exhale, mind wrapped in a warm swirling haze before you pulled away and coughed out the smoke into your hand.

His palm was rubbing your back now, cooing at you, softly working you through your hacking. Your inability to smoke without coughing was starting to feel more amusing than embarrassing and you choked out a laugh.

It was starting to get cold outside, now, as the night fully rolled in. The cool night air soothed your burning throat and chilled your flesh, the breeze raising goosebumps on your skin. Javier noticed, beckoned you closer. "Come here. You can lean against me if you're cold."

You shifted to move closer, dizziness hitting again as you fell into a fit of giggles. Your face felt ridiculous, like little bugs were dancing along the outline of every feature. You didn't want him to think you were laughing at him, but you couldn't hold it back. Everything felt hilarious.

"Hey, hey what's so funny?" He laughed nervously, ducking his head to meet your eyes.

You laughed again. You felt bizarre and goofy and light all at the same time. "I'm sorry, Javier. I ain't laughin' at you, but…I-I can feel my eyebrows." He gave you an amused but confused look as you bust out laughing again. "That sounds so stupid but they feel fuzzy." You reached up to scratch at your eyebrows, failing to hold back another giggle when the feeling stubbornly returned. You knew you were acting like a fool, but you couldn't seem to help it.

He laughed as well, shaking his head with a smile. "God, come here and get warm, giggles. You're ridiculous."

You shifted over obediently, laughter fading into a smile as you let your body melt into his side. He was warm and comfortable. He smelled like the smoke that still coated your throat mixed with something indescribable, but so distinctly him.

The weight of his arm settled strongly against your shoulders as his warm palm gently smoothed down the little bumps scattered across the skin of your arm. The texture of his hands against your skin was almost overwhelming as your hair follicles relaxed into the heat. Was this cuddling? Holy shit, you were cuddling Javier, you realized, belatedly.

"You're so soft," he murmured, fingers still brushing over your skin. Your cheeks flushed. Were you? You brushed your own fingers against your skin experimentally and found yourself strangely fascinated by the smooth texture.

"Oh shit, I am," you laughed and he raised his eyebrows, grinning down at you like you were the most lovely, silly, little thing he'd ever seen. You couldn't handle it. You pressed your face into his shirt, feeling sleepy and giddy and warm in too many ways.

"Look at me," he whispered. You peeked up at him with dazed, reddened eyes. "You're beautiful."

You hid your face again, picking at the skin of your fingers. "God, Javier you're not fair."

He chuckled, fingertips dancing lightly over your arm. Your skin momentarily pinched back up into little goosebumps before fading again "How am I not fair?" he laughed. "I'm sharing my marihuana with you. I'm warming you up. I even complimented you. I think I'm being very fair."

Goddammit. Your head was spinning. Where the fuck did he learn to be so charming? You wanted to tamp down this nervous energy bubbling inside you, get brave again. "Can I have some more?"

"Of course," he smiled. Flicking another match against the box, he readied the dwindling cigarette.

You were mere inches away this time. Javier's fingers moved to play with the soft hairs against your neck, rough thumb rubbing circles into your skin. Anticipation coiled in your belly, the thumping of heart louder than normal. Somehow, you managed not to cough this time, breathing the smoke back out to mix with his exhale. You met his eyes, felt the heat in them as he watched you. If your mouth felt dry before, it was the Sahara Desert now.

He leaned forward and kissed you. It was brief, quick, and chaste, but you felt like your world shifted, opening up before you. You stared at him before quickly kissing him again, the touch just as fleeting as the first. You stared at him, breathless, eyes searching his face, simultaneously frozen and utterly desperate for more.

He pulled you onto his lap, legs side-saddled, meeting your lips again. You were still riding an amazing high, body light and airy. He was warm against you as you deepened the kiss before pulling back for air. "I feel real good, Javier," you mumbled, breathless.

"I can make you feel even better if you want," he murmured, shifting to kiss down your jawline as his palm settled on the bare skin of your thigh. "Just say the word." Fuck, was this really happening?

"Please," you breathed, your voice knowing what you wanted before your thoughts had even caught up.

His teeth nipped at the flesh of your ear lobe as his palms felt over your body, his hands warm enough to feel even where your skin was still covered with cloth. He took his time, exploring you, slipping his fingers under the edges of your clothing to swipe over your skin, brief and teasing.

"God, Javier, I already said please," you breathed, overwhelmed and desperate.

"Patience. I want to savor you," he murmured against your cheek, kissing it. He worked your nightgown up until the bottom stitching fell around your thighs. "Spread your legs for me."

You shivered when the cold air rushed into the open crotch of your knickers as you shifted your legs. His fingers played with the fabric there momentarily, before lightly brushing over the hair covering your core. You stared at his every movement, fighting the urge to shove his hand further, press his fingers into you.

You looked up to find his eyes studying your face. Had he been watching your reactions this whole time? "I meant it when I said you're beautiful." You felt overwhelmed, tried to impress your feelings back with your lips against his.

You pulled back, hand resting on his cheek before pinching it lightly. He gave you a look.

"And I meant it when I said you're not fair," you complained, squirming in his lap, attempting to goad him into action. "Come on, Javier." You started to undo the line of buttons on his union suit, kissing his neck.

"Ay, I'm not fair, she says." he grinned, rolling his eyes, pulling your hand and mouth away from himself. "So impatient. I'll show you unfair."

He continued his gentle ministrations, escalating even more slowly than before. His palms worked over your breasts, squeezed over your thighs, fingers just barely brushing over your dripping slit. The frustrating heat in your belly grew heavier with every passing moment. Maybe you should've just kept your mouth shut.

"Javier," you groaned in exasperation.

"Yes?" he asked, mirthful and teasing.

What did he want? You were ready to do just about anything at this point, promise the man anything he wanted.

"Fuck, okay. You win. I'm sorry, Javier. You've been real nice to me; I mean it. Please touch me. Please," you begged, making no effort to hide your frustration.

Javier laughed. "Yeah? Where do you want me to touch you?" He spoke softly back to you. You resisted rolling your eyes. Of course, he was going to make you say it.

"My c-cunt," you squeaked out, lips embarrassingly falling over the word.

"Can't believe there's a word you're shy about saying," Javier laughed. "Come on, lift yourself up." He tapped against your butt. You raised up slightly as he worked your nightgown up past your hips. His fingers pulled at the tie on your knickers, loosening it and working them off as well.

"Shit," he hissed, palms immediately feeling over the revealed skin. "So good, you're so beautiful."

The warmth of his hands felt wonderful, but it wasn't what you wanted right now. "God, Javier, ain't I begged enough?"

His laugh shook against you. "You're so fussy." His fingertips shifted down to slip between the lips of your pussy as he groaned out a curse. You were soaked. You opened yourself wider for him, arm moving to grip behind his shoulder for balance. His fingers dragged the slick up to your clit and back down to your entrance before finally, finally pushing inside you.

"Oh, God, Javier," you whispered, more breath than words.

You clenched around his fingers, momentary relief at the stretch flooding your mind before he began fucking them into you, building you back up to desperation. The heel of his palm hit at the hood of your clit perfectly with each thrust as he quickly found the spot that made your legs shake.

"Never would've thought you'd be this needy," he laughed. "Always act so tough with everybody. You're real cute. I love it."

You buried your face against his shoulder, doing your best to stifle your whimpers and ragged groans. You gripped his shirt between your fingers, hips pressing back against his hand as wet noises echoed in your ears.

He shifted underneath you and you felt his cock, firmly pressed against your hip. He ground himself against you, hissing out a moan. "You make me fucking crazy."

"Fuck, Javier, I want you inside me," you whimpered, any resistance to begging left behind in the dirt. "Please fuck me. I'll do anything."

His teasing patience seemed to break at your words. He made a broken sound, hissing out a "shit" before pulling away to desperately wrestle with his belt buckle and the remaining buttons on his underclothes. "You have no idea what you do to me. You have no fucking idea how many times I've thought about you saying those words."

You lifted up, giving him room as he tugged his pants down just enough to pull his cock out. He shifted his body to a slightly more stretched out angle as you straddled his legs. His heated eyes jumped from your dripping pussy to your face. He looked dazed and desperate and you felt the same as you kissed him.

His hands gripped at your hips, tugging at you to move closer. "Come here, let me feel you."

"You sure I shouldn't show you some unfairness now?" you teased, palm wrapping around his cock to drag his foreskin over his tip.

The withering look he gave you was priceless. You didn't have any more patience in you either, admittedly, and, after a kiss on his frown, you clambered up his thighs, holding him at your entrance. He pulled you down to himself and you let him, sinking down to wrap yourself around him.

The fact that you were still a dizzy, inebriated mess really hit you once you tried to move in any cohesive way. Your rhythm was sloppy and unrefined as you ground your hips against his, hands gripping his shoulders for balance. The pleasant, heavy drag of him against you was building you back up, regardless.

You grew impatient, though, and quickly became frustrated with the nagging complaints of your muscles, already tired from the day. Javier must have noticed as he gripped your hips into the right position before planting his feet in the dirt to thrust up into you, hitting you at the perfect angle. He fucked into you with a far better rhythm than you had managed, hard and fast. The sudden change of pace had you whimpering out a throaty moan. He kissed you, drinking down the sound with a shushing noise.

"Gotta be quiet," he whispered, chuckling and obviously damn proud of himself. "Still got people on guard duty." You sobered up a fraction of an inch at the thought. You'd forgotten your surroundings, wrapped safely in your addled mind.

A well-aimed thrust from Javier had your attention snapping back to him and slipping back into your own foggy world. You struggled not to let out another noise, only somewhat successful. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. His hooded eyes focused on you, tracking every twitch and show of ecstasy that slipped over your face.

The tug in your core was becoming more and more insistent with every perfect hit Javier landed. You knew what you needed as you slipped two of your fingers into your mouth. You moved them to your clit, pressing against it and massaging it in rough, hurried circles. It wasn't long before you felt your body tensing and clamoring for the release Javier was pounding you towards.

Your lips stumbled over his name, eyes squeezed shut, too overwhelmed to add visual stimuli. "I'm-" was all you managed to skip out before your mouth fell open in a breathy, too-loud moan. Your pussy clenched tightly around him, falling into trembling aftershocks as he kept pace, chasing his own end.

"Fuck, yes, you're so good. You did so good. Feel so good," Javier mumbled, praise slipping out of his mouth mindlessly. His thrusts became deeper, less coordinated. He hissed out a final "fuck," fingers digging into your hips desperately before pulling out and jerking himself onto your thighs.

The pair of you fell to the dirt, exhausted and boneless and feeling so fucking good.

Javier picked up the cigarette from wherever it had landed, wagging it in front of you. "Still have a tiny bit more. You want to finish it with me?"

You grinned. "Fuck yeah, I do."

You wiped your thighs off with your knickers, settling in his lap as you breathed down the last of the cigarette with him, inhales interspersed with kisses and laughter.

Yeah, you were gonna have to find some more of this marihuana shit.

[theliterarywolf]

How was the sequel to Tales from The Hood, a shitshow?

The original Tales from the Hood, while having some campy horror elements, still managed to present its stories and tone competently while still incorporating themes of struggles of black Americans in urban areas. 

Examples: 

A black politician who’s been trying to fight against police corruption gets beaten to death and injected with drugs post-mortem by said corrupt cops to slander his name. The politician returns from the dead to exact vengeance. Obviously this short tackles police brutality and corruption.

A little boy and his mother who are constantly beaten and abused by what he draws and identifies as a ‘monster’ who, it turns out, is the mother’s new boyfriend. The theme here is Domestic Violence and how often people try to brush it under the rug as just a way of life in the community. 

A former klansman-turned senator buys a building called ‘The Dollhouse’ that is of high historical significance to the local black community, despite their wishes and complaints, to serve as the headquarters for his racist campaign to become governor. The house in of itself was where a confederate-supporter, after the loss of the Civil War, decided to murder all of his slaves rather than see them freed. Their restless souls haunted the place until a ‘voodoo woman’ managed to calm their souls and place them into dolls. You can pretty much guess where this is going and the themes.

The final entry centers around a gang-member who, after getting hunted and shot down by rival gang-members, is taken into police custody and is given one last chance for freedom by a doctor’s new, radical behavioral therapy program. Said therapy takes a note right out of A Clockwork Orange and bombards our main character with alternating images of brutal gang-violence and KKK lynchings. After which, he is berated with apparitions of all the people he’s shot and killed; including a little girl who was a victim during one of his drive-by shootings. Of course, this kind of therapy will only be successful if the subject shows some remorse...

And all of this is wrapped in a framing device of three gang-members trying to find some drugs at a funeral-home, even harassing the funeral-director, which turns out to be a portal into hell.

... *deep breath*

I have to do a ‘Read More’ because this post got long. But I implore you guys to read on to see the abyss of insanity and bad directions that were taken in regards to the sequel of this movie. Please.

The sequel decided to throw ALL NUANCE AND TACT out of the window and give us such wonderful stories as: 

A white girl and a black girl are on a road-trip and decide to go to the... ugh... Museum of Negrosity where the owner chastises them on thinking that the uncomfortable racist memorabilia he owns (collections of minstrel show cartoons, golliwog and pickaninny dolls) are things of the past instead of acknowledging them as parts of America’s racist past. And, for some reason, the white girl is obsessed with buying one of the golliwog dolls because she had one when she was little. Anyway, they sneak back in later with the white girl’s brother who happens to be the black girl’s boyfriend, so they can steal one of the dolls. Through hijinks, the doll comes to life and grows to the size of a human being. The brother/boyfriend gets whipped to death, the black girl gets cut in half by a minstrel-colored guillotine, and the white girl... Fucks the giant golliwog doll, gets pregnant, and a few days later, has her stomach torn open as a bunch of baby versions of the doll go flying out everywhere.

Some gang-members track down a former pimp who’s changed his ways to try and shake him down for some owed money. He doesn’t comply, so they kill him but, golly-gee! How are they going to get the money now~? Oh, I know! Hold a scam medium hostage so he can perform a seance to talk to the pimp to find out about the money. But, oh no~ It looks like the medium’s powers decide to actually work this time~ Ooh~

Two douchebags hookup with two hot chicks and, after the world’s worst game of Cards Against Humanity, they decide to roofie the girls so they can record themselves raping them so they can post it to ‘le dark web’. ... Lo’ and behold, the girls turn out to be vampires who were playing 4D chess to rope the two douchebags in so they can use them for their own recording-something-brutal-to-post-online scheme. 

And... The LAST one. Oh my God, the LAST ONE. *deep breath* Okay.

So we follow a black republican councilman who is married to a white woman and they’re expecting a baby after a long line of miscarriages. But the wife is having weird bouts of bad dreams and insomnia. What are the bad dreams about? 

... I need you guys to understand. That I am not shitposting when I type the following words. *deep breath* Okay. 

The wife is being haunted by the ghost of Emmett Till telling her that she doesn’t deserve to have her baby. You know? Emmett Till? The victim of one of the most brutal, horrific murders in America due to one of the most disgusting, vile acts of racism? THAT EMMETT TILL?!

So..! The black councilman is working for a white politician who... I’m just going to put a direct quote from the movie so you can get where they were coming from.

“That man wants to close down ten more voting locations, all of them in black districts!”

Anyway, after a house-call from a doctor who brushes off the dreams as hormones, the councilman hosts a party for the politician who’s running slogan is ‘Let’s take Mississippi back!’ Gee-golly-willickers! Can’t imagine where they were coming from with that one!!

So the party goes on, the politician even congratulating our councilman on his ‘white wife’, but said wife rushes downstairs after having another dream; ranting about ‘that boy from the field has decided to LIVE! And if he lives, our baby’s going to die!’ And she runs outside with a machete to try and kill the ghost of Emmett Till (who, again, very real person and victim of racist brutality). 

So the councilman’s mother and the local voodoo expert drive up and the voodoo expert tells the councilman that Emmett Till is trying to talk to him about the nature of sacrifice. The next day, the wife is talking about how her stomach is getting smaller, but the councilman doesn’t want to hear any of it and calls the doctor again. And, guys..?! If shit hadn’t jumped the rails before?! The train just starts doing cartwheels from here. 

The doctor is suspiciously short-tempered with the politician this time around and he does examine the wife to confirm that her stomach is indeed shrinking. However, when he’s told that the councilman is the father, he storms out and snaps “I don’t work for coloreds!” 

Then the wife runs out of bed and tells the doctor that the councilman isn’t her husband and that he kidnapped and raped her. So both the wife and the doctor drive off and the councilman realizes that the world has somehow gone back to the era of Jim Crow. 

... Oooh my gosh, typing this is making me want to commit toaster-bath but it gets so much worse..!

So, after the voodoo expert comes to chastise the councilman about not ‘respecting the sacrifices that have been gifted to you’, he is able to see the ghost of Emmett Till (who was a real person, why is this happening..?!) who is there to tell him that he’s decided that he wants to live. Which means that the world will never see the brutal images of his body at his funeral and that will cause a Butterfly Effect in history that will make it so that the Civil Rights Movement never happened. 

You may be questioning the logistics of this, but don’t worry! The ghosts of the girls killed in the 1963 16th Street Baptist Church Bombing in Birmingham come to explain and further berate the councilman about ‘respecting the sacrifices that have been gifted to him’ and working for a racist politician. 

But wait! There’s more! *whines* I keep crying out to God but he won’t answer...

They’re soon joined by the ghosts of the three Freedom Riders who were killed during the Mississippi Burning Murders, the ghost of Civil Rights Activist Medgar Evers, and DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR. 

Not to mention several other unnamed figures who walk up while everyone else starts chanting about ‘respecting the sacrifices that have been gifted to you’, who look like Rosa Parks and Frederick Douglass, just to name a few. 

... I need a drink. I need a cold, stiff drink. ... Almost done. 

So, in comes the Klan. You know, the white-robed bastards; I hear they have an outreach center a few cities away from me. Sure, fine, whatever. The wife is leading them along with the white politician who hits the councilman’s mother in the face with a baton and Emmett Till stops time just as reinforcements show up to tell the councilman that, in order for everything to go back to normal, he has to join the ranks of those who sacrificed. 

“If what you want is worth us dying for, how come its not worth you dying for?!”

And, at first, the councilman disagrees; even being dragged away by Klansmen. However! It’s his wife angrily spitting in his face that makes him realize that this world isn’t the world he wants to live in. So he runs over to Emmett Till to tell him that he will join him... And then he’s beaten to death, becoming a sacrifice to get the world back to normal. And, once it is, his spirit joins Emmett Till’s and walks off into the great beyond. 

So! Not only did this schlocky, B-movie horror movie sequel decide to use a REAL LIFE VICTIM of racism-driven brutality as a story-device, but it also wants to put forth the message that the people who lost their lives during the Civil Rights Movement? Yeah, they HAD to die! Otherwise the Civil Rights Movement would never have happened~!

You see why I hate the sequel to Tales from the Hood so much? Not even mentioning the terrible framing segments of a racial-profiling robot being told these stories so it knows what ‘criminals’ to go after, but this movie is just a temple of ‘WHY?! WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!?!?!’

[pansunset]

okay time for a theatre hot take about historical musicals. im gonna split this into two posts, one about hamilton and one about six. because while the easiest way to put it is “hamilton bad six good”, there’s a bit more nuance to my opinion on them both than that.

First off, all the cast members are insanely talented, especially Leslie Odom Jr, Daveed Diggs, Christopher Jackson, Phillipa Soo, and Reneé Elise Goldberry. Even though the people they played were varying degrees of assholes, they managed to make them feel compelling. Credit where its due.

anyway, lmm is a good songwriter, the issues with hamilton come from the glorification of the historical figures portrayed. if hamilton was more critical of these individuals, it might not have been such a... yeah.

the hardest hitting songs are the songs that delve into the personal lives of the individuals rather than politics. Satisfied, Wait for It, Helpless, Burn, Dear Theodosia, It’s Quiet Uptown... these are all incredibly emotional and raw. Aaron Burr was a fascinating individual and all of his songs reflect this, honestly. IRL, Burr was actually one of the least scummy of the cast, though because he wasn’t very fond of Hamilton, he is villanized. unsexy. Leslie Odom Jr. has such a powerful voice and does an incredible job as Burr.

some of the songs about the war are also decent works. Stay Alive talks about the actual conditions the American militia put themselves through, and The World Turned Upside Down, while it’s a very patriotic (ew) pov, is still a well written victory anthem. the most interesting one is History Has It’s Eyes on You, and having Washington sing it was a great choice. it’s one of the few songs where a founding father is looked at critically for their failings, and said founding father point blank says that those who come next will judge whatever you do. Christopher Jackson is an amazing vocalist and he actually has talked about his struggle to play Washington despite Washington being a dick.

the songs about politics tend to fall flat because they oversimplify the actual views of the main character and paint everyone around him as either a villain or ally based on whether they liked Hamilton. the cabinet battles especially are pretty cringe. there are a couple exceptions that I’ll discuss in a moment, but first, a character analysis tangent.

Thomas Jefferson is... an interesting case. Irl, the man was a disaster of a person. He came down with migraines from talking to women, was generally considered a weirdo, and was the original “rich person who buys expensive versions of the ugliest clothes and acts like he’s presentable”. Yet aside from one line in It Must Be Nice, he’s portrayed as a extravagant, dramatic, yet mildly charming asshole. His costume is bright purple, he carries a fancy cane. Like, ignoring the fact that its inappropriate to ever make Thomas Jefferson seem charming, this isn’t even accurate to who he was as a person. He was less sociable than Isaac Newton for fucks sake. The only accurate thing is being a france weeb and being a worse debater than Hamilton.

Anyway, speaking of It Must Be Nice, its one of the few good political songs. It’s critical of Hamilton and it explains why the Madison and Jefferson hate his guts (though for stupid reasons). Furthermore, it also explains the political climate of the day better than other political songs in the musical. The other two good ones are, of course, The Room Where it Happens and Your Obedient Servant.

The Room Where It Happens is not only an amazing breaking point for Burr to stop waiting around, it’s the one time in the musical where the real Alexander Hamilton is best represented. (Hamilton in yellow, Burr in blue)

“Or did you know even then it doesn't matter where you put the U.S. capital?

Cause we'll have the banks, we're in the same spot

You got more than you gave

And I wanted what I got

When you got skin in the game, you stay in the game

But you don't get a win unless you play in the game

Oh, you get love for it, you get hate for it

But you get nothing if you wait for it

God help and forgive me

I wanna build something that's gonna outlive me.”

This is the real Hamilton. The facade of caring about ideals is gone, and the truth is bared; Alexander Hamilton was a smooth talker who only did things when he saw it could benefit him in some way. The man was obsessed with his legacy, and anything that got in the way of him building one was just collateral. Yes he was crass and loud, but guess what? That usually meant he was heard over everyone else. Burr only just realized that the whole “scrappy underdog” act was just that; an act

Your Obedient Servant is Burr calling out Hamilton for going back on everything he claimed to believe just to keep Burr from the nomination. Fun fact: the 1800 election was not a landslide victory. It was incredibly close. Hamilton’s endorsement was probably what kept it from being a tie.

Hamilton tries to defend himself by projecting his flaws onto Burr. “I am not the reason no one trusts you, no one knows what you believe” isn’t an accurate depiction of Burr in the slightest. Burr actually quite enjoyed politics and debates, and none of his setbacks ever kept him down for long. He cared very little for what his contemporaries thought of him though: He relied on the merits of his points. A lot of his correspondence was left to his daughter, Theodosia, and was lost on the shipwreck that killed her, so theres a lot we don’t know about him. But the musical depiction of him is not really accurate.

The problem with Hamilton isnt that it’s a musical about the founding fathers. Its that it grossly misrepresents those founding fathers. It never considers the thoughts of the slaves of any of the main characters. It never considers the Native American perspective on the Revolutionary War. It mocks John Adams, despite him being one of the few founding fathers who not only didn’t own slaves, but publicly berated his contemporaries for relying on slavery. It does a great deal of injustice to Burr. It woobifies the Schylers. For fucks sake, it forgot Benedict Arnold. Ya know, one of the most famous spies? Who almost cost America the War?

Its impact on modern political discussion and internet culture is also kind of a net negative, save for the production “The Haunting of LMM”. Its status as a fucking joke these days is earned. Though it has some good songs, and the fact that it got an official recording means good things for the future of Broadway accessibility, it’s a hot mess and is an example of how not to do a historical musical.

[permanentcrossfics]

Blurred Lines: Live from New York // h.s.

Harry chortled under his breath, a smile tugging at his lips. “So, anyway….” The recliner he favored sank underneath his weight and he lifted his cup of coffee. “I’ll be back in the city in a little over a month. Maybe six weeks or so.”

The corners of your eyes softened and you cleared your throat. “Sounds awful.”

He chuckled and you asked, “Why this time?”

“Booked a little something.”

You arched an eyebrow and he took a sip.

“SNL.”

“What?” One eye closed when he winced through his grin from how shrill your screech was in his singular earbud. You sat up and leaned against your wall, looking at him straight on. “When?!”

“November,” he said. “They haven’t announced it yet, so keep it quiet.” He grinned and winked when you rolled your eyes.

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“You know, if I wanted to look up at your ceiling all night, I’d have spent the three-hundred-and-fifty to go to London.”

Harry rolled his eyes, spoon clinking and clanking as he stirred his coffee, socked-footed in his kitchen with his dressing gown hood pulled up high over his head. 

“Not that it isn’t nice.” Your voice continued to crackle through his phone as he took a sip to test the taste, muttering a small ouch when the scalding liquid blistered his lower lip. “I just thought you’d called for something a little more interesting. Unless you’re planning to hump the mattress while I—”

“Would be stupid to spend four hundred dollars for the same view.” Harry picked up the phone and padded to the doorway, catching the light with his elbow on the way out. He tipped the screen up and your eyes found his immediately from where your head was nestled in your pillow. “Isn’t it a little early for you to be in bed?” he asked.

“Could say the same to you,” you said. “It’s raining out. I’m nesting.”

Harry chortled under his breath, a smile tugging at his lips. “So, anyway….” The recliner he favored sank underneath his weight and he lifted his cup of coffee. “I’ll be back in the city in a little over a month. Maybe six weeks or so.”

The corners of your eyes softened and you cleared your throat. “Sounds awful.” 

He chuckled and you asked, “Why this time?”

“Booked a little something.” 

You arched an eyebrow and he took a sip. 

“SNL.” 

“What?” One eye closed when he winced through his grin from how shrill your screech was in his singular earbud. You sat up and leaned against your wall, looking at him straight on. “When?!” 

“November,” he said. “They haven’t announced it yet, so keep it quiet.” He grinned and winked when you rolled your eyes. 

“When did you find out?”

“It’s been in the works and it was basically done a bit ago. But everything’s been set now. And I was thinking….” He took a long, exaggerated sip of coffee and smacked his lips when you scowled. “I’ve got to be there the Monday before the show. But if I got in a little earlier, we could get a hotel and just… I mean, I know you’ve got work, but it’d be somewhere different. We could have dinner, not worry about cleaning up….”

“So you’d be here for—“

“Two weeks,” he said. “Maybe three, f’I can manage.”

“Almost a month,” you murmured and he nodded. 

“Almost a month.”

***

Live from New York, it’s Saturday Night!

Frowning, Harry leaned out of the bathroom doorway. “What are you watching?”

You blinked owlishly from where you were curled up in the large hotel bed. “Reruns.”

The suite on the 6th floor of an historic midtown landmark — just a few long blocks away from Rockefeller Plaza — offered a fantastic view of the city that he’d ignored first by pacing the floor waiting for you to turn up after work and second by drawing the blackout shades almost as soon as you had. He’d have enough eyes on him this week without worrying about window cleaners scaling the side of the building and getting a peek at him embracing you. 

Room service trays still littered the dining room table and cart they’d arrived on, the leftovers from the dinner he’d had ordered up a couple of hours ago long gone cold. He sidestepped a stray one on the floor on his way to you. “Turn that off,” he grumbled, diving into bed. “I don’t want to hear about that yet. Trying to enjoy my week.”

He reached for the remote but you held it out to the side, laughing when he groaned and rolled into you, smashing his face against your neck. 

“You nervous?” You scrubbed the back of his head through his hair and he sighed. 

“Little bit,” he said. “I mean, I know I’ve been there before, but I’ve never hosted or….”

“You’ll do great,” you said. “You did great last time and you’ll do great now.”

He lifted his head and cocked an eyebrow. “Were you there?”

“No,” you laughed. “Are you kidding me? Do you even know how long people were lined up for it? I watched at home with a bottle of wine.”

“Would you like to come?”

Your wistful smile faded from your face. 

“I mean it,” he said. “F’you wanna, you can.”

“You don’t have to—“

“I was gonna ask you anyway.” He sat up next to you. “I didn’t know if you’d… you could just hang backstage if you want, you don’t have to be in the crowd. But I—” He swallowed convulsively. “I’d like you there.”

You looked at him, eyes wide. “Can you even do that?”

“I get thirty spots to bring whoever I want,” he says. “Sixty, since I’m, like….”

You smirked. “Important?”

Harry‘s face heated up. “I’ll get Jeffrey to take care of it.”

“Where is Jeffrey by the way?”

“Dinner.” Harry rolled away from you and strolled to the table for his phone. 

“Did he invite you?”

He shrugged. “Said I didn’t really wanna go. Wasn’t feeling well.”

“Harry….”

“What?”

He just caught you rolling your eyes out of the corner of his. “You should go out with him. You don’t have to—“

“Came to see you, didn’t I? And unless we’re thinking he should get to know you….”

“He’ll get to know me anyway when you ask for a ticket, won’t he?”

“We can say you’re a fan and it’s good PR.”

You groaned, stretching out on the bed. “I’d be awful PR.”

The words sent a pang through his chest. “Stop that.”

Collapsing, you rolled onto your stomach and fixed him with an inquisitive stare. “You realize he’s going to have questions, right?”

He locked his phone after hitting send and shuffled back to bed. “I’ll handle it.”

Your disgruntled noise told him you didn’t believe him, but when he snaked his arm around to pull you in, you went willingly. “Now let’s find something else to watch,” he grumbled against your cheek.

“Love Actually was on, too, I think,” you said. “Do you want to watch that?” 

He stayed perfectly still before shrugging.  “Sure. F’you’re up for it. Know it’s a little early.” 

You snorted and turned to catch a quick kiss before flipping the station. “You’re so soft.”

“What? S’a nice film!” he said. “Christmas, London… what more can you ask for?”

“You go home for Christmas,” you said.

“Mostly. But the feeling is still there in the leadup.”

“Christmas in New York is nice, too, you know.” 

He looked at you, but you were staring at the screen, absentmindedly stroking his arm. “Yeah, it is.” 

***

The clock on the table on your side of the bed read 3:37 in the morning. He blinked and the number flipped to 3:38. Twenty long minutes in which he’d struggled, with burning eyes, to fall back asleep. He didn’t usually have this problem anymore — he had his tricks to beat the jet lag — but his body was back in London, still, and he was suffering for it. Sighing heavily, Harry tucked his face into your neck and tightened his arm around you, but when you stirred against him he regretted it immediately. 

“Are you awake?” Your voice was cracked and sandy with its efforts — nails on a chalkboard in the otherwise silent room. 

“S’the jet lag, it’s killing me,” he breathed against your neck. “Just go back to sleep.”

“Mmm.” You mumbled noncommittally and shifted again. In your quest to get comfortable, though, your ass wound up firmly against his pelvis, and he opened his eyes slowly, staying very still. Jesus, don’t go there… don’t think about it… it was almost four in the morning, don’t….

Although you were rather inviting, weren’t you? Soft, and warm, and curled up so nicely against him? He knew how your ass felt from this angle all too well, and he pressed his lips together, suddenly hot in the previously comfortable room. Maybe if he just let go of you and rolled away… but his hand was firmly clasped in yours, just under your breast, and pulling it out of your hold would disturb you more. 

Deep breaths. Deep breaths and not thinking about anything would keep everything down. He closed his eyes and they rolled up in his head as he counted to ten slowly. You were awake, though, and he was— stop that. This was no different than when he woke up randomly in the middle of the night at home and had the passing thought of having a wank. 

Except you weren’t there tempting him when he was at home, and, to be honest, he usually caved, anyway. 

Your deep breath just about made him jump out of his skin, sure you’d heard his thoughts, and he grit his teeth when you shifted again to fit more tightly. 

“G’back to sleep…” he muttered through them.

“I am.”

“You’re asleep?” He chortled. “Didn’t know you sleep talked. Is this a new thing of yours?”

You made a noise and wriggled back against him and his face screwed up. “Love, please—“ You did it again and he groaned, pulling his hand from underneath yours and digging his fingers into your hip. “You should think about what you’re doing.”

Your hand slipped over his and when you jerked again you were pulling your leggings down your thighs. “Oh, fuck,” he whispered against your shoulder when you pushed your bare ass against his pelvis through his briefs. You rocked against him, gently at first and then harder, and he whimpered, drawing his hand up and down the outside of your thigh with his mouth smashed against your cheek, struggling to breathe. You did it again and again and when your fingers pushed through his hair and pulled, he groaned and nipped your skin. 

Fuck it. Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. He rolled the elastic of his underwear down and when his cock was against your bare skin at last, he nearly shuddered with relief. “Oh, fuck, baby,” he muttered when you let out a lusty little noise deep in your throat. 

“I want you.” No cutting corners, no mincing words, and just enough agony to make it urgent. 

“Bring your leg up a little higher,” he said, tapping your thigh. Your ass was smooth and soft under his hand and he squeezed once before grabbing his cock and shifting closer. “Deep breath with me,” he said when he pressed his head against you. “Deep breath, deep breath…!”

You moaned when he pushed inside you and turned your face into the pillow, panting as his eyes watered. “Shit, y’feel so tight!” he wheezed. “What’s… fuck!” You shook with each breath and he stayed perfectly still until you rocked back into him, and he took that as permission to move at last. His jaw dropped and he could feel that on vein in his neck straining as he listened in awe to the wet noise of him thrusting in and out of you. Sloppy and punctuated by slaps of skin and breathless grunts, he drove inside you with deep, even strokes. Not to be such a pigheaded man, but he’d been waiting for this — sniffing the air hopefully from the moment you’d arrived, but you’d been so sweet and happy loving on him for his big night up ahead that he’d settled and allowed himself to be pet. 

“Oh… God…!” 

Harry swallowed hard and peeled his fingers off your hip to slip them under your t-shirt and over one of your breasts. He thumbed your nipple clumsily before dragging his hand down your stomach until he fit it just between your legs. You gasped and jerked but he held you fast against him as he stroked upwards quickly across your clit. 

“Harry!” He clenched his jaw, ears ringing when your breathing quickened. Another sound echoed faintly and you clutched his forearm tightly, squirming against him even as he fucked into you. “I— oh!”

“Lemme have one,” he rasped against your ear. “Just the one, darling.”

“I’m gonna cum…!” you moaned throatily. “Oh! Oh my God! Ha—!”

Your cunt contracted on his cock several times in quick, squeezing pulses, and he grit his teeth as you rocked through it, gulping for air. Steeling himself, he pulled out of you, cock throbbing, wet, and sensitive, and he shifted to pull you until you were on your back. Your legs and arms fell open immediately and he had his cock in hand when he got between them to line himself up. He groaned under his breath when he pushed inside you again, head first and then the rest with no resistance. Lowering onto his elbows, he sought your mouth and latched it in a clumsy kiss as he picked up his pace again. He was close — he had to be, everything felt so fucking explosive. He hadn’t wanked in nearly two weeks and now here you were, cunt stroking him better than his hand ever could and making his balls ache. 

“C’mere,” he sputtered when your mouth slipped from under his. “Come… wanna….” He kissed you again and locked his hand over your cheek to hold you in place, eyes watering when his nose bumped yours. “Sorry,” he whispered when you made a pained sound. “‘M’sorry, m’so— fuck—“

Every single thrust felt better than the last, building the slow burn to a gentle roar. He just wanted to cum! It was selfish of him, and he swore he’d been looking forward to spending time with you, but he couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t at all interested in getting physical now that he was back in the same room with you. He’d give anything to— 

The muscles in his lower back seized and he shook from head-to-toe, mouth smashed to yours and pelvis flush against you as his cock pulsed, every bit of him emptying inside you. 

“S’good.” He kissed the side of your mouth then, making to move off you, but it seemed he’d overestimated his ability when his elbow buckled and he landed half on top of you. “Shit!” he wheezed when you grunted. “I’m sorry—”

You laughed breathlessly and he dropped his head on your shoulder when his muscles refused to solidify enough for him to lift off you completely, and he nuzzled your skin where the t-shirt you were wearing was riding down your shoulder. 

“That’s what I needed,” he admitted thickly. 

You chuckled once. ��A shag?” you asked in a poor imitation of his voice and he laughed. 

“Yeah,” he said. “A nice welcome to New York, shag with m’girlfriend.” He nipped your skin and you squeaked and squirmed, pinching his cheek with your knuckles. 

He was still curled up around you when your breathing evened out, and the last thing he saw before he fell into blackness was the clock reading 4:15 in the morning. 

***

At first he thought it was the jet lag waking him up just a short while later. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and burrowed closer against your arm, willing himself to block it out. 

“Harry?”

He grunted. 

“Harry, someone’s at the door.”

He opened his eyes, blinking the room into a singular status. “What?”

There was a click of a lock, then, and his heart stopped. Not three seconds later, he sat up and bolted from the bed, yanking his briefs on and pulling his belt out of his trouser loops to wrap it around his fist. He’d just made it to the door when it swung open and he lifted his hand—

“Whoa!”

Jeff held up his hands and Harry deflated immediately, blood rushing in his ears. 

“Jesus, you fucking… how’d you get in here?”

Jeff held up a keycard and Harry snatched it from him. 

“Hey!” Frowning, Jeff asked, “What’re you up to?”

“Nothing.” Jeff made to move past him into the room, but Harry’s arm shot out to grip the doorframe, blocking him. “I’m busy,” he said. 

Jeff’s eyebrows rose. “By yourself?”

“Sure.”

“Jesus, H,” Jeff groaned. “Wrap it up. The car’ll be here in an hour.”

Harry blinked. “The car?”

“For the meeting. At Sony.” Jeff looked at him expectantly but Harry shook his head. “I told you about this, what’s wrong with—?”

“S’early,” he says. “I’m jet lagged, just lemme… I’ll be down, just gimme time t’get ready. Did you get my text about the ticket for the show?”

“I’m working on it. Can I have my key back?”

“No.” 

When the door shut at last, Harry let out a deep breath and turned to head back to the bed. “Up now, aren’t we,” he muttered. “Got you a keycard.” He flipped it to where you were buried underneath the blankets. 

“Thanks,” you said, voice muffled. “So,” you began when you popped out from underneath the blanket, “that’s Jeffrey?”

“That’s him,” Harry said, flipping through his phone. Shit, he had forgotten about that meeting, hadn’t he?

“He seems stern.”

“Only when he has his manager pants on.” He dropped his phone on the bed and ran his hands through his hair with a groan. “I’ve got to shower. I’ve got… shit, I can’t believe I forgot.” 

“Go,” you said softly. “Then it’s my turn. We’re still on for dinner, right?” 

“Course!” He looked up. “This week is for us.” 

***

This week was for you. And him. And Jeffrey, apparently, because his best friend insisted on jamming himself into an already jammed schedule. 

“M’sorry.” He felt like a broken record. Just once he wished you’d get snappy or annoyed with him, but instead you were all too understanding. 

“It’s fine.” You patted the bed. “We had our plans and Jeffrey had his.” 

“Said you wanted me to go out with him.”

You rolled your eyes and he smirked, groaning when he sank down on the edge of the bed. 

“We could tell him.” 

Harry looked at you over his shoulder. 

“Like….” You shrugged. “I mean, you could tell him. He doesn’t know me, so I can’t.” Fingers clasped, you twisted them, locking and relocking as you stared at him with wide eyes. “Been on our own for a long time, you know?” you whispered. “And I never wanted to say something, because I didn’t want you to think I needed… or that I cared, but—” 

“You want to….”

You shrugged again and he scratched the back of his neck, exhaling slowly. “S’a big week coming.”

Promo, prep, and the actual rehearsals and filming of the damn thing. And that was without everything that’d popped up or soon would. 

By the way, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend. How’d I meet her? Funny story, that…. 

It wasn't that he was worried about how his friends would react, it was just….

“Of course,” you said quietly. “I understand.”

You slid down in the bed and pulled the blanket over your shoulders when you turned onto your side. 

“Ok?” he asked. 

“Just tired.”

“Sure?”

You nodded against your pillow and Harry’s skin prickled, but he laid down behind you.

“Night, darling.”

He stared up at the ceiling, fingers locked over his chest, silence consuming the room. 

That same silence lingered through the weekend.

You weren’t… mad. If you were mad, you wouldn’t kiss him, and when he asked for one you gave it willingly. But you didn’t give them, or anything else, out yourself, and by that logic something was wrong. 

Fine. You wanted to go out? You wanted to be brought out with him? He could do that. 

He could do that, except both of his efforts — surefire winners, by all accounts — fell flat. The play on Sunday he’d heard great things about and that a friend of his had written? 

“No, thank you.” No shyness, no gushing.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

The cast dinner he’d been invited to at an Italian place not far from the studio after his first full day of work? 

You’d smiled and shaken your head. “You go have fun.”

The cocky confidence that he’d figured out how to be a good wining-and-dining boyfriend faltered, puffed chest deflating and plucked courage blowing away. “Oh… ‘kay. F’you’re… if you’re sure.” 

Rejection stuck in his side all through the night, but by the time Tuesday evening rolled around and the paparazzi were swarming his far in below freezing temperatures, he was grateful you were tucked away and out of sight. If you’d been seen…. 

That was it, though, wasn’t it? If you’d been seen, you’d be seen. No different than before, but somehow more terrifying than the idea of his latest and greatest getting discovered than it’d ever been. You didn’t know what you were asking for, but he couldn’t ask to have you hidden for the rest of his life. Nor would you allow it, nor would he dream of ever asking you to. 

“How was dinner?”

Harry locked the deadbolt behind him and trudged the rest of the way into the room. You were curled up in bed, the soft glow of the lamp throwing shadows into the far corners of the room, and he nodded wearily. “Was a good time. Think you’d have liked it.” He glanced at you as he pulled his shoes off by the heels. “Bunch of photographers on the way in and out,” he said. 

You nodded and he disappeared to the toilet, stripping down to his undershirt and pants. When he emerged, face scrubbed and teeth brushed, you were on your side with your back to him. 

“Got you a ticket today.”

“Mmm?”

Ok. Maybe you were actually a little mad. 

“The show.” He crawled into bed and crowded behind you, nudging your cheek with his nose. “Still interested?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you haven’t spoken more than three words to me since Thursday.”

Sighing heavily, you turned towards him and he immediately regretted his burst of bravery. 

“You haven’t really been here in a day and a half.”

Harry swallowed, so close to your face he could see every speckle in your eyes he might otherwise miss. “I’ve been here. We had dinner together last night, and this weekend — most days last week. ”

You nodded slowly. 

“Did you….” Harry cleared his throat. “Did you wanna go out tomorrow? Or maybe Thursday — was thinking of maybe doing Top of the Rock?” He scooted back when you wriggled and turned in towards him more fully. 

“You always told me you didn’t like going out in New York because of the paparazzi.”

“I don’t,” he said flatly. “They’re demons here. Narrow streets, and I was mobbed just tonight.”

“You went out with Jeffrey most nights last week.”

“Not most,” he countered, neck tense.. “And you told me to go out with him. And I was papped nearly every night, or someone found me, or—“

“And we were in together this whole weekend. Inside.”

“I asked you to go out with me,” he reminded you. “To the play, yeah? And I asked you to go to dinner tonight, but you didn’t want to.”

“I’m not causing a fight!”

“M’not fighting!” Harry said. “I’m only saying what’s happened!”

“You’re arguing.”

“I’m not—“ A heat bubble swelled in his chest and he took a deep breath. “I’m not arguing. I’m only saying what happened,” he repeated. Ten… nine… eight… seven….

You huffed and crossed your arms tightly over your chest. 

“Am I a secret?”

Harry’s lips tightened and he stared at you, watching you blink slowly and evenly. “Am I?” 

Your rolled your eyes to the side. 

“I’m not ashamed of you. I’m protecting you,” he said. “Telling people wasn’t something we did, but if you want people to know....”

“I want—“ Your voice cracked and you shut your eyes. Mouth trembling, you stayed very still until it subsided. When you spoke again, it was slow and with carefully articulated syllables. “I want to be able to meet the people in your life in a dignified way. Not hiding under a blanket or being introduced as fan charity.”

Harry brushed his knuckles to the back of your cheek and you shook your head. “Wasn’t going to introduce you to him when you were half naked,” he murmured. “I’m the jealous type, remember?”

“Vividly,” you said through a stuffed nose. 

“And he’s not meeting you as fan charity, either. But I’d like to not have you ambushed by the paparazzi if that can be avoided — not until you’re like… sure about this or summat.” 

You sniffled and he kissed your temple. 

“I—“ his breath hitched “You know how I feel about you. But I don’t have to say it for you to know it, do I?”

Half a beat passed and in the amount of time it took you to shake your head he swore he almost passed out. His head dropped to your shoulder when at last you did and he breathed in the smell of your faded detergent and sleep from your t-shirt. “Know how to scare me good, don’t you?” he asked.

“Keeps you on your toes.” You patted the back of his head and he groaned. 

“Do you want people to know?” he asked.

“Do you?”

Did he? It was his turn to take a moment to weigh the implications. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” 

***

“Are you sure?” 

Harry chuckled heartily, bouncing as the Escalade rolled over a pothole, Sixth Avenue passing by out the window. 

“Not getting cold feet on me, are you?” 

You glared at him and he grinned, grasping your hand. “S’just Jeffrey,” he cooed, grimacing when you punched his bicep. 

“It’s not ‘just Jeffrey’,” you said. “And there’s a perfectly good hotel room I can watch the show from. I could continue my tradition with a bottle of wine….”

“You wanted to see dress, too, and dress isn’t televised.” He smirked and you huffed. “Do you want to be backstage or in the audience?” he asked. “Ticket with your name on it either way.”

“Audience.” Nails digging into his hand, you nodded. “Might miss something otherwise.

The car turned into a tunnel and began its slow descent underneath Rockefeller Plaza. 

“Think you’re more nervous than I am,” he said and you smiled wanly.

“You’ve done this before.” 

Not quite like this before. Harry bit his tongue and the car rolled to a stop. 

“Here we go.” Cold air rushed in when the door was opened and he slid towards it. 

“Wait—” You gripped his jacket and he stopped, looking back at you over his shoulder. Mouth serious and hardly blinking, you gulped. “Are you sure?” 

“Already asked me that.” He smiled crookedly but you shook your head.

“You know what I mean,” you whispered. 

Last chance. No turning back — once he walked in with you on his arm, it was out of your hotel room, his flat, and yours and into the real world. 

“Pretty sure, yeah,” he said. You bit your lip and he jerked his head. “Let’s go.” 

Ready or not, there you went. 

It was a blur after that. No sooner had he set foot inside than everyone needed him for one thing or another, this or that. Plans he had of smoothly introducing you to Jeffrey in his dressing room went out the window, and he only just saw a text from you before it was 8:00 and the first show was set to begin. He managed a wink at you during rehearsal when no one was looking, but when he broke down hearing your laugh — clear and delighted, his ears finely tuned to it — he had to zone out, nerves shot, otherwise he’d never make it through the show. As it was, he cracked twice during the live performance when he picked up on a giggle and made the mistake of catching your eye before his second performance of the night. Shit, he hoped he didn’t look as shaky as he felt. 

And then it was over. A week’s worth of prep, hours of rehearsal, and two shows later, and it was done — lost to the history books of water cooler chats on Monday mornings. The gentle tap on his dressing room had him spinning around, and you poked your head through the door. 

If he grinned any wider, he swore his face would split open. “Hey.” He buried his nose in your neck when you embraced him, and he squeezed you around the middle, swaying in place with you. “S’good to see you.”

“You saw me earlier,” you remind him with a breathless laugh.

“No, but like… this whole week. And the last, it’s been… m’glad you’re here. Means a lot t’me, and I couldn’t—”

“You could,” you said. “You’d do just fine. I knew you’d do great.” 

Releasing the pressure some, Harry straightened up and kissed your temple. “I love you — you know that, don’t you?” 

“Don’t even have to say it,” you quipped, but he shook his head. 

“I do. I love you, I….” He licked his lips and your own parted. “Means a lot for you t’be here… to stick it all out. To want to be here.”

You chortled. “Had to see you blond. And bumping asses with a woman. And ruining my childhood, so I’d say telling me you….” You paused, the words dying on your tongue. “It’s the least you can do.”

Harry grinned and bumped his forehead to yours. “C’mon. S’get you introduced to some people and then we’ll head out.” 

[thistangledbrain]

Autism Awareness/Acceptance Month

Day 5!

“Special Interests”

Have a quiet Autie in your life? That won’t last long if you tap into their special interest. We can’t shut UP when we find someone who’s genuinely curious about what lights us up.

Every older Autie I know has at least one special interest, sometimes several.

Mine? Dogs. Primarily.

And I mean EVERYTHING dog, but starting with behavior. Then in no particular order, health/genetics, various breeds and their traits, training....literally everything. Even the genes that define coat color & pattern, and what physical genetics are tied to behavior (if you’re curious about that, start with the Russian studies about domesticated foxes and what happened to their red coats, the more tame they became). It was horses when I was younger, but I soon moved to dogs when getting into my late teens (more affordable and accessible I guess lol). And if I don’t know the answer to your questions, we find out together, because I *need* to know, too. 😉 I can talk dogs with you literally all day and never get bored...which helps socially, too (I’ve mentioned that most of my closest friends are dog people) - I have a larger network of friends than most other auties I know, and it’s because of a shared passion for all things dog. 
Then there’s the sciences, but particularly quantum & theoretical physics. I. Fucking. Love. Physics. LOVE IT. Unfortunately, my brain hits a wall with more advanced mathematics, so I can’t “do” physics on the level I want to. Luckily for me, my oldest son is also pretty obsessed with it, and he is now pursuing a degree in physics....so when he comes home, we sit down with his notes and he breaks it down for me (the language behind the experiment or action). I have pictures of his notes saved on my phone, for simply the silly reason that I like the patterns of the math (it’s the “universal language”, if you didn’t know), and like to daydream about understanding it. (He struggles with the math as well...we are both HEAVILY right brained...but he manages.) If there’s a documentary out there about physics (plus many lectures), I’ve probably seen it multiple times. Idk why quantum physics in particular interests me...maybe because it’s almost like magic. ☺️ Quantum entanglement fascinates me, and the theory that things aren’t what they are unless/until you observe them...I can get stuck absolutely obsessing over these things.

Nature/animals are the big background special interest that the specifics tie into, though (and this ranges from astrophysics to the life cycle and structure of an ant colony - and even human psychology). Concerning observable animal/plant nature though (and this is a big one for me), Sir David Attenborough is my hero lol- no one else answers the questions I have, and opens up the natural world for me, like that dude. It was Mutual of Omaha’s nature shows when I was a kid, now it’s him. Sorry not sorry, but a doc on the secret life of plants is *fucking riveting* to me. Science is my JAM! 😆 I am happy to recommend any docs to any other fellow science nerds (Through the Wormhole, The Elegant Universe, and Cosmos are all MUST SEE - if you’re a nature nerd, of course Blue Planet, Our Planet, Life...gosh. So many great series). When I get on a science kick, I get the same feelings I get when I’ve tapped into a difficult dog’s psyche, and we start to figure things out. It’s an absolute thrilling obsession, and I am very restless until all my “why/how” is answered. It’s never enough - I never know enough, and I never will.

It’s also an area where my perpetual 2-3 year old is consistently mostly satisfied. I mean that’s the whole scientific community in a nutshell LOL! “WHY?” “HOW?!” When I was a kid, I’d have to write down all my questions that weren’t answered by our Encyclopedias, and wait till the weekly library trip to find the answers I sought. Now, I have a smartphone and Google LOL....and I cannot even begin to describe how consciously thankful I am for that quick access to answers!! Questions will *eat me alive* sometimes, so answering them in a timely fashion is sooooo satisfying 😆

I guess I’m a bit of an artist/creative personality. I’m unhappy when I don’t have space to create....but that space is pretty damn large, because I’m into almost all of it (you can’t exactly fit a miter and bandsaw into your apartment studio, so I’m very grateful I have the space for the power tools LOL...)

From building things to fabric crafts, I love it all. I get way burned out if one of those things become a “job”, though (ehh except being paid as a regular employee of a historic renovation construction firm LOL) - something I HAVE to do. Then it’s not enjoyable anymore. I had started down a path of marketable creations, and they were in high demand...but then it became something I HAD to do for money, instead of wanting to do for enjoyment - and I haven’t touched that particular craft in 8 years or more now (which frustrates people, because I was good at it). 🤷🏻‍♀️ That’s one of those things I really can’t help. My oldest son seems to be sort of similar....he’s commissioned several pieces (and secured his first few at a VERY young age), but he also tends to get a little frustrated when he’s expected to create something, instead of the urge naturally striking him. The whole beauty and satisfaction from art - for me anyway - stems from pure imagination without constraints. When you’re doing something to please someone, it ceases being art, and turns into just...a skilled task you completed. That’s how I look at it, anyway. So even though I could actually make my art into a career (at least supplementary income), it ceases to be enjoyable for me *at all*, unless I’m creating something for someone who means a lot to me. That, and I really just prefer to give my stuff as gifts. It makes me feel good to see people light up with joy over what I’ve made for them, whatever it was. (I also do a shitload of remote training with people and their dogs, for free. I point folks towards the trainers I respect if they need extensive in person work, but lots of folks don’t have several hundred bucks to sink into understanding their dogs better...so...I just help where I can, now. I think it *used to* frustrate my husband, but he absolutely understands now & is cool with it.)

Oh. And rocks and minerals. I’m an obsessive rockhound LOL - and a cousin is a geologist, so he can break down how and why each is so unique, how it formed & why, etc. I’m actually currently converting a large yard sale antique wardrobe into a piece that can showcase Sir Tommy on one side, and my extensive rock and mineral collection on the other (waaaay not extensive enough, but you might be surprised how expensive quality specimens are. Take moldavite for example...fascinating thing...little chip of it about the size of your pinky nail will run you $20 +, because it’s rare. And yes I am fascinated by the metaphysical value attached to these minerals, and why that’s even a thing.) The way minerals form - let’s cite Aragonite as an example - just captivates me.

So I guess those are my main special interests! If you have a *young* Autie in your life, try to expose them to various things. To find a “special interest” is to find a way to ground ourselves. Special interests are a bit different than...well, I’m not sure what words work for stim interests that you can escape into for NT’s, but it’s less of an interest, and more of an obsession for us. It consumes us.

So anyway, EVERY Autie has a special interest. It could be science, it could be gaming (that’s a big one with lots of males, and not a small one for Autie women either, because it’s an escape you actually have to engage your brain in) or computers; it could be mathematics or art. It could be animals and nature. But eventually (for those of you with wee Auties), Your Pet Autie ™️ will find something that they absolutely obsess over & gets them excited to share their knowledge or creations with you. I encourage parents of auties to help them explore the world and find their niche. It helps us navigate your world, and find a way to be at home in it. It also gives us something to fixate on other than our bumbling attempts at fitting in to a world not built for us.

Circling back - if you know an autistic in your life that you want an “in” to get to know, start with their special interest. (Of course we recognize when you’re doing it just for the merits, versus when you actually want to learn something from us, but we appreciate both, really. It gives us a chance to ...idk. Feel important, maybe. At least that’s what it is to me, and my boys. We love to feel needed for our knowledge!)

Special interests are truly your “in” to an Autie, regardless of what their subject is.

So that’s MY take on the special interests. What lights your beloved Autie up?

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #11- Soak the Matrix in Lemon Juice and Break Out the Hairdryers

So, small problem.

Prowl realized he was in the wrong comic run and had to split.

But not before yelling at Orion about how stupid he thinks this National Treasure bullshit he’s trying to pull is, and makes a request that Chromedome be left out of this whole mess.

Why the fuck wouldn’t you tell him that?

Bye, Prowl. See you later, I guess.

Chromedome and Roller have brought in some help for the heist from the local college. These students were super gung-ho about stealing the Matrix, not because they’re agents of political chaos, but because the Senator has his name attached to this little project. They feel a certain debt to the Senator, since he’s been doing his best to protect them from the Functionist Council.

Gee, wonder who that truck is.

We get a little rundown of our new friends, while Chromedome has a minor temper tantrum in the background.

Skids is also a member of this group, labelled as a super-learner, enough so that it may not even be a voluntary thing on his part.

In the present day, Swerve’s returned from stealing things from Trailcutter’s room, apparently totally unaware of what’s happened to his roommate. You’d think someone would have gotten in contact with him about that.

I mean, maybe? You did say you liked purple.

Swerve lets it slip that this isn’t the only story time circle Rewind’s hosted in an attempt to get Rung’s brain back up to speed… which makes me wonder just how often the medical staff on board the Lost Light actually check on their patients, if Ratchet had been surprised that this event was happening today.

Swerve makes fun of Tailgate for needing to open up the wiki so he can keep track of what’s going on, then goes over to call Rung the wrong name. Swerve is very lucky Rung is essentially in a coma right now, because that’s probably the only thing keeping him from trying to strangle our resident barkeep.

Whirl helps Rung express himself by playing with his eyebrows, a trait which, now that I think about it, probably only exists for expressive purposes, considering that his eyes are covered by his glasses and we can’t see their shape.

Rewind saves Rung from being played with, perhaps solely because he’s a historical constant.

So you’re saying Rung gets around. Nifty.

Rewind decides that they’ve taken enough of a break and it’s time to get back to the juicy stuff, completely blowing off Ratchet’s professional opinion about what to do with Rung.

Nothing gets in the way of story time.

Nothing.

In the past, Orion Pax is poking Skids in the face, specifically in his mini Matrix tattoo, which is giving him ideas. Skids is a little weirded out, but this isn’t about Skids, now is it? Chromedome goes to pay a visit to a coworker to get things set for the madness that’s about to unfold.

My boy! My beautiful boy!

Yes, Ironfist, before shooting himself in the head and having his spirit broken by the horrors of direct combat, used to be a cop. Everyone’s a cop in IDW, at least for a little while. He’s also missing his faceplate, and isn’t nearly as cute in Milne’s style, but we can’t have it all all the time, now can we?

Chromedome’s feeding into Ironfist’s fanboy nature, pretending to be just as much as a nerd as he is to call in a favor. In exchange for getting Ironfist’s Delta Magnus body pillow back from their boss, Chromedome needs to borrow Ironfist’s one-to-one replica of the Matrix.

I mean, you practically are already, but the sentiment is appreciated. We haven’t gotten to the point where we’re comfortable with thank you kisses yet, and it’ll be a while still.

While the Senator and company gush over Chromedome’s good job, Roller pulls Ratchet and Orion over to the side for a little chat.

Roller doesn’t trust the Senator. He’s done his research, weighed their options, and he really isn’t sure about this guy. Turns out that Orion isn’t the only guy who’s been modified to fit a Matrix without his consent. Honestly, I’m with Roller on this one; that’s mad creepy to be loading the bases like that.

Orion doesn’t really see it that way, though.

Only one of these things was ever a secret, my guy. You worked with Whirl, he was in your precinct for crying out loud! At least he admits to his ignorance.

Back in the present, we check in on Rodimus’ investigation. Looks like we’ve got our answer on who tried to kill Red Alert.

It was Red Alert.

First Aid explains.

Fascinating.

Rodimus fails to see why exactly Red Alert would choose to go this route, because A) he doesn’t know that Red Alert knows about the dirty little secret in the basement, and B) despite probably having depression, may not be the type to have suicidal ideation. It’s true, those types of people exist!

Oh, this is a savior’s complex thing. Nyon really fucked you up, huh Rodimus?

After Ultra Magnus gets Rodimus to stop accosting the doctor, they’re faced with a sort of moral quandary.

IDW’s More Than Meets the Eye! Come for the space adventure, stay for the rumination on whether it’s ethical to allow a mentally ill person the right to self-termination!

After consulting with Drift, because it’s always important to get a second opinion, Rodimus agrees to put Red Alert in cold storage, to remain until their quest is finished and they’re in a place that’s better for his mental health.

Anyway, back to the heist plotline.

Orion breaks down the plan for everybody: the basilica is nearly impossible to break into, but they’re going to do it anyway, because this is the past, and we as the reader already know that things go alright because Chromedome, Ratchet and Skids are still here and Optimus Prime came into being.

Roller will hack the sky spies, make things look all hunky dory, while the rest of the boys magic carpet up to the top of the building.

Looking mighty relaxed there, Glitch.

Glitch is probably sitting down to conserve as much energy as possible, because his job sucks some major chrome- he’s got to keep the detector beams off, using his outlier ability, but it really friggin’ hurts for him to do it. He’s going to have to do it for an extended period of time.

Glitch really got the short end of the stick in all this, didn’t he?

Okay, so I was wrong, Skids uses his grappling hook a fucking shit-ton in MTMTE. Today, he’s going to use it to lower Orion down into the basilica so he can crack open a cold one and steal the Matrix.

Things can never just be simple, can they?

Over on Roller’s end of the workflow, Chromedome’s irritated that he’s got to babysit the Senator. Chromedome spends a good portion of this story arc irritated at stuff, in case you couldn’t tell.

In this case, the Senator agrees that having Chromedome stay back was probably unnecessary. Or at least, he did, until he noticed that the Academy of Advanced Technology is burning to the ground on live TV.

Then the wall explodes.

Things can never just be simple, can they?

Back on the front lines, Orion tags out and Ratchet tags in, because the locks on the Matrix are mad crazy hard to undo and they just don’t have time for pussyfooting around with all that. Ratchet is apparently a master lock pick. Must be those magic medic hands.

Even the Matrix being full of Fiji water is no match for our CMO, as he makes quick work of the bomb and removes it. Hooray! Now we just need to pull him back up and we’ll be all set to leave.

Or at least, we would be, if Glitch wasn’t the dumbest bitch alive.

Ratchet braces for an explosion.

And braces.

And braces.

But it never comes, because Windcharger has magic arms and zero patience for facing his own mortality.

The boys haul up Ratchet and the bomb, fly on out of there, then Orion jumps off the slab they’re floating on because Roller was supposed to call and he hasn’t. I’m going to hazard a guess and say that Roller might be a bit preoccupied at the moment, and it isn’t by the television.

That is a BIG BOY.

“Cleanse and control” was what Trepan’s idiotic tattoo said, so there’s a good chance that our buddy the Senator is about to go the way of Pious Maximus in a minute. Or at least, he would if Orion Pax didn’t embrace is inner monster truck and punch a hole in the big boy holding the Senator like Lennie does a rabbit.

Kroma isn’t one to let the opposite side have all the cards though, as he holds a gun to Roller’s head and suggests that the Senator be given to him, lest we be down a cop in this story that’s simply awash with them. The Senator, being the nice guy that he is, goes willingly to his doom.

Be a lot easier if we knew your name, bud.

The Senator is taken away, but Kroma leaves Orion with the other big boy, and he’s not playing nicely. Orion helps himself by way of domestic terrorism.

But that’s not the end of the story! Oh dear no!

After the explosion, Orion unearths Chromedome, and they make tracks for the Institute. Small issue with that though:

Well, dang.

Thus ends the tale of the Matrix heist, the mysterious Senator, and Chromedome’s awkward relationship with Prowl. Our storytelling session ends with the sound of the alarm, and everyone runs off to see just what the hell’s gone wrong now. Only Skids hangs back to take Rung to the medibay, but not before trying one last thing to help his partner in vent-crawling out.

Man, all they had to do was annoy him and everything would have been fine? Rewind’s going to feel so silly for all that work he put into this.

Back in the past, Orion’s digging through the remains of the Rodion police station, when a robot comes up to him, saying that they have a mutual friend who asked him to find Orion if he ever went missing.

The mutual friend was the Senator.

And the robot is Zeta, who would become Zeta Prima.

The Senator was really playing the field with all these Matrix reformattings.

Speaking of the Senator, he’s just arrived at a The Institute, where they’ve decided to not only shadowplay him, but also empurata his whole deal just to be assholes. He just wanted to be beautiful, on top of conniving, but I guess we won’t be having any of that anymore. Not that it’ll matter.

Because vanity is illogical.

No wonder Whirl’s so goddamn angry all the time.

[f4liveblogarchives]

Fantastic Four Vol 1 #198 & #199

Mon Aug 26 2019 [12:46 AM] Wack'd: It probably bares pointing out that this story is being billed as "The Greatest F.F. Epic of All!". I disagree [12:46 AM] maxwellelvis: I thought that kind of hyperbole on the covers died out with the Silver Age [12:46 AM] Bocaj: I wonder what the greatest FF epic of all is [12:47 AM] Wack'd: Thus far I'm not sure anything's topped the Lee/Kirby epic of the Four being trapped in Latveria, if only for its sheer manic energy as it ping-pongs wildly from one twist to the next, only to end on a shaggy dog note when Doom gets bored and lets them leave [12:47 AM] maxwellelvis: Some people would argue it's the original Galactus Trilogy. [12:48 AM] Wack'd: I mean. If you define "epic" as "more than two issues". Otherwise it's probably the Thomas/Conway/Buscema one where a janitor gets a sentient cosmic cube to turn the world into a bonkers 50s mashup [12:48 AM] Wack'd: Isn't Galactus just 49-50? Otherwise I guess you could include that [12:48 AM] maxwellelvis: Man, that story got kinda last-episode-of-The Prisoner-y in the middle when they're both captured. [12:49 AM] maxwellelvis: People count the Silver Surfer stuff in #48 as part of it. [12:49 AM] Wack'd: That's probably fair [12:49 AM] Wack'd: Anyway! Reed has the Pogo Plane and is going to get Doctor Doom [12:50 AM] Wack'd: Weirdly, he figured this out because only Doom could've designed all the neat stuff he saw at his new job, funded the rocket that got him his powers back, and captured his friends so easily [12:50 AM] Wack'd: And not because his boss is the spitting image of his old college roommate [12:51 AM] Wack'd: Seriously there's one bit where it looks like Reed might recognize Son of Doom and instead it's like "that face? where have I seen that face?" [12:51 AM] maxwellelvis: How could he know what Victor Von Doom looks like? WE barely see his face even in flashback. [12:51 AM] maxwellelvis: I just assume he always has a shadow around that he lurks in. [12:51 AM] Wack'd: Pffft [12:52 AM] maxwellelvis: Like, from what I remember from his origin story, we see his face when we see him as a boy, but as he grows to college-age, his back is turned to us or his face is obscured more. [12:52 AM] Wack'd: The Four have left Latveria alive. Numerous times. But okay.

[12:53 AM] maxwellelvis: When did Doom start hiring goons? I thought his only human employee was Boris. [12:53 AM] Wack'd: We've seen him have human goons numerous times! [12:53 AM] maxwellelvis: Oh [12:53 AM] Wack'd: Just last issue a human goon he had in the 60s came back! I made a joke about what a ridiculous continuity pull it was and everything! [12:54 AM] maxwellelvis: Right [12:54 AM] Wack'd: Okay this feels like a little much but I'm sure everyone will forget he could do this soon enough

[12:54 AM] maxwellelvis: It's just weird because I'm used to him having an army of robotic henchmen, aside from the Doombots even. [12:54 AM] Wack'd: He does run a country. It'd be weird if there were no federal jobs [12:55 AM] maxwellelvis: These guys, to be specific. His Servo-Guards. [12:55 AM] Wack'd: I never said he didn't have robots

[12:56 AM] Wack'd: Man, those are some Tony Stark lookin' goons [12:56 AM] maxwellelvis: Wow, they look way less efficient than the Servo-Guards. [12:57 AM] Wack'd: Anyway Reed tries to rewire one of the robots and as a safeguard it explodes, knocking him unconscious and into a nearby lake [12:57 AM] Wack'd: Yeah, Reed's gonna die less than halfway through the issue, I buy this

[12:58 AM] Wack'd: "Face down in the water." Keith Pollard wins yet another art award [12:59 AM] maxwellelvis: Don't they write the scripts after the art is drawn? [12:59 AM] maxwellelvis: This could be on Marv's head. [01:00 AM] Wack'd: To the extent that this wasn't a myth perpetuated to justify Stan's writing credit, it was dying out by the 80s as comics became more of an auteur medium [01:00 AM] maxwellelvis: Ahh [01:00 AM] Wack'd: So possible, but unlikely [01:00 AM] Wack'd: Last time Doom was thwarted when someone pointed out he probably didn't want to destroy all the historical artifacts in the building so he's learned literally nothing. Very in character for him

[01:01 AM] maxwellelvis: This is the same guy who burned an original Renoir because he didn't like looking at it. [01:02 AM] Wack'd: Also apparently the statue Alicia's sculpting is "a gift to the UN when they vote not to condemn Latveria for its...more aggressive policies" [01:02 AM] Wack'd: Presumably also why Doom's "stepping down"--makes him look good in the run-up to the vote [01:03 AM] Wack'd: Little does he know the UN has no power and any condemnation they issue is basically just to make themselves look good! A rare day one manages to get one over on Doom [01:04 AM] Wack'd: Doom's also convinced the spaceship explosion killed Reed. For some reason. Even Sue has to point out that's a really dumb assumption [01:05 AM] Wack'd: Love me a good "Ben doesn't know when to quit" moment

[01:08 AM] Wack'd: Love a resistance. Don't love that they're big into hereditary monarchy

[01:08 AM] maxwellelvis: Especially because the guy Doom overthrew was a genocidal monster. [01:09 AM] maxwellelvis: Or maybe Doom just does that thing were every Latverian nobleman he undermined and disposed of, in his mind, he always saw the face of the man who killed his father. [01:09 AM] maxwellelvis: Y'know, like Batman. [01:10 AM] Wack'd: Possibly. Marvel Wiki says Rudolpho appeared in person occasionally through the 70s but doesn't mention anything about him being the guy who killed Doom Daddy [01:10 AM] maxwellelvis: I didn't mean to imply that. [01:11 AM] maxwellelvis: But Doom IS the kind of guy who would probably hold him just as accountable as that man was. [01:11 AM] Wack'd: Fair [01:12 AM] Wack'd: So we get to see a bit of the statue carving and the back of Doom's head looks like he's melting and Ben says he "has a puss that makes mine look like Robbie Redford's" [01:12 AM] Bocaj: I wonder if Doom will ever do a T'Challa and make Latveria a democracy so he doesn't have to put in the hours anymore [01:12 AM] maxwellelvis: Never [01:12 AM] Wack'd: Is basically every interesting or sympathetic aspect of this guy besides his origin a massive retcon [01:12 AM] Bocaj: Historically, Doom has walked away from ruling the world at least once because he found it tedious [01:12 AM] maxwellelvis: He loves being in charge [01:12 AM] Wack'd: I'm starting to feel like it id [01:13 AM] maxwellelvis: That sounds more like he didn't realize how much work the entire world would be compared to Latveria. [01:13 AM] Wack'd: So Son of Doom shows up and is like "it's time for the transference" [01:13 AM] Wack'd: I feel like we can all see where this is going [01:13 AM] Bocaj: Whats funny is that I think Doom keeps trying to conquer the world after the Emperor Doom story [01:14 AM] Bocaj: I guess wanting is better than having [01:14 AM] maxwellelvis: He's transferring his mind into his son's body, isn't he? [01:14 AM] Bocaj: He also definitely had some airs of ennui during God Emperor Doom in Secret Wars [01:14 AM] Wack'd: I also guessed this but apparently not [01:14 AM] Wack'd:

[01:15 AM] Wack'd: He's gonna give Son of Doom all the Four's powers [01:15 AM] maxwellelvis: Ah [01:15 AM] Wack'd: Minus one [01:16 AM] Wack'd: hahahahaha

[01:16 AM] Wack'd: This is basically a Superdictionary entry [01:16 AM] Bocaj: HAY THAT MACHINE [01:16 AM] Bocaj: THAT’S THE SAME MACHINE HE USED AS A SKRULL DETECTOR IN AVENGERS EARTH'S MIGHTIEST HEROES [01:17 AM] Bocaj: "It does more than one thing. SHUT UP!" [01:17 AM] Wack'd: Huh! [01:17 AM] Wack'd: Deep cut! [01:18 AM] Wack'd: Love me some casual mook dialogue

[01:18 AM] Wack'd: God so much of this issue is just letting Reed show off [01:19 AM] Wack'd: "How will we climb this mountain?" "I'm a rope now!" "How will we hide from this drone?" "I'll make myself look like part of the mountainside!" "How will we cross this moat?" "I'm a bridge now!" [01:20 AM] Bocaj: So him giving Reed his powers back is thus implied to be not about Doom's self-serving definition of a fair fight but to fill that fourth bubble? [01:20 AM] Wack'd: Probably yeah [01:21 AM] Wack'd: Marv Wolfman: Should I pace this slower so that everyone that's been complaining about Reed not stretching has time to nut? [01:22 AM] Bocaj: pfft [01:22 AM] Wack'd: I fucking love these two

[01:24 AM] Wack'd: I would watch a sitcom about these people [01:25 AM] Wack'd: ...weren't you trying to put a king back on the throne?!?

[01:25 AM] Bocaj: Maybe they don't know what democracy means [01:26 AM] Wack'd: Latveria doesn't seem to have a robust education system [01:27 AM] Bocaj: But they do have a robot education system [01:27 AM] Bocaj: Every latverian schoolchild is taught how to make a Doombot [01:27 AM] Wack'd: So all of the rebels but the main one get trapped between sliding doors and gassed, thus massively simplifying the plot [01:28 AM] Wack'd: Zorba is distressed his men might be dead but Reed reassures him they can still win, which I'm sure was his main concern [01:29 AM] Wack'd: So it turns out Hauptmann is the brother of the original Hauptmann, who died in that Latveria epic [01:29 AM] Wack'd: I forgot [01:29 AM] Wack'd: He's totally on board with overthrowing Doom since his brother...was killed by Doom? Died on Doom's watch if nothing else. [01:30 AM] Wack'd: FINAL SHOWDOWN TIME [01:31 AM] Wack'd: I like that Doom assumes this was a clever ruse on Reed's part and that he did not, in fact, almost die

[01:31 AM] Wack'd: Anyway not final showdown time I guess! Cliffhanger time!

[01:32 AM] Wack'd: Boy the "soul-shattering secret" thing kinda makes me wish I hadn't looked him up

Mon Aug 26 2019 [01:32 AM] Wack'd: FANTASTIC FOUR VOL 1 NO 199: [01:34 AM] Wack'd: I like that Doom plays the piano. That it's just a thing he does and incorporates into his plans just because he likes it.  It's a nice little thing

[01:34 AM] maxwellelvis: That's an organ setup [01:34 AM] maxwellelvis: Just as cliche and ten times as bombastic [01:34 AM] maxwellelvis: Which suits Victor [01:36 AM] Wack'd: Anyway Zorbo is...back outside, now? And he's leading a mob? [01:37 AM] Wack'd: Doom tries to fire on them with his suit weapons but the entire mob pulls out guns and draw on him [01:37 AM] Bocaj: Normal guns? A trifle for one such as VICTOR VON DOOOOOM [01:38 AM] Wack'd: You'd think [01:38 AM] Wack'd: But he backs down and redoubles on his promise to retire [01:38 AM] Wack'd: The mob has formed, essentially, because they don't believe him [01:39 AM] Bocaj: Do they know his plan to put his son on the throne? [01:39 AM] Wack'd: Yes [01:39 AM] Wack'd: Zorbo is threatening to expose the "dark secret" behind Son of Doom [01:39 AM] Bocaj: So they're fine with that but they just don't believe Doom is really retiring? [01:40 AM] Wack'd: Well, they don't know what it is yet [01:40 AM] Wack'd: Zorbo is keeping us them in suspense [01:41 AM] Wack'd: stupid 👏🏼 baby 👏🏼 word 👏🏼 games

[01:43 AM] Wack'd: So apparently UN is threatening to expel Latveria [01:43 AM] Wack'd: This is a weird set of circumstances to slowly unfold over the course of the story but I'm digging it [01:44 AM] Wack'd: Meanwhile: Reed punches out of his sphere and frees the others while Doom is distracted with statue stuff [01:45 AM] Bocaj: Ego is his downfall as happens [01:46 AM] Wack'd: I hadn't thought about it until now but it's very interesting to me that this arc ends not with Reed learning to value his other virtues in lieu of his powers (before of course getting them back) but with him completely forgetting his midlife crisis and reforming the team

[01:47 AM] Wack'd: Like in modern comics there'd be some kind of character beat before the big return but nah, Reed can stretch again! All problems are solved forever! [01:49 AM] Wack'd: Anyway they fight some mooks, dodge some lasers, the usual, before reaching Doom. And Alicia, who is being threatened with a dislocated finger

[01:50 AM] Wack'd: So naturally the Four surrender [01:50 AM] Wack'd: Doom's speech here has big Mother Gothel energy

[01:51 AM] Wack'd: Zorbo frees the Four and Alicia. Quick turnaround time, but then the arc is ending [01:52 AM] Wack'd: The Four show up, reveal Son of Doom as a clone, fight fight fight [01:53 AM] Wack'd: ...huh. Did not see this coming

[01:54 AM] Wack'd: So anyway Son of Doom declares he has no interest in his dad's petty cruelty and thirst for revenge, and the two duke it out [01:55 AM] Wack'd: It's...pretty cool

[01:56 AM] Wack'd:

[01:56 AM] maxwellelvis: I don't think I've ever seen Doom have a breakdown like this before. [01:56 AM] Bocaj: "Learn some self-care, Doom!" "NEVER" [01:57 AM] Wack'd: As with the thing with Agatha and Nick Scratch I kinda wish the hammer had dropped sooner so we had more room to explore this dynamic [01:58 AM] Wack'd: But we definitely get some good mileage out of it in the final moments

[hutchhitched]

The Vintage Joshifer Series: End of Love—Chapter 19

End of Love by hutchhitched

A kazillion years ago, I started posting this story. I never intended for it to drag on this long in between updates, but life happens and so does writer’s block. I know there’s little readership in the Joshifer fandom anymore, but I needed to finish it. If you’re still around to read it, thank you. If you want to dive in, I’d appreciate it. You definitely don’t have to be a Joshifer fan to read it since Josh and Jen’s characters are historical actors and not versions of their modern selves.

Historical events in this chapter include the following:

Richard Nixon won the presidential election of 1968. He triumphed over Vice President Humphrey and third party candidate George Wallace, who famously defended segregation at the University of Alabama earlier in the decade. Nixon won by appealing to the Silent Majority, those who believed the radicalism of the 1960s had gone too far. During his presidency he worked to build a national Republican Party after it all but disappeared during the Great Depression during the 1930s. Nixon called this the Southern Strategy (downplaying civil rights by rejecting the GOP’s original stance of the anti-slavery party in 1860, when Lincoln won the election).

After winning the election, Nixon did stop further troop deployments to Vietnam and reduced the numbers already there. Instead, he instituted a bombing campaign of the Vietnam and neighboring Laos and Cambodia. This was called Vietnamization.

 Chicago, Illinois, November 1968

 “Hutch, what’s good?”

 “Andre, my man. It’s been too long.” Josh clapped his friend on the back and welcomed him into headquarters. Volunteers buzzed around them, and Josh reminded himself that spending time with a good friend in from out of town for a day was just as important as working to support the Democratic candidate for president—even though Josh was almost positive his party was going to lose the election.

 Nothing had been the same since Bobby died. The Kennedy magic was gone. Instead of the former Attorney General being the nominee, the current VP who was tainted by LBJ’s Americanization strategy in Vietnam would likely lose to Nixon. If that happened, and it almost certainly would, he knew the positive changes in civil rights and economic equality would disappear with when the GOP took power. It was beyond comprehension, but election day loomed in two days. Two days until the world fell apart.

 “Let’s grab lunch,” Andre suggested. When Josh hesitated, he offered, “My treat.”

 Reluctantly, Josh agreed, and they headed down the street to a local diner he and his friends had frequented during the campaign season. He settled into the booth and stared across the table at his friend. It had been too long. Since that night with the two girls. Before he admitted how much he cared about Jennifer. When he hadn’t sold out.

 “Fucking Nixon,” his friend swore, and Josh grinned. Leave it to Andre to put everything in the bluntest format possible.

 “What the fuck is ‘the silent majority’ anyway?” Josh asked with a roll of his eyes. “Too fucking scared to speak up for what’s right? Racist a majority of the time?”

 Josh was sick to death of Nixon’s campaign strategy—catering to what he termed the “Silent Majority,” a group the Republican candidate insisted comprised the bulk of American society and were sick of the protests in the country. Nixon argued conservatives who were okay with the status quo were the majority in the nation and only radicals demanded change from the government in treatment of women and minorities. It wasn’t true, but a lot of people bought it. Josh just assumed that meant most people were god damned stupid.

 No matter how hard he and other activists worked to right wrongs and get real democracy to win out against conservative assholes, they were met with GOP rhetoric that villainized the very people he’d marched with, who’d sat next to him in jail, who burned their draft cards along with him in unheard protests against American presence in Vietnam.

 Of course, the New Left had grown more radical, pushed for more change and faster, dropped out, doped up, and raged against Johnson’s administration. The problem was he and the other activists had worked and fought and hoped for real change, and the administration and rest of the nation was dragging its collective feet. Josh’s question was why hadn’t more people sought to right the wrongs he and so many of this friends saw as glaring inequalities that only weakened the state of the nation rather than strengthening it. It was time. It was past time, and he was getting really antsy.

 “So, how have you been? Really?” Andre asked. “The last time I saw you, you were hightailing it out of bed with two women in New Haven and coming here to get your girl. Seems like different priorities.”

 Josh shook his head and tried to work his mind around his friend’s words. He’d been feeling unsettled for a long while, but the conflict between him and Jennifer had been growing since the protests in August and her trip to Atlantic City to cover the pageant. He’d considered leaving while she was gone, but he couldn’t quite make himself slink away like a coward. He still had work to do in Chicago, and he loved his…whatever she was to him. They’d been living together for months, but he hated labels. She hadn’t pushed, and he’d been grateful for her willingness to let it go.

 But this election would change everything. He knew it, and he also knew he was biding his time.

 “I don’t know, man. It’s such a bad scene right now. Since Bobby and King and ’Nam and everything, this country’s a bomb.”

 “But you’re a good cat, Josh. You’re making things better.”

 Josh laughed and smiled ruefully. “Am I? It seems to me I’m getting laid a lot by a doll who works for the man instead of the people.”

 “Do you love her?”

 “I…” Josh paused and swallowed hard. He did. That wasn’t in question but admitting it was another thing completely. “She’s fab. She is.”

 “But?”

 “I should be doing more,” he admitted. “I don’t know what, but I keep feeling like I should bug out and work somewhere else. Or dropout all together. Go live with the beautiful people and leave everything behind. Get high and blitzed and commune with nature.”

 Andre took a bite of his burger and shrugged. “Sounds like heaven to me, man, but I don’t think you’d be happy that way. You’re going steady, right?”

 “I’m not sure—”

 “Hutch. Man. You’ve been shacked up with her for months. You’re not sleeping with anyone else. Tune in. You’re together, and you’ve been head over heels for her since college. Wake up,” Andre said, exasperated.

 Josh sat silently for several minutes as he processed the information. No one had forced him to face what was happening until now, and he wasn’t sure he liked what he saw. Jen left him the night of his graduation. Maybe he’d never really forgiven her for that. Perhaps that’s why escaping was always in the back of his mind, to punish her for hurting him so much. Or, it was also possible that he really wasn’t comfortable in such a position. He’d always been restless, always been someone who pushed the boundaries, and falling in love with Jennifer, who came from privilege and affluence, didn’t seem like it fit. None of this was fair to her, but that didn’t change how he felt.

 “Maybe I am,” he admitted, “but I’m not sure it’s enough.”

 “Then be up front with her once you figure it out. You both deserve that.”

 “After the election,” Josh breathed. “After Tuesday.”

 “By then we’ll know if the world’s ending or not.”

 “Right on.”

 ****

 The world ended. Josh sat on the couch in Jen’s apartment as the sun set and the room darkened around him. He’d chosen to watch by himself, unsure how he’d feel when Nixon and Spiro Agnew were declared winners and all the gains over the past eight years would be overturned in a matter of time. Jen was at work, covering local reaction to the election results, and he’d intentionally not watched with his activist friends. Hippies were either remarkably anti-political or flying high, and he needed to be lucid and engaged for this.

 Election results rolled in one after another, and none of it was good for the Democrats. Texas went blue, but the West went red. Big time. George Wallace stole the South for the Dixiecrats, who couldn’t reconcile themselves to JFK or LBJ’s Democratic party of Civil Rights but weren’t on board with the GOP either. A hundred years prior, Republicans were the party of Lincoln and “freed” the slaves.

 “People are fucking stupid,” Josh spat into the emptiness. “Racist fucks. God bless Texas for sticking it out.”

 One by one the states reported, and his hope for the future of his country sunk lower with each call for Nixon. At least there was hope for a pullout in Vietnam. That was big, but would that be enough to make up for what would happen domestically? If Johnson had been able to focus on his Great Society instead of getting caught up in Southeast Asia, things could have been so different.

 “Fuck the Cold War. Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

 When Nixon got 270 votes, Josh lit up a joint and took a long, hard drag. He stared at the TV, the electoral map, the celebration in California at Nixon’s headquarters, the concession speech by Humphrey. His muscles relaxed, his mind wandered, and he turned off the part of him that cared. He started drinking next, and he was blitzed by the time Jen returned. She looked at him, her face a mask of concern mixed with a hint of fear, and he knew she dreaded what he already knew he’d have to do soon. He couldn’t stay. He just couldn’t. He already couldn’t breathe, and the election wasn’t even official yet.

 Jennifer curled up on his lap, and he let her undress him. He couldn’t move. His limbs weighed a million pounds apiece, and he couldn’t feel anything except despair. She kissed him, and he responded, but he didn’t feel anything.

 “Josh?”

 He heard his name, but she was a million miles away from him. Her voice was barely audible, and her face swam in his vision. He wanted to leave, to getaway, to run. He must have vocalized his desperation because Jen raised her hand so he could see her palm. Four sugar cubes lay there, and he breathed a prayer of thanks as he put one on his tongue.

 Josh had tripped before, but none of the other acid he’d taken had given him quite the same effect. The apartment bent and sparkled as the drug spread through his system. Jen’s eyes shone beams of sunlight, and he swore rainbows spilled out of her mouth and ears. He tried to swallow them, his mouth against hers, his fingers wrapped in liquid gold that flowed from her temples and past her shoulders. He was warm and flying and soaring above the earth, and he felt nothing except his skin against hers.

 Every nerve ending was on fire, and her fingers against his chest created bright purple sparks that exploded into golden stars. She straddled him and rocked against him, and he idly wondered why. His lap was warm and damp. His mouth swallowed the diamonds on her chest, hard and cutting against his tongue. Jen’s head fell back, and he realized the diamonds were tits. He bit down hard on her nipple, and she screamed. It sounded like a folk song, a call for peace and justice.

 She grew louder, and he sang with her. Her name fell from his lips, a litany of what was right with the world and everything that was dreadfully wrong. He needed her, and he had to escape. Tears streamed down his face and they glistened from her eyelashes. He palmed her ass and counted the contractions as she milked his cock. They were fucking, he realized. It felt like he was flying, but instead, he was shoving her onto the floor, bending her in half, and rutting against her.

 The floor underneath him shook and exploded into fiery heat. A vice gripped his cock. A melody of praise. Flashing lights. Unicorns flew by his head. His dad walked toward him, out of his wheelchair. His grandfather waved hi, even though he’d died several years ago. Josh wondered if he was going crazy, but he didn’t really care.

 Josh sat up, and Jen lay in a heap on the floor. His right hand jacked his dick mindlessly. It was wet and sticky, just like the puddle beneath his girlfriend. That’s what she was, he admitted. It was easier in his altered state, easier to accept the truth that they were together. She was radiant, skin glowing, as she watched his hand get faster and faster.

 When she spoke, it was in a foreign language. Urdu, maybe, or ancient Greek. Whatever it was made complete sense to him.

 “Jerk it, baby.”

 She reached over and took his cock from him, and he realized he was the one talking, not her.

 “I don’t know Urdu,” he slurred.

 “I do,” she said before swallowing him.

 Her cheeks hallowed out, and he fucked her mouth hard. He was crying, and she joined him as he thrust down her throat.

 “Did I hurt you?” he asked, although he was still inside her. He should have asked if he was hurting her because he hadn’t stopped. He didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to go.

 He had to. He had to. He had to. He had to.

 His body split in two. Part of him drifted up to the ceiling and danced there on happy feet. The other sank into the floor in a puddle of melted wax. Streaks of cream-colored icing decorated Jen’s face, and he leaned over to lick her cheek clean. It wasn’t sweet enough. Needed more sugar.

 They had two more cubes. One on his tongue. One on hers. They stumbled to the bedroom. He flew around the room, his wings flapping, circling and swooping and riding the currents. He landed on the bed. The lights went out. She was on top. She was on his face. He was in her mouth. Waterfalls. Waves. Giggles and jokes and mapping body parts with tongues and fingers and marking each other with bands of dried moisture.

 Hours and minutes and seconds and days and decades and centuries passed. No time passed at all, and then a curtain pulled behind his eyes, and he slept.

 ****

 The next morning dawned with a throbbing headache, aching limbs, and a broken heart. He opened his eyes, and he instantly regretted losing control so badly the night before. Their bed was destroyed. The sheets were filthy, striped with evidence of multiple orgasms. The room stunk like sex and piss. His mouth tasted as if something had died inside, and he wanted to murder someone when he saw Jen curled into herself.

 Josh hadn’t been in control of himself last night, and he was scared to death he’d hurt her. She didn’t warrant that. She deserved better than him. She should be lavished with only the best. He’d always been less than he wanted for her.

 He vowed to do better.

 ****

 On Inauguration Day, he wasn’t doing better. January 20 came and went, and Josh had spiraled into a mess. High every day, he’d fallen into a cycle of depression and spent more days on his friend’s couches than doing anything even remotely productive. He was twenty-five and hated what he’d become. He had a brief moment of clarity on New Year’s Eve when he was convinced 1969 would be a good year, but then Nixon took office.

 The new president catered to racist southerners and turned a blind eye to FBI stings targeting the Black Panthers. Riots broke out, more men came home in body bags, and women raged. Jen stayed busy at work, while he tuned out. He avoided his family and Jackson’s. He barely talked to Jen. He was a mess, and he knew it.

 A few weeks after the inauguration, Nixon announced a reduction of American troops in Vietnam, and his younger brother called him from Stanford where he was enrolled in his first year of grad school.

 “The son of a bitch did it,” his brother said when Josh answered the phone.

 Josh blinked rapidly and attempted to ground himself. He was high, as usual, and he found he needed to concentrate inordinately hard to understand what the words his brother spoke meant.

 “Did what?” he garbled and slid down the wall to sit on the kitchen floor.

 “Nixon. He’s pulling us out of ’Nam. We’re safe.”

 “Safe?” he asked. “Safe from what?”

 “What’s wrong with you, man? Are you tripping?”

 “Not today,” Josh sighed and grinned dopily at the wall. “Maybe tomorrow. Definitely was yesterday.”

 Connor grunted in frustration and snarled into the phone, “Have you been paying attention to what’s happening? We’re not going to Vietnam. No more new troops. A pullback of boots on the ground. They’re calling it Vietnamization.”

 “Yay, America…” Josh drawled and waved his finger in the air in celebration.

 “Come to Cali, man. I’ll help you get straight.”

 “Why bother?” Josh asked. “It’s all going to hell anyway.”

 “Just come,” his brother insisted. “I don’t know what’s happened to you, but you’re not the big brother I know. You wanted to save the world, not wallow.”

 “We lost. As soon as Bobby died, it was over.”

 “If you’re not here in four days, I’m coming to get you,” Connor threatened. “Mom and Dad don’t need to know about this, but I’ll tell them if I have to.”

 “Don’t tell them,” Josh entreated. “Dad can’t take the stress. I’ll be there.”

 “Four days.”

 Josh replaced the receiver and looked around the apartment. There were so many good things about his relationship with Jennifer. He’d loved her for a very long time, but he wasn’t where he needed to be—physically or mentally. He wasn’t an undergrad anymore, and he wasn’t doing anything to help the world. He was dragging her down, and the last thing he wanted to do was make life worse for her. Whether or not he liked it, Nixon was the president for the foreseeable future. Josh needed a change of scenery, and his kid brother was a genius. If anyone could help him get back on track, it was Connor.

 With a breaking heart, he entered the bedroom, grabbed a rucksack and started packing. He shoved his clothes into the bag but was careful to leave some of his things that Jen loved to wear when they were alone in their apartment. He grabbed a few books—his dog-eared copies of The Catcher in the Rye, Howl, and On the Road—and his toothbrush. He shuffled through a stack of papers and found his draft card, which he shoved in his front pocket. Once he got to Palo Alto, he and Connor could burn them together in celebration. When he had everything he needed, he grabbed a pencil and a notepad and wrote Jen a note.

 Dear Jen,

 I know you’ve been expecting this for a while, but I didn’t mean to leave while you were at work. I know I have to, though, or I won’t be able to walk away. I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you at Berkeley, but I was too stubborn and terrified to admit it. You’ve always had the same fire as me, even if it’s been directed somewhere else than mine. I’ve lost myself. I’ve got to find the spark again. You deserve that. You’ve always been better than me. You shouldn’t settle for someone broken. Right now, I am. When I’m fixed, I’ll let you know. I love you. Don’t ever doubt that. You’ve been the best part of me for a very long time. I’m so sorry.

 Always, Josh

 He was crying by the time he finished writing. He’d put this off for so long because he wasn’t strong enough to leave, but Connor’s phone call had woken something in him he hadn’t been able to find for ages. He’d call her in a few months—once he had himself together again. He wouldn’t leave her without any word, the way she had with him. He wondered for a second if he was punishing her because of what she’d done, but leaving her was much more of a penalty for him than it was for her.

 He swiped at the note he wrote her, and the tear that had fallen smeared his name. He was already fading in this place. All that was left was to walk out the door.

 Just as he turned to go, he noticed a picture of her peeking out from the corner of her desk. Her long hair was down and falling over her shoulders in blonde waves. She wore a white, high-collared lace dress that made her look like an angel. He tucked the image in his wallet and grabbed his bag before slipping through the door and locking it.

 He was to the bus station within ten minutes and halfway across the state before she found the note. He was almost to California before she stopped crying.

[officialtrashbin]

Always

O o f  so I don’t think this was at all what you were waiting for anon but I hope you enjoy it all the same!

Rating: M+, for prostitution, smut, and dark themes Alternate Universe. Corvus/Proxima, mentions of background pairings.

* * * * *

He’s had the audacity to dream his dreams again, and in them, he’s done something terrible.

* * *

She lays next to him in bed, an uncareful creature she’s grown in to, smoking a cigarette. He looks at her, covered only by the corner of the sheet; the lights from the building across the street flicker, and the crimson shadow of the neon sign spills into the room in intervals, bracketing her impossibly soft, blue face. She makes him feel a certain way.

“I missed you,” he says.

“Is that all you missed?”

She’s being coy. He puts his hand on her thigh and traces the momentum of her pulse. Her skin prickles where it bends under his fingertips.

He tells her, “Sometimes I miss dying.”

“Oh, Corvus.” She leaves her cigarette burning in the ashtray and straddles his waist, framing his face with her hands. “I am already so lonely when you aren’t near. What would I do with myself?”

“They make toys for that.”

She laughs from her chest, he notices, a self-contained thing. Her mouth captures his. She tastes like the accumulation of her line of work—ash, whiskey, a handful of mint—then, distantly, against the back of her tongue akin to the ghostly whisper of words never spoken, him.

* * *

The first time is business.

He was supposed to be meeting his brother in a decently priced motel in the lower historic district, but a run-in with the Shi’ar had delayed their reunion almost a full week. Corvus decides three days in that he’d rather not spend another night alone, and wanders the city streets at dusk, hood cast up to defend against the downpouring rain.

The place he finds half an hour later is called Sanctuary. Down the alley to its right side, protected from the weather by a long, sloped roof, he glimpses a lone Kree eating out an escort.

He goes up the steps and knocks. The right front door swings open. A woman standing in the foyer glares squarely into his face; her deep green hair is braided back, and she isn’t dressed like any of the escorts. She looks more of a hit-for-hire type.

“Hurry in,” she says to him. “You’re letting the heat out.”

He steps inside and she shuts the door behind him.

“You’re new,” she observes. “What are you looking for? Comfort? Fun? Prices start at three hundred.”

He hadn’t thought about that. His eyes briskly traverse the foyer, taking in the luxurious, classy interior; there are buyers, men and women and otherwise, all different species, with escorts to match the same array of variance, occupying the vast, open corridor.

He shifts his weight.

“Haven’t decided yet.”

He knows he has to buy eventually, but he has leeway with picking who he wants; he takes a second glance at Gamora, and quickly realizes she’s the guard. She carries knives and pistols to deter the potentially dangerous clientele.

“Also, no weapons,” she tells him, holding out her hand. “You can come collect when you’re finished. Don’t worry, I lock these things up.”

“I understand.”

He gives her his glaive and she disappears through a door to the right. Without the staff in hand, he feels vulnerable. But, he tells himself, it’s only for one night. So, he gathers his wits and paces the length of the hall, peering through the doors to learn the building. The rooms are open, cylindrical shaped, social venues. Only one of them yields alcohol.

He steps in, and sees her.

She’s sitting at the forefront of the bar, chatting idly with the server, a woman who doesn’t dress like an escort either; she’s in a navy teardrop dress. The softness of the lace is apparent in the way it moves with her, a painter’s brush stroke on a blue canvas, when she folds one long leg over the other.

He swallows drily.

“I’m assuming you’ve found your taste,” Gamora says next to him. She’d managed to advance on him in his daze, and he curses himself for being so careless.

“Perhaps.”

“Midnight is expensive, but worth the pay, if you enjoy getting your dick snapped in half.” Gamora hears glass break the next room over, and huffs. “I need to tend to that. See me if you require anything.”

“Will do.”

When she leaves, he finally deems it safe enough to move. He goes to the bar and internally practices his lines before laying his hand on the back of the stool and pulling himself into it. She pays him no mind, only throws back her shot of whiskey and then puts a cigarette between her teeth.

The server behind the counter is a tall, blue-skinned woman, with sharp cut cheekbones. He orders a round from her, on the rocks, and finishes it before finally saying something to Midnight.

“How much?”

“You can’t handle me,” she shoots back, giving him a disinterested once-over with her eyes.

He scoffs. “I’m a creature of arrogance. I can handle you, or I’ll die trying.”

That gets a smirk out of her. She says, “Seven.”

He could do seven.

* * *

There are rules. Subjective ones. Guidelines, followed by a golden reassurance that the Master of the House won’t tolerate harm to his escorts by penalty of death. When the lock on the door is secured in place, he asks her about her own additions. She kisses him, slides easily out of her dress; it puddles on the rug.

“I don’t beg for anything,” she says, “or ask for mercy from an outstretched hand,” she slides her finger under the length of his belt like slitting open an envelope, “and I like it rough. No exceptions, or I’ll take your money and throw you out.”

He considers that a challenge.

The sheets are clean, though the bed creaks under them, worn from years of use. It’s only a matter of time before he gets his mouth on her breast and three fingers buried to the knuckle inside of her, and he’s denied her orgasm each time she’s gotten close. She grinds her hips. Calls him a bastard flarkin’ tease.

“Want to come?” he hisses against her neck.

“Fuck—yes, yes—”

“Then beg.”

And she does.

* * *

Afterwards, when they’re both spent and exhausted, he isn’t sure what to do with himself. He sits on the foot of the bed and lights a cigarette. He registers the sudden chill of her bare skin against his back, her soft breasts to his shoulders, and the definition of her muscles as her arms come around his waist. He feels inadequate in her presence. Not good enough for her.

She sets her chin against him. “That was fun,” she utters, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Won’t you stay the night?”

“Another time,” he says honestly.

“So you’ll be back, then.”

“Maybe.”

Maybe becomes yes, becomes always. It’s the closest thing to a promise he’s ever had to make.

* * *

He only sees her once a month after work steers him elsewhere. Each time, her price gets lower, though he’s willing to pay anything she asks; it’s always business, a long and involved process from start to finish. The fifth time, they sit up in bed at nearly dawn, having gotten no sleep, and she tells him things he doesn’t know what to do with.

“I envy you,” she says.

“You wouldn’t, if you knew what I was.”

She’s halfway through her cigarette. He picks it from her mouth, takes a drag.

“I don’t care what you are,” she says. “What matters is that you’re free. You can leave this place any time you want.”

“Can you fly a ship?”

“I can.” She turns her head to look at him. “But. You should know better than me. Nothing is that easy—especially leaving behind a life so lived in.”

He takes another drag, and gives her the cigarette back. “How much for another round?”

“For you”—she falls into him, putting her lips on his—“free of charge.”  

* * *

Each year, the dead are less dead. That’s what his father used to say, and when translated from their language into the common tongue, it’s roughly equivalent to calling oneself old. He doesn’t want to wait for old age to claim him. Not after everything he’s seen, not after what he dreams—such terrible dreams that he wakes up next to her in a panic, reaching for her hand in the dark.

“Corvus?” she utters, half-awake. “What is it?” She rolls over and holds him against her chest. “Was it a nightmare?”

“The dead,” he says, “they become less dead.”

“I always think you want to tell me the truth, but then decide that saying something cryptic is easier.”

That isn’t an entirely untrue observation. He breathes in deep, feels her pulse through her skin.

“What about you?” he asks.

She considers it, and tells him, “I dream of leaving, of being elsewhere.”

Though, he finds out, there is nowhere to go, or anywhere else at all; he listens to her tell him about the planet she came from, Kree-controlled and Kree-mined, always at war. Wide awake, they sit at the edge of the mattress; she talks, he listens. Half-way through her criticism of her own species he leans over and lights his cigarette on hers. She smells like yesterday—the cheap summer ale, hand-washed linens, parlor smoke, soap; he debates whether to invite her back to bed.

Then she gets close to him, and whispers in his ear.

“Will you take me away from here?”

* * *

The escort’s name is Ebony Maw, which indicates that he’s opinionated. He is with Proxima when Corvus isn’t, a good friend of hers, perhaps, always a preference for the male clientele and studiously to the point with everything he speaks of. Corvus has never had a reason to talk to him. Maw, however, finds him when he’s leaving late one morning, and delivers an opinion anyway.

“What has she fed you this time?”

Corvus bares his fangs. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not.” Maw presses his fingertips together and smiles grimly. “You are not the first. Let me guess—she’s asked you when you’ll take her away from here. Softened you up with her ambitions and her rectitude towards the Kree?”

His fingers tighten around the neck of the glaive.

“Perhaps you should ask her what happened to Ballista Grim.”

Corvus snarls. “You’ll find I care little for your commentary. I have somewhere to be.”

The Maw says nothing to that, and watches Corvus leave.

* * *

He doesn’t go back for nearly two months, but the allure of another night with her eventually outweighs his own pitiful resolve and he saunters through the doors and finds her at the bar and relives the first moment they collided lives, gentle as derailing trains. It’s routine by now. They lock eyes, she doesn’t say a word to him, throws back her drink and snuffs her cigarette. She takes his hand, guides him upstairs to that secluded room at the end of the long, long hall and fucks him hard against the mattress.

In the afterglow of it, she tells him, “I thought you weren’t going to come back this time.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I know Maw said something. He doesn’t like you much.”

“I don’t care if he does or doesn’t.” Then, “Who’s Ballista Grim?”

She lights a cigarette and reaches over to the window, sliding the panel open to let the cool city air into the room. “A lot like you. Killed people for a living, came here a few times a month to let off steam, and I took a particular liking to her. Maybe I have a type.”

“I assume you’ve made a bad habit out of falling for your clientele.”

She laughs. “Of course not. Lista was…different.”

“As for me?”

“As for you,” she says. “You’re…” She smiles distantly, perhaps reflecting, and sucks in a drag. “Lista was the one who put the idea in my head. She wanted to buy me.”

“I take it the Master of the House didn’t appreciate that?”

She offers him a smoke and he takes it. “You see, Than—I mean, the Master, has plenty of hires, and other methods of income. He shouldn’t be so worried about one woman being purchased out of his care, but…” She shrugs. “When the offer to work was made to me, I chose this. I wanted to be here, at least, in the beginning.”

“What changed?” he asks.

“I learned that everything is violence,” she replies. “Love, war, life. All of it is a battle, with a losing side and a winning side. I thought that escaping my homeworld would change that. When Gamora was ordered to put a bullet in Ballista’s head, I realized how naïve I truly was.” She snuffs out her cigarette on the nightstand ashtray. “I know now that anywhere I go will be like this, but at least I will go to war on my own terms.”

He touches her thigh. She feels cold as the night, and alive.

She wipes at the tear in the corner of her eye and tells him, “You’ll be relieved to know, though, they haven’t talked about you yet. Maw is the only one who suspects anything, but he’ll keep his mouth shut.”

He wants to tell her that they can’t threaten him. They can’t kill him. Instead he kisses her and pulls her down into the sheets with him.

She wraps her legs around his waist and holds him close. “I need to know something, Corvus.”

He hums into her neck.

“After everything I’ve told you… Will you still want to take me away from here?”

He hesitates. Slowly, he puts his hand on her cheek and holds her gaze.

“Always.”

* * *

In his dreams, he does something terrible—to her, for her. It’s dawn and they’re still awake, sharing words, and she’s telling him once more about how much she can’t wait to leave here. Here. He realizes only now that here means everywhere, means this life. He could do it. He could do what she asks of him, what the dreams warn him of; take the blade hidden under the bed and push it slowly through her throat.

“Proxima—”

His hands are shaking.

The tip of the dagger lurches through the first layer of skin, and a drop of blood careens down her collarbone. He can’t get the image out of his head. Being near her makes the dead become less dead.

“I love you,” he hisses through grit teeth.

“Oh, Corvus.”

Her hands slide into his, holding him there.

He inhales deep and takes in the scent of her nearness. His own mind is rendered unreliable—he knows only that he’s about to make a decision, one way or the other, even when both end in disaster.

She says, “Will you finally take me away from here?”

[kyarymell]

[Fic] Sugar Hearts; Leon S. Kennedy x Reader

Rating: T

Summary: Even with Raccoon City going to hell, you still end up sharing chocolates with the cute Rookie cop you just met.

Just a quick one-shot for you all, Happy Valentine's Day you love-fools! My boyfriend helped me write this by proxy because I’ve been watching him play the Resident Evil 2 Remake a bunch, giving me details on the universe.

No cover art for now, I’m too tired. xD

You were at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Finally able to take a break from work, you were staying at your friend’s place in Raccoon City. It was strange seeing the military barricades everywhere, but no-one thought anything of it. Random acts of violence eventually became frequent and suddenly everyone was clamoring to the exits.

In the confusion, you were separated from your friend. Days passed holed up in their apartment and you were getting worried.

Even if looking for them spelled out your certain death, you would try. As you came to realise, the situation in the city was no regular occurrence.

Humans once populating the streets, were now mindless walking shells of flesh. It was straight out of a horror movie. Armed with a melee weapon, your first point of visit was the Raccoon City Police Department.

Thankfully, the reanimated corpses were slow, unlike those seen in movies. Running over to the historical site, you saw that the front gate was shut. Narrowly moving out of the way as a zombie lunged, you tried to find another way in.

Walking through a side alley, you find a gate with loose boards against it. Making sure you don’t get splinters, you quietly pry the nails from the boards. Slipping through the gate, you breathe a sigh of relief as you’re able to get away from the rain.

Stumbling into the main hall, miserable and wet, is when you meet Lieutenant Marvin Branagh. He’s heavily wounded, bleeding profusely from his injuries. You wish there was something you could do, but there’s no first aid kit in sight.

“Didn’t think there were any civilians left alive around here.”

“Then that means...”

“We were overrun a few days ago. I’m sorry. There were so many people coming and going- I can’t say if your friend was here.”

Downcast, you bit your lip. So that’s it then. Where would you even go now? Zombies surrounded the station as far as the eye could see. Your friend... maybe if you weren’t so scared hiding out in their apartment you’d reunite with them.

Maybe-

“You wanted to show me something, Lieutenant?”

Jumping, you were so deep in thought you didn’t even notice the newcomer. Judging by his uniform, he had to be a police officer. He looked young, hair clinging to his forehead from the rain.

This is your first introduction to Leon S. Kennedy, a rookie cop who was late for work and happened to miss the apocalypse. You’re in his company after Marvin fills you in on the situation- finding a way out by opening a secret passageway.

“Strength in numbers. Remember that.”

It sounds surreal, but then again, you’re in a historical building surrounded by zombies. Secret passages shouldn’t phase you by now. Before heading out of the main hall together, the pair of you make introductions and you find out it’s (technically) his first day on the job.

“Damn, that sucks.”

There’s nothing much to say- passing by what seems to be an office, there’s a banner with the words ‘Welcome Leon’ strung on the ceiling. It’s almost sad to think about his department throwing a party for a person who would never come.

“I couldn’t just abandon the other guys out here. I had to see what was going on.”

“I see…”

The way he speaks is with a hint of regret and you’re feeling it- too frightened to find your friend sooner. You wish you had that sort of confidence. The rookie noticed your faraway look and shot you a smile.

“As long as we stick together, we’ll be alright. Hopefully I’ll find some answers as to what’s going on.”

Trying to ignore how attractive he looked when he smiled, you nodded. It would be nice to know who was to blame for everything becoming fucked up like this.

A lot goes down in the next hour. You’ve been given a knife to fend off any attacks and you find it useful when a zombie grabs you from behind. Sticking your knife in it, you shove it away as Leon shoots it squarely in the head.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

You’re not sure how much help you can be in this situation, with no combat experience to speak of but you can reach and grab things that Leon is unable to. Things continue like this for a while, collecting keys and finding parts to mechanisms.

Then, Leon’s foot goes through a loose floorboard in the library.

“Shit-!”

With all the gear he was carrying, it was bound to happen sooner or later.

Diving for him, you grabbed his arm before he fell completely. The zombies on the floor below were alerted to the noise, grasping for his foot. He was heavy- but was able to regain his footing before falling completely.

“Thanks. Guess we’re even now. Let’s go before they catch up to us.”

“Sure.”

If you had to be honest, it was good to have someone watching your back, after days of being alone. Leon was considerate, making small talk when he saw how nervous you were. After running from monsters of all types, you felt a little hopeful that you would make it out alive.

Coming to a dark, quiet hallway Leon motioned for you to stay behind him. Trusting his judgement, you were a few paces behind him. Something still didn’t feel right.

“Le-?!”

You were about to call out to him, until you find yourself pinned against the wall. The rookie’s hand was clamped onto your mouth, effectively silencing you. There was a moment of confusion, then you saw a mass of flesh and bone crawl slowly past.

Every time it made a movement, there was a clicking noise across the floorboards. Claws. You willed yourself to stay put, hoping you wouldn’t be shredded to pieces.

The pair of you leaned against the wall, listening for the creature’s whereabouts. Sweat beaded on your forehead as Leon held you tight, his breath hot on your ear. Trembling, you tried to focus on how warm his body was and not how terrified you were.

After a tense moment of silence, Leon released you.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “I’ve encountered one of those things before. They react to sound.”

Nodding, you slowly walked with him and winced when the floor creaked under your boot.

Thankfully, the creature didn’t come back.

It was a blur after that; unlocking the passageway out, Marvin succumbing to his wounds and reaching the parking lot. There was a race against time, reassembling the circuit board to the jail and grabbing the parking key card.

All the while, you were running from some crazed giant mutant who was hell-bent on seeing you both dead. Finally losing the creature and opening the garage door, you were the closest to death you’ve ever been. Caught off-guard, a mutated dog tackled you to the ground.

Desperately trying to get yourself free, you moved to grab your knife and shoved it straight into the creature’s throat. Staggered, you kick it away and Leon is able to shoot it cleanly.

“You alright?”

Your breath is caught in your throat. Were you bitten? Would you become one of those things? Numb, your companion led you by the arm out of the parking garage.

Feeling raindrops on your skin pulls you out of your shocked state. Oh, how you were so glad to see the night sky again.

“I…”

“C’mon.”

Exhausted from the ordeals thus far, the pair of you take a breather after barricading a small newsagency. Setting yourself down on the floor, you’re relieved to be able to rest for once. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you hugged your knees tight.

It’s been horrible from the get go- you’re not sure how much more you can take of this. All the blood, seeing those things rend and tear flesh from each other…

Leon sits next to you, taking you out of your thoughts. There’s a square-shaped box in his hands and you can feel a slight chill radiating off it. The sound of the box unwrapping brings your attention to what’s inside.

Chocolates.

“Found these in the back, I think they’re free from infection.”

There’s a theory between the two of you that the cause of zombies was due to an outbreak.

“You think they’re free from infection?”

As you’re questioning him, he’s already popped one into his mouth. Shocked, you lean over and squeeze on his chin.

“Wait! Spit it out!”

Choosing to ignore your concern, he swallows it down then offers you a piece.

“Have some, they’re pretty good.”

“Leon…”

Frowning, you really don’t have the stomach for this sort of thing but take one anyway. Chewing on the sweet confection, you found yourself yearning for the days when things were normal. Perhaps some sugar was good for you, after the shock you just experienced.

“You’re right. They are good.”

Leon nodded and the two of you sat there for a while, sharing the chocolates. Your thoughts wandered. If only something like this could happen under normal circumstances…

How much more were you to endure before getting out of here? It was frustrating being on the receiving end of the rookie’s kindness all the time.

“I’m sorry that you end up saving me a lot.”

Your companion shook his head.

“You’ve had my back more than once- remember when I got grabbed and you threw me your knife?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you were unsure of what to say.

“-and those weird puzzles we always seem to come across, you solve them pretty quickly.”

“Well…”

“I’m glad I met you.” his words are genuine and it ignites a heat in your chest.

Would you get another chance like this?

You’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline from earlier wearing off, but you allow your eyes to shut, pressing your lips against his. Subconsciously, your tongue darts out and you taste the lingering sweetness from the chocolate.

Gasping, you pull away from him as if burned.

“I’m sorry! Uh, we just met and-“

He gives you a smile-

“Nah, it’s fine.”

-and leans in to kiss you again.

[caps-clever-girl]

jaime brienne actors au

jaime’s been an excellent actor on many tv shows. he’s practically world renowned.

his favourite and most frequent roles are in historical films - basically anything that requires a sword, and he does all his own stunts because he loves the training so much.

he’s recently taken a year and a half break from acting due to an on-set accident filming for his last role, where he lost his sword-hand.

he seems to be back on form to the public eye, but those he’s worked with before can tell that he’s different.

his next few roles all stay well away from anything that involves a sword - aside from a cameo for the sequel of one of his older films. they have to use a stunt double for one of the big fights and it burns him.

however someone finally makes him an offer he cant refuse. its a wonderful prom a director/producer team he’s worked with before and absolutely adores - not that he would ever tell them that, because its his brother and their best friend bronn.

they tell him that he wont be taking the leading role for once - they’ve already found someone that they’ve been wanting to work with for ages and they assure him that most of the big fighting scenes will be focused on her. his role will be more of a reluctant mentor.

when he meets her, he finds that he can take on this role perfectly since he hates her.

well, hate isn’t the right word. shes annoying, and not the prettiest, but she’s smart and stubborn and fun to mess with. but she hates his ‘mildly flamboyant star ways’ and he hates the fact that she’s so good at sword-fighting. she’s relentless about it. she has a drive and passion for it that jaime hasn’t seen on anyone except his reflection. she reminds him of himself before the accident, and thats just a remind her of what he lost.

most of all he hates her because she’s a reminder that he’s given up. not metaphorically - no, she literally doesn’t shut the fuck up about hit, telling him to get off his ass and do something about it instead of wallowing. it infuriates him because shes right, he has given up and he is wallowing, but its NOT that easy. it isn’t. and she’ll never understand what he’s lost.

but he gets pissed off seeing her obliterate everyone on the practice runs and is convinced that if he was back to his old self he could have destroyed her.

so he finds bronn - who’s background mostly consists of stunts and swordplay - and pretty much demands him to teach him left-handed sword-fighting so he can finally one up that prideful bitch. bronn agrees because he’s glad jaime’s finally trying to get out of his funk - and also because his and tyrion’s plan is working ;)

so jaime works and works and works. he gains a begrudging respect for brienne, but mostly he’s more interested about getting a rise from her than say, learning lines or basically doing anything she thinks he should be. by the time he’s confident enough that he can at least hold his own against her though, production wraps. he doesn’t get to fight her - most of the remaining scenes are dialogue based and filmed back to back - theres no time and no reason, since there are no more fighting scenes and no need to practice. and judging by the stilted goodbye she gives him, he’s pretty sure brienne never wants to see him again.

it irks him, that he didn’t get to fight her - didn’t get to properly say goodbye - and continues to do so even after the film comes out.

they see each other for the first time again at the premiere, having done promo stuff and interviews separately because of their differing schedules, and wow, isn’t that a shock. jaime’s never been a big fusser when comes to makeup - girls with, girls without he doesn’t really care. but he admits that brienne looks completely different all dressed up for events and it makes him look at her differently. to be honest, in sweats or grimed up for battle scenes, sweating and messy from training with swords and constant re-takes for hours on end every day, he probably didn’t look his best while they were shooting anyway. but he cant mention any of this, because whatever they attend, she mostly avoids him. he hates it.

finally, avoidance isn’t possible. the film does excellently - so much so that they are both invited to a charity event on live tv where they will participate in a skit. jaime agrees because it will be good for his career, the charity is actually a decent one, and because brienne will be there. she goes because its charity - who says no to that?

they get given a script, and thats when they discover that it’s a skit. the acting is meant to be bad, they don’t have to try too hard, they have to have fun, so the audience has fun. jaime thinks its a great idea. he loves his job, but it will be nice to relax while filming and not have to be so serious all the time, and purposefully acting bad will actually be a challenge.

the problem comes with brienne. she hates the script for their little group; hates that shes the damsel, hates the stupid dress and hates that she got stuck with the smaller part. most of all she hates the fact that she has to kiss jaime at the end.

shes miserable. and for once, jaime actually tries to do something about it - brienne style, not his own. he cracks jokes, but ones he knows brienne will find funny and not offensive. (well. not too much.) he brings her coffee and tea whenever he gets his own. he actually compliments her - which doesn’t go down well for some reason, so he takes to subtly giving her advice and direction and (genuinely) constructive criticism, which she takes much better to.

eventually things thaw, and they end up having a blast halfway through their rehearsal time, they actually start laughing, joking together like they’re friends. jaime loves it. he starts to wonder if brienne does too.

but she always shut’s down towards the end, like she remembers herself. he gets cold goodbyes and she doesn’t stick around once he gathers her stuff.

so like any good friend/crush/work-buddy/enemy, he follows her home one night. he knows the apartment number from her keyring and he stops off at a nearby store once he finds out the building. once he’s well supplied with coffee, hot chocolate and snacks, and enough stationary to fill his car, he turns up outside.

he doesn’t get a warm welcome, instead she demands to know what kind of creep thinks its alright to follow her home.

he admits that it wasn’t the best thought out plan, but he shows her his offering and tells her his intention: they are going to take their weekend and re-write the script into something that is still fun, but isn’t some well-recycled misogynistic fairy tail princess and knight story that everyone and their great grandma has seen a million and one times.

she agrees. and doesn’t waste any time telling him that it would be much easier to use a laptop than write it out by hand.

he feels like an idiot. (especially when he remembers how god awful his left handed handwriting is and that he’d’ve probably had to make her do the writing anyway.) but it makes her laugh so thats alright.

things are frosty at first - but brienne has clearly been thinking about this pretty much since they got the original script handed to them, so she immediately launches into her idea and starts writing.

they agree to mostly keep everybody else’s parts the same, since its not fair to them to get a script change halfway through.

the stationary does get used - mostly for planning and idea scrapping. brienne is impressed by the collection of highlighters he amassed for going through the old script, and he lets her keep them. shes genuinely really happy about that.

and THATS the moment that he realises he’s in love with this sword nerd geeking out over four different 5 pack of highlighters.

eventually they call it a night. they’re both tired, and they have most of the script outlined and some parts already re-written. they can probably finish it completely by tomorrow.

brienne offers jaime the use of her couch for the night, since its early-late enough that theres no use in him going home if he’s just going to come back tomorrow.

it takes him by surprise, and he says. “such a kind offer m’lady. and here i thought you didn’t like me.”

and just like that, the easy atmosphere vanishes - as does brienne’s smile.

jaime realises he’s fucked up by finally talking about the elephant in the room. but they’ve had fun today, and even if she doesn’t like him like That, he wants to be friends. at least, he wants to know why she hates him. so he asks.

she hates that he talked down to her for most of the shoot. she thinks he doesn’t respect her. he hates that he can just wander about, doing what he wants - if she did that, she’s be blasted as unprofessional. she says that the women she knows had to work twice as hard as the men to get taken seriously in their line of work, and she’s had to work twice as hard as them - she’s not as pretty, she’s too tall and too brutish. shes lucky that she actually wanted to be in the kind of roles she does, they’re the only thing shes really suited for. and even then, she had to work so hard just to prove that she knew what she was doing, that she could fight. her earlier job quizzed her on all parts of the armour she would have to wear - and she knows for a fact that her co-workers hadn’t been asked that.

she says that all those things he said to her - about her height and her hair, the constant reminders that he was better than her, that he could take her even though they never actually fought, made her hate him. she was disappointed because she had heard so many good things about him - his passion, his drive, his devotion to the role - and had been disappointed by the arrogant prick who took everything for granted and avoided his responsibilities.

jaime responds that he was always like that - at least the last part. if she wanted the first part too then she should have done a film with him before he lost his hand. theres a lot of bitterness there, more than brienne expected, and she doesn’t know what to say.

so jaime speaks instead. he says how much of his role depended on his hand and how no one understood how fucking awful it was losing it because it was practically his identity. it was all well and good people telling him to go for other roles, but he enjoyed the ones he had - thats why he took them. thats why he hated having stunt doubles. in the past he just really wanted to do it himself. now it just reminds him that he cant do that shit any more. he tells her that a lot of that was why he was so difficult with her; he was jealous. jealous of her skill, and that she could still do what he couldn’t.

he acknowledges that he was a prick. he explains that most of it was just teasing, trying to get a rise out of her. he didn’t know how much it was actually getting to her since she never showed it and always gave as good as she got. he admits that he is self-absorbed; but he does try to look out for the women on the set. his sister used to be treated like shit on the sets she worked until she quit, but she had never shown or said anything about it, he hadn’t noticed because she seemed fine enough that he didn’t look for it.

she says thats because she was lucky in that set; the only problem was him. he’s fucking mortified and apologises profusely. he tells her that he does respect her - very much in fact. he admires her skill greatly and he admits that he knows that his brother bronn want to do more with her. he tells her he likes her, he’s seen her as a friend for most of the time even though she hated him, and she admits that she has had fun with him. when he’s not being an ass he’s fun to be around, and when he’s not being a cock he does seem to understand her. they get along well when they aren’t at each other’s throats.

they resolve to be friends, now that they’ve aired so much stuff. the air is still heavy, but jaime finds it more like the air after a long rain. thick and heavy but with the sun already starting to come through the clouds.

she lends him some sweatpants and a shirt to sleep in. they’re both too big and he plans on stealing them the next morning.

(spoiler alert: he doesn’t even change out of them the next day. when the script is done and he has to leave, she doesn’t even ask for them back and he leaves in them, a very very happy man.)

they take the script’s out to the show’s producers the next day and are impressed, particularly since the only major changes are to their own lines. any prop changes are small and require no additional cost, and there are no additional backgrounds or anything like that. everything gets the green light.

rehearsal goes so much better after that; their acting improves as it worsens and the two of them love it. brienne has a blast - finally able to loosen up properly and stay that way, no longer running out the door to avoid jaime. instead, they hang around while they pack up and hat. sometimes they go get dinner or a coffee afterwards, or go back to hang at brienne’s - since it’s nearer. jaime still hasn’t returned the clothing he stole. in fact, he steals more.

(thats fine though, because his favourite fleece plaid jacket and mustard yellow hoodie have been nabbed in return)

by the time the live production roles around the two of them are practically joined at the hip.

everything goes wonderfully. jaime, the dashing knight, manages to get to the princesses tower by ‘fighting’ anything in his way - aka being saved by multiple unrelated but coincidental things like falling branches and dragon’s being afraid of mice while jaime trips over his own sword - and when he gets there and shouts for the princess; gets told “MOVE.”

brienne, having ‘shorn off’ her massive plaid of hair before jaime got there, throws it down and uses it to rappel to the ground. jaime says hes come to rescue her, to which brienne replies that she ‘can to that myself, thanks.’ and reveals shes only been in the tower for a day. she rips off the tear-away bottom of her dress, picks up a sword, and proceeds to kick the ass of everything that comes their way after - including, of course, a bear - as she basically becomes jaime’s escort to the city and keeps him from getting killed.

then comes the big issue. the kiss scene, which they’ve never practiced because they both avoided so well that they hadn’t realised they hadn’t practiced until the moment they have to do it live on air.

it makes the final scene EXTREMELY awkward - which is Very Obvious and the audience finds absolutely hilarious - as they both realise and both Panic...

until brienne says in a very loud voice: “oh screw this” and grabs jaime by the fake leather doublet and essentially snogs the shit out of him - to the point where jaime has to scrabble to get hold of her and keep his balance and spends most of the kiss severely off balance on his tiptoes trying not to fall over.

the show gets the most donations ever recorded for that particular programme.

jaime and brienne’s newest film - which is brienne’s first production credit, since bronn and tyrion insisted she help write the script after finding out about her work on the last one - is a spy comedy that has brienne playing the lead role of the spy, and jaime has the wonderful role of the villain that falls very obviously head over heels in love with her and leave his evil ways behind - but not without bringing some tips and tricks to defeat the True villain of the film.

principal filming takes place the day they get back from their honeymoon, where they wrote a script for a knight movie that features jaime as the best knight getting his ass handed to him by brienne, and spending the rest of the movie trying to marry her. turns out that being a very lovestruck idiot is a role jaime suits rather well.

[leisurelypanda]

i'm so mean to bucky but i honestly just need something with shrunkyclunks and bucky being mugged and then getting protective care later from steve, i'm evil i know sorry haha

You want angst? Okay! >:D

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18376730

Being Captain America’s boyfriend was never guaranteed to be easy. Despite the fact that both the Avengers’ public relations team, Tony Stark’s personal team, and all of Bucky’s friends had all told him not to google himself after their relationship became public, Bucky hadn’t been able to resist the temptation. It was everything that he could have predicted and more.

There were strong supporters and vocal detractors. Some people thirst tweeted him, others thirst tweeted Steve (which wasn’t new), and some thirst tweeted both of them. That part was fine, if a little… invasive. Other people claimed that Steve could do better. Bucky ignored those, because honestly, who cared? Steve thought he was sexy (a fact that still made Bucky feel a little giddy) and that was all that mattered.

The main issue was the religious nuts who had a collective aneurysm, as though the fact that Captain America was fucking a guy was a personal attack. Steve ignored them, but he was a little more experienced ignoring such people. Bucky was honestly a bit worried. There had been more than one conservative speaker who claimed that Bucky was an agent of the Devil who had corrupted the moral symbol of America, and by extension, the entire country as a whole.

If it had been something normal and simple such as, “The gays cause floods, wildfires, and tornados,” that would’ve been fine. Those made Bucky chuckle. Claiming that he personally was a danger and threat and seeing people agree with it so easily was a little more disturbing.

After about a month of that, Bucky started a total social media blackout. They were right, it wasn’t worth the worry. Steve started training him in combat skills, too. “You never know when you’ll need to defend yourself,” he said. Bucky laughed it off more to deflect from the fact that he was actually kinda worried.

About a month into his social media blackout, Bucky was minding his own business while walking towards his apartment. The Tower was nice, but it wasn’t Brooklyn and Bucky really did like having his own space. It wasn’t anything fancy, but for a guy who was working on a cupcake shop, it was everything he needed it to be: comfortable, warm, and within his ability to pay.

Brooklyn was beautiful. The fact that Bucky had grown up there made him biased, but also right. He loved how it seemed both old and new. Steve sometimes talked about how it used to look like, what people used to do there. He’d drawn pictures of tall buildings that were piles of shacks more than anything connected by rows of laundry hung out over the streets to dry.

It was amazing, both from an artistic sense and from a historical one. Now, Brooklyn was a place full of youth and vigor. It seemed full of art and possibilities and sometimes Bucky caught Steve’s eyes glaze over, as if he was imagining what life might’ve been like in this Brooklyn instead of the one he grew up in. Maybe he would’ve had a future instead of bleak prospects and a weak body.

Bucky turned the corner and continued walking towards his apartment like he always did. As he passed by the alley between a bar and a pizza joint, he was grabbed from behind. His yell was muffled as he was slammed against the brick wall behind him. The back of his head throbbed in pain.

“What the? Who the hell are you?!” he demanded. It came out more as a groan than a yell like he’d hoped for.

“Are you Bucky Barnes?” one of them asked. There were three of them. They each wore black ski masks like some cheesy movie trope, but at the moment, Bucky was actually legitimately terrified.

“Who wants to know?” Bucky replied. They looked at each other before one of them checked his back pockets until they found his wallet.

“It’s him,” they reported.

“Well then, Bucky,” the first mugger said. “We’re here to save the soul of Captain America.”

An icy sliver of dread passed through Bucky’s stomach as he caught the sliver of a knife while someone else produced a gun. His brief amount of combat training with Steve kicked in and he bashed his head against the nose of the mugger who held him against the wall. Bucky grabbed the blade that the mugger dropped and dropped into a defensive posture.

They couldn’t have all brought knives like normal psychopaths, could they? Bucky thought.

He attacked and managed to disarm the second one before he decided to make a run for it rather than try to fight his way out. As he was making his getaway, though, he heard a shot followed by the sudden stabbing of a gunshot strike like lightning in his leg. He didn’t have time. He dashed into the bar. He went straight into the bar, his leg throbbing in protest with every step.

“Call an ambulance,” Bucky said through clenched teeth. The bartender nodded and picked up the phone. Bucky barely registered what he said as he tried desperately to keep pressure on a wound he couldn’t see. When the bartender was done, he came around the bar with a rag and a length of twine.

“They’re on their way,” he said. “Where is it?”

“Thigh,” Bucky breathed. “Back. Can’t see.”

The bartender rolled him over on his side and pressed the rag to the wound. Bucky cried out in pain as the bartender secured the cloth to his leg with quick and brutal precision.

“What’s your name, son?” the bartender asked. “I’m Steven Goldberg.”

“Bu-Bucky Barnes,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” the bartender said. “The ambulance will be here soon. Tell me about yourself.”

“I—I make cupcakes,” he said. “Barnes’ Artisanal Bakery.”

“You just make cupcakes at your bakery?” Steven asked. Bucky chuckled and shook his head.

“No, they’re just… my specialty,” he said. “Make bread, too. Lots of challah. Grandma’s recipe.”

“You Jewish?” Steven asked. Bucky nodded. “Me, too. Great-grandma was saved by Captain America during the Holocaust. Named my granddad Steve after him. My ma named me after him.”

Bucky smiled. “He’s my… boyfriend,” Bucky said. “Ma was so proud… when she heard. Said it made up for… me eating bacon.”

Steven laughed at that. Bucky chuckled a bit at that, too. Then he closed his eyes. Steven shook him lightly.

“Stay with me, Bucky!” he said sternly. “Come on, tell me about your favorite cupcake recipe. How did you meet Steve Rogers?”

“Catered a… party… at the tower,” Bucky said. “Just tired…”

“Hey, hey, stay awake!” Steven said. He slapped Bucky’s face lightly. “The ambulance is almost here, gotta stay awake.”

Everything went dark.

Bucky heard people. He heard voices, but they were speaking like he was underwater or something. He couldn’t make anything out. Someone sounded stressed. It might’ve been Steve. He couldn’t tell. He wished they would be quiet. He was still so tired.

He became aware of some terrible, searing pain. It didn’t feel anything like the bullet. The bullet felt just fine in comparison to this, like he’d been hit with a stick. He felt like he was burning from the inside out. He might have screamed, maybe it was someone else. After a while, he passed out again.

When he next came to, he heard beeping by his bedside. He groaned softly and the next thing he knew, someone was holding his hand tightly.

“Buck?” someone said. It was Steve. Bucky grinned knowing that Steve was with him. “Come on, Bucky wake up for me, please.”

“Stevie,” Bucky replied. It was little more than a murmur. His voice was hoarse and his throat hurt like hell. It wasn’t a dream, then. He had screamed, but he didn’t know why.

“Oh, thank God,” Steve sighed with relief. “Can you open your eyes?”

Bucky slowly opened them. He looked up into a face that was both strange and familiar. It was Steve, his Steve, but he’d grown a beard at some point. That was weird. Steve never had facial hair. He definitely hadn’t had one the last time Bucky saw him. He looked amazing, though.

“Nice beard,” Bucky said. Steve grinned and laughed with relief. “Am I in a hospital?”

“Yeah, yeah you are,” Steve replied. He looked down with concern at Bucky’s face. “How… do you feel?”

Bucky thought for a moment. He felt… fine. Better than fine, actually. He wasn’t in any pain at all. After a gunshot wound, he figured he’d at least be a bit tender afterwards or have a lot of pain. Even his head felt clear, rather having than the dull throb and foggy senses that might have accompanied a concussion.

“What happened?” Bucky asked.

“You were attacked,” Steve said. His face was resolute, but Bucky could see the guilt and sadness underneath. The guy who called the ambulance said that he didn’t know who did it.

“I don’t, either,” Bucky said. “They just said they were trying to save your soul.”

Steve grimaced. “Anyway, after you were out of danger, you went into shock,” he said. “The doctors said that you had a mild concussion and you’d lost a lot of blood despite what Mr. Goldberg did.”

“He was named after ya, ya know,” Bucky said. “Said his great-grandma was saved by you during the Holocaust.”

“Really?” Steve said. “He didn’t say anything like that to me. I saved a lot of people from the camps whenever I found them.”

“Here I thought my folks were the only Jews who were crazy for ya,” Bucky said. “Clearly all of us love you. You should convert.”

Steve laughed at that. “Sure, Buck. I’ll get right on it,” he said. “Do you feel… strange, at all?”

Bucky frowned at him. “What do you mean, ‘strange’?” he asked.

Steve shrugged and Bucky could see his face blush a bit. “I don’t know… different,” he replied.

Bucky stared at him. “I have an inexplicable urge to run a marathon,” he said. “Does that count as strange?”

“Uh, it might.”

“Steve,” Bucky said sternly. “What did you do?”

Steve looked down sheepishly. “You lost a lot of blood,” Steve replied. “The paramedics didn’t have enough of your blood type, AB negative. Said it was pretty rare. I… offered mine. I apparently have the universal donor or something.”

Bucky blinked. “Okay,” he said. “What does that have to do with me feeling weirdly energetic?”

Steve ducked his head. “The… docs think that I might’ve passed on the serum to you.”

It took a minute for that little tidbit to seep in. Bucky smiled slowly, then all at once.

“They do?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “The surgery to get the bullet out was just a few hours ago. They had difficulty keeping you sedated because of the change, actually.”

“How much blood did you give me?” Bucky asked.

“Enough, apparently,” Steve said sheepishly. “They want to monitor you, see if I really did pass everything on.”

“Fuck that!” Bucky cried. He took out the IV and jumped to his feet. He looked down at his body. What had once been skinny arms on a broad frame was now lined with thick muscle. The next thing he did was lift up his hospital gown and check his dick. He barely recognized it. His flaccid length was about as long as he’d used to be while hard. “Damn, look at that! Holy shit!”

“Buck, please, we’re in public,” Steve said with a blush.

“We’re alone in here,” Bucky said with a mischievous grin. “Pull the blinds, maybe we can get a quickie in before the doctor gets here.”

“Buck, I’m serious,” Steve said sternly.

“So am I!” Bucky replied. “It’s not every day you wake up in a brand new body. Come on, help me break this baby in.”

Steve’s blush grew. “Later, I promise,” he said.

Bucky stared at him before he dropped his gown. His dick, which had been working its way to hardness softened.

“Okay,” he said. “Later.”

The doctors cleared Bucky to leave as soon as they saw he was up and about. His ma cried from relief when she arrived and found him. Bucky hugged her tightly and realized that he probably had to be gentle when she groaned a bit more easily than he remembered. His very next thought was that he was gonna get her back for all the years of oppressively bone-crushing hugs she always gave him.

He went back with Steve to the tower where they proceeded to… do absolutely nothing. They didn’t go down to the gym or fuck or even watch tv. Steve just had Bucky sit down on the couch while he did everything. He brought Bucky the biggest sandwiches Bucky had ever seen, he put Bucky’s shoes away for him, he cleaned every visible surface of his apartment twice, he got Bucky everything he wanted, and was even waiting outside when Bucky emerged from the bathroom.

“Steve, come on, I’m fine,” Bucky said. He took Steve’s hand. “Come on, let’s do something fun if we have to stay here.”

“No, Bucky,” Steve said. He jerked his hand out of Bucky’s like it was burned and… Bucky definitely felt that. He scowled at Steve.

“Fine,” he growled. He walked around Steve towards the front door.

“Where are you going?” Steve demanded.

“Home,” Bucky said as he shoved his feet into his shoes. “I’ve got things to do.”

The sound the door made when he slammed it made him feel a little bit satisfied.

It wasn’t until late that evening when Bucky’s phone rang. He looked down at Steve’s number. He was still mad, though, so he let it go to voicemail.

In the hours that he’d been home, he’d cleaned up everything. There was a lot, considering that Bucky tended to not have time to clean things between running a bakery and dating a superhero. His newfound strength and energy, though, proved convenient. He picked up the couch with ease to clean under it and even the bed seemed light to him.

It didn’t seem to matter, though. Steve, for whatever reason, didn’t seem to think that Bucky’s new abilities were all that interesting. He’d backed away from his touch and even turned away when Bucky had tried to kiss him earlier.

What if he doesn’t like the way I look, now? Bucky thought. It made the icy feeling in his gut grow. He curled in on himself, picking his feet up and wrapping his arms around his ankles. It was true, he had been shorter and skinnier than Steve when they met, but surely Steve hadn’t just liked him for his body… right?

The thought wouldn’t leave, though. Bucky eventually ended up falling asleep on the couch with nothing but an old afghan.

His alarm went off the same time it did every morning. Bucky groaned as he pressed snooze. He was gonna take the day off. He’d use the excuse that he’d been shot to defend it if anyone asked. Yesterday had been stressful, after all, in more ways than one.

He did, however, look at Steve’s contact on his phone. His phone said that he had a message from him. There wasn’t anything else, though. It wasn’t like him to ignore Bucky like this, though. Finally, Bucky decided to press the voicemail notification.

Hey, Buck, the message began. I’m sorry for what happened to ya today. Sorry that… you got hurt because of me. If we weren’t together, this wouldn’t ever have happened.

There was a pause in the message and Bucky’s heart stopped. “Steve, don’t you fucking dare,” he grumbled.

I hate that you got hurt because of me, Buck. I couldn’t live with myself if it happened again. I… I think it’s best that we go our separate ways, now.

Bucky couldn’t breathe. His eyes filled with tears and he clutched his shirt over his heart. “No, Steve, stop!”

So… I guess this is goodbye, Buck. I hope you live a good life… End of message. To delete this message—

Bucky hung up. His mind swirled with a tempest of emotions. Grief, shock, denial, rage, hate, and the sharp, bitter sting of rejection all fought for dominance. Bucky fell to his knees on the floor. He looked back down at his phone only to see that he’d crushed it in his hand. He banged his other hand on the coffee table and it cracked.

“Dammit!” he shouted. He got up, still seething with anger as he washed his hand under the sink. Thankfully, no glass had gotten in the cut across his palm, but he still bandaged it up. He would probably be completely fine after a few hours.

The thought of that made him think of Steve, though. Steve did this, made him this way. His body was new and different and strange. He’d broken his phone and his coffee table already. He couldn’t afford to replace them either! And now… now there was no one around to teach him how to adjust.

His legs buckled and he fell to his knees in a corner of the kitchen. He sobbed. Yesterday he’d been mugged, shot, and woken up a different person. Today, he was more alone than he’d ever felt at any other time in his life.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that. He cried until he couldn’t breathe and kept crying. It was the stupidest, dumbest, most Steve-like reason to break up. Protecting him… asshole.

When he looked up and cleaned himself off, he could hear a din of voices at his door. He walked over as quietly as he could and looked through the hole on his door. They had cameras and mics and Bucky groaned softly. This was the last thing he needed.

He turned around and started packing a bag. The first thing he’d need was to get to the tower. There was no fucking way he was letting Steve just break up with him over this. He took everything he was likely to need and packed it into a backpack before he snuck out the fire escape.

For some reason, there were no paparazzi at the bottom of the fire escape. Whether that was because they were leery about going into a strange alley or because they didn’t know about it, Bucky didn’t care. He jumped down from the bottom level and grinned triumphantly when his body only felt slightly uncomfortable at the landing. He’d need to work on that.

He marched towards the street and hailed a cab, which admittedly took him a few minutes, but it arrived before the press realized that he’d duped them.

“Avengers Tower,” he said as he climbed into the back seat.

The drive was as slow as he expected, honestly. Traffic was always bad in New York, but what mattered was that he wasn’t around a bunch of people that he could bump into and inadvertently send hurtling into oncoming traffic or onto the third rail at the subway or something.

Nearly an hour and a half later, Bucky arrived and paid the driver. He tried not to wince at how much it cost to get him there, but he didn’t care at the moment. He was totally getting Steve to pay for this shit.

Unfortunately, the press were here, too. As soon as he got out of the cab, they swarmed him like a school of piranha.

“Bucky Barnes, is it true that Captain America broke up with you?!”

“Mr. Barnes, can you confirm that you were kidnapped yesterday?!”

“Do the events that happened yesterday have anything to do with your new appearance?!”

“Was your whole relationship with Captain America a plot to steal the serum?!”

Bucky growled, but otherwise ignored them as he marched inside. Security guards let him through and held the reporters back. He sighed as he stepped inside.

“I guess you’re here to see Steve?” came a voice. Bucky turned to see Tony leaning on the front counter.

“What happened?” Bucky asked.

“You don’t know? You’re the one who became the world’s second super soldier,” Tony said. “Honestly, I’m surprised it took this long for people to try this. Steve having O negative blood and the serum being in it, it doesn’t exactly shock me that giving someone else his blood would pass the serum along.”

“I know about that,” Bucky said. “But everything else, no. I, uh, broke my phone.”

Tony glanced down at his hands and nodded knowingly. “I’ll hook you up with a Stark phone,” he said. “Had to make some that Steve could use after he kept breaking normal ones.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said. “So what’s happened?”

“It was about as dramatic an announcement as I’ve ever seen,” Tony said. “Steve told some press yesterday when they came here asking what happened and told them the two of you were no longer a thing. Next thing anyone knew, the Internet exploded. You’ve got fangirls crying about their OTP breaking up and everything.”

“Great,” Bucky said.

“So did you?” Tony asked.

“He left a message on my phone,” Bucky growled.

“Wait… he did?” Tony demanded, his eyes going wide. “That’s a dick move.”

“Yeah, so let me know where he is because he and I are gonna have words,” Bucky growled.

“He’s in the gym,” Tony said as Bucky got into the elevator. “Going to town on some punching bags, I’ll bet. I’ll take care of the press. Give him a good ole’ one two for me, all right?”

Bucky grinned savagely. “Sure thing.”

His heart was hammering in his chest and his body thrummed with nervous energy as the elevator moved. When it dinged and the doors opened, the only thing Bucky could hear was the sound of punching echoing through the room. He followed it until he saw Steve. In spite of the anger and sadness and hurt he felt, he took a moment to admire Steve’s form. Only a moment, though. He walked up until he was behind Steve.

“Hey, punk,” he said. Steve whipped around and before he could say anything, Bucky gave him a right hook, which nailed him square in the jaw. Steve stumbled back and Bucky grinned with satisfaction, knowing that he’d caught Steve off-guard.

“Bucky?! What—” Bucky interrupted him with a left punch, which Steve blocked easily. “Stop!”

“Stop?!” Bucky demanded. “Where do you get off telling me to stop?!”

He lunged at Steve and they tumbled to the floor. Bucky might not have any knowledge of fighting, but he was strong, strong enough that he was able to make Steve fight for his victory. He punched and kicked and shoved and even bit Steve before he ended up on the floor of the gym with his arms pinned above his head and Steve kneeling over him.

“Fuck you,” Bucky growled. “You’re a damn asshole, punk.”

Steve’s gaze softened. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your damned apology!” Bucky yelled. “I want an explanation! I feel like I deserve that much!”

Steve sighed. “I know you’re angry—”

“No shit.”

“I just couldn’t stand to see you get hurt again!” Steve shouted. “You got hurt because of me! I did the only thing I could think of that could protect you!”

“You’re not protecting me,” Bucky said. Steve blinked above him. Bucky closed his eyes and willed himself not to cry. “You’re not protecting me.”

“Buck, what’s going on?” Steve asked.

“Everything, you fucking moron!” Bucky cried. “I broke my fucking phone, I broke my table, I twisted some ladder rails on my way out the door trying to avoid the paparazzi, I had to stop myself from slamming a cab door closed cause I can’t afford to break more shit. I can’t clock people for getting in my face cause I don’t wanna hurt anyone.

“You did this to me, you asshole. You saved my life and made me a super soldier and you’re the only one who knows what this shit is like and now you’re calling it quits? You’re abandoning me!”

Bucky realized that he had tears streaming down his face and sucked in a breath. “Shit,” he hissed.

“Bucky… I’m so sorry,” Steve said. He leaned down and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s body. Bucky burrowed his face in Steve’s chest and sobbed.

“I’m still mad at you,” Bucky said between sobs.

“I know,” Steve said. “You have every right to be. I regretted it the moment I hung up, but when I woke up, I couldn’t get ahold of you.”

“Why? Why did you do it?” Bucky asked.

“I was scared, baby,” Steve murmured. “I thought that the only thing I could do to keep you safe was break up because I couldn’t think of the fact that you could’ve died because I love you.”

Bucky closed his eyes and fisted a hand in Steve’s sweaty shirt. He sniffed and breathed in the scent of Steve’s musk. Even now, he found that he loved the smell and sight of Steve all sweaty.

“Damn fine way of showing it,” Bucky muttered. Steve shifted down until his face was hovering over Bucky’s. He kissed him tenderly. Bucky growled, though, and kissed him back with more fire and force. He flipped them over and Steve gasped as Bucky stared down at him. Bucky smirked triumphantly. “Huh, so that’s what it feels like.”

“You like the view?” Steve asked. Bucky chuckled and placed his hands on Steve’s shirt.

“It could be improved,” he said. He pulled and the shirt ripped to shreds with no more effort than if it were paper. Bucky looked down at Steve’s chest in satisfaction and not a small amount of pride. He kissed Steve hard, thrusting his tongue into Steve’s mouth and biting his lower lip hard enough to make it bleed. Steve groaned beneath him but Bucky kept him pinned to the floor.

“You’re mine,” Bucky growled. “And I’m yours. ‘Til the end of the line, ya fucking punk.”

Steve nodded. “‘Til the end of the line,” he agreed.

Bucky kissed him again before he rolled Steve onto his stomach. He rubbed his aching cock over the cleft of Steve’s ass. He was fucking huge, now. It was like one of those online fake porn ads that promised miracle pills to make your dick get bigger, except it was Steve’s blood that did it. His jeans were uncomfortably tight around his member and Bucky quickly shucked them to the floor and tossed them aside. As soon as they were off, he reached down and ripped Steve’s khakis off along the seam.

“Jesus, Buck, I gotta walk around when this is over,” Steve groaned.

“Shut up,” Bucky said. “You broke up with me. A few ripped clothes is the least you deserve.”

He grabbed a packet of lube from Steve’s inside pocket (because the man always had a plan, even after he dumped his boyfriend, apparently) and slicked up two of his fingers. He pressed one to Steve’s hole and pushed in. Steve hissed at the intrusion, but didn’t say anything. Bucky kept pressing in until the digit was fully seated inside him.

Bucky fucked him with that finger until Steve felt loose enough for another and pushed it in alongside the first. Steve moaned and pressed his face into the floor beneath him as he pushed back on Bucky’s hand.

“Buck,” Steve said.

“Yeah?”

“A little down and to the left,” Steve said. Bucky bent his fingers as requested and Steve moaned loudly as he rubbed over Steve’s prostate. Bucky added a third finger and stretched him with impatience. He wanted to fuck Steve and this was honestly taking a while.

“Buck, I’m ready, fuck me,” Steve moaned. Bucky didn’t argue. He tore open another lube packet and coated his now considerably large cock with lube. He had been somewhat surprised to find that in addition to becoming stronger, his foreskin had grown back. And it felt. AMAZING. The head of his dick was so much more sensitive. He pressed the head to Steve’s hole and moaned just at the feeling. He pushed in.

“Oh God, oh fuck,” Bucky groaned. “Fuck, this is amazing.”

Steve chuckled beneath him. “Go slow,” he moaned. “Gotta give me time to adjust, baby.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to enjoy this,” Bucky replied.

“Enjoying your first time topping, baby?” Steve asked.

“The foreskin helps,” Bucky said. He inched further inside Steve and groaned as Steve’s hot, tight hole squeezed around him. “Seriously, first I eat bacon, now I have a foreskin. I might as well be a Gentile now.”

Steve laughed at that. “I’m a corrupting influence, it seems,” he said.

“You have to convert, now,” Bucky said. “Gotta make up for leading me astray.”

“Okay, Buck,” Steve chuckled.

When Bucky finally bottomed out, it felt amazing. Steve’s ass clenched around his whole length. It was the second most amazing thing Bucky had ever felt, the first being Steve’s cock in him. He’d always be a slut for Steve’s cock. This was a very, very close second, though.

He began to roll his hips against Steve’s slowly. He moaned at the feeling, at Steve’s walls wrapped tight around him. Steve groaned and pushed back against Bucky, matching his shallow thrusts. Bucky reached down and gripped Steve’s hips as he began to pull out more. He thrust hard into Steve’s heat and Steve whined.

“God, you feel so fuckin’ good,” Bucky growled. He pushed Steve’s chest down and started fucking him into the floor. Steve moaned and writhed beneath him. “You like that? You like havin’ a man who can keep up with ya? Who can go all day with you and not feel tired?”

Steve moaned and nodded beneath him. Bucky quickened his pace. There was no finesse or grace in it. He was angry and hurt and Steve was the one who did it. He threw his head back and groaned as he began to slam into Steve’s ass. Steve whimpered and moaned beneath him and Bucky grinned with savage satisfaction.

“You should’ve known better,” Bucky growled. “Should’ve warned me. Should’ve helped me, ya punk.”

Steve groaned and nodded. “Harder, harder, Buck,” he moaned. “Give me all you got.”

Bucky groaned and fucked faster. His body moved like lightning streaking across the sky, faster and more powerful than it had ever been in his life. His hands were like iron around Steve’s hips, nails digging into his skin and drawing bits of blood. Still, Bucky went faster, harder. He wanted Steve to hurt, to feel everything he’d done to Bucky. Steve just groaned beneath him and took everything Bucky gave him.

“Fuck, Bucky, I’m gonna come,” Steve moaned. “Gonna come, keep going!”

Bucky did. He slammed into Steve’s prostate with every thrust and without mercy. A moment later, Steve’s ass was squeezing around him like a vice and Steve shouted as he came. Bucky felt his body writhe beneath him, shaking as he came onto the floor beneath them. A second later, he slammed his cock into Steve’s ass as deep as it would go and he came too, his come bursting from him. He came more than he ever had in his life. Every drop of it shot into Steve’s waiting ass.

When he was spent, he slumped with exhaustion. His cock slipped from Steve’s ass and he collapsed on the floor breathing like he’d just run 20 miles. He breathed deep, the sweetness of the air filling his burning lungs. Steve got up and laid down next to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You were right, I abandoned you. I’m sorry for being afraid.”

Bucky nodded and held back more tears. “Just… promise me that if you ever want to break up with me in the future, you’ll do it person.”

“I didn’t want to break up with you,” Steve murmured. “Before yesterday, I…I thought that we would be together forever, actually. I never want anybody else, baby.”

“If you ask me to marry you naked on a gym floor, I swear to God I will walk the fuck out of here,” Bucky said. Steve laughed softly.

“Don’t worry,” he said.

“Good, cause I got standards. I want a real nice proposal, all romantic and shit,” Bucky said.

“Just so we’re clear,” Steve said. “You’re okay with me proposing at some later, undisclosed date.”

Bucky smiled against Steve’s chest. “Yeah, I’m really okay with that,” he said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby,” Steve murmured. “You mind if we get up and put some clothes on?”

Bucky smiled mischievously. “Yes to the first,” he replied. “But no to the second. I really wanna see how long I can go, now.”

Steve’s eyes darkened and he kissed Bucky with heat and passion. Bucky moaned and yielded to him like putty in his hands. Steve knew exactly how to get him going.

“You got it,” Steve said.

[azfellandco]

Hiya! So, please feel free to ignore this, but I just listened to Good Omens for the first time with considerable enjoyment, and I was wondering whether you have/know of any good fic rec lists for the book?

hi and welcome and i’m glad you enjoyed the book!! 

General

Something Ordinary by literature_and_ocean_waves (9k)

Summary: “You kidnapped the Antichrist?!”Aziraphale’s shrill screech echoed harshly throughout the dingy bookshop.

Crowley looked sheepishly at his expensive, snakeskin shoes. “Kidnap is such a strong word,” he said. “I rather like liberate.”

This is following what, if you ask me, is a plot this fandom can never write enough of: what if Crowley had kept baby Adam and he and Aziraphale had tried to raise him together? 

Never Mind the Gravitation by Argyle (2k)

Summary: Sure, there’s life on Mars. But Crowley can hardly call it living.

This is not as angsty as that summary makes it sound. …okay it is a little bit, but in a bittersweet kind of way, and it’s so funny as well. This is one of those fics that has the tone of the book down really well and it takes what I feel is an inherently sad concept (humanity moving off world and the places Aziraphale and Crowley call home changing again) and makes it feel hopeful and optimistic. Also scifi is my real true love so like… of course I love this fic. 

Even Without Looking by maniacalmole (18k)

Summary: Aziraphale gets requested by the heavenly court to prove that romantic love is real, and makes a valiant effort. He’s read about it so many times, in all the most romantic books. How hard could it be?

Everything maniacalmole has written is brilliant, funny, whimsical, and so in character, but this one is my favorite. 

Habitual by goingsparebutwithprecision (4k)

Summary: In which Crowley wears lipstick and Aziraphale is flustered.

The mutability of angelic/demonic gender and sexual presentation is one of my favorite things about these characters and about writing for them, and this fic is one of the first I read that got me really thinking about it. 

Guests On Memory Lane by Holoxam (5k)

Summary: “Whatever you go around telling yourself, angel,” Crowley said over his morning-coffee, “some of us have to work for a living. The girls and I can get into some shenanigans around the shops, you know.”Aziraphale looked up from his Telegraph, and sent Crowley a wary glance. He was torn between asking Crowley if he remembered his fruitless attempts at influencing the presumed antichrist back in the 1980’s, and sternly telling him off for even thinking about attempting to corrupt humans at such a young age.The Dynamic Duo babysit Anathema’s cousins for the weekend.

Crowley and Aziraphale being friends with Anathema? Yes, please. Crowley and Aziraphale taking care of children? Yes, please. 

Teen

Five Times Crowley Wanted Aziraphale by Mitsuhachi (3k)

Summary: Wanting and wanting and wanting, in many ways over many years.

This and it’s sequel, Five Times Aziraphale Wanted Crowley (The One More Night Remix) (rated M, mind the tags) are one of my favorite fics in this fandom. I love historical stuff especially that traces Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship over vast tracks of time and this delivers on that in a huge way. 

here i am, leaving you clues by Lvslie (10k) 

Summary: It’s all the same burning bookshop, and I’m always inside shouting your name. 

[Aziraphale is recalled to Heaven, but leaving proves more difficult than anticipated. Written for the tumblr prompt: ‘Actually….I just miss you.’]

Another one that I just adore. This fic is poetry in all the best ways and I think about the summary line, “it’s always the same burning bookshop”, pretty much every day of my life. There isn’t a plot as such (or if there is I’ve forgotten it because I am mostly just focused on how beautifully written it is) but I highly recommend it anyway. 

Everything Leslie has written for this fandom is like this, actually, beautiful and poetic and sort of dream-like. 

Modern Love by punkfaery (7k) 

(I podficced this last year)

Summary: “The crux of it, Crowley decided, was that demons were not supposed to want.

Or – well, that wasn’t strictly true. Certain things, such as material wealth and the corruption of innocents and the eventual triumph of Hell over Heaven, and possibly Earth as well, were perfectly all right. The fact that he didn’t particularly care about any of these things just served to add a little extra salt to the wound.

It wasn’t a question of wanting. It was a question of wanting the wrong things.”

Crowley, Aziraphale, and a series of religious buildings.

No Pain, No…Loss? by NotASpaceAlien (7k)

Summary: Aziraphale has a horrifying realization and decides he needs to lose weight.

This is so goddamn funny. I love Aziraphale with all my heart but he is very foolish sometimes and this fic… is such a good instance of that. 

There’s No Pancake Too Big For My Heavenly Father To Flip by dwarvenbeardspores (6k)

Summary: After a few exceptionally busy months, the forces of Heaven and Hell attempt to outwit each other in Aziraphale’s kitchen.

That is, Aziraphale makes pancakes and Crowley eats them.

I love cooking, and cooking headcanons, and Aziraphale and Crowley cooking for each other. This fic is delicious. 

Read everything by this author, actually, everything they’ve written is wonderful. 

Mature

Goodbody by copperbadge (3k)

Summary: Aziraphael’s new body is causing some problems.

Again, I love a good exploration of the relationship between angels and demons and their bodies and this fic is so much fun on that count. 

Only Human by abstractconcept (9k)

Summary: Aziraphale loses his job. Humor/romance A/C

Fics exploring the fallout of Aziraphale and Crowley’s disobedience towards their bosses in trying to avert the apocalypse is definitely A Fic Type in this fandom and this one goes the route of “one of them is fired and turned into a human”. It even takes a humorous angle on this and not the obvious angst route. 

Explicit

fires of the flesh, both literal and figurative by mercuryhatter (3k)

Summary: Pretty standard “there’s a sex curse and Crowley has to have way too many orgasms or be discorporated” stuff.

Genderfluidity/trans Crowley!! Discussion of feelings!! Fuck or die!! What’s not to love? I really love this fic. 

No Cause for Alarm Clocks by HJ Bender (archived by the GO_Library_archivist) (2k)

Summary: A short story detailing one of Crowley’s infernal household gadgetries, and why he’ll never have sex in front of it ever again.

This is wild and funny and I have read it about thirty times. 

Figurative Language by alamorn (2k)

Summary: It’s two years after the apocalypse that wasn’t and the only thing that’s changed is Aziraphale’s dick. That is to say, he has one now.

A Classic. I have read this probably thirty times, as well. 

Rarefied Air by Vulgarweed (4k)

Summary: Earth is getting older, news is getting worse, and an angel has to go to extreme heights to get any peace and quiet at all. But as close as you can get to Heaven, you’re still never far from Hell. (Hell hasn’t frozen. Crowley nearly has.) Giftfic for Allthisnonsense in 2006 GO Holiday exchange. 

This is another author who has written a lot of really good stuff but this one is my favorite. 

And here is my ao3 as well, I’ve written a lot of GO fic in the last year. Here are some of the ones I’m most proud of. 

Where a Heart Would Fit Perfectly (Teen, 2k)

Summary: Aziraphale shrugged and gestured for Crowley to sit down, “I’ve come back from the battlefield; no need for all that muscle anymore.”

“You’ve gone a bit in the other direction, though, haven’t you?” Crowley said conversationally as he took a seat and flagged someone down for a drink. “You’re a bit… pudgy.”

In 600 BCE Assyria, two man-shaped beings meet up after a long absence.

Nothing Like The Sun (Teen, 6k)

Summary: One tended to go through a number bodies in six thousand years, even if one was as cautious or sturdy as Aziraphale. Crowley, who was neither cautious nor sturdy, had gone through a large number. He’d changed appearance so many times that in Aziraphale’s memory he was often just his eyes, for no matter if Crowley was tall or short, lithe or stocky, blond or raven-haired, his eyes stayed the same.

Touch Me Gently (Explicit, 2k)

Summary: Aziraphale had started manicuring his nails.

Yours, Truly (General, 3k)

Summary: A love in selected letters.

Snapshots (General, 2k)

Summary: Five photographs on the wall of Aziraphale’s shop. An expansion of a headcanon I posted on tumblr.

And that’s about what I got! Happy reading, anon. 

[narrowtriangle33-blog]

Quotes that accurately describe White Trump Voters.

"It’s not just that he’s white. White people sneer at, mock, ostracize, and generally hate on other white people all the time. It’s that he DELIVERS RACISM and THAT is the priority to his base. This is what gets me when writers and thinkers wring their hands in befuddlement, like Nichols is doing, about how Trump’s base can “vote against their own interests.” They’re not! They’re prioritizing the babies in cages, the “shithole countries” remarks, the deadly Charlottesville clashes with literal fucking Nazis, etc OVER health care, transitioning the economy away from fossil fuels, education, assistance to the poor, and whatever other liberal agenda items one would think would be natural, rational fits for the Cleti everywhere.

These people are absolutely voting in their own interests, and getting exactly what they wanted out of the Trump admin. He has been a tremendous success in their eyes because he has delivered racism since Day 1, and that’s what they want out of politics."

"This, They will never -ever- admit it, outside of trolling on the net, but Trump has done more to support their views and find great joy in it then any GOP member before.

He’s all but given up on the dog whistles, once he found out that the media will simply ‘tut-tut’ and that delights his base. Even when he does something that will fuck them over, they overlook it because he continues to advance their agenda with huge leaps. Most of the never-Trumpers discovered early on that going against him can lead to getting primaried and Mitch is content to let Trump do whatever the fuck he wants with limited disagreement, because he’s busy installing GOP goal friendly judges everywhere.

The DNC’s response has been to avoid rocking the boat as much as they can by offering up Joe with a bone thrown to black people with a possable black woman VIP. (If that even happens), but the chances are high that Trump will get another four years to continue to do as he likes. And what will the Dems do? Protest and throw shade and offer limited resistance that won’t slow down Trump for a second.

People don’t like to even entertain the idea that Trump will win, but without a huge number of people turning out against them, what else can they expect will happen?"

"My father HATED John Wayne with a burning passion that I remember from age 3-4! He loved Westerns but he would spend the entire movie foaming at the mouth at all the racist tropes and outright historical lies of each one of them! Honestly, although he loved thoughtful rap, I think he idolized Chuck D for simply uttering his infamous lyric!

Now that I’ve reached a certain age, I find I love Westerns too - but not John Wayne, Clint Eastwood or any old ones. I like the newer ones that speak to what deplorables white cowboys were: The Revenant, Bone Tomahawk, Hostiles and the like. They’re still white-centered and white-washed but any modern thinking person can see that the cowboy image should stand for nothing but a savagely cruel, thieving, raping murderer (and we’ve been consistently lied to)."

"Does Trump accept responsibility and look out for his team? Not in the least. In this category, he exhibits one of the most unmanly of behaviors: He’s a blamer. Nothing is ever his fault."

"This is nothing but rose-colored bullshit. Anyone who’s ever spent more than 5 minutes working in corporate life knows for the most part this isn’t how white men behave. Those offices are full of extremely mediocre men who are very confident and have nothing to back it up with other than their bluster, egos, and the generational wealth that allows them a leg up over others. That generational wealth allows them to go to the diploma mills that open doors for them. Admitting mistakes or even admitting just not knowing something in that environment comes off as weakness to them. They spend most of their energy trying to project the image of confidence and control, which is why they’re quick to rage when things don’t go their way. A good example is the douche bag running Quibi that gave that horrendus interview a couple of weeks ago. He was asked a couple of questions about why his company was failing while other streaming services are thriving, and where they might have went wrong in their business model. He didn’t accept responsibility for shit. He went into his hurt little feelings and attacked the interviewer, and tried to make the questions seem like they weren’t valid.

On steroids this white American exceptionalist world view is called patriotism. It manifests in the idea that we as a country can do things counter intuitive the rest of the world just because we’re the USA. More mass shootings by far than any other country? USA! Other countries have cheap/free education through college? So what, USA! Biden even displayed this during one of the debates when Warren pointed out the same disparity in our healthcare compared to every other developed nation. Guess how he responded.

I feel like I started rambling a little but what I’m trying to get at is that whiteness, toxic masculinity, and patriotism are so intertwined that its beyond the author of that Trump think piece."

"Funnily enough as the article and subject matter were in regard to racism in the US I didn’t feel a burning need to mention Indigenous Australians but to answer your question they are pretty much in the same boat as black Americans. Did anything I say imply otherwise or were you just fishing for an argument?

"Stupid as it is, “You’re a manly-man, right? So why is your manly-man leader such a cowardly little pussy?”

That’s not what he projects and that’s not what they see. They see him using aggressive and accusatory tones and language all the time and it makes him look tough."

They fall for the “Emporor Has No Clothes” routine because they never look at him critically. They buy the bullshit on the surface, and don’t see that his words never match his actions. He said on tv several times that if anyone in the country wants a Covid test, they can get tested. Ask them how many people they know whose jobs don’t require it, have actually been tested. He down played the death toll of this disaster every step of the way. Remember when we were supposed to be in church for Easter? As long as he lies with confidence, they’ll follow him to hell."

"I’m definitely tired, and frustrated, and everything else. I keep holding my nose and voting, and that only adds to the exhaustion and frustration because very little if anything seems to change, and in some ways we keep repeating the mistakes of the past. I’d never advocate for doing nothing, but trying to engage and challenge the average Republican-voting dipshit to think critically, and not keep supporting people and policies that perpetuate and exacerbate the problems this country has??? No thanks. If you’re not black, I so encourage you to take up that mantle, but for me as a black dude in this country I can’t. Talk about shooting the messenger. Plus, to keep it a buck, this is mostly white people’s mess, if not all. They need to fix it.

Honestly I feel like racism festers because most white people just look the other way. The racism of their peers/friends/relatives doesn’t impact them personally so they’re probably just people to be avoided. Why rock the boat when you can just avoid an uncomfortable topic? Joe might forward you Fox News and OANN stories, and racist FB memes, but he’s fun at Bills games. Well what if Joe is also a cop, or in a management position over minorities? You can bet money he takes those views you overlooked with him to his job. The PoC he interacts with won’t have the benefit of seeing him at Bills games, or might not even have the benefit of being seen as equals."

"People get so caught up in the blatant, mustache-twirling racism that they don’t see the subtle pervasive way it spreads like a cancer. For every Trump there are dozens Joes, and along with the Joes are the real problem: The people who ignore the Joes. The Joes and Karens go on to commit all kinds of microaggressions that Poc pretty much have to tolerate, and in Joe’s and Karen’s minds that’s just the way the world works. I deserved to get followed around Joe’s store. I came in wearing a hoodie and Adidas so I couldn’t be up to any good. Karen felt threatened when I walked into the building she lives in, so she felt justified to call the police, never mind the fact that I live there too. This is how deep this shit runs. It’s not just politics. Racism isn’t just baked into politics. It’s part of the flour the US was baked with.

So I appreciate you if you’re willing to call these fools out. I’m glad somebody is because I’m not wasting my breath. They won’t hear me anyway."

"I mean if Tom Nichols was in front of me and read this steaming pile of shit to me I would’ve slapped him silly and said the reason that people that look like you excuse all of his fuck ups, failings and mistakes is because well HE LOOKS LIKE YOU!!!! The question that none of these mouth breathing chud monkeys seem to want to answer or are incapable of answering is would you excuse any black, Hispanic or Asian man that had his resume? We know the fucking answer.

When this bloated piece of unseasoned chicken shut down the government in January of 2019 hurting his all white, poorly educated base the most a quote from a voter in Florida was burned into my head forever. She said upon not getting her government subsidized check (I mean they have no issues with the government helping them, it is those pesky brown people that are lazy and entitled) “He is not hurting the people he is supposed to be hurting.” Let that sink in. A voting US Citizen thought it was the job of the sitting *president to hurt people. That says it all. Their allegiance isn’t based in anything other than anger and hatred of those that they deem less than them. Fuck him and them and may they both rot in hell."

"“He is not hurting the people he is supposed to be hurting.”

That spontaneous, bewildered, stream of consciousness utterance by someone who doesn’t think critically but has an indwelt recognition of like-mindedness IS the Trump voter exemplified! A racist who found themselves too poor, too old and without the power to demand or protect the status quo and just wants to stick it to their perceived enemies while retaining ‘something’ for themselves.

That sentiment has fueled every waking thought, worry and action of an American white since the founding of this country.

So, it’s not just every Confederate flag waver, every neo-Nazi and every flyover state’er; it’s every aggrieved American white who had to accept the changing world around them; there’s no reasoning with them nor changing their minds.

My fear is that I’m becoming inhumane like them because I was soooo happy when he cut her Meals on Wheels and didn’t cut her Social Security check."

"I think you nailed this right on the head. All through the article, he keeps pointing out what we already know except for one thing. After all, why would white people elect someone who is so far outside of what they claim to be/stand for? He’s not conservative in any real way. Yet conservatives stand behind him. He’s not a Christian in any practical sense by his actions. Yet Christians say he’s sent by God. He’s not a good businessman, father, or even person. Yet here we are. The only answer that makes sense in any real way is that he is proof that to many people, any white man can do the same or better than even the best black man, woman, or POC in general. There’s always a backlash to progress both real and imagined. Trump is it."

"Also, a lot of the characteristics Nichols thinks represent the opposite of idealized masculinity are actually representative of masculinity as it is performed in this country. From my experience with men who lean into their masculinity, it is about performing dominance by antagonizing people, all in the service of making shallow, insecure men feel better about themselves.  Trump is a domineering asshole, which is what too many men think being a man is all about."

"It is fascinating how unbelievably brainless racists are. Many of the commenters and you Damon have pointed out the stupidity of racism. I mean this seriously, racists have absolutely abandoned intellect, progress, humanity or desire for real greatness that could manifest through equality, in order to hold onto the despicable delusion of superiority based solely on a human having more melanin than another. The sheer simplicity of the trick doesn’t even seem like it should work; but alas, all roads merge at Slave Rd. The dimwitted aptitude it takes for a person to actually believe stealing humans, beating, burning, assaulting, selling their children on auction blocks, splitting families (and more brutalities)...... all for greed born out of sheer laziness, and again stupidity is mindblowing. You literally must turn your brain off to be a racist, and you see it now. Millions of white people, with switch STILL off, courtesy of their forefathers, have continued down this same disastrous, nose-spite-ing road. There’s a lot of white people walking around with black kerchief’s, hiding the draining blood and a ragged hole where their nose once occupied, holding a tight grasp of their hate. Their greed. Trump finally allows them to remove that blood soaked kerchief with pride for all the world see their disfigurement. It’s stunning that there is pride where instead, their should be pure shame for then and for now."