#and this is the only thing that will kick my rear into gear

[sowoozoo-7]

friends, i’m posting this because if i don’t put it out there i’ll never actually finish it: ch 2 of love, lust, & litigation will be posted saturday at the latest 💕

[quintinh43]

Feels Like Home | Jack Hughes

Summary: Jack brings his girlfriend to meet his older brother Quinn and his parents. [Requested By Anon]

Pairings: Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None, I think, just fluff. Maybe some anxiety?

Wc: 2.9k

---

With the off-season officially kicked into gear, you, Jack and Luke were headed to Michigan to meet up with the rest of their family. As the three of you collected your luggage you bounced on the balls of your feet nervously. Today was the first time you'd be meeting Jack's older brother Quinn and his parents.

Your meeting with Quinn being in a matter of minutes, as he was picking the three of you up from the airport. "Relax, sweet thing," Jack hummed, squeezing your hand, "he'll love you."

"What if he doesn't?" You mumble, squeezing his hand back.

"He will." The three of you grab your luggage and head to the baggage area, Luke walking ahead, headphones on, music full blast, ever the emo youngest brother. Jack traces comforting patterns across your knuckles as you get more and more nervous.

Honestly, meeting Quinn is more nerve-wracking than the prospect of meeting Jacks parents. Older brothers are on a whole other level. You feel bad for Luke, for whenever he has a girlfriend to introduce to not one but two older brothers.

Quinn is leaning against the back of his car, arms crossed over his chest, smirking as he lays eyes on his younger brothers. And by extension you. He radiates, cool, calm, and collected. Somehow, that makes it even more scary.

Luke is the first to reach him, wrapping him in a hug. Luke has a good four inches him, but you can tell by the way his body relaxes as soon as Quinn locks his arms around him that their bond is as thick as thieves. He puts his luggage into the car and takes the front seat.

Before he closes the door, he mouths a teasing "good luck" at you. You glare at him, while Jack lets go of your hand, he a Quinn to pack the remainder of the bags in the trunk before he throws his arms around his brother.

"Hi Quinny," you hear him murmur, "Hi Jackie," he grins back, patting him on the back.

"This must be the girlfriend," he says, eyes twinkling with mischief as he squeezes an arm around Jacks shoulders.

"That I am" you smile, holding out a hand for him to shake, "I'm Y/n, its good to finally meet you."

"You too," Quinn says, shaking your hand, "Come on, let's get going, i'm not in the mood to run into people, especially not with all three of us out and about."

Jack nods, opening the back door for you to get in. You slide in behind Luke, and Jack takes the seat behind Quinn. He links his hand with yours and rests them in his lap, tracing patterns on the backs if your knuckles. For all his trying to keep you calm, he was nervous too. It was very important to him that his family loved you.

"So, Y/n, what are your intentions with my brother?" Quinn asks, fingers tapping on the steering wheel while he glances in the rear view mirror.

The tips of Jacks ears turn a vengeful pink. "Quinn!" He huffs in disbelief.

"Straight to the interrogation." Luke snorts. He looks like the only thing he's missing is a bucket of popcorn.

"You don't have to answer him, Sweets" Jack says, glaring at Quinn through the mirror.

"It's ok, Jack," you laugh, squeezing his hand, albeit a bit nervous, you turn to Quinn, feeling more confident now that you get to talk about Jack. "My intentions with Jack are to love him for as long as he'll have me, which is hopefully the rest of our lives." Jack gives you a soft smile, full of promise, and you pocket the memory for later.

"I wanna be his number one supporter, through the good and the bad, I wanna be there for him no matter what. I wanna take care of him when he's sick and celebrate with him when there's something to celebrate. I want to be apart of his family, to love and care for the people he cares for" you shrug sheepishly, like it was the easiest thing in the world to say. Frankly it was.

Jack looks like he might cry. Quinn has a subtle but surprised smile on his face.

"Y'all are fucking disgusting" Luke grins "I can't wait for you to get married, so I can have a sibling I actually like."

"Get fucked!" Jack says, leaning towards Luke to yank on a strand of his hair.

"Bitch!" Luke hisses, twisting to swat at Jack. Quinn rolls his eyes at the two of them, turning up the music in favour of listening to them bicker. He's eyes keep flicking toward you in the rear view mirror, glinting with a pleased look.

A warm feeling floods your chest. If you had to guess you would say won Quinn over. Now for the parents.

The remainder of the fourty minute drive to the lake house consists of Quinn asking you questions, Luke being a little shit, and Jack holding your hand and being a sweetheart or bickering with Luke.

You and Quinn aren't sure how the got the point about arguing over who would be Jacks best man, but here they were.

"You're delusional if you think I was gonna ask you to be my best man" Jack laughs.

"Shut your bitch ass Jack, I wasn't talking about you. I'm gonna be Y/n's best man. Or man of honour I guess. Right

Y/n?" He asks, full blown puppy dog eyes.

"Of course, Lukey," you grin, ruffling his hair. Quinn picked this moment to chime in.

"That means I have to be Jack's best man?" He screechs with mock offense. "No thanks, I'm wanna be Y/n's man of honour"

Jacks jaw drops, and he stares at you with mock betrayal. "You've stolen my family!" He gasps.

You giggle behind your hand, "well maybe if she wasn't one hundred times better than you, we wouldn't like her so much" Luke says matter-of-factly, sticking his tongue out at Jack.

"Do they always argue this much?" Quinn asks you, "if so, how are you sane?"

"Not usually, clearly you bring out the best in them," you grin, patting Quinn on the shoulder. He rolls his eyes, the slip of a smirk on his lips.

"As much as I love that were planning our wedding right now, I think we'd better save it till I have a ring on my finger" you say, throwing a wink at jack.

"Baby, if it were up to me, you'd already have a ring," Jack grins, winking back at you.

"It is up to you dumbass." Quinn says, brows raised. Luke cackles, and Jack blushes, grumbling about how they don't understand. You lean over and kiss him on the cheek sweetly.

"Don't worry Jackie, I know" you smile, leaning your head on his shoulder. You wrap an arm around his Bicep, drawing gentle circles with your thumb. Meeting and getting along with Quinn had vastly eased your worries about meeting his parents.

As if on cue, Quinn pulls into the driveway. And the four of you stumble out of the car, grabbing luggage from the trunk and heading into the house.

Mr. And Mrs. Hughes are hanging out in the kitchen, prepping salad ingredients side by side. As soon as they heard the car pull up, they were waiting by the front door for their boys. Quinn slipped by them, squeezing his dad's shoulder and giving his mom a side hug before the absolute commotion that was his brother's entered the house.

"Welcome home, my boys!" Ellen grinned, Luke had to lean down a comical distance for Ellen to hug him around the neck. She patted him on the back, and he hugged his dad and smartly disappeared up the stairs behind Quinn for you and Jack to have a bit of privacy with their parents.

You hover awkwardly at the door frame while Jack hugged his parents.

After he's hugged them both, he drags you forward by the hand. "Mom, dad, this is Y/n, my girlfriend." he voice has an edge of nerves, and you squeeze his hand.

"Hi, Mr. And Mrs. Hughes, " you smile politely, extending your hand for then to shake. Ellen all but slaps it out of the way as she pulls you into a hug.

"So good to meet you dear. Jack loves you so very much amd we are so happy he found you" she murmers gently. The urge to cry is strong. Jacks family already feels like home.

His dad wraps you in a side hug, "Welcome to the family." He smiles softly, "and please, none of this, Mr. And Mrs. Stuff, it's Ellen and Jim." You nod, even though you know there is no way you'll be calling them Ellen and Jim anytime soon.

"Lunch will be ready in ten. Why don't you guys go get settled and freshen up, and then we'll eat? " Ellen suggests.

"Yeah, we will. Thanks, Ma," Jack grabs your hand and leads you up the stairs to his bedroom that you'll be sharing for the summer. It's spacious and decorated in a way that's most definitely Jack's.

"Do you think they like me?" You ask nervously, putting your toiletries bag in his bathroom.

Jack can hear the worry in your tone. He pulls you into him, rubbing his hands up and down your arms soothingly, "I think they love you sweet thing" he pecks your forehead sweetly, "almsot as much as I do" with that the two of you get settled in comfortable scilence.

Quinn is knocking on the door, "lunch is ready," he calls, going to knock on Luke's door. Jack is dragging you down the stairs, excited to eat. The three of you had snacked on the flight a little bit, but beyond that, you hadn't had a real meal for the day.

Luke is already piling his plate with food. By the time the two of you are down the stairs. "Better get going before Luke eats everything," Ellen smirks, handing you and Jack plates, respectively.

"Mom!" Luke whines, around a piece of garlic toast. Ellen just laughs at her son and waiting for you and Jack to grab food. Everyone piles onto the couch, and Quinn plays a movie. It's more like background noise, as you all chat happily.

Luke leans over you and tries to snatch a piece of garlic bread off of Jack's plate. Jack pokes (stabs) him with his fork, pinning him with a glare. Luke hisses, shaking his hand out dramatically.

"So rude to me," he pouts.

"Maybe don't steal his food then?" Quinn says matter-of-factly. Luke makes a face at him.

You grin at their antics, used to this particular argument by now. Honestly, you're surprised Luke doesn't have permanent fork scars on his hand. You hold out your plate to Luke, and he grins, taking a slice of your garlic bread. Luke sticks his tongue out at Jack.

After a few months of dealing with Jack stabbing Luke every time he tried to steal food off of Jacks plate, you had started putting a little extra food on your plate just for him. Honestly, you could blame Luke. Food just tasted better when you were stealing it off someone else's plate. You did it to Jack all the time, but as his girlfriend and the love of his life, you get a free pass.

Ellens smile is so soft as she watches. She is so happy for Jack that he has someone as amazing as you, she can tell Luke loves you too.

"Whats after lunch?" Jack asks, setting his empty plate on the coffee table. He throws an arm around your shoulder, and you kean into his side, running your fingers along his bare knee absent-mindedly.

"Boat, if you guys are down for it?" Quinn suggests, stacking his plate on top of Jacks.

Both Luke and Jack light up at the idea. You can't help but smile at the look on Jacks face. What you would give for that look never to leave.

"Yeah, let's do that, Y/n has never been on a boat."

Your cheeks flush, a little embarrassed. "What?!" Quinn practically screeches, "alright that settles it, were going on the boat."

You grab the stack of plates from the coffee table, "oh hon, leave it, well take care of it"

"Nonsense, Mrs. H, I want to help."

"Don't worry Mom, I got her" Jack grins, taking half the plates from you. The two of you load the dishwasher together, while the others get ready to go on the boat. You quickly sprint upstairs when you're done, changing into your swimsuit. You throw shorts and a hoodie over it, and slap some sunscreen on your face.

"Jack, did you put on sunscreen?"

He shakes his head, and you dab sunscreen on his nose. He grins, pecking you on the cheek before rubbing the sunscreen into his skin. "Lets go" he hums, throwing a towel over his shoulder for the both of you.

Quinn is already in the driver's seat, scrolling through his music options as he decides what to play. Jack hops over the edge of the boat and offers you a hand to pull you in. You take his hand gratefully as he hoists you over the ledge. You stumble into him, giggling a little.

He smirks, wrapping his arms around you to stabilize you. "Hey, didn't know you were falling for me." He says cheesily.

You hear Quinn snort, a smile playing on his lips. He's happy to see his brother happy.

"Baby, I fell for you a long time ago," you grin, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him.

"Ewwww, no kissing on the boat!" Luke yells as he hops over the ledge and throws a towel at the two of you for good measure. Jack catches it and rolls it up to whip luke with it. You and Quinn laugh at the two of them as Jack chases Luke around the minimal space of the boat hitting him with the towel.

As soon as Ellen and Jim approach Jack drops the towel all innocently, pulling you against his side. Ellen rolls her eyes at their antics and sits beside Jim, who wraps an arm around her shoulders. You can't help but smile. They are so cute.

Jack does almsot the same, tucking you into his side securely. Luke looks at Quinn miserably. "we are so single it hurts," he pouts.

Quinn snorts, "Speak for yourself, Moose, I quite enjoy my singularity"

Luke rolls his eyes "singularity my ass, thats not even how that word is used."

"Sorry, but I don't take advice from collage dropouts." Quinn smirks, flicking his head so his sunglasses fall onto his face as he takes off.

"I am not a collage dropout!" Luke scoffs

"Yet," Jack adds with a smirk.

The wind whips you hair into Jacks face, and he laughs as you tuck it into your hoodie. You stay curled into his side happily, enjoying the view as Quinn cruises along the coastline. Then he's slowing the boat to a stop, throwing the keys to his dad, tugging off his shirt, and back-flipping into the water.

Luke follows immediately, whooping as his head breaks the surface. "Your turn Y/n/n."

"Oh no, absolutely not, no thanks." You shake your head with a smile, pulling off the hoodie to lay in the sun.

Before you can fully process what's happening, Jack has his arms around you, and is standing on the seat. You lock your arms around his neck tightly.

"Jack Rowden Hughes, put me down this instant!" you say panic rising in your voice. His parents laugh, hearing you scold him with his full name.

"Catch" Jack grins, prying your arms away from his neck and tossing you in the water.

You scream as you fly through the air, the cold water is a shock as you kick to the surface. "I got you," Quinn smiles, reassuringly, as you emerge. He's got a hand wrapped gently on your arm, providing some stability while you get your bearings. And then, Jack is jumping into the water, splashing you and Quinn in the faces. "Thanks Quinn" you smile softly.

As Jack resurfaces, you swim over to him and attach yourself to his back like a koala. "How dare you!" You hold his head underwater for a few seconds, and he still comes up laughing.

"It was fun, though, wasn't it?" He asks, eyes glinting.

"Yeah," you grumble reluctantly.

"And now you'll jump on your own?" His brows are raised knowingly. Sometimes all you need is a push, or throw in this case.

"Yeah," you grin, pressing a kiss to his hair.

The four of you spend hours jumping off the boat over and over and horsing around in the water while their parents laugh, and throw snacks in your mouths from the boat and take plenty of pictures. Until the sun starts to fall lower in the sky, and Ellen deems it time to head back.

You climb into the boat and throw jacks hoodie on before you tuck yourself into his side as Quinn drives home. The rest of the evening is spent in the pleasant company of Jacks family. Eating dinner, playing board games, roasting marshmallows over the fire pit, and sharing embarrassing stories about Jack.

All in all, his family feels like your own, and being with him feels like home.

---

Notes: First Jack fic!! I'm not too sure how I feel about it, but eh, here we are. Thank you, Anon, for requesting, Love Soph ♡

[hongjoongspoetry]

Bones, Blood and Teeth Erode - Teaser

⚠️ Pairing(s): Jeong Yunho x F!Reader

⚠️ Genres/Tropes: non-idol AU, zombie apocalypse AU, horror, romance, hurt/comfort, a lot of action, smut, a lil comedy, golden retriever x black cat

⚠️ Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), explicit language, use of weapons (guns, knives), blood and gore (quite descriptive), zombies, murder, reader is a badass... more to come

⚠️ Wordcount: Estimated 30-40K

⚠️ A/N: As it's still a WIP, nothing is set in stone and scenes can be changed until the whole work is published. I also don't have a summary ready, but... enjoy! 😀

This is all fiction and not meant to represent the idols involved in any way or form. This work is NSFW and not appropriate for minors as it contains explicit scenes, not just sexual content, but descriptions of both physical and verbal fights, as well as adult language and gore. Minors and ageless blogs, please, refrain from reading or interacting with this work or my blog!!!

AO3 Masterlist Click on me!

Yunho was there in seconds to haul you off the ground, his hand grabbing the back of your shirt, shouting at you to run.

“Are you deaf?! Go!” 

It was the harsh push to your shoulder that finally got you moving. Slow and uncertain steps, but moving nonetheless thanks to Yunho barking orders behind you. One would think you had never stepped foot outside the prison walls, let alone gone on numerous resource runs. Everything between Yunho’s push to you reaching the make-up store was a blur. The blood covering your knife and hands — along with the trail of corpses left behind you — being the only proof you had been involved in the massacre. 

“I told you to get inside!” 

You jumped as Yunho’s hand landed on your forearm, tugging you toward the store. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you counted over a hundred rotting heads. The shutters would only hold a dozen until it broke and they tore you apart. 

Yunho watched the gears turn in your head and got a whiff of what you planned to do. “Don’t.”

The foreign depth in his voice did nothing to change your mind and he noticed it too, thus holding onto you until his fingers turned white and the veins of his hands protruded. You snapped out of the haze as another forceful tug bruised your arm. Determined to see your plan till the end, you used the element of surprise to your advantage and bore your teeth into his wrist, just enough for Yunho to loosen his hold on you and give you the chance to step back. You ripped your bag off your shoulders and slung it at Yunho, who caught it with an ‘oomph’, successfully keeping him down on his rear for a few extra seconds. His raspy call of your name clawed at your heart. Something was eating you from the inside, but you ignored the wails of your soul and kicked the cart with all your might, allowing the shutters to fall with a bang. Your stubbornness wasn’t the sole thing to stand between you two anymore.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

You paid little mind to the burning feeling in your chest and the flame dancing across his features. Leaving him there would hurt, but it would be hell to see him get ripped to shreds knowing he had a chance of surviving. Back at the prison, you only had one person to look out for whilst Yunho was a pillar for many. You couldn’t do that to them. To Hongjoong, Mingi, Wooyoung… Heck, you couldn’t do it to yourself. Angry Yunho was a fleeting image. It would pass, but the Yunho with cheesing eyes and heart shaped lips pulled in a joyous smile would forever be engraved in your memory. 

“It’s not going to hold,” you gestured to the stupid shutter. “Get home and make sure the stuff gets to Hongjoong.”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving without you!”

“Tell Nari I love her–”

His fist slammed against the metal cover and for a moment you thought it would crumble beneath his touch. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. You’re going to tell her yourself because we’re going back together!”

There was so much on your mind. What to say, what message to leave the others; apologies and closure or a last round of advice?

“I’ll find you. Outside, I’ll find you. I’m not dyi… “ Your throat tightened at the empty promise. You didn’t know if you said that to reassure him or yourself. “Ten minutes. If I’m not outside in ten minutes, you’ll leave. Yunho, promise me you’ll leave.”

If only you knew what you were doing to his poor soul. Asking him of the impossible. He could promise you anything you wanted, anything in this cursed world and he’d hand it to you on a silver platter. Anything, but that. Leaving you behind was like signing his own death sentence. He’d be nothing, but the shell of a man. An empty, hollow, useless shell with the bitter taste of resentment for both your selfless and selfish sacrifice. Yunho knew agreeing to keep the promise would give you a peace of mind yet, if anything happened to you, he’d be haunted by the memories of you until his very last breath.

Across from him, you waited as if time wasn’t about the most sacred thing you could have. A mix of concern and determination wedged in your beautiful features and Yunho knew he had to speak, although he didn’t want to because the words rolling off his dry tongue would be some kind of agreement to your request. 

“Yunho, please.”

The burning fire in his eyes dimmed as a wave of tears washed over them. They looked magical, even when obscured by grief and longing for the one still alive. His bottom lip formed into a pout to keep from trembling just as his hands balled into fists for that same reason. The sand continued seeping out of the imaginary hourglass, no matter how much Yunho tried scooping it back inside, the universal clock wouldn’t stop ticking. 

With great effort — his lips parted and the shaky breath released aimed straight at your heart as did the tears brimming his red eyes which were a reflection of your own — he nodded. “I promise… but don’t make me fulfill it.”

In another life, the vow would be exchanged in a happier setting, surrounded by friends and family. Vacant of gloomy clouds and death knocking at your door, and filled with belly laughter and tears of joy instead. A time where the promise of sacrifice was made out of love and not for survival.

“Yunho, I–”

The remaining seven letters died in your throat as cold and wrinkly fingers sunk into your shoulder. Yunho watched you scramble from the touch, his heart pounding for your safety, and felt completely useless. He couldn’t breathe until your blade was driven into the side of the biter’s head and the creature landed with a thud, blood pooling at your feet. The growling worsened and you needed to get a move on if you ever planned on seeing another shift between the sun and moon. 

“Come back to me, do you understand?” 

Your eyes met for what could be the last time and you drank him in like he was a part of the seven wonders of the world. 

His messy charcoal strands falling over his equally dark brows, knitted together with a crease in the middle that you wanted to smooth out. Trailing down to his naturally puffy eyes reflecting a storm of emotions — thundering anger and heavy anguish — threatening to spill over with tears. Your throat tightened. You couldn’t bear seeing the pain you inflicted upon him and hastily followed the slope of his pretty nose, red as a ripe strawberry. A beautiful blush, probably stemming from his anger, kissed his round cheeks and spread to his ears. The need to reach out and touch him, caress him with reassurances that everything would be fine, grew at the sight of his trembling lips.

The angel on your shoulder whispered for you to run. Another whisper — this time from the devil — tingled your ears with the statement to stay a little longer. You wanted to heed the little red fella, but what you wanted wasn’t what you needed, so with a final nod, you tore away from his painful gaze and willed yourself not to turn back around because if you did, you wouldn’t be able to leave. 

With fear and adrenaline pumping through your veins and the promise of returning alive, you slipped on the mask of a soldier — putting a pause to the war in your head — and faced the army of the dead. 

“Come get me, fucking assholes!”

© HONGJOONGSPOETRY 2024 - All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting or translating my work is not allowed.

[notyetneedcoffee]

Strut

Kinktober - Leather Kink NSFW - Adults Only

Summary: Something about the way he struts

The transport lowered to the tarmac, rear ramp lowering immediately. You paused your work logging the inventory of the emergency equipment stacked at the far side of the hanger to catch sight of the team coming home. Mainly you wanted to see your man home safe and sound.

Steve and Natasha strolled down the ramp deep in conversation. Sam came out next, arguing with someone behind him. So far they all looked healthy. Then Becky immerse and your breath hitched.

He strode down the ramp with long purposeful steps. His fists were clenched. You drank in the delicious sight of him clad head to toe in leather. Heavy boots. Straps of harnesses filled with weapons and tools of destruction. Tight leather jacket. The only thing bared from the neck down was the gleaming metal of his arm.

“Fuck me.” You muttered to yourself. He looked sexy as hell.

Almost as if he heard you, Bucky’s eyes locked on you. He changed direction straight toward you. Your pulse kicked up. Excitement filled you. Some hind-brain fear made you feel like prey as he stalked toward you. Stalked. That fucking strut.

He came close, saying low. “Follow me.”

You did. He led you out of the hanger, down the hall and to one of storage rooms. He slapped his palm over the electric lock and practically pushed you inside. The second the door closed, Bucky’s hand grabbed you by the back of head and he kissed you hard and brutally.

Your fingers wrapped around the straps of his shoulder harness, pulling him closer. He only pulled back once your lips were wet and swollen.

“Miss me?” You breathed.

“Don’t wanna talk about it now.” He pulled you tight against him. “Just need to feel you. To see you.”

You didn’t question, just pulled your top and sports bra over your head. Bucky reached for the buckles of his gear, but your hand stopped him. “No. Leave it on.”

Kicking off your shoes, you stripped out of the rest of your clothes just as fast. Bucky panted, staring at you hard as you dropped to your knees before him. Unbuckling his belt, you loosened his pants enough to free his hard cock.

You looked up into his blue eyes as you licked him from base to tip. Watched his mouth drop open and his tongue run over his lip as you tasted him. As you swallowed him deep, Bucky moaned. His fingers slipped through your hair to hold your head. He didn’t force you, but you knew it was a battle for him.

“Com’here.” Bucky pulled you up and turned your back to the wall. His slid over your body. He slipped his fingers into your cunt, spreading your wetness, and grinning wickedly at your moan. “You been a good girl while I’ve been gone?”

“Mmm-hmm.” You squirmed, hands roaming over his gear and trying to pull him closer. He leaned forward to nip and kiss your neck. Your nipples scraped along the rough straps and leather of his gear, making you moan harder. He smelled of Bucky, sweat, leather and gun powder. You rocked your sex into his hand harder.

You reached down to grip him once again. You needed him.

Bucky plunged his tongue into your mouth, kissing your deep, before moaning. “Won’t last long.”

“I’m so close.” You whined. “Fuck me, please!”

He let you guide him to your entrance, slipping his head through your wetness once before plunging in. You bit back a cry and wrapped a leg over his hip. Bucky thrusted into, hold you by the ass. Being completely naked while he stayed fully clad felt so amazing. You were at his mercy. You hyper-sensitive skin rubbed on the leather in near painful ecstasy.

“Is my Doll desperate?” His tongue painted a trail over your neck.

“When you came at me.” You panted. “With that fucking strut.”

“Hmmm.” His pace quickened.

“All wrapped in leather.” You moaned, starting to shake.

Bucky had you pressed against the wall, feet completely off the ground. Breath pushed from your lungs with each thrust. You held tight to leather straps of his holster, pulling him in. You thighs quivered and body tensed.

“Needed you.” Bucky’s teeth grazed your shoulder. “Need you.” His fingers tips dug into your ass as his control began to slip away.

“Yes!” You shattered at his ferocity, his primal reaction and need. Legs shaking, cunt flooding and clenching around his cock, Bucky bit back a howl as he emptied himself.

He stilled, but for the small quivers that ran through both of your bodies. Bucky gently kissed your ear. “I need to come see you straight after a mission more often.”

You giggled, “Or just swing by my place in all your gear…”

“That,” Bucky smirked. “I can do.”

Want more? Check out my Master List.

[abigailywrites]

postscript. [bucky barnes x reader]

part one

ao3 / ko-fi rating: t word count: 3.9k warnings: none

You understand that 1934 hasn’t been an easy year for anyone. Heck, the past five years haven’t been easy on anyone, but it doesn’t excuse not putting in a little effort every now and then. Not everyone can get by on clownery the way that James Barnes does. The school’s Christmas break is closing in on you with a vengeance, and you’ve got one last chance to get your history grade up from a B to an A minus. This group project is the breaking point. If you don’t get an A flat on this project, there’s no point in trying on the final.

And James Barnes.

James Barnes thinks he’s a comedian. If he contributes anything at all to your group, it’s a half-researched, common-knowledge quip here and there. Then he leans back and expects the world to congratulate him for putting in less than the minimum effort. He’s driving you up a wall.

When the day comes for you to get your grade back, you can sort of see the red marker bleeding through the back of the page, and your stomach drops. Your frustration must be evident when you meet up with your group because James snatches your rubric out of your hand and reads it aloud to the whole class. “It’s a B plus,” he says. “It’s a good grade. Heck, I know it kicks my grade up, anyway. You ought to just calm down about it, sweetheart.”

You've never socked anyone across the jaw before, so there's no way you could've known how much it would ache in the bones of your hand. Oh, but it does ache when you do it, quick as a whip. Even you didn’t really see it coming. 

James sputters as he holds his jaw and looks down at you in shock. “Hey, what—?” he starts.

And as much as your hand hurts, you’re already raring to go for another one because he darn well deserves it. After the next one, he sees you gearing up for a third and dodges so violently that he falls over, and in a second you’re railing on him seeing only red.

The next thing you know, you’re seated in the principal’s office next to James Barnes, cradling your sore hand and wondering what your parents are gonna say.

James clears his throat and starts to speak because, apparently, you can’t catch a break. “Now that I’ve had time to think,” he says, “I’ve decided to admit that I’m wrong and you’re right. I’m sorry, and let’s be friends, okay?”

He extends his hand for you to shake, and you only stare at it. “You’re just saying that because I handed your rear end to you.”

“Only half right,” he corrects you. “I’m also thinking that if we can get together and let the bigwigs know that we’ve gotten over our grievances on our own, they’ll let us off with a light sentence.”

“Oh, so you don’t actually think you ought to be sorry at all,” you decide, turning away from him again.

“Well, I’m not gonna go around throwing punches about it,” James grumbles.

The door to the principal’s office slams shut and you hear him talking to the secretary, sending a spike of panic right through your middle. “Fine,” you sigh, having run out of options. “Let’s be friends, James.”

“Fantastic,” he says with a grin. “But you oughtta know that all my real friends call me Bucky, and we’re gonna be best friends.”

You nod. “Okay,” you say. “Bucky.”

“That’s the ticket,” he says. When he shakes your sore hand and you yelp, he winces and pats it all gentle-like.

In the office, he takes full credit for the incident in the hallway, admitting that he provoked you and emphasizing that you’ve worked out your differences. Something you heartily agree to. In the end, you get out with a weekend of detention each. You shudder to think of the consequences if you and Bucky hadn’t decided on being friends.

It isn’t until the new year begins that you figure out something about Bucky. Virtues of paying more attention now that he’s someone who’s supposed to be your friend. At lunchtime, he doesn’t buy lunch. Most kids don’t, of course. Just a sign of the times, but most kids bring something from home. You count the days he goes without. It’s every single one. He doesn’t eat a darn thing unless Steve Rogers makes him.

On the subject of Steve Rogers, they’re thick as thieves, him and Bucky. Everyone knows they’re friends, but you had no idea how ready and willing Bucky is to go to bat for him. All the fights he gets in make sense, suddenly. He’s in the dead middle of the food chain, punching up when the bigger guy punches further down than he has any right to. According to the grapevine, shortly after your fight with Bucky, he took a real beating for Steve that put him out of commission from his job for two weeks.

You hadn’t known he was working a job, either. The only thing that makes that feeling worse is when you learn that it’s more than one. If that doesn’t make up for a lack of contribution to silly school projects, you don’t know what does. There’s no getting around the guilt of everything you assumed, but you never work up the nerve to apologize to him.

In many ways, you grow up together. Although, it may be more accurate to say that you grow up adjacent to each other. Your friend groups are a perfectly symmetrical Venn diagram, so it makes sense to cross a little bit into each other’s circle.

At school, you overhear him now and then when folks ask him who you are and he responds, “Oh, that’s my best friend,” like it’s his favorite joke. Even Steve seems in on it, shooting him conspiratorial looks when he says so. It doesn’t bother you as much as it might. He’s friendly to you in the hallways and smiles at you across rooms. He’s a sturdy, almost comforting presence all the way up to graduation.

The next few years give you the space you need to calm down about a lot of things. Mostly, it’s just a matter of growing up. The war certainly puts things of actual importance into perspective. Silver stars go up in windows. Half of the stars on your street alone turn gold after a while.

Your work keeps you busy and distracted from thinking about those poor boys that ship out to training camps all over the states and then to England by the hundreds every week. There’s some fulfillment in secretarial work, especially at a rubber manufacturer where good work is a matter of life or death overseas. Even so, it doesn’t keep you distracted from the old busybodies in your neighborhood.

“A nice girl like you ought to be married at your age,” they tell you. “Ain’t there anybody willing to take you?” You don’t tell them that plenty have tried, and you’ve been disinterested in all of them. No, things are much better for you the way that they are for the time being. Besides, there is a war on. There will be better times for that kind of thing later on, when it’s all over. If it will ever be over.

Especially on a day like today, you’re praying for a swift end to the war. Every higher-up at the factory acts like they’re the busiest they’ve ever been and all the minutia is getting passed off to you. The thing about minutia, of course, being that it builds up like nobody’s business. The fact that you’re able to slip away for even a fifteen-minute coffee break is a blessing. Cream and sugar is like manna. You close your eyes on the first sip and don’t open them again until you hear unfamiliar footsteps coming down the hallway.

It’s Bucky—you can see him through the break room windows. He’s dressed up in uniform which should probably surprise you more than it does, but it seems like every boy you ever knew growing up (except good ol’ Steve Rogers) is in the service these days. It’s honestly just his general presence that nearly stuns you silent. What the heck could he be doing here of all places?

When he finally sees you, he grins wide and steps into the room. “Well, well, well,” he says. “If it isn’t my best friend. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Bucky Barnes,” you return. “I guess they’ll let just anybody in here these days.”

He shakes his head. “Not really, but I can be pretty convincing.”

You set your mug down on the table next to you and fold your arms over your chest. “I see Eisenhower got you too.”

“Yeah, well…” he says, looking down at his uniform. “I figured this getup don’t make me look half-bad. What could it really hurt?”

You don’t bring up the gold stars. Better not to sour the mood. “It’s been over a year since I last saw you, hasn’t it?” you ask him. “Not since Steve’s birthday party, right?”

“Must’ve been,” he says. “Something about the fourth of July just breeds enlisted men. I’ve been down at a bootcamp in Georgia. Camp Toccoa, maybe you’ve heard of it.”

“Oh, sure,” you say. “So, what brings you in?”

Bucky nearly freezes, it seems like. He glances down at the mug on the table and shifts his weight. “Does the coffee here taste like rubber?” he asks you, keeping his tone light and nonchalant. “If not, I could use a cup if you’re willing to share.” 

You shake your head. “I’ve only got a fifteen-minute break here, and I’m down to five. You gonna answer my question or not?” you ask him, picking up your mug again and smiling into it as you take a sip.

For a long moment, he only considers you, eyes searching. Then he sighs. “Uh, I guess… Look,” he says. “I ship out here in the next couple of weeks, and the thing is I don’t got a girl to write to unless you count my baby sister. Which I don’t.”

“I thought you were going out with a girl,” you remind him, furrowing your brows. “What was her name? Florence? Dolores?” As if you don’t remember exactly who it is.

“Dolores? You mean Dot?” he laughs. “We stopped going steady forever ago. Haven’t seen each other since we were kids.”

“If you’ll remember,” you say, “you and I haven’t really seen each other since we were kids, either.”

He draws his lower lip behind his teeth and nods. “That’s a fair point,” he says.

“Did you run out of girls to ask or something?” you tease, voice flat and brows raised.

“You wound me,” he says, laying his hand over his heart. Then, he leans in conspiratorially. “What’s the big deal? Do you still live with your folks?”

Unbelievable. With a defeated sigh and a half-smile you snatch up the notepad from the table and scribble your apartment’s address. “There. My address,” you tell him, tearing off the sheet of paper. “Don’t overuse it.”

Bucky looks the paper over once before gingerly folding it and putting it in his breast pocket. “Don’t think that’s a promise I can make,” he admits.

After only a couple of minutes and your polite farewells and wishes of good luck, he’s gone, and you’re back to where you started: in a break room with a cup of coffee, dreading the minute you’ve got to get back to work.

The next weeks are the same as ever they are, grating for their sameness. It’s complete drudgery to the point that your mind blanks out, and you almost forget what you agreed to until his first letter comes seemingly out of the blue. It comes to you on a Saturday when you have nothing better to do than sit down on your sofa and listen to the Count Basie Orchestra on the radio while you read all the news from overseas.

He writes: 

21 August 1943

Heya Best Friend,

I’m writing from the training camp in jolly ol’ Aldbourne, England. I would say it’s a welcome change from Toccoa, except it turns out that jolly ol’ England ain’t all the jolly since it must be thirty degrees below freezing at all times. Turns out this is baseline when you get up this far in the Northern Hemisphere, even in the middle of August. Would’ve loved that interesting little tidbit before deploy, but, heck, they probably told me when I wasn’t paying attention.

They gave us a grand old welcome when we got here. Guess the idea is that the Americans are here to give the old Fuhrer his due. Not that we’ll be seeing European soil for a while yet. Still, these people have been pretty roughed up by the Krauts even all the way up here. Not Blitz-level, but the effects ripple. I guess they’re just happy to get a little bit of help. I don’t blame them a bit.

I hope we’re worth the effort they seem to think we are. We get up each morning at the crack of dawn to run six miles uphill and then load and unload our weapons about a thousand times (more like twenty, but still). It’s repetitive and monotonous as anything, but some of these guys ain’t half bad. They at least found out the best places to spend our free time—English pubs are every bit as fun as they say they are. With you being a lady and everything, I don’t think I probably ought to tell you everything that goes on.

If there was a more interesting coffee scene, maybe I could tell you about that, instead. Trouble is that Brits don’t know how to make a good cup of coffee, but they tell me that I don’t know how to make a good cup of tea. Even swap, so they say. Although, tea shops don’t have near the same atmosphere. All stuffy with pictures of the king everywhere. Have you ever seen a picture of His Royal Highness? He looks like he’s got a rubber face that melted all around the mouth. I’m telling you this because we’ve been warned against criticizing royalty in front of the locals, and I’ve got to get it off my chest somehow.

Well, I hope you’re doing well back home. Keep me updated on the goings on, and I’ll do the same. This first letter should give you a basic idea of what life is like over here. Apologies about it being so short, but this one is only the first of many. Scout’s honor.

Your friend,

James Bucky Barnes

P.S. If you see Steve around, tell him I said hello from me to you to him.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t find it kinda charming in the way that only Bucky Barnes has always managed to be. Somehow, you can see a little bit of his expressions in what he writes, the way he raises his brows just so when he’s about to laugh or how he leans in like he’s telling a secret. You read it over a couple times just to latch onto the talking points and immediately head to your writing desk to start composing your response.

30 August 1943

Dear Bucky,

Thanks for your note. Glad to hear you made it that far up in the Northern Hemisphere safely. Sorry to hear it’s awfully cold and not all that jolly.

Well, what the heck are you supposed to say after that? It takes you a solid five minutes before you glance at the coffee forming a ring on your desk and smile. That’s the ticket.

I’m having a good, American cup of coffee right now. Just for you. If you can pick up any good tea-making tricks, bring them home for me, will you? I bet I could make as good a tea as any Brit, and I can do it without a rubber face hanging over me. (No disrespect to His Royal Highness.)

I wouldn’t go getting nostalgic for New York any time soon. It’s monotonous, too, don’t forget. Although, I guess it might be a little less strenuous. Six miles uphill? I’ll take my office chair any day, thanks. I even get to listen to Jack Benny replays when the work gets slow. (If it ever gets slow). Just now, I’ve got Count Basie on the radio. Does England have a taste for the finer things of life like comedy shows?

Nevermind about a short letter. I trust you’ll let me know all about the guys you meet and who you like and who gets on your nerves. I expect some truly fantastic characters to come out of your stories. Who knows? Maybe you’ll make friends of Winston Churchill, and then you’ll have to put up with the king’s face in more than just the tea shops. I’ve always wanted to travel to England, and I’m afraid your bleak picture painting hasn’t done anything to deter me. So when you do make friends of dear Winnie, be sure he extends me an invitation.

As for the goings on, there aren’t many (monotonous, tiresome New York for you). My mother and I are busy selling war bonds when we’re not working which is mostly just rallies,  street corners, and church. In fact, our church asked mother to sing a little song to “get morale up.” I don’t think she realized that they were asking for something more along the lines of the Battle Hymn of the Republic rather than the Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B which she sang on a Sunday morning with great enthusiasm and to the horror of the deacons. To this day (some weeks later) she is mortified, indignant, and insisting that the music director should’ve been more specific with his request.

We are all hurting for the boys overseas, wishing them each a swift and safe return. I will pray for you every evening until your next letter which I’m anticipating will give me much more information as to what I should pray for specifically. 

You see? I can write short letters, too. Tell me stories and plenty of them! 

Yours truly,

You sign your name with a flourish and read it over once before putting pen back to paper.

P.S. I haven’t seen Steve lately, but I’m sure he says hi right back. We miss you over here.

Your letter finished, you walk it down to the post office, send it off, and mostly forget about it. Yet, in the days following, you get a keener eye for things worth writing down. The humdrum of the rubber office and New York as a whole gets a little sharper in your eyes and in your mind as you consider how you might describe it to someone who won’t be able to see it again for many years yet. Additionally, you keep your ears open for any hint on how to get a hold of Steve Rogers. After all, if an enlisted man gives you a task to do, you’re going to do it, for Pete’s sake.

As of the moment, you haven’t told a soul about your little arrangement with Bucky, the better to shut out those voices that would tell you to get your old maid hooks into him and not let go. (Old maid, you have to laugh. An old maid because you weren’t married the moment you turned twenty. If that’s what they want to think.) Besides, as letters go, they’re a slow-moving thing. You’re well into September by the time you get Bucky’s next, reading:

9 September 1943

Heya,

What’s the big idea, getting me all jealous over a cup of coffee? Why, if you were a fella, I’d tell you right where you can stick that cup of coffee. Oh well. I guess if only one of us can enjoy Yankee pleasures, it might as well be you. It gives me little joy to congratulate you on your little Maxwell House cup, but I do so nonetheless.

The guys here in the 107th are just swell, but I think all of us are feeling the loss of the 506th who are still back in Toccoa training to jump out of planes. What can be done? We’re not paratroopers because we’re not crazy or even half as brave. I’ll tell you sometime about those guys, but now I’ve got to put up with Tim “Dum Dum” Dugan. Dum Dum is my bunkmate and he doesn’t snore so much as whistle in his sleep. I’m writing this now at midnight under the covers with a lamplight because I couldn’t catch a wink under these conditions.

Even so, the station here is a heck of a lot better than what we put up with at Toccoa. (God bless Guarnere and Liebgott who are still stuck back there. Paratroopers. Crazy.) I think back to those days and could almost laugh if Captain Sobel hadn’t been on everyone’s last nerve by the time I got the heck out of there. More than once, he revoked all of his company’s weekend passes because too many of them weren’t up to his exacting standards. Easy Company got fed a big spaghetti dinner before having to run a twelve-mile. Most miserable saps I ever saw in my life. I say if we’re gonna go fight tyrants in Germany, let’s take care of the ones on our side first. If it weren’t for Second Lt. Winters being such a decent guy, I would’ve popped him and taken the court-martialing with a smile. He’s not even my CO!

Well, enough about me. Hope you and yours are well. Thanks for that story about your mother! You got a decent chuckle out of me to the point where Dum Dum caught notice and had me read it to the division. Hope you don’t mind if we make her our patron saint. Somehow, it was like he heard the sweet, sweet song of our American angel all the way overseas. We’ll paint her name on the side of every vessel the army’s got if you’ll let us.

I can’t help it: I’m starving for news about New York. Heck, I’ll take a word about Connecticut or Oklahoma or Nebraska if you’ve got it. Still, I’d like to hear about you most of all. I can picture it better that way, I think. And speaking of pictures, would you mind sending me one of you? Guys here don’t believe you’ve got a girl to write to if you don’t have a picture of her, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to brag on you a bit. Besides, it would be nice to have something easier on the eyes to look at than Dum Dum’s ugly mug.

I’m afraid as far as comedy programs go, we don’t get Jack Benny over here. No ma’am, only Bob Hope is good enough for the AFRS. (That’s Armed Forces Radio Service, in case you didn’t know). I don’t know about England, but I’m a pretty big fan of Jack Benny myself. Don’t forget: Lucky Strike means fine tobacco.

Yours truly,

Bucky Barnes

P.S. It’s nice to be missed.

[agentmarvel]

Hello hello!! I am so excited about your challenge (literally been thinking about what prompt I could do for dayyyyys now🤭)

Could I please do angst 💔 to fluff 🩷 (if I can’t do two I’m sorry, I’ll stick to fluff 🩷 pls), with my main squeeze Johnny "Soap" MacTavish 🧼, annnnnnd the buzz words being American reader, secret relationship, “stay away from her”

Thank you🤍🤍

thank you so much for requesting! 🥰 i'm so excited to FINALLY get one for soap! this ended up being WAAAAAAY longer than i intended, almost 2k.

johnny "soap" mactavish x fem!reader

cw: graves being gross

mdni - 18+; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

Heartbreak is a special kind of beast, the Mr. Hyde to falling in love’s Dr. Jekyll. No matter how tough you think you are, how thick or calloused your skin may be, it tears its way out, rearing its ugly head with a thunderous roar that commands you to feed it. The gluttonous craving is grief. It gnaws at your bones with a bloodied maw, snarling as it downs your tears by the gallon, and there’s no proven way to set yourself free. It will sneak back up on you when you least expect it.

That gaping wound in your chest has sat hollow since you ended things with Johnny, or as you know him now, simply Sergeant MacTavish. It wasn’t pleasant, you didn’t want this, but he was too keen on keeping you a secret. He expressly forbade you from telling even your closest friends about your relationship for over three years for a slew of reasons that just became muddier over the months.

Each time you reached your limit, he’d beg you to raise your ceiling built of tolerance and patience. He swore up and down that it wouldn’t be like this forever, that someday, he’d put a ring on your finger, and you’d both be able to display your love to the entire world. But his rationale got weaker and weaker as the hourglass began to run out, and it crushed you into those final grains of sand, trickling through the tiny gap into a vicious pit of loneliness.

“You good?” A voice comes from over your shoulder, and you glance back. Commander Graves, your direct supervisor, is stationed behind you, a look of concern painted across his face.

You nod, albeit meekly, unable to trust your voice after hearing the call from General Shepherd. Shadows have been called in as air support for Task Force 141 in Mexico, and you haven’t seen Johnny - no, MacTavish - since the break-up. Oxygen catches in your chest, awaiting any sort of spark that will light the fuse on your dynamite tongue, and that’s not a conversation you really want to have with Graves.

“You know you don’t have to lie to me, right?” he says softly, putting a hand on your shoulder. You resist the urge to shrug it off, instead nodding again. “Listen, I know you’re still pretty new to my team, but you’re still part of my team. If something is going on, if something about this mission has you freaked out, you need to tell me. Can’t fix it if you won’t let me in.”

You smile, forced and small.

“I know, sir. I’m good, I promise. Just… Tired.”

He eyes you warily. The disbelief is evident, but he doesn’t press you on it. He merely offers a few oddly sincere pats on your shoulder and walks away. You let out a sigh, and focus in on your screen, a distraction to pass time until you touch down in Las Almas. 

It works almost too well. Seemingly, you’ve only blinked before you’re back in the air after gear checks, restocks, and a fuel top-off. Through the comms, you can hear Graves trying to make contact with the 141. You dread the moment you hear MacTavish’s voice again, but it crackles to life in your ear before you can truly brace yourself for it.

He sounds worn and tired, and a pang of guilt spears you in the gut for thinking he deserves it just a little. Some days, you hope he’s still hurting. You hope he’s felt even a fraction of the pain you have.

But those thoughts have no place in your line of work, not while you’re trying to help him stay alive. So your brain shuts off, autopilot kicks on, and you work as a cog in a well-oiled machine until the job is done.

*

Shadows always party after a win, no matter how small it may be. Despite having to release Hassan and it being well after midnight, the drinks came quickly at Fuerza Especiales headquarters.

You, however, couldn’t quite get into the partying mood. The inevitability of seeing him again filled your stomach with rocks, weighing you down. You mask the weight well, though. It’s not unusual for you to stick to the edge of the group; polite smiles, meaningless small talk, and high fives leaving your teammates none the wiser.

The moment you see Graves scanning the crowd of Shadows and Vaqueros, both parties equally rowdy, your heart drops. If he’s here, you know they won’t be far behind. It’s too much; you’re not ready for this. You’re not ready to be in the same city as him, much less the same room. Anxiety grips you at the thought of him even seeing you. You don’t know how he’ll react. What he’ll say, what he’ll do… You used to think his unpredictability was one of the best things about him. Now, you’re not so sure.

Graves beelines for you the second he spots you. You can see the bundles parting to accommodate his passing through. As much as your brain wills you to move, finish your drink and take off to grab another, you seem to be rooted in place. Your feet won’t move, and you silently curse them, not exactly up for a chat.

“Hey, you,” your commander hums, sidling up in front of you. “Glad to see you stuck around.”

“Was just about to leave, actually,” you answer plainly, staring down at the honeyed whiskey in your glass. He nudges you with the toe of his boot until you look up.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t.” It’s an attempt to sound earnest, but it comes off as more condescending than anything. “I was hoping we’d have some time to get to know each other a little better. You’re still pretty new, and I like to know my soldiers pretty intimately.”

You open your mouth to respond, off-put but polite, but words seem to elude you as you catch sight of a familiar mohawk. Even from this distance, you can still see just how blue his eyes are. You can still make out the Scottish brogue as he laughs with the man in the skull mask - Ghost, Simon, right?

It hurts. Every bone, muscle, vessel, nerve screams. Seeing him again, knowing he’s just out of reach and you have to stand your ground. No matter how much your being craves him - mind, body, and soul - you can’t. You just can’t. Your throat goes dry, heart racing, eyes welling up. And when he looks your way, looks you right in the eye, you crack. 

“Mind tellin’ me what’s got you so distracted, Shadow?” Graves asks softly, hand finding your shoulder again, like before. You shake your head, teary eyed, unwilling to look away from MacTavish as he makes his way towards you. “C’mon, darlin’, somethin’s gotta give.”

“I’m sorry, sir - “

“Phil. Just call me Phil, okay?”

You sigh, wiping the tears from your cheeks with the back of your hand.

“Okay, I… I’m sorry, Phil. I can’t really talk about it.”

“Business or personal?”

“Personal, sir. It’s complicated.”

He takes hold of your chin between his thumb and forefinger, a gentle warning to look at him. You struggle with it, but you relent, hoping that maybe you’re just hallucinating.

“Relationship troubles?”

You hesitate.

“No… I mean, yes, but no. Like I said, it’s complicated.”

“So, you’re not seein’ anyone?”

He pauses for a moment, the look in his eye shifting from something sincere and worried to something unnervingly predatory. A faint glimmer of that sincerity remains, and that’s all it takes to tell you it’s all been a charade. It’s not about welcoming you to his team or bonding. He’s trying to fuck you.

“No, I’m not, but - ”

“Then how about we take some time when we get home, clear those thoughts outta your pretty little brain, and we’ll make some memories to replace him.”

You recoil, taking a step back in the implication. It’s disgusting, to say the least. But you don’t get the chance to answer for yourself.

“Like fuckin’ hell ye will,” MacTavish barks, fighting tooth and nail to get through a stone wall in the form of Ghost and Alejandro. “Ye better stay the fuck away from her, Graves. Only gonna warn ye once.”

“Soap, I was wonderin’ when you were gonna try to swoop in and snatch her up. You can smell a pretty girl from a mile away, can’t ya? Too bad I beat you to it. Don’t pay him no mind, sweetheart; thinks he’s irresistible.”

“I swear tae God, Graves, ye better get yer bloody fuckin’ hands offa her. I’ll - Ghost, fuckin’ move!” He’s still struggling, Ghost’s brick shithouse body being the only thing in his way.

Graves raises an eyebrow, never looking away from you.

“Wait, you know him, don’t you?” You don’t answer straight away. “Is good ol’ Johnny what makes things complicated?”

Again, MacTavish butts in.

“Nothin’ complicated about it, ye fuckin’ bawbag. S’my fuckin’ wife!”

Everything stops. Graves goes quiet, Ghost’s stock-still, and you can’t hear the chatter around you anymore. You look at Johnny, wide-eyed and wired. He’s staring right at you with those bright blue eyes, a pleading expression on his beautiful face. You swallow hard.

“John,” you breathe, blinking back more tears.

“Don’t,” he warns, side-stepping the shellshocked Simon. “Dinnae say it. I love ye, and I ken ye still love me. No point in wastin’ yer time on a lavvy heid like Graves. I won’t keep secrets anymore, bonnie. Lemme show ye I’ll be better for ye.”

Graves looks between the two of you briefly before leaning over to whisper in your ear.

“When you two are done with whatever this is, come find me. I’ll make ya feel better.”

He chucks you under the chin with a click of his tongue before losing himself in the throngs. You didn’t even get the opportunity to tell him to go fuck himself.

Johnny is on you in a split second, inches away with your face cradled in his palms. He wholly consumes all of your senses, blocking out the rest of the world with the breadth of his shoulders, the smell of his aftershave. You’re frozen in place, trails of tears dripping off your cheeks.

“Can we please talk privately?” he asks softly. “Away from all this. Just us. I need ye tae hear me out, and ‘m not above beggin’, bon. Meant what I said; I love ye. Just wanna talk, okay? Please?”

You sigh. The options hold equal weight. But a soft swipe of his thumb across your cheek decides for you.

“Okay,” you whisper, nearly inaudible above the echoing din. He raises an eyebrow. You nod. “Yeah, okay. Can we just… step outside?”

“Ye got a bunk on base for the night? Let’s go grab yer things and talk there, yeah?”

“John, I can’t just leave. I still have a job to do.”

“Nah, yer done with this shite.” He shakes his head resolutely, moving to wrap both of his hands around one of yours. “I’ll call Shepherd myself if I have tae, tell ‘im yer takin’ immediate leave for an emergency. Not lettin’ ye get away again, bonnie. I ken I fucked it up, and I’ll spend the rest of my life makin’ it up tae ye.”

pick your prompt here! 💌

[bow-of-aros]

Day Thirty-One: Aftercare

Summary:

Ted's convinced that he needs to do an entire personality overhaul in order to have people like him. His friends disagree.

Here it is folks! The last day! Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading this entire month, it's been an exhausting but incredible challenge. For my last entry, you get my longest fic of the series. Hope y'all enjoy and have a very happy Halloween <33333 (Special thanks to my lovely ☁️ anon, your asks have kept me going this month and I appreciate you SO MUCH!!!!!!!!)

It was finally Halloween, Ted’s favourite holiday of the year! A time when he could gorge himself on candy and drink a few beers on a weekday and be slightly less judged for it than he would on any other boring old day.

The best part though, was that he’d actually been invited to a party for the first time since he was a teenager! There’d been no dancing around him, no whispering plans to each other in the hopes that Ted wouldn’t hear, and no side-eyeing him when he got just a little too excited about this specific holiday because it meant that he could pretend to be somebody else.

Anyways.

Earlier in the week, Bill had come up to him and said that he was hosting a little Halloween movie night for the CCRP crew. He said that it was to keep them occupied while various younger family members did their thing, but Ted had caught a glimpse of the excited glimmer in Bill’s eye that had surely been mirrored in his own.

In the end, only Bill, Charlotte, Ted, and even Paul had made an RSVP, which was all good by Ted’s standards since he didn’t really give a shit about any of the other people.

Now all he had to do was not fuck this up for himself.

Sure, things were getting better between him and the rest of them. The whole near-death apocalypse experience that they’d all had had bonded them together with the added side effect of finally kicking Ted’s ass into gear about becoming less of a douchebag.

But when your life flashes before your eyes and you’re actively disgusted with yourself, that’s when you know that it’s time to make some changes.

Ted’s taking baby steps. He broke off the affair with Charlotte after her husband died, it just wasn’t right to keep screwing around while she was grieving. He stopped borderline harassing his coworkers—yikes—and that resulted in them talking to him if you can believe it.

He hasn’t done a complete personality revamp because, honestly, he didn’t really want to. He still makes dirty jokes and plays pranks on his coworkers. He hasn’t stopped bugging people but he is less of an asshole about it which people seem to appreciate, if begrudgingly.

Long story short, Ted’s been leaning more into being the office jester rather than the office sleazeball, and it’s been doing wonders on the amount of friends that he has.

Any amount of friends is higher than zero, to be fair, but now he had three.

Tonight’s gonna be different, though. Tonight’s the launch of a whole new Ted that people will actually want to be around. Time to shake off the remnants of his past self (Borat impressions included) and be a pleasant person to be around!

So, Ted sat in his car beside the cases of beer that he’d been tasked with bringing, trying to hype himself up like a loser before his first school dance.

“Alright Spankoffski,” He drummed his hands on the steering wheel, “This is your chance to prove to everyone that you’ve really changed. You are going to be nice, and friendly, and a normal, not disgusting or sleazy, human being.”

He pulled into Bill’s driveway, gathering the beers into his arms and pointing at himself in his rear-view mirror, “Do not fuck this up.”

It was already dark out when Ted knocked on the door, doing his best to appear relaxed as he waited.

The door swung open to reveal Bill beaming at him, “Ted! We’ve finally got everyone so now we can actually par-tay! Come on in!”

He’d gone all out as a skeleton with the face paint and everything making Ted feel a little self-conscious about his Mario costume that he’d managed to dig out of his closet at the last minute just because he already had the mustache.

All that melted away when he actually stepped inside to see Charlotte, dressed as Catwoman, look at him and say, “It’s-a-me! Mario!” and Paul, wearing a nametag that said “This is my Halloween costume,” look him over and give him an amused grin.

“Alright everyone, I am here and I’ve brought beer!” Ted hoisted the cases in the air, “Now we can have some real fun!”

And they cheered.

Yeah, this was going to be a good night.

And boy was it.

A couple hours later, Ted found himself squished between Paul and Charlotte and halfway through their second corny as hell horror movie. Jump scares didn’t affect Paul because of course they didn’t but Charlotte screamed every time, often hiding her face in either Ted or Bill’s chest when something she deemed scary happened.

It was really nice and, honestly, Ted and Charlotte had come to more of a mutual understanding that they worked well as friends, and Ted was astounded at how relaxed the atmosphere was. They were just a group of friends, drinking beer and eating candy while watching shitty Halloween movies.

Ted almost felt like he could be himself.

Almost.

The movie they were currently watching had a…well endowed female character, lets say. Normally, Ted would be cracking jokes left and right, and it seemed as though everyone expected him to by the way they shot him looks every time she was on the screen.

But he didn’t say anything, and nobody commented on it.

Until she fell into the water wearing a white tank top. Because of course she did.

“Damn! Talk about a—” The words were already halfway out of Ted’s mouth before he cut himself off, self-preservation instincts kicking in just a few seconds too late to save him from the looks he was inevitably going to get.

Except the looks he got weren’t the usual exasperation or disgust. They were more along the lines of…concerned?

Before Ted could shake off that thought, Bill leaned forward and said, “No! You’ve been too quiet all night, Ted and I know you want to say something, so have at it.”

Fucking what?

“Uh, no. I’m good, actually.” Was this a trap? This had to be some sort of trap, right?

Charlotte jostled him a little bit, “Seriously?! How about, like, I’d drink from those jugs any day!”

The impression pulled a snort from Bill who added, “Yeah! Or what about something along the lines of ‘I bet I could make her scream!’”

Okay. Those were pretty good. But this was new Ted, and new Ted didn’t make or laugh at jokes like that when desperately trying to get people to like him.

He managed to keep a relatively straight face as he said, “Sorry folks, I got nothing.”

With his gaze locked back on the screen, Ted missed the confused and slightly worried looks his friends were shooting at each other. He also missed the look of resigned determination that crept onto Paul’s face.

“Not even a ‘My wife!’ Ted?”

Hearing those words come out of Paul’s mouth felt like some sort of auditory hallucination. Ted would put real money on Paul never having seen Borat in his life, so his impersonation was more along the lines of an impersonation of Ted’s impersonation, which was funny as fuck.

Ted snorted out half of a laugh before getting himself back under control and attempting to mimic the unimpressed eyebrow raise Paul always gives him when he made jokes like that.

“Damn,” Bill whistled lowly, “I can’t believe that didn’t work. Are you feeling alright, Ted?”

Ted just scoffed, rolling his shoulders, “Yeah man! Just introducing you guys to the new and improved Ted 2.0! No more inappropriate jokes that everybody hates!”

He thought that that would settle it well enough, that everyone would breathe a sigh of relief and move on.

Except out of the corner of his eye, Ted could see Paul wince and he could hear Charlotte’s sad little, “Oh, Ted.”

Also, it was hard to miss the way Bill stood up and walked directly in front of him to stare him in the eyes with an odd look on his face.

“Ted, you know that we don’t hate your jokes, right?”

Oh shit. Everyone was looking at him, and it felt like things were getting serious, so Ted defaulted to his tried and true defense mechanism: Being a sarcastic asshole.

He pasted a sardonic grin on his face, “Oh come on, Billy. I may be an asshole but I’m not fucking stupid. I know how to take a hint or twenty.”

Bill’s expression shuttered before shifting into something harder.

You’ve really done it now, Spankoffski. No matter what you say it’s always the wrong fucking thing.

When Bill opened his mouth, Ted braced himself for a dressing down before getting kicked out to spend Halloween alone like he should have been doing all along.

“Ted’s being a bit of a grouch, huh guys? Why don’t we find something that’ll tickle his funny bone and crack a smile.”

And the way Bill said that combined with the looks he gave Paul and Charlotte suddenly made Ted very nervous for an entirely different reason.

The whiplash he’d gotten from the sudden change in the direction of the night meant that Ted hadn’t braced himself by the time Charlotte was enthusiastically agreeing and slipping her nails into his overalls to spider them over his stomach.

Ted immediately folded over with a panicked wheeze, “Wait! Char dohon’t! Shit Paul nohohohohoho!”

Paul, Mr. I’m-allergic-to-fun-and-laughter, decided to throw everytging Ted thought that he knew about him to the wind and immediately go for the fucking kill by digging his fingers into Ted’s ribs.

“NO! Nononononono wahahahait!” He started curling up into a ball and apparently Bill was not having that. He managed to grab onto both of Ted’s wrists and pull them away from his torso, leaving him defenseless to Paul and Charlotte’s attacks.

Of course, Charlotte immediately took advantage of this and wormed a hand in under his arm, giggling delightedly at the shriek it elicited.

“Char! I cahahahahan’t!” Bill tugged out his arms a little further, chuckling at him, “Bihihihihihill why?!”

“I told you that you were being a grouch! And I felt like it was the only way to get you to listen to what I’m about to say, starting with you are our friend and we genuinely appreciate that you try to make us laugh.”

Oh. Oh shit.

Apparently his struggling became a bit more pronounced at that because Ted could just barely hear a pointed “See?” over his laughter.

“Yeah, Ted!” Charlotte piped in, reaching down to scribble over his knees in a way that had him giggling like a fucking kid, “We like your company! We definitely appreciate that you’re putting effort into being less of an asshole but we don’t want you to completely change your personality!”

This was too much. Ted was going to die and his tombstone was going to say Cause of Death: His friends were nice to him and he didn’t know how to handle it.

Of course, that’s exactly when Paul decided to flutter a few fingers against his neck and, “Oh my God was that a snort?!”

Okay. Now he was going to die.

“Fuhuhuhuhuck off Pahahahaul!” And he took that to heart, moving right back to his ribs because he’s an evil monster, “Shitshitshit not thehehehere yohohou dick!”

Paul just talked right over him, “Just accept that we actually like you and your stupid jokes and that you don’t have to completely change yourself into someone you think we’ll like better, because we won’t.”

And Ted really didn’t want to, mostly because he’s not sure how much he believes it, but he also couldn’t take much more of this.

Alright. Fuck it.

“OKAY! Okahahahay you guys lihihike me!”

“And?” Charlotte prompted.

“Ahahand my—HEY! Andmystupidjokes!”

“Annnnnddddd?” Bill swung his arms around, making Ted sway in place.

Shit what was the last one?!

Oh right, “And I dohohon’t have to chahahange myself into sohohomeone I think yohohou’ll like better!”

“Because?” Oh Ted was so going to kill Paul for this when he was free.

“Behehehecause you WON’T! Now let me gohohoho you dihihicks!”

The tickling stopped, and Ted sagged into the couch. Paul wrapped an arm tentatively around his shoulder and he practically melted into the affection, stupid grin still plastered on his face.

Bill came back—when had he left?—and shoved a glass of water into Ted’s hands which he almost immediately downed in between heaving pants.

Charlotte moved in a little closer and started running a hand through Ted’s rumpled hair to smooth it back out and Ted almost passed out there and then.

“You guys suck.” It was unconvincing, the smile and petulant tone saw to that. It’s alright though because Ted didn’t really mean it anyway.

Bill started rewinding the movie to catch up on what they’d missed as he asked, “You doing alright over there? We didn’t kill you or anything?”

Ted just gave him a vague thumbs up which seemed to be enough for him.

“You know that we mean it, right? You’re our friend, Ted.” Paul’s quiet voice had the warmth creeping back into Ted’s face as he grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah. Fucking whatever you saps. Can we watch the movie now?”

But his grin grew a little wider, and if the next time that woman showed up on screen Ted had called out, “She could hallow my ween!” to the mock-dismayed groans of his friends?

Well, they had quite literally asked for it.

[wytchsbrew]

For my dearest iHolli. Thank you for always being on my side, and encouraging me every day to be the worst version of myself, amen.

When Luigi suggested the idea, he'd really been joking. Truly! He had! It was just... The night before, he somehow ended up roped into movie night with Mario and Peach, and usually he enjoyed those nights, but they'd decided to pick a ghost movie - of all things. Some new, popular movie showing all over the kingdoms.

Luigi frowned and refused.

Peach handed him food.

Luigi relented.

He'd barely been paying attention to most of the plot, focused on snacking and wondering if King Boo would pick up his phone if he texted him right now, when he heard Peach gasp beside him and glanced upwards at the glowing television set in front of them.

A rather horrendous sight befell the main character as Luigi took stock of the scene. The ghostly, ethereal visage of a ghost stood in front of her, hands holding her against the wall, effectively trapping her, as it leaned forward and licked along the breadth of her milky white neck.

Luigi gulped.

And excused himself.

Then had the terrible, horrible idea to quickly write out a rather frantic text to Boo that explained exactly what he'd just seen, laughing quietly to himself and thinking Boo would certainly laugh along with him at the silly ghost movie - even if Luigi felt a little... flushed each time he thought of it.

Regardless, he turned his phone off for the night, and fell asleep without further incidence.

Imagine his surprise when he woke up to only one single response to his storytelling:

Come to the mansion. Tonight. Prepare yourself, my precious little fool.

So, he did. He dressed in his usual outfit, geared up with all his ghost hunting gear, and set out for King Boo's mansion like he'd done a hundred times since they became a... thing together. A thing without a title, but a thing Luigi found immense pride, and excitement, in.

When he entered, things looked as they usually did. Nothing out of the ordinary, save the dinging of his phone with a new text message.

You will not see me. Go about your business.

Muscle memory kicked in and Luigi went about his business, as Boo instructed. Moving this way and that through the entryway and into the first hall, swinging his flashlight around in the utter silence, which struck him immediately as...

Strange.

Typically, he heard the chatty little sounds of tiny Boos creating havoc through the rooms and around the corners, different ghosts laughing and cackling and throwing things to spook him, but today, he heard nothing. Today was different.

Luigi felt a little chill course through his spine.

Just as he felt cold, humid breath puff along the back of his neck.

He twisted fast on his heel, and reared around, terrified for a split second, but he found nothing - only an empty hallway staring back at him. No sign of his Possibly Sort Of Ghost Boyfriend, and certainly no one else, either.

"Okay," he whispered, and slowly turned back in the direction he planned on walking. His heart thudded against his ribcage with fear, but it quickly hit him how unfounded that fear was.

This was not like the other times, after all.

He had nothing to fear.

The only thing chasing him, was someone who looked at him like he hung the moon.

That calmed his shaking fingers just a tad, enough for him to smile around at the empty hallway, and shout, "Oh, no! I really hope a big, handsome ghost doesn't catch me!"

And he laughed to himself, taking a step forward.

A gust of cold wind flushed through the hallway around him, and on the wind, he heard it.

The sound of Boo's voice.

"Then you better run, my sweet little prey."

With a shiver that hit directly in his crotch, he forced himself to continue into the next hallway.

Halfway through this one, he hears something behind him, and feels the snap of one overall strap popping open and falling off his shoulder. 

Again, he finds nothing but empty space, dust, and cobwebs lurching around in the air beyond him, but nothing more. Nothing but the remaining feeling of coolness on the corner of his shoulder where King Boo, invisible, had no doubt touched him.

At this point, Luigi had a sneaking suspicion of what the ghost he liked had in store for him, but he continued on through the hallways, allowing him to continue his little perfectly laid out plan, smiling to himself the entire time.

The teasing went on for quite a long while, King Boo obviously enjoying himself immensely. He never quite touched Luigi enough to make a difference, but he bothered him and teased him enough that the denim of his outfit tightened along his crotch, in ways that proved to be quite successful in the past.

A long, languid lick along the shell of Luigi's ear.

Breathing hot and heavy down his neck.

A quick touch along his clothed behind.

A whisper on the wind, gruff and threatening. "Oh, my precious little fool."

By the fifth hallway, Luigi is breathing deep and hard, hands shaking on his flashlight, sweat gathering in the crook of his collarbone as he looked desperately around for his boyfriend. His entire body thrummed with Boo's small bits of attention, his erection embarrassing as if pressed hard against the denim of his overalls.

As he peered around, he heard wind whistling outside the old windows, the glass panes rattling in their metal frames. He heard the skittering of mice, and his own footsteps, but he didn't hear the approach of his king.

Not until it was too late.

Before the realization struck him, there was another snap of buttons clean off his overalls, and they fell from his body. A cool, vibrant tongue stripped down the side of his neck, as the large, white vision appeared in his peripheral vision.

At long last.

His King.

The beautiful vision shoved him forward, trapping him against the wall of his left, with his cheek pressed against the old, torn, peeling wallpaper. Luigi huffed, as Boo removed his gear, flinging it away across the hall, before ripping the rest of his clothes clean off his body as though they were made of nothing but flimsy sheets of paper.

The cold air hit his newly exposed skin, but only for a second.

In the next breath, Boo's tongue curled around Luigi's entire body, slipping between his thighs, wrapping around his waist, and curling up his chest until the tip slipped along his open mouth.

"Boo!" Luigi opened his mouth to cry out his name in surprise, but, then, the tongue lifted him clean off the ground and twisted him around until he stared into the bright, ghostly eyes of King Boo, at long last.

"Hello, my precious little human. It seems I've finally caught you."

The glowing, purple tongue slipped across Luigi's bottom lip, leaving a tingling, strange feeling in it's wake, like that of cold static. Luigi had grown to love the strange feeling over their brief moments together.

"Hello, my king," Luigi huffed, "it seems you have."

And King Boo made a rather loud, interesting growl of a noise, before lavishing him with the sort of attention Luigi never thought he'd deserve - especially not from a king.

The tip slipped into his mouth and kissed him dizzy, sending static and tingles through his own tongue, his teeth, and his throat, and Luigi found himself moaning through it all.

It always felt nice when they did things like this, but he always thought, perhaps, Boo had been holding back in what he wanted to do, holding back in his true, vicious nature.

Turns out, he'd been right.

This felt beyond what Luigi could compare to basically anything else. It knocked the wind from him, as the tongue wound closer to the back of his throat, and he moaned Boo's name. Loud and unbidden, it echoed through the silent hallway-

And made Boo pause.

After a moment, he pulled the tongue from Luigi's mouth, leaving him breathless and on the verge of orgasm already, and he blearily looked up at his captor

"Mmm," he hummed. "Wonderful. I can't believe my good luck that such a beautiful little fool would stumble into my domain, and leave himself so vulnerable for me."

The rest of the tongue moved to wrap around his erection, standing proud and painful from the last five hallways of teasing and flirting. The immediate feeling of such ministrations to his most sensitive area, somewhere not previously touched by Boo's tongue, had Luigi biting down on his bottom lip and stifling a scream that threatened to rip from his lips.

With a wet, beautiful flick of an expert tip, Boo absolutely devoured Luigi, right there in the empty hallway.

The tip of his tongue flicked along his nipples.

Licked across his pliant mouth.

The tongue around his shaft lifted up and down in a slick, wet slide of movement, before the tip curled around Luigi's body in a full circle, and the tip prodded between his cheeks and along the rim of his entrance.

"Would you like to cum for me, oh, captive of mine?" Boo whispered.

Luigi gasped, and nodded, pleading.

"Then, please. Cum for me."

Luigi's body listened to every word Boo said as though he were being mind controlled, and he shot his spend all along his own stomach in a mess.

Boo licked at him, cleaning him through the last twitches and aftershocks of the first finish of the night, lavishing at his leaking crown until Luigi raised a hand, too sensitive to continue.

Without hesitation, the tongue retreated from all his sensitive parts, and very, very carefully sat him on his feet once more. Luigi stumbled ever so slightly on unsteady legs, reaching out for the wall at his side to keep upright.

But, of course, Boo hovered closer to him, and pressed his face against the side of Luigi's head, rubbing close and giving him something to lean against for support.

He tilted his head, pressing his temple against Boo's soft form.

"Is that what you wanted, my love?" The tongue came around and gave a friendly, happy lick to Luigi's cheek. "I must say, your message to me was... confusing, but I believe I did an adequate job."

Luigi laughed, and turned his face until he pressed his forehead against Boo. His hands came up, too, and cupped either side of his boyfriend's cool, rounded face, rubbing the pads of his thumb along the smooth surface of him. "That was lovely, my king, thank you."

They stayed like for a while, breathing each other in, pressing faces close and planting small kisses, or licks, on each other, allowing Luigi to calm himself and catch his breath.

And he sunk into the soft affection, eyes feeling heavy and sleepy; he thought he could stay like that forever, just the two of them in that silent mansion, and he hummed, happily.

"Will you carry me to the bedroom?" he asked.

"Of course," Boo whispered, and Luigi felt his tongue wrap around his back again, ready to left him and carry him down the hall, but, the movement stopped halfway.

Luigi slowly opened one eye to peer up at the large King holding him close.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, but I do have one question," Boo said, and narrowed his eyes. "Who picked the ghost movie to watch?"

Luigi shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know, Mario maybe?"

"Hmmm." Boo lifted him off the ground and curled him close. "I always wondered if both brothers desired me carnally. Perhaps this is a sign."

With a shout of laughter, Luigi was carried off to the extravagant bedroom down the hallway, Boo humming contently the entire way.

[orgyupdates]

Jay interview with Music Festivals Aus

California Nu-Metal pioneers Orgy are rearing and ready to embark on the first ever tour Down Under! Following on from sell out dates across the US, Orgy and fellow patriots Cold are gearing themselves for three massive back to back shows this October. The Orgy + Cold Australian Tour kicks off at Melbourne’s Max Watts on October 25th, The Metro Theatre, Sydney October 26th and rounding off at The Triffid, Brisbane October 27th. Now celebrating 25 years since the release of debut album Candyass, we caught up with Jay Gordon from Orgy to discuss the renowned Family Values Tour , the cause and affect of Napster and the evolution of Orgy since conception.

Interview behind the cut

Thanks for meeting with me today, Jay. I first found Orgy on the Family Values tour back in 1998 in possibly one of the most standout performances, and one that's remained with me for all of these years. Can you tell me about that tour and what it meant to you then and now?

 

Oh, yeah. I mean, it was our first tour ever. So it was what a way to break into the music industry. I mean, play with all of those great bands and all that kind of stuff. So it was fantastic. You know, definitely a learning experience. I learned how to navigate through the Big Boys you know, so it was cool. Messed up a lot. Had a lot of fun with Rammstein. It was chaotic. You know, we had we had a great time. But yeah, they cost me a lot of money. But it was cool. Yeah.

Yeah, it was definitely a rite of passage back in in the in the 90s. In Australia in those years, we had to physically import albums from overseas. Candyass was definitely one of my first and favourite imports. So, it’s 1997 and Korn’s Jonathan Davis signed Orgy as one of the first artists on their debut label Elementree Records, what impact did this have as an up-and-coming artists in the pre digital era?

 

Huge, you know. Korn was like a massive band at this point. And, they're good friends of mine, thank God and I owe them everything. They, you know, paved the way and opened up the doors for me along the way. So that was cool.

 

There is something candescent about your sound, in some forums labelled as electronic rock or alt metal, but more famously, as a pioneer of the nu metal movement? What were some of your biggest influences at the time?

I mean, I think always, you know, people like David Bowie and I just love the way his brain worked. I really can identify and relate to a lot of his music and stuff like that. But also, like, really heavy stuff, too. Like, where I came from, you know, the San Francisco thrash metal scene and things like that. So, adding like futuristic, melancholy weirdness with heavy stuff from the era at the time. Metallica and Testament and all those guys coming from where I'm from. So that all helped and kind of paved the way for me. And obviously Korn I suppose at the time. They were my favourite band. And so that's how I got to know those guys. And Jonathan would come stay at our house and stuff when they would play in town and it kind of started off a pretty, pretty basic friendship from then. And so they were a huge influence on me like I loved every song.

 

What impact did these artists have on you, personally and professionally?

 

Just Korn has such an original sound and they had a really big impact on me, all the way through my career. I’m always excited to hear what they come up with and what their next sound is going to be and what their next song is going to be. We get to play with each other every now and then like, in Sick New World. That was really cool. And just a huge impact.

Candyass was a pivotal album of the 1990’s, not only for myself but a deluge of young adults transitioning life. As a parent, it’s hard to pick between, but what is your favourite album release and why is it Candyass?

 

I don't know that it’s the best album that we've ever released. But I mean, it's probably my favourite. I don't know I was just in a different headspace. Candyass came from, let me see. So myself and Josh Abraham, were watching Depeche Mode show downtown and these three drag queens walked up to me and one of them’s name was Candyass. And, you know, he asked me, my name, I was like, “Jay” and he's like, “why don't I know you?” And whatever. And he goes, “you know me, my name is Candyass” and I thought it was so funny. So I said, I'm gonna name my first album Candyass and that was it. Then, you know, we became friends and everything, and they will come over to the studio and like, you know, mess up the board when I'm working. Like, I'd go to the bathroom and I come back and like, why does it sound like ass, you know, they were just like, him and Alexis Arquette, you know, RIP but I love Alexis Arquette and they would come over to the studio where we recording you know, it was just funny. Yeah, so that's why I named the record Candyass after him.

As most 80’s kids, I’m a sucker for a synth and electronic drum kit. The amalgamation of this soundscape with industrialism is none more evident than your cover of New Order’s Blue Monday. Before Stitches, this is one of my favourite releases. What was the inspiration behind your sound and its’ evolution?

 

You know, I wanted to do a cover song. And we were messing with a couple of different ones I liked it's called ‘Something Going On’ and Frida Lyngstad was her name. Her and Phil Collins, I guess got together and they did this song called I know ‘There's Something Going On.’ And that was gonna be the first one that we did. And then so we're playing around with that one and the Blue Monday one and we just went with Blue Monday. Yeah, just kind of, it's kind of clicked and worked out.

 

Vapor Transmission and Punk Statik Paranoia celebrated the unique sound encapsulated by Candyass, both in their own right. What was the progression in sound as traversed through the years and these albums?

Well you know, Vapor Transmission, I think definitely a progression, sonically, and things like that. I think we're headed for something really different on that record, but at the same time, that's when Napster dropped, you know.

“Napster kind of came out and kind of really killed the record industry, so to speak”

So, the record sales weren't there anymore, and things like that. But that's not an indicator that it wasn't doing what it was supposed to be doing. It's just that music was free after that, like, so it kind of just, it was a vibe killer on that, on that level, because our record had just come out, it was literally like, two weeks out. And then you see this big change in the sales of records because everybody caught on to Napster so fast. So that's kind of what happened there. And then Punk Statik Paranoia, that record just came out, like way too late. That was more like to me, like a bunch of glorified demos, you know, like, it never really got mixed, right. We never had a chance to really finish it up, because we were going through a lot of label stuff and trying to figure out what we were doing, if we were still going to be on a label or not, I think we were trying to get off Warner Brothers at the time. And that took some time. So the record just came out so late, and we ended up just putting it out in the end. Yeah, it took a long time for that to be able to happen. So we were sitting on it for like a year waiting for the lawyers and to get everything solid, so we can actually put the record out.

Carlton Bost first joined Orgy circa 2011 after an equally successful career as guitarist in parallel bands such as Deadsy, The Dreaming and the bass player in Stabbing Westward. What kind of dynamic did Carlton bring to the Orgy party?

I mean, Carlton's, he's great, like he's, he's a great band member. He and I actually, you know, when it comes to the more now orgy, you know, we kind of do a lot more stuff together. Whereas before in the past, you know, the first few records I just did by myself, you know, a lot by myself, you know, everybody did their part. You know, they played on the records and did whatever but, but as far as writing and stuff like that, I just did a lot of that on my own. And then I'd say, Paige wrote quite a bit of stuff on those records. And, you know, like a riff here a riff there and he was always really good at coming up with stuff on the spot. So, Oh, first, you know, he's like the new Paige in this era, but we actually just write a lot of stuff. Like sometimes he'll write like entire songs like Spells and Wide Awake and Dead. He had a big part of those songs. So it's more like a team on this one.

In October, Orgy embarks on the first ever tour down under alongside fellow patriots Cold in a three city rampage including Melbourne, Sydney and Brisbane. What kind of energy are you anticipating from an Australian crowd?

 

I have no expectations. Because I've never been there. I don't really know a whole lot about it other than like, you know, the typical kangaroos and this and that. I mean, I want to see all of that stuff when I come there. But I have no idea what to expect from the crowds I think I think it'll be a good show. I think the crowd will love it. And we're gonna bring the energy that's for sure. And, you know, we just killed it out here. We sold out every show but one with Cold here, it was a great tour. And I anticipate it being similar to that and hope the turnouts there and the turnout there is going to get a great show, you know, and we just signed Orgy, Carlton, and I we signed a Tucson deal with Golden Robot, which is an Australian label. So we're gonna try to get those songs done and be playing those live when we get there.

A huge congratulations on the 25th anniversary of the debut album Candyass. You've just answered my question. can fans expect any new Orgy releases within the near future? So yeah, as a fan, I'm very, very excited about that one.

 

Me too. You know, I have no idea what the release dates gonna be on those two songs. But yeah, we get them done and get them out before we show up and play so we can play them.

 

I do follow you on social media, so I will be definitely keeping an eye out myself for that. Following the tour, what's next for you, for you, both individually and professionally?

 

I'm kind of getting into, I'm going to be getting into like film stuff like Sony and direct some stuff. So that's kind of my next chapter in life. But yeah, other than that I'm also producing music. So I'm gonna keep doing that and work with other artists and things like that.

Full Interview, Aus dates/tickets, and pictures here.

[finnsbuford]

Today I've been thinking a lot about my days as kid and the dirt bikes and motorcycles that I miss riding. Here's ones like what I owned and one that I did.

My first powered bike was a 1970 Honda Trail 70, had a five speed and a clutch, unlike later models. Got it when I was 9, rode it till I was 11.

My second bike I got when I was 11 was my favorite motorcycle I've ever ridden. It was a 1976 Honda MR175, I loved it because it had been tweaked with a better pipe, bored out to about a 195cc, had a much smaller rear sprocket. With the modifications I managed to get it up to about 90 Mph, my mother followed me to clock me. It was a much better street bike than a dirt bike.

I got my 1989 Honda CR125 when I was 14, it was a pain in the ass almost immediately. My feet were about 3 inches off the ground, no kick stand, the smallest kick starter I ever used, also was geared for acceleration not speed. I was running it out the road the 8th day I had it, I found out it could only reach a top speed of about 55 because I was running it to the limit when it seized the engine. I tried to pop start it by downshifting and ripped out every gear, also it destroyed the water pump.

That was the last bike ride I have taken to date. Three days later I had heart surgery, 15 years old, when things went bad and I ended up paralyzed.

I was able to get a trike when I was 20. This is the only picture I have on my phone of it.

This was a LowBoy built by The Trike Shop, HD Evolution engine, Type3 Volkswagen Automatic Transaxel. It was beautiful but too slow for me , but it was a good cruiser when it wasn't having several issues over the years. I didn't ride it much, it never felt like a bike , obviously.

Seeing people like Bruce Cook ride bikes tweaked for himself makes me wanna ride again, although it still would take a little help.

Here's a video of Bruce Cook's story.

[the-regal-warrior]

The Captain’s Daughter: Part One

I’m back! Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve posted anything, but the writing gears in my brain stalled for a while. But they’re working once more and I’m back with a brand new story inspired by my newfound love of sea shanties.

Note: the song mentioned in here is Haul Away by Nathan Evans.

Summary: Elide and Lorcan living life as part of the best pirate crew.

Warnings: None.

.

The sea was unusually calm that night. Having spent as many years at sea as she had, Marion wasn’t used to such eerie stillness. She’d led her crew through more storms than she could remember, and found the motion of the waves soothing. 

On nights when it was calm and the ship didn’t rock, sleep wasn’t easy to find. After tossing and turning for a few hours, her husband and first mate snoring away beside her, Marion had left the warmth of her bed and Cal’s arms for a walk around the deck in the chilly ocean air, deciding that was just what she needed. 

Her crew always said that she had a bond with her ship, The Wyvern, and laying her hands on the mast while the night swirled around her had always brought her peace.

She’d made for the wheel, checking in with her helmsman and the course of her ship. Nox was a young man, not much older than her daughter, but he was a damn good crewman, and she trusted him implicitly to guide them all safely while they slept. But a good captain knew that no one job was beneath them, and Marion Lochan was a damn good captain.

“All good, Nox?” she greeted, trailing her fingers over the rail as she climbed the steps to reach the man.

“Yes, Captain.” He patted the wheel with a certain fondness every member of her crew possessed. “She’s a steady girl and we’ve got nothing but clear skies ahead.”

Nodding, she circled the rear mast, one hand braced on the wood as she moved. The faint sound of someone singing reached her ears, barely audible over the breeze that had kicked up, but it was lost as Nox spoke once more.

“Everything okay, Captain?” Keeping his face tilted toward the horizon, he turned to her in concern. “Worried about our last run-in with the Navy?”

Marion chuckled, the sound escaping her before she could stop it. “The Navy is the least of my concerns.”

Many would have found her statement egotistical and a harbinger of certain trouble, but Marion had a secret most other pirate captains didn’t share. Her closest friend and former crewmate was none other than Evalin Ashryver, the wife of Rhoe Galathynius, Admiral of the Terrasen Navy. Not to mention that Evalin’s daughter, Aelin, and nephew, Aedion, had both served briefly on the ship as well. The latter had become Captain in the Navy, serving under Rhoe and helping Marion and Cal continue their reign as pirate lords.

Descending the steps, she caught the tail-end of Nox’s smirk at her statement, and she shook her head in laughter once more. “Fair wind, Nox,” she said. 

Reaching the main mast, she offered a wave up to Kaltain, her barrelman and the other person she trusted with the safe guidance of her ship through the night. The woman was a damn good lookout, and her affinity for climbing the ropes faster than anyone she’d ever seen only added to her value. 

The woman waved back before offering a complicated set of hand signals in the direction of the wheel, and it was only moments before Marion heard Nox’s laughter rumbling behind her. The two of them had developed their own form of signs and signals so they could communicate without speaking. 

Placing her hands on the solid bulk of the main maist, Marion breathed deeply, her eyes slipping closed and the smell of salt wrapping around her like a familiar embrace. The life of a pirate hadn’t always been easy, but she’d never wanted to trade it for anything else. She knew she’d miss nights at sea too much to ever give it up.

Marion wasn’t sure how long she stood there before she became aware of two things: the singing had become audible once more, and her husband had found her, if the arms wrapped around her waist were anything to go by.

“What brought you out of bed, husband?” she murmured, leaning against his chest without taking her hands off the mast.

Ghosting his lips over the very top of her forehead, Cal just sighed softly. “You know how hard I find it to sleep without you, Captain. I’ve been up since you left our bed, but I know how you cherish your time with your ship.”

“You,” she told him, finally turning in his embrace, “are a good first mate and an even better man.” Marion paused as the singing grew louder, finally allowing her to place the tune as Haul Away. “Who is that, I wonder?”

Her husband smiled down at her. “Just wait, you’re going to love it.” Taking her hand, he pulled her toward the bow. “Come with me.”

Walking slowly so as not to disturb the two people she could just make out sitting on the forecastle deck, Cal pulled her into the shadows at the bottom of the steps, motioning for her to keep quiet. Marion peered up onto the deck, smiling when she realized what exactly she was seeing. 

Lorcan, one of her gunners - not that her style of piracy had much use for heavy artillery - and her newly appointed quartermaster, was seated against the railing. Resting between his legs with their fingers intertwined was none other than Elide, Marion and Cal’s daughter. The two of them had been together in secret for several months, only a select few people on the ship - Marion, Cal, Nox, and Kaltain - having been made aware out of a desire for privacy in the early stages of their relationship.

The dark-haired man was singing softly in her ear, the sound only carrying because of the breeze, and Marion felt her heart swell at the obvious love she could see growing between the two of them. 

Wrapping her fingers around her husband’s wrist, she pulled Cal back toward their quarters. “Let’s leave them be, my love,” she murmured, catching the smile on his face. He’d told her once that he couldn’t picture anyone better suited for their daughter, and she wholeheartedly agreed. 

As they slipped through the door and down the stairs to their room, Lorcan’s voice swirled around them before being carried off to sea on the breeze.

.

Tags: @highqueenofelfhame @dashedwithromance @musicmaam @snelbz @theladyofdeath @tangledraysofsunshine @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @lordof-bloodshed @nalgenewhore @photofeesh @belamoonbeam @mis-lil-red @julemmaes @thesirenwashere @tswaney17 @b00kworm @maastrash @empress-ofbloodshed @celestialams @mynewdreamwasyou @maybekindasortaace @hizqueen4life @firestarsandseneschals @bielectra @bamchickawowow @ireallyshouldsleeprn @thegoddessofyou @somenerdydancer @wisteriiagrow @perseusannabeth @flamingveritas @treasurethelittlethings @story-scribbler @infernoqueen19 @live-the-fangirl-life @vanzetanze @the-hospitality-of-knives @rowanaelinn @mybloodrunsblue @sv0430 @swankii-art-teacher @pagemasters @marigold-morelli @itmeansofthesea

As always, if you want to be added to or removed from my tags, just let me know!! And don’t forget to let me know what you thought!!

[gumnut-logic]

Today is my five year fandomversary!

Today five years ago I fell into this fandom and never looked back. I published my first Thunderbirds fic, which I will reblog again just for traditions sake.

1.3 million words/260+ fics later...let's just say I've had a lot of fun :D

Usually on this day I offer to write for some one word challenges and while I'll happily accept them, I honestly don't think my muse is up to playing with them at the moment. It's having a rest so hopefully at some point I can start writing again. But ask away if you like, I can always store them for later :D

Anyways, thank you to Thunderfam for all the fun I've had over the last five years and for motivating me to write those thousands and thousands of words...there will be more, I have no doubt :D

Nutty

::massive group hug::

Title: No-one is losing their Dad today Author: Gumnut Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015 Rating: Teen Summary: Exactly how not to do it. Word count: 5,145 Spoilers & warnings: Thunderbirds Are Go S1 Ep1 & 2, in fact if you haven’t seen these two episodes, this isn’t going to make much sense. Interwoven episode tag. Author's note: This fic is affected by two things. Firstly, it is the first complete fic I’ve written in nearly ten years, so my writing muscles are very much rusty. Secondly, brand new fandom! I’ve only been here for a matter of weeks and I’m so in love with the Tracy boys, it has become an addiction. It has been a long time since a fandom grabbed me like this, and I’m having sooo much fun! This fic is very intertwined with the first two episodes of the first season – that first scene (I love it!), but I felt it had some ramifications, because ouch! So this is possibly happening in the background of the episode. Also, total Virgil fan :D And anyone who knows me from other fandoms, knows what happens to my favourite characters :D Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother. Scenes parroted from the episodes are definitely not mine.

His hand missed.

The roaring wind caught the beleaguered hot air balloon, lifting it up, tossing it sideways, and ripping its tethers from the basket. The basket hung suspended a moment, then flipped, throwing its last passenger into freefall.

His yell was taken by the wind.

“Dad!” The boy beside him struggled and Virgil grabbed him, yanking him back to the safety of his ship’s overhead hatch. Calculations raced through his head. Possibilities.

He stabbed his commlink, yelling over the wind, “Thunderbird Five, I need you now!”

There would be only moments. Lowering the hatch, he threw himself at the controls. The kid was pleading for him to save his father.

“No-one is losing their Dad today!” No-one. John was in his ear. “John, what’s my time window?”

The answer was maybe enough.

He shouted over his shoulder at the kid. “Strap in!” And threw TB2 into a dive. He rode gravity until it wasn’t enough and kicked in the rear thrusters, sending them screaming past the falling man. Virgil brought her to pacing drop beneath him, the VTOL gear halting their descent, but not their fall.

The seconds counted down in his head.

Darting back into the centre of the cockpit, he secured his tether, and with an almighty shove, flung back the overhead hatch.

The ship’s plummet tore him from her confines and within a second he was falling beside the screaming man.

This time, his hand didn’t miss.

“I’ve got you!”

Another second ticked by.

He remotely triggered the VTOL, slowing her fall.

Damn, this was going to hurt.

He wrapped himself around the struggling man, protecting him as much as he possibly could, as the hatch rushed up to meet them.

Then there was Thunderbird, metal and pain. He grunted and the man fell off him. He vaguely heard the VTOL ratchet up into a hover. John was yelling in his ear.

He squeezed his eyes shut a moment, forcing away the stars, before rolling over onto his knees. Oh god, there was going to be hell to pay for this one. He could feel the bruises forming.

But now was not the time. He struggled to his feet, pleased to see the father and his kid clinging to each other. Totally worth those bruises.

A somewhat staggering step back to his seat, and he was answering John’s increasingly urgent calls. “This is Thunderbird Two, mission complete.”

There was a relieved sigh at the other end of the line. “Good job, Virgil.”

He signed off and took a moment to sigh himself, before plotting his course to the nearest hospital. The son seemed fine, but the father had taken that fall with him, and it wouldn’t hurt for both of them to get checked out.

He rolled his right shoulder…ow…probably wouldn’t hurt to get himself checked out either. At home. With a hot shower. And coffee. What was it with balloonists and the crack of dawn anyway?

-o-o-o-

It was afternoon before he made it home. He managed the shower but missed the coffee due to another trip down his chute to save some scientists from a seaquake.

He forgot his shoulder until he couldn’t target their underwater habitat with his grapple guns. Damn arm trembled when he put pressure on it, throwing off his aim.

Scott succeeded in latching on first try with the grapple gun in Thunderbird One, even though he knew the scout ship wouldn’t have the grunt to hold the habitat by itself. The thought of TB1 disappearing below the waves was enough motivation for Virgil to grit his teeth and make his body behave.

The day was saved yet again. This time it was three scientists he dropped off at the nearest hospital. And then home.

And then the Hood.

Seaquakes. An argument with the GDF. An argument with his brothers. There was coffee this time, but once again he was flying down his chute. As he hit the bars to swing himself into his ship, his shoulder screamed in protest and he stumbled as he landed, but there was no time. He shoved the overhead hatch closed.

This time there was an entire city to save. A solar collector had fallen out of alignment and in just the right position to fry downtown Taipei. Scott, of course, beat him there and was in the thick of things before Virgil could even assess the situation.

Grab the dish and move it. Once again, he found himself struggling, this time with the magnetic claw. He grasped the dish perfectly, but the moment he fired up the VTOL to lift the dish, his arm spasmed, jolting the yoke. He lifted up his hand and watched it tremble. What the hell?

He didn’t have time for this!

Unfortunately, the dish was still attached to its foundations and he was unable to move it. Then Scott was climbing to free it and Virgil’s priority had switched to rescuing the crew.

Slaving TB2 to autopilot, he dashed into the hold to grab his Jaws of Life exoskeleton. He only hesitated momentarily, steeling himself as the metal wrapped around him. He expected complaint from his arm, but none came. He blinked and flexed the claw. A little tingling, a twinge or two. Okay. And he was off and running.

Everything went perfectly well until he had to grab and hold onto the edge of the personnel carrier to save his own life.

-o-o-o-

Kuan-yu knew the laws of physics. He was an engineer, it was his business. The force required to crumple the door to the collector station was considerable, so there was no surprise when the man in blue and green and sporting metal arms was easily able to lift the beam that had fallen on Teller. The logo on his helmet flashed in the morning light.

International Rescue!

The IR man hurried the three of them out of the crumbling building. They stumbled over rubble, clambering as fast as they could, desperate to get away.

And then the sky was falling. The huge dish had come off its supports and was roaring, screaming, down towards them.

Kuan-yu opened his mouth to yell but was suddenly swept from his feet. His hands automatically wrapped around the harness that lowered over his head, and he was flying, the dish groaning down the mountain below him.

A blue man was riding the edge of it like a surfboard.

There was a muffled yell behind him. He twisted in his seat, but he could see little. Then a booted foot swung into view. There was another yell. And another. His rescuer must be hanging onto the edge of the carrier. Kuan-yu immediately began looking for a way to help him, but the harness was secured and he could not raise it.

His glance flickered down to the settling dish, looking for the other blue man, but he was gone. A moment later his world slipped into shadow and he looked up to see the massive green bulk of the world-famous Thunderbird Two.

There were expressions of awe, but Kuan-yu was overloaded and out of words.

The ship swallowed them up.

-o-o-o-

There was a moment of silence when the carrier came to a halt, suspended just above the deck of the ship. The lighting was dim after the brilliance of the morning sun, and although the engines of the craft were dominant, they lacked the chaos of the moments before. All he could hear was the panicked breathing of his two workmates.

A click and the harness holding him to the carrier disengaged. Hesitantly Kuan-yu pushed it over his head and slid out of the seat. His shoes touched the metal of the decking and the bass roar of the ship’s engines echoed up through the soles of his feet.

He took a few steps around the end of the carrier, his eyes seeking out the blue and green man, not entirely sure he had made it and not sure he wanted to see if he hadn’t.

The IR man was there. On his knees, head down, metal arms awkwardly splayed out to the side. A hologram of Thunderbird Two hovered above one arm. Suddenly his tense shoulders dropped and Kuan-yu could hear a muffled expletive and then something about surfing.

“Are you okay?” He couldn’t help himself.

The man’s head shot up and piercing brown eyes fixed on him. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”

I’m not the one still on the floor. He thought but didn’t say. Teller and Jane had come around the other end of the carrier and both were staring at the IR man.

The man on the floor seemed to realise it anyway and blinked before clambering to his feet with a grunt and whirring of gears. He fiddled with the hologram on his wrist, the ghost of the rear thrusters flaring for a moment, the ship’s engines changed thrum and they all staggered slightly as it moved around them. Apparently finished with the hologram, he walked awkwardly over to the other side of the bay and backed himself up. There was a thunk, and the exoskeleton separated itself from him. The reinforcements unfastened from his boots and hips and lastly, he slid his arms from the claws. There was a hiss as his right arm came free, he wavered, and Kuan-yu was moving before the IR man pitched forward in an attempt to plant his face into the deck of his own ship.

It was awkward, but he caught him. There was a gasp of pain when his hand touched his right shoulder, so Kuan-yu struggled to lower the much larger man to the floor using mostly his left side. Fortunately, he was still wearing his helmet, so the soft clunk when he connected with the floor should have been less painful than without.

The eyes under that helmet slid closed.

“No! No, sir. You can not sleep! Stay awake!” He prodded the man gently and his eyelids flickered. Kuan-yu felt around the base of the helmet, looking for a release. The man needed air and Kuan-yu needed to assess him for injury. His fingertips fumbled across a latch and there was a soft hiss as the helmet came loose. He gently lifted the protection off the man’s head to reveal his pale face and mess of thick dark hair.

“Scott…” The word was faint.

“Jane, go and see who is flying this ship and see if you can get help.” He glanced up at his other workmate. “Teller, sit down before you fall down.”

The technician wobbled himself back onto the carrier.

With those two occupied, Kuan-yu turned his full attention to the almost unconscious man beside him. “Sir, can you hear me?”

His eyelids fluttered. He was obviously fighting to stay conscious.

“Can you hear me, sir?”

“Scott?” His eyelids fluttered again.

Kuan-yu felt gently around his scalp, checking for a head injury. It wasn’t long before he found one either. There was a considerable lump towards the back of the right side of the man’s head. Fortunately, there was no bleeding.

There was also the concern for the man’s arm. His uniform unzipped at the front, so Kuan-yu gently pulled it down just far enough to peel back his collar slightly. He drew in a sharp breath at the sight of black bruising. This wasn’t a new injury, it was at least twenty-four hours old. What the hell was this man doing saving lives in this condition?

Jane burst back into the compartment. “There is no-one flying this plane!”

“What?!” Both he and Teller spoke at once.

“There is no-one in the cockpit!”

Teller and Jane started talking over one another. He looked down at the IR man again. Was he really on his own? In his condition? How the hell was this plane still in the sky?

No, there had been another blue man. His heartrate picked up. No, no, this wasn’t the time to panic. He took a breath. “Both of you – shut up!”

There was a sudden silence. The engines thrummed through the ship. Teller and Jane stared at him.

Beneath his hand, the IR man moved. “I have to…” Those eyes were fully open once again and narrowing in on him.

“Sir, sit still. You collapsed and must remain calm.”

The eyes blinked at him. “Who are you?” There was authority in that suddenly deep voice.

“Lin Kuan-yu, Senior Engineer at the Taipei Solar Plant. You saved my life and the lives of my two colleagues, not fifteen minutes ago.”

“Oh.” The man inhaled, held the breath a moment, before releasing it between his teeth. “Okay. Sorry about that.” And despite Kuan-yu’s resistance, the man sat up fully. He wavered a moment and Kuan-yu prepared to catch him again, but he rolled to his feet, stumbling, but standing firm. His eyes darted across the three of them. “Are any of you in need of medical assistance?”

Jane and Teller both answered no. Kuan-yu suspected Teller did in any case and would be checking him over once he had the IR man seen to. Brown eyes looked at him in question. “No, I don’t, but you do.”

“Let me worry about that.”

“But who is flying this plane?” Jane’s voice had an edge of hysteria to it.

The man swallowed. “Let me worry about that too.” He stepped back a moment as if to steady himself. “I’m sorry…”

And with that he staggered somewhat through the still open door and latched it shut behind him.

-o-o-o-

Virgil clung to the wall. The world refused to stop spinning. What the hell? The pain in his head. His shoulder was screaming at him.

He wasn’t fit to fly.

He had three rescued persons on board. And he couldn’t fly. He stepped away from the wall and staggered to the pilot’s seat. He could barely stand up.

Sliding in he scanned the controls. Where were they going?

A sudden image of Scott riding the dish down the mountain…

He slammed the transmission console. “Scott!”

“Virgil!” There was concern in his brother’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

“You okay?” His console flickered in and out of focus for a moment.

“Fine. You?”

He swallowed. There was bile in his throat. “Not good.”

There was a silence on the other end of the line, before Scott’s controlled voice returned. “Can you fly?”

The world was spinning again.

Then it flickered as Scott’s hologram appeared on the dash. “Oh, god, Virgil.”

“I’m sorr..y.” And the whole world tipped sideways.

-o-o-o-

Scott reached out to catch the hologram of his brother as it slipped sideways and out of view. His fingers caught nothing.

“John!”

His younger brother’s hologram flickered on beside the empty shell of TB2’s cabin. “Thunderbird One?

“Virgil’s in trouble. He may have lost consciousness. Can you remote pilot Thunderbird Two?”

John’s eyes widened before darting to his controls. He frowned and muttered something under his breath. “One moment.”

Scott held his breath.

There was another muttered word, then John’s face relaxed. “Confirmed, Thunderbird One. Thunderbird Two is now under remote pilot.” John looked up at him. “But there are still three rescued persons aboard.”

“What is Virgil’s status?”

John could seem cold to some people, but Scott knew he was anything but. “Rapid pulse, low blood pressure…what the hell happened?”

“I don’t know. But we will find out. Where are the three engineers?”

“In the pod bay. They are mobile.” John frowned. “One is banging on the door to the cabin.”

“What is Gordon’s status?”

“Mission complete and heading home.”

“Advise him of our situation. Tell him to beach his ‘Bird as soon as possible. Bring Thunderbird Two to a hover. I’m going to board her.” John’s acknowledgement was brief.

Both Thunderbirds were out over the Philippine Sea, TB1 a little ahead of her sister. Scott accelerated up and flipped back over his position to settle above his brother’s green behemoth.

He’d already fried one jetpack today, but he’d learnt a long time ago to always pack a spare or three, so moments later he was landing beside TB2’s overhead hatch. “Thunderbird Five, please release the hatch.”

A gentle shove and he had the hatch open just enough to slide in. He slipped it closed behind him.

The cabin was eerily quiet despite the VTOL burning brightly outside. “Virgil?”

He found him half slumped off his chair, almost beneath the console. “Virgil!” Scott hit the seat controls, releasing it and moving it backwards slowly.

Virgil began to slip boneless to the floor. “I’ve got you.” He grabbed his brother under the arms and as gently as possible, halted his fall. A little manoeuvring had him on his back beside his pilot seat. “Virgil!”

“Sc-t?”

“What happened?”

“S-rry.”

“For what?”

Any answer Virgil might have given him was lost in a sudden banging on the cockpit door. “Hey, you need help. Let me help!”

Virgil’s eyes slipped closed and didn’t open again.

“Virgil!” He touched the man’s cheek. His skin was cold. “Virgil!” No response.

What the hell had happened?

Professionalism kicked in. The patient was breathing shallow but rapidly, heart rate up. “John, give me his vitals.” His brother’s hologram appeared beside him and rattled off numbers. Scott peeled back an eyelid, then the other one. He frowned, a possible concussion?

“Scott, he has all the symptoms of hypovolemic shock.”

“He’s bleeding?!” His hands skimmed over his brother’s uniform. He couldn’t see anything obvious. The zip of his uniform was pulled away slightly from his collar. Scott pulled it down quickly, revealing pale skin and dark chest hair.

And a massive spreading red and black bruise radiating out from the man’s right shoulder.

“Aww, hell.”

“Damn it, sir, you need help!” There was another thunk from the other side of the cockpit door.

Scott’s eyes darted momentarily between his brother and the door, calculating. “John, we’re going to Darwin. Alert the hospital. You plot and initialise, take One, I’ll take Two once I have Virgil secured. Tell Gordon to go home and grab Tracey One to meet us there.” A breath. “Mission status?”

“Seaquake generators have been nullified. The source of the transmissions has been located – in the middle of Northern Australia, approximately one hundred kilometres north west of Tennant Creek in the Northern Territory. Kayo is on her way.” His brother’s hologram blinked out.

Scott swore, torn.

No time.

Fingers briefly touching his brother’s cheek, he stood up and strode over to the cockpit door.

-o-o-o-

Kuan-yu nearly fell through the door as it was suddenly shoved open. A man in IR blue caught him.

This one was taller. “Where is he? He needs help.” Kuan-yu shoved past the man into the cockpit only to find his saviour on the floor out cold.

The other man eyed him as if to assess his intentions before darting through the cockpit door. He returned a second later with a collapsible hover stretcher and first aid kit. The IR man stabilised his colleague’s spine. “Help me get him onto the stretcher.”

The two men grunted as they lifted the bigger man. “A few less pancakes, Virg.” It was muttered under the man’s breath and Kuan-yu wasn’t sure he had actually heard it.

There was the snap of fittings and the hardware attached to the prone man started to come away. The IR man lifted off the bulky protuberance over the man’s left shoulder, undid the belt, the toolkit came off, and the green sash unbuckled, exposing more of the blue uniform beneath.

“Thunderbird Five, you have control. Commence flight plan.”

There was no acknowledgement, but suddenly the plane shuddered, the engine roar shifting from around them to the back of the vehicle once again. Kuan-yu staggered a step as the ship suddenly changed direction and accelerated. Much faster than it had before.

The IR man didn’t flinch, his hand on his compatriot, keeping him still. Once the flight had stabilised, he hurried him from the room.

Kuan-yu followed.

“Where are we going?”

“Darwin.”

“Australia?”

“Yes, we need the hospital there.” He slammed open another door to reveal what was obviously the medical bay. Depositing the stretcher on the examination table in the middle of the room, he secured it. Medical alarms filled the air.

“Damn it, Virgil.”

Checking the patient again, the IR man grabbed a laser cutter and started tearing off the man’s uniform. Kuan-yu quickly moved to the other side to help. He tugged at the man’s left glove, the tough material giving way as velcro released the padding. He found the fastener for the hologram display and pulled it away, depositing it quickly on a nearby shelf. The man’s fingers were a road map of calluses. He struggled to pull off the glove. How on Earth did the man put these on in the first place? There was a brief flash of light and the IR man flickered the laser cutter at the crucial point and the glove came apart, falling off in Kuan-yu’s hands.

The laser cutter had certainly done its job. Most of the patient’s torso was now exposed revealing the extent of the massive bruise down the man’s right arm and chest wall.

The IR man was muttering under his breath as he cut the last of the uniform off the patient’s left arm. Discarding the laser cutter, he grabbed an IV and set up a fluid transfusion. “He’s bleeding internally.”

“No kidding.” Kuan-yu couldn’t keep his eyes off that massive, swollen bruise.

A blanket was draped over the prone man and an oxygen mask placed over his face. Most of the alarms quietened. A hand brushed the patient’s forehead, fingers gently moving through his dark hair.

And Kuan-yu found himself pinned by a pair of startling blue eyes.

“What happened?” There wasn’t any accusation in the tone, but the man’s stance was one of a lion over its cub.

Kuan-yu held up his hands. “I don’t know! He saved us and collapsed. I tried to help him, but he refused.”

The man’s shoulders dropped a little and whispered, “Typical.”

“He does this regularly?”

The eyes snapped to him again. “What is the status of your colleagues? Are any of you in need of medical assistance?”

Again with the hands up. “No, we are fine. Teller has some bruising, but he’s okay. They’re both down with the carrier that hauled us in.”

The man released another breath. “Do you have any medical training?” His hand once again touched the patient’s head, fingers in his hair as he cupped his crown lightly.

“Basic first aid. I’m the designated first aider on site at the Solar Plant.” He took a breath and held out his hand. “I’m Kuan-yu.”

The tall man reached over and took his hand, clasping it only briefly. “Thank you.” Another glance at the patient. “Can you stay with him? We are on approach to Darwin.”

“Sure.”

Yet another glance at the prone man. “Thanks.” And he was out the door.

-o-o-o-

For Scott, the next half an hour was one of the worst in his life.

The moment he set foot back in the cockpit, John was in his ear agitated that he had lost contact with Kayo.

Kayo who was in the middle of the Australian desert on her own.

And he couldn’t do a damn thing.

“Colonel Casey and the GDF are with her.”

“And how useful have the GDF been in the past? They mean well, but ineffective, John, ineffective! Why the hell do you think International Rescue exists in the first place? Because they can’t do their damned jobs!”

TB2 trembled under his fingertips as he took control of the ‘Bird’s descent. “Tell Brains that he needs to finish her ‘Bird. This has gone on too long. She needs her own wings.”

“Scott-“

“Do we have clearance to land?”

John spouted off landing conditions. “Helipad’s to the north. Ambulance attending. They have the patient’s details. I have Thunderbird One.” A shadow passed briefly over the windows as Thunderbird One overtook them and disappeared off into the distance. Darwin appeared on the horizon, the brief spark of civilisation in the subtropical swamp, stark against the green and blue of the Timor Sea.

He came in hard.

The air screamed around him as Thunderbird Two shot into the hospital’s air space, her VTOL engines roaring as he applied braking thrust over the helipad. Her mass always fooled him. She was slower, but more powerful than TB1. Pure grunt force.

The ship lowered, her landing struts deployed, and they were down.

He secured the console and was out of the pilot’s seat before the VTOL jets had fully retracted. Through a couple of doors and once again he was listening to medical alarms.

“His blood pressure is still dropping.” The short Taiwanese man was hovering around his brother, obviously at a loss of what to do, but wanting to do something nonetheless.

Scott didn’t answer. He hurriedly detached the hover stretcher from the table and activated its jets. Making sure the IV was secure and his brother strapped in, he put the stretcher in motion towards the cockpit. On the periphery of his vision, Kuan-yu followed.

Moments later, he was breathing in the hot moist air of the Australian northern country as the cockpit hatch lowered them to the helipad. There were doctors, there were nurses, there were numbers being called back and forth. His brother was whisked away.

A dark-haired nurse was asking him questions.

He had responsibilities.

Turning back into the ship’s shadow, he almost tripped over Kuan-yu. Recovering quickly, he motioned the shorter man towards the nurse. “Get yourself checked out.”

He leapt back into his brother’s ‘Bird.

-o-o-o-

Three days.

Three goddamned awful days.

Kayo was safe. Scott picked her up in Thunderbird One himself. He was the closest. The remains of the Hood’s hideout were secured by the GDF for further investigation. The shouting match he had with Colonel Casey over that likely didn’t help his case, but she had been a friend of the family for a long time, she knew the reasons behind his anger. She would forgive him. He’d apologise later.

Three days.

Gordon flew in with Tracey One, Alan beside him.

John hovered. Literally. His hologram appearing in various places, not all fully authorised, as he monitored Virgil’s condition.

Three days.

With John’s help they worked out what had happened. John, after all, had been complicit in the cause of the injury. There had been words.

Delayed concussion and a chipped humerus. A chipped bone which could have been a minor injury if it had been attended promptly. But no, it had been ignored, and the bone chip had eventually nicked a blood vessel. The bleed had been a slow one, but it had the time it needed to do damage. There had been surgery. Now there were questions of whether his brother might lose the use of his arm, even the arm itself.

Three days.

Scott found the tether Virgil had used in the rescue of the two ballooners. A good twenty metres of reinforced nylon cord. Twenty metres. A fall of twenty metres could kill a man.

It nearly had.

He dropped his head to the bed. Why?

He knew why.

Damnit, Virgil!

His brother’s left arm was draped with tubing, feeding his starved body with the fluids and nutrients it so desperately needed. Scott stared at fingers. His brother had large hands, callused and worn with hard work, yet still nimble with an instrument or paintbrush. He reached out and brushed his own fingertips against the pale skin.

“Scott?” It was barely a whisper, but when he looked up a pair of blurry brown eyes peered back at him.

Scott felt his cheek muscles drag his mouth into an almost smile. “Hey, Virg.” Equally as quiet.

The brown eyes darted around a moment, a frown creasing between them. “What?”

“Hospital. Darwin. Thunderbird Two is safe and secure.” She was sitting right next to her sister under heavy guard at the local GDF airfield. He swallowed. “There was a situation.”

Virgil’s fingers brushed against his. Scott wrapped both hands around his brother’s single hand.

He knew why Virgil did it. He knew the reasoning, the lack of alternative. Those two ballooners would never know exactly how lucky they had been and what had been risked. His fingers tightened convulsively.

“Scott.” His brother’s eyes were clearing, his voice that bit stronger. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

-o-o-o-

Six weeks later and it was hard to tell if any of it had happened.

The bandages were off and Virgil had recovered most of the movement in his arm. There was still work to be done and he was still grounded, but the outcome was looking more positive by the day.

John had been dragged back to Earth and there had been some honest discussions, some yelling, of course, but mostly sane discussion. New strategies on how to snatch a free-falling victim out of the sky – it did happen often enough, so they really should be prepared, especially since Virgil had so kindly shown them all exactly how not to do it.

The reiteration on reporting all injuries on occurrence was getting a little repetitive however. Virgil, of course, claimed he didn’t know it had been that bad. And besides, exactly when had he had the time to do anything that day – he hadn’t even managed a decent meal in the entire twenty-four hours!

Scott had backed down at that. He knew he shared the guilt with his two brothers. Nobody had reported anything, but then he had them working a twenty-four hour stretch without a decent break.

Brain’s announcement that Kayo’s ‘Bird was finally finished was a welcome distraction. And Grandma’s threat of a homecooked meal had the effect she had no doubt planned as they all ran for cover.

Scott found Virgil in Thunderbird Two.

Swearing.

And surrounded by discarded food wrappers.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Scott raised his hands placatingly. “Now, Virgil, he said he was going to clean it up before he handed her back to you.”

Virgil raised his fist full of wrappers, knuckles white. “I’m going to kill him!”

Staring at his angry brother, Scott couldn’t help but smile. The white knuckled fist belonged to his right hand. It took a moment for the bigger man to connect the dots, his eyes dancing back and forth between Scott and his curled fist, but when he did, the anger bled away to be replaced by an ironic smile.

Scott wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulders. “See, there is wisdom in Gordon…somewhere.”

That brought out a much-missed Virgil chuckle. Scott ruffled his hair, before darting out of the retaliation zone.

But he wasn’t fast enough and Virgil lunged to grab him.

His hand didn’t miss.

-o-o-o-

[ultraericthered]

When some fool interjects onto one of my posts (responding to someone else) about Disney's Wish discourse:

Okay. Just for clarification. I am an English major and I am only a semester away from having an associates. Breaking down movies and books is a hobby and a past time. So here are my thoughts.

Oh, so immediately this "clarification" doesn't sound very humble.

Without a doubt whether or not you consider this to be good or bad is opinion. It's debatable. I personally fall on the side of not liking it. I see why people can like it and I'm not gonna dox people for liking it. It's definitely one of those movies where you could "theoretically" like and enjoy despite it's multitude of flaws.

Wow, this is a mature, civil, level-headed and reasonable tone to take, and for a rational statement! You almost never see that on social media! I'll give this good sir or miss props for that. Will it last?

The plot was overall basic and uninspired.

Unfortunately yes, it absolutely was. Not one of the film's stronger qualities, I'm afraid, and with such a solid, captivating premise too!

What I mean by this is this... The plot was a carbon copy of other ideas and thoughts previously done from their other works. While this is not necessarily a bad thing, for this movie it brings it down BECAUSE it relies too heavily on them.

✓Sweet dreamy eye protagonist who is so sweet that everybody loves her

✓ talking animal side kick who provides comedic relief

✓wishing on a star

✓ female leading crying on an inanimate object because something didn't go her way

✓evil villain

✓magic saving the day

Nice checklist. Again, nothing too disagreeable so far....

These are all not necessarily bad. In fact these are good ideas to have. We have seen them before. AND THAT'S THE PROBLEM

Oh no. Is this Doug Walker argument really rearing its ugly head? A work of art or entertainment is allowed to derive from earlier made works of art or entertainment as sources of inspiration and creative intake but are not permitted to straight up repeat ideas, scenarios, plot beats and character archetypes "we have all seen before" in other works, at least not without "adding anything new of its own"?

Call me crazy, but I think Disney was heavily considering not only children born in the late 2010s, but also the current 2020s-born generation when putting this picture together. A bunch of youngsters who might've not once seen anything like what's featured in this movie before in their early years, which would make this their first big exposure to Disney animated fairy tales just as the animated fairy tales of old were the first exposure to children of those films' eras. Because every time a type of story is retold and ideas are recycled into that story could be someone's first time. That is a fact of life.

I understand that uniquemess and originality are hard to come by nowadays. I'm a writer and original ideas are the hardest to find. What you have to do is take those old ideas and make them new. What Disney did was not make these old tired tropes their own, they rehashed them and expected us to go, "Oh! That's just like this movie!"

It makes the movie lose its own voice. This movie is too wrapped up in references and tropes they've used before to try and capture nostalgia, that wonder they used to have. What made those movies so special was the heart and care that went into them. This is Disney's 100 anniversary, but instead it feels like Disney's catch 100 references to when we were a better and a more creative studio.

This would be speaking to the side of the movie that was NOT geared towards the kids, however. The side of the movie that, because it's a celebratory centennial milestone event, caters to longtime hardcore Disney fans who will immediately get all the references, recognize the homages and callbacks, spot all the little Easter Eggs thrown all over the film. I've said before that I do not believe Disney should've put so much attention and effort into this side of the movie compared to the original story, especially when they made Once Upon A Studio to better serve the centennial celeberation purposes, and that they did so was a huge mistake, being easily the movie's biggest handicap.

Why is this bad? Well don't I have the answer for you!

Alrighty then, thanks again for the honesty!

They HAD a beautiful story!! The idea and premise for this movie is probably my favorite thing but the execution from a professional and eye is awful! You cannot look at this movie and tell me that it is the Mona Lisa when it is nothing but a carbon Copy of what once was.

No disagreement there. I pray this fellow's not seen the concept art and all the information floating around about what we might've had.

It was done in a manner that was so half hearted and so clearly a cash grab they practically insult themselves. The plot was predictable and falls flat.

I love how the second sentence reads like a non sequitur to the first. I've heard the "half-hearted, cynical and desperate cash grab" accusations and I don't quite think they're accurate. I think this was a production that began with a lot of heart and care put into what everyone was designing and realizing in order to make a worthy new original Disney fairy tale for the 100th year mark, but ended with micro-managing corporate stooges "doctoring" the scripting, the scoring, the pacing (via editing), and the overall presentation of the work to turn out something safe and crowd-pleasing that hits off as much Disney quota as possible. Again, for the 100th year mark. And so what we ended up with was what I've called a "beautiful mess."

The villain was interesting at first! He was giving me a similar two sidedness as Frollo and then the back track his character by throwing in an evil maguffin to make him evil because it is clear to anyone who knows basic plot structure that it was rushed and they didn't know what else to do to progress the story. WE COULD HAVE HAD ANOTHER FROLLO WITH HIM, BUT WE GOT A HALF HEARTED GASTON!

This is starting to ramble, but I'll try to make sense of it. For one thing, I do not think Magnifico was ever at any point of the film's development set to be like "another Frollo". His core influences clearly come from Queen Grimhilde, Maleficent, Gaston, and Jafar. And the evil maguffin was not "thrown in to make him evil" - the tome of forbidden dark magic was set up as a Chekov's Gun earlier in the picture because it was what would be A: what would make Magnifico such a formidable threat to everyone, and B: what would serve as the catalyst for Magnifico to break his bonds of well-meaning rationale and discard the mask of mental and moral soundness. The prompt for him to turn to it was very rushed, yes, and his backstory and motivations behind his possessiveness, paranoia, and iron-fisted tendencies needed to be better set up and conveyed prior to this turn. I will not dispute that. But Magnifico, both in his own character arc and in how his spiral into villainy progresses the story, is so much more than "half hearted Gaston", and it really ain't nothing to do with "knowing basic plot structure" or whatever pretentious rhetoric is being used as criticism here.

Speaking of Gaston: You mentioned that The king being shoehorned in as a villain was like saying Gaston was shoehorned. I have an explanation for this. The reason why...

Yeah? What's the reason why?

Now I hope I don't loose you here. This will get a little difficult...

WHAT'S THE REASON WHY? GET ON WITH IT!

In order to PROPERLY set up a character, this goes for Asha too (more on her later), you have to set up their character and what they are about in the first 5-10 minutes they are on screen. In the movie what we are told is that the king is noble and loves his people. There was no shadow of a doubt if this. And then as the movie progresses, specifically at the 30 minute mark it is revealed that oh hoho he is a narcissist and is obsessed with himself. The way they did this was out of the blue and off putting. It came out of nowhere. There was no build up. It was a sweet song about the wishes and then BAM I'm a narcissist who cares about no one but myself. That 180 came so fast they did not even prep themselves for it. It felt like this was a last minute idea.

Well, King Magnifico was noble in regards to his ideology and his aspiration to see his kingdom continue to prosper while also being the one to safeguard the most precious wishes of the hearts of his subjects. And he loved his people...so long as they loved him, gave him constant appraisal and attention and undying devotion, and remained the good little dreamless drones he wanted them to be. Noble intentions can give way to indulgence in one's darker qualities and impulses if "the ends will justify the means" is subscribed to, and not all love is unconditional love. I have heard the complaints that Magnifico's unveiling plays out like a Twist Villain and that he was likely not intended to be really evil but they changed him last minute to pander to the "bring back traditional Disney Villains!" fan crowd. And I personally find it bollocks when the simpler answer is that King Magnifico is a corrupt, narcissistic manipulator with a God Complex whose benevolence is illusionary and whose wish-keeping system is an oppressive, dishonest, self-benefitting sham. Was the execution of the idea notably off in terms of the pace it moved at? Absolutely. This does not make Magnifico any lesser a villain, at least not to me.

Don't get me wrong, I love Asha.

This is a lie. There doesn't seem to be any "love" for anything in this movie coming from you.

She is sweet and funny, but she is poorly written.

Not only have I not argued that, I have actually stated as much!

We are not shown why she is sweet or why she is caring. We are told.

So we're just told that she's sweet rather than seeing her being so get shown, yet you like her for being sweet and funny? Which is it?

With her fatal flaw, caring too much, she is told this is her fatal flaw. The movie doesn't trust us enough for us to figure out her fatal flaw. And it doesn't even really show us that she cares too much to begin with.

Uh, yes it does. Her interactions with her mother and how far she's willing to go for her grandfather Sabino and how quickly she gets to being protective and cherishing of Star show us this. Like, if Sabino really is 100 years old and gave Magnifico his wish when he came of age years ago, that is years and years and years of life that Asha was not around to witness, as she hadn't been born yet. So you'd forgive her if she didn't invest all that much in getting Sabino's wish granted at last because she doesn't know her grandfather all that well as the gap between how long he's been alive and how long she's been alive is so huge, yet her heart cares so much about him and the idea of his wish being granted to him before he passes away that it becomes a fixation to her. She'd been spared lots of trouble and heartache had she cared less.

There are so many unexplained why's, to her it makes my head spin. Why does she care? Why does she want to be an Apprentice?

She wants to be an Apprentice so that she can be close to the king and the wishes he keeps, learn the inner workings of the system, and ensure that the king grants wishes to those she feels ought to have their hearts desires granted and their dreams realized. And this brings us to another flaw of hers that I wish the movie itself took time to notice and actually address as being such - well meaning or not, Asha was hoping that being in Magnifico's favor would get Magnifico to allow her to push for nepotism in regards to Sabino. It ended up backfiring and unveiling the king's darker nature, but it also unvelied something about Asha that the movie then sadly paid no mind to.

Why is she sweet? Why is she the way she is? Is it cause she is naturally that way like snow white? Was she raised to be that way? Or did she have a rough upbringing that made her this way? We don't know. That's the bottom line.

This movie has so many analytical flaws that I physically do not have the time nor the words to accurately explain to you why this movie is technically bad. But I doubt you care to even consider my points and come up with a half baked response.

Aaaand there's the condescending attitude you were holding back! Aaah, color me so disappointed! The "I cannot accurately convey in words how technically bad this movie is" is a cop-out, but one I'll let slide as it gets you off my back. But that other part? I DID consider your points and have in fact agreed with a few of them, and even ones I disagreed with I can see why you'd think that way about those matters. Yet you pre-emptively say "half baked response?" Sheesh!

I bid you a due. I'm gonna go watch an actually good movie.

"An actually good movie". There's another tacky, needless potshot.

Also, you fool. You absolute buffoon. It's "adieu", not "a due!"

[thewarriorspecial]

Drive Me Crazy

*Archive Edition* Previously only linked to AO3, full work now available under the cut.

Rating: Explicit

Guy Gardner/Kyle Rayner

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Sex on a Car, car talk, Blow Jobs, Masturbation

Guy is supposed to be resting and recovering, but he'd rather pass the time working on his car than laying about. Kyle's not much help for letting him rest.

Read on AO3

Drive Me Crazy

Guy was a really unfortunate combination of hard-working and short sighted. If he would ever just use the damn ring or ask for some help it wouldn’t take so long for his latest combat wounds to heal. The closest he managed to come to something resembling resting his body was when he dropped face-down onto the mattress after several rounds of sex or entirely too many beers.

“Alcohol is a blood thinner, you know,” Kyle said, pushing sweaty hair out of his face.

“Mruh,” Guy responded, neither acknowledging nor denying the information.

Instead of icing his battered knee or kicking back in bed to let his ribs knit themselves back together, Guy decided to distract himself with some neglected work around the garage. He pushed the gold Trans-Am into the open bay door instead of driving it because, “The clutch is too soft. Don’t wanna plow through the wall.” Whatever that meant.

So Kyle watched his partner grunt and drip sweat in the morning sun. An excellent way to start the day, Kyle thought to himself as he raised his mug to his lips. The heat of the fresh coffee pooled in his belly along with other things. Kyle’s fingers wandered under his waistband as he thought about Guy’s big, powerful body. He knew he should be better about insisting that Guy rest and maybe not enable his bad behavior. But Guy had needs. And he had needs, too.

The cheery sunlight put the dips and curves of Guy’s muscles in sharp contrast. His huge basketball shorts rode up as he planted his feet and pushed the obnoxiously painted vehicle forward. The backs of Guy’s black and white hi-tops were crushed flat from sliding them on without untying them a hundred times. Kyle’s eyes traveled the taught line from Guy’s Achilles tendon along the rippling calf to the middle of his bulging thigh. Big thighs, shapely ass, back like a mountain range—everything tensed, everything heated and sweaty.

Kyle bit his lip and imagined how good that damp, sun-warm t-shirt smelled. He would definitely abscond with that later. Guy’s grunts and curses made it easy for Kyle to imagine those sounds coming from above, Guy panting, sweat dripping. Kyle could feel the soft brush of chest hair against his throat, the rasp of stubble against his temple.

“Big fuckin’ bitch,” Guy coughed out, as he patted the trunk affectionately. He lifted the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face. Kyle needed to put his own face in the molten center of Guy’s hot, sweaty chest immediately. Still in his pajamas, which is to say Guy’s clothes from yesterday, Kyle shuffled his feet into some sneakers and headed out the front door.

The big, gold Pontiac gently rocked against the parking brake as Guy lovingly worked the drain plugs out of the differential. He checked the plugs for any metal debris and ducked the arc of brown, draining fluid with practiced ease. He lifted the wet plug to his nose and smelled it. No sign of contamination or overuse. He loved that smell—real 75 weight mineral oil. It smelled like hot summers on the drag strip and cavitating pumps at the amusement park.

“I’m not the mechanic here,” Kyle said, leaning on the garage door-frame, “but I’m pretty sure that’s not how you change oil.”

“You’re right. I’m juicing the pumpkin,” Guy’s voice came from under the rear end of the car. He began the quick work of refilling the gear oil and returning the plug to its proper position and torque.

Kyle scrunched his lips to the side, wondering how a pumpkin had gotten stuck under the car. He pursued his seduction head-on without questions. “Thank goodness I have a big strong man to take care of my car for me.”

Guy’s upper body came into view as he rolled the creeper out from under the car. He raised a suspicious eyebrow in Kyle’s direction, “My car.”

Kyle sighed and pushed himself off of the door-frame, “I just wish there was some way I could repay you for all of this.” He walked towards the front of the car and leaned his hip on the front quarter panel.

“Never paid me before.” Guy’s eyes roamed slowly over Kyle’s body. He was more than happy to have a booth bunny posing on his ride.

“Isn’t there something I can do for you? Something you’d like?”

“I…you’re fine?” Guy pulled the shredded remains of an old towel out of his overalls and wiped some of the grease off of his fingers. “I was gonna do this anyways?”

Kyle’s chuckle is devilish. He changes tactics, “I want you to show me how your machine works.”

“Oh? Oh! Well in that case,” Guy began, excitedly pushing himself off of the creeper and onto his feet. He pulled the fallen strap of his overalls onto his right shoulder once he was on his feet. If any of the movement caused him pain, he didn’t show it.

Guy walked to the open hood and rested his hands at the front of the engine bay. His eyes swept over Kyle’s long legs and then the the fruits of his labor. “I wanted to keep as much of it as OG as possible, ya know? But she needed some work, that’s for sure. I was running her way too hard—cracked the rings, gouged the cylinders so I had to bore ‘em out.”

“Bore them out. Sure,” said Kyle, expression wide-eyed and lips pressed together.

“The cylinders. They gotta be smooth so I had to drill em out. Widen the holes.”

“Oh.” Kyle moved to lean next to Guy, under the hood. He liked the sound of that.

“Ended up doing a forty overbore—whole new stroke kit, torque plate, the works.”

“Stroke?” Another one of Kyle’s favorite words.

“Yup, more stoke means bigger parts to fill the bigger displacement.”

“Bigger’s always better.”

Guy squinted at Kyle’s enthusiastic nodding, “And then ya gotta balance the rest of the car out to handle that kinda power. But I could only go so far because I ain’t got another transmission and I don’t want to give up my four speed. Wally came by with a custom cam and main caps, too. Really brought the whole thing together.”

“Ah,” Kyle’s face pinched in a frown at the mention of one of his least favorite people. That explained where two bags of Doritos and an entire cheesecake had gone.

“And since I was already doin’ a whole teardown I figure well, gonna need a bigger crank so might as well do a new timing set which let me replace the fuel pump drive so I don’t have to stay carbureted. Lotta guys really like that sound, ya know? Got a certain smell too but long term, you know?”

“Classic, of course,” Kyle knew better than to try and speak man-car to Guy. He’d tried to keep up with the guy-talk once to horrific results. He enjoyed Guy’s gruff voice and his excitement. He just couldn’t understand how anyone actually enjoyed that amount of tedium and suffering to only drive around under very specific conditions. The subway was right there.

“I want her to last. I ain’t no racer. I wanna drive her as long as I can. Springs were rustin’ to hell so I went ahead and put coil-overs on. She sits a little lower but most people wouldn’t see the difference. New control arms, tie rods, you know, the little things. Got her aligned and shined. Upgraded the exhaust so you can still hear that loping rumble. She’s still got it,” Guy said, voice soft as he started to walk around the driver’s side. He let the tips of his fingers trail gently along the aggressive angle of the A-pillar. “Solar Gold Y88, special edition with the T-top. Only the ’78 Trans Ams. She really is…gorgeous. One of a kind.”

“Gorgeous,” Kyle echoed.

“Men like pretty things,” Guy said over his shoulder as he continued his appreciative walk around the vehicle. His piercing blue eyes stayed on Kyle as his fingers follow the curves of the car, “whether they say so or not.”

“We show it in different ways, I guess.” Kyle stands, crossing his arms and cocking his head as he watches Guy prowl.

“You’re an artist. You get it, don’cha?” Guy’s hands worked their way up the passenger side of the car.

“Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder and whatnot.”

“Lucky for me,” Guy grins. He presses himself into Kyle’s space, steps in until they’re nose to nose. His hands flex with the urge to touch more.

“You don’t think you’re beautiful?”

Guy scoffs. He turned away suddenly, reaching for the hood strut. He lifted the enormous gold rectangle and tucked the hood strut into the engine bay. “Kid. I know I’m not,” he says as he drops the hood with a bang.

“Do you?” Undeterred, Kyle stepped behind Guy, crowding him against the front bumper of the car. Feather light, he ran his hands down Guy’s back, gentle with his tender ribs. He let his arms drape around Guy’s waist. He pressed his face between Guy’s shoulder blades and breathed, “You smell good.”

“Psh. B.O. and diff fluid. That’s the manly stuff right there.”

“It is. I like it. I like you sweaty and dirty.”

“You like my dirty hands?” Guy asked, as he laid his greasy hands over Kyle’s paint stained fingers.

“I like what you do with them.”

“Do ya?” Guy smirked as he turned in Kyle’s arms. His hands balled up in the hem of Kyle’s—his—shirt as he roughly tore it over Kyle’s head. He tossed it aside with one hand and grabbed Kyle around the back of his head with the other. He didn't give Kyle a chance to think, much less speak, as he sealed his mouth over Kyle’s. He was done talking.

Kyle let Guy’s grease spattered hands roam as they pleased.

“So? How much a’this little visit is about what I want, and how much of it is about what you want? Hm?”

“Depends how much you’re up for, old man.”

“Oh I’m up for it. I’m always good for it. How ‘bout you, kid? Are you down?” Guy asks, as he shoved Kyle roughly backwards, forcing him to fall onto the hood. Kyle startled; he half expected Guy to freak out about scratches or dents. “Let’s take ya for a little test ride. See what’s gotcha so hot and bothered.”

“You,” Kyle smiled.

“Let’s test that theory. Do a little diagnostic work.” Guy unsnapped one of the straps of his overalls, the look in his eyes heated and predatory.

“Since when are you a mechanic?”

“Since I got tools and shit, how bout that?” Guy’s brow furrowed.

“Tools?”

“Yeah! Lemme go get my new sniffer n’sniff you out.”

“Your what?” Kyle sat up on his elbows, alarmed.

Guy had already stalked away, steel-toed boots thumping a path over to the toolbox. He pulled a few drawers open, metallic clanging and clattering punctuated his search until he found what he wanted. It looked a bit like one of those book-reading lights—a long flexible new protruded from a plastic, oval body and a little rubber tip was affixed to the end.

“What’re you doing with that?”

“C’mere,” Guy surged forward, pinning Kyle to the car and poking him relentlessly with the tool.

“What the fuck! Knock it off!” Kyle laughed, eyes bright as he tried to wrestle the thing out of Guy’s eagle talon grip.

Guy clicked the switch on the side. A little red light flashed and the tool beeped twice. “Oh! Looks like we got a read here, Spock.” Guy held the tool up with exaggerated thoughtfulness, still keeping Kyle pinned down effortlessly with one arm.

“Well, what is it?” Kyle demanded in mock anger.

Guy clicked his tongue and sighed, “Chronic horny, I’m afraid.”

“Is there any cure, doc?” Kyle asked, honey-sweet with a rock of his hips.

“I fuckin’ hope not!”

“You think you’re the guy for the job? You gonna fix me?” Kyle asked as Guy was already popping the button on his jeans and yanking them down.

“I’m gonna fix you real good, you’ll see.” Guy ran his tongue over the big, red ‘W’ tattoo on Kyle’s hip.

The metal hood was cool against Kyle’s heated skin. He let Guy press him down, folded an arm behind his head to keep the hood scoop from digging into his skull. It felt special, being allowed to touch such a valuable car and to be the center of Guy’s focus despite the sun-gold paint and man-sized decal.

Guy’s big hands squeezed Kyle’s thighs as he lavished Kyle’s hipbones with teeth and tongue. He mouthed the bulge in Kyle’s underwear, blue eyes blazing as he stared up and into Kyle’s panting face.

“Yeah,” Kyle growled, taking a rough handful of Guy’s short, copper hair and pressing him down.

“Like that?” Came Guy’s muffled retort. “Yeah I fuckin’ do. And so do you.” Kyle’s rucked-down jeans rustled in the quiet garage as he wrapped his thighs around Guy’s head. He yanked Guy’s hair again, harder. The sound that came out of Guy was as much a growl as it was a raspy chuckle.

It was a lot of power for Kyle to push around—two hundred and twenty pounds of sex and fury, and both with a hair trigger. Like feathering the gas in a tight turn, Guy’s responses were forceful and immediate. And Kyle loved being the one behind the wheel.

Impatient, Kyle hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his underwear and kicked the last of his clothes off. Guy leaned back to give Kyle some room and divested himself of his shirt and dropped the overalls to the floor. Sharp blue eyes drank in all of Kyle’s tanned, tattooed skin one slow inch at a time.

Against the gold paint, the warm undertones of Kyle’s skin shone beautifully. His body was framed by the wings of the firebird decal, giving him the look of a Greek deity on an ancient mural.

“Gorgeous,” Guy said softly, reverently. He thought of how many times his phoenix had been reborn. “One of a kind.” Guy leaned down and his big, warm hands clamped around Kyle’s naked hips.

Kyle felt suddenly unnerved so he shoved Guy’s head down again, “Now take care of me, so I can take care of you.”

“You gonna take care of me?” Guy half-whispered, dragging his stubble along Kyle’s thigh and flattening his tongue against the base of Kyle’s cock, “Gonna go to work, and pay for dinner, and take real good care of me?” Guy flicked those dangerous blue eyes up at Kyle again, “Daddy?”

Talk about shifting into a higher gear, Kyle thought as he yanked Guy’s mouth open with his thumb and shoved his cock in. Maybe their interests weren’t so different. “Yeah, baby,” Kyle hissed. His fingers dug into Guy’s skull as he started to move his hips, “My good boy.”

With a groan, Guy dropped to his knees. His body ignited and relaxed all at once at the praise. He couldn’t stop the soft little sounds that worked their way out of his mouth every time Kyle’s dick hit the back of his throat. He hollowed his cheeks. He dug his fingers into Kyle’s squirming hips.

“Fuck,” Kyle pushed against Guy’s shoulders, “Guy, fuck, I’m gonna…”

Guy grabbed Kyle’s thighs and closed them tight around his head.

“So fuckin' good, you’re so fuckin' good for me, baby,” Kyle’s head tipped back and he stilled.

Guy greedily drank down everything he was given.

Kyle tried to sit up but he kept sliding in his own sweat. He reached his hand up and laughed, “Here, help me up. Switch me.”

Guy was biting his lip, pondering the lovely sight before him.

“What?” Kyle asked. “What’s that look for?”

“Can I just, you know, look at’cha?”

“You sure?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Okay,” Kyle shrugged. He leaned back into his comfortable position with his arms over his head again.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” Guy sighed, taking himself in hand.

Kyle found himself unable to look away from the motion and felt his cheeks heat up. Watching Guy work himself was powerfully masculine and erotic. Kyle could feel his entire body coiling with desire again at the sight. He raised his legs up, running the arches of his feet along Guy’s calves.

Guy ran his fingertips over the tattoo on Kyle’s thigh—a row of the solar system’s planets. “When’d ya get this one?”

“Long time ago. It’s kinda like those bumper stickers people get every time they visit a land mark. I did each planet. The first time I went there. When I was a new Lantern.”

“Nine of em?” Guy panted out.

“Yup. Pluto counts.”

“Good, “ Guy smiled. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, “N’at one?” He asked, gesturing to the cartoon skull and crossbones on Kyle’s bicep. “Hm. You wanna talk about another man touching me right now?” Kyle teased.

“I dunno,” Guy replied, surprisingly unfazed. His eyes were dark with desire, “Is he hot?”

Kyle couldn’t hold in his laugh. He was not discussing Roy on a scale of 1-10 right now. No way. He started to laugh in earnest and covered his face.

“Don’t do that,” Guy panted, “Tell me later. Come back.”

Kyle dropped his hands to his waist, where he twisted his fingers together awkwardly. “Is this one your favorite?” He asked, trailing his fingers along the ‘W’ on his hip. Guy’s hand started pumping faster.

“Yeah.”

Kyle let his hands trail slowly over his body. He watched the way Guy’s eyes followed the motion. He played with his nipples, pinched them, and smiled at the way it made them both hiss.

“Look at me,” Kyle said, “Keep your eyes open for me.”

Guy grunted in response, but did as he was asked. When he came he nearly lost his balance. Kyle sat up, reaching his hands out. Not thinking, he gripped Guy around the ribs. When Guy twisted away, he jerked back immediately.

“Shit! I’m so sorry! You okay?”

“I’m good,” Guy said with a dopey smile. “All good.”

“You haven’t taken any of your medicine today, have you?” Kyle frowned.

“Psh, what do I need Oxycontin for when I got all this oxytocin, huh?” Guy smiled. He reached out and pinched Kyle’s cheek, “My little drug dealer.” He chuckled and stretched—gingerly as he had forgotten about his ribs again already.

“You sure you’re good?”

“Everything’s good when I got you, baby.”

[castershellwrites]

Ghost of Tsushima CYOA Part 6

Jin/Tenzo Rated Teen

Link to part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5.

I thought we were going to be wrapping this up scooby-doo style with the samurai getting scared off the island (my vote, lol). But no! You're all cool people who are here for the ANGST! You want Jin to face Shimura!

That's just what he'll do! Let's see how it turns out! Part 6 of the fic and the poll for part 7 are below the cut! :D

Tenzo nodded after hearing Jin's plan. Even he had to agree the ghost of Kazumasa Sakai would be enough to get Shimura out the gates. the question was would he bring an army of retainers with him. “Let’s go back and tell the others … and hope they haven’t woken up yet.”

“Because they’ll be mad at us for leaving the camp unguarded to scout,” Jin agreed and backed slowly into the woods, picking his way silently through the underbrush.

“No,” Tenzo chuckled softly behind him, “because they’ll think we’re fooling around.”

“You fooled around! You kissed me!” Jin scolded harshly but quietly.

Tenzo patted him on the back and laughed again, “Says the man who wanted to keep going, right in front of his uncle’s encampment.”

Jin blushed, and was thankful the night’s darkness hid it. By the time they reached the camp, essentially five bedrolls and a shallow firepit, he and Tenzo had finished bickering. Thankfully their companions slept soundly and were all still abed. Tenzo roused them with a shove to the side … with his foot … a kick. He kicked them awake.

“Move your bones. We’ve got a plan. Get up!” Tenzo barked like a samurai lord at new recruits.

“What?”

“Are we under attack?”

“The sun’s nowhere near rising … ugh.”

Tenzo scowled. “Get up and move. We have a plan, one that will end with minimal casualties?”

The oldest of the raiders sneered, “How minimal?”

Tenzo smirked triumphantly. “Just the samurai.”

That got a laugh from the raiders and they dispersed to help Fune with the fortifications.

Jin frowned until they were out of sight. Then he smiled softly at Tenzo. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

“You’re not going to be able to pull this off without me.”

Jin whistled Kaze over and began unpacking his father’s armor. “I’ve been getting dressed by myself since before the invasion. I’ll do fine thank you.”

Tenzo helped Jin into his armor anyway, and Jin was glad for it. He could get dressed by himself, but it was more efficient with an assistant. Tenzo adjusted the strap when Jin donned his helmet. Jin felt his fingers shaking against his skin.

He held Tenzo’s hand, “Are you alright?”

“You look just like him,” Tenzo whispered.

“That is the point.” Jin smiled softly and brought Tenzo’s hand to his lips. The kiss made him shiver again. “You’re not the first person to say I look like him.”

Tenzo frowned, “That’s not a good thing.”

Jin nodded sadly, “My uncle would agree with you.”

Tenzo made a face of disgust. “Pease don’t ever make me agree with that Shimura bastard again.”

“We’ll see,” Jin laughed.

That was the last time he laughed that night. Jin sat astride Kaze in his father’s full armor. Kaze had on the matching gear, making him look larger that life. They decided to approach from the remains of the village. Tenzo had some smoking grasses to make mist, he’d run behind Jin and duck out of sight into the village. If—and only if—Jin’s plan worked, no one would follow Shimura out and Tenzo could escape undetected and unmolested.

Jin was counting on this plan working: on the superstitions of the samurai or the cleverness of his uncle. Either way Shimura would have to face him.

Jin sat, a ghost, just far enough away no one could make out his features, and close enough everyone knew whose armor he wore. He cleared his throat, and tried to speak from deep in his chest. Even as an adult he felt like a child trying to imitate his father.

“Samurai of Tsushima!” Jin shouted loud enough to be heard even in his uncle’s tent, “I am Kazumasa Sakai.”

Jin carefully signaled and Kaze reared, then kicked with his front hooves and hopped forward before crashing to the ground in time with Tenzo setting off a small explosion.

“Shimura!” He deliberately left off any and all honorifics, “You disown my son. You defile the land of my death. Come and face me! Come face Kazumasa Sakai! If not for your ambition, I would yet live!”

Jin waited, silently. Kaze was still as a rock, eerily so, his ears didn’t even twitch which just sold the ghostly illusion further. He had to be patient now, and hope the Oga samurai didn’t think to fill him with arrows. The Shimura retainers wouldn’t dare even if they saw through the illusion … he hoped.

The gates of the hastily erected fort opened. Jin resisted the urge to sit higher in the saddle. Shimura! His uncle was there. Jin’s heart was in his throat. Shimura wasn’t wearing armor, just his robes and coat over his yukata. He was vulnerable.

His uncle was making an effort at peace. Or he was laying a trap. But traps were dishonorable.

Jin swallowed heavily. He had to think positively about this. He had to tell his uncle what he’d decided. But was it the right decision?

[themadauthorshatter]

Ball's rolling. There's nothing really stopping me!

SAVING THE FRIEND!

Part 2!

I know this would technically be part 1 because the first post was a background/establishing post, but I have my system, don't question it

To recap, we established in the first part that Henry has gotten evidence of the Toppat Clan's criminal activity, gotten the leader Reginald arrested, and was pardoned for his own crimes. HOWEVER, Henry still got thrown into The Wall, where he met Ellie, and the two escaped with Charles's help, the two being brought in to help stopping the orbital station from going to space.

That said, we're moving forward!

Heads-up for kidnapping, whump, and torture going forward in this. Things will get violent and unpleasant for Henry, and there will be a warning like this in parts that it happens.

We start off at a hotel that the trio is staying at for the night. While Charles has parked the helicopter somewhere near the military base, he isn't exactly going to sleep in the barracks with two criminals.

Where they sleep, Charles and Henry share a bed while Ellie sleeps alone, Charles admitting he's glad Henry got out fine because The Wall is an intense place and they don't treat their prisoners well. Henry states that no prison treats theirs prisoners well, but Charles says The Wall makes the prison Henry was in look like the hotel they are staying at.

Henry yields, saying he was planning to escape anyway and more or less wanted to get Ellie out because he felt bad, and because she's metal.

Charles asks if they can trust her and Henry is mostly sure, because he's in too deep now to question it.

Ellie abruptly tells them to shut up and let her sleep before she takes the room key and bolts. Charles apologizes, but Ellie doesn't blame him, saying she thought about whether or not she could trust them too.

The team goes to bed for realsies and Henry more or less lies awake, even though he's lying comfortably. He's got a bad feeling that's scratching at him, but it's one he's had before, so he's trying to ignore it.

It's still there in the morning when he, Charles, and Ellie go to the military base and meet with Galeforce, who's happy to see Charles is okay and happy to see Henry is here to help.

He does a little iffy seeing Ellie, who simply waves, and the two only say they ran into each other in the past due to an incident regarding a motorcycle gang.

He disregards it and gets to the meat of it:

The Toppats are preparing to get their rocket into orbit and they don't have long to prevent the launch, so they need to get their rears in gear.

The trio set out after a, "good luck," from Galeforce, and Ellie and Henry get earpieces so Charles can talk to them.

After this point, what happens is a lot like the Brovert Ops ending, only it's with Ellie and the closer they get to the pilot area in the rocket, the less problems they run into. That bad feeling Henry gets returns, and for good reason because he and Ellie are met with Right Hand Man as he stands beside Sven Svennson, revealing that he has cybernetic augmentaions and he is not playing around, not like last time.

He attacks Henry and the two more or less crash land outside, RHM more reveling in the fact that Henry just fell into his lap. Since Henry made it easy, RHM offers him one shot, and Henry immediately pulls a gun.

Too bad, because RHM knocks it out of his hand and knees Henry in the stomach, and it hurts a little more than usual because of the cybernetics.

It makes Henry drop to his knees, grasping his stomach and barely able to stand. That's fine because RHM kicks him while he's down, admitting that Henry isn't exactly much of a threat like everyone thought.

Henry, sore and trying to stay focused, struggles back to his feet, swinging and landing a good punch on RHM. It costs him because RHM hits back, splitting his lip and almost instantly knocking Henry out. He kicks Henry again for good measure.

We hear Burt Curtis via earpiece ask RHM if he's coming back, as they're fighting off some opposition, and RHM tells him he's boarding soon, and to get a cell ready for their new guest.

Outside, Ellie is forced to flee and make a daring jump out of the rocket and onto the helicopter, where a battered and kind of bruised Charles is waiting. Charles asks her if she's okay and asks her where Henry is.

They get their answer when RHM flies by, holding Henry over his shoulder and saying he'll see them later, though he does shoot at them as a warning to keep their distance before he loads onto the rocket.

Henry is barely conscious enough to see them before he's dragged away, RHM telling the toppats to make sure Henry is "comfortable" in his cell.

Charles and Ellie are speechless as they watch, Charles being ordered to fall back, Charles revealing that the Toppats got away and have Henry.