#blackwells island

[lovesicksummer]

"What a mysterious thing madness is. I have watched patients whose lips are forever sealed in a perpetual silence. They live, breathe, eat; the human form is there, but that something, which the body can live without, but which cannot exist without the body, was missing. I have wondered if behind those sealed lips there were dreams we ken not of, or if it was all blank?"

Ten Days in a Mad-House, Nellie Bly

[talesoftheesun]

I refuse to acknowledge anything that happened in this volume. none of this happened. must've just been a heat induced fever dream. nope. no way.

[book--brackets]

[midnightcowboy1969]

just guys being dudes

[newyorkthegoldenage]

A night view from the Queens side of the Queensborough Bridge, January 12, 1951. It shows the new United Nations Building (rectangular structure, left). The tall buildings from the center of picture to the right are the Daily News building with its television tower, the Empire State Building, and the Chrysler Building (with the needle-sharp spire).

In the foreground is what was then called Welfare (now Roosevelt) Island. In the early 20th century, when it was called Blackwell's Island, it housed prisons, almshouses, and a lunatic asylum. In 1921 it was renamed Welfare Island and in 1934 the old institutions were replaced by city hospitals. Today, as Roosevelt Island, it contains moderate-income housing and shopping complexes.

The angle of vision leads to some confusion. The Empire State Building is actually not between the Daily News and Chrysler Building. It is at 34th Street. The U.N., Daily News, and Chrysler Buildings are all along 42nd Street. The view is along a diagonal line which accounts for the distortion.

Photo: Ed Ford for the AP via WHNT

[whatisamettafor]

this took so long.

I am so tired.

[jeremiekroubodagnini]

A WEEK IN NEW YORK WITH BRUCE AND BOB IN JULY 1973

Lee Jaffe is an artist, photographer, filmmaker, musician and producer who, in July 1973, booked an unknown act from Jamaica to support an exciting new talent from New Jersey for a week long residency at New York's legendary Max's Kansas City. It kick started both performers on their paths to become cultural titans.

Lee recalls the week 50 years ago when each act alternated opening and closing slots for the 40 people who showed up each night, the two legends playing 14 gigs each across the week. Marley was making his first visit to America in support of the Catch a Fire album, while Bruce was promoting his first album. The two bands hung out - while also going to see The New York Dolls at Kenny's Castaways nightclub around the corner and Led Zeppelin at Madison Square Garden.

Lee tells the behind the scenes tales of this slice of rock history, joined by several contributors who were there - including Bruce Springsteen, Island Records founder Chris Blackwell, E Street band pianist David Sancious, photographer Bob Gruen, publicist Cherry Vanilla, manager Toby Mamis, Geoff MacCormack who went with David Bowie to see Bruce Springsteen, and Warhol acolyte Tony Zanetta who was a regular in the legendary back room at Max's.

This snapshot of a week in the life of one of New York's most acclaimed nightclubs of the 70s, where Andy Warhol held court every night with a stunning array of the art world's alternative elite, recalls the years when decadence was de rigueur among the hedonists who lived and breathed sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll.

The club's owner, Mickey Ruskin, prided himself on booking new bands who he believed had something different to offer - which is why Bob Marley and Bruce Springsteen were on the same bill that week in the summer of '73.

A Zinc Media production for BBC Radio 4.

This programme is available here (28 minutes).

Copyright BBC Radio 4.

Photos courtesy of Lee Jaffe.

[elceeu2morrow]

😂 [11.11.23]

[videostak]

greaaatt song :-)

[curryvillain]

.@TootsMaytals' "Country Roads" Cover Featured In "Glass Onion: A @KnivesOut Mystery"!

.@TootsMaytals’ “Country Roads” Cover Featured In “Glass Onion: A @KnivesOut Mystery”!

Over the Holiday weekend, the sequel to the popular “Knives Out” Film series was released on Netflix. Titled “Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery“, the Film follows master Detective Benoit Blanc (Played by Daniel Craig) as he takes on a new case revolving around a Tech Billionaire, and his old friends. Fans of the previous “Knives Out” gave positive feedback for the new release, and with a heavy…

[midnightcowboy1969]

[swordsandholly]

Treat Me Gently (Because No One Else Will)

Ch 1: The Arrangement | next | masterlist | Ao3

Ghoap x reader | MDNI 18+ | cw: PiV sex, fingering

You yawn and stretch, back popping all the way up as you finally give it some reprieve from your hours of sitting at your low coffee table that doubles as your work station. As much as you try to stop hunching like a goblin, you always slip back into it. It’s hard when your mind gets lost in the words and the pages flying by. Good posture seems to equal bad writing, unfortunately.

Your knees pop slightly as you stand up from your cushion that doubles as a ‘chair’, decidedly clocking out for the evening. Really, you should have stopped two hours ago, but you just can’t get this one damn scene right. You sigh, heading to your dresser to change out of your “work” clothes and into a ratty, oversized shirt and pajama shorts. Your phone dings just as you go to stand in front of the fridge that you already know is practically empty.

S >> Come over?

S >> I got takeout.

You snicker. Perfunctory and presumptuous, as usual. He timed it out for when he knew you’d be done with work - even taking in your propensity to go well passed your designated office hours. He probably knew you were out of food, too. Not that you’d ever expect less from Simon Riley.

>> Give me 5

You pad across the the hallway between your flats, the dangling of your keys echoing off the old walls. The floorboards always creak, announcing your presence before you could even knock on the door. Simon’s place is bigger than yours - a one bedroom as opposed to your studio. Both have small balconies, his furnished with only two fold-out chairs. You’ve tried to convince him to get a plant or something, but he just insists it will die in a day despite that being literally impossible. The whole of the apartment is sparsely decorated - the main features being that of his well worn L-shaped couch and the fancy surround sound system Simon installed. The rest of it made up of shelves lined with physical media and books.

“Evenin’.” Simon says from his kitchen as you let yourself in. He stands at the island, broad shoulders hunched as he fiddles with something.

The lock clicks behind you when you shut the door. Some soft classical music drifts from the speakers. You don’t recognize it, but you also know that asking will result in a lecture that will undoubtedly become a pop quiz at a later date. You don’t need another Tchaikovsky incident on your hands.

“Sushi?” Your brows raise as you eye the rolls and sashimi. He really went all out. “What’s the occasion?”

Simon shrugs, plating the food up on his uniform black, square plates. Yours sits neatly on a plate of it’s own, soy sauce and all. Sometimes you wonder if he keeps an index of your take out orders or if his memory is just that good. “Shipping out soon. Figured I’d get it while I could.”

You grin and move behind him. He shivers slightly as you push your cool hands up under his shirt to run along his strong core. “Doesn’t have anything to do with the whole aphrodisiac thing?”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, bird.” Simon feigns ignorance. The corner of his mouth briefly quirks up before he forces it back down.

“Sure, sure.” You retract your hands, wandering over to pick up the TV remote off the well worn coffee table. “Which movie are we on?”

“Blackwell Ghost 5.”

You settle in your usual spot on the couch, leaning on the right armrest. Simon has always liked the middle - he says it’s the best for his back. You know it’s just because he likes to manspread five miles wide. It doesn’t bother you, as you generally prefer to curl up in the corner with your feet tucked. The movie rolls and you eat in comfortable silence, humming around the fresh food. He really does spoil you, sometimes.

You eye Simon while you eat. With anybody else this would all be pretense - an unnecessary preamble to imply, somehow, that this is more than a booty call. Not with Simon. Never with Simon. This is just as important as the rest of it. You watch the way his hands practically dwarf the single-use chopsticks, the way his body melts into the cushions. Your eyes rake over the strong planes of his face littered with various scars; his nose broken one too many times, the ear that’s been slightly clipped by a bullet. His hair has grown out and more stubble sprinkles across his jaw than he usually allows.

“Wotcha lookin’ at?” Simon mumbles around some tuna.

You tilt your head, smiling. “You’re fun to watch.”

“Creep.” He nudges your foot with his knee.

“Freak.” You push back.

“’ow’s the book goin’?” Simon asks.

You groan, shoving your last piece of sushi in your mouth while you debate your answer. “S’fine. Slow. My agent is being a real pain in my ass.”

He hums, that slight smirk gracing his lips. If you knew him any less you might have missed it entirely. “Need some inspiration?”

You sputter out a laugh, placing your plate on the coffee table. “Very smooth, Riley.”

“C’mere.” Simon rumbles, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you over his lap. It’s almost uncomfortable how far you have to stretch to accommodate his hips, but its so worth it as his hands rest on your waist, grinding you down against him. You gasp, giving him entrance to press his lips to yours - tongue flicking over your lower lip.

One hand tangles in his hair, the other caressed downward, shoving his shirt up and tracing the lines of muscle across his torso. You’ve always loved bodies - loved taking in their shapes and texture, their variety - and Simon’s has so much to take in. Ridges of muscle and scars, plus that little plush layer over his middle he gets while home from deployment. You tug on his shirt, only breaking the kiss long enough to yank it off and toss it somewhere on the floor.

“Y’so fuckin’ pretty…” Simon mumbles, hands wandering from your waist, to your hips, to knead at your thighs and the curve of your ass.

You squeak as Simon lifts you, locking your legs around his waist. No matter how many times he does it, his strength still catches you off guard. He doesn’t unlock from your lips, moving back to his room purely based on muscle memory. You have to resist the urge to tease him about the time he knocked your head against the doorframe in this exact position.

Your hands drift over the curvature of his broad shoulders as he lays you back on his bed. You can’t help but be fascinated by him - all hard muscle and sinew. So different from your own soft figure. Even the pads of his fingers are rough as they push under your oversized t-shirt, kneading at the soft layer over your middle.

“This okay?” Simon mumbles in your ear. You nod vigorously as his hands move up, up, up until he’s pulling your shirt and bralette off in one swift motion.

Simon buries his face in your chest, nipping at the sensitive skin before taking a nipple in his mouth. You arch into the touch, unsure of where to put your hands and opting to let them wander.

“May I?” He murmurs, fingers catching in the hems of your underwear and sleep shorts. Again, you nod, forgetting that isn’t enough for him at this stage. “Use your words.”

“Yes! Please, Si.” You whine, rolling your hips against the too-light touch.

Simon chuckles at you, pulling your bottoms off and dropping them onto the floor somewhere. He runs his fingers between your folds, obviously reveling in the way your breath catches and your chest heaves when he finally circles your clit. His lips connect with yours, swallowing every gasp and moan as he presses a finger inside.

“Fuckin’ tight t’night, bird.” He grumbles into your mouth. “‘ave I been neglecting you?”

Quite the opposite. If anything, he’s fucked you silly this past week, but you can’t exactly argue that when he presses against your g-spot and retakes your nipple between his teeth.

“Oh, fuck!” You moan as a second finger joins the first. Your nails dig lightly into his shoulders when he pressed his thumb against your clit, moving in short circles to the rhythm of the fingers inside you. You swear he’s too dexterous to be human sometimes.

You keen, body tensing as stars dance behind your eyes. You can feel the slickness of your cunt on your thighs, the squelch of Simon’s slowed movements almost too lewd.

He only disappears long enough to shuck off his pants before he’s hovering back over you, tucked into the crook of your neck. Simon gives you a moment to come down, cooing praises in your ear. “Doin’ so good f’me. Always so good f’me.”

He sits back to lightly tap his cock against your pussy, sending jolts up your spine, obviously enjoying your reaction. He grinds his cock against you, sliding easily between your soaked folds. “Christ.”

Simon reaches into the nightstand, plucking a condom out from their designated spot. He hands it to you for inspection, as always. You don’t really understand why he still does it after the two of you have had this standing agreement for so long, but it’s not a gesture you’re going to call into question. Some of Simon’s sexual habits are simply best left as they are - they’re always for your mutual benefit, anyway. You flip it over in your fingers briefly before passing it back.

No matter how many times you take him, it’s always a stretch. He’s not the biggest you’ve had, but thick enough the sensation would teeter into pain without any preparation. That’s another thing he insists on: pain has no place in intimacy.

Your lips fall open in a pitchy moan - hands fisting the sheets on either side of you. Simon falls onto his forearms resting on either side of your head. You revel in the way he cages you in, the way his tongue laps at the sweat-slicked skin of your collar bone. You both sigh in sync as his hips finally settle against yours.

You wrap your legs tightly around his back as he begins to move. A solid rhythm slowly turning into something more desperate. Simon sits up, his weight suddenly off you. Just as you crack your eyes open his hands grab tightly onto your hips, lifting them just off the bed. The new angle ruts him against that spot inside you, pushing you over the edge into another orgasm faster than you can process it.

He eventually lets go of your hips, one hand braces by your head, the other tracing your body. Plucking at your nipples, kneading at the flesh of your thighs, pressing onto your soft stomach to emphasize the fullness with him inside you.

“Give me another.” Simon demands, thumb pressing to your clit. His eyes bore through you, watching your every minute expression. “C’mon, one more, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. A rarer pet name - one you’d probably be pissed about coming from anyone else. With Simon it melts into your bones, pooling at the base of your spine. Your eyes roll back, pathetic sounds and babbling falling from your lips as you cum again in such a short span.

“Fuck.” He grunts, voice low and breathless in your ear. “Cunt feels so fucking good when you cum f’me.”

You whine, useless under him. Your limbs are utter jelly. Even as you try to roll your hips with his, your movement is stuttered. Uncontrolled. You know he enjoys how sensitive you are, how pliant you become. It feeds his ego - the part of him that needs to do things right. Your body shudders under Simon’s as he groans, all depth and gravel, his hips stuttering and slowing as he cums.

You both stop, for a moment, foreheads pressed together as you catch your breath enough for Simon to push himself up, tying off the condom and tossing it before falling into his back beside you.

A silence lapses over you - the only sound in the room is that of your breathing with a slight pitch difference between your breaths. You’ve always loved this part. The quiet afterglow. The gentle way Simon will reach over to soothe down your hair while you lazily meet his eye. No words, no expectations. Just existing with someone in your vulnerability. With someone you know is safe.

“Go piss.” Simon points to the bathroom as soon as his breath is even.

You snort, pushing yourself up on slightly shaky arms. “So demanding.”

“So considerate.” He quips back. “It’s important.”

“Fine, fine.” You throw your hands up and pad off to the bathroom. You pause, looking at yourself in the mirror. What is it about Simon’s bathroom that makes you so much more beautiful than your own? Your skin glows nicely, your hair shines even as it’s mussed up from getting fucked six ways to Sunday.

When you come back Simon’s sitting up against the headboard, scrolling through something on his phone. You crawl back into bed beside him, flopping on your back and staring at the ceiling fan as it circles, circles, circles.

“When do you have to leave?”

He sighs, dropping his phone back onto the nightstand. “End of the week.”

You nod, accepting the oncoming semi-dry spell as usual. You’ve always wondered what he does when he’s gone - if he has another you out there. Another arrangement. You can’t imagine Simon going more than a couple days without someone. That’s what brought you into this in the first place - a mutual benefit. You don’t truly feel the need to ask; it’s more curiosity than anything and you don’t want the question to go misinterpreted. Not that Simon would, necessarily, he’s always been good about taking your words at face value.

With a sigh, you roll onto your side to face him, head propped on your hand. “Know where you’re heading?”

“Mexico.” Simon grunts in that tone that signals you to stop asking questions.

You trail your fingers over his chest, through the dusting of blonde hair. “Wanna go again?”

“Fuck yes.” He rolls over. You can’t help but giggle as he knocks your knees apart and eagerly plants himself between your thighs.

banner by @the-aesthetics-shop

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: i know the game and fight were like two weeks ago but i couldn’t stop thinking about it lol. just a fun little thing - enjoy! (and literally as i go to post this, bb gets added back to the skills comp as he should’ve been in the first place so go defend your fastest skater title, mat😘)

word count: 4.5k

tw: oral (m recieving), cursing, chicago blackhawks slander, dirty talk

summary: after mat’s fight during the blackhawks game, you’re both worked up with extra energy to get out of your systems

“Fuck you!” You jump to your feet, screaming, adrenaline rushing through your veins. “Go fuck yourself!” Your stomach turns watching Mat fight, but you also can’t ignore the throb between your legs.

Unconcerned with the fact that you’re solidly in enemy territory, your shouting gets louder and louder. Your heart pounds in your chest as you watch Mat scrap with Chicago’s number 43. Mat shifts and drops Blackwell to the ice, the refs and the other players skating over quickly.

“That’s right,” you crow, the people around you starting to boo. “Get fucking wrecked!”

Mat skates off, helmet gone, hair flattened to his head and jersey half off. He scowls and tugs the jersey back over his head and you pump your fists in the air. “That’s my man!” You jump up and down, flipping off a few Chicago fans that are shouting at you.

“Girl,” Alexa, Noah’s girlfriend, tugs at the hem of your vintage Islanders sweatshirt, laughing, “you’re going to get us killed. Sit down!”

You drop back down into your seat and shoot her a grin, “what a way to go out though!” You laugh and take a sip of your beer, turning in your seat when a Chicago fan a few seats down leans over to shout at you.

“Real classy behavior, lady,” he sneers and you flip him off with a bright smile.

“God, where to even start with the classy as hell Chicago Blackhawks organization?” You tap at your lower lip thoughtfully. “Patrick Kane? Jonathan Towes? Corey Perry? So many options to choose from.”

“Gonna bring up shit that doesn’t mean anything?” The man snaps.

You lean halfway out of your seat, getting a little louder, “your team sucks ass from top to bottom.”

“Suck my dick, bitch.”

Alexa coughs into her drink and you shrug at the man, shouting, “at least I’m supporting a team that hasn’t been sued twice for covering up sexual assault.”

“Oh my god,” Alexa mutters, covering her face.

“Fuck off, bitch,” a second man, sitting next to the first, shouts at you.

With a little three fingered wave at the men, you turn back to the ice, settling into your seat. “Oh, I love when men can only think to call me a bitch in the face of actual facts,” you sigh, heartbeat still pounding from Mat’s fight and the confrontation.

A few Chicago fans in the general vicinity are looking at you, booing and flipping you off. You return the gestures happily, with a sarcastic smile on your face.

“You’re batshit insane,” Alexa says, looking impressed and a little awed. “I’m terrified of you.”

You knock her shoulder with yours and tease, “as long as you love me more than you’re terrified of me.”

“Jury’s still out,” she snorts.

The game ends in tragic fashion during overtime, but you’re still so proud of Mat, buzzing with energy to see him when he gets back to the hotel. You and Alexa had booked a room in the same hotel the boys were staying at, spontaneously deciding to take the trip to see the boys play since neither of you had been to Chicago. The team flies back to Long Island tomorrow afternoon and your flight leaves just a few hours later, so you’ve got a few hours with Mat tonight before you have to go back to your own rooms, knowing he’ll have left packing to the last possible second.

Alexa’s lounging on her bed, scrolling through her phone, when there’s a knock on the door. You jump up from your spot on your bed and rush to the door, yanking it open and nearly knocking Noah out of the way in your hurry to jump into Mat’s arms. He laughs and catches you easily, wrapping his arms around your lower back as your legs hook around his waist.

“First career fight?” You grin at him, peppering his face with kisses. “So fucking hot, baby.”

“Y’know,” Noah comments dryly from behind you, “I had assists on two of our goals.”

You turn your head and grin at him, “you want a kiss too?” Mat’s hands grope at your ass, pulling you tighter over the growing bulge in his jeans. You wriggle happily over him, enjoying the low groan that vibrates against your shoulder.

“Not from you,” Noah laughs, dropping a kiss to the top of Alexa’s head. She snuggles up against his side and laughs a little.

“Let’s get out of here,” she says, “before these two forget they’re not alone.” Shooting you a wink, she grabs Noah’s hand and drags him out of the room, the door falling shut behind them.

“Thank god,” Mat huffs, leaning his forehead against your collarbone. You kiss the top of his head, rubbing your fingertips into his scalp. “I’ve been waiting to see you all night.”

“Well you’ve got me for the next few hours, completely uninterrupted,” you reply, holding onto him like a koala. “Let me see your face, I need to make sure no damage was done.”

Mat pulls away from you, grinning that crooked grin you love so much. He looks a little tired, but the only damage from the fight is a cut on the bridge of his nose and a little cut on his forehead. Not nearly as bad as you were thinking. “Do I pass inspection?” He teases, bouncing you a little in his arms.

You hum, “you’ll do,” before kissing the tip of his nose and then slanting your lips over his. Mat deepens the kiss, licking over your lower lip so your mouth will fall open. You groan into his mouth, grinding your hips down over his erection. The kiss is a little frantic, all teeth and tongue, and you’re out of breath when you break apart. “Put me down, I wanna reward you,” you pant, unhooking your legs from around his waist and letting them fall to the floor.

“What?” Mat’s mouth is back on yours, arms still wrapped tightly around your back, your chest pressed to his. You wiggle against him, grinding your hips over his, more than happy to feel him harden under you.

“Wanna - mmmph-“ your words are muffled by Mat’s mouth, captured by his lips and tongue. You pull back with a huge effort, palms flat on his shoulders for leverage. “Wanna suck you off,” you murmur, Mat’s hands trailing up the back of your shirt, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip and tugging at it.

“Yeah?” Mat asks, eyelids heavy over his eyes. He shifts and wedges his leg in between yours, pressing his muscled thigh right up against your throbbing cunt. You whine and your hips move over his leg, the seam of your jeans pressed exactly where you need it. “Wanna suck my dick, baby? What if I wanna watch you get off on my thigh?”

“C’mon, Mat,” your voice comes out breathy, “been wanting to suck you off since you fought. I’ve been soaked thinking about it.” You grind over his thigh as you plead, knowing you’ve won the upper hand when Mat’s fingers dip below the waistband of your jeans to squeeze your ass.

He sucks a mark into the skin behind your ear and you sigh. “Me fighting got you all hot and bothered?” He asks the question against your skin, brushing his nose against your earlobe and you nod.

“Beyond fucking hot, Mat,” you scratch your nails against the nape of his neck. “Glad I got to see it.”

You wiggle again and a little whine forms in the back of your throat. Mat’s mouth curls into a smile against your neck. “Love it when you beg,” he says, a little hoarse. “My girl is begging to suck my cock, what’s fucking better than that?”

“Actually letting me suck your cock,” you gasp, Mat’s fingers digging harder into the flesh of your ass. “Let me, Mat, c’mon.”

He finally shifts his leg, planting his feet solidly, and you grin, breaking from his grip and falling to your knees in front of him. You’re eye level with the bulge behind the fly of his jeans and you grin up at him wickedly. You run your fingertips lightly over his zipper and feel his cock throbbing through the denim. “Can’t wait to get my mouth on you,” you smirk, fingers working at the button and zipper, pushing at the denim until you can trace your index finger over the imprint of his dick through the fabric of his briefs.

“Fuck!” Mat’s hips buck forward and he grabs at your hair with one hand, tangling his fingers in the strands. His cock twitches behind the fabric and you push his jeans and briefs halfway down his thighs, freeing his cock so it bobs up towards his stomach. You lean up on your knees to press a kiss to the head of his cock and Mat groans, grip on your hair tightening. “Baby, babe, please, don’t tease me,” he babbles, hips thrusting minutely.

“It’s a reward,” you grin up at him, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock and squeezing slightly, “for fighting. Going to take my time with you.”

Your hand strokes him slowly, palm rubbing against his tip, gathering pre-cum and smearing it down his shaft. His cock throbs in your hand, in time with the way your clit throbs as you touch him. You shift on your knees, pressing the heel of your foot in between your legs and Mat doesn’t miss the movement.

“Going to get off just by touching my dick?” He teases, widening his stance and leaning his upper back against the wall. You hum, focused on getting him fully hard. It doesn’t take much work and within seconds, he’s like hot steel in your hand.

“We’ll just have to see,” you murmur, leaning in and taking the head of his cock into your mouth. A strangled moan leaves Mat’s lips and his hips start to thrust, forcing you to press both of your hands against his hips to keep him in place. You hum around him and swirl your tongue over his slit, enjoying the way he’s babbling your name over your head. He groans, the noise choking off as you take him deeper into your mouth, keeping your lips wrapped tightly around him.

Your nails rake over his skin, fingers sliding over the ridge of bone and then the smooth skin of his lower stomach, until you’re able to rub your fingertips through the light trail of hair under his belly button. You wrap one hand around the base of his cock and take him deeper, swallowing and enjoying the way Mat’s cock bobs in your mouth.

“Baby, come on,” Mat mumbles, “gotta go deeper. Let me fuck your throat. Wanna feel you swallow me.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, tears hovering at your waterline from the stretch of your jaw, and blink innocently at him. Your throat relaxes and he grins, looking a little dazed, when he realizes you’re giving him permission. His other hand comes up to cradle your face, releasing your hair with the other hand so he can hold your face in place while he thrusts his hips forward, sliding his cock deeper down your throat with each movement. The head of his cock bumps against the roof of your mouth, the back of your throat, slides against your tongue with his erratic thrusts.

Saliva drips down your chin, tears rolling down your cheeks. Mascara streaks down your face, stinging your eyes a little.

Mat’s head is dropped back as he rolls his hips, his mouth running constantly. You’re not even sure what he’s saying at this point, too focused on keeping your throat relaxed and not gagging around his thick length. Your hands grip at his ass, nails digging into his skin and he hisses, practically whining when you swallow and your throat tightens around his cock.

“Fuck, fuck. Jesus Christ, fuck me,” he groans. “Love how you look with my dick in your mouth, look so pretty.”

You moan around him, lifting up a little on your knees and leaning in, deep throating him until your nose is pressed against his skin, your chin tucked up against his balls. His scent - a little bit soapy, a little bit sweaty - invades your senses and you feel your panties dampen further. You shake your head a little, brushing the tip of your nose against his skin and Mat’s fingers tighten on your face, thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones.

“Gonna come, baby, gotta -“ he mutters, choking off. He leans his hips back a little, trying to pull out of your mouth, but you hold onto his ass, pulling him closer to your face. Mat grunts, his balls tightening under your chin before he comes down your throat, hot and thick.

You swallow for what feels like forever, Mat’s cock still thick and hard in your mouth. He finally pulls back and you drop down to sit on your heels, wiping at your mouth. Saliva and cum make your chin and hands sticky, but you grin cheekily up at your boyfriend. He looks wrecked, jaw slack and eyes nearly closed.

“Didn’t manage to come just from sucking you off,” you rasp, throat sore and voice hoarse. You reach up to gently stroke over his cock and he leans his hips forward, pushing into your grip.

“Bet that sweet pussy of yours is soaked for me, huh?” Mat says, reaching out to wrap his hands around your biceps and haul you to your feel, your hand falling away from his cock. With his grip on your arms, Mat crushes you to his chest, kissing you sloppily. His cock presses against your stomach, half-hard, and you press against it, making Mat groan into your mouth before he sucks on your tongue.

You hum against his mouth, melting against Mat’s chest. Your clit throbs and you clench around nothing, desperate for a little friction. “Mat,” you gasp his name a little and he knows exactly what you want. His hands slide up your arms and wrap gently around your neck and the back of your head, keeping your face close to his so he can kiss you while walking you backwards to the bed.

“Gonna fuck you so good, baby,” he murmurs into your mouth. You can feel his body vibrating with adrenaline and once the backs of your knees hit the mattress, Mat pulls back to quickly get rid of his clothes, kicking the fabric in all different directions with a a hungry look in his eyes that makes you giggle. Mat grins down at you and leans over your body, pressing his bare chest against your clothed one. “Regular post-game energy has nothing on post-fight energy,” he promises, nipping at your pulse point.

You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist and roll your hips, pressing your cunt against his cock. “I can’t wait to find out,” you murmur, arching your back when his hands slide up your shirt to grope at your tits.

Just about an hour later, you roll off of Mat’s chest, sweating and panting like you’ve just run a marathon. “Fuck,” you breathe, thighs sticky and trembling.

Mat turns his head and gives you a lazy smirk, “told you.”

You kick a little at his ankle, shifting and shaking your head at the way your core is clenching around nothing, the feeling of Mat’s cock stuffed inside of you still present. “You need to get into fights more often,” you mumble, watching him wince as he pulls the used condom off of his dick. He twists a knot into the latex and rolls off the other side of the bed to pad into the bathroom. You blatantly stare at his ass, wolf-whistling when he bends slightly to toss the condom.

“I’m feeling very objectified,” Mat teases you, standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips. He tries to keep a straight face, but can’t help his lips from turning up at the corners. You drag your gaze over his body, from the top of his head, over his bare chest complete with chain resting against his collarbone, down to his dick hanging between his legs, and back up.

“Mmm,” you hum, still flat on your back, still shaking slightly. “It’s not my fault you’re so objectifiable. Maybe if you were uglier…”

You trail off into a shriek, body jostling when Mat pounces on the bed, covering your body with his and planting sloppy, wet kisses on every inch of your skin he can reach. “Nooo, stop! Oh my god, you know I’m ticklish,” you shriek-giggle, pushing at Mat’s shoulders, trying to wiggle out from under him. He keeps you caged in with his arms and legs, laughing.

“Gonna keep objectifying me, Squeaks?” He asks, marking you up with hickies across your neck and chest.

“Yessss,” you laugh, pressing your chest into his face. “It’s my favorite hobby.” You hook your leg around his hip and dig your heel into the muscle of his ass, getting him to thrust his pelvis forward, bumping against your clit. A spark of pleasure lights up your nerves.

“Cool,” he laughs, flicking his tongue over your nipple. “You can keep doing it after we get some food, I’m starving.” He bites at the underside of your breast and rolls off of you again, leaving you cold in the middle of the bed.

“What?” You sit up, watching him reach for his pants and dig his phone out of the pocket.

“We had like one slice of shitty Chicago pizza after the game,” Mat explains. “And then we rolled around in bed for an hour. I’m starving, babe.”

You’re about to complain, but as soon as you open your mouth, your stomach growls and Mat smirks at you. You huff, “okay, yeah. Let’s order some dinner.”

He turns back to his phone, tapping away at UberEats, and you flop back against the pillows, grabbing for your own phone where it rests on the bedside table. Once you’re settled, you rest your feet in Mat’s lap, his left hand landing on your ankle and thumb tracing an arc over your instep. You wiggle your toes and he pinches lightly at your skin. “What do you want?”

“Mozzarella sticks,” you say absently, gaze flickering onto your lock screen. It’s covered in notifications - the girls’ group chat, Twitter, Instagram, TikTok. What the hell is going on?

Another message comes in from Sydney, making your phone vibrate in your hand. Since you don’t have a password on your phone, you can see her message on the screen: she’s going to be banned from the arena 😂

Who’s going to be banned from the arena?

You tap open the group chat and scroll back to the top where the messages started half an hour ago. Holly sent a Twitter link followed by: our girl! 😂

A sinking feeling forms in your stomach, but you tap on the link, unsurprised when it opens up to a video. A video of you, just a few hours earlier, yelling at the game.

“Oh man,” you groan, watching yourself - filmed from an unflattering angle, of course - jumping and cheering for Mat, before turning and snapping at the Blackhawks fan.

“No mozzarella sticks?” Mat asks, mistaking what you had said as directed at him. He’s still scrolling through UberEats.

“No, um, yes,” you shake your head, looking up. “I do still want mozzarella sticks, but…”

You tap on the hashtag and start scrolling through Tweets, even as texts from the girls continue to roll in. The video is everywhere - Spittin’ Chiclets, B/R Open Ice, Barstool Sports. Fuck, even Frankie’s retweeted it, adding his typical all-caps word vomit captions: GOTTA GO THROUGH THE ISLAND OUR FANS ARE GREATER THAN ANYONE ELSE ANS READY TO GIVE YOU A VERBAL BITCH SLAP LOVE YOU LADY B

You roll your eyes at his caption, pulling the notification screen down and checking to see if he texted you too. He did - a string of cry-laughing emojis and clapping emojis.

“But what?” Mat finally drops his phone to the mattress and leans back on an elbow to look at you. “What are you looking at?”

You squint at him. “Have you not gotten any texts or notifications?” You ask, surprised that the guys’ group chat isn’t blowing up.

“Probably,” Mat shrugs, “my phone’s been on do not disturb since before my nap this afternoon. I wasn’t really thinking about looking. Why?”

You flip your phone around, showing him the screen. Mat squints at it, watching the video play for a few seconds before he lets out a chuckle of disbelief. “Is that you, Squeaks?”

“Yep,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I, um, got a little heated when you fought. Is Lou going to kill me?”

Mat’s got your phone in his hand now, scrolling through the Tweets and laughing. “No way, you don’t work for him. I don’t think he knows what Twitter is anyway.” He keeps scrolling. “Oh shit!”

“What?” You lunge forward and snatch at your phone. Mat pulls it back and clicks his tongue at you.

“Jeez, you gonna yell at me now too?” He jokes before reading the caption of a Tweet. “Listen to this ‘trashy Long Island fan berates Blackhawks fan.’ Babe, you freaked on the wrong fanbase.”

“I’m trashy?” You yelp indignantly. “Me? They’re the fans that are supporting an organization FULL of sexual abusers! Give me my phone, I want to defend myself.”

“No way!” Mat holds your phone in the air away from you. “Why expose yourself to more shit?”

“Because I’m not the one in the wrong here,” you grumble. “What are the guys saying? Does anyone know who I am? I mean, I wasn’t quiet about cheering for you.”

With your phone still in his hand, Mat picks up his own and taps over to the messages. “Oh, damn. Almost fifty texts from the guys.” He chuckles as he scrolls through them, reading you off the best ones. “Bo says to suit up for next game, we could use your passion. Dobber says two minutes in the box for unsportsmanlike conduct. Ah, nice, Frankie says pizzas are on him next time we’re at Borrelli’s.”

“Pizzas are always on Frankie,” you grumble, draping yourself over Mat’s back to read his phone screen over his shoulder. The guys are mostly sending more videos from different angles and chirping you. While Mat’s distracted by the group chat, you snatch your phone back, returning to Twitter where the fans have figured out your connection to Mat - it’s not like your relationship is a secret, your Twitter is public and your Instagram switches back and forth between public and private when you’re starting to feel overwhelmed - but you don’t love that you’re getting this kind of attention.

You really should’ve controlled yourself better. But you didn’t and now you’re scrolling through hundreds of Tweets that are calling you Long Island trash. There are others mixed in that are supporting you, cheering you on for being a loyal fan and girlfriend, but jeez. The Chicago fans really are kind of nasty.

“Stop looking at that,” Mat plucks the phone from your hands when he sees your forehead crease and wrinkle over your nose. “Are we gonna have to delete your account like Dobber?”

“No,” you huff, chest flushing with emotion. “I just…I should’ve been a little more controlled, but I got so worked up!”

Mat cups your cheek and grins at you, “I like when you’re worked up. It’ll blow over in a few days, but for now, it’s really fucking cool that my girlfriend is so passionate about me fighting.”

You wrinkle your nose up at him and he laughs again, “seriously, don’t worry about it.” He frowns a little. “Fans’ll be talking about our game again by tomorrow. We’re fucking it all up.”

Pressing your cheek against Mat’s shoulder blade, you wrap your arms around his waist. “I’m sorry, Mat. I know you guys are working so hard, things will turn around soon, I’m sure.” You press a kiss to his skin, blowing a little raspberry. “Want your trashy Long Island girlfriend to give you another blowjob?”

That draws a laugh from Mat, exactly what you wanted to do, and he reaches back to rub his fingers over your scalp, massaging gently. He waves his phone in the air, “think you can do it before dinner gets here?”

A challenge.

You grin against his back, hands sliding down his stomach to wrap around the base of his cock. He jolts in your grip, stomach muscles bunching. “Place the order and we’ll see,” you mumble against his back, kissing and biting at his shoulder. His arm moves and you can see over his shoulder that he’s pressing the order button.

“Time starts now,” Mat teases, leaning back against you and giving you more access for your hands to stroke him.

You just barely manage to bring Mat to his finish before his phone chimes with the delivery notification, but it’s intensely satisfying to watch him yank on the hotel robe and slippers with his face and chest all flushed before he runs down to the lobby. You take the time that he’s gone to clean yourself up, showering quickly before getting into your lounge pants. By the time you eat and hang out for a bit, Mat’s going to have to go back to his own room, so you’re trying to curb the temptation to go another round.

Your phone is still going crazy with notifications and when you open Instagram, you notice that Mat’s shared a story. Immediately suspicious, you tap on his little circle, groaning when you see the video of you shouting. He must’ve shared it while he was in the elevator, the fucking menace.

Underneath the reshared video, Mat added his own comment: my favorite trashy long islander 👊🏻💪🏻😂

You swipe up and tap out a reply: i hate you

“Love you too, Oscar,” Mat’s voice echoes through the room. You look up and there he is, carrying the bag of takeout.

“Oscar?”

“Like the Grouch? You know, because he lives in a trash can,” Mat’s grin is shit-eating, “and you’re trashy.”

You fling a pillow at him and he ducks, cracking up. “I’m sorry!” He chokes out, not sorry at all. “But it’s hilarious. Video gets funnier the more you watch and some of those people on Twitter really are quick with the comments.”

“I’m never coming to another game again, Mathew,” you inform him, faux-snootily. He hands you over the foil tin of mozzarella sticks.

“Yeah you are,” he presses a kiss to your temple. “You’d never forgive yourself if you missed me fight again.” He wiggles his eyebrows and takes a bite out of one of your mozzarella sticks.

He’s right and he knows it.

“I’m going to have to private my insta again,” you comment on a sigh, looking down at the notifications piling up.

“You’re gonna be old news in a day or two,” Mat replies. “Something else will happen at a different game and hockey twitter will move on.”

By the time you land in New York the next afternoon, Mat’s right. You’re old news because the team’s fired Lane and hired Patrick Roy as their new coach.

[dstriple]

So this is the part of my island in Animal Crossing based on the game Life is Strange...

👆 This is the entrance to Arcadia Bay. Please notice the rainbow above the sign 🌈

👆 This is Chloe's room. I had a hell of a time making that Blade Runner poster on that wall, tho. Rachael (a character from that film) still looks derpy af.

👆 The Two Whales diner... I tried.

👆 Next to the diner is the homeless lady's tent. She's not there, tho.

👆 The entrance to the junkyard. Notice the green bottles that Max had to find in that dump.

👆 The school's parking lot. Frank's RV is in the back. While Warren's car is right next to Max. Frank's dog, Pompidou, is next to the RV. Speaking of which, I couldn't find custom designs for the RV. Most of the designs that people make are too damn cutesy (with flowers or hearts on them). So I had to make my own design for the RV.

👆 Blackwell Academy... again, I tried

👆 Behold the lighthouse. BTW, that glowing reindeer in the back is supposed to be Max's spirit animal, the doe that haunts her day-dreams.

Just in case it wasn't obvious, I even added another sign indicating what the theme for that part of the island is.

UPDATE: Here's the Dream Address

DA-7125-6003-7296

NOTE: The other parts of the island have different themes, tho. Its not all about "Life is Strange". When you get there, the main part of the island will be just a regular town dedicated to a family member that passed away during the pandemic. The other theme is based on the "Alien" movies with Sigourney Weaver.

P.S. The island is still in a work in progress situation. Stuff might change in future updates.

Anywhoo, happy dreaming! ✌️

[anticomedygarden]

they all want your white body

5 times Alex defends Henry (and Henry is pleasantly surprised) (though he should really know better by now) + 1 time Henry defends Alex (and Alex isn't surprised) (because no matter what anyone says, Henry is the goddamn bravest man he's ever met)

title is from billy joel's 'everybody loves you now'. the whole quote i wanted to use for the title was, "they all want your white body/and they await your reply/but between you and me and the Staten Island Ferry/so do I," but i figured that was too long

cross-posted on ao3

-

1. The Charity Gala

As much as Henry wished he could pretend he didn't know the man walking toward him, he knew that once those beady eyes latched onto him, there would be no escaping Mr. George Blackwell.

He had just enough time to whisper, "Run while you still can," into Alex's ear before Blackwell was upon them in all his glinting golden glory. Honestly, where did he find all that precious metal? "Ah, Mr. Blackwell. I'm glad you could make it," Henry bit out, raising his champagne flute to his lips and suddenly wishing for something a bit stronger. His words were at least a kernel of the truth for the man's only redeeming quality at functions such as this was his extensive bank account.

Blackwell gave him a once over. "Yes, good evening, Your Royal Highness." He turned to Alex. "And this must be-"

"Alex Claremont-Diaz, Henry's boyfriend," Alex interrupted, causing Blackwell's face to take on a delightful red color. When Alex stuck his hand out for a handshake, Blackwell hesitated but eventually took it for a fraction of a second.

"That's lovely." He turned back to Henry. "Say, did you hear that George Jr. just finished his enlistment?"

Henry put on his camera smile, the one Alex hated so much, and said, "Is that so?"

Blackwell nodded and continued to prattle on about his son and his particularly bland life with his particularly bland job after his particularly bland whatever, and Henry tuned him out, instead choosing to rub Alex's inner thigh under the safety of the table cloth, at least until one jab broke through the reverie.

"...But it's such a shame nowadays that some men won't take up their proper place to enlist. Real men are becoming few and far between."

Henry nearly rolled his eyes, unfazed by the unoriginal insult.

What did surprise him was Alex. The dark haired man set down his drink, leaned forward, and said, "You're right; it is a shame." Henry raised his eyebrows at him, but Alex didn't stop. "It's a real shame that men still think their masculinity is in jeopardy if they don't have enough dominance over other people."

Blackwell spluttered, but, again, Alex continued. "No, really, I'm so glad a huge chunk of the government's budget is going toward ensuring men like you can get off feeling superior to not just everyone else in your country, but everyone else in the whole world."

Henry didn't think his eyebrows could go any higher, but one look at Blackwell had them trying. Nevertheless, he thought it might be a good idea to take Alex out before he goaded this man into a fist fight.

"I'm ready to go, Alex. How about you?"

Alex glanced at him sheepishly, not looking a bit apologetic, and, honestly, Henry didn't want him to be. Watching Alex argue with bigots only got more fun the longer they were together.

The second they were out in the hall, they both broke down in laughter. Henry could hardly breathe.

"God, did you see his face?" Alex gasped.

Henry nodded, still laughing. "I thought he might hit you!"

"No way he was gonna punch me, not with witnesses."

Henry shook his head, though he was smiling. "I love you so much."

Alex put his hands on Henry's neck and pulled him in for a kiss. "I love you, too."

2. Philip

Henry woke to an empty bed.

Groaning, he flopped his arm across Alex's side in the hopes that his boyfriend was somewhere over there but regretfully came up with nothing.

He decided on a different approach. "Alex?"

There was no answer.

He really didn't want to get up.

David clearly didn't either as he had burrowed into Alex's empty nest of blankets.

Henry got up.

Groggily, he meandered around the upstairs, and, determining Alex wasn't up there, he walked slowly down the stairs and stopped when he heard Alex's voice, tense and angry.

"No, we're not going to do that," he was saying. "No - stop - stop talking...You're not listening to me! We're not doing that because we're not your happy little queers to parade around when you need media points, Philip!"

Ah. Henry sat down on the stairs. This was sure to be an interesting conversation, one that wouldn't make him feel guilty at all.

"Yes, it is. Whether you like it or not, that's exactly what you're trying to do."

There was a moment of silence as Philip said his piece.

"I don't care what your Gran thinks."

Oh, Philip was sure to love that.

"How the hell is this our fault, Philip?  You want to control the tabloids? Get better libel laws."

There was the sound of something being slammed on the counter, and then Alex appeared at the bottom of the stair case. He did a double take. "How long have you been sitting there?"

Henry rested his elbow on his knee and his head in his hand. "Long enough. How long have you been up?"

"Only since Philip called, so about a half hour."

Henry winced. "I'm so sorry."

But Alex waved him off. "It's fine. You know how much I love yelling at people for you."

"Still." Henry hummed, then something occurred to him. "Did Philip call you directly?"

It would be incredibly odd if he had. For one, the two had always had a contentious relationship, barely speaking to each other when they were forced to and certainly never going out of their way to converse. For another, Philip knew full well that Henry would be far more willing to lie down and take whatever he had to say.

Alex shook his head. "Your phone started ringing, and I thought it was mine. I didn't want to wake you up."

Henry really should be used to it by now, how considering and amazing Alex was, but it still surprised him every time.

He got up and walked down the stairs, right into Alex's waiting arms. "Thank you for yelling at Philip for me, darling."

"Anytime, sweetheart." They stood there for a moment. "Let's have waffles for breakfast."

"Alright." They broke apart and began gathering the stuff for breakfast. "What did Philip want?"

Alex didn't look up. "Nothing important."

3. The Crown

Merely a week after his and Alex's engagement was released to the public, Henry came home from work to discover a ridiculously large envelope addressed from the Crown stuffed in their mailbox.

Had it been any other day, Henry would have waited until Alex got home to open it to, you know, preserve his mental health, but on this particular day, Alex wouldn't be home for several hours at least, and he was still riding the high from being newly engaged, so he opened it.

That was his first mistake.

His second was attempting to sift through the pages and pages of legal documents and wedding information after a full workday without caffeine in his system.

Immediately, he got a sick feeling in his stomach, the same feeling he used to get when Philip came to Kensington or when news came of Gran delivering her orders. The Crown was trying to control every last aspect of their wedding, from location to color scheme to wedding party.

He was just starting to feel the beginnings of a migraine when his eyes caught on one sentence in particular.

You are to live in Kensington once the honeymoon is over.

No.

They would have to give up everything they had worked for in New York. Alex would never be a politician or a lawyer. They would have to leave the brownstone permanently. No more dreams of a ceremony in Texas.

Just like that, Henry was done. He crossed his arms on the kitchen table and laid his head down. In the back of his head, he pulled out a thought he had been entertaining for weeks now, ever since he'd decided to propose.

There was the sound of the front door opening and shutting, and then David skittered into the foyer, presumably to bring Alex to Henry.

Sure enough, the next thing Henry heard was Alex entering the kitchen. He still didn't raise his head.

"Sweetheart? What's wrong?"

Henry felt tears prick at his eyes. How could he be so horrible, subjecting his wonderful fiance to people like this, people who were so determined to make them suffer?

A hand began carding through his hair, and he heard Alex start pulling papers toward him to examine.

The hand in his hair stopped, and Henry whined. Alex must've figured out what the papers were for because he didn't acknowledge his fiance's groans.

"This is bullshit, babe," Alex said, voice sounding incredibly restrained. Henry appreciated that Alex was trying to remain calm for him, but he'd honestly rather Alex be screaming. It's what he deserved. "They can't force us to do anything."

Henry laughed humorlessly. "As long as it's a royal wedding, they own it."

Alex shook his head. "Fuck 'em-"

"That's not how it works," Henry explained. "They'll make you convert to Anglicanism." His voice dropped. "They'll make us move."

His third mistake was believing the Crown could control him, or, better yet, Alex.

"Fuck that, babe. We can do whatever we want. We can fly to Vegas and elope under the ministrations of fucking Elvis-"

Alex continued like that for a while, and as Henry watched the man he loved most in the world nearly knock over their salt shaker as he gesticulated wildly, Henry knew what he wanted to do.

"I want to abdicate," he said.

Alex stopped suddenly, mouth open, hands still in the air. "You what?"

Henry sat up finally and looked Alex in the eyes. "I want to abdicate."

Looking a bit lost, Alex cleared his throat. "Okay, not that I don't fully support this, but," he paused. "If you're just doing this because of the wedding, there are other options. I wasn't kidding about Vegas-"

Henry shook his head, a fond look on his face. "No, I've been thinking about this for a while. I don't want the Crown holding themselves over us for the rest of our lives. First this, then what? When we have kids, they'll try and force us into surrogacy to preserve the line of succession. They'll fight you on all of your political opinions. We'll never get a break. At least this way, there'll be some degree of separation." He stopped himself, afraid he'd work himself up into crying again.

Alex took Henry's hands then and pulled him closer so he could whisper in his ear. "You're sure?"

Henry nodded, and Alex twisted so he was sitting in his lap. "Well, alright then."

4. Twitter

The article was a joke. It was the kind of thing one was only supposed to see at the checkout of a grocery store, but somehow, the internet got a hold of it, and now it was plastered on every social media site everywhere.

But seriously, who would believe that Henry has murdered someone? All of Twitter, apparently, because he had been getting notifications about it all day, even though he was the least likely of all the royal siblings (and the Super Six, really), to murder someone. The article didn't even name the person he had supposedly killed, simply saying it was a boy from Eton.

Henry tried to tell Alex it was just another rumor that would die out in a week, especially with as ridiculous as it was, but Alex insisted on saying something. At least Henry had convinced him not to address it directly, knowing acknowledging it would only give it power.

In the end, Henry turned off Twitter for a week and put Shaan in charge of his phone.

When he finally looked at Twitter again, the first thing he saw was a post from Alex.

[image of Henry reading on the couch with David curled on his stomach]

Happy Tuesday to the most amazing person I've ever met. Hen, I'll stand by you in everything you do because you've never done anything wrong in your life. Love you, sweetheart!

Little shit.

5. Henry himself

As soon as Henry woke up, he knew it was going to be a bad day. The distance from the bed to the hallway seemed like infinity, and he barely found the strength to roll over. Alex was nowhere to be found, and Henry hoped he would be gone at least until Henry mustered the energy to at least leave the bed. He hated people seeing him like this, even if having Alex here would probably make.him feel so much better.

He laid there for another hour? Two hours? Henry didn't know, but at some point, Alex quietly opened the bedroom door and came to sit next to Henry.

"Hey, sweetheart. How you feeling?" He set something on the bedside table and turned back to Henry, carding his fingers through his hair. "And don't lie."

Henry blinked his eyes open, awed that Alex knew something was wrong before Henry had even woken up. "Not great."

Alex hummed. "I brought you tea and Jaffa Cakes for whenever you're ready." He stood from the bed, and Henry watched him walk around to the other side. He closed his eyes and felt the bed dip as Alex laid down, curling around Henry in a parenthesis.

"How did you know?" Henry whispered, finding himself caring more about the answer than he really has any right to.

Alex made a confused noise. "Babe, it's 1:30." Henry didn't have it in him to be surprised, but he was sure when he was feeling better, it would hit him hard. "I figured you were either feeling bad or coming down with something."

An arm came down around Henry's middle. "I'm sorry. I know this isn't easy for you."

Alex shook his head against Henry's back. "It's the easiest thing in the world, sweetheart."

+1. The Queen

"I simply cannot allow this. You will release a statement in the morning rescinding the announcement.

Alex didn't have to look at the queen to know she had that stupid little smug look on her face, the one that meant she was being a bitch, a bitch to her grandchildren no less.

Alex also didn't have to look at Henry to know that he had one of his various press faces on, the one that signaled practiced neutrality. It was better than the press smile, but not by much.

"No, they won't be doing that," Catherine said. "For one, you can't control whether or not they're engaged." That's great, Alex thought, except she actually could. "Ignoring that, they can't rescind now without you coming off horribly in the press."

Again, that would be great if she didn't believe the entirety of the UK's population were huge homophobes, something Alex would say if he could get a word in without being interrupted by a certain someone.

Mary started again. "The country is simply not ready-"

Suddenly, Henry clutched Alex's thigh hard enough to elicit a gasp, and everyone's eyes turned to them. "That's enough."

And, holy shit, Alex's jaw fucking dropped because Henry just interrupted the queen of England. Well. Alex had always wondered what being beheaded felt like.

Mary opened her mouth to say something, but Henry held up a hand. Yep, they were 100% dead. "No, I've sat here and listened for long enough. You know what I came here to tell you today?" He took a deep breath, and, alright, this wasn't how they'd discussed breaking the news, but, apparently, this was happening. "I'm abdicating."

The room went silent as everyone processed the news. Bea, of course, already knew, and simply sipped her coke, but Philip's face was completely white. Catherine's eyes were wide, betraying a glint of pride. Queen Mary, though-

"Over him?" she said, poise slipping minutely. "You would give up your birthright and embarrass your family for this American man?"

She said it with such disdain that Alex tried not to be offended, and he had to try even harder to keep his mouth shut.

Henry, it seemed, was not taking the same precautions. Alex squeezed his hand in support. "Yes, Gran, I would." He stood, taking Alex with him. "I love him, and I don't want to have to hide my whole life. I don't need your prejudice. I'm done."

With that, he dragged Alex from the room, leaving behind the open mouthed stares. As soon as they were out in the hall, Alex had Henry up against the wall, mouths pressed together. It wasn't nearly the sexiest place or situation they'd ever been in, but goddamn if Alex wasn't hard as a rock.

"I love you so much," he murmured into his fiance's mouth. "You're so damn brave."

Henry pulled back abruptly to burrow his head in Alex's neck, and Alex brought up a hand to rub his back. "You did amazing in there."

For a second, Alex thought Henry was about to start crying, until he whispered, "It's all because of you."

That really made Alex's heart swell. It was too bad it was wrong. "No, sweetheart. That's all you."