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starsinthesky5 · 5 months ago

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you belong with me (mini fic): hotel room || joe burrow x reader

description: sometimes the need to feel each other is just too strong to resist

a/n: SURPRISE! a little bitty standalone type fic before we get to the angstiest fic I've ever writtennnnnn ;) horny hour came to WORK in this fic...

also woah? two fics from me in 1 weekend? and I wrote this in a day? what. so if this is trash, boring, or me yapping, that’s because I wrote this within the last few hours and im sleepy 😋 this was inspired by 2 requests! thank you, you know who you are💗💗

anyway, go check out the one if you haven't!

word count: 5.9 k

warnings: smut (there’s thigh riding in this one 😜), language

you belong with me series masterlist

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"Oh, fuck," Joe whispered to himself as he opened the photos that you just sent him from your hotel room, the need to see you growing just like the tent in his pants as his hormones started to soar.

You both were away in Kansas City for the weekend ahead of the highly anticipated AFC championship game between the Bengals and the Chiefs on Sunday night. Joe had flown to Kansas City with the team as usual while he chartered a private plane for you that was a few hours behind him and he made sure that he booked you a hotel room specifically at the hotel that the team was staying at. He felt comfort in knowing that you were safe and close to him--you were just 8 floors beneath him--since you came to KC alone since his parents would be flying in early tomorrow morning.

Since you technically weren't allowed to see Joe and didn't want to go out in the City all alone, you found yourself absolutely bored out of your mind, not being able to find any entertainment or way to pass the time all alone. You found yourself like this a few weeks ago as well, the night before the first playoff game of the post-season, and remembered what you did to cure your boredom and entertain yourself and Joe.

Spicy Photos.

He loved them the first time so you knew he'd love them just as much this time. Maybe it could even become a 'night before a game' tradition?

So then, you found yourself half naked--only clad in a skimpy, lacy purple lingerie bra & pantie set--seated in front of the large body mirror and tapping away on your camera as you changed up your poses to show off the parts of your body that Joe was obsessed with (your thighs, your breasts, your ass, the crook of your neck where he liked to mark his territory).

Joe got your photos a few moments ago, and he was losing his mind. Especially because you were so close to him right now, close enough for him to see you. Or was he close enough for you to see him?

"Fuck, Y/N," he whispered again as the growing erection in his purple shorts was becoming more and more visible. He needed to see you so badly, he couldn't control himself. Not when you were this close to him. Last time, he was a whole half hour away so he was mostly okay, but this time...this time it was a different story.

Joe opened his camera and snapped a photo of the tent in his pants, a cheeky grin on his face as he went back to your chat and responded to your photos.

Joe: i miss youuuuu

You: i miss youuuuu too, if you couldn't already tell by the photos ;)

He then attached the photo of the tent in his pants, typed up a silly caption, and sent it to you, wishing he could see your reaction in person.

Joe: image 📸

he misses you too 😋

Your eyes widened as you opened the photo and saw what he had just sent you, the silly caption that he typed with it making you bust out laughing.

"There is no fucking way," you laughed to yourself as you flipped onto your stomach and laughed even harder into the pillow as you imagined Joe taking that photo and typing up that stupidly adorable caption.

"I can't believe he just sent me that photo," you smiled to yourself, still not quite used to this part of your relationship. How could Joe be so sexy and adorably silly at be the same time? You went back to the texts and quickly typed something up to make sure he didn't think you left him hanging, playing along with his silliness.

You: i miss him too 😪

Joe raised an eyebrow at your sudden straightforwardness but was amused that you were playing along with him.

Joe: you and that damn purple lingerie are reallyyyy doing something to me

He scrolled back up to the photos you sent him, tapping on one that showed off your beautiful smile but also gave him a good view of your perfect breasts. "Fuckk," he shakily breathed out while throwing his head back onto the pillow as he placed his hand on the tent in his pants, the pressure that was building becoming too much for him.

Joe was obsessed with your chest. Whether it was laying on it after a tiring workout while you played with his hair or it was him leaving little love bites along your nipple while he was sending you straight to heaven with each thrust, that was his favorite place to be.

He needed to feel your lips on him again, he needed to feel your fingers scratching down his back, and he needed to feel you.

He needed to see you right now.

Joe quickly went back to the chat, this time hitting the Facetime button instead of texting you. You immediately picked up, a grin growing on your face as you saw his adorable flushed cheeks.

"You're needy tonight," you giggled.

"I need to see you," he said while running his fingers through his hair and moving his curls back. "Like really bad. I can't do this,".

"Joe, you know I can't," you said as you sat up on the bed, his eyes falling down as your body came into the frame. You weren't in the lingerie anymore, but you were wearing a slinky tank top which showed off your beautiful breasts.

"Baby, please," he pleaded. "I can't,".

"If I get caught on your floor, it'll be hell for both of us. Probably me more than you since you're the star of the show and they can't really do anything because it'll hurt everything," you said while moving your hair back.

"Nobody will give you hell, you're my girlfriend. Everyone knows that now," he smiled.

"I know, but being your girlfriend doesn't give me a free pass to bend the rules that every NFL team has to follow," you sighed.

You wanted to see him so bad, but you were scared that you'd get caught and didn't even want to think about what the consequences would be. They had NFL players stay at a hotel the night before a game for a reason--home or away--and it was to prevent any and all distractions and to prevent them from partaking in activities that would release the energy they needed for game day. You both were already pushing it when Joe booked you a room in the same hotel he was staying at, the Bengals Travel Coordinators were not super happy about it, but Joe being Joe somehow convinced them to let it slide just this once.

"Do you have the Mascot suit on you by any chance?" he giggled, referring to the first time you joked about sneaking into his room by trying to pass as the mascot.

"Damn, I think I left it in my other suitcase," you pouted, a soft chuckle coming from his mouth in return.

Although he was laughing with you, he was still serious as hell about getting you in his room one way or another.

"Y/N," he said, turning serious again. "Please. I just need to see you for a little. I'll make sure you won't get caught,".

"And how will you do that?" you asked him, part of you wanting to hear him out.

"You can't come up the elevator because we have staff guarding the it up here so that nobody can come up here other than Bengals personnel, but there are stairs that connect every floor and my room is just 3 doors down from the stairs on this floor. I know that they make the rounds around my hall and the hall on the other side so you'll just have to wait for them to turn the other way," he explained.

"Why does this sound easier than I thought? Was this all I had to do to see him?" you thought, contemplating what you should do.

You would be lying if you weren't as turned on as Joe was right now. That photo he sent you made think some things and feel some feelings but you ultimately came to the consensus that you needed him right now.

Your brain was fogging up with thoughts of Joe. Thoughts of his lips pressed against yours, his hands massaging your plush skin, the dirty sounds of pleasure leaving his lips, the mere sight of him on the brink of coming undone. He was the only thing you could think about right now. With the way your heart was pounding in your chest and the way the heat was slowly rising up your body, you were either two seconds away from passing out or two seconds away from saying something that would really set you both off.

"Please," he begged again, a gush of wetness pooling at your core because of his husky voice.

"Fuck it," you whispered, you needed Joe. "I’ll be there in a little bit," you said as you got up and hastily searched for your clothes.

Joe immediately sat up on the bed, a huge satisfied grin on his face as a thrill shot up his spine. "I love you," he smiled.

"I love you too much, that's why I'm doing this," you giggled as you placed your phone down on the dresser and quickly slipped on your flimsy sleep shorts and tank top. "I'll see you in a few, okay?" you said to him once you picked up the phone again.

"Be careful," he said before you gave him a quick nod and hung up, then placed your phone back onto the table so you could slide your Uggs on. You grabbed your room's keycard and took a deep breath before opening the door.

About 10 minutes later, you were slowly climbing up the stairs as you were hot, sweaty, and out of breath. "W-what the fuck," you sighed as you stopped to collect your breath. "I need to go to the gym more," you panted, rolling your eyes when you saw that you were only on floor 7 and still had 4 more to go and you already climbed up 4 flights of stairs.

"Only for Joe," you laughed as you continued up the stairs. You wouldn't be caught dead doing this for another man, but for Joe? Anything. You'd move planets for the person that you've been in love with for 9 years if he asked you to, and you had the comfort of knowing that he would do the exact same for you.

Another 10 minutes later, you finally made it to the 11th floor.

"Holy fuck," you said while wiping the thin layer of sweat off your forehead, quickly crouching down once you saw one of the Bengals staff members through the little window in the door. "Fuck," you whispered as you peeked your head up to see if they saw you or not, which they didn't.

"Any minute now," you whispered, waiting for them to turn around and go down the other hallway.

You watched carefully for about two minutes, getting impatient as they took their sweet time before you saw them turn around and start walking down to the other hallway.

"Finally," you whispered to yourself as you stood up and quietly twisted the door handle, carefully stepping out into the hallway before gently shutting the door behind you.

You slowly walked down the hallway, counting 3 doors down from the stairs but realizing Joe never told you which door 3 doors down was his room.

You reached for your phone to text him but were met with an empty pocket. A frustrated sigh leaves your lips when you realize you left your phone on the table.

"Ugh. Left or Right?" you whispered to yourself as you looked back and forth between the doors. "This is like a game of roulette," you soughed. You eventually chose the left door, accepting that if you were wrong you would quickly leave the floor with your tail between your legs and go back down 8 flights of stairs to your room.

"Okay," you breathed out before making your hand into a fist and knocking on the door, in an uber-specific pattern.

Two quick knocks, "Knock-Knock", matching the start of the chorus with a steady beat.

Pause for 1 second.

One slow Knock "Knock", reflects the continuation of the melody.

Pause for 1 second.

Two quick knocks, "Knock-knock", follows the rhythm as the chorus progresses.

Pause for 1 second.

Two quick knocks, "Knock-Knock", ends the pattern in sync with the final beats of the chorus.

It aligned with the Chorus of the song "Night Changes" by One Direction, a song you and Joe were obsessed with back at OSU. A song you made a special knocking sequence to for times you showed up at each other's rooms unannounced for whatever reason. You made this special sequence up because there were times you didn't want to see other or hang out with other people, but you always wanted to see each other no matter the circumstance. This knocking sequence always let you both know who was at the door.

"Hm, that's ironic," you giggled as you remembered the Chorus of the song.

"We're only getting older baby and I been thinking about it lately, Does it ever drive you crazy just how fast the night changes, Everything that you've ever dreamed of, Disappearing when you wake up, But there's nothing to be afraid of even when the night changes, It will never change me and you,".

It did drive you crazy just how fast the night changed for you and Joe. Everything around you changed in the past 9 years--your ages, your careers, your lifestyles, your relationships--but the one thing that never changed was you and Joe.

And that was the one thing that was never going to change.

While you were lost in thought, you felt the door open as a whiff of air hit your face, your precious 6’4 boyfriend standing right in front of you.

"Oh thank god," you said, letting out a relieved sigh before you felt Joe grab your hand and yank you into the room, quickly closing the door before he leaned down and smashed his lips against yours. You were a bit taken aback by the intensity of the kiss, but it only took you 5 seconds to melt in Joe’s arms and lose your cool. His hands were firmly placed on your waist, the pads of his fingers massaging the soft skin of your hips, as he backed you both up to the couch across the room.

He felt the back of his knees hit the couch before he pulled away from the kiss and plopped down, spreading his legs extremely wide as he patted his lap for you to sit down. "Come here," he smirked, you gave him a quick nod before placing a knee on either side of his thighs and sitting down in his comfortable lap, the hardness underneath you making your hormones take over.

You cupped his face with your hands and pulled his face closer to yours, capturing his perfectly pink lips in another kiss. His hands landed on your waistline again, "Mm, I haven't heard that knock in years," he said in between the kiss.

"I had to let you know it was me," you whispered as you slid your lips to the corner of his mouth, peppering wet kisses up his jaw as his hands slid underneath the flimsy fabric of your tank top.

"I missed you," he rasped as you felt his other hand land on the back of your head, pulling you right back to his lips.

His hand then moved to the straps of your tank top, slowly pulling one down as he pulled away and moved his lips to your collarbone.

"Joe," you quietly moaned as you tilted your head to the side, exposing more of your neck for him to worship. You felt him attach his lips to his favorite spot on your neck, rhythmically sucking and biting the skin as he marked his territory--a special reminder to those who didn't know who you belonged to.

"Baby," you breathed out, grabbing his head by his hair and pulling him back up to your lips, your noses bumping into each other as your tongues tangled in each other's mouths. It was driving you insane, the more his hands moved around your body the more desperate to feel him everywhere you got. You wanted him to rip your clothes off and have you right then and there, but you were playing a risky game. If anyone walked past his door, they would 100% hear you two going at it.

His hands dropped down to your ass, kneading the flesh with his large veiny hands as he began to rock you back and forth in his lap. You instantly pulled away, taking note of how his big blue eyes were screaming 'fuck me' at you right now.

"Joe, we can't," you breathlessly said, his movements not stopping at your hesitance.

You feel him grab your waist again, scooching you over so that you are now straddling one of his thick, muscular thighs and not his lap. "Yes, we can," he whispered in your ear, heat pooling in your stomach as you feel his large thigh against your aching clit.

Joe continues to slowly rock you back and forth against his thigh, a tingling sensation all over your body as your clothed clit rubbed against his thigh; the flimsy fabric of your shorts practically had you bare against his leg. You leaned your head back as you let out a moan that was a little louder than you both preferred.

"Fuck," you whined at the stimulation his thigh was giving you. Joe lifted one of his hands to cover your mouth, "Shh, baby. Another one of those and this will be over a lot faster than we want, and it won't have a nice ending either," he warned as you looked back down at him.

You gave him a nod as you continued to move back and forth against his thigh, his purple shorts riding further and further up his leg because of your movements. The wetness from your core was seeping out of your underwear, and your rocking hips were spreading it along his thigh.

God, you loved his thighs. They were so thick and muscular and the perfect seat. Whenever you saw photos of Joe doing his typical man-spread, you lost it. The thighs were always the highlight of the show, not his face, not his arms, his thighs.

"That's it, baby," he said while guiding you back and forth, somehow enjoying this even more than you were even though he was receiving no stimulation from this.

"Joe," you whimpered, his big hand muffling your moan, feeling him bounce his leg underneath you which made your moans come out in short gasps. "J- Joe," you moaned again, your belly fluttering at the new movement.

You lifted your hand and moved his hand off your mouth, then leaned in and captured his lips in another kiss to hopefully stifle your moans.

Joe was taking part in a mental battle right now, trying to fight off the urge to take you to the bed in front of him and fuck you into oblivion. He needed to feel you more than he already was, but if he did you both would get caught very quickly.

Suddenly, an idea popped into his head that could solve your problems--the shower.

Nobody would be able to hear you both in the bathroom, especially with the running water.

He decided to hold off on that for a few minutes, allowing you to continue to do what you needed to feel your rapidly building high. He pulled away from the kiss again, lifting your head with his hand, "Look at me, Y/N," he whispered. His thumb stroked your bottom lip as he looked intensely into your glossy eyes, "Keep going," he encouraged, your movements getting faster against his thigh.

"Joe, I'm so close," you quietly whimpered, your clit pressed firmly against his thigh as the band in your belly tightened. You ran your hands up his arms, then gripped his shoulders as you continued to ride his thigh, your body starting to tremble on top of him as his cock grew harder at the feeling of wetness spreading along his leg.

"That's it, that's my fucking girl...you're so fucking sexy riding me like this," he whispered in your ear, his hands wandering along your body again as he pressed a kiss to your ear before lightly biting your earlobe. “Come for me, come on my thigh,” he whispered.

"Joe," you moaned loudly, dropping your head to the crook of his neck as you picked up the pace, your pleasure just a few seconds away. There was truly no place you'd rather be right now than the comfortable embrace of Joe's arms. This was your home. He was your home.

You bit down on the tan skin of his neck to stifle your moan, knowing that this one would be particularly loud as you let yourself go. "Mmph, Joe," you moaned as you felt the band in your tummy snap, your core gushing with wetness as most of it seeped out onto his leg.

"Fuck, Y/N," Joe breathed out, feeling a cool moisture pooling on his thigh as you quivered above him. "Baby, I need you," he whispered in your ear, your face coming back up from the crook of his neck.

"Joe, I- I told you, we c- can't," you choked out, aftershocks of your high washing over you.

"We can in there," he said as he motioned to the bathroom with his head.

All the hesitance and apprehension left your head about 4 minutes ago, so you honestly could not care less about what would unfold once you got in the bathroom. You didn't care if you got caught, as risky as that sounded. "Okay," you nodded, Joe immediately got up from the couch with you in his lap, his hands firmly placed on your ass as you wrapped your legs around him. You rested your cheek against his chest, whispering "I love you" to him in which he pressed a loving kiss to your forehead in return.

A few minutes later, you were in the bathroom, completely bare as the hot water of the shower was falling around you. You were pressed up against the cool glass of the shower door as Joe was spending some more time around your neck, especially at his favorite spot.

Your fingers played with his wet curls as you used them to pull his face back up to yours so that you could kiss him again. "We have to be quick," you mumbled in between the kiss. "I have to get out of here before lights out,".

"Okay," Joe nodded, his hands reaching down to cup your ass, hoisting you up as you wrapped your legs around his thick body. "Fuck, I needed this," he sighed as he looked deeply into your eyes again. "I needed you,".

"Well, it's a good thing I'm here then," you smirked before pulling him back for another kiss, this one way messier and needier than the others.

After another minute of attacking each other's swollen lips, Joe lined his rock-hard cock with your already-soaked core, thrusting all the way inside as you let out a loud moan and threw your head back against the glass.

"Ah, Joe," you hissed, the feeling of him filling you up all the way still new even though you'd done this quite a few times since December.

"Fuck, Y/N," Joe groaned as he felt your walls wrap around his thick shaft, his hips snapping into yours after a few seconds of getting comfortable.

"Oh my god," you cried out after you felt his cock grazing your g-spot, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

"Yeah? You like that?" Joe panted in your ear after giving you another hard thrust which made him hit the spot.

"Yeah," you whimpered, his cock continuing to slam into your cervix, making you re-think your entire existence. The way he was going about this was driven by pure lust, love, and need. This was exactly what he needed right now, and you were giving it to him with open arms; and open legs.

You were the most addictive thing on this earth, he could never stay away from you and if he tried, he'd have withdrawals. For example, if you didn't sneak into his room, he would've had all this pent-up energy inside of him that would most likely turn into anxiety for tomorrow's game. But it wasn't, thanks to you.

For most, this would be a distraction. But for Joe, this was the best way to relax. The perfect way to collect himself, he just needed to be with you. You always made him lose his worries, lose his nerves, and make him calm down. You were exactly what he needed.

And you almost said 'No' to coming up to his room, pathetic.

A few minutes later, Joe leaned back a little and leaned down, sucking your nipple into his mouth as he rhythmically rolled his hips into yours, making sure that he touched every spot on your body that he loved.

"Don't stop, Joe. Don't ever stop," you cried out, feeling your second high building in your stomach as he continued to pound into you. You ran your nails along his back, lightly digging into the skin while Joe hissed around your breast at the burning sensation he was feeling.

After a few moments of showing your perfect breasts some love, he moved back up to your face, "Y/N, you feel so good," he moaned.

The sights and sounds of his flushed cheeks, tousled & wet curls, and open-mouthed moans drove you insane.

You felt your legs starting to burn from the rough thrusts of his cock, also because of what transpired on the couch earlier. "Babe, I'm close," you panted as you gripped his broad shoulders.

"Hang on for me," he softly whined, picking up the pace of his deep thrusts which sent you straight over the edge, your walls tightening around his veiny cock.

"Oh my fucking-," you moaned before you felt the tip of his cock hit a spot he hadn't hit before, causing your orgasm to rip through your body like a strike of lightning. "Joe!" you screamed as you grabbed his wet curls and tightly pulled on them.

"Y/N," Joe panted as he dropped his head to the crook of your neck, your walls convulsing around his twitching cock. "Fuck, I'm," he choked out, his orgasm begging to be released.

"I know, I know," you soothed as you rubbed his back while coming down from your high. "I'm here," you said while kissing his reddened cheek. "I'm right here,"

A few more thrusts later, you felt him let go as your walls were coated with warm spurts of his cum, Joe continuing to whimper and moan into your ear as he felt his high come over him. "F- Fuck, you're incredible,".

"I love you," he panted, trying to catch his breath as he gently let go of your legs and set you back on the ground, your knees buckling as you fell right into him. "Woah, I got you," he smiled as he wrapped his arms around you.

"I love you," you giggled as you clung onto him, the hot water falling on both of you making you feel even more refreshed than your previous orgasms.

About 10 minutes later, you both dried each other off and made it out of the shower. You slipped your clothes back on before brushing your wet hair in the mirror while Joe changed into a fresh pair of shorts behind you, your eyes widening at the red scratches on his back.

"Oh, shit," you gasped as you flipped around to look at his back. "I'm sorry,".

"No need to say sorry, princess," he smiled. "I like it when you leave a mark," he winked.

"But the guys are probably going to give you shit for it," you frowned. "They'll see that those are fresh and figure it out,".

"If the guys find out, they'll be too busy bitchin' about how it's not fair for them to not be able to see their girls before a game to care that you broke about a dozen league rules," he laughed. "Besides," he added as he placed his hands on your waist and flipped you around so that you were facing the mirror again. "I left plenty of marks on you," he said while resting his chin on your shoulder and moving your wet hair to the back to show off your neck, a prominent purple love bite on your neck with a few small, faint ones scattered around it.

"Good thing I brought extra concealer," you giggled as you felt Joe pepper kisses along your neck.

"Mhmm," he hummed as he looked back up and met your tired eyes in the mirror. "I still can't believe you actually snuck up here. We should do this more often next season,".

"Woahhh, slow down, Burrow. I had to climb 8 flights of stairs to get up here. My legs are about to snap in half and I have 8 more flights to go down to go back to my room. This is def a once in a once-in-a-blue-moon deal," you nodded. "Stairs are not my thing,".

"Fine," he sighed, earning a pleased smile from you. "I'll be looking forward to the next time we get to repeat this little rendezvous, though,".

"I know you will," you winked before looking up at the clock, seeing that it was almost time for you to make your sneaky exit. "I should get going," you said as you flipped around in his hold.

"Okay," he nodded, tucking your wet hair behind your ear.

"I'll see you at the game tomorrow, okay?" you nodded.

"Yeah," Joe nodded again while giving you a soft look with his eyes.

"I want you to know that no matter what happens tomorrow night, I'm so proud of you, Joe. You've truly had one of the best years since you've been in the league and regardless of what goes down tomorrow, you did your best and went above and beyond. I love you so much and I'm so happy and proud of you," you smiled while you cupped his cheek and pulled his face down to press a kiss to the crown of his forehead.

"Thank you, Y/N. That really means a lot," he said while letting out a deep breath. "I love you. Thank you for being here," he said while leaning in for a sweet, purely innocent kiss.

"I'm always here," you said against his swollen lips after you pulled away.

After a few more minutes of saying goodbye to each other, you took a peek outside the hallway to see if the coast was clear; which it was.

You stepped outside into the hall, slowly and quietly inching towards the door to the stairs before you heard a familiar voice call your name behind you. "Y/N?" the deep voice spoke up.

"Fuck. Ja'marr," you whispered to yourself, instantly recognizing the voice and turning around.

"Y/N? What the hell are you doing up here?" he loudly said as he walked closer to you.

"I....uh....," you mumbled, not being able to come up with an excuse for why you were on this floor.

"Wait a second," he said as he looked at your wet hair, the purple spots on your neck which you clearly couldn't cover since your makeup was in your room, and your blissed-out facial expression and glow.

"Ain't no fuckin' way," he said, bursting out laughing as he realized he just caught you in a walk of shame. "No fucking wayyyy,".

"It's not what you think," you nervously shook your head.

While you were attempting to come up with an excuse, Joe opened his door because he heard a ruckus outside and decided to see what was going on, but he froze at the doorstep once he saw both you and Ja'marr look back at him.

"Oh my god," he said while laughing harder once he saw Joe's wet hair matching your wet hair. "You two seriously...right now...at the team hotel...oh my GOD," he said, his entire body shaking at how hard he was laughing.

"Ja'marr please don't tell anyone," you begged as you looked over at Joe.

"Joe, you do realize she probably just broke about a dozen rules by doing this, right?" Ja'marr asked while looking back at him.

"It was actually my idea," Joe said while scratching his neck, his cheeks turning red out of embarrassment.

"Man, why you so fuckin' horny lately?" Ja'marr shook his head, a laugh coming from your lips as you saw Joe's cheeks turn even more red. "I get you have a hot girlfriend and you're making up for 9 years worth of sex, blah, blah--not to be weird--but damn Joe, keep that shit in your pants till you get home," he lectured.

"Yeah, Joe. Keep it in your pants," you teased as you gave him a wink.

"Y/N, please. Spare me," Joe playfully rolled his eyes. "Maybe save the lingerie pics for when we get back home then,".

Your jaw fell open at his lack of filter considering you were with Ja'marr right now.

"Okayyy, I don't need to be a part of this conversation," he laughed. "Yall can have your lovers quarrel later. We have 5 minutes before lights out and the staff comes to check the rooms, Joe. So Y/N needs to get outta here or you're both fucked,".

"Well, I was just leaving until you stopped me," you huffed.

"Well, your secret is safe with me...for now," he grinned. "Yall owe me, remember that," he said while pointing at you two.

"You got it," you laughed as you gave him a salute. "I'm gonna go now," you said while looking back at Joe, a small smile on his lips as if he was enjoying this situation.

"Bye, Y/N," Ja'marr waved like a little kid.

"Bye, Ja'marr," you laughed before looking back at Joe.

"Bye, J. I love you and remember what I said earlier," you said while shooting him a loving smile.

"I love you too, and I will, " he smiled while giving you a small wave.

"Man, are yall still talking dirty right now? For real? 'Remember what I said earlier?' No. Joe don't need to remember whatever the fuck you whispered in his ear while going at it," Ja'marr said with a disgusted look on his face.

"That's not what I-...you know what? Never mind," you said while throwing your hands up and turning around to open the door to the staircase, a smile tugging at your lips as you heard Ja'marr and Joe laugh behind you while you closed the door behind you and slowly made your way down the stairs.

"Man, yall are really something," Ja'marr said when he walked back over to Joe's doorstep.

"What do you expect me to do," Joe shrugged. "I've been after her for 9 years. Let me have my fun with my girlfriend,".

"Have fun, but don't have too much fun," Ja'marr laughed as he patted Joe's shoulder and walked back to his room.

"That's considered too much fun? Please," Joe whispered to himself while turning around and going back into his room. "We're just getting started," he said with a content grin on his face.

--The End--

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #ybwm #joe burrow fic #joeburrow #nfl imagine

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vintagelasvegas · 2 months ago

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Dunes Hotel & Casino '55-'93

Dunes, 1955. Kodachrome photo from Charles Phoenix.

Timeline of the Dunes

’53-54: First announced as Hotel Araby (RJ 11/1/53), then became known as Vegas Plaza, and Hotel Deauville (RJ 1/20/54, 4/23/54). Named the Dunes by the time of groundbreaking, 6/22/54 (RJ).

’55: May 23, original owners Robert Rice, Al Gottesman, Joseph Sullivan, Alexander Barad and Jason Tarsey open the $4 million Dunes Hotel-Casino with 200 rooms on an 85-acre site. Architect J Replogle, designer R. Dorr Jr. Signs and Sultan figure by YESCO (RJ 5/23/55).

’55: Aug., Dunes leased by Sands partners and reopened in Sep. Subsequent financial difficulties cause the casino to be closed, 1/56.

’56: Bill Miller, Major A. Riddle, and Robert Rice are licensed to reopen the casino in May. In Nov., the license is changed to add M&R Investment Co. as the company that operates the Dunes.

’57: Jan., Minsky’s Follies opens the first topless show at a Strip resort.

’59: Convention Hall addition.

’61: Olympic Wing addition.

’62: Riddle sells 15 percent of the stock to M&R Investment Corp., whose stockholders now include Charles Rich, Sidney Wyman and George Duckworth. Tower groundbreaking, 10/21/62.

’64: Construction of "Miracle Mile" golf course. Sultan figure moved to golf course in May. In Oct-Nov, the 180-ft sign is installed in Oct., and switched on 11/12/64.

’65: Jun, opening of Dome of the Sea and the 24-story tower. Dunes Golf Course opened.

’69: Continental Connector Corp., a publicly traded company, buys the Dunes in a $59M stock transfer in May. In Dec, the SEC charges that CCC defrauded stockholders in the proxy statement it issued offering to buy the Dunes. CCC settles the SEC complaint in ’76. At this time, bankers E. Parry Thomas and Jerome Mack are principals in M&R and CCC.

’74: In Sep., Gaming Control Board files a complaint against the Dunes for catering and "comping" alleged Kansas City mob chief Nick Civella, one of 11 members of the Black Book, Nevada's List of Excluded Persons. The Dunes ultimately was fined $10,000.

’75: In Feb., Morris Shenker buys an interest in M&R through his IJK Nevada Inc. Later in the year, Dunes owners Shenker and Riddle are asked about allegations that reputed mobster Anthony Spilotro had "set up shop" at the Dunes. Spilotro reportedly was spending up to 14 hours a day in the poker room and appeared to be using it as an office.

’76: In Jun., Shenker sues the Teamsters Union for $140M for backing out of a loan commitment, which was to be used to add another 1,000 rooms. In Oct., Dept of Labor intervenes, saying the loan was prohibited. In ’80, Shenker's breach of contract lawsuit is tossed out of court by U.S. District Judge Roger Foley.

’79: South tower opened in summer. Shenker announces the Dunes will construct a $65M hotel-casino in Atlantic City. FBI affidavits are unsealed claiming that two confidential informants "both advised that the Kansas City organized crime group headed by Nick Civella has a concealed interest fronted by Shenker at the Dunes." Shenker denies the allegations.

’80: In Jan., alleged members of the NY Columbo family are discovered staying for free at the Dunes. Gaming Control Board Chairman Richard Bunker says the "comping" did not violate the law or gaming regulations. Later, four of the group, including Joseph Columbo Jr., are indicted on charges of obtaining money under false pretenses in an airline ticket reimbursement scam. The indictment is dismissed by District Judge Joseph Pavlikowski and in ’84 was reinstated by the NV Supreme Court.

’82: Aug., the $17M Oasis Casino opens, doubling the existing casino space at the resort. Design by Farris Alexander Congdon Architects. New 2-floor casino includes Xanadunes electronic gaming area, and Video-Video arcade space (RJ 8/13/82, 8/20/82).

’82: Dec., Stuart and Clifford Perlman agree to buy the Dunes for $185M. The brothers loan Shenker $4M and $2.9M of that sum is used to pay overdue federal payroll taxes and avoid the seizure of assets by the IRS. Shenker denies the resort is on the verge of bankruptcy. Docs filed with the SEC indicate the property is in default on a number of loans and a number of creditors threaten foreclosure action.

’83: The Perlmans assume management of the Dunes in Apr., and operate it for four months before the sale collapses in Aug.

’83: Oct., a foreclosure sale of the Dunes' golf course and some other property is averted when problems are worked out with the trustees of the Hotel & Restaurant Employees and Bartenders Int’l Union and the trustees of the Nevada Culinary and Bartenders Pension Trust, which are owed $1.5M for non-payment of union benefits.

’83: Dec., a federal jury in Las Vegas decides that Shenker owes $34M to the So. Nevada Culinary and Bartenders Pension Fund for defaulting on loans in ’73-’75 to two of Shenker's land companies, Sierra Charter Corp. and IJK Nevada.

’84: Feb., Shenker files for personal bankruptcy in Missouri to protect his assets from the $34M judgment. The IRS claims that the 78-year-old Shenker owes $66M in unpaid taxes stretching back 20 years. Shenker's bankruptcy filing claimed assets of $82M and liabilities of $197M, the largest debt ever recorded in the St. Louis bankruptcy court.

’84: Mar., Valley Bank of Nevada heads a consortium to lend the Dunes $68.6M as part of a debt restructuring plan.

’84: May, John Anderson buys a controlling interest in the Dunes with his JBA Investments Inc. Anderson signs a $25M note to pay the Perlmans for the $35M they invested in the resort. Shenker's 26 percent interest remains under the control of the bankruptcy court.

’84: Jun., the FBI alleges that Shenker approved $600,000 in kickbacks to alleged Milwaukee crime boss Frank Balistrieri in connection with loans from the Teamsters Union to Allen Glick, who later bought four Las Vegas resorts before being forced out of gaming by Nevada officials. Shenker denies the kickback allegations. No charges are filed.

’85: Feb., Dunes is cited for failing to retrofit the property to meet fire safety standards. About $2.2M is spent on retrofitting during the first half of the year.

’85: May, former Gaming Control Board Chairman Richard Bunker leaves his position as corporate treasurer of Circus Circus Ent. to become president of the Dunes.

’85: Aug., Jack Bona buys out the Dunes' 49 percent interest in its Atlantic City property in a $21M sale. The next day, Bona places the property in a Ch. 11 reorganization in bankruptcy court.

’85: Sept. 27, Dunes defaults on the $68.6M bank loan and Valley Bank moves ahead with the legal steps required for a foreclosure sale Dec. 23.

’85: Oct. 24, Federal marshals begin seizing cash from the Dunes casino cage to pay a $2.7M judgment obtained by trustees of the Culinary and Bartenders unions. They accept a $200,000 check and leave the cash in the cage.

’85: Nov. 1, Marshals return to collect the remaining $17M owed to the unions but are halted by a last-minute restraining order.

’85: Nov. 6, Dunes' operating company. M&R Investment, files for reorganization under Chapter 11.

’87: Masao Nangaku buys the Dunes for $157M.

’92: Nov., Dunes bought by Mirage Inc. for $75M.

’93: Jan. 26, closed. North tower and sign demolished 10/27/93.

‘94: Jul. 20, South tower demolished.

A major source for the timeline is Jane Ann Morrison. Judge Approves Payday for Dunes Employees. Review-Journal, 11/7/85.

Dunes, 1955. This is the original layout of the resort, before the addition of the Convention Hall and Olympic wing. Photo by Ed Screeton. Dunes Hotel Photograph Collection (PH-00281), UNLV Special Collections & Archives.

Late '64. The 180-foot sign has recently been completed. Dome of the Sea restaurant and the hotel tower are nearing completion. Culinary Workers Union Local 226 Photographs, UNLV Special Collections & Archives.

#Dunes #1955

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hotvintagepoll · 16 days ago

Text

Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster (From Here to Eternity, The Gypsy Moths)—no propaganda submitted

Zasu Pitts and Thelma Todd (Let's Do Things, Catch as Catch Can)—[a Vanity Fair article was submitted that was paywalled, so I'm putting the text of it under the cut]

This is round 1 of a mini Christmas tournament. Each poll lasts for three days. If you'd like to send additional propaganda supporting your favorite hot couple, you can reblog this post with your propaganda added, send it to my asks, or tag me in it. To vote in all the polls, click here. Happy holidays!

[additional propaganda under the cut]

Pitts and Todd:

Here is the text of the Vanity Fair article that was submitted, written by Donald Liebenson:

Before Lucy and Ethel, Laverne and Shirley, or Mary and Rhoda, there were Thelma Todd and Zasu Pitts. Separately, they were journeymen character actors in 1930s Hollywood. Together, they became the first major female comedy team, appearing in shorts that found them bonded as friends and career women struggling to make it on their own—the Depression-era answer to Abbi and Ilana of Broad City.

Over a two-year period, they made 17 shorts rarely seen since their theatrical release—and now collected for Thelma Todd & Zasu Pitts: The Hal Roach Collection 1931-33, a two-DVD set. They’re revelatory viewing, progressive, and proto-feminist portrayals of two career girls in the big city, defiantly dependent on each other.

Hal Roach, the legendary producer who teamed up Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy, envisioned Todd and Pitts as a female equivalent to his marquee stars. Blonde-bombshell Todd was a beauty queen plucked from Massachusetts by a talent scout and brought to Hollywood in the 1920s, where she primarily played comic relief in other people’s films. Kansas-born Pitts was a prolific character actress, so typecast as a comedienne that few directors took her seriously for dramatic roles (though her finest hours were in Erich von Stroheim’s epic, Greed). The contrast between them was more about character than looks. Todd was brash and confident, and Pitts a more dithery presence; think Olive Oyl.

“They have gumption; they’re unflappable,” explained Molly Haskell, film critic and author of the seminal book From Reverence to Rape: The Treatment of Women in the Movies. “They’re looking out for each other; you could just feel the value of the twosome. . . . They are modern women. Hopefully, they will rise to the top—but in the meantime, they’re just going to wing it and figure things out.”

The duo’s first short, Let’s Do Things, establishes their dynamic. Thelma and Zasu promote sheet-music sales in a department store. Pitts moons over her boyfriend, but a disapproving Thelma prompts her to remember why the two came to New York in the first place. “To advance ourselves, to meet the best people, and to do big things,” Pitts responds. By the end of the short, the boyfriend gets a pie in the face, courtesy of Todd.

“They’re always going to have each other’s back,” Haskell noted. “I don’t think there’s any of the shorts where they fight over a man.”

Todd and Pitts’s gender alone made them somewhat revolutionary in their day. Comedy teams were primarily the province of men: the Marx Brothers, the Three Stooges, Laurel and Hardy. “Slapstick was what men loved, and women didn’t because the whole core of it was tearing things up,” Haskell said. “It was chaotic and women wanted order. The defense of the domestic was a woman’s role . . . and slapstick violated the sense of order and decency and uprightness. They didn’t find it funny.”

But Todd and Pitts were both game for the physical stuff. In Let’s Do Things, Todd suffers a throw-about throttling from a quack osteopath; in the courtroom comedy Sneak Easily, juror Pitts throws a murder trial into chaos when she swallows a piece of the evidence—an explosive.

But in their best shorts (which, like the rest of their work, were written and directed by men), the mayhem is mostly in the service of a female narrative, observed film historian Jeanine Basinger. “It’s situational comedy,” she said. “If you’re going to make a plot centered around women, what the heck is she going to do just sitting around the house? They have to get out there in some way. . . . When you look at these films, what you see is what [the creators] thought was a good comedy female situation in that era. You have the chaos over Zasu’s hat in the boxing arena in Catch-as Catch-Can, the high-society party in which they are fish out of water in The Pajama Party, and the department-store melee in The Bargain of the Century. . . . The American woman on film is really a pretty active person, unless she is just stooging it in a male genre. Things have to happen to them, and they have to react. These shorts reflect that very clearly.”

More than 80 years on, the Todd-Pitts shorts play surprisingly well. Their appeal, talent, and chemistry elevate even the most dated material. “I like [Todd and Pitts] so much, and enjoy watching them,” said Leonard Maltin, author of the recently published anthology, Hooked on Hollywood: Discoveries from a Lifetime of Film Fandom and the essential 1970 book Movie Comedy Teams.

“I cannot tell a lie: the shorts are not all good. The gag men had a hard time coming up with suitable material that wouldn’t de-feminize them or make them look outlandishly unladylike, but [Todd and Pitts] play well today because [the characters] aren’t so different from two young women trying to make their way in the world in 2018. The struggles they have by and large tend not to be sexist. If they lose a job, they are comically inept, or it’s a blown opportunity.”

Max and Caroline of 2 Broke Girls, which ran for six seasons on CBS earlier this decade, could be the granddaughters of Thelma and Zasu. Beth Behrs, who played fallen privileged high-society woman Caroline, formed a formidable odd-couple relationship with Max (Kat Dennings), a street-smart waitress trying to start her own cupcake business. Their chemistry, Behrs said, was instant, and their real-life friendship informed their on-screen rapport over the show’s six seasons.

Though the actress was previously unfamiliar with Todd and Pitts, she watched a couple of their shorts on YouTube and saw a kinship with those aspirational woman. “It was important [Caroline and Max] were full-fledged women who really were entrepreneurs,” she said. “We never had a love interest for more than a season. It wasn’t about finding a man; it was about loving each other and building the business from nothing, and the two of them going after the American Dream together.”

For Todd and Pitts, the dream ended when Zasu left the team in 1933. Hal Roach replaced her with Patsy Kelly. Todd, who had appeared in some Laurel and Hardy shorts, is perhaps best known today for her two films with the Marx Brothers, Monkey Business and Horse Feathers. Her career was tragically cut short in 1935 when at the age of 29 she was found dead in her car. A grand jury ruled her death a suicide, but that did not explain bruises around her throat, a broken nose, and other injuries; her death remains one of Hollywood’s unsolved mysteries.

What do these 80-plus-year-old shorts have to tell us in 2018? “They show us what all old movies show us,” Basinger said. “They show us how it was, and they show us how it is. . . . We can see attitudes, we can see women out in the world doing things, having ideas and speaking out. And they show us how we are today.”

Two Broke Girls ended its run in 2017. Behrs currently stars with Max Greenfield and Cedric the Entertainer in another CBS comedy, The Neighborhood, about a white couple that moves into a predominantly black neighborhood. The first season’s initial episodes have already glimpsed the comic possibilities in her character’s relationship with her next-door neighbor (Cedric’s wife), played by Tichina Arnold. “There is an electricity between us,” Behrs said. “The writers saw it, and are exploring turning us into a Lucy and Ethel.”

#zasu pitts #thelma todd #deborah kerr #burt lancaster #hotvintagepoll #hot couples tourney

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fxckn-sxck-fr · 2 months ago

Note

id lovee to hear ur rankings of the comic book men from appearing to be the most normal to something is obviously wrong w them (if that makes sense... like,,,, who is and isnt an obv red flag)

ur writing keeps me fed :3

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐂 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐆𝐒…

!!! GN reader, manipulation, gaslighting, mentions of stalker-ish picture-taking, mentions of schizophrenia and anxiety, poor treatment of mental illness, mentions of violent behaviors, murderous Bucky Barnes, Tim Drake (he’s just a problem), mentions of suicidal tendencies, can be translated as platonic or romantic.

EAAAAATT!!!!! EEEEAAAAATTTT!!!!!!!!! EAT MY WRITING!!!! CONSUME IT!!!!!!!!!!!

Remember, this is from least to most, meaning we’ll talk about the seemingly well-adjusted folks first and gradually move up to the, “okay, what the fuck is wrong with him” peeps.

Wally West: The way he’s playing everyone like a fiddle is downright disrespectful. He’s filled to the brim with green flags, easily appearing as one of the safest guys on the planet. Even when you start to suspect something, you have to constantly second guess yourself, because come on… it’s Wally. What the fuck can he do wrong? Don’t even bother voicing any of your concerns. No one — and I mean no one — will believe you. Having problems with Wally West? The embodiment of a warm summer evening? Damn, that sounds like a you problem. Poor Wally, having to deal with a crazy weirdo.

Dick Grayson: He’s got an amazing personality and pretty privilege working for him. At this rate, the masses manipulate themselves. Only those who are extremely perceptive will pick up on the cold glint in his eyes, and even then, the mystique only adds to his charm. By the time you realize he’s been hiding a darker side, it’s too late. Everyone’s too captivated by how endearing Dick is to hear you out. Even those who know him personally — who know about his struggles and rough patches — think you’re full of shit. Dick’s an emotionally mature man, so why don’t you just talk it out with him?

Steve Rogers: This is a bit unfair, considering the leverage he’s granted as Captain America, but hey… work what you got. While it may seem obvious to you that he’s way too overbearing and protective, good luck trying to get other people on your side. Everyone else thinks it’s a part of his 40s charm. Social norms were just different back then; why can’t you be more appreciative of his old-fashioned care? Besides, you’re probably overreacting. Is it really that bad? Steve is the leader of the Avengers, so maybe you’re just taking his authoritative demeanor the wrong way.

Clark Kent: I’m gonna be so for real, any man from a fuckass state like Kansas is going to come with some personality quirks. People will probably give him the benefit of the doubt by default. Just a farm boy trying to navigate the big city and can’t even hurt a fly. Sure, he can be odd at times, but nothing makes him an inherently bad guy. This is the same man that helps old people cross the street, for god’s sake! He most definitely means well, it’s just a matter of setting boundaries with him. What’s the worst he can do?

Remy LeBeau: Despite what differing opinions may say about The Gambit, Remy seems like he’s got his head on his shoulders. His “red flags” are more on the blurry side. Do you count excessive flirting as a red flag? What about hiding behind charisma and a fake ego instead of going to therapy? Some people may say yes, others no. But in terms of glaring red flags, Remy’s relatively clean. We’ve all got our issues, no? Being a thief doesn’t make you a psycho. That being said, due to Remy’s shifty past, people may be more inclined to listen should you ever express that something’s wrong.

Peter Parker: Honestly… he’s a bit of a weirdo. Nothing obvious at first, but the longer you know him, the more behaviors you may pick up on that make you go, “oh… well… that’s weird”. Take his Polaroid obsession, for example. He’s got at least one photo in every jacket pocket, dozens in his wallet, and a fuck ton in his desk. Poor guy accidentally spilled them all over the ground once, which naturally sparked rumors. But Peter’s a sweetheart. Clingy, but still a sweetheart. Maybe he’s just a little messed up due to everything he’s lost in his life.

Bruce Wayne: Okay. Red flags in the playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne? Absolutely unheard of. He’s an absolute angel. According to all of the stan accounts out there, he could do nothing wrong. But red flags in the real Bruce Wayne? Where do we even begin. Distrusting as fuck, paranoid, argumentative, the occasional fit of violence, a known manipulator and liar… want me to keep going, because I can. It’s very hard to rank Bruce due to the ginormous contrast between general public opinion and those who actually know him, so he goes smack in the middle. Billionaire Bruce Wayne would never be a horrible person to you, but the real Bruce Wayne 100% would.

Jaime Reyes: Because of how mental illness is stigmatized, Jaime’s unfortunately labeled to be dangerous. But it’s not really his fault. That damn scarab has him muttering to himself like a crackhead, and naturally assumptions will be made. When actually given a chance, people will learn that Jaime’s a nice kid. He just probably struggles with schizophrenia or really bad anxiety. Yes, his paranoia can get bad, but again; mental illness. He’s never proven himself to a threat, despite what others may think. He just needs help (but there’s no way to combat the manipulation of Khaji Da. Jaime lost that battle the moment he became Blue Beetle).

Hal Jordan: Oh, yeah. He’s got red flags alright. But they’re mostly normal ones, like his ego and horrendous stubborn streak. Lots of guys out there are like that, and are they considered freaks? No. Well, not all of them. However, it is a bit concerning that he’s willing to throw hands at the drop of a hat. Bro’s one major freak out away from catching assault charges like they’re Pokémon. But if it’s any consolation, it should be noted that he hasn’t gotten into major legal trouble. On Earth. Yet. Some call him rough around the edges, others call him a severely troubled individual. Either way, he definitely needs to seek professional help.

Scott Summers: MAJOR red flags. He’s an overbearing control freak that really needs to work on his… well… his everything. Emotional intelligence, temper, daddy issues… yeah, no. He’s an amazing leader, but probably someone you should steer clear from otherwise. Most wouldn’t be surprised if you two were having issues. It’s not like he wears all of his problems on his sleeve; the iceberg goes much deeper than that. Though he sure as hell doesn’t present himself as a well-adjusted member of society. Proceed at your own risk. Don’t say you weren’t warned, because you probably were.

Bucky Barnes: This is the opposite of Captain America’s case. His reputation as the Winter Soldier kind of skews the perception of him to be a walking red flag. And you know, he really is. Bucky is extremely dangerous. Down to snap necks anytime, anywhere, no amount of charm or endearing quirks will make people feel fully safe around him. His history of violence did not stop post-brainwashing. And it’s not like he’s hiding it, either. There’s this crazed gleam in his eyes that just screams “fuck around and find out,” no matter what his mood is. Who in their right mind would involve themself with THE Winter Soldier?! Yeah, no shit you’re having issues with him. He is an issue.

Tim Drake: Bro is the epitome of “you’re scaring the hoes.” He could be walking down the street — face neutral, hands in his pockets — and total strangers will get the sense that something is deeply wrong with him. The aura around him exudes the reddest of flags. Yes, his face and intelligence are attractive, but even those who have fallen for his pretty boy swag can’t help but sigh dreamily and think, “he really needs to be institutionalized.” Disturbing humor. Creepy staring. Mood swings. Suicidal tendencies. Sadomasochism to the max. The list goes on and on and on. If Dead Dove: Do Not Eat was a person, it’d be him. What were you expecting? It’s Tim fucking Drake.

#❥ CALL INCOMING: DO YOU LIKE SCARY MOVIES?#❥ TW: YANDERE #❥ YANDERE CHARACTER #❥ PLATONIC YANDERE #❥ ROMANTIC YANDERE #❥ YANDERE BRUCE WAYNE #❥ YANDERE BUCKY BARNES #❥ YANDERE CLARK KENT #❥ YANDERE DICK GRAYSON #❥ YANDERE HAL JORDAN #❥ YANDERE JAIME REYES #❥ YANDERE PETER PARKER #❥ YANDERE REMY LEBEAU #❥ YANDERE SCOTT SUMMERS #❥ YANDERE STEVE ROGERS #❥ YANDERE TIM DRAKE #❥ YANDERE WALLY WEST #❥ YANDERE VARIOUS X READER #❥ GN READER

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cowgurrrl · 2 years ago

Text

Sweet Jane

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (plus platonic Ellie Williams x fem!reader)

Author’s note: this actually ripped my heart out and made me realize why I don’t write angst

Summary: “If I have children, I hope they live quiet lives. No fires for them. No sickness. No breaking news stories. I hope they die of old age, far from the pages of history books.” - oh, to live unremarkably by Trista Mateer [2.3k]

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, talks of child loss (reader has lost a child) teen pregnancy, tumultuous parent/child relationships, references to a sexual relationship but nothing explicit, reader is a badass because I said so, ANGST

The second you saw her, you knew this was a possibility. You knew it would happen at one point but watched your tongue. You thought it would happen in the middle of a firefight or trying to survive a horde of Infected or some other dangerous situation where you couldn't stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth. It doesn't. It happens on a sunny autumn day while walking away from the ravaged Kansas City. She was trying to show off or prove something to Joel when she tried to run forward without warning. It came out as a gasp as you grabbed her backpack and yanked her back before her foot could slip off the ledge of a cliff. Your heart pounded as you gripped her like you were waiting for her to start falling again. She mumbled a quick sorry before you let her go. She didn't try to run forward again after that.

She waits longer than you expected to ask about it. After you set up camp for the night and cook whatever Joel decided, Ellie looks at you and asks, "who's Jane?" Joel's brows furrow at the question, and your chest tightens. “You called me Jane earlier."

"Jane's my daughter." You catch yourself using the present tense, and grief trickles down your spine like an unpleasant cold shower. Saying that she was your daughter sounds wrong. It's been years now, but you can't make yourself switch. She's still your daughter, even if she's gone. You're still her mom. You'll always be her mom.

"Oh," she gapes, and you nod. You can feel Joel's eyes on you, but you don't look at him. If you do, the words will tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You didn't know." You say, shrugging as if she gave you the wrong directions instead of asking about your kid. She doesn't push the subject anymore, and you eat silently until Ellie crawls into her sleeping bag and falls asleep.

Cicadas' chirps and the fire's crackling fill the space between Joel and you. The stars twinkle as the clouds move in the night sky. It's peaceful. Or it would be, at least, if Joel hadn't been fiddling with his gun for the past twenty minutes. The metal clicking is almost enough to drive you crazy, and you shoot him a look. He freezes and meets your eyes before letting his hands drop.

"Sorry," he says, and you chuckle. He props the gun up next to him and glances around to make sure nothing's decided to sneak close to you.

"I think we're safe," You say.

"For now."

"Joel Miller, ever the optimist."

"It ain't about being optimistic. It's about being smart."

"Right," you shake your head and look at Ellie sleeping in the corner. Her chest rises and falls steadily as she dreams secret dreams. You smile when she snuggles deeper into her sleeping bag and scrunches her nose. "You think she'll be okay?" You ask, meeting his eyes.

"Kids seem to handle these things better."

"Sam was her friend."

"I know." He says. Images of shaky guns, Ellie's screams, and the silence that followed Henry's body hitting the floor replay in your mind in slow motion. You're trying to figure out where it went wrong, when the universe pulled yet another rug out from under you. When you put the two kids to bed, everything was fine, and not even eight hours later, Sam and Henry were dead. How many people will you bury before you get to the Fireflies?

"I'm tired," you admit softly. You can tell by the faraway look in his eyes that he's in his own head, turning things over to look for new details. He's looking for something he missed. "What're you thinking about?" You ask, snapping him out of it, and he shifts uncomfortably.

"You never told me you had a daughter." He finally says, and you nod. You look down at your bootlaces and untie them, so you don't have to look at him.

"It never came up."

"Her name was Jane?" He phrases it like he wasn't listening the first time, but you know he's trying to get you to open up about her.

"Jane Eloise," saying her full name scratches at an unhealed wound deep in your stomach. You think about all the times you shouted those names across the apartment to her. You were always late for school, late for a birthday party, and late for appointments. You're almost positive she would've been late to her own birth if you hadn't been induced. Rushing was the way you lived your life for that decade. You would give anything to be running late with her again. "If I talk about her, I'm gonna cry." You warn.

"That's okay." His voice is so soft, and he's looking at you with those big eyes, and something shifts. You haven't talked about her in years, but something in Joel's demeanor makes you feel safe enough to unlock the door in your brain, holding all her memories.

"I had her when I was sixteen. I was pregnant throughout my sophomore year of high school and had a toddler by the time I went to college. I still don't know how, but I graduated. I was gonna go to med school and start a brand new life, just the two of us. I spent so fucking long studying, but it didn't matter."

"How come I didn't know all this?"

"We agreed to keep our pasts to ourselves when we started," you hesitate—started seeing each other as stress relief and nothing else? Started lying to Tess so you could fuck in alleys in between deals? Started pretending like it meant nothing? "I never thought you'd want to know more than you had to."

"I want to know now," He says like it's the easiest thing in the world. "Did her dad stay around to help you?"

"No, he left the second he got the chance. It was probably for the better, anyway. He was an asshole. I still don't know if he's alive or if he even knows what happened. I don't know if I care enough to find out."

"How old was she when she…" he trails off, the last word dying on his tongue. You swallow around the lump in your throat and take a shaky breath.

"Ten."

"I'm sorry." He says, and you nod. You never knew how to respond to people when they told you they were sorry your kid was dead. You still don't. Nobody tells you about this part in parenting classes.

"We got out on Outbreak Day. Somehow, I kept her alive until I could get her to the QZ nearby. I smuggled there for a few years and made enough money to feed and clothe her. That's better than most people were able to do. I would pick her up from school and walk her home most days but I had a deal with one of my neighbors, Mrs. Carmichael, that if I couldn't pick her up from school, she would. She picked her up a few times, and nothing went wrong. So, when I got caught up in a deal outside the walls one day, I thought it was safe to finish it and be home by dinner," you say, regret washing over you all at once. "Then, Fireflies started dropping bombs. I heard the explosions all the way out there, and I ran back, but it didn't matter. They were both gone."

"When I told my mom I was pregnant, she was furious. She told me that a mother's love is nothing compared to a mother's fury. At least, that was her excuse when she threw me out, but I didn't know if I believed her until that day. After Jane died, I ripped the entire city apart, looking for every single Firefly that had orders to drop bombs that day, and I killed all of them without batting an eye, and it still didn't bring her back. I still woke up every morning and listened for her breathing or the sound of her making cereal in the kitchen. I waited for her to come home every day for years," tears fall from your eyes, and you quickly wipe them away. Joel is clinging to your every word. "I couldn't stay there. My daughter and everyone who could've been responsible for her death was dead, so I came to Boston. Met you and Tess, and that was it."

"That's why you wanted to kill Marlene when we got Ellie." He says, connecting the dots, and you nod.

"I wanted to drop a fucking bomb on her head for what she did. I don't care if that makes me cruel. She killed my kid and called her collateral. Made it seem like she was a part of the cause and not a fucking child just trying to get home from school."

"I get it," he says. You open your mouth to say something about how he could never understand, how nobody ever could, but he beats you to it. "My… Sarah was fourteen," He stumbles over his words. "I wanted to kill the guy who shot her. I didn't care that he was following orders on that day, I wanted him to suffer, but he was already dead."

Joel had a daughter, not much older than yours, and you never talked about either of them. He's one of the only people in the world who can see your pain, the black hole Jane left in you, and show you his matching one. Joel must've been young when he had his daughter, too. Twenty-two, at the very least. How could you have never talked about this?

"What was Sarah like?"

"She was a spitfire and just about the funniest person I've ever known. Smart as hell, too. She was always readin' and telling me everything she learned in school. I never understood half of it, but she loved it," He says, and it's your turn to cling to his every word. His eyes light up as he talks about her. You see now what a good dad he must've been. "Still don't know where she got it from."

"Well, I'd say she got it from her dad. You're smarter than you give yourself credit for." You say, but he shakes his head, refusing the compliment.

"What about Jane? What was she like?" He asks, and you think for a moment. You remember her big brown eyes; how they widened when she was excited about something or glazed over with tears when she was afraid. You remember how her laugh could fill a room. You remember cradling her in your arms when she came into the world and when you found her.

"She was the most beautiful person I've ever met. When she was born, all the nurses would take turns coming into my room to look at her. They couldn't stop telling me how cute she was, and I agreed with them. She was perfect," you smile, remembering how many pictures you took of her tiny face. You had been terrified your entire pregnancy, but the second you saw her, you knew you were meant to be her mom. You felt completely at peace with her, even as young and unprepared as you were.

"She was quiet and curious, but she also had moments where she was loud and careless like kids usually are. I never understood what people meant when they said having kids gave them a whole new idea of what love could be until I had her. She was the best thing that ever happened to me." You say. Joel watches you wipe more tears away before putting his hand on your knee and squeezing. He doesn't say anything, but the look in his eyes tells you everything.

"I wonder if they would've been friends. Our daughters." He thinks aloud.

"I like to think so."

"Me too," he says. He clears his throat, probably trying to bury any emotions this conversation brought up. "She would've loved you."

"You think?" You ask, and he nods.

"You two would've been thick as thieves. Probably conspire against me or somethin'."

"And that's different from now, how?" He laughs at that, and you smile. You put your hand over his and let your thumb trace the contours of his knuckles. Those bruised, scarred, terrifying mountains that have killed and beaten soften under your touch.

You don't say much else for the rest of the night. You just hold his hand and stay awake to protect the girl not much older than your daughters were. The fear, cautious optimism, and sadness that came along with Ellie, that you thought you were alone in feeling doesn't feel as heavy anymore. The black hole Jane left will never be filled, and you will miss her for the rest of your life, but Joel opening up and showing you his similar wound makes you feel less alone.

It makes you wonder if your girls are together somewhere far from all the pain and bloodshed. You wonder if they've secretly conspired to make you two find each other. You wonder what they would think of each other, of the people their parents turned into, of Ellie. It's nice to think they're together, playing silly games while waiting for you.

Not yet, sweet Jane, you think as you look at the stars, and maybe it's a mind trick or exhaustion, but you swear a star winks back at you. Not yet, Mommy, she seems to agree.

💫

#joel and ellie #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #the last of us x reader #ellie williams #joel miller the last of us #joel miller angst #sarah miller #tlou angst #i wrote this for me but you can read it too i guess #look for the light

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stagefoureddiediaz · 3 months ago

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So its 2am and I’m still on my ‘911 is using The Wizard of Oz theming to tell Eddie’s story’ soapbox and thought I’d talk about something I didn’t go into in my other 911/Wizard of oz post - the fact that Oz, the Emerald City, the wicked witch of the west and the Wizard are all an allegory for the Catholic Church and Christian faith more widely!

I’ve made quite a few posts about 911 playing into religious iconography and so I thought I’d add to that post count by talking about the (anti) religious theming in The Wizard of Oz more generally and how it relates to Eddie’s arc!

The Emerald city is designed to look like a Cathedral

The way the wizard of oz - both the books and the film, plays on religious imagery is similar to the way that C.S Lewis played on it in his Chronicles of Narnia series - but where C.S Lewis created a positive allegory that upheld religion and religious beliefs, Frank Baum was creating a more negative allegory- where religion does't provide the answers, but the individual person

Dorothy starts her journey in Kansas - in the real world, but finds herself in the technicolour world of Oz after a tornado transports her over the rainbow. The film, especially, plays on the idea of her having a head injury - causing her to have this vivid dream of this fantastical land - which is why we see the people of Kansas appear as characters in Oz.

Oz is clearly playing on the idea of heaven and hell and limbo. The wicked witch of the west represents the devil (lucifer) and her castle Hell. While the Emerald city represents the house of God (the church). Glinda is supposed to be an arch angel. Remember that lucifer is a fallen arch angel.

The wizard is a man from the same world as Dorothy and is meant to be viewed as a priest (most likely the pope) - priests being Gods representatives on earth

While the silver (book) or ruby (film) slippers are a representation of enlightenment.

Dorothy is searching for a way out of her ‘coma’ dream and so goes on a journey through Limbo to the house of god to try and get home- along the way the devil tries to stop her getting to the church and subsequently into heaven using the tricks at its disposal. The devil doesn’t succeed and Dorothy and her friends navigate their way to the emerald city and complete the tasks they think god has set for them so they may gain what they seek - to go home, brains, a heart, courage.

It is here that they discover the lies of the priest and once he is gone they all figure out they had what they sought all along - they are enlightened and didn’t actually need the priest or the house of god at all. From there Dorothy chooses to go home and awakes from her coma back in the real world - but retains the knowledge of what she dreamt in her coma.

The wizard of oz as a piece of media (in either book form or film form) is showing the audience that they hold their own power within them and it cannot be granted by outside forces.

The film chooses to show Oz the great and powerful in much the same way as the crucifix is displayed in a catholic church - praying to a false idol in search of what you seek

The wizard hiding behind his curtain is akin to the priest behind the confessional screen - offering absolution and healing etc, when he doesn’t actually possess the power to do so because he is just a man pedalling falsehoods and lies.

The residents of the emerald city in their monochromatic green colouring are an allegory for the members of the churches congregation - blindly following the edits and rules set out by the church in the hope of a happy and fulfilled life - but they are shown to be almost drone like - subjugated and controlled into mindless devotion in the same way people follow the churches teachings without questioning.

Dorothy and here friends never change though - they don’t start wearing green and blending in to the emerald city and they find out that they actually have the power to achieve their desires within them the entire time - as represented by the silver/ruby slippers.

the moral of the Wzard of Oz is ultimately that what we desire or want is within and it cannot be found externally by putting our faith in something outside of us like the church. - Dorothy and her friends always had the things they sought - they just had to figure that out for themselves.

This ties into Eddies entire journey perfectly.

Just because I couldn't write a post about Eddie and not have a picture of him!

Eddies Kansas pre the tornado is his childhood - before he was parentified/husbandified by Helena Diaz.

The tornado is Shannon - she provides him with the escape from his old life and sets him down in California (Oz).

There is a reason the Wizard of Oz theming is heavily coded toward him and his arrival on the show - it is the idea that he has landed in California (Oz) and on top of the wicked witch of the East (hence why we never see Eddie at the same level as the red shoes in the rubble) and has been following the yellow brick road the entire time.

Chris is waiting for Eddie on a yellow strip of flooring at the end of 203

Bobby (Glinda) who shares the catholic faith with Eddie, brings him to the 118 and helps guide him forward on his journey - providing advice and support as and when Eddie needs it, but always watching over him. (one could view Eddie leaving the 118 as the equivalent of the poppy field in the film - leaving his path briefly before returning to it when he wakes up in mayday 'god has spoken')

He has now reached the crux of matters - he has arrived at the Emerald city. It seems likely here that in 804 we will see him have his encounter with the Priest who like the wizard in Oz, will guide him towards a reckoning with his mother (the wicked witch of the west) in order to find his way to inner peace and who he is supposed to be. Once he has dealt with Helena he will discover that he won't find what he seeks in the church - but it will have provided him with something important that plays into the idea that he is a combination of all four characters who journey along the yellow brick road, as their individual traits all represent a part of himself Eddie needs to embrace in order to break free of the chains that have held him back his whole life.

The knowledge (scarecrow) of who he truly is that will also make him realise he already has what his heart (tin man) truly wants if he has the courage (lion) to go for it and that it will get him home (Dorothy) where he truly belongs - accepting himself as a queer man who is in love with his best friend and Chris's forgiveness and return to him in LA.

#I am very obsessed with 911 using the wizard of oz to tell Eddies story - its such a choice and it's been there since the beginning #and the fact that Ryan has revealed that he was only signed on for a couple of episodes initially makes me think that #they really were testing the potential of a buddie slow burn from the get go - that Eddie has always meant to be queer coded #that it wasn't just a happy accident that they stumbled into this incredible chemistry between Oliver and Ryan #its all set up so perfectly for Eddie to deal with his Mother - religion and figure out his queerness #eddie diaz #911 abc #911 and the Wizard of Oz #buddie #911 spoilers #kind of I guess but not really!#religious allegory #queer coding #queer Eddiethe wizard of oz and anti religious imagery

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amadholes-lostre · 1 month ago

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Some Wicked/Land of Oz story ideas

Watching Wicked and remembering Dorothy and Ozma got me thinking some story ideas, mainly AU snd what nots. Trying not borrow many aspects from Wicked and create a more original setting. One of the reasons is that Dorothy is the protagonist for 2 of my story ideas, the timeline and history are a bit different, and trying be more original.

That, and I don't want make these story ideas extremely dark like Wicked (the novel series, not the musical) and Dorothy Must Die (yes, it's a real book). It's probably be dark for the first idea (due to war, discrimination, and the likes), but as necessary and not as brink. And still make Dorothy and Ozma feminine as possible, though Hella gay for each other.

Witchling of the West (or Elphaba raise Dorothy)

Kind of straightforward, mainly the idea that Dorothy is transported to Oz, just like in the book and movie. Only that she transported as a toddler and landed - in a baby basket - on front of Elphaba's castle.

Like from canon, Elphaba controls Winkie country. However, not only that, in thos timeline, she and the rest of the country are in war with Emerald City and the two other countries, Munchkinland and Gillikin. Winkie becomes a safe haven for Speaking-Animals and "undesirable" that Emerald City either alienates to the point of crimalization. Though, the war did turn Elphaba bitter to the point of totalitarian regime.

One day, baby Dorothy in her basket drops in front of Elphaba's castle. Elphaba only decided to raise her because of her magical potential and made her her apprentice. Hence, Dorothy is the Witchling of the West.

Growing up, she befriended a female Winged-Monkey (likely Chistery's daughter), a Winkie girl, and a Munchkin girl. She still has Toto - he comes with her in the basket and has a long lifespan for some reason - and Kansas accent. No one knows how she got it.

Dorothy met Tip when he and Jack Pumpkinhead near the forest, which they instantly fallen in love. After a while (maybe when she is 15 or 16), she and her two friends went with Tip and Jack to across Oz, picking up Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Crowardly Lion, along with few of my OC including ex-Emerald city mlm couple when the City start criminalizing queers for being "weird", which the mlm couple found it hilarious (while being tried to a stalk) while the gang found it weird.

Dorothy is a pacifist, through-and-through, and wish to end the war, especially if possible bloodless (they had come across aftermath battlefield). They went to Quadling and vist the Witch of the South, Glinda (the Wizard and the Witch of the North don't trust her, so they made her head of the poorest region, not that she minded) and her 100 wives. She gives Dorothy and the gang a quest: search for the lost Heir of Ozma, who had disappeared, and what led to the mayhem and then the rise in power of the Wizard. Doing so will immediately dethrone the Wizard and is the best way to a peaceful and bloodless end to the war.

That, and my idea that during the course of the story, Tip had gender dysphoria and Dorothy her through it (which she does revelingly).

Dorothy is Elphaba and Glinda's biological daughter

Pretty Self-explanatory. Mainly that, some time down the line (likely after the Wizard proclaimed her the Wicked Witch), Elphaba and Glinda had sex (likely hate fuck), unknowingly that Elphaba impregnated Glinda thanks to the wonders of Magic and Lesbianism. No one, including Elphaba, knows Glinda is pregnant, and Glinda likely uses enchantment to hide it. After she gives birth to Dorothy, she hides her due to her fear that people - the Wizard and the Morrible - will use her to get to Elphaba. She uses magic to transport Dorothy to Kansas.

Years down the line, Dorothy returns to Oz, and Glinda immediately knows she's her daughter, and Elphaba ironically doesn't know that the girl she wants to kill us her daughter.

#the wizard of oz #wicked #dorothy gale #princess ozma #elphaba thropp #glinda upland #dorzma #gelphie #wlw #sapphic #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfic ideas

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arcane-ish · 2 months ago

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My worry is this, that the main difference between season 1 and season 2 is that in season 2 Arcane stopped being a tv show and its own thing and became very squarely "a League thing".

Now that isn't necessarily an all bad thing. I mean, League is popular for a reason. There are aspects of League that are fun and creative. And I could picture people who come from League being happy with all the "He said the thing" and shoutouts to all the things they care about.

But to me it feels like season 1 was approached as a way to stand on its own and sell itself on its own and be a story about the characters that you try to sell from scratch.

Whole season 2 feels like they might be cramming all the League stuff into Arcane all of a sudden. And with "League stuff" I mean structural things like:

rush characters to get them into a fighting/champion position (Mel)

rush champs to be their League selves

constantly give characters new looks because League funds itself via selling skins

remind people that there are other continents and potential future spin offs out there (Ambessa, Noxus, Black Rose)

Bring stupid void shit and larger than life threats rather than just very human can comparably low magic threats like Silco because that's how League does a lot of its storytelling

bring up that League skins often also mean parallel universes (academy Ekko)

Like I can imagine that some people are genuinely into it. And some things like new looks, skin universes and maybe even void shit and more continents is fun for people.

I just think it's a huge break from how season 1 was told. And there's still some good character writing and some good theming to tie it together a bit. So it's not like the old values are gone just because all these new values and priorities are suddenly swaming the show.

In the end I've always said that League of Legends is the most like a comic book company with the whole so many "lead" characters with their own backstories and power sets, parallel universes, shifting canons etc.

And Arcane just remind me a lot about what I hate about a lot of comic book media when they leave the whole "this is small story about a baby from space being found by a couple in Kansas, growing up with powers and trying to get the hot city chick to like him" invariably needs to get bigger and bigger threats and suddenly we are on "we now are fighting a galaxy eating cloud, now wait, we are not just fighting to preserve one universe from going kaput, now you have to save all the multiverses".

Ceterum Censeo: I hate Viktor and Jayce particularly for brining all the spacey trippy void shit to a show that previously was a lot more low magic and that had a lot more human and close to earth stakes before that.

(for what it's worth, I think the claims of Christian Linke about Arcane being only 2 seasons in his mind are believable. I full believe that the Jinx, Vi, Warwick, Silco and Cait stuff was always roughyl their plan. I just worry that either League came to them with lots of additional "omg, can you put this in too" requests or that they went overboard with the "omg, now I can put this in too because season 1 was successful" ideas)

#arcane #arcane spoilers #league of legends #anti-jayce #anti-viktor

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milligramspoison · 1 year ago

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Welcome to the FOB edition of this list! I originally did this with MCR :)

North America

LIVE DEBUT OF G.I.N.A.S.F.S. (Chicago)

CHRIS LIVESTREAMED THE SHOW

Live debut Heaven, lowa!!

Live debut of Baby Annihilation!

A cover of Crazy Train by Ozzy Osbourne!

The Take Over, the Breaks Over for the first time since 2017!

GIANT DOG HEAD BEHIND PATRICK

Someone wore a Mikey Fuckin' Way shirt to the show (he's already somehow made his way into this list and it's only night one)

Someone else wore a Hey Chris shirt

The Pink Seashell was the intro!

They opened up the tour with LFTOS (it's called Otherside on the official setlist!)

GINASFS being labeled GOLF on the setlist

William Beckett and a handkerchief

They played Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey!

They played Fake Out for the first time with Joe!

New merch tour merch!

CLANDESTINE MERCH

Security/ushers going hard during Centuries!

Pete straight up disappearing off the face of the earth before Crazy Train

Setlist got leaked (very reminiscent of one of MCR hometown shows lol)

Not tour content but Pavlove has randomly appeared on Spotify but is currently unplayable (Maryland Heights)

Patrick was spotted watching the openers!

A paper had to be made for presumably security to not mistake the guys as a concert goer (fucking hilarious)

Andy was also spotted watching the openers!

THEY'RE PLAYING RAY'S ICONIC SPOKEN WORD PART OF I'M NOT OKAY BETWEEN SETS

Each city is getting its own special shirt!! (This was revealed during the Missouri show!)

Setlistfm user mommymilkers live updating the setlist for us (icon)

LIVE DEBUT OF WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE

GIN JOINTS FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2008

JOE SINGING DURING CHICAGO

No one could tell if they either played Gin Joints or Tell That Mick at first

Setlistfm saying they covered Super Bass by Nicki Minaj (it was a troll but a funny one)

Patrick saying he wants to talk to the dog during This Ain't a Scene

Pete petting the dog

Pete giving his pick to a young fan <3

Stardust Funhouse! (Bonner Springs)

Fans with vip packages get their own magic 8 ball! (This has been happening since Chicago but wasn't revealed until night 3 of the tour!)

Patrick and Andy were watching Alkaline Trio together :)

PATRICK IS WEARING THE FEDORA

TOUR DEBUT OF HUM HALLELUJAH

I’M LIKE A LAWYER FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2014

SOPHOMORE SLUMP ALSO FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2014

More trolls saying they covered ME! by Taylor Swift

“Fall Out Boy is my favorite fucking band”

New (I think) BMTH merch! (Woodlands)

BMTH joining the tour! (Been waiting for them since the announcement lol)

FOB SETLIST GOT LEAKED AGAIN

BMTH fans exploding over the fact that Kingslayer wasn't on BMTH's setlist

FOB fans being sad over the fact Pete isn't wearing his skirt (I think someone lied about this so understandable tbh)

THEY COVERED SOMEBODY TO LOVE BY QUEEN

THEY ALSO COVERED TAKE ON ME BY A-HA

Someone on setlistfm trolling everyone by saying they performed Golden for the first time since 2007

Someone else also trolling on setlistfm saying they covered Princess Diana by Ice Spice

Same troll mentioned above saying Ice Spice was there

More trolls saying they did WAP by Cardi B

LIVE DEBUT OF KINTSUGI KID

MORE trolls saying they did I Write Sins and Viva Las Vengeance by P!ATD (the trolls were really annoying tonight tbh)

What a surprise more trolls saying they covered Dear John by Taylor Swift

“I DRESS THIS WAY BC IF THE CROWD IS FEELING HOT AND MISERABLE THEN IM GONNA BE HOT AND MISERABLE WITH YOU GUYS WE'RE IN THIS TOGETHER”

Patrick getting a friendship bracelet and having some banter with Pete <3

The lovely @andoutofharm leaking the setlist for us that says Kansas City even though they're in Dallas (Dallas is proving to be chaos) (wasn’t actually tonight’s setlist but funny it was there)

Joe is hiding his book for fans similar to how MCR hid drumsticks for fans!

Clandestine merch returns in Dallas!

Oli giving FOB a brief shoutout before MANTRA!

PETE IS IN THE SKIRT

Speech about support staff!

Speech about TTTYG’s anniversary!!!

WHAT A CATCH DONNIE FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2013

THE (AFTER) LIFE OF THE PARTY FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2007

Pete walked around in the audience!

“Trying to keep it cool in Texas”

Patrick’s speech about imposter syndrome <3 (whole thing is very sweet and nice)

BMTH not performing in Phoenix :( (sad times)

PETE IS IN A SKIRT AGAIN

Patrick is wearing the black button up again but tucked in!

TAKE OVER AND HUM HALLELUJAH IN THE SAME NIGHT

Pete talking about prioritizing love <3

SPOTLIGHT BY PATRICK WAS FUCKING PLAYED HOLY SHIT

ALSO PATRICK’S FIRST TIME PLAYING SPOTLIGHT SINCE 2011

SPACE CAMP FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2013

They played one extra song tonight! (They usually play 27 songs a night)

Played the instrumental version of Stardust at the end of the show!

Patrick’s speech before Spotlight <3

Pete got Grimaced but Patrick lives on in peace lol

MIKEY FUCKIN WAY IS AT THE FUCKING SHOW (Chula Vista)

A COVER OF NOTHING COMPARES 2 U BY PRINCE

(COFFEE’S FOR CLOSERS) FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2009

Patrick and Pete didn’t do the waltz :(

MIKEY PLAYED FUCKING SATURDAY WITH THEM

MIKEY WITH PETE WHILE PLAYING SATURDAY

MIKEY RUNNING TO THE STAGE TO PLAY

Mikey posting Andy on his story <3333

PATRICK AND MIKEY HUGGING <33333333

Mikey with the entire band <3333333

I nearly spread an entire rumor that Mikey posted sim versions of FOB on his story (oops)

Pete doing this weird/messed up bow thing towards Patrick

“Love you dudes!” on Mikey’s story <33333

“My two dads” on Gabe’s story (never change Gabe)

Patrick stopping the show to make sure a fan is okay <3

Kristin reposting Mikey playing with FOB on her story <3

The pit during BMTH’s set

Oli is missing a fucking shoe

I predicted Mikey performing with FOB :3

Mr. Blue Sky cover! (LA night one)

GOLDEN FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2007

G.I.N.A.S.F.S. IS MAGIC 8 BALL ONCE AGAIN

AMERICA’S SUITEHEARTS FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2009

TWO MAGIC 8 BALL SONGS AS YOU CAN SEE ABOVE

They played 29 songs tonight!! (They usually about 27 songs a night)

PETE AND PATRICK HARMONIZED DURING SRAR

Pete spotting his trainer in the crowd (literally the equivalent of Gerard from MCR talking about their mailman during a show)

Patrick’s speech before medley <3

“New car smell stadium”

Demi Lovato was at the show and performed with Royal & the Serpent, one of the openers!

Pete being shipped to the audience (Amazon same day delivery)

America’s Suitehearts being labeled as ASS on the official setlist

Oli in a cult leader tank top (literally just says cult leader)

The band had a secret show earlier on in the day! (LA night two)

Technically tour stuff, but Pete possibly hinting at an MCR x FOB tour for 2024!

Someone on setlistfm deleting the entire setlist

LIVE DEBUT OF I’VE GOT ALL THIS RINGING IN MY EARS

A COVER OF EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE

SOPHOMORE SLUMP WITH WILLIAM BECKETT OF THE ACADEMY IS

THE (AFTER) LIFE OF THE PARTY ONCE AGAIN

LIVE FUCKING DEBUT OF BANG THE DOLDRUMS

Pete’s speech <3

Pete has a new jacket!

Saturday with Adam T. Siska!

“It looks like there's a lot of you, it's a little intimidating” ~ Patrick (Mountain View)

What A Catch Donnie once again!

A cover of Alison by Elvis Costello!

THE PATRON SAINT OF LIARS AND FAKES FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2013

Pete and Andy briefly turning the show into comedy hour

Pete stood on the piano (thanks piano)

Random guy checking his emails during BMTH’s set (lowkey pretty funny, shoutout to this iconic guy)

Not tour stuff but Electric Touch by Taylor Swift featuring FOB came out today! (July 7th) (West Valley City)

Patrick telling everyone to sing along to Grand Theft Autumn

Cover of Hold The Line by Toto!

THE KIDS AREN’T ALRIGHT FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2018

Someone having a Frerard license plate (honestly super funny)

Patrick saving a bug

Pete broke up a fight (pls don’t fight at concerts that’s not fucking cool) (Greenwood Village)

THEY DID FUCKING BANG THE DOLDRUMS AGAIN AND IT WASN’T EVEN MAGIC 8 BALL TIME

ACOUSTIC GUITAR FOR MEDLEY

PATRICK PLAYED AN ORIGINAL SONG BY HIS DAD <33333

Patrick’s dad is at the show! <3

NOBODY PUTS BABY IN THE CORNER FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2014

“The party tonight is awesome” ~ Pete

“The last thing you want to do is go and brag tomorrow that you got into a fight at a fucking Fall Out Boy show. And it wasn’t even with Bring Me The Horizon, y’know what I mean?” ~ also Pete

The song Patrick played from his dad is called Goin’ North!

There’s bubbles during Disloyal!! (This has been happening the entire tour but I haven’t seen anyone bring it up until the Colorado show!)

Cover of Peace Love and Understanding by Elvis Costello & The Attractions! (Rodgers)

I SLEPT WITH SOMEONE IN FOB FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2015

A speech about Stardust!

Patrick during Saturday <3

“I’m gonna go play Super Mario Brothers”

Pete chatted with a kid during the show <3

Storm delay just before FOB’s set, thankfully everyone was safe!! (Somerset)

Oli has lost his fucking shoe once again

Drunk guy took his pants off and had security chase him (hope they caught him)

THEY SOUNDCHECKED BANG THE DOLDRUMS

The venue is apparently in a cornfield

Only half the stage got set up :(

The dog is named Blitz (yes it took me till Wisconsin to learn it’s fucking name)

THE EYES ALSO FUCKING GLOW

“People ask us what it was like at old fob shows and the answer is that it was kind of like this, we would just play until the police kicked us out” ~ Pete lol

LIVE DEBUT OF FAME < INFAMY CONGRATS WISCONSIN YOU FUCKING DESERVE IT

No medley tonight (storm delay and strict curfew)

Also the shortest show of the tour so far! They played only 16 songs when they usually play about 27-28 songs (again storm delay and strict curfew)

One of the openers wore a cheesehead apparently!

BMTH’s drumhead says Steve for some reason??

Oli hugged a fan <3

OLI RAN THROUGH THE FUCKING MERCH STANDS

Double rainbow!! (Cincinnati)

LIVE DEBUT OF FAVORITE RECORD

Patrick being proud of himself after performing Favorite Record <3

Joe got a new tattoo entitled Z-Bone for his youngest daughter Zayda! <3

Troll on setlistfm saying they covered Harder, Better, Faster Stronger by Daft Punk lol (Noblesville)

Same troll saying they covered Mr. Brightside by The Killers and I Gotta Feeling by The Black Eyed Peas

Same troll saying they covered Peaches by Jack Black

Patrick skipping around <3

WHERE DID THE PARTY GO FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2014

Patrick randomly became a wizard during the show and made Pete disappear :3

Pete being a gamer boy on his ig and playing Fortnite <3

The same troll from the other night saying they covered Daft Punk (again) and fucking Nintendo (Cuyahoga Falls)

“I have like, 3 brain cells left” ~ Pete

MEDLEY HAD I’M LIKE LAWYER

Cover of Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen!

LIVE DEBUT OF 27

Pete smiling and waving to his two youngest kiddos, Saint and Marvel during Dance Dance <3

A fan also gave Meagan and the kiddos friendship bracelets! (Revealed in the tags in the link above!)

PETE’S IN A SKIRT (Bristow)

NOBODY PUTS BABY IN THE CORNER ACCOUSTIC

TOUR DEBUT OF SHE’S MY WINONA

SHE’S MY WINONA FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2009

I FUCKING PREDICTED SHE’S MY WINONA

New merch for the magic 8 ball! (Charlotte)

Someone the day before the show put an entire fake setlist on setlistfm lol

A Jehovah’s Witness is at the show (slay ig)

And apparently another person randomly preached at the show??

Someone is also barking in the pit??

Lean On Me by Bill Withers cover!!

DEAD ON ARRIVAL FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2013

S’mores after the show is over on Pete’s story

Oli dedicated Can You Feel My Heart to FOB!

POSSIBLE 7 MINUTES SOUNDCHECK?? (Virginia Beach)

7 MINUTES FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2007

PATRICK PLAYED THE DRUMS

“Sing it with me, honey!” Patrick to Blitz during This Ain’t a Scene

In typical Florida fashion…severe thunderstorm warning to start off the night (West Palm Beach)

Karaoke by the merch stand!

Setlist got leaked!

8 ball hint is gator bites…

Andy is back!!!

PETE’S IN THE SKIRT

THEY COVERED DANCING QUEEN BY ABBA

TELL MICK FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2013

ACCIDENTALLY PREDICTED TELL MICK IN MY DMS WITH @frankierosbackbends

DEAD ON ARRIVAL IN PLACE OF CHICAGO TONIGHT (Tampa)

MISS MISSING YOU FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2015

ALSO THE TOUR DEBUT OF MISS MISSING YOU

Facebook completely simping for Pete on instagram

Oli dedicated Can You Feel My Heart to FOB again!!

PATRICK MAY HAVE SANG FRICTION IN HIS JEANS (Atlanta)

Played Nothing Compares 2 U in honor of Sinead O’Conner as she passed away </3

LIVE DEBUT OF FROM NOW ON WE ARE ENEMIES

FOB (kinda) ARE IN THE FUCKING BARBIE MOVIE

Pete revealed in the RATS podcast that Saint (his youngest son) drew the backdrop for Blitz! (Clarkston)

William Beckett is at the show for whatever reason??

He also performed Chicago with FOB!

Trolls on setlistfm saying they covered Blood by MCR

Pete falling into the box during Crazy Train

DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I THINK I AM FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2007

Cover of Coffee Mug by Descendents as a tribute to Milo Auckerman

The crowd booing people who were fighting (Toronto)

Pete also mocking the people that were fighting

THEY CUT LAST OF THE REAL ONES

LIVE DEBUT OF WEST COAST SMOKER

I PREDICTED WEST COAST SMOKER

THE RETURN OF DOUBLE 8 BALL

Oli taking someone’s drink and BMTH posting the person’s reaction on their story (op got a good laugh out of it, I saw the video from their pov!)

Pete playing tennis at the venue just before tonight’s show! (Forest Hills)

PETE IS AIRDROPPING THE NEW GAMES WE PLAY SONG TO FANS

JUST ONE YESTERDAY FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2014 FOR MEDLEY

STEREO HEARTS AND CUPIDS CHOKEHOLD FOR MEDLEY AS WELL

TRAVIE FUCKING MCCOY PERFORMED WITH THEM

COVER OF ENTER SANDMAN BY METALLICA

LIVE DEBUT OF I AM MY OWN MUSE

DOUBLE FUCKING 8 BALL AGAIN

TRAVIE SAID GYM CLASS HEROES IS COMING BACK

Oli down in the pit saying “don’t tell Patrick” for whatever reason lol (Boston)

Joe posting a bunch before tonight’s show!!

I’m Shipping up to Boston cover by the Dropkick Murphys!

Cover of Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond!

LIVE DEBUT OF WAMS DURING MEDLEY

XO FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2007

THIRD DOUBLE 8 BALL IN A ROW

“I’m standing in your spotlight now” Patrick to Pete during riff banter!!

“I like it, I like it” Pete to Patrick also during riff banter!!

GET BUSY FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2006 FOR MEDLEY (Darien)

Pete saying Patrick has a “teddy bear vibe but he gets the job done”

Patrick also blushed when Pete said that

LIVE FUCKING DEBUT OF YOU’RE CRASHING

FOURTH DOUBLE 8 BALL IN A ROW

DON’T STOP BELIEVIN’ AND ENTER SANDMAN IN THE SAME NIGHT

Pete saying Patrick reminds him of Josh Allen, the Buffalo Bills quarterback

Patrick also being incredibly confused by the bullet point above lol

Oli dedicated DiE4u to Snooki (Holmdel)

Pete’s bass very briefly caught on fire after The Phoenix…Pete is VERY THANKFULLY okay (this apparently happened at another recent show too)

Dead on Arrival was dedicated to RATS aka Royal & the Serpent!!

“We’re very happy you're part of our family” Pete to someone at their very first FOB show!!! <3

LIVE FUCKING DEBUT OF I’VE GOT A DARK ALLEY FOR MEDLEY

A mini stage was set up on the lawn for Pete for Dance, Dance!

LIVE DEBUT OF BOB DYLAN

FIFTH DOUBLE 8 BALL IN A ROW

Games We Play played bass for Pete during Saturday!!

Bob Dylan and I Am My Own Muse being labeled as Willie Nelson and Super Smash Bros on the setlist

They randomly played the national anthem at the show?? (It’s apparently a venue thing??)

Gabe Saporta trying to make it to the last show of the NA tour but LAX keeps delaying his flight :( (Camden)

Pete posting food onto his story that is presumably on Patrick’s piano to practice for medley lol

DEAD ON ARRIVAL WITH RATS!!!

Rats requested Dead On Arrival a bunch of times!!

“Awww :(” Patrick after Pete said that this is the last night of the us leg of the tour

JET PACK BLUES FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE 2018 FOR MEDLEY

Jet Pack Blues into I’ve Got a Dark Alley into Golden for medley </3

LIVE FUCKING DEBUT OF FUCKING PAVLOVE

TRIPLE FUCKING 8 BALL

Somehow fucking predicted a triple 8 ball a couple of days ago 0.0

manicpixiefinalgirl on tiktok started a Joe chant in the pit!!

Hello if you’ve made it this far!! Ty for taking the time to check this out and go through it all!

This will be back for FOB’s Japan shows later this month and for their shows in Europe in October and November, so stay tuned for that!

I had a fantastic time following the North American tour with everyone, can’t wait to do it again with you all soon! :)

#apologies for not many links towards the end!!#ran into this issue with the mcr list…tumblr only allows 100 links per post #fall out boy #fob #patrick stump #pete wentz #andy hurley #joe trohman #so much (for) stardust #so much for (tour) dust #bring me the horizon #bmth #oli sykes #matt kean #lee malia #matt nicholls #jordan fish

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year ago

Text

Comet Donati [Chapter 4: Temporary Fix]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), drugs, alcohol, smoking, crepes, mental health struggles, the Cookie Monster pajama pants are removed...😏

Selected Chapter Quote: “I will push you off the Eiffel Tower.”

Word count: 6.7k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @doingfondue @catalina-howard @randomdragonfires @myspotofcraziness @arcielee @fan-goddess @talesofoldandnew @marvelescvpe @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mariahossain @chainsawsangel @darkenchantress @not-a-glad-gladiator @gemini-mama @trifoliumviridi @herfantasyworldd @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @thelittleswanao3 @daenysx @moonlightfoxx @libroparaiso @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @mizfortuna @florent1s @heimtathurs @bhanclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @heavenly1927 @mariahossain @echos-muses @padfooteyes @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis @juliavilu1 @amiraisgoingthruit

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

“Our father never cared about us,” Aegon says at the rooftop bar in Kansas City, a full year before you meet Aemond, a full year before you know him as anything other than a face to be printed on t-shirts and keychains like profiles stamped into coins at a mint, things to be acquired, traded, hoarded, lost. Aegon is swirling the ice cubes in his Salty Dog with a green plastic stirrer shaped like a pirate’s sword. He’s glowing from his sunburn, but he glows from within too; you have the sudden and distinct impression that he’s made of weightless luminance, slice a vein and he’d bleed daylight. A year later, you’ll find yourself thinking that if you cut Aemond, storms and rogue waves would come pouring out.

“I’m so sorry,” you offer, knowing it will not help. But it can’t hurt either, unlike those platitudes that well-meaning but ignorant people like to besiege him with: Of course your parents love you. I’m sure they did their best. You’ll understand how hard it is when you’re a dad someday.

“I figured it out pretty early on. How much he preferred Rhaenyra. How I was the antithesis of everything he could have wanted in a son.” Aegon shrugs; it can’t be changed, it’s like trying to stop the rain. He sips his Salty Dog. Ice clinks; he licks his lips. “It took Aemond a little longer. Helaena was always with Grandpa and Daeron was mother’s favorite, but I remember Aemond trailing after our father like a duckling, asking him about history and books and whatever else, just desperate with this need to be noticed, to be loved. If my father was leafing through a biography at the kitchen table, Aemond would spend hours on Google trying to come up with a fact he hadn’t read yet. If my father mentioned a movie, Aemond would watch it over and over again until he had the lines memorized. I remember one Christmas, Aemond wanted the Helm’s Deep Lego set because my father liked the Lord of the Rings. Then he kept asking Dad to help him put it together. ‘We’ll do it this weekend.’ ‘We’ll do it after I get off this conference call.’ ‘We’ll do it tomorrow.’ ‘We’ll do it for your birthday.’ Never happened. Well summer rolled around and I guess Aemond figured he might as well just do it himself. So he stayed up all night putting that fucking Lego castle together and left it on the kitchen table where my father couldn’t miss it. So the old man comes downstairs the next morning for breakfast and we’re all sitting there with our waffles and orange juice, and Aemond is trying not to act too proud but he is, he’s literally shaking with impatience for Dad’s praise, even a crumb, even just a few words, the maple syrup bottle was trembling in his hands. And my father strolls into the kitchen, glances at this meticulously constructed replica of Helm’s Deep—I mean it’s like a sculpture in a museum, it’s goddamn perfect—and he gives this little snort of a laugh. He says: ‘Wow, look at that.’ And then he sits down at the table, opens his biography of King George V, and never mentions it again.”

This moment is real but it isn’t. Sitting outside in the warm, windswept Missouri midnight with a popstar you’ll never see again (an incorrect assumption) and stories you have no right to hear (so you believe).

Aegon takes another sip of his Salty Dog. “Not me,” he says with a puckish, sad half-smile. “I was never going to beg for someone to want me. I go wherever, I’m with whoever. No strings. No anchors. Nothing stays the same except the band, and that’s what bought me my freedom to begin with, so I don’t mind it so much. Me father is disgusted by me. But this is who I am. And I’d rather force him to watch me torch his legacy than break my back trying to earn love that was given away long before I was born.”

“Do you think that’s a part of why you have no interest in settling down?” you say. “I mean, commitment is a two-way street. And if you commit to someone, you have to trust that they’ll commit to you back. That they love you now, sure, but also that they’ll keep loving you. Maybe that’s something that’s difficult for you to accept. That someone could love you for more than an hour, a night, a day.”

He taps his Salty Dog against the tabletop, considering you, perhaps even marveling: wind in his blond hair, blood in his cheeks. At last he asks, teasing: “What are you, some kind of therapist?”

“Well, actually…in a year from now…” You feel uneasy assigning such significance to yourself—it feels inevitably pretentious, over-confident, unearned—but you can’t help returning his smile. “I sort of will be.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re laying in your bed with the French doors that lead out onto the balcony wide open. The breeze—sunny and warm and smelling of the bakery next to the hotel, croissants and baguettes and half a million different sorts of pastries—breathes in through the semi-transparent linen curtains, a great inhale, a sighing exhale. You can hear footsteps and laughing on the sidewalk outside. The tourists are a cross-section of humanity, with languages from across the globe: a sprinkling of Portuguese here, Arabic there, Mandarin and Hindi and Russian. When the wind flutters the curtains aside, you can see the Eiffel Tower across the Seine. You should be out exploring Paris, but you’re not. You can’t seem to get out of bed. It’s been almost one week since the fight in Reykjavik. You don’t speak to Aemond and he doesn’t speak to you, and everyone knows this but they don’t know why. Not the whole story, anyway. They caught snippets through the sliding glass door, but they didn’t hear what Aemond said to you.

You’re just a groupie. You’re just a slut.

And now Aegon’s words come back to you too: Whoever you are when you’re in high school…that’s sort of who you are forever, you know?

You pinch your eyes shut and roll onto your side away from the open balcony doors. Earlier you had gotten up, showered, deliberated leaving your room…and then immediately put back on your pajamas and crawled into bed. You have no idea where Aemond is now. He mopes around, he avoids you, he disappears on his 1960 Gold Star for hours, he takes notes in white ink, he takes calls on his iPhone.

There is the sound of a key—not a card, but a real, brass key, old and worthy of preservation just like the hotel—jangling in the lock of your door. Aegon steps inside. He’s FaceTiming someone in extremely poor Spanish.

“Adiós mi amor! Sí, te extraño. Claro que sí. Te extraño mucho. Vale, adiós. Hablamos pronto.” He hangs up and slips his iPhone into the pocket of his neon yellow cargo shorts. He’s wearing matching Crocs and a black Comet Donati band tank top. He pushes his aviator sunglasses up into his hair. “Hey.”

“Hey. Who were you talking to?”

“Camila Cabello. But she can wait.” He kicks off his Crocs and walks over to the bed, looking down at you quizzically. He tosses the brass key back and forth between his hands; Criston keeps the second copy of each one, so Aegon must have borrowed it from him. More likely, he thieved it. “You okay, Stargirl? You look stressed.”

“I am stressed.”

He grins, an eyebrow raised, sunburn on his shoulders. “Anything I can do to help with that?”

And you remember what he said to you back in Kansas City last June, a lifetime ago: I don’t think my worth is determined by who or how I fuck. I don’t think yours is either.

Aegon would never call you a slut. And even if he said it, he wouldn’t mean it in the way Aemond did. It wouldn’t be an insult, a belittlement, a curse. You watch him as he stands in the golden afternoon light, caring for you, wanting you in a way that is pure but not innocent. Do you want him too? Sure; Aegon’s beautiful, and you already know you have chemistry, and more than either of those things he is safe. But he’s not the one who keeps you up at night. He’s not the reason you thought, fleetingly and poisonously as you swallowed your birth control pill this morning: What a goddamn waste.

“Actually,” you say, peering up at him, your lips curling into a drowsy smile. “There might be.”

“Yeah?” He’s a little surprised but very enthused.

“Yeah.”

He whips his sunglasses out of his hair and sets them on the nightstand next to your souvenirs: the Colosseum pencil sharpener, the alabaster Apollo, the fighting bull refrigerator magnet, Portuguese soap and Austrian chocolate, the moose snow globe, the silica mud mask, the stuffed comet, the Eiffel Tower keychain you bought yesterday here in Paris, and if that’s cliché then so be it. The mattress shifts when Aegon climbs over to you, pushing up your oversized Jonas Brothers t-shirt. He touches his lips to the softness of your belly, bites lightly and playfully, gazing up at you through his shaggy hair as he works his way down to the waistline of your Cookie Monster pajama pants. And suddenly, you’re back in Kansas City a year ago, feeling the comforting, harmless heat of him in the downstairs bathroom of a rooftop bar, drenched in glowing florescence like moonlight, your back to a red wall and his mouth all over you, first above and then below, coaxing the darkness out of your veins like a shot of penicillin cures sepsis. He’s antivenom, he’s white magic, he’s a spell.

“You sure?” Aegon asks now, pausing as his fingers unravel the blue drawstring on your pajama pants like the bow of a Christmas present.

You reach down to knot a hand in his hair, wanting to be closer to him, and he smiles, knowing what you’re going to say before you say it. “I am so fucking sure.”

A resistless tug and your pajama pants have vanished. Aegon positions himself between your thighs and buries his face in the thin strip of fabric that still separates you, black lace you didn’t buy while thinking of him. Aegon inhales deep and slow. “Oh God,” he moans. “You smell just as incredible as I remember.”

His thumbs slip beneath the lace and whisk it away: the coolness of sudden air, the warmth of his tongue. You gasp, drowning in the best kind of sea, waves that cover splintering piers and razor-sharp barnacles, currents that erase memory. It’s exactly like it was before. It will always be this way with him, you know, you feel in your blood that carries all the same elements as his: iron, carbon, oxygen, nitrogen that builds DNA, hydrogen that ignites and burns. And just like that red-walled night in Kansas City, you are amazed by how quickly the ecstasy blooms in you, wispy and yet unbearably powerful, clearing thoughts and uncoiling muscles.

“Good girl,” Aegon murmurs with your wetness dripping from his lips, watching your face as he slides two fingers into you; his own eyes—murky blue puddles that hold few secrets—are entranced, rapturous. “Now come in my mouth, baby. I want to taste all of you again. I want to drown in it. Come in my mouth, can you do that for me?”

You can, and almost immediately: he plunges his fingers into you as he strokes you with his tongue and the rush is bliss yet superficial somehow, sunbeams on wave crests, without the kind of miles-deep tragedy, pining, promises that poets like to write about. Aegon notices the towel you’d draped over the desk chair after your shower and reaches for it to wipe his face with, but you stop him, drawing him to you by his tank top; and you drag your tongue up his chin and over his lips, tasting yourself on him, licking him clean. Then you take his fingers into your mouth and suck them until he looks like he’s going to pass out, like he’s going to forget how to breathe.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, and he kisses you just like he did a year ago, with an intense sort of need and his hand against your face, his flesh and blood hot and pressed to yours, palm lines on your cheekbone. He wants you in a way that is unburdened by pasts or futures; and who is anyone to condemn that? Perhaps that is the most painless form love can take.

And as the high dissipates, fog burned away at noon only to creep back in the next morning, Aemond returns to you: his words, his wrath, his flawed yet flawless face. You feel unexpectedly, overwhelmingly low. But this is not the time or place for tears; Aegon is still here.

Now I have to get him off too. Now I have to repay him. That’s fair, right?

“Just do it.” You fling one arm across your face as you look towards the balcony, breathing in Paris and daylight, spreading your thighs wider for him, anticipating the faint pressure-pain that will blossom into pleasure as his body melds with yours. “It’s fine. Go ahead. Just fuck me.”

But when your eyes drift back to him, Aegon still has his clothes on. He sits upright and traces the line of your jaw with his fingertips, studying you with uncommon quietness. “No,” he says softly. “No, I don’t think so. You look sad.”

You nod, unable to trust yourself to speak without your voice breaking.

Aegon sighs and flops down beside you on the bed, pulling you against him, whispering as his fingers twist in your hair: “Come here. Shh, shh. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t help.”

“You helped, Aegon.” Just not quite enough.

He kisses your forehead, and then your cheek, and then he looks at you expectantly. “Are you finally going to tell me what he said? That night in Reykjavik? I heard you screaming something about Missouri, but I don’t think that’s what fucked you up so bad.”

You hesitate as you lie together in the sunlit stillness threaded with distant footsteps and passing cars, Aegon twirling strands of your hair, fondness and familiarity and longing that he is politely trying to ignore. Beneath his neon yellow shorts, he is rock hard.

“Now I’m really curious,” Aegon says, smiling has he kisses your forehead again, entangled with you like tendrils of grapevines, morning glory, ivy. “Aemond’s fucked up too. He’s been lying on his bedroom floor and listening to The Script. He hasn’t done that since he and Shelby split.”

Shelby, you think desolately, flinching. “You warned me about Aemond. You told me he was full of demons.”

“Yup. I’m glad I can’t read minds. It’s gotta be like Poltergeist in there.”

But everyone has a few skeletons in their closet, don’t they? Bones that won’t stop rattling. Teeth that gnash and crave. “He called me a slut.”

Aegon pulls back, brow furrowed. He looks at you, trying to decipher which nerve Aemond hit. It is not a word that Aegon considers to be derogatory.

“But it wasn’t really what he said, it was how he said it, like…like…like because of what I’d done with you a year ago, I didn’t matter anymore. Nothing about me mattered. That he could never respect someone like me. That I had deceived him into thinking I was someone worth wanting.”

Abruptly, Aegon leaves the bed. He grabs his sunglasses off the nightstand and pads across the hardwood floor in his bare feet, steps into his Crocs, slides his sunglasses over his eyes, fluffs his blond hair that hangs in chaotic waves.

“Aegon…?”

“Come with me,” he says, nodding towards the door. He pulls a piece of cotton candy flavored Bubble Yum out of his cargo shorts and tosses it into his mouth. “Right now. Put some clothes on and let’s go.”

“Go where?”

Aegon does not elaborate. He only repeats while chomping noisily on his gum: “Let’s go.”

You rush to the bathroom and are ready in five minutes: flip flops, tousled hair, a flowing turquoise sundress you bought yesterday while shopping at Hermès with Baela and Rhaena. “Okay, seriously, where are we going?”

“Out,” Aegon says simply. You follow him through the doorway and down the corridor; like a bloodhound after evidence, Aegon tracks laughter that drifts through the hallway to Daeron’s room. The youngest Targaryen brother is playing Uno with Jace and Baela; Daeron has just made Jace draw four.

Aegon smacks Daeron’s shoulder and demands: “Where is he?”

Daeron is startled. “Huh? What? Who?”

“Aemond. Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

Aegon smacks Daeron again. “Where is he?!”

“I don’t know!” Daeron wails.

Mercifully, Baela intervenes. “Luke and Rhaena said they were going to the Eiffel Tower. Maybe Aemond went too…?”

“Cool,” Aegon replies. And when he sails out of the room, it’s not just you that goes with him; Baela, Jace, and Daeron file after Aegon as well, chattering conspiratorially. Aegon doesn’t wait for the elevator. He races down the grand staircase to the lobby: white marble floors and Oriental rugs, velvet armchairs and chandeliers, butlers scuttling and women hauling poodles around on taut leashes. Aegon strides past all of it without any interest. You follow him into the street outside and then across it, dodging taxis and limousines. Aegon believes crosswalks are optional. Next he locates the closest bridge over the Siene and traverses it.

“Are they gonna fight?” Jace asks Daeron excitedly. “You think they’re really gonna fight?!”

You plead as you hurry across the bridge, riverboats and swans gliding by below: “Aegon, I don’t want you to say anything to him.”

“I’m not going to say anything.”

“I don’t want you to shout anything either.”

Aegon peeks back at you, smirking wickedly. You know him too well. His pace picks up as he exits the bridge; next comes the vast stretch of gardens that surround the Eiffel Tower, strewn with picnicking tourists, fountains, ferns, lilies, roses, shrubs and trees and waddling ducks.

Jace gasps, euphoric: “Oh my God, they’re gonna fight!”

“Do you really see that ending well?!” Baela hisses back. “Aegon has to be on stage tonight! That’s not going to happen if Aemond snaps him in half like a KitKat!”

“Aegon, you can’t fight him,” you say, petrified. Aemond would win. Easily. Everyone knows that.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Aegon, please!”

“What the hell happened?!” Baela puffs as she jogs up beside you, clutching your arm, bewildered and alarmed. You shake your head. Too long a story, not one you wish to share, not one you entirely feel you have a right to disclose. You’ve only told Aegon, and how is that going to turn out? You don’t want people to hate Aemond. You don’t want to alienate him from the band any further. That might seem contradictory given his recent disregard for your own wellbeing, but it’s—however regrettably—true.

“This is going to be so fucking epic,” Jace says. “Wait, do I have time to get popcorn? I think I should grab some popcorn. Wait, wait, there’s a crepe stand right over there, just give me five minutes. Aegon? Aegon?! Man, please, just postpone the beatdown for five minutes!”

“I hope you can sing Aegon’s parts too,” Daeron tells Jace. “I don’t have them memorized.”

“Cregan can do it.”

“Cregan is going to flay you alive if he sees you encouraging this.”

“He can’t sing all our parts,” Jace replies sensibly.

Aegon battles his way to the front of the long line of people waiting to purchase tickets to go up into the Eiffel Tower. They grimace and jeer at him, hurling swears in a myriad of languages. When he reaches the ticket counter, an aghast employee begins to implore Aegon—“S'il vous plait, Monsieur, vous devez attendre votre tour!”—until she gets a better look at him. Her mouth pops open; her sky blue eyes go impossibly wide. “Oh mon Dieu…”

“You know who I am, right?” Aegon says impatiently. “Yeah, you recognize me. Okay. I need to get up there right now. Me and my friends. What can I do to make that happen? I have lots of credit cards. I can also sign your arm or tits or whatever. What do you want?”

The employee settles for a selfie with Aegon, Jace, and Daeron. Daeron smiles dazzlingly and poses with two thumbs up. Jace gives Aegon bunny ears. Then the five of you receive your tickets. This time, Aegon is willing to wait for the elevator; it’s over 600 steps to the second floor alone, and you’re all already winded from the walk here. Aegon gets off at the first level, does a lap around the tower—tall glass barriers and metal cages around the balcony, a café and a gift shop—and then reboards the elevator to ascend to the next floor. The second level is more open. There is a railing around the edge of the walkway of course, but it only comes up to your waist. Next to one of the tower viewers is who Aegon is searching for: Luke, Rhaena, Cregan, Criston…and Aemond. He’s wearing dark jeans, a black Calvin Klein t-shirt, vintage Adidas sneakers like the ones Freddie Mercury had at Live Aid, sunglasses to shield his damaged eye from photographers, and a fanny pack. He’s biting into a Golden Delicious, round and shiny; juice glistens on his lips. None of them have spotted you yet.

You hear Luke ask Aemond: “Bruh, this is really embarrassing. You’re worth like $100 million. Why are you eating apples and pecans out of a fanny pack?”

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find vegan food in Paris?”

Criston spies Aegon just as he’s closing in. He reads the fury on his face, his outstretched hand. “Don’t—!”

Aegon thrusts his palms against Aemond’s chest, hard, hard enough to force him back a couple of steps towards the railing. “Apologize,” he orders.

Aemond looks at you—for a moment, only a moment—and then back at Aegon. “For what?”

“You know what you did. Apologize.”

Everyone has gathered around. Criston’s dark eyes dart between Aemond and Aegon. He has a grip on Aegon’s shoulder, but he hasn’t dragged him away yet. He doesn’t know what this is about, and though he would never admit it…he’s intrigued. Cregan hovers close by; he lights a cigarette, taking advantage of Criston’s momentary preoccupation. Baela and Rhaena are gossiping in hushed voices. From behind his black sunglasses, Aemond stares at his brother, the wheels in his mind spinning. He doesn’t hit him, though he easily could. He doesn’t seem to have the spirit for it.

“Whoo!” Jace shouts, pumping his fist in the air. “Fight, fight, fight!”

Daeron mutters to Luke: “Are we taking bets?”

“Um, no?!”

“Right now,” Aegon tells Aemond, and shoves him again. “I mean it. I will push you off the Eiffel Tower.”

“Whoa, illegal!” Jace hoots. Cregan hooks a hand into the collar of Jace’s polo and yanks him back. “Hey, referee abuse over here—!”

“I will break your fucking arm,” Cregan growls.

“Okay,” Jace says. “Got it. No problem. I’m done now.”

“Apologize,” Aegon commands again, as if you’re the only people here: him, you, Aemond.

You are mortified. “Aegon, please don’t—”

“I’m sorry,” Aemond says. He’s looking at you again, and this time he doesn’t turn away. You wish you could see his eyes: windows to the soul, however clouded they might be. It’s the first time he’s spoken to you since Reykjavik. The gravity of it—his voice, his steady gaze, the gut-punch realization of how much you still want him—knocks all the words out of your skull. You sweep them up like a child collecting spilled coins in cupped hands.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.” Aemond’s tone is benign, calm, like he’s already rehearsed this and has just been waiting for the opportune moment. “I shouldn’t have said that. I was speaking out of anger. It was impulsive of me, it was indecorous.”

What the fuck? Indecorous…? Who uses words like that in casual conversation? Incurably pretentious Aemond Targaryen, that’s who. “Thanks, I guess. You must spend a lot of time with your thesaurus.”

“Well, I write lyrics, so.”

“Yeah.” You wait for Aemond to add the most important part: that he was wrong about what he said, that it wasn’t true. But he doesn’t go there. He only apologizes for speaking it into existence, for vibrating the air with its treacherous molecules. “Okay,” you tell Aegon. “I think you got what you wanted. Can we go now?”

“Sure.” Aegon slaps Aemond across the back and gives him one final glare, swift but cutting.

“What’s a thesaurus?” Daeron whispers to Luke, who shrugs.

“Some kind of dinosaur…?”

“That’s alright, boys!” Jace says, clapping his hands. “Walk it off! Take a breather! Plenty of time for Round 2 later!” Cregan bends one arm behind his back. “Ow—!”

“No smoking,” Criston snaps, ripping the cigarette out of Cregan’s mouth and stomping it into ash.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, after soundcheck, eating dinner in the gardens under the lengthening shadow of the Eiffel Tower, dark stripes that swallow up daylight like bathwater sucked down a drain. Everyone has a crepe that’s rolled up in wax paper, as Europeans serve it…everyone except Aemond, of course. He’s sitting by himself under a 200-year-old sycamore tree and gnawing morosely on a plain baguette that’s as long as his own forearm. His iPhone rings; he checks who it is and then silences the call. Luke goes over to sit with him, dripping whipped cream from his banana and Nutella crepe all over his white shorts speckled with sailboats. You keep trying not to look at Aemond. Each time you see him is like poking a bruise; it’s nothing but pain, but you can’t seem to stop.

“Oh wow!” Baela cries, beaming as she scrolls through her phone. “The Paris Opera Ballet is performing Romeo and Juliette this season!”

“Neat!” Rhaena says. “Like right now?”

“Yeah. We could catch a show before we leave next week.” She turns to Jace. “Baby?” And when he ignores her, she rubs his shoulder, her voice honeyed. “Jace?”

He groans. “Really? Ballet?”

Baela frowns. “I think it would be fun.”

“I think you can go without me.” Jace points to Aemond, grinning. “Take him, he likes archaic things. Hell, he is one now.” New lines appear in Aemond’s brow, but he gives no other indication that he’s heard this.

“You can’t spare one afternoon for me?” Baela says; and her words have turned from honey to battery acid. “Are you fucking serious? Do you know what I’ve given up for you?”

Jace sighs heavily. “I knew you were going to make this into a thing.”

“Me?! You’re the person who’s being unfair here, I’m asking for one afternoon—!”

“There’s literally no reason why you can’t go with someone who won’t feel like they’re being tortured for three hours.”

“Torture? That’s what my life’s work is to you? Torture?!”

“Well now I definitely don’t want to go anywhere with you if you’re going to act like this—”

“Act like what, like I want my boyfriend to occasionally show even a vague interest in something I care about—?!”

As they go back and forth, everyone else stares down at their dinner, actively dissociating.

Baela asks you: “You want to weigh in on this?” It’s not really a question.

You take a cagy bite of your baked apple crepe. “Um, honestly, I don’t really have much experience with couples counseling.”

“Great. Now’s your chance to acquire some.”

“Uh…” You eat some more of your crepe, slurp your citron pressé, a sort of do-it-yourself lemonade. Baela waits. Jace smirks at you, attentive but not for the right reasons. “Well. I guess what I can say is that it’s important for both people to have their interests valued and their needs met. So for every activity that Jace chooses, there should be roughly the same amount of time spent on something that Baela wants to do.”

“Yeah but I have a lot less free time,” Jace says. “Since…you know…I happen to be in a world-famous boy band in the midst of their third global tour.”

Baela pitches back: “Exactly, which has completely taken over my life, so I think if I could get just one fucking afternoon where you show me some minuscule amount of appreciation then that might be kind of nice, you know?”

“Jace,” you say gently. You can see on the periphery of your vision that Aemond is watching you, once again hidden behind sunglasses that you know he wishes he didn’t feel the need to wear. “It sounds like this is really important to Baela.”

He sighs again. “Baela, Baela, ballerina,” Jace muses, somewhat affectionately but without respect. “Okay. We’ll see. We might have time tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Baela agrees; but already she looks defeated. And she is not a woman who defeat comes naturally to. She’s been worn down by weeks, months, years of the same rote disappointment. She glances at a street vendor who’s selling falafel. “Hey,” she says to Rhaena. “Go get us some wraps.”

“Me?” Rhaena peers nervously at the falafel cart. “What if he only speaks French? Or some other language I don’t know?”

“Then point to the sign, you’ll figure it out,” Baela replies testily.

“I’ll go too, Rhaena,” you offer. “And you can order but I’ll stand there with you and help if any charades need to be done. Will that make it easier?”

“Sure,” Rhaena says. “Okay. Deal.”

And when you return ten minutes later, along with all the other food you have one order of plain falafel: no yogurt sauce, no wrap. You bring it to Aemond, who is stunned. “What’s this?”

“It’s vegan. Falafel is vegan. So here, your dinner just got a little more exciting.”

“Well…thanks.” He takes it with tentative hands.

“That’s so thoughtful of you!” Luke says cheerfully. “Do they have falafel in Kansas?”

“Missouri,” you correct. “And not really. But I ate a lot of it when I was at UChicago.”

This captures Aemond’s interest. “You went to UChicago?”

“Yes, Aemond. Shockingly, liking sex does not make women stupid.”

His iPhone rings: Mr. Brightside. Less than ideal timing. He rejects the call.

“Who was that?” Criston yells over.

“No one,” Aemond responds irritably.

“Your mom?”

“No, Criston.”

“How’s she doing?”

“She wasn’t the one calling, Criston!”

“Okay but I’m just asking, how is she doing like in general…?”

Back at the hotel, Comet Donati is getting ready for their first show in Paris: drinks in glasses, white lines on tables, hair and makeup, cigarettes and pills. You soak in your massive jacuzzi tub and stare up at the ceiling wondering: What am I doing here? What the hell am I still doing here?

But the thought of actually boarding a plane back to Kansas City is terrifying. Never seeing Aegon again? Never seeing Aemond again? Never seeing any of them except on YouTube or Spotify? You don’t want to leave their orbit. You don’t want to zoom off to the other end of the solar system just yet.

You wrap a towel around yourself and mosey out into the bedroom to get dressed. He’s there inspecting the souvenirs on your nightstand, chuckling and pushing them around with his knuckles, wearing a sequined blazer and skin full of ink: not Aegon, not Aemond, not Cregan, but Jace. You squeal, startled, and clutch your towel tighter around yourself. Unfortunately, it’s a very small towel. A very very small towel.

“These are neat,” Jace says. “So I collect tattoos and you collect souvenirs. We have so much in common.”

“We have exceptionally little in common. What do you want?”

He smiles, but never quite kindly. “What do you want?”

“I want you to take Baela to the ballet,” you say. “And I want you to get out of my room now.”

He turns all the way around to face you. He flings your moose snow globe from Stockholm into the air and then catches it, again, again. “Do you really?”

“Yes, Jace.”

And for a minute, or two, or what feels like forever, he doesn’t move. He just stands there staring at you, not moving any closer but not leaving either. Not listening to you. Not hearing you because he doesn’t want to. And you think, your heart hammering in your chest: At what point should I scream for Aegon or Criston? Will they hear me? Will they help me?

“Alright,” Jace says at last. He sets your moose snow globe back down on the nightstand, roughly, with a loud clunk. Then he walks across your room; but before he disappears through the doorway, he throws you a brass room key. Instinctively, you move to catch it, almost dropping your towel in the process. You snatch it back into place just in time. Jace is amused. Perhaps he planned it that way. “Aegon left that lying around,” Jace says, meaning the key. “Maybe you should be more discriminating when choosing who you give it to.”

“I didn’t give it to him. He took it from Criston.”

“Sure he did.” And finally, Jace leaves, as unwelcome as a funnel cloud or a hailstorm.

Aemond spends the concert in the shadows: pacing, taking his notes, ruminating over his many grudges. You spend it in the front row with Baela and Rhaena, wearing the neon yellow gown you found in Reykjavik. You try not to scan the arena for glimpses of Aemond. You fail miserably. Comet opens their concert with an interesting choice, an upbeat cover of Third Eye Blind’s How’s It Going To Be. When you ask Rhaena about it, she says it was Luke’s idea, which in your experience means it was almost certainly Aemond’s, or at least one that he enthusiastically endorsed. Daeron begins, peppy and animated, strutting across the stage:

“I’m only pretty sure that I can’t take anymore

Before you take a swing

I wonder, what are we fighting for?”

Aegon is next, characteristically a little sloppy, a little shaky, yet getting colossal cheers:

“When I say out loud

I want to get out of this

I wonder is there anything

I’m going to miss?”

Cregan’s voice is deep, sensuous, inviting yet with an edge like a blade:

“I wonder how it’s going to be

When you don’t know me?

How’s it going to be

When you’re sure I’m not there?”

Jace is technically the best singer, rich and smooth and nearly always pitch-perfect:

“How’s it going to be

When there’s no one there to talk to?

Between you and me

‘Cause I don’t care…”

And Luke leads the harmony as guitar notes pluck out of the monstrous speakers:

“How’s it going to be?

How’s it going to be?”

Aside from the cover, the setlist is the same as it’s always been since you joined the tour in Rome…but you’re experiencing it in a new way. You are needled by jealously every time you wonder what woman, moment, day, night inspired one of Aemond’s songs; you are nauseous with envy for everyone who’s ever been able to touch him. When they perform A Girl Named After A Car—which had previously always struck you as fun, light, unserious, perhaps satirical—you are consumed by a specific conspiracy theory. After fighting it for half of the song, you Google two words with your iPhone: Shelby car. Sure enough, there’s a vintage Mustang model called a Shelby. It’s gorgeous. It’s perfect for Aemond.

“Great,” you mutter to yourself.

“You okay?” Rhaena asks.

“Yeah,” you reply, slamming your phone back into your purse. “I’m awesome. I’ve literally never been better.”

“You don’t look awesome,” Baela says, smiling. “That’s okay. I’m not so awesome either at the moment.” She takes your hands and starts spinning you around the floor. “We can be hot bitter bitches together.”

It’s tradition for everyone to hang out after the concert, but you’re in no hurry to get to Jace’s suite; you certainly don’t want to be one of the first people to arrive. You don’t want to be alone with him. You walk very slowly, taking a detour to touch up your hair and makeup. As you are wandering a quiet section of the hallway, you observe that Aemond’s door has been left ever so slightly ajar. You peer inside to find it empty…but his notebook is on his nightstand.

No way, you tell yourself. No no no. Huge violation of privacy and respect.

“Oh yeah?” you object, barely audible. “And what would you call what he said to me?”

You go to the notebook and flip it open. Matte black pages slip beneath your fingertips.

“Just the first page,” you swear to yourself. “That’s all. Then I’m leaving.”

There’s a song written there; or, rather, partially written. He’s only worked out a verse and the chorus so far. Your eyes skim over it with lightning-flash quickness, cognizant that you cannot allow yourself to be caught. At the top of the page is one word in pale gleaming ink like pearls, opal, moonstone: Magic.

(Ver1) You walk into the room and I think:

How am I going to get you out of me?

Are you an infection, a lethal connection,

Or are you a fire to burn me clean?

“Nice,” you breathe, with hushed awe you wish you didn’t have.

(Chorus) Are you a witch or are you a spell,

Is loving you gonna be heaven or hell?

Black cats and white salt, ladders and doorframes

I think of magic every time you look my way

There are drunken, giggling voices and the sound of doors opening and closing in the hallway. You scurry out of Aemond’s suite and proceed to Jace’s before anyone thinks to come searching for you.

The room is thick with label executives and hangers-on, smoke and music; Watch by Maisie Peters is playing. She’s a friend of the band. You’re reasonably sure Aegon has hooked up with her, or at least aspires to. Speaking of Aegon, he is currently flitting around with Cregan. He stops briefly to say hi to you, a chilled emerald bottle of Kronenbourg 1664 in one hand, white powder on the other. He’s there and then he’s gone again. He might as well have been slingshotted to the other end of the galaxy. Criston is standing by the open balcony doors and talking to Daeron. Jace is at the bar laughing loudly—obnoxiously, hyena-like—with some mid-twenties guys you don’t recognize. Baela is glaring at him from one of the couches, seated next to Rhaena and Luke. But when she sees you, the rage vanishes from her face. She waves you over rather frantically.

“Look, I know this probably isn’t going to help your situation, but I just wanted to let you know that I am really, really hoping you’ll be willing to stay with us a little longer—”

“Yes! Totally!” Luke seconds, nodding.

“—And it’s not like we’re going to forget about you or prefer her over you or anything—”

“No, definitely not,” Luke says.

“What are you talking about?” you ask them. “Prefer who?”

Rhaena grabs your hand and squeezes it. You follow her eyeline across the room to the opposite couch, a mirage through warm smoke and icy dread. And you think: I should have known. I shouldn’t be surprised. Of course it would be here—in this city of Instagram models and Hallmark-card romance—that she would reappear like the moon growing large again after fading to a sliver, everything back in its rightful place, nature restored to harmony.

Sitting beside Aemond—on his good side, his unscarred side—is Shelby.

#aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x y/n #Aegon Targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #Aegon Targaryen II x reader #Aegon II Targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader

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callmearcturus · 17 days ago

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(i posted this but tumblr fucked up the formatting SO BAD and then the editor would not open so here's a re-do i guess!

bless u, bc this is the one that's gonna be Another Batshit Arcturus AU

except all the scenes I have sketched out are massive Act Two spoilers.... so instead, I'm gonna share the work-in-progress outline for Act One. or, specifically the modern day half of Act One. this story is told in approximately 2024 and 2011 concurrently, with the 2011 plotline providing vital context for the 2024 plotline.

for context: Ted is a director working with Rebecca's A24-style production company. Trent is a writer. Keeley is Trent's agent who managed to convince him to sell the movie rights to one book. act one is Ted trying to get those rights before a larger studio snaps them up. Act two is the filming of the movie. Act three is post-production and press tour.

One piece of additional context is that Trent is a reclusive writer who keeps writing extremely location-accurate novels set in America. Ted is shocked to learn the guy's not American, tbh. Here's the bibliography i made up for Trent:

[SPOILER, REDACTED]

editor for a few anthologies

The Sarpedon EP, 1968 (moody psuedo-mythical story about psychedelic/progressive rock in Nashville)

An Aquarian Guide to Atlantis, IL (weird, almost ergodic story of a hitchiker trying to get from St. Louis to Chicago and finding a strange town)

The Tides of Static (an anthology of seemingly disconnected vignettes that wind up linked by a radio DJ working a remote blowtorch tower)

Paris of the Plains (a sports drama/romance about a journalist uncovering a massive scandal in Kansas City football while trying not to rekindle her love of an old fling who's now working on the same team embroiled in the scandal. later adapted into the film The Time After The Last Time, directed by Ted Lasso, produced by Rebecca Welton)

so here, a glimpse of how I outline a story

ACT ONE: Pre-production

Storyline A (Ted POV):

Ted, modern day: Ted has to find Rebecca. She's supposed to be on vacation and Ted would never dream of interrupting her HOWEVER there's a scoop in Variety that Trent Crimm is auctioning the rights to his latest book despite years of resistance. Ted is terrified that someone is gonna buy the rights and make a bad movie or worse sit on the rights and never make anything out of them.

finding Rebecca takes some doing but Ted is determined and he knows all her offices and hiding places.

Ted is a huge fan of Crimm's work, has read all his previous books and has been keeping an eye out for him to maybe offer something up for adaptation. That it's specifically the one about a football scandal in Kansas City with a fantastic sense of space and also is a romance? Ted HAS to direct this movie, but Rebecca's studio can't compete with the huge prices that a Paramount or Disney would be throwing around. So they need to make a direct offer before the sale.

Rebecca emails Crimm's agent. This first attempt gets a polite, impersonal dismissal. So Ted is the person to reply (as Rebecca watches over his shoulder to ensure he's not making a fool of them) and tries to convince them to reconsider bc Ted is specifically interested in doing it right.

Still no.

T: "Get me an address, I'll fly out--" R: "Fly out? The address available through his agent is in London." T: "Okay, wouldn't've called that."

Rebecca gets Ted the address and Ted takes the Tube to get there bc he still doesn't have a car-and-driver. (He claims its organic location scouting.)

The address seems to be Trent's house but he's not there, just Keeley and Adelaide Crimm. They will not reveal where Trent is.

Ted notices Adelaide's accent and is relieved Trent is American. Adelaide says no, he's super british, but he took a job in America when she was young and brought her along.

The house is fully of photos of places. Addy is a photographer. Ted is thrilled to see shots of the Paseo, the Plaza, and other KC landmarks.

Keeley explains they are not really looking to option the book out because, well. They're not.

Adelaide kind of likes Ted and how he talks about her dad's books so she texts him later, gives Ted her dad's email. the one he actually checks, not the fake ones that get listed.

A turn for the epistolary as Ted attempts to reach Trent Crimm.

Ted emails Trent, who is baffled that he found this email address. Thanks Ted for his interest but tells him it was difficult enough to decide to offer up any rights and he frankly doesn't want to talk about it further, goodbye.

Ted takes a little time to try to read/watch every interview he can with Trent Crimm. They are basically non-existent and the ones that do exist are fully text.

Emailing each other continues: Eventually, Trent admits he's hoping the book rights are bought and sat on forever. Keeley was the one to convince him this was a good way to ensure Adelaide was set up for years to come and he could write his next few books without concern about money. But actually seeing such a movie? He wants nothing to do with it.

There's something unique about this email, a slip-up: Trent mentions he's in KCMO. The moment Ted realizes, he's inbound, racing to get there in time.

All for naught: Ted makes good time, probably the best possible time a guy can make from Heathrow to MCI to Emmanuel Cleaver Blvd without use of a fighter jet.

Still: Trent's gone, and Keeley's there.

Ted hangs a lampshade on the running gag: How in the sam hell is she always there instead of Trent?! "Yanno, I ain't ever seen the two of you in the same room together, Ms. Jones." Keeley cackles. "He's a slippery one! But trust me, you'd know him if you met him. He's got that aura of irritable uptight fiction author."

Ted is extremely discouraged that he missed Trent yet again, tells Keeley he is bound and determined to make sure this movie's done right but doesn't know what to do anyone. Keeley cracks, sympathetic, and gives Ted the Actual phone number for Trent. "Do not call him. He blocks all unknown numbers. Text."

So Ted does. Takes a photo of the fountains at the Plaza at night and sends it to Trent.

TL: I think the fight between Kit and Moses happens here at night, when they turn the lights on under the fountains and it's beautiful, all that watery glow. The contrast there, it reminds me of how painfully obvious it is that Moses wanted to take her there for real, to see her son playing in the water. It's the right place and the wrong time, it's always right place wrong time with them. LONG pause but Ted sees the text has been marked as "Read". Honestly he's surprised Trent has read receipts on. TC: Why are you in KCMO? TL: Flew here hoping to catch you. Last email, you accidentally hinted you were at your rental off Emanuel Cleaver. TC: Ah. An amateur mistake, I see. But I've slipped your net again, it seems.

Ted returns back home to London, resigned to taking another project and letting this one go. Pulls his copy of Paris of the Plains from his bag, reads it on the plane back.

Gets off the plane and he's missed a call from Trent Crimm. Shocked, Ted immediately calls back.

TC: "You have one shot, Mr. Lasso, so make it count. Tell me why you're so determined. It's not the job of a director to try to cajole a reclusive, unfriendly author into optioning his book to a boutique film studio. So why?" TL: "When I first moved to the UK, I was missin' home so much, I was turning into a barely-functioning daydrinker, and I almost gave up, went back to Kansas, gave up my career. But Beard loaned me his copy of Atlantis, IL and you... knew those roads and those people. You gave me a home I could carry around in my bag. Dunno if I would have survived without. Then I read Sarpedon, and Rebecca got me an advance copy of Tides of Static for my birthday." TC: "So you're a fan." TL: "No! I mean, obviously I'm a huge admirer, yeah, but... Trent, I just flew almost nine thousand miles just for a chance to talk to you about this, so I'm not gonna split hairs here. I need to be the guy to direct this. No one else is going to get it right, and I need it to be right, 'cause I know it. If you give me a chance, I'm going to move the whole production out to KC, I'm going to take what's in my head and put it on the screen. And I-- I think it's what's in your head, too." TC: "You know, it's supposedly my worst book. That was part of the little joke of it all; Keeley convinced me to sell something, so I picked the one the critics hated. You'll need someone good to do the adapting." TL: "Heck, if I need to write the treatment myself, I'll do it." TC: "..... Alright." TL: "!!!!" TC: "Nine thousand miles is an absurd ordeal to put yourself through and the writer in me wants you to get some payoff for it. So. Tell Ms. Welton to tack on another five million and its yours."

#why the fuck won't tumblr let me do proper bulletpoints here #oh whatever #my fic #tedependent #all my pictures come out #that's the WIP title even tho its NOT an asteroid city AU okay

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allthesmutl0vers · 5 months ago

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Entirely Forbidden and Completely Fucked- Chapter: 3

MDNI, 18+

Pairings: Wincest, Wincest + half sister, Implied John x Reader

Y/n

“So, will I be able to hunt too?” I ask John as he drives to get coffee this morning.

John looks over at me with a confused expression written across his face. “You want to hunt?” He asks with a hint of pride mixed with the shock in his voice.

I shrug. “Maybe, I mean, Sam said it’s the ‘family business,’ and I just thought… I don’t know,” my words falter. Am I really a part of this family? Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.

John pulls into the gas station parking lot and puts the car in park. He looks over at me with an arm behind the back of the seat. “You are a part of this family. That’s not even a question,” he says seriously. “And yes, hunting is the family business, but that doesn’t mean that you can just dive into it feet first. It’s dangerous, and you could die, y/n.”

I nod in understanding. I’m not used to having a protective father, or a father at all for that matter. But John doesn’t speak down to me when he explains the danger that comes with hunting; he just tells it how it is. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to hunt.

“I want to,” I tell him, looking up from my lap and meeting his eyes. “I want to be able to defend myself,” I half explain. I don’t need to tell him that I’m not planning on sticking around very long, but I should learn some things before I go off alone now that I know what’s out there.

John sighs and sits back in his seat. His expression is far away as if he’s weighing the risks. And after a few moments, he finally nods. “Alright, alright. We’ll teach you what we know so you can hold your own if you get separated from us,” he looks over at me again, raising a finger and pointing it at me. “But that doesn’t mean that you can go off on your own. You stick with one of us, always, especially if we’re working on a case. Understood?”

I smile and nod. “Understood,” I respond, holding my hands up.

“Alright then, let's get coffee and hit the road,” John says, opening his door. I follow behind him, excitement coursing through me and a little bit of nerves, too.

By the time we enter Lawrence, Kansas, the sun has set into a pale shade of orange and pink across the sky. John pulls into an underground garage in the bunker, and I’m amazed at all of the different cars and trucks inside. Vintage vehicles line the walls as John pulls into an empty spot and parks the car.

“Are all of these yours?” I ask, stepping out of the car and looking around.

“Yeah, we inherited them along with the bunker and everything else inside,” Dean explains.

They told me all they knew about the men of letters and explained how the society worked before they inherited it. Apparently, before John and the boys came along, the men of letters never hunted. Instead, they passed the buck to hunters and cataloged the information for their records. No hunters were allowed inside the bunker, and neither was anyone who wasn’t a member, which women never happened to be either, apparently.

When we walk inside, I’m amazed at the sight I see. I don’t know what I expected it to look like inside, but it wasn’t this.

The first room we walk into is massive. A long oak table in the middle of the room with chairs surrounding it. On top is a map of the entire country, with highways and city and county names. It’s incredible.

Straight ahead is another room that resembles a library. Tall bookshelves cover the walls, filled with all kinds of books. In the center are a few tables and chairs with lamps on top.

“To your right is the kitchen,” John says, pointing to the right side of the first room we came into. “On your left is the infirmary,” he says, pointing to the left side of the first room. “And straight ahead through the library is where all of the bedrooms are, as well as the bathrooms, armory and down to the dungeon and electrical room.”

“You guys have a dungeon?” I ask, bewildered.

John nods. “We do, and you are not to go inside of it without direct orders from either me or the boys,” John says sternly. “We do interrogations in there from time to time, and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

I nod and purse my lips. “I understand.”

“Alright,” John says with a sigh of relief and grabs my other two bags, leading me through the library and down the long hallway. “Your bathroom is right across from your room,” he says, stopping in front of a closed door. He opens the door and holds it open for me to walk in. “This is your room. You can decorate it however you’d like. We didn’t get a chance to give it a really good deep clean, but you have fresh sheets, blankets, and a couple of pillows. You also have a dresser here, a desk, and a small closet in here,” he explains, showing me around the room.

“Thank you,” I say politely. I look around the room as John sets my bags down by the bed. The bedroom reminds me of the college dorm rooms I’ve seen on TV, small but not extremely small. Just enough room for one person.

“You’re welcome. I’m right down the hall, and Sam and Dean’s rooms are toward the front of the hall where we came in. I’ll have them write their names and hang them on their doors so you don’t get confused, and I’ll do the same with mine if you need anything,” John says with a small smile. “Also,” he pulls out his phone. “Take their numbers and my backup just in case,” he says, handing me his phone with his contacts pulled up.

I copy the numbers into my phone and save them under their names, and John’s back up as ‘John #2.’ “Done,” I tell him, handing him back his phone.

John nods and pockets his phone again. He clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, I’ll leave you to unpack. We don’t have a case right now, but a call could come in at any time from the other hunters we work with. You’ll meet them soon enough. I’m going to my room to turn in. Knock or send me a text if you need anything,” he says, walking back to my bedroom door and opening it. “Welcome home, y/n,” he says over his shoulder before walking out of my room and closing the door behind him.

Home.

The word leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. This isn’t home to me. My home is Washington. The green trees, the waterfalls, the beautiful hiking trails, my house.

From what I’ve seen, Kansas is flat, dull even. It’s all valleys and flat ground. There aren’t trees everywhere like Washington, no roaring waterfalls on the cliffsides. No ocean.

I start unpacking my bags, at least for now. I’m not staying forever, just long enough to learn what I need to defend myself, and then I’m getting the Hell out of dodge. I hang out my shirts in the small closet, put my shorts, underwear, pajamas, and socks into the drawers, and put my favorite dark romance novels on the desk. Next, I pull out my blanket from home, take off the blanket already on the bed, and put mine on, along with my sheets. Call me what you want, but silk sheets are better than any other kind. Especially for my hair, and I will die on that hill.

I’m putting the finishing touches up when I hear my phone buzz on the desk where it’s charging. I haven’t turned it on since I left. I don’t want to hear people’s pity for my mom being murdered. I don’t need it. My mom was the light in my life, and when she died, the world dimmed. Nothing anyone can say can bring her back, and heartfelt texts only make me want to break down and send me down the rabbit hole of anxiety and overthinking about who, or now, what killed her, her last moments, and the last thing I said to her, which I will never repeat to another living soul.

I push the thoughts away and pick up my phone, seeing a text from John.

John: Settled in?

Me: I guess so, as much as I can be.

John: Do you want to talk?

Do I? Honestly, I don’t know.

Me: Any word from the police?

I watch the three little dots that indicate he’s typing appear and disappear a few times before his text comes through.

John: No, none yet. Want me to light a fire under their asses?

I can’t help but chuckle and smile a little.

Me: Think it would help?

John: Maybe, maybe not. But I will if you want me to.

The sentiment makes my heart flutter, and a smile appear across my lips.

Me: Thank you. But I don’t think Pug Face will move any faster unless there’s donuts involved.🍩

John: Pug Face? You mean Detective Sanders?

Me: Yeah, that’s what I call him. His face looks like a pug.

John: Come here.

What does he mean? Like, to his room?

Me: To your room?

John: Considering that’s where I am, yes.

I sigh, stand up from my bed, and walk out of my bedroom. Why does he need to talk to me in his room? What does he have to say that he can’t just text me? I knock on the door labeled with his name and his deep voice sounds from the other side. “Come in.”

I open his door and peek inside. He’s sitting at his desk with a laptop and his journal open on top. His room isn’t really decorated, but he has maps and charts all over his walls, along with newspaper clippings, and on his dresser is a picture of a younger version of him, a baby Sam and toddler Dean, and a beautiful woman with blonde hair. They’re smiling in the picture in front of a house. This must be Sam and Dean’s mom, John’s first wife, who he said was killed by a demon.

“What did you need?” I ask, stepping further into his room when he waves me inside.

“Shut the door,” John says, nodding his head to the door behind me. It reminds me of when I would get in trouble with my mom. Getting me off to the side so she could lecture me about what I did wrong.

I shut the door behind me and John motions for me to come closer until I’m standing right in front of him as he scoots his desk chair back. “Okay, the door is closed. Am I in trouble?” I ask, sounding more nervous than I’d like to.

“Is there something you should be in trouble for?” John asks, not answering my question. I hate it when adults do that.

I sigh and roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. “I don’t know, that’s why I asked. You told me to come in here,” I respond.

“Firstly, watch your tone,” John warns, holding up a finger. “Secondly, I wanted to talk to you about how you talk to the police,” he sits back in his chair, looking me up and down. “If you want to hunt, you’re going to have to learn respect. We portray law enforcement most of the time, and local police don’t appreciate the attitude,” John explains. “And that includes nicknames like ‘Pug Face.’”

I swallow and nod. His tone of voice isn’t condescending, but the firmness of it makes something tingle deep inside of me. Somewhere, it definitely shouldn’t.

“Do I make myself clear?” John asks.

“Yes,” I mutter, trying to ignore how his low voice makes me feel ashamed and dirty.

“Yes?” John falters as if he’s waiting for me to finish speaking.

“Yes…sir,” I respond, wondering if that’s what he wants to hear. Hoping it’s what he wants to hear.

I see a flash of darkness in John’s eyes as he looks at me. He takes a shallow breath and then blinks a few times, clearing his throat. “You know you can call me ‘dad,’ too, right?” he asks in that same deep voice that stirs something deep in my core.

“I know…I just,” I try to explain but can’t find the words.

John holds his hands out for me to take and I find myself instantly going into them. He takes my small hands in his and pulls me just between his knees. “You call me whatever you feel is right. I’m not going to pressure you to call me dad when you’ve only met me a handful of times in your life,” one of his hands leaves mine, and he brushes a strand of hair out of my face, cupping my cheek. “That is my cross to bear, not yours. You call me whatever you like. But when it comes to orders, ‘yes, sir,’ is how you need to address me. Is that clear?”

His touch heats my skin where he touches it, only fueling the feeling that’s growing deep in my core. It’s inappropriate, it’s wrong, but I can’t stop myself from taking a tiny step closer between his legs and letting my response come out in a breathy, bedroom voice. “Yes, sir.”

A groan escapes John’s throat, and he swallows hard. “You should go. Now,” he responds. But it’s not an order this time, his tone is almost begging me to go. And I should, I really should because I don’t know if I can control myself if I don’t. I know it’s wrong, but the way his hands hold mine and touch me ignite a flame inside of me that I don’t want to smother just yet.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” I ask, trying my best to sound innocent. “I really don’t want to sleep alone. I get bad dreams,” it’s not a complete lie, but it’s a lie tonight. A lie to stay.

John nods and stands up, pulling me against him and hugging me tightly. I lean into his touch and hug him back. “You can sleep here whenever you want,” John assures me. He pulls back, keeping his hands on my waist. “Go change into some pajamas, and I’ll clear this stuff up,” he kisses me softly on my forehead and drops his hands.

I quickly change into some pajamas. Flannel shorts and a tank top and make my way back to John’s room. On my way back, the sound of slapping skin on skin catches my attention behind me. I tip-toe back to the source of the sound behind a door and place my ear against it.

“Fuck, just like that,” a man moans, sounding eerily similar to Sam.

“That’s it, Sammy, take it,” another man says with a grunt.

My eyes widen, and I take a step back.

Was that…Dean? Are they…? No, no fucking way… Does John know?! Should I be the one to tell him?

I almost have to slap myself to bring myself back to reality. They’re definitely fucking each other. “Holy fucking shit,” I whisper. I can’t help how it turns me on either, though. This is all so fucked up. What did I get myself into?

I walk back to John’s room with a swirling mind and a pit of fire deep inside of my core that’s only growing stronger and stronger. Maybe I should sleep in my own room tonight. No, fuck that. I mean, I’m sure John knows, and if he doesn’t care, then why should I?

Am I really about to come onto my dad right now?

No, I won’t instigate it. But, I mean, if he starts something, I won’t stop him. Fuck, I need to douse myself in holy water. Ice-cold holy water.

Chapter Four

#wincest #weirdcest #bottom sam winchester #sam and dean #spn spicy fanfic #sam/dean #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #dean winchester #lemon #spnfandom #samdean #sam winchester #dean #sammy #john winchester

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one-more-offbeat-anthem · 3 months ago

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promptober day 7: betray

Every day has been the same.

Dean wakes up alone in the old, rickety house. He’s always up with the sun; he never sets an alarm. The secondhand quilt on his bed always ends up on the floor, because he never sleeps well. There’s nightmares and restlessness and the witching hour.

Downstairs, he makes coffee and takes it out onto the porch if it’s not too cold. He reads a book, always from the library. His library card has his actual name on it, which is always weird for him. Luckily, no one in small-town Kansas asks too many questions.

He doesn’t need a job–he had more than enough to get by after trading in his bit of the bunker. Even so, he works part time at the local auto body shop to give him something to do with his mind and keep him from being alone all the time. Sam and Eileen come and visit, but they’ve got their own life. The guys at the shop call him “Dean Winner,” and he never corrects them, because it’s nice to have a nickname and be a part of something. He never really got to be normal.

Dean doesn’t feel like a winner, though. He’s forty-five, battered and bruised, living alone in a house that was cheap because it needed–and still needs–so many repairs. Sometimes he wonders why he’s still alive, why the Empty didn’t take him too, why only knowing about how Cas felt at the very end seems like such a betrayal from fate itself.

They could have had so much more time.

On the fridge, under a magnet for the tiny supermarket in the next town over, is a photo of them from Dodge City, in their cowboy hats. Dean always wishes he had more–time, photos, memories, mementos. He can’t watch Looney Tunes, dodges every car that even vaguely resembles a Lincoln Continental or a maroon truck. There’s a hole that he can’t fill.

But he keeps trying, doesn’t he? He makes eggs and bacon for breakfast, has a friend or two, frequents the public library. He visits the hardware store three or four or five times a week, keeps his house up. Drives around listening to the songs he remembers putting on Cas’s mixtape in the Impala (when he can bear it–Cas must have had the tape in his pocket when he…because Dean couldn’t find it anywhere). Goes to bed not long after sundown. Avoids bourbon but has a beer or two.

Dean keeps trying. At the very least, he can do that for Cas’s memory.

#sorry about this being SAD #promptober #offbeatwrites

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hotvintagepoll · 12 days ago

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Zasu Pitts and Thelma Todd (Let's Do Things, Catch as Catch Can)—[a Vanity Fair article was submitted that was paywalled, so I'm putting the text of it under the cut]

Jimmy Stewart and Hedy Lamarr (Come Live With Me, Ziegfield Girl)—i will be honest they do not have such good chemistry. however i DO think its very funny to have jimothy "always sounds like hes swallowing some vanilla ice cream" stewmeister across from hedy "literally most gorgeous woman ever maybe?" lamarr. like thats some casting decision for sure.

This is round 2 of a mini tournament. Each poll lasts for three days. If you'd like to send additional propaganda supporting your favorite hot couple, you can reblog this post with your propaganda added, send it to my asks, or tag me in it. To vote in all the polls, click here. Happy holidays!

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Pitts and Todd:

Here is the text of the Vanity Fair article that was submitted, written by Donald Liebenson:

“They’re always going to have each other’s back,” Haskell noted. “I don’t think there’s any of the shorts where they fight over a man.”

No propaganda was submitted for Lamarr and Stewart.

#hedy lamarr #jimmy stewart #zasu pitts #thelma todd #hotvintagepoll #hot couples tourney

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