#dian the unyielding

[mystery-salad]

🥵, 💦, 👀, 👃, 👂, 😍, 🚲 for Dian (@commanderhorncleaver, I'm sorry for going wild lmao)

So many!!!!!! :o 💖

Going under a read more for ease, enjoy!

🥵 : Is your OC perceived as physically attractive to others? Is it at first glance or is it something that takes more time to reach fruition?

Oh fuck yeah she is, that is the fabled leader of the Fireshadows warband, the now imperator of Fire Legion and a very well built charr. Buff as fuck, long fangs, sharp claws, perfectly sculpted and cared for horns 😳 she is absolutely what would be considered a warband thirst trap.

💦 : Is your OC’s attractiveness based on looks or a more intangible aura?

Both, she's attractive by purely technical degrees but she also has the aura of a natural born leader and she has been further leading her 'band since the foefire and onward for centuries now. Confidence and competence oozes off of her in waves.

👀 : Does your OC believe they are attractive? Do they use that to their advantage?

She knows she's very hot, both figuratively and literally 😎 but she doesn't ever use it to her advantage unless she's explicitly looking for a fun time or a date. In which case she will turn the charm all the way up to eleven~

👃 : Does your OC smell good? Do they have a signature scent?

She smells like a sharp cold almost, the crispness of a fire so hot it can numb you hangs around her in spirit. Takes some getting used to honestly, if you've never been around her before!

👂 : Does your OC have an attractive voice?

Her voice is low and rolls like thunder, she can be so gentle with it and soothing or she can crack it like a whip and command a room in seconds. If that's attractive to someone, then yes~

😍 : What does your OC find irresistible in others?

She likes someone who will stand up for themself and the underdogs, who will defy convention when needed and assess situations thoroughly instead of just following orders blindly. And more physically, she loves someone who's smaller than her and a little soft~

🚲 : Does your OC enjoy playing the field? Or are they more monogamy-minded?

The thing is, not a lot of others live as long as a now-immortal warband! She honors the partners she's had, but she is open to whatever works at the moment. She's had exclusive romances, and completely open ones. It's more up to whatever the person she loves wants, in her mind.

[mystery-salad]

Matthias:

He was raised and trained as the thief class! His specialties were daggers and, when necessary, a shortbow! When he left the bandit life behind he eventually ended up in the Seraph and trained as a warrior to further distance himself from his past. His skills translated efficiently to dual swords and a longbow, but he can still move even faster with a well balanced dagger in his grip if he's pushed to.

Charlie:

She was (and mostly still is) a thief as well! With a twist though, she found and stole a noble's smuggled exotic pet smokescale one night! Now her options were: find a way to hand this over to the authorities without also getting arrested given her many many many crimes, or incorporate this animal into her life and just hope she's taking better care of it than the noble who used it as a status symbol. Turns out being able to phase through walls and vanish into a cloud of smoke and shadows is pretty handy as a thief, she's got her soulbeast skills!

Roi:

She was a standard warrior who specialized in the spearmarshal spec for most of her life. After some Life Events and Bad Choices though she became so intertwined with the Mists that her skills really couldn't ever be the same again. She's functionally a vindicator now, though the specifics are different and she doesn't wield a legend. Just the many many facets of herself from what could have been.

Dian:

Funny how your warband being at ground zero for the foefire explosion can affect you in some drastic ways! This once-elementalist found her connection to the elements all but cut off entirely after her warband survived the blast. All that atunement was replaced overwhelmingly with the burning white fire that killed so many. She's managed to twist it to her will though, and now serves as a guardian! Healing with the foefire where it once destroyed everything.

Time for another curious question!

I know ingame it's not a possible thing, but has your character(s) gone through profession changes as their story/lore progresses? Does your character(s) have some aspect of another profession in their old/new core profession?

(For example, I have this Deadeye ingame, but his story has him start off as a Ranger with two loyal pets, and he swapped to being a Deadeye midway his story/lore while still retaining his pets)

Or does your character(s) remain in the same profession throughout their entire story?

Or perhaps, you have created a completely new type of non-canon profession for your character(s)'s story/lore?

Feel free to tell me all about it!

[youryanderedaddy]

Tw: female reader, nsfw, confinement, dub-con/non-con, sapphic My Ko - fi <3

Oh, to be the housewife of a rich, well - respected business-woman.

She has it all - looks, money, charisma, success, and now she has you as well, locked away in her vacation villa, cooking and cleaning and making it feel like a home while she's leading her fast - paced corporate job.

She comes late into the evening, sighing softly as she makes her way to you. Diane hugs you from behind, burying her face in your neck - simply melting against you. You try to hide your unease as you silently apologize for the cold dinner once again, even though none of it is your fault. She just clicks her tongue playfully and smacks your ass - when she's feeling gracious, and shoves you against the kitchen counter when she's had a particularly bad day at work.

No matter what her mood is, she always finds a way to take her stress out on you. After all in her eyes you're there to serve her - her sweet little wife, all pretty in gowns, or flowery dresser, or even better naked and covered in gold from head to toe.

Her kisses are always rough and leave you breathless, trying to catch your breath. Her touch is restless and unyielding, hot, merciless fingers stroking and pinching and slapping and squeezing for hours on end. Diane loves to tie you up in various positions, helpless and immobilized to her wicked will. She can't resist laying you on her queen sized bed and stuffing you with a fat mean vibrator, your scared gasps and pained moans of overstimulated pleasure ringing in her ears like the sweetest tune of music.

And just when you're too exhausted to fight, yet too spent to keep squirming under the toy, she kneels before you, spreading you once again so that you can feel each torturous inch of her tongue and fingers as they slip in and out of your wet, tight hole.

Then she kisses your forehead gently - just like a ritual, before taking you into her arms and washing you throughoutly, never missing a creak. You cry out weakly one last time as she tuggs you into bed, and she pulls you so close you can feel the heat radiating off her body once she starts whispering sweet nothings in your ear. You try to stay on guard but eventually you fall asleep, embraced by silk and warmth.

Then the next day it all repeats again.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

from Diane Ackerman’s writings today— Deep down, we know our devotion to reality is just a marriage of convenience, and we leave it to the seers, the shamans, the ascetics, the religious teachers, the artists among us to reach a higher state of awareness, from which they transcend our rigorous but routinely analyzing senses and become closer to the raw experience of nature that pours into the unconscious, the world of dreams, the source of myth. ....Our several senses, which feel so personal and impromptu, and seem at times to divorce us from other people, reach far beyond us. They’re an extension of the genetic chain that connects us to everyone who has ever lived; they bind us to other people and to animals, across time and country and happenstance. ....It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery. However many of life’s large, captivating principles and small, captivating details we may explore, unpuzzle, and learn by heart, there will still be vast unknown realms to lure us. If uncertainty is the essence of romance, there will always be enough uncertainty to make life sizzle and renew our sense of wonder. It bothers some people that no matter how passionately they may delve, the universe remains inscrutable. “For my part,” Robert Louis Stevenson once wrote, “I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move.” The great affair, the love affair with life, is to live as variously as possible, to groom one’s curiosity like a high-spirited thoroughbred, climb aboard, and gallop over the thick, sun-struck hills every day. Where there is no risk, the emotional terrain is flat and unyielding, and, despite all its dimensions, valleys, pinnacles, and detours, life will seem to have none of its magnificent geography, only a length. It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between.

[hausofsunflowersexplores]

Embracing Our Heritage: The Journey of Black Women in America and Our Right to Luxury

The history of Black women in America is a narrative rich in resilience, strength, and unyielding spirit. From the brutal realities of slavery to the complexities of contemporary systemic oppression, Black women have endured and thrived against overwhelming odds. This article seeks to provide a scholarly exploration of this history, emphasizing the necessity for reparations—not merely as financial compensation but as a holistic restoration of dignity, equity, and luxury.

The Early Struggles: Slavery and Survival

Black women’s journey in America began under the harshest conditions imaginable. Arriving as enslaved individuals, they were subjected to brutal physical labor, sexual exploitation, and family separations. Despite these dehumanizing conditions, enslaved Black women created covert networks of support and resistance. They preserved African cultural traditions through oral histories, religious practices, and communal care, thereby maintaining a sense of identity and solidarity.

Scholars like Deborah Gray White in "Ar’n’t I a Woman?: Female Slaves in the Plantation South" have documented the unique challenges faced by enslaved women. Their dual burden of race and gender placed them in a precarious position, yet they played crucial roles in the survival and resistance of their communities.

Reconstruction and the Fight for Freedom

The Reconstruction era (1865-1877) presented both opportunities and significant challenges for Black women. Although legally freed, they encountered pervasive racial hostility and economic instability. Reconstruction policies often failed to protect Black women from violence and exploitation.

Historians such as Elsa Barkley Brown have highlighted the active roles Black women took in shaping the post-emancipation landscape. They were instrumental in establishing schools, churches, and civic organizations. Despite limited resources and relentless opposition, figures like Mary McLeod Bethune emerged, advocating for education and social upliftment.

Jim Crow Era: Resilience in the Face of Racism

The Jim Crow era (late 19th century to mid-20th century) entrenched systemic racism through segregation laws and practices. Black women were confined to low-wage jobs, often as domestic workers, and were subjected to severe social and economic disenfranchisement.

Despite these oppressive conditions, Black women fostered communities of resistance and self-help. The rise of organizations like the National Association of Colored Women (NACW) exemplified their commitment to social justice and community improvement. Scholars like Darlene Clark Hine have documented how these organizations provided crucial support and advocacy, challenging the pervasive racism of the era.

Civil Rights Movement: The Unseen Architects

The Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and 1960s is often characterized by its male leaders, yet Black women were the backbone of this transformative period. Activists such as Ella Baker, Septima Clark, and Diane Nash played pivotal roles in organizing, strategizing, and mobilizing communities.

Their contributions extended beyond frontline activism. Black women were essential in grassroots organizing, voter registration drives, and educational initiatives. Historian Barbara Ransby’s work on Ella Baker underscores the importance of Black women’s leadership in sustaining the movement’s momentum and achieving its successes.

Modern Struggles: From Poverty to the Prison Pipeline

In contemporary America, Black women continue to navigate systemic inequities. They are disproportionately affected by poverty, health disparities, and mass incarceration. The school-to-prison pipeline, a term coined to describe the policies and practices that push students, particularly those of color, from schools into the criminal justice system, disproportionately impacts Black girls.

Angela Davis’s scholarship highlights the intersections of race, gender, and incarceration, emphasizing the need for comprehensive reforms. Black women’s overrepresentation in low-wage work, coupled with systemic barriers to education and healthcare, perpetuates cycles of disadvantage.

The Case for Reparations: A Right, Not a Privilege

The call for reparations for Black women extends beyond monetary compensation. It encompasses a holistic approach to addressing historical injustices and systemic inequities. Reparations should include educational opportunities, healthcare access, housing, and investment in Black communities.

Ta-Nehisi Coates’s landmark essay "The Case for Reparations" argues for a multi-faceted approach to rectifying the enduring legacy of slavery and segregation. For Black women, reparations would acknowledge the compounded effects of racial and gender discrimination, providing a foundation for equitable advancement.

Living in Luxury: A New Standard

Reparations should enable Black women to live in environments that promote their well-being and security. This includes access to safe and thriving neighborhoods, quality education, and healthcare that addresses their specific needs. The concept of luxury, in this context, is redefined as the right to live without the constant burden of systemic oppression and economic instability.

The history of Black women in America is a testament to enduring strength and relentless pursuit of justice. From the brutalities of slavery to the ongoing struggles against systemic inequities, Black women have consistently demonstrated resilience and leadership. The call for reparations is not a plea for charity but a demand for justice—a recognition of the invaluable contributions Black women have made and continue to make to society. It’s time for Black women to reclaim their right to luxury and equity, ensuring that future generations can inherit a legacy of dignity and prosperity.

This perspective aligns with the scholarship of sociologist Patricia Hill Collins, who emphasizes the importance of intersectionality in understanding Black women’s experiences. By addressing these intersecting oppressions, reparations can foster environments where Black women not only survive but thrive.

Conclusion

The history of Black women in America is a testament to enduring strength and relentless pursuit of justice. From the brutalities of slavery to the ongoing struggles against systemic inequities, Black women have consistently demonstrated resilience and leadership. The call for reparations is not a plea for charity but a demand for justice—a recognition of the invaluable contributions Black women have made and continue to make to society. It’s time for Black women to reclaim their right to luxury and equity, ensuring that future generations can inherit a legacy of dignity and prosperity.

[uneryx]

/flails excitedly at latest El Goonish Shive update

Pointy ears pointy ears pointy ears!!!!

[yuck-pfaugh]

Apropos of The Serpent Queen, I was expounding upon the corse of Diane de Poitiers and the gold found therein when she was dug up in 2009 — purportedly a residue of 16th century beauty treatments that involved consuming liquid or powdered gold (I've et it sometimes in desserts, it doesn't really taste like anything or improve one's skin but it does make one feel sexy).

The Other wondered aloud, what would be Harrowhark Nonagesimus's opinion of bones that contained prominent gold residue—? My thought was that it would depend upon whether the gold impaired Harrow's ability to manipulate the said bones to her own unyielding will.

If it did, naturally she would be all agin it. If it didn't, she would still appear to be all agin it, due to being a rabid traditionalist, plain calcium and collagen bones were good enough for her ancestors and they're good enough for her, &c &c; but secretly she'd like the shiny gold-speckled bones bequeathed by expensive idiots of the Third House. She would just bury that knowledge and suppress it even from herself. I mean. We know she knows how.

[thatesqcrush]

After Hours

Bryan Kneef x Reader. NSFW. For holiday bingo: very, very loosely “ugly sweater.” But it’s my bingo, sooo, c’est la vie. Follow-up to “The Trip” and “The Trip, Pt. 2.” Bryan makes good on a promise to reader.

WC: 3010 

**

You were surprised when you and Bryan flew back into Chicago that he did not make immediately good on his promise to fuck you in the office. In fact, it seemed that Bryan was done with you – he was all business in the office, no pleasure. You watched with secret jealousy and longing as he flirted and charmed everyone in the office – with the exception of Diane, of course. You even tried to dress a little nicer in the office, in hopes that he would notice. You tried to even bring up a novice mistake Diane had made in court and it was met with a curt smile and raised brows that screamed ‘are we done here?’

That all changed one late evening in the Firm’s copy center. A partner in your own right, you had your own stockpile of paralegals to call on handle whatever you needed. But it was late – and it was the holidays. Unlike other attorneys, it felt cruel to keep them burning the midnight oil. You had worked for asshole bosses like that when you were a paralegal many moons ago and you always vowed to not do that if you ever became an attorney.

You were fiddling around the printer, nary a soul in sight. The overhead lighting was awfully bright and it was emanating a hum. The monstrous printer was jammed and you could not figure out why it was still jammed even though you had removed the stuck paper. Your heels ached and throbbed from the day and with not even an afterthought, you took them off, leaving your feet bare – but still in stockings.

Your frustration was mounting and you decided to kick the machine, which somehow kickstarted the machine back to life, spitting out an obscene amount of pages as if it were confetti. You hit stop and gathered the paper from the floor. Finding some useable pages, you pumped the air victoriously before going back to your office. You remained sans shoes, enjoying how the floor felt against your feet. You spotted a ‘wet floor’ sign ahead and with a weary sigh, you slipped your heels back on, groaning.

Your heels clacked down the hallway to your office, echoing loudly with each step on the marbled floor. You paused in your step, when you realized despite your dim office and surroundings, that Bryan was in your office. He was leaning against the doorway, waiting with a drink in one hand and a cigar in another.

“Bryan? What are you doing here?” You asked, pushing past him. You stood at your desk, and continued to bind your courtesy copies, so it could be picked up by the messenger in the morning and be hand delivered to court.

Bryan cocked his head and swept his eyes over you, taking in your form. Your shirt was untucked from your pencil skirt, but it was not long enough to hide your form, with shapely and curvy hips and thighs. Bryan had been with his share of women – and men – but there was something about a person with curves that he was always a sucker for. There was something about how a bit softer they were, the way a pair of thicker thighs would feel against his hands as his hips crashed against them – something the way a pair of big tits spilled over his hands as his mouth nipped and sucked on them. He loved watching their tits bounce as they rode him or how his fingers sunk into their luscious hips as he took them from behind.

And ever since you and he fucked at the conference, which basically was almost every night until you both flew home, he could not get you out of his mind. He tried to keep things back to business but even weeks later, there you were still, from work meetings to partner votes.

At one meeting in particular, he sat next to you and he had to will himself to not slip his hand up your dress from under the desk. That then led to the image of you under his desk sucking him off. He ended up having to take matters into his own hands and rub one out that afternoon in his office.

He took notice at how you upped your appearance – skirts that hugged your shapely hips and (in his opinion, ugly) sweaters with a v-neck which showed off the swells of your tits. Your lips were always decorated in some kind of bold color and he could imagine those soft pillowy lips around his cock. The promise in Florida haunted him and he decided to make good on those words.

“I was on a settlement call with Tokyo when I noticed your office lights. I never see you here this late.” Bryan replied, his voice low and gravelly. The smell of the cigar burning – which to you smelled like coffee and surprisingly burnt marshmallow filled the air. The combination of that and his cologne sent your senses into overdrive.

“I am finishing up on some courtesy copies and then heading home.” You replied, continuing to work, avoiding his eyes.

“There’s a hundred paralegals in this place – you should offload that to one of them.” Bryan replied, taking a sip of his drink. He shut the door behind him before sitting down in front of your desk and kicking his legs up.

You shot him a look. “It’s fine – it’s humbling at least. You should always know how to do the mundane tasks – it makes you a better manager when you can relate to your subordinates.”

Bryan rolled his eyes and puffed on his cigar. “Sure, whatever you say.”

“Are you here to just antagonize me or…?” You asked, now placing your hands on your hips. You gave him an unyielding glare to which he responded with a dangerous smile. Your glare softened, feeling very much like prey being hunted. You swallowed hard, feeling your stomach knot up.

“What if it’s or?” Bryan asked, his voice laced with lust. He swung his legs off the desk and placed the drink and cigar on your desk before standing and walking over to you. A sound rumbled from his chest and you froze in your spot as he took place behind you.

Your eyes met his. There was palpable tension and you’d wonder who’d crack first. You got your answer quickly as he pressed himself lewdly against your buttocks; you could feel his hard bulge.

Bryan’s large hands gripped the tops of your arms and he nuzzled your neck, his beard tickling your skin and further heightening the feelings of arousal that were beginning to stir. You let out a soft sigh in response, nearly sinking back into him. 

“Remember what I said in Florida?” Bryan whispered into your ear. He nipped your ear playfully which caused you to shudder. His mouth found the slope of your neck and he sucked a deep mark on your skin, before using his teeth to nip some more. Your eyes fluttered shut..

“Yes.” You half moaned. You could feel your heartbeat and pulse quicken as Bryan soothed the bruised skin with his warm, wet tongue.

Bryan ran his hands down your arms and then to the curves of your hips trailing down until he got to the hem. Your breathing began to quicken in anticipation of what he’d do next. Bryan let out a growl as he pushed up your skirt and discovered you were wearing stockings with peacock feather lace tops which were held up with blush colored garters. Finishing the look was a matching blush pink thong panty.

“My, my… is this for me?” Bryan murmured against your skin. You slowly turned around and looked down, meeting his eyes, which were blown with lust.

“Yes. It’s all for you.” You admitted, averting your eyes briefly.

Bryan stood and faced you, using his index finger to tilt your face to his. “I fucking knew it.” Bryan whispered. “Your daddy’s little slut Y/N.”

“Yes, daddy.” You replied weakly, dizzy with desire.

Bryan pulled you into a kiss. Your mouths mashed against one another’s, your tongues rolling around and exploring each other’s mouths. You could taste the alcohol and cigar smoke and you moaned as he sucked in your bottom lip. You ran your hands through his thick hair and his hands grabbed at your ass, rolling the fat between his fingers.

“Is this what you want?” Bryan asked as he pressed your body closer to his; you could feel his erection against your stomach.

You ran your hands down to his collar and tugged him down. Bryan followed your lead as you hoisted yourself onto your desk, not caring at all that that objects on your desk fell over to the floor. Bryan made quick work of undoing the buttons of your blouse and spreading it open. His hand ran down your sternum before he reached down to the cups of your bra, your breasts popping out. His mouth immediately latched onto a nipple, rolling his tongue over a hardened bud. He used his free hand to pinch and roll your other nipple. Your head lolled at the sensations, your body was warm with increasing desire. He switched his mouth to your other nipple, sucking and nipping harder than he did to the other one, causing you to whine.

“I need to hear it Y/N. Or this all stops.” Bryan growled against your flesh before using his teeth to graze a nipple.

“Yes.” You finally managed to choke the words to describe your assent. “Fuck me.”

Bryan stood straight, his eyes taking in your appearance. Your hair was fanned out on the desk, your tits exposed, and your skirt pushed up to your waist, legs spread. The garter straps were strained along your skin as the elasticity was pushed to its limits. He undid the hooks and then stretched your legs wider. He felt his some primal urge swell deep inside at the very noticeable wet spot on your panties.

He bent down so that he was on his knees; his breath was warm against your soaking cunt, and you were desperate to relieve the aching in between your legs. He cupped your clothed pussy with his palm. “You’re so wet.” Bryan noted, a pleased lilt in his voice. He slipped a finger in and he let out his own groan of satisfaction at how easily it sunk in. Your cunt gripped his finger tightly and you sighed in relief at the feeling of his finger stroke you. 

“Oh fuck,” you groaned, your back arching off the desk at the sensation. Bryan’s tongue lapped one long hard strip from your opening up to your clit, the wet, warm muscle circling your bundle of nerves before his lips closed around it.  You groaned, murmuring Bryan’s name with praise. You grabbed at your own flesh, pinching and tugging on your nipples, as you felt your orgasm begin to build.

Now two fingers pressed at your core, slowly sinking inside, curling them and stroking your sweet spot while his thumb rubbed your clit. You couldn’t think straight, all you could focus on was the orgasm that was bubbling in the pit of your stomach and desperate for release. Your chest was heaving, a light sweat breaking out everywhere.

Bryan worked your orgasm alternating with his mouth and fingers. You were on the edge teetering, just about to let go and fall off. He could feel you clenching around his fingers. Bryan’s hot mouth was back to abusing your clit with such vigor.  

“Oh god, oh god, I am going to cum!” You sobbed. His fingers curled to your g-spot again, and the feeling was even more intense than usual.

“Come for me like a good girl.” Bryan commanded. Your body obediently obeyed. You wailed his name as you fell apart, this orgasm different from any other you had, practically shooting out. Your pussy clenched over his fingers and a warm, wet liquid emanated from your body.

Bryan groaned, as he buried his face against you before sucking your clit once more, coming off with a wet squelch. You lay there shuddering, completely dazed at what just happened. Bryan pulled you up and kissed you hard. His beard was soaked and you could smell and taste yourself on his beard.

“Never made a woman squirt before. That was fucking hot.” Bryan rumbled, as lecherous grin spread over his bearded mouth.

“Is that what it was?” You asked, reaching up to touch his soaked beard in amazement.

Bryan nodded. “I have watched enough porn to know that was definitely that.” You leaned up to kiss Bryan again. He kissed you softly this time as he undid the buckle of his pants. Bryan’s lips remained on yours as he used his hands to push down his pants and boxers, releasing his hard cock. You moved to bend and return the favor, but Bryan shook his head. He waved his index finger around. “On your back, facing me.”

You gave him a curious look but did as told. Your head was to the edge of the desk and watched near upside down as Bryan pumped his cock. The air was erotically charged; seeing his hard cock – knowing you were the reason it was the way it was – made you feel powerful. Some cum wept out and he used that as lubrication as he pumped his cock. You bit your lip once more to stifle a moan as you snaked your own hand down to rub your clitoris.

Bryan ended with his head near your head; his cock sticking up gloriously straight in the air. It gave him a beautiful if upside-down view of your face and breasts. You leaned your head over the edge and he leaned forward into your mouth. Bryan thrusted in and out your mouth, relishing in the feel of your tongue on his erection. His cock felt heavy and delicious, stretching your mouth. Bryan cupped your breasts again as he continued thrusting in and out of your mouth. You sucked the pre-cum that dripped out from the slit in the head of his cock. The salty taste flooded your mouth. Bryan grunted as your tongue, soft and warm, swiveled over his cock. You licked every ridge and meaty vein before you hollowed your cheeks to suck him harder. You spread your legs wantonly and continued to pump your fingers, in and out and in again.

Bryan grunted as he leaned further to cover your hand, guiding you as you pleasured yourself. You slipped your fingers out and Bryan sucked them clean before slipping his thick fingers in, replacing yours. You moaned against his cock once and the vibrations caused Bryan’s hips to jerk in response. Your hands wrapped against the backs of his thighs. You could feel him getting close - the sinewy muscles in his thighs were twitching and trembling. Bryan stumbled backwards, leaving your mouth and aching pussy empty.  

You let out a sound of frustration as Bryan walked over to the other side. You thought he’d might climb the desk and fuck you, but instead, he pulled you down to standing. You felt light-head as the blood rushed back down from your head. He pulled down your panties and he began to stroke himself against your soaked pussy. Over and over he rubbed his cock along your folds and swollen cit. It was rousing and lewd, the filthy act of him using you to get himself off, as if you were his own personal sex doll. You hooked your arms around his neck and began to undulate your hips, rubbing yourself equally on his thick, hard cock. It didn’t take long and Bryan groaned, shuddering against you as he came along your mound and panties in thick, hot, white, creamy ropes.

Bryan took a step back to survey the damage done – there you were, standing with your tits hanging out, your hair askew, and your panties ruined with your release as well as his. Bryan gathered some of his release onto his finger and offered it to you. You sucked in his finger, as if you were mimicking the blow job you had just given him. Your want and desire had grown exponentially and your pussy ached to be filled up and wrecked by his monster cock.

“In due time.” Bryan spoke. “We’ll continue at the New Years party.”

“Excuse me?” You asked. “We’re not…?”

Another grin appeared. Bryan reached and pulled up your panties until they were back on and he rubbed your clothed mound, that was full of his cum and your own messy release.

Bryan stood back and tucked himself. He pressed one last kiss to your lips. “New Year’s. I’ll pick you up at 7.”

You nodded. “Okay.” Seeing your disappointed look, Bryan kissed you once more. “Good girls get rewarded with daddy’s cum. So be good for me. Or else.”

Arousal shot through your body at his promise and threat. “Ok daddy.”

“Good.” Bryan replied with a wink. He turned to leave, with a very certain swag in his walk. You were now alone, in complete disarray of the evening’s events. But you had to admit, having his come in your panties made you feel completely defiled; you could hardly wait for New Year’s Eve.

Soon enough.

TBC.

Tags: @madpanda75 @tropes-and-tales @delia26 @mgarner1227 @beardedmccoy @youreverycolor @neely1177 @the-baby-bookworm @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @sass-and-suspenders @mommakat32 @dreila03 @beccabarba @garturbo @lovebennycolonmiguelgalindo @imjustreallynosy @sweetsummertime99 @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @annabelleb49 @scarletsoldierrr @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @redlipstickandblacktea @zoeykaytesmom @differentshadesofgray @misssirenlove @esparza-army @bananas-pajamas @mishaissocoolike @thefanficfaerie @theenchantedgalleryofstories @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty @ktiz90 @evee87 @itsjustmyfantasyroom @detective-giggles @rampantmuses @jazzyjoi @caked-crusader @rachelxwayne @prurientpuddlejumper @lv7867 @permanentlydizzy @bisexual-dreamer02 @madamsnape921 @averyhotchner @teamsladsandgents

[brandoc]

( aaron taylor-johnson, 30, cis male, he/him )  BRANDON CALLAHAN! we’re so happy you’re here. you’ve been her for SIX MONTHS, working as an INVESTMENT BANKER, right? yeah, everyone’s already told us all about you. they said your very CHARMING, OBSERVANT, SELF-CENTERED, and IMPULSIVE which we think is just awesome. of course they told us that you remind them of AN OLD FASHIONED, STACKS OF MONEY, and A WELL-TAILORED THREE PIECE SUIT and HEAVYDIRTYSOUL by TWENTY-ONE PILOTS. so we feel like we already know you so well. we can’t wait to get to know you better. 

hey, hey! brandon here is a bit of a mess but i hope you love him all the same.

b a s i c s.

name: brandon alexander callahan (jr) nickname: brando, b age & dob: 30 b. november 17th birthplace: manhattan, new york, new york current residence: denver, colorado positive traits: charming, observant, intelligent, confident negative traits: self-centered, impulsive, blunt, unyielding zodiac: scorpio ☀ aquarius ☽ libra ↗ pets: balinese cat named ghost family: [dad] brandon alexander callahan (sr) - 58 [mom] elise diane robichaud-callahan - 52 [younger sister], [younger sister]

i n f o.

the oldest of three kids, brandon alexander callahan had his life mapped for him from the very beginning. born to a very wealthy and well-known new york family, his father already had a corner on the hedge fund and investment banking world, and his mother was a well respected and well loved philanthropist. when brandon entered the picture everyone treated it as though the heir had arrived. raised mostly by nannies and tutors, life in the callahan household was anything but the typical american family. it didn't take long for brandon to figure out he didn't want the path that his parents had so carefully mapped out for him. when they wanted business classes he wanted sports. if not for the fact that he was a pretty gifted hockey player and still aced all of his tests, there might have been more pushback. it was an opening and brandon planned on seizing it until he had a career ending injury not long after being drafted into the nhl. losing out on his dream was a soulcrusher. his parents pushed for him to immediately hop in with the family business but he spent a couple of years lazing about, spending his daddy's money and getting involved with anyone who would give him the time of day. eventually, he returned to school, albeit reluctantly. feeling the empty hollow of loneliness and nothing to really pass the time but meaningless hookups, he had nothing better to do. after graduating with honors, he was rapidly promoted up the ladder at his father's company, much to the chagrin of the other workers. nepotism at its finest. most days he still lazes about and spends his father's money but he does it from denver where he’s meant to be heading up a new branch of the firm. and if he calls out of work or pretends to work from home more often than not? well, that's his dad's problem, not his.

w a n t e d.

- the women in his life (exes, fwbs, hookups, the one that got away, the one he refuses to admit he has feelings for) - his assistant - friends, real and fake, familial connections - rivals or enemies - anything and everything we can make work

[aion-rsa]

Scarface’s Tony Montana vs. Michael Corleone: Which Al Pacino is the Boss of Bosses

https://ift.tt/3haJ9K7

Scarface hadn’t been made when Pete Townshend’s 1974 song “The Punk and the Godfather” came out, but The Godfather certainly had. The Who’s anthem was a musical allegory about the rock scene, but the lyrics might as well be interpreted as a conversation between Michael Corleone and Tony Montana. Possibly right before they rumble.

Al Pacino played both men in both movies, and in each film, he begins the story as a punk. But in The Godfather, at least, he grows into the establishment. Michael becomes don. Tony was a shooting star on the other hand, one on a collision course with an unyielding atmosphere. Both roles are smorgasbords of possibilities to an actor, especially one who chased Richard III to every imaginable outcome. Each are also master criminals. But which is more masterful?

The obvious answer would seem to be Michael Corleone because he turned a criminal empire into a multi-billion-dollar international business, and lived to a ripe old age to regret it. Cent’anni, Michael. Tony Montana doesn’t live to see the fruits of his labor, but his career in crime is littered with the successes of excess.

Montana is a hungry, young, loose cannon, just like real-life’s “Crazy” Joe Gallo, who went up against the Profaci family in the street fight which Mario Puzo and Francis Ford Coppola used as inspiration on The Godfather. Gallo stand-in Virgil “The Turk” Sollozzo (Al Lettieri) did a lot of damage while he was trying to muscle in on Don Vito Corleone’s territory, selling white powder. Montana leaves a larger body count in the wake of his cocaine empire career. 

Scarface is Pacino’s film. The whole movie is about Tony Montana and his meteoric rise through money, power and women. The Godfather is a mob movie, crowded with top rate talent in an ensemble case, but it belongs to Marlon Brando. While Michael inherits the position by The Godfather, Part II, he shares Godfather roles with Robert De Niro there, and people come away feeling a little sorry for Fredo. Michael isn’t the focus of an entire film until The Godfather, Part III, and by then folks were only distracted by his daughter. Tony Montana owns the screen from the moment it opens until his last splash in the fountain under the “World Is Yours” sign. The picture was his.

Making Your Bones on First Kills

Pacino brings little of the wisdom of his Godfather role to Scarface’s title character. This is by design. Every crime boss has to make his bones. In mafia organizations, real and cinematic, the button men on the street are called soldiers. And every soldier has to go through basic training before they’re ready to earn their button. Michael gets assassination training from his father’s most trusted capo, Pete Clemenza (Richard S. Castellano) before he goes out to enjoy the veal.

Scarface doesn’t give us many details of the crimes Tony was involved in while still in Cuba, so he makes his cinematic bones executing General Emilio Rebenga in the American detention camp for Cuban refugees. The two scenes are polar opposites in all ways but suspense.

When Michael is sitting at the dinner table with Sollozzo and Police Captain McCluskey (Sterling Hayden), he lets Sollozzo do all the talking, easing him into comfort before pulling the trigger. Tony barely lets Rebenga get a whimper in during his first onscreen hit, which plays closer to an execution. Tony covers the sounds of his own attack with a chant he himself begins. It is a brilliant overplay, especially when compared to another scene that resembles The Godfather, with Tony killing a mid-level gangster and a crooked cop towards the end of Scarface. 

A major difference between the two roles is best summed up in a line Tony says in Scarface. He learned to speak English by watching James Cagney and Humphrey Bogart. Montana comes from the Cagney tradition of broad gangster characterizations. In The Godfather, Kay Adams (Diane Keaton) asks Michael if he’d prefer Ingrid Bergman. The young soldier has to think about it. This is because Pacino is miles removed here from Bogart, who played Bergman’s lover in Casablanca. Pacino’s two gangster icons approached their criminality differently, and Pacino gets to play in both yards.

Pacino remains on an even keel in the Godfather films, but gives a tour de force of violent expression in Scarface, which burns like white heat.

The Handling of Enemies and Vices

In Scarface, Pacino gets to be almost as over the top as he is in Dick Tracy. His accent would never make it past the modern culture board at The Simpsons, but he pulls it off in 1983 because he says so. Pacino bullies the audience into believing it. It’s that exact arrogance which makes us root for Tony Montana. We don’t want to be on his bad side. But the chilled reptilian stare of Michael Corleone is a visual representation of why Sicilians prefer their revenge served cold.

Michael is diabetic, and is usually seen drinking water in The Godfather films. Sure, he has an occasional glass or red wine, and possibly some Sambuca with his espresso, but Michael always keeps a clear head. Tony, not so much. He makes drunken scenes at his favorite nightclubs, and not only gets high on his own supply, but gets so nose deep in it he develops godlike delusions of superheroic grandeur.

Montana is impulsive, instinctive, and decisive. Tony kills his best friend Manny Ribera (Steven Bauer) immediately upon finding him with his little sister Gina (Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio). Michael waits until his sister Connie (Talia Shire) is on a plane to Tahoe before he has her husband killed in a hit years in the planning. Later Michael hangs his head silently as the shotgun blast which kills his brother, Fredo (John Cazale), echoes in the distance.

Tony, meanwhile, continues yelling at Sosa’s right-hand man long after his brains are all over the automobile’s interior.

Clothes Make the Man

Tony is written to be charismatic. Even coked out of his mind, he’d be a better fit in Vegas with Fredo’s crowd than with wet blanket Michael in Tahoe. Tony sports white suits, satin shirts, and designer sunglasses. Michael accessorizes three-piece ensembles with an ascot. This isn’t to say Michael had any issues with getting somebody’s brains splattered all over his Ivy League suit. 

Designed by Theadora Van Runkle, Michael preferred dupioni silk. That’s smart. The dark navy wool chalk-stripe suit Tony wears in his death scene was designed by Tommy Velasco and carries the class of a tuxedo. It was after 6pm. What do you think he is, a farmer?

“I’m the guy in the sky, flying high, flashing eyes. No surprise I told lies, I’m the punk from the gutter,” Roger Daltrey belts out on “The Punk and The Godfather.” This is exactly against the no-flash advice Frank Lopez (Robert Loggia) tries to impart on his young protégé in Scarface. Tony was raised not to take any advice other than his own. He also ignores his consigliere’s advice on several occasions. When Manny reminds Tony the pair of them were in a cage a year ago, the rebel gangster says he’s trying to forget that, he’s going after the boss’ girl. 

“I come from the gutter,” Montana proudly contends. “I know that. I got no education but that’s okay. I know the street, and I’m making all the right connections.” 

By contrast, Michael attended Dartmouth College and then dropped out to join the Marines after the attack on Pearl Harbor. Michael is both intelligent and well-connected, loosely modeled on Joseph Bonanno and Vito Genovese. He also accepts the wisdom of his father, who most closely resembled “The Prime Minister” of New York’s Five Families in the 1950s, mafia boss Frank Costello.

The Better Family Man

Pacino’s Don Michael Corleone has access to all his family’s connections, stretching back to the old world. He learns to expertly pull the strings of powerful men, like his father did, but as he grew, he bent. Michael is friends with senators, meets with the President of Cuba, has money in the Vatican, and confesses his sins to a Pope. Michael was insulated throughout his childhood and criminal career. If Tony gets in trouble, he has to get out of it himself, or with the help of a handful of low-level operatives.

Michael is the family rebel, risking his life and getting medals for strangers. He also gets to be both the prodigal son and the dutiful son. He gets the fatted calf and pays the piper. He even tips the baker’s helper for the effort. Michael comes back to both of his families, crime and birth, with a vengeance. He is there for his father the moment he is needed. Michael is the better family man. Tony’s mother is ashamed of him, and he completely ruins his sister’s wedding. Michael’s family means everything to him, and while he still manages to lose them, he actually maneuvers his two families well over rough waters for a very long run.  

Tony Montana is the rebel’s rebel. Even before he tosses off his bandana at the dishwasher job to make a quick score, we knew. He was born bad, in the cinematically good way. This also makes Montana a natural at crime. In The Godfather, Michael has it in his blood as a Corleone, but has his heart set on college, a straight career, and a shot to bring his whole family into the American Dream, which for Montana only exists as a wet dream.

Tony never gets past the hormonal teenage phase of his love of America. He wants to love his new country to death. He is turned on by the dream. He wants to take it. Not earn it. No foreplay necessary, as he claims his latest victim’s wife as his own.

Managerial Skills

Michael is pretty good with his underlings, when he’s not having them garroted on the way to an airport or advising them to slit their wrists in a bath. He promises Clemenza he can have his own family once the Corleones relocate to Las Vegas. He lets Joe Zaza (Joe Mantegna) get away with murder as the guy he sets up to run his old territory in The Godfather, Part III. Michael doesn’t keep turncoats like his trusted caporegime Tessio (Abe Vigoda) around for old times’ sake, and he doesn’t suffer fools at all. It may seem he cuts Tom Hayden (Robert Duvall) loose a little fast, and without warning or due cause. But if he was a wartime consigliere, he would have seen it coming.

While Tony Montana may have a competitive and fast-tracked entry program for new workers (“hey, you got a job”), he’s also the guy who shoots his right-hand man Manny for marrying his sister. Tony exacts a brutal and dangerous revenge for the death of his friend Angel Fernandez in the Miami chainsaw massacre, but doesn’t lift a finger when his cohort Omar Suarez (F. Murray Abraham) is hanged to death from a helicopter by drug lord Alejandro Sosa (Paul Shenar). Michael does have a tendency to have his soldato kiss his ring, but he’s not entirely a .95 caliber pezzonovante.

Read more

Movies

Scarface: Where Tony Montana Went Wrong

By Tony Sokol

Movies

The Godfather Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone Proves a Little Less is Infinitely More

By Tony Sokol

One of the most important skills a boss must exhibit is how to delegate, and Corleone is a minor Machiavellian master at his delegation. He whispers orders from behind closed doors. Tony is more hands-on. The only reason he tells Manny to “kill that piece of shit” Frank is because he’s already humiliated his former boss into a shell of a real man.

Montana is in the trenches with his soldiers and sets standards by example. He shoots a guy on a crowded Miami street in broad daylight. Montana is a born triggerman and only reluctantly delegates the duty. He has 10 bodyguards when Sosa men raid his mansion fortress. He takes the invading force with one little friend, an M16A1 rifle with a customized grenade launcher. But it sure doesn’t help the employees getting murdered outside.

A Handle on Finances

We don’t know what kinds of criminal activities the Corleone family were involved in between 1958 and 1979. Still, Michael had proven himself a traditionalist and a bit of a prude, so he spends most of his career shaving his take from harmless vices and avoiding drugs, which he sees as a dirty business. But through whatever means, by The Godfather, Part III, Michael has earned enough capital to buy himself out of crime.

Michael gambles successfully on Wall Street, keeps the Genco olive oil company going, and invests in hotels, casinos, and movie studios. He’s got to be pulling in a billion dollars a year in legitimate business. He makes enough to pad the coffers of the Vatican, and his share of Immobiliare stocks pulls in another $1 billion.

Tony looks like he’s earning about $15 million a month. But it doesn’t look like he puts much stock in his future. He makes no investments, only purchases. His only visible holding is the salon his sister works in. But we also have to take into account that he built his empire from scratch. Michael inherited his. And while the head of the Corleone family can blackmail a U.S. senator with a tragic sex scandal, Montana fares no better than Al Capone with tax evasion.

Who Would Win in a Mob War?

Scarface is as violent as the 1932 Howard Hawk original. Blood is a big expense, and 42 people are killed in the 1985 film. It came out amid other over-the-top action blockbusters like First Blood and the contemporary reality of the South American drug trade. So, it would seem, the film has far more violence. But they are easily matched.

The Godfather has a horse’s head, Scarface has a chainsaw. Michael’s brother Sonny (James Caan) gets machine gunned to smithereens at the toll booth, Tony blows the lower limbs off his would-be assassins at a nightclub. Omar is lynched in a chopper, the upper echelon of the mob is taken out by helicopter fire in The Godfather, Part III. Tony and Michael each get to kill a cop.

Both mob figures survive assassination attempts. Michael loses his wife Apollonia in Sicily in a car bombing meant for him. He also avoids the trap Tessio sets at the meeting with Emilio Barzini (Richard Conte), on his turf, where Michael “will be safe.” Tony lives through his initial professionally ordered hit, as well as being saved by Manny from certain death by chainsaw.

While Michael Corleone is able to take care of Barzini, Victor Stracci, Carmine Cuneo, and Phillip Tattaglia – the leadership of the five families – at the end of The Godfather, Tony Montana can only put up a good fight. The Corleone family would win in a protracted war against Montana’s cartel, but there is a possibility Tony would have outlived Michael while the battles raged. Expert swordsmen aren’t afraid to duel the best in the field, but they’re scared of the worst. 

As far as crime tactics and strategic villainy, Michael Corleone plays a game of chess. Tony Montana plays hopscotch. He wins by skipping cracks in the street, but he only rises as far as the pavement.

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from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3o0W2Ie

[mystery-salad]

“Oh you’ve done it now...”

[iheartadverbs]

The great affair, the love affair with life, is to live as variously as possible, to groom one’s curiosity like a high-spirited thoroughbred, climb aboard, and gallop over the thick, sun-struck hills every day. Where there is no risk, the emotional terrain is flat and unyielding, and, despite all its dimensions, valleys, pinnacles, and detours, life will seem to have none of its magnificent geography, only a length. It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between.

Diane Ackerman

[foxholemonster]

Dian The Unyielding, member of the Fireshadow warband. She’s been around and seen enough to know when you’re taking things too far

[transxfiles]

Lumberjanes Week Day One: Favorite Roanoke (Jo)

A Single Brown Feather, An Anagram, And A Search In The Dark In The Forest At Night

Jo is clever. She’s clever. She can figure a way out of this.

Something’s up with Molly. They’ve all noticed it, by now. She’s acting strange and speaking with an odd lilt to her voice and her eyes have gone just the slightest bit golden. Normally, they all would have attributed it to nerves; camp would be ending, soon. They all knew that. And they all knew that Molly was anxious about it most of all, even if none of them knew exactly why.

(Well. Mal knew exactly why. Jo knew that Mal knew because April heard from Ripley who heard Mal and Molly talking in hushed tones about it, and April wrote this all down in her great pink notebook and she handed it over to Jo for a read-over. Jo is a scientist, first and foremost, yes. But she took a class in crime scene analysis, and one in psychology, and one in forensics; in short, she makes a rather good detective.)

And today, during capture the flag, Molly disappeared. Mal disappeared, too, shortly after Molly did. They think she was going after her.

The rest of the Roanokes are in their cabin, now. Jen’s holding Ripley and holding back tears, the two of them sitting on a bunk together. Meanwhile, April and Jo have put together a bulletin board of clues, cross-referencing the notes they’ve been keeping, trying to figure out what’s going on.

The Zodiacs are here, too. April thought they’d be of help

“They lost their counselor to the woods at the beginning of the summer,” she’d explained. “I think they might know more than they’re letting on.” 

Emily had offered up her notes to Jo; apparently the Roanokes hadn’t been the only ones keeping tabs on everything. Now, Hes and Wren are doing a sweep of the cabin, looking for clues. Cleaning out Molly’s bunk, and then Mal’s, shifting through duffle bags and peeking behind posters. Barney’s attempting to comfort Jen, though how well that’s working is questionable. Diane’s explaining everything she knows about forest magic to Jo - though apparently, she actually doesn’t know that much.

“It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen, to be honest,” Diane says, sounding defeated.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never seen a place where time works like this. Not even on Olympus, not even in Hades. As soon as my parents set me down in this forest I felt weird. Like, it was trying to take my magic from me.” Diane’s voice is shaking. “I think it’s hungry.”

Jo writes that down; she thinks she can work with that, maybe. Diane’s being cryptic, but for the first time, Jo’s willing to believe it’s because she’s actually as in the dark as the rest of them. 

Mackenzie walks up to the bulletin board, eyeing the red string tying together bits and pieces of information. Notes, photographs, pieces of moss, a scrap of green fabric they found snagged on a thornbush during their first search of the forest after realizing Molly was gone. She looks at one photograph, of a dark cave covered by a waterfall.

“You guys know about the Voice?” She asks.

They look up at her.

“The Voice?” Says Jo, an echo. “The one that keeps sending monsters after us? The one that made Molly stop time?” “Yeah,” Mackenzie says. “It… it took Vanessa from us.” 

“Vanessa?”

“Their counselor,” Jen says, standing up. “Purple hair, spiked up all the time, never wore her uniform, took all the good coffee from the mess hall, deadly good at scrabble. Was with us until about a week or see into the summer. And then she disappeared.” 

Jo looks up from her notes. “The… the Voice took her?” 

April’d told her this, of course. Mentioned it in passing. But she hadn’t expected confirmation.

“That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“And you think it took Molly, too?” Asks Jo.

“No,” says Hes. She stands up from where she was kneeling beside Molly’s bunk. She’s holding a single brown feather. “I think she went to it willingly.”

Hes hands the feather to Jo.

“What can you say about this?” She asks.

Jo shrugs. “I…”

She doesn’t know what to say.

She’s clever, so, so, clever, but she never learned her birds. The Roanokes have never really been big on earning badges, much more concerned with running about in the woods, causing trouble if they can, stopping it if they must. That’s the point of camp, that chaotic aspect. They hadn’t gotten to birding yet. They were supposed to go two days from now, out in the forest with binoculars. They’d promised Jen. Jo knows it’s not going to happen now.

“Here,” Jen says, quietly. “Bring it over here, please?”

Jo pads over, keeping her feet light on the ancient wooden floor. The cabin is silent.

She places the feather in Jen’s hands.

“It’s unlike any I’ve seen before,” says Jen. She turns it over in her hands a few times, runs her thumb along the soft edge. “It’s a flight feather, definitely. You can see it in the shape, here, the sharpness of the form. But it’s too large to belong to any bird I’ve ever seen.” 

“It’s brown,” Jo adds. “So it can’t belong to the Roc - its wings are black.” 

“Yes.”

“Where did you find this?” Asks Jo, though she already knows the answer.

“Molly’s bunk.”

Her stomach won’t stop twisting itself into knots.

“Okay. So we think that Molly went to the Voice willingly. Why?” 

“She doesn’t want summer to end,” says Ripley. “Mal… Mal said her parents weren’t nice, like ours are.”

“She doesn’t want to go home.” “The Voice has stopped time before,” says Wren. “We all saw the bubble incident.”

“The bubble…” Jo’s eyes go wide. “Bubbles! Where’s Bubbles?”

Suddenly they’ve all descended into a bout of chaos, searching the cabin high and low. Jo knows, she knows , that this is the best lead they’re going to get in a long, long while. If they can find the raccoon.

Ripley’s the one who finds him. Drags him out from under the her bed, a chittering anxious mess. He’s far more animalistic than what Jo’s used to; his normally too-intelligent eyes are dark and terrified, his claws are out and thrashing and frantic. He’s fighting against Ripley. He’s never fought against Ripley before.

“He’s scared,” she says.

Jo steps forward to take him from her arms, but April stops her.

“I’m the strongest one here,” she says, quietly. “I should do this. Just in case he… well, in case he gets any worse.” 

Jo nods. 

April reaches out and picks Bubbles up, and he immediately tears a slash in her beautiful lavender sweater. April winces, but Jo can tell it isn’t too bad; there’s no blood. For whatever reason, April’s always been hard to hurt. She’s strong as hell, and her skin doesn’t cut, unyielding to knives or claws or thorns.

“Molly,” April says to Bubbles.

Normally, Bubbles’s eyes light up at the name.

Now, he hisses, fights April’s iron grip even more.

Jo and April share a look.

Something is horribly wrong.

-

Jo has never hated investigating the woods at night before, though she’s starting to.

They’ve split up. Three groups; April, Wren, and Emily in the first. The second, Ripley, Hes, and Jen. Jo, Diane, and Barney in the last one..

They know it’s stupid and they know it’s impulsive and they know that the odds of them coming out of this one alive are slim, but they’ve decided to go looking for the Voice’s cave anyway.

Rosie told them not to, when they told her what was going on. Shouted at them to stay inside. Locked down the camp. It was a pain to get through her security, though easier with Jen on their side. A counselor, it seems, can slip through anything.

Jo had to make the plan, what with Mal gone. And Jen helped a bit. And they still managed to get through, nonetheless, and out into the woods safe and sound, for now.

Ripley, Hes, and Jen are trying to find Abigail, or the Bearwoman. Someone who knows about magic, someone who’d be willing to help. But the woods are a maze that changes its form with every step, and they don’t have any means of communication, even with the flares Jen promised to send up in case anything went awry.

Jo tries not to think about what might happen if the flares don’t work. Or if some tragedy befalls the group before they have time to send one up. Or if something clever, more clever than any of them put together, manages to get to them first, stealing a flare and then stealing them away like the Voice stole Molly and Mal. Because, though Jo knows it’s naive, she continues to hold onto the promise that Molly didn’t choose this. That Molly’s out there, fighting the Voice, that Mal is fighting alongside her, that they’re not handing over their souls willingly in exchange for more summer days.

Jo looks up to see Diane in front of her, turns to check that Barney’s still at her back. The trail they walk is becoming more and more narrow with each step they take. Diane keeps insisting this is good. At least, for their purposes.

“The more the trail narrows, the more the forest is trying to steer us away. It means that we’re heading towards something it doesn’t want us to find.” 

“Like the Voice,” Jo says.

“Exactly.” 

It feels like they’ve been walking for days, now. That the night is lasting forever. And who could tell, either way? Time doesn’t work here, not really. When Jo looks up, she sees a starless sky. Cloudy, she’d think, if she was anywhere but here. Instead, she looks up and she grows wary.

The forest controls everything, here. The deeper in they go, the more powerful it becomes.

The starless sky is a warning. She’s sure of it.

-

“What does the Voice look like?” Asks Barney.

“Well,” says Diane, thinking. “Great big red eyes. Body made of shadow. Evil, as far as we can tell…” 

Jo finds herself smirking, despite it all. “Evil isn’t a physical trait.” 

“It is on this piece of shit.”

“And we used to have a counselor?” Barney asks.

Diane nods. “Yeah. Vanessa. She disappeared before you joined up. At first we thought she just went into town on important business, or something. But then she was gone for a long time, and so Hes went looking - she was appointed Stand-In Counselor or something, thought she could boss us around - and she ended up in dark forest. Got lost for a few days. Discovered a scrap of Vanessa’s favorite t-shirt, apparently, muddied and looking a thousands years older than it should have been, but there, nonetheless. Picked it up, and immediately found herself face to face with a pair of glowing red eyes, and voice that chilled her to her bones.” 

“The Voice.” 

“We think so, yeah.” She looks at Jo. “At least, matches your descriptions of it.” 

“Yeah.” Jo sighs. “Yeah.” 

“Jo?” Says Barney. “Diane?”

“What is it, Barn?” 

“Do you…” they sigh. “Do you think we’re actually going to find Molly?” 

“Of course!” Jo says.

She hopes she’s not as bad a liar as she feels.

-

They get up and start walking again. The trees get closer and closer together, so thick they feel like a wall of solid wood. But Jo and Diane and Barney push through them. And then they find themselves met with vines. And they tear up the vines and push through these, too, and find themselves met with thorns. And on and on it seems to go, and Jo knows, knows with more than just gut instinct, that the forest doesn’t want them here.

She barely notices it when written on one of the trees is a word.

Well, the more accurate description would be carved into one of the trees.

“What does this say?”

“What?” 

Jo’s stopped walking entirely, staring at the etching in the bark. “There’s something carved into this tree. I know there is.” Curse her horrible eyesight. She’s probably due for glasses anytime soon.

“Wait,” Barney says. “Diane. You can see in the dark, right?” 

“How did you know that?” 

Barney sighs. “Do you know how many times I’ve walked into the cabin to find you reading in the dead of night without a light on? It’s not that hard to tell. Emily told me that she actually thought you were a demon or something before she found out you were a goddess because of your wacky night vision.”

“Okay, fine. I have night vision. It’s a perk of being goddess of the hunt.”

“Okay,” Jo says, stepping aside from the tree. “Can you read this?” 

Diane steps up to it, and squints. “These don’t even sound like real words.” 

“Just say what it says.” 

“Okay… um… ‘Wham! I Play Level Loom.’” She shakes her head. “It’s probably nothing. I mean, Level Loom? I can’t be the only one here who thinks this is ridiculous.” 

“It’s not ridiculous,” says Jo. “It’s an anagram.” 

“Anagram?” 

“Molly’s speciality.” She tries to sound calm. "It's gotta be a sign. Someone’s trying to tell us something."

Jo grabs a pencil from behind her ear, a pad of paper from her pocket. She starts writing down combinations of letters, scribbling furiously.

Barney and Diane share a glance behind her back. Diane doesn’t like the Roanokes, not really, but she is worried for them. Barney likes the Roanokes quite a bit; they’re worried for them, too.

They move away from Jo, sitting on a rock and letting her work in peace. Sometimes they pass a word or two between themselves in ASL - Wren’s been teaching them in their free time around the cabin, and they’re both quite good at it.

There’s a noise somewhere above them, a flutter of wings. They pay it no mind; there are many creatures in this forest, mostly harmless. Bats are common.

“Via Elmo, He Pwoily?” Jo mutters. “No, that’s not a word - Leave Him Wool… no, that won’t work, that doesn’t even make sense…”

The sound of pencil scratches is so loud in Jo’s ears, and the sound of those gears turning and turning in her head, she doesn’t hear the distant screams. April’s screams, she would have known, had she only listened.

Barney hears the screams. But before they can say anything, they’re gone. Diane looks up to find herself sitting next to no one.

“Jo?” She says, her voice shaking.

“Hold up Diane, not now, I’ve almost got this,” she mutters. Jo’s clever. She’s so clever, and she knows it, she knows she can do this. She has a few words down. “I have…” she writes those in. She still has a few more letters left, but then something clicks in her brain.

“Jo,” Diane says, a strange urgency in her voice. “Jo.”

“I’ve got it!” Jo says, finally looking up from her notepad. “I have Molly Powell.”

She’s so proud of her work, she doesn’t even process the words at first. And then those gears in her head start to turn, again, and she drops her pad on the ground.

“Oh my god.” “Jo?” Asks Diane. “Jo. Who has Molly?”

“I…”

I have Molly Powell.

“Hello,” says a twisted voice from above them.

Diane and Jo look up into that ink black sky.

Jo almost screams. But she knows better. April’s taught her to stand her ground.

Diane does scream. She figures that now, there’s nothing more to lose.

In the sky, wings grown from her back, eyes an icy gold, is Molly.

“I have Molly Powell,” says another voice, from behind them. A voice that sends shivers down Jo’s spine, one that’s she’s never quite heard before, but recognizes, nonetheless.

Not a voice.

The Voice.

“I think we’re going to have a lot of fun this summer,” it says. “Don’t you?”

[jotarosmokes]

**Season 6 Bojack Horseman Spoilers **

While I do think that season 6 was really good, I also feel like it should have been a season 6 and 7 with some of the plots fleshed out and developed more. I know that the Bojack team had no control over it, but I wish that Netflix hadn't pulled the plug so soon. They should have given them 2 seasons to wrap everything up IMO.

Best episode of course was The View from Halfway Down. Even though I dont think the fucking erotic asphyxiation guy should have been there , the episode was heart wrenching and had me shaking. I almost wish that the next episode was about the rest of the cast dealing with BJs death. But like someone else said, that would give people who deeply relate to BJ the idea that suicide is a viable option and that death is a way out. Which would be a highly irresponsible thing for the team to advocate, so it's good in a way.

I wanted BJs prison experience to be explored more, and I wanted more closure for Hollyhock, Penny, Sharona, and Gina's storylines. I think they deserved more time, but what can you do? There was so much to tie up in only a few episodes.

Overall, Bojack Horseman is still one of my favorite shows, and it's unyielding depiction of depression and anxiety touched me deeply. Diane's experience with going off her meds and dealing with her trauma in Good Damage touched me deeply. Its probably one of my favorite episodes of the season.

I think that diane and bojack will probably never speak again. And I'm okay with that. Codependency breeds relapse. I think Todd and Bojack will have a friendly relationship, but Todd will keep him at arms length, which is smart. Todd grew up so much over this series, he deserved to be happy. Mr. PB should have had more focus on how he accepted his independence and his new confidence in being alone. But he will probably end up being one of BJs best friends until they die.

As far as princess Carolyn and judah is concerned I am SO happy they ended up together. I have shipped them since he showed up, as much as I adored Lins character, I'm so glad that judah confessed to PC. They are perfect together. Hes always been devoted to her, and she finally understood how much she needs him. Perfect. Her storyline I think was the most complete.

I still think BJ should have gone to prison for his actions, or non action, during sarah lynns last night. That, and for almost killing Gina. But like many celebrities, the greater crimes get swept under the rug.

God. I love this series. I'm so sad it's over. But I'm glad it happened.

[enchantedsugden]

i'm looking at you and my heart loves the view (cause you mean everything)

ao3 link 

aaron overhears a conversation in the pub and is less than happy.

------------

He’s scrolling on his phone half expecting his husband to text him an explanation on why he’s late any moment now. Two pints already placed on the table, Aaron can’t help but start sipping at his own one while he checks out the atmosphere in the pub. It’s a relatively quiet night, he sees some familiar faces but there’s no one he’d particularly want to strike a conversation with. There are the vague sounds of an argument coming from the backroom, Charity clearly frustrated with whatever Marlon has done, or hasn’t done. Aaron sighs, he’s almost ready to start his own argument, Robert was now 15 minutes late and counting. He honestly wouldn’t mind as much if he knew what was going on but he didn’t. The older man had a meeting in Leeds scheduled for the day and had assured Aaron that he’d definitely make it to the pub at 18:30 but there was still no sign of him. Aaron liked to mock his husband for worrying but right now he was starting to get his own anxiety about accidents and injuries.

He’s about to send Robert a text when Marlon walks past him, two plates in hand “oh hiya Aaron- you’re not being stood up are ya?” The chef grins and Aaron rolls his eyes “he’s late” he replies and watches him bring the two meals over to two men Aaron’s never seen before. They are older men who according to Aaron would be the exact men you’d expect to see here in Emmerdale, if you didn’t really know the place. They were both dressed as if it was a snowy day in January and the Woolpack hadn’t heard of heating. One of them even had his tartan cap still firmly pressed on the top of his head.

“So you won’t be wanting to order any food yet then?” Marlon asks, shaking Aaron out of his thoughts.

“No ta Marlon”

  I am still at the pub, where are you? I hope you’re okay xx (18:51)

He sends the text after giving it the quick once over. It sounds how he wants it to sound, not angry, because he isn’t. He knows Robert wouldn’t turn up late and not let him know for no good reason. They weren’t like that, not nowadays, they knew how worried they could each get and right now that was exactly what Aaron felt, worry.

He drained the last of his pint and walked over to the bar to order a new one when the two older men caught his attention again.

“Isn’t that his young lad?” the one still wearing the cap says, he’s pointing at the wall and Aaron follows their gaze. The picture of young Robert on his dad’s shoulders is staring back at him. The same picture that always manages to make Aaron smile fondly, the young boy looking so happy and carefree all wild blond hair and freckles. 

 They had that exact picture hanging up on the landing. Diane had it framed for Robert back when they first moved into the Mill, and it had taken a long time before his husband had had the courage to actually put it on display. The best part of a year really, it wasn’t until a few months after him and Robert had gotten back together again that the older man had finally added it to their wall full of memories. It was the only one there of Robert and his dad, but it was enough and Aaron was proud, he was always proud.

 The other man was now nodding and Aaron decided to just drink Robert’s pint instead, his earwigging a lot less obvious at his own little table than it would be standing at the bar in full view.

“A tear-away, a right handful as he got older” the cap continues “not sure what will have become of him but I wouldn’t expect too much” he adds making the other man laugh.

Aaron feels his eyes burn with tears, out of anger and frustration but also out of upset he feels for his husband. He wants to tell those two gits exactly what had become of that boy, that he was a wonderful husband and an amazing father but he knew he couldn’t. Not that Robert wasn’t worth it, Robert was worth everything and the fact that these strangers were talking about his husband as if they knew him made his blood boil. No, it were those two men who weren’t worth it, they had no right to any kind of information about his husband, or their relationship. They were the traditional type, Aaron didn’t need to be a genius to realise that. He had no desire to hear their no doubt hurtful opinion on his love for his husband. Especially when these men meant literally nothing to him, or to Robert.

He wanted to go, to text Robert to meet him back at home but the thought of the men continuing to talk about his husband after he had gone, not knowing what else they could be saying made him feel ill so he stayed seated.

“Think Jack was very happy to call that other boy his own. A lot more alike those two. Maybe he still lives here, owning one the big farms up the other end.” Aaron felt his heart sink at the words. He always felt Robert’s sadness and pain whenever he talked about how awful it felt being second best, the tears and upset on his husband’s face enough to make Aaron feel it all with him. Now though, he felt as if he was experiencing it first-hand, as if Jack was alive and he was making his son feel awful right in front of him. What he had just heard confirmed his suspicions, those two men had been friends of Jack’s or had at least been close enough with him to know about his sons.

Aaron was still worried about Robert’s whereabouts but he couldn’t help but feel grateful that he wasn’t here right now. He shifted in his seat trying to restrain himself from shouting how that same amazing Andy they were talking about was now on the run from the police. Sure, he wasn’t guilty but he had still made his fair share of mistakes. He wasn’t the great son of the equally not so great Jack Sugden.

“At least Andy was always looking out for his old man eh, the other one- Robert couldn’t even be bothered turning up at his funeral.”

The man without the cap seemed to have remembered names all of a sudden and Aaron felt his fists clenching in anger at hearing them say Robert’s name. He imagines banging those fists on the table whilst telling them both were to stick it. Aaron felt everything Robert must have felt for so long, and still does now, from time to time. Tears of frustration at the unfairness of it all prickling his eyes. Those twats acting like Jack wasn’t the one that sent Robert away from everything he had ever known at a time when he needed his family more than anything. Acting as if Robert hadn’t been anything but his brave self when he turned up at his dad’s funeral to pay his respects, when Jack had told him to never come back to the village.

But what Aaron really wanted right now, more than anything was to run into his husband’s arms and hug him so tightly, a hug containing all of Aaron’s love for Robert. Aaron realized that it made him feel calmer, thinking about his love for his husband. Robert finally felt like he belonged and knew he  was loved and cared for. As much as he wanted to set the two men straight he once again realised that they didn’t deserve to know anything.

With this in mind he tried to keep calm. He checked his phone and saw two messages from Robert. He sighed with relief knowing that the older man hadn’t been in some kind of terrible accident.

Aaron, I am so so sorry. My phone was in my coat pocket and I couldn’t get to it while driving. Traffic was hectic xxx (19:10)

I am on my way to the Woolie now, are you still there? I am so sorry I am late. I love you xxx (19:12)

 Aaron smiled at Robert’s texts before realizing that he’d be here any minute now. He wanted nothing more than to take his husband home, have a night in just the two of them and talk about their day. Mostly, he wanted Robert far away from the men. Their conversation seemed to have moved on from the Sugden boys but he didn’t want his husband anywhere near people that had the values and opinions that Robert had internalised growing up, values and opinions that he had taken as the truth and that had caused him so much heartbreak and grief. Robert didn’t deserve to be in an atmosphere like that after he had come so far, Aaron decided.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts he looked up and was met with the only face he’d been wanting to see for the past few hours. Robert was quickly scanning the pub before his eyes landed on Aaron and he smiled widely. Aaron couldn’t help but smile back as he got up so quickly that he almost tripped over the chairs.

“Hey” Robert says, once Aaron is practically standing right in front of him, he clearly wants to go in for a peck but Aaron pushes at his chest “let’s get out of here eh?”

“What- I thought-“

“Robert- wait outside.” Aaron hates the alarmed and slightly hurt look on his husband’s face but he just needs him to get out of the pub.

When he’s sure Robert is outside waiting for him, he turns around. He’s standing next to the two men who are looking up at him with an annoyed expression on their face, clearly not happy with Aaron looming over them whilst they’re having their meal. Aaron wonders if they recognised Robert before deciding that there’s no way they could have done. If they had actually ever met Robert in person it was when he was a young boy. He had also pushed Robert out of the pub so quickly they probably didn’t even manage to catch a glimpse of him. He quickly looked each of the men in the eye before taking a deep breath.

“That Robert you were just talking about. Yeah I know him- pretty well actually. And you know what? He’s an amazing man, a brilliant husband, a great dad and Jack never deserved him.” It’s strong and unyielding and the men look shocked, shocked at being overheard? Shocked at being overheard gossiping about someone who’s practically a stranger to them? Aaron doesn’t know, but he relishes in the embarrassing look on the men’s faces.

 He walks out of the pub, not giving them a second glance. His husband is waiting for him.

 The same husband who’s understandably so, quite confused.

Robert’s standing between the benches, looking ready to fire questions at Aaron as soon as he comes out.

“Aaron what the hell was all that about?” Aaron is halfway to Robert’s car but the older man isn’t following, he sighs, knows Robert won’t let it lie.

“It’s fine, it’s sorted” Aaron states, ready to get into the car and get away.

“Yeah, that’s what I am worried about. What exactly did you sort- what happened in there? You were so- I don’t know fired up or something.”

“I’ll tell you when we get home. C’mon Robert I want to get out of here.”

“Have I done something wrong?” Robert was still rooted on the spot and he was watching Aaron with wide eyes.

“What no- no. You haven’t done anything wrong.” Aaron’s voice was softer now realizing that because Robert had no idea what had happened, to him anything could have happened. Maybe he thought Aaron was angry with him because he had been late. Aaron hated that the older man thought he’d upset him somehow, especially after hearing those two twats talk about him like that.

Robert deflated a bit and Aaron came closer, putting his hands on his husband’s arms. “Let’s go home eh? I’ll tell you when we get back. You haven’t done anything wrong I promise.” Aaron reassured again, pulling at Robert’s hand and leading them to the car.

  “Thank you” Aaron says, gratefully taking the cup of tea from Robert’s hands. This wasn’t exactly the meal in the pub that they had planned, but when did things ever really go to plan with them?

Robert went to sit next to him on the couch, a cup of tea of his own in his hand. “So? Were you planning some sort of surprise for me or was there someone there that I wasn’t allowed to see?” Robert asks, a smile on his face.

His husband was clearly feeling more relaxed now they were at home and Aaron hated how he was about to break their little bubble. Robert wouldn’t expect this at all. It had never really happened before, bumping into people they knew from years and years ago. They really had been living in their own little bubble recently and Aaron didn’t want it any other way.

“Umm kinda” Aaron starts “well the last bit not the surprise bit. I probably wouldn’t be telling you this if you hadn’t come to the pub but- there were two men there who seemed to know your- Jack. Maybe they were old friends I don’t know. I heard them talking.”

Robert put his cup down and Aaron noticed a slight shake there. His husband had paled slightly, his eyes searching Aaron’s face as if he was waiting for him to say more. Aaron didn’t continue though and Robert looked down.

“I- um so what did they say? Guess it wasn’t anything positive or you wouldn’t be like this now.” Robert was looking up at him waiting for an answer, a fake smile on his face as if this wasn’t bothering him.

“It’s really nothing.”

“Aaron. I want to know, I deserve to know if it was about me.” Aaron nodded, knew that he would want to know too if he was in Robert’s position.

“They said Andy was always there for your dad. They seemed to know about you uh being away.” He says it carefully and decides to keep it at that. He wasn’t going to tell Robert that they mentioned the funeral or that Jack must have been so happy to have Andy as a son too.

“What else?”

“Robert- please. Let’s just leave it.”

“Aaron I can handle it, honestly. I’d like to know.” The words I am used to it not said out loud but clearly hanging in the air uncomfortably. His husband seemed tired rather than angry and Aaron didn’t like it.  

“They said Andy and Jack were more alike.” The conversation between the men about his husband was etched in Aaron’s mind, he could repeat it all to Robert right now but he just wasn’t going to do that, he picked out certain bits and pieces. All the bits and pieces were hurtful enough but some more than others and if he could keep the latter ones from Robert, he would.

“That’s true” Robert shrugs his shoulders. “I could be as much of a wild kid as Andy was, but I could also sit quietly and read a book. Dad used to say I was too emotional. I was more like mum in that way. I was always more like her than dad, which is weird maybe because she wasn’t my real mum.”

“Hey- that doesn’t mean anything. Sarah’s your mum” Aaron reassures, knows that Robert knows it as well but he feels like emphasizing it. Robert nods, smiling softly clearly thinking about his mum and Aaron can’t help but scoot even closer and reach out to comb his fingers through his husband’s hair. Aaron thinks about the pictures that are in Robert’s album, tiny Robert reading books in the strangest of places. It reminds him of how much he loves to watch Robert read, his husband still able to get totally engrossed in a book, forgetting about the world around him. Aaron supposes that it has helped Robert a lot over the years.

“There is and wasn’t ever anything wrong with you being different you know.”

“I know that now” Robert says “I did used to think it was wrong though, but now I also know that that wasn’t my fault.” Aaron nods as he watches the older man carefully. It was times like these that Aaron was reminded of everything his husband had been through and the people he had lost over the years. It seemed like Robert was drowning in the bad kind of memories as well and Aaron needed to get him back to the present again.

“Hey” he says softly, touching his arm and squeezing it slightly. The older man looked back up at him and smiled a tiny smile that broke Aaron’s heart a bit.

‘’You alright?” Robert seemed to shake himself out of it a little as he nodded in response. “So what happened then, when you made me wait outside?”

And Aaron had almost forgotten that he hadn’t told Robert about that yet. He smiles sheepishly, hopes that Robert won’t be upset about Aaron defending him.

“Told them how amazing you are, a good husband and dad. I didn’t say you were my husband, I don’t know if they clocked it they’re traditional twats, so probably not. I also told them Jack didn’t deserve ya.”

Aaron’s gaze is focused on Robert’s arm, he is about to look at his husband’s face when he feels Robert lifting up his chin.

“I am not angry or anything if that’s what you think. How can I be?” Robert has a fond, kind smile on his face and Aaron matches it, releasing a sigh of relief. “I was just worried. I didn’t say anything while they were talking. I was planning on not saying anything- which sounds awful but I don’t know.” Aaron takes a deep breath, knows he’s rambling. “Didn’t want them knowing anything about ya, about us. They didn’t deserve to. But I just couldn’t walk out of there without saying anything. Especially after I had just seen ya.” Aaron feels his cheeks warm at his honesty and Robert’s smile turns slightly shy, his eyes still bright.

 “Thanks for telling me” Robert says after they’ve let the silence linger on for a bit. “I know you didn’t really want to tell me, which I understand. But I’d rather know I guess. It’s kind of weird though, that strangers were talking about me just because they knew me as a kid and knew my dad. But I am okay, honest. I don’t know them, they don’t mean anything to us.”

“Good” Aaron says, convinced Robert knows he hasn’t told him everything, he could probably guess everything anyway. Even the things the men hadn’t said aloud. It wasn’t like Robert used those exact opinions and thoughts to beat himself up with, over and over again. It was time for Aaron to voice some of his own now. He laid his head on Robert’s shoulder, his husband moving his head so that they were touching.

“I am so proud of you Robert.”

“Give over, I haven’t done anything!” Robert lifted his head up, frowning, looking honestly quite confused.

“Yeah ya have. So much and I’m better at telling ya now, so you do know but I just wanted to say it again. I know we had a time of it in the past and things were hard but look at us now eh. You were afraid for so long because of what your dad did to ya. But you still married me and we have Seb and we’re planning on expanding our little family. You’re strong and brave as hell.”

“Aaron-“

“No I need to say this. Jack, he was traditional and you wanted to make him proud, but you know what, you have done. And if he, up there, doesn’t think so he’s got another thing coming. I meant everything I told those two, you are an amazing man, husband and father. And I and everyone else who cares about you is lucky to have ya alright?”

Robert seemed overwhelmed but nodded anyway. He gulped, tears filling his eyes “it’s not like I could have done any of this without you.”

“We help each other don’t we, we always will. But that still makes ya strong, and needing help doesn’t ever make ya weak.” They had had this conversation a lot over the past few years. It had always been one of their problems, but especially Robert still liked wanting to face everything on his own. But the both of them were slowly getting better at asking for help and it was one of the things that made them so solid now.

“So- are we gonna order in then, seeing as we didn’t get our tea at the pub?” Aaron grins.

“Sounds like a plan husband” Aaron was happy to see that Robert wasn’t dwelling on what he had told him. He could read the older man so well that he wasn’t doubting that. His husband had clearly listened to his speech and taken all of that in, instead of whatever those two gits had had to say. It was a sign of progress really because negative things were much more likely to stick in your mind weren’t they? And Robert was very good at taking negative things to heart.

Aaron’s train of thought was cut short by his husband, who pressed a kiss to his forehead. “As a thank you for defending me. I wish I had seen it, must have been really sexy.” Aaron laughed, not able to resist punching Robert lightly on the arm.

“Well that’s the last time I’ll be doing anything nice for ya.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

And Aaron knew that’d be no use. He’d defend Robert until the end of time.