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lives-in-midgard · 1 year ago

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🎄Beautiful Miracle🎄

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Summary: When your car breaks down in a small village you luckily find a bakery to stay in.

Word Count: 1095

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first fic for my Christmas special hosted by the lovely @buckys-wintersoldier. I hope you like it! 💗

Dividers made by @saradika 💗

Prompt 1: Bakery AU

Masterlist | Fluffcember Masterlist

It’s the first day of December and it has just started snowing. You were driving through a small village you had never been to before when suddenly your car broke down in the middle of the road. You were just able to pull over to park your car in an empty parking lot. You tried to start the car again, but it didn’t work.

“Noo, that can’t happen now. Not now when it’s so cold outside.” You said to yourself. After another try, you decided to call a car service station. They told you that it would take an hour or more for them to get here. So, you decided to take your bag, get out of your car, and look for somewhere to stay. You took a few steps and then saw that there was a small bakery.

Maximoff’s Sweets

You smiled and opened the door to the bakery. The air was filled with the smell of cinnamon and vanilla. Everything was decorated with Christmas decoration and a Christmas carol was playing. You walked around and noticed that this place looks really cozy and beautiful. You couldn’t see the owner of this shop, but you could hear someone singing.

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly.” You heard the soft voice more clearly now and had to smile. Then a door opened and a beautiful young woman with red hair walked out of a room from the back. She had a plate with cookies in her hand and immediately smiled when she saw you.

“Hello and welcome to my bakery.” The owner smiled at you and placed the cookies in an empty spot.

“Hi, this is a really wonderful place here.” You confessed and looked around and then back at her.

“Thank you. This really means a lot to me. Especially because it’s my first Christmas here.”

“Oh, congrats on that.” You said and the woman had to chuckle. She looked so beautiful and lovely.

“What can I offer you?” She asked and you looked at it all deliciously.

“Umm, I’m not sure. This looks all so delicious, what would you recommend?” You asked her nervously.

“How about these cinnamon rolls? They are really good and a new recipe I tried.” She pointed to the cinnamon rolls, and you nodded.

“Sounds good. I’ll take this and a coffee please.” You answered and Ms. Maximoff turned around to make you a coffee. She put the dessert and coffee on a plate and then walked with you to a table. You sat down and she placed everything in front of you.

“Do you mind if I join you?” She asked shyly.

“Of course not.”

“Okay, great, because my new cookies just came out of the oven and need time to cool. I’ll be with you in a moment.” She went back, made herself a cup of coffee and then came back to you. She sat down across from you.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself yet. I‘m Wanda Maximoff.”

“Hi Wanda, I‘m Y/N.“

“So, what brought you to my bakery?” Wanda asked and you told her the story of your car and how you luckily found her warm and cozy bakery. Wanda listened intently as the two of you drank your coffee and ate your dessert.

“Wow, that tasted so good.” You complimented her after eating the cinnamon roll.

“Thank you, love.” You blushed and looked out the window for a second and saw that it started to snow more.

“What do you like to do when you’re not at this wonderful bakery?” You asked Wanda as you looked back at her.

“Well, I love spending time with my brother and some friends, I love finding new recipes for all kind of stuff, and oh I really enjoy watching sitcoms.”

“Sounds really cool. What’s your favorite sitcom?”

“The Dick Van Dyke Show. I loved it when I was a kid and I still do.” Wanda told you.

“And what do you like to do when your car doesn’t break down in front of a bakery?” Wanda asked and you had to chuckle at her question. You told her about your hobbies and talked for a while until you got a message on your phone.

“Sorry.” You apologized and looked at your phone.

“Oh, no.” You mumbled when you saw the message from the car service station.

“What’s wrong?” Wanda asked.

“It’s the car service station. It will take them a few hours to get here because of the snow.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but hey, you’re lucky you ended up here.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” You smiled at her. A few minutes passed before Wanda said something again.

“Hey, I have an idea.”

“I’m all ears.”

“If you're interested, maybe you could help me with some cookies.”

“Yeah, sounds great.” You said and Wanda smiled happily. She showed you the kitchen where she makes all her desserts. Wanda then gave you an apron and you tied your hair into a ponytail. Then she showed you the recipe and started to put everything you needed on the table. You had fun helping Wanda bake the cookies and when you were done you put them in the oven and Wanda gave you a cup of hot chocolate. You stood next to her and talked for a few minutes until Wanda got the idea to decorate the cookies she had baked before you arrived. When you were almost finished, you received a message that the car service station will be here soon.

Wanda decided to give you some cookies and when you wanted to pay, she said that wasn’t necessary. You insisted that you wanted to pay, but Wanda was a little more stubborn than you, so she won. You put your jacket on and were a little sad to leave now, but you know where this bakery is so you could come back anytime.

“Goodbye, Wanda.” You said before opening the door.

“Wait.” Wanda shouted and ran towards you. You turned around and looked at her confused.

“I really enjoyed this afternoon with you and thought you might like to meet me again.” Wanda asked.

“I also really enjoyed it. I can give you my phone number, so you can text me.” Wanda nodded with a smile, and you gave her your phone number.

“See you soon, Wanda.” You said before walking out.

“See you soon. “You walked out with a smile, happy that your car broke down here and not somewhere else. Otherwise, you probably would never have met Wanda.

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multigenderswag · 6 months ago

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Multigender Survey Results Dec 2023: Anything else relevant

Participants were asked "Share anything else about your multigender identity that you find relevant" and had the option to respond with long answer text. Some notable responses include:

As a m+f bigender person who uses he/she pronouns, I sometimes feel like the "he" refers to my female side, and the "she" refers to my male side

I am no longer religious/Christian, but the expression “God is Change” resonates deeply with me and my approach to gender as experience. I accept that my gender (holistically) is an amalgamation, something that breathes new life into itself repeatedly and often unexpectedly, sustained by its own willingness to grow past its bounds and taste richness anew. Teaching is part of my work, and as such I consider myself an eternal student: gender is just one avenue for discovery and learning for me.

I feel so boring but it is what it is, name wise I use one (completely feminine) with group A and one (completely masculine) with group B and hope and pray that they never interact

I identified as a 'tomboy' (gender wise) as a child and transmasc as a teenager. As an adult part of my being multigender is honouring these past versions of myself and acknowledging that who I was is an important part of who I am today.

I like to describe my gender like this: imagine there’s a house on a street. the house represents being a boy/male, and being *in* the house means you’re binary male. The road represents a neutral, non-male/female gender. My gender is like the driveway — both part of the road *and* the house

i think this is relevant-ish, but the way i experience gender kind of feels like. there's a man and a woman in my head at all times, not in a system way so much as a (this is very obviously stupid but i can't find another comparison to articulate it) inside out way. they're both always there, and they're both separate, but at the same time, they come together to make the same person, me! nonbinary is a label i understand and identify with, mostly to simplify the matter for others, but in reality, it kind of feels like a... superbinary of sorts. i'm 100% a man, and 100% a woman, but because the binary only "allows" you to choose one, nonbinary is technically correct, isn't it?

I'm multigender in the "one gender that fits into several categories" way than being multigender in a "has multiple genders" way

My gender is the intersection of butch dyke and trans man. I'm questioning things right now, but I'm somewhere in that region, with a foot in both at once. I've always been drawn to butchness and sapphicism as well as transmasculinity. I think most of my journey to understand my gender has been a balancing act between identifying as enough of a guy to feel comfortable in my skin but non-binary enough to not have to abandon my identity with butchness. Recently I've adopted the label multigender, and it's helped a lot. I'm only even a little bit a girl if I can be a boy first and foremost, and I could be just a boy or just a dyke but I would have to kill part of myself to do so. I'm trying to find a way to exist in my gender without blood on my hands. I think I'm getting there. It's hard but I'm getting there.

It is complicated but I love it

Yay I love multi gender people we are so cool. <3

A number of participants also referenced being autistic and how that has influenced their multigender identity, so it is possible that autism may be included as a question on the next survey.

#'feminine name with group a and masculine name with group b and pray they never interact' person you are just like me fr #also shoutout to the inside out person i didn't think that was stupid at all. i liked it #survey results december 2023 #multigender

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mattnben-bennmatt · 4 months ago

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Ben Affleck's interview w/ Premiere (2000)

Adventures in the Celebrity Trade

In which the author faces a dread beast of epic proportions (his own alter ego), perils that would destroy a lesser man (e.g., worldwide fame), and uncouth fans, all whilst shamelessly promoting his new movie

By Ben Affleck | Photography by Sam Jones

Oscar Winner Affleck talks to himself about the hazards of fame, the art of publicity, and why you should see his new movie.

I'm promoting my movie. in doing so, it is incumbent on me to do an interview for a movie magazine. I've asked the good people at PREMIERE to let me contribute an article rather than be interviewed, in an effort at a little break from the norm. I've run the first draft past the studio whose movie I'm hawking, and they were kind enough to give me some feedback. In general, I believe they found my pithy little attempt at a first-person description of what it's like to actually do publicity and my own idiosyncratic deconstruction of said process mildly amusing. But they had some notes. With those in mind, let me say this: Every man, woman, and child on this earth must drop everything and run to their local multiplex to see Reindeer Games. Well, there might be a title change in the works, so maybe it won't be called Reindeer Games, but pay that no heed! Whatever the marketing folks decide to call the movie, it is absolutely imperative that you see it immediately, two or three times if need be. Watching this movie will make you smarter, more successful, and a (much) better lover. I implore you, for your own sake, pay to see this movie. It is, quite simply, the single greatest dramatic narrative of the modern era.

Now, on to the irrelevant part.

I. A DRIVE-BY

"Affleck, you suck!" was all I made out as a full can of beer sailed by, inches from my head. I believe that was the precise moment I knew things had changed.

It was a drive-by beer-canning—a little-publicized-but-all-too-real hazard for the working actor in L.A. It was June of 1997, somewhere around midnight. I was coming out of a record store on Sunset Strip, and in retrospect, I guess I should have seen it coming.

I hadn't been subject to public stoning by Budweiser since my high school days, in Boston. I remember thinking that in this new context, it was a fairly artless, albeit effective, form of what in acting class we used to call "a critique of the work." That was the first day it occurred to me that there is a side of fame that might be unpleasant. It was a peculiar induction—one Jason Patric has aptly characterized as "baptism by flashbulb"—to a strange club whose membership requirements are simple: People you've never met, seen, or spoken to develop opinions (occasionally quite negative and almost always judgmental) about you, your work, and whether or not you "suck." Though my holy water was alcoholic and carbonated and gunned at me by strangers, I suddenly had an affinity for how Mr. Patric must have felt.

Before Good Will Hunting and Armageddon, I did quite a few movies, but nobody saw them. In fact, the entertainment press corps in general seemed aggressively disinterested. When I went to Atlanta to promote Chasing Amy, I clearly remember that the few journalists who showed up to interview me seemed bored (with me), dejected (at having such a low-rent assignment), and desperate (during the actual interview) for a reason—any reason—to write anything. Later, the movie became a minor cult hit, and occasionally I would be confronted by a stranger or two (oddly, these interactions also tended to happen in record stores). But instead of berating me, these guys usually wanted to know, "Did you really nail that girl?" "Was she really a dyke?" and "Do you have her number?" While deeply flattering, these rare interactions didn't prepare me in the least for what I was to face down the road.

That night, I wondered if perhaps this was something that even the great ones have had to endure, but I could never quite convince myself that there was some rangy teenager standing outside Brando's house, hectoring the deaf masonry with the likes of "Why'd you pimp Kabuki-style gear in Moreau?!" Surely there is a point at which one is accorded some space, respect, and privacy. I just wasn't there yet.

The gangly kid's harangue at a thespian about his play is a fair confusion of character and actor. But the words and pictures that provoked the beer-flinger were not of a character in a film; they were representations of me in the press-specifically the tabloid press, coverage in which I had taken no part. So I decided to become the captain of my own destiny, or at least of my own image. I decided to stop avoiding or passively enduring press coverage; instead, I would start a conversation with the public by engaging the press, thus having control over the words and images representing me.

This was, to put it mildly, a blunder. I had underrated the forces at play in the creation of celebrity media and overrated my own ability to withstand and control them. As if that weren't bad enough, I also discovered that I was my own worst enemy.

It wasn't until my third or fourth interview was published that I began to suspect something. I would run into people who know me fairly well (like my mom) and they'd fix me with an uncertain and dubious stare. I began to anticipate the inevitable: "I read your thing in [insert name of rag here] . . ." Then their voices would trail off. I knew the sentiment. I'd experienced it before. Earlier in my career I'd get that. People would say, "Hey, I saw Phantoms. . . ." Though I understood the comment in the context of a movie where I played a sheriff in Colorado battling an ill-defined but vaguely menacing sewer monster, I didn't see the connection with the interviews. But when I asked my girlfriend what she thought about the mixed reviews I seemed to be getting, she let me have it. "I don't even recognize that person." "Who?" I lamely asked. "The guy in that interview, in any of your interviews . . . Interview Guy."

Sonofabitch. Interview Guy.

What I found when I read back over my own inanities was as phony a frat-boy-chucklehead as you're ever likely to encounter—and someone who, I hope, bears little resemblance to the guy typing out these words. Somehow I'd inadvertently given birth to a monster. Interview Guy liked to come off as a cross between a pseudo-intellectual college sophomore who'd just read his first chapter of Proust, a drunken motorcycle fanatic, and an all-around, aw-shucks-can-you-believe-I'm-just-a-regular-Joe ham bone.

The idea here is to set this gruesome record straight. I'll bring Interview Guy face-to-face with myself. The transparent difference will dissolve Interview Guy; the remaining image will be me. Either that or it'll be another in a long series of publicity disasters. At this point, I don't have much to lose.

II. INTERVIEW GUY

INT. MY HOUSE-DAY: INTERVIEW GUY, 27, bearing a striking resemblance to Ben Affleck, but wearing Prada stretch plastic trousers, comes running into the room with a beer. He does a handstand, slams his beer, and slouches into the sofa. Ben Affleck, a.k.a. ACTUAL BEN, sits across from him. Actual Ben is not nearly as good-looking as Interview Guy and seems a little taken aback.

INTERVIEW GUY: I take Viagra and I think the kids should try it at home, the little ones! [Interview Guy runs around the room twice, then heads outside. After a beat, he comes crashing back through the door on a motorcycle. He wipes out.]

INTERVIEW GUY: (Cont'd) [Re: motorcycle] I'll get another one. [Re: nothing in particular] Acting is a journey, right bro?

ACTUAL BEN: Not really. Most of the time it seems like a gigantic press junket, where I talk about my "arc" and decry the invasive nature of the press in my life—then go and have my woes translated into Korean and beamed via satellite to Asia. [A beat]

[There is another awkward beat.]

ACTUAL BEN: (Cont'd) Are you unable to smile or behave normally when having your picture taken? I mean, do you have a particular aversion to looking normal, or are you satisfying some innate urge to look like an idiot?

INTERVIEW GUY: Hey, man, I'm just a regl'r guy who likes to have fun-

ACTUAL BEN: Also, in your photographs you seem to clench your jaw, squint your eyes, and suck in your cheeks. Is something wrong with you physically? Do you have TMJ?

INTERVIEW GUY: [Flushing red] I . . . That's my strong, leading-man jawline and laser intensity coming through. . . . I can't help that! That's not on purpose. . . .

ACTUAL BEN: This isn't going anywhere; let's go to the questions. . . .

[Ed Note: During this segment of the interview, both Interview Guy and Actual Ben have agreed to answer a list of prepared questions. A tape recorder was placed in the room, and the following is a verbatim transcript of their answers.]

QUESTION: What is your favorite magazine?

INTERVIEW GUY: Maxim . . . no PREMIERE! This is for PREMIERE, right?

ACTUAL BEN: I don't have a favorite.

QUESTION: Who is your favorite actor?

INTERVIEW GUY: Arnold, Sly, your mom . . . just playin', guy. . . .

ACTUAL BEN: Morgan Freeman, Denzel Washington, Benicio Del Toro, Sean Penn, Meryl Streep, Cole Hauser, Casey Affleck, Jay Lacopo, Vince Vaughn, Joaquin Phoenix, Don Cheadle, the brothers Wilson, Ed Norton, Nicolas Cage, Robert De Niro, Marlon Brando, Zeljko Ivanek, Dennis Franz, Julianne Moore, Steve Buscemi, Frances McDormand—there are really a ton of actors I think are great and whom I admire. And I honestly believe after seeing The Talented Mr. Ripley and All the Pretty Horses that Matt Damon is one of, if not the, finest young actor around.

INTERVIEW GUY: That Ripley thing, that's a gay picture, right?

ACTUAL BEN: Well, no, it's not. . . .

QUESTION: In the wake of the massacre at Columbine High School, there has been greater scrutiny on the level of senseless and gratuitous violence in movies. What role do you think movie violence plays in influencing real people, and what is the responsibility of filmmakers and actors?

INTERVIEW GUY: I'm so sick of that question. Some idiot kid who played too much Mortal Kombat and can't get a girlfriend decides to shoot up his school . . . that's not Sylvester Stallone's fault for making Cobra. The guy was trying to make a kickass Marion Cobretti biker picture. Forget about teaching masturbation in schools; they ought to hand out twenty bucks and a map to Korea town. You get yourself a little massage-parloring down there, you feel a lot less inclined to blow up your lunchroom!

ACTUAL BEN: I disagree.

INTERVIEW GUY: 'Course you disagree; you smoke cock.

ACTUAL BEN: No, I don't "smoke cock," I just think there is some responsibility to be had by those of us who have some impact over the content of movies and how violence is presented. Doubtless, there is blame aplenty to go around. But the exploitation of mindless violence for the sake of titillation, without any attention paid to the genuine trauma that real violence does cause, is irresponsible.

QUESTION: What qualities and/or attributes do you find attractive in a woman? What would your "ideal woman" be like?

ACTUAL BEN: I can't say I have any one "type." I have dated and been attracted to all kinds of women. I tend to be able to look past first impressions and am usually attracted to a woman whom I like and want to be around. No matter how "hot" some woman is, I'd find her very unattractive if I couldn't stand to have a conversation with her.

INTERVIEW GUY: You done, Jake-O? Okay. That's bullshit. Everybody goes by appearances. I got nothing against the homely broad, I just don't care to give her a jump, you follow me? As far as what type of chick I most like, I'd say I'm your basic, red-blooded, Claudia Schiffer-Pam Anderson type of guy. And, you know, her beaver doesn't have to be shaved but . . . I don't mind it!

[Ed. Note: There is a five-minute segment of the tape where Interview Guy runs around the room, high-fiving no one in particular and repeating porn dialogue to the tune of the theme song from Martin. Finally, he cracks open a beer and sits back down.]

QUESTION: Are movies important?

INTERVIEW GUY: I think they can be. You go see Anaconda and you know you can't take a river trip with Owen Wilson, a rapper, and the guy from Deliverance, 'cause it's gonna end badly. So that's a public-health message, in a way. Fuck, come to think of it, that was the second bad rafting experience for Jon Voight. There's a fucker you really don't want on your Outward Bound crew. . . .

ACTUAL BEN: No.

QUESTION: Can you define your relationship with Gwyneth Paltrow?

INTERVIEW GUY: Well, she's my friend. She's very smart, very sweet, really just a good, decent person, and someone I both respect and admire. She's also a dynamite actress. As it happens, we just did a movie together called Bounce, which will be out in summer 2000 at a theater near you.

[Ed. Note: At this point there is a second lengthy pause on the tape and sounds of a struggle. Then nothing. It's the Blair Witch of Books on Tape. . . .]

III. BEING SEAN PENN

There's a reason that the National Enquirer has the highest circulation of any paper in the country. People like it. And people like it because, despite what most actors tend to imagine the general public is fascinated by (i.e., every subtlety and nuance of their latest performance), it concerns that very thing that drives most people to the movies in the first place: sex. And not just sex but gossip-who is having it with whom, who's been jilted, who gets the kids, who's getting above their station, who threw a fit on their show and fired a bunch of people. All of it. The movie business has become a kind of ongoing soap opera. The same characters move from one story to another, augmented by bits of background titillation from newspapers and magazines, and people go to see how the latest installment in the Schwarzenegger serial will turn out. Therefore, it should be no surprise to actors that their private lives seem inexorably entwined with whatever perception people have of their performances, and vice versa. In fact, that gossip, that tabloid fodder, is an organic part of the perceptions people have when they go to the movies.

The majority of famous actors are not famous because of roles they've played. The random passerby, when asked, will tell you they've heard of a particular actor but will have difficulty naming more than one or two movies he's been in. What people do see, far more than the movies, are the television shows and magazines in which actors promote their films. This creates a strange dynamic, where celebrity becomes the goal, publicity the means, and the actual work takes a distant backseat.

If one takes for granted that the goal of an actor is to assume the identity of another person, then doing publicity as oneself seems absolutely the wrong thing to do. The less people know about you, the less apt they are to project some preconception onto your performance. There are actors who seem to understand this conundrum and have managed to deal with it in a sensible way.

There are powerful forces at work that compel an actor, after appearing in a movie or two, to whore out every last detail of their gonorrhea treatments, incestuous experiments with grandma, shock therapy, and the time they had one too many and got a five-dollar hand job in T.J. And later the same bunch that threw you to the press will tell you not to give so much away. You can't win.

So what, then, is the lesson? I really don't know. You can lie to the press (my brother, Casey, once told Interview magazine that he had a Ph.D. in eugenics from Columbia), you can bullshit a little (whereupon your friends from home tell you you've changed and you're full of shit, and you're mom is ashamed of you), you can go ahead and talk about the "touching game" you played with Uncle Ted (and then your mom really is ashamed of you). Or you can go the route of the dignified and be Sean Penn. Just watch out for the backlash—it gets ugly.

Whenever I've run this theory past the cocktail-party crowd, the response is always a Pollyannaish "What's wrong with the truth?" Or "Just be yourself!" Now, while that may be sound and novel advice, in this case it misses the mark, for two reasons. First, after you've had to distort and misrepresent yourself for every producer in town (e.g., like the time you had to pluck every emotional chord you've got to muster up some semblance of passion for your Beverly Hills 90210 crying-scene audition), you hardly know who or what the real you is anymore. Second, no one really wants to "be themselves" in public. We are reluctant to expose ourselves even to friends, much less to a jaded public with an eye for scandal and an unquenchable thirst for hubris and its attendant fall. So I, like every other sensible person thrust into (or thrusting themselves toward) the glare of the public eye, tried to project an improved version of myself. Big mistake.

Before anyone imagines that this is some kind of lamentation of a great evil in the world, let me say this: Any actor who has had any success whatsoever ought to count his lucky stars that he turns over enough bread for the Enquirer to even consider including him on the "worst dressed" list. Clearly, successful actors (and particularly those who, even for a fleeting moment, are anointed "movie stars") enjoy wealth, power, and privilege wildly beyond their station. We should take what we get and like it—I don't contest that. I do, however, find the situation of "promoting" myself and my movies curious and contradictory.

But in the end, it is probably not worth deconstructing. It's a pretty straightforward thing: Talk to somebody, brag on your movie some, and hope that a few more people go to see it because they're intrigued with what they've read. And, hey, maybe they've gotten to know the actor a little better. In that spirit, let me end where I began: Who I am, and why you should see my movie.

I'm somebody who probably has too many mirrors in his house, but doesn't much like what he sees when he looks into them. I try to be generous, try to be kind, and try to remember how lucky I've been, but I've been known to fall short in all three regards. As far as fame and fortune go, I generally believe one should understand that none of it is deserved, but try to take as much advantage of it as one can in good conscience. I like quiet and the idea of rest, but can't seem to stop moving. I like people (as someone once said), but I hate gatherings. I try to expose myself to diversity, change, and new experiences, but when alone in my car, I end up listening to the same song over and over on the CD player. I know that fame and fortune are fleeting (as Matt recently said in GQ, "the phone stopped ringing for better actors than me"), but I can't help hoping that I can do this forever. I believe in the friends and family I've known since childhood, but I've already lost touch with too many. I love company and the security of love, but most days I feel alone. If I had to choose between being held in high regard by those in the movie business or esteemed by those around me whom I admire, respect, and have known through thick and thin, I'll opt for the latter: a life where people still talk to you even if the phone rings only occasionally, and where your friends don't mind if you haven't made it onto the cover of a flashy movie magazine in quite some time. Oh: And go see the movie I made with John Frankenheimer. It's pretty good.

Ben Affleck, actor and Oscar-winning writer (Good Will Hunting), blew his deadline but only misspelled two words in this piece.

#ben affleck #matt damon #chris boldt #casey affleck #reindeer games #chasing amy #the talented mr. ripley #all the pretty horses #on fame #on privacy #their sense of humor #(i love this so much!)#(I love him!!!)#(please read this interview!! it's a fascinating peak into ben's mind at the time!)#interview #premiere #photo #2000 #originals

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scotianostra · 5 months ago

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On 4th June 1694 the Merchant Maiden Hospital was established in the Cowgate, Edinburgh.

Mary Erskine and the Company of Merchants Edinburgh co-found the Merchant Maiden Hospital to house and educate the destitute daughters of Edinburgh's merchants. 'Hospital' was a term given to an endowed charitable foundation at this time.

The Hospital (school) was initially housed in the Company of Merchants' own halls in the Cowgate. In 1696 the first girls took up residence in the Merchant Company's Cowgate building, lodging in the gallery above the Great Hall.

The Hospital moved to Bristo Street in about 1706, to a site purchased by Mary Erskine. However, by the start of the 19th Century the governers were resolved on the contruction of a new hospital. Robert Reid, Richard Crichton and a Mr Harvey supplied plans for a hospital in Lothian Street, This was never built; instead, in 1816, the new building in Lauriston was commissioned. The Merchant Maidens resided here from 1818 until 1870, when they removed (as the 'Edinburgh Educational Institution for Young Ladies') to Queen Street.

From 1870 to 1933, the premises were occupied by George Watson's Boys College.

However, the site was purchased by the Royal Infirmary for its expansion plans, and the College moved to Colinton Road. Burn's building was demolished, and the Simpson Memorial Maternity Pavilion and Florence Nightingale Nurses' Home built in its place.

Since 1944, on the 250th anniversary of Mary Erskine’s original foundation, the school has been known as The Mary Erskine School and currently caters for some 750 pupils. It is one of the oldest all girls’ schools in the world. It’s sister school of the all-boys Stewart Melvilles share a co-ed nursery and junior school up to and including 11 year olds.

The school has had several premises through the centuries and is now based at Ravelston Dykes..

#scotland #scottish #history #edinburgh #education #schooling

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marvelrarepairbingo · 4 months ago

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Marvel Rare Pair Bingo Summer Round Up Pt. 2

Hey everyone! It's summer time and the season's just heating up and so are we with these great submissions that have come our way in this Part Two (from the posts on Tumblr) round up for our 3rd round bingo. Things are getting close to winding up as we head into a 4th round near the end of the summer, so stay tuned for more from us about that in the future. For now, however, enjoy these hot new works under the cut from our participants. They promise to a scorcher in the summer sun!

Wolfsheart

Too weird to live, too rare to die Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/M, M/M, Multi Relationships: Justin Hammer & Loki, Justin Hammer/Loki Additional Tags: Domestic Avengers, Avengers Family, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Not Canon Compliant, Everybody Lives, Living Together, Enemies to Friends, rivals to friends, Baking, Getting to Know Each Other, Banter, Fluff, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Family Fluff, Team as Family, Family Feels, Bonding, Family Bonding, Team Bonding, Second Chances, Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas references, Mentions of Morgan Stark - Freeform, Mentions of Timmy Hammer (Justin's nephew), moodboard, Tony Stark's Cars, Tony Stark loves his cars and doesn't want to share them, Mission Fic, mission, Road Trips, Developing Friendships, Talking, Sparks of interest, Teasing, Flirting, There Was Only One Bed, How Justin Got His Groove Back, Pet Names, Loki's magic (Marvel), Team Dynamics, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Blood, Blood and Violence, Not Taylor Swift Friendly, Not Travis Kelce Friendly, hostages, X-Men Cameos Language: English Published: 2024-06-28 Words: 34,750 Chapters: 7/7 For the @marvelrarepairbingo's Moodboard Madness, prompts: 7. Road Trip and will likely fall under 3. Mission Gone Wrong and more than likely (in fic) 8. There was only one bed.

Marvel Heroes & Villains & Those a little In Between Presents Title: Marvel Heroes & Villains & Those a Little In Between Presents: Pride Drag Moodboard Prompt: 3. Drag Shows Pairing: No Pairing. Summary: Pride Drag, raising money for May Parker's Home for Displaced Queer Youth, pulling in various heroes, villains, and those considered a little in between to perform.

MuffinEngineer86

Code Margarita & Rainbows Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi Relationships: Jane Foster & Darcy Lewis, Yelena Belova & Darcy Lewis, James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers Additional Tags: alternative universe, No-Power AU, accidentally married, Unknowingly Married, Drinking, Pride event, funny pride shirts, fairy wings, Flower Crowns, Beefy Bucky, Skinny Steve, Language Language: English Published: 2024-06-23 Words: 3,358 Chapters: 2/? Summary: Darcy was on her way to her first pride event. She was a little hesitant, but two nice strangers offered to show her around. An offer Darcy gladly took.

Stormxpadme

Rainbow blasts For the Pride Month Prompts of Marvel Rare Pair Bingo @marvelrarepairbingo, I made an entry for the Mood Board Madness section. title: Rainbow blasts prompts: Poly ship, Dykes on Bikes characters/ship: Hawkye/Black Widow/Storm/Synch medium: movieverse (Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence) story: Natasha and Ororo are absolutely adamant about leaving the male members of their polycule aka their moping boyfriends at home for Mutant and Superhero Pride this year and rather join the Dykes on Bikes parade section. When the event is threatened by a bunch of radical bigot terrorists sending dozens of suicide bombers to literally blow up everyone's fun though, Everett and Clint need to overcome their aversion against mass events and join the girls to save the day. After Ororo's lightning and Clint's trick arrows have made an inevitable mess of the rainbow decoration while taking out the enemies one by one, Synch lights up the street with his powers for a few hours of celebration instead, before the four of them leave for the nearest motel room for celebrating yet another victory.

Mikeyp16

Bruises and Bullet Wounds After chillaxing for a bit I finally have time to draw for funsies! I’ve started a few bingo fills but yet to finish most, the curse of the WIP 😔 This wasn’t originally going to be a comic hense why the first one is the only one fairly finished, but this little scenario kept playing in my head while drawing so I ran with it Steve here doesn’t know Logan’s a mutant, not yet at least

CaptainJimothyCarter

Weight Of The World On His Shoulders Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen, M/M Relationships: Clint Barton & Kate Bishop, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton Additional Tags: Whump, Clint Barton Whump, Clint Barton & Kate Bishop Friendship, Accidental Killing, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Archery, Hurt Clint Barton, Clint Barton Feels, Skeletons In The Closet, Circus Performer Clint Barton Language: English Published: 2024-05-03 Words: 1,157 Chapters: 1/1

Summary: Kate asks Clint a question he can't avoid and he relives one of the worst moments of his life.

Xenomorphic-Warrior

Moodboard Madness Marvel Rare Pair Bingo [Round 3] - Square B1 Celebrity AU [feat. Veterinarian AU] + Peter Quill/Thor

Howling in the Dark MRPB’s Mood Board Madness: Historical AU (1940s/World War II) + Bucky Barnes/John Walker, light/pre Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff/Sam Wilson Howling in the Dark: A secret history of the Howling Commandos

Fear Street 2005 MRPB's Mood Board Madness Round 2: Horror Movie + Wanda Maximoff/Natasha Romanoff (ver. 2) Fear Street: 2005 - Things have been going oddly great for the sleepy town of Shadyside in the last decade, ever since a string of murders exposed the Sheriff's dark side, and their golden neighbors over at Sunnyvale lost their good luck and their shiny reputations while at it. But best friends Wanda and Nat are starting to see that the peace and prosperity will not last for much longer as people begin going missing and strange happenings become their new normal.

Annie

For Brock's Sake Fandom: Marvel, Captain America. Ship: Sinthea Schmidt & Jack Rollins, Sinthea Schmidt X Brock Rumlow. Word count: 100 words. Square: N3 “Free.” Rating: Teen. Summary: Is Brock’s best friend vs Brock’s girlfriend. Major Tags: Arguing.

Helping Fandom: Marvel, Cloak & Dagger. Ship: The divine pairing Word count: 100 words. Square: N2 “Helping a stranger.” Rating: Teen. Summary: Another way that Ty and Tandy meet. Major Tags: Escaping.

Taking hands Fandom: Marvel, Captain America. Ship: Brock Rumlow X Sinthea Schmidt. Word count: 229 words. Square: 5 “Hand-holding.” Rating: Teen. Summary: A special moment between Sin and Brock. Major Tags: Fluff.

Run Fandom: Marvel, Captain America. Ship: Brock Rumlow X Sinthea Schmidt. Word count: 555 words. Square: N1 “A locked trunk.” Rating: Teen. Summary: Brock and Sin escaped from Steve. Major Tags: Locked trunk, mission, mention of Dark Dimension.

Violent Fandom: Marvel, The gifted. Ship: Marcos Díaz & Carmen Guerra. Word count: 100 words. Square: I5 “Angry mob.” Rating: Teen. Summary: Carmen asked Marcos for help. Major Tags: Purifiers.

Stranded Fandom: Marvel, Captain America. Ship: Steve Rogers & Janet van Dyne. Word count: 549 words. Square: I4 “Stranded in a blizzard.” Rating: Teen. Summary: Is Steve and Janet vs Snowstorm. Major Tags: Snowstorm.

Kites Fandom: Marvel, Fantastic Four. Ship: Sue Storm & Johnny Storm. Word count: 241 words. Square: 4 “Kite flying.” Rating: Teen. Summary: Sue wanna fly some kites with his brother like when they were children. Major Tags: Fluff.

Saving her Fandom: Marvel, Runaways. Ship: Gert Yorkes X Chase Stein Word count: 100 words. Square: I3 “Stalker.” Rating: Teen. Summary: Chase saves Gert. Major Tags: Time travel, different timelines.

Image Fandom: Marvel, Captain America, Avengers. Ship: Steve Rogers & Clint Barton Word count: 501 words. Square: I2 “Picture of Steve.” Rating: Teen. Summary: Steve’s plan gone wrong. Major Tags: Clint saved the day.

Change Fandom: Marvel, Captain America. Ship: Steve Rogers & Sinthea Schmidt. Word count: 200 words. Square: 3 “Taking photos.” Rating: Teen. Summary: Sin has an objective. Major Tags: Captain HYDRA.

TrashficParlour

Jetlagged Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: F/M Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel, Captain Marvel (2019), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies) Relationship: Carol Danvers/Peter Quill Characters: Carol Danvers, Peter Quill Additional Tags: Fluff, Established Relationship, Short & Sweet, Sleepy Cuddles, Soft Carol Danvers Language: English Published: 2024-05-27 Words: 320 Chapters: 1/1

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amoxicillin-tangent · 1 year ago

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"her · it · age"

property that is or may be inherited; an inheritance.

i visit my hometown for the first time in a decade. i have never felt more or less like me. before today, i was no one because i had nowhere to remember and nothing that was truly mine. and now i feel like someone again. someone with roots.

my roots are filthy, nasty, rotten. set in a town with more bayous than banks, backwater, backwoods. my roots are set in trailer parks with moon crater puddles of stagnant water. my roots are set in putrid places where flowers refuse to bloom.

but at the corner right past the railroad that goes on forever, there is a trailer home without air conditioning where the hummingbirds fly. that is where my murky, trashy, broken roots begin and they are mine.

i buy a french vanilla cappuccino from a corner store that's open all night. the cashier takes one look at me and say "that'll be a dollar forty-nine. yer one-a dem Gauthier girls, aintcha?" and I nod politely, say yes ma'am i am, though i'm a Gauthier in face and not name. i pay a dollar bill and 2 quarters for my drink. she gives me a dime in change. by the time i realize she got it wrong, it's too late for me to turn back. i pocket the 10-cent piece. maybe I'll frame it.

there's a man selling peaches by the basket on the roadside. i buy a single one. it drips down my chin and tastes like heaven like home, and the scent won't leave my breath. i turn the car around and go back, understanding now why he sells them in batches of 20.

the clouds are fallen angels turning their backs on the world. everything prays for the south-- the grass, the grain, the dirt. eventually the angel clouds turn back around, casting their shadows at the rusted crucifix��on Margie's purple wall.

there are no towers on the horizon, no mechanical sepulchers sinking their teeth into the ground to drink the oil like parched soil drinks the year's first rainfall. there are no towers here, just trees for miles and angel clouds and rickety train-cars fallen on their sides.

the roads are almost empty, where they exist at all. there is more traffic at night. some of it is ghosts. no one questions this.

the neighbor ladies sip sweet tea and their gossip sounds like ice cubes clinking against smudged glasses, "didja hear Jessica's baby ain't right in the head?" "sure ain't. and who would be, under the circumstances? can't believe she married Chantelle." "funny, i never reckoned she'd be a dyke." there is an edge of disdain in their tea-glass voices, overshadowed by boredom.

strange things happen in the church on 1st street. the trains rush through the town. before anyone hears or sees them, they make their presence known by shaking the ground. everything is dilapidated now. the buildings are broken like a child's lincoln log castles. the families are shattered like mother's good vases.

the morning light comes and dew glistens over everything, spiderwebs stretch out bigger than my face, clover fields and dove feathers and honeysuckles litter the ground.

everything has changed but its all the same, there are still pieces of me scattered through the world. at least i have this one back.

it's time for me to leave.

#my pics #southern gothic #poetry #spilled ink #poem #poets on tumblr #tw: homophobia #tw: slurs #tw: church mentions #tw: religious themes #tw: ableism #spilled poem #poetry community #poets and writers #hometown #nostalgia #ethel cain #my hometown gives me ethel cain vibes okay it's just a thing #names changed for anonymity

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ebp-brain · 6 months ago

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ficlet: Dean Winchester is a butch lesbian and has way more game that way

[I told myself: it's been ages since you've written fic. just write a ficlet to get back into it. it can be about literally any character. just pick one. this is what my brain did.]

Dee takes the waitress out to the back on her break, around the alley by the dumpster. It smells like old oil and trash, but hey, there’s a breeze. The waitress is looking at Dee in a way that makes Dee suspect she’s never been kissed by a girl before, at least not a dyke with a buzzcut—maybe some “experimenting” at slumber parties, maybe that much. She’s blonde and cute and skinner than Dee usually likes ‘em, but beggars can’t be choosers and hunters can’t either. Usually Dee’s more likely to be run out of a small-town diner for flirting with the waitress, Sam shaking his head in exasperation as he leaves a ten on the table and follows, but she got lucky today. Or she’s about to.

“So you’re, uh. On a road trip? With your…?”

“Brother,” Dee says. The girl looks nervous. She looks more nervous when Dee steps close to her. “Just passing through.”

“Right.”

“Right. You got real pretty hair, you know that?”

The waitress—Alison—flushes. “Thanks.”

“What’s that lip gloss?” Dee asks, getting in close and smelling something fruity. “Cherry?”

“Cherry Coke.” Alison licks her lips, little pink tongue darting out, then says, a hint of bravado in her voice: “Want some?”

Dee grins, and kisses her. She tenses and then melts, back up against the brick wall of the diner, letting Dee crowd her. Good kisser. Might be her first time with a lesbian, but Dee’s willing to be it’s not her first time with a customer who’s just passing through. She makes a little noise in her throat—Dee is certain it’s calculated but couldn’t give a shit—and Dee grabs her hips and hoists her legs up around Dee’s waist. Alison gasps.

They make out, breathless and already sweating from the heat. Dee has to set her down after a bit but she takes the opportunity to grab Dee’s wrists and puts them up under her shirt. Dee feels a warm stomach, then a lacy bra.

“I only got a ten minute break,” Alison whispers.

That’s about how long till Sammy starts getting restless anyway and wants to get back to the hunt. “Better make it count,” says Dee.

“Only five minutes left now, probably.”

Dee presses her hard against the wall, their bodies flush, Dee’s knee between Alison’s legs. “I work fast,” Dee says, and feels Alison’s grin against her lips.

#supernatural #dean winchester #lesbian dean winchester #spn #my fic

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sarah-denial-cq · 2 years ago

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Power In Names

Take a second to think about degrading terms for women. You're here on my Tumblr, so you've probably heard some of them. I thought I would give my thoughts on some of them and what my favorites are. I'm writing this entire post with panties stuffed in my mouth so we'll see how long it goes.

First of all, my favorite, is bitch. When Rose pushed my face down against her clit in her car, pulled over the side of the road on Valentine's day with my ass up in the air and my dress stripped off, and said "suck it, bitch", my mind went so fuzzy. It hit me so good and hard. But why?

"Bitch" drips with gender violence. So many words are generic ("slut", "whore", "slave", etc), or focused on specific body parts ("cunt", etc) or activities ("cocksucker", etc). But "Bitch" cuts through those to my specific identity. And it is unmistakably, unavoidably hierarchical. A bitch is beneath, inferior, contemptible.

I'm so fucking wet and squirmy writing this, sorry.

But that's not all. The actual sound of the word has so much to do with it. "Bitch" starts with a voiced bilabial consonant, a "B" sound. Yes, my university degree including several semesters of linguistics classes, which I'm now using to explain why being called a pathetic fucking bitch is such a good way of being put in my place. I needed to take a break to edge after writing that.

A voiced bilabial consonant means the sound is formed at the very front of the mouth with two lips rubbing against each other and coming apart. Kind of like when you spit on someone. Or kind of like what you hear when someone spits on you, I guess. The word has the most violent "attack" sound at the beginning of it. Compare it to words like "slut" (unvoiced alveolar initial consonant) or "whore" (unvoiced glottal initial consonant) and there's just no comparison.

By the way, "voiced" vs "unvoiced" refers to how the vocal chords are vibrating. You can feel this by wrapping one hand firmly around your throat and using the other to slap your face while you compare the voiced "b" in Bitch with the unvoiced "p" in Pathetic. I can't, of course, because remember I still have my panties stuffed in my mouth right now.

OK, so with "Bitch" dealt with, I need to talk about the elephant in the room, which is the word "cumdump". Now first of all, I haven't had any consensual sexual experiences that have involved being used in that way. But that being said, while I know it's super common on tumblr, "cumdump" really does nothing at all for me. You know what does? You know what word you can use for me that's so, so much more (squirming again) of a hit to my fried out brain?

"Cumtarget".

Again, it's the violence in the word. It's not a passive receptacle. There's no hierarchy, no danger, nothing about "cumdump" makes me prey. I know there's an ethos to a woman as a passive receiver but do you really want Sarah lying in bed like a dead fish? I want to be targeted. Hunted. Claimed. Overpowered. Defeated.

I'm drooling down my front.

In no particular order, here are a few other favorites.

Pathetic (that initial bilabial consonant, yes please)

Rapebait (p, b, targeting, violent)

Stupid (diminishing, disrespectful, "p" sound, obviously purposefully disrespectful since clearly I'm objectively not)

Dyke (complex)

Bimbo (bbbbbbbbbbb and see "stupid")

Backup Fuck (b, p, very explicitly hierarchical.)

Cunt

Weak

And some less violent:

Babygirl (heart emoji heart emoji heart emoji) (not ddlg)

Eye candy

[redacted because it's rooted in ableist language that I'm not comfortable using]

sorry I'm really wet right now this is too hard

And quickly, a few that just aren't that interesting

Slut (so overused it may as well just be "hello")

Whore (I literally was one)

Slave (you're divorced, wear a suit that's too tight, and love black and white gifs)

I hope that was insightful and that reading it improved your day. I'm going to put these panties back on and lick up the wet spot on the chair now.

#writtenwhileedging #denial

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quadalupita · 1 year ago

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Today, my wife and I begin our exit from our shitty, wannabe fascist state to a hopefully better one. Feeling pushed out of the place where we first made a home for ourselves, our home state where we have both lived for over 25 years, is generating a lot of complicated emotions that I’m too spaced out to sort through at the moment. So I’m focusing on excitement instead.

Besides, now I get to see @dyke-pollinator’s garden. I know she takes such good care of it!!

The road trip to greener pastures starts today baby!!!

#fuck florida #new places #new adventures #same bullshit

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youhideastar · 1 year ago

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first and last lines

Rules: go through your last 5 fics and share the first and last line. No context.

I was tagged by @sunshine304, thank you! 😄

Fit for Purpose

First: Wei Wuxian knows he can’t stay forever. No more than Lan Zhan could have tossed aside all his responsibilities, on that road away from Guanyin Temple, and come roaming with him.

Last: He's so good, Wei Wuxian thinks, and he smiles as he slips out of the waking world.

End Racism in the OTW

First: When Wei Ying had started teasing Lan Zhan (approximately 30 seconds after meeting Lan Zhan for the first time in their music therapy seminar) it was totally costless, because it wasn’t like she was fucking up her chances at dating this beautiful, expressionless, chic alpha dyke – obviously someone like that wouldn’t be caught dead on a date with a dorky goth disaster like Wei Ying to begin with.

Last: From the smile on Lan Zhan’s face as she rises to join Wei Ying, Wei Ying thinks she knows that. And somehow, that’s not embarrassing at all.

Tender

First: Lan Wangji arrives in Yiling as the sun is setting. He had hoped to arrive at midday, but the delay makes little difference. He will seek out Wei Ying tomorrow, instead.

Last: Lan Wangji, in the midst of his sorrow, smiles—then he turns away and walks down the narrow road into the dark.

Concord

First: Lan Wangji is not consulted as to whether he wishes to marry.

Last: “Come to bed with me, husband,” says Wei Ying, with a sketch of a sweet and secretive smile. “If you would please me. Lan Zhan. Come to bed.” Lan Wangji does.

Untitled Current WIP

First: Wei Ying walks into the strategy meeting late, unapologetic, head high, wearing a faint smirk and surrounded—as he always is, now—by a choking cloud of alpha pheromones, heavy as a gathering storm. The betas around the table—Jiang Wanyin and Jin Zixun—hunch their shoulders and dip their heads. It is likely, Lan Wangji thinks, that they do not even themselves understand why.

Last (for now): “Wei Ying will no longer go into battle without me at his side.”

Postscript: I was really expecting all the last lines to be someone falling asleep--I am so prone to that! And yes, there was one of those. 😂 But apparently my new default ending is... smiling?? The more you know. The beginnings are also interesting - both of the WWX POV fics begin with WWX stating that he/she can't have the thing that, by the end of the fic, WWX is totally going to have. The LWJ POV fic beginnings, by contrast, emphasize exposition rather than emotion, and have a pretty matter-of-fact tone. So yeah - a fun and interesting exercise all around!

If you'd like to play, I'm tagging @queenofattolia, @travelingneuritis, @chrononautintraining and @stultiloquentia!

#ask game #my writing

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mangoshorthand · 2 years ago

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Before A Fall [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Ch 8 (Hard Feelings Part 2)

SUMMARY: As your life begins to grow around Five's, his attitude becomes a little sinister. When does protection become suffocation and when does taking matters into your own hands become betrayal? (weekly updates) Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve

A visit with Santi's terminally ill friend puts things into a little perspective for both of you.

Kids with cancer and smut below, (though not at the same time). Proceed at your own risk

Chapter 8: Alyssa

Still in his blue pajamas, Five silently makes coffee for you both and pours himself some cereal. When he sits across from you, placing the mug down in front of you, you give him a nod of thanks.

“I’ve been messaging Lila.”

“Oh?” you ask, stiffly.

“Yeah. She thinks Santi should go see Alyssa. She put me in touch with her mom, Laci."

You take a bite of toast and watch him expectantly. He can continue an uphill battle making conversation as far as you’re concerned. When you swallow, he looks like he expects you to respond, so you just take another bite. His mouth tightens a little, but he looks as if he’s trying to be patient.

“She said tomorrow at around 11am would be best. Will you...come with us? I know you have work. I wouldn't ask, only..."

He peters out, expression inscrutable. You feel tempted to capitulate immediately, to offer to take the morning off without a second thought.

You really do want to be there for Santi, but you don't want Five getting the idea you can just drop everything to be at his beck and call. You let his unfinished sentence hang in the air. When you don't immediately rush to his aid, he finishes:

"...we're both supposed to be watching Santi and I think it would be best for him."

His face from behind his coffee cup reminds you of his oil painting still hanging, all but forgotten in the house: assumed confidence hiding vulnerability. He sighs.

"...and because I need your help. I need to ask Laci about JUICED, only-"

You scoff, interrupting him.

"JUICED? Is this you trying to throw me a bone, Five? Make me feel included?"

He huffs. Head tossing a little.

"Forget it then."

"Oh, believe me, I will."

You pick up the coffee in one hand and your toast in the other and make as if to leave the kitchen. When you get to the bottom of the stairs, he calls your name. You don't return to him but your halted footsteps assure him of your ear.

"If you want the truth: I need you there. Dying kids, grieving mothers...hell, I don't know what to say; how to be."

You turn to stand in the doorway. He's leaned back in his chair, looking at you with entreaty now. There's a beat as your eyes meet. They beg in the way his lips won’t. You maintain a little coolness as you reply:

"I'll have to move some meetings but I'll see what I can do."

It seemed Santi had still not really grasped the situation- he was just excited to have the morning off school to see the friend he was missing so much. He kicks the back of your seat periodically while drawing with colored pencils.

As he drives, Five sings along to Jerry Dyke on the car's tape deck. He starts off quietly at first, drumming one hand on the steering wheel, his elbow resting slightly out of the open window.

“Will the circle, be unbroken,

by and by lord, by and by...”

You watch him singing along with his eyes on the road, growing gradually louder as the minutes progress. As his head begins to jive along too, you can’t help but smile and suppress a laugh. He notices you looking and smiles back, half self-conscious, half suspicious.

“What?”

“Nothing.” And then, continuing to stare with your little smile still in place, “You’re such a dork.”

You keep the ‘I love you’ back, but you do. For better or worse. Probably worse.

He transfers his window-side hand to the wheel and uses his other to give your knee a squeeze.

When you reach the children’s hospital and wend your way through hallways to the oncology ward, the reality of what you’re about to find inside seems to break on both of you. Taking one of Santi’s hands each, you enter through the double doors.

The gaily coloured walls are papered with children's drawings. You pass a toy-stuffed playroom with a bright red playhouse in the corner, at which Santi looks with interest. The jollity contrasts starkly with the evidence of medical equipment around you in a way that hurts your heart.

“Alyssa!”

Santi pulls you both into her room.

She doesn’t look good. Propped up on pillows, her head is wrapped in a scarf and her eyebrows look sparse already. Her face has the too-pinched look of the seriously ill and her collarbone is too prominent. Despite this, she smiles when she sees her friend.

“Hey Alyssa,” smiles Five, a little awkwardly. Turning from the child, he swings out his hand to shake with Alyssa’s Mom.

"Nice to meet you in person.”

She’s a short, solidly built person. For you, seeing her is even harder than seeing Alyssa. This is a woman who’s clearly stayed strong for too long. Her skin seems dulled and her lips are chapped.

“Thank you for bringing him, Mr Hargreeves. She’s missed him so much.”

“Call me Five,” one corner of his mouth turns up in an uncomfortable smile. You step forward and introduce yourself.

"Laci, right?"

"That's me. Nice to meet you."

Santi chatters to Alyssa in the background.

"How are Lila and Diego? Enjoying England?" she asks, turning to Five with weary, forced brightness.

"I hear Diego's enjoying the pubs."

Laci smiles but it doesn't quite reach her tired eyes. All three of you watch the kids talk for a few moments. It’s clear that Santi’s becoming a little unsettled by the change in his friend.

You speak, voice lowered, "How is she?"

Five's grateful to you for breaking the silence. Such a simple question but voice cadenced perfectly: care and empathy expressed while maintaining a respectful distance. God, he's glad you agreed to come.

Laci lets out a breath, "As well as can be expected. She has a scan in a couple of days to see how the chemo's been working."

Five nods and then, as if it's risen to his mouth like vomit, he blurts:

"Do you guys drink JUICED?"

You stand on Five’s foot under your chair. Laci looks nonplussed: she shakes her head, apparently concluding that he's offering to get them a couple of cans.

"Alyssa got a little obsessed with it a couple of months ago so we try to stay away from it. Too much sugar."

"Sure. Sure."

It's as he suspected.

"And...the other kids? Are they here too?"

Another step on his toe. He needs to get it through his thick skull that he isn’t here to grill this poor woman.

"The little boys from her class? Yeah. They're all somewhere down this hall. I think they're trying to start treatment for them as soon as possible."

"Jesus, I didn't know they were in the same class."

You're just about the break in and commandeer the conversation away from this when the attention of all three of you is directed towards the kids. Santi's standing, holding Alyssa's hand.

“You wanna go play in the other room?”

“No- I’m too tired.” says Alyssa, resisting the slight pull of his hand.

“But there's a playhouse that has a upstairs, I think!”

"Santi..." you say, with a hint of reproach.

"There's a slide!"

Laci steps in, “I’m sorry, but Alyssa’s too sick today. Maybe next time you come?”

You look up at her, knowing that she doesn’t really think ‘next time’ will bring improvement.

Santi looks stricken, turning back to Alyssa, “You feel too bad to go play?”

“Yeah, but not so bad. It was worse before. The doctors give me the medicine to make my head stop hurting.”

“Does it hurt bad?” his voice squeaks a little as he talks.

She rubs at sunken eyes.

“Yeah. It's the worst hurt I ever had.”

Santi gives a loud sniff and hugs her hard.

In his emotion, he forgets to be gentle. Five leans to try and loosen his grip, but can’t. He’s squeezing as if he’s trying to pop her damn head off. Alyssa takes a sudden, alarmingly sharp breath and you feel a surge of shock. Her tiny, fragile ribs have got to break with this. You and Laci stand up and move to the bed.

“I miss you SO much!” Santi cries.

“Santi, let go!” yells Five, succeeding in tugging him away with difficulty.

Laci places her body in between the two children, to block him from her.

“Alyssa? Alyssa, sweetheart, are you ok?”

Alyssa sits there for a moment, as if punch-drunk, and then says:

"Yeah Mommy, I’m fine.”

She sounds almost surprised to be asked and, considering the unwitting assault her body’s just been through, her voice sounds normal.

Five turns Santi to face him, shaking him a little, “You were too rough. I know you miss Alyssa but she needs you to be gentle!”

Santi's eyes fill with tears at the harshness he never usually gets from his uncle. Five tries to maintain the stern face but can't. Instead, he sighs, puts an arm around him and hugs him.

You look at Laci.

“I’m sorry about this. I don’t think we prepared him properly. We’re sorry to have made this more stressful for you.”

Laci seems torn between grief and anger but stays calm: “I think this was a bad idea. They’re too little.”

“No!” Santi cries, “I’m sorry. I’ll be gentle.”

“Mommy don’t make him go, I’m fine.”

She sighs wearily, rubbing her eyes with one hand.

“Ok you guys, but let’s watch some cartoons together.”

The incident seemed to quell Five's desire to investigate. Although he looked through all the open doors on the way back down the hall, he allowed you to pull him out of the ward without stopping in unannounced on the parents of the three sick boys.

Santi cried a little on the way home and fell asleep. Though it was only lunch time, this morning had exhausted him.

No Jerry Dyke is played on the way home. You both sit in silence, lost in your own thoughts, but in companionship too. When you get nearer to the academy, you look back at Santi, his head lolling on the seat.

“I don’t think we should send him back to school today.”

“I agree. He can play upstairs while I talk with Luther, Sloane and Viktor.”

“Great.”

You think he senses the resentful inflection you kept out of your voice, but also your restraint. He places his hand on your knee again and gives you a conciliatory pat.

You’re sat at Five’s desk on your laptop, pretending to catch up with work but really finalizing your plans. Based on Harvey Klein's prolific social media presence, he seems to take his lunch break from his trendy start-up employer at the same time every day. The plan is to just lie in wait and 'happen' to meet him.

“I love this book.”

You turn around. Five sits on the reading-nook slipper chair, Persuasion in his hand.

“Yeah? I never read it.”

“It's Austen's best.” he says, flicking back a page and meeting your eye. “The heroine falls in love with a poor navy guy when she’s nineteen. Her family are assholes and persuade her not to marry him. Nine years later he comes back rich but he’s still angry, so he flirts with younger women. But then he-uh-comes to his senses and writes her a letter. It's...can I read you a bit?”

“Sure.”

He clears his throat, seemingly glad of the excuse to look down at the book and avert his eyes from yours:

“I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for-ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own…I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant.’

“…I guess I just like that part”, he finishes, lamely.

You look up at him and catch his eye. He holds your gaze steadily now. Has he picked this part for a reason?

“One of Dolores’s recommendations?”

“Yeah,” he smiles, marking his page and putting the book back on the shelf beside him, “Come on, come and sit with me.”

Again, he sits on a comfortable chair and stretches his hand out to you in that come-hither way, his head on the opposite shoulder. During his work this afternoon, he loosened his tie, unbuttoned his waistcoat and first two shirt buttons. His hair is a little mussed from all the times he’s run his fingers through it.

You don’t refuse him this time. Closing your computer, you cross the room and perch on his knee. He immediately puts one arm around your waist, the other behind your knees and pulls you more firmly onto him, stretching his neck to kiss you. He forgot to shave today so sports a little five o’clock shadow. He looks pleasantly disheveled.

God help you.

You reposition yourself with a knee either side of his legs and kiss his lips again. You keep it delicate, tender, focusing on the feel of his lips interlocking yours. When he tries to deepen the kiss, flicking his tongue questingly into your mouth, you pull back a little, keeping your lips light. As he leans forward again to try and up the intensity, you pull away, straightening your back.

“You get back here.”

“Nope.”

“Tease,” he strokes your hips and buttocks, “a cute girl like you, sits on Daddy’s knee with this ass and then doesn’t let him have a piece?”

Damn. You feel slick already. There’s something about him calling himself Daddy that always makes this happen, no matter what’s going on between you. At this point it’s got to be a Pavlovian response. Perhaps it's time for you to take charge- you're already asserting yourself by going behind Five's back so maybe you can assert yourself here as well; have your cake and eat it too.

You climb off his knee. And there it is, as you knew it would be: the outline of his manhood harsh behind his suit-pants. You start to strip off, first exposing your top half and then your bottom.

“Mm,” he sounds appreciative. As he strips off his own clothes, he watches you with his head cocked, like a mildly interesting TV show.

When you’re both naked and ready, he spreads his legs to expose his full package; balls tight with arousal. These, he rubs a little experimentally whilst looking up at you.

“I'm gonna fuck you senseless but I want you to suck me first.”

It’s an instruction rather than a request. This is the dynamic to which you naturally fall. You decide to humor him for now. Getting on your knees, you give him a few lingering sucks and twitch-tongued licks, tasting drops of his precum. He lets out throaty ‘Mms’ of gratification, looking down at you; full lower lip pouting and eyebrows a little raised.

"Shiiit...you always look so good down there."

You make eye contact and slowly slip your lips up and back over the head. In your mind, he's had enough of this.

“Did I say stop?”

You ignore him, stand and then sit astride him again. An eyebrow raises incredulously: What's all this?

He tut-tuts a little at your disobedience, stroking your ass. You give him a severe look right back, clearly in a deliberate challenge to his authority. In retribution, one of his hands, lightning fast, jerks up and twists one of your nipples between a thumb and forefinger. He catches you wrong, causing you to flinch and cry out.

“Ow! Red light!”

“Shit, sorry.”

The lust partially leaves his eyes to be replaced by concern. He puts his palm over your breast in an effort to soothe the nipple.

“I shouldn't have done that. You ok? What can I do?”

It was mainly the shock that caused your reaction; the pain is receding now. So why can't you turn this to your advantage?

“You can sit there like a good boy and get ridden hard.”

As soon as you say it, you realize the implications: ‘Good boy’ wasn’t the best idea for someone with unique hang-ups about his age. Except, given his recent behavior, you find you don't care. You're resentful enough to stand by what you said, never mind his precious feelings.

You look at him, ready for an angry response. Instead, he just sits slack-jawed for a moment.

“Yes please,” he breathes.

You laugh and shift your hips until his sex meets yours. You lower yourself onto him, taking a few seconds to adjust to his full girth, stretching you all at once.

“Oh god, that’s so tight” he moans.

Your script-flipping confidence and the lines of your body are maddening; folds so shamelessly inviting to his dick. He's now so hard within you that it hurts him. His pleasure, like bolt after bolt from the blue, shoots down his erection- he’s sure his stones tighten even more.

You begin to grind with his dick inside you, keeping it slow and controlled. You keep your eyes locked on his. You can tell he wants to close his eyes and throw his head back but your eyes tell him not to dare. You watch as his pupils dilate and his hair falls over one beautiful green eye.

"Fuck me harder."

He's whining a little, thrusting his hips upward, looking for the friction you deliberately aren't yet giving him. At the shake of your head, he grabs your hips and tries to take control; to bounce you up and down onto him, but you pull his arms roughly away.

"Say please, you little bitch."

He rolls his head back and groans. Being in charge is new for you and surprisingly satisfying- seeing him desperate beneath you is intriguing to say the least. You add in thrusts from your pelvis.

He doesn't want to give in... but his mind grows more numb as his arousal builds. Trying to regain control, he multiplies prime numbers counting up from 7393, but it's no help; he's becoming less aware of conscious thought and more of your velvet skin and what it's doing to him. He is for sure going to sit here like a good boy and be ridden. He wants to be ridden like a fucking bike. What else is a red-blooded man supposed to do?

He abandons all pretense.

"Please." he breathes.

He runs his hands around to your ass, stroking the cheeks and down the line between them. You shiver as his fingers brush your asshole.

"Finger my asshole and I will."

Whimpering just the tiniest bit, (from arousal at this idea or the delay in release- he doesn't know), he spits generously on his fingers, finding that he’s already been salivating. With this, he lubricates your tight asshole, accommodating to his fingers from his regular explorations back here. After applying more saliva and listening to your jagged breathing as you ride him lazily, he slips one finger into you: stretching and pistoning until he can fit in a second. The squeezing sensation around his fingers is exquisite. The tingles through all the nerves in his dick intensify.

The second intrusion seems to really get your motor running, as it always does. You go faster now, riding his fingers too. And now he has the speed he needs.

“Oh fuck, thank you." he wheezes, watching your face tense as you fuck him.

You go faster, gasping and cursing softly. He can tell you're close, but he's closer.

“I’m gonna come.”

“Not- yet you aren’t. I. am. Not. Done.”

You accentuate the four words with particularly violent hip-jerks. He screws up his face and tries to quell the explosion surely coming. He can feel his own dick in your cunt, via your asshole. This is too much to expect of him. He holds his breath, hoping to stop a little of the blood flow. His success is mixed, he holds on, but the tension makes his pleasure redouble when he has to breathe again. You start to moan, throwing your head back. He can't look at your bouncing breasts or he'll-

“Please," his voice comes out high.

"No!"

But then you come, throwing your head back and mouth wide. You ride your entire orgasm viciously. It’s too much. He has to, he has to...but he can't.

“Now you can come”

As if it was somebody else, he hears a strangled, almost sob-like cry issue from his own throat: loud, long and wavering as he boils over, blowing up inside you with a relief like weight being removed from his back. He sees stars.

Listening to Lionel Richie on his ancient Walkman, Luther jogs happily up the attic stairs. Outside Five’s door, he removes his headphones and raises his fist as if to knock, but it freezes as the sound of rhythmic movement and a particularly wanton moan reaches his ears.

His cheerful face quickly turns to a pained grimace. The fact that Five could make such a noise is challenging to many of Luther’s most deeply held ideas. Why does this keep happening to him? He is never coming up here again!

Headphones still playing All Night Long tinnily in his hand, he walks hastily back down the stairs with the attitude of someone who's just discovered a decomposing body.

“Did they want pizza?” asks Sloane, looking up on his return.

“No.” Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed.) @dilfjohhny , @sunsunhe, @w4stedtr4sh, @nevbrooke-555, @theredvelvetbitch, @td-miley01, @five-hxrgreeves

Masterpost Alternatively, join me on AO3. Here is a link to the whole series

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