#gratuitous use of bad jokes

[antigonick]

Wait why do you hate mike flannigan? Just curious

Oh boy...

Because I think he sucks. I think he's a marketing-thirstrap who likes to use titles of horror classics to get some attention on his work, but he strips them of everything that makes them them, and fills it back up with vapid, unnuanced, trashy surface level bullshit. I love creative and liberal adaptation, but his "adaptations" are title and cultural-aura thefts to sell the absolute nothingness of his clumsy, clunky, tell-but-never-show stories. He's performative as hell (empty representation / tokenisation, apparently unaware discrimination glorified as awareness, empty rotating of cast and archetypes with no exploration whatsoever, empty gesturing at political/ social/ philosophical ideas with no actual significance or values).

Most important of all for the topic (since this was about horror), he's hailed as a master of horror when he's just so, so, so terribly bad at it. To me, he literally works AGAINST what horror is about—its complexity, its subversiveness. What he does is making palatable what should unsettle us, what should make us think further than ourselves. There's something fundamentally political and philosophical about horror; capitalising on its simplification-for-consumption is symptomatic of something uglier and culturally-spreading that I HATE. Flanagan is a perfect agent of that. Everything has to be streamlined, simplified, dichotomised and flattened. If you can't deal with hidden messages, with nuance and mystery, with subtext, with blurring boundaries to the point of discomfort to yourSELF, you can't do horror. Flanagan leaves nothing to mystery, to ugliness, to the unexplained or the many-explained, to rawness or openness and layers (for someone who pretends to adapt Shirley Jackson and Henry James, what a joke).

All in all, he just shoves his boring, expected, chain-made story beats down your throat, doesn't even bother with building a story beyond what he puts on screen (think even back to Hush, the complete lack of actual motivation from the aggressor, how fucking lazy can character writing be?). Then he razzle-dazzles that with a bit of gratuitous (and undeserved) shock-value on top to cover up his tracks, which just makes it more insulting. Tear-jerkers and animal death for success value? Yeah, as classy as everything else, I guess.

I feel like I've rambled a lot in this... okay enough bye

[ourflagmeansgayrights]

ok so like objectively yes ed did things wrong but not only do i personally feel no negative emotions about any of that, i swear it would make more sense tonally with the rest of the show to NOT make a huge chunk of s2 be about ed facing the consequences for and redeeming himself from the marooning/pushing lucius overboard/izzy toe thing. like if im wrong i’m wrong and it’s whatever but i really really think the focus will be more on ed’s internal emotional state and how his choices were informed by trauma and how he’s going to learn to heal more than it’s gonna be like, Ed Learns It’s Wrong To Maroon People And Force Feed People Their Own Toes. like if anything i think it’ll be Ed Learns That He Deserves To Be Happy And He Also Realizes That Marooning People And Force Feeding People Their Own Toes Is An Unhealthy Coping Skill That Negatively Affects His Mental Health And He Learns New, Healthier Coping Strategies. like i think the focus of coming out of the kraken era is going to be almost entirely on ed’s feelings, and any mention of how his actions harmed the rest of the cast will be brief and/or it’ll primarily be played for comedy

which yes irl this would kinda suck to have some guy respond to getting his heart broken (and other stuff) by killing and maiming people and then have his whole journey of self-discovery be solely abt him and not any of the people he’s hurt. HOWEVER a biiiiiig part of the humor of the show is that the characters are experiencing some very real and very relatable self-esteem issues and insecurities and vulnerabilities, and all of that is placed on a backdrop of comedically gratuitous pirate violence. like this is a romcom and ed is basically going through the classic emotional beats of the romcom heroine getting her heart broken and eating a whole tub of ice cream and crying in her room for days before becoming cold and distant and “love is dead” edgy, only the joke is that bc he’s a pirate his “love is dead” romcom era includes some people actually literally dying. izzy and the crew all just happen to be in the blast radius for this joke, and while we as fans might love and care abt those characters too, the plain fact is that ed and stede are the main characters and the other characters’s feelings or storylines or internal motivations simply do not matter nearly as much to the show as theirs (with the exception of maybe jim, and also maybe olu depending on how s2 goes). and that’s literally just how romcoms work. this sort of “protagonist bias” is like, a core part of this kind of story.

and there’s nothing wrong with not vibing with the story because of that. if season two comes and goes and you aren’t happy with how the show handled the consequences of ed’s actions in e10 that’s fine, nobody has to feel any specific way about this show. but if i’m right and this is how s2 plays out and some of y’all don’t like this, the problem is not that ofmd is bad. the problem is just that this is not the story you wanted or expected to be told.

i DO think, tho, that there’s something very powerful abt a character like this being a queer indigenous man. he’s a gay romcom protagonist and narratively speaking his feelings trump all. this is a queer romcom that uses gratuitous slapstick violence as a punchline and where the queer main characters are allowed to get violent and unhinged about their feelings, and at the end of the day they ultimately get a pass bc it’s a gay romcom and the show is about them. like literally that description itself is more than i could’ve ever dreamed of from any tv show ever, and THEN you’re telling me that one of the main characters is indigenous???? it’s been a year and a half and s2 is right around the corner and i swear to god i still can’t believe this show actually exists. we don’t GET shows like this, we don’t GET characters like this. ed teach is such a fucking blessing of a character and i love him with all my heart.

[pricegouge]

Fatted Rabbit, Part Thirteen on AO3

Content

Bearshifter!Price x reader | explicit

"No bones, either. Like a man stripped naked, then got absolutely atomized not ten feet away. Poor bastard, huh? Weirdest part was the way the tracks died. They shouldn't've, you know? Too muddy. So I poked around some more. Found the guy's wallet. Wanna take another guess whose it was?" There's a pit in your stomach but you're not sure why. You know who he's gonna say; know John didn't get eaten by a bear. But you don't know what he's getting at, what he thinks he saw. Distantly, you remember how he talks to himself when he thinks you can't hear. "Was it John's?" Finger gun, pointer finger flush against your temple. "Bingo."

A/N Well I did it. Someone gets eaten this chapter so sayonara if that's not for you. I don't think it's gratuitous, but also I'm a gore hound and my standards aren't normal so proceed with caution if you must. As a heads up, this is the beginning of the end, folks. I think there'll only be two, maybe three chapters after this :(

Simon's resolve finally breaks when John takes a winding corner in the foothills of the bighorns too quick and they nearly roll over the guardrail. His grip on the holy shit handle, white knuckled and muscle bunching as it had been for hours, yanks down hard enough to break it and even he can't play that off casually, although he's sorely tempted to try when he realizes Price is too focused on the road to have noticed. Simon sighs and throws the handle out the window before telling Price to pull over. He's ignored, so he snaps his fingers obnoxiously in John's face and nearly gets them bit off in the process.

"Fuck off, Riley," John growls, shoving the other man's hand away, but Simon persists, shoving right back.

"Pull over now , Price."

"Nearly there," John mutters, accelerator never wavering.

"Roight, but the plan is to get there, yeah?"

John risks taking his eyes off the road for exactly two seconds in order to glare at his passenger. Simon, of course, glares right back, hopefully managing to make it look apathetic despite the fact he'd recently torn a piece of Price's car off. 

"Pull over, cap. I'll drive."

"And what'll I do?"

"Not kill us for a start," Simon grumbles and John snarls but complies anyway. It's a quick exchange, and soon Price is simmering in the passenger seat while Simon tears through the countryside at a slightly less lethal pace. It's bad for him, probably; leaves his mind free to wander and envision worse and worse scenarios. Simon hopes it fuels the fire, leaves the general din of anxiety in his gut roiling. He's been beside himself since he'd heard Graves come through that door, sitting up stiff as a board as he yelled through his earpiece for the bird to wake up. It's not good, but it's useful. Himself, he remains as quiet as ever, content to let John simmer, and by the time they make it to the motel where the bird's phone last pinged from, he's damn near frothing at the bit.

Simon pulls up alongside the Wrangler and John is jumping out before the Suburban is even fully parked. The driver's side door hangs slightly open, battery evidently dead after keeping the dome light on half the night. Simon studies the ground around it while John inspects the car thoroughly. He finds a set of keys not far off, crouches to get them and pops back up in the passenger window, watches as his longtime friend sniffs the driver's seat like a bloodhound. He briefly wonders how well a joke would go over right then, thinks better of it when John snarls something at him that sounds maybe a little like 'What?'

Simon just shakes his head minutely, weighing options he knows Price is too wound up to consider. If the Jeep is left here, someone will eventually come to tow it. And then someone will need to be billed, and cops will get involved. But John's found blood on the door, and Simon very much doubts they'll want cops sniffing around by the end of this.

"Jump it," Simon instructs, dangling the keys at John. I'm gonna go see what the clerk knows."

"I'll come with -."

"You won't. You're too distracted, and I'm scarier. Jump it." He lobs the keys over the roof of the Jeep and Price grumbles but complies, returns to stewing.

The reception area is dim, mildewy, the carpet so thin and threadbare the concrete dust of the subflooring puffs around each of Simon's quiet, careful bootfalls. There's no one at the desk so Simon takes it upon himself to slide behind it and knock the mouse of the computer just to see if it's locked. It is, of course, because nothing can go right anymore, so he thumps the help bell hard enough to break it and sits to await the clerk, for all appearances just as patient as ever.

Simon can hear the clerk muttering to himself about customers as he rounds the door of the office in the back, voice thin and high. He half expects Anthony Perkins, gets frumpy old James Stewart with a hell of a black eye instead. The man stops dead when he spots Simon, takes a half a step back before thinking better of it and trying to square his shoulders up. "You're not s'pposed to be back here," he gripes, thick American accent adding to the vague washed up aura of him.

Simon ignores him. "Where'd you tha' shiner?"

The man falters a bit, squeezes an old-looking ice pack in his fist absently. They both track the movement, and when Simon looks up again, the man - Les, by his nametag - has a grim, resigned look about him. "What d'you want?"

"Wanna know who you lost a fight against, first. Then I wanna see some security footage."

"I can't disclose that to anyone but -."

"No, but you will."

"And why would I do that, now?"

"We'll get there," Simon grumbles, leaning forward in the seat until it creaks ominously under his weight. "Who gave you the beat down, Les?"

The man sighs, gives up pretending he's not in pain and plasters the ice pack back to his face. "Didn't give a name."

"I'd imagine not, but you can do better than that."

"I don't know, man, Jesus. Blond fella. Sharp nose."

Simon leaves a beat of silence where another person would hum contemplatively. "And what did you give 'im?"

Under all the swelling, Les pales. "Nothin'."

It's hard giving a man an unimpressed glare, when you make it a point to look unimpressed every moment of your life. Still, Simon must manage it because the clerk visibly wilts, shuffles. "You a cop?"

Simon nearly laughs. "Do I look like a cop?"

"He wanted a key," Les sighs, "to a tenant's room. I swear I didn't give it to him, just her room number. Figured he'd make a hell of a commotion trying to get in and she'd have time to scram, or call for for help or somethin'. But then he hopped the desk and nabbed it. Shoulda seen that comin'," Les huffs, no humor. "I'm sorry if she's your girl, I just didn't know how to stop him."

"And you didn't think to call the authorities when you 'eard 'im peeling out and saw the Wrangler was left ajar?"

"Didn't notice -." He cuts himself off when Simon raises his eyebrows sharply. "We don't… like cops comin' 'round here, 'specially at night. Figured I'd wait 'til she missed check out and call then."

"Gave 'im a hell of a head start," Simon observes, patience growing thin.

Les shrugs dejectedly. "I panicked, man. Had shit goin' on here last night. It was either she goes missin' or a whole mess of people wind up in jail."

Simon lets him flounder a moment, stands to his full height and watches the effect it has on the clerk. "'ere's what we're gonna do. You're gonna show me that security footage like I asked -" Les attempts to interrupt but Simon carries on right over him, "- because if you don't, I will beat you within an inch of your life, call the authorities and tell them all about what you did - or didn't do -, and I'm gonna get to see the footage anyway when I tell them about my friend. And when they ask about your state, I'm going to blame it on that sharp-nosed fucker, yeah?"

Another nervous squeeze of the ice pack. Les looks around for help, finds none. "And if I let you see it, this all goes away?"

"We'll even take the Wrangler."

Les nods. "Hang on. Gotta find the password, should be in the boss's office." He turns and ducks through the door, closely followed by Simon who does not want to lose him out a back window or something.

"You're not the owner?"

"Night manager," Les grumbles, shuffling through a spiral bound notebook so old and thumbed through, the binding resembles an abused slinky. He briefly compares himself to this sorry old man, wondering if that'll be him some day, second in command of a rapidly sinking ship and makes a note to check on Price's finances. Nothing wrong with being thorough.

"Should be it," Les mutters to himself,  moving past Simon into the lobby again.

Simon watches Price through the bay window while the old man works, grumbling to himself all the while about technology he can barely understand. It takes him a bit, but Simon doesn't mind - just keeps watching as his mate grows more and more irritable. It's a gamble, probably, but Price has always had a short, effective fuse. All he needs to do is find a direction to aim the man and soon they'll all be home in time for dinner.

If Price is still hungry, that is.

He texts Gaz to make sure the man can help him if he gets a plate number, frowns at the emojis he receives in response. A thumbs up and a saluting serious face. Probably an affirmative.

"Here it is," Les finally announces, and turns the screen toward Simon. Must not want the big man coming back behind the desk again, smart lad. He does it anyway, just to be an arse.

"Is that a bloody Escalade?" Simon prides himself on keeping most emotions out of his tone, but he can't help the sneer of disgust the gaudy SUV incites.

Wes nods sympathetically. "A champagne one too, looks like."

"Christ," Simon mutters, watching as Graves drags a concerningly limp bird into the back seat. "Get me a decent shot of the tags." Wes does, eager to please now that he knows his intrusive guest will be clearing out soon. Simon copies the number over to Gaz and asks for a print out of the shot for good measure. He claps his hand on Wes's shoulder when the man produces, squeezes threateningly to gain his attention.

"Wes, you wanna hear my favorite Norman Bates joke?"

"Uh, s-sure," the man agrees, hackles raised.

"It goes like this: if I ever find out you stood idly by while another girl gets abducted, I'll come back here and taxidermy you, yeah?"

"Y-yes, sir." He has the decency to sound shamed, at least.

"Roight. That wasn't very funny, was it?" Simon hums as if in thought, pats Wes on the back too hard again as he straightens out and walks back around the desk. "Tell you what, I ever come back, I'll take another stab at it." Wes doesn't laugh, the tasteless git. Simon nods at him in paying and shuts the door unsettlingly quietly behind himself.

He's halfway across the parking lot when Gaz calls him. 

"You sure that's the right car?" The younger man greets him when Simon answers.

"Quite sure. Saw Graves pull the girl in and everything."

"Strange. It's registered to a Hershel Von Shepherd… the third."

"Two wasn't enough?"

"Apparently not. This guy's like, the real deal, bruv."

Approaching Price now, Simon puts Garrick on speaker. "What d'you mean?"

"Some high ranking general, looks like."

Simon and Price exchange a look. "She said she thought Graves knew someone high up there," Price supplies, and Gaz takes a minute to think it over.

"That shell company we found Graves works for… how likely is it looking that's some paramilitary thing?"

Simon chews that for only a second. "Very."

"Should we -?"

"'M'not worried about it." 

There's very little room for argument in Price's voice, but Gaz tries anyway. "I am. What's the plan when you pull up on a compound, eh? You lot got some Rambo shit going on I don't know about?"

"Are we headed for a compound?" Simon interjects before Price can get too heated. Best to steer clear of discussing the plan, considering the best he thinks they've got is 'sic a werebear or whatever on him and hope for the best,' and he's quite certain Price doesn't want Gaz knowing about that.

Kyle huffs. "No," he allows after a moment. "Shepherd's got a cabin down near Denver, looks like. If Graves is looking to return his buddy's car, my bets on that."

"Send the address," Price barks, already climbing up into the Wrangler. He forgot to slide the seat back first, looks bloody ridiculous, all spitting mad and folded like a paperclip.

"Cap," Garrick hedges, but Price isn't listening so Simon assures Gaz he'll talk to the boss before signing off. "Don't get yourselves killed," Gaz mutters, but hangs up all the same. 

"We need to talk," Simon announces, Captain Morgan-ing his boot into the door jamb so Price can't close it after figuring out the seat.

"Christ, Simon, I am sitting on blood splatter, now really isn't the time," Price seethes, but Simon doesn't so much as flinch.

"Think it's the perfect time, cap. Gotta have a plan." Price rolls his eyes because he's a petulant child, starts the Jeep and shoves at Simon's leg. He's mildly surprised when the old man succeeds in dislodging him but he covers it fine, steps into the way of the door. "Graves knows about you," he announces and finally, Price stills.

"Knows what?" The man growls, and Simon just keeps staring up at him blankly.

Price takes a moment to eye him over, assessing. "And what is it you think you know, Riley?" 

"Know your current plan amounts to 'go all berserker and eat 'im up in one big gulp,' but I'm telling you, if this whole paramilitary shit is true, 'e's gonna 'ave lot worse than some backwoods hunting rifle waiting for you."

There's a tic in Price's jaw as he tries to decide how much of his hand he's willing to show. Simon remains unflinching, letting the other man see exactly how unaffected he is by the truth. He's known for years anyway, plenty of time to grow used to it.

"'e thinks we're both…" Simon waves his hand demonstratively, "furries -."

"- Shifters," Price corrects, long suffering.

"Whatever. Us and Johnny. 'e's an idiot, 'course, but 'e's expecting three bears to show up, if anyone -."

"But he's not expecting anyone. That's what the mace was for." Simon raises an eyebrow in question, and John huffs in frustration. "Can't smell her. I could've tracked her by scent alone if that fucker hadn't sprayed me. I can only assume that's why he wasted time with me before going after her. Thinks he's safe."

"Still leaves me and Johnny."

"Then bluff, Simon. Pretend you got a hell of a trick up your sleeve if you have to."

Simon nods, backs up half a step but holds the door open as another thought occurs. "How'd he know to do that? Get you where it hurts?"

"Because he knows even one singular factoid about bears, I assume?"

"You don't think it's odd how quickly he accepted your fur -."

"-Shifter abilities?" Price eyes Simon over, mustache like to crawl off his face, he's so irritated by this point. "Think it's odd how quick you accepted it."

People usually shrug here, but Simon schools himself into stillness. "Unflappable, me."

"'Course. We're not done talking about this, but I haven't eaten properly since everything started tasting like mucous, and I got big dinner plans." Price plants his boot on Simon's hip and pushes him away, slams the door behind him.

"And what am I supposed to do?" Simon calls through the window glass. There's a speck of blood by the side view mirror which he tries not to think too much about.

"Well, you brought your backwoods hunting rifle, right?"

***

The cabin is nice. Suspiciously nice. Like, 'Has the man you've been committed to for the last several years been secretly married to some successful plastic surgeon this whole time?' kind of nice. But the few pictures that adorn the mantle feature an older, sterner man and his younger, conservative looking wife. No kids from what you can tell, corroborated by the lack of warmth within the walls. It's decorated well enough alright, but in that sterile kind of design you think Joanna Gaines should be brought to the Hague for. You fashion yourself a crutch from a dining chair. It's bulky and awkward, and Phil yells at you whenever you use it while he's inside, but it allows you to take stock of your surroundings, puzzle out places you can hide if need be, or items that could make a decent makeshift weapon. Unfortunately, 'rustic minimalism' leaves you with few options. Less still for a good splint. After close inspection, you'd been relieved to find the break was above your ankle, and probably only restricted to your tibia. You'd found a clothes drying rack the first night at the cabin, broke it apart while Phil slept and used the rods to brace your leg, fashioning it all in place with corded saran wrap. It wasn't great; the plastic itched where it met your skin and it slipped down your leg if you moved too much, but it was better than nothing so you made do despite Phil's mocking laughter when saw it.

Phil's ear oozes blood and pus, marks up all the starched dish towels. He doesn't eat anymore. Well, he might, but you've yet to see it. You'd drifted in and out of wakefulness on the trip down to the cabin and it was easy to assume you'd missed it, or maybe that he'd been running so full tilt that he hadn't stopped at all. It had left you starving, but it wasn't like you were about to ask him to make a special stop for you. It doesn't get better when he stops running. He goes outside a lot, says he's sick of looking at you. Through the window you can see him talking animatedly on a phone he keeps hidden on his person at all times. When he pockets it, the hem of his shirt rides up enough you can see the pistol he keeps in his waistband. You sneak uncooked pasta from the pantry while he's distracted, stay out of his way when he's not. 

He hasn't been terrible, all things considered. He likes to grab his gun through his shirt threateningly, but hasn't pulled it on you yet. You keep your head down, watch him in your periphery. He cleans his ear obsessively, mutters about old werewolf movies when he thinks you're not listening. You worry about this new Phil, this man who seems to be courting madness, and sprinkle powdered bleach on the clean rags when he's not looking, listen to him groan in pain every time he goes to clean his ear. 

The second night in the cabin finds you laid out on the bed next to him, over the blankets. The threat of him makes you physically ill, but he doesn't touch you, just stares at you malevolently in the wan light that filters in through the rough woven curtains. His ear is a pool of tar in the darkness, oily and slick. It stinks, compiling with the lingering nausea of your head wound and the general sickness his presence brings you to have you turning your nose into the pillow. It smells like straight Borax because the lady of the house probably thinks modern cleaning agents will turn her ovaries queer or something, but you breathe deep anyway, which prompts a cruel laugh from Phil.

"Don't like it, darlin'? Me neither. Got your man to thank for that, you know." It's his fighting voice - the one that warns you there is no response that could appease him. You're so tired. 

"Said he bit it off," you chomp illustratively, huff as if it's funny. You hang your finger over his wound suggestively, but your muscles are lax to show him you're no threat. " Holey field indeed."

He snarls, slaps your hand away anyway. "Think it's funny, do you?"

"A little," you admit, brace yourself for a strike that doesn't come. When you can meet his eyes again, Phil looks almost impressed. "What are we doing here, Phil?"

"Hiding out for a bit. Don't know how much you told your man."

"Why?"

"Rather not get mauled in the -."

"No, why are we here? You hate me, Phil. Why not just move on?"

Phil sighs, heavily, plants his open palm on your cheek a little too aggressively and shakes you by your jaw. "So soft, darlin'. So pretty. Simple." He flicks your temple and you flinch, head throbbing, drawing another cruel laugh. When he speaks again, his voice is low and flat. Dark. "I don't share my toys."

You try to drop it, turn back to his ear. "You still got glass in there." He doesn't, it's the bleach drying his flesh out so bad it's turning the cartilage brittle, but he can't see it properly to call you a liar so you'll take your bargaining chips where you can get them. "I'll debride it for you if you get me a splint."

He scoffs. "Glass… ain't worried about the glass, despite your best efforts."

"Human mouths are gross," you agree. "We could both go -."

"Ain't worried about the human part, neither." He sits up with an irritated sound and you keep your lips zipped, the strange stalemate you'd found yourselves in bleeding away and taking your gall with it. "That man of your's… sure know how to pick 'em, don't ya?"

You might tell him he'd left John with little choice, but you know better. Phil continues, "That bear you were friendly with. Never struck you as odd?"

It's hard to speak past the knot that builds in your throat when you realize just how closely Phil must have followed you. You don't remember seeing an Escalade around, which means he followed on foot in some places, skulked through underbrush. It's a miracle (a curse) he himself never got a bit 'friendly' with the animal. You shake your head.

"Not very bright, you. Thought about calling that thing in a few times. It's a damn freak, you know? Huge, too. Woulda made a damn fine trophy. I traced its tracks one time out of curiosity. Wanted to see where something like that kept itself hidden. You know what I found?" At your continued silence, Phil prompts you to guess. "I could give you all fuckin' night and you'd never get it, but I wanna hear you try anyway."

Well, ain't that just like him? You sigh. "I don't know, Phil. Bear shit?"

"Cute. But bears shit in the woods. Got a whole thing about it. Your buddy bear, though, he came from out by the town - manifested in a birch grove far as I could tell. Found a pile of clothes there, blood splatter a few yards off. Thought that was strange."

You do too, unable to keep the confused scowl from your face. What the fuck is he on about?

"No bones, either. Like a man stripped naked, then got absolutely atomized not ten feet away. Poor bastard, huh? Weirdest part was the way the tracks died. They shouldn't've, you know? Too muddy. So I poked around some more. Found the guy's wallet. Wanna take another guess whose it was?"

There's a pit in your stomach but you're not sure why. You know who he's gonna say; know John didn't get eaten by a bear. But you don't know what he's getting at, what he thinks he saw. Distantly, you remember how he talks to himself when he thinks you can't hear. "Was it John's?"

Finger gun, pointer finger flush against your temple. "Bingo. I thought, 'what luck!' Bastard went and took care of himself. Stood there debating whether or not I should call it in, but must've waited too long. Damn bear came back. Remembered they sometimes bury fresh kills so I sat around and watched cause nothing would've pleased me more'n to see your man all tore up. Even started filming for posterity's sake. Didn't quite get that, though," he chuckles darkly. "You wanna see something? Wasn't gonna show you cause I know how you are about gorey movies -," if he was withholding information, it wasn't to spare you. He was probably just trying to keep the upper hand. "- but I can tell already you won't believe me if I don't, so maybe this is best."

Phil digs into his pocket, procures his phone. You sit in apprehensive silence as he flips through it. "Hold my hand if you get scared, darlin'," he drawls, turning the screen towards you and pressing play. 

There's no denying it's your bear, at least. Tall and broad as a shed, strange shaggy quality of his collar that makes him look bearded. He lumbers into frame with his head lowered, snuffles around the pile of clothes Phil had mentioned. His ears pin back at whatever he finds and peers around for a bit, nose held high. But whatever he finds can't be too concerning because he settles back after a moment, shakes his great hairy body. And keeps shaking. 

It sloughs off him in one great pelt, leaving spare few patches to dot the sinewy, thin-skinned freak which stands on its hind legs and stumbles away from its own flesh. You watch in horror as it groans in pain, oddly jointed arms reaching blindly to keep tree limbs from scraping its tender flesh. It looks like raw chicken until it doesn't, flesh bubbling as if being cooked, growing darker and tougher as it reshapes itself. It pants in exhaustion when it finally stops, familiar weathered hand stroking down a broad, inviting chest as if to take inventory of itself.

John pats his hips in satisfaction, points at his discarded clothes as if he'd lost track of them for a second. He dresses himself efficiently and does one more pat down to be sure he hasn't forgotten anything and then walks off, calm as can be. 

You can feel Phil's eyes on you, but it's hard to school your expression into anything other than abject terror. He's smiling when he pulls the phone away from you, your reaction all he needed to know you hadn't been bluffing, that you honestly had no idea what John was capable of.

"Just when you think you know a guy, huh?"

***

Phil brings you outside with him after coffee. You try to demure, hoping to snag some more dry pasta, but he says the sun will do your head some good. You doubt it, even just the threat of it peaking through the tops of the pines enough to lance pain down your optic nerve, but it's not like you can very well fight him on it, so you let him guide you onto the porch and watch while he goes about setting up wood to chop. You wonder if it's a threat tactic and stifle a laugh when his diminished arms struggle with the maul after only a few logs. You tune out after that, unwilling to be caught so much as grinning at his expense, and think about your conversation the night before.

It makes sense, is the biggest problem you're having with the whole thing. 

You' laid awake all night thinking through every interaction you'd ever had with either John or the bear - with him , you suppose, in both cases. It's shocking to say the least, but in a strange way, you're almost relieved. All the fears he'd been keeping tabs on you, all the convenient excuses you'd had to craft to explain them away; all your worries, tied away with one extremely unlikely ribbon. You'd still need to have a talk with him about using his other form to keep tabs on people if you ever got a chance to speak to him again, but somehow it's less malicious this way. It's not his fault you'd decided to use a wild animal as a therapist, after all.

Mostly you're mad he didn't tell you, though you can't really fault him for playing that close to the chest. More than that, you're mad at Phil for taking it upon himself to spread the information around. You watch him as he works, eyeing his ear suspiciously. He'd told you before turning in that he was worried he'd wind up like John. You were worried too. John made for a sweet bear, if a little intimidating. Something tells you Phil would not have the same temperament. 

"Had a dream you were a fox," you call to him after the silence grows too long.

Phil frowns up at you. "A fox?"

"Yeah. Right before you… revealed yourself, back at the motel. Was dreaming about the bear trying to wake me up. And then it was a fox. Looked kinda like you. And then it was you."

He chuckles, hefts the maul a little closer to himself. "A fox, huh? That how it works, you think? What's that make you, big boy? Damn mountain lion?"

You frown in confusion, follow his line of sight off to your right. "Simon!" you gasp, leaping to your feet. You forgot about your leg in your excitement, however, and stumble down the porch steps with a yelp.

"Careful, darlin'. Gonna get yourself hurt," Phil laughs, siddling closer to you. He yanks you to your feet and places you between himself and Simon. It takes you a moment to understand why, eyes taking in the rifle he's got aimed at Phil belatedly.

Simon is silent as he stalks out from behind the cabin, heavy boots never so much as snapping a twig. You wonder how Phil even noticed him, and then wonder if he let himself be noticed. "Olright, pet?" he calls softly, and you nod, eyes scanning the treeline.

Phil brings the business end of the maul to your throat. It's not terribly sharp, but it wouldn't take too much effort to throw you across the steps and split your head open and the threat is clear. You swallow your panic and hang on to his forearm for support. 

"Where're your buddies?" Phil's voice is high with nervous tension. You think your's would be the same if asked to speak.

"'Round," Simon drawls, kicks a rock over when Phil's anxious circling nearly turns you both around.

It works. Phil twists back toward the sound and Simon carries on, nonchalant, making more noise. Your breath comes rapidly, in through your nose, out through your mouth. You think you can smell something musky on the breeze, and your grip slides down your captor's arms, toward his hands.

"Hold still," Phil warns, and Simon draws to a halt. A soft shuffling noise continues despite his stillness and Phil spins to meet it. Your bad leg takes most of your weight and you stumble to the ground. 

A deafening crack echoes in the small clearing and Phil slumps over you, his shoulder a mangled mess. You're still trying to process what happened when an ear splitting roar shakes the very ground and you look up to find the bear thundering at you from the treeline. Phil sees him too, and the two of you scramble for the maul. He kicks you in the shin cause he's a bastard, so you use his leverage to help you push the sledge against his shoulder. He grunts in pain and you wrench it from his grasp, start to roll out of his reach when a lethal click stops you dead.

It's not you he's aiming at, though. 

Two quick, successive shots. You turn in time to see the bear falter, the hump of its back shaking with impact. It doesn't stop for long. A few more steps and the bear's on him. It - John - sinks his teeth into the meat between Phil's scapulas, tries to stop on a dime, can't, goes tumbling over with Phil still clamped in his jaws. Phil gets slammed into the ground with a sickening crunch that turns his screams into silent wheezes. John settles his weight on top of Phil's prone body and holds his head down with a massive paw so he can pull against it, tearing muscle as easily as the thin cotton of his shirt when he shakes his head like a dog.

Phil's screaming again. John doesn't seem inclined to stop it until the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding whistles out of your chest raggedly. The bear asses you for a moment, chewing contentedly on the scrap of flesh between his teeth like a cow with cud. Your eyes dart from John to the dying man below him rapidly, unsure what you're asking for.

John grumbles, but wraps his maw around the column of Phil's throat and bites down hard enough that Phil's screams turn to gurgles, give way to a sickening crunch. When he pulls away, a fat tongue licks the geyser of blood and finally, your stomach roils.

"Let's get you inside, pet." You wipe your mouth, turn to find Simon crouched next to you. "No need to see this." 

"He's hurt." Simon looks at you like you might be simple so you clarify, "John."

You both glance at the man - bear? - in question, tearing at a scrap of viscera that sounds upsettingly like jerky. He glares at Simon ominously, as if daring him to touch you in any way that could cause offense. There's blood matting the fur of his back and shoulder but he pays it no mind. 

"Think 'e'll be olright." 

You hold a hand out, expecting to have him help you up, but the big man tucks his arms under you instead, lifts you with little more than a huff. 

"Seriously, what are they putting in the water over there?" You mutter. He'd laugh, but he's being careful of your leg. Some jostling is inevitable, though, and he hums deep in his chest in sympathy when you grimace.

He carries you back to the cabin and you watch over his shoulder as the bear turns Phil over onto his back, pawing at clothes to expose his belly.

"Scrawny bastard can't be very tasty," you quip, and here Simon does laugh. 

"You ever listen to someone eat a Slim Jim?"

"Oh god," you grumble, stomach audibly gurgling. This time Simon's laugh is a cruel thing.

He sets you up on the couch with a pillow propping up your leg. He goes back outside and you hear him yelling something about a phone. The bear lowers at him, but the wet squelching of Phil's vulnerable underbelly stops for a moment and soon after comes a dull thunk. When Simon returns, he's got Phil's phone in one hand and a thumb in the other. 

You lip curls, "Is that necessary?"

Simon doesn't even spare you a glance. "Just gotta figure out who he's told what."

"About you and John?"

"Oh, I'm not a furry." It's stupid and unexpected enough to startle a laugh out of you. Simon carries on as if there's nothing wrong with what he's said. "But yes, that. And gotta figure out if anyone's gonna come looking for 'im."

"There's a video in there," you offer, "Of John… changing. Don't know if it's backed up to anything."

"Good bird, I'll check." His eyes meet yours for a moment. "'e showed you then, I'm assuming?"

You nod. "Suppose it was for the best in the end. Would've shit myself if I saw that thing running at me without knowing what was going on." Simon nods exactly once. You take it for agreeance. "How long have you known?"

"Years. But don't tell Price that."

"He didn't tell you?"

"No. Didn't even know I knew until yesterday."

"Well then how'd you find out?"

Simon turns his big apathetic eyes on you. "'e doesn't 'ave a house in Phoenix. Telling you now, in case you're still holding out for the snowbird lifestyle."

This time when you laugh, you think you spot a slight crinkling of Simon's eyes as well.

***

An hour passes mostly in silence. You ask Simon to check on John occasionally, but he only ever says things are unchanged out there so you take that to mean John hasn't died of blood loss. You try to come to terms with everything you just witnessed, but it's still too fresh, your adrenaline too high. Instead, your thoughts circle back to John repeatedly, your fingers itching to inspect his wounds. That's probably not a normal reaction, but nothing about this situation is normal so you give yourself a break.

When John does stumble in, he's naked. Simon squawks, which would be funny to you if John wasn't also covered in blood. You try to climb to your feet to meet him, but he's on you quicker than you can even process, kneeling beside the couch and running sticky hands all over your face.

"Are you okay?" you both ask at the same time, and you nod feverishly, subject yourself to the desperate kiss he plants on you in response.

The taste of him is heavy, seems to coat your tongue. You can't help the full body shudder it elicits and John retracts, brushes wet, whiskery kisses up to your temple instead. He stays there for a moment, just breathing you in. You use it as an opportunity to peer over his shoulder, inspect his back. He's leaning away again before you can make sense of what you see back there.

John holds your face between his massive palms. He looks you over, eyes desperate and wild. You give him a reassuring smile, hold onto his forearms while he tries to wipe some of the blood off you. Smears it, if the way he frowns at his dirty hand is any indication.

"That your blood?"

"I wish," he growls, and uses the hem of your shirt to try wiping it off. 

"You wish?"

"You already smell enough like him." You finch when he presses against your head too hard and his scowl deepens.

"Here." A towel lands over John's head, another on the floor next to him. You grimace at Simon apologetically and try to get John covered while he completely ignores your attempts, focused entirely on cleaning the blood off you, hands much gentler this time. 

"John, I'm fine."

"Not fine, bunny," he seethes. You blink at him, but give him a pass when you realize he's mad at your state. "What happened?"

"How about we get cleaned up first, eh?"

"We have to get you to a hospital."

"Me?" you scoff. "You got shot!"

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about me. Simon, go get the car, yeah? We gotta -."

"Okay everybody hang on. You are naked and covered in a dead guy's blood. Let's deal with that first."

"Bunny -."

"And then I think we should get our story together before we waltz our hot fresh gunshot wound slash old broken leg combo into a hospital." The words are out before you've even thought them through - what it means for you, that you'll be an accomplice to your own ex's… murder? It's not murder if a wild animal kills and eats you. John isn't a wild animal, but it's not like he was all there mentally at the time either. 

You hope.

Well, maybe it would be okay if he knew what he was doing, but you're gonna delicately avoid saying that outloud.

John's mustache twitches irritably, but Simon looks about as supportive of your idea as you think he's capable of appearing. Nodding, John stands and tucks his towel around his waist. His belly is so full it's nearly distended and you try not to think about it too hard. You're not surprised when he picks you up. Simon tactfully turns away in case there's a wardrobe malfunction, but the towel stays firmly in place as John carries you down the hall. You know where he's headed and you point the way to the master bath.

What does surprise you is the way he strips you too, unwinds your makeshift splint so achingly carefully. His palms are impossibly light when they smoothe over the indents the saran wrap has left in your skin and you both frown at the bruising which has pooled under your skin.

"That's gotten worse," you comment, and John presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, breathing in the sweat there deeply.

The shower is blessedly huge. John gets the water to a comfortable temperature before helping to lower you to the tiled floor. He doesn't even bother to wash any blood off before he's plastering himself to your side and burying his face in the crook of your shoulder. Red runoff slips over both of you, swirls in the drain. Your hands are on his scalp, his neck, his shoulders. They trace the rivulets of water down his back and he grunts when you find the first open sore.

"You know they call the police for gunshot wounds."

John shakes his head. It jiggles your tit a bit when he does it, enmeshed as he is with you. "Clean through."

"What?" Pushing him away, you drag a palm over his chest in search of the other wound but he just holds your hand in place over his pec. 

"Through my shoulder hump, sweetheart. In my other form. I'll be fine in a few days."

Confused and unbelieving, you push at him until he turns to show you: a gnarly hole over his lower ribs which bleeds profusely, and a smaller, far less concerning mark up over his scapula which somehow looks already knotted over. It doesn't make sense here, but you suppose if you twisted and contorted his body enough you could draw a straight line between the two. Still, you drag your thumb gingerly under the cleaner of the two wounds, watch the tender skin jump. 

"How is this nearly closed over?"

John shrugs. "Quick healer."

You suppose it makes sense, after the horror you watched his own body inflict upon itself in Phil's video. All that skin remaking itself. "Of course."

"Told you it's you I'm more worried about." He leans back against the wall, cradles your entire face in his palm. 

"I'm good now," you try to convince him, but suddenly your voice is anything but and John crumples.

"Do I scare you?"

Your lip wobbles, unauthorized. You shake your head before you can really think it through, and then sob in relief when he wraps you in an all-consuming hug and you realize it's the truth. He should scare you. He really should. But for better or worse, the only thing you feel wrapped up in his strong arms like this is safe.

It's hard to stop the tears once they start but John holds you all the while, occasionally pulling away just enough to inspect your face and kiss your eyelids, your nose. You hold him back as best you can, but the angle is awkward so you mostly just end up stroking his hairy chest and you both know you've cried yourself out when your fingers get picky, start combing icky bits out of his pelt.

John lets you groom him, scrub away every last trace of Phil. He cleans you too, careful to filter water through his hands when he sees you flinch as the hard water pressure beats against your bruised scalp. You make him rinse his mouth, pick something that looks like bone from his chops and surprise yourself with how well you handle it, watching apathetically as the suds push it along toward the drain. It's possible Phil didn't quite deserve this fate, but you decide it's not your job to determine that; you're just glad to be free of him.

"Gonna remember the way you crushed his throat until the day I die, I think," you murmur, inspecting his nails and hairy knuckles.

John goes still. "I'm sorry you saw that, bun -." 

"Not a bad thing, John." When you risk meeting his eye, you're met with an intense, desperate gaze. 

"Don't leave me again, bunny." 

You feel like an idiot, throwing yet another item onto the pile of forgiven things that would have sent you running even just a few weeks ago. But it's not a threat when John says it; just a raw, honest plea. This man's tracked you across multiple states, revealed his deepest secret for you. Killed for you. And still, he doesn't demand you return with him or hold all these things he's elected to do of his own accord over your head. Just begs you to stay. 

He still tastes like blood when you kiss him, but it's just more fuel for the pyre of forgiven, ignored warnings.

A/N Want you guys to know that I figured out the choreography of this bear attack by wrestling with my infinitely patient dogs, so if you ever need a good pick me up, just imagine looking out your window one day and seeing your fat neighbor putting their 70lb dog through a death roll and pretending to rip its throat out, snarling all the while as if they've gone fucking rabid.

Next>>

[sixhours]

One Day at a Time - Chapter 8 - Beginning

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, SMUT, gratuitous smut, dubious consent (drunk sex), unplanned pregnancy, fluff, references to past miscarriages, angst, hurt/comfort, romance, age gap (~21 years), childbirth, fluffy baby stuff, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

The midwife is the first to notice that Anna’s startle reflex is inconsistent. When she suggests the baby might be deaf, Joel wants to write it off as the woman’s usual dour attitude, but as the weeks pass, it becomes clear that something is different. It’s impossible to make enough noise to wake her, she doesn’t turn her head toward their voices, and she’s inconsolable when they’re out of her limited line of sight. They spend several sleepless nights worrying, making loud noises and watching Anna intently for responses that usually don’t come.

There’s nothing to do about it, though, except wait and see…like her pregnancy all over again. One day at a time.

Anna is most content when she’s tucked into the soft cloth wrap, held tight against someone’s chest, where she can feel the soothing purr of speech against her tiny body. They get adept at going about their daily routines with the baby strapped to them like a marsupial in a makeshift pouch. She especially seems to like Joel’s soft flannel shirts and his deep, rumbly voice–he’s the best at getting her to nap.

Or, as Ellie puts it, boring her to sleep .

Ellie spends more time with them, enamored with her baby sister in a way Joel couldn’t have predicted. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised, having watched her with Sam all those months ago, but her fierce devotion to this brand-new person in their lives makes him light-headed with pride.

Baby things showed up at their house out of the blue in the days after Anna was born; an antique cradle, bottles, more diapers, and a breast pump contraption that Charlie says makes her feel like a dairy cow. There are enough clothes to outfit a small army and mystery casseroles lining their freezer for weeks.

Tonight he takes one of the casseroles out and sniffs at it warily.

“Not sure about this one, kid,” he says to Anna, strapped to his chest. “Can’t be worse than that tuna surprise thing, though. House smelled for a week.”

The baby makes a soft cooing noise and sticks out her tongue in response.

“Yeah? Well, you didn’t have to eat it,” he mutters, turning on the oven.

“Talking to yourself again?” Charlie murmurs from the couch, snuggled under a throw.

“I’m havin’ a conversation with my daughter,” he says, stroking the baby’s head. “And you’re s’posed to be napping.”

She sits up, bleary-eyed and wan. “Can’t sleep. I miss her.”

“Hear that?” he murmurs. “Mama misses you. Maybe you should wake her up more often. Five times last night wasn’t enough.”

Joel wanders over to the couch and unearths the baby from her wrap to hand her to Charlie, who takes her with a smile and a soft hi sweet girl . Warmth blooms in his chest, followed by sadness; the two often go hand in hand.

Sarah never had this, he thinks, and he mourns what he couldn’t give her; the love of a mother, the delight of a new sibling.

But Anna has it all, in this family cobbled together from spare parts and broken pieces. Like the beginning of a bad joke— a widow, an orphan, and a childless father walk into a bar –where she is the most beautiful punchline he’s ever heard.

Joel comes home to find Ellie on the couch with the baby in her lap and a book on the cushion next to her, frowning in concentration as she flips through the pages. Anna is nine weeks old and more alert than ever, bright eyes taking in everything, and at the moment she’s fascinated by her big sister’s hands, moving in slow, measured gestures in front of her face.

“Where’s Charlie?”

“Your girlfriend is taking a nap,” Ellie says without looking up from her book.

“She’s not–”

He catches himself before he can finish his sentence and Ellie smirks.

“Caught ya.”

Joel sighs. “What’re you doin’?”

She flips to the book cover to show him; An Introduction to American Sign Language .

“Sam taught me some, but I found this at the library. I figured it can’t hurt to start early.”

His throat tightens and he blinks back tears. God, his kids have turned him into a walking fucking water fountain.

“That’s…a great idea, kiddo,” he says, squeezing her shoulder.

“I know,” she says. “Besides, you can use it, too, when your hearing eventually goes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. He bends down to boop Anna’s nose. “Your sister is somethin’ else, kid. I’m gonna check on your mo–I mean my–our–”

He growls as Ellie looks up at him expectantly, a wry little smirk on her face.

“I’m gonna check on Charlie,” he sighs. “Call me if you need me.”

He hears a whisper at his back.

“What’s the sign for ‘They are so fucked’?”

Ellie’s laughter and Anna’s quiet coos follow him upstairs.

They still haven’t talked about them . They share a bed, they care for Anna, and…that’s about it. The midwife mentioned something about “resuming sexual activities” and “birth control” and maybe even a vasectomy at their final appointment, and it had taken all Joel had not to laugh in her face. He hasn’t had so much as a hard-on since the kid was born, and Charlie is permanently attached to her when she’s not sleeping or eating.

It might have bothered him if he weren’t so sleep-deprived.

In the bedroom, Charlie is buried under the blankets. He doesn’t mean to wake her, but she startles when the door creaks open.

“Anna?”

“Ellie’s got her, it’s just me,” Joel whispers. “Sorry.”

Charlie sits up, rubbing at her eyes, holding her breasts as if testing their weight. “S’okay. She needs to eat soon.”

He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, smiles at Charlie’s mussed hair. He’s watched her closely over the last few weeks, hyper-alert for signs of depression, for the grief that he knows will never completely subside. A horrible little voice in the back of his mind insists that it’s only a matter of time before she leaves them.

Sarah’s mom made it four months.

But Charlie seems content if exhausted. They’re both exhausted, even with help. With Sarah he’d had the advantage of youth; with Anna, Joel feels every single one of his fifty-eight years…mostly in his back.

“Did you know Ellie’s teachin’ the baby sign language?” he asks.

“Mmm, she mentioned something about that,” Charlie yawns. “She’s smart, your kid. We’re raising geniuses.”

Joel ducks his head to hide a blush of pride. “They’re gonna leave us in their dust someday.”

We. Us.

He reaches out to cup Charlie’s face in one hand, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone. He could say it was all lust until now, but watching her with Anna makes him feel like a lovesick teenager. Charlie leans into his touch, meets his eyes, and his stomach clenches with a kind of pleasant ache he hasn’t felt in weeks.

Maybe he’s going to need to look into that vasectomy after all.

The moment is rudely interrupted by a wail, followed by Ellie’s voice drifting up the stairs.

“Hey, lovebirds! Your spawn needs a diaper change.”

Joel and Ellie are sprawled on the couch, her tucked into one corner and him on the opposite side, slouched down with Anna on his chest, a movie playing in the background. The baby won’t sleep in the beautiful hand-carved cradle for more than fifteen minutes at a time, preferring instead to slumber on a warm body.

There was a time in Joel’s life when he would have said they were spoiling her, but now, acutely aware of his limited years in a way he’s never been before, he’s decided Anna can fall asleep in his arms until she’s thirty if she wants. There is no such thing as spoiling her as far as he’s concerned.

He’s half asleep, trying to wait out the next hour and a half to let Charlie get some rest, when Ellie’s voice drifts into his consciousness.

“I think I get it now.”

“Get what?” he murmurs, barely able to open his eyes.

“Why you lied to me.”

He’s awake now. His head snaps up to face her. Ellie is curled in a ball with her arms around her knees, watching the baby rise and fall with the rhythm of his breath.

“If it were her…I’d do anything to keep her safe,” she says softly.

Oh.

His first instinct is to lie again, but something about Ellie’s expression and the way she’s watching Anna gives him pause. Between the two of them, they’ve cracked him open. He’s too tired and old to hold secrets.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” he rasps. “I shouldn’t’ve done that. It was wrong.”

He meets her eyes, waits until he’s sure that she sees him, because she can’t just hear it–she needs to know it with her whole being, to believe it as deeply as he does.

“But I’m not sorry–I’ll never be sorry–for what I did. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat for you…or her.”

Ellie nods, but she frowns, her voice going small and tight.

“What if she was bit?”

The question drops from her lips like a bomb and Joel instinctively tightens his grip around Anna at the thought.

“Wouldn’t you hate me?” she whispers. “For not…for not being able to save her?”

“Never,” he says roughly. “I could never hate you, Ellie.”

“But…what if she could grow up in a better world? A world where you never had to worry about her…or Charlie…or anyone…getting infected,” Ellie asks softly.

He wants to tell her that none of this would have been possible if she weren’t here–their life in Jackson, Charlie, or Anna. He wants to tell her that she is the catalyst for everything he’s done right in his sorry life.

His girl, who wanted to save the world, had saved him instead.

But words are failing so he swallows his tears and puts an arm out. Ellie slides over, curling into his side, and he’s momentarily stunned by her solidity against him. She’s grown in the months since they returned from Salt Lake City. She’s taller, her face thinning out, more like a young woman than a child.

It happens too damn fast, he thinks, looking down at the sleeping infant on his chest.

He whispers the words into Ellie’s hair when his throat finally unlocks, watery and thick.

“She’s growin' up in a better world because you’re in it.”

“She’s finally out,” Charlie whispers, backing away from the cradle and collapsing onto the bed on her stomach with a groan. “I don’t know how one tiny human can eat so much.”

“I’ll take her tonight,” he says. “She can have a bottle.”

“You have patrol in the morning.”

“Can’t sleep for shit anyway,” he shrugs. “Did you eat? Caf’s still open, I can grab you something.”

“Mmm. Maybe later. I need about ten hours of sleep and a big glass of wine,” she mutters into the pillow.

“I can offer you six hours of sleep and a beer.”

“I’ll take it,” she yawns, then brightens. “Oh! I found something at the post today.” 

She rolls over, digs in the nightstand drawer, then unearths a small black box and tosses it into his lap.

He blinks down at it, unsure if it’s the suggestion or the fatigue that slows his tongue. His heart quickens.

“Are these…?”

“Condoms,” she grins. Then she’s crawling toward him and straddling his lap, much the way she did the first time, and she glances over at the silent cradle. “We have a couple hours…should we see if they’re any good?”

“God yes please,” he breathes, all tiredness suddenly forgotten as her mouth finds his, open and wanting.

There’s laundry scattered around the floor, empty bottles and water glasses on the nightstand, used burp cloths draped over the furniture, and the faint smell of sour milk lingers in the air.

And all of it ceases to matter because she’s holding his face in her hands and kissing him, really kissing him for the first time in weeks. Not a peck on the cheek or a nuzzled brush of her lips to his forehead when she thinks he’s still sleeping, but an honest-to-god kiss with tongue and teeth and bite.

Soon she’s rolled underneath him and he’s supping long, languid kisses from her lips, eliciting sweet little moans and breathy gasps that have him thrusting his aching cock into her bare stomach, seeking relief in friction. Even with the condom to dull the sensations, this will be over before it’s begun if he doesn’t get a fucking grip, so he pulls reluctantly away to explore the rest of her body.

Breastmilk gathers in little pearls on the peaks of her nipples, sweet and thick on his tongue as he teases and sucks his way down her chest. He traces the silvery lines on her lower stomach with his nose, the places where she’s been permanently marked because of their daughter, because of him . The sight of her gently swollen belly and the velvety softness of the stretched skin only makes him want her more.

She whimpers when he tastes her, moans when he sucks at her swollen clit and laps at her folds until she’s writhing and coming. Then she’s pulling on his hair with an urgency he understands and he’s rolling one of the condoms on and sinking into her delicious heat. She’s so close like this, pinned by his hips and chest, pressed underneath him like a flower.

He can’t pull himself away from her mouth, can’t stop kissing her and tasting her and swallowing her cries. Her arms enfold him, rubbing languid strokes up and down the slope of his back, pressing into his ass, urging him deeper. He reaches for her hand and rests their entwined fingers above her head.

Mine , he thinks with every thrust, heat coiling in his gut, crawling up his spine. Mine, mine, mine.

“Yours,” she sighs, arching into him, answering the words he didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud. He presses his forehead against hers and stills, breathing hard.

“Yeah?”

His voice is ragged with emotion. Her palms come up to cup his face.

“All yours,” she whispers, then she kisses him and kisses him and he prays the condom does its damn job because he’s falling over the edge.

He’s still softening inside her, luxuriating in the feel of her mouth against his, when the baby wails from her cradle.

Charlie groans underneath him. “Already?”

“Well…we got fifteen minutes,” he mumbles, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“Give yourself credit, it was at least twenty.”

“It’s like a sixth sense,” he mutters, pulling out with a groan. “Surprised Ellie’s not at the damn door, too.”

Charlie snorts a laugh, sitting up and pulling the sheet to her chest.

“I’m comin’, baby girl,” he says. “Hold on, I know…m’right here.”

But Anna can’t hear him, of course. He pokes his head over the cradle and she quiets. “I’ll be right back.”

She protests loudly when he leaves her line of sight again, totally abandoned. He disposes of the condom and washes his hands…now where the hell are his boxers? The din of Anna’s crying in the background has him stumbling over his feet.

Finally, he plucks her up out of the cradle and puts her against his chest.

“Hey, kid, you’re fine,” he rumbles against her.

She growls in response, all attitude, one tiny fist stuffed into her mouth.

“Think she’s hungry,” he murmurs, nuzzling the top of her head. “Want me to get her a bottle so you can sleep?”

“No,” Charlie says, two wet spots blooming on the bedsheet. “You primed the pump. I’m leaking all over myself.”

“Lucky kid,” he grins. “You get the real deal.”

“You just ate, sweet girl,” Charlie sighs as the baby latches. “Where does it all go?”

“Based on the laundry I folded today, I have an idea,” Joel mutters, crawling back into bed. He sits up against the headboard and pulls Charlie into his arms so she’s propped against him. She burrows into his shoulder and closes her eyes as the baby makes greedy little suckling noises. His free arm wraps around them, cupping Anna’s head, feeling the pulse of her heartbeat in his palm.

Maybe it’s the sex that loosens his tongue, or maybe he’s just too tired to worry over the fallout. He takes a deep breath.

“So I know we said…you’d stay until the kid is born…and that was, uh, ten weeks ago.”

“You kicking me out?” Charlie murmurs, playing with the baby’s tiny fingers as she nurses.

“No,” he says quickly. “You can stay as long as you want. I just…don’t want you to feel like you have to…or like we’re expected to be, uh…something we’re–”

“Joel,” she says, soft but firm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Heat blooms in his chest.

“Yeah?”

She tilts her head up to look at him, silver eyes shining, and answers him with a long, sweet, lingering kiss that reignites the fire in his lower belly.

He’s definitely gonna need that vasectomy.

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: i’m normally an islanders girly, but i have a soft spot for svech, especially after the horrible news of his acl injury 🥺 honestly have no idea where this came from except i saw one of @ryanpulock ‘s anons mention taking care of svech after an injury, so here we go! entirely unedited because i hate rereading my own work lol

tw: smut, gratuitous and potentially wrong use of russian terms of endearment

summary: you want to take care of andrei a little after he gets a cut on his thigh.

The text from Jordan - “Don’t worry, he’s fine” - would be concerning on it’s own, but when it’s followed-up approximately ten minutes later with a text from Andrei - “Don’t worry, I am fine” - you’re heading quickly into a panicky state. Ignoring the fact that you’re out with friends, you open up Twitter and navigate to the Canes’ hashtag, scrolling anxiously until you spot the familiar last name.

A tweet from Cory Lavalette: Svechnikov is down and hurt.

Another one from Cory: Svechnikov did the splits while getting checked and was holding his left inner thigh.

Three minutes later: Further review, it looks like Kevin Hayes' skate caught Svechnikov in the thigh.

You feel like you might throw up. A cut from a skate blade is no joke. Depending on where on his thigh the blade caught him - you force yourself to stop that line of thinking and keep scrolling, breathing a sigh of relief when you see that Andrei was back on the ice a minute or so later. It’s solidly thirty minutes after the game’s ended (you didn’t realize it had gotten so late!), so he must be okay, if his and Jordan’s texts are the only ones about the whole thing. “Sorry, guys,” you sigh, gathering your jacket and purse, pushing away from the table. “I have to go. Just Venmo request me what I owe.”

Your best friend looks up, surprised, but then after she checks her phone, a sly grin stretches across her face and she teases, “going to get the benefits of those post-game endorphins?”

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” you smirk, trying to hide your anxiety and worry about Andrei.

That gets the whole table jeering and heckling you, with your best friend laughing and proclaiming, “you’re sure as hell not a lady. Or do I need to bring out the keg stand video again?”

Waving her off with a snort of laughter and a vaguely rude gesture, you head for the door, blowing a kiss and slipping your arms into your jacket. The sounds of your friends’ voices follow you out of the restaurant, finally quieting once the door shuts behind you. You suck in a shaky breath, closing your eyes briefly. He’s fine - Jordan said so and Jordan wouldn’t lie about something like this. Even still, you’re nervous for the entire fifteen minute drive back to yours and Andrei’s apartment.

“Drei?” You call out his name when you push open the front door, kicking off your boots and dropping your house keys in the little bowl on the front hall table.

“In here,” his deep, accented voice echoes from the back of the apartment - your bedroom.

Shedding your jacket and draping it and your purse over the back of the couch - a bad habit that you’ve been trying to kick - you hurry down the hall towards him, needing to see him in one piece.

You freeze in the doorway when you finally lay eyes on him. He’s stretched out on the king-sized bed, shirtless and damp from his shower, clad only in a pair of tight black boxer-briefs. His legs are stretched out in front of him and he’s got one hand tucked behind his head, making his tricep bulge.

“Damn,” you mutter. It’s unfair how good-looking he is. And then your gaze lights on the thick white bandage wrapped around his left thigh, making the well-muscled bulk look even thicker. For some reason, the sight of the bandage makes his injury all the more real and tears prick at your eyes. “Andrei…” you whisper his name, hand pressing against your mouth to keep your emotions inside.

He shakes his head and smiles a little at you, a shadow of his dimple popping out on his cheek. “Ah, solnyshka, I’m fine. Just small scratch,” he says, voice warm and soaking over you like a blanket.

“But you got cut with a skate blade! A really sharp skate blade!” Your voice cracks a little. “It could’ve been really bad.”

Andrei gestures you forward with one hand and you obey instantly, not even thinking about it. His hand is warm on your wrist and he lifts your hand to his mouth to press a kiss to your palm. Your knees tremble. “But it was not,” he mumbles against your palm. “A few stitches, a bandage, and I’m good as new.”

“Stitches?” Your eyebrows lift and you look down at the bandage as if you’ve developed x-ray vision in the last thirty seconds.

“Two, three maybe. It is nothing,” he tugs at your wrist again, the dimple deepening on his cheek. His eyes twinkle. “But I think maybe I’m going to need a nurse to bring me back to 100%.”

His voice is low and you look up at his face, taking in the slow smirk that’s forming. “Oh a nurse, huh?” you murmur, warmth flooding your stomach from the way he’s looking at you.

“Mhm,” he hums, a deep rumble in his chest. His thumb is tracing an arc over your wrist, liquid heat crawling through your veins. “Now that I think about it, maybe it does hurt a little,” his lower lip pokes out in a small pout.

“Poor baby,” you whisper, licking your lower lip. Your throat feels dry. “I’ll have to be very gentle…”

Andrei’s eyes are dark, the tips of his ears are growing pink, and you can see the bulge in his boxer-briefs practically growing by the second. “What if I am a bad patient?” He lifts one eyebrow. “Will you be gentle then?”

You giggle. “Now, Mister Svechnikov, I know you can behave,” you dart forward and ghost a kiss over his lips. “When you want to.”

He tries to pull you down onto the bed, but you dance away quickly. “Solnyshka,” he pouts, “I’m not supposed to move. You have to come to me.”

“Let me change,” you reply, already pulling your sweater over your head. “These clothes are dirty.” The sweater gets tossed onto the chair in the corner and you kick off your jeans, leaning one knee on the bed. Andrei’s hands reach for you, the right one close enough to rest on your hip. He slides warm fingers around the curve of your ass and tries to pull you closer.

“Please,” he says. His accent is thick, vibrating around your brain and melting your heart. You love his voice. “I will be a good patient, I promise.”

You crawl closer to him, both of his hands on your hips now. One thick finger brushes under the waistband of your panties, sending a shiver down your spine. “Well, if you promise….” you trail off, dipping your head to press a kiss to inside of his bicep. One of your hands rests on his knee, fingers brushing over warm skin. He twitches, a little ticklish at your light touch. You grin at him, dragging your fingertips up the inside of his good thigh. The hair on his leg raises with goosebumps and the bulge of his cock grows. “You relax,” you murmur, “let me do the work.”

With a groan, Andrei drops back against the pillows he had propped behind his back, watching you with blown pupils as you climb in between his legs. He widens the space, offering you room to work. You lean back on your thighs, resting your hands lightly on Andrei’s shins. “You’ve got to tell me if you start hurting or it’s uncomfortable, okay?” you say, massaging your fingers into his calves. “I don’t want you to get hurt even more.”

“Maylshka,” Andrei groans the term of endearment, his hand stroking at himself through the fabric of his boxer-briefs, “you’re hurting me more by taking so much time.”

A snort of laughter leaves your nose involuntarily and you scoot up the bed, scraping your nails over his legs. “So impatient,” you mutter affectionately, a weird twist in your stomach when your gaze lands on the bandage again. A reminder that he was hurt. That it could’ve been more serious. Swallowing heavily, you duck your head and press a kiss to the inside of his right knee, scraping teeth over skin as you move up his inner thigh, kissing and biting gently as you go.

Andrei shifts under you, the bed dipping and swaying as he adjusts. One of his large hands twist in your hair, tangling the strands between his fingers and tugging, just this side of painful. The other hand bumps against the top of your head as he wraps it around his growing cock, stroking himself firmly. The steady movement of his hand makes his body move, in turn making your own body jostle. You bite into the corded muscle of his inner thigh and Andrei hisses, hand jerking out of rhythm.

“I thought I was taking care of you?” you mumble against his heated skin, leaning back and angling so your shoulder doesn’t bump against his wrapped thigh. Your fingers curl in the waistband of his underwear, the fabric already stretched to its limits between Andrei’s hand and erection. “You can take care of yourself on the road.”

His voice is raspy when he replies, “just helping you along, malyshka. Don’t want you to get tired.” He groans when you slide your hand over his and squeeze.

“I’m wide awake, Drei,” you murmur, knocking his hand aside and replacing it with your own. He’s hot and hard in your hand, a familiar weight. Your thumb brushes over the red, weeping tip of him and his hips buck involuntarily. A slow smirk spreads across your lips. Before you can bend your head, Andrei uses the hand that’s still tangled in your hand to force your face up to his. He cups your chin in his free hand and slants his lips over yours in a hungry kiss. You return it in kind, leaning into him, enjoying the groan he lets loose into your mouth when your hand twists around his cock.

He pulls back from the kiss, dropping his head against the headboard with a thunk. “I want to flip you over on your back and make you come until you cry,” he mutters, stretching out his left leg a little.

You laugh and kiss the side of his neck, licking at a bead of water that’s dripped down from his hair. He shivers. “Give yourself a little time to heal and then you can have me any way you want,” you promise. “Just let me take care of you tonight.”

Without giving him a chance to answer, you slide down his body, pressing soft kisses to his chest as you go and flicking one flat nipple with your tongue, drawing a strained laugh from Andrei’s throat. He murmurs your name and you kiss his stomach, just under his belly button, “lift,” you command, hooking your fingers in the elastic waist of his underwear and tugging them down. His erection jumps free, curving up to his stomach, thick and red and waiting for you. Your mouth waters at the sight of him and you dart your tongue out and lick the tip of him delicately.

“Fuck!” he curses, hand tightening in your hair. You press down on his good thigh with your free hand to keep him in place, not that you have a chance in hell of holding Andrei down if he really wants to move. But your fingers curl against his skin and you take him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks. The head of his cock bumps against the roof of your mouth and you shift on your knees to change the angle, taking him deeper. Andrei groans and moans above you, vocalizing his approval. He’s too big to take all of him in your mouth, so you wrap your hand around the remaining inches and squeeze, knowing he loves the pressure. His hand pushes your face down and your nose bumps his lower stomach. His hold on your head is loose though, and you could pull back if you wanted. You don’t want to.

Bracing yourself on his thigh, you lean forward, taking him deeper. Spit dribbles out of your mouth, making a mess of Andrei and the sheets below him. He bucks his hips, trying to restrain himself so he doesn’t hurt you, but when you him around him, flattening your tongue against the underside of his cock, he shouts and pushes further down your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. You breathe sharply through your nose, trying to stave off a gag, and inhale Andrei’s familiar musk mixed with the lavender-citrus body wash you’d bought for yourself but had been sneakily stolen by your boyfriend. You press your thighs together, pressure to help the throbbing between your legs. Andrei moves, like he wants to reach down and touch you, but you squeak a little when your head gets trapped between his pelvis and his stomach.

“Sorry,” he rumbles, “sorry.” His free hand strokes at your cheeks, your forehead, the back of your neck, and you shiver. You him around him again, sucking hard. Andrei groans your name, barely resisting the urge to thrust into your mouth. You encourage him, squeezing his shaft.

He tenses under your touch and comes in your mouth with a shouted string of Russian curses. You swallow quickly, a little overwhelmed, and Andrei’s grip on your hair loosens. He looks down at you with glazed eyes as you release him with a wet pop. a string of saliva connects your lips and his softening cock and you swipe at it quickly. “You are….” he mumbles, chuckling, speechless.

“I know,” you grin at him, wiping at the corners of your mouth. You wiggle up the mattress, rest your wrists on his shoulders, and kiss him sweetly. Andrei’s hands are heavy on your hips, sliding down the curve of your ass.

He yawns a little, blushing and mumbling an apology. “It’s not you,” he rushes to say and you giggle, kissing his cheek.

“You’ve had a long day, baby,” you reply, sliding out from between his legs and climbing off the bed. “Get comfy, I’m going to shower really quick and rinse the day off.”

Andrei catches your hand as you turn for the bathroom, a pout on his lips and a furrow between his brows. “But I didn’t get to have my way way you,” he whines.

“Tomorrow, big boy,” you promise, ignoring the throbbing between your legs. “I wanted to take care of you tonight.” You slip from his grip and dance off to the bathroom, loving that he wants to make sure you’re satisfied too. You take the world’s shortest shower, soaping up and shampooing in record time. You skip conditioner, willing to pay the price of slightly dry hair in order to cuddle with Andrei sooner.

By the time you pad back into the bedroom, clad in one of Andrei’s old shirts, he’s flat on his back, eye shut, and snoring softly. You smile softly at him, heart filling with even more love for your boyfriend. He looks even younger when he’s sleeping. Carefully, you climb into bed and tuck yourself against Andrei’s right side. His mouth hangs open a bit and his left arm is thrown over his forehead. As soon as you touch his side, he stirs a little, blinking and scrunching his face. “Mmm,” he hums, wrapping his arm around your back and pulling you close. You go easily, draping your arm over his stomach and resting your head on his chest.

“Night, Drei,” you whisper, brushing your nose against his skin.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” he mumbles, breathing evening out again.

When you wake up in the morning, Andrei’s head is pillowed on your chest and he has both arms wrapped around you, holding you like a teddy bear. You blink sleepily and rest your cheek against the top of his head. Your legs are tangled with his, the bandage brushing against your thigh. You comb your fingers through Andrei’s hair gently, easing him awake.

“Hi, sleeping beauty,” you giggle as he blinks awake.

“Ditto,” Andrei says, voice hoarse with sleep. He buries his face into your chest. “Stay in bed.”

“I wish, but someone has to work so we can afford this life we’ve become accustomed to,” you joke, laughing even harder when Andrei’s fingers dig into your side, tickling you now that he’s wide awake.

This is absolutely your favorite way to wake up.

[eriexplosion]

FASTER <3 An episode I liked the first time that I have a new and powerful appreciation for

Wrecker and Omega playing strategy games is so cute. He loses a lot, but I think it's not because he's bad at them, she is just. Better than most people. She's great to play with though because eventually she learns that Wrecker just needs a little extra time to think on his turns, he only makes questionable moves if he's rushed.

Tech is SO unimpressed with the uber eats mission Hunter and Echo went on. It's so funny that they apparently needed to use the buddy system for nerf nuggets delivery. Just in case.

Tech is used to Cid's shit he is the only one like 'security detail needs elaboration' because he's apparently the ONLY ONE that remembers when important details like "target is a rancor" got left out

I just love the Star Wars tradition of 'you know what high speed racing needs? extra ways to kill each other.'

Cid explaining everything to Omega is so cute actually she adores this kid.

TAKE A SEAT SPECTACLED SPECTATOR. TAY-0 is so fucking funny. It's time he prepares for the next race. Which he's going to win. TAY-0!

CIDDARIN SCALEBACK. Top Tier Star Wars Name

I love the moment when Tech and Wrecker both move in to protect Omega instantly. And Cid pushing Omega back behind her when she steps forward. She WILL come through for that girl in season 3 I know it.

Wrecker: "What's he saying?" Tech: [REDACTED]

I adore the red painted battle droid we get glimpses of. Top tier design.

SAFA TOMA SPEEDWAY IS NOT LIABLE FOR ANY INJURY, DEATH, OR DISINTEGRATION. THANK YOU!

love to take my little sister to the local 'get shot in the stands' race

That is definitely not MOST of TAY-0 Wrecker my dear.

Omega immediately speaking up like I have an extremely impulsive plan to suggest that may get us all killed or worse

"I am ready to... WHEREAREMYARMSANDLEGS?" The delivery on this line is amazing

LET TAY-0 INSTRUCT YOU HOW TO DO THIS PROPERLY

Tech looks like the most beleaguered customer service person alive right now

INSTEAD OF REPAIRING HIM WE SHOULD BE MURDERING THE GANGSTER <- Wrecker plans in action

"Hustlers like us never change" "I might surprise you." "I doubt that."

Come on you can't have an exchange like that and not have her immediately take her money and try to get Omega back and find Tech somehow

Love TAY-0's face flipping entirely around while walking away to continue talking to Wrecker.

TAY-0 BEING TAKEN OUT IS SO FUCKING FUNNY. THEY ASSASSINATED HIM.

Cid telling TAY-0 to snap out of it and he's literally just a torso... I don't think it's going to work...

DRAMATIC LEAD UP MUSIC TO "I WILL BE THE RACER"

Wrecker's face falling and "He's not joking" he is SO worried about Tech right now (anyway this parallels his calculated decision to shoot out the cable connector in Plan 99 and shows why it is not going to be as simple as him falling to his death, in this essay I will-)

OBSESSED WITH THE GRATUITOUS TECH CROTCH SHOT OF HIM GETTING INTO THE RACER.

The announcer going through every single name is such a great set up to them just ROASTING TECH'S NAME AT LENGTH WHILE THE CROWD MUTTERS DUBIOUSLY. BE NICE TO TECH.

Haxxon "The War Gnome" Trajanix is the red battle droid and I'm obsessed with him.

The other battle droid and the tricked out protocol droids are fantastic too honestly.

TECH YOU GOTTA BE IN FRONT TO WIN

It's called strategy NO it's called LOSING

I'm sorry their banter is so fucking good this episode. I cannot understand filler complaints on this one it's a breather episode and it's a fantastic one that sets up several things including Cid at the end of this season and like into season 3, as well as providing ample evidence of how Tech thinks and evaluates risk.

Cid looking away from the screen when she sees Tech take the death trap route is it because she's scared for herself or doesn't want to see him die right on screen

"You sound surprised" is another good possible callback line

"Well, I guess I owe you one." "Yes. I agree." "I'll make it up to ya!"

If this doesn't come back I will eat a hat. I don't own any so it won't be mine but I will find and eat one.

I still think the best ending to this would have been Hunter abruptly calling and going TECHHHHHH?

[yamcha-thelonewolf]

What do you want Yamcha’s role in future works to be?

Nothing extremely relevant, really. Not because I don't desire it, but because the current path taken by Dragon Ball can never bring him to prominence as it once did. So, Yamcha has always been a supporting character, and not just in battle. This is enough to accept that his role in the whole story is simply and genuinely to be there. That would be something, and in fact in DBS we have seen a few appearances from him. Better than not seeing him, I guess, although I would have avoided some gratuitous humiliation. Yet any Dragon Ball fan knows that, fool or not, Yamcha cannot be missed. He was one of the first characters to come alongside Goku in his adventures, that friend we could all use, the one who with a dumb laugh gets us out of a bad mood when maybe he is down on his luck even more than we are. That's the point. Yamcha is a hidden character, there is a song by Toru Furuya that tells us about him in a different light, and I think this aspect is the most characteristic and fascinating element of the former bandit. Sadly by now the world knows him as the idiot of the team, the loser, the clown whose antics occasionally dampen the tension of the plot, but he is not just that. Well, basically this is what I would like. A little more respect. I don't demand that he be given an entire chapter in which he finally makes his point (although I wouldn't mind that!), but at least that he be returned to his own identity, the one that was perhaps naively given to him at the origin of Dragon Ball and that made him one of the most interesting and intriguing characters. Unfortunately, his characterization has been lost over time. Yamcha, like so many others, has been outclassed by other priorities, and that's "okay". The only thing I wish is that he would be recognized a little more, and I wish that in those little appearances he now makes he might say or do something intelligent, something useful, just as he used to do once between jokes. I mean, Yamcha was a living encyclopedia. He knew everything about everyone, he was an adept connoisseur of the martial arts, and that hinted at how captivated he was by them. There are so many signs to prove it, such as when in the filler he was quivering to punch during the baseball game or, more recently, when he helped out in the Moro arc. I simply wish he would also continue his training, perhaps with Tien, or Gohan and Piccoro, and above all believe in himself more since it seems that others don't do it as much. What Yamcha has always needed was recognition, and I'm sorry to notice how few times someone laid his hand on his shoulder to tell him he's a great guy.

From Dragon Ball FighterZ.

He is not like Tenshinhan who, despite the knowledge of his own inferiority, still manages to train and surpass himself. Yamcha is much more human: he has his own limitations, his weaknesses, his uncertainties, his sense of failure that does not keep him going. Nor is he like Krillin, who has managed to find a wife stronger than him who can spur him on and keep him active in training. For example, it would also be great if he perfected his style, deepening his wolf side or even better inventing a new technique, even more beautiful than the Spirit Ball. Well, anyway, if Yamcha cannot be made a better fighter, at the very least I would like to see him fulfill his wish: marrying a woman (or an alien) who does not make him feel wrong or inferior, but on the contrary can motivate him and chart a path for him that he has somewhat lost [I think I should also talk about Vidro, but not here]. Anyway, I know that love relationships are not the focal point of Dragon Ball, but it is also true that it was often, if not always, love that moved the characters. So why not please the one character who has officially declared over and over again that he only wants to fall in love and get married? It is sadly ironic as well as unfair. In conclusion, I think that giving him someone to love is the best gift that can be given to Yamcha. Yeah, even more than superhuman strength and satisfaction in battle. Then he would finally be a complete character and he might even go out of the picture... but at that point I'm sure many would miss him. Me for sure.

Just... Give this poor lone wolf a reason to not feel lonely anymore.

thanks for asking! 💕

[bioethicists]

Your post about unfollowing people who’re really combative online made me think about someone in particular. Apologies if this is out of nowhere so feel free to ignore.

If somebody (with thousands of followers) who isn’t a part of a specific marginalised group habitually seeks out bad takes regarding them to dunk on, isn’t that a little weird? I’m not talking about defending your friends when they’re facing discrimination or dunking on the main bigot character of the day, but regularly seeking out bad takes from small accounts that’d otherwise never seen the light of day.

It’s nobody on here I’m referencing. I feel a little crazy because this person gets heralded as a huge ally and has a lot of people in this marginalised group who’re really devoted to and defensive of them but it just really rubs me the wrong way because they seem really discourse-brained more than anything else.

yeah haha ironically i think some of the ppl on that post are seriously missing the point (which i probably could have made clearer) in terms of some of them are like. people who clearly think being told they're racist is the same as the type of behavior i'm talking about.

but also yes! this is more what i meant- people who are seeking out fights with those who would otherwise never get any attention! especially when it's takes that are NOT popular or the response is just totally disproportionate. or just building a social media brand off of over-exaggerated hatred/meanness towards people who "deserve it". it reminds me of all the cis people on here who constantly reblog shit about like... putting terfs in meat grinders but then never even lift a finger (or, more likely, are part of the mob) when trans women are sexually harassed or viciously bullied.

i don't think joking about harming bigots is some grand moral wrong, but it's often just gratuitous in a way where... are you actually expressing outrage or are you using the performance of outrage to get followers? what if that outrage is directly putting people in danger (e.g, if you find a terf with 45 followers + start sending her death threats, is that helping anyone or is it potentially provoking more violence, which you know full well you will NOT be the primary target of). i can see how this behavior can result in members of certain groups defending you, because if nobody has shown their willingness to defend you, isn't it refreshing to see someone who will? it's not so simple, either, cuz i do think ppl who do this do CARE, but i'm not sure the way that they care is sustainable or would hold up to a real, complex situation where allyship is needed.

it's so contextual + i'm not arrogant enough to pretend like i'm the one who can see the context right 100% of the time. this is a little sappy but i feel like the difference is whether the root of the anger is love/hope or if its fulfilling your own desire to lash out/release tension/look good. like "i'm pissed because i care about my trans siblings + it hurts me to see them treated this way + nobody else is saying shit for them so i'm stepping up" vs "raging online meets a need in me that i'm not willing to acknowledge + here's the perfect target". not exactly that simple but sometimes u can tell someone would be a kiwifarms bro if they didn't need social capital from a different crowd, ykwim (which btw we regularly learn that certain leftists will comb through + disseminate kiwifarms shit if it fits their vibe, which is an automatic red flag to me that you only care about drama, not morals)

it reminds me of how some "callouts" are clearly written with the intention of preventing harmful people from maintaining the power to do more harm (e.g x popular artist sexts underage fans) while many others are clearly written with glee about someone turning out to be Bad (e.g x popular artist has a private twitter that i, op, SCROUNGED to find, where they say horny things about genshin impact characters)

[rickrakontoys]

"Deadpool & Wolverine" (2024): 7/10

*no spoilers*

Generally amusing, with plenty of excessive bloody violence, potty mouth dialogue, and fun fan service-y references and cameos. Your entertainment value is proportional to your knowledge of the wider Fox-New Line Marvel movies, their behind-the-scenes drama, the current state of the MCU. I can see a lot of the gags going over the heads of the general audience.

Jackman and Reynolds have great chemistry together, giving us an unhinged odd couple, bad cop-badder cop vibe filled with stabbing and profanity. Jackman in particular delivers as a washed out mess of a Logan variant, and his redemption character arc is at the center of the movie. A lot of the film's biggest laughs come from this Wolverine's exasperation with Deadpool's verbal diarrhea.

The action scenes unfortunately lack the visceral edge of the previous two movies, and seems to try to make up for this lesser pizzazz with buckets of CGI blood, gore and needle-drops. Still, there are a few standout sequences that, despite their technical shortcomings, tickles the comic book nerd part of my brain just right. Wolverine and Deadpool fight each other on more than one occassion, with each bout reaching such absurdly violent heights as to evoke slapstick comedy.  A oner towards the end seems to gleefully homage Oldboy.

The plot feels underwritten, tonally inconsistent, and mostly serves as an excuse for fights and multiversal cameos. Attempts to add emotional depth in between Wade Wilson's zany antics don't always land. Scenes between the action tend to drag heavily. Characters too often just stand around in a room spouting exposition or jokes in the plainest manner. Shawn Levy's blocking of scenes is too flat and uninteresting, and a step down from Tim Miller and David Leitch's previous two 'pools. Even with occassional splashes of vibrant color (chiefly from Wolverine's yellow suit), scenes look washed out, lacking depth or contrast.  Thankfully the juvenile humor and gratuitous violence keeps it from being too dull, though even that eventually gets a little grating.

But clearly, no one is watching a movie called "Deadpool and Wolverine" for the plot or emotional depth. They're here to see Hugh Jackman finally don a comic accurate Wolverine suit and team up with Deadpool on a multiverse adventure. On that, it mostly delivers.

The movie often feels like a bittersweet farewell to the Fox-Marvel franchise. Something could be said of how the movie reckons with the ethics of having a powerful entity deciding which universes can live or die, how some things deemed purposeful are elevated while other things thrown out to "the trash heap" to be forgotten. It doesn't explore these themes so much as it uses the idea as an excuse for gags and jabs at both Disney and Fox (Reynolds gets away with a lot). This is definitely the most "meta" Deadpool movie, for better or worse.

But it's a silly good time nonetheless. And the cameos in the movie are actually fun and not gratuitous, with a tinge of melancholy... a farewell to a tumultuous franchise.

Will it hold up to scrutiny after the excitement of all the surprise cameos dies down? Not too sure... It doesn't feel like a natural progression of the Deadpool franchise. Like "No Way Home" was for Tom Holland's Spider-Man, it stops the series' general plotline for a cynical ploy to appeal to nostalgia, rather than be a real sequel to Deadpool 2 (heck most of the characters from DP2 are absent, and his usual supporting cast is sidelined immediately... except Peter). That doesn't mean it's not fun. Reynolds gets his Hugh Jackman team-up movie. But you could feel the corporate franchise milking behind it all. Just because Reynolds keeps making self-aware quips about Disney's greed and exploitiveness of IP doesnt make it okay.

[aspec-manga-snom]

My Aspec Manga List

This list will be continuously updated from time to time.

Everything on this list will be my personal recommendations for manga that either give off the aspec vibes, have a canon character or have an indirectly labeled character. I will admit a lot of these may be headcanons more than anything, but they aren't without their backing.

I'm using the term aspec as an umbrella term for arospec and acespec.

Trigger Warning Key:

*Contains Sexual References (Jokes, Mentions, etc.)

+Depictions of Sexual Imagery/Complete Nudity (Usually won't go that far, but just to be safe.

-Homophobia,Transphobia, Aphobia, etc.

!Themes of Suicide

/Gratuitous Violence, Gore

Aspec Stories with Canon Characters:

In which the words are said.

Mine-Kun is Asexual by Isaki Uta (ace)

My Astible by Amupaka * (aroace and demiaroace)

Our Dreams at Dusk by Kamatani Yuhki *-! (aroace)

Is Love the Answer? by Isaki Uta - (aroace)

Sex Education 120% by Takaki Kikiki, Illustrated by Hotomura *+ (aroace)

I Want to Be a Wall by Shirono Honami (aroace)

Scum's Wish Décor by Yokoyari Mengo *+- (aroace) (sequel anthology, haven't read the original)

Ame ga Shinai Koto by Okaya Izumi * (aroace) (they don't say the words but "never falls in love" is just right there)

Bloom into You by Nio Nakatani * (aroace) (demiromantic lesbians)

Kiryuu-sensei wa Renai ga Wakaranai by Haruka Ono * (aroace)

Kanojo ni Naritai Kimi to Boku by Umi Takase *-! (alloace)

Ano Yoru no Pool by Pukupuku (aroallo)

Romantic Killer by Wataru Momose * (aroallo)

Hatsukoi, Catharsis by Nuko Hatokawa * (gayace)

Lilies and Voices Born Upon the Wind by Mei Renjouji *- (aroace) (pan, demiace)

She Loves to Cook, She Loves to Eat by Sakaomi Yuzaki (ace lesbian)

Sensitive Boy by 46 *+! (aroace supporting)

Basically Unconfirmed but Implied Aspec Headcanons (Some Personal, Some Universal):

The Disastrous Life of Saiki K. by Asou Shuuichi (aroace)

Frieren: Beyond Journey's End by Yamada Kanehito, Illustrated by Abe Tsukasa * (aroace)

Oshi no Ko by Akasaka Aka *! (aroallo)

It's Not Meguro-san's First Time by 9℃ *+ (alloace and aroallo)

Doughnuts Under a Crescent Moon by Usui Shio *- (demiaro ace lesbians)

Last Gender: When We Are Nameless by Taki Rei *+-! (arospec aspec)

Umi ga Hashiru End Roll by Tarachine John (aroace)

Fly Me to The Moon by Hata Kenjiro * (aroace)

I Think Our Son Is Gay by Okura *- (aroace)

Renai Daikou by Akasaka Aka, Illustrated by Nishizawa 5mm * (arospec)

Spy x Family by Endou Tatsuya */ (aroacespec) (I'll die on this hill)

One Piece by Eiichiro Oda *+-!/ (aroace)

The Apothecary Diaries by Hyuuga Natsu & Nanao Ikki, Illustrated by Nekokurage *!/ (aroacespec)

Something Like the Dust That Is My World by Amano Shuninta*+- (aroallo)

Seibetsu "Mona Lisa" no Kimi e by Tsumuji Yoshimura *+-! (aroacespec) (kinda bad ideology of gender binary)

Dr.Stone by Riichiro Ingaki, Illustrated by Boichi * (aroace)

Monthly Girls' Nozaki-kun by Izumi Tsubaki * (aroace)

My Love Story!! by Kazune Kawahara, Illustrated by Aruko * (aroace)

Tanaka-kun wa Itsumo Kedaruge by Nozomi Uda * (aroallo)

Skip & Loafer by Misaki Takamatsu * (demiaro? demiace?) (strong platonic relationships)

Dungeon Meshi by Kui Ryoko*!/ (aroace)

Girl Meets Rock! by Kuwahali, illustrated by Tetsuo Ideuchi (aro)

Watashi no Yuri wa Oshigoto desu! by Miman *+ (aro & demiaro coded)

[shifuaang]

Conglomerate thoughts about Guardians of the Galaxy: Volume 3 under the cut. Please do not read if you don't want to be spoiled! TLDR: I loved it.

I suppose I should preface this by saying Guardians Vol. 2 is my favorite MCU movie and that I hold no real affinity towards installments outside of the Guardians in the Marvel Universe. I used to be a pretty active and engaged fan, but Endgame swiftly put a stopper on that. I was very worried about how this film was charged with the task of picking up the pieces of a fractured and, frankly, careless and poorly written conclusion to Phase 3.

Long story short, I should have never doubted Gunn.

Gunn did an expert job at navigating the perimeters that Endgame thrust on him, ensuring that the plot didn't linger on what happened without neglecting the catastrophic weight of Thanos's actions. Bringing alternate universe Gamora into the fold seemed like a monstrous and difficult task. I have expressed before how much I hated the idea of Quill chasing down someone who isn’t even ‘his’ Gamora and trying to win her back, but Gunn handled this with absolute grace, assuring that everyone stayed in-character in their reactions and interactions. There was no backpedaling or continuity with how the Guardians were written in Infinity War and Endgame as I feared there would be. Gunn picked up from where we left off in Vol. 2 while still allowing us space to mourn Gamora's loss. Rocket's trauma and character development was taken seriously again. Every member of the Guardians had a well crafted arc and was given the appropriate amount of time to explore said arc.

The animal and child abuse was hard to watch. It felt way more violent than anything we've ever seen in the MCU, but I'm almost glad that it was. I feel that loss and violence is almost glossed over in the superhero genre. We don't quite get the full scope of devastation and impact that villains have caused in their quest for domination, colonization, and perfection. We've been desensitized to death and torture to a degree. Even the snap™, which most would site as the most evidentiary form of brutality in the the MCU, did not hold nearly as much weight as the actions of the High Evolutionary. Thankfully the plot never seemed like a hit over the head with a message of EUGENICS BAD! It was more a tragic exploration in what eugenics can do to an individual, how it desecrates the environment, and how the quest for perfection is gratuitous and futile.

In spite of the heavy subject matter and darkness of the film, Gunn still maintained the thread of humor that we love from the Guardians. I laughed out loud more than a handful of times, and every laugh came at a point in the film where it was necessary. There were no quips or jabs there to deflect from the seriousness of what was occurring, just enough to give the audience time to breathe. I am so glad that Guardians Vol. 3 was the first MCU movie to get the green light in the 'fuck' department. I can think of no franchise more deserving, and the way it was used was perhaps the funniest joke in the whole film.

I could write an entire essay on Mantis's arc and her development and how much she means to me as a character, but maybe (probably) I will save that for another day. To keep things short, I appreciated her continued empathy and sense of humor in such a bleak situation and after such a hard life. I see so much of myself in her, and it's incredibly moving to have someone represent aspects of yourself that you thought would never be portrayed in the superhero genre because they are more difficult to express emotionally and cerebrally. She's so important and so brilliantly acted by Pom, and I adore how much agency and confidence she was allowed.

As for people who say they didn't like the ending because it 'destroyed' the found family aspect of the Guardians, I never got the impression that these characters weren't going to meet up again and that they stopped being family. There was no discussion on how they were 'bad' for each other or that they'd be better off individually, which is normally the consensus when groups split in media. Quill should spend the remaining time his grandfather has with him. Mantis should go explore herself and her independence after years of captivity and compliance. Drax and Nebula should rebuild, and create, and love on the new occupants of Knowhere, as they've been forced to spend most of their lives being destroyed and being destructive. Rocket and Groot should carry on the legacy of the Guardians, protectors of the universe. And Gamora has clearly established a loving family of her own with the Ravagers, which is what she deserves. Everyone's ending felt pertinent and cathartic, and we were left with a sense of hope and a twinkle of potential for what could come in the future.

Thank you, Gunn and the cast and crew of this film, for making me cry the hardest I have in a theater since Toy Story 3, and for ending my favorite MCU series so beautifully. I honestly couldn't have asked for a better conclusion.

We'll all fly away together, one last time, into the forever and beautiful sky. 🚀

[pandaimitator]

I wrote an effin' novel. It's silly, it's smack full of gratuitous sex, poorly penned pulp, tropefilled drama, or me just taking the piss. But I wrote it, and ain't that something.

And I learned so much in writing it. Not just about writing, like the necessity of world building: about creating pacing by describing the scene around the characters and insodoing letting both them and the reader breathe; but also actual historical facts. Things that I thought I knew, but realized I had only the most superficial understanding of. I did so much research. I bounced ideas off of anyone and everyone, until they felt right to me.

And there's a piece of me in it. Heck, its full of little pieces of me, of scenes where I went "this sounds like a really shitty thing to do, why would they do that to their friend?" until I realized that was absolutely something I would have done, or said, or at least thought about doing, in my youth, because you know: life isn't full of Mary Sues. It's full of people trying to be funny at someone else's expence to impress someone they look up to, or people getting a bit too drunk and sharing and intimate secret, or people flirting with the wrong person and living to regret it. And you move on; you shrug your shoulders because, what the heck, who's perfect anyhow? And there are worse things going on and when push comes to shove, it's good to have someone to share the good and the bad times with.

As far as I know there are only two people in the world who has read the whole thing, since friends and family gave up after the first chapter - not because it was too poorly written, but because life gets in the way. One person who came back and commented on each chapter, and I honestly don't know if I would have finished it without that person. Another person posted a ten raving paragraphs essay of a comment just as I was about to start wrapping up, sparking a new arch which tied the whole story together. And I have no idea who they are, but they were there for the good and the bad, for the angst, the hurt, the comfort, the explicit, and they even laughed at my attempts at jokes. And ain't that something.

And finally wrapping up the whole thing, I look back at it with a certain pride. There are parts that didn't turn out that well. There are archs that I just abandoned because they didn't serve the story. There are silly word choices, that I only found out later are tropes that people mock. But there is also actual character development. There is the fleshing out and making sense of the original super hero, bringing together his duality of Beast and Lord. Letting him experience a crisis of identity to come out the other end, as a man wholly himself. And there is a tying up of loose ends that actually is kind of amazing, if I may say so myself. Where certain images are used as forshadowing many chapters before they come to fruition, in a way that is, I'm proud to say, really quite skillfully executed.

I wrote it for myself, and while there are parts that still haunt me, I just love it to bits. I go back and read chapters again amazed that I wrote this? My burned out, aneamic and brain fatigued mind cooked this shit up?

Ain't that something.

[missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway]

I'm Longing To Linger Til Dawn, Dear

Wordcount: 12k

Thor x POC Singer!Reader “Honey” x Bucky. Thor x POC Singer!Reader “Honey” x Bucky x Steve.

Summary:

After a successful mission with the Guardians, Tony decides celebrations are in order. What better place to do that than the Jazz club Honey works at. Especially if it’s a surprise for their favorite songstress.

Warnings:

Smut, Humor, Fluff and Crack, Shameless Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Polyamory, Female Character of Color, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Light BDSM, Dom/sub Undertones, Light Dom/sub, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom Bucky Barnes, Dom Thor (Marvel), Threesome - F/M/M, Foursome - F/M/M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex, Bad Jokes, MusicJazz - Freeform, Celebrations, Partying

Notes:

Hello Heathens! This took me some time to finish but I'm happy with the end result. This installment is very song heavy. I created an entire set list that I will post in the end notes to give credit where credit is due and not give anything away. I will also have links embedded to the songs as well. Bold are song lyrics Italics are thoughts Happy Reading!

Banner by @cafekitsune Divider by @firefly-graphics

Dirty, worn out and all together disheveled, The Avengers, along with the Guardians of the Galaxy and a battle-worn Valkyrie, prepare to load on to their respective aircrafts and embark on the journey home. 

“Revels abound! Thank you Guardians! And you as well Brunhilde for the aid in our victory! You are most welcome to join in our post mission celebrations. I am sure Tony can accommodate you at the compound.” Thor boasts joyfully in his post battle glory. He is a God of war afterall. 

“How generous of you Point Break to go ahead and invite the rag tag band of misfits to our home.” Tony retorts as he rids himself of his Iron Man suit with the push of a button. 

“You are most welcome Stark.” Your golden retriever of a man, pleased with himself, replies. Steve and Bucky just shake their heads and chuckle.

“Right. Well, Quill. You guys like music right. You’re blaring it all the time it seems. I have an idea where we can celebrate tonight actually. But we're all gonna need to clean up real nice for it. I can provide what you need but I’m going to need to send everyone's sizes to Pep. Also my fellow Avengers, anyone you want to tag along I’m gonna need to know about to also send to Pep. Except you three.” He points to your trio with a raised brow. 

“Why not us three?” The Captain replies, brows furrowed.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist Capsicle. I have a reason. Seeing as we’ll be heading to your little Honey’s club to celebrate, I figured you’d want to surprise her. Therefore negating the need for me to know your plus one. Actually do you know if she is even working tonight?” He inquires.

Buck is quick to reply. “It’s the third Saturday of the month so she may not be. She usually takes it off so she can have a free weekend once a month with us. But we all left quickly for this mission and barely had a chance to check in with her so that may have changed. I’d have to find out.” 

Nat saunters over. “No need. I spoke with her yesterday and she decided to switch her night off for next weekend. Plus she wanted to be there to support Sy as he’s stepping out from just the band and back vocals to warming up the crowd on his own for the first time tonight.” 

“Sy?” Steve asks.

“Yeah. He’s her ex fuck buddy. But they’re still close friends. She got him the job at Chanticleers actually.” She smirks.

“Wait. You mean the bearded guy built like a fucking brickhouse that plays the guitar and piano?” Bucky pipes in.

“That would be him, yes.”

“Makes sense they would have history together. He looks like a damn Viking. Could almost give me and Steve a run for our money. Guess it’s time to get to know this Sy a little better if he’s spending so much time with our girl during the week.” He gives Steve and Thor a look and it seems they're all on the same page with that one. 

They just want to make sure no one encroaches on what’s rightfully theirs. One can never be too careful.

“Oooh that’s gonna be fun to watch. I’ve never seen all of them get all possessive before. They share so well normally.” Tony intones. “Looks like it’s settled then. We’ll head to the compound, get dressed up and then it's off to Chanticleers to watch these three lose their minds. I’m quite excited to see the little vixen in her element. That display at my afterparty was nice but I need the full immersive experience.” 

“Steven has never actually seen her perform at the club before. This will be a most promising venture in self control for him. I can not wait. To the Quinjet. Brunhilde you will ride with us.” Thor turns on his heel and heads on to the jet.

Another Saturday night, another evening to impart your special brand of entertainment on the souls packed into this little club. 

Chanticleers is not some big swanky Jazz bar with layers of silk lining the walls and balcony seats. Oh no, Chanticleers is a sweet little spot full of charm and sass. Just like it’s beloved performers. 

It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but that’s the point. If every Tom, Dick and Harry knew of the place, it would lose what’s most special about it. Stepping through those doors is like stepping back in time with a twist. 

A vast space of brick walls painted black and crimson, filled with colorful abstract jazz art created by local Artists of color. A moderate sized stage, complete with a big band setup, stands proudly against the back wall. Situated to the left of the stage, is where the bar is located, complete with a red cedar counter and suspender wearing barkeep with a gentlemans cut. A small dance floor sits in front of the stage surrounded by various tables. Large booths line the remaining walls, leaving space for a small hallway that leads to the restrooms and backstage areas. 

You're currently nestled in the dressing room. Perched on the velvet bench of the vanity, putting on the finishing touches of your makeup, a deep crimson lip. Tonight you’ve gone for neutral tones with a bold lip and light smokey eye. Your entire look is low key sexy. Just enough skin to entice but enough hidden to have them imagining what could possibly be hidden underneath. You want the attention to be on your performance, not your looks after all. 

With a final smack of your lips, and an air kiss to the mirror you head out to the wings to check on how Sy is handling warming up the crowd on his own.  

As you approach the curtain you watch on as every woman is enraptured by the mammoth of a man with the buttery baritone voice. He was nervous that no would listen and he’d get booed off the stage. I told him he had nothing to worry about. I knew he'd be soaking panties left and right once he opened his mouth. 

Scanning the crowd you notice a couple servers heading towards a roped off section of the club with a rather large order of drinks on their trays. I don’t remember there being a party reserved for tonight. Must be a last minute large group. No matter. I’ll make sure tonight is worth the price tag I know comes with those seats. 

Eyes following the path of the servers you spot a very familiar redhead dressed to the nines in all black, sandwiched between a very dapper looking scientist and surprisingly pulled together archer in a purple suit. Only Clint would don a purple suit for a night on the town.

Upon closer inspection you realize the rest of the Avengers, complete with significant others and the Guardians are in attendance. You even spot Brunhilde looking like a warrior goddess in sea foam green holding court next to Thor.  

Those cheeky little assholes. They must have finished their mission and came out to celebrate. I’m sure the billionaire and the widow have something to do with them all being here. But I’m not complaining. My men look fucking delectable. A full four courses. They know what they’re doing too. But so do I. They’ll fall under my spell just like the rest.

You take a moment to admire your little harem of dashing men. They do clean up very well. It’s not the first or last time you’ll see them donning a suit but something about the informal formal wear is doing something to you. It’s like they all chose violence this evening, attacking you with their collective big dick energy. Seriously, it was enough to have you ruining your panties. 

Bucky in his black on black suit, sans tie, top two buttons undone, hair slicked back and day old stubble along his jaw. Steve with his hair in a perfect deep gentleman's cut, well trimmed beard adorning his face, donning a dark blue three piece suit, complete with striped tie and pocket square. Let’s not forget Thor, looking very much the modern day King, in a deep teal blazer, gray slacks, a white button down with the top three buttons undone and blonde locks loosely pulled back into a low bun. 

Seriously you’re going to have to channel all of this lust into your vocals so you can even the playing field. Let the show begin.

The house lights dim, signaling the main show is about to begin. Sy has moved to sit with the band that surrounds a single vintage microphone, placed dead center of the stage. 

The lights go out for a brief moment before a lone spot light illuminates you, with your black stiletto nails wrapped so carefully around the mic. Dream A Little Dream Of Me begins to play and your sultry haunting voice starts to fill the space. 

Your eyes drift through the crowd. Pulling the guests in with your subtle seductive movements. You finally allow yourself to look toward the section you know your men are occupying and zone in on the three of them. You can clearly see this particular song is having an effect on Bucky and Steve. It is a song from their glory days afterall. Thor just seems enticed with your body as you move along to the music and he sips on the amber liquid in his glass.

Not one to shy away from a moment to tease your men when they have no other choice but to wait patiently until they can have you to themselves, you keep your eyes locked on your Super Soldiers as you near the end of your first song of the night. 

“Stars fading but I linger on, dear Still craving your kiss I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear Just saying this Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you But in your dreams whatever they be Dream a little dream of me”

As the last note is finished, a saccharine sweet smile adorns your face as you address the club.

“Welcome everyone to Chanticleers. You can call me Honey. I’ll be your songstress for the evening. For those new faces among the crowd, let me tell ya a bit about what we do here.” You keep your gaze on the section full of superheroes and their guests as you elaborate. 

“Our little Jazz Club. Or speakeasy. Quite honestly both terms fit the bill.” The room chuckles at your little joke. “Chanti’s is a place to forget about the world outside for a bit and escape to another time and place. That time and place can be whatever you need it to be in your mind's eye. We just provide a starting point for some and a special place for others.” 

Tony looks intrigued as you continue on. “You’re in for a treat tonight, if I do say so myself. You have already had the pleasure of meeting one of our band members, Sy, as he graced the stage by his lonesome for the first time to provide you with ambiance before we got started tonight. Let’s give him a nice round of applause for keeping you heathens happy while I got suited and booted for tonight.” Sy glares daggers your way and just shakes his head while the audience claps for him.

“He really was wonderful, wasn't he, ladies? Before I get sidetracked, tonight's Big Band Night. What’s that you say? Well every song performed tonight, no matter the decade or genre, will be done in a 40s/50s style. So grab a drink, make sure your dance partner is near and let’s get on with the show.”

The band starts playing a jazzy rendition of Hit ‘Em Up Style. 

The section containing your men and their friends watches on captivated as you play around with an early 2000’s classic. Being sassy and coy while delivering lyrics about getting revenge on a cheating ex, as the dance floor in front of you begins to fill with couples. You begin to do a little impromptu scatting, Steve and Bucky share a quick look with each other, clearly communicating something without words. 

Bucky leans over and whispers in Steve’s ear. “Weren’t expecting her to throw you back to the dance halls, were ya pal?” He shakes his head no in response. “Don’t worry, it did the same thing to me the first time too. She truly is a wet dream personified. Let me guess? We’re only on the second song of the night and your dick is probably already making your pants uncomfortable.” Again he nods. “Thought so. We can show her how much we appreciated her performance later. Maybe she’ll give us a private encore.”

The song ends with you giving a wink to Steve as you walk to the piano with the mic in your hand.

“This one’s for the lovers out there.” You hop up onto the piano lid as the first chords of a sweet tempoed version of All of Me commences. 

You croon softly atop the piano for about half of the song before you proceed to make your way back to the mic stand and really throw your voice into the end of this ballad. 

“Give me all of you, oh Cards on the table, we're both showing hearts Risking it all, though it's hard 'Cause all of me Loves all of you Love your curves and all your edges All your perfect imperfections Give your all to me I'll give my all to you You're my end and my beginnin' Even when I lose, I'm winnin' 'Cause I give you all of me And you give me all of you I give you all of me And you give me all of you, oh-oh”

“So you’re telling me, that the hot chick with a voice up there is dating not only Thor but Steve and Bucky as well?” Quill asks Brunhilde.

“Yes Quill. That’s precisely what I’m telling you. Now would you quiet down so I can continue to enjoy the show?” She quips back.

“Continue to undress Honey’s former paramour with your eyes is more like it. Brunhilde you are looking at him like, what’s that phrase Honey likes to use? Ah yes…like a snack.” Thors jests at the Valkyrie. 

“He is quite a feast for the eyes. Never you mind where mine wander too. Keep yours on that delectable little siren of yours. I can see why she needs three of you.” She cracks back. 

“Who’s all ready to show off those dancing skills? There’s a man back there I know for fact could show you lot a thing or two about how to woo a woman on the dance floor. I also know a man back there who thinks his hips are a god's gift to women. So I say…why don't we have a little dance off? What do you think?” You question the crowd but your focus is on a smirking Bucky and shock faced Sam.

“I know she is not saying that Tin Man can best me on the dance floor.” The aghast Falcon replies.

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what she’s saying. Don't want you to embarrass yourself in front of your lady friend Sam. Maybe you should sit this one out and let Buck give the room a lesson.” Nat instigates.

“Oh hell naw. Buck get up. We’re doing this. You’re going down old man.” Sam grabs his date and heads to the floor.

“Did ya really have to rial him up so much Nat? For that, you’re going to be my partner. For once, please just follow my lead.” He chuckles and holds out his hand for her to take as they make their way to the dance floor. 

“Looks like my challenge has been accepted. Sy if you wouldn’t mind…” 

A little dramatic piano intro begins followed quickly by your sultry voice. 

“Heeeeeyyyy. Yeeeaaaah. I wanna shoop baaaaabaaaabbbyyy yeah huh.”

The band swings in as you begin to rap along to this Big Band version of Salt ‘n Peppa’s Shoop. A stunned Sam fumbles to grab his date as Buck and Nat have already begun to swing to the up tempo beat. 

The audience is going wild watching Bucky do his thing while Sam tries to keep up. Others have joined in on the fun but Steve can’t keep his eyes off you as you dance and play along on stage and with the crowd, cheering Bucky on. How the hell did I get so lucky to share this woman with my best friends. She has no idea what is going to be in store for her tonight.

Bucky tosses Nat in the air and catches her just as you're ending the song. 

“I like what ya do. When ya dooo. I like it…when ya… shoooooooo….OOOOOOOOp…yeah yeah!” 

The audience erupts in cheers as Bucky places Nat down and grins over at Sam. “Not so old now am I?”

“Whatever man. You only won cus this is your decade.” Sam pouts.

You shake your head and get the room's attention again. “ Wooo wee was that something. Thank you for that, really. Now we’re starting to near the end of tonight’s set. I think after that high it’s best that we slow it down and ease on into the rest of your night. Here’s some Rihanna to ease that burn Sammy.” You wink at the pride wounded man as Sy strikes up the beginning chords to Love On The Brain.

Only you and Sy are lit with a spotlight as you lose yourself in the song and lyrics. Your feelings leaking out into the room as you think about your men. Such different temperaments and styles of dominant male and yet it's the perfect combination for you. Thor with his sweet soft Caring Dom vibes. Bucky with his intense Primal Dom urges. Let’s not forget that perfect Gentleman Dom that is Steve. They are everything you need and more. 

You make sure to maintain eye contact with the three of them as you serenade the audience.

“Don't you stop loving me (loving me) Don't quit loving me (loving me) Just start loving me (loving me) Oh, and baby I'm fist fighting with fire Just to get close to you Can we burn something, babe? And I run for miles just to get a taste Must be love on the brain That's got me feeling this way (feeling this way) It beats me black and blue but it fucks me so good And I can't get enough Must be love on the brain yeah And it keeps cursing my name (cursing my name) No matter what I do, I'm no good without you And I can't get enough Must be love on the brain”

Their eyes don't stop devouring you once. As you finish the song you're a bit of a panting mess. You’re most definitely keyed up and ready to be off this stage and surrounded by your men. Two more songs to go and then the real fun can begin. 

They all unconsciously take a sip of their matching amber drinks at the same time. A glint of mischief in all their eyes.

“We’re taking it back this time. A nice little moment to hold your dearest and sway on the dance floor. Come on down. Don't be shy. Now’s your chance to hold them extra close and work your magic.” 

You perform Billie Holidays version of It Had To Be You with such a calm cool ease. You’ve been singing this song since you were little. It’s become second nature to you. Watching all the couples on the dance floor warms your heart. It allows you to quickly transition to the next song. 

“Lovers. Remain where you are as we bring the tempo up a bit.” 

The band plays a 40s swing cover of Still Into You. It’s light and fun and sweet. Like all the couples cuddled up on the dance floor. 

“Some things just, some things just make sense And one of those is you and I (Hey) Some things just, some things just make sense And even after all this time (Hey) I'm into you, baby, not a day goes by That I'm not into you”

Once the song ends, as always you introduce the band before singing your last song. You notice Brunhilde hasn't kept her eyes off Sy all night. I see you spying my former Viking B and I don't blame you. 

It’s finally time to end your set and leave the patrons of this lovely establishment to venture off on their own adventures for the rest of the night.

“Tonight has been a blast and I hope that we’ve been able to provide you with the escape you needed. We have one last song for you tonight before you head out on your merry way. But don't be surprised if it has you coming back for more.” A devilish smile illuminates your face as you perform your final seduction of the night.

“I put a spell on you because you're mine You better stop the things that you do I ain't lyin', no, I ain't lyin' I just can't stand it babe The way you're always runnin' 'round I just can't stand it, the way you always put me down I put a spell on you because you're mine I put a spell on you because you're mine You better stop the things that you do I ain't lyin', no, I ain't lyin' I just can't stand it babe The way you're always runnin' 'round I just can't stand it, the way you always put me down I put a spell on you because you're mine I put a spell on you. I put a spell on you I put a spell on you. I put a spell on you”

It’s as if you really did put a spell on the crowd. The room is full of hungry eyes and pent up tension that needs a release. Just the way you like to end a night. 

“Once again, I’m Honey, your resident songstress. Thank you for giving me your time and attention. Goodnight everyone.”

You blow the crowd a kiss as the lights go out and you hurry backstage while you wait for the crowd to dissipate. Downing some much needed water as your manager approaches you to let you know that Tony Stark has decided that he doesn’t want his night to end here and has rented out the club for the rest of the night so he and his friends can “continue the party with some privacy”. He’s even paying extra for any band member that wishes to stay and play if they are needed. 

Of course Mr. Money Bags rented out the club. Oh well. Maybe I’ll get a chance to actually dance with my men and have some fun. I really have missed them.

After a touch up to your makeup and finalizing who in the band is staying, you’re ready to head back out and enjoy the rest of your night. It’s been a long 2 weeks without your men and limited contact. Plus you’re kind of excited to introduce them to Sy. Knowing Nat, she most likely already stirred the pot and dropped the little fact that he’s your ex fuckbuddy who you’re still close to.

Speaking of the grizzly bear of a Southern gentleman, he’s heading your way.

“Hey Sugar. Ya ready for all that hullabalu out there? Should I be concerned that I’m gonna get a super hero beat down from your men or just an interrogation?” He gives you his arm to latch onto as you make your way down the hall out into the main room.  

“Honestly, I don't quite know Sy. They’re fine sharing with each other and they aren't much of the jealous type. It’s not like we’re still fucking. I think Tony may give you more trouble than them. Maybe even Sam. Although I’m sure there will be questions. They are a nosy bunch. Answer them however you see fit. I have nothing to hide. But I can only speak for me. If I know my men the way I think I do, ya’ll might just end up best friends sharing stories before the night is over.” You laugh out and smile brightly at the scruffy mountain of a man.

The scene you walk into is one you are actually familiar with by this point in your relationship. The room is full of raucous laughter and chatter as the Avengers and Guardians let themselves enjoy a night free of responsibility. 

You find your men sitting at a booth. Steve and Thor are engaged in a conversation with Brunhilde while Sam and Bucky bicker about that dance off. Cleary Sam is still bitter that he lost. 

Bucky catches your eye as you approach them, still on Sy’s arm. 

“Hey there sweetness. You were amazing tonight as always.” At his greeting, the rest of the table turns your way with grins on their faces.

“You most certainly were Doll. Brought back some memories for me and most certainly created some new and hopefully future ones.” Steve comments with a wink and a smirk.

“And you looked ravishing as always, my Queen.” Thor imparts with his panty melting smile.

You feel heat begin to rise in your cheeks and core at the praise you’ve just received. These suave bastards know just what they’re doing. 

“Why thank you boys. I do aim to please.” You give a little curtsy.

Bucky lifts his glass and stares you deep in the eyes with his heated gaze. “Oh you most certainly hit the mark babygirl.”

He maintains eye contact as he takes a sip of his drink, quirking one brow.

You swallow back a whimper as you remain clutched to Sy’s arm. “What ya got in that glass Sarg?”

He crooks two of his metal fingers at you in a come hither fashion as he answers you. “Why don’t you let go of your former fuckbuddy and come over here and find out.”

You unlatch yourself from Sy and proceed over to Bucky, who wraps his metal arm around your waist and pulls you down onto his lap. Before you have a chance to get comfortable he leans in and kisses you. Running his tongue along your bottom lip for entrance, until you open up and get the first taste of whiskey on his tongue. There’s no holding back the small moan at this point. 

He knows what getting that second hand taste of that particular beverage does to you. You begin to melt as the kiss gets deeper and a little more heated. You completely forget you're in a room full of people at your place of work. Sam clearing his throat knocks you both out of your lust drunk stupor.

“That’s one way to mark your territory.” Sam snarks before turning to Sy. “Hey man, I’m Sam. I am not attached to Honey in any way other than being a friend to these knuckleheads. You’re Sy right?” He reaches his hand out.

“That would be correct. Nice ta meet ya.” Sy shakes his hand then proceeds to reach over you to Bucky. “Syverson but you can call me Sy. I presume your James Barnes?”

They shake hands. “Bucky is fine man. Nice to put a face to the name.”

“Likewise.” He turns to Steve next. “I know a fellow Captain when I see one. Nice to meet you, Captain Rogers.”

“Fellow Captain huh? You retired?” They shake hands.

“Been out for about three years now. Was ready for a slower pace ta life. This one definitely helped with that transition.” He nods his head towards you.

“I’m sure she did.” He smirks and sets off butterflies in your stomach. 

“You must be the God of Thunder himself. Nice to meet your acquaintance, your majesty.” Sy bows his head to Thor as you let out a giggle. Both from the action and from the fingers Bucky was softly teasing up your side.

“No need for all that. Thor is just fine, former paramour of my Queen’s. I agree with James. It is nice to put a face to the name we’ve recently heard about.”  He boasts in his usual jovial fashion.

He catches Brunhilde watching him with a lustful gaze at this point. “And who is this lovely woman?”

“Brunhilde. You did great work up there. I rather enjoyed it.”

She reaches out her hand and he grabs it to set a kiss upon her knuckles. “You’re very welcome.” 

Of course Sam just has to break the building sexual tension with his nosy ass tendencies. “I’d ask how you know Honey girl, but Nat filled us in on the jet about your prior friends with benefits status. So I’ll ask instead how ya’ll met?”

The glare you gave him could melt an iceberg.

Sy just shakes his head at your reaction. “I’m fine telling that story. But Imma need a seat and a drink to properly tell it.” He grabs a chair from a nearby table and spins it around so that he can straddle it with his massive thighs. Laying a thick forearm on the back he waves and shouts over at Calista the only bartender remaining. “Hey Darlin can you grab our usual? Make mine a double and bring a glass of water with Sugar’s Hot Toddy please. Thanks.”

Steve arches a brow and cocks his head to the side. “Sugar?”

Sy breaks out in a smug smile. “Yeah. That’s what I’ve always called her. Sweet as sugar. Wild as fire. I get why you lot and everyone else calls her Honey though. Be good to her and she gives you nothing but sweetness. Fuck with her and she’ll sting. It is what it is.”

You smile sweetly at him while all three of your men nod along to his reasoning as Calista places your drinks down and pats Sy on the shoulder. “Need anything else just let me know.” 

“Alright you’ve got your drink and a seat. Spill mountain man.” Sam impatiently rushes out. “I feel like this is a good story and I can’t wait to see Tin Man here squirm.” 

You just roll your eyes at his antics. 

Chuckling Sy begins. “Sugar and I met one night about two and a half years back. I was just six months out of the Army back then and trying to adjust to civilian life and all the excess down time I had. My friends dragged me out of my apartment to a bar called Loomis’ for the night. Apparently it was this crazy bar with 90s Horror memorabilia all over the walls and a huge picture of Billy Loomis from Scream licking food colored corn syrup from his fingers over the back of bar, where the all female bartenders, who were ‘fucking smoking’, would get up on the bar and dance throughout the night.”

You can’t help but chime in. “ My good friend and former dancer, Eli, owned it. She was short staffed and asked me to fill in since it was a busy night and I used to work there when I was broke and needed quick cash. I kind of missed the chaos so I agreed.” 

“Right. Well that little tidbit I did not know. Thanks Sugar. Anyways. I was enjoying my time and the place was packed. Somehow me and my buddys made it up close to the bar. Then I see this wild fire of a woman climb up on the bar with two of the other bartenders and point to the jukebox. I’m assuming security or someone else on staff, keys in a number and Joan Jett’s I Love Rock ‘N Roll starts playing. This little firecracker starts singing along and swaying her hips and putting on quite the little show with her fellow coworkers. I’m still not convinced nothing ever happened between the three of you.”

You burst out laughing. Almost choking on your drink. “The three of us? No. Me and T? The Tyra banks look alike? Oh yeah. Something happened between us before.” You send him a wink as Bucky lightly growls in your ear and pulls you tighter to his chest.

“See, I knew there was history there somewhere. Where was I? Oh. Yeah. While she was dancing on top of the bar with the girls, holding the whole bar's attention, some dumbass guy grabbed her ankle. When she went to kick him off, he just grabbed her harder. Which I assume is what made her lose her balance and start to fall into the crowd. Lucky for her I was up close and she landed right into my arms. She gave me this damn smile full of sugar and fire before opening that pouty mouth and blessing me with her speaking voice. If I remember correctly it was something along the lines of ‘My bearded knight. Will you excuse me one moment?’ To which I promptly set her down cus he looked like a woman on a mission.” 

“I most certainly was. Drunken asshole.” You’re getting fired up just thinking about the jerk that night.

Everyone is very into Sy’s telling of your first meeting. Curious to see what happens next.

“Well she proceeds to walk over to the asshole who grabbed her, who’s high fiving his friends, and taps him on the shoulder. This is what I hear…

“Hi. Remember me. The girl you just grabbed on the bar.” 

“Yeah baby. I was trying to get your attention. You looked like you’d be up for a dirty fuck in the bathroom.” 

“Is that so?”

“Mmhmm.” 

“Too bad” 

“Too bad what?” 

“That you wont be able to to fuck anybody for a while.” 

“What?” 

She then proceeds to knee him in the balls. As he bends over in pain cursing her out she leans in and tells him ‘Dont touch what does not belong to you.’ Then she cocks back and knocks him on his ass with a right hook.” Sy is laughing so hard there's tears coming out of his eyes.

The knowing looks on your men say it all though. They would have loved to watch you lose it like that. Dirty boys.

“He had it coming.” You impart with pride. He disrespected you and needed to be taught a lesson that would stick. 

“That he did Sugar. So she turns and walks back over to me all sweet as sugar again. Can’t even tell she just laid a grown man out and goes ‘Hi. You can call me Honey. Thank you for saving me from a losing battle with gravity. Next round is on me.’ Now she had no need to thank me but I wasn't going to turn down free booze from a pretty lady. I told her my name and we headed to the bar. Where I stayed until closing where she ended up pulling me into the backroom for a quick thank you blow job followed up by her continued thanks all night long back at her place. It was so damn good and I wasnt looking for anything serious at the time so we become fuck buddys.”

“Damn girl. I knew you were bad ass but seriously I underestimated you. You’re not fuck buddies now though. Why is that? And how did she get you this job?” Sam questions further.

“Christ Sam can you be any more fucking nosy? You guys don't have to answer that. He’s just trying to stir the pot and make Buck jealous or whatever.” Steve proclaims. 

“It’s fine Stevie. I have no shame. And neither does Sy. As far as getting him this job it was rather simple. I found out he could sing one night when I had actually stayed over because I knocked right out after our session. I got up because the bed was cold from him having left it. I assume his PTSD triggered a nightmare and I found him strumming his guitar while singing Elvis in the living room in the dark. I watched him for a bit before I joined in with a harmony and told him he should work at the club with me. It might be a good form of healing for him. And well, now he opened for the first time tonight.” You beam a radiant smile at him. So happy of the progress he’s made. 

“As for why we no longer have the benefits of our friendship, that’s easy. I don’t share. I am way too possessive and jealous of a partner. I knew if we continued on or took it further than fuck buddys I would just end up hurting her by holding her back. She’s not monogamous. And that’s okay. She should be allowed to love whoever and however many people she wants if everyone is happy. So we decided to step back from the sexual aspect of our relationship and never looked back. Plus the moment you two walked into this club with the red head and I saw the look in her eyes, I knew she was hooked before you even said hello. I wasn't going to stop that and I’m glad I didn't. I’ve never seen her so happy. So thank you for taking care of her like she deserves. I know she added you on a bit ago Captain Rogers but your included in my thanks as well.”

“Man ya’ll are no fun. Who would have thought the Viking looking former Captain would be all polite and thankful. This is bullshit.” Sam argues.

“I rather like them rough and strong on the outside, ready to take on any war. While being soft and humble on the inside. Makes for a devoted lover and warrior.  A rare find, even throughout the nine realms.” Brunhilde confesses while staring Sy deep in his eyes. 

“I’m going to go find my date and reclaim my dancing rights and maybe sing some karaoke. All you lovers enjoy yourselves.” Sam walks off to indeed find his date who he left with Sharon.

“Now that storytime is over and I’ve properly soothed my post show throat I am going to head to the dressing room and get out of this show garb and into something more comfy to party in. Don’t get into too much trouble trying to harass Sy boys.” You start to get off of Bucky's lap as he grips your hand.

“Actually sweetness, I need to hit the head so I’ll come with.” He pulls himself up and follows you out into the hall that leads to the dressing rooms and restrooms. 

You’re leaned over the vanity in your lingerie, one hand pressed against the surface and the other applying a fresh coat of crimson to your plump lips when you hear the door to the dressing room open. A normal occurrence around here. Plus you have nothing to be ashamed of, you know how this set makes your body look. 

At the dual sensation of warm flesh and cool metal you look up into the mirror to see a pair of Steel Gray eyes staring down at your thong and garter covered derriere between his palms. 

“See something you like, Sir?” You roll your hips slowly from side to side, watching his head follow the movement in the mirror.

“Oh sweetness. You know I do. A fucking garter belt. Are you trying to give Stevie and I a heart attack? After watching you perform like our own personal goddamn Billie Holiday I come to find you were hiding all this under that simple dress. You know how down right feral I can be babygirl. It’s taking everything I have not to ravage you right now.”

“Who on earth said you had to hold back, Sir? This Belle loves when her Beast loses control.”

That earns you a growl and a smack to your ass. “That fucking mouth. Always have something smart to say.” He leans in and wraps his flesh hand around your throat, feeling your pulse throb against his palm as he whispers in your ear. “There it is. That little spike of adrenaline. You enjoy being my prey don’t you babygirl? Bet your little thong is drenched already.”

He glides his hand down to the waistband of your panties and slips it inside, teasing along your weeping slit. “Mmm. That’s what I thought.” He spreads your slick around your folds, teasing your hood, before pulling his hand out and placing his shining fingers in front of your mouth.

“Open.” Your lips part automatically. “Clean them” Catching his eyes in the mirror you wrap your lips around his digits and suck them clean of your essence. “Good girl. Turn around.”

You rise up and spin to face him. He grabs a fist full of your hair and pulls your head back, attacking you with a savage kiss. Taking your breath away. He quickly pulls back, releasing your hair. “Jump.”

As soon as your feet leave the floor, Bucky has your thighs in his grip and is moving towards the chaise along the wall. With the speed of a Super Soldier and the softness of a man in love, he deposits you on the cushions. Pushing your torso back against the pillows and pulling your hips to the edge.

He spreads your thighs wide. “Keep them there. Understand?”

You nod your head. “Yes, Sir.”

He bites his lip as he pulls your thong to the side and gets a look at your glistening cunt. “As much as I would love to take you apart piece by piece right here. There’s a party going on I know you want to enjoy. So for now, I’m just gonna get my fill of this sweet little pussy on my tongue.”

He plunges two metal fingers in right as he sucks your clit into his mouth. Not wasting any time with teasing. He wants your come spilling over onto his tongue as soon as possible. The way he’s devouring your pussy is nothing short of ferocious. Everytime he growls, it hits your clit like a vibrator set to pulse.

All you can do is run a hand through his hair and hold on tight. His metal fingers are zeroed in on that spongy sweet spot that makes you forget how to form words. 

“Come on baby. I can feel how close you are. Give it to me. Soak my fucking face.”

He increases the speed of his fingers and sucks your clit back into his mouth. 

You're so lost in your pleasure that you don’t hear the opening of the door as Sam walks in looking for the restroom. He stops in his tracks, shocked from the scene unfolding in front of him.

With a firm suck and a twitch of his fingers Bucky has you screaming out as you come on his tongue. Riding out your high on his face.

You hear a muttered “Nasty ass cant even wait til we get home to have his girl. Dirty old man.” before the shuffling of feet making a hasty retreat.

Removing his head from between your legs, Bucky quickly pulls himself out of his slacks and pushes into your still quivering walls, setting you off once more.

“Fuck babygirl. You feel so good squeezing my cock like that.” Without giving you much of a chance to adjust to his girth he sets a punishing pace. 

It’s quick and dirty and everything you were missing with him being gone on a mission. This was your favorite part of being with Bucky. When he just let go and let the Beast out. Taking what he wanted, when he wanted. 

You were nothing more than a whimpering and moaning mess as he pounded you into the chaise lounge. Your pussy clamping down on him once more as another intense orgasm took over your body. 

Being led by his instinctive need to breed you he pulls you up by the back of your head and bites down on your lip as his cock thickens and he releases rope after rope of seed deep inside you. 

As soon as he is spent, he collapses on top of you as you both try and catch your breath.

“Guess Sam will think twice before opening any random doors now huh Thor?” You hear the unmistakable voice of one Steven Grant Rogers.

“Serves him right, Captain. Although I quite enjoyed the show myself.” Thor answers.

“That was something special alright. Never knew you could lose it like that Buck. You were like some kind of wild beast.” Your Captain imparts with a look of awe on his face.

“Yeah, well you can blame it all on this Beauty. She’s the only one that can tame it as well as set it free without repercussions.” He looks upon you with nothing but love in his steel grays at his declaration.

“Well I love you and your beast.” You give him a gentle kiss. “Now can you please remove your heavy self from on top of me so that I can get dressed, reapply my lipstick and we can head back out to your friends. I’m officially off for the next week and I would like to start making use of it.”

“Of course sweetness. But you're walking around the rest of the night with my cum inside you. I don't care if it leaks into your thong. You are not to clean it up. You hear me?”

“Yes, Sir.” You quickly reply as he removes himself from inside you and puts your thong back in place. 

“Possessive bastard.” Steve laughs out as he walks towards the chaise to help you get up.

“Damn right I am. Even if I do share her with you two assholes.” You all laugh.

“Come on sweetheart, let’s get you dressed.”

With some help from your Captain, you successfully look put back together in your simple black sleeveless dress with hip high slits up the front. You’ve lost the bra but kept the garter belt and thong. You love the looks that cross your mens faces each time your garter is exposed as you walk and move around. 

Entering back into the main room your eyes instantly make contact with Nat on the dance floor, trying to get Banner to relax and move with her in more than just the swaying of middle schoolers at their first dance. The current music playing was no help either. Clearly a Guardian had requested some sick jams from the 80s. And while you had no problems rocking out with the best of them, this dress called for dancing and nothing was going to stop you from doing just that. 

As your men watch their friends making fools of themselves on the dance floor you make your way to the booth you all were at before. The same booth that Sy and Brunhilde were still sat, conversing and sharing a beer. 

“First off. That dress looks amazing on you B. Second, I’m going to need to steal Sy here for just a bit. You're more than welcome to join us of course if you don't wish to sit alone. I need him on stage to help me liven up this place to the correct level.” The grin that adorns your face can only be described as trouble. 

“Based on your own outfit change, I certainly wouldn't want to miss how you achieve that. I’m sure it has something to do with all those Siren like abilities of yours. I’ll make myself comfortable next to his majesty. That way you’ll know where to find me when you're done Sy and we can continue on with our night.” Brunhilde winks and grazes her palm against his chest as she saunters by on her way to stand with Thor. 

“Alright Sugar. I know that look. And I know that dress. What is it that you need me to do?”

“It’s simple really. I want to dance with my men and put a certain bird brain in his place as well. And I need you so I can do just that. Only you know just what to play to get this body moving.”

“That I do, Sugar. Leave it up to Dante and Me.” He kisses your cheek and proceeds to get up on stage and whisper into Dante’s ear before sitting in front of the piano. He begins to play Robin Thicke’s “Everything I Can’t Have”. Dante begins to deliver the smooth lyrics with all his latin flair.

Bucky wastes no time in pulling you out onto the dance floor and taking the lead in a salsa you’ve both done a hundred times before. The man really is a great dancer. You wink at Nat as you swing on by and notice Sam pulling his date close and trying to copy you and Buck. 

“Nice try Sammy but you're never going to best us. We’re not even trying.” You laugh out as you continue on having a good time with your favorite Sargent. 

Steve’s eyes have not left your figure as your lead around by his best friend. Shimmying and moving your hips to the beat, a smile plastered on your face. Now normally he would be content with just letting Bucky have his fun with you on the dance floor, but tonight he feels like showing off a bit himself. The White Wolf isn't the only one with skills on the dance floor. 

He moves across the dance floor, cutting around couples and spinning Nat as she dances past. Bucky, having noticed Steve’s approach, spins you out away from him. You feel a warm hand grasp yours and a commanding “Come here, Doll” as you're pulled close to Steve, who takes the lead, not missing a step. Bucky has disappeared in the crowd somewhere.

“I didn't know you could Salsa, Captain.” You smile up at him.

“I’m full of surprises sweetheart.” He winks as takes it up a notch, really showing off. You instinctively follow his lead as he manipulates your body to the beat. The whole room is captivated as you move across the dance floor like you’ve been dancing together like this for years. As the song crescendos he dips you low and slowly pulls your body back up to him as his nose traces your throat. You’re mesmerized by his ocean eyes for a moment before you smirk and turn to make your way back to Bucky.

Steve was having none of that though. He chases you, catching your hand and spinning you back into his chest where he plants a mind melting kiss on your lips. That’s when Sam and his date make their way over. You can't help but laugh at how hard he’s trying to hold it together that not one, but two old men put his dancing skills to shame tonight. 

You’re just so damn happy that you don't even care to embarrass him more. You continue to dance and follow Steve’s lead until the song ends and you're dipped once more. 

Safely back in Steve’s embrace you feel cool metal run down along your spine and a soft kiss against the nape of your neck before words are whispered in your ear. “I think it’s about time for us to continue this party somewhere private, babygirl. We’ve shared you long enough. There’s a car waiting out front for us. Time to say Goodnight to everyone.” 

“Yes, Sir.” You nod your head and make your rounds, saying goodbye to your friends as quickly as you can. Temperature rising as you feel three sets of eyes leaving heated trails all over your body.  

Thor is waiting by the door with your things. “Ready, My Queen? Barnes and Rogers are waiting in the vehicle for us”

“Let’s not keep them waiting longer than shall we, My King.” You place your hand in his as he escorts you to the waiting town car. 

The sexual tension between the four of you has hit its boiling point and toppled over as you make your trek back to the compound. Thank the Gods this particular town car had a partition or the driver would most certainly be getting an eye full. 

As it was, Bucky had his phone out, making himself a little home movie of the debauchery unfolding before him. 

You currently had your head in Thor’s lap, lips wrapped around his cock, bobbing along making quite a mess of his dress slacks. Your ass perched up in the air, dress thrown over your hips, stocking and garters on full display. Steve’s thick digits working their magic on your weeping little slit. 

He was pulling moans out of you that were vibrating around Thor’s dick lodged down your throat. To say you were on your way to cock drunk was an understatement.  

Right as you were about to fall apart on your Captain's fingers, the car slowed to a stop, signaling your arrival at the compound. Instead of letting you finish, Bucky turned off his phone, wrapped his metal fist in your hair and pulled you off of Thor and Steve, settling you in his lap. 

You whimpered at the loss of Steve’s fingers. You were so damn close to coming you were delirious.

“Don’t worry babygirl, you’ll get what you want and then some shortly. Thor, take our girl inside to Steve’s room while we deal with the driver. Keep her edged until we get there.”

He places a sweet kiss to your neck as Thor tucks his dick away and zips himself up before exiting the vehicle. 

You barely register it as you watch Steve clean your essence from his fingers. Eyes glazed over and breath hitching in your throat. You swallow when he pulls them free of his plush pink lips and winks at you. 

“Mmm mm mm. Never can get enough of your sweetness on my tongue, Doll.”

You feel yourself literally swooning in Bucky’s lap at Steve’s declaration.

With a nip to your jaw, Bucky brings you back to the world. “Don’t keep your King waiting, sweetness.”

You absentmindedly nod your head and place your hand in Thor’s waiting palm, allowing him to pull you from the car and lift you up into his arms in a bridal carry. 

Arms wrapped around his broad shoulders you can't help but to place kisses all along his jaw and neck as he walks through the compound. He almost doesn't get Steve’s door open when you run your tongue along his collarbone as he asks FRIDAY to be let in. 

“Fucking Vixen. What am I going to do with you, my Queen?”

Gazing into his baby blues with so much love and adoration you proclaim. “Why, whatever your heart desires, My King.” 

He walks into the bedroom and sits himself on the bed with you straddling his lap. Running your fingers through the loose strands of his golden hair you place a kiss on his forehead. “Hi, Puppy. I missed you.” 

Pulling your close in a tight embrace he kisses the dip between your collarbones. “As have I, my love.”

You lift his face to yours and give him a deep kiss. It starts out sweet and slow, but before long, it’s full of fire and heat. Hands roaming, removing clothing and hips grinding against each other. You raise up on your knees so that he can remove his pants and boxer briefs. 

Having discarded the garments, he pulls you back down onto his lap, barriers no longer in the way, to carry on with your heated makeout session. 

You can hear a door open and close, signaling the return of your other men, but you pay it no mind as you continue to lose yourself in the Golden God underneath you. 

“Would you look at that, she kept the stockings and garters on Buck.”

“That she did. She’s been such a good girl for us tonight without even trying. I think she’s earned herself a reward of her choosing. Would you like that babygirl?”

You remove your lips from Thor’s and turn to the brunette removing his shirt to your left. “Please, Sir. I would very much like that.”

“So polite too. Okay babygirl. What is it you would like?”

Glancing quickly at both Thor and Steve, you lock eyes with his steel grays. “I want to be surrounded in sunshine, Sir, with a white wolf chaser.” 

All three men groan out simultaneously.

Steve steps closer to you, places a finger under your chin and raises it to face him. “Surrounded in sunshine huh? Exactly who do you want where, Doll?”

“I want to ride my King while you fuck my ass from behind Captain.” 

“And where will I be, sweetness?” Bucky chimes in on your other side.

You turn to face him and lick your lips in anticipation. “Fucking my face of course, Sir. I want all my holes stuffed full. Need you all to use me for your pleasure. Please.” You can’t help but pout as you plead for what you want.

He runs his metal thumb across your bottom lip. “No need to pout babygirl. You’ll get what you want. Stevie, grab the lube I know you keep stocked in your nightstand. Thor, you heard what she wants. Let her ride that hammer of yours while Stevie preps her.”

“With pleasure.” Thor grabs your cheeks, pulling you away from Bucky’s fingers and placing his kiss swollen lips to yours as he lies back on the bed, taking you with him. “Show them just how worthy you are, My Queen.”

You grind down on his turgid length, coating him in the slick leaking from your slit until you feel the vibration of his growl against your peaked nipples as he stills your hips with one of his massive hands. With the other, he grabs his dick, teasing your clit with the tip, pulling a whine from you that is cut short as he lines up and thrusts, sinking his thickness deep inside you. 

Your head falls back and your spine arches as you push yourself up and undulate your hips, burying his cock even deeper. Three sets of lust blown eyes are following your every move as you swivel and bounce on Thor’s own mighty hammer. Losing yourself in the ebb and flow of your own little private show being put on for their eyes only. 

Worked up and ready to be inside you himself, Steve, having retrieved the lube and sufficiently coated himself in it, walks up to the edge of the bed. Placing a hand to the middle of your spine and a kiss behind your ear, he whispers his command. 

“You look so fucking sexy riding him, Doll. Be a good girl and lean forward for me so I can join in on the fun. You don't look stuffed enough yet.” The warm palm in the middle of your back helps push you down until you're laying flush with Thor’s chest.

He then proceeds to trail his lube covered fingers along your stretched out lips, gathering the slick that continues to pour out of you with one hand as the other grabs a cheek and spreads you out, exposing your puckered little hole. He runs his coated fingers around your hole teasingly before slowly adding more pressure until he is able to get first one, then two fingers inside you. Opening you up little by little as Thor shallowly thrusts inside you. 

“You’re doing so good sweetheart. I’m gonna add another finger. Open you up a bit further so you can take me nice and deep. Just focus on how good it feels, Doll.”

He works his third finger into you and proceeds to scissor them all and open you up further until you can take them with ease and are a whimpering mess on Thor’s chest. As he pulls them out, you whine at the feeling of emptiness left behind. 

He grabs a cheek in each hand and spreads you out as Thor stills inside you. Lining himself up he breaches your tight little hole. “Relax, Doll. Take a deep breath for me.”

You do as you're told and on your exhale your tight ring of muscle relaxes and Steve sinks in deep. “Fuck. So tight. How ya feeling Doll?”

You can feel the haze of overwhelming pleasure start to take over your body. Before you lose yourself to it you’re able to get a few words out. “Full, Captain. So full. Need Sir too.”

You hear a groan to the left of you from Bucky. “Oh babygirl. You’ll be getting me soon enough. Why don't you enjoy your golden boys for a bit. You know how much I love to watch you come undone.”

“Yes, Sir.” Those are the only words you are able to process and speak as Thor and Steve begin to pull out and thrust into you, never leaving you empty. As one retreats the other pushes in. It’s a rhythm that seems to be second nature to them at this point in your relationship. They all know how to play you like a well strung violin. Pulling moans, whimpers and orgasms from you like notes on a page. Creating songs and entire symphonies from your carnal passion. 

Your body is so keyed up and overloaded in pleasure that it doesn't take long before you are crying out and clenching down on the cocks lodged inside you as you fall over the edge into a blissful climax. Head buried in Thor’s chest as tears begin to flow from your eyes at the overwhelming ecstasy. 

“That’s it, my sweet. I love it when you squeeze me so tight, trying to milk my cock of it’s seed.” He lifts your head from his chest and places a tender kiss to your forehead as he, along with Steve, continue to slowly thrust into you, allowing you a moment of reprieve. 

He wipes a stray tear away with his thumb. “How are you feeling, My Queen?” 

You’re just coherent enough to get out a few words. “So good. Need more. Want Sir. More full. Please”

All three men chuckle at your clearly cockdrunk state. Thor turns to Bucky who is sitting beside him on the bed. “She wants her White Wolf chaser now Barnes. I think she’s more than earned it. Are you going to gift her with it?”

“I couldn't dream of denying her anything right now.” He pulls himself up until he is kneeling before you, cock level with your lips. You open your mouth and stick out your tongue automatically. “Fuck you want my cock bad dont you babygirl? Want me to fuck this pretty little mouth while Thor and Stevie continue to destroy your other little holes huh? Want cum filling up all three of them?”

Mouth still wide, you nod your head as you whimper and squirm, eliciting a growl from Thor and a slap to the ass from Steve. 

“Good. I’m not going to go easy on your sweetness. I’m too fucking worked up for that. I can’t guarantee how long I’ll last either because that mouth of yours is fucking dangerous. We’re gonna need you to just relax and let us use you babygirl. Take everything we give you like the good girl you are.”

You lock eyes with him as his flesh hand grabs a hold of your curls and pulls you towards his angry leaking tip. You give it a quick teasing lick before he slides across your tongue and thrusts deep into your throat. 

You moan out around his length as you finally feel full and stuffed to the brim. You breathe in through your nose and your body goes pliant as bliss takes over you. 

As soon as they all feel your body relax they begin to move. Thor and Steve continue their back and forth rhythm as Bucky sets a pace of his own. What starts out leisurely, quickly becomes deep and hard. The temp increases and before you know it you're screaming out around the dick lodged in your throat as you come apart.

As your pussy and ass squeeze around your golden boys they start to lose their rhythm. Pounding into you erratically as they chase their own highs. Sending you further into your pleasured high, moaning and whimpering around Bucky as he too begins to thrust erratically into your mouth. 

“Fuck. That’s it babygirl. Take my cock. I’m so fucking close. Gonna paint those tonsils white and you're gonna swallow every last drop.” 

At Bucky’s words you clench around Thor and Steve, setting off a frenzied pace in the both of them as they ride the knife's edge of their own orgasms. 

“Fuck Buck, you make her clench around me like that again and her mouth wont be the only thing getting filled.” Steve grits out.

“I agree with Steven. I am close to spilling my seed deep inside her as well.”

Having them talk about filling you up is the spark that lights the match on the fire that is your impending orgasm. You detonate in a blaze of pleasure, almost blacking out from the sheer force of it, taking all three of them along with you.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” It’s Steve who loses it first, hips stuttering until they still with his pelvis smashed to your ass as he groans and empties his balls into your abused little hole. Gripping your ass cheeks so hard you're sure he left bruises behind.

As he begins to pull out his softening cock, pucker clenching trying to pull him back in, Bucky lodges himself in your throat and holds you head steady as he makes good on his promise and coats your tonsils white. “Take it all sweetness. I don't want a drop wasted.” He pulls out once he’s finished and watches on with awe as you swallow every pearly white drop he gave you and present him with an empty throat and tongue.

He pulls you into an intense kiss just as Thor explodes inside of you. You throw your head back and writhe on your King, as he shoots rope after rope of his Godly seed deep into your womb, setting off a minor orgasm in its wake. “Can’t get enough of filling you up. Especially when it sets you off again like that. Come on, my Queen. Milk your King dry.”

He pulls himself up into a seated position and grips your hips as he plunges deeper into your cavern and guides your clit along his pelvis until you come one last time for him, biting down on his shoulder as you convulse in his lap. 

You feel cool metal fingers dance along your spine as you come down from your final high. You move your head to the side so that you can look upon the satisfied face of the Winter Soldier. “There she is. Hi babygirl. Feeling a little floaty?” You just nod your head. 

“Okay. Steve went to run you a bath. Would you like that sweetness? To let us get you all cleaned up in the bath while you come back to earth?” You nod your head again. 

“Alright baby. I’m gonna go help Stevie. Thor will bring you in when we’re ready for you. Just relax with your King okay babygirl?” He kisses your forehead.

“Okay Sir.” You burrow yourself further into Thor’s chest as Bucky heads into the ensuite. 

You listen to the steady beat of Thor’s heart as the fog begins to lift from your brain. Rubbing small circles onto your hips you find yourself almost lulled to sleep until Thor speaks. “Do you want me to remove myself from inside you my Queen? Or are you content warming my cock?”

“Mmm. Keep cock warm until bath.” Is your half lucid response. 

He chuckles and kisses your head. “Cockwarming it is then.”

You once again find yourself tittering on the edge of consciousness when Steve emerges from the ensuite to let you both know that the bath is ready. 

Thor proceeds to stand from the bed with you in his arms, still connected at the pelvis and walk into the bathroom.

“Come on, my sweet. Let’s get you all cleaned up and then you can fall to the whims of sleep and dream away the night.”

You awake the next morning surrounded in heat thanks to Steve and Thor wrapped around either side of you and Bucky using your stomach as a pillow, complete with a metal arm draped over your thigh. As great as being surrounded in their warmth felt, you had a very full bladder due to the two glasses of water that Thor made sure you drank last night during aftercare. 

Extracting the pillow from beneath your head, you slowly place it under Bucky’s head and oh so carefully finagle your way out of the pile of muscled bodies that surround you to make your way to relieve your bladder. 

Once your business is taken care of, you pad into the walk in closet, headed to the section that Steve dedicated for you. Comfort is key after a night like you had so you proceed to grab your Harley Quinn boyshorts, a pair of white knit leg warmers and an oversized gray sweater. Quickly tossing them on, you grab the empty glass from the nightstand and head out to the common room kitchen, food the only thing on your mind. 

Taking your time and strolling along the hall you find Sy coming out of Brunhilde’s favored room at the compound. Seems someone spent the night here himself. You just laugh and lift your hand for a high five, which he gives you after shaking his head at your antics. “Morning Grumpy Bear. Come on, let’s go make breakfast for our sleeping partners and most likely the rest of the compound. These heroes can really put it away and we both know you love to throw down in the kitchen.”

With little convincing Sy follows you into the kitchen where you begin the practiced dance of making a meal, having done this many times together before. It’s comfortable. 

You let a whole five minutes go by before you start grilling him on his late night activities. 

“So how was the warrior sex?” He just raises a brow at you. “I imagine her intensity is as strong as yours. I think she may just be as possessive as you, if not more. This is gonna be so much fun for me. I can not wait to watch you fall for a Valkyrie! She’s going to eat you alive. Muahahahaha.''

“Sure you're not just jealous Sugar? I remember the type of women you used to bring with you or made us look for when you needed a little something extra.” He smugly states. 

He’s not wrong, B is definitely your type. That being said, so is Nat, who you’ve hooked up with in the past  when you were doing burlesque and Nat was working undercover at your club. None of the Avengers are aware of that fact though, as far as you know. 

Just as you're about to retort, the red head you were just reminiscing about in your head, saunters into the kitchen, along with the rest of the team and your men following in between them. 

You catch eyes with the Widow and notice the little smirk plastered on her face. “I know that satisfied look. You have a good night Nat?” You slyly impart.

“You would know, wouldn't you Honey girl, seeing as how your tongue has put it there before.” She just winks at you as she drops that bomb. Grabbing a piece of bacon as she sits herself at the table.

Over half the room is staring slack jawed between the two of you. 

“Whoa whoa whoa. You’ve had a night with the black widow and survived?” Sam, the first to shake out of his shock, blurts out.

Nat quickly corrects him. “Nights. She was mine for an entire week. She looks particularly gorgeous all bound in rope and lust drunk. No way I was only having that once.”

Bucky is all the more intrigued at this recent revelation. He knew you were not shy in bed and had no problem exploring his kinks with him. Burlesque was something new that he needed to see for himself. “Burlesque sweetness? Were you dancing or singing?”

Nat answered before you could. “She did both. A vixen on the stage, as always. Made my job easier when she was hypnotizing the marks with her Siren ways.” 

“Was that the fact finding mission at A Fall From Grace?” Nat nods at Steve in acknowledgment. “I was wondering what took you so long to complete it.”

“What can I say? She had me swayed with her crazy ways.”

“Crazy ways? What kind of bullshit is that?” Sam, ever the party pooper, chimes in.

“Those were my Quinzel days. Lots of black and red latex and leather. Oh and the best part…my hammer. Well it was more like a mallet but still. I had a whole Morticia Adams and Ghost face routine too. I was the resident creepy queen. My shows could get a little messy.” You boast with a saccharine sweet smile adorning your face as you place the last plate on the table.

“Enough about my past with Nat. Now dig in so I can bombarded you with questions of how the rest of your nights went. I know more than just Sy and B had to have got some.”

“What?!” The table collectively gasps out.

“Why else would he be here helping me make breakfast after they were giving each other fuck me eyes all night. Did you think he came here to join the four of us for a round in bed?” You shrug.

“Yes, actually. That’s exactly what I thought.” Tony exclaims. 

You just start hysterically laughing as Sy turns to you. “Are they always like this?”

“With no filter? Sadly, yes. But thankfully for you, B lives on New Asgard and isn't here that often, so if you continue on whatever path it is you two may be going you’ll be spared most of the time.” You pat him on his bearded cheek.

He glances over at Brunhilde, across the table from him and smiles. “Deal.”

“Oh this is gonna be fun to witness.” Nat chuckles out.

“That’s what I said!” You rush out.

“Alright Sugar. Time to eat up and start questioning someone else.” He places a slice of bacon in your mouth to shut you up.

You chew on the salty goodness as you gaze around the table, eyes landing on Sam. “So Sammy? You finally seal the deal with your date or did losing to Bucky doom your fate?”

“You know what you little shit stirrer? I’ll have you know that I am a gentleman and that was only our second date so I didn't push it.”

“So what you're saying is, no. No, you didn't get laid last night. If I knew losing was going to affect you so badly I would have gone easier on you last night.” Bucky relays with the smuggish look on his face.

“Fuck you man. I can beat you any day of the week. You got lucky last night.” An annoyed Sam announces to the table.

“Sure, pal. You heard him Stevie. He spent the night alone in his bed. Pay up.” Steve begrundley reaches into his sweats pocket, pulls out a fifty from his money clip and slaps it onto Bucky's metal palm.

The table erupts in laughter and more money passes hands, as a shocked Sam sits, mouth agape, realizing his closest friends bet against his sex life.

He quickly stands up. “Fuck all ya’ll. Not everyone are sex fiends who can't keep it in their pants.” Grabbing his plate he storms out into the hall.

You yell out behind him. “It’s okay, Sammy. Some of us are just late bloomers.” 

The table erupts in laughter once more.

Notes:

1. Haley Reinhart "Dream a Little Dream of Me" (video is no longer on youtube) 2. Hit ‘Em Up Style (Oops!) - Blu Cantrell (Ella Fitzgerald Style Cover) ft. Olivia Kuper Harris 3. All of Me - Vintage Soul John Legend Cover ft. Kiah Victoria 4. Shoop - Salt-N-Pepa (‘50s Little Richard Style Cover) ft. Tia Simone 5. Love On The Brain - Rihanna (Piano & Vocal Cover) ft. Kaeyra 6. Billie Holiday - It Had To Be You (Clef Records 1955) 7. Still Into You - Paramore ('40s Swing Cover) ft. Maris 8. I Put A Spell On You - Nina Simone

If you made it to the end, THANK YOU! If you liked it please feel free to let me know (but it's not required); and if you didn't, that's okay too, I still thank you for even giving it a chance.

[vivithefolle]

The thing about Rowling is that she bases a lot of characters on people she knows or knew irl. So you have these perfectly decent characters and she just doesn't have a clue how they work internally.

Exactly! I've answered a Quora question on that, previously.

Below, the text of said answer:

Did J.K. Rowling base any of her characters on herself or people she knows personally?

Pretty much all of them?

She said there was “a bit of her in every of her characters". Which tends to happen naturally when you write.

(For example, being autistic, I tend to write characters as very introspective and remembering small details about a lot of stuff and being able to perform literary analysis in the middle of conversation. I've been informed that this is not how the “average" human works. So when I write a character, I often end up making them autistic because that's literally how my brain works. It's unfathomable to me that you wouldn't be paralyzed with fear by the idea of making a decision. Taking an opportunity on the fly, throwing your whole world off-balance with just one gratuitous action? What folly is this??)

According to Rowling, “I married Harry Potter. I married a very brave and gutsy person. And that's who Harry is”. Okay, so before Sauron and Acidic Virtuesignaller come crawling out the woodwork, I would like for us all to consider the implications: so Harry is “a very brave and gutsy person", and that's all. That's the only qualifier for Harry. To be Harry you need to be brave and gutsy. It's not like there's a construct in this series that's literally called The House Of The Brave. With a magic sword that only comes to those that are brave and gutsy enough to wield it. Which three people in the books have used that sword? Harry, Ron, and Neville. If only Harry was “very brave and gutsy" then what are we calling Ron and Neville? Hermione? Ginny? Luna? Snape? Dumbledore? Ok so there we go, if the requirement to be Harry is “be very brave and gutsy" then I can point to half a dozen characters that have the same characteristic ON TOP OF having an actual personality.

Ron was based on Rowling's childhood friend who owned a blue Ford Anglia. Based on Rowling's later comments about having “dated Ron" in her youth, we can infer that Rowling wrote into Ron some of the bad behaviours of guys she'd dated, probably with the idea of having him outgrow them (but considering how much she seems to enjoy writing Ron getting punished for these behaviours…). Some of the things she'd felt about poverty are spoken from Ron's mouth in GOF, and the Locket's tirade is a dead ringer (albeit with the genders reversed) for what she reported her father told her about how he'd rather have had a son.

Hermione is according to JKR a caricature of how she was when she was younger. “I wasn't that clever, but I was that annoying on occasion". I doubt JKR got invited to a ball by a super famous athlete though.

Snape was allegedly based on her chemistry teacher, John Nettleship, who was autistic and I can believe would have made jokes that wouldn't necessarily land as such (solidarity 😔✊). However I believe Snape was very much a caricature and an exaggeration instead of a “100% authentic" portrait of John Nettleship, even if he later came to call the character “me". Rowling needed her Mean Teacher archetype after all.

Cuthbert Binns, the ghost teacher of History that is excruciatingly droll and boring, seems to be a summation of Rowling's thoughts about his subject. Also a convenient way of forgoing worldbuilding.

Mothers are a very important part of Rowling's world. Lily's sacrifice defines the entire series, Molly Weasley is a strong presence through the books and sends Bellatrix's fanatic arse to Hell, Merope Gaunt's refusal to live shapes Voldemort into who he is, Narcissa Malfoy lies to Voldemort in exchange for her son's safety, even Barty Crouch Jr's mother made the ultimate sacrifice by switching places with her son in Azkaban. The only mother figure that isn't positive is Walburga Black, and even she gets to have a humanizing moment when Hermione theorizes that she was kind to Kreacher in DH. All this takes on a whole new meaning when you learn that JKR wrote the first Harry Potter in the wake of her mother's death.

By contrast, father figures are much less revered, and again it is directly a result of JKR herself: she had a notoriously bad relationship with her father, Peter James Rowling. One can postulate that Peter Pettigrew's name wasn't all a matter of alliteration, and that James Potter's redemption was the sort of thing Rowling might have wished of her own father.

Pansy Parkinson was a conglomerate of all the girls who bullied Rowling at school.

Umbridge was based on a work colleague - though she's apparently another conglomerate character - who hid nastiness behind a syrupy sweet exterior. Umbridge is often said to be the worst villain in Harry Potter - because while few people ever experience a genocidal terrorist stalking them, many have met someone like Umbridge who abuse their power just because they enjoy feeling in control of others.

The Death Eaters in general were based on the IRA, but took more cues from Nazi Germany in Deathly Hallows.

[babyleostuff]

the anime issue is being brought up now because someone was trying to call out another idol for watching it (this case was also a little old). Now every idol who’s ever mentioned it is being dragged into the conversation. The original call-out might have just been a random shot by the type of people always out to cancel idols. This one just happened to gain traction now

Made in Abyss was extremely popular and well-acclaimed for its plot, characters, and world-building when it was released. I’m not surprised multiple idols have seen and mentioned it. The story is a gory horror fantasy, that does edgy things to be shocking and sensational. It’s a medium where you’re often ignoring distasteful or immature jokes, caricature, tropes, etc as embellishments to an otherwise interesting story. You might become desensitized and overlook things you would be more alarmed by if you thought of it in a real world context.

I will say that the manga is by far the worst offender, the anime is cleaned up a little, and the Korean adaptation might be sanitized even more. I understand people’s complaints because the disturbing themes still aren’t exactly hidden, but I don’t know if I expect a casual watcher to be watching with a critical mindset. Sometimes someone’s just watching a popular anime without thinking that deeply about it.

The major complaints were the youth of the main characters and gratuitous nudity, body fluids and functions, torture, gore, etc. Maybe it’s jarring and horrifying to make you feel uncomfortable on purpose. But it’s frequent, often unnecessary for the plot, and a lot of it’s presented in sexualized depictions even if it’s completely not sexual within the story itself. A lot of people also question the author’s…interest and love of children.

So we’re battling a few moral dilemmas when engaging with this story. Separation of the artist from the art. Does the media one consumes reflect their values? Expectation of idols to be morally superior. And then some of the outrage sounds like rhetoric used leading up to literary (and fanfiction) purges, and you get to the slippery slope of censorship and banned writing.

I’m trying to present a little of both sides. Yes I hope people are able to look at stories like this and be critical of the pedophilic framing. I don’t want to normalize or imply support for the author, inclusion of these story tropes, or anyone interested in them in that way by promoting such works. But also people will write disturbing stuff and it’s up to you to police your intake.

Harry Potter, Game of Thrones, The Office, Friends, Brooklyn 99, Disney princess movies, Ghibli, Hunter x Hunter, SpongeBob - many popular stories and franchises contain problematic elements under scrutiny. For many issues, people don’t assume reading or watching it means you engage or support it (think stories involving mafia or gang violence, domestic violence, war, cannibalism, murder, even incest). Topics like sexual orientation, gender, and sexualizing minors seem to be the ones that frequently spark the most heated responses and threats of censorship.

That’s my long spiel on this topic. I don’t want to dismiss the concerns, because I do hope people are critical of the media they consume and recommend. Sometimes, that’s being able to parse through the good and the bad of a story and be aware of it. There aren’t completely unproblematic and unbiased stories just like there aren’t perfect artists, writers, and idols.

I’m not sure this will be directly addressed by any idols. Others have liked controversial stories, animes, characters, and people before and I think they usually just let it pass quietly. I imagine if they engaged with it as just a harmless piece of entertainment- they’re not going to think much more of it. Maybe idols will know not to mention it in the future

oh my, you’re so well spoken 👁️👄👁️

thank you so much though, this truly makes more sense to me now

[pregnancykink]

Happy WW Spike! We know Sam finds Dean very cringe sometimes... but does that ever carry over to the bedroom? Bad dirty talk? Awful jokes that ruin the mood? Tell us about Sam's immediate boner killers xD

Happy WW China and ty for this wonderful ask!! Omg definitely bad dirty talk. Dean has 100% tried to whip out some stuff he’s seen in porn and it does NOT hit the same lol. Remember Lemon-Stealing Whore? Maybe not as cringe as “I’d put you on our shelf and cherish you more than the other lemons” or whatever the line is but like. Something that sounded better with his fingers in his hole alone in the shower sounds way worse after he tries saying it to Sam in a seductive voice lol.

Also, gratuitous pop culture references. “This is just like the scene where so and so do it in the car!” Or something. Sam is like can you please not talk about fictional characters while we’re about to fuck??

Ummm Dean bringing up John. It has happened! Not even sexy-wise. He’s just “good thing dad isn’t here” or “remember that time dad did (x)?” Like I think Dean is a sex-talker. Whether Sam knows about JD or not, it’s a boner killer.

And YES 100% bad jokes. Of course, the darker answer to this ask would be if Dean says something (inadvertently) that Lucifer would say. Sam immediately shuts down, locks himself in the bathroom; Dean has learned to just let him have his time and wait it out.