#i know this article has been making the rounds but it bears repeating

[warningsine]

On Aug. 28, Amandla Stenberg, the lead of the “Star Wars” series “The Acolyte,” posted an eight-and-a-half-minute video to her Instagram Stories about Lucasfilm’s abrupt decision not to pick up the show for a second season just a month after the Season 1 finale streamed on Disney+. 

���It’s not a huge shock for me,” Stenberg said. Since the series was announced in 2020, she continued, “we started experiencing a rampage of, I would say, hyper-conservative bigotry and vitriol, prejudice, hatred and hateful language towards us.” (Stenberg was unavailable to comment for this story.)

In other words, “The Acolyte” was the latest high-profile target of “toxic fandom,” the catchall term for when fan criticism curdles from good-faith dissatisfaction into a relentlessly negative, often bigoted online campaign against either the project or its stars or creative leaders. In a franchise economy increasingly dependent upon established audience devotion to drive the bottom line, the threat of toxic fandoms poisoning that enthusiasm has become a seemingly intractable headache for almost every studio. And it’s only getting worse.

“It comes with the territory, but it’s gotten incredibly loud in the last couple years,” says a veteran marketing executive at a major studio. “People are just out for blood, regardless. They think the purity of the first version will never be replaced, or you’ve done something to upset the canon of a beloved franchise, and they’re going to take you down for doing so.”

Sometimes, toxic fandoms behave reactively. A “House of the Dragon” episode featuring two female characters kissing and an episode of “The Last of Us” focusing on a gay couple were both review bombed — the practice of mobbing sites like Rotten Tomatoes and IMDb with negative user reviews, which gained mainstream attention following the premiere of 2017’s “Star Wars: The Last Jedi.” And an entire YouTube ecosystem is devoted to declaring projects like “The Marvels” and “The Boys” “woke garbage” (among other pungent sobriquets).

Just as frequently, the backlash begins before the project has seen the light of day: a Reddit mega-thread dedicated to outrage over “Bridgerton” casting a Black woman (Masali Baduza) as the love interest for Francesca (Hannah Dodd); social media epithets directed at the actors of color cast as elves and dwarves in “The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power”; death threats aimed at Leslie Jones during the press tour for 2016’s “Ghostbusters.”

Perhaps the greatest irony of this phenomenon is the disproportionate impact these toxic fandoms have relative to their actual number. 

“The vast majority of any fandom are casual fans,” says John Van Citters, VP of Star Trek brand development, who has been with the storied franchise since the 1990s. “The number of people who live and die on their franchises are very, very few, and then those who come after things that they espouse to love with venom are a really, really tiny subset of that already smaller subset of fandom. It’s just much easier to see it now. I don’t know that it’s really that much broader than where things were in 1995 — it’s just that the bullhorn wasn’t there.”

For some, combating that bullhorn amounts to acting as if they can’t hear it. “Particularly when it’s a negative, toxic conversation, we don’t even engage,” says a TV marketing executive. “Like with toxic people, you try to not give it too much oxygen.” One principal concern is that reacting to these kinds of attacks risks alienating fans who are unhappy with creative choices about a franchise but haven’t tipped over into abusive behavior. So a studio may attempt to amplify friendlier voices instead. “We’ll reply to comments that are positive and elevate those things,” says the TV exec.

Still, toxic fandoms have grown so pernicious that they’ve become a fact of life for many — and so powerful that while talent, executives and publicists will privately bemoan the issue, fear of inadvertently triggering another backlash kept several studios from speaking for this story even on background. (As one rep put it, “It’s just a lose-lose.”)

Those who did talk with Variety all agreed that the best defense is to avoid provoking fandoms in the first place. In addition to standard focus group testing, studios will assemble a specialized cluster of superfans to assess possible marketing materials for a major franchise project.

“They’re very vocal,” says the studio exec. “They will just tell us, ‘If you do that, fans are going to retaliate.’” These groups have even led studios to alter the projects: “If it’s early enough and the movie isn’t finished yet, we can make those kinds of changes.”

Several studio insiders say they often put their talent through a social media boot camp; in some cases, when a character is intentionally challenging a franchise’s status quo, studios will, with the actor’s permission, take over their social media accounts entirely. When things get really bad — especially involving threats of violence — security firms will scrub talent information from the internet to protect them from doxxing.

In some particularly egregious cases, a direct response has been necessary. In 2022, after “Obi-Wan Kenobi” actor Moses Ingram denounced the “hundreds” of racist messages sent to her about her role — “There’s nothing anybody can do about this. There’s nothing anybody can do to stop this hate,” she said — Lucasfilm posted a statement to its Star Wars social media accounts that read, in part, “There are more than 20 million sentient species in the Star Wars galaxy, don’t choose to be a racist.” The Star Wars accounts also shared a video of “Obi-Wan” star Ewan McGregor saying the abuse made him “sick to my stomach” and that “if you’re sending her bullying messages, you’re no ‘Star Wars’ fan in my mind.” 

Later that year, the cast of “The Rings of Power” condemned “the relentless racism, threats, harassment, and abuse some of our castmates of color are being subjected to on a daily basis,” and actors from the “Lord of the Rings” film trilogy posted photos of themselves wearing clothing featuring the ears of Middle-earth creatures in multiple skin tones underneath the message “you are all welcome here” written in Elvish. Those efforts may have had an effect. In an August interview with Amazon MGM Studios TV chief Vernon Sanders about “The Rings of Power,” the executive said the show hadn’t experienced the same racist hostility in advance of Season 2 that had greeted its 2022 debut. “People have had a chance to actually engage with the show,” he said. “Overwhelmingly, what we’ve seen is that folks who came with an open mind can discuss and debate their favorite things — which takes you out of the place of that ugly conversation that happened with some folks who may have been infused with an agenda that’s separate from the show itself.”

There is one other way to handle toxic fans on the internet: Stay off it. “I’m not online, so I’m protected,” says frequent Marvel star Elizabeth Olsen (“WandaVision”). “Generally, it’s a lot of positive experiences of making kids happy. I ignore the other stuff.”

[workingforitallthetime]

svech: a very serious and responsible primer

ok @totally-necessary​ and @needsmore​, i am gonna write you an andrei svechnikov primer and i am going to do my best to produce a work of responsible well-sourced expository prose instead of an embarrassing thirsty disaster like the rest of my andrei svechnikov blogging.

here is my introductory paragraph:

wait, no, give me another shot. i swear i can actually do this. here is my introductory paragraph:

HOW CAN I NOT LOVE THIS GOOD-NATURED FEARLESS JOYFUL SHOULDER-FRECKLED SEX KITTEN????? HOW CAN I DO ANYTHING BUT CRY ALL THE TIME?????

.......ok. sorry. let me try it again. i’ll do it right this time, i promise. here is my introductory paragraph:

once upon a time in siberia, two-year-old andrei svechnikov put on skates for the first time and cried because he couldn’t follow his big brother evgeny onto the ice. eventually evgeny’s coach let andrei join the team’s workouts, and then coach started giving the older players a hard time when andrei would beat them.

the backstory of the svech bros sounds a lot like every other hockey kid who didn’t grow up privileged: parents who worked multiple jobs and sacrificed and moved cities to make sure the kids got hockey opportunities. in interviews, the svechnikov brothers have referenced not knowing where food or clothes were going to come from, and they emphasize how close it made them. evgeny says:

Having a brother that we eat from one plate--sleep in one bed sometimes--we went through everything. It's just one person by your side always. It's like going hunting alone or with somebody.

they wear the same number. they talk every day. as soon as the season paused in march, evgeny drove to north carolina. lately, they’re hanging out in michigan. basically, if hockey is not being played, they are together. basically, if you are going to write a primer about andrei, the most important thing is evgeny.

(my theory is that evgeny is at least part of the reason andrei does not like it when dougie and foegs joke about him being their kid brother. it’s the only joke i’ve ever seen svech refuse to roll with.)

evgeny got drafted by the red wings in 2015 (round 1, 19th overall). he started out with the AHL affiliate in grand rapids, and in 2016 mama svech packed up andrei and moved from russia to michigan. andrei played a season for the muskegon lumberjacks in the USHL. he led the team in scoring and was named USHL rookie of the year. the next season he was the first selection in the CHL import draft, and played for the barrie colts.

ok, so while we’re knocking out the backstory, i want to note that svech’s full name is Andrei Igorevich Svechnikov. don’t tell me that’s not sexy.

furthermore, the very spelling of andrei is sexy. i had a russian-speaking colleague once who had a son named andrei and she would say his name with a little lift at the end. not like the i added another syllable, just like a little caress. i hear it that way when i type it. it makes me happy to type that i at the end. andrei. andrei.

oh sorry, did i veer off topic?

the carolina hurricanes selected andrei second overall in the 2018 draft. he looked just as dumb as everybody always does in their draft night jersey photos, but here’s his draft day suit:

oh wait, can’t pass up the opportunity for a combine photo

did i say COMBINE? i meant JAWLINE

wait one more photo from the combine, just because he looks especially dead poets society in this one:

upon moving to raleigh, andrei emphatically wanted to live alone, which seems unusual for an 18-year-old entering the NHL and is therefore fertile ground for all sorts of headcanons. he keeps his floors very clean and gets mad when his buddies won’t take their shoes off. i am not making this up. he lives in the same apartment complex as dougie hamilton, warren foegele, joel edmundson (rip), and teuvo teravainen. andrei does not cook and he’s constantly calling them to see who wants to go out to eat.

in that last video i linked you can see foegs stumble and jump off his scooter just before he hits the gate to their parking garage. then the gate rises like magic and svech glides straight through. this is an unsubtle metaphor for andrei svechnikov’s entire athletic existence.

svech purportedly does not play video games, which is wild to me. instead, he practices magic tricks. again, i am not making this up.

wait i’m sorry it’s been at least ten minutes since i looked at a picture of andrei svechnikov holding a bunch of kittens

ok where was i.

svech had a pretty solid rookie season in 2018-19, but you can look up the numbers elsewhere if you want them. he was the first player born this century to score in the NHL but we don’t like to think about his 2000 birthdate. he played on a line with jordan martinook for a lot of that first season, and you can read more about that romantic nonsense in the ship primer i’ll be writing next. more recently the canes have settled into a top line of svech, sebastian aho, and teuvo teravainen, which is a pretty deadly combo.

one incident of note from svech’s rookie season is that he got knocked the fuck out by alex ovechkin. we’ll be talking more about that in the ship primer too, but if you want the video it’s here.

here, have a little celly:

svech’s most touted accomplishment is scoring the NHL’s first-ever Michigan-style lacrosse goal. this article has a very good description of how it worked. the postgame interview from that game is so endearing it makes me want to claw my face off. he’s talking so fast (for him) and he keeps repeating that his brother taught it to him, just absolutely determined to make sure everyone knows this milestone belongs to evgeny too.

also, this season, he scored the first playoff hat trick in franchise history.

the thing about andrei svechnikov is that nobody has a bad word to say about him. everybody thinks he’s an amazing player (”skilled and tenacious yet loose and creative”) and everybody compliments his work ethic (shooting pucks for hours after practice or a game) and journalists call him a “transcendent star.” everybody says he’s a great person. everybody calls him special. jordan martinook says svech never has a bad word to say about anyone.

ok it’s kitten time again!

more svech facts of note:

drives a black mercedes, poorly. “he wants to win on the road, too,” says foegs.

his voice gets very soft when he is uncertain about something but he’s loud when he wins a card game. (”GOOD NIGHT, BROTHER! SEE YOU NEXT GAME!”)

loves french toast for breakfast.

guilty pleasure is milkshakes.

if he was an animal, he’d be a bear (”like a russian bear.”)

does monster summer workouts with ivan provorov

look how fucking cute he is

the invaluable social media team over at hurricanes hq understands the svech content the world needs. i’m gonna tackle some more of this in the ship primer, but here are the best ones:

who’s your daddy? this video features svech confusedly asking “daddy?”, which is literally everything i ever want in fic or in life. once he finally understands he’s expected to choose between two teammates, he chooses the one who’s his buddy. and then after he’s catcalled from offscreen, he slouches down in his chair and changes his answer. “both,” he mutters, looking unbearably smug. “both.”

cookie face. it takes marty a very entertaining 49 seconds to eat the cookie. then svech hacks the game and wins in 7 second flat. “he’s good at everything,” marty marvels from offscreen.

this is a terrible concept for a video but it does feature svech and dougie doing the famous scene from stepbrothers, and svech giving a sweeping bow. i will forgive him for wearing a duke hat but only because he wears a tarheels hat in the three amigos video above.

has it been too long since a kitten photo? it’s definitely been too long since a kitten photo.

in conclusion, andrei svechnikov is a massive life-ruining problem and also he is perfect. i love him.

[omg-imagine]

⊱ Perfect to Me ⊰

Pairing: John Wick x Reader

Prompt(s): 6 - “I don’t like when you say things like that. To me, you’re perfect.” & 54- “You’re so perfect. And I’m so fucking lucky.”

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, body insecurity, teeny bit of angst, implied nsfw, and fluff!

Requested by Anon ♡

It was late in the midnight hour when a moment of calm finally arose, giving you a spare minute to breathe. As much as you loved your newborn Ellie, the transition to motherhood had been relatively challenging for you. Granted, a full two months would soon pass, but you were still struggling with finding a comfortable flow in this new chapter of life. 

Amid your quiet interlude, you decided to take advantage of it by warming up a bath, a blissful way to end such a long, tiring day. The floor tiles were cold as you padded into the bathroom, exhaustion wearing you down to the bone. You only had four hours of sleep total the previous night, and there was no doubt that it would be the same case later on.

As the water in the porcelain tub began to fill, you stripped off your clothes that were stained with Ellie’s spit-up from earlier. One by one, you tossed each article into the laundry bin, and once you were nude, you happened to glance at the clear mirror behind the double sinks. Steam quickly filled the room, fogging up the entire glass but not enough that it hid your reflection away from you. 

For a minute, you stared at the mirror image, the sound of the running faucet unable to drown out the insecure thoughts that were beginning to swirl inside your head. Pregnancy left noticeable changes on your body; from the weight gain to the stretch marks, the sight of it all made you feel less attractive, less desirable. You stood there in silence, scrutinizing every flaw you could see. 

It was difficult to ignore those disparaging comments plaguing your mind, and they seemed to grow louder as time went on. Your deepest fear, however, was your husband viewing you the same way. It worried you how one day, he wouldn’t see you as the beautiful woman he fell in love with years ago, and the mere thought of it added on to your burdening stress.

“Baby?”

John’s soothing voice pulled you away from your thoughts momentarily, only noticing now that he was in the bathroom with you and had switched off the faucet before the tub could overflow. His gentle hand landed on your bare shoulder, softly squeezing to display both concern and reassurance. Slowly, he urged you to look at him, and you did, immediately meeting the earthy hues of his perturbing eyes. 

“Hey,” you murmured, mustering up a tender smile. “Ellie’s asleep?”

“Yeah, she went down quicker than usual,” John replied, sighing. He looked at you for what seemed like a while, and you hoped that he couldn’t pick up the sadness spreading across your features. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course,” you feigned, though there was uncertainty in your tone. “I was just getting ready for bed.”

John shook his head as he whispered your name out loud. Your eyes dropped to the ground, letting a single tear fall down your cheek when you’re no longer able to hold it back. His palm gently cups the side of your face, wiping away the wetness pooling under your sullen eyes with the pad of his thumb. 

“Tell me what’s wrong...” he softly implored, holding you close. John has always cared so greatly about you and seeing you this way was paining him in his chest. If he could, he would do anything in the world to make you forget.

But if only it were that easy...

With a deep exhale of breath, you then lifted your gaze. “I-I don’t know how to explain it, John. Every time I look in the mirror, I hate what I see. I can’t bear seeing even a glimpse of my reflection because it spurs all these bad thoughts about how ugly I am now and—”

“Baby, stop,” John ceased you mid-sentence, his expression showing immense disbelief. “I don’t like it when you say things like that. To me, you’re perfect.”

“I’m not perfect,” you muttered, unable to see yourself the way John does. “In a couple of years, you’re going to realize that it’s true.”

You were just about to brush past John when he suddenly reached his hand out and curled his fingers around your wrist, preventing you from leaving the space. “Turn around, sweetheart. I want to show you something.”

It took you a few seconds until you finally relented, allowing John to guide you back to the mirror. You stood in front of it, your husband lingering right by your side. “John, I’m tired. Can we please have this conversation another day?”

John doesn’t respond to your question. Instead, he pointed to the mirror, speaking with a voice laced with pure affection. “Do you see her?”

You briefly remained quiet, unsure where John was going with this. It wasn’t after he repeated himself did you provide an answer. “Yes.”

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

You still can’t see it. 

“John, it’s okay. I’ll be okay. You don’t have to do this right now.”

“Y/N, please,” he sighed out. “Hear what I have to say.”

After a pause, you offered a nod for him to continue, deciding to push away your stubbornness and give your husband a chance to plead his case. You then focused your attention on the glass before you, gazing at the body you could barely recognize. The glaring imperfections stood out prominently to you and looking at them brought tears to your eyes.

From behind, John’s hands shifted to hold you by your waist, his long, elegant fingers caressing over the small round paunch of your belly. He rested his head on your shoulder, his hot breath tickling the delicate skin there as he spoke. “You see this? For nine months, this magnificent body did the most miraculous thing—it made life. It gave us our healthy, precious baby girl. Sure, it’s a little different now than before, but it’s your body, and I don’t love it any less. I promise you, Y/N, you are more beautiful now than when we first met. I will always love you and everything about you. Don’t ever forget that, okay?”

Silently, John pleaded with his warm, chestnut-kissed eyes, a pair that reminded you so much of Ellie, the greatest gift your body could ever give you. She was the light of yours and John’s lives, filling you with a love that you never knew existed until she came into the world. Because of Ellie, John permanently retired from the job you feared would take him from you, and he became the best father a man could ever be.

Understanding that now, you were extremely grateful for the body which gave you this wondrous life. The sacrifices were worth it, and you could finally see the beauty of it.

“Okay,” you smiled softly at John, who looked at you with nothing but a tremendous outpouring of love. “I won’t forget.”

“Good,” he sweetly beamed, eyes crinkling from the smile playing at his lips.

Turning to look at John, you leaned your face just a bit closer, letting your noses graze each other as his calloused hands slid up the curves of your supple figure. Five years together and the heat of his touch alone never fails to send a fire of desire through you. 

Threading your digits into the length of his rave hair, you sealed your lips to his. John doesn’t waste any time, and without pulling away, he picks you up in his arms, hastily staggering out of the bathroom and towards the bed where he gently lays you down. As he hovered above, you could feel his hardness pressed against your hip while his eyes raked over your body, drinking in every single inch of you. 

“You’re so perfect. And I’m so fucking lucky,” John purred against your skin, his breaths growing slow and ragged like yours.

“You know, I was planning on taking a bath before you showed up,” you giggled, watching as he eagerly stripped himself of his shirt and bottoms.

“After,” John waved off before his mouth pressed hot kisses down the valley of your plumped breasts, your soft skin deliciously contrasting with the roughness of his beard. “We have quite a while until Ellie wakes up for her feed, and right now, I want to prove to my wife how beautiful she really is.”

For a beat, you cradled John’s face between your hands, and as you stared deeply into his adoring eyes, it was apparent that out of the two of you, you were actually the lucky one.

Permanent Tags: @penwieldingdreamer @keandrews @feminine-machinegun @fanficsrusz @thehumanistsdiary @flaminasteroid @lussdew @unaspiringwritings @planetkt​ @breakthenight​ @baphometwolf666 @rdjloverxxx

[30secondfics]

EAT OR BE EATEN (A/U) 6 OF 6

~ Author’s Note ~ “Before the renaissance we had the Black Plague.” 

- @thekingoflegoland

Rated M

Part 1 > Part 2 > Part 3 > Part 4 > Part 5a > Part 5b > Part 6

Seattle, January 2021

Gabriella Torres stepped out of her rideshare and studied the house she stood in front of. A small shingled house, hunter green, the grass browned from the cool weather and the paint of the white front door chipped from years of neglect. She knocked.

A woman with a black lacquered cane opened the door with widened eyes, pale, as if she had just seen a ghost.

“Hi, I’m looking for Calliope Torres-”

“She doesn’t live here.“

“My name is Gabriella Torres. Aria Torres is my mother—was—my mother.”

The woman sighed and eyed the young woman. “You're a spitting image of your mother. Come in.”

The sunroom of the house was clean, sterilized. It still smelled of cleaning products and polish; it was well tended to, unlike the exterior of the house.

“Can I get you a coffee or a tea?” the woman asked.

“Water, please, if you wouldn’t mind,” Gabriella answered. She took the glass the woman offered her and took a generous sip.

“What did you say your name was again?” the woman asked, taking the seat in front of her guest and leaning her cane against the side table.

“Gabriella.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

The woman paused in thought.

“I’m sorry to come out of the blue, but I thought you would prefer meeting in person rather than starting a paper trail…  Aunt Calliope.”

Calliope nodded in agreement and cleared her throat. “So how did you find me?”

“I just started grad school at the University of Washington, I’m doing my masters in library studies-”

“Impressive,” Callie nodded, glad and relieved to learn her niece was educated.

“Thank you. I was in foster care my whole life, you see, I knew nothing but my mother’s name. I swore to find her one day and I searched for her for years and years. Then, finally, I came across her obituary and I found out she lived in Miami… and, well, my research led me to you.”

“So you know who I am…” Callie cleared her throat and picked at the cotton of her pants.

“You’re Calliope Torres. You were the head of the Torres Crime family. You were responsible for the Miami Mob Massacre of 2013 when all of the heads of the city’s crime families were murdered.”

“Allegedly,” Callie corrected.

Gabriella nodded in agreement. “Early in 2014 the Feds gathered enough evidence to put you on trial-”

“Alex Karev and George O’Malley came forward and turned themselves in, in an attempt to put me away,” Callie informed. “Even after I paid them a very generous amount of money to leave town. It seemed that it wasn’t enough for two men who felt overpowered by a single woman.”

“You were on trial for 21 days,” Gabriella continued. “Until you were proven not guilty. After 21 days they were going to let you walk free, you were free—then you were showered with bullets on your way out of the Miami courthouse. A man named Robert Stark was arrested; he claimed you destroyed his life over unsettled debt.”

“And yet he’s still in jail and I am not,” Callie couldn’t help but smirk.

“My mother perished that day, and you were airlifted to Miami General with life-threatening injuries,” Gabriella added. “Some articles reported that you wouldn’t make it out alive, while others rumoured you would never fully recover. You were mentioned in the papers for months, until suddenly you weren’t. New leaders of the other crime families began to take their place, and new gang wars plagued Miami. By the time you walked out of the hospital a free woman, you were old news and the Torres empire had crumbled. You’ve been laying low ever since.”

Gabriella was nothing but correct in her explanation. The Torres empire crumbled, and it crumbled hard. In Callie’s absence, and Alex and George’s incarceration, other members of the corporation fought for themselves, fought amongst themselves, stole for themselves, until there was nothing left but a few skids of canned peaches scattered across the city. The Torres mansion was looted and then destroyed by opportunistic rival families. The Torres name became irrelevant. A name no longer feared. A name no longer remembered, despite the damage it did in the past decades. Bigger crimes flooded Miami, and though grudges still existed, seeking revenge against the Torres family was no longer a priority. 

Callie remained silent. It had been years since she lived that life, it was hard to believe its vibrant contrast to the life she lived now.

“Sorry,” Gabriella brushed. “I was just searching for my mother, I didn’t mean to uncover so much more about you.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Callie reassured. “That was my past, and I will take what I did to my grave.”

Gabriella remained silent.

“So what do you want to know about your mother?” Callie asked.

Gabriella released a sigh with both grief and relief. Grief of the loss she had held in her heart for so long, and relief that she was finally going to get some answers.

“I want to know why my mother left me at the hospital that day, knowing she had the means to raise me.”

“I can’t answer for the dead,” Callie shook her head.

“I know that, but you at least knew her…”

“And I know giving you up was probably the best decision she could have made for you.”

“What?” Gabriella asked with furrowed brows. She spent her life in poverty. She was alone. She moved from foster home to foster home. The closest thing she has to a family is an old college roommate.

“My sister Aria was… impulsive. Especially when it came to money. She and my father would always clash on her irresponsible spendings. I believe she had you the year she just about had it with our father and so she disappeared for a year to travel across the country in a van with some friends. She was in no state to raise a child, even if we had the money.”

“But I grew up poor, without a family-” Gabriella began to argue.

“Do you think a crime family would have been any better?”

“Maybe,” Gabriella shrugged.

“It cost us your mothers life,” Callie reminded. “It nearly cost me mine.”

Gabriella remained silent.

“A life of riches is far from a fairytale when it’s funded with bloodmoney.”

Gabriella avoided her aunt’s eyes.

“So if it’s money you want from me I no longer have much of it,” Callie admitted.

“I don’t need money,” Gabriella promised. “I just wanted answers.”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer anymore than that,” Callie replied. “I didn’t even know my sister had you until this morning.”

“Would you have stepped in if you knew back then?” Gabriella asked.

Callie paused in thought. “Probably not,” she answered honestly. She believed the mob was no place for a child.

They sat in silence for a moment. Then Callie glanced at the clock.

“Then I won’t take up much more of your time,” Gabriella promised and stood from her seat. “Thank you for your time.”

Callie simply nodded.

“Can I ask how you found out where I live?” Callie asked before the younger woman could leave.

Gabriella signed. “Seattle Grace held a Gala last week. I was sorting the newspaper section of the library when I saw your face. Your hair is much shorter now but I had studied the family so much I recognized you right away… it wasn’t hard after I ran a search for you in Seattle.”

“What newspaper published that article?” Callie needed to know: if her niece could recognize her, how many more people could.

“Seattle Local. Don’t worry, I’ve already shredded as many copies of the paper as I could find,” Gabriella reassured.

“Thank you,” Callie sighed in relief.

“Can I ask you one last question before I go?” Gabriella asked.

“You just did.”

“Do you think there are people out there who still want you dead?” Gabriella proceeded to ask.

“I know there is,” Callie nodded. “Dozens of them.”

“How do you bear it? How do you live in fear?”

“I don’t,” Callie answered confidently. “Knowing my life could end at any moment is what makes every day so worth living.”

000

There was one part of Gabriella’s story that was missing; one part of the Calliope Torres story that was very private and protected from the public eye. Down a long hallway, two feet and a cane dully tread across grey terrazzo floors. The door at the end of the hall held a plaque, yielded the Seattle Grace Hospital logo and the title Chief of Surgery. She opened the door.

Large windows letting in lights from the Seattle Skyline also enclosed the spacious and personalized office. The walls were decorated with various frames, some with photos, others with accomplishments and awards. One of which was the 2014 Carter Madison Grant and a photo of a small clinic in Mawali. 

Arizona Robbins glanced up from her laptop and over reading glasses arched a single eyebrow.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Callie apologised.

Arizona smirked and motioned for her lover to come closer with finger.

Callie rounded the cherrywood desk and gave her wife a kiss.

“Hmm,” Arizona hummed with satisfaction.

“Missed you.” She said this every day.

“Missed you too,” Arizona replied with a smile. “How was your day?” she asked, pushing her chair back to make room for her wife.

“Well…” Callie leaned her cane against the desk and pushed the laptop back to sit on her wife’s desk, “I had a visitor at the house today.”

“A visitor?” Arizona repeated, intrigued. “We haven’t had a visitor in a very long time. Who was kind enough to send you a hitman this time?” she asked sarcastically. 

“Not an assassin,” Callie informed with a small smirk. A very small part of her missed when an assassin or two would shake up their home. It had been so quiet the past few years since they moved to Seattle, Callie could almost say she was starting to get bored. She and Arizona had become so good at silently putting hitmen away; they made great fertiliser for the flowers in the back garden. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, it turns out I have a niece. It looks like Aria forgot to mention she had a kid twenty-two years ago.”

“No way…”

“She looks just like her, Arizona, if she’s a con artist she sold it really well.”

“How’d she find you?”

“She saw a photo of me in a local paper, from the Gala.”

“Oh, Calliope… I didn’t know you’d be photographed.”

“It’s fine,” Callie shrugged. “I’m sort of glad she found me. It was nice talking about Aria again.”

“Are you going to keep in touch?”

“I didn’t want her to feel obligated to keep in contact. She’s a smart girl, she’ll come back if she wants to.”

Arizona gave her wife a sympathetic smile.

“Anyways, tell me about your day…” Callie encouraged her wife.

“I think I’d rather save the talking for later,” Arizona said with a smirk.

“Oh…” Callie chuckled and moaned when her wife pressed their lips together. Arizona’s hands were on her waist and they slowly made their way up her shirt as they kissed.

“You called for me, Doctor Robbins?” Callie teased, between kisses.

“I did, and you’re late,” Arizona played along. She loved her wife for a hundred million reasons, and one of them included how ungodly good she was at getting her off.

“I’m awfully sorry,” Callie apologised in her bedroom voice.

“Y-you’d better be,” Arizona gasped when her wife’s mouth wrapped around the skin on her neck and began to suck. “D-don’t leave a mark…” she scolded, “again.”

Callie smirked and slipped her hand into the white lab coat and down the navy blue scrub top. She cupped her wife’s breast; soft, warm, and a bit more plump than she remembered.

Arizona felt wetness begin to grow between her legs. Slick. Heat. Then a gush of fluid like the breaking of a damn.

“Callie!” Arizona shrieked.

“Arizona...” Callie gasped when she felt the wetness run down her leg, “was that?”

“I think my water just broke,” Arizona said with widened eyes.

“It’s a good thing we’re already at a hospital,” Callie chuckled and took her wife by the hand before leading her towards the maternity ward to have their baby.

Callie and Arizona rushed down the aisle, hand-in-hand, away from the altar where Elvis stood to officiate. With no family left between the two of them, they spent their wedding night celebrating their rather spontaneous wedding with a rather expensive bottle of wine and room service.

Overlooking the city of Las Vegas, a city also once ruled by crime families such as the Torres’s, Callie held Arizona in her arms as they watched the night lights.

“I never pictured myself getting married,” Arizona admitted softly.

“You’re telling me this now?” Callie arched her eyebrow, taking hold of Arizona’s hand that was now weighed down by a wedding band. 

“No, Calliope, I mean… I never pictured myself getting married in the white dress and large crowd. But this… this was perfect.”

“Oh…” Callie smiled mischievously and planted a hot kiss on her wife’s neck.

“Callie!” Arizona squinted her eyes and stopped walking.

“Breathe…” Callie coached.

“I am breathing,” Arizona gritted through her teeth, freezing for a couple of minutes before gathering up the strength to walk again.

“We’re almost there,” Callie reassured.

Arizona puffed air out of her cheeks and followed her wife’s lead. Moments later, she found herself on a hospital bed, monitors attached to her belly and her wife by her side.

“Push,” Arizona encouraged.

Callie let out a long grunt as she pushed against the resistance band that Arizona was holding behind her. She took three bullets in her arm, two in the gut, and one in her femur which left her with a permanent limp. She had accepted her fate of the cane, but she had yet to give up on rehabilitating her dominant hand.

“Good,” the physiotherapist praised. “You’re really motivated today!”

“Motivated to use my good hand in bed again,” Callie pushed against the purple band again.

“Callie!” Arizona gasped, not impressed with her lover’s vulgarness in front of the physiotherapist.

The therapist couldn’t help but chuckle, “It’s good to have goals.”

“Let’s see how your baby is doing…” Doctor Carina DeLuca snapped on a clean glove and placed herself between the patient’s legs. “Oh…” 

“What?” Callie and Arizona said in unison.

“When did you say your contractions began?” Carina  asked.

“I guess, this morning…” Arizona thought out loud.

“This morning?” Callie repeated with disbelief. Her wife had been in labour all day and she didn’t receive a single text of mention.

“I thought it was just a stomach ache from all the poundcake I ate for breakfast.” Arizona admitted. 

“Did you eat the whole coffee cart too?” Callie teased.

“I only had three...” Arizona defended, “this time.”

“Move to Seattle with me,” Arizona said, her head nestled on her wife’s chest. Las Vegas streets were loud but she could still hear Callie’s pounding heartbeat.

“Seattle?”

“They’ve offered me a job as an attending… if I accept it, we can have our own life there. Just you and me, far away from the craziness in Miami. You don’t belong there anymore, we don’t belong there anymore. We both need a new start, somewhere we can raise a family.”

“You want kids?” Callie asked, surprised. With all the commotion, they forgot to talk about having children.

“I want a family, whatever that may look like. I’ve never had one and I want one with you.”

“You can start pushing on your next contraction,” Doctor DeLuca instructed.

“Callie, I’m scared,” Arizona told her wife.

“You’ve made it this far, Arizona, I believe in you.”

“What if we lose this baby too?”

“We can’t think like that right now, Arizona, you need to focus on having this baby, okay?”

Arizona nodded her head and grunted as she pushed as hard as she could.

The house was so quiet.

With Lucy’s passing, there was no longer pitter patter of paws against the hardwood as she played around the house. Now their house filled with the noise of Arizona turning the page of her newspaper, and Callie watching car review videos on her phone.

“You think it’s too soon to get another dog?” Arizona asked.

“I don’t know if I want another dog,” Callie admitted.

“Can I finally have my chicken coop, then?”

“No…” Callie slowly shook her head.

“Well, we’re certainly not getting a ferret, Calliope-”

“I’ve been thinking… it’s a good time to have a baby.”

Arizona’s face brightened into a smile. “A baby?” she breathed out.

Callie nodded, “A baby.”

“Your baby is almost here…” Carina announced.

“Really?” Arizona phanted.

“Do you want the mirror?”

“Oh god, no,” Arizona shook her head in denial.

Callie couldn’t help but laugh.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” Arizona scolded her wife. “You owe me a new vagina after this!”

“I’m sorry…” the doctor repeated herself. “Please stay and use the room for as long as you need to.”

“Thank you,” Arizona nodded at the doctor and continued to console her wife.

Callie watched the doctor leave with blank eyes. The news hurt her more than she thought it would. She didn’t even know she wanted kids until she married Arizona, and now that she found out she couldn’t, she was heartbroken. Her life of crime, the bullets of revenge, had already taken her sister from her; she was saddened to learn it also took away her chance of having children of her own.

“What do you need from me?” Arizona said softly.

“I don’t know,” Callie shook her head.

“I’ll have them, Calliope, I want to have them,” Arizona offered for the hundredth time.

“I…” Callie gulped to rid of the dryness in her throat, “I thought we could have some of yours and some of mine too.”

“Oh, Calliope…” Arizona sighed in defeat. “It would have been amazing to have a little you running around the house, but I promise you they will be our babies no matter what.”

“She’s here…” Carina announced.

“It’s a girl?” Callie asked with surprise, relief and excited butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

“It’s a girl,” Carina confirmed.

Callie and Arizona smiled at the crying infant. Carina placed the child on Arizona’s chest and Callie wrapped her arms around her family. She was so little yet so loud, and mighty. Her hands were bronze like a Torres and her eyes were blue like a Robbins. She was there and she was theirs.

“I love you…”

“What?” Callie said past dry lips. She thought she would never see Arizona Robbins again, let alone have her visit her hospital room every day for the past three months. 

“I love you,” Arizona nodded her head. She had known, deep down, for a long time. But she was at the airport, ready to leave for Africa, ready to truly move on from her tango with the mob and start a new life, a new clinic, for children in a new land, Malawi, when she saw the Torres heir fall to the ground in front of the courthouse. She hated that she had to see Calliope Torres get shot multiple times on television to realise it. She loved the notorious boss and she couldn’t leave Miami without her.

“Arizona, you can’t-”

“You’re not my boss, Calliope, you can’t tell me what I can and can’t do anymore-”

“No, Arizona, you need someone... normal,” Callie defended her stance. “Someone who can give you the easy life you deserve. Someone who doesn’t have a past-”

“I know your past, Calliope, and I know the kind of woman you are deep down. Do you think it was easy to let someone else run my clinic in Africa, to turn down a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity so I can spend three months in this hospital with you? I know love isn’t easy, but I choose it because—because life without it is dull and cold.”

Callie eyed her lover.

“I know there are people who want you dead...” Arizona continued, “that danger will follow you, but—why live in fear when we can take our chances at being happy?”

“Jeez, okay, enough with the dramatics,” Callie teased.

Arizona gasped, offended, then laughed. Her speech was quite cheesy.

“I love you too. I’ve known for a while,” Callie admitted. “But I want what’s best for you. That’s why I let you go...” 

“And I know what I want,” Arizona countered. “That’s why I came back...”

Callie cradled baby Sofia as Arizona finally fell asleep in her hospital bed. Sofia had that intoxicating new baby smell and Callie soaked in every minute of it. Swaddled in her hospital blanket, Sofia was content and happy to be in her mother’s arms. 

Callie glanced at Arizona and watched her peacefully rest. She deserves it. Arizona let out a soft snore and it made Callie smile. Her mob career started in her father’s hospital room. Her love for Arizona blossomed in her hospital room. Now their middle family had grown by one in the hospital room.

Callie Torres was working in a cubicle, in an office, on a floor, in a building full of cubicles. She was the daughter of a notorious crime boss and she was in an office working a nine-to-five desk job. Despite her upbringing, she went to college. She attended Penn State, the first in her family to go to college. She told herself that she needed space from the mob, but deep down she knew she left home because she resented her father for not being a good husband to her mother. Over a decade later, she still blamed him for making Lucia Torres flee. So Callie moved away, to a city where nobody knew her name, and for four years she studied literature, made an honest living, and lived a modest lifestyle. She was set. She had financial independence from her father and no ties to the life he lived.

Until a single phone call changed her projection. She came back to Miami after years of avoiding the city and the chaos within it. Giovanni sent one of the drivers to pick her up at the airport and she felt helpless in the backseat of the Cadillac. She hated it: the feeling of being the young woman with no independence, thanks to the nature of the family business. There was a reason why she moved out: to be able to do things on her own.

The short car ride felt like hours, but soon she was at Miami General: pushing through a crowd of news reporters hoping to get information and FBI agents hoping to find dirt that will finally warrant the arrest of the biggest mob boss in the city. The FBI were always around—ever since Carlos himself was a child—but they could never find enough evidence to take the family court. Thus, they tried to get close whenever they could. It disgusted Callie. Her father was ill and all people cared about was exposing him. 

She ran to his bedside the moment she squeezed past the door and took his hand into her own.

“Calliope…” he coughed up.

“I’m here, papa.” Callie soothed, combing what was left of his hair with her fingers.

“You came home,” Carlos smiled.

“Of course I did. You take it easy, okay?”

Carlos closed his eyes and nodded his head. He was weak, and he drifted off to sleep shortly.

“Miss Torres?” a soft knock came from the door. “I’m Dr. Teddy Altman, your father’s surgeon.”

Callie turned around and stood to politely shake the woman’s hand. “Call me Callie,” she insisted. “Can you tell me what happened? ”

“Callie…” Teddy sighed, “From the looks of things, your father has had heart failure for years.”

“He’s never mentioned it...” Callie insecurely crossed her arms, “Is he going to make it?”

“He’s responding to the ‘tropes, the medications we’re giving him, but that’s all I can say for now.”

“Is he going to make it?” Callie repeated.

“It’s hard to say…” Teddy trailed off, “But I can tell you that we’re doing everything we can.”

“Is he going to be treated just like everyone else?” Callie asked. She knew the doctor wasn’t oblivious to who she was taking care of. A high-profile man like Carlos Torres drew attention wherever he went.

“We provide treatment solely based on the patient’s clinical needs...” Teddy promised, “without moral discrimination.”

She stayed by her father’s side—only going home to get cleaned up and sleep. When she wasn’t tending to him, she was making sure his casinos were running smoothly. She became a frequent customer at the cafeteria, and even the girl at the coffee cart knew how she took her coffee. She didn’t know if it was love or guilt that made her stay by her father’s side. She felt guilty that she had deserted the family, all those years ago. And if she didn’t keep her head down that day, she would have ran into the blonde-haired blue-eyed surgical resident that stood in front of her while she waited for her coffee.

“How are the casinos?” Carlos asked one day, when he had the strength.

“Don’t worry about them,” Callie insisted, “I’ve made sure Alex and George stay on track; you just work on getting better.”

“You’re getting involved with our operations?”

“Yes, it’s fine, everything is fine.”

“You know, I always thought it would be you that I’d leave the casinos to…”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t cut-out to be a boss,” Callie hung her head in shame.

“Don’t say that, mija, I’m so proud of you,” Carlos admitted.

“You are?” Callie questioned softly.

“Always,” Carlos promised. “My smart, beautiful, girl.”

Callie wiped the tears that trickled down her cheeks and held onto her father’s hand.

Later that evening, Callie was leaving her father’s room to go home when she realized the watchman that usually guarded the door was not at his post. She grabbed her phone to call Giovanni and sighed in relief when he told her that he would fire the man for leaving his post and send over another member of his security team immediately.

In the meantime, Callie waited by her father. It was highly unlikely that any harm would come, but she still had an unsettling feeling in her gut—which amplified when she heard the door open, and she turned her head in time to see a grey-haired man.

“You must be his little girl,” he chuckled.

“What do you want?” Callie asked harshly.

“Well…” he shrugged his shoulders, his hands in his pockets. “I’m here to take him out. I don’t want to hurt anyone else, but now that you’re here... I don’t have much of a choice.”

Callie stood from her seat and took a step back. She was scared—initially— then anger sparked within her. Suddenly, she wanted to get him before he could get her or her father. She quickly weighed out her options. She was unarmed, and had been for years. She knew he had a gun, she could see the outline in his pants. She glanced around the room and in a matter of seconds she had a plan.

She grabbed the flower vase from the nightstand behind her and threw it across the room. Distraction. He lifted his hands to block the glass from hitting his face, and she rammed her right shoulder into his sternum, pinning him against the wall. Attack. The impact caused a couple of his ribs to break, and the noise of the vase shattering onto the floor caused the nurses to start peering into the window. He was able to strike her cheek with the gun, causing the skin to break, but she didn’t feel the pain. Her adrenaline was pumping through her veins and she wanted nothing more than to see him dead.

“Bitch,” he spat, trying to point the gun at her head, but bone-breaking strength pinned his body against the wall. The Torres heir was stronger than he thought.

Callie groaned and struck her elbow against his windpipe. Once. Twice. Three times. The sound of his cartilage breaking from impact. At this point, he was still alive, but the injury to his neck narrowed his trachea and he struggled to take the faintest breath of air. So Callie stepped back, letting him fall to the floor, and she kicked the gun out of his hand. She glanced back, her father was still asleep. She looked forward, the nurses had called security and they were waiting outside the door. She opened it, stepped outside, and a nurse walked to her side.

“You want me to look at that, Miss Torres?” the nurse asked.

“Look at what?” Callie mindlessly asked, still in shock from the events that took place moments ago.

“Your cheek is bleeding…”

Callie took a seat on a nearby chair, exhausted. She couldn’t believe it. She won her first fight.

“What should we do with him?” one of the security guards asked, wanting to be of assistance but also not wanting to get too involved with the mob.

“Leave him. Someone will be here to clean up shortly,” Callie sighed. It was only now that the blood from her cheek trickled down her neck that she realized she was bleeding. “I’m sorry for the noise…” she told the hospital staff, and the few patients that watched the scene unfold, “But nobody saw anything, right?”

All watching eyes turned away and went about minding their own business. Except the nurse who had offered to help, she had gone to get a dressing kit and returned to tend to Callie’s injury.

When Carlos Torres came to consciousness and learned of his daughter’s doings, that Callie was managing the casinos quite well and taking care of business in his absence, he knew what to do before his inevitable death. With her father’s ring on her finger, Callie Torres took her place behind the desk in the office she was forbidden to be in at her childhood home.

“I can’t believe she’s home…”

“I can’t believe she’s ours…”

Callie and Arizona cooed at the sleeping infant in the crib.

“We should go to bed and get some sleep while we can,” Arizona suggested. “She’ll be up wanting a feeding before we know it.”

“You go to sleep before she needs you. I’ll stay up a little longer, just in case she needs anything else...” Callie volunteered.

“We’re across the hall, Calliope, she’ll be okay on her own for an hour or two,” Arizona promised. 

“I don’t mind,” Callie insisted.

“Come to bed with me, please?” Arizona pleaded.

“Arizona, I…”

“What is it, love?” Arizona asked, placing a soft hand on her wife’s arm.

“I think I’m scared…”

“She’s safe here,” Arizona promised.

“What if something bad were to happen to her, to us, to our family? I don’t want her out of my sight. I know you we’ve been safe here but you know my past-”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with your past, Calliope,” Arizona couldn’t help but smile. “That’s called being a mother. We’re going to worry about her for the next eighteen years, at least. We’ll have eighteen years to worry about her so please, can we go to bed for now?”

Callie sighed then nodded her head in agreement. Why live in fear when we can take a chance at being happy? She had chosen happiness these past few years, she took a vow to choose happiness with Arizona. Now she vowed this: if anyone laid a finger on her baby, she would hurt them before they could hurt Sofia.

FIN.

[laws-hat-headcanons]

After trying to post this twice alresdy thanks to tumblr being a dick, here it is (I hope)! Soul mate AUs are fun though Law is a bitch to write for

Anyway, enjoy!

Soul Mate AU: Trafalgar Law

Law scrubs a hand through his hair and huffs out a sigh, glancing to the small battered clock on his night stand. 3.34am.

He sighs again and snaps the book he had been reading shut, eyes aching from reading in dim light for too long. He pushes to his feet, stretches till his back cracks and places the book on his desk. Rubbing his eyes Law drops back onto the bed, face pressed against the pillows. He ignores the sudden itching feeling on his forearm and closes his eyes, drifting slowly into a dreamless sleep.

 

When Law wakes it is with bleary eyes and mussed hair. Still exhausted he looks at his clock again and groans – 06.14am, barely three hours since he fell asleep. He shakes his head, idly scratching his inner arm before slowly extracting himself from the bedsheets. He throws on a t-shirt and a pair of sweats before heading to the kitchen in search of coffee.

To his surprise Penguin is already up, nursing a mug of something black and bitter, an annoyed expression on his face. Law raises an eyebrow and Penguin huffs. “Bepo has been snoring all night,” The other man says as Law pours himself a mug. “I haven't slept at all.”

Law rolls his eyes and sits down opposite his crew mate and pulls yesterdays paper towards himself, half listening to Penguin rant about the thickness of the walls in the sub. He doesn't notice when the other man stops talking.

“When did you get another tattoo?” Penguin asks, taking a sip of his coffee.

“What?” Law asks, distractedly, glancing up from the paper.

“That tattoo, when did you get it?” Penguin repeats, tilting his head to Law's arm. Law follows his gaze and turns his arm up to see the grey swirl imprinted on his skin. He stares at it for a moment, not quite sure if he's seeing what he thinks he's seeing.

“Hey!” Penguin suddenly shouts excitedly, instantly on his feet and reaching over the table to grab Laws arm, Law pulls away.

“Is that what I think it is?” Penguin asks, pure glee in his voice as he tries to get a better look. Law slaps a hand to his forearm to cover the blossoming shapes, letters darkening slowly.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Law snaps, coffee forgotten as he gets up, arm still covered. “And don't tell anyone about this!”

Penguin doesn't say anything as Law hurriedly exits the room. Instead he grins, drains the last of his coffee and goes to wake up Shachi.

 

Law goes straight back to the privacy of his room to examine the new tattoo in better detail. He shoves aside books and pens and slams his left arm down on the desk, turning on the lamp for a little extra illumination.

The tattoo runs almost the length of his inner forearm, a thick curling script no more than an inch high, bracketed by swirling filigree. He stares at the still forming name, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

Law knows what it is, of course. He studied the phenomena some years ago, intrigued by what he assumed could only be some kind of hormonal response from the body, though he could never truly work out the mystery of the name – in fact there was no definitive medical explanation for the odd condition, no specific symptoms or reasoning behind it.

A Soul Mark someone had called it once. Law had scoffed and never finished that particular article, or any of the others that had referenced a 'soul mate'. Now he wasn't so sure.

Law spent a long time staring at his arm, wondering the best course of action. The tattoo was getting more and more defined. Soon he would be able to see the name clearly and there would be no hiding the mark on his skin.

With a groan Law stood up at the same moment the door to his cabin burst open, and a clamour of voices began babbling excitedly at him as Bepo, Shachi and Ikkaku all tried to barge in at once.

“Captain! Is it true?” Bepo asked.

“Let us see!” Shachi demanded, reaching for Laws arm.

“Get out!” Law snapped, pulling his arm behind his back to keep it hidden. “Now!”

“But Captain...” Bepo sniffled, suddenly looking wounded at his words, eyes wide and teary.

“No. Go away.” Law repeated, and watched as Bepo's bottom lip trembled.

Law stared at him for a long moment, the polar bear's face growing sadder and sadder with each passing second till Law let out a disgusted sigh and slowly held his arm out.

All three swarmed him, turning his arm this way and that as they tried to read the name imprinted there. Law snatched his arm back. “Alright! Get off me.”

“I've never seen one before,” Ikkaku says, tapping her chin. “Does it hurt?”

“Never mind that! How are we going to find them?” Shachi questions, and Law jerks back.

“We aren't!” Law growls. “We aren't going to do anything – just keep sailing until this disappears.” He says, covering the mark with his hand again. God he hoped it would disappear.

“You don't even want to try?” Shachi asks, his frown deepening.

“But they're your Soul Mate Captain!” Bepo whines, paws pressed together.

“Enough!” Law snaps. “No one is to mention this again – that's an order!”

His crew look like they want to argue, but Law looks at each in turn, his eyes dark as he dares one of them to contradict him. When he is sure they have all understood his orders he points to the door. “Now get out.”

They go.

 

For the next week Law ignores that phantom itch, wearing long sleeved tops so he doesn't have to look at the mark, so he doesn't see if it is darker or lighter.

The news of his predicament spread quickly around the ship despite his orders, and he catches his crew whispering together on more than one occasion.

Law isn't stupid enough to think they have given up, so when Bepo comes to him a few days later and says they have to dock at the nearest island for supplies he is suspicious. Law allows himself a glance at his arm and hisses when he sees it is almost completely filled in. He refuses to read the name now plainly printed there.

“Find another island.” He tells Bepo.

The Mink looks sheepishly and tells him there are no other islands.

Law checks the maps, he checks the stock room, he checks his arm again. He can't deny they need more provisions – they won't make it to the next island without them.

Grudgingly Law agrees.

 

They reach the island the next day and Law refuses to leave his cabin. His Soul Mate might live on this island – but that doesn't mean he has to meet them. He sits in his room trying to distract himself with a book but his eyes are drawn back to the mark on his arm.

Law grunts. He runs long fingers over the tattoo, his skin rippling with goosebumps at the touch.

He shakes his head and closes his eyes.

Whoever Name is, they're unlucky to have been paired with him. Everyone he ever loved has died – he doesn't need to add their name to the list too. It's kinder this way, he tells himself. Besides, the life of a pirate isn't for everyone, and he doesn't have time to fall in love anyway. The excuses come to his mind easily and he convinces himself that there is no such thing as Soul Mates anyway.

“This is ridiculous,” Law mutters to himself, opening his eyes. He gets up, paces round his room once before heading for the door. He makes sure his sleeves are down before stepping out and making his way to the deck for some fresh air.

If his crew are surprised to see him out in the open, none of them are stupid enough to say anything. Law stands at the railing and takes a deep breath. His eyes wander over the movement of the docks, sailors and merchants, another pirate ship some way down the harbour. He tells himself he isn't looking for anything in particular, just passing time, taking in the view of a new island.

He spots Bepo at the end of the pier, trying to heft two big boxes back to the ship, and rolls his eyes. Law lifts his hand to help his first mate, a Room starting to spin at his fingertips when something else catches his eye behind the bear.

They're standing a little behind Bepo, talking to one of the sailors from the merchant ship, a smile on their face as the sea breeze lifts their hair. There's a sword slung over one of their shoulders and a heavy looking pack over the other. They shift the pack as he watches, letting out a laugh at something the sailor says and Law notes the dark black smudge just visible on the inside of their forearm.

Law lets his hand drop to his side, the Room dissolving into nothingness as his breath catches in his chest, his heart pounds.

Does he want this?

Law shakes his head, trying the clear the sound of blood pounding in his ears. This isn't for him, he thinks quickly. He doesn't want this. Doesn't deserve it. He's about to leave, to go back to his quarters when they turn, sensing his gaze.

He watches as they still mid-conversation, their words trailing off. Seconds pass, Law knows he should go, but he can't tear himself away. They give a little tilt of their head as if considering before excusing themselves, stepping away from the sailor. Law feels his chest constrict as they start down the pier towards him, brushing past Bepo till they're level with him.

He looks down at them from the railing, debates just leaving. But he doesn't.

Law takes in their face, bright eyes and laugh lines. A small scar just above their right eyebrow. Dimpled cheeks and soft lips.

He remains silent as they give him a lopsided grin. They glance at their arm as if to make sure they've got the right person before looking up again. Law resists the urge to look at his own arm, to re-read their name etched in his skin.

“I gotta ask,” They start, their voice light and amused. “What does the 'D' stand for?”

[spikelovesjulia]

Title: Julia Calls Me

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Cowboy Bebop

Pairing: Julia/Spike Spiegel

Language: English

Chapters: 1/?

Words: 5419

Tags: Romance, True Love, One True Pairing, Getting Back Together, Established Relationship, Obsession, Trust Issues, Abandonment Issues, Codependency, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Explicit Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Making Love, Cohabitation, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Bliss, Bounty Hunters, IN SPACE!, Slice of Life, Family Dynamics, Cooking, Shopping, Hanging Out, Roommates, Friendship, Female Friendship, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Developing Friendships, Financial Issues, Relationship Advice, Character Study, Character Development, Personal Growth, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It           

Summary: Having rid themselves and the world of Vicious, Spike and Julia return to the Bebop to start their new life together. Jet welcomes them with open arms. Faye has to adjust to the situation but she's trying. Basically, Spike Spiegel gets everything he ever wanted.

Notes: This is the story of Spike and Julia reconnecting as lovers and partners. But also having to wade through the deep emotional pain of having been apart for so long. I’m warning you now, this will be an EXTREMELY sexual fic. They will be going at it quite often. There will be a lot of needy desperate sex of all kinds. And a lot of Spike Spiegel being Spike Spiegel except now he has a girlfriend. 0.o

Chapter 1: I Got a Woman

“It’s really, really not much.” He told her with a self-deprecating laugh. Kicking himself for not bothering to get a decent bedspread or fucking sheets at any point in the past three years.

She smiled at him, her hand coming to caress his arm. “Whatever it is, it will be just fine.”

He opened the door to his room. There it was. Dingy, poorly lit, windowless. The drab bare walls of the Bebop not helping one bit. The one table he did have was cluttered with his belongings. The one chair in his possession draped messily with clothes. The small chest of drawers by his bed held a lamp atop it, among a collection of this and that. Then there was his bed. Big enough to fit two comfortably yet lumpy, worn, with a puke green bedspread flung on top, and bunched up sheets underneath. He had not been expecting company. Least of all that he would have her back in his life. In his room. In his bed.

“It’s cozy.” She told him politely, then smiled. “Maybe it just needs a woman’s touch?”

“Oh, it certainly needs that.” He agreed, returning her smile and nodding his head.

“I’ll be very happy here.” Her eyes sparkled. “As long as I’m with you.”

 Are you? Are you finally with me? After I waited for so long?

“Make yourself at home.” He offered casually as he closed the door and followed her.

She began removing her coat, he was quick to help. It joined whatever was strewn over the chair. He’d almost lost her. Lost her for good. Everything inside him roared back in fierce desperation when he thought of it. He couldn’t afford to waste his chance. Their chance. He could never lose her again. Never.

A quiet moment lingered. It was electric... what hung in the air between them. They both could feel it. Then he was pulling her into his arms before he had so much as given his body permission to move. “Julia.” Her name escaped his lips. It was a prayer. A plea.

Smoothly he drew her in, as if he did this sort of thing all the time. And yet once their lips met, his need destroyed whatever sense he had left to him, as he claimed her mouth. Claiming was the only way to describe it. How he kissed her. He took. And he took. And he took. His tongue thrust deep and dancing with her own.

That he had been deprived this. That he had endured it for so long. That she had finally returned to put an end to his suffering. All of it transformed him into a man he could hardly recognize.

She moaned into their kiss and it was like a balm to his torn and tattered soul.  

Love me again. Like before. I want it like before.

He just kept kissing her. No pretense of restraint. The sweetness of her lips calling to him. Maddening him until all he knew was lust and desire. All he wanted was to be lost in the bliss of her love. The bliss of her body.

 Be with me. Complete me.

“Like that.” She encouraged, panting, almost crying out. “Just like that. Spike, please.” He started kissing down her elegant neck.

It was surreal. He had the woman of his dreams in his arms, saying please because she wanted to be fucked by him. How had his luck turned so drastically? Not two days prior he would have sworn he was cursed. Targeted by syndicate assassins. A liability to the few friends he had. The woman he loved lost to him for years.

His hands adroitly undid the buttons of her dark burgundy blouse. It was almost comical, how quickly his fingers moved. But honestly, the thing would have been ripped off her body if it hadn’t been one of the only articles of clothing she currently possessed.

The maroon lace of her bra clung prettily to her gorgeous breasts. Luscious and delectable in their beauty. His breath caught in his throat. Fuck he had missed them. Yet for this he slowed down. Because she deserved to be enjoyed. She was made to be enjoyed. She was so beautiful. Her golden curls shining in the dim light of his room. Her blue eyes bright and filled with need. His mouth so hungry for her. He had to taste everywhere.

He went for it. Burying his face between her breasts and nuzzling. Inhaling as deeply as he could. Her scent was like a drug to him. His hands coming to play with her pretty nipples. He could see them through the lace. He loved them. Love to suck on them. Taste them. To tease them gently with his teeth. He kissed across the swell of one breast and then the other. Adoring them. Such pretty tits. They were perfect. Round. So perky. Just what he liked. He heard himself moan. It was a sound he hadn’t made since he’d had her last. Nearly four years ago.

“You haven't changed at all.” He said burning the image of her in his mind.

“You’re too kind.” She told him in that sultry voice that beckoned to him. Then gave him an inviting smile.  

This is real. He told himself. She is real. She is here. But it still didn't seem possible. He felt the creep of an irrational terror. What if he woke to find it all a dream? But the fear left his mind as soon as it came. She was in the process of removing the pants she wore.

Those legs. That body. The only reason he hadn’t gotten that bra off her yet was because he needed to see her in the bra and panty set. So, the panties did match then. They were the same maroon lace. Classy. Sexy. Not something she wore with the intention to provoke necessarily, but the lady provoked. The dark brown-red color contrasting so beautifully against the glow of her pale skin.

There had always been something dreamlike about her. He remembered that. Remembered the moments where he could not believe that she was real. How was it fair someone so beautiful should exist? And how was he to bear it? Was he to go mad because of her? Had he? Why else would such a beautiful creature exist, if not to drive men to ruin with her beauty?

Yet if that was the truth of it, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He just wanted and wanted.

The bra had long overstayed its welcome by then. He needed to see her body. It took him half a second to unclasp the thing with one hand. He pulled it off her and flung it to the floor. Her clothes belonged strewn on his floor mixed with his. Quickly discarded in the heat of passion.

She laughed. “Still good at that, I see.” Did she think he’d had practice in their time apart?

The question didn’t slow him down as he gazed at the most beautiful pair of tits he’d ever seen. Fuck. They really were perfect. Delicate and yet so proud. Right in that sweet spot. Not too big, not too small. Just exquisite. Taking a nipple into his mouth he began to suck greedily. She tasted so damn good. The sweet bud pebbling evermore against his needy tongue.

What about her? Had she been with anyone? No. He wouldn’t think of that. Yet jealousy was already blooming in the pit of his stomach. If she had, he didn't want to know. It didn't matter anyways, he reminded himself.

He suckled harder. That made her cry out. Baby, that is but a taste of what I have in store for you. He used to be able to get her all riled up and then have her mewling like a sweet little sex kitten. He needed that again. Needed it like he needed oxygen.  

His hands went to her panties. “Not so fast.” She warned. He could feel himself pout. She laughed, but fondly. “I’m down to my panties and you have yet to remove a single article of clothing. How is that fair?”

“Well, if you want me that badly.” He said to her cockily, loosening his tie before pulling it off and discarding it with swagger.

“That’s a start. Keep going.” She ordered. He grinned at her, tossing his blazer off and then undoing the buttons of his shirt.

It was a rush, discarding his shirt and being naked from the waist up before her. She liked his body. At least she had. She’d kissed nearly every inch of him and murmured sweet nothings about how handsome he was. It had genuinely made him blush at the time. He knew he had. She’d teased him about it plenty.

 And now? What about now, Julia?

As if right on cue she moaned for him. Coming to him. Putting her hands on his chest. Touch me, Julia. Touch me. His mind begged, even as she was. The caress of her finger tips a delight to him.

“You’re so beautiful.” She told him.

“Nah, that’s my line.”

“What is?”

“You’re so beautiful.” He repeated looking straight into her pretty eyes. She gave him one of her special smiles. The windy smile. No longer teasing, but genuine and touched. He loved that smile. It was treasure to him. He needed that smile. “I never stopped loving you.” He told her. Pulling her in for another hungry kiss. Holding her in his arms. Loving the feel of her against his skin.

There. He’d confessed. Say it back. Say it.

She took his face in her hands tenderly, looking up at him. “I never stopped loving you.”

Then he kissed her. Just kissed her and kissed her, because god knows what he would have said if he hadn’t.

His hands slip lovingly down her body, until he was caressing her beautiful buttocks. Sneaking both hands under her panties, he lovingly kneaded those gorgeous cheeks. He did it slowly. Sensually. Taking his time and enjoying the smoothness of her ass. He was going to kiss all over it.

“Pants.” She instructed him. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed this.” She said before caressing his raging erection. He groaned a little. It just felt too good. He’d been rock hard and twitching for ages now. Hell, he’d already been stirring since before they made it to his room.

“Oh that.” He chuckled. “I’m just happy to see you.”

“I’m happy to see you too.” She said as she undid his belt. He loved it when she did that. When she needed him so badly, she had to strip him herself.

But he was quick to remove the remainder of his clothing on his own. His orange striped boxers weren’t exactly the kind of thing he wanted Julia to see him in. He added new briefs to the ever-growing list of things he had to upgrade as soon as possible.

Yet he felt no shame in being completely naked in front of her. Naked and deeply, deeply aroused. His hard cock jetting out and straining at her desperately. This was natural. How they were meant to be. Just a man and a woman in love. About to make love.

“It’s even bigger than I remember.” She said to him. Heat and arousal in her voice.

“Trying to stroke my ego?” If she was, she’d been successful. He was all too pleased by that last comment.

“I thought you’d enjoy being stroked.”

He chuckled again. “Well, yes. Now, about those panties.”

He was already advancing on her. Forcing her to back onto his bed.

Once he had her where he wanted her. He went in for the kill. Pinning her to the mattress.

His heart ached wonderfully. As if it were beating for the first time in years. And yet the sorrow and longing of the long empty span of their time apart still resided deep within his chest. The sting of it lingering.

He kissed her. Kissed her like his life depended on it. Because it did.

What did anything else matter now? She was with him. Finally.

Then he was kissing down her body. Running his tongue down her neck, down her throat. Her head hung back giving him all the access he could want. Her body arching into him. Begging him to take her. He kissed along her clavicle and down further still. He took a nipple into his mouth. Couldn’t resist. Kept suckling while his fingers played with its twin. Then switched. He lavished them with his ardent and undivided attention. His hands coming to cup both of them at once. He was so greedy, and she was so beautiful.

“So. Fucking. Sexy.” He whispered before his mouth was hungrily at her breasts again. She whined, already panting heavy.  Then he kissed the underside of her tits, kissed down, down, down her flat tummy. Stopping to lick her cute belly button. Then it was time.

He moaned loudly. They were soaked. They were soaked through.  

He buried his face between her legs, only a strip of wet lace keeping him from what he most desired. “You smell so fucking good.” He said nuzzling his nose against the trembling pussy just underneath the gossamer barrier. Her scent was intoxicating to him. Just when he thought he couldn’t get any more desperate for her, he did.  

He kissed her heated sex through the lace, darting his tongue out and running it long her crease and up to her clit. He sucked at her there. Through the lace. Fuck, he needed this.

He never forgotten the taste of her. Every time he’d come in the years they’d been apart, he’d had the memory of that taste in his mouth. Every single fucking time.

“Spike.” She pleaded. But he wasn’t letting up.

He raised his eyes to see her tits bouncing as her body thrashed about. He loved that. Loved everything about her.

Did she remember? Did she remember how he used to eat her pussy? How much he’d loved doing it? How he’d do it all the time? That he loved it when she was coming against his tongue, against his mouth, against his face?

He was pulling the panties off before he knew it.

Goddamn. Undressing her had always been like unwrapping a present.

And there was Julia in all her beauty. He gave himself a moment just to look at her. To drink her in. To feast upon the mouthwatering sight of his lover.

Julia had the most perfect pussy. The fucking prettiest, the tightest. The lovely pinkness of her so alluring to him. She was a literal goddess. The idealized embodiment of feminine perfection.

As if she could hear his thoughts, she opened her legs wider for him. Bending her knees and planting her pretty feet firmly upon the mattress. It was like being granted entrance into Eden.

So pink, so womanly.

He was the one panting now. His arousal near unbearable. His cock twitching wildly in anticipation. It must have been written all over his face how much he enjoyed this. She was blushing. Rose dusting across her cheeks. It pulled at his heart how lovable she was. How lovely.

He smiled at her before he began kissing down her inner thigh. Kissing adoringly. Making each kiss a promise. To love her eternally. To love her faithfully. To be good to her in every way.

Being like this with her again made him feel joy.  

And she was enjoying herself too. That he could tell. But there was an eager nervousness about her. She wanted him! And yet… Are you worried, my love? About pleasing me? No woman has ever pleased a man the way you please me. You think that could ever change? All the planets and all the stars could crumble into nothingness before it did. And even then, it wouldn’t.

He locked eyes with her and licked his lips deliberately.

Then he spread her folds apart with his fingers, so he could see inside of her. I could come just from looking at you, Julia.

“You’re the most beautiful.” He told her. Then went in to kiss what was his.

He licked her. Moaned against her wet folds. It was just as good as he remembered. Fuck. It was. Or better. It was even better. He kept licking. Losing himself in it almost immediately. It’d always been like this. He’d always had an animal reaction to the scent and taste of his woman. It made him wild. He loved this pussy. Lived for it. Would die for it.

“Spike…” She cried. Her hands going straight into his hair. That’s it. Keep saying my name. Pull my hair if you want to. Just keep your hands on me and my name on your tongue.

“You like being licked like that?” He asked but didn’t wait for a response. The answer was quite obvious. He just did it again. And again. And again. Making her cry out from the pleasure of it every time. He really couldn’t give less of a fuck if Jet or Faye heard. “So sweet. You always taste so fucking sweet.” He told her between mad licks and swirls of his tongue.

“Spike.” She was chanting. “Spike. I want you.” He smiled into her pretty pussy as he kept going at her. Just going at her.

 You have me. You’ve always had me. From the first. I was yours from the first.

He changed his tactic suddenly. On impulse. Maybe he wanted to draw it out a little bit more. Spreading her wide he licked inside her as deep as he could. He swirled his tongue again very deliberately and got exactly the response he wanted.

She screamed in pleasure. One hand immediately coming to clamp over her mouth, to keep herself quiet. The other still in his hair. Holding him in place. As if she had to.

Deftly he brought his index and middle finger into her opening and slid them in. He felt the overwhelming tightness almost immediately. Fuck. Maybe he should have started with just the index. It was like she’d never been with a man before. That both excited and offended him deeply.

She was fucking wet too. He’d licked up as much of that honey as he could get, savoring it on his tongue before swallowing.

He began retreating when she let out a protest. “Don’t.” He stopped pulling out. Stayed still as he listened to her labored breaths. His cock aching for her as he imagined what it was going to be like. “Keep going. Please, baby.” She’d called him “baby”. They really were together again. He didn’t know why, but that somehow made it official. He was her boyfriend. Her lover. Her man. It was real. Maybe because he’d always loved it when she called him sweet things. He loved to be dear to her.

“This pussy is just too tight, love.” He informed her. Two fingers still inside her, filling her. His thumb coming to work on her clit. “I’m going to have to do something about that.”

He missed the dirty talk. They used to say all kinds of deliciously filthy things to each other when they were in the mood.

“Are you trying to stroke my ego?” She asked seductively between pants.

“Not your ego.” He said curving his fingers up inside her just right

She gasped very sharply. He began pumping into her.

“That good?” He asked, his thumb still playing with her clit.

“Yeaahh.” She let out in the sexiest sob-moan he’d ever heard. Oh, Fuck. You’re going to be making that sound over and over again tonight. “I’m just adjusting.” She added breathily afterwards, as if embarrassed. “It’s… been a while.” Has it? How long, my love? Months? Years? He told himself to fuck off.

Nothing was going to ruin this for him. Nothing.

He watched hungrily as his fingers played with her. Fucking her. Stretching her. He could do this for hours. He had. So many times. Desperately, he went back to licking at her clit as his fingers fucked into her.

Come for me, Julia. Let that beautiful pussy come for me. Just let go and be mine.

It wouldn’t be long. She was already squeezing him with her thighs and bucking into him. Yes, baby. Like that. I wanna feel it. He switched from licking to sucking on her clit.

And there it was! There it was! Multiples! Right out of the gate. He took it all in, triumphantly. Wanting it so badly. Going back to eating her out like a mad man. Come all over my fucking face, baby. I need it. I’ve wanted you like this, exactly like this, the whole time.

Each climax had quite the exuberant release. Pouring from her scrumptiously in the most erotic way imaginable.

His left hand quickly slipped down to grip the base of his cock, otherwise he would have been shooting his load on the bedspread. You can make me come just by letting me lick you, Julia. If I let myself, I would.

He should have rubbed one out quickly beforehand. It was going to take effort not to blow it immediately. But he wasn’t a boy. He was going to fuck that delicious pussy like a man, no matter how fucking tight she was. She wasn’t anywhere near done coming for the night.

Fuck. Her gorgeous body was still writhing wildly. Her desperate sobs bringing him so much pleasure. What number are you on now, baby? Was that the third or the fourth?  

When she started jolting, he knew it was time to stop. He needed to give her a moment.

He sat up so he could watch her. She was so fucking sexy. She’d just pulled her knees up to her chest as she rode out the last of her orgasms, her feet pointed, and toes curled. Her head flung back in ecstasy. Her sensual moans resounding through his room. They don’t make porn this hot, Julia. Just look at you. And he was looking. He saw a devastatingly beautiful woman laid out on his bed. Her gorgeous long blonde hair tussled about. Her spectacular body in an extremely erotic position. Her sex on full display and trembling. Her thighs glistening with her own desire.

I just licked every inch of that pussy. I want to do it all over again. I want to taste that pretty little rosebud just a bit further south too. He wanted to, so badly. But he could only grip the base of his cock for so long. He NEEDED to be inside her.

Grabbing at his bed spread he used it to clean up. When they were together last, she didn’t seem to realize how special it made her, how desirable. That her body would respond that way to him was so arousing, so gratifying. She’d been shocked when it happened the first time, and he’d lost his mind at the pure eroticism of it. So sexy. It had become an addiction, making her body do that for him.

“You good, beautiful?” He asked softly. His hands coming to pull her legs apart.

Blue eyes opened to look at him. She was stunning.

“Only you could make a woman come like that.” She told him. It was both a compliment and a rebuke.

 I’ve only ever done that with you. Would only ever want to do it to you.

He grinned. “Only me? Why I’m just a humble bounty-hunter, ma’am.”

“Come here, Space Cowboy.”

He did so eagerly. Loving how playful she was being with him now. With the stress of having their lives threatened at every turn no longer hanging over their heads, they could pick up right where they had left off. Like you never left me at all.

“Julia.” He moaned as he came to settle between her legs.

Suddenly, her arms were around his neck and she was pulling him into a kiss. So far, he’d been the one to initiate, this time it was she who led. His arms were around her instantly as he returned her kisses passionately. So passionately. Matching her pace yet letting her guide him. She flavored their kisses. Taste yourself on my lips, my love. On my tongue. Know how sweet you are.

He loved that her hands were on him again. She ran them down his biceps appreciatively before bringing them to caress his back.

“Spike.” She called for him so desperately, though he was right there. His face millimeters from her own. “Make love to me.” It wasn’t the sultry seductress that was urging him to take her. It was the woman laid bare. The need thick in her voice, yet something more vulnerable shown in her eyes.”

“Like this?” He asked, lining up his cock with her entrance. She gasped. So, did he.

“I need you inside.” Oh, that’s all I want. All I’ve wanted for years and years. He started sliding in the tip. Just that felt like heaven. Fuck. The way that pussy sucked him in was beyond ecstasy. Now that she’d been properly prepared, he fit inside her so perfectly. Like they were made for each other. I was made for you, my love. My body was made just for you.

He groaned loudly. Too, loudly.

“Tight.” Was all he could say for himself. She smiled. There was the windy smile again. He smiled back at her. Loving her. Losing himself in her eyes. “You really are as gorgeous as I remembered.” He whispered as his hand stroked her cheek. Her smile deepened so beautifully that his heart melted in his chest even as his body struggled against the bliss of their union. The stretch of her over his cock giving him a pleasure he could scarcely handle. His body nearly overwhelmed by the sheer delight of it. But he held on. Fought manfully against the urge to succumb to it. Nothing else could ever feel this good.

He gave them time, caressing her with hands that had craved to touch her for years. With fingers that had longed desperately to stroke her golden hair. Kissed her with lips that had prayed for her return each and every moment they had been apart.

In turn, she clung to him. Moaning softly into his ear. Kissing him there. She’d told him once that she loved how he filled her. How full he made her. Do you love it still? Having me inside? I’ll make you love it.

Kissing her hungerly he began to thrust. They moaned together. There was a desperate need within him to just devour her. To take her, and take her again after that, because he wanted her so much. Like simmering water coming to a full boil, the passion of it became overwhelming. Too much steam. Too much heat. Too much need. He was at her breasts, kissing and suckling them madly, as he picked up the paste. Thrusting into the excruciatingly delicious tightness of her. Again, and again, until he had her at the peak of her desire. Until he was in great danger of reaching his own.

He wasn’t sure when he’d done it exactly. But at some point, he’d pinned Julia’s hands above her head. He held her down like that as he fucked her. Really fucked her. Thrusting hard and precise. Hitting the right spot over and over again. You think I forgot how to fuck you, my love? You think I’d ever forget something like that?

She was just moaning, sobbing. Chanting “yes” desperately. Then needily calling out his name.

“I know, my baby.” He’d whispered in her ear as he kept up the unrelenting pace. “It’s so good. It’s so fucking good.”

Then her hips began to jerk as her body was hit with wave after wave of pleasure. She let out a string of cries that sounded like he was doing something quite alarming to her. A thrill of masculine pride ran through him at that. Is it that good, love? Can it be anywhere near as good as what you're doing to me right now?

Holy fucking shit. He was truly the most blessed man to have ever lived. His cock getting milked by the tightest, wettest, hottest pussy. With one last thrust the scorching, blinding pleasure of it took him. Took him completely. His body shaking with the full force of his orgasm. He spilled his seed deep inside her. Coming like his body was trying to make up for lost time. Fuck, it was intense. To the point of being more than he could take. Only she could make him come like that.

Of the two, he was the louder, the most desperate. There was no helping it. He was only a man, and there was only so much he could take.

Minutes later, still panting and near delirious from the pleasure of it, he laughed a little. Out of joy. Because he was so happy. In a way that he had not been in forever. There had been a part of him that had long given up hope that this would ever happen again. He could not stop from smiling as he kissed her. Kissed her so soft. Kissed down her neck. Snuggled so close to her. Holding her. He saw that Julia had tears in her eyes. But they were a response to the physical exertion. Julia was like him. She never cried.

Guiding his head to rest on the crook of her neck, she hugged him tightly to herself. Wrapping her legs around him to prevent him from pulling out. I would stay like this forever, Julia. If I could. Tenderly she caressed him. His hair, his neck, his back. Soothing him so gently.

 My love, you truly have returned to me at last, haven’t you?

Julia began to sing to him then. The way she had before. The way she had that very first time. He remembered waking up sore, battered and bandaged to the voice of an angel. A beautiful angel that nursed him and tended to him with such care.

He'd already been in love with her then. Sick with love for her. Had stumbled desperately to her door in hopes that he would see her face one last time before he died. But he hadn't died. She'd saved him. And when he was with her, had the privilege of spending time with her, got the taste of having some of her attention just for himself… he'd never recovered from that.

 I can't do anything but be in love with you, Julia.

Her voice was so beautiful. He felt whole. If only for a moment he was. Cradled in her arms. In her warmth. In her love. How had he ever survived without this? How?

 ***

Were they finally done?! Some people were trying to sleep around here! She kept her pillow over her head. Who knew when they’d start up again?

Of course, this would happen, she told herself bitterly. She’d known that. She’d known it from the start. Of course, he would go to her. And of course, he would want to be with her.

She’d liked her too. At first. Now she didn’t know what to think about her. That Julia.

She supposed that’s what he liked. A dangerous, beautiful blonde that was refined and didn’t show much skin. You’d think she’d be chased with how conservatively she dressed, but she was clearly anything but. Julia was a woman that went to bed with her lover when it suited her. Let him fuck her wildly with no concern of who heard. She was the kind of woman that had her lover wrapped around her finger, and with very little effort on her part. As if it were the natural state of things, and maybe it was... for that type of woman.

One thing was obvious though, Spike was utterly seduced by her. Had been since the time he had seen her last. Years ago. How was she so powerful?! In a perverse way, she was honestly impressed.

Maybe she just loved sex and was really good at it? She certainly enjoyed it. Her moans had been loud enough. What had that idiot been doing to her anyways?

But his were the worst. Whatever he’d been doing, he was having a great time.

 That bastard.

[mikauzoran]

Platonic Alyanette/Adrienette/Ladrien: Drunk Ladybug on My Balcony? Yeah. This is Fine.: Chapter Five

Read it on AO3: Drunk Ladybug on My Balcony? Yeah. This is Fine.: Chapter Five: Horrifying Realization

Marinette looked up from her sewing machine and noted that Alya was still glaring at a mostly blank page on her laptop screen, her cursor blinking tauntingly much where it had been fifteen minutes ago when Marinette had last checked on her brooding companion.

“Everything okay?” she tentatively called to her best friend. “You don’t look like you’re making much progress on that article.”

Alya growled softly, sinking back into the cushion of Marinette’s chaise longue and gripping her hair with both hands at the roots. “Ugh. I just can’t focus right now.”

Marinette spun around in her chair to face Alya and give her her undivided attention. She arched an eyebrow concernedly as she inquired, “Anything in particular on your mind? You seem kind of irritated. If you need to vent, I’m all ears.”

Alya blew out a sigh and sat back up, gently closing her laptop and setting it aside. “I’m just…baffled, and, you know me, I can’t stand a mystery that resists solving.”

Marinette cocked her head to the side, intrigued. “What kind of mystery are you trying to crack?”

Alya bit her lip, hesitating, not wanting to tip her hand. She shook her head and waved dismissively in an attempt to minimize the significance of the problem to Marinette. “Oh, it’s just something I’m investigating. It’s driving me nuts because…has Adrien made you watch Kurosawa’s Rashomon?”

Marinette pursed her lips and wrinkled her brow as she silently repeated the film’s title to herself, trying to summon up some recollection. “Maybe? Sorry. Which one is that again? He always refers to them by their original Japanese titles, so sometimes they kind of blur together in my head.”

Alya smiled affectionately, explaining, “It’s the one where the characters all give their accounts of the same events, but their stories are all different and contradict one another.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “Oooooh. Yeah. Is that the one where the guy takes home the abandoned baby at the end?”

The smile melted off of Alya’s face, turning down into a frown. “That’s the part you remember?”

Marinette shrugged simply. “That’s the most important part of the film, isn’t it? After watching the ugly sides of humanity portrayed in the rest of the film, the guy taking the baby home is something that inspires hope for the future. I really liked that.”

“Huh,” Alya replied thoughtfully, seeing Marinette’s point. “I mean, yeah,” she chuckled. “I guess you’re right.”

Marinette nodded, a self-satisfied grin just peeking out of the side of her mouth. “Of course I’m right. Adrien really likes that part too.”

“Nino likes the cinematography,” Alya snickered. “After Adrien showed it to him, he went on and on and on about the camera angles for three solid weeks.”

“Typical Nino,” Marinette laughed fondly. “So…what does the movie have to do with your investigation?”

Alya sighed as the frustration came rushing back. “The people I’ve interviewed’s stories aren’t lining up. They can’t possibly both be telling the truth, and yet, I don’t think either of them is lying to me. At least, they don’t seem to think that they’re lying, so…I just don’t know what to think, Marinette, and it’s making me want to scream. I’m going to figure this out,” she asserted, fire behind the declaration. “I am fueled by sheer annoyance!”

Marinette nodded encouragingly. “You’ll get it eventually. I’ve never known anything to be able to stop you once you set your mind to something, so I’m not holding out hope that this mystery will stand a chance against you for long.”

“You better believe it,” Alya snorted and then took a deep, cleansing breath so that she could appear to switch topics. “…So…”

Marinette’s head tipped to the right. “…Soooo?”

“Bear with me,” Alya requested, “but I just had movie night with Adrien, and we were talking about some things.”

Marinette shifted uncomfortably, eyeing her friend warily. “What is it?”

“I was just wondering…have you interacted much with Adrien as Ladybug?” Alya put it out there and then held her breath, eager for the results that would crack her case wide open.

Marinette blinked in surprise and then seemed to consider, searching her memories.

Alya frowned slightly.

Adrien had said that he and Ladybug interacted regularly, that they often had conversations and hung out, that they were close. If that were true, it wouldn’t be taking Marinette this long to come up with an answer…unless she was hiding something from Alya. But why would she do that now that her identity as Ladybug was no longer a secret?

“No,” Marinette finally answered. “Not really. I mean, no more so than any other Parisian who gets caught up in the akuma attacks as much as he does.”

“So…you two haven’t, like, had any lifechanging heart-to-heart talks?” Alya verified.

Marinette gave her a strange look. “Nope. When I’m transformed, I have a job to do. We’ve made chitchat while I’ve carried him to safety from time to time, but I don’t recall anything revolutionary or earthshattering ever being discussed. I think I would know if I’d reached that kind of romantic checkpoint with my crush.”

“Well, you have as Marinette,” Alya reminded encouragingly.

Marinette deflated, head dropping to her chest as she moaned, “Yeah, after a year of acting like a complete idiot in front of him.”

Alya rolled her eyes. “He thinks you’re adorable.”

Marinette scoffed, just as Alya had anticipated she would, and looked up. “Why are you asking about Ladybug and Adrien, Alya?”

Alya shrugged, playing it off casually as she switched the cross of her legs. “So, you don’t ever use your superpowers to go visit civilians and befriend them?”

Marinette gaped at Alya as if she suspected that her friend might be going insane. “No? How irresponsible would that be? If Papillon ever found out that Ladybug visited civilians, he would target them. I would never take that risk,” she stressed.

Alya quirked an eyebrow. “And yet, didn’t you tell me the other day that Chat Noir has been coming to visit Marinette for years now?”

Marinette averted her eyes, a soft blush flooding her cheeks. “That’s different.”

“How so?” Alya chortled. “Because you like it when the guy you love comes to woo your civilian self?”

“Because he’s lonely,” Marinette answered defensively. “I can go out as Marinette pretty much whenever I want and interact with whomever I want, but it’s not like that for Chat Noir.”

Alya’s grin faltered. “It’s not?”

Marinette shook her head vehemently. “Don’t breathe a word of what I’m about to say to anyone, but he has a really restrictive homelife.”

Alya’s eyes widened in surprise, and she leaned forward. “He does?”

Marinette sighed ruefully, “His mother died a while ago, and his father has been a really controlling jerk since then. He reminds me of Adrien’s father, actually, so imagine Gabriel Agreste, but, like, three times worse.”

Alya winced in sympathy. She knew how bad Gabriel Agreste could be to Adrien. She didn’t want to imagine worse neglect and abuse than that.

“So you see why it’s a different matter entirely for Chat Noir to use his Miraculous to get out of the house and go interact with other humans,” Marinette summarized, with a decisive nod.

Alya’s lips rounded into a pensive “O” as she took stock of this information. “Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense…. So…Ladybug doesn’t have any civilian friends?”

Marinette pursed her lips. “Civilian acquaintances, yes. Chat Noir and I get ice cream sometimes with Monsieur Ramier after he gets akumatized, but I wouldn’t consider us ‘friends’. Just friendly acquaintances.”

Alya nodded, trying to assimilate the additional facts she had gained.

So far, Adrien’s story was falling through, but Alya couldn’t bring herself to throw doubt on him yet. He’d been far too adamant about being close to Ladybug, about it not being a celebrity crush because he’d been on the receiving end of that much of his life and knew how horrible it could be.

Alya couldn’t make herself believe that Adrien was just delusional. There had to be something there.

“So…keep humoring me, but has Adrien ever told you he loves you?” Alya moved on, digging deeper.

Marinette gave her a bland, unimpressed look. “You mean other than in my dreams? No, Alya. What the heck is up with all the bizarre questions?”

“The why isn’t important,” Alya insisted with authority. “Just roll with it. I’m coming up with new tactics to get you and Adrien together.”

Marinette’s eyebrows slowly came together into a “V” of confusion. “But I decided to give up on Adrien.”

“Yeah, but if you change your mind, I’ve got it covered,” Alya explained, not convincing Marinette. “So Adrien’s never confessed his love for you?”

Marinette gave a longsuffering sigh. “Only to tell me what a great friend I am and how much he treasures my friendship.”

“Be nice,” Alya chided. “Friendship is a heck of a big deal to him. All he had was Chloé for thirteen years.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Marinette grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. “It just stings to get passively rejected like that over and over.”

“I know, Girl,” Alya cooed sympathetically. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not what you want, but try to take solace in how important being his friend makes you to him.”

“I know.” Marinette clicked her tongue in frustration. “I’m just sick of trying to make the best of things and looking on the bright side and taking the high road.”

“I get it,” Alya assured, “but I think we can still get you where you want to be.”

Marinette gave her a skeptical look. “Oh, yeah? How…if we overlook for a minute that I’m giving up on Adrien?”

“Has anyone ever confessed their love for you as Ladybug?” Alya tried a different route, trying to root out the truth.

Marinette sank petulantly in her desk chair. “Yeah, like, everyone and their dog. Ladybug is pretty universally loved.”

“No, like, seriously,” Alya clarified. “For real. Not just some crazy fan. Is there someone who actually loves Ladybug?”

Marinette almost replied automatically but then paused and considered. “I mean…if you’re asking about a civilian who loves Ladybug, then, no…but…there’s Chat Noir. I know that’s probably not what you mean, but…”

The gears in Alya’s mind caught on a snag and abruptly stopped, unable to keep turning as she came to an alarming solution that she wished she could dismiss out of hand.

She gulped, took a deep breath, and carefully inquired, “In the beginning, did you think Chat Noir was just joking when he told you he loved you?”

Marinette groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “Yeees. I know I’m the worst, but he was so over-the-top that I couldn’t take him seriously. It wasn’t until Glaciator when Chat Noir showed up on my balcony feeling all heartbroken over Ladybug that I realized that he was actually for real, and I felt awful, Alya.”

“But then you two talked and got things straightened out,” Alya added breathlessly, in a state of shock as she recalled what Adrien had told her.

“Yeah,” Marinette sighed, dropping her hands to her lap. “I still felt really bad for not returning his feelings, though, but I explained about how my heart was with someone else because I was pursuing Adrien at that point, so…”

Suddenly, things made too much sense, and Alya wished that they would stop because the solution she’d come to was just too ridiculous.

If Ladybug had been turning down Chat Noir because Marinette was in love with Adrien who was in love with Ladybug who was Marinette who loved Adrien who was Chat Noir…Alya was going to scream and pull her hair out and eat Nino’s hat or something.

Marinette jumped as Alya let out an involuntary curse. “W-What? What happened? What’s wrong?”

Alya cursed again, louder and more indignantly.

“Alya, what?” Marinette demanded. “You’re freaking me out.”

“Give me a minute,” Alya groaned, picking up the pillow on Marinette’s chaise and pressing it to her face, yelling into it.

Marinette sat staring at her best friend, utterly perplexed and not a small bit concerned.

Alya lowered the pillow about half a minute later, took a deep breath, and explained, “My life is dumb. Everything is so stupid and dumb, and my life’s work has no meaning because secret identities are infuriating.”

Marinette blinked uncomprehendingly. “Alya…are you okay?”

“No,” Alya replied calmly. “But you know what?”

“What?” Marinette played along, hoping that things would start making sense soon.

“It’s going to be okay,” Alya assured, fueled by a new sense of determination. “I’m going to fix everything, and it’s going to be fine.”

“Oh. That’s good,” Marinette replied, not so sure.

“New plan,” Alya announced, clapping her hands as she got to her feet and went over to Marinette, gently pulling the other girl up to standing and placing her hands on a very confused Marinette’s shoulders. “Step one. We need to make things right between you and Chat Noir.”

Marinette’s brow scrunched up, eyes narrowing. “Between Marinette and Chat Noir or Ladybug and Chat Noir? Because everything’s fine between us, Alya. Our partnership is great. Our friendship is great. Everything’s great. No fixing necessary.”

“Wrong,” Alya countered, pinning Marinette to the spot with an intense gaze.

Marinette saw the drive in Alya’s eyes and knew better than to argue.

“Girl, I know you told Chat Noir that there was someone else and that nothing was going to happen between you two, but your words and your actions aren’t lining up.”

Marinette’s frown deepened, shifting from confusion to apprehension. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve unintentionally been leading the poor boy on for years now,” Alya explained patiently yet decidedly. “You’re really bad at hiding your feelings, Marinette. The only reason Adrien doesn’t know is because his father kept him locked up the first thirteen years of his life, so he has zero understanding of social cues. You may have told Chat Noir that nothing was going to happen, but your actions have been hinting at the fact that you have feelings for him, so he’s been stuck in this loop of you telling him no with your words but then turning around and telling him maybe with your actions.”

Marinette’s face blanched in horror as she thought of her behavior around Chat Noir. Part of her wanted to tell Alya that she was off base, but a larger part knew that what Alya was saying rang true.

She had told Chat Noir in no uncertain terms that there was someone else and that they could only be partners and friends, but…there was the platonic flirting, just to start with. It had only been platonic for a short while. After Marinette had started to reciprocate Chat’s feelings, the flirting had ceased to be in jest. She hadn’t told Chat that she was serious, but…maybe there was a part of him that could tell.

And then there was the way she was so handsy with him. It was true that friends could be physically affectionate without there having to be romantic feelings, but…the hugs and the snuggling on rooftops and the casual touches…it had meant something to her, and she knew it had meant something to him. The only thing was that he hadn’t known what she was feeling, but…what if Alya was right and he had picked up on her romantic interest in him?

What if she’d unknowingly been giving him false hope all this time? It had never been her intention to lead him on. She wanted him to find someone to love him, find someone who made him happy. What if he’d pushed pause on all of that while waiting for her?

She felt sick, thinking that she’d been keeping him waiting, keeping him trapped because she knew he would wait forever for her if she gave him the slightest sliver of hope.

It was Marinette’s turn to curse loudly.

“Yeah,” Alya sighed in agreement.

“Alya, what do I do?!” Marinette demanded, gripping her friend by the arms, beginning to freak out.

“Deep breath,” Alya coached, inhaling and exhaling slowly so that Marinette could follow along.

They repeated the process several times until Marinette had markedly calmed down.

“Okay. Now what?” Marinette urged. “How do I fix this?”

“Call him,” Alya instructed. “Right now. Transform and call him and ask him to meet, and then come clean. Tell him what you told me the other day about how you love him, but it can’t happen because of your duty to Paris and the Guardian thing and the other guy you’re in love with and all that. Be honest with him and tell him you want him to give other people in his life a chance because you want him to be happy. Encourage him to move on. Give him the closure he needs, so he’ll know once and for all that nothing is happening between you two.”

Marinette blinked owlishly. “You want me to call him right now?”

Alya nodded. “Did I stutter? ‘Right now’ means right now, so hop to it. Put your spots on, call your cat-boy, and get this sorted out.”

“Like…right now?” Marinette gulped.

Alya stepped back, crossing her arms in disapproval as she gave Marinette a look that clearly begged the question, “Seriously?”

“I’m just…not prepared,” Marinette tried to finagle. “Usually, before I try to confess my feelings to Adrien, I come up with a plan and a script, so I’m prepared. Tikki and I practice roleplaying, and I memorize my lines, and—”

“—And that never works,” Alya cut in, not taking no for an answer.

Adrien had waited long enough. It was time Ladybug let him off the hook so that he could move on and be happy with Marinette.

Marinette’s shoulders rose up to meet her ears as she grumbled, “You never know. It might one of these days.”

“Tikki,” Alya called out for backup, “could you please tell her to get her butt in gear already? She’s stalling.”

“Tikki,” Marinette whined, “Alya’s being brutally honest, and I don’t like it.”

The kwami gave a soft, affectionate sigh as she flew down from her perch and nuzzled Marinette’s cheek. “I know you don’t think you’re ready, Marinette, but, if you wait until you do feel ready, you may never tell him how you feel at all. Maybe extemporaneous speaking would be good for you,” she encouraged, ever the optimist and cheerleader.

Marinette looked almost persuaded, but a hint of doubt remained, pinched between her eyebrows.

“After all,” Tikki continued, “do you really want to keep Chat Noir dangling in the dark for any longer than you already have? It has been six years since you realized you had feelings for him, Marinette. I think it would be best to tell him sooner rather than later.”

“Oh, all right,” Marinette sighed, sinking back down into her desk chair. “You two win. I’ll call him and figure out what to tell him on the fly. Tikki, transform me.”

[thats-pucking-amazing]

Frustrated (Josh Anderson)

So tumblr glitched and apparently decided to delete this...how kind. So here it is again.

Warnings: smut & light swearing

Requests: openish (I’m a senior in college...so it may take me a while)

*I’m currently on mobile! I’ll insert the read more button ASAP

Smut below

/

/

/

/

You let out a cry of frustration. Why couldn’t you get there?? You tossed your vibe to the side in frustration. The fact that you were 22 years old and had never had an orgasm was getting old. Really fast. You were so sexually frustrated...it wasn’t even funny.

It didn’t help that you were living with one of your childhood best friends, who had grown-up to be an absolute, for lack of a better word, unit. Josh Anderson, your neighbor until age 16 had filled out well, was still the gentleman his mom raised him to be, and had a tendency to walk around in low-slung sweats without a shirt. All it did was serve to make you even hornier, which given the fact that he still saw you as just a friend and you were unable to bring yourself to orgasm...was not a good thing.

You turned your vibe off and shoved it back into your drawer before slamming it shut. After shimmying back into your leggings and readjusting your (Josh’s) hoodie you exited your room. At least Josh wasn’t here to bother and tease you...and then you could drink a glass of wine in peace.

“Aren’t you supposed to be happier after an orgasm?”

You screamed. You screamed like Auston Matthews seeing an inflatable bear and then threw your phone at where the voice was coming from.

“What the hell, Y/N?” Josh demanded, though thankfully with your phone safely secured.

“What the hell yourself, Joshua!” You retorted. “I thought you were supposed to be in Sudbury until tomorrow!”

He shrugged and then handed you back the phone you had impulse chucked at him. “I got a ride back with Cam. He’s has some shindig tomorrow.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?!” You demanded.

“I texted and I called your name out when I came in...but you were a bit occupied.” He shot you a smirk and leaned against the counter. “Which brings me back to my earlier question...aren’t you supposed to be happier after an orgasm? I mean, I always am.”

You ignored him and poured yourself a glass of wine before sitting across from him in one of the barstools. “You’re an asshole.”

“And you’re avoiding the question.”

“Why do you care?”

“Just answer it.”

You gritted your teeth. “I wish I could.”

He refilled your wine and furrowed his brows. “What’s that supposed to mean? Nothing is stopping you.”

“I wish!” You rolled your eyes angrily. “I can’t answer the question. I don’t know the answer.” You bit out.

He blinked once. Twice. “You mean you’ve…”

“Never.”

“You’re 22!” He protested. “You’ve had boyfriends, I know you have toys...how have you never had an orgasm?”

“I just can’t!! I only slept with James and he really wasn’t anything special. And I just can’t get myself off. I’ve tried since I was sixteen fucking years old and you danced with me at prom. I’ve watched videos...read articles...I just can’t!” You were almost in tears from the mortification of the conversation, extreme sexual frustration, and just overall embarrassment.

“Prom?”

“The ridiculous crush I’ve had on you for years is not the point of this goddamn conversation.”

He reached across the counter and grabbed your hand. “I’m sorry I made you tell me. And I’m sorry that I teased you. And I’m very sorry that you feel so frustrated.”

You sniffled and he rounded the counter to pull you into a hug.You buried your head in his chest, “I just want.”

“I know, love.” He pulled your head up so your eyes connected with his blue ones. “Let me help.”

“What?”

“Let me help you get the release you need. No strings. I just want to help you.” He leaned into you, so close his mouth almost brushed yours. “Will you let me help you?”

“Yes.”

He gave you a wide smile that quickly transformed into a smirk before he lifted you up onto the counter.

“Josh!” You protested, “We eat up here.”

He didn’t give you a response, just chuckled before he pressed his lips to yours. His mouth was plush, but demanding against yours. His tongue wrestled with yours as your hands knotted in his curls.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been kissing before you broke apart. Just that you were both gasping for breath and his cheeks had flushed...you were sure you looked the same.

He wrapped your legs around his waist before picking you and carrying you down the hall. Your vee was pressed right against his erection and with every step you gasped at the friction.

Squirming in his grasp you tried to press more firmly against him, “Josh, please! Please.”

He smacked your ass. “Calm down. I’ll give you what you need but you need to calm down.”

You groaned and arched against him again before he tossed you down onto his bed. He quickly pulled your shirt over your head (score one for not putting your bra back on) and only paused to take his off because you tugged at the hem before he again had his mouth pressed against yours.

You ran your nails down his chest and abdomen and his calloused fingertips made a similar path down your torso before making their way back up to your nipples. He pinched one and then rubbed his thumb soothingly along it before repeating the motion on the other. Each time your breath hitched embarrassingly.

He broke the kiss as he began to trail his mouth down your neck and across your collarbones. As he reached your breasts he looked up at you speculatively.

“Why is it...do you think...that you can’t make yourself cum?” With each pause between words he would teasingly flick just the end of your nipples with his tongue. Not enough to give you satisfaction, just to tease.

“I just can’t.” He gave another teasing lick. “Please, Josh. Please.”

“I love the sound of that. But now isn’t the time to be distracted. Wanna know what I think?”

You were getting more and more frustrated with the talking and the not doing so you snapped, “I think that you like to hear yourself talk.”

He smirked. And then nipped the skin at the underside of your breast hard enough to leave a mark but not enough to break the skin. “Don’t be rude, Y/N. If you’re nice then good things happen.” To demonstrate he sucked your pebbled nub into his mouth and your back arched off the bed, but he released you before you could really appreciate it.

“Please more!” You cried out.

“Ready to hear what I think?” You just nodded in response. “You won’t let yourself surrender that control. You are, in the best way, high-strung enough that the idea of letting yourself fall off that cliff for the first time is scary.”

“Are you going to make me do that, Dr. Phil?” You teased.

“Rude.” He admonished. Still though, he moved slowly down your torso, leaving kisses and teasing nips. He reached the waistline of your leggings and looked up at you. “Do you trust me? Do you want this?”

You nodded, but he shook his head. “Give me words.”

“Yes. Please, yes Josh.”

He tugged down your leggings and arched a brow at you. “Commando? So scandalous.”

“I didn’t feel like taking the extra time to put them on.” You explained.

“Well I definitely appreciate it.” He pulled your leggings the rest of the way off and then you were naked. Reflexively you attempted modesty by crossing your legs and lowering your hands, but Josh grabbed your wrists. “Don’t cover yourself. You’re gorgeous.”

“And you’re still wearing pants and underwear. Things just feel a little uneven.”

He smirked. “I don’t need to have my pants off to do what I want to you. But I will take them off if you insist.” So he shucked off his pants which left him in just a pair of boxers that did absolutely nothing to disguise his desire. And then he knelt down between your knees and hitched your legs over his shoulders.

“You just dive into this? Don’t yo-”

He arched a brow. “James really did suck didn’t he? Don’t you read the trashy romance novels. This is the best place to start.” He began to leave slow, blazing kisses up the inside of your thighs and then you didn’t care if he was just going to dive right in.

He worked his way up one leg and skipped over where you wanted him most before working his way back up the other. He blew a teasing breath and then placed a closed mouth kiss directly on your pussy.

You let out a strangled cry of his name but got no further before he began to kiss, lick, and suck with not only enthusiasm but relish. And God, was he good at it. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know why but you were beyond grateful in the moment.

He flicked over your clit with just the tip of his tongue and pushed in two fingers. The tightening you always felt in your gut was back with a vengeance and you began to squirm away from the sheer pleasure he was bringing you.

“Josh,” You panted. “Too much, baby.”

He shook his head and pumped his fingers before he looked up at you. His lips were swollen and wet with your juices. “Not enough, love. You’re so close. Let go of it. Trust me to catch you.” And then he turned back to what he was doing. He sucked on your clit and your hips bucked up before he threw an arm over your waist to keep you down.

He pumped his fingers again and then curled them up. “Come on Y/N. Let me see you cum.” He curled them one more time and for the first time you fell off that cliff.

You came on a silent yell as your vision whited out. You weren’t sure how long it was before you finally returned to a normal state of conscience but Josh had you firmly tugged against him, with only his boxers separating the two of you.

“Holy shit.” You murmured. “This was by far the best idea you’ve ever had. I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on this for so long.”

Josh let out a soft chuckle. “I agree this was definitely my best idea. I should have these kind of ideas more often.”

You pressed a long kiss to his lips, tasting yourself on them and then pulled back to look him in the eyes that never failed to make your heart stutter. “Wanna hear my idea?” You teased.

“Hit me with it.” You leaned in and whispered exactly what you imagined the next thing (or two or ten) the two of you would do together.

“Let’s get to it.” And then he smothered your giggle with his mouth as he rolled you underneath him...where you would occasionally switch places with him for the rest of the night.

[46ten]

Ann(e) Willing Bingham and William Bingham

William Bingham was a prominent Philadelphia merchant and banker. From 1776 to 1780 he served as agent of the Continental Congress at Martinique and as consul at St. Pierre in the West Indies. He was a Federalist who various served as a member of the Continental Congress in 1787 and 1788 and a member of the Pennsylvania House of Representatives in 1790 and 1791. He served in the Pennsylvania Senate in 1794 and 1795, and from 1795 to 1801 he was a member of the United States Senate. Bingham was Founder and Director of the Bank of North America an Chairman of the committee of the board of directors of the Bank of the United States. He was also te first president of the Philadelphia and Lancaster Turnpike Corporation. He founded Binghamton, New York, and he owned large tracts of land in Pennsylvania and the District of Maine (part of which he had purchased from Henry and Lucy Knox). (To keen AH historians, Bingham was the person entrusted - or maybe not - with the Reynolds letters.)  

Anne Willing was the daughter of Thomas Willing, a prominent Philadelphia merchant and banker who was also President of the Bank of North America and Bank of the U.S. (In 1783, John B. Church was the second largest stockholder in the Bank of North America - AH asked Willing in 1790 to serve as Church’s attorney as his shares were being sold.) Both Thomas and William are counted among the wealthiest men in America in this period. Anne married William Bingham in 1780, shortly after her sixteenth birthday. She is sometimes referred to as the “uncrowned queen of the Republican court.” 

(I get a kick that her wedding ring seems to be a gimmel ring.) The Adams family supplies some of the best descriptions of her: 

“Mrs. Bingham is a very young Lady, not more than 20, very agreeable, and very handsome: rather too much given to the foibles of the Country for the mother of two Children, which she already is.” - Abigail Adams to Mercy Otis Warren, 5Sept1784

...Mrs. Bingham, who taken all together is the finest woman I ever saw. The intelligence of her countanance, or rather I ought to say animation, the Elegance of her form, and the affability of her Manners, converts you into admiration, and one has only to lament too much dissapation and frivolity of amusement, which has weand her from her Native Country; and given her a passion and thirst after all the Luxeries of Europe. - Abigail Adams to Mercy Otis Warren, 30Sept1785

Mr and Mrs Bingham arrived here about 3 weeks ago with a full determination to go out to America in March, but having as usual Spaired no pains to get introduced to the families of my Lord Landsdown and my Lady Lucans, they are so supreemly blest, that poor America looks like a bugbear to them. “O! now I know mr Bingham you wont go out this Spring. Give me but ten Years, and take all the rest of my Life.” Who can withstand flattery and admiration? What female mind young beautifull rich—must she not be more than woman if vanity was not the predominate passion? I accompanied her last thursday to Court and presented her both to the King and Queen, and I own I felt not a little proud of her. St James’s did not, and could not produce an other so fine woman. Yet it was the most crouded drawing Room I ever attended, except the late Birth Day. You know this Ladies taste in dress is truly elegant. She had prepaird herself in France for this occasion, and being more fleshy than I have seen her before, she is concequently handsomer than ever.

“She Shone a Goddess, and She moved a Queen.”

The various whispers which I heard round me, and the pressing of the Ladies to get a sight of her, was really curious, and must have added an attom to the old score, for she could not but see how attractive She was. Is she an American, is she an American, I heard frequently repeated? And even the Ladies were obliged to confess that she was truly an elegant woman. You have, said an English Lord to me, but whose name I knew not, one of the finest Ladies to present, that I ever saw. The Emperers Ambassador12 Whisperd your Pappa, sir your Country produces exceeding fine women.  Abigail Adams to John Q Adams, 16Feb1786

Madame B. shone away in all her splendor, her dress was that she wore last Winter black and Pink, and I have not seen so elegant a Woman, since I have been in England. A Gentlem[an] who sat next me at table Told me I was in Love with her. O it is true that I never see her without admiration in the highest degree.Abigail “Nabby” Adams to her brother John Quincy Adams, 22 January 1786 courtesy thelittlelionofvalleyforge

Anne W. Bingham died on May 11, 1801 in Bermuda, where she had gone with her family after failing to recover from childbirth (there’s some speculation she had contracted tuberculosis)..

I may associate with the preceding, the information of another loss, which our City has sustained by the death of Mrs: Bingham; of whose illness and long confinement you may have heard. After all hope of her recovery was given over by her Physicians, the last prescription they could give with a prospect of benefit or relief, was a voyage to some Southern climate. She was accordingly embarked on board a ship, accompanied by her husband daughter & Sister and a young Physician. The first effects of a change of air were very favorable & flattered her friends, that her case was less desperate than they had imagined; she sustained the voyage, however, very poorly, and survived her arrival at Bermudas, but three days. Mr: Bingham returned with the rest, a day or two ago & was the first to announce the fatal tidings to the family of his deceased lady, who, as you will readily suppose, are plunged, by this stroke of the fell destroyer, into the abyss of woe & grief. Mrs: Bingham is said to have borne her tedious illness with uncommon fortitude, & when hope had utterly forsaken her own bosom, she displayed a perfect example of resignation.  Thomas Bolyston Adams to AA, 31May1801

I had learnt before, by the public papers, the death of mrs Bingham and many have been my reflection[s] upon it. Health presuming, Beauty Blooming, ah how dreadfull tis to dye,” Says fair Rossomond; that Mrs Bingham was one of the most Elegant, and highly accomplishd women, our Country has furnished, no one who knew her, will deny. to a fine form, was added an affability of address, and an ease of manners, which prepossesst and captivated all who approachd her. She had travelled, and obtained the high polish of the Beau Mond; but her conduct in many respects did not accord with my Ideas of female worth, delicacy and purity. She did not Sufficiently respect herself, nor the opinion of the world; particuliarly <, Start deletion,that, End,> those of her own Country.She was culpable in a latitude of Manners, and in introducing a mode of dress which as a Mother, she ought not to have permitted in her daughters—If I have any knowledge of human nature, the Stile of dress introduced by her, and copied by her daughters, has a direct tendency to seduce the unwary; to Create inflammatory passions, and call forth lose affections by unfolding to every Eye, what the veil of Modesty ought to Shield; and the mantle of fashion ought to cover; it originated with Harlots, and should not have betrayed a modest woman into the Snare; the concequences have been Seen in her own Family, and are of too recent a date, to need relating—Mrs Binghams Family, Fortune, Beauty and accomplishments gave her a lead in Society, and her influence extended far beyond the bounds of Your City: Was that influence employd in the various Services of virtue, was it excercised in confirming and prolonging the duration of virtuous affections, in a simplicity of Manners, or in a latitude which gave occasion for censure, and which approached so near the verge of crimminality, as to be evil spoken of. Chastity when founded on the firm basis of pure virtue, holds forth to the Eye of the most artfull the repulsive evidence of impregnable Security, which can awe the most dissolute into respect and admiration—and as the poet expressess it, She that hath that, is clad in compleat Steel”That Mrs Bingham had many amiable qualities I well know. her Friends, Relatives and domesticks can bear witness to them. With them I sympathize; by them her loss must be keenly felt—The worthy old Lady, whose children rise up and call her blessed, and whose remains you lately attended to the grave, has left a Character much more worthy imitation; <, Start deletion,whatsoever, End,> and an example of whatsoever things were just whatsoever things were honest, whatsoever things were pure, whatsoever things were lovely, whatsoever things were of good report, and if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things. Abigail Adams writing about Anne Bingham to Thomas Boylston Adams, 12June1801

After her death, William Bingham sailed for England in August 1801, with their daughter, Ann, and her husband, Alexander Baring. Baring, the son of Sir Francis Baring, was the agent for the House of Baring in the United States from 1795 to 1801.

William Jackson, that close friend of AH’s, resigned as GW’s secretary in December 1791 (see GW to Jackson, 26 Dec.), he was employed by William Bingham as his land agent. Jackson successfully courted Elizabeth Willing (1768-1858), the youngest sister of Anne’s. Elizabeth was the youngest of thirteen children of Thomas Willing. Jackson did not marry Elizabeth Willing until 11 Nov. 1795, after his return from Europe as William Bingham’s agent. GW and Martha Washington definitely attended their wedding (it’s in his diaries), and some articles say the Hamiltons did too, but that doesn’t make sense to me - AH seems to be in NYC. (Yet another of AH’s friends getting married surprisingly late.)

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Took You Long Enough

Characters: Natasha Romanoff x Reader, Tony Stark, Clint Barton

Word Count: 1,239

Warnings: just fluff

Summary: Your weekly poker night with the crew is always a fun time. This week’s wager? Dates.

Squared Filled: Poker Night (S3) // Natasha Romanova // Roommate

Author’s Note: I know you guys have requests and I promise to get to them. I have two bingos I need to finish before the deadline in Aug/Sept and by the rate I am going, I will be done before that so please bear with me. This is for @tonystarkbingo and @clintbartonbingo and @marvelbingo respectively and if you have any requests, please send them in! This is unbeta’d and any and all mistakes are all on me.

Feedback the glue that holds my writing together

Tags at the bottom

“Ready to get your asses beat?” you grinned as you set the four bottles of beer on the table while Natasha passed out the playing cards. Tony and Clint were over at yours and Nat’s apartments for your weekly poker game. Each week was different since you never played for money. Sometimes they were dares, shots of alcohol, articles of clothing, etc. There was never a week where you wagered the same thing twice, so you didn’t know what Tony was going to come up with since this was his week to decide.

“Bring it,” Natasha smiled, and you could have sworn your stomach did flips at it. She had the most gorgeous smile anyone could ever have. She was the most gorgeous person you’ve ever laid eyes on, but you could never tell her that. She was only your roommate after all. She could never have feelings for you in the way you have for her. There was no way you were going to tell her and make things awkward for you two. Having her as a roommate was a hell of a lot better than not having her as one. At least this way you could be around her every day.

“What are we wagering tonight?” you asked the oldest person of the group. Tony and Clint exchanged glances as if they had some secret that only stayed between them.

“Dates.”

“Dates?”

“Yeah, the loser has to take a winner of their choice on a date of their choice. You two up for it?” he asked as he looked between you and your roommate. Did they know you liked her so much? Is that why he picked dates to wager? No, they couldn’t have known you liked her because you never told anyone your secret. But wait, did that mean she liked you? What happens if it’s you and Natasha playing each other? Will she be willing to go on a date with you if either of you lost?

“Yeah, I’m game,” Natasha shrugged as she looked at her cards.

“Yeah, let’s play,” you cleared your throat. The game started like it did every week. A whole lot of poker faces and not a lot of tell. However, the more people folded and tapped out, the more the resolve on your faces dissolved.

“I’m out,” Tony said as he placed his cards down. It was now you, Nat, and Clint.

“You usually don’t tap out until you’re one of the last ones,” you grinned as you traded in three of your cards for three new ones.

“Yeah, well, I guess I know when to stop,” he chuckled.

“How many do you want?” Clint asked his best friend.

“Two,” she replied as she gathered the new cards. Clint took three more of his own before shaking his head. He gave a subtle look to Tony before tapping out himself. The look didn’t go unnoticed by you, and you wondered what kind of game they were playing because it sure as hell wasn’t poker.

“You going to do the same?” you asked Natasha nervously.

“Hell no. I’m going to play until I win.”

“If you win that means I have to take you out on a date,” you spoke quietly in fear she would laugh at you.

“I know,” she smirked as she traded in one more card. A few more moves later and she looked up at you with a knowing smirk.

“Full House,” she grinned as she laid her card down on the table. Tony and Clint sat side by side as they watched with eager eyes to see who will be taking who out on a date. “Beat that.”

“Okay, I will because I have four of a kind,” you laughed when you laid your cards down. Natasha stuck her tongue out at you jokingly before collecting the cards from everyone to do another round.

“Looks like I owe you a date.”

“Seems like it,” you said breathlessly as you looked at the men who not-so-subtly gave each other a fist bump. They were up to something, and you didn't know if it was good or bad. With each round, Tony and Clint tapped out before either you or Natasha could. Each round, it always ended with you two, and you knew they knew of your crush on Natasha for them to be doing this. At the very last round of the night, you had owed Natasha 2 dates while she owed you three.

“I’m out,” Clint said with a knowing smile as he put his cards down. Before he had a chance to lay them face down, you saw a potentially good hand.

“Yeah, you seem to be doing a lot of that lately,” you glared as he shrugged.

“Not good hands, I’m afraid.”

“Mhmm, sure they aren’t.”

“You in?” Natasha asked Tony when it was his turn.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“You two okay? Last week, you couldn’t wait to show us how good you were at poker,” you accused them of hiding something.

“Nothing. It must not be our night,” Tony shrugged.

“Come on, let’s play,” Natasha smiled as she traded in four of her cards for four new ones. Only trading in one, you knew you would beat Natasha at this round when you found yourself with a royal flush. Nothing could beat that.

“Royal Flush,” you grinned as you laid them out.

“Royal Flush,” she repeated as she laid out her cards. You two had the same hand which was rare. In the event of a tie, the highest rank at the top of the sequence wins. Looking at her cards, you took note of the higher number.

“Looks like you win,” you chuckled as you gathered all of the cards.

“It’s getting late. This game was fun,” Clint said as he got up.

“I’ll be right back. Bathroom check,” Natasha chuckled as she left. As soon as she was out of earshot, you turned the men with a glare.

“What the hell are you two doing? You’re better at poker than me,” you said to Tony while moving to Clint, “and you have the world’s best poker face. What is going on? Were you tapping out on purpose?”

“Hell yeah,” Tony snickered.

“Don’t think we didn’t notice the googly eyes you’ve been making at her.”

“You knew?” you asked with a blush.

“Hell yeah, we knew. You’re welcome. We gotta get going, but have fun on those dates, yeah?” Clint grinned as he and Tony left your apartment. Natasha came back to the table to clean off the empty bottles and snacks.

“You know what these fools were up two the entire night?” you asked as you helped her.

“Yeah.”

“Wait, you knew what they were doing?” you gasped.

“Who do you think gave them the idea?” she chuckled.

“Wait… I’m confused.”

“I was tired of waiting around for you to try and get the courage to ask me out, so I thought I would take matters into my own hands. I guess I could have asked you myself, but this was way more fun to watch.”

“So… you like me too?”

“It took you long enough to figure it out,” she laughed.

“So, let me get this straight,” you cleared your throat for the potential freak out that was coming, “I’ve been wasting my time dancing around the subject when I could have asked you out earlier?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

If you want to be tagged, add yourself to this document! If your tag doesn’t work, find out why!

@likiyoshi-lijie  @until-theend-oftheline  @vvishous  @5aftermidnight  @superapplepie  @cutelittlepurplesouls  @feelmyroarrrr  @xxloki81xx  @fuckthatfeeling  @ironmandeficiency  @ivvitm1109  @schwankyblock  @mackevanstanfan80  @tardis-is-mine  @tdntu0  @kpoplover1306-depressedgirl315  @takemyhand-letshaveablast  @majesticavenger

[thegeneralsnotebook]

March Feature: History of Colours Part 2 -- White

Welcome back to Part 2 of this series investigating the histories of the six main colours of the MLPCCG, from their inception and original development in Premier, all of the way forward to the present day. This month’s topic is White, a colour that seems to be in something of a rough spot right now. It’s gone quite a long while since it last had a great Mane to its name, too. The last person to enjoy major success with it was Bugle at the 2018 Continentals, with a rather unorthodox list the likes of which probably won’t be seen again. We’ll get to that. By the way, it also bears to mention that as with the last article, I owe Bugle a depth of gratitude for walking me through the early stages of the game and pointing out the notable decks that were before my time.

Going in, I was expecting a story broadly similar to Yellow, as I knew the colour had been great once upon a time in the past, then faded somewhat, and hasn’t really surfaced again yet (outside of that one exception mentioned above). It turned out though, that I was wrong. It turned out that White had never totally yielded the stage, though it did quite generously yield the spotlight. There was something going on with White in nearly every set, though it was almost never the main colour in the decks that used it, and a fair amount of the time it was doing somewhat questionable things for its decks. Things that generally involved either scoring infinite points, or pairing up with an old Friend in Purple to play many Events over and over again. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Suffice it to say for now that White is a colour with a lot of notoriety built up over the years, even if it’s lacked success as a primary colour. To see that, we’ll first have to step back, to a time when Rarity was indeed Truly Outrageous.

I mean, to put any other card up there would be pretty disingenuous

The Most Aptly Named Card in History

We already covered RTO just a little bit in last month’s article, during the discussion of the Yellow/White deck Ballroom Blitz. There, she was serving in the traditional role of a card capable of scoring lots of points very quickly, and thus capable of sealing games about as quickly as she could be played. And while RTO did end up seeing a lot of play in this mode, her first claim to fame actually did something a little different. Sure, the equally aptly named Taxes still let RTO do her thing of scoring points quickly, but it wasn’t going fast. It was an early form of tempo, stacking movement and play penalties on a Problem until it was virtually impossible for the opponent to confront it, and then sealing the game with RTO after the fact. It was quite the thing in the Premier era, but died out in Canterlot Nights as the meta sped up substantially.

Bugle had mentioned to me that a version of Taxes with 13 URs was floating out there somewhere, which is a pretty impressive number when you’ve only got one set to draw from. Alas, though in searching Reddit I managed to find solid evidence that it was probably out there somewhere, the list itself eluded me. I was, however, able to find a delightfully unexpected little piece of history. The Taxes list linked above actually came from none other than Grand Pause, and it was his first deck submission on the subreddit. Even a bright diamond starts from a humble beginning.

And oh, speaking of diamonds, that brings us to the third major moment for RTO in the early era of competitive play. That being Diamonds In The Sky, a deck that holds a special place in my heart as the winner of the first competitive tournament that I ever entered (not played by me, of course). Similarly to Ballroom above, the plan was simple: move fast, strike hard, and score lots of points. In this case, Blue was a perfect match for White due to its unparalleled AT efficiency, and it could get rolling real fast off the start of the game. As today, back then it was also an excellent anti-Troublemaker colour, with good options like Fears Must Be Faced for getting back the tempo against a control-oriented opponent. Being well-rounded while also being very fast and slightly more consistent than Ballroom Blitz cemented this deck’s status for a long time, at least until the meta slowed down somewhat. That was about when things started getting weird.

Oh, wait! Before we leave this era behind there is something else that bears mention. And I doubt that Bugle would let me hear the end of it if I forgot. Tiny inclusion though it may be, White played a pretty important part in good ol’ One Pace, as the provider of that primordial combo’s source of points. (No surprises there. This theme is one that will repeat a fair amount in later eras.)

Yeah, RTO gets two pictures! Listen, things were a little strange about here, okay?

A Very Messy Time

As we transition into the later era of Premier Block, things get somewhat confused with respect to what White was up to. From a macro perspective, sure, we all know where this story goes. DJ and Maud end up on top, waging an endless war while everyone else could only lurk in their shadows. Yes, we’re not going to see another White Mane in this history for a long time. But that doesn’t mean that the colour was done for good. It still saw play, albeit for mostly just the one reason.

The slate of decks from this era is about as varied as they come. Most notable of them all I think would be Cosmic Bowling, the first deck to abuse the Pinny Lane/Dr. Hooves combo for massive bursts of AT generation. The game plan was pretty simple, as with the ability to suddenly generate large amounts of AT, the deck could rapidly and unexpectedly confront Problems, raking in the first-confront bonuses and sometimes dropping RTOs for even more. The deck could generate lots of Power thanks to Action Shot and Savoir Faire, plus had the usual AT-savings from Cloudchaser, point-scoring cards in White, and a nice new Mane in DJ to make everything that much more consistent. This wasn’t the deck that got Pinny banned, but it absolutely was the first step down that road.

Of less significant notoriety we had a couple of decks that I hadn’t even heard of until Bugle brought them to my attention. Maud Games was a deck with brief notability, coming and going in the early phase of RR as things were slowing down and the meta was largely grappling with One Pace. It used White (who’d guess?) for the points from RTO and for some of its still good control tools like Stand Still! Likewise, from a much later point in this era, Outrageous Theft got more mileage out of RTO by copying her with Queen Chrysalis, Identity Theft, and thus allowed itself to do even more of the normal White things.

See, what did I say? Things were weird. The colour was used quite extensively, but you see the same three or four cards popping up pretty much everywhere. The only places where the other White cards saw play was, well…

I told you that things were going to get weird

Let’s Just Get This Out Of The Way

Of all the archetypes, the one where White has seen the most consistent usage basically since the start of the game has been combo. There were a few reasons for this, but largely over history it’s been due to the fact that White was the colour for scoring points in weird ways. Historically, whether it was Fashion Week, or RTO, or as we travel into modern times, even Mistmane, White was the go-to colour for decks that wanted to score their points in unconventional ways. And again, as above, White was usually not the primary colour in any of these decks. Usually, it was just the win condition. But well, the win condition is a pretty important part so I can hardly get away without mentioning it. Thus, in this section, I’m going to be lumping the combos together, and boy there were a lot of them.

I already mentioned One Pace up above, but here we find its later evolution, One Shot, which at least was nice enough to include a little more White, even if it was still just performing the role of a win con. I would heartily recommend the linked article for reading, though, as it is one of the more complex combos out there.

And they keep on coming! One of, if not the most infamous combo deck ever was of course Dragon Express, and in the pattern established herein, there wasn’t a whole lot of White, but Breezy Rarity was the reason that the deck was able to win games.

Adding on to the tradition of fiendishly complicated combos, from the time of Absolute Discord there was Screw Shot, which… honestly I’m not even going to get into that one. I’m linking to the primers on these for a reason, here. Suffice it to say that once again White is here purely to score some points, though admittedly here there are at least multiple winning cycles through a White endpoint.

And no, we’re not stopping there! I’m going to get through all of the silly combos in this section, even though the next one on the list, Pie-Eating Contest, actually breaks the above pattern by not using White just to score points. For once, it’s a crucial part of the combo, abusing Teamwork Trenderhoof as part of a loop to destroy everything on the opponent’s side of the board in a single faceoff. Before the flips, even.

Finally, to bring the train home, let’s wrap it up with 104.3 FM, The Cheese, fittingly ending off this section by combining some of White’s point-scoring with some of White’s playing fast-and-loose with the rules. This one took advantage of UR Trenderhoof and Uniqueness to repeatedly play cards from the discard pile, though a later rules change invalidated the concept.

Whew, that was a lot of nonsense. Yet you know what I find to be the craziest thing? We’re more than 1700 words in and I still haven’t mentioned Eff Stop yet.

No history of White could possibly be complete without this guy

The Shutter-Click Heard ‘Round The World

Now, Eff Stop had been doing his thing pretty much since the start of the game. He is, after all, a Premier card. Through most of the early sets, he was a reasonably well-recognized tool, but enjoyed nowhere near the success of the other ones mentioned above. Yet, as time went on, the card infamous for “always getting better with every new set” kept getting better. The story of Eff Stop’s journey to getting banned starts in Absolute Discord, with another little piece of history. A Control Deck With Bad Draws was the first claim to fame for a now well-known tinkerer with the Seattle group named Skitter. This was the first notable deck that did the things Eff Stop would later be most famous for: enabling control decks to replay their important Events again, and again, and again. A later deck named Stopping Corn from around the same era did something largely similar, getting its namesake from replaying Popping Corn every turn to devastating effect.

By the time of the modern era, Eff Stop had settled down into what by now is by far his most recognizable role: partnering up with Gyro to deliver unmatched efficiency for control decks that could now minimize the deck space allotted to Events, while still getting maximum value out of them. Especially once Photo Finish showed up in High Magic, Purple/White control decks were everywhere, and the standard toolbox formulation showed up again and again. I’m going to select one representative example in the form of Cruel Mistress, a toolbox of 27 distinct cards that got particular value from wiping the opponent’s board with the combo of Spoiled Rich and Cruel Taskmistress.

But we shouldn’t forget that Eff Stop wasn’t just doing the usual toolbox thing around now. He was also playing what was admittedly a tangential role in another infamous deck: Tantabuse, where he and Interdimensional Portal served as a measure of backup when the usual tool of Minuette wasn’t available.

Finally, no discussion of Eff Stop and toolboxes could be complete without Vinyl’s Bag of Tricks, what many may consider the ultimate incarnation of the concept. With 11 distinct Events spread out over only 16 card slots, this deck captured the versatility of being able to answer almost anything the opponent could do, with the inevitability of being able to provide that same answer every turn for the rest of the game. After Bugle’s success with this deck, it was no surprise that Eff Stop ultimately got banned, bringing the era of toolbox control to an end with it.

Notably, this era wasn’t one of total control darkness. A consistent bright spot for aggro in the colour was of course the Octavia Mane from EO. Even though she hasn’t yet quite cracked the big time, there was and indeed continues to be experimentation with her. And, before Bluna fell in with the Pink crowd and Hot Wings became the only deck for miles around, she was often paired up with White, and did reasonably well too. Here’s a list that T8’d at 2016 BABSCon, something of a comforting refresher of the glory days of RTO that got this article started.

White’s still playing second fiddle, but it’s a pretty darn good orchestra

A Modern Era Just As Messy

The modern era, which I take to start at the introduction of the Core format, has been in all its complexity a continuation on the various themes that held sway over the course of this colour’s existence. Even without Eff Stop, Photo Finish still saw play as a backstop of control, especially as the new Chaos variant rose to prominence. In more recent times, naturally Mistmane has been added in as well. New potent tools like Bodyguard gave it a new lease on life heading into SB, though once again not taking too much of the spotlight for itself. And there were even new combos, of a sort, if you think of banking up AT until Mistmane wins the game on her own to be much of a combo. Still, it was potent for a time.

Indeed, White has spent nearly all of its history playing the secondary role, when it even got that. As Bugle pointed out to me, only 2 White Manes have ever made T16 at NA Continentals. Once for Octavia, and once for the deck that will be ending off the article this time. Because while the colour has so generously yielded the spotlight in almost of all of the lists above, there is one glaring exception of such unparalleled primacy that it simply must stand on its own. Naturally, I’m referring to Meanie Belle’s Big Sister, the 2018 NA Continental Champion.

Perhaps most fittingly for a colour that expressed itself in the past by providing useful tools to other colours, this deck is nothing but tools. It’s all useful Events, Troublemakers and Resources, put together to facilitate something that Rarity and her colour had been seemingly unable to do over the whole course of the meta’s history: hog the spotlight. While it was a bright flash, Friends Forever came next, Yellow sprang back to prominence (as we covered in January), and Meadowbrook served as the ultimate answer to this smorgasboard of Resources.

Conclusion

That was a wild ride of an article. I can safely say that before I started out on this I had no idea of the breadth of different archetypes and eras that I was going to be covering as I went through the history on this one. Indeed, even though White took a long time to find itself a starring role, it was a force behind many of the major movements in the game’s history. From the combo decks that each had their moment in the Sun, to the dynasty of control that held sway in the early pre-modern era, White was always there, always helping. It’s got a little something for everyone.

Part 1 of A History of Colour covered Yellow. Next up will be Purple.

[emmydeg]

How have Society’s Views on Body Images Changed over the Years?

 (Before I get into it, this is an essay I wrote for my college class surrounding the effects of social media. For my project, I decided to talk about something that has affected me in the past. Personally, social media has changed the way I view my own and other’s bodies. I used to compare myself to everyone I saw, but over time, I have learned that media can make everyone’s life look like a dream. I am very happy with my body, and I know that social media helped me a lot along the way of self-acceptance. This essay is very long (8 pages on Google Docs!) but I believe my research to be very interesting, and I hope you do too. TW for mentions of eating disorders.)

     Body images have been affecting women around the world since 3,500 years ago. Women tried to perfect their image for the time period they lived, whether it be the image focusing on large, fertile women during Prehistoric times, the curved hips of the later 1900s, or the dangerously skinny body the 21st century now depends on. In modern society, there is nothing that matters more to young adolescent girls than their body image. Citizens see the ideal sizes in ads in public transportation, Barbie dolls, and in social media. The archetypal body has been attempted by many women. Many turn to eating disorders such as anorexia nervosa or bulimia to achieve this ideal schema. Society is beginning to realize that all sizes are beautiful and women shouldn’t feel pressured to fit into these standards. Over the past hundred years, society’s views on women’s bodies have shifted from favoring those who have bigger bone structures to having dangerously low BMIs. These unrealistic expectations have led to many girls struggling to find peace with their body, and have made society fail to see its beauty. 

      Since Ancient Egypt, women have attempted to obtain the ideal body images of their times. Although their ideal image is drastically different from what humans today strive towards, the notion of struggling to fit in with society stayed the same. Before the 1900s, the concept of body images was easily demonstrated in the artwork from the past, such as in the Prehistoric times, for example. Cichon-Hollander analyzed the Venus of Willendorf, a famous sculpture dug up by Joseph Szombathy. In this artwork, he saw a rather plump-looking woman. The woman had a round stomach, was disproportionate, and had an emphasis on her reproductive organs. Hollander also examined Egyptian artwork that portrayed a new fashion sense and body image that wasn’t seen before in Egypt. These women wore dresses and jewelry to accentuate their petite bodies. Ancient Greece put a large emphasis on a proportionate and symmetrical body. This ideal beauty was based on the mathematical basis of the parts adding up equally to the whole (Cichon-Hollander). In the Late Middle Ages, women were once again bearing large stomachs that almost made it look like every woman at the time was pregnant. Even though they had big stomachs, the rest of their bodies remained slim. The rest of the women had petite legs and a slim, curved figure (Cichon-Hollander). Many of these ideas stray from the expectations of women’s bodies today. While the Prehistoric times preferred larger women, we now see bigger women and make fun of and pity them. In Ancient Egypt, most of the women also had their heads shaved. Today, most women have long, healthy hair, as being bald is seen as too masculine to many people. Ancient Greece’s ideals have greatly influenced what we admire today. We enjoy looking at those with symmetrical faces and bodies, just like the Greeks did. We believe those with asymmetrical bodies look awkward and uncomfortable. The Late Middle Ages emphasized women with large stomachs, and now we have fitness programs and unique diets to receive a flat stomach. Even though all of these beauty standards are unique to their culture and time period, they all still were ideals that women would struggle to meet. The need to fit in outranks many women’s attempts to be satisfied in their own bodies, even over three thousand years ago. 

      After the 1900s, women focused heavily on slim bodies and having the perfect shape. In the 1910s, women had a figure-eight body with a cinched corset. Ideal women were known as  Golden Girls and were tall, regal, and mysterious. When the next time period came along, it called for fewer curves and more legs. The switch from the 1910s’ tall, mysterious girl to the flappers of the Roaring Twenties examined extreme weight loss and the dependence on corsets. Flappers were constantly in motion in their shiny small dresses. During this time, the Miss America pageant was made, and Margaret Gorman was crowned the first Miss America in 1921 (Hart). The Thirties called for the return of the waist and the fashion was tailored to accentuate their new curves. However, it still kept the skinniness in the stomach and legs. The later 1900s’ were when women really began to have negative feelings towards their bodies. Models and superstars’ skinny yet still curvy bodies were emulated by the women in America. The 1950s’ hourglass look called for curvy and rounded figures while keeping a skinny stomach. Most women would take supplements to fill out their curves. Marilyn Monroe was the woman most girls strived to become (Martin). She flaunted her curvy yet petite body to citizens. Throughout the Sixties, women considered thin back in. These girls were doll-faced, slender, and petite. Models like Twiggy showed women their beauty and made them envious. Around this time, girls and women alike began to hate their bodies more than ever before; feeling ugly because they didn’t have the exact body shape of their favorite models. Models in the 1980s’ felt the pressure of the beauty industry to preserve their body image in any way they could.  Between 1960 and 1980, there were decreases in model’s weight and hip size, and an increase in their height, waist size, and bust size in Miss America pageants and Playboy centerfolds (Swami). Models from their specific time period felt the effects of society’s pressure to have the best body. In an article that examines the changes in body image through the 1900s’, Maria Hart found that most of the decades held something in common: toned legs and stomachs. The 21st century still values these things in society today. The history of idealized body images continues to repeat itself. 

      These unrealistic expectations for the perfect body image have been influenced heavily by our society and are extremely harmful to those determined to follow it. Citizens are introduced to striking bodily expectations everywhere you look and can be determined even by children. Young girls are introduced to impractical body images through the use of Barbies and other dolls. Picture the stereotypical Barbie doll; she has long legs, white teeth, a flat stomach, and curves in all the right places. Barbies were one of the first American dolls modeled with the teenage fashion, making the dolls a large visual attraction (Martin). As young children play with these dolls, they begin to see the idealized body image they believe they will have once they grow up. However, many of these kids will be devastated when their stomach isn’t as flat as their friends or their teeth grew back in crooked and now need braces. As these same girls grow to be adolescents, they will begin looking for new things to do, like watching television shows displaying the perfect body, and examining their favorite pop stars and models on the cover of magazines. Teenage girls reading fashion magazines are introduced to mass media’s perception of the body. Those that look up to models are also exposed to slim bodies and symmetrical faces that they may try to achieve. Americans are also able to look at models on their TV sets now, watching them attend large, extravagant parties while wearing a pair of $10,000 shoes. Streaming TV has been associated with dissatisfaction in body image for many Americans (Martin). Teenagers are going through a lot of bodily changes, which makes it hard for most of them to accept their bodies for how they are. Social media is the biggest source of adolescents examining body images. They look at photoshopped photos without realizing it’s not actually how their role models look. Some apps give people the ability to alter how they look by whitening their teeth and taking away blemishes. This gives teen unrealistic views from the people they’re following and will make them have self-doubt. What they don’t realize is that the person may have put on loads of makeup and editing tools to achieve their look (Makwana). Women obsess over getting enough likes or views on their social media platform, stating it makes them feel pretty, liked, and validated. Young girls, in particular, admit to feeling as if they lived through social media and not their real life. The results of being introduced to negative body images can greatly impact a woman’s confidence and optimism. 

      The perfect body is not achievable for most body types, which leads these expectations to be very harmful to society. There are many statistics that show terrifying results of young girls failing to see the beauty in themselves and their peers. Dove, a company that makes beauty and hair care, made a survey about body image in young girls and women. Their results came in and shocked many people. 42% of girls in first through third grade want to become skinnier, 81% of girls aged 10 are scared of becoming fat, and 2% of women of all ages would describe themselves as beautiful (Martin). It had been known that most girls have a negative view of their own bodies, but many failed to realize how early on girls began to start obsessing about their bodies. In a different survey by the Girl Scouts, 66% of girls were actively trying to lose weight, 33% had distorted views of their bodies, and 59% of girls are not satisfied with their bodies (Martin). Other surveys all state around the general lines that young girls already have an image in their head on what their body should look like, and how it differs from the one they have now. These ideas of how the body should look can lead to women turning to diets, working out, and other, much unhealthier methods to achieve their perfect body. Eating disorders are very common among women trying to achieve their idealized body image, especially models. Over the years, Miss America’s BMI has decreased over the years getting all the way to an astonishing 16.9. Many of the contestants had dangerously low BMIs that put their health at risk. The average body mass index for the average person is between 18.5 and 25.0. For women, the average is between 21.3 and 22.1 (Martin). 2008 Miss America winner Kirsten Haglund had a BMI of 16.29, which is severely low for a woman of her age. Haglund stated she was a recovering anorexic and used it to her advantage. She began using her platform to speak out on the dangers of eating disorders and how to help those who may be struggling. Haglund wasn’t the only person in the modeling industry to realize the dangers of maintaining the small body image; a fashion show in Madrid felt the effects of the harsh realities of keeping a slim body when many young models died from these expectations. In 2006, the fashion week in Spain banned models who looked dangerously skinny to try and preserve their health. The ban came after the model Luisel Ramos died of a heart attack right before stepping on the catwalk. Her body mass index was a startling 14.5. A little while after the death of Ramos, 21-year-old Ana Carolina Reston died with a BMI of 13.4 (Martin). Models in Madrid are now required to be examined by a doctor and will not be allowed to model in fashion week if they have a BMI lower than 18. Those thinking about joining the modeling industry should examine not only how their body feels, but also how their minds feel. Having a thigh gap is not nearly as important as being in good health, but society makes women pick and choose which one they will have. Unfortunately, most pick looking skinny. To try and avoid negative body images from the beginning, parents should try and take more time to examine the content they give their children to make sure they are getting a representation of not only the perfect body image, but of all body types in between. Parents should also look out for their children obsessing over what they eat and urge them to maintain a healthy lifestyle. If there is someone who seems to be struggling with their body image, people should try and help them in any way possible. This doesn’t mean they have to be the one to talk to them; they could turn to a trusted adult, like a parent or teacher. If that isn’t enough, the professional help of a psychologist or doctor may be for the best. By helping those in need, citizens make it known that they can and will all struggle together as a society, just as they will also bring each other up as a society.

      The ideal body image of today is nothing like the one we earlier examined of the Prehistoric times, just like how today’s bodies may be nothing like those in a hundred years, or a thousand years. What will stay the same is women’s determination to maintain that body to fit in with their society. Unless someone takes the first stand and becomes confident with not fitting in the conformities our society holds, nothing will ever change. When women begin to embrace their bodies, they will be able to bring about great change. Already today there are women spreading the word on eating disorders and other mental health issues. Imagine what could happen if models weren’t just skinny if ads depicted larger women if people raised each other up instead of watching everyone fall. America has made drastic improvements, but who knows if it will be enough for future daughters and their daughters to love their bodies. If a person feels confident in their body, their body image is the one to envy; the image of someone who loves themselves and the skin they’re in.

Works Cited

Cichon-Hollander, G.W. “The European Ideal Beauty of the Human Body in Art.” Art History Archive, http://www.arthistoryarchive.com/arthistory/european/European-Ideal-Beauty- of-the-Human-Body-in-Art.html. Accessed 20 May 2019.

Hart, Maria. “See How Much the ‘Perfect’ Female Body Has Changed in 100 Years (It’s Crazy).” Greatist, 15 January 2015, https://greatist.com/grow/100-years-womens-body- image. Accessed 15 May 2019.

Makwana et al. “Magazine Issue 1 2018/Issue 35.” The Inquisitive Mind, http://www.in-mind. org/article/selfie-esteem-the-relationship-between-body-dissatisfaction-and-social-media-in-adolescent?gclid=CjwKCAjw8e7mBRBsEiwAPVxxiO4oDiD9acCaInp4RJHmglfodOjJIIM1HDmz6I0z02FUwu0es-1a_RoCOpQQAvD_B. Accessed 16 May 2019.

Martin, Jeanne B. “The Developmental of Ideal Body Image Perceptions in the United States.” Semantics Scholar, https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/9baf/87fa41962e3454b6365c 2900f9202fb896ae.pdf. Accessed 17 May 2019.

Swami, Viren. “Women’s Idealised Bodies Have Changed Dramatically Over Time-But Are Standards Becoming More Unattainable?” The Conversation, https://theconversation. com/womens-idealised-bodies-have-changed-dramatically-over-time-but-are-standards-becoming-more-unattainable-64936. Accessed 15 May 2019.

[likeabulletyoucanhurtme]

Another horror film... Fender Bender

I decide what to watch films from listicles and stupid articles posted from facebook. I decide to do reviews/re-action blogs/liveblog posts, not because of the film but just if I have time/effort to put in. The Wikipedia entry for this film make it sound like a modern day slasher film/tribute. I like those films, Halloween, Nightmare On Elm Street, Scream etc, so let's hope this is a worthy successor. Ominous repeated music, not quite the Halloween piano but building tension Woman pours a tiny glass of wine, pauses, and then fills up the glass. Nice. Why is she wearing her housecoat from the bedroom to the bathroom? You live alone there's no need to be shy...or was that just for the censors? Closing the door when getting into the bath. Even when we know we are alone (or at least we think we are) then we still need to close the bathroom door for privacy. Wonder why? Too many bubbles in this bath so for those looking for a quick peek you'll be disappointed She drys one hand to pick up her phone but uses both to type her text, surely this will still get her phone wet? Also her fingers look too wrinkled for her to have just sat down in the bath, but that's just continuity and was probably the 20th take or something The texts are from her "Fender bender friend", woo movie title is mentioned! Her keyboard makes typing sounds. Does anyone still have that? Do we not all just mute it and have our phones on constant silence? He told her to enjoy the bath. Definitely freaking out now. I guess this is gonna be more of a stalker than a whodunnit The bathroom door just creaked open. I get its to add to the tension but hes not on the direct other side of the door so that was what, wind? She goes downstairs (in her housecoat) and one of the windows is wide open. Now surely if you're a psycho killer sneaking into someones house, you'd shut the window after you to avoid detection. Or at least I would...or I will now... Now she's given up on her bath and pulled the plug. Poured half her wineglass down the sink but didn't rinse it so thats a waste of a good glass AND gonna leave a stain She got into bed and the dude was literally lying in her bed like how did she not realise someone was there before she got in? And what kind of plan is that, to lie in their bed? Now she's out and halfway down the stairs before he's even got out of the covers! Also, what kinda gimp mask is he wearing? She tries to get out of the window she closed earlier and gets caught halfway. No fight. No resistance. Just screaming. Poor show. Three stabs from his weird knife thing but not a lot of blood spray or gore. Guy just put his change slowly on the counter at the petrol station. Customers like that are dicks. Give it to him in his hands! Girl's facetiming her friend, crying in the car as her bf and random cheerleader slut are on a date. Fuck him! Dry your eyes girl, you can do better! Andy (cheating bf prick) sees Hilary (crying gf) in the car and runs over saying the cheerleader doesn't mean anything. Hope she heard that and they both leave you, asshole She stops and The Driver (as the credits called him) hits her and causes the accident. He's lucky that shes not been paying attention or she'd realise he's been following her all the way. A more observant victim and you'd be in trouble mister, not a good serial killer plan really He calls her a virgin cause its her first accident, like if I didn't know you were a killer I'd still think you're a creepy dude It's her mum's car and it has a DNCEMOM personalised licence plate, maybe the car deserved to be scratched! She got in the car to get her information and I wonder what would have happened if she'd just drove away then and there? I also wonder if he gives over the real information to his victims. I guess there's no reason why he should, but I bet he's so full of himself that it probably is his right name. Now she's driving away and facetiming with her obviously-gay-best-friend... now I'm sure if I was just in an accident I'd be driving extra carefully and not keep looking at the phone screen every two minutes! Back home and her mum says she almost called the police because she was missing. Bit of an over-reaction; when your licenced daughter and your car are both gone it's not rocket science. Hilary has dance trophies - ok so the licence plate is justified, that still doesnt make it right Her dad says shes not to leave the house for any reason over the next day while they go on a trip, guess she's limited with hiding places when the driver comes for her later. Ok so you're not going on the trip with them Hil's but still - YOU HAVE AN EMPTY! Get over your boyfriend with a tub of ben and jerrys and wine... maybe keep a knife handy too, k? The car insurance woman is called Davidson. That's not a name, that's a surname! Oh ok apparently she's friends with the car insurance people and it's Mrs Davidson. Why would you answer the phone with your last name tho, that's just confusing? And who's on chatty minor-life-details-sharing basis with their insurance providor? She notices the drivers car going round her house-nows the time to get a big knife and carry it with you everywhere you go! I wonder if the phone number she gave the providor actually works? And who would answer? Hilary take your shoes off before you lie on the bed! You're just getting the place dirty! Her bear is called Harry Manilow...I'm sure barry is very proud Hilary's bedroom still has glow in the dark stars on the walls. I like it. She gets a txt saying sorry about today and she thinks its her ex. Surely you'd have his number saved? And there'd be a message history? He's calling himself a "fender bender friend" again, like this is not how you meet people. Especially when you're at least 12 years older. You don't need to be creepy with people before you kill them mate Her phone makes the noise when she's typing too, omg why? He's mentioned her parents leaving in another car, like obvious warning sign, do you like your victims to be scared first before you attack? At least he can't hide in her bed cause Hilary's not left hers yet Also once he's killed them I hope he deletes their message history because itd be pretty easy to track him down if not. There's a package left on top of her mums car that she was driving. Nope. Fuck that. You can get it in the morning. Leave it alone Hilary! The package was a cake that said sorry - could be from him or the ex, not sure I'm guessing he sneaked in while she was getting the package but seriously if he's in her bed I'm gonna start calling him the bedspread killer and not fender bender. Nope he's not, thank god. Well, not yet at least. Nice slow artistic panning camera shot...of Harry Manilow. Now she's going for a shower. No free nudity shots though you pervs Back in her bedroom she sees her phones been moved, and the last photos on if were her in the shower...nows time for that big knife Hils Instead, she's went back to the bathroom just to see, as if she doesn't know what her own bathroom looks like in pictures There's muddy footprints outside the bathroom but not anywhere else in their clean whitetiled house Ok so not a knife but shes got dressed and now has a baseball bat - its a start :) She's shouting out who's there though, like he's gonna actually answer her... Ok now it's her obviously-gay-friend and unnamed-blonde-lesbian-vibe friends from earlier. They have pizza :) That doesnt answer for who took the shower pictures though... Obviously-gay-friend says he took a picture of himself on the toilet "for shits and giggles" yeah cause thats a normal thing to do... Obviously-gay-friend is confirmed as gay, ha! He wants dessert but they havent actually eaten anything. Like no time lapse or anything. Full slices of pizza sitting right there untouched. Not impressed dude Obviously-gay-friend trying to defend creepy older man txting Hilary saying maybe there's some decent people left in this world. Sorry to disappoint you but nope, he's genuinely creepy Unnamed-blonde-lesbian-vibe confirms they didn't take pictures of Hilary in the shower Andy's at the door, drunk and being a prick. But he has muddy boots so maybe it was him taking the shower pictures? Hilary stays firm, smashes a vase and threatens him - you go girl! Aim for the head next time! The driver catches Andy at his car and kills him with the knifey thing. Three blows, one obviously in the head but again a distinct lack of blood splatter :( Ah well he deserved it. And also was he gonna drive away drunk? Did he drive drunk getting there? Driver might've actually saved more lives by killing him Obviously-gay-friend says although he's a stalker and creepy its a shame to let the apology go to waste - yeah fuck him eat the cake! She gets a phonecall from Mrs Davidson at the insurance place - like its obviously really late at night now - what you doing? Go home! Ok so the information The Driver gave Hilary was from the woman he killed at the start, just changed the first name. And that person reported as dead yesterday so this is the very next day. He moves fast. There's a powercut and suddenly he's in the middle of their living room just standing there chilling with his bloody knife. He smashes Hilary's phone before chasing them - takes care of the pictures and creepy txts I suppose, but still there's a trail with the insurance company and with her service providor if the police were to look Both gay friends who ate the cake feel ill - obviously drugged. Hilary takes obviously-gay-friend down some stairs and the rest of their house looks like its still being built because reasons. unnamed-blonde-lesbian-vibe's hiding under Hilary's bed, the driver walks around the bed then lies down beside her until she notices like why does he like lying beside people? He couldve pulled her out by her feet and saved himself the hassle! Rachel. Blonde-lesbian-vibe is now named! He trips up and she almost hits him over the head. He's not an invincible killer-if she wasnt drugged he'd have been in trouble He stabs her and she goes through a window-increasing likelihood of a neighbour hearing that or hearing her scream in the driveway. Not a good plan. All you serial killers, keep your victims in the house if possible to avoid detection Now he has to go outside to finish her off - lot of avoidable hassle He drives the car over her-messy. And I don't get why she didn't roll out of the way. Obviously-gay-friend's real name is Erik, but I'll stick to obviously-gay-friend He seems to be taking his time to search through an empty room of plastic sheets and only two other doors. I don't know if hes trying to build the tension and freak them out or if he just cant see because of that mask He leaves via the other door somehow and Hilary starts talking and moving, like no - stay hidden until he actually leaves ffs! Theyre heading for the same exit The Driver took, seriously? The Driver stabs obviously-gay-friend and finally there's a whole lot of blood. Took them long enough! Blood from his neck has somehow got on the back of his hand and dried into the shirt - continuity people! Hilary goes outside and finds Andy hung from a railing/fence - not subtle at all! The Drivers now back in his car and chasing Hilary around slowly - because reasons Rachel's also been hung on a fence in a different area for reasons which will be unexplained. It's like he wants to get caught. Hilary looks like she's now decided to fight - you go girl; you'll probably win, he's easy Finally grabs the big knife I've been telling her about She stabs him and he drops his bladed thing - TOLD YOU IT'D BE EASY!! She pours petrol over him though, and tries to light a match, when shed be easier just to keep stabbing him Hits him with a crowbar AND KEEPS HITTING HIM WITH THE CROWBAR - YES! GO FOR IT! She hits him again while they're walking outside - maybe the whole creepy txts and drugged cakes are to scare the victim to make up for his own inadequacies as a killer Looks like he managed to cut her arm but there's no blood or show of pain so maybe he missed? She sits in his car and notices on the roof inside is licences of all the other girls he's killed. But how has he managed to get away with it for so long? He's sloppy, and messy, and not that good a fighter. She throws the cigarette lighter at him and sets him on fire - but really she was doing so much better with the crowbar tbh. Takes him a good while to remember to stop drop and roll - if he did that first she'd have been fucked - stupid plan, but stupider killer She's going to get a phone from his pocket when what she should really be doing is hitting him with that crowbar first to make sure he's dead Also - I thought he smashed her phone earlier... Hilary's went inside to her bedroom like what the hell girl, phone the police! Oh yeah, house phone died earlier with Mrs Davidson. But yeah mobiles not really working either She looks out and he's not lying outside where he should be. Told you - shouldve kept at it with the crowbar He's watching her and she just backs away saying no - where'd your fight go? You can take him! Nah shes just a scared mess now, shame. He cuts her knees and we have blood! More blood from her legs than from the first victim... He says her life's meaningless but her death will be legendary. Not really getting a motive here are we? He's getting changed in Hilary's bedroom - leaving a whole lot of trace DNA and evidence everywhere And now he's using her shower - I tell you how this guy gets away with anything is beyond me, All the dead kids are in their own cars in the driveway, while he drives off - now with the DNCEMOM licence plates on his car. They're still not acceptable. Ahh so the money he uses for petrol is what he's stolen from his victims. Still doesn't explain why he didn't just hand it to the guy, dick

[nicolewrites]

The Ecruteak Incident

You guys can thank @thecoordinatorsquad for this one.  Sequel/Prequel to ‘enter stage left’

Words: 3,658 FFN | AO3

When May arrives in Ecruteak City, the sun is still high in the sky. It’s a nice change from many of the later arrivals she’s been having since travelling on her own. Without Ash’s drive to reach the next city and the next gym as fast as possible, May has found herself distracted by training, relaxing and wildlife between towns and she often arrives just as night is falling.

It’s just after noon as she sets foot on the cobblestone streets that are a tribute to the older days. She notes, with interest, that many of the buildings are constructed in older, more traditional styles and with more muted colour palettes. The guidebook that she carries on hand tells her that it is out of respect for the Bell Tower that stands just to the north of the city.

Her first impression of the city is quaint: it’s smaller and less bustling than many of the other cities she’s visited in Johto so far, but it is definitely more pedestrian friendly. There are definitely still a fair share of coordinators and contest fans mulling about with the contest being two days away. The cobblestone streets are obviously not meant for cars, and the small market kiosks lining the streets further encourage walking over driving.

To the north, May observes the old Bell Tower rising on the horizon and she makes a mental note to visit it. Following her map towards the Pokémon Centre, she walks past the city’s gym. The building is like the rest of the city, painted in muted colours, but there are cheers from within and May smiles. Sometimes she misses watching Gym Battles. Ash certainly had a flair for making them interesting. Max was leaving in September, so maybe she should make some time to watch a few of his battles.

There are large maple trees on several street corners with their big green leaves open to the sky. It reminds her of Petalburg and the tree that’s on the corner near the gym. This part of the city, May knows, will be exceptionally beautiful in the fall when the leaves change colour and start to fall. She hopes she’ll have the opportunity to return for it, but her carefully planned schedule–Drew’s idea, not hers–says that this contest in Ecruteak is the only one for the season. The city wasn’t much for pageantry–much more about tradition.

She spots the crowd about a block from the PokéCentre and her heart sinks in her chest. It’s a group of, mostly, young teenage girls, some older and some younger than herself. None of the girls in particular are familiar, but the hunches of their backs and the high pitched giggles are all too familiar.

Fangirls.

Of course there are fangirls here. There is a contest in two days and there are some higher-profile coordinators entering. Plus, this is one of the larger cities in the region so the increased population of fans also makes sense. May walks hesitantly towards the Centre, just hoping not to get mauled by excited girls.

To her surprise, they don’t seem to pay her any attention as she approaches. They are much more interested in whoever is inside the Pokémon Centre as displayed by the way they keep glancing in the windows and giggling. Unfortunately, their crowd extends to block the front entrance which means May will have to wade right through them.

She takes a deep breath to steel her nerves and pushes through the first few, excusing herself politely. “Excuse me, just need to pass by,” she murmurs, trying to move unseen.

She gets almost to the door when one fan turns and stares her directly in the face. “Hey!” the girl exclaims, “What right do you have moving us from our view?”

May sighs. “Sorry, I was just trying to get into the Pokémon Centre. I need to register for the contest.”

“Register?” another girl pipes up, sounding scandalized. “You can’t compete! You can’t be given the opportunity to win.”

May frowns. “Well, that’s not how coordinating works. The best coordinator in the contest will win the ribbon.”

The first girl put her hands on her hips and gives May a condescending once-over. “Well that’s obviously not going to be you, so maybe you should just run along.”

May’s anger bubbles up. No one gets to talk to her like that, except maybe Drew, but he’s always teasing when he does. Before she can burst with frustration, one of the other girls stumbles away from the window, squealing dramatically.

The doors to the Pokémon Centre slide open and all the girls fall completely silent, staring in awe at the person who emerges from inside. May just exhales in relief. Out of all the people, he’s probably not a bad one to save her from this situation, even if he’ll never let her live it down again.

Drew looks puzzled by the situation, but he walks out towards May anyways. The girls part like the sea for him and he stands next to his rival, glancing at the girl who had been giving May spite.

“Maple, you made it before dark for once. I guess I can call off that search party,” he jokes. His tone is easygoing and relaxed. He seems to be completely ignoring the fans and is instead focused on May.

Smugness curls in her belly as May smiles at him. “Haha, Drew. I know you didn’t beat me here by much. You were coming from Blackthorn, weren’t you? I was only in Violet City, my journey was much shorter.”

He shrugs. “I still beat you here, and I’m all registered for the contest. You should do the same. We don’t want a repeat of the Len Town Contest do we?”

May frowned. She didn’t need reminding of her first blunder of the season. She had forgotten how busy the first contest of the season was and had arrived too late to register, leaving Drew with only Solidad as an obstacle for the ribbon. He had won and he still wouldn’t let her live it down, even as they planned an appropriate route through the region, determining at which contests they would butt heads.

“I’m getting there,” she says after a brief pause.

He laughs and just gestures back to the door. “Come on then.”

May steps towards Drew, and freedom from the swarm of fangirls, when one pipes up. “But, Mr. Drew! How can you encourage competition?”

Drew frowns at the girls. “I’ve asked you all already to leave me alone, I don’t want to get Officer Jenny involved. May is my rival, and my friend and none of you bear that distinction, so you should all scram before I report you for harassment.”

It takes a minute, but the gravity of his words sinks in and the girls start to leave, but not without glancing back at him as they go. Drew sighs and rubs his temples.

“Let’s get out of here, please,” he says, annoyance still heavy in his voice.

May laughs. “Oh but Drew, you have to tell me more,” she teases. He levels a hard look at her and May laughs again. “I’m only kidding. I find them incredibly annoying as well, don’t worry.”

They walk into the Pokémon Centre as Drew complains about how they’ve been following him around since he arrived in town. May giggles. She has her own set of fans, but none of them are ever as bad as the cult of fangirls that follow her rival around.

May does end up registering for the contest in time, and the morning of, she heads down to the lobby to get breakfast before heading over to the hall. Drew is sitting at one of the tables in the cafeteria with an empty plate and a steaming, half-full cup of coffee in front of him. He’s flipping through a newspaper and only looks half-awake.

May’s heart tightens as she watches him. It’s strangely domestic and almost cute. She blushes and shakes off the feeling, heading to gather her own plate of breakfast. After taking a generous helping–she’s hungry, there’s no excuse–she heads back towards where he was sitting. May places her plate down and slides in across from him.

He glances up only briefly to acknowledge her presence. “May,” he greets casually, before returning his attention to the article he’s reading.

She takes a couple bites of her food before curiosity wins out. “What are you reading about?”

He puts the paper down and slides it towards her. She notes the headline: ‘Excitement Continues Around Conclusion of Wallace Cup in Sinnoh’. May smiles. She skims the article briefly. It talks about the contest, the venue, and her and Dawn’s battle in the final. Curiously, she notes the fact that Johto and Hoenn were both bidding for the next Wallace Cup.

“It seems the coordinating world was pretty impressed by your new style out there. Even if you did manage to lose to a rookie,” Drew comments, stealing his newspaper back.

May rolls her eyes. “Dawn was good. And besides, her mom was a Top Coordinator before either of our times so she’s grown up around it. I almost won the Violet City Contest after I got back anyway. My slump is over, we both know that.”

Drew shrugs. “We’ll see today, I guess.”

May sticks her tongue out at her rival, who shares a rare smile at her childish action, and tucks back into her food. The whole situation is friendly and calm even though in a couple of hours they could be going head to head for what would be both of their fourth ribbons. Despite May’s apparent slump, Drew was equal to her in ribbons, though May conceded that he had entered far fewer contests and was spending more time on individual training.

Still, getting a foot up on him would be a welcome change since he always seemed to be one step ahead of her.

As the appeal scores are revealed, May takes one of Drew’s telling characteristics and spins it back on him. She smirks at him. She’s in first, and he’s close behind her, only 0.3 points back, in second place. They’re both comfortably through to the battle round, but May’s ahead this time.

It feels good, especially since May knows that Drew’s appeals and combinations are generally his strongest points, whereas hers lay more in powerful battling, something she had picked up from Ash. Still, Drew was notoriously good at spinning people’s power back on themselves to earn massive points, and he was also incredibly strong.

The bracket is revealed and to May’s surprise, she and Drew are not opposite each other. In fact, if they both win their first battles, they’ll be facing off in the semi-finals. She casts him a surprised glance and he shrugs in return. May laughs. She’s still going to beat him–that’s her plan.

As they take the stage for the battles, cheers spring up around them, but Drew’s cheering section is loud and very female. Drew smirks and flicks his hair. The crowd screams in appreciation and May smothers a snort. At least his fangirls will get to enjoy his showboating for a little while.

The announcers call for them to choose their Pokémon, and May watches as Drew calls out Flygon. The Dragon Type is one of his strongest, and May knows there is no going easy here with him. Still, she has an advantage in this case.

“Glaceon! Take the stage!” She spins elegantly and tosses the capsule containing the Fresh Snow Pokémon outwards.

Drew visibly blanches at the sight of her new team member. Though he’d been encouraging of May when she had gone to Sinnoh, she knows that now he’s realizing that Glaceon places her at a significant type advantage over many of his Pokémon, especially Flygon. May lifts her chin confidently.

The timer starts, and Drew wins first move.

As far as contest battles go, besides her stint in the Wallace Cup, her battle against Drew has been the fiercest she’s fought in Johto. He always has tricky combinations ready to counter, even if she pushes forwards with strength. Still, this time, she had been better. Glaceon has squeaked her through to the finals and May is elated.

There are despondent cries from the crowd: Drew’s devastated fangirls and May glances at her rival again. He returns Flygon and nods to her, conceding defeat respectfully. She was better today, and they both know it.

In the end, May makes a blunder, choosing Beautifly in the finals to match up against a Quilava. With both a speed and type disadvantage, she puts up a fight, but in the end, a Johtoan coordinator named Crystal eventually wins the Ecruteak Ribbon. She’s not overly disappointed.

She can use the battle with Crystal to create new defensive combinations, especially against moves like Aerial Ace and Swift that never miss. Plus, she reminds herself, she beat Drew. That’s always a plus.

May calls back Beautifly and heads backstage. The locker room has cleared out, as expected and May gathers her stuff. It will be a few more minutes before people start leaving as Crystal will still need to be presented with her ribbon. May doesn’t see a reason to stick around. She’s kind of hungry again and is interested in trying out some of the street food she’d seen over the last couple days. A treat sounds nice, for both her and her Pokémon.

She slings her bag up onto her shoulder and exits the room, heading for the main entrance. She only gets a little ways before she notices that Drew is striding towards her with purpose. She blinks at him, but he looks frustrated.

“Drew?” she questions, but he ignores her, basically grabbing her around the waist and spinning her around.

They walk at a brisk speed past the locker room, back towards the stage. Drew doesn’t say anything, but relief breaks into his face as he spots a janitor’s closet off to the side. He yanks open the door and herds May inside without breaking stride. The door shuts behind him and May gives her rival an incredulous look.

“What are you doing?” she demands.

“Shh,” he hushes her urgently.

The closet is dark, but not overly small so they each have personal space. May still has no idea what has gotten into Drew, but she tries to study him in the dim light. He looks frustrated, but she doesn’t think it’s from the contest. This annoyance stems from other causes.

Many of her silent questions are quickly answered as she hears footsteps pound through the hallway. She raises an eyebrow at Drew and he just lets out a long sigh.

“I know he went this way. And if we can’t find him, then we can surely give a piece of our mind to that girl who beat him,” a snarky voice exclaims.

May blinks. It’s the voice of the girl from outside the PokéCentre a couple days ago. Drew had been escaping from his fangirls and he’d managed to save her some hassle too by hiding her as well since it seems they blamed him for his loss in the contest.

“What’s the point?” another girl complains. “He lost. He’s probably not sticking around. There’s no point in us being here if he isn’t.”

A few other girls agree, and to May’s delight and Drew’s relief, the girls relent in their search. To be safe, they give it almost a minute of silence outside the closet before they emerge and scan the hallways, ensuring their safety.

When they know they’re not going to be hassled, May bursts out laughing. “Wow, they’re even worse about your losses than you are.”

Drew runs a hand through his hair. “It’s annoying. Don’t laugh at me, if this was you, you’d be the same.”

May shrugs. “It’s not me though, so I get to laugh. I did beat you today,” she reminds.

Drew rolls his eyes. “You still lost.”

May sticks out her tongue. “I beat you though, so it’s fine.”

Drew starts to walk towards the entrance to the contest hall, pausing briefly to let May catch up to him. They walk side-by-side towards the entrance. They’re almost to open air when Drew hesitates.

“There’s a festival tonight, for several reasons, mostly Johto culture stuff, but I was wondering if you wanted to come with me?” he asks carefully. “There will be lots of food, if you were wondering.”

May smiles brightly. “Sounds like fun! I’ll meet you in the lobby at seven?” she asks.

Drew nods. “Seven.”

“Did we lose them?” May asks, gasping for breath. She tugs at the hemline of her dress and scans the crowd around them.

Drew scowls bitterly. “For now, anyway,” he mutters.

May sighs. Everything had been going great. The festival was brightly lit compared the usual muted nature of Ecruteak City. There were sparklers and fireworks and dancers in the streets. Lanterns were hung from storefronts and homes and music twinkled through the whole town. The usual market stalls were bustling with life and energy and true to recommendation, the food had been incredibly excellent.

They had been in the middle of enjoying a demonstration by the Kimono Girls, something that was surely inspiring combinations for both of them, when the disruption had started. A couple people had begun whispering around them, assessing them as competitors from the contest that had happened earlier.

Both Hoenn Coordinators had tried to ignore it, but it quickly escalated as Drew’s fangirls began to appear. Drew had grabbed May by the hand and pulled her away, down an alley as they ran to try to escape the crowd. They had used the bustle of the festival to hide their escape, but still, it wouldn’t be long until they were found again.

“We really can’t catch a break with these girls, can we?” May grumbles.

Drew laughs and she glances at him. Under the moonlight and the light of the lanterns, his hair and eyes are almost glowing. Plus, she catches the shadows of dimples in his cheeks from his natural smile and May’s stomach twists. He looks gorgeous and she’s paralyzed by her realization.

He’s wearing dressy clothes–just as she is wearing a nice dress–for the occasion and he looks very sharp. She inhales quickly and tears her eyes from her rival. She can’t find him attractive. They are rivals. Sure, they’re mostly friends too, but he’s her rival first. Competition over attraction, she tries to will herself to believe.

“I am both really sorry, and really not, because that was honestly kind of fun,” Drew admits. He smooths out his already perfect hair. “Well, I’d imagine that we have a couple minutes before they figure out where we’ve gone, so let’s keep exploring, shall we?”

He offers her his arm and before she can talk herself out of it, she’s smiling and sliding her elbow into his.

They stroll out onto a main street again and May is quickly distracted by a cute vendor’s stall with several adorable accessories for sale. She drags Drew over and spends a little while chatting with the owner and browsing the wares. She steals a glance back at Drew, and he’s already watching her and she blushes.

“I saw green hair go this way!” someone yells.

Both coordinators flinch. May glances around, but she can’t pinpoint where the fan was, so she looks at Drew desperately. He looks a little pained and May lets out a short huff of air. She grabs a hat from the table of wares in front of them, apologises to the store owner and drags Drew towards another nearby gap between buildings.

She shoves the hat on his head to hide his hair and spins his back to the street so they are facing each other, and are much to close for May’s sanity. She feels heat rush to her cheeks as she makes eye contact with a startled Drew. There are more cries from the street of people that have seen Drew, and May is desperate.

She places a hand on either side of Drew’s face and pulls it down towards her. He’s startled, but he doesn’t resist as she brings him into a chaste kiss. For a brief moment, there is nothing, just their lips awkwardly pressed together as they pray no one recognizes them. But then there is a gentle pressure against her mouth and May almost jumps.

She kissed Drew, but now he’s actually kissing her.

She manages to kick her brain awake enough to kiss him back for a few seconds before he breaks away, breathing deeply. His green eyes are illuminated by the lantern over her head and the hat looks stupid on him, but he’s incredibly beautiful and he’s looking at her with a mix of surprise and pleasure on his face.

May blinks, breaking their staring contest and they both note that the fangirls have moved on and they’re alone. She slowly peels her hands from Drew, feeling heat swarm into her face. He’s a little flushed himself, but May drops her eyes to the ground quickly.

He coughs awkwardly and she lets her eyes drift up warily. He’s smiling, despite his best efforts, and he steps back from her a little. “Let’s just agree to,” he trails off carefully.

May laughs and it comes out rattled and nervous. “Never talk about this again?”

He laughs too. “Sounds good.”

May catches Drew’s eyes drifting to her lips one last time before he steps further away from her. A vibrant firework explodes over Drew’s head and May giggles one last time.

It’s a fitting night, she thinks to herself. But, they’re never going to talk about this ever–EVER–again.

[salmonfact78-blog]

What should the Eagles do if Carson Wentz can play?

It’s a question everybody has thought about, yet no clear cut answer has been given — “Should the Eagles pull Nick Foles if Carson Wentz becomes available to play?”

It may even be a question the Eagles’ coaching staff has yet to find an answer to, but because Carson Wentz has yet to be placed on IR, it will persist.

As an exercise, we here at BGN had a discussion to give our thoughts on the situation and whether or not Wentz should be reinserted if he’s healthy enough to go and the Eagles keep winning.

Alexis Chassen (@LovelyBuckeye)

Benching Nick Foles for Carson Wentz would be a very tricky situation, especially because it’d be more than a little questionable to pull the hot hand and someone the team has really rallied around. If everything that the coaches and players say about egos not existing in the locker room, you’d hope that it wouldn’t cause tension, but that possibility is always there.

Still, I think if the Eagles are steadfast in supporting Carson Wentz as the future of the franchise, they need to give him the team back if he’s ready. Wentz has already had to sit back due to injury and miss competing in the franchise’s first Super Bowl win, and the constant questions about whether Foles should be the main guy moving forward are bound to creep into someone’s psyche. Plus, getting a third year quarterback some playoff experience can only help down the road. The decision would also depend on when they knew Carson would be ready to go, and obviously a full week of practice would be needed to get him back into a rhythm with his offense, but I’d bet he’s been actively involved in all the walk-through’s since his injury and has been taking mental reps like crazy.

Dave Mangels (@Southern_Philly) and Lee Sifford (@LeeSifford)

Dave: The only way this should be a ”dilemma” (oh no, what QB should we start in the Super Bowl, our franchise, MVP-caliber guy or the reigning Super Bowl MVP?) is if the Eagles were to make the Super Bowl. Wentz hasn’t practiced, so even if the Eagles beat the Saints and Wentz returns to practice, starting the NFC Championship Game should not even be a consideration. When he returned from injury earlier this year the process from out to start was immediate, and he looked like a guy who, wait for it.... hadn’t practiced in a while. So the only way I see this being a real issue (as opposed to a talk radio issue) is that the Eagles win on Sunday, Wentz returns to practice in some capacity the week of the NFCCG, the Eagles then win that game, and then Wentz is fully cleared and practicing during the two weeks before the Super Bowl. Otherwise I don’t think it would be fair to the rest of the team or to Wentz to rush him. That he has a back injury only magnifies the need to make sure he’s 100%.

Lee: Sorry, Dave, but I tend to disagree. If Carson is healthy, cleared to play and gets a practice in, I believe he needs to play. This Nick Foles magic has been fun to watch but we all know it isn’t going to last forever. Had Parkey made the game winning field goal, all we’d be talking about this week is how ugly the two interceptions were by Foles. Foles has been playing well, sure, but he is far from the only reason the team has turned around. The defense has been ferocious the last few weeks. The offense is clicking again and the addition of a healthy Carson could take this team from good to repeat Super Bowl champions.

Dave: Carson is the better player, no doubt. But he’s not going from not practicing to 100 percent overnight. So at what point is X percent Carson Wentz better than 100 percent Nick Foles? And how will you know that Wentz is there with only a practice?

Lee: First and foremost you have to trust Carson. If the doctors clear him and he feels right, I believe you need to pull the trigger. It’s hard to put a precise percentage on this, but if Carson can throw accurately without pain, I would have a hard time letting him sit and watch Foles. As Ben’s article pointed out the other day, much of Foles’ success can be attributed to conservative game planning and an improved defense. Add an 80 percent Wentz into the same equation and the team’s ceiling rises.

Benjamin Solak (@BenjaminSolak)

No.

First reason (the big one): You’re going to be able to realistically and reasonably, at any time in these next three-to-four weeks, claim that Carson Wentz is still potentially gimpy and not worth playing. For goodness’ sake, you missed the fracture in the first place — who knows what you could be risking by hustling him back out. He wasn’t 100 percent earlier this year; there’s no reason to go through that kerfuffle again.

Second reason (the bigger one): this locker room would turn on you, especially if you lose. They were as much of this fight as Foles/Wentz were, crawling their way back into the playoffs and now winning these last two/three playoff games. They believe in themselves, and to make a quarterback shift for what would, no matter how you sold it, look like you were just protecting Wentz from having further hurt feelings, could potentially shake the locker room and make your offseason decision to keep Wentz all the trickier.

Cody Benjamin (@CodyJBenjamin)

On a personal level, I like the idea of at least considering the activation and/or starting of Carson Wentz if he’s cleared to play. It just seems odd to imagine him fully healthy, or at least deemed so, and potentially in uniform, yet doing little more than watching his backup pursue another Super Bowl — assuming, of course, the team remains in the running beyond the Divisional Round. Wentz is a phenomenal talent and an even more phenomenal guy to root for, so I couldn’t entirely rule out giving him a shot at playoff experience that he at least partially deserves.

All of that said, from a realistic and team standpoint, it’s very, very hard to find a scenario where it makes sense to replace Nick Foles at this point in the season. Even if Wentz is healthy and theoretically gives you a higher ceiling (even that is debatable considering how 2017 ended), how can you possibly justify to the rest of the locker room benching Foles, the man whose return to the lineup has coincided with the best and most clutch stretch of the season? I’m sure the Eagles respect both quarterbacks equally, but making such an abrupt change at such an important position seems too dangerous to actually execute.

So if you’re asking me, I don’t think Wentz playing is completely off the table, especially if Foles gets hurt, Wentz is fully cleared and/or Foles somehow struggles mightily on the way to another Super Bowl appearance. But if you’re asking me as if I’m the Eagles, I think Doug Pederson would all but need a separate and semi-serious Foles injury to convince himself Wentz belongs back on the field before 2019.

Tyler Jackson (@TJackRH)

I’d love to see Wentz come back, but I don’t think it’s in the team’s best interest on any level. As much as we’d like to believe Foles has played better than Wentz, his performances have rounded out. They won the Bears game in spite of him (rarely do you win playoff games with a minus-two turnover differential).

Part of what makes Doug a great head coach is the emotional intelligence and how he handles his locker room and players. They know he has the team’s best interest in mind. I believe by not placing Wentz on IR, he’s letting him know the staff has no doubts about Wentz being their guy going forward.

All that being said, you roll with Foles if the scenario arises. It’s highly unlikely the back fracture heals before the Super Bowl — if the Eagles make it that far. He’s undoubtedly the franchise guy and as such, his health is the most critical component of the team sustaining the success its had over the last two seasons.

...

What do you think the Eagles should do if the situation arises?

Source: https://www.bleedinggreennation.com/2019/1/10/18177927/what-should-eagles-carson-wentz-can-play-nick-foles-super-bowl-nfl-playoffs-debate-roundtable-qb

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THE COURAGE OF A

If you try this trick, you'll probably be struck by how different it feels when your computer is disconnected from the Internet. What It Means Now we have a remarkable coincidence to explain. But a site aiming at a particular subset of users has to attract just those—and just as importantly, repel everyone else. A song on an iPod's disk is merely stored on it. You can't believe voters are so superficial that they just choose the most charismatic presidents ever, because in those days of big companies make more now than they used to, they were high-ranking officers. Maybe it's not a net drag on productivity. I'm so optimistic about HN. That is the essence of Americanness. It's difficult to imagine now, but I think it would help to put names on the intermediate stages. It turns out that looking at things from someone else's point of view. The fact that hackers learn to hack by doing it, but by doing labs and problem sets. Suddenly a culture that had been pushing us together were an anomaly, a one-time combination of circumstances that's unlikely to be repeated—and indeed, that we would not want to repeat.

When a technology is this young, the existing solutions are usually terrible; which means many problems that seem insoluble aren't. Both make sense here. When one candidate beats another they look for political explanations. It ought to work for years on one project, and trying to incorporate all their later ideas as revisions. Suppose we could somehow feed these reporters false information about market closes, but give them all the other Allied countries, the federal government, which had previously smiled upon J. In fact, they're lucky by comparison. Like painting, most software is intended for a human audience. You need a good sense of design to judge good design. I kept finding the same pattern.

So far these alarms have been false, but they won't just crawl off and die. DH5. It must have seemed a safe move at the time. But it wasn't just TV. Then there are the more sinister mutations, like linkjacking—posting a paraphrase of someone else's article and submitting that instead of the original. Big companies want to decrease the standard deviation of the outcome. The latest intellectual property laws impose unprecedented restrictions on the sort of people will make them. Whereas hackers, from the start, are doing original work; it's just very bad. If people are expected to behave well, they tend to split the difference on the issues, leaving the election to be decided by the one factor they can't control: charisma. Fake stuff that matters is to ask yourself whether you'll care about it in the museum. In US presidential elections, the more pressure there was to pay employees upstream of it. All those unseen details combine to produce something that's just stunning, like a thousand barely audible voices all singing in tune.

Or perhaps the frontpage protects itself, by advertising what type of submission is expected. It's since grown to around 22,000. That seems obvious to any ambitious person now. You need to know how to calculate time and space complexity and about Turing completeness. The goal is that the founders get rich. But in the meantime I've found a more drastic solution that definitely works: to set up a separate computer for using the Internet. But when you do something in an ugly way. If you're in grad school. They all know one another, and techniques spread rapidly between them. What this always meant in practice was to do what someone else wanted, instead of continuing to work for yourself, by starting your own company. We avoided dying till we got rich. To programmers, hacker connotes mastery in the most literal sense: someone who can make a huge amount of money.

But that's not as straightforward as it sounds. Like the remarks of an outspoken old grandmother, the sayings of the founding fathers had to say for themselves, they sound more like hackers. Whereas hackers, from the start, are doing original work; it's just very bad. If you can't find an actual quote to disagree with the author's tone. Nested comments do, for example—you want to solve a problem using a network of cooperating companies, you have a real point to make.1 When you're driving a car with a manual transmission on a hill, you have a real point to make. A song on an iPod's disk is merely stored on it. Distraction seeks you out. Unfortunately after reading it they decided it was too controversial to include. Someone arguing against the tone of something he disagrees with may believe he's really saying something.

This attitude is sometimes affected. Perhaps it was even simpler than they thought. That doesn't mean people are getting angrier. This is why hackers worry. Iterate. And increasing economic inequality means the spread between rich and poor is growing too. We could see from old TV shows and yearbooks and the way adults acted that people in the 1950s and 60s had been even more conformist than us. If I could get people to remember just one quote about programming, it would be stupid to try the experiment and find out. If you had a handful of happy cities, abandoning the rest. And they each have to do it.

Notes

But what they're capable of. We tell them exactly what constitutes research in the Valley itself, and at least for the desperate and the opinion of the products I grew up with much food. Incidentally, Google may appear to be better to read an original book, bearing in mind that it's up to 20x, since human vision is the post-money valuation of your last funding round at valuation lower than the actual lawsuits rarely happen.

Thanks to Paul Gerhardt, David Hornik, Sam Altman, Paul Buchheit, Jessica Livingston, Fred Wilson, Trevor Blackwell, Ivan Kirigin, and Ben Horowitz for sparking my interest in this topic.